#empty senate seat

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [5.9K]

THE TIMELINE

"Oh no, you know you know I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dying, For someone I could die for, someone I could try for Fall apart and cry for, go 'head, risk my life for."

-Someone I Could Die For by Lewis Capaldi

II. ROME, ITALY: 49 BC

The roar that came from the bowels of the Colosseum never became easier to hear. 

The noise seemed to make the city shake, the streets empty, the market stalls abandoned in favour of bloodshed. The games took place in the summer, when the skies were an endless blue and there were no clouds to tamper down the climbing heat. The sun bore down on the sandy pit of the enormous Amphitheatre and the seats were filled, the doors that had already been closed still surrounded by regretful stragglers who were forced to listen to the chaos from outside of the walls. 

Fourteen men had died already, three from the jaws of the lions, two from the bears and eleven from the swords of other imprisoned slaves. The cheering from the crowd made your stomach curl. The floor of the stage was covered in red, the sand streaked with spilled blood and the animals that were bullied back into their cages had their jaws tinted pink. 

It wasn’t a joyous occasion, no matter how many people celebrated in the name of their emperor. The leader of Rome was sitting mere seats away from you, dressed in ruby robes that were slung like a cloak over his white toga and his laurel crown glinted with golden beads that sat tucked into the olive wreaths. He was drunk on wine and violence, and your father sat next to him in the royal box, ever eager to please as he clinked his chalice against his kings. 

Being the daughter of Rome’s most beloved senator certainly had its positives. You were dressed just as finely as the royalty around you, the fabric that was made to fit your frame swept to the floor and only yesterday, the emperor’s cousin had gifted you a necklace made of the finest gold, inset with glittering emeralds, pretty enough for a princess. 

The same cousin smiled at you from across the row, each seat in the royal box made from plush velvet, the high backs ornate and cushioned, unlike the stone carved benches the rest of the civilians were sitting on. You smile back, uneasy but polite, and your father nodded approvingly. 

You were expected to marry, you knew that much. You were already considered too old to be unwed and you knew the rest of the court whispered about how you would now struggle to bear a child. But the man that was expected to be your husband wasn’t who you loved. He wasn’t unkind, he wasn’t cruel - not like you’d heard men could be. The girls in the kitchen would tell you stories of how their husband made demands. Shouting each night for their meals, their baths, how their shirts weren’t stitched right, how their beds would lay cold because their wives were too tired. 

Some men visited the bath houses, you knew that much. Seeking out a lupa for the night, the ladies that were called she-wolves, with their painted lips and robes that showed so much skin. Some men decided that they didn’t need to listen to their wives at all, you were once told, horror etched on your face. Some men took what they thought they owned. 

So no, the emperor’s cousin seemed kind enough. But you weren’t in love with him. You weren’t sure who you were in love with. A dream, perhaps. One that kept returning to you from a young, young age. A dream about a different town, one you’d never been to before. But in your sleep, it felt like home. White buildings and green gardens with tall, tall trees and pretty, ornate gazebos made of stone on the edges of shallow ponds. You were by the sea there, a blue-green ocean that seemed so calm. 

Sometimes monsters came, the marble statues that guarded the city came to life and turned your dream into a nightmare. There was always fire and fury, storm clouds and too big waves and a man with skin the colour of death would try and take your hand. But even when the dream turned bad, there was  always someone else.  

A man, with a blurry face and a mess of almost too long hair. It hid his eyes from you and you could never make out too many details but you burned when you looked at him, you could weep when he touched you. Sometimes he led you through the burning town, his hand clasping your own as you both tried to run and run and run. 

Other times, you lay in a bed with him, skin bare and your head on his chest as he murmured the sweetest poetry to you, words that made your heart race. Your dream was encased in white linen sheets, a hazy, soft light that always made it look like early morning and when the man’s lips met yours, you always woke up. 

Him. You loved him. 

You hadn’t been in love before, but whenever you dreamed of the stranger, you were sure that must have been what love felt like. 

“Have some grapes, darling,” your thoughts were interrupted by your father as he thrust a plate of fruit and cheese under your nose. 

But the fifteenth gladiator was being dragged through the gates by the armpits, a clawed hammer still sticking out from his chest and your insides turned over at the idea of eating such sweet treats as blood poured from the men in front of you. The emperor’s box was almost nauseatingly close to the fights. 

You shook your head before you remembered your manners, smiling politely and murmuring, “I’m quite alright, thank you.” You blew out a breath, shaky and faint. 

From your other side, one of the young girls who had been gifted to you on your sixteenth birthday waved a giant fan. A large peacock feather, a huge plume of colours that merely wafted the too warm air back and forth but you smiled your thanks at your lady in waiting, a pretty girl who’d turned into a prettier young woman. She was small and lithe, angular in the face with curls that came to her sharp jawbone and she smiled back. 

Nancy, as she’d introduced herself to you a week after she’d arrived at your fathers house, from the Wheeler family of Liguria. She didn’t like the gladiator fights anymore than you did, always murmuring about the rights of the animals and how inhumane it was later in the night as she drew you your bath. 

“—from Verona,” your father was saying with a mouth full of provolone. “One of their best, so they say, His Majesty simply had to have him.”

You blinked, frowning in confusion at your fathers words. You hadn’t been paying attention in the slightest and nothing you’d caught made any sense. “Sorry?” You grimaced apologetically and took a few pomegranate seeds from the plate of food in apology for your rudeness. “Who is from Verona?”

Your father rolled his eyes, a sure sign that you’d be lectured in his study later for your lack of respect. “The next gladiator, child.” He gestured to the stage where the soldiers were locking the gates to the tigers, each big cat growling with menace when the men came too close to the bars. “They say he’s unbeatable. Our Highness offered a more than generous helping of coin for his papers but Verona’s general didn’t seem to want to part with him.”    

You frowned again. The crowd seemed to be aware of this man and his presence, murmuring and shifting in their seats in anticipation. “If that is the case,” you prodded. “Then how is he here? If the gladiators… owner—” the word left a terribly bitter taste in your mouth and you felt heavy with guilt when Nancy’s fan brushed your shoulder. “If his owner didn’t want to sell him?”

Your father snorted, an unattractive sound that made Nancy wince beside you. “No one tells the emperor of Rome ‘no’, dearest.” Your father shrugged. “The gladiator cannot be owned, if his owner is dead.”

Bloodshed. Always bloodshed. 

A man came from the east side gates with chains around his ankles and wrists. You couldn’t quite see him for your seat, not yet, but the crowd above and around you roared, eager for the final fight to begin. The man already looked beaten and tired as soldiers stepped forward to unlock his manacles and you sat forward in your seat for the first time since you entered the Colosseum that day. 

He had messy hair, dark brown and hanging just past his chin. It was already damp looking, matted and dirty from being kept god knows where as the emperor's new toy. He was shirtless, his body lean but corded with muscle. He had wide shoulders and a lithe waist, powerful thighs and skin that was tanned from the sun, a sure sign he spent too much time outside, training hard in the Italian heat. 

As he moved closer to the middle of the stage, you saw the marks on his body, leftover scars and new slices in his flesh that still looked viciously red. The crowd got louder as a sword was thrown at his feet, a large, heavy looking thing with a bronze handle. Some cheered for the new warrior, hoping for some excitement, while others jeered and booed, already too attached to their darling reigning champion. 

The gladiator picked up his sword and the crowd became wilder still, but he gave them no mind. He didn’t put on a show like some of the others, he didn’t flex his muscles or raise his weapon like it was already a prize. His leather loincloth was a deep wine colour, the tan leather pleats looking far from newly made and the material was already streaked with blood and dirt before his first opponent arrived. 

Your heart felt heavy for him, as it did for all the others who were forced into the Colosseum - prisoners, slaves and animals alike. You watched the gladiator flex his wrist, testing the weight of his weapon just as the gates in the west cranked open. 

Rome’s current champion strode out from the shadows and into the bright sun, his bare chest glinting with sweat and Hargrove held his hands aloft, grinning as the crowds went insane. He beat his chest, his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and when he was handed his own sword, he wasted no time in running towards the new fighter, the steel blade glinting. 

You gasped, moving closer still to the edge of your seat and you couldn’t find it in you to bear much mind to the looks your father and Nancy shot you. It wasn’t like you to take such an interest in the sport, never mind be so heavily invested. You didn’t like to watch the wounded, preferring to close your eyes when the screams began, hiding cowardly behind Nancy’s fan when the blood turned the sandy stage pink and red. 

But this new gladiator, he was fast. 

He dove at the last second, dodging the tip of Hargrove’s blade and he rolled towards the section where you sat. Dust kicked up from the move, his sword tearing into the wreaths and sashes that hung from the Emperor’s box. You grasped the edge of the wooden frame, peering over the side and down to the stage, hoping to not see blood already. 

Instead you found the gladiator looking back up at you, his sword still in his grasp and when his eyes met yours, they widened. Something like recognition hurtled through you, a feeling that sucked the breath from your lungs and you felt dizzy, like lightning itself had struck you from the sky. You thought the man perhaps felt the same, a frown on his face telling you that he felt just as confused as you did. 

But before you could consider where on earth you could have possibly seen his face before, Hargrove attacked again, bringing his blade down to where the gladiator's shoulder should have been, if he hadn’t rolled once again. 

You were on your feet now, the stares of your father be damned. Your eyes were wide, your heart beating far too fast, like you yourself were on the stage, being hunted for sport. Wood splintered into the space under your nails as you watched the man run, his muscles pumping, his eyes narrowed. 

“Darling, are you quite alright?” Your father placed a hand on your arm, more confused than concerned. 

“Yes, I just— yes.” You cleared your throat and sat down again, albeit back to the edge of your chair. You could feel the rest of the royal party staring at you. “Where did you say the man was brought from? The new gladiator?”

“Harrington?” One of the Emperor’s councilmen interjected. He pointed a pudgy finger at the brown haired gladiator, who was now swinging his sword with as much power as Hargrove. “Steven Harrington of Verona, best of his breed I heard. His general didn’t take too kindly to the King’s offering and well— you know what happens when his Highness is made to feel upset.”

The metallic clink of the swords filled the arena as everyone held their breaths. Not many had lasted this long against Hargrove before. 

“Rumour has it that he didn’t take too kindly to his general being beheaded. Took six men to get him into the back of the cart, even more to make him train. He’s been refusing food all week.”

The idea of it made you feel unwell, a sickly, creeping kind of pain curling around each of your ribs and suddenly you were starving, just as much as you were sure the man would be. But still, I didn’t seem to make him move any slower, it didn’t hinder him in bringing his sword down any harder. 

But strangely, every time the new gladiator was struck, every time his knees hit the raw sand, every time he got close enough for you to see him suck in a gasping breath— you felt it too. 

It was a battle like you’d never seen before, more vicious than the others from that day, a showdown under the blazing heat of the high sun. No tiger seemed as powerful as Steven Harrington of Verona did. There was something animalistic in the way he moved, all power and lean muscle, a steely glint in his brown eyes that you didn’t dare look away from. He moved too quickly for Hargrove’s blade, dodging and diving as he flung up sand, blinding his opponent and slicing at his legs. Each move was a blur, the stage bleeding with fresh red, the blonde gladiator on his knees. 

But Hargrove was ruthless, grappling with the newcomer until they were both wrestling in the dust cloud and the crowd went insane, people chanted and stomped their feet, the amphitheatre shaking down to its very bones. The imperial box quaked with the energy, but truly, you weren’t present enough to feel it. 

Your eyes never left Steven’s fighting figure. 

The swords seemed to be forgotten, the steel blades rusted with blood, both fresh and new, and they lay in the sand. Fists flew, knees pressed to chests to keep the other down and it was brutal, it was harsh, it was deadly. 

You wanted to vomit. You feared you might. 

You wondered what would happen if you leapt from your chair, if you let your skirts get torn and bloodied in the mess of the stage, if you threw yourself down onto the sand and begged for Hargrove to take his hands away from the new gladiator's throat. 

Would you be punished? Beaten? Locked away? Killed?

You weren’t sure but somehow, all the options felt worth it. You couldn’t watch this man die before you. Not when it felt like you’d already witnessed his death before. 

But Steven wrestled himself out of Hargrove’s hold, twisting and tumbling whilst he gasped, one hand clutching at his reddened neck and the other grappling for his blade. He swung it through the air, arching wide, his wounded shoulder ripping with effort it took but the sword landed where the warrior intended it to. 

Silence settled over the colosseum, the air still enough for you to hear the surviving champion heave out gasping, heavy breaths. There was blood on his hands, his chest, his face. 

His right eye was already bruising, red and lilac coming to the surface of his skin like fresh blooms in spring. His shoulder was a mess, his right leg causing him to buckle slightly as he rose to his feet.  

The man turned, jaw slack, his sword falling limply to the ground once more, his opponent still and at his feet. His eyes found yours and time stilled, at least, to you. The crowd erupted, an explosion in its own right, the entirety of Rome cheering for their new champion. 

A man you were sure you already loved. 

By the time the fight had ended, you felt beaten and bruised. There were no marks on your skin, no blood seeping through your gown, but something inside of you hurt all the same. It felt like something was clawing at your heart, a memory that was banging on the front of your skull, screaming at you to remember. 

When the guards dragged the gladiator from Hargrove’s limp figure, he dropped his sword to the sand and spat a mouthful of blood towards the ground at the royal pit. The Emperor merely chuckled as others around you gasped and before you could even hear your fathers protests, you were on your feet. 

Steven Harrington was shackled once more, the metal chains clinking around his hands and feet. And as he was led away back into the arches, the gears of gates making an awful protesting noise, his eyes found yours once more. 

A burning gaze, too intense to look away from and you could’ve sworn on the gods, on the stars above, that something inside of you tugged sharply. Like the pull of a string, tied in a bow between your ribcage, urging you forward. 

Telling you to go. 

So you did. 

You gathered your skirts in your hands and made your way to the exit of the box, too focused to hear your fathers objections until the guards at the doorway halted you with their spears. The wooden stalks crossed themselves over your chest and you froze, the string tied to your heart pulling tighter and tighter and tighter— 

The Emperor was staring at you, with cold eyes and a smile that wasn’t really a smile. He spoke to your father, not you. “Where, my dear senator, is your lovely daughter running off to?” The king turned back to you, brows raised. “Doesn’t she know that more wine will be served soon? My cousin is looking forward to her company.”

Your father stared at you, a stricken expression on his aged face because everyone in the royal box could read between the lines of the Emperor. 

You cleared your throat, eyes still trained on the sharp metal points of the spears that were very much in your face. “Forgive me, father - your highness - I was merely hoping to get some fresh air.”

“The sight of all that blood makes her rather delicate,” your father agreed and the crowd of councilmen, generals and their wives tittered in their jewels. “She isn’t one for conflict.”

The Emperor stared at the side of your face, something you could feel despite bowing your head in his presence. You stared at the floor and waited, heart racing. 

The royal tsked. “What a pity,” he declared but he waved a hand, each finger heavy with golden rings, and his soldiers stepped aside. “Be back in time for the parade, child, you have company to entertain.”

The Emperor’s cousin leered at you, his wine glass empty, his lips stained ruby but none of it mattered right now, not when you were taking off once more, skirts dragging across the dust and sand, your chest heaving as you tried to navigate your way through the crowd that was already dispersing. 

More guards, heavily armoured and with their swords drawn, were too preoccupied with a fight that had broken out between the arches, two lower class men arguing over a coin they found on the ground. Taking your chance, you moved with your head down, your face hidden as you slipped through a door that was normally carefully watched. 

The heavy wood slammed shut behind you, the sunlight swallowed whole. Burning torches lit the narrow corridor, a maze of them leading you underneath the Colosseum. The hypogeum was almost damp as you tried to navigate its many walkways, a gasp leaving your throat as you took a wrong turn and ended up face to face with the iron bars that separated you from the animals. 

A huge tiger growled at you, bloodied teeth bared in a snarl, the stench of raw meat and faeces hanging in the cool air. You backed away, eyes flickering from cage to cage, each one filled with another poor creature. Lions, bears, a rhinoceros and its offspring, and beyond them, an even larger cell holding prisoners. They all stared at you, men and animals alike, but nothing was spoken. 

You backed away, unable to breath, turning on your heel and walking quickly enough to spot the familiar grey robes of the healers used after the battles. You followed, your steps light, and watched him enter a small room. Between the door opening and closing, you spotted the gladiator perched on a wooden table, his head bent low and his face hidden behind his damp hair. 

You weren’t sure what possessed you, but before you barged into the room too, both men staring at you from the table where the healer held a ragged cloth to the gladiator’s shoulder. 

“Miss, you have no need here,” the healer announced, his voice strict and cold. He narrowed his eyes as he gestured to the door. “This is no place for—”

“My father sent me.” It was a lie, of course. A bold and bare faced one at that. But you stood a little taller and lifted your chin, the emerald necklace at your throat shining in the low light that came from the small fireplace in the corner. “The senate has questions I’ve been asked to deliver. I shall not leave without the appropriate answers.”

On the mantle, beside bottles of acids and other medicinal vials, sat a small statue of the goddess Veratis. Her marble eyes seemed to judge you and your lies and you swallowed down the bitter taste it left on your tongue. But looking at the man - this stranger from Verona - the need to speak to him, to be alone with him, was overwhelming you to the point of senselessness.  

The trouble you could be in if you were to be caught in your lie… or worse, down in the hypogeum. This was no place for a woman of your standing, never mind to be alone with a gladiator, both of you unspoken for. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat. 

“If we may have some time alone?” You added with more authority than you should have held. “Unless you’d prefer that my father leave the Emperor’s side to ensure his orders are fulfilled?”

The healer sighed but placed down his tools. He flashed you a smile that was all crooked teeth, more bite than kindness, but he made his way to the door. “That won’t be necessary, My Lady,” he told you and he left, closing the wooden door behind him. 

The silence was a deafening thing. The crackle of the fire was still there, the distant roar of some poor, wounded animal, but whatever was held between the two of you took on a life of its own. It seemed to suck the rest of the world into it until there was nothing left but you and this man. He was staring at you still, brown eyes wide and so familiar, looking as confused as you felt as you stared right back. 

It felt too easy to take a step forward, but the warrior flinched. Your next was slower, softer, more cautious. Your hand found the rag that the healer had once held, what little water it had been soaked in was cold, the material harsh. It didn’t take you long to find a new cloth in one of the drawers of the apothecary table and you took your time to warm some fresh water over the hearth. 

Honestly, you didn’t know too much about medicine, only the basics that your father’s head servant had taught you as a young child. You found the small bottle of alcohol with ease, plucking it from the shelf and adding it to the warm water before soaking the new rag. 

You held it up in offering to the man, still far enough from you that his dirty hair hid most of his face. His tanned chest was streaked with sweat and dust, marred with old cuts and fresher wounds from Hargrove’s weapon, but for the most part, he seemed okay. 

“Can I?”

The gladiator lifted his head then, his hair falling away from his cheeks and you took in a sharp breath at the sight of his face. He was handsome, painstakingly so, but over and above all else, he was someone you were sure you knew. 

The man nodded, just once, lips pressed together and as you came closer, his nostrils flared and his large hands gripped the edge of the table. His eyes raced across your features, recognition coming to the surface and before he could ask the questions that were clawing at his throat, you lifted the cloth and pressed it to the cut on his shoulder. 

He hissed, teeth bared and you frowned, hushing him softly, apologies murmured just as quiet. “I’m sorry,” you told him and gods, he knew you meant it. “I need the alcohol to soak the wound.”

Your heart stuttered when he let you, shoulders tight and back ramrod straight, but his eyes were on your face the entire time you worked. “You’re not a healer,” he said. It wasn’t a question. 

His voice rung through you, a deep timber that was hoarse and scratchy, no doubt from refusing to speak since his capture. You hoped he’d been drinking enough water. 

You shook your head as you pulled away, dipping the bloodied cloth back into the bucket. “No, I’m not,” you confirmed. 

Another swipe at his skin had him jerking in response but the blood and dirt was finally clear of the cut. It would need stitches, you were almost sure of it, but your skills started and finished at the basics. 

“Then why are you here?” The gladiator’s eyes were trained on your necklace, a sure fire way to recognise nobility and you were overcome with the urge to rip it from your throat. “Why did you follow me?” He spoke like he already knew the answer. 

You were hesitant about it, but you couldn’t stop your hand from lifting to his neck, fingertips brushing two beauty marks on his skin. They felt electric under your touch and you were impossibly warmer now, despite the old cell lacking the heat from the summer above. 

“I feel like I know you,” you whispered. Your voice cracked with an emotion you didn’t quite know the name of. “I feel like I’ve mourned you.”  

The gladiator looked back at you from behind his damp hair, the long strands matted with his and his enemies blood. He didn’t look as concerned as he should have been at your strange words. In fact, he leaned into your touch, lashes fluttering at the sensation. 

“What an odd thing to say to someone who hasn’t died,” he answered quietly. But his gaze roamed over your features and something about being so close to him felt cosmic, it felt like a catastrophe waiting to happen. “I think I’ve met you before,” the gladiator whispered. He sounded reverent now, his own hand shaking as he brought it to your face. 

He cupped your jaw, your chin, his rough fingertips trailing over your soft skin and when his thumb dragged across your bottom lip, you gasped and pressed closer. 

“I think I meet you when I sleep,” he said and he frowned at his own words, at how confusing he must’ve sounded. “Every night, when I close my eyes. You’re in a garden and then you’re in my arms.”

Flashes of a bed came to mind, white linen sheets and too much bare skin. A man’s chest, tanned and muscled from hard labour, your hands that roamed the expanse of his back. You remembered how he kissed you in your dreams, with a longing so intense it could waken the gods. 

Like he had enough love for you that he could end the world. 

You could only nod. His thumb was still pushed to your bottom lip, your mouth parted as if you were waiting and his stare was so intense you felt warmer than you had in the stadium above. 

Who was this stranger?

And why did it feel like something inside of you was being stitched back together by the sheer sight of him? His touch felt healing, it felt like home. Like it was only made for you to feel. Like he was made only for you. 

Above, something boomed. Loud enough to be heard underneath the hypogeum, over the roars of the unsettled animals. If you had been outside, you would’ve witnessed the blue sky turning grey, shades of moody lavender and navy, storm clouds rolling across Rome from seemingly nowhere. 

Thunder rumbled,  threatening noise, something that made you and the man move closer to each other, like you both knew you were in danger. 

That you knew something bad was coming. 

“I don’t understand,” you said, eyes blurring. You weren’t sure why you were crying but Steve didn’t seem to question it. He merely swiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. “You’re a stranger— we’ve never— we’ve never met.”

Despite your words, the gladiator moved closer, standing from his seat on the wooden table to lean his forehead against your own. Your eyes slipped closed, nose bumping his. He smelled like metal, like blood and dirt and sweat but underneath there was something like fire there, like molten iron, like lavender fields and fresh cotton. Like a daydream, like something you weren’t sure was real. 

His bottom lip touched your top one, only just, only barely. A whisper of a kiss, a small insight of something that could’ve been, of something that maybe once was. 

Thunder rolled again, louder than before, as if it was right above you both. Even over the din of the crowds above, you could hear the heavy patter of rain that was now flooding the colosseum, the stage soaked. Another warning, something you’d seen before in a dream just before it turned to a nightmare. 

“I was meant to find you,” Steve murmured. He had your face cradled in his hands, an overwhelmingly gentle touch despite the dried blood under his fingernails. His voice grew in urgency then, like he knew something was coming. Someone. “I was meant to come here. I can feel it. I understand now.”

“Someone once told me you’d come back,” you suddenly remembered, your voice eager, your eyes wide at the memory. “I don’t know— was it you? From before? From—”

From another life, you wanted to say. 

How ridiculous those words were, how silly, how stupid. But there wasn’t any other way to explain. Logic didn’t seem to exist when everything you felt from this touch of this stranger led you to believe that somehow, someway, you’d spend a lifetime together. 

Like you were supposed to spend this one with him too. And it didn’t seem long enough, decades wouldn’t make up for the time you’d lost searching for him, for this stranger who only came to you in your sleep. But he was very real now, solid flesh and bone underneath your own hands, brown eyes that seemed warmer than the Italian summer. 

You didn’t want to let him go. 

“In here, my King,” a voice interrupted. The door was open and the healer had returned, a cold look on his already stern face. The Emperor was behind him, ruby robes collecting dirt from the old floor. Four soldiers flanked him. “I have every reason to believe the Lady sold me lies, Your Highness.”  

It happened too quick. Too fast. 

The Emperor studied you, Steve’s hands still on your face as you stood too close, ready to kiss, ready to fulfil something neither of you were sure of. It felt catalytic. 

“Seize him,” was all the Emperor said, one lazy flick of his wrist sending all four guards at you both. 

There was too much movement in the tiny room, bottles of medicinal wares clattering to the ground and smashing at your feet. The table groaned as Steve was shoved into it, his own reactions too slow from his injuries. He grunted and reached for you too late, his hand slipping from your own, fingers barely touching, as he was shoved at from either side. 

One soldier shoved the butt of his sword into Steve’s wounded soldier, the other bringing his armoured knee into his bare stomach. The gladiator doubled over, a gasp leaving his chest before he fell to his knees on the stone floor. 

“Stop this!” You yelled, urging forward, trying your best to throw yourself into the mix of it all but someone’s arms - another soldier - caught your round the middle. “Unhand him! Your Highness - please - he hasn’t done any wrong, please—”

The Emperor just looked at you blankly before he picked at the jewels around your neck. He tutted, as if it were a shame, a waste. You could hear the shackles being placed back on the man, the low groan he gave as the metal was tightened around his sore wrists. 

“He won,” you whispered, your voice low and choked. You were ready to beg. “Please, he won. He doesn’t deserve this—”

“I don’t like anyone else playing with my toys,” the Emperor interrupted. He said it like he was discussing what to have for lunch. “And my dear cousin doesn’t like anyone playing with his.” He motioned to the guards once more. “Take her back to her seat, where you make sure she stays. This isn’t any place for a Lady,” he told you mournfully.

You didn’t get to see what happened to the gladiator as you were escorted out of the room. But you did hear his yells when the door slammed shut, the dull thuds of impact that you were sure were on his already bruised and broken body. You hadn’t even told him your name, or that you dreamt of him too. That during your worst night terrors, he was the one that saved you. 

When you reached the imperial box once more, your skirts dirtied from the sand, your face tear stricken, you felt broken. Like you’d been snapped in half, like someone had found that wound Steve had stitched up and pulled it apart again the seams. Like someone had ripped something important from you, half of your heart, perhaps. 

You didn’t even notice that it had stopped raining. The skies were blue once more, the sun shining, the only evidence of the sudden storm were the drops of rain that had soaked into the pillow on your chair. 

Steve was gone and the thunder was too. 

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

* * * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

September 10, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Sep 11, 2024

Former president Trump has always approached debates as professional wrestling events in which the key is not to explain policies or answer questions, but rather to demonstrate dominance over your opponent. In 2016 the Democratic nominee, former secretary of state Hillary Clinton, had a hard time countering this strategy effectively because of the many expectations of what was appropriate behavior for a female presidential candidate. In 2020 and then again in the June 2024 “debate,” Democratic candidate Joe Biden’s stutter made it difficult to counter Trump’s scattershot attacks.

The question for Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris in tonight’s presidential debate was not how to answer policy questions, but how to counter Trump’s dominance displays while also appealing to the American people.  

She and her team figured it out, and today they played the former president brilliantly. He took the bait, and tonight he self-destructed. In a live debate, on national television. 

The Harris campaign began the day trolling Trump with a new campaign ad featuring the pieces of former president Barack Obama’s speech at the August Democratic National Convention that concerned Trump. “Here’s a 78-year-old billionaire”—the ad cuts to a photo of Trump in a golf cart—“who has not stopped whining about his problems.” Then a clip of Trump shows him complaining about Harris’s crowds, before Obama notes Trump’s “weird obsession with crowd sizes,” complete with Obama’s hand motion suggesting Trump’s sizes were small. “It just goes on, and on, and on,” Obama says, before the ad shows empty seats and people yawning at Trump’s rallies.

“America’s ready for a new chapter,” Obama says to the overflow crowd cheering at Chicago’s United Center during the Democratic National Convention. “We are ready for a President Kamala Harris!” At the end, even Harris’s standard statement, “I’m Kamala Harris and I approved this message,” sounds like a challenge.

This morning, the Harris campaign began running the ad on the Fox News Channel. 

At the same time, they began running Philadelphia-themed ads across the city on billboards, in the Philadelphia Inquirer, and on food trucks and taxi cabs, sidewalk art, and digital projections making fun of Trump’s fascination with crowd sizes. They showed, for example, a full-sized Philadelphia pretzel labeled “Harris” alongside a piece of one that looked like an upside down U labeled “Trump.”

The taunting might have been behind Trump’s demand for loyalty from Republican lawmakers this afternoon, telling them to shut down the government if he doesn’t get his way on the inclusion of a voter suppression measure in the bill to fund the government. The right has often relied on threats of government shutdowns to try to get their way, but such shutdowns are never popular, and even moderate Republicans are leery of launching one just before an election.

Nonetheless, Trump tried to lock them into such a shutdown, reiterating in a post this afternoon the lie that undocumented immigrants are voting in presidential elections. “If Republicans in the House, and Senate, don’t get absolute assurances on Election Security, THEY SHOULD, IN NO WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM, GO FORWARD WITH A CONTINUING RESOLUTION ON THE BUDGET. THE DEMOCRATS ARE TRYING TO ‘STUFF’ VOTER REGISTRATIONS WITH ILLEGAL ALIENS. DON’T LET IT HAPPEN—CLOSE IT DOWN.” 

Throughout the day, the Harris campaign placed posts on social media showing Harris looking crisp and presidential and Trump looking old and unkempt. And then, for ten minutes in the hour before the debate, the Harris campaign held a drone show over the Philadelphia Museum of Art showing campaign slogans and then turning the words “MADAM VICE PRESIDENT” into “MADAM PRESIDENT.” 

Hugo Lowell of The Guardian reported today that Trump’s advisors were concerned ahead of the debate about whether they would get “happy Trump” or “angry Trump,” worrying that a frustrated Trump would engage in the vicious personal attacks that turn voters off. They expressed relief that having the microphones muted when it was not a candidate’s turn to speak would prevent Harris from irritating him with fact checks and snark of her own. Conservative lawyer George Conway noted that it was “[i]nteresting how one campaign is extremely concerned about the emotional stability of its candidate, and how the other is not.”

Harris’s attacks on Trump, including her campaign’s subtle digs at his masculinity, appeared to have accomplished what they set out to. When the two came out on stage, he went straight to his podium, while she strode across the stage, moved into his space, held out her hand, introduced herself and wished him well: “Kamala Harris. Have a good debate.” He muttered in response, “Nice to see you.” Then she took her own spot at the podium. When the debate opened, it was clear that Harris was the dominant figure and that her opponent was “angry Trump.” He would not look at her during the debate.

In her first answer, Harris tried to set out both her own story as a child of the middle class and how she intended to build an opportunity economy for others, lowering food and housing costs and opening the way for more small businesses. It was a lot, quickly, and she looked a little nervous.

Then Trump spoke and it was clear he was going off the rails. His first comment was to suggest Harris was lying, and then to insist that his proposed tariffs will solve everything, although he has the way tariffs work entirely backward: they are paid by the consumer, not by foreign countries. As he followed with a long list of his rally lies, Harris started to smile.  

From then on, he continued to produce rally stories full of wild exaggerations and attack Harris with lies in what CNN fact-checker Daniel Dale called “a staggeringly dishonest debate performance from former president Trump.” "No major presidential candidate before Donald Trump has ever lied with this kind of frequency,” Dale said. “A remarkably large chunk of what he said tonight was just not true. This wasn't little exaggerations, political spin. A lot of his false claims were untethered to reality." As Harris spoke directly to the American people, growing stronger and stronger, Trump got wilder and angrier and told more and more crazy stories. 

And then, about ten minutes into the debate, Harris baited him. She invited the American people to go to one of his rallies, where “he talks about fictional characters like Hannibal Lecter, he will talk about ‘windmills cause cancer.’ And what you will also notice is that people start leaving his rallies early out of exhaustion and boredom.” 

Trump lost it. He defended his rallies, said Harris couldn’t get anyone to attend hers and has to bus in attendees (in reality, her rallies are packed and he is the one who reportedly hires attendees), and then, in his fury, repeated the lie about immigrants eating pets. When a moderator fact-checked that story, he fought back, saying he heard it on television.

And from then on, Harris kept baiting him while explaining her own policies directly to the camera, and he took the bait every single time. He ran down every rabbit hole and appeared unable to finish a thought. Notably, he refused to say he would not sign a national abortion ban and admitted that after nine years of promising one, he had no health care plan (he has, he said, “concepts of a plan,” and if they pan out, he’ll let us know in the “not too distant future”). 

He threatened World War III and repeated that the U.S. is “a failing nation.” He told a long story about threatening “Abdul,” the leader of the Taliban; in fact, the leader of the Taliban since 2016 is Mullah Hibatullah Akhundzada. In response to Harris’s statement that foreign leaders thought he was a disgrace, Trump answered that Hungarian prime minister Viktor Orbán, who destroyed his country’s democracy and replaced it with a dictatorship, says he’s a good leader. New York Times columnist David French wrote: “It's like she's debating MAGA Twitter come to life.”

The debate moderators, David Muir and Linsey Davis of ABC, asked solid questions and corrected the most egregious of Trump’s lies. But as he continued to interrupt and yell at Harris, they increasingly gave him leeway to do so. This meant he spoke more often and for more time than Harris; MSNBC’s Stephanie Ruhle reported that he spoke 39 times for a total of 41.9 minutes, to her 23 times for a total of 37.1 minutes. But the extra time did him no favors.

By the end of the evening, Harris had delivered a clear message about her hopes to move the country forward beyond years of using race to divide people who have far more in common than they have differences. She promised to develop an economy that will build small businesses and support a growing middle class, while protecting rights, including the right to make reproductive decisions without the intrusion of the state. And she showed the nation that Trump can be baited, that he lies freely and incoherently, and—perhaps crucially—that he is no longer the dominant politician in America.  

Immediately after the debate, the Harris campaign continued their demonstration of dominance. Harris-Walz campaign chair Jen O’Malley Dillon released a statement recapping Harris’s strength and Trump’s angry incoherence. She concluded: “Vice President Harris is ready for a second debate. Is Donald Trump?”

Then things got even worse for Trump. 

Music phenomenon Taylor Swift endorsed Harris, telling her 283 million Instagram followers that she felt she had to because of Trump’s earlier reposting of an AI image of her seeming to endorse him. That, she said, “brought me to the conclusion that I need to be very transparent about my actual plans for this election as a voter. The simplest way to combat misinformation is with the truth. I will be casting my vote for Kamala Harris and Tim Walz in the 2024 Presidential Election.”

After explaining why she was supporting Harris and Walz and urging her fans to do their own research, Swift signed off: “Taylor Swift, Childless Cat Lady.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[the-californicationist]

¡Hola Cali! 🩷 Te dejé un mensaje con un DILF que pesqué hace algunas semanas, pero creo que se perdió por aquí o no pudiste leerlo. ¡Te extraño tanto! El trabajo me está consumiendo porque estamos en plena campaña política y solo quiero que termine, con el mejor resultado, e ir a descansar (y escribir).

Leí que estabas de vacaciones o algo así. ¡Espero que la estés pasando increíble! *Besito en la frente*

Vine con una idea que me está rondando la cabeza: Precio como candidato a Senador y Lector asesor, deciden mandar todo a la verg* y simplemente ACEPTAN QUE ESTÁN ENAMORADOS Y TIENEN SEXO CALIENTE Y DESORDENADO.

*guiño guiño*

Griss!! Lamento mucho la demora, mi amor. Espero que esto sea lo que esperabas <3

After serving in the SAS, John Price has decided to run for a seat in the House of Commons. You are one of his closest political advisors, helping him deal with a runoff election. The only problem? Your incurable crush on your giant, hot, bearded, future member of Parliament.

English translation of the ask: Senator!Price and Advisor!Reader, decide to send everything to hell and simply ACCEPT THAT THEY ARE IN LOVE AND HAVE HOT AND MESSY SEX.

Unfortunately, this fic is in English, but if you are looking for Spanish-language fics, please go read (and reblog!) @pricesugarwife and her amazing work!! She's the best!

The Runoff

The tremble in your hand wouldn’t be abated by the drink you clasped in it, the alcohol losing the battle against your nerves, and the brown neck of the beer bottle kept waving in little shivers, giving your fears away. You squeezed the glass tighter, feeling the sticky glue of the label you’d picked bare, its shards still caught under your fingernails, but you kept trying to control your muscles; mind over matter. 

Only the blue, hazy glow of the computer screen reflected in your eyes as you watched the election results come in. Down twenty-two, up seventeen, down four, up twelve; you watched the number fluctuate as if it was your life hanging in the balance. Hell, this wasn’t even your race. 

But, it sure felt like it was. You were entrenched in this campaign, elbow-deep in the muck of it, wearing its failures like dark purple bruises and its successes like lipstick-stained kisses, feeling the highest of highs and trudging through the lowest of lows. Every rally felt like a homecoming, and every debate put your nerves on edge. More than anything, you believed in your work. You stuffed envelopes and pressed flyers into the palms of your fellow constituents as if you were bringing them food for their empty bellies, passing out prayers for their unsaved souls. It was the most important work you’d ever done. 

You needed John Price to win. 

Being elected to the House of Commons was a big deal for an independent in his district. Luckily, John’s reputation quietly but effectively preceded him. His service to the RAF and SAS, his commitment to defeating agents of terror, his loyalty to the Crown – all of it gleamed just like the shining medals that hung on his chest, even if he grumbled about them. Despite his distaste for pomp, he sure did wear it well. The accolades looked good on his broad chest, each one more splendid than the last, all lined up in neat, indomitable rows. 

Maybe I should spend more time looking at my stat sheets than his uniform, you thought, feeling guilty at just how many times you’d turned on incognito mode and searched for his award ceremony on YouTube.

The video had a few hundred thousand views, but it felt like most of those were from you. Seeing him walk out on stage, every bit the hero they’d introduced him as, made your breath catch in your throat. His sharp hat, the starched fabric of his coat, the bright, red sash slashing across his big, heavy body… you wanted to feel him sinking his weight on top of you, that power stealing your breath away, crushing your ribs, stopping your lungs from gasping in their precious oxygen. You wanted to feel the cold of those shining brass buttons upon your breasts, their rounded edges curling and chilling your heated flesh. You wanted the stubble of his beard to burn your soft cheek. 

You wanted John Price, and that would be a huge mistake. The last thing he needed was tabloid pictures with a garish, screaming title like “MP CANDIDATE SNOGGING HIS OWN STAFF!” No, you wouldn’t embarrass him like that. You wouldn’t risk it. Even if the way that he looked at you across the war room table made you think that you could, you would never. His seat was too critical. 

You needed John Price to win. 

Your eyes flashed up to the screen, again, noticing a change in the counting. You watched the numbers slow their terrible give and take, the shifting ups and downs slowly trickling to a halt. You did a double take, checking the clock. The recount was over. It was a tie.

Your phone started to buzz. Then another. Before you took your next breath, it was vibrating fast enough to cancel out each subsequent ping, like a barrage of alerts, all fighting for the front of the line. You shut it down, hoping you could get a kill command through the thunderous notification storm. Finally, the screen went dark, and you saw yourself staring back through the black mirror, startled to see your sunken eyes, as if you were confronting a stranger. You kept the dead phone centered in your hand, gazing into your own face just a little longer as if to ask what she was looking at, daring her to flinch. 

“Yours, too?” 

A dark, smoldering voice rumbled toward you through the quiet of your shared office. You snapped your head to find him leaning against the doorway, the collar of his oxford missing its tie, unbuttoned thrice, wrinkled and lilting from sweat and rain and the stress of the day. His beard was shaggy, and his five o’clock shadow bristled across his neck, spreading on his cheeks as he gave you a half-smile, wiggling his dead phone in the air. 

“Yeah,” you sighed, coming back to yourself, “Don’t look now, but Twitter is going absolutely mental.”

You pointed your chin at the screen, tilting your head up and leaning back in your chair so that he could look over your shoulder. There was barely a meter between the wall and the desk, so between you and the chair, John needed to lean close to see the final score. As he watched the screen, you watched the pulse of his heart beat through the wide vein in his neck. You could smell his musk, the human of his earthly form filling your nose and mouth, then his aftershave, fading, only the woody base notes remaining. A lingering scent of his favorite cigars clung to his hair and clothes. He smelled like a fire, a whirling inferno of vanilla and licorice and sweet tobacco that you had grown to love, to crave. 

“Christ. A fuckin’ runoff. As if I haven’t put you lot through enough already.” He shook his head, crossing his thick arms across himself, sighing from a resigned frustration. 

“We wouldn’t do it if we didn’t believe it was worth it,” you murmured in a hushed half-tone, your voice almost gone from all the shouting and mayhem you’d been a part of earlier when they’d called for a recount, “We believe in you, John.”

His smile widened, not enough to show those straight, white teeth, but enough to soften his eyes as he looked down at you. He tapped you on the shoulder and motioned for you to come with him. 

As he disappeared through the door, you followed him into the office hallway, past the common room, scooting past half-dead interns, rabid with a new task. One of them was juggling three phone calls at once, but another was curled up beneath her desk fast asleep using a cheap fleece blanket for comfort. Your campaign office had been through Hell, and it was far from over. 

A few of them tried to stop you and ask some questions, but you put them off, telling them to take a breather, get their minds right before making another phone call, and you continued to follow John as he led you through the winding office maze. 

Finally, he pulled you into his office, grabbing your forearm with some force, and locking the door behind you. 

“Got a surprise for you,” he said, pulling out two white bags from under his desk. 

You smelled it before he revealed it to you, and you couldn’t help but gape in excitement,

“Is that… oh, my God. Is that Padella’s? Are you serious right now?”

You helped him tear into the bags like a feral hound, ripping at the tight plastic bow, pulling out the takeaway boxes greedily and without shame.

His grin was smug and satisfied as he watched you open the box and take in a huge whiff of the hot food, 

“Yeah, it is. The seafood alfredo, right? Your favorite.”

“John,” you said his name like he had given you something far more salacious than food, ignoring his rolling chuckle, eager to get a morsel in your mouth as soon as you could. 

“If I knew it’d get you to say my name like that, I’d bring it by every bloody night,” he laughed, hiding his pleasure under a joking tone. He leaned in closer to the open takeaway box, peering inside, “Go on, love. Give us a bite.”

“This is how you know I’m devoted to the John Price campaign,” you joked with him, raising your eyebrows with some sass as you prepared a forkful for him. You speared a juicy scallop, twirling some pasta around on the plastic tines of the single-use utensil, crafting the perfect bite for him. “Giving you first dibs?”

“Lucky bloke, me,” he said quietly, winking at you. 

You pulled the fork into position, lining it up with his mouth, and you watched him open up those full lips for you, showing you his flat, pink tongue that bent to anticipate the creamy taste of the pasta. You placed it gently inside, the act of feeding one of the most dangerous men in the world suddenly too intimate, too endearing. His eyes watched you through the whole ritual, only fluttering closed when he shut his lips and began to chew his bite, savoring the flavors. 

He let out a long groan, the sound of which made you want to squeeze your thighs together, your mind repeating it over and over like an echo, imagining your name falling in between his ragged, guttural sighs. You felt your cheeks run hot.

“Mm, fuck,” he smiled, talking with his mouth half-full, “That is damn good.”

You took your own bite, nodding, tasting the buttery alfredo, the perfectly-cooked noodles, and the light, savory scallop. It was almost better than sex. Almost. 

Sharing the same fork, since you only had the one, you and John traded bites, sitting in silence for a while before the conversation turned back to work.

“They wanna put us in the runoff in less than ten days,” he said ruefully, understanding that timeline would be a brutal one.

“Ten days? Are they trying to kill us? The interns are falling asleep standing up,” you sighed, exaggerating a little, but making your point. 

“You should head home. Get some rest. I’ll hold down the fort here, love,” John said, wiping a smear of stray alfredo off of his lip decisively. 

You balked,

“No. Absolutely not. I can’t leave you now, not when we’re this close to winning this thing.”

He studied you for a moment, leaning his hulking forearms on his desk, spreading his wide hands across the soft wood of its tabletop, letting you see the small muscles in his hands as they stretched and pulled across his bones. He looked down at the space between his palms, grounding himself before he spoke, his voice just above a whisper, 

“You make me feel like it’s actually possible.” 

You reached out, your hand holding onto his wrist, making him look up to meet your eyes,

“John. It is possible. You’ve got Stallworth’s endorsement. Marchande will lose if you can get the Labor constituents behind you. I’ve run the numbers. Believe me, you can do this.”

“I can’t do it without you,” he frowned a bit, his brow knitting together, the timbre of his voice low and steady. 

You smiled up at him, feeling his fingers lace themselves into yours, experimentally testing the boundaries of his touch, 

“I’m here until the bitter end,” you let out a short laugh, nervous from how good it felt to be held in his hands, “And probably even after that.”

John was silent for a while, his thumbs massaging your knuckles in little, slow circles, his touch becoming more and more sensual, and then, he abruptly pulled away, leaving your palms face up on the table, your fingers bent in the shape of a shallow bowl as if begging to be filled. But, you remained empty, so you pulled your hands back to your lap, suddenly unsure, your body wanting his touch but mentally feeling as if you shouldn’t ask for it back.

He looked away, staring past you at the closed door and muttered, 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You challenged, keeping your volume as low as his, not wanting to break the fading spell you had cast over each other. 

“I ask too much of you.”

You listened to the words as he sent them out, hearing two implications fighting within that one phrase. 

Too much of my time, or too much of my body? You wondered. 

So, you tried to make it easy on him. You didn’t want to be the distraction that ruined his race. You stood, closing up the box of food, cleaning off the tiny smear of alfredo that painted the corner of his desk. He stood with you, waving you off of the mess, taking over to clean it himself. 

The bag rustled, the box popped hollowly as he closed it, paper and cardboard and plastic all swishing and clattering, a cacophony of noise. And then… a deeply still silence. 

He was standing right in front of you, too close for you to think straight. You let yourself linger there, leeching the warmth from his heavy body and taking it into yourself, letting it seep into your skin. You vowed to keep the memory of it in some recess of your mind, saving it for dessert when you could be alone to savor its silky texture, tasting a ghost of all of the mirror universes where you knew what it felt like to be covered in him.

Suddenly, you felt his finger under your chin, a coaxing pressure, lifting your face to look at him. It was hard to look into his eyes. Some part of you knew that the moment he peered into them, when he studied what they were trying to hide, he would know your secret. He would be able to see all of your guilt, all of your stolen pleasure, all of the nights where your hand tried to replicate his presence, working itself between your legs to indulge in your fantasies about being taken by him, about serving him not as his campaign advisor but as his woman; his shelter and his release. He would look into your face and he would immediately know that you dreamed of being used like his own personal toy, helping him unwind after the stress of this election, putting all of his frustrations into you as he pounded himself into your mouth or between your spread legs, using you like a salve on a burn.  

But, you showed him anyway. Your eyes flicked up to his, and you let him see it. 

John towered over you, his shadow darkening your vision, framing you with his round shoulders. He had his thumb pressed just below your bottom lip, opening your mouth a little, watching your breathing crash heavy into your lungs.  

You stood frozen in place, watching as his neck bent over you, the great trunk of his body craning down, shading you, closing around you like the boughs of an immense oak, promising that you were safe here nestled in his roots, some sort of primal argument, convincing you to stay still so he could devour you in peace. A rabbit, statuesque beneath the snarl of a wolf.

His face was now upon yours, close enough for you to see the little silver scars that crossed over his cheek and brow, hints at a dangerous life, whispers of old pain. A light spattering of freckles littered the bridge of his nose, fanning out beneath those pale blue eyes he had fixed on your mouth, staring into it as if hypnotized.

Finally, when he was near enough to taste your air, to feel the heat of your breath against his mouth, his lips broke their seal, opening in anticipation of another first bite, another chance to sate a different type of hunger. 

His lips brushed yours, every moment taking an eon to pass, seconds stretching into thousands of hours, the office, the building, the city melting away from you like wax from a flame, the world giving way to dark infinity, and you opened your mouth to taste him, allowing your tongue to slip over your teeth so that you could know the sweetness of the smooth skin of his lip. 

The moment you touched him, you were taken. He crashed into you, his mouth to your mouth, his chest to your chest, scooping you up like a greedy falcon, trapping you in his arms, flying away with you. Or falling? You felt like you were falling; like you had leapt too high and now would tumble through the sky forever, whirling helplessly. He tasted of the rich alfredo, and of his cigars, buttery and rich, masculine and heady. He was prying your jaw apart with his own, eager to fill your cheeks with his broad, heavy tongue. John pulled back just enough to allow you to take a breath, but he returned, unable to stop himself, softly sucking at your bottom lip, slanting his mouth over yours, the fever in him beginning to cool. Then, he pulled back altogether, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes wrenched closed, his body heaving from his desperate breaths. 

He leaned back, staring at you with a worried look on his face, his voice deep and gravelly, a demonic purr, 

“I… I’m so sorry.”

You nodded, lowering your eyes, 

“I know. We can’t.”

“Can’t?” He panted, still reeling, looking at you like he was lost, like you knew the way out, “Do you want this? Me?”

You leaned your head into the strength of his hands as he cradled your skull, drunk on hope,

“More than you know. But, I don’t want to distract–”

John lunged at you, his mouth pressing to yours again, hurting you with his power. The weight of his jaw crashing into your lips, making you wonder if you would bleed from it, your own teeth cutting into the delicate membrane inside. But, he didn’t seem to care. He wasn’t concerned with your comfort. He was only there to consume you, to steal your breath, to drink your soul from your throat. 

He moved his body against you like a python, curling and squeezing you with his arms, constricting your movements, pushing and pulling you this way or that, whatever would give him deeper access to your pink tongue. His aggression shocked you, and it was everything you could do to just keep your balance, unsteady on your feet, your hands clutching at his waist for support. 

John’s kissing made you feel weak, like he was drugging you, forcing your mind into a daze. You tried to remember why you had tried to stop this from happening, unable to even imagine a consequence. You felt his hands wander away from your face, rushing down your neck, finding your breasts and roughly fondling them over your shirt. You’d ripped off your bra long ago, hot and tired, needing relief. 

When he realized that your heavy tits were hanging freely, hidden beneath your oversized button-down, you felt him shudder, groaning into your mouth at the mere fantasy of seeing them, of marking your nipples in dark hickeys as he suckled you, letting his teeth tattoo his claim on your flesh. 

You were brought back to the physical world when you felt your ass shoved into the long edge of the desk, stopping his forward progress. He pulled away from the kiss and stared down at you with a look that made you feel as if you might be in some kind of danger, even if you were relishing every fearful moment of it. 

John had only shown you this expression once before. You’d been working late again, trying to keep yourself awake by brewing coffee in the break room. There’d been an incident or two with one of the interns, a bloke who didn’t know how to take no for an answer. You’d shut him down twice, and now, you hadn’t realized he had followed you inside the small kitchenette. This time, he wasn’t asking, and when you felt his hand on your neck, you’d screamed, fighting back, but not making much difference. Mere seconds later, John had marched in wearing this same expression stretched across his face. 

It was a sort of ravenous joy, almost playful, but it was terrifying. He’d broken the intern’s wrist in his crushing grip, and then his jaw bone, striking the smaller man down to the dirty, tile floor with a single, cracking punch. Then, he’d stared at you, trying his best to control his visage, to push down that fiery arousal. Eventually, he was back under control, helping you out of the office, checking you for any wound, no matter how minor, worrying himself over you, promising that you’d never see that arsehole again. And you never did. You’d put it out of your mind until just this moment, always having more work to do. But now, you wondered if that intern was still walking around out there or if John had let his old ways return just for that evening. He was always good at eliminating threats. 

You had assumed that his feral heat had been for the fight, an expression of rage. But now, you thought that perhaps it had been for you. The thought that this reckless lad had dared to put his hands on something that John had claimed as his own, righteously possessive over you to the point of fury, baring his teeth and curling his lip into a lupine snarl, briefly revealing his wrath before tamping down on it and hiding it from you out of fear that you would not agree to be his. 

Now, he was not controlling his face. There was no polite gentleness in his eyes, no casual ease in his shoulders, no respectful distance between your body and his. No; now that you were in his grasp, he had no plans to let you go free. 

He grabbed you around your waist, his fingers cutting into your full form, squeezing your hips and lifting you with ease onto the desktop. He distracted you with kisses, lulling you back into a hazy, pleasure-filled lust, making you aware of his desire by shoving himself between your thick thighs, the threat of his heavy erection pressing through his slacks and onto the crotch of your jeans. 

Your body reacted on instinct. You felt yourself widening your legs and canting your hips to rub against his hardon like you were in heat, your biology doing everything it could to get his attention. 

But, you had it regardless. He tugged off your shirt with a deft sort of accuracy that took your breath away. When he let his eyes drink in the sight of your round breasts, peaked with smooth, puffy nipples, his rushed movements stilled, and you waited while he studied you, reaching out his fingers to see if you were as soft as you looked. As he discovered the truth, his big fingers wrapping around each of your heavy tits, applying pressure, caressing the sides of them, feeling the thin ridges of your stretch marks, plucking delicately at each nipple, looking up at your face to watch your reactions; all the while, you could feel the throb of his fat cock fighting to touch you through your clothes. 

Then, his touch became feverish again. Instead of a caress, it was a burning friction; instead of tender plucking, it was a shocking pinch. He was making you writhe beneath his hands, manhandling your tits to his own end, enjoying your whimpering cries of pain that fizzled into bright pleasure, the pressure of his dick against your sex making you aware of the growing wetness there, your panties proving your desire to you, warm and slippery. 

You reached up your hand to touch his chest, mimicking his affection, admiring the firm muscle that spanned beneath your palms. Your fingers found the gap between his buttons, running through the dense patch of hair that lay on his sternum, raking your nails lightly across his skin. He furrowed his brow, wanting more, looking down at your touch and starting to unbutton his dress shirt. Within seconds, he was peeling it off of his shoulders, leaving it rumpled and inside-out on the floor. 

Sitting up, you started to explore him with your mouth, letting your lips drag along his furry skin, licking your way across to his highest ribs, to that sensitive spot just below his armpit, changing your gentle exploration into a sucking, lustful kiss, aiming to leave a mark of your own. He let you bite him, enjoying the pain and groaning from it. Then, he grew impatient, and he fisted your hair at the nape of your neck, yanking you away from him, bending over you again, forcing you to kiss him as he pressed your jaw up to his, controlling your head. 

But, he did not have control of your hands. Without breaking eye contact with him, you began to fumble with his belt, hurrying to open the latch, moving on to his button fly, popping each one away to reveal his boxer briefs, the cotton of them soft across the back of your hand. You watched his face, chaotic and full of a decadent sort of desire, as if he couldn’t believe what he was feeling. 

He kept his hand in your hair and let you work his pants away, peeling his underclothes down as far as you could get them, glancing down as the pink, swollen head of his dick peeked over the hem as you revealed him. The head was pointing at his hip, trapped there by the wide elastic of his briefs. Now that he was free to move, his length stood at attention, fully erect with a girth that made you dizzy. 

“Holy fuck,” you gasped, muttering a curse under your breath. 

He jerked your head back, tearing your eyes away from his heavy phallus and forcing you to look at him instead,

“Something wrong, love?” 

You gave him a submissive look, curling your lips into a sly smile, your eyes wide like a fearful doe, 

“I don’t think you’ll fit.”

He smiled down at you, pleased by your appraisal, his gaze turning sinister,

“You’re not leavin’ ‘til I do.”

Quicker than you could breathe, he released his hold on your head and used both hands to ruck off your jeans in one violent pull. Your panties got stuck halfway, getting caught in the rough stitching of the denim. John looked down into your lap, staring at the silky fabric clinging to your wide hips, hanging off to one side at a messy diagonal, showing him the top of your unshaved mons. 

You heard him sigh through his smile, his hand reaching forward and ever-so-gently helping the edge of your panties back into place. You were confused. He was supposed to be ripping them off and fucking you stupid, but he slowed things all the way down, returning to his delicate caresses. 

John played with your breasts again, kissing your mouth, sucking on your neck. Then, he reached between your legs and touched you, his hand slipping over your covered pussy, groping you through the thin fabric. His fingers were warm, and the way he pressed them beside your tender clit made you tremble, your thighs shaking a bit as your legs hung off the side of the desk. 

He fell to his knees in front of you, his hands wrapping around the curve of your ass, pulling you as far forward on the edge of the desk as he could, throwing you forward like you were as light as a feather, his grip fierce and bruising. Then, he leaned forward, eager to put his mouth over your pussy, but you protested, gasping,

“John, my… my panties.”

He pinned his bright blue eyes on yours, looking at you unblinking, and leaned forward, showing you that he didn’t give a fuck about your panties. His hot tongue began to push and prod at your lips through the fabric, and you could feel your pussy clinging to the gusset, the wet cloth conforming to your shape as he licked and sucked.

As his tongue delved deeper, he discovered your sticky precome that had been soaking you right through ever since he’d found you staring at the vote count. He used his lips to suck on your folds, the knit of the fabric allowing only the tiniest bit of air to escape, making little chirping sounds as he applied more and more pressure. Then, you watched in a sick sort of awe as he took the gusset fully into his mouth, pulling it away from your body to suck your wetness from it like he was lapping up the last bit of ice cream from its cone. He even used his hand to loop it over his fingers, stretching out the thin triangle, making sure to get every last drop. 

By this time, you were pretty sure you had dripped your stickiness straight onto his desk, and you could feel your pussy slipping around on the smooth surface with every little movement. John decided to finally give you what you’d been whimpering for, and he pulled your panties aside to drink from the source. 

When the hot curl of his tongue finally connected, sealing wet flesh against wet flesh, you cried out, biting into your hand to keep yourself from being heard. You watched him eat you from your center, writhing his tongue deep into your hole and sucking on the head of your clit, using his bottom lip to reach that space underneath, teasing you within an inch of your life. Without thinking, your hand went to the back of his head, fingers raking through his hair, and you watched his eyes flutter, loving the feeling of your nails on his scalp. 

Your legs were partly resting on his shoulders, and John stood up quickly, slamming you back onto the desk and hauling your legs over with you, shoving your knees into your chest, putting your pussy on full display. You felt his fingers curve down through your wet lips and into the sensitive divot where you were leaking from. As he sank his hand into your hole, you felt like you were so close to coming. All of his licking and teasing had put you on the edge, and now that his thumb was sliding beside your clit and his longest fingers were stretching out your pussy, you felt the spark of an orgasm ignite in your belly. 

“Yes, love… That’s… ungh, fuck…” John felt it, too.

His hand was making all sorts of noise as he fucked his fingers up into you, the messiness only getting worse as your body flooded you with shock after shock of your orgasm. You were convulsing, your abs tight and protruding beneath your layer of fat, your feet pointed straight like a ballerina, all of your limbs frozen and tense, letting the orgasm wreck you and leave you boneless. 

He pulled away from you, gently removing his hand, and he bent his mouth to you again, aiming to taste your fresh come, hot and silky, coating you in natural lube, doing its absolute best to convince him to listen to his instincts and sheath himself inside of your body. 

But, John was careful. He pulled your legs back down to a bent position, one hand on each knee, prying you apart slowly, his eyes fixed on your flower so he could watch it bloom, covered in your sweet nectar. 

“You okay?” He asked, his voice husky and broken. 

You nodded, 

“Yeah, I’m more than okay.”

He smiled at you, using his hands to push your breasts together, playing with your nipples in his warm hands, pinching you cruelly and then soothing you in small circles, never letting you know when the pain or the pleasure would come. 

On the outside of your pussy, John rested his cock, spreading your outer lips with its weight to fit his girth right on top of your clit. He thrust forward, and you watched as the drooling head of his prick was shoved toward you. 

He humped himself against you in a steady pattern, pumping himself across your wetness, trying to relieve some pressure. Eventually, you thought he was about to come, but he stopped, slowing to a slick grind. He looked up at you and ran his palm down his face, frustrated and beyond horny.

“I wanna fuck you so goddamn bad.”

“So do I,” you moaned, rocking your hips up and down, adding to his thrusting friction, using him like a toy to bring yourself back to a shivering edge. 

“I don’t have a condom,” he confessed, helping you use his smooth head to massage the body of your clit. 

“I’m clean. I actually don’t think I’ve had sex since I moved to the city,” you shrugged, slowing down with him, waiting for his consent before giving in to your mind-altering want, “But, if you wanna stop, it’s okay.”

He kissed your ankle, holding your foot in his hand, leaving little licks and love bites down your calf as he warred with himself, 

“Haven’t been with anyone since Dahra.”

His ex-wife. She’d gone back to Urzikstan one day without so much as a note, packing a bag and leaving her rings on the counter. Apparently, when they’d finally met to fill out his divorce papers, he said that she looked happy in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time, so he signed without question. You remember when he had told you about it, three whiskeys deep and sharing a cigar on the roof of his loft, too late to go to the pub, but too early to stop drinking. He’d held your hand while he talked to you that night. You’d just thought he needed the support, and you tried to be a good friend. But now that he was getting himself off by slipping through your come-covered lips, playing in the mess that he made, you imagined that moment much differently. 

“I trust you,” you looked up at him through your lashes, holding your breasts and teasing your nipples between your fingers, your skin feeling as if you were electric, sensitive beyond comprehension, every touch and pinch feeling like ecstasy. 

Apparently, he didn’t need much convincing. In your next breath, you felt his head sloppily notching against your throbbing core, fitting snug in the soft entrance of your cunt, cradled there in your warmth. You gasped, enjoying the sensation of being gently licked by his cockhead in the center of your folds, filling a void, a missing piece slotting into place. 

Then, he met your eyes, staring into them with a fondness that you had only dreamed about, framed by that same furious arousal, like staring at a white-hot flame and knowing it could kill you but admiring its beauty anyway. 

“Hands on your knees,” he said, jerking himself a bit as he dipped into your entrance.

John watched as you grabbed your knees, pulling your legs apart, opening yourself up to him in the most vulnerable way, presenting yourself to him fully, without shame, all the guilt you’d been dragging around now gone, giving yourself to him freely and wanting him to take you like a prize. 

“So damn pretty,” he muttered to himself, staring down at your coupling, watching as he stuffed himself inside of you as carefully as he could, trying to let you adjust but unable to stop himself from thrusting deeper and deeper. 

He pulled himself all the way out and tried to sink into you again, his eyes snapping up to your face at the sound of a hiss coming through your teeth as he made his way through your tight muscles. You felt him stop, thinking he had hurt you, but you shook your head, 

“Don’t stop. I need you, John. I wanna feel so full.”

An animal noise escaped from his throat, and he rewarded your bravery, finishing the job with a snap of his hips, sealing himself fully inside of you. The root of his cock knocked the breath out of you, making you gasp in wonder at the sensation of being stretched beyond any memory. Yes, it had been a while, but you were no virgin. Nevertheless, John Price’s fat shaft was making you question whether you had ever truly been fucked before. His girth was changing your definition of the word.

If you had thought that he would treat you reverently, like you were made of precious lace, you had another thing coming. It was as if he had been waiting for this very moment, and he planned to take every advantage of the opportunity. Now that he had you, he used you. 

His huge hands scooped up your legs, silently instructing you to lock them around his hips, keeping your thighs wide as he rutted into you. You hooked your ankles together, admiring the pulsing feel of his large glutes as he thrust forward, feeling him squeeze and release, pounding himself into you with his heavy weight. 

John was too big. You had to admit that to yourself at this point. You could feel him stretching your hole, pushing your flesh beyond its usual limits. But, you were drunk off of the way his dick made you feel like you were constantly coming. You’d never truly been able to find your g-spot. Every now and then, when you had a really great partner, you thought that you’d orgasmed from the grinding thrusts of his rod, but it was rare. This, though, how John’s cock was spreading you, how you could feel him on all sides, the unimaginable pressure… he was hypnotizing.

He would pound himself into you, slamming his weight into your hips, and the shudder of your bones would make your body tremble. Then, when he was in, the pressure of his dense cockhead would flash a glittering wave of orgasmic pleasure through your core, making you think that you were about to explode. But, you never did. The pleasure never stopped. It never found a peak. It would just build and build in crashing, tumultuous waves, whirling through your blood like a cyclone, each throb feeling like spark lightning. 

Your mind was racing. Should I stop him? Is this normal? Am I gonna pass the fuck out? But, you couldn’t speak. If you tried to form a sentence or even a coherent phrase, he would bottom out again, flooding his shaft with your wet slick, and you would be overcome by another wave of bliss, nothing more than a warm sheath for his mighty sword. 

The edge of you lip was cool and wet, and you realized you were drooling, your tongue resting on your bottom teeth like a panting dog, helping you whimper and mewling your moans as you felt him mold you to fit. 

“Shit, you are still so tight, love. Can barely put it in. Squeezin’ me… fuck,” he was sweating, hoarsely groaning in long, deep breaths, his belly expanding and contracting as he labored over you. 

You didn’t reply. All of your words had been crushed into whining cries, helpless gasps. You took his hand and lifted it up to your mouth, placing it on your tongue, hoping he would fuck your throat with his fingers. The look on his face was one of desperate curiosity, wanting to please you, to serve you however he could. So, taking the hint, he curled his fingers away and pushed his first and middle fingers deeper into your mouth, exploring you softly. 

You moaned loudly from the relief and closed your lips around his knuckles, shoving him all the way in to the top of his palm, beginning to suck and lick him as if it were a heavy cock instead of his hand. 

His eyes rolled back in his head, and he tilted his chin up to the ceiling, his neck bulging with his ragged breaths. Then, he turned his gaze back to you, watching you comfort yourself with his fingers, suckling on them like a hungry calf, needy and persistent. 

“Fuck,” he exclaimed, “Tha’s bloody hot. Suck them deeper for me. Wanna feel your throat.”

You obliged him, your lips now reaching over his last knuckles onto the back of his hand and the callused ridge of his palm. If you stuck out your tongue, you could lick the middle of his palm, choking yourself with his fingertips and swallowing around them, clenching your throat in time with his thrusts. 

“Mmmf-fuckkk,” he rasped, his face set in an agonized fury, “Gag yourself again. Choke on me, love. Just like that.”

You knew why he liked it. You could feel his response. Because every time you choked on his hand, your body would heave, trying to get air, trying to fight him away, and your pussy would contract, milking his thick shaft like a strong, wet fist. So, you gave him more, ignoring your mind’s fear and confusion, mentally moving past it, focusing only on his pleasure, and yours. 

After a few more thrusts, the look in his eyes became one of concern, a worried flash of panic. He was going to come, and you knew it. 

John tried to pull his hand back, gently attempting to leave the warmth of your mouth, but you didn’t let him go. You held his giant wrist in both hands, gripping him cruelly, forcing his fingers even deeper, bobbing your head as if you were sucking his dick. 

“Gonna come. Fuck, I’m gonna – ungh. C’mon! Come with me, baby. Come with me. Lemme feel –”

He used his free hand to swipe roughly over your clit, changing those waves of cracking pleasure into a blistering orgasm, the heat of which seared over your whole body, making you feel like you had a fever. You felt yourself gushing between your legs, all of the wetness he had been churning within you being pushed out by the rhythmic clamping of your own muscles. You were screaming, but no one would hear you. All of your keening was subdued by his heavy hand, getting lost every time you choked for air. The only thing you heard was the rushing of breath from his spreading lungs and the creamy, slapping impact of his body against yours.

Then, a barking, guttural growl that he tried to hide, cutting it off and grinding his teeth to prevent himself from screaming as he emptied his load into you. You felt it hit your flesh within your core, like a burning splash of lava, shooting into you over and over, foaming and folding around the swollen head of his prick. His come felt heavy as it pooled at your end, deep in your belly, coating you like a glaze and settling over your womb.

You wanted him to stay inside of you forever, but he was finished and totally spent, his strength fading to a relaxed daze. You unhooked your legs and let him step away, feeling the loss of him in your mouth and your pussy, unable to even roll yourself off of the desk. So, you had to hang there, your legs unsupported, dangling wide apart, showing him exactly what he had just done to you. And he looked like he was enjoying the view. He stared down between your legs and watched his cream ooze out of your fucked hole, the flesh red and shining from its ordeal. 

There was nothing in his office for comfort. But, he needed to soothe you. Some instinct within him was screaming in his mind to hold you in his arms and keep you safe. So, he pulled you off of the desk, holding you in his arms, and guided you down to the carpet, sitting with his back against the wall and letting you lean against his body, keeping you in his lap with tired arms. 

You were both so sticky, but the sweat didn’t bother you. You were happy to rest your cheek on his shoulder, caressing his furry belly with your hands, trying not to pass out. 

“You alright, love?” He asked in a low whisper, “Did I hurt you?”

“Gonna be sore tomorrow,” you smiled, not lifting your eyes to look at his face, choosing instead to stare at how his soft body hair ruffled over your fingernails as you lightly scratched them across his skin. “Are you okay, John?”

“Worried about you. About this,” he murmured, some of his strength coming back to his voice. You looked up at him now, watching as he carefully crafted his next words, “Don’t want this to be a one-time thing. But, we can’t… I’m –”

“John,” you interrupted his turmoil, “In ten days, you’ll be in the House of fucking Commons. Then, you can do whatever you want. Until then…” You reached down and fondled his exhausted cock tenderly, making his body jerk from how sensitive he was, “I can be your little secret.”

He lifted your chin with his thumb just as he had at the start of this dreamlike encounter, kissing you tenderly, making sure he could feel your mouth against his, slipping his tongue over your lips just to reach the ridge of your teeth before pulling back again, his eyes turning back to that lascivious rage, 

“You don’t deserve that. I want them to bloody well know that you’re mine.”

You didn’t ask who “they” were. That was just how John spoke to you. It was always you and him versus them. The media, the Parliament, the world… it didn’t matter. They didn’t matter. But, you knew better than to let idealism cloud your judgment. 

“Be patient, John,” you caressed his cheek, “Win your seat. I’m not going anywhere.”

Finally, a small smile twitched on the corner of his mouth and he held you closer, hugging you to his chest,

“Not true,” he paused, looking down at your quizzical expression, a playful gleam in his eyes, “You’re coming to my flat, crawling in my bed, and letting me fuck that perfect cunt again.”

AO3 Link

[chernabogs]

ames you are COOKING (or should i say, planting???lol) SO HARD with the flower language prompts, 😭💖💞💖💞✨✨am really out here sobbing and crying over them like im watering these flowers with my Tears lol

so here i am requesting for these prompts: rosemary, begonia, pink camellia, dark crimson rose, purple hyacinth, blue salvia, zinnia

i picked these based on your initial tag about Maleficia and zinnia flower,,,, I SEE THE VISION so im requesting it now lol but also picked on prompts that reminded of Meleanor and Malleus,,, 😭i think therapy bills should be forwarded to Draconias instead, istg all they ever do is be in grief and loss /lh😭

if its too many, please feel free to choose whichever prompt you like and take your time in writing !! ☺️💞🌹✨✨

Ohhh I did my best here I promise LMAOOO. I tied in some easter eggs with other works i've done (namely Monody, Stasis, and Labours Gained). I hope you enjoy my absolute monstrous dump about Maleficia, whom I will die on a hill for tyvm

EMPTY CHAIRS

Inc: Maleficia, Meleanor, Levan, Lilia, Malleus (whole gang wow) WC: 4.2k :))) Warnings: Just some death, but I swear it ends on a happy note this time. Flowers: Begonia (How ghosts help the living live a little), Pink Camellia (Where I notice your absence the most), Dark Crimson Rose (The grave I visit everyday), Purple Hyacinth (The worst pain of my whole life and how it healed… multiple times) , Zinnia (The seats at the table and how they eventually became empty… multiple times) Summary: Moments where Maleficia was convinced her family was cursed, and a few times she truly wished this to not be the case.

A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world.  It knows no law, no pity.  It dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path.

Their family may be cursed. 

For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of such a matter in her mind. It had first passed briefly with the death of her father—the second monarch to take over after the initial uprising—and the subsequent death of her mother a few weeks later. No one was surprised when she went. Her grief for the loss of her love had been so profound that it had flooded Briar Nation, drowning both cattle and crops in her dismay. Maleficia had postponed her own coronation as the cleanup occurred. It felt ill-boding to be crowned while bodies were floating down the mountain pass. 

The thought had returned once more when her husband vanished at sea, leaving her with a newborn hatchling on her own. Her love had been a strong headed man with adventure burning in his blood—it had been what drew her to him to begin with. That, and he was the only ex-sailor she knew who was bold enough to try and hold her for ransom. Wiping the deck with him had captured his heart—and the fact that he had been a dragon settled the Senate to a degree. But the sea is a fickle mistress, and although her love had skill and he had drive, even the most knowledgeable of sailors can never predict its next move. 

She had not flooded Briar Nation like her mother had, and she had held herself together before her people, although the empty space in her bed and at the dinner table deepened the wound nightly. It was in the quiet moments alone when it was just her and Meleanor that she felt his absence the strongest. 

In the beginning she loathed him for leaving her. Whenever she cradled their daughter as the hatchling shrieked and protested, blowing flame, and biting for flesh, she loathed him. Whenever she dealt with the Senate or another disaster befalling the Nation, she loathed him. 

But when Meleanor learned to fly, learned to run, and shifted into her two-legged form for the first time, the hatred began to fade. Because although he had vanished into the mists on a voyage destined to fail, he had left her with the greatest treasure she could ever have—and for that alone she could hold no ill will. 

Perhaps this sentimentality is why when Meleanor dragged a thin, sickly-looking bat into the halls of Black Scale, Maleficia heard her out.

“Please let him stay!” The princess had asked, green eyes wide as she grasped her mother’s skirts. “Please, mother!”

The other child had shrunk behind Meleanor, but shadows could not hide the burning defiance in the boy's eyes—a gaze of confrontation, and one that nothing truly innocent should hold. This is why she lacked the heart to say no. She quietly hoped that Lilia, as she would name him, would be the one to slay whatever reaper was following them—that the burning anger she had seen would ignite a fire that would cleanse the family of its suffocating misery. 

With the presence of Meleanor, Lilia, and eventually Levan, the silent table Maleficia had sat at for so long soon became a place of raucous conversation again. Although she found herself scolding the three children more than once (especially Levan for his non-subtle attempts at discarding food), the lingering warmth she would feel as she gazed at the trio made her confident that this family curse was on the bend. 

Naturally, it didn’t last. 

The first time she heard of the Silver Owls, Meleanor was 200 years old and more focused on warding off suitors than an unmarked ship. Maleficia had allowed her daughter to indulge by instead consulting with an advisor alone in the dark of her office. The concern lingering in the advisor's words would grow to haunt her.

“Perhaps it is temporary?” She posited, trying her best to remain optimistic on the matter. Plenty of people came and went from Cape Sunrise. A single unmarked ship with a few scraggly sailor’s was not something she felt the need to stress over. The advisor seemed doubtful on the matter.

“But they have tools. Items designed to dig up our soil,” they had insisted, but Maleficia dismissed the concerns with a wave and a blase response. 

“Let them try. They will not be able to break the first layer of our land.” 

___________________________________

The first one to leave the table had been Levan. There were many soldiers and nobles who vanished before he did but, selfishly, he was the first one that Maleficia really felt the absence of. Levan had grown up from a non-confrontational child to her son-in-law, a general of the princess and a father to the future heir. His compassion had not faded despite the years of war that now tore the Nation apart. Maleficia knew this by the way she came across him one night, cradling his egg so gently while murmuring against its shell. 

When he had noticed her, he had not corrected himself; if anything, he held the egg even closer. They had not exchanged too many words that night, but she sat next to him on the bench in the gardens, the silence speaking volume of her support to his decisions. 

“You will return.” It was not a question—it was a demand. Her voice held the authority of a queen who had seen many, many losses in her long life. Levan had remained silent for a moment longer as his lips brushed against the shell of her grandson's egg. 

“Always,” was the promise he made, and the last words Maleficia heard from him. When they didn’t receive notice for several days after he left, the conclusion was drawn that he was either dead, or the closest one could be to it. Meleanor held herself well in lieu of this information, as had Maleficia. 

But the empty seat felt an ill omen. 

___________________________________

The next one to leave the table had been Meleanor. When she was younger, she used to rest her head on Maleficia’s lap as her mother had fixed her hair. She would ramble on about her day and what she got up to with the two boys in the nonsensical fashion that many children do. Maleficia had listened with amusement, although her mind had always been half-focused on what she needed to do for her meetings the next day.

The regret of not giving Meleanor her full, undivided attention sunk in deep when she felt her daughter’s magic cut off. The bond in their family was intrinsically woven to allow them to get a sense of whether the other members were still alive. If asked, Maleficia might say it’s something of a dragon trait. Most of the time it served to be a blessing to allow her to know her family is alive and well. 

When it cut off mid-emergency meeting, the abruptness had been so profound that she nearly collapsed then and there. Her breath had hitched, her words stuttering to a stop as she stared wide-eyed at the Senate members surrounding her. At first, she hoped it was simply a fluke—a disruption in the magic—until she didn’t feel it return and the horrible, tar-like panic of a mother when her child goes missing welled up in her heart. She was tearing out of the room before any of the Senate members even had a chance to speak, screaming for her guards and her soldiers to tell her what was going on at Wild Rose. 

Her daughter, who spent her childhood running through the forests and laughing in the face of suitors. Her daughter, whose hair she would braid and then re-braid again when the girl somehow got burs in it. Her daughter, who was set to become a mother herself and experience all the precious moments Maleficia had. 

Her daughter, whose body wasn’t even recovered at the end of it all. 

___________________________________

The final one to leave the table was Lilia. In wake of the princesses passing, Malleus’ egg was put in the cradle tower, and Maleficia was designated to spirit him into hatching. She felt the faint connection of their magic from within the thick shell that guarded his body. His warmth, the subtle movements he made; they were all indicators that he was still alive and well despite his tumultuous arrival.

But Maleficia didn’t know if he would oblige. Hatchlings often needed the love of both parents to be shepherded forward—and Maleficia, now over eight hundred years old, already felt the strain of her magic from the conflicts going on in her Nation. There was no doubt that she held love for her grandson—but a lingering fear that her love wouldn’t be enough burned in her mind. This is what made her turn to Lilia, to send him on his quest around the world to try and find an additional means to bring the young prince forward.

For the first few decades, it worked well. Maleficia held the egg on a nightly basis and poured as much of her love and magic into it as she could. The egg consumed it all in a greedy fashion, demanding more every time she returned to the tower. One would think that Malleus was starving within by the way he pulled, and tore, and ripped at her powers to fuel his own development. 

Then he ceased feeding. She recalls the first night it happened; everything had been going well, until the connection was suddenly severed, and the green glow within the egg dulled back into a faint tint of color. Maleficia had initially dismissed it as a one-off event. Until it happened again, and again, and again. 

There’s a curious sense of panic that fills someone when they do everything they can to no avail. The panic she felt came in the form of a privatized breakdown in the tower. For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of a curse in her mind. Now, she was beginning to consider that it was not her family who was cursed, but rather just herself. 

First it came for her father, and her mother shortly after. Then, when it grew hungry again, it ate through her husband and that of her daughters. Then it came for Meleanor herself, and now whatever reaper followed them was looming over her shoulder as she held Malleus’ egg and begged him to take something. 

Pleas fell from the lips of a monarch as she rocked the egg, stroked its shell so softly, whispering to just eat a little more, just take a little more. But the egg had remained as cold and aloof as it had for several nights now. Her desperation mounted in an order to Baul to summon Lilia back—to slay whatever reaper was following them before it pried the last of her bloodline from her hands. 

Her hopes of his role as the vanquisher of death came in an explosive hatching that she was informed of after it occurred. When she requested for Lilia to be brought to Black Scale to be reinstated in his role in his efforts, the Senate had then informed her that Lilia Vanrouge would never step foot in the capital again.

And so, in a span of mere moments, the final seat was emptied—and Maleficia found herself alone once more. 

___________________________________

Grandchildren are the best reminders  of the beauty and innocence of childhood.

When Malleus was first brought to her after he hatched, she didn’t want to touch him. The purple hue of his stomach and the way his green gaze darted around, drinking in the new world he emerged to, reminded her so much of Meleanor that she wanted to laugh at the cruel irony. The hurt that smouldered in her heart ignited back into a flame that found her turning a cold shoulder to the hatchling. 

“Go clean him. He has amniotic fluid all over.” She remembers ordering, voice deceptively calm for the turmoil happening within. The wet nurse that was hired obliged as the hatchling shrieked and protested the frequently changing environment around him. His cries made Maleficia clench her jaw tighter as she stared resolutely at the battle plans drawn before her, her hands gripping the table enough to turn her knuckles white. 

A few times she went to him in the beginning. The encounters lasted only as long as Maleficia could tolerate seeing how similar he looked to Meleanor before she would depart and leave him in the care of his wet nurse once more. Guilt fought with anger in her heart about the circumstances that she found herself in and her inability to overcome them. She could feel the ghost of her daughter chastising her in the corner for being so cowardly in her approach. 

The breakthrough arrived when Malleus became ill. Grieves—a fever-like condition that affected fae children in particular—resulted in Maleficia sitting with her grandson one night as the exhausted wet nurse was excused for a long overdue break. She held him on her lap in the dark as his small form fought his fever, whispering how the stars that looked down from above were the eyes of the people who loved him, keeping him safe in this world. Her voice had cracked as she spoke, and it was only when a small whine left him did she realize she was hugging him tight to her body. 

“I am so sorry,” she had choked out, unsure if the apology was for the hold she had or the neglect she had given so far. “Please forgive me.”

Malleus had twisted in her arms, small wings fluttering before he settled himself down and began to doze. He had already forgotten what upset him to begin with. She wished it would always be that way—but she knew that was nothing but a vague hope. 

She loathed Meleanor for leaving. Whenever she cradled Malleus as the hatchling threw his tantrums, blowing flame, and biting for flesh as all children seem to do, she loathed her. Whenever she dealt with another part of the war or signed another treaty alone, she loathed her. 

But when Malleus scrambled onto her lap mid-Senate meeting, chased after courtiers, and flew for the first time (admittedly, into a flock of pigeons), Maleficia loved her. Because although like her father she had vanished in an ill-fated decision, she had left a small reminder that she was never truly gone. Maleficia could comfort Malleus, could see the ghost of his mother in his clever little eyes, and for that alone she could hold no ill will. 

Meleanor’s death had proved to be far worse than anything else—but her gift of the small dragon in her lap felt like the first steps towards recovery again. So, she had kissed between his horns that night and promised to herself that she would do all that she could to give him a future free of the misery that plagued their family thus far. 

___________________________________

In the aftermath, she spent time with him whenever she could. Via dinners, via having him sit in on meetings, via walks in the gardens—whenever she could, she would be there. However, despite her newfound presence changing some things for the better, she remained unable to quell the curiosity that burned in her grandson's mind. 

She found him in the mausoleum once. He was standing on the toes of his mother with his small hand touching her stone-carved face. Maleficia had not been to the mausoleum since the boy hatched so many years ago. The raw memories still stirred in her heart and seeing him look up at his mother with such a gaze of innocent adoration did nothing but unsettle her more. 

When he noticed her, his face had lit up into a smile as he hopped back down and pointed up to one of the other statues. “This is grandfather?” 

Maleficia’s gaze slid to where he was pointing. A strong jaw, a dangerous glint in stone-etched eyes, and a faint smirk painted the picture of the man she had once loved and held so dearly many years ago. Maleficia nodded. Malleus, taking this as encouragement, then ran back to the other statue he had been touching with his small hands. 

“And this is mother?” 

Again, Maleficia nodded. The painful similarities between Malleus and his mother were more apparent when they were side to side. If Maleficia were to squint, she could mistake Malleus as a younger Meleanor: the same horns, same hair length, even the same streak of mischief that got both into so much trouble. 

Malleus had hummed thoughtfully before stepping down again. “Do you miss them?” 

A deceptively innocent question. Of course she missed them. All she had left of her family was one grandson and three empty coffins: a husband at sea, a daughter in the hands of humans, and a son-in-law somewhere in the moors. “I do,” she offered back. “I miss them greatly.” 

Malleus had asked her why, then. Children like him were filled with innocence and wonder about the world. He had no knowledge of the bodies that were lost, or the tragedies that had predicated his birth. Her reply did nothing but fuel an unease in the boy, for moments after she offered it, he ran back to her and threw his small arms around her waist.

When he hugged her, he clung with a ferocity that was baffling for his size. Her hands rested on his head and stroked his hair soothingly as she had done with Meleanor many times before she guided him away from the tombs and the memory of family he never met.

She should visit them more often now. 

___________________________________

She rediscovers that there’s a privilege in watching someone grow. Lilia’s gradual return into their lives helps ease the stress of raising a child again in her older age, which is partially why she turns a blind eye every time Malleus slips out of the palace to visit the man. She’s honoured to observe in a more passive manner the way her grandson changes and grows as a person. She watches him go from spiteful towards humans to more amiable with the arrival of Lilia’s adopted son. As he grows before her eyes, she begins to see less of Meleanor and Levan in his features and more of just Malleus—the quiet, albeit arrogant, boy that was hers. 

Time goes by faster as she ages alongside him. One moment he’s clinging to her skirts, and the next he’s off to NRC, and then finally, 178 years have passed like the blink of an eye. She used to bemoan how slow time was—and now she wishes it to ease off a bit.

She’s sitting in the gazebo in the gardens for reprieve, a novel in hand as the screaming of insects choruses a song for her amusement. The aroma of flowers surrounds her and for a moment she feels utter peace in the world. The summer is ending and there are no celebrations or events to concern herself with. For the first time in what feels like eons, Maleficia Draconia can breathe. 

The sound of someone approaching puts a pause in this. 

She lowers her book to peer over at whoever is coming, hoping silently it isn’t an advisor or a courtier seeking out an audience on the sly. Fortunately, the sight of two horns and a scowling face turning the corner nullifies this as she turns back to her book. 

“Finally decided to see the sun?” She muses as she hears him stepping onto the gazebo platform. She waits for his response, but only comes to feel surprised when Malleus kneels by where she sits and does something that he hasn’t done in a long time now—he places his head in her lap. At his age, his body is too tall now to really kneel efficiently at her side, but by the gods does the boy try as he hits his head right down. Her hand comes up on instinct to brush strands of his dark hair behind his ear as he looks over the gardens, his shoulders tense with stress. 

They’re silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of screaming insects from beyond before Malleus speaks.

“The gardens look atrocious.”

Maleficia raises an eyebrow as she lowers her book to look at where he’s staring. Her hand continues to stroke his head soothingly as she huffs a soft laugh. “Our groundskeepers are going for a more ‘untamed’ look this season.”

“I have counted twenty-six thistles in the minute I have been here.” Malleus shoots back as his hand comes to rest by his face. “It’s late in the season. They might be growing lazy.”

 “Nonsense. You know how hard working they are. You spent ample amounts of time with them when you were younger.” She fails to hide the smile teasing on her lips with this comment. Malleus’ temper tantrums had landed him in more than enough problems in his youth. Problems which were often rectified by a gentle lesson of how hard it is to fix up his messes—garden destruction included. 

Malleus deigns her with a unprincely snort in response. They fall back into a warm silence as she keeps her hand on his head and returns her attention to her book. She knows that something is on his mind, but she retains her silence both to give him an opportunity to speak, and to enjoy the moment that they’re having. In the privacy of the garden, they can get away with this rare display of familial affection. 

She feels him sigh as his eyes flutter close before he speaks up. “Do you ever feel… unease?” 

“Unease?” She hums quietly as she turns a page. “On many occasions I have, yes. Unease tends to go hand in hand with some of the things I have dealt with.” 

She knows he doesn’t mean in the sense of his royal duties. Malleus is an unusually quiet and introverted boy—but she had noticed him being more so the past week as summer began to inch towards its end. He opens his eyes and sighs again before withdrawing to sit back on his knees. 

Maleficia wisely closes her book and sets it down before affixing him with as stern of a look as she can muster without chuckling. “Sighing and moping in the corners does little to aid me in providing advice.” 

Malleus’ gaze goes upwards to stare at the ceiling of the gazebo before his expression drops to a pout. “I am feeling reluctant to return to NRC.”

“Oh? And why is that?” 

Maleficia quietly reaches her hand out to brush his bangs back from his forehead, revealing the scale pattern beneath. Malleus’ eyes flutter shut at the gesture as his pout remains present.

“Three years have passed now, and I have yet to feel included in the school environment. Spending my days with those I already know from here hardly feels like an efficient use of time.” His jaw clenches. “Every effort I make to form any sort of connection to others feels like it’s a pointless endeavour at this rate.”

“Malleus, you must be patient with these things. It takes time for people to warm up to the likes of us. You must simply continue being yourself, and the right people will make the effort to get to know you. I understand it may seem upsetting right now, but you must simply keep trying your best.” A faint smile touches her lips despite the worry gnawing at her heart. She wishes she could do more, but she also understands that these are things he must figure out himself. “You’re going to this school to gain new experiences and see the world beyond our little Valley without the Senate looming over you. Things will work out in the end.” 

Malleus’ body seems to relax at her words as he opens his eyes again. His expression eases to his usual neutral look as he nods slightly. “... yes, I suppose you are correct.”

“I often am.” She pinches his cheek lightly, causing the scowl to immediately return to his face as he jerks to avoid her grasp, making her laugh in turn. “Besides, are you not excited to see Lilia, Silver, and Sebek more often again? Well. More often than you do already.”

A pointed look has him averting her gaze as she picks her book up again. His demeanour reminds her of Meleanor, but the similarities no longer ache when she considers them. This was Malleus—her grandson, not his mother, nor his father—and she was eager to see the person he was still destined to become. “Now, you should be packing, should you not? We don’t need the crisis we had last year where we were all hunting down books for you last minute.” 

Malleus groans softly before rising to his feet and brushing his pants off. He presses a brief kiss to her forehead, coaxing another smile from her lips before he pulls away. 

“Yes, grandmother,” he grumbles with all the moodiness of an embarrassed teenage boy, and Maleficia can’t help but feel happiness at seeing it. Cursed or not, she will continue to enjoy these moments of joy as long as she may have them.

[dindjarindiaries]

Senator's Shadow - Chapter 6

summary: As time winds down to the upcoming attack, you and Sergeant Hunter both find yourselves as conflicted as ever.

pairing: hunter (the bad batch) x fem!reader

rating: mature (18+)

tags: bodyguard romance, forbidden love, fluff & angst, emotional & physical hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, injuries & blood, trauma, eventual/mild smut

word count: 6.821k

chapter 5 ⟸ series masterlist ⟹ chapter 7

chapter 6 ⟹

“I just don’t know, Senator.” Your jaw ticked in your effort not to show the way you bristled with anger at the falsely disappointed words of yet another diplomat. “The problems are only getting worse, and Count Dooku is offering us much more than the Republic is.”

You furrowed your brow in frustration. “It’s not an equal exchange. Can’t you see that?” You looked around the massive, circular table full of Eirus’ highest-ranking officials, silently begging for them to understand your perspective. “Once they have their grip on our world, they will not let go. Their chosen government will absolve yours, and all of you will be outed while our people will be exploited and forced to work in their droid factories.”

The Prime Minister huffed an arrogant breath. “That’s a paranoid thought process, Senator.”

You fixed your intense stare on the Rodian. “It is not ‘paranoid’ when it has happened before on other worlds, Prime Minister. That makes it realistic.” You paused and looked around the group again. “And probable, if we cannot come to an agreement.”

“These attacks have only gotten worse since you arrived.” The Prime Minister wouldn’t back down. “Our people need order, and clearly, the Republic cannot provide that, seeing as it has failed to do so already.”

“It does not help that you have not implemented any of the resources the Republic and I have supplied you with from Coruscant.”

Another diplomat was quick to speak up. “Count Dooku is offering us even more resources.”

Your head snapped towards them. “And where is he now? Where are any of his officials?” You yet again waved a hand around, gesturing to the empty section of seats that would have been directly across from you. “They refuse to come here, yet here I am, trying to make things work in the best interest of all of you and our people.” You shook your head. “He cares so little about our world that he does not even value sending himself or someone else here on his behalf.”

Silence fell upon the diplomats as they considered your words. Some of them continued to stare at you, while others broke their gazes and looked around the room. You hoped that would promise some progress, but deep down, you knew the truth. 

You rose from your seat and continued. “But I care.” Hunter’s words from the night before ran across your mind, warming your chest as you went on. “And because I care, the Republic cares, too.” You nodded. “I fought for this world once before, and I will do it again if I have to.”

The diplomats shared looks, but you didn’t care to read them. Your frustrated rage was boiling hot just beneath the surface of your skin. This was a room full of people who would do nothing to save your world, and you weren’t going to wait for them any longer.

“With that, I believe we can conclude today’s sessions.” The Prime Minister was the next to stand from his seat, his gaze averting yours altogether as he nodded at the group. “We will resume tomorrow, as usual.”

You composed yourself with a breath and kept your mask on, despite the overwhelming urge to embrace your frustration wholeheartedly. With a dignified nod, you turned to the captain of your guard, allowing him to escort you out of the room. Even just stepping through the threshold released a tense weight from your shoulders, though it was far from eliminating all the burdens you were holding there.

The biggest was no doubt the decision that had been looming over your head for the past day. It was becoming more clear which choice you had to make, but it wouldn’t be easy to go that route. You would manage, but the squad who would be standing behind you… would they be punished for their role in your rebellion?

Would Hunter be punished, even hurt, for your own actions?

It wasn’t a thought that you could bear. You had to force it to the back of your mind for now, especially since they hadn’t yet arrived at your doors for the night. That thought at least brought a smile to your face. They were enjoying a meal, if all was well, and that satisfied you. No matter what was to come, you were still providing them with something.

You had a meal in the privacy of your suite, one you had to force down thanks to the pit that had been created in your stomach. In the silence of your lonesome, you ran through plans and probabilities a dozen times. The advantage to being betrayed by those you used to fight alongside was that you knew their plays—because many of those plays had been created by you.

As eager as you were to continue planning, you were utterly relieved by the sound of knocking on your doors. You smiled and rose from where you had been sitting, smoothing out the skirt of your dress before you reached the doors. They opened to reveal the sight of both Hunter and Tech.

You addressed Tech first, bowing your head in his direction. “Tech.” He returned the gesture before glancing back down at his datapad. You fixed your stare upon Hunter, who was already gazing at you with a once-over you were both familiar with and never quite used to. “Sergeant.” The smile on your lips remained even as you lifted an eyebrow. “Another briefing, I presume?”

Hunter bowed his head. “That’s right, Senator.” His dark eyes sparkled with too many emotions to identify in an instant. “We found what we were looking for.”

You were hit with a puzzling mix of both relief and dread as you nodded. “Good. I look forward to hearing about it.”

With that, you turned and walked back inside, encouraging Hunter to do the same. It wasn’t until you heard the doors close that you fully relaxed with a deep exhale. You closed your eyes and turned around to face the sergeant, only reopening them when you were ready for whatever he had to say. His worried gaze was already searching your own.

“How much time do we have?” Your voice was stronger than you had expected it to be.

Hunter took a step closer to you. “Two nights.” His voice was even raspier than usual as he spoke, as if there were also invisible burdens he was hiding on his own shoulders. You furrowed your brow. “Tech was able to slice into their comm channel, and he ran an analysis on their past attacks to prove it.”

You nodded, a rush of adrenaline pumping through you. “Okay, that’s fine. We can work with two more nights’ time.”

Hunter returned your nod, though his stare never left yours. “Have you decided what you’ll be doing?” He asked the question slowly, clearly reluctant to bring the topic up.

“I have.” You raised your chin, but only for a moment. “I’m going to fight.” Your gaze fell from his as you crossed your arms over your chest.

In your silence, Hunter approached you, setting his free hand upon your chin just as he had done two times before—but not since your beautifully haunting kiss. It was hard to focus with that thought lingering in the back of your mind. Hunter’s voice, however, broke through your brief reverie. “Then we’ll fight with you.”

You tightened your jaw, drowning in the comfort of his dark gaze as you voiced your fears to him. “Will that be safe for you and your squad?”

Hunter’s brow knit together. “What do you mean?”

You sighed a light breath. “I know you’re all willing to disobey orders, and that it’s a big part of the reason why I brought you with me. But…” you paused, gaining courage in the softness of Hunter’s expression before going on, “is it safe for you to do that?”

Hunter huffed, his gloved hand moving from your chin to your cheek in a smooth, calming motion. “Trust me, Senator. They stopped trying to reprimand us a long time ago.” He nodded, his eyes searching your own. “You don’t have to worry about us.”

Your hand covered his as you began to smile at him once again. “That’s much easier said than done, Hunter.”

The corners of Hunter’s lips also widened. “I know.”

The silence that followed shifted something between you, bringing you back to that moment in the base by the village. Both your gazes flickered low as your heart steadily started to beat faster and faster. You were drawn to him by the invisible tether you had created between you, and when your nose brushed his, you were yet again at a loss for breath.

But Hunter spoke before either one of you could make a move. “I should let you rest, Senator.” His voice was nothing more than a soft breath.

You shook your head, tightening your grasp on the hand of his that continued to cup your face. “You don’t have to leave.”

Hunter considered your words, both his stare and his voice lowering as he did so. “If I kiss you right now, Senator, I won’t be able to stop.”

The way his words weakened your knees further proved that you couldn’t let go of this moment, one you had been hoping for ever since that night at the village. “I’m okay with that.”

You made the move to close the distance between you, but you were stopped by Hunter’s thumb on your lips. Your eyes fluttered open to see that his were closed, as if he was in pain. You furrowed your brow and waited for him to break your tense silence. When he reopened his eyes, you saw all the conflict within him—and though your heart was stricken with pain on his behalf, it also filled you with a frustrated flame.

Hunter finally spoke, but his voice was nothing more than a whispered plea. “Please.” He exhaled, moving his face away from yours to lower his head. “Make this easier for me.”

His refusal was the last fracture that made you crumble under the weight of all your pressures. You narrowed your eyes and shook your head at him. “No.” Your hand grabbed his wrist and forced it away from your face. Hunter’s stare rose to yours again, and this time, it was filled with a confused panic. “I won’t play this game, Hunter.”

Hunter blinked a few times, his lips parted before he found his words again. “What are you talking about?”

You scoffed. “Days ago, you were encouraging me to indulge in my wants, telling me I didn’t have to choose between them and my people’s needs.” You gave him a disbelieving once-over. “Now, it’s suddenly a problem?”

Hunter hesitated, and you could hear the breath he held in his chest. His gaze was lowered, but it darted around as he tried to collect his thoughts. “It’s never been my intention to confuse or hurt you, Senator.” His stare met yours, its brown depths clouded with too much emotion to decipher. “I guess I’ve still got a lot to figure out myself.” He shook his head, and each word he spoke was strained with meaning. “I’m sorry.”

An apology wasn’t really what you wanted to hear, as genuine as it was. “Well, I’ve made my choice.” You lifted your brow, as if you were challenging him. “You have to make yours.” You gave your head another shake. “Because I’m not letting you have it both ways. Not when I’m already being torn apart by this crisis.”

The pained crease in Hunter’s brow nearly made you regret saying the words, but there was no getting around it. You already had the weight of the galaxy on your shoulders, and you couldn’t take on another with such a push-and-pull relationship. He was going to have to choose.

“I should get some rest.” You stepped away from him to move towards your bedroom, trying your best to ignore the burn of his gaze on your back. “I trust that you can see yourself out, Sergeant?”

For the first time, your use of his title was nothing but bitter. When you gained the faith to look at Hunter again, he just nodded dutifully, turning on his heel to stride towards the doors of the suite. Before he got there, however, he stopped. His head turned over his shoulder so that all you could see was his profile. “Senator?”

You said nothing. It was clearly the invitation he was looking for to go on, and the hopeful part of you that wanted to be wrong about everything you had just said let him do so.

Hunter’s shoulders rose and fell with a steady breath before he turned to face you again. Still, he remained where he was, respecting the distance you had put between yourselves. “I was made for this war. I’ve never known a life without it, and I’ve never been able to think of a life beyond it.”

Your heart weighed heavy at the painful truth of his words. You lowered your gaze in shame as he went on.

“I’ve never even had the luxury of ‘wants’ outside of battle, especially with the squad in my care.” Hunter gestured with his head to the doors. “It doesn’t excuse me letting you get caught up in my own confusion, but…” he paused, his gaze once again lowered and searching before he went on, “I hope it helps you realize that you’ve never been the problem.”

Hunter’s stare found yours again, and a rush of strong flutters exploded within you at the breathtaking sincerity of his gaze.

“I know what I want. I’m just not sure if I can let myself have it.” Hunter looked over his shoulder. “For their sake as much as my own.”

You couldn’t think of any words to say. It was your turn to be speechless, lost in the weight of what he had so vulnerably shared with you. He had spent this entire mission understanding your perspective and prioritizing your desires, but you had made the mistake of never once trying to do the same for him.

“Goodnight, Senator.” Hunter dismissed himself with another nod before he walked through the doors that slid open for him, leading him back into the corridor.

As soon as he was gone, you shouldered the heavy weight of his absence. The doors closed at the same time your eyes did, your chest rising and falling with a deep, trembling breath. At the beginning, you had remembered it so well, the weight of Hunter’s own responsibilities that could put him at risk if you pursued a relationship together. But then the kiss had happened, and your rationality slipped away. Rather than talking to him about it, you sought more, more of what he knew he could not have.

Then, you made him feel bad about it. You ended up hurting him after all, long before he would even set foot into the upcoming battle. And of course he remained as honorable and genuine as possible, never once putting the blame on you.

You forced yourself to turn back to your bedroom door and walk through the threshold. As you settled into bed that night, it felt colder and emptier than ever—especially with the creeping fear that you may have ruined whatever potential you and Hunter had for a future together. 

You woke earlier than usual that morning. The time on the chrono was still within Hunter’s window for his watch shift, and you couldn’t deny yourself a chance to at least apologize. You weren’t sure when you would get another opportunity alone with him, aside from the usual briefing later that night. You couldn’t wait that long to put an end to the anxious agony that had made your sleep so restless.

As you dressed for the day, your thoughts dwelled on your current inner crisis. The guilt consumed you whole, but so did the helplessness of the situation. You both wanted the same thing and you had no idea how to help him pursue that. Not when he had so many burdens on his shoulders already, burdens that he had quite literally been created with.

That could be explored later. For now, you just had to apologize. You reminded yourself of that as you headed to the doors of the suite, your pulse racing in anticipation as they opened for you.

You furrowed your brow when Echo turned around to face you. “Senator?” He checked the nearest chrono. “It’s pretty early for you to be awake.”

Your heart sank in disappointment, though you kept a small smile on your lips. “I have a lot to prepare for, Echo.” Was Hunter really so upset that he changed his watch shift?

The ARC trooper removed his helmet, revealing his raised brow. “At this time of the morning?”

You continued to mask with a soft huff. “It’s never too early to begin preparations.” You let out a deeper exhale, bowing your head. “But I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Echo. I…” You paused, trying to find a fitting lie.

“You thought it would be Hunter.” Echo’s words made your gaze snap back up to his. He was smiling, but when his stare caught yours, the smugness began to falter. “Did something happen?”

You swallowed hard, your gaze focusing on the sight of Hunter’s door beyond Echo. “I simply owe him an apology for something. That’s all.”

Echo looked as if he was going to question you about it, but he must have changed his mind. “Well, Hunter’s finally getting some sleep. He found out Wrecker hasn’t been getting enough rest, so he changed the shift schedule.”

Your chest constricted with a confusing number of emotions. “How so?”

“In typical Hunter style, he’s taking a double shift, now. Watching the doors for most of the night, getting maybe a few hours of sleep in before the wake-up call.”

You exhaled a soft breath. That was no surprise to hear, but the fact he hadn’t communicated such a change to you himself hurt worse than it should have. “I see.” You nodded at Echo. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, Echo. My apologies again.”

As you turned back to your doors, however, Echo went on. “If it’s any help, Senator, I don’t think he’s upset with you.” You froze, turning your rapt attention back to Echo. He lifted his brow. “He’s upset with himself.”

You faced Echo fully again and crossed your arms. “What makes you so sure?”

Echo sighed and looked at Hunter’s door. “When he gets upset with himself, he just… keeps to himself. Starts taking on extra responsibilities.”

You grimaced. “Like the watch shifts.”

Echo’s stare found yours again as he nodded. “Exactly.”

You held the side of your face with your palm and exhaled. “He shouldn’t be upset with himself. It’s my fault.”

Echo hesitated for only a moment before he spoke. “Well, Senator, if this is about what I think it’s about… it won’t be easy to convince him of that.”

Your self-loathing began to subside in your sudden concern for Hunter. You dropped your hand from your face and held your arms tighter. “Why?”

Echo shook his head. “Well, Hunter’s good at just about everything. Exceptional, even. But vulnerability?” Echo gave his head a fond tilt. “That’s not his strong suit. And if he thinks he hurt you somehow while he was already trying to be vulnerable…”

You were able to finish the thought. “He’s gonna shut me out.”

Echo stepped closer to you and set a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “But if anyone can get through to him, Senator, it’s you. I’m already amazed at how much you’ve been able to do that.” He chuckled and raised his brow. “Never seen the man so giddy before.”

Your ears burned as you laughed with him. You took his hand from your shoulder and held it between yours in pure gratitude. “Thank you, Echo.” You sighed and let your worry consume you for a moment. “I just hope he’ll give me the chance to help him.”

“Based on how he spoke about you last night during the schedule change?” Echo huffed as he slid his helmet back on over his head. “You don’t have to worry about that at all.”

You beamed, giving your head a fond shake as you turned back to your doors and stepped through them. They closed behind you, and though you should have tried to get more rest, you had too much to think about. You were already planning the next private conversation you would have with Hunter, one that would hopefully go much smoother than last evening did.

This at least made time move by faster, and soon, it was time to reemerge. You approached the doors with a new mindset, preparing yourself for a whole different kind of battle than the one you would be facing tomorrow.

When the doors opened, you were shocked to see that Hunter was already standing there with Echo. Your heart skipped a surprised beat at the sight of him, though the way he was already concealing his face from view with his helmet forced a pulse of disappointment through you.

Hunter’s visor turned to you, and you were caught in the intensity of it. He nodded, breaking the gaze almost straight away. “Good morning, Senator.”

The corners of your mouth tightened before you returned the gesture. “Sergeant. I hope you were able to get some rest.” It was time to give him a push, to see if Echo was right about his true motivations for taking yet another responsibility on his shoulders. You glanced at the ARC trooper. “Echo told me you changed the shift schedule.”

Hunter tilted his helmet. You wished more than anything that you could see his eyes. “It’s better this way. Now, everyone gets equal rest.”

You furrowed your brow. “Everyone except for you?”

Hunter straightened his posture at that. “I’ll be fine, Senator. I’m used to it.”

You still wouldn’t back down. “Cutting back on rest before such a dangerous mission isn’t a very wise choice, Sergeant, regardless of whether you’re used to it or not.”

Hunter sighed and set a hand on his hip. “Senator—.”

Echo cleared his throat when the squad’s doors began to open. You looked past Hunter to see Wrecker and Crosshair making their way over, and it was more than likely that Tech would emerge from your suite at any moment. You folded your hands behind your back and took a deep breath for composure. Once Tech had arrived, you spoke up to the gathered group first. “What are your squad’s plans for today, Sergeant?”

Hunter’s helmet turned towards you slowly, as if it was a cautious movement. “Scoping out their camp again. We need to get as much information as possible before we put our official plans in place.”

You nodded. “I concur. Will the briefing be tonight?”

Hunter shook his head. “We’ll do it tomorrow. I want it to be fresh.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Will I at least be briefed on today’s findings?”

Hunter lifted both hands to his hips. “If there’s anything to report, then yes.”

You gave him a disbelieving once-over. Never before had Hunter pushed back on keeping you as in-the-loop as possible. Now, after already failing to notify you about the watch schedule change, he was going to avoid your usual evening briefings.

You were going to have to push him even harder.

Tech tried to speak up into your stunned silence. “Given how much we already know, it is doubtful that we will find anything—.”

“Considering this is an attack on my home village, Sergeant, I would appreciate receiving details on any and all findings, no matter how small.”

“We can make that possible,” Echo cut in, clearly trying to both help you and ease the tension. “I’m sure we’ll find something worth noting.”

“That makes one of us,” Crosshair muttered.

“I have to say, I am with Crosshair on this one,” Tech added. “Like I attempted to share before, it is doubtful that—.”

Hunter was the one to cut him off that time. “I don’t want to waste any of your time if we don’t find anything worth noting, Senator.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Anything that has to do with my home village is not a ‘waste of time,’ Sergeant.”

Hunter exhaled and held a hand against his helmet. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It kinda sounded like it was,” Wrecker insisted. Hunter’s helmet snapped towards him, making Wrecker shrink back in surprise.

“Listen.” Echo continued to be the voice of reason as he cut into the noise. “We’ve got tons of daylight on our side right now. We’ll make sure we can find something for you by tonight, Senator, if only to put your mind at ease. All right?”

You nodded at him. “I like that plan of yours, Echo.” Your gaze flickered to Hunter’s visor, but only for a moment. “It’s a sensible approach.”

With that, you strided off, heading to your guards who awaited you at the far end of the corridor. The further you got from the group, however, the harder it became to leave them behind. Hunter’s stare was burning so intensely into your back that you were half-convinced he would leave a mark behind. Clearly, whatever you were doing was working to a degree, but you didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

You had never wanted to show a person they were deserving of love so badly before.

Throughout your diplomatic sessions for the day, your thoughts dwelled with Hunter and the two battles you were fighting. There was no point in participating in diplomacy any longer; you would keep your mask on and leave it at that. Yesterday had proven that these officials were far beyond saving. You could afford to let your thoughts stray in these sessions if it meant that all the people you were actually trying to help would be saved—if they would let you, Hunter included.

The day trudged on, but eventually, it came to an end. You were relieved to be heading back to your suite, even with the anticipation of facing Hunter again. You had rehearsed conversations in your mind a thousand times throughout the day, leaving you more prepared than ever to speak to him.

But when you got to your doors, he was nowhere to be found. It was Echo who awaited you with a half-hearted smile. You returned it even as you raised your brow and looked around the end of the corridor.

“Good to see you again, Echo.” You nodded at him, and he returned the gesture. “Where’s your squad?” You lowered your voice to keep it between the two of you. “And the sergeant?”

Echo exhaled and closed his eyes. “I tried my best, Senator.” Your chest tightened as Echo’s eyes reopened, his stare meeting yours. “Hunter insisted on staying later at the camp tonight, and he’s got Crosshair and Tech with him. Wrecker and I are covering the watch shifts until they get back.”

You frowned and attempted to ignore the worried pang that gnawed at your stomach. “How long will they be gone?”

Echo shook his head. “I’m not sure. I don’t think it’ll be too long.” He offered a hopeful smile. “Hunter doesn’t like to leave you on your own, even now.”

You scoffed and held your arms with your hands. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

Echo took a step closer to you. “I will say, Senator, that he stayed because he wanted to be able to bring back something new for you.” He lifted the corner of his mouth in a genuine smile. “Just like you had asked him to.”

You softened, though your frustration and worry continued to fester within your chest. “Well, it works very conveniently with his plan to avoid me.”

Echo huffed. “Yeah. For now.” He nodded at you again. “Just give it time. You’ll have your chance.”

You set a hand on Echo’s shoulder. “I hope you’re right, Echo.” You added a pat before you walked over to your doors and watched them open for you. “Make sure you get some rest, okay?”

Echo called into the suite after you. “You too, Senator.”

You smiled to yourself at his meaningful concern for you as the doors closed, leaving you in your lonesome once again. Though you wished more than anything that you would be getting an evening briefing from Hunter again, and thus an opportunity to talk to him, Echo had been right. He just needed time—and maybe you did, too.

But neither one of you had time, and that was the problem. Tomorrow’s battle would more than likely put an end to this mission, whether you were successful or not. Waiting was the last thing you wanted to do. You couldn’t bear the thought of letting both your world and Hunter slip through your fingers.

Despite these strong worries, you were able to do what Echo had gently requested you to. Your body was exhausted with the weight of all the burdens you had been putting on it, and it wasn’t long before you were able to fall into a deep sleep.

You weren’t sure what time it was when you heard the door to your bedroom open.

The knife was thrown before you could even sit up. Rather than hitting you, however, it disarmed a mysterious shadow at your side. You tried to kick your startled body into action, but before you could roll away to the other side of the bed, you were seized by the shadow’s two strong arms. They forced you out of the bed as they held you tight against their front, soon adding a blade to your neck as you were forced to look at whoever stood in the threshold of your door.

Hunter. You nearly breathed his name in your strong relief, despite the situation. His helmet was on, but you didn’t need to read his face to see all the panic and tension he held for you. The slight tremble of his blaster that was raised at your attacker spoke for him.

“Move, and she’s dead,” your attacker snarled. It wasn’t a voice you were familiar with, at least.

“Let her go,” Hunter warned in a menacing tone you’d never heard from him before, “or you’re dead.”

“Sergeant,” you called for him, raising your brow as his visor met your gaze. His protectiveness meant everything to you, but your injuries policy still stood. He had to understand that, even now.

“Quiet.” Your attacker’s voice shook with nerves as he tightened the blade on your neck. You grunted at the movement, but you weren’t alarmed by it. It was predictable. “Put down the blaster.”

Hunter tilted his helmet, and his grip on the weapon only tightened. “Yeah, I don’t really do that whole ‘following orders’ thing.”

You spoke up just after him. “Neither do I.”

You held your attacker’s arms and pulled yourself down as hard as you could, flipping him over your back. You rose back to your full height and took up Hunter’s discarded knife, but the sergeant had already shocked the attacker. His blaster, however, was now aimed behind you.

You stepped and turned just in time to avoid an attempted blow from a second attacker, who had hopped through the same open viewport as the other. Gripping Hunter’s knife tighter, you lunged towards them, jabbing the blunt end of the blade against their wrist to disarm them. Just as you leaned back to avoid another blow, the blue light of Hunter’s shot hit the attacker, stunning them and sending them into a steaming heap on the floor.

You steadied your breathing as you rushed over to the viewport, leaning out to make sure there were no others. When you closed it again and stepped away, you were immediately met with Hunter’s concerned expression, his helmet and blaster having been left behind on your bed.

“Are you okay?” Hunter’s brow was knit together, and his voice was strained as his dark gaze gave you a thorough once-over. Your ears burned when you remembered that you were still in your small nightgown. “Did they hurt you?” One of his hands held your shoulder as the other ran over your neck, where the attacker’s blade had been.

“I’m fine.” You kept your voice soft and nodded at him. “Thanks to your senses.”

Hunter exhaled a relieved breath, and as the adrenaline wore off, you could see him returning to his usual self. He withdrew his hands from you and returned your nod. You grimaced at the distance he was putting between you again as he reached for the comlink on his belt and spoke into it. “Boys, we’ve got infiltrators. Crosshair and Tech, do a perimeter sweep, make sure there aren’t any more. Echo, watch the outside door. Wrecker, I’ve got two men in the senator’s suite that I need you to take to the brig.”

You looked down at the unconscious attackers as he spoke. They weren’t any of the trained fighters you would have recognized, and that at least made one glaring truth evident. “These are rogue assassins.” You spoke before you even knew if Hunter was listening to you. “They’re not trained fighters.” Your gaze rose back to Hunter’s, which was watching you with both concern and curiosity. “If they were, that would’ve been a much harder fight.”

“And the trained fighters wouldn’t have jeopardized their upcoming mission.” Hunter lowered his stare to the two men and took a deep breath. “You’re right.”

You attempted both a smile and a joke. “Aren’t I always?”

That at least got Hunter to huff. The sound warmed your chest with a sweet flame, though it was quickly snuffed out when Hunter continued to avoid your gaze. Maybe pushing him wouldn’t be the solution, after all.

You sighed and wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly conscious of the way you were dressed. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

Hunter’s stare found yours in disbelief. “For what, Senator?”

You chuckled and gestured to the bodies on the floor with your eyes. “For saving me.”

Hunter softened, even as his jaw tightened. There was a swirling cloud of emotions in his gaze that made it hard to resist reaching out for him. “You shouldn’t have to thank me for that.”

Wrecker entered the room before either one of you could continue. He gave himself some time to stretch before he bent down to pick up the unmoving men. “Looks like you two got ‘em easy.” Wrecker let out a hearty chuckle and nodded at you in approval. “Good work, Senator.”

You smiled and nodded at him. “Thank you for your help, Wrecker.”

Wrecker returned your nod and turned to Hunter. “You said you want ‘em in the brig, Sarge?”

“Yeah.” Hunter had already holstered his blaster, and he had his helmet tucked underneath his arm. “We’ll talk to them in the morning. For now…” he gestured to you with his head, but he didn’t look at you, “we should let the senator rest and recover.”

No, rest was the last thing you needed. What you needed was the same man who had just come to your rescue, and you weren’t letting him walk away again. As he started to follow Wrecker, you stepped forward, tightening your hands around yourself. “Sergeant?”

Hunter’s head turned back to you. You let your vulnerability show as you pleaded with your eyes, and your shoulders shook with a deep, trembling breath.

“If I could speak to you for just a moment?”

Hunter couldn’t deny you, just as Echo had insinuated before. He only turned to nod at Wrecker and dismiss him. Wrecker continued on through the threshold, leaving you and Hunter alone in the darkness of your bedroom.

You wasted no time getting to the point. “I owe you an apology.”

Hunter let out a heavy sigh, his head hanging in a guilt he wasn’t even trying to hide. “No you don’t.”

“I do.” You took a step closer to him. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that last night. What I should’ve done is remember that this isn’t as easy of a decision for you to make as it is for me.”

Hunter’s gaze darted around as he considered your words. You took his silence as an invitation to keep going.

“But you don’t have to avoid me. I understand that I was unreasonably harsh, and I can’t emphasize how deeply sorry I am for that, but… is this really what you want, now?”

The pain in your voice caused Hunter’s stare to find yours again. His dark eyes did nothing to hide the conflict he was holding deep within him, and neither did the strain of his voice as he spoke. “It’s not what I want at all, Senator.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “But I have to avoid you, because I don’t trust myself to be alone around you. I’ll only end up giving in and hurting you again, and that’s not something I’m willing to do.”

Your chest ached for him, but you still took another step closer, keeping your voice level as you spoke. “Your avoidance is hurting me more than the alternative would.”

Hunter’s eyes snapped back open at that, and they were widened in the same panicked way they had been last night. You softened and offered him a reassuring nod.

“Ever since we met, you’ve done all you can to understand me. To show me a sweet kind of sympathy I’ve never gotten before. And I… I never did that for you, at least not in the same way.”

You let your arms fall to your sides, opening up to him completely.

“Now I understand. I understand that this decision isn’t as easy for you as it is for me. But I think that’s because you’re forgetting something.”

You paused, giving Hunter the opportunity to speak. When he continued to remain silent, his jaw tight and his brow furrowed, you went on.

“It’s the same thing you’ve been reminding me this entire time. That I’m not alone.” Another step caused you to be nearly chest-to-chest with him. You reached a hand up towards his face, keeping the movement slow to let him stop you—but he didn’t. Your palm met his cheek, and he started to melt against it. “Neither are you, Hunter.”

Hunter’s eyes closed again, but this time, the motion was less desperate. He finally looked at ease, and you smiled to yourself at the progress you were making.

“If this is something you want… if we’re something you want… you don’t have to figure it out on your own.” You lifted your other hand to the tattooed side of his face, nodding once he had opened his eyes to look at you again. “I’ll be right here, and you know your squad will, too.” You giggled. “Especially Echo.”

Hunter laughed with you at that. It was a soft chuckle full of the same warmth you had gotten to see from him before. A hopeful flame burned within your chest, along with another that was deeply rooted inside of you. It was getting harder to ignore, and you let it fuel you as you leaned your face closer to his.

“Let me help you, Hunter, if that’s what you want.” You searched his gaze, which was only getting softer the more you spoke. “You gave me a choice before, and like I said last night, I’ve made mine. Now, you’re free to make your own.” You brushed your nose against his. This time, the motion drew a soft breath from his lips rather than your own. “Do you want this?” Your eyelids fluttered, your heart racing as your lips just barely touched his. “Do you want me?”

All the worries and pleas had been freed from your chest. You could only wait on him, now, even if every single part of your mind, heart, and body pleaded with you to close the distance. Like you had said, he had given you the choice before. This time, it would be his.

For a moment, Hunter pulled back, and your chest tightened with worry. Then, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck, and his lips were on yours for the first time in much too long.

chapter 5 ⟸ series masterlist ⟹ chapter 7

hunter tag list: @zenrobbins0021 @cw80831 @yunggoblin @maddiedrmr @Molmcb

senator’s shadow tag list: @violetlilly2020 @jellybeanstacey0519 @dindadjarin

[im-a-wonderling]

Rescue Me, Part 4 ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

If I didn't have @writing-on-the-wahl's help, this part would've taken so much longer and would've been so much worse. As always, my friend, you are an angel, and I adore you.

Summary: Now a Jedi Knight with her own padawan, Y/N gets an individual mission unlike anything she's done before.

Warnings: Yeah, this one's dark, so bodily harm and mortal peril and possibly more?

Word count: 9.8k

Rescue Me masterlist | Main masterlist

“Why does the council want to see us?” Ghon asked, keeping up with my brisk pace as best he could in spite of his tiny stature. It likely looked comical, but none of the Jedi we passed gave us a second glance. 

We’d landed on Coruscant not ten minutes before, and the waiting attendant had immediately informed us the Jedi Council was waiting.

The guilt of dulling my feelings for Ghon’s benefit weighed on my mind, but my padawan didn’t deserve to feel my anxiety as well as his own. Perhaps a day was coming where I would be able to stand in front of the council with confidence, but it wasn’t coming any time soon. “Likely to debrief us on our mission and brief us for the next one,” I replied, answering his question as calmly as I could. 

Ghon frowned. “But we just got back!”

I didn’t bother admonishing him for the complaint, not when I was also weighed down with a fatigue that seeped through to my bones. There was very little time for rest since I’d become a Jedi Knight, and it was almost too much for me to handle at twenty-two years old. Ghon was only eleven. 

“Such is the way of war,” I sighed as we stopped in front of the sliding doors. As we waited to be called in, I resisted the urge to smooth down my robes. My appearance did not matter. In fact, the more ruffled I appeared, the more humble I appeared. 

The Force buzzed to my left, and I glanced at Ghon to see him chewing on his lip.

He’d barely qualified as a padawan, evident by his deep-seated need to please. He needed lots of encouragement, but he made it easy to give. Everything he needed to be doing, he was. If only he could believe it.

I reached out and tugged lightly on his braid, making him smile. I barely had time to drop my hand at my side again before the doors slid open.

Each face expectantly watching us featured grim expressions with worry lines. The tension in the room was palpable, and I knew it had everything to do with the war tearing the galaxy apart. Every Jedi felt it, the pain and death radiating off each planet, and there was no solace from it. 

But the most depressing sight was the empty seat.

The seat which had been empty the day I cut off my own padawan braid with my lightsaber, and empty every time after. I knew better than to ask. Once in a while, a story drifted my way of some daring escapade, and I would know that my old master was still alive. 

I couldn’t lament it, for it was as he said: this is what we were made for. 

I bowed once I reached the center of the room. “Masters.”

“Congratulations on your success on Rodia,” Master Mundi said, mustering a smile. “Senator Farr thanked us on behalf of his people.” 

Senator Farr, leader of the swampy, waterlogged planet of Rodia, reached out to the Republic to ask for aid after he defied the Trade Confederacy. The Republic obliged, sending relief aid in the form of supplies and a Jedi healer. 

Me. 

I inclined my head. “I was gratified to be of help.”

The Force rippled as the attention in the room shifted to the young man beside me. “And your padawan seems to be learning quickly,” Master Mundi added.

I opened my mouth to agree, but the words died.

The humming of a light. 

Instantly, my insides were all aflutter. I hadn’t felt that light in months, and yet I could never mistake it. On every planet I’d been dispatched to, I searched for it and never found it. The sparse amount of times I’d been on Coruscant even, the light was nowhere to be found.

But now there was no mistaking it: the light was here. The sensation grew steadily, the source far too close to be anywhere farther than Coruscant's atmosphere.

I looked around at the council members to see if they’d felt it too, but none of their signatures seemed any different than they had before. 

“Yes,” I cleared my throat, “he is eager and very intelligent. He was of great assistance on Rodia.” 

“You picked your padawan well,” Master Fisto said, smiling at Ghon. 

“That I’ve never doubted,” I managed to say in spite of the humming. Maybe they would think me arrogant for saying it, but I never wanted Ghon to feel he stood alone in front of the council. 

Master Windu leaned forward, dousing me in the full weight of his skepticism that momentarily drowned out the humming, bracing his elbows on his knees. “How is Padawan Ghon’s learning going?” The light drew nearer, its humming filling my ears like the buzzing wings of a Grutchin. Ghon shifted beside me, reminding me of the question. 

“All things considered, I couldn’t ask for more. I look forward to the day when he doesn’t have to learn during a war.”

“As do we all,” Master Mundi murmured. 

The light grew louder still, loud enough for me to hear the exhaustion and anxiety within it, echoing the stress already present in the room.

“And what does your padawan think?” Master Windu asked.

Overwhelmed by the light as I was through the Force, I could still feel the flash of uncertainty fill the room and knew the council could feel Ghon’s reaction as strongly as I did.

“It’s been an honor to learn under Y/F/N Y/L/N.” He lifted his chin even as his hands shook slightly. “I’ve learned much.”

The light was shouting now, making it impossible to perceive anything else. “Well, it seems you’re a good teacher,” Master Ti's lips formed, his voice lost within the volume of the Force.

And then the humming cut off, beautiful silence caressing me. And into the silence came the words: “I should hope so.”

My breath caught in my throat. That voice. I could be dead and buried six feet under the ground and still recognize it. Still want to run towards it. 

Slowly, with my heart hammering in my chest, I turned to look.

In the open doorway of the councilroom stood none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

His hair, neatly sheared, was far shorter. Instead of being combed back with the tips resting on his shoulders like normal, it laid on his head, making his forehead appear smaller. His beard, however, was fuller than before, giving his face a longer look. He too wore the worry lines every other master sported, far deeper than I'd last seen.

And yet with all the differences, his smile was the same as always. 

I almost started to greet him with an “old man” and a smile, but stopped myself. This was no longer my master with whom I could joke around with. This was a master, a member of the Jedi council who was only to be treated with respect and formality. “Master Kenobi,” I said. The honorific felt strange coming off my tongue.

His face pinched, as if the formality of his title filled him with as much strangeness as it did me.

“Ahhh, Kenobi,” Master Windu sounded about as pleased as he ever did, which wasn’t saying much. “Join us.”

Master Kenobi glanced over my shoulder at Master Windu and gave a quick nod, before brushing past me to sit in the empty seat. Remembering myself, I bowed respectfully, and Ghon followed suit as Master Kenobi settled into his seat.

“As it happens,” Mace Windu said, drawing my attention, “we have your next mission.”

Ghon straightened. “Are we going back to Rodia?”

“Appreciate the enthusiasm, we do, Padawan Ghon,” Yoda said, chuckling. “But a mission for your master alone, this is.” 

A mission of my own? If it was too dangerous for my padawan, was I capable of it myself? Ghon looked at me, the uncertainty lining his features reflecting what I felt in my gut. “There’ll be stuff for you to do,” I assured him in spite of my misgivings.

“I think Master Yoda could use some help with the younglings,” Master Fisto said kindly. “Until then, you can get food and perhaps some sleep.”

Ghon didn’t move. 

I nudged him, and he reluctantly bowed to the masters and left the council room. 

As soon as the doors shut, I turned back to Master Yoda. “What’s the mission?”

“To go undercover, you are.”

Surprise bloomed in my chest, but I remained silent, trusting the council to elaborate and alleviate my confusion. 

Master Koon leaned forward in his chair. “We’ve received intel of a Separatist trader that spends his evenings in one of the clubs here. We want you to meet him there for some business.” 

“I don’t have any experience with undercover work,” I said slowly, taking great care to sound confused and not defiant. 

“Experience you have not,” Master Yoda agreed. “Skills you do.”

“We would not have chosen you unless you were the best fit for the job.” Master Windu’s tone left no room for argument. “The Republic is running low on PLX-1 and PLX-4 missile launchers. We want you to make a deal with this trader.”

What? 

Paying for weapons? From a Separatist? 

This was not the kind of mission I’d expected. Master Windu continued, talking of the money I was to offer and how many launchers I was to ask for. I kept my eyes on him, but I shifted my focus to the no-longer-empty seat.

The turbulent light of Master Kenobi’s Force signature only made me more wary. 

“Conflicted you are,” Master Yoda said, drawing my attention. “Unsure of the mission’s integrity, hmmm?”

“It feels odd,” I said slowly, “to be a peacekeeper and be dealing weapons. Wouldn’t it be better if one of the senators met with this buyer?”

The light shifted slightly, a little more desperate than before. 

“We believe this buyer would prefer a transaction off the record,” Master Windu said. “We’ve also received intel that he prefers human women of a certain…physique.”

Discomfort roiled in my gut like acid. The council was giving me this mission because of my physique? “How dangerous is this man?” I asked carefully, and the light flickered. 

Master Windu’s impassive face did not inspire any confidence. “We have no reason to believe there’s any additional danger in this mission than any other.” Considering a significant amount of my missions involved outright combat, that wasn’t as reassuring as he likely meant it. Or perhaps he did not intend to comfort me at all. 

But Jedi were called to obey, regardless of and even in spite of comfort. 

“Wherever I’m needed,” I said slowly, meeting Master Yoda’s gaze, “I will go.”

The light flickered again, but I kept my attention on Master Yoda, who did not react. Master Windu sat back in his seat. “Then you are dismissed.”

I bowed and left the council room, mind buzzing. 

Ghon leaned against a wall outside the council room, eyes half-closed with exhaustion. He needed to sleep, and yet he was waiting for me. This would be our first time since becoming Padawan and Master that we would be separated. There was bound to be some strain. 

He stood straight when he saw me. 

I reached out to rest my hands on his shoulders. “It’ll be okay,” I said softly. “My mission won’t take very long, and then we’ll likely be off to the Outer Rim again.”

Ghon did not look comforted. “What will I do if it takes longer?” 

“There’s plenty to be learned right here,” I told him. “You can meditate, and there’s plenty of people for you to practice your swordplay with.” 

“But what if…it takes longer than that?”

I watched him, feeling the waves of anxiety pouring off of him and realizing it wasn’t just anxiety at being separated. “I will be alright, Ghon. You don’t have to fear for my safety.” I smiled comfortingly at him. 

“Don’t worry about your master, young one.” The comfort infused into the familiar voice made my eyes flutter shut. Opening them quickly, I turned to see the council all filing out of the councilroom. And strolling towards us was Master Kenobi, smiling kindly at my padawan as he said: “She can take care of herself.” 

Ghon bowed in respect, but did not say anything. 

There was a silence where I felt Master Kenobi’s eyes on me, where I watched Ghon…who was gazing at Master Kenobi. My padawan heard his fair share of stories about Master Kenobi, and not just from me either. The awe radiating from him was justified.

“Master Kenobi,” I stood behind Ghon, my hands on his shoulders, “this is my padawan, Ghon Laster.”

A strangely fond smile on his face, Master Kenobi held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.” 

I couldn’t see Ghon’s face, but I could feel his shyness as he shook Master Kenobi’s hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he echoed, likely not knowing what else to say. 

“I can sense your worry.” Master Kenobi’s eyes flicked up to mine before returning to the young man. “It’s natural to feel such things, but trust in the Force. It will look out for your master the same as it does for me or you.” 

It wasn’t just my own apprehension that eased. Even if I couldn’t feel Ghon’s feelings through the Force, the slump of his shoulders made his relief clear.

“Ghon, why don’t you go rest before joining Master Yoda with the younglings?” I said. “We didn’t get much sleep last night, and this is your chance to get some.”

“Yes, Master,” Ghon said, bowing his head towards Master Kenobi before walking off in the direction of his quarters.

My eyes lingered down the corridor even after he was gone from it. Look at him, I told myself sternly. Acknowledge him. I managed to turn my head, but somehow, my gaze lowered. Why? It wasn’t as if the floor was particularly interesting.

“Knight Y/L/N.” 

I could tell from Master Kenobi’s tone that it wasn’t a goodbye. He was waiting to talk to me. Steeling myself, I finally looked up at my old master.

He tilted his head. “I haven’t seen you in months.”

“Yes, well, the council keeps me busy.” I flashed him a tentative smile. 

“We have a knack for doing that,” he replied loftily, but the jovial look in his eye told me his pretention was teasing. 

I fished around for a snippy reply, but it didn’t leap into my mind as it used to, the rules of our engagement covered in dust. I realized that the awkward silence had returned, and yet it was too late for me to reply to his snark.

What could I say? What was I allowed to ask? 

“I was about to go to the gardens to meditate,” Master Kenobi said before I could figure out whether to extend or end the conversation. “Would you…care to join me?”

The light flickered. Was he…uncertain? What could he be uncertain of? “I would appreciate a chance to meditate with my old master.” I smiled at him, and the light steadied. Master Kenobi gestured down the hallway. We started walking together, taking every stride together with such ease, neither one having to adjust their pace for the other. 

The Jedi Temple gardens were one of the only green places on the planet of Coruscant, and it took a lot of work to keep up. But having a space where a Jedi could reconnect to the Force through plants, the most innocent of living things, was worth it. 

“I must say,” Master Kenobi finally said as we reached the courtyard, “I’m curious.”

“About what?”

Master Kenobi clasped his hands behind his back. “I…hear stories.”

“What kind of stories?” I replied, reaching out to brush my fingers against a leaf. 

“Stories about my wayward padawan.”

I pursed my lips to keep from smiling. To some, it’d be insulting to be called padawan once they’d ascended to being a knight, but being Master Kenobi’s padawan was always a good thing to me. “Oh?” I asked vaguely, even though I could probably guess some of what he’d heard. “What do they say?”

“Well,” Master Kenobi ran a hand over his beard, “they say you fought a whole pack of Nexu on Cholganna.”

“Grossly exaggerated,” I said lightly. “I only fought three.”

Master Kenobi snorted, and I felt suddenly too warm for my cloak as I grinned back at him. “And your run-in with Aurra Sing? I suppose the two of you didn’t actually resort to fisticuffs?”

“Well,” I lifted my chin, “that’s true, but she was asking for it."

“No doubt you were also.”

“Just the opposite,” I replied. “I was trying to heal one of her coworkers, but some people just won’t be told.”

Master Kenobi’s merry laughter filled the hall, and I couldn’t help smiling at him. Was it possible that our old normal could return so quickly? Just as I thought the thought, his smile faded. “I also heard you lost part of your hearing in one ear.”

Had he truly been keeping such close tabs on me to know about my hearing? I nodded, solemn. “An explosion on Bora Vio.” I swallowed, looking down at the leaf as I remembered the pain of the blast. “I’m lucky a bit of my hearing is all I lost. Not even the best of us can make it through a war unscathed.” I glanced up to see Master Kenobi smiling down at me in a way that reminded me of our past. “Unless, perhaps, you’re Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Master Kenobi’s face fell. “I’m far from unscathed.”

Panic flared in my stomach. “Is everything alright? Are you injured?”

“I’m quite well,” Master Kenobi assured me. I instinctively reached out with the Force, searching for any sign of pain or damage. Master Kenobi raised his eyebrows. “I see the healer training has paid off?”

My cheeks warmed as I quickly withdrew the Force. “Yes…it has. Vokara Che has been a wonderful instructor.” 

“Well?” Master Kenobi turned, holding out his hands. “What’s the verdict?”

I gave him a sideways look. His light seemed brighter than it’d been when first I sensed it before he joined the council meeting. The exhaustion was still there, as was the fear, but somehow the light gave off more warmth than before. “You’re not injured,” I replied, the only thing I was sure of.

“As I assured you.”

We reached the center of the courtyard, which was a plain yet polished marble circle. Master Kenobi sat down, and I sat across from him. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

The awareness started with myself.

Then it crept along the floor around me, the radius spreading until I was aware of the dozens of lives around me. Plants. Creatures. Jedi. I could sense the movement of the transits and speeders, carting people around this planet bursting with life.

But none of it compared to the light that sat directly in front of me.

Truly, I’d never felt anything more vibrant or mighty through the Force than Master Kenobi’s signature. If he ever happened to step foot on one of the dark planets like Dagobah or Mustafar, I was certain the planets would have a historic appearance of sunshine. 

Somewhere deep within me, there was a pull towards that light. Was it in my stomach? Or in my chest? Or perhaps even my head?

I couldn’t tell, but the Force seemed to sort of gather in between myself and the light, growing more and more dense.

Then a sharp tug came from nowhere, and because I was so in tune, I couldn’t stop it. 

My head jerked forward, only to collide with something so hard, I saw stars. “Ouch!” I blurted, opening my eyes and rubbing my smarting forehead. 

Master Kenobi mirrored me. “What in the blazes?” he muttered. 

“I don’t know,” I replied. I hadn’t leaned close enough to invade Master Kenobi’s space, unless…he leaned too?

With my eyes open, I couldn’t see the strange collection of the Force anymore, but I could’ve sworn I felt the Force laughing, and if I could feel it, Master Kenobi could feel it too. From the looks of him, he didn’t understand it any more than I did. 

The comm at my wrist dinged, and Master Windu’s voice filtered through.

“Knight Y/L/N, the attendant has arrived to dress you for your mission tonight.”

Head still aching, I pressed the button on the comm. “I’m on my way.” I gave Master Kenobi a quick, apologetic smile as I started to get to my feet. “Duty calls.”

“I’ll see you tonight then.”

I froze, paused in a sort of awkward crouch. “Tonight?” I echoed.

Master Kenobi’s mysterious smile filled me with the feeling I stood at the edge of a cliff. “I volunteered to be your backup for the mission.”

-

“The council agreed to this?” I asked for the millionth time as I looked at my reflection. 

“Yes, ma’am.” The attendant didn’t falter in her…attending.

Truthfully, I couldn’t explain what she was doing. She whirled around with brushes and bottles and sparkly adornments. Every movement she made directly correlated to my reflection morphing from a humble Jedi Knight to a midnight woman of decadence. 

The deep blue velvet dress clung so tightly to my body, I felt like it was strangling me. Draped over me were strands of precious stones of white, blue, and silver that caught the light every time I breathed. A matching hairpiece rested in my elaborate hairdo. The white, translucent gloves the attendant helped me put on helped me cope with how bare I felt, but the feeling of air against my collarbones and my back made me periodically shiver.

I’d never had this much of my skin exposed, nor the outlines of my body so easily made out. As the attendant had told me, the council approved, but I didn’t know if they’d seen the dress and approved it. Somehow, the idea of them all discussing the garment I was now wearing made me more uncomfortable in it than before and even more uncomfortable than when Master Windu commented on my Separatist-buyer-pleasing physique. 

And yet, strangely, as my appearance distanced me from the Jedi Code, the Force remained steady. It was comforting to know the Force could recognize me in spite of the sudden splendor.

I might've looked like someone else entirely, but I was still me inside.

The brush strokes on my lips ceased, and the attendant stepped back to study my reflection in the mirror. “You look perfect,” she said with great satisfaction, closing her trunk of paints and jewelry. 

I wanted to argue, but what did I know about such things? I rose from the chair and nearly toppled over, reaching out to steady myself. “How do I walk in this?” I grumbled, shuffling forward.

“Gracefully,” the attendant replied. “Here are your shoes.”

My eyes widened as she held up the platforms.

-

I stood nervously at the top of the stairs, looking down at the distance I somehow had to cover. I had a sinking feeling that these platforms made stairs dangerous, but there was no other way down. 

Lifting the skirts up enough to be able to see my feet, I stepped down, not looking away from the floor. I knew the moment I lifted my gaze, I would trip and ruin the attendant’s hard work as well as breaking my neck. 

Only halfway down the stairs, the Force shifted around me, as if it were parting for someone’s gaze. I stopped where I was and looked up.

Master Kenobi stood at the bottom of the stairs now, gazing up at me with an odd expression on his face. His expression resembled Ghon’s whenever I tried to explain that a visible lightsaber could be perceived as a threat to non-Jedi. 

“I know, it’s strange,” I said, redirecting my gaze downward to resume my treacherous descent. “I don’t even look like myself.”

“No,” Master Kenobi slowly said as I finally reached the bottom of the stairs, free to look up again. “No, you don’t.”

I nodded, pleased that he agreed. But when I opened my mouth to say something along those lines, I noticed how Master Kenobi’s eyes seemed to linger on the necklace around my throat. I lifted a hand to make sure it was still in place. “Blinding, isn’t it?”

“It certainly…demands…attention.” Master Kenobi cleared his throat, meeting my eyes. “The buyer will be pleased.”

I cast about for something to say in response, suddenly feeling my cheeks warm. “Hopefully Master Windu was correct about the type of company this buyer prefers.”

Master Kenobi’s face didn’t change, but the light took on a slight yet sickening green tint. He stepped to my side, turning to gesture down the street. “Shall we?”

“We’re walking?” I glanced towards the path and the great yawning distance before us.

“Is that a problem?” Master Kenobi asked.

I looked down at my shoes. I’d never walked long distances with them before. Surely it wouldn’t be an issue, even if I had to take smaller steps than I was used to. 

Quickly, I was proven wrong. 

I was moving slower than a Hutt, and it only took maybe twenty steps in the ridiculous shoes before my feet started to hurt. 

Night was falling in Coruscant, and the bustling nightlife didn’t seem to take much notice of a beautiful woman walking beside a Jedi Master. I envied Master Kenobi for being able to remain in his normal attire, but I supposed he wasn’t the one executing the mission. 

I opened my mouth, ready to ask Master Kenobi where he would be while I was in the club, but just then, my ankle wobbled. I flung my arms out to catch my balance. 

Unfortunately, the jerky movement sent my elbow flying into Master Kenobi’s gut.

“Oof!” he grunted, his hands coming up to grab my arm, helping me stay on my feet even through his pain.

“Sorry!” I said quickly. 

Instead of falling away, his calloused hands gently moved up my arm, offering me aid in my balance and offering something else entirely. “Here,” he said lightly. “Lean on me.”

We walked the rest of the way with my arm tucked into the crook of his elbow. 

With his aid, it was much easier to stay on my own feet, and I wished we could’ve walked the whole way arm in arm. Strange how being with him made me feel like a padawan again, as if with him, I had the option to not be strong. It felt almost like a luxury.

Master Kenobi stopped me when we were two blocks away from the club. “Here.” He dropped a comm into my hand. “I’ll stay here, out of sight.”

The sudden reminder of the situation made my chest tighten. I swore off all luxuries when I became a Jedi. It was time to be the Knight I’d been trained to be, the Knight Master Kenobi trained me to be. I squared my shoulders, gave a short nod, and then made the rest of the trip on my own. 

-

The novelty of my midnight dress had worn off. The cocoon of soft fabric against my skin felt wrong, and I missed the telltale scrape of my roughspun tunic against my skin. This self-serving grandeur wasn’t in line with the vows I’d taken. As I glanced around at the expensively clad bodies and breathed the air rank with alcohol, all I wanted was to be back in the temple.

Back in the garden. 

Master Kenobi wasn’t my only back-up. Alateen, a Rodian male I'd first met on his home planet, stood behind the counter. He also had a comm linked to Master Kenobi, and it was him that supplied me with the blue-tinted, tasteless and non-alcoholic drinks that matched with liquid sloshing around in the glasses of everyone around me. While drinking wasn’t expressly against the Jedi Code, I needed all my wits about me tonight.

“When was the senator supposed to get here?” I asked, lifting my glass to my lips to hide their movements.

“Fifteen minutes ago.”

I could tell from the edge to Master Kenobi’s serious voice that he was approaching no insignificant levels of stress.

I set the glass down, lifting my hand to delicately brush at invisible drops on my lips. “How long are we going to wait for their appearance?”

“At least a little longer.”

“You’re lucky,” I grumbled. “You can’t hear all the clammer and clatter.” The dull roar of music, conversation, and laughter was overwhelming. Master Kenobi couldn’t hear any of it and as a result wouldn’t have a raging headache later.

I missed the calm of the temple garden, meditating in silence, feeling the Force all around me. This place was so crowded, I barely felt like I had room to exist.

A Vurk male stumbled against my table, hitting it with such force, my drink toppled over, dumping half the contents onto my lap. “Ugh!” I grunted.

“What’s wrong?” The immediacy with which Master Kenobi’s voice came through the comm made me smile softly. 

“It’s okay.” I grabbed the cloth napkin and started wiping up the liquid. “Someone just knocked over my drink.”

“Do you want me to tell Alateen that you need another one?”

The Rodian male was leaning over the counter, talking very animatedly with a grinning Twi’lek female. “I think he’s otherwise engaged.”

“I’ll tell him,” Master Kenobi said gruffly.

“No, don’t.” I sighed, tossing the wet napkin onto the table. “There’s no point in having back-up if–”

“Well hello.”

That voice...the voice from many a nightmare I’d had in the past few months.

I jumped to my feet, whipping around to face the speaker. My heart kicked up into a ratchet pace, making me breathless. I stared into the soulless eyes I’d dreaded seeing since the first time I looked into them.

“Dooku,” I whispered in horror. 

“WHAT?!” Master Kenobi shouted into my comm.

Dooku’s hand shot forward, clenching my wrist before my fingers could graze the knife I had concealed. “Don’t say a word, or my agent will kill yours.” I glanced over at Alateen and noticed, for the first time, the way the Twi’lek’s hand lingered over the blaster strapped to her thigh.

“Y/N?” Master Kenobi’s voice asked. “Y/N, what’s going on?” I remained silent, staring at Dooku.“Talk to me! Where do you see Dooku?”

Dooku let go of my hand and pulled out my chair, a gentlemanly action to all those watching, but I wasn’t fooled. Alateen’s life depended on my cooperation. 

“Can you hear me?!”

I did my best to ignore his voice as I sat. Dooku took a seat across from me, looking as stiff and yet put together as he did while standing.

“I’m on my way, Y/N, just tell me if you’re alright!”

Dooku slid my drink across the table towards me. “Pull out your comm. Drop it in.”

“Y/N!”

My head urged me to obey Dooku, but my heart shouted back, begging me to say something to Master Kenobi. Dooku lifted his hand to his own ear. “Stoma, Y/N needs convincing.”

My eyes darted over to the Twi’lek, who gripped her blaster with her hand out of Alateen’s sight.

“No!” I burst out before clapping a hand over my mouth.

“Y/N, are you hurt?! Tell me–”

I yanked the comm out of my ear and dropped it into my drink. “I’m sorry, okay? Call off your agent.”

Dooku rested his hand on the table, palm down. A miniature countdown projected above his hand where a small black gadget rested. “In a moment, you’re going to stand up and follow me into the backroom.”

“Where are we going?”

Dooku fixed me with a look and said nothing. 

“What do you want with me?”

No reply.

“What about Alateen?” I asked. “If you hurt him–”

“Obey me and he won’t come to any unnecessary harm.”

“Unnecessary?” I asked, eyeing the numbers above his wrist. I had less than ten seconds left.

“One has to make sure your agent isn’t in a state to follow us.”

He’d thought this through. Everything had been accounted for. 

My heart sank. This was a trap, and I was already caught in it because all I could do was watch as the time counted down.

Three.

Two.

O-

With a loud boom, smoke filled the club. Screams reached my ears as the smoke made my eyes burn enough to make tears well up. Before I could reach up to rub at them, Count Dooku had firmly grasped my upper arm, leading me towards the bar. He didn’t drag me. He didn’t need to.

I reached out with the Force and immediately felt Alateen’s beating heart. With a bit of exertion, I could feel his unharmed body. He was unconscious, but so far, Dooku was telling the truth. 

My platformed foot ran into the doorway Dooku pulled me through, making me trip, but his death grip on my arm kept me upright. Once we were through, I turned to ask Dooku what was next. 

Before I could, I felt his hand on my shoulder and a sharp prick in my neck.

The last thing I remembered before my vision went black was the floor rushing to meet me as my knees buckled.

-

My head pounded. 

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter against the pain, but it didn’t lessen. 

As more awareness returned to me, I noticed the strange, aching position of my shoulders. I tried to shift, but I couldn’t move more than an inch. What was happening? 

“You’re awake.”

I jolted, my eyes flying open as I tried to step back. 

And didn’t get very far.

My heart sank as I looked up at the reflective surface of the metal chains which trailed from the ceiling and bound my wrists, keeping them aloft above my head. I looked down to see the dress, the jewelry, the gloves, and the sparkling strands of stones were gone, leaving me only in undershorts and a thin undertunic that I definitely hadn’t been wearing under the dress. My bare feet were freezing against the floor. I studied the wall in front of me, which seemed made of stone, but not smooth stone. It felt like the room was a cave, reinforced by the only source of light in the room being the open doorway behind me.

And when I twisted my neck, straining against the chains to give myself room to look, a figure stood in the doorway. Based on the silhouette, which was all I could make out, it could’ve been anybody.

But I could feel that same signature I’d felt before and knew exactly who it was.

Where were we? How long had it been since he’d knocked me unconscious in the club? Why had he taken me?

“What do you want with me?” I asked. He wasn’t the Jedi council; it didn’t matter if he judged me for asking questions. Dooku didn’t answer, and I felt nothing shift in his emotions. Either my questions didn’t matter to him or he was shielding himself completely.

He seemed to be in no rush. He just stood behind me, watching me. I could feel the weight of his gaze on my face. The weight turned into a distinct probing through the Force.

I let him probe away.

I wasn’t going to resort to Sith techniques.

Dooku walked slowly around, his face now illuminated in the light. “Apologies for the crude bonds. This planet doesn’t like technology, so we had to be a bit primitive.”

We were on a planet with high moisture then. Or perhaps a heavy gravitational pull?

“It’s high moisture,” said Dooku, making me pause. He was tapping into my thoughts. I stiffened, turning away from him, as if it were my face he gleaned the information from, not the Force. Why couldn’t he just hurry up and tell me what was going on?

The probing increased.

“Do you think I can’t feel you?” I asked.

“Why aren’t you stopping me?” Dooku asked. He stepped closer. “Push me out.”

I settled my gaze on him. So this was his game. He wanted to bully me into using a Sith technique. “No.”

A sharp searing pain shot through my head, and I sucked in a breath. As quickly as it came, it left. I’d only felt something like it once before.

“You felt me,” I blurted out. “On Taris. When I meditated, you found my signature and you cut me off.”

Dooku’s face remained impassive. “I assumed you were Kenobi.” 

How was that possible? Dooku said himself that I had darkness in my signature, and Master Kenobi’s signature was like pure light.

The pain lanced through my head again, cutting off my train of thought. “Push me out.”

“No.”

The pain was worse this time, enough to make a strangled groan leave my lips.

“Ahhh,” Dooku said. “I had a feeling Kenobi wouldn’t let you do such a mission on your own.”

I jerked my head up at him, feeling suddenly as though I were going to throw up. “What are you doing?”

"Imagine what he must've felt, storming into that establishment, only to find you were already gone." Dooku clasped his hands behind his back. “A worthy opponent is no good if there's no one to fight."

“If you wanted to fight Master Kenobi, you should���ve stayed on Coruscant.”

“And fight on his home turf?”

“I never took you for a coward,” I replied.

“Only a fool would fight a battle he does not need to.” The probing resumed, and Dooku tilted his head. “You have a padawan waiting for you on Coruscant, do you?”

My shields were half up before I even realized it. I forced them down. 

“He’s quite attached, is he not? The council doesn’t like that.”

I kept my shields open, silently apologizing to my padawan for putting him in danger. I could only hope that I returned to him in time to keep him safe.

“He’s young. Impressionable.”

An image formed in my mind, an image I hadn’t created, of an older Ghon dressed in black, wielding a red lightsaber.

“Stop that!” I blurted. 

“Do it yourself,” he replied. “Push me out.” I shook my head.

This time, the strike of pain spread down through my neck and into my chest and lingered longer. I let out a pained hiss as my heart contracted painfully under the strain. “What do you want from me?” I cried out in desperation.

“I want you to be the Jedi your master raised you to be!” Dooku thundered back.

I blinked at him, not understanding. Why would he want me to be more like Master Kenobi? Why would he want me to be more of a worthy opponent when he already had me where he wanted me?

Then it clicked. 

Pong Krell.

Of course.

Because everything always came back to him.

Master Kenobi was right on Taris; the attention Count Dooku was giving me stemmed from both of my masters. I looked at Dooku with new eyes. “You set a trap for me.” The ripple of darkness told me I was right. “You planted the information about the buyer and the type of women the buyer liked. You knew the council would send me.” They’d unknowingly delivered me right to him, gift-wrapped in a midnight blue dress.

Not even a hint of a victorious smile lingered on Dooku’s face. He didn’t revel. He only fixed me with a determined look. “Show me you’re Pong Krell’s padawan.”

I released a long breath. “No. Because I am the Jedi my true master raised me to be. And I will remain that Jedi until the bitter end.”

The pain reached all the way down to my hips this time. 

Again and again, Dooku repeated his command. 

Again and again, I refused.

Each time, the pain increased. When my body started to shake, rattling the chains above my head, I stopped keeping count.

-

There seemed to be no pattern to Dooku’s appearances. 

Now, whenever I refused him, I felt the pain from my head to my toes, and I was sure that every visit, the pain increased. Dooku didn’t seem amused by the pain nor did he seem to enjoy inflicting it. He was dogged in his pursuit of getting me to push him out.

Every time I almost broke, I thought of Master Kenobi, who’d hidden himself from the Force on Taris to protect me and wondered if I was endangering Ghon by not shielding. 

But I’d worked so hard to undo what Krell had done. How could I revert right back to it?

“No one’s coming to rescue you,” Dooku said during one of his visits. “You can feel the council’s doubt, don’t you? They see Krell in you just like I do, only they see it as a weakness.”

“That is their responsibility,” I’d replied. “Mine is to be the best Jedi I can be.”

The pain was horrid…but being left alone in the darkness was worse, because with the darkness came the scratching sounds.

There must’ve been some kind of rodent in my cell that came out in the dark because I never heard the scratching sounds when Dooku was there. That or I was starting to hallucinate. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched a conclusion; my hands were starting to shake from lack of food, and there was an unswallowable pain in my throat from lack of water. Three times since I’d woken up the first time in this cell, a human male brought me enough water to sate my thirst. Once he even brought some rations. When I tried to ask questions, he just stared at me and did not answer.

I had no way of knowing if Dooku sent him or if he was defying Dooku to help me. Either way, the food was only enough to remind me just how close I was to starving.

Unfortunately, even if my hands were free and a Jedi healer could heal themselves, hunger couldn’t be healed. I’d treated enough starving citizens throughout the Clone Wars to know that. 

As I listened to the horrible scratching sounds, I wondered if I would ever get the chance to heal someone again.

-

My head lolled back, and I stared up into the darkness where the ceiling was supposed to be.

Dooku had been more forceful this time. Perhaps he hadn’t expected me to hold on so long, however long I’d been here.

I had no way of knowing how much time had passed. There was no window for me to see day or night passing. If Dooku came into the cell once a day, it’d been a least a week since I was taken, but I had no way of knowing for sure. Perhaps he came twice a day. Or even every hour. Every period alone in the dark felt like ages. 

The longer I spent in this cell, the more my hopes of being rescued dwindled. If I was simply a hostage, I would’ve been returned or killed by now. If the council were organizing a rescue, would it have taken this long?

I was certain that the remainder of my days would be spent in this cell. I wished I felt the peace of the Force, but I could only feel the trickles of desperation Dooku clearly wanted me to feel. When would this end? Would it end with Dooku’s lightsaber buried in my gut? Or would it end with my body surrendering my spirit? 

-

My head lulled forward, breaking me out of my light sleep. I groaned as I lifted it to stretch it out. Now my neck ached as much as the rest of my upper body, but I still didn’t have the effort to hold it up. I could only rest it on one of my shoulders. It was freezing, but my body was too tired to shiver.

Today was surely it.

I could feel the Force in me going out like the ocean tides of Pabu, as if it were preparing me to leave myself and unite with it once more. 

As Jedi, we strived for the peace that came with the acceptance of death, and yet facing the prospect of my own was only wearying.

Had the council told Ghon of my capture? Probably, considering my mission was only supposed to last for an evening. Stars, I hoped that whoever told Ghon did so gently, for it was a heavy burden for any padawan to bear, and he was so young.

Well, my second master had far exceeded my first one. Maybe Ghon would get lucky in that way too. 

The sound of the door behind me scraping open reached my ears, and even with my eyes closed, the light of the open doorway was blinding.

“Y/N.”

The sound was far away, yet I shrank from it, expecting the pain that swiftly followed any sound. 

“Y/N.”

I knew that voice. My eyes fluttered, but it hurt too badly to keep them open. Something tugged on the chain holding my left arm up, and I let out a whimper as it pulled on my desperately sore muscles. 

“Y/N, it’s Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan.

Not Master Kenobi.

Obi-Wan.

“Obi…” My scratchy voice sounded like nothing I’d heard before.

“Shhhhh, save your strength, it’s alright, I’m here.”

I peeled my eyes open again, fighting the drag long enough to catch sight of the deeply concerned features of my favorite face in the galaxy.

My eyes fell shut again.

My body and mind had officially given up if they were conjuring such a welcome sight as Obi-Wan. Yet the impossible granted me an inkling of peace. Thank you, I said to the Force. For letting me say goodbye before taking me. I tilted my chin down to the ground, ready to give up.

The door scraped shut, throwing me back into darkness. Fingers tilted my chin up once more. “Open your eyes,” said my master’s voice. Instead of his voice getting further and further away, it was getting louder.

Confusion swirled, giving me enough strength to obey. I blinked but there was only darkness again. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Was this…could it be…?

My hopes rose.

“Darling, you have to hide your feelings,” Obi-Wan’s voice hissed. 

The hopes fell dead, dashed against the rocks of reality.

I’d never once known Obi-Wan to call someone by a pet name.

This was another trick, a new strategy of Dooku’s to get me to comply. How cruel, to take advantage of my failing mind to summon the image of my master, the very man I would never be able to resist. 

But resist I did.

If I’d made this far, I couldn’t cave now, not when the peace of death was so near.

“Y/N,” said the equally blessed and cursed voice. “Please, you have to hide yourself or he’ll find us.”

No. I am a Jedi.

“I know, but if we’re going to get out of here, you have to.” The sound of his pleading voice was far worse than any other pain Dooku had inflicted on me. I felt a mouth hovering by my ear. “Y/N, if I ever earned your trust, listen to me now. You have to raise your shields.” Even the graze of his beard against my cheek felt real, dwarfed only by the wave of despair crashing over me. “C’mon, honey, do it for me.” 

I let out a whimper, knowing there was only one way to make this vision stop.

I’m sorry, I thought miserably, I can’t take anymore. I squeezed my already shut eyes tighter, shrinking away from the Force and waiting for the cruel vision to fade.

It was like losing one of my arms. Or cutting off a friend. Or falling with no hope of ever hitting ground.

It’d been only seconds of separation, but my body was colder, weaker, and hurting more and more every second. How had I survived cutting myself off from the Force under Krell?

I didn’t like it.

I didn’t like it at all.

But the fingers kept stroking my cheek. “That’s it, that’s it.”

Why was the vision still here? Dooku could only project it through the Force, and I’d pulled away from it. The vision should’ve faded, which meant…

My eyes flew open, and I wished more than ever that there was light so I could see my master. I tried to say his name, but my voice failed. 

The finger underneath my chin disappeared, and once again, there was a tug at my bindings. A strained whimper broke through my lips. “I know, I know it hurts, but I have to get you out–” He froze and then whispered under his breath: “Hells, he’s coming.”

Before I could muster up any thoughts or movements, all of Obi-Wan’s touch disappeared. I struggled against my restraints, the despair returning. There was a tiny, invisible caress on my cheek. “I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m here, but you have to shut yourself off.”

I hadn’t realized, in my panic, I’d reconnected with the Force.

I had barely enough time to lift my mental shields before the door scraped open again.

“Oh,” Dooku said from his place in the doorway. “Today is the day, then?” I heard the silent scraping of Dooku’s boot against the floor, drawing nearer and nearer. “Today,” he murmured, his voice far too close for comfort, “today, you give in.”

I managed to lift my head to see his keen eyes watching me.

I wanted to hurl a statement at him or even spit on the dungeon floor. I wanted to show him defiance, to tell him that he didn’t get to revel in my pain. But there was none left in me. I didn’t even have the energy to speak. I simply lowered my head again, shutting my eyes, hoping his visit would be quick today.

“You know you can’t live much longer.” His boots walked slowly around me. “Are you trying to die privately?” he asked. “Or are you trying to protect Kenobi from feeling the moment your life ends?”

I didn’t answer, even as my heart twinged in my chest.

There was a pause as the sound of his boots finished his rotation. He didn’t speak the words, but I felt the hidden message: join me.

My lips parted as I mustered all my strength. “I'm...” The word sounded no louder than a gentle breeze. “I'm a Jedi."

Dooku pushed his face close. “Jedi don’t shield themselves from the Force,” he said. “You’ve already given in. And for your submission, I think it’s time you got some food.” 

Guilt stabbed at my gut, and I was not comforted by the fact that Dooku couldn’t feel it. 

Dooku walked out of the room, the door sliding shut. 

Obi-Wan, wherever he was hiding, let out a long breath of relief. 

My body couldn’t even flinch at the blinding blue light that suddenly flashed through the chamber, nor at the screech of the chains as Obi-Wan’s lightsaber cut clean through them. 

For the first time in I didn’t know how long, my arms lowered past my shoulders. Unable to do anything, I collapsed, closing my eyes in preparation for hitting the floor. 

Instead of cool stone, however, my shoulder collided with a warm body, my head falling to rest on a broad chest. 

“I’ve got you.”

Obi-Wan lowered me to the ground. I had many questions, many expressions of relief ready to leave my tongue, but all I could manage was a high-pitched: “ouch.” It ripped through my dry throat, and I swallowed hard, trying to gather myself to say more. 

Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around me, offering me a modicum of warmth. “Where’s your dress?” he whispered.

I managed to shake my head. I don’t know.

Obi-Wan rubbed my arms up and down. He was probably trying to generate warmth, but the feeling of his hands on my skin was strangely painful. Then, his hands disappeared for a moment before wrapping a cloak around me, perhaps the one he’d been wearing himself. 

How long? I strained to ask as he wrapped the cloak around my neck, the clasp laying cold and heavy on my bare skin. I croaked twice, the croaks somewhat resembling the words. 

“Too long,” Obi-Wan whispered. “Eleven days.”

Eleven days.

My head felt too full and too empty to process the weight that came with the timeline. 

“Come on, up you get,” he said lowly. His arms hooked under my arms, pulling me upright. Another grunt burst through my lips as my muscles lit up like fire. “I know it hurts.” Obi-Wan pulled my arm around his neck, his steady body keeping me straight. “But we must leave before Dooku returns.”

He pulled me to my feet, and I nearly buckled.

“I know, I know, but I can’t hold my lightsaber if I carry you. You have to walk, Y/N, I need you to walk.”

And then we were walking.

Even as my feet and legs moved, my eyes fell shut, too tired to stay open. If it had been anyone else, I would’ve just laid on the floor, but it was Obi-Wan, so I would keep going.

I heard an electronic ding, and I opened my eyes just in time to see a door sliding away to reveal a barren, frozen wasteland I recognized.

No.

Not this infernal planet again.

The cold Neftali wind blew past my body, and my shivering began anew, but no complaint of any kind could pass through my lips before Obi-Wan dragged me into the snow.

Oh, it was so much worse than my memory made it out to be.

My bare feet were numb in almost an instant.

Obi-Wan couldn’t move carefully, not if he was going to get through the snow, but every movement of his body pulled at a part of mine that ached even as my body was quickly going numb. “Just a little further,” Obi-Wan kept saying as he half-led, half-dragged me. “Just a bit further.”

I pulled the cloak as tight around me as it would go. Even though it was thin, it was better than the brutal winds on my bare skin. I didn’t know where Obi-Wan was leading me, and without the Force, I couldn’t sense anything about my surroundings. 

“Just a little more.”

“Stop,” I panted. I felt horrible for saying it, considering Obi-Wan was practically carrying me, but I couldn’t walk anymore.

Obi-Wan came to a stop, gently lowering me to sit on the snow. I clutched onto his arms with my weak grip, which wouldn’t have kept me upright at all, had he not held me up. I desperately tried to catch my breath.

While my master’s appearance revived my spirit, my body was still shutting down.

“I’m…okay,” I managed to say. “Need…breath.”

Oh, every word was a colossal effort, and judging by the speed with which Obi-Wan’s eyebrows drew together, they weren’t as comforting as I’d intended.

“We need to–” He broke off as the distant sounds of voices reached us.

I wanted to cry. I couldn’t go any farther yet, not one single step, but our enemies drew ever nearer. The longer we stayed here, the more likely we were going to get caught. Between the snow and the dungeon, I would rather perish in the snow than be dragged back to that place. 

I couldn’t let Obi-Wan get caught, not when he came to rescue me. I looked up into his worried face, trying to summon the strength to move. It didn’t matter if I died on this planet, but if Dooku captured Obi-Wan, he’d subject him to the same pain he’d subjected me to. 

Clutching at Obi-Wan’s arms, I tried to sit up. 

Obi-Wan’s hand shot out, pressing down on my shoulder. His expression was pinched and cloudy with thought. “Okay,” he said to himself, seeming to come to some decision. “Okay, Y/N, you need to stay here, I’ll draw them away.”

“No!” My arms were weaker than my voice, but I still managed to grab ahold of him before he could slip away. Don’t be an idiot!

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I thought we’d have more time, but I have to lead them away.”

“Don’t–”

“Wait here for me.” Obi-Wan easily peeled my hand off his arm, squeezing it tightly. “I’ll come back, I promise.”

“Obi–”

Obi-Wan lurched forward, resting one hand on each side of my head as he pressed a kiss to my hairline, his beard scratching against my skin. And with that, he took off running. Blue light appeared as he activated his lightsaber, but soon, he disappeared altogether.

Even as my terror about Obi-Wan’s safety ricocheted through my brain, my eyes fell closed.

I’d seen many bodies suffer too much to hold on, but I’d never experienced it. Is this what it’d felt like for every patient I’d ever lost? Was this how much energy it took simply to hold on?

A grim certainty settled over me. If I stayed here in the cold much longer, my body would officially give up.

The sound of more voices became discernible over the roaring that could’ve been from the storm or could’ve just been in my own head. The voices grew closer. 

Did it matter much if they found me? 

No.

But would Obi-Wan endanger himself again to rescue me and get captured himself?

I couldn’t risk it. 

The desperation got me moving. Slowly, I managed to get to my hands and knees and started to crawl. 

I didn’t look up, not wanting to know how far I still had to go. I just kept crawling and crawling and crawling. 

The bunker, I remembered. But where was it? And how could I find it without the Force leading me?

Without the Force, I had no idea if I was even headed in the correct direction. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would’ve waited for Obi-Wan, but I didn’t, and now I was lost. He wouldn’t be able to find me when he was cut off from the Force, but reconnecting to it would bring Dooku right to him. 

Too tired to do anything, I half rolled, half collapsed onto my side, my arms falling limply to the ground as my head came to rest. The biting cold snow against my face hurt, but I couldn’t muster up energy to lift it.

Soon enough, I didn’t feel the cold anymore, nor the wet snow against my body, not even the thumping of my headache.

Everything was silent.

Everything was hazy.

And then everything was nothing at all.

-

Part 5

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Rescue Me tag list:

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[thedamselzelda]

Between Silk and Salvation

Author Chat: I was planning on uploading this during the weekend, but I finished it tonight and feel somewhat satisfied on how it turned out. Some of it was a little rocky to start but the longer I stare at it, the more I'm gonna fight with myself. So here it is!

Featuring: Dazai Osamu

Summary: Meetings. That seems to be the life of an executive—endless, tedious meetings. However, when one meeting arises unscheduled, it becomes riddled with emotions unbefitting of the Port Mafia's top assassin.

word count: 3.6k, fem!reader, pm!reader, sfw (mild cursing), mentions of blood, reader occasionally mentioned as "Hirotsu" and "Izanami", reader's eyes mentioned to be violet.

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You sat at the large conference table, absentmindedly grazing your freshly painted stiletto nails upon your lips. The voices around you droned on about the mafia’s business operations, a topic that held little interest for you. Your involvement was through your own unique means, leaving you unconcerned with the intricate details of the other executives’ affairs.

You glanced over at Chūya, who seemed equally disinterested in Ace’s elaborate over-explanation of how well his casino was performing. Chūya rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated yawn, trying to provoke you into laughter. Since the two of you became friends, it became his mission to make you laugh during these tedious meetings. It was a relief to have someone on your side for once, rather than being feared or exploited.

“Izanami,” Mori’s bored tone broke your silent interaction with Chūya, pulling your attention back to the table. “What of the Starlight? How is business going for your casino?”

You met Mori’s gaze, your eyes briefly flicking to the empty seat on your left before returning to his. “The Starlight has had an extraordinarily successful year,” you began, your voice steady and confident. “We’ve seen a significant revenue growth of roughly 1.2 billion Yen, our customer satisfaction ratings are overwhelmingly high, and we are currently considering additional expansions.”

Mori gave a satisfied nod. You glanced down the table to Ace, smirking as you continued,

“Compared to your casino. So, I’d like to offer you an opportunity to see what contributes to a casino’s great success. However, I doubt it would do you much good as many of your patrons now frequent mine.”

“That’s only because you stole them!” Ace spat out; his teeth gritted in anger. He pointed a finger down the table past Kōyō. “You’ve touched them and now they have no choice but to come to you!”

You smiled, turning your chair to face him directly. You lean back, finally becoming amused with the meeting. “Oh, quite the contrary. My patrons feel safe within the walls of the Starlight, knowing I will not touch them unless they ask. The only people under my thumb in such a way are my men. Ask the Italian senator who used to frequent your establishment, or even the Japanese Vice Minister; they will tell you about our symbiotic relationship. They even spoke at the second anniversary of the Starlight’s opening.”

You leaned back, looking at Mori. “I even fondly recall the Minister of Economy raving about the ‘touch of luxury, yet extraordinarily inviting atmosphere that calls to him after a hard day’s work.’”

Mori closed his eyes, sighing. He started to speak, but Ace interrupted with a new complaint. “You come in here after a four-year vacation, incessantly acting as if you are better than the three of us, yet you only have the casino to show for it.”

“Well, I recall, Ace, that I earned my position compared to you who bought yours. So, out of the two of us, I’d say I have the slightly better reason to be at this table, wouldn’t you say?”

Ace promptly stood, his face reddening with anger. He began to stutter, unsure of what to say. “Y-you! I’ll make you regret being an insolent brat!”

“Oh, Ace,” you cooed, your eyes locking onto his with an icy calm, “I do look forward to the day when I can watch the life leave your eyes.”

His eyes widened at your statement, darting to Mori for support. You glanced back at Mori, curious about his response. He had his eyes closed; his mouth covered by interlaced fingers. You knew you were in trouble, but you didn’t care.

Ace lowly growled at the lack of support and stomped out of the conference room.

“Why do you insist on riling him up in such a way?” Kōyō called your name in question. You looked down at her, expecting a frown, but she was giggling behind her flowing sleeve.

“I thought we could do with some excitement. Besides, I only said the truth. I’m not sorry if it was hard to hear.” You shrugged. You looked over at Chūya, who was shaking his head.

“Yeah, smartass, but not every meetin’ we have should result in him stormin’ outta here.” Chūya groaned.

You gave a hollow laugh, “It’s still funny!”

“Chūya. Kōyō. You two are dismissed. Thank you for your efforts in continuing the Port Mafia’s success. I expect further good reports in the future.”

Chūya glanced at you. Oh, you’re in big trouble, his expression read. You smirked at him as he rose from his seat with Kōyō, the two of them bowing and leaving you behind with Mori.

You once again glanced down at the empty seat to your left. You frowned. You had attempted to sit in it during your first meeting back, as Mori had told you in private that you were now his most trusted executive; however, he still reserved a spot for Dazai. He was simply the Prodigal Son and Mori the father awaiting, praying for his safe return.

“You’re like him,” Mori said, breaking the silence. You gave him a confused look, as he was intricately inspecting the maroon silk scarf draped upon your shoulders.

“I’m nothing like him,” you replied with a disgusted tone, looking away and whipping your hair behind you. “Or I would have left by now. My goals are completely opposite of his.”

You sneered at Mori, “And I still intend on killing you one day. Something you've always feared he would do.”

Mori looked unamused by your promise, leaning back in his chair. His eyes stared into yours, as if searching your very soul. He ignored your statement, moving on to his next agenda.

“I have an assignment for you.”

You perked up slightly in your seat.

“I want you to watch over Akutagawa during his mission with Higuchi today.”

You let out a puff of air, sinking back into your chair. “Babysitting? Seriously?”

“You know how that boy is. I need him to bring this were-tiger in alive.” Mori stood up from his seat. “Also, you should know, we have reports that Dazai recruited that were-boy to the Armed Detective Agency.”

Your expression remained unchanged, but internally, you wanted to scream, unsure if it was from happiness or anger.

“So, Akutagawa holds a grudge against this boy whom he’s never met.” You sighed, keeping irrelevant comments to yourself. “Of course, he’s been constantly seeking Dazai’s approval since the beginning. Now, there’s another in his life, and Akutagawa isn’t going to let anyone stand in his way.”

Mori gave a short nod and began heading out of the back of the room.

“I won’t fail you, sir,” you called out as he reached the door.

He chuckled softly as he grasped the doorknob. “You haven’t yet.”

You stood from your seat and bowed as he left. After his departure, you grasped the seat next to you, pulling it out to sit, and rolling it up to the table. You frowned at the lack of feeling the spot gave you.

“You really shouldn’t be sittin’ in that seat, ya know?” Chūya's voice came from the doorway.

You huffed out a chuckle. “I thought I’d feel something, since Mori is so insistent the ‘chosen one’ will return.”

Chūya stood afar, leaning against the doorframe. “Just come on.” He began walking out, and you rushed to follow him.

The two of you walked side by side towards the elevator in silence. “What’d he say to ya now?” Chūya pressed the button to call the lift.

“Assignment. Babysitting,” you huffed out. “Also…” You wished you could have shoved him at that moment but refrained. “How could you not tell me Dazai joined that detective group?”

Chūya looked at you, confused. “What? How was I supposed to know?”

You shot him an irritated look as you stepped into the elevator and pressed your card against the scanner. The light indicated the floor of your penthouse. “Aren’t you other execs supposed to know more than me?”

Chūya leaned against the wall, shrugging. “Mori probably just didn’t find it relevant to tell us. You know how he is. Only informs on an ‘as need to know’ basis.”

You rolled your eyes, watching the floor numbers tick down to the thirty-fourth floor. Your leg bounced as you thought about him. Of course, he went and got another boy to follow him like a lost puppy. Typical. As the doors slid open, you stepped into your living room. Chūya followed, hanging his coat on the rack you kept just for him and exchanging his shoes for slippers. He watched as you continued to step inside without doing the same.

“Are we not stayin’?” he asked.

“No,” you replied, turning a corner into the hallway and pressing a code into a keypad. “I need to start making moves on this assignment. Akutagawa and Higuchi are attempting to get that were-tiger today.”

The wall shifted, revealing a collection of weapons and a box of disposable burner phones. You picked one up, turning it on and slipping it into your pantsuit pocket. Grabbing your personal phone, you dialed a number and pressed the phone against your ear.

“Yes, Izanami?” Higuchi’s voice answered.

“Meet me in the lobby in five,” you snapped, closing the phone.

You looked over at Chūya, who had already donned his coat, ready to leave with you. “Hey, Mori ‘s got me goin’ over West for a bit for an assignment. You gonna be okay without me?” He looked concerned, but you couldn’t take him seriously.

You scoffed, “I’ve managed without you before. I’ll be fine.”

He shot you an irritated look. You cocked your head to the side. “Oh, wait,” you laughed. “I’m sorry. You wanted me to respond differently. Okay, wait. I’ll try again.”

He groaned, watching you turn back around. You knew he hated your dramatic flair, but it was too much fun playing around with him. Turning back to him, giving your best impression of doe eyes, “Oh, Chūya~ How am I ever going to survive without you? Promise you’ll write and call every day!” You fanned the back of your hand over your head, placing your other hand over your heart, attempting to pout.

“Fuckin’ bitch, I hate you,” he murmured as he walked hastily into the elevator.

“Awe, I love you too!” you followed behind him, laughing.

You step into the elevator, smoothing the soft fabric around your neck, thinking back to Mori’s odd stare and comment in the meeting room.

“Am I like Dazai to you?” you asked, staring into the closed elevator doors.

Chūya cleared his throat, picking his words carefully. “I believe you two are—were… very like-minded. However, I think it’s only ‘cause what I said back in Italy.”

You’re the closest thing to death he can get, yet he’s the closest to life for you.

You pressed your lips together, unsure if you were happy with his response. The elevator dinged, and you stepped out, seeing Higuchi waiting in the lobby.

“Higuchi,” you called out.

She turned to meet your gaze, bowing as you approached. You noticed her hair was down and the top buttons on her shirt done.

“Why do you look like that?” you blurted out.

Chūya cursed under his breath, “Seriously?”

“It was an honest question,” you shrug.

Her expression remained unchanged. “I am headed to infiltrate the Armed Detective Agency as Akutagawa planned. Was there something you required?”

You nodded, reaching into your pocket and pulling out the burner phone, holding it out to drop into her hand. “Boss said your phone was compromised. He ordered me to give you this new one.”

She looked surprised but handed over her old phone as you dropped the new phone into her hand. “I had no idea. No one told me.”

“Exactly why I’m here! Take this one, and I’ll take your old one.” You dropped the burner into her hand and took her phone. “Hope the mission goes well!” you added in a fake cheery tone.

“This personality doesn’t suit you,” Chūya remarked after Higuchi bowed to you, taking her leave.

You turned to frown at him. “Says the one who didn’t like my response earlier.”

He rolled his eyes, asking, “What’s the point in the switch anyway?”

“So, I can hear their every move,” you replied.

With one leg over the edge of the roof, you leaned back looking up at the sky. The alley below was set to be the stage for Akutagawa’s attempt at capturing this were-tiger boy, though, you doubted his ability to refrain and keep him alive. Precisely why Mori had instructed you to follow.

You barely looked down, seeing Higuchi’s blonde hair enter your peripheral. She had three individuals with her; a boy with ginger hair, a raven-haired girl, and one who you assumed to be the were-tiger. You leaned back up, crossing your legs together.

Higuchi pulled her hair back, then unbuttoned the first few buttons on her shirt. That was the Higuchi you knew. However, you rolled your eyes at her reveal. What kind of disguise was that? The missions you had gone on before forced you to physically to alter your image. Once even dawning hazel eye contacts, as the target preferred girls with them. Dazai hated it. He complained every time he saw you in them, saying, “But your violet eyes are so pretty! Like beautiful belladonnas in full bloom!”

You deeply sighed, closing your eyes. Distractions by him in this moment were the last thing you needed. You needed to focus with the task at hand.

Gunfire erupted from the alleyway.

“The fuck?!” You glance down, watching Higuchi aimlessly firing at the three. The girl of the group jumped out in front of the older boy, crumbling to the ground. You tilt your head, frowning. That would be a nice way to go, you think. Especially if they are lovers. You curiously watched on, as the boy used his ability. It stretched upwards, but not far enough for it to reach you. Higuchi look around in confusion, compared to your view showing the playfield. The boy cautiously wandered throughout his ability. 

“And here I thought,” you whip your gun from its holster, aiming it toward the voice, “it was Akutagawa who normally skulked about on the roofs of buildings.”

You felt like your eyes were deceiving you, but if what you had been told were true, then it wasn’t abnormal for him to show up as he has. Staring at him for a moment, you take notice his new attire and the absence of the bandages that once hid his right eye. His caramel eyes now showed a new life to them, a different sparkle to them compared to when it was just the two of you together. Drifting down to the ugly bolo tie that adorned his neck, you stared daggers into the brooch you bought him for his promotion to executive. You leave your painful analysis of him there, afraid if you looked at him any longer you would simply not be able to contain yourself.

You roll your eyes, clicking the safety back on and returning the gun to your holster. “Yet here you are joining me, Dazai.”

His name fell from your lips harshly, biting back at you in your head. He cocked his head to the side, allowing his brown fluffy locks to fall from his face. He gave you a soft smile, “Hmm, so we’ve gone back to formalities? Okay then, Hirotsu. Or wait, do you prefer to be called Izanami now?”

He gave a cheeky smirk as you shot daggers into him. Truthfully, you wanted to jump from your position, grasp him by his neck and kiss him until the two of you passed out or died from the lack of oxygen. You fought internally with yourself, knowing that is the worst way for you to act right now. So, instead, you remained seated, turning away from him to avoid him seeing the creeping heat rise to your face. He has such a punchable face—no, a squeezable face—no, a kiss—.

You feel him standing next to your arm now, causing you to look up to your left. You squint your eyes to see him, and he adjusts, so his shadow allows you to see him properly.

“Mind if I sit with you?” He speaks softly to you, an open gentleness that must have only come with his departure.

“I really should be killing you.” You look away huffing out an exhale, gazing back down into the alleyway. He sits down next to you anyway.

Akutagawa has shown up now, saying something to the were-boy placing him into a state of despair. 

“You happy you’ve made Akutagawa all jealous?” You joke. It’s the only thing you can manage to say.

He laughs, “Atsushi has honestly been a way better apprentice than I could have asked for. Akutagawa sought too much from me.”

You scoff, “That boy has literally worshipped the ground you walk on since the day you picked him up from the slums.”

“You mean when we did.” He corrects, matter-of-factly. He quickly moves away from the subject. “I see you got your present.”

He reaches to touch the silk draped over your shoulders, but you slap his hand away without looking.

“Mori hand delivered it. Along with the news of your defection.” You don’t meet his gaze, but you can feel his mood tense. You guess you are getting into this now.

“I…” Dazai looks down at the fight now occurring between Akutagawa and the boy he introduced as Atsushi. He was screaming, Atsushi, over the loss of his leg. He was writhing in pain as his blood seeped and stained the concrete below him.

You frown and mutter, “What a useless apprentice.”

“Just wait.” Dazai leans forward. You do as well, watching the boy transform into a white tiger. You gawk, surprised that the reports were true.

“I guess I stand corrected then.” You lean back, pushing off the ground. You look down at Dazai. You take notice that he was hiding something from your view.

“What are you doing?” You press your hands onto his shoulders, instantly forgetting the four years of lost time. “My phone!”

You reach for it, swiping at air as he stretches it out of your reach. Your chest now rests upon his back as you press further to grab it. 

“Woooow, I had no idea you and the slug would be such good friends after I left.” He teases as he continues to keep the phone from your reach. You began to get flustered as you fought with him. 

“G-give it back, bastard!” You grasp around with your left hand, pressing it into his face as you reach forward to grab your phone. He elicits an “Mmph!” as your hand pushed into his face. You manage to grab onto his hand and pull it toward you.

“Getting right to things I see.” He jokes past your fingers, allowing you to feel a smirk across his lips. He released the phone when you growled in frustration. “I was just putting my new number in. No need to get so worked up.”

“And why would I want that?” You push him, harder than you intended, rising once more to your feet. Sure enough, his name and new number were displayed on the screen. You huffed, changing his name quickly from “O <3” to “Walking Red Flag”.

“I just want to talk to you. I want to explain what happened." He paused, eyeing you placing your hand on your hip. You eye him suspiciously.

"Pretty please?” He pouted, giving you the puppy eyes he knew you could never resist. However, that was before. You were a different person now. You had fallen too deep into the persona that was the Port Mafia's Izanami that you had somewhat left behind the girl that Dazai once knew. The girl that confided in him; the one who had fallen harder once he fell for you. 

"You had your chance. You left. And he's dead because of you." You steel yourself as you stand on the edge of the building, ready to jump down below. You watch as Akutagawa toys with the boy.

Glancing back at Dazai, he's now stood up next to you. You take notice of his downtrodden face and begin to feel a pang of guilt. You had read the reports of what occurred with Mimic; however, much had been left out about Dazai's defection and Oda's death. So, you would only be able to bridge those gaps by talking with the one who was in the room where it happened. So did you really mean your harsh words? No, but you were hurt. Surely with the immense amount of intellect he had, he would know you couldn't just move on with him after four years of no contact.

You sigh, "Fine. Just to talk."

He looks up at you, his eyes still sad but now showing a hint of a smile once more. "I'd really like that."

You find yourself smiling back at him, the familiarity of his presence chipping away at your icy exterior. You take a step back, your heel teetering off the edge. "Just make sure your messages are coded. Can't have Mori getting jealous of me."

"Of course, bella. I remember," he smiles, the old nickname rolling off his tongue with practiced ease as he slips his hands into his jacket pockets.

Maybe, you thought, the Prodigal Son had finally found salvation. But for you, hell would be awaiting you with open arms, as you leaned back off the roof and into the battlefield below.

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Author Notes: So, I just now realized that it might be important to explain why the reader is called Izanami. As alluded in this and previous installments, reader has the ability to touch someone and "create" their death. More will be explained later in future installments, but I felt it important to note here, because it is not reader's technical name. In Japanese folklore, Izanami is the queen of the land of the dead, and is better known as the Goddess of Creation and Death. Reader, upon being born, killed her mother because of her ability, and when she became a tool for the Port Mafia (before and after Mori's rise), she was dubbed Izanami. Hope this helps a little when reading the story! :)

Last but not least, I'm SUPER EXCITED to get into the meat of the story now that we've set up a little bit of reader. I plan to also attach the music that's helped inspire a lot of the next couple of installments. At the time, I don't know if I'll leave the story open ended or if I'll wait to continue as more of the manga comes out since the next season is not coming out anytime soon. But do not be dismayed! Beast!Dazai has already been accumulating in my mind and I have fun tales to tell for that as well.

Thank you for reading! Like and follow (also feel free to reblog! <3) until next time!

[wizardofrozz]

Shadow Play

Commander Fox x senator!reader (fem), Senator Farr, Commander Thorn, and mention of Commander Stone

Word Count: ~3.7k

Warnings: NSFW, this is literally just filth, unprotected sex, exhibition, creampie, fluff, Fox being a tease

Summary: Seeing their favorite senator getting wrecked by their commander was certainly not in the Coruscant Guard’s mission briefing for today. 

A/N: I finally had the motivation to write some Fox smut thanks to this art. Huge thanks to @homie-one-kenobi​ for all the encouragement and help editing ❤️ Writing this has reduced me to a puddle so please enjoy 😂

         Lights flashed across the rows of seats, making you squint as another Mon Calamari dancer twirled elegantly. You tried to focus on the choreography, praying it would hold your attention but no matter what, you still couldn’t force yourself to enjoy the ballet. Watching it for a third time wasn’t changing your opinion, yet it wasn’t like you could’ve declined the offer. Your eyes flickered to the balcony opposite you, noting Fox’s absence for the fifth time in less than an hour, borderline glaring at the unfortunate Corrie taking his place. 

         A small part of you hated the poor sentry, his red armor acting as a constant reminder that for the last 21 rotations and 17 hours since Fox left for an off-world assignment, your bed had been cold and empty. Your eyes finally drifted away from the trooper and just barely stopped yourself from rolling your eyes at the small group of senators whispering praises. While you agreed that the performers were exceptional, you couldn’t follow the plot, leaving you to count down the seconds until the next intermission. A small part of you wished that Riyo or Padme were there to make the whole experience a little more bearable. 

         Years of etiquette training was the only thing that stopped you from jumping out of your seat when a booming voice announced the second intermission. Your aid that was standing near the back of the senatorial box shot you a sympathetic look and you appreciated the gesture even if there was nothing they could do to help. Just as the door was within reach, the faint call of your name had you stopping in your tracks, forcing your expression to remain pleasant. 

         “Senator Farr,” you greeted, managing a small smile. You had nothing against the Rodian senator, you quite liked him, but you really weren’t in the mood for small talk. You expected him to ask for your interpretation of the ballet only to surprise you when he ushered you into the bustling hall. 

         “How many more acts are there?” he whispered, leaning in to keep the conversation somewhat private. Your mouth twisted to the side in a poor attempt at hiding your amusement.

         “Three,” you replied, chewing on your top lip when Senator Farr’s already large eyes seemed to grow bigger. “I plan to feign a stomach bug for the next two.” 

         “Will it be any less believable if we both do?” he mused, glancing over your shoulder at the cluster of senators still talking about Act 2. 

         “Probably more believable,” you snickered, scratching the corner of your mouth to cover your persistent grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m not feeling well.”

         “Hm, now that you mention it,” Farr sighed, his forehead wrinkling in a show of distress that you found quite impressive. He chanced one last look over your shoulder before gently nudging your arm and hurrying toward the bathroom. You allowed yourself a fond laugh before heading in the direction of the lady’s room, making a detour through the nearby door at the last second. The click of your disgustingly uncomfortable shoes was deafening in the silent stairwell, making you pause at the top of the first flight to check no one had followed. 

         Once you were confident you were in the clear, you took the last flight at a slower pace, contemplating burning the fucking torture devices you called shoes the entire way. You paused one last time at the top of the steps, just to be safe, before slipping through the door at the top. A warm, orangish glow washed over you, melting some of the tension in your neck and shoulders as you stepped into the cupola. 

         It had been far too long since you’d ventured into the little hideaway, only able to admire the beautiful stained glass windows from afar. Most Coruscant residents had no idea there was even a room atop the opera house, meaning they missed out on one of the most beautiful views. You lazily wandered toward the window, lightly brushing your fingers over the marbled glass, watching the slightly distorted ecumenopolis below. Your original intention had been to find a refuge from the torture of sitting through three more acts but standing there, looking out across the capital world, all you felt was lonely. 

         The soft whir of the door was lost to your aching heart but there was no mistaking the muted footsteps approaching. Anyone else would’ve felt fear in that moment, yet you only sighed, knowing the taste of solace you found had come to an end. You let your hand linger on the cool glass for another second before dropping it, turning to face the presence lingering off to your left. 

         For a moment, you were convinced you were hallucinating, that maybe you were sick, when you turned to find a Coruscant Guard member watching you. There was no mistaking the pattern you had sought out in waves of red armor time and time again. He canted his head and it was so painfully familiar, it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

         “What are you doing here?” you blurted, your manners suddenly tumbling to Coruscant’s surface. Not that he minded. 

         “I could ask you the same thing,” Fox countered. Just hearing his voice, the unique inflection in his words that set him apart had your shoulders slumping like the marionette strings folding your facade up had been cut. Something between a sob and laugh tumbled past your lips, the sound seemed to break through the barrier Fox built around himself. The second his stance lost some of its rigidity you were moving, throwing your arms around his shoulders. The collision punched a grunt out of Fox but he barely even swayed, catching your weight with ease.

         “What are you doing here?” you repeated, the words muffled against his shoulder. It had been three long weeks since you saw him before he went dark for a security detail off-world. Fox smelled of blaster fire, caf, and sweat, a mixture that should’ve had your nose wrinkling, but right then, it was so perfectly him you pressed closer. 

         “Thought I’d pick up a security shift for a few senators spending the night at the opera,” Fox sighed, pressing the hard edge of his helmet against the side of your head. That had you pulling away, staring into his dark visor. How long had he been back? The question must’ve been written all over your face because Fox laughed, a soft, beautiful sound. “Relax, we landed maybe an hour before it started.”

         “Shouldn’t you be resting?” you mumbled, threading your fingers together at the back of his neck.

         “I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Fox snorted, pulling you as close as he dared. The bite of plastoid against your body was uncomfortable but you’d take it over his absence any day.

         “Drama queen,” you huffed with a fond eye roll. His helmet tipped down and you assumed he was pinning you with a dark glare, something you had never wanted to see more than you did in that moment. You carefully broke the seal, slowly lifting the bright red helmet off, not realizing you were holding your breath. Fox blinked a few times, gently shaking his head, tousling his longer-than-normal curls. But instead of a scowl, you were greeted with a soft smile that melted your heart. 

         “Hey,” he breathed, gently tracing the curve of your back. 

         “Stars, I missed you,” you rasped just before surging forward to capture his lips. Fox let out a soft, breathy laugh against your lips before gently cradling the back of your head, and leaning into the kiss. The bitterness of caf lingered on his lips, a taste you shouldn’t have missed seeing that you drank it just as often as Fox, however, it always seemed to taste better this way.   

         The kiss had started out sweet, a slow and tender brush of lips that made your heart flutter wildly. You intended to pull away until Fox started to knead the back of your neck, molding you against the curve of his chest. Every ounce of fatigue and anxiety you had been holding onto melted away as you coaxed his mouth open. Fox groaned softly, using his hold on your neck to angle your head back with an urgency you weren’t expecting. The shift had your head spinning to the point that you hadn’t realized you were moving until your back met the cool window.

         “Missed you too,” Fox mumbled, dragging his lips away from yours to pant against your cheek. “So fucking much.”

         “Mm, playing bodyguard for one of my colleagues wasn’t engaging enough,” you teased, carding through his messy hair. Fox nipped at your ear in retaliation, forcing a half-gasp, half-giggle past your lips. He tugged you tighter against his chest, the unforgiving plastoid of his codpiece pressing into your thigh, tempting you with what waited behind it. 

         “Like any of them could compare to you,” he breathed, nuzzling into your neck with a shallow roll of his hips. Maybe it was because you weren’t used to him being gone for long stretches of time but you were suddenly aching to feel something beyond GAR blacks and rigid plastoid. Fox yelped at the impatient tug on his codpiece, pulling back to dart his eyes between your hand and your face. 

         “What - what are you doing?” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder. Yet he didn’t try to move your hand, letting you trace the shape at a torturous pace. 

         “I’m trying to indulge in what I’ve been daydreaming about for weeks,” you huffed, playfully tugging on the clip holding the armor in place. You watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed before his expression shifted, brown eyes somehow growing darker in the low light. 

         “Right here?” Fox mused, crowding you against the window and pinning your hand in place. Daring you to bow out. “Now what if one of the boys looked up and saw us? How would they feel seeing their favorite senator being ruined by their commander?” 

         “Fox,” you gasped, closing your fist in his hair, and grinding into the curve of his thigh plate. The idea should’ve scared you, should’ve filled you with a numbing dread at the thought of anyone catching an esteemed senator with a Guard commander. Instead, you clenched around nothing, mouth falling open with your strained pants. 

         “Oh, you like that, honey,” Fox purred, his gloved hand slipping under the hem of your short skirt. Even through a layer of fabric, his touch left a trail of heat across your skin. The quiet whine that followed the first brush of his fingers over your cunt made him shiver in your grip. “Maker, you sound even sweeter than in my dreams.”

         “You - you dream about the s-sounds I make?” you panted, rocking forward in time with the drag of his fingers.

         “Oh, I dream about more than that,” he chucked, bumping his nose against yours.

         “Care to share?”

         “How long do you have?” 

         “For you?” you whispered, barely brushing your lips against his. “All the time in the galaxy.”

         “Is that so?” he mumbled, moving to pepper kisses down the side of your neck. You caught a glimpse of redness high on his cheeks just before a digit sank into you with little resistance. Your cunt clenched around his gloved finger, a strangled moan bursting from your lips as he pumped his finger once. The rough fabric of his gloves never bothered you before but the desperate, clawing need to feel the warmth of his skin had you squirming.

         “Take your gloves off,” you all but begged, “please.” You almost wished you hadn’t asked when he slowly, torturously, pulled away. He caught your eye, pinning you in place with a heavy look, never breaking eye contact as he brought his hand toward his face. You had witnessed Fox bring down a mercenary single-handedly after losing his blaster, seen him dissolve a full-fledged riot, and hit what should’ve been an impossible mark without batting an eye. Yet somehow the sight of his tongue curling around the soaked finger of his glove was more electrifying, setting your teeth on edge. 

         He pinned you in place, closing his lips around his finger; his lashes fluttered, a muffled groan filling the air as he savored your taste. Your lungs suddenly felt too small as you watched the slow drag of his digit over his full bottom lip. Fox was putting on a show, the twinkle in his lust-blown eyes giving him away and you were undoubtedly enjoying every second. A flash of white teeth sinking into the tip of the glove made your breath hitch, your eyes staying glued to the hem of the fabric as Fox tilted his head back, revealing strong, calloused hands. 

         Fox’s now bare hand came to rest lightly against your chest, following the curve of your body but your focus was zeroed in on the glove dangling from his teeth. He looked far too pleased with himself, a slight smirk lifting the corner of his mouth as he paused, letting you admire the view. The feather-light brush of his fingers over your heated skin jerked you back to reality but your eyes still followed the fabric when he turned his head, letting the glove fall to the floor before turning his attention back to you. 

         “Better?” he rumbled, brushing through your folds before sinking two fingers into you, his smug grin never fading. Your head bobbed in an almost frantic nod as you tried to bite back a moan. Fox’s smug smile wasn’t helping either. 

         “Fuck, yes,” you gasped, tightening your grip in his hair. Fox hummed in the back of his throat, lazily pumping his fingers like he had all the time in the world. You were suddenly reminded of your hand placement when he shifted his weight. If your brain didn’t feel like it might leak out of your ears, you would’ve been more impressed with the skillful way you unclipped his codpiece in one swift movement. 

         “You’re getting too good at that,” Fox groaned, rocking into your hand.

         “You only have yourself to blame,” you laughed breathlessly, tracing the shape of his hard length. He surged forward, his finger brushing a devastating spot inside you as his lips slammed into yours, muffling your incoherent cry. 

         “Will–will you let me,” he stammered between kisses, the sloppy roll of his hips growing rougher, “let me fuck you for all of Coruscant to see?” 

         “If–fuck–if you don’t–” you warned, trying to sound commanding, but your ability to form words was quickly narrowing to nothing more than curses and Fox’s name. That seemed to be all the permission he needed though as he licked into your mouth again, the hand that had been buried in your cunt coming up to grip your jaw. In a flurry of movement, you were suddenly facing the expanses of Coruscant, Fox’s warmth pressing against your back as he hiked your skirt up, bunching it around your hips.

         “Put your hands on the window, honey,” he rumbled, brushing his nose against the shell of your ear. You obeyed without a second thought, bracing both your hands against one of the orange panels; your heart fluttered when one of his large hands filled the space beside yours. “I wonder if I’ll be able to see our handprints every time I pass by.”

         The thought that you’d leave behind a reminder, something only you and Fox would know about, had you pushing back into him. He seemed to catch on, unceremoniously tugging his pants down just enough to free his weeping cock, slipping it between your thighs. There was a brief moment where he paused, his tip barely pressing into your folds like he was savoring the buildup before he pushed in. The stretch felt endless, your head falling forward as you panted around soft whimpers until he was fully sheathed. 

         “Stars,” you chuckled, feeling dizzy with how full you were, “almost forgot how big you are.” Fox’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, punching the air from your lungs. His free hands slowly followed the curve of your waist, catching on the flashy fabric of your outfit, pausing briefly to brush a thumb over your covered nipple. A shiver tore through you when his hand gently curled around your throat, never squeezing, only using his grip as a way to hold you in place. 

         “Guess I’ll have to remind you,” he growled, pausing long enough for the words to sink in before he moved. The first thrust tested your ability to hold yourself up but Fox barely gave you a moment to steady yourself before he picked up a brutal pace. If you weren’t so high above the bustling crowds, you might’ve been worried about how you cried out, throwing your head back against Fox’s shoulder. 

         “F-Fox,” you moaned, needing him to hear the desperation pumping through your veins. You mindlessly curled your fingers over the smooth window pane, forcing your eyes open when you met warm skin. Fox’s hand was still braced against the window, your hand half covering his after your frantic scrambling. You were so mesmerized by the sheer size difference that you didn't notice right away when Fox shifted his weight, hitting a spot that made your eyes cross. You blindly grabbed onto the back of his hand, fingers interlacing between his. Fox instinctively closed his hand, pressing your fingertips into the rough skin of his palm. He nuzzled against your cheek, his ragged breathing raising goosebumps along the length of your throat.

         “Fuck, you - you feel so good, cyar’ika” he whimpered, pressing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to your cheek. You were both spiraling out of control, climbing higher and higher with each galaxy-shattering thrust. Fox’s usually composed attitude was long gone, leaving him just as desperate and pleasure-drunk as you were. The heat building under your skin had reached a scalding level but you just couldn’t seem to fall over the edge.

         “I– I’m so close,” you whispered, turning your head to try and find his lips. Fox mumbled something you couldn’t quite catch before his hand slid over your chest, coming to rest on your stomach. The pressure of his hand made each punch of his cock somehow more explosive, reminding you both just how deep he was; Fox’s strangled moan overlayed with yours, his hips losing their rhythm.

         “Never - fuck -  never leaving you behind again,” he panted, leaning heavily against your back to drop his hand lower. Every muscle in your lower half clenched when his fingers brushed your clit, ripping an unusually loud moan from deep in Fox’s chest. The movements of his fingers were sloppy but you were so lost in the blinding pleasure that it didn’t matter. It finally, finally, crested, throwing you over the edge with a cry of Fox’s name as you gushed around him.

         It only took three more thrusts before Fox went rigid, burying himself to the hilt with a soft, shaky moan. 

         Your thoughts cleared slowly, the fog of arousal melting away as you drifted back down to Coruscant. The empty cupola felt oddly quiet without the slap of skin on skin, leaving you to focus on Fox’s slightly labored breathing. Your eyes drifted back to where your hands were still braced against the stained glass, a small smile lifting the corner of your mouth when you noticed that your hand was still wrapped around Fox’s larger one. Flashing speeder lights caught your attention, drawing your gaze to the traffic zipping past the opera house. 

         “Think anyone saw us?” you wondered absently. Fox laughed, loud and unguarded, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder and the sound alone was enough to make your stomach do a funny little flip.

         “We may never know,” Fox snickered, kissing the base of your neck. The deafening chirp of Fox’s comm brought you crashing back to reality, but you did your best to not let your disappointment show when he reached up to tap a button on his vambrace. “Fox.”

         “Gotta question for you, Commander,” Thorn said in place of a greeting. Fox propped his chin on your shoulder, humming softly when you let your head drop to the side, resting your temple against his. 

         “Yes, Thorn.” There was a pregnant pause, your brows pulling together when you swore you heard a muffle laugh through the channel. 

         “You, uh, wouldn’t happen to be in the opera house’s cupola, would you?” Thorn snickered. Your stomach plummeted to your feet while Fox stiffened behind you. There was no denying it since Fox’s cock was still buried inside you. You tilted your head down, searching for a few dots of red in the sea of creatures, easily finding them near the opera house’s entrance. 

         “No,” Fox replied stiffly, only making the situation worse.

         “Oh really?” a slightly different voice huffed. You glanced to the side, arching a brow in question. Fox rolled his eyes but mouthed, Stone, before returning his attention back to the comm. 

         “Heya, senator!” Thorn shouted. You only knew it was him because just as the greeting came through, you saw one of the dots with more red paint raise an arm, waving it wildly.

         “How’d you know?” Fox grumbled, sounding close to pouting in your opinion.

         “We can see your shadows, shit for brains,” Thorn wheezed, barely getting his sentence out between fits of laughter. 

         “Go do your fucking jobs,” Fox snapped, punching the button to end the call a little too hard. You had managed to keep a straight face throughout the call but you were steadily losing the battle against laughter. “I’m glad you find it funny.”

         “I’m surprised you don’t,” you giggled, lightly resting your head against his temple. Fox huffed and hid his face against your shoulder, faintly shaking his head. 

         “I’m never going to hear the end of this,” he groaned, mindlessly squeezing your fingers that were still intertwined with his.

         “About getting caught,” you wondered, letting a smirk pull at the corner of your mouth, “or how hot it looked from their perspective?” Fox sounded defeated as he brought your intertwined hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. 

         “Both.” 

Taglist: @techs-feral-wife​ (thank you for your help too Max ❤️)

[webslinger-holland]

The Sergeant's Senator | Chapter 8

Summary: As the senator is admitted to a medical facility, the rest of the crew get their new assignment and are informed that the new guards will be arriving soon. With the possibility that the senator won't be awake by the time they leave, Hunter says his last goodbye.

Warning: blood lose and major bodily injuries (wounds, traumatic brain injury, and spinal injury), mentions of surgery and stitches, unconscious patient in medical facility

Pairing: Hunter x Fem!Reader Senator

Type: Short Series

Word Count: 4.2k words

Series Masterlist

The Bad Batch had finally arrived at the nearest medical facility in the city. They were able to make contact with the facility in order to prepare for their arrival, requesting for assistance as soon as they landed. The Marauder came to a slow landing on the platform, lowering the landing gear in the process.

As the ramp lowered, the squad members were extra careful when maneuvering the floating stretcher down to the platform. There were a few medical droids on standby. They directed the crew exactly where they needed to go, leading them through the facility.

Making their way through the hallways and towards the nearest medic, Tech was able to transfer his scans to one of the medical droids which helped them assess her injuries more rapidly. They brought the stretcher into one of the spare rooms, but one of the droids stopped the rest of the crew from entering.

"I apologize," the medical droid beeped. The droid held up a single metal hand. "No visitors will be allowed at this time."

"We aren't visitors; we are the escort. We have been assigned to protect her," Hunter explained to the droid standing in front of him.

"I can assure you: no further harm will come to her," the droid replied. They weren't going to be able to argue with that. So they gave in. The droid was able to step back and close the door in front of them, essentially locking the small squad out.

It felt like hours had passed since they had arrived at the medical facility. They were stationed in the waiting room with a million other civilians. Some sick patients sat in empty seats, voices were heard calling names over the comm, and medical droids helped in assisting people at the front desk.

People kept coming in and out of the doors to the rooms in the back. It varied between doctors, droids, visitors, or patients. Each time, nobody came to call on the small group of clones to give them an update. At least once every hour, Hunter made his way to the front desk to ask the droid if there was any update from the doctors with her. This was now his fifth time coming up.

"I am sorry, clone. I haven't received any message from the doctors about an update," the assistance beeped. The sergeant leaned his arms against the counter, hanging his head low in defeat.

"I understand," Hunter nodded.

"She went into surgery two hours ago and has yet to come out," the droid read from the hologram right in front of them.

"Will...will you just let us know when she comes out of surgery?" Hunter wondered with a glint of hope in his eyes.

"I will notify you," the droid gave a curt nod of agreement.

Making his way back to the row of seats, Hunter planted himself down in slight defeat. He leaned forward to rest his forearms against the tops of his legs, bringing his hands up to clasp together in front of his mouth. He felt lost in his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Wrecker was seated next to him and was snacking on some things that he grabbed from one of the machines in the hallway. He threw a glance towards the weary sergeant sitting beside him. He gave him a rough nudge in his good shoulder.

"Cheer up, sarge." Wrecker encouraged, wearing a broad smile on his face. "The senator will pull through. She's tougher than you think."

"I sure hope you're right, Wrecker."

"The senate should be getting out at this point," Tech recalled almost sorrowfully, having memorized the time stamps of the senator's schedule. The rest of them remained silent.

"Wonder how the vote went," Echo added after the pause.

"Let's hope it was in the senator's favor," Hunter told them. They all seemed to agree with him, nodding their heads in synchronized agreement. All except Crosshair who still didn't care at all for the senator or her precious senate vote.

Another three hours had passed staying in the medical facility. The sound of people talking quiet or walking around the waiting room had turned into a mundane sound that could easily be drowned out. The bright florescent light was straining on the eyes, making everything in the room look bland and drained of color. A strong headache settled in around hour three.

Surprisingly, a medical droid had approached the small squad sitting in a row. The four of them quickly rose to their feet, stepping forward to hear a report from the front desk droid. The droid shuffled back slightly, raising its hands in slight defense.

"The patient is out of surgery," the droid beeped factually. "She is under heavy anesthetics, but you are permitted to go back there now."

"Thank you," Hunter expressed his gratitude. The droid made sure to point the clones in the right direction, giving them the room number just as they began to walk away in the direction.

Navigating the hallways, it didn't take them long before they were able to come across the room. However, upon entering the room, the Bad Batch were met with a distressing sight of a heavily wounded senator laying in bed. Her once neat white dress had been cut for the surgery and was sitting on a nearby chair, still soaked in her blood.

The senator was laying motionless on the bed, hooked up to various monitors to watch her vitals. The color had drained from her face so much that she almost resembled a ghostlike figure. A few stitches had been sown around various injuries including places like her arms, head, and hands.

Unbeknownst to them, underneath her gown, the medical professionals were able to patch the gaping wound in her side. Though what remained was sixteen stitches and major bruises, they were able to save her before she died from blood loss alone. Her internal bleeding injuries required immediate medical surgery in order to fix. According to the doctors, Senator Rayna should be able to make a full recovery as long as she took things easy. They breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing this.

"Besides the internal bleeding, Senator Rayna sustained a traumatic brain injury which resulted in severe nerve damage to her spine in particular," the medical droid explained while reading off the data pad.

Glancing down at her form, Hunter saw the line of stitches drawing from the side of her head and running deep into her hairline. He lowered his hand to stroke some hair out of her face, being mindful of her stitches.

"She may experience changes in her strength, feeling, and mobility." The medical droid had pointed out to them, but none of them really knew what to do with this information. Besides Tech who proceeded to type that information into his data pad.

"It doesn't matter," Hunter reassured the droid standing beside him. He felt a small wave of optimism and his lips tugged into a gentle smile. "What matters is that she's alive and she's going to be okay."

Over the course of the next couple days, Senator Rayna had been admitted into the medical facility and was ordered to remain there until clearance. The Bad Batch chose to stay with the senator the entire time, often resulting in one or two of them falling asleep on the couch in the corner or in the chair beside her bed. They could have gone back to the barracks to rest, but the only one who did that each night was Crosshair.

On the day of the attack, Hunter ended up sending a message over the comm channel to Commander Cody about the incident that occurred. He received the message a few hours later, promising that he'd be there as soon as he could. He also mentioned that he'd be coming with their new transfer order.

Upon hearing about the transfer, Hunter felt his heart once again give way in the depths of his chest. Especially at the prospect of not being able to say goodbye to the senator if she didn't wake up within the next couple days. He desperately hoped that she'd come to sooner rather than later so that he'd at least be able to have that before leaving her indefinitely.

At the given moment, Hunter was the only one in the room because the rest of them decided to grab some lunch in the cafeteria downstairs. He silently sat in the chair right beside her bed, holding her hand gently and stroking the back of it with his thumb. During their rare moments alone, Hunter rarely talked to her and chose to just listen to the sound of her heart monitor beeping steadily. It somehow brought him comfort.

Suddenly, the door to the room had opened unexpectedly. The sergeant quickly pulled his hand out of her grasp, directing his attention towards the door. But Hunter ended up scrambling to stand to his feet upon seeing who walked through the door.

Alongside Commander Cody, Senator Bail Organa and Senator Padme Amidala had joined him in their visit. The door was quietly closed behind them as the three proceed to enter a little further. The sergeant quickly stood at attention, falling right back into protocol.

"Thought it was about time that we paid her a visit," Senator Organa said with a small smile on his face. His eyes fell on the familiar sleeping figure, feeling a slight twinge of pain in his heart at the mere sight.

Slowly, Padme made her way around the other side of the bed so that she stood beside her dearest friend. She pulled her hand out of her shawl, bringing it up to brush her hair back. She smiled down at her softly.

"How is she doing?" Padme inquired, looking up at Hunter for an answer.

"She's...certainly a fighter," Hunter replied rather slowly. He was slightly taken back by her upfront question, but she knew that he had been beside her during her whole recovery.

"Always has been," Padme chuckled softly. "She's the most stubborn person I know."

"You've got that right," Hunter let out a small scoff. He opted to change the conversation. He looked up at the two senators. "How did the vote go? We didn't get to hear the results."

Instead of providing a verbal answer, Bail and Padme had exchanged a brief glance towards each other. She shook her head in denial, silently indicating that they hadn't gotten enough votes to pass her treaty which they counted as a severe loss to the war campaign.

"Ah, I'm sorry to hear about that. I know how hard she worked on that speech and how badly she wanted to be there for the vote," Hunter replied sorrowfully. "I--I just wish I had been able to get her there for it," Hunter added.

"Don't blame yourself," Padme encouraged him. She made sure to catch his gaze so she could get her point across to him. "Nobody could have done a better job at protecting her than your squad. And for that, we are eternally grateful."

"Speaking of your job," Commander Cody interrupted them with a brief clear of the throat. He held up a piece of paper. "Your new transfer orders for you and your squad."

Hesitantly, Hunter took the piece of paper from the commander. He opened it up, reading the exact location where they'd be heading. His mind fell blank as the reality of the situation began to settle in. His gaze grew hazy.

"You'll be heading to the frontlines on Kashyyk. It's getting pretty messy over there. Nothing your squad can't handle though, right?" Commander Cody tried to make the situation lighthearted.

The commander's words only fell on deaf ears. The dull aching feeling in his chest was growing more unbearable with each passing second. He found himself staring directly at the sleeping senator laying on the bed, thinking about the thought of finally departing from her service. The only issue being that he didn't want to depart from her.

"She'll be just fine," Commander Cody reassured him. He took notice of the way the sergeant didn't tear his gaze away from the senator, thinking it was a little out of character for a clone soldier. "Her new guards will relieve you of your duty as early as tomorrow," Commander Cody added.

"Tomorrow?" Hunter was pulled out of his train of thought. He turned his head to look directly at the commander now.

"Yes. Tomorrow," Cody said slowly, studying his surprised reaction cautiously. "Your squad can leave as soon as they come."

The sergeant lowered his gaze to stare down at the floor; his eyes flickering back and forth in conflict. His hands subconsciously flexed at his sides a few times. He wouldn't be able to go against his new orders; he was a soldier and soldiers follow order through.

"I...I...copy that," Hunter scrambled for words. He had never sounded more unsure of himself, which made the commander even more confused.

"Is something wrong?" Cody inquired. He took a single step forward, but the sergeant was quick to move away from him.

"No sir," Hunter replied cooly. He straightened his back in posture, standing at attention like soldiers do. "I'll be sure to report to the rest of the squad about our new orders."

With a quick salute, Hunter made his exit from the room and left the others behind to stay. He wandered through the long hallways of the facility, thoughts overrun in the midst of his head. He didn't know what to think, but he certainly didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. He just needed to opportunity to do it.

The dark blue night sky was almost never covered with the sparkled specks of white starlight given the amount of lights radiating from the city below. The water in the portholes shimmered by the glow of the bright colored lights coming from neon signs along the street. The soft sound of pattering rain fell over the entire stretch of the city, landing on closed windows and drenching everything in sight.

Besides the sergeant and the senator, the recovery room was empty once again. The soft beeping from the heart monitor became the only sound in the room with the occasional rumble of thunder coming from outside. A lamp beside the bed was flicked on and was the only source of light in the room.

At the given moment, Hunter was sitting in that same chair from earlier. His hand was clasped in her own in hopes of providing her some comfort that he was still beside her. His eyes scanned her face carefully, searching for the slightest sign of movement. But nothing happened.

An overwhelming surge of emotions began to swell in his chest, which had been threatening to burst over the past couple days. Hanging his head low, he couldn't hold it back any longer. The tears swelled in the corners of his eyes. He cried quietly to himself.

"I--I'm sorry," Hunter choked over his words. He held her hand so gently in fear of causing her any pain or discomfort. "I'm sorry...I wasn't there to protect you. I should have d--done more for you."

Lifting his head, Hunter's face had grown red from his own tears. They dripped down the length of his nose, falling into his lap. He had never felt this overcome with emotions before; he couldn't even remember the last time he cried.

"Y--You trusted me," Hunter continued. He spoke to her with an open heart. "And I let you down. For that, I am so sorry."

Slowly, Hunter took his hand out of her grasp. He rose to his own feet, towering over the side of the bed. He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, sniffling up the rest of them to the best of his ability.

"W-We ship out tomorrow. Your new escort will be here when you wake up," Hunter nodded. He fiddled with the gloves covering his hands. "So this will have to do for our goodbye."

With some hesitation, Hunter ended up leaning down over her. He pressed his lips against the crown of her head, still being mindful of those stitches that were still healing. He kissed her head sweetly, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to find this unsatisfying closure for himself. Drawing away from her, Hunter took one last glance over her features. He pulled away for final time and began walking away.

That was when it happened.

The sergeant froze in his place upon hearing the sound of the heart monitor spiking unexpectedly. He quickly spun around on his feet to face her again. His eyes watched the heart monitor resume beeping at the normal pace, but when his eyes fell on her figure, he saw her finger twitching at her side. He took a hesitant step towards her.

For a moment, the muscles in her face had contorted slightly. He wasn't sure if this meant she was in pain, if she was fighting, or if it was just uncontrollable reflexes. It didn't really matter though because he was by her side within a split second. He called her name softly in hopes of coaxing her back into a conscious state.

Finally, Y/n's eyes had fluttered open ever so slightly. The confusion was already starting to take over her mind because she didn't know where she was or who she was with. She tried sitting up in her place, but found very little strength to even lift herself up further on the pillows.

"Just relax. Don't strain yourself," Hunter's voice spoke from right beside her. He placed his hand on her shoulder, keeping her body back against the pillows.

Upon hearing that familiar voice, Y/n was able to turn her head to look directly at him. Though her eyes were heavily hooded, Y/n could make out his distinctive figure in the form of his tattoo and his red bandana. She lifted her hand to cup the side of his scruffy cheek and he closed his eyes to relish the feeling. Her lips tugged into a warm smile.

"Hunter," Y/n breathed softly.

"I'm right here," Hunter comforted her.

"I knew you'd save me."

During the early hours of the morning, the Bad Batch were working tirelessly to make final preparations before their departure in less than an hour. They packed all of their equipment away in the barracks, carrying it back to their ship and loading it all up.

Around that same time, the Coruscant Guard had arrived at the medical facility to relieve the sergeant of his nightly obligation of staying with the senator. He was quiet when dismissing himself from her company, leaving the room to rejoin his brothers at the ship.

The landing platform was rather chaotic and unorganized. While Tech was undergoing some last minute checks on the ship's log, Wrecker and Crosshair were tasked with loading the crates into the ship. Meanwhile, Hunter and Echo brought more things from the barracks and left them right outside the ship to be brought inside. And they had just got the last of their things together.

"Look who showed up," Echo let out a small huff of disbelief. His eyes looking off into the short distance of the platform.

When Hunter turned around in his place, he was a little more than surprised to see the senator herself being escorted by her new guards. Given the extent of her injuries, Y/n was confined to a wheelchair temporarily until her injuries were fully healed or until her strength returned. One of her guards was pushing her towards the ship, stopping only a short ways away.

"What are you doing here?" Hunter wondered with a curious smirk on his lips. He crossed his arms across the stretch of his chest.

"You didn't think I'd let you all leave without saying goodbye?" Y/n asked playfully. She smiled up at him just as the other members began to join beside him. "And...I just wanted to say thank you...to all of you," Y/n said while looking over each of them.

The Bad Batch had completed their mission objection of keeping the senator safe at all costs. They would continue to have a 100% success rate if that even mattered to them now. It was a different mission from all the others that they were used to, but sometimes, change can be a good thing.

One at a time, Y/n said her goodbyes to each respective clone in a memorable way. For Wrecker, he had knelt down beside her and gave her a gentle hug. He was still worried for her injuries, but the gesture still brought a smile to her face. With Tech, he only provided a firm handshake which was fitting for his non-emotional personality. For Echo, he saluted the senator in the same respective way he did when they first met each other.

For Crosshair, there was no difference between their first meeting and their final departure. His feelings of hatred towards her hadn't changed at all. He looked down at her with a blank face. But the senator ended up surprising him when she said:

"Thank you, Crosshair."

The word must have gotten out that he was the one who took out the assassin in the end. So, for their goodbye, the senator simply thanked him for his services despite knowing how much he hated her. She sent him a weak smile.

Finally, the only one left was the sergeant. He took his place right in front of her, dropping down onto a single knee. There was a brief moment of silence surrounding them. The two of them felt so overwhelmed with emotion that it was hard to find words to express themselves. And tears gathered in the corner of both of their eyes.

"So this is goodbye? I'll never see you again?" Y/n asked him. He saw how the tears began to stream down her face so he reached up to brush a few away with his thumb.

"No," Hunter shook his head gently. "If I remember correctly, I still have to take you to the beach."

Upon hearing this, Y/n breathed a small laugh which he ended up mirroring. She gazed at him with the brightest smile and with eyes that sparkled with love. Unbeknownst to the guards behind her, Y/n was able to take his hand in her own for a brief moment. She slipped him a small device, hoping that it went unnoticed by her guards.

"You've got a deal," Y/n smiled. He wrapped his fingers around the small circular device. He rose to his feet slowly and made sure to keep the device out of sight. He pocketed it swiftly. "Until next time, sarge."

Moving to the side, Hunter took a brief second to stand directly in front of one of her new guards. He stared at the clone trooper with a stern look in his eyes. He watched the guard straighten his back in posture slightly as if he was feeling the weight of his gaze and had grown nervous under it.

"Keep her safe," Hunter ordered. "At all costs."

"Y-Yes sir."

Satisfied by that answer, Hunter issued his departure from the platform. He began walking back towards the ship with his brothers beside him. They climbed the ramp slowly before closing the latch behind them.

Only a minute later, the engines of the ship activated with a swell of energy and power. The wings of the ship lowered to the side and the heavy vessel lifted off the surface of the platform. The landing gear headed back into their ports and the nose of the ship turned in the direction of the skyline.

The Marauder had just begun it's next journey, traveling to the next planet for a brand new mission. The Bad Batch ended up spending over three months on Coruscant, which is the longest they ever stayed in one place at a time.

With their leave, Y/n had handed the sergeant a hologram device as something to remember her by. It was just a simple hologram of herself, but it was something that he cherished deeply from that day forward. On the bottom of the device, Y/n also left her comm channel in case he ever wanted to reach out to her.

Over the course of the next two years, Hunter and Y/n called each other on numerous occasions when neither of them were busy with senate business or faraway missions. Those rare moments alone together reminded them of their time spent together, becoming one of the best pastimes during solitude.

As the war continued to wage across the galaxy, the demands for a sergeant and a senator were becoming more prominent. Their once regular calls suddenly dwindled into months of silence at a time. Despite this, their feelings towards one another never changed. Both of them secretly dreamed of what life would look like after the war, picturing the dream of a much-awaited reunion with one another. And something told them that it was good to have dreams.

EPILOGUE HERE

Taglist:

@leotatombs @justhavingsomefun1 @totally-not-your-babe @jedipoodoo @gyllord @roam-rs @totallyunidentified @redheadgirl @mrcaptainrex @whore-of-many-hot-men @graciexmarvel @qweenrogerina @arcsimper5 @queenofspades6 @cadihyo @jediknightjana @elthoughtzos @lokigirlszendaya @sleepycreativewriter @moonwrecked-blog @ravenclawbitch426 @waytoooldforthis78 @left-in-the-motel-bar @fic-force-99 @ayyyy-le-simp @swaggykermit

[astheforcewillsit]

The Most Tired (ao3 link) Summary:

The war has ended, with Order 66 somewhat averted. As the Republic picks up the pieces, Commander Fox deals with moving on. Or After the Chancellor is killed & Order 66 fails, Fox is unable to live alone due to his mental health. Here are moments where he navigates life with the one brother who volunteered first to care for him–Rex.   “Thire–he invited me to The 79s. I’m thinking about going,” Fox takes the empty seat across from Rex and sits down with his mug of caf. He downs it after his declaration. The worst of it is out, and Rex hasn’t chewed his head off yet. Not like he had at the beginning of their arrangement, when he’d felt Fox was still recklessly endangering himself.   Not when guilt had practically orbited off of the Captain like he was his own solar system. Fox tries not to think of that. Of the immediate end of the war, of Order 66 and Quinlan slicing his hand off as Fox failed (again) to resist an order.

It shouldn’t take as much effort for him to stand in front of Rex and tell him that he wants to go to the 79. But for some reason, it does. He finds himself as nervous as a cadet being dragged in front of his commanding officer after failing one drill too many. They used to joke that Rex’s ‘experience outranks everything’ inflated their youngest brother’s ego, made him feel invincible just because he got to be paired with the two most reckless Jedi in GAR. 

But it’s no joke now. At least not to Fox. Rex looks intimidating. He feels bigger than life. His experience has changed him, hallowed him almost. Being the former Captain to a one-time Sith Lord will do that, he supposes. To his relief though, Rex isn’t looking up at him. 

Instead he sits silently at the breakfast table, brown eyes climbing a mountain of datapads.  Finger scrolling through pages of information. Fox is familiar with some of their content. A page or two has passed over his desk, especially in his new role working beside Bail Organa in the Senate. 

Mentally, he names off what Rex must be looking at. 

Names of brothers who need funds. 

Relief for systems that need relief from the war. 

A fifth  summon to testify against former Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker–most likely to turn into the sixth after Rex refuses to answer it. 

In the soft hum of the morning light, he cannot help but notice Rex looks much older than he should. It bothers him–that the youngest of the batch looks like the oldest. The most tired. 

Acts like it too. With that reminder, Fox prepares himself. His fingers dig into sweaty palms. He breathes deeply into the Force, just like Quinlan had taught him months ago. Months before Order 66. Months before…

Fox steadies his beating heart. Inwardly he repeats his new mantra, You’re not in front of a senator. You’re not standing before the Chancellor. This is–

“Rex.” He clears his throat, attempting to calm the storm. 

The Captain–Commander–Rex stops what he’s doing. Honey eyes capture Fox’s own, though the sternness softens as Rex takes in his elder brother. For a moment, he looks young again. Excited to see his oldest sibling come downstairs to greet him in the morning. It’s almost domestic. 

It’s gone not a moment later. 

“Morning Fox. I thought you were still asleep, you usually don’t wake up this early. Not anymore at least.” He tries not to think of that as a reminder of how badly he’s fallen off. Tries to tell himself his brother meant no harm by it. “Good morning, Rex. I just…ah…” He starts off weak. Anxious. Apparently Rex catches on. “ Need something?” The younger one rescues him. “Um…yes. Thire commed me last night. Said he hadn’t seen more for a while and asked if I wanted to go out with him,” Fox clears his throat in a second attempt to steady his voice. Breathe. He reminds himself, just breathe. Fox notes that he has earned Rex’s full attention. The datapads are abandoned, and he can feel the full weight of the Captain’s gaze on him. 

It was unsettling after Fives, and it’s still unsettling now. Though to Rex’s credit, he tries not to look intimidating. But it’s evident he’s concerned and considering the request. 

“Thire–he invited me to The 79s. I’m thinking about going,” Fox takes the empty seat across from Rex and sits down with his mug of caf. He downs it after his declaration. 

The worst of it is out, and Rex hasn’t chewed his head off yet. Not like he had at the beginning of their arrangement, when he’d felt Fox was still recklessly endangering himself.  Not when guilt had practically orbited off of the Captain like he was his own solar system.

Fox tries not to think of that. 

Of the immediate end of the war, of Order 66 and Quinlan slicing his hand off as Fox failed ( again) to resist an order. It had shocked him at first, how three years of love and devotion had found its end at a blaster bullet and the sting of a lifesaver. But the war had taken it’s toll on them all—Quinlan was no exception. And the Jedi was just as confused as them–disoriented and terrified. 

Then he’d heard what Kenobi had done to Skywalker. And figured he got off easy with his robotic hand. 

Still, he hoped wherever Quinlan had run to, wherever the Jedi who had fled the Republic had run to after the darkest hour that was known as Order 66, were safe.

Post that incident, Fox had tried to function as a normal human being.

With his robotic hand, with his lost sense of purpose. With his brother’s who had abandoned him during the war—after Fives—not knowing how to approach him. Surprisingly, It had been Rex who had bridged the gap between them first. They—Cody, Wollffe, Bly—they were all waiting on Rex anyway. Just as they always had. Always considered Rex’s feelings over his own. Never once asked about how he felt after Fives died. Never asked why he’d kill a younger brother. Never asked about the maniac he was serving under. 

For some reason three Commanders couldn’t put their heads together to decide how to approach their own sibling, and had to wait for a Captain to make the move first. 

And so Rex had found him, alone, cleaning out his office after his position had been officially cut from the government. Another purpose taken from him. Another rug pulled from beneath his feet. The death of Palpatine had shed light on years of abuse faced specifically by the Coursecent Guard, and keeping clones in the position regardless of their personal feelings was not received well by the people or the Senate. Fox understood the sentiment, but he wished he had a choice. If left up to him, he would have died doing that job. And he planned to do just that. 

And so he had packed up what had been his life for the past three years, stuffing what little belongings he had into his box. He hadn’t even noticed Rex’s arrival. The man was  an ARC Trooper even when plain clothed. He hadn’t noticed the way the younger man had gravitated towards the near vacant desk, save for a lit data pad with a very long, very detailed note. A suicide note. 

When Fox had found Rex there, in the empty HQ, he was nearly knocked to his knees by the raw guilt and horror on Rex’s face. Quinlan had once explained to him what having the Force felt like. At the time, Fox did not think he could comprehend what it meant.

But in that small moment between he and Rex, in which the younger loosely held onto the data pad, a single tear rolling down his cheek, Fox finally understood. The sadness was suffocating. 

He supposes that’s why he’s here, in Rex’s home. Under the watchful eyes of the sometimes Captain—sometimes Commander of the 501 st .  He tries not to be humiliated that his youngest brother was chosen to watch him. But Wolffe and Cody are needed throughout the galaxy, as few other clones actively sign for military duty now given the choice.

And Bly…Bly’s still dealing with his own issues after Ayla. Sometimes, Fox thinks he should be the one under surveillance. 

“Thinking about going?” Rex calls him back to the present. 

“I’m going.” He affirms to himself as much as he does Rex. The Captain raises a brow. 

“You sure you’re ready for that? The last time you were at the 79s…” You were jumped by the 501st. It goes unsaid, but Force is it loud. “That was last time. You said I should go out more. Bail—Senator Organa says I should do more.” He tries caf again, to calm his nerves. There’s none left. Rex slides him his own mug.

“There’s going to be a new bill we’ll be debating later on this week. I’ve looked over it with Bail.” He mentions again,  his voice clipped, “I imagine we’ll be in session for the entire day if not more. Some members of the New Jedi Council will be there, so it’s going to be even longer.”

Rex chuckles, and Fox is happy that despite his anxiety, his brother can laugh, “The New Jedi Council? I wonder how long those younglings will even last. I think interim Jedi Council is more accurate, until the others return.” Fox doesn’t protest, though he doesn’t agree. They’re at least knights, to his understanding. And after the fiasco that was Order 66, he doubts the older Jedi will return. He doubts they even know about the chips, about what’s going on. But political disagreements are for the Senate floor. Not for conversations with his brother. 

He simply nods, and waits for his brother’s answer. 

He has worked this through his head, roleplayed it with his therapist. This shouldn't be hard. But waiting for Rex to pass his verdict is agony. 

“Alright. You don’t owe me an explanation. I just want to make sure you’re safe.” Rex runs a hand through his hair. It’s grown past standard regulations, and now a nest of blond curls sit atop of his head. He sighs. He acts much older than he should. It bothers Fox. 

 He’s tried to address it before, but Rex has more walls than Coursecent has layers. He doubts even Cody has managed to knock them down since the war began.

Though Fox tries when he can. 

“If it’s too much, just let me know. I’ll be in the area anyway.” Fox nods. He wants to ask what Rex will be doing next to the 79s at night, but decides against it.

“I’m glad you’re wanting something for yourself. I think that’s good.” Rex says with a smile, “And try not to drink, you don’t know what that does to your meds.”

Fox three years ago would have reminded Rex who was the eldest. But this Fox is just glad someone cares about him. Though to be honest, he has a lot of someones who care about him. 

He can’t wait to go to the 79s.

[enigmatist17]

I just found out it's Fox Day! :D

My love, my darling, my child this is for you!

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

"Come on come on come on! It's just some tape!"

"I'm moving as fast as I can!"

"Well, move faster!"

"Shut up shut up I've got it!"

"Everyone quiet!"

Commander Fox has been having quite the day, yawning as he side-stepped into the (much nicer) temporary office he'd been given, his usual broom closet having been destroyed during some heavy storming. However, the flash of color makes him freeze mid-step, and he has enough time to take in several things before there's movement.

"SURPRISE!"

So many vod have crowded in his office, strung up colored triangles taped up on his bare walls and the tiles covered up by tiny bits of colored something, everyone grinning at his obvious confusion.

"What are you all doing here?"

"We're here because..." Bly motions towards Cody and Wolffe, who unravel a (slightly) dented banner as the vod crow and nudge each other good-naturedly.

HAPPY DECANTING DAY FOX'IKA!!!

"The natborns call it a decanting day party!" Rex slung an arm around the surprised commander's shoulders with a hum, motioning for someone to start handing out food and drinks. Fox's desk is covered in various foods and drinks, and Ponds heads towards them with some caf. "The Guard helped us set up, and you've been given the night off to celebrate."

"We even got you the good caf General Windu gave you once." The commander can smell the drink he'd been dreaming about for months before he raises the cup to his lips, and can't help but smile.

"If I recall, I was decanted with about half of you here." He watches as vod mingle and laugh as alcohol starts being passed around, and Bacara leans forward in his seat.

"Alpha knows about you liking 10/10 as "your" day, so we thought to make it official!" Fox blinks as he blushes in slight embarrassment, and hurriedly sips his caf. "So, we just made it official!"

"I see." The paperwork Fox finally remembers he'd been holding gets shoved in a random stack, and Neyo seems to come out of nowhere with the spotchka he'd been thinking about.

"Drink." The normally stony commander is generous with his pouring, and Fox lets his shoulder sag with the release of his burdens. He knew the others always looked at how haggard and tired he was constantly, unasked questions burning that Fox couldn't bring himself to answer, so to be free of everything for once was something the commander was going to take full advantage of.

So they bring to drink.

And drink.

And drink.

Somewhere after the third bottle of anything alcoholic is downed, someone brings up an idea that gets Fox laughing in delight.

Let's take out the Chancellor!

It's a sight to behold as several very drunk commanders stumble through the halls of the Senate building, somehow cramming into the elevator and riding to the top. It's even more a sight when they all begin to chant about the Chancellor being a decanting day gift, the best gift anyone could have brought!

Said Chancellor is so confused when the gaggle of drunk men barge into his office, and open fire before he can even open his mouth.

Not a single shot misses, which is surprising for such a drunk crowd.

"He's got more alcohol!" Bly crows after the shooting stops, and with a round of whooping, the vod begin to party once more.

"This is the best decanting day ever!" Fox sagged against Wolffe and Thorn with a dopey grin, watching Ponds and Bacara stumble pass them to tackle a cackling Cody, their stolen helmets skittering across the floor as they dissolve into laughter. Bly is rummaging for another bottle at the (rather) spectacular bar for more alcohol, an amused Fordo keeping the man upright as they crow over the shiny bottles, Thire watching from the chair he's draped himself over. Neyo and Gree are sitting beside the windows with their half-empty glasses, Gree fiddling with his radio to play music, while Neyo made sure Rex didn't shoot out the glass he was currently pressed against, muttering something about flying.

It'll be chaotic in the days to come, but for now, Fox is going to celebrate and get drunk with his vod'ika, until he doesn't remember his own name.

Natborns certainly knew how to make a party.

-----------

End note I'm so glad I caught this, Fox became one of my favorites and I'm happy to contribute to my darling <3

[witchersmistress]

My little darling

Hello my darlings! here is another kinky prompt request from the lovely @livesinfantasyland,

Summary: Walter the grumpy bear that he is, has to go interview a witness at the last place on earth hed like to be in let alone with a rookie involved

word count: 1.4k

Trigger warning: lap dance, oral male recieveing, bodily fluids, blow jobs, praise kink, daddy kink

  

Walters pov

I am so ready for this fucking night to be over. Slamming my hand on the desk causing my entire desk to rattle. I search for my phone and flip it over, it is a quarter to 11, you're at work by now so i wont have you to go home to. “Marshall” my chief yelled “ My office, now” huffing I pushed back from my desk and stood making my way into his office. “Yes sir, you wanted to see me?” he motioned for me to close the door, shutting the door with my foot. Sitting in the chair in front of me. “ I need your help on the case involving the dead politician. He had a regular spot he liked to frequent and we have evidence that he was there the night he died.” i cocked an eyebrow, “But…” he dropped the folder on his desk with a heavy sigh “You are the only detective i feel comfortable sending here” i grabbed the file and opened it.

Inside was what information we had on the politician, his name was Alex O’Connell age 35. Stuff about his career and how he was next in line to be the senator for Minnesota. I snorted at those as I perused the rest of the file. The lab found some particulate evidence on his lap that they were able to identify as strawberry body glitter, the same type of body glitter that is often used  by the girls at the Showroom. I looked at him “Really sir? Why me?” he let out a loud laugh “Because Marshall you are unfazed by anything. Take Maxwell with you, he could use some entertainment  "I rolled my eyes and stood from my spot “Say no more sir, on my way "I walked out of his office as he continued to laugh. 

Grabbing an empty paper cup i throw it at the back of Ressler’s head, he spun around “What the fuck Marshall” grabbing my coat and phone, “Thats for turning my night into a longer one dickhead. Maxwell with me. Now” he scrambled around at his desk and ran to catch up with me. “Where are we going” he asked when he finally climbed into the car, starting her up “ We are going to the Showroom”  his face blanched and his eyes widened. If he wasn't already seated I'm pretty sure he would have fallen down. Putting the car in drive we took off.

We arrived at the club shortly after 11: 30 pm. Climbing out of the car, and around the side into the building. It was dark and the music was a low thumping beat, the floors rattled with the vibrations of the speakers. Maxwell looked like a deer in headlights as we approached a group of ladies. They were sitting on a stage, there were  4 of them, the redhead in the center of the group, she had her hair pulled back, curled slightly at the end. She had on this beautiful oriental blue lingerie set, with black fishnet thigh highs and black high heels. She tossed her hair back and looked over at us as we approached. She flashed a wicked grin as we showed our badges. “Good evening ladies, I’m detective Walter Marshall and this is my partner Chris Maxwell.” I looked at him, his hands shaking as he held up his badge for them to see. Rolling my eyes i turned back to their leader, “We are looking for the particular girl that uses this stuff” pulling the evidence bag from the folder revealing the small container of strawberry body glitter “ It is called Strawberry Lust Dust” The redhead girl smirked and uncrossed her legs and left them slightly parted “That would be me doll” she stood and sauntered over.

She went to Maxwell first, it was dark here but it wasn't hard to guess that  he was blushing harder than a cherry tomato. “Come with me gentlemen '' she purred as she grabbed Maxwell's tie and pulled him along behind her. I let out at chuckle as we walked down a hallway past a velvet curtain to a private area, she pulled Maxwell to a stop and pushed him back into a chair and summoned me with a come hither gesture and pushed me into the chair before her “That’ll be $60'' maxwell happily handed her the money as she giggled wickedly and began to dance, she straddled my lap, and pushed her breast into my face and giggled “ Ms. I am here to talk about Alex O’Connell.." I trailed off as she climbed off my lap and started swaying her hips to the beat of the music. “ You're not so interested in talking now are you, baby?” she wiggled her eyebrows at me in a seductive manner as she crouched, opening her legs so we could see her run her hands from below the belt up to her neck as she stood and whipped her hair around.

 Clearing my throat, “ Alex O’Connell, he was next in line to be the senator may have been a client of yours ” she turned to face me still swaying her hips “Yea Alex he is a regular what about him?” She put one leg between my thighs and bent over, shaking her ample cleavage in my face, her body shimmering in the low light. Standing back up she continued to dance “We found evidence that you gave him a lap dance the night that he died” i spoke.

“He died? Whoa” she sat down on my thigh and released a heavy breath.”  gave him a couple of dances the Thursday night, he was pretty drunk. He got in a fight and Marcus threw him  both out.” she looked at me to maxwell and back to me “Wait am i a suspect because all i do i gyrate and that has never killed anyone” Maxwell stifled a laugh, i cleared my throat “ Did he get into a fight with the bouncers?” she was tapping her nails on her heel “ No it was another politician, blonde hair, Joey something” Maxwell shot up from his seat “ Joe Evans, he lied to me, we should go talk to him” i nodded and he pointed to the girl on my lap “Then ask her to get up” she smiled wickedly “I think thats going to be kinda awkward isnt it now baby doll” i huffed a laugh “That's my gun” she giggled wickedly “Maxwell wait for me outside” he was hesitant to go “Now Maxwell” he took off without a second glance.

 She stood from my lap and took a few steps back “Amelia” I growled “Come here now” she shook her head at me “Make me Daddy” . She called me from her spot. “Baby girl now” she sauntered towards me, I gripped her by her hips and pulled her onto my lap, grabbing her jaw and forcing her to look at me. “ I should spank you for that stunt you pulled, your lucky Maxwell has no idea who you are” she pouted at me with those blood red lips “ Fuck, your lips would looks so good wrapped around my cock right now” he gave me a shy smile, leaning back, i pulled out my throbbing cock and began to stroke myself “Now dance for me little one and when i tell you, you better suck down every last drop do you understand 2me?” she nodded and began to dance for me again.

She climbed that pole and danced like she owned that room. Just as I could feel my balls tighten, she climbed off the stage and purposefully bent over and showed me her wet panties. “Get over here now” she turned round and took my cock into her mouth. I wrapped her hair around my fist and the other one around her throat. “Such a good fucking girl” she hummed and started working me with her mouth, doing that thing with her tongue, she sent me over the edge. She continued to swallow me down till I dragged her up my body and devoured her mouth with mine. Pulling away, as she caught her breath “ I’m not done with you yet little one, I’ll see you soon” “Yes sir” she giggled and climbed to her feet giving me a quick kiss on my cheek before she sauntered away to fix the lipstick smeared all over her face. Stopping at the gentlemen's room getting off what I could , I made my way to my truck where Maxwell was waiting for me. Starting the truck and getting ready to leave, I looked at the time 12:30 am. Grabbing my phone i sent her a quick text “Be ready my little darling, you have yet to receive proper punishment”

[darkmaga-retard]

I can't believe these actually happened.

The Vigilant Fox

Aug 20, 2024

The 2024 Democratic National Convention (DNC) kicked off tonight, and it went even worse than you'd expect. What was supposed to be a moment of unity and inspiration quickly unraveled into a series of awkward, cringe-worthy moments.

From Biden’s teleprompter struggles to a low-energy turnout and even CNN taking unexpected jabs at the Democrats, the night was a chaotic display of a party trying to keep it together. Here are the top ten moments that made the DNC's first night one to remember—for all the wrong reasons.

#10 - Jen Psaki inadvertently drops a joke on herself.

To a HALF-EMPTY room: “Trump and Vance speak to a tiny, tiny portion of the public. And that's a striking thing.”

Look at the room, Jen!

#9 - Republican exposes the truth about Biden's exit on CNN.

“Biden is known in his career as being one of the best eulogy givers at funerals. And now they’re making him come and give his own career eulogy.”

“I mean, he was bullied out of this race after 52 years of service to the Democratic Party. And it wasn’t all about his age ... He had to be dragged out by the fingernails. He’s not here in a happy moment, OK?”

“I know this yarn that’s being spun in this hall that he was popular and selfless and handing on. No, no, no. It is the opposite, and everybody knows it.”

#8 - Joe Biden battles the teleprompter and loses.

"Women are now without electrical... not allowed, excuse me, not without electoral (long pause) or political power."

(Biden gives up)

While you're here, don't forget to subscribe to this page for more posts like this one and weekly news roundups each Sunday.Subscribe

#7 - Whoopsie: Michigan governor accidentally EMASCULATES Tim Walz on MSNBC

GRETCHEN WHITMER: “I love Tim Walz. So, Tim, my daughters were saying to me, you know, 'He's like a male version of YOU, Mom.' And I thought that was so funny.”

#6 - Jill Biden says she watched Sleepy Joe "dig deep into his soul and decide to no longer seek re-election."

Yes, that's totally how it went down.

Credit: Trump War Room

#5 - AOC receives a standing ovation for saying a whole lot of nothing.

#4 - Democrat tries starting a "We love Joe" chant, and it's as pathetic as you would expect.

#3 - Joe Biden says with a straight face: "We finally beat Big Pharma!" after mandating government-paid COVID shots for millions of Americans.

#2 - Some random state senator says that Trump "could even weaponize the Department of Justice to go after his political opponents!"

Whoopsie: that's exactly what Kamala Harris and the Democrats have done to President Trump.

Credit: Trump War Room

#1 - Jake Tapper crushes Joe Biden on live TV, and he doesn't even realize it.

"That fear about [the Democrats'] nominee speaking is gone."

“Joe Biden who would come out and they [Democrats] would sit on the edge of their seat and hope that he didn't say something meandering or off message or addled."

"She [Kamala] is not somebody that in a situation like this is going to cause Democrats that tension that we used to feel in the media, all Americans, when the president would come out and speak."

[a-fluffer-nutter]

What's Going On With You?

A/N - Hey @crazy-as-a-jaybird I was told that Santa may have missed your chimney this year. Well thankfully, I'm one of his elves and I am here to give your fic at long last! Sorry things had fallen through with Santa, but I am here to lighten your day with some Hamilton fluff (and some sads, but shush). As always, thank you @squealing-santa for the event and for @hypahticklish for organizing everything and letting me be the pinch hitter for this gift! I madly appreciate it! Anyways, onto the fic!

Word Count: 1,961

            “How’d you fuck up this time?” Hamilton all but purred as Burr walked past his seat, looking as dejected as possible, an older dog that’s been passed over at the shelter for the umpteenth time. Hamilton would never admit that Burr’s face made him feel a tinge of sadness; the poor man had clearly just gone through some shit, but Burr had been actively trying to make Hamilton’s life a living hell for years. Of course, Hamilton was going to have to have a little bit of fun kicking the man while he was down. “Washington isn’t a fan of stupid ideas.”

            “Shut up, Hamilton,” Burr snapped, but there was little malice behind his words. He just sounded tired. His eyes were dim, hands in his pockets, as he just walked past his rival.

            Hamilton visibly flinched as Burr brushed past him. Clearly something bad must have happened to Burr; the man could never resist the urge to speak his mind.

            Hamilton trailed him, walking down the hall full of doors and down the steps. Just as Burr was reaching from the front door, Hamilton grabbed his wrist and dragged him into another room which served as the main chamber for senate meetings. The last meeting had been adjourned hours before, so the room was empty and dark, the only light was the soon to be setting sun radiating from the two windows.

            “Hamilton! What is the meaning of this?” Burr growled as he was pushed into one of the long wooden benches, his back laying flat on the hard wood. As he struggled to get up, like a flipped turtle, Hamilton took a seat on his legs, ignoring how uncomfortable the position was for them both.

            “What is going on with you?” Hamilton asked, though it sounded more like a statement. He was annoyed, not one to be ignored.

            “What is going on with you?” Burr countered, waving his arms to gesture at Hamilton’s position. “And why the hell do you care about how I feel? It’s not like I matter to you. Washington chose you, go be his right hand man. Let me go and be nothing to you, to him.”

            Hamilton’s expression lightened; his snarl slipped into a frown.

            “What?” His voice was soft, quiet.

            Burr turned his head, staring at the back of the bench as he bit his lip.

            “It doesn’t matter,” He whispered, the condensation of his breath moistening the polished wood his nose was pressed into. “Please, let me go.”

            Without a word, Hamilton obliged. Burr’s joints popped as he got up, trapping a groan in his throat so Hamilton wouldn’t hear. He left the room, closing the door gently, and stood on the other side for a minute, expecting to be followed.

            “I’m sorry,” Burr mumbled under his breath as he continued on, leaving the building with his eyes made of glass.

            “I’m sorry,” Hamilton mumbled under his breath as he stood alone in the darkening room. For one of the only times in his life, Hamilton did not know what to do.

***

            A month had passed without incident. If Burr saw Hamilton anywhere, he would put his head down and keep walking. Thankfully, these encounters were limited. Hamilton became busy with his writings as Burr was busying himself with other endeavors while in the senate, one of which was taking care of Theodosia. It was cathartic, enjoying every second he got to spend with his daughter, but some days he would look at her beautiful face of ten years and have the sudden urge to cry.

            One night, after a particularly grueling senate meeting that had him and Samuel Johnston, the senator from North Carolina, in a heated yelling match. Luckily, most had turned out well for Burr, but he was still exhausted. All he wanted to do was rest, but it seemed that God had other plans for him that night.

            “Burr?” A voice sounded behind him, freezing him in his tracks. Burr’s hands shook, realizing that as he had been lost in his thoughts, he had somehow managed to walk right passed Hamilton without noticing. Burr stood there in silence, body rigid. “Burr, we need to talk.”

            “We do.”

            After an awkwardly silent walk, Burr brought Hamilton back to his house. Theodosia greeted her father with a hug and a polite curtsey to the other man.

            “Mr. Hamilton, sir,” Theodosia said with a fake, polite smile. She knew this man had upset her father, somehow, but her father hadn’t said much on the matter. And instead of lingering, Theodosia excused herself to her room and left the two men to their own devices.

            They were silent for quite some time, eyes locked as Burr stared Hamilton down as he sat in the center of the couch, hands clasped on his lap.

            “I’m sorry,” Hamilton said first. He always had to be first. “I overstepped. I should have left you alone.”

            “No, I was the one that overacted. I was upset so I got defensive,” Burr stared at the floor as he spoke. “I guess, I just didn’t realize you cared.”

            “Why wouldn’t I?” Hamilton countered; his eyes bore into Burr’s slumped figure. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t care.”

            “Hmm.”

            “I guess I didn’t realize you were a dumbass.”

            Burr’s jaw slumped as he gaped at the man across from him, though he was able to spot the mischievous glint in the man’s eyes, and quickly pursed his lips together into the faintest of smiles.

            “I care about your feelings, even if you’re the biggest pain in my ass,” Hamilton crossed his arms, smirking as he leaned back into the couch. “Besides, you are absolutely no fun when you’re sad.”

            “Is that so?”

            “Of course! Who else am I going to pester? Washington can only take so much of my banter.”

            Burr let out a soft chuckle, dropping his eyes to the floor in embarrassment.

            “Was that a laugh I heard?” Hamilton mused, his pitch rising in excitement.

            Burr felt his cheeks heat up. He didn’t know why, but Hamilton’s excitement always had this effect on him. It was contagious how lit up Hamilton could get about most things. He hadn’t the slightest idea what Hamilton was intending, but he bit his lip to hold back a smile.

            “You’re not answering me,” Hamilton huffed. “I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself.”

            Before Burr could react, Hamilton had leaped from the couch and had his hands all over him.

            It had been quite some time since they last did this. Just after the war ended, Hamilton and his rag tag team of misfits would attempt to “cheer up” Burr whenever they saw him. Most of the time, Burr hadn’t been upset. However, he wore a natural frown when he walked, which was enough to incite violence, specifically from Hamilton and Laurens. This activity had slowed to a stop once the band broke up. Lafayette went back to France, Mulligan had gone back into tailoring, and Laurens had unfortunately been killed just before the war was officially ended. The latter had hurt Hamilton the most, thus ended most of his playful interactions with anyone outside his household.

            Burr didn’t hold back his laughter at all. He didn’t feel the need. It had been years, and frankly, Burr didn’t mind this. It felt normal. Nostalgic.

            “Ah, there it is,” Hamilton beamed, listening to Burr’s rich belly laugh that he would only do when his ribs were being attacked. This was Hamilton’s go to spot when on the attack, getting the best results the quickest. It may not have been Burr’s worst spot, but it yielded in the best response.

            “You know, I’ve missed this,” Hamilton mused, both teasing and being sincere. “And, since you’re not fighting back, it seems you have too.”

            Burr didn’t protest; he really was having a good time. This had been one of the worst years of his life and he’s been in a shit mood for some time, on top of anxiety around his encounter with Hamilton a month ago. The fingers skittering across his rib cage felt like a temporary release from the monsters in his mind. This he could handle with ease. That is, until Hamilton decided to go for the kill.

            “Alex!” Burr nearly screeched, dropping all formalities as Hamilton began lightly squeezing his lower stomach, the small patch of fat being extra sensitive. Burr knew Hamilton was going to finish his attack soon. Hamilton knew that Burr couldn’t handle this spot being teased for too long.

            “I don’t think you’ve called me that since the eighties,” Hamilton wore a sly smile, giggling to himself. Hamilton was the sort of person to laugh along with the person he was tickling, especially if their laughter was as contagious as Burr’s. It wasn’t his fault that Burr’s laugh was loud and giggly, a stark contrast to his typical stoic persona.

            “Stop, please,” Burr finally let out, holding out for a good five minutes. It was fun, in a way, but it had gotten to be too much.

            “Damn, you really let me have some fun there,” Hamilton teased, now standing in front of Burr, hands behind his back as he bounced on his toes. Burr took a minute to respond, having to release the final residual huffs of mirth and uncurl himself into a proper sitting position.

            “I guess I did,” Burr replied, smile still wide on his face. “Now, I think it would be fair if you repaid the favor.”

            “Oh, I-I,” Hamilton stammered, his face reddening. Burr knew this was a go ahead.

            Standing up, Burr practically lifted Hamilton and walked him across the room to the couch. Gently plopping him down onto the sofa, Burr straddled the younger man and began to dance his fingers across the entirety of Hamilton’s torso.

            “Burr!” Hamilton squealed in delight, grabbing Burr’s wrists, but didn’t try to push them away.

            Burr knew that Hamilton loved this, always had. He had always suspected that Hamilton liked the attention, the touch. His childhood had been rough, so Burr assumed that this quirk had stemmed from this. He, of course, had never wanted to press. There was absolutely nothing wrong with this somewhat charming quirk, so he never questioned.

            “Still as ticklish as ever, huh?” Burr let out a low chuckle as he fluttered his fingers on either side of Hamilton’s neck. Burr knew he wouldn’t respond, Hamilton’s neck being a weak point that always sent him into hysterical giggles. “Hm, you’re lucky I’ve never done this in front of the other senators. I’m sure they would have a kick out of this.”

            “Asshole,” Hamilton replied, now able to speak as Burr’s fingers danced along his lower ribs. His ability to speak would soon be ripped away from him, as Burr’s response to his crude remark was to crawl his fingers downward along his sides, to knead into his hips.

            “Burr!” Hamilton’s voice was as loud as it could possibly be, his laughter booming as Burr attacked his most sensitive spot. This specific laugh always made Burr join in, as the laugh itself was adorably funny to listen to, along with it being very apparent that Hamilton was having a delightful time.

            As Burr went to town on Hamilton’s hips, Theodosia quietly laughed to herself, peering out from behind her door, with only a partly obstructed view of the living room. She had been lingering there for a while, having heard her father’s deep laugh, and had to investigate. It had been years since she had heard him really laugh, long before her mother died. Burr looked much younger, relaxed.

            “Thank you,” Theodosia whispered under her breath, letting out a sigh as she smiled to herself.

[mikerickson]

Lifting my self-imposed embargo because I'm weird and don't like posting on social media when I'm on vacation.

I'm at a point in my life where I can financially justify at least one international vacation a year and figured I'd finally cross off the Great White North from the bucket list. I'd never been and Andrew hadn't been back in a very long time despite having dual citizenship. Anyways, just got back, and a bullet-point breakdown of the highlights is after the cut:

I wish every international flight was under two hours; EWR to YQB was almost comically fast.

Had my first French conversation with the very nice lady at the car rental counter for about ten minutes. She complemented my pronunciation and grammar, and wished me luck on the trip. Every French interaction after this point was a linguistic battle for my life that I lost (Toutes les Québecois parlent trop vite pour moi).

We had some time to kill before the hotel check-in so we went to a mall in the suburbs just so we'd have a food court with some options. Turns out shopping malls are not only alive and well but fucking thriving in Canada. I haven't seen a mall that packed with people outside of December since the nineties.

Quebec City was very dense with old architecture which made it feel very European. It was also apparently built on a fucking cliff with streets at 60 degree inclines, which also felt very European.

Took a tour of the Quebec Parliament building (beautiful structure), and apparently they used to be bicameral, but voted to abolish their Senate in the 60's and they were the last Canadian province to do so. What a concept.

It's one thing to know on paper that Canada has about 1/8th of the population of the US, but I was not prepared for just how empty the countryside felt. For someone like me, living in the northeast my whole life, the idea that cities in close proximity to each other not having continuous stretches of suburbs and other smaller cities connecting them was completely foreign.

On the highways I kept thinking I was speeding because I'd look down at the dashboard and see the number "100", but 100 km/h is only like 62 mph, which is nothing.

Similarly, I kept getting sticker shock every time I spent money, and kept having to remind myself that $1 CAD was like $0.73 USD while we were there.

It was really cool to see that the complex for the 1976 Montreal Olympics is still maintained and actively used (we stumbled upon a skateboarding competition and I did not feel cool enough to be in that crowd). Sometimes you hear horror stories about Olympic villages bankrupting cities and falling into disuse afterwards, but that's definitely not the case here.

Montreal is apparently known for their local bagel culture, but their bagels have enormous holes in the middle of them, so you have less cross-sectional area for spreads and they don't really work for sandwiches. My faith in NJ/NY bagel superiority remains intact.

Every city we went to had dedicated bike lane infrastructure and young families with kids, but Montreal definitely had the most of both. Tons of parks, too. Simultaneously felt like a larger and smaller city than I was expecting.

Poutine is okay, but I wasn't prepared for the cheese to squeak when you bite into it. Very odd sensation.

The main Parliament building for the federal government in Ottawa (Centre Block) is stunning, but closed; apparently it's been under renovation since 2019 and isn't expected to be reopened until 2032! In the meantime, we took a tour of where the lower House of Commons is currently meeting. We learned that their electoral districts are routinely re-drafted by a non-partisan committee and that they occasionally add new seats to the legislature to account for changes in population. I had to seethe jealously in silence for the rest of the tour.

Also toured their Supreme Court building (way more Art Deco than I was expecting). We learned that there's currently a vacancy because a Justice recently retired because they're required to step down when they turn 75. I had to seethe jealously in silence for the rest of the tour.

Every single city had automatic/self-serve parking garages where you didn't have to interact with a human (which I was very thankful for), but in Ottawa they have this little jingle that the machine sings at you when you take your ticket, which I found very amusing.

On the drive to Toronto we took a quick detour into the Thousand Islands (yes, like the salad dressing) and visited Boldt Castle, which is technically in New York state. After seeing it in practice, the idea of living on your own private island is more appealing than ever.

Toronto feels like an exercise in what happens when a nation's largest city is allowed to grow without being hemmed in by ridiculous geography. As someone who grew up in NYC, this is another concept foreign to me. The GPS did get very tripped up navigating a particularly gnarly interchange however.

Toured the Ontario Legislative Assembly (yet another beautiful building). At this point we were really good at asking tour guides stuff like, "so if happens, do you guys have a plan?" To which they would reply, "well, no, but let's just hope that never happens!"

I now understand why the Great Lakes are effectively freshwater inland seas; you really cannot see the other shore, and Lake Ontario isn't even the biggest one!

YYC to EWR was under an hour. That's definitely going to spoil me for future trips going forward.

[clonemando]

Waxer*Boil Month Week 1: Hobbies

In order to better prepare the clones for their new lives as civilians, Commander Fox got support from different senators and artists to put on a hobby convention. Waxer and Boil attend to try to figure out what works best for them and make a few new friends along the way.

Written for @waxerboilmonth and posted on AO3 here.

(image is public domain from pixabay)

Boil clenched his hands as he stepped into the auditorium, looking around for the exits and potential escapes first as Waxer dragged him along toward the refreshment table that had been set up against the back wall. He knew he was being difficult, but even if the majority of the room was filled with the familiar chatter of clones, there were enough natborns there to set him on edge. He blinked at Waxer when a cup was shoved into his hands, forcing him to release some of the tension that had been building. 

“You’ll like this caff. Cody told me that Senators Chuchi, Amidala and Organa were really kind to sponsor this event for us and that the caff is Alderaani. There are cookies from Pantora and the little sweets are from Naboo. They all also pitched in for the supplies we’ll be using and got all the people who will be leading the different exhibits to come,” Waxer explained with a little smile that helped ease a little more tension away. 

Boil didn’t like crowds. He trusted Waxer and the other brothers present would do the right thing in case of an emergency, but it felt wrong to not be in proper lines and the lack of order twisted his stomach with stress. Announcements and events on Kamino were never this chaotic. 

He tried to focus on the back of Waxer’s head as his best friend led the way toward some well positioned seats that gave them a good view of the stage as well as easy access to an exit. “What exactly are we doing here again?” he asked and Waxer turned back to grin at him.

“The flier I got from Hound said it was a Hobby Expo. We start off here to get instructions and more detailed information on the exhibit halls and then, once the talking is done, we’ll be able to go walk around different stands where different people will be sharing how to do different activities. I asked Cody about it once I saw Fox was the one who came up with the idea, and he said that Fox likes to do some weird craft where you tie a bunch of knots together and you can make blankets out of it. Plus, a lot of the Guard wanted to learn, and I guess many of the activities can be used to sell things and earn credits? So it could give some brothers who don’t know what they want to do now the war is over some sort of idea for a job,” he said with a shrug and settled down with his own cup of caff. Boil settled beside him to wait for everything to begin. 

Eventually, a voice announced that they were going to start and for anyone still standing to find their seats, and Fox actually walked out onto the stage to give everyone the rundown on the event. He went into more detail, but it was mostly like Waxer had said. The activities and vendors were all situated in different rooms based on what planet they were most popular on, and maps would be available at tables all over to help everyone navigate. 

There were also food stalls throughout, and the Guard would be available if anyone needed help. The point, it seemed, was that many clones would soon be moving to new planets and homes. Fox had thought that it was wise to give them all a source of information on what sort of things were popular to do in those new homes and what to expect once they got there, rather than just having everyone tossed out blind. Many senators (particularly the ones who helped pass the Clones Rights act in the first place) agreed. 

Once the announcements were done, Boil and Waxer tossed their empty caff containers in a bin and got their maps from a helpful Guard shiny who was handing them out by the doors to the hall. 

“We should go to the Ryloth rooms! We can learn what sort of things Numa might like and maybe even make something for her!” Waxer suggested while rocking on his heels, looking like he was ready to sprint his way across the building already. 

Boil put a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place, “We have all day, we should probably start with the Galaxy Favorites hall and work our way around. That one is apparently showing things that many worlds have in common, so it would be the most helpful to learn even if we are planning on eventually going to Ryloth,” he offered and felt a little bad that it stole a little of Waxer’s enthusiasm.

Waxer’s nose scrunched up a little as he thought for a moment before nodding,“You’re right. We can save Ryloth for last so we can spend the most time there before we leave,” he suggested, and Boil nodded, fine with that plan. 

With their course decided, they started making their way through the crowds of brothers who were likewise discussing the best choices for themselves to enter the hall marked Galaxy Favorites. Inside there were stalls set up in rows, many of which had seats and signs explaining what they were showing off, and most had a little shop stall beside them offering materials that could be bought if someone liked the activity. That way, they had what they needed to do the craft at home. Waxer immediately dragged him to a booth that had a fuzzy harnessed creature bouncing around its owner’s legs to try to greet everyone who came close enough. 

“Hello! This is Sparky, she’s a tribble, please don’t mind her, she’s friendly. Do you want to learn how to needle-felt today?” the Pantoran running the booth asked them. Boil’s lips twitched up knowing that Waxer had just wanted to pet the extremely fuzzy creature more than anything else. 

Realizing she was talking to them Waxer looked up from making friends with the living fluff-ball, “Sure… what is needle felting? Is it, like, a medical thing?” he asked. The woman laughed a little while shaking her head but showed them some items she had made with the technique and explained how it worked. Other clones had stopped to join in and listen. Finally, all of them were set up at several rows of tables with little packets that would allow them to try making a simple project. 

Boil liked the repetitive motions of stabbing the needles into the wisps of fluff. He didn’t mind that it was something that seemed to take a good amount of time if you wanted things clean looking and smooth. 

Waxer quickly got frustrated when his needles kept breaking and he clearly felt bad for using the extras provided when not everyone seemed to be having the same trouble as him. 

“I don’t think this activity is right for us, but thank you for letting us try,” Boil told the woman kindly while Waxer cheered up since he got to pet the tribble again. 

She waved off their apology “That’s alright, keep the little kit in case you ever want to try again. Thank you for stopping by!” she said, and they started walking to find what they wanted to try next. 

The tie-dye booth was very popular, so they tried that one and got some new shirts out of it, but Boil didn’t really see that as something they’d use often. He wasn’t surprised that many of the booths that offered different forms of painting were all flooded with interested clones since that was one of the things they did all get to have some sort of experience in. 

They ran into Fox himself at the next booth they went to. Boil ended up enjoying crochet a lot more than he had expected. Enough so that, when Fox pointed out he could make Waxer hats to cover his cold ears and head, Boil did buy some hooks and a few balls of yarn to take with him. 

When they finally got to the Ryloth section, they both were already carrying a few bags. They stopped to try some of the food being offered first and to wave down one of the droids that were available to take their purchases to be delivered to the apartments – where most of the clones were currently being housed – so they didn’t have to keep carrying so much around.

Now empty armed and fed, they started to go through the booths about the planet they wanted to return to with a renewed energy. They started at a booth that was about the different colors and types of clay that could be found on Ryloth and how they were best used to make jewelry or pottery. 

Waxer sat down at the station there determined to make a mug that was shaped like his bucket while Boil decided to use the opportunity to make something a little more practical. He focused on the steps offered to make a few plates they’d be able to eat off once glazed and baked. 

Rika, the Twi’lek in charge of the booth, was happy to help them both and chat about their plans. Boil blushed when she cooed over Waxer’s admission that they wanted to find Numa again. 

Brightening she had them stay put for a moment while she vanished behind her booth “Hold on, I have something for you!” she squeaked before returning with a box containing a turquoise dish set that was carefully set in cloth to keep everything safe from breaking. 

“On Ryloth it’s common to give friends gifts when they move to a new home to help welcome them. Dishes and other items that will help make their first days in the new home easier are the most common. I hope you find your little sister again and find a good home once you move,” she explained and didn’t give them a choice as the set was placed in Waxer’s arms. 

Boil felt as flustered as Waxer looked as they accepted the gift and Rika promised to send their projects to their apartment once they had been fired. 

The rest of the booths were also very helpful, teaching them about some of the livestock and what sort of things could be made from different leathers or some of the plants on Ryloth and which were good for dyes for painting and how others were used to make clothing.

Boil was surprised that so many people were happy to help them and excited to share their culture and home so easily. It left him feeling warm and bright, even if he felt like he had just run back to back campaigns at the same time. 

By the time they made it to the end, their arms were even more loaded with materials and gifts and more than a few com codes from the people running the booths who wanted updates on if they found Numa and offers of help with their Ryl if they needed it.

Waxer was even dragging his feet at this point, “I might sleep for a month after this. I think more was stuffed into my brain than when we went through flash training,” he whined as they finally got out of the building and hailed a taxi to go back to their apartment. 

“It was actually really fun though. You were right about coming here,” Boil offered.

Waxer beamed, “Of course I was. I’m always right,” He laughed and bumped their arms together the same way they’d normally tap vambraces. 

Getting into the cab, Boil felt for the first time fully hopeful for their chances in their new lives. If even half the people of Ryloth were as kind as the people they had met here, things wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as he had imagined, and they would have help if they needed it. They would finally have a home.