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#commander hotshot (oc)
thefriendlyfour · 7 months
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FOWL agents near and far (redbubble)
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thecodyagenda · 2 years
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new clone oc, commander hotshot
(she/they)
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multi-fan-dom-madness · 7 months
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Yeeeeeeess
Nav: 👗🌼💌🦸‍♀️🥘🍁
And for a little treat:
Clone Boys: 👀
I have asked so much but I need to knooowwww
Take your time, Ily 🌙🔮
ahhh yessss thank you so much, Hex, for asking all of these wonderful questions. answers below the cut because this got away from me 😂😅
Nav:
👗 Describe their style
when they worked on Coruscant before joining the GAR, they 100% rocked the thrifted light academia aesthetic, but it never fully fit their personality.
on the run from the Empire, and just in everyday life, they are much more prone to utilitarian, functional garments in neutral tones. sleeveless tunic belted over utility pants, with steel-toed boots and their trusty backpack. they steal one of Hunter's old bandanas and tie it around their bicep; Hunter loves it. and of course once they settle on Pabu, they start wearing more tank tops and shorts, soft-bottom shoes, a shark-tooth necklace that Omega crafts.
used to have long hair, but cut it really short when they joined the GAR and just never grew it out again.
they also have a single tattoo, a complementary pair to one that Arien had, on their ribs: a deadly cactus flower native to Iridonia. (Arien's was a sketch of Umate, the mountain peak on Coruscant.)
🌼 Assign them an aesthetic
alright take all of the above and now consider: space grunge
💌 How would they react to a love letter?
sorry my first thought here is the fact that Hunter would write said love letter and now I've made myself squee
anyways. on topic. I think the circumstance would be something like, Hunter writes a letter for Nav and leaves it for them to find somewhere, so it's a surprise. like, at the bottom of their pack (because we all know how often Nav cleans that out... 👀). & then reading it they'd need to sit in case they swoon, the paper held in one hand while the other is clasped over their mouth to hide their smile. definitely blushes. depending on how sappy Hunter got while writing, Nav may or may not tear up.
& then immediately tackle Hunter into a giant hug and smother him with kisses.
🦸‍♀️ What would they dress as for Halloween?
Nav would totally talk Hunter into couples' costumes--and of course that means Omega's costume is also themed, which probably means everyone else's as well. the squad as bowling pins and Omega as a bowling ball?
but for one year, Hunter and Nav make sure that their costumes match each other's and only each other's. Hunter as a werewolf and Nav as a werewolf hunter 👀
🥘 Favorite food?
this depends. if we're talking like, most nostalgic, then it's definitely the beef stew and crusty bread that the matron of the orphanage made on a regular basis. a whole big vat of the stew and the huge ovens made the entire building always smell so good.
but now as an adult, their favorite is the salad that Shep taught them to make on Pabu. starfruit and berries, nuts, crumbly cheese, and a decadent oil-based dressing. filling, sweet, and savory all in one.
that, or Hunter's meat pies. Hunter totally learns that he loves to cook once they all settle down on Pabu.
🍁 Their favorite season and why?
alright hc time: Coruscant doesn't have seasons, & Pabu basically has 2: hot and hotter. Iridonia is probably the same, though it gets chilly at night. therefore, Rintonne is the one planet that Nav has been to relatively frequently enough to experience four seasons. their favorite is by far autumn, with spring coming in second. there's something about transitory periods, life in flux, that just Hits Different for Nav. spring is in second place because allergies lmao.
Clone boys:
👀 How do they look like? Give an overall description of them
ohohoho strap in, here we go
387th Battalion, 13th Sector Army
Commander Creed. he presents a very stern, disciplined facade that intimidates shinies and civvies alike, but in reality he's very soft and compassionate. it's what makes him such a strong leader. he's unafraid to voice his opinion when he believes his Jedi General is making a foolish or wrong move, but is humble enough to admit when he's wrong. well-trimmed beard and mustache, undercut with a mop of dark curls. there's a scar from an errant blaster bolt during commando training, that streaks down the left side of his face. he has a tattoo under his left pec that reads 'for the people' in blocky Basic letting--that is his creed. he has a second tattoo on his right hip of his battalion's mascot (pls don't ask me what this is, idk yet).
Captain Static, Shatter Company. earned his name because when he was a cadet, he always pretended to talk on the radios with sound effects (*cksh* come in, command, *cksh*). he's a little bit naive, but very loyal and values intelligence. he often volunteers his company for recon missions, having trained them specially to communicate effectively. he's clean-shaven, with a stud nose piercing and regulation haircut.
Captain Flare, Phoenix Company. loves, loves, loves flare guns and will pout (mostly in jest these days) if he doesn't get the chance to pop one off at least once during a campaign. he's loud and unapologetic, a little cocky, but he does genuinely mean well and respects the hell out of anyone who can outwit his twin, Seg. with a permanent five o'clock shadow, brilliant white teeth, and that one perfect curl that always rests so nicely on his forehead, he's hot and he kriffin' knows it.
Captain Seg, Flare's twin, commanding officer of Angel Company. Seg is a little bit more withdrawn and quiet than Flare, but no less quick-witted--and quick-tempered. he often waits for an opening in his enemy's forces rather than making an opening himself (he leaves that to Shatter & Phoenix Companies). this is both in terms of battle tactics and verbal sparring. often known for silently observing conversations or debates, and drops one-line zingers that leave the entire table slack-jawed and/or in uproarious laughter. he's the most "reg" looking of the captains, but don't let that fool you.
Captain Drifter, of Hollow Company. Drifter is an old grumpy man at heart, rather pessimistic, but can be charming and suave when the occasion arises. something of a social chameleon, often chosen for diplomatic missions alongside the General. he's sarcastic but genuine, a balance he learned early on how to maintain, and it's gotten him into trouble as much as out of it. he has ear piercings, a septum ring, and a huge geometric tattoo sleeve on his right leg; and sometimes lets his hair grow out to about shoulder length.
Bonus boys! Hotshot and Screwball, ARC troopers, who featured briefly in Second Chances. Hotshot has a buzzcut and goatee, vitiligo, a rough hand-drawn star tattoo beneath his left eye, and a scar across the bridge of his nose. Screwball has long hair that he keeps tied back in a low bun, and a scar along the right side of his face. both Hotshot and Screwball are pranksters (and don't get me started on when they have shore leave with Screwball's twin, Misfit), but very, very good at their jobs. they specialize in destabilizing the enemy from behind enemy lines, often using their chaotic impulses to their advantage.
anyways thanks again so much, Hex, for letting me ramble about my blorbos 💖💖
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masterjedilenawrites · 2 months
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🌟 The fun thing about clone battalions having assigned numbers is that there's (usually) a calendar date to match them. I've decided to shower some attention on our favorite clone battalions this year by writing a little something-something for them on their corresponding dates 💜
Though this may not be popular, I'm starting off with my OC clone unit: the 116th Battalion. I've mentioned them a few times in The Sniper & the Medic and in anon conversations about OCs. I've been wanting to put more of them onto paper, so to speak, and January 16th gives me a fun excuse to do so!
OCs: 116th & Joan Vo | 1.4k words
Content: references to blood and death
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The 116th
"Prepare to jump." Commander Crowe's voice echoed around the bridge and his men immediately fell into position, quietly and efficiently. Like a well-oiled machine. Crowe may have been known to sport hairy legs and flip-flops on his days off, but his authority was not to be messed with while on duty. There'd be time enough for everyone to have their personalities later, after the mission was over.
"Coordinates set for -401.72, -561.84, 004.32," confirmed the battalion pilot, R.J.
"Ready to jump into hyperspeed, on your command," nodded R.J.'s co-pilot, Diver.
Crowe let a brief, dramatic moment pass before saying, "Jump." It was his favorite thing to do, though he'd never admit it to a soul.
Stars stretched into dazzling streaks across the viewport as the Valiant cut through them. They'd have about an hour before reaching the rest of the battalion stationed outside of Batuu. The data they'd recovered from a grounded CIS craft on Malastare could then be transmitted back to Coruscant for further analysis.
But the data chip wasn't the only thing they'd be bringing back with them. Crowe couldn't help but glance over at the young woman who sat in one of the tactician chairs, clothes stained with the blood of its previous owner. The shiny, Brig, hadn't even been in the role two full rotations before getting blown to smithereens. Crowe blamed himself for not checking for booby traps on that CIS cruiser before sending the young hotshot in. And this woman blamed herself for not being able to stitch him back together in time.
"What do you make of her?"
A soft voice came up beside him, Jedi General Rhee. Crowe grunted in acknowledgement.
"She's alright," he responded, not wanting to commit to an opinion one way or the other. Not yet.
She was not the first stray they'd picked up. Far from it. No matter where they went, on a mission, in the thick of a battlefield, even on R&R, they always seemed to attract whatever sad, lost, and lonely being was around, from Tookas to orphans to escaped slaves. They'd shelter the poor things for a bit and then help them find a home elsewhere. Though Crowe was pretty sure there was still a porg being secretly kept on one of the other ships.
This woman, Joan Vo, was a little different. For one, she hadn't begged to come aboard. Hadn't tried to strike any deals or use the sad puppy in the rain tactic that others had done. No, she simply stated it. Demanded it, even. And for another, she seemed equally determined to stay. Become part of the crew. Crowe wasn't sure what the legalities were with such a thing. The Republic would get their fair share of civilian volunteers, but they were often in administrative or training roles, not as an active combat medic.
All that to say, Crowe didn't know what to make of her. And he wasn't about to get attached to something he didn't understand.
"She has heart," Rhee was saying. The Jedi's gentle voice just barely managed to recapture Crowe's attention from his confused thoughts. "The boys need some of that, after all the hell they've been through these past few cycles."
Crowe only grunted again. He supposed he was right. They'd been on very punishing back-to-back missions that had lost more brothers than expected. Though he wasn't sure what this lady would be able to do about it. There were things not even a doctor could heal.
She seemed to sense they were looking at her. She promptly rose from the chair and came over.
"Dr. Vo." Rhee extended his hand, not having been properly introduced yet.
"Please, call me Joan," she said, taking his hand. Her voice was low and raspy, as if she'd been shouting all day. Which, Crowe knew, she had not. She had remained calmed and assertive throughout all the horrors they'd faced on that cruiser.
"And you may call me Rhee," smiled the Jedi. The 116th was very loose with their names, rarely ever using titles unless they were around other units or Republic leaders. Even then, Rhee insisted on being called General Rhee as his last name was far too difficult to pronounce for most.
"I understand you wish to join the battalion," Rhee continued as they dropped hands. "We would be honored to have such a courageous spirit among our ranks."
"We already have a medical team." A new voice joined the little circle they'd created at the back of the bridge. Captain Civic, Crowe's righthand. The solider was opposite to Crowe in every way, which was saying something considering that Crowe himself had quite a dueling personality. Where Crowe had a laidback, "live-and-let-live" demeanor in his downtime, Civic was much more concerned with the status quo and all the "shoulds" and "should nots" that came with it. But on a battlefield, Crowe held his ground while Civic improvised. Crowe was competitive; Civic was civil.
The list could keep running on, but despite all the differences, the two brothers were tight-knit, leading their men in a united effort. There was only one other clone whom Crowe was so completely bonded with, but they were assigned different battalions. Civic was his true brother in arms.
Joan didn't seem put off by Civic and his disapproval suddenly showing up to the conversation. "But you didn't bring them with you today," she countered. She crossed her arms over her chest, not-so-subtly drawing attention to the fact there was still blood all over it.
"They were needed elsewhere," Civic responded cooly.
"And I'm not. I am an additional resource."
Civic already had his mouth open for another retort but Rhee wisely stepped in before things got out of hand.
"And we are very grateful for your generosity," he said with another kind smile. "Now, it will be some time before we join the rest of the fleet. Allow me to show you to refreshers so you can get cleaned up. Civic will make sure a room gets prepared for your stay as well."
The Jedi gave the Captain a knowing look as he ushered Joan to walk away with him.
Civic waited until the two got out of sight before letting out a frustrated huff.
"Don't know what you're so upset about," Crowe chuckled lowly. "She doesn't strike me as the type to steal your socks."
He was referring to a pretty Twi'lek girl they'd once rescued from a nasty old Baron. All the boys had been smitten with her, until they realized she'd been stealing odd things from them all.
Civic's mouth only deepened in its frown. "I'd rather deal with petty theft."
"Than what?"
"Exactly. We don't know what this chick's MO is. What civvy in their right mind would demand to work with the GAR on the frontlines? She's either crazy, or she's up to something."
Crowe agreed that it was odd, and that he didn't like not understanding what this woman was about. But so revealed another difference between him and Civic. To him, this was an intriguing mystery that needed to play itself out. He was content to simply keep an eye on her and nothing else.
Civic, on the other hand, was lining her up in his scope, ready to fire at the first sign of maliciousness. Crowe almost felt sorry for the girl, if he didn't believe she could handle it. Of the few things he knew about Joan so far, she wasn't phased by much.
"Well, like it or not, she's here to stay," he clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll just have to make do."
Crowe hid a smile as his words predictably got Civic all worked up.
"Make do? Make do?" The poor clone was practically hyperventilating at such a notion. "What if she's plotting to overtake control of the fleet, use our forces against the rest of the garrison? What if she kills us in our sleep? Or what if she's just crazy and still kills us in our sleep?"
Crowe just shook his head and left Civic standing on the bridge with more of his what-if scenarios. Only time would tell what Dr. Joan Vo was up to. In the meantime, Crowe needed a shower. He'd just realized that he, too, was still covered in the blood of their fallen brother.
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🌟 2024 Clone Battalion Series Master List | 🌙 Master List of Master Lists
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Exactly two people said they wanted to see them so here we are, Newsies OC's!
So, all of them are Brooklyn kids because why not y'know?
Rocky ~
Rocky is a 14 year old girl who escaped the Refuge with Perky (who we'll get to later) when she was 11.
She is the eldest of the younger kids, usually taking a stand as their leader when Spot wasn't around. Spot is really considering making her the next leader of Brooklyn.
She was sent to the refuge when she was 7 because her father kicked her out of the house as they couldn't afford to take care of her and her four brothers.
She tends to sell nearby her old home, hoping one day to spot her brothers again, but she's had no luck so far.
Rocky got her name from the fact that when Stray found her and Perky on the Brooklyn Bridge, she was tossing rocks into the water below.
Perky ~
Perky is a 13 year old boy who escaped from the refuge with Rocky when he was 10.
He's the second eldest of the younger kids, being dubbed by some as Rocky's second in command as they are almost never seen without the other.
He was sent to the refuge after being caught stealing apples and bread from markets in Flushing when he was 5.
He is Hotshot and Splints favourite because of his seemingly constant cheek that he gives to everybody.
Perky got his name from his ears, that perk up at the top like elf ears. He doesn't like his nickname, but he doesn't think he has a proper name, or at least he doesn't remember it, so he just deals with it.
Trinkets ~
Trinkets is a 9 year old girl, who used to sell at Richmond, but Scope and Graves convinced her to come sell in Brooklyn instead.
She is almost always sick, so she sleeps in a separate room from the others to keep them from getting sick, which means that the younger kids don't see her that often unless they're selling with her.
Snaps is usually the one who takes care of her when she's ill, which means they're very close. She considers him like the older brother she's never had.
Trinkets got her name from the fact that whenever she goes selling, she seems to collect a bunch of random trinkets she finds on the street, such as brooches, pins, toys, and whistles.
Noodles ~
Noodles is a 7 year old boy who was found by Lucky and Bart at Jacobi’s, eating a bowl of leftover noodles.
He and Pips are the same age and are incredibly close. The two are always found playing in the Brooklyn Lodge house with stolen marbles when they aren't selling.
All he remembers from before he became a Newsie is that his mother dropped him off at Jacobi’s with a nickel and never came back.
Noodles obviously got his name from the situation in which he was found, but he also got the name from the fact that he can bend and twist himself like a noodle.
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shadestepping · 2 years
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I’m curious about your OCs Deca, Flyboy, Hornet, Cobra and Jinks.
How did they get their names?
Deca - CT-2468 -- ARC Trooper Captain in Coruscant Guard, under Commander Thorn; promoted to the rank of Commander just before Thorn is sent to Scipio (19 BBY) and takes his place when Thorn is killed.
His is pretty self-explanatory, as it is based off his CT number- CT-2468. The next number in the sequence is 10, in addition to the middle two and last two numbers of his number also adding up to 10. Since he didn't want to use the name "Ten", he went with the decimal prefix for it instead.
Before I get into my pilot Clones, I just want to say my inspiration for most of them came from Top Gun. My brother and I were huge fans of the movie growing up and I just couldn't help myself at the thought of Fox being stressed over his hotshot Clone Pilots getting the job done in the most unprofessional ways possible.
Flyboy - CT-2362 -- Squadron Commander of Redtail Squadron, of the Coruscant Home Defense Fleet
He was the biggest loud-mouthed show-off of his wingmen at the academy, so he earned his name pretty quickly and couldn't ever shake it.
Hornet - CT-5757 -- Squadron Commander of Redtail Squadron, of the Coruscant Home Defense Fleet
It took Hornet a little longer to earn his nickname, but it came up pretty naturally one day when he woke up in a mood and ran through battle sims like someone had 'kicked the Hornet's nest'.
Cobra - CT-3894 -- Squadron Commander of Redtail Squadron, of the Coruscant Home Defense Fleet
Cobra was given his name due to his ruthless and unyielding nature, for his tendency to only strike with the intent to kill.
Jinks - CT-5739 -- Squadron Commander of Redtail Squadron, of the Coruscant Home Defense Fleet
Short for "Hijinks", because he was always getting into trouble he shouldn't.
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horiznwlker · 3 months
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beep beep, little info blurbs on my ocs because i'm too lazy to do full pages for them rn
marlais sawyer, tlou :
a resident of the san francisco quarantine zone, which was fedra-run when she was born but taken over by the fireflies before she was a pre-teen. her older brother, a soldier, died in the fighting and her parents never truly recovered, forcing marlais to pick up the slack in the household. she's quiet and usually prefers the company of whatever books she can trade for, but she's a quick, deadly shot and most adept with the use of her brothers bow. (guns have always felt too heavy in her hands.) she is close to very few people, save for howl warren, her best friend since they were kids. 18 years old, tlou2 based. pjo verse : marlais is the daughter of rán, norse goddess of the sea and the drowned dead. she grew up largely unaware of this and was only really inducted into that part of the world after she met howl, son of hel. she is still very inexperienced and spends the majority of her life in the mortal world, much to her dismay -- especially when it comes to the private school she attends. in her home life, she is often left alone in favor for her baby brother. she has a golden retriever named bailey, whom she adores.
atomic tomi ramirez, hunger games :
victor of the 67th hunger games from district 3. won by way of allying with the careers until she blew them up, having reverse engineered one of the many traps planted throughout her arena. however, at the range she had to be in to activate the bombs, she was injured herself and nearly lost her left leg; as it is now, her nerves are damaged from her knee down, and her skin is marred with burns. snow's punishment for her 'taking advantage' of the games was to give her a leg brace and physical therapy, but no further help. (she has since crafted her own brace to be more supportive.) she was a protégé of beetee latier's prior to being reaped. tomi is somewhat smug as a default, but not for no reason; she is a master of anything from a computer's inner code to the wirings of a bunker shell, and whatever she doesn't know, she can pick up fairly quickly. she has a habit of getting swept away in her own inventive thoughts. 17-25 years old.
valrya solaris, star wars :
a hotshot pilot for the rebellion, valrya was born on carida and trained in the imperial flight academy until she got kicked out for her bad mouth. however, her skill and impeccable instincts were noted by undercover rebels and she was soon after recruited by commander jun sato for his phoenix squadron shortly before the battle of yavin. her callsign is valkyrie. unfortunately, a starpilot's life is often short and ends in a single blast; witnessing this happen to so many in her squadron takes its toll. experiencing a panic attack during the battle above jakku, valrya very nearly crashed and took out her own fellow pilots. afterwards, much to her chagrin, she was removed from active duty -- but gifted a much yearned for x-wing for compensation. force sensitive. born 21 bby.
aeris heronmark, baldur's gate 3 :
a high half elf, aeris was born to a noble eladrin in the feywild and spent most of her life there after her mortal mother passed, alongside her many half siblings. being the only half-human in a family of graceful, ethereal beings, meant she often felt clumsy and out of place in comparison. there was one brother who never made her feel that way, kestrel, who was closer to her age and actually treated her as a sister, not some fragile thing to coddle. when he uncharacteristically disappeared during one of his many adventures, aeris vowed to find him, no matter where the journey took her. and for the last decade, she has been roaming from plane to plane in search of him. until the nautiloid derailed everything. gloom stalker ranger. mid 30s, roughly. (time moves weird in the feywild.)
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wild-karrde · 1 year
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Part 2: The Pillar
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Series Master List | Previous Part | Next Part
A/N: ALRIGHTY THEN. Did I intend to write a part 2 for this little ficlet from my 400 follower celebration? No. Did I do it anyway and use it as an excuse to introduce my OC Crater? Yes. Will there be a Part 3? Also yes. I REGRET NOTHING. The biggest of thank you's to @teletraan-meets-jarvis, @sleepingsun501, and @rexxdjarin for helping me make sure my boy gets the best intro and that all of the thoughts/thots about him in my head translated well onto paper! If you'd like a little more info about Crater, you can find his character sheet here.
Pairings: OC Crater x f!Reader, mentioned Gregor x f!Reader
Rating: E (18+ MINORS SKEEDADDLE)
Warnings: language, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, fingering, rough sex, anal play, oral sex, PiV sex, marking, anal sex, sex toy use, cum eating, mention of foursome
Word Count: 13.5k words (I'm sorry... it got away from me so fast)
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“KARKING HELLS, CHUCK! Do you have mynock shit between your ears instead of brains?” 
You’re angry. Angrier than you’ve been in a while. And Chuckles isn’t backing down either. 
“I don’t know who the kriff you think you’re talking to, Bolts, but you’d better take a walk before we both say something we’ll regret,” he grits out, teeth clenched and a fire in his eyes. 
But you’re not about to be told what’s what. Not when he’s on your turf. 
“It’s my fucking garage. You don’t like what I’ve got to say? You take a walk.” You jab your finger into his plastoid chestplate threateningly. His nostrils flare as he glares at you, and you can see him teetering on the edge of control.
You’ve gathered a bit of an audience as you and the mohawked clone pilot go nose to nose, some of which are snickering and “ooooh”-ing. 
“Your garage?” Chuckles snarls.
“Yeah, in case you missed it, I run shit around here. And I’m telling you I can’t get your fucking fighter fixed until next week.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“You should have thought about that before smoking your stabilizers flying like a fucking hotshot.” 
“You sure you wanna tell me how to fly my ship, Bolts?” 
“Since you don’t seem to have an idea how to, sure.” 
The vein in his neck is bulging now, and the scar at the corner of his mouth is pulled tight. You’ve known Chuckles long enough to tell that you’ve pushed all the right buttons to get a rise out of him.
Good. Asshole. 
“I thought Gregor fucked the grump out of her,” Strike mutters from his seat on a crate, which garners more snickers. You whirl on him, brandishing a wrench and waving it menacingly at the pilot. 
“You want me to fix your face next, shithead? Got the only thing I need for that right here.”
Strike scowls, pushing himself to a standing position. “You’re out of line, Bolts.” 
“I’m out of line? Fuck you.”
“That’s enough.” 
The jeers and laughter grow silent and the crowd parts as the commanding officer of the 28th Combat Wing strides forward, carrying his helmet under one arm. Crater’s voice is gruff as he steps in between Chuckles and you, glancing back and forth between the two of you. 
“She’s right, and you know it Chuckles. You’ve been told before not to fly in that config. You know it burns out the stabs faster. Now, I’m sure you’ll get your fighter as quickly as Bolts can get to it. Isn’t that right, Bolts?” 
You glare at him, but his eyes demand a response. “When I get the parts.” 
Crater watches you for another moment before nodding. He seems to understand that’s as much of a concession as he’s going to get out of you right now.
And then he whirls on Strike. “And you will learn to hold your fucking tongue. We don’t do that shit here. You want to air other people’s business out in front of everyone? You go run for the fucking senate. Until then, you keep the scuttlebutt you hear to yourself.”
“Didn’t hear anything. Just not hard to put two and two together,” Strike mutters under his breath. 
Crater strides forward until he’s looming over Strike. They’re the same height, but somehow, the captain towers over the other pilot. His tone is low and dangerous, his voice dropping to a gravelly octave that makes you shiver. “I know you haven’t been off of Kamino long, but around here, you don’t speak to a commanding officer that way. Especially when you don’t have a single scratch on that shiny fucking armor.” 
Strike swallows slightly but says nothing else. 
Crater glares down at him for one more second, pinning him with his gaze before he turns and addresses the rest of the onlookers. “Now all of you get to the fucking barracks and get cleaned up. You stink to the seven hells.” 
The squad departs, some of them still shooting dirty looks over their shoulders at you, especially Chuckles.
He’ll get over it.
You turn on your heel, heading towards your private office in the corner of the garage. The door’s been off track for a while, so you slam it open unceremoniously and stride inside. Just as you go to slide it shut with a grunt, a gloved hand slips around the edge, keeping it open. You glance up and meet Crater’s eyes. 
“Can we talk?” 
You shrug, stepping away from the door and plopping down on the creaky chair by your desk. The joints protest as you lean back in it, threatening to finally give out and dump you on your ass. Crater shuts the door behind him before setting his helmet on your desk and leaning a shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms as he studies you. He looks tired, and you’re not sure if it’s the campaign he just got back from or his men or you. A small pang of guilt shoots through you as he meets your eyes, raising his scarred eyebrow at you.
“You wanna tell me what the hell that was all about?” 
You sniff, shrugging as you pick some lint off your jumpsuit. “Nothin’. Just a scuffle.”
“Seems like you’re getting into more and more of those.” 
You and Crater have always gotten along just fine, finding a mutual respect and trust almost immediately. He always seems to have everything figured out, and you’ve never seen him fly off the handle like some of his brothers. In fact, the incident in the garage just now is the most upset you’ve seen him, and even that was hardly more than a growl and a few threats. You admire his leadership. He always seems to find the right thing to say to each of the various personalities on his squad, but sometimes you dislike when he deploys the same understanding on you. It unnerves you to a degree. 
Now, you roll your eyes at his observation, astute as it is. “Your boys don’t listen, Crate. Neither do any of the other flyboys that come through here. Everyone’s shit is broken because they can’t be bothered to fly with an ounce of sensibility, and then they’re all pissed when it takes time to get repairs done.” You wave your hand at the stacks of datapads and flimsi that are stacked on your desk. “I’ve got backorders on backorders, out-of-date maintenance logs, you name it. But I’m one person. And there’s not exactly a line to come work down here.” 
“You’re stressed,” he notes. 
“No shit.” 
“Overwhelmed.” 
“Tired of giving orders and making requests that are ignored.” 
“Tired of being in charge?”
“Sometimes. Yeah,” you admit. “But someone has to be.”
He nods. “When’s Gregor planetside again?” 
You glare at him, but he gives you a knowing look. You sigh. “Who the kriff knows? That’s not a regular thing, by the way. Just a way to blow off steam. But it’s been months since I saw him last. Seems he’s being kept busy.” You worry about the commando sometimes, but you’re not about to admit it. Judging by the look Crater gives you, you don’t need to. 
“And you were more tolerable when it was happening,” he teases.
“Yeah, yeah. Well, I’m on my own in that department for the foreseeable future.” 
You don’t know why you feel comfortable talking with him about Gregor. Probably because it felt less like an accusation and more of just a concerned observation, not like he was looking to get more gossip at your expense. 
Because you trust him. Maybe too much.
Crater is quiet for a moment, watching you carefully, clearly weighing something. 
“What?”
He smirks. 
“Well, if you’d ever like to blow off some steam, let me know. But you can’t keep taking it out on my men.” 
You snort out a laugh. “Crate, I don’t think you can help with that.” 
“Oh, I think I could.” 
“How so?” Your curiosity is piqued, particularly with the way his grin is playful but his eyes have darkened considerably. You’re in denial internally about what he might be implying, but that only lasts for another second as Crater huffs a quiet laugh before closing the distance between you. He puts one gloved hand on your desk, leaning over you as his other hand comes to rest just above your shoulder, gripping the back of your chair. Your stomach flutters as he stares down at you, tilted back in your chair so far you feel as though you’d tip over if he let go. The chair creaks, but you hardly note it over the sound of blood rushing in your ears. You can feel his breath on your cheek and your cunt throbs at the realization he’s standing between your knees, your toes barely touching the floor with the way he has you tipped backward. You feel as though you can’t breathe. He’s studying you again, clearly making a final judgment call before he speaks. 
“I think you’d like someone else to take charge for once. So you can let go.” 
His voice is so low, it feels as though it rumbles every organ in you and sends shivers down your spine. He’s so close, you can smell him, see the tattoos on his neck that just barely poke out above the collar of his black undersuit, and the greys that are beginning to dot his dark chestnut beard and hair. You’ve always thought Crater was attractive. You’d have to be blind not to, but you’d never anticipated having him lean over you like this, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him while he suggests things like that. 
At least, you think that’s what he’s suggesting. 
You can’t help but tremble slightly at the thought as his eyes bore holes into yours. Your thighs clench together subconsciously, and his eyes dart downwards, watching you squirm. He laughs in a low rasp that promises trouble, straightening and picking his helmet up off the desk. You haven’t moved, but he’s already at your door, pushing it open again. 
“Remember what I said, Bolts. All of it.” 
And with that, he’s gone. 
Weeks pass. Nothing gets better. If anything, things get worse. A major supply hyperspace lane gets shut down by Separatist forces, meaning parts are even harder to come by, causing even more delays. At least the clone pilots seem more understanding, the 28th Wing in particular. You aren’t sure if Crater privately met with his men, but they have been suddenly more lenient with you. The natborns, however, make up for it by being infinitely more terrible. 
“THIS IS COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE,” one particularly surly human admiral rants, spittle flying unchecked as you don’t even bother looking up from your datapad. “You are to have those fighters ready to go within a rotation. That is an order.” 
“Well, unfortunately for you, Admiral, I don’t take orders from the GAR,” you mutter. “And unless you’ve got a stash of converters, stabilizers, hyperdrive capacitors, and power couplings in your back pocket, no, your fighters will not be ready to go in a rotation.”
“I’ll have your job for this.” 
You’re exhausted, but can’t help but give him a smug smirk, nudging him even closer to an explosion. He’s easy prey in that respect, hardly sporting, but it’s been a miserable week, and you’re ready to have some fun. He’s not the first officer to try to intimidate you with unemployment, and you know he’s unlikely to be the last. But you also know it’s an empty threat. No one else could handle this work. If that person existed, the GAR would already have hired them since you’ve pissed off everyone else. 
“I have work to do, Admiral. So if you’re done bloviating, get out of my office and try to have a lovely evening.”
The man is practically purple with rage, veins bulging from his throat above his tight Republic collar. He clearly isn’t used to having people check him, and his response is even more telling. 
“I’d heard you were challenging, but really, you’re just a frigid little bitch.” 
That does it. 
You stand, kicking your seat away from you. It rolls into the back wall with a loud crash. “You wanna try that again, Admiral?” you ask, charging towards him with anger heating your cheeks. He’s taller than you, but that’s never stopped you, and you certainly aren’t going to let some washed-up asshole that reeks of stale caf and cheap cologne talk to you like that in your own office. His fists clench, and you almost hope he swings first so you have an excuse to pummel him right there. 
“Problem in here?” 
You both whirl to look at the doorway. There stands Crater, helmet on and cocked to the side as he studies the both of you. His posture is completely relaxed, as if he didn’t just walk in on the start of a physical altercation. 
It takes all of the wind out of your sails. 
The admiral turns and smirks down at you, clearly convinced he’s won by your reaction. “I was just leaving.” He pushes past Crater, exiting the office. Crater’s visor never leaves you, but you can’t look at him. 
You’re fuming. Angry that nothing’s going right. Angry that your garage can’t run efficiently and the reasons are completely out of your control. Angry that you didn’t sock that admiral in the jaw. Angry that he got the best of you and he knows it. 
Crater says your name, but you don’t look up, trying to slow your breathing. He sighs and turns to leave. 
You make a decision. 
“Captain.” 
He turns back. 
Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you plunge into uncharted territory.
“I’ll take you up on that offer you made a few weeks back.” 
He doesn’t move for a moment before, clearly making sure you won’t change your mind. Some of your fire returns at his hesitation, and you jut your chin out defiantly. 
“Chickening out on me?” you challenge.
In an instant, he’s closed the distance between you and has backed you up against the wall. Your breath fogs his visor as he stares down at you, resting his hand against your throat. 
“You certain you want to be a brat right out of the gate?” 
You swallow hard, feeling the gloved palm of his hand press against your neck. 
“Might want to pace yourself. Otherwise you’ll be in for a long night,” he warns.
“What makes you think that isn’t what I was hoping for?”
He chuckles darkly, and the helmet’s modulator seems to make it even more intimidating. 
“What are your hard no’s?” 
“You’ll be hard-pressed to find them,” you reply. Your mouth is dry, but other places are already soaking. You’re almost glad he has you braced against the wall because your knees suddenly feel gelatinous beneath you. 
He tilts his head. “Think on it a bit more. Have an answer when I come back from my briefing. Then we’ll begin.” He releases your throat and steps back. “Be ready.” 
He once again leaves you alone in your office, shivering in his absence. 
How the fuck do I get ready for this?
You brush your hair out of your face, catching a glance at your reflection in the small mirror you have stuck to one wall. You’re covered in grease and sweat, and your hair is sticking out at odd angles. 
A shower then. 
You’re glad the day’s over as you slide your office door closed. It would be hard to concentrate on anything else right now. You push through the door that connects to the small apartment and refresher that have become your home away from home. It had been one of your few stipulations when you took the job, knowing you’d rarely make it back down to your lower-level Coruscant apartment. It had originally been a large storage closet, but with some work, you’d converted it into a decent-sized bedroom, stacking a few changes of clothes in an empty crate in one corner. The bed was at least comfortable, tucked up against one wall with a small bedside table next to it. You quickly shove the dirty clothes strewn on the floor in a corner before shucking off your jumpsuit and hurriedly showering. You don’t have any sort of lingerie or anything remotely alluring here, and you’re considering what to wear while wrapped in a towel when you hear a soft knock at your door. 
You turn and find Crater’s silhouette looming there, blocking out the dim light of your office. 
“That was a quick briefing.”
He shrugs as if he’s used to coming upon you in only a towel. 
“You shut the office door?” you ask.
“Yes. And you should really get that fixed.” His helmet is off, and his dark eyes are roving over you and your towel-covered body. 
“Add it to my list,” you mutter, trying to maintain some sort of confidence under his stare. “I’m sure that admiral will be so pleased to hear it takes priority over his fighters.” 
He snorts in amusement as he steps into the room, shutting the apartment door behind him. He sets the helmet on the ground before he starts peeling off the top half of his armor, one piece of plastoid at a time, and neatly stacking it in the corner. 
“Did you think more on what your hard no’s are?” he asks. 
You’d come up with a few and rattle them off. 
“Those are fairly extreme. Don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” he rasps. The top half of his armor is completely off now, and he rolls up the sleeves of his black shirt as he approaches you, circling you slowly. “But I’m glad you put serious thought into it and came up with something.” 
“You got anything I need to avoid doing?” you ask, trying not to nervously rock on your heels. You’d rarely had issues with people seeing you naked, but for some reason, Crater’s gaze has you feeling timid, even with the towel still hiding your body.
“I don’t think you’ll get there, but I’ll let you know if you get close,” he replies as he comes to a stop in front of you. His sleeves are rolled all the way to his elbows, and you can see the tendrils of the other end of his tattoos poking out on his forearms. You’d never realized how far his tattoos stretched, only ever having seen the fine lines that poked out of the collar of his shirt. Now, you find you want to know how much of his skin is inked and how far the pattern stretches. 
“My eyes are up here, gorgeous.” 
You flush, but raise your eyes to meet his steady gaze. He’s watching you carefully and fuck, you want to squirm with him looking at you like that. 
“So you respond to praise then. You prefer that?”
You shrug. “Could go both ways.”
“Where would you like me to cum?”
You can’t help but smirk at that question, but his expression is stern. “Wherever you like,” you reply. “I’ve got an implant.”
He hums, gently brushing some of your damp hair out of your face, a tender gesture that contrasts sharply with his next question. “May I mark you?” 
“Nowhere the jumpsuit can’t cover.”
“How rough would you like me to be?” 
You think for a moment. “Breathplay is good. Impact too. Bruising is fine. Nothing that would draw blood.” 
He smirks. “Good girl.” 
Your thighs rub together, and he notices, huffing a quiet laugh. 
“Toys I can use?”
You point to the bedside table. “In that drawer.” 
“You know the color system?”
You nod.
“Give me your definitions.” 
“Green is good. Yellow is slow down. Red is stop.” 
“And if you can’t verbally communicate?”
“Three taps.” You reach out and demonstrate on his chest, letting your fingertips rest there.
He catches your hand. “I want to be very clear here. You are under no obligation to do anything with me. And if you say red, we stop. No debate, no questions. This is for your benefit, so I’ll push, but when I hit a limit, you have to let me know. Deal?”
You can’t help but smile there. “Deal.”
“Any other last requests?”
“Ruin me.” The words fall out of your mouth before you realize you’ve said them, but you don’t regret them. You need this, and he can see it. Crater’s eyes darken even more, and he grins wickedly as he pulls your wrist to his lips. You feel his beard scratch your skin, and you shiver at the thought of where else you may feel that sensation before the night is over. 
“With pleasure.” He cups your jaw, running a thumb over your lower lip. “You will refer to me as Captain or sir. Understood?”
A thrill shoots through you, and you push your luck, shrugging. “Sure.”
His nostrils flare and his grip on your jaw tightens. “You are such a fucking brat,” he whispers. “I'll fix that.” He grips the towel, giving it a firm yank and tossing it in the corner. He steps back and studies you. You shiver again, although you can’t be sure if it’s from the chill on your damp skin or his piercing gaze. He circles you again, inspecting every inch of your body. You feel yourself tremble slightly as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “On your knees.” 
You think about pushing him further, but decide against it, at least for the moment, slowly sinking to your knees and gazing up at him expectantly. 
“Open your mouth.” 
You narrow your eyes at him. He squats down in front of you, balancing on the balls of his feet, watching you. You start to giggle from nerves, but his hand rockets out, catching your jaw again and squeezing until your lips part from the pressure.
He slips the tip of his glove into your mouth. 
“Bite,” he grits out. 
He loosens his hold just enough for you to do as you’re told this time, gently taking the tip of the fabric between your teeth. His fingers slip out of the glove, and he takes it from you. He repeats the exercise with his other glove, tucking them both in his back pocket. Warm tan fingers press on your lower lip, and you open your mouth, allowing him in. Two fingers slide in, pressing on your tongue. Saliva pools in your mouth, but Crater keeps your jaw pried open until you feel some drool slide down your chin. 
“Messy girl,” he rasps. “Suck.” 
You close your lips around his fingers, sucking gently on the pads. You can taste his sweat, slightly salty against your tongue. 
“Oh, come on, gorgeous. With a mouth like that, I expected more. You’re going to have to do better than that if you want me to let you suck my cock later.” 
You feel your cunt throb and you inhale sharply as warmth floods between your legs. You’re certain you’re dripping onto the floor by now, and it’s only been a few minutes. 
“You like that thought, don’t you?” Crater asks, shoving his fingers into the back of your throat. You gag, and he starts to withdraw, but you catch his wrist, pressing his fingers deeper while you run your tongue over his knuckles. 
Crater’s brow furrows and his lips part slightly as he watches you gag again on his fingers, but you keep going, obediently sliding them in and out of your mouth. You hum around him, and you can see he’s fighting to maintain control. You grin. 
“Something to say, pretty girl?” he asks, shoving another finger into your mouth. “Go on.” 
“Having fun, Captain?” is what you try to ask, but it comes out garbled around his digits. 
“Try again, gorgeous. I can’t understand you.” 
You glare up at him and he smirks before withdrawing his fingers. 
“I was always told it’s rude to talk with my mouth full, sir,” you snark. 
“You’ve had no problem being rude up until this point,” he murmurs, letting his damp hand trail across your collarbone before grazing your breast. 
You clench around nothing. It's been months since anyone touched you. 
He notices your response, raising his eyebrow as he pinches one nipple between his fingers and tugs it gently. You whimper quietly. 
“Needy,” he observes. 
“Been a while.” He pinches your nipple harder. “Sir,” you gasp. 
“Hmm.” He releases you, pushing himself to a standing position. You shift, trying to gain some source of friction, but he slips a knuckle under your chin, tilting your head upwards. “None of that. You take what I give, and nothing more. Understood?” 
You bat your eyelashes at him. “Yes, sir.” 
Crater stares down at you with an unamused expression for another half a beat before releasing you. He crosses your room to your nightstand and pulls open the drawer, rummaging inside. You can see his eyes raking over the contents, carefully cataloging everything before he holds up your plug, glancing over at you. 
“You stretch yourself on this?” 
“Yes, sir,” you say quietly. 
“Anyone ever taken you there?”
“No.” It’s something you’ve always wanted to try, but you’ve never had a partner you felt bold enough to ask. And those that have asked have always seemed too eager. So you’ve resorted to toys, stuffing your ass full with the plug as you fucked your cunt with another toy. But no matter how many times you came, teeth clenched around the fabric of your pillowcase, your curiosity about the real thing still wasn’t sated. You always knew it would have to be with someone you trust completely, someone you know won’t push you or your boundaries just to lay claim to you. 
Someone like Crater. 
He stays silent, clearly expecting more from you. 
You try to stutter out a more thorough response. “B-but I like to feel full when I…”
“When you what, pretty girl?” 
“When I fuck myself.” 
The corner of his lip curls. “Filthier than I thought. Good.” He takes out a bottle of lube, your dildo with the remote, and the plug and sits on the bed with them next to him. He leans forward on his knees, crooking a finger towards you. 
“Come here, gorgeous.” 
You grin, falling forward on your hands and crawling towards him, allowing your ass to sway back and forth. His face remains neutral as you slide between his knees, running your hands over the plastoid that still covers his thighs. You’ve always been good at finding the right buttons to push with people, but Crater has largely remained a mystery to you in all the time that you’ve known him. Now, you watch carefully as you scrape your fingers closer to his inner thigh, watching for any telltale twitch. You want to see if you can make him crack. 
He’s immovable. 
“You seem to think this is some sort of competition,” he says quietly, as though he can read your thoughts. “You won’t break me, sweetheart.” 
You pout your lips. “You’re no fun.” 
He slips one hand into your hair and grips tightly, pulling your head back as he leans over you again. You can feel the roots of your hair tug sharply, and it sends another thrill through you. Crater leans forward to whisper directly into your ear. His beard scrapes your cheek, and his breath is hot against the shell of your ear. “You’re still being a brat.”
“I thought pilots enjoyed a challenge,” you manage to gasp. 
“I do.” He releases your hair, and you sit back. He shifts back on the bed and pats his knees. You start to straddle one, but he places a hand on your hip, stilling you. “No, love. Over them.” 
Your legs quiver at the realization of what he’s asking, and your mouth falls open slightly. 
“Tick-tock, pretty girl. The longer you stand there and waste my time, the longer this’ll be.” 
You drape yourself over his thighs slowly, shuddering at the chill of the plastoid and how the edges of it bite into your skin. You rest your elbows and knees on the mattress on either side of him, balancing as he pushes down on the small of your back to arch it to his liking. Your ass is in the air, and it feels so exposed. Crater rubs small circles in your spine before allowing his hand to drift downward, lightly passing over the curve of your ass. You feel your skin explode in an array of goosebumps as a jolt shoots through you. You unleash a shuddering breath. 
“You are needy. So eager to be touched,” he teases as he traces down the curve of your ass, curling his fingers on the inside of your thigh. He’s so close to where you want him, but he steers clear of your dripping cunt. For now. 
“I think fifteen is a good start considering how you’ve behaved the last few weeks,” he rasps. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you have my cock.”
“Fifteen, huh? Can you count that high, Captain?” you ask, earning yourself a sharp pinch to your nipple with his other hand. You inhale sharply, biting back a curse. 
“Twenty then. And you’ll be the one counting. I’m sure you can do that, can’t you, smart girl?” 
You open your mouth to retort, but the first smack lands hard, biting into the skin of your asscheek. Heat floods through you and your mouth falls open. 
You’re already craving another. 
“Count for me, or we start over.” 
“One,” you pant. 
He continues, landing some blows over the same area, and you can feel the heat and redness bloom there. Other times, he moves onto an untouched patch of skin, and the shock of sudden pain makes you squirm, desperate for some sort of friction against your neglected clit. It feels as though electricity is licking up your spine with every strike, the pain giving way to a euphoria you’ve never before experienced as his warm palm soothes your stinging skin in between each blow. 
But you keep count. 
“See, I knew you could be a good girl for me. You’re doing so well,” he whispers as he rubs the place you’re certain he just left a handprint. “Halfway there.” One hand curls around your thigh again, and you feel fingers finally brush against your folds, slipping along them with ease. “I see you’re enjoying yourself,” Crater observes. “You’re soaked.” He lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking your taste off of them before he lets his hand slip back between your legs, sinking two of his thick digits into you. You fist the blankets as the next blow lands at the same time Crater curls his fingers inside of you. 
“Ah fuck! Eleven!” 
Crater pulls out slightly out before pressing back into the knuckle, driving into you. He finds the spongy place inside of you and bears down on it as he spanks you again in the same place. Your eyes roll back into your head. 
“T-twelve.” 
“Good girl.”
SMACK.
“Thirteen,” you whine. The plastoid is so cold against your heated, sweaty skin as you writhe in his lap, trying to press back against his hand. He adds a third finger. 
“Who would have known all it took for you to be nicer was a few spanks and some fingers in your pussy?” Crater chuckles. “Such a desperate girl.” 
“Please,” you whisper. 
“Please what?” 
“More.” 
“So polite all of a sudden.” He presses against your asshole with his thumb, and you arch your back, pushing against him. “Oh, you want me to take you there, don’t you? Want me to claim your ass tonight?” 
You do. You want him to, and he knows it. You mouth a silent “yes” as you glance back at him, and his eyebrow raises at your muted admission.
Crater hums as he pushes harder against the tight ring of muscle and you gasp. Your knuckles are white with how hard you’re gripping the sheets. 
“Color?”
“Green. Fuck. Green.” 
SMACK.
“FOURTEEN.” 
Your breath is coming in short pants as he rubs at the raised, tender flesh of your ass. You hear the click of a cap, and suddenly his thumb is pressed back against your asshole again, slicker than before. He pushes forward, breaching the tight ring of muscle as he curls his fingers in your cunt again. 
“Oh, Maker, yes. Right there, Crate-”
SMACK.
“It’s Captain or sir,” he reminds you in that same gravelly tone he used on Strike, sending a shiver through you. “Now what do we say when someone gives you what you want?”
“Fifteen! Thank you, sir,” you gasp, tears starting to pool in the corners of your eyes.
“Good girl.” 
You clench around his fingers at the praise, and he huffs another laugh, pressing his thumb deeper into your ass. He lands the next few blows in rapid succession. 
SMACK.
“SIXTEEN. THANK YOU, CAPTAIN.”
SMACK.
“FUCK. SEVENTEEN. THANK YOU, SIR.” 
You can feel the coil tightening in your stomach as he lands two more, nearing the end. After nineteen, you’re babbling in his lap, desperately pressing back against his hand, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers. 
“You think you deserve to cum?” he asks.
“Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” you whimper. 
“Not yet, pretty girl.” 
SMACK.
“Twenty,” you sob. 
He removes his fingers from you, and you immediately feel painfully empty. His other palm rests on your back, rubbing soothing circles as you feel your pulse in your fluttering, empty cunt.
“You did so well,” he praises. You quiver under his touch. “Are you still green?”
“Still g-green,” you stutter. 
“Louder.”
“Green,” you declare more firmly.
“Good. Lie down.” 
He helps you stand on shaky legs, carefully moving you to lie on your back on the bed. You feel the softness of the blanket rub against the inflamed skin of your ass and thighs, and you shudder at the thought of the marks that’ll be there tomorrow, a reminder of your night with the captain. 
But he’s far from done with you. 
“Wait here,” he commands. “Don’t touch yourself.”
“Yes, sir,” you sigh with a hint of a whine. 
He retreats to the refresher, washing his hand before he comes back, his head tilted as he watches you, laid out for him on your bed. He quickly removes the rest of his armor and boots, grinning smugly as your eyes follow every new part of him that’s exposed to you. You want him, and he knows it. Reaching for his waist, he tugs his shirt up and over his head, tossing it next to his armor. 
He’s fucking stunning. You knew he would be, but somehow still weren’t prepared. The tattoos you’d seen evidence of curl from his elbows over his shoulders, weaving in geometric patterns across his collarbone and shoulder blades before reaching up his neck, where they end. Each line seems to flawlessly frame a muscle or tendon, perfectly accentuating it. His body is littered with small scars, with one larger one visible on his hip, dipping below the waistline of his pants. Without his codpiece, you can see the pronounced outline of his cock, straining against the black fabric. Your mouth waters, and you lick your lips, meeting his eyes. 
“Not yet,” he teases.
You’re huffy now, having recovered slightly from your denied orgasm, and he glowers at you as you pout. 
“Hands under the headboard,” he orders. You glare at him for another moment, and he raises his eyebrow again in warning. You concede, slipping your fingers under the wooden edge and gripping it tightly. “Good. Keep them there,” he orders as he slowly approaches the bed. “Or else I’ll get some binders.” 
“Probably the most use they’ll have gotten,” you snicker. 
“You really want to make this difficult?”
“Got a reputation to keep up.” 
He snorts before climbing onto the bed and straddling you, lowering his body onto yours slowly. You can feel the warmth of his chest against your skin, and your body is screaming at you to wrap your legs around him, but you really aren’t that interested in the binders that he threatened you with. 
You’re more interested in getting his cock inside of you as quickly as possible. 
Crater is infuriatingly patient and precise in his motions, but then again, you suppose that’s why he commands an entire combat wing. He slips his hand into your hair again, gripping but not pulling. He tilts your head slightly, exposing your neck to him. “If I remember correctly, your jumpsuit collar goes to about here,” he whispers, nosing at the perceived boundary on the skin of your throat. His beard is tickling you, and you’re shaking with anticipation. “That seem right to you?” 
“Yes, s-sir,” you stutter. 
“Already a mess and I’ve hardly started,” he rasps, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll have you begging soon enough.” He kisses your neck, and you let out a sharp exhale. You’ve tried to play it neutral, but somehow, he’s zoned in on the exact spot you like to be kissed, the spot that drives you wild. And he notices the way you respond, bearing down on it with his teeth and tongue. You start to grind against him, desperate for any sort of friction, desperate to feel his cock. You manage to catch the head of it on your clit through his pants, rubbing for a millisecond before his unoccupied hand locks firmly on your hip, holding you still. 
“You’ll take what I give, pretty girl,” he snarls in your ear. “And the longer you’re greedy, the longer you’ll wait to have me fill that pretty pussy.” 
You whine but relent, letting him resume his attack on your neck and collar bone. He works slowly and methodically, marking you as he works his way to your breasts, where he seemingly spends an eternity lavishing them with attention. He sucks bruises, he bites gently, and he takes your nipples in his mouth, paying special attention to what makes you writhe and gasp. 
And then he moves lower, slipping between your legs and kissing just below your navel as he spreads your legs wide with his hands on the back of your thighs. His breath is so warm against your dripping cunt, and you spasm in his grip as he blows on you purposefully. 
“Asshole,” you grumble. 
He bites the inside of your thigh hard, and you yelp. Looking down, you can already see the bruise blossoming where his teeth caught your skin. 
“Only nice girls get to cum. Now, remember, keep your hands where they are.” 
He nuzzles against the flesh of your unmarked thigh, placing warm kisses and gentle bites. His beard scrapes the tender skin just before his teeth graze you, threatening to mark you where only you’ll see. You close your eyes, tipping your head back as you try to fight the way your legs are trembling, but that earns you a sharp slap to the inside of your thigh. 
“Eyes on me, pretty girl.” 
You catch your lip between your teeth as you obey, your eyes finding his brown ones, which seem to be practically glowing. He keeps his gaze locked with yours as he nuzzles your clit, blowing on it gently. You whine, and your legs try to close, but he firmly holds them open. 
“I’m going to break you,” he whispers. “By the time I’m done, all you’ll know is my name and the word ‘please’.” 
You tremble again just as he dives in, driving his tongue and eating you ravenously as you gasp and thrash in his grasp. 
Crater is a master at pulling you apart slowly, and he takes his time, working you to the edge with his tongue and mouth and then chuckling as he pulls away, leaving you trembling and crying out in frustration. He’s a quick study and eventually adds his fingers, thrusting into your cunt as he suckles at your clit in the way that he now knows will have you clenching and gasping. The third time he deprives you, you unleash a frustrated growl, and he laughs quietly at your frustration. 
“Please, Captain,” you whine. “Please.” 
“Not yet.” 
He goes at you again, alternating with his tongue and his fingers, and it feels as though it only takes seconds for your body to begin to tighten, begging for the release that he’s robbed you of. 
“Knew you’d taste good,” he mumbles into your skin as he presses his fingers back inside of you. “So sweet and warm.” 
“P-p-please. Please.” 
He nips at your thigh and you cry out, tears leaping into your eyes as droplets of perspiration dot your forehead. Crater bears down on the spot inside of you, watching you as you babble. 
“Please, I'll do anything you want. Please, sir, please. I need it.”
“Tell me what you need, gorgeous.” 
“I need to cum. Please. Do anything you want to me. Please just let me cum. PLEASE!”
“Not yet.”
You sob. 
He keeps working you, disintegrating your resolve with every pass of his tongue and his fingers. The scratch of his beard is delicious, contrasting sharply with the warmth of his mouth and the soft press of his tongue against you as he laps at your heat.
“Captain, please. Gods above, I’ll let you have anything.” 
“Anything?”
“Yes. I’ll suck your cum out of your cock. You can have my ass. I’ll give you anything.”
He chuckles. “At the bargaining phase, are we?” 
The tears are streaming from your eyes, and you unleash a choked sob. 
“Ask me again.”
You’re gasping now, teetering on the edge. 
“Please, Captain. Please let me cum.”
“Good girl.” He kisses your clit, and you moan, your knuckles aching from how hard you’re holding the headboard. 
“Cum for me.” 
You do, screaming his name as your body spasms with wave after wave of your orgasm. He holds you in place, working you through it until your body finally sags into the bed, slick with sweat and wrung out. Your mind is hazy as you feel him crawl up next to you, pressing his fingers against your lips. You let your mouth fall open, welcoming them in as you clean your release from the pads of his fingers. When he’s satisfied, he leans over you and kisses you, and you can feel how wet his beard is from your release. He reaches up as he kisses you, pulling your hands from the headboard. You immediately bury them in his dark curls, running your fingers over the back of his head, relishing this new touch he’s permitted. 
The way Crater kisses you feels as though he’s stealing the air from your lungs. His tongue gently finds its way inside your mouth, running along your lower lip as his hands wander your body, gently rubbing and caressing. After what feels like an eternity and not long enough, he relents, resting his forehead against yours. 
“Are you ready to continue, my gorgeous girl?” 
“Yes, sir.” You’d been determined to make this harder for him, but he’s broken you, and you’re more than ready to bend to whatever his will may be. You trust him implicitly, just like you always have, but somehow, it feels deeper now. You know as rough as he may be with you here, he’ll never hurt you in a way you don’t ask for. His eyes are staring directly into yours as he strokes your cheek tenderly. 
“So good for me,” he whispers. He kisses your cheek, moving along your jaw until he reaches your ear. He gently takes your earlobe between his teeth as he grips your thigh, coaxing you to wrap your legs around him. You do it immediately, quivering again at the thought of finally being filled by his cock. 
Crater is kicking his pants off as he whispers into your ear. “Now that you’re being good, I’m going to fuck you until you’re boneless. You’re going to cum exactly as many times as I want you to, and no less. But you have to ask me first, and ask nicely. Do you understand?” 
You nod. 
“Use your words, love.”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Color?” 
You can feel the head of his cock resting against the puffy, soaked lips of your pussy. Crater is stroking himself against your slit, coating himself with your release. You look down and see he’s as big as Gregor, but with a little more girth, and Maker above you’ve never wanted anything more. 
“Green.” 
He grunts as he notches his head at your entrance. “Good girl.” 
Crater enters you slowly, watching your face as he breaches you. Your release makes it easier to take him, but not easy. You feel your walls stretch to accommodate him as he slowly thrusts shallowly into you, pressing a little deeper each time. Every time his head catches your entrance, you whimper, and he responds with a thrust. You can feel how tightly you’re stretched around him, every ridge apparent as he takes what you’re more than willing to surrender.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers. 
You reach up to touch his face, and he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist before he leans forward and captures your lips again. He groans into your mouth as he bottoms out, pressing his hips against yours, and the feeling of him inside of you is bliss you’ve never experienced. He stays still, but his entire body is tensed, a taut spring waiting to be unleashed. He strokes your cheek. 
“Are you ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I won’t be gentle.” 
You raise your head, grazing his lips with yours. “I don’t want you to be.” 
He chuckles darkly. “Good.” 
His hips draw back before slamming against yours, and you see stars as the head of his cock finds the perfect place inside you. He starts off at a steady but hard pace, knocking the wind from you with every thrust of his hips. His hands wander your body, squeezing your breasts, playing with your clit, finding every place that makes you unfurl more underneath him. 
At one point, he sits up, placing his hands at the back of your knees and pushing them towards your chest. The angle of his next thrust has you screaming to religious entities you don’t even believe in as he reaches impossibly deeper inside of you. His thrusts are deliberate and perfectly timed, his fingers bruising, and it’s not long before you’re pleading with him again. 
“Maker, I’m gonna cum again. Please let me cum, Captain. Please.” 
“Yeah? Already? You’re not making this very difficult.” He sheathes himself to the hilt and holds there. It feels as though he’s rearranging your insides, and you’re shocked you can’t see an outline of his cock through your stomach. 
“Gods. Please, Crate. I’m so full.” Tears are leaking from the corners of your eyes as he drags himself out again, leaving just the head inside of you. His thumb presses against your clit with a feather-light touch, and you jolt at the contact, whining desperately. 
“Not yet, you’re not,” he rasps. You feel his fingers prod at your asshole, and you fist the sheets, arching your back as your mouth falls open. You hear the click of the lube bottle opening again. 
“Color?”
“G-green.” 
His cock slips from you, and you want to scream, but he holds your legs where they are, and you feel the blunt head of the plug nudge your other entrance. 
“Relax for me, pretty girl.” 
You do, inhaling and exhaling deeply as you quiver with anticipation. The plug slips inside you, and it’s bliss you’ve never experienced. Crater watches you for a moment before he slides his cock back inside of your pussy, folding you back in half again. 
You’ve never felt this full before, never this pleasured, and you’re not sure you’ll ever feel this way again. 
But you need it. 
“Fuck. Don’t stop.”
A hand settles on your throat, firmer than the last time he grasped you like that.
“Eyes open for me, love.”
You didn’t even realize you’d closed them, but your eyes flutter open and find Crater’s in the dim lighting. They’re piercing. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and his gaze follows it. 
“Do as you’re told, yeah?” he groans. 
“Yes, sir,” you gasp. 
The grip on your throat tightens slightly, pressing on the sides. “Squeeze for me.” 
You focus on contracting your muscles even though your mind feels like a blur. Crater grunts as your cunt tightens around him. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.” His cock slams into you, and you relax, letting him fill you. 
“Again.”
Crater releases your legs, fucking you with his hand around your neck. You’ve never tried spice, but you imagine this has to be what it’s like. You’re floating, you’re moaning, you’re sweating, all while wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, more intense with every thrust of Crater’s hips as the head of his cock continues to stroke that perfect place inside you. The grip on your throat tightens when he wants you to flex your muscles, and after a few cycles of it, you tighten around him without having to be asked. Crater’s fucking you in earnest now, the hand still around your throat, and your head is swimming. He releases you for a second, watching you. 
“Color?”
“Green,” you whisper. 
“Louder for me.” 
“Green,” you say more firmly. 
He’s still watching, and you see a flicker of something, concern maybe. 
“I said I’m green, Crater.” 
He takes your hand, placing it on his side. “Tap if you need.” 
“I will. Now please fuck me.” 
The grip tightens again, and you’re back to floating, and before you know it, you’re begging him again. 
“Cum on my cock, pretty girl.” 
You do. You cum hard, clawing at his back as he bites your shoulder. Your vision whites out as you writhe underneath him, clenching around his cock until the orgasm subsides, leaving you panting. 
“Good. That’s two.” 
“How many you shooting for?” you gasp. 
“As many as it takes. Now on your knees for me, love.” 
You roll over onto your knees, bracing yourself against your elbows. You feel exposed like this, back arched and presenting yourself to the captain. You feel him staring at your dripping heat, and you shiver under his gaze. His fingers trace along your lips as he positions himself behind you, nudging your knees apart as he presses his cock back into you. Your back arches almost by instinct, and he groans as he bottoms out, leaning over you. You feel his abdomen press against the plug in your ass, and you try to push backwards to drive it in deeper, but a sharp smack to your ass makes you freeze.
“What did I tell you about being greedy?” he rasps. “You take what I give you.” 
You squeeze around him in the only act of defiance you can muster, and he chuckles darkly before he leans forward, pinning your arms behind your back with one hand while fisting your hair with the other. The roots of your hair creak again under his grip, but the pain is beautiful as he slams into your cunt again with a wet slap that makes your face burn. 
“You talk a big game, but I know what you really crave,” he grunts as he fucks you. “You want to be told how filthy you are. You want to be used like this, to surrender to someone else. You want someone else to take charge. Your dripping little cunt tells me everything I need to know.” He’s got his weight tipped forward onto the small of your back, arching it even further as he snaps his hips into you again, accelerating the pace with each thrust until he’s pounding you into your mattress. Your head is pulled back and forth by the grip he has on your hair, and you allow yourself to go limp as Crater drives into you again and again. You’re more than happy to let him use you, especially as he strokes your insides deliciously, stretching you around his cock as your ass relaxes around the plug. It’s bliss. 
After a few minutes, he adjusts again, tipping further forward, and suddenly, he finds the deepest part of you again, and he knows it when you moan loudly under him. He slows, dragging himself out of you before thrusting roughly back in, and you try to bury your face in the sheets to hide the obscene whines that are falling from your lips. But a rough tug of your hair turns your face outward, and you gasp and moan, some of your saliva leaking onto the sheets as Crater fucks you. 
“None of that, love. I want to hear every noise you make.” 
He pulls you apart, piece by piece, yanking another orgasm from you in a matter of minutes before he flips you back onto your back, pulling your ankles up to rest on his shoulders and gripping your hips as he pistons into you roughly. You lose track of how many times you’ve orgasmed, and each time, Crater only allows you a moment to catch your breath before he’s moving you again, gripping your body roughly and taking what he wants from you. You’re boneless and malleable, and he’s seemingly insatiable. 
He’s fucking you on your back again, with one leg extended between his with the other on his shoulder as he drives into your soaked cunt. Sweat is trickling down his neck, trailing along the lines of his tattoos. His dark curls are glistening with moisture, and one drop falls from his nose, landing on your abdomen as he snaps his hips into you relentlessly. 
“I’m almost there, love,” he gasps. “Gonna fill this pretty pussy up.” 
You’re panting with exertion, trying to hold your orgasm at bay as he grips your hip, driving himself into you impossibly deeper. You worry that his orgasm will mean the end of this night, and he seems to notice your concern.
“Ask for what you want, pretty girl.”
You’re suddenly shy, even with his cock buried inside you, even wearing the marks of his teeth and his hands on your flesh. 
He slows, whispering your name. “Tell me what you want.”
“I… I want you to fuck my ass. I want you to have me there, Crater.” 
His eyes search yours for a second before he resumes his relentless pace. “I’m going to cum in this pussy. Then you’re going to clean my cock off with that smart mouth of yours. And once I’m nice and hard again, I’ll claim you there. That what you want?”
Heat rises in your cheeks. “Y-yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, sir. Please sir.”
“Good girl.”
He leans forward, adjusting to the angle that he knows will rip another orgasm from you, and sure enough, you’re pleading with him again in a matter of seconds. This time, he’s merciful. 
“Cum with me. Right now. Do it.”
You’ve never been so responsive to a lover, never felt as though your body was perfectly calibrated to follow their commands, but Crater’s words send you hurtling over the edge, and you feel him twitch as he empties himself inside of you. It takes several thrusts, and you’re certain you’re full of his cum, dripping with it. 
His final thrusts make obscene sounds, and you feel the warm stickiness dribble out of you. Crater pushes himself up on his hands and knees, reaching for the dildo and gently nestling it inside of you, replacing his cock. It’s cold and not enough compared to him, but your disappointment only lasts a moment as he crawls to the head of your bed, sitting against your headboard with his legs spread. He reaches for the remote on your nightstand and beckons you forward. 
“Come clean me off, love. Get me ready to take you again.” 
You feel as though you’re drunk as you roll yourself onto your hands and knees, clumsily crawling towards him on wobbly limbs. He watches you with a slight smirk as you drop to your elbows between his knees, nuzzling at his abdomen and kissing the scar on his hip. He gently brushes your hair out of your face, gathering it in one hand. 
“You want this, love?”
“So much,” you whisper. 
His cock is still half-hard, glistening with your combined releases, and you gently wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue around the tip. The taste is salty and tangy and warm, and you can’t believe how quickly you crave it, slipping him further into your mouth. He grunts in surprise as you suddenly feel a second wind overtake you, making you eager to run your tongue along every inch of him. You clean him until your saliva replaces the slick cum on his shaft, tracing veins and flicking the head of his cock with your tongue. You hear a dull thunk as his head falls back against your headboard, and he gathers your hair in one hand, applying pressure to the back of your head. 
You want him to use you. You want him to bruise the back of your throat. You want him to make your voice rasp in the morning as a reminder of this night. 
His cock hits the back of your throat, but you hold yourself there, fighting your gag reflex and the tears that are blurring your vision. You can see his abdomen heaving as he experimentally thrusts into your mouth, testing your limits. You swallow around him. 
Crater moans. 
“Good fucking girl. Maker, I knew that mouth would be incredible. Gonna have to be careful or else I’ll cum down your throat, love.”
You hum and the grip on your hair tightens as you feel his cock swell and pulse against your tongue. 
“Oh, you want that do you? You want me to fuck your mouth?”
The sounds as your saliva squelches around him are obscene, but he begins pistoning up into your mouth, moving your head to meet his thrusts. You rest one hand on his thigh in case you need it, and you feel his muscles tense with every snap of his hips. 
“So fucking good. I should come by more often just to do this. Shut your office door and fuck your throat when you get mouthy with me. You love this, don’t you? Love being put in your place. Love being used to slick my cock, you sloppy little thing. Relax your throat for me. Oh, fuck, yes. Just like that.” 
You’ve never heard him this vocal, and as you manage to glance up, you see how his lips are slightly parted. His brows are furrowed, and you can tell you might finally have him knocked slightly off balance. A new wave of arousal shoots through you at the thought of making Crater crumble. With renewed fervor, you bury your nose in the curls at the base of his cock, inhaling his scent just before your airway is cut off, and you gag. But you hold yourself there, and his hand rests heavily on the back of your head. 
Suddenly, you groan as he clicks the remote for the dildo in your cunt. It vibrates to life, pressing against your stretched walls, making your legs quiver.
“Good girls get rewarded,” he rasps.
You become ravenous, eager to taste his cum, desperate to have this man fill your throat. You want nothing more than to pleasure him, to submit to him, and you let him take what he wants from you. Crater drops the remote, burying both hands in your hair as he lazily thrusts in and out of your mouth, giving you instructions occasionally, which you follow without question. The dull buzz between your legs combined with the pressure in your ass and the throb of Crater’s cock on your tongue brings you to the edge again, but this time, you can’t beg with your mouth full. 
He notices. 
“Do it. Cum for me. You’ve been so good.”
He clicks the remote again, and you scream around his cock. He presses your head all the way down, groaning as your shrieks vibrate around him. Just as you’re spent, he pulls you off of him, turning the vibration off. He’s almost painfully hard, you can see that. His cock is fully erect and twitching, glistening with your saliva in the dull lighting of the room. You rest your cheek on his thigh, and he strokes your hair. 
“Tell me what you want, pretty girl.”
“Wanted… wanted to taste… you,” you pant.
He strokes your hair. “Another time. I promise.” 
You whine. “Please fuck me.”
That was apparently the answer he was hoping for, not wanting to expend himself too early if that’s what you really wanted. He’s read you again, but you can’t be bothered by it as he asks you “Where?”
You know he’s making sure this is what you want, so you meet his eyes with as firm a gaze as you can muster. “Please fuck my ass, sir. I need it.”
“How could I refuse such a polite request?” 
Crater eases out from underneath you, crawling around behind you and guiding you onto your stomach. He folds a pillow in half and helps you raise your hips to stuff it under them, raising them to his liking before he straddles you, enclosing your legs with his. He pushes the vibrator in your cunt a little deeper, you having squeezed it out slightly during your last orgasm, and then he clicks the low vibration back on. Your muscles tighten around it, and you grip the sheets, arching your back and moaning as he presses it further in and clicks the button again. The vibrations ramp up, and you writhe beneath him. He taps the end of the plug in your ass, and you turn to look over your shoulder at him. 
“You gonna let me have your ass, sweetheart?”
It’s one last check. And you’re so grateful for it. But you’re also so impatient. 
“Yes. Please fuck my ass, Captain.” 
His eyes leave yours to watch as he plays with the plug a little, tapping and moving it in and out of you before he removes it completely. You feel achingly empty and wiggle your ass, hoping it will entice him to fill you faster. You’ve never been taken there before, but right now, you want nothing more. 
“I’m going to go slow. Use your colors.”
“Please, Crater.” 
The lube bottle clicks open, and a few seconds later you hear the sound of him slicking his cock. Coolness hits your asshole, and you gasp as fingers slip inside of you, working you even more open. 
And then you feel it. 
Crater uses one hand to spread your asscheeks as he notches the head of his cock at your entrance and slowly begins to ease in. So slowly. Tears leap into your eyes as your muscles stretch to accommodate him. It’s slightly painful, but the pleasure outweighs it as he gently thrusts just the head in and out of you. It feels as though your cunt is stretching too, and the vibrations inside of you suddenly become more intense. 
You need him deeper.
“More,” you plead. 
Crater sinks a little further into you, moving his hand to the small of your back instead to brace himself. And that’s when it hits you: he’s inside of you completely, not having to hold himself there, in a place no one else has ever been. 
The realization drives you wild. 
And then he taps the vibrator again. You gasp loudly, fisting the sheets. 
“More. Please!” 
He sinks deeper, but it’s too much too fast this time. You gasp out a color.
“YELLOW.” 
He backs off quickly, but your hand rockets around to keep him inside you. 
“Just a little slower. I’m sorry. I thought I was ready,” you choke out.
“Don’t be sorry. Not at all. I’m glad you told me.” His voice is tight. You know he’s holding back. And that’s why you want to keep going. Because you trust him like you’ve trusted no one else. 
“Don’t stop. Just go slower. But please don’t stop.”
“You’re sure?” he asks again.
“Yes. Please. I’m green.” You thrust back slightly, just to your breaking point, and he takes your lead. You feel your body relax around him, and this time, you’re positive when you ask him for more. He’s slow and patient, working his way inside you. The stretch is delicious, and Maker, you’ve never been this full. Nothing you do with your fingers or toys after this will be enough. Not with the way his hand is rubbing comforting circles in the small of your back as he destroys you one centimeter at a time. 
“More.” 
He sinks deeper, and now you’re babbling as he slowly drags himself back out of you before sinking back in. You reach between your legs to press the vibrator against your clit. 
“Fuck, Crate. You’re so big. It’s so big and perfect. Fuck. I fucking love the way you feel in my ass.” 
“You gonna let me cum in this tight ass, pretty girl?” he grits out. He doesn’t correct you on his title, but you’re pretty sure he’s almost as far gone as you are.
“Gods, yes. I want you to claim me there. Paint my walls where no one else has. I want to feel you leak back out of me.”
His hands grip your hips so hard you’re certain there’ll be a perfect set of fingerprints there. He’s doing everything in his power to go slow, and you can’t wait to turn him loose. 
“More, Crate.” 
You feel his hips come to rest against your ass as he bottoms out. He’s panting against your shoulder blades, attempting to keep his composure. The realization of how deep he is inside of you has your cunt fluttering around the vibrator, and you almost orgasm from the thought alone. He stretches his legs out, lowering his weight on top of you. One set of his fingers interlaces with yours, and the other hand comes around to cup your throat. He doesn’t squeeze this time, just cradles your jaw, holding your head up as he nuzzles against you. 
“You’re so good for me,” he whispers against your skin. “So fucking good.”
You look over your shoulder at him as much as you can, watching a line of sweat trickle down his temple. 
“Fuck me, Captain.” 
He does. He’s slow at first, but the drag of his cock all the way back out and all the way back into your ass makes you mewl, and before long, you’re pressing back into him. He ramps the vibrator up to its highest setting, and your eyes roll back into your head. 
“Harder. Please.” 
He obliges, snapping his hips deeper and putting more of his weight into each thrust. Your toes dig into the sheets as your whole body begins to tighten. 
“I’m so full. It’s so good. So good. Fuck.” You can’t stop babbling as he pounds into you.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he gasps. “You take my cock so fucking well. Like you were made for it.” He groans loudly as he bottoms out again. “You love this, don’t you? Being stuffed in both holes?”
“Yes,” you sob. “It’s so good.”
“I bet you’d love to have Gregor’s cock in here too. Maybe he takes your sweet little cunt while I pound your ass.” You moan, clenching at the thought. Crater doesn’t stop. “But that still leaves your mouth. Maybe I get Chuckles in here to fuck that smart little mouth while Gregor and I take you. Would you like that, pretty girl? To be ruined by three men at once?” 
You whine and spasm around him, and he feels it. “Fuck, you’re such a dirty girl. Who would have known the smart-mouthed mechanic would let me do this to her? Let me ruin her in the backroom of her office. I want you to always remember this when you’re out in that office working. How I took you back here and made you scream my name. How you begged for my cock. Maybe I’ll take you over that desk before I go in the morning so you think about that for the rest of the day while my spend leaks out of you.” 
“Crater, I’m gonna cum.”
“Not until I say you are,” he grits out. “Not until I’m ready to.” 
You inhale sharply, trying to keep your body from toppling over the edge. 
“Don’t you cum yet,” he snarls. 
“I’m trying,” you whine. “But I’m so close, Captain. So close.” 
“Keep talking.” 
Your mouth runs on autopilot, desperate to find the words that will yank him to the edge alongside you so that you can both tumble off together. 
“Your cock is so fucking good, Crater. Gods, nothing will ever be enough after this. You fill me up so perfectly. I need it, Crate. I need to feel your hot cum in my ass. I want to feel it leak out of me. Fuck. Please give it to me, Crater. Please cum in my ass.” 
His thrusts grow more erratic, and you know you’re about to get what you want. 
“G-gonna fill you up,” he growls. “Gonna be the first to claim you here.”
“My ass is yours, Crater.” 
“Yeah it fucking is.” The grip on your throat tightens, pulling your head back again, and that last little pinprick of pain has you teetering on the brink. It’s like the first day when he had you tipped in the chair of your office, your toes barely touching the floor. All it will take is the slightest push to send you toppling over the edge.
Just a little further. So close.
“Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” you sob. 
“You’re so cute when you beg,” he rasps directly into your ear. And with a loud groan, his hips stutter as he cums in your ass, gasping. 
“Now,” he moans.
And your orgasm rips through you. He drops your head, and you scream into the sheets as wave after wave washes over you in the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. Tears stream from your eyes and your body spasms again and again. You feel like you’re floating somewhere between consciousness and some other plane of existence as you come out of it, barely aware of what day it is or what your name even is anymore. 
When the waves of your orgasm finally stop battering your wrung-out body, you collapse limply against the sheets of your bed. They stick to you, but it feels as if you’ve sunk halfway through the mattress somehow. Your mouth feels dry from screaming. Your tongue darts out to moisten your lips, and you’re aware Crater is laying on top of you, panting against your neck, but trying to hold the majority of his weight off of you.
“Get it out,” you mumble. 
He’s already slipped from your ass, but he quickly turns off the vibrator and eases it out of your cunt. You feel yourself start to shake uncontrollably. You’re not sure if it’s due to the orgasm, the sudden chill on your sweat-soaked body, or something else. Regardless, Crater lies next to you and pulls you close to him, being careful to keep his sullied hand clear of you. His nose grazes yours as he gently cradles your head. 
“Breathe with me, Bolts.”
You do, and the shivering begins to subside after a few cycles. You finally open your eyes and find Crater’s steady gaze watching you, a comfort as always. 
“I’m going to go get something to clean you off with. I’m going to be right back. Alright?” You nod, your mind still hazy, and he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before moving off towards your ‘fresher. The sink hisses softly, and a moment later, you feel your legs gently being parted and a warm, damp cloth moving over your body, thighs, and between your legs as Crater carefully cleans you. Once he’s done, a dry towel runs over the same areas, soft and gentle, before he rolls you onto your back, removing the pillow from beneath your hips. You hear the mini-fridge in your outer office open and close, and a straw is placed at your lips. You drink greedily as he strokes your hair, draining the water packet in a few seconds. 
“Good girl.” The words are softer now, carrying no heat. “Do you need more?” 
You shake your head and open your eyes just in time to see him toss the spent water packet into the rubbish bin. He slides into the bed next to you, pulling the blanket over the two of you before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. You snuggle into the crook of his shoulder in a daze, inhaling his smell and draping one of your legs over his thigh. His fingers stroke your cheek, and he presses gentle kisses to your forehead and cheeks. Strong, gentle hands trail over your skin, caressing tenderly in a way that so sharply contrasts with how he touched you just moments before. He searches for sore muscles or tension left untouched but finds none; you’re completely relaxed in his grasp. His fingers graze over the bruises and bite marks he left, pressing gently and watching for your reaction, ensuring you’re not in too much pain. It’s sweet, but not something you’re used to. You know this hardly counts as being pampered by most people’s standards, but you’re not used to the doting tenderness. Even if you do find yourself melting into him more with every passing second, allowing your eyes to drift shut again as you release a satisfied sigh.
“I’m alright, Crate,” you mumble after a few moments, growing shy under his attention. 
“I need to be sure,” he says quietly. “That was intense for you.” 
You smile. “It was, but it was so good.” Your eyes flutter open, and your heart melts at the way he’s looking down at you. You were worried about how this moment might go, concerned about how your friendship might shift after allowing this to happen. 
But you should have known better. Crater is a pillar but also a soft place to land, someone you’d confide in without hesitation. His men fall in line because he’s someone to fly into battle with, someone you know will keep you safe. He’s proud but humble. You know he won’t tell a soul about this night. He doesn’t need to. He knows what he did for you, how you begged for him, and that’s enough. And if you’re honest, you think he got as much out of it as you did, enjoying watching your walls come down and you relaxing with him, enjoying the process of helping you. 
“Just didn’t realize this was an all-inclusive sort of encounter,” you joke. “You’re starting to make me feel like royalty with all the attention.”
His expression grows serious as he looks down at you, pushing some of your hair out of your face. “You shouldn’t be accepting any other kind of encounters, Bolts. Do I need to chat with Gregor when he gets back?”
“Nah. He’s fine for what he is. And he does take care of me. It’s just… different.” 
He grunts noncommittally, pulling you closer. You feel his thumb graze your spine. 
“You jealous?” you ask, tongue poking out between your teeth teasingly.
“Not at all. We’re different people giving you different things.”
“That makes it sound like you don’t intend for this to be a one-time thing, Crate.”
“That is entirely up to you.” His thumb caresses your lower lip, and you kiss it. 
You pretend to consider it for a moment, as if this night won’t have you craving his touch seconds after he’s gone. “Well, I can’t be getting cranky with your men again, now can I?” you murmur, snuggling deeper into the crook of his shoulder.
The corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk. “Definitely can’t have that. And I’m more than happy to do my part.” 
“More than happy?”
“Yeah, Bolts. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t think I’d enjoy myself too.” 
“You do this with a lot of people?”
“Nope. Only ones I trust. And that trust me.” 
You twist one end of your hair nervously, the mention of trust bringing a question charging to the forefront of your mind. He can tell, taking your fingers and carefully intertwining them in his own. 
“What is it? You having second thoughts?”
“No, not at all. This was great. It’s just… have you heard if Gregor’s talking about him and I? I didn’t think he would, but what Strike said a few weeks back stuck with me. I don’t want to be the Battalion Babe of the week.” 
He nods, pulling your knuckles to his lips. “I can assure you that I haven’t heard anything and I don’t think Gregor’s like that. I think Strike was angry and lashing out. I know several of the men did see you leave 79s with Gregor, so the conclusion wasn’t too far-fetched. But Gregor’s not feeding the rumor mill.” 
You sigh. “Dammit.”
“For what it’s worth, you haven’t been a topic of conversation within my earshot. I had a chat with Chuckles too and asked him to make sure it wasn’t happening when I’m not around. He said he would, and I trust him. As much of a pain as he is at times, he’s a good man. I trust him.” 
You nod appreciatively, melting slightly at the thought of Chuckles doing that for you, but the mention of the mohawked pilot brings another question to the front of your mind. “Were you serious about you and Gregor and Chuckles?”
He shrugs. “It was something I said in the moment, but not a thing I’d approach them about without your express consent. No one needs to know about this if you don’t want them to. And I would only bring in people you and I trust explicitly. Gregor and Chuckles are two of those people. But again, it was said in the moment and doesn’t have to be a serious thing ever.” 
Your mind is whirling at the thought of having three of them at once. You can’t lie, it does pique your interest. You smirk up at him. “I’ll let you know.”
He huffs a laugh. His eyes are gentle as he leans down, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Thank you for trusting me to do all that for you.” 
You snuggle further into him, absently tracing his tattoos with your fingertips. “Thank you for doing it for me in the first place. I’d have never asked.”
A quiet laugh rumbles through his chest. “I know. You’re too stubborn. That’s why I offered.”
“Glad you did.”
“Me too.”
His steady heartbeat lulls you to sleep only a few minutes later. 
When you wake in the morning, Crater’s still there, but he’s in the process of getting dressed. He’s snapping his vambraces in place as you stir, sitting up and stretching. You ache deliciously in all of the right places, but seeing him standing there reawakens your hunger. He smiles at you as you sit up in bed. 
“Morning. Figured I should get out of here before the droids start powering on. They’re not known for gossip, but better safe than sorry.” 
“I suppose you’re right.” You can’t keep the disappointment out of your voice, and even if you had, you’re confident he still would have picked up on your cues. He pauses. 
“What’s wrong?”
You wonder if you’re overstepping, but after the night you just had, you figure it doesn’t hurt to ask. You get out of your bed, opening the door to your office. Despite you being completely naked, covered in his marks, Crater’s eyes are firmly locked on yours. You lean against the doorframe, glancing over at your desk. 
“You mentioned a parting gift last night that involved my desk. That offer still on the table?” 
He huffs a laugh, his hands falling to your waist and gently guiding you out into the office. The cool edge of the desk presses against the front of your thighs as he leans down to speak directly into your ear. 
“Elbows on the desk for me, pretty girl. And try to be a little quieter this time.” 
You shudder as he nudges your feet apart, placing his codpiece on the desk next to you. 
“Yes sir.” 
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yoonpobs · 3 years
Text
who's the boss | jhs
pairing: jung hoseok x oc
genre: fluff, slight enemies to lovers, boss!hobi, pa!oc
warnings: like one moment of suggestive content, confessing but no real confessions, jimin is your annoying best friend
words: 4, 663
summary: valentine's day with your stupid (hot) boss
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“You look miserable.”
Jimin snickers when he walks past your slouched body across your desk, ensuring that you saw the mocking look he gives you when you glare at him.
“Please tell our boss that.” You mutter under your breath, attempting to avoid the mountains of work that sat in front of you.
“You’re his assistant—you out of all people should know that he’s a force to be reckoned with.” Jimin points out, slamming a new pile of folders on your desk.
You gape at him, observing the unforgiving amount of work that now occupies both your desk and time; and Jimin only offers you a half-hearted shrug before patting you on the shoulder.
“Mr Jung wants it by tonight,” Jimin lets you know as he begins to walk off.
The deadline has you snapping your head rapidly to his retreating figure as you quickly stand up to call for him.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” You exasperate, “Jimin—there’s no way I can get this done by tonight let alone this week!”
Jimin doesn’t even turn around when he shrugs, as if to tell you that it was your problem to deal with.
You growl, helplessly staring at the work that scatters your desk before your eyes narrow to the office next to yours, doors shut tight.
Before you can think twice, blinded by pure anger, you storm towards the secluded room; ignoring the stares from your co-workers, and a few sighs that you can tell is coming from Jungkook knowing that you were going to piss your boss off yet again.
You don’t knock, long past that level of formality with your boss as you slam the door open, eyes narrowed intimidatingly at the unsuspecting victim of your rage, who just looks up from his laptop with a raised brow.
“____, are you already done with—”
“Jung Hoseok.” You hiss, interrupting him as you shut the door behind you, rolling up your sleeves as if that would intimidate the man; fully aware that he towered over you, even in heels.
He slowly brings his laptop to a semi-closed position and leans back into his seat, arms carefully folded across his chest in a way that makes him look intimidating yet commanding.
It was a pity that your boss was such a douche because he was truly one of the most beautiful men that you’ve had the pleasure (or displeasure) of meeting in your entire life. Hoseok had the charm of a man that held himself with confidence and assurance, knowing that he was likely the hotshot of every room he walked into.
However, that also meant that he had a justifiable inflated ego that you were on the receiving end off, purely because you were hired as his personal assistant and not some other poor soul.
“That is my name, yes.”
You stomp towards his desk and slam your hands down onto the expensive wood, making sure your eyes are locked onto his stoic expression.
Momentarily, you see his eyes glance down to your chest where a decent amount of cleavage is likely being displayed to your boss, but it goes as quickly as it comes when he returns his gaze onto your blazing one.
“Are you fucking crazy?” You snap.
He blinks at you, hands clutched together as he leans forward on his elbows, face getting impossibly closer to your own that you have half the mind to put some distance between the two of you to preserve the beating of your heart.
“Is that any way to speak to your boss?” He cocks his head to a side, a teasing smirk dawning on his face.
“Cut the shit,” You hiss, “In what goddamn universe did you think it was justifiable for you to give me a month’s worth of work and expect it to be done by tonight?!”
He sighs, leaning back into his chair and man spreads in a way that you usually would hate, but of course, Hoseok made it look undeniably hot, and inviting.
“Didn’t I hire you because of your work ethic?”
You scoff in disbelief, arms folding across your chest.
“This is not about work ethic, and you know it. You have some secret vendetta against me and I see through your shit.” You accuse.
“Do I, Ms ____?” He says in a voice so low that it makes you stutter in your response.
“You tell me, Mr Jung.” You retort.
He observes your expression for a moment, taking in the way that you were breathing heavily and how your cheeks were a little flushed from your rant. Hoseok smirks at you because even though you were a lot to deal with, and had a tongue sharper than anyone he’s known, you were adorable.
Just like a kitten that was waiting to be tamed.
“Very well then,” He claps his hands together and opens his laptop again.
You raise an eyebrow, waiting for his next set of words. You recognise the slight gleam in your eyes and that causes an unsettling feeling to develop in your stomach.
“Work overtime.” He says simply as if it was the most obvious solution.
You gape at him, baffled at his blunt suggestion.
“What? That’s your solution? To work overtime?” You snap.
“I don’t see a better option knocking at our door’s here.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.
You grit your jaw and feel your eye twitch at his indifference, and you think about risking getting reported to HR, or even getting fired just so you could reach over and strangle the hell out of your insufferable boss.
“Give me an extension.” You all but demand.
“No.”
You’re about to leave with your dues until he answers you, and you snap your head to look at him incredulously.
“What do you mean no?” You hiss.
“It’s exactly what it means, Ms ____. I want the documents sorted through and filed by tonight. Even I’m working overtime and I’m the boss.” He smirks, eyes still not straying away from his laptop.
“Hoseok you don’t understand. I can’t.” His name slips out involuntarily, and you almost miss the way a smile teases his lips when you opt for his actual name than the nicknames you’ve resorted to.
“Oh? Did you have plans tonight?” He pries, eyes twinkling with mischief.
He knew. He knew what today was and gave you a shit ton of work.
You clench your jaw and give him a curt nod.
“Yes. I do.”
He hums under his breath, glancing down to type something onto his laptop before shutting it completely.
“Well—cancel them. You have plans with me now.” He says.
You choke on your spit at his calm declaration as you splutter to find a response.
“I can’t just cancel a date—!”
You snap your mouth shut when his eyebrows shoot to his hairline in a mischievous manner as if seeing you flustered was his favourite sight to behold.
“As your boss, I think I call the shots here, don’t I?” He pushes himself off his chair to walk towards you, height and presence imposing on your retreating figure.
“You’re such a fucking asshole.” You spit when he engulfs your space with his presence.
The navy grey suit he chose to wear today flattered his physique wonderfully, showcasing his lean and long limbs as well as his built. It didn’t help that he styled his hair with it parted by the side, his forehead on full display—as if to mark his territory as the most intimidating (and handsome) person at the office.
“Call me what you wish,” He shrugs, a smirk on his face, “We’ll have a lot of fun tonight, won’t we?”
You’d be lying if you didn’t have butterflies in your stomach.
.
“Mina—tell the blind date you set me up on that I can’t make it tonight,” You sigh, phone between your shoulder and your ear as you type away at your computer.
You hear Mina whine on the other end about how she thought the guy she set you up with was a perfect match for you. Truthfully, you didn’t even want to go on the date in the first place; but Mina said that you needed to get over the hots you felt for your boss even if he was the most infuriating person in every room he’s in.
“You’re not lying to get out of this, right? Do you really need to work overtime?” She whines.
You sigh.
“Do you remember who I work for? Of course I need to work overtime.” You mutter.
“How am I going to tell Jae?” She complains, and you briefly hear a thud on her end; probably signalling the fact that she flopped onto a surface in despair.
You snort and narrow your eyes to get a better view of the details on your spreadsheet, ensuring all facts and figures were aligned before saving it and proceeding to the next set of work you needed to finish.
“You’ll find a way,” You tell her, “I need to go. I have ten more documents to sort through and they’re all due tonight.”
Mina blows a virtual kiss for you and bids you goodbye, saying to kick your boss in the ass for her.
The moment you hang up, you see Jimin and Jungkook walk pass your desk with their bags over their shoulders, stopping by you to offer a sympathetic smile.
“Have fun working overtime ____,” Jungkook says, and it’s sincere enough to make you give him a half-hearted smile.
“Work on sucking your boss’ dick too.” Jimin snickers, mimicking the action inside of his cheek as you glare at him, chuckling a piece of crumpled paper in his direction.
“Jungkook—tell Taehyung I said hi,” You smile sweetly at him, then narrowing your eyes into slits at Jimin, “Jimin, I hope you puke out all the chocolates you’re going to binge on tonight.”
He gasps, hands resting on his chest in mock offence as he waves you goodbye, heading out as you return the gesture with your longest finger.
There the last bit of your co-workers that left the office, and now it was just you—and Hoseok—but he was cooped up in his office, for whatever reason it may be.
You sigh, cracking your knuckles forward as you attempt to race through all the documents that needed to be sorted through as fast as you can so you could go home and binge-watch all the romantic comedies in your watchlist.
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The quote time flies sits prettily on the tip of your tongue when you glance at the clock on your table to tell you that it was half an hour till midnight, meaning that you slaved away to work for an additional 6 hours.
You huff, at least thankful that you were finally done.
Even with Hoseok’s words saying that he’d work overtime as well, you were sure he was just in his office relaxing while you did his hefty work. The thought makes you frown as you clean up your workspace, ensuring that it’s in a pristine condition before you head back.
“_____?”
Hoseok’s voice peeks out from his office and you stop your ministrations to turn your head to look at him, a few stray strands of hair falling by the side of your face as you do so.
Hoseok can’t help but appreciate how relaxed you look, a juxtaposition from the usual prim and proper persona you took on during work. Your hair was tied in a messy bun, and a few buttons of your blouse were undone to give yourself some room to breathe.
“Yes?” You raise an eyebrow, beginning to get irritated with the way his eyes unabashedly observe you.
You have the words on your tongue already, preparing to cuss him out with your mouth and your fist if he gave you any more work to do.
“Have you eaten yet?” He asks.
You raise an eyebrow, watching his figure lean against the frame of the door.
“No, I haven’t. I was too busy finishing up the documents for you, remember?” You bite, can’t be helping the snark that your tongue releases.
A small twinge of a grin appears on his face as he cocks his head to his office, gesturing you to enter.
“I have some food. Do, join me.” He asks.
You blink at him, hands still clutching the last bit of your belongings as you mull over his proposition. While you and Hoseok worked close and hand in hand in business operations, you managed to have professional boundaries with him (which didn’t include the fact you cussed him out every five minutes). So, for him, the poster image of uptight and professionalism; with the occasional blunder, to invite you for a small meal outside of business?
You try to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster.
“Ah … it’s fine—I’ll probably heat some leftovers up—” You shake your head to deny.
But as you were caught up in a daze, Hoseok had seemed to have made his way to your desk, body positioned in a way that locks you in so that you had no other way to escape.
“Nonsense.” He tuts, grinning at you with his award-winning smile and you find it very hard to find him distasteful when he has the ability to reduce you to mush.
You notice that he mirrors your appearance in the sense that he looks far more casual than he usually does during work hours. He’s abandoned his blazer, and all he’s left in is his dress-shirt that does absolutely nothing in hiding his figure and slacks that just accentuates his waist even more. The fact that he also has his sleeves rolled up makes you more flustered than you’d like.
“It’s late—” You try to make an excuse, but he’s tugging you by your wrist to follow him and you have no objection on your tongue when you’re in his office.
Somehow, you've been in the room a million times, the second person that spends the most time in here besides Hoseok himself, yet tonight feels different.
The context of sharing a small meal with him seems almost illegal as if you were committing a crime.
“When did you even order this?” You mutter, when you realise his desk was already cleaned of all work-related stuff and only left with the brown packaged bags of food.
“Of course you didn’t notice,” He teases, gesturing for you to take a seat on the chair next to him.
You roll your eyes, bowing your head slightly to thank him when he passes you a sandwich, and you’re pleasantly surprised to know that it was your favourite order from a place you frequented during your lunch breaks.
“How did you—?”
“I’m not that much of an asshole to not know your likes and dislikes ____.” He jokes.
You purse your lips, flustered because while you and Hoseok bantered back and forth, and you were definitely tougher on your own boss than you were to your colleagues, you knew deep down it was an act of self-preservation to convince your own heart that keeping him away was safer for you.
“I didn't mean it like that …” You mumble, munching on your food.
Your eyes are too focused on the sandwich that you miss the fond expression Hoseok gives you, opting to just observe small bites that you were taking.
Eventually, you do notice that Hoseok isn’t eating but paying full attention to you, chin resting on his palm as he blatantly stares at you. When your eyes look up to meet his own, you flush and look away immediately, ears burning red under the dim light as you attempt to cover it up with a cough.
“Why aren’t you eating?”
He shrugs.
“I had my dinner hours ago. This is for you.” He gestures to the food, “You know I despise these things. They’re so pretentious.”
You gape at him with an open mouth.
“Then why are you still—” It seems like Hoseok is dead-set on not allowing you to finish most of your sentences tonight when he responds before you can finish.
“I was waiting for you.” The confession knocks the wind out of your chest as you look at him with wide eyes, heart beating faster when he nonchalantly admits that he was cooped up in his office—waiting for you?
“You didn’t have to do that Hoseok …” You mumble, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear bashfully—a habit you only do when you’re embarrassed.
He snorts.
“A thank you would be nice, sweets.” He leans forward, face inches closer to yours as you yelp and leans back into your chair.
The term of endearment doesn’t fall deaf on your ears as you blush even harder. You want to curse at yourself because you’re much stronger than this, you’ve trained for years to not let your feelings show in front of Hoseok because well … he was the CEO and you were his personal assistant.
While there was no strict ban on dating your boss, you had ethics and principles of your own that somehow convinced you that it would’ve been messy. And messy it would be because you worked with him on every single project, communicated information to him and basically was his confidant—purely transactional—so you wouldn’t risk your career just to be with him.
Especially when you didn’t know if he felt the same way.
Even when he looks at you like that.
“I’m waiting …” He sing-songs, grinning at you.
You roll your eyes, looking away when you mumble:
“Thank you.”
He seems satisfied as he leans back into his chair, gesturing you to finish your meal.
The sandwich was delicious, as always, but once you took the last bite you were starting to wonder if Hoseok had really just waited hours, and now to just have you eat in front of him.
“Thank you for the meal, Hoseok.” You say politely.
He eyes you for a second, until his eyes glance to the side of your head—then back at you.
“It’s five minutes before midnight.” He points out.
You raise an eyebrow at him.
“… okay?”
“So … aren’t you going to wish me?” He pries.
The cue falls over your head, until you see and feel Hoseok, cage you in your chair.
You let out an eep at the sudden proximity, flushed at the way Hoseok grins at you all suave-like.
“Wish you?” You squeak, “W-What do you mean?”
He sighs, resting his palms on the side of your chair, looking at you with a fond expression that you were sure your eyes were deceiving you with.
“I dunno. Isn’t today a special day?” He teases, and he revels in the fact that you’re turning into a tomato under his scrutiny.
“I-Is it? I didn’t—I didn’t know that …” You gulp.
Hoseok takes the leap of faith and reaches out to pat your head, as you freeze under the touch.
“There were flyaways.” He smirks.
You feel like dying because of how close he is to you, and you know that he won’t let you go unless you say the words he’s tried to pull out from you. So, you swallow your pride, and honestly, gather all the courage you have in you to wish him.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Hoseok.” You mumble, eyes avoiding his.
He doesn’t do anything for a split second, and you feel like a fool. You’re about to push him away until he moves—shuffling between his drawers to pull out—
“Flowers?” You cock your head to the side when he hands them over to you.
They were a beautiful arrangement, meticulously curated with the hands of someone that wanted perfection. It was very like Hoseok, but also included all of your favourite flowers and colours that you can’t help but imagine how cohesive the two of you would be.
You try to shake out of your delusions because you’re still processing the fact that Hoseok had handed you a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers you’ve ever seen and received.
“Happy Valentine’s Day to you too, _____.” He smiles, and it lacks the usual mirth that he carries when he’s out to poke at you. This time, his smile is kind, warm—and longing.
“W-What is this for …?” You admire the arrangement, and it feels heavy in your palms. A testament to the effort put in, as well as how expensive it must’ve been.
“For being a great personal assistant,” He says.
It’s like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on you when he says those words. You blink up at him, then you scowl—shoving him away from you as you abandon the flowers on the table. Your heart was so hopeful as if you had managed to understand what was going on in Hoseok’s heart—but he reminded you of who you were and the world between the two of you shattered.
“Hey—hey. Where are you going?” Hoseok seems panicked but you don’t pick up on much as you hastily try to leave.
“Home, Hoseok.” You say curtly.
He’s faster than you when he grabs your elbow to spin you around to face him.
“Do you not like it?” He furrows his eyebrows.
You glare at him, and all the irritation in you returns when he genuinely looks clueless.
“No, Hoseok. I fucking love it.” You try to pull away, but he’s stronger than you.
“Then what’s the problem?” He huffs.
You narrow your eyes at him and even though he both makes you want to rip your hair out and makes your heart feel funny—he genuinely looks confused.
“You!” You yell, shoving at his chest as he just looks at you quizzically.
“You’re my problem Jung Hoseok,” You point a firm finger into his chest, “You’re always making me do your work for you and teasing me until I want to rip your hair out—then you do this … whatever this is, with the flowers and the stares you’re giving me and you—and you expect me to be okay?”
He blinks at you.
“You’re so confusing Hoseok! Like God—first, you look at me with those eyes of yours and expect my heart not to flutter? Is that it? Do you just like embarrassing me like this? You stupid son of a motherfucking bitch—!”
He really needed to shut you up, and granted, it wasn’t the best way to do it. But there was something oddly endearing about the way you were yelling his ear off that he needed to just close the distance.
Hoseok grabs you by the waist with a firm hand on your cheek when he leans down to kiss you.
The kiss is explosive, both in pent up frustrations and longing all at once and you’re both confused and relieved when you feel the plush of his lips against your own. You forget what you were saying when he holds you like this—close.
Hoseok looked like a magnificent kisser—you theorised—and your hypothesis was proven with the way he’s gentle yet assertive with the way his body moulds against your own.
You whine when he pulls away, your hands clutching at the front of his dress shirt. Only when you see his flushed cheeks, and swollen lips do you remember what was happening.
“_____—”
You punch him in the stomach.
Hard.
He grunts, doubling over as you glare at him.
“Are you insane?” You shriek.
He wheezes, clutching at his abdomen.
“You could’ve just told me you didn’t like me!” He snaps, shooting you a venomous glare.
Your mouth falls open as you give him one of your own venomous stares.
“Are you stupid?” You throw your hands into the air, “Why the fuck did you do that?”
“I was trying to be romantic!” He grits out.
You huff, and you soften for a moment to see him still holding onto his stomach.
You quietly reach out to him, holding him by the elbow like you did something wrong (punching him in the stomach) and look up at him with apologetic eyes.
“Does it really hurt?” You meekly ask.
"No. I'm on the floor because it's comfortable," He deadpans.
You pout as you flush a pretty shade of red.
He’s about to retort when he sees how guilty you look, then he sighs; reaching an arm around your shoulder to bring you into an embrace against his chest.
“It’d hurt a lot more if you were rejecting me.”
You scoff, leaning your cheek against his chest when you feel the movement of his chest with his deep breaths.
“Why couldn’t you ask me out like a normal person?” You complain.
He rolls his eyes.
“You’re not a conventional person to ask out.”
You narrow your eyes at him, and he wants to kiss you again because you’re the cutest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on.
So he does.
This time, you’re not as shocked, but it’s still as pleasant as when he first kissed you. You lean into his embrace, taking the initiative to run your hands across his shoulders and into his hair.
“We could’ve been doing this way longer if you weren’t such an annoying brat.” He mumbles against your lips.
The moment is broken when he returns to his normal self, but your heart still remains.
“Me? Annoying? You know what’s annoying—the fact that I spent six hours on Valentine’s Day sorting through your stupid documents because you wanted to hold me, hostage, here—”
Hoseok purses his lips as you progress through your rant, but in all honesty, you looked like a little rabbit that was frustrated than anything else, and all he feels in endearment.
He lets you have your moment, though—because he likes you like this—honest, unforgiving and so irrevocably yourself.
“—like, romantic? Please, Hoseok—you have zero romantic bones in your body and I’m pretty sure you’re 100% annoying than human—”
He pouts when you resort to insulting him, and he reaches for your cheeks to squeeze them in his palms so you’d stop.
“Okay enough of that, my feelings are hurt.” He pouts, “But … I’ll let you off the hook cause you’re so cute.”
You glare at him, cheeks still squished together like a chipmunk.
“I hathe eberything avout you.” You say through a muffled breath.
He sighs.
He releases your cheeks and begins packing up the trash, and you’re confused at the way his touch suddenly disappears and disappointed because you weren’t close to him anymore.
“Hobi?” You meekly call out, and he swears his heart stutters at the nickname.
“Can you stop being cute for one second and let me clean up?” He groans, shoving the stray paper bags away into the dustbin below his desk.
You blush even harder, keening under the praise.
You twiddle with your thumbs, awkwardly hovering by his desk as you watch him. You’d try to help, but there was something so utterly domestic and … homey about the way that Hoseok tuts you off when you reach out to pick something up.
Once he’s satisfied (because as annoying as he was, you applauded him for his neatness), he throws his blazer over his shoulder effortlessly, and shuts all the lights off, saying nothing more besides walking to the door.
You eye him curiously, wondering why he hasn’t uttered a single word yet, but as you’re about to open your mouth, he turns around to look at you over his shoulder with a raised brow.
“Are you coming?”
You tilt your head to the side.
“W-Where?”
“With me,” He shrugs his shoulders, leaning against the wooden frame of his door as you feel your heartbeat grow faster at how effortlessly good he looks under the dim light.
“I think I owe you a belated Valentine’s Day celebration, no?”
Oh.
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clonehub · 2 years
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for the person struggling with names for clone ocs… i think it’s important to consider the personality of the clone when picking their name. a laidback clone would probably be okay with whatever nickname his brothers gave him and be fine with it being something more silly, while more serious clones would probably like a more serious name (like cody). part of this also comes down to personal preference. i like names like hardcase/hotshot but only sparingly. i wouldnt name a whole squad with those types of names.
when naming clone ocs, one of the best advise i’ve seen is to try and keep it 2 syllables and under. i think there is only one canon clone with a 3 syllable name (bacara). remember, clone names started as nicknames shouted in the middle of battle because their numbers were too long, so shouting a long ass name would be a little counterintuitive.
when i was looking for good clone names, i ended up just keeping a list on my phone of good words that i encountered in my day to day. i also looked into military slang words and code names (an example is the NATO phonetic alphabet). stuff like that can help make them feel more authentic and fit in the universe more. you can also get creative and make star wars-ified versions of those things. i think the most important thing though is to have fun with it though!
and i love talking about clone names so if anyone wants to come and chat about them, my ask box is open 😊
- @coruscant-commander
This is all very good advice!
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temeraire101 · 3 years
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I’m still on my Star Wars kick and wanted to make more content of my OC, so here you go! Meet Captain Hayes, Osana’s second in command. Osana calls him Hotshot because of his marksmanship abilities, but he’s really the only one who does.
Hayes is a bit grumpy, and more of a realist, so he’s a good foil for Osana’s more upbeat, optimistic personality. He also may or may not be just a bit in love with Osana, and his clone brethren may or may not ABSOLUTELY give him grief about it whenever the general’s not around. If Osana’s aware, he doesn’t say, but he may show just a little bit of favoritism. 😂💙
In the Alive Timeline (what I’ve been calling it if Osana survives order 66), Hayes ends up in an explosion a few months before the purge, and they take his inhibitor chip out by accident, thinking it was shrapnel. So while Osana does sustain injuries, Hayes manages to help him escape to safety. (Also in the Alive Timeline these two end up together for sure, but I haven’t worked out the finer details of what they do when they’re on the run 😅).
Anyway, I hope you guys like him! And thanks to everyone’s kind words on Osana, it was so nice to read. 😊💙
As always, please don’t edit or repost, but feel free to reblog! Enjoy!
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thecodyagenda · 1 year
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hotshot but make her lancelot from bbc merlin 😎
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oc-rp-ads · 2 years
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hi there! 24, nb. looking to play a vigilante squad with someone. i have several ocs- most without abilities and some very much wish- who range in the anti-hero sort of sway and would *love* to pit them against other ocs. ideally i’d love to play multiple characters in our misfit found family of folks trying to find their way and get into too much trouble, but i’m happy to focus on one centric pairing above all. as a note too: all my characters are trans and queer in some way. shipping is optional, and chemistry dependent. i’ve got lucky fearless leaders, underestimated techies, hotshot second in commands all the way to interrogation experts and a disgruntled washed up hero. if this intrigues, add me on discord at samfightsghosts#1821! thanks !
samfightsghosts#1821
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hrtiu · 3 years
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WIP List
Updated WIP list
If you ever want to gently encourage me to work on a particular story, feel free to send me a message/ask/comment/whatever. Thanks! AO3 link here.
New draft of my original novel 😩
Worthy of Devotion Chapter 9 - Foxiyo Chancellor/Bodyguard AU. I’ve finished the first three chapters, and I’m pretty much committed to updating weekly, so this will definitely be a priority
Children of the Republic Chapter 4 - Rexsoka post-Mandalorian, married fic
After the Fact Chapter 8 - Shakarian post-game slow burn
The 79s Beat Chapter 5 - OC Coruscant Guard member/OC bartender at 79s fic. I love this story and I’ve got it all outlined but there hasn’t been a ton of demand for it so it’s kinda on the backburner
Bobannec asks/requests
Fennec giving Boba some TLC after a rough bounty
stargazing
flashback to them meeting as young hotshots in the underworld
slow burn at Jabba’s palace
Rexsoka asks/requests
Rex in a Mandalorian episode
A clone hits on Ahsoka at 79s and Rex gets jealous/protective; some kind of Rexsoka in an AU setting
post-Order 66 sleepy times
post-Order 66 one normal, happy day
de-aged Ahsoka takes care of baby Rex
Rex has a nightmare about killing Ahsoka during Order 66
One getting a gift for the other
Getting caught blatantly checking the other out and teased about it
One of them walking in on the other
One being sick/high on meds/drunk and saying something embarassing
soulmate/youtubers/wrong number/fake dating
Foxiyo asks/requests
fake dating to take down a mob boss in a seedy bathhouse
“My senator gf convinced me to stage a Military Coup and we were way too successful. I am now Supreme Commander of the Republic”
Blyla seeing Fox and Riyo shy around each other and reminiscing about their past
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selfawarejester · 3 years
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HALO: SHADOWS OF REACH — A REVIEW BY A SOMEWHAT ENTHUSIASTIC FAN
Alright, so after forever and to much demand (okay, that's a lie, no one asked for this), I've finally finished my review of the newest installment in the Halo novels: Shadows of Reach. Obviously, there are spoilers inbound.
RATING: 8/10
This could've easily been a ten if not for some parts of the story that irked me, but overall a fun read— I'd read it again.
A VERY LONG SUMMARY (OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD, SO PLEASE TELL ME IF I MESSED SOMETHING UP)
Welp, the first half is just John being very emo about Cortana and pretty much ignoring his teammates' emotional states (a large part of the book is that, actually), and introducing old wise man Major Van Houte, no nonsense Crew Chief Stella Mukai (who made John laugh, huzzah!!) and Lieutenant Maks "Hotshot kid" Chapov (don't get too attached). They perform intricate aerial maneuvers and the likes to avoid being spotted, but they are and they crash.
After a couple close encounters with Banished banshees that act like Keeper banshees for some odd reason, three-quarters of Blue Team gets their cans kicked by actual Banished banshees and get separated from Linda-058 and Special Crew (which are the flight crew btw). Whilst heavily wounded, they are held at gunpoint by the Viery Militia who also make fun of them while at gunpoint. (Rude, but also very funny). Militia Leader Lady assumes that they're there to help them liberate Reach (and refuses to let John tell her otherwise) and gets pissy about it afterwards - but she's under a lot of pressure, so it's fine - and Fred is Concussed™, leading to ridicule and shade from John and Kelly for pretty much the rest of the book.
There's a lot of stuff in the middle about the Viery Militia, so hightlight reel: John manages to ask his doc a personal question (Go, John!), and he and Kelly are driven to meet the commanders of the Militia by sweet Bella Disztl, five time winner of the Tantalus-10,000 (don't worry if you forget, they bring it up in every scene she's in). I like Bella, partly because she looks like my OC, but in general. Unfortunately, she falls prey to the Halo driver curse and bites it later on in the book.
Despite a lot of angst and distrust once the commanders find out BT is not there to help free Reach, they decide to take the Armory from the Banished and call in reinforcements from Infinity.
As they launch the assault on the Banished armory, everyone without MJOLNIR (and Chapov and Van Houte who are out of range) gets knocked out due to lack of breathable levels of oxygen in the tunnels (and they talk about the brain damage that's caused when your oxygen is cut off for a few minutes, which makes me and all the other RvB fans sad) and the Spartans are forced to do it alone, shocker. Chapov saves the day with an innovative tactic to take down massive amounts of Banished vehicles, go Chapov!
We finally get to see Halsey (who finally has a prosthetic arm), Lasky (who likes to say heck) and Palmer (who is still Very Done with basically everyone), so that's cool.
There's a second attack on the armory as the Banished try to take back what is theirs, and here is where Bella dies :( But, on the other hand, a hundred and twenty Spartans (which is still super shocking to me) save the day. Palmer and Blue Team have a very odd interaction wherein Palmer is treated like she's in the wrong despite being perfectly reasonable?? (I'm just going to read this part one more time because the first time around was at 2AM) Anyways, Palmer takes over freeing Reach and the Spartans go to the Highlands to finish their actual mission.
So, I've neglected to mention Castor's arc in the book because it's basically all the same thing, so highlight reel: There's a badass Sangheili called 'Gadogai who works for Escharum. This dude is the right hand man of Atriox, aka the big boss. Anyways, Deukalion (where are my TW fans at?!) and Ballas are dokabs of two of the other Banished clans who are fighting over the pioneers' land, like a bunch of bitches, instead of doing their jobs and Castor's really mad about it. Castor continually demonstrates his cleverness but as always misses a key factor and his plans get screwed. Also, Orsun's son is around, so that's cool. There's lots of Jiralhanae politics and crap that I'm not really going to go into here. Also, Veta Lopis and the Ferrets are there with their kick-ass hairstyles. Escharum shows up and Castor's ploy to let BT guide them to this Portal to the Ark finally works out and things are going good for the Keepers' Leader.
BT finally makes it to the mountains, and after a fun aerial chase, Chapov is mortally wounded and manages to take out, like, four Banshees before he dies. The Banished go for the Portal while BT rush for SWORD base, there's another large scale fight with Jetpack Brutes and Longswords and Broadswords, but BT makes it to SWORD base, and Fred goes check out the corridor to the Portal (which they get into after a lot of events). They grab three cryo-bins and a box with a sabre symbol on it, and John manages to mess up his wounded legs and is very nice to Kalmiya's fragment. Sweet.
The Freta reunion is painfully brief, and leaves Fred with confusion and a message capsule. The Portal is opened, the Keepers turn on the Banished, but ultimately no consequences are reaped (shocker) and Gadogai jumps ship over to the Keepers. Cortana is alerted by the Portal and a Guardian is showing up and everyone hauls ass away from Reach.
Captain Veronica Dare is still alive (yay) and gives Fred part of the message because "it's none of ONI's business" which is amazing and awesome and once again, yay. Halsey is pained by how much Blue Team had gotten beaten up (which I am still confused by) and Palmer and the rest of the UNSC forces are stranded on Reach.
FINAL THOUGHTS
It was definitely lots of fun, I'll give Denning that. They finally brought in that slipspace crystal from First Strike which I've been bitching about forever, which is cool.
However, lots of elements from his previous books touch over in this one, like continually getting the badass, untouchable Spartans absolutely pwned and the subtle traces of sexism surrounding his treatment of Kelly, Linda and now Palmer get on my nerves.
One thing that bites at me was that Kelly got shot in the goddamn chest and she was just doing perfectly fine. Her coping with it was not shown at all. It gets more and more obvious with each book that Denning is pretty much clueless on what to do with either of our badass Spartan ladies, which is discouraging, especially compared to the amazing force-of-nature that is Veta Lopis!
And I really didn't like the fact that John was just sad about Cortana. I mean, there's no actual conflict about the fact that Eviltana (who I will always think about as a different person from my blue bby) is a mass-murdering fanatical bitch. Like she's just misunderstood and not an actual dictator. And he doesn't seem to give a damn about any of the Spartans obvious signs of trauma over any of this stuff. He just dismissed Kelly's valid concern about saying Cortana's name, which is kind of OOC, but okay.
That being said, they better not make another Cortana model, because that was something Actual!Cortana was very messed up about; being replaced like that. If they do, they better make it very clear that she's a different entity, like Kalmiya.
Congrats and thank you for reading through all of this stuff! Hope you enjoyed, and feel free to hit me up regarding anything Halo!
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violetwolfraven · 4 years
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Pass Out
38 for sprace—requested by @just-a-gay-meme
I’m injured and I came to you because I didn’t want to tell my mom/Jack/whoever.
((So I guess this would be canon era, pre-strike when Race was selling at Sheepshead, so he and Spot did know each other, but they aren’t really even friends yet. It’s not the same universe as the one fic I’ve written with her in it, but it includes one of my ocs. Don’t worry, you didn’t forget about her. Bluebird just isn’t canon.))
...
Race would normally not be confused by the fact that he was waking up in a Lodging House, but today, he had an excuse, because he was waking up in the Brooklyn Lodging House.
“Well, well, well,” a voice said, and Race jumped, “He lives.”
There was a little girl sitting by his bed, holding a bowl and a wet washcloth that was suspiciously red, and Race didn’t think it was because that was Brooklyn’s territory color.
And Race was only 15, but this girl couldn’t be any older than maybe 10, so he got to call her a little girl, even though, as was visible because she was wearing one of Brooklyn’s signature red tanktops, she was probably stronger than he was. She had features kind of similar to Romeo, with black hair and brown eyes, so Race guessed she was Asian, or at least one of her parents was.
“What the fuck?” Race mumbled under his breath.
“Oh, no,” the little girl said, sounding genuinely concerned, “How hard did you get hit? How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three,” Race said, because she clearly was.
“Hmm...” the little girl tilted her head as she put her hand down, “Do ya remember how you got here?”
“Brooklyn Lodging House? No. Got no clue. What the fuck am I doin’ here?”
“You got your ass kicked,” the little girl said flatly, “At least, I think ya did. You kinda just showed up, asked for help, and passed out. That was two hours ago.”
“Thanks,” Race said, “Um... what was your name again?”
“Bluebird. Ya didn’t know it in the first place. You’re Racetrack Higgins, right? The ‘Hattan boy Spot lets sell at Sheepshead?”
Race shrugged sitting up halfway and leaning back on his elbows, “The one and only.”
Bluebird wrinkled her nose, “No wonder ya got your ass kicked. All you Manhattan boys can’t fight to save your lives.”
“Hey!”
“It’s true! Manhattan’s probably the—“
“Blue.”
Bluebird looked at the floor as Spot called to her from the doorway.
Race sat up all the way as Brooklyn’s King walked over, putting his hand on the little girl’s shoulder.
“What did we say ‘bout antagonizin’ people for no reason?” Spot asked.
“To not to,” Bluebird mumbled.
“You’s a big girl, now, right, Blue? Your cute factor ain’t gonna get you out of fights much longer. Ya gotta learn not to pick fights you can’t win.”
“Bet I could win against him.”
Race laughed, “She’s probably right.”
“Maybe,” Spot reasoned, “But, Blue, appearances can be deceivin’. Race, here, happens to be really good at makin’ friends. Which means he has friends in every borough, this one included. Half the Newsies of New York’d go to war to defend him, so in short, Racetrack Higgins is either a good friend to have or a bad enemy. Take your pick.”
Bluebird snuck a glance at Race, “I’d rather be friends.”
Race smiled, “I’d rather be friends with you, too, kid.”
She smiled at him, and Race didn’t at all see what Spot meant. She wasn’t losing her cute factor. She probably wouldn’t for a couple more years.
“Run along, Bluebird,” Spot said, “I think Hotshot’s waitin’ for ya.”
“I’m sellin’ with Rafaela today!”
“Raf’s... busy. Go find Hotshot.”
“Okay!”
Bluebird hiked up her skirt to run faster, and Race laughed.
“So, I’m guessin’ I know what you meant by busy?”
Spot shrugged, “Yeah, she’s got a sweetheart, but I don’t know who it is. I’m pretty sure it’s either York or Joey, but Raf ain’t the talkative type, so I don’t know which. She asked me to watch Blue this afternoon, but I don’t need a little frontin’ for me.”
“And Hotshot does?”
“He’s an intimidatin’ lookin’ kid. He probably don’t need her, but with winter comin’ up, I’d rather be safe.”
Race nodded, then winced as that hurt, “That makes sense.”
Spot stood there silently for a couple seconds, then asked.
“So, what happened?”
Race shrugged, “Wish I knew. Thinkin’ back, it’s all kind of fuzzy.”
“There’s been some thugs ‘round Brooklyn lately, thinkin’ it’s funny to beat up on workin’ kids,” Spot muttered, “They targeted my kids at first, but learned to avoid us when we soaked them instead. I probably should have sent someone over to warn ya. Bluebird’s right. Only one of you Manhattan boys who can fight good is Cowboy.”
Race decided to ignore that last comment, “I don’t think I got soaked.”
“Hmm. You’re probably right. It’s just the one head wound, right? Nothin’ else hurts?”
Race shrugged, “It hurts to breathe a little, but...”
He looked down his own shirt to check.
“Not that many bruises.”
“I should check for broken ribs, anyway.”
Race honestly didn’t know what to think as Spot Conlon, the King of Brooklyn, sat down on the edge of the bed Race was still sitting on, putting up one hand.
“Can I? I know what I’m doin’.”
“I’m sure ya do,” Race admitted, knowing Brooklyn’s reputation for getting in fights with local gangs, other boroughs, even each other.
Of course, his mind was hyper-focused on the fact that Spot wasn’t known for being friendly, and he also happened to be less than a year older than Race.
He was kind of attractive. If Race was the type to go for badasses, he would be very flustered right now, which... he wasn’t. He totally wasn’t even a little flustered by this.
In the end, Race nodded, “You can check, but I’m pretty sure nothin’s broken.”
“Okay. Tell me what hurts.”
Spot gently put his hand against Race’s lower ribs, slowly increasing pressure before moving up, then checking the other side. And sure, it twinged in some places, but nothing hurt enough to actually be broken.
“Why’re you helpin’ me?” Race asked as Spot finished up.
The other boy shrugged, “Ya ain’t one of mine, Higgins, but you sell in Brooklyn. That makes ya at least partly my responsibility.”
Race wanted to protest that—he was one of Jack’s seconds, for fuck’s sake—but Spot was still talking.
“Also, that head wound wasn’t so bad that ya forgot what borough you’re from. If you really wanted to go back to ‘Hattan, you at least would’ve tried. Probably gotten run over on the way, but you’d have tried. Ya came here. Judgin’ by what little I know... you’s close with Kelly, right?”
Race nodded, “He’s like a big brother to me.”
Spot shrugged, “There ya go. Winter’s rough on every leader who actually cares about their kids, and it’s comin’ up fast. Jackie Boy’s probably stressed enough as it is, makin’ sure everyone sells as much as they can before it gets really hard, and ya didn’t want to worry him. So, you came here instead of goin’ home.”
Honestly, that sounded about right. Race still didn’t remember everything, but not going home when hurt so as not to worry Jack sounded like something he’d do.
“Well, that explains what I’m doin’ here,” he admitted, “But it doesn’t explain why ya actually helped.”
“Like I said, you’s partially my responsibility.”
“Bullshit. I’m Manhattan and you know it. Hell, I’m second in command along with Crutchie. Ya didn’t have to help me beyond makin’ sure I don’t die on your doorstep, so why? Do ya just want me to owe you a favor?”
Spot shrugged, not looking Race in the eye, “I might collect a favor later, but that ain’t why I did it.”
“Then why?”
They locked eyes, and Race could see that he was being completely serious.
“Genuinely nice people are few and far between. Bluebird ain’t the only one who’d like to be friends with you.”
Race smiled, “Well, if ya wanted to be friends, you could’ve just said so. I’m always open to new friends.”
Spot snorted, “One of these days, that’s gonna get ya killed.”
“Possibly... but I should probably be gettin’ back to Manhattan. Before I do, I have one question to ask you.”
“What?”
Race pointed vaguely at a throbbing area just above his temple, not wanting to actually touch it.
“How bad is it?”
“Your hair covers it, mostly, and Blue cleaned off the blood. It ain’t super noticeable, so if you avoid Cowboy for a bit to give it time to heal, he probably won’t have to find out.”
“Okay, great. Thanks, I guess. Thank Bluebird for me.”
“I will.”
Spot stayed close as Race stood up, probably expecting to have to catch him.
Race didn’t actually feel that bad. His head hurt, sure, but he didn’t feel like he was going to pass out anymore.
“I usually hang out under the stands when I take a break from sellin’,” he said, “If ya ever wanna... hang out, or whatever, come find me.”
Spot nodded, “Yeah. Sure. Maybe I will.”
Honestly, given that Spot Conlon was known for being hostile to pretty much everyone outside of Brooklyn, Race hadn’t expected to ever be able to befriend him. He was friendly on the rare occasion they saw each other, but he’d always seen Spot as kind of cold and distant.
Maybe it was just being in his own Lodging House—home turf—that made him drop his guard a little.
Whatever the case, Race couldn’t deny that a part of him was thinking about how if he could be friends with Spot Conlon, maybe he could slowly get closer and maybe even be more someday, but—
But this was a thought train for another day.
Well, this should be interesting.
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