#and it’s still been less than three weeks since someone i trusted coordinated with a stranger to do this to me. and somehow im still

[goblinbabe666]

i can’t afford rent because i haven’t worked since being assaulted LMAO fuck me i love this shit

[gerrystamour]

here i have found some peace of mind [chapter one]

Rated E | Steddie

Steve Harrington works at a hotel in Chicago, responsible for making and managing reservations for groups of all kinds: corporate, tours, entertainment, you name it. When some famous metal band signs a contract for rooms three months ahead of their concert date, Steve is swept into a flirtatious back-and-forth with someone he as been led to believe is the tour manager, Chris Cunningham, and quickly finds himself falling for the man… Eddie Munson is a rockstar still riding the high of Corroded Coffin finally, finally making it big, but with the fame he finds himself almost lonelier than he was before. So when he answers his tour manager's phone and a nice guy with a cute voice starts calling him "Chris," Eddie plays along and maybe gets a bit carried away…

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spent all winter waiting for the sun to arise

“Hey Steve, can I turn this group over to you?”

Steve startled and looked up from his computer at the speaker. Nancy was standing on the other side of his cubicle wall with her arms crossed on top of it. She was smiling sweetly in the way she only did when she was asking for something outside of his job description.

“When is the group coming?” Steve asked, and Nancy almost suppressed her grimace.

“They’re coming in July—”

“July, Nance? It’s March,” Steve huffed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “You have to turn it over to Joyce, and if she assigns me the group, fine. July is too far out—”

“If I give it to Joyce, she’s going to assign it to one of the event managers, and they’re going to screw it up,” Nancy said quietly, glancing around the office. “I only trust you to handle this one. It’s rooms only, no catering needed.”

Steve wouldn’t deny that the praise had him reconsidering his protests just a bit. But only a bit, because she was still asking him to take on a group that wasn’t arriving for three months without consulting his boss at all. He was the group housing coordinator for a luxury hotel connected to the international airport, and while he handled a few groups on his own, it was only in specific cases. What Nancy was asking was not even remotely in the realm of those specific cases.

“You have to turn it over to Joyce,” Steve said plainly before turning back to his computer to continue making a room block for one of the event manager’s groups. That was his job; making room blocks and booking rooms for groups coming to the hotel. “You can always tell her that you want me to take it.”

“Then she definitely won’t assign it to you,” Nancy insisted, exasperated.

Steve sighed and pushed his glasses on top of his head so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. Joyce usually didn’t assign the groups to Steve like Nancy asked in an effort to keep Steve’s plate from being piled too high. Once, Nancy ended up turning over so many groups directly to Steve that he got overwhelmed and burnt out. He was more or less forced to take all three weeks of his unused and rolled over vacation days. 

Since then, Joyce had a strict policy that the sales team could only turn small groups arriving within the next ten days directly over to Steve.

“Steve, please, I promise you’ll want this one,” Nancy pressed, and Steve let his head drop forward.

“Is it a tour?” he asked grumpily, knowing there were only three types of groups that would sway him in her campaign.

“Nope,” Nancy said, and Steve could hear the triumphant smile on her lips. “It’s a band and the film crew. They’re doing some kind of tour documentary.”

Steve groaned and dropped his forehead onto the desk. While he liked handling tours, Steve loved handling bands and film crews. Even the most difficult clients were still straight-forward enough with interesting people. They needed rooms, they sent you the requirements for their stay, and you followed their instructions. Half of the time the bands would cancel before they even arrived, and the film crews were usually quiet once they got settled.

“Do I know the band?” he grumbled, not even lifting his head.

Nancy scoffed. “Do you listen to metal?” she asked, and Steve lifted his head to raise an eyebrow at her. She was smirking down at him. “Didn’t think so. Don’t worry about it. I only know who it is because the above-property sales person told me when she sent me the signed contract.”

“You’re assuming I’m taking it,” Steve said flatly, but he knew Nancy won.

Nancy gave him a patient smile as she dropped the printed contract on his desk. “I’ll send the rest of the details for you to make the room block. There’s a note that the tour manager wants the confirmation numbers ASAP.”

With that, Nancy walked back to her desk around the corner.

On his desk, Steve’s cell phone buzzed.

Robbie: food in dusty-buns office >:3c Steve: be there in 5 😩

❖

“She has you so whipped, Steve.”

Steve sat on the staging table in one of the banquet storage rooms and ate a plate of leftover food from a buffet the team just cleared. They affectionately called this storage room Dustin’s “office” since the banquet server was most often working events and using that staging and storage area.

He gave Robin a baleful glare as he shoveled another scoop of ravioli into his mouth.

“Yeah, dude, why are you even letting her boss you around? Just tell my mom,” Dustin said, popping open a can of soda. Steve rolled his eyes at the suggestion. Claudia Henderson was the Director of Sales and Nancy’s boss, and Steve knew he should be telling her that Nancy was overstepping again.

He didn’t actually want to, though.

“I’m not gonna tattle to your mom, Dustin,” Steve sighed heavily.

“Yeah, because Nancy Wheeler has you whipped,” Robin repeated, rolling her eyes. “She’s totally taking advantage because she knows you’re still not over her—”

“Okay, first of all, I am totally over her, like one-thousand percent over her,” Steve said quickly, pointing at Robin. “And she said she doesn’t trust the event managers to handle bands or film crews, and honestly? Valid.”

“I don’t know enough about rooms to dispute your expertise in them,” Robin admitted sadly, grabbing another fancy little brownie bite.

“You don’t know anything about rooms,” Steve agreed, smirking at her. “Anyway, it’s one group, and they’ll probably cancel anyway.”

“Why do you think that?” Robin asked.

Steve heaved a big sigh as he settled in to explain as simply as he could. “Half the time bands will cancel, usually because their tour got all fucked up for one reason or another. Anyway, this group is booking their rooms three months in advance. There’s no way they’ll actually come.”

“But you said they’re traveling with a film crew, right? Wouldn’t they have a pretty strict filming schedule?” Dustin asked, and Steve shrugged.

“No idea,” he replied.

“Who’s the band?” Robin asked, and Steve shrugged again. Robin scoffed. “Seriously? You don’t know?”

“I know they’re a metal band. None of the paperwork says the band’s name, and the rooming list has fake names already,” Steve replied. “Typical procedure for higher profile bands, so they might be a big deal. I don’t really care, honestly.”

Just as he finished saying that, Steve’s phone started ringing.

“Hello, this is Steve,” he answered.

“Hey, I know you’re on your lunch, but the tour manager called asking about the rooming list,” Nancy said, her tone apologetic.

“Revisit the first half of that sentence, Nance,” Steve said, but he was already putting his plate aside to hop down from the table.

Robin made a whip-cracking noise with a roll of her eyes.

“I know, just— the tour manager seems really high-strung about it,” Nancy pressed, and she did sound genuinely sorry for calling on his break.

“I’m. On. My. Lunch,” Steve said slowly and deliberately as he waved goodbye to Robin and Dustin, slipping out of Dustin’s office.

“Fine, fine, just make sure you get it done before the end of the day,” Nancy sighed and hung up.

Steve let out a slow breath as he walked back to his office ten minutes before the end of his lunch break.

❖

Sitting back down at his desk, Steve pulled up the details for the block and opened the rooming list the tour manager sent.

He was startled, but appreciative of the fact that the riders were included in the same document, even if that meant that the rooming list was given to him in the worst possible format: A goddamn PDF.

Steve was used to it by that point, coming from entertainment groups; it was a security thing. That didn’t make it any less frustrating to handle.

Grumbling to himself, Steve did what he did best; tucked himself in to read the contract from top to bottom, then back again, then did the same with the riders. Then came all the technical stuff of building the room block, then struggling through getting the names off the PDF and into a spreadsheet to book the rooms.

“They could’ve sent this when it was still a Word document but no,” Steve grumbled bitchily, shoving his glasses back up his nose. “They had to be all fancy and important and send it as a fucking PDF.”

Finally, when that was all done and the rooms were confirmed, Steve pulled up a blank email and the tour manager’s contact details in their system.

The manager’s name was Chris Cunningham, according to the information the above-property sales manager input, and something about that name did sound familiar. Steve couldn’t place it right away, so he gave up trying and went back to starting his email.

Good afternoon Chris,

It’s a pleasure to e-meet you!

Thank you so much for choosing our property to host your group. I have reserved the rooms and attached the confirmed rooming list here for your reference. Please confirm that everything is correct at your earliest convenience.

Since there is still time before your group will be arriving, I will reach out a bit closer to when we will take the deposit for the rooms to confirm some of the other details.

Please do not hesitate to reach out at any time! It is my pleasure to assist you.

Once again, thank you for choosing our property, and I look forward to working with you.

Warmest regards,

Steve Harrington - Group Housing and Events Coordinator

Nodding at that email, Steve attached the documents and hit send. Then he set about putting the print-out of the contract and riders into a folder to tuck away until he had to look at it in June.

With all of that finished, Steve was able to do his other work. He literally didn’t have to worry about this group for months.

But he ran into an issue with a client the week before where he couldn’t email her anything with an attachment from his work email without it being bounced back to him. Nancy had told him the manager seemed high-strung about the rooming list.

With a groan, he decided he’d call the manager just to make sure the list was received. Steve didn’t hate talking on the phone, but it was a close thing.

“Maybe they won’t even pick-up,” Steve muttered as the line rang once, twice—

“Hellooo, this is Cunningham’s phone,” a deep voice drawled, and Steve internally cursed his luck.

Slapping on his cheeriest smile, Steve said, “Hi Chris, this is Steve calling from the hotel in Chicago! I’m the event manager for your group staying in July.”

There was silence on the other line, and Steve hoped the line had dropped.

“Sorry, that was a lot of words at once,” Chris said, and Steve made a pained face.

“Is this Chris?” Steve asked, and the man on the other line laughed.

“Yeah, sure, I’m Chris. I’ll be whoever you want, handsome,” Chris replied, and Steve felt like he could actually hear the grin. “How can I help?”

Steve frowned because this guy sounded bored and relaxed, nothing like Nancy had been describing earlier which made him a bit angry. She rode his ass about this rooming list and the guy was actually super laid-back?

“Yes, hi Chris, I’m Steve? The event manager for your group arriving in July?” Steve repeated, keeping his voice pleasant even if his building headache was making him bitchy. “I was just following up to introduce myself over the phone, and also to confirm that you received the rooming list I just sent.”

“Oh shit, let me check,” Chris huffed, and Steve could hear him messing with the phone. “Yep, looks like we got it. You’re fast.”

Steve preened under the praise. “Thanks. I understand how important speedy confirmations can be, especially during a stressful tour,” he said sweetly, and Chris laughed.

“It’s a stressful tour, alright,” he sighed.

Steve hesitated a couple seconds before he said, “Alright, I’m glad you got the list. I won’t reach out again until the beginning of June, but please—do not hesitate to email or call if you have any questions, concerns, or requests.”

“Oh, you’ll definitely be hearing from me, Stevie,” Chris teased, and Steve blushed a bit at the nickname. He knew he should be annoyed by it a little, but it was cute, and Chris’s voice really did it for him.

“Sounds good, Chris,” Steve said, and he wasn’t pretending to be nice completely. “I’ll talk to you later.”

At that, Steve hung up his phone and stared at his keyboard for several long seconds.

He hadn’t dealt with a flirtatious guest or client since he left the front desk a year ago, and already this felt like unfamiliar territory. Maybe Chris would lose interest and settle down as they worked together.

Steve found himself quietly hoping that didn’t happen, though.

❖

In a bunk bed on a tour bus on the other side of the country, Eddie Munson stared at the phone in his hand with a little smile tugging at his mouth.

It was a short conversation but there was something really nice about having a conversation with someone who treated him like a normal human being. It had been years since Eddie could talk to someone other than his band mates, manager, and uncle without it being either drenched in starstruck hero-worship or stilted professionalism.

At first, that had been exciting. They finally made it. After all of their hard work and grinding and sleepless, penniless weeks of driving themselves to gigs, they did it. Eddie wasn’t the local drug dealing deadbeat loser every high school teacher believed he would be forever. He was somebody, and people either worshiped him or at least respected him.

He just never expected stardom to become so lonely.

Obviously, Eddie had the boys and Chrissy, all of them sticking together through the worst of times and reaping the benefits of the best of times. He was never alone, and for that Eddie was grateful.

But sometimes he just wished he could make more friends, maybe even have something more than casual sex with someone. Someone who saw Eddie, not the frontman of one of the biggest metal bands in the scene currently.

Now, Eddie wasn’t completely stupid. He knew that Steve was only so relaxed because he was under the impression that he was talking to the tour manager. But still, it was nice. He liked it.

“Dude, is that Chrissy’s phone?”

Eddie jumped and looked up at Jeff with wide eyes. Jeff was standing in the doorway of the “bedroom” of the tour bus. For a moment, Eddie was struck with the idea to eat the phone to hide it which he put a stop to immediately.

“Maybe,” Eddie said elusively, rolling so he was laying more on his side rather than on his stomach.

“You know she’s literally about to have an aneurysm out there trying to find that, right?” Jeff asked with a snort before he climbed up into his bunk across the small hall between beds.

“At this point, if she hasn’t figured out that I have her phone one-hundred percent of the time she can’t find it, that's on her,” Eddie said haughtily, going back to the game of Sudoku he was struggling with before Steve called.

“Maybe you should stop losing your phone, yeah?” Jeff suggested tiredly, throwing his arm over his eyes.

Eddie pouted at the puzzle. “I didn’t lose my phone,” he grumbled, and Jeff snorted.

“Okay, fine, maybe you should stop completely destroying your phones, plural,” he said, and Eddie felt his ears heat up.

It wasn’t his fault that they made phones more and more fragile while also making them too big to fit in his pockets. It’s also not his fault that he was prone to jumping up onto surfaces he shouldn’t be climbing on and horsing around. He had a diagnosis for that and a prescription and everything, he was honestly doing his best.

Maybe goofing off on the half-wall overlooking the Grand Canyon while wearing his tightest pair of jeans with the least effective pockets last week wasn’t the best decision, but it wasn’t his fault.

The time before that, he was just trying to get a signal while they drove through the boonies. It wasn’t his fault that the bus driver hit a pothole the second Eddie held his phone close to the open window. It truly actually wasn’t.

And before that, he actually just lost his phone. Eddie was positive he had it in his bag, and then when they got to the next venue, it wasn’t there. That happens to the best of people all the time, right?

According to his band mates, no, that didn’t happen to people all the time, but he was pretty sure they were all just conspiring to make him look like a weirdo.

“Whatever, the point is Chrissy knows I always have her phone when she can’t find it. Her freaking out is just silly,” Eddie said with a sniff, glaring down at the Sudoku puzzle he was making zero progress with.

“Edward Munson!”

Jeff peered over the edge of his bunk to smirk at Eddie’s wide-eyed stare. “Uh oh,” he teased as Chrissy approached.

“Jeff! Quick! Get my cane,” Eddie hissed, frantically pointing at it where it hung from its wrist strap on a hook. He wouldn’t be able to jump up and get it quick enough himself, but he needed to defend himself somehow. Chrissy was a dirty fighter.

Jeff just laughed and shook his head. “No fuckin’ way I’m getting involved,” he said as Chrissy appeared in the doorway, red-faced and furious.

“You!” she practically shrieked, pointing at him as he shoved the phone between his body and the mattress as if she hadn’t already seen it in his hands.

“What?” he asked innocently, and he screamed as she dove into his bunk to wrestle the phone out from under him.

They tussled for a while, Chrissy yelling all sorts of expletives at him that were honestly still a shock coming from her sweet face. And again, she was a dirty fighter.

“Ow, shit! Did you just bite me?” Eddie hissed, grabbing Chrissy’s whole face and pushing her away as he looked at the distinctly teeth-shaped indents on his arm following the curve of one of his burn scars. The bite mark was deep, just barely not breaking skin and would definitely bruise.

Then Chrissy licked his palm like an animal, and he recoiled enough that he rolled off of her phone.

“What the fuck, Cunningham, that’s disgusting,” Eddie said with a glower, wiping his hand off on his shirt as Chrissy checked for new messages. When she didn’t respond, he added suggestively, “you have no idea where my hand has been.”

“I’ve had worse in my mouth than whatever you’ve got going on,” Chrissy muttered, and Eddie grimaced.

“Now I’m thinking about Jason’s dick. Thanks for that, Chris,” Eddie groaned, and Chrissy just snorted.

“I was actually talking about that pizza we were subjected to by the venue last week, but okay, bring my ex’s dick into this,” Chrissy said before smacking Eddie’s chest.

“Ow, my nipples,” Eddie pouted. 

She just smacked him again, trying not to laugh as Jeff interjected with, “You only have one nipple, dude.”

“Stop stealing my phone!” Chrissy bit out through her teeth, trying to be intimidating but honestly channeling the energy of a chihuahua puppy.

“I didn’t steal it! I was just using it! Secretly! While you were looking for it! Without asking!” Eddie said, barely containing his laugh.

“You’re an asshole, you know that? We’re getting you a new phone as soon as we have time,” Chrissy huffed, tossing her phone back onto Eddie’s bed, which he immediately snatched back up. “Don’t hide it from me.”

“Did you fucking delete all the answers I figured out on this stupid puzzle?” Eddie gasped, looking at Chrissy with wide eyes.

“Maybe I did,” she said huffily, puffing up her chest as she crossed her arms.

“You monster,” Eddie wailed, flopping back and laying the back of his hand over his forehead dramatically.

“Well, maybe you’ll think before you destroy your next phone, huh?” Chrissy said, reaching over to quickly and viciously pinch Eddie’s nipple through his shirt. As Eddie yelped, she quickly dove off the bunk with a shrieking giggle and fled the bus.

For a moment Eddie tried to chase her, but after all the wrestling, they had managed to get his blankets tangled around his legs. Plus, his bad leg didn’t really allow for jumping up and chasing anyone at the best of times. Did Eddie only stop trying when he wound up in an undignified heap on the floor of the bus? Perhaps.

“You good, Eddie?”

When Eddie looked up, he was met with Jeff’s phone out and clearly recording, if the way he was stifling his laughter was anything to go by. 

Eddie groaned and dropped his forehead to the floor with a loud thump. 

Of course, Jeff would be recording this whole mess, just like Gareth had recorded the exact moment he realized his phone had fallen into a literal canyon last week. Naturally, all these moments would be edited together for their next “Tour Diary” on their YouTube channel.

And yes, the incident with Eddie’s phone falling out the window of the moving bus was also caught on video, and the fans had lost it. So yeah, now their tour diaries included an entire section dubbed “Cringefail Eddie” and it was all good fun.

Crawling back into his bunk, Eddie picked up Chrissy’s phone and started the Sudoku puzzle over again with a bright smile on his face. Yeah, stardom was kind of lonely, but he still had his best friends along for the ride with him.

[ NEXT ]

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Thank you so much for reading! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed this! Taglist! @patchworkgargoyle, @scarcrossdlvrs, @indigohightide, @steddieas-shegoes, @steve-harringtits, @mylilplanet, @afewproblems, @xenon-demon, @steddie-there, @inairbinad, @matchingbatbites, @spookednsaucy, @starryeyedjanai, @scoops-stevie, @vecnuthy, @hellion-child, @sidekick-hero, @rugbertgoeshome, @kazalohiku, @lillemilly, @thegingerrapunzel, @hotluncheddie Let me know if you want to stay on or join the taglist by saying so in the tags or reblog comment when you reblog!

[marvelous-writer]

Lost in Space

Chapter 3: No Trust

“It’s been twenty-three days since Thanos came to Earth.” Rhodey says, breaking the silence of the room as they’re all gathered around the holographic screens, looking at the faces of people they once knew… who are now victims of Thanos’ snap.

Sam Wilson, King T’Challa, Nick Fury, Wanda Maximoff, Scott Lang, Hank Pym… all people Tony knows—once knew.

“World governments are… in pieces. The parts that are still working… are tying to take a census and it looks like he did…” Natasha says, pausing for a few long moments, swallowing thickly with a solemn look on her face. “He did exactly what he said he was gonna do. Thanos wiped out… fifty percent… of all living creatures.”

The room is silent once again as everyone takes in the information. Tony rubs a hand over his mouth as he tightly holds onto the armrest of the wheelchair he’s forced to be sitting in.

This is on him.

He could—should—have stopped Thanos.

If he had… millions of people would still be alive right now.

But he screwed up… big time.  

And that bastard Thanos is going to pay for what he did.

“Where is he now? Where?” Tony asks, turning his head to look at Steve across the room, who is leaning against a table with his arms folded over his broad chest.

“We don’t know. He just… opened a portal and walked through.” Steve says.

Of course, he did. Once Thanos finished his dirty work, he went into hiding like a coward. Tony thinks to himself with a huff as he looks away from Steve, only for his eyes to land on Thor, who’s sitting across the room in the greenhouse, hunched over himself with his brows pulled together. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s pissed.. he thinks he failed.” A new voice suddenly speaks up.

Tony raises an eyebrow as he looks across the table he’s sitting at, only for his eyes to land on a raccoon… the same one he’d wheeled by, thinking it was nothing more than a weird stuffed animal souvenir someone had left here.

Tony’s jaw would have dropped to the floor if he wasn’t surrounded by all of these people, some who he once called his teammates. Well… they just might have to be again if they wanted to stop Thanos once and for all.

“Which, of course, he did…” the raccoon continues. “but there’s a lot of that going around, ain’t there?”

“Honestly, until this exact second I thought you were a Build-A-Bear.” Tony tells the talking raccoon.

“Maybe I am.” The racoon retorts.

“We’ve been hunting Thanos for three weeks now,” Steve says, interrupting them, causing both of their heads to turn in the soldier’s direction. “Deep space scans… and satellites, and we got nothing. Tony, you fought him—”

“Who told you that?” Tony questions, brows pulling together beneath his sunglasses, which he’s now grateful Rhodey had knowingly handed him before they came up here from the medbay. After all these years, Rhodey knows him better than anyone, even himself. “I didn’t fight him. No, he wiped my face with a planet…while the Bleecker Street magician gave away the store. That’s what happened. There was no fight, ‘cause he’s not—he’s not beatable.”

“Okay,” Steve says, as he looks up at him from the ground. “Did he give you any clues? Any coordinates? Anything?”

Right. Because a mad titan that just murdered half the universe would give him coordinates to his hide-out. Tony thinks to himself, as he mock-salutes, making a farting sound in his mouth.

Steve closes his eyes with a sigh at the childish gesture, but Tony could care less.

“I saw this coming a few years back. I had a vision… I just didn’t wanna believe it.” He tells them, looking away, focusing on the wall across from him instead.

“Tony… I’m gonna need you to focus—”

“And I needed you .” Tony says, looking back at Steve, glaring underneath his dark glasses. “As in, past tense. That trumps what you need. It’s too late, buddy. Sorry.” Tony says, shaking his head to himself.

He looks at the table, at the bowl of some kind of soup in front of him. At the moment, he could care less about eating anything. After days of not eating anything, food has never looked so unappetizing. His only concern right now, is Peter. Anger bubbles up deep inside of him, causing Tony to slam the bowl of soup with his hand, causing it to fly across the table, spilling it’s contents across the mahogany surface, causing a few people in the room to jump at the suddenness of it.

“You know what I need? I need a shave. A-And I believe I remember tellin—telling…” Tony says as he stands up from the wheelchair, ignoring the way his legs shake in protest underneath him. He starts to pull at the IV in his arm.

“Tony— Tony ,” Rhodey protests, moving closer to him but Tony ignores him as he pulls the IV needle free from his arm.

“…alive and otherwise, that what we needed was a suit of armor around the world. Remember that? Whether it impacted our previous freedoms or not. That’s what we needed.”  

“Well that didn’t work out, did it?” Steve questions.

“I said we’d lose. You said, ‘We’ll do that together, too.’ And guess what, Cap? We lost. And you weren’t there. And that’s why there’s a fifteen year old, lying unconscious in a hospital bed three floors down from us—in a coma a-and there’s a possibility he m-might not ever wake up again,” Tony says, ignoring the way his voice shakes.

Steve’s face falls at that, as well as a few others in the room. Natasha looks at him with a questioning frown and Rhodey lowers his gaze to the table.

“But that’s what we do, right?” Tony continues. “Our best work after the fact? We’re the ‘Avengers’? Not the ‘Pre-vengers? ” He questions mockingly.

“Okay,” Rhodey cuts him off, stepping towards him and gently grabbing his arm, trying to have him sit back down in the wheelchair.

“Right?” Tony asks him.

“You made your point. Just sit down, okay?” Rhodey says, looking him straight in the face with a mixture of concern and seriousness on his face.

“Okay—no, no. Here’s my point—”

“Tony, you’re sick . Sit down.” Rhodey says as his grip tightens on him as he tries to force him into sittin back down in that damned wheelchair again.

“You know what—she’s great by the way,” Tony says as he looks over at Carol, the woman they have to thank for saving them. In a few more hours they for sure would have been dead in the Milano. “We need you. You’re new blood.” He tells her as she looks at him with her brows pulled together in an unreadable expression. Or maybe that’s just his eyes blurring out around the edges on him. He manages to shake Rhodey off of him as he stumbles forward, walking over to Steve with a pointed finger. “Bunch of tired old mules. I got nothin’ for you, Cap. I got no coordinates, no clues, no strategies, no options. Zero. Zip. Nada. No trust, liar. All I’ve got… is my kid who’s half-dead.”

Steve’s eyes scan his face, seeming to be almost shocked at his sudden outburst and everything that he’s saying. But Tony could care less. Without losing eye contact from Steve, Tony reaches down and taps his nanotech housing unit on his chest and rips it off his chest, not even wincing at the sting it causes. He reaches down and forces Steve’s hand up and shoves the device into his hand. Tony notices the way his breathing is coming out in short, raspy breaths now, blinking away the black spots dancing around in his vision.

I need to get out of here and get back to Peter. He thinks to himself.

“Here, take this. You find him, you put that on… you hide.” He says, pointing an accusing finger right in Steve’s face… or at least he hopes it’s his face. His vision is blurring out so much now he’s seeing double.

Tony’s lets suddenly give out underneath him, causing him to land roughly on his knees on the ground, barely managing to keep himself upright.

“Tony!” Steve calls out as he quickly bends over, his arms outstretched to help him but he doesn’t make contact.

“I’m fine,” Tony says as Carol and Rhodey also rush towards him and quickly bend down to help him. “Let me…” Tony slurs out, only for the black spots to completely invade his eyes.

It’s like someone pulls the plug on him because the last thing he’s aware of is the side of his head colliding against the ground before he blacks out.

…

Tony opens his eyes, only to find the familiar metal ceiling of the Milano. He frowns as he sits up from his cot, looking around the place, only to find it empty.  

How did he get back here?  

Didn’t they get back home?

Or… was that all been a dream and they were still stranded up here?

Tony slowly pushes himself up as he steps away from his cot and ventures out into the lower deck of the ship. “Peter? Nebula?” He calls out.  

No response.  

There’s no one down here.  

Tony’s frown deepens as he heads up the ladder leading to the top deck. When he reaches the top, he can see the captain’s chairs and sees someone sitting in one of them, overlooking the galaxy of stars outside of the windshield. He can already tell from here that it’s Peter.  

Tony lets out a relieved breath as a smile pulls at the side of his mouth. “Practicing those constellations, Pete?” He asks as he makes his way over to him. “I can show you where you can find—” His voice falters when he stops next to the chair, seeing that Peter is slumped in the seat with his eyes closed, his head angled in what looks to be an uncomfortable angle.  

The poor kid must have been too tired to go back to his cot he must’ve fallen asleep up here. I’ll carry him back down so his neck doesn’t bother him in the morning. Tony thinks to himself as he reaches forward and starts to carefully snake his hand under Peter’s neck, only for him to freeze.  

Peter’s skin is ice cold.  

Tony’s eyes widen as he looks down at the teen’s too-pale face as he kneels down in front of the chair. “Pete?” He asks, waiting a few seconds for a response, a flinch—any sign of life from him.  

But there is none.  

Absolutely no response at all.  

“Peter? Pete… please. C’mon, kiddo… don’t do this to me.” Tony says as he gently slides a hand under the teen’s neck, only for his head to limply and unnaturally roll to the side at the moment.  

Lifeless.  

Tears are now pooling in Tony’s eyes, a few already slipping down his face.  

“Peter… please. W-Wake up, please.” Tony begs as his voice shakes. “I can’t do this without you, Peter. P-Please… I-I’m s-sorry. I-I’m so so sorry.”

Peter’s body remains still, his usually lively, cheerful face is now blank… almost unrecognizable.  

He’s dead.  

Peter’s dead.  

And it’s all Tony’s fault.  

Tony squeezes his eyes shut as he pulls Peter’s lifeless body towards him, gently squeezing him in a hug.  

“I-I’m s-so s-sorry, P-Peter… I-I… I-I’m so s-sorry…” Tony gasps out around choked sobs .

Tony’s eyes snap open as he lets out a gasp, flying up into a sitting position. He ignores the sound of beeping and a blaring alarm. His vision blurs around the edges as he frantically searches the space around him for Peter.

“Shit—hey-hey, Tony. It’s okay, you’re okay.” A familiar voice says.

Rhodey’s face comes into his line of sight, but it does nothing to ease him.

“P-Peter,” Tony chokes out, grasping Rhodey’s arm. “H-He’s—He’s gone. H-He’s d-dead.. b-because of me.”

“Tony—”

“I-I killed him, Rhodey. I-I shouldn’t have let him come with me on that s-ship.” Tony says as tears build up in his eyes, threatening his vision.

“Tony. Peter’s alive. You had a nightmare. It’s okay, just calm down.” Rhodey says, grabbing his shoulders with gentle but firm hands.

Tony’s eyes snap up to meet his. “H-He is?”

“He is,” Rhodey confirms in a soft voice. “He’s in the next room, exactly where you last saw him. Bruce is with him now and taking good care of him.”

A few stray tears slip down Tony’s face as he takes in this information. It sounds almost too good to be true. “B-But I saw him. He was in the chair and h-he… he w-was… he was d-dead, Rhodey.”

Rhodey nods as he tightens his grip on Tony’s arm reassuringly. “It was a bad dream, Tones. I promise you. Peter’s okay.”

Tony closes his eyes and lets out a relieved and exhausted sigh. Rhodey helps him sit back against the pillows behind him. Come to think of it… how did he end up in a bed in the medbay? He opens his eyes again and looks over at Rhodey, who’s looking at him with an expression of both worry and pity.

“What happened?” Tony asks him.

Rhodey lets out a sigh as he takes a seat in the chair next to his bed. “You passed out.”

Tony distantly remembers hitting the floor during his (albeit, one-sided) argument with Steve.

“Wow… that’s embarrassing.” Tony mumbles as he lowers his gaze to the bedsheet he’s covered with.

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Rhodey says without sarcasm, causing Tony to look up at him with a raised brow. “Your stubborn ass scared Pepper and I half to death.”

Tony feels a new wave of guilt flow through him at that. He’ll admit is… he’s as stubborn as a mule and it ended up biting him in the butt because he didn’t want to be confined to a wheelchair, especially in front of Steve and his other ex-teammates. Not after everything that’s happened.

“Sorry…” Tony says, looking back up at his friend.

Rhodey breathes out a sigh as he rubs his eyes tiredly. “I’m starting to sound like a broken record here… but stop doing shit like this, please?”

Tony nods, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I make no promises… but I’ll try for you, Honey Bear.”

The nickname earns a smile out of Rhodey, who just shakes his head to himself with a small chuckle.  

“How long was I out for?” Tony asks after a few moments.

“A couple of hours. Not long enough if you ask me. You have a lot of sleep to catch up on. You look exhausted, Tony.”

Tony shakes his head. “No… I have to be with Peter–”

“Who I know would say the same thing to you and he would be just as worried about you as I am right now.” Rhodey says with a pointed look.

That’s definitely true.

“I know,” Tony agrees with a sigh. “But I just can’t leave him, Rhodey. You… you didn’t see him up there in that ship. He needs me now more than ever. And…” He pauses as he feels the familiar lump forming in his throat. “I need him too.”

Rhodey reaches out and places a hand on Tony’s shoulder, gently squeezing. “I know. Peter’s strong and he’ll make it through this. He is your kid after all.” He says with a smile.

Tony feels something squeeze in his chest at that.

His kid.  

While Peter may not be biologically his… it feels like he is.

The thought has Tony thinking about May, only for his eyes to widen as he looks at Rhodey. “His aunt. I need to see if she’s… if she’s still…” He says, unable to finish the sentence.

If she’s still alive.  

Rhodey nods. “I’ll look into it. It’s so bad out there the internet and phone companies are all down with… you know, the sudden… staff shortage.” He says, his face falling.

If May didn’t make it… Peter’s going to be absolutely crushed when he finds out. May is his whole life, his last living relative.

And he’s going to have to see if Peter’s friends made it, too.

Tony lets out a sigh as he rubs his face with his IV-free hand.

“It’s going to be alright, Tony. We’ll figure this out as we go.”

“I know we will.” Tony agrees, nodding.

He hopes he’s right.

Because things are really looking bad right now.

…

And it only gets worse.

A whole week has passed by and Peter still hasn’t woken up and his vitals haven’t improved. With all of the nutrients, antibiotics and medications Bruce has been giving him, the kid’s healing hasn’t even kicked in like it usually does when he’s hurt or sick.

If anything… he seems to be getting worse.

“It’s called Refeeding Syndrome,” Bruce says one day as he and Tony sit together, looking over Peter’s medical charts.

Tony looks up from the results of a blood sample they took from Peter yesterday in hopes to see what is going on inside his body and why he isn’t getting any better yet. He can see the numbers himself–the low electrolyte, glucose, phosphorus, potassium, and magnesium levels gave him the answer he needed. They’re so low… it's a miracle Peter’s even alive and breathing right now.

“I’ve looked at everything, gone over his charts every day–every hour. I’m giving him the proper dosages of everything and we’ve been gradually increasing the fluids we’ve been giving him to avoid this,” Bruce pauses as he closes his eyes, takes his glasses off and rubs at his face with both hands.

Tony’s frown deepens as something pulls in his chest, along with a sinking feeling in his gut.

The room is silent for a few long and tense seconds.

“Tony…” Bruce finally says, his voice sounding almost broken. He opens his eyes and looks at the table in front of them for a few moments, his own frown deepening as well. “There is a possibility… that we can’t reverse this… especially with how severely malnourished Peter is. He’s in a coma now, with everything his body’s been through… it’s shut itself down to preserve what energy it has left.”

It feels like a knife is driven through Tony’s chest at his words, feeling tears spring to his eyes. He can only wordlessly stare at his friend in front of him, the man who holds his kid’s life in his very capable hands.

“But there’s a possibility that we can. I’m going to try to get in contact with a doctor that’s experienced in gastroenterology and dietics to help. I just hope that there’s someone in the world that managed to survive the snap that can help us. I made you a promise, Tony… I’m going to do everything in my power to save Peter’s life.”

Tony nods, swallowing around the growing lump in his throat as he reaches over and places a hand on his friend's shoulder, gently squeezing. “I know you will.”

[matbarzyy]

Where We Land [A.B.]

A/N: I've had this in my drafts pretty much since I started this blog but somehow never finished it, so here we are now. Enjoy some soft single dad Tito x student babysitter

Word count: 5739

.

Babysitting Anthony Beauvillier’s son was not what you expected to do to make money during the last two years of your degree. It started as an accident, really, you were walking in the park when Alex ran into you, and a few days later you were coming over to watch him while his dad was at practice.

Alex had been an unexpected surprise with a girlfriend Tito had dated for less than a year. They weren’t really in love, but they got along well and moved in together for the sake of their baby. They figured out after the first year that they were cut out to be friends rather than a couple, there was nothing romantic between them. Tito kept on living with them to make it easier while Alex needed constant attention, and they agreed to live separately once he was grown enough to be moved between houses on weekends.

A car accident changed everything when Alex was only three. The boys ended up on their own, and Anthony wasn’t sure of how to deal with his son and career at the same time. The team was a priority, but it couldn’t be more important than his own child.

His family helped him a lot at the start, staying with him to watch over Alex, but after a few months they had to get back home. You filled in for them during the week, picking Alex up from school and watching him until his dad was home, but it was never more than that. Anthony still always made sure someone from his family could fly to New York whenever he had to leave for a roadie.

It wasn’t a sustainable option for anyone, but they were still grieving so his parents did everything they could to help out. It worked until Alex turned four, almost a year had passed since he lost his mother, and it was time for everyone to move on.

It was the reason Anthony was so anxious about leaving for this game. You would be the one watching Alex and he couldn’t stop himself from worrying. You were used to the little boy, you were there every day and they both trusted you, but it wasn’t the same. Still, Tito didn’t think he could find anyone better than you.

“Thanks for watching him for so long, there’s no one else I’d trust around here with him for three days,” Anthony sighed as he dropped his bags by the doorstep, quickly checking he wasn’t missing anything. He did his best to shake off the nerves of leaving his son with someone that wasn’t his parents. “Please call me if anything happens?”

“We’ll be fine,” You reassured him for the millionth time. “It’s only three days, he’ll be at school most of the time,”

It was a bit of a change for you because you weren’t used to the morning routine Alex had, but you knew you’d be fine. It wasn’t a long trip, and Tito would be back on Friday right after school ended, so you wouldn’t even have to go through the weekend alone.

“Yeah, I guess,” Tito nodded, his bottom lip still caught between his teeth. “I’m going to say goodbye to him, I’ll try not to wake him up,”

It was six in the morning, so you were already settled on his couch in your sweatpants, your own packed bag sitting near the dinner table. There was a blanket draped over your shoulders, and you were planning on watching Netflix until Alex woke up.

You were used to making yourself at home around Tito’s apartment, you respected boundaries, but he had already seen you bunched up in blankets with Alex a hundred times when you had movie nights together while he was busy. You hoped the little boy would stay asleep for a while, it was too early for you to function, and he already knew you’d be there instead of his dad for the next few days.

“Okay,” Tito walked back into the living room. “He’s still sleeping, he should stay in bed until you wake him up. I made him pick clothes last night to wear today, they’re on the chair in his room,”

“Alright, thank you,” You made a note of doing that tonight, you weren’t sure of how fussy he was with deciding what he wanted to wear, so it was safer to have it done the night before.

“The fridge is full,” Tito continued with the recommendations. “So you should be fine, but that’s in case you need to get anything, or if you two go out and you need to buy him something or whatever, you know I don’t care,” He handed you an envelope that you could only assume was full of cash. It wasn’t the first time he did that, and you always kept receipts and left the exact right amount in, he knew because he had counted the first couple of times. By now he had stopped checking, he really couldn’t care less even if you bought something for yourself, but the little stack of receipts was always there waiting for him.

“I don’t think we’ll need more groceries, you won’t be gone that long,” You knew the kitchen was stocked with the list of ingredients you sent him. You always managed to cook dinner with whatever he had in the fridge when he was late to come home, but he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be missing anything while he was gone.

“Mmh, yeah, I guess. Make yourself at home in my room, okay? I changed the sheets after I woke up this morning, you can use whatever you need in the shower,” He went through the last few things he needed to tell you, and you nodded.

“Thank you,”

“Okay, Mat is picking me up,” He checked his phone when the screen lit up. “Call me if there’s absolutely anything,”

“How many times a day do I need to text you we’re okay to stop you from worrying?” You joked, trying to ease his mind.

“I’m just- I’m not used to this,” He bit his lip nervously, which wasn’t in his habits. You were used to seeing him confident. He always trusted you with Alex and went out for several nights without a second of worry, but this was different.

“I promise I’ll call if anything happens,” You reassured him again. “And just call me when you want to talk to him,”

“Okay, yeah, I’m really going now,” Anthony gave you a real smile. He knew you’d take care of Alex like he was your own.

“Good luck for the games!” You waved one last time before he closed the door.

.

After that first trip, your job as a babysitter began taking a lot more of your time. Anthony trusted you fully and left you without worrying any time he had to travel. Roadies were rarely long, and you managed juggling your classes and time on campus with your responsibilities towards Alex.

“Can we bake?” The little boy gave you his best puppy eyes, trying to distract you from an essay you were hoping to finish.

“If you ask politely,” You reminded him, tearing your eyes away from your laptop.

“Can we bake, please?” He asked again, knowing what was expected of him.

“Sure, Daddy will be home in an hour or two, do you want to bake him cookies?” You were sure the activity would keep you both busy until he was back, and Tito would appreciate the treat.

“Yes!”

“Alright, go wash your hands,” You nodded towards the bathroom and he ran there while you closed your laptop with a sigh. So much for getting work done.

You put your hair up before washing your hands at the kitchen sink, and Alex came back to join you soon after. You helped him put his small apron on, tying it behind his back for him. He wasn’t too clumsy for a kid, but he still lacked the coordination required for baking.

You measured out the ingredients for him and let him mix them together. He was a little slower than you would have been at it because his arms weren’t strong enough to mix fast, but you eventually ended up with a good enough batter.

“Alright, now the chocolate chips,” You poured them into the bowl and left Alex to check your phone.

Anthony just texted to tell you he was on his way from the airport, so you had just enough time to bake the cookies before he made it home.

“Alex!” You scolded with wide eyes when you found him with the spatula in his mouth, batter all over his face. “Put the spatula down in the sink,” You pointed to it, and he obeyed silently.

You knew from the guilty look he gave you that you wouldn’t need to say more than that. You helped him clean his face and then went on to put the first batch of cookies in the oven. Keeping Alex from trying to touch burning hot cookies took effort, but eventually they were cool enough for him to eat one while you stacked the rest on a plate

“Daddy!” Alex shouted as soon as the door opened, running to him before Tito even had a chance to drag his bags inside.

“There’s my boy,” He grinned as he picked the little boy up and hugged him tightly. “Did you just bake cookies?” He looked up at you and you nodded, smiling at the reunion.

“Chocolate chips!” The little boy yelled excitedly, holding on to his dad.

“Mmh, I’m not surprised,” Tito loved the smell of them, and he was sure they’d taste even better. “How was today?”

“It was good,” you smiled, finishing up in the kitchen and wiping counters to leave everything tidy. “What about you?”

“Busy but in a good way,” he came and reached for a cookie on the plate. “Much better now that I have this,” he bit into the sweet treat and hummed in appreciation. “You’re a wonder, can I hire you as a full time cook?”

“Oh so I could get paid for all of this?” You teased right back, hanging the tea towel back on the handle of the oven.

“You could if you weren’t so busy getting a degree,” he chuckled, watching as Alex came into the room. “I’m going to assume you’re not hungry, uh?” Tito asked the little boy because he was sure his little stomach wouldn’t handle a whole dinner after he had cookies.

“Only for cookies!” He exclaimed in response, making the two of you laugh out loud.

“That’s not how this works little man,” you ruffled his hair and went back to the living room to gather your things.

“You’ll want to take a detour behind the theatre,” Anthony advised as you finished putting your laptop away in your back. “There was an accident when I drove home, there’s going to be traffic,”

“I don’t want you to leave!” Alex ran over to you and clung onto your legs, stopping you in your way and making you look down.

“Alex,” Tito took his stern voice before you could say anything. “You can’t force her to stay like that. You have to ask.”

“Please stay,” The boy held onto your trousers and looked up at you with a pout on his face.

“I can hang around for dinner,” You answered before looking up at his dad to make sure that was okay. He nodded his agreement and you smiled. “How about you go show Daddy the drawing you did at school today while I see what I can make you two, mmh?”

……………………………........................................................................................

Sunlight streamed into Anthony’s room when you woke up. You yawned and sighed, stretching your arms over your head before sitting on the edge of the bed. You still had trouble believing how comfortable his bed was, so you never complained when he was away overnight and you got to stay for Alex. You weren’t sure if it was because of his mattress, or his pillow, or the fact that being cozy in his bed was the closest you’d get to being in his arms.

It was Sunday, so you had extra time to cook breakfast and nowhere to take Alex except the park after lunch if he wanted to go play. It was going to be a lazy day and you were going to start it with pancakes. You adjusted your pajamas that had gotten twisted around your body through the night and stepped out of the bedroom.

You stopped immediately when you noticed a man sitting on the couch. You could tell from the hair that it wasn’t Tito who could have come back early, but he was in an islanders hoodie so you guessed he was on the team.

“Um, hello?” You asked uneasily. You wished you at least got dressed when you got up.

“Hi, uh,” the man turned around and quickly realised you weren’t the person he was expecting to see. “I’m Mat,” he introduced himself. “Is Beau still sleeping or something?”

Now that you had a chance to get a good look at his face you easily recognised him from watching Anthony’s games.

“Oh,” You visibly relaxed. “You’re Mat, he’s not home right now. He’s helping a friend move a few hours away or something,”

“Oh, shit,” Mat realised why his best friend hadn’t texted back when he said he was on his way over. “You’re here for Alex,”

“Yeah,”

“Speak of the devil,” He grinned when a tiny figure appeared behind you.

“Uncle Mat!” The little boy yelled as he ran to him.

“Hi bud!” Mat picked him up easily, throwing him up into the air before letting him settle in his arms. “How good are you at skating now? Your dad told me you go and train every week, you’re going to be a professional soon!”

“Daddy said I can almost skate as fast as you!”

“Really?” Mat gasped excitedly. “You’re going to have to show me that,”

“After breakfast though,” You knew the little boy would get whiny if he didn’t eat before leaving.

“I got a new dinosaur!” Alex tugged on Mat’s sleeve to drag him to his room, and the man followed while gasping and asking questions whenever he needed to.

You shook your head and hurried back to Anthony’s room to change into your clothes before you could cook. Once in the kitchen, you decided to double the recipe you usually made for just you and Alex. If Mat ate like Tito you’d need at least that much.

It didn’t take long for you to start cooking them, and you placed syrup with some fruits on the kitchen island. Alex had recently developed an obsession for strawberries and would eat them with everything, so Tito had plenty of them in the fridge.

“Smells good in here,” Mat walked back in and hoisted Alex up on one of the stools.

“Strawberries!” He immediately grabbed the bowl with the red fruit and messily spooned some onto his plate.

“Pancakes too,” You slid two onto his plate.

He began eating without another word and you sighed, giving up on manners for the morning. You’d be a little more strict around lunch.

“Do you want some too?” You asked Mat, hoping for a positive answer otherwise you’d end up with breakfast for the next two days.

“Did you make these from scratch?” He looked at the batter you had made and watched as you expertly flipped them in the pan, revealing a perfect golden colour on the other side. You nodded and Mat beamed. “Yes please,” He grabbed a plate and the maple syrup, drowning the pancakes as soon as you dropped them on his plate. “So I guess the three of us are going skating?” He was still chewing when he asked his question, and Alex didn’t fail to notice.

“You can’t speak with your mouth full!” He scolded and you held back a laugh at the face Mat made. He clearly wasn’t too used to kids.

“You’re right little man,” He took a swig of his juice before answering. “Lemme start again, are we all going skating today?”

“I don’t know if I can just take Alex without Anthony,” you told Mat, who nodded understandingly.

“I’ve taken him a few times, Beau won’t mind,” he assured you, not knowing that you were awful at skating and actually broke your arm on the ice a few years ago. Deciding that Alex would be safe enough with a professional skater next to him even if you wouldn’t be able to do much to help him, you turned the heat off on the stove and agreed.

“Well, then I guess we’re going skating.”

……………………………........................................................................................

You sighed in relief after you closed the bedroom door as quietly as you could have. Alex has been inconsolable for hours and it was way past his bedtime, which meant you also had to stay up for longer than usual. You settled for cleaning the kitchen first, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you thought of what you should do.

Alex never talked about problems at school before, but what he had told you and cried about last night was worrying. You didn’t want to bother Anthony on the only night he was actually going out with his friends, he usually came straight home after games and remained with Alex on any other nights, but this was his child and you couldn’t just keep it to yourself.

You finished wiping the counters clean before taking your phone and settling for a text.

Alex had some trouble at school with a few kids, cried about it for a while, he just fell asleep. Thought I should let you know if you want to ask him about it tomorrow.

You kept it short and crashed on the couch with a quiet groan. You were exhausted, it was past midnight, and seeing Alex sad shattered your heart. Draping a blanket over yourself, you leaned back and eventually curled yourself up on your side to close your eyes and rest for a moment.

.

“You’re so whipped,” Mathew snickered as he watched his friend getting ready to leave already.

“I’m not,” Tito grumbled, putting his jacket on and pulling his keys out of his pocket. “I’m worried about Alex,” his jaw clenched as he felt the guilt wash over him. What kind of dad was he, going out with his friends instead of being there for his son when he was crying about his issues?

“He’s sleeping,” the other man argued, earning himself an icy glare. It was enough to shut him up, even if only for a few seconds.

“He’s my son,” Tito looked for his phone in his jacket pocket and realised it was in his jeans instead. “Something happened at school and he didn’t tell me. I need to be home.”

“Whatever you say,” Mat said in surrender before he turned serious again. “But just so you know, I’ve only spent a day with her and I can already tell you she’s wife material. Don’t let her slip away.”

On his way to his car Tito mentally cursed his friend with words he wouldn’t dare say in front of Alex, but Mat had brought up something he was not ready to talk about in the middle of a night that already held enough emotions. Maybe you were wife material, but it was Alex he was supposed to focus on right now, not on your laugh, your smile, that glimpse of mischief in your eyes that was hidden under shyness and professionalism when he was around.

“Dammit,” he muttered to himself.

He was home in ten minutes thanks to his friends who had agreed to meet at a bar that was close enough to his place, and he took a deep breath before pushing his key into the lock. There was no need for him to be so overly worried, you were good with Alex, and he was asleep now so Tito most likely wouldn’t get to talk to him until morning.

His heart squeezed when he spotted you curled up on the couch, seemingly fast asleep, if your lack of greeting was any indication. It was so late and you had told him about how stressed you were about the end of the semester and the exams you had to study for. The guilt of not being there for Alex was one thing, but now, seeing you like this on his couch also made him feel like he was failing you.

He couldn’t let you sleep so uncomfortably, but he couldn’t make you drive home either. Doing his best not to disturb you, Anthony crouched down and slid an arm behind your back and the other behind your knees. He wasn’t sure of how he was going to move you without waking you up, but with enough determination he eventually managed to lift you in his arms.

You usually always woke up when he came through the door, so he could only imagine how exhausted you were to remain asleep even when he moved you like this. His luck didn’t last much longer, as when he pushed the door to his bedroom a little too hard and caused it to hit the wall with a thump, you stirred and began to wake.

“What…” You blinked your eyes open, trying to figure out where you were.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” Tito whispered as he lowered you onto the mattress. He really wished you would listen to him, but if there was one thing he knew about you it was that you hated being an inconvenience.

“I should go home,” you tried to shake yourself awake, but even then your voice still came out drowsy and you couldn’t push off Tito getting you comfortable.

“It’s almost one am, you’re not going anywhere,” He pulled the covers over your body, tucking you in. “I’ll take the couch,”

“What? No, you can’t sleep on the couch,” you protested, miserably trying to push yourself up, but with a gentle hand on your shoulder Tito made you rest back against the pillow.

“I don’t mind, unless you’re comfortable sharing the bed,” he said the only thing that he knew would make you stay. If you weren’t going to make concessions when it came to him sleeping in his bed, then you’d just have to share, because there was no chance he was letting you drive or sleep on the couch.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Your eyes were already half closed and your body was limp under the covers, so Tito smiled softly and properly stood back up again.

By the time he had changed and spent a few minutes in the bathroom you were fast asleep again. Tito had a hard time reminding himself that this wasn’t normal, that you weren’t his, and that you being in his bed didn’t have to mean anything. He wished he could stop being so obsessed with you, but when he settled into the bed next to you he couldn’t bring himself to turn the lights off immediately. Instead, he took the time to study all of your features and felt himself fall a little deeper for you with every passing second.

.

“Stay,” was the first thing you heard when you tried to move the next morning.

The sound was unmistakably Tito’s voice, but it was deeper than what you were used to, and there was a resonance to it. It was only then that you realised your cheek was resting on his chest over his shirt. From there you became aware of the weight of his arms around you, of the heat of his hand that was resting on your lower back, of your legs tangled with his.

Your cheeks burned while you tried to decide what to do. Tito was clearly still half asleep, in fact you were pretty sure he only came back to consciousness to say that word before drifting right back into sleep. This gave you two options, either move and wake him up and pretend this was all an unfortunate accident while you slept, or stay in his arms and keep feeling all of these heavenly sensations.

The rational part of your mind was usually the one you listened to, but this morning your emotions were much stronger than usual. Still, to avoid an uncomfortable situation, you pulled away from his hold and tried your best to slip out on his arms unnoticed.

With the way you were tangled it was impossible for him not to notice, so just as you were making it to your own side of the bed, Tito opened his eyes to look at you.

“Morning,” he smiled lazily, cut off by a yawn and his hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“Hi,” you breathed out so quietly he almost didn’t hear you. “What time is it?” You knew there was a clock on his nightstand but you couldn’t read it from where you were.

“Early,” he shrugged without checking, but his expression faltered a second later when he looked over at the clock. “Shit. It’s past eight, Alex is going to get up.”

“Oh, we should move,” you said before catching yourself. “I mean, I should, I’m sorry.” You rolled over to sit on the side of the bed and lamely tried to fix your hair. You didn’t even know what you were apologising for, he did insist you should stay the night, after all.

“It’s okay,” Tito didn’t reach out to stop you from getting up, but he was dying to have you back in his arms. “I mean, I want you to stay, it’s just… Alex could walk in any minute, and I’m not sure I can answer the questions that’s going to raise.”

“Yeah, I get it, I can just head out now, thanks for letting me stay the night,” you were glad you fell asleep in leggins and not some more embarrassing (but even more comfortable) pajamas that you sometimes wore when you came here. At least you could just grab your things and go.

“I don’t actually want you to go,” Tito sat up and sighed, not knowing how to handle any of this. There were too many unspoken things between the two of you, the previous night and this morning were obviously more than platonic, but he couldn’t address it in a rush.

“I get it, really,” you gave him a tight smile and prepared to leave his room. You were so embarrassed that you wanted to crawl into a hole to hide. What were you going to do after this? How could you have stayed with him in his bed? And woken up on his chest on top of it all. Of course he was attractive, and of course you had fallen for him, but he was still your employer.

“Wait,” he hurried off the bed just fast enough to touch your wrist before you could go. Turning around to face him again made you swoon. How could he be so gorgeous in the morning? He was all softness and warmth and it was absolutely killing you. “Are you free tonight?” He took his chance, but you were so surprised by the question that it made you oblivious to what he meant.

“Do you need me to watch Alex?” You frowned, unsure of why he would need you when his mom was meant to arrive today to spend a few days with him and Alex.

“No, um, I thought maybe since my mom’s coming she could keep Alex for the night, and maybe you and I could go out to eat somewhere and we could talk about some stuff?”

“Oh,” you gaped like a fish for a few seconds before remembering to close your mouth. The awkwardness of the situation hit you both harder than ever then, you still had a hand on the handle, and your lack of smart answers did not help anything.

“I get it if you’re busy, or if you just think we should forget about this. I didn’t mean to make this uncomfortable.” Tito took a step back, a lot shyer than you had ever seen him, so you rapidly shook your head.

“No, um, actually I’m free, so,” you dropped your hand back to your side, shifting from foot to foot while smiles crept back on both of your faces.

“Pick you up at seven?” He offered so that you wouldn’t have to ramble more. You relaxed and gave him a steady nod as you replied.

“Seven works.”

……………………………........................................................................................

“Anthony, you’re buttoning your shirt wrong,” his mother noted, pretending to casually walk past the bathroom to check what he was doing.

“Dammit,” he muttered, seeing that she was right and undoing the few buttons he had already done to fix his mistake.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” She leaned against the doorframe to observe him.

“Mom, please,” he sighed. Focusing on dressing himself was hard enough, he didn’t know how well he’d be able to dodge her questions if she insisted. She knew him too well and could always read him like a book, but sometimes Tito just wanted to keep some things to himself.

“Alright, alright,” she pretended to give up but her scrutinizing gaze didn’t falter. “You don’t need to be so nervous, did you get her flowers?”

“No,” he huffed. “She’s allergic.”

“So you know each other well?”

The look he gave her was to remind her he was no idiot either. She could read him well, but he also knew all of her tricks to get him to talk, and this one hadn’t been subtle.

“I need to get going before I end up late,” he put an end to the conversation, adjusting his clothes one last time and checking his hair wasn’t out of place. “I shouldn’t be back too late, but don’t wait up, okay?” Tito kissed his mom’s cheek as he walked past her.

“Have fun,” she encouraged him as he walked through the door, and he answered with a nod and a little wave before he was off to what he hoped would be a nice date with you.

He was a wreck as he drove to meet you, scared that he was completely wrong. Did you really want to go on this date with him? He was the one who told you to stay the night, he held you through the night, and he was also the one to ask you out. Were you only doing this because you felt you had to?

He was only pulled out of his head once he reached your place. He couldn’t back out now, if there was only a slight chance that you really wanted this date Tito didn’t want to be the asshole that stood you up.

Little did he know that you were even more of a wreck, pacing around your apartment and wondering how the hell you were supposed to act. You almost jumped to the ceiling when you heard him buzz from the door of your building. There was no more time to overthink.

The car ride was awkward to say the least. Tito tried to start a few conversations, but they all died after three exchanges and he eventually settled for turning the radio on. It was still uncomfortable, but at least it wasn’t silent.

Neither of you said a thing as he stopped the car near a restaurant you remembered mentioning in passing a few times. The illuminated sign stood out in the low light of the evening, but even that couldn’t cheer you up. You were so worried you’d say the wrong thing that you ended up saying nothing at all and you couldn’t tell which option was worse.

“I’m sorry I just don’t know what we’re doing right now,” Tito eventually sighed, falling back against his seat. He had gotten so excited for this, and then so nervous. Now, he was just as lost as you looked, dumbfounded by his words. Somehow, he found the will to continue talking and laid it all out. “I just… I really like you, but I don’t know if you’re here because you work for me and I put you in an uncomfortable position, or if you actually want to be here, and we’ve never talked about any of this, and I swear things have never been weird between us before tonight so I don’t know why everything is so awkward now,” he went on and rambled for a minute, which was just enough time for you to manage a few words.

“I do want to be here,” you tried to reassure him, but your voice wasn’t very steady. It worked anyway, making him breathe out a relieved sigh.

“Okay,” Tito found the courage to turn his head to look at you, offering you a small smile as you met his eyes. This was new for both of you, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t going to work.

Knowing that words weren’t your thing, he held his hand out for you to take. You smiled as you laced your fingers through his, giving him a small reassuring squeeze. “I mean it’s not like we have nothing in common, right?” You tried, earning a quiet chuckle and a nod.

“Worst case the conversation can just fall back on Alex.”

The mention of the young boy was enough to make you smile, which made Tito’s heart swell. He didn’t think he could ever fall in love with someone while his son was so young, needing so much time, attention and care. That was his primary responsibility, and he didn’t believe anyone would truly and selflessly understand that. Yet here you were, caring for the little boy almost as often as he did. You understood. Tito could doubt that you loved him, but he couldn’t doubt that you loved Alex.

You remained there looking at each other for several moments. Maybe you didn’t need to be scared of having to explain how you felt about each other, maybe this silent communication was enough for now. Even when you began to imagine Tito might find your staring weird, he remained there, unwavering, his eyes on yours holding the same intensity.

“Ready?” He spoke softly as to not break the moment.

Your answer came without hesitation. “Ready.”

.

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[mochegato]

Capturing a Dream

Chapter 9 – Who Do You Know

Chapter 1     Chapter 8

*Note: Most of Batman’s dialogue and all of Red Tornado’s is from the show, so, not my words.

This had passed frustrating several rooms ago.  Now, Conner was straight up annoyed.  He searched each room as they passed by them from the hanger to the communications center, searching for any indication of what time it was.  Had there always been this jarring lack of clocks in the Cave?  He could swear he had always been able to tell the time before.  Or maybe it was just that time hadn’t mattered until he was counting down the minutes to Chimera’s return.  As soon as he got the chance, he was going to put a clock in every room in the Cave and start wearing a watch.

She was supposed to be back anytime now.  She was scheduled to fly ridiculously early that morning into whichever city she was supposedly staying in instead of the Cave and Zeta tube into the Cave as soon as she could.  He absolutely had not been pushing to get the Team back as soon as possible after their mission wrapped up so they would be there in time to greet her.  Okay, so maybe ‘absolutely’ was not the correct word there… or ‘not’.  

He hadn’t seen Chimera in person for a little over a week now and he missed her, so nobody can really blame him for being excited to see her again.  But more than missing her, he was worried about her. She had been extremely apprehensive going home.  She had tried to cover it, but he knew her better.  And eventually, after much wearing down as a result of a coordinated effort by him and Robin, she admitted she was nervous of being reminded of the final battle.  He didn’t know how bad the battle was or exactly how badly it had scarred her, just that it had, but if her reaction to the failure exercise was any indication, it was severe.  Being back there without anyone to talk to about it, anyone who could understand her reactions, could be devastating for her.

On top of that, the trip came within a few weeks of Robin’s breakdown after the Haley’s Circus mission and her discovering that Conner had been using shields Lex Luther had given him to enhance his powers.  He had never seen her so angry.  He didn’t think she was capable of that amount of rage and he prayed to whatever god or goddess responsible for watching over them, that she never directed that anger toward him.  He was honestly concerned for Superman the next time she saw him and Conner had kept a close eye on her after she found out to make sure she didn’t go after Lex by herself.  After the anger receded, he could see the disappointment set in.  That was more disturbing than the anger.  While the anger had been jarring, seeing the disappointment in herself for having missed that he had turned to the shields was heartbreaking.  

She looked like she was barely holding it together before she left.  Her phone call on Christmas had done nothing to calm his fears.  She had tried to cover, but he could hear how empty her voice sounded no matter how cheery she tried to make it sound.  He could almost convince himself he imagined it but Robin had been there for the call too and he heard it as well.  He needed her to get back so he could be assured she was okay.  Conner wanted to see her, hold her, feel her in his arms, hear her laugh, so he could make sure she was okay.  He wouldn’t believe she was okay until he could.

Superboy was knocked out of his concentration by Batman’s gravely voice. “…  The mole was Red Arrow.”

“Rolly?” Robin exclaimed in shock.

“No way,” Kid Flash insisted.

“Batman that cannot be,” Aqualad spoke up.  Roy was his best friend.  He would more easily believe himself capable of betrayal than Roy.  “He was Green Arrow’s protégé.  We have all known him for years.”

“Unfortunately, the Roy Harper we have known for the last three years is another Project Cadmus clone,” Batman informed them calmly.  Superboy froze, staring at Batman in shock.  Roy was another clone, like him.  

“We have learned the real Speedy was abducted and replaced immediately after becoming the Green Arrow’s sidekick.  The clone was preprogrammed with the drive to become a member of the League.”  Superboy furrowed his brow.  Had that been their plan for him as well?  If the Team hadn’t rescued him when they had, who knows what they could have made him do.

“We believe when his mission was taking too long, they enlisted someone to help him speed up the process.  With her help, he was finally admitted into the League, at which point his secondary programming kicked in and he attempted to betray the League to Savage,” Batman continued.

“Who was helping him?  Was there a second mole or was it someone assisting from the outside?” Aqualad asked.

“It was a second mole.  His girlfriend, Chimera,” Batman answered unemotionally.

“What?” Superboy exclaimed louder than he meant to, shock and hurt quickly flashing over his face before turning to a glower.

“I was unaware they had started a relationship,” Aqualad stated carefully, a slight furrow in his brow.  Roy had mentioned he was getting very close to Chimera, but had not mentioned that it had progressed to that level.  Not to mention he had thought Chimera was closer with Conner than Roy, but then again, he tended to misread romantic overtures.  But, the idea that Chimera may have betrayed them was disturbing, but then again if Roy could be a mole, could he really be certain of anyone. Certainly the timing of Chimera’s introduction to the Team coinciding with evidence of the mole arising was suspect.

“Chimera isn’t a mole and she isn’t dating Roy,” Robin insisted, whirling on Batman in shock.

Batman nodded.  “We are not certain she was assisting him, but there is more than a little evidence to support the idea that she was.  I’ve been keeping an eye on her since she joined and facts seem to match up.  As for dating, I’m sorry to say she is.  We didn’t tell anyone because she claimed she didn't want to cause strife within the Team, but with this new information, it seems like there was something more to it. We believe she may have been his handler.  She joined the Team to help Red Arrow get into the League and sabotage the Team’s missions subtly.”  His voice was cold.  “Red Arrow has gone into hiding, but we don’t think he’s been able to contact Chimera about it yet.  When she comes back let us know immediately.  Do not alert her that we are aware.”

“There is no way…” Artemis interjected loudly.

“She would never!” Kid Flash exclaimed at the same time.

“Chimera would never betray us like that,” Conner insisted angrily.  How dare Batman suggest Chimera would betray them!  She was like a daughter to him.  She might not realize their relationship was like that, Hell, Batman might not realize it was like that, but Batman treated her like he treated Robin and Conner wasn’t blind enough to miss the protective pats and hair ruffling.  He certainly hadn’t missed how Robin treated her like a sister.  And after all that, Batman would so easily believe the worst of her.

“The clone Roy and Chimera, the Team will apprehend them,” Aqualad stated gravely.

“Negative.  Red Arrow is a member of the Justice League and Chimera was working with him to betray us. We will handle them both,” Batman answered.  He suddenly turned away, bringing his hand to his ear.  “I’m needed in the Watchtower.  Tornado, watch the kids.”  He strode away without further discussion.

“Okay, but we’re going to get to them first, right?” Kid Flash spoke up quietly, so Red Tornado couldn’t hear him.

He looked up quickly, apprehension on his face when Red Tornado hurried toward them before suddenly stopping midstride. They all stared in confusion. “Tornado!” Kid Flash exclaimed, moving to check for any outward signs of a cause.

“What happened to him?” Rocket asked.

Zatanna raised her hands to her temples.  She could feel something strange.  Something was off about the whole situation.  “I’m sensing a low level mystic force at play.  I don’t know if it caused his shutdown, but… come to think about it I was getting the same buzz off Batman.”

“Magic… like Chimera?” Artemis asked.

Zatanna shook her head.  “No. It feels different than Chimera’s magic.”

“Could it be different because it’s a trace, not the full impact?” Aqualad asked.

“No. I’ve sensed Chimera’s faded magic. All the Cave is steeped in it.  I haven’t sensed this before.  Not to mention, Batman said he hadn’t been around Chimera.  How would her magic be on him if he wasn’t and why would she implicate herself?”

“That wasn’t Batman,” Robin said aggressively.

“Robin…” Aqualad started calmly.

“He can still be Batman and wrong,” Superboy growled. “We don’t know if he is being lied to. We just know Chimera isn’t betraying us.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know she’s doing it…” Rocket hedged.  “Batman said Red Arrow didn’t know.”

“That might be an option except he said she’s his handler.  That means she knows what she’s doing.  She’s aware. It isn’t programming.  And he said she’s dating Roy.  Chimera isn’t dating Roy and she isn’t a traitor… And Batman never calls us ‘kids’,” Robin insisted, turning his focus back to examining readouts on Red Tornado.

Aqualad shook his head sympathetically but firmly. “Roy has said he and Chimera were getting close and they wanted to keep the fact secret, which confirms at least that part of what Batman said.  We know very little about her personal life.”

“You know less about mine,” Robin challenged, brooking no resistance.  He knew Chimera.  Maybe he had only known her for a few months, but he knew her and trusted her.  She couldn’t do this.  She just couldn’t.  “I would know if she were dating, especially a team member or hero.  There's a reason she told us she doesn't date teammates. There's…”  He furrowed his brow, trying to figure out how to phrase what he was thinking without revealing Chimera’s secrets.  She did not like to talk about this part of her life.  “…deep seeded trauma there. She didn't just get over that in a few days. She wouldn't start dating Roy without talking to someone. Without NEEDING to talk to someone. Since it's a hero, that means taking to one of us, specifically me or Conner or Artemis.  She didn't talk to me.  Conner?”

Conner shook his head.  “She’s only ever repeated that she can’t date teammates.”

“Artemis?” Robin prompted.

Artemis shook her head and sent a smug look to Aqualad. “Never said a word.  Never even indicated.  Zatanna, Chi, and I had a girl’s night the other day and we had a long talk about dating.  She never mentioned him.”  She glanced over at Zatanna.  “Did she give any indication of dating anybody or liking anyo… Roy?” she quickly corrected herself.

Zatanna looked between the Team anxiously before swallowing and straightening her back.  “No.  No, she didn’t talk about Roy.  And Robin’s right.  She doesn’t date teammates.  Even if she wanted to,” her eyes flicked over to Superboy so quickly anyone not looking for it would miss it, “she doesn’t.  We would know if she went against that.”

Superboy’s head whipped over to them, eyes wide.  Artemis said him, meaning she had mentioned someone else.  Zatanna emphasized that she didn’t talk about Roy, meaning she talked about someone else.  He silently urged either of them to continue talking about that night, release some clues on who she may have mentioned.  Instead Artemis cocked her head to the side and thought for a moment.  “She hasn't been acting different either.  Chi can't keep a secret, other than her identity, to save her life.  Remember Kid Flash’s ‘surprise’ party?  And let’s be honest the identity is probably only still a secret because we haven’t met her in person.  We would know something was going on, even if we didn't know what.”

“Not if she’s been deceiving us from the beginning, if her whole supposed personality was an illusion,” Aqualad noted stoically.

Conner’s brow furrowed in frustration.  Aqualad was seriously proposing Chimera was their enemy.  Chimera had almost died for them.  She’d risked her life and her sanity for them, more than once.  And Aqualad was just turning on her.  One statement and none of what she had done for them mattered. He clenched his fists and stepped forward to yell at Aqualad when Kid Flash’s voice interrupted his movement.  “He’s taken her to the Batcave hasn’t he?  Multiple times?” He glanced up from staring intently at a spot on the floor to look at Robin inquisitively.

Robin nodded in agreement.  “He has.  And he doesn’t let anyone he doesn’t trust completely come into the Cave.”  

“So,” Kid Flash started, “he’s trusted her deeply from the beginning.  He hasn’t ‘been keeping an eye on her’.  And her behavior hasn’t changed… but his has.”

Conner nodded in agreement.  “Which means she’s not the one we have to worry about.”  He glared pointedly at Aqualad, making sure he understood their point.  

“Maybe not about her but for her,” Zatanna offered carefully.  All eyes turned to her waiting for her to explain. “He singled out Chimera for a reason. So either they want our whole team here so they can do to us what they did to Batman, or they are targeting Chimera specifically.”

“Why would they target her?” Rocket spoke up again.

Superboy kept his glare at Aqualad.  “If we’re being honest, she has more power than the rest of us.  They could want to put her at a disadvantage, isolate her.”

“Isolate who?”  The voice floated into the chamber like a kitten’s purr, but cut through the air like a fog horn.

“Chi!” Superboy exclaimed, rushing over to her.

“Hey.” Her smile beamed as she hugged him.

He examined her face quickly.  She was smiling, but she looked exhausted, like she’d been through a grueling mission, one that isn’t dangerous, just draining.  His expression turned concerned.  “How was the trip?  You look tired.”  

Her smile weakened.  “It was good. I missed my friends and family so much.” She slumped against his chest. “Being back was just… a lot.”  She took a deep breath and straightened up. “But it was good.  I’m good.  It’s all… good.”  She let out a defeated sigh, but looked back up with a plastered on smile that lasted until she examined his face, morphing into a concerned frown at the sight.  She raised her hand to run it over his face, but quickly realized what she was doing and dropped it to his shoulder instead with a faint blush.  “How was it here?  How have you been?  How is Robin? How was the mission?”

“I’m fine.  Robin’s fine. It was fine,” Superboy hedged with a strained smile, slinging his arm over her shoulders and guiding her over to the group.

“That was too many ‘fines’ to be true,” Chimera commented apprehensively, looking at him questioningly.

“You really want to throw that stone Ms. ‘all good’?” he commented back with a pointed look.

Her face went slack, her eyes widened at the call out.  “Uh… no,” she admitted turning back toward the group, eyes flicking between them under her lashes.  “Can we not discuss this… now?”

“Later?” Superboy asked hopefully.  He knew her natural inclination was to bury things deep down, until they were so hard to see, she could pretend they never existed.  Internalizing every emotion, every let down.  It was the opposite of his way of handling things. Letting them simmer on the surface, where the slightest touch sent them radiating out into the world around him, usually with screaming or punching.  Chimera hummed noncommittally in response, absolutely no intention of bringing up memories and emotions she wished would disappear.

“It was after the mission that was enlightening,” Aqualad stepped forward.  “We need to talk about Roy.”

His voice was serious and laced with a significance that Chimera didn’t understand.  Superboy’s arm tightened incrementally on her shoulder, pulling her closer to him.  She looked up in time to catch the dark look he was giving Aqualad.  She turned back to Aqualad with a quizzical expression. “Like, Rogers?”

“Rogers?” Aqualad repeated.

Artemis tried to stifle her laugh.  “No, Chi.  Not like Roy Rogers.”

Aqualad looked between them, his brow furrowing in confusion, before he returned his gaze back to Chimera.  “No, Roy Harper.”

“Oh!”  Chimera nodded in understanding.  “Okay…” Her brow furrowed faintly and she looked to the side in thought before looking back at Aqualad with a wince.  “Is that… another actor?  I haven’t really seen many… any westerns.  I really only know who Roy Rogers, John Wayne, and Woody Strode are.  Well, know is a stretch.  I’ve heard their names.”

Aqualad blinked at her a few times, unsure what she was talking about.  “No. Red Arrow.”

Realization rippled across Chimera’s face.  She nodded, her eyes going wide.  “Oh!  Okay. Yeah.”  Robin and Kid Flash talked about Red Arrow a lot, but by his code name, rarely by his real name.  She would never have been able to remember it if she wasn’t prompted first.  Her eyes darted over to Robin to see if he held any answers, but instead of looking back at her, he was glaring at Aqualad as well. She looked back at Aqualad, noticeably more apprehensively.  Her brows furrowed in confusion.  “What about him?”

“Batman said he’s the mole,” Aqualad informed her, watching her reaction carefully.

Chimera’s face immediately fell, her eyes darted back to Robin again.  “Robin,” she whispered.  Her eyes moved over to Kid Flash, next to Robin, and turn pained.  She looked back to Aqualad.  “Is he sure?”

Aqualad nodded.  “Batman said he’s actually a clone of the real Roy Harper programmed to infiltrate the Justice League, but was discovered by Batman before he could do any damage.  

Chimera gasped, eyes entirely focused on Robin and Kid Flash.  “What happened to the real Roy Harper?”

“He didn’t say.”  Aqualad answered.  She tensed to go over to hug Robin and Kid Flash.  Robin and Kid Flash always talked about Roy like he was one of them.  They understood each other in a way few others could.  They would tell stories about him and laugh like their lives weren’t constantly at risk, like they were just normal teenagers.  Those times were some of the few she got to see Robin like the kid he was.

Artemis’ voice cut through her thoughts before she could move.  “But we have reason to believe that isn’t true.”

Chimera turned to her with a hopeful smile. “Really?”  A flash of relief appeared in her eyes.  She couldn’t imagine the toll it would take on Robin and Kid Flash if it was true and she didn’t want to have to see it.  They’d all been in this for a long time together, grew up in it together.  They were like family.  Not to mention she knew he and Aqualad were close as well.  If there was a chance Batman was wrong, they had to investigate it.

“I wanted to let you know because… we know you're dating him.” Aqualad informed her carefully.

Chimera’s eyes snapped back to Aqualad, her mouth hanging open in shock and her body turned rigid.  “That I’m what?” Her voice came out an octave higher than normal.

“Batman told us,” Aqualad informed her calmly. “And Roy has mentioned it as well.”

Chimera flinched back and shook her head.  “What?  I've never even met Red Arrow.  Why would he say that?  Why would Batman?”

“That’s why we have reason to believe Roy isn’t the mole.  Because Batman told us you were dating Roy at the same time he said Roy was the mole. He said they thought you were his handler,” Robin bit out bitterly.

Chimera’s heart stopped.  She gaped at Robin.  Batman… Batman said he thought she was betraying them.  Batman thought she was a traitor.  Batman was her mentor, as much as she had one, or at least she had thought of him as hers.  She had thought he might be more than just a mentor as well, but that must have just been her.  More than that, he was a League founder.  If he thought it, the rest of the League must as well.  They would all believe she was a traitor.  They would all turn on her, even her team.

Her breathing picked up.  She couldn’t handle this.  But she couldn’t even blame them for it.  This was her fault.  This is the price of anonymity.  This was the tradeoff of keeping yourself guarded.  You keep people from knowing you, but then they don’t know you.  They don’t know who you are, so they don’t know who you are and who you’re not.  She never let them know who she is, so of course her team will believe Batman.  

She was going to lose them and even if she proves herself, there will always be that doubt and once you’ve lost that trust, it never fully recovers… as her trip home proved.  Everything seems the same on the surface, but if you pause to examine it more closely, everything is different.  The way they look at you, the way they relate to you, the way they see you, has changed.  Robin wouldn’t trust her anymore.  He’d put up a wall between them, the same one he put up with anyone he didn’t fully trust, keeping them at a distance with a false smile.  And Conner!  He’d pull away too.  Still friendly, but not friends.  Still there, but not the same…

“…imera!  Chimera!”

Chimera felt a squeeze on her shoulder and a hand on her cheek, bringing her back to reality, stopping her descent into panic. She slowly moved her eyes to the arm belonging to the hand on her face and followed it back to its owner, looking up to see Superboy’s soft, concerned eyes.  He gave her a supportive smile and nod to let her know they were on her side. “That’s why we knew he was lying,” Superboy assured her.

Chimera let out a shuttering breath and buried her face in Superboy’s chest.  He wrapped his arms around her protectively, nuzzling into her hair.  “We know you better.  We know you would never do that.  No matter what he said, we know you,” he whispered into her hair.

Aqualad looked between them and nodded once, satisfied for now with her innocence. “Roy… Red Arrow is the key.  We need to find him and see what he can tell us. If Chimera is innocent then he may be as well.  Regardless, we need to find him before the League does.  Artemis, Superboy, Zatanna, you’re with me.  The rest of you, see what you can do about Tornado.”

“Wait, what’s wrong with Red Tornado?” Chimera’s eyes peeked out from Superboy’s chest.

“I’ll stay here,” Superboy responded with a sharp edge to his voice.

“We’re potentially going up against Red Arrow.  We need you with us to bring him in if…” Aqualad took a breath.  “If he decides to fight us.”

“I thought you didn’t think he was the mole,” Chimera asked uncertainly, subconsciously clinging a bit closer to Superboy.  If they still thought Red Arrow was the mole, did they really still think she was his handler as well?

“I don’t…” he looked away in contemplation.  “I don’t know.  But we need to speak with him to figure out what is going on.  Hopefully peacefully and it is best to be cautious,” he added. His voice was even, but anybody familiar with him could hear the strain in it.

Chimera gave him an understanding smile.  Although he didn’t speak about Red Arrow often, and almost never with Chimera, she knew they were close.  Believing his friend capable of something like this must be hurting him deeply. She looked up to Superboy.  “You should go,” she whispered.

“They can handle Red Arrow,” he argued back quietly.  “I can stay until you’re…  I can help with Tornado.”

Chimera shook her head.  “I’ll have Robin.  I’ll be okay until you come home.”  She glanced subtly over to Aqualad.  His shoulders were more tense than usual, his grimace more pronounced.  He was trying to hold it together, but he was suffering. “Aqualad needs you more right now.

Superboy huffed and looked over to Aqualad and the others Aqualad had singled out for a moment before looking back into Chimera’s eyes.  “Fine.  But I don’t like it.”

Chimera rested her head back on his chest, watching the rest of the Team. “Nobody likes what’s happening right now.”  She closed her eyes and squeezed him for a moment.  “Be safe.”

She stepped away from him, avoiding his eyes.  “You too,” he whispered, letting his fingers linger on her as she walked away to join Robin, Kid Flash, and Rocket.

“The problem’s hardware, not software,” Robin mused, examining schematics on a holographic display.  He didn’t even look up when Chimera stopped next to him.  He reached out, giving her a one armed hug.  She slung her arm around his shoulders, returning the squeeze. “But where do we start?”

Zatanna paused on her way out of the room.  “I have an idea.”  She glanced quickly behind her to see how far away the rest of her group had gotten. She bit her lip nervously, not wanting to upset Aqualad with her tardiness.  “Chimera, you remember the android he had in his quarters?”

Chimera perked up immediately.  “Yes! New hardware for his existing software. Brilliant idea, Zatanna.  Good luck with your mission,” she called to Zatanna as she ran to catch up with the rest of her group.  “Hey, Rocket, do your force bubbles move?  Might make moving the body easier.”

<><><><><> 

“I heard we’re dating,” Chimera started out with a sarcastic smile, extending her hand to shake Red Arrow’s.  “It must have been a terrible relationship if I can’t even remember you. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but I don’t think this relationship is working out for me.  I think we should see other people.”

Red Arrow huffed out a laugh and smiled against his will.  He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck.  He looked up at her sheepishly.  “Yeah, sorry about that.”

Chimera shrugged and moved past him to sit on a bulkhead.  “Not your fault.  And not the worst end to one of my relationships, so...”  She offered him a smile.  Red Arrow smiled back and moved to sit next to her for the planning meeting, but was cut off by Superboy taking the spot before Red Arrow could sit.

Red Arrow raised an eyebrow at him, but backed down.  He wasn’t looking to start a fight with the only heroes he knew that weren’t under mind control. Instead, he took a seat between Robin and Kid Flash.

“Would anyone care to enlighten us as to why you have Black Canary tied up and gagged?” Aqualad asked, bringing the conversation back to the issue at hand.

“Yeah, about that…” Kid Flash started with a grimace, warily eying the hero that was bound and gagged at their feet.

“Can we start from the beginning?  I don’t think I’m the only one who doesn’t have a clear picture of everything that’s going on,” Chimera requested.

“The entire Justice League is under the complete mental domination of Vandal Savage,” Red Tornado spoke up from his android body.  “Red Arrow seems to have been his means.  His method was something Savage referred to as Starotech.  An alien bio organism infused with nano technology and magic.  It shuts down the mind’s autonomy allowing Savage to reprogram the individual to suit his needs.  Even my inorganic brain was not immune.”

Chimera straightened up in surprise.  “Wait, so Red Arrow was the mole?”

“I was the mole,” Red Arrow confirmed with a grimace.  “I just don’t know why.  If it was the Starotech, then they wouldn’t have needed to have a handler for me or key phrases that would shut me down and ready me for new orders.”

Superboy watched him curiously.  “Batman and Tornado said you were a Cadmus clone, like me.”

Red Arrow sighed and looked down.  “That explains it.  I must have been pre-programmed to infiltrate the League.  I was probably given occasional new orders as well.  I think one of those orders was to focus suspicion on Artemis and Superboy.  More recently, I think Chimera was added to the list, in a much more explicit way.”

“Why?” Superboy straightened, glaring at Red Arrow.  His arms twitched to circle around Chimera and pull her closer to him.

“They didn’t tell me,” he shrugged.  “I never knew why I did any of it.  I wasn’t part of the team, I was a tool.”

“I’m an easy target,” Chimera spoke up quietly.  “He was already implicating Superboy and Artemis.  Robin, Kid Flash, and Kaldur have known each other or of each other for years and see each other regularly enough to know if something was off. Zatanna and Rocket joined after Kaldur started noticing indications of a mole.  That leaves me.  And since you know almost nothing about me, I don’t even have a mentor to vouch for me, it makes doubting me easy.”  

Superboy ran his hands up and down her arm to comfort her.  Chimera leaned into his side slightly, keeping her focus on the conversation.  Superboy looked over to Kid Flash and Red Tornado.  “So where does Black Canary fit in?”

“Oh! Riiiiiight.” Kid Flash awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.  “We were transferring Red Tornado’s consciousness from his regular body to his android body when she interrupted us.  She attacked us and we had to stop her.”

“So she’s infected as well,” Artemis observed.

Aqualad frowned at the ground in concentration.  “If it’s an infection, then we need a cure.  I will contact Queen Mera about creating an immunization based on Starotech.  We have Black Canary we can test the cure on.  Let’s move.”

Robin wormed his way next to Chimera as they moved to the communications hub for the ship.  He pulled her into a quick side hug.  “You know, we don’t need to know everything about each other to trust each other.  And I do trust you.”  He spoke quietly so only she could hear him.

Chimera closed her eyes as she hugged him back. “I trust you too, birdbrain.”

Robin rolled his eyes and shoved her away.  “I take it back.  I hate you.”  Chimera cackled with laughter.  Robin reluctantly joined her, trying to keep his annoyed facade.  They tried unsuccessfully to school their expressions when Aqualad glared at them until Queen Mera answered, drawing his attention away.

<><><><><> 

Waiting was torture.  It always was.  Waiting for something to happen when there was nothing you could do until then except think about the upcoming event, was agony.  Chimera looked around the room.  The Team was scattered each in their own space, waiting for Black Canary and Red Tornado to finish their preparations so they and Red Arrow could go in first and distract Savage, while the Team put the vaccine patches on the rest of the Justice League one member at a time.  

Everyone was in their own head, bodies tense, and emotions on edge.  They were going up against people they’d looked up to their whole superhero careers, parental figures, mentors.  People who taught them how to fight, how to strategize.  They knew more than the Team did and it was still unclear how much of their previous fighting knowledge they retained or if the person controlling them would have to come up with their own moves and techniques.

The Team was clearly dreading the former option, including Chimera.  With so many different powers to go up against, she had cleared out the miracle box so she would have options for which powers to utilize.  Changing was going to be tricky and she was going to have to keep Trixx well fed so she would be able to keep up her illusion of her suit not changing, but there was too much of a possibility for failure not to at least try.

She hoped she was hiding her apprehension better than the rest of the Team.  No matter how much they tried to hide it, Chimera knew their tells.  She knew Artemis set her jaw like that when she was anxious.  She knew Aqualad clenched and reclenched his fists like that when he was nervous.  She knew Kid Flash held his arm like that with his other hand when he was afraid.  She knew Robin stared intently like that when he was apprehensive.  She knew Zatanna bit her lip like that when she was unsure.  She knew Superboy glowered like that when he was worried.  It was slightly different from his many other glowers.  And she didn’t need to know Rocket and Red Arrow to see their nerves in the darting of their eyes.

She looked between them and furrowed her brow until she perked up, something occurring to her.  “So… it’s like a video game, right?”  All the eyes in the room darted to her with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance, but she continued on undeterred.  “I mean, they’re like characters in a video game, being controlled. That means there’s someone with some kind of controller.”  She looked over to Aqualad.  “Do you think there's any way that we could get our hands on that controller?” she asked with a devious glint in her eyes.  “Just for a few minutes?”

“Oh my God!  Yes!” Kid Flash exclaimed, immediately seeing where she was going and excitedly bouncing.  “Can we? Can we, please?”

“We will not take advantage of our compatriots and mentors in such a demeaning way,” Aqualad answered sternly.

“Yeah, yeah morally reprehensible reshmensible.  But, do you think we could?” Kid Flash asked again, his eyes bright.  In an instant he was next to Chimera, both giving Aqualad overly wide smiles.

“No,” Aqualad said firmly.

“Angelic smiles aren’t working,” Chimera noted in a stage whisper.  “Deploy kitten eyes.”  She and Kid Flash immediately switched to sad, pleading eyes, aimed directly at Aqualad who barely noted them before rolling his eyes.  Chimera harrumphed when she realized hers wouldn’t work since she had sunglasses hiding her eyes.  Instead, she elbowed Zatanna who looked confused for a second before grinning and schooling her face to offer her own kitten eyes.

Superboy quickly looked to the ground to hide his smirk, but Artemis and Robin made no attempts to hide her laugh that echoed throughout the room.  “Oh my God, you guys are such dorks,” Artemis eked out between laughs.  

“Yes,” Kid Flash agreed, “dorks who love video games.” He turned back to Aqualad.  “Pleeeeeeeeease.”  He held his hands out in front of him in supplication.

“Are you two going to take this seriously?” Red Arrow snapped.

Chimera rolled her eyes and offered a kind smile. “Come on, tell me you don't want to see Batman punch Green Arrow.”  Her smile turned enticing.  “We can make that happen,” she singsonged at him.

Red Arrow scoffed.  “I don't need remote control to do that.  I just have to tell Batman any of the things Green Arrow has said behind his back and then suggest a spar between them.”

Chimera waved him off.  “Fine.  Green Lantern or Wonder Woman punch Green Arrow,” she offered instead with a knowing smirk.  “I’m not even a protégé and I definitely have JL members I’d like to see get punched a few times.”  She shrugged in an overly casual way.  “Or, you know, one member anyway.”

Red Arrow cocked his head to the side considering the image of Wonder Woman decking Oliver.  “Now that you mention it...”

“Oh my God!” Chimera exclaimed, eyes widening in excitement.  “Dance Party!”

“Yes!” Kid Flash jumped on to her thought process, mirroring her excitement.  “The Flash breakdancing.   Hawkman doing the Carlton.”

Red Arrow looked over to Chimera with an analytical look.  After a few seconds, his face broke into a reluctant smile.  “Batman doing a scene from Phantom of the Opera, that’s angsty, he’d like it.”

“Yes!!” Chimera exclaimed, jumping with excitement that he had joined.

“Green Lantern and Aquaman doing the Kid ‘n Play,” Robin gave a small smirk, nerves still there, but lessening.

“Do you think we can get Martian Manhunter to do the Macarena?” Superboy pondered, coming up behind Chimera and resting his arm on her shoulders.

“It’s our imagination.  We can get them to do whatever we want,” Chimera laughed.

“I would pay to see Wonder Woman do the worm,” Artemis smiled coming up next to Zatanna and bumping her hip with her own.

“Can we get my dad to do something?  What should we get him to do?” Zatanna added with a hesitant smile.

“How about the Running Man?” Rocket offered, joining the rest.

“Green Arrow doing Gangnam Style dance,” Red Arrow gave Chimera a playful smile, joining the group to stand next to Chimera.

“My flute records.  I can take video for posterity,” Chimera grinned back conspiratorially.

“I’ll take you up on that,” Black Canary grinned as she came up behind them.  “I think it sounds like fun.  Plus, I need more blackmail material.  If I come across the opportunity, I’ll let you know.” She winked at them before turning to Aqualad with a serious expression.  “We’re ready to go.”

Aqualad’s expression immediately transformed from light to serious.  He stepped forward to address his team.  “It is time. Are we ready?”  He looked around to the Team waiting for nods from the group. Once he received them he watched Black Canary, Red Tornado, and Red Arrow step up to the Zeta tube.  With them in position, he turned to Chimera. “Open the portal.”

*Note 2: The android body is from the show as is Queen Mera and some scientists coming up with a vaccine in a few hours, so those cheap cop outs are theirs not mine.

Chapter 10

Tags:

@mickylikesstuff @mystery-5-5 @roguishredaxion @vroomtaka @laurcad123 @just-an-observer-ignore-me @emimar7 @moonlightstar64 @maribat-writing-and-prompts @aespades @yokomisaki @glastwime859 @mysticknown @glastwime859 @fan-writtenen @stackofrandomstuff @jalaluvsu @ultimatetornshipper @charme-de-malchan @lozzybowe @deathwishy @too0bsessedformyowngood @kokotaru @ichigorose  @nathleigh @dorkus-minimus @ira-sairain @jayjayspixiepop

[need-a-fugue]

Trustworthy (Chapter Two)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating… and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slow burn)

Warnings: Language... shitty language. And maybe sheer size? This one’s nearly 6,000 words... I may have gotten a little carried away. 😬

It began as a drunken joke, a flippant what if…

“If no one else is gonna do it,” you’d slurred out, voice barely above a whisper despite the cantina being utterly empty aside from the two of you, “we should take the motherfucker out ourselves.”

He’d laughed at the time, and promptly cut you off before insisting on walking you home. He helped you along the uneven streets of Leticia, held back your hair as you blew chunks into a dark alley, even slept on your couch that night just to make sure you didn’t die in your sleep. That’s what he told you, anyway. But you suspected that Santiago stuck around that night because he just couldn’t get your words out of his head.

You hadn’t been so drunk that you’d failed to notice the way he went eerily silent following your seemingly ludicrous suggestion. You hadn’t been so far gone that you’d missed the sudden glint to his eyes, nor the crooked smile that wrapped around his face as you said the words, “I want Lorea dead.”

That next morning, he brought it up casually, asking – before you even had the chance to brush your teeth – if you remembered what you’d said. When you told him you remembered every part, he simply told you to go on, nodding slowly along as you dove headfirst into a painfully impulsive proposal, your words still tinged with a lingering, drunken idealism. You spilled out the disparate thoughts you’d been harboring for months, if not longer – the ones that together formed little more than the ill-conceived beginnings of a damn stupid plan – only to discover that they were precisely in line with what he’d been contemplating as well.

By the end of the week, you were introducing him to your longtime informant, a woman who’d worked for Lorea in some capacity for years. A gorgeous woman, whom you’re almost entirely certain Santi fell into bed with later that same night. And after just a few months of nearly constant off-the-record investigating – both of you becoming utterly consumed by the thought of bringing Lorea down – that crazy, ridiculous, fucked-up joke you’d made had become a highly illegal, morally questionable, might-just-get-you-fired-and-thrown-into-a-federal-prison plot for ending the reign of one of the premier drug traffickers in South America.

You’d started it. There was no denying that. You’d started the whole damn thing.

For nearly three years, you fought the good fight with Santiago Garcia down in Colombia. He was one of just a handful of people there whom you trusted. He actually was one of just a handful of people there you even really knew.

If you ever got to chose an advisor to head up a mission, he’d be it. Any raid that fell within your purview, he’d help to organize. Intel was slow in coming, CIs dropping off, bosses telling you not to leave Leticia and to remember to stay in your lane? No problem. Garcia to the rescue.

He was able to operate largely independently – unlike poor, bound-by-the-rules-and-regulations-of-the-DEA you. Local cops and the surrounding military actually liked him and never balked at bringing him in, mostly because he was more than capable of playing along with their bullshit. Hell, he was so good at it, that for the first few months you knew him, he had you convinced that he either completely bought into the very obvious corruption surrounding that Amazonian paradise, or – if he really didn’t see it – he was dumber than a fucking box of rocks.

But Santiago Garcia never missed a damn thing. And while he might have seemed to have written off the actions of certain officials or the peculiarities you both encountered, he never ignored – nor forgot – the individuals he suspected of collusion. He was just smart enough to know when to act.

You, on the other hand, well, you never were very good at not calling people out. For all your life, if you saw something that seemed funky, you’d say something… immediately. If you ever suspected someone of lying, plotting, taking bribes, just plain being dirty, you’d raise an accusing finger high. Hell, that’s the main reason you got sent down to that southernmost point of the country, transferred away from what you saw as being the real goings-on, to simply help keep an eye on the drug runs taking place at the border.

Santiago taught you to quell your initial reactions of raising a stink when you believed something was amiss. He urged you to stop seeing the word in a never-ending list of black and white rules. He showed you how to keep from boiling over and calling people out, a thing that undoubtably kept you from getting yourself reassigned somewhere you’d be less of a nuisance… again.

He also fed you intel, shared specifics of his suspicions, and helped get you into military-run raids where DEA might otherwise have been shut out. And in the time in between – when you would normally just stalk around your small apartment all alone or perhaps stalk about the city… also all alone – he provided friendship, that not-so-tiny thing you’d been lacking ever since getting transferred from your post and away from the workmates and friends you’d had for years in Mexico.

He was fun and sharp-witted and outgoing, eager to make friends with just about anyone. He invited you out for drinks, dancing, into local card games. And though you often wondered why – did he feel sorry for you because the local police and military alike treated you like a damn leper? Was he trying to show others that you were alright, despite being a gringa DEA agent? Did he simply want to fuck you? – you’d be lying if you were to say that you didn’t feel damn lucky he’d stumbled into your life and forced his friendship upon you.

And how did you repay him? For all of the invites he’d extended, all the drinks purchased, all the intel he threw your way, all the military-run raids he somehow managed to get you in on? All of the trust and faith he invested in you?

You’d set him on a path to ruin.

000

The bar was much larger than you’d anticipated, the quick drive-by you did on your way to the motel earlier this afternoon making the freestanding structure – out in the middle of nowhere, like everything else in this Bumblefuck, USA town – appear small. Maybe it was because the massive parking lot dwarfed it. Maybe it was because you were only half awake, at best, and just didn’t notice the size of the place. Maybe it was because Santiago drove past it at 65 miles per hour, alerting you to it – that’s where we’ll meet up tonight – just as you flew by, allowing little more than a meager glimpse.

Regardless, you expected… less.

But the place is huge. There are two bars on either side of the sprawling building and tables flanking the wide-open center, which you could only imagine would at some point be flooded with drunken townies, eager to dance the night away.

When you first arrived – well over an hour ago – it had been just you and a handful of incredibly loud bros populating the place. You took off for the far bar, ordered yourself a drink, and slinked into a large table in a dark corner, eager to remain invisible until Santi arrived with his friends… his crack team. But – just as you’d come to expect from Garcia – he was nearly an hour late, and by the time he and his brothers-in-arms strolled in, you’d already been spotted by the douchebags at the bar and had to fight off the advances of two separate assholes, each of whom only approached you when making their way back from the bathroom.

“I’m sorry, bonita,” Santiago had proclaimed with a wide smile and a not-at-all-stifled laugh after you told him of your troubles. He turned to face the group of strangers at the bar, caught the glares of a few of them, and shouted over a simple dictate to, “Fuck off!”

And that had been the cap to your introduction to your new co-workers. They strode in, all smiles and laughter and blooming drunken glows, coming from what must have been a great fight night, undoubtably made all the better by being together once again, only to be forced to shake hands with you… a jetlagged stranger, washed out in the low light, obviously frazzled by having a guy fresh from the men’s room – who probably didn’t even bother to wash his hands – wrap an arm around your shoulder and tell you that the bathroom door locks… in case you wanted to check it out with him later.

They took your uncomfortable story in stride, exchanging pleasantries and apologizing again for their tardiness – well, Will apologized at least – before grabbing some drinks and then plopping down at the isolated table you’d chosen.

For a bit, the group of them just talk to one another, tying up loose ends to the conversations they’d been having before arriving. You catch snippets of nah, man, she’s gone… didn’t work out and do you have any idea how expensive kids’ soccer is? as their conversation flows around you, seemingly oblivious to your existence. For those first ten minutes or so – save Santiago’s paltry threat shouted across the bar and Benny’s rather flirtatious introduction – the whole team settles in around you and acts as though you aren’t even here at all.

The only exception during this time is the pilot, Frankie Morales – had Santi called him Fish? He keeps quiet as the others speak, cracking a smile at their comments every now and then, but mostly nursing his beer and awkwardly picking at the label in silence. Every so often, he steals a glance over at you, as if to say, yeah, I know you’re here. His eyes are warm and friendly despite the otherwise utterly unreadable expression planted on his face.

Maybe you’re simply intrigued by the fact that he’s the only one actively acknowledging your presence, or it could be that you’re just rather curious to figure out what his placid expression is hiding. Or perhaps you’re merely a fan of the subtle beauty that his sharp profile paints on the background of the dark, seedy bar. Whatever the reason, you find yourself not just staring but gazing at the man long after he looks away.

“So, shoot me straight,” Will says suddenly, nudging your shoulder and tearing into your thoughts as he turns to face you. Your eyes bounce wildly away from Frankie’s face, a heat creeping up your neck as you light on the patient smile of the man next to you. “That file… it’s your work, right?”

“Hey,” Santiago scoffs from across the table, leaning over to backhand his friend in the chest. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Will’s face cracks and a deep rumble of a laugh spills out of him as he bites out, “It’s good work. Too good to come from your sorry ass.”

Santi scoffs, his hand flying to his heart with a wounded quality. You simply shrug, small smirk perking your lips as you feel some of the initial tension of the gathering – and the strange concern that you might actually have somehow become invisible – finally start to lift. “He helped,” you say, tone coy.

“Oh, c’mon,” Santiago gripes, giving you a slightly irritated, definitely amused look. “Half that intel came from me. The PNC, Colombian military, they barely even acknowledge you’re there.”

You interrupt with a snort and a scathing, “Yeah… it’s really fucking annoying when people do that,” before choking down the rest of your beer.

If he understands the jibe about your current situation, he doesn’t let on, instead pushing his point that, “None of them would’ve given you jack shit.”

“And the one informant who actually got all this started?” you counter, accusing brow raised high. “Who’s informant was that?”

His face begins to blush, just a bit of redness seeping into his cheeks, as he reaches out to grab your empty bottle. “She was mine in the end,” he mutters, shoving back from the table and rising from his stool. “I’ll get the next round.”

“Yeah,” you call out after him. “You owe me more than just a beer for stealing my CI!”

“I’ll get you a shot too!” he throws over his shoulder, never looking back as he makes his way to the bar.

You turn back to the men surrounding you, each of them now eyeing you warily, and a part of you wants to go back to when they ignored your presence entirely. Tom – what did Santiago call him? Redfly? – is the first to break the awkward silence, ticking his chin in your direction. “So,” he starts before pulling a long breath in through his nose. “DEA.” He overenunciates each letter and states rather than questions your affiliation, despite there being an inquisitive – or is it accusing? – glint to his eye.

“Yeah,” you say with a lingering nod. “Yep. DEA.”

“They teach you about this kind of thing?” Will asks, his drawl deep and languid. You turn to look at him, the imposing man by your side, and feel your shoulders tighten all over again when you see that the stern expression he had worn when first shaking your hand has returned. But then something lightens, the corner of his mouth ticking up just a bit, his gaze softening as your eyes meet. You’re certain that he can sense the rise in tension, understands with just a glimpse of your face that you’re way out of your element here. Intimidated. Nervous. And while the softening of his countenance doesn’t wipe away your anxiety completely, you do at least appreciate the attempt.

Ben, the tall, younger man flanking your other side, must notice the unease building up inside you too. He leans in and bops you with his shoulder, a light, buoyant laugh bursting out of him. “Aw, hell,” he emits breathily. “Leave her alone. If Pope trusts her, she’s got to be good.”

“Not saying she’s not good,” Will intones, shooting you a quick wink that, oddly, really does manage to set you at ease. “Just wondering how much experience she has with ops like this.” His eyes start to sparkle as they lock onto yours once again. “So, sweetheart, you ever pull a recon mission deep in the jungle?”

You offer an evasive shrug and release a tightly held breath. “I got lost in a corn maze once. Had to find my way out on my own. Probably would’ve starved in there if I hadn’t had the presence of mind to bring a funnel cake in with me.”

On your left, Ben snorts out another laugh, and across the table you see Frankie try to maintain that straight, impassive face. But Will’s deadpan expression doesn’t shift in the least. “Well,” he says with a sigh, bringing his nearly empty beer bottle up to his lips. “I guess that is pretty damn close.”

“Ha, ha,” Tom mocks. He waits to go on until you look his way, and once you do he levels you with what can only be described as a fatherly stare – oddly disappointed and imploring, stern and warm all at the same time. “We’re all very glad to hear that you have a sense of humor.”

“Very glad,” Ben interjects with a wide grin.

“But,” he continues, “You’re not gonna go in there and be part of this unless you can convince us that you’re capable.”

Santiago’s voice cuts in then, sounding over the clink of beer bottles as he lays out the next round on the table. “She’s capable,” he states simply before sliding back into his seat next to Frankie. “We’ve been on…” he glances over at you, “how many raids now?”

“At least a dozen,” you answer.

He gives a firm nod and lets his eyes drift between the men at the table. “She’s done good every time. Stays outta the way, does what she’s told.”

Your brow wrinkles and tugs tightly together, deep frown taking over your face. “Jesus, Garcia. I’m not a fucking dog.” He gives a quick laugh, but says nothing, prompting you to defend yourself. “I’ve worked with military advisors for years. Most of my career has been spent working alongside foreign armies and police forces. I’m not just some kind of desk jockey, I promise you that.”

“This is different.” The words flow across the table, the deep rumble sliding just beneath the reverberating bass coming from the jukebox in the corner. You look up and lock onto Frankie’s eyes, note immediately the hesitancy building behind them. He raises his brows as he looks at you, almost into you, and says simply, “This isn’t a raid. This isn’t some amateur hour bullshit put on by the local cops. And you won’t have the military or CNP or the US government at your back if something goes wrong.”

You nod, wanting – for some inexplicable reason – to pull your gaze from him, but finding that you just can’t. “I know. I get that.”

“Do you?”

Santiago gives his friend a little shove, just enough to cause him to look his way, breaking the odd hold he has over you. “She’s a good shot,” he tells him, tells all of them. “And she’s done enough undercover work for me to know that she sure as shit can keep her head.” He looks over at you again – “I still don’t know how you managed to get out of that shit in the comuna last year.” – and then gives a wry little laugh as his head shakes absently.

“Alright,” Tom mutters just as he slams down an empty bottle and reaches over to grab a new one. “She follows orders and keeps her cool… at least we can work with that.”

Benny nudges you with his elbow and when you look up at him you’re met with the widest, sunniest of smiles – never mind the deep split in his lip from the fight that he claims to have won just a few hours prior. “Hear that? That’s just about the best kind of approval you’ll ever get from Redfly.”

“Approval?” Tom shoots across the table. His voice drops an octave as he aims a serious stare over at you. “I’m still not convinced that we can actually trust you.”

“Jesus,” Santi breathes out with an annoyed air. “You really think I’d bring her here… hell, you think I’d have put all this together with her if I didn’t think – know – that she can be trusted?”

He shrugs. “You haven’t really known her that long,” he mutters thickly, his expression slipping back into something wary as he folds his arms across his broad chest and falls into a speculative silence as he mulls over his friend’s words.

You watch him closely, trying to discern what exactly he’s thinking. But long before you’re able to draw any sort of conclusion, Benny bumps you with his shoulder again and says simply, “Don’t worry about it, darlin’. He’s onboard.”

There’s a part of you that balks at the darlin’, just as you had almost called Will out on his use of sweetheart. But the truth is – both times – the names are uttered with a casual, even reassuring, cadence that you’re certain holds no demeaning intent. And you’ve been in enough male-dominated circles over the years to be able to discern at least that much. Even the way Ben’s looking at you now – genuine grin and kind eyes – seems to hold no innuendo. So you let it slide.

“How long did it take him to trust you?” you ask, the tension in your shoulders lifting when a throaty chuckle bubbles out of him.

“Oh, I don’t know that he does. I don’t know if Tom really trusts anyone.”

A snort of a laugh rings from the other end of the table, surprisingly coming from the Doubting Thomas himself. “You’re so full of shit,” he mumbles as he sits back upright and grabs his beer. He takes a giant swig and tacks on for good measure, “Besides, nothing wrong with being… cautious. My being – ”

“A distrustful prick,” Santiago interjects brazenly.

“Whatever you want to call it,” he counters with a faux-saccharine lilt. “It’s saved all your asses more than a time or two. Hasn’t it?”

There’s a quick round of almost wistful snickers from nearly all the men, each seeming to light onto a particular memory, their gazes faltering and ticking briefly off towards nothing. The exception is Frankie, who simply stares down at the battered beer bottle in front of him, sticker half peeled off and clinging to his fingernails as he continues to work at it with a frown. “What about this informant of yours,” he says, low voice slicing into the newfound silence. He shifts nervous eyes over to the man at his right. “You’re sure she can be trusted?”

Without hesitation, Santiago nods. “I’m sure of it. And besides, we’re not basing all of this just on her word. You read the file, right?” He glances over at you and ticks his chin in your direction. “We checked it out. We’ve been out there enough to get a lay of the land. We’ve seen the deliveries of cash coming in… and not going back out.”

Will speaks next, his words soft and slow. “Could all be a setup… a giant, well-planned setup.”

You shake your head. “No. No, it’s legit.” Five sets of eyes turn to you, drilling into you for something more substantial. But the truth is, all that you have is in that file. And, yeah, it could be an elaborate setup. Or – more likely than that – just a really, really bad idea. But your gut says it’s neither. Your gut says that this whole damn thing is the only way to put an end to Lorea’s ever-growing cartel.

Tom’s eyes narrow at you once again, suspicion still lingering in his glare. “How’d this all happen, huh? How’d you even get involved with this… this shit-brain scheme?” he asks before the serious countenance begins to crack and he blows out a harsh chuckle. “How’d Pope sucker you into all this?”

Santiago answers before you get a chance to even open your mouth. “I didn’t sucker anybody into anything. And I don’t use the same callsign down there, so…”

Your eyes flash over to meet his, face splitting into an insolent grin. “Pope…” you mutter, popping the p at the end. “How exactly did you get that name, anyway?”

He rolls his eyes. “You don’t need to know.”

“He spent his first firefight hailing Mary through the coms,” Will chimes in with a teasing lilt. “All damn night.”

“I was nineteen.” He defends… almost whines. “You wanna tell her how you got Ironhead?”

He shrugs and takes another pull of his beer. “I’m not embarrassed.”

Frankie smirks from the other side of the table as he issues out under his breath, “You should be.”

Your eyes bounce eagerly back and forth between the men, silently pleading for someone to tell you the story of Will’s ridiculous moniker. But it seems that you’ve once again gone invisible.

“Hey, he held that record for a solid decade,” Benny mutters beside you. “And I’m pretty sure that dipshit, MacCovey, cheated to take the title.”

“How can you cheat at that?” Frankie asks with an incredulous laugh.

“He cheated.”

“Cheated at what?” you blurt out, eager to just hear the tale. “Ironhead’s a title? With a record? For what?”

Will pivots in his seat, flashing you a smug grin as he rather haughtily announces, “Record for the most concussions sustained during basic training. And no one can take Ironhead away from me… especially not some hardheaded kid from freaking New York.”

“How do you know he was from New York?” Santi asks.

Frankie cocks his head at his friend too. “You met him?”

“Didn’t he die?” Tom interjects, confusion suddenly weaving through the lot of them.

“Did he?” Will asks. “Shit, guess he wasn’t that hardheaded after all.”

Benny leans forward to address them all. “He didn’t die. Just lost a leg. Roadside bomb.”

“Shit,” his brother repeats solemnly.

“Was supposed to be his last tour too. Well, guess it still was.” He looks down for a somber beat before lighting on Frankie. “And I heard that he never actually hit his head when he fell off that tower, so… cheated.”

Throughout all of the back and forth, you just sit, eyes wide, expression both amused and deeply concerned. “Jesus,” you finally breathe out once everyone falls quite. You turn to Will, look a little closer at him as though you might be able to discern some of the damage done so many years ago. “Are you… okay?”

He lets out a hearty laugh and raps his knuckles on his skull. “Nothing to worry about here,” he tells you with a wide smile. “Ironhead, remember?”

Tom snorts and shakes his head skeptically. “Tune’ll change when that CTE shit kicks in… start wandering around the neighborhood, talking to yourself, picking fights with people in grocery stores.” He stops short and flashes a shit-eating grin. “Oh wait…”

The joke – if there even really is one – is lost on you. But Will must get it, because his face flashes in irritation, a mere, “Very funny,” falling from his lips as he brings his beer bottle up to meet them.

You let out a sigh – “I’m confused.” – and choose to ignore Tom in favor of getting more of the story from Ironhead himself. “Did you get concussions on purpose? Why does this seem to be some kind of source of pride?”

“It wasn’t on purpose…”

“What about that full can of soup you tried to crush on your head?” Frankie interjects with a raised brow.

“Yeah, alright, there was that one,” he concedes.

Your forehead furrows deeper. “If you were always getting hurt, why didn’t they call you something like, Falls-a-Lot or Unlucky Charms or just Blockhead?”

He stares at you for a long moment, face hardening into a stoic set. “Wasn’t Tom asking how you got yourself into all this? Wasn’t that what we were talking about?”

You offer a nonchalant shrug. “Don’t think we were really talking about it…”

“She basically started it,” Santiago states simply. “I mean, I was in the minute she brought it up, completely in. But it was her shit-brained scheme from the get-go.”

“Really?” Tom smarts, skeptical look once again riding his face as he takes a pull from his beer.

“Look,” you begin, tone painfully sincere, “I’ve been on the losing end of this battle for years. And the people down there, the families… the kids he recruits…” You stop for a beat and slowly, bitterly shake your head. “Lorea, and all the others like him… It’s their turn to lose.”

Tom nods, his gaze never breaking from yours. “You do realize you sound just like him,” he mutters, ticking his chin towards Santi. “Seriously,” he begins, stare serious, but tone glib. “Did you two hatch this crazy little plan together in bed?”

You glance over at Garcia, quickly taking note of the burning blush creeping up his neck as he hides beneath his baseball cap and tries not to laugh. Then, on their way back to Tom, your eyes light on Frankie. He too is ducking his head. But he doesn’t seem to be laughing like the others. Rather, from what you can make out beneath the shadow of his hat, he looks… embarrassed. No. Dejected.

Your heart skips a beat and you blurt out suddenly, “We’re not sleeping together,” a little too loudly to come across as anything other than agonizingly defensive. The laughter intensifies and you clear your throat before going on to say, “Garcia’s usually too busy fucking his informants to ever even think of giving me the time of day.”

Benny just about loses it, his body pulsating with fits of giggles as he leans back a bit and reaches out to give you a high five. You oblige, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you see Santiago shift across from you. He peers at you from beneath the ballcap, eyes dark and smile wide as he says, voice deep and honeyed, “Oh, bonita, trust me, I’ve thought about it.”

You roll your eyes and tip back the nearly empty bottle to your lips, draining the last dregs of your beer before rising and stating, “I’ll get the next round… as long you guys promise to do nothing but regale me with embarrassing stories about Pope for the rest of the night.”

000

Jetlag. It’s something you’ve experienced countless times over the years, hopping from place to place, office to outpost to field. And yet you’ve never really managed to get used to it, the bone-deep fatigue kicking your ass after each and every trip you’ve ever taken. A full day of travel, and now a full night of drinking, and by the time the lot of you stumble out of the bar, you’re barely able to put one foot in front of the other.

“Lightweight, huh?” Benny jokes as he pushes past you on the way to his car.

You grumble under your breath, something akin to, shut the fuck up, though your words aren’t all that put together right now either. But Ben doesn’t hear any of it anyway, he’s already giving his brother an unforgiving shove in the nearly empty parking lot and laughing maniacally as he dodges the lazy retaliatory punch.

“Don’t mind him,” Frankie mutters from behind you. You stop and turn, squinting through the harsh halogen light piercing your eyes as you look up at him. He notices the pained grimace you give and lets out a light chuckle as he takes your elbow and swings you back around to lead you to the car. “You seem more tired than drunk to me,” he says with a lilt as he easily slips his arm beneath yours for a little extra support.

Without thinking, you let your head tip to the side and rest on his shoulder. “Soooo tired,” you bemoan. A deep rumble of a laugh pulls from Frankie’s chest, reverberates up and through his entire body so that you feel it vibrate into you. It makes you smile. It makes you tuck yourself in a little closer. You stumble a bit, your toe catching on a crack in the pavement, and before you can even think to right yourself, his arm pulls away and reaches around, the warmth of his hand splaying across your hip as he steadies you. “Maybe a little drunk too,” you admit with a sigh.

If he thinks it’s odd that you’ve burrowed so close to him, or if he’s the least bit uncomfortable with your fingers now clinging to the back of his shirt, or if he’s irritated at having to slow to a crawl to help you to Santiago’s car, he doesn’t show it. Instead he easily slows his pace to match yours, giving your hip a little squeeze as he says, “Hey, sorry about earlier.”

Your shuffling stops as you pull back to look up at him with a confused frown. “You mean telling that story about Santiago’s ex? I don’t think I’m the one… to apologize…” Your brow furrows even deeper as you try to sift through what you just said, trying to determine if it makes any sense.

He lets out another low laugh, the sound quickly becoming a new favorite tune. “No. I mean about…” He hesitates for a moment, the smile slowly melting from his face. “When I was… questioning you. Whether or not you’re up for this. And, you know, whether or not you’re getting played.”

“Oh,” you bark out, far louder than intended. “Yeah, no.” You wave it off and waste no time at all – fatigue and alcohol both wiping away any embarrassment you might otherwise feel at plastering yourself up against a near stranger – falling back into him.

He chuckles again as he hikes you a bit higher and leads you over to the tiny blue rental car in the corner of the lot. “It’s just… I know you put a lot of work into gathering the intel. And I know this is… important to you. Or you wouldn’t be here. But still…”

You turn your face into his shoulder, his chest, unabashedly breathing in the musky scent from the collar of his jacket as you mumble into him, “I promise not to fuck it up. At least not too bad.”

“Hey!” Garcia calls out from the car, swinging the back door open as you two approach. “You getting handsy with my girl?”

Frankie snorts out a laugh, incredulous, almost sardonic, and not nearly as endearing as the ones that have been rumbling into you for the last however many glorious minutes it’s been. “Not your girl,” you mutter blandly. “Too risky… too many possible diseases.”

“Hilarious,” he deadpans, standing back as Frankie helps you into the car, his palm pressing gently on the back of your head to make sure you duck inside safely. “She took like five Xanax on the flight in,” he tells his friend with a snicker. “Probably shouldn’t have let her drink so much on top of that.”

“Hate flying,” you breathe out as you settle back, harshly tugging at the seatbelt to your left.

Frankie shakes his head in amusement as he watches you grow increasingly frustrated with the non-cooperative seatbelt. “How can you hate flying?” he asks, crooked smile stretching across his face.

You stop the infernal struggle and collapse back into the seat, “Fucking hate it,” coming out of you in a petulant whine.

“Alright,” he murmurs amid a snicker as he leans into the car, easily tugging the seatbelt out and reaching around to buckle you in. Your eyes droop further, slipping closed as he pulls back out of the car, fading into the night. “You guys good?” you hear him ask, the deep tenor of his voice sounding even more melodic when penetrating the dark.

“Yeah,” Santiago tells him, fatigue drowning just that single word. “We’re over at the Motor Inn. Just a few miles up. Listen, Frankie… thanks for this. Really. This…” You almost open your eyes again, want to just to see if the expression on Garcia’s face matches the earnestness in his tone. “This isn’t just a standard op, you know. To me. To her. This is… just… thanks.”

“Yeah,” he replies simply. “Well, uh… I’ll see you Thursday.”

The only other sounds you hear before slipping away entirely are the door gently closing beside you, the engine starting up in a soft roar, and Santiago muttering, seemingly to himself from the front seat, “I am not carrying your ass to bed.”

Taglist: 

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @icanbeyourjedi @greeneyedblondie44

[lastwagontrainhopper]

Behind every man

Royai week day 4 - Communiqué (I know it’s like Wednesday but due to time zone difference my head is still in Royai Week)

Summary:  

"Al looked up from the newspaper. His voice had sounded excited, but he now had a shocked look on his face. "Roy Mustang is getting married."

Ed's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" He slowly walked into the living room, digesting the information. "Well, I guess it was about time. I wonder how he convinced Riza, though."

"He's not..." Al shook his head, his eyes back on the pages. "He's not marrying Riza."

"What?" "

---

Behind every great man is a great woman. In Roy's case, there needs to be two: one for the heart and one for the politics.

Words: 4653

Tags: Angst, truly unnecessary angst, Fake Marriage, Roy and Riza can't catch an emotional break, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Politics

read on aot

"Ed! You're not gonna believe this! ”

Edward was busy with breakfast when he heard his brother call out to him. It was a typical Sunday morning in Resembool, and a joyful racket reigned around the house: the eggs and potatoes were sizzling, the kids were chasing each other between rooms, and metallic clanks coming from outside told them that Winry was already busy in her workshop.

"What?", Ed shouted back over his shoulder. No answer came; he put the pan down, wiped his hand on a towel, and went to peek his head in the living room, where Al sat every morning to read the newspaper. Ever the diplomat, he kept up with Amestrian affairs even during his vacations - unlike his brother who couldn’t care less. "What?" Ed repeated.

Al looked up from the paper. His voice had sounded excited, but he now had a shocked look on his face. "Roy Mustang is getting married."

Ed's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" He slowly walked into the living room, digesting the information.  "Well, I guess it was about time. I wonder how he convinced Riza, though."

"He's not..." Al shook his head, his eyes fixed on the newspaper. "He's not marrying Riza."

"What?"

Al laid the newspaper flat on the table. "Look: "It is with great pleasure that the Fuhrer-President Roy Alexander Mustang, son of Francis and Lian Mustang, announces his betrothal to Ms. Margaret Evans, daughter of Sir Timothy Evans and Carla Esposito. The ceremony will be held on the 27th of July at the National Opera House in Central. ", etc.  “

Ed reread the sentence several times, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had never heard that woman's name before. "Margaret Evans...Is that one of Riza's cover name? Or her legal name maybe?"

“I don't find so," Al answered, frowning. "Isn't her full name Elizabeth? That's what they use when they go undercover, anyway."

"This makes no sense." Ed tossed the towel over his shoulder. "I'm gonna give him a call," he said resolutely, walking up to the only phone in the house.

It was Sunday, so he called Roy's apartment. When that got no answer, he called his office on his personal number, where he got a busy signal.

"I'm betting everyone in Central is trying to call him right now," Al said, watching him grow impatient. "It is quite the bombshell to drop in a Sunday newspaper."

Right. Sometime Ed forgot that Roy was the leader of one of the most powerful nation around. "This better not be another of his twisted political scheme," he muttered with his ear on the receiver.

Al crossed his arms, leaning back on his chair. "On the contrary, I hope it is. Because otherwise, it would mean that this is a genuine announcement. "He paused and looked up at his brother. "You don't think that it could really be..."

"No," Ed shook his head with confidence. "Of course not."

He had seen Roy and Riza only a few months prior. A couple of times a year, the two of them would find an excuse to come to Resembool for a weekend without any of their personnel. They came to visit Ed and his family, of course, but it was also an opportunity for them to spend time away from the public eye and the hectic bustle of Central.

And, of course, a rare opportunity to openly exists as a couple, if only for a few days.

Ed thought back on the way the two of them were behaving on their last visit, and he could not imagine that Roy would truly want to marry anyone other than Riza.

"Roy Mustang speaking."

The voice in the receiver jolted Ed out of his thoughts. "Mustang!" he called out, louder than he intended. "What the hell is this?"

He heard a sight. "Good morning to you too, Edward." Roy’s office seemed busy than usual - Ed had trouble hearing his voice over the noise from the background.

"Let’s cut through the pleasantries, alright? We saw the announcement on the paper."

There was a short pause. "Ah. Well, if this is about my wedding, I accept your congratulations, however unconventional."

Ed's foot tapped on the floor impatiently, but he kept his voice calm. "I'm not calling to congratulate you, Roy, and you know it. I'm calling to ask for an explanation. Since when do you..."

"Edward. " Mustang's voice interrupted him firmly. "It's not very pleasant to have this kind of conversation on the phone. Why don't you come by Central? We could discuss this in person - and I know the Captain would be glad to see you."

Ed paused and bit down a scathing reply. He let out a defeated sight instead. "Sure. We'll....we'll see you there."

The line went dead before he could hang up. He still slammed the phone on the receiver with force, for good measure.

"I knew it," he said to Al cynically. "It is another one of his schemes: he didn't want to talk about it on the phone. And it seems like Hawkeye’s on it."

Al nodded slowly. "Of course. Roy would never do something like this without her approval.” He looked down on the newspaper with a pensive expression. "I'm guessing he wants to use the wedding to boost his image. But still...I didn't imagine he would go to such length. ”

"I don't know why he's doing this, but he better have a damn good reason. Come on, Al, we're catching the first train to Central."

---

Ed and Al had never seen Central Command in such a state of frenzy. The chaos that reigned on the floor of the presidential office was of a very different kind than the cozy, domestic one they had left : phones were constantly ringing, officers were running around with their arms full of documents; and everyone was shouting to communicate over the tumult. Two soldiers watched the door to Mustang's office. Without a State Alchemist pocket watch or an uniform, Ed and Al were initially denied access; Al had to rummage through his bag for an attestation of his status of diplomat to get them through.

Inside the presidential office, it was even worse. Dodging an officer that came to ask their business, Ed made his way through the crowd like a bulldozer until he reached Roy's desk. The president was on the phone; he nodded to them as he noticed their presence, then returned to his conversation.

A few minutes later, Roy hung up and turned in their direction.

"You got here quickly," he greeted them. "Edward. Alfonse, nice to see you."

"It's been a while," Al replied warmly; Ed nodded. Roy’s attitude was nonchalant, as usual, but he couldn't help but notice the dark circles under his eyes or the tension in his shoulders.

Roy smiled apologetically. "Sorry for the mess. As you can imagine, things have been a little hectic since the announcement came out. But," he glanced at his clock and stood up, "it's past noon, so I think I deserve a lunch break. How about we grab something and go eat in my study? I could use a little peace and quiet.”

His study, the only place in Central Command that Roy trusted not to be bugged. Right.

"Riza - I mean Captain Hawkeye isn't here with you?" Al asked, looking as they were leaving his office.

"If you think my office was busy, you should see hers,” Roy answered with a slight smile. “She insisted to be named head of security for the wedding, so she has started coordinating the whole thing. I doubt we'll be able to catch her for dinner - it'll be lucky if I can convince her to get some rest for the night. "His tone was joking, but somehow lacked conviction.

Walking down the hallways, Roy called out to an employee and asked him to bring three lunches to his study. The officer saluted, then ran off to the cafeteria. Perks of being the president, Ed guessed.

As they entered the president’s study, a small but gorgeous room filled with ancient bookshelves, Ed noticed with surprise that Roy had brought a stack of documents with him. He put them down on the varnished wooden desk and began to glance at the one on top, as the employee entered the room to drop off sandwiches. That was unprecedented. Ed and Al had never seen Roy as overworked - but then, in the years they had worked for him, they had rarely seen him work at all.

When the officer had left the room and the door was safely closed behind him, Roy opened one of the drawers at the bottom of his cabinet and rummaged through it for a few seconds, pulling out a messy pile of paper.

"Take a look at this."

He tossed a couple of newspapers on the desk in front of them. They seemed to be from various of the biggest gossip magazine of Central, and even a couple newspapers. The headlines were all short, bold, to the point. "The Fuhrer's string of affairs continues," "The Hawk's Eye: the new presidential scandal?", "Is Mustang sleeping with his staff? Exclusive testimony from ex-military", "Turmoil in Central Command over speculation on Fuhrer-President's relationships". They covered a period of several months, the earliest going back half a year.

Ed frowned and let the papers fall back on the desk. "So? This isn't an explanation."

Roy looked up from the document he was reading. "I heard you were pretty smart, Edward. I'm sure you can figure out the rest." Now that they were in private, his tone had become noticeably less polite and more snappy - even more during their usual exchange, it seemed.

"What, you're upset that some journalists are writing about you and Riza, so you're marrying someone else to throw them off? Are you insane?" Ed shook his head with frustration. "Since when do you care about what the media says about you anyway?"

Roy didn’t raise his eyes. "I’ve cared about it ever since it started threatening my position, Edward.”

"Your position is not democratically elected yet, as far as I know," Ed replied stubbornly.

He growled. “It’s not that simple, Ed.” Roy put down his document for good, resting his forearms on the desk. The sandwiches laid next to him, already forgotten. "Listen. Since I've entered the military, I've purposely built a reputation as a womanizer and a slacker, so that the higher up wouldn't feel threatened by me." He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "It worked a bit too well, I guess. Now, the nationalists are trying to portray me as a depraved, scandalous man with no respect for traditions, so that they can discredit my democratic reforms in the same way.” He frowned, and his expression darkened. “They've already exposed my relationship with Chris all over the newspapers, smearing her bar and her reputation. Now, they’re using Chris’ informants to paint me as a skirt-chaser who constantly sleep around – and not to mention with his subordinates.”

"But there have always been rumors, right? " Al asked cautiously. "Even in Xin, I've heard about it several times.”

"Yes, but never of that magnitude. And never targeting Riza so precisely." He looked away, embarrassed. "We got careless. Journalists caught me leaving her apartment one morning, and the rumors have been crazy ever since." Ed winced. They had always been worried that something like that would happen. "You know, this is not just for my career. When the rumors were at their peak, reporters were scrutinizing our routines from morning till night. It was unbearable; we couldn't even see each other without risking getting caught." Roy took a long look at the both of them, one after the other. “This is only a temporary arrangement to make our lives easier. I know this may seem wrong, but it is the best option we have."

Al nodded slowly. He didn't seem that surprised by this whole affair; but after all, he must have witness similar - or worse - situations in the Xinese Court.

Ed wished he could take it as well as Al, but he couldn’t help feeling shocked. Roy's explanation was perfectly rational; he understood why they were doing this. But just imagining being in the same situation – and putting Winry through it – was making him feel sick.

"I can't believe you’ve convinced yourself that this your best solution." Roy gave him what seemed to be an exasperated look, which angered Ed even more. He raised his voice. "Isn't it bad enough that you and Riza can't live together? You really have to push the charade even further, marrying someone else? To, to spend years pretending to lead a normal family life of which Riza is not part off,  while she still has to work by your side?” Ed was on the edge of his seat, almost yelling now. "I mean, how can you do something like that to her? ”

"Edward!" Roy slammed his hand on the table, cutting him off. He had properly shouted, but his voice was low with anger. "It was her idea to begin with. She insisted on going through with this."

Ed paused, taken aback. "Really?"

Roy looked him straight in the eye. His tone was sharp as a knife. "Do you really think I would suggest a plan like this?"

No, of course not, Ed realized. He felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. It seemed obvious now: Roy would never make Riza go through something like this of his own volition. Despite his impassive persona, even Ed knew how soft-hearted he was when it came to those close to him. She had always been the one taking the harsh decisions in that regard.

"You're right,” he mumbled, sitting back. “Sorry."

Roy sighed, his anger replaced by weariness. "Don't worry about it. Everyone we told reacted that way."

After a moment, Al broke the silence. "You think people are gonna buy this? The wedding?"

"They are, if we do it right,” answered Roy without a doubt. “This operation has been long in the making. Margot and I started to go on dates a few months ago, making ourselves seen; we made sure those newspapers were writing about her well before we announced the engagement."

"And who's this poor girl who thinks she'll be marrying the President?" Ed asked with a scowl.

Roy gave him a long look. "Again, you have a very poor opinion of me if you think that this is what I would do, Edward." Ed felt a blush creep up his face, but he held Roy’s gaze. "No, Margot is a contact from Chris – thankfully, no one knows their connection.” He searched another of his drawers for a moment and placed what appeared to be a pamphlet for a theater play on the desk. “She's a lifesaver, to be honest: this plan would have fallen through if we hadn't found someone like her that perfectly fitted our needs."

"An actress, huh? Isn't that a bit obvious?" Ed picked up the pamphlet. On the front page was a picture of a woman in her thirties, long brown hair framing a round friendly face.

"She's an opera singer," Roy rectified. "But she has done acting, so she'll be able to play the part. She's sympathetic to our situation, and also her own interest in this matter: the marriage will give her some publicity to launch her career. And, most importantly, Chris trust her, which means we can." He put his hands together, elbows on the table, the posture he took when he gave orders to his subordinates. "I don't need to tell you how devastating it would be if her, or anyone, leaked out to the press the truth behind this wedding. All our careers would be over in an instant. Which is why I need you two to be extremely careful."

Ed winced as he thought back on what he had almost shouted over the phone this morning, or in Roy’s office. That would take some adjusting on his part.

He also guessed that Roy and Riza would have to stop their visits to Resembool for a while.

He cleared his throat. "And how long do you plan on keeping this up?"

"Not a moment longer than we need to, I can assure you. When my democratic reforms are implanted and solid, I will step down as President - that was already the plan." Roy stood and went to look out the study’s window, hands in his pockets. A smirk appeared on his lips. "If it was up to me, I’d file for divorce the instant I walk down the stairs of Central Command, but Riza think it would be too obvious - not to mention a bit improper, considering I plan to propose to her afterwards." He chuckled, then his face fell. "She thinks we shouldn't get married at all. That it would prove the rumors about us and tarnish my legacy - with those of my reforms. " He sighed and turned toward them. "But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. ”

He walked back to his desk and laid his hands flat on it.

"In the meanwhile, while you don’t have to, we would appreciate it if you came to the wedding." Ed shot him a confused look. "You're still pretty popular with the people,", Roy explained, "and everyone knows you've worked with me in the past. The more of our actual entourage come to the ceremony, the more believable it will be."

Al glanced sideways at Ed. "Of course. We can be there; I imagine Ling will want to hear details about the wedding anyway. And, um," he addressed his brother more than Roy, "hopefully we can keep Riza company for a bit.”

Roy gave him a smile, the first genuine one since the start of the conversation. "Thank you."

----

Riza spent the week before the wedding having to repeat the same things over and over again like a broken record. She was fine; it didn’t bother her ; that was her idea to begin with. She told that to her old team, to the Elric brothers, to Rebecca; and most of all she told that to Roy.  She felt constantly on edge; she couldn’t stand the way people looked at her, as if they expected her to break down crying at any moment. "If you give me that sorry look one more time," she snapped at Roy one evening, "I'll lock you in your office until the wedding.”

It was driving her crazy. She didn't have time to waste with these conversations: she was the head of security for a national wedding, and she had so many tasks to deal with that she didn't know where to give her attention. Every moment of those days she spent on her feet, going from meetings to meetings, keeping tabs on the dozens of teams that were handling the various parts of the organization, making sure no detail was overlooked. Her days were so full that she didn't have time to stop and think; and in the evening she would collapse into her single bed, exhausted, and fall asleep almost immediately.

On top of all the logistics, she had to accompany the President and the would-be First Lady through the media whirlwind that preceded the wedding. Margaret was unknown to the public, and all of Central was desperate to catch a glimpse of the woman who had finally managed to tame Roy Mustang, the famous womanizer, and make him settle down. Both played their roles to perfection: Margot was charming, distinguished but not haughty, teasing Roy fondly; he played the helpless romantic, laughing with a bit of mischievous embarrassment when his scandalous past was brought up. They were funny, complicit, shy when they needed to be - as if they had a real private life they wanted to keep for themselves - and most of all, they were oh so in love.

Riza received a few interview requests herself, but only from the most shameless magazines, the same ones that had cheerfully dragged her name through the mud a couple of months earlier. She hadn’t bothered to decline.

---

The Central Times: There were… rumors, a bit unflattering if I may add, going around about the President turbulent love life. Has that ever been a concern to you, Ms. Evans?

ME: I had certainly heard about it, like everyone else. In fact, I almost refused his first invitation to dinner precisely because of that. (laughs) But it became clear to me very quickly that Roy...did not act the way I expected him to. And I think that realization convinced me to put my cards on the table. I told him, on our second date, that the type of behavior talked about in the papers was not acceptable to me. And that I would rather cut things off immediately if he was not willing to leave that lifestyle behind.

TCT : On your second date! You certainly know what you want.

(Both laugh)

RM: That is one way to put it! I think that was one of the moments I realized what kind of woman Margot was. And - I'm gonna be honest with you for a moment - as a Fuhrer, who spend his days ordering people around, I certainly appreciate a woman that can hold her own.

---

The big day finally arrived. Roy had insisted she didn't have to be there, that she could fake an illness or an emergency. Riza knew that wasn’t the case. The most persistent rumors were those that linked Roy to his bodyguard; her absence at this wedding would have been nothing short of glaring. In any case, Riza was so busy overseeing the course of the day’s event that she didn't even get to visit the soon-to-be-wed couple before they appeared during the ceremony.

They were gorgeous, of course: two attractive people in the elegance of their middle age, dressed by the best designers in Central, resplendent in their happiness. Roy wore the kind of suit he preferred, all black, very chic; Margot had a white satin dress with a long front and back neckline, the kind of dress Riza could never wear on similar occasions.

The kiss, the one everyone was waiting for, was as spectacular as the rest. They went all in, Roy tilting Margot backward until it looked like they were both about to fall down. It didn't bother Riza as much as she would have thought. Roy had never kissed her this way; this was an embrace for the show, for the cameras, while the ones they shared were always strictly for each other. The whole world had seen how the extravagant Flame Alchemist and Hero of Ishval kissed someone, and it had matched their expectations, but only Riza knew the way Roy Mustang kissed someone like he meant it.

She was grateful Roy went that way. She wasn't sure if she could have borne watching him kiss Margot with the same mannerism he kissed her.

And after that came the reception, the dinner, the dance. Dozens of people lined up to give their congratulations to the newlywed couple – mostly members of the aristocracy or the military who had never talked to either of them before - and Roy and Margot accepted their wishes with courtesy, pretending to be touched or delighted by their conversations.

Not for the first time, Riza thought to herself how she would dislike being in Margot's shoes right now. Having to maintain a facade of politeness throughout her wedding day, spending it with opportunistic strangers instead of her loved ones...she couldn’t have done it.

Truly, she was more comfortable behind the scenes as head of security than under the spotlight as the bride.

She watched them eat next to each other, chatting pleasantly with the other guests. She watched them open the dance, arms in arms, and even she felt touched by how beautiful of a sight they were, two stunning dancers gracefully moving across the ballroom like they were floating about the ground, weightless.

Some of her friends and comrades came to subtly check on her, asking again how she was doing. Many insisted to keep her company; but she was on duty, and too many tasks required her attention for her to be able to simply enjoy the night, she told them. At no moment during the evening did she let her guard down, checking in regularly with the security personnel, running patrols even as the evening calmed down and guests slowly started to trickle away, the married couple leaving to their private quarters and the staff starting to take the decorations down.

All night long, she remained the very image of professionalism.

---

Rebecca was the one who found her. She had taken refuge in a place where no one would dare come looking for her, in the bathroom of her hotel room, both doors locked. Obviously, this was not enough to keep her closest friend away.

Rebecca opened the bathroom door to find her curled up on the tile floor, her back against the wall, one hand pressed against her mouth. Even here, hidden from the world, Riza was still trying to control herself; but her body was shaking with shuddering sobs, silent tears running down her face and rolling over her fingers.

Even Rebecca had rarely seen her in such a state, at least not since her return from Ishval.

Her heart broke at the sight, as well as her voice. "Oh, Riza."

She fell down on the floor beside her. Riza raised her head and tried to wipe her cheeks with the back of her hands.

"I'm fine," she began immediately. She could hear how silly it sounded, for her to say that with her strangled voice and her hiccups. "I'm okay, it's just.....It's stupid." She shook her head, embarrassed. "I'm the one who suggested this. I don't get why I'm reacting like that, when I know that it doesn't mean anything..."

"Riza." Rebecca interrupted her with a voice thick with emotion but firm. "I'm gonna need you to shut up right now."

She complied and Rebecca put her arms around her, drawing her closer. Riza buried her head against her shoulders. For a few minutes, only the muffled sound of her cries broke the silence.  

"When are you seeing him?" Rebecca asked her softly after she had calmed down, stroking her back.

Suddenly, Riza felt an urge to talk to Roy. She had avoided him as much as she could for the past few days, unable to bear the way he looked at her, the guilt that transpired in his every move, his need to tell her those sappy things they never had to say before - how much he loved her, and only her, and how that would never change. But right now, for the first time, she needed to hear those silly, stupid words all over again.

She shook her head. "Not tonight. Too risky. We'll see how closely the journalists watch his house after the wedding, and decide when it's safe for me to visit him again."

Rebecca said nothing, still rubbing her back. Riza was already getting back to her normal, composed self, forcing her breaths to be long and steady.

"And…please don't tell him you saw me like this."

There was a silence, then Rebecca sighed. She shook her head.

"You know, sometimes I wonder why you two seem so determined to remain unhappy for the rest of your lives.”

Riza knew how to answer this. There were things that had to be done; work that had to be finished before Roy and her could be allowed to live for themselves. Damages they had to repair, sins to atone for.

But for once, these words seemed too heavy to say, and she was so, so tired. So, she said nothing.

[queenrose730]

Reckless

The Winter Solider 

Master List

2014

It had been a while since you had been back to the Avengers tower. Once SHIELD got all official after the Battle of New York, they got a big fancy building in DC. You decided to keep an apartment at the tower but honestly spent most of your time now in DC. Now though, you had been forced back by Steve. All because of a broken leg. It didn’t even happen on a mission, although that might have been better. You were sparing with another agent when a mistake happened and your left leg was broken. Steve nearly took the guys head off when he heard you scream. Somehow between the pain you got Steve to focus on you. After all it wasn’t the others guy’s fault.

The doctors put you in a cast and told you to use the crutches for at least 3 months. Then they would reevaluate the leg. Steve caught you once without your crutches and set you back to New York. It forced you to take your job slower and you couldn’t do as much. Plus, Tony and Bruce kept an eye on you. After a week there, Tony broke down and figured out how to make an exoskeleton cast. This way you could get around more easily and hopefully complain less. After some trial and error, and the ok from the doctor, you had a brace. It came up around your thigh and had a plate that slid under your foot. The knee joint move freely but the ankle was locked, but could be loosened as you healed.

“Well it looks like your leg is pretty well healed agent.” It was almost three months to the day.

“Thank god.”

“I would still recommend the brace for another month but the ankle can be set to move freely.”

“Awesome. I’ll get Tony to do that.” The doctor at the tower was so much nicer than at SHIELD. Probably because they were ex-military docs. They somehow always were dicks.

“I’ll want to see you again in a month. But other than that you are free to go.” You hopped of the bed and shook the doctors hand.

“Thanks again. I appreciate you working with me.”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice.” He raised an eyebrow. To which you just shrugged your shoulders and headed out. The doctor just laughed as you walked out the door.

“Hey Jarvis. Let Tony know I’m on my way down!” It took all you had not to skip down the hall.

“Certainly Miss yln.”

As you reached the elevator you grabbed your phone to let Steve know how your leg was and maybe drop the hint about getting back to your regular work. Before you could type your message, number came up on your screen.

“Speak of the devil! I was just about to text you. I got the all clear from the doc.”

“That’s good yn.” His voices sounded off.

“What’s wrong Steve? How’d the mission go?”

“It was complicated.” He let out a sigh over the phone.

“How complicated?” Suddenly the conversation was serious. You changed the floor you were headed to, now going to your apartment.

“What do you know about something call Project Insight?”

“I’ve never heard of it.” The door to the elevator opened and you walked down the hall.

“Fury showed it to me. I need you to see if you can find anything out about it. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“Sure. Hang on a sec while I get my computer up and running.” You sat down at your desk. Setting the phone down and putting Steve on speaker. If something did sit right with him, it was trouble. You learned quick to trust Steve gut.

“Alright let’s see what I can find.” A quick search of shield records didn’t provide much.

“All I can see is that there is a file under that name but it pretty high clearance. Like Fury and a few others. What is it?” You kept click through files that you could open while listening to Steve.

“He’s got three helicarriers. At armed to the nines. He said it’s a way to neutralize threats before they happen.”

“What? So shield is building their own nuclear deterrent? How is Fury ok with that?”

“I don’t know. Can you see anything else?”

“No Steve. Not without hacking in and they would know it was me. I doubt even the people working on it know what they are building.”

“Ok. Well I’m going to have to do some more digging around here.”

“I can come down there Steve. My leg is fine.”

“No yn. Just stay there. Keep digging though files and see what you can find.”

“Ok. Be careful Steve.”

“You too sweetheart.”

You spent the rest of the night combing through any file you could get your hands on. Tony came up sometime after dinner. He was going to yell at you for not eating or coming down to have him loosen your brace. But changed his mind when he saw the mess around you on the desk. Instead he went back and grabbed you a plate. Pulling you away for only a moment so you could eat and he could take care of the brace.

“So how bad is it kiddo?”

“I don’t know Tony. The more I dig the more inaccuracies I find in all kinds of files.” You stared at the computer twirling your fork. “I think I might head down to DC.”

“Well I’ll get a jet ready for you. It’ll be on standby.” He stood from his seat and walked to the door. “And what is it the Rogers always tell you? He gave another pause and you turned to him. That’s right! Don’t do anything stupid of reckless yn.” With that he was out the door.

You took one more look at the computer before standing up and heading to the bed. If shit was about to hit the fan you at least need to get some rest.

Apparently you needed more than you thought. It was almost 8am when you finally woke up. You decided against breakfast for the moment. You checked for phone for any messages then hit the shower. After your shower, you started to pack your bag. A change of regular clothes along with your tac suit. Some toiletries and a few extras. Lastly was the fun stuff. In the hall Closet was your own mini armory. You pack your usual two pistols and a few blades. You also grabbed a couple auto injectors. Can never be to safe. While you were packing though you missed the alert on your computer. Something big was happening.

“Miss yn. You jet is ready for takeoff.”

“Thank you Jarvis.” You walked to the door and laced up your boots.

“There was also an alert that came up on your computer miss.”

“What?” You stood up and headed to your desk. Leaving your bag by the door.

Sure enough there was an alert. Nick Fury was dead and Steve was wanted by Shield.

“What the fuck!” You nearly topped your chair when you stood. Instantly grabbing for your phone to call Steve. There was no answer. Shit. Shit. Shit. You grabbed you bag and ran to the jet. Shit was hitting the fan. A lot of shit.

“Jarvis let Tony know I’m leaving.”

“Certainly.”

You flicked through your takeoff procedures and grabbed the controls.

“Jarvis try Steve again.” You shot up into the sky heading to DC.

“I’m sorry miss. He did not answer.”

“Fuck. Try Maria.” She was always close to fury. Hopefully she would know what the hell was going on.

“Hill.”

“Maria. What the fuck is going on?”

“Yn.” She paused. It sounded like she was taking to someone.

“I’m on my way to DC. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“Yn. I’m sending you Coordinates to land at. Do not enter DC air space.” Fuck. This was bad.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you when. You get here. Just get here.” She hung up. You pushed the engines to max speed.

You made it to the coordinates Maria gave you in almost record time. 20 minutes from her hanging up to when you touched down outside an old dam. Maria was out waiting for you.

“Tell me what the fuck is going on!” By the time you landed you were fuming. Not at anyone particularly but at the whole situation. “What happened to Fury? Where is Steve?”

“Come on in yn.” She turned to lead you into the damn. All you wanted to do was cuss and scream at her nonchalant attitude towards everything. You followed her down the damp hallways of the dam until it opened up into a small room.

“I could hear you cursing from in here yn.”

“Fury! What the fuck” He held back a laugh. “SHIELD said you were dead. How?”

“They needed to think he was actually dead but we got him out of the hospital and here for treatment.” Maria moved around the bed and started talking to one of the doctors. You took a seat next to fury.

“What is going on?”

“Shield has been compromised.”

“By who?”

“HYDRA.”

“Project insight is them.” You sat back in your seat. That would explain all the odd bits of info you had been picking up while digging through files. Fury nodded at your response. “How long?”

“I’m not sure. At this point we don’t know who to trust.”

“So why I am here? Why did you let me know you’re alive?”

“Because other than Captain Rogers, you would be the second person in line to kill anyone that might be affiliated with HYDRA.” He wasn’t wrong.

“So where is Steve now? What’s are next play?”

“Hill is working on how to get Steve. Then we stop Insight.”

Sitting around was not your style, but Fury told you to wait. Maria was on trying to track down Steve. Doctors where still working on patching up fury. All you could do was sit and wait. You knew that if Steve was running he would have ditched his cell. At this point it really wasn’t safe to call anyone else. Fury didn’t even want you call Nat. You only slipped a call to Tony to let him know you landed. He tried to press for more info but you shut him down quickly. You could hear the news playing in the background about Fury and Steve.

It was well into the night when Maria finally found something. A STRIKE team had been sent to a mall then Camp Lehigh was bombed. There was still no indication where Steve was at.

Then around mid-morning the next day more alerts started going off. Sitwell was kidnapped.

“That has to be Steve right?” You had taken up a post with Maria going through any SHIELD alerts.

“It’s a good chance. Keep digging.”

“God I should have come down here when he called me the other night.”

“There’s nothing you could have done. You would just be on the run with him.” Maria looked up at you over her computer. “And do you think Steve would want you out there or here?” You caught the smirk on her face.

“Yea yea.” You waved her off. Steve did just about anything to keep you safe. He learned quickly that your self-preservation was about as good as his.

“This is it!” She stood up quickly and spun her computer around. A STRIKE team orders to grab them on the freeway. They were helping out “the asset”.  “If I can get into one of those prisoner transports, I can get them out.” Before you could respond she was off to Fury.

“Take the team and get him.”

“Yes, sir.” She turned and started ordering the men around.

“I’m coming with you Maria.”

“No you’re not yn. I need you here.” It was an order from Fury.

“Fine.” You just watched as Maria and her team suited up.  

“I don’t what you doing anything stupid out there yn.”

“I know Fury. I know.” He was right. The likelihood you would do something stupid was pretty high. All you could do now is wait.

  The plan was easy enough. Steve, Sam and you each had a chip to place into the helicarriers. Linking them and taking them out of the air. Nat and Fury would take down SHIELD. Exposing everything to the world. Steve was on edge even though he didn’t show it.

“I want you to get on and off that helicarrier quick. Don’t mess around.”

“Steve I’m fine. If it’s about the leg, it’s ok.”

“Yn. It won’t take much for you to rebreak it.”

“Yep. And it doesn’t take much to break my other bones either.” You teased and jogged off to your starting point.

“Yn I’m serious.” He said over comms. You just laughed to yourself and continued on.

The guys gave you a head start. You listened to Steve talk over the intercom. People that you passed looking nervously between each other. Once you reached you carrier, it was mostly unguarded for the moment. Steve drawing the attention away from it for the moment. Just a few bad guys to take down. Suddenly the door above the carrier began to open.

“Uh, guys they are getting ready to launch.”

“Get that chip in place and get back to Maria yn.” You rolled your eyes at Steve even though he couldn’t see you.

You pushed harder to get to the control center to get your chip in place. Thankfully it seemed most people hadn’t quite realized you were already on the ship. Outside you could see that Sam and Steve were drawing the most attention.

“I got my chip in place. How are you guys doing?” Getting out was going to be a bit more difficult.

“I’m locked.” Sam shouted.

“Two down. Captain how are you looking?” Maria was running the ground.

“Working on it.”

“Steve where are you? I’m coming to you.” You started working your way to the flight deck.

“Yn get back to Maria. I got this.”

“Oh fuck you Steve.”  You heard Sam laugh.

“I like her.” That earned a groan from Steve.

“Since you like me so much want to give a lift Sam?” You kept working your way to the deck. First plan was to grab a jet and head to Steve. You just had to get up there.

“6 minutes until it reached altitude.”

“Sam! Where is that ride!”

“I’m grounded. Steve’s on the carrier.”

“What happened!”

“Winter Solider.”

“Shit.” You pushed off from where you were hiding. Steve told you that somehow that was Bucky. That whatever happened to him when he was captured during the war must have helped him survive the fall. You knew Steve would be blinded by his friend. Even if he didn’t recognize him.

“Steve you copy? I’m on my way.” No response.

“Falcon. I got Rumlow.” Maria broke in.

“I’m on it.”

“Maria can you get into one of these jets and get it started for me?” You kept clearing a path.

“Space five. Staring engines now.” The jet just ahead of you roared to life and the hatch opened.

“I could kiss you girl!” You climbed in and headed to the last carrier.

By the time you reached the control center Steve and the Solider were already locked. You took aim and started firing at the Solider. It caused just enough distraction for him that Steve was able to lock him in a hold.

“Yn.” He hissed over the comms.

“Just get me that chip Steve!” Steve shoved the Solider off of him and started toward you. Climbing up the structure.

“Steve!” The Solider was back up an aiming at Steve. He tossed the chip at you. You barely got your fingers on it, leaning every part of your body over the railing. A shot rang out.

“Go yn!” Steve kept climbing as you rushed to the computer. More shots were fired. This time they hit you. First in your leg.

“Yn!”

“I got it Steve!”

“One minute!” Maria shouted over comms. This was it you just had to reach- Another shot. It hits you in the shoulder propelling you forward. You slam into the control center. Pressing the keys as fast as you could the door slid open. Just as you reached to put your chip in another shot hit your stomach. You fell before you could get the chip placed.

“Damnit.” Steve had reached you. He grabbed the chip from you and slammed it home. “We’re locked.”

“Get out of there guys.”

Steve reached down to scoop you up when he was shot in the shoulder.

“Maria. Fire.”

“Yn.” Maria questioned you.

“I said fire!” You shouted. Steve didn’t have words to say. Suddenly there was an explosion.

“Why?”

“Steve.” You gave him a sad look. He dug in you suit to find an injector. Quickly stabbing it into your arm.

“That was stupid.”

“So is this.” You pushed him off of you. “Where is the Solider?” Steve looked around. When he stopped you followed his eye line. The Solider was trapped under a large piece of metal from the carrier. “Go.”

Steve looked back to you.

“Go Steve.” You reached into your pocket and grabbed another injector. Slamming that one into your thigh. Steve nodded.

“Here.” He handed you the shield. The carrier started to tip. A quick glance saw that it was colliding with the building.

“Stupid and reckless.” You gave him a grin then stood the best you could. At the railing you gave a look down. There was a break in the glass directly below you and water beyond that.

“Get your friend Steve.” Before he could question you, you heaved yourself over the railing and out the bottom of the ship.

You used the shield to help break the water as you hit it. It still nearly took all the air out of you. Once you bobbed back to the surface you looked back up. The building seemed to have caught the carrier and it just sat there. The extra injector gave you enough strength to slowly swim to the edge of the water.

“Where’s Steve and yn!” Your comms still worked!

“I’m in the water under the ship! I’m trying to get to shore. Steve’s still on the carrier.”

“I’ll get a vehicle and get her Fury.”

“Copy that Hill.”

You just have to get to the edge before that carrier comes down. Pushing your muscles as they ached. The pain meds quickly wearing off even with the extra dose. You glanced back. Shit. The carrier was coming down. You didn’t know if you were clear but you hoped you were. Maybe the wave it caused would give you the extra push to the shore.

Tags- @ginger-swag-rapunzel

[jalapeno-princess]

I Told You To Never Fall In Love With Me

Mark Tuan X Reader

Word Count: 8.4k

Genre: Angst, fluff, mentions of sex (Oh and if you stan Jinyoung, this story isn’t for you)

Summary: As a college student, you vowed to yourself that you would never get involved with the college night life. Partying, getting drunk on cheep alcohol and getting high on drugs was a big no in your book. But what if the toxic drug you end up getting addicted to isn’t a substance but a person? 

A/N: Hey guys! I started writing this story around two months ago but I didn’t have the motivation to continue it until like two nights ago so here it is! Based on the song “Don’t make it harder on me” By Chloe and Halle! Highly recommend that you listen to it before or while reading. Please enjoy!!

“Uh, Y/n—would you care to explain why Mark Tuan is looking at you as if he’s undressing you with his eyes? He’s looking at you like he’s a predator ready to pounce and you’re his prey. Is there something I’m missing out on here?” 

Your best friend’s words both annoyed you, yet sent fire to your bones. It was tempting—the thought of turning around and witnessing for yourself what he claimed was Mark gazing at you so endearingly and in a sexual way even. However, Mark Tuan was nothing but danger. He was a drug you were addicted to for longer than you’d like to admit—but you finally came to the realization less than a month ago that you deserved so much better than the boy in question. 

The high you got from sneaking and fooling around with Mark faded the second you found out he wasn’t who you thought he was—who you thought he was changing in to; in order to be better for you. You let out a scoff before rolling your eyes at the thought of him indirectly trying to get your attention. What you and Mark had was a secret nobody knew other than the two of you. That was the agreement from the beginning of whatever it was that went on between you and Mark—it was his idea in the first place, you should have known he wasn’t serious about you if he was adamant on hiding your relationship from everyone. 

“Just ignore him Youngjae. You’ll only add on to his big ass ego and God knows that’s the last thing anyone needs. There’s nothing going on between him and I. Well, not anymore.” 

The last sentence came out a whisper—you didn’t want to lie to him; you and Youngjae told everything to each other. In fact, you knew the older boy better than you knew yourself. He was the younger brother—well, two months younger—that you never had but always wanted. He was extremely loyal to you, he was a great shoulder to cry on and an even better listener. You were dying to tell anyone about Mark—especially when you realized what you were feeling for him was going past the agreement you made with him, but you didn’t want word to spread throughout school about your little affair. 

Although you were well aware that Youngjae would never say or do anything to hurt you or get you in to any kind of trouble, you felt like this was something you had to keep to yourself. By the look of confusion on his face and the way he kept opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something but closing it ultimately, you figured that he probably had a feeling that you weren’t telling him the entire truth. Thankfully, he didn’t pry to get you to confess as to why you harbored ill-feelings for Mark—that wasn’t who he was. After six years of friendship, Youngjae was able to depict when the right time was to ask you what was wrong and when he should keep his questions to himself. Unfortunately, his eyes widened in shock and it made your skin crawl when you noticed that his attention was no longer on you. 

“Oh, well—um—I hate to say this y/n, but he’s coming over right now.” You could feel your heart rate increase rapidly at his words. What was he thinking? He had to be high right now; there was no way he was going to let anyone else on campus know he was affiliated with you in some way. Both you and Mark came from two different classes on the social pyramid; he was your typical college jock—popular, outgoing and devastatingly good looking. You on the other hand considered yourself a wallflower. 

Unlike Mark, you enjoyed keeping to yourself and your small group of friends. You weren’t living the college experience he and his friends were. College parties were a big no to you—you hated alcohol, smoking and loud, shitty music with all these sweaty bodies dancing up against one another. It wasn’t your scene—yet it was all Mark ever seemed to do on his Friday nights; especially since he was the one who coordinated most of the parties. 

The two of you were an unlikely pair, but then again, opposites attract and you despised that they did. Honestly to this day you weren’t even sure how you both stumbled in to each other’s lives. You had Mark in one of your classes last semester and you made sure to stay the hell away from him. He was the definition of a flirt—he had to be the biggest player on campus and that said a lot. Matter of a fact, his entire group of friends were notorious for sleeping around with anyone and everyone. 

Rumor around your university was that they threw parties every weekend with the desire of bedding someone during or after the party was over. You found it ridiculous that they would use these girls for one thing and one thing only—sex. You had to give them credit though; Mark, Jaebeom, Jackson and BamBam made it their duty to tell each girl they were planning to be intimate with what their plans were. They never fucked the same girl twice, that’s just how it was. Well—that’s how it was for Mark until that fateful night the two of you stumbled to bed together for the first time of many. 

What started off as a study session with you sitting practically three tables away from Mark ended up with him fucking you—rearranging your guts and blowing your back out up against his refrigerator. As much as you wanted to say you regretted hooking up with him and that having sex with Mark was a brief lapse of judgement on your part, deep down in your heart, you knew you could never regret Mark. 

At one point—he was all you wanted for as long as you could have him. As long as he allowed you to have him. To your dismay, he decided he didn’t want to continue giving himself to you for longer than what was necessary. For the last week, he’s been trying to get in touch with you. You found it extremely weird; he was the one who ended up breaking your trust and ruining everything, so you had a hard time understanding why he began to text and call you—even showing up to your classes once you were done in the hopes that you would listen to what he had to say. 

You were really good with ignoring him so far—you let every single call and message go unread and straight to voicemail. He needed to know that you no longer wanted anything to do with him; a decision you should have made a long time ago. Before he could have gained your trust and respect only to make you look like a fool for believing that he was going to give up his fuckboy mentality to settle down and start a relationship with you. Silly you for thinking that Mark Tuan could ever look at you as more than a place to bury his dick. You began to mentally prepare yourself for his actions or what he would say once he got to where you and Youngjae were sitting. 

A part of you wanted to pick up your food and walk away—but that would only make you look bad and if anything, Mark would be led to believe that there was a chance you still had feelings for him. If he were to see the effect that just the mere thought of him was currently having on you, you knew he wouldn’t let you live it down. 

“Hey Youngjae, how are you?” It’s been three and a half weeks since you left him naked and painfully hard at his apartment. You could still remember the night like it was yesterday, although—you’ve been trying to push the memory to the back of your mind as much as you could. Every time you began to think about how you found a pair of lingerie in Mark’s drawer that didn’t belong to you, you wanted to throw up. The thought of him sleeping with someone else while the two of you had this pathetic excuse of a friends with benefits situation made you sick to your stomach. 

Sure, you knew exactly what you were getting yourself in to when you agreed to having no strings attached, but then again—you weren’t planning on falling in love with him the way you found yourself doing in less than a month after your first hook up. Friends with benefits affairs were tricky—most people assumed it was just sex between two consenting adults; they both got what they wanted out of the relationship—mind blowing sex without all the unnecessary drama that comes with a romantic relationship. However, it’s easier said than done. One of the partners always ends up falling for the other whether they liked it or not and in most cases, their love is unrequited and unfortunately, you were one of the unlucky ones. 

Mark Tuan could never be tied down—you were crazy to think that one day, he would give up his playing ways to be with you. But at the same time, you weren’t exactly out of your mind. There was a point in your agreement that Mark started acting clingier and touchier towards you—during times where you weren’t being intimate. It was as if he always needed to be touching you in some way. 

He always had to be holding your hand, he’d throw his arm over your shoulder while you’d watch a movie, he’d wrap his arms around your waist and place his chin on your head if you were cooking and he’d run his fingers through your hair as you would lie down together. Mark began staying over after the two of you were to reach your orgasms—something that was considerably taboo for people who were simply just “fucking”. He would wake up early to make you breakfast, he’d send you comforting text messages if you had a rough day at either work or school, he’d stay up to help you with homework so your work load wasn’t too much for you to carry, he started to buy you things that he thought you’d like and unlike most people in friends with benefits relationships, right after you’d finish having your way with one another, you and Mark would talk for hours about whatever it was that your hearts desired. 

If he didn’t want anything romantic to come out of your relationship, then why was he allowing himself to do all of these things with you that only legitimate couples would do. Did he not think that calling you in the middle of the night because you weren’t able to see each other went past the boundaries that he set up when you began your little rendezvous? Did he not find it weird that the two of you were acting like a couple—kissing you before he would leave your house, joining you on your FaceTime calls with your mom, blow drying your hair for you after you took a shower and preparing lunch for you before you went to school—did friends with benefits do things like that? 

You knew you meant a lot more to Mark than he was letting on, even more so when he began trying to get you to talk to him. If what the two of you had was simply a sexual relationship, why was he still trying to get you to hear him out? He could have sex with anybody; in fact, you would have thought that this is what he wanted. Having sex with the same person if you weren’t in a relationship with them was something Mark was obviously not used to. The two of you weren’t exclusive, but two things you asked for was honesty and loyalty. 

As much as you wanted to lie and tell yourself that you didn’t want him sleeping with anyone other than you for sanitary reasons, you were well aware that you’d be completely crushed if you were to find out that he was giving himself to other women while you were only allowing him to have you. It didn’t take long for you to realize that you had feelings for him—it took you even a shorter amount of time to realize that what you felt for him was love. Once you realized that you were in love with Mark, there was nothing more you wanted than to tell him—you were starting to believe that he also felt the same way about you. But then again, there were so many doubts clouding your mind. What if he were to end things with you because you broke one of the rules—no feelings. 

What if he was only acting so affectionate towards you because he thought it was the only way to keep you around? You felt pathetic and you hated that you were letting yourself go through all of this suffering for a man who probably couldn’t give less of a shit about you other than when you were riding him—bouncing on his cock like you were made to do so. When did you allow someone—anyone—specifically an asshole like Mark Tuan; the sole person you made a pact with yourself that you’d never get involved with—play with your heart like it was some kind of toy? Why did you allow him in to your walls that you’ve set so high—meant for someone who genuinely cared about you—wanted you for you and not just for your body? 

Youngjae’s eyes widened at the greeting. He must have been in shock, he’s never heard Mark say anything to him before, let alone call him by his name as if they were well acquainted with each other. Not only did you and Mark come from two completely different worlds, but your friends never associated with Mark’s friends or anyone like them. So you had a feeling with the way Youngjae looked as though he saw a ghost, he was taken a back by Mark’s sudden hospitality. You on the other hand did not buy it at all; you knew he was going to try and coerce Youngjae in to leaving so that he could finally talk to you but there was no way in hell that you were going to allow such a thing to happen. Mark Tuan was in your past and you had every intent on leaving him there. 

“H—hi Mark. What can we do for you?” 

You had to stifle a laugh at the shakiness in the younger boy’s voice. Youngjae was a very shy and soft-spoken kind of person. He was evidently intimidated by people like Mark which is why you mentally cursed him knowing that he would probably do whatever the older boy asked of him. 

“I um—I was wondering if maybe I could talk to y/n?” 

Watching him scratch the back of his neck while looking at your friend timidly made your skin crawl. Why was he acting so shy and flustered? It had to be a tactic of his. He wanted Youngjae to go along with it and the only way he knew he could get him to leave was by acting kind towards him. You wanted to laugh in hysterics—was he really acting like he was innocent and had pure intentions with wanting to speak with you? Who the hell was this man and what did he do to the cocky prick who wasted almost five months of your life for his selfish needs? Youngjae looked at you to see how you were reacting to their conversation and he frowned when he saw you furrow your brows at him before turning to Mark and groaning. 

“Why are you asking him? You act as if I want to talk to you. New flash asshole, I have nothing to say to you nor do I want to hear you out so if you know what’s best for you, you’d go back to your table of friends who I’m sure is having a hard time processing your presence at our table right now.” 

If looks could kill, Youngjae was sure Mark would be six feet under right now. You were sending daggers to the back of Mark’s head and if you weren’t in the middle of the cafeteria, Youngjae knew you would probably do something to inflict any kind of pain on him. 

“Y/n, you and I both know we have unfinished business to go over and unless you want everyone in this cafeteria to know what I want to say, then I suggest you and I go somewhere else—“

“I’m sorry y/n—I forgot, I actually have to go meet one of my professors to talk about my grade. I’ll call you later. Bye!” 

It was your turn to widen your eyes in surprise. How dare he leave you knowing that you wanted nothing to do with Mark. What kind of friend was he? He might have not known about your dalliance with the junior fuckboy, but couldn’t he tell by your body language that you were uncomfortable and seething with anger? After he grabbed his books and gave you a gentle wave, he made his way outside—leaving you alone with the devil himself. 

You didn’t allow Youngjae’s decision to succumb to Mark’s request affect the way that you were going to go about things. Just because the two of you were alone now didn’t mean anything; you meant what you said when you told him you had no intention of listening to what he was seemingly dying to tell you. You started to collect your things—not batting an eye at him while putting all your trash in a paper bag. 

“Come on y/n, I’ve been trying to get in contact with you for weeks now. You’ve been avoiding me. Do my efforts of trying to fix things mean nothing to you—“

“Don’t start that shit with me. I’m surprised you’re even talking to me right now in front of all these students—in front of your fuckboy friends. Effort to fix what Mark? There’s nothing for you to fix. What you and I had is over, why are you even trying anymore? It’s obvious that I was just a convenient fuck to you and it took me weeks to come to accept this, but I deserve so much better than you. Give up already—“ 

Seeing a tear fall from the brim of his eyelids was the last thing you expected to see, but watching Mark cry wasn’t foreign territory to you. The older boy was a very emotional and over-sensitive person. It was a trait of his that you’ve grown fond over—not a lot of men were comfortable enough to show their fragile side to just anyone, but Mark wasn’t afraid to find solace in you whenever he had a problem or needed to let out some pent up anger. Whenever he would vent to you about school, work or even family problems, you’d feel pretty special knowing that you were probably one of the few people if not the only person he would confess all of his doubts, worries and insecurities to you. 

It felt really good knowing that he trusted you but it only confused you so much more. You wouldn’t tell somebody you considered a casual hookup all of your biggest fears or the dreams you had for after you were to graduate would you? Mark seemed to have no problem admitting all this information to you—he was an open book when the two of you were alone. You could confidently say you knew every single thing about the older boy and it was a bittersweet feeling. You were shocked to see him showing any kind of emotion in the public—especially because of you. 

Deep down, you could tell it took a lot of courage for him to do something completely out of his comfort zone. It had to mean something right? Thinking about how he hurt you, how he broke your trust on top of breaking your heart and ruining your entire aspect on love and relationships, you wanted to continue giving him the cold shoulder—but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be so hostile. Humiliating him in front of all these people who admired him and thought he was the coolest person on campus would definitely feel rewarding. However, that wasn’t who you were—you wanted nothing more than to break him the way he did so easily to you, but you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself knowing that you turned in to somewhat of a monster just to get back at him. You knew better than that. 

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea, I’m already seeing someone else. Unlike you, I care if my actions hurt others and I don’t think he’d be all too happy if he found out I went to go talk to you somewhere private. If all you’re looking for is forgiveness, then we can talk right here. But knowing you, there’s a possibility you want something out of our conversation. So apologize and leave before I scream.” 

You should have known Mark’s moment of sadness wasn’t going to last long. As soon as the last sentence came out, he gave you a mischievous smirk—it didn’t take a genius to know what his next few words were going to be nor could you say you were shocked. You’ve known Mark for long enough to have an idea how he was going to respond. 

“You and I both know I wouldn’t mind that at all. Don’t lie, you love it when I make you scream—“

You released an irritated sigh before roughly picking up your bag and the rest of your items. “That’s it, you lost your chance, I’m leaving.” 

With all the energy you had left from how exhausting this entire day had been, you stormed out of the cafeteria and began walking—to where, you had no idea. All you could think about was getting as far away from Mark as you possibly could. Every minute he stayed in your presence only annoyed you yet excited you. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he was still following behind you. 

If he claimed that he really needed to explain himself, then he shouldn’t quit while he was still ahead. But why were you allowing this? What you told him about having a new man in your life was the truth. You didn’t want to be that girl. The one who jumped in to a relationship right after she had her heart broken. Although you couldn’t care less about what people said about you, you didn’t want anyone to look at you as desperate or easy. It wasn’t as if you just started dating the first person you saw—you had a thing for Jinyoung for quite some time now. Even before you and Mark began your fling. However, neither of you said anything about liking one another. 

You had a hunch that he might have felt something for you by the way you would catch him staring at you every now and then in biology and with how he would always greet you every morning although you weren’t very familiar with each other. Jinyoung was extremely intelligent; he had one of the highest grades in the class, he was also gentle, soft-spoken and very easy on the eyes. In fact, he and Mark probably had to be the two most good looking men you have ever laid your eyes on. But Jinyoung was genuinely nice to you. He made it known that he cared about you and had nothing but good intentions. He adored you and admired you in the way you could only dream of Mark doing for you. 

No matter how much Jinyoung treated you like the most fragile piece of glass—the most delicate flower and even if he put you on this high pedestal only two weeks after you started going out, you couldn’t stop wanting it to be Mark in his place. Hearing loud footsteps behind you only heightened your desire to get as far away from him as you possibly could. At this point—you were genuinely afraid of giving him what he wanted. You were afraid of doing something you would ultimately regret later. Mark just had that power over you—you could try your best to move on from him and force yourself to return Jinyoung’s feelings that he never failed to remind you he held, but you couldn’t do it. Not when Mark took up the entirety of your thought process; your heart, mind, body, spirit and soul belonged to him. 

The sudden tight grip on your wrist startled you, but you didn’t flinch. You knew exactly who it was and you surprised both yourself and Mark when you allowed him to pull you towards where you knew he was taking you. There was no point in fighting him off—you didn’t want to stir up any attention from passerby’s. When he realized you gave up on trying to leave, he loosened his grip and his tugging wasn’t as rough. The two of you stayed in silence as he led you to a very familiar area—one that was dangerous territory for you. You should be trying harder to escape from his hold; especially because you were well aware once the two of you were to enter the room he was taking you to, there was a chance you would give in to him and end up ruining the relationship that was building between you and Jinyoung. 

Once you both made it to the janitor’s closet, he pulled out a key and opened it, allowing you to go inside before trailing right behind you. Till this day you were still confused as to how he had access to this room, but you weren’t surprised. Being who he was, you were sure he had many connections all over campus. You took in a deep breath while your eyes wandered all throughout the room—it was small, about the size of a closet and there was multiple cleaning supplies on the ground and on shelves. There was also a table in the center—one that you’ve been pressed up against for more times that you could count on your fingers. 

Mark told you that no janitor ever used that closet and so the two of you made it your little secret hideaway where you would help each other destress from a long day of classes. Images of him ramming himself inside of you, pressing you in to the table as he ate you out like a wild animal would with their prey and going down on your knees to suck him dry were now filling your mind. It was in that moment that you began to feel remorseful. You had such a wonderful man who treated you in ways you didn’t even feel like you deserved. 

You’ve wanted him for such a long time—so why were you putting your relationship on the line for the pitiful man standing in front of you who only used you to soothe his carnal urges? You refused to face him; you were afraid of what might happen if you did turn around to see the expression he was wearing. The silence that was filling the room was suffocating. He was the one who said that he wanted to talk, yet no words were coming out of his mouth. It didn’t take long for questions to pop up in your mind—you might not have wanted to talk to him in the beginning but now you were filled with curiosity. 

“You brought me here for a reason. I don’t plan on staying long, so hurry up and say what you want to say.”

“All I need is five minutes—“

“That’s not surprising—it’s obviously a time limit you’re used to.” 

You chuckled softly to yourself at your comment. Sometimes when you’d give him head, he’d end up releasing his load on to your mouth in less than five minutes. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but it did at fuel to your confidence—you were just that good. You wouldn’t be taken back if you were to hear that your blowjobs were the reason why he came running back to you. The growl that came from the back of his throat sent chills down your spine—he may have never said it out loud to protect his reputation, but Mark was a very jealous person. 

Anytime you would bring up another guy in conversation, whether it was a friend from high school or one of your coworkers, he’d grow silent and touchier. He’d also go rougher on you in bed—one time he got so jealous he ended up breaking his headboard because his pace was relentless. That thought alone sent a warm pool between your thighs. Your body was reacting to his presence and the many memories of being one with him and it only made you want to leave without hearing him out. 

“I’m sorry.” Y

ou scoffed at his apology—he sounded so insincere. Like a child who was only apologizing to someone because their mother told them to. What was the point of giving you an apology if he didn’t mean it? You turned around to look at him and lifted your brows in disbelief. He didn’t allow you to respond—he must have known you were going to give him a sarcastic comment and knowing him, he didn’t like it whenever you interrupted him in a confronting time like this. 

“I know, my sorries probably mean jack shit to you but I am genuinely so fucking sorry. When you left that night, I wanted to go after you so badly but I didn’t want to make you even more mad. I didn’t have a clue as to why you grew so upset all of a sudden. We were having such a good time—both so close to our highs, but then you just stopped out of nowhere and began to tear up before taking your things and leaving. I want to know why—why did you leave? What bothered you so badly that you felt like you had to leave and start over with someone new? What did I do y/n—“ 

You didn’t mean to laugh, but it was your defense mechanism. Did he really have no clue as to why you no verbally ended your affair or was he just acting dumb on purpose? 

“You’re kidding right? You can’t be serious. That’s a fucking joke. You know exactly what you did Mark. Don’t play the fucking victim—“

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! That’s why I’m asking—“

“YOU FUCKED ANOTHER WOMAN MARK. DO YOU THINK I’M STUPID? DO YOU THINK I WAS BORN YESTERDAY? When you were in the bathroom, I went to grab something from your drawer and I found a thong that obviously does not belong to me. Care to explain that? I stayed up for the rest of that week thinking about how you were fucking someone else while you were fucking me. I know I have no right to tell you how to live your life, but I’m involved Mark. We promised we’d only sleep around with one another. You’re the one that said we had to tell each other if we wanted to start seeing other people but you didn’t say shit Mark. What? Did you get tired of being monogamous? One pussy wasn’t enough for you huh? Had to keep up with the body count of your other jerk ass friends? You didn’t want them finding out that you were fucking with the same girl for months—you didn’t want to look pathetic in their eyes if they found out you weren’t this big macho man everything thinks you are. So what is it Mark? Is this some kind of game to you? Am I just a fucking toy to you? You know I’d do anything for you and that I’d allow you to do whatever you want to as long as you’re in my bed at the end of the day. It doesn’t fucking work like that—“

“I FELL IN LOVE WITH YOU DAMNIT. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you this the moment I came to terms with my feelings for you, but I did. Fuck, that’s an understand. I’m so fucking in love with you. I’m well aware you probably don’t believe me, but I love you y/n and if I had the choice, I’d go back in time and change the way things turned out. God I want nothing more than to fix us. I miss you so much—there aren’t even enough words in the English dictionary for me to describe how empty and lost I felt without you. I couldn’t even fathom what you meant to me and how much I needed you in my life until you were no longer in it.” He loved you? There was no way. Mark Tuan wasn’t capable of loving someone other than himself. He definitely did not love you. 

“Does it not bother you how good you are at lying? You should try and take acting classes. You almost had me fooled. You? In love? Don’t make me laugh. You wouldn’t know what love was even if it punched you in the face. You don’t love me. You love my body. You love the way I feel—you love how your dick feels inside of me. You love how I am willing to experiment during sex just to please you. You love knowing that you can control me the way you do. So get that stupid thought out of your head. If you genuinely loved me—you would have never fucked another woman. The thought of hurting me would have killed you. What? Was I at work or in school and you couldn’t wait two hours do get your dick wet? Did you think I would be okay with you sleeping with someone else and entering me knowing that your cock was buried in another woman’s cunt? I’m not like all the other girls who would let you hookup with someone else if it meant having you in any way possible. That’s not who I am Mark. I love and respect myself too much to let an asshole like you do such a thing to me.” 

Tears began to brim at his eyelids again, but you weren’t going to fall for it. He did you wrong—he had no right to try and get you to feel sorry for him. Did he really think that confessing his love for you was going to get you to leave Jinyoung in order to be with him again? If that was the case, he had another thing coming for him. 

“She was a mistake. A huge mistake. I was drunk—I know—don’t look at me like that, I’m not using it as an excuse. I’m just telling you. I didn’t even realize what was going on—I was that cross faded. Hell, I don’t even have any idea how we got back to my apartment nor do I remember meeting her. If I’m being honest with you, I don’t remember what she looks like nor did I even learn her name. Trust me, I felt so fucking mad at myself when I woke up next to her and I didn’t even care if I was rude, I kicked her out once I came to my senses. That’s why I stayed away from you for three days that one week back in May. I didn’t have any final to study for—that was a lie. But I couldn’t look at you without feeling guilty. I hated myself for what I did. You and I weren’t dating, but I felt as if I cheated on you which in hindsight, I kind of did. I was already in love with you at that point—hell, I began falling for you only three weeks after we started hooking up. You’re right. I do love your body. Your body is a wonderland and I lose my damn mind every time I get to love on you. But I love you for more than just your body. I love you for your mind—your deeply intelligent and witty mind. I love you for your kindness, your patience, generosity, your determination and passion towards the things that you love. I love the person you’ve changed me into and I love who I am when I’m with you. I love the way you never fail to make me laugh and smile. I love the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking.” 

He began to walk toward you but you were too busy soaking up each and every single word he was emitting. You didn’t realize just how close he was in proximity until he brushed some of your hair back behind your ear. 

“I love waking up to you in the morning and going to bed with you in my arms. I love watching your many attempts at trying out a recipe you found online and ultimately failing because you added either too much salt and pepper or not enough. I love how happy you make me and how safe I feel when I’m with you. You make me want to be a better version of myself so that I can be good enough for you. Sure, the sex is so amazing—it’s breathtaking—mind blowing. Sex with you is a wonderful experience, but I’m not sticking around just to fuck you. I was hooking up with all these different girls before I met you and none of them meant anything to me. You on the other hand mean the entire world and more to me. Don’t even get me started on how fucking beautiful you are. I can never find it in myself to tear my eyes away from you—you’re so captivating you know that? I could stare at you all day—well, I can do a lot of things with you for the entire day—but you are both so beautiful on the inside and out y/n. I think this is the part where I tell you why I got so drunk and high that night.” 

He released a frustrated sigh before bringing his head between his hands. You were still so lost—his confession was bringing you to the edge of insanity. Each word tugged harshly on your heartstrings and you began to absorb everything he was admitting so freely. Deep down, you knew he wasn’t lying and that’s what you were afraid of. 

“Jackson’s dumb ass brought you up in a conversation when we began to play beer pong. I didn’t even know that he knew of your existence, but then he began to talk about you so provocatively and in such a degrading way. He talked about how sexy he though you were and how he wanted to fuck you. That was the first time I’ve ever felt so angry to the point where I was afraid that blood was going to be shed. I could feel my hand that was gripping on the ping pong ready to fling the damn thing at his face. Not only did I hate how he talked about you and described his many desires of what he wanted to do to you—but our other friends chimed in about which one of them would be the lucky guy who got to sleep with you like it was a fucking challenge. They might be my friends, yet I was seconds away from giving them all black eyes—but I didn’t want them to know about us. So I just kept drinking and I went up to one of the rooms some football players were smoking weed in and I took five hits. I was also having a hard time accepting that I loved you—“

���Why? What was so hard about coming to the acceptance that you were in love with me? Did you realize that there are a lot more other girls out there and you wanted to keep your options open? Or did you notice that I didn’t fit in with your friends and you were afraid that they wouldn’t be as accepting of me? Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”

“I was scared. I told you all about my parents—how I believed that they had a love for the ages and that they were going to be together for the rest of their lives. But I was too young to notice that they were actually going through a really rough time. I found out that they weren’t happy in their marriage when I was seventeen years old and that they were only staying together for my siblings and I. My dad—he actually began having an affair with one of his coworkers, but could it really be considered an affair when my parents were no longer theoretically together? They finally got a divorce a little over two years ago and I mean—they’re happier I guess. But my siblings and I—it still bothers us. Like, we’re still so affected by their separation and it’s been years. I vowed to myself that I would never fall in love with anyone. I didn’t want to experience the heartbreak that came with falling out of love. I didn’t want to give myself—my whole self to someone, fall in love with them, do all these romantic and domestics things with them, get used to having them around and always wanting to be with them only for shit to hit the fan and end up hating that person or being hated by that person. Then you came in to my life—someone who I would have never thought would mean this much to me. But you do. You always will. I don’t remember exactly when I started to love you—but I don’t regret it at all—and I’m not scared anymore. I was fucking devastated when you left—I knew it was over and it was the most painful and gut wrenching feeling I have ever felt in my entire life.” 

The more he talked, the more you began to wish he would stop or that he didn’t even open his mouth in the first place. You remembered the night where the two of you were lying down in bed, watching tv and then he got a call from his dad. He excused himself for a few minutes—leaving you alone with a strange legend episode of unsolved mysteries. It wasn’t that you wanted to eavesdrop, but you could hear his voice raise from the other room. Whatever he was talking about with his dad must have really struck a nerve with him because he was in tears when he came back to you. Instead of returning back to the show or taking his leave—he fell apart in to your arms and told you everything. 

He bared his entire soul to you and you found yourself crying at how broken he was and how distraught his conversation with his father left him. From that night on, you made a vow to yourself to make sure he was always happy whenever he was with you. You didn’t want to be a reason behind his sadness—even if he was the sole reason of yours. 

“You should have known I would never have done anything to hurt you Mark. I’m surprised you didn’t catch on to my feelings seeing as how open I was with them. It’s like I had “I love you Mark Tuan” written on my fucking forehead like a pathetic idiot. I sacrificed so many things for you, I had to keep us a secret because that’s what you asked for but it made me feel like you were ashamed of me. I don’t believe in being friends with benefits—whoever thought that shit up needs a slap in the face. Friends could never just have sex—one always falls in love and that’s the same one who gets their heart broken. Me. Every time you would glance at me in the hallway and look away as if you had no idea who I was—it fucking sucked Mark. What person in their right minds would allow someone to do this to them? I only do relationships—I’m an exclusive type of person but I pushed away all my beliefs just to be with you. I loved you Mark Tuan. More than I have ever loved anyone else—more than I loved myself and it scared me, but I didn’t run away. I didn’t go and fuck someone else because I was afraid of feelings. I could never do that to you. I don’t give a shit that you were high and don’t remember a thing—you still did it and it still haunts me to this day. I’m sorry—I really don’t know what to tell you. I’m sorry about your parents and I’m sorry that their divorce is affecting the way you look at your love life—but why do I have to be punished? Why is my heart on the line for something that doesn’t involve me? It’s not fair Mark.” 

His hands were gentle against both sides of your cheeks. He bore his eyes in to yours—but you refused to make eye contact. Your vision was blurry; filled with tears and sadness. Sadness because he hurt you—but also because you were now accepting that you were still so madly in love with the man in front of you. You absentmindedly leaned against his palm but continued to keep your gaze away from him. 

“Y/n—I can’t even tell you how sorry I am. I really am so sorry. If I knew then what I knew now, then I would have never let you go. I would have told you that you are the sole purpose of my existence. You’re the reason why I wake up every morning with the biggest smile on my face. I never thought I was capable of experiencing love—loving someone and being in love but now—that’s all I want—with you and only you. I can’t take back what I did, but I can spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’re the one for me and that I would go to the depths of hell and back just to be the lucky man who gets to love you. Tell me you don’t love me anymore. Tell me that it’s too late and that your heart is no longer mine. Tell me that you want nothing to do with me and that Jinyoung is the one that you want. Just say the word and I’ll let you go—no matter how badly I don’t want to.” 

You took in a few deep breaths and bit down on your bottom lip in frustration. You began to weigh out your choices—you had such a wonderful man somewhere on this campus; probably wondering where you were. He was willing to give you his heart on a tray like it was the easiest thing to do. But then, there was the man in front of you. The man you loved with every fiber of your being. Every beat of your heart. He might have made a mistake, but he was obviously paying for it and if he was willing to give up his pride and his ego to confess how sorry he was and how he loved you like he’s never loved anyone before—then you had to trust that he would follow his word and take care of you the way he promised he would right? 

“Did you suffer without me?” He looked at you and nodded profusely. 

“Every fucking day. I took a few days off from work and school because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I was trying to look for you everywhere but you kept dodging me.” You brought one hand up in to his hair—running your fingers through his brown locks and cupping the back of his neck with the other hand. 

“You love me?”

“Yes. God—I can’t seem to do anything but love you. All I ever want to do is love you.”

Feeling him smile in to the kiss did wonders to your heart. He smashed his lips against yours—not giving you any chance to breathe as he roughly molded his mouth with yours; sucking and nipping on your lips, running his tongue lustfully against yours. You’ve missed this. It’s been so long—being away from him. Being held by him. You knew that no matter how much you deserved better, Mark Tuan was your person. Being there with him felt like coming home after a long day and it was such a good feeling. One you could get used to now that you knew where his heart lies. He sat you up on the table and gently pushed you down before attacking your face, jaw and neck with many wet kisses. However, to his dismay, you lifted him off of you and brought his face in between your hands and placed a sweet kiss on his forehead.

“Then I’m yours.”

[ironmandeficiency]

beach please

pairing: rex / reader / cody

word count: 6166

summary: once the war ended, you retreated to scarif for much-needed time to recenter yourself. rex and cody worry when you don’t answer your comms for days and leave coruscant to find you, fearing the worst. turns out you’ve just been drinking and partying, now sporting two new tattoos.

a/n: the self-created duke of scarif is jimmy buffett & i was inspired by his song “margaritaville” & “beach please” by kevin fowler. 

canon changes: everyone listened to fives abt the chips & palps was discovered to be a sith lord. the clones were given human rights, a generously low locked-in rent if they lived on coruscant, and as much back pay as the republic could afford (not much but better than nothing).

“master y/l/n, there’s still so much to be done-”

“and you can have someone else do it. you must not be capable of recognizing the importance of reevaluating the way we interpret the code, or else this conversation wouldn’t be occurring.”

obi-wan blanched at the barely tamed fury radiating from your force signature. this was the second time in less than a year that he felt something so raging from your force signature, the time before this meeting being the aftermath of umbara. before the nightmare that was the siege on the shadow planet, it had been decades since you were angry enough about something to raise your voice to the council. it took a very great transgression to ignite your anger into something scathing and this meeting was doing exactly that.

the council was meeting to discuss the senate’s plans to have the jedi spearhead efforts to repair the galaxy and quell the revolts in areas that still wanted to continue the war. palpatine was manipulating both sides and if it weren’t for fives and kix, the republic would have been none the wiser when chancellor palpatine executed the order to have the clones murder their jedi.

“how are we going to guide the galaxy through the changing times if we’re unable to reevaluate our own beliefs and how the war impacted them? so many of our padawans were raised in this war, far different than how they should have been brought up.” your mind drifted to ahsoka and late-night conversations spent trying to make sense of the reality of war and how she’d been nothing but a soldier since she left the temple at fourteen. “the senate is not our responsibility nor our lead authority. we were their pawns once and despite seeing the consequences on geonosis, we let ourselves get wrapped in politics. think of what we lost because of it.”

eeth koth was deeply disturbed by your entire demeanor as well as the words spilling from your lips. if there was ever a jedi that made you want to leave the order, he’d be it. douchebag. “our duty is to the galaxy, to maintain peace! you can’t expect us to sit back and do nothing when people are struggling!”

obi-wan shared your sentiment but strived for more unity than polarization within the meeting. “but aren’t we struggling just as much as the rest of the galaxy? time must be allotted for us to heal the wounds of war before we’ll be able to successfully help others that are suffering, if that’s what’s agreed upon.” a few jedi nodded their agreement, masters plo and gallia among them. shaak looks close to being convinced but seems to still be hesitant to comment on her opinion.

“in order to help the galaxy, we must help ourselves. our emotions must be looked into with more than just the intent to throw them away at a moment’s notice. knowing why we feel the things we do can help us with far more than just our connection to the force.”

this was an idea that obi-wan has spent many years struggling with but it took the end of the war to guide him into believing that emotions aren’t the enemy, it’s how they’re utilized that counts. he explained this concept to his fellow council members and it was a sentiment you agreed with immensely.

saese scoffs at the mere idea of doing more with emotions besides dispelling them into the force. “that sounds a lot like allowing your emotions to cloud your judgement, master kenobi, something your lineage is quite popular for-” oh he crossed the line. saese was not about to talk shit about your creche mate and closest friend or his lineage and get away with it.

“no need to pardon my language, master, but it sounds a lot like you’re allowing your own emotional shortcomings and the bantha fodder you call intelligence to cloud your judgement.”

even mace was stunned at the verbal jab that came from your seat. kit had been mid-drink and it took him several seconds to recover from the way he choked on his water. you were normally calm and collected, a voice of reason amid the chaos. this time, however, you were at your limit. this was your cue to leave.

mace spoke up as you neared the door. “y/l/n, where do you think you’re going?”

“i’m going to heal and allow myself to enjoy the peace we gave nearly everything to obtain. if you want to join me, feel free to let me know.”

your robes billowed out behind you as the council meeting dissolved into chaos. you were convinced that if your seat was close enough to master yoda’s that you’d be sporting a few new gimer stick bruises. thank the force for the little things.

later that evening, you boarded your personal ship and set the coordinates for scarif. that was the perfect place to go as a jedi that didn’t want to be found by anyone that they didn’t fully trust. who would think to find a monk on a planet filled with booze, sex, and other carnal pleasures? a few comms were sent telling the recipients that you were going on vacation and to call if you were needed, giving them a new private commlink and vague hints at where you’d be.

scarif, here i come.

“she hasn’t commed us in nearly a week! what reason is there to not worry?”

“rex, she would have called us if there was something wrong.”

“you know as well as i do that there are still radical seppies trying to keep the war going. the kidnapping of a jedi would surely be cause to fight!”

cody sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. he conceded that you ignoring their comms was highly unusual, yes, but you weren’t the type to throw yourself heedlessly into danger like some of the other jetti they knew (cough cough, skywalker and kenobi). “no one in their right mind is going to think to look for a jedi on scarif, the place is too carefree and without a permanent stuck up its shebs.”

rex knew there was a valid point to the statement. he vaguely recollects general kenobi’s mild yet humorous complaints about the “uncivilized, booze-blooded” inhabitants of the beach planet. general skywalker’s only problem with scarif, it seems, was the fact there was sand nearly everywhere, the drunks and constant parties posing no issue to the younger jedi. the reason for his disdain of sand was never expanded upon.

“i’m still going to look for her, feel free to come with.” they were free men who had no one to report to, no one telling them where they could go or when to eat and sleep, so of course rex was going to look for you. with this newfound freedom cody and rex moved into a middle-level apartment together, nothing too fancy but quite a contrast to their former living spaces under the gar.

rex chose to join the police force on coruscant and quickly climbed the ranks, excelling in every task thrown at him. he was a force to be reckoned with, crime rates dropping rapidly within his first month.

cody hasn’t made a new career choice yet, the commander still trying to find his own path. he had tried his hand on the police force but he quickly realized it wasn’t his cup of tea and left rex to it. he’s helping with groceries and other living costs with his back pay despite rex’s protests for him to put it to better use (what better use is there for credits than helping you survive day to day? that’s what they’re made for).

they were given a ship by general skywalker -anakin, rex’s mind supplied; he had corrected them many times about not using the rank- that the man had modified himself because he “wouldn’t want any friends of mine flying around the galaxy in a piece of junk.” apparently any sort of ship/speeder/droid/anything not built and/or modified by the man was inferior in nearly every imaginable way. it was a kind and meaningful gesture that anakin was willing to go to such lengths to protect them, no matter how unnecessary. the war was over after all, there was no need to have blaster attachments on their civilian speeder.

“like i’m gonna leave you to your own devices, di’kut. of course i’m going with.”

“you better hurry and pack, i’m planning on leaving no later than 1800.”

sitting in the reclined beach chair with two margaritas, you haven’t enjoyed yourself this much in a long time. the togrutan brother and sister you met soon after your arrival had become dear friends in your two months on scarif, the three of you becoming a trio commonly seen hitting the best parties all over the planet. miek wasn’t as much of a party animal in comparison to his sister briel who was known for her wild drunken antics.

you had been there and lived in your small ship for a total of two days before they offered you a place with them. no one lived alone on scarif, they said, and it would be wrong to let you continue to be deprived of the peace the waters brought when it was lulling you to sleep.

meeting the duke of scarif during your first week planetside was quite an exhilarating experience, to put it briefly. duke buffett was an older man with hair as white as the sands he loved to party on day and night, one hand perpetually occupied by a drink and a guitar strapped to his back. he was known to play and sing during the parties he attended, his carefree attitude evident in his voice.

although no one would have guessed by looking at him, he was a fierce conservationist who would either have his guards fight anyone caught littering or, if drunk enough, would fight them himself. you’ve held him back a time or two when he clearly wasn’t in shape to do said fighting and helped ease the situation back to a fun normal.

now you weren’t a heavy drinker by any means, but your tolerance was better than most because of your connection to the force.  this made you a favorite drinking buddy to many of the planet’s permanent inhabitants and tourists. of these numbers was the duke himself whom you would sometimes humor by opening drinks with your lightsaber. it was a splendid game that won you diplomatic immunity (apparently he can do that) on the planet after two weeks of jedi party tricks and fight-preventing.

time had become even more of a social construct than you had believed it to be before the war. there were parties going on at all hours of the day and night and the concept of solitude was forgotten. everyone here extended a hand to each other, friend or not-yet friend (there were no strangers on scarif, just friends you haven’t made yet). what little pain felt was carried by all until it was so faint that it seemed to heal itself. the waters healed, you had no doubt in your mind.

the sun was high in the sky when the ship landed next to yours behind your current residence. you were, of course, not home to know where it landed but you did see said ship flying overhead as you relaxed on a blanket next to briel and miek. maybe they were lost, but you had confidence that someone on the island would help them in what they need. this was the way of scarif, after all.

you were distracted by the drinks in both of your hands, alternating sips between the two. you were outfitted in a flowy summer dress that had ridden up a smidge too high while you were lounging on a reclined beach chair. briel was rubbing - lotion? sunscreen? - something on your exposed thighs as you relaxed, enjoying the way the breeze felt on the moisturized skin.

this was the best decision you’ve ever made, coming to scarif. eventually you were going to leave, yeah, but that was a problem for future you. for now, you were going to enjoy the endless sunshine and copious amounts of alcohol that aided in your relaxation.

they had seen the docking bay protruding into the sky like a gundark among loth-cats and decided instantly that you weren’t going to be there. you had told them ages ago that the vibes (you used that word a lot to describe force things to them) that came from industrial buildings bothered you terribly. something along the lines of wearing on your psyche, if they remembered correctly. instead, they flew a little lower than they probably should have to search the ground for where you landed your ship.

it took longer than they would have liked it to, but your ship was eventually found behind a medium-sized hut not too far from one of the many beaches. cody found just the right angle to land next to it and not hurt either shuttle, not trusting rex to touch the controls (his vod was a terrible pilot).

both men decided that even if scarif was a peaceful planet, they still didn’t know what to expect, so they equipped themselves with their blasters and lower armor before leaving their ship. first order of business: check to see if you were in your ship. if you weren’t, they could cross that bridge when they got there.

just as they were beginning to open the ramp, a man emerged from the hut and began to storm their way. he was togrutan, with yellow skin and lavender stripes on his lekku and montrals.

“hey! you two! what’s your business with that shuttle?” he sounded like he was ready to fight them about the ship, which worried the brothers, but he slowed his advance when he noticed the two blasters pointed in his direction. good, this guy wasn’t a complete di’kut.

cody was the first to lower his weapon, quick to take the diplomatic approach. rex followed suit but didn’t soften the intimidating stare he threw at the man. there was a reason your ship was there and they were going to stop at nothing to find out why. “we’re looking for a friend of ours, she hasn’t answered our comms in over a week and we were worried, it isn’t like her to not reply. last we talked to her she was here on scarif.”

the togrutan paused for a moment, inspecting the appearances of the men (clones, his mind told him, the telltale armor and near identical faces hiding nothing) in front of him.

the blond had an air of confidence about him, an almost dangerous sort of confidence. his armor was painted with a shade of blue that was pleasantly similar to the waters he just returned from, pieces of it chipped from what he supposed were rough times in battle. his jaw was set, hand hovering above where he holstered his weapon seconds before.

he didn’t appear to be bloodthirsty, just protective; who he wanted to protect, however, was still a mystery. there was a passion in his eyes that wasn’t even mildly held back. he seemed to be skilled in channeling that passion into his every thought, every action. with a note to himself to not get on this man’s bad side, he switched his focus on the blond’s companion.

miek’s gaze shifted to the other clone and quickly decided that he liked this one better. there was an extremely intimidating scar along the side of his face, yet this one seemed far less willing to shoot him on sight. he still has a grit and presence about him that told miek that this one wouldn’t hesitate to fuck your shit up if need be, but he had tact (thank the stars one of the clones had a sense of discretion).

he could tell that this one had some sort of authority over the blond, clearly serving as a high percentage of the other’s common sense. miek’s mind, after analyzing the men thoroughly, gives names for the men before they introduce themselves. “you must be the famed rex and cody! come, i’ll take you to the shoreline!”

he gestured for them to follow him and was genuinely shocked when instead of doing as he suggested, he was tackled to the ground. miek spit away everything that had gotten into his mouth, unable to move when one of the men pinned him down. this was officially miek’s worst day in over a decade.

he caught a glimpse of marigold stripes on leg armor just over his shoulder, confirming the identity of the man on top of him as rex. “how do you know our names?!” rex’s voice sent a shiver down miek’s spine (the blaster against his back also helped in that), and the togrutan reaffirmed his choice in his favorite clone: not rex.

“i’ve heard stories about you two! from y/n! i’m assuming you’re here about y/n, right?” the blaster was removed from his back and a little bit of the weight was taken off him. he must be saying something right. “she’s been staying with my sister and i, and i promise you she’s perfectly safe!” rex moves his weight completely off him now, allowing miek to stand back up but not move more than a few feet away from him.

“where is she?” cody’s voice was hauntingly low, nothing about him betraying his tension except for the hard glare felt like lasers. he had the same desire, same yearning to protect someone - that someone miek now knew was you - and it burned brighter than a hundred suns.

“last i saw her was thirty minutes ago on the shore with briel, my sister. i can take you to them if you would kindly not threaten to shoot me again. my name is miek, and i would say it was a pleasure to meet you both but then i’d be making myself a liar.” he had no idea where that bit of snark at the end came from but it seemed to sway the clones to his favor. why it did, he had no clue, but at least he wasn’t getting shot.

they walked silently for a few minutes, the two troopers beginning to slightly admire the view while keeping eyes on miek. it was a beautiful planet, there was no denying that. you were surely enjoying yourself in the sunshine, always finding a little bit of time to bask in the nature of whatever planet you ended up on during the war.

it was strange to cody, not feeling eyes on him as he walked with rex on the beach. when he would accompany general ke- obi-wan on trips to the temple or into the streets of coruscant, he constantly felt the eyes of many on him. they would be expressing curiosity, shock, disdain, or something in between, and cody could feel every bit of it. here, it seemed, no one cared that he was a clone. no one was leering at him for walking too close to them or for just breathing the same air as them. cody was blissfully able to blend with the people here and he loved it.

he was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice when miek had come to a stop in front of a small cluster of reclinable chairs. a large umbrella provided the area with a patch of shade and a smidge of reprieve from the sun’s blistering heat.

“see? she’s perfectly fine.” miek’s voice broke their precious silence. “i’m assuming you both can find your own way back to your ship, so i’ll be headed off.” miek left them quite quickly and rex guessed (with a bit more amusement than was warranted) that it was because he nearly shot the man on more than one occasion minutes earlier.

“cody! rex! when did you two get here?”

a familiar voice drew their attention and it took them a second longer than it should have for them to realize that yes, you were the one lounging in front of them as if it’s all you’ve ever done in your life. you were extremely relaxed and your posture conveyed your state perfectly, two margaritas perched in loose hands, both half-empty. an ivory summer dress flowed loosely around you, the front hiked a bit too high for the men to keep their imaginations under control. that wasn’t even acknowledging the neckline of your dress (or lack thereof) that made their throats a bit dry and minds slip into the gutter.

rex and cody cleared their heads after indulging the images for a second, the latter clearing his throat before replying, “just a few minutes ago. you haven’t answered our comms in over a week. rex had the idea to come and visit to see how you were doing, so here we are.”

that was really sweet of them to check up on you, you thought with a smile. you felt a bit guilty about not answering their comms. normally you were careful to reply to theirs and every other message you received soon after getting it, but as stated earlier, time has become a social construct that didn’t really matter while on scarif. you gestured for them to sit, and they took the open chair to your left. they didn’t bother laying back, just sitting shoulder to shoulder in the same chair with their eyes on you.

offering them both half-drank margaritas was a subconscious action on your part that surprised you. what shocked you even more was the fact they accepted the drinks with soft, fond smiles. kriff you missed them, how you’ve been able to go this long without seeing them was beyond you.

you smiled warmly as you introduced your boys to briel, who was smirking a bit too widely than would be deemed safe (you didn’t notice this, seeing as you were too busy drinking in the sight of your boys and the way the sunlight made their eyes glow). her eyes drifted to your thighs as she put in very little effort to hide a laugh. dark clone trooper eyes decided to see what was so amusing to the togruta, and they choked on whatever words they were contemplating.

on your thighs were rex and cody, left and right respectively. or, more accurately, on your thighs were six-inch tattoos of rex and cody.

both men were in quite show-offy poses, appearing to have the intent to make them look like pin-ups. the lower half of their armor was equipped but they were shirtless, faint details of scars and sweat appearing to glisten in imaginary sunlight.

cody’s face was set in a smolder the likes of which would send half the women in the galaxy into puddles at the commander’s feet. his dc-15a was held aloft in his right hand while his left arm was holding his helmet in place in the crook of his hip. his left foot was stepping on a small heap of droids which brought his knee up a bit, and he was facing the inked rex on the opposite thigh.

rex’s wild smile could catch the soggiest piece of kindling alight with the allure and charm it held. his eyes were sparkling with a pleasant mirth not often seen in the man. both hands wielded his trusted dc-17’s, the right blaster pointed at the droids under cody’s foot while the left was pointed in the air, blaster bolts coming out of both. his helmet was under his right foot, jaig eyes almost peering into your soul and welding marks visible from his customization of the phase 2 helmet.

commander and captain are both beginning to flush at the art in front of them. they were flattered to see drawings of themselves look so dashing, and seeing it on your body roused feelings they had spent years repressing. their biggest question now was whether their likenesses on your body translated into something more on your end.

“nice to finally meet my friend’s muses,” briel quips, “it’s hard to get her to talk about something that isn’t you two when she’s plastered.” she pauses a moment, thinking of her next words and chuckling to herself. “she’s barely spent three consecutive days completely sober since she got here, which means that you two are almost all she talks about.”

this deepened the heat in their cheeks as you playfully swatted at briel’s shoulder. “that is not true!” a moment of silence. “wait, what day is it? that miiiight make a difference.”

rex chortles at the admission. “glad to see you enjoying yourself, cyare. but kix would be enraged to hear that you’ve been drinking nearly every day for two months, and we can’t exactly blame him.” he grinned as he took an experimental sip of the drink you gave him. it was stronger than he expected, but it had an underlying sweetness not often found in margaritas. he liked it.

sitting up, your dress covered your ink as you expertly drank from the margarita in cody’s hand while he still held it. the commander sent you a soft glare, wondering why you didn’t just get a new drink but enjoying the moment nonetheless. “kix shmix, his face isn’t on my thigh so i don’t really care what he has to say right now.” you lean toward cody and rex before whispering, “you didn’t bring him, did you?”

all three of them guffawed at the question, you joining their laughter solely because of how happy the joy radiating from your boys’ force signatures made you.

calling them your boys had become second nature after mere months of fighting beside them. you spent an inane amount of time with them during planning and actual combat, and were just as much their general as their actual generals were (despite you not carrying the honorific). any free time was spent with one or the other if available, but if they were both occupied you would make your way toward the barracks and join a few games of sabacc.

there were nights you’d spend in the barracks with either battalion (depends on which group you were assigned to at the time) and be welcomed there as if you were a fellow clone. they taught you to play sabacc and you enjoyed playing with them despite the fact you had the most rotten luck with the game.

winning didn’t carry any weight when you were able to spend time with rex and cody, shamelessly basking in the way they always seemed to have some sort of physical contact with you every moment possible. when rex and/or cody returned from whatever responsibilities held them earlier, the men were quick to relinquish them a seat next to you with a sly grin.

their vode noticed the affection shared for the jedi on sabacc night number two and didn’t hesitate to spread word of it around to the rest of their battalions and beyond. on the nights you accompanied them on trips to 79’s, men under rex and cody both (read: fives and boil) made sure that the rest of their brothers and the occasional civvie knew that you three were off-limits to anyone but each other. you were their jetti & they were your captain and commander, no one would get between that even if it wasn’t decided among those in question.

“nah, he’s kept his head in his work. he just got his civvie medical license, started his own private practice on naboo.” rex was extremely happy for his brother, although it was strange to not see him nearly every day. it took a while before he was used to the lack of vode around him at all moments, but cody has been a massive help with that transition.

cody nodded before adding onto his brother’s statement. “and besides, we’re not that cruel, cyar’ika.” you grinned at the endearing tone, choosing that moment to snag another drink from the glass in cody’s hand. he swatted at your hand gently but didn’t put up a fight otherwise, just smiling at how carefree you’d become.

during their comms you did sound at peace, and the times where you’d appear via hologram to him your posture was less rigid than it was during wartime. scarif was good for you, cody knew this. the knowledge of your happiness, however, couldn’t prevent selfish thoughts from returning to the front of his mind. thoughts of you leaving scarif with him and rex, lighting up their apartment better than the sun with nothing but a smile were pipe dreams he indulged in when nightmares of war caught up to him.

“y’know,” you began, “no one would ever tell me what that word really meant.” the men froze, trying to play it off. they were saved only by the fact you kept talking. “none of the men ever gave me a straight answer, just saying that it was something you say to someone you trusted. i even asked duchess satine about it when i was on mandalore. she asked who was using the word and when i told her it was you two, she just grinned like a tooka with a rat tail hanging from its mouth.”

duchess satine was most definitely going to be receiving a gift in the near future.

briel chose that moment to speak for the first time in a while, crossing her arms behind her head. “i’ve never been to mandalore nor heard a lick of what i’m guessing is its native language, but you’d have to be a fool to not guess its meaning by now.” her words were directed at you but they made the men sputter.

“what is that supposed to mean, brie?”

“seriously? please tell me you’re kidding.”

briel was absolutely incredulous. how could a member of the highly revered jedi order, known for the wisdom of its members, not read between the lines? they were giving her plenty to work with in terms of evidence of their affections that they weren’t hiding very well, how did you not know?!

silence followed her words and she came to the startling realization that you were, in fact, not kidding. “look at them, these two adore you! they followed you here like stray tookas when you didn’t comm them enough.” the men didn’t even bother looking offended as they were called out by the togruta. they were scared you’d be disgruntled at the blatant show of care for you but briel wasn’t done. “sithspit y/n, you got tattoos of them because you said you missed them so much!”

hold on, rewind, what did she just say?!

“you… missed us?” rex’s voice was softer than anyone had heard it be in a long time. part of him aches to throw his drink over his shoulder and take you into his arms with no regard to the outside world, yet he restrains himself. this could very well be a trap, an illusion or extremely detailed dream the likes of which he’s never experienced.

then again, how would that explain his mind creating a taste for something he’s never had before?

he concluded that this was indeed real, and he very well could do exactly as his heart desires if he let go for just a moment, just long enough for the contents of his glass to seep into the sand and his calloused hands to roam your exposed skin.

but he also remembers long talks with his ori’vod about their mutual affections for you. how selfish and uncaring it would be for him to try and keep you to himself after spending so many nights lamenting with cody about the way you made them both feel more human. the way you tethered them to sanity when the war threatened to dispose of what little control they had over themselves or their fates, the softness of your fingers intertwined with theirs whenever you had the chance. both men would contemplate the way you’d taste as you downed several shots at 79’s or cups of the contraband moonshine brewed by the men, wondering how much would be the alcohol and how much would be you and wishing that they could find out.

it would be a betrayal far greater and even more despicable than that of palpatine and the republic, and rex didn’t think he could handle losing the respect of his ori’vod no matter what was given in return. not even you.

the togruta woman officially lost the last speck of patience she held for the clueless, lovesick trio, groaning that she gave up as she left them to their own devices.

you were confused. why would you not miss them? did those years of fighting next to them and caring about them and loving them not translate to the idea of missing them when they were gone? yeah you were a little tipsy when you got your tattoos, but that didn’t change the facts as to why you got them: you wanted cody and rex by your side and moments spent without them were moments spent unhappy. they were your boys, the two reasons you kept fighting in that cursed war instead of returning to the temple with your tail between your legs at the first sign of combat.

cody downed his margarita with a solid gulp before taking your right hand in both of his, face twisted almost identically to his brother’s while processing the information you presented. he marveled in the familiar grooves and calluses from battle that were beginning to soften, thoroughly enjoying the fact he didn’t have to hide anything from you or the rest of the galaxy about the love - cody was sure now that this was indeed love - he held for you and you alone.

“is that true, cyar’ika?” cody’s voice was sickeningly hopeful. he’s never allowed himself to hope, knowing that diving too deep into desire could lead to consequences tantamount to death. hearing you stumble over your words as you admitted to loving him, loving him and rex both in the same capacity, cracked the last mask of stoicism he had in his reserves. his mouth was smiling but his eyes were wet, and anyone who didn’t know him would think the man was karking mad.

you weren’t as focused on your boys as you would have been any other moment, too busy trying to figure out what you said for cody to ask about and oh. holy shit, i said all of that out loud. then, a brief moment of clarity. i said every bit of that, but they’re not leaving. they’re instead moving closer, taking my hands in theirs and then- “have i ever lied to either of you?” your heart once again overpowered your brain, taking over your vocal chords and bringing voice to your thoughts.

rex nestled his glass into the sand before going to his knees in front of you, eyes sparkling from both the scarif sun and unshed tears. “you could never, ner’jetti.” he rested his chin on your knee not blocked by cody, his subconscious deciding to nuzzle his head into the hand that had come up to his face.

within seconds, the clunky armor had taken to the sand. they didn’t startle at the sudden exposure to just their bottom blacks because they could feel the soft humming of the force around them, knowing that it was merely you making them more comfortable. you were pulling them toward you and into your reclined chair, rex’s chin in one hand and cody’s hands in the other. they were quick to take a hint, immediately moving to either side of you to lay on their sides, facing their jetti with soft smiles.

rex made quick work of wrapping an arm around your waist, face burying itself into the crook of your neck as best he could. he inhaled your scent, the familiar ozone that came with the force mingling wonderfully with scarif’s ocean water and the tropical drinks you’ve been keeping yourself busy with.

cody tangled one hand into your hair, fingers softly moving as he rested his other arm slightly above his brother’s. the hand touching your waist softly stroked your side as he let his eyes drift closed, the force wrapped around him like a blanket of protection.

no one spoke of love in the hours you spent wrapped in each other’s arms in that uncomfortable-for-three-people chair. the admissions and conveyance of all the love held between the three of you was saved for the privacy of their ship. cody and rex worshiped you and you did the same for them, no one allowing there to be a single doubt as to where your hearts belong.

[bonesaldente]

Ferocious I Darth Maul x Reader

Chapter 10: Trust

last chapter

all chapters

ao3

warnings: nudity, mildly suggestive language

words: 4000+

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note: For… reasons, this is an alternate universe in which space ships have actual showers with water, not just sonic showers. Also, Maul’s cybernetics are waterproof. I don’t make the rules... wait- I do. Also, make sure to read the end notes today :)

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Stars, you hate it here.

Everything, from the endless nights to the lack of clean water and the ever-looming prospect of going to prison increases your motivation to somehow fix the communicator yourself and run off before Kenobi can take you with him, leaving him stranded on the planet.

For exactly a decade, just to be even.

“It should work,” Kenobi remarks with very apparent annoyance. “Everything is connected and the power source is on.”

“Well, it’s obviously not working.”

“Thank you for your observation.” He drops his hands into his lap, looking quite defeated. And tired.

While you’ve been keeping some structure in your days, he’s been working tirelessly on repairing that communicator. Until he did tire out, occasionally.

Now was one of these occasions.

“I’m losing focus and I can hardly see anything. It’ll be best to continue when the sun comes back up again.”

Which is precisely what you were hoping he’d say, but you still force yourself to make another snide comment. “Maybe it’ll fix itself while you’re resting and we are magically transported off this planet.”

He pays you no mind and heads to what’s become his sleeping spot over the past days - or has it been over a week already?

“I trust you’ll keep watch?”

You just huff, but don’t refuse his request. It is an agreement you’ve come to quite early on when you both realized that the death of one would make the other’s survival significantly less likely. So while he sleeps, you make sure no animals sneak up and attack him, which, apart from the “dinner” incident a few days ago, only happened once, but still rattled him enough to make him remind you of your duty evry time he went to sleep.

Except tonight, you plan on shifting your attention to something completely different. 

You have not, in fact, come to terms with the probable reality that you’ll spend the rest of your days in a prison of the Republic. Instead, you’ve been observing what exactly Kenobi is doing to repair the life-saving device and despite your lack of aptitude in such things, you, too, see that the communicator should - in theory - work. Kenobi is overworked and agitated; it would only be natural for him to miss something.

Something you might be able to catch and use to your advantage.

 You remain still where you are until you hear his quiet breaths evening out, indicating he has fallen asleep.

“Kenobi?” You whisper into the silence, a last test to check if he is still conscious.

No response.

Your heart beats fast in your chest, all too aware of how pressing time is. For some reason, this man rarely sleeps more than two hours at a time, which could be partially blamed on you for always nagging at him when he isn’t trying to fix the communicator. But then again, you have the feeling that he usually doesn’t have very different habits.

With the kind of stealth only someone who has been trained in these arts could bring up, you sneak across the clearing to where the source of all your troubles and hope lies on the ground.

The device has been taken out of the starfighters cockpit and thus looks pretty out of place and… unfinished. But you know better, having watched the Jedi dismantle and reassemble every little piece.

The metal glints in the shine of your flashlight as you crouch to be on eye-level with the device. At first glance everything seems to be in order, just like the Jedi remarked, but that is not acceptable. Fixing the cursed thing before Kenobi is your only way to freedom and you will not allow your own incompetence to stand in your way.

So you look again. And again.

You shine light into every little corner, every port, under every wire and in between each panel. Time is passing too quickly, you are aware, and your chances are dwindling.

But then you see it.

Tiny and inconspicuous, something organic - a seed maybe - is blocking one of the loose wires from connecting with its respective port. 

You bite your lip to suppress a victorious exclamation, looking over your shoulder to check if Kenobi is still fast asleep.

Heart thrumming in your ears, you take a deep breath to calm your nerves and steady your hand for the task ahead. Cautiously, you lift some of the metal paneling to give you access to the section, fingers weaving through the wires with extra care since many of them are not firmly in place due to the crash and were only pinned to their receptors by Kenobi.

At last, your fingertips graze the disruptive piece of forest that has made it so far into the technology. Slowly, you remove it from its spot, moving the wire back to where it was supposed to connect.

Now let’s try this.

You turn the power on, holding your breath and praying to whatever force there is out there that it won’t make any noise.

A quiet whir is the only indication that the power is flowing, causing a small smile to creep over your hidden features. The display comes to life, faintly glowing blue. You throw looks over your shoulder every few seconds, hastily pressing the buttons to type in the private comm information Maul and all his commanding warriors kept as a backup for emergencies. You have no idea how many emergencies must have occurred in these past weeks, but you hope your message won’t be drowned out by others. This is the only shot you get.

You pick some coordinates that, if your knowledge of space navigation isn’t misleading you, should be a few miles north of your current location, then sign the message with ‘ -S ’ .

You stare at the numbers, forcing your mind to absorb them, then you hit send and a series of green lights tells you it at least went out successfully, meaning all you can do now is to hope that it will be received the same way. 

Kenobi is still fast asleep, chest rising and falling steadily. You almost feel sorry for what you’re about to do, but there really aren’t many alternatives. 

You take out a small vial from a pocket in your belt, filling a syringe with it. It’s been a while since you last used it, but you made sure you always have some tranquilizers on you, and now you’re thankful for that.

On your tiptoes, you sneak to Kenobi’s sleeping form, narrowing your eyes to make out the exposed skin on his neck.

The needle is buried in his neck in a matter of seconds and his eyes shoot open in shock and confusion while his hands fly to his neck.

“Why-”

“Nothing personal,” you assure him when his eyelids droop and his words lose coherence.

Normally, this should knock a person out for at least three hours, but you don’t know how a force sensitivity might influence that. One way or another, you should take off now and get as big a headstart as you can. But first, one more thing.

You give the heap of beige robes that is the Jedi knight one more almost regretful look, then you crush the communicator beneath your heel. Can’t risk him calling for Republic forces while you’re still in the area after all, and you’d have no way of taking the device with you, since it’s hooked up to the ship wreckage.

Why you spare his life, you don’t know, and you’d rather not spend too much time thinking about it. Perhaps you should kill him, after all he’s done to Maul, and why your conscience decides to pipe up now of all times will remain a mystery. You have killed people in less honorable ways, but…

“Ugh,” you grunt, finally turning your back on the Jedi and starting your journey north.

 *

 “Maul! Maul, come here!”

He jerks up, briefly having fallen asleep leaned against the wall. For a second, he fully expects to see your gleaming eyes staring back at him, that’s how familiar the voice is. It takes him a moment to understand that it’s not you, but Loa calling him.

Which is supremely peculiar, because the young woman rarely ever addresses him, let alone command him.

He is out of the room, your room, in a flash, looking over Loa’s shoulder at the message displayed a second later.

Both of his hearts seem to skip a beat.

The message consists of nothing but a set of coordinates, the only indication of its origin the ‘ -S ’ with which it is signed.

S as in… Spectress?

It must be you. There is no one else with access to this line of communication who would send this kind of message.

Loa gapes at the writing. 

“It’s… It’s her, isn’t it? It’s gotta be her, I’m…”

“Set course,” is his only response, sitting down in the copilot’s seat, several scenarios already running through his mind.

“Looks like some type of… forest moon,” She remarks, readying the ship for hyperspace with outstanding speed and routine. You weren’t exaggerating at all when you said she had become a good pilot.

He ponders for a minute. If you are somehow stranded there, they won’t need reinforcement, with their forces stretched thin as it is. But if any threats lurk nearby and he puts your little sister in danger…

He will die by your hand, then. Or his own.

“How long?”

“Estimate of four hours.”

“Very well. I will try to find out what to expect when we arrive there.”

 According to his sources, there has been no Republic activity in the system in question over the past month - that’s what he found out after two hours of vehement research. Really, he already knew that after thirty minutes, but you being so close yet so far from him drove him to bury himself in databanks and records by his spies.

His thoughts travel to a darker place.

He doesn’t know what state you’ll be in when he finds you - if he finds you. And even if you’re fine, everything else is far from fine. Mandalore, the crime syndicate and most of all, Savage…

Something on the dresser that takes up most of the cramped space clatters to the floor when he loses control of the chaotic force inside him and he flinches, immediately worrying he broke something of importance to you. After all, he has taken up residence in what used to be your small quarters on your ship, before everything happened, before you joined the Death Watch, before you saw him again.

When you were still living relatively safe, off the Republic’s radars.

Out of Master’s reach.

It’s been torturing him every waking moment to think that you might meet the same end that Savage did. The speculation of what could have been if he hadn’t reentered your life has become a constant in his mind. Because if he ever has to see the life fade out of your eyes, the way he saw the nightsister magick leave Savage when he exhaled his last breath, he isn’t sure he could forgive the galaxy. He vows to himself, already vowed to himself few days after he first laid eyes on you, that he will do anything to keep that fiery soul safe.

His fingers run over the cold piece of metal that has fallen, curiously examining it. No, not normal metal, beskar . There are letters forged into it, but they look like traditional Mando’a scripture, which he is still unpracticed in reading.

He contemplates putting it into the uppermost drawer, lest it get lost during more daring flight maneuvers, but he hesitates. He’s never opened any of the drawers, despite the very persistent curiosity he felt. The last he’d want is to invade your privacy; you hadn’t even consented to him sleeping in your private space (although he doubts you would mind after he has literally slept with you).

Maul makes up his mind and pulls the drawer open, not intending to even look, but his gaze still gets caught.

He expected to find clothes, maybe, or, knowing you, weapons. What he finds instead is a collection of… trinkets. 

It’s not new to him that you have a tendency to collect items, sometimes out of sentiment, sometimes as a trophy. He didn’t realize you kept them so meticulously stored.

It’s quite endearing, he thinks.

Some of the items he recalls you talking about, but others seem entirely random. His eyes linger on a piece of flimsiplast that looks like a child has drawn on it. 

He is tempted to take it out and hold it into the light, but quickly realizes that it would go against his original decision not to pry.

There is so much personal history collected in that small space. Dozens of untold stories, so many parts of your life that he missed.

He won’t rest until he knows you’ll still be able to tell them.

 *

 Oddly enough, you miss Kenobi. More precisely, you miss his ability to sense danger before it has reached you.

Every little noise startles you, every swish of wind making your heart stop and you increase your speed a little.

By now, you’re nearly running through the woods, less than half a mile away from the coordinates you chose.

Chances are, he has woken up by now. And you’re not stupid; you know it’ll be easy for him to track you down when there is no civilization around. From what your understanding of the force is, he should be able to sense your force signature from a larger distance when there is nothing else to disrupt it. That also means that he will be hot on your tail, so whoever shows up to rescue you better hurry .

With a heavy heart, you turn off your flashlight and lean against a tree while you remove your mask for better air supply and allow your eyes to adjust. It still takes so kriffing long, you wonder if that’ll ever change.

If Kenobi finds you first, it won’t make much of a difference.

You get moving again, slower but also less of a beacon in the dark.

The trees start coming in more sparsely now, until you can actually see farther than twenty feet without trees blocking your view. This allows you to pick up speed again and thus make up for the darkness that is slowing you down, until the landscape is so open that you’re actually running now.

And that’s when you hear them.

Branches cracking somewhere behind you. 

Probably just the wind. Keep going.

The dull thud of feet hitting the ground makes your breath catch in your throat.

So maybe he did wake up earlier than anticipated.

You whirl around, seeing nothing but his black silhouette and desperately wishing for a lightsaber, which you - unwisely - have sworn off after the Naboo incident. That, and running around wielding a lightsaber wasn’t exactly the level of subtlety you were going for at the time.

But now, you could really use it.

“I spared your life!” You yell.

“And destroyed my only way away from here,” he responds, sounding almost hurt as he makes slow steps towards you. You take just as many backwards.

Something in the sky beyond him catches your eye and suddenly, the situation looks different.

“I’ve got to look out for myself first,” you argue. “Surely, you understand that.”

“You know I can’t let you go.”

“I do,” you say serenely, taking a deep breath, then whirling around to make a run for it.

You don’t need to look over your shoulder to know he is following you and, even worse, gaining on you.

The small headstart you got, combined with the distance between you two in the first place isn’t nearly enough, even though you are in great shape and a truly fast runner.

The ship you spotted earlier now flies over your head, approaching the ground and you could laugh and cry at the same time. It’s not just any ship, it’s your ship. Your home, and aboard, you hope, your family.

It doesn’t touch the ground, but it flies low enough to be accessible from the ground while slowing to a speed that should allow for you to jump on, if you could only run a little faster.

Damn, ten years ago this would have been easier.

The blast door in the back, only about twenty feet away from you, slides open, revealing a figure that even in the dark you can make out to be…

Maul.

He extends his hand and you instantly know what he wants you to do.

So, you take a deep breath and jump .

The moment your feet leave the ground you feel the tug of the force pulling you to the zabrak while your own hand reaches forward and you fly through the air, until your hand finally reaches Maul’s.

You are not safe yet, still hanging from the edge of the ship when you suddenly feel a different pull on one of your ankles. Your eyes widen in shock and you try to tell Maul that it’s Kenobi, he is pulling you back, but all that you manage is a terrified shriek when your hand almost slips out of his at a particularly strong pull backwards.

Not this time, Kenobi.

Your determination sets in and you look down to see Kenobi standing still, arms extended to manipulate the force. With your one free hand, you reach for your blaster, aiming and-

The hold on your ankle abruptly loosens and you are yanked on board at once, the blast door sliding shut immediately, drowning out the deafening sound of wind.

You are panting, sprawled out on the floor, not even realizing that you did it .

“Hyperspace, as soon as possible,” you distantly hear Maul say, but the thrumming of your heart is too loud to properly hear his voice, until he somehow sits you up and…

Embraces you. 

Warm fingers run through your messy hair, soft murmurs that you can’t quite understand coming from right next to your ear.

“I’m filthy,” you protest weakly, half-heartedly trying to free yourself from his hold but he only holds on tighter and at last you melt into the affection, burying your face in his neck.

“Is Loa…?”

“In the cockpit,” he instantly calms your worries and you sigh happily. For a moment, everything is alright.

“What did I miss?” You eventually muster up the courage to ask.

His grip tightens so much you can feel his fingertips dig into your hip and you immediately know something bad happened.

“It was… Master. He killed Savage.”

Your heart sinks, the previous relief replaced by a dark type of sadness. There is anger and, most dominantly, fear.

The Sith lord doesn’t intend on letting Maul off, which by extension also means there is a target on everyone he surrounds himself with.

You can’t even find words to console him, only taking in a shaky breath against his skin and whispering, "I'm sorry."

"He's free now."

Eventually, you find the strength to get up, tiredly patting over to the cockpit.

“Hey.” Loa presses a few last buttons, then jumps up and crushes you in a tight hug.

“I thought I would never see you again.”

“You know me better than that,” you retort mildly.

“I suppose so,” she sighs, holding you at an arm’s length. “You need a shower,” she assesses, plucking a leaf from your hair.

Self-consciously you run a hand through the tangles, then look down at your muddy clothes.

“I agree.”

 Maul waits for you when you leave the cockpit, immediately taking your hand as if to reassure himself that you are truly there.

“Missed me?” You joke half-heartedly, doing nothing to hide the way the tension seems to melt from your body at the touch.

“Every minute,” he answers earnestly, not a hint of a joke in his voice.

“Come with me, then,” you offer, making your way to the refresher and pulling him along. As expected, he follows you all too willingly, thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand.

You don’t even bother undressing all the way before getting under the water stream, suddenly realizing how much you’ve been longing for it. While your clothes soak, the water pooling around your feet turns a muddy brown as the dirt from the forest is finally washed off.

Maul steps in the small shower behind you, holding a hand into the falling water.

“That’s cold,” he states.

“Not for me, it’s not.” You eye his frown. “But we can turn the temperature up.”

The heat does feel good, and not much later you finally attempt to peel off the remaining layers of clothing. Red tattooed hands come to your aid fast and within seconds, your skin is completely exposed, the stress of the past weeks running down the drain along with the dirt and… blood?

You bring a hand up to touch your forehead at the same time that a scowl makes its way on Maul’s face.

“Kenobi,” he growls, but you shake your head.

“That’s from when I crashed the starfighter.” You examine your bloodied fingers with moderate interest. “I think it’s healed already, that’s just dried blood coming off.”

He huffs, lightly running a finger over the area on your face.

“Any other injuries?” His eyes roam your body, not in a sexual, but in a concerned manner.

“None I can think of,” you sigh as he gathers soap in his hands, closing your eyes for a moment as the warm water runs over your face. When you don’t hear another noise from Maul, you open your eyes again, only to find him staring at you with something like bewilderment in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

He responds by crashing his lips into yours, expressing so many emotions through his actions that he otherwise can’t find the words for. You very nearly fall at the suddenness of it, but his arms are wrapped around you in a heartbeat, pressing you into his chest and giving you the skin-to-skin contact you’ve been missing so terribly.

Your eyes water as emotions overcome you, the relief, the sorrow, the uncertainty and… guilt.

When you break apart, his are shining in a similar way.

 You lean against the weapons locker, facing the ceiling while you let the details of your situation soak in. The havoc that was wreaked on Mandalore by the resistant Mandalorians, the coming and going of the crime families, and the looming threat of Sidious’ grand plan finally coming together.

“I have a suggestion,” you begin slowly. “But you’re not going to like it.”

“Go on.”

“The Jedi are not our main enemy anymore, if what you foresee comes true.” You recall him talking about the envisioned destruction of the Jedi order, something that Sidious has been plotting for a long time. “If we give them the right tools to do so, it’ll be them who need to fight him, not you. Not any of us.” Your eyes dart to the cockpit where your sister is holed up.

“Tools, such as… knowledge?” He touches his chin the way he always does when he mulls over an idea.

“Sidious is but one man. He only thrives on secrecy, so if we-”

“A Jedi will never cooperate with a Sith .” He snarls. “Their self-righteousness wouldn’t allow it.”

“Maybe not.” You sigh with exhaustion. “All I know is that the better equipped the Jedi, the higher the chance of them actually defeating Sidious before it’s too late. And that’s why I have another proposition.”

“What is it?”

“We make a small transmission to the Republic fleet, sending them the same coordinates I sent you.”

“You’re trying to save Kenobi?” He doesn’t sound angered, he sounds… surprised.

“As much as I dislike him, he is one of their more capable knights, and it’s become pretty obvious he and his padawan are quite invested in uncovering Sidious’ identity.” 

You are astounded he even considers the idea. 

“Also, helping him could be interpreted as a show of good faith. Might get them off our back for some time, until we figure out who to fight,” you add.

For a minute, he remains silent. Then, his arm is wrapped around your waist and his lips brush over your temple.

“I trust your judgment,” he mumbles. “Do what you believe is right.”

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SOOO, after a two week delay, I have elected to post once more... my bad. In the next 2-4 weeks I’d like to edit and improve the older chapters because I’m not 100% happy with the writing in them anymore, so because of that there won’t be another update during that time. Don’t worry though, I’m not done yet, the story will go on - just after a short break :,)

@princessayveke @spaghetti-666 @noiralei @larawl @secretnerd00 @bagpipes606 @zabrak-show @brilliantbutbatty @eleine-t1d

[obaby-wan]

Unlawful

Summary: Anakin is still a novice and Obi-Wan goes on solo missions. That is until the Council gives him a particular assignment, and he requests you to join him - posing as a couple. You had not seen much of your close friend since he lost his Master, and the mission serves as an interesting reunion.

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader

Wordcount: 9.5k I AM SORRY

Rating: T?

Warnings: Hurt? Slavery, child trafficking, mention of kidnapping. Someone inappropriately approaches Reader. Please let me know if forget something. But otherwise rather safe, basically soft fluff with a plot(ish).

Notes: I’ve done it! I’ve posted my first fic EVER, thanks to @maybege​! This was her request for a fake marriage!Obi-Wan, which was a very scary and challenging and intimidating request given that it is the basis of her Play Pretend series, but I am overall quite proud of what I have produced. Naturally, any feedback is very much welcomed. Thank you!

Tags: @maybege​ @profkenobi​ maybe? If you have time and are interested and want to make a little me very happy but no pressure

You put down three cups and the teapot you had prepared, the smoky aroma steaming out from its mouth. Your life-long best friend Obi-Wan Kenobi and his padawan were seated across from you in your quarters, the young one still recovering from the training session he just finished with other younglings, his arms crossed and lips pouting. Obi-Wan has approached you earlier with a mission brief, suggesting - no, requesting, really - that you accompany him. Without his padawan. This earned you both a resentful silent treatment from him ever since said padawan has arrived and learned that he will not be needed. You, on the other hand, were internally as giddy and excited as Anakin was moody. You had only recently been knighted yourself. Your solo mission count was now steadily increasing, their success rate following the same trend. Yet, you still welcomed new assignments with the same eagerness you had in your early padawan days. Not to mention that this time, it seemed you will be partnering with your favourite Jedi master.

“Don’t look so frustrated, Anakin. Your first mission will come sooner than expected.” You smiled at the young boy, your words doing nothing to alleviate the frown between his brows. “Honey?”

He nodded in agreement, extending his hand to accept the cup you offered. You slide Obi-Wan his cup and put yours down in front of you, twirling the liquid around in an attempt to accelerate the cooling process. No honey for neither of you. Not with smoked teas. “Only fruited infusions deserve a bit of sweetness” He once told you. You had thought the words he spilled over your tea conversations were enough of a sweetener.

“Maybe I could come and pretend to be your son?” Anakin’s voice was small, hopeful. This pulled a laughter out of you and Obi-Wan, his smiling eyes meeting yours. The mission he was assigned involved infiltrating the court of a powerful king in the outer-rim, thought to be the general quarters of a slave trafficking ring. Young, underage slave traffic, to be specific, which explained why Obi-Wan would not let Anakin join. You wondered if he even told him about the nature of this mission. Your presence was requested to play to role of his spouse. The king was soon hosting his bi-yearly public exposition of newly acquired slaves, presenting them to potential buyers and you were to pose as a couple of such. It could have been a solo mission, but the king had a harem of wife whom the council suspected to be heavily involved in the court’s internal affair, and only women were allowed to interact with the spouses. That is why and where you were stepping in.

Obi-Wan shook his head, putting a hand on his padawan’s shoulder. “It is better you stay here, little one. Focus on your training. Besides, I believe you will be in possession of your lightsaber when we get back - and I expect you to be able to strike me down on our next spar”. They both smirked at the unspoken challenge.

“Is that true?” You took a zip of tea. “I was not aware you were already chosen to be in the next shuttle to Ilum. That is impressive”. The young boy’s chest puffed up with pride. “Master Yoda said it was learning too fast for the youngling group I am with!”

You glanced at Obi-Wan. Anakin building his own lightsaber meant he will have to take his training more into hands, relying less on common lessons with other young Jedi. Which also means that the time of his solo missions was short-lived and coming to an end soon. You were honored to be part of what could even be his last padawan-less assignment. Yes, this will definitely be an entertaining mission, a reminiscence of your mischiefs and adventures before you were both knighted.

You’ve know Obi-Wan for almost all your life, having arrived at the Jedi temple around the same moon as him. You were probably in the same crèche, although you did not have much recollection of that time. No, your friendship with him genuinely blossomed on the very same occasion that Anakin will soon face – the Kyber harvesting on Ilum. You were both selected for the same trip, the two youngest of your training group, and the two bests. A friendly competition ensued, which over time grew into a deeper complicity, unspoken rivalry trying to best each other’s records, pressed lips failing to suppress giggles when sneaking into the kitchen past bed time, understanding glances across training rooms when one would get caught and chastised, longing and warm reunions after your respective missions during your years as padawans and – support and understanding when he lost Qui-Gon, a dozen moons ago.

You had been the one to cut his braid off. You had taken the habit to keep your quarters unlocked for nights when meditation would no longer suffice to tone down the guilt and the grief he felt, preferring to spill his sadness to you over a cup of tea, burning his tongue on the beverage. You had watched as tears dripped into his cup, hoping the hot tea would burn away the sadness, too. He was grateful for your patience and comfort, always listening without a judgement. How he was unsure about being a master. How he did not feel ready to train Anakin. How he feared he would fail. “But fear is not the Jedi way”, he has whimpered in the dark, sitting on the floor in front of you, legs crossed, his forehead pressed to your knees as you sat on your bed. “No. But it is the human way” you had answered, your fingers slowly stroking his golden red locks in an attempt to sooth his ache.

You push those memories away. Obi-Wan has recovered, in his own way. He has slowly but surely gained confidence in his skills and his ability to pass them on, even warming up to referring to Anakin as his “little one” more often than as his padawan. The informality was not lost on you. The boy was clinging to his master like a young greysor to its mother, looking up to the man and telling him all details about his day in great lengths and details over dinner, every evening. Your eyes settled on your friend, realizing that it has been a while since you’ve got a chance to study his features with such proximity and you could not recall the last time you had been alone with him. You noticed how his traits have hardened since, how his hair, longer and now always neatly arranged, was now framing his mature face. He even started growing a beard, which you had not yet decided if you liked or not. His cerulean eyes met yours, and you couldn’t help but melt a little when you realized that those, at least, have remained as soft as you remembered. Anakin must be equally succeeding at painting more wrinkles and frowns to Obi-Wan’s traits as he has at keeping his heart tender.

“I am happy to hear that. I’m sure you will find your little trip to be insightful and… dangerous”. A spark returned to the boy’s eyes upon hearing your last word. He shuffled a little in his seat, his resentment about the mission suddenly forgotten and replaced with a curious fascination. You jumped on the occasion to ensure his mood remains lightened, a smug look on your face. “Have I told you about the time your master and I went to find our crystals, and Obi-Wan was afraid the dark?”

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Your destination coordinates where set into the navicomputer, the autopilot engaged. Everything was settled for the travel, and you both decided to indulge with an early dinner, hoping to be able to get a full night of sleep before landing at your destination. Obi-Wan headed for the ship’s kitchenette, opening the cooling storage and excitedly took out two packs of what appeared to be rye soup. “This is wonderful! I usually only get ration bars on these council ships”. He skipped back to you, face beaming, holding a box in each hand. He was met with your suspicious glare, lips tight together.

“Come on now darling, I only have to heat it up. There is no way I can mess this up”.

“Obi-Wan, I would trust you with my life, but allow me to doubt you on this one”.

You took the boxes from an exasperated Obi-Wan and headed back to the kitchenette, deciding that you will take cooking matters in your hands. Obi-Wan was… lousy, when it came to handling sustenance in any other way than putting it directly in his mouth (and even then). Burnt eyebrows and meals have been evidence of his previous attempts, and you may even have a scar somewhere on your arm, a relic of that time he believed the oven would be a safer cooking method. He had apologized profusely after managing to short circuit and set the whole thing on fire and had treated you with take-out from Dex’s every time you were meeting up for weeks after the incident. “If it still hurts, I can try to kiss the pain away.” He swore it was not just an imaginary balm for younglings, something about receptors and muscles and pain signals. You pretended the burn stung for days after you had removed the last bacta patch.

Once dinner was prepared and ready without having to call an intergalactic fire brigade, you both settled around the small and only table on the ship. Obi-Wan was practically lounging on the bench seat, and you were pleased that despite your high and respected status of Jedi Master, he would still feel comfortable relaxing casually around you. You set your bowls on the table and sat on the opposite bench.

“I have got to ask though Obi, why did you choose me for this mission? The council could have just assigned anyone else”.

You hoped the question did not come out as a complaint. You were more than happy – looking forward to, even – to start this mission with him. Although you knew that assignments from the Jedi council were usually of the utmost importance and highly serious, undercovers still help an aftertaste of game to you. And who better to disguise yourself with than your favourite partner?

“Well, given the delicate nature of our role, I would rather conduct this mission with someone I truly feel at ease with. Besides, I can’t imagine having to kiss Master Shaak Ti, if it came to that”. He laughed lightly at the image, raising a spoonful of soup to his lips – and burning the tip of his tongue on it. “I keep telling Anakin to be patient, but I daresay I cannot ever wait for my meals to cool down”.

You chuckled in response, hoping he did not notice the blood rushing to your cheeks. While you were glad he confessed to feeling serene in your presence, you had to admit you did not think of the implication of this disguise. You knew Obi-Wan well enough to be able to read him, and the Force could help you anticipate his actions. This would allow you to pass as long-term, close acquaintances, but how exactly were lovers behaving together, in public? How much affection must a crime lord couple display to pass as, well, a real, intimate crime lord couple? “We may need to go through quite a bit of details before we land. You know, setting our story straight and such”. He nodded, now passively stirring his bowl, his eyes fixing you intently. You averted his gaze and dipped your spoon in the rich soup, catching yourself realizing that you wouldn’t mind so much if the mission was to “come to that”. You made a mental note to strengthen your walls and empty your mind before landing.

“You must know, I am glad you accepted to join me. I haven’t got the chance to enjoy your company since you were knighted. You’ve made yourself busier than an old senator.”

You refuted his words, retorted that he was the constantly unreachable shadow, wandering between planetary systems and moody pre-teens. How often you went and knock on his door any time you were on leave only to be met with a locked door silently mocking you. He said that more often than not, he would meet the same fate (it’s true) and would try to fill his absence with little souvenirs he brought you back from his various destinations (it’s also true), leaving them under your doormat. You chastised him about it, complaining about that time he deemed wise to leave a bar of sweet-smelling treat in that specific spot, knowing damn well that colder days were approaching and the Temple had a floor heating system. By the time you had come back to your quarters, the bar was but molten goo and host to flowery mycelium. You complained about the mess it was to scrub and intentionally omitted to mention the blue box you kept under your bed, home to pressed flowers, amulets and other trinkets he has gotten you – you’ve kept every single one of them (expect the bar, which found its way straight to the waste bag).

Bowls were emptied, cleaned and stored away (Obi-Wan insisted on doing the dishes), and you both returned your focus to preparing the mission. Two travel bags and a satchel were waiting in your shared sleeping quarters. Digging through your belongings, you felt slightly anxious at the lack of neutral-coloured clothing and were met only with luxurious, expensive looking fabric with colours that would fit into any rainbow. You took out and set aside a long emerald dress and the heavy brown cloak, deeming them to be a believable travel attire to change into before landing.

Obi-Wan dug out datapads and a sealed, square box from the satchel. He gave you your datapad, which you supposed contained more details about the mission, and eyed the box curiously, turning it between his fingers, examining the object to find its opening mechanism. Finally, twisting the top part from the bottom of the box revealed its content; two rings and two identical pins.

“Ah, right. Married and crime lords” he stated matter-of-factly. He passed you one of the pins; it was golden and represented a wild bird, wings spread and embedded with precious gem stone. You supposed it represented the sigil of your imaginary crime syndicate, operating from the deep underworld of Coruscant, coordinating heavy weaponry and oil trafficking. Your cheeks blushed a little when you realized the rings where, in fact, wedding bands, and Obi-Wan has already slipped his on his finger, holding yours between his thumb and index. His other hand was extended “May I, milady?”

Your head jerked up to meet his cerulean eyes, a playful glint in their corners. You put the tip of your fingers in his calloused member. “I hope you have asked for my parents’ permission before so bluntly asking for my hand, sir.” He winked, running his hand through his hair to push back the growing locks. “I am afraid we are eloping, love.” Sliding the band onto your ring finger, the cold metal feeling foreign there, he added: “My dear wife.”

Somehow, your heart jostled a bit upon hearing his words and you smiled shyly. “Husband.”

Obi-Wan decided to meditate for a few moments before arrival. You offered he use the sleeping quarters for peace, as you wanted to go over the mission’s detail one last time in the cockpit. You must have dozed off reading about inter-rim smuggling routes because when you woke up, you were still curled in the pilot’s seat, a blanket you later recognized as Obi-Wan cloak draped over you.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

The outer-rim planet hosting your mission’s location was filled with luscious flora and where no greeneries grew, cities spread outwards rather than upwards, reminding you of a deceptive replica of Naboo. You landed in the royal spaceport, along with other foreign ships surely belonging to other “buyers” invited to the king’s exposition. Immediately upon setting foot on land, Obi-Wan’s hand found its way to the small of your back, then around, finally settling on your hip. So it begins, you thought. He met your eyes with a reassuring smile, giving you the confidence you needed to kick start your brain into immersing yourself in this new persona. You awkwardly leaned into his touch as the palace’s servant gathered your belonging, leading you to meet the group of newly arrived guest to the main palace, on the city’s rim, where you were all dispatched to your assigned quarters.

“His Majesty and his court expect all guests for a welcome dinner after sunset. He will be opening the exposition.” You were told when the servant opened the door to your room before handing Obi-Wan the keys.

The room, as could be expected in such milieu, was large, but decorations remained modest. Obi-Wan was already checking every corners of the room for anything suspicious when you were still taking in the beauty of the quarters. A thick deep orange carpet covered the dark wooden floor. A large mirror adorned a wall, reaching all the way up to the ceiling, reflecting the more-than-two-person canopy bed and its white veiled curtains. In a corner, a dining table and four chairs, in the other, a curved loveseat with white pillows. Another long plush couch was pushed again the wall under the window, next to the mirror, which offered an exclusive view on the forest surrounding the palace.

“Don’t even think of offering to sleep on it. I will not put up with you complaining about a sore back every morning”

“Actually, since I am quite larger than you, I thought I might be taking the bed – and you get this marvelous couch.”

You threw a pillow at him, and missed. “I do hope your fighting skills are better than your throws!” He set his bag down on the bed, claiming his side, his hand again in his hair, and your stomach sank a little at the realization that yes - you will really be sharing a bed, and it sank a little more when you couldn’t understand why it made you feel warm and shivering at the same time.

“If you steal the duvet, I will put my cold feet on you. Consider yourself warned, Kenobi.”

“Don’t worry darling, your body temperature is safe with me. Now let’s go for a walk, assess the surroundings. We have a few hours before the sunset.”

And then the sun set, and you had to get ready for dinner. You excused yourself to the fresher first, taking your bag, Fumbling again through the coloured fabrics with the same anxiety, you pulled out what you deemed to be the least ostentatious outfit offered – a loose satin grey dress, with straps so thin you were afraid they would snap at the first sudden arm movement, but at least it was long enough to cover the rest of your body. You put it on and stood awkwardly in front of the mirror, your eyes failing to recognize the reflection starring back. You did not like it – you were too uncovered, to bare, to exposed. This was unlike anything you ever wear daily, and the smooth fabric sliding on your skin felt too foreign for you to be comfortable. Turning around, you grimaced at how low the back was, now confronted with a literally visible underwear problem and decided against wearing one, cursing at the impracticality of formal attires. At least the cleavage offered more coverage. You keep most your hair down, still overly conscious about your bare shoulders, only twisting the strands that would frame your face behind your ears and securing them with crystal-decorated pins. And then you stepped out of the fresher.

And then Obi-Wan thought he died a sudden death and an angel has come to reap him. His mind wandered back to stories Anakin always rambled about beautiful being inhabiting the deepest corners of the galaxy and how they just seem to float in an aura than made them glow and he thought – this is it. This is his end, and you were his angel. And then only this last par was true, because angels aren’t reals but you were both real and ethereal and this was everything but his end, if anything it was the beginning of something he wasn’t quite understanding yet. He’s seen you before, but how has he never noticed you? You, the strong warrior he was practically raised with, now glowing in your silver gown, hiding glittering stars in your locks? If angels resided in the deepest corners of the galaxy, then he’s now found you a home in the deepest corners of his mind, and he knew he won’t be chasing you from there anytime soon – if ever.

You swore you saw Obi-Wan… blush? But before you could give it any second thought, his hand was holding yours and his lips were delicately pressed to your fingers and his bright irises searching for your eyes. Now it was your turn to blush. His other hand then scrabbled for something in his pocket, reaching for the golden pin with the wild bird and he once again whispered “may I?” before clipping in to the your dress, where the thin strap met the bodice.

“Is this all too much? It feels very inappropriate on me.”

“It’s beautiful.”

You wished he had said “you” instead of “it” but you gave him a smile and took his arm as you heard a knock on the door - the messenger servant sent to lead you to the dinner hall. You slip him your lightsaber, easier to hide under is loose clothes than your elegant dress. He opted for brown trousers and a deep purple linen shirt that he did not button all the way up. You silently admired your partner’s ability to just fit in anywhere, his posture straighter and more confident than usual (if it was at all possible), and his hold on you firm as he lead you sternly behind the servant. The jedi he is was well hidden under this new demeanor, and you did your best to mirror his expression, worried that you’d make your couple look underwhelming.

“Darling, I believe we have not talked about boundaries yet. The veracity of our act inevitably requires displays of affection, which I trust we both understand. But you must let me know if I ever overstep, as I may not keep my hands off you tonight.”

You nodded in agreement, very aware of the fact that he basically said he will be touching you – quite a lot. You were led through sun colored corridors, large windows illuminating your surroundings with the last rays of the dying day. Your arm still around Obi-Wan’s, you followed the servant out of the residential building, crossed a lush court surrounded by gardens and fountains and flowers smelling of power and credits into the main building. On your previous reconnaissance walk, you had noticed the exotic architecture, vaulted arches and high ceilings, pillars forming straight lines occasionally broken by mural ornaments. Everything was open, spacious and bright, but like your room, the decorations remained simple yet refined. Mouldings ornated each corner of the ceiling and the floor was a mosaic of orange-toned tiles. You passed by an atrium, open to the sky and home to yet another fountain. High class for an outer-rim world.

The dining hall followed the consistent décor of the palace. High ceilings and their mouldings and oh, – the whole ceiling itself was one big mirror. Three large tables were set, arranged in an open square formation. The atmosphere was already lively, and you were surprised at the number of people assisting to his exposition. No matter how hard the Republic claimed to fight against slavery, it remained a very much widespread practice in which too many lords seem to indulge. Another the thing that hit you – the women. You immediately noticed the contrast between the guests and the locals. The former wore similar attire as you, expensive evening gowns cut in noble materials (you winced internally as you realized that your outfit was indeed underwhelming in comparison), and the latter were covered head to toe in colourful fabric, long dresses trailing behind them, hair hidden under an assorted scarf. The different shape of their silhouettes betraying their diverse origins. They sat aligned at the table in the middle, two empty spots at its center, talking only to each other. The harem.

No other chairs were arranged, it will not be a seated dinner for the guests. You both approached the table on the left and when all guests have arrived and settled around the dinning arrangement, an old Zygerrian announced the king and his First Wife. Enter a tall, slim man wearing a long navy robe and a small, round, severe looking women. She was wearing a similar attire has the other wives, but the colour matched that of the king. He started his speech, something about lineage-long tradition of exploring and harvesting innocent youth across the galaxy to serve the best of the men and women. How he has mastered the art of finding only the best, most beautiful and promising beings and how excited he was to show them, how he will have them “parade” with his wives as dinner progresses, so each guests can get acquainted and take the time to choose their preferred match. Sales would be finalized at the end of the week and you wondered how choosing a slave could take so many rotations. You finally decided to pay a little less attention to the words and a little bit more to the people, your eyes scanning through the crowd for any interesting face, carefully probing them with the Force. You felt a little sick at the dangerous energy that emanated from the group. Malice. Greed. A little bit of fear?

You reluctantly left Obi-Wan to get you both drinks once the king finished his oration, glass raised and inviting the festivities to start. The reality of this mission sank in when hooded figures, too small to fit in, too young to be here, were brought in to the wives. All except the First Wife were assigned a figure and you noticed how each pair seemed to be of the same species. Guests immediately found their way to the drinks and sustenance before approaching the colourful covered pair closest to them. The man would always examine the subject as the women immediately started talking to the wife, and you understood your purpose in the mission. You could not shake away the nausea slowly building up in your stomach as you strayed through the crowd, eavesdropping on bribes of conversation, glancing each time a buyer your lift the hood off a little figure, revealing little boys and girls, face too round, eyes too wide, soul too pure to be put in this situation. Trying not to overthink their origin and breathing your distress out, you were making your way back to your fellow Jedi, two ruby wine glasses in your hand when:

“I am surprised someone in your youth would already be looking for another toy. Aren’t they too young for you?”

You turned around and were met with a handsome man, visibly an unaccompanied guest. You did not fully understand the meaning of his words, but you observed he was roughly your age.

“I am not quite sure what you mean sir, but I suppose I could address the same question back to you?”

“A man never has too many toys”.

The way he said it, his tone, sent a shiver down your spine and you crossed your arm to hide the goose bumps you could feel rising your hairs there. He flashed you a smile, all teeth and undeniably, dangerously charming, and you smiled back curtly, every fiber of your being screaming at you to turn around and cut the conversation short. You were starting to get an idea of what was really going on at this auction and you did not like it one bit.

“However do you mean by that?”

He stepped closer to you, taking one of the wine glasses from your hand, shamelessly taking a long sip of it. You straighten your posture, refusing to break his stare with a blink. Against your better judgement you readjusted a stand of hair behind your ear, bringing your own glass to your lips.

“Look around, my dear. We are about two decades younger than most buyers here, surely we must be seeking different things from them.”

“And what is it that you seek?”

Another sip of wine. His eyes bore into yours.

“Pretty things.”

And before you could answer, Obi-Wan has found you, his hand back to its place again on the small of your back. He was followed by by a pair of Togrutas, a veiled wife wearing light blue garments, her hand on the shoulder of a little Togruta girl, dressed in similar colours, eyes fixed on the floor.

“There you are my love. I need you to officiate my study of this young girl.” Then, turning to the lad beside you, “I don’t believe we’ve met?”

You all introduced yourself, and Obi-Wan stiffened when Perry, from Cantonica, bowed and managed to brush his lips against your knuckles, holding your hand a second too long to his liking. He reinforced his grip on you. You were already too close to him when he spotted you, and he did not miss the way Perry’s eyes crudely wandered over your figure. He nudged you towards the waiting Togruta pair, and you began asking questions you believed slavers would ask – her age, her health, strengths and weaknesses. The wife answered patiently answered, her eyes never leaving your face and her hand never leaving the girl. From the corner of your eyes, you saw Obi-Wan kneeling down in front of the girl and his hand moved to examine her limbs and montrals. To an outsider, he would seem like a natural, but you saw has his touch was firm but gentle, and how he seemed to softly ask permission to the little girl before moving to another body part. Obi-Wan’s heart broke a little when she only nodded in agreement, her lifeless eyes never leaving the floor. Perry was still observing you in silence, his eyes curiously darting between Obi-Wan and you. Finally, he released the little girl and you thanked her matrona.

“I see you are unaccompanied. Given the situation, I will be happy to lead an interaction in your name.”

“I will be happy to just join you in your meetings, if you’ll allow me.”

You seeked Obi-Wan’s eyes for approval and he nodded. The evening continued like this for a while, the three of you alternating between the buffet and meeting other younglings, some more talkative than others, and you mediating the interactions, repeating the question the men were asking directly to the matrona, who would only answer to you. Perry seemed to take a particular interest in two of the older ones (you tried not to gag), and Obi-Wan chose a little Twi’lek as fake target. You noted that the little boy reminded you of Anakin. Some of the kids surely originated from the core planets, noticing a Pantoran, and you wondered how the king managed to have such a broad diversity. Not that you’d know much about slave trade, but you were still surprised. By the time the event drew to its end, both your mind and body were exhausted, and when Perry tried to drag Obi-Wan into a private game of Sabacc in the king’s quarters, you nudged him to go (for more information, you whispered softly). Perry noticed how you hastly took your leave, excusing yourself for the evening.

“Do you not kiss your wife goodnight, Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes met yours, unsure what to do, trying to fight the urge to just slam his lips against yours and giving in to the temptation to explore your skin, drawing constellations along the trail of his mouth on your neck, but not daring to without consulting you.

“Only in the privacy of our room.”

He still pulled you close on last time and his lips brushed your temple, inhaling your sweet scent. You tried to ignore your disappointment. He didn’t want to let you go alone, and there was no way he could discretely slip your lightsaber back to you. But you were a resourceful women and he trusted you to make it back to the room without incident. As you left the main building, you spotted a group of the wives discussing around the fountain, seemingly more relaxed and joyful than they were in the dining hall. Their conversation died and a stern look settled on their faces as you approached, asking if you could join them. With a little use of the force to sooth any distrust, you managed to ease into their discussions, hoping that the wine that flowed this evening would loosen tongues and appease suspicions.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Your mind was wandering on the sharp edge between awake and asleep when Obi-Wan came back to your room, tiptoeing his way across the entrance. You had let his bedside lamp dimly lit for him, and you observed quietly as he removed his shirt, his bare chest and their red hair and taut muscle on full display for you. Has he noticed you were awake? You felt guilty for prying, like you were witnessing something deliciously illicit, but the way his skin seemed to gleam under the dim warm light, shadows only enhancing his features, how he look strong yet tired and vulnerable had something too mesmerizing for you to tear your eyes away.

Of course he had noticed you weren’t sleeping, but he wasn’t going to let you feel embarrassed for starring. Besides, he couldn’t resist putting on a little show, one last treat to end this tedious day before slumping next to you. But as he was pulling his shirt above his head, he suddenly felt self-conscious about his nakedness, and decided to quietly disappear into the fresher. You were right, joining the Sabacc tournament gained him access to exclusive information, some he could easily pull out from drunken lords, gladly taking hints he was dropping to steer the conversation the way he wanted to. He had so much to discuss with you, but for now he had to focus on getting the smell of spirit off his scent and getting himself into bed with you. That last part was making him more anxious than having to face a tantrum-throwing Anakin, and despite the late hour, he opted for a quick shower.

Clean and absolutely worn out, he silently slid under the duvet next to you, careful not to wake you up. You were really sleeping now, your back facing the edge of the bed, your breathing soft and steady. He took one last look at you before turning the light off, how your lips were slightly parted and pouty, and your chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. How your hair framed your beautiful face, and he chastised himself once more for not looking at you earlier, for taking so many years to realize what he had just here, right in front of him, and how he didn’t know what to do with it. It – the fuzzy feeling in his stomach that did not seem to settle since you landed but only to grow in intensity as he could not peel his eyes off you the whole evening. And when he fully put his weight down on the mattress, you shifted a little bit closer to him, your warm radiating under the blanket and he thought he might suffocate when he noticed how small the straps of your nightdress where, and he couldn’t help but wonder how soft you must feel if he were to hold you, but then your leg brushed his and he scooted just a millimeter more against you.

“Good night, little one.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………

It was in a silent mutual agreement that you both ignored the fact that when you woke up this morning, your legs were tangled together, his arm somehow found their way across your middle, your head resting in the crook of his neck, and he stole an innocent kiss from on your forehead when you were still weary. It was in a silent understanding that when you got dressed and went down for breakfast, the hands you held with each other was nothing but another façade, another prop to the act you play. At least, that’s what you both tried to convince yourselves with. That was why the overall you chose this morning was a little bolder, red, mind you, and the cut twice as deep, this time both in the back and the front. The visible underwear problem remained and at this point you gave up on wearing any. The bodice hugged your curves in all the right places (he tried very hard not to stare), the wide bottom pants flowing around your legs despite the thicker material. On the practical side, it had pockets, and the looseness of the pants allowed you to strap your lightsaber to your inner thigh. That was also why, like yesterday, Obi-Wan secured the pin to your strap, his fingers lingering a moment longer on your collarbone, a subtle caress to the skin above your breast.

“It’s the wives” you say later, your voice low, briefing him on your findings from the previous night while munching on some local fruit. “Did you notice how they are all from different worlds?”

“The king steals them from their home. People he deals in business with, or poorer, farther-rim systems. He offers protection to whoever is the sovereign there. In return, they have to give up their first daughter as wife, or son as slave – I don’t know what is worse. And they have to send two child here each year, a boy and a girl, elected by their people as the most beautiful.”

“I can’t believe such an elite slave trade exists with such young ones. The younglings are to be auctioned. It starts tonight. You can already place your bid with the respective matrona. Most buyers are from the core planets too.”

“They must hold a record somewhere.”

“The First Wife. She coordinates everything. She should have an office. And Obi-Wan, we might want to sneak a matrona back to Coruscant as witness – not all of them want to be here nor agree with this. Stars, Anakin would hate this place.”

He nodded approvingly, his look shutting you up as Perry appeared in your line of sight with the First Wife. She greeted the both of you, saying she insisted on meeting each customer personally, asking about if you’ve already spotted any preferred candidate, and what kind of leverage you were interested to offer up as deposit to secure a higher chance of acquiring them. You kept your answers short, ignoring Perry’s eyes on you, mentioning the young twi’lek, and a shipment of unrefined oil and spice, lying perfectly when needed and sticking to the cover story the Council had prepared. But then:

“I couldn’t help but overhear – who his this dear Anakin?”

You felt Obi-Wan tight tense up under where your hand was. You sent him a reassuring nudge through the force, putting on your most tender smile and said:

“Our son, your Majesty. He is ten.”

“Ah, then you might be interested in our little Saya. She’s a bit younger, human, but it’s good to have them match a younger age. Makes them more malleable, you know? I will have her matrona and her meet you tonight.”

You thanked her politely, saying you will need to discuss the matter with your husband first but appreciate the gesture. She updated you both on the activities the king has had organized for the guests; a visit of the baths for the females, a hunting game for the males, and left, moving on to the next table. Obi-Wan was admiring your quick wit, growling after Perry’s insistent gaze on you, at the fact you will again be separated, and you were still processing the interaction.

“Brides,” you whispered in horror. “They’re selling the girls as child bride, Obi-Wan.”

His hand squeezed yours in understanding, and you both decided to head back to your room to discuss your next plan of action – getting evidence. Tonight.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

When you got back to your room after hours dipping in various bath waters, Obi-Wan had scrambled a note that they had come back early from the hunt and already had to join the dinner party. You took yet another shower today – who could have thought so many different baths existed? Mud, sea salt, ocean salt, dead salt (whatever that was). This night, you opted for a an exquisite chiffon blue dress (his favourite colour), again with an open back (you both secretly enjoyed when his fingers absentmindedly caressed your skin there) with a slit high on your leg (but not high enough to reveal your saber) and your hair tied in a high bun (maybe his fingers will wander to your neck too) and when you left your room that evening feeling like a million credit, you arrived at the window where we was waiting for you in the hall just in time to catch the sunset.

“It’s beautiful.” You said as you reached his side.

And despite the horrific truth behind the mission, and the exhausting day he just had putting up with the other crime lords talking about the slaves like lifeless objects, he thought you must have been bathing in the very same sunset because when he replied with “yes, beautiful” it was you and not the window he was looking at. His knuckles again found their home on the skin on your back (you screamed a little inside) and you could feel his chest pressed into your side, his warmth welcomed on your bare flesh. And then his breath against the back of your ear, the ghost of his lips barely brushing against your pulse.

“I like it.”

“What?”

“Your beard. I wasn’t sure before, but I’ve decided I like it.”

“Oh. Anything else you’ve decided to like about my body in my absence? Perhaps I could give you a tour?”

“Obi-Wan,” you gasped, amused. “Are you flirting with me?”

A light chuckle escaped his lips before they found their way to the soft skin behind your ear again. “Perhaps.” His voice was sweet, teasing. “What kind of husband would I be if I did not woo my beloved wife every now and then?” His lips dipped lower to the crook of your neck and pressed a chaste kiss there, his stubble deliciously burning your skin. You turned around, hiding your shiver. His impossibly deep cerulean eyes were smiling at you, and you swore you saw them trail down your cleavage first and you rolled your eyes at him behind your lashes. His cheeks were flushed, a smug smile spread across his face. You really wanted to feel those lips on your too, now. Thinking of something to do to break this tension that surely you weren’t the only one feeling, your hands went to readjust the collar of his tunic.

“While I do highly enjoy this, I need you focused, Kenobi.”

“Given how little I can do without your presence with the wives, and the drinks I was peer pressured into drinking, I might let you take the lead tonight.”

You made a point to tease him about it the whole evening when guests were called, and like last night, the matronas were already aligned with their protégés. Unlike last night, the atmosphere was tense, and you could already see quarrels rising when two buyers started bidding wars for a same subject. You refused the drinks the servants were offering (one of us has to stay sober, you said with a wink) and led Obi-Wan to the little twi’lek from yesterday. Speeches were made, more bid placed, food served, live music played and peoples have started dancing when Obi-Wan excused himself to the fresher (your skin burned where his had was resting this whole time). Perry approached you.

“Will the lovely lady grant me this dance?”

With no valid reason to excuse yourself, you had to accept. Immediately, his hand was too low on your back and his grip on your hand too tight, his breath smelling heavily of spirit. “Your husband is very protective of you”. You did not like the way he whispered into your ear; too close, too wet. “Would not agree to share you – and I’ve never heard prices go this high.” You tried to pull away a little, but he only pulled you closer, his hand now even lower. “Did he tell you I killed the largest game today, hm? I shall deserve a prize for this, don’t you think, pretty thing?”

You were about to get back to him, ready use some force to get out of his grip if you must.

“That’s enough.”

Obi-Wan was back between the two of you, jaw clenched and eyes dark, his voice deep and threatening. You took advantage of this distraction to untangle yourself from your unwanted dance partner, who gave you both a polite nod, an irritating smirk never leaving his face before leaving.

“Are you alright little one?” His hands were cupping your face, thumbs tracing circles on your cheeks. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch.

“Drunken men and their wandering hands aren’t enough to upset me, Obi-Wan.”

“My brave girl.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead, pulling you closer to him. Your heart skipped a beat at the praise.

“What’s the trouble?”

“These men –“ he looked around, “tried to bid to have you, all day. Perry was the most insistent.”

“And?”

“No one will lay a hand on your as long you are mi- you are with me”.

He wanted to say mine. “You are mine”. Because you were, and you knew it, but he would not dare to call you as such yet. You said nothing and placed one hand on his shoulder, taking his hand in the other. He picked up on your unspoken requests, balancing his weight on his legs, and soon your head was resting on his chest as he tried to clumsily lead you to the rhythm of the music, trying to follow a melody neither of you knew. He may have stepped on your feet once or twice, but you didn’t mind. You looked up to his face and his gaze was already on yours, and your hand went from his shoulder to the back of his head, pushing it down to your neck because you couldn’t stand him looking at you like that without your stomach doings somersaults.

You looked up to the ceiling, the large mirror reflecting the dining hall, a whirlwind of people and tints and tones tangled together, mixed into an incoherent splatter of colours that made you dizzy. You tried to spot your own reflection, wondering what you’d look like in his arms, but you couldn’t make out a single face in the mist of the dancing crowd.

What you did spot, however, was the First Wife, her bright golden reflection standing out from the crowd, slightly apart. And then it clicked, and you were back in the present moment. The mission. The girls. The records. You whispered in his ear, your voice tinted with urgency.

“She spies on people. The mirror. We can’t wait until the end like we planned. We must slip away while the room is still full, it will make it harder to spot us.”

He agreed silently, and with a few more steps and twists and turns, gradually led you through the mass of dancers, towards to back door, and when you were far enough, you waited for that beat, that moment to sneak out of the dining hall in silence. Obi-Wan produced a computer system key from his pocket and lead you through corridors and stairs. “I spied on her when we got back earlier. Her quarters are above the halls,” he explained. And that where you went. You hoped his inebriety has lowered and kept your senses in alert as you arrived in a pink clay corridor, in front of a large wooden door. You trusted Obi-Wan that this was the right place, and when you found the control panel, he gave you the system key. You were fast enough, and with a little bit of guidance from the Force, managed to unlock the door.

“Be quick,” you whispered, and he slipped into the office, leaving you to guard the passage.

And he was quick, reappearing with a triumphant smile, slipping what appeared to be a holochip under his tunic. You proceeded to attempt to close the door, only for it to get stuck half way. To make matter worse, you could hear footsteps coming down the corridor, approaching at a steady pace. Calling on the Force to keep you grounded, you focused on the key turning in the panel, aware of all the notches position it went through. Then the door closed and locked, just as the footsteps were reaching you, a flash of golden yellow hinting something bad, and before you could think, you grabbed Obi-Wan’s hand and pulled him to you, pressing your back to the wall, your dress covering the still open control panel.

“What are you doing?”

“Covering us.”

You put your arms around his neck and pulled him for a kiss. He didn’t react at first, slightly dumbfounded and taken aback, but once he caught up to your thinking he snaked his arms around your waist and pressed himself further against you. His lips responded to your, engaging them in a silent conversation that only grew more heated at you heard the footstep stop. Your heart must have also stopped too, and you weren’t breathing anymore, too aware of the pair of eyes on the two of you, too excited by the tongue that was now requesting entrance to your mouth, and you granted. Conversations turned into a dance, tongues trying to dominate the other, teeth grazing and nipping at lips. You closed your eyes, this was all too much. And then he moved down to your neck, his tongue laving at the skin there, tracing kisses into a pattern down to your shoulder. You felt his hand reach behind you, down your leg, his body following his movement and his lips now nipping at the side of your arm. A slight tug on your dress, and he was reaching back up, his hand now dipping beneath the slip of your dress, pulling your leg to hook it around hip. His fingers kneaded the skin on your inner tight, and you gasped at his audacity, but when you felt something cold pressed again your skin, you realized he had removed the computer system key and secured it to your strap, next to your lightsaber.

You heard the footsteps again, their echo a diminuendo as they departed. And Obi-Wan heard it to, but he did nothing to pull away, and you did nothing either. Instead, his ministrations toned down, growing softer, turning into tender nipping at your jaw, timid kisses on each corners of your lips. You slowly withdrew your leg from his side and he sighed at the absence of contact. You kept your eyes shut, knowing that if you were to open them, the blue gaze that would meet you will be your end. So you waited until he relaxed his grip on your waste, his teeth grazing your skin one last time, and there was nothing left of the two jedi on a mission but panting bodies and hungry stares and cheeks flushed with blood and intertwined fingers. Then a scary thought crossed your mind – this meant nothing, this was just a cover, and you turned your face away, gently pushing him back. He released you, trying to regain his composure. You kicked the door of the control panel closed, and when you looked back at him, nothing on his face betrayed the events that just transpired – not even wet lips. He was all serious eyes and stern face, and you both agreed to head back to your quarters to contact the Council immediately.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

The holo-records Obi-Wan stole were sent via a secure pulse transmission to the council, which revealed that numerous high placed personalities from Republic planets were involved in this slave ring. The Senate thus took the matter in their hands, deciding to send their law reinforcement for arrests before the sales would be concluded at the end of the week. Obi-Wan and you were to leave the premises before things got dirtier, and a few standard hours later, you were both back in your Jedi robes, all lavish make-up and attire stored away in their original travel bag, like a circus would fold up its tent after a show. You stayed silent as Obi-Wan typed in the coordinated back to Coruscant, drawing your legs up to your chin in the co-pilot’s chair.

You turned the wedding band around your finger, the last piece of your costume you had not gotten yourself to remove yet, thoughts wandering around the symbolism and the implications that came with such a small piece of metal. Obi-Wan sensed your inner turmoil and, the autopilot engaged, turned his chair to face you, taking your hands in his.

“What is it, love?”

“The band. It is strange to think that two people fall in love, and the whole foundation of their trust, their intimacy, everything they share is held like a promise on one finger, and taking this away means taking everything away.”

“Very much like us, our lightsabers and the Order. It is but another token to a lifetime commitment.”

“We commit to a code, to a place, a lifestyle and the Force. But do we ever really commit to anyone? I feel like a fraud wearing it.”

He gave you a strange look, and you hoped he understood that you were not questioning your allegiance to the Order. Just where my heart belongs, you thought. He stayed silent, his fingers playing with said band, turning it around your finger. You couldn’t tell where this was coming from, thinking that your emotional ramble was no longer valid now that the mission was over and he would not understand why you suddenly felt so empty – because it means going back to being Jedi, and not unlawfully wed husband and wife. But then he pressed both your hands to his forehead, bending in front of you like he did that time he was crying over his fears in your room.

“Please don’t ever think what happened on that planet was meaningless. There is no one else in the galaxy with whom I would have wanted to indulge in this experience but you, and I would like to do it for as long as you’ll have me. If you’ll have me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and your thoughts had not caught up with your words when you blurted out:

“I want you Obi-Wan. Always.”

You pulled him up to you. His lips met yours again, and this time you knew it was real. It was soft at first, as if he never kissed you before, lips exploring lips and when he familiarized himself with the map of your curves and corners, his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, his tongue seeking yours. You opened your mouth to him, and he pulled you up, pressing your body into his and you melted a little as you became one with him. His arms wrapped you in a tight embrace and your hands found their way around his neck, in his hair, tugging the lock affectionately. He hummed in content, you sighed in relief.

You knew this could – would – mean long discussions about your values, the conflicting dichotomy between listening to your feelings but not indulging in them, that it would mean more secrets, stolen glances and forbidden touches, another perception of the time and space between you and him, parsecs and moons away from each other during missions. You smiled against his lips as you thought about how things always come in pairs; light and dark, moons and suns, seas and skies, days and night, and how maybe, you and him could be the two counterparts of your own binary system.

[quarantinebreakup412081121]

Day 1: Long Story Short It Was The Wrong Guy (AGAIN)

After nearly a year of being miserable after my ex and I broke up, and about 8  overlapping months of attempting to date, I finally met someone.

He seemed genuinely nice.  He met me at my neighborhood park and we walked his dog, around and around and around for probably a couple hours.  We talked nonstop- about 90% of the conversation was about our dogs.  We left and he hugged me goodbye (I turned to the side because- COVID- and I wasn’t expecting it... but it turns out he was vaccinated already) and said we’d do it again.

The next time he came to my house, met my dogs, and we walked his dog around my neighborhood. My dogs aren’t up for more than about a half a mile walk, so they stayed at home.  We talked and talked, we ended up back at the house before we were finished, so we re-walked half of the route, then walked part of the neighborhood beside mine.  By the time we got back, we still weren’t finished talking, but it was getting late.  We attempted the hug again.  He was vaccinated, I was going to be vaccinated the next month.  His dog lunged when we were going in for the hug and it ended up being kind of a 101 Dalmatians, tangled hug moment.  It was funny and a but awkward, but definitely memorable.

He said we’d do it again.

Then he asked me to go to his apartment so he could cook for me; he called it a date.  It was a little fast, but I made the hour long drive and went over for shrimp and fake meat tacos.  We also watched a movie.  It was nice.  He kissed me on the way out.  It was sweet.  I wasn’t sure that I wanted it to happen so soon, but I left with butterflies.

The next few dates alternated between him coming here to do outdoorsy things and me going to his apartment for a meal and a movie.  It was beginning to feel like a real relationship.

Over the next 5 months, he introduced me to all of his friends and we went to game nights together, coordinated to play video games with his friends when I went over, attended his friend’s post elopement wedding party, and he had me sign the photo matte that they had in place of a guest book.  It felt real, it felt solid, it felt like it would be long term and like he really cared about me.  It felt like the opposite of what I had with my ex.

He had me meet his dad.  He came over and met my family.  He said he’d go to Disney with me and he asked me to go skiing with him and his family.  He said he loved the beach and that it was his favorite place to go- so I anticipated multiple beach trips over the summer.  He listened to Taylor Swift with me, we watched dumb movies together, went grocery shopping and made Target runs together- aka “couple shit” as he called it.  I loved it.  I never got to do everyday couple activities with my ex.  He’d cook for me, I’d cook for him, he’d make random Taco Bell stops for me and he knew my order.

A few weeks ago, I finally decided to open up to him about some of my anxiety and worries.  I thought that the person I’d gotten to know over the last few months would be a person I could talk to and be real with- something I could never do with my ex unless I wanted to be judged and then ignored about it.  He listened, and attempted to offer a helpful response- which wasn’t really helpful, but he TRIED.  That was much more than I’d ever gotten from my ex.  A few days later, I went over to his apartment for the night.  We had dinner, it was off.  The conversation was off.  The movie was uncomfortable- like we were just sitting through it to get it over with.  He went to bed early but I was so wide awake that I sat in the living room playing on my phone and watching the storm outside for another 3 or 4 hours so I wouldn’t toss and turn in bed and keep him up sine he had to work in the morning.  In the morning, I had to drive home at 7am on only a few hours of sleep. I was cranky from that and the way the previous evening had panned out.

I laid in bed for a bit and snuggled his dog.  She’s so sweet.  She loves me and I love her-- so do my boys.  I laid there thinking “this feels like it might be the last time I ever see her...  so I just scratched her head and took a photo to remember the moment.

The goodbye was awkward, and I texted him when I got home and apologized for acting weird the night before and that morning.  I told him things felt off for some reason and laid out some things that were on my mind.  I thought open communication would be a good thing and that it would help him to understand my headspace and show him that I felt comfortable enough with him to talk to him  about these things.

The next week, he avoided hanging out with me.  The week after that, same story.  I asked him to come to a concert with me on a Sunday night- he said he’d love to if it wasn’t on a Sunday.  Then I asked him about another concert on the following Tuesday night- I jokingly asked him to play hooky from work and come with me.  He said he couldn’t- but I understood that; it made sense. I went out of town for the weekend to visit my brother and he said that we’d plan time to get together once I returned.  I returned and he mentioned nothing about getting together.  I brought it up once and he didn’t acknowledge it, but he still talked to me, just a lot less than usual.

The conversations we were having sounded like repeats of previous conversations- and I honestly don’t know if he didn’t remember telling me some of those things, but he liked to partake in a beer or two or three... pretty frequently- so I’m not certain that some of the time he talked to me, he wasn’t 100% there.  But that wasn’t the point- he was just sending me pleasantries and fillers as texts. No real conversation.

I started getting worried because my mind went to the worst possibility.  He was checking out.  We were done- or almost done.  I asked him if we were good because it seemed like we weren’t.  He said he was good and that work was just really rough lately and he was basically working and sleeping all the time.  All of my worries melted away and I instantly felt a sense of relief-- I had been worrying for nothing!  So I asked him if he had time for an evening hangout on Friday or Saturday or a different night if those didn’t work.  I’d come to him and bring food and we could watch a movie and veg out for a bit.

That was last night.

This morning I woke up early to go to a sunflower field to take some fun summer photos.  With covid apparently flaring up again, I was trying to find safe summer activities to do before the season’s over.  Since I couldn’t get my guy to go with me to basically anything, I decided I’d do the things he didn’t want to do with me on my own and do the other things with him.  It wasn’t so much a compromise as it was me just learning to be okay with having someone who didn’t want to take part in activities with me.  My mom went with me an we got some gorgeous photos.  I kept an eye on my phone expecting him to reply to my hangout request, because once he said yes- I’d also ask him to go with me to visit my brother in a couple weeks an have a fun beach weekend.

On the way home, I went through the drive thru at the bank and while I was waiting, I noticed my phone blinking.

It was a text.  From him.

I don’t think we’re a good match for each other.  There has been numerous occasions where you’ve said or done something (even in the name of “joking”) that hasn’t sat right with me.  I’m sure there have been times you felt the same about me as well.  I don’t want to waste any more of your time either.  I hope you find a man who is a better match for you.

First of all, what the actual fuck.  Secondly, there *have* been numerous occasions.  Third- I have no idea what I said or did...  Best I can muster is that since I’m pro equal rights and pretty liberal, maybe it came across as offensive because I think he has family members who are... trump-esque.  I barely brought up politics because I didn’t want to make things weird.  He is a cop and I never made jokes unless he did first (he’d regularly joke about cop stuff and talk about how he isn’t a typical cop and how he doesn’t like hanging out with other cops or doing cop stuff or even talking about cop stuff outside of work.)  He gave me a whole spiel about he’s not a “cop cop” when we first met, like he was trying to sell himself to me-- which  he didn’t need to do, but I thought it was cute.

I asked him if we could talk for a few minutes later in the day because I wasn’t understanding what was happening.  I told him that I wasn’t trying to change his feelings about anything, but I wanted to talk.  He totally blindsided me.

He never responded.

It’s basically midnight and he’s had most of the day to respond.  Five months and he can’t even give me an explanation.

This is what I get for trying to trust people.

Tomorrow- or later tonight- I’m sending one last text and blocking him.  He knew that’s how my ex ended things and how insensitive it was and how wrong it was.  We had this conversation.  And after five months, he just strings me along for the last few months and then ends things with a text.  So goddamn insensitive.

I know I’m better off without someone like him in my life, but this hurts so much more than the last time because at least my first ex was a jerk and it was on brand for him.  This one... my second ex... he was supposed to be better than this.  He was supposed to be nice.  He wasn’t supposed to hurt me, not like this.

[amillionmillionvoices]

13th doctor/river song for #river song appreciation day!!! this got wildly out of hand / pg13 (violence) / thank you to @mygalfriday for the cheerleading, and so so much to @atheneglaukopis for reading so many times and holding my hand and all our chats i couldn’t have written this without you <3 / word count: 29k jsyk

i am the distance you put between all of the moments that we will be

By the time they make it back to the TARDIS, by the time Yaz has put Graham in a chair and fetched cups of tea none of them drink; by the time the shouts and screams have faded into the quiet of the vortex, the hum of the TARDIS calming her mind enough to think clearly, she’s already come up with and discarded over a dozen plans.

There are schematics on the console screen, a brief history of the planet pulled up in text, words leaping out at her like prisoners of war and no survivors. Graham is quiet, sitting on one of the ledges, watching her. Yaz stands beside him, saying things like, we’ll get him back and the Doctor will figure it out, just give her a minute.

There’s a tightness in her chest that reminds her too much of failure—of Amy, dissolving into flesh on the console room floor; Clara, split into thousands of lives across all of time and space. She thinks of Donna, weeping, begging to stay, everyone alive but at what cost?

She glances at the screen, the running text, absorbs phrases as they scroll by like fiercest guards in the galaxy and no aptitude for negotiation.

She knows what she needs to do. Has known, from the moment Yaz stumbled into the TARDIS, breathless, her hair singed and a streak of dried blood on her arm and said, “They took him. They took Ryan.”

But knowing is different from moving. From careening around the console and pulling the lever that will put them into flight, put them on this path—put her on this path—that once she’s on, she can’t avoid.

It will change history. Their history.

The thought makes her eyes sting and her throat close and there has to be another way, someone else she can call.

She can’t do this to her, not again. She shouldn’t.

It’s not just history, but her history, their history, their past coming back to haunt them. She has her suspicions, but there’s no reason to tell her friends, not yet. In case she’s wrong—but she glances at the readouts again, reminding her:

Kushiel—the Angel of Punishment.

It’s a terrible idea.

But there’s another, quiet part of her, a nudging in her mind that sounds suspiciously like the TARDIS, that whispers of opportunity. Of chance. Timelines swirl in her head and she thinks she could do it, somehow—thinks they could have this, that she could see her, and keep everything intact. She doesn’t know how, exactly. But it’s there, a cruel whisper.

And then there’s Ryan. And Yaz, and Graham, staring at her expectantly, with all the trust they haven’t learned yet how to break.

She needs time, but there isn’t any. She needs help, but there’s only one person she trusts.

Cuing in the coordinates, she stares at them for a long moment, hand hovering over the lever.

“Doc?”

It’s Graham, his voice trembling.

She drops her hands and turns to them, holds her hands together in front of her to keep them from shaking.

“Right, fam. We’re going to need some help.”

Yaz moves closer, and Graham follows, and they stare at the coordinates, though they mean nothing to them, and everything to her.

“Help from who?” Graham asks.

The Doctor opens her mouth, the words nearly tumbling out without regard. She turns away so they can’t see her jaw move, biting the name back in. “An old friend,” she says.

She can feel Yaz’s hesitation. “He’s not… your last old friend, yeah?”

Graham snorts despite himself, and the Doctor flinches, covers it with a twirl and a wide smile. “Nah, she’s much better.”

“Who is she?” Graham asks. “Can we trust her?”

The Doctor swallows, her smile falling away, the lump in her throat so thick she can barely push the words out. “I’d trust her with my life.” With everything, she thinks.

Graham nods. “Well then, let’s go get her.”

The Doctor nods. She hesitates, just a moment, just long enough for Yaz to ask, “Doctor?” before she takes a deep breath, and sends the TARDIS into flight.

—

Luna is exactly how she remembers it. 51st century technology, disguised to look like 14th century architecture. The hallways are wide, the arches high, and it smells like old books.

“Are we on Earth?” Yaz asks, looking around, and the Doctor shakes her head, shutting the TARDIS door behind them.

“The moon. 51st century.”

“Then why does it look like Oxford?”

“Nostalgia,” the Doctor says, walking a familiar path, muscle memory dragging her down the hallways even as her mind and hearts reel in protest. She wants to run. Wants to turn back to the TARDIS and fly away and pretend they’ve never come here, that she’d never said a word.

But Graham is behind her, and Ryan is not, and she pushes forward, winding down a staircase, maneuvering around humanoids and aliens alike. No one pays them any attention—they don’t look any more or less out of place than anyone else, and she focuses on Yaz and Graham’s quick footsteps behind her, trying to level her breathing to the sound of theirs.

“Is this a school?” Yaz asks, and the Doctor nods, and rattles off information about the University—when it was built, how many students, famous discoveries and anything else she can think of to keep her mind distracted as they get closer and closer.

She thinks she should have parked elsewhere, saved herself the long walk through familiar halls, but she’d needed the time to center herself, to swallow down the bile in her throat.

“So your friend, she’s a student?” Graham asks, somewhat skeptical.

“Professor.”

“Of what?”

“Archaeology.”

Graham frowns. “How’s an archaeologist going to help us get Ryan back?”

“Not just any old archaeologist,” the Doctor promises, just as they turn the corner, and the Doctor can see her office at the end of the hall, the door shut. The door is rarely shut. The only time she remembers she ever closed her office door, it was because she was with a student, or with him, and she remembers so abruptly—pinning her against her desk, his hands wandering, her lips on his neck, her breathless laughter—“You’re going to get me fired!”—her first day, but she’d been so irresistible, in a pencil skirt and bright red blouse, red lipstick to match, her hair wild around her face and he’d grinned—“No, I’m not.”—and she’d moaned softly, his lips on her neck, “Isn’t that spoilers?” and he’d chuckled, slipped a hand under her skirt.

The Doctor slams her eyes shut and shakes her head quickly, dislodging the memory.

There’s a new desk sitting outside it, with a short woman with four arms behind it, typing frantically on multiple computers.

She looks up as they approach, takes in their gait, their severe expressions, and immediately shakes her head before the Doctor can even open her mouth.

“Professor Song is in a meeting.”

“Professor Song doesn’t take meetings in her office,” the Doctor counters, and the woman blinks, startled.

“She’s asked not to be disturbed.”

“So she’s in, then?”

The woman purses her lips. “She’s not available.”

“She’ll want to be. Tell her The Doctor is here.”

“Doctor what?”

The Doctor glances over her shoulder at Yaz and Graham. “I hate it when they say that.”

The woman ignores her, turns back to her computers and types with lightning speed on three of them, eyes flitting between the screens faster than a human could ever be capable of.

“What’s your business with Professor Song?” She gives them all an assessing look. “You’re not students.”

“How do you know?”

“No textbooks,” she says flatly.

“Right, you got us. I’m an old friend.” The words stick in her mouth.

The woman—a little sign on her desk says T’unera D’galaati, Administrative Assistant, Department of Archaeology—shakes her head. “You’re not on the registered list of acquaintances.”

“Since when does she have a list of acquaintances?”

T’unera glares. “If you were a friend you’d know that,” she says smartly, and the Doctor likes her instantly. Turning back to the computers, she announces, “If you tell me your name and point of business I can schedule you for an appointment next week.”

“Too far away,” the Doctor says, “I need to see her now.”

“Too bad,” T’unera says, “She’s not available.”

The Doctor eyes the distance to the door, thinks she could probably get there before T’unera could get up.

She looks back at Yaz and Graham, then eyes the door. Then looks back.

Yaz steps up immediately, clearing her throat and trying very obviously not to stare at T’unera’s many fingers.

“It’s important,” she says. “We need her help. My friend, he’s—in trouble.”

The Doctor inches out of her way, slightly closer to the door.

“I’m afraid your friend will have to wait until next Tuesday, at 11:15am.”

Graham shakes his head. “We can’t wait. He’s in danger. Doc says the professor can help us. He’s my grandson.”

“My condolences,” T’unera says without looking up.

The Doctor moves further to the side as Yaz and Graham approach the desk.

“Do you have family?” Graham asks, and T’unera scoffs.

“Of course I have family. I’m Abergarrean.”

Abergarrean, the Doctor thinks—hatched from eggs, hundreds of siblings, communal parenting, other stuff.

“So… you’d do anything for your family, yeah?” Graham asks, and T’unera sighs.

“Your attempts at pathos are endearing but misguided. I am merely a receptionist. My responsibility is Professor Song’s schedule, and since you are not approved acquaintances, I’m going to have to ask you to either make an appointment or leave the premises—”

She’s mid-speech when the Doctor bolts toward the door. She makes it two feet when a hand clamps around her wrist and drags her back in a vice grip. Yaz and Graham make startled noises, and the Doctor looks back to find T’unera still in her seat, one long, stretchy arm holding her back.

“Abergarrean,” the Doctor sighs, remembering suddenly their propensity for flexible limbs. The Doctor struggles, but T’unera doesn’t release her.

“I’m calling security,” she says, and with one of her other hands, presses a button on her desk.

“There’s no need for that—” the Doctor says, at the same time Graham finally cracks,

“We need to speak to the professor. My grandson’s life is in danger and the Doc says she can help and I don’t care what you say we’re going to speak to her—”

“Graham, don’t—” the Doctor says, at the same time he tries to push past. T’unera reaches out another long arm and grabs him, and he struggles, hard.

“Let me go!”

“Graham!”

“T’unera, please, there’s no need for this—” the Doctor tries, and then there are two men in anachronistic suits rounding the corner, and Graham’s yelling and Yaz is yelling and the door behind them opens and there’s a voice that makes the Doctor’s hearts stop beating.

“Is it too much to ask, T’unera, for one hour of peace and quiet?”

She isn’t angry, just long suffering, almost slightly amused, and T’unera—still holding the Doctor and Graham—turns to her with a chagrined look.

“I’m very sorry, Professor, these interlopers—” She tightens her grip on them both. “—are refusing to leave. I’ve called security, so there’s no need for you to—”

“River.”

She doesn’t mean to speak, doesn’t mean for her voice to break. Doesn’t mean to stare and stare but she can’t help it. River is there, right in front of her, in slacks and a blouse, unbuttoned to be just shy of appropriate. Her hair is pulled back from her face, her nails painted a light shade of pink, she’s leaning just slightly to one side, her nostrils flare slightly and she turns her gaze to the Doctor, all at once staring at her without an ounce of recognition and it hurts. More than the Doctor ever thought it could, more than she imagined. It isn’t even the lack of familiarity—she was prepared for that—but just seeing her, alive and whole and breathing when she’s not, when she’s dead and she’s been dead for so long, and the Doctor wants nothing more than to run to her, to bury her face in her neck and never let go.

River appraises her slightly, clinically, with an air of disinterest the Doctor knows is a farce. “Do I know you?”

She opens her mouth to reply, to say something, anything, and then Yaz, sweet Yaz, fumbles,

“She’s the Doctor. She has a new face, but she’s the Doctor. You know her.”

Time stands still. In the background, she can feel the security guards hovering. She knows Graham is still struggling under T’unera’s grip. She knows Yaz is looking between them, but everything has faded into the background. Everything is just noise. There’s just River, and her bright eyes, her frown. She turns back from Yaz to the Doctor and stares, eyes roaming over her face, her body, back up. She can see when it dawns on her, sees the recognition slip into her gaze, and she almost wilts in relief.

And then there’s nothing. No warmth, no joy, no sweetness or kindness. She knows her, the Doctor can tell she does, but she stares at her like she means nothing, and the Doctor can’t breathe. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can feel her hearts lurch and pain spikes through her chest and she doesn’t understand. Her whole body aches and she searches River’s gaze for something, anything—the last time she saw her, the morning on Darillium, she stared at him with such devotion, sadness, too, but it was anchored by love, so much love and now there’s nothing, and she can’t breathe.

“Get out.”

continued on ao3

[notcanoncompliant]

can i request a fic where peter is in the military and when he comes home hes surprises his husband tony and his daughter morgan ? love your work xoxo

I've never written a kid!fic before, thank you for the challenge! I hope you enjoy 💕

Background:

> Age difference; Tony’s in his mid-late forties, Peter’s like 28-29.

> Pepper’s been friends with Tony for a million years, she carried Morgan for Peter & Tony (Tony is Morgan’s bio-dad)

> Tony’s still Tony Stark, he’s just not Iron Man. Pepper runs SI, Tony works/signs things/attends meetings from home so he can take care of Morgan

> Peter does IT for the government, gets contracted for military assignments

***

Don't Wanna Miss A Thing

The weather’s nice; chilly (but not too chilly) with sunshine spilling everywhere, glinting off iridescent birthday streamers and the few glittery party hats abandoned by a couple of Morgan’s friends in the grass and on the picnic table.

Tony’s hanging a little ways back from the party, watching Morgan run around with her friends. This is one of those times he’s grateful the other parents are a little (read: a lot) intimidated by Morgan’s pretty-much-celebrity father; it means he gets a few minutes of moping before he has to pull himself together and act like a person again.

He’s been trying, really trying, not to let too much of his sadness and frustration leak into his time with Morgan, but it’s hard. Peter was supposed to be coming home on leave for three weeks (!!!), but the military analyst powers-that-be had apparently needed him for just a little longer, another classified project that couldn’t wait.

It’s not the first time Peter’s had to cancel plans because of duty, but this would’ve been the first time Peter was home for Morgan’s birthday since the actual day of her birth, and Tony wishes there was something to rail against, something he could do. He would, but his husband loves his work and Tony would never put that in jeopardy or ask him to stop.

It’d be easier, though, if Tony were allowed to know where his husband is. Peter’s work usually falls under the ‘classified’ category nature. That in itself wouldn’t stop him...but Peter's forbidden him from looking up the locations. The uncertainty drives Tony nuts sometimes (all the time), but he’s been good.

(...and when he’s having a hard time being good, he has Pepper on emergency speed-dial as a safeguard to help talk him out of doing it; just another reason Tony’s grateful for her presence in their lives)

A familiar hand lands on his shoulder, squeezes once. He glances over as Pepper lowers herself onto the bench beside him.

“If you keep showing me affection, they might think it’s okay to talk to me,” Tony says, gesturing subtly to the other parents standing off a little ways away.

Pepper just gives him a fondly exasperated look, to which Tony shrugs. He knows she won’t give him actual flack; the PTA crew don’t really know what to do with themselves around a powerhouse like Virginia Potts, CEO.

“You know, you could take a page out of Morgan’s book,” she says quietly.

Tony heaves a breath, looks out at where Morgan’s running around with her friends.

They’re laughing and yelling and generally raising hell in their own little corner of the park, most of them in their wonderfully gaudy party hats, smacking each other with various foam weapons (Morgan wanted a warrior princess party; it’s the first childrens’ party Tony’s had to distribute liability waivers for, and he has a sneaking suspicion it won’t be the last). Morgan’s smile is as sunny as the weather, her cheeks pink from the cold as she begins to lead some kind of charge on the jungle gym.

He shrugs. “I don’t think the other parents would appreciate me beating their children with foam toys. Unfair advantages, you know. Better hand eye coordination. Longer limbs.”

Pepper huffs a laugh. “You know what I mean.”

Tony does know. Morgan always handles Peter’s absence with a grace Tony admires (and that she definitely got from Pepper). He worries about his glum mood running her over, does his best to be honest with her without making her carry his weight. She’s strong; strong and light and weirdly wise for someone so young (she gets all of that from Peter, no doubt, even without a genetic connection), and Tony’s so afraid to ruin that.

“I’m not dragging her down, am I?” he hears himself ask.

There’s a soft sigh from beside him as Pepper’s fingers lace through his.

“You’re not. You know you’re not,” she says, squeezing his hand. “You’re not handling it as poorly as you think, and it’s good for her to see you miss your husband. It’s always good for her to see that you’re only human.”

Tony just nods, not trusting himself to speak. It doesn’t lessen the ache, but he’s grateful nonetheless.

He tilts his head to rest on his friend’s shoulder, shuts his eyes. “Don’t know what we’d do without you, Pep.”

“You’d do alright,” she says, a smile in her voice.

It’s nice, letting himself feel. Not so much that he’s in danger of sobbing in a public park, but enough to acknowledge the weight in his chest, the soreness of disappointment, the gentle sting of love across a vast distance. To just lean there for a minute, temple pressing against the wool of Pepper’s jacket, just breathing…

“Papa!!”

Tony stiffens, opens his eyes, tries to process the rush of disbelief and hope.

No...It’s not...please be what I--please--

Morgan’s flying towards he and Pepper, but the giant smile on her face is directed somewhere past the park bench entirely, and Tony’s heart leaps into his throat.

He turns around in time to see Peter, resplendent in his G-man standard suit, striding towards them across the grass, a grin clear on his face. The stride turns into a jog turns into a sprint, and Peter collides, laughing, with their daughter, swings her up in the air before pulling her into a tight hug.

As Tony watches the display, he feels acutely all six months his husband’s been gone; the short phone calls a couple times a week, the video calls less frequently than that. Feels it all like a firestorm in his chest, his gut. Every sappy private moment, every night he curled up around a pillow sprayed with a little of Peter’s cologne.

He’s up, behind the bench and across the grass so fast he feels breathless.

Morgan’s got her arms around Peter, her face buried in his neck, and Peter’s eyes are red-rimmed and damp, his smile trembling just a little. Tony absolutely fails at keeping himself together as he kisses his husband hard, an almost painful press of lips, before pulling back and pressing their foreheads together.

“Hey, G-man,” he says, sniffing hard, grinning through his tears, “glad you could make it.”

Peter huffs a delighted laugh, kisses him again, cups the nape of Tony’s neck with his free hand and just...keeps him close.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

***

Extra -- I might come back to this 'verse, or one like it. Super basic plot idea: When Tony finds out his husband's been taken hostage, and that Peter's work for the government isn't what Tony had thought, he becomes Iron Man to save the love of his life.

***

Everything Tag List: @the-amazing-spidertwink, @starkercrossedlovers, @hoeforthegays, @silkystark

[blahblahwritings]

Contracts and Captains - III.

A/N: I’m definitely making this a Billy fic sorry lmao. 

Words: 1844

Warnings: Drinking and vomit.

It had been a month since Mr Gates had approached you and you had returned to him with a lead each week for them to hunt, bringing them and yourself plenty of money. You’d given them merchant ships carrying dyes, spices, tobacco, sugar and more that turned a favourable profit when brought back which didn’t go unnoticed by Miss Guthrie. Although you hadn’t talked since the job she needed, she seemed to have let the whole ordeal go after learning you were part of the reason Flint was bringing in more prizes.

The Walrus had returned early this morning and so you were currently walking down to the beach as they unloaded their cargo, hoping to find Flint or Gates to hand them another lead. It had taken a little while for you to find one this time so you had sent letters to some old friends in Port Royal asking for information which you were hoping would bear fruit. If not, you may very well be hunting out new employment.

The sun was still low as you found the crew, tired but in high spirits. They were laughing as they worked, and you’d caught word of a celebration at the tavern tonight as you passed by them to the old wooden dock. A longboat was slowly advancing toward the shore, the familiar faces of the captain and quartermaster among a couple of other crew members sat inside. You shot a friendly smile as they climbed out and quickly moved to join them.

“Another successful haul?” You chimed, gesturing to the surrounding crates and chests. The captain gave a small smirk, squinting against the light of the sun as Gates chuckled.

“Couldn’t have done it without your intel Miss Devereux, accurate as usual.” Mr gates clapped you on the back and you playfully rolled your eyes. “I assume you have our next target.” Flint said flatly. As much as you had proved they could trust you, he seemed a little cold to you since day one. He would give small smiles and be civil but never deviated into any kind of action that could be misconstrued as friendship. He preferred this to be more... professional. You were used to it with the men who would give you one off contracts but never in long-term work.

“I do, captain, here.” You dug through your pouch tied to your thick leather belt and handed him a piece of paper with times and coordinates scrawled across it. He inspected the page with furrowed brows before handing it to Mr Gates and nodded his thanks. “I have to take care of some business, I trust you’ll organise this, Gates. Excuse me.” He spoke briefly before leaving for the town.

“We appreciate you working for us, the crew are, of course, very happy with the results and if you’d like to meet them, I believe they’re having a celebration tonight if you’re interested.” He cocked a brow. The invitation was a little unexpected, seeing as the captain obviously seemed to be apprehensive about you. “Flint is Flint, he keeps everyone at a distance, you shouldn’t feel put off by it. You deserve a drink with the crew you’ve been working for and they should know who you are. Lord knows they’re curious having watched our little talks. If not for yourself, do it for me, I’m sick of the questions.” He laughed lightheartedly though you could tell there was some truth to his exhaustion with the crew. A chuckle left you. “Fine, but I’m not getting drunk.”

--

You were drunk. You’d damn the crew all to hell if you weren’t having such a good time. Gates had brought you along and introduced you to the men who were almost all intoxicated before you’d even arrived so they took to you very quickly, the armourer, Logan throwing an arm around your shoulders and offering you drinks. You drank for free mostly, the men refusing to let you pay as ‘a sign of their appreciation for your leads’.

So here you were, sitting in the corner of the tavern, singing your heart out to some old shanty alongside the others, feeling like part of the crew yourself as the room swayed. Your mug was empty and you’d made the decision that if the room was moving as you were still, you shouldn’t drink any more. Then there was a bang as another mug of rum was put in front of you. You half grimaced, half cackled as you took it, sipping the dark liquid despite your head telling you otherwise.

This was going to be a disaster tomorrow. The moon was high in the sky as you stood from the table, walking outside in pursuit of some fresh air. You were leaning against the wall of the tavern, desperately trying to get the floor to stay straight as someone walked toward you.

“I’m assuming they’re having quite the night by the looks of you.” An unfamiliar voice sounded above you. It took everything you had to stand up straight and look at the man. He was tall, far taller than the others and he wore an old shirt, sleeves rolled to the tops of his arms. His arms, Jesus, they were big. You’d have been ashamed of staring at them for so long had you been sober but those thoughts quickly faded as you met his eyes. Your body wobbled and you pressed your shoulder against the wall to keep you upright. “I’m Billy Bones, Boatswain.” He introduced, scanning you to ensure you weren’t just going to tumble right there.

“Try sayn’ tha three times” You slurred with a giggle. He scoffed, a smirk apparent on his face, knowing you were trashed. “Am ‘Lizbeth Devreux” You smiled at him, offering a hand to him in greeting but stumbling in the process. He quickly steadied you, hands on your shoulders. You tried to play it off as if you were perfectly sober but, well, you weren’t at all. Your stomach lurched and you pushed away from him, turning and falling to your knees unceremoniously. You wretched twice before the contents of your stomach made an appearance onto the sandy floor. Billy’s nose scrunched up at the stench but knelt beside you, pulling your hair back so it didn’t get caught in the mess. You kept bringing up the liquids from the long night  for a few more seconds before collapsing back onto your behind, head leaning against the wood.

A groan of discomfort left you as you were forced to open your eyes again, the feeling of being spun threatening to make you vomit again. Billy gave you a pitiful smile and grabbed your hand, hoisting you up off the floor. “Let’s get you some food.” He said.

“I’m sorry ’m such a mess, I don’ usually get in this state.” You said slightly clearer than before, finding your footing. You hated that you’d just vomited in front of the boatswain of all the crew and he was handsome too which made it worse in your head. Another lighthearted scoff from him. “It’s alright, I guess you’ll just owe me one.” He jeered, raising his eyebrows at you and you laughed. “Deal.” You replied.

He had a hand outstretched behind your back, not touching but there just in case you were to fall again. Walking back into the tavern and through the crowd, you both found a seat at the bar and he ordered you some warm stew and bread. Stopping him as he went to pay with a few coins, you took out your own money and handed it to the barman.

“You’ve done enough and the crew have been paying for my drinks all night at least let me buy my own food.” You insisted. A smile found its way on his face as he nodded. You grazed at the meal, the feeling of it filling you taking away some of the nausea and decided to strike up a conversation. “Why aren’t you drinking with the rest of them?” You questioned, blowing lightly on a spoonful before eating it. His lips were brought into a tight line for a moment.

“I don’t drink very often and I’ve learned from past mistakes that drinking with the men has… painful outcomes.” He gave you another glance and a small smile. You snorted, looking away for a moment towards the crew, Logan was making his way over, bumping and crashing into every table and chair in his path until he reached you.

“Trus’ Billy Bones to take the lady to dinner.” He prodded, beaming. Your eyebrows flew up, nearly choking on your next bite. Billy rolled his eyes and looked at the armourer. “That is not what this is, I’m just making sure she was still in one piece after a night with you lot.” The taller man returned as you looked between the two of them. “Well res’ assured we’ve invited her into the crew with open arms and plenty o’ rum, she's a fine drinker and keeps up with the best of us.” Logan shot you a wink and a pat on the shoulder. “Now, if y’don’t mind I’m gon go see my beloved Charlotte.” His speech slurred as he turned on his heel and headed through the crowd and across the street to the brothel.

“Well, good to know I kept up.” You laughed, turning and finishing the last of the stew. The world was surely spinning a lot less and you thanked Billy for looking after you. “What did he mean? Trust you to take a lady to dinner?” He sighed and his shoulders slumped as he looked back at you with a look that said ‘please don’t’. This only led you to be more curious, cocking an eyebrow and leaning in slightly. “Come on, you wouldn’t leave a lady in suspense would you?” A snigger left you as you teased him, knowing that you were anything but a lady. He snorted, the recent memory of you puking your guts up just an hour ago replaying in his head.

“The men like to joke, I just don’t think women should be bought, I mean good for them because they make a living and all but I prefer to earn their fondness.” He explained, a light blush on his cheeks as he stood. You tried not to smirk or laugh, your mouth struggling to stay in a straight line not because it was funny but because it took you by surprise, a big burly pirate wooing a girl with wine and chivalry. “Don’t- Please don’t laugh.” He chuckled, throwing his head back and betraying himself.

“No! No, it- you just shocked me a little. I don’t usually take pirates for the romantic type.” You grinned. “It’s sweet really.” You added hoping to reassure him. He huffed out another sigh.

“Come on, you should probably go get some rest.” He didn’t look you in the eye as he led you to your room, leaving you to sober up for the night.