#like if she IS his flesh and blood and not just a clone
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the possibility of Gray Mann’s daughter being the last source of australium what the fuck
#like if she IS his flesh and blood and not just a clone#or if she is a clone and he used his legitimate blood#crying when will my love (comic 7) come home from war (get released)#tf2
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Clone
~
Danny has heard about Superman's dislike for his clone,
Dead men do tell tales.
Danny grows angry with Superman,
There he was showing hate to his clone, his flesh, his blood,
Conner wasn't in the wrong,
He was just a child
He didn't ask to be created this way.
Danny hated Clark Kent
More and more with each story he heard from the ghosts around him, Danny knew what it was like to be cloned to feel that violation of his person, but he could never hate Ellie,
His clone
His cousin
His sister
His daughter
His family
She was precious to him and her being a clone would never lower the amount of love he held towards her.
So to see this hero, this adult, not give two shits about Conner?
Oh that burned
So he decided to do something about it, If Superman didn't want Conner then he would take him, show him the love and care that should have been his from the very beginning from what should have been his own family.
Danny could teach him more about Krypton than Superman could ever wish to know, show him his birthright.
~
Danny & Ellie on their way to surprise adopt Conner: "New family, new family~!"
Connor: "Why do I feel like something very important is going to happen?"
~
Superman feeling like he's being followed
The Krypton ghosts following him around being disappointed in him, and going back to the King to tell him all the things he's done.
~
The Justice League summoning King Phantom
Danny takes one look at Superman and is ready to give him the beating of his life
Danny: "You want a deal? Sure! In return for it I want 20 minutes alone with Supes over there, no reason why!
~
Danny seeing Superman after another ghost told him how bad he's been treating Conner:
~
Just an Idea
#Conner is getting the love he deserves#The ghost Krypton are happy to show him everything about their home planet#GZ has a space specifically for the Kryptons#it looks very similar to when they were alive#S-man about to get his entire existence rocked#Danny is mother to the clone#"you don't want them? ok#all mine then”#mom danny#dp x dc#danny phantom#dpxdc#dc x dp#danny fenton#batman#dp x dc crossover#dc x dp crossover#superman#prompt fill#story prompt#writing prompt#prompt#prompts#conner kent#clark kent#ellie phantom#danielle phantom#dani
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Danielle and Danyal's meeting... very, very quickly goes very sour from, basically, the moment Danny steps into his room and finds Ellie sitting on his bed (strike one) and reading the comic books Tucker introduced him to (strike two). By the time she's looked up to address him, Danny has the door locked, and a hand hovering near the knife hidden under his shirt.
She gets her third strike when Danny, in a voice that could make the mountains tremble, demands to know how she got into his room, and she lies (with uncertainty of her decision growing in her chest) that Jazz let her in. Danny's hand shifts closer to his weapon, and he turns towards her fully, and says that Jazz would never let someone he didn’t know into his room, and who was she.
(Vlad Masters had underprepared Danielle for her meeting with Danny -- not out of any completely direct malicious intent, but he failed to mention just how... 'touchy' Daniel could be -- he failed to mention the scars littering up his arms, unhidden by the hoodie tee he meets Ellie in. He failed to mention that along with those scars, that Danny was visibly lean, capable of doing very real damage without the use of his powers.)
(He tells Ellie that he’s adopted, and that he is observant and clever, but ungrateful and has a bad attitude.)
Her final strike occurs when Ellie, trying to keep her facade of cheeriness, tells him that she’s his third cousin once removed. Immediately, Danny has his dagger pulled out, and Ellie finds herself with the cold metal of a blade pressing against her throat.
Danyal 'A.G' Fenton hasn’t killed since he arrived in Amity Park. At first it was because mother told him to keep a low profile, and killing would do the opposite of that. But, he's been slowly learning from his sister and friends over the years the value of human life. So it's become a combination of keeping his head down, and also that life has value to it.
But. That doesn’t mean he can’t kill, nor is he opposed to doing it if the situation calls for it. It just means that he doesn't do it. And ‘Danielle’ is an unknown in his room, claiming to be family to him, and appearing uncannily similar to him and his family. Either someone hired her and she was trying to pass herself off as a relative to him because that someone realized Danny was the biggest threat, or, his false death has been compromised, his mother was unable to tell him, and the league was aware he was alive.
No matter how he looks at it, this Danielle was a threat to him, his sister, his friends, to Damian, and to the Drs. Fenton. Danyal Fenton doesn't kill, but he has no problems doing so.
(Ellie, pinned under Danny’s knee and the blade to her neck, is too terrified to think of phasing out of his hold. Not that it would help, he would just chase after her.)
“You have broken into my home, dared to lie to my face, and when I demanded to know the truth, you dared lie to me again." Danny's scowl could cower even Skulker, his glacier blue eyes burning. "Your continual breath has been a favor from me, that I have graciously allowed, from the moment you entered my room, dahkil."
"So I will ask one more time," he hisses, "who. are. you."
Danielle, only a few months old, unprepared for the ice storm that is "Daniel" Fenton, and his clone in only flesh and blood, and not memories, immediately breaks. And tells him that she was his clone, that Vlad sent her to come capture him, and to please not kill her.
Danny's face twists with anger, Ellie thinks he's going to kill her anyways. Instead, he withdraws his knife and gets off her, stringing out curses in Arabic as he sheathes his weapon back into its hiding place faster than Ellie can blink.
He switches to English as she is collecting her bearings (and contemplating fleeing), and Danny paces the room like a tiger in a cage. "--of course that wretched, arrogant, peacocking little ingrate would do something so infuriating. I should have driven my sword into the shrivel of his heart when I had the chance--"
Ellie, for a moment, thinks of leaving while he is distracted. And starts to slowly creep away. But Danny notices instantly, and whirls on her. His too-bright eyes bore into her head: "Where do you think you're going."
"...I'm leaving."
And Danny scoffs at her, "Why? So you can fly back to Masters and tell him that you failed to capture me, and that I know that he cloned me?" He says, and Ellie remains silent -- that's exactly what she was going to do. "He will destroy you within seconds."
Of course, Ellie rears back in offense, and she finds the footing to glare at him. "He would not! He's my dad, he loves me!"
Danny gets in her face, glowering back with an equal intensity. "He does not." He snaps, "Vlad Masters has not a soul in his body nor a heart in his chest. He would sooner cut off the hand that helps him stand, than to take it along with him."
"If you're really made of my blood, then I will teach you only this: we bow not our heads nor our hearts to anyone." Danny's too-blue eyes narrow, and his voice dips into a hiss, "Especially not to a conniving snake like Masters. Your heart: cut it off, or cut it out. He will sooner leave you to bleed."
Then, he unlocks the door and drags her out before she has much time to act. And as he drags her down the hall he shoots Sam and Tucker a text, and they meet up at Nasty Burger. Ellie is a spitfire, but Danny has her too intimidated to leave.
"This is Danielle," he tells them bluntly as he corners her into the booth, "she's my clone. Masters created her."
Ellie is with them for a week, and somehow throughout that time, Danny manages to actually get her to like him throughout that time. He's callous, blunt, and full of sharp edges that you can cut yourself on. But when he's not spitting venom, he's fretting.
When he drags her back to the house after being with Sam and Tucker, he pulls her to Jazz's room and opens the door to tell her the same thing. "This is Danielle." He says upon abruptly opening the door, interrupting Jazz's studying as he pulls Ellie inside. "She is my clone, Masters created her. She needs clothes."
Then he turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him. Ellie, in that moment, thinks that now's her chance to flee. But Jazz then squeals, and she is trapped in new arms, shaken around by Jazz Fenton, excited for a sister.
(Ellie finds herself complaining to Jazz that night, shoved into old pajamas. She's in utter disbelief that Jazz could care about a jerk like Danny.)
("He's rough around the edges, but Danny does care." Jazz tells her, combing through her hair with her fingers. "We've been working on it ever since he joined the family, but Danny warms up slowly. He's usually less stoney; I think your arrival spooked him.")
("Spooked him?" Ellie repeats, she doesn't believe it at all. "He has a funny way of showing it, he threatened to kill me!" And she turns around just in time to see Jazz's press her lips into a line.)
("He's... very protective. He'll deny if you ask him, but he worries a lot." Jazz's fingers find her hair again. "What I do know for certain though, is that he wouldn't have kept you here if he wasn't worried about you at least a little bit.")
(Ellie doubts it.)
But Ellie is indeed there for a week, and the day after her initially rocky introduction with Danny, he is a little bit kinder to her. Still kinda a bitch, but he's less harsh to her, if... almost uncomfortable around her. Flighty, kinda.
Whenever she gets mouthy at him though, he looks oddly smug about it and, infuriatingly enough, praises her attitude. He is very, very annoying. And still kinda terrifying. But hearing him shout insults via puns at someone during a ghost fight that happens that week lessens the intimidating factor,,, a little bit.
Things go about,,,, relatively,,,, similar to canon. In the sense that it ends with Ellie defecting from Vlad because she finds out that Danny was right and that Vlad didn't actually care about her. (And that Jazz had been right too; Danny, in his weird, mean way, had been worried about her as well)
Danny looks out of his depth as she talks about how he was right, and he cuts her off with a vaguely uncomfortable clearing of his throat. And gives her the most awkward, but genuine apology he can muster.
"I should've used more tact when telling you about Masters, and I... apologize for threatening you when we met. I was..." he makes a face like he's sucked on a particularly sour lemon, "worried. First about my family, and then later about you."
(Ellie will be damned: Jazz was right)
Before Ellie leaves, Danny puts a hand on her shoulder and tells her: "I wasn't kidding about what I said to you when we first met: you are of my blood, and as such, you do not bow your head nor your heart to anyone."
Ellie looks at him, thinks about the last week, and smiles like she's caught him in a trap. "What about Sam and Tucker then? And Jazz?"
Danny smiles, it's awkward and tilted, like his face isn't used to the gesture. "We bow not our hearts, but that doesn't mean we can't share."
#danny speaks in formal english when he's pissed. he goes full on 'i shall eat his heart in the marketplace' levels of formal#not quite a ficlet not quite a post talking about the idea but a secret third option: its both of these at the same time#dp x dc#dpxdc#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc crossover#dpdc#danyal al ghul au#dc x dp crossover#dc x dp au#dpxdc au#dcdp#dpdc au#dp dc crossover#older brother danny#danny is an asshole with a heart of gold#the writing feels all over the place but since its not a fic i dont feel that self conscious about it lol. very much spitballing here#morally gray danny fenton#poc danny fenton#look ellie MIGHt - and thats a big if - have gotten away with the cousin lie if it weren't for the fact that she's danny's clone#danny who is not white nor remotely white-passing in this au. she might have gotten away if he had been and she claimed she was#from jack's side of the family. but alas. danny is adopted. the fentons are whiter than sunscreen. and danny is not.#dani and danny's meeting in danyal al ghul aus have the potenial of being IMMEDIATE dumpster fires which is very funny to me#on the basis of if danny knows he's adopted or not and if dani claims to be related directly to him or to jack.#dani: im your third cousin once removed :)#danny. is adopted: i kNOW YOU LYING. CUZ YO LIPS ARE MOVING#i got fanart for this au on haunting heroes discord and it kickstarted my thoughts about danyal again. they gave him the BATWING EYEBROWS#ellie has the batwing eyebrows too that was the mind killer thats what fucked her over /j. those are UNIQUELY BRUCE WAYNE BROWS FOLKS#fuck i wish tumblr told us on laptop when we run out of tags because i just lost like 4 of them. good thing i got screenies those were FUNN
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How would the platonic yandere Demon Bull Family react to a reader who, unlike Redson, did not grow up with a strong connection to the family or love for them? reader can be loyal to them but usually acts indifferently when it comes to "family love" and sometimes refuses to call Princess Iron Fan "mother" and Demon Bull King "father" but instead calling them "king" and "queen" would also be the same thing to Redson, with respect but like the others two doesn't want to call him "brother"
Fiery Reunion: Part One
(Part One) (Part Two)
“This is your father,” Princess Iron Fan says to you, her voice thick with devotion and love. “Restored to us after centuries of oblivion. How long I have waited for this moment…”
That’s right. It has been a long time, hasn’t it? For all your life, your mother and brother have had one single motivation pushing them forward- find a way to save your father.
Technically, you could say that your goal was one and the same. You’ve been helping them all throughout your life, after all. But even though you’ve shared centuries with them, fighting for the very same man…
You just can’t bring yourself to be as passionate about saving him as they are.
“This is your father,” Princess Iron Fan has to say, because you were barely beyond infancy when he rose against Sun Wukong and was struck down and buried under a mountain for his crimes.
You’re sat on the ground, staring up at him with wide eyes. After having stumbled backwards and fallen to the floor in surprise and fear at the sight of him, you now stay there, gaping at the tremendous demon before you.
Your father, the terrifying Demon Bull King casts a hard gaze to your cowering form, raising an eyebrow.
“So the youngest of my children… has grown up. I had assumed the worst when I did not see them at my prison. Tell me, my love- have they become a powerful warrior for the Bull clan?”
He’s talking like you aren’t even here. Maybe that’s to be expected, given that you were barely a toddler when he was imprisoned and sealed away for hundreds of years. It’s not like he’s ever spoken to you.
Maybe it’s fitting punishment for not remembering the man your mother and brother adore. No matter how unreasonable the feeling is, you can’t stop hating yourself for something so far beyond your control.
“My love, Y/N is a skilled alchemist… they’ve proven their worth many times over. I’ve brought them here to restore your broken horn- and the rest of your body, while they’re at it.” She turns to you, her gaze growing determined. “I will have a troop of Bull Clones assigned to your command. Use them to procure whatever you need to create-“
“That’s alright,” you say quite confidently, interrupting her. “I have all I need to restore him to full health. I’ll only need two, to help me with my cauldron.”
The irritation from being interrupted by one of her children quickly dissipates, her creased brow and frown replaced with a satisfied smirk.
“Wonderful,” she breathes out, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
You politely bow to her, then to your father.
“If you would follow me, my king?”
He pauses to raise an eyebrow at how you’ve addressed him, but shrugs it off and walks along after you.
(He’s your father, he wants to say. He didn’t come back after hundreds of years to be addressed so formally/coldly by his own flesh and blood. But he’ll let it slide… you just need some time to adjust, perhaps.)
———————————————————————
“A room dedicated to the alchemical arts, I see… and you’ve quite the collection of rare and valuable specimens. Then you will be able to restore me in short order, I take it?”
You reach out to reposition a small pot of glowing crimson star-shaped flowers, shifting it out of the way and leading your father deeper into your room. Two Bull Clones stand uniformly still against the back wall, ready to assist at a moments notice. Really, you only use them when you need a cauldron continuously stirred or heavy ingredients relocated. If you need petals plucked or seeds stripped, you do that delicate work with your own two hands.
“I have dedicated myself to the herbal arts. With the right supplies, there is little I cannot do, my king.”
“Good. It seems you have grown useful in my absence, little one.”
You briefly stagger at his words, unfamiliar to your ears and so, so very strange to hear.
Promptly you compose yourself and grab a well-worn ladder, leaning it against one of your many shelves. Before you can start to climb it, DBK reaches up to grab the glass canister you need. After lifting it close to his eye for examination, he holds it just out of your reach.
“What do you need lotus seed oil for? How will this restore my body to health?”
(And is it dangerous for you? He might just have to take a look through this room of your and confiscate anything you could hurt yourself with.)
“My king, the oil is merely a catalyst- it will allow my other ingredients to mix together properly without interfering with the alchemical process they’ll undergo.”
He allows you to have the canister, watching as you pour nearly a gallon of the oil into an ancient cauldron, emblazoned with glowing sigils. You keep a firm grip on the delicate glass, holding it firmly and slowly pouring the oil-
Then the door to your room opens with a slam, Red Son’s foot leaving a notable crack running through it.
You drop the canister in shock, flooding the cauldron with far more oil than any recipe would need. Grabbing a clean rag in a huff, you turn and shoot him a displeased look, just in time for to see him lunging for you.
He snags you by the shoulders and shakes you back and forth as he yells, “Have your brains taken a vacation, Y/N?! You aren’t supposed to work alone! You know that you’re not allowed to play with your little cauldron if mother or I aren’t with you!”
You push his hands away, pointing up at your father to prove that you aren’t alone in here, that you aren’t breaking any of the frankly unnecessary rules set that he and your mother have set into place for you.
He takes one look at your father, the goes right back to yelling at you for not telling him you’d be using the cauldron anyways.
(A nostalgic pang resounds in Demon Bull King’s chest as he watches the two of you squabble. Before he had been sealed away, you and your brother had been a child and young teen respectively. He had missed so much…)
When he snaps back to his senses, you are on your knees, carefully ladling the excess oil back into the now slippery glass container you had fished out of the cauldron with a rag. Red Son stands over you, frowning as you do.
“Why don’t you just get a Bull Clone to do this for you, Y/N? Even they could do it more efficiently. And you’d be able to prepare more of the elixir-“
“I hate to be disrespectful, my prin-“
“Brother,” he seethes, dark and low. “I am your brother, do you understand me?”
“Y-yes, brother.”
“Now, explain yourself… and do it clearly, little sibling. I don’t have time for any nonsense.”
“The Bull Clones don’t have the precision or gentle touch required to handle my plants and containers. Last time I tried to set them to such a task, I had to relegate them to sweeping up glass instead.”
“Tsk. I’ll make some minute adjustments on two or three of them for you. Perhaps reduce their grip strength and increase their joint dexterity… don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, Y/N.”
Red Son turns and leaves, and to your surprise, your father goes with him, leaving you alone to finish your work.
Just barely, you hear your father’s voice from the hall, low and hushed.
“You seem… to be quite ‘adept’ with your sibling.”
Somehow, you feel that this doesn’t bode well for the future.
#Platonic Yandere#Yandere Lego Monkie Kid#Yandere LMK#Yandere Demon Bull King#Demon Bull King#Yandere Princess Iron Fan#Princess Iron Fan#Yandere Red Son#Red Son#Yandere Father#Yandere Mother#Yandere Brother#Edited#Fixed the second to last line to be more in character
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Hii!! Can you do like a hantengu clones (NOT separate) x fem reader nsfw one shot? Reader is a complete virgin and she’s in a poly relationship with the clones ♡︎♡︎
All For You | Part 2 [Hantengu X Reader]
Reader is Human Female | NSFW | Part 1 HERE Final HERE
Recomended Song - Killshot by Magdelena Bay
A whirlwind of emotions crept through you, acting on both fight and flight, leaving you paralyzed, basically limp.
The oldest of the four had you lifted into his arms. They were so hard you'd almost believe he was made of lead, had it not been for the comfortable warmth of the flesh.
He was holding your torso up with one arm, the other under your knees and holding you as close as he possibly could, as if afraid you'd be taken by the others that were tripping over one another to catch a glimpse at you.
"Are...are you going to kill me?" You had been gazing up at his face, though his kanji eyes only glanced down every once in a while, only meeting your gaze as he knelt down, laying you in the spread of your futon that you'd not yet put away from previous use. Despite the pounding of your heart, no matter how much adrenaline you held, you lay paralyzed under the strength of Sekido's gaze.
"Hmm... should we?" Two claws hands had grabbed your ankles, pushing them up so your knees buckled and pushed into the air, allowing for the green-eyes demon to be visible between your legs.
You shook your head, even if you could hear the teasing tone dripping from his tone.
When you thought back to the shivering mess you had saved a week ago, it made no sense that within him these four prospered. Clearly, it was him, if he were younger and more courageous, but there were four of him.
The thumbs of the hands firmly squeezing your ankles rubbed slow circles, and eventually teased their way up and down your calves, curiously eating up the warmth of your skin.
"You've all scared our poor girl so badly, when you should be thanking her for saving us..." the whispering tone came from above you, the quietest of the bunch having stealthed his way to sit seiza.
His blue eyes were a calm abyss, the kind that pulled you from the feeling of the sassy one tracing his nails into your skin.
"I assure you, there's no thanking needed...!" As embarrassing as it was, your cheeks were beginning to burn with the heat of the demeaning nature of the position they had put you in.
Before you could push yourself up, Urogi had landed his bird's feet onto the arm attempting to move, though his talons sunk only into the floor, avoiding your skin and effectively trapping you.
"Then consider it a token of gratitude! We won't be leaving until we are certain you know how much you mean to us." Crouching so he could be an easier distance from your face, he used a claws finger to press into your bottom lip, puncturing it enough for a bead of blood to form, which he leaned in and licked straight from your mouth, shuddering in pleasure at your delectible taste.
"And now that we know just how sweet you are, it'd be impossible to back away!" The look of shock on your face from Urogi's affection only drew him in more, dusting his feathers along your stomach, separated only by cloth. "You deserve this, for being so good to us."
"Awe, no fair! I wanted to taste her!" Karaku chuckled out, his hands having slowly made their way up to your thighs, pushing into the squishy flesh with ease.
You seemed to understand that behind his words was another yearning, one which was confirmed as he kept attempting to inch closer to your inner thighs.
When you tensed your legs, trying to push him away, Aizetsu's hands pushed into your hair, carefully weaving through as to not force any knots so he could brush through it, massaging into your scalp in a way you'd never had before, melting all your tension away.
As each clone closed in on you, Sekido seemed to merely watch the other three, making sure none went too far with you, though in between each check the red glow of his eyes was back on your face, watching each emotion twist into reality, studying your precious features before his look-alikes ruined it.
Each sensation from each clone became overwhelming, making any changes harder to notice as they each inches closer, pushed deeper, cooed louder- but though the feeling of your top slipping up your stomach was unmistakable, you found yourself unable to focus on it, or care when the same happened to your bottoms, eventually lost to the dark corners of the room.
Despite the room being well lit, it was hard to look anywhere but their eyes, which had a distinct glow from the rest of the darkened world, you noticed Karakus face was so close to your thighs that the green luminescence reflected onto your skin, dipping lower, until it was below your line of sight.
Aizetsu seemed to realise you were at a disadvantage laying so flat, and shuffled his hips closer so your head was propped up on his lap.
It allowed you to see the mess of your shirt tangled in one of Urogi's claws, among other things.
Karaku was carelessly dragging his tongue up the fabric of your underwear, the saliva dripping down only further wetting the thin layer between his mouth and your most precious gift, which was enough to send electricity through your spine.
No later where you arch your back into the touch of Urogi's claws that dragged up your sternum, slicing straight through the attaching fabric of your bra. He happily dragged his tongue flat along one, swiping at the nipple before gently blowing cool air onto it, interested in how you shivered and squirmed at his attempts of arousing you.
"I- I-"
"Shhh, there's no reason to speak, just let us take care of you now." Aizetsu's voice was akin to a lullaby, erasing the words from your tongue.
Karaku chuckled into your skin, amused at the exchange, before copying his feathered clone and tearing his claws through the last of your coverings, hovering above your pussy with a desire he held more than that for blood and bone.
He'd been trying to pursue this urge for so long, and now, with his own body, you were laid out in front of him like a five star buffet.
The grip on your thighs tightened, holding despite any attempt you made to either pull them away or push them together. He was unmovable unless he wanted to be, and right now his desire outweighed yours.
Impatient, as always, he pushed his tongue up between your folds, eagerly lapping at your heat like nothing but a hungry mutt, again, and again, and again, careless of the way your back arched, or how your breath hitched.
In fact, Sekido could practically smell the euphoria coming off of you once Karaku began, enticed by the way your pretty moans twirled in the air when he'd pause to suck at your clit, god, the roughness of his hand was palming at his crotch through his clothes, getting off just by watching the other clones toy with you.
Your sounds were delicious, but Aizetsu couldn't help but worry someone might pass by and hear your struggles to catch your lost breath.
To ease his own anxiety, the sorrowed demon allowed one hand to caress your cheek, pushing his thumb up against your lips when you sealed your mouth at the touch.
Sensing Aizetsu's struggle, Urogi grinned against the flesh of the other nipple he had begun to attack, leaning in and gently nibbling with his teeth.
One gasp was all it took, and thanks to Urogi, Aizetsu could firmly press his thumb into your tongue, which instinctively had your mouth close around his finger.
It was embarrassing, but he seemed to find it terribly cute, cooing down at you.
"You love it so much, don't you? I knew we could help you, just let us finish up."
Rather than waiting for a reply, Aizetsu helped you nod by using his thumb to push down, and the hand in your hair to tug your head back up.
Grunting, Sekido ignored Aizetsu and Urogi's childish play to glare down at the way Karaku feasted upon your squirming hips, enticed by the lapping sounds created by his saliva mixed with your dripping desperation, distinctive for its whitish colour.
It seems he had turned his attention at the right time, because Karaku seemed to be getting antsy with you, pulling your hips closer to his face to the point all Sekido saw was the demon's hair curling over and sticking to your thighs, along with his distinctive horns.
Of course he was correct, because as Karaku forced his tongue in and out of your drenched pussy, pulling you closer and closer to your high, he pulled away, licking up the very string that attached you to enjoy the remainder of your sweetness.
"I think our doll is perfectly ready~" Despite Karaku's tug at you, Anyone could tell he was just aching to feel the same ecstasy he had gifted you, and claim more of that glorious body to himself.
Aizetsu glanced down, wanting to make sure you were okay with going forward, and was easily persuaded by the hazy look in your eyes, followed by a muffled whine.
Slowly, he shuffled back, leaving you flat on your back once more, though the movement of his hand carefully tilted your head as far back as it could go, looking straight at his crotch as he fumbled his only free hand to unto his pants, pushing them down lazily.
Surprisingly, he let go and pulled his thumb from your mouth, letting you pant once, twice, before being silenced once more by placing the head of his cock against your lips.
Who were you to deny him? Of course, you let your jaw come loose, allowing the blue eyed boy to slowly push his length into your mouth, stopping about halfway when you seemed to struggle.
"Hnn, that's a good girl, please, I know you can do more for me..." As always, his soothing voice was more than welcomed to your ears.
It was with a surprising ease he was able to push the remainder in, watching the bulge from in your throat. He pulled back, listening to the sweet noise of your throat closing behind him, and pushed all the way back a little faster, infatuated with watching his length stretch through your neck.
Perfectly distracted handling Aizetsu's weak thrusts, Karaku took a moment to admire his work, pushing the his hand up through your folds and teasing the clit between two fingers just to feel the slick that was left behind, and dragging it back down so he could squeeze a finger or two into your used hole, chuckling to himself at the way you sucked his fingers right in.
"How about another, doll?" Reaching a clawed hand into the depth of his sweatpants, Karaku spent a fraction of a moment stroking the leftover juices on his hand all over his cock. He wanted to make sure he'd do what he did best; give and receive pleasure.
Lining up the tip, he only pushed in an inch or two for you to drink up, giving him to lift your hips up and set your ankles on his shoulders, giving him the perfect position to continue pushing, holding one hand down on your abdomen to keep you from moving too much.
Fuck, did that feel good, his length pulled right in by your needy hole. He couldn't deny how much he wanted to take you right then and there, but he knew to be gentle with something so fragile.
Carefully, he worked his way to match Aizetsu's pace, each pumping in at opposite times, so you weren't too overwhelmed.
Sekido had managed to slip a hand under his kimono, sucking in air as he pumped his own cock to the rhythm of the other two. As much as he would have loved to be in any of their places, he was well off just watching you take them so utterly greedily.
There wasn't a single moment that went by without one of them pushing into you, sloppy noises filling the room and mixing everyone's small gasps, grunts and moans together.
Urogi continued to abuse your bouncing tits, happily abusing them as they moved with his look-alikes movements. It was only natural that he had eventually allowed your hand to let go, though he quickly caught it.
"Me too, doll!" Although far less considerate, Urogi was kind enough to guide your hand to his rather smooth cock, which felt far different than the others.
It was smooth, and as you wrapped your hand around the pointed tip to drag down, you felt a considerable bulge near its base, nearly making you choke on Aizetsu as he fastened his pace, which distracted you enough to mindlessly pump the length of Urogi's strange size.
As easy as it was, the feathered one seemed very pleased, letting his head fall back with a delighted groan, keeping his hand wrapped around yours to help guide you up and down, squeezing when he wanted you to tighten your grip.
"Just like that babe, what a natural~" His cocky words were probably lost, but it seemed he still enjoyed teasing you for being such a slut.
Even as you felt yourself getting sloppy, none of them relented, seemingly content with even the bare minimum from you, pushing into your holes like they were godsend, or just watching you as if you were a muse.
It left you on cloud nine, the hypnotic pounding, the sounds they made, the belittling, the compliments, the obsessive eyes pouring onto your frame.
They didn't just love you, no, they were fucking obsessed with you.
After that, time meant nothing, all that mattered was that eventually things hit a peak, and everything snapped at once.
Karaku’s thrusts became inhuman, slapping his hips into your ass continuously, until his hands dug deep enough to bruise, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix before releasing the thick, heavy fluid belonging to something beyond human.
It wasn’t much longer before Aizetsu introduced you to the liquid’s taste, pulling back enough so just his tip was left between your puckered lips, pouring it down your throat without a care, though not removing himself until he was certain you had swallowed it down.
But you managed, and with a satisfying pop from both ends, you were inhaling the freshest air you had ever inhaled, and shuddering out a weak exhale as the cum from your pussy ebbed out along your sheets, likely staining the white colour with something much, much different.
Urogi and Sekido came last, though Urogi made a show of splashing his across your stomach and tits, letting the fluid pour its way through every crevasse, and down every edge.
No one dared move, merely letting each other's breaths mix in the cool air, basking in the feeling of it all. It was so silent, no one noticed you had fallen over the edge of a deep slumber until Aizetsu bent down to ask if you were alright.
“Ah… sleep well then, dolly.”
Author Note - Since this request is very inline with my previous story and I got so many requests for a part two, I decided to use this request for it!
Word Count - 2,542
Art Credit - 葵鬼 (Pixiv)
Tags - @somefancybb @fabimaou @trickvinder @sleepypotoo @hahahaha120 @swagaliciousguichibaka
#hantengu#hantengu x reader#demon slayer#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer oneshots#kny#kny x reader#kny oneshots#kimetsu no yaiba#kimetsu no yaiba x reader#x reader#reader insert#oneshot
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Medic:
Summary: Reader is a Jedi medic in a clone wars battle. She loses a young patient and has a traumatic time. Anakin comforts her.
Warnings: None, violence, blood.
Word Count: 1,690
You weren't often deployed into battle, you had barely finished your training. But, you supposed, the Jedi were fairly short-staffed at the moment.
You never wanted to be a soldier, had always struggled with wielding your saber, but your intuition with the force was undoubtable, so you had been taken in as a student, and studied to be a medic. What the masters saw in you was a meditative, quick learning mind. And it was true. So you were not suited to the war.
Desperate times however, brought desperate measures. While the troops had gone on the offensive, you had been tasked with setting up the hospital area near the sheltered back of a cave. Not many of you healers were available for this particular conflict, it was a surprise attack by the Separatists, you had barely stopped for the past two days, planning and prepping in a state of emergency. Now that you were here, all you could do was wait for the bodies to come pouring in. Bloodied, burned, dismembered. It wasn’t that you were faint of heart, you knew what you were getting into when you took on this position under Master Che, but the extent of the fighting, the amount of death was overwhelming you.
The anxiety of war was not one which you enjoyed. Especially not when he was out there fighting too.
Anakin was unaware that you had been called up to this particular battle. So he fought and led the fray as he normally would. Cutting down all in his way with a fury and determination which made him indestructible. Or so he liked to think. That was how the two of you had met. A posting at the hospital wing on Coruscant had bought you into his path. He was practically a regular, always getting himself injured in the most ridiculous and reckless ways. Burns from playing with speeder mechanics, from an overenthusiastic lightsaber duel with students twice his age. Large cuts and scrapes from jumping off things, or climbing things, or through things. And each time he would come in with a smile, sit down and let you do what you needed to do. Make you laugh with his stories, entertaining you endlessly and distracting you from your real work.
That was at the beginning, before things got serious with the war.
When it broke out, when the attacks started, he came to you, broken, and not just physically. You patched him up and the two of you found solace in each other. One bright spark in an increasingly dark world.
The sound of explosions and shouts reached you and you shook with anticipation, wiping your sweaty hands on your apron. Then the bodies started to roll in.
It wasn't long before the tent was filled with the wounded and dying. The smell of blood and burning flesh filled your nostrils, making your stomach churn. But you didn't have time to be sick. You had to keep working. You took a deep breath and composed yourself. You had been trained for this, and you knew exactly what to do.
When you saw this patient, you sprung into action. It was a young Padawan, younger even than yourself, with deep burns all over his body. You could feel his pain through the Force, and it only intensified when he saw you approach him. You could sense his fear, his uncertainty, and his desperation for help. You knew exactly what to do. Or you thought you did. Using the Force to steady your hands and calm the Padawan's nerves, you worked with precision, cleaning up his wound so that you could get a good view, then get him stabilised. But then he started convulsing violently. It was all over, and you didn't even get a moment to dwell before you were pushed off of him by your Master, it was useless, the boy had died. You were sent off to help somebody else, so you filed it away for later.
As the night wore on, the wounded continued to pour in, and you worked tirelessly to save as many lives as you could. Blood and sweat mingled on your forehead as you struggled to keep up with the constant flow of patients.
You were jolted out of your thoughts by the sound of someone calling your name. It was Anakin, his face twisted in pain. You rushed to his side, using the Force to assess his injuries. He had a deep cut across his abdomen, and it was bleeding profusely.
You didn't hesitate, you got to work immediately. You used the Force to steady your hands and focused all your energy on healing him. You ripped open his robes without thought or shame, didn't even register a word he said. It was as if time slowed down as you worked, your mind and body working in perfect harmony as you stitched him up. Anakin's pain slowly began to subside, and he looked up at you gratefully. But you didn’t dare to look him in the eye. You couldn’t.
The fighting didn’t start to die down unto the dawn broke and it was forever before you were finished. Finally you were able to excuse yourself, you made your way into the bathroom, desperate for a moment alone, a moment to breathe.
But the universe was not so kind. For the second time that day you heard a familiar voice calling your name. It was Anakin, battered and bruised but alive. He had clearly gone back out into the fight after you patched him up, but that was hours ago. Since then he had acquired an injury on his wrist, which someone else must have bandaged for him. Or perhaps he did it himself... It was roughly done with a part of his sleeve, that man...
He looked so concerned, so panicked by you as you turned around. With urgency he gripped at your arms, "Y/N, what happened to you? Who did this? I thought you would be staying in here, safe!"
"What?" You ask, tired and bewildered by his sudden energy. He was still looking at you in horror so you look down too. You understood his confusion then, you were covered in blood.
It wasn't even a splattering, it was like you had been dipped in it.
You looked at your own hands, they were shaking and trembling. The sight of the blood, the smell of it, were overwhelming you. You felt like you were going to be sick. You had been so busy helping others that you had forgotten to take care of yourself. You had forgotten to eat or drink anything, forgotten to rest. You had been running on adrenaline for hours, and now it was catching up to you. You felt weak and dizzy, and you knew you needed to sit down before you collapsed.
"None of it's mine, I..." Anakin helped you through an alcove, to rocky outcrop for you to sit and knelt down in front of you, gripping your hands and squeezing, trying to keep you in this reality. He could see the exhaustion and trauma in your eyes. He wondered at whoever had cleared you for this mission. He had been battle-worn since he was a child but you... You weren't meant to this, he was supposed to protect you.
He sat next to you, his arm around your shoulders, and held you close. You leaned into him, feeling safe and protected in his embrace. You closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, feeling the tension slowly leaving your body.
After a few minutes of him wiping your hair off your face and whispering things in your ear you were calmed, turning to kiss him of the cheek.
"I'm sorry. I should be better at this by now."
He shook his head, unable to conjure the words. You take his silence for understanding and unconsciously start to play with his fingers, reminding yourself of his injury. Without a word you undo his make-shift bandage and sigh deeply at him.
"This needs stitches."
"I know, I was going to worry about it later."
You smile at him in a way which conveys your affection, your concern, your love, all at once. And he lets you stand.
You reach into the pocket of your apron, quite a feat with the dried blood, and mercifully your personal medi-kit was in a usable condition.
The sight of his blood didn't phase you, this, at least, was familiar. Anakin watched you intently, his eyes soft and tender.
"There was a Padawan earlier. Maybe you knew him? Young, dark hair…" You question him,
"I know. I saw him get caught up in a shell. And in the hospital. I can't remember his name. You saved so many lives today.” His hand comes to cup your cheek.
You nod, still silent.
He could feel the weight of your exhaustion and it made his heart ache. He leant forward, and with an unfamiliarly determined want he said; "If I could, I'd make sure nobody died. I would stop it if I had the power. I would stop everything."
"Well you can't."
"Why can't I?"
"Don't be ridiculous, it doesn't help. No one can control that, no one can control death." Your own words were your solution and the weight of the boys death lifted slightly.
Anakin paused his thoughts when he saw you relax. He knew that he would never be as strong and capable as you were, never so wise. He would always need you by his side to reign in the part of him that wanted those things. You, who had so much care for the world around you yet did not try to control it, so neither should he.
You finished wrapping his hand and held it up to your lips for a kiss.
"Thank you," he whispered.
You smiled at him, feeling your heart swell with love and affection for him. You knew that you couldn't do this without him, that he was your rock in times of trouble. You felt grateful for his presence, for his love, for his strength.
#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin x reader#star wars anakin#anakin skywalker#star wars fanfiction#clone wars#star wars#star wars prequels#star wars fandom
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The Sentinel
Summary: After surviving the Purge, you fled to Takodana to rest and recover. And after Maz kicked you out of your depression (literally) you ending up working for a Trandoshan named Cid for Maz. And through her you met what used to be Clone Force 99.
Pairing: TBB Hunter x Jedi!Reader
Word Count: 2807
Warnings: Mentions of Suicidal ideation (Reader was a sentinel who was at the temple when the Purge happened and she blames herself for what happened)
Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni
A/N: So I had an idea, and I wanted/needed to put it down. I'm not sure if I have Hunter's personality down, but I hope I didn't butcher him too badly. So if anyone has any comments as to that, it would be greatly appreciated.
Hunter is staring at you.
Again.
You know it. You can feel the way his gaze is drilling into the back of your head.
Honestly, the fact that he’s walking behind you, rather than in front of you, is something of a miracle in and of itself. Maybe that’s why he’s glaring at the back of your head.
Whatever, you’re not a jedi, it’s not like you’re able to read his mind to know what’s bothering him.
(You are. You were. When you think too hard you can remember the scent of blood filling the halls of the temple, and the burning, searing, unending pain that is Anakin Kriffing Skywalker cutting your arm off-)
“Hunter, will you stop glaring at me and just get up here, please?” You ask, cutting off the blood stained memories with an ease that would have worried you, if you thought about it for too long.
“You seemed more than happy to lead,” Hunter replies, his voice low and annoyed, as he steps next to you.
“I was happy to lead because I didn’t want to hear you bitching at me.” You counter with a roll of your eyes.
“Bitch-” He sputters and glares at you fully, “I wasn’t bitching at you. I was reminding you that you needed to pack an extra battery pack for your blaster-”
“Yes, because I’m an actual child and would have forgotten something so important.” You interrupt.
“You know, I’m starting to understand why you and Cid get along so well.” Hunter says through gritted teeth.
“It’s because we have such magnetic personalities.” You snip.
“It’s because you’re both massive-” He cuts himself off before he can finish the insult, “We shouldn’t be far from the rendezvous point,” Hunter says instead, “It’s probably best that the contact thinks that you’re in charge.”
“Thinks?”
He leans into your personal space, and if you hadn’t been a sentinel once upon a time, you might have been intimidated. “Thinks.” He repeats, and then he leans back, and motions for you to take the lead, “After you.”
You grind your teeth, and spin to continue down the man made path. Sometimes you wonder how Hunter would react to hearing that you were a Jedi. That you had survived the purge.
And then you remember that the men you’re traveling with are Clones, and you get a chill. You don’t trust them to not shoot you on sight if they knew. Even Cid isn’t aware of your former affiliations, since you don’t trust her to not sell you out to the first bounty hunter who threatens her.
“Relax. This is no different than any other mission,” Hunter says, his voice closer than you thought. And your skin prickles as anxiety blooms in your chest.
You glance at him over your shoulder, and arch a brow, sending a prayer to whatever entity listens to the prayers of a former jedi that he thinks your anxiety is about the mission and nothing more.
“You’re tense, and anxious.” Hunter says, “Relax, or the contact will think something is wrong.”
Oh, he’s so much more annoying than Master Drallig ever was. And you used to wish death on your former master when he was at his most annoying.
You regret that now. You’d sell your left arm (not flesh one, not the metal one) to hear his annoyed drawl one more time.
You purse your lips, “Thank you, mother.” You say instead, “Any other pearls of wisdom?”
He smiles, it’s a nice smile, “Sometimes I want to throw you off a cliff.”
“Yeah, well. Sometimes I want to throw myself off a cliff, so you’re not special.” You counter, perhaps a bit too honestly based on how his expression falters.
“You-”
“We’re going to be late,” You interrupt, as you start walking faster, “Keep up, Hunter.”
He falls into step slightly behind you, and you can feel his stare on the back of your head again. At least he’s not glaring anymore, you suppose.
“I don’t actually want to throw you off a cliff,” Hunter says suddenly, as the pair of you slow to approach the clearing where you’re supposed to meet your contact, “Maybe push you into a lake, but I don’t actually want to hurt you.”
“Not to worry, I’m sure I can get you to change your mind on that.” You pause just outside the clearing and change the subject, “You have the information for the trade, right?”
Hunter stares at you for a moment, but he accepts the topic change gracefully, “Of course I do.” He tilts his head, “I don’t hear anyone in the clearing though.”
“We are a little early,” You reply thoughtfully as you glance at the chrono embedded in your prosthetic. “By about half an hour.”
“We are,” Hunter agrees, his gaze flickers around the clearing, and then he focuses on you, “Which means we just have to wait.”
You hum to acknowledge his words. Something feels…wrong.
After the Purge, you tried to cut yourself off from the force. It just hurt too much, all the pain, all the darkness, all the death…but even as you did it, you knew that it was a fool’s hope.
The Force can’t be cut off anymore that you could cut off your eyes.
And ignoring a warning from the force is just cutting off your nose to spite your face.
You don’t sense any immediate danger, just a massive feeling of be cautious that you would be foolish to ignore. So, slowly you head into clearing, your gaze scanning from one side to the other.
There’s nothing.
Even Hunter, who’s the most cautious of the clones you’ve ever worked with, doesn’t seem to be terribly concerned. So, you push your concerns aside as paranoia.
45 minutes later, your contact finally arrives.
He’s a rather squirrely looking Rodian. He speaks quickly, and his hands flutter anxiously, as though he’s afraid that if he stays still for too long something terrible will happen.
The deal happens smoothly, with you taking the lead on gathering the information that Cid needed, and trading your information. And your contact flees from the clearing as quickly as he arrived.
“He was certainly nervous,” Hunter says slowly, his nose scrunched as though he smelled something disgusting.
“Well, information broking isn’t exactly legal in this day and age,” You offer as an explanation, “I mean, it wasn’t legal in the time of the Republic either-”
“Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad he’s gone. He smelled awful.” Hunter grumbles as he rubs his nose, “Ugh, so bad. I don’t suppose you have any of your perfume on you, at least that smells good.”
You shoot him an odd look, “I don’t wear perfume. I don’t wear scented anything since I’m working with you.”
He pauses, and it must be a trick of the light, because you swear his face darkens slightly, “That’s…kind of you.”
“Not wanting to send you into sensory overload isn’t kind, Hunter. It’s literally the least I can do.” You fold your arms over your chest, the feeling of danger was still there.
“Well, I appreciate it all the same.” Hunter says, “You don’t seem like the type who would care.”
“Rude-” You stop mid-sentence as the force screams a warning, and you move, lunging forward and tackling Hunter out of harm's way, just as a gunship riddles the clearing with gunfire.
The pair of you tumble behind a large rock, and duck down for cover as the gunfire continues.
“Kriff,” Hunter ducks his head, “Who the hell is shooting at us?” He glances at you, and his expression sours when he sees you pulling a pastel pink compact out of one of your many pockets, “Seriously?”
“Shut up, it has a mirror.” You flick it open and lift it slightly, angling the mirror so you’re able to see the reflection, “And no one thinks twice about women carrying make-up.” You adjust the way your holding the compact slightly, “Karking hell,” You swear, “It’s Imperial.”
“What?” Hunter snatched the mirror from your hand, ignoring your indignant noise, and he lifts it to look for himself. “...kriff.”
“I told you,” You grouse, as you take the compact back and shove it back into your pocket.
“Now is not the time.” Hunter replies irritably, he looks around, “We can’t outrun them. Not with them in a gunship.”
You lean your head back against the boulder, “We can jump.”
“What?”
You point to the side, “You said you wanted to throw me off a cliff, right?”
“I didn’t mean it!” He snaps, “That will kill us as surely as the gunship.”
“No,” You sigh, “Hunter, there’s a river at the bottom, fast moving, but that works out in our favor.”
“Right, except we’ll either be killed by the gunship before we can jump, or hitting the water will kill us.” Hunter counters.
“It won’t.” You say, quietly, firmly.
He stares at you, silently.
You’re calm, deadly calm. You were a sentinel once. You protected people for a living. You failed last time. You won’t fail this time. “I need you to trust me…and not shoot me in the back.”
“Why would I shoot you in the-” He stops, his gaze dropping to your hands, where a slender metal tube rests innocently, “You’re a Jedi.”
“Like I said, please don’t shoot me in the back, and I’ll get us out of this alive.” You say.
Hunter says nothing for a moment, the clearing filled with nothing but the sound of blaster fire, and then he nods slowly, “What do you need me to do?”
“So long as they’re not using ballistic rounds, I can get you to the edge, you just need to jump and trust me.” You say.
He glances at the saber again, “Alright. You give the word.”
You exhale slowly and twirl your saber between confident fingers. Your master’s words echo in your mind as you adjust your weight. You are a sentinel. You are the last line of defense between those who would hurt and those who would be hurt. You will not falter. You will not hesitate. Trust in the force, and all will be well.
And you move.
A yellow blade crackles to life, and you spin it expertly.
Hunter ducks out behind you, and you cover him as he runs the short distance to the cliff. You’re aware of him jumping, and you jump after him, twisting the force around you both in a protective shell just before you hit the water.
Hunter drags you up so your head is above the water, which you’ll be grateful for when you’re not distracted keeping the part of you from getting battered to pieces by the rocks in the water.
The pair of you remain in the water for 30 minutes, until you manage to use the force to propel you both onto the shore, near a small cave. Hunter has to half carry you to the cave, you were far more careful with his well-being than you were with your own, and you painfully sink onto a rock as he starts a fire using some sticks and grass he found near the river.
“Are you hurt?” Hunter asks, as he crouches in front of you.
“Bruised and battered, but I wasn’t shot,” You reply.
He looks surprised, and then annoyed, as if he’s just realizing why he wasn’t hurt, “I wasn’t battered at all.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome.”
He pauses, and then sighs, “Thank you. For saving us and for keeping me from getting hurt.”
You smile at him weakly and lean against the wall, “Well, it definitely went better than the last time I used my saber, that’s for sure.”
Hunter doesn’t say anything for a moment, “Can I ask-?”
“I was a Sentinel.” You answer his unasked question, “My job was to guard the temple. I did a bang up job, as I’m sure you can tell.” Your smile is slightly bitter as you tap your metal arm.
“The Purge wasn’t your fault.” Hunter offers, though there’s something in his tone that suggests that he knows that his words aren’t much comfort. “There was nothing you could have done.”
“Oh, I know.”
“But you don’t believe it?”
“Would you?” Your smile becomes something bitter, “I spent the first couple of weeks after the Purge on Takodana healing and trying to cut myself off from the force. And Maz…well, she shoved a boot up my backside, and hired me.”
Hunter sits across from you, “Suddenly so much about your personality makes sense. You must have been terrified to learn that you were working with clones.”
“A bit. I figured if you didn’t think I was a jedi, I would be safe.” You sigh, “I didn’t expect Maz to just let Cid have me for as long as she did.”
Hunter leans back against the wall as well, “If you want, I’ll tell Cid that we can’t work together. You’ll never have to see us again, if you don’t want.”
“Don’t worry about it. I actually like you and your brothers.”
Hunter lifts his head and smirks at you, “Yeah?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.” You say wryly.
“Too late.” He lifts one knee and drapes an arm across it, “So, a follow up. If you want, you can join the crew of the Marauder. It’s only a matter of time before it comes out, you being a jedi. And Omega adores you.”
“What, just Omega?” You ask wryly, “Mister you like the way I smell.”
“Right, I was hoping you forgot about that.” Hunter mutters under his breath.
“Nope.”
“Fine. You smell amazing. It’s soothing. I also like the way you look, and I really like how pouty your lips are, especially when you’re wearing that bright red lipstick.”
“...you spend a lot of time looking at me.”
“Yes, yes I do.” He doesn’t sound the least bit ashamed about it either. “A lot more than you probably realize.” You stare at him, and he grins, “I like walking behind you. You have very nice…hips.”
“Right, I’m sure it’s my hips you admire.”
His grin widens, “You think it’s safe for the Marauder to come and get us now?”
You narrow your eyes at him, “Yeah, probably.”
“Great. I’ll call them,” Hunter pulls out his comm and connects to the Marauder, and you hear Tech answer. You’re vaguely aware of Hunter giving Tech his coordinates, and giving a very brief rundown on what happened, but you’re not totally listening.
Instead you dig into one of your pockets, and pull your waterproof makeup kit out, pulling your lipstick out to apply more.
You hear Hunter stumble over his words for a moment as you apply the vibrant red lip paint, and you glance at him, and see that his gaze is locked on your lips.
You don’t bother to hide your slightly smug grin, as you put your make-up away, and then you walk over to him to peek at his comm. Voice only, probably so his brothers don’t worry when they see him looking like a drowned tooka.
Hunter glances at you, and then to your lips, and then he focuses his attention on the comm again, “So, do you have our coordinates?” He asks the comm.
“I am looking, you appear to be in a ravine of some sort.” Tech says, his voice tinny over the comm.
“Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. Can you find us, or do we need to get higher?”
“Hm…a higher elevation would make this easier.” Tech says, but Hunter’s not listening, on account of the fact that you’ve just pulled him down into a kiss. He drops his comm as he presses his hand against the back of your neck, and you quickly catch it before it hits the ground. “Hunter? Hunter, are you still there?”
“I…uh…” Hunter blinks at you, a little hazy, and you smile up at him innocently as you press his comm back into his hands, “Yes. Yes, I’m here.”
“What happened? Did you hear what I said?”
“I…yeah. Yeah, I heard you. You need us to get higher.”
“Yes. Do that and then call back and I should be able to find you.”
“Right. Thanks Tech.” Hunter hangs up the comm, without taking his eyes off of you. “You’re trouble.”
You flash a downright angelic smile, “I thought you liked trouble?”
“Oh, I like this kind of trouble.” Hunter breathes out.
You hum, and lightly tap his lips with your finger, “Oh, good.” You stand on your toes so your lips are hovering just over his, “We should get climbing, Hunter. So Tech can find us.”
He groans, “You’re such a tease.”
You throw a grin over your shoulder, “I thought you liked it.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m not going to complain.”
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Headcanons and one shots for Hantengus clones
Karaku 💚 pleasure
Bruises and scratches all over just because it pleases him to see you marked for him.
Ride his dick and hold a knife to his throat, even cut him a little. He'll Fuck you harder from underneath you, holding your hips in place so that you can't run while he fills you up so much that it hurts. Who will give in first?
Skin tight jeans and flirty little glances across the room. Brush by him, making just enough contact for him to feel your soft body, but not acknowledging him as you stride by unbothered.
In minutes he’ll have you tucked in a closet with his hands in your pants cupping your ass before he yanks them down your legs. You’ll be sucking your thumb watching his demonic tongue wreaking havoc over your soaking cunt.
Karaku pushes you to the wall with his fingers wrapped tightly around your neck. Your strangled and broken moans are echoing in his ear. The sweat on his chest is cold against your back as he squeezes you tighter against him. He bites your shoulder just a little too hard making you holler out a little from the pain but mostly from the pleasure derived from his thrusting in and out of you. Karaku loses himself in the way you sound as you fight desperately hang onto what little sanity you have left. His teeth sink further into your skin and when he sees the blood spilling from your punctured flesh he growls, snatching your neck back and forcing his tongue in your mouth so you can taste your own blood. His hips buck erratically as he fucks you you blind and silly, praising his good little bunny for taking him so well...
Sekido ❤️ Anger
He wants your take your clothes off for him. Slowly of coarse. He talks you through how he wants to see you touch your body, and please yourself for him, making sure to leave you wanting to touch yourself more but denying you from entering without his permission. He will edge you relentlessly until his good little angel to earns the moment she gets to finally shatter from his skilled fingers.
When he teases… you beg. You beg for his touch. You beg for him to fuck you. You even beg for him to own you. He wants you pathetic and needy before he gives you your reward…..
When he rewards you.. you thank him. You thank him for filling you up and fucking you hard. You thank him for breaking your mind making you come hard repeatedly. You thank him for his nutt, so hot and sticky all over your chest while you look him in the eyes submitting yourself to him fully.
You’re raining wet and pulsing around him as the threat of release builds. The sight of you weak and writhing for before you break has him ready to let go. But he can’t give in, not yet, he bites down on his fingers to hold on a little longer for you.
He’ll talk you through your orgasm with long deep strokes as he whispers in your ear.
A sound slap lands hard across your face and again across your tits. Your neck is sore and likely bruised from his constant grip. A brutal thrust inside you has your toes tightly coiled and your legs spasming uncontrollably. Sekido leans in close and shakes your face commanding you to look at him. Through your lust hazed vision, you can just barely make out the intense satisfaction behind his blood thirsty grin and his crimson eyes intently locking onto yours. He takes you with one final blow, “that’s it little angel. Let that pussy soak my cock. Cmon…cmon..come for me angel…” (insert deep guttural groans and breathy gasps)
Aiszetsu 💙 Sorrow
His sweet cries make you wet weak. The more you edge him, the more he whimpers and pleads for you in the most soul pleasing rattled groans when you reward him with his release.
He loves devouring your pussy. His slick tongue eagerly rousing you while he looks up at you with his pathetic imploring eyes hoping you’ll let him fuck you. The pleading glimmer in his eye as he rolls his tongue from side to side over your clit has you thinking you just might let him.
….. “RED LIGHT” you command and he stops pumping from behind. He strains against his collar, writhing side to side as you tug the leash over your shoulder. “that’s my good little demon puppy, hold it just right there.” Aizetsu all but cries, begging you to keep going with his swollen cock head throbbing eagerly inside you. “Uhh-hhh, beg! Fucking beg me and maybe I’ll let you finish what you started.” He pleads for mercy and you tug the leash harder pulling for him to lean against your back. “Greeeeen light…..” With your permission he pounds away, the more you tug the sloppier his movements become. But you trained him well. Your thoughts start to slip as he pulses in and out, forcing more of your elicit juices to run down your legs. His legs start to shake just as you squeeze your thighs together. “Cmon—unngh, show me what you’ve learned Azzy, ah ah ah—.” You hold the leash tight as a foreign warmth fills you. “Goood boy.” You say smiling and patting his head.
Urogi 💛 Joy
Play fights that start sweet and playful always take a turn for the hot and heavy.
Its his hands all over your body like he’s discovering you for the first time.
TEASE TEASE TEASE!!He has a torturously slow touch. Dragging the pads of his fingers over the inside of your hips, circling over your hip bone and trailing down to the sensitive skin of your upper thigh. It’s so soft that it tickles, making you squirm away from his fingers. He enjoys having you tremble beneath him, the warmth of your flushed skin pressed against his making his cock twitch with the promise of what’s to come. He toys with your body until you’re a writhing pile of flesh with tears welling in eyes showing him just how needy you’ve become, and it’s only then that he’ll let you feel his fingers inside you.
#kny headcanons#heacanons#smut writer#smut oneshot#demonslayer#hantengu#hantengu smut#sekido#urogi smut#karaku#kny x reader#spicy headcanons#kny fanfic
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Queen of Hearts
Vampire!Fox x Fem!Reader
Summary: On your way home from work one early morning, you catch Fox drinking a man's blood in a back alley, and it changes your life forever.
Pairing: Vampire!Fox x Fem!Reader
Characters: Fox, Thorn, clone OCs
Tags & Warnings: 18+, NSFW, MonsterClone!AU, clone discrimination, clone rights, minor injuries, violence, murder, blood, angst, domestic fluff, mild sexual themes, non-sexual intimacy, erotic blood drinking, enemies to friends to lovers, reader can be considered demisexual, stalking
Word Count: 14.5k
Author's Note: This fic is dedicated to my beloved @starrrgazingbunny! She gave me the clone, the monster, and the prompt, which inspired this monstrosity of a fic. Haha, get it? Monstrosity? Monster? I'm hilarious. Anyway, I love you darling and I hope you like the fic 😘 As always, please enjoy 💚
@clonexreaderbingo Square: "Your eyes sparkle."
MonsterClone!AU Prompt: "I know what you did."
Fox’s boots rhythmically clack against the sterile tile floor of the GAR clinic as he strolls through the bright halls with his hands clasped neatly behind his back. It’s late, and he was sorting through an endless stack of data-pads when he received the comm that one of his Corrie Guards was injured on duty and undergoing medical treatment at the clinic. After the comm, he tossed his data-pad to the side and downed the rest of his cold caf before making his way to the clinic.
Fox hates receiving these comms because it’s always the same story. The natborns, who he swears are born with only one brain cell each, are cruel to his corries. Their apathetic dismissal of a clone's mere existence boils his blood. The clones never asked to be created and they surely never expected to be used, abused, and thrown out with the evening’s trash. They are flesh and blood men, his men, and he considers each one of their lives as his responsibility.
Fox lets his frustrating thoughts dissipate when he stops in front of the exam room door. The medic on duty, whose fingers are rapidly tapping on a data-pad medical chart, deviates from his rounds when he sees Fox with his arms crossed. Fox stays silent as he approaches, so the medic continues his data entry as he waits. Fox glances through the window of the door to get a small glimpse at the situation, then turns to address the medic. “What happened?”
The medic looks up from his data-pad and frowns. “He was breaking up a street fight on the lower levels when a natborn busted his nose and broke his arm.” The medic shakes his head. “Poor kid. It was his first night on patrol too.”
Fox sighs, thanks the medic, and dismisses him with a silent nod.
As the medic leaves, Fox opens the door and quietly slips into the exam room, hoping to go unnoticed. He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms as he observes another medic carefully tending to the corrie’s injuries. Fox slumps his shoulders and releases a heavy sigh as he assesses the bruises on the clone’s face. This is the fifth corrie he’s gone through this week and the trend is only getting worse. It’s mind-numbing to him, just how cruel the natborns are.
After watching for a few more seconds, Fox pushes himself off of the wall. He pulls his bucket off and sets it down on the counter, his loose curls cascading down to just above his eyes. He walks over to the exam table, taps the medic on the shoulder, and asks him to take a break. The medic nods and hands Fox the bandages and adhesive before exiting the room. Fox flicks his hair to the side and away from his eyes as he takes a seat on the stool in front of the injured clone.
“C-Commander,” the corrie stammers in surprise while scrambling to stand to attention.
Fox reaches up and places two firm hands on the clone’s shoulders to gently push him back down onto the exam table. “At ease, vod,” his voice soothes. “No need to get up. You’re hurt.”
“Y-Yes sir,” the corrie says, nervousness escaping his voice. It’s not every day a shiny gets a visit from their commander, let alone have them bandage their wounds.
Fox lets a small smile creep onto his lips. He always finds it endearing the way the shinies act around him. They think he’s some sort of celebrity being the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard, but in reality, he’s just an overworked, sleep-deprived, and overly-caffeinated bag of meat. There’s nothing about his existence that makes him feel worthy of their praise, at least, not when his men sit in the clinic wounded while he sits behind a desk doing data-work.
“What’s your name, kid?” Fox asks, his fingers working deftly to continue wrapping the bandage where the medic left off.
“Slapstick, sir,” the corrie says.
Fox chuckles at the name and tightens the side of the bandage.
Slapstick winces at the pain. “Apparently, I’m good at comedy, sir,” he jokes.
Fox grins. “You’ll have to tell me a joke when you’re better.”
“Will do, sir,” Slapstick smiles.
Fox makes quick work of wrapping the broken arm and gently gives it back. He grabs a cloth sling and fits it over Slapstick’s shoulder, making sure the elevation is correct for his arm to rest comfortably. Fox then grabs a few cotton pads and dabs them with alcohol to clean the blood off the corrie’s face and applies a bandage across his nose. When finished, Fox sits back in the chair and watches as Slapstick nurses his broken arm, a flash of emotion crossing his bruised face.
Fox frowns, rises from the chair, and places a firm hand on the younger clone’s shoulder. He peers into the shiny’s innocent, yet fearful eyes, and silently reassures him. “Do what the medics tell you, and you’ll be fine. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir,” Slapstick nods. “Thank you, Commander.”
Fox smiles with sad eyes. “You’re welcome, kih’vod.”
Fox turns away, grabs his bucket off the counter, replaces it on his head, and then exits the exam room. He softly shuts the door behind him and stands in the hallway for a moment to compose himself. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly to release the tension built up in his shoulders. They’re so young. He laments. The new shinies come in looking so full of life and eager to please their superiors. It catches him off guard every time he sees one of their youthful faces.
Being part of one of the earliest batches of clones, Fox feels old. The gray streaks running through the sides of his dark curly hair only serve to prove it. It’s ironic to him since his batchmates haven’t grayed yet, so it must be the stress. He and the shinies are only a few years apart in manufacture date, but the accelerated aging makes him feel as if he’s lived a lifetime. He wishes he could relive the days when he was a shiny. Back then, they didn’t even have names.
Fox still remembers being a fresh young clone and ready to serve the Republic. He was created as part of a batch of commanders bred to be leaders, with superior intelligence and bolstered strength. Little did he know what true horrors he and those under his command would endure. The constant ridicule by every lifeform walking the streets of Coruscant, the discrimination and litany of ‘no clones allowed’ signs on business storefronts, and the lack of human decency was, and still is, repulsive.
He didn’t ask for this post, one so far from the war. Yet, here he is, visiting the broken men under his command and taking every bit of their suffering personally. Each one who is spat on, belittled, cursed at, and dehumanized weighs deeply on his soul. At least on the battlefield they’d receive the respect they deserve. At one point, Wolffe warned him of being overly attached to his men, and Fox knew Wolffe had every right to speak about loss, but he still didn’t listen.
He internalizes all of their pain and lets it steep deep within him. His anger for the natborns burns white hot in the pit of his stomach. He decided long ago that there’s nothing good about a natborn. They’re all useless beings that sit on pious ideals and build their peace on the dead bodies of his brothers, stacking them like cheap bricks and using their blood as mortar. But now, he’s done letting the atrocities slide. He’s done watching his brothers suffer at their hands.
Fox straightens himself as his resolve settles within him. Purpose driven, he marches back to headquarters. He doesn’t bother turning the lights on in his dark office, the blue glow from his data-pad illuminates his face as he sifts through the new reports to find the one about Slapstick. He pulls up a holo-recording of the events and watches it with intent. He notes the location, and when he sees the natborn’s face, he tosses the data-pad onto his desk and leaves his office.
He knows what he needs to do, and he’s finally ready to act on his intentions. The guilt that has crept into him, knowing that he could have done something sooner, only propels him forward in his mission. As he nears the exit of the headquarters’ building, Thorn is waiting for him. Fox curses under his breath. He knows Thorn will try to stop him, try to talk some sense into him, but he doesn’t care. He’s done playing around, and if he has to go through his brother, he will.
Thorn crosses into Fox’s path and folds his arms. "And where are you going?"
"Out,” Fox answers as he steps to the side to go around him.
Thorn follows his movements, preventing him from advancing. "What? You've got a hot date or something?"
"Something like that," Fox mutters, trying to side-step him again.
"I know what you’re gonna do," Thorn says, blocking his brother again. “I can smell it. The lust.”
Fox grunts in frustration and forcefully pushes past his brother. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Thorn turns and catches Fox’s arm, his grip tight. "Whatever you think you're going to accomplish out there is only going to come back to bite you,” he warns. “You're gonna get caught!"
Fox smirks under his helmet. "Not if I bite first."
A small gasp escapes Thorn’s throat. He didn’t want to be right. He knew Fox was up to something malicious when he first caught a whiff of his altered scent, a shift so strong he could smell it from two klicks away. He refused to believe that his brother would go this far and intentionally put all of the commanders at risk by going rogue, but he was wrong. Fox is going through with it. In his brief shock, Thorn’s grip slacks enough for Fox to yank his arm out.
Fox, finally free of his brother’s blockade attempt, stalks off into the night to find his prey.
“Fox!” Thorn calls, desperate to get him to reconsider, but Fox doesn’t respond, and Thorn, powerless to stop him, watches as he slips into the shadows of Coruscant.
You let out an exhausted sigh as you finish up your shift at the diner. It’s been a long night, and you glance at the chronometer on the wall while stretching out your back. It’s 02:00 hours and almost time for you to go home. You don’t mind working the second shift, in fact, you enjoy being a night owl and sleeping during the day. The initial adjustment to your schedule was difficult, but now that you have a routine set, your body works just as well as it did in the daylight.
After bringing the remainder of the plates to the kitchen, you grab a to-go container and pile all of the leftover scraps into it, then pour what’s left from the caf carafe into a to-go cup. Your manager is a good person, and she lets you take food home at the end of your shift for dinner. It isn’t much, just what customers didn’t finish, but you’re always grateful. Once you have all of your things gathered and your leftover dinner, you wave goodbye to the rest of the staff and leave.
As you walk along the diner front, you frown at the bright circular neon sign. It has an image of a clone’s helmet in the center and a large red slash running through it. You don’t understand what people have against the clones because they seem human enough to you. Sometimes it bothers you to be working in such a discriminatory business, but you don’t have much of a choice. Most places of business are anti-clone, and it’s hard getting a job with one that’s clone-friendly.
You sigh, and continue along the darkly lit street towards home. As you approach the next alleyway, you see two Coruscant Guardsmen leaning against the wall. You smile and wave at them and they eagerly wave back. One of the perks of working the second shift at the diner is that you get the pleasure of running into your two favorite Corrie Guards, Traipse and Chris, on their patrol route. They’re wonderful friends, with big hearts, and even bigger stomachs.
“Watcha got for us today, mesh’la?” Traipse asks as he slips his bucket off.
“The usual,” you smile and hand the to-go container to him. “A couple half-eaten sandwiches and some cold fries, but this time there’s a little ketchup stuck to them.”
“Sweet!” Chris rips his bucket off as he eyes the food in the container, practically salivating at the prospect of cold, soggy fries.
It breaks your heart to see them so excited over scraps from another patrons table, but you know that anything you give them is better than what the GAR feeds them. It’s the least you can do for them, and they truly appreciate the meal. You still remember the first day you met them when you began working at the diner. They were new and on patrol when they stopped in for a hot cup of caf, which was a big mistake. The owner was livid, cursed at them, and almost shot them.
The scene that unfolded in front of you was just as frightening as it was disturbing. The two corries only wanted a cup of caf to keep them awake during their patrol, and they were nearly killed over it. That was the night your heart broke and truly softened for the clones. You felt so bad for them that at the end of your shift, you scraped together all the leftover food and caf you could get a hold of, and searched the streets looking for them. You’ve been friends ever since.
“And,” you sing while holding up the to-go cup, “some caf to wash it down.”
Their eyes light up like it’s Christmas. “No way! You got us caf too?”
You laugh and hand the cup to Chris. “It’s not very hot, and it's a bit stale, but it should be enough for the both of you to share.”
Chris takes the first sip of the lukewarm, slightly stale caf, and you can see the tension slip from his shoulders. It’s like he’s tasting caf for the very first time, and it’s not even good caf. You smile, but on the inside, you’re hurting. All of the caf shops on their patrol route are anti-clone, so they can’t stop for a simple cup of caf or even grab something to eat. They have to wait until their patrol is over and return back to the GAR headquarters. You wish you could do more.
“Thank you, mesh’la,” Traipse says, then gives you a big hug. “You’re so good to us.”
“It’s my pleasure,” you smile as you squeeze him back. “You know, someday I’m going to open my own diner, just for clones.”
Chris grins. “We’ll be your first customers!”
You laugh at his exuberance, and tap your foot on the ground. “I wish I could stay and chat, but I really need to get home.”
Chris hands the cup of caf to Traipse who takes a small sip. “You want us to escort you home?”
“Nah,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. “I’ll be fine. I walk this route every night, you know.”
“Be safe, okay?” Traipse says. “And if you need us, you know where to find us.”
“Thanks boys,” you give them each a farewell hug and set out towards home, turning around to wave goodbye one more time.
You really did want to stay and chat with your friends like you do every night, but this particular shift was exhausting and now you only want to sleep. You barely had any breaks in between your tables being filled and emptied, so your feet ache painfully. Just the distance to walk home is enough to make you want to scream in agony. You didn’t want to tell your friends that your feet hurt, because you know that one of them, if not both, would have tried to carry you home.
It’s not that you wouldn’t mind being carried home by a big, strong, and handsome clone, but they have a job to do. They're on patrol, and you’re already putting them into jeopardy by chatting away with them when they’re supposed to be walking about the streets of Coruscant. They’re allowed to take breaks, but to have them deviate from their course so severely just to take you home because your feet hurt, is way too big of an ask. It would not be right..
As you continue to walk the dark streets, illuminated only by neon signs, your thoughts are interrupted by a noise coming from one of the side alleys. It almost sounds like a scuffle. They say curiosity killed the tooka, but it hasn’t killed you yet. So, you cautiously peer down the alley and see two men standing by the wall. One looks like a clone, but you can’t tell what color his armor is, and the other man looks wasted. You tip-toe closer and crouch behind a crate to get a better listen.
“I know what you did,” Fox says as he backs the drunken man against the wall.
“Get lost clone,” the man slurs.
"You hurt my kih’vod," Fox says.
"Your what?" the man asks, clearly confused with the term.
"My kih’vod," Fox repeats. "You broke his arm, and for what? Fun?"
The man pauses as he tries to understand what the clone is talking about through his drunken haze. Once it finally registers, the man sneers and becomes angry. "He deserved it!" the man yells. "All of them! They're all freaks of nature!"
"Freaks of nature?" Fox mocks and cocks his head to the side, feigning confusion at the accusation. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Disgusting meat droids," the man scoffs.
Fox chuckles darkly and gets in the man’s face. "You don't understand anything."
"What’s that?" the man slurs.
Fox pulls his bucket off and whispers in the man’s ear. "I'm the freak of nature." He grabs the man by the throat and lifts him up against the wall.
"Let go!" the man yells as he struggles in Fox’s grasp.
"You're not in a place to bargain," Fox says, purposefully baring his fangs in a show of intimidation. The neon lights bounce off the fangs, making them glow bright, a stark contrast to the dark alley.
You startle at the sight of the fangs and your grip loosens on the side of the crate, causing you to fall into the alleyway, making a thud noise when you hit the ground. You scramble back to your hiding place behind the crate and clamp a hand over your mouth, hoping he didn’t hear or notice you. You close your eyes as your mind races a mile a minute, wondering just what in the stars you just saw.
Fox snaps his head to the side when he hears the sound and he catches a small glimpse of you scurrying behind the crate. Tucking that away to deal with later, he turns his attention back to his prey. “Looks like we have an audience,” Fox sighs. “I just hate it when guests show up uninvited to dinner, don’t you?”
The man wriggles helplessly in the Fox’s grasp, fear washing over him as he realizes the mistake he’s made.
"Confess your sins," Fox says.
"I… I'm sorry, please," the man pleads, tears streaming down his face.
"Oh, not to me," Fox explains. "I'm not your Maker."
The man whimpers, haphazardly kicking and fighting to get free, but he’s too weak under the influence of alcohol.
"I am your death," Fox sinks his fangs into the man's neck and sucks every last bit of blood out of his worthless body. Eventually, the man stops wriggling, and his body slumps in Fox’s grasp.
Fox grimaces at the bitter taste of the man’s blood, but it’d be a shame to waste it. He finally pulls away from the man’s neck, panting for breath, then spits the last bit of the bitter blood out of his mouth as he staggers back. The alcohol in the man’s blood begins to make him feel light-headed and woozy. He turns to where you’re hiding behind the crate and starts walking towards you. His bucket sways in his left hand, while his right hand drags the man’s limp body alongside him.
Fox stops in front of you and drops the lifeless body beside you. The man’s cold, dead eyes meet your live ones, and you feel sick to your stomach. You look up at the clone with wide eyes as fear and dread wash over you like a heavy blanket. You can see now that his armor is red, red like the Coruscant Guard and red like blood smeared on his face. Your breath quickens when you notice the elongated fangs made visible as he pants from his fresh kill.
“You’re a… a…” you stammer out as you slowly inch away from his looming presence.
“A vampire?” Fox finishes your sentence with a roll of his head, still feeling tipsy from the alcohol invading his system.
“That’s… impossible,” you say. You’re at a loss for words as your brain flips between fight, flight, and freeze. Sure, you’ve read the stories about vampires, but they were just stories, right? Vampires don’t exist in real life, do they? You’re not sure what to think, but you don’t have time to work through figuring out an answer. You dart your eyes to the left and to the right, looking desperately for an escape route.
Fox kneels down in front of you and grabs your chin, forcing you to look into his deep brown eyes. “This is our little secret. Do you understand?”
You nod your head, too shocked to give a verbal response.
Fox searches your face for a moment, unsure of what he’s looking for, but eventually he releases you. “Run along little one,” he whispers, “or the fox might catch you.”
At his words, you scramble backwards, awkwardly trying to get up off the ground. He’s not coming after you, but the fear and adrenaline that’s raging inside your body tells you to run away. You get to your feet and you run. You run as fast as you can. You look back to make sure he’s not following you, and you see him, standing where he left you, watching you as you make your escape. You turn forward and continue running, ignoring the pain in your already tired feet.
You’re not sure which direction you're running in, just that it’s away from him. You wonder what he meant by ‘the fox’. Who is ‘the fox’? Is he a fox? No. He’s a vampire. Is his name Fox? You’re not sure of anything at the moment, and you decide to figure it out later. You keep up your stiff pace, dashing through the streets, turning down corners that look familiar until you come to an abrupt stop when you crash into Traipse. A small yelp escaping your lips as you fall backwards.
“Mesh’la?” Traipse asks in surprise.
Chris stoops down to pull you to your feet. “Are you alright? That was quite the hit.”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Traipse adds as he looks you over to make sure you’re not hurt.
“I’m okay,” you pant.
Traipse and Chris trade bewildered glances and briefly look around to see what you might have been running from.
“What happened?” Chris asks. “We thought you went home.”
“I…” you want to tell them what happened. You want to tell them what you saw, but you quickly remember that you were sworn to secrecy, so instead, you feed them a lie. “I just got spooked. That’s all.”
Traipse doesn’t believe your explanation for one second. He narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” you insist with a shaky breath, trying to sound convincing. You pause for a moment, then make a simple request, hoping that they’ll stop asking questions. “Would you walk me home now? Please?”
“Of course,” Traipse answers. He’s still not happy with the lack of explanation, but he doesn’t want to push it any further. “It would be our pleasure.”
The two corries walk on either side of you as you make the journey home. You feel a sense of safety with them at your side, so you try to let yourself relax a little. Many people fear or even hate the Coruscant Guard, but you’ve always enjoyed having them around. They make the lower levels more bearable and safe to live in, and your late nights aren’t so lonely. But now, can you really trust them? Are they really who you think they are? You’re not so sure anymore.
As you approach your apartment, you once again think about the corrie you encountered in the alley. You know that he’s a corrie based on the color of his armor, but you’ve never seen him around the lower levels before, or at least not on your route home. Perhaps he lives on the upper levels and comes down to the lower levels to feed. Your skin bristles at the thought. A vampire amongst the clones. A vampire amongst the Coruscant Guard. What if there are more?
You glance at your companions and briefly wonder if they’re vampires too. You quickly throw the idea out of your mind. If they were vampires, wouldn’t they have drank your blood by now? You shake your head to remove the swirling thoughts. The sun will be rising soon, and you just want to go to bed at this point. When you arrive home, you thank your two escorts as they leave you outside of your apartment, but they stay long enough to make sure you get inside safely, and for that you’re grateful.
Once inside, you lock your door and check every window to make sure they’re locked as well, and then pull the room darkening curtains across them. The fear that has crept inside of you from the words of the mysterious corrie in the alley has not left you. You shiver and slink down beside your bed, clutching your knees to your chest. You wonder if he’ll find you or if he’ll try to hurt you. You know not all clones are good, but you’ve always tried not to judge them on the outside.
As your adrenaline winds down, you decide to skip dinner, throw on your pajamas, and curl up under your duvet, covering your head with the thick material like a child afraid of the monsters under their bed. You keep a light on beside your bed, just in case, then slowly drift off to sleep as your exhaustion overrides your fear and forces you to sleep. Surprisingly, you sleep well, and are only awoken by your preset alarm at 17:00 hours, reminding you to get up for another day.
You barely remember the events of the night before in your waking haze, but as your senses return, the fear and anxiety creeps back in. You now wish you had asked Traipse and Chris to walk you to work as well. You know they would have if you asked. Sighing heavily, you take a quick shower, get dressed, and throw some food together for a hasty breakfast before heading out the door. Fortunately, your route to work is uneventful, which you’re thankful for.
Your day at work is the same as usual. With the hustle and bustle of the diner, you rarely have a moment to even think about the corrie in the alley. Between waiting tables, refilling caf, and chatting with the patrons, you almost forgot. However, there’s a nagging feeling in the back of your mind. The feeling that you're being observed. You don’t let it bother you too much, but you know it has to be him, watching your every move, making sure you don’t spill his secret.
At the end of your shift, you bring the remaining plates to the kitchen, gather up another to-go container of scraps and pour the last of the night's caf into a to-go cup for Traipse and Chris. You bid farewell to your co-workers and meet up with your two corrie friends by the next alley. They’re leaning against the wall, waiting for you to show up, but with stern looks on their faces. They must be worried about you. However, their demeanor perks up when they see you coming.
Across from the diner and in the shadows, Fox watches you. He keeps his distance, but he decided to keep an eye on you after the events of the previous morning. The words from Thorn rotate in his mind about getting caught and they churn in his stomach, because knows what will happen if the GAR finds out he’s a vampire, and he knows he put the rest of the commanders at risk. Which he mentally kicks himself for; the stubborn stupidity and lack of rational thinking.
Thus, he watches you, making sure you keep your mouth shut. He really doesn’t want to have to shut it for you, so he’s saving that drastic option for last. The keeping of his secret is vital to his entire batch’s survival. Only a few people outside of the commander batch know what happened during that unfortunate training mission, and that’s how he wants to keep it. It’s not safe for any of them. They’re not monsters and they’re not animals, but they aren’t normal.
It was a routine training mission for the batch of commanders. A get in, complete the objective, and then get out type of mission. Their Mandalorian instructor was a proud and harsh man, but he knew how to train strong leaders. However, something went wrong when they stumbled upon an unknown creature in the bowels of the world. An otherworldly looking being that struck fear in all of them, even their instructor. Every man on that training mission left that world changed.
They left that world infected. Each one gained a heightened sense of smell, sharper ears, and an unusual taste for human blood. They could hear heartbeats as people passed by and smell fear on their men. The change was difficult, being acutely aware of others around them, and they didn’t drink blood often. It wasn’t needed for survival, so why risk it. Most of them didn’t like talking about it either. So, their fangs remained hidden and their attraction to blood was stifled.
Fox snaps back from his memories when his eye catches the blinking neon sign affixed to the diner’s transparisteel front which bars his brethren from entering. He scowls at the offending sign and writes you off just like he does everyone else. A worthless natborn that can’t see past their own biased ideals. He huffs, thinking that maybe it would be worth the trouble to just get rid of you after your shift, but his better judgment, that he was missing last night, tells him not to.
He continues to watch you throughout your shift, unamused as you bustle around waiting tables, refilling caf, and pocketing tips. He finds you rather boring, actually, and continues to weigh your existence in his mind as to whether he wants to keep you alive or not. As you exit the diner at the end of your shift, he straightens his back and stretches. He quickly furrows his brows at the smile plastered on your face and wonders what you could possibly be smiling about.
Fox becomes curious about your odd happiness, so he follows you, maintaining his distance and keeping to the shadows where he can. Luckily, that isn’t a difficult thing to do in the lower levels. When he sees you approaching two Corrie Guards standing by an alley, he stiffens, worrying that you might harm his brothers. He watches intently as you get closer, his muscles tensing as he rolls the notion of ousting himself. He takes a single step forward, then stops.
Laughter. He hears laughter. His brothers are laughing with a natborn. They’re laughing with you. Fox’s mouth falls open in shock, and he takes a step backwards, caught completely off guard by what he’s seeing. He watches, dumbstruck, as you hand them the to-go container of food and the to-go cup of caf. To think that a natborn could be kind to a clone was unfathomable for Fox, but here you are, giving them food, giving them caf, and making them laugh.
The look of pure joy and happiness on their faces melts something deep within Fox. He can’t quite place the feeling, but it’s warm and soft and inviting. His anger and fear starts to crumble as his features soften. Could he be wrong about you? Is there such a thing as a good natborn? His skepticism and apprehension are replaced with intrigue and curiosity, and he decides that he needs to know more about you. So, he watches you more, but now because he wants to.
You fidget with your fingers and shift your weight between your two feet. “Hey, can I ask you guys a question?”
“Sure,” Traipse says as he tosses a few potato wedges in his mouth.
You hesitate for a second, piecing together the words carefully so that you don’t say too much, but you need to know the answer. “Is there a ‘fox’ in the Coruscant Guard?”
“Is there a ‘fox’?” Chris repeats with a slight laugh. “Yeah, there’s a Fox, but he’s not in the Coruscant Guard.”
“Oh…” you knit your brows together in confusion. You swear that the colors on that clone’s armor belong to the Corrie Guard.
Traipse chuckles at your confusion and needles Chris. “What this di’kut is trying to say is that Fox is the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard, so technically he’s not in it, he’s over it.”
Your mouth opens in shock. “Fox is a Commander?!”
“The Commander,” Chris corrects with a pointed finger.
Your brain continues to recalculate like a GPS that has lost its signal. You can’t believe that the corrie you ran into in that dark alley, the one that killed that man, the one that is a vampire, is also the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. You feel sick. You’re not sure what question to ask next. You don’t want them catching on and you don’t want to release too much information, so you go with something simple. “Do you like Commander Fox?”
“Of course!” Traipse exclaims. “He’s the best!”
“He visits his men when they’re in the GAR clinic,” Chris adds. “Even the shinies get a visit from him. He really cares about us. Kinda like you do.”
“Oh,” you trail off, not sure what to say.
Traipse and Chris continue to gloat about their amazing commander, which confuses you even more. The image they paint of Fox is nothing like the man you saw in the alley last night. There’s no way they’re the same man. It’s not possible. The man they’re speaking of is kind, brave, and smart, but the man you saw in the alley was terrifying, violent, and spiteful. The two images clash inside your mind as you struggle to decide if they really are the same man.
“Why do you want to know about our Commander?” Chris interrupts your thoughts.
You stiffen and come up with something quick. “Oh, no reason,” you dismiss. “I just heard the name is all.” You hope that explanation is convincing enough for them, and you let out a little sigh of relief when they shrug and change the subject.
Fox continues to watch you from the shadows as you interact with the two corries. He becomes nervous when you bring him up in the conversation, because if you’re as smart as he thinks you are, you’ll figure out his identity. With that information, you could easily go to the nearest general and get him arrested, court-martialed, or worse, decommissioned. He listens intently to his men’s praise, but his shoulders finally relax when they change the subject to something else.
After that encounter, Fox decides to watch you more, fully intrigued by the way you treat clones. He still has some doubts, and wonders if it’s only for show or if you really do care. However, night after night, he watches you clean tables, pack scraps together, and leave the diner. Like clock-work, you meet up with your two Corrie Guard friends to offer them a half-eaten meal, talk about your day, and listen as they regale you with harrowing stories of their nightly patrols.
Slowly, Fox finds himself wanting to see you more. Every night he leaves his office, whether his work is finished or not, to come and watch you at the diner. The way you dance around the tables in your apron, smile at patrons as you refill their mugs, and the sound of your laugh have become a part of his routine. He doesn’t want to miss a single second of you. He watches you with every intention to reveal himself, but he knows he can’t. Not after what you saw him do.
While Fox is back at headquarters, Thorn catches him lost in thought while sitting at his desk, mindlessly twirling his stylus around his fingers as his stack of data-pads grow. Thorn leans against the door jam and folds his arms. “You look busy.”
Fox continues to twirl his stylus while staring blankly at Thorn, unamused by his sarcastic tone. “Yeah, I am. So, why don’t you leave me to it.”
Thorn huffs. “You’ve always been a bad liar, vod.”
Fox wonders if Thorn is getting suspicious of him, and his question is answered quickly.
“You gonna tell me where you keep sneak’en off to at night?” Thorn asks.
Fox stops twirling his stylus and lowers his eyes to scan the data-pad on his desk. “It’s none of your business.”
“It’s my business if you’re gett’en us all in trouble,” Thorn retorts.
“It’s not like that,” Fox says without looking up from his data-pad.
Thorn approaches Fox’s desk and places both hands down flat onto the surface. “Then why don’t you tell me what it is like?”
Fox looks up from his data-pad and meets Thorn’s eyes with a scrunch of his nose. He emphasizes his words and says them slowly. “It’s none of your business.”
Fox and Thorn stare at each other with intensity. Thorn trying to read Fox’s intentions and Fox trying to ward off Thorn’s intrusion. As Thorn continues to search Fox’s face, he picks up on a faint scent emanating from hum. Thorn’s mouth slowly opens into a toothy grin as a singular thought pops into his mind. Thorn laughs and shakes his head, straightening himself up and moving away from the desk. He drags a hand across his chin. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”
Fox’s body tenses at Thorn’s acute awareness. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he dismisses, but his body betrays him. Heat slowly rises up his face and to the tips of his ears as his heartbeat quickens, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Thorn.
“You are!” Thorn exclaims with a knowing smile.
“I am not!” Fox retorts loudly, but then hushes himself to make sure no one hears. “I am not.”
“Don’t worry, vod, your secret is safe with me,” Thorn says playfully. “This is kinda unexpected though… I thought you hated natborns?”
Fox groans and leans back in his chair, running his hands down his face. “I do.”
Thorn throws him a devilish grin. “I guess not all of them.”
Fox leans forward and points his stylus at Thorn. “Get out.”
Thorn laughs and turns to leave Fox’s office, but not before giving him one more parting piece of brotherly advice. “Let me know if you need any date-night ideas.”
“Out!” Fox yells as he throws his stylus at his brother.
Once Thorn is out of sight, Fox plants his face onto his desk and groans. He never understood how Thorn could be so perceptive all of the time. He reads him like a book, but then again, he’s never been good at hiding his body’s reactions. Fox picks his head up from the desk and places it in his hands, fingers sliding through his mess of curls. He hates to admit it, but Thorn is right. He is in love, but he refuses to admit it because you’re a natborn. It goes against everything he knows.
It’s too late though, Fox can’t help himself from falling in love with you. He doesn’t get many glimpses of happiness in his life, but when he sees you. Maker, when he sees you smile, and your eyes sparkle, and you laugh, it’s enough happiness for him. He wants you to bring him table scraps and cold caf, to tell him about your day, and laugh with him. He wants to escort you home, to make sure you’re safe, and to be the reason that you smile, but he doesn’t know how.
Fox once again finds himself sitting in the shadows just outside of the diner and staring into the transparisteel window. He’s completely transfixed on you as you go about your shift. Something about your warm smile has captured his cold and calloused heart, and tonight is no different. He feels the urge again, the urge to confront you, to make himself known so he can get to know you. He kicks himself over and over for making you scared of him, but he wants to make it right.
He decides to approach you tonight, and steels himself to prepare, but as you open the door of the diner to leave, Fox catches a whiff of something intoxicatingly sweet. His heart skips a beat, his breath quickens, and his fangs become aroused at the scent. Even with his bucket on, it’s not enough to block out the decadent aroma. He pulls his bucket off and places a hand over his mouth and nose to try and stifle it, but it’s no use, the scent wafts around as you walk.
Through his growing arousal, Fox searches your body, looking for the source, and then he sees it. A bandage on your arm covering a cut. He tries to block the lustful thoughts out of his mind and remain focused, but Maker does he want a taste of you. His fangs throb out of need. The fragrance of your blood is like nothing he’s ever smelled before. Male blood is bitter and female blood is sweet, but your blood is overwhelmingly sweet. Sweeter than anything the universe could ever provide him.
Although he had plans to finally confront you tonight, he decides he needs to leave. The urge to drink your blood is too strong. If he made his move now, it would only frighten you, and that’s not what he wants to do. He doesn’t want you to be scared of him anymore. He doesn’t want you to look at him in fear like you did the night you met. He wants to make his intentions clear to you so there’s no mistake. He’ll show you that like your two corrie friends, he is also worthy of your affection.
It’s been three weeks since your terrifying encounter with Commander Fox, and you’ve finally put him and the ordeal out of your mind. You did what he asked and kept his secret, so there was no reason for him to come for you. However, you never quite lost the feeling of being watched, but you decided that it was just the paranoia getting the better of you. Besides, with Traipse and Chris walking you home every morning, you always felt safe.
Tonight is no different. You finish up your shift at the diner like usual, scrape together the best looking leftovers, and pour a to-go cup of the remaining stale caf. You clock out, say goodbye to your co-workers, and meet up with your corrie friends at the next alley over to give them their dinner. The look of excitement on their faces never fails to make you smile. It’s sad that something so simple, like table scraps and old caf, could make their night something special.
You chat with them about your day at work, and all the latest gossip from your co-workers, while they devour the diner food. A few well-timed jokes and laughs are exchanged, and when they’ve finished eating, they walk you home like they do every night since the scary incident. On the way, they fill you in on all of the juicy details of the Coruscant underworld. Some of it is so ridiculous you wonder if it can possibly be true, but you laugh and enjoy their musings.
Once you arrive at your apartment, you bid your friends farewell and swipe your keycard to enter your home. The inside of your apartment is dark, and only illuminated by a couple strings of battery powered fairy lights that are much more cost-effective on your energy bill than keeping your lights on. You lock the door behind you, toss your bag on the couch, and check all of the windows, before pulling the room darkening curtains closed as the sun threatens to rise.
You then enter the kitchen and wash the day of work off of your hands, then do a couple of the dishes that you’ve neglected for the past week. You place them neatly in the drying rack, then dry your hands as you mull over what you want to eat for dinner. You don’t feel like cooking, so leftovers are your only option. You pull open the conservator door and stare at your dismal choices. Finally, you pull out a small container of something you know isn’t bad and reheat it.
Sitting at your kitchen table, you mindlessly scroll through your data-pad and look at the current events while you munch on your dinner. You sigh as you read reports of the increased crime rate, violent anti-clone protests, and higher taxes for the lower levels. You toss your data-pad down, and grumble about there never being anything happy in the news to look at. When you finish dinner, you place your used dish in the sink, stretch, then head to your bedroom.
As you enter your bedroom, you flip the switch on the side wall to turn the lights on and nearly jump out of your skin as your soul almost leaves your body. There’s a clone lying on your bed. Of all the things you thought you’d come home to, maybe a stray tooka or something, you definitely never in your wildest imagination thought you’d find a whole clone in your apartment. You freeze and throw a hand over your mouth to stifle any noise but the clone doesn’t stir.
After the initial shock wears off, you notice that the clone’s armor looks awfully familiar to you. Your eyes widen with realization. It’s Fox. The Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard, a vampire, is on your bed. He’s lying on his stomach, armor still adorning his body, bucket perched on the nightstand, his face buried in one of your pillows, with both arms wrapped around it. Every single human emotion runs through your body, and you’re not sure which one to pick.
“Fox!” you yell. “What are you doing in my bed?”
Fox doesn’t move, but mumbles into the pillow. “Sleeping.”
“Why are you sleeping in my bed?” you demand.
Fox nuzzles the pillow gently. “It’s comfy.”
Your mouth falls open at his answer, but you really aren’t sure what you were expecting. “How did you even get in here?”
“The door,” he murmurs sleepily.
“I– You–” you're at a loss for words. You’re stunned. You rush over to him and grab his left leg to try and pull him off your bed, but he’s too heavy and you can’t get him to budge. You step back and groan in frustration that he’s not moving. Suddenly, something clicks in your brain and you become very afraid. “You’re…” you back away from the bed. “You’re not going to kill me are you? I kept your secret! I promise!”
Fox sighs at the fear he hears in your voice, and he mentally kicks himself for being the cause of it. He thought that confronting you in a safe place, such as your home, in a very calm and non-threatening way would make this easier on you. Clearly, he was wrong. Perhaps he should have asked for Thorn’s help after all. In an attempt to de-escalate the situation Fox remains still and speaks calmly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
His soft spoken words almost sound sincere, but you can still see his bloody face in your memories and hear those cynical words spoken to you. You feel conflicted about the situation. He hasn’t bothered you since that night and he hasn’t moved an inch since you got home. If he really wanted to kill you, wouldn’t he have done so already? It would be way too easy. Your physical prowess is nothing compared to a clone, let alone a commander. He could easily kill you.
“I promise,” he adds when you remain quiet.
You can hear a level of vulnerability in his words that strangely sets your heart at ease. Maybe the Fox that your corrie friends spoke of is the real Fox, and the Fox that you met in the alley isn’t. You might be rationalizing away his behavior that night, but everyone has a breaking point. Ultimately, you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. You're still not okay with him breaking into your apartment or sleeping on your bed, but maybe he just needs a place to crash.
“Can you at least take your armor off?” you sigh. “You’re getting my duvet dirty.”
Fox doesn’t move a muscle.
“Whatever,” you let out another sigh, too exhausted to argue. “I’m going to take a shower, and I’m locking the door. So don’t try anything funny.”
Fox remains silent and unmoving.
You narrow your eyes, still wary of the commander. You know who he is. You know what he is. And you know what he’s capable of. As a precautionary measure, you grab your mace from your purse on the couch, gather a change of clothes, and lock yourself in the refresher. You should feel scared, more scared than you are, but something about him feels disarming and almost safe. It’s a stark contrast to what you saw the night you met, but maybe that’s his plan.
You finish your shower and exit the refresher, feeling clean and ready for bed. When you walk back into your bedroom, you startle for a moment. Fox is still lying on his stomach on your bed, but his armor is stacked neatly next to your dresser, leaving him clothed only in his black bodysuit. You look at him for a moment, cocking your head to the side, and wonder why he waited to take his armor off. Perhaps he didn’t want to scare you by making any sudden movements.
Whatever the reason, his intentions of not harming you are made clearer every second. He’s leaving his entire body vulnerable to you. You could easily grab one of the steak knives from the kitchen and stab him in the back with it, but you won’t. He hasn’t given you a reason to, and you hope he doesn’t. You haven’t been known as the smartest person in the world, and you trust way too easily, but you honestly don’t feel any malicious intent from him as he lies in your bed.
You cautiously come around to the empty side of the bed and look at his face nestled in your pillow. His dark curly hair lines the sides of his face, coming to rest just above his closed eyes, his lips are slightly parted as he breathes slowly. You have to admit, he looks peaceful, like this is the first bed he’s ever slept on in his whole life, and your heart softens a bit for him. He’s still a vampire, you remind yourself, but he doesn’t look scary, at least not like this.
Since Fox is sleeping on top of your duvet, instead of in it, you grab a blanket from the chair on the other side of the room and carefully drape it over him. He remains still and doesn’t say a word. You still wonder why you’re doing any of this, but something deep inside tells you that he won’t hurt you. You grab another blanket for yourself and stand at the edge of the bed. He’s still a little too close for comfort, and for caution's sake, you decide to sleep with your mace in your hand.
“Can you scoot over, please?” you ask.
Without opening his eyes, Fox wiggles himself to the edge of the bed, taking the pillow with him. You stifle a snort at how funny he looks, but the smile that crosses your face cannot be hidden. He’s like a child. Acting just like the rest of the clones when they encounter such small creature comforts. You take a lot of things for granted as a human, as a natborn, but you try your best to pay it forward to the clones when you can, even if that means letting one sleep in your bed.
You crawl onto the empty side of the bed and snuggle under the blanket you pulled off of the chair. You rest your head on your pillow and look over at Fox. His eyes are still closed and he seems to be asleep. Your mind on the other hand is racing with so many questions that you’re having trouble sleeping. It keeps going back to the night you met, and makes you wonder why he’s so different today than he was then. You fidget with your fingers, then decide to finally ask.
“Fox?” you whisper.
“Hmm?” he hums.
You hesitate for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”
“Mhm,” he mumbles against the pillow.
“What would happen if they found out?” you ask.
Without opening his eyes he answers. “I’d be decommissioned.”
You chuckle. “Is that some type of early retirement?”
Fox opens his eyes slowly and looks at you. “I wish,” he sighs. “I’m defective. Defective clones are either reconditioned or decommissioned.”
You stare into his deep brown eyes. They look sad. “What’s the difference?”
“Reconditioning makes you a blank slate,” he explains. “Like a memory wipe. Then you’re put back in the general clone population to start over from scratch.”
“That’s… terrible,” you say. You don’t know too much about a clone’s life other than what your clone friends have told you, but to think that their lives can be ripped from them in an instant is sickening.
“That’s life,” Fox laments.
You pause before asking your next question, unsure if you really want to know the answer. “What about decommissioning?”
Fox rolls onto his back and leans his arm over his forehead, pushing his curls up and out of his face. He doesn’t want to tell you the truth, but if he ever wants you to understand the reason he needs you to keep his secret, then he has to tell you. “It’s just a fancy term for euthanasia.”
You sit up and your mouth gapes open in shock. “Euthanasia? Like what they do with animals?”
“Yeah,” he whispers.
“But you're not animals,” you retort.
“You’re right,” he says. “But we’re not people either. We’re products. Goods bought and sold. Some can be fixed, others need to be disposed of.”
You stifle back tears. “I don’t think of you as products.”
“I know,” Fox smiles sadly, remembering the way you treat your Corrie Guard friends. “But a memory wipe can’t fix what I am, so the only option is disposal. It used to be very common back when I was manufactured. I almost lost one of my batch brothers because he had blonde hair.” Fox chuckles at the memory.
“I’m so sorry,” you offer, unsure of what words of comfort you can even give him. The way he talks about himself, as a product makes you sick to your stomach. The reality of the clones hits you like never before and your resolve to help the clones grows even stronger. “I’ll keep your secret, I promise. I won’t let them decommission you. Any of you.”
Fox smiles at your kind words, even if they are naive. He knows you can’t save all of them, but he also knows you will try. He finds your affection for him and his brothers endearing, and it makes his heart flutter with warmth and happiness. He knows he is safe with you, that he can be vulnerable with you, and that you won’t cast him aside like so many other natborns have. You’re different, so much different than anyone else, and he never wants to lose that.
“Go to sleep, mesh’la,” Fox says. “You can save all of the clones tomorrow.” Without another word, Fox flops himself back onto his stomach and buries his face into the pillow, slowly drifting off to sleep.
You lie awake for a little while longer as the sun peeks through the top of your room darkening curtains, and think about his words, about the fate of the clones, and about his fate as a vampire. You’re not even sure how he became a vampire, or if there are more vampires amongst the clones. All you know is that this clone, this commander, Fox, is sleeping peacefully in your bed, and dreaming of a life that is more than what he was created for.
The next evening, you wake up as usual to your alarm going off, telling you to get up for another night at work. You sit up and stretch towards the ceiling, then rub the sleep from your eyes. You look over and see Fox still sleeping in the same position he started in. You wonder if sleeping on his stomach is out of habit, or if he really enjoys it. To you, it looks uncomfortable, but you let the thought go. You sneak out of bed, trying not to wake him, and start your morning routine.
Since it’s the two of you this evening, you decide to make breakfast for once, instead of just tossing whatever you find in your mouth and flying out the door. You start the caf machine and pull two mugs out from the top of your cupboard. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a guest for breakfast, so you’re glad you kept the extra mugs. As the caf percolates in the machine, you set your small kitchen table for two, with plates, forks, napkins, and cups.
You pull four eggs from the basket, but you pause when you realize that you’re not sure how he likes his eggs. To be honest, you’re not sure if he’s ever eaten an egg. You decide to play it safe by making them all scrambled. Everyone loves scrambled eggs. Then you toss several strips of bacon in a different frying pan. As you work on cooking the eggs and bacon, you pop a few slices of bread in the toaster and grab the orange juice from the conservator.
When you close the door, you’re startled to see Fox standing there. His face is still covered in sleep and his curls are all flattened on one side. He has one hand under the top half of his blacks, scratching at his stomach, and he releases a small yawn. The smell of food must have roused him from his sleep. You give him a small smile and pull out one of the table chairs for him to sit. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes light up when you place a mug of hot caf in front of him.
He looks between you and the caf several times, almost asking for your permission to drink it. You chuckle and nod your head for him to take it. He grabs the sides of the mug, cradling it like it’s the most precious gift he’s ever received. He brings it to his lips, inhaling the beautiful aroma before giving it a small taste. The hot liquid bites his tongue, but it doesn’t bother him, not when the taste of the caf is this divine. He lets out a languid sigh and practically melts into the mug.
You smile grows bigger at his childlike innocence and you place a plate of steaming food in front of him. His face is still in his mug, but when he pulls it away and sees the food, his eyes blow wide open. Once again he’s shocked that you’re providing him with such delicacies to enjoy. He starts to feel guilty that he gets to eat like a king while his brothers are starving on rations, but he doesn’t want to be rude, so he eats what you give him and enjoys it.
Whether it was your home cooked meals or your comfortable bed, your new routine now contains Fox. Every morning, when you come home from work, you find Fox lying in your bed, exhausted from his night. You let him shower now, and even bought him his own towel, soap, and shampoo to use. Sometimes he spends a while in the shower, but you don’t bug him about it. You can only imagine how good it feels for him, after never having a proper shower in his life.
You also make dinner for the two of you as well. You have to admit, ever since Fox came into your life, your eating habits have gotten better. After dinner and dishes, you both curl up into your bed and sleep. When you first explained to him that the duvet was for sleeping under and not on, Fox got very excited. The weight of the duvet made him sleep better than he’s ever slept before. Then, in the evening when you get up, you make caf and breakfast, and you both leave for work.
It’s been several months now, and you’re completely used to cohabitating with Fox. You now expect him to be there whenever you come home. You find it fun to have a roommate. You have someone to talk to and watch sappy holo-dramas with. There’s nothing you enjoy more than curling up on the couch and eating popcorn together. He doesn’t bring in any income, but you don’t mind. The joy on his face when he drinks his first mug of caf in the evening is payment enough.
This early morning is no different than any other. You come home from work and find Fox lying in your bed, and you jostle him awake so you can make dinner together. Once you taught Fox how to cook, he became invaluable for meal prep and dinner time. Making dinner with Fox is now one of your favorite things to do. You both find it fun and a great bonding time. You talk about your days, smile, and laugh about dumb things each other says. You’ve never been happier in your whole life.
This morning, you’re making stew for dinner. It’s a new recipe and you’re really looking forward to sharing it with Fox. The days on Coruscant have grown cold and blustery, so it’s the perfect time of the cycle to be making warm food for the soul. You both set to work, peeling and chopping vegetables to throw in the pot. You're chatting about your day, when in a split second, your knife slips and you cut your finger. You wince at the pain and drop your knife on the cutting board.
Fox immediately smells your blood, that sweet sweet blood of yours that he almost forgot about. His heart skips a beat and his fangs twitch to life in his mouth. He fights it, the urge to take you right here in the kitchen and drink that precious blood of yours, and he staggers backwards until his back is resting against the conservator, covering his nose from your alluring scent. You sigh at your clumsiness and walk over to the sink to rinse your finger off, but Fox catches your arm and grips it tightly.
You snap your neck to look over at him and you see his blown pupils threatening to overtake his dark brown irises as his fangs begin to grow in his mouth. His grip on your arm is tight and for the first time in a long time, you feel fear when you look at Fox. Your life together has been so normal, you almost forgot he’s a vampire, and here you are bleeding in front of him. Your breath quickens, and your arm trembles. When Fox smells your fear, he releases your arm and steps away from you.
“I… I’m sorry,” he apologizes through a shaky breath. “It just smells so good. I couldn’t help myself.”
You rub your arm where he gripped you and knit your brows with worry. You can tell he’s struggling against the urge, and you feel bad for being afraid of him when his reaction seems automatic and not even close to malicious. He’s desperately trying to respect your boundaries, fighting the arousal in him as his fangs throb, desperate to release the building pressure. You have to get rid of it, the blood that’s causing him so much pain, so you turn the water faucet on.
“Please!” Fox pleads between pants. He reaches with his arm again, but stops himself as he poorly tries to contain his need. “Don’t waste it.”
“Do… Do you want it?” You ask hesitantly. The words feel foreign as they cross your lips.
Fox clenches his teeth and nods.
You fidget nervously. "Will I become a vampire if you drink my blood?"
Fox chuckles as he strains through his desire. "Doesn't work… Like that.”
“Fox, I’m scared,” you admit.
“Won’t… Hurt you,” Fox says through gritted teeth. “Promise.”
You hesitate for a moment, then tentatively stretch out your finger. He looks at your blood, lust overtakes his eyes, the pupils now blown wide. He wants it. He craves it. The sweetest smelling blood. He parts his lips and you can see his fangs protruding past the rest of his teeth. A fresh wave of fear hits you and you recoil your finger. Fox can smell your fear, so he takes your wounded hand gently in his and caresses the side of his face with the back of it, trying to calm you down.
He slowly slides your hand down his cheek and to his lips and darts out his tongue, flicking it across your bloody finger. He closes his eyes and he releases a sultry moan at the taste. Your blood is intoxicating and he wants more. He wraps his lips around your finger, his hot tongue swirling around it, lapping up every last drop that has spilled from it. You shudder when he starts sucking on it, pulling fresh blood from the open wound, the sensation odd and unfamiliar.
As much as Fox wants more, your finger won’t give it. The cut begins to clot without further penetration and the sweet taste slowly dissipates. He reluctantly releases your finger, a soft whine escaping from his throat at the loss of your blood. You take your finger back and inspect it, the wound already scabbing over and healing. You look at him in shock, and he stares back at you, panting as he comes down from his high. His fangs retract and his brown irises return.
“How did you do that?” you ask.
Fox sits down at the kitchen table and exhales deeply as his senses come back to him. “The secretion of my fangs.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“How much do you know about vampires?” he asks.
“Just what I’ve read in books,” you answer as you sit down at the table across from him.
“Well, all those books are wrong,” Fox explains. “First, I can’t turn you into a vampire. Second, we’re not immortal. Third, my fangs are only present when they’re aroused. And fourth, my fangs secrete both dopamine and serotonin.”
You blink at him a couple of times as you take in all the new information. You open your mouth to ask another question, but he answers that one too.
“And no, I don't turn into a bat at night or become dust in the sunlight,” he adds with a small laugh.
“So, then you don’t need blood to survive?” you ask.
Fox shakes his head. “Nope. It’s more like a craving.”
“What about the man?” As soon as the words are released, you instantly regret the question. You didn’t mean to bring that night up, but it fell out of your mouth too quickly.
Fox pauses at the question, knowing it was going to be asked sooner or later. “I drink blood for two reasons,” Fox begins and puts up two fingers. “For revenge and for pleasure.” Fox pauses again and looks to the side. “That man… He hurt one of my men. I was angry and bitter, and out for revenge.”
“Oh, I see...” You think about his words for a moment, wondering if you should ask more about that night or if you should just change the subject and move on. It’s already a sore spot between you two, but Fox has apologized about it multiple times since you’ve been living together. You ultimately decide on the latter of the options. “Does it taste good?”
Fox chuckles at the question. “Depends. Male blood is more bitter and female blood is more sweet, but those scales can tip depending on a lot of things.”
“What does my blood taste like?” You ask.
Fox traces absentminded shapes on the table with his finger and smiles as he remembers your taste. “Sweet, very sweet.”
You fidget with your wounded finger before asking your next question. “Was it… pleasurable?”
Fox purses his lips and thinks for a moment, trying to form his words carefully so as to not cause you an alarm. “Yeah, it was pleasurable, but it’s more pleasurable when I use my fangs.”
You wonder what the taste of your blood has to do with his fangs. “Why?”
“The secretions,” he says as he taps the side of his lip. “If my fangs are inside you, then you get it too. It’s supposed to keep the prey from struggling too much, but it also feels really good.” Fox rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. He’s never had to explain this to anyone before, especially to someone he cares about. “It can make for an awkward revenge kill, but also an erotic pleasurable drink.”
A warm heat creeps across your face. You remember the way he looked when he was drinking the small amount of blood you gave him and he was clearly having a good time sucking on your little finger. Perhaps getting your blood drunk by a vampire is a pleasurable experience. Your mind begins to wander and you think about Fox sinking his fangs into the side of your neck and it sends sparks of excitement through your body. You quickly lose yourself in your daydream.
“Mesh’la,” Fox says, trying to pull you from your thoughts.
You blink back to reality. “Yeah?”
“Are you okay?” Fox asks, tilting his head to the side.
“Oh, yeah,” you let out a nervous laugh. “I’m fine. Just a lot of information.”
Fox gets up from his chair and places a small kiss on the top of your head. “I’ll finish dinner tonight. Why don’t you go shower. It'll be done by the time you're out.”
You lean your head back against his stomach, close your eyes, and sigh. “Okay.”
Fox gives you another chaste kiss and helps you to your feet. A shower does sound really nice right about now. It’ll give you some time to clear your head and think about everything that has happened. You leave Fox to dinner and head to the refresher to take a shower. You run the water for a minute before getting in, then step under the stream of hot water. The water flows across the curves of your body as the gentle massage of the droplets soothes your muscles.
You wash your hair and give it a good conditioning, then wash your body. You lather up your washcloth and run it across your arms, legs, stomach, and down the side of your neck. You stop and do it again, only slower, rubbing the soft cloth against the thin sensitive skin. You start to think about Fox, about his fangs inside you, and what it would feel like. You close your eyes and imagine it, an erotic encounter with someone you trust and love that doesn’t involve sex.
You’ve had the conversation with Fox before, about sex. You’ve been living together for a while now, and what started as a mutual living arrangement turned into a relationship before you could blink your eyes. He shared his feelings with you. How much he loves you, cares for you, and what you mean to him. The feelings are mutual. However, you always feel bad about denying him such an intimate encounter, but you aren’t ready, and you’re not sure when you will be.
Fox never pushes the issue, and he never brings it up. He only ever discusses it if you are the one who initiates the conversation. You love that about Fox. He respects every boundary you give him. Even when he was overcome with lust at the scent of your blood, he still let you make the choice. He was in pain, and he chose you over himself. He always chooses you, over and over again. This time though, you want to choose him. You want to give him what he craves.
Once out of the shower, you dry yourself off with your towel and hang it next to Fox’s. You quickly towel dry your hair, moisturize your body, throw on your pajamas, and leave the warmth of the refresher. The transition to your chilly apartment isn’t bad, because Fox grabs you from behind and pulls you against his warm chest. You squeal and then smile when he wraps his arms around your stomach. He buries his nose in your freshly washed hair and lets out a contented sigh.
“You smell good,” Fox mumbles against your scalp.
You giggle. “Really? All I smell is that stew you’re making.”
Fox chuckles. “It does smell good, doesn’t it?”
You escape his embrace and spin around on your heels. “I think it’s dinner time.”
“I think you’re right,” Fox agrees and you both head to the kitchen.
The two of you sit at the kitchen table and enjoy your dinner together. Regardless of your small chopping mishap earlier, the stew came out wonderful. Fox did an amazing job and you can see him beam with pride as you groan from the warm earthy goodness. He also made a small batch of biscuits, which surprised you. You forgot you had those in the conservator, so you're happy they finally got put to good use. After dinner, you clean up the kitchen and Fox takes his shower.
It’s just about bedtime as you see the sun peeking through your curtains. You’re already in your pajamas, so you crawl into bed. The cool sheets cause you to shiver slightly as you wait for the bed to get warmer. Fox returns from his shower, his curls still a little damp from toweling them. He removes his t-shirt and tosses it onto the chair, leaving him in only his gray sweatpants, both of which you bought him a couple months ago, then settles in on the other side of the bed.
With Fox under the duvet, you know the bed will get warm soon, but you’re still cold, so you scoot over to him to leech off of his warmth. His body radiates heat, which is why he can sleep without a shirt and not freeze to death, unlike you, who needs ten different layers, plus extra blankets to keep warm. Without opening his eyes, Fox lifts up his arm to give you access, and you eagerly take the invitation and snuggle closer to him, instantly feeling warmer.
You close your eyes and try to fall asleep, but your thoughts from earlier are nagging at the back of your mind. You start thinking about Fox drinking your blood again, and how pleasurable it might be for you. The thoughts are only compounded by being so close to him, the warmth emanating from his body, the musky scent of his skin and hair, and the feeling of his toned back muscles beneath your fingers. It’s almost too much to bear, and once again your curiosity is getting the better of you.
“Fox?” you whisper into his shoulder.
“Hmm?” he mumbles into his pillow.
“Do you want to drink my blood?” you ask, a twinge of nervousness escaping through your question.
Fox opens his eyes as a jolt of lightning goes straight from his stomach and into his fangs. The thought of drinking your blood arouses them, and they quickly become engorged and primed for penetration. He curses to himself at just how fast they were ready when you asked. Almost, embarrassingly fast. The familiar pressure begins to build and Fox shifts his body in discomfort. He doesn’t know if you’re just curious or if this is an invitation, but he prepares himself for either.
“Yeah,” Fox admits as he rotates from his stomach to his side so he can see you better. “But not unless you want me to.”
“What if I do want you to?” you ask.
Fox stifles a groan as his fangs throb in his mouth, desperate to pierce your beautiful skin. “Are you sure?” he asks.
You hesitate for a second. “Will it hurt?”
Fox picks his head up and props it up on the palm of his hand, elbow bent and leaning on the pillow. He looks into your eyes, glides his hand from your covered waist to your exposed neck, and brushes his knuckles against the soft flesh. The skin there is so supple and inviting. His fangs throb harder as he envisions himself drinking your sugary sweet blood. Fox leans closer, as he continues to caress the side of your neck, and rests his forehead against yours to reassure you.
“You’ll feel a sharp pain as they sink in,” he explains with a gentle whisper, “and they’ll throb under your skin, but the pleasure will take over soon after.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you say softly.
Fox smiles, then continues. “It’ll drip a little when I pull them out, but I’ll clean it up. You might be drowsy afterwards and a bit cold. It might ache for a day, since it's your first time, and form a small bruise.”
Your heartbeat quickens at all the information and Fox can smell your growing fears.
Fox cups the sides of your face in both of his hands and looks deeply into your sparkling eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid, cyare,” he soothes. “I won't hurt you.”
You nod your head in acknowledgment.
“Tell me that you want it, cyare,” he whispers, his hands moving from your face to your shoulders.
“I want it Fox,” you answer.
“How do you want it?” he asks, nuzzling the side of your cheek with his own. “Do you want to lay down or sit on my lap? Whatever is more comfortable for you.”
You think for a moment, and if you’re going to be drowsy, then you’ll want to be laying down, so you pull back from his touch and lie back against your pillow. “Just like this.”
Fox leans over to give your forehead a small kiss, then rips the duvet off the both of you. A slight shiver runs down your body at the loss of your warm covers, but it’s soon replaced with a new warmth. Fox straddles his legs overtop yours, hovering over your prone body as his hands plant themselves at the sides of your head. Your anticipation grows as he stares down at you with lustful eyes, and a knot forms in your stomach as you wonder what his fangs will feel like as they penetrate your soft skin.
Fox can hear your heart racing and he gently places his left hand on your chest. "Relax for me, mesh’la. Your heart is beating too fast. I don't want this to hurt."
You nod your head and work to get your breathing under control to slow your heart rate. You take deep, slow breaths as Fox guides your breathing to be in sync with his. His brown irises have been replaced by blown pupils and his fangs protrude from their hiding spot, dripping with their pleasure inducing secretions. His dark curls drape around his face, accentuating his hooded eyes and parted lips. You stare into his eyes, letting your breath match his, as you finally calm down.
"Good girl," Fox praises.
He tilts his head to the right and ghosts his lips across your supple neck as he searches for the perfect spot to penetrate your flesh. It has to be just right. Too far to either side, and he might hurt you. He takes him time, even as you whimper impatiently beneath him, because he needs this to be perfect. You’re putting all of your trust in him, that he won’t hurt you, and he refuses to break that trust. He continues to nose around your neck, before he finds his mark.
"Right there," Fox breathes against your neck, causing the little hairs to stand on end. “That’s where you’ll feel me.” He nuzzles the side of your face for reassurance. "Are you ready, mesh’la?” he whispers against your skin. “To feel ecstasy?”
You release an involuntary moan at the sultry words. "Please, Fox. I want you to– Ah!"
Your words turn into a whimper when you feel a sharp pain in the side of your neck. You instinctively raise your left hand to touch the pained area, but it instead finds purchase in Fox’s hair. You clench your fist around his curls, your other hand digging into his back, as you wince at the stinging sensation. It’s just as he described, but as soon as the pain came, it went. Now all you feel is the throbbing of his engorged fangs under your skin as he drinks your blood.
Fox pulls away from your neck to catch his breath. His head rises to meet your wanton gaze and you can see your blood on his fangs and lips as he pants above you. Your own breath becomes rapid as the endorphins released from his fangs invade your system, reaching every corner of your body, causing you to elicit the most salacious moan. The feeling is euphoric and your eyes roll back in your head. He’s not even touching you, and your body feels like it’s on fire.
"How do I taste?" you ask between labored breaths.
"Intoxicating," Fox moans. "So sweet. So perfect."
Fox reinserts his fangs into your delicate skin, desperately needing to taste more of you as he becomes drunk on your sugary blood. It’s delectable, addicting, and too good to part with. A pure delicacy that he wants to drown in. His own pleasure is only magnified as you fall apart beneath him, moaning his name in the most obscene ways while taking chunks of flesh out his back. If anyone were to overhear you right now, they’d never once think that you’re being devoured by a vampire.
The flood of endorphins overpower your body. You dig your nails further into Fox’s back as you curl your toes into the sheets, trying not to scream from the tension building and releasing in your body. You understand now, what he meant earlier when he said it would be pleasurable, and you wholly underestimated just how pleasurable it would be. You’ve never felt like this before, like you're floating in a cloud of weightlessness, and you never want it to end.
Fox knows he has to stop before he drinks you dry. The urge to stay here forever, tasting you and lapping up every drop of blood you have to offer, is overwhelming. He wants to indulge in your sweet nectar and get drunk on your blood for hours, but he can't. He can feel your skin growing chilled as your blood recedes your vital organs. He’s out of time and he needs to let you go. It won’t be forever though. He has a feeling that he’ll get to drink your blood again.
With a soft whine, he releases you, panting heavily from the long drink. He looks at the two holes in the side of your neck, little pools of blood forming at the surface. He licks the droplets until they begin to clot and close, and kisses the spot for good measure before picking his head up to look at you. He licks the remaining blood off his lips and smiles down at your disheveled state. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes half open, and mouth parted. It must have been a wonderful ride.
“Fox,” you moan as your body continues to ride out the last of the endorphins.
“Cyare,” Fox purrs as he nuzzles the side of your cheek.
You look up at him with hooded eyes. “How was it?”
Fox chuckles. “I should be asking you that.”
“It was really really good,” you groan.
Fox smirks. “I’m glad.”
You groan at your body’s response. With Fox’s fangs gone, the euphoric feeling in your body slowly begins to dissipate and your senses return to you, as well as the side effects. You roll your head to the side and close your eyes. “I’m so tired.”
Fox carefully gets off of you, stretches out beside you, and strokes your hair. “That’s normal.”
“I’m cold, too,” you add with an involuntary shiver as you try to curl into a ball.
Fox frowns and pulls his fingers away. He moves toward the edge of the bed and grabs the duvet that he flung off earlier. He rolls you over so you’re facing him and gently presses you against his chest. He then wraps the duvet snuggly around you both, making sure that you are completely covered, with just enough of an opening so you can breathe. He runs his hands up and down you back as you bury your face into his neck and cling to him for warmth. “Better?”
“Mhm,” you mumble against his skin.
Fox places a soft kiss on your forehead. “Rest now.”
“Fox?” you whisper.
“Yes, mesh’la?” Fox answers.
You look into his eyes and smile. “You caught me.”
Fox chuckles and holds you tighter. “So I did.”
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madelyne pryor makes me really sad
she’s going about her life, she has a loving husband, she’s just welcomed their beautiful son into the world - everything is perfect. and then, she finds out she’s a clone, she’s not even the real version of who she’s always thought she was, that she was made by a horrible man for horrible intentions.
and then he takes control of her, strips her of autonomy and makes her give up her baby to him. her own flesh and blood, and he makes her be the one to give him up. she manages to break feee but it’s too late, her baby is dying and the only way to save him is to never see him again. the one thing she knows is actually hers, despite all the revelations she’s been forced to have, and she has to send him away to save his life.
and then he’s gone and who even is she anymore? she’s not the real jean, she feels like she is but she isn’t, she never has been, so she can’t stay. everything she’s ever known she’s forced to leave behind because none of it was real. gosh
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Haunting Failures
By KyberCrystals
Read here on Ao3!
Whumptober 2023|Day 23|Alternative Prompt: Aftermath of Failure
Rating: T
Words: 745
Summary: Hunter has a nightmare.
CW: Some disturbing images…nothing too graphic, but I just thought I’d mention it.
Hunter is running, boots pounding into packed, dry earth. Ashes drift like snowflakes against a blood red sky, the sun blotted by dense smoke. Hunter is alone, weaving through a battlefield devoid of life, but reeking of death. Bodies, machine and flesh, litter the expanse of land. Hunter tries to ignore them, tries to focus on the one sound that matters, the one thing that matters.
The one person that matters.
“Hunter! Help me!” Crosshair’s voice. Frantic, desperate. “Please!”
Hunter runs harder. He scales another obstacle, nearly loses his footing.
“I’m falling! Hunter!”
“I’m coming!” Hunter calls out, “Hold on, Cross. Just hold on!”
He sees his brother, panicked movements, hands clawing at the ground, searching for a hold on the barren terrain. The sniper is being dragged over the edge of a ravine; his body tangled in the wires of something pulling him over.
“Crosshair!” Hunter dives for him, catching his wrist just as his brother falls. “I’ve got you.”
“You’re going to let me go,” Crosshair gasps.
Hunter shakes his head. “No, I won’t, vod. Just hold on, I’m going to cut the wires away and pull you up.” Hunter reaches for his blade.
Crosshair stares up at him, eyes wide. “You gave up on me. You didn’t even try.”
“I’m trying right now, Cross, just hold on.”
“It’s too late, Hunter. You let me go.”
“That’s not true,” Hunter grits out, the blade of his knife finding the thin edges of the wires wrapped around Crosshair’s armored body. “Just hold on.”
“I thought we don’t leave our own behind,” Crosshair says, but his voice has changed. His expression has changed. He looks enraged, a fiery glint to his eyes. “I trusted you!”
And suddenly, Crosshair falls.
Hunter blinks, horror clouding his mind. “Crosshair!” he screams into the abyss.
“You let him go.”
Hunter turns and Tech is standing there, holding Crosshair’s helmet. The helmet has a crack near the right temple. Hunter scrambles shakily to his feet. “No. No, I didn’t. I tried…”
“Not hard enough, obviously,” Tech tells him. “Because now he’s gone.”
Tech drops the helmet, and it rolls toward Hunter, stopping at his feet. He stares at it, at the crack, at the familiar visor. He looks back up at Tech. Tech’s goggles are shattered on his face, his armor broken. He is barely standing, swaying.
“I couldn’t save him, Hunter,” Tech says. A thin trickle of blood escapes the corner of Tech’s mouth, and his eyes roll back. He starts to fall backwards.
“No!” Hunter lunges forward, catching Tech’s forearm.
But Tech is gone, and Omega is struggling in his grip, trying to pull away from him. “Let me go! We have to save them!” she shrieks.
“Omega!” Hunter cries, “Listen to me, it’s too late. They’re gone.”
“They’re not gone! You are giving up on them! You’re going to leave them behind!”
Hunter pulls her close to him, kneeling to look her in the eye. “Omega, please…”
“You failed them! You failed all of us!”
“Omega…”
“No! Let me go!” Omega thrashes against him, fists pounding against his chest. “You failed us! You failed us!”
“No, please,” Hunter begs.
Omega snarls. “You never cared about Crosshair. That’s why you left him, isn’t it? You let Tech fall. You let Hemlock take me.”
“No, no, no…” Hunter shakes his head, closing his eyes so he doesn’t see the fury in his sister’s face.
“Hunter!”
Hunter wakes with a panicked sob, sitting upright so fast his head collides with the bunk above him; however, the pain of the impact feels like nothing compared to the turmoil of emotions making his heart pound and eyes sting with unshed tears.
“Easy, easy,” Echo’s voice soothes. “You were having a nightmare.”
Hunter turns to look at the clone sitting beside him. “It felt real…” he pants out, his breaths shuddering in his lungs. “I lost them all, Echo…it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t let Crosshair go…”
“No, you can’t think like that,” Echo says firmly. He takes Hunter’s hand, squeezing it so tight it hurts.
“And Tech,” Hunter continues, “he wouldn’t have died if we had gotten to Crosshair sooner…we should have made him come with us at Kamino. We should never have left him behind.”
Echo shakes his head. “Hunter…”
“And Omega…I promised to protect her.” Hunter begins to cry, the voices of his nightmare whispering in his memories. He failed them. He failed all of them.
END
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#Whumptober 2023#Day 23#Alternative Prompt#Aftermath of Failure#Star Wars#Star Wars the Bad Batch#The Bad Batch#Nightmares#Night Terrors#Character Death Mentioned#Hunter Whump#TBB Hunter#TBB Crosshair#TBB Tech#TBB Omega#TBB Echo#arc trooper echo#fanfiction#ao3 fanfic#ao3 writer#Hurt No Comfort#fics by kyber
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Guarded - Part 1
Master List | Next Chapter
A/N: HI HELLO HOWDY! Alright, so a while back, I decided I would rework "Guarded" and "Reunion" a bit, so THIS IS THE START OF THAT EFFORT. This rework will not be as extensive as what's happening with "In Command", but this fic will be getting upgraded to an Explicit rating (with the M option still available on AO3). So if you're new to this fic, I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT, and if you've already read it and decide to revisit it, I HOPE YOU LOVE IT AS MUCH AS I ALWAYS HAVE. And for this go around, I WILL HAVE MY OUTSTANDING BETA READER HELPING FOR THE WHOLE TIME (TJ came on halfway through this fic last time), so THANK YOU as always to @teletraan-meets-jarvis for her stupendous support and beta-reading!
Chapter Rating: T (entire work is rated E, but M-rated version can be found on AO3)
Warnings: canon-typical violence, character death
Word Count: 3.4k words
She could feel it, something in the darkness, just out of reach, creeping towards her.
Not another dream.
The presence shifted, and with it, her certainty that she was in fact imagining it.
DANGER.
The word flashed in her mind like a siren. She rocketed to a sitting position, her hair sticking to her face and neck with sweat that was pouring from her brow. A dark figure loomed in the corner of her room, body half in her window. Their eyes met and his widened at the understanding that his quarry had detected him.
Oh, Maker.
Diving out of her bed, she rolled behind one of the ornately carved nightstands as a blaster bolt ricocheted off the light that stood on it. She coughed from the smoke as she yanked open the drawer on the front of it, pulling her blaster from its hiding place. Her assailant advanced, firing at her as she ducked further behind the nightstand. She heard him chuckle darkly as he stepped up onto her bed to get a higher vantage point.
She was exposed.
Without thinking, she launched herself from her crouched position, tackling the intruder. Her shoulder slammed into his ribcage, and she heard him grunt as her momentum carried them both to the ground, his helmeted head smacking hard against the floor.
He’s dazed at best. Got to keep moving.
She somehow still had her blaster in her hand and tucked it against the attacker’s exposed throat.
“Make a move and I will kill you without hesitation,” she panted.
She heard the same low chuckle again.
Suddenly, his wrist wrapped around hers as he tried to roll on top of her, but he had underestimated her strength. She squeezed the trigger once, twice, and the bolts hit him in the clavicle and throat. He gasped and wheezed, rolling off of her. She stood, her hair hanging in her face as she leveled the blaster at him again, ignoring the metallic smell of blood and charred flesh.
“Who sent you?” she demanded.
“It doesn’t matter…more…will…come…” he wheezed before falling silent.
She knelt down next to him, feeling for a pulse that no longer beat, and she cursed silently as there was a sudden banging on her door. She stood, tucking her hair behind her ear as her security protocols were overridden and her door burst open, the room immediately filling with guards. The captain stood next to her, gently taking her arm to turn her towards him.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, attempting to hide the fear in his voice.
“No, I’m fine. Can’t say the same for our friend here.”
The captain’s brow furrowed. He snapped out a few orders to the guards, and they all rushed to comply.
“They’re growing bolder. This is no longer safe, and you know it,” he whispered quietly.
“Gregar, we can’t let them win.”
“If you die, they win, and they came close tonight.”
“You don’t give me enough credit.”
“Oh, I think I give you plenty. But I’m making the call.”
---
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Three chimes echoed throughout the darkened ship. Only one of the clones was awake, and he didn’t move in his bunk, hoping one of his brothers would get it.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The comm panel was insistent.
Peering over the edge of the bunk, Hunter could see Tech was asleep at the comm station, his feet propped up on the console and his neck tipped back over the chair at a perilous angle.
How does he even sleep like that? No wonder his posture is terrible.
He could see the flashing indicator trying to tell them they had a new message, but Tech’s snores continued uninterrupted.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Hunter sighed in frustration.
He’s clearly not getting up.
He looked around in the bunk for something to throw at his sleeping brother but was unsuccessful. Groaning one more time as he stretched his shoulders above his head, he rolled out of the bunk taking care not to step on Wrecker in the bunk below him and made his way over to answer the message. He could see Echo asleep in the copilot seat in the cockpit and Crosshair was stretched out on the floor in the back of the ship. Hunter wasn’t sure how long it would take him to re-integrate with the team, but it seemed like the sniper was determined to keep his distance for the foreseeable future, even when he was sleeping. He sighed before moving over to the comm console.
Hunter shoved Tech’s feet off the console, jolting him awake.
“Hmmm…what is it?” Tech asked, readjusting his goggles, which were askew across his face. It never failed to amaze Hunter how alert his brother could be after being woken from a dead sleep. It almost unnerved him at times.
“We’ve got a message.”
Hunter punched a few keys and a hologram illuminated in front of them in the form of Senator Bail Organa.
“Greetings, Clone Force 99. I hope this message finds you safe. I have received a request for protection from one of our closest allies. I have been asked not to disclose the name over this channel for security purposes, but I am transmitting coordinates for your rendezvous with their representative. While this may seem unusual, the situation is…complex, and requires special attention, which is why I’m asking you specifically to take this. The contact has stressed that it is imperative that your presence there remains a secret, so please take the necessary precautions. Send a confirmation once you get this message and are on your way.”
The hologram dimmed and Hunter leaned against the wall, rubbing his hands over his face as he attempted to ingest all of the information.
“Well that was…ominous and vague,” Tech muttered.
“Whereabouts do the coordinates put us?” Hunter asked.
Tech punched a few buttons on the console, and a blue and green planet popped up on the display. “Naboo. Looks like we’ll be putting down well away from any major cities. Theed will be the closest one.”
“What do we know about what’s going on there?”
“So far, minimal Imperial presence. Currently ruled by Queen Kestia Nodala, who seems very anti-occupation and has thus far been successful in keeping large forces away. There’s been some rumored tension between her and the Empire recently, but nothing confirmed.”
“Over what?”
“Resources, allegedly.”
Hunter grunted as he ran the information over in his mind.
“Alright, well, let’s get heading that way. Set a course for Naboo and send Organa a confirmation and an ETA that he can provide his contact with. Also, let Omega know we’ll be unreachable for a while so she doesn’t worry if she tries to contact us.”
Tech nodded wordlessly, standing up and stretching his limbs and cracking his neck before heading to the cockpit to lay in the coordinates.
---
The green of Naboo’s forests glowed like a cut and polished emerald below them as Tech brought the Marauder in to land in a small clearing. They’d been met with no suspicion, and that was enough for Hunter’s nerves to be strained.
Nothing is ever this easy.
Quickly, the five clones exited the ship, armored and armed.
“Heads on a swivel for the contact,” Hunter’s voice buzzed from underneath his helmet.
“Do we even know who we’re looking for?” Echo grumbled, scanning the treeline.
“Me,” a voice said from behind them. A tall, dark complected man sporting an eye patch stepped from the shadows, hands raised to show he wasn’t a threat. “I’m your contact.”
The clones whirled on him, raising their blasters.
“And who are you?” Tech asked.
“Gregar Typho.”
Tech’s head cocked in recognition at the name.
Wrecker noticed. “You know him, Tech?”
“I know of him. He was the personal guard for Senator Padmé Amidala prior to her death, and he now currently works as head of the Royal Naboo Security Forces.”
Hunter stared at Typho. “The Royal Naboo Security Forces?”
The captain’s expression didn’t alter beyond a slightly raised eyebrow. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll explain on the way, but we need to get moving. We’re too conspicuous out here.”
“What about the ship?” Wrecker grunted.
“It’ll be fine. Step this way please.”
They walked to the edge of the clearing and Typho punched a few buttons on his vambrace. The ground underneath them rumbled as the Havoc Marauder slowly sunk beneath the grass, being lowered into large hexagonal opening below them. They peered down into what appeared to be a large hidden hangar below the surface. As soon as the ship was completely submerged underground, two grass-coated plates snapped shut seamlessly, and the clearing was again empty and seemingly undisturbed.
“The very precise coordinates make more sense now,” Tech stated.
“Impressive,” Hunter muttered.
“You’ll get it back,” Typho reassured him with a hint of a smirk. “Now come, my speeder is this way.”
The five clones and the captain piled into the speeder that Typho had hidden beneath the trees, and without another word, they were zooming along under the treeline, mostly obscured from view. Hunter noticed that once again, Crosshair had been largely silent since exiting the ship. In fact, he wasn’t sure if his brother had said anything since learning of their mission. When he’d given them the briefing, Crosshair had been leaning back against the hull of the ship, quietly working on yet another of his toothpicks. All he’d given was a nod of acknowledgement before starting to gear up. Now, he was sitting in the back of the speeder, his rifle tucked next to him while he stared out into the trees.
Just give him time. He needs time.
Hunter turned back to their newfound companion in the seat next to him.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Captain, can we possibly get an idea of what we’re doing here?”
Typho gave him a look out of the corner of his eye before sighing.
“You are persistent.”
“I prefer to know what I’m getting my team into. We trust our mutual friend that set this up, but faith will only get you so far.”
The captain nodded. “You’ll get more details once we reach our destination, but for now, the person I represent –“
“The queen?” Echo asked.
“The person I represent” Typho insisted, giving him a glare, “is in grave danger, and I have been assured that your skillsets are best-suited to protect them.”
“Better suited than your own?” Hunter pressed.
“There are… limitations to what my guards and I can do. Naboo is not a planet of warriors, and we believe in peace at all costs, even if those costs are sometimes great. A military force is not something we possess or something we welcome.”
“And yet you hired us,” Tech said.
“Yes, I did. Please understand the desperation of the situation for me to do so, and the risk that comes with it.” He glanced at their armor. “We’ll have to get you changed once we arrive. You’ll stand out too much with your clone armor.”
Wrecker groaned from the back of the speeder. “Ugh. Nothing ever fits me.”
Typho gave him a once over. “I’m sure we’ll find… something.”
They rode in silence for the remainder of the trip, the wind whistling by their helmets as Typho piloted the speeder through the forest. They could see the city of Theed rushing into view on the cliffs above, but the captain never turned the speeder towards the main entrances, instead steering for the bottom of the bluffs. Echo shot Tech a look, and he shrugged as they pulled into a large cavern. A few hundred meters into the cave, there was suddenly dim lighting along the floors and walls, and Typho expertly piloted through the tunnels.
“Where are we?” Wrecker shouted above the roaring winds.
“These tunnels run alongside the catacombs under the city. Best way to get in and out without being seen,” the captain replied.
Wrecker shuddered at his reply. “I don’t like dead bodies.”
Echo looked at him, tilting his head. “You see dead bodies all the time.”
“It’s different when I’ve killed ‘em.”
Echo started to ask another question but appeared to accept Wrecker’s logic as Tech shook his head, still typing away on his datapad. Crosshair didn’t budge, continuing to stare into the tunnel ahead of them, the dim lighting gleaming off of his visor.
After seemingly several klicks, Typho pulled the speeder to a stop in a tunnel that led to a staircase cut into the rocky walls. He pulled his helmet from under his seat, tucking it under his arm as the clones assembled in front of him. Making sure he had their attention, he spoke.
“From here on out, it’s imperative that you not be spotted by anyone outside of the small group of people that are aware of this plan. You must do exactly as I say, is that understood?”
The rest of the clones turned to Hunter, who nodded. “We understand, Captain Typho. We’ll follow your lead.”
The captain dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement, placing his helmet on his head, but Hunter could sense his continued unease. He turned and began climbing the stairs, and they followed. As they neared the top, Typho reached into his pocket to pull out a commlink, raising it to his lips. “Iden, do you read?”
A female voice responded. “Loud and clear, Captain.”
“Is she ready to receive her private appointment?”
There was a brief pause on the other end. “Affirmative. You have a clear shot all the way. I’ll lock down the entrances and have guards posted outside.”
“Excellent.” Turning back to them, Typho sighed. “Alright, let’s go. Try and stay away from windows if you can.”
They all nodded in acknowledgement. Typho keyed in the door’s code and they stepped through into a well-lit passageway with marble flooring and stained glass windows lining the hall. The corridor was empty, and they moved quickly to keep up with Typho’s pace. Echo had to keep elbowing Wrecker to hurry as he turned, taking in the architecture around them, slowing his strides to stare at the colorful windows.
“You’ll have time to be a tourist later. We’ve got to keep moving.”
Wrecker grunted but obliged, picking up the pace to keep up with the captain.
Typho led them up several flights of stairs and down several corridors before pausing outside a large set of closed double doors. “Iden, confirming we are clear?”
“All clear. Come on in, Captain.”
The doors swung open, and Typho motioned for them to follow him. The room they walked into had massive pillars encircling a seating area that was arranged around an ornate wooden desk. There were guards stationed around the room along with six women in matching dark robes, their hoods pulled low. A large window illuminated the room and the woman staring out of it. She turned to face them as they entered, clasping her hands in front of her.
Queen Kestia Nodala stood taller than most, her dark hair braided elaborately into the headpiece she wore, a silver diadem with dark blue stones that hung low on her forehead. Her gown billowed out, making her appear wider and more imposing with sharp shoulders and wide sleeves that hid most of her hands, only her white thumbnails poking out from the cuffs. Matching silver ornamentation lined the bodice of her gown, fanning out to the hem of the skirts, which flowed towards the floor. The queen wore the traditional white and red makeup of Naboo royalty, the red dots on her cheeks giving her face symmetry while a red line divided her lower lip in two, the Scar of Remembrance. Her green eyes glowed in the sunlight as she stepped forward to meet them.
Typho strode to her, removing his helmet again to tuck it under one arm as he bowed. The clones took their cue from him, removing their helmets as well.
“Queen Nodala, may I introduce Clone Force 99,” he gestured at them to step forward.
Hunter led the group, bowing stiffly. The queen watched him unwaveringly as he straightened, meeting her eyes.
“Your highness,” he said quietly.
His brothers bowed awkwardly behind him, doing their best to show respect even though they were all well out of their depth. There hadn’t been much time to meet politicians of any level during the war, much less any that were considered elected royalty.
The queen stared Hunter down for a few more moments before turning to Captain Typho. “I see my wish to handle this internally has been disregarded then,” her voice boomed with a slow, deliberate tone that made Wrecker shift uneasily on his feet. Her eyes snapped to him, and he quit moving, instead opting to stare at the floor.
“M’lady, we’ve discussed this,” Typho said quietly, his voice strained. “I do believe your safety warrants this measure.” Leaning closer and speaking so softly even Hunter could barely hear him. “And this was a compromise in my book, if we’re being honest.”
She watched him carefully for a few moments before letting her sharp eyes return to the clones, roving over each of them in turn. “Very well. As it appears my captain has decided you are necessary for my safety, I will accept his judgement. For now.” She swept forward, extending a hand to Hunter.
The rest of the clones watched as their sergeant fumbled with how to best greet the royalty before him. Finally, after several awkward moments, he clasped her hand, bowing again. He saw Tech nod slightly out of the corner of his eye and internally breathed a sigh of relief at somehow managing to get that right.
“Hunter, your highness.”
“M’lady,” Tech coughed behind him less than subtly.
Hunter shot him a glare before correcting himself. “M’lady.”
I guess I should be happy he at least tried to be sly about it.
As Hunter lifted his head, he could have sworn a smile tugged at the corner of the queen’s lips as he released her hand. Tech moved in next to make sure his brothers could see the appropriate protocol.
“Tech, m’lady,” he said, dipping his head as he clasped her hand gently. Hunter noted the muscles in her forearm flexing as she gently squeezed Tech’s hand before he released her fingers, raising his eyes to meet hers. Despite her initially stoic demeanor, the queen seemed slightly amused by Tech, her eyes sparkling and her mouth quirking upwards at his bespectacled brother.
Her reaction surprised Hunter, but then again, if she found Tech somewhat entertaining as a first impression, he wasn’t about to shatter that illusion.
We’ll see if she’s as tickled once he starts correcting her every move, he thought with a smirk.
Not everyone had the patience for Tech, and this queen seemed at least somewhat impatient based on her interactions with Typho. The captain was behaving as though he’d been anticipating a fight ever since they stepped into the throne room, and while one hadn’t materialized, Hunter could still see he was tensed in the way his spine was ramrod straight and the way his jaw was clenched, watching her carefully.
Once they’d all been introduced, the queen turned back to Captain Typho. “I suppose we should get these men into clothing that’s less conspicuous.”
He nodded. “Yes, m’lady. I had planned on disguising them as security officers.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What exactly will differentiate them, then?”
“They’ll be stationed right next door to your quarters and at least one of them will be with you at all times.”
Her mouth tightened into a thin line, and they could all see she was half a second from arguing with him again before another guard strode into the room. She was short with her hair pulled back into a slick plait. She appraised the clones for a moment before addressing the queen.
“Apologies for the intrusion, m’lady, but your next appointment is here.” Hunter recognized the woman as the Iden that they’d heard speaking with Typho during their walk to the throne room.
The queen narrowed her eyes at Typho in annoyance as she turned to acknowledge the information. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I shall receive them once Captain Typho and our guests have departed.”
With that, Typho bowed stiffly before turning on his heel and leading the clones out of the throne room the way they’d come, the massive double doors swinging shut behind them with a dull thud.
*Tag List: @seriowan @partoftheeternalsoul @rosmariner @misogirl828 @ellichonkasaurusrex @zoeykallus @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @staycalmandhugaclone @readheadgirl @fordo-kixed-rex @wizardofrozz @ariadnes-red-thread @justanothersadperson93 @leftealeaf @kaminocasey @echos-girlfriend @lucyysthings @obihiddlenox @merkitty49 @littlemissmanga @clonecyaree @baba-fett @sleepingsun501 @rexxdjarin @samspenandsword @babygirlrex0504 @ladytano420 @fxlsealarm @runforrestr @djarrex @corrieguards @the-cantina @witchklng @wolffegirlsunite @fives-lover @rain-on-kamino @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall
*If you do not wish to be tagged in this rewrite, please let me know (same goes for Reunion)
#karrde writes#guarded#star wars#the bad batch#tbb#echo#tech#hunter#crosshair#wrecker#slow burn#canon divergence#enemies to lovers#friends to lovers#tech x ofc#tech x original female character#crosshair x ofc#crosshair x oc#crosshair x original female character#tech x oc#OC Kestia Nodala#OC Iden Vena
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Let's Do The Time Warp Again
Steddie Season 3 time travel fic, Part 8
Ao3, Pt. 1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt.5, Pt.6, Pt.7
Eddie doesn't know if he's breathing or not. He doesn't think he is. Doesn't matter anyways, seeing as he's dead.
The super-kid's words are ringing through his ears and all he can hear is not supposed to be alive, not supposed to be alive, not supposed to be alive. He doesn't know what that means for getting back to '86, if he'll go through and die anyways, if they'll come back earlier, later, maybe they'll die in the process. As far as he's concerned, Supergirl just marked his time of death and stamped his forehead 'deceased.'
His breaths are short and shallow, a constant influx of oxygen he shouldn't be allowed to breathe. Taking up someone else's air, someone else's space- what even happened to this version of Eddie? Is Eddie from '85 back where he's currently supposed to be, drowning in a pool of his own blood that isn't really his? Does he just not exist anymore? If Eddie thinks much longer about the implications of interdimensional time travel and clone duplicates he's gonna throw up.
There's pressure on his wrist and the whirling of Eddie's vision subsides enough for him to see everyone staring at him expectantly. Steve has Eddie's right hand clasped between both of his own, and he's rubbing circles across the joint of Eddie's thumb while another finger rests across his pulse. He idly wishes Steve was holding his hand for a reason other than making sure Eddie isn't dead.
Eddie's laugh is cruel around the edges, sharp in a way that it only ever is when he's putting effort into it. The sound hurts his ears. "So this thing- Vecna, or the upside down, whatever- is trying to kill me. Correction- has killed me. Wants to do it again, but sooner," The smile on his face is foreign and forced, he recognizes it as a shadow of his father's own malicious sneer that only ever wreaked havoc. Eddie wants to claw it out of his skin.
Steve presses a touch harder into his pulse point and Eddie wants to scream along with his heart beat. "And! We don't even know if we can get back. Say we can. We get back to '86 where we left off. Then Stevie here," Eddie claps Steve on the chest with his free hand and ignores the vice grip that's somehow still gentle around his wrist, "gets to drag my lifeless, chew-toyed body back out of hell, because it turns out I'm dead anyway! Oh well, c'est la vie, at least I get to live out my last days trapped in a different timeline waiting for imminent death; likely in the form of crushing killer vines that'll pop the eyes out of my skull, creepy mind wizard torture, or more bats ripping tiny chunks of flesh out of my sides until I'm nothing but bone and eccentric fashion choices."
The collective noises from the group could best be described, Eddie would say, as strangled, horrified, and wildly disgusted. Perhaps his monologuing skills leave much to be desired, but sue him. He just found out about his sealed fate, he's allowed to make it slightly funny despite the general aura of horror.
Steve has given up on being gentle it seems, his nails dig in slightly to Eddie's skin and his fingers are wrapped tight enough to block circulation. He's stopped tracing over Eddie's knuckles, opting instead to just hold Eddie's hand still in the tightest grip known to man. The various children keep staring at him with ranged looks of devastation; Supergirl looking concerned but still with the tight set to her jaw that tells him the next words out of her mouth will be a solution to his problem, Red with mostly shock stricken through her eyes but with an undertone of disinterest that he knows she wears for show, and Henderson doing nothing to hide his reaction of absolute guttural horror. Eddie feels a twinge of guilt for subjecting him to his monologue.
"Eddie-" Steve starts but cuts himself off just as fast. He gapes for a second as his eyes burrow into Eddie's, the shock still settling in the air. "We'll find a way. We always do, we're not gonna-"
"No, Harrington!" Eddie wrenches his hand out of Steve's suffocating grip and ignores the way his expression falls. "I know your band of misfits has been at this for a while, but face it. You've lost people. I know you have. None of you should have the far-away look of a veteran when you're all just kids. You've lost people, and I'm gonna be one of them, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. I'm already gone."
Eddie pointedly pushes back the hot prickling in his eyes and forces his way out of the living room, keeping his gaze turned to the floor. He hears deafening murmurs as he leaves, passing by the kitchen on the way to the sliding glass door at the back. He lets it glide shut behind him with a click, wishing Harrington didn't have those fancy spring loaded door stoppers so he could actually slam it. The pool is glinting in front of him, cover half off and folded at the deep end. There's a small collection of leaves circling the surface of the water, catching the glint of the setting sun on their waxy coating. Eddie throws a rock from the edge of the pool at one just to watch it sink.
He shuffles through the pockets of his sweats for a second before finding a crushed half empty pack of Pall Malls and a bic with a melted corner. He's grateful he remembered to grab them from his vest when he changed and managed to salvage what cigarettes he could from the water damage, but he grimaces at Eddie from July of '85's brand choice anyways. He knows he only bought it cause it's cheap, and lights up regardless of his brand prejudice. The cherry glows orange and he takes in almost a third of the cig in one drag, only sputtering a little on the way out. He finishes it in two more drags and lights up another after smashing the butt into the concrete pool lip to snuff it. He's halfway through the second one when he hears the smooth glide of the door open and click shut softly. Eddie doesn't bother looking to see who it is, he already knows it's Steve.
Steve pads up behind Eddie, giving him enough space that Steve's still out of sight. Steve clears his throat but Eddie doesn't turn, just flops down by the edge of the pool and watches the smoke curl around his fingers. The ash falls into the edge of the pool as Eddie flicks it, taking the last drag and letting the acrid buzz wash over him. It stings as it burns down to his fingertips around the filter, but he just watches as the flame trickles out.
The gravel crunches under Steve's shoes as he moves to gingerly sit next to Eddie, his gaze burning a hole into Eddie's cheek. Eddie watches him out of his periphery, Steve glancing between Eddie and the darkening sky with unhidden interest. Eddie fishes out another cigarette and lights it, wordlessly offering it to Steve after the first puff. Their fingers brush as Steve takes it and Eddie can't help but stare at Steve's relaxed posture betrayed by the tension in his shoulders as he takes a pull to rival Eddie's own first drag. He hands it back without looking, slowly releasing the smoke and letting it drift into the wind. Eddie can't help but think it's the sort of thing people write songs and make paintings about. They finish the dart in silence, stealing glances at each other and letting cheap nicotine steady their nerves. Steve clears his throat again quietly while Eddie stubbs the filter against the ground.
"I hate this pool," Eddie glances at him, but Steve's got a mile long stare trained on the surface of the water. "Back in '83-" He cuts himself off as he seems to so often do lately and drops his chin to his chest with a sharp exhale. Eddie brushes his fingers against the back of Steve's hand but doesn't break his silence when Steve meets his eyes. "Barbara Holland went missing from this pool. Died in the upside down because of it- because of me,"
"Steve-"
"No. It's true," Steve presses his hand against Eddie's fingers and he can feel it tremble as Steve looks back out to the water. "I was too preoccupied with trying to impress Nance, impress my friends, my parents. Which, not worth it. At all. Anyway, I was too focused on myself and we lost her, and I just- I didn't fucking care. I don't know if it was a defense mechanism or what, but I just tried not to think about it. Distracted myself with Nance, school, parties, anything to stay away from it. I just didn't want to admit it was my fault she died."
Steve's eyes are glistening a hazel gold in the sunset, a sheen of unshed tears catching the light. It's a melancholy stare, the look of grief and guilt and regret wrapped in one sun kissed gaze. Eddie doesn't know what to do except bump his shoulder against Steve's and hope the contact comforts him.
"And I'm trying to be better. Be the person who would never let that happen, or at least never let it be forgotten. But sometimes I just catch the water out of the window of my room and…" Steve slumps into the comfort of Eddie's arm, his hair tickling Eddie's cheek. His expression is the most broken Eddie's ever seen it, every piece of it shattered and irreplaceable. Each exhale sends a tremor through Steve's body, and Eddie slides the fingers still pressed against Steve's skin around his hand before wrapping his other hand around their tangled fingers and squeezing. Steve gives a half hearted squeeze back, and Eddie pulls Steve's hand to his chest and holds it tenderly between his own.
"All we can do is try," Eddie whispers against their hands, tracing circles across Steve's knuckles just as Steve had done for him. "You can't change your past. And yes, I realize the irony of that statement seeing as we're currently in the past, but," He halts his movements against Steve's hand to face him, Steve already staring when he goes to look. "As much as I hated to admit it before, and as much as it still surprises me now, you're good, Steve Harrington," A wounded noise breaks out of Steve and he leans a fraction closer towards Eddie as if trying to live off his words. "You're good. You're kind, and gentle, and you care about those kids more than anyone I've ever met. You couldn't have known what would happen with Barb. And you're living for her now, which is what matters," The tears brimming in Steve's eyes finally break free at the mention of Barb's name. Eddie lets his composure shatter at the sight, and presses a light kiss to Steve's knuckles.
"You live for her everyday through those kids, through everyone you're so desperate to protect from the things you've witnessed, the people you've lost. What happens- happened to me, it's not your fault. And it won't be again," Steve's shaking his head in little jerking motions that send waves of hair falling in front of his eyes. His hand squeezes between Eddie's and when Steve stops to look at him, the shattered expression is still there but this time it's sewed together with determination.
"You can't," Steve chokes, his grip strong with calloused grief. "We can't lose again, it can't happen. We can't lose you- it can't happen. Promise me it won't," Steve's pleading, their faces inches from each other and Steve's tears are catching on the ridges of his nose and the divot above his quivering lip. Eddie's own cheeks are wet with trails of salt water, and he can't help but clutch Steve's hand to his chest.
"Stevie," He starts, and instantly regrets his next words. "I can't. You know I can't, my fate is practically sealed," His words are hoarse as Steve falls somehow closer to him, their skin buzzing with the proximity and the mourning in Eddie's words. Steve chokes.
"Lie to me."
Eddie chokes. Grips Steve harder and squeezes his eyes shut.
"I promise."
It wrenches a sob from both of them, their foreheads falling together and their hands clutched between them as they suffocate on grief. It's strange to be mourning his own death with a man he didn't talk to a mere week ago, yet their lives have become so intertwined that Eddie can't imagine going through this with anyone else. It's a broken sort of bond that comes with loss, and it's a little surreal to have someone other than his Uncle or Hellfire care this much. Grieve this much.
They're clutching pieces of each other, Steve's hand still wrapped in Eddie's, Steve's other hand tangling in the hair at the nape of Eddie's neck, Eddie's other hand pulling at the collar of Steve's soft blue tee. Their tears cling to their jaws and fall in droplets of the worst kind of rain on the concrete, a few dropping over the edge to mix with the chlorine. Eddie feels the tremor of Steve's sobs all the way up his spine and into his skull, buzzing in his forehead where they're still connected. The ache in their lungs lasts both an eternity and a minute as the tremors and initial grief settles into something worse yet also softer in their bones. It's almost acceptance. But Eddie knows it isn't.
Eddie blinks a few times and waits for his vision to stop swimming, Steve's breath tickling his cheek on every exhale just as Eddie's sure he's doing the same to Steve. Their grasp on each other is heavy in a way that would take years to undo, and Eddie can't stop staring at the way Steve's cheeks are flushed from crying. They're tinged pink across the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose, and his lips are slick from tears. Another stray tear falls from Steve's eyelashes and Eddie gently raises the hand from his shirt to brush the tear away. Steve leans into the touch and blinks his eyes open, his gaze jumping between Eddie's eyes and back down.
Eddie wills his heart to slow. The edge of mourning is not an opportune time to notice the smoothness of Steve's skin or the flecks of green at the center of his eyes or the way his lips hang open just enough.
But.
Steve is staring at him like he's an answer to something. He's flitting his gaze across Eddie's face, bouncing from eye to eye and landing on his lips, and he's leaning into Eddie's hand still touching his cheek, his skin warm under the movement of Eddie's thumb. He's swaying into Eddie's space, all warmth and softness and presence, and when Steve tilts his head up just a little their noses brush. His lips are parted in a way that would fit the apple from the garden of Eden, ripe and red and tempting. And Eddie is starving.
"Steve," Eddie whispers, more air than voice. Steve doesn't look up from his lips, just tilts his head farther into Eddie's hand. He noses up the ridge of Eddie's nose, Steve's eyelashes brushing against his cheek as he leans a breath closer. Eddie wants to scream.
He thumbs Steve's cheek and pulls just soft enough to guide Steve closer, both basking in the warmth of the other's skin and touch. Steve puffs a breath over Eddie's lips, close enough to feel the sparks between their skin. It's electricity and kindness and grief, and Eddie wants nothing more than to take a bite out of the apple.
What was left of the space between them dissipates as Eddie leans in just enough to brush their lips together, their tear stained skin sticking to each other. It's more of a touch than a kiss; just enough to test the waters, to get a taste of temptation. It's featherlight and golden, a gentle brush of just their top lips. Just to feel. Enough to know that Eddie needs to swallow him whole.
Eddie slides the hand that was cupping Steve's cheek around to the back of neck and runs his fingers through the hair curling there, pulling ever so slightly closer. He's about to bridge the gap between an almost kiss and a real kiss -capture Steve's golden light and sinful lips- when Eddie's vision whites out with a crack of lightning and a shock that rips through his skin.
He lets out a cry and pulls away from Steve to claw at his forehead, frantically scratching and pulling at his skin. There's hornets stinging behind his eyes and biting at his skull, and all he can feel is pain and bright sharpness. It sends a ringing scream through his body that Eddie can barely hear over the pain, sucked into the shards of glass running up his veins and the feeling of acid biting at his skin. It's a sucking, endless feeling, like every bit of energy is being pulled from him and replaced with screeching tones and hot sand that's dissolving him bit by bit.
There's a pressure on his arm and through his staticky tunneled vision he sees Max pulling him up. He can't tell what she's saying, nor can he really see her face, can just make out the shape of fiery red hair. She pulls him up to a half-sitting-half-fetal position. She says something, but it may as well be in a different language. Eddie's being simultaneously cut open and burned from the inside out, his head is switched to ten different radio stations that just play static interluded with guest appearances from the depths of hell, and every inch of his skin is on fire.
Well, Eddie thinks, so much for that kiss. Which is honestly a ridiculous thing to think about when he's on the verge of death, but well, he's a little resigned to his fate. He doesn't want to go through another week or month or year of waiting for something to strike, having episodes of seizures brought on by dark dimensional wizards and whatever the fuck is happening right now. But still. It would've been nice.
His mind swims in an attempt to distract from the blades slicing through his brain, and Eddie thinks he's either become accustomed to it or he's actually dying this time. Again. His body is trembling from the pain and with the way his throat feels raw he thinks he's been screaming this whole time, and he just wants it to be over. Sorry Steve, he thinks. And then.
Fuck. Steve. Steve who is tied to the same freaky upside down shit Eddie is, who is probably about a foot away from him right now and going through something very similar if not the exact same thing.
Eddie pries his eyes a fraction of an inch open which forces out a guttural shriek at the burn raging in his skull, but can once again make out the vague shape of Max still holding him to her chest. There's two other figures of what Eddie assumes Steve and Dustin huddled together in front of him, someone's hand flexing and shaking over Eddie's leg. Another figure is crouched in front of them with one hand facing the pool and one hand towards all four of them. Supergirl.
Through shaking screams and burning skin, Eddie's eyes manage to clear a little despite the constant influx of tears overflowing to soothe the burn that doesn't seem to exist to anyone else. Supergirl is whipping her head between the group of them huddled on the ground and the edge of the pool, and with a scream she plunges one hand into the water and slaps the other on top of Steve's hand that's covering Eddie's shin.
Her fingers dig into Eddie's shin and imprint Steve's palm into Eddie's skin where his sweats have ridden up, and the sensation shocks a cold into his skin that pulses up his body like menthol and chili, the sensation enough to make him convulse inward. The striking cold scrapes along his skull, and suddenly Eddie can see again. The vague figures of traumatized teenagers snap into view and the water in his eyes clears after a second, and Eddie can see the moment it happens for Steve too. The agony on Steve's face smoothes into concern as Dustin keeps yelling likely non-urgent questions at him and shakes at his shoulder. The pain under Eddie's skin is still there, but the burning fires of hell have extinguished into a more manageable stove top fire mishap. His head is fogged and achy, but the ringing and sharpened static in his ears has faded to a manageable level where he can make out at least fifty percent of the noise around him.
Max must notice the difference since she removes her vice grip from his shoulders and leans over to scan across his face. He can see her getting ready to ask if he's okay when Supergirl lets out a howling shriek and throws her head back, crumpling in on herself yet keeping her arms strong against their skin and the water. Steve scrambles up first to Supergirl's side, casting a quick glance into the pool before muttering a string of expletives under his breath and turning to Eddie.
"I need your lighter," He says, and Eddie guesses his voice is in the same commanding urgency he uses everytime the world ends. Eddie shakily reaches a hand across the concrete and fumbles with the lighter a little, giving it a trembling toss over to Steve. Eddie notices the shaking in Steve's hands too, the residual coals left burning under their skin. Steve wastes no time getting to his feet, his balance slightly off kilter but putting no damper on the speed at which he rushes to the door and throws it open, careening to the right and into the kitchen.
Supergirl lets out another cry that pulls Max away from Eddie's side, Dustin already there with her by the edge of the pool. Eddie's pulse is jumping again as he notices the tinge of black around her fingertips, the way it courses ever so slightly up her veins. Steve appears again through the glass doorway with a can of cooking spray in one hand, Eddie's melted lighter in the other. Steve throws out an arm to shove the kids away from the edge of the pool as he crumples to his knees, slamming the cap of the spray on the ground to knock it off and flicking the spark wheel before spraying directly into the flame and emitting a giant fireball that flushes Eddie's face with heat.
Steve aims another fireball into the pool as Eddie struggles to get himself fully upright, clawing his way over to the edge with the rest of them. Supergirl is still letting out shrieks here and there, both her palms flexed towards the water with Max and Dustin holding her steady on either side. Eddie gets to the lip of the pool and peers over the edge to see some sort of bubbling sludge that he loathes to recognize. It's forming from what looks like three points, the dark matter forming tendrils that climb towards the surface, towards them. Steve shoots another stream of fire across the water and Eddie watches as the tendrils recoil and hiss from the sensation.
Steve shoves the can and lighter into Eddie's hands and fixes him with an urgent stare. "Keep spraying," is all he says before disappearing back into the house with his usual grace of a reformed jock. Eddie spots other tendrils rising from the depths of the water to join the surface, and aims his half empty bottle of cooking spray at the largest section, frantically flicking the wheel to spark it. The lighter sputters with a small spark, but no flame.
He strikes the wheel again. Spark. Sputter. Nothing.
Strike. Spark. Nothing.
Strike-
"What the fuck is taking so long, Munson?" Max hollers from beside him, her arms wrapped protectively around Supergirl's shoulders. Supergirl shrieks and the sludge hisses, shrinking a little.
"I'm fucking trying, okay?! It's finicky-" Eddie sparks the lighter two more times still with no luck before Max reaches over and snatches both the lighter and the cooking spray out of his hand. She strikes it twice, the lighter coming to life with a bright orange flame and fanning over the pool with a whoosh as she lets out a stream of cooking spray. She doesn't stop after one stream of fire, instead endlessly holding down the nozzle of the spray and effectively flambéing the matter bubbling on the surface of the water.
"Useless goddamn-" Max mutters as a tendril shrinks in on itself and melts in tandem Supergirl's yell. "-Everything myself," Max drops to her knees and sprays directly at the lip of the pool, burning off a trail of sludge that was trying to slither over. Eddie is terrified of her.
Steve bolts back out of the door with what looks like 2 cans of women's hairspray and another lighter. He barely spares a confused glance between Max and Eddie, but shoves a can at him anyways and flicks the lighter to life between them. Supergirl and Dustin are still slightly farther back in the middle of the group, Dustin practically holding her up as she slowly shrinks back the growing mass of tendrils. Max has worked her way to the edge on the left now, maniacal and determined in a way that makes Eddie think maybe she should talk to somebody about it.
Eddie and Steve stay on the right, Steve holding the lighter between them as he shoots a stream of fire into the middle. Eddie decides to shoot at the edges by the lip of the pool, the sludge still creeping out despite its mandatory near constant regeneration from the combination of the fire and whatever the fuck sort of telekinesis Supergirl is pulling off.
"Is this even gonna work?" Eddie yells, struggling to spray his hairspray through the flame instead of beside it due to their shared custody of the lighter.
"Fire's their biggest weakness, it's all we got," Steve's voice is crackly but still carries the urgency from before as he shoots out towards a tendril rising out of the water, effectively burning it in half as it crumples back to the surface.
There's a clinking noise to his left, and then, "Fuck!" As Max chucks her can to the side and lets it rattle against the ground. "I'm empty," She says, her face fear stricken with only a small facade over it as she glances between Supergirl still shaking against Dustin and Eddie across from her. Eddie hucks his can over to her and hears the almost empty rattle of the can in the wind.
"I'm almost out, but there's still a bit left," Eddie says as he stares into the pool, the mass of sludge smaller than when they started, but not small enough to take out with two half-empty cans of hairspray. Steve's can starts to sputter a moment later, Max's new can likely soon to follow. Steve curses under his breath and aims the last consistent spurt of hairspray at the middle of the mass, left only to shoot small bursts of fire until the can's empty.
"Shit, this one's running low too," Max has given up her tactic of one steady stream of fire in favor of small bursts similar to Steve, both of them shaking the can in between sprays. Eddie hears Dustin gasp to his left and turns just in time to see Supergirl lurch away from him and plunge her hands into the slime. Her fingertips flex at the edge of the sludge and it lets out a withering hiss at the contact, Supergirl seeming to feel the same painful connection as her shoulders seize up and she tosses her neck back.
"El!" Dustin calls and grips onto her shoulders to keep her from tipping into the pool, Supergirl clawing her hands in farther anyways. It rips a scream from her and it rattles in Eddie's ears, echoing off his skull. Her shriek cuts off with a gasp as her head drops forward and her arms go limp, the rest of the fire being sucked from the cans and into the mass of tendrils the second she drops. The suction makes Eddie's ears pop and he watches as the rest of the tendrils collapse in on themselves in a matter of seconds, endlessly folding together in a sick slide of black and blue until nothing remains in the pool. The last thing to disappear is three heavy black drops of slime closest to the edge of the pool, the droplets imploding and ceasing to exist.
The moment it's over both Steve and Max collapse at Supergirl's feet, Steve doing the primary flitting and worrying. There's a stream of blood trailing from her nose down to her chin and it's left spattered drops on the pavement. Her eyes are closed and she's panting against the embrace of Dustin and Max, Steve staying in front of her and tilting her head side to side, checking her fingernails and her pulse. Eddie stays awkwardly off to the side, opting instead to sit a couple feet away and attempt to compartmentalize the past ten or so minutes.
His skin feels fuzzy again, but moreso in a familiar anxiety way than an interdimensional way. He feels lost in the staticy feeling running through his body, letting his vision cloud a little and get lost in the now normal ripples of the water. He thinks he's breathing again.
Steve enters his field of vision, hands up like he's approaching a wild animal and pace slow and intentional. "You feeling okay?" He asks and all Eddie can muster is a nod in return. He looks over at Supergirl.
"She gonna be okay?" Eddie asks and lets himself relax a little at Steve's contented nod.
"Exhausted, definitely, but El'll be fine. We should get her somewhere safe though, who knows what else is tied to this place," Eddie's previous stare into the pool is echoed in Steve's face, both of their expressions a blank sort of anxious.
Steve tears his gaze away from the pool and towards Eddie, extending a hand to help him up. Steve's hand is warm in Eddie's when he takes it and lets himself be pulled up and into Steve's space, relishing in the closeness for only a second before stepping away. Now is most certainly not the time. Not that it would've been before, either. Steve coughs as Eddie steps back and gestures behind him, returning to El who's looking slightly more alert in Dustin and Max's arms, eyelids still heavy though and head lolling onto Max's shoulder. Steve says something to the three of them in a gentle and hushed tone that Eddie doesn't quite catch before scooping El up and tucking her into his chest to bring her inside.
Max and Dustin watch them go, Max getting up first and turning to look at Eddie. She sees the concern on his face before Eddie even realizes it's there, fixing him with a glare and stuffing her shaky hands into the pockets of her shorts.
"I'm fine," She says with a sneer and Eddie puts his hands up in surrender, watching her turn heel to follow Steve and El inside. Dustin does less to hide the fact that he's shaken up, getting up slowly from the ground and shaking out his arms. His breaths are trembling at the end of his exhales, and Eddie just wants to whisk each of these kids away from a seemingly endless childhood of Eldritch trauma.
Eddie gently wraps an arm around Dustin's shoulder, simply quietly giving him support as he lets the kid breathe. Dustin melts into his side, Eddie in turn just melting in general, and rubs circles into his back.
"Wanna go sit inside?" Eddie asks as hushed as possible, leaning in just for Dustin to hear. Dustin heaves another breath with a weak nod of his head and pulls away from Eddie but not out of arm's reach. Eddie offers a weak smile and a squeeze on the shoulder as they join the other's in the living room.
El is laid out on the couch with Max sitting on the floor next to her and dabbing at the blood drying around her nose, both with easy fragile smiles and gentle touches. Eddie does not let Max see him looking. Dustin joins them at the foot of the couch and Eddie stands awkwardly in between for a second before spotting Steve around the corner at the phone.
"...For the most part, yeah. I just don't want anyone staying here… Yeah of course… And I know that we're- well, thank you… Yeah. In about ten. Thank you so much," Steve hangs up with a click as he puts the handheld back down, wringing out his hands and then running them through his hair. He scrubs his hands down his face and takes a moment to breathe a heavy sigh before Eddie sneaks out a bit more from behind the corner to make himself known. Steve catches Eddie out of the corner of his eye and startles anyway with a small jump and a hand to his throat like he's a '50's housewife clutching his pearls. The gesture is both endearing and oddly fitting.
"Fuckin' scared me, man," Steve says and swaps his startled expression for an easy smile that makes Eddie's heart jump. "Just got off the phone with Robin, she's very nicely gonna let us stay at her's for the night despite not really knowing me here. Said her parents are out for dinner with friends and will likely end up crashing at a friend's house," Steve laughs and cards his fingers through his hair again. "She says they're more like teenagers than she is," Eddie gives a half-hearted smile that he tries to pass off as normal, but Steve's brow furrows at it. "You okay?"
Eddie worries his lip between his teeth and pointedly does not notice Steve glance down for a second. "It's just- do you think it'll follow us there? Like, it's tied to this house and probably mine, but also us, right? Is switching locations gonna be enough?" Eddie's voice comes out raw and full of worry despite his best efforts to keep it even, Steve grimacing at him.
"I don't know. But what I do know is we can't get back without El, and she needs rest. Our best bet is getting away from any sort of previous gate or tie to the upside down, and I think Robin is it. She didn't get involved until this year, and it was only ever at Starcourt, nothing happened at her home. Plus, she's far enough from any of the gates that I think it's probably our safest choice," Steve shudders and stares at his feet for a second, then turning an intense gaze to Eddie. "I can't guarantee any sort of total safety. But anything will be better than here for them."
Eddie nods and breaks the eye contact, Steve still staring for a second before dropping his eyes. He fiddles with the drawstring of his sweatpants and toes at the panels of hardwood before narrowing a determined gaze back on Eddie.
"Also I-" Steve swallows and makes an aborted movement towards Eddie, Eddie still just stuck staring and praying he isn't about to have the conversation he thinks they're about to have. He's about to get rejected for his weird almost-kiss and have to play it off like it was just end of the world jitters.
What? Why would you think I wanted to kiss you, Harrington? That was just an accident. You know, how you accidentally share tender and gentle kisses with people you've known for about a week and then have to save the world with?
"I just wanted to- uh…" Steve starts again with no more luck finishing his sentence than last time, just looking semi-awkwardly into Eddie's eyes. Eddie shuffles his feet a little and waits in awkward straight-dude agony for this to be over.
"You just wanted to…?" Eddie tries to help, rip off the bandaid if he must, but Steve just shakes his head and hums.
"Just- wanted to tell you to grab any stuff you need for the night, I'll go tell the kids and I'll meet you at the car," Steve doesn't look at him as he finishes the sentence, practically bolts past Eddie with a clap on the shoulder and rounds the doorway into the living room. Eddie tries not to let it sting too much as he trudges upstairs to retrieve his still sopping clothes.
Fucking awesome. He managed to make Armageddon awkward.
_______
This fic is almost done! If i write something this long again I won't be uploading chapters to tumblr, but I will post the Ao3 links so keep an eye out for that.
TAG LIST (reply to be added): @estrellami-1 @melodymeddler @songbird-garden @gregre369 @croatoan-like-its-hot @messrs-weasley @bestwifehaver @mediguro @goodolefashionedloverboi @huniiibee @rhyswritesreadsandcries @i-have-three-feelings @mightbeasleep @grtwdsmwhr @hirikka @starlight-archer @clumsiluni @celestialrebel1 @quarble @woolley-socks
#steddie#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie fanfic#steddie ficlet#steve x eddie#shovel writes
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edit: HEY EVERYONE LOOKING AT THIS POST GO READ AAU FIC RIGHT NOW BC IM TIRED OF THIS POST BEING IN MY NOTIFS 24/7💥💥💥💥
Ok sorry about that now back to your regularly scheduled program:
A!au toh au when??
Yeah hi I was bored n thinking about this idea and also wanted to do a style study for toh, (ignore that I had to use bases for the bodies I couldn’t draw them😭 my lines where too shaky I’m not the best at tracing stuff so I cheated a tiny bit)
I had originally thought of this idea ages ago in a doodle where they all went to hexide and it was more a high school au if anything but now that the show is further along I thought of a more fleshed out idea for this hypothetical au!
Technically this could count as just a regular Ahit toh au BUT I based it off of ideas and hcs in aau so yeah I’m sticking with that
Also the characters aren’t one to one with toh characters it’s more just a “how would these characters and their story translate over to toh universe” thing but most characters can be tied to a toh character as being based on/in the role of if that makes sense like I said it’s a bit of a mixing pot with the characters
Uh yeah info about the basic idea for the characters/story:
The whole story with prince and Vanessa instead of prince getting locked in a cellar to die van curses him instead, but somehow idk how yet he ends up turning the tables and splitting the curse with her.
I like the idea that prince is from his respective time period as Ahit and falls through a time pool so we get the same concept of this guy is old and from a long time ago just with skipping over the death ghost part so yeah he gets sent to present
Snatcher is basically the eda character he has the curse and takes elixir (which I hc is blue bc haha Ahit reference)
If it’s not obvious from her design Vanessa is the belos of this au lol
Probably instead of the emperors coven it’s something like the Queen’s court? I think it’s got a neat ring?
Anyway yeah uh not much to say about her she’s basically the same lol, also I like the idea she uses illusions to hide her appearance and also to manipulate mj and the citizens 👀
mj is basically a combo of s2 Lilith and Hunter! He’s a grimwalker made by Vanessa to replace prince basically he’s made to be her perfect fairy tale Prince Charming that loves her and would never ever betray her <oblivious
But yeah same idea as Hunter of being made as a clone of someone else BUT they’ve got a more similar role to Lilith in which they end up befriending the main cast and living with them
Also included their “golden gaurd” design not sure what to call it? Moon prince? Moon something idk lol you guys might could help with that but yeah that’s the fit they got when with van also we got blood Amy too in which Vanessa gives her curse to mj after finding his palismen (she eats them belos style ofc lol) speaking of I still need to draw the palismen but I have some cool ideas!
Dels idk what to say besides uh she lives with snatcher n we still got the qpr going ofc lol sorry I don’t got much on her 💔 though I DID consider making her a star child to go with the twilight god thing but I also considered making eclipse a star child because the design is similar plus gives an excuse for him to be here without the fusion plus I think Vanessa using eclipse sounds cool it makes sense he’s prince in canon so like ofc she’s drawn to him but yeah still thinking about that
Time twins are our luz stand in, hc timmys jacket is snatchers like luzs jacket is eras bc I think it’s cute lol dont question why he has it idk I didn’t have the time pool idea at the time
and bow is kinda like the willow/gus of the group and mu is the amity? Mu being a bully at first until joining the friend group n stuff and bow being the sweet straight man to the rests antics
Drawing time twins with round ears was cursed
Anyway mu is a hybrid still, She’s half witch half eberwolf species! Cooking cat and Sam get to be her bio parents here instead of adopted so that’s cool
Shapes is the Vee stand in and omg they where really fun to design
I like the idea of the changelings/council being titan trappers? Considering they’re a cult? I think it sounds cool so maybe like shapes sneaks in with a disguise or like the trappers take them in or the trappers are basilisk in this universe? Idk considering no one in the cast is a titan it wouldnt really make sense so like maybe they are basilisk or basilisk hunters? Still chewing on the council lol sorry
Sorry I’ve been putting it off BUT curses!: basically same logic as canon they go by eda and belos logic respectively so van is a creepy skeleton cryptid ass monster and snatcher is a animal beast! BUT he’s not a bird like eda or Lilith ,and also not a snake though that would fit in being a more obvious choice, he’s ACTUALLY a ferret! Mostly bc I thought it was funny but it stuck lol they are furry and noodly so it works, plus I’m a sucker for the monster has innocent name but is actually terrifying trope lol, also idk about blood moon? They get cursed yeah but I don’t think they get transformed into anything mostly bc I have no ideas for them lol plus it’s more focused on the illusion hypnosis whatever abd not the curse itself
Anyway on to covens/magic specialties!
The kids are obvious because they have the uniforms lol but I’ll still list them anyway:
Time twins: Oracle/illusion
Bow: beast keeping
Mu: constructed
Prince: Oracle/bard
Snatcher: Oracle/potion
Delilah: plant/healing
Mj: bard
Vanessa: illusion
Shapes: abomination
But yeah that’s kinda it lol I do plan to add more doodles or ideas later but yeah hoo boy these took forever but it was a fun style challenge plus fun to design everyone!
Sorry if these notes are kinda all over the place oof I didn’t bother to double check them so sorry if it sounded rambley
#a!au#amnesia!moonjumper au#ahit au#amnesia!moonjumper#ahit a!au#ahit#toh au#a hat in time#moonjumper#snatcher#queen vanessa#hat kid#timmy ahit#ahit shapeshifter#mustache girl#bow kid#the florist ahit#ahit the prince#Timmy without his hat is cursed but I couldn’t figure out how to do his hair in toh style oop#But it’s ok bc hattie looks rlly cute in it#Also everyone say thank you Twip for having me give Timmy n mj hooked noses <333#It felt really weird using more desaturated colors💔
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The more I think about Ellen Dunkel, the more I'm struck by how weird her whole concept would be to actually live through.
Like, let's set aside the fact that magic exists and Wacky Transformations are possible, because Elliot and Tedd are familiar with both, and to them it's relatively normal. But Elliot was accidentally transformed into a girl, and the specific method he used to "separate the curse from the cursed" resulted in creating a clone, complete with his mind, except in the girl-form. And "Ellen" (originally an alias Elliot used in front of people who weren't in-the-know about the transformation) became this ... fully-formed flesh-and-blood human being, she's completely real to any mundane or magical test, with Elliot's personality and all his memories up to the split.
After a brief stint of Ellen trying and failing to be Elliot's "evil twin" (she mistakenly thought she was going to disappear when the transformation would have originally worn off), she just started living with Elliot's family as his sister, because what else are you gonna do when you're a female clone of a dude with all his memories? And also she became more introspective than Elliot, in the name of becoming her own separate individual instead of just "a copy of Elliot", because that was kind of do-or-die, so to speak. Elliot and Ellen share a bedroom.
And like. "A clone/duplicate with all your memories" is pretty standard, as far as wacky-science-and/or-magic shenanigans go? But every time I try to imagine living through Ellen's specific situation, on either side, it's like ... I can't fully wrap my head around it! Just the fact of suddenly having someone in your life who's sort-of-"you" except she's an entirely different gender, who knows you better than you know yourself. Or suddenly being a big tiddy AU of yourself, and having to deal with that on top of the fact that you're not "really" yourself, you're a clone, and after you've figured yourself out, your original self doesn't know himself as well as you know him or yourself, and he occasionally says things that make you want to go c'mon, this is dumb, I've already had that personal revelation (and/or we already had that personal revelation before the split). It's a big huge ridiculous and surreal thing, how do you even deal with that!? The page where Edward Verres told Ellen in no uncertain terms that she's a different person from Elliot apparently sparked off a debate about selfhood, and whether a duplicate counts as "you", which ran for at least eleven years after that.
(Upon her creation, Ellen was a complete mess of emotions and confusion, leading to a complete breakdown in less than two minutes. For Elliot's part, his thoughts began and ended with "she's family, help her", and that was that.)
I also feel like it's worth remembering that everything Ellen did immediately after her creation was, by definition, in-character for Elliot. Like Ellen straight-up assumed that she was going to die, and that even if she didn't, Elliot's family would just not accept her on the basis of her being a clone, and so she decided to try to be an "evil twin" and get Elliot into trouble in what little time she had left (until she saw Elliot's new girlfriend and came back to reality). You have to understand that that's what Elliot would have done in those circumstances, and we know this because in a sense, he did. (Add that to the list of things Elliot has clearly not been introspective about ...)
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Does Sota have the need or instinct to eat human flesh? can he walk in the sun? is he going to live much longer than humans or is he as immortal as a demon or does he have an average human lifespan? does he have an aversion or allergy to wisteria flowers?
Woof! A lot to unpack with this one!!
So, first off, Sota is 100% human. He will live as a human does, but there are certain aspects or buffs that he has, which is like sharper reflexes and a keen sense of his surroundings. He has no powers, however, it's because of him that one of his decedents is able to teach my character Saigo the technique known as "Fang Breathing."
He has seasonal allergies and usually prefers the late fall/winter.
Sota dies of old age, just as a human would.
Here's why Sota isn't a demon. To become a demon, you need to ingest or have Muzan's blood injected into your system. Similar to a cancer, Muzan's cell eat away at the human cells and mutate the body into something else, that being a demon.
I head-canon that while one does become a demon, your reproductive oragans still function the same way. And because Muzan's blood makes YOU a demon, your offspring will be human because Muzan's blood is not hereditary.
So yes, Sekido is a demon but his umm...*coughs* semen is not inherently demonic. If I were to explain it in more detail the percentage of pregnancy's success it would go like this...
Hantengu/Clones (40% chance, however, with the clones, that's broken even further, so each clone only has about 10% chance and that's due to the fact that they're clones and not actual people).
Sota was a surprise because Chizue didn't think she could get pregnant with Sekido but lo and behold!
Thanks for the ask!
#kny#kimetsu no yaiba#sota harada#chizue harada#sekido#hantengu#hantengu clones#demon slayer oc#demon slayer#ask#thanks for the ask!#answered ask#ask response#ask me anything
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