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echoingbirdsofprey · 10 hours ago

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Lightning On My Lips (Every Time You Kiss Me)

23 - Still Ain't Sold Out

Pairing: Tyler Owens x OFC Georgia Tennley-Owens

Rating: Explicit (MDNI!)

Warnings: baby talk mostly because Tyler is worried about his wifey, teasing smut but not actual smut

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I've been sick! Please enjoy! Comments, like, reblogs as always are so appreciated! Merry Christmas y'all!

Tags: @djs8891 @gpsmississippihippie

“I need you to promise me that you’ll be super careful.” Georgia said, her grip tight on Tyler’s biceps.

“Darlin’ I will be. It’ll just be a little tornado if anything. Looks like it’s movin’ just north of here. Won’t even be gone a whole day.” He kissed her urgently, passionately, as if it might be the last. Georgia hated that, because she felt it too. But she had to tell herself he’d be back in no time and he’d be fine. It wouldn’t be dangerous. It couldn’t be.

“And I’m gonna miss you every second you’re gone.” Georgia’s voice was stiff, and if Tyler was feeling the same, it didn’t come out in his voice. It came out as tension in his shoulders. It came out as his hips pressed closer to hers. It came out as his hands squeezing her ass and knotting his fingers in the hem of her shirt.

“Same, Peach. Dustin will be in and out if you need help.” Tyler said, steadiness there. His phone vibrated and rang in his back pocket. He heard the hum of the other diesel engine pulling up. It was Boone in the new truck. Tyler ignored his phone and backed up toward the door.

“I have a friend trailering her horse over to take a lesson.” Georgia added as she followed, plastered to Tyler. Her hands wound around his neck now, not wanting to let him go.

“Yeah? That’s great. Let me know how it goes. This the same girl who was interested in boarding the horse here?” Tyler asked, peppering kisses along her neck. God, did he want to stay. Especially now that he was almost out the door, and that he knew his team was all here, waiting.

“Yup, so maybe she’ll just stay and then we’ll get a nice chunk of change to pay for the horses with. Are you taking Grits?” Georgia affirmed and the little red dog, upon hearing his name, rocketed off the couch and slid to a sit at Tyler’s feet.

“Should I?” He asked, his fingers dipping below the waistband of her pants. She gasped and murmured his name, which made him smirk and press his lips to hers again.

“I think he might be more sad than I will be.” Georgia joked, returning his needy kiss. She let her arms fall, fingers following the hard plane of his chest, and stopping at his belt. She tugged at it.

“Very funny.” Tyler said, his voice taking on an edge, an undertone that she knew all too well.

“I’m kidding. You should take him. He does get sad when you don’t. He’s your dog after all. He chose you.” Georgia murmured as her fingers dipped under his shirt, toying with the happy trail up to his belly button. Tyler had a dusting of hair all around it that she sure did like the feel of underneath her hands.

“That why he tries to eat only my boots?” Tyler mused as she glanced down at the red puppy. His tail wagged excitedly and he poked Tyler’s leg with his snout. Tyler laughed and his eyes flicked back to Georgia’s. There, in her pretty blue eyes, he saw light, but when he looked deeper he knew there was a sprinkle of sadness. He knew why, and he hated that it was because of him.

“He likes your stinky feet.” She said, grinning and stretching up toward him.

“Hey! My feet aren’t stinky!” He exclaimed, pulling her in close one more time. He tugged her tightly against him, his well muscled form caging her in. Everything about it comforted her in that moment. His body heat that she could feel through his shirt, the tautness of his muscles and the brush of his skin, his earthy, worn leather scent, and the warmth of his breath melding with hers.

“No, they smell like flowers for sure.” She smiled wide, and he reflected that back, his eyes softening. He sighed heavily.

“Gee, I love you. I do. I really do.” He kissed the top of her head and the hug became unyielding, and she wanted it to become unending, but she knew it couldn’t. If she didn’t make him go now, he couldn’t get his shit done. He'd miss this tornado and they really needed a good one. She wiggled and he released her.

“Mmm Ty...I love you too. Now get goin’ so you can come back to me quicker.” She kissed him, her lips soft and warm on his. He groaned, not wanting to go but knowing he had to.

“Yes ma’am.” Tyler said, stealing just one more touch of their lips, his fingers intertwining with her once more and then slipping from hers. He grabbed his hat, placing it upon his head, and he snapped his fingers, gaining Grits’ attention. The puppy leapt toward him and Tyler shooed him out the door. Georgia followed, stepping out onto the porch. She waved at the team and they waved back.

As Tyler climbed into his truck, heaving Grits into the passenger seat, he looked back longingly and tipped his hat. He decided then in that moment, staring back at his very pregnant wife, that this was the last chase for a while. He couldn’t break his own heart like this again. He absolutely couldn’t leave her, even if it was only for a day or two again.

🌪️⛈️🌪️

The hum of the two diesels resonated through the live feed and Boone and Kate did the majority of the talking. The chat had gone wild seeing that Tyler was actually on a chase and that he had brought Grits, who was absolutely soaking up all the attention. The little red puppy had his paws on the drive side door and his nose out the window. Tyler had his arm relaxed on the door, ready to catch the pup if he tried to jump out, but Grits had no intention of doing so. He was happy to be with Tyler, his human, and taking in all the sights and smells that came with it.

Tyler on the other hand, actually looked miserable. Kate had the camera trained on herself for the majority of the chase, because when she panned over to Tyler, he’d given the viewers the most fake smile she’d ever seen him offer. As both trucks sped to their destination, a modest EF1 tornado that was bearing down on a field in the north eastern part of Braman, Kate muted their feed and pointed it toward the tornado they were about to intercept. They wanted to head it off before it crossed into Kansas.

“Are you okay, Tyler?” She asked, and his glance said it all. Kate pursed her lips. “You miss her.”

“She's pregnant. And not a little pregnant, like a lot. I shouldn't be leaving her alone. What if somethin’ happens?” Tyler's voice was unsteady and Kate reached over, placing a hand on his arm comfortingly.

“She'll be okay. She's tough. I know you know that.” Kate said. Tyler shook his head but she could see the worry in his brows still. Kate had thrown herself into her work, not allowing herself to get too attached to anyone, but she remembered how her heart ached when she was away from Jeb for any long periods of time. She still missed him so much.

“Yeah I know she is but I just don't feel right. Leavin’ her alone I mean...” Tyler said softly, his voice filled with longing.

“Well Dustin is there isn't he?” Kate affirmed.

“Yeah but I'm not.” Tyler said.

“Tyler, you don't need to carry such a heavy burden all the time. “ Kate was having trouble keeping the camera focused then as they had begun to slow down.

“I just don't want her to stress.” Tyler murmured, turning the truck toward the empty field where they were getting ready to intercept.“And I don't wanna go on chases and get caught up and miss my kid's growin’ up.”

“We're all gonna make sure that doesn't happen. If you have to go down to part time chasing to make it work, we'll figure it out between all of us. Besides, we all wanna see those kids grow up too.” Kate said, and then as Tyler turned into the field, Kate added one more quip. “I think you're more stressed out about being away from her than anything else, anyway.”

🌪️⛈️🌪️

The trailer had pulled up just in time for the rain that had begun to die down. Georgia stepped out onto the porch as the last of the clouds cleared, Pancake and Waffles following her. Dustin was out in the barn, finishing up feeding the horses dinner and picking out their stalls for the night. Tyler, being the excellent husband he was, had installed lights around the arena, so that as they came into winter, Georgia could still work horses into the night if she had to.

The slender blond girl that exited the truck had been a student of Georgia’s a long time ago when she was on the rodeo circuit and the girl was a teenager trying to get more competitive and move into the 1D barrels. Now, Ophelia Lynn-Lee, was a 1D barrel racer with a string of horses instead of just one, trying to do what Georgia had done successfully for many years. She was trying to qualify for the National Finals Rodeo. Who better to help her than Georgia?

Her boyfriend, a steer wrestler and roper named Lennon Reed, had come with her and Georgia thought he had probably hoped to meet Tyler too. Lennon had been just starting his roping career when Tyler had his accident. It steered Lennon away from ever riding bulls. He knew he could get hurt just as bad roping if he didn’t pay attention, but there was less of a chance.

Ophelia hugged Georgia warmly and congratulated her on getting married, on buying the farm, and on her and Tyler expecting their first kid. Lennon introduced himself and did the same.

“I always knew it’d be you and Tyler. The internet is a little jealous.” Ophelia said with a grin and Georgia laughed.

“I saw your comments on one of the videos. I say have Lennon take some video of you ridin’ and post it for all those jealous girlies.” Georgia mused and Ophelia couldn't help the laugh that came from her. They headed to the back of the trailer then, to grab Ophelia and Lennon's horses. There was a big red quarter horse gelding, named Poplar, that Ophelia ran barrels on but could also use for roping and cow work if she needed to. Then there were the thoroughbreds. There was the big brown mare, Vesper, and her little gray gelding, Frog, who was her NFR hopeful. Lennon's horse Kylo was a thickly built dun mustang with ‘primitive’ markings, a dorsal stripe down his back, and tiger stripes on his legs.

As Ophelia and Lennon tied their horses to the side of the trailer and began tacking them up, Georgia checked her phone. She had a few more messages about barrel racing lessons from girls who she used to help. They were looking for boarding, training, and coaching at races. If Ophelia decided after today that she wanted to board, they'd be full. They'd need a wait list. Or Tyler would need to build more sheds or stalls. She knew he would, but she didn't want to ask. That was too much at the moment. She looked at her phone again. She had a text from him.

Tyler: home in a bit, chase was a bust, kinda pissed I left for nothin

She replied with a heart and a kissing emoji. He then replied back with the same. Just as Ophelia was getting ready to get on, Dustin had exited the barn.

“Need help with anythin’ else, Georgia?” He asked and she shook her head.

“No, no, Dustin. You go rest. I can do night check. I'm gonna wait up for Tyler anyway.” She explained and he nodded. He went to head toward the house and Georgia turned and yelled back to him. “There's chili in the crockpot! Help yourself!” Dustin thanked her and headed in the house for the night. She was extremely thankful for Dustin, because she was getting to the point in her pregnancy where there were things she wasn't going to be able to keep doing.

Ophelia sat on Poplar first and had Lennon warming up her other horse Vesper. She paid Georgia for two hours of her time, so she wanted to be efficient about it. She'd do a half hour on Poplar, a half hour on Vesper, and use the last hour for Frog.

“So...what's your goal with each horse?” Georgia asked as Ophelia walked around atop Poplar.

“Well, Poplar, I'd like to just maintain his fitness. Vesper, I want as a backup to Frog. Frog...I think he can be my NFR horse.” She explained and Georgia nodded as she walked around the arena, making sure the barrels were all where they were supposed to be for the pattern. She couldn't lift them, but she could roll them if needed, and luckily she didn't need to.

“Can both of your horses run a fourteen in a large arena?” Georgia asked as they got under way. Ophelia nodded and Georgia asked her to run the pattern once so she could observe. Ophelia was a great rider and she trusted her horses, maybe a little too much.

“Only thing I see is you leave your horse alone too much. Not sayin’ you should be naggin’ on him every step, but maybe check in a little more. He's a good boy and he knows his job but sometimes they can still use some guidance. Makes them feel better about themselves.” Georgia suggested and Ophelia took her words as gospel. Georgia let her play around with that idea for the next fifteen minutes or so, just giving small suggestions in addition to that like where to place her hands or when to use her feet or how much more gas to press to get her horses to get around the barrels better.

Once she had finished up with Poplar, she hopped on the next horse, Vesper, leaving Frog for last. Lennon was finally able to hop up on his own horse, who had been tied to the trailer. As he was untying him, headlights and the thrum of a big diesel coming down the long and now dark driveway momentarily distracted him. The truck was easily recognizable, the Tornado Wrangler logo on the cattle guard and the rebar roll cage giving it away. Lennon waved as Tyler parked and hopped out of the truck. He headed toward the arena, Grits following dutifully on his heels. Georgia hadn't noticed yet as she'd been down the complete other end of the arena.

“That you Lennon? Been a bit, huh?” Tyler asked as he matched steps with him walking out to the arena. Georgia had flicked on the lights and Tyler admired the image for a few moments as they approached. Six lights illuminated the huge ring, with the barrel pattern perfectly set, Ophelia running through it, while Georgia stood near the gate, with Pancake and Waffles flanking her, lying quietly in the sand. Tyler admired what he'd built and the woman he'd built it with.

“Hey Tyler. Thanks for helpin’ my dad out this past summer. Sad I missed ya.” Lennon said as he opened the gate. Tyler tipped his hat and as Grits snuck up on his sisters, Tyler snuck up on his wife. Ophelia was just walking Vesper and about to swap to Frog, so it was perfect timing for Georgia to turn and be swept up in Tyler’s arms. She giggled and the sound was music to Tyler’s ears.

“Oh, Peach. I missed ya too much and I wasn’t even gone that long.” Tyler said as his lips brushed against hers. She grabbed his hand then and placed it on her belly.

“I missed you too...and someone else is happy that you’re home too.” She said as they both felt their baby kick, harder than the last time. His kicking was intermittent, seemingly only during heavy emotional moments between Tyler and Georgia.

“Can’t wait for you to get here Jaycen.” He said softly, his eyes settling on Georgia’s belly. He kissed her once again and then wound his arm around her waist as he waited for her to finish up with Ophelia and her horse. Tyler would help Georgia with night check after and then they could relax on the porch and chat with Ophelia and Lennon for a bit.

#tyler owens x oc #tyler owens fic #tyler owens #twisters 2024 #twisters fanfic #glen powell

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two-red-lungs · 2 years ago

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Street Spirit

TLB Dwayne/Fem!Reader Smut

Dwayne’s always been different from his brothers. His thrill-seeking was more intellectual, more purposeful. He had motives, reasons, instead of just blind adrenaline. Maybe that’s what attracted you to him. That, and the perfect fucking jawline and sculpted abdomen.

If only he wasn’t such an ass so often.

Dwayne was weird. Scary. Confusing. Cool.

Really, you could bind up all those confusing, twisted, inscrutable traits into a singular one. Sex appeal.

God help you, he was so hot the exasperation of his dichotomous behavior was pushed to the wayside with just one glance at those fat pectorals: their gentle swell, hairless and tanned under dark leather, wiped all worries from your mind. They turned you back into a swaying cavewoman by a fire, nothing in your head but a heady crush of hormones and the eons-old instinct to ride that beautiful stallion into the sunset.

“Fucking Christ, Dwayne!” Your voice was a hiss and you kept it low behind the crumbling seawall, just feet of old eroded cliff shoreline between your crouched form and the endless crashing waves far below. Police car lights swept the top of the wall, bright white, and you hunkered lower. “You’re always looking for trouble, huh?”

The vampire was on his knees next to you, just inches away, hand braced on the seawall. The blue moonlight made his hair ink-black. He just smiled at you, that infuriatingly handsome and calm smile, that fucking smile that said yeah, this wound up exactly how I expected it to and I’m fine with it.

He’d tried to take you out to dinner. Parked his bike out front despite the red curb and helped you off it— ever the big, scary gentleman. If only those two bored patrolmen idling by their police cruiser hadn’t been there. Both of then strode up to you, looking more confident in themselves than they really had any right to be, sporting tinted aviators at night. Dwayne let out a long, low breath of air through his nose at the sight.

Oh boy, you thought. Here we go. Dwyane didn’t exactly have the most... stellar reputation with police interactions. Had it out for them from the start.

They told he he couldn’t park there. And, unlike what the other boys would have done— muttered a statement under their breath, gotten back on their bikes, headed out because getting into it with the boys in blue meant a potential investigation— Dwayne opted to look them up and down, cross his arms, and spit on the ground at their feet. A nasty loogie splattered on their polished shoes.

The argument got heated in a matter of seconds, Dwayne snapping out a low, ferocious, what you gonna do about it piggy-boy? And before you knew it the one on the left was reaching for his taser on his belt and Dwayne was snapping his arm out lightning-fast, punching him dead-center in the face and dropping him like a rock.

Without warning the world blurred— Dwayne grabbed your wrist and started fucking hoofing it down the street, turning corners and and cutting through overgrown alleyways. There was hair in your eyes and you were less keeping up, more being dragged, and could hear the officer’s partner giving angry, screaming chase, his feet pounding on asphalt. Your heart was in your fucking throat, going a million miles an hour: Dwayne pushed through crowds of people like a knife through hot butter, and you swore you heard him laughing.

God, he was enjoying this. Living for it, even. You’d seen him cut cop brake lines with practiced ease, seen him wrench boots off illegally parked cars and systematically snap the skate deterrent bars from city benches and half-walls, but this was... direct. Aggressive. Animus.

Fuck, those cops knew your face.

When you got into whatever it was you were currently in with Dwayne, you knew it came with risks. You had just naively hoped those risks wouldn’t get you fucking arrested.

“You ready to go home?” He asked you, smile flashing white teeth. His dark eyes glittered and the waves continued to roar far below your hiding place.

“...What?”

“Coulda flown us out any time, girl. You know that.”

“Then why the fuck are we hiding here?”

“It’s pretty fun.”

Oh, you wanted to strangle him. You were sweaty, and dirty, and shaking with adrenaline and hoping you wouldn’t have a wanted persons report out on you, and he was here for fun? Dwayne extended an arm out in his crouched position, jacket falling open and corded necklace swaying in the strong sea wind. A gesture that said come here. Come to me.

You could have told him to fuck off. Told him he was an ass that endangered you for fun and to take a long walk off a short cliff. But you didn’t. You swallowed the acid in your mouth and wrapped arms around him, pressing yourself tight to his hot (god help you, very muscular) form. He laughed and you felt it reverberate.

“I hate you so much.” You said into his hair, and then you were both falling backwards into the open sea air and gentle dark, speeding away into the night.

“Fuck, Dwayne, love your dick so much.”

“Yeah?” His words were a stilted grunt, low and coarse in a way that made you pulse around his cock. He readjusted above you, forearms framing your body, bracketing you in, keeping you for himself. “Thought you hated me.”

You wanted to come up with a good reply, you really did. But you just couldn’t think right now, fuck, could barely string to sentences together because Dwayne’s big, veiny, blood-heavy cock was splitting you open all slick and wet around its gargantuan length. With every agonizingly slow, torturous thrust he slid out to the bulbous tip, almost kissing your drooling pussy lips before sheathing himself back up to the hilt.

His hips were so wide. So wide and so strong, enough power behind them to crush your pelvis to dust but he didn’t— he was fucking you like he was being paid, like he was some seventies pornstar lathing a woman with all the attention and visceral sensation he could muster.

His hair hung curtain-dark around his face hovering above you, shielding your vision from the broken-down firelight cave room he’d sequestered you in as soon as you’d flown back. You’d thumped a fist against his chest and chewed him out, telling him he’d scared you and put you in danger and he’d just smiled more and more and eventually shut you up with the most debilitating kiss you’d ever experienced in your life. Tongue in your mouth, fingers in your hair, fire in your mind.

He readjusted again, sitting back on his knees with a huff that sounded closer to a bear than a person, getting one of your knees in each broad hand and pulling your pelvis up to his, fucking into you while you were splayed out on the ground like fresh prey. The head of his fat dick pushed up against that spongey insanity-inducing patch inside you with each shorter thrust and you choked on a gasp, fingers scrabbling at dirty cave floor.

“God, y-” You nearly lost your train of thought when he started fucking into you double-time, the salacious slap slap slap of his skin on your echoing off the stone, “-You’re such an asshole.”

“You always say that, but you keep comin’ back.” Even he, the ever unreadable and immovable Dwyane, was panting now, lost in your snug cunt clenching down on him. “I think you like how I make you feel. Think you love it.” Fuck, he had you. Without warning he was hauling you up and bouncing you on his seated cock, and you were wrapping shaking arms behind his neck and rutting down to meet his thrusts as best you could. “No rules with me. No laws. I make you feel like a god.”

“There are- god, shit, shit- laws! Y-you just break them!”

“I was here before they wrote them up, and I’ll be pissing on them when they’re in ruins.” Before you could contest he was using one hand to grip your hip-bone and his other to rub slippery fingertips back and forth across your clit. The friction was maddening. He was a master at pushing your buttons: your toes curled against the cold floor.

“Dwayne.” You warned him breathlessly.

“Feelin’ okay, girl?” He was mocking your flushed, shaking pleasure.

“God, you’re evil!”

Another laugh. You couldn’t help but notice the way it made his long column of throat bob, how it made his serious eyes sparkle. If you didn’t know better, you’d say there was endearment in them. “Not evil, just free.” His thrusts were brutal now, his grip so hard on your hip you knew it was going to bruise. “C’mon. Cum. I know you wanna. Just cum.”

His words were insidious, invading your brain, sweet and sticky as molasses. You could do little but grab his shoulders with nails hard enough to break skin before you seized up around him and that hot wall of ecstasy hit you like a full-on fire truck. Moving through it, floating in a dimension of pleasure and a suspension of reality, you remembered why you put up with all the bullshit. Who could resist this?

You came down slow. He was easing his soft cock out of you centimeter by centimeter, the wet gush of viscous cum splattering against his own thighs like waterfall. He’d hit you with that orgasm so hard you hadn’t even noticed him cumming.

In a vain attempt to regulate yourself you rested your forehead against his chest. His skin was tacky with sweat. You could feel each breath he took. For a moment, everything was peaceful. Everything was perfect.

“If those cops arrest me,” you croaked hoarsely into his skin, “you gotta break me out, mkay?”

A hand ran up and down your side with unexpected tenderness: gentle in a way you’d assumed vampires didn’t have the capacity for. “’Course, girl.” Dwayne’s voice was soft. Closer to human than anything. “It’s not as fun to cause trouble without my partner in crime.”

#the lost boys #minors dont look #my writing

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arcsimper5 · 11 months ago

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Yaim'ol - Chapter 2

yaim'ol - [yai-MOHL] - return, homecoming

Pairing: Sev x F!Jedi OC, Scorch x F!Jedi OC Characters: Delta Squad (Republic Commando), F!Jedi OC Cin Rating: M - Explicit content in later chapters Warnings: Gore, Canon-typical violence, angst, smut (later chapters), descriptions of injury, force osik.

Following on from the end of Republic Commando, Sev and Cin must make their way through the galaxy, overcoming trials and tests in a bid to keep themselves alive long enough to reunite with their squad.

Chapter 2 - Orders

“Execute Order 66.”

The words repeated in Sev’s head, over and over. Whether it was the comms or if it had just been ingrained, he wasn’t sure.

What he was sure of, was that Cindar Kivye was a traitor to the Republic. The woman he’d shared his missions with, his body with, his life with, was to be killed.

And he was the only one left to do it.

He’d noticed the moment she smuggled onboard the small transport vessel, somehow managing to slip past the Geonosians and the Trandoshians who were taking him down to Kashykk’s surface, settling into a dark corner and waiting.

The utter grace and beauty she had exuded as she’d cut down each and every one of those disgusting creatures had made his heart race, heart pumping by the time she was finished, covered in guts and gore and blood.

As soon as she’d released his binders, he’d ripped his helmet off and been on her, crashing their lips together, catching her by surprise.

“Disobeying orders to come get me, ner kat’ra?” he teased between their brutal meeting of mouths, “naughty girl.”

“Like I’d ever leave you behind,” she teased softly, leaning up to nip at his bottom lip. They simply stared at each other for a moment, tension hanging in the air before she cleared her throat and extricated herself from Sev’s grasp, moving to the control panel.

“Damn, they’ve locked in the course,” she murmured as Sev composed himself and pulled his helmet back on, joining her at her side, looking over the foreign controls.

“You understand that mess?” he huffed, trying to make any sense of the odd characters there.

“Jedi training. We have to at least know the alphabets of most sentient species,” she shrugged, blushing when Sev leant in closer, knowing he was smirking under his bucket.

“Have I ever told you how hot you are when you’re smart?”

“A lot,” she chuckled, wincing and drawing in a sharp breath as she leaned closer to him.

“Cyare?”

Sev was on her immediately, gloved hands smoothing down her back. “You hurt?”

She shook her head, ignoring the pointed stare he gave her through his helmet.

“Only a scratch,” she waved him off, “I’ll live.”

Sev growled lightly in displeasure, moving to her other side, frowning when he saw blood seeping down her leg, soaking her trousers just above her boots.

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed out sharply, reaching for the small medkit attached to his belt. Knowing it was useless to argue, she simply shrugged, concentrating on trying to decipher the symbols.

As he worked, Sev’s hands were gentle and strong, a sigh leaving her at the feeling.

“The others get out okay?” he asked lowly, a note of fear registering in his tone.

“Yeah, evac went fine. They were pissed though,” she admitted, eyes darting across the holoscreen in front of her as she tried to disengage the course that had been set. “They wanted to come back, but…”

“Mission comes first,” Sev nodded before falling back into silence for a moment, working carefully as he applied bacta and covered Cin’s wound. “Why did you stay?”

The question caught her by surprise, her eyes widening a little as Sev stood back up and met her gaze through his visor.

“I promised,” she murmured, pointedly ignoring him, “after the Prosecutor. And I wasn’t about to go back on it.”

Sev hummed quietly for a moment, letting out a chuckle.

“Jedi are gonna be pissed.”

“Let them be. I don’t care. We don’t leave people behind.”

Sev stared at her for a moment, knowing she could feel the intensity of his gaze even through the bucket, smiling fondly while she continued to work.

“Mesh’la,” he called, raising a hand to her face carefully, running the back of his knuckles down her cheek. A single tear followed it, his stomach clenching.

“I wasn’t going to lose you again,” she breathed, closing her eyes. She leant into his touch, taking a breath as if to speak again when an alarm blared loudly, making them both jump. “Karking hells, what now?”

Within seconds a hologram of a trandoshan flickered to life on the console, it’s yellow eyes sharp, teeth bared.

“Filthy clone and filthy Jedi,” it hissed at them, Sev growling in response. “Take our ship, kill my brothers. You will pay!”

Before either of them could respond, a massive explosion rocked the ship, sending them both hurtling over the console. Landing sprawled on the floor between the console and the viewport, Cin scrambled for purchase on the durasteel floor.

“Cin!”

Sev was screaming for her as the windows turned red, the vast expanse of Kashykk below masked by the glow of re-entry. They were going down.

“I’m here!” she yelled back, looking around frantically. Her tightly plaited hair was loosening now, framing her face as she tried to crawl towards him, yelping as the ship tumbled and turned, through the atmosphere and now hurtling towards the ground. “We need to stabilise the ship!”

“No time!” Sev grunted, bracing himself on the console and launching himself towards her, managing to catch her around her waist. With an inhuman amount of strength, he pulled them both towards the rear of the ship, to the storage compartment. Forcing the doors apart, he pushed her inside and made to follow, only for the ship to lurch violently again, sending him flying backwards.

As the doors slid closed once more, encasing her in the thick walls within, she screamed his name, reaching out with the Force.

“Sev! Please! Come back!”

Only silence answered her, soon smothered by the grinding of metal and electrical screams as the ship plunged through the thick tree canopy and into the ground.

#star wars #star wars republic commando #republic commando fanfiction #star wars the clone wars #republic commando #clone commando sev #clone commando scorch #delta squad #daniwrites

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oh-no-my-hand-slipped · 1 year ago

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I Choose A’TCHIEW! : Part 2

A sequel, anonymous commission

******************************

Fandom: Pokémon (Personal OCs)

Word Count: 2921

Genre: Big Sneezes, Contagion

CW/TW: Mild Pokémon Abuse

********************************

“First try, huh, Asp? I guess you really have been paying attention during my pokéball throwing lessons.”

“I suppose I have.”

Aspen’s chest filled with pride as he looked down at his freshly used pokéball. Instead of being scratched up like the others, this one was fresh from the center. It shone and glittered in his palm as he held it up to admire it. This was the first pokémon he had caught since his journey began – all his other pokémon had either been given to him or had been abandoned by their last trainers, so he was quite out of practice.

Fervia slapped him on the back, almost knocking Aspen over.

“Those things are hard to catch, too, jumpin’ all over the place…”

Aspen smiled, putting the pokéball on his belt. “Hopefully, this is only the first of many.”

“Poetic as always, eh?”

The pair made their way through the underbrush, planning on their next catch. Fervia had her heart set on an Eevee, since she could evolve it into whatever she wanted. And, she admitted, they were pretty cute to boot. Aspen, on the other hand, had always had a soft spot for fairy types, and would be more than happy to add a Chansey to his team. He’d always liked healing pokemon more than battling them, anyway.

Fervia was in the middle of reading which stones caused which evolutions in Eevees when Aspen suddenly stopped in the middle of the path.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Fervia asked, not looking up.

“That snapping sou-”

Aspen couldn’t even finish his sentence before his feet were suddenly swept out from under him, and his entire body was yanked into the air. The world spun around him, only coming to a stop when he was thoroughly dizzy. When he could finally open his eyes without feeling sick, Aspen was hanging upside down by the ankles, something hard and cold wrapped around his ankles.

“Now, what’ve we got here?”

Aspen heard a rustling in the bushes, and craned his head as far as he could. All he could see was a pair of steel-toed boots coming out of the foliage.

“Aw, cripes…snf!...another pair of junior scouts.”

Another voice piped up not far behind.

“Like, bummer. You’ll get ‘em next time, babe. Ocean’s full of waves, y’know?”

Just at the edge of his vision, a pair of dirt-covered water shoes sidled beside them. Aspen could suddenly feel Fervia struggling against him.

“Ngh…what’s the big idea?” she groaned, blindly reaching out her arms.

“The big idea, luv,” the first voice replied, “is catchin’ the pokémon that run through this path with my state of the art equipment. But then you muckers had to…snf!...muck it all up!”

Aspen tried to lift himself up, but only got about as far as his waist.

“Well, it is a bit difficult to see your traps. Perhaps you should put up a sign or something?” he strained, wincing as the metal dug into his ankles.

“Oh, yeah, sure, as if pokémon can’t read,” their captor replied. “Tell you this for free – you don’t know the first thing about trapping pokémon.”

Aspen wanted to say that she didn’t seem to know either, but he held his tongue.

Fervia, however, wasn’t so wise.

“Why don’tcha just battle pokemon like everybody else? Can’t throw a pokéball?”

“‘S more effective,” came the short reply.

“Hah! I betcha can’t catch a Rattata with this thing.”

The ropes above them strained as Fervia fought against their restraints. Metal squealed on metal as Aspen’s stomach dropped.

“I caught you lot, didn’t I?”

Fervia grunted. “Yeah, and if you don’t let us down in three seconds, I’m gonna - ”

CRACK!

The steel ropes snapped in two, sending the pair tumbling to the ground. Luckily, the soil had few rocks, and a bit of moss to cushion his fall. But Aspen still saw stars, the sudden impact knocking the wind out of him. He instinctively laid his hand on the pokéballs on his belt as he laid on the ground.

One. Two. Three. Four.

All there.

“Careful what you wish for there, luv!” their captor guffawed, only pausing to cough from the dust they had kicked up upon landing.

She kept laughing as Fervia helped Aspen to his feet. Though the fall was painful, it at least gave them a chance to get a good look at the pair in front of them.

The steel-toed boots belonged to a tall woman with long, jet-black hair and a pair of dark, shining eyes to match. Aspen recognized her outfit – it was one that would-be explorers often wore when they stopped by their village on their way to reach the top of a nearby mountain. Thin cargo shorts, a charcoal gray shirt, and a flimsy vest, all topped off with a large hat folded and pinned on one side with a steel-gray button. The splattering of freckles on her nose scrunched in her mirth, and she scrubbed it with a gloved finger.

Like a Ducklett next to a Liepard, the other stranger stood, with a large blue backpack to match his shoes. He seemed to be carrying enough for both of them, with odds and ends spilling out of the pockets and between the zippers. But, despite his petite frame, he held the weight well, even leaning nonchalantly against a nearby tree. He was even less dressed for the weather than his partner was – a pair of seafoam green shorts and a white tank top.

More for the beach than a mountain, Aspen thought.

The man fished something out of his pocket, offering it to the woman. It was a pack of tissues, already open and half gone. The woman snatched one out of the packet and blew her nose, then started with a snort.

“Huh-? Hah…HAH-! HYAA’TSHUUUH!”

“Aw, man, did I grab the scented ones?”

The man looked on the back of the package while the woman wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“Run on home, kiddies,” she sniffled, trying to clean up her running nose. “We’ve got Pokemon to catch, and we don’t need ya steppin’ in any more of our traps.”

“You probably scared ‘em all away with that sneeze,” Fervia snapped back. “Besides, if you don’t wanna catch real trainers, maybe you shouldn’t set your traps all over the walking path!”

The woman’s eyes flashed, her cheeks turning as red as her nose. Her partner put a hand on her shoulder.

“Anortha, maybe we should, like, head back to the center. Get you checked out. That Toxicroak-”

“Putta sock in it, Wade,” Anortha growled.

Even though it had been a while since Aspen had seen Toxicroak in the Pokedex, he knew all about both the pokémon’s aggression and their many poison moves. If she had tried to catch it with one of her faulty traps, the Toxicroak probably wouldn't have been too happy about it.

No wonder Anortha felt ill.

With a sudden twinge of compassion, Aspen tried to pull Fervia aside.

“Fervia, I don’t think -”

Fervia jerked away from his touch. Meanwhile, a grin had appeared on Anortha’s face, like an Arbok ready to strike.

“You think I’m not a real trainer, eh? Well…”

Anortha reached into the backpack Wade was holding and pulled out a gray pokéball unlike any Aspen had ever seen. The back of the ball was covered in wires, and dark burn marks surrounded the clasp. Anortha’s grin grew even wider.

“Why don’tcha prove it, then, luv?”

Before Aspen could stop her, Fervia had already stepped up to the clearing, brandishing her own pokéballs.

“I’ll show ya what an adventurer really looks like.”

In the blink of an eye, they threw their pokéballs into the clearing to reveal their pokémon. Anortha’s ball popped, buzzed, and spun before a Magnemite dizzily made its way to the center. Fervia’s Charmeleon joined it, brandishing its claws and fans with a whip of its fiery tail. Despite his concern, Aspen was still proud of Fervia’s strategy in her choice. Fire-types are one of Steel-types primary weaknesses – if she played her cards right, this battle would be over soon enough.

“I’ll give ya a head start,” Fervia said, smirking. “You’re gonna need it.”

Anortha, who seemed a little less confident now, still stood her ground.

“Your funeral, kid- snf! Magnemite! Use Gyro Ball!”

The Magnemite’s magnets began to spin around its body, and it charged towards Charmeleon.

“Charmeleon! Fire Fang!”

With practiced timing, Charmeleon jumped, then brought its red-hot fangs down onto Magnemite’s sensitive screw. Magnemite screeched in pain as part of the screw began to melt.

“Again!” Anortha cried, completely ignoring her pokémon’s distress. “‘N look where you're going this time!”

After a final whirring whimper, Magnemite did as it was told. But, with every charge, Charmeleon met it with a scorching canine or a swinging tail. Fervia was laser-focused, leading attack after attack, until Magnemite was covered with red, pulsing burns and dents. Anortha had turned just as red, barking orders to no avail.

“Oy, turn around! Left! Your other left, you bloody piece of scrap metal!”

As Magnemite tottered towards Charmeleon again, Charmeleon, with a sharp-toothed smile, puffed up its cheeks and blew a cloud of smoke into Magnemite’s face. The smoke blew past the clearing, and surrounded Anortha.

“Koff! Get that - koff! Use…use…!”

Her next order faltered as her nose began to twitch. Anortha jammed a finger under her nose.

“G-Gyro…bah…hah-!”

Her eyes crossed to look at her flaring nostrils as her chest rose and fell with every gasping hitch. Though she tried to tell Magnemite to attack, her desperate gestures were no use.

“B-Blimey-! I…gah-! By…d-dose…hah-! HAH-!”

She leaned back, her quivering nose high in the air. Charmeleon and Magnemite stopped their battle to look at Anortha, then looked at each other.

“GAH-! HAAAH-!”

The pokemon leaped from either side of the clearing, out of the way of Anortha’s powerful nose.

Fervia, however, wasn’t so lucky.

“HYYYA’TCHHHHHUUUUUH!”

The enormous sneeze sprayed across the clearing, covering Fervia in a fine mist. She spluttered and staggered away from the clearing. Meanwhile, through her snot-soaked sleeve, Anortha whispered to Wade through gritted teeth, who reluctantly joined her with a blue pokéball in hand. With Fervia indisposed, Aspen had no choice but to speak up.

“Oh, erm, hold on a moment! I thought this was a one on one match!”

Still wiping her streaming nose, Anortha snickered.

“I don’d - snf! - see a referee, d’you, mate?”

Wade threw his pokéball to the ground, and a Squirtle with blue sunglasses rolled out on its shell. It looked around confusedly, then stared at its owner.

“I know, dude,” Wade said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re not a battling pokémon. But, like, you know how Anortha is. Especially when she’s losing. Just a few Water Guns and we can chillax, ‘kay?”

The Squirtle shrugged, did a “right on” gesture with its claws, then put its sunglasses into its shell. Aspen’s heart sank. Charmeleon could deal with one opponent while its trainer was focused, but now with a second Water-type opponent and a distracted Fervia…

“Okay, dude! Show off those rad waves you’ve been practicing!”

Squirtle nodded, retreating into its shell. Suddenly, a beam of water burst out of the shell’s opening, shooting the pokémon high into the air. Without Fervia’s direction, Charmeleon squinted at the sky and went from side to side, trying to dodge whatever attack came its way.

When Squirtle was at the peak of its ascent, it spun towards Charmeleon, took a moment to aim, then spewed a massive wave of water onto the clearing. Even if Charmeleon had seen it coming, there was no way he could dodge it.

By the time the wave passed, Charmeleon was flat on its stomach, its tail only barely flickering.

“Charmeleon!” Fervia cried.

Charmeleon shakily pushed itself up by the claws, only just keeping its balance. Anortha did her signature guffaw, though it was cut off by a rough cough.

“That’s more lige it! Alright, Magnemite, let’s try this again. Use - snf! - Gyro Ball!”

Magnemite bobbed in the air, looking down at Charmeleon. It let out a scraping whine, its magnets slowly circling.

“C’mon, while he’s down! What are you waiding for?!”

Aspen knew that the attack would be enough to not only knock him out of the battle, but do some real damage. With how wet Charmeleon was, the electric attack would fry him.

Even if it was against battle protocol, he had to do something.

While Anortha was distracted with her reluctant Magnemite, he slowly took a pokéball from his belt.

“Wade!” Anortha said, turning to her partner. “Do the - snf! - wave again! Thad’ll take the sucker out!”

The Squirtle was lying on its back, sunbathing. Wade shook his head.

“No can do, babe. That attack took a lot out of him. He’s gotta, like, chill first before he does another battle.”

Anortha growled in frustration, turning back to her own pokémon.

“If you don’t blast that Charbeleon back into its pokéball,” she said, her voice getting dangerously quiet. “I’ll use ya as bait for a real mean Arbok I’ve been trackin’.”

Magnemite squeaked, and its magnets slowly began to turn, picking up speed as it went towards the stumbling Charmeleon. Aspen threw his pokeball into the clearing.

“Gogoat, I choose you!”

Just as Magnemite was about to make contact, one of its magnets was caught on a large horn. Aspen’s Gogoat stood in front of Charmeleon, steam streaming out of its nostrils. Gogoat bucked its head, causing Magnemite to fly backwards.

“No, no!” Anortha cried. “You can’d just…I was about to…you can’d just throw your bleedin’ pokémon into the ring!”

Aspen chuckled, allowing himself a small smile.

“I don’t see a referee, do you?”

Fervia laughed, though still splattered with the remains of their opponent's sneeze. As Anortha sputtered, Aspen nodded to Gogoat, pointing at the dazed Magnemite.

“Use Earthquake!”

Gogoat bleated, and large rocks formed above the clearing. They hurdled towards a still bumbling Magnemite, and made impact with the loud crunch and crackle of stone. As the rocks crumbled, Magnemite was slowly revealed underneath, unmoving.

“YA RUSTY OLD TIN CAN!”

Anortha ran into the cleaning, trying to prop Magnemite up inside the crater. But he only fell down again, completely faint. Wade replaced her in combat, but Aspen had already planned for his Water type attacks.

“Gogoat! Razor Leaf!”

Gogoat pawed its hoof into the earth, charging up his attack.

“Like, do your Water Gun! Hurry!” Wade said, his voice cracking.

Squirtle pursed its lips and filled its cheeks, shooting out short blasts of water. Gogoat easily dodged the weak attacks, then, with a stomp of its hooves, released its attack. Swirls of sharp leaves surrounded Squirtle and Anortha, who was still in the clearing. Squirtle retreated into its shell, but it was no use. By the time the attack ended, Squirtle was flat on its shell, with cracked sunglasses halfway off its face.

“Squirtle! Dude!” Wade cried, putting Squirtle back into its pokéball.

Anortha stood up, nudging the limp Magnemite to the side with her foot.

“I want a rema- a remaaAA’TCHUUUUH!”

The pollen from the Razor Leaf was still heavy in the air. Wade put an arm around her shoulders, offering up the package of tissues.

“Babe, we need to get our pokémon to the center. And you too. You don’t, like, look so good.”

“I want a - snf! - rebatch,” Anortha said, more quietly this time.

“I know, I know. I bet we’ll see them again. Small world, right?”

“HYYAA’TCHUUUUUH!”

“Let’s get you to see Nurse Joy, ‘kay? Just let me get Magnemite, and - ”

“Ndo. Leave thad pile of garbage where he belongs - TCHUUH!”

With a small apologetic look, Wade had no choice but to leave with Anortha, her sneezes still echoing through the forest long after they were gone.

**************************************

“Huh…HRA’KSHIIIIIEW!”

“More tea?”

“Snf…yeah.”

Fervia held out her small metal cup, and Aspen filled it.

“She didn’d even give be the winning fee,” Fervia mumbled. “All she gave be was her stupid cold.”

Aspen chuckled. “Well, that isn’t all she gave you.”

He looked towards Magnemite, who was playing Charmeleon. A few of the bigger dents were taken care of at the center, but it was still covered in scratches and chips.

“I guess so,” Fervia said, sniffling.

Aspen frowned, sipping from his own cup.

“Is something on your mind? You’ve been in a sour mood since the battle – even before you came down with a cold.”

Fervia looked into the campfire for a long time, then sighed.

“I thought I was gedding better. At battling, I bean. I thought I didn’d need you to come and save be anybore. It seems like every time something happens, you have to fix all of it. And it’s by fault.”

“Oh, Fervia…”

Aspen smiled.

“You are getting better. Just because you need help, or make a mistake, doesn’t change that. If Anortha hadn’t cheated, you most likely would have won that battle. But that’s why you must always be prepared.”

Aspen looked down at his tea, swirling it from side to side in his cup.

“Because some just don’t care to play fairly.”

“Aspen?”

Aspen looked up, smiling again.

“Let’s get some rest, shall we? Perhaps we can go to the hot springs tomorrow. That should help your cold.”

Fervia squinted, but her tiredness overcame her curiosity, and she was soon asleep in her sleeping bag. Aspen rolled over on his back, looking up at the stars as he slowly drifted off.

#ohnos fics #snz fic #snz commissions #snz #snz kink #snzblr #snz things #snezblr #snzario #snez kink #snz scenario #snezario #snzfucker #snzzzzz #snz blog #whump

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hauntedjpegcollection · 7 months ago

Text

have fun

wc: 12,150 au: space horror au ch: xavier, benji, lark, matilda, benny, nomi, maran

“We’re allowed?”

It’s Maran who asks, his voice laced with surprise, but also a giant shine of hope in his eyes. They’re thickly lashed and pretty, with a biotic ring in the middle of each iris that glows, especially when his gaze is sharp on something (or someone, either blue haired technician or nasty tattooed sniper). In the dark holding room, he is slightly ambient lit. The only one of the trio of bounty hunters so obviously modified—if not the only one modified.

Xavier hasn’t exactly had the chance to check Benji, has he?

And if Matilda is at all altered, she must have been to the sort of bone cutters that charge prices a man might never even see in writing; and her elegant sort of pretty seems entirely her and not physician made. She sits on a chair with legs crossed, arms tossed behind the chair, staring at Xavier with suspicious, narrowed eyes. She’s perfectly at ease, despite circumstances. He can see why Lark likes her.

But Xavier doesn’t immediately answer and his eyes can’t linger on either Maran or Matilda for very long before they slide Benji’s way. He stands in the corner, staring out a viewing port to the base they’ve docked at. It’s a sprawling city now, once just a military out posting where they refueled between jumps. It’s nothing glorious, but after so much time space side and after…everything they’ve been through—the look of humanity, even the seedy underbelly of it, is welcome.

Benji doesn’t look his way. Xavier tries not to be nervous because of that.

“Captain said he’s not holding you as prisoners right now.” He can’t help but ease himself into a militant stance as he speaks, hands folded behind his back, booted feet slightly apart.

“There’s a catch,” Matilda says, examining her nails, nose tilted up.

“There’s always a catch,” Maran sighs, sinking back into the chair he’d stood from when Xavier had delivered the news they could leave the ship. He bites into his lip, trying not to look back to Benji. Of course they’d make him be the messenger. Captain Mataro hadn’t asked, not really. They were too clever an Imperial Legionnaire to not notice what was happening between their prisoners and their soldiers.

Xavier had never been able to hide much from Mataro. Maybe that was why it hurt to know they’d never necessarily intervened with Tillman. Xavier’s loyalty ran too deep to ever say no. He’d walk to a firing squad with hands raised if his captain asked. Of course they’d ask him to liaison between the military and the prisoners like this.

“If you run,” Xavier starts, unwinding his hands from behind his back. “Captain Mataro will release your details to the base. Not just the military. News stations. You won’t get far.”

“Fucker,” Matilda snips, folding arms around her stomach, sinking further into the white shell of a chair she’s in.

“That one felt obvious,” Maran comments, chin in his hand as he leans on the modest table in the room. Xavier feels like they could have been friends—could be friends. If the universe weren’t such a cruel place that put Maran and Xavier on very opposite ends of space, where they’d never interact except for this slim and horrible chance meeting.

Benji had talked about their home world, just once before, when they’d not been able to sleep. With the lights down, and just the two of them, it had felt so safe and private. Xavier had talked about the belt system he’d grown up on, the over abundance of children in their small home pod. The virtual screen their parents had bought, stuck on a vision of Earth’s old sea.

“They also don’t want you to tell anyone about the prison carrier.”

“Yeah.” Benji’s drawl from the corner makes Xavier jump. His hands tangle together in front of him. He should be embarrassed by the amount of nerves he’s displaying in front of three criminals—two of which he’d helped capture. The one he’d brought to knees himself, striding forward. He stands by Maran and their closeness seems inevitable like that. Their gravity pulls to one another and Matilda is their beautiful moon. Xavier feels an abstract loneliness thinking like that.

“Right, now that one fuckin’ checks.”

“Who would we tell?” Matilda throws hands into the air, laughing. It’s a cold sound. “What a bastard. We’re not his little toy soldiers.” That insult stings, but she isn’t wrong. Xavier folds hands behind his neck, sighing loudly, tilting his chin up to stare at the ceiling.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Maran teases, but even his friendly voice is strained.

Would you run? Is that why you’re all mad? You’d get off the ship and just leave? It’s such an incredibly selfish thought that it sours his stomach. Of course they’d leave. They should leave. They’re notorious, they’re infamous for their crimes and like ghosts in machines, they are the sort of people that disappear in mist and shadow. It had been something of a miracle to capture them in the first place. Xavier’s eyes lift to Benji, who is finally looking at him.

You’d leave?

“So does that mean you don’t want to come out with us?” Xavier asks.

All three bounty hunters blink in near unison. The room goes entirely still and quiet. Xavier would be proud to catch them all off guard (it isn’t exaggeration, they are criminals that had hated him just a month ago), but he feels a little silly. Standing there in his black spacer fatigues, delivering the news that they are still very much prisoners if not just in name, and also that his lame fucking friends put it on him to invite them to the base for a night out.

“Whose us?” Matilda asks. Her voice hasn’t changed, nor her aloof mannerisms, but the interest is not easily hidden. Her foot bobs a little, knee high white boots pristine looking against her neon attire.

“Yes, Lark is going,” Xavier replies tiredly, then looks at Maran directly. “And Nomi.” He pauses and then shrugs his shoulders with a heavy doggish sigh. “Fuck, even Benny, and he hates this place.”

“And you?” Benji startles him again, asking like that. Being underneath his stare makes Xavier’s skin flush. His cheeks burn. He can’t think about that supply closet, not with the others right there. He can’t think of Benji’s mouth and his eyes and his heavy breathing, or the way he makes soft noises in his sleep or how he blinks himself awake and sometimes looks directly at Xavier before anything else.

“And me,” he finally replies, with a wolf of a grin. His hands fumble behind his back again. “Plus, Lark smuggled some stims from the—”

“Well, I’m in,” Matilda announces, rising from her chair. Her slender frame just keeps going, even taller in those clean boots. Her striking beauty is dizzying. Maybe she is modified. Maran’s head tilts back to look at Benji, who only just seems to be able to tear his eyes from Xavier and look down. The thin white biotics in Maran’s eyes sparkle.

“Let’s get off this fuckin’ ship.”

—

What had started as a military base had grown into Red God, which was the very city they navigated together as a unit. Atmosphere had been turned to night, which lit all the glowing signs, foggy air misting around them. Red God was not entirely unlike all civilizations that grew sprouted off a military base; it had a pleasure district and a marketplace and dark alleys for crime that the military police ignored. There were people who stood outside buildings, offering drugs with coded names, or cheap augmentations that would certainly leave an infection worse than the modification itself. Housing piles atop housing, in tall buildings that cramp together little cubes of space.

The city is a loud buzz of activity, even at ‘night’.

Lark spearheads the group, because although Xavier is undoubtedly intimidating as the tallest and Benny precisely looks the type to enjoy the settlement, Lark is like the bounty hunters. Undeniably street savvy—his confidence leads them quickly and stops people from approaching. Little throngs of Red God citizens part for them. Their group isn’t small, meaning it would be a target for thieves or a small gang, if not for the tight cluster they make.

Being off the ship feels undeniably good.

Xavier can almost forget the horrors they’d endured not that long ago, on a prison carrier they were being forced to pretend didn’t exist. When he catches Nomi’s face underneath her hood, he remembers. Whenever his arm bumps into Benji’s, he remembers. But there’s also something soothing about fading into the obscurity of this obscene city, in this pod of people who should not be together. The air might be tight with pollutive fog, but it’s better than the ship, all that recycled oxygen they’ve all already been breathing.

“Okay.” Lark brings them into the small, enclosed alley beside an entrance near flush to the wall with glowing symbols that he must understand. He’s grinning, in that sharp way he smiles. Close lipped, slightly crooked. Matilda drifts to his shoulder, looking at the small terminal on her wrist that Xavier should have confiscated from her.

She won’t risk Benji and Maran’s safety and freedom. He doesn’t think anyway.

Lark withdraws his hands from his pockets, holding upraised palms with stimulant inhalers.

“No, thanks,” Nomi says immediately, drifting to the wall, looking at it curiously.

“Alcohol only,” Benny replies, following her. Maran doesn’t say anything, but finds his way between them, chin tilted on his shoulder to keep one eye on Benji.

“More for me.” Xavier reaches out and takes one, uncapping it swiftly. Matilda follows suit, as if she doesn’t want to be outdone. They stand in a protective circle of each other and Xavier doesn’t miss that Benji is not taking the last one. Lark doesn’t do drugs often—not that there isn’t plenty of opportunity to do drugs on a military cruiser. In his early days of soldiering, his medkit had come with a highly addictive painkiller that Xavier felt was rather purposeful. It was an easy way to keep recruitment.

But the stim is mild; a light blue color that tastes bad on the back of the tongue as he inhales it. A puff of air escapes from around his mouth and into the rising fog of Red God. There’s a hiss following all three of them taking the drug together and then Lark collects the inhalers and tosses them back into the alley. It must not count as littering since there is no nature to pollute to begin with.

The drug hits his blood stream in a way that is instantly satisfying. A floaty feeling that makes his head light and slightly off hinge. Benji hasn’t said anything since they got down the alley, but Xavier refuses to let paranoia make the high tank. Instead, he elbows the bounty hunter softly, who looks up at him in reply. The neon glow of the club beside them plays blues and pinks across his dark skin. Xavier’s lips tingle.

“It’ll wear off in an hour,” Lark says, his pupils already blooming wide. “I’ll meet you back here.”

“You’re not coming into the club?” Nomi suddenly pipes up, sneaking back into their circle. Xavier mourns the way it parts Benji from him.

“Promised I’d show Matilda the marketplace.”

“Hopefully two very wanted criminals with semi-recognizable features don’t get into trouble while I’m gone,” their pilot sniffs. She dabs a finger around her eyes, the stimulant making them glittery and pretty. She’s loosened into a bit of a smile. None of them could have worn their helmets out; they sit in the storage of their rooms together. It would be have been reckless, as those helmets saved their real faces from becoming famous, but they were in turn tuned in on every surveillance bank worth its salt.

Not that Red God likely had a very good security system.

Lark leans toward the door, patting symbols in an order that Xavier would have been able to memorize if the high wasn’t curling at the edges of his vision. The door slides away to reveal a long dark hallway that is already pulsing with music. The sound calls to him, makes his muscles feel instantly twitchy. Adrenaline dumps into him like cold ice. Xavier wants to be inside. To move, to feel free, to not be on the ship, to not be a soldier for a night, to enjoy this breath of freedom, as artificial as it is.

“Have fun,” Lark whispers to him, a squeeze to his bicep as he walks by. As he disappears with Matilda, his arm is slung around her waist in a possessive way that makes Xavier laugh.

—

“Benji, wait.”

The hallway seems to thrum with the club music, in a way that is most likely the stimulant acting in his system. Benji halts as the other three continue, Maran and Nomi once more animated with each other as Benny trails with them. It’s not shocking that he came out when Xavier watches Nomi pull down the hood of her wicked hi-vis yellow jacket. It pools around her shoulders, her blue hair slightly messy. Maran’s sleeves are missing, that one black mechanical arm displayed along with the organic one he has left.

“Alright?” Benji looks tight with an energy that Xavier doesn’t think is excitement. His eyes flicker to the black double doors separating the hallway from the club. Xavier fishes into his back pocket, pulling out a sleek black device that springs open at a touch to a minuscule button. It’s curved and lightweight and impossibly thin.

“I brought this for you,” Xavier explains, stepping closer. The drugs are making his heart beat only a little erratic. He’s glad for how dark it is. Benji’s brow quirks. He has to lift his chin to look up at Xavier, their height difference putting Benji as his chest. It makes it temporarily hard to breathe. Xavier laughs, gesturing to the device. “It’s one of my rebreathers. I thought—maybe you’d want something…like this.”

Their fingers brush as Benji takes it.

He doesn’t say anything as he looks down at the now borrowed rebreather. An emotion passes over his features.

“Are you two fu-fucking coming?” Benny snaps over his shoulder, hands buried in his jacket pockets. His sunglasses are a dark maroon, slid down on his nose, so his near white eyes are even more eerie above them.

“Fuck yourself,” Xavier yells back at him. When he turns to Benji once more, the rebreather is firmly in place. He could never forget what Benji’s mouth looks like—he’s sure he’s dreamed of the shape of Benji’s lips and how soft his facial hair seems—but it completely erases his identity save for the wild curls and heavy brows. The breather comes to his nose bridge, so even that aspect of him is hidden. It’s flush, yet completely obscures features.

Selfishly, Xavier thinks, good. He doesn’t want others to look at Benji. But he also knows that Benji doesn’t want them looking either.

“Nomi wants to go to th-the virtual reality section.” Benny’s voice interrupts the moment, making Xavier spring back. “She saw a sign.” He indicates with a tattooed hand. The sign does say IMMERSE REALITY BECOME A NEW YOU and it also has a red sign attached that says TEMPORARILY CLOSED FOR RENOVATION. Underneath that is a crude drawing on the wall in neon yellow of a xenobite getting a blowjob. Xavier raises his brows, but Benny shrugs.

“You can’t st-stop her when she gets started.”

Which is true. Nomi already has both arms around Maran’s sleek black one, pulling him toward a shuttered door at the end of the hallway. Maran looks a mixture of nervous and absolutely smitten. His cheeks are splotched with color. Benny’s stare at him and the blue haired hacker is a hungry thing.

Thinking of Lark and how he’d immediately found a way to be alone with Matilda, Xavier laughs. He shoves Benny by the shoulders toward the retreating duo, and whispers, “Have fun.”

—

The inside of the club is large enough to not feel claustrophobic despite the bodies. Paid dancers entertain on raised platforms, rings of people surrounding them. There is a wall of a bar to the side, a pit of a floor where everyone mingles into one throbbing mass. The lights are every single color all at once and somehow coming up mostly purple. Xavier’s entire body reacts to the club.

He had somewhat of a vice for clubbing. He’d picked it up during his second run through on the cruiser, when things had first started to get bad with Tillman. When he’d realized how much was wrong about a superior officer approaching him like that. Xavier had retreated off ship every time they docked, and found places like this. It wasn’t so much that he needed to be drunk or high. He liked that too, the feeling of everything else being pushed out and replaced.

But it had been the simplicity of it all. Music and movement and no military or back logged calls from home he hadn’t answered or a sergeant that suddenly wanted to know why Xavier wasn’t answering his door at night. Xavier’s body hums in memory of all those clubs, all those different escapes. Only he isn’t alone now.

Benji stands beside him, slightly turned with shoulders curved. It’s obvious he’s marking exits. His dark eyes sweep and scan.

Xavier reaches for the zipper of his jacket, slowly peeling it open. Benji stops staring at everything else and looks toward him. He shoves it off, tossing it to an area he already knows he’ll forget to stop by when they leave. He’d switched from his fatigues into civvies. Tonight, Xavier doesn’t want to look like a soldier. Instead, he’d borrowed something from Benny; this mangled net top that was far too loose, and a long sleeve black shirt underneath that was entirely too tight. He liked that it was long enough to tuck over his knuckles.

He grins at Benji, whose stare is firmly pinned to his upper body. He’d wanted to look good. He’d even let Nomi dust some of her black shadows at the corners of his eyes. Your green is natural? She’d asked. When he’d told her yes, she’d snorted and shook her head and told him that belters genes were a gift from some old Earth God. Xavier had never thought about it. He’d known in obvious ways that he was good looking. It had never done any good for him, though.

But now, with Benji drinking him in, he’s suddenly grateful that he’d made some sort of attempt.

The bounty hunter himself is in all black, a borrowed shirt from Xavier of all things. Something buttoned down, sleeves rolled up, loose at the top. The peeks of his skin are enticing like water for thirst. The rebreather blends with the outfit seamlessly. Good for a club, where no one will think twice about it. Half the fun is dressing up for a part. Someone might think him an entertainer. That thought makes Xavier’s stomach turn with acidic jealousy so he steps closer.

“I wanna dance,” Xavier says, just loud enough for Benji to hear him. Others around them aren’t paying attention anyway, which feels silly. Everyone should notice Benji. How could they not notice him?

“I don’t dance,” he replies, brown eyes almost black underneath the swirling purple lighting. The hard tempo music reverberates in Xavier’s chest, reminding him of the body high that will only last for so long.

For a moment, he considers taking Benji and finding a small place for them to be alone. A corner of the club where the music isn’t so loud, where there are no dancers, where people won’t find them. It could be like his bedroom, where it’s safe and small. He could…But instead, his wrists drape over the bounty hunters shoulders. He captures a curl with his fingers, rubbing it and appreciating the soft texture. Sleepy eyes widen, pupils going huge like Benji had taken a hit. Xavier leans in, brushing their temples together.

“I’m going to go dance.”

—

Once in the crowd of people, Xavier really does lose himself. The music carries him elsewhere. He isn’t particularly good at dancing, nor is it really anything other than just letting his body do whatever it wants to the sound all around him. People fade in and out, people he pays no attention to because he’s not there for them. He fishes his necklace from his collar, holding it like one might a leash, head hanging back, smiling with eyes closed to the ceiling. Sweat collects along his skin, under his arms, on his back, over his throat. It dampens his hair and sticks curls of it to his cheeks and neck.

He doesn’t care about being jostled, or the occasional person that slings an arm around him, or someone he touches in turn. There’s no intimacy to dancing with these strangers. It’s just movement.

Until a hand slides purposefully across his back. It briefly cups his hip. Xavier’s whole body shivers, recognizing an intense desire unfurling in his lower stomach. Every want pools there, his hips tight and his thighs burning. Benji, he thinks, smiling to himself. Only when he turns, it isn’t Benji, but a lithe man with shocking white hair. He smiles, the club lighting turning his teeth florescent. Xavier stares for a moment. Then he smiles back, hesitantly.

The white haired stranger holds his elbow, a thumb brushing along the crook. It isn’t like accidentally stumbling into someone dancing and sharing a few gyrating movements together. This purposeful touch stuns him. The man steps closer. He’s young, with dark violet eyes that search up Xavier. He’s not short, but no one is necessarily tall next to Xavier.

“I’m obsessed with you,” he yells over the music. You don’t even know me, Xavier thinks immediately. He doesn’t yank his arm away just yet, but he doesn’t invite the man in closer either. “You just look so happy.” Xavier narrows his eyes, tilting his head, staring down at the man. He wonders if this is some sort of joke, his smile twitchy on his face. The drugs are burning off in his system, making him cold despite the air in the club being heavy and warm.

“Could I dance with you?”

“It’s a club,” Xavier finally replies, finding his voice. “We’re all dancing together.”

“I want to dance with you.”

“Hey, man,” Xavier laughs, feeling it come out more on edge than he’d have liked. “Do whatever you like, I—”

Suddenly, a cold glass is shoved into his hand. Xavier looks down at it. Then up and Benji stands there.

“Queue was long at the bar.” His voice comes out with that electronic twinge to it from the breather. His eyes are shiny underneath the club lighting, his only feature visible. He’s not looking at Xavier. He’s staring at the pale stranger. The man tilts his head back and forth, surveying before releasing Xavier’s elbow. Then he steps back, a graceful turn on his heel. Xavier isn’t sure how to process the moment. The glass in his hand is delightfully cold.

“Weird fuck, that one, hey? Why’s he touchin’ you like that?” Benji shuffles closer. The rebreather hides his sneer, but just by the pinch of his brows, Xavier know’s its there. He brings the glass to his lips and takes a quick, happy sip. Then he sputters and laughs.

“Is this water?”

“You’ve been dancin’ for a fuckin’ minute, Xavier—aren’t you tired?” Had it been long? He’d not really noticed. Xavier feels guilty for leaving Benji like that; he’d really only meant to dance for a song or two. Or…truthfully, maybe for Benji to join him after watching him go. He’s joined him now, though Xavier doesn’t see Benji getting into the music. The people around them are closing in, forcing them closer and closer. Xavier kills the glass of water in one go and then puts it on the ground at his feet. It’ll likely get kicked somewhere, but he isn’t thinking much.

“I am tired.” Xavier gets closer still, their bodies nearly pressed together, so he doesn’t have to yell. “Come with me?” He won’t force Benji to go—and maybe the drugs had been scrambling his senses, trying to tease Benji to him like that. Now, he feels more steady. Maybe the water had helped. He thinks of the man touching his elbow, that soft gentle press of thumb to the rarely touched spot on his arm. He thinks back to that sudden, intense longing when he’d thought it had been Benji’s hand on his lower back.

“Let’s go.” Benji’s voice is not loud, but it cuts through the music. Through everything. Xavier, with nothing else to do, takes Benji’s hand. Their fingers do a slow, unsure lace together. Xavier tries not to think of the way his heart climbs his throat at that, the way it makes a throbbing feeling pulse through his whole body. Instead, he turns and begins tugging Benji through the crowd.

—

Clubs always have private rooms available. It isn’t hard to guess why. These are a hallway past the bar where the music suddenly becomes muffled, like an afterthought. The bass line still echoes down the passage, still feels tingly in his fingertips. Sparse people stand around, either waiting for someone to come join them, or needing a break from the crowd. Their conversations are a low murmur. They don’t pay attention to the new duo and that anonymity makes him giddy. Xavier doesn’t let go of Benji’s hand as he finds a room marked vacant. He holds the chip in the webbing of his thumb to the wall reader.

It chimes, reading off an electronic amount of credits immediately yanked from his account—Xavier briefly hopes he isn’t going to catch a bug from this and have everything drained overnight. He can’t find it in himself to care as the door slides open with a hiss and the sign beside it switches to a red OCCUPIED.

Once inside, the club music truly does disappear. The vibrations still pulse along the floor, underneath Xavier’s feet. But instead the room is washed in an ambient setting, a dim garnet color with some soft humming soundtrack instead. The furniture isn’t particularly lavish, but two couches and a low table are enough. In fact, Xavier decides they don’t even need the table—he crosses to it and using the toe of his boot, shoves it neatly to the side where it clatters against the wall.

Then he turns to Benji.

Sweat cools over Xavier’s entire body now that he’s not dancing. His hand is still firmly in Benji’s, their fingers tangled together. It does nothing to stop the hammering heart in his chest. It beats so loudly, he’s afraid Benji can hear it. They’re unusually quiet. Silence doesn’t often linger between the two of them. It hangs there now, along with a thickness to the air. Hairs raise along his skin at the thought that they are truly alone.

Xavier steps closer and puts his hands on Benji’s waist. Then he turns, swiveling him toward the couch, where he lands with a soft exhale. The rebreather makes it an electronic whisper.

He thinks about all the things he could say now that it’s just them. This isn’t like being in his room at night. The ship isn’t buzzing around them, the threat of Benji’s predicament right outside the door. This isn’t the supply closet either, where they’d come together in that lusty, messy way. And not even kissed, Christ, they’d not even kissed. Maybe it’s no better that it’s a sleazy private room in a club he’d paid for. But it feels different. Nothing else is in that room, except them.

Instead of speaking, he steps forward. Benji’s knees part to accommodate him in a way that makes his eyes vibrate in his skull. Xavier’s breathing is rapid, as though he’s still recovering from dancing. He’s not—he just can’t catch air. He pushes closer and Benji’s knees widen more. His hands stay flat on his thighs, but he looks up as Xavier stands in front of him. With Benji seated, Xavier is even more imposingly tall. It’s not too different from the first time they’d met and Benji had been on his knees.

A slim pale hand, with black sleeves tucked over scarred knuckles, lifts. Xavier reaches out slowly, in a tentative way that could be brushed aside. Benji could stop him. He gives him that option, moving lethargically. But Benji doesn’t stop him. His chest is rising and falling just as rapidly, the sound whistling through the rebreather. His eyes are glassy, as if he’s the one that’d taken drugs earlier.

Xavier touches the edge of the rebreather and gently tugs it away. Once free, he tosses it to the side, where it joins the discarded table.

“Fuck, you are so beautiful,” Xavier breathes, his voice shaky. “Jesus, do you know how beautiful you are?” He puts the back of his knuckles to Benji’s cheek. It’s a gentle touch. Then he moves, slowly dragging his fingers across Benji’s jawline, underneath his chin. A thumb touches the corner of Benji’s lip. Xavier doesn’t stop, his imagination nothing close to the way Benji’s warm skin actually feels. His fingers trail over his cheek bone, one touching his eyebrow, another brushing a curl from his temple.

As he touches, Benji shivers. That shivering turns into a shaking, and his head falls back as if off hinge. His lips part and he makes a whimper of a sound that shoots directly into Xavier’s lower stomach. Both of Xavier’s giant hands take Benji’s face then, holding his cheeks. He hunches over, bringing them close, staring, thinking about that pretty, high sound. Benji’s face pinches in embarrassment and desire, lip curled as if he’ll need to defend himself. The vulnerability in him is so terrifying it makes every muscle in Xavier’s body flex.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to touch you,” Xavier says, their faces close as he bends over. One of his hands sinks into Benji’s dark hair, tilting the bounty hunters head to the side. Benji’s eyes don’t leave his, but they flutter at the sensations.

“Got a handful now, hey?” Benji’s usual bravado is wavering, his voice thick. He wets his lips with his tongue, lips staying parted after, looking lonely. “Where’s this comin’ from, Xavier?”

“This is from way back, Benji. Since you were staring at me on your knees like you wanted to kill me.”

“I did want to kill you.”

His throat bobs. Xavier’s back muscles strain at the way he’s folded himself. His one hand still cupping Beni’s cheek tightens, fingers underneath his ear lobe, touching softly to sensitive, thin skin. He grins ear to ear, buzzing eyes narrowed.

“And now?”

“Might still kill you.”

It’s met with a laugh as Xavier sinks to his knees. It levels their heights, putting them face to face. Not that Xavier leaves them much time to appreciate that. He pushes forward, his lips skimming Benji’s temple. He’s thinking of that fucking closet. He’s living in that closet and has been since it happened. Watching Benji’s tongue and his lips. Enjoying the sight of his eyes rolling closed, holding him as he fucked into his mouth. Xavier wants to apologize for that moment, not that it wasn’t good. But God, he should have found a way for this to happen first. He should have gotten to taste Benji before Benji got to taste him.

He moves his mouth slowly until a frustrated sound leaves Benji, so much like that touch starved whimper from before. His chin tilts up abruptly and then—then their mouths are right against one another. Just breathing. Xavier thinks he hears his name, in Benji’s voice, high strung with want. It snaps something inside him and he crashes them together.

They kiss—and it’s a hungry thing. Xavier crushes his body forward, hands engulfing underneath Benji’s thighs to yank them around him. Benji’s hands snag at the net top, the sound of fabric tearing loud in their ambient private room. Neither of them stop for anything. Xavier parts their lips forcefully, his tongue pressing into Benji’s mouth. He moans at the sensation, at the sudden taste of him. He tilts his head back and forth, hands roaming up Benji’s body to grasp his face once more.

The kiss is messy and frantic. Teeth nip his lower lip and he responds with his own bite. He devours as much as he’s being devoured. Benji pants between every turn of their heads to find new angles to taste more of each other. His hips grind upward into Xavier’s torso, while Xavier’s hips buck hard against the couch. Maybe it isn’t so different from the supply closet, then. Maybe this is oral sex, because it feels remarkably like fucking.

Xavier instantly wants more, his hands yanking Benji’s borrowed shirt up. Buttons pop as they go, revealing more brown skin, coarse dark body hair. He shoves harder than he means to, Benji slipping on the couch, his torso undulating with movement. The sight of his tattooed body makes Xavier feral and his mouth dives down.

He isn’t slow about it at all, but he takes as much time as he can. Sucking kisses to Benji’s chest, his sternum. His tongue drags and finds a peaked nipple, pulling it into his mouth. Benji’s hand tears at Xavier’s hair, the other fisted into that netted shirt that’s slowly being torn to shreds. The sounds he makes are unlike anything Xavier’s ever had the fortune to hear. They’re growls and grunts mixed with sudden inhales and then more of those beautiful whimpers. Especially when teeth join his tongue on the nipple he hasn’t abandoned.

There’s a certain revelry in how sensitive Benji is. How every touch elicits movement and sound, as if his body is writhing upward and begging for attention. Xavier’s ego is stroked for a moment until he realizes that desperation for attention feels strange with everything he knows of Benji.

Shamefully, he’d dug surface level into the bounty hunters past that he could find. He’d read more than a few newslogs; some of them blatant tabloids and gossip spheres. He couldn’t help himself. He’d wanted to know more, had felt mad for the desire to know anything else he could know. And among those sordid details, Benji had been called a lover. Someone with many partners, a string of them that he left around the galaxy, all sighing over the helmeted criminal.

So why was Benji so…hopeless for touch? Why was he moving like it was the first time in a long time someone had put hands and mouth to him? The thought comes to him, just as he’s withdrawing his tongue, a string of spit still connected to the pectoral he’d been abusing. No one was touching Benji like this. No one was making him feel good. They were only taking. And Xavier feels gruesome about that. He feels hot anger pour through the arousal in his veins, a dangerous alchemical concoction.

Maybe a bit righteous about the want to draw Benji’s pleasure out, kicking and screaming and moaning.

Xavier hears his name in that breathy groan, but he can’t focus on that. Instead he sinks lower, shoving fabric away. For a moment, all he can do is rub his face against Benji’s torso, the smell of him like an aphrodisiac. He groans, tongue out, lavishing, not caring how messy it is. He kisses his way down Benji’s navel. Then lower. He kisses directly underneath Benji’s belly button, feeling muscles dance and flex. He wants to shove his fucking nose into the thick dark hair above the zipper he’s nearly gotten down. He wants smell and taste everything.

But calloused hands cup his cheeks. They tilt his head back. He relishes the feel of those fingertips across his cheeks, his face nuzzling sideways to capture a palm in a close lipped kiss. The point of his nose drags to the delicate, throbbing pulse on the inside of Benji’s wrist. Then his head is tilted again, a little more forceful.

“Hm?” Xavier hums.

Benji moves his face back and forth, peering closer at him. For a good moment, Xavier is too fucking bludgeoned by the feel of his hands and the tickle of his breath on his swollen lips once more to really notice that Benji is checking his pupils.

“Are you,” Xavier withdraws somewhat, but not enough that Benji’s hands move from his face. He cracks a disbelieving smile and then laughs. “Are you checking to see if I’m still high, you asshole?” The laughter catches in his throat when he realizes he’s right, as Benji grumbles to himself and doesn’t stop examining. Then an emotion swells up inside his chest, nearly cracking his ribs open to reveal his bloody, beating heart.

His head falls forward out of Benji’s grasp. He presses his face into the bounty hunters thigh, trying to make his breathing even. The emotion keeps pressing, up his throat and making his hands curl tightly into Benji’s shirt.

“Did I take advantage of you before?” He doesn’t give Benji time to answer. Instead, he shakes his head, rubbing his face on the coarse, black denim clad thigh below him. “I shouldn’t have—I just—you were so—and I wanted you and you wanted me and—”

“Don’t take that from me, Xavier.” He stills and rises from his hunched over, apologetic position. His hands don’t unfurl from Benji’s shirt. They’re a bit painful, with how tight he’s holding on. “Alright?” There’s not many words and they’re caught in Benji’s throat, but his eyes are burning into Xavier with meaning. Something unspoken passes between them, in the way silent communication works with two individuals that are—what? That are close? Like this?

“That was the best one I ever gave,” Benji continues with a crooked grin. He’s not saying out loud everything else he means, but Xavier gets it. He leans in again, his hands finally escaping their unyielding torment on Benji’s shirt to cup around his ribs. He can feel the way they move as he breathes. “Yeah, Xavier, kiss me again. You fuckin’ dickhead, I want you to kiss me again.”

This time it’s a slower affair. Benji is moving, laying back on the couch as Xavier crawls above him. Their hard bodies line up together, even though his legs are far too long. One hangs off, knee still to the ground, but they laugh about it. Their mouths come together again, this time slower. This time it’s languid and their hands roam in appreciative gropes. Benji’s hand digs into his lower back and then cups around Xavier’s ass, making him laugh into the kiss.

He buries his nose to Benji’s neck. He inhales. Hard. He rubs his nose along the pulse that’s only started slowing.

“What a dog,” Benji murmurs, his other hand petting hair back from Xavier’s face.

“Woof,” he pants close to Benji’s ear.

They’re going to kiss again. Maybe, they’ll do more in the privacy of this little maroon room, with their friends spread across Red God. Maybe they’ll use their hands, or mouths or simply press together until it’s enough.

Maybe, but then, there’s the alarm.

The sound makes them jump—makes Xavier scream and roll off, onto the ground on his knees. His hands go to his ears. It’s the emergency all station alarm; too loud to be ignored by anyone. It’s an alarm that only sounds when something mission critical is happening. Nuclear or catastrophic. Invasion, turf war that’ll leave everyone dead, military policy finally getting what they deserve. Something. The alarm is so loud, Xavier stumbles to his feet as Benji does the same from the couch.

“Fuck!” He yells it right as the alarm cuts, and all that’s left is the emergency lighting.

It reminds him of the prison ship. The blue and red, the flashing, the enviro turned off as they melted, the crawling dead things. The twist of flesh and merciless fear. Xavier’s hands shake as they pull from his ears, staring at Benji with wide, desperate eyes.

“No way,” Benji pants, shaking his head. “It’s—can’t be here too.”

Panic threatens Xavier with bile in his throat. He slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes shaking as he tries to ignore the bright flashing emergency lights. There’s commotion outside. The music shut off, the sound of pounding feet. People evacuating. For a moment, they only stand there and stare at each other until dread pours over Xavier, his skin going icy and clammy.

“Nomi,” he moans, a thread of terror there. “Oh, fuck, we have to find her.”

“Yes,” is all Benji says, darting for the door.

The club has dissolved into absolute chaos. With the emergency lights on, it looks like a garish crime scene. The bright white interspersed with blue and red makes it look clinical and shameful as people dart for the exits. Xavier jolts when someone running collides with his shoulder, sending him stumbling forward. He sneaks a hand into his pocket so he can have a grasp on his mechanical knife, but there’s too many bodies to switch it open without a close accident.

“This way,” he yells, starting for the double doors they’d come through. They’re all the way slid open, a vein of people shoving their way through. He’s running, doing his own fair amount of pushing. But the tidal wave of people maneuvers him. And in the herd of terrified people, Xavier is lost. He doesn’t see Benji, his wild curly hair, his beautiful face, his worried brown eyes.

He’s dragged toward a side exit.

“Benji!” But his yells aren’t very loud over the rest of the commotion. Fuck, fuck, fuck his anxious lizard brain chants. And then, someone random holding his arm and tugging him, their panic making them as helpful as they are harmful, Xavier is suddenly behind a grate of bars that slam down. Someone’s screaming down the dark hall. Xavier’s blood pulses in his skull, pressing himself against the bars.

“No fuckin’ shot,” Benji growls, shoving himself against the opposite side.

“It’s security,” Xavier pants, his hands shaking as they close around the cool metal. He puts his forehead against it, eyes closed. “I dunno—I dunno what’s going on.” He pats frantically at the communicator chip behind his ear, but it’s crackling silence. There’s no connecting to the ship, or the captain. He presses himself harder against the bars.

“Xavier, alright, mate, look at me. Look at me.” When he does, Benji is reaching through the bars, taking his face. He smooths fingers over Xavier’s cheeks, a thumb brushing his eyebrow. “Go back to the ship. I’m goin’ to double back, look for Nomi and Maran.” There’s a pause and a brief pause before he snorts derisively. “And Benny.”

Benji’s hands withdraw. Xavier tries to summon the soldier that lives inside his head, the corporal that operates with a cool, detached calm. He has to keep his eyes closed, because he’s afraid if he looks at Benji, it’ll shatter the effort to switch that mask on.

Then he regrets it, when he opens his eyes and Benji is gone.

***

The poster hadn’t been lying. Most of the virtual arcade is under shrink wrap, a construction set of tools scattered about, a sleek black ladder leaning against a wall. It’s cavernous, because virtual reality games don’t require much. Benny kicks over a bucket that spins and spits black oil everywhere in little splattered patterns.

At least it’s quiet. Maybe a little too quiet, compared to the hallway they’d come down, with the music bleeding through it. He wonders how Xavier is fairing with that sullen little bounty hunter that looks at him like he’s a bone to chew on. Their steps echo in the arcade, on slick white tiled floor, especially Nomi’s chunky boots. Benny keeps his hands to himself as they wander, ducking exposed wires from ceilings that are cracked open for easy access.

“Wicked,” Nomi quips in her cute colony English accent. A word stolen straight from their corporals vocabulary. It makes Benny smile at her, head tilted down, eyes scanning over his sunglasses as he takes in their derelict environment. Half the games are shut down. The lighting is on, but Benny suspects that’s because the power is connected to the club, not because anyone is there. They’d likely have been kicked out by now, after he’d borrowed a trick from Lark and broke the lock keeping people out.

“I played this one back home. Got the highest score every time, yunno,” Maran says proudly, standing in front of a large blocky machine. XENO INVADERS is a giant flashing title above a huge, inky screen. He takes the controls in his hands, pretending for a moment to be shooting something, faking sound affects under his breath.

Nomi giggles and collides her shoulder with him, which makes his face light up. Benny wonders where the jealousy is. If he needs to drag it out with a knife, because he’s unused to it not being there. Usually if someone glanced Nomi’s way, his loser sensitive emotions were already spiraling and telling him to either kill himself or the person in question.

But Maran is so fucking easy to like. Not just because he’s so boyishly handsome; though he is. Especially with those arms exposed, one fake and one real. The curve of his brown bicep is inviting in a way that makes Benny’s mouth water. His face is freckled, like he got actual organic sun as a child. And even in the low lighting, his eyes spark not just because of those thin white biotics.

Maran’s also just ridiculously sweet, isn’t he? Hands to himself as Nomi keeps inviting him to touch, with her hard to read body language. The few conversations that Benny has trapped him into there was just a current of openness to him. Hadn’t the world been cruel to Maran? Hadn’t someone hurt him? Why wasn’t he angry? Why wasn’t he worse?

Benny follows them as they dig deeper into the arcade. He ignores the swirling emotions in his gut. He’s very good at ignoring things.

“Oh, I love this game,” Nomi says, darting to a virtual pad with a sleek, minimalistic motorbike attached. It’s a suggestion of the real thing, no tires, just mounted to the sensor pad underneath it. The lights are dancing technicolor, but the visors attached are blank, resting on the console. As is the screen in front. She hums as she goes to her knees, feeling her hands across the ground.

Benny and Maran stand side by side, watching her.

They’re so close, they might as well be actually touching. Benny can sense he’s being stared at as well, but he doesn’t turn his head, or risk glancing to the side. He continues watching Nomi, but he does indulge himself with imagining what could happen. If he did turn, put his chin to his own shoulder and stared back at Maran. Would he smile, that bashful, proud grin that he has around Nomi?

The technician in question touches behind her skull, deft fingers pulling a thin little cord free from the mess of her blue hair. Her other hand rummages the pockets of her oversized jacket until she comes up with a slim all purpose tool Benny had gifted her. He shifts at noticing it, trying to contain the strange elation that pulses through his veins at how comfortably she flicks it open. That she kept it on her.

The two men continue to watch as she gets a panel free, and then jacks herself into it.

Nomi looks up at them, her pink eyes turning bright blue.

“Wow,” Maran says quietly. “That’s impressive.”

“I guess so,” Benny replies, affecting nonchalance. The burning sensation is back, like Maran’s eyes are crawling over his tattooed neck. Benny fakes a yawn into the crook of his elbow to cover the nervous energy that’s making his arms jittery and his stomach spin. There’s a brief moment of silence and then Nomi exhales and unplugs.

The screen comes to life immediately, muted sounds following from the visors on the console. Nomi stands and dusts her hands together, smiling proudly at the two of them. Her pales cheeks are flushed slightly pink, as though from exertion. Neither of the men seem capable of saying anything for a moment, until Benny firmly puts a hand behind Maran’s shoulders and pushes him forward.

“It’s m-more fun if there’s two,” he explains with a wicked sneer as Maran looks over his shoulder back at him. His thick lashed eyes are wide. Nomi, who must agree, has already climbed onto the bike, sorting out the visors. She has to scoot herself forward to let Maran climb on behind—and he does so with this gentle, nervous energy. His hands stay firmly planted on his thighs, rubbing an anxious pattern back and forth.

Benny observes the two of them with what he hopes looks like disinterest. Instead, he is following Nomi’s hands as she tucks hair behind her ears. He’s watching her pass the visor back and put her own on with the rapt attention of someone entranced. Benny watches Maran sling it around his face, his anxious scoot forward bringing his chest to Nomi’s back. His hands fall back to his thighs, fingers curling. Benny breathes in and out evenly, pulling his tin case of cigarettes from his pocket.

He slides one behind his ear as he approaches the rear of the virtual reality bike. Maran is wide enough to dwarf Nomi, his shoulders broad. His thin shirt is flimsy enough that his light brown skin is slightly visible. Benny takes the criminals wrists from behind, gently navigating them forward until they are on Nomi’s waist. Maran stiffens. Benny is so far pressed forward that he can feel him go still against his chest. His mind fills with the image of Maran’s back flexing like that in very different circumstances. Benny’s chest to his back in very different circumstances.

Then he relaxes. He leans back. He grips Maran’s thighs and gives them a short squeeze before letting go. His lips to Maran’s ear, he whispers, “Have fun.”

—

Benny doesn’t wander far. Just because he doesn’t want to watch them, doesn’t mean he necessarily wants to be away from them. It makes his nerves prickle to think of them being separated, so instead he wanders back to XENO INVADERS. Benny stares at himself in the full black screen. He inhales hard on the cigarette, lazy about the exhale so smoke curls all around him. He shrugs his jacket off, feeling strangely warm. The enviro must not be cycling in the arcade very well.

He leaves it on the stool beside the game.

Nomi had kissed him first, after repairing his arm. There was still oil on her fingers from where she’d gone poking around in the sensitive bits of his non organic matter. She’d leaned in, with her fingertips brushing the side of his jaw and put her mouth to his. Benny had loved her probably sooner than that, but it was worse now. Sometimes, it was such a consuming feeling he hated himself for it.

Benny doesn’t think he can handle that two fold. Maran’s face swims in his vision, his plush lips looking kissable even just in memory. He sucks a hard inhale of nicotine. He shakes his head, kicks the stool over and—

“Jonny…”

The cigarette drops from his mouth.

“Hello?” He doesn’t mean for his voice to come out as high pitched as it does. He’s not a baritone to fucking begin with, but it’s down right squeaky with fear just then. He clears his throat, rubbing a hand aggressively across his chest. He’s hearing things. It’s too quiet in this arcade. They never should have left Benji and Xavier. Lark never should have set that precedent.

There’s a shvhhhhh sound of plastic wrapping bunching together. Benny stumbles toward it. He should—he should run. Probably. He should go back to Maran and Nomi and tell them they should leave, but…it’s a worker. Maybe security. Even more reason to leave. But something snags in Benny’s skull and tugs. He feels an impossible pull. The strange human desire to investigate.

“Jonny.”

Maybe there’s curiosity to it. Hearing that name after so long. Benny hadn’t been on the ship. But he’d seen their faces when they’d come back. The shell shocked glassy eyes; Nomi’s nightmares afterward. Maybe he is afraid—he can’t not be—but maybe he’s also interested to know what the horrors really are. Benny, after all, has experienced horror so much already. What more could really happen?

He meets a wall of plastic sheeting. And inside he can see the murky silhouette people.

“Hello?” He calls again, in a rough voice. He clears his throat. His pulse thunders up underneath his jaw, hammering cruelly at his throat. He chews his lip, breathing in and out through his nose like an abused race horse. Benny’s hand shakes as he lifts it.

Jonny, something whispers inside his head. No, he thinks. No.

He yanks it away. And then he regrets it.

Benny should have listened to Nomi. He should have listened to Xavier, who was a scary enough man himself sometimes. Benny is ill equipped for the scene in front of him. It is a reality defying image, so reality warps at the edges of his vision, turning black. Tunneling him into the four men standing in a circle.

They’re dressed in the old republic uniforms. Pilots, with gas mask helmets on that wheeze with every inhale. They stand above a figure on the ground, huddled in on itself. Blood splatters the ground just like the oil from before. It drips from a broken nose. His own broken nose. A tooth sits on the floor. It’s his tooth. A back molar. They’d knocked it loose when they’d jumped him.

Benny is standing there, staring at himself, on the ground.

“What the fuck?” the words spill out with spit, because vomit rises in his throat. The air is tangy with sweat and blood and fear. He swallows it down, stumbling back. The noise makes the pilots snap to attention. All of them turn and look at him at the same time. Their visors are black. Not the sort of black that the plasti-steel helmets are made of. It’s a swirling, liquid texture that ripples with acknowledgment. Those waves say, I see you. He whimpers on the ground. A hand out stretched. He’s thin and younger and pathetic and beaten black and blue and red.

All the pilots hold a knife. A familiar one.

Sergio had given him that knife. A sweet parting gift, from his pilot lover back in the force. It’s distinguishable by the curve at the end. S.R. is etched into the handle. He’s so distracted staring at that knife that he doesn’t notice the version of himself changing on the ground. He rises to his bloody knees and instead of being him twenty, it’s him at twelve. Benny can almost feel the child’s black eye, his split lip.

But when the child opens his mouth, it’s just the loud snarling sound of an animal.

And then Benny runs.

The snapping, snarling, growling follows, along with the heavy sound of combat boots on tiled floor. It isn’t human, whatever that sound is. It’s nothing distinguishable. No animal he’s ever heard before. It’s mingling with voices, with his voice, with his crying. Benny feels real tears in his eyes, pouring along his cheeks, more spit from his mouth as he screams. His shoulder clips with a machine as he runs, sending him sprawling to the ground.

He raises hands to protect his face—just like he’d down so many years ago—but it’s only one pilot now. It stands over him, switching the knife back and forth between black clad hands. The sounds it makes are wet and keening, like a hyena’s laugh. Benny kicks out, trying to strike the monster’s leg, but it swipes with the knife, catching a slash across his knee. Pain erupts like a white hot flash, then the wet feeling of blood.

“Fuck you!” Benny yells, sliding himself backward desperately on the tiled floor. He needs Xavier—he can’t win a fight without Xavier. Fear makes his body unresponsive, his limbs twitchy and useless.

And then a haymaker catches the pilot monster right in the fucking helmet. The force behind the punch sends the monster straight to the ground, where the helmet cracks against the floor like the shattering of a skull. Benny stares, open mouth, face wet with tears as Benji of all people stomps his booted foot down on the pilots hand. There’s an unmistakable snap of bone and the knife tumbles free.

Benji wastes no more time. His boot goes for the throat then. Over and over.

And over.

Until the creature convulses violently and black blood pools from under the cracked helmet. It goes still.

Neither of them speak. They stare at the impossible thing bleeding on the floor. Benny goes to his knees, panting wildly. His hands card back through his sweaty hands, his hand rubbing across his mouth. His knee burns where his lovers blade has cut his skin cleanly, like a surgeons scalpel. He’s not fully in control of himself as he crawls over, a hand prepared to yank the helmet free.

“Don’t.” Benji’s voice is eerily calm. Benny looks up at him. His face is a pure mask, lips thinned. He isn’t even breathing hard from that brutal explosion of violence. His hands are curled into fists still. “You don’t want to know, mate. I think—fuck. I think knowing makes it stronger.”

Benny doesn’t have time to ask what that even means. He gets to his feet, legs shaky and number. Bloods wet across his shin, but he doesn’t pay it any attention. He swallows more vomit down, hands closing over his mouth. He can’t speak. If he does, it’ll just be a stuttering mess. They made him into this. This terrified little creature. Benny shuts his eyes, trying to ignore the dead body on the ground. If it’s a body. Whatever it is.

“Did you hear the alarm?”

“What?” Benny finally drops his hands, looking at Benji. They step carefully away from the dead thing on the ground, putting distance, in case it gets back up. They’re careful not to turn their back on it for that exact same reason. Benji looks like he’s going to press, but there’s shouting and then suddenly, Nomi and Maran.

They skid around a corner together. Fear mangles their beautiful faces. Benny turns to try and put the corpse behind him so they don’t have to see, but it doesn’t matter. Nomi isn’t stupid—she notices and goes still, hands raised to her mouth.

And then, inexplicably, she’s stepping toward Benji. She’s taking his hand in both of hers, staring at him with giant, pink eyes. He seems momentarily startled by her—and then relaxes. Benny can’t begin to imagine what sort of bond forms between people who went through more of whatever just happened to him. How much did he not know about that ship?

“It fucking followed us,” Nomi whispers, her breathy, deep voice terrified.

“Was there an alarm, Nomi?” Benji steps closer, trying to crowd the answer out of her.

Benny jumps when there’s a touch to his elbow.

Maran stares at him, his gorgeous eyes filled with concern. They’re the same height, if not an inch skewed because of Benny’s boots. It means they can look directly at one another with barely any movement, as they do just then. The hand at his elbow curls. It holds softly. It’s warmth radiates through Benny’s cold, shocked body. He wants to cry all of a sudden. He wants to break down crying again, he wants Maran to come tuck arms around him. To know what that carbon metal skin feels like. If it would be cool against his tear stained cheeks.

Instead, he swats the hand away, taking a step back.

“I’m fi-fine,” he mumbles, tilting his head toward the ground and away. Maran doesn’t step back, but his hand recedes. Benny can’t handle looking back up and seeing that soft, inviting face. There’d been no hint of pity. Just genuine worry.

“Where th-the f-fuck is Xavier?” Benny asks, quickly realizing the corporal isn’t there. His chest tightens with panic once more, his frayed nerves feeling ambushed and bruised. Benji doesn’t answer immediately.

“The station alarm went off.”

“What?” Maran steps toward Benji, to his side. That concerned hand touches Benji instead, his shoulder. Benny’s scrambled and terrified brain focuses on that touch and hates it. Friendly little fucker. How could he stomach being jealous of that? He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, realizes his sunglasses had fallen off somewhere in the chase.

“Xavier and I got separated. He’s goin’ back to the ship—I was tryin’ to find you lot.”

“No.” Nomi’s voice cracks. She shakes her head, folding arms around herself. “He shouldn’t be alone—I think it—this fucking thing works better when you’re alone, yeah? It didn’t get us on the ship because we were never alone.”

Benny fumbles for the com chip behind his ear. But the ship sends nothing but static back. He jerks out a communicator from his pocket. His hands shake as he dials Xavier. It rings. And continues ringing. Bastard. He’s never not answered before. Unlike Benny, who often misplaces the technology, Xavier is often glued to it. There’s slim chances that logs from his sisters back home will come through, depending where they are in voyage. He never wants to miss them.

Benji is staring at him, his eyes dark. His jaw is tense. Benny feels a sudden surge of sympathy and chooses not to panic him. Instead, he finds Lark’s contact and dials it instead.

“What the fuck, Benny?” His annoyed voice is crisp through the line. Benny thumbs a button so that the other three can hear as well. “I’m like, very fucking busy right now, man.”

“You need t-to find Xavier.” Benny stutters, but his voice is unrelentingly firm. He’s surprised at his own calmness. It feels like a balm to the pain in his leg and the fear making every part of him twitchy. He wipes his pale blond hair back, exhaling slowly. The device is quiet for a moment.

“What’s wrong?”

“Too long t-to explain. He’s he-headed back to the ship.”

“Copy.”

The call cuts. Benny puts the communicator into his pocket, hands still shaking hard enough it almost tumbles free. They all pause then, the three of them standing there.

“Well,” Benji says, lifting a finger to point behind Benny. “That’s not fuckin’ shockin’ at all.” He doesn’t want to look, but he does. Turns his head over his shoulder. There’s a black stain on the ground, but no body. Nothing but the scuffed marks of it’s death and the now drying pool of it’s blood to say it was ever there. And the cut on Benny’s leg. That was real. There was no denying that.

When he looks back to them, they all three stare, as if he’s the one to make the next move. Benny blanches.

“Ship,” he says, a short, quiet word because he can’t trust himself to say more than that. When Nomi and Benji turn, it’s Maran who lingers, looking at him just a bit longer. Benny is almost thankful for it.

***

“This is a terrible date,” Matilda remarks, even though her eyes are alight underneath Red God’s overstuffed markets. They’re bursting with colors, especially with the environment set to night time. Stalls have neon lights draped over them and people hawk wares loudly and store fronts have doors open, inviting people to come inside and lose money. The smells are both acrid and awful and mingling with the scent of people and food.

It isn’t necessarily a place to go, but an experience none the less. He buys them cheap food at a vendor that deals with Earth delicacies. Something cold and sweet that melts quickly on your tongue and makes her pinch her eyes shut when she eats a scoop too fast. The energy is low and humming, nothing like the club would have been. The drugs make all the colors bleed together, harmonizing under the constant buzz of people yelling around them.

“No it isn’t,” Lark replies, an arm wrapped around her slender waist. She lets him, her own draped lazily across his shoulders. The feel of her body so close makes him feel even more intoxicated, even though its the tail end of the high. “Besides, you told me I couldn’t take you on a date.”

“You can’t.”

“So what is this?” Lark looks up at her, grinning wickedly. Her height only amplifies her beauty. He’s gotten her naked in his bed, her long pale body spread out across his shitty military sheets. The length of her is appealing, because it’s so much more for him to enjoy. He’d made a path of bites and kisses from her ankle to the inside of her thigh and taken his time too.

Maybe it was backwards that they’d slept together and only now were carving time out to be truly alone. Wander a shitty military base city, high and satiated off sweets that had cost too much. Truthfully, it was backwards to begin with, when she’d snuck onto the ship to steal Maran and Benji away. It would never not be backwards, considering all the stretched between them.

Lark isn’t sure if they’re together purely because they’re attracted to each other and there. Available. He gets the sense that she would flee very quickly. Take her boys and run and he’d never see her again and never forget the taste of her on his tongue. He isn’t even sure that Matilda would like him if things were different. If they met differently.

Matilda sighs, long suffering as she dances forward, yanking him onto a steel grated bridge that overhangs a dark abyss drilling into the planet the base is on. The height exhilarates him. He’s never once been afraid of heights. Maybe that’s why he’d joined the military—not just because he had to. But because being off the ground felt good.

He’s pinned back to the guard rail, her body to his as her hands curl around it behind him. Strands of her dark red hair fall from her messy yanked back pony tail. He’s dizzy at the sensation of her possessing him like that.

“You didn’t want to go dancing?” She pouts. Her lips are glossy from something she’d paused and applied in a window of a store, the owner staring at her with stars in his eyes.

“I wanted to be alone,” Lark replies, shrugging lazily, spine curving as he stands there. His booted feet are splayed around her, elbows to the rail, hands dangling even as they want to yank at her.

“You’re not alone.”

“With you,” he bites out, head tilting forward. Matilda looks down at him with her chin slightly raised. Her eyes are an overly large feature in her face, the stimulants making her pupils massive, even as they wear off. She curls her lip, like she might disparage him. But his hand curls around her hip. His fingers indent her skin, holding her tighter until she’s shuffling closer. The bridge is empty, save for them, darker down at this end of the marketplace. It’s not private. But…

“I don’t like you that much, Tanaka,” Matilda murmurs, even as her glossy lips are almost touching his.

The communicator in his pocket goes shrill. It makes Matilda recoil, stepping back from him. Lark promises a swift, brutal end for whoever is on the other end. A quick tap on the chip behind his ears brings the com length for the ship entirely inactive. It can’t be an emergency then…

—

To her credit, Matilda doesn’t ask questions. She doesn’t even offer a sarcastic word, or a clever quip. Something in his face must make her pause—something might even make her worry. Maybe not for the same person. Lark doesn’t think Matilda has any particularly strong feelings for any of them, least of all the corporal. But if something is wrong, it might not just extend to Xavier. She has to care for Maran and Benji. She’d come for them, after all. She was in this mess because she’d cared for them.

Some small part of him that he ignores as best as he can, wants her to care for him too.

Instead, he’s walking at a pace she matches with her long stride. The pass through the markets isn’t as rose tinted now that he’s scared. And it’s undeniable that he is, with his pulse beating Xavier’s name in his chest. Benny’s voice had been warped by the electronic cackle of the communicator, but he’d not sounded…right. He was an easily spooked man, which maybe made him perfect for his role as a demolitions expert, or a sniper. But hearing the thinness in his voice had made some animal instinct in Lark surpass rationale. Xavier’s name, said like that.

Not Xavier. Lark can’t do this without him.

“Fuck, where did everyone go?” he stares around at the emptiness of the entertainment district. It had been bursting with people just an hour ago, when they’d made their departure from the ship. It had been nearly overwhelming with populace. Half the reason why he’d dragged her away, because the thought of all those bodies pressing in on Matilda hadn’t sat right with him.

The pilot pauses beside him. He’s startled to realize she’s taken his hand. He doesn’t give her any placating words, but he does squeeze it once. She squeezes it back.

They slide around a corner together, connected like that—and a figure at the end of the hall pulls them up short.

Before Lark had ever been a soldier—before he was even Lark—he had grown up a poor boy on a colony made for food production. It was one of the nastier colonies, as food producers usually were. He’d grown up in a hot, two bedroom house, where he slept in the corner of the room beside his sister. Parents in the other room, sleeping only a couple hours a night before they went to the production plants. Everything they’d ever owned fit in one giant hover crate when they’d been forced to downsize, as the plant consumed everything around it, growing larger to make food for the rest of the galaxy.

He’d turned to crime easily, then, because it was the only way real money could be made. And he’d needed money. Lark never truly forgot the sort of fear that came with being cornered. Feeling backed in. And that’s how the stranger makes him feel, even though they are technically outnumbered.

But truthfully, it’s Matilda beside him that makes Lark even more afraid. Because she stumbles. Her hand goes tighter around his, so tight he can feel his bones sliding together.

“Mouse,” she whispers.

The figure stalks toward them with a rolling gait. Their foot steps echo loudly in the hall that had just been bursting with people and music. Plastic cups and cans and inhalers like the one he’d used earlier litter the ground. Where had everyone gone? Had they done something?

They resolve into features. A short and non lethal looking urchin, with messy brown hair and tawny skin. There is a long scar across the side of their face, stark white and mean looking. They’re smiling, but God it doesn’t look like a smile. It looks like a savage opening of the face to reveal teeth. Lark’s tongue touches his steel canine. His free hand slowly goes for the pistol in the back of his jeans, tucked away.

“Mouse!” Matilda yells. He tilts his chin down, staring with narrowed, cold eyes. Fear becomes anger. His hand touches the cold metal of his gun.

But this person—Mouse—raises her own.

“Hi, Mattie,” they yell. “Baby. Did you miss me?”

Then they fire.

#writing #space horror au #xw #bp #mgc #mmr #lt #jlb #nw #xw x bp #good taste #lt x mmr #my god the whole squad

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linksthoughtbrambles · 2 years ago

Note

I would love to hear about "Be Mindful" :)

Wow, anxious, it's amazing you asked about that one, because it's a draft of an idea I had for a gift fic for you! I ended up not going with this one because I thought it would end up extremely long - like a multi-chapter fic - but I would like to write it in the future.

It's an AU in which the only initial change from BotW is that Link arrives at Hyrule Castle much earlier with his father - long before he would pull the sword - and meets Zelda right away, neither of them having any idea who the other is. It gives them a little time to develop a relationship without the sword being an issue, and changes the entire chain of events. Here's a snippet:

----

A fair number of people were in view—some soldiers on the battlements, some Sheikah, some going about daily castle business—but a glint of bright lemon-yellow drew Link’s eye to a woman taking the same path he and his father had to reach the courtyard stairs.

That bright yellow sat atop her head in the form of hair—an astoundingly long braid wrapped around the rest of it, tied back out of her face. She clutched something to her chest—a book maybe—and she had a frown on as she watched the flagstones pass her feet. She was walking fast, her practical clothing allowing it far better than a dress would have, but it wasn’t Sheikah clothing, nor did it look like a servant’s. She wore Hylian trousers, soft and close to form-fitting like his, and boots (also a lot like his) with a practical shirt and bodice, with leather half-gloves.

He found her eyes downturned, as deep green as rhododendron leaves in sun-dappled thicket, and his heart—which had ceased to beat—careened into his ribcage.

She was beautiful, wasn’t she? She-

She looked up.

Her eyes widened as her mouth fell open.

Link realized he was doing the same thing.

“Uh,” he said.

“Oh!” she said.

Her eyes stayed on his.

And his stayed on hers.

Somehow, it didn’t feel awkward to Link.

Apparently it didn’t feel awkward to the woman either. She approached him, small step by small step, hugging her book to her chest more tightly. “Are you new here?” she asked.

Why wouldn’t Link’s mouth close?

He tried very hard to swallow. His mouth and throat were so dry—but he couldn’t take out his canteen and just… swig water down while she was waiting for him to answer her. Right? Right. Imagine if she did that. If he asked her what her name was, and she just… grabbed that container off her belt and started drinking from it, looking him right in the eye while she gulped and gulped and gulped and time just got longer and that WOULD get more and more awkward, with total silence except for the gulping—he wouldn’t be able to look away from it either, he’d be riveted to the spot.

Yep. He would not drink from his canteen. That would be really off-putting and it would take way too long to answer.

Kind of like how he was taking way too long to answer—right now.

Her mouth had closed and she had kind of a worried look on her face.

“Sorry,” he said.

“S-sorry?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“For what?”

“For- for taking so long to answer you.”

She just stared at him.

“Oh! Right! Um. Yes, I’m new here,” he said, turning a little red, but less red than he thought he would, so that was something. He needed to get his inner monologue under control.

Her face started moving in an odd manner. It turned downward and to her left a little, and that side of it scrunched up a bit. Then that corner of her mouth started to turn up and ohhhh, she was going to laugh at him, wasn’t she? Yeah, he deserved that-

“Eh- eh- hehehe!” she giggled.

Yeah. Totally deserved. He was kind of an idiot.

“I take it by the sword at your side you’ve come to enlist?” she asked.

Link’s mouth dropped open for the second time.

She… still wanted to talk to him?

“Yeah-s,” he said. On the end of the word, he’d remembered courtly manners were a little more formal than what he’d been used to in Hateno. He turned ever so slightly pinker than he’d already been.

It didn’t do anything to dampen the smile the woman now wore. She turned her face upward and it accentuated the swooping shape of her nose. “I see. Have you some skill already?”

“Oh,” he said. “I- yeah, I know how to use a sword,” he said. His hand itched to come up and grip the back of his own neck or scratch the back of his head, but he resisted. No need to act like a shy kid. People would make enough fun of him, with how short he was.

----

[It's still in a very drafty state - but someday I hope to spruce it up and flesh it out!]

Thanks for the ask!

#ask game #wip #loz #loz botw #botw au #be mindful comes from link's father's advice to him #like don't frickin daydream link #pay attention #please don't embarrass yourself #or me for that matter #...link why are you chitty chatting with the PRINCESS?!!?!

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reddie-fangirl24 · 2 years ago

Text

This is the first chapter of a Friends Crossover I recently thought up. I hope you enjoy the story!

“EDDDDDDS!!! Oh, Eds my love!” Richie’s booming voice rang out as he run up the stairs of the apartment building. You guessed it, he wasn’t the favorite among the other residents. Running like a child who just got back from a trip to the candy trip, Richie burst through the door of the apartment. Eddie was grasping his temples, but the smile was there.

“I’m really surprised that we haven’t been kicked out of this building yet,” Eddie remarked dryly, still giving his husband a kiss.

“Want to know what I bought today?” Richie hunched up his shoulders, holding the bag behind his back. He had this childish smile on his face.

Eddie tried to peek at the bag, glimpsing the words of the store name. “Knowing you, something dirty.”

“Hey, I am not a dork if I buy comic books! You look at them, too.”

“So, you bought comics?”

“No! It’s way cooler!” Richie turned around, took out what was in the bag, and presented his new cowboy boots in a pose reminiscent of one of those mannequins you’d see in a clothing store.

It was a pair of brown cowboy boots. Designed with branches of leaves painted on the sides, The buckles were gold. Obviously, they were very new because Eddie could practically see his face in them. Also, that new boot smell.

“Wow, they’re so smooth!” Eddie noted, feeling the boots.

“I know!” Richie answered in a sing-song voice. He was so proud of them.

“But Rich, why did you get these? You don’t wear cowboy boots.” The only shoe Eddie ever saw Richie wear were sneakers. When he was a kid his shoes were falling apart. It annoyed Eddie which is why he’d wear them.

Richie went to sit on the couch, taking off his other shoes in the process. “Oh, I couldn’t resist!”

“I see you also couldn’t resist a price that’s way over our heads!” It didn’t take long for Eddie’s face to flush an angry red as he held the receipt in hand. Oh, Richie knew he should have thrown the receipt away.

“Babe, don’t worry,” Richie started as he walked over to his husband. His feet felt snug in the boots.

“Do you have any idea who you are talking to?! Richie, this is our rent! You went and spent money on cowboy boots when we need to pay rent and other bills right now! I thought I wrote out our expenses. You know we need to talk about purchases first.”

Taking his hands, Richie pulled Eddie close to him, holding his waist. Mellowing in his comforting hug, Eddie’s eyes softened. Richie kissed his head.

“I’m sorry for not talking to you first. Really, I am, Eds. But look at these! They look fantastic! I don’t think I’ll ever take ‘em off!”

Richie posed again in the boots. Eddie stared at him, smiling. He walked up, rubbing his hands along Richie’s husky shoulders. “You do look sexy,” he whispered, giving him that look Richie knew all too well.

“Yeah?” Richie raised his eyebrow, his hands briskly crawling down Eddie’s belt.

“Think we could look at them more closely in the bedroom?”

“I thought you’d never ask, baby.”

#Reddie #It Chapter 2 #Friends #Friends Crossover #Richie Tozier #Eddie Kaspbrak #reddie fanfiction

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thatonemarvelchick · 4 months ago

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Peter - Twelve

Peter led Apricity outside, looking up at the cloud-covered sky. The sun hung low, already setting even though it was only seven. He glanced over at the girl, her small form swallowed almost whole by one of his hoodies. He’d insisted she change, wear something warmer. He almost made her take a pair of his boots if they wouldn’t have tripped her up so badly.

She had her hands shoved into the pockets, the neckline pulled up to her nose. Peter smiled softly at the sight, the way her big hazel eyes peeked over the collar of his hoodie. It made something in his heart flutter. He tried to ignore the feeling.

“Where are we going again?” Apricity asked, looking over at Peter. The two trudged along down the streets of Boston, towards one of the main roads.

“We’re getting a rental car, and we’re going to drive to Brooklyn. That’s where Mr. Barnes lives.” Peter had been keeping tabs on all of the Avengers, even if none of them knew him anymore. He knew Bucky would would recognize Spider-Man.

Apricity stopped short, looking up at him. “You want to drive all the way to Brooklyn? Peter that's a four-hour drive on a good day, with this weather we’ll be lucky to make it there by morning.” She shook her head. “Plus, I don’t know about you but I don’t really have the money for a rental car.”

Peter shrugged. “Don’t worry about the money, I’ve got it covered.” He and May had money stashed away for emergencies almost his whole life. When everything went sideways, he took all of it before he left. It was one of the few things he had left of her. “I just want to figure out what’s going on, see what Bucky knows. Sooner we get this whole mess cleaned up…” He let the words hang in the air.

“The sooner you can go back to pretending I don’t exist.” She finished for him, keeping her eyes on the sidewalk ahead of them now.

Peter’s throat got tight. He tried not to think of that moment in the bathroom. Of how delicate her touch was on his face. Of how much he’d wanted to pull her in and never let go. He’d even thought about kissing her.

But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t get too close, because in doing so he was only putting her in danger. This was bad enough.

Apricity didn’t say anything else the rest of the walk, and neither did he. When the man renting out cars heard they were looking to get one to take overnight, he looked at the two skeptically.

“You’re gonna make a drive to New York in this weather?” He asked, eyebrow raised. He was an older man, with graying hair and a beer gut that hung low over his belt. Peter didn’t like the way he looked at Apricity.

“Yeah.” He said simply, taking a step closer to her and setting the cash down on the counter. “It’s all right here, including the extra for insurance. Can I get the keys, please?” His tone was no-nonsense. It was clear he would not be argued out of this. He saw Apricity staring up at him from the corner of his eye, but didn’t look down.

Soon enough, they were sitting in the seats of a comfortable blue Kia Spectra, with a working heater and a running engine. That was really all Peter could ask for.

“Alright, ready?” He looked over at Apricity, who had stripped off one of the coats he’d given her and was now only wearing the hoodie. She was tying her hair up into a knot on the top of her head.

“Yeah.” She mumbled around the hair tie in her mouth. It was the most she’d said to him since their conversation on the walk over. Peter sighed, turning on the radio. He couldn’t be upset that she didn’t want to talk to him, he’d essentially told her he was planning to abandon her as soon as they’d figured everything out.

But she had to understand, right? On some level, she had to understand why he was doing what he was doing. Why he was keeping himself apart from her, why it was safer for her to be away from him? She was smart, incredibly so, she had to have understood.

“Apricity, I’m sorry.” He surprised himself with the words.

She frowned, turning to look over at him fully. “What?” Clearly, he’d surprised her with the apology too.

Peter swallowed, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly. “I just… You have to understand why I want to- Why I don’t want you around me.”

She sighed, realizing what it was about, and turned away. She was shutting him out. “It’s fine, Peter.”

Peter shook his head. “No, no because I can’t stand it. I don��t want to do this to you. I just- Everyone in my life, at some point or another, has gotten hurt. Everyone. And after the Statue of Liberty…” He shook his head and swallowed, trying to shake the memories of the Goblin out of his head. How badly he’d wanted to kill Norman Osborne. How badly he’d wanted to shove past the other Peter Parker and kill him. “Stuff happened. I got May- my aunt-” He felt his throat closing up and his words came out choked now. “I got her killed. She died and it was my fault. And in order to save the rest of… well, everyone, I had to make them all forget.”

Apricity was looking back at him now, those wide hazel eyes full of confusion and care. “What do you mean forget?” She whispered. Her voice was soothing to Peter, he found. It drifted through the car and caressed him, urging him to continue.

“The problem was, that I had messed up one of Dr. Stranges spells. I made everyone who knew that Peter Parker was Spider-Man, from every universe, start spilling into this one. And in order to reverse what I did… I had to make everyone forget Peter Parker.” He swallowed, ecstatic that he’d actually managed to get the words out. He hadn’t talked about it with anyone, hadn’t had anyone to talk to about it.

Apricity was silent for a moment, and this made Peter’s heart sink. Maybe she was seeing him for what he really was now. A fuck up, a murderer, an idiot. A catastrophic kid who ruined everything he touched.

What she said next surprised him.

“I’m so, so sorry, Peter.” Her voice was so genuine, it felt like a punch to the gut. He didn’t deserve sympathy, he didn’t deserve understanding. He didn’t deserve someone sitting here, consoling him about the worst things he’d ever done.

Peter’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel now, and he shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before reopening them to see the road.

His decision was final. He would not allow Apricity any closer than she’d gotten. When this was over, he would cut her out completely. Delete her number, change his classes, hell, maybe he’d even change schools. He would no longer be around her anymore. He couldn’t let her past any more of the precious, delicate walls he’d put up.

He would do what he couldn’t do for Ben, Tony, May, MJ, Ned, and Happy.

He would keep her safe.

“You shouldn’t be sorry for me. You should be sorry you ever ran into me that day.”

Next Chapter

#spiderman #tom holland #peter parker #marvel #marvel mcu #fanfic #mcu #marvel movies #peter parker fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe

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oliviahallwriting · 4 months ago

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Chapter 3

When Tom returned to his dorm, a few of his neighbors were waiting for him, loitering in the hallway and chatting to each other.

“Hey,” Tom said, a little uneasy. He was never really sure what the terms were between himself and, well, any of them. Matt was the friendliest of them and the only one whose name he remembered, and whose face he could distinguish. Even after a full semester, the various flavors of average-looking white men blurred together.

“Party at zeta omicron,” Matt said. “We’re getting ready, if you want in.”

“Only if there’s food,” Tom said. He didn’t want to say that the emptiness wasn’t unique to his gut. It had been several days since he’d had a decent conversation, and even that was as a result of prodding by an instructor in his seminar class. He would’ve gone to anything with a chance of meeting anybody remotely interesting, but that wasn’t something to say out loud.

“Yeah, I heard they got wings.”

“A’ight, hold up.” Tom got his coat and, when he returned to the hall, only Matt remained. “They couldn’t wait thirty seconds?”

“Chill, man. I waited.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They caught up to the others and started across campus, towards frat row. A few minutes passed. Tom tried to take part in the others’ conversations, especially when the topic turned towards Fists of Mayhem, a console-based fighting game that came out several weeks ago. Tom had been playing it on his own, but even the couple dozen hours he had into it wasn’t close to enough to learn the intricacies of some of the character matchups. He added a few comments to the conversation, and was enjoying himself.

“Maybe I could join you all sometime,” Tom offered.

“Oh, uh,” Matt said. The others looked forwards and didn’t say anything.

“I mean, only if you want,” Tom continued, hesitant.

“Sure, of course. Just, I don’t know, this was probably going to be the four of us. You know how small the dorms are.”

“Oh, okay, that’s chill,” Tom said.

Matt started talking to his friends about something else, something Tom couldn’t contribute much towards. After a while, he stopped talking altogether.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t eavesdropping. Matt’s conversation had started to include unfamiliar acronyms, and a euphemism or two. Tom hadn’t heard any of them before, but his treacherous grasp on context clues did enough. If he were right on even the obvious ones, each of the guys had had sex at least ten times, which had to be statistically unlikely. After all, he’d had a few girlfriends in high school, and his total was still a comfortable zero. They had to be outliers. And his sister, probably.

Tom caught himself glaring at the sidewalk; posturing was something he’d hoped to leave in high school. He slowed his pace to put more distance between himself and Matt’s friends, but, due to the wind direction and the fact that they bellowed instead of speaking, he still heard them perfectly.

“Can you guys shout about something else?” Tom called. “Some of us don’t want to hear this shit.”

“Jealous?” One of them asked. The other two, besides Matt, laughed, but they stopped when Tom didn’t answer. There were advantages to having his frame.

“Okay, whatever,” another said. After a moment the guy turned to Matt.

“You know why the police were around Ashman this morning?”

Tom walked a little faster to close the distance between them.

“I don’t think they were cops,” Matt replied.

“What? But they were strapped. I don’t know if you saw the, what, the tranq he was carrying?”

“What are you talking about? There was like, clearly an FBI agent. He had the boots and suit and stuff. He wasn’t carrying. Maybe he was, but it was in a belt or something, I don’t know. One of the alphabet guys,” Matt said. “Or someone called in to handle something. Hard to say.”

The guy he was talking to turned to look at Tom. “You gonna say something, or are you just listening in?”

“Damn,” Tom replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “Sorry.”

“It’s chill. You know this cops business?”

“No,” he said. “But keep me posted. Got me curious.”

Then he thought for a moment. This couldn’t have been about his grandma; if she were safe, then there wouldn’t have been the need for the police. She probably didn’t know about it, either, or she would’ve mentioned it on their phone call at the staff complex. No, it had to be about someone else.

He recalled that he’d had an odd conversation with two girls in the Ashman lobby, but couldn’t remember the details. It’d been weeks since he’d last seen his grandmother, weeks full of cramming for finals and writing essays.

Tom was so focused that he was a little startled when they finally approached Frat Row. Shouts, shrieks, and thumping bass immediately derailed his train of thought.

Matt turned around and shouted “Have fun!” to Tom before walking into the crowd with the others and vanishing.

The frat party enveloped at least three adjacent houses, and the front yards were packed enough to resemble a mosh pit. Tom had never been comfortable in crowds. So many people close to each other, compounded with his stature, made it impossible to avoid bumping into people. Sure enough, someone’s elbow caught his chest, and he bumped against some unfortunate person’s back. He apologized several times as he traversed to the front door of the house, but no one cared.

If there hadn’t been free chicken wings, he’d have left immediately. Not only was the place crowded as hell, but it didn’t feel like his scene. He’d have preferred fewer people, a different type of music—lots of decent electronic bands out there, or ska—and, importantly, a fighting game tourney on a couch somewhere. He shook his head, feeling a little stupid. From this school, and from his res-hall mates, why should he have expected any of that?

He stepped inside the house, where there wasn’t any of the residual autumn chill that had fought its way through the outdoor crowd, and became acutely aware of how much he was wearing. Partly because everyone else was wearing less, though they were, the girls especially. Mostly because he was starting to sweat pretty bad: along with the heat, the walk to the party had been further than he’d expected. The indoor air was moist with the vapors of alcohol and breath.

A girl gestured to him. She was pretty, prettier than his girlfriends in high school had been before they’d unceremoniously broken up with him. He wasn’t moving fast enough, didn’t give enough. He didn’t want to risk diseases or pregnancies or whatever and, both times, that had been enough.

“Hey,” the girl said. Since everyone was talking over each other, and over the thumping party music, she had to shout. “Where are you going?”

“Looking for the, um, wings.”

“Oh, you’re too late,” she said, with a laugh. He couldn’t hear the laugh, but it was obvious enough by her expression and the little glimmer in her eyes. “Chips and drinks only!”

She handed him a bag of barbecue chips and gestured to a cooler. He picked up one of the drinks, a standard domestic beer. Seeing no bottle opener around, Tom picked up another beer and used its cap to lever the first open. The girl’s eyes sparked with interest.

“Nice,” she said.

Tom hadn’t intended to show off, and part of him wondered if he should escape the conversation entirely. After all, he wasn’t enjoying the party, and they were out of wings. But his stomach was growling, and there was a pretty girl in front of him. He had to try to talk to her, and maybe make a friend or something. The drink would help. That was, after all, how people had a decent time at parties.

The girl must have sensed Tom’s discomfort and motioned towards a side path next to the house. Here, the music was considerably muted from the house’s soundproofed walls. A breeze immediately cleared the stiff, uncomfortable heat from inside. It didn’t do much for the smell; the musky whiff of cannabis was obvious from the front lawn, but it was much stronger here. Regardless, it wasn’t that bad of a smell, Tom thought. He’d take it if he meant he could hear the person he was talking to and without sweating so damn much.

There were only a few other people on the path, holding conversation in pairs. He followed suit, chatting with the girl for a few minutes. Her name was Vanessa, she was an English major, and she thought Hemingway was overrated. Shit like that. She wasn’t half bad at conversation, though he wasn’t especially familiar with the classics. She at least let him ramble for a while, mostly about his favorite songs.

“Have you heard Apryl Maye’s new album?” She asked.

“The influencer? I thought she did makeup.”

“She does, but she randomly dropped an album last week. Uptempo pop, good for any situation and mood. It’s really good! And she’s kind of an icon. Tons of people love her even if they haven’t heard her stuff. I’m surprised you haven’t seen her music videos yet. They’re everywhere.”

“I guess I don’t know a lot of people who would tell me,” he said. Only his sister had a decent chance of knowing about new music, but she was more into hip-hop these days. And, of course, she wasn’t speaking to him.

“Do you like the album? Is it good?” Tom asked, and then realized that she’d given the answer already. “Shit, you said so already. I meant, uh, are there any standout songs?”

Vanessa was staring at his arms.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, uh, ‘Catchphrase’ is pretty good.”

Tom paced a little. One of his previous girlfriends had told him that girls sometimes focused on guys’ arms when they were attracted to them. And that was fine. There was nothing to worry about. Worry didn’t solve anything. Relax. Let it go.

But his nerves thrummed regardless, overcharged. He wasn’t sure if he was excited for the kiss she was telegraphing. Maybe a little afraid, though that was stupid.

“Yeah, the songs are catchy,” Vanessa said, leaning closer to him. “She surprised everyone.”

Tom leaned in and met her kiss. After a moment, he opened his eyes, and saw her meet his gaze.

Vanessa had been smiling, but her expression faded.

“Oh,” she muttered.

“What?”

“You could’ve said that you weren’t into it.”

Tom wanted to reply that he had been. At least, he’d been as attracted to her as he’d been with his previous girlfriends. But he was caught off-guard and didn’t reply.

“If you’re curious, the gay people are near the Jacuzzi in the backyard.”

“But I’m not gay,” he said. He’d have known if he were. He’d never considered dating a man, and the gay people he’d met said they knew when they were young.

“See you around,” Vanessa said. She retreated back into the house and was gone.

#writing #novel

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scarlettriot · 3 years ago

Text

Stood Up

Pairing: Sero/F!Reader

Summary: When you find your dating making out with someone else at a Halloween party, Hanta swoops in and reclaims your evening, rekindling an old flame.

Contains: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Demisexual Reader, Astronomy/Greek Lore Nerd Sero, Old flame

Warnings: 18+ Below the cut, Minors DNI! Swearing, Demi Problems, Praise/Smidge of Degradation, Name-calling (slut & whore), Pet names (Love, good girl, pretty girl), Car Sex, F Masturbation, Oral M Receiving (Road Head) I think that's everything

A/N: This took me much longer than I expected. It's also my first time writing Sero. Given the season, I decided to add a touch of Halloween and costumes to this one.

If you'd like to read other's in the Stood Up series, here are the links:

Stood Up - Bakugo - WC 3,502

Stood Up - Kirishima - WC 3,612

Stood Up - Kaminari - WC 2,461

Word Count Starting Below: 3,494

Denki Kaminari's annual Halloween bash was in full swing by the time Hanta had arrived. He'd come straight from patrol, wrapping himself up in his own tape making a half assed mummy costume for himself. Not like anyone would notice with the flashing colored lights, loud music, and abundance of liquor.

However, Hanta didn't even make it up to the double glass front doors of Denki's home. Not before doing a double take at the very familiar pirate that ran by him.

"Y/N?" You stopped allowing him the chance to catch up to you, "Holy shit, it is you, when the hell did you get back?"

Three years you'd been gone, working in America. Time differences and busy schedules made it so the two of you barely kept in touch. It was a shame, Hanta thought, considering how close the two of you used to be.

"I- uh- just a few weeks now. I heard you were helping out with the disaster relief after that storm."

It had to be his eyes playing tricks on him, the funny colors of the dancing lights were what made your cheeks look wet, right? Those couldn't have been tears.

"I was, yeah, but I got back yesterday. I didn't know-"

"Get the hell outta here!" His head snapped back towards the front of the house, just in time to see Eijiro, dressed in an impressive werewolf costume, literally throw someone out of the party. The guy drunkenly stumbled off, Eijiro walking over towards where Hanta was standing with you. "Y/N, you good?"

You nodded while Hanta tried to piece together what'd happened. "Sorry, it took me a second to find the bastard. Do ya wanna come back in? I'll make sure he leaves."

"No, Eijiro, thanks though. I'm just gonna head home."

The wolfman frowned but understood. "We'll have a smaller party for ya! Just the gang as a welcome home! You know Denki will look for any excuse to throw a party." He turned his gaze on Hanta. "A mummy, really?"

"You've been a damn werewolf for the last two years! You don't get to give me crap."

Eijiro poked the fuzzy pointed red ears carefully set into his spiky hair. "Mina and I worked real hard on this costume... seemed like a waste to only wear it once."

"We both know you haven't just worn those once, big man."

That got a chuckle out of you while all Eijiro could do was shrug and try to hide a shit-eating grin.

He asked you again if you'd like to stay and once more you said you were going to just head home. It was when you specifically said you were going to be walking home that Hanta spoke up offering to drive you back to your home since it was Halloween and people were creeps.

You were a damn pro hero but he still didn't feel right about just letting you walk home alone.

When you agreed he told Eijiro he'd be back soon and walked over with you to his car.

>>><<<

A part of you missed the old station wagon Hanta used to drive, not that this BMW he now drove wasn't absolutely amazing, you just sort of missed the comfort of the old car.

He waited until he'd reached the end of Denki's long, winding driveway to finally speak. "So, you wanna tell me what happened back there, or am I just supposed to pretend like Kiri didn't kick someone out on your behalf?"

"You could probably just ask Kiri and he'd tell you."

"I could, but, I'd like to hear it from you."

You knew you could tell him, there was nothing you couldn't tell Hanta. There was once a time when the man knew every single detail about your life. Sure, time and distance had put a strain on that relationship but you were back now. There was no reason why you couldn't at least start rebuilding what you and Hanta once had.

"Y/N, if you don't wanna say anything-"

"I was just casually seeing this guy. You know me and dating, how we don't always work out." You said abruptly and he quit talking, "And so, we weren't like official but we said we'd go to this party together. Well, I got here and went looking for him and found him making out with one of Hawks' sidekicks. I got a little upset when he noticed me and, well, he just said he found someone better."

Hanta actually stopped the car, pulled off to the side of the road, threw it in park, and looked right at you because he knew what found someone better meant exactly. You'd used those words in high school when that guy from Shiketsu that you'd been seeing got pissed off that you wouldn't put out and ended it with you. You went to his dorm crying because he 'found someone better', is what you told him. It took him a few hours to get the truth out of you.

You'd always been the kind of person to love with your entire heart but sexually, you'd confessed that you felt different from all the other kids your age back then. Not having the same urges and desires that everyone else seemed stricken with.

"Hanta, it's fine, really. Kiri heard the whole thing and, well, you saw what happened."

"Doesn't make it right! So, you went on a couple dates with a guy, that doesn't mean he just gets to expect you to put out for him! Even if you weren't demi, no one gets to just assume they deserve sex."

His lips were pressed in a narrow line, nostrils flared once in annoyance. He was usually so calm and laid back that you thought it rather cute when he got overprotective. "It's alright, Hants, really."

He still gave you a look that said he disagreed but then shook his head, dropping the subject for now at least.

"Still like those late-night drives?"

"I love them."

"Good."

Hanta waited for a car to pass and whipped the car in the other direction.

It wasn't long before he had the windows rolled down, conversations filling in the blanks of lost time, in between belting out choruses of your favorite songs. Minutes slipped by the further he drove, you lost track of both time and kilometers, letting him tell you all about the ridiculous antics the group had been up to.

Eventually, you caught the scent of salty air and even in the dark, you had a pretty good idea where Hanta was going. He followed a winding road, making two left turns and then a right leaving you on a stretch of road that paralleled the ocean.

You let your head fall against the seat, eyes falling shut and inhaling that wonderful smell you missed so much. Hanta had just one hand lazily on the wheel, his elbow resting out the open window, a relaxed smile was illuminated in soft orange lights off his dash.

You let your head roll onto his shoulder, not as easily done without the bench seat in his station wagon but it worked nonetheless. "Thanks."

His free hand came to rest on your knee, "Anytime."

He turned the wheel, pulling over and parking in front of a small beach access that you guys had found at 3 in the morning five years prior. Hanta kicked off his shoes, leaving them in the car to avoid them being sand-filled and you did the same with the knee-high boots purely because you longed to feel the sand between your toes.

The wooden planks were worn, parts buried beneath the sand until eventually, none remained. Breaking waves flooded your ears and you made a run for them! Before you could reach the lapping water though, tape had wound around your middle and yanked you backward.

"Not happening!" Hanta said firmly. "Last time I let you talk me into late-night swimming we didn't have a change of clothes either and we both got so sick! I think I might have actually died without Bakugo's soup!"

You chuckled, remembering being nineteen and curled up with Hanta on the sofa in the living room of the apartment you all shared for nearly a week. The sniffles didn't cease for almost three weeks.

"Okay, okay, no swimming." You flopped back down into the sand, his tape still attached meaning the cellophane hero was pulled down with you. "Tell me about the stars then, Hants. Who's out tonight?"

Astronomy was a hobby of Hanta's you learned about after moving into the dorms your first year. It wasn't uncommon to find him out on the roof most nights, laying on his back and looking up into the clear night sky littered with twinkling stars, usually with a joint pressed between his lips. It became almost a habit for him to grab you on his way up, pulling you along because you were more than happy listening to him tell you about each constellation and the stories behind them.

It was around this time of year, in your final year of high school; somewhere between him recalling the greek mythos of Aries and Sagittarius that you noticed your heart beating a little faster. You realized something had shifted between the two of you, and, holy shit, was this what it felt like to have a crush! When the hell did that happen?

You'd entrusted everything to Hanta back then, and now, laying in the sand shoulder to shoulder while he talked about Draco, that familiar feeling stirred again. You remembered what it was supposed to be like when you weren't forcing it for some random guy. How simple it was supposed to be.

You inclined on an elbow and he stopped mid-sentence. "Eh, everything alright?" You nodded but he looked anything but convinced, mirroring your position and asking you again.

It was easy for you to lean forward, to brush your lips against his for the first time in three years. And, when you pulled away, he looked about as shocked as he had the night you'd done it when you were eighteen.

"You- you still like me?"

When you left for America, you'd both agreed to put a pause on your sort of relationship. Free to date and screw whomever you pleased because three years was a long time and it just seemed like a fair decision to make. The realization that he might now have someone else special in his life dawned on you...

"Yeah but I totally understand if things are different now and I shoulda asked- oof!"

He kissed you so hard you toppled back into the sand, quick pecks, one right after another, ending them with a long one that nearly left you breathless.

"I didn't know how to bring it up. I didn't want to make you feel awkward about things or make you think I expected something. I thought that maybe since we didn't talk for a while your feelings might have changed."

"I can say with confidence they haven't."

"Thank fuck." He groaned and captured your lips in another searing kiss.

It was easy to lift his shirt off, the shreds of tape that remained were now covered with gritty sand that clung to your fingers as you traced the chest and torso you knew so well. Gliding over defined muscles, lingering on old scars and mapping out new ones he'd collected in your time apart.

His own hands were busy flicking open the brass fastenings of your corset, huffing about it being so much more difficult to get to your chest and something about it being very unfair.

By the time he'd undone the last one, bright headlights shown across the beach. "Shit."

Giggling ensued from the walkway and you both sighed, at least it wasn't the police or a hero patrol. Hanta gathered his shirt and ran back to his car with his hand in yours.

"I thought our days of being caught were over."

"At least it wasn't Mr. Aizawa this time."

A chill ran down your spine remembering the night and the lecture you'd received when your teacher had caught Hanta sneaking out of your room early one morning.

"So, uh, do you still plan on going to Denki's party?" You asked innocently enough but Hanta knew you far too well.

"I think I'm gonna miss it this year." His hand found a home on your upper thigh. "Apparently, you and I have a lot of catching up to do. Lost time to make up for and all that."

"Too bad you don't have that old station wagon anymore. If you did, we wouldn't have to wait to get back."

Dark eyes glanced over at you not so subtly parting your legs.

"I dunno. It's not too often I travel in the backseat of my own car but I've been told it's pretty roomy. Lots of legroom."

Your hand ran over your legs, dipping down to lightly brush your more sensitive parts, thankful you opted for the thin pair of black leggings rather than the dark skinny jeans. Your fingers danced again and this time you let a soft moan pass your lips. "Eyes on the road, Hants."

"That's a little hard to do when I've got you spread out in the passenger's seat." He grabbed your free hand and pressed it against the bulge in his pants. "You've got me distracted, filthy little woman."

You appreciated him testing the waters, a subtle way of checking if you liked those nicknames he used only in private with you, giving you a chance to protest if your likes had changed. They were one's that only felt right coming from him and you were eager to hear more.

Forgoing your own high, you leaned over the center console as best you could, undoing his belt first, followed quickly by his zipper letting his strained cock be free.

His grip tightened on your leg when you kissed the tip of him. "Just like old times, huh?"

A chuckle turned quickly into a moan, taking him in your mouth, pushing yourself further on his cock, fighting your gag reflex to get him down your throat. Hanta reclined his seat further, giving you more room to work with.

Your legs clenched tighter with every groan you pulled from him, wiggling your hips in the seat, letting a hand fall back between your own legs. There was an attempt of a moan around his cock when his fingers coiled in your hair. "Such a good slut. Keep fuckin' goin'." He let you continue at your own speed, needing to focus as best he could on the road rather than what you were doing but, damn, you were making that increasingly difficult.

He wasn't stopping you though. He rarely did. You'd sucked him off on countless drives before and only stopped when- "That's it." He lifted you off him by your hair at the same time he pulled off the road. There was a convenient turn-off, hidden by overgrown brush you noticed before he shut off the headlights.

Hanta took you by the chin, smearing drool. "Backseat, pretty girl." He reached into the glove box and pulled out a foil wrapper, "What do you say we test out that legroom?"

He wait to watch your smile grow wide before crawling into the back because he had to be the first to go if this had any chance of working. Once situated, pants under his thighs, he patted his lap for you to climb over.

You slid easily onto his lap, hands traveling up and over his shoulders, kissing hard while you rocked your hips against impossibly hard length.

There was so much comfort in the familiarity of him. It wasn't awkward to fall back into rhythm with Hanta, to remember that he loved the feeling of your nails dragging down his chest. And he was just as eager to get your shirt off, reach your breasts he'd missed so much, and get his tongue on your nipples.

Your head tipped backward, loving the pace he set, hips bouncing creating the perfect tug on your nipples between his teeth.

"Love, if I promise to buy you a new pair, can I rip these damn leggings? They're just so thin and-"

"Please." Your breathy moan had him smirking and with a single grunt the leggings were ruined, cool air from the vents had only a moment to touch your bare ass before Hanta's hands reclaimed it.

There was no way he hadn't felt your arousal before ripping your clothes off, you soaked through your panties and leggings, you knew that, but that didn't stop him from commenting on how soaked you were now on his fingers. "Want me inside you, whore? I think you do."

You nodded with a whimper and he slipped a finger in. "Hants, noo- I- I want your cock, please."

"You're gonna take my fingers like a good little slut first." You clenched at the words falling from his mouth. "So fuckin' tight you can barely take a finger. How'm I supposed to fit in here if you can even take a single finger? Need you to loosen up, alright." He pushed another finger in, scissoring the two inside you.

"This gonna make you cum? You need this bad, don't you? Tell me. Tell me how bad you need to cum."

"I want it. Please, please, I need it. I'm so close," You babbled and ripped the foil open with his teeth, rolling it with one hand on his cock. In an instant, his fingers had been replaced with this dick. Sticky fingers on your ass helping you ease down on him with a hiss.

"Fuck," Hanta let out a throaty chuckle, "You still fuckin' feel the absolute best." He dropped a kiss between your breasts, letting you adjust to his girth. "Perfect. Good girl. Such a fuckin' good little slut."

He wasn't about to last long. Not once you started bouncing up and down on him, your tits right in front of his face.

"Couldn't even wait for me to get you home, had to fucking tease me in the damn car." He held onto the fat of your ass, pulling you along him and slamming you down hard.

"Kinda pathetic how desperate you are. Fuck. Kinda hot too."

When the top of your head bumped the roof of the car, he scooted lower, trying to give you as much room to ride him however you pleased.

"What do you need? You wanna cum, don't you, pretty girl, what do you need?"

"Faster, faster please."

Hanta shifted even lower, making you grab onto the two headrests while he thrust his hips up into you at a rapid speed. His thumb on your clit was the additional stimulation you needed to fall over the edge. Nails clawing at the black leather as he continued to moan below you now chasing his own release.

You stayed poised above him, using every last bit of strength to stay upright until his mouth was rambling and his cock pulsed inside of you. Fingers bruising your skin before holding your pelvis snuggly against his.

He was bent in a way that looked entirely uncomfortable and yet he still smiled so widely. Reaching up to brush hair out of your eyes, "You okay?"

"Perfects, Hants. A little sore but I'm sure you are too." He moved off his lap, letting him slip out of you with a groan, "Is your neck gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine. Having you back, love, is more than worth a little bit of a neck cramp."

As he tied a knot in the condom, depositing it into a plastic bag he had tucked away under his seat, Hanta raised a brow, "Love, really, are you alright? Please, tell me if I hurt you at all."

"No! I'm good, why?"

"You're sitting silly."

You were sitting a little odd, perched on your knees rather than sitting on your ass because the leather was chilly and you told Hanta as much making him laugh. "Wait, I think I can help." He leaned back to the front of the car, flicking a button making it glow. Once he tucked himself back in his pants he hopped out of the car and you could see him rummaging in his trunk through the rear window.

"I keep forgetting to take this out from our camping trip a couple months ago. Guess it turned out to be a good thing." He laid the blanket down over the passenger's seat, declaring that should help a bit.

You wrapped the now toasty warm blanket around your bottom half while Hanta drove back towards the city, your head on his shoulder, his hand on your thigh.

"So, shopping tomorrow? I believe I owe you a pair of leggings..."

"It's a date."

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