#wait is the fuckin anchor on th right hand

[sapphire-weapon]

thirst ask time! 👀 How does Leon move from the date part to the bed part? favorite position? how does he announce that he's gonna... u know... tell me everything!!!

you know what. If you guys are mining my headcanons for fic writing purposes, you better fuckin show me these fics when you're done LMAO I'm just sayin. Don't hold out on me, man.

anyway.

That first question? IS A GREAT QUESTION. I DON'T HAVE AN ANSWER READY LMAO

Thinking about it, Leon's very much a spontaneous, "in the moment" kind of guy when it comes to his interactions with people. When Krauser taught him to "go with your gut; don't think" it was probably easy for him to master that lesson, because he was already kind of in that mentality. I would probably say that Leon waits for an opening to present itself and doesn't bother at all if one doesn't.

Like -- Leon's not the kind of guy to invite someone back to his place and then bust out the wine and dim the lights and try to seduce them while they're sitting too close to each other on the couch. He's just not. If he takes someone back to his place, he's already successfully made the move to kiss them -- and before he's even pulled a full inch out of that kiss, the question, "Do you want to go somewhere more private?" comes out in a low, quiet voice -- and there's absolutely no question as to what he's offering or what his intentions are.

And if the answer is no, he just takes a full step back and says, "Next time, then" already knowing that there won't be a next time.

Maybe there doesn't even have to be a kiss first -- maybe the sexual tension is just so incredibly thick that there's absolutely no mistaking it, so the question he poses doesn't at all seem out of place.

But, either way -- once he successfully brings someone back home, he closes the front door, toes off his shoes, and probably pulls out some line like "Do you want a drink... or would you rather just go right upstairs?"

And if you cringed at that, well -- I said he was spontaneous. I didn't say he was smooth. He's not. As much as fandom would like to think of him as a suave James Bond type, he's anything but. James Bond has charisma and sex appeal. Leon Kennedy has depression and nerve damage. It's different. It just hits different. (For some reason, my favorite line from the Uncharted novel springs to mind here: "Suave is overrated and very last century. I'm rugged and adorably awkward.")

For your second question --

Leon's favorite position probably changes here and there depending on his mood -- but he's still a Good Boy protector archetype with an inherently romantic nature and a very likely conservative upbringing, and he does tend to prefer missionary. He likes to press his forehead against his partner's during sex -- or even bury the bridge of his nose in the crook of his partner's neck and hold his partner's hand down against the mattress, weaving his fingers with theirs.

But like, make no mistake. Leon is no Clive Rosfield. Clive defaults to making love, but Leon fucks. And, very regularly, Leon fucks hard. He will not hesitate to bend someone over and take them from behind if the moment calls for it (and it frequently does) -- and, if some girl wants to climb on top and ride him into the sunset, he's more than happy to help her anchor herself for balance or guide her hips if needed. He just prefers to finish in missionary, if he can.

And, while we're on the subject of finishing, question number three --

I don't believe this man has ever said the words "I'm coming" or "I'm gonna come" in his life. I just don't believe that. For as much of a cringefest as he can be, this goes back to my whole "Leon probably shies away from talking too dirty/avoids talking like a porn star" thing.

If someone's going down on him, he'll announce, "I'm getting close" as a friendly warning -- just in case whoever he's with doesn't want him to finish just yet, or if they're not particularly keen on taking a shot in the mouth -- but nothing more explicit than that. Maybe he'll pepper in a "You're so fucking good at this" with it, but. That's it.

I think it's probably very easy to know when Leon's getting close to orgasm, because the timbre of his voice changes (usually his voice goes higher, but if it's the kind of sex that's rough and hot and he's completely in control, his voice gets deeper, and this boy growls) and his breathing kicks up and he starts to get very liberal with dropping f-bombs.

But if the mood hits just right, and he's going nice and slow, and his partner's arms and legs are wrapped around him, you might catch him whispering against his partner's parted lips, between fevered breaths, the words: "Here I come -- here I come."

[majkatten]

wish you could tint the clothes you wear around skyhold

[babbushka]

Change of Plan

Lawyer!Kylo x Reader

5k ; Mostly fluff. CW: Rivals/enemies, possessive behavior, name-calling (but in a playful way), NSFW (PIV, dirty talk, bathtub sex)

Available on AO3

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

Of all the days to cancel a date on, Valentine’s Day really had to be the worst.

Not that you had been dating that guy or anything – what did people consider dating these days anyway? – you’d only seen him a couple times. Work made things hard, made dating hard, and as much as you hated to admit it, part of you was really looking forward to spending the holiday with someone.

So when the text came through that he’s so sorry but something came up, any and all excitement you had had went straight down the toilet. 

Which is how you find yourself with your arms crossed over your chest, making your way down the sidewalk at three in the afternoon, doing some sort of walk of shame. Of course you were on the way to the meet-up spot when you got the text, wanting to be there early to compose yourself and get those butterflies in your stomach to calm the fuck down. If you didn’t care so much about punctuality, you might be in bed still right now, nursing your feelings with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

If you didn’t care so much, you might be in the safe warm comfort of your apartment, instead of being so exposed like this. The thought only becomes more prevalent in your mind when those butterflies turn to anchors in your stomach, your mood only sinking further, as a familiar black car pulls up to you. 

“Hey!” The window rolls down, and you hold your breath and will yourself not to look so obviously just-gotten-dumped-on-valentines-day-even-though-we-weren’t-even-dating.

“What the fuck do you want, Kylo?” You sigh, trying not to shiver. February in Manhattan wasn’t exceptionally freezing but you had definitely dressed for aesthetics over practicality – just another thing to make you feel like shit about it all.

Kylo, as ever, looks perfectly handsome. 

It’s infuriating.

“Get in the car.” He calls to you from the backseat, the driver going at a slow enough pace to match your speed.

You don’t stop walking, even though the offer is tempting. What was he even doing there in your part of town, didn’t he have the case to prepare for? Shaking your head, you wave him off.

“No, I – I want to walk.” You swallow around the sound of your voice breaking, hating the way your eyes are betraying you. Kylo hears it anyway, and you brace yourself for him to make fun of you for it, but the taunting teasing mocking jokes never come.

Instead, he rolls his eyes at your stubbornness, and says something to his driver because the car stops then, and Kylo opens the car door, standing outside it and gesturing for you to come in. You notice that he’s dressed exceptionally well; sporting one of his nicer suits, winter light from the sun reflecting off his shiny black Allen Edmonds.

“The forecast says rain, you’ll get soaked.” He argues, and you hate him, hate how he’s right.

Steeling yourself with a big deep breath – because you are not going to cry in front of Kylo fucking Ren – you make your way over to him, barely able to look him in the eye as you slide into the backseat of his car. Happily, Kylo sits himself nice and close to you, closes the door, and at once, the driver pulls back onto the main road, matching speed with the other vehicles.

Kylo opens his mouth, and you smack a hand over it before he can even take a breath in, leveling him with a dark glare and threatening, “Before you say anything, I want you to know that I cannot handle any criticism in this moment.”

“I wasn’t planning on criticizing you.” Kylo shakes his face a little to get your hand to fall off his mouth, and you aren’t so sure you believe him.

“Then what are you here for?”

“I’m taking you out.”

Blinking, you stare at him. Was this some kind of joke? But the more you look at him, the more it makes sense. Belatedly, you realize he must have been on his way to your house, because he was driving the same direction you were walking. The nice suit, the shined shoes, the freshly done hair…hell he had even trimmed up his goatee.

“Excuse me?” Is all you can ask, wondering what this is, what kind of angle he’s coming at you with. Because with Kylo, there’s always an angle.

He shrugs, scratches at a spot underneath his chin and casts a glance down to his lap, and you for a moment think he might be…nervous. Well, sincerity certainly wasn’t the angle you had been expecting.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, and people tend to go out to celebrate.” Kylo is distracting with the way he talks, hands gesturing all over, masking a flash of vulnerability in his tone with sarcasm as he continues, “And I figured if you’re the only woman in New York City who isn’t out celebrating, you’re going to be a real fuckin’ bitch on Monday when we go to trial, so, here I am.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re terrible at being romantic?” You mutter, your heart pounding in your chest so loud that you’re sure he can hear it.

Cracking a wide grin, he taps the underside of your chin with his knuckles, before reaching forward to grab a big bouquet of red roses from the front passenger seat, careful not to disturb the petals as he pulls them over the center console and hands them to you.

“Look I even brought you flowers and everything – not to be romantic don’t go getting heads over heels or anything; some schmuck was giving them away for free down the road, I figured you’d like them better than them ending up in the garbage.” Kylo’s mouth runs faster than your mind can process it as you’re presented with the flowers, and if you hadn’t sworn to hate him for all eternity, you might have leaned in to kiss him right there.

“You figured right.” You smile, trying to remember when the last time anyone bought you flowers that wasn’t your secretary congratulating you on another case won, and fully accept the idea of a night out with Kylo by asking, “So, where are we going?”

With that go ahead, the driver speeds up a little more, makes a couple right turns. Kylo doesn’t tell you, just slings an arm around your shoulders and keeps his plan a secret. Those damned butterflies are back, and wouldn’t you know it they’re better than ever, and you can’t help but think that you’re lucky you were already dressed. It’s then that you evaluate what it is that you’re actually wearing.

On the date that never was, it was supposed to just be some wine tasting thing, so you had put on a beautiful dress that showed off all your favorite assets, as it were, and a pair of shoes that looked nice, but weren’t really meant for any sort of outdoor activity. Hoping beyond hope that Kylo wasn’t an outdoorsy sort of fella, you let yourself lean into him as the car zips through the Manhattan streets.

That hope slowly starts to die, once Central Park starts to come into view, and you realize that whatever he’s decided for his surprise is definitely not going to be conducive to these heels.

“Don’t worry, we’re not running or anything.” Kylo senses your mild stress, and with that, lies straight to you as the car slows down to a halt, and he grabs your hand and pulls you in a light jog into the park.

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

Central Park is, as it always tends to be, bustling with people. It’s not quite late enough in the day, or cold enough outside for it to be a more secluded spot – if anything in Manhattan ever is. You clutch the bouquet of roses to your chest, having forgotten to leave them in the car, as Kylo forgets to give you back your hand, the both of you chuckling and out of breath.

“Destination number one.” Kylo gestures grandly to a bench, when he stops jogging after a few minutes, once you’re deep inside Shakespeare Garden, making you give him a funny look.

“There’s more than one?” You ask, wondering just how involved this whole evening was going to be.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” Kylo replies with a cheeky grin, before bringing you closer to the bench.

When he said this was the first destination, you had thought he was referring to the park, but as you come closer, you recognize this bench as the famed Whisper Bench, mostly because there’s a couple of people already trading secrets there. It’s made entirely out of concrete, twenty feet long and curled on each end.

Kylo waits politely until they leave, and then he’s leading you by the hand to one side of the bench, jogging over to the other end.

Like the people before you, you each bend over and cup your hands around your mouth.

“You want to go first?” You whisper, wondering if it’s really true, that your words will travel across the bench and reach him.

You don’t have to wonder though, not for very long anyway, because soon after his deep baritone is shooting across the bench, making your cheeks heat with something too close to affection for you to ignore it, especially when his big secret is, “You look very beautiful tonight.”

“You’re not half bad either.” You send back to him, making him grin with all of his crooked teeth.

There are people waiting for you to be finished, so Kylo comes back around the other side of the bench, and breaks out into a sprint the second he has a hold of your hand once more, making you yelp and laugh as he tugs you along to the next spot on his list.

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

From 79th street, he brings you to 64th, where you’re faced with the charming little Chess & Checkers House. It’s in the children’s district, but thankfully there aren’t too many children around. The octagonal building is surrounded by twenty-four permanent tables that have inlaid boards.

“Put the flowers there so no one takes the table.” Kylo instructs, and you do as he says, along for the ride.

“We’re playing chess?” Your eyes widen happily, and Kylo immediately recoils in a cartoonish way, shaking his head and making you sigh with exasperation.

“No fucking way, you’d kick my ass in a heartbeat.” He says, making those butterflies go crazy once again. Kylo walks up to the window of the little building, “We’re playing something I have a more even playing field on – one checkers set please.”

“Oh you’re so on.” You grin, taking him up on his challenge.

You set up the table, giving him black and keeping red for yourself. After three games, it becomes incredibly evident very early on, that Kylo has no idea how to play checkers. Taunting him the entire time – because really, who doesn’t know how to play checkers? – you collect your wins easily and smugly.

It felt good to win, that’s the whole reason you became a lawyer in the first place after all, but it felt especially good to win against your arch rival. The fourth game ends when you eventually take over the board, using a few strategic moves that have him completely pissed off.

“You can’t just do that!” He protests, the vein in his neck jumping out, as you jump over three of his pieces and turn your piece into a queen for the second time in a row.

“Of course I can! Don’t be such a sore loser.” You roll your eyes, but he’s not having it.

“You’re a fucking cheater I don’t know why I thought this would be a good idea.” Kylo takes all the pieces off the board and shoves them into the small box that they came in, angrily muttering to himself, “Making up rules as you go along and all this bullshit.”

“I won fair and square and you know it. Consider it a prologue for our case on Monday.” You rest your chin in your hand, watching with satisfaction as he scoffs and grumbles all the way back to the small octagonal house to return the pieces with the shame of losing four games in a row.

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

Not far away at all down 65th street is the next stop on Kylo’s route, and you almost don’t believe that this is where he means to take you, when you stop your giggly jogging in front of the carousel. It’s getting pretty dark outside, between the rain forecast and the short winter days, which only lets the lights from inside the carousel shine brighter.

The golden inviting warmth of the lights blink and pulse along with music that plays, and standing there in line, with this big bouquet of roses, half of which have lost the majority of their petals just from all your running around, makes you feel like you’re in some kind of romcom.

Kylo lets you go in front of him, a hand on your waist as you take the big step up, immediately seeking out the perfect horse to claim as your own. You know that there’s two-seater options, but nothing beats the classic design of a galloping horse.

“Aren’t you going to sit?” You ask him once the carousel begins to spin, and he remains standing next to you, one hand on a golden pole to steady himself, the other resting gently on your thigh.

“And break one of these things? I don’t think so. The last thing I need is for the park to sue me.” He jokes, and you laugh at that, my my how would the tables have turned in that case.

“You made a good call, it’s chilly up here.” The movement of the carousel has the wind biting at your face, and at once your hands come across your chest to warm up the tops of your arms through your dress.

“I was wondering why the fuck you didn’t bring a coat.” Kylo immediately begins to fuss with you so you don’t go falling off the damn horse.

“I hadn’t planned on being outside today!” You defend yourself and your poor choice of attire as the carousel horse moves up and down, making it harder and harder for Kylo to get his hands on you, in turn making the two of you laugh.

“Yeah yeah, a likely story I’m sure – take my jacket.” He gives up trying to warm you up himself, and instead shucks off the thick wool jacket and drapes it around your shoulders.

It’s an intimate gesture, one that you’re not so sure how to take. You and Kylo hated one another, really loathed each other’s existence. Every day you thought about him and got a headache, and you knew he felt the same way. He had said as much, even. Kylo was a ruthless, terrible, awful, handsome, funny, charming…oh sonofabitch.

“But…then you’ll be cold.” You whisper, watching as the twinkling lights shine and shimmer in his big brown eyes, wondering when he got so close.

“So?” Kylo whispers back, holding a hand out for you to take when the carousel comes to a halt.

With his jacket around your shoulders, you don’t hesitate to take that hand, once again conveniently forgetting to let go of it even when both of your feet are firmly planted on the ground.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, once you’re both off the carousel and are walking a little less purposefully, just meandering down the park.

“I could go for some hot chocolate if there’s a place around.” You appreciate the question, finding that you don’t want the evening to end just yet. Not yet, not when you’re having so much fun.

Kylo must be thinking the very same, because his face lights up, and you can practically see the gears turning around and around in his head as he nods, “I know just the spot.”

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

People in the park were so smart, you decide as a vendor hands you one of those eco-friendly paper cups filled nearly to the brim with piping hot cocoa. Big marshmallows float gently and melt steadily as you take a loud sip and thank the man while Kylo pays. How the hell Kylo knew this guy would be here, you don’t know, but knowing Kylo, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had the guy’s number on speed dial or something.

It’s quiet, in this little spot of the park. As it gets darker and colder, more people start to head back to their own homes. You know too that realistically, you will have to go back to your apartment as well, so you take small, deliberate sips of your cocoa, hoping to draw out the time left.

Kylo is quiet, sipping on his cocoa too. You wonder if he’s thinking all the same things, if he’s dragging it out so that he doesn’t have to say goodbye yet either. You wonder where his driver is, what that poor sap is doing while you and Kylo dance around each other like this.

He keeps stealing glances at you, and you keep pretending to ignore them. Yes the sun has officially gone down beyond the skyline, and yes you’re probably colder than you should be comfortable with, even with his jacket around your arms, comically too large for you. Yes the flowers have all but wilted completely from the wind and the running, and yes your feet are killing you.

But you don’t want it to end, not yet.

Never in a million years did you think you’d have so much fun with Kylo of all people – never in a million years did you think you’d be so glad to have a date cancel on you. Who the hell needed a wine tasting anyway? You knew what wines you liked and didn’t like. Even though you were both well into adulthood, being with Kylo tonight made you feel like a kid again, in that sense that you hadn’t had this kind of fun in a long time.

It is at that moment, that the sky opens up completely, and rain begins to fall in freezing cold sheets, all at once. Shouting out of surprise, the two of you are shocked, and it’s all you can do to not drop the cocoa and somehow freeze and burn yourself simultaneously.

“Shit, let’s get out of here!” Kylo breaks the silence by saying, and you agree at once, the two of you running running running through the trail, looking for a place to take some shelter.

In the dark, it’s hard to find such a place, so Kylo cuts through a shortcut path that he knows, that has you popping out on the other side of the park, through a big gate and onto the street. No more than a few seconds go by, before his car pulls up, and Kylo practically yanks the door open, pushing you in quickly and climbing in behind you.

The two of you exchange glances, soaked to the bone, and burst out laughing, shivering and trying to warm your hands by the heater. The car seems too small then, seems like there’s no space for the both of you. You’re acutely aware of how his leg is pressing up against your own, how his bicep nudges yours, how his face is practically right up against yours, as you both turn towards one another to get near the heater.

“What did you have in mind now?” You whisper, and you’re not sure, but you think that you can see him swallow nervously.

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

When Kylo’s car pulls up outside the Baccarat, you really wish that the rain hadn’t ruined both of your outfits. No one seems to mind the two of you dripping on the floor of the lobby, as Kylo exudes all the confidence of New York City’s top prosecutor, but you certainly wish that you looked less like a drowned rat.

A key is slid across the counter, and into the elevators you and Kylo go, stealing little glances back and forth, looking away shyly when you’re caught. Eventually, the doors open again, and it’s a short walk to one of the most beautiful suites you’ve ever seen.

“You don’t get to say I’m not romantic ever again.” Kylo smirks, and you’d smack him for that if you weren’t still taking everything in.

Not only is the room beautiful just because it’s a luxury hotel, but Kylo must have gotten some sort of romance Valentine’s Day package, because the room is completely filled with tasteful and elegant décor.

On a silver bar cart that’s been wheeled into the sitting area of the room, there’s a bucket of champagne and crystal glasses. Gourmet chocolates in a satin box sit next to it, as does a small wrapped present that you’re dying to open at some point. Cashmere robes are laid out neatly on the massive bed, and large spherical rose bouquets are placed all over the surfaces, complete with rose petals leading to the bed from the room’s front door.

“Bubble bath?” Kylo offers, and you give him a knowing smile, grateful to both be warm, and to be naked with him.

His body never fails to make your eyes wander, you think. Between how hard he works and antagonizing you, you wonder when he ever has the time to work out, because surely he must work out. Kylo’s solid and strong in a way that makes you feel absolutely primal, and as he helps you step into the steaming water of the bathtub, you don’t think you’ve ever felt more safe.

“We have a five-course dinner coming.” Kylo murmurs softly as he settles in behind you, pulling your back to lean against his chest as he grazes his lips against your ear, “And breakfast in bed tomorrow, among other things.”  

“What would you have done if I had plans?” You ask as you chuckle and lean more fully against him, scooping up some of the thick frothy bubbles and blowing them into the air.

“I would have convinced you to ditch them.” Kylo says right away, making you roll your eyes.

“You’re so smug."

“I think I’ve earned it.”

You can’t argue with him on that, as much as you love arguing with him. Kylo kisses along your shoulder, up up up to the edge of your jaw, your cheek, making his way to your temple as your bodies soak in the hot water of the tub and you get the chance to simply relax and be together.

“You know, I almost had plans.” You bring up softly, the sting of rejection not hurting so badly anymore. In fact, you pretty much forgot about the date that never was, and you’re not so sure why you’re bringing it up now. Maybe because you can admit that this was a better Valentine’s Day than you could have ever hoped for.  

“I do know.” Kylo splashes his hand in the water for a little while, before dropping the unexpected admission of, “I asked him to cancel.”

Water sloshes over the side of the tub with the speed at which you turn to shoot your eyebrows up at him, mouth dropping open in surprise.

“What? Really? Why?” The demanding questions fall from your lips at once, the thoughts in your head coming to a screeching halt.

“I haven’t been planning this night for ages for some nobody in copyright law to come in and fuck it up.” Kylo has no hint of regret in his voice, and that catches you up. “Are you mad?”

Instead of answering him, you lean in and wrap your arms around his neck, your lips crashing onto his. It’s possessive, to a degree that you should be mad about, but…but you’re just not. In fact, you feel the complete opposite of mad, you feel relieved. Kylo wasn’t just taking you out on some pity date, he wasn’t just trying to get you to not be such a bitch on Monday, no he had planned this out.

For weeks, possibly even a month, to get a reservation like this, Kylo had planned to surprise you. It was incredibly sweet, so as you kiss him hard and slip your tongue into his mouth, as his hands smooth around your back, cradle the base of your skull, hold you close, no – no you’re not mad.

Needing to be closer to him, you straddle his lap, as the kisses turn deeper, more passionate. Kylo’s hand tangles through your hair and crushes you to him, soft groans and grunts spilling out of his throat. Chest heaving as you gulp down breaths, you gasp as your nipples brush against his pecs, and stiffen at the contact. Kylo swallows down the sound, nips at your lips, gets them swollen and kiss-bitten.

“Fuck me?” You ask breathlessly, and Kylo grins with all those teeth of his again, and you let him manhandle your legs to better support yourself on either side of his thick waist.

“Sit on my cock baby, let me do the hard work.” He encourages, and you moan as you do just that.

The hot water helps relax you, but you’re not nearly stretched enough to take him in one fell swoop, so you let your head tip back, mouth open as you moan and slide down onto his cock inch by inch, hands bracing on his chest, letting gravity help.

“Goddamn you’re big, Kylo.” You moan, and he puffs up with pride in a way that you regret feeding his ego, but not really.

“You can take it, you’ve done it before pretty thing.” He’s focused, focused on making you feel good, and he’s good at it.

Kylo lets one of his hands slip down to rub at your clit just enough to get your thighs trembling, legs spreading to sink further down onto his cock, pulling out the sweetest whines and moans out of you. He sits up against the wall of the tub, one hand on your hip holding you steady as he rubs his fingers against you under the water, and that’s a good thing because when he does finally bottom out inside of you, you slip on the floor of the tub a little.

“I’ve got you,” he assures you, leaning forward to press kisses all across your breasts, smothering praise into your flesh, “Good girl, just relax for me.”

It’s hard to relax when he feels so fucking good, and you tell him as much, making him chuckle. But then he’s planting his feet and lifting his hips, fucking his cock up into you, and you can’t tell him much of anything at all.

“Oh fuck,” You sigh happily, eyes rolling back into your head as you ride him, “Yes – yesyesyes Kylo -- !”

“Did you – fuck keep squeezing my cock baby – did you really fucking think you’d have a good time with whatever his name is?” Kylo asks darkly, possessively, as he thrusts into you with a rhythm that has you gripping the side of the tub, body rocking back and forth, covered in bubbles that stick and pop all over you.

“No,” You whine, “But dammit you haven’t spoken to me since last – oh! Oh yes, yes please Kylo.”

He’s managed to find your gspot like this, and fucks up against it with each thrust of his cock, the head pressing and rubbing against it back and forth and back and forth, making your eyes roll back into your head, your toes curling under the water.

“Just because I didn’t tell you – this pussy is so tight holy shit -- I was taking you out doesn’t mean I wasn’t planning on it.” Kylo says, and you don’t even know what the fuck he’s talking about anymore, especially as he latches his mouth to your throat and sucks bruises and marks into your flesh.

“Well – Ah! – well next time warn a fucking woman, would you?” You swat at his arm, your thighs working to bounce on his cock, sweat and steam curling around you, making your bodies stick to one another as the both of your hands slip and slide all over, wanting to touch and pinch and grab.

His cock spears through you in the most delicious way, your cunt throbs and pulses around it, the moans and gasps and sighs and grunts of pleasure sing through your bodies. You and Kylo don’t have sex often – but every time it’s like this, every time it makes you wonder how you could do anything else in the world, other than get fucked by him.

“If I – fuck baby, fuckfuckfuck – if I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” He grunts, and that’s all the warning that you get before he’s coming.

You can feel the hot load of it spreading through your body, and you whine, desperate to come too, digging your nails into the muscle of his shoulder as he fucks you through his own orgasm. You’re so close, just on the precipice of bliss, just a little longer, a little more – and then he’s dropping a hand to your clit once again, and that’s enough to send you over the edge.

“You’re such an asshole.” Resting your head on his chest, you press a kiss to the sweaty line between his pecs, and melt against him as your orgasm ripples and shakes through you.

Kylo being the most insufferable man on the planet, only tucks some of your hair behind your ear and presses a kiss to the top of your head. His hands trace patterns against your back under the water, and there’s a distinctly teasing sort of softness in his words, the kind where you can practically hear the smug smile in his voice, as he wishes you a, “Happy valentine’s day sweetheart.”

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

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

Tagging some pals! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag  @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions  @direnightshade  @reyloaddict55  @thembohux  @kylorenswhxre  @sunflowersinthesnow  @babayagakeanu  @safarigirlsp  @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks  @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief  @materialisthicc  @drake-bells-waxed-penis @dutchiepie @slut-for-harri  @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa 

[fairyjeff]

Multi Level Murdering || Nicodemus & Jeff

Et tu, Karen? 

Content Warning: Murder

@bountybossier

It was advised that Nicodemus stay in the house. He promptly ignored that advice and said fuck it, he was going to do it live. It was better to distract himself with some finding some fucking Facebook mommy blogger than sitting and listening to the ocean lap at the walls. Even with hunter physiology, his nose still hurt like a son of a bitch, two accompanying black eyes the perfect accessory. The night did well enough to cover it as he approached Dell’s. The guy outside looked enough like a Jeff that he offered a short wave. “Howdy. Jeff, right? You got an address for Karen or somethin’?”

Jeff was leaning against his car, waiting for the bounty hunter to show up. He was really concerned about this stupid middle aged woman now. Karen. Hadn’t posted anything on her stupid mommy blogger facebook page. Hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her dumbass ex-husband either. When Nic finally rolled up, though, Jeff wondered if he shouldn’t just contact the police. “What the fuck happened to your face?” He asked, bluntly. “You alright? Must have been some fuckin’ fight,” Jeff pushed off his car. “Yeah, I got an address. Should help. I think it’s her sister’s place though.”

Immediately and to the detriment on his face, Nicodemus frowned. “Some fuckin’ asshole suckerpunched me on the beach yesterday. I was tryin’ to take a nap or some shit.” Was it yesterday? What fucking does what it right then? The doctor and Erin had been there. When was that? Oh well. It didn’t matter. He straightened up and pocketed his rough hands. “Anyhow, that’s a better address than no address.” His eyes narrowed down the street, into the pitch darkness. Fuck, he should probably say something. “Drivin’ or walkin’ distance?”

“What the fuck? I hope you fucking punched him out.” Jeff scoffed. God, and people said that Boston was rude? White Crest, Maine had no competition. He shook his head. “It’s by the beach, some nice ass waterfront house. But even if it weren’t I’d say we should drive anyway, this darkness shit is fucking weird, man. And dangerous.” Jeff would swear he kept seeing shit the night. But he pushed off his car, unlocking it. “Get in, I’ll drive us. Do we have a plan for when we get there? I don’t really know how this is supposed to fuckin’ work.”

“Nah, he fuckin’ ran before I could,” Nicodemus muttered, eyes downcast as he lamented the potential of a sandy brawl. The promise of a beachfront house made him both wary and excited. Why, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was that urge to be near the water again. A weird urge to just sit and stare. He shook his head loose of that anchoring and grunted. “Yeah, fair point. Shit’s been fucky out here.” He rounded to the passenger and sat, reminding himself that seatbelts existed. “Knock on the door, ask a couple questions. We’re just concerned citizens anyway and hell, you know her. That’s gotta stand for somethin’. Ain’t gonna do nothin’ crazy.”

“Fucking dickbag,” Jeff said, disgusted as he turned the car on and pulled out of his parking space. “Somethings fucking weird with this town, man.” And that was saying something becasue Jeff was pretty sure that he was one of the fucking weird things in this town. But ever since he got here it was raining fish, cursed ass coins, mimes running rampant, and now an endless night had fallen over White Crest. “I am a concerned citizen. I mean, she used to come every fuckin’ friday. Shit ain’t normal,” Jeff shook his head and pulled off onto the road that would lead downwards to the beach houses. “Fuck me, I can’t see shit. She said something about blue shutters - look for 609. On the mailboxes or somethin’.”

“Fucking dickbag is right,” Nicodemus agreed. As Jeff talked, the hunter looked at him. Between his head and his broken ass senses, everything felt off. He felt off. Like he was watching himself from a different window. But he tapped a finger against his thigh and brought himself back, wound the cord of sensibility around his fist and tugged himself down as Jeff drove. “Nah, yeah, I gotcha. Nothin’ here is fuckin’ right.” Once they stopped, he stepped out of the car and reached for a heavy flashlight inside his jacket. Clicking it on, he swept it over the house numbers. 615. 613. 611. 609. There it was. Nic called over to Jeff and waved him over. “Got it.” The house was quiet. The hunter tilted his head. All he could hear was the ocean behind it. That compelled him to move up the front steps. “I’m gonna just...fuckin’ knock, alright?” He did as he said and the door opened as he did. He shot Jeff a confused look before he shined the light into the open house. A smear of something dark led away from the door and towards the back. The blood smelled like...blood. The smell of saltwater was too strong to determine anything else. “Yeah...think you were right to be worried there.”

Jeff pulled up into Karen’s driveway, and hopped out, closing the door to his car as he followed Nic up the walkway, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets to protect from the cold. His eyes narrowed as he looked back at Nic with a shrug. “What the fuck -” Jeff said, aloud, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and switching on the flash light. Jeff automatically slipped past Nic, pushing through the entry way to look around. He wished being a fucking fairy meant he had something useful - like night vision, or laser eyes, or wings taht actually fucking worked. “Hey! Karen,” he barked, shining light around. There was a dark puddle of something on the ground near the overturned couch. “Nic?” He called over his shoulder. “I think we might have to callthe fucking - what the hell!” Before he could finish his sentence, something small and round bounced towards him. Smoke surrounded him and he swatted at it, wildly feeling the the wall for - ah! A switch! “Nic, what the hell -” Jeff went to look at Nic, before he realized that he was standing there, like an idiot, with blue and black fucking butterfly wings on his back. What? He hadn’t lifted the glamor. “Uh - look, I can fucking explain -” Except he didn’t get a chance too, becasue some small woman lunged at him. Karen?! Jeff dodged out of the way, the iron knife grazing his forearm. “Ow! Karen! What the hell! No! Stop!” Except Karen lunged again, an angry yell coming from her. Warden. Had this all been a trap. Jeff wasn’t sticking around to find out, and immediately turned on his heel and started running out the back doors to the beach by the water. Maybe he could lose her in the darkness. “WHAT THE FUCK KAREN?!”

Nicodemus knelt down and poked at the blood as Jeff’s flashlight kicked on. He kept his flashlight on hand as he looked and traced the blood toward the kitchen. When the other man spoke to him, he picked his head up and squinted. As soon as the smoke hit, he knew what this was. Dispellate. They were in the house of a warden. The sight of blue wings filled his dark vision as he shone his light on Jeff. “Yeah, you’re fae, I don’t give a sh--” Footsteps. Light. Wardens were always lighter on their feet than slayers and hunters. Their prey was harder to catch. The woman lunged at Jeff and Nic followed the iron knife as it cut through the air, damn near cut through Jeff. Nicodemus was up on hit feet and moving, following Jeff as Karen tore off after him. “Karen, what the fuck? I get you’re a goddamn warden but he makes your fuckin’ margaritas! The fuck is wrong with you?” He stepped out and stared into the sea, a dark expanse in the distance. It looked peaceful. It looked like a grave. Blood and iron. Salt and sea. The hunter blinked and slowed his pace to a methodical step, shoulders dropped and jaw tight. The very way he got when a bounty was getting near. In the dark, Nic saw her clearly. Saw the blood on Jeff’s arm clearer. The sea pulled in closer. By a misstep, Karen was closer to the water and the hunter crashed into her like a freight train. “Gn'th teeth ymg' ephailllln'gha bloody, Karen.” He grabbed Karen by the hair and pulled her into the water, snapped her away harshly from Jeff and his bright wings.

“What! The! Ever! Living! Fucking! Fuck! Is! Fucking! Going! On!” Jeff bellowed. He was pretty fucking fast, thankfully, but Karen seemed to be a lot faster than he originally thought when he was stuffing her in ubers after too many margaritias. “No, no, not the wings! Literally anything but the fucking wings!” Oh, she’d start with those first, and rip them off, he heard her yell. Honestly, Jeff had never really felt this sort of betrayal. What the fuck? The semi-frozen sand had slowed him a little, but he was lucky Nic was there because he pulled Karen away the second before she managed to actually stab him. God his fucking arm hurt. That knife had to be made of iron. The cut was inflamed and a little swollen  and he was sure it was going to fucking need stitches He would be eating his words to that doctor on the internet now. Cussing, he looked over as Nic dragged her into the water. “Nic?” He said. He wasn’t stopping. “Hey! Nic! Nic! What the fuck are you doing?!”

Jeff’s loud and vulgar confusion didn’t compel Nicodemus away from Karen. He could feel her hair tug and she swung the knife around on him. The blade went only an inch into his shoulder before he headbutted her back, his already fucked nose splitting open again. He ignored it. She was quicker but he hit harder. “She tried to kill you, Jeff. She’s a goddamn warden. She doesn’t give a shit about your martinis,” he said, eerily calm. Entirely unaware that he didn’t quite seem like just a bounty hunter. “H' epgoka l' fuckin' gn'thor.” He wasn’t even sure he had said anything to Jeff. Maybe he had just thought it. The only motion he felt was the moon-pulled beat of water against his flexed arms and Karen’s thrashing. The blood on his face and the blood falling into the water didn’t phase him. Karen’s thrashing slowed as he pushed her head further into the sand, tightened his fist around her throat until his fingers almost touched. She slowed. Stopped. Nicodemus blinked. Looked from the sea to Jeff. “Jeff, what the fuck?” He stumbled out of the water and spat out seawater. “That was Karen, right? Baby blogger, gross fuckin’ margarita Karen? Karen Dickwell?” She wasn’t moving. “Ah, shit.”

Jeff stayed on the shore, panting heavily as he watched the scene before him unfold, frozen in place. His wings twitched in a sudden anxiety and anticipation. PArt of him, as Karen’s head was shoved under the water, thought she fucking deserved it. She tried to fucking kill him! After he gave a shit about her. What the fuck - and she would kill others like him and Deirdre as well. Like his father. He didn’t feel badly about that. But as Nic’s eerily calm voice crept back to him, as Nic asked him what the fuck was going on, he stumbled forward, boots getting wet in the sand to look at the body. “What the fuck was that?” Jeff asked, confused and slightly disgusted. In a moment, his wings disappeared as he replaced the glamour over them. Didn’t do his silver fucking tongue though. “Yeah that was fucking Karen fucking Dickwell - you just - you just killed her.” That couldn’t be allowed, that was murder. Oh shit, he had jus witnessed a murder. Well, a murder that saved his life. Jeff ran a hand through his hair, looking up at him. “What the fuck do we do now?”

It was like parts of Nicodemus started to shut down. Any tender bit of him, no matter how small, pulled away until all that was left was the efficient, rationalizing pieces. That was normal. He did that all the time in order to function day by day. But looking at Karen's body wading in the sea and Jeff's voice in his head, it didn't feel normal. He chalked up sleepwalking and delirium to just that. On his feet, he stepped back and cleared his sore throat. Looked at Jeff again. That poor fucking guy. Damn near got his fucking wings shredded, a regular tried to kill him after how many months of service, and then he had just saw likely his first fucking murder with said regular. "She wouldn't have stopped. Others like her," he rumbled out. As if that was a great answer to what the fuck had just happened. Fuck, had he just killed someone? The part of him that started to panic, he shut it down and locked it tight. Not the time. "Must've...Must've had you pegged for weeks. Planned it. Fuck, Jeff." It was easier to talk with his back to the ocean, so he turned. "How they work an' all." He looked at Jeff's cut arm and scowled.  "You good?" Shit. Jeff was a decent guy. Fae. Fuck. He immediately felt sorry. What the fuck was happening? He looked at the body. How it seemed to sink further. "Maybe we didn't find her. It was too dark and we didn't risk it. She had an accident 'cuz it's so fuckin' dark. I don't fuckin' know."

Jeff nodded. “I know of wardens,” he said. “Killed my fuckin’ father.” His shitty ass, good for nothing father. He wasn’t exactly sure what the hell he was supposed to be fucking feeling right now. Right now he sort of felt the numbing shock of it, watching Karen die like that, and some fucking part of him felt bad. Why should he feel bad? The world was fucking terrible anyway, and she had tried to fucking kill him. The stinging in his arm grit his teeth. “I wouldn’t be fucking surprised,” Jeff said bitterly. He glanced at Nic, looking him up and down. “You know about this shit. That I’m a fucking fairy and what she fucking was?” He digested that information for a moment, before nodding. “I’m going to have to give myself stitches, that fucking knife was made of iron,” he said, looking at his arm, poking at it. He reached out and clapped Nic on the shoulder. “You really had my fucking back, Nic. Thanks for that. You drink for free any time I’m working. I promise,” Jeff said.

[boarix]

Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part XV

Nefarious They

Trigger warnings: Canon violence/language/gun use. Mature content *throws lemons* so look out

Game spoilers

Please enjoy!

 “It was deliberate. A direct attack on Sanctuary.”

Hancock idly flipped his tricorn, “Hmm. I’d say more like it was a attack on you, sunshine.”

“What do you mean? I wasn’t even here.” Wraith, who had been examining gouges in some of the trees that bordered Sanctuary’s fence, now turned to the ghoul, confusion on her face, “I thought that they waited until they were sure I wasn’t.”

“I don’t doubt it; you’re too terrifying to mess with directly! But you’re hurt if your loved ones are hurt, you feel me?” His smile was pitying, “If someone wants to punish you, make you suffer, than the best way is to kill your people.”

Confusion turned to anger and then swiftly to fear, “To hurt me…”

“Trouble is your people are very strong. MacCready and Danse alone could take out a score of… whatever they got.”

“They… who are ‘they’?”

After returning Valentine to his wife and appointing a new Quartermaster to Diamond City, Wraith had made good on her promise to Edward Deegan; offering her support and condolences as they delivering the remains of Emogene and Virgil to the Cabot house. Afterward she had continued on with her interrupted schedule by travelling to The Castle to check in with Preston. A few weeks had passed since the incident and Wraith would have had nothing to go on but hearsay had Danse not taken pictures.

As soon as he had known Panther would recover, he had taken the settlements camera to the breach. The photos documented the unmistakable Mecanum wheel tracks left by a sentry bot leading to and from the massive hole in Sanctuary’s defense as well as boot tracks from the aforementioned ‘They’.

“I suppose the robot dragged the caged deathclaw here too.” Wraith was running her hand back and forth over her freshly clipped hair, “Why didn’t anyone hear it? Or see it? I supposed they could have rigged it up with a stealth-boy and waited until Mac’s class started… Rust Devils? They certainly would have the knowledge…”

“They ain’t particularly stealthy though. They like it when their victims know whose victimizing ‘em.” Hancock took her fidgeting hand in his and squeezed it gently, “And if they knew to wait for MacCready’s class to mask the noise then that means there’s been a spy skulking round for a bit. Seen any new faces lately?”

“I haven’t been here… I should check in at the gate and the Rocket; talk to Tina, she was a Devil.”

“I don’t get how they could have dragged a caged deathclaw cross the Wealth without attracting some attention. I realize the population ain’t exactly dense…” Hancock paused, smiling to himself on his phrasing, “Somebody had to have seen somethin’.”

“You up for playing detective with me?”

“I’m always down for some roll-play.”

 Tina shook her head emphatically, “No ma’am. The Devils would want you to know it was them. It’s possible this was staged to look like them to make you crush them.” She offered Wraith a somewhat abashed smile, “It’s not like there are many of them left for you to punish.”

“The Hounds have been doing a commendable job in keeping Minutemen settlements safe. You should be proud, Tina.”

Lifting her chin, the former raider gave Wraith a sharp salute, “I am very proud, general! Thank you for taking a chance on me.”

Stepping out of the Red Rocket, Wraith winced as the wave of light and heat washed over her, “Ugh… so…”

“Who’s left?”

“This seemed more organized than your average raider group. L&L?”

Hancock was quick to dismiss them, “Not likely.” He removed his hat and held it aloft, blocking the sun from Wraith’s face as they walked, “I’ll have my network look into things. We’ll figure out who’s fuckin’ with ya and serve them up some bad days. No worries, sunshine.”

“In the meantime, I guess I’ll have the Minutemen make sure to check new visitors. I’ll reinitialize long patrols on all settlements… I hate to do that but we are going to be on high alert.”

Bear stopped them after they passed through the gate, “C’mere a sec, Wolf. I want to measure your feet.”

“My feet? Oooo, are you going to make me some new gofasters?”

“New gowhatnow?”

Bear chuckled, “It’s slang for ‘sneakers’, Johnny Boy. And no, I’m making you some serious shit-kicker boots! That deathclaw hide made some fantastic leather and I’m itchin’ to start creating.”

Wraith had worked with the ghoul to re-build the home just to the right of the bridge. Now with a full workshop and storefront, Bear’s business was booming. So much so that he had begun an apprentice program, just so he could have assistance with the near-overwhelming volume of orders.

“I noticed you seem to make a big deal about everyone else’s birthday, while doin’ your best to pretend yours don’t exist. Well, I’ve literally known you for centuries, so I’m making you something special and I want it done for the BIG one.” He passed her a vest as she sat down, “Try this on too.”

Wraith groaned, “Two-hundred forty years…”

“You’re only as old as the woman you feel.”

“It’s not the years, it’s the mileage.”

“Thanks, boys. That’s great. Super helpful.”

Bear clapped his large hands together, “Oh yeah, I finished the new armored jackets for the Hounds.” Turning, he grabbed an enormous coat off of a rack and held it up for them to see, “I even made one for my buddy Strong!”

The garment’s main body was fashioned from dark green leather and on the back the Hounds’ symbol, the Triskelion was done in golden inlay.

Hancock whistled appreciatively, “That is some mighty fine craftsmanship there. You’re a true master!”

“Incredible! Cait is going to spaz!”

“You think so?” Bear ducked his head, suddenly embarrassed, “You think she’ll be happy?”

Hancock’s eyes crinkled in a warm smile, “Yeah, brother. She’ll love ‘em.”

Leaving the shop, both were quiet as they entertained happy romantic thoughts. Arm in arm despite the heat, they slowly made their way up the street. Sudden bombastic laughter made them both jump slightly and as they turned a corner they could see Duncan, mouth open wide, laughing and pointing at Shaun. Wraith’s grandson was singing and dancing in a goofy manner along to the radio.

“Pretty good set of pipes on that kid… Nate sing?”

“Not as well as you. Honestly. I’m not just saying that to blow up your ego, or get in your pants.”

“I like it when you do those things too though…”

“Anchor! Anchor!” The song had ended and Duncan was clapping and shouting, “More! Anchor!”

Breathless, Shaun bowed with mock solemnity, “Jus a min, Dunk. I wanna talk to Grandma Wraith...”

Wraith clapped as well, “Anchor? What’s Anchor?”

“Oh, he just means ‘encore’. Dr. Curie said it earlier… So, speaking of that; Cap’n Danse left the clinic a little bit ago and he looked, I dunno… like, scared.”

“Brother Shaun! I asking politely, please!”

“Give me a second please.” Shaun smiled and shook his head, “He’s really needy today… So, yeah… um maybe you should poke your head in and see if Dr. Curie and…”

“I ASKING POLITELY!”

“Not at that volume.” Even with a quiet and even tone Shaun’s admonishment cracked like a whip.

“You have this under control?” Wraith popped her chin at the now apparently sullen Duncan.

“He needs to know I’ll stop playing with him if he gets too bossy, right?” Shaun flashed her an impish grin, “It’s just as important for a child to be told ‘no’ for reasonable reasons, as it is to receive positive reinforcement.”

“Ha! Well alright then.”

“That one from you?” Hancock tucked his chin, his question quiet.

“Yeah, but hearing it said back to me… ugh, it sounds really…”

“Robotic?”

“Yeah…”

Once inside the clinic, Wraith knocked politely on Curie’s exam room. Both jumped back when the door flew open and Fahrenheit, face scarlet in fury, yelled at them.

“I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE!” As soon as she realized who she was roaring at, the red in her cheeks deepened, “What do you two want?”

“I’m sorry Fahr; I thought your exam would have been over…”

Curie’s voice carried an uncharacteristic tone of irritation, “Mademoiselle’s exam has not yet started.”

“This is all just a waste of time! I will not be a party to this farce!” The redhead swept out her hand, seeming to indicate all of Sanctuary, “I will not stay here for the remainder of my pregnancy to be poked and prodded!” She stabbed a finger in Curie’s face, “Perhaps you’ll do better to convince Mrs. Valentine to be your lab rat. I will not!”

“Who said anything about you staying here? I thought you just came to get an ultrasound? Maybe hear th’ lil one’s heartbeat…” Hancock’s face clouded in confusion.

“I simply asked.” Curie pushed herself to her feet and frowned at Wraith, “This… woman… yelled at Danse after I asked him to help me move equipment.” Her struggle to maintain a professional tone was becoming increasingly apparent, “He would have naturally left before the examination commenced! Her… bellowing was unnecessary!”

“YOU’RE UNNECESSARY!”

“Okay whoa!” Hancock stood between them with his hands up, “Let’s all just breathe…”

Wraith’s laughter cut through the room like a saber, “Ha ha… you’re… hahaha.”

“I fail to see what is so damn funny.”

“Fahrenheit this is so unlike you! No one is going to make you do anything! As if we even could.” Wraith wiped a tear from her eye, “I’m sorry for laughing but this has gotten really out of hand, right? You came all this way… so let’s regroup. Do you want me to stay? Do you want your dad here? You tell us how you want this to go.”

“Monsieur Hancock is… oh my.”

“He raised me but he didn’t help make me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

She rolled her eyes, “Semantics… you were pivotal in my development as an individual. Satisfied?”

“Quite.”

Fahrenheit’s shoulders sagged, “Very well. I might have overreacted. But I am firm in that Amari will deliver my child.”

“But surely my procedural knowledge far outweighs even Dr. Amari’s.”

“How many babies have you delivered?”

“Well… none.”

“She has delivered several to drifters; in poor health, no less.” She gestured to Hancock, “He himself has helped with at least four in my memory. Their practical experience far outweighs your procedural knowledge, Dr. Curie.” She offered the synth a slight smile, “If we can time it out and you would like to come and observe, I suppose I would have no objections.”

“You’ve delivered babies, Hancock?”

“Helped. I helped. Mostly just made sure there was clean water and a hand to hold.”

“I’ve been made to understand that even these simple things can be pivotal, oui?” Curie sighed, “I would be remiss if I did not defer to the mother.” She turned and pulled a book from the shelf behind her desk. Smiling, she offered it to the ghoul, “In that case, please accept this, Monsieur Hancock. I know you will have no difficulty in committing it to memory and I am certain Dr. Amari will find it useful as well.”

“Tiny, Tiny Babies: All You Need to Know About Pediatric Medicine.” Flipping through the first few pages, his smile was tender, “I might get choked up here…”

“In that case, please leave! I’ve had my fill of hormonally-induced, excessive emotion today. Thank you.”

“Fine by me.” Smiling wickedly, he kissed the top of her head as he passed her on his way to the door, “Love you, Fahr.”

“I said no more.” Her smile betrayed her tone.

 That evening, Wraith used her guests as an excuse to throw a settlement-wide cookout. The outdoor communal dining area was filled with the sounds of people happily eating and visiting. Wraith sat at a picnic table with the MacCreadys, Shaun, Hancock, Fahrenheit, Curie and Danse. Sighing with contentment she watched their faces, committing their expressions and happy tones to memory; fighting dark thoughts about how she might have lost them to the deathclaw.

Fahrenheit’s exam had gone well and she agreed to go back after dinner so that Hancock could hear the heartbeat of his grandchild.

“You and Mikey come up with some names yet?”

“No, MacCready; Michael and I will decide when we actually meet the child.”

“You see my eyes rolling, right? Jeez.”

“Mon ours, would you pass me the carrots? Merci beaucoup.”

“What’s ‘ours’, Docker Curie?”

“It means ‘bear’, sweet boy.”

His cherubic face screwed up in confusion, Duncan pointed at another table, “Unkie Bear is right there.”

“It is a nickname that I have given to Danse. It demonstrates the deep affection I have for him.”

“It’s like how Wraith calls you ‘Dunk’ and me ‘Mac’, because she loves us.”

“Oh, you call Mr. Cap’n ‘Tin Can’ cause you love him too, right daddy?”

MacCready choked on his Nuka Cola.

“Is that true MacCready? Do you love me?”

Danse’s tone was so perfectly deadpan, Wraith couldn’t trust herself to look up. Afraid she might ruin the moment, she feigned fascination over the carrots on her plate.

Looking down at the hopeful and sweet smiling face of his son, MacCready visibly swallowed, “What… ahhh… what’s not… to… to love?”

“You alright MacCready? Looking painful o’er there.” Hancock’s voice shook slightly with suppressed mirth.

“… just overcome with love, man. Overcome…”

 Later, Shaun was helping Wraith wash dishes and she could tell he was working himself up to ask her something big. Alone in her kitchen, with the radio softly playing, he would normally hum along. Quiet and stiff limbed, the youth practically shouted anxiety at her.

“Mr. MacCready says that I’m a really good shot.”

“Mmm hmm. He brags about you almost as much as he brags about himself.”

I have a feeling I know where this is going…

“I was able to disarm Nat almost every drill and my throws have gotten better too…”

“You certainly have improved but don’t forget; it’s almost impossible to defend against a knife without getting cut. If you can run away…”

I’m not going to make this too easy on you, kid.

“Yeah, I remember. So, I heard that you were going to start long patrols back up…”

“Yup.”

“If… if Mr. MacCready goes out, may I go too?” He stood perfectly straight with his arms down to either side and his chin high. “I won’t get in the way and I think that if we bring Dogmeat or… or another adult…”

“I’m not sure Mac will want to leave Duncan.” Wraith reached out and tapped her grandson’s elbow, hoping the contact would help him relax, “He isn’t, technically speaking, a member of the Minutemen. He has gone on long patrol before, that’s true, but mostly it was because he was frustrated and bored.”

Shaun’s face fell, “Oh…”

“I tell you what; it’s up to him. If he agrees and you take both a Minutemen solider and Dogmeat, then you have my permission.” She held up a finger in the face of his jubilant bouncing, “Maybe not a loooong patrol, okay? Maybe a longish patrol.”

“Really! Oh cool!” Suddenly serious he schooled his features back into attention, “I won’t let you down, General!”

 “Why are you laughing at me, Mac?!”

The sun had set and Sanctuary was quiet. Sitting on the bench next to the mill, Wraith and MacCready waited for Hancock and Fahrenheit to finish at the clinic. Snuggled up under his arm, she had told him about Shaun’s proposal.

“I’m just surprised ‘s all. You barely let the kid go to the bathroom by himself…”

“Oh, please! I’m not that bad…”

“Uh huh. Yeah. Sure.”

She dug a knuckle into his ribs, hitting a particularly ticklish spot, “Robert Joseph, you take that back!”

When he attempted to twist away, she hooked her arm around his waist pulling him fully beneath her. Popping herself up, she straddled him and held his arms; pinning him in less than a blink.

Breathless and aroused he tried to lean toward her, “Or you’ll what? Tell me what you’ll do to me.”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” Smiling evilly, she shifted her pelvis, grinding against him, “See how close I can get you? Hmm? Make you shudder and shake…”

“Please, yes…”

“That’s it, ask me nicely.” Reaching down between them, she palmed him through his jeans.

“Plea… uhhhh.”

She stopped stroking and gave him a squeeze, “What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Don’t stop. Please don’t… God yes. Just like that. Please, Wraith. Please touch me.”

“Why, I’m surprised at you!” Arching over him, she bent to set her teeth on his neck, nipping gently even as she slipped her hand beneath his waistband, “Asking for such things on a public bench.”

“You’re so… I’m… puh… ye… plea…”  Close to climax, he bucked involuntarily into her hand.

“Tell me, baby. Tell me how good it is.”

“Shit! Wraith, it’s so fucking good… I’m gonna… HUH UHHhhhhhh!”

After a few seconds of heavy breathing, MacCready suddenly sat up and pulled Wraith to his chest, kissing her hard, “Your turn…”

“Oh yeah? I don’t know; I’m not an exhibitionist…”

“There’s no one to see…”

“I can see you two got started without me.” Hancock smiled down at them, “And I hear that foul mouth of yours, Robert. What’s the matter, house too full?”

“Nothing quite like screwing on a hard bench outdoors…”

“Mills open, ain’t it?” Hancock opened the barn door and bowing, bade them enter.

MacCready picked Wraith up princess style and carried her across the threshold, “Good, you can help me with something.”

“From what I could see, you got it well in hand.”

 Bossy and the Goodneighbor provisoner caravan arrived a few days later. Despite his protests, Fahrenheit had insisted that Hancock stay with Wraith.

“You’ll drive me crazy. I’ll not have you under-foot and following me around.” Her tone softened briefly when a flash of hurt crossed the ghoul’s face, “Stay for a month and return home on Bossy’s next run. I’ll be sure to contact you, either through Radio Freedom or a courier, with any new information on the deathclaw incident.” Then to everyone’s amazement, she embraced Wraith, “I want to thank you Queenie, for everything you’ve done. Oh, and one more thing; the mattress in your guest room is terrible. I’ve slept on cobblestone streets that were less… lumpy. I’m almost positive, judging from what I know of you, that is most likely the best bed in the house. I’ll have Daisy find you better ones.”

“Oh… Okay Fahr… thank… thank you?”

“A larger one for your room as well since you are oft sharing a bed with two others. Especially since MacCready sleeps like he’s making snow angels.”

“Oh, I do not!”

“You kinda do…”

“Be well.” Turning briskly, Fahrenheit led the caravan through the gate an across the bridge.

“What the heck is a snow angel anyway?”

“Like this, daddy.” Duncan flopped onto his back and made angels in the dirt.

“Smart kid.” Hancock scooped the small boy into his arms and tousled the sand from his hair, “Your aunties teach you that?”

Sighing, he laid his head on the ghoul’s shoulder, “Yup. I miss ‘em.”

“Good thing it’s bath night...” MacCready sighed as well, “So, are you going to start on the new greenhouse or are you two going to go talk to the Abernathy settlers?”

Hancock passed Duncan to his father, “I still think it’s a dead end; they would have sent someone if they saw something.”

“I’m not going to leave it to chance. Any small detail could prove invaluable.” Wraith smiled at the MacCreadys as they hugged each other, “What about you, Mac? You figure out a ‘patrol for beginners’?”

“Yeah, Tenpines. I’ve got a couple more days of lessons then we’ll head out.”

“You takin’ Lloyd?”

“Naw, man; I’m going to let Shaun pick.”

Hancock gave him a mischievous grin, “You know he’ll pick Danse, right?”

“That’s fine,” He rubbed noses with his son, his voice going up an octave, “cause we all loooove Mr. Cap’n, don’t we?”

 Hancock was right. The trip to and from the Abernathy farm was both uneventful and fruitless. Frustration drove Wraith to sleeplessness and she slipped away from her lovers to go for a late-night walk. Her intention was to do a complete circuit of Sanctuary but instead found herself at Nate’s grave. To her surprise, Curie was standing near the make-shift headstone. Not wanting to shock or scare her, Wraith froze in indecision.

“What ez it, Panther?”

The large feline walked through the synth’s legs and padded to Wraith, whiskers extended.  Crouching slightly with arms out, she picked them up; holding them to her chest like a child.

“Oh, Madame, it is you.” Curie’s voice was strangely thick, “May I assist you?”

“Me?! Curie, what’s wrong?!”

“Oh! I do not want to burden you…”

Setting the cat gently on the ground Wraith went to embrace her, “You’ll never, ever be a burden!”

Seeming to melt in her arms, Curie cried bitterly for several minutes. Wraith thought her heart might break and her own eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, crying this much is so very taxing.” Sniffling and hiccupping she motioned to the grass, “May we sit?”

“I’m crying myself, and I don’t even know what about!”

“I… Even if we decided to… I wanted to… But, we cannot!”

A sudden revelation came to Wraith, “You two can’t have kids.”

“Mon ours would have been the greatest father…” Crying anew she bent forward, placing her face in her hands.

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.”

“There is more… I’m sorry but… Danse isn’t aging… but I… I AM!” Raising her head, she turned to Wraith, eyes filled with deep sadness, “How will I ever tell him? He will have to watch me grow old and die. I will be gone and he will be alone… again alone.”

The realization that Curie was upset, not at her own mortality, but at the thought of Danse’s grief, set a pain in Wraith’s chest. “He’ll have time with you, right?” Reaching out she patted Curie’s back, “You are still young! There are years of memories for the two of you to make. And when you are no longer with us,” Fighting her own emotions, she swallowed hard, “he’ll…”

“Oh! That’s right!” Her face suddenly brightening, Curie clasped Wraith’s face in her hands, “You and Hancock will be with him! He would no doubt take comfort in your love and friendship.” Pulling Wraith’s face to her own, she clunked her forehead affectionately.

“You ladies alright?” Hancock had woken up when Wraith got out of the bed. Worried when she didn’t return, instinct drove him to check Nate’s grave, “Somethin’ happen?”

“Et is well, Monsieur Hancock.” Curie cocked her head to the side, considering the ghoul’s silhouette with the moon as a backdrop, “Have I done a metabolism study with you?”

“That a pick-up line?”

 Wraith did her best to keep occupied while Shaun, MacCready, Dogmeat and Danse were gone on patrol. From Tenpines, the group would head to Starlight Drive-in then on to Abernathy Farm and finally return to Sanctuary. Knowing that her grandson would be beyond her protective reach for several days was bothering her. However, she did take comfort in the strength of the adults (she counted Dogmeat as one such adult) he was with. Joining Sturges’s greenhouse work crew certainly helped as well; working hands helped to still a working mind.

“General, we’ve got a white flag bearer on the road.” Lloyd’s voice crackled from the walkie on Wraith’s hip, “Children of Atom, from the looks of it.”

“It’s not Marie, is it?”

“No ma’am, from the posture and gait, I’d say it’s a middle-aged woman.”

“Good job. Have Gabby meet her at the Rocket. I’m on my way.” Motioning for Hancock to join her, she set a brisk pace to the bridge, “I think it might be Isolde. I’ve been expecting to hear from her, but not in person!” Accepting her coat from a helpful soldier, she stopped to work the various clasps, “I’m thinking she’ll be a more reasonable conversationalists then her daughter...” Catching sight of her face in a window, she stopped again to work on a spot of grease.

“Having to talk to any of these… folks, doesn’t exactly razz my berries…”

It was indeed Isolde. Sitting on a barstool, she stared at the air conditioner with a mixture of fascination and keen distrust.

“Mother Isolde, welcome to Sanctuary. This is an unexpected honor.”

“Forgive me child, for surprising you this way. I was concerned that any attempts to contact or indeed warn you, in any way, would have been thwarted by Marie.”

“Is there a… difficulty concerning your daughter? Some aid I might provide?”

Looking down at the glass of water that Gabby had given her she seemed on the verge of tears, “My daughter’s obsession with you has not waned. She has convinced herself that if she kills you she will have destroyed a false profit.”

Hancock growled deep in his chest, “That’s bullshit! Wraith has never claimed to be this… whatchamacallit, ‘Fog Walkn’ Favored One’. From what I heard that was all that Tektus asshole’s nonsense.”

“I’ll have to respectfully disagree Mayor Hancock. Wraith is indeed the Mother’s Favored One. Although she chooses not to embrace it, your wife is a Blessed Child of Atom and that holds immense religious significance to my people.”

“My… wife...”

Doing her best to ignore Hancock’s confused and sappy smile, Wraith pushed the conversation to the point, “All that aside; we recently came afoul of a chameleon deathclaw. Was that Marie? What else can I expect from her?”

“I truly know very little.” Looking up at Wraith there was a great deal of fear and regret in her eyes, “She began stirring up some of the younger, more fanatical Children and pushing for open war; against you and your Minutemen.” Her gaze returned to her cup and her voice softened, “My Marie, my daughter…”

“Isolde, what has happened?”

“I feared for my people. I knew that you would never want to destroy us but… you would. Utterly.” Standing, she set her cup aside and squared her shoulders, “I have denounced her. I cast her out.”

“I’m so sorry. That must have been so hard…”

Islode held up her hand, “I fear I have made the situation worse. After I exiled her she and her followers traveled to Megaton. It is my belief that they intended to recruit Infamy.”

Hancock sucked air over his teeth and groaned, “Goddam…”

“Who or what is Infamy?” Hancock’s reaction genuinely spooked Wraith.

“Nyx has had some… difficulty with ‘em. They’re Children but they are closer to feral than even I am.”

“They act like a collective; all of them ghouls. Having discarded their names, they are all Infamy. They defer to a glowing one who believes he’s Atom’s personal assassin.”

“You can hire ‘em if you can convince ‘em, that your goal is beneficial to Atom.” The ghoul rolled his eyes, “MacCready has bitched about ‘em too.”

“They are Atom’s ‘Divine Blade’. Very cunning. Very deadly.”

“Not so deadly when it comes to my people.”

Islode shook her head, “Marie somehow blames you for not receiving visions of her own. She blames you for her exile… for the loss of everything she holds dear. She wants you to lose everything the same way she has; then watch as you die in anguish.”

Revelation struck Wraith like a hammer, “If there was a spy… then they knew I’d set long patrols… Shaun, Mac, Danse and Dogmeat…” She practically turned herself inside out to sprint to the Radio Freedom tower…

 “I’m not sure when I noticed… Maybe that one time with the deathclaw… when she broke her ribs, remember?”

“I missed that one. I must have still been at the police station.” Danse’s brow furrowed, “What about her breaking her ribs would have made her alluring?”

“Not cause she got hurt. Just… I don’t know… the fact that she would get hurt for other people’s sake.”

“That I can understand; her selflessness and devotion to others does make her compelling.”

“And her legs and her eyes and…”  

“Mr. MacCready… can we please change the subject…”

Navigating the rocky terrain south of Tenpines, the group had fallen into an easy banter.

“Shaun, buddy, I’ve told you to drop the ‘mister’. Call me ‘Mac’; like Wraith does.”

The youth’s mouth twisted, “No that’s weird…”

“Well kid I have plenty of names… how about ‘MacCready’ like Hancock does?”

Danse chuckled, “I think that might be weird for similar reasons.”

“Okay… what about ‘RJ’?”

Happy to have moved on from the ‘Wraith is a Knockout’ discussion, Shaun readily agreed.

The sniper’s bullet hit Danse and he fell from the ridge.

Dogmeat instantly turned and made a beeline for the assailant.

MacCready’s first thought was for Shaun and he screamed his name, even as he was overrun by a herd of feral ghouls.

A slight movement out of the corner of his eye was all the warning Shaun got before a hooded attacker, wielding an evil looking dagger, hacked at his face. Grabbing his opponent’s right elbow, Shaun pulled forward and raised his own right arm up; tight to theirs. Pivoting to the left and using his back and hip as a fulcrum, he thrust his arm toward the earth, rolling them both to the ground. Keeping his momentum, he put some small distance between them, and then vaulted to his feet while unsheathing his bayonet.

Infamy was impressed.

Shocked to see his foe was a glowing one, Shaun backed away even as eyes kept flicking to the cliff where Danse fell. And to his rifle that lay midway between them.

Infamy noticed.

“That your friend, there? Too bad little boy.” Their voice had an odd, echoing quality that sent shivers down the spine. “That your precious mentor, getting gnawed at by my children? So tragic! What will you do, little boy?” They chuckled low and evil, “I got you, you know? You’re cut. Your blood is flowing, ha ha. Flowing away.”

Ignoring the baiting, Shaun's mind was filled with only one thought:

Danse didn’t cry out when he fell…

Thank you so much for reading! Like what you read? Looking for more? Please check my Wraith in the Ruins tag for the full link tree. As always, if you have any questions/comments/concerns, my ask is open (anon too). I would love to hear from you! =^..^=

[hcpeisms]

trigger warnings: suicide, war, violence, death, strong feelings about war in general, ptsd (if you squint), horrible things. long post!

This uniform.

That is the only thought running through his head. This uniform.

He wore this uniform for five years. The insignia on the sleeve is worn from the countless battles it had seen. The fabric is torn in places, faded with time, faded from the sun and the sand whipping around it when he dove for cover, when he crawled to help his friends, when he was trying to survive.

There are patches that he had stitched together, his fingers absentmindedly caressing the spot near his wrist, the left one, close to the old scar now covered by a tattoo. ‘Give ‘em Hell’ peeks from under the sleeve and Dane pulls it further to cover up the words. This uniform.

It still holds the heat from the battlefields, somehow pulling his conscious back to his time overseas. The sand itches, paranoia gives him an image of a scorpion crawling up his leg. He brushes the thoughts off, reminding himself where he is. The light yellow of the walls , the chatter that comes from the hall behind the curtains. The curtains; sleek and pristine, polar opposite of himself and his assemble. He doesn’t feel the heaviness of his rifle in his hands, but that weight had shifted onto his shoulders a long time ago. The tattoo threatens to peek from under his clothing again and he resolves to pull it more violently. Loose threads from the stitches catch his attention and his fidgets. This uniform. It’s falling apart. Serves it right, just like it served its wearer a long time ago.

Eight years ago he had worn the fatigues with pride. In some sense, he still did. When his eyes met the camouflage in the mirror, he swore his posture straightened and the confidence that had shone from his face withered away. This uniform. It was nothing but  bad memory now, the stitches, the tears, the faded texture, the stubborn bloodstains still clinging to it, the stains he tried so hard to wash away over and over and over again when he had been sent home. A bad memory. A reminder.

A loud voice snaps him back from his memories and a portly man approaches him from the small gap in the curtains. His fingers twitch to salute his superior, but he is no soldier anymore. A balled fist is what the man sees, and the disapproving glare that is sent his way could not be more obvious. “Second Lieutenant Moreno --” He begins and Dane wants to snap at him, hiss that he doesn’t use that title any longer. But his jaw is clenched shut and his lungs are burning for air as the General stares him down. Small, beady eyes. Looks like a rat, that’s what Dane knows for sure. The man with a condescending sneer, coals burning in his eyes as he tries not to talk down to the young LT.

“If your father---” The man begins and Dane growl. His brows crease and a wave of heat runs through his body, seizing up his muscles and throwing his stomach into a whirl. Bile rises to his mouth as he returns a warning glare at the superior officer, and he quiets down before making the biggest mistake of his life. A glare is held for a few moment more and Dane feels his jaw aching against the grit it is under. The General scoffs and pushes past Dane who in turn does nothing. Eyes set on the curtain. Inanimate. Pristine. His father would be disappointed in him, were he alive. The thoughts are overwhelming when they are brought up. His father. Dane shakes his head and tries to coax his muscles to relax -- pain is starting to set in and stars dance across his vision. And that fucking tattoo. Another yank at the sleeve covers it well enough.

His name is called.

 “Next up, give a big welcome to Second Lieutenant Daniel Patrick Moreno, a man known for --” the woman has a shrill voice and Dane steps through the curtain before she has time to continue. He doesn’t need his platoon called out, he doesn’t need her to tell them where he has been, for how long, or why. The microphone is quickly snatched from her hands and she reels, but joins the polite applause that fill the room, the noise that bounces off the walls. The noise slowly fades off into silence and Dane puts the mic back in its slot on the podium. The lights are bright enough for him to avoid seeing the eyes boring into him, the reporters impatiently clicking on their notepads, or his old friends that might’ve showed up.

The silence lasts, lasts, longer than he realizes. Anxiety isn’t something Dane experienced before, or had trouble with in the past. Not on the battlefield, not for months after he returned home. Bouts of nightmares weren’t unusual. Neither were the panicked gasps he sometimes noticed himself take when the war was on the news.

“You heard my name. I’m not going to repeat it.”

Strong start. Murmurs erupt in the hall, irritating his ears.

“You should ll know, I have not used my rank in eight years. I am not in charge of any platoons. I am not a soldier anymore.”

More murmurs, someone asks a confused ‘what’ somewhere to his left. Confusion. Perfect.

He waits for them to quiet down. He hears his own breathing in his ears. The rush of blood.

“I was invited here because my father was ranking high in our army, and I’m the closest they could get to him. So I'm taking this opportunity to clear this mess out of my head, to clear this blood out of my lungs.” For how long had he kept quiet about those days, about the hell that he went through, what all of them went through? When it was all on his shoulders. Lieutenant... What a fucking joke.

“I need to dig holes to bury the dead.” A chuckle. Pained, silent, but it echoes in the large hall.

He thinks about Jefferson, Espinoza, Miller... Toby. He thinks of his dad. He thinks of the hundreds of faces he knows but doesn’t have a name for. He thinks of the men and women he has seen on the news. He thinks of those who returned home, and those who did not. He thinks of himself. Which one is he?

“Look at all of you here.” He straightens up. The memories are bad, simmering just beneath the surface of a man whose ego is barely intact. A man who shields, deflects with arrogance. “You haven’t seen battle.” Someone to his right murmurs about reporting from a crime scene once. He wants to scoff. Grab the murmurer by the throat and smash their head against the wall until there is nothing but a bloody mess left. No, enough blood. Enough.

“I'm so fuckin' sick of everyone's lack of honor,” The mic still catches his voice. The mumbling has stopped. No one is writing. His head swirls with everything he wants to yell at these people. The ones who put words to a paper, claiming to bring justice to the horrors their soldiers face abroad.

“I'm so sick of everyone's willingness to settle,” He knows his words are coming out choppy. Hurt. Anger mingling with fear and disbelief. They brought him here to praise the press. But they aren’t pulling him back.

“Tell me, why is no one prepared to die, for anything?”  His voice rises and he hears his own words round back to him, reaching every nook and crevice in the room, the frustration dripping into his every word. Jefferson. Damn idiot, fearless and dangerous, the king of the weaponry. He could talk for hours about the guns at their disposal, spend more hours cleaning them. He died trying to shield his teammates from the bomb intended to kill all of them. He saved his squad. He was buried a hero.

“Look at yourself in the mirror and tell me what a man is without pride,” His voice trembles and he can feel his hands shaking as he places them on the edge of the podium. Espinoza. She came from a family of soldiers, the only girl in the litter of eight brothers. Told she would never become anything akin to her siblings. Bashful grin on her face as she straightened her fatigues, pointing at the name tag. ‘They said I wouldn’t make it here’. She was twenty-three when she was gunned down, the first victim in an ambush no one saw coming. It was quick, painless, but the stains her blood left on Dane’s uniform never washed away.

“Do you know what fear does? Fear eats you alive,” Dane swallows. He can’t deny he was afraid, terrified when he landed in his destination, the desert air ripping through his lungs, the heat bearing down on him. He ground beneath him felt shaky then, the sand uneven. He was greeted by his superiors. He was eager. Afraid, but eager. Miller was always scared. He wasn’t cut out to be a soldier, but he came through as a medic. Miller, meek, silent Miller. ‘Mouse’ as they called him back then, with his big eyes and nest of hair. Dane squeezes the edge of the podium, the wood digging into the scars of his palms painfully. Remind him he’s not there anymore, that he made it back. The pain grounds some, and he always thought it to be bullshit. Now, it anchors him to the hall, keeps him from seeing every bad scene he went through. Miller. God, Miller wasn’t cut out to be in the field, but neither was he to be in the war zone, patching up soldiers. Missing limbs from bombs, gunshot founds severe enough to kill, death and misery all around him. Miller shot himself five months after arriving, leaving nothing but  sealed note to his mother behind.

“You forget those who give their whole lives to serve you, so you wouldn’t have to be afraid.” Toby. He doesn’t want to think about Toby, not really. Not about how he wasn’t shaken by the death, how he kept everyone in line when Dane forgot how to, when he sat on his bunk staring at the wall of the tent flapping in the winds that broke against it from the outside. A model soldier. The first time they met, they fought, two massive ego’s lashing on the field while others either egged them on or tried to pry them away from each other’s throats. A week later they found common ground. Toby had been the one. Every soldier has the one, someone they would go through fire for, someone whose life held a higher place than your own. Toby had been the one. And then he was injured, caught by a bomb rigged to blow at the lightest nudge of the door. ‘Back to America.’ That’s what they told him after a while. ‘They say he’s not gonna make it.’ was the last he heard about him.’I’m sorry kid’ they added.

“I lost everything in the war.” Friends. Trust. Innocence. He knew he didn’t come home with the affliction many acquired after seeing the bloodshed. Trauma was a part of a soldier, and that was it. Composed, even when every mistake you ever made plays like a movie behind your eyelids when you think about it too much.

“A war we waged. A war we send innocent men and women to fight while you and the big deciders here sit on your asses making decisions that affect everyone else but yourselves. When we put our life and limb on the line so you can write shit about us in the papers. We sacrifice to keep your country safe, but when we return home you cast us aside on the slightest notion that we might be unstable. You close the doors for us and wonder why no one wants to fight for you anymore. you throw us into the fire and ask us why we’re screaming when you burn away every part of us that held humanity.” He takes a breath of air. The hall is silent.

“And you smile when a soldier returns home sane, when his eyes are bright and he hugs his family. The next day the bodies are returned home, and you don’t even count them. You focus on the man who came home. You write your story about him and how his family is doing while there are hundreds of men waiting to be buried, while their mothers and fathers lay by their caskets and wail over their lost children. You glance at wives and husbands mourning their lovers, the mothers and fathers of their children. You skim over the children who are still wondering where their mommy or daddy is. And you focus on the man that sits on his porch and recites to you a story, The story, that you want to hear.”

He feels the silence surround him. No pens scraping. No mumbles, no hushed tones. Utter silence.

No one moves.

No one speaks.

And Dane smiles briefly, triumphantly, before he walks off the stage, thumb gracing over the tattoo on his wrist.

Toby grins as he revs the makeshift tattoo machine in the middle of their desert encampment. Toothy grin, scraped hands, no plan. It stings. Desert air trapped beneath his skin with the ink that settles there. Toby chuckles and claps him on the shoulder when it’s over. He pulls Dane into a choke hold, making fun, joking. Dane holds up the tattoo to see it properly. There, messy handwriting, yet somehow pleasing, all black ink.

Give ‘em Hell       -T.

[porkchop-ao3]

In the mood for toxic Rick being a goopy drooling mess, like slime in every hole just filthy

I love a good old fashioned filthy toxic Rick fic. Warning for dubious consent at times. This fic contains oral, vaginal and anal sex so… Yeah. The works. Plus some spanking!

-

“Rick, why the fuck are you green?” I exclaimed, backing up against my kitchen counter in shock when I set eyes on him. He’d barged into my home, probably doing some damage to the front door in the process, and was now stalking towards me; stark naked with a look in his eye that seemed dangerous.

“Don’t ask questions, don’t- if you’re gonna open that pretty little mouth it better be to suck on this.” He told me with a crude laugh, gripping the shaft of his half hard cock and giving it a few strokes.

“Excuse me?” I gasped, looking him up and down in disgust. He reached for me, grabbing my arm and shoving me down to my knees in front of him. I looked at the band of green goo he’d left around my arm and grimaced. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

He fisted my hair and dragged me forwards, and I yelped at the sharp pain in my scalp. He held his cock and rubbed it over my face, slapping it against my cheek with a filthy laugh. I struggled against his grip, staring daggers at him.

“Don’t pretend like you aren’t loving this, you little slut. Always were hungry for this cock, creaming those panties for me.” he growled. His cock felt slimy on my face, and when he pressed the tip against my lips I refused to open up. Rick didn’t take kindly to this, pinching my nose shut; the bastard. I whimpered, trying to get away from his grip, cursing myself when I realised with a start that this was making me wet.

It wasn’t long before I had no choice but to open my mouth to take a breath, and when I did, he thrust forward, filling my throat with his length without a hint of consideration. I gagged violently, mouth filling with that disgusting green goo. I coughed and tried to pull away from the intrusion, but he held me there. He let go of my nose, and I concentrated on breathing slowly through it, trying to get ahold of myself.

“Good girl. Th-that’s it, look at you. You’re a pro.” He commented, beginning to thrust into me, using my mouth. I moaned despite myself, relaxing my throat way too easily for him. My eyes fluttered shut and I reached my hand up to brace against his thighs as he gathered my hair into a ponytail, using it as an anchor as he picked up the pace. He fucked my face as if it were my pussy, grunting and groaning above me as he did. My core ached with arousal, and I whimpered with every rough buck of his hips, it sent sparks of pleasure through me, making me dizzy with want. I opened my eyes to him and gave him a lustful look, he growled and pulled out quickly, pulling on my hair and forcing me to my feet.

In a show of unbridled disgust, I sputtered and spat onto the floor, emptying my mouth of the slimy green substance that was no doubt turning Rick into the monsterous arsehole in front of me.

“Ohh, now that’s rude. I didn’t take you for a spitter.” He purred, gripping my aching jaw in his hand and pushing me up against the counter.

“What is this shit?” I asked, lifting my hand and inspecting the sticky slime that coated it.

“What did I say about asking questions?” He seethed, clearly irritated. He spun me around, bending my over the worktop with a rough hand on the back of my neck. He quickly pulled my pants and underwear down, leaving them to pool around my ankles; my heart hammered in anticipation. “Why don’t you answer some instead, hmm? Tell me, d-do you want me to stuff you with this cock, sweetie? Would you like that?”

I hesitated. Yes, I had been harboring a little crush on Rick for a while now, and I certainly fantasised about him on a regular basis despite my attempts not to. But this crazed maniac was not the Rick I thought about at night. He was a little too rough, a little too filthy, something had obviously happened to-

“Yes!” The word was ripped from me almost completely involuntarily when he started stroking the head of his cock up and down my slick opening, and I made no attempt to take it back, my thoughts completely scattered by the promise of a good fuck from this man I’d been idolising for months. His intelligence, his wit, his charm; everything about him was just so desirable to me, and I completely surrendered to him. He entered me in one harsh movement, and I couldn’t tell if the slippery ease with which he did so was down to his current state, or my mounting arousal.

“Fuck.” I gasped, gripping onto the edge of the counter. Rick was not patient, he rocked into me without giving me a second to prepare myself, fucking me at a moderate pace right off the bat.

“Shit, your tight fuckin’ pussy’s so wet for me, you really wanted this, huh? You’ve been waiting for this. I see the way you look at me, all fucking doe-eyed and full of wonder like you’re staring into the face of God. Ma-maybe you are.” He chuckled darkly, leaning over my back to speak directly into my ear. I shuddered as his hot breath ghosted over my shoulder, feeling myself clench around him at his words. The cupboard doors banged rhythmically as my thighs bumped into them, and the sound merged with Rick’s heavy breathing and animalistic grunts to create a gloriously filthy cacophony.

“Harder.” I breathed, my eyes going out of focus as he pounded me. I leaned my cheek against the cool surface of the worktop and took it.

“You dirty slut. You’re so desperate, aren’t you?” He cackled, complying with my request regardless. The backs of my thighs felt sticky and gross, and I wanted to question again what exactly it was I was being covered in, but I was a fast learner. He’d said; no questions. “But that’s how I like ‘em. Begging for it.” He growled, bringing a hand down to slap my backside, hard. I gasped and bucked back into him, feeling his cock thrust so deep I thought he’d start reshuffling my organs.

“Oh, God!” I squealed, squeezing my eyes shut.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m your God.” He shouted almost triumphantly, slapping my ass again with loud, wet, snapping sound. “Ohhh, yeah, look at that ass.” I heard him hocking up some spit, before his slick finger was stroking over my back passage. I tensed, not used to being touched in such a place, but I relaxed for him when he pushed forward. Again, patience wasn’t on the cards and a second finger soon joined the first, stretching me open. To my surprise, it felt good, and I groaned loudly.

“Rick.” I mewled, rocking back against him. He entered a third finger, and the sting of pain I felt only made me want more. He thrust his fingers in time with his cock, and my mouth hung open at the plethora of stimulation, my orgasm fast approaching.

“I’m gonna fuck you in the ass, baby. I bet you take it like a trooper, don’t you? I bet you fucking love it, you gross fucking whore.” He was getting increasingly nasty, and my body reacted in unexpected ways, my climax lurched closer, and I was so fucking close when he pulled out of me suddenly. I whined in disappointment. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m not leaving you empty for long.”

He removed his fingers from my ass and quickly replaced them with his cock, burying himself to the hilt in one rough thrust. It hurt, but in a strangely good way, and I whined under the sensation, fidgeting against the worktop. He returned to the punishing pace he’d set in my pussy, and the new sensation made wail out, and for some reason I found myself begging him for… something.

“Please Rick, please, oh fuck!” I groaned, and Rick took it upon himself to fill my vague request by reaching a hand around to my clit, rubbing me fast and in time with his thrusts. My body was on fire, completely overcome with pleasure and my eyes rolled back.

“Cause I’m nice, I’m gonna let you cum first. But you better be quick, or else you won’t be finishing at all, got it?” He said, working his fingers all over my pussy, slicking up my clit with my wetness, and it heightened everything tenfold.

“Yes, oh God I’m so close!” I all but shouted. My cheek felt wet against the counter and I realised rather embarrassingly that I was drooling. I was a fucking mess, but I couldn’t care less. With one last slap to my asscheek with his spare hand, I was pushed into oblivion, my orgasm knocking the wind out of me and wrenching a strangled groan from my throat. I shouted his name so loud that I felt raw, like I’d swallowed sand.

“That’s my girl, your ass is so fucking tight- so good, fuck!” He groaned, losing all rhythm, fucking me more recklessly as he met his own completion, filling me up with his climax. He pulled out and shot the last few ropes of cum onto my ass cheeks, making a total mess of me. He grabbed my hair again, pulling me upwards and turning my head so he could kiss me. His teeth clashed against mine and he bit too hard on my bottom lip, got way too eager with his tongue, but the kiss embodied the chaos of this whole affair.

He let go of me, and I sagged against the counter, unwilling and unable to move from my spot. Once Rick had caught his breath, he ran a hand down my spine, over the cum-covered roundness of my ass, leaving a trail of slime in his wake.

“Do-don’t bother cleaning up. I’ll be back later for more.” He said, backing away from me. “I’ve got shit to do but- but I’m not done with you.”

[therunawayscamp]

[Drabble] The Return

'What's the catch?'

'Dunno what ya mean, Mister Vi.'

Vilayn, halted in a sprint from the poop deck to the foremast, waved the loop of rope he was carrying around his arm at Braskan.

'This is unnatural. Not only are you back early, but you're mostly sober.'

'Stone cold,' confirmed Braskan, and added solemnly, 'That a problem? I can go fix it up th' Windpeak, if ya like.'

'No. You can take this line to Mister Eddis, is what you can do.'

'Actually, I was wond'rin. Since I'm early an' all, mind if I goes ta speak wi' Ethys first? I gots a phil'sophical problem, like.'

'Gods help us.'

'What?'

'I said, if you must. He's on shore, helping Mister Oran train some of the new recruits we picked up in Winterhold.'

Vilayn didn't hang around to ask any further questions, indeed had already been inching backwards with the rope as he gave his final instructions, which left Braskan free to wander away from the flashes and explosions where the mages were training and into the bowels of the ship instead. Nobody had time to rest in the bunks while they were at anchor, leaving him on his own below deck. Most of the candles were dead. The only light came from the lanterns around the communal Waiting Door, the shrine to which all Dunmer in the crew paid their respects, and it was this which Braskan picked his way towards through the sea chests and hammocks.

Habit kicked in quickly. The Waiting Door was a place of peace, at least until the Ancestors piped up and voiced all their accumulated displeasures, and as soon as he smelled the incense fading away Braskan lowered himself onto his knees, making the sign of the Three over his heart. Familiar trinkets framed him against the incense bowl. Ethysil's metal windchimes, Drasonval's antique astrolabe glinting in the flames, Azareth's amulet swinging with the motion of the waves beneath the ship. His own contribution lay beside the bowl itself, the fingerbone of an ancient Dres ancestor carved with the letters AYEM, SEHT, VEHK. He studied it and let the spirit voices begin their usual tirade against him with his eyes closed, listening to the noisy silence like a lullaby,

He knelt there for half an hour before someone else joined him on the deck, and didn't hear Ethysil behind him until a hand, tattooed black on the palms and with machinery on the back, dropped onto his shoulder.

'Ratface said you were looking for me. Not looking very hard, evidently.'

'Knew ya'd get here sooner or later. Didn' want ta get a fireball in me face goin' near them mages a' yours, did I?'

'If you say so.' Ethysil knelt down beside him and lifted a pouch off his belt, from which he drew a pinch of fresh incense. He tossed it into the bowl, lit it with a short flame from his fingers and watched the smoke curl around the trinkets. It took some of the stench off the crew's sleeping quarters. 'Why did you want me?'

'Ya know I went ta look fer Hacky Boar-Chaser? The lad ya made a priest of. The one what set the guards on Hlenil.'

Ethysil turned away from the smoke to look at Braskan's face, which was dark and still, and asked,

'That was Haaki? Who told you it was his fault?'

'Worked it out mesel'. I thought to mesel', I thought, 's gotta be some backstabbin' n'wah what turned Hlen in, he weren't stupid enough ta get caught by any ol' guard and none of us'd hand a kinsmer over to th' Nords. An' I thought I'd go have a little chat with Mr Hacky, like, get things straight, but when I saw him I knew it were him what done it. Tryin' ta be all respectable, talkin' ‘bout forgiveness an' shite, but flinched like a scrib when he saw me.' Braskan spat at the shrine and smiled, face twisted by the wavering candles. 'He's got the sugar shakes an' all. Hlen done him righ' proper. Least tha's summat.'

'I think we're getting away from the point here. You found him. And then you...?'

'Broke his face, din' I? Weren't the first ta do it, neither. Kid's had his nose broken more times'n Dras. Should'a done more. But I didn'.'

'A true display of Ayem's mercy.'

Braskan tensed, and Ethysil was reminded that not all of his shipmate's weight was fat and not all of the sleepiness in his eyes was genuine. He readied his own fist, hidden inside the rags serving as his belt, but Braskan settled back down, staring into the smouldering incense.

'Nah, Ethys, yer th' good sorta priest, not like Hacky, so don' gimme none a' tha' shite,' he said. 'Ayem were a warrior, righ'? Fuckin' mercy. Should'a killed him. I want ta fuckin' kill him, but I ain't gonna get another chance now. Why didn' I do it?'

'How should I know? I'm a priest, not a mind-reader. Perhaps it was your own guilt which stopped you, or something.'

Ethysil waited for the snort, the laughter, the smack on the shoulder. It never came. Braskan gave the windchime over the Waiting Door a thoughtful poke and listened to it jingle.

'Mebbe it was, at tha'.'

'I was being sarcastic. I'm not sure guilt applies to people of our vocation.'

Braskan wasn't listening.

'Mebbe if I'd let him know I... ya know. Cared.' He flinched at the unfamiliar word. 'Mebbe he'd'a known I'd come fer ‘im then. Mebbe we'd'a bin a proper fam'ly, like, if I done tha'.'

'You tried telling him and he punched you in the face.'

'Well, tha' were jus' Hlenil's way, righ'? Mighta come round. An' we'd of had Morinah, too. We'd of bin a right proper fam'ly, us three. Now 's jus'... th' same as always. Lost him all over again and now I gots nothin'. I never get nothin'. Nothin' what lasts, anyway.'

Much to Ethysil's disappointment, he couldn't hear the sound of approaching crewmembers, no matter how hard he strained his ears. This was a problem he was going to have to deal with. Offering up a short prayer to the ALMSIVI, followed by cursing them for putting him in the situation in the first place, he folded his hands across his knees and tried to sound lighthearted.

'You aren't getting morbid, are you?'

'Dunno the meaning a' th' word. An' it ain't no fault a' mine if I is. Need ta' get some booze in me, that'll put me right. Think Azzie'll lemme catch up on the rations I missed?'

The crisis appeared to be averted. Braskan wasn't smiling, but he was looking away from the shrine, over his shoulder towards the hatchway. Ethysil cleared his throat.

'Maybe you could... not? Not that it bothers me, but Ratface is worrying about something himself. If you turn up to his watch drunk he'll take it out on you.'

'What's Stick-up-the-Arse got ta worry 'bout?'

'I don't know. Does it matter? Braskan...' It felt safe. They were moving on, past the emotional sticking point. Perhaps that was why Ethysil decided to push his luck too far. 'You came to me for advice. I assume. I don't know why, but here it is. Hlenil was living on borrowed time, like us. What happened wasn't your fault, it wasn't Haaki's, it wasn't anyone's. It was his choice. You know better than anyone that Hlenil wouldn't let anything happen to him if he didn't want it. He chose this, so let him go.'

He knew he had done something wrong when he saw the tears. Crying wasn't a first for Braskan, who would cry over Nyria, the Kintyra, and the discovery that his glass was empty, if he had poured enough alcohol down his throat beforehand; the difference this time was that instead of the slow, drunken tears, they all came at once, bursting forth unexpectedly and taking both mer by surprise. Braskan dropped his head and pulled up his knees, curling into a ball with his arms bound around his legs. Ethysil sprang up, thumped his skull against the overhead and crumpled down again, wincing. It was a small mercy that his companion hadn't noticed the escape attempt.

'Braskan--'

'It don' matter. 'M fine. Lost me son all over again, but 'm fine.' He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his seacoat. 'Still gonna kill Hacky if I sees him.'

'Naturally.'

'An' I still needs a drink.'

'Of course. So do I, after that.' Ethysil sighed and stood up, carefully this time. Braskan followed shortly after. 'I've got a bottle of shein in my chest, but if Ratface asks, it wasn't me who told you.'

'Right y'are. I ever tell ya yer me fav'rite priest?'

'Against such fine competition as Haaki? I'm flattered.'

[bokkiedoke]

Atlantic Shitty

The thunderclap of steel on bone rings throughout the dingy theater. A hulking woman steps over the rusty barricade and starts to set up a shitty looking table.

"Holy rotting rat dicks! X nearly killed...no wait...check on that guy. I'm pretty sure she actually killed him."

The ring announcer leans over in her chair, tipping towards the splayed wrestler. As she's trying to get a good look of the possible homicide, X-X-Z reachs over and grabs Buff Boi by his limb arm and puts him across her shoulders.

"Hey what the fuck X!"

"It's a table match. These scummy fucks paid to see someone put through a goddamn table. Right?", she looks up towards the crowd, "RIGHT?!"

A dimly lit horde begins chanting, "N-D-DUB, N-D-DUB."

X leans into the commentator's mic, almost blowing out the speakers. "BECAUSE IN NEO-JERSEY DEATHMATCH WRESTLING WE FIGHT TO THE FUCKIN' DEATH!"

The crowd goes beyond ape shit. People just start straight up murderin' each other at random. One woman found an old hotdog bun that has probably been there since the place opened up and busted someone's head open with it. Then she put their dick in it and snapped off a huge bite.

"NEO JERSEY FUCKIN' ROCKS! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

The commentator stares with her mouth wide open.

"This place is fuuuuucked."

Buff Boi begins to struggle on X's back, then she tightens her grip on him.

"Where am I?"

X begins to adjust, and Buff Boi suddenly realizes...

Over the PA he hears "VICTORIIIIAAAAAAA DRIVERRRRRRRR!!!"

Buff Boi is driven head first through the table at a high velocity, easily snapping through the shitty old table. The sound goes muffled as he dives head first into the concrete. A small man in a spiffy looking suit comes out and slides into the ring as Buff Boi is dragged to the back.

"Okay X, you've done it. You have killed everyone in NDW. As I promised you, you can get what you've always wanted. Do you know what she wanted everyone?"

Various answers come from the darkness behind the barricade.

"A million Jersey Bucks?"

"For you to wrestling ring without shit stains?"

"To kill your ugly, stupid, fuckin' dinosaur lookin', crotch rash smellin', taint sweat lickin', wrinkly old ass?"

The crowd went quiet, and everyone turned to look at the person who yelled that crazy shit out. From the ring, the Commissioner called for the light to be shined on them. A scraggly beard rested on the mangled face of a weary looking man.

"YOU ARE BANNED FROM NDW EVENTS FOREVER CRUSTY CARL! YOU LOST THAT MATCH!"

"Yeah well your dad lost his condom inside your mom and that's the only reason you were born."

"Fucking GROSS!"

"Fucking TRUE!"

"Carl, fuck off before I make another match for X."

"She already beat me once dude, just leave me the hell alone and get on with it."

"...okay fine. You finally won the prize you picked at the beginning of the Jersey Bloodbath. It is...a Nordic Union citizenship ticket. You fuckin' TRAITOR!"

Goblin Larry, the Commissoner, threw the ticket down at X. The crowd started booing, and people were jumping the barricades. As X was distracted fighting off the crowd, Larry leaned over the ropes, and spit down at her as people began to pile on top of her.

People went flying in all directions, and a furious scream deafened everyone around X. Goblin Larry started to run, but X picked up the steel steps and discus threw them at her soon to be former employer. They caught him in the back of the knees and he went tumbling down to the concrete outside the ring.

"Haha, I knew you fuckin' sucked. That barely even hu-OH FUCK!"

As Goblin Larry began talkin' shit, he saw X leap through the air towards him. She kicked off of the ropes on the opposite side of the ring, cleared the whole shit-stained mat, and came down elbow first into the face of her crusty as fuck boss.

"I better not smell like you tomorrow."

She quickly ducked out of the room through a secret entrance they had ready for when shit goes down and the wrestlers need to get away from the bloodthirsty crowd. She immediately jumped into her vintage Firebird and raced to the embassy.

"I'm comin' sister. Finally getting out of this shithole." A couple hours later, X pulls up to a giant concrete wall. The seal of the Nordic Union is engraved into the transparent gates. A robotic guard greets her.

"What's your business here?"

X holds up her ticket over her left eye. A bath of dim lasers cover her face.

"Greetings X-X-Z, and welcome to the Nordic Union! Come in, after a short citizenship test and background check we'll have you sent off to the area of your choice."

A part of the transparent door slides open, and X steps through. She is stunned by the beauty contained within the gates. Lush gardens filled with wildlife surround her.

"My word, this is amazing. Where did you get all of this?"

"It was here when we built the embassy hundreds of years ago."

"Bullshit."

"It's true, citizen. And many places on the Atlantic coast still look exactly like this. Here it's because of air filters and extensive care, but elsewhere it's just natural."

"I knew Neo Jersey was a shithole, but fuck..."

"No comment." Soon they were climbing up the steps and were in the main hall of the embassy. After a brief conversation with employees at the main desk, X is off to the back. Only a few hours later she's on her ship, heading off to the headquarters of Jotunn Protection, a company of bodyguards that her sister started after she got her ticket out of Neo Jersey. The ride is smooth, then they finally begin their approach to the space station her sister has built her company on. The passengers put on their space suits, getting ready to step off onto the port and enter the floating metropolis. The pilot turns on the light to tell everyone to buckle up, then suddenly the ship begins to spin wildly.

A young Eze on his first trip into space begins to panic. "What's happening?! Are we gonna die?"

Their sibling undoes their buckle and stands up. "Look out the windows. It's anchor cables. They look like they were picked out of a junkyard."

A loud crash rings out through the cabin of the starship. X rips her buckle off and stands next to the older Eze. "What're they doing?"

"Probably trying to steal the ship."

"Are they just gonna pulls us with them?"

"If they're using gear that rusty I doubt they'd have a ship powerful enough. They're coming in."

"Good."

The hull above them makes a loud pop, and then it tears open upwards. A couple of slim figures in heavy layers of raggedy clothing drop out of the hole. They all hold razor sharp blades, though none of them are the same shape or material. A larger pirate jumps down, holding a chrome cylinder in it's hand. It flips a switch on it and a blade of electricity forms.

In a raspy, robotic voice the pirate captain speaks.

"You two, sit down. Everyone can get off safely at the port, except the captain. They come with us."

The Eze pulls out an intricately decorated gauss pistol and points it at the pirate.

"They lie. I've seen it before. We find an escape pod full of bodies every time."

X briefly glances into the pirate ship, then reachs up into the hole above her. She pulls out a maintenance hammer and grips it tightly. She makes a heavy swing upwards and smashes open the seal between the two ships. One of the smaller pirates laughs.

"You do know we have Oxypacks on, right?", she says as she pats the small bulge on her back.

"So that's where they are.", X says as she grabs the young pirate and lifts her quickly, before smashing her back across her knee.

The Eze looks shocked.

"You said they were gonna kill everyone."

"How can I be sure you won't, you goddamn maniac?"

"Because I didn't try to kill you first. I mean, you have a gun."

"Fair enough. The name's Pezi", they say as they dodge out of the way of the crackling blade of the pirate captain.

"I'm X."

A human excitedly tries to get out of his seat.

"Holy shit, it's X! I've seen all your matches!"

As the man goes to get out of his seat in excitement, he kicks out and trips one of the pirates charging towards X. The pirate's head lands in between the knees of X, then she powerbombed them so hard it literally folded them in half.

"We'd make a good tag team. You stay safe right there for now though, I'll sign something for ya at the station."

"Oh OH! I bring this everywhere just in case. You can use it before you sign it though."

He tosses a steel chair, X's signature weapon, towards her.

"How the fuck did you get a steel chair onto a spacecraft?"

The guy just shrugs, then leans out of the way of another pirate.

Pezi and the pirate captain are grappling, trying to disarm one another. After a few solid CLANGS ring out, grunts and shouts fill the ship. Pezi is struggling, and the electric blade is coming closer and closer to their face. Then they feel a push from behind their adversary and hears the ringing of steel again, then the captain goes limp and slumps down to the ground, knocked out.

X is standing in front of Pezi when the captain finally drops out of the way, bloody and dented chair in hand. She's breathing heavily and has scratches across her face.

"I left one for ya, if you wanna actually be helpful."

The scrawny pirate scrambles to their feet, then gets up into the small ship they came out of.

"I'm not gonna shoot someone trying to run away. They didn't hurt anyone."

"Good.", X says as she pulls the pirate down into the transport ship. "Hey you, come with me. I got a real job for ya.". She helps the pirate up, then pulls off the hood around their face. Under the lightly wrapped cloths, she can see the scales of an Eze.

"Huh, first three Eze I've ever run into, and I met a wimp, a space marshal, and a pirate all at once. I knew Larry was bullshitting me when he said you're all a bunch of pompous merchants."

The pirate presses a button on their respirator, and speaks in their normal voice. "Larry sounds like a racist asshole. Hopefully you treated him like you did my shithead captain."

X points to a faint bloodstain on her elbow, "You see those little cuts there? Got a couple cuts going through his thick skull."

The fan appears next to her suddenly. "Oh yeah I got the clip on my Comm-band if you wanna see it!"

"Oh shit yeah."

THE END