#I probably just have to turn on the grid or something and make everything snap to it and that'll be close

[doedipus]

adobe illustrator is obviously a really good utility, like, it's the standard for vector graphics for a reason

but even so, whenever I'm using it I have the thought "I wish I was using autocad right now" about once every 20 minutes

[twirlyleafs]

“Reckless.”

Charles Leclerc x driver! Reader

TW: mention of death, fighting

~~~~

“What the hell was that?”

Charles’ angry voice cut through the hum of your garage like a whip, startling you enough to make you spin around to face him. You hadn’t expected him to be here this fast, you’d barely gotten out of the car, but then again maybe you should have. You knew he’d be angry considering the intense qualifying session where you’d wrung every last bit out of your car—and yourself. In those final two laps, you’d driven with reckless precision, pressing Alonso so hard in the corners that he’d had to back off to not risk contact. It wasn’t exactly clean racing, but it had earned you a spot on the second row. Fourth on the grid, your best start all season. The best you would probably be able to get out of your car. But as satisfying as it was, you knew that Charles would have something to say about it.

“Keep your voice down, Charles.” You muttered while unzipping the top half of your suit, hoping you could brush this off before it turned into a scene. Charles wasn’t having it. Out of the corner of your eye you could see him, jaw clenched, his hands slicing through the air as he spoke, disbelief radiating off him.

“Keep my voice—are you serious? What’s your problem? That overtake was reckless. Fernando was barely an inch away from accidentally sending you flying into the wall!”

“Calm down.” You shot him a look as you brushed past him, hoping he’d drop it if you just kept walking. But Charles scoffed, immediately following you, his tone hard and unforgiving.

“Don’t tell me to calm down! I was right behind you! I saw the way you went in—God, you’re just lucky it was Alonso and not one of the rookies. That could’ve been a disaster.” Charles was relentless, his words chasing you all the way to your driver’s room. Your fists were clenched, nails digging into your palms as you worked to keep your own frustration under control. You knew his worry came from a place of love, but right now, it felt like he was questioning you as a driver, as if he didn’t trust you to know what you were doing. And that stung more than you cared to admit. Once the door shut behind you both, his words softened, though they still held an edge. “What were you thinking out there?”

You let out a heavy breath, finally turning to meet his gaze. “I was thinking about getting a decent starting position. I wanted-“

“You don’t risk everything for a good position!” he interrupted, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Have you talked to Fernando? He’s probably fuming! If that had been me in his shoes, I would’ve lost it—”

“Good thing it wasn’t you, then.” You snapped, turning your back on him as you began unzipping the rest of your suit. It felt safer to face the wall, where he couldn’t see the raw mix of emotions that tightened your throat and threatened to spill over. “You don’t get it, Charles. You have a team, a car, a contract. You have a future. A name. I’m fighting for scraps, like every shot is the last one I’ll get.”

He fell silent and for a moment you thought he might back down, let you have this small victory. But his voice cut through the quiet, low and sharp. “Maybe I don’t get it. But I do get that you’re pushing yourself too far. And one day it won’t just be a scare. You’ll get hurt.”

“Yeah, well, I can handle myself.” You retorted as you turned to face him, your gaze defiant. “I knew what I was doing with Alonso. I wouldn’t have tried it with one of the rookies, I knew they couldn’t handle that.”

“Can you?” His eyes held a look you rarely saw, a mixture of frustration, fear, and maybe even doubt. “Can you handle it, Y/N? Because from where I’m standing, that looked less like confidence and more like…like desperation.” His words hit you like a slap, hurting more than you wanted to admit. Was it desperation? Maybe there was some truth in that, but you weren’t about to let him see you flinch. Not when he didn’t understand what it was like to constantly have to prove yourself, to feel every race could be your last if you didn’t show results.

“Are you calling me a bad driver Charles?” You asked, the challenge clear in your tone. He ran a hand over his face, sighing in exasperation.

“I’m calling you reckless. Stupid, even. You could be amazing, I know you’re amazing, but you keep pulling moves like this and I’m just scared it’s going to end in disaster.”

You swallowed, ignoring the sting of his words. “I can’t afford to play it safe, Charles. You wouldn’t get it, you don’t have to get it. You’re in a car that could win a championship. I’m just trying to prove I belong here.” For a moment, he looked as if he was about to argue, his eyes narrowing with the usual stubbornness you knew too well. But instead, he just shook his head, stepping back, disappointment flickering in his gaze. He lingered for a moment, his gaze softened, as if he wanted to reach out but held himself back. Then he turned, leaving the room as quickly as he’d entered, his words hanging in the air, heavy and unshakable. You stood alone, the silence pressing down on you, and no matter how much you wanted to brush it off his words kept echoing in your mind.

The hours dragged on, the buzz of qualifying still lingering as you were pulled from one interview to the next. You smiled for the cameras, deflected the sharpest questions, and managed to shrug off any mention of that heated moment with Alonso. But under the surface, your mind churned with the memory of your earlier fight with Charles. His words still echoed in your head, gnawing at you in a way you couldn’t shake. Reckless. Desperate. You’d been called a lot of things, but hearing it from him hurt like hell. It was late when you finally reached the hotel, the quiet of the lobby a stark contrast to the noisy paddock. The tension in your shoulders was nearly unbearable as you made your way up to your room, the thought of sleep the only thing keeping you moving forward. When you unlocked the door and stepped inside Charles was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze flicking up from his phone when you entered. He looked worn, the earlier fire in his eyes now replaced with something gentler, but equally intense. You felt your heart skip, torn between relief and irritation as the weight of your argument settled heavily in the air between you.

“Hey,” he said quietly, watching you as you set down your things.

“Hey.” You shrugged off your jacket, avoiding his gaze, the room feeling too small, too charged. Silence hung thickly for a moment before he spoke again.

“I’m sorry,” he began, a slight hesitance in his voice. “For showing up like that. I shouldn’t have come into your garage and… yelled at you. That was out of line.”

You nodded, acknowledging his apology but not yet ready to let go of the frustration simmering beneath your skin. Slowly making your way across the room you stopped by the dresser to remove your jewelry, plopping your watch and bracelet down on the cold surface before turning around to look at him again. “You still think I’m reckless? Stupid?” Your voice was calm, even as your heart pounded in your chest. Charles looked down, rubbing his hands together as he seemed to weigh his words.

“Yes. I do. I think you’re incredible out there, but sometimes…” He paused, looking up at you, his eyes soft yet resolute. “Sometimes it scares me. Seeing you push so hard, knowing one wrong move could just, you know, just end everything.”

You sighed, crossing your arms as you leaned back against the dresser. “Charles, I’m fighting for my career. Every weekend, every race—it’s not just about points or a title chance. It’s about proving that I belong here, that I’m not just some driver filling space at the back of the grid.” You hesitated, struggling to put into words what you’d felt for so long. “I don’t have the luxury of playing it safe.”

“And you think I don’t get that?” His voice rose, a hint of frustration slipping back in. “I know what it’s like to fight, to have to prove myself. You think Ferrari didn’t make me feel like I had to earn my place every damn time I got in that car?”

You scoffed, feeling a flicker of bitterness as you met his gaze. “It’s different, Charles. You still always had the team behind you. A car that can get you to the podium on strategy alone. I don’t have that. I have to be better. I have to take risks.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t fight.” His voice was softer now. “But not at the cost of your safety. There’s a difference between fighting and driving like there’s nothing left to lose.”

You felt a flash of anger, his words hitting a raw nerve. “Maybe I don’t see a difference because I don’t have anything to lose, Charles. I’m already at the back. Already being picked apart by the media trying to prove women don’t belong here. That I don’t belong here. A good result like this might be the only thing keeping me on the grid next season.” Your voice wavered as you continued, the weight of your own words settling heavy on your chest. “Maybe I can’t afford to think about what I have to lose.” At that Charles expression softened, his eyes searching your face.

“And what about me? What if I lose you? Maybe you don’t see it that way, but to me you are the most important thing in this equation.” His words struck you like a blow and for the first time you felt the edges of your anger soften, giving way to something deeper and more vulnerable. You let out a breath, your gaze dropping to the floor as the truth of it all began to settle between you. You swallowed, feeling the prick of tears in your eyes but refusing to let them fall.

“You have to let me fight. Even if it scares you. Because I can’t be the driver I need to be if I’m holding back just to make everyone else feel safe.” Even with your eyes trained on the floor you noted Charles getting up, moving across the room towards you. The ache in your chest reached its peak when his hands carefully found your arms, slowly stroking down them until he could grip your hands in his. He sighed, his thumb rubbing gently over your knuckles.

“I don’t want you to hold back. I’d never ask that of you, I just-“ he paused and you slowly lifted your gaze to meet his. “I just want you to be careful. To remember that you can get to where you wanna be without dying on the way. Baby I want you to have everything, I think you deserve everything and I’m here for you, as long as you don’t disappear on me.” The last of your frustration melted away as you let out a shaky breath, leaning into his embrace. The second Charles noticed you moving closer he dropped your hands, wrapping his arms around you instead. Tucking your head against the crook of his neck you let out a deep sigh, nodding slowly.

“I get it. I get what you’re saying. It’s just hard to think like that when I’m out there, seeing my chances slip away.”

“I know.”

“But I’ll try.” You whispered, the words more of a promise to yourself than to him. “I’ll try to be careful. But I need you to understand that sometimes, this is just how it has to be. It’s the only way I know.” You felt Charles nod, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses against the top of your head. You shuffled closer, letting your arms wrap around his torso as his tightened around your frame, grounding you in the warmth and steadiness of his embrace. “You won’t lose me.” You murmured against his shoulder, the words both a promise and a hope. Charles held you close, his lips pressing gently to your temple as you both stood in the quiet of the room, letting the tension and hurt melt away. And for a while, neither of you said anything more, content just to hold each other, finding a fragile peace in the shared silence. Tomorrow, you’d be back on the track, fighting just as hard. But tonight, you were simply here, together.

[actual-lea]

Hello it is I, returning with more of this fic!

AO3 | First chapter | Previous chapter

“It’s your turn.”

Daniel snaps out of his trance. “Right, sorry.”

He picks up one of the tiny red discs and drops it into place in the Connect Four grid, blocking off a diagonal line Hurley tried to sneak past him. Plastic clatters against plastic, the only sound in the nearly-empty game room aside from a few orderlies chatting in the hallway and a dark-haired woman muttering softly to herself at another table. It’s hypnotic, almost, an oddly relaxing soundscape akin to the “ocean sounds” CD he used to own.

Or, still owns? It’s likely still gathering dust in the bedroom of his childhood home, stacked neatly between the few other albums he would occasionally listen to, most of them gifts from Caroline. He wishes he could remember any of the artists’ names, or any of the songs, for that matter; they’re all jumbled together in his head, a medley of contextless musical phrases that occasionally rise to the surface of his subconscious in a blur of half-remembered melodies and half-finished thoughts.

“Your turn,” Hurley repeats.

Daniel flinches again. “Sorry.”

Another piece clatters into place. “You alright, man? You seem kinda distracted.”

Daniel nods automatically. “Yeah, yeah, I’m just… I’ve got a lot on my mind,” he rambles, a laughable understatement.

Since requesting access to Widmore’s intel, Dan has learned more new information about the island in the past month than he had in the previous two years combined.

In 1954, the year that was printed on the photographs he’d taken from his mother’s office in the church, the island had been the site of a thermonuclear test – ostensibly, anyway. The files Abaddon provided, marked “U.S. ARMY – OP 264” consisted in part of more photographs, including several of the bomb itself; there were detailed diagrams of every piece, along with yield estimates, detonation procedures, personnel lists, everything but the date of the test itself or any kind of report on the aftermath.

It must have been called off; that’s the only thing that makes sense. The projected yield of nearly ten megatons would be more than enough to quite literally wipe the island off the map, leaving nothing but a radioactive crater in its place. The files don’t mention any kind of delay or cancellation, though, nothing to suggest that the test was scrubbed and the bomb recovered for reconfiguring or disassembly.

So, what happened to it? Surely the U.S. military didn’t just misplace an entire hydrogen bomb. He’d requested more information, of course, but that was well over two weeks ago and he’s heard nothing from Abaddon since.

The bomb must still be there, somewhere on the island. That’s the conclusion he keeps coming back to, the one piece that could make everything else clatter into place, if he lets it – the FISSION CHAIN REACTION scrawled across the top of Theresa’s diagram, the DHARMA orientation photo from 1977 with Jack, Kate, and Hurley.

Hurley, who picks at the edge of the black piece in his hand, his eyes distant.

“I think it’s…your turn?” Daniel realizes aloud; Hurley’s turn to flinch and nod sheepishly and drop the piece into the board, seemingly at random. “A lot on your mind, too?” 

Hurley shrugs. “I guess.”

“Everything okay?”

“I guess,” he repeats, then he frowns. “Actually, can I ask you something?”

Dan nods. “Of course.”

Hurley rubs the back of his neck, glancing around the room and lowering his voice. “It's about the island.”

A spike of fear flares up in Daniel’s chest, and he swallows hard to push it back down. Hurley can’t read his mind; if he’s been thinking about the island too, it’s nothing more than pure coincidence. Probably. “Go ahead,” he prompts when Hurley doesn’t say anything else.

“I was thinking about…what you said before,” Hurley says. “About how the island fixed you."

Daniel nods stiffly, waiting for him to continue.

"Well, I was wondering...did it fix anything else for you?" he asks hesitantly. "Like, did it help with...with seeing things that aren't there?"

Daniel frowns. "You mean…hallucinations? I didn’t have hallucinations. I wasn’t that crazy,” he says without thinking, and then he grimaces. What an awful thing to say inside a mental health facility.

Hurley nods anyway, returning his attention to the Connect Four board.

“Why…do you ask?” Daniel shifts awkwardly in his seat. “Have you been…seeing things?”

“Forget I said anything, dude.”

“Hurley.” He leans closer, because he has to know. “Why are you asking about the island?”

Hurley looks up, then down to the table, then back up, and lets out a deep breath. “Locke came to visit me the other day.”

Daniel frowns again, confused. “Locke?”

Realization dawns in Hurley’s eyes. “Oh yeah, that’s right, I guess you never met him. He’s like this crazy, bald, outdoorsy guy.” He lowers his voice again. “He was on our plane.”

“And he… He left the island? How?”

Hurley shrugs again, fidgeting with the black piece in his hand. "He didn’t tell me that. He just said that we all need to go back. Everybody who left."

The gears start turning in Daniel’s head, a low rumble pulsing in time with his suddenly racing heart. “And he knew some way to do that?”

“I don’t know. It kinda freaked me out, so I didn’t really listen to him.”

“Did he leave you with any kind of contact information?” he asks, already digging through his pack for a pen. “A phone number, maybe, or a date that he’d be visiting you again?” 

“Yeah, but…” Hurley glances around the room again, like he’s searching for an excuse. “I don’t even have it with me, it’s in my room–”

“Well, could you go and get it?”

He frowns. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, man–”

“Hurley, please.”

With a resigned sigh, Hurley pulls the bottom from the Connect Four board, sending all the pieces crashing to the table as he stands up. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

------

Daniel, If you’re reading this, your journal must have made it back to you somehow. That doesn’t seem outside the realm of possibility, considering where when we might be. It took us longer than it should have to understand what happened when the freighter disappeared, and even longer to understand what’s happening to us now. Having your journal helped, though I can only understand bits and pieces of it. It’s nice to think that you’re still helping us, even from so far away. The survivors from the Zodiac raft told us you weren’t on the freighter when it exploded. I hope you’re still all right out there somewhere, in your own time. Hopefully I’ll be the one to return this journal to you, and you can explain why all this is happening (has happened? will happen?) to the island.

“Writing your memoirs?”

Charlotte turns to watch Miles approach. “Writing to Dan,” she says, showing him the journal.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll get it.” Miles plops down on the sand beside her without glancing at it. “Probably hasn’t even been born yet.”

“You don’t know that.”

He shrugs and stares out at the dark waves. The soothing sound nearly drowns out the bickering from behind the two of them, further up the beach, where a small cluster of the Oceanic survivors are still stubbornly trying to start a fire.

“Find anything in there about how to stop this?” Miles asks, nodding toward the journal.

Charlotte shakes her head. “Not yet, anyway.” Squinting in the dim light from the moon, she finds her place and keeps writing.

We miss you here. Miles misses you too, even if he won’t admit it. It’s the strangest thing, being stuck here on the island after searching for so long. This is the place I was born, I’m certain of it, but I feel no closer to understanding why. Why did we leave? Why did my mother forbid me from ever talking about this place? Why did she lie and tell me that I made it all up? I’ve been thinking about her a lot today. Wondering what she would say, if she could see me now. I realized that I can’t quite picture her face anymore, disappointed or otherwise. I can barely remember the sound of her voice. It’s strange to think that the distance from the outside world is enough to make me forget all its details.

“Are you cool?”

Her head jerks up. She stares at Miles. “What?”

He gestures vaguely. “You look like you’re pouring your heart out over there, and I just wanna know if you’re about to get all emotional, so I can leave before that.”

She frowns. “It’s nothing like that, it’s…” She places the pen in the journal as a bookmark and closes it. “Do you ever feel like… Like you're forgetting something important? More than one something?”

“Yeah.” Miles shrugs. “Couldn’t have been too important if you forgot it though, right?”

Charlotte’s frown deepens, but she nods anyway. “I’ve been…remembering things, too,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “Weird things.”

Bits and pieces, fragments of moments like something from a dream. Yellow houses, and a swingset, and neighbors that she doesn’t recognize, and yet…

She takes a deep breath. “Miles, are you sure you haven’t been to this island before?”

Miles’ face clouds over. It’s a long few seconds before he finally responds. “Why are you asking me–”

A wordless shout from behind him, sharper than the ongoing squabbling, cuts through the still night air. Charlotte’s head snaps toward the sound as one of the distant figures staggers back from the rest, flailing madly at the fiery arrow now embedded in their torso.

The sky overhead bursts into flames, a deadly meteor shower of bright lights raining down over all their heads.

Charlotte is on her feet in an instant and running for cover in the next, sprinting across the wide open sand toward the safety of the trees. There’s screaming, chaos, fire everywhere, and cutting through it all is Sawyer’s voice, shouting for everyone to meet at the creek.

If she had the time, she’d roll her eyes. There’s no way that the unseen assailants responsible for the volley can’t hear his instructions loud and clear. She'd bet money that an ambush will be the only thing waiting at the creek, especially for her and Miles, who’ve yet to find their way into the survivors’ good graces.

Miles. A pang of something like guilt twists in Charlotte’s stomach. Surely he’s right behind her? As she reaches the sparse foliage at the edge of the jungle, she throws a glance over her shoulder to assure herself that she hasn’t left him behind to die without a second thought.

A cluster of vines catches her ankle, and she hits the ground hard with a curse. Before she can scramble back to her feet, a hand grabs her arm to haul her up.

Miles. “You okay?” he says in a rush, as if the answer could matter less while they’re running for their lives.

Charlotte nods once. A flaming arrow hits the nearest tree, less than a meter away, and she breaks into a sprint once more with Miles’ hand now clasped tightly in hers.

------

“Wait here a moment,” the hospital receptionist says, and walks away.

Daniel drums his fingers on the counter impatiently. The phone number Hurley gave him was for a place called the Westerfield Hotel, but he was promptly informed by the front desk that “Jeremy Bentham” was currently unavailable. That fact hadn’t changed by the time Daniel showed up to ask in person, but after a bit of persuasion – and no small amount of bribery – he learned that Locke had most recently extended his stay via a phone call from a St. Sebastian Hospital on the west side of Los Angeles.

Unsurprisingly, calling the hospital didn’t yield any information, so here he is, pacing in the lobby. Bribery surely isn’t a viable option here; if the receptionist returns without any answers, he’s not sure what to do.

But he can’t just give up now. If there’s a way to get back to the island without Widmore, he has to try.

“Faraday?” a voice calls from somewhere behind him.

He whirls around and stares, baffled, at a familiar face. “Jack?”

Jack moves toward him with a frown and shoves him around a corner, out of sight of the very public lobby. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He's angry; angrier than expected, angrier than Dan's seen him since that night on the beach, when he caught him in a lie and screamed in his face. Daniel checks the scribbled writing on his hand, mostly as an excuse to avoid his glare. “I'm, uh. I'm looking for Jeremy Bentham.”

“How do you know that name?” Jack asks in a furious whisper.

“I talked to Hurley,” Daniel replies, and for a split second, he's sure that Jack is going to punch him.

He doesn't, though; he pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a few quick steps away, calming himself down, before returning to Dan. “What the hell do you want with Locke?”

“It– It’s a bit of a long story,” he stammers out. “I…just need to talk to him.”

“You need to leave,” Jack says, motioning toward the exit. “Right now.”

Daniel squares his shoulders and shakes his head. “I'm not leaving until I talk to him.”

Again, Jack looks ready to hit him, but again, he calms down. “This way,” he says curtly, and he starts walking.

Dan follows him through a few doors and into a hallway lined with patient rooms. They stop outside of one, and Jack turns back to him.

“Five minutes, then I want you gone,” he says firmly, and then he walks away.

Daniel takes a deep breath and knocks softly on the door before opening it.

The bald man lying in the bed looks up; his face is a mess, bruised all over, and he watches Dan warily. “I think you have the wrong room.”

Dan shakes his head. “You’re…Jeremy Bentham, right? Or…” He glances over his shoulder as the door closes behind him. “John Locke?”

The man frowns. “And who are you?”

“My name's Daniel.” He wrings his hands and takes a step forward, lowering his voice. “And you don't know me, but...you know my friends, Charlotte Lewis and Miles Straume.”

Locke's bruised face lights up with recognition. “You were the other one, from the freighter.”

“Yeah. Uh...” He drags a nearby chair over to the bed and sits down. “I was wondering if you could tell me how you got off the island.”

Locke eyes him suspiciously. “Why do you wanna know that, Daniel?”

“Because...” He chooses his words carefully. “It might help me to find a way back.”

At that, Locke seems to relax. “You're here to help me, then?”

Dan nods hesitantly. “I…guess I am.”

“Did Charles Widmore send you?”

“Not...exactly.” He clears his throat. “Uh, is he... Are you expecting someone, or...?”

Locke shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter now. All that matters, is that we have to convince everyone to go back.” He leans toward Dan. “You have to help me convince them.”

Daniel blinks. “Why, exactly?”

“Because it’s the only way to save everyone who was left behind.”

“Wait, slow down. Save them from what?”

“From dying,” Locke says. “You and all the others, you were never supposed to leave.”

“How do you know that?” Daniel asks. “What happened, after the island moved?”

“It didn’t stop moving.”

(next chapter)

[cinlat]

Blood in the Breeze: Ch 18 (End Times)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Read every chapter on FFN or Ao3.

Summary: Vaylin Attacks! Everyone else scrambles.

Chapter Word Count: 5,237 Chapter Rating: T Characters in Chapter: Fynta Wolfe, Aric Jorgan, Theron Shan, Zolah Holran, Vector, Malavai Quinn, Torian Cadara, Vette, Lana Beniko, Shillet Jorgan, Verin Ejnar/Wolfe, Tranx Vaak, Elara Dorne, Arcann, Senya, Vaylin, Balic Cormac, Darth Kozen, Master Kaeto Vaa, and special appearance by @kunoichi-ume Noara Starspark. And probably others that I've forgotten...

Author’s Note: Whole chapter under the cut. Better formatting on Ao3.

Odessen War Room 03:55 Hours

"Squads two and four to Alpha Quadrant Three. Seven and Ten, you're needed on the landing dock to clear the wreckage. And would someone shut off those fucking alarms?" Zolah didn't look up from her monitor while divvying out orders. To her right, Vector communicated with the medical staff, organizing and dispatching as needed based on the reports pouring in and security footage. Theron huddled at his desk, talking in short sentences with Fynta while she dressed in full view of the camera.

Quinn appeared at Zolah's back, brushing the tips of his fingers against the back of her arm before speaking. It was a friendly warning that he was in her blind spot. "Electrical grids for floors one and two have been damaged by orbital bombardment. I've cut power to the lower levels under construction and routed everything to the infirmaries."

"Good work." Quinn hadn't become Zolah's lover, but they'd developed a professional friendship with Vector at their center. She trusted the man and Vector's judgment. "News on the Enclave?"

"Unharmed. I've tasked units with escorting the young and injured there for safekeeping." Quinn tapped his datapad, then looked up. "It should be deep enough in the mountain to withstand the worst of the assault."

Though Zolah didn't fancy children of her own, the galaxy was nothing without a generation to leave it to. It eased something in her chest knowing that they would be protected. Then, Zolah wondered if that meant she'd gone soft. Maybe she was just getting old.

"Fynta's on her way to the surface." Theron appeared by Quinn's side. Any unease between the men vanished under the chaos of battle. "Torian is leading a group of Mandalorians into the forest, and we have pockets of Force Users taking charge of ground troops."

Zolah flicked the monitor in front of her. The crack down the middle gave it a double image, but there was no mistaking the dropships unloading hundreds of Skytroppers. She sighed and pointed at Quinn. "Make sure we have access to all armor cams. I want a full view of the battlefield."

Quinn saluted and strode off. The man never ran, he never increased his speed so far that Zolah could tell, but he had a certain walk that warned people to stand aside or fall in line. He snapped off orders, sending runners to pass along the frequency all ground troops should tune their cameras to.

Zolah watched the man, grateful for his professionalism, then her gaze fell on Theron. He forced a weak smile. "Just like old times, huh?"

There was no need to ask what Theron meant. Zolah's chuckle ended in a sigh. "We did it on Yavin IV, we'll do it here."

Odessen Commander's Quarters

"I won't be able to join you." Aric's sighed words through Fynta's helmet almost made her stumble. When she'd rushed for the door, still pulling on her armor, Aric had turned in the opposite direction. He was going to get Shillet because that was his first duty as a father. Fynta's was to protect the base.

They'd sworn to meet once Aric was sure that Shillet was safe. Something must have happened to delay him. "Everything okay, riduur?" Fynta asked, focusing her attention back to the lumbering hunk of machinery beneath her. Bolts pinged off the walker's shell, and then the self-destruct of a sky trooper underfoot teetered her to one side. The Walker dropped back onto both legs with a jarring crunch that drove a curse from Lana.

"Ran into some trouble on my way out of the base," Aric answered. His breath puffed in between words. "I'm taking up a sniping position in the ridge overlooking the landing bay. Fighting is pretty thick there."

"Understood." Fynta had known when they promised to stay together in those dark, silent hours of the night that it was a lie. Aric was a soldier. More than that, he was a protector. He would go where he was needed. That wasn't presently by Fynta's side. "Lana and I are nearly at the Gravestone. We'll link up with Sonya and Arcann, then get the Gravestone free to join the fight in the atmosphere."

Silence met Fynta's plan, then her husband sighed. "Stay safe." Aric didn't like her working with Arcann. Fynta wasn't thrilled about the prospect either. That man had single-handedly turned her life, and the lives of those she loved, into a steaming pile of osik for years. But, Fynta never turned down an advantage. Right now, the contrite emperor owed her a debt, and she planned to collect.

"There." Lana gripped the back of the pilot's seat and leaned forward. Fynta followed her finger to the slash of gold and blue against the darkness of the Gravestone's hull. She didn't say goodbye to Aric, she never did. But he knew; she'd spent all night being sure that he knew.

The walker came to a grinding halt at the bottom of the narrow ramp leading to the Gravestone's perch. The ship was too big to keep close to the base, so they'd chosen a cliffside to dock it at. That seemed like poor planning now. Skytroopers swarmed the grating, threatening to overrun the Zakuulan Knight and her spawn.

Fynta flipped the lever to open the hatch, then unbuckled herself from the driver's seat. Without a word, Lana pulled the hilt from her belt and stepped into the opening in the floor. She landed with the practiced skill of a Force user, then darted into the fray. Fynta, being a mere mortal, grabbed the slender handrails and slid down the ladder that extended to the ground.

Lana had left a trail of broken droid parts, making tracking the Sith's progress simple. Fynta took potshots while she ran, finishing the crippled skytroopers that Lana hadn't bothered with. By the time Fynta reached the top of the ramp, the three were fighting in a tight circle formation.

The display of power impressed even Fynta. Arcann was the former emperor and galaxy conqueror, and Senya a vaunted Zakuulan Knight of legend. But Lana, with her quiet smiles and subtle manipulations, shined brighter than both when she finally displayed her full capacity for destruction.

The Sith woman leapt into the air, releasing a Force wave strong enough to topple trees when she landed. The remaining enemies were flung off the edge of the cliff and into the abyss beyond. Then, she straightened, fixed her hair, and nodded. "That takes care of that. What next, Commander?"

Docking clamps groaned free, and the Gravestone lifted into the night. Koth let out a gleeful shout over the comms. "Time to see what these new upgrades can do."

Fynta watched them go, then turned to the rest of her group. "The fighting has spread across the surface. Let's fix that."

"We will fight with you until the end." Arcann's gravelly voice carried a hint of emotion that Fynta almost pitied. She was sure the man cared for his baby sister in some capacity. It remained to be seen if he could hold up his end of the bargain.

Fynta looked at Senya, the real concern when it came to Vaylin. The woman had already betrayed them once by saving Arcann instead of letting him face justice. So far, it had worked in their favor. Fynta doubted they would be so lucky with Vaylin. "You saw what Valkorion did to your daughter?"

Senya winced. Fynta brought up the familial link to gauge the woman's reaction. The older woman didn't hide how difficult this was. With a dejected sigh, Senya met Fynta's gaze. "Valkorion destroyed what was left of my daughter long ago." The dead emperor chuckled in the back of Fynta's mind but otherwise stayed silent. He was enjoying this family drama.

Pulling her shoulders straight, Senya looked Fynta in the eyes. "Vaylin must be stopped."

"You need to draw her out," Arcann suggested, switching the military commander he'd once been. "Bring her to the surface."

Theron's voice cut through Fynta's helmet comm. "Sana-Rae just flanked the enemy, but she could use some more firepower."

Fynta nodded to Lana. The woman hesitated only a moment, her gaze flickering between Senya and Arcann, before darting down the bridge leading deeper into the wild. Her comm chirped again, and Torian's voice echoed through her helmet. "We're getting hammered over here, could use another vod."

Fynta checked Torian's position in the feed that Zolah had linked to her helmet. He was near the front lines. That didn't surprise her. "On the way."

As Fynta turned, Arcann joined her. She spared him a glance, and the man simply shook his head. "You will not face her alone." Fynta almost ordered him to stay, then decided against it. Her gut warned that she would need these two before the end.

Odessen Command Center Force Enclave

Cormac had three children clinging to him, and none of them were his son. Instead, Tayl stood by Shillet, who had started a game of jacks with a few of the tween kids. The younger ones looked on, learning from the mistakes of their elders. Meanwhile, the older kids, the ones who stood on the cusp of adulthood, paced with the relentless stride of a caged manka cat. Most were the Mandalorians that Verin had brought along, so it wasn't a surprise that they itched for battle.

Twice, Cormac had broken up a group of teens who had their heads together, casting keen glances at the exits. He had his eye on Tranx's girl at the moment. Zula barely reached Cormac's elbow, but she had the makings of a leader, unfortunately, it was the young and dumb sort, at the moment.

"Shhh, it's alright." Noara rocked a whimpering toddler, bouncing the boy on her hip. He curled closer when the thumps from above scattered dirt from the Enclave ceiling. Sana-Rae had requested the space be reinforced, but left as natural as possible to help the Force users meditate. It was a beautiful place with the rugged appeal of a long-forgotten cavern. It also gave the impression of instability when bits of the roof broke away and landed among the frightened children.

Then, there was Tayl. Cormac couldn't believe how big the boy had gotten. How much he didn't cling to Elara when she ran out the door with her medical bag. The resignation in those big, grey eyes when he took Cormac's hand for the trip down to the shelter. That was far more worrying than the cries and occasional screams of his peers.

Tayl's entire life had been war. Even when he and Shillet went to the best schools, they'd fought against their parents' reputations and struggled under the weight of those shadows. To Tayl, this wasn't the potential end of their brief moment of happiness, but the simple truth of life. He didn't cry, because all of his tears were gone.

The same could be said for Shillet. She remembered bits of her life before Havoc found her on that wrecked mudball of a planet. She'd won and lost so many battles that now all the girl did was survive. They might all perish in Vaylin's assault, and that was fine because it had always been a possibility.

"Are we missing some?" Noara stood on her toes, scanning the room. "I swear there were—oh no."

Cormac saw it at the same time. The Mandalorian teens were gone. He'd looked away for a second to consider his failure as a father and fucked it up again. "I'll find them."

Noara helped Cormac peel the skinny arms and legs from his body, only for them to latch onto her. She must have been using the Force to prop them all up because there was no way that tiny woman could support all of their weight. He made a placating motion at the Jedi as he backed through the throng of kids. "I'll bring them back."

The last thing Cormac saw as he snatched his rifle from beside the door was the resignation in his son's eyes.

Odessen External Docking Site Alpha

"We need more light," the medic to Elara's right complained. He was right, but they couldn't risk it. Not so close to the front lines.

"Night vision will have to do." The chrono in Elara's helmet told her that less than thirty minutes had passed since the first blaring siren, yet their triage had outgrown the medical tents.

Yuun carried the tail end of a stretcher, having volunteered to leave the confines of the base's intelligence command to aid his friend. They stopped beside Elara so that she could examine the boy. He was Mandalorian, barely older than the group that Verin had brought to Odessen. Her stomach churned at the thought that this could have been one of the children from Torian's clan. Verin's son.

Shaking those dark thoughts away, Elara scanned him and was relieved to find only a shattered foot. He'd lose it more than likely, but that could be replaced. "This one isn't critical, mark him blue and have the medics there administer a sedative. His fight is done."

Yuun tipped his head, then looked up at the sky. Flashes of light in the upper atmosphere, weapons fire between ships, looked like lightning in the clouds. "Many have fallen," her old friend clicked. "But, the way remains clear."

"Of course." Elara pulled her attention back to the surface, to the people who needed aid. Yuun was right. There was work to do on the surface.

The pair staggered towards the medical tents for the severely wounded but not fatal. Eara felt a familiar presence at her back and turned to find Malavai Quinn staring at the sky. She didn't know how to feel about the man. He'd made his opinion of deserters known from the beginning, labeling himself as one of the few people in the galaxy that her husband wouldn't try to befriend.

"Something isn't right." A line appeared between Quinn's brows. Elara looked up and saw the same thing he did. The lightning had stopped, and the clouds above the base began to boil.

Before Elara could register the danger, Quinn cursed and spun towards the captivated crowds. "Get the wounded inside, now!"

The first bolt struck the ground half a klick away. Bright light blinded Elara, she felt a bone-rattling tremor in the ground, then sound and pressure tossed dirt into her faceplate. Instinct kicked in, and Elara wrapped herself around Quinn, the closest unarmoured being. She'd barely recovered when another round struck further away.

"Orbital bombardment," Quinn stated from beneath Elara. He seemed unfazed that they were half buried in loose dirt with the weight of her armor bearing down on him. He wiped grit from his face and squinted into the sky. Had their lives taken different paths, Elara could have respected this man.

Elara pushed herself off Quinn and stood, she needed to pick a direction and move before more damage could be done. To her surprise, Quinn grabbed her arm. When Elara looked back, his face was open and earnest. "I have medical training. Put me to use."

"Get the wounded closest to the base inside and begin triaging any fresh injuries." Malavai nodded and released Elara. She had a direction now. He could handle the medical tents. Elara needed to get into the field. She turned and chose people at random, three Mandalorians and one Imperial soldier. Then, she took the medical kits off the nearest orderlies. "Men, we have comrades to rescue."

Odessen Skytrooper Landing Position Beta

Verin lifted Cinlat's old blasters and felt her soul in the kick of each shot. She'd have enjoyed this, he thought, taking down mechs instead of flesh and blood. For all her ruthlessness, Cinlat had never savored a kill. She'd done her job, and she'd done it efficiently. Skytroopers, however, now they were fun. Verin loved the little self-destructive pop that wrecked the machinery.

"Enemy ambush cut us off." Torian's voice wheezed through the speakers in Verin's helmet. There was pain in each word, and it stole any delight that Verin had found in battle. "I'm the only one left. Position's about to be overrun."

"Almost there, Torian." Fynta had started running, Verin could tell by the bounce in her tone. He pulled up a map that marked the members of Clan Cadera, then noted dots that marked Fynta's approach. Torian wasn't far, Verin could beat his sister there.

Turning, Verin took two steps when another group of markers caught his attention. His blood turned to ice even as he opened a line. "Boy, tell me you are not this stupid."

"Had to do our part, buir." Blaster fire and wild shouts overlaid Tranx's response. He was supposed to be in the Enclave with the rest of the young, not out here with—

The ground rose beneath Verin's feet, making him weightless for a split second before slamming him back to the ground. Tranx's cry was the only thing that kept Verin's wits about him even while his ears rang. "Hold on, son."

Verin scrambled up a newly formed hill of silt and mud. When he reached the top, the world was on fire. Dizziness pulled at him, but Verin shoved it aside and focused on the life signs of his son and those stupid enough to leave the safety of the base. The ground gave way under Verin's boots as he slid down the other side. What had been solid dirt seconds ago felt like rolling in sand.

When he reached the group of verd'ika, he did a quick head count. One was missing, but the rest were on their feet. Verin spotted Tranx's helmet and stormed towards him. The boy saw him coming, and even being a head taller, backed away and held up his hands. Verin grabbed his son's pauldrons and smacked their helmets together. He held him in that embrace long enough to swallow the lump in his throat. "Are you alright?"

"Think so." Tranx's gloved fingers dug into the grooves of Verin's chest plate like they had when he was young. It was the only indication of how shaken the boy was.

Verin released his son and addressed the rest of the group. "Weapons hot, do not hesitate to take the shot. You stay on my back and you keep up. Is that understood?"

Helmets nodded and the kids pulled into a tighter formation. Zula, in her white and orange armor and barely tall enough to touch Tranx's shoulder, stepped up beside Verin. "Lead on."

Verin took the long way to Torian. They were as close to their injured alor as they were to the base, and Verin saw no reason to leave Torian to die alone. By the time they reached the spot on Verin's map, Fynta had arrived with an unlikely escort. Arcann straightened, pulling his blade from a downed knight.

A bolt shot past Verin's shoulder, only to be deflected by Senya. The older woman glared, and Verin turned to find Zula's rifle pressed to her shoulder. As if sensing his gaze, the girl shrugged. "You said not to hesitate." Verin smacked the back of Zula's helmet, but inside, he beamed with pride.

"Friends of yours?" Arcann rumbled as he hooked his now dormant weapon to his belt.

Fynta didn't look back as she tapped on an alien communications panel. "My brother, Verin, and his gangly host of young warriors. Nice shot, Zula."

"I see." Arcann said no more, but he and Senya both took several steps back, making room for the Mandalorians to crowd around Fynta.

Torian leaned against the panel, one arm wrapped around his middle and pointing at the screen. "That was the main comms array. Should get you all the way up to the ship."

"Good." Fynta had removed her helmet and finally looked up at Verin. "Keep everyone back and quiet." She pressed the screen, and evil appeared.

"Well, if it isn't Father's pet." The girl couldn't be older than sixteen, but Verin felt the hatred radiating off her holo. "I was just talking about you."

When Fynta answered, she sounded exasperated. "I have been up and down this battlefield looking for you. I can't believe you're cowering on a ship."

While Vaylin and Fynta traded barbs, Torian limped closer. "She'll be coming for your sister."

"Never doubted that." An odd peace settled over Verin. He had a feeling that Fynta would find a way to cheat death again because this time, she had family at her back. Torian tripped, and Verin caught him. "You going to live?"

"Probably." Torian's voice sounded more strained than before. "Wouldn't mind a hot shower."

Verin chuckled and slipped his friend's arm over his shoulder. "I'll have Noara get right on that."

"The longer you draw this out," Fynta said, arms folded over her chest and smug grin in place, "The more time my agents have to infiltrate your empire. That throne's as good as mine."

Vaylin let out a hellish screech and the image flickered out. Verin couldn't say he blamed the girl, he'd been on the receiving end of Fynta's shit eating grin more times than he wanted to count. If anyone could needle a person into a fight, it was his baby sister.

Turning away from the comm, Fynta's expression turned serious. "Time to shore up our defenses. It won't take Vaylin long to launch her next strike."

At last, Arcann joined the group, though Verin noted that he kept his hands clear of his weapon. "We are ready."

Odessen South Quadrant

Kozen lowered his blade as the last skytrooper fell. He sensed Kaeto on the other side of the trees, her blood singing with the joy of battle. It drove his higher, strengthening his muscles and his will.

"Hey. Hey, can anyone hear me?" The tiny voice rang from the comm on Kozen's belt. He'd lost himself to bloodlust, but Vette's anxious tone brought him back. Kozen palmed the device to find the small Twi'lek who had once shared his ship.

Vetty blew out a breath. "It's about time, big guy. I could use your help."

"Where are you?" There was never a doubt that Kozen would go to her. Vette had softened his heart once, a reason why he'd sent her away. Spoiling the girl, is what Quinn had called it. Though the traitorous bastard had little room to lecture Kozen on the merits of command.

"South Quadrant." Vette popped up over a broken speeder and fired her blasters. "Getting real low on ammo here."

"We are on our way." Kozen ended the call and began running. Before long, Kaeto sprinted by his side, their Force-enhanced strength driving them faster than should be possible.

Though Kozen had never understood why, Kaeto often moved with her eyes shut, sensing the world around her. He supposed it had something to do with Notiac's teachings. A Mirialukan could not help but describe the Force in a different way than sighted beings.

Keato's eyes popped open. "She's close."

Kozen didn't question his lover's ability. She took the lead, and he followed. Together, they vaulted downed walkers and tore through straggling Skytroopers. A pang of, not fear, but sadness caressed Kozen's mind. It wasn't until they broke through the foliage that he understood why.

Vette's feet kicked uselessly in the air. Time seemed to slow down as Kozen took in the multitude of Zakulaan Knights and the woman standing at their center. Vaylin turned a wicked smile on them even as Kaeto drew her blades.

"You're not who I was expecting." Vaylin released Vette, letting the gasping Twi'lek collapse without warning. Kozen took only a second to note that she was breathing before shifting his focus back to Vaylin.

"I recognize you." The girl folded one arm around her middle and pointed at each of them with lackadaisical ease. First at Kaeto, then Kozen. "You're the one who killed father the first time, or so I'm told. And you, you were his Wrath." Vaylin chuckled. "What a useless title."

Kaeto's muscles tensed, and Kozen felt it in his own. They were in sync, one mind in separate bodies. He knew she was going to strike before she moved, and his reflexes followed. Vaylin's eyes widened for the span of a heartbeat, then Kozen was hurdling backwards. His back slammed into an overturned communications relay and pain stabbed through his right side.

Pushing himself upright, Kozen looked down to find his fingers coated with blood. Kaeto saw, and her eyes met his. "I'll see you in the beyond," she called over the roar of Vaylin's building Force. A smile touched her lips, and Kozen remembered this from the vision they'd shared one silent evening. The night Kaeto had finally let him in.

Kozen dipped his head. "In the beyond." There were other things that he wanted to say, but Kaeto knew them already. He'd held nothing back from this strange, alien woman who should be his enemy. They were two sides of the same coin, hopelessly entangled in a fate bigger than both.

There was nothing left for Kozen to lose. He would die beside his soulmate, a perfect equal. Kaeto leaped towards Vaylin with a guttural cry, paving the way for Kozen's attack. His legs already felt weak, his life's blood dampening the fabric of his pant leg. With a final surge of hatred from the Dark Side, Kozen followed Kaeto for the last time. Run, Vette. He sent the thought to the Twi'lek as he passed, moving sluggishly in that moment of pure clarity that comes with a final battle. Vette didn't hesitate, and Kozen didn't see where she went.

The agony of Kaeto's death could not be compared to anything Kozen had experienced before. She had been a vital part of him for so long, that the abrupt severing of their link left ripples in the Force that struck Kozen like physical blows. The golden light that warmed him snuffed out, leaving only cold rage in its place. He would not live through this battle, he refused to. His place was in the Force, beside Kaeto. Kozen would die to give Vette time to escape, but mostly, he would die to be reunited with his soul.

Odessen South Face of Mt. Ne'johaa

Jorgan turned away with a hiss. The image of Kozen's body, impaled by Vaylin's golden blade, his bloody sneer when his fingers closed on nothing but air, was burned into Jorgan's mind. Steeling himself, he looked back down the scope. It had all happened too fast, and Jorgan had never had a clear shot. He panned the scene, noting Kaeto's crumpled body at the Sith's feet.

Vaylin lowered her weapon and watched Kozen slide lifeless to the dirt. Then, she turned and shouted at her men. Jorgan couldn't hear the orders from this distance, but they no doubt included finding Fynta. She stormed into the forest while two sets of Knights gathered the once proud Sith and Faithful Jedi's corpses.

Until that moment, Jorgan had held out hope that they could beat Vaylin. They would turn away her attack because it only made sense for good to win. After seeing the almost casual way she'd dispatched two of the most powerful Force users in the known galaxy, Jorgan doubted. Even Fynta's indomitable stubbornness was no match for the unbridled hatred that fueled Vaylin.

Jorgan had repressed the urge all night to call his wife, now he didn't hesitate. "Fynta, you read?"

"Loud and clear, Riduur." Metal groaned in the background, and Fynta's maniacal chuckle gave Jorgan something solid to hold onto. "How are things on your end?"

Guilt tugged at Jorgan. He was supposed to have met her an hour ago, but circumstances kept detouring him. He looked back down his scope, noting the absence of Kaeto and Kozen's bodies. The decision of whether or not to distract Fynta with their deaths made him hesitate long enough for Fynta's tone to turn worried.

"Fine," Jorgan answered when Fynta prompted again. "I'm up in the mountains, picking off what I can. You?"

"Stomping towards the landing bay in a stolen walker." Someone cursed in the background, a deep, masculine tone that set Jorgan's hackles up.

Jorgan barely controlled the growl in his voice. "Who was that?"

"Sounds like you already know the answer to that one, love." Jorgan could hear the grin in his wife's voice until she sighed. "Arcann and Senya are helping me. We're going to take Vaylin down once and for all."

"You can't." The shouted words tore from Jorgan before he could stop them. Cold silence answered, and Jorgan tried to reign in his panic. He couldn't let Fynta face Vaylin head on, not after what he'd just witnessed. "Are you sure you can trust them?"

It took a few more seconds for Fynta to reply. "Yes."

Jorgan heard the tone of command in Fynta's voice, the subtle reminder that right now, she was his superior and he needed to accept that. Aric blew out a breath. "I'll head that way and offer support. You don't have to do this alone."

"Thanks, Riduur." Fynta's voice softened. "Stay safe."

"You too, and hey, leave the line open, will you?" It wasn't something Jorgan would normally request, but dread tightened his stomach so much that he felt sick. If Fynta was going to her death, he was going to damn well be in her ear. Jorgan had to face the fact that he might lose her again. This time, he wasn't going to miss the chance to say goodbye."

Jorgan stood and had taken two steps towards the landing bay when Bey'wan's growl filled his helmet. "Oggurobb's position is overrun, we need any available troops to cover their retreat."

"Sound like another detour," Fynta teased while the information filled Jorgan's HUD. "I'll be waiting for you."

"You better be." With a growled curse, Jorgan tore through the foliage in the opposite direction, away from his wife. Dropping onto his belly at the edge of the cliff, he sighted on the Skytroopers closest to the retreating forces. "Jorgan to ground troops. I've got your back."

[lucifra-writes]

Unplanned Obsolescence 1

John the TransistorHut cashier looked up as the bell over the bell jangled cheerily, then chuckled, severe expression brightening into a smile. “Back so soon, Amber?”

The brown-skinned brunette chuckled, hands splaying in front of her in a motion that screamed “what can you do” as her grin turned sheepish. “It’s been a good week, and you’re the best place in the city for the kind of electronics I can work with if I don’t want to go through monster territory.”

Amber sighed, pressing her lips together into a thin line. “I thought I’d have at least another week or so to build up before supply line issues started putting the squeeze on the execs, what changed?”

He winced. “A lot of the power grids are starting to go down because oil and other fossil fuel supplies are in the middle of high-risk areas so they’re going underproduced, faster than predicted, and that’s cutting into manufacturing more than just raw materials right now.”

“Damn it,” snapped Amber, rubbing at her face frustratedly. “Okay, okay, I’ll see about focusing more on increasing efficiency and storage space than on raw computing power for now, maybe see about actually getting in touch with other metas and delvers and seeing about coordinating things better.” Her hand rose off her face, then she ran it back through her hair, touseling the black locks as she let out an irritated noise. “Inasmuch as City Hall isn’t great at the best of times, I kind of wish they hadn’t just fucking bailed, because then we’d at least have some semblance of legitimate authority to appeal to instead of just…” She waved her hand at the storefront, indicating everything outside. “...instead of just that.”

“Could be worse,” John replied. “Power’s still on, and we’re through most of the summer so that’s not a worry unless the solar starts failing and we start really needing more power next year. Lots of the outlying small towns in, like, Canada and other places like that are dropping out of contact, and anyone stubborn enough to actually try and check in has been lucky to find anyone who can walk out.”

Amber winced. “Don’t remind me. I’m on what people can keep up of the internet 24/7, I see the reports and the pictures.”

“Right.” He paused momentarily. “Any good news?”

“Davis Monthan’s got air patrols fully spooled up and running, they’ve got supplies to keep that running for at least a couple years assuming minimal attrition and losses. Hell, even if they do start bleeding aircraft, as long as the pilots survive, they can just spin up reclamation efforts in AMARC for either spare parts or what’s still flyable. They’ve also got at least one delver crew making runs, and I’m not sure what the fuck is up with the monster enclaves but they’re coming out with usable stuff, so if push comes to shove the airbase should be up to something approaching full strength even with the limited supply lines when the other shoe really hits the fan.”

“Assuming Murphy doesn’t take a swing at us.”

Amber sighed. “Yeah, assuming that. I’ve been hearing about a probability-altering meta running around on the university campus, so we might be able to keep some critical infrastructure up, but-”

The front door to the shop opened abruptly with an incongruously cheerful ding from the bell hanging over the door, and the sound of a shotgun racking its slide back. “Alright, everyone,” came a gruff voice, and both of the two turned to see the tall, pale man, shotgun leveled in their direction. “Nobody makes any stupid decisions and everybody gets to go home alive.”

“Yeah, all two of us,” drawled Amber, sidling away from the cashier with her hands clearly visible.

“Don’t get snide with me, girl.” He glared at Amber briefly, then turned his focus back to the cashier, shotgun and all, leaving Amber to slip out of her shoes and pad slowly around to his back. “Now then, brat, you’re gonna bring me all the fucking computer servers you have in the back of the store for your corporate customers.”

“...I need to get some keys for that, one moment,” he said, dropping his hands below the level of the counter. When his hands rose back above the counter, holding the keys, the man’s grip on the shotgun slackened. Not by much, by any stretch of the imagination, but by enough.

Amber’s hands snapped out with inhuman precision, closing around the shotgun halfway up the shaft, and she yanked up hard.

The unexpected motion left the man’s finger to tighten on the trigger enough to fire a shell, but by that point, the weapon was pointed high enough that John wasn’t in the line of fire, and the man’s attempt to cock the weapon again was interrupted by Amber’s hand, clenched around the barrel.

With the sound of two dozen computer fans whirring to life, Amber twisted her upper body cleanly around her hips, jerking the shotgun out of the man’s hands, and then abruptly stopped and pivoted back, the polished stock of the weapon hitting him in the gut hard enough to knock the wind out of him and knock the man over. He tried to spin and put his hand out to catch himself, but the angle was wrong, and there was a snapping sound from the limb in question, one accompanied by a grunt from the man.

“Now then,” said Amber, shotgun barrel visibly deformed around her grip, “what exactly possessed you to think that breaking into a shop full of electronics was a good idea? Keep in mind that we’re working on jungle rule here,” she continued, handing the weapon to John before she slipped the toe of her boot under the man’s rib cage and flipped him onto his back, foot coming to rest on top of his chest with deceptive weight.

“I thought… There’s a meta out there somewhere in the city with some kind of tech power, one of those real secretive types, and they’ve got a bounty out for anything they don’t have their hands on already, so I figured I could knock over some corporate places, the ones with good insurance, buy some breathing room for everything to blow over and everything to go back to normal.” There’s a sort of baseless assurance in the man’s voice, that everything will go back to normal, in a way that set John’s teeth on edge. Based on the way that Amber seemed to age another decade with how her posture and face drooped, if only momentarily, it got to her too.

“There isn’t going to be a ‘back to normal’,” said John tiredly, making eye contact with the man and watching as his eyes widened. “Global supply lines are already breaking down from everything that’s going on from monsters to metas, and while the big cascade point isn’t here yet, we’re closing in on it.”

“All that aside, I don’t think I’d take particularly well to you robbing one of my friends to sell me tech, especially when there’s already talk about having to throttle back tech access because of supply-side issues.” John took no small amount of pleasure in the way that the man’s expression fell as he realized just how he’d blundered.

“I, uh…”

Amber sighed. “Yeah, yeah, shortsighted and uninformed. Well, the work detail’s mostly focused on repairing houses and other manual labor, so you shouldn’t have too too many issues with being forced to do things outside your physical capabilities, and I’ve been told that work details let you do things with vocational training if you get the right supervisor…” -----

Once the work derail had been arranged and the man had been taken away to be processed, John turned his focus back to Amber, taking in all the little things about her- the slumped posture, muscle tightness in her neck, unkempt hair- and came to one conclusion. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“What’s sleep? Can you eat it?” The smile Amber shot John was bitter and mirthless. “I’m just lucky I’ve managed to pick up enough processing power that I can offload my consciousness from my brain and let that rest, and that doesn’t help with fatigue elsewhere. I just…” She rubbed frustratedly at slightly redder eyes. “I’m running the administration and resource distribution for half the damn city, what’s left of it, and I need more time to see about building up an actual fucking resource management network before I can actually take a moment to myself, and that’s assuming that I can afford to push off the actual gathering of metas and delvers that I’m trying to set up.”

John winced. “Anyone you can trust to help out?”

Amber shook her head. “No one available. You’re tied up here, my family is… indisposed, I don’t know of any civilian survivors with the kind of equipment and experience to run this kind of operation, and I don’t trust the military not to be ordered to consolidate to somewhere ‘more valuable’.” The disdain she holds for that idea is very audible. “It’s already happened with a couple of military bases in the deep south, as well as a whole lot of overseas bases.”

“On one hand, I get the foreign pullback from a ‘conserve resources to protect the domestic front’ angle, but on the other hand… Well, I’m not sure if I should ask about the racial demographics of the cities the bases were closest to or not.”

Judging by the way Amber’s face soured, he knew he’d hit the nail on the head.

“I’ll leave that up to your imagination,” she said.

“Right.” He cast around for anything he could use to change the subject, landing on the new shipment that had come in last night. “Well, strictly speaking I shouldn’t be offering this, since they’re not available to non-delver customers until Monday as per corporate policy, but we did get some fancy new toys thanks to a new partnership with a group of metas who let the techies try and study their powers. There’s nothing on the scale of a full-blown meta power yet, but there’s some things that you might be interested in, if you wanted to peruse the wares a little bit early.”

Amber blinked, then a smile grew across her face. “Well, if you’re offering…”

“I am, right this way.” John flipped the “open” sign on the door to read “back in 15 minutes”, then opened the gate in the counter for Amber to step through. That done, he let the gate swing back shut and opened a door behind the counter, flicking the light on as he entered the stockroom.

The harsh fluorescence of the overhead lights and almost clinical blankness of the floor and walls contrasted strongly with the vaguely Tron-inspired decor in the main area of the shop, but the racks and stacks of technological devices, both boxed up and otherwise, provided a welcome counterpoint, which prevented the harshness of the room from dominating.

“Alright,” said John, pointing to a box full of smaller boxes that was in the center of a row of shelving units. “There’s a couple of things that I thought you might find worth using, including but not limited to this weird gimmick that antlers thermodynamics to increase the efficiency of coolant systems, some juiced-up broadcasting and receiving antennas, and… apparently they’ve managed to get some kind of coding meta who’s got a better compression algorithm? Huh. Who knew?”

“I’ll take all of them,” said Amber, eyes distant as she more than likely prepared her setup mentally for the addition of the new technology. “How much is it gonna run me?”

John named a figure, causing Amber to blink. “That’s… almost preposterously low for all three of those.”

“Consider it a friends and family discount.” The reminder of the fact that his cousin and her sister were out of contact since most of Oklahoma had gone dark was painful, but not something he was willing to stop him from helping Amber in whatever little ways he could.

There was nothing so dramatic as a single tear running down Amber’s face, but John recognized the woman’s emotions nonetheless. “Thank you, John.”

“Thank me by keeping the city in one piece,” he said, forcing some levity into his voice. “When Alicia and Mark get back, they’re gonna need someplace to stay.”

“I’ll see what I can’t do about that,” said Amber, resolve crystallizing in her eyes as she opened the boxes, one by one, and touched the pieces of technology (or thumb drive), which promptly vanished in a flash of blue-white light not quite identical to Cherenkov radiation. “Whoo,” she said, that same color of light kindled within her eyes and slowly dimming back to their normal black. “That’s always a real sting.”

And that's that!

This is another one of those "I know vaguely where it's going but not exactly" ones like with Scaling up. We'll see when I get back around to it.

So, heads up: no original fiction going up in two weeks- the Gaylor discord server is running a rarepair contest, and that's when my entry's going to be coming out over on my fanfiction accounts.

I'm getting geared up to move at the end of the month, if you want to throw some help my way on that one, I got me a Ko-fi (https://ko-fi.com/lucifra) and a Patreon (Lucifra | Writing | Patreon).

I also have a discord sir ver for author stuff now (as in as of like right now it's going live)- if you have questions or comments that you'd like a more direct answer to, that's another option: Join the The Lucifralorn Forest Discord Server!

That's about it, so read, review, enjoy, and have a nice day!

[lordkingsmith]

Aaaand a part 2~

Nick woke slowly, a sense of Wrong growing as he became more aware and awake. He woke up on top of a hotel bed with Wanderlust watching him, and knew something was wrong. He clearly remembered falling asleep on his sister's couch in Briarwood.

"Your little town restoration project has become a problem." Wanderlust said as Nick sat up. "So I was told to make you less of a problem."

"Less of a problem? Less of a problem?!" Nick stumbled up off the bed to get to Wanderlust angrily. "Did you use the fact she didn't specify as an excuse to better hide your little affair?" Yellow eyes widened under furrowed brows. Wanderlust stood to catch Nick's hands before he could hit him. Nick pulled angrily at his hands, but Wanderlust didn't let go. "You broke into my sister's house!"

"I do that." Wanderlust rolled his eyes before adjusting his grip. "I saved your life. This is the one place in all the realties, all the worlds, all the Danciverses, Night Swan will never ever go."

Nick froze, finally. "I realize you probably saved my life." He snarled. "It's not that! It's you! It's just you!" Wanderlust let go of him finally and stepped away with a curse.

"Firebird." Wanderlust hissed as he rubbed at his palms. "You burned me?!"

"Phoenix" Nick corrected before actually stopping and letting information slip in. "…I burned you?" He looked down at his clothes, appearance, and stumbled back to sit on the bed. "What the grid-I-"

Wanderlust gestured with his head to a corner of the room. "Mirror" he said. "Might be good you see yourself before we continue our talk."

Nick eyed Wanderlust as he moved past him, but did as asked. Wanderlust continued standing there nursing his injured palms as Nick took in his Coach appearance. He was more bird like, with the white-pale skin of most of the coaches Wanderlust had described. His hair had gone neon red and purple, floating flame and feather like around his head and ears mixing with ink black hair. His upper face was covered almost mask like in red and purple feathers as well. His hands and feet ended in modified talons. His legs and feet wrapped in fighters bandages while his hands had half gloves. His clothes were a play on his mystic tunic, vest and breeches but were made of a high quality fabric, in muted red and purple and gold. Translucent fire licked among the feathers on his head, face, and arms. He watched the flames grow with his quickening heart and panic before shrinking away as he took deep breaths and making himself calm down.

Before long all the flames he saw were the ones trapped in the purple of his lips. He touched them and they were warm.

Nick turned back to Wanderlust. "Where are we."

"My…my family's hotel." Wanderlust said as he tucked his hands under his armpits. "It's been closed since…everything."

"…a god runs a hotel?"

"Oh use your head!" Wanderlust snapped. "The Traveler is the god of time and space and travels. His son wanders. What do you think our home domain would look like? Realistically? If you had to take a wild guess?"

"…a liminal space that focuses on journeys-oh ok." Nick snapped his fingers. "It's still creepy you brought me, the person you've been having an affair with, to a hotel. An abandoned one, to boot."

"Hotels and motels and whatever else are the only places I can have you." Nick pointed at the admission.

"You saved my life and you placed me in a place you don't have to share and Sara never has to know!" His flames shot around him and the mirror cracked. He took a breath, but it just made it worse. "You could have just killed me, this would have been easier."

"I don't want to lose you!"

"Phoenix, Wanderlust!"

"Even then!" Wanderlust turned from him. "Reborn and reborn and reborn. What if the version that came back…what if it came back without us? No feelings or no memory or…"

"You selfish ass."

"Takes one to know one." Wanderlust turned back to him defiantly. "Did you ever mention to Maddie about me?"

"We haven't slept together since I left for Briarwood." Nick defended even as the flames vanished, leaving a cold pit in his stomach. "So why would you come up."

"Emotional cheating is still cheating." Wanderlust smirked in victory. "And I mean" He waved between them. "There's a little more than history between us." Wanderlust laughed as Nick rubbed his face.

Nick looked at Wanderlust finally. "Met your brother. Get why you call him jackass. But he told me about how to tell if someone's corrupted or under a spell."

The laughter stopped. Nick continued on grimly. "The only you I've ever known has been Corrupted, Wanderlust. And when Jack fixes it, and he will, we both know he will, will the you left have any feelings for me?" Nick scowled at the silence. "Just take me home. I'll take my chances."

"No." Wanderlust shook his head almost angrily. "I was told to get you out of the way. I can't and I won't go against that. I kept you alive. And neither Drakkon nor Night Swan will come after you here. That's enough." Angry scowl. "She didn't say kill you. I wasn't going to kill you. I can't…I can't." He gripped his head in his hands as Nick stared, unable to move. "Here, you can be mine. I don't have to pretend. I don't have to kill you."

"I'm going to escape." Nick promised him. "There are things I have to do. There's a prophesy, I guess. And I'm part of it."

"Oh." Wanderlust stared at him. "Me, too. Different prophecy I think. But…"

Nick shoved that to the side. He'd think about it later. "You won't be able to keep me here for long."

"But can I have you for now?" Wanderlust asked finally. "Until you go. It won't have to count."

Nick closed his eyes and opened his arms to let Wanderlust rush into them.

Wanderlust came and went, and Nick tried to plan around it, though it was impossible to predict when and where Wanderlust would appear. Days or weeks later Nick explored quietly while Wanderlust slept. It'd gotten a little terrifying how Nick had started actively being afraid of leaving Wanderlust's side or their room due to not wanting to be in the great hotel alone.

"Wow this place is creepy…" echoed down a hall to him, and he felt his heart beat double time. It was an active fight to run to the voice not away from it.

An indigo blue haired man about his age in red and blue was walking around with a flashlight. Nick waved at him, causing the guy to jump.

"Keep your voice down!" Nick stage whispered and pointed up at the floor above them. "Wanderlust's sleeping up in one of the rooms on the floor above us."

Dark eyes narrowed then widened with realization. "Did he kidnap you?"

"On Night Swan's orders-it's a long story. I'm Nick. Nick Russell. How did you get in?"

"Ollie Akana. The Traveler gave me a key." Ollie shook his head. "You're just wearing pants-are you okay? Did he hurt you? Do you want to be here?"

"You know The Traveler?" Nick waved a hand. "I snuck out of the room-I'm fine more or less, we've been on and off for a while. Yes but it was completely consentual so don't worry about that. And.." Nick hesitated. "Yes and no. But I can't stay here. I need to get back to Briarwood."

"I guard the Traveler and Jack Rose. I'm…" a slight throat clearing. "With Jack. I'm one of Drakkon's sentries but I work with The Spectronizer Rangers. Does off and on mean..um. Is this an affair thing or is he and Sara just that toxic there's break ups?" Ollie shone his flashlight over Nick, taking in the bruises and bite marks and cuts before shrugging. "I'll take your word on that. Wait…Briarwood? Isn't that on earth?" Light went over him again. "You're from earth?"

"Oh!" Nick grinned. "So Jack doesn't have a stick up his ass he has you up his ass. Nice. Met him briefly in Briarwood." He looked away. "…affair." He admitted quietly, with shame. "I've tried to call it quits. I left the capitol and he followed me. But this" he waved around them "he claims was to save my life."

"There's been rangers popping up now that the Spectronizer's came to earth." Ollie said with a nod. "If you're tied to them, this probably was to keep you out of the way."

"So you know I have to go back." Jack rubbed his face. "Do you have any idea what it's like to find out in your twenties you're not human? And then get another confirmation by coming to another reality? I apparently look like a…a…"

"A witch from Potion Alley? Or did he use the example of a spirit from FloWorld." At Nick's silence Ollie shrugged. "I apparently look like someone who'd have come from CyberFunk. Why didn't Wanderlust tell you any of this."

"You mean the genie Jenji." Nick said. "He's in Briarwood but he's from here. And I don't think it occurred to him." He sighed. "Wanderlust as he is wouldn't. Not if it meant I could use it to leave him and this hotel. Which brings me back to how did you get in."

Nick's voice echoed from a few halls away. He grabbed Ollie. "We're out of time, we need to go."

"Right, hold on." Ollie sighed before spinning into a wide stance with his hands spread above his head. Behind him a portal similar to Wanderlust's opened, showing what looked like a small apartment. "Come on." Nick grabbed Ollie's offered hand, letting himself get pulled through, and Ollie quickly closed it behind them.

"Where are we?"

"Eternyx. Another Danciverse." Ollie was walking to a tiny bedroom. "I'm not getting you to Briarwood half naked. I don't think Jack will mind if you borrow some of his clothes. Go take a shower, I'll leave the clothes out for you."

"But Wander."

"Won't find you here. He doesn't know about Jack's apartment." A soft sigh. "Just be quick okay? I was just looking around on my break."

Nick had many questions, but heeded Ollie. A crop top red and purple shirt was left out for him with ripped white skinny jeans. He was mostly just grateful for the hood. Nick flipped it over his face before sighing. He was properly clean, had better clothes, and now…well he didn't feel better but he felt slightly more human again.

Ollie was waiting for him in the living room beside a portal to the forests just outside Briarwood. "Go." Ollie said curtly. "And if you see Wander again don't tell him about me and this, okay? I'm tired of dealing with him."

"Thank you." Nick breathed. "I owe you so much."

"Yea. But we'll start with you getting back and keeping your mouth shut." Eyes shut for a moment before opening. "Suppose it's too much to tell you to stop cheating?"

"It's not like I haven't been trying!" Was a little too heated before he took a breath. "No more Wanderlust." He promised. "Please tell Jack to break the corruption. I think…we'd end if he breaks it."

Ollie nodded. "I'll let him know." He promised. "Now go."

Jack jumped through and rubbed at his arms, getting used to a sudden lack of feathers and talons. When he turned to thank Ollie, the portal was closed.

-*-

It shouldn't have felt as good as it did to reverse their roles, but Nick couldn't help the thrill of self satisfaction having Sara and Wanderlust locked up in the Mystic Realm.

"Let us out." Sara pouted cutely at Vida and Maddie while Wanderlust's eyes were locked on Nick. "Let us out. We won't do anything bad."

"Not until we fix you two." Jack told them quietly with a sigh. "Why were Brezz and Mihaly so much easier than you two?"

Nick turned to where Brezziana and Daggeron were talking in the corner, catching up on decades of lost time. He tried not to feel jealous. Why did Brezziana get to have her dad back, and he didn't even know for sure if his parents were alive?

"Jack, we can handle Wanderlust and Sara." He said. "Go take care of your sister and Ollie on the human side." He considered it. "Take Mihaly."

"…can you handle those two alone?" Jack asked, annoyingly doubtful.

"No worries mate, we'll have Brezziana on our side." Xander said cheerfully. "And Vi's a vampire now."

"The fact one of your group's currently a member of the undead is why I'm asking." Was the blunt reply. He eyed Nick as well, knowingly. "Maybe you can show me where your sister's house is?"

"Maddie and I broke up." Nick said on the walk.

"You deserve it."

Nick shrugged. "Once Wanderlust gets fixed it won't matter. Don't worry; I'm used to being alone."

Jack sighed. "I don't like you."

"Noted."

"But I knew Wander before this."

"…noted…?"

"My mom's living vicariously through him and Sara, let's say." He made a face. "She sees Sara as a younger her. And you don't have to guess to know who Wanderlust represents."

"Traveler."

"The moment the two aren't under her control…call it a reasonable assumption they're not staying together." Nick eyed him so Jack continued. "Let's just say he is how I'm fairly sure I'd be. Forced back into the closet. Or-I think he's pan or bi but you know what I mean!"

Nick stopped, causing Jack to walk ahead before turning back. "He wanted a friend. Dad wanted a lover. Wanderlust's just…the chosen one. That outfit she makes him wear's even an…edgier version of the chosen one outfit he's got to wear sometimes for ceremonies. He's never liked it."

"It's not that I don't think he'd like men." Nick said once he was sure Jack was done. "It's I don't think he'd like me."

Jack blinked. "You are a stupid, stupid man." He said, and Nick nearly punched him. "If there's one thing I'm sure the spell isn't influencing, it's the love he feels for you." A faint shrug. "Ok. Maybe it's coming out like an obsession and that's definitely the spell but." This time Nick did punch him. They ended up at his sister's an hour later covered in dirt and bruises and each other's blood. Ironically Nick felt better than he had in days. Maybe what he needed was just a good old fashioned fist fight, no singing required.

-*-

Wanderlust walked through the land of the dead, and the dead watched the young god. Nothing touched him, but half silently showed him the way whenever he roared "where's Nick Russell?"

Eventually he came to a clearing in the hellscape. Nick laid in a fetal position with his hands and feet and neck bound with chains. He laid at the feet of the one holding the ends of the lengths.

"Let him go, Koragg." Wanderlust's voice stayed light, but firm. "Give him his body back."

"Did you know, his mother came when I had Leanbow? Much the same way as you."

"Yes." Wanderlust said simply. "She told me. However I'm not an astral projection. I'm no spirit. I'm here."

"We are spirits."

"I know." Wander said with a sigh. "But you've hidden his body; I wasn't going to lose precious moments playing hide and seek when I could simply find your souls resting in the land of the dead. We need to talk." He tossed his head. "I have a deal to offer you, wolf knight."

Koragg inclined his head in invitation. "Make it."

"You're a walking conundrum." Wanderlust said after a moment. "Made by a god to be a perversion of a power ranger's suit. Made to possess whoever wore it. Yet you are as well honorable in your way. You are fair. I feel as though you're unfinished in your make; let me finish you."

"And then what? Put me on a shelf?"

"I'll be Mystic Purple." Wanderlust said firmly. "Until the mystics aren't needed." He stared at Nick screaming silently at Koragg's feet. "I intend to give you the ability to voice your thoughts and choices. You'll be a talking weapon, like Saba."

"Saba is a fool!"

"Saba can choose his partner, and talks to them to choose how they work together." Wanderlust countered quickly. "It's a partnership. You want a body. You want to be able to talk and choose and be; that's what Saba can do." He looked around.

"A wolf needs a pack. A ranger needs a team. Like a dancer works best in a crew. Be my partner."

"Funny this is offered now. Where were you when Leanbow was in need."

"I was corrupted!" Wanderlust shouted. "I was trapped in my own mind, prey to my worst traits! My worst impulses! The only good thing was him! And the moment I am free he is not!" He took a deep breath. "So I'm offering you both freedom. If you want it."

"This one will be our leader." Koragg asked and Wanderlust nodded. "Then only if he can break free of me himself. I refuse to be led by a weak willed fool."

"When he does." Wanderlust said patiently. "You and I will be magnificent."

Two weeks later he took the shattered crystal to FloWorld. It took time, and patience to fix the broken purple even with help from the source land of Flow. He purified as he went, carefully keeping Koragg's most important pieces while filling in others with better, more true pieces of who he was meant to be. Eventually Wanderlust dipped the crystal into Flow charged waters, pulling out a double headed pickax with a wolf's head on the handle. Wanderlust swung it, causing it to become as tall as he was. There was a flash, and Wanderlust was morphed.

"Hello little wolf." Koragg greeted.

"Hello Koragg." Wanderlust responded, tired but pleased. "Are you ready?"

"We'll tear our enemies apart." The wolf promised.

Wanderlust laughed. "And protect our loved ones, yes!"

He wasn't sure if you could see someone falling in love with you, but revealing who he was after a battle to Nick and his team probably was as close as Wanderlust had come. "You were magnificent!" Clair shouted and Wanderlust grinned. He patted the pommel of the pickax at his hip.

"We were." He agreed.

Nick pulled him into a hug as Wanderlust felt his heart jump into his throat. He swallowed around it and hugged back tightly.

Finally, finally, he could hold him as himself.

Jack Russell/Wanderlust Coinless Au brain bunnies

Because damn it they’ve got some too now. @augment-techs you might enjoy these lol. Knowing me there will be more

It wasn't often Nick Russell brought someone back to his motel room after a night out. Wasn't often he met someone on his eternal road trip he wanted in his room. But the blueskinned yellow eyed man from the club? Yea. Didn't matter they didn't know each other's names. He'd be gone in the morning anyway, probably while his fling was still sleeping. As it was he kept his fingers buried in the man's braids as he fucked him against the bedboard, blue fingers gripping it for dear life.

The goal was if they weren't here for a long time they'd be here for a good time, with Nick fully intending to make it good. For both of them. He'd already had his legs over the other's shoulders, it was only fair for giving as good as he'd gotten.

"You good?" Nick panted as he pressed against the broader back.

"Very." Was grunted back, amusement trickling through the strain.

They only dozed for a few hours after before his companion shifted and got up, leaving Nick in the bed to watch him dress. "so…are you from Eltar?" Nick asked as the other searched for his bell bottoms.

"Heh. No. I'm not from any planet you've heard of." Was the reply as they were located, pulled off the cheap lamp's cover and pulled on. "Not even technically that species either. I just got the skin color from my mother."

"Huh." That was…interesting. "How does that work." He couldn't help but ask, and yellow eyes caught his over a blue shoulder.

"It doesn't." Nick didn't have to see his whole face to know he was scowling. "No more questions man. I need to go. Shouldn't be here."

"Y'don't say" Nick drawled. "Got a wife? Husband?" It had happened more than once, though he had stopped caring a long time ago. He rarely if ever saw these one night stands again and rarely stuck around the towns long enough to make that a problem.

"Girlfriend…technically. But she's not the one who'll show up if I don't leave." A low laugh as a pink tank top was located, then a crop top purple jacket with silver thread making the pattern of feathers in it. "That would be my worrywart half brother. Protective jackass." Another laugh. "He thinks he has to keep me from doing anything I'll regret."

"Mmmm…am I a regret?" Nick asked as he settled into the pillows with the stonecutter styled hat the man had been wearing at the club now in one hand, rescued from the end of the bed. He got another laugh as the other padded to him. Their lips pressed together for a moment before he grabbed his hat from Nick's hands.

"Possibly." he murmured as he put the hat on, the brim blooming around his face like a dark halo. "Even if you are…he can't stop me."

Shoes were then toed out from under the bed, Nick was waved at and the man was gone.

It was only a few months later on another trip into the capitol did Nick find out who his fling had been. Prince Wanderlust from another reality. Drakkon threw a parade with Wanderlust and his friends in the float of honor. Nick stared up at the man in the shining crown and feathered capelet, feeling annoyance, pride, and more than a little awe. The brown haired girl in pigtails and a green and blue skirt kissed Wanderlust soundly as they went down the street, causing Nick to snort, turning away. That would be the girlfriend.

He'd laugh if it didn't annoy him so much.

-*-

"Thought you didn't live in this reality." Jack asked as he got dressed quickly. Wanderlust hummed while he settled in a chair behind him. There had been a consistent meeting since running into each other the first time, and it usually ended up in a hotel or motel. Though they rarely stayed the full night together.

"My mistress decided to make her son and then her sometimes lover and then a friend of mine political hostages here." Wanderlust informed him.

"…this all one person or…?"

"Jack Rose, Cygnus, Brezziana." Wanderlust clarified. "You've heard of them."

"Mn. No. I travel a lot." Nick smirked at Wanderlust's quirked eyebrow. "Shit to do with here doesn't have shit to do with the cities and villages and things even a few miles away from it. Drakkon causes chaos, so do the Coinless and Drakkon's sentries. The politics of why don't affect that much."

An easy, accepting shrug. "Jack's also my big brother." He was told. "My half brother. We share a father."

"Huh."

"He doesn't have blue skin and his hair is red." Wanderlust answered the question he didn't ask with the weary air of someone who had answered it before. "The Traveler…got around."

"That your dads name or title."

"Both." Amusement again. "He is a god, after all."

Nick turned around so fast he fell over. Wanderlust laughed at him before standing up so he could help Nick up. Nick's arms were held firmly as Wanderlust smiled at him.

"I'm going to go." Wanderlust told Jack almost kindly, mostly smugly. "But I'll see you again."

Wanderlust made a portal to what looked like a lobby, as Nick stared after him. When the portal closed he grabbed the hotel phone. "K? This is Nick. Hey is that offer still open about staying with you for a while? Yea…yea don't say I told you so but…I said don't say it and you don't even know what I'm gonna say stop that."

-*-

Wanderlust didn't have time to react before Nick slammed him into the side of a building. "Give it back!"

"Give what back?"

"The blanket Wandeust!" He pulled him forward to slam him back against the wall. "My blanket! Give it back!"

"Why?" Wanderlust asked breathlessly with a grin. "It's so pretty and smells like you."

Nick swallowed fire down as mystic red roared inferno hot outrage on his behalf. "You can have my jacket, my shirt, whatever you want-I need that back!"

"Why?" Wanderlust asked again, now genuinely curious. "Why?"

"It's all I've got of my birth parents!" Nick hissed against his ear, not wanting anyone else to know. To realize. "It's all I have and I want it back!"

Wanderlust was silent, so Nick slammed him into the wall a third time. "I have had to keep that so safe-and you just-rifled through my things! To take a baby blanket! Why? Of everything you could have taken it was that!"

"It was obviously special."

"It's all I have!" Nick shouted again. "Of course it's special! Where is it!"

Wanderlust pushed him away hard enough to make Nick fall onto his ass. He unbuttoned his jacket then his shirt, and pulled the red blanket from where he'd kept it pressed against his chest. He offered it to Nick silently. Nick half expected Wanderlust to pull something as he snatched it out of the waiting hand, but he didn't.

He simply rebuttoned shirt and jacket as Nick put it under his own shirt with quiet relief and reverence.

"You miss them?"

"I never knew them."

Jack pressed his hand over his heart where the blanket rested safely once more. "If you ever do that again. I'll kill a god. I swear-" he grit his teeth, took a breath. "Go back to the capitol or one of your precious Danciverses and leave me alone." he gestured at the quiet of Briarwood. "I'm not going to be leaving for a while so stop trying to bait me and just go home."

"Nick-"

Nick pointed at him. "You've got a girlfriend. Ask her." He rubbed his nose. "But thanks for sending those sentries. They make great friends."

"…do you have a girlfriend? A boyfriend?"

"Her name is Maddie." Nick undid his jacket and threw it at Wanderlust, who caught it one handed. "You've got something that smells like me now. Leave me alone!"

Wanderlust held the jacket in one hand as he reached for Nick with the other. Nick backed away, shaking his head. "If you touch me" he promised darkly. "I'll burn you." Mystic Red pressed around him, ready to help him make good on that promise.

Wanderlust made a portal clutching the jacket close. Nick's knees gave out. He fell to the ground with an angry, frustrated moan and didn't get up until Vida came looking for him.

-*-

Nick sat on the edge of his seat during Drakkon and Night Swan’s wedding. His eyes should have been on the wedding, but his eyes were instead on Wanderlust and Sara. They’d both brought plus ones, Nick filling in for Wanderlust’s. Not that it mattered, with Wanderlust and Sara groping and kissing at each other with Nick right there. Having to pretend this didn’t bother him.

Wanderlust’s brother with his own friend smiled apologetically at him from a nearby chair at the reception. “Sorry about them.” He said, sounding it. “Wanderlust’s…”

“Wanderlust?” Nick supplied. “Yea. I’ve met him at a club, he’s a bit of a piece of work.”

“…he didn’t used to be.” Jack offered, weakly. “But thank you for showing up anyway.”

“Mn.” Nick shrugged, before he was asked to get up by one of the sentries. When all the plus ones were moved, Nick looked back at the gasps, stomach dropping. Wanderlust was in shorts, hair in a single braid, and eyes a dark warm brown. Jack was arguing with Drakkon and Night Swan, and Wanderlust’s eyes caught Nick’s.

“I’m sorry” Wanderlust whispered, before turning to his brother and yelling at him to stop. Nick lurched forward only to be stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. He looked into the eye of the blue haired Cygnus who smiled grimly down at him.

“I wouldn’t get involved if I were you.” Cygnus warned. “Unless you want to join their fate too.”

[littlemissnoname13]

hii i wanted to request a draco/reader fic w the dynamic that 1 day they meet at a bar and have a 1 night stand, and then » 2 months later draco is at mungo's and runs into y/n who has just found out she is pregnant w his kid but she's scared to tell him. and he feels a connection to her that tells him she's carrying his child and he asks her out bc they kinda like each other. Pl do if your comfortable only tyia

Hi my nonnie! Thanks for requesting.🖤

This was so much fun to write. Especially the bar part. This is a long one so brace yourself. I hope you like it.

A very special shoutout to @mellifluousart for giving me helpful pointers for this fic. You are the best!

Terrible at Small Talk (D.Malfoy x Reader) 18+

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Warnings: some fluff smut, mature Language and themes, nsfw, drinking, penetrative sex, breeding kink, pregnancy, 18+

Word count: 2396

~~~~~~~~~~

You swirled what remained of your drink in your glass making the amber liquid spin round and round and round. 

Even after two whole hours waiting on a tall bar stool in a dead little muggle bar, and your date was still nowhere to be seen.

The previous hour had gone by pretty quickly in comparison to the first hour though. You'd been drinking whisky on the rocks and your insides were warming up little by little making the waiting game a tad bit more bearable. 

You couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol but you chuckled to yourself thinking about what you had done in life to lead you there, in a strange little pub waiting for a boy you weren’t even sure was coming. 

“One more of these please.” You called out to the bartender, smiling politely and shaking your empty glass. 

“I’ll have what she’s having.” 

An all too familiar voice made all the hairs on your back stand up straight. Your goosebumps were probably highly visible from the back of your backless red dress. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t y/l/n in the flesh.” He muttered, sitting down on the bar stool next to you and you didn’t dare to turn to your side to look at him. 

You didn’t even need to. 

You knew who this voice belonged to and it sure as hell wasn’t your date.

“Well, Hello to you too, Malfoy.” You said, finally turning your head towards him. “I didn’t know you liked to frequent muggle bars on the weekends.” 

You hadn’t seen him after the wizarding war. He had gone off the grid. 

He still looked the same and yet, completely different. 

His suit was still all black but his jaw had gotten more chiseled, his hair remained the same but he now donned glasses. He still wore his silver rings and you could see what looked like a tattoo peeking out of his suit sleeves. 

“Nice glasses.” You blurted. 

“Nice hair.” He muttered, as the bartender handed you your drinks. He eyed you intently before taking a prolonged swig of his drink. “Although, I preferred it the way it was in school.” 

“So did I.” You smiled weakly at him, running your hands through your hair, suddenly feeling very conscious. 

“Why did you change it though?—I used to love your hair.” He cleared his throat and tried to backtrack from his sudden confession. “Not that you don’t look good now.”

You needed a fresh start after Hogwarts, the war and life in general but you didn’t think he needed to hear all that. 

“Wanted something new I guess.” You said in a very composed tone as you gulped down your beverage and asked the bartender to keep the drinks coming. 

He hummed and downed his drink matching your own speed. 

Soon enough, you had created a row of empty glasses at the counter. 

Both of you terrible at small talk. 

“It’s so strange seeing you of all people at a muggle bar.” You said, your voice slowly getting slurry with a hint of inebriation and a tinge of madness. 

He didn’t say a word, he simply blinked at you with a blankness in his stormy grey eyes, now hidden behind thick frames. 

“Well, I don’t think I am welcomed at most pubs around Diagon alley—not after the war anyway.” He muttered. “Besides, I could have asked you the same question.” 

“Well, if you must know, I got stood up.” You laughed. “Not that I wanted to come—my friends have been pushing me to go out there and meet people.”

He kept glaring at you as you kept babbling. His eyes secretly trailing to your bare back as he tried his hardest to ignore his blood rushing and his heart thumping. 

A few more glasses of whisky later, you found yourself walking to the nearest apparition point with him. 

And just as you tried to quicken your strides, you missed your footing but he caught firmly by the shoulder before you could hit the ground, face first. 

“Merlin! That was a close one.” You whispered softly as you wondered why his hands were still grasping your shoulders. 

Even after all these years, the smell of mint, and his expensive cologne remained the same; his eyes still conflicted. 

The warmth and the confidence from the alcohol made you lean in and capture his lips in yours. 

A slow, speculative kind of kiss. Like you were testing the waters; taking a small sip of tea to see if the temperature was alright. 

After you leaned away, he opened his eyes.

The conflict inside his eyes was now replaced by a full fledged hurricane of emotions. 

“C’mhere.” He said hoarsely as he grasped the hair on the back of your neck and pulled your face flush against his. 

His left hand held one of your legs and wrapped it around his torso—your clothed cunt making contact with the hardened bulge in his pants. 

By the time your eyes opened, Draco had already apparted you to the Malfoy manor. 

As soon as he laid you down on his bed, he hastily began working on his shirt buttons. 

With each button, you could see more and more of his ivory skin, his toned abdomen, the veins protruding along his forearm, his faded dark mark now covered with tattoos. 

You propped yourself up on your elbows on the bed while he leaned in for another kiss and you took this opportunity to remove the glasses that hid the vehemence in his eyes.

His lips soon made their way towards your earlobes and he began nipping and tugging with his teeth while his hands roamed underneath your dress.

“The things I want to do to you…….” 

“Draco….” You sighed as his fingers started to move up and down your clothed slit before pushing the fabric of your panty aside . 

“Gods, y/n…” he groaned as he slowly pushed a finger inside. “The things I want to do to this pretty little cunt….”

“Then do it..” You whined bucking your hips at him. “Please just do it…”

“This dress...” He growled into your ear as he added a second finger inside of you. “I've wanted to rip it off your body since the moment I laid my eyes on you…” 

His fingers kept moving in and out while his thumb kept rubbing circles into your clit. “You are so fucking wet darling.” 

“Mmmhmm..” you whimpered, barely managing to nod your head. 

“Tell me y/n…” he murmured against your slit; his tongue circling your swollen bud. “Who made you this wet?” 

“You did Draco..” you whimpered. “You did.” 

You were so close. 

So fucking close. 

Just when you felt like you were going to come all over his fingers he stopped and took his fingers out. 

“No please..don’t stop..” You whined, suddenly feeling empty without his fingers. 

“Take your clothes off.” He commanded, backing away and you instantly found yourself complying to his request in a matter of seconds.

No one had ever talked to you that way. 

This was dark, this was seductive, this had your cunt dripping with anticipation.

“Fuck y/n. You are a sight for sore eyes.” He murmured while he pulled your hips towards the edge of the bed. 

A small smirk played at his lips as his hands quickly undid the buckle of his belt to let himself out and you gasped at the sight of him. 

Rumors always traveled fast at Hogwarts. You’d heard stories about him—his length, the way he made girls scream. 

Only, they weren’t just rumors. 

Everything you’d heard about him was true. 

All the fucking rumors about his length, his size they were all true.

He moved his fist up and down his shaft and  lined himself up against your entrance. Your eyes met for a second. “Are you okay with this?” He asked and you caressed his cheeks and nodded. 

“I am more than okay Draco….” 

And just like that, he pushed himself inside of you, cursing under his breath. 

“Oh god….Draco…”

“The way you say my name y/n…” He grunted into the crook of your neck while your fingers entangled themselves into this hair. “It makes me want to fuck you harder…makes me want to fill you up with my come…”

“Draco Please…”

“Fuck y/n….don’t.. don’t say my name like that.. I won’t be able to control myself... 

“Then don’t…” You pleaded with your head snapped back and your back arched when his thumb found your clit. “I want to feel you cum Draco..I need to..” 

It was like these words were automatically slipping out of your lips as you reached closer and closer to your climax. 

“What are you doing to me….y/n…” he groaned as he fucked you harder and harder. “Why do you feel so fucking good…” 

“Draco..don’t stop..don’t stop till you are cumming for me..” you wrapped your legs around his torso allowing him a deeper angle. 

“Won’t stop…I won’t fucking stop till I fill you up..” 

Draco stayed true to his words. 

He didn’t stop till you were sore and leaking with his release. 

The both of you even woke up in the middle of the night for another round of rigorous sex and he silently thanked your date for pulling a no show that night. 

Now he could have you all to himself. Well, until the sun came up that is. 

When Draco woke up the next morning he tried to reach for you but you were long gone.

The only thing that remained was the smell of your perfume on his sheets and your stray earring on the floor. 

He slowly reached for the forgotten earring and held it in the palm of his hands. 

Sure, it was a one night stand but he sure as hell wanted another night with you. 

~~~~~~~

Two months had gone by and Draco found himself staring at your earrings on his nightstand every day. 

He was never the one to overthink about one night stands and yet, here he was, clasping onto your earring for dear life. 

After reminding himself to get a grip on himself, Draco buttoned up his shirt and made his way towards St. Mungo's hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. 

He’d been a regular donor for the hospital since the end of the wizarding war and visited the hospital every other month. 

Just like every other month, the hospital was terribly busy that day too.

But somewhere in between the hustle and bustle, somewhere in between the dissonance of sounds, the wind, the atmosphere he felt something different that particular day—Something familiar. 

He brushed the feeling off and finished up the paperwork in less than an hour before making a swift exit from the hospital. 

But every step he took away from St Mungos added to the inexplicable restlessness that crushed his insides. The feeling mimicked the feeling of missing a train he was supposed to catch. 

“Oh For fuck’s sake.” He muttered to himself before turning back around and sprinting his way back into the hospital, crashing into annoyed people that cursed at him along the way. 

He finally stopped running when he made it to a quiet corridor in the hospital. With his hand flat on his chest, Draco tried to catch his breath. 

Everything was silent for a minuscule second until he heard a voice coming from a room a few steps ahead of him. 

Draco knew he could recognise that voice anywhere in this whole entire planet. 

It was the same voice that had been haunting his mind and infiltrating his existence since that night at the bar. 

You had a worried expression on your pretty features as the healer kept talking to you. 

“Everything looks good y/n, your vitals, the baby.” Said the healer and you placed your hand lightly on your stomach. 

Draco didn’t even hear what the healer said next. The accelerating sound of his heart was too loud. 

Could it be?

Why didn’t you tell him? 

Maybe the baby wasn’t his. 

But why was he suddenly wishing it was—

“Draco?” You asked when you saw him standing outside the door. 

The way you uttered his name, softly with your voice slightly cracking, felt like the break of dawn after a long cold night—You were his daylight.

“Sorry—I was just um passing by..” He said, hesitantly prying the door open. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Malfoy, but you cannot be here unless you are family.” The healer said coldly, giving him a nod of disapproval. 

“I guess I’ll be on my way then.” Draco mumbled with his eyes never leaving yours. “It was good seeing you—”

“Wait.” You called out before he could walk away and he eyed you quizzically. “Draco, there’s something you need to know.” 

He held his breath and patiently waited for what you were doing to say next. 

You looked even more beautiful than you did the last time he saw you. Your cheeks were dewy, your eyes a bit glassy and his most basic instincts were telling him that he needed to protect you no matter what. He didn’t even hear what the healer said as she excused herself from the room. 

“Draco I’m—”

“I know.” He said softly as he let his finger tips trail the side of your face. “I heard everything.” 

“Not everything.” You said as you held his other hand and gently placed it on your stomach. 

Draco let out a sharp breath that he didn’t even realize he was holding back. 

It was like he’d caught the train that he was so desperately trying to catch. 

It was like he was finally headed home. 

“Merlin! Y/n.” He gasped as he instantly cupped your face in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I didn’t know what to tell you. I didn’t know how you’d react and I was terrified.” 

If only you knew just how happy he was. 

If only he knew just how much he wanted to care for you and the baby. 

If only you knew how he felt about you. 

“I’m here now.” He whispered and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Thank you.” You murmured against his lips.

“Let me take you out y/n.” He murmured. “Let me take you to dinner tonight and we will figure the rest together.” 

~~~~

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much love,

Vi

[redpandaramblings]

The Art of Blind Dates. Deku x GN! Reader

This piece was written for @rat-zuki 's the deku agenda escapes no one collab. Happy Birthday to our favorite broccoli.

Content warning- This fic rated PG-13. Aged up characters, Allusions to sexual activity, swearing, gender neutral reader.

“You know, we really have to stop meeting like this.”

You jumped, the spray can you had been using left an unsightly streak of bright red across your masterpiece. You scowled behind your mask as you turned to face the man who had spoken.

“We do. You keep making me mess up my hard work!”

You smirked, pleased with yourself as you saw Deku, the number one pro hero, recoil at the sight of your mask. It had taken a few weeks to convert the All Might mask into an ahegao face, but it was worth it if it horrified your number one pain in the ass. Izuku blinked a few times, sighing and bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was clearly choosing to ignore your choice of disguise.

“I wouldn’t have to mess with your work if you chose to do things that were, you know, actually legal? You’re talented, Brushstroke. You could get paid to do murals or something instead of…” Deku gestured towards your latest creation. You were rather proud of it. It had taken a good amount of planning to manage to paint a fifty foot tall mural of pro hero Dynamight mooning the city with the bold caption ‘The Hero Commision can kiss my ass.’ It would be perfect if not for the red streak from where Deku had startled you. With a contemplative hum you shook your spray can and quickly turned the offending mark into a cartoonish lipstick print. Midoriya sighed heavily. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

“I know.” You grinned behind your mask. The voice distorter you used did nothing to hide your chipper tone. “I also know you like it. And you can’t tell me Dynamight wouldn’t love it. He literally said that on live interview!”

“Yes, but not with his pants down to his knees.”

You bent over, throwing your cans of spray paint and climbing gear into your duffle bag. It wouldn’t do for your nemesis to get his hands on some of the tools you used. Mei’s stamp was all over it.

“Which is such a shame. The man’s got cake for days.” You chuckled as Deku pulled a face.

He observed you, hands on his hips. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Away, obviously.” You said as you threw the strap of your dufflebag across you.

“And I’m just going to let you go?”

“Oh no. You’re going to chase me like you always do. And I’m going to escape like I always do. And it’s going to drive you crazy because you can’t figure out how I keep doing it.” You began stretching, exaggerating each movement.

“A teleportation quirk isn’t that hard to figure out.” Izuku began stretching as well, rolling his shoulders and popping joints.

“Guess again.” You sing songed, bouncing on your toes.

“Wouldn’t have to guess if you just told me.”

“But that’s no fun. Unfortunately, I do have to be going. Catch you later, hot stuff!” And with a sprint, you raced to the side of the building and jumped off before activating your quirk.

Time slowed around you. It was like you were hovering in the air instead of falling. Freeze Frame was a quirk you had learned to perfect over the years. Between the quirk and the assorted gadgets in your bag and on your person, it was definitely enough to baffle the number one pro hero. Speaking of, you better work quickly before your quirk wore off and splatted you across the sidewalk.

Freeze Frame was named after what your quirk looked like from the outside. It was as if you teleported, or you had frozen time around you for everyone except yourself. In reality, you were a speedster. When your quirk was active, you were able to move at speeds so fast you were undetectable to others, and to you it seemed like everything was paused in time. You probably could have been a phenomenal hero or villain if you wanted. But currently, it was much more fun to thwart a certain green haired man.

With a press of a button, you deployed a grappling hook, snagging it on the building across the alley. You swung over, keeping a countdown in your head. Would you be lucky enough and have time to…? Yes. There! A balcony door was cracked open slightly. You gracefully landed on the balcony and used the door to slip into what appeared to be someone’s bedroom, thankfully unoccupied at the moment. Taking no chances though, you slip into the closet just as the effects of your quirk wear off. The other reason you had never turned to heroism or villainy- no matter how much you trained, you could only keep your quirk activated for ten seconds at a time. It wasn’t a lot. Plus you could only activate your quirk a couple dozen times a day without getting seriously ill. But it still was usually more than enough to be able to give any law enforcement the slip. Just like now.

Deku curses as he runs to the edge of the roof. You’re nowhere to be seen. “Brushstroke! Get back here, you damn brat!” He shouted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. One of these days he was going to figure out your quirk and how to counteract it. And when that day comes he was going to take you over his knee and… No. He shook his head, blushing to clear his thoughts. What to do with you. Well, he wasn’t sure yet. You weren’t a villain, really. More of a public nuisance. The murals you did showed a lot of talent and a good chunk of the population agreed with the social commentary behind them. But that didn’t change that you had painted ten foot tall asscheeks on a building without permission. And, technically, it was within his job description to apprehend you. “Brushstroke!” Deku called again as he made his way down to the ground. There was no sign of you anywhere. Invisibility quirk maybe? Though it would be unusual if you could turn all the stuff you had been wearing and carrying invisible as well.

Meanwhile, as Izuku was getting lost in thought, you were getting naked. You stripped out of your gear and paint covered smock, moving as quickly as you dared while still remaining quiet in your hidden location. Just because the bedroom had been empty doesn’t mean the rest of the place was, after all. You shoved everything into your dufflebag, pulling out a clean set of clothing from a zippered pocket. Getting changed was a simple affair, as was ruffling your hair, messily getting it to look like a different style. One of your favorite tricks happened when you pushed a hidden button on the edge of your duffle bag. The previously dull gray bag quickly morphed into a loud riot of tye dyed color. Chameleon bags, Hatsume called them. Still in a prototype stage, your friend and employer would probably make a mint on them if you put them on the market. After a final brush off and deciding you looked acceptably civilian, you peeked out the closet door. The bedroom was still empty. You crept out slowly. The balcony wasn’t a feasible exit anymore. Not without the gear you had had to store away. You were going to have to sneak out the front door. You activated your quirk, feeling a little queasy at having to use it again so quickly in succession. It was simple to race through the apartment and out into the hall within your short time limit. In fact, with your speed, you were easily able to exit the entire apartment complex. You still had a few seconds to spare when you shot out the door. You grinned at seeing the number one pro hero standing in the middle of the street. You knew you shouldn’t do what you were thinking. Instead you should use your last few spare seconds to put some distance between yourself and the large, green haired man. Instead, you quickly dug around in your bag and found your tube of lipstick. You applied a nice thick coat as you waltzed up to him. With a giggle, you planted a firm smacking kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a clear and perfect lip print. With a grin, you hurried back to the apartment complex. It was easy to make it seem like you were just coming out of the door as time snapped back to its proper speed. You watched, hiding your smirk as you observed the clearly frustrated hero scanning the crowds for any sign of you. His eyes passed right over you, barely giving you a glance. You almost felt hurt that he thought your normal look was that unremarkable. But that was the point, after all. As Deku continued to call out for your pseudonym, you turned and walked away, blending into the crowd. You were almost out of earshot when you heard a loud cursing exclamation that would have been more in character for a certain blond hero. You bite your knuckle to muffle your laughter. Someone had informed Deku of the lipstick mark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sipped from a bottle of water as you watched Mei work her magic. It was strangely relaxing to watch her in her element. Though it seemed chaotic the first few times you had witnessed your friend work, there was a clear method to the madness if you just knew where to look. And you knew exactly where to look now that you had been working with her for the past three years. You were simply listed as one of her assistants. Most days that involved a random jumble of cleaning, paperwork, schedule management, and coffee making. The real reason Hatsume loved having you around however, was days like this.

“Okay! Set!” She chirped happily. “You good to go now?”

You nodded as you slid down, and walked into the testing area. “Remind me what I’m looking for again?”

“Well, obviously the usual. Make sure it’s not lethal, of course. And then I want to make sure the grid is deploying at the right time. Should be about a quarter second after detonation.”

“As long as everything looks good, want me to be full blown dummy this time?”

Hatsume tilted her head, and considered a moment before nodding. “Yeah, should be fine. Have the explosive levels where they should be. If anything messes up it’s going to be the grid deploying too soon or too late and not restraining you right.”

You gave her a thumbs up as you got into position. She counted down, though that didn’t matter much to you, honestly. One of the best perks of your quirk was that it gave you insane reflexes. You waited until the moment you saw the detonation begin to happen and activated your quirk.

As usual, it felt like time slowed to a crawl around you. Hollywood directors would give a kidney to have access to the detailed slow motion you could experience every day for free. You walked around the device, looking it over. It was meant to be a capture aid for pro hero Cellophane, a small explosive that would shoot nets of tape in all directions. It had to be safe and effective. Better to have a few civilians stuck to the walls than to risk letting a villain escape, after all. You peered into the explosion that was slowly rippling outward. Everything looked good so far… Yep, there were the grids starting to deploy. Sure that everything was safe, you deactivated your quirk and instantly were thrown backward and stuck to a padded wall of the testing room.

“Looked great!” You called as Hatsume entered the room. “I think you’ve finally got it!”

While she cheered and began praising her baby for performing so well, you tried wiggling. No luck. You were stuck rather firmly. Apparently she had upped the strength of the adhesive. After a minute, Hatsume finally noticed your struggles.

“Oh good!” She chirped. “Looks like the new formula is holding up nicely. I mean, I still need to test it out against, like strength and fire quirks, but looking good so far.”

“Little help, please?” You ask, giving her a look.

“Maybe in a bit.” She said, turning her back and leaving you there, pinned. “Want to test how long it holds. Besides, I have some questions about your last escapade and how my babies held up.”

You let out a resigned sigh. Of course. Your friend had found out about your after hours hobby about a year and a half ago. Instead of discouraging you, it hadn’t surprised you that much when she blackmailed you. She wouldn’t tell the police or heroes…. If you used some of her experimental babies on your future excursions. You had been dubious. Hatsume’s babies could be a little dangerous in the prototype stage. But it ended up working great! Your pieces went from small tagging jobs to huge fifty foot murals. Though that had caught the attention of a few public figures, including a certain green haired pain in your ass.

“I didn’t use anything directly against Deku this time.” You sighed, going limp to test if the tape would hold your weight. It did. “Grappling hook works great. The painter drones are okay for filling in large areas, but aren’t able to do clean lines well. The gecko boots continue to be amazing, but the gloves need a lot of work. The control for when they release still isn’t great.”

Hatsume nodded, quickly making notes about everything you said. There was a bit of a quick back and forth where she asked questions and you answered. Though ten minutes passed and you were still stuck to the wall. She eventually sets her notes aside and turns to face you fully. “So,” she drawls. “You saw Deku again.”

“I always see Deku nowadays!” You groan. “I swear Mei, if I find out you’re tipping him off or something...”

“Aww, come on! He’s nice! Would you rather be dealing with Dynamight?”

You frowned, not meeting her gaze. “I mean, the variety might be nice?”

“You like that with the help of my babies you’re able to out fox the number one pro hero, admit it!”

“It might be a little satisfying,” you mutter.

“And it doesn’t hurt that he’s hot either! Heard you two get all flirty during chases. The tabloids loved the kiss mark, by the way. Enjoy finally kissing him?”

“Hatsume!” you groan. “Subject change, please! Anything else!”

“Anything?” she grins at you.

“Oh god, I’m going to regret this.”

“It’s not that bad, I promise! Just, would you be interested in a blind date?”

You blink. “A date?”

“Yeah! One of my friends from school has a lot of trouble meeting people organically. You know how the industry is. Ridiculous schedules, maintaining reputation, trying to make sure they like you for you and aren’t just a fan.”

“Yeah… I guess I can understand that.”

“Well, I just think you and him would be a great fit! He’s a huge nerd in a lot of the same ways you are, but a real good guy once you get past the awkward. Plus,” Hatsume dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper “I happen to know for a fact that he’s a fan of Brushstroke’s work.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “You know it’s extortion to try to get me to agree when you have me literally taped to a wall.”

“I know!” Hatsume chirped happily. “So are you going to agree? I made the adhesive pretty strong this time. Who knows how long it would take to wear off on it’s own?”

“Bitch!” You can’t help laughing. “Alright, alright, I’ll go. Just get me down from here!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You fidgeted with the ring you were wearing as you stared at the building in front of you. Maybe it wasn’t too late to bail? You don’t know exactly what you had been expecting when Hatsume had told you about the somewhat shy, nerdy man she had set you up with, but you hadn’t expected him to choose the fanciest restaurant in town as your date location. You were wearing your best and still felt underdressed. Well, if the date was a disaster, at least you knew what building you were going to spray paint next. The glistening white exterior would make for a great canvas. You chuckled quietly at your own thoughts.

Squaring your shoulders, you took a deep breath and marched in. You could do this. You were an infamous tagger. You faced off against the number one pro hero regularly. Your day job was working with Hatsume. You’ve got this. With an air of newfound confidence, you gave your name to the maitre d. It was a surprise when you were led through the restaurant to one of their private curtained rooms. This guy you’d been set up with was apparently going all out. Maybe you were going to like him after all, you thought as you were ushered in. Then you looked up.

Fuck.

Standing to greet you with a stupidly flustered look on his damn stupid handsome face was your nemisis. The number one thorn in your proverbial side. The giant broccoli himself.

That BITCH had set you up with Izuku Midoriya!

You froze. In the back of your mind you were aware that your mouth was hanging open. The green haired man shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Hi,” he said quietly, scratching the back of his head.

You continued to stare.

He cleared his throat, glancing to the side. “Sorry about the secrecy, but I think it’s understandable.”

You nodded weakly.

Izuku bit his lip. You realized with a start that he might be even more nervous than you are. As much as you planned to murder Hatsume later, this wasn’t Midoriya’s fault. You could get through this date at least. Eat some expensive food, drink the best wines, make some meaningless conversation, say your goodbyes, and then go home to plot the demise of your former best friend. Long, slow painful demise. Good thing about being an artist, you had lots of traps, so clean up should be easy. Looking at the worried expression on Izuku’s face, you realize with a start that you still haven’t actually said anything to him. You open your mouth to offer some sort of generic greeting. But what comes out is-

“I’m going to fucking murder Mei!”

Izuku blinks. Blinks again. Then he starts laughing loudly. He leans one hand on the table as he cackles. You stare before starting to chuckle yourself. Soon you’re both wheezing with laughter. You both slump into your seats, trying to collect yourselves. Midoriya speaks first.

“Yeah, I… I get that. I’d think that’s a common emotion when hanging around Hatsume.”

You can’t help your smile. “Only at least half of the time. But that’s what makes it fun. No one else like her.”

“That’s for sure.” Izuku leaned back in his seat, looking you over like he’s studying you. “So, I suppose we should actually introduce ourselves. I’m Izuku Midoriya. I do hero work.”

You laugh. “Y/N Y/L/N. I work for Mei and freelance art when I can.”

“Art, huh? What kind of stuff do you do?”

You’re briefly interrupted by the arrival of the first course. After the waiter leaves, Deku apologies. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to order for you, but this is one of those places where you pay them and they tell you what you’re going to eat.”

“It’s fine.” You say as you stare at the delicate wisp of some sort of thinly shaved vegetable with a dollop of strangely colored foam on top.

“You were saying what kind of art you do?” Deku cautiously was poking at the tiny fancy appetizer.

“A few different things really, but my passion is mural work. Latest job was in a maid cafe. They wanted something cute and floral, but they let me do what I wanted within that theme.”

The night continued on and was surprisingly easy. The food was delicious, the wine was better, and you were pleasantly surprised by the company. Maybe it was the wine softening you up, but as you looked across the table where Izuku was animatedly talking about how influential All Might’s example had been for him, you admitted to yourself that the green haired man was very handsome. And funny. And interesting. And you were trying very hard not to think about the way Midoriya’s large scarred hand wrapped around the delicate wine glass. It was a surprise when the final course was finished and Izuku was quietly taking care of the bill. He escorted you out of the building and you both stood awkwardly outside. Deku cleared his throat.

“If it’s not presuming too much, I’m not quite ready for tonight to end. Is it alright if I walk you home?”

“I’d like that. Like that a lot, actually.”

He smiled at you, and it was like the sun. You walked and talked animatedly. The conversation was so easy and fun, and a little flirty. Somewhere along the way your hands brushed together and holding hands became the most natural thing in the world. Time flew by as you walked together, your true destination long forgotten. You were only brought back to reality when out of the corner of your eye you saw a massive mural of pro hero asscheeks. When Izuku saw what you were looking at, he groaned.

“Could you please not check out my friend’s ass while we’re on a date?” He joked, gently elbowing your ribs. You laughed.

“I mean, you can’t blame me. It’s hard to miss.” You made a mental note to tell Mei that her paint formula was holding up beautifully.

“It’s a little embarrassing. Brushstroke is talented and all, but every mural is a time I couldn’t catch them.”

Maybe it was the wine still buzzing through your system. Maybe it was the thrill of it. Maybe you just wanted to see those beautiful green eyes widen. But you couldn’t help the next words out of your mouth.

“Well you might have an easier time if you ever actually figured my quirk out.”

“Yeah I…” He stopped. Stared. “You…” He stared harder, pulling away slightly as he looked your figure up and down. “You!!!”

“Surprise?” You laughed, and grinned at him. He was always so handsome when he was angry. You weren’t scared at all as he hauled you close.

“Do you have any idea how infuriating you are?”

“Pretty good idea, actually.”

“You’ve been leading me on goose chases for months!”

You grinned “Yes, will be our anniversary soon.”

Izuku groaned as he wrapped his arms around your waste. “You irredeemable brat!”

You would have replied, but in the next second he was fiercely smashing his mouth against yours. The kiss started harsh and desperate. The results of months of teasing and flirting. It gentled as the two of you stood there in the night, soft and sweet and full of affection the two of you had yet to put into words. The thought occurred to you that you’d have to thank Mei later. Your eyes opened as the two of you pulled away for breath. You started giggling almost immediately. Izuku pressed his forehead against yours.

“What’s so funny, darling?”

You smirked. “I never thought we’d have our first kiss while being mooned by Dynamight.”

Izuku groaned loudly before sweeping you up into his arms. You squawked and clung to him.

“That’s it.” He rumbled. “I’m going to spank you when I get you home, you fucking brat.”

“Promise?” you giggled.

You didn’t mind in the least when he shut you up with another kiss.

[startanewdream]

Hiya, Mah! Please, if you feel like it, could you write something with: "9. “I’m too sober for this.” “You don’t even drink.” “Maybe I should start.”? For whichever ship you want to :)

Hi! 💓

For you I wrote a missing moment with my all-time favourite Sixth Year Pining Harry. Hope you enjoy this moment and thank you so much for joining this silly game :)

__________

Harry registers the heavy scent of flowers even before he notices it’s Ginny who sat next to him on the couch. He flinches, not wanting her to be so near him, though it’s all for the wrong reasons.

It’s really hard to pretend he isn’t crazy about her when she is so close, wonderful perfume in the air, so near that he wonders how it would be to turn towards her and see her eyes sparkling with a surprise for a second as he would lean even closer, and then Harry would close his eyes and…

She has a boyfriend, stop it. She is not interested.

That thought never makes his dreams go away, though.

‘Ugh,’ Ginny complains, pressing her temples and Harry almost offers to replace her hands. He could massage her, that would be a friendly thing, right? Not really, he admits. ‘I’m too sober for this.’

She frees one hand to indicate everything around her. Fred and George are sitting together at another couch, face troubled after being reprimanded by their father; Mrs Weasley is crying in the kitchen, her husband holding her; Bill and Fleur are close by the Christmas tree, and Harry thinks Fleur is being very accomplished in easing Bill’s worries, so he turns his eyes away quickly.

Harry isn’t sure what’s upsetting Ginny more, but he knows he is the reason Christmas spirit is so low.

‘You don’t even drink,’ he notices grimly.

‘Maybe I should start.’ She opens one eye. ‘Do you think Mum would notice if I went to the liquor cabinet?’

‘Do you have one?’

‘No, probably not. Or else Fred and George would have discovered it already.’

‘They are of age. I’m sure they can provide you with some firewhiskey.’

‘Harry, Harry.’ Now she opens both eyes, looking more relaxed as she watches him with something close to amusement. ‘Shouldn’t you be talking me out of my underage drinking?’

He can’t help his smile. ‘I know that the easiest way to convince you to do anything  is to forbid you.’

Ginny laughs. It’s not her brightest laugh, not with the mood still sober in the house—the Minister’s visit weighted them all—, but it’s nice all the same and it warms Harry more than the eggnog he drank.

‘You know me too well, Harry.’

He looks away carefully now. He noticed her, all right, but he doesn’t want her to see how much. It’s certainly more than reasonable for friends.

‘Better than most,’ she adds, somewhat heavier now, and Harry watches her again. Ginny is looking at the lights of the Christmas tree thoughtfully, seeming to even ignore her brother snogging her fiance next to it.

‘Got a problem?’

She blinks, snapping out of something. ‘Problem? No, I—’ she shakes her head. ‘Never mind, today was just a mess.’

‘I know. I’m really sorry.’

Ginny frowns. ‘Sorry for what?’

Harry sighs, glancing guiltily in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Well, Percy and the Minister—’

‘No one forced Percy to be a git, Harry,’ she says, somewhat more like herself suddenly. ‘He came here as the Minister’s lapdog because he wanted to.’

‘If it weren’t for me, he would still—’

‘Still be blissfully ignorant that You-Know-Who returned?’ she asks forcefully. ‘Find another stupid reason to betray his family?’

‘Yes,’ he agrees, sad. ‘But it wouldn’t be me.’

She shakes her head. ‘Stop it. Really. It’s his choices, and you’re not responsible for them.’

Harry doesn’t answer, stealing another glance to the kitchen. He can hear a sniffle coming from there.

‘No one blames you, Harry, especially not Mum.’

He looks back at her, almost smiling. ‘Sometimes it's like you are reading my mind.'

And then he wonders if it wouldn't just be easy if that was the case; if Ginny could just see how he feels about her, how she is so bright and how much... How much she visits his dreams.

Maybe it's good she can't read him that well.

'I know you too,' she answers calmly. 'If you are not blaming yourself for something, you call it a bad day.'

'I can not blame myself… some days.'

She raises her fist, holding an imaginary cup.

'To only blaming yourself for things that are under your control,' Ginny declares, and Harry toasts playfully with her.

Ginny blinks, taking a deep breath, then she picks up a book that was standing on the coffee table in front of them, flipping through it. Harry notices all pages are blank.

'It's a sketchbook,' she says, knowing he is looking. 'Dean gave me for Christmas.'

'Oh.' A weight drops in his stomach, unpleasant. 'Nice.'

'Yeah, I told him I wished I could draw like him and he thought I could begin…'

She looks a little troubled at the book and Harry suddenly knows what's on her mind.

'It's just a sketchbook. Nothing else.'

'I… I know.' Ginny sighs. 'Blame ourselves only for what we can control, right?'

'Right.' He smiles. As jealous as he feels about Dean giving her a Christmas gift, he decides that making her feel better is more important. 'What are you going to draw?'

Ginny grins as if unable to resist his joyfulness. 'Oh, I don't know. Nothing probably. When I said I wished I could draw like him it was more wishful thinking, not that I really wanted to do it. I am no artist.'

Harry indicates the room, so bright with the paper decoration she had spent hours doing. 'I don't know, decoration is stylish here.'

'Thanks,' she laughs, not really taking him seriously. 'Well, I can't draw still. I have no patience for it.'

'Then let's not draw.' He looks around until he finds a quill and ink. 'Doodle. Write a short story.'

'I could write a poem,' she says, just a really teasing, a blush coming to her cheeks.

Heat creeps upon his neck too.

'You are good with rhymes,' he whispers.

There is a moment of silence, and Harry feels Ginny's eyes over him as if she is trying to assess if he is messing with her or, somehow, really complimenting her for her valentine's card from years ago.

Again, he almost wishes she could read her mind.

Then she lets out a sigh, placing the quill over the first page of the sketchbook and drawing a grid. She draws a cross at the middle of it, watching the ink dry before offering him the quill.

'Your turn.'

Their hands brush when he goes to pick the quill and for a moment, three very short and very long seconds, their eyes meet. Maybe she can read his mind after all, because her eyes are sparkling, a blazing look on them, and she has to know how he feels about her because he is sure he is matching her gaze. The same longing, the same emotions, the same urge to just lean in and…

They blink at the same time. Harry draws the nought anywhere, not really paying attention, but Ginny ends up allowing a draw.

At the end of the game, she looks at their art, that silly game of noughts and crosses that is the only thing in the sketchbook, a satisfied smile on her lips as if that's the kind of thing she wants to fill those pages with.

Harry wonders if she wants to fill pages with him too.

'Another match?'

Harry can't refuse her.

__________

Please join me in this birthday special (asking for a prompt! Let me see your work too! 😍)

[iphoenixrising]

The Demon You Know

Day 1 Urban Fantasy AU | Magical/Supernatural Creatures | Time Travel

So, something a little off the grid for my first day of DickTim Week 2021. Special thanks to my wonderful babe @vellaphoria for the beta and the incredible peeps on the Capes and Coffee discord (looking at you @themandylion, @strawberryjei and others). Also need to show my undying love for @chippon because babe, we are making it work.

**

When the sun creeps up over the sky in Gotham, then it’s time to GTFO. Capes in the daytime aren’t the usual for the city, and Red Robin has been playing it too late, staying out far past O’s warning to bring it in for the night. So, really, he’s only got himself to blame.

His penthouse perch has seen more use in the last few months since, welp, Gotham and the fact he likes to get away from the team mentality sometimes, like to return to his roots and run the rooftops like when he was still that Robin. His trips to the Manor had become more frequent since B was back in the cowl and things in the family seemed to be returning to some semblance of normal. 

Well, as normal as it could get, really.

But all that goodwill and positivity is literally ghost. Red’s hands are shaky and his inner calm is absolutely blown. He’s ducking into his perch to throw his suit off, grab his duffle bag full of sundries and fake idents, then he’s going to hit the airport as fast as he can get a flight the hell out of town, away from the terrifying sight.

(He should just call Bart or Kon or Cassie, tell them he needs an out faster than he can arrange it himself, he needs to get away from–)

He knows he fucked up when the slight sounds, small and metallic in nature, make it past his pulse thumping in his ears.

Like a horror flick, he slowly turns as the front door gives a groan and is pushed open by a very familiar palm.

Dick’s blue eyes fall on him like a ton of bricks, on Red Robin’s feet frozen to the floor, his suit only half on, and no way he can get far enough to throw himself out a window.

Fuck.

“So,” Dick keeps his voice soft, footsteps easy as he steps inside Tim’s penthouse and closes the door behind him, “you finally found me out.”

Keeping his mouth shut in times like this has really saved his ass before, so Red doesn’t say a word, keeps every muscle in his body ready to spring for the right second –

Watching the would-be robber struggle in Dick’s grip, watching the light show brighten overwhelmingly, seeing what had to be-had to be feeding.

“I figured it would be you if anyone, actually, so I’m not really surprised, just… disappointed.” Dick continues softly, only in jeans and a t-shirt since Nightwing was oddly missing from the patrol roster last night.

And Red is apparently the only one that knows why.

“But that doesn’t mean I can just let you go, Timmy,” Dick isn’t stopping, his whole body lax while Red is wound tight, backing away from the man he thought he knew. “I really wish you hadn’t found out like this. I...I had other plans.” 

Whirlybirds and pellets aren’t going to help him here. Hand-to-hand and martial arts, aerial acrobatics, none of it is going to make a difference. 

His throat goes dry when Dick’s eyes get more and more blue, when his former mentor doesn’t stop advancing, and Red Robin is running out of room to back away.

“I tried to save you, Timmy. I tried so hard to get you away, out of Gotham, even if you went because you thought you had to find Bruce, I’m the one that gave you the compulsion to leave.” The low laugh is edged with something desperate, “why the hell couldn’t you stay away?”

“This is my city, just as much as Batman’s. You taking my fucking cape wasn’t enough,” Red Robin bites out, back thumping against the kitchen counter, realizing Dick had backed him into the corner. “How did you keep it from him? Constantine, Zatanna, all the magic users he has on speed dial and he never figured you out? No one in the JLA or Titans did?”

That makes Dick pause.

“He never had to. He knew what my parents were before they ever died, Timmy. Haley’s Circus came to Gotham regularly. Bruce always knew.”

The information blast hits him painfully, that Bruce didn’t bother to tell him and look at where they are now.

“And he didn’t try to help you?” Red, Tim, gapes at the still silhouette that used to be someone he thought he knew like he knew himself. Someone that’s always had this secret. “He didn’t try to –”

“Cure me?” Dick’s mouth lifts in a semblance of a smile Tim knows. “There is no cure for this, Timmy. It’s what I am. What my parents both were, the curse of the Romain Bababiljos. It’s unfortunate for me both of them were cursed, that just makes the...the hunger two-fold.”

And it’s just a few more steps, a raised hand that makes Tim flinch back, but only a fingertip taps the edge of the domino, makes the whiteouts raise.

Automatically, with everything he’s learned, studied, experienced about supernatural creatures, he ducks his head so he isn’t looking directly into those eyes. That doesn’t stop Dick from bracketing Tim in, both hands on the counter, their bodies a breath apart.

Dick laughs softly, close enough for Tim to feel the breath on his face. “The Titans...I never had to tell them. By then, I could control myself, at least mostly. The JLA? I’m one of the Batman’s proteges. I’ve been fighting crime since I was eight. They believe in me. There was never a reason for any of them to look too deeply past the surface.”

“Wh-what do you mean mostly?” Tim’s heart slams in his chest, “how many people have you killed, Dick?”

“Do you have any idea how awful the hunger is?” And the lower Dick’s voice goes, the harder Tim’s heart starts to pound. “Surviving on hugs and family affection is tantamount to starvation for someone like me. It’s so easy to kill someone during sex because the hunger is so much I can’t control it sometimes. Anyone I’m with is in danger.  That’s why I couldn’t stay with Babs, she’s too human. The one time I came close–” 

Dick breathes again and all Tim looks at is the span of throat, thinking of the soft, vulnerable parts, anything he can use to get the fuck away.

“–but I didn’t. I have...willpower sometimes. I drained her so close, though. She was-was so fragile, Timmy, and I was so hungry. I’d been starving for so damn long. She was hospitalized for longer than she’d been when the Joker shot her, and I said never again. But Wally and Kory were...different. I could go further with him without killing them, I could get more full than I’d been in a long time. It was still dangerous for them, but I was so far gone by the time...”

“They’re both still alive. Babs is still alive. Does she–?”

“Remember? Of course not. None of them do. I made sure of that, Tim, so none of them would be afraid of me.”  And the air changes when Dick gets closer, his eyes get brighter, and Tim almost chokes with the almost touch to his body under his suit. “But, you are going to be different, aren’t you? I’m not going to be able to convince your mind that what you saw was a dream.”

“So what? You’re going to make me “disappear”? You’ll give Bruce some sob story about how I got tired of the vigilante life and left for college or some shit? Going to bury me where no one will ever find me?” He isn’t looking at Dick’s face, can’t see his own end coming, can’t believe he’d put all his faith and belief in this man only to have it all come to this.

Tim laughs wetly, blinking rapidly, and everything suddenly comes together. “He won’t ever come looking for me anyway. You made sure of that when you made Damian your Robin. Nice plan, Dick. No one is going to give a shit if I’m never seen again anyway.”

And it’s stupid not to at least try, not to duck and kick out, trip up whatever Dick really is, to break a window and fucking run, try to get Bruce, Clark, Kon and Bart and Cassie, to get anyone to listen to him about what Dick really is, to try to save himself.

(If you’d never figured out Dick was Robin, if you never put yourself in front of him, you’d be safe now. Miserable but safe.)

Even if it’s his own brain pan spitting this out, he knows it’s bullshit. 

If he’d never approached Dick Grayson with proof Batman was losing his mind, Tim Drake wouldn’t have reached twenty-one. The way his life was going, he would have probably hung himself long before getting to this stage in his life. If he’d never had Bruce or Alfred or Dick or Steph, if he’d never had Robin, never had Young Justice or The Titans, if he’d never had the Clench, never felt the rumble under his feet as Gotham had fallen, if he’d never had the agony of losing everyone in his life, if he’d never had the drive to prove his adopted father was alive…

The civilian Tim Drake wouldn’t have had the strength to make it through life alive.

So if this is the way he goes out, if Dick is the one that ends it for him–

There’re worse ways to go.

He’s not going to be the Joker’s next victim or Ra’s al Ghul’s heir with a mix of Lazarus Pit crazy. The HIVE, the Light, the mass of aliens he’s fought, any number of Rogue Gallery thugs, none of them will be the ones to take him out.

But this?

His career as Robin started out with Dick Grayson, so maybe...maybe it’s fitting this is the way it all ends. 

He sucks in a breath and finally tilts his head up, looks up into those electric blue eyes, and lets his breath out so so slow.

Because Dick is looking at him with watery eyes, with a grimace, with something Tim can actually recognize.

But those eyes light up in his penthouse perch, take on a supernatural glow, Dick snatching his wrists in bigger hands, pulling Tim closer, the heat getting through layers of Kevlar and Nomex. And just like that, he can’t pull away, can’t pull back.

There’s no way to defend himself when Dick pulls him in, when he expects to get his throat ripped out, his neck snapped, something important crushed, for the darkness to take over and his heart to slow down to a sad, weak pitter patter.

He can’t defend himself when Dick kisses him, opens his mouth, and stuns him into going completely slack.

“I told you,” Dick growls softly when he pulls back, bends enough to get Tim laid out over his shoulder, “I had other plans.”

But Tim can’t reply, can’t do anything other than lay across Dick’s back as the Romani love deamon strides down the hallway and kicks open the bedroom door.

**

And if Tim Drake survives until morning, shocking the hell out of the both of them, staring up at Dick’s surprised face and glowing blue eyes, if the soft touch to his jaw contrasts sharply with the bruises and red marks blossoming all over his body from an intense night with his supernatural mentor and best friend, if Dick doesn’t whisper, “finally, finally, my mate,” before kissing him. 

If the power Dick drains from him doesn’t kill him, doesn’t do more than give him the most amazing span of unending multiple orgasms to ever happen, if Dick isn’t fully satisfied for the first time in his life. If Dick doesn’t call them both off patrol for the next three nights, carts Tim back to his apartment, refuses him clothes and computers and tech, tells the Titans they’re taking a break from crime fighting while Tim is tied and gagged in his bed, sated enough to listen hazily with half-mast eyes. 

If Dick doesn’t hand feed him while he’s getting feeling back in his legs (finally) and give him the full run-down about his parents. If the strange mark on his abdomen doesn’t get warm whenever Dick’s hand is on it, fingers tracing the edges, making those blue, blue eyes dilate in possessiveness. If Tim doesn’t eventually escape with his sanity intact and a little terrified how much his body craves only to have Dick chase after him with single-minded purposes to convince him they’re meant to be.

Then only the man with cameras all over Gotham, waiting and watching with bated breath and fear for his Robins, unmitigated relief when his theory proves true, would be able to give all the details.

[gryffindors-weasley]

Missing Pieces

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Years pass since the battle and you’ve loved and lost. But your secret isn’t forever when you encounter the one thing you’ve had to hide from.

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, grieving, mentions of heartbreak, fluff, requited love and kissing

A/N: This is for @iliveiloveiwrite 3.5k song challenge! This fic is based off the song Empty Space by James Arthur, and I’ve gotten a bit carried away with the length on this one. I haven’t written angst in a while, so I hope you enjoy it! Congratulations again, Millie!

You sensed a presence near you, one that lingered behind you ever since you left the shop. One that was only further confirmed when you risked a weary glance over your shoulder, eying a darkened figure slip out of sight just as quickly as you had spotted it. It’d been foolish to be out and about at such an hour by yourself. But you became accustomed to this very feeling over the last four years, it was the only choice you had.

Each time you passed under a street lamp it became a race to get under the next pool of light, as if the glowing sphere that was cast on the cement would make you invincible. You could only hope for that to be so. Because not many people cared for a walk on a chilly evening like this, much less in the drizzling December rain. It was a small town that was rather off the grid after all, you shouldn’t even really be out if you were being honest. But you couldn’t risk being seen apparating nor did you feel like it.

The footfalls behind you were distinct, setting themselves apart against the dull tap of the raindrops on the cracked pavement and you couldn’t deny your racing heart. But you pushed on with a vigor, wanting nothing more than to reach your front door and lock out the world behind you for the night. That’s how you ended every day and every single one to come.

Another hurried glance gave way to the same shadow, a growing frustration forming in the pit of your stomach. Maybe you were just seeing things. Maybe it was just a trick of the eye. The wizarding war had left you rather paranoid after all, and that was never something that’d completely go away. You tried your very hardest to convince yourself you were just tired. However, the soft metallic clinking of what had to be keys was certainly not in your imagination, you knew that for a fact.

You were quick to grip the wand tucked within the side of your boot, fed up as you turned on your heel. “Who are you?”

Your voice was firm as you held your wand tightly in front of you, knuckles white as your eyes squinted to better see in the darker alleyway. It probably wasn’t the best place to confront a stranger, but you had never been one to back down.

A tense silence settled around you, heart hammering away in your chest as your gaze bounced around the seemingly vacant street. It felt like seconds had turned to hours. You were moments away from casting a Lumos spell when the figure stepped out from the alley and revealed themselves. The breath you held now remained caught in your throat, mouth growing dry as your eyes widened a fraction. The gray eyes and platinum hair were unmistakable, the very person you longed to see but knew you couldn’t. He was now standing just a mere two feet away from you.

You were paralyzed in your own thoughts momentarily. Taking in the way his hair nearly tangled with his lashes, or the misty rain droplets that beaded across his pale skin. The forest green scarf that wrapped loosely around his neck, the one you got him for Christmas a number of years ago, now tattered and frayed. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, solemn and hopeful that it really was you. That, it was definitely that.

“Draco?” You whisper, still in disbelief. All the color drained from your cheeks and you nearly dropped your wand, a shockwave of something coursing through your body. You didn’t know if you wanted to run and never look back, or stay.

He swallowed thickly, nearly flinching at the sound of his name falling from your lips after having been deprived of it for so long. His nostrils flared, jaw clenching under the pressure of his own tears as he fought the urge to cage you in his arms and never let go. He couldn’t do that. He shouldn’t do that.

“I thought you were dead.”

The words were strained and low, spoken through gritted teeth as the pain of the last four years doused each one as they fell from quivering lips. It felt as though your heart dropped to your stomach, sitting there heavy as a boulder as tears sting in your eyes.

“How long have you been following me?” You snap defensively, tone ice cold as you try to avoid his statement, finding yourself failing miserably.

“That’s not important.”

It very much was important, though he wasn’t ready to inform you of those details. He’d first found you seven months ago. He was on a home call to the small town you currently resided in, the hospital deeming Draco to be the best fit to heal this patient in particular. Though he was regularly sought out because no other healer within the wizarding world was quite like him, no one held the astounding skills he possessed, and the consideration of that title was something he was rather proud of.

Regardless of the details or their importance, he found himself wandering through the town after he’d finished his job, feeling somewhat compelled to do so. It wasn’t a very interesting place, nothing to set it apart from the next town over or any that happened to be in the near vicinity. However, day in and day out everything had seemed mundane to him, everything blending together in a repetitive and bleak manner. His very world had seemed to have lost its spark. One thing and one thing only had put that miserable town on a pedestal to all the others. You.

He blinked a few times, feeling like his sleepless nights had conjured up the illusion that the very love of his life had been just on the other side of the street, tucked away in a cafe and seated in the picture window. He was more than tempted to cross the cracked street to get a clearer confirmation but the blaring sound of a taxi cab’s horn brought him back to reality. The car promptly swerved around him as he stepped back on the sidewalk, followed by the drivers string of curses out of the window. But he didn’t care, it was undeniably you.

First he was confused, then he was profoundly angry. So much so his skin flushed and burned and passers by had given him odd looks, making a point to avoid him on the narrow walkway. Had you really hated him so much to go so far as to create that kind of deception? One that impacted him so deeply it felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs for months on end thinking you were gone. He was beginning to think you never really loved him at all, that all the whispered promises of a better life together were tall tales spoken in vain.

He’d apparated to his home immediately, unable to bear another glance at you as nausea swirled in his stomach, abandoning the rest of his shift entirely. Resentment filled his empty heart and clouded his mind for days and weeks after that day. The empty space you left behind felt all the more daunting, your memories together no longer a bittersweet recollection as they replayed in his mind. Now they had been permanently tarnished, worsening the utter despair your absence had left him in. Dozens of letters were written in haste and either crumpled or ripped up, thrown across his room with the addition of a nearby object to shatter against the wall.

He hated you. But most of all he hated that he couldn’t move on from you, and yet still, he didn’t want to.

It took him three months to come down from his anger and try and reason with himself. There was no question you had been hit with a hex that day. He watched you writhe in agony at his very own fathers malicious and spiteful doing, those same hands holding him back from joining your side. It couldn’t have been anything but real, your screams permanently engrained in his memory as you left him in the ruins of the courtyard to face his fate alone.

The unanswered questions still fueled his frustration, however, but he found himself returning to that very town. It started as once every two weeks, and when almost four more months had passed he found himself going nearly every day. He wasn’t one to chase after the things that hurt him, but you seemed to be an exception, you always seemed to be an exception. He had been desperate to see you despite the jab he felt in his chest every single time he did.

Now it’s brought him here.

He remained stoic as he stood in front of you, the proximity making it seem as though he towered over your smaller frame. He wasn’t trying to be intimidating, not in the slightest, but it made you take a step back nonetheless. He fought against the unbearable pressure seemingly crushing his chest, weaving its way around his heart and wrapping around his throat as he concealed the tears pressing just behind his eyes. The sight had you at a loss for words.

“Draco I—”

“How could you let me think you were gone for the last four years, Y/n?” His voice was raised by this point, his hands clenching at his sides before he released them, leaving small crescent-shaped indentations of his nails behind on his palms.

This was absolutely not the conversation you were looking to have at eleven at night, certainly not one to be had in the middle of the sidewalk. But Draco had seemed insistent that this was happening right then and there whether you had liked it or not. You were beginning to feel like you never wanted to have this talk, the panic bubbling in your stomach as you scrambled to give him an answer.

“It was for your own good,” You say quietly, throat beginning to ache as you suppressed your tears, your own frustration building. It was a feat that was easier said than done. A stray passerby had looked in your general direction to discern the source of the commotion.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you dismiss, turning to leave.

His hand shot out and grabbed your own, the feeling nearly electric against your skin. Your breath hitched in your throat momentarily. “No, it’s not nothing. I have a right to know.”

His hand lingered in yours for a moment or two longer than it should have before it dropped back to his side, his gaze fixed on you as he waited for your explanation. Of the hundreds of ways you thought to broach this conversation in the many days and months apart, they all seemed to erase themselves from your memory now that the moment had arised. “Go on, tell me.”

You stood there hesitantly, afraid of what he might say. Afraid that he’d turn around and leave you behind much like you’d regrettably done to him all those years ago. Though at that point if he chose to do that, you knew it was something you deserved. You owed him the reason, you knew that. But it took great effort to choke out the words, scared to know what would come of the interchange.

“Your mother,” you timidly managed to get out, quiet voice trembling as you spoke your words carefully. “She saved me after I was hexed by your father. I wasn’t in the best shape but she saved me from dying that day.”

You studied his face, watching the crease between his dark brows deepen, bottom lip beginning to noticeably tremble.

“Why didn’t you come get me?” His tone was angry and insistent, jaw clenching as he tried to process what you had just said.

“She told me it’d be better this way. It’d only cause trouble if they knew what she had done for me because I very clearly wasn’t going to make it, it wouldn’t have made sense if suddenly I bounced back from it. Said we were better off apart because at least we’d both make it out of there alive and in one piece, you could have the life you always wanted for yourself.”

He scoffed in disbelief, looking away from you briefly as if to gather his thoughts that rapidly bombarded him. “You really believe that?” He asks quietly.

You shrug, a tear spilling over your reddened cheek. “Look at all the heartache it’s caused, Draco. What was I supposed to do? Should I have just shown up on your doorstep and said ‘Hey, I’m sorry. I know I’ve abandoned you for a few years and made you think I was dead and left you to be heartbroken, but I’m not really.’ Is that what you wanted?”

“It would have been a start.” A humorless laugh left his lips as he shook his head.

You scoff as you narrow your eyes up at him, drawing in a shaky breath. “Don’t be ridiculous, Draco.”

“Ridiculous? You basically ripped my heart right out of my chest and stomped all over it, and I’m being ridiculous?”

He bit his tongue after that, taking a deep breath to stave off the anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to say something to further create anymore regrets.

“I didn’t ask for this!” You nearly shout, his expression softening. “I didn’t want this to be our fate, I fought it as best I could because I didn’t feel right living a life without you in it. It wasn’t ever my choice to make, Draco, and I think you know that.” You manage to say, swallowing the growing lump in your throat. “You deserve better than that.”

He looked at his feet, taking a moment to gather himself as he wiped his cheek with a trembling hand. He shook his head then, lifting his eyes to meet yours again with furrowed brows. He took that moment to take you in, to really look at you, something he’s wanted to do far more often than he ever cared to admit. Your eyes still sparkled the way they always do, and it wasn’t just from the tears that glossed over them. Or the way your cheeks and the very tip of your nose reddened in the chilled winter weather, accentuating every freckle that dotted along your skin. He couldn’t bring himself to look away, nor did he want to.

He took a step closer to replace the one you had taken to widen the gap between you, taking a deep breath as he tried to properly articulate his next words.

“If you think for a second that there was any moment in any day that I haven’t thought of you, you’re wrong. You’re etched in my bones, Y/n, there’s no moving on from you. Don’t you understand the only life I’ve ever wanted is with you?”

He was pleading by this point, voice louder than before as he tried to get you to understand his words were sincere.

You wiped your cheek with your sleeve, the cold weather seeping through your jacket no longer there with the fire ablaze in your chest. “You can’t possibly mean that anymore, and there’s no way I’ll let you forgive me either,” you laugh bitterly, softly, and you shake your head again. “Not after that. That would be ridiculous and I won’t allow it.” You inhaled a quivering breath, meeting his eyes. “You’re supposed to hate me.”

He wouldn’t call it forgiveness, but the very person who left his heart in tatters was the same one who kept it beating. Seemingly the only one.

His breath caught in his throat momentarily as he listened to your words, voice wavering as he whispers, “I could never hate you.”

Those five words were enough to make your heart pound so hard it couldn’t possibly remain in your chest. You wanted nothing more than to run to his arms and pretend nothing ever happened, like you hadn’t kept yourself hidden from him for years while he suffered. But you couldn’t forget it. It wasn’t something you could brush under the rug because the guilt wasn’t quite something you could get over.

“I love you, Draco, very much. But I can’t. I can’t just let this go, and you shouldn’t want me to,” you start, tears falling freely and mixing with the rain. “For that reason, I can’t stay, I have to go.”

You could hardly get the words to fall from your mouth, and through your heartbeat pounding vigorously in your ears you weren’t entirely sure if they did.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you knew he’d try and get you to stay and you didn’t know if you were strong enough to hear it. So you turned your back to the love of your life, rushing off as your face scrunched with unshed tears before disappearing around the next corner. He choked back a sob of his own as he followed after you, turning the corner and finding himself to be the only one left.

4 Months Later

Four months. It had been four months since the night that remained burned in your memory, replaying the interchange word for word every time you closed your eyes. For having gone years without seeing him you thought this would be a simple task to do it again. To rid yourself of the pain that came with loving Draco Malfoy. But really this seemed to be the hardest part of it all, the last four years had paled in comparison to this.

The hole in your chest, the one you’d created twice over was widening with each passing day. You saw him in every thing you did, perhaps you really did see him. Flashes of memories would flood your mind and taunt you. Memories of running through the gardens of the Manor like kids every time you looked at the flowers surrounding your home. Memories of nights in the astronomy tower when the moonlight trickled in your window, curtains promptly being closed. Or the pang in your chest when your fingers brushed over the fabric of his sweater that hung in the very back of your closet. The intense, all-consuming heartache was something you’d never wish on your worst enemy. To long so deeply for someone just might be the worst kind of pain.

Four more months of living in the same looping regret, guilt tightly lacing itself around your heart and constricting you more with every day that goes by. You wondered where you might currently be if you hadn’t been so stubborn, if you hadn’t sabotaged the very thing that made you feel the most alive. Or if you had defied Narcissa’s wishes and ran away with him like you always wanted.

The thought of what should have and could have been tore you up the more you paid them mind. It could have been the two of you in that house, decorated with shared books and memorabilia. You could be waking up together for the rest of your life, rather than occupying the mattress alone. But any scenario that crossed your mind always seemed like it was far out of the realm of possibility, and you were at fault for it. So, you continued on with your everyday life.

You walked up the mossy cobblestone walkway to your home with a huff, groceries tucked in the crook of your arm. You were too tired to apparate, having lacked the energy to do so long before that moment. It was proving to be a challenging task just to find the right key one-handedly, having dropped them completely when you looked up. The metal clang sounded as they hit the ground, the paper bag you held crinkling under your tightened grip, but you soon settled a bit as you sighed. You weren’t sure if you could do this again.

The same blonde that had haunted your every day stood just under your covered porch, sifting through the envelopes that carried his name across the front of each and every one.

“I see my letters have reached you,” He says upon seeing you, quiet as he takes the time to look over each one, not even having to glance inside them to know what was thoughtfully written.

You were quiet, embarrassed that he was now aware of your ignorance to them as they accumulated into a pile just outside your door. It hadn’t made matters any better. “I’ve read some.”

It was true, you had plucked a few from the growing pile and read through them, even reread multiple times. But it quickly became unbearably painful to read his words, the metaphorical blade in your heart twisting with every line your eyes skimmed across. So you let them gather—one turning to two, two turning to five, five turning to ten. They sat, weathered by the outside elements with hopes to be opened and read as intended.

You wanted to write back. You wanted desperately to fill pages detailing how much you had missed him dearly, how fully you loved him. You wanted to pour your very heart onto every piece of letterhead you could find in your house and send it to him, he deserved to know that much, he deserved much more than what you gave. Yet you still wanted to be selfish and have him all to yourself.

He laughed softly, holding no humor as he set them down carefully in a much neater pile on the old rocking chair behind him before stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Why didn’t you write back?” His tone was curious rather than angry, though disappointment was still very much there.

You pushed back your truthful reasoning in favor of a simple answer. “I didn’t feel it was appropriate for me to get your hopes up.”

His brows furrowed as a bittersweet smile formed on his lips, one that hadn’t fully reached his tired eyes.

“Love, I’m afraid that’s already happened the moment I saw you again.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest at the nickname, one you certainly didn’t deserve to be referred to as. It took everything in you not to crumble, not to burst into tears.

“Why are you here, Draco?” You ask, desperately wanting to change the subject to keep yourself from lingering on the way he looked at you, gingerly and full of longing.

He shifted on his feet, a brief silence settling between the two of you as he looked at his surroundings. The gray stone walls of the medium-sized cottage, the bursts of color dotting the perimeter from the blooming flowers planted in unkempt flowerbeds, the worn paint on the porch from repeated foot traffic; it was clear to see the path you walked in on a daily basis.

“Has my mother picked this place out for you?” He asks softly, seemingly avoiding your question as he lightly ran his fingertips over the dark green railing. He feels he’s certain he already knows that answer. “It’s quite beautiful.”

You sigh, cheeks burning a rosy pink when he caught your gaze again. “Draco, what are you doing here?” You repeat.

Once again he’s quiet, mulling things over as he carefully thinks about his next words. While waiting, you find yourself trying not to focus on the way the spring breeze blows his hair out of his face, or the way the tip of his nose reddened in the brisk weather. None of those details should have been important but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away, not really.

“I suppose I wanted to see you.”

The hesitation in his quiet admission was indicative that there was more to it than he’d let on. And once again it felt as though your heart had been somersaulting in your chest, but you fought the warmth that blossomed in waves within your body at the short statement.

“I don’t believe that’s a very good idea for either of us.” Your words were soft and you hadn’t really believed them, not as much as you should have, but it felt like something you were supposed to say.

You could tell his anger had been rising, could tell by the way he turned his back to you and clutched the wooden railing, gathering himself. You could see the deep breaths he’d been taking, slow and steady as his knuckles turned an ivory white. Your stubbornness had always been a quality he had loved about you, but now that very trait was the thing that’s been ripping him apart.

“And just why is that, Y/n?” His frustration was beginning to become more and more apparent as he turned to face you again, cheeks flushed a pale scarlet. He threw his hands in the air to accompany his words, letting them fall back to his sides. He took another deep breath to control his emotions. “Why?”

“What do you want me to say, Draco?” You we’re defeated by this point, the emotional turmoil having stripped you of the light you once held. This very love had completed you while being your downfall all the same. You felt like you wanted to run in this very moment, as far as possible, but your feet remained planted in place just outside your front door.

He looked at you with such intensity, utterly spellbound by you, that you had to look away from him for a moment, his gaze never faltering no matter how many tears had blurred his vision. His nostrils flare as his eyes continue to gloss over.

“I want you to tell me you love me,” He starts, voice wavering though he kept going despite it. “I want you to tell me you won’t leave. Not again. I have tried and tried to rid myself of you and everything that came with loving you, to fill the gaps you left in my life but there’s far too many. I’m afraid nobody will ever hold a candle to you. So please, I want you to tell me you’ll stop running and stay with me.”

You blinked away your tears as you swallowed thickly, voice coming out in a soft whisper. “Draco, please,” you plead, “I—”

He held up his hand, silently asking to continue as he stepped closer to you cautiously, scared that if he moved too quickly you’d slip away again.

“I didn’t have a choice my entire life, and going another minute without you isn’t a choice either, not really,” he chuckles through tears, his lip trembling and he brushed his hair out of his eyes. “I’m so tired of holding grudges. And you can try and keep yourself from me all you want, but I need you with me. I don’t know who I am without you.”

You stood there, clinging to every single word that fell from his lips as you looked up at him. Every passing second was detrimental to the wall you tried to build around yourself, diminishing piece by piece. Your heart pounded in your chest, so much so you thought it might burst then and there. You turned away from him to catch your breath, missing the way his face scrunched in a quiet sob he’d tried to keep you from bearing witness to. But you hadn’t missed the sniffles sounding just paces behind you, and it was something you knew you never wanted to hear again.

You weighed out all your options, rapidly finding yourself unable to find a reason to walk away from this, a logical reason, other than yourself and your inability to let this go. You were tired of fighting, and you were tired of living without the one person you felt you were meant to love. It was useless to do such a thing anymore because no matter how hard you could try to find love in someone else, it always circles back to him.

Against all self doubt and the crushing guilt that told you to let him go and close that chapter, you spun on your heel to find him staring as his breath caught in his throat. You crossed the porch with certainty, leaning up on your toes, fists gripping his coat tightly as you kissed him fiercely. He was knocked back a step or two but his arms were around you in an instant, pressing you as close as he could.

Something akin to electricity ignited across every inch of your skin, and you ignored the nagging thoughts that maybe you shouldn’t be doing this right now. That maybe it was too soon, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about technicalities and ‘maybe’s’. You parted and he felt it was all too brief as he chased after your lips, but you hadn’t strayed far as you released his jacket, smoothing the crinkled material. You looked up at him, his breath fanning across your face. These quiet, fleeting moments felt like they stretched into hours as you allowed yourself to bask in the moment you never thought you’d experience again.

“I love you,” you whisper, and he laughed softly in relief as a tear slips down his cheek, then another, your lips finding his again in a much softer kiss.

He still held you tightly, fingers splayed across your cheek as if to have confirmation that this was real, that it was really happening. Still to make sure you wouldn’t take off, that you were real.

It was. And he was never losing you again.

—

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Not So Golden Opportunity (BAON)

Summary:  Usually Stretch likes getting packages in the mail, but there is always room for an exception.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

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The knock on the front door wasn’t much of a surprise, not when it came at delivery o’clock. Stretch always had packages coming in, everything from equipment for the lab to a new t-shirt that declared he was a ‘Karaoke King’, there was always something for their delivery person to drop off. At any given time, there was enough cardboard stored in their garage waiting to get dropped off at recycle to make one heck of a box fort, and that was on his list to do with the neighborhood kiddos one of these weekends.

So, the knock on the door? Not a surprise. What they were delivering on the other hand—

“uh, wow, thanks, marty,” Stretch said, a little dubiously. Marty let out an agreeable honk and meandered their way back to their little mail truck, leaving Stretch standing there with an enormous armful of flowers from an unknown source. Couldn’t be from Edge. Sure, he’d given flowers a few times, but Edge was more of an in-person sort of guy when it came to presents.

Welp, there was only one way to find out, wasn’t there. Time to get his Velma on and look for some clues.

Stretch carried the massive thing inside and plunked it down on the coffee table to give it a closer look. It was actually a very nice floral arrangement, even Stretch could see that and he didn’t know shit about flowers or décor. Tiny sprays of white, bell-like blooms and ferny green things surrounding several huge blooms of golden flowers, the likes of which Stretch hadn’t seen in years, not since they were Underground.

Hm. Golden flowers.

The card had Edge’s name on it, but Stretch didn’t bother sneaking a peek. Mystery solves, there was only one person who would’ve had this delivered to their door and he probably made it with his own fuzzy hands. The real question was why that asshole was having flowers sent to his husband, thank you, and the only way to find out if he needed to start making plans to yank out hunks of fur with his bare hands was to ask, with the minimum of simmering jealousy possible.

“babe?” Stretch called. Edge was in the kitchen, making preparations for their new cupboards to be installed next week. “hey, c’mere a minute!”

He’d expected Edge to be pleased, he did like his flowers, heck, maybe even excited in that adorably subdued way he had, and much as Stretch could have done without any surprise packages from Ass-gore in their house, eh, he’d deal with it if they made Edge happy.

The last thing he anticipated was for Edge to stop cold halfway out the kitchen door, the fleeting expression of disgust crossing his face quickly shifting to blankness. Edge wasn’t exactly the most emotive guy out there, but Stretch was pretty good at reading his facial version of charades and right now there wasn’t so much as a twitch of the eye socket or a curl of his mouth as he said, low, “Please put that in the garage.”

“the garage?” Stretch repeated doubtfully. He looked down at the extravagant display of floral dominance in his hands and wondered if he’d heard that right. “you sure?

“Yes, because someone might notice if you put it right into the trash.” That blankness cracked, a little, enough for Edge to snap out, “Just get it out of the damn house!”

Yeah, okay, got that message loud and clear, especially since Edge was starting to look a little glowy around the hands, like he was considering a little impromptu, and violent, floral rearranging. Stretch grabbed up the offending bouquet before it could end up as target practice and shortcutted out into the garage.

Like the rest of the house, it was neat as a pin, no oil stains on this concrete floor and all the tools neatly put away on the pegboard. In the back corner was the motorcycle, shrouded in drop cloths and waiting for Edge to be able to take it out for a spin again. Didn’t seem like putting the flowers anywhere special was part of today’s theme, so Stretch stuffed the thing into the furthest spot, away from Edge’s car so he wouldn’t have to see it when he came out on his way to work tomorrow.

Job successfully achieved, Stretch dusted off his hands and teleported back inside. Edge was already gone from the living room, no surprise there, but he hadn’t gone back to the kitchen. A quick, not-at-all-frantic search found him sitting out on the front porch and that wasn’t really a surprise, either. But the cigarette in his hand? Now that blew past surprise all the way into flabbergasted shock. Far as Stretch knew, Edge hadn’t bummed a smoke in months, his general attitude towards smoking was distaste with extreme prejudice. It took a helluva lot for him to give into the urge for a quick fix to a nicotine craving. Whatever his issues were with the flowers, whether it was the gift or the person who sent them, they were bad.

“babe?” Stretch asked, cautiously, still hovering half in the house. As worried as he was, he wouldn’t push, ready to leave if Edge wanted to be alone.

Edge only shifted the cigarette to his other hand and patted the concrete next to him in silent invitation. A little relieved, Stretch came out and sat down. He dug his own cigarette out of the crumpled pack and the two of them sat hip to hip, quietly smoking. Overhead, the sky was endless sea of deep blue broken only by the occasional streak of a puffy cloud. A nice day, too nice for the unspoken questions hanging heavily in the air, but Stretch didn’t ask them. Edge would talk when he was ready and if he never was, welp, that was fine, too. Edge wasn’t the only one who could be supportive, Stretch was more than willing to take his turn under the weight.

It wasn’t until Edge tamped out his cigarette in the ashtray Stretch kept out on the porch that he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” Edge said finally. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“i think i’ll live, babe,” Stretch replied, dryly, “the wounds were superficial.” He gave Edge a gentle nudge in the side with his elbow. “you okay?”

Yeah, okay, that wasn’t pushing, thanks. Besides, it was a stupid question, because the answer was obviously going to be a ‘yes, fine’ and that’d be it.

Except that he didn’t get the obvious answer he expected.

“Not right now,” Edge said. His sockets were half-closed and instead of their yard, he seemed to be looking miles away. “I will be.” They sat in silence for a while longer, Stretch watching people walking by, waving as required and leaving Edge to his thoughts. He was lighting a second cigarette when Edge finally spoke again, softly. “Golden flowers.” The faint hitch in his voice could’ve meant nothing, if the person he was sitting with didn’t know him so well. “I haven’t seen real golden flowers in years.”

Stretch considered that. “i’m taking it they weren’t sorely missed.”

“Hm?” Crimson eye lights briefly flicked his way. “No, not at all. I hate the blasted things.”

Stretch only took a long drag and exhaled slowly, blowing a smoke ring up into that blue, blue sky. He didn’t ask or urge him to talk, simply being there if he chose to. And Edge did, slowly, as if choosing every word with care. “The only place in Underfell where golden flowers grew was the king’s chamber in New Home. My memories of that place are…not pleasant.”

Not pleasant. Yeah, like lava is a wee bit warmish or the Titanic sprung a little leak. Indisputable truths: water is wet, the sky is blue, grass is green, and any meeting with the king of all Monsters in Underfell was not pleasant.

The explanation made perfect sense, really; if Stretch’d had a minute to actually think about it instead of dividing his attention between ditching the flowers and then finding his wayward husband, he probably would have figured it out on his own. Perfect sense, yep, and that was why Stretch was torn between temptations. First, to grab Edge and hold him close, to keep him there in his arms and do whatever it took to chase away any of the mental ghosts that were creeping in, to be the protector for one damn time. And then there was the equal temptation to take that little flower arrangement on back to the source and see if he could find any handy place to stick it, because right now, he was ready to cram it so far up someone’s fuzzy buns that they’d need their dentist to help get it loose.

But Edge wouldn’t appreciate either of those options. All Stretch could do here was sit here, be here, and hope it was enough.

Stretch was so lost in his thoughts that he startled at the touch of a gloved hand as it settled gently over his bare one, sharp fingertips blunted by fabric lightly stroking his own. “He didn’t know, love. He mentioned to me in passing that he’d started working on floral arrangements again for the summer and that he’d be sending them out to Embassy employees, and I completely forgot.”

Trust Edge to know exactly what direction his thoughts were headed, right off the grid and into a little righteous revenge. Didn’t help that the things Stretch wanted to say to that excuse weren’t exactly helpful. Things like, Asgore should have been able to guess, homey reminders were only good for people who actually liked their past home, and maybe a reminder to pay some fucking attention to anything besides his own personal popularity contest was in order. Or how about suggestion for a visit to emphasis the whole ‘we don’t send my husband any gifts without pre-approval, asshole’.

None of those options were actually useful and either might actually get him banned from the Embassy this time, so Stretch kept ‘em to himself and only said, “i know.”

Then he let out a squawk as that gentle touch on his hand turned into a firm grip around his wrist and he was abruptly yanked over into Edge’s lap. He barely managed to put out his cigarette before it landed anywhere unpleasant. It took a little creative, and occasionally blatant, wriggling to get situated but in the end, he was settled across Edge’s femurs and snuggled in. His own hands were perfectly G-rated, Edge’s only slightly less so but it wasn’t like anyone on the street could see the hand he’d slipped under Stretch’s sweatshirt and settled over his sternum, right where his soul would manifest if he summoned it. Neither of them did, not yet, not out here in front of the broad daylight and the neighbors. The barest suggestion was enough for right now.

“I’m all right,” Edge murmured, and the warmth of his breath against the curve of his jaw was a tempting distraction. But Stretch wasn’t gonna forget to hand over a carefully selected piece of his mind to Asgore the next time he saw him.

Next time fuzzy ass wanted to send a present, he could stick with a gift card.

-finis

[bastillia]

Rough Landing

Part 2 of First Lesson

Summary: Commander Ren has a few more things to teach you.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 8.4k

Warnings: cockwarming, overstimulation, threats during intimacy, inappropriate use of the Force, oral sex (ROUGH, m receiving), unsanitary sex location, public(ish) sex, kinda exhibition kink, no aftercare, uhh bit of cumplay

A/N: Whew alright I know it’s been 3 months, but we’re picking up pretty much right where we left off. Thank you all SO much for the love on part 1. And huge thanks to my incredible friends who have supported me, beta read, and helped me conquer my stuck points. I couldn’t have pulled this through without y’all. Enjoy!

***

There was plenty to like about being in space. For one, it was absolutely quiet. 

Perfectly soundless. Unfathomably endless. In a way, the void between the stars had always been your perfect aegis; a blank slate to nurture everything you’d hoped to become. It held power in its silence, and possibility. It was calm, dark, vast-- it was home, for as much or little as you knew about the word. 

If you thought about it, living aboard the roving flagship of the First Order had always given your life more or less a perfect structure. Most of the time, you didn’t even mind the predictability of it. Your days were purposeful and productive. If, sometimes, just a little boring. But, that was okay--you liked the quiet.

And you were never ever taking it for granted again.

“Stop moving.” Kylo Ren’s voice broke through the growing rumble of the hull. It was only the sensation of gloved fingers tightening down into your hip bones that finally alerted you to the fact that you were squirming. Again. You grimaced.

"I'm trying." 

Friction from the gathering atmosphere punched the craft into a sharp rattle, and your heart struck your sternum as the controls lurched underneath your palms. Your fingers cinched down tight, the lack of circulation in your knuckles settling into a dull throb as you continued to wring the contoured grips, as if you could strangle some desperately needed assistance out of them that way.

Fuck.

Breathe.

You could do this, you just had to stay calm--think about home, about the tedium of whatever meeting was probably going on right now. About how all eyes would be on you if you were there, about the dumbstruck look on General Quinn’s face when you presented that fucking perfect dossier you’d compiled on some key New Republic official he’d been trying to track down for months.

Yes, think about that.

Not about the sweat beginning to break out across your skin, the unnerving rattling around you growing louder and louder. Not about what was still sheathed inside your twitching cunt, stretching you, demanding that your body yield to its presence.

Warm echoes of your last orgasm flared up with another clattering vibration of the atmosphere. It felt almost trapped within you, an electric refrain to the adrenaline melody that pounded your veins now. Your floor muscles quivered tight with it, eliciting an approving twitch from within your walls as Ren’s fingers flexed into the bruises on your hips. 

It was incredible, really. How time had begun to feel almost obsolete until now. It had passed abstractly in the quiet serenity of space as you’d sat filled to your limit, feeling nothing but the commander, his breathing, the omnipresent ache of his cock. Your world nothing but an aroused haze-- stirred every so often by a subtle buck of his hips, a kiss to your neck, hot breath in the hollow of your ear whispering don’t move, don’t you fucking move. Good girl. 

Your thoughts snapped back to the present with a vaguely wistful pang as the hull gave another violent shake. 

Atmospheric entry. What was that, week five? Six? Of the TIE pilot training program? It was on the phase-3 test, you were certain. And you’d put credits down that none of the novice pilots had ever experienced the added curriculum of a cock shoved inside of them.

A warning squeeze stilled another involuntary shift of your hips.

You gritted your teeth against your discomfort, instead trying to let the adrenaline form a whetstone to sharpen your senses.

Breathe.

You could do this. You were way beyond just some novice trooper, you were a fucking lieutenant general of the First Order.  And what did you do to earn that rank? You adapted. So, fucking adapt.

A jolt slammed the craft, and your muscles locked up as the head of Ren’s cock speared something tender and abused deep inside you. The ship squirreled under your grip, leaving you paralyzed as the movement of it set off every panic alarm in this new and untested region of your brain. Without missing a beat, two huge, leather-encased palms came up to wrap over your shaking hands, steadying you with remarkable certainty as they coaxed the vessel back under control. 

“Focus, lieutenant." There was almost an amused purr in Ren’s throat, his voice low and close, utterly lacking in any kind of concern. Your pulse gradually came back down, and with it, your fear curled into a flicker of annoyance. If he was going to mock you, he could at least use your proper title.

You know.

The one you’d worked your ass off for.

The drag of fingertips across the bare skin of your upper thighs jolted you. Your body felt hyper-sensitized, like the sudden touch ignited a cascade of fission that couldn’t seem to find equilibrium anywhere. It fractured your brittle composure in two, just as the roaring blaze around the viewport flared again with a powerful tremor that kicked your heart back up in a sudden panic. 

Sweat lined your palms, adrenaline congealing and turning to acid in your veins. You felt your nerve slip.

"Com-commander, s-sir, I--" 

A hum. “Control yourself.”

It was only two words, but each one cut through your rising panic like a blaster shot to the sternum, rattling you to a realization. 

Control. 

That was the test all along. He’d laid it right out in front of you, challenged you to a game with incredibly fucked up stakes, and he was drawing his hand. Taking a seat at a proverbial Sabacc table, stretching out his chest and waiting for you to either bet up, or lose your nerve. The ante was rising, piece by piece as he silently tested the parameters of your breaking point. 

But he wouldn’t find it. Not like this.

Fresh determination fixed your grip around the shaking controls. It was even enough to keep you from reacting this time when a dull pain lanced under your skin, his teeth catching a tender spot where he had marked your neck some time before. He growled. You tucked that card up your sleeve. 

“Decelerate.”

His tone had shifted quieter in a way that made your ears prick, snapping your attention away from the dull ache of your insides. It sort of stunned you, actually, into something of a quiet curiosity. 

His hand reached around you to swipe at a holopad on the console. An altimeter blinked to life, just before the soft heat of his lips returned to your ear.

“Drop to this zone.” He pointed to a region on the display. “Remain there until we get closer." 

Remnants of panic still swam somewhere in your blood, but you managed to draw a careful breath and nod your understanding. Your ante was still on the table, you told yourself. But perhaps he’d decided that challenging you could wait. For now.

Refocusing, you caressed the controls. The ship banked beautifully, intuitively at your will, before lurching a final time as the thrusters hit a stable layer of atmosphere. 

Beneath you, clouds floated in gossamer ribbons over the calm air, as tattered and thankful for its mercy as you felt. Farther down, the dim moonlight breathed monochrome shapes into being, half-swallowed by the murky vapor of shadow between them. Droplets condensed on the viewport as you dropped through the thin cloudbank, skittering shyly outwards and allowing the shapes to solidify into the oppressive grid of a cityscape.

Slowly, you could begin to make out vague details. Industrial sectors, shipyards, scrappy comms towers. The occasional twinkle of speeder headlights creeping between dilapidated buildings, and--

Your gaze snapped back to the holopad on the nav console, a deft swipe of your finger bringing up your coordinates. The planetary code blinked neutrally back at you, but the unmistakable string of numbers harpooned you with a bolt of clarity that had your ribs tightening down around your lungs. A question resurfaced from the bottom of your memory, curling up to slither coldly along the back of your neck. 

“Commander?”

“Hm.”

“Why, um--” You faltered. 

In truth, there was no reason for you to ask. The answer was already swimming around in your gut, acquainting itself with the sour feeling of dread that settled there. Waiting for your brain to analyze it while at the same time sitting in an insidious state of knowing that didn’t need to reach your head at all for you to feel its weight. 

You swallowed, and adjusted your grip. “Why a TIE fighter? Why didn’t we bring the command shuttle?” 

A pause. He reached around you, flicking a switch on the main console, and the Silencer’s headlights shuttered off with a resounding click. “We may need to leave quickly.”

For the first time since leaving the Supremacy, you felt something familiar settle inside of you. Deep and quiet, like the way sound doesn’t travel in space. It was the same, utterly instinctive feeling that took over every time you managed to get yourself in over your head-- when a negotiation turned volatile, when an unforeseen flaw surfaced in a mission strategy mid-execution. Those moments where the fixed parameters of your training ended, and the only thing left to take the pilot’s seat was your own intuition. 

But this time, there was something else there with it. It glowed within the powerful shroud of calm, thrumming quietly, filling you with something potent and restless and--exciting, that you couldn’t quite place.

Real, physical danger was not something you had much direct experience with. The various moral complexities associated with putting others up against it at your command, you had come to know well. But you were here now. Facing it in the flesh, not protected by the reinforced hull and ion cannons of a Star Destroyer. 

You were here, looking down on the dark streets of Corellia, a planet so lawless and foul and flat out fucking dangerous that the First Order had all but given up establishing a presence here long ago. Even the New Republic’s ties here were thin.

A tightness struck through your chest as you very suddenly realized that it was only a matter of time, now, before you were going to have to--

“Drop lower.” The commander shifted to tap something into the nav console. A flight course lit up the holopad, leading to a destination marker just a few klicks ahead. “Land here.”

The sector you entered seemed somehow even darker than the rest as you brought the Silencer down over the shadowed streets, hints of crumbling walls and rusted vents just barely illuminated by the occasional weak street lamp. No headlights, hardly any ground lighting--you were no ace pilot, obviously, and it took your full concentration just to maneuver the ship between the vague silhouettes of broken antenna towers, avoiding them where their spindly shadows jutted up from the rooftops. You jumped when Ren’s hands enveloped yours again.

“Right here.” He guided your hands, expertly swinging the craft around and into a hover above a dim alleyway, empty and lined on both sides with large, abandoned-looking industrial structures. Your pulse jumped. He released your hands, a finger drawing your attention to a switch on your right, then flicking it casually. “Landing gear.” 

The hull rumbled and thumped. An array of green lights flashed to life in what you could only assume was an indication of the ship’s readiness for landing. If only you felt the same. Your hands were frozen on the controls, your mind simultaneously racing and completely blank. You waited dumbly for guidance, heart hammering, shallow little breaths trapping themselves high in your throat. 

“Relax.” Ren’s voice permeated to your bones as both arms slid around your stomach, liquefying your fear into a trembling plea. 

“P-please, Commander, I d-don--” You cut off with a shiver when his lips met your neck, his hips beginning to rock in a slow, enunciated rhythm that had your cunt immediately bearing down with need as you felt him harden. “Fuck, p-please, I don’t know how t--... h-how to--”

Your eyes rolled back as a hand slid down between your legs, the leather pad of his finger finding your clit stiff and sensitive, its touch featherlight. A hum rumbled under your shoulders. “Your intuition, lieutenant. Feel it, don’t think.” 

Maker help you, there were a lot of things you could fucking feel right now. Namely, your commander’s cock slowly massaging your walls, lazy in its rhythm. Your grip on the controls banishing the circulation entirely from your knuckles. His fingers sliding down your slit, spreading as he reached the root of himself, shamelessly feeling the obscene way your body yielded to the thickness at his base. The lust that erupted low in your belly in response. The panic that was rising as you remembered your task, its sharp tendrils threatening to reach your head and overwhelm you. 

Control yourself.

A turbulent breath shook some air back into your lungs as your tiny inner voice of reason managed to surface again. Collecting yourself, you let it expand, pushing each distraction away one by one as it went. Focus, it reminded you. Remember the card up your sleeve, get through this round. 

You tethered your awareness to the ship, to the curve of the controls against your palms, to the way they extended like a continuation of your own neural circuits to command the sleek metal beast encircling you. A steady, downward press of your hands, and it purred its obedient response, settling slowly towards the ground below.

“Good girl,” Ren said. “Just like that.” 

There was something--a tiny flicker of mischief in the shadows of his voice. Maybe you would have caught it quicker, but your tunneled focus left you one fatal step behind him, too slow to anticipate his move. His hand shifted, easily finding your raw clit against his fingertip, and pressed down--hard.

Electric. Everything was electric. Your vision doubled, the shredded remnants of your nerves shorting out and screaming against the paralyzing flood of sensation, ripping a ragged gasp from the bottom of your lungs. Maker, don’t scream, don’t fucking-- 

A shift of his finger and your hips jerked, an involuntary movement of sheer desperation for escape that carried right through your whole body and into the ship.

One wing dipped to the side, and it was only the sharp trill of a proximity alarm that managed to blast through to what was left of your reflexes just in time. A curse cut the air through your lips, your shaking hands grappling the controls into a clumsy counter-correction that swayed the craft wildly as you wrestled it back to center. The rocking slowly stilled, the ringing in your ears no longer from the alarm, but your own pulse bludgeoning your temples. Ren simply chuckled, and released your clit.

“Commander.” A few rapid blinks cleared the blur from your vision, but oxygen was still painful through the panic in your chest, leaving you frustratingly breathless. “With all due respect, sir, do you want me to crash your ship?”

“You won’t.” The smirk was audible in his voice. “Or is my confidence in your aptitude misguided, lieutenant?” 

A slew of unkind words lashed themselves to your tongue, fighting for freedom with the fuel of indignation that scalded your throat like bile, but you swallowed both, smothering your thoughts into silence. Stay calm. Maintain control. You drew a tight breath. “No, sir.”

“Mm. Good.” He rocked his hips firmly up into you, and a pitiful little noise clutched in your throat. “Then land my ship, and perhaps your proficiency will be rewarded.”

Desire shot up your spine like a flare, igniting at the base of your brain and rocketing your thoughts clear past apprehension and ahead to the promise of relief. It was enough to allow bravery to wriggle back into your fingers, your hands finding the wherewithal to resume their task even as your lungs stalled in anticipation of another distraction. 

But none came. 

The relief that flooded you was immediate and powerful the second you felt solid ground settle under the landing gear. The hull groaned around you as the craft came to a full rest, wheezing like a fathier after a hard gallop, and you, its master, just thankful to have survived the race. But there was one more hurdle for you.

“You know this part.” Ren gestured vaguely to the console, still alive with various lights and indicators, many of which, no, you certainly did not know anything about.

Your eyes darted back and forth a few times before it hit you. Of course. The ignition sequence.

Presumably, to shut the fighter down, you would just need to… to do it backwards? That seemed like the logical course of action, at least. Stars, how long ago had you even taken off? The Supremacy already felt like a faint memory, the edges of its shape scattered through a hazed prism, each facet reflecting nothing but incandescent pleasure and the blinding heat of Kylo Ren. 

But you had to remember. This was--you hoped--the final test, and there was no way you were going to fail. Maker, what was wrong with you, you were better than this, just think. The last thing he turned on had been…

Thrusters.

Right console, three switches. Bring all of those down. The roar of the ion engines quieted, taking the vibration of the hull down to a faint rumble. Okay, good, next was--

Ignition. Yes, ignition: off. Much quieter now, and stars, when was the last time you breathed? Fucking breathe. Okay, next. 

Compressor: disengaged. Auxiliary last.

Everything went black as you killed the main power. Your breathing seemed to echo around in the stillness of the cockpit, your cunt twitching to life in acknowledgment of what was now pressing harder than beskar steel against your guts, amplified by the darkness. It was almost as if the power from the ship had never really shut down, but simply transferred into your own body instead, flicking your ignition switch and bringing your arousal roaring back to life with a vengeance.

Every line of the commander’s body against you was lighting up your awareness, filling the sensory void with his presence, the unbearable stillness of him. What had he meant when he said he’d reward you? You’d learned his lesson, yes, and passed every fucked up test he’d thrown at you to prove it. For that, you could commend yourself. 

But if there was one lesson more poignant than the rest, one that now stuck like thermal sludge to every crevice of your understanding, it was that his next move could come at any moment--and not always in a way you could anticipate. 

This seemed like one of those moments.

A shift of his chest under your shoulders made you jump, one arm reaching up somewhere you couldn’t see to flick a control, and the hatch cracked open with a hiss. The night air flooded the cockpit, all but drowning your racing thoughts as it drew in like a cool sigh to kiss the heat in your cheeks. Your head fell back, lungs gratefully accepting the damp and oddly foreign relief of atmospheric oxygen, even as the scent of it stuck in your mouth. It was thick, leaden with rain and crude fuel, but you hardly cared. It felt divine.

Beneath you, an impatient grunt and a single squeeze to your thighs brought you back to the present with a tiny flicker of alarm. 

“Out.” 

Your muscles froze. 

“But, I--” Whatever you might have expected out of this moment, that was possibly the last thing you could have prepared for, and your brain was fumbling spectacularly in an attempt to process the one word. 

Did he actually mean that? Was this another test? You didn’t even feel like you could move right now, let alone clamber out of the ship with your whole body aching and clenching as it was. And you were so full, and he was so hard, and now you were nearly trembling with need and--

And you took too long to act. 

Wide hands locked around your waist, and then everything shifted--he was picking you up. Holy shit he was strong, he hoisted you upwards in one effortless motion, throwing your world into a blur. The only thing you distinctly registered through your disorientation was the feeling of his hard cock pulling along your tired walls, finally popping free for you to flutter and clench around nothing for a moment before your bare ass came down on the lip of the cockpit. 

Cold metal bit your flesh, a harsh and unforgiving contrast to the warm lap you’d grown accustomed to. Fuck, everything was dark. But hearing him shift underneath you had you hurriedly swinging your legs around to jump down.

And... the ground was a lot farther down than you thought. 

You landed hard. Hard enough for your knees to buckle, and you stumbled against the hobble around your thighs in a clumsy attempt to keep yourself upright. But before you could lose your balance you were moving again, being yanked by the arm and slammed back hard against the ship.

A huge, black mass crowded in on you, looming and pressing you back against creaking durasteel, the metal still warm under your shoulders as the ship settled from flight. Your heart slammed against the commander’s advance, eyes darting through shadow. 

In the span of a shared breath, his mouth crashed down on yours, open and wanting and hungry in the darkness, and everything inside of you detonated.

The heat of his mouth was dizzying. You mewled into it, the feeling of him so strong and warm and everywhere, tugging at your hips, tongue sliding past your teeth. Your hands gravitated upwards for any leverage they could find just to pull him closer, to taste him deeper. A low, rumbling sound scraped the bottom of his chest and two huge hands encircled your wandering wrists, easily plucking them off of their feverish course and slamming them up beside your shoulders instead. 

His exploration of your mouth grew brazen as he pinned you open, crushing you against unyielding steel, even taking a moment to suck at your bottom lip before his hot tongue was licking deep into you again, stealing your breath and coaxing soft sounds from your chest in its wake. 

An immobilizing sensation locked your arms in place, keeping them tight against the ship even as his touch slid along your arms and around to the front of your torso. The extra sensations hardly even registered through the feeling of his mouth on yours until you realized you still couldn’t move while he was cupping your face with one hand, the other leather-encased palm flattening over the confines of your uniform, squeezing at the soft swell of your breasts hidden beneath. 

A low growl into your mouth, a shift of pressure up your sternum, and then his fingers found and curled over your pressed collar. With one purposeful tug, the material popped open, and you gasped.

"Commander," you broke the kiss, your head spinning as his breath immediately blazed against your neck instead. His movements were impatient, uncharacteristically clumsy in their urgency as you felt the material of your top continue to separate all the way down to your cleavage. “Commander, w-we--”

Fuck, it was impossible to think, everything in your brain felt thick with a vibrating fog. You could feel tiny points of rational thought trying to take form, trying to remind you of where you were, of why this was risky. But they were like infant stars peeking through a hungry nebula, unable to solidify before being swallowed again. 

"Fuck, w--” His tongue slowly rode the curve of your jaw, and stars, what were you even going to say? “W-we sho-shouldn’t-" 

“Shouldn’t what?” he purred, smooth fingertips trailing slowly down the bare plane of your sternum and sliding under the open edge of your coat.

A soft whine was all you could muster, broken thoughts dissolving on your tongue the moment he cupped the curve of your breast and scooped it free of your neckline, pushing the fabric aside to let your nipple peak up against the open air. 

The empty street was quiet enough that your breaths seemed to ricochet as they tripped softly over each other, sliding along the walls of the alley and joining the soft buzz of a flickering street lamp farther down. Stars, anyone could be listening-- watching, for all you knew. In a city like this, it was impossible to anticipate the stakes. Rife with the sorts of creatures who took refuge in shadow, even the darkness seemed to betray you, leaving every inch of exposed skin glowing as if the dim moonlight had suddenly adopted all the strength of a Tatooine sun. 

Your heart raced. You scrambled to clutch at the caution left within yourself, for any remaining instinct that would tell you that this was wrong, that you shouldn’t be going along with this. 

But you found no purchase. Your inhibitions were dissolving through your fingers-- dwarfed in Kylo Ren’s shadow, smothered under his hands, the power of his presence atomizing any need for your guarded reluctance and casting it into obsolescence. 

And as you surrendered, suddenly every eye that might be watching, every ear that could be tuned to your pleasure just around a shadowed corner, was like a hit of fucking spice. The thrill of it arched your back, coaxed bolder sounds from your chest that bounced daringly off of the bullet-scuffed duracrete to fade into the darkness of the alley.

Ren gave voice to it first, a growl breaking through the roar between your ears. 

“You’re enjoying this, lieutenant.” A swift yank of your undershirt revealed both of your tits to the damp air, and the chill of it settled wonderfully on the thin sheen of sweat that had gathered under your stiff uniform. The sigh that melted through your lips was as much confirmation as you could provide him. 

“Filthy thing.” His voice was a darkened hiss as he roughly took both of your breasts in his hands. “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you? Right here in the fucking street.” 

There was no doubt that he could sense the pleasure soaking your thoughts with every passing second, the heat coiling up through your body, breaking you into soft trembles against the solid seams of durasteel.

Stars, this was wrong. 

But there was something about it--about being pinned up, shameless, tits bared and groped in the middle of a dirty Corellian backstreet like some cheap outer rim whore, that had you feeling freer and fucking hotter than you ever had in your life.

Yes.

He could do anything. Take anything. And right now, you’d fucking give it to him. 

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, head nodding in desperate submission as your fingers wiggled against their invisible bonds. It was like your body was coming alive for the first time, finally catalyzed to its transition state, now burning and shifting and begging silently for him not to fucking stop touching you. 

“I want to know, little whore--” His hand spread over your bare collarbones, the wide junction of a thumb and forefinger pressing the base of your windpipe. A gasping little moan left you as his lips brushed your jugular, heat striking up through your belly and all the way into your neck when his other hand urged your thighs apart to tease your slit. "I want to know just how far you can take me down this pretty throat."

Everything in you shuddered, and your unrelenting bonds were probably all that held you up against the sudden lack of support that your knees offered. Kylo Ren pressed the tip of one thick finger inside you, barely curling at your soaked entrance. 

“Do you think you can swallow my cock, lieutenant?”

“Fuck. Yes, yes sir, please.” The breathless response left you before you even registered what you were saying, so thick was the need enshrouding your brain. It muddled your hearing, put everything else on a sensory delay to the pulsing heat that slid down and coiled up in your core.

And that’s why you almost didn’t catch the gritted command before the strong presence of his body suddenly drew away from you, leaving your head spinning. 

“Get on your knees.”

The Force evaporated from around your forearms. The loss of physical support nearly made you buckle, your body sagging against the fighter and leaving you to clutch at a ridge of metal for balance. You’d heard him, vaguely, but your brain still felt spectacularly slow. You were having trouble remembering which way was up, blinking against the low light, and the small hesitation was enough. 

In a flash of movement, his saber cleared the clip on his belt, cracking the air in two as it ignited in his hand and leveled to heat your neck. 

"Now.”

For a second, everything was extraordinarily still. Your lungs, your mind, even the faint drizzle of mist seemed to suspend in the air, vaporize around the searing plasma, and equilibrate into a deathly quiet.

The red aura vibrated in your immediate periphery, engulfing your retinas and casting everything around it in near-total blackness, unwavering in its proximity as the cold street pressed your knees. 

A very marked shift took place in the state of your awareness as you knelt, waiting-- feeling. Everything was hazy and warm before, but now. Oh, now, everything was hot, and sharp. 

The snap of plasma echoing through the empty street sounded somehow both hushed and magnified. The gravelly bite of duracrete into your knees was both painful and electrifying. And all you could do was sit here and accept the way Kylo Ren drank you in, just hold absolutely still and let the tip of the saber rotate to your front, the light of it illuminating your bare chest.

And, fuck. Oh, fucking Maker-- 

You were wet. 

Every beat of your heart was an enunciated hit to your core, giving your arousal a wicked edge that cut into every last molecule of your body. Your cunt ached more with every pulse, and yet Ren just held there, his breaths shaking the damp air between you as he gazed at your naked tits under the light of a weapon that could kill you in half an instant.

You were possessed, the danger and thrill of it flooding your skin with intoxicating fire, and in a moment of what might have been either immense bravery or unfathomable stupidity, your hand began to move. 

Very, very slowly, it pulled along your belly, fingers twitching to splay downwards. The saber heated your knuckles, following as you guided it all the way to the apex of your thighs, where you paused. And then you sat back on your heels, spread your knees as far as they would go, and curled your hips forward, letting the crimson light gleam off of the wet shine of your cunt. 

“Fuck,” Ren rasped from the shadows, something delirious and urgent unearthing itself from the gravel of his voice. Somewhere beyond the snapping hum of the blade, you heard the slick sound of leather moving over flesh. “Fuck- touch yourself. Sh-show me--”

But you were already moving. Your fingers slid into the wet heat of your folds, tender with arousal, the flesh plumped up from abuse. You dragged your slick all over yourself, spreading for him, pulling up to circle your neglected clit and letting out a soft sigh at the relief that saturated you in a deluge. 

The cool air did little now to temper the exquisite heat that flooded your body as you pleasured yourself openly for him, whimpering when you felt a familiar swell prime itself deep within you. It brightened with every practiced curl of your fingers, blooming outwards to rival the lightsaber that illuminated you steadily, and it wasn’t long before your thighs began to clench, your hips rocking against the movement of your hand while heady gasps punched your chest, that luminous heat coming closer and closer to a blinding apex.

You began to flutter, tightening with closeness, but the blade shot up under your chin, freezing you in the one movement. 

“Don’t cum.” 

Your heart slammed in your throat, every muscle locking into place where it was. You could feel errant sparks biting your skin, daring you not to move or speak.

And then darkness swallowed you, a hiss of steam resounding as the saber abruptly disengaged. The lingering imprint of it marred your sight, and you gasped when the whirl of movement in front of you turned into a large hand snaking into your hair, hips crowding your face, and the warm, solid length of Kylo Ren’s cock pressing against your cheek. 

You whined, stiff muscles liquefying as you turned your mouth towards it, moisture already welling under your tongue. But his fingers tightened at your scalp, stopping you.

“See what you do to me, little thing?” 

His other hand gripped around his base, letting the weight of his cock thump against your cheek once, twice. Fuck, he was so hard, and if you thought he was big before, it was even more obvious now that he was pressed right up against your face, so close to the soft heat of your mouth.

You nodded and whimpered, letting your cheek brush against his erection, still damp with your own slick. He rocked his hips forward, and the sheer breadth of his stature dwarfed you as he pressed in closer, until your face tilted and your jaw rested up against the hard plane of his adonis belt. Heat seeped into your cheekbone, radiating from the saber hilt strapped deftly back to his hip, like a warm sun to the earth and smoke of his body. 

An absolutely crippling wave of desperation crashed through you then, pulling an audaciously loud moan up tight through your chest that morphed into a pitifully sobbed out, “Please.” 

The hand in your hair gave a firm tug until you were looking straight up his torso, the glint of his eyes just visible to your adjusting sight. He held you there, his strength commanding, voice slipping like dark matter through his vocal cords when he spoke. 

“Are you going to let this whole filthy fucking city hear what a little whore you are?” He rocked your head back and forth by your hair, turning your neck muscles to liquid. “Begging for my cock?” 

You bit your lip, too far gone to deny or assent. Perhaps caution would still be the smart thing, but stars--you didn’t fucking care any more. You’d let every wretched street rat on Corellia hear you beg for him, if it came down to it right now. 

Not trusting yourself to answer verbally, you simply let your mouth fall open so that your wet tongue could drag over the tiny slip of exposed skin above his groin, never once taking your eyes off of his shadowed face. Your reward was a thick groan and a twitch of his cock by your cheek, shooting a hot spasm into your core. Ren huffed out a tense breath. 

“Keep that fucking mouth open.”

He drew back and pumped himself, long and slow right in front of your obediently waiting tongue, black glove squeezing almost too roughly along his shaft until a thick bead of pre cum wept from his slit. Your brow pinched upwards as saliva pooled behind your bottom lip, threatening to drip down onto the duracrete, seep into a blaster hole and add to the memory that this roughened street would keep of you, so soft and wanting, incongruous next to its grit.

Ren stepped forward, obliterating your thoughts as finally, finally, he rested his thick head on your tongue, removing his own hand and letting you test the full weight of him in your mouth. Your moan was almost a sob when you closed your lips and dragged your tongue across his frenulum, letting him feel you, swirling the pre cum from his tip before sliding him deeper into the hot depths of your mouth. 

“Fuck, good girl,” he hissed, resting both hands in your hair, but not controlling. You took him another inch, tongue working to lubricate your path, satisfaction unfurling when his chest heaved at the feeling. The taste of him shot a primal fire through you, equal parts sharp and masculine, the remnants of your own cum leaving a tang on your taste buds. 

Arousal careened through your belly, and you couldn’t help but dip your hand between your thighs, fingers finding your clit stiff and sensitive as your tongue passed over a thick vein.

But he caught your movement, and your hands were immediately wrenched upwards by an invisible strength, both wrists flying up and into the waiting grip of Ren’s palms. You squeaked.

“Impudent thing,” he growled, and wrapped your smaller hands around the base of his cock, securing your grip with a warning squeeze before carding his fingers into your hair again. “Keep them there.” 

You gave a tiny nod and a shallow whimper, briefly mourning for your aching clit yet almost instantly distracted again by a twitch of his shaft on your tongue. Relaxing your jaw, you took him further, letting him begin to feel the tight silk of your throat.

“Fuck--” every muscle in Ren’s body seemed to go rigid enough to rival the durasteel frame of his ship, and his fingers clenched tighter into your hair. “Yes, take it--” he hissed as you slipped back an inch and enveloped him again, relaxing to take him deeper.

You found a steady rhythm like this, gradually acclimating to the feeling of intrusion. It became a little easier with each appreciative sound you drew from the commander, arousal permeating your body’s natural defenses and slackening them, even as your throat began to protest the moment you got about halfway down his cock.

But as hard as you tried to ignore the sensation of breathlessness, your lungs still screamed for air. You got maybe eight or nine good strokes in before your lips drew off of him with an obscene pop, slick hands taking over to work his length while you gasped a few starved breaths. 

It would have been easy to stay like this, jaw slack, lips plump and wet, simply marveling at the hard and beautifully flushed appendage in your palms. But then a finger tapped twice under your chin, breaking your daze with a wordless command that struck an immediate response--your eyes flicked up. 

“Are you determined to test my doubts in your capabilities, lieutenant?” He laid a flat palm under your jaw and ran his thumb over your blushed lips, leather slipping lewdly over saliva. “Or must I teach you everything?”

Your heart struck your pelvic floor, dread and excitement charging up like a shot from a plasma cannon. “N-no. I--” Heat surged into your face. “I me-mean, I, uh--” Fuck, it was stupid to think you were somehow out of hot water. He expected more. Always, always, expected more, and now you were going to have to play your cards carefully. You swallowed against the thundering of your pulse. “I c-can take it, Commander, ple-please--”

“Can you?” He wiggled your jaw slightly in his palm, face tilting until a sliver of moonlight slanted across it like a translucent scar. You tensed, resisting the urge to shrink. “Or should I have selected someone more adequate?”

The plasma charge inside you flared, fusing atoms of dread into something deadlier with the affront. Your teeth gnashed, tension breaking your body into trembles under the strain of caution. “N-no, sir.” A muscle in his face twitched. “Please, I was... I w-was just--”

“Perhaps I should return you to General Quinn,” he said. “I’m sure he would be more than accepting of such inferior talents--”

You lunged, and in a single, smooth stroke, you swallowed his cock straight to the base, your body heaving its protest with a soundless convulsion.

A noise strangled in Ren’s throat, and a firm hand slid around the nape of your neck to hold you there, gagging and completely stripped of any capacity for breath. 

It probably would have been too much for you to handle, were it not for the hot sparks of indignation that quickly soldered each fissure in your resolve. Each one forced you to soften, to accept the agonizing incursion, if nothing else just to prove that you could. 

Relax.

Tears welled as you glanced up, funneling all of your willpower into sacrificing your need for breath. Movement was impossible with him holding you there, but the huge hand on the back of your neck spasmed, and your opportunity struck.

Doe-eyed, you gazed up and swallowed, letting your pharynx flex and ripple around the thick head of him just as hot tears spilled over to soak your cheeks, and one hand curled around to cup him by the balls.

You could almost hear something in him snap with the choked roar he let out, and it made your chest swell even as both of his hands coiled roughly into your hair and locked your head back. You met his stare, fire in your own, and gave him a challenging squeeze. In less than a second, your hands were no longer your own, seized by the Force and shackled down to your thighs, just before his hips drew back and oxygen smacked your lungs with a less than pretty sound. 

He gave you no time to recover before his cock was gagging you again, his rhythm punctuated and slow, each thrust forcing submission from your body. Gravel shifted under your knees as you trembled with all of the muscular tension that you redirected away from your jaw, the coarse pain of it serving as a welcome diversion from the intense sensation of having your throat fucked.

Relax. Control yourself.

Wetness began to streak your face, tears and saliva converging on your chin, and the vague thought shimmered in the back of your mind as to what you must look like right now: a slutty mess completely at your commander’s mercy, drawing choked breaths only when he allowed it, tongue fluttering soft and wet under his thick shaft while your clit fucking throbbed between your legs. But from the broken sound that Ren let out as he watched another violent gag roll through you, you’d have thought it was the hottest thing he’d ever witnessed. 

His grunt bottomed out into a snarl as one hand slid out of your hair, his palm turning outwards while two of his fingers began to curl in a salacious motion.

The fluid sensation of the Force coiled and rippled across your clit at his command, its motions just like your own fingers but even better, making your eyes nearly roll back in your skull. Ren gave a knowing hum as your moan was choked down into your throat by another thrust of his cock, and a bend of his fingers sent a toe-curling rumble over your swollen bundle of nerves. 

“That’s it, lieutenant.”

The sound of his voice slid down your body, settling low in your belly where your orgasm was starting to simmer again. Even the ache in your jaw began to meld into your pleasure, making your head swim and buzz with the renewed promise of climax.

Ren’s breathing started to crack and falter, coming in half-formed curses through his ribs as he continued to steadily fuck your mouth, and it was clear that he must have been leaning on the edge of closeness for some time as well. You could feel it in the way his cock pulsed on your tongue, the way his stomach began to tense and flex.

Fuck, the thought of it--Kylo Ren, this grand enigma steeped in poise and brutality, a man who could obliterate life with a flex of his hand, was about to pull you apart by the threads, shatter you into pleasure with that same power and cum down your fucking throat. 

The wave of arousal that slammed you was almost maddening, and it was all you could do to flatten your tongue over your teeth and swallow thickly around his cock once more before everything was coiling up tight and fast inside you. 

His voice shot you to the precipice with a gritted out, “Fucking whore, let me f-feel you cum--”

There was a moment before it hit, like the way a seismic charge pulls in all of the sound around it into a single devastating point, and then with a choked sob you shattered, pulses of ecstasy ripping through your body while your cunt spasmed and wept its bliss onto the street with each unrelenting surge of the Force at your clit, wringing convulsions from you until you began to shake from the intensity of your orgasm.

You blinked the fresh tears from your eyes just in time to see Ren snarl above you, jaw tight and hips stuttering as the tension in his body threatened to snap, echoing in a rough pull of your hair. Pain seared your scalp as he pulled you off of his cock just in time for the first jets of his release to coat your tongue.

He groaned, a harsh sound that rivaled your surroundings in its sheer impurity, and he wrenched your head back further, working his length while thick ropes hit your open, gasping mouth, splattering your lips and chin with his bitter taste. He was grunting, swearing, panting through clenched teeth, and then--

Your name. Not your title, not a mocking belittlement of your rank, but your name, cracked through his lips, a desperate sound half-buried in the delirious stream of filth.

Before you could even process what you just heard, he sharply released your hair and stepped back, your invisible restraints dissipating and leaving you to crumple over on yourself, gasping and trembling and painted in cum. 

Slowly, through the ring of pleasure and shock in your ears, you rubbed your sore jaw, before using your fingers to gather the warm mess around your lips. But just when you were about to slip them into your mouth, his voice stopped you, a graveled whisper from the shadows.

“Look at me.”

Breathless, you looked up, suddenly conscious of how plump and stained your face felt as the cool air began to dry the tears on your cheeks. Ren had already adjusted himself to decency, but your walls still fluttered with aftershocks of pleasure at the sight of his huge stature, swelling with deep breaths like a sated, black tide under the moon. You gazed at him in the dim light, holding his stare while you dipped your slippery fingers into your mouth and dutifully sucked the cum off of them, admittedly letting your tongue lick out along your knuckles just a little more than you probably needed to. 

Ren’s nostrils flared, and he took a few strides in your direction. When his hand came out towards your face you flinched, but he simply curled his fingers under your chin and slowly passed his thumb over a spot on your cheek that you had missed, expressionless as he pushed it through your parted lips. He watched you like this for the smallest moment before he drew away again.

Your mind felt blank; wiped and recalibrated by the staggering intensity of whatever your life had become over the past few hours. Exhaustion settled on you with the weight of a freighter. The one thing still tethering you to reality was the sensation of oxygen drawing in and out of your lungs, sweeter now than it had ever felt in your life despite the taste of grease and rust in the air. 

Stiffly, you began to readjust your clothing, pulling your undershirt and coat back over your breasts before beginning the painful process of climbing to your feet. As shaky and sore as they were, your legs somehow supported you, and you managed to wrestle your pants back up over the curve of your ass, only fumbling a little to secure them around your waist. 

For some reason it was only after you were covered again that you even thought to look around the alley, a brief pang of fear seizing your ribs, but it was just as still as when you’d landed. Just as empty, just as quiet. Maybe even moreso.

You glanced back around to Ren where he stood by the connecting beam of the ship’s wing, still and ruminative, a sleek device raised in his hand. After a moment, he pressed a button and spoke into it.

"Report."

A crackle of static peeled through.

“Have eyes, dropping in,” you could faintly hear the voice on the other end say, and a spear of alarm jabbed you back to sudden alertness. Ren's eyes flicked to you, his face stone. 

“Clear to land,” the commander returned through the commlink, before tucking it back into his pocket. 

Your heart pumped uneasily against your ribs, your face surely a canvas of confusion. Ren cast you a blank look before grabbing a metal ridge on the ship and smoothly disappearing into the cockpit again. 

Okay, this was getting unnerving. But the whine of an engine snapped your attention to the sky, where a standard-issue TIE fighter was descending with predatory swiftness upon the alley, its headlights killed, swooping into a hover just behind Ren’s Silencer. Half-shielded by the wing already, you recoiled instinctively into the shadow of it, as if you could find safety in the way it jutted forward like a protective talon.

You jumped when heavy boots hit the ground next to you again, looking up to see a masked Kylo Ren. He watched the other fighter land, standing silently as its cockpit popped open with a whisper of hydraulics. A shadowed figure leapt out, and you took a few steps backwards as it strode in your direction, vaulting the wing-support beam of the Silencer in a smooth motion before coming to a halt in front of the commander.

“Ren,” a dusky voice rasped through the tinny filter of a vocoder. He was masked as well, similar yet altogether different from the commander he addressed; rougher-looking, shrouded in strange black armor. As you stared, his head quirked, the mask tilting to settle on you. “Who’s this?”

[kikilefangirl]

Worthy of Admiration

Bucky Barnes x Reader

(Word Count: 1644)

As you pulled up to your apartment complex, nothing was seemingly out of place.

Miss Marcia sat next to her open window watching the neighborhood kids run through the grass. Suge and his boys from down the way whistled as you walked past. The usual.

But as soon as you made it up the steps, you paused. Something didn’t feel right. You were suddenly more aware of the knife burning a hole in your pocket.

“Monty!” You called out and he came almost immediately.

“Take these to your Mama, tell her it was no problem.” You said. You didn’t hear his reply.

You hand him your grocery bags, never taking your eyes off of your apartment door further down the hall. You take light, cautious steps. Turning your key with one hand, you rest the other on your knife.

As soon as the door clicked, a metal hand reached for your throat. You sidestepped, feeling the air whizz past you. You lunged at your attacker, but he was fast. His flesh arm reeled back, landing a harsh blow to your side. You slashed his forearm before he could get to you fully.

It caught him off guard long enough for you to kick him in the ribs. It gave you just enough time to retreat to your kitchen. A collection of knives and guns awaited you.

You were prepared for a moment like this.

You focused your energy, calling out all the weapons in your possession. A dagger whistled towards you and you caught it in mid-air. A dagger to go with your knife. The metal man was on you, his gun in hand.

You threw the dagger, digging it in his shoulder. As soon as you let it fly, you focused on his gun, you could feel its mechanics and jammed it from where you were.

Your knife clattered to the ground in the process, though. Hand to hand then. A block. Metal hand incoming. Dodge. Dishes and plates rocked and clashed all around you.

You matched his pace blow for blow. Learned his movements. He favored no arm or leg, not even the metal one. Military grade equipment. Very well trained.

You noticed the details. You were holding your own against the stronger, faster, bigger man solely because of the details of his weaponry. That was your mutation. Weapons. The strategy was purely years of training.

Then you slipped up. The sound of children laughing and running up and down the hall took you by surprise.

No, don’t come up here, you wanted to scream.

As soon as your attention drifted from him, the man seized the opportunity. He had his hands on your throat. You were slowly sinking and black spots dotted your vision.

Just then, another man busted through the door, and pushed your attacker off of you. The two wrestled on your living room floor, but you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

Then everything went black.

                                                        ...

“A fake ID, no prints, and an arsenal of weapons in every room.” Natasha sounded off. She stared at your sleeping form through the observation deck in the Tower’s Med Bay.

Bucky frowned at that. The mystery woman he’d gone after and attacked as the Winter Soldier. The details were fuzzy, but he remembered some parts. From what he gathered, she lived completely off the grid. For good reason if she had Hydra out to get her.

Tony swaggered into the room, and made a beeline for Steve, whose worried gaze alternated between Bucky and the woman. He was used to the stares from everyone; he deserved them.

“Spangles, for some reason Terminator over there-,”Tony gestured to Bucky on the opposite end of the room, “almost you know, to our Jane Doe and here’s the best part, minimal damage.”

His words hung in the air, and Bucky drew his lips in a tight line. He found his own gaze drifting towards her, full of concern. He rubbed his temple.

“What are we looking at, here?” Steve let out at last. Bucky scolded himself for not asking that question himself.

Reality sunk in when no one could answer him.

                                                        ...

“You took a lot of hard hits, yesterday.”

At the sound of the deep voice, your eyes fluttered open against the harsh white light. Hospital. You tried to sit up all the way, but a metal handcuff bit into your wrist. You grimaced and finally looked up and the man.

You tried to scramble backwards at the sight of your attacker, but you were still cuffed.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” The man backed away and held his hands up.

You made no moves, but watched him carefully. His metal hand was still very much a threat. You ghosted a hand over the bruise it gave you. You took a ragged breath and licked your lips. Chapped. If not for the morphine drip, everything would hurt. Nope. You were in no condition to deal with the outside world. If you left, now, you were as good as dead.

“My name is Bucky. I’m sorry I attacked you,” He started.

It seemed genuine, but as you thought back to Metal Man, you realized who he was and why he was so familiar. The Winter Soldier. Hydra. You tried not to make a face.

“I wasn’t in control of myself. You’re safe, you’re at Avengers’ Tower.” He said frantically.

Holding your body weight up for so long on your own was beginning to take a toll. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. You swallowed hard. It hurt the roof of your mouth because it was so dry, like sandpaper.

You spied a glass of water on the nightstand next to you, so you reached for it. You came up short, but luckily enough Bucky picked up on your actions. He handed you the water and helped you get back in the bed.

You guzzled it down as soon as it touched your lips. Not long after did a familiar voice chime in.

“Well shit, I thought I taught you better than this.”

Both your heads snapped up to see none other than Nick Fury at the door. In a flash, a butterfly knife was sailing through the air. You willed it away from Bucky’s head, and chose to lodge it on the handcuffs.

The chain snapped and you sat up. The pain in your ribs flared, but at least you weren’t chained to the bed anymore.

“Wanna trade, old man?” You said, rubbing your wrist.

Fury let out a laugh and squinted with his good eye. You picked up your clothes, and scoured through the bag they were in.

“And you two...know each other?” Bucky jumped in.

“Oakland. I was seven. Mutants don’t get to live squeaky clean, especially young black ones.” You told them.

You soften at the mention of your younger self. How young and vulnerable you were when Fury found you. You’d been on Hydra’s radar ever since, running ever since.

Your grip on your bag of clothes tightened. You’d had a run in with the Winter Soldier before. You got lucky, back then. And again, it seemed. You bit your lip.

To his credit, Bucky noticed your change in mood.

“Stay here.” He suggested. You met his apologetic eyes. He was serious about you staying, and making up for what he did.

“If I wanted to be a part of a group, y’all wouldn’t be my first call, no offense.” You said. Fury scoffed and his good eye narrowed into a slit. He didn’t comment, though.

You were a mutant who wanted to live your life on your terms, not as a spectacle. You let out a sigh.

“When the doctor clears me I’ll be a ghost.” You stated. You were more so talking to Bucky than Fury. He knew full well you weren’t a team player.

“Next time don’t get rusty,” He called out, tossing you a wad of cash. You nodded in thanks, but Fury just waved his hand and walked out. That was just how he was.

It was just you and Bucky, again.

For how massive he was, the man had an innocence about him, it was almost childlike. But there was years worth of weariness, too. And guilt. A product of Hydra, and decades of a corrupted purpose as the Winter Soldier.

You decided Bucky was a weary man who was doing his very best to live in spite of it all.

“Cheer up, comrade,” You told him with a hand on the crook of his neck, “You’ll still have me for a few more days. Until the doc clears me.”

You shot him a dazzling smile and laughed to yourself when he turned a bright pink. He stammered through his reply so much you felt bad, and let him be.

But as he got up to leave, his eyes dulled. He really wanted you to stay and redeem himself for his actions. You couldn’t say it wasn’t admirable.

You twirled the knife in your hands, in one combination after the other. Bucky had blown up your hiding spot. Hydra was without its best asset and would probably be gunning for new ones. People like you.

You clicked your tongue. You could do with a life fully funded by Tony Stark himself, in the most secure building you’d ever been in.

“It’s too hot out there for me, right now. I might need a place to stay until it’s safe to move.” You said.

Bucky nodded and gave you a small smile.

“Can I ask your name, now?” You blinked at the question.

You’d lived so long without anyone, that you hadn’t even considered revealing any true information about yourself. No introductions, no goodbyes. Bucky could probably relate to that.

“Y/N.”

It felt good to say your name out loud. You surveyed the room around you. The faces of the men and women pretending they weren’t watching your exchange with Bucky.

You tilted your head and surveyed your new knife. Your nostrils flared at your collection left behind in your apartment. Oh, you’d be staying alright.

Reeling back you threw the weapon at your observation window. Successfully sticking, the knife was directly in line with Tony Stark’s head, if not for the window.

“Stark! I want my knives back!”

[brahkest-fr]

Fuckin uhhh Taro musings and Janus is there

Taro flicked his tail, brushing gently against Janus’ leg who was at the moment spacing out over a stack of dishes messily smeared with this night’s takeout dinner.

“Here I’ll wash those,” he grabbed the stack and moved over to the sink.

His ivory hair was down and ruffled as was its usual state after a night of drinking and going out on the town in drag. He grabbed it up in a clean, tight bun and tied it back, a few strands hanging down the sides of his face. He adjusted his tube dress that was probably a little too short and not so comfortable for chores. He let the sink run and fill up, soapy water engulfing his wrists. He looked back at Janus who simply stood staring with his usual sparkling eyes that were now just a bit hazy with weariness.

Taro uttered a low laugh, “Hah, still buzzed, Janus? I told you, you couldn’t handle it.”

“Whatever grandpa,” he snapped up, “I’m not the one who almost fell down the stairs tonight sober,” he sneered, taking the clip on earrings out of his ear.

Taro’s lipstick stained mouth turned down as he narrowed his eyes, “Hmph, they're new heels and was breaking them in.”

“By breaking your ass?” Janus bent over and held his back in mock pain.

Taro whipped his arm and splashed Janus who scurried away beyond the kitchen into the adjacent living room. He toppled on the couch and groaned after a few snickers at Taro’s direction. The couch was cozy and he was a little groggy from their night out so he lounged, heavy and eyes fluttering, but the itch from his fishnets was nagging. He sluggishly sat up, reaching up his dress to unhook the garters holding up the stockings. He slipped them off and threw them on the coffee table, feeling relieved. After some minutes, Taro strode over with his purse, plopping down on a leather recliner. He undid his hair, letting it fall to his shoulders again and took out a packet of makeup wipes. He snagged a few then threw it to Janus who caught it with some difficulty.

Taro wiped his face, blush and dark eyeliner staining the cloth. He looked to Janus, “You going home or staying here?”

“Do you want me to stay?”

Taro was midway undoing an earring before pausing, “Why do you always answer like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like that! With questions.”

Janus smiled, “I like putting you on the spot.”

“Tch.” Taro gingerly placed his earrings on the table and combed his hair with finely manicured claws dotted with tiny pink petals.

Janus leaned in, half an eye smeared with mascara, smug as ever, “You didn’t answer me.”

Taro squinted, brow raised. Anyone else would have immediately received a sharp hook to the jaw for such brashness but it was never like that with Janus. Maybe a long time ago when they first met and Taro’s opinion of the fae was pond scum adjacent. Even then he couldn’t help but avoid punishing Janus for his impetuosity. He was simply too useful and good at his job.

-

That’s what he would tell himself anyway, as he sat irate in meetings with his officers who would complain about the brash young fae that threw his weight around as if he were a breed larger. Each request to restrain Janus was met with excuses from Taro, many of which were legitimate but others being deeply rooted attempts to disguise his favoritism. It didn’t fool anyone though and no one was surprised a sentimental Taro attached himself to someone else after his wife had left so suddenly. He was never really sure if Janus acted as some substitute for Mellow who was in many ways like him: loud and opinionated and a thorn in his side. The difference was Janus was here. And she was not.

He often tried to suppress those thoughts which he felt were more selfish than genuine. A piece of his life’s puzzle had long since been missing and for some time, Janus felt too lopsided and out of place to fit. He wracked with the idea that Janus could be anything more than a particularly talented goon but that was quickly drowned out by the many imaginings of how they could be something together. As years passed, Taro and Janus saw each other less as boss and goon and more as close friends. Taro persistently kept up appearances but his favoritism would often slip which, in the beginning, surprised Janus who wasn’t very well versed in reading Taro’s stone faced demeanor. Nowadays, he could read him like a book. It gave Taro a sense of weakness, being figured out so easily, but also a sense of comfort. He wanted someone to know him again. It was lonely, being at the top of the world.

Things became harder when Rose hatched. Taro was so desperate to keep what little shred of solace he had with Janus that used Rose to do it. He regretted it deeply but the damage was done. Taro made it his mission to make himself integral to their lives, in some part to atone for his actions and another to gain the sense of family that he longed for. He knew it was selfish and so did Janus but the fae never pushed him away or rejected the help. Taro felt good knowing Janus needed him but the guilt if it all reminded him that it was his fault in the first place. It was wrong of him to throw himself into their lives like a train without brakes but he always gave Janus the opportunity to refuse. He hoped at least, Janus knew that. It was never something the two talked about, always concerning themselves with Rose this and Rose that. Maybe they just avoided conflicting for her sake.

Taro focused much of his attention on Rose to compensate for the emotions running wild in his gut. It was easy to lose himself in the care of a hatchling. He was familiar with the motions, having taken the late night responsibilities of caring for his own kids when Mellow went to sleep. Rose was much like them in the way that the Icewarden was like the Flamecaller. She screamed a lot, bit anything within reach, and persistently tried to rip his whiskers off. He simply could not be anymore proud of the little girl with murder in her eyes laced with a softness reserved for only those closest. He felt himself go back in time with her, back to a period where he was a father and was allowed to be kind and open and vulnerable. But at the same time, she was like sandpaper: chaffing his conscience in painful ways that made him regret being a part of anything at all and yet... smoothed out all the hard edges he built up to protect himself.

He wasn’t keen on admitting it but Rose was everything he wanted in a child. Unlike his own, she was raised in the mob life, trained to defend herself and strike back with a ferocity not unlike his own. She grew up to be crude and calculated despite the cutesy exterior. Taro’s idea of family was twisted and warped by his chosen life path but he felt good - enabled by Rose and Janus, both of whom were very familiar with this unconventional lifestyle. They were the things Mellow and his children weren’t: warm and loving but violent and realistic, tempered by the brutal streets of Hewn City. Mellow... she dreamed of this life but when it came down to it, she couldn’t stay. The stars in her eyes faded once she finally reached the peak of the city’s high rises and looked down on everything she had to crush to get there. So, one day, she left with the children to reevaluate her life and Taro, miserable but understanding, let her. Rose and Janus however? They wouldn’t leave him. That particular thought always hit him like a kick to the gut.

Selfish.

He wasn't supposed to have this slice of happiness but he carved it out all the same with a confidence that disguised pained hesitation.

The first time Taro “mentioned” his feelings to Janus was a cold night on the balcony of his apartment. It was snowing that night and Janus busied himself to catching snowflakes on his tongue that he remarked tasted different than the ones back in Ice. Taro couldn’t be bothered to decipher the intricacies of frozen water and Janus noticed. He leaned on the railing beside Taro and bumped an elbow to his side.

“You alright man? Been kinda spacey today.”

Taro stared out into the heart of Hewn City, mindlessly following cars as they zipped around the grid of streets below. His whiskers drooped ever so slightly, a motion unnoticeable to anyone else but present company, as he mouthed a few nothings then spoke, “Of course I am.”

Janus pursed his lips, “Uh huh. Come on, Taro, you should know by now I’m not stupid.”

Like a book, Taro thought.

“Seriously, Taro. What’s up?”

Taro shifted on the railing, turning around to lean back against it, face to the sky. Snow fluttered down softly, landing on his face where they melted instantly from the flush of heat rising to his cheeks. Janus watched curiously as Taro tilted his head in his direction but just enough to keep his eyes out of full view.

He mumbled, “Been thinking about us.”

Janus perked his ears, “Us? What about us?”

Taro gingerly inched his tufted tail towards Janus’ and it lingered there, longer than it usually did. Janus was all too familiar with Taro’s little mannerisms, slight touches and quirks that he came to learn were the ways he preferred to communicate. It was easier than words for him despite how articulate the imp was normally. In many ways, Taro was as poor at talking about his feelings as Janus was at understanding them but in that moment on the balcony he understood. Taro didn’t look his way but continued hanging his head back, snow catching on the loose strands of hair sticking out of his ponytail. It was a pleasant moment the two cherished in silence, the feeling of mutual understanding as a warm embrace against the chill. Janus didn’t move a muscle in fear of Taro retracting and looked towards the sliding door of the apartment. Rose was inside on the couch, sharpening one of her many knives and oblivious to the two outside.

Janus halfheartedly smiled, not quite sure if he was doing it right, “I getcha.”

“Does it bother you?” Taro’s deep voice was barely audible.

“No, it’s just,” Janus scrunched his face, “I guess I don’t know how to feel about it yet. Sorry if I look weird, I’m just trying to figure it out. You know how it is.”

Taro inched closer, “I know. I just figured I should say something.” He gestured vaguely, “In some...way, before, you know, I die or something.”

“Pff, you’re not that old.”

“I could get assassinated you know. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Janus paused for a serious moment then quipped, “Rose does really like your apartment...”

Taro slapped his tail against Janus’ leg and he jumped away laughing. Times like this would occur over and over again as Taro became more comfortable with his little visions of domestic life with Janus and Rose. He gave away little signs and signals of his affection even if Janus did not always reciprocate, which was fine with him. He was simply happy being allowed to indulge in such gestures, only saddened when he was too embarrassed to be himself in front of Rose who had a rather big mouth and made it obvious that the two were being mushy gushy old men. It was funny how Taro could beat a dragon near to death in his office and order Rose to giddily mop up the blood but shirked at the idea of being too intimate with Janus. Part of him didn’t want to push the fae and another wanted to keep up appearances even though he could hardly care at this point and violently made sure no one else did either. He could be patient though. Janus was perpetually trying to figure himself out and Taro was happy to let him. He had an entire lifetime of coming to terms with his own feelings and wanted to afford Janus the same luxury.

-

Taro twirled a hair around a finger as he crossed his legs and lounged back. He cocked his head in mock thought, eyeing nothing in particular about the living room. Janus' shiny dress creaked and crinkled as he leaned in closer, elbows on the cusp in his knees.

"Come on man, I'm running out of leg here."

Taro smiled warmly, "Stay. Please."

“FINALLY,” he flopped back and slouched, “I’m going to bed. All my shit’s back at my place so gimme one of your shirts because there’s no way I’m sleeping in this.”

“I’ll give you that ‘Foxy Grandpa’ one Rose gave me for my birthday.”

“On second thought, maybe I'll stay in the dress.”

[presumenothing]

we’re doing it to ourselves (or so the saying goes)

(AO3)

Jiang Cheng swears up a storm and a half when he shoves open the investigation room door the next morning to find someone already there.

The red ribbon hanging long down Wei Wuxian’s back blends in so seamlessly with the red thread strung all over the murderboard that it takes slamming his hand against the wall switch to shatter the sudden imagination of his brother’s photo up there with the rest of the clues, just another person they’d failed to save from this case.

Wei Wuxian gives a hiss of half-startled annoyance, blinking from the abrupt brightness, but it frankly serves him right for standing in the dark like a burglar with only the corridor emergency lights filtering in. Had he even been able to see anything? Even demonic cultivation doesn’t give you night vision, last he checked. “Good damn morning to you too, Jiang Cheng.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you got in here,” he replies, because at least half of what he knows about breaking into places he’d learned after Wei Wuxian taught himself how to one boring rainy day in high school. “Tell me all this has nothing to do with you.”

He doesn’t specify what this is, because there’s no need to. Wei Wuxian hasn’t moved from his frozen stance in front of the board of clues, crimson lines running between the serial murders like a bloody taunt, a web Jiang Cheng has stared at long enough over the past week that the afterimage feels burned into his eyelids.

There’s nothing of Wei Wuxian’s usual brash overconfidence in the answering shake of his head. “No. I meant it when I said I’d never go vigilante again, Jiang Cheng. And I haven’t. I’ll swear it again on anything you ask.”

In a different time, Wei Wuxian would already have sworn up and down that the heavens should strike him down right then if he’d lied, but maybe that’s exactly the problem – he had already been struck down once, in almost every way that mattered, and worst of all is how it makes Jiang Cheng more inclined to believe him now.

It’s still not quite enough, though. “Swear it on Jin Ling’s life.”

He doesn’t need to see Wei Wuxian’s expression to know he’s not happy about that. Which doesn’t matter, because neither of them are; the space Jin Ling occupies among them has been almost sacred especially after they’d nearly lost Yanli-jie, but it’s also exactly why Jiang Cheng is asking him to swear on this. He can’t accept anything less.

Wei Wuxian has to know that, too, because he doesn’t argue, only says, “I swear on Jin Ling’s life that I don’t have any direct involvement with this case.”

Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow and pointedly does not look relieved. “‘Direct’?”

“Duh.” Wei Wuxian gestures, wide and too-careless, at the grotesque web on the wall. “You’ve got a copycat killer, and a surprisingly thorough one at that. I’d be surprised if the original Yiling Patriarch isn’t tied to this somehow.”

“Careful, they might not be able to see your ego from space,” Jiang Cheng bites right back, even though he’s been thinking the same for probably about as long as Lan Wangji has, for all that they hadn’t acknowledged it aloud until the day before yesterday. “How the hell did you even find out about this?”

“Wen Qing did most of the autopsies, didn’t she?” Wei Wuxian answers, pretty much as he’d been expecting. “And before you think about going to yell at her, she didn’t actually reveal any case details to me, just that you and Lan Zhan were investigating something that I might be interested in. Also that she might snap and add one or both of you to the body count if she has to mediate even one more argument between you two.”

How Wei Wuxian’s presence could possibly do anything except exacerbate that, Jiang Cheng has no idea, but it’s not like he can afford to alienate the best medical examiner they have across all the districts. (And he doesn’t want to, either; Wen Qing’s clear expertise had single-handedly silenced all of the brass who’d had issues with hiring a Wen, but there’s never any telling what might get them started up again.)

Still. “I wouldn’t call that mediating,” Jiang Cheng mutters.

Wei Wuxian laughs, because he still doesn’t have even half an ounce of self-preservation, even against someone who could and would immobilise people with just three well-placed needles. “Speaking of which, how much longer are you gonna lurk there, Lan Zhan? I thought the Gusu bureau had a rule against eavesdropping and all.”

Jiang Cheng gets a crick in his neck from how fast he turns, and sure enough – there’s Lan Wangji stepping out of shadows that had hidden him far too well for someone in so much white. (Even after having no choice but to work this case together with him Jiang Cheng still has absolutely no fucking idea how Lan Wangji keeps his clothes spotless even at crime scenes; he’s starting to suspect it’s some kind of cultivation-related trick designed specifically for this purpose.)

“Eavesdropping would require neither of you to be aware of my presence,” he says, like that isn’t just some bit of pedantry, and inclines his head. “Wei Ying. Jiang Wanyin.”

And that’s definitely intentional, putting his name last like Jiang Cheng cares what order Lan Wangji addresses people in. Which he really, really doesn’t, especially not before inhaling at least half the thermos of coffee that always resides in his backpack in avoidance of the acidic slop from the pantry machine.

Wei Wuxian smiles at Lan Wangji, because of course he does, but it’s strangely gratifying to note that he hasn’t put any effort in making it look convincing at all. “Well, Lan Zhan – do I need to swear my innocence in this case to you too?”

“Unnecessary. I believe you,” Lan Wangji says, bearing regal like he’s some monarch issuing a decree, and Jiang Cheng snorts. How easy for him to say that when Wei Wuxian hadn’t cost his bureau and family almost everything they’d been.

It doesn’t make the back of his throat taste any less bitter when Wei Wuxian’s expression warms a little at that, but at this point Jiang Cheng doesn’t think anything ever will. “Enough chitchat,” he snaps. “The paperwork?”

Lan Wangji retrieves a folder from his briefcase and slides it over to the centre of the table wordlessly, while Jiang Cheng crosses his arms and scowls at Wei Wuxian until it sinks through his stupidly thick skull that the paperwork is for him.

The answering groan, at least, is entirely sincere. “What the hell is that for? You know I hate paperwork, Jiang Cheng, I didn’t quit over it but I very well could have.”

Yes, he’s very aware of that, seeing as their weekly paperwork grudge-match marathons from before everything had gone to hell had been held in his office. “Just read and sign the damn thing, Wei Wuxian, it’s the only bloody reason I haven’t already arrested you for breaking into bureau offices ten minutes ago.”

And that has to be enough for Wei Wuxian to already know, because bureau policy hasn’t changed that much in the years since his defection except to get more annoyingly onerous, but still he looks surprised at the contents of the contract. “A civilian consultant?”

“You have a skillset that could be invaluable to resolving this case. It would be highly remiss not to bring you on board.” Lan Wangji still looks perfectly neutral, as far as Jiang Cheng can tell, but that’s more sarcasm-free words in a row than he’s ever heard from him since the start of this investigation. Possibly since their first acquaintance with each other.

“I wouldn’t call ‘being the prime suspect’ a skillset, exactly,” Wei Wuxian mutters, which is something Jiang Cheng can definitely agree with at least. Though the only reason this is possible at all is because there’d never been an official conviction in the original Yiling case, for a whole chaos of reasons including the public uproar in support of whoever had taken down Wen Ruohan and his cronies for good, and because they already had reasonable evidence to suggest Wei Wuxian’s non-involvement in this spate of murders.

The non-suspect in question is still flicking his way through the clauses of the contract, which Jiang Cheng would feel insulted by except he’d also gone through each and every one just as closely, taken his concerns to Yanli-jie who’d taken them to Jin Zixuan until they could be sure this arrangement wouldn’t jeopardise Wei Wuxian in any way.

He reaches the last page, and from the skip of his gaze Jiang Cheng knows instinctively what Wei Wuxian has to be looking at – the grid of signatures starting with his own and Lan Wangji’s as primary investigators of the case, dated clearly to two days before this conversation had even occurred, followed by Lan Xichen’s confirmation both as Lan Wangji’s superior and because Jiang Cheng can’t very well second his own recommendation even as the Yunmeng bureau chief, and finally a space for Wei Wuxian’s chickenscratch initials.

(It’s frankly mystifying, why someone who can draw talismans that flow like the finest art has never bothered with a more elegant signature, but it’s not a mystery Jiang Cheng cares to solve. Better that than the unmistakable signatures the Yiling Patriarch had left at his scenes, at any rate; even he has had nightmares about that.)

Jiang Cheng tosses him a pen, anything to break the sudden silence, and Wei Wuxian catches it without looking but of course doesn’t get right to signing, because that would be sensible. “What is this for, then? There are easier ways to keep an eye on me. Cheaper, too.”

“The forensic evidence is scant, and the culprit has done something to keep the victims’ souls beyond my ability to communicate with,” Lan Wangji answers without further prompting, which is probably more information than they should be giving out to a not-yet-contracted civilian but Jiang Cheng’s not the one with a stick up his ass about protocol in this room and anyway Wei Wuxian had already broken in here. “An alternative method might help.”

“Last I checked, no one likes the alternative when it means resurrecting th– ah,” Wei Wuxian cuts himself off with a flick of his gaze between them, and has the gall to look amused. “So the old coots are desperate enough by now that anything goes?”

“Not anything,” Jiang Cheng grates out, just to be clear. Wei Wuxian hadn’t been wrong; the investigation methods favoured by each bureau differ even just among the four major ones, but the dislike of the way Wei Wuxian had done things since somehow escaping being taken hostage by Wen Chao had been almost universal.

(There’d been a brief period when it seemed like things might work out after all, when Wei Wuxian had demonstrated how undeniably efficient demonic cultivation could be in comparison to their regular methods – even the Gusu musical techniques couldn’t beat speaking to the victim in the flesh, as it were. But then everything had gone to hell in a massive speeding handbasket and Wei Wuxian had been most of the one who’d sent it there.

Possibly Jiang Cheng is being monumentally idiotic in not assuming this time will turn out exactly the same way, but annoyingly enough Wei Wuxian is also correct in that they need this case solved, or everything might just go to chaos anyway.)

“I’m pretty much the definition of anything, I think,” Wei Wuxian retorts, which Jiang Cheng ignores like the obvious nonsense it is. “Don’t blame me if you lot regret this.”

“Pretty sure it’s already too late for that,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, swiping the thermos out from where he’d set his backpack down.

Lan Wangji can deal with filing that paperwork, if he’s just going to stand there in stoic satisfaction. Jiang Cheng needs his damn coffee.