#army cadet force

[diamondzoey]

Hello everyone sorry I haven’t posted any questions lately it was because of school and the stress of it but I’m fine now ^^

So here’s the question what would your bug or another listeners look like and personality wise if all the trauma they had never happened?

(Also should I do a post about my another listeners and their families?)

@rozeliyawashereyall @willowve01 @asmrbrainrot @kaiamtt @iistxrmyskyii @insignificant-anarchy @stxph-artist @aspenm00n @keyaartz @fangsshadow @rustycopper4use @piffany666 @dreamyshape @idontevenknow7878 @lunaritychuwolf @littlesiren79 @castbracelet240 @strayharmony943 @proxdragon @tiefling-chaos @threeweekinsomnia

@recated @wilderrorcard @diamondzoey @fennaboysenberry @lunnats

@lightdragon789 @pinkcocopuff-aqualoid @itsargyle @not-5-rats

@ccstiles @puffin-smoke @fruity0salad @takashishihoin @megapugman

@reefhastoomanyaccs @kaydenskiwi @greaysharkboi @itzscribz @blingzyya

@atonalasmr @headstrashdump @gatorboys22 @drowziestar @howdyimmaia

[lothcat-lothcat-lothwolf-run]

I try to write fluff or even just some funny dialogue and it comes out as angst and graphic descriptions of murder

for example:

“But what about a Rancor? Could that kill a Gundark?”

“It was never about what could beat a Gundark, it was about who!”

“Doesn’t matter who beats it, all I’m saying is that it would kill you first.”

Dispatch swore he could hear Gibbs roll his eyes. 

“And who’s to say it wouldn’t maim you next?”

“Me? Nah. I’d run away fast enough so that it couldn’t catch me. But it might go for handsome over there,” Sixer joked, pointing towards Knockout.

“You wish. I heard it eats the ugly ones first.” Knockout retorted.

“We all have the same kriffing face, you idiot!”

“Then how-” A hush fell over the group. 

Behind the bend they had been walking towards was a massacre. The ground stained orange and brown, a scent of rust filled the air. The fires were still aflame, turning the sand into glass into shards of a battle that once raged in the same spot they stood now. 

You could tell what was burning from the color of the smoke. It was one of the first survival lessons he learned. A light gray for wood and cloth, a deep brown for a place of residence about to collapse. White meant the start of a fire, and black…

It’s not that plastoid wasn’t flammable, it was just not often a sight many saw. When ships crashed, exploring the wreckage wasn’t the protocol. And separatist forces didn’t often rely on flamethrowers or other incendiary weapons. This was a planned attack, one by an outside force who, most likely, didn’t appear to appreciate the full scale invasion that either side launched. 

It wasn’t rare for the residents of whatever planet the GAR decided was important to rebel in one way or another. But it wasn’t expected here. Lato 2 was made up of a very desolate and yet twisting landscape, which made it the ideal place for a large separatist mining operation. The residents of Lato 3 were mostly traders; there was a big shipping port there. But they had agreed to take no part in the war, declaring themselves a neutral system. 

Dispatch coughed, being the first one to technically break the silence. As he turned to Gibbs for further instructions, he noticed that the commander had taken his helmet off. His face was frozen in a state of disbelief and horror, as if he had never seen such a thing before. It could’ve been fear, sure, but anger seemed better fitting. 

[tiefling-chaos]

Introducing Amaris sky’s listener 

@aspenm00n

[manasastuff-blog]

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[literaryvein-reblogs]

Sup Currently im writing a military themed story and I want to know some useful phrases and (maybe???) some links to useful thingies. I am wrapping my head around researching way too much but I dont want to make my writing unrealistic T-T So any advice for that?

Some Military Vocabulary

terminology and slang

Aide-de-camp - a member of the personal staff of a general officer, acting as his confidential assistant

Blue Falcon - Someone who betrays you (buddy f��er)

Clandestine - Military activities intended to be kept secret or concealed

Chamade - Drumbeat of surrender

Chest candy - Decorations or awards on an officer’s dress uniform

Dream sheet - Job and assignment preference worksheet for cadets

Élan - A high-spirited morale usually associated with exceptionally self-confident and elite units

Expectant - A soldier who is expected to die from their injuries

Feu de joie - French phrase meaning 'fire of joy' describing a firing of muskets one after another, closely timed to make a continuous noise, in celebration

Garrison - A a military post, especially one that is permanently established; the troops stationed at a military post

Ground zero - Point of origin for violent activity (such as where a bomb hits); specific point directly below explosion of a nuclear weapon

Hangfire - Wait for orders

Infantry - A branch of an army whose soldiers are organized, trained and equipped to fight on foot

Insurrection - The process of rising up to challenge one’s own government

Jeep - Soldier just out of basic training

Meat wagon - Ambulance

Mess hall - Hall where service members eat their meals

Moonbeam - Flashlight

NVD - Night Vision Device

Oxygen thief - Recruit who talks too much

Sky blossom - Parachute

Smoke - To punish a soldier excessively for a minor infraction

Soup sandwich - A situation that was poorly planned or has gone terribly wrong

WTHR - Weather

Zone of fire - A particular area where a unit delivers or is about to deliver fire

Some Military & Warfare Tropes

False Flag Operation: Attacking another nation and making it look like someone else did it.

Peeling Potatoes: The commanding officer makes subordinates peel potatoes when they get out of line.

Sealed Orders: Sensitive orders aren't relayed until the last moment to prevent intel leaks.

War Is Hell: The work depicts war in a negative light, such as emphasizing that people get killed in wars and demonstrating the trauma suffered by those forced to endure the bloodshed.

We Have Reserves: This particular military doesn't consider it a big deal to have soldiers die so long as replacements are easy to obtain.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: Word Lists ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Here are some references, do go through the links because there are so many more interesting ones I wasn't able to include here. Finding that balance when researching a story can definitely be a challenge. As you write, I think one thing that could help is to keep in mind your target audience. Would the flow be disrupted by adding a certain detail? Would it be better just to exclude it? For instance, including jargon or terminology that your readers may not be familiar with, but might be necessary for your story/character. So find that balance to retain it but in a way that includes some sort of explanation for your reader (e.g., through another character or through the narrator). And here are some tips to help guide you with the tropes in this genre (and the genre, in general). Hope this helps with your writing!

Update. DOD Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms ⚜ Naval Abbreviations ⚜ YouTube Channel: Military-Related. Thank you to @anumberofhobbies for these additional references!

[partoffantasy]

When Words Hurt - Bodhi Durran

⸻ image credits to OC & scribe.jesinia⸻

summary: after a heated argument shatters their year-long relationship, Y/N isolates herself in guilt and confusion, while Bodhi struggles with the depth of the pain she caused.

pairing: bodhi durran x fem!reader warnings: angst word count: 5.8k

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

Bodhi and Y/N were the embodiment of what everyone around them dreamed of when it came to a perfect relationship. It wasn’t the whirlwind romance that came with grand gestures or dramatic moments. No, theirs was the quiet, steady kind of love that built itself on a foundation of small, everyday acts that spoke louder than anything else.

Their mornings began with the simple act of sharing breakfast together, the sounds of the bustling cafeteria fading as they found their own small corner, away from the chatter of other cadets. Y/N would pour herself a cup of steaming tea, settling down across from Bodhi, and they’d talk as if they were the only two people in the world. Bodhi would reach over, stealing a piece of toast from her plate, teasing her playfully for always getting more than she needed. Y/N would roll her eyes but smile nonetheless, always finding amusement in his actions.

“You know,” Bodhi would say between bites, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to starve me.” “Maybe you deserve it,” Y/N would tease back, nudging him with her foot under the table. “You’re always trying to steal my food.” And for a moment, everything was perfect. They’d laugh, carefree, without a care in the world. The moments they shared—small, quiet, and filled with affection—felt like the most natural thing. To those around them, it was obvious. They were in tune with each other, understanding each other’s rhythms, without needing to try.

When classes were over, when their responsibilities were done for the day, Bodhi and Y/N found themselves walking side by side across Basgiath’s grounds. The sun would be setting, painting the sky in soft shades of orange and pink, and they’d stroll along the pathways, hands brushing together before inevitably clasping. Bodhi was always the first to pull her close, wrapping his arm around her shoulders in a protective manner, while Y/N would rest her head against his shoulder, content.

“So,” Y/N would ask, breaking the comfortable silence. “What do you think you’ll do when we graduate?” Bodhi would pause for a moment, his thoughts drifting to the future. “I’ve got my plans,” he’d say, voice light, but there was something deeper there. “I’ll probably stick around here for a bit longer. Maybe take a leadership role if they’ll have me.” He’d glance at her, raising an eyebrow. “What about you?”

Y/N would smile, a hint of pride in her expression. “I’m thinking of leading some army in one of the outposts, maybe becoming an emissary. But that’s only if I’m not too busy with Caelan.” She’d nudge him with a playful grin. “You never know, next year I might be a wingleader myself.”

Bodhi would chuckle, the idea of Y/N being a wingleader somehow making her even more attractive in his eyes. He loved her strength, her independence. She wasn’t someone who would sit quietly in the background; she had dreams, ambitions that matched his own. And that was what made them work—together, they were unstoppable.

It wasn’t just the big conversations that made their bond unshakable; it was the small moments, the ones that no one saw but the two of them. At night, when they’d go back to their quarters after a long day, the world outside would fade away. Bodhi would close the door softly behind him, and before he could even settle, Y/N would be by his side, her arms reaching for him. Her presence was like a calm, steadying force, and he’d pull her close, kissing all her thoughts away. They didn’t need anything grand, no words, just the simple act of being there for one another.

There was something so real about their connection. The way Bodhi would tuck a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear as she focused on her notes, the way she would always leave a small note for him in his bag when he wasn’t looking, just a simple “thinking of you.” They were there for each other in every little way, both showing love in their own, quiet way. But like all relationships, there were moments of vulnerability, too. It wasn’t all smooth sailing. In the rare quiet moments, when Y/N would let her guard down, she would open up about her deepest fears.

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for all of this,” she admitted one night, voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m not living up to my potential. Like I’m just playing catch-up with everyone around me.” Bodhi didn’t hesitate. He didn’t need to. He knew exactly what to say. “You’re doing great. You’re stronger than you think. You’ve got a fire in you that no one else has. Don’t doubt yourself, Y/N. Not for a second.”

His words, his steady belief in her, were enough to ease her mind for the night. And in return, she would reassure him of his own worth, how much she admired his dedication and his ability to balance the weight of leadership with the care he showed for others. Together, they built each other up, piece by piece.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

But as the months went by, a subtle shift began to take place—a shift that neither of them could quite identify. What once felt effortless had begun to feel strained, their responsibilities—both academic and personal—pressing in on them. Bodhi had always been the steady one. He thrived in leadership roles, balancing the expectations of Xaden and the revolution with the loyalty he felt for his squadmates. He cared for Y/N with a devotion that was hard to match. He was protective in ways that went beyond simple affection—he truly cared for her well-being. He wanted to be the one who helped carry the weight of her burdens, who kept her grounded when everything else felt too overwhelming.

But lately, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was slipping away from him. It wasn’t something blatant, not at first. It was the small things. Her absences were becoming more frequent. Her distracted glances when he spoke to her, her lack of presence in their shared moments—it all felt like he was trying to hold onto something that was slowly evaporating.

One evening, as they sat together in their shared dorm room, the air between them felt thick, too thick for comfort. Y/N was sprawled on the bed, playing around with one of her knives, her brow furrowed in concentration. Bodhi sat on the chair across from her, watching her, feeling a strange mix of frustration and longing. They hadn’t had a moment to themselves in days. Between her workload and her own ambitions, it felt like she was always on the move, always focused on something else.

He tried to strike up a conversation, his voice soft, trying to break the silence that had grown around them. “So, what’s on your mind tonight?” Bodhi asked, leaning forward slightly. Y/N didn’t look up, her fingers still moving across the blade. “Just wondering about the alloy for the knives. We need to speak to Xaden about the next deliveries.” Bodhi tried to smile, though it felt strained. “I get that. You’ve been busy. But... don’t you think you’ve been working yourself too hard lately?”

Y/N’s eyes flickered to him for just a moment, but she quickly looked away, refocusing on the task at hand. “I’ve got a lot of things to juggle, Bodhi. You know how it is.” Bodhi nodded, but the words stung more than he let on. You know how it is. He had always been there for her, supportive in every way, but it felt as though she was pushing him aside, pulling away emotionally. And it wasn’t just this one moment. It was a pattern he had noticed over the past few weeks.

He let out a breath, leaning back in the chair. “I know,” he said quietly, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “But we haven’t really spent any time together lately. Not real time. Just... us.” Her eyes finally met his, but there was a coldness in them that he hadn’t seen before. “I’m just busy, Bodhi. I can’t help that. You’re not the only one with things to do. And besides, I am here with you now, am I not?"

He flinched at her tone. It wasn’t harsh, but there was an edge to it, an impatience that he wasn’t used to. Bodhi’s chest tightened, and he bit back the words he really wanted to say. He could feel the wall between them growing thicker. She was withdrawing, and it was driving him mad. Bodhi tried again, softer this time. “I’m not asking you to stop everything. I just... I miss you. We’ve barely talked in days.” Y/N’s gaze softened for a brief moment, but it didn’t last. She sighed and set the knife down, rubbing her forehead. “I know, okay? I know, but I can’t just ignore my responsibilities. There’s a lot at stake, and you don’t always understand that.”

Her words hit him like a cold slap. She wasn’t wrong. He didn’t understand the pressure she was under—he had his own burdens, but hers seemed to weigh on her in ways that he couldn’t relate to. But still, the words stung. Did she think he didn’t understand the sacrifices she made? Did she think he was just here for the easy moments?

“I’m not asking you to ignore your responsibilities,” Bodhi said, his voice thick with the emotion he was struggling to keep in check. “I’m just asking you to be present with me. You’re here, but you’re not really here, Y/N. It’s like you’re always somewhere else.” Y/N crossed her arms, a frown tugging at her lips. “You don’t get it, Bodhi. You’re not the only one trying to juggle everything. I don’t have the luxury of just... being present right now. I’m trying to build something for myself. To prove that I can handle it all.”

The air between them felt suffocating now. Bodhi’s chest tightened as he tried to process what she was saying. He did understand. He understood better than anyone, probably, what it was like to fight for your place in the world, to prove yourself worthy. But that wasn’t the issue here. The issue was that she was pushing him away, choosing her workload and her goals over their relationship.

“I’m not trying to hold you back,” Bodhi said, his voice trembling slightly. “I’m just trying to be a part of your life. You were making time for me, Y/N. We used to laugh, we used to talk, we used to do everything together. Now... it’s like you’re shutting me out.” Y/N’s face hardened, and she stood up abruptly, pacing back and forth in the small room. “Maybe I’m shutting you out because I’m tired, Bodhi! Tired of trying to balance it all. I’m not a damn machine. I can’t just drop everything for you whenever you want.”

Bodhi’s heart sank as the words hit him, and for a moment, he felt his stomach twist with the weight of her frustration. He never wanted to be a burden to her. But it felt like every effort he made to reach her was just falling short. “I’m not asking you to drop everything,” Bodhi said again, his voice softer now, quieter. “I’m just asking for a little bit of your time. A little bit of you. That’s all.” Y/N stopped pacing and turned to face him. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—frustration, maybe, or guilt—but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. “I can’t do this, Bodhi. I can’t keep apologizing for being busy. I’m not the one who’s dropping the ball here.”

Bodhi’s eyes narrowed, his heart pounding. “I never said you were. But it sure feels like it.” They both fell silent. The tension between them is thicker than it had ever been. What had started as a small misunderstanding was starting to feel like something much bigger. Bodhi stood with his fists clenched, trying to keep his composure, but his frustration was boiling over. The words Y/N had said still echoed in his mind. 

His jaw tightened, and he forced himself to speak calmly, even though every fiber of his being wanted to shout. “You don’t get it, Y/N. I’m not asking you to drop everything. I’m asking you to show up. To be here when I need you. I’m not just your boyfriend, you know. I’m your partner. And I can’t keep doing this alone.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed, and the defensiveness that had been building all evening reached its peak. “I never asked you to do anything alone, Bodhi! I’m not the one who’s been disappearing!” Her voice shook, but it was laced with an anger that hadn’t been there before. “I’m doing my best! But it’s never enough for you, is it? You always want more. You always need more.”

Bodhi felt like a slap had landed across his cheek. He shook his head, refusing to back down. “You think I want more? I don’t want more, Y/N. I just want you to care. I want you to see me. You’ve been so wrapped up in your own world that it’s like I don’t even matter anymore.”

Her breath hitched, and her hands balled into fists at her sides. She was shaking now, both from the hurt and the anger. “What is that supposed to mean, Bodhi? Of course you matter! I never said you didn’t!” Her voice cracked slightly as she took a step closer to him, the distance between them narrowing but the emotional gap only widening. “But you don’t understand, okay? I have things to do. I’m trying to be someone.”

Bodhi’s heart ached at her words, and for a brief moment, it felt like his chest might cave in. He wanted to reach out to her, to pull her close and make everything better, but every time he tried, she seemed to pull further away. “You think I don’t understand? I’m the one who’s been trying to support you through all this, Y/N. I’ve been right here, waiting for you to open up, waiting for you to let me in. But you won’t! You won’t let me in.”

Y/N flinched at the raw emotion in his voice, but the anger in her rose again. She was feeling overwhelmed by her own insecurities and frustrations. “I can’t just let you in all the time, Bodhi! I’m not some fragile thing that needs fixing!” Her words were harsh now, her temper flaring. “You always act like you need to protect me, like I’m some damsel in distress! But I’m not! I’m not weak, and I don’t need you to always be there to pick up the pieces!”

Bodhi recoiled as though he’d been struck. The air between them felt like it was charged with a thousand volts, and every word that left their mouths only made the storm between them grow more intense. “So what do you want from me, Y/N?” he demanded, his voice rising. “Do you want me to just stand by and watch you burn out? Watch you push me away because you’re too proud to admit you need help?”

Y/N’s eyes flashed with pain, and she took a step back, her face hardening as she crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “Maybe I don’t need help, Bodhi! Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t get it! Maybe you’re just making it all about you when it’s never been about you!”

The words cut deep, deeper than anything she had said before. Bodhi felt his heart drop into his stomach. He hadn’t meant to make it about himself. He had only wanted to be there for her. He had always wanted to be the one who supported her, who could stand by her side when things got hard. But now, it felt like she was pushing him away with every word.

He was struggling to keep his voice steady, but it was slipping. “I never said it was only about me. But damn it, Y/N, I’m trying so hard! I’m trying to be the one who makes it easier for you, but you’re shutting me out. I don’t know what to do anymore.” He swallowed thickly, his chest tight, the words clawing their way out of his throat. “I’m not asking for everything, I’m asking for something. For you to want this too. For us to make this work.”

Y/N’s face flushed with frustration, the hurt on her face now replaced by something darker. “Maybe I can’t make it work right now, Bodhi!” Her voice was trembling now, but there was a finality in it. “Maybe I can’t balance you and everything else. Maybe it would be better if we never got together.”

The words hit Bodhi like a physical blow. He froze, staring at her as though he couldn’t comprehend what she had just said. His heart seemed to stop in his chest, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. He couldn’t breathe. His mind raced to catch up with the statement. It felt like the ground had slipped out from under him, leaving him with nothing but empty space.

Y/N’s eyes widened the moment the words left her mouth. She didn’t mean them—not like that, at least. But the damage had already been done. She couldn’t take them back. Bodhi’s face fell, his expression crumpling as the pain from her words hit him. “What?” His voice was barely above a whisper, cracking from the hurt he couldn’t hide. “You really think that? You think it would be better if we never got together?”

Y/N felt a knot form in her stomach, her own emotions overwhelming her. “I—Bodhi, I didn’t mean... I didn’t mean it like that... I just...” But the words were trapped in her throat, tangled with the emotions she couldn’t untangle. She wanted to explain, to make him understand, but she felt too lost inside herself to find the right words.

“I don’t know what to do with this anymore,” Bodhi muttered, his voice strained. He backed away from her slowly, like he couldn’t bear to be close, but he didn’t know how to leave either. The space between them was too vast, too raw, and every second that passed only made the distance grow wider. He rubbed his hands over his face in frustration, trying to push the tears that threatened to rise.

Y/N stood there, her own heart breaking as she realized what she had said. She hadn’t wanted to destroy them, but everything felt so impossible. She couldn’t fix it. She couldn’t fix herself. And that is what she has been feeling lately—broken. And she thought she could fix herself without also breaking Bodhi. "Please go," she heard him mutter, his back to her. Tears welled up in her eyes and she felt her heart break into pieces. She walked away before she lost herself in front of him.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Days passed in a haze for Y/N. Each morning she awoke with a heavy heart, as though her own guilt and sadness had settled deep into her bones. She moved through the motions of daily life, but everything felt muted, distant. Her once-vibrant energy had drained, leaving behind a hollow version of herself. She would sit in class, staring at the words on the pages, but none of it registered. Her mind was elsewhere, spinning in a cycle of regret, confusion, and the overwhelming feeling that something precious had been irreparably broken.

The worst part was that she couldn’t even pinpoint exactly when things had started to fall apart. One moment, everything had felt perfect. Bodhi had been her rock, the one person who had made everything feel right. And now, after their fight, it was as if the ground beneath her had cracked open, swallowing everything she had once known to be true.

It wasn’t just Bodhi. It was herself. She didn’t recognize the person staring back at her in the mirror. Gone was the happy, confident Y/N who would laugh and joke with Violet and Rhi, who would plan their future together with hopeful optimism. Now, she was someone completely different—someone unsure, hollowed out by grief she hadn’t even allowed herself to mourn yet.

At first, she tried to keep up appearances. She showed up to class, walked through the halls of Basgiath with her head down, avoided eye contact with everyone. She still managed to smile when she crossed paths with people, but it was always strained, a thin mask that hid the wreckage beneath. Her usual bright spark had dimmed, her eyes clouded with unshed tears.

Bodhi was always on her mind, but every time she thought of him, a deep pit formed in her stomach. She couldn’t bear the thought of facing him, not after the words she had said. She didn’t mean them. She never meant them. But they had come out in a moment of anger and frustration, and now they hung over her like a cloud she couldn’t shake.

Her attempts to fix things had failed before they even started. She’d sit in her room late at night, fingers hovering over the paper in front of her, ready to write something to Bodhi. But every time she tried, the words felt like poison on her tongue. What could she say? How could she apologize for everything she had done wrong? It all felt too much, and so she simply dropped the quill, burying her face in her hands and crying alone in the darkness.

Violet noticed the change in Y/N almost immediately. Her best friend looked withdrawn, exhausted, and endlessly distant. Violet’s heart ached for her, but she didn’t know how to help. She tried. She really did. At first, she gave Y/N space, assuming that maybe the fight with Bodhi had simply rattled her, and that some time apart would help ease the tension. But as the days passed, Y/N only seemed to retreat further into herself, like a tortoise pulling its head into its shell to protect itself from the world. Violet’s gentle attempts to check in—whether through a nudge in the hallway or a quiet question during meals—were always met with short, unconvincing answers.

“Hey, are you alright?” Violet would ask softly, her voice full of concern as they sat in the cafeteria. “I’m fine,” Y/N would respond, her words hollow. But Violet wasn’t stupid. She could see it in the way Y/N’s shoulders hunched, the way her eyes never fully met anyone’s gaze, how she seemed almost disconnected from the world around her. The energy that once made Y/N the heart of their group was gone, replaced by emptiness.

But Violet didn’t know how to break through the wall Y/N had built around herself. Her friend wasn’t angry with her—Y/N never had been—but there was something about the way she withdrew that felt like a rejection, like a door being slammed in her face. And it hurt, even though Violet knew it wasn’t personal. She just wanted to help, to bring Y/N back, but each time she tried, she was met with resistance.

For Y/N, it was like being trapped in her own head, unable to escape the constant loop of grief and guilt that kept her awake at night. She didn’t know how to fix what had been broken. She didn’t know how to apologize for the things she’d said, the hurt she had caused, or the mess she had created. But more than anything, she didn’t know how to stop feeling like the person she loved the most had slipped through her fingers.

Every time she thought of Bodhi, the pain twisted in her chest, deeper than anything she had felt before. The memory of the words she had thrown at him—the ones she didn’t mean, but couldn’t take back—haunted her. She didn’t want to end things. She couldn’t stand the idea of losing him. But every time she thought of reaching out, her own internal walls pushed her back. How could she face him after everything? How could she face herself?

She was slowly unraveling, piece by piece, and all she wanted was for everything to go back to how it had been before. But deep down, she feared it was already too late.

Y/N had spent days between self-imposed isolation. Every time she tried to work up the courage to talk to Bodhi, she found herself retreating further into herself, scared of what would happen if she faced him. But the guilt, the shame—it became too much to bear. The longer she waited, the heavier it felt, and the more her emotions threatened to consume her. She could no longer pretend she wasn’t devastated by the rift she had created.

It was late afternoon when she finally decided to face him. The decision came after a long, restless day where she had hardly spoken to anyone. Violet had tried to talk to her, but Y/N had shut her out, unable to let anyone in. She knew she had to do something—anything—to begin to fix the mess she had made. Bodhi deserved an apology. More than that, he deserved answers.

With shaky hands, Y/N left her room. Her heart was racing in her chest, and her breath came in short, shallow bursts. The hallways of Basgiath felt like a labyrinth, every step heavier than the last. She didn’t know where to find him, but it was only a matter of time before she came across him. She had to talk to him. She couldn’t keep avoiding it.

She wandered aimlessly, her thoughts drowning out everything else. The distant sounds of cadets laughing, training, and talking barely registered as she moved, her mind focused solely on the weight of what was coming. She didn’t know what she would say, only that she needed to see him. It was the first time in days she felt some semblance of determination rising within her.

And then, just as she was about to turn a corner, she saw him. Bodhi. He was standing near a window at the far end of the hallway, looking out at the distant mountains with a contemplative expression, his posture rigid. She froze for a moment, unsure if she should approach him or turn and run. Her body tensed with anxiety, but something deep inside her knew this was it—this was her chance to make it right.

Taking a breath, she gathered her courage and walked toward him, each step feeling like it took forever. When she reached him, she hesitated for a moment, unsure how to start. The silence between them stretched painfully. His back was to her, but Y/N could see his jaw tighten, as though he knew she was there, knew what was coming.

“Bodhi,” she said softly, the sound of his name breaking the quiet like a fragile glass. He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto hers with a mixture of guarded pain and something else—something unreadable. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N opened her mouth, then closed it again, not knowing where to begin. She had rehearsed this conversation in her head a hundred times, but now that it was happening, the words felt so inadequate.

“I… I didn’t know if I should come,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I didn’t know if I should just leave things be, but… I can’t. I can’t just pretend like nothing happened.” Bodhi’s expression softened slightly, but he still didn’t say anything. It was as though he was waiting for her, giving her space to speak without pushing her. Taking a deep breath, Y/N finally forced the words out. “I’m sorry, Bodhi. I never meant for it to go this far, never meant for the things I said to hurt you. I—I was lost, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I was so caught up in my own confusion that I hurt you. And for that, I am so sorry.”

Her voice faltered as the weight of her own words hit her. The apology wasn’t smooth, but it was the most honest thing she could say. She had no idea how he would react, no idea if this would be enough to bridge the chasm she had created. But she had to try. For both of them.

Let's talk in my room," he sighed and started walking towards the dormitories. Y/N followed him, feeling so small but also hopeful for the first time since their fight.

Bodhi was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at her, his expression unreadable. The distance between them felt huge, even though they were only a few feet apart. Y/N shifted uncomfortably, nervously fidgeting with her hands. She had never felt more lost in her life, more unsure of everything she thought she had known. This wasn’t who she was—this wasn’t the confident, composed woman who had once walked alongside him, sharing laughter and love. No, this was someone broken, someone desperate for redemption.

“I… I don’t even know where to start,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavy, like they had to push through a wall before they could leave her mouth. Bodhi didn’t respond immediately. He just watched her, his gaze intense but distant at the same time. It made Y/N feel small, insignificant, as though everything that had happened had erased her worth in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she continued, swallowing hard. “I’m so sorry for what I said. I never should have—” “Stop,” Bodhi interrupted, his voice hoarse. “You don’t need to apologize for that, Y/N.” But Y/N shook her head, a tear escaping before she could hold it back. “I do,” she said, her voice shaking. “I do need to apologize. You… you don’t deserve the things I said. It wasn’t about you. It was never about you. I was just—lost. And I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel like you weren’t enough.”

Bodhi flinched at her words, and Y/N immediately regretted them. Her heart cracked as she watched him process her apology. She could see the hurt in his eyes, and it was a mirror to the agony she felt inside. Her own pain had caused this—this chasm between them. This hurt that she couldn’t undo, no matter how many times she said the words.

“I’ve never felt more lost in my life,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I don’t even know how we got here… how everything just—” She choked on the words, unable to finish the thought. “I’ve been so confused, and I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted it to end like this.” Bodhi didn’t say anything right away. He looked down, his jaw clenched tightly as he took in her words. Y/N could feel the silence between them, heavy and suffocating, and it made her want to disappear.

“I never wanted it to come to this,” she said, voice trembling. “I never wanted to be this version of myself, the one who can’t fix what’s broken. I just… I don’t know how to fix it.” Bodhi let out a long breath, his hands gripping the edge of the bed as though he needed something to hold onto. He looked up at Y/N then, his eyes filled with raw vulnerability—something she hadn’t seen from him in a long time.

“You hurt me, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His words were soft but heavy, filled with pain. “When you said that… it felt like you were telling me that everything we had wasn’t enough. That I wasn’t enough. And it… it crushed me.” Y/N’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She could feel the weight of his words, like a physical blow. Bodhi, always the strong one, the rock that she could lean on, was broken. And it was her fault.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” she said, her voice hoarse with guilt. “I didn’t mean it, Bodhi. I just—everything felt like it was slipping away, and I didn’t know how to fix it, so I said the worst thing I could think of. And now… now I don’t know how to fix this.” Bodhi swallowed hard, his gaze softening ever so slightly. “I don’t know if I can forgive you,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I can forget what you said.”

The words hit her like a wave, pulling her under. She wanted to say something to make it better, to promise him that she would do whatever it took to fix the damage she had caused, but her throat felt tight, her words stuck. What could she say? What could she do? The weight of everything between them was too much to handle, and she didn’t know if she was worthy of fixing it.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me right away,” she said quietly. “I just�� I need you to know how sorry I am. I never wanted to hurt you like that. I love you. I really do. So, so much Bodhi.”

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The silence that followed was thick, but there was something softer in it now. Something that felt like a small crack in the wall they had built between each other. They found a quiet space in the corner of the courtyard, the soft glow of the late afternoon sun casting a warm, golden light over everything. Bodhi and Y/N sat across from each other, the tension still there, but now there was something different in the air. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t guilt—it was a fragile hope. They both knew that their relationship had been shaken to its core, but they were willing to work through it. Together.

“I don’t know how we got here,” Y/N said quietly, breaking the silence. “I don’t know how we went from being so close to…” She trailed off, the words too painful to finish. Bodhi sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Neither do I. But we’re here now. And we can’t change what happened. All we can do is… try to figure out what comes next.”

Y/N nodded, tears welling up again. “I never wanted to hurt you, Bodhi. I’m so sorry. I feel like I’m drowning in what I’ve done, in how I’ve broken this. And I don’t know how to make it right.” Bodhi’s expression softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N saw the familiar spark of the man she loved. “We’re not broken,” he said gently. “We’re hurt. But we can heal, together.”

They sat there for a long time, in silence, just letting the moment settle between them. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But it was real. It was a step toward something new—a new beginning, perhaps. And maybe that was all they needed for now. They weren’t fixed. But they were trying. And sometimes, that was enough.

[gatitties]

War & crack

─Task Force 141 x young!reader

─Summary: some headcanons about your life working with TF141

─Warnings: cliché¿, reader is a gen z

Part two / Halloween special

so... I've been consuming some content about CoD and I know the least about the franchise but the few things I've read have been so good that I couldn't resist writing something too 🫢, sorry if something is out of character since I don't know many things

— You are a threat to society.

— Your parents sent you to the military in the hope that your bad behaviors would disappear, realistically, they were not prepared to be parents either.

— Parental neglect, what a surprise.

— You had many bad influences in your adolescence and free access to the Internet without parental control was like throwing gasoline on the fire.

— Theft, extortion, assault, harassment, banditry, disobedience to authority, fraud, driving without a license, breaking and entering, kidnapping, arson, arms trafficking...

— You had a good record of minor criminal records, the vast majority due to bad friends, but you were already an accomplice.

— Which led you to the fact that when you reached the age of majority, you were enlisted directly into the army without being able to have a choice.

— It wasn't as bad as you thought except for the amount of physical exercise you were subjected to, but you knew how to put up with it.

— Despite being young, in the three years that you served as a cadet, you were sent to many missions, perhaps with the hope of dying since the generals sent you to the front lines of the battle.

— You didn't care, you were feral, careless enough and craving adrenaline, you liked to dance with death in every fight.

— You were the first to run whenever you could to start the attack, after all, all you liked to do was hit, stab or use close-range weapons.

— You lost an arm because of that, you didn't care much because now you have a prosthesis with decorations to your liking.

— Then you were sent to Task Force 141.

— None of the boys expected someone like you, they definitely had a bit of a hard time adjusting to your personality.

— You were a strange combination between Ghost and Soap, going from being a grave to being an explosion of emotions at any moment.

— The first time you saw Ghost you thought he was giving you a side eye and you gave it back to him.

— Later you learned that it's his normal look but you give him the dead look every once in a while.

— Soap and you are not a good combination when you know each other better, he will just give you approval to all the stupid things you see on the internet.

— Gaz might join, but most of the time he just warns you that Price won't be amused.

— Price will look at you like a parent disgusted (but not surprised) by some of your nonsense.

— Confidence sucks, and when you're spouting darkly humorous jokes or about the ways you want to kill yourself because something goes wrong, Price isn't in that boat.

— It's not worth it if you justify it with 'my traumas, my jokes'.

— Honestly, everyone is worried about the number of times you've said you were going to kill yourself for the slightest inconvenience.

— They don't understand most of your current meme references, maybe Gaz, being the second youngest, will pick up on something.

— They were so confused with your attack tactics, because you had practically none, you just jumped in with luck to hit everything you could, which worked every time.

— You will train with Ghost because you are not aware of your surroundings when it comes to fighting.

— The first time they saw your prosthesis they thought a bullet had hit you in the arm, but when you laughed and removed the metal arm shouting 'everything is possible when you're physically disabled' they swallowed their concern.

— You show affection with punches, you punch Soap's shoulder, Gaz's back or Price's side, Ghost... you prefer to communicate with your eyes because the last time you punched him in a friendly way you almost ended up with your shoulder out of its place.

— They can't take you seriously, they really do try but it's impossible, you look like an impulsive teenager who they are babysitting even if you're in your twenties.

— At least it's like that outside the battlefield, you get more serious or focused on the missions.

— Gaz saves your ass whenever you get distracted, which is most of the time, you tell him that he has won heaven but if death wanted to kiss you you weren't going to refuse the offer.

— Seriously, stop with the jokes about your death or depression, Price will get you a psychologist.

— It seems like a joke but Ghost and you end up getting along quite well, it's a quiet and pleasant dynamic, without pressure.

— As with Soap, you know how to adapt a lot to everyone's personalities, as if you were a sponge that absorbs all the likes and disappointments of the boys to get along better.

— You don't give a shit about your own life but you're fighting tooth and nail to protect others.

— Which leads you to almost die once, on top of that, Price scolded you for jumping to try to save them, you didn't care, you'll do it again.

— Squeaks or bangs in the wee hours of the morning? It's you moving the few pieces of furniture in what you can call your own room.

— Someday you'll give the boys a heart attack (Ghost maybe not) because you walk in the dark at night since you tend to stay up late.

— Price will scold you for not sleeping well and drinking so many energy drinks or coffee.

— You will leave random objects in the boys' rooms, like, last time you bought little ducks of different colors and hid them.

— Price denies with a small smile when he sees a yellow duck with a cowboy hat as a paperweight.

— Gaz laughs when he sees a blue duck with an aviator hat in the drawer where he kept his records.

— Soap finds a yellow duck with an umbrella hat next to his bath stuff and fiddles with it when he has time for a long bath.

— Ghost narrows his eyes at the sight of a black duck with sunglasses and gold chains under a pile of clothes in his room, he sighs leaving it in the small window of his room as decoration.

— You are strictly prohibited from bringing any type of animal into the base of operations as a pet, once you wanted to have a raccoon, a tarantula, a snake, you even named a cockroach you saw in the kitchen.

—Just- no.

— So you chose to have a carnivorous plant as a pet, it was acceptable at least.

— You are also prohibited from cooking without supervision.

— You're like a new world for them, but honestly, they wouldn't know what they would do if something happened to you now that you've earned their love.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Hello! I had this idea for a fic and hopefully you like it! It’s a Bad Batch X Fem!Reader where she trained them in the early days when they were cadets and they were super attached to her but she went missing (probably for getting too attached) and eventually they move on but one day they start find irregularities and investigate and they find out she was taken. Maybe to be experimented on or something not good.

You can add anything you’d like! I absolutely adore your work and I especially love love your series work! X

“Before We Were Broken”

Bad Batch x Fem!Reader

The rain hadn’t let up in sixteen hours. Not that it ever really stopped on Kamino. You could barely hear your own boots echo down the pristine white hallway over the roar of the storm outside.

“Room C-35,” the Kaminoan aide said, voice soft and monotone as she glided ahead of you. “Your assigned cadets are inside. You may find them… unconventional.”

That was putting it mildly. You had read the file—a strange assortment of genetic experiments that didn’t quite fit with the rest of the clone army. Kamino had tried to bury them under clinical language: “desirable mutations,” “non-standard behavior,” “tactical unpredictability.” But you saw what it really meant. They didn’t know what to do with these four.

That’s where you came in.

You took a deep breath as the door opened.

Inside were four boys. Much younger than you expected—no more than twelve in appearance, though you knew biologically they aged faster. They stood stiffly in a loose formation, clearly unused to inspection.

The one in the front—tall, dark-haired, expression unreadable—stared at you with something approaching curiosity.

“Hunter,” you said, recognizing him immediately from the file. “You’re team leader.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re not like the others.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Should I be?”

He didn’t answer.

To his left was a spindly boy with goggles, tapping nervously at a small datapad clipped to his belt.

“Tech,” you greeted, smiling. “You were reprimanded last week after you figured out how to hack the door systems. Impressive.”

“You read my report,” he said, startled. Then cautiously pleased.

“Of course I did.”

“Clone Force 99,” the aide said flatly. “Meet your new combat instructor.”

You gave a slow nod. “I’m [Y/N]. You’ll call me Instructor or Ma’am, depending on whether or not I’m yelling. Understood?”

No response. Just stares.

“Crosshair.”

He didn’t respond.

“You don’t salute. You don’t speak. You don’t even blink. You trying to scare me, kid?”

He raised a brow. “Is it working?”

You stepped closer, toe to toe. “Not even a little.”

His smirk twitched upward.

And in the back, leaning on a heavy blaster practice rifle he’d clearly modified himself, was the biggest of them all.

“You must be Wrecker.”

He beamed. “Finally! Someone who says it like it’s a good thing.”

You chuckled. “It is—if you know how to use it.”

He flexed. “I do!”

You crossed your arms, surveying them all. “I’ve trained squads twice your size and three times as stubborn. But none of them had what you have.”

Hunter eyed you warily. “Which is?”

“Potential,” you said simply. “Not just to fight. To change things.”

None of them replied. But something shifted. Even Crosshair seemed to stand a little straighter.

“Tomorrow, you report to the simulator at 0500. Failure is fine. Giving up is not. I don’t care if the regs treat you like misfits—you’re mine now. And I train my squads to survive.”

They didn’t salute. But they didn’t need to.

You were already theirs.

⸻

They listened to you more than they listened to any clone officer.

Wrecker begged to spar with you one-on-one just to see how hard he could push without hurting you. Tech followed you around like a datapad with legs, always asking why you taught the way you did. Crosshair trusted you enough to admit he couldn’t sleep without checking the exits. And Hunter—he never said much, but he started copying your hand signals and patrol patterns without realizing it.

You didn’t baby them. But you protected them. And when Crosshair broke another cadet’s nose for calling you “Kamino trash,” you didn’t reprimand him.

You just smirked and said, “Next time, break it cleaner.”

It wasn’t regulation. But it worked.

And that’s what made you dangerous.

Maybe too dangerous.

You disappeared.

No transfer orders. No incident report. No funeral.

Just gone.

Hunter went to the training deck where you always met them. Waited for hours.

Tech dug through records. Found nothing but a locked file marked Classified – Instructor 117.

Wrecker cried.

Crosshair punched a wall so hard he fractured three knuckles.

And still—no answers.

⸻

The squad had changed. They were grown now, weathered by war, disillusioned with the Republic’s lies.

Then Tech intercepted a signal during a recon mission. An encrypted Kaminoan burst transmission buried in an old server.

Inside—your ID tag. A vitals readout. You were alive. In stasis. Somewhere in the Unknown Regions.

And someone had gone to great lengths to make sure you stayed forgotten.

Hunter’s voice was cold when he said it.

“We’re going to get her back.”

⸻

the Signal Intercept. Aboard the Marauder.

“Tech?” Hunter asked from the cockpit, knuckles white on the throttle. “Tell me we’re not chasing another dead end.”

Tech didn’t look up from his holopad. “The signal originated from a decommissioned Kaminoan research satellite. Registry: CTX-Zeta-Seven. Purged from Republic records post-Geonosis. No rotation logs. No transmission records since the Clone Wars began.”

Wrecker scratched the back of his neck. “So what’s it doing alive again?”

Tech finally looked up, face grim behind his goggles. “It shouldn’t be. That’s the problem.”

Crosshair leaned against the bulkhead, toothpick twitching slightly between his lips. “You sure it’s her?”

Tech didn’t answer immediately. His fingers hovered over the readout one last time, like he didn’t want to say it.

“The vitals were hers. Identical match.”

No one spoke for a moment.

Then Hunter muttered, “Then someone’s kept her alive all these years.”

⸻

CTX-Zeta-Seven. Days Later. Approach Vector.

The station drifted like a grave in the void—dark, unlit, dead. Or at least it should have been. But when the Marauder got within range, a single beacon flickered to life.

“Docking bay four,” Tech murmured, eyes narrowed. “They’re inviting us in.”

“Trap,” Crosshair said flatly.

Hunter adjusted his vambrace, voice low. “We’re going in anyway.”

Wrecker checked the charge on his blaster. “They took her from us. They don’t get to keep her.”

⸻

Inside the Station.

The interior was worse than expected.

Rusting Kaminoan tech hung from the ceilings like veins, pulsing with low red light. Syringe arms twitched from medical pods. Dead droids lay in heaps.

Wrecker’s voice came through the comm, low and shaken. “This place smells like death.”

“Keep tight,” Hunter ordered. “Tech—find her.”

They moved with practiced precision: Crosshair covering the rear with silent focus, Wrecker ahead with his massive DC-17m, Tech scanning as they cleared the halls. Hunter led—blades drawn, senses sharp.

Then Tech stopped.

“I found the signal.”

They rounded a corner, came to a locked blast door covered in Kaminoan glyphs.

Inside?

A single cryotube.

And you.

She was alive.

Barely.

Suspended in thick gel. Tubes in your arms. Eyes closed. Your body was thinner, muscles atrophied from years of stasis. Your face was pale, lips slightly parted. And across your collarbone?

A Kaminoan barcode.

They had numbered you.

Hunter was at your side instantly, his breath catching in his throat. “Get her out.”

Tech’s voice was strained. “I—I need a minute. It’s a delicate sequence—”

“No,” Crosshair interrupted, stepping forward and lining up his rifle. “I’ll do it my way.”

“You’ll kill her—”

“I won’t,” Crosshair snapped, tone sharper than glass.

Hunter raised a hand. “Let him try.”

A heartbeat passed. Then a shot cracked through the chamber, precise and controlled.

The tube hissed, steam spilling out.

You collapsed into Hunter’s arms.

Your breathing was shallow. Pulse weak. But there.

“Hey,” Wrecker said softly, crouching beside you. “We got you. We came back.”

You didn’t respond.

Not yet.

But the alarms did.

Klaxons blared to life.

Motion detected. Biological.

“Contacts—eastern corridor,” Tech warned. “Not droids. Organics. Four signatures. Moving fast.”

“Clones?” Crosshair barked.

“No.” Tech frowned. “Modified.”

Then they saw them.

Failures.

Mutated, twisted clones with blank eyes and jagged scars. Genetic leftovers. They charged with stun batons and crude vibroblades.

“Fall back!” Hunter shouted, lifting you against his chest. “Get her out—NOW!”

The fight was brutal.

Wrecker took the brunt, shielding the squad as he carved through attackers. Crosshair’s shots were surgical, taking out limbs mid-strike. Tech rewired a blast door to lock half the horde behind them.

But one of the creatures got to Hunter—slashed him across the ribs as he tried to carry you.

He grunted, staggered.

Your eyes fluttered open.

You saw him bleeding.

And you moved.

A rusted scalpel lay nearby. You didn’t think—you just acted. Weak, half-dead, but still you.

You jammed the blade into the thing’s throat and pushed it back.

Wrecker’s blaster roared behind you.

Silence.

Back on the Marauder, you collapsed again.

They surrounded you.

Hunter, pressing gauze to his side with a grimace.

Wrecker, trying not to cry.

Crosshair, looking away but not leaving.

Tech sat beside the medbay, glasses off, cleaning them with trembling fingers.

You tried to speak. Your voice cracked.

“…I knew you’d come.”

Hunter closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against your temple.

“We never stopped looking.”

But none of them said the truth.

That they had moved on.

That they had almost stopped believing.

That they had buried their grief in war, in scars, in silence.

And now here you were again, broken and half-dead in their arms.

Just like them.

[diejager]

Hi! Could you please a non-con with John Price? I really love your blog!!

Orders, Private

Pairing: Dark!Captain John Price x fem!reader

Cw: NON-CON/DUB-CON, DARK, nsfw, p in v, creampie, choking, age gap, oral (male receiving), implied pregnancy, unprotected sex, cockwarming, implied discharge, abuse of authority, slight daddy kink, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.8k

You joined the army to feel secure, to be safe and to be able to protect yourself. Although it was a predominantly male occupation, you found yourself feeling more at home and comfortable with them and the few female soldiers at the base. You had a small convent of your own composed of the women who left their households to join the military for various reasons, both good and reasonable. You trained and grew, fresh out of the toxic environment of a strict religious family, climbing from a cadet to a Private First Class at 19. You were proud and so were your brothers and sisters, watching the scrawny kid grow leaner and stronger in the past year. 

You were safe and protected. You could defend yourself from others tempted to force themselves on you. You were strong. Perhaps you became too relaxed knowing you were surrounded by people you could trust, letting your guard down and your nativity unchecked. You felt safe, you hadn’t worried about your commanding officers. You didn’t see yourself being in danger around them, and yet, here you were, forced to your knees for a man you trusted, a man that had led you and inspired you all. 

That’s why it hurt even more.

“Orders, private,” was all he told you, dark eyes staring at your bobbing head between his legs. A cruel grin danced across his lips, a proud and shrewd smile that creased the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Sweat rolled down his forehead as he bit back a groan, throwing his head back and thrusting back into your mouth. 

You let out a pained whine, fingers clawing at his thighs, big and hard, hot under your smaller hands. His balls slapped your wet chin, his cock far down your throat had made swallowing difficult, saliva dripping from your wide and swollen mouth. He growled, rocking his hips erratically, chasing the tightness in his groynes, the promise of relief. He laughed when you gagged, your throat retching and closing. He laughed like it was a joke, a cruel joke that he suddenly came up with to deprive you of air. 

He used the momentum of both his thrusts and the bobbing of your head to force his shaft deeper, hitting the back of your throat as he throbbed in your mouth. Your nose bumped his musky, pubic hair, the scent was strong and heady, smelling of sex and sweat. Your chin rested against his heavy sack, balls tightening as he came down your throat, spurting ropes of tangy cum.

“Swallow, private. I’ll make you lick it clean if I see a single drop on the floor.”

His threats weren’t hollow, they were true and founded on the fear of harsher abuse. You tried swallowing every drop, throat gagging around his softening shaft in a failed attempt at listening to his order. His rough fingers brushed your hair back, playing the illusion of an encouraging master, rewarding you with soft petting - an illusion of a consensual blowjob. You weren’t fooled, you couldn’t be after this. 

Your hands left his thighs to cup at your closed mouth when he slid out, his heavy cock slapping your chin as it left. Your cheeks were swollen with cum, the salty substance weighing heavily on your tongue and conscience. You tilted your head back to ease the flow, still and subservient to his calm petting. Slowly, you swallowed everything, red eyes closed and teary, tears streaming down your cheeks as he cooed at you lovingly. If only you could disappear, leave your body and let it all happen to you while you weren’t here, while you dissociated-

“AH!”

White hot pain flashed through your mind, Price’s fingers grasped your hair and tugged your head back, forcing your mouth open for him. He hummed satisfyingly, eyes glued to your swollen lips and flat tongue. He roved over it, smiling proudly at your tear-stricken expression, your wet cheeks, dilated, doe eyes and your messy hair. The sight of your dishevelled look seemed to arouse him further, his once-soft cock hardening between his thick legs, standing proudly with a pink blush on the tip. 

He jerked you back, throwing you to the ground as he stood up, circling your gasping figure. You rested on your knees and elbows, back facing him and head down, chest puffing with erratic breaths. Wolves would lower their heads before a stronger pack emmener, showing their submissiveness or respect to the older and stronger wolf. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him anymore. It hurt too much. However much you wished you could rebel, you knew it was futile. 

You were a private and he, a captain of a Task Force. He outranked you by nearly two decades in experience and reputation. No one would believe you if you told them that Captain John Price had raped you. You would be called a traitor, a sham, a liar, someone who wanted to ruin the pristine image of the great Captain Price. 

You were alone, no one would help you.

“Get up.”

On shaky knees and unstable footing, you stood up, steps stuttering to reach him at his desk, but you were too slow for his liking. His hand reached to grab at your lapel, pulling you to him. He kicked behind your knees, knocking you off balance and onto his desk, upper half splayed over the hardwood. He bent you with the full intention of fucking you. It scared you because you wouldn’t be able to fight him off, he was both bigger and stronger. 

Your nails dug into the wood, looking ahead with fresh tears. He felt your body, big palms wrapping around your waist and down your chest, cupping your breast with a sigh from him. He gripped your hips, feeling the leather belt buckle and ripped it free. You cried out as he pulled your pants down, hands kneading the curves of your hips and the roundness of your ass, fingers gripping your fat with the intent of bruising you. 

“Please…” you begged. You didn’t know why you did it, but it was the only thing you could do at the moment. Beg until your voice turned hoarse and weak, a whisper of what it used to be at the peak of your glory.

He scoffed.

“You’re always so soft.” 

He felt you a while longer before his searing hands left you. You sighed but froze when something hard and hot bumped your ass, the wet mass rutting over you. Your breath stuttered and you resulted to hide your face between your crossed arms, giving up on your miserable fate. He pumped himself, sighing as he ran the tip over your fold, slipping between your slit and nudging your pulsing clit. A shuddering chill wracked your body, breath stuck at the back of your throat.

He blew out a chuckle. Your body reacted to his stimulation while your mind still reeled at the betrayal. Your body and mind were two different things, one reacted to things while the other commanded. Although you abhorred it, it was only natural that you were slick from everything. Your begging and crying did nothing to stop your body from reacting accordingly to Price’s touch or dampen the intensity of your slickness. 

“So warm… and wet-” he rocked into you once his mushroom head caught your entrance, bottoming out in one hard thrust. 

You jerked forward with a cry, clinging to his desk as he pulled out and pushed in roughly. He groaned as he slammed in, eyes rolling back when your warm walls squeezed around him, trying to accommodate his bigger girth. Price drove into you with feral grunts, hips rocking and hands bruising you. He liked painting your skin black and blue with his hold, and carving your flesh with the half moons of his blunt nails, red and irritated. It was a show of possessiveness, marking his little soldier to remind you and himself of who you belonged. It roused the predator inside of him, bringing it to the surface of his usually calm and commanding facade. But none came alone, one always brought another; he’d whisper dark promises to you, ravaging you with animalistic intent. They were dirty things, brutal promises that he had full intentions of keeping.

It made you fear him more than anything else. 

“No! Please no! Price stop- ”

You struggled against his assault, legs kicking under him and voice screaming for reprieve in the soundproof room. He slid his arm under you, grasping your throat as he pressed into you, the tip ramming into your cervix. You choked a hoarse cry, body pulled in an arch before him, head over his shoulder, forearm holding you against his chest and hips between him and the desk’s sharp edge. It dug into your flesh as his cock ploughed deeper inside of you, spearing you over his throbbing length, threatening to spill a second time. 

“I like the thought of you swollen, love,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his beard irritating the soft skin of your neck as his pace grew frantic, latching on to the tight string of pleasure. “Swollen with my child, hmm?”

He chuckled at your fearful whine, your head shaking and fingers clutching his hand, running red lines over it. 

“Yeah, I love it too. Watching the little nipper run around the house.”

His sweat dripped from him to you, the musky odour of sex, pine wood and cigars coating you in a mix that is instinctively his. A musk that belonged to John Price. His hand left your hip to toy with your sensitive nub, rolling it with his thumb while you moaned and squirmed, the walls of your sexe tightening around him like a vice. He cursed and jerked his hips faster, harder and rougher, lost in the delirium of pleasure and hunger. 

“Come, love. Come now.”

Orders, private, echoed in your mind, his word was law, his hand, the mighty hammer. He ingrained it in your mind and your body reacted as such. A well trained pet for its master to order around. Your breath caught in your throat and your hip bucked into his thrusts, head thrown back with a sharp keen. You closed around him, spamming walls pulling him deeper as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, quenching your dripping arousal. 

“Fuck-” he swore, grinding against you as your relief pulled at his. He came with a moan, tip spurting white, potent cum into your young womb. It flooded your cunt and leaked around him, staining his military-issued pants with dark patches. He stayed inside of you as he sat on a chair, plugging you with his soft cock to keep from wasting his seed. He wanted it to take so he could have you discharged and kept at home. He wanted you as his little wife, possessiveness rearing its ugly head.

 “You’ll make me a daddy this time, yeah?”

If not, he’d just fuck you again and again until it knocked you up.

[diamondzoey]

Who should I draw and redesign next?

Author note: also I’m thinking of redoing some of my oc’s lore and backstories soon

[angrylovelyheart]

physical training, Maxwell Field Army Air Force cadets, August 1942

[tiefling-chaos]

So I am going to show the final designs for my oc of Connie‘s best friend from obsidian lantern’s werewolf series tsuhiko cross the veterinarian in training they are working on their doctorate And their two sisters who went into the family monster hunting business

[levi-venn]

Mirror Squad

An HC I need to get out of my head so I can move on with my life (Hah, jokes on you, Levi, Bad Batch is your life).

So...Hemlock created a mirror image of the Bad Batch called the Mirror Squad, but it's not what you think. Turns out these clones were the ORIGINAL Bad Batch.

Their names: Crunch (Wrecker), Striker (Hunter), Circuit (Tech), Void (Echo/Memento - See Notes), and CX-2 aka Headshot (Crosshair).

Striker and Hunter

Circuit and Tech

Void and Echo

Crunch and Wrecker

Headshot and Crosshair

The Mirror Squad - Origin Story Concept

The Mirror Squad were the first batch of Experimental Unit Clone Commandos created on Kamino: Striker, Crunch, Circuit, Void, and Headshot. They were decommissioned due to their rebellious and unpredictable nature which made them a liability rather than an asset to the future Clone Army.

Because the Experimental Clone Program was an expensive endeavor, the Kaminoans did not decommission these clones, but rather put them in stasis for later research. They tried again another batch of experimental clones and this time only four clones survived: Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, Memento (see note) and Crosshair.

Note: Memento did not survive past his cadet years. Void and Echo's parallel are a coincidence.

When Kamino was evacuated, Hemlock scooped up the original Bad Batch squad, still in stasis within their pods. These clones were the first to be brainwashed and reprogrammed by Hemlock. Although their memories were wiped, their instincts to work as a cohesive unit remained.

Technically, the Bad Batch is a mirror image of what the original Clone Force 99 almost was, but this squad's official name is Mirror Squad.

[hexlenx]

HIHIH OKAYOKAY I GOT TWO MORE REQUESTS FOR NOW IF THAT'S FINE HIHI!!! Starting with first. Same setting with reader being a cold badass lady in the army. Now make it so our lovely count vronsky sees the reader covered in (enemy)blood/on the field if that makes sense, possibly in a snowy setting. No pressure though, i completely understand if you're not comfortable with writing about blood and stuff like that!! Thankyousomuchforthefirstononceagain

A/N: OMG I FEEL LIKE WE'RE MAKING A SERIES TOGETHER XJDNSNSN! Thank you so much for giving me a lot of your ideas, it's so good and I'm glad you trust me with making it come true through writing! I'm gonna add a idea in between so I hope you don't mind. I am completely comfortable with blood and anything gore! I'm a little dark romance kinnie so it's fine! And you're welcome!

A LITTLE BLOOD IN ROMANCE — alexei vronsky

Part two of Point your Sword at me.

note: I do not own count vronsky 'cuz I would be too lucky to have this man in my life. And it's a little short

warnings!: gore, blood, violence!

__________________

The cries and groans of the soldiers in the battle could be heard all around the snowy field. There was an ambush led by the enemy in one of the country's borders. Luckily, you were there to lead your soldiers in the sudden battle, but unluckily for you, you were outnumbered.

You were trying to push the enemy forces out of the border's as there was a small village close to it. You didn't want anymore innocents to die. No matter how cold blooded you were in battle, people who have no part in the war do not deserve such an end.

A loud cry made you pause in your fight as you looked at the direction where that source came from. It was a small male child crying for his mother who got murdered in cold blood right in front of him. It made you angry, disgusted towards the enemy, and disappointed in yourself for letting such thing happen to a child in such a young age. You promised yourself that if you had a chance to change that for one's child's life, you would do so in a heartbeat.

And when that moment came, you didn't.

And that made you see red.

Vronsky was running as fast as he could as he rode his horse, Frou-Frou, towards the battle you were in. Not even bothering to grab a coat for the cold winter. He might not admit it to many people but he was worried about your safety. He knew you could take care of yourself, you were a general for god's sake! But he couldn't help it.

Yelling out an order to the cadets behind him he began speeding up as he heard the battle from a distance, it made his adrenaline go higher. His mind running into negative outlooks as he didn't seem to notice the lack of battle around him the moment he arrived on the location.

The moment he saw you, everything went silent.

Snowflakes dropping down in the air around the both of you that if it weren't for the setting in hand, it would have been romantic.

There wasn't a single battle around you, only multiple mutilated bodies from the cuts of your sword and the bullets of your gun. The battle was done and all that stood there was you.

You breathing heavily as you stood over the middle where you just fought probably a fourth of the enemy's forces. Sweat as well as blood mixing on your skin and clothes. You looked like you just came back from a battle, which you did.

A blank look was on your face as you continued to stare down at the place where the mother-son duo had died. During your battle, the child had died next to his mother when you were focused on killing the men around you. If you weren't blinded by anger earlier, now you were blinded by pure bloodlust.

Vronsky hurriedly ran towards you, his hands hold your arms as he checked over your form, trying to see if there were any wounds on you. There wasn't any sign of a wound on the cuts of your uniform which made him sigh in relief, but paused as he realized you killed all these men alone.

An a familiar ache appeared on his abdomen but he chose to ignore it as it is not the time. Ignoring all the blood on you he immediately put you in his embrace.

This made you snap out of your daze as tears prickled in your eyes but you didn't let it fall. He was warm, very warm and it gave you a sense of security. This made you unconsciously snuggle more into his form.

Vronsky held you delicately as if he didn't want to break you, while this may irritate you if it were someone else. For some reason, when it was him, you let it happen. You were growing soft on him or perhaps you were already soft towards him since the beginning.

"Let go of me, I'm covered in blood." You muttered towards him as he only hummed before responding.

"A little blood wouldn't hurt if I get to hold you like this."

[fanaticsnail]

The Spear and the Sword

Masterlist Here.

Word Count: 3,807

This is the final fic for the year, a wonderful prompt given by an anon months ago. Thank you to @since-im-already-here for beta reading and correcting grammar. If there's any issue, know my sister is to blame, folks.

@gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @vespidphoenix happy new year!

Warning: blood, gore, flirtatious dialogue, mutual pining, playfulness in battle, enemies to lovers, warlord reader, fluff, Mihawk x female!reader.

I said I'd get it done before the new year. Happy New Years Eve to my fellow Aussies!

This was too much. This was far too much. This was far too much for lord Dracule Mihawk to fend off alone. His great sword Yoru was spattered with the blood of several foes, each impact meeting his blade creating more lethargy in the broody sword master of the seas. His title of “worlds greatest” was hanging in the balance as more enemies approached him with more fervour than ever before.

“Garp,” Mihawk growled into his den-den-mushi earpiece, “you said there would be a few hundred. This is in the upwards of a couple thousand. What is going on back there?” Static and groans of battle were met within the earpiece in return, huffs of gruff breath and thumps of fists coinciding within the ferocious melody.

“It was all I was aware of, Mihawk,” Garp growled once the battle was silenced in the background of the call, “my marines are barely holding up on this end. The other warlords are occupied, I’ve got none to spare you.” Mihawk almost met with a single shot from a bullet, weaving away with a dance-like twirl to dodge the metallic, circular object. He swiped his lengthy blade within the air and kicked back the individual who shot at him, his torso falling to impale themselves against a fence post as a result of the blow.

The town he was tasked to protect, a marine base home to several prominent family members within the world government; alongside the sick, weak, young, and elderly, were currently engaged in a war-like battle with pillagers and pirates from the four corners of the north, east, south and west blues. This army was accumulated under a foreign flag, their jolly roger unfamiliar to both marines and warlords alike. Mihawk had been fighting at the front line alone, his ship destroyed under the destruction of war: his traveling vintages of fine wines claimed by the seas.

As another made his approach, Mihawk huffed out an exhausted and frustrated breath while continuing to swipe to relinquish the foes and meet them with the sharpened edge of his blade.

“Mihawk,” Garp interrupted his flow of battle with his voice cutting through the air within his snail earpiece, “we might have someone available. You’ve worked with her before, a warlord like you. She’s on her way.”

“Boa?” Mihawk asked while placing his fingertip to the shell of the earpiece, “I thought you said she’s on the other side of the north blue right now.” Garp growled at one of his underlings, directing them in some nonsensical way that Mihawk couldn’t quite register.

“No, not Boa,” Garp replied, panting into the earpiece with exhaustion overcoming himself. More clangs, clashes and thumps were heard within the earpiece, Mihawk turning to continue forcing the pillagers back to the shore of the beach.

“No,” Mihawk uttered firmly into the earpiece, “anyone but her. Give me cadets, give me your least valuable soldiers, give me prisoners. Literally anyone else-.”

“I don’t have anyone else!” Garp roared into the earpiece, prompting Mihawk to flinch away from it while furrowing his brows in anger. Both men managed to calm themselves down, Mihawk taking a moment to silence his rage by taking a few deep breaths.

“Put your former grievances and your ego aside, warlord,” Garp ordered within the earpiece, “she’s what we have, and she’s perfect. World’s greatest weapons-master, in fact.”

“I’m aware of that,” Mihawk murmured through his clenched teeth, his teeth grinding as he bit back his lackluster words, “she’s violent, impulsive, ferocious, messy. She’s feral and she’s the bane of my existence.”

“Have you even spoken to her?” Garp questioned, a small humorless laugh falling through his widened grimace, “she’s exactly what we need, Mihawk. You do this, and I’ll let you off the tether to tend your farms, sharpen your sword – or even sheathe it for an entire year.” Mihawk narrowed his eyes, huffing out a frustrated breath and brandishing his sword out to the side in preparation for another recuperated attack from the approaching armada.

“How soon will she be here?” Mihawk asked, his beard protruding while snarling with his upper lip drawing back.

“She’s already on the other side of the war line,” Garp confirmed with him, a final slam of iron-barred doors echoing within the background of the ship, “I’ll patch her through now.”

-

You tilted your head down, looking up at the coastline full of ships approaching the marine-base through your lengthy eyelashes. You drew back your playful smirk, allowing the elevation of your heartbeat to begin to work itself to frenzy within your ribcage. You were known far and wide for your battle-ready ferocity; allowing your rage to take over your emotions within the thralls of battle to relinquish many a foe.

Combat mastery began at a young age; bare knuckle boxing in gladiator cage-matches being one of the first types of combat you overtook the championship of in your youth. After boxing and grappling, you moved on to wielding large hammers and battle axes, enjoying the weight within your fists as you crushed skulls and decapitated limbs. After heftier weapons, you opted to train under the mentorship of a superior fighter. They taught you to throw the spear and reclaim it swiftly, giving you pointers to always meet your target with the piercing tip of the bladed end.

You were nothing, coming from nothing. No family to speak of, you traveled the continents, claiming title after title of world's greatest weapon-master with ease. The only one you were yet to best was the current reigning lord of Kuraigana, his title of World’s Greatest Swordsman continuing to badge itself against his bare chest with pride. Arrogant prick was the first thought that sprung to mind regarding the nature of his aura. You had seen posters, articles and even catalogs regarding his training history and weapons mastery.

As your status was elevated to warlord, the world government approached you for protection against several foes and to take on contracts they would rather not involve themselves with, you accepted under two conditions: they allow you to handle matters in your own way, being the first. Your own way, being: “I will get this done, regardless of the mess, and you will clean it up after I’m done with it.”

The other condition is you were to be given absolutely all the information available to you regarding the contracts: no children, no women: no innocents. Those were your rules. You didn’t care how feral the children were, nor how arrogant and uptight the women were. If they were innocent, you refused to do harm to them, or unleash your wrath onto the world government themselves. There were absolutely no qualms to your requests, printed in bold atop your profile.  

Vice-Admiral Garp had no quarry with your methods, usually placing a den-den-mushi somewhere about within the battlefield to watch your barbaric tirades on the field in awe at your ferocity. 

That was how Mihawk knew of your battle prowess, your pictures almost always covered in some form of dirt, mud and blood within the heat of battle. He absolutely despised mess, but was always held captive to your almost beckoning and sultry gaze as you removed your spearhead from another foe. And you knew him in a similar likeness, his images always clean-cut with not a splash of battle worn on him. Given the call you just received from Garp, you were quivering in anticipation to remedy such a plight from him.

“I’m going to patch you through now, Weaponsmaster,” Garp’s lilted brogue uttered into the den-den-mushi within your ear. His voice almost was quivering itself in anticipation of witnessing the carnage you were about to unleash against the armada as far as the naked eye could see.

“Thank you, Vice-Admiral,” you sang in an almost sultry tone within the earpiece, “I know you’ll be watching closely.”

“Aye, I will be lass,” Garp’s voice laughed into the earpiece. You were very well aware of how fond the older gentleman was of watching you work, not minding in the slightest at the attention and preference you got from him.

“Mihawk, you there?” Garp’s voice echoed within the earpiece, prompting you to wince away from his growl slightly.

“I am, Vice-Admiral.” A moment of pause occurred before Mihawk spoke again, “Weapons-master.”

“Sword-master,” you smirked, your voice almost purring at him, “a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

“That I’m sure of,” Mihawk replied in a bored tone. You were slightly taken aback by his standoffish mannerism, your brows furrowing low. He absolutely knew who you were, holding a title as warlord and world’s greatest weapons-master. You rotated your shoulders and clicked your neck to rid yourself of annoyance and prepare yourself for battle.

“Conceited Cunt,” you spat, unaware that the contact was still drawn between the three of you – only becoming aware once Mihawk’s voice relayed back to you, “Feral Filiform.”

“Easy now,” Garp’s voice called over the linked den-den-mushi, “Complete this feat first, then get to your flirting.”

“If you think that’s what flirting looks like,” Mihawk winced into the shell, touching his index finger to the outer shell of the den-den-mushi, “I pity your wife.” You chuckled at his crude comment, almost tangibly feeling the rage pouring off Garp in waves through the den-den-mushi attached to your inner ear.

“Save your insults for the enemy, pirate,” Garp spat into the earpiece. You heard Mihawk hum, prompting you to roll your eyes at the interaction. The ships over the shore began to fall closer to your small vessel - the rise of the tide ushering you into the new thralls of battle. You noticed there were a few hundred ships, all carrying an amassment of crew of various sizes. You once again rolled your shoulders back and pursed your lips. 

Placing your fingertip to secure the shell deeper within your ear, you smirked out a final taunt to the warlord.

“This is what was bothering you? Couldn't you handle the troop all by yourself, swordsman?” You cooed into the voice responder. Silence and static was met within the drum of your ear, a stifled growl also accompanying it. You decided to get in a final jab to taunt him, “I could dispatch the armada by myself. Why don’t you take a break, old man? Sit your pretty little ass down on the beach and sit back to watch the show.”

“I’d like to see you try, barbarian,” Mihawk growled in return. Your ship brushed against the hull of the first ship to the rear of the fleet; your presence immediately making itself known as you housed yourself effortlessly over the railing. You laughed into the earpiece, feeling the rapidity of your heartbeat rising in elevation to frenzy yourself before first contact is made with your many foes.

Your spear was flung through your hands to indent itself against the top mast at the middle of the vessel, skewering several members of the mighty crew onto its pole as meat would dangle from a kebab. You grappled, kicked, flung yourself at the crew; using your hands and their own weapons against them to relinquish them from their life. Once they all fell victim to your battle mastery, you again reached your hand up to the shell-responder.

“I bet my left breastplate I will get to the middle before you, Swordsman,” you taunted him, your legs carrying themselves with haste towards the railing of the ship. You jumped high, the air lifting you and drawing your body down against the next vessel. 

“I bet my waist-belt you absolutely won’t, Wild-Woman,” the swordsman snarled into the earpiece, Yoru circling around and pushing the troops back with one fell swipe. Mihawk’s teeth drew themselves back, enraged at his taunt being met with a small melodic giggle. 

“Oh, this is how we’re playing, is it?” You whispered breathily into the earpiece, your spear clutched within the fist of your dominant hand as you stabbed at the next approaching foe. You giggled again, feeling at home on the battlefield. The life drained from the eyes of the enemy under the tip of your spear; another shipful of foes falling on their knees at your expert ministrations.

“Fine,” you smiled into the earpiece, singsong and humor dripping from your tongue, “I’ll see your belt and raise you my entire breastplate.” Mihawk growled in response. You held your ground, immediately flinging yourself at the next ship. 

Rather than to take on several members of this crew, you shrugged your shoulders and thrust your spear downwards - sinking the vessel below your feet. You sprinted against the ship’s deck as it began to be claimed by the sea water below, ushering you on to the next ship. You threw your spear to the next vessel, embedding the tip into a lit cannon and witnessed the beautiful implosion it made; launching the spear back into your awaiting palm as you jumped onto the next one. The blast sunk the ship it was fired from, the cannonball flinging itself to sink the one laying perpendicular to the vessel. 

Mihawk was not paying attention to your battle mastery, assuming you were still undertaking the first vessel you had docked your ship against and fighting like some untrained and feral marine. He snickered at the thought, himself already aboard his second vessel after pushing back the troop from their approach of the shore. 

“I’m looking forward to claiming your breastplate,” Mihawk’s voice audibly smirked into the earpiece, “to add to the winning pool, I’ll claim that spear too.” A shiver of anticipation shuddered against his spine at the audible growl he managed to pull from your parted lips. Holding your spear more firmly within your hand, you growled back at him. 

“There are several things I doubt you’d be able to do correctly, swordsman. Wielding my spear is the first that springs to mind,” you smirked, watching the bubbling of water rise as another ship sank against your skill, “pleasing a woman is the other.”

In order to remain silent while listening to your quips back and forward to each other, Vice-Admiral Garp clapped his wide palm over his lips to stifle an outrageous and unbridled laugh rising in his chest. Bogard smirked, hearing the commotion from the speaker molded into the desktop den-den-mushi, placing his hat over his eyes to hide his joy. 

“I’ll gladly show you I can on both counts, woman.”

“You can certainly try, warlord”

“I will absolutely succeed, fellow warlord.”

 Garp and Bogard were held on the edge of their seats, watching through binoculars the battle mastery balanced between you both while your quippy dialogue read as commentary to your mighty feats. 

“Fine,” you again smirked into your earpiece, clothes and armor littered with the spilt blood of your enemies while your hair stuck to your face under the salty sea-spray, “If I am to give up my weapon to the cause, I will have something of equal value offered in return.”

“Yoru is not something I would ever part with for something as childish as a-,” Mihawk began, his words halting as you offered your trade.

“-If I win this little coo, you pretentious prick, your pride is coming with me,” you called into the shell attached to your ear. Feeling all the pent up rage and frustration of the respect of your skill not being met in return for your affection, you offered the best solution you could find. 

“If I get to these exact coordinates, all foes falling before me,” you relayed the coordinates, Garp, Bogard and Mihawk hanging on your every utterance, “you will report back to Vice-Admiral Garp donning nothing but your stupid cross-blade, your stupid Yoru and your feathered hat.” The battle paused, the enemies halting their approach with their brows furrowing in almost disgust and awe. You held up a halting hand at them, awaiting a vocal response from Mihawk to your taunt. 

Mihawk’s brows themselves were lowered, his eyes narrowed as he sought you out in the field. He couldn’t find you, couldn’t see a trail of destruction in your wake. He continued to search for you within the crowd, but was still unable. 

“In that complete and utter unlikelihood,” Mihawk began, still craning his neck to seek out your form, “I accept the terms. Prepare to have your spear, your breastplate and my own satisfaction in claiming some semblance of femininity from you while I wield your body effortlessly.”

“And you prepare yourself to be absolutely humbled in response, your pride and ego removed because-,” you smirked, your eyes finally meeting with the yellow hue of the feathered warlord only a few hundred feet away from you, “-I’m nearly there.”

Mihawk’s eyes widened as he witnessed you jump to the next vessel, twirling within the air to throw a small axe into the base of the ship and sinking it by placing a wide hole within its bow. You were, indeed, very close to the coordinates. His widened gaze looked harder, noticing the absence of over half of the wide armada sinking to the bottom of the sea. How had he not noticed it before? Why, in all his stupidity, would he ever agree to this without looking properly first? Clearly, he had underestimated you. Or overestimated his ability to easily outmatch you. 

The elements had changed along with the tide. Your battle-ready ferocity was overcast by an aura of calm playfulness; you giggling into the earpiece as you continued falling foe after foe beneath your spear, fist and axes. In turn, Mihawk was the one to begin to shower himself desperately in the blood of his enemies; curling up his lip at the mess alongside his stupidity at undertaking such a bet. 

“C’mon Hawk, keep up. You’re nearly there. Flap your wings harder,” you’d giggle into the earpiece, uncaring whether blood, sinew or bone showered your body in the baptism of battle. 

“Stop your stupid teeth from gnashing, Hyena. Your taunts mean very little to me,” Mihawk panted, his feet carrying him with more haste as he continued to unblinkingly search for you. 

You giggled again in response, your feet almost carrying themselves closer to the finish line. Your enemies within the armada were fleeing from the utter horror you created, your wolfy grin and playful eyes not matching the energy of the gore befalling your form. Many simply dove overboard, ran to the next ship away from you in their cowardly retreat - only to be met with another approaching warlord with his mighty sword clutched in his dominant hand. 

As Mihawk panted for breath, his adrenaline propelling him to the finish line leaving a trail of destruction in his wake; his steps quivered in his tracks as his gaze met with yours.

You were sitting on a barrel, twirling the twine around your spearhead nonchalantly with a litter of bodies laying at your feet. Your left brow was arched upwards, the knowing smirk plastered against your plush lips as you hummed a tune of victory through your nose. 

“Looks like I’ll get to see what your other sword looks like,” you cooed in a melodic tune, not meeting his gaze and remaining aloof, “you can leave your boots at my feet. I think I might wear your coat home with me, Swordsman.”

“You are disgusting,” Mihawk spat at you, his breath finally catching up with him. He was now left breathless at witnessing your ferocity, the wild shape of your battle-worn eyes holding him hostage with tense emotion. 

“You agreed to the terms, Mihawk. Now it’s time to pay up-,” you uttered darkly, snapping your head over to his form with your eyes narrowed at him.

“-I meant your appearance. So wild, so feral, so-,” his next words caught in his throat as you drew yourself down from your sat position atop the barrel, “-unladylike.” You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes in your approach. Wiping your forehead with the back of your arm, you rid your face of the bone, blood and sinew blocking your view of him. He was a very pretty man, the most beautiful you had seen in a long time. Although slightly taken aback by his clean and uptight appearance, you stood your ground. 

“What would you have me wear then? Silks and satins while I dance amongst the chaos? I think not, lord Dracule Mihawk,” you spat at him, laughing dryly at your own comment. Mihawk sucked in a small breath through his nostrils, wincing at your comment with his lips curled into a snarl. You overemphasized a sigh, placing your spear against your back and stretched your arms to cool down your body. 

“I’ll make you another deal then, Mihawk,” you smirked again up at his towering form, “I’ll go and get cleaned up and don some pretty little dress for you,” you prodded his bare chest with your index finger and traced a pattern against his pectorals, “and you can go and relay the play by play to Vice-Admiral Garp completely starkers, okay?” 

Mihawk growled, eyes looking to your tender touch against his chest and almost again finding himself falling to his knees under your radiant ferocity. He rolled his neck, arched his soldiers back and leaned into your touch. 

“Fine,” he spat in response, gripping your bloodied wrist beneath his palm and curled fingertips, “but it better be something tight and preferably black.” You giggled at his comment, raising your other hand up to his cheek and patting it affectionately with a small utterance. 

“What a good boy you are,” you praised him with another cooing taunt, scrunching up your nose and smiling with your feral eyes, “now take off your boots, coat and pants and run along now. I’ll be all dolled up for you and ready for you at the waterfront tavern. I might even see that your clothes are cleaned, pressed and waiting once you arrive.”

Your comment finally broke him, a warm laugh cracking through his tough exterior and rumbling within his chest to pour from his mustached lips. 

“It’s a shame I lost,” he leant his cheek into your touch, prompting you to furrow your brows in curiosity. He stooped his form lower to you, tickling your face with his playful and breathy whisper, “I would’ve liked to have shown you how well I can please a woman.”

Eyes were either focussed exclusively on the ceiling or marines would simply turn around as the darkened and well seasoned lord of Kuraigana entered the military office building. Holding true to his word, and the promise of good company after his humiliation, he sauntered confidently into Vice-Admiral Garp’s office donning nothing but Yoru strapped to his back, his cross-blade hanging loosely from his neck, and his feathered hat atop his sea-sprayed, curled, dark locks.

[merlincmgirl]

Jealousy - Jango Fett x FReader - NSFW

Summary: When Jango catches his clones looking at you and flirting with you, he decides to remind them that you belong to him. Prime is the one who gets nice things.

Characters: Jango, Fox, Cody, Clone Cadets

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader

Word Count: 5,898

Warnings: biting, marking, oral (male receiving), thigh riding, fingering, spanking, PinV sex, dom Jango, possessive!Jango, mentions of breeding, dirty talk, derogatory terms, Jango does not respect his clones

Author's Note: This was the first fic of this collection that I started writing, and it holds a special place in my heart. It feels so nice to end this with the one and only. He's a bit of an asshole in this, but after everything that Jango has gone through in his life, he's allowed to have some issues.

Translations:

Manda - the state of being Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit

ner mesh'la riddur - my beautiful spouse

riddur - spouse

Jango wasn’t blind. He was very aware of his clones and how they seemed to revolve around you wherever you went. A part of him was amused as he watched his carbon copies fawn over you. His love for you must be engrained into his DNA, a part of him just like his limbs or his sense of manda. He had loved you for years, way before he had been offered this role by Tyrannus, and he was pleased that you had accepted his offer to follow him to Kamino to build an army of clones for the Republic.

Another part of him hated it. It caused something dark and ugly to curl underneath his breast bone every time one of his clones looked at you in a way that you only received from him. Their eyes followed you when you walked by, they offered you help even when you were doing nothing. He had even seen one of his copies blush heavily at making you laugh and had to be caught by his batch mates when you had left. Jango had made sure that the clone was doing suicide runs around the whole of the Kamino base. Twice.

No. If he had his way, you wouldn’t interact with them at all. He’d keep you well away from their leering looks and pathetic flirtation attempts. Keep you in your private quarters, round with child and being doted on by him. But he was powerless to say no to you, especially when you complained of being bored whenever Boba was sent to his classes and he was training the clones along with the Cuy’val Dar. So he had agreed to allow you to help, mostly becoming an ambassador between himself and the long necks. He hated dealing with them, and you normally had the grace and patience to do so in his stead.

So as he watched his clones – from one of the Commander batches he was sure – speak with you in the hangar, he couldn’t help but clench his fist and feel a tight, burning feeling in his chest. You were smiling at whatever Kote and Fox were saying, and they were returning your kindness in full force. He was sure that Fox was leaning in closer to you.

“CC-2224, CC-1010, why are you not in your classes? I didn’t realise that Alpha-17 allowed his men to slack off whenever they felt like it” Jango’s voice boomed in the hangar. The two clones in front of you stiffened and quickly fell into attention and saluted to him. Guilt swirled in you, not wanting the troopers to get into trouble because of something you did.

“Jango, I was just asking them to help carry the deliveries I received to our rooms. It’s my fault they were running late” you excused, smiling softly at your riddur.

Jango didn’t say anything, but kept his eyes trained on his clones in front of him. Neither had relaxed their position, their obedience engrained and trained into them. Their eyes were fixed at a point over his shoulder as he stepped closer towards you. Even after all these years with you, he still savoured the way you relaxed into him as soon as he was close enough to do so. It was like you found safety only in his arms. Resting a hand on your lower stomach, he tugged you slightly against his front. Your ass pressed into the curve of his hip.

Letting out a little gasp, you couldn’t help but blush at Jango’s touch. He was normally quite reserved when you two were in company, preferring to not highlight his weakness to others. Wanting to keep you away from any harm or danger. Your noise didn’t go unheard, because you could see both troopers cheeks start turning red.

“Then what are you still doing here, troopers? You have your orders” Jango demanded, hard gaze boring into them.

“Yes, Prime, Sir!” they both chorused, refusing to look at either you or Jango. Instantly the two troopers in front of your snapped into movement, it was like they had suddenly been released from something that had kept them frozen and paralysed to the spot. Straight away they began to move to the crates that held your supplies and deliveries that had been imported from around the galaxy.

Sighing at your husband’s heavy and stern touch with the troopers, you shook your head and stepped away from him. “Kote, Fox, thank you for helping me with them. It’s very much appreciated, I’ll be sure to inform Alpha-17 of how helpful his men are and why they were late” I said, sending them a small thankful smile.

“Of course ma’am” Kote nodded, before almost shoving his brother and his crate out of the door in front of him.

“You don’t have to be soft with them” Jango stated, hooking a finger into your belt and dragging you back towards him.

Stumbling slightly as you landed against his front, you turned in his arms, sliding your hands over his chest plate and around his neck, your fingers instantly becoming entwined into the small curls at the back of his neck. “And you don’t have to be so hard on them, my love” you reminded, heart aching at the training that the clones had to go through. Seeing his mouth open to defend the training and cloning process once more, you placed your hand over his mouth, sighing softly. “I know, they’re trained soldiers meant for the Republic. I don’t want to argue with you about this again” you said softly, resting your forehead against his.

Jango slid his arms around your waist, tugging you even closer to him as you shared a Kedable kiss with him, sharing your breaths with him, the life that flowed through you and into him. He couldn’t help but want to bring you even closer, to feel your skin pressed against his, to hear your moans and gasps echo in his ears as he took such good care of you. Running a hand up the span of your back, he allowed himself to feel your warmth as he nuzzled his nose into yours. Reaching it’s target destination, his hand gripped the back of your neck, tilting your head up to meet his in a soft, barely there teasing kiss.

“You know, riddur, those clones see you as their savoir. You’re the one that they turn and watch whenever you walk by. The one that they all clamber to get even a moment of your attention” Jango whispered, laying gentle kisses from the corner of your lips, across your jaw and to the sensitive spot just underneath your ear. He enjoyed the way you shivered at the feel of his hot breath against you, sending goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“It’s because I’m one of the only women of their species on this planet” you rolled your eyes, dismissing his words. The clones had never interacted with a woman outside of their trainers, it was only natural they would want to speak with you and be close to you.

He hummed out a negative, shaking his head slightly, causing your jaw to tingle at the feel of his stubble brushing against you. “Because you’re part of me, loving you is written into my DNA” he breathed, amused at the shiver that ran through you at the feel of his warm breath caressing your ear.

You were momentarily stunned by his words, surprised at their softness. Your breath caught in your throat and you felt your heart pound a little harder as you gripped onto his chest plate tighter, not wanting to let go.

“But you’re mine, they don’t get to have you” he claimed, the hand on the back of your neck tightening once more as his other came up to cup your throat. Jango didn’t squeeze, just rested it there as he guided your face up to his, looking in your eyes as they dilated slightly with the desire he was building inside of you.

Mouth suddenly going dry at his words, you could only nod and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him even closer to you. It wasn’t a secret that Jango was mostly indifferent to his clones, if not actively thought of them as canon fodder, but he had never been outright jealous of them before. You had only been talking with Kote and Fox briefly, what had brought this on?

“What do they call me, riddur?” he purred against your neck, laying kisses along the delicate skin as he kept the pressure light.

He was teasing you, drawing this out longer than he normally would. You knew that he was going to make you beg for him, he seemed in that kind of mood today. What had happened between this morning where he had kissed you and Boba goodbye at breakfast to now? The thought quickly fled your brain as you felt a warning squeeze around your throat. Oh, he wanted an answer.

“Prime, they call you Prime” you murmured, voice shaking slightly as you tried to find the words he wanted.

“That’s right, I’m Prime. The original, the first one, the most important” he confirmed, teeth beginning to graze against the hollow of your throat.

“Jango, you have nothing to prove – to anyone – least of all me” you reminded, tilting your head back slightly to give him more room. He was starting to become firmer in his kisses, working marks and bruises on your neck that you would display with pride. Carding a hand through his curls to try and soothe the agitation in him, you gasped as he nipped at your skin.

“Oh ner mesh’la riddur, I’m not proving anything, just giving them a little reminder” he smirked, pulling back to admire the bruises that was already starting to blossom on your neck.

The intoxicating atmosphere between you two was cut short however, as the door pinged, signalling it was opening. Stiffening, you went to step away from Jango, to a more respectable distance before his arms gripped tightly to your waist, keeping you pinned against his front. There was no hope of breaking his hold, it felt like durasteel was wrapped around you.

Blushing heavily at being caught in a compromising position, you risked a glance up to see who had disturbed you. It was Kote and Fox. No doubt coming back to collect the rest of the crates that was in the hangar. They stopped, eyes widening as they spotted you and Jango.

“2224, 1010, you will stand outside and keep watch” Jango ordered sharply, eyes catching the slight tinge of rouge on their cheeks at his words and the implications of them. Satisfied that this would no doubt spread through the ranks of the clones once he was finished with you, he dismissed them with a nod to the door.

You however, had never felt so exposed, like all your nerve endings were on fire at what Jango wanted to do. Embarrassment warred with the want to also have him fuck you for everyone to see and hear. You weren’t a stranger to the looks that Jango accumulated when he walked around the base from some in the Cuy’val Dar. This would no doubt spread like wild fire among everyone. You felt pride curl up in your chest at the thought that everyone would know just how much Jango adored you and wanted you, enough to not even wait to get back to your quarters it would seem.

As the door shut behind them, Jango scooped you up into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you over to the crate nearest said doors. You groaned at the feel of his codpiece pressing into the apex of your thighs, rubbing against you with every step that he took. He settled you back on your feet and you couldn’t help but raise a judgemental eyebrow at him. Did he think he was bring subtle? Bringing you close to the door so everyone could hear.

“Strip, I don’t think you’d want me to rip your pretty clothes when the time comes to walk back to our rooms” he instructed, tugging on the neckline of your shirt.

“Didn’t think you would mind, riddur. I half expected you to want to carry me through the halls naked” you scoffed, shaking your head at him affectionately as you began to pull your shirt up over your head. As you threw it off, a hand snapped up to grip your jaw firmly, pressure making your lips part and a small whine to escape at the rough hold. Heat raced through you at that, and you weren’t surprised to feel your cheeks redden a little more.

“If I wanted everyone to see what you looked like, I would have told them to stay and watch as you screamed on my cock. But only I get to see that. Not those lab rats” he spat out, eyes heated as he stared down into your own.

Taking in a shaky breath, you nodded your understanding as heat flooded through you. Clenching your thighs to ease the pressure that was building behind your clit, your hands began to reach for your flight pants and shove them down over your hips until they pooled on the floor at your feet. Stepping out of them and your boots, you flicked them away from you, not bothering to look as you kept your eyes on your riddur.

“Good girl, you look so beautiful, my perfect riddur” he praised, hand coming up to your back to undo the chest band that kept your breasts hidden from view.

Instantly the cold air in the hangar hit your form, your nipples already pebbling and hardening under the cool and windy weather of Kamino. Stifling a moan at the feel of them hardening, you bit your lip and widened your legs a little.

Jango’s hand came up to tweak at your nipple, enjoying the pained gasp that you let out at his touch. He couldn’t get enough of your breasts, could imagine them swelling up and filling with milk when you decided to give him another child. The thought had him hardening even further in his compression suit and his codpiece was becoming even more uncomfortable.

“Go on, mesh’la, get me nice and ready to fuck your needy little hole” he ordered, hands coming to your shoulder to push you onto your knees in front of him.

Unable to help the moan that escaped you as you were trapped between his broad, strong body and the crate at your back, you spread your thighs as you got down onto your knees in front of him. With a lot of practice, you deftly undid the codpiece, dropping it to the side of you with a quiet thud of metal against metal.

You could see the bulge pressing against his compression suit and couldn’t help yourself as you pressed a soft kiss against the straining fabric.

“Fuck! Sweetheart! You’re going to kill me” he groaned, fingers trailing up from your shoulders to your neck.

Giggling softly at the tickling sensation, you worked to undo his pants, pushing them down off his hips enough for his cock to spring up. His cock was fully hard, already leaking pre-cum from the tip. He was a nice size and thick, you knew you would be feeling him tomorrow.

He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly and letting out a muffled moan. “Open up, sweetheart” he instructed, hooking his thumb into your mouth to guide it open. Your hands clenched on your thighs, as you felt your pussy clench around nothing. God you couldn’t wait to take him into your mouth, to taste him as he pushed in with every roll of his hips.

Keeping your teeth out of the way, and your tongue out, Jango tapped the head of his cock onto your tongue before pushing into your mouth. The musky, salty taste of him had you moaning, legs spreading just a bit wider as he pushed himself even further into your mouth. You breathed through your nose, keeping your breathing calm as you lathed the underside of his cock with your tongue.

“Good girl, your mouth feels so good. So perfect around my cock” he grunted, hand coming to slide into your hair and tugging slightly on the strands.

As you got used to the feel of him once more pressed inside of you, resting in your mouth, you gave his thigh two taps with your fingers. The sign between you that he could continue.

“Stay there” he muttered, fingers carding through your hair before he tightened his grip on them. You nodded, knowing what he wanted and relaxing your throat muscles even further. He kept a reassuring hand on your cheek as he pushed even further into your mouth until your nose was pressed to the wiry, course hair at the bottom of his cock. “Ohh, good girl, taking all of me in your throat. Just relax, I’ll let you breathe in a second” he groaned, feeling the muscles spasm around his cock for a moment before you relaxed, breathing through your nose and sending fluttering tingles around his base.

Your hands gripped onto his sturdy thighs, eyes watering as you kept him in your mouth and waited for him to move. He was heavy in your mouth, leaving you no room to move or do anything but accept him. Squeezing your eyes shut, you whined as you fought against the urge to push him away or move.

Finally, he pulled out, just enough for you to suck air into your lungs before he thrust back in sharply, keeping that tight grip on your hair. He began fucking your face in earnest, the soft, gagging sounds as he hit the back of your throat rung in the empty room. You dug your nails into the back of his thighs, pulling him even closer to you. You wanted as much as him in your mouth as he possibly could.

“Fuck, what a little whore you are, mesh’la. Even with my whole cock in your mouth, it’s still not enough, you still need more” he taunted, brushing a tear off your cheek as he looked down at your flushed face. He took in how your mouth was stretched around his thick cock, how your cheeks were red from your tears and the lust flowing through you. Your eyes were all glazed and glassy as he fucked every thought out of your head.

You tried to moan your agreement but all it came out as was muffled and hidden behind the rough slap of his balls against your chin. You wanted to cry at the feel of arousal that slid from your clenching opening. Unable to resist, you slipped your hand between your thighs and into your panties.

However, it seemed like he had a sixth sense when it came to you, Jango knew exactly what you were trying to do because he flicked your hand away with a low growl; stepping even further into your spread legs and nudging them even wider so that you got no relief from the pressure that was building in your core.

“You only cum on my fingers, on my cock. What a little slut you are, getting wet and desperate just from your riddur fucking your mouth” he snapped, tugging harshly on your hair and making you cry out around his cock. He gave a few more rough rolls of his hips before he was dragging you off his cock, leaving you gasping and trying to work as much air into your lungs as possible. Thick lines of saliva connected your mouth to his cock before Jango broke them.

Hands lifted you up and settled you against him. He brushed your sweaty, strands of hair away from your face and wiped away your tears. “Shh, you did so well for me mesh’la. Taking my cock into your wonderful mouth” he cooed, shushing your unsteady breaths and kissing your cheeks. “But I’m not finished with you yet” he smirked, twisting you both around until he was sitting down on the edge of the crate behind you.

You moaned loudly as he dragged your form up his thigh plate, the ridged metal was cool against your heated skin and pressed just right between your folds and against your clit. “Jango!” you pleaded, closing your eyes as you rested against his chest.

“I know, I know riddur. I want you to ride my thigh, want you to cum on it so that everyone can see your release dripping down the metal” he chuckled mockingly, cupping your cheeks to bring you in for a passionate kiss. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your cries as you began to rock your hips against his thigh plate. He took over all of your senses as you blossomed under his touch and kisses, letting him stoke the fire that was already building inside of you.

The groove of his thigh plate pressed perfectly against your folds, but the smoothness of the metal restricted what friction you could get from it. It was maddening, each movement of your hips enough to build you up to your peak but never threw you over it.

From the smirk on his face as he watched you ride his thigh, Jango knew. The bastard!

“Come on, mesh’la, want to see you cum for me and then I promise I’ll fuck you so good, everyone on this planet will know you’re mine” he swore, sliding his fingers up your thighs and teasingly reaching the apex of your thighs before pulling away. He chuckled at your growl of frustration.

“Jango! Please!” you whined, uncaring about how loud you were being now, or the clones outside the door. You just wanted to cum, feel the pleasure rush through you as Jango kept touching you.

“My poor riddur, is this not enough? Do you need more?” he murmured mockingly sweet, laying kisses along your collarbone, his stubble scratching deliciously against you. He grazed his teeth against the thin skin before sinking his teeth into you, making sure to leave a mark that others would see later.

“Yes! Please Jango! You know I do, please!” you cried, rolling your hips against the groove, anything to provide you some kind of stimulation to send you over the edge.

He sighed heavily, seemingly put out that you weren’t following his demands. “Very well, mesh’la, I suppose I could help you” he smirked, hands coming to land on your hips and raising you up. He shushed your tired whines before gathering the slick that was covering your thighs and his cuisse plate. “You’re soaking, riddur. All this from just sucking cock and riding my thigh. What a sweet little whore you are for me. I think you deserve a reward” he purred filthily into your ear.

You shivered from the warm breath that caressed your sensitive skin and the way he was pressed against you. Before you could reply however, Jango had pushed in two of his thick fingers into your dripping cunt. Finally being filled and stretched around him had you clenching down around his fingers, hips rocking forward as you let out a loud moan.

That was exactly what you needed as you began to ride his fingers, desperate to get to the edge of completion that he had you teetering on moments ago. As he curled them just right, searching for that spot inside of you that made your brain short circuit, you raised your hips higher, slamming them down on his hand with a loud squelching noise. Any other time you’d be embarrassed about how wet you were for this man, but the way Jango was playing you and your body had you crying out for more.

The coil in your stomach was tightening as you felt your cunt clench even tighter around the fingers inside of you.

“Good girl, can feel you cyar’ika… so tight. Gonna be a good girl for me and cum?” he groaned, thumb beginning to circle your swollen bud of nerves, pushing you closer and closer to your peak. You nodded, squeezing and digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Then cum for me!”

You shattered around him, a loud cry of his name echoing around the hangar as you shook, collapsing against his chest as you both panted heavily. You could feel his hard length press against your stomach as you tried to find words to assure him you would take care of him just as soon as you regained the use of your limbs.

“Perfect for me, ner mesh’la riddur” he whispered in Mando’a, affection laced in his voice. He ran a soothing hand up and down your back, waiting for you to settle once more.

He pulled his fingers out, kissing your cheeks as he did so. When you pulled back to look at him, he kept his gaze on yours before slipping his fingers into his mouth. The moan he let out had you clenching your thighs around his, mouth falling open at just how hot he looked in this moment. Bronzed skin shiny with a light layer of sweat, dark curls beginning to stick to his temples as he sucked your release off his fingers. He ran his tongue through the gap, making sure to put on a show for you, showing just how much he loved the taste of you.

Chuckling, he lifted you up off him and turned you both around until he had you bent over the crate that you two had been leaning on. He let out an appreciative noise as he viewed your ass, squeezing your cheeks and pulling them apart.

You whimpered, feeling even more heat rush to your face at the thought of being so on display for him. Jango had seen every part of you, tasted and touched every inch of you but it still embarrassed you at how much he enjoyed taking you in.

“As delicious as you are, riddur. I can’t wait to fuck you. Want everyone to know just how well I can fuck you. They might be my clones but only I get to have you” he growled, leaning forward to press kisses up your spine before sucking a bruise onto the back of your neck. When he was satisfied at how you writhed beneath him, he pulled back but not before giving you a hard spank that landed solidly against your cheek.

The flare of pain only heightened your pleasure as you groaned, pushing your hips back to seek his.

“When I get you back to our rooms, I’m going to eat you out for hours. Gonna make you cum so many times on my face, I won’t ever forget the taste of you” he promised, running his fingers through your folds before spreading your arousal onto his cock.

“Jango, come on! Need you inside me, please” you urged him, wiggling your hips to try and entice him to fuck you.

But Jango was a stubborn bastard and all he did was chuckle, holding his cock and pushing the tip through your folds and against your clit. “You can beg sweeter than that” he murmured, hearing you groan in frustration at that.

And yes, Jango may know how to tease you and work you up into madness, but you knew all his tricks as well. And you weren’t against using them against him.

“Please riddur, my strong, brave husband. Let everyone know that I’m yours” you pleaded, biting your lip as you pushed back enough to feel him nudge against your clit once more. “Please… want you to fuck me” you whimpered, feeling the flare of heat flood through you at that.

Jango let out a loud primal snarl before he was thrusting into you in one smooth motion, holding you still as you let out a loud cry, fingers digging into the crate beneath you.

“That what you wanted? Huh, mesh’la? Want to feel me inside you, stretching out this sweet little cunt?” he hissed, gritting his teeth at the feel of your hot, tight walls squeezing and spasming around him as you got used to his cock. His hands landed on your hips, keeping you both still until you were both ready for him to move.

“Fuck! Can feel you in my throat!” you gasped, widening your legs slightly before moaning as he sunk deeper into you. “Jango!” you shouted, reaching back to cover his hand with your own. He entwined your fingers, rubbing small circles with the other one into your hip. Nodding, you tapped out your signal to go and that was all it took for Jango to fuck the life out of you.

He pulled back, cock dragging along your walls before slamming back into you, forcing the air out of your lungs as you scrambled to keep hold of the crate. His sharp thrust sent you further along the rough surface, his animalistic grunts filling the room along with the wet noise as your cunt welcomed him back in with every thrust.

Thoughts of keeping quiet fled your brain, all you could think about was Jango and how good he felt as he pinned you down and fucked you.

It felt like he was carving a place for himself inside of you, stretching and filling you in ways that you didn’t think you would ever become used to. Slick flooded around him, and you buried your face into the crook of your arm, unable to stop the loud moans and cries falling from your lips.

“So good, you’re gushing mesh’la. Is this what you needed? A nice, hard fuck to remind you that you’re mine. That you’re my riddur, my love” he chuckled filthily, hand travelling up your spine and to the nape of your neck. He squeezed it slightly, keeping you bent over for him as he railed into you.

He loved you like this, able to see your ass bounce around his cock. The sounds you let out was driving him closer to his own completion, the soft cries and moans of his name enough to have his balls tightening. He groaned against your back leaving a deceptively soft kiss to your shoulder compared to the harsh thrusts of his cock inside of you.

“That’s it, mesh’la. This little cunt was made for me. Who else could fuck you like this, huh?” he snarled, snapping his hips into yours. He didn’t give you a chance to reply, pulling you off the crate and to the floor. Arranging you on your knees, he tugged your hips back and slammed back into you, sending you wailing into the air as you threw your head back. His cock sinking deeper into you with this new position, balls hitting your clit as he fucked you into the floor.

A loud smack filled the air as he spanked your ass.

“I asked you a question!”

“You! Only you! Oh!”

“That’s right, riddur. Only me, only I can see you like this, only I can make you feel this good” he growled, reaching around your front to rub at your clit.

Unable to help it, your legs shook from the waves of pleasure that was washing over you, body quivering as Jango tilted his hips slightly to hit you at a different angle. Just as you were about to shatter around him, pushed over the edge, he pulled his fingers away from your bundle of nerves.

“Nooo! Jango, please! Please!” you begged, almost sobbing as he denied you your release.

“You’re mine!” he snarled out, squeezing your hips so hard you were sure they would be bruised tomorrow.

You nodded, words getting caught in your throat as he thrust harder into you. It felt like he was staking his claim over you, not allowing you or anyone close by to forget that.

It seemed your silence wasn’t what he wanted though, as he tangled his hand in your hair and pulled up sharply, arching your back and making you cry out, hips pushed even more into his rolling ones.

“Say it riddur!” he ordered, pinching your nipple, “say it and then you can cum.”

“I’m yours” you screamed out, not caring about who heard just as long as you could cum.

“Good girl, my good, sweet girl” he praised, hand coming down to rub at your clit.

You couldn’t stop the cry of his name as you came around his cock, clenching and squeezing him as you were forced over the edge, pleasure wracking through your trembling body. Jango couldn’t stop as his hips stuttered, thrusting two, three more times before he released his load inside of you, your name tumbling loudly from his lips.

Jango tried not to collapse on top of you, instead angling his body to the side and pulling you into his arms. The cold durasteel floor wasn’t comfortable, and he tugged you onto his chest so that you were a bit warmer and cosier against him.

Once your breaths had calmed down, and you were nuzzled into the crook of Jango’s neck, you let out a little giggle. “You didn’t even undress” you reminded him, smiling into the sweaty skin beneath you.

“Sorry, mesh’la. I promise you can undress me as much as you want when we get back to our rooms” he chuckled, wrapping his arms even tighter around you.

“Good, but I think I need a shower. I’m starting to feel sticky” you grimaced, feeling his softened cock slip out of you and his release trickle down. You pushed yourself up from his chest, taking a look at the beautiful man beneath your hands. However, Jango couldn’t hide the smug look from you. Whacking his chest you glared playfully at him. “You’re not the one that’s going to be dripping all the way back” you grouched, shaking your head at him.

“Oh mesh’la, don’t talk like that, you’ll make me want to start round 2” he smirked, tugging you back down to his chest.

“No way! You’re going to carry me back to our rooms. I don’t think my legs are going to work after that” you told him, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Of course, riddur” he agreed readily, eager to have you in his arms.

Frowning, you cupped his cheek, looking down into his beautiful chestnut eyes. “You know you’re the only man for me, right? No matter if these men share your face, they never will be you” you reminded him softly, wanting to reassure him after all this.

“I know love, I know. I’ve never doubted you” he assured, cupping your face and bringing your foreheads together. He took in a few deep breaths, committing you to his memory once more before pulling away with a small smile. “Now, lets get you dressed. I believe we should have the next hour or so to ourselves” he grinned, pinching your side and laughing at your squeal of surprise.

“Good! Now go and dismiss those troopers! I want my riddur all to myself” you ordered, reaching for your discarded clothes. His laughter warmed the cool room as he went to do what he was told.