#So I moved the pax to another wall (it turned out to be screwed to the book case which I didn't know so that was fun)

[degenezijde]

I cleaned the hobby room and I'm very happy, but I cannot share a pic bc it's still so messy by my inner Pinterest standards.

[silverhandy]

House call - chapter 2

Chapter 1 I ao3

    Through his career, he’s been to a lot of places of varying degrees of decay, from the long-abandoned hotels subjected to evergoing gang disputes to the city’s garbage dump stretching miles upon miles outside of the city, a sea of trash and metal, often twisted into unrecognizable shapes, piling up into mountains, where every step meant a very real risk of slipping and impaling himself on a rust-bitten shard. Hidden in between were those unfortunate enough to end their journey in a place like this, abandoned by their rivals or hitmen too lazy to attempt hiding a body within the guts of the city. If they had a working car, and almost all of them did, it was way easier to just drive whatever was left of their target and dump it to be devoured by rats and whatever else evolved enough to survive in a place like this. Sometimes they wouldn’t even bother to check if the person they were leaving there was actually dead, hence the reason why he’d sometimes get calls begging him to fish a guy (or lady) down on their luck out. He found himself digging through trash more often than not, futile in his attempts to pinpoint his awaiting patient’s location. When he was starting out, the thought of giving up his search wouldn’t even cross his mind, he’d spend hours looking, even dragging along metal cutters with him, figuring they’d come in handy. They probably would’ve if not for the fact that he often wasn’t even able to find the person who called him, localization data too patchy to give him a solid lead on where he should even start.

    After a while, when he established himself and lost some of his rookie idealism, he put in a disclaimer that he wouldn’t go trash diving anymore, no matter the pay. A small step, but even at the beginning he tried to have standards.

    V’s apartment was far from Night City’s biggest trash dump, but something about the chaos within it reminded him of that when he switched on the lights. As if the hurricane had swept through the place, some of the furniture was tilted over, a pile of clothes, dangerously balanced on an overfilled laundry basket, threatened to collapse and spill over at any moment. A half-finished box of noodles laid abandoned on the counter, accompanied by a mosaic of pills from a knocked over bottle.

    Viktor found V curled up on the floor next to her bed, wearing a washed-out Samurai t-shirt and sweatpants, covers dragged along with her halfway between the linoleum and the mattress. He could barely see her face from the way she was bundled up. V didn’t move upon hearing his footsteps, didn’t even flinch when he kneeled next to her and reached out a hand to touch her shoulder.

    The ripper dropped the heavy bag at his side and gently cupped V’s face in his hands, wincing at how burned up the woman’s skin was, and turned it so he could take a quick glance. V’s eyes were rolled far back into her skull. Viktor started to have an idea of what he was dealing with here, has seen the wreckage that offensive hacking can cause many times before. They usually started out slow, identical to a bad case of flu but then, if dismissed, proceeded to stir fry one’s brain until not much was left.

    Viktor opened his bag and pulled out a small, remote biomonitor. It took a few seconds to fully calibrate, but eventually, the screen lit up.

    ‘V, can you hear me?’ he asked, not counting on her to answer. 'I’m going to connect your personal link now and see what’s going on in there, okay?' he reached for her wrist, already feeling her racing pulse, and connected it to the device. While it was loading, Viktor propped it up on the wall and grabbed V to lay her on her back to make the job easier for himself, and pulled out a few small gel-filled Ice-Pax. He knew she probably needed more, but those will have to do for now.

    Just as Viktor placed two under her arms and another on her groin, the monitor beeped. He reached over her to grab it and swiftly ran a basic diagnostics program, but save for the things he already knew, it didn’t spew out anything interesting. She was vastly overheated and her blood pressure shot up to a point where an angrily red window kept popping up to inform him of a 72% percent chance of an incoming cardiac event, but he dismissed it for now. Instead, Viktor chose a different angle and ran a more advanced version of the program, letting it comb through V’s frontal cortex and RAM.

    ‘There’s the rub’ he hummed to himself as the program kindly highlighted the results. He let out a long sigh. If V had come to see him a day earlier, he’d fix it in five minutes and she wouldn’t even notice, but now she’ll be out of commission for at least a week before she can even get out of bed. He’ll have to tell her a thing or two about responsibility, not that she’d listen to him anyway. Patients never did, but it still might be worth a shot.

    Viktor typed a few commands to enclose the scrambled code from her RAM and before pulling out V’s personal link, copied her real-time vitals chart onto his interface. After it appeared within his field of vision, he pulled out a worn-out connecting cord that he’s been promising himself he’d replace for ages now and inserted it into the neural port at V’s nape to get a better working field, now that he knew what the problem was. RAM damages were problematic in their very nature but pretty easy to fix once caught, not much of his medical knowledge needed. Viktor simply fired up what ripperdocs tended to call a “palate cleanser” and let it do the work, putting back together what the bug has managed to break.

    While the program was fixing up V’s tech, Viktor got to work on her body. Flipping the ice packs, he took a quick glance at her temperature and was glad to see that it had started to slowly go down, followed by her pulse and blood pressure, all three leaving the life-threatening territory. None of them were quite to his liking just yet, but at least now Viktor was sure V would pull through. Reaching into his bag, he eventually found an IV set, but decided it’d be better to move her onto the bed first, sparing himself all the gymnastics with the tubing and cables. Minding the biomonitor still plugged into her, Viktor leaned down to lift V and put her on the bed. She was quite heavy, the dead weight of her limp body adding to the feeling, but he didn’t even break a sweat carrying her. Taking the covers from the floor, he put them on her, straightening the wrinkled material intuitively.

    Having done that, Viktor grabbed her arm and carefully inserted the needle. To his relief, it went in on the first try. Glad he didn’t need to poke her any more than necessary, Viktor looked around and realized that V didn’t have anything even remotely resembling an IV stand, but when he looked up, he noticed a small hook, probably remains of a poster frame, conveniently placed over the bed. Stepping up on the edge of the bed frame, he placed the bag there, and after making sure that everything was in place, let it drip. That should do the job, maybe paired up with a shot of dopabenzamine if she won’t improve in the next few hours.

    Viktor let out a deep sigh of relief, feeling as if he’s been holding his breath ever since V called. Biomonitor’s estimated time kept shifting but eventually settled on six hours and twenty-three minutes. Viktor nodded to himself and turned around to take another look at the mess that V’s apartment has turned into. He leaned down and reached under the covers to grab the unpleasantly warm ice packs, and throw them in the freezer, wondering if he should clean up, just a little bit. Would V get mad at him for snooping around? Then again, she’ll need a few days to recover and this ever-growing mess around her surely won’t help. Or should he ask Misty? They were closer, he was pretty sure that she’s been over at V’s place at some point.

    Maybe he shouldn’t be overthinking this. Just a little bit, he told himself as he gathered the pills spilled on the counter, inspecting the label while he was at it. Strong shit, impossible to get by simply waltzing into a pharmacy. Viktor made a mental note to ask about it later, just to make sure that V doesn’t swallow these like candy. Of course she doesn’t, he reprimanded himself. She’s an adult, a stupid, reckless one, but an adult nevertheless. It still won’t hurt to bring it up, though.

    He put it back into the medicine cabinet and returned to the kitchen to deal with the noodles, and since they were on the verge of no longer being edible, he just tossed them into the trash can, along with other unfinished takeout he found in various places around the apartment. He didn’t want to snoop through V’s things, so he just folded the clothes that were sprawled all over the floor and couch and put them in a neat pile. When he was done, the place looked somehow presentable, so he settled on the couch opposite V’s bed.

    She appeared to be sleeping, although far from soundly. No longer completely unconscious, she kept tossing and turning, her face grimacing as her recovering brain no doubt served her a concoction of fever dreams.

    Just as Viktor leaned down to relax a little, he heard a ping of an incoming text message. He pulled it up

Misty

>that lady from Biotechnica is here to see you again, but you don’t seem to be in, what should I tell her?

                                                                                              >Tell her to fuck off

                                                        >I’m at V’s and have to stay for a few more                                                              hours, she screwed herself up real bad this                                                            time

>oh no what happened>

>?

                                                         >I’ll tell you all about it later, I got it covered                                                             for now

    He fully expected Misty to call him, alarmed, but apparently, he managed to reassure her just enough. He leaned back and closed his eyes, just for a second, but must’ve dozed off at some point, exhausted after over twenty hours without a chance for a shuteye. When he woke, a groan escaped his lips as the stiffness of his neck hit him with full force.

    That’s what you get for sleeping sitting up, old man, he told himself as he reached to grab his glasses off the floor. They must’ve slipped off at some point during his nap. Viktor stood up and stretched until he heard his joints crack. Still tired, he rubbed his eyes in a futile attempt to wake himself up and walked up to V’s bed to check on her. When he reached for the biomonitor to check the progress bar and see how long he’s been sleeping, V moved slightly. She opened her eyes and scanned the room, looking right over him, and furrowed her eyebrows. Finally, she looked up and saw Vik standing next to the bed and her expression went from blank to confused.

    ‘Vik? What…’ V cleared her throat. ‘What are you doin’ here?’

    ‘You don’t remember calling me?

    ‘Not quite’ she bit her lip, trying to gather her thoughts. ‘It’s a bit of a blur. I was feeling like absolute shit after that last job, thought I could just sleep it off.’ she said quietly, propping her head upon her elbow. ‘I didn’t expect it to grow into...whatever that was.’

    “A neurogenic cybervirus is what that is. Invisible until it starts to fry your brain. You gave me quite a fright.’

    “Fuck. I knew something was off about that netrunner, after she...eh, nevermind. Vik..how long have you been here anyway?

    ‘Uh,’ Viktor took a quick glance at the biomonitor ‘seven hours, give or take?

    ‘Fucking hell. I’m..’ she looked at him apologetically. ‘I’m gonna pay you back. What’s your house call fee again? I don't remember it being listed…’

    ‘Nah, it’s okay. I usually don’t do house calls, so consider that a favor. Just promise me that when you feel something’s off after a job, you’ll come to see me right away. There’s a lot of real vile stuff out there and you won’t even know until it gets you. That’s what you have me for.’

    ‘Sure, dad. You can spare me the lecture' she chuckled. ‘But for real, Vik. Thank you.’

    ‘No problem, really.’ he grabbed the biomonitor. Four minutes left. ‘You’re gonna feel like you were hit by a truck for the next few days, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage. I’ll check up on you in a few days and send in Misty or Jackie in the meantime to help you out since I’d rather you didn’t get out of bed more often than necessary. Next time you see me, consider getting that new set of optics and a gun grip. Might save your ass next time someone attempts to do you dirty like his.’

    Something akin to a smile appeared on her face. ‘Doctor’s orders?’

    ‘Doctor’s orders.’

[thenamesblurrito]

Record: Bumblebee about meeting one of the heros?

Record: give us an in-character blurb about x thing or event in this AU, from history, from the plot, etc!

Here ya go, the very first time Bumblebee meets one of the heroes! Can you guess who the hero is by the end? This fic occurs in S1E13 All My Friends Are Food! An Upgrade to Cannibals.

Now on AO3!

Content warning: child in peril

Bumblebee lost track of what turns he had taken. He’d never been this far from the compound without another Pax member with him! His suspension jostled painfully on another hard skid around a corner, leaving tire marks clear enough to track. He hoped someone would follow his trail and find him soon… someone that isn’t the creature hunting him right now.

A shimmer and a click gave him enough warning to roll out of the way of the monster’s lunge. Its jagged magenta armor scrabbled against the street where he had been just a second before. Bumblebee transformed to scramble up a ramp to an access port in the nearest building’s maintenance tunnels. He was small, and fast, and he could get away. He had to get away. All the streets were empty and all the windows were dark. He had to get away.

The close air in the tunnel made his already whirring vents work harder. His mouth hung open, but he made little noise, having shut off his vocalizer awhile ago to try and keep from crying. He didn’t know how to turn it back on. Aunty could do it for him, if he could get away.

If Aunty was still there when he got back.

His quick pedefalls echoed in the small space, but not loudly enough to drown out the shifting, buzzing, cackling thing chasing him. The whisper of a thousand moving needle points filled his audials like static. He shook his helm, but it wouldn’t go away. He kept taking random turns down different tunnel branches, but it still wouldn’t go away. Why, why wouldn’t the monster just go away!

Something caught the tip of his doorwing and sliced. His engine squealed and he stumbled over his own pedes. It hurt! The tunnel went fuzzy with pain for a second but he kept moving. Something made a delighted hiss, and he glanced back for only a moment.

A skittering swarm of scarlet scraplets made up the monster now, a hundred permanent grins filling the tunnel top to bottom, gnawing at a small, yellow, familiar piece of shrapnel.

He couldn’t feel his left wingtip all of a sudden.

A hard crash into a mesh vent covering knocked him flat on his back. The tunnel terminated here at the other side of the building, a wide street visible just beyond the cover. Even if he had been looking where he was running, it wouldn’t have helped him. The only path was back into the smiling fangs of the monster. He grabbed at the mesh, trying to tear through fibers too tightly woven for even his small claws, and felt his vents hitch over and over. The rustle of too many legs and grinding dentae made his audials ring. There wasn’t anybody on the street. His vocalizer wouldn’t turn on. His caretakers were missing.

He shook the mesh over and over, armor rattling in lieu of sobs. Where was everybody? He just wanted help!

A scraplet nipped at his pede and he kicked it back into the swarm.

Somebody! Aunty! Star Convoy!

A dozen more started creeping forward. He plastered his back to the vent cover, doorwing leaving droplets of energon against the mesh.

Orion!

A rumble and a snick was the only warning he had before the world fell out beneath him.

He was jostling, and moving, and wincing at a million shrill shrieks drowned out by a deep bass roar, and tumbling backwards entangled in suddenly loose mesh, and then he felt the familiar steady grip of someone carrying him in one arm.

“Far from home, bitlet?”

His optics opened and he saw a smouldering crevasse in the wall of the building he had just been trapped in. The tunnel was blown wide open, scraplets charred black littering the space as far back as the light could reach. Not one of them twitched. He gaped through the smoke at them.

Fingers larger than his arm curled into his view and he was lifted up to the warm purr of a chestplate he’d never seen before. He could see his own shocked face in the shiny windows. Looking up, he saw a mech as big as Aunty, with smiling optics, broad pauldrons, and a solid presence that made him start shuddering in sudden relief.

“Hey now, Bumblebee,” the mech hummed, bringing his other hand up after folding away a still-glowing cannon. “You’re alright. The mechannibal is gone. You’re just fine.”

One finger brushed over the missing wingtip and he spasmed away from the touch with a gasp. The mech’s expression darkened. “You will be just fine.”

He turned and strolled down the dark street, sparkling in hand. Very few lights had come on even though it was dusk, and shadows draped themselves across every available surface. Several corners and crannies had shapes of greyed metal peeking out, but Bumblebee could never get a good look before the mech turned and blocked his view. His engine was very deep and steady, even compared to Star Convoy, so he leaned in to rest his audial against the armor and just listen.

After a moment the mech started talking again. “Your Compact is okay. Star Convoy got most kids away from the swarm in time, and Aunty kept them back long enough for everyone else to get to safety. You were the only one who got cornered. Aunty wanted to come after you, but they had started to nibble her.”

He jerked up, clutching at his own stinging doorwing in sympathy.

“She’s got much thicker armor than you, she barely noticed.” He rapped his chestplate with the knuckles of his free hand. “Almost as good as mine.”

Bumblebee opened his mouth to ask something but only the click of his glossa came out, and he remembered his vocalizer was shut off. His face screwed up in frustration as he pawed helplessly at the seams of his neck.

The mech’s brow furrowed. “What’s the matter, bitlet? Glitched your volume control?”

He shook his helm and tried to act out the decision to turn off his voice with only his face and servos. The mech snorted, and he scowled. How else is he supposed to talk without words!

“Hm. Open up for me.” One huge fingertip gently tapped his tiny chestplate.

Bumblebee obliged, folding away the highest panel of his chest and collar. He had to tilt his helm all the way back, just like when Aunty did this. With servos that large, there wasn’t much interior medical work that could be done, but something about it just helped him. The mech was very careful, pressing lightly at the top of his vocalizer box. Bumblebee tried doing a hard reset and spat out some static.

“You aren’t fractured or overheating… have you tried turning it off and back on again?”

He huffed. It’s the second part that’s trouble!

“Try again.”

One last fritz of static and Bumblebee’s vocalizer was back on. He buzzed a few times to get used to it and then beamed. Before the mech could draw his hand away, he used it as a stairstep to launch himself bodily at his face, going for the biggest hug he could muster.

“Thank you thank you I thought I’d have to wait all the way ‘til we find Aunty again ‘coz the monster kept laughing when I cried so I turned it off but I can never figure out how to turn it back on again!”

His loud laughter was even nicer to listen to up here than through his chestplate. “Oh, now you’re the one jumping me? Bumblebee, how could you!” His hands came up to cup his back so he didn’t fall.

“You’re too big to hug all at once!” He sat back with a gasp at a sudden thought. “You knew my name already!”

“I did.” The mech’s optics were twinkling.

“Did you know about me before you came to get me?”

“I did.”

“Am I famous?”

The mech couldn’t stop his surprised snort. “Your caretakers certainly told me enough when they asked if I could find you.”

“Have I met you before?”

“Perhaps you have.”

“What’s your name?”

“You’ll figure it out here soon.”

“Why do you have five fingers?”

“I—” He blinked and flexed one of his hands, puzzled. “Well why not?”

“Are we home yet?”

With a roll of his optics, the mech muttered, “I knew you’d ask that eventually.” He plucked Bumblebee from his collar and tucked him back in the crook of one arm, never changing the steady pace he’d been walking at the whole time. “Give it a few cycles, bitlet. We’re almost there.”

Bumblebee settled back with his audial against armor, listening to his engine thrumming. His injury still stung but it had crystallized now, no longer leaking. Soon enough, mecha started appearing on the streets again, peering inside broken windows and switching lights on. They all watched as the large mech passed. Even an Enforcer stepped aside with a nod. Despite fewer lights than usual, he recognized where they were now.

A familiar wall appeared around the next turn, scored from many sharp needle legs, but still standing. Rocketing out of the gate, Star Convoy drove towards them before transforming and skidding to a halt on his pedes before them, already reaching for Bumblebee. He giggled at the impressive move and leapt into his patron’s arms to be crushed in a hug. He let Star Convoy’s relieved murmurs just wash over him, suddenly exhausted.

“His left doorwing was bitten, and his vocalizer needed a hard reset, but otherwise he seemed perfectly fine on the surface,” the great mech rumbled. “The mecannibal has been taken care of.”

“Thank you sir, thank you,” Star Convoy said, not loosening his grip on Bumblebee. “We didn’t know how to track him down. Thank you.”

“Anyone left without a means to help themselves should be provided assistance, no matter who they are. Sparkling or adult, junker or noble, all frames and functions.” His voice was no different than before, but it filled the street all of a sudden, and Bumblebee lifted his head to watch and saw several bystanders do the same. “No Enforcer barricade should stand between a child and safety. What kind of person would stay and do nothing if given the power to choose the moral thing instead of the legal thing?”

The mech ducked his head to catch Bumblebee’s optic and held out a fist. Bumblebee tapped a giant knuckle enthusiastically, and he quirked a smile.

“What kind of Decepticon would I be?”

“Thank you, Galvatron,” Star Convoy said again as the mech turned to leave, unaffected by the gazes of everyone around him.

Bumblebee watched him go, drowsy but fighting off recharge. Decepticon, huh?

Maybe he could be a big heroic Decepticon one day.

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mount Othrys

Ajax: Birth of the Triple A Chimera IV

 A harpoon nailed Pax’s assailant in the chest.

Someone skidded past Pax, right into the Roman’s knees, as if the harpoon wouldn’t be enough.

“Ajax!” Axel snarled, tossing the Roman, “Chi’naj!”

Pax took a moment to register the Mayan word for “door.”[1] He scrambled past the scuffle. Fortunately, the hinges were still intact, though he doubted they would last long. Other footfalls rapidly approached. This time, he managed to slam it shut. He barred it and went to push a crate—

A body smashed into his selected crate.

Pax almost elbowed the person in the head. Then, he smelled the overwhelming swirl of sandalwood and saw antlers sticking out from the figure.  

“Incantara:glacies fulmen iniectum,:” Alabaster hissed, his voice tight with pain. Bolts of ice gleamed at his fingertips. Alabaster flicked his wrist and three blue-white streaks exploded outward. One shattered against some blurry, massive blob, maybe a yard away. Another lodged into something a few feet below the first. The last one blasted off into the fog.

The glow of the lodged ice sickle came closer until the massive blob solidified into the expansive red rectangle of a Roman shield.

Pax grabbed Alabaster’s arm. He dragged the Witch Boy off the crate—a spear slammed into their previous location. As if Pax didn’t already feel trapped, someone banged on the barred door behind them as the shield and spear wielder approached from the front.  

Maybe now wasn’t the time, but Pax really wanted to gloat, “Oh, and I thought it was just me that screwed up.” Somehow, knowing the door that Alabaster should have protected had also been breached—that didn’t make him feel any better.

The Roman struggled to withdraw his spear from the crate. “Leader of Hecate located!” Something fizzed and made the silhouette of the Roman shield glow.

Pax released Alabaster to fumble for a weapon. Pax never knew if Alabaster collapsed to the floor because he needed Pax’s support, or if he’d strategically wanted a better line of sight on his target. Either way, at the next, “Incantara: glacies fulmen iniectum,” the ice bolts blasted under the Roman shield.

The soldier screamed. The metal shield thunked to the floor.

That glowing object lobbed over the shield.

Before Pax could bat it away, the thing stuck to Alabaster’s leg. It continuously sputtered with red sparks. Alabaster grunted.

“Lion located!” someone shouted in the fog.  

Another fizz. Another spitting glow, maybe ten feet away. Pax’s heart thudded in his chest. Flares. They were using flares to mark their locations.

But the Romans didn’t know where he was yet.

“Are you sure I haven’t found you, little Roman?” came Axel’s stage voice with sadistic glee. Pax heard stories about Axel’s stage persona. He really didn’t want to see it. From the thinning of the fog, he could discern three things: Alabaster was so low on magic that he couldn’t keep the fog thick, Axel’s stage persona was terrifying, and people should not drive in fog. Far too dangerous.

Alabaster tor at the flare on his leg and snarled in fury, “It’s covered in something sticky. I can’t get it off—don’t touch it!”

Pax withdrew his hand. A deep tremble ran through him at the words, “Spy assist located!”

Another fizz.

When this flare lobbed over, Pax fumbled for anything. His fingers wrapped around something cylindrical—the PVC pipe. He must have dropped it when he was knocked prone.

Pax swung the PVC pipe like a baseball bat, hitting the flare. It didn’t bounce off, but stuck. Pax grinned.

Using the last of the fog for cover, he skidded around the shield. There was the Roman, struggling to redirect that spear and balance on one foot (there was a tiny icicle problem in one boot.) Pax nailed the Roman with his PVC pipe in the back. The flare, as he hoped, stuck.

Pax liked to think that the Roman’s jaw dropped.

“Professional Asshole located!” Pax said, mimicking the Roman’s bravado.

“Ajax, drop into a ball!” Axel snarled.

Instinctively, Pax listened. Something bumped into his back before toppling. Two bodies—likely a soldier Axel had thrown into another one—tumbled over him, smashing into the shield user as the Professional Asshole shouted, “Wait—compromised flare!”

“Incantara: excandescunt!”

Flames erupted beside Pax, so close the heat wicked sweat off his skin. This was getting too close. The Romans were closing in.

As though on cue for a heart attack, the door exploded behind him. Fragments chucked into his shins. Pax’s door was breached again.

“Romans!” Centurion Ari’s voice boomed from inside the building, probably from the front entrance. “Una acies. Contendite vestra sponte!”

Pax’s mind scrambled through Latin to remember what Mercedes said that meant: single-line. Your own effort? Wasn’t that the massacre order?! What happened to taking the cute spy assistant alive?!

Instinct should have taken over. He should have ran or fought.

Instead, Pax froze.

With no magic or dry ice to replenish the fog, it dissipated out the three open entrances, leaving the murky shapes of the advancing Romans. Their dark blurs moved inward, one organized line approaching from the front entrance, two disorganized, smaller bunches along either side entrance. As they drifted, they absorbed their injured, dragging them behind the protective line. The Roman war machine. Pax had heard of it, but hadn’t seen it in use.

He, Axel, and Alabaster still had crates to hide behind for cover. They had some supplies left. They could fall back. But, the Romans knew where they were. Alabaster had just smashed the tip off his flare, exploding smoke around his weird horns, but Axel’s fizzed ominously on his right shoulder. Pax might be able to make it to the back barricade, but he would need Axel’s help to move the crates out of the way. Alabaster seemed injured and they weren’t going to leave him. There must have been way more than fifteen Romans. Judging from the lack of Alabaster’s magical reserves (he wouldn’t resort to fire in close quarters otherwise), he must have taken out half a dozen. Pax knew he got three. Axel had wiped the floor with those that got past them. Why were there so many left?

A sob choked Pax’s throat, thinking about the three of them trapped against the back wall, easy practice for the Romans to spear as subjects in an anatomy lesson.

That sob released when he heard a beautiful song fill the room, echoing off the walls and clutching at Pax’s soul. “Drowning in my sea of loathing. Broken, your servant, I kneel.”

Armor shifted. Someone collapsed.

A laugh, more manic than Pax had ever heard it, erupted from the front. “Oh, stupid Romans. Can’t you see? You forgot about little ol’ me. I can see inside you, the sickness is rising. Don’t try to deny what you feel—”

“Jak-Jak!” Pax cried.

It must not have only been Jack.

Screams erupted from Pax’s breached door, the southern door.

“Wait—what?!”

“Stop!”

“Why—”

Pax tore his eyes from the front to see bodies falling in a cluster. Two Romans had turned on their comrades, literally stabbing them in the back. As the betrayed collapsed, a girl became visible behind them, one with stilettos in her dark hair and a mutilated face. Flynn’s mouth was set in an annoyed line and her arms were folded. “Thanks,” her melodious voice hummed with charm speak. “Now, hold still.”

“Anything for—”

The comment cut short. Flynn wrenched the backup knives from the soldiers’ belts and jammed them into their temples.

Pax flinched and looked away before he could see any blood spurts or brain matter. This was a riveting, exciting rescue, but he’d rather focus on the being rescued portion than the murder portion. At least she didn’t make the last two kill each other. That was courteous, right?

Pax could hear the grin in Flynn’s words as she whispered, “Now, panic, you fuckers. I’m going to kill all of you if you don’t kill each other first.”

The break in the Roman’s Southern line was all Centurion Ari needed to make the call. “Fall back. Northern wall. Redirect!”

Chaos ensued.

Pax couldn’t keep track of everything. He crouched to grab Alabaster. Flynn flew over, the Roman knives glinting in her hand. “No need for weapons. Come here—” her voice sounded as sweet as her gaze looked frenzied.

Jack’s song from the front crescendoed. “Down with the sickness!”[2] Another Roman dropped to their knees, vomiting. One discarded his weapons to walk, open-handed, towards Flynn. His comrades couldn’t grab him in time. Some threw spears at Jack and Flynn. Flynn laughed, using her charmed soldier as a shield, the spears lodging into his back. Jack—Pax was relief to see—must have acquired one of the actual shields. There was a massive rectangle of metal in the front door with a tuft of red hair poking overtop.

The screams kept going after the majority of the Romans had left. Pax tried not to remember any of it. Maybe it was because Pax knew he would be safe or maybe it was because he wanted to tune out the severe amount of trauma, but his mind wandered.

He was the information broker, a spy master’s assistant. He was supposed to gather intel and leave notes like, Our camp’s name is cooler than yours. He wasn’t supposed to hang people with power cords or be on a battlefield, even a small one like this, hearing his surrogate father’s beautiful voice make people upchuck blood, watching his surrogate mother slaughter the charmed soldiers that Romans couldn’t stop from walking towards her, feeling the air pressure pop from his crush’s and his brother’s magic as they picked off those retreating.

He wanted to remember how the people from Camp Half-Blood had caused Jas to get vaporized and had melted the skin of Lucille’s back when they blew up Monster Donuts. He tried to think about the names of the people who died in skirmishes against the Romans.

Not for the first time, Pax wondered if those born into violence and baptized in blood could ever surround themselves with another kind of love, with laughter that was not contingent on the suffering of others.

He thought of the way Axel made Alabaster cover his eyes to break that first soldier’s neck, at the beginning of all of this. Pax burst into hysterical giggles.  

Alabaster swatted Pax’s hands away, bringing him back to this reality.

When Pax tuned in, he got the blurry view of Centurion Ari, covered in feverish sweat, wrestling one charmed Roman into an arm bar and carrying two others across her shoulders, both likely succumbed to fever. She scowled at Axel as she exited the building. Unlike proper hero protocol, there was no “Until next time.” Wise. Most likely, she would have tried, choked on blood or vomit, and ended up with, “Anthills flex dimes.”

With her and the last few soldiers retreating through the Northern door, the building seemed to heave a sigh of relief. Or, maybe that was a dozen Roman eagles flying off into the distance. Highly possible.

Jack’s song cut off abruptly with, “My boys!” He skidded out from behind his shield. Pax couldn’t decide if it was more or less disturbing that Jack’s bubbly grin remained as he tripped over corpses. “Oh, my boys! You’re alive!”

Axel’s shoulder slumped. “Don—” Before he could finish, Jack slung an arm around Axel’s back to drag him to Pax’s level. Jack tried, unsuccessfully considering Axel was now bigger than him, to drag the brothers into his lap for a joint hug. Pax happily complied, wanting nothing more than to curl up in someone’s lap with a mug of hot chocolate, half-filled with marshmallows, and hear stories about magical ponies. Axel grunted in pain.

Alabaster sighed. The annoyance in his tone was shaky. “Jack, his arm is dislocated.”

Sure enough, Axel’s arm was rebellious in its placement. There was more. Jack was horrified to see where Axel had been stabbed twice and covered the wounds with duct tape.

Jack started the typical procedure: snipping off clothing that clogged the wounds, clearing out debris. They would get to Axel’s dislocated arm after Jack assured “there will be no bleeding out on my watch!” Jack gently moved Pax, so Pax could still lean on one of his bowed knees while he twisted to tend to his older brother. Pax stared at the bruises forming along Axel’s chest, especially around his right arm socket. Like usual, Pax hadn’t received any injuries while his brother seemed to receive double. Pax really hoped Axel hadn’t made an arrangement with Satan about that. Satanic deals for short-sighted noble reasons? Totally Axel’s style.

“Torrington!” Jack cried. “I am so disappointed. Does this look like acceptable babysitting to you? What if one of them had been seriously injured?!” Axel choked in pain as Jack set his shoulder back into place. “How am I ever supposed to trust you with my sons again! Alabaster, they’re fragi—”

Alabaster was still half-leaned against a crate, where Pax had left him. Each breath rattled painfully. “Flash… I have a broken… ribcage… and am… out of magic… What do you… want from me… right now?”

“Definitely better childcare!” Jack said. “It’s bad enough that the Androphagoi Darecare program bombed—”

“They’re… cannibals…”

“But now I can’t trust my friends!”

“We’re… not—”

“I want you to know that I won’t heal you until you promise that they’ll never get hurt on your watch again!”

         Now was not the time for Pax to point out how often Alabaster used them—well, mostly him. Axel had too much self-preservation and too little respect for the awesome risks involved in scientific and magical discovery—as test subjects for various potions, some of which had definitely poisoned Pax. Plus, all this madness considered, Alabaster had been against the Pax brother’s plan to distract the Romans and taunt them into an assault.

         Alabaster closed his eyes. “That’s… literally impossible… for me… to assure.”

         Flynn trudged over the bodies, dragging one in particular behind her. Once beside them, she dropped it with a clatter of metal. “We need Alabaster for the war effort. You have to heal him.” The comment was absent. Her gaze scanned the wreckage until her black irises landed on Jack. His healing hum paused as she gently touched his shoulder. “Jack…”

         Pax twisted to see her better. Her brow furrowed with uncertainty. “You were able to distinguish between people you wanted to heal and people you wanted to kill.”

         This was one of the main reasons Luke never wanted Jack on the battlefield. In theory, Jack could bring plague to the whole Roman army. But, he could also bring plague to the Camp Othrys army, and this was one situation were “sharing is caring” wasn’t the answer.

         Jack beamed. He puffed up his chest. “I did! I only killed the right people! My maternal instinct kicked in.”

         Axel opened and closed his fist on the arm that had been dislocated. “I think you mean paternal.”

         Alabaster smiled weakly. “He knows… what he said…”

         “Speaking of which. I want to know how they knew to hurt my boys.” Jack shifted Pax onto Axel’s lap. As Pax had many a time, he thanked the gods that Jack seemed to think Pax was five years younger than he really was. If he was older, they might expect him not to be curled in fetal position. All Pax wanted was to keep close to someone he knew could kick some serious ass. This building felt too exposed. Sure, the Romans had retreated, but what if their reinforcements showed?

         Flynn dragged the Roman in front of Jack. Pax pointedly examined the Roman’s knees, not wanting to recognize a face. What if it was the girl he couldn’t hang? Vomit smeared the soldier’s blue jeans and greaves like someone’s craft night involved one-to-many milk challenges. The person’s breath was so slow and rattled, Pax would have mistaken them for dead on a walk-by.

         “Oh, no! No you don’t—you’re not dying yet. I’ll make sure you live. You—you little—little—you bad person! You—you—” Jack struggled to find a word he found harsh enough. “You jerk!”

         “Let’s get the… boys home.” Flynn never liked to refer to the Pax brothers as her sons, more like her impossible-to-get-rid-of parasites. Her tone was too sweet. “Then we can focus on interrogation.”

         “I want to be home.” Pax meant that he wanted to be back in Belize, in their one-room shack, play-wrestling with his little brother and older sister. Axel ruffled his hair—something Uncle Frasco used to do. This new home was nice. Right? Their real dad wasn’t here. But, Pax didn’t want to consider why Jack would need to be present for an interrogation. Flynn or Lucille could command people to tell them the truth. Why would you need a healer?

         Fingers hovered in Pax’s face. He glanced up. Flynn had set the body down to offer him a hand up. “Let’s get you there.” She almost smiled. The look was painful and Pax wondered if he and his surrogate mother needed to practice facial drills to increase those smile muscles. “I saw what you did to the windows. That was good work.”

         Compliments were like albino tigers from her: so rare that you want to jump in excitement about seeing the fluffy cutie, then remember you should probably run away because it can still eat you.   The melodiousness of her words warmed his bones and relaxed his tensed muscles. Pax felt his eyelids flicker. That had been good work, an echo cooed, forming the shape of her lips in the blackness behind his lids. Papa would be proud.

         He’d be proud of you hanging someone.

         Pax seized, clutching Axel’s knee. Charm speak. Why was she using charm speak? She’d used it on him before, to get him to move faster or stop talking. But, why was she using it now? Nausea battled back the lulling effects.

         When he opened his eyes, her gaze was gentler than normal.

         Pax wanted to laugh, to give Flynn a charming smile, and say, “Thanks, I work out and think of ways to be devious and evil in my spare time.” Instead, he threw up all over his brother’s lap.

         Axel sighed. It wasn’t like this was the first time one of his little siblings had thrown up all over him. As he gathered up Pax, as Jack jabbered about doing something celebratory for Alabaster, Axel, and Pax’s “victory,” as Alabaster bitched about his ruined lab, and as Flynn packed up the near-dead Roman, Pax shuddered. He told himself it was because Jack must have accidentally made him sick.

  ***

Thanks for reading! I hope you… enjoyed? Things are about to get pretty dark at Camp Othrys in the character department and scene department and… okay, they’re going to have a bit of a power outage on the happy-go-lucky aspects for this crew. However, when we come back, you get one of the purely fluff pieces in the series. Alabaster’s The Delicate Dance of Chance.

 Thank you to “Psychadelic limbo,” “Thank God It’s Friday” by Ice Nine Kills, and “Dangerous” by Son Lux and a slew of music from Bring me the Horizon and Famous Last words for inspiring this scene.

 Footnotes:

[1] Technically, this specifically means “door of house.” My Mopan Maya dictionary has a word for that, “door man,” and “door brace.”

[2] “Down with the Sickness” by Disturbed. You know, before COVID-19, it was hard to find songs about disease and viruses. Jack was born (and died twice) in the wrong decade.

[kenzieam]

The Right Wrong Choice - Chapter 5 (Eric X OC)

Rating: M (swearing, violence, smut - everything you’ve come to expect from me :* )

Genre: General/Humor/Drama/Eventual Angst

Thanks everyone for the re-blogs and support!!! IT IS SO AWESOME!!!

@emmysrandomthoughts@beautifulramblingbrains @iammarylastar @tigpooh67 @bookwarm85 @mom2reesie @elaacreditava @badassbaker @captstefanbrandt  @treeleaf @pathybo @beltz2016 @lilu46  @girlwith100names @gaia25 @readsalot73  @slayer0507 @stone-met @lostinthebeans @lauraaan182 @letmagichappen @girlslovestorys @tonyt1995 @lacy-love @littlesouthernrebel @fuckthatfeeling  @sparklemichele @vitaevandal @shaunarcanine @jojogoo65 @micolegg @frecklefaceb @jaihardy @equalstrashflavoredtrash @bookgirlthings @queenara4 @sterek-foreverandever

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The next week is.....fuck, I can’t even. Eric ignores me and is a colossal prick to absolutely everyone. Punishments are thrown around like candy at a parade, and no one is safe. Fortunately, the day I get called out, so do four other people and we make a sorry sight dragging our asses around the track, only after an Erudite girl, Megan, pukes and passes out does he irritably tell us to piss off.

We’ve started fighting each other too, pairs are written on the board and we’re expected to fight until one of us wins or the other concedes. I got royally beat in my first fight against Ethan, and woke up to Maddox and Pax carrying me to the infirmary. My next fight was better, but I got seriously lucky and I’m sure the only reason I won against Megan was because she tripped and fell onto my fist. I’ve started training after hours again; Eric leaves me completely alone, and I need the practice.

At night my dreams are confusing and vivid. At first they made no sense whatsoever, but gradually a constant theme has emerged. Eric. Always Eric, in some shape or form. At first he was a dark shadow, lurking and stalking, making me glance nervously over my shoulder as I ran down endless corridors; but now, he is no longer a shadow, I catch glimpses of him and he’s not frightening anymore, he’s sad, maybe even heartbroken. In a way, that’s harder, I could fight against fear, but my heart is susceptible to sadness and misery. My parents always called my compassion for others a ‘weak throwback to your mother’s Abnegation side’ and made me feel like less for it, but I’ve never been comfortable with another’s emotional pain. It’s worse with Eric, because I know that I’m the cause, and after my initial knee-jerk reaction in the corridor, my feelings are starting to change or, more likely, hidden ones are starting to surface.

I’ve had a lot of time to think, and my mind runs the gamut from confused to crystal clear, sometimes during the same damn thought; it’s driving me insane. My tepid reaction to Pax’s attentions is what’s most telling, he’s exactly the type of guy I’d have mooned over in Candor, but now, he’s not enough. I’m not ready to chuck it all in and go running after Lurch though either; he’s capable of an incredible level of assholery, and he’s been ignoring me ever since our desperate kiss in the corridor. I’m not sure what that means, has he given up? Is he sullen and pouting? The man is a mystery; I had him pegged for a complete jerk, a sadistic bastard but the way he leaned against me in the corridor, the way he kissed me and ran his hands over my skin is the complete opposite of that, made my heart race like it never has before; but if I’ve screwed up that chance, I’m not going to beg for another.

I win handily in my second to last fight, kicking the ever-loving shit out of Megan’s boyfriend, a fellow Erudite named Daniel. I feel a flash of pride, he was definitely one of the top fighters in our class, but I saw a clear opportunity and as it turns out, he possesses a glass jaw. Eric surprises me by actually acknowledging my victory, nodding in my direction with, is that a spark of pride?

Today was our last day of the first phase, our last fight and I was pit against Raye. I hate Eric for this, for making me fight my friend. I won, Raye conceding before I broke her arm in a submission hold and I spat angrily at Eric’s feet as I stormed by.

I catch sight of his shadow leaving the training room later as I scan the rankings. I’m sixth, I am still in the running to be Dauntless. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________

There is no obnoxious clanging on the metal railing to wake us the next day. It is Visiting Day and basically a free-for-all, no scheduled activities. I have no idea if my parents are coming, Candor is not a touchy-feely faction and I’m sure I shocked them when I ‘chose’ Dauntless. I wander the Pit for awhile, meet Raye’s parents, and am about to leave, go to the quiet reading ledge I’ve discovered by the Chasm when I hear my name called.

“Madeline?”

I turn in shock. Both of my parents stand there, stark in Candor black and white. I swallow hard and walk towards them. As usual, they have no reservations about saying their mind.

“What were you thinking? Transferring to Dauntless? You could do so much better!”

A knot of humiliation tightens in my chest, was I that prejudiced when I was a dependent? Their intolerance shames me. I’m still formulating a response when I sense someone step beside me. A hand ghosts across my lower back, trailing fire and there is only one person in the city that I react to this way.

“Mr and Mrs Fawkes? I’m Eric, your daughter’s trainer and Initiation Leader.” His voice is smooth and diplomatic, but I see the tension in his jaw, he heard every word.

“Initiation Leader? You’re a little young, aren’t you?” My father, as per usual, has no filter; at Candor it was expected, here, it’s just rude.

“Age is only a number, sir.” I’m not sure if my father hears the warning in the word sir but I do, and my heart starts to pound. Strangely though, I’m not anxious for my parents, I’m anxious for Eric, I don’t want him to be subjected to the intolerance’s of my family.

My hand brushes his and I manage to hide my shock when he grabs it and holds tight. My parents may be willfully blind to the virtues of other factions, but their laser vision doesn’t miss this. I immediately don’t like the calculating look on my mother’s face; I can almost hear her thoughts out loud, well, she’s chosen the heathen faction, but at least she’s attached herself to a leader, we haven’t totally raised a moron.

Suddenly I want out of this, I’m done. I’m not sure what I expected today, but I realize with a jolt that I’m past my past, I’ve moved on, my expectations are different, my values have changed. Dauntless may not be the ‘intelligent’ or the ‘honest’ faction, but it’s mine goddammit, and I fit in. I’m not surprised when Eric catches onto these thoughts and squeezes my hand, it gives me the strength for my next words.

“Well, thank you for making the trip here. I’d like you to go now. Goodbye, Mother. Goodbye, Father.” I take a step back, turn in tandem with Eric, leave my parents standing there in shock.

I don’t even care anymore. I’m mortified when I start to sniffle. I try to pull my hand away from Eric’s, my face burning. He says nothing, just hangs on and leads me to the stairs. We hit the top of the stairwell and I frown when Eric leads me to an unmarked door, he pushes it open and we’re on a rooftop. His hand slackens slightly, letting me know I can let go if I want to, but I don’t anymore and feel warm at the small smile that touches his lips.

He walks to the far side, around a small shed and leans against it. I lean on the wall beside him and look out over the city. The view here is different than Candor and I immediately fall in love with it. We don’t speak for a long time and, like when we in the armoury, the silence is not uncomfortable.

I’m not sure what has changed, maybe it’s seeing my old life and it’s limited perspective, maybe just the passage of the last few weeks and my willing assimilation into Dauntless, but I no longer fight the realization that has been hovering over me. I’ve been fighting my fate and, like a true Dauntless, I’m ready to face it now.

I squeeze Eric’s hand, and as he turns his head to look at me, I move to stand in front of him. His other hand gently grips my hip and pulls me closer. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just gazes at me and the softness in his eyes causes a heat to build in my chest. No one has ever looked at me this way before, and it doesn’t scare like I thought it would, like it did in the empty corridor when Eric took a chance and confessed his feelings for me and I ran away from him. His hand leaves my hip and gently cups my cheek and I lean my face into his touch. Why did I fight this? It feels like coming home.

“Madeline,” Eric whispers, his voice quiet.

I can’t wait any longer and close the distance between us. His ragged exhale tells me how hard this has been for him, the desperate edge to his touch mirrors my own.

“It’s Fox now,” I murmur as his lips claim mine. I crush my mouth to his, I can’t get close enough and his arms wrap around me, pull me against his chest. He groans as I wrap my leg around his hip and his knees give out. Slowly he slides down the wall, pulling me with him, until he’s sitting on the roof and I’m straddling his lap. I feel him hard and hot beneath me and my heart starts to pound with anticipation. I want this, and I want it now, I’ve wasted enough time.

I yank at his jacket while he does at mine and we pull reluctantly apart long enough to toss them away. His hands are hot on my skin as they slide under my shirt and pull it over my head. I’m wearing my favourite black lace bra and he groans in appreciation, dropping his head to kiss the tops of my breasts. As his hands reach up my back and undo my bra clasp I pull at his jeans zipper, reaching inside to stroke his cock. The sound he makes causes a shiver to run through me and his body physically jolts at my touch.

“Fuck baby,” I hear him gasp and my body clenches. I pull away long enough to begin yanking at my own jeans and Eric’s hands cover mine. He’s panting for breath and his pupils are blown. “Are you sure? Out here? But aren’t you a virgin?”

I clasp his face in one hand and reach back down to his cock with the other, his hiss is guttural and strained. “Yes, yes and yes,” I breathe, dropping forward to kiss him again. I don’t care where we are, I don’t care if this isn’t the most romantic of settings, what matters to me is the man below me, the man I am seconds away from connecting with. Damn him, he tries to pull away one more time.

“Fox,” he groans, “a condom.”

I stand and yank my jeans down, kicking them off furiously, my underwear follows but Eric snatches them from my hand before they can join the pile of discarded clothing. He stuffs them into his pocket as I hook my fingers into his belt loops and pull, he raises his hips to help. His jeans join the growing pile of clothes and I straddle his lap again, some buried instinct of mine makes me roll my hips against him and Eric drops his head back with a groan. I remember his earlier protest and whisper into his ear.

“I’m on the shot...hurry up and touch me, goddammit.”

The strangled moan that leaves his mouth makes the tingling between my legs grow. His hand cups me there and it feels good, it feels right. I moan his name and he groans mine in response. I shudder as I feel him push a finger inside of me and after a second of it feeling foreign it starts to feel good and I grind myself down on him.

“Fuck, baby you’re so fucking hot,” he gasps, his face buried in my neck as he adds another finger, stretching me wider. I know what is going to happen next, I know it will hurt at first, and I still want it. His fingers inside me are stroking some magic place inside me and the most amazing sensation is building in me. I try to speak and manage only a whimper instead, but Eric knows what is happening.

“That’s it baby, let go. Come for me,” his words are a powerful caress, his voice straining with lust and the tingling overwhelms me. I’d be embarrassed by the sounds I’m making if it wasn’t for how turned on they seem to be making Eric. I collapse against him, can’t stop myself from trembling. I’m super sensitive and Eric slowly withdraws his hand, his chest heaving.

“Oh god-” I can’t finish and Eric’s low chuckle vibrates against me. “Does it always feel like that?”

“Yes, if you want it to.”

“I do,” I breathe, rolling my hips again. “Please Eric.”

His hand touches me again, then strokes down his length, spreading my juices to ease his passage. Holding himself steady, he meets my eyes, his other hand on my hip, helping guide me down. I gasp as the head of his thick cock touches my folds and Eric drops his head back with a hiss, gritting his teeth. I lower myself further, forcing myself to relax and accept the strange intrusion. Eric is large and he’s stretching me almost too painfully, but I want this too much to back down now. I hit resistance, realize I’m at the last barrier of my virginity and bite my lip. No pain, no pleasure, if my first time is a gift, I want to give it to Eric. His groan is ragged as I push past the pain, as I take Eric’s whole length inside me, his thighs quiver beneath me.

“Fox,” his voice is threadbare, a gasp. His muscles tremble. I pause, giving both of us a minute to recover, then, instinct takes over and I stop thinking. I rise up, pulling almost completely free before lowering myself down again, and his cock glides deliciously inside me, the pain is already gone. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise and I curl against him, our heads press into the crook of each other’s neck. A desperation takes hold of me, and I gasp Eric’s name as he thrusts upwards, filling me completely, setting off more of the delicious tingles I felt before. Our bodies move as one, each thrust brings me closer and closer to the edge. His rough grunts and groans in my ear, the desperate way he gasps my name, his hands holding me almost suffocatingly close as his hips thrust upwards into me ignite an inferno inside me and I let it consume me, let it explode outward and envelop Eric too.

I scream his name as my orgasm hits, as I convulse in his arms and bare seconds later he joins me, roaring in his own release. I feel warmth as he pulses inside me and a bone-deep satisfaction, a rightness flows through me as his hips continue to snap erratically below me, his roar trailing off to a ragged groan. His head drops into my neck as he pants, as aftershocks race through his body and make his muscles jump. I’m spent, exhausted as I curl against his chest, but as soon as he withdraws from my body I want him again. I whimper and cling to him, relief flooding me when he pulls me close, buries his head in my hair and presses a tender kiss to my throat. It’s almost embarrassing at the level of vulnerability I’m willing to show Eric right now, but then, he’s baring his heart to me too.

“Take me to your apartment,” I breathe into his neck and Eric groans against my skin.

“I’ll never let you leave if I do,” his whisper is harsh and possessive.

“Good.”

Reluctantly we part to dress, and as I’m pulling my shirt down Eric’s hands run hot over my ribs, pulling me back against his chest, my ass bumps his hips; he is ready again, hard for me and a delicious shiver runs through me at the thought that me, my body, my mind is affecting him so strongly. His lips caress my ear then he whispers.

“Go ahead to my apartment, the door code is 74290. I’ll be right there.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to talk to Four, get him to erase the security camera footage.”

My heart skips, “you mean, they saw us?”

His breath is warm as his tongue joins his lips and I fight not to whirl in his arms and start ripping at his clothes again.

“No, not up here; they saw us in the stairwell, they’ll see you go to my apartment.”

I don’t want to hide, we shouldn’t have to and I say as much.

“Baby, I don’t want to either, but until you’re done training, we have to be discreet.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say ‘fuck discreet’ but Eric already knows me too well. “It’s just for a few more weeks, we’re starting the second stage tomorrow, stay calm Red.”

I scoff and playfully try to pull away, “stop calling me that.”

“What should I call you then?” He lets me pull away to arm length, his hand still holding mine.

I take a chance, hope I’m not wrong, but Dauntless are brave. “How about ‘mine’?”

Eric goes still, his eyes widen slightly and I can almost hear his heart pounding. He pulls me roughly towards him, cups my cheek. His voice is guttural and rough when he speaks again. “Are you? Mine?”

“Do you want me?” I counter, holding out my heart, waiting.

The low sound he makes almost stops my heart, it is single-handedly the most possessive and ardent, most worshipful and passionate noise I have ever heard another person make. He pulls me to him, crushing me against his muscular chest and his arms band tightly around me. His breath is slightly unsteady in my ear as his cheek rests against my hair and for a long moment he doesn’t speak. Then he exhales and presses a kiss to my forehead, his hand strokes gently along my cheek and he whispers in my ear.

“Yes.”