#ink's fics

[somedaylazysomeday]

An Emissary of the (Goblin) King

Your quiet life as a teacher falls apart when a student wishes you away. Eventually, Jareth has to decide what to do with you.

Jareth x fem!reader (no use of 'y/n')

*This was written for a request in which the reader was supposed to be plus-sized. As such, there are a few scattered references to weight and body shape.

**Not related to my other Labyrinth works.

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 6,800

Warnings: themes of being forgotten, slight loss of identity, bar flirting, slight harassment, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie.

Masterlist

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When you had gotten wished away in your thirties, you were… perturbed. 

After all, you had been long past the days of fairy tales and make-believe. Magic was a lovely story element for children, a way to encourage their imaginations and allow them to dream of the impossible. But it wasn’t real. 

At least, that had been your theory between the ages of ten and thirty-something. Then, one of your second-grade students in the after-school tutoring session had gotten upset with you. You had told him that he couldn’t have a second helping of snacks unless he agreed to work on his math problems with you. He had been struggling with subtraction in particular, but was so energetic that it was difficult for him to focus. 

You hadn’t really been able to blame him - it was after school hours and the sun was beginning to set, throwing beams of blazing orange light from beneath a carpet of dark purple clouds. It was the perfect counterpoint to the playfully spooky Halloween decorations you had put up around the room. 

Anyway, when you had insisted that your student sit down and focus on his math sheet before you let him have another handful of gummy worms, he had pouted his tiny face. With an impressive amount of venom for a six-year-old, he said, “Well, I wish the goblins would take you away right now.”

You were still wearing an indulgent smile when you appeared in the straw-strewn throne room with an anticlimactic pop!

The Goblin King was lounging on his uncomfortable-looking throne, watching you with his own indulgent smile. “Wished away by a child, were you? Pity. He likely meant nothing by it, but… well, what’s said is said. I doubt he will opt to run the labyrinth, but let us see if he calls.”

Operating under the idea that you had fallen and given yourself a rather nasty concussion, you simply nodded and took a seat on the cleanest section of the stone floor you could find. It was quiet in the throne room, though you could hear the unmistakable sounds of distant chaos.

It had started small - brushing a piece of straw from the stone slab next to you. It fell into the pit and that made you feel a little better. Then you pushed the straw from the next stone, and the next until the section around you was clear. Then you started using your feet to push the straw down the stairs until it was gathered in a neat pile at the bottom. 

“Would you like a broom?” the man with the wild hair asked. You were cautious when you faced him, but he simply looked amused. 

“And a dustpan, if you don’t mind.”

He shook his head. “Unnecessary.”

You hadn’t bothered asking what that meant. Instead, you applied yourself to neatening the throne room, working from the edges and sweeping all the debris toward the pit in the center of the room. Even the brown dots - ones you hoped were mud but suspected were some kind of dried fecal matter - lifted easily enough under the stiff bristles of the broom. 

At last, the room was clean and you swiped your forearm across your perspiring face. You didn’t know how the pit was going to get clean, but you were going to be miffed if the answer was ‘you’. 

When you caught movement from the corner of your eye, you jumped. You hadn’t forgotten the room’s other occupant - how could you? - but he moved with such impossible silence that you couldn’t track him with hearing alone. 

The man came to stand beside you and you took the chance to study him subtly. He looked… strange.

You shook yourself, reflexively berating yourself for the unkind thought, but you hadn’t been wrong. His face was narrow, flaring out at the cheekbones. His eyes were mismatched, but not in a heterochromatic way. No, one of his eyes was bluish-green while the other was simply black, as if it were entirely pupil. 

His hair was long and straight, though cut at various lengths that left it tapering from his  head down. Like a shag haircut on steroids. You were a little jealous and had vaguely started wondering whether you would be able to pull off the style when he turned. You realized just how tall he was. 

His mismatched stare was heavy and intense, and you redirected your attention as soon as possible. You opted to look at the pit instead, to take in the pile of straw and droppings, but it was gone. 

“What happened to the straw?” you asked, bewildered by the empty pit in front of you.

He smirked, lips twisting with an amusement that didn’t reach his eyes. “I discarded it, of course.”

“No, you didn’t,” you contradicted. “I’ve been standing there the whole time.”

“I used magic,” he clarified.

“Magic isn’t real.” 

The man’s eyes widened, then narrowed at you. “Have you not yet realized that you’re in a different place than you were when you were wished away?” 

“You said that earlier,” you remembered. “‘Wished away’. What do you mean?”

“At last, the typical questions,” he sighed. “Admittedly, far later than they are usually asked. Allow me to explain.”

The explanation that followed had been interesting, if mildly ludicrous: the man was actually a fae named Jareth. He collected lost and wished away items, though the only ones of them people cared enough to chase down were living things. He guarded the Labyrinth, collected the living things that appeared in the Underground - mostly children and pets, as he had explained - and allowed the wishers to run the Labyrinth if they wanted their disappeared item back. 

It could have been a far shorter explanation if you hadn’t been far more convinced by your concussion theory. 

In the end, Jareth had gotten tired of listening to your counterarguments and had sent you to ask Hoggle the rest of your questions. Hoggle had answered your questions… eventually. With a lot of complaining and work between giving those answers. You didn’t mind - work was something to keep you from running in circles in your own thoughts, and you learned a lot about the Labyrinth and the Underground simply by following Hoggle around. 

Jareth didn’t call you back to the throne room for nearly a week. 

“It seems as though your wisher is not going to run for you,” he said, taking on an expression he may have thought looked pitying. “He is at home with his mother, playing and eating and sleeping quite well without another thought of you. Quite the heroic youth."

“He’s six!” you reminded, mildly outraged at Jareth’s censure. “Even if he had offered, I wouldn’t want him running your labyrinth. It’s a death trap.”

Jareth’s expression had flattened at your insult, his mismatched eyes glittering with irritation. “Whether he would have run or not is irrelevant in the end. The real question is: what is to be done with you?”

“I…” You disliked asking questions you already knew the answers to, but there was nothing to be gained by playing things cool. “Could I go back home?”

“No.”

The blunt answer, though exactly what you had expected, still made you wilt. 

Jareth, for all that he made you nervous, didn’t look cruel about it. In a voice that was kinder than you had hoped, he said, “Even if I would agree to send you home, it would be impossible. You have been here too long. You have eaten and drank from the Underground. A single bite, a single sip… those could be reasoned with. Enough to influence a dream, forge a connection. But anything more? You are of this place now, more one of us than one of them.”

You wanted to argue, but something in your chest agreed, some nameless tangle of a thing recognizing that everyone and everything you had known were ‘them’. And you were not. 

Not anymore.

You had expected to be eaten by the Firies or thrown into the Bog or at least turned into a goblin, but Jareth had given you a different job: you were to be his hands and eyes in the human world.

“After all, no one will wish their belongings to me if they are ignorant of my existence,” he had told you. “You will spread information. Books and legends, stories told by firelight and in dark rooms as their occupants drift to sleep.”

And that was your task, had been for an eternity before you thought to check what year it was at all. People didn’t recognize you when you went to the human world, not even if you happened upon someone you had once known. That was fortunately rare, and became more so as the years faded. You didn’t seem to age, not the way you had. Perhaps there was an extra strand of silver in your hair or an aching joint where there never had been before, but it was uncommon. 

Oh, you looked the same as you always had. You could verify that any time you were on the surface. Just then, for instance, you were standing outside of a bar and could see yourself in the shine of the old-fashioned, gilt-edged windows. You were generously curved as you had been before, your face the same shape. 

If you stared too long, though, you could catch something strange in your face, in the way you walked. Nothing overt, of course, but something that made you look… sharp. Wild. It drew some attention when someone watched you for too long. The mask of your humanity - what remained of it, anyway - fell away with exposure. From there, it could go either way. Sometimes, humans fled like prey before a predator. Other times, they hit on you. 

Had humanity always been like this? So willing to run into danger? You didn’t think so, but it was getting difficult to remember. 

Either way, you had barely sat down at the bar and ordered a glass of wine before someone slid onto the barstool beside you. To be fair, you couldn’t be too upset about it. You had been searching for company.

“I’ll pay for that,” the man announced to the bartender. The bartender didn’t look like she could have cared less, but she managed a nod. “So, what’s your name?”

“I’m much more interested in learning yours,” you deflected. 

The stranger beamed at that and you smiled back. If you had your way, he wouldn’t learn your name. Even if he did, he would forget it before the day ended and you would never see him again. You would feel guilty about that, but you needed him for temporary relief from your body’s needs, nothing more. 

He could never be anything more. 

You pushed all of that from your mind and focused on your partner for the evening. He was handsome, the type of person you dated before you were wished away. It was getting harder to remember those days. 

The man’s personality was a little intense, but that tended to ease back a bit after someone realized that you weren’t going to disappear from them… yet.

Two drinks in, you had offered a smile that was almost genuine and were getting ready to suggest a change in location when your chest vibrated.

That wasn’t quite the right way to phrase it, but it was a difficult sensation to describe. It felt as though your ribcage and all of the organs it protected shook in tandem. The closest you had ever come to pinpointing the sensation was to compare it to the ringing of a gong, though thankfully, without the noise of the actual strike. 

The sensation was a warning that the Goblin King wanted you back in the Underground. It would happen more often the longer you ignored the summons, and would eventually grow painful. 

You rarely let it continue that long.

“I have to go,” you told your potential partner, standing abruptly from the stool and handing your credit card to the bartender. “Drinks are on me.”

At least, you assumed it was a credit card. It had no numbers or identification on it and you certainly didn’t have any money, but you had never had trouble paying for anything with it. Jareth had given it to you with minimal explanation. 

“Hang on-” the man protested, catching at your arm. You looked at his hand, then at him. Some of your strangeness must have shown through, since he slowly withdrew. He wasn’t wary enough, since he continued to speak. “What happened? I thought this was going somewhere.”

“It was,” you agreed simply, accepting your card from the bartender and scrawling a series of loops on the receipt she slid toward you. “Now it’s not.”

Fortunately for your almost-partner for the evening, he thought better of trying to physically stop you again and you left the bar unaccosted. 

Transportation to the Underground was rarely as dramatic as it had been that first time. Instead of a sudden, jarring switch in location, it happened as a slow fade. In this instance, you were walking and your surroundings seemed to blur slightly. When you could see clearly once more, you were in the Goblin King's throne room. 

Your forward motion hadn’t stopped, but it was far more risky to keep walking with the goblins thronging around your feet. You looked down at the group currently blocking your way and said, “Excuse me.”

The goblins - who had apparently been occupied in some kind of chicken-based game, shrieked and tumbled to either side. You continued toward the throne. 

For his part, Jareth was pretending he hadn’t noticed you yet. Instead, he was sprawled across his throne and studying the riding crop he had resting across his knees. Most observers would believe he was pensive, utterly lost in thought, but you knew better. Jareth loved to be watched, and if he could convince you that you had chosen to look without any prompting from him, so much the better. 

“You summoned me, sir?” you asked, reaching the base of the throne and offering a small incline of your head. 

Jareth glanced over, managing to look surprised, curious, and haughty. “Yes, I want a report on your progress.”

“Do you mind if I dismiss your subjects?” 

“As if you do not number among them?” Jareth tested, a corner of his mouth quirking upward knowingly. When you simply maintained eye contact, he gave a slight nod. “Very well, if it would please you.”

With effort, you managed not to shake your head at him. You were well able to focus even with the din of goblins around you, but Jareth took any respite he could get from them. 

“Can you all go downstairs for a while?” you asked, directing the question to the room at large. “I need to speak with the king.”

“You’s is speaking to him now,” one squeaky goblin pointed out, sounding sullen. 

Before the others could agree, you quickly cut in and diverted them. “You’re right, I am. But we need to talk about some very boring stuff and we need the room to be quiet. If you want to stay, you can’t make any noise. In fact, you could even help clean the throne room…”

You didn’t have a chance to say anything else, the goblins rushed out of the room in a panicked tide. You smirked at the receding wave of excitable, temperamental creatures. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since you had taught six and seven year-olds, but the goblins weren’t so different from human children. 

When you turned around, Jareth was sitting on the throne like it was a chair rather than a fainting couch. One of his eyebrows was raised and he looked impressed despite himself. “Someday, you must help me gain such mastery over my subjects.”

“Impossible,” you told him flatly. “They’re too focused on impressing you.”

“That has always been my burden to bear,” the Goblin King drawled, preening slightly as you tried not to roll your eyes. 

Jareth was the king. If you were to be technical about it, he was your king. He had left you alive when he didn’t need to. Even more than that, the nature of the job he had given you meant you had certain powers. The Goblin King did not bestow those lightly. You felt like you owed him at least basic respect, if not anything more subservient.

Besides, Jareth had enough people - well, goblins - trying to respond to his every need. You liked to think that he enjoyed the bits of personality you were willing to share with him. 

Rather than voice any of that aloud, you gave a shallow nod. "But you summoned me for a purpose. What do you need?" 

With the amusement still dancing across his fine features, Jareth tilted his head at you. "The work I gave you has never taken so long. I wanted an update on your progress." 

"My…" For the first time since you had found yourself in this strange land, you were thrown off by Jareth. He had never given any deadlines for your work, never ordered you to be done by a specific time. In fact, the opposite had been true. On the rare occasions that you worried about how long something took, Jareth was the first to remind you that he - and, by extension, you - had all the time that would ever exist. 

You managed to scrape together a semblance of competence. "An update. Yes. I can- That is, the work you gave me is complete. I distributed the books, set up special showings of the film, and orchestrated the release of some photographs." 

"All of that has been done?" Jareth checked. When you nodded, he gave you a stern look. "Then why did you not return to me immediately?"

As if on cue, something low in your stomach gave a heaving, disgruntled throb. You had never been overly desire-driven when you were fully human, and you blamed that for your current awkwardness - sex had never been common enough for you to grow blunt about your need for it. But you still had that need, and your body’s complaints were almost enough to drown out the weight of Jareth’s stare. Almost.

“I was in the middle of a different task,” you replied, trying to make it sound as bland as possible. Jareth’s attention span was stronger than that of his subjects, but he still made a concerted effort to avoid boring subjects. “Nothing of importance.”

Jareth studied his hands. “No, I imagine there is not much of importance in a dirty tavern.”

You froze. Not that you had been moving very much before, but every muscle locked down in response to the pointed revelation that Jareth could and did know where you went when you were Aboveground. “I-”

“You?” Jareth repeated mockingly. “Yes, you. You allowed a human to ply you with alcohol, then to paw at you. Though I suspect, given the tone of your conversation, that is far more innocent than what you would have done if I had not summoned you back here.”

“But how-”

Your question cut off abruptly when Jareth made a noise of impatience, tapping his cheekbone twice, just below his human eye.

“You watch me?” you demanded, surprise turning swiftly to anger and embarrassment. “Why?”

Jareth treated the question as literal rather than rhetorical, musing for a moment before he answered. “At first, to see if you intended to flee. It would not have worked, but it is always amusing to see humans try. Then, to be certain that you were performing your tasks to my standards. And finally…” The smile on Jareth’s face was indolent, with more than a hint of mischief. “Simply because I can.”

Glaring at an omnipotent fae king was probably not the wisest thing you could do, but your fury made you bold. “And have you watched me during my personal time before?”

Jareth let his head loll toward you for the best view of his self-satisfaction. “Yes.”

With a barely stifled noise of outrage, you spun with every intention of storming out of the room. Unfortunately for you, the powers Jareth had allotted you were nothing compared to his own. Without a sound or a motion from him, Jareth ordered the heavy doors to swing closed and there was nothing you could do to force them open once more. 

“I do not see why you are so offended,” Jareth told you, conversational tone coming from nearer than his throne. “I am well aware that humans have needs.”

“Then why interrupt me…” Your hissed demand had caught in your throat when you turned to find Jareth much closer than anticipated. The Goblin King twisted his head slightly to one side, matching the smirk that twisted his lips. You cleared your throat. “Why interrupt me when you know I’m occupied? Like you said, I have needs. It doesn’t help anyone if I’m too busy to meet them.”

“You are missing the most obvious solution,” Jareth informed you, spreading his hands to either side. “I can help meet those needs.”

“You?” you repeated skeptically. 

Jareth’s arms dropped and he looked almost offended. “And why not me?”

It may have been a rhetorical question, but you gave it as much thought as he had to your earlier question about his reasoning. “Well, you don’t seem like you would be interested. You don’t usually do things unless you have something to gain.”

“Have I not struck you as altruistic?” he asked. You shook your head, opting for honesty above tact. “Good. You are right, I don’t perform favors out of something as naïve as kindness. I have much to gain from this offer.”

“Like what?” you asked. The suspicion in your voice was so thick as to be almost comical, but Jareth didn’t seem offended.

“Pleasure,” he answered simply. “Do you want to meet your needs now? Or will you wait until the next time you have a spare moment to be disappointed by some human in a bar?”

You thought about waiting, you really did. Jareth was cocky enough without giving him access to something as personal as your pleasure. But you were growing close to desperation. That could make you more likely to be careless in Aboveground, something you weren’t willing to risk.

“You’re right,” you said. “It is the most obvious solution.”

The only thing that saved you from the self-congratulatory smile that slid across Jareth’s face was the fact that you erased it with your lips a moment later.

The Goblin King’s teeth were sharp. It had been one of the first things you noticed when you met him so long ago, but you were still a little shocked to be confronted by that sharpness when you slipped your tongue between his lips. 

Jareth’s surprise rivaled your own, though for different reasons. For half a moment, he seemed taken aback by your ardor, but he recovered and took control of the kiss before you could get used to the taste of him. He was like the sweetest wine, and you were instantly addicted.

A hand latched around your jaw kept your head positioned just where Jareth wanted it, and he swept through you like a hurricane. It was all you could do to keep up with him, but you were the first one to succumb to wandering hands. 

His clothes were always so decadent, and you had been waiting a long time to see if they felt as lovely as they looked. You were delighted to say that they did - textures sliding and dancing beneath your fingertips - but you were more focused on what you felt under those clothes.

The heat of Jareth’s skin was immense even through his clothing, enough to pull an answering sensation of heat from you. Every item of clothing you removed from him ratcheted the temperature further up until you felt like there was fire under your skin. 

Halfway through removing Jareth’s ostentatious cape, you pulled away to deposit it safely on his throne. It wouldn’t do to have it trampled by goblins or, worse, land in chicken excrement. 

Jareth muttered complaints for every moment you were away from him, pulling you impatiently closer the moment you were in arm’s reach. “I don’t know why you did that. I intend for that throne to be our next destination.”

You cast an assessing glance toward the door. It looked heavily barred, and you hadn’t been able to budge it, but there was a distinct possibility… “Fine with me, as long as you’re sure we won’t be interrupted. I don’t want to toss any of your subjects from the window of your throne room.”

“The door is locked,” he assured you, ducking his head to press wet kisses down your neck before blowing gently across his handiwork. 

With a shiver at the abrupt shift in temperature, you nodded. “And no goblin has ever managed to circumvent a locked door before.”

Jareth paused, clearly intent on undoing your shirt, but gave a marvelously exasperated groan. “Fine.”

Your triumph was cut off by an abrupt shriek as Jareth pulled you into his arms so strongly that your feet left the floor. “Jareth! What are you doing?”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this, pet,” he replied, pouting. “I’m not wasting any more time.”

And then he was striding toward a section of the throne room that looked distinctly… soft around the edges, and you recognized it as a portal. All of that was secondary, of course, to the ever-present awareness of being held in Jareth’s arms. 

As someone with a proud set of curves, you could count on one hand the number of times you’d been lifted by a lover. That was a shame, since being carried was something of a weakness for you, especially when you weren’t worried about being dropped. And nothing in Jareth’s expression or posture warned that he was about to run out of strength. 

You were still basking in the sensation as Jareth stepped through the portal and into a room that was nearly as large as the throne room. The major differences were that there was no pit and that the place of the throne was occupied by the largest bed you had ever seen. 

A smile stretched across your face as Jareth set you down on that large bed, and he frowned at you. “What is amusing you?”

“This bed is enormous,” you explained. “Yet I’ve never seen you with anyone.”

“I’ve had a partner here on numerous occasions,” he told you haughtily. “Perhaps you have not seen them because you are so busy finding partners among the humans.”

“Perhaps,” you agreed readily enough. “Or perhaps it has been such a long time that your last partner and I missed each other.”

“That…” Jareth’s lips pursed, “...is possible.”

You didn’t necessarily remember closing your eyes while you laughed at that, but you must have. When you opened them once more, Jareth was looming over you. “Pleased as I am to provide amusement, there are other noises I would rather pull from you.”

Your breath caught at the rough admission. Jareth’s face descended before you could scrape up a response, and then you were too concerned with meeting the intoxicating rhythm of his mouth against yours. 

The next thing you knew, you were resting more securely on the bed with Jareth holding himself above you. Both of you were fully naked and you had no idea how you had gotten that way. Most likely, he had used his magic to remove your clothing, but it was possible that you had been too thoroughly distracted by his kisses to worry about something as minor as what his hands were doing. 

In any case, you were reveling in the way your hands could roam over him without encountering any barriers. Jareth’s body was pale, muscles dancing subtly under his skin. That paleness was marked with occasional scars - silvery marks that spoke of injuries from long ago. You couldn’t see much of him below the mid-torso since he was pressed so tightly to you, but you could feel the delicious length of him, hot and hard against your thigh. 

When Jareth finally pulled away, he only went far enough to make eye contact without either of you crossing your eyes. “I want to taste you. Is that acceptable to you?”

“You’re the king,” you reminded him with a sardonic smile. 

Jareth’s jaw flexed and his mismatched eyes narrowed. “Precisely. Which is why I expect an honest answer when I ask a question. Do you want this?”

“Yes.” The confirmation was a little breathless, but Jareth’s reply had been unexpected for someone who placed such an emphasis on retaining control. “Yes, I do.”

“Good,” he told you with a nod. 

His patronizing tone might have set your teeth on edge, but Jareth accompanied it with a praising stroke down the length of your body. His fingertips trailed fire from your collarbone, over one breast, across the swell of your stomach, and down to the part of you that was aching for him. At the same time, he slid down until his face was even with your hips and you could hardly keep still with the anticipation filling you. 

With your knees already parted around him, Jareth had only to wedge his shoulders between your thighs to gain full access to your core. The sudden exposure to the air of the room sent a chill through the parts of you that were burning the hottest, but the coolness only heightened the sensations. 

Jareth didn’t give you any warning, any time to brace. Instead, he ducked his head suddenly, swiping the flat of his tongue from the bottom of your slit to the very top. He paused for a moment while you made a sound of startled pleasure, his lips quirking. 

“Delicious,” he told you. “I wonder if you’re even sweeter inside?”

Before you could offer any reply, Jareth apparently decided to see for himself. One of your legs was tossed over his shoulder while he pinned the other to the bed. That was the only thing that kept you from trying to strangle him with your thighs when he began to torment you in earnest. 

Those plush lips and wicked tongue explored every part of you, wringing pleasure from you like it was something precious he could save for later. 

An elegant finger pushed into your core, pressing into the heat and slickness of you without a bit of difficulty. Your muscles spasmed so dramatically that it forced you to sit up - or, more accurate, to try. Jareth’s arm across your hips kept you pinned to the bed, leaving you to writhe, squeeze your legs around him, and cry out your pleasure loud enough for the entire castle to hear. The hand pressing you into the softness of the mattress strummed fingers across your hip.

With an expression that felt wild with pleasure, you stared down between your own thighs and clenched even harder around that finger. Your eyes had met Jareth’s mismatched gaze where it peeked over the roundness of your tummy. Mischief glimmered on what you could see of his face, and there was a clear sense of enjoyment in his bearing. 

That eye contact sent an electric thrill through you, and you were gone. Your head kicked back against the pillow and you seemed to leave your body for an eternity, shattering into infinite pieces under the onslaught of pleasure Jareth was using to assault you.You may have made a noise - probably had, if you were judging from your experience so far - but you couldn’t hear it over the way your ears rang with the sound of your mind shattering. 

When you finally settled back into your body again, it felt too small to possibly contain everything you had felt. Jareth was applying long, luxurious licks to your core, sweeping over the entirety of your slit and it was all you could do to push him away. 

Jareth gave you a moment to collect your breath, but soon enough, he was peering down at you with no small amount of pride on his strange face. “Will you recover?”

You were a bit embarrassed by the strength of your reaction to him, but you managed a smile and a nod. “Guess I needed that more than I thought. It’s been a while.”

The fae tilted his head to the side, a hint of a smile showing the white points of his teeth. “My dear, do you honestly believe I have lived so long without learning to draw pleasure from someone? Your state of arousal has little to do with it.”

The post-orgasmic glow kept you from mustering the scoff that deserved. After delivering a sad little huff, you told him, “Humble as ever, Goblin King.”

“I would so hate to leave you with an inaccurate idea of my skill,” Jareth drawled. “I would be happy to provide further proof at your earliest convenience.”

Your breath caught in your throat, leading to an embarrassing cough. On the positive side, that cough gave you a moment to internally puzzle through that. Was Jareth volunteering to do this again sometime? He was technically your boss and your king, and thus a romantic connection you had never experienced before, but you couldn’t honestly say you wouldn’t be with him again. Even ignoring the pleasure - difficult as that was - you… really wouldn’t mind repeating this experience. 

“Uh, okay,” you said elegantly. 

Jareth simply smiled at you, but something about his intent gaze warned that he understood your thoughts as clearly as he did his own. Still, all he said aloud was, “Did that satisfy you, pet? Or would you perhaps like to continue?” 

Before you could fight it, your gaze dropped to the apex of his thighs. He was visibly hard and ready for you, his body betraying an eagerness that was totally hidden in his expression. Despite his state of arousal, Jareth was still giving you the option to be done with him. As he was known for his lack of tact, you recognized and appreciated the effort Jareth was putting into making you comfortable. 

And what better way was there to show your appreciation than to offer some relief?

“I think I might need a little more,” you told him, playing coy. You even added a demure drop of your gaze, though you could see him through your lashes. 

That was how you watched when Jareth’s expression sharpened, though his voice stayed careless. “I don’t believe in offering partial respite. I shall see this task through until it is complete.”

The smile that fought to spread across your face was only stifled by the way Jareth caught at your ankle and pulled you further down the bed. He surged upward at the same time until you were firmly beneath him. The fae dotted your face, jaw, and neck with kisses as he settled heavily on top of you. Your legs parted automatically to wrap around his waist and draw him closer, but you were taken aback when the length of him pressed against your still-sensitive core.

You were still surfing the wave of heightened sensation when you felt the tip of Jareth’s length notch into your opening. 

Jareth’s fingers trailed from your forehead down to your jaw, turning your head until he could peer into your face. “Are you ready for me, pet?”

“Yes,” you agreed eagerly. “Please…”

“Don’t beg, sweet thing,” he instructed. “You never need to beg for me.”

And then he was driving into you - robbing you of any ability to process that.

Jareth had seemed to have an average build below the waist, as you had expected from his elegant physique and slender limbs. Still, he felt earth-shattering as he eased inside of you, enough to take your breath away even considering how wet you were with the remains of your earlier orgasm. 

You were utterly still as he pressed in, locked in place by the amount of concentration you had fixed on the feeling of him. But the first time he withdrew from the depths of you, every part of you writhed beneath him. Your hands grasped, your toes curled, your head tilted in an attempt to ease the groan that fought for release from your throat. 

Jareth swallowed that groan, dipping down easily to sweep through your mouth just as thoroughly as he had the first time. He plundered you greedily, feeding on the sounds you made for him as his hips danced closer and away, closer and away. 

Infuriatingly, he kept you - and himself - poised on the edge of orgasm for an eternity, slowing whenever either of you came too close to the precipice. Jareth chased pleasure eagerly, though, tormenting you with fingers and lips to push you higher without allowing you the relief of release.

“Jareth, please,” you begged as his hips slowed once more.

He arched a brow at you. “Yes, pet? What do you need?”

“I-” You gave a hoarse gasp as a deliberate twist of his hips left the length of him brushing against your g-spot. It was followed by a noise of frustration when his pace slowed to a fraction of what it had been. “Please, I need to come.”

His smile was so sudden that it looked almost fierce. “My dear, why did you not tell me earlier?”

A retort sprang to your lips, but it died there as he shifted infinitesimally inside of you. That minor change had devastating effects on the angle of his thrusts inside of you, which picked up speed until it was all you could do not to drown in him. 

Your body tightened around his as it had done so many times before, but he didn’t slow this time. Instead, his lips caught yours as his thumb strummed your clit.

That kiss was only broken when your orgasm hit you like a train, kicking your head back and dropping your mouth open so you could cry out from the incredible intensity of the pleasure that filled you. Your limbs curled around Jareth, constricting to keep him pressed against you as tightly as possible.

On his side of things, Jareth didn’t seem inclined to fight his imprisonment. His hips pistoned between your trembling thighs, burying himself in you over and over until - finally - his rhythm faltered. 

Those sharp teeth were bared in a snarl as he pushed himself as deeply as he could get. The warmth of his release flooded you. 

When the frantic pulses of his hips slowed, Jareth let himself drop on top of you. His weight was on you for a fraction of a second before he twisted to pull you on top of him instead. Since he was still buried in your core, the motion left you in the grip of an aftershock, but you recovered enough to move off of him. 

Jareth’s eyes were closed, but his hands lashed out to keep you from moving as soon as you started to. “I don’t know where you think you’re going, pet, but you are mistaken.”

“I’m just rolling off of you, Jareth,” you told him, exasperated. “If I crush you, it’ll be regicide and I can’t imagine a goblin trial is pleasant.”

“It isn’t,” he agreed, eyes still closed. “But mostly because they show an inability to focus on a single issue for more than seconds at a time. And as for being crushed by you… Not only is it an impossibility, but it sounds rather pleasant.”

“Jareth…” you sighed. 

That made him open his mismatched eyes and you were startled to see the changes in them. The blue-green of his human eye was expanding both toward the pupil and over the white sclera. The pupil-less darkness of his fae eye was doing the same, slowly working out until the entire orb of his eye was dark. 

When Jareth finally spoke, it was with a smile that showed his sharp teeth. “Did you know there is a difference in the way you say my name now?”

You paused, scanning over his face for a moment before you asked, “And what does that mean?”

Jareth didn’t immediately answer you, but his smile didn’t fade during the stretch of quiet. At long last, he said, “It means that things have changed between us. It means that I encourage you to seek to satisfy your needs in my bed. And it means that I chose the perfect person to serve as my emissary in the human world.”

That was significantly less worrisome than what you thought he would say. In fact, it was even… sweet. “I certainly never thought I would end up here, but I can’t say that I regret it.”

“Faint praise,” Jareth said dryly. “But praise nonetheless. We shall see whether we can further improve your outlook on your place in my kingdom.”

“I look forward to that,” you admitted, relaxing slightly into him. 

Jareth’s arms tightened around you, drawing you even closer. “As do I.”

---

Author's Note - Thanks for reading! I'm not officially accepting requests, but someone sent this one in and it caught my interest enough to help me break through some writer's block.

Happy Halloween!

I don't offer a taglist for spicy fics, but you can find other works on my masterlist.

[wanderinginksplot-writes]

One-Shot: Rebels!Rex x Arachnophobic!Reader

Rebels-era Captain Rex x arachnophobic!gn!reader

Word Count: 3,600

Warnings: Arachnophobia, fear, suspicion of treason, blaster threats, spider death

---

It was shockingly easy to trade away a patrol shift. 

Granted, not everyone loved patrols. Especially when the weather was slated to be poor or if you were assigned an overnight patrol. Fortunately, you were willing to do anything else. Kitchen work, ammunitions inventory, latrine duty… you weren’t picky. 

And there was always someone willing to negotiate for a trade. 

It probably helped that Chopper Base was so small. For all you knew, it was the only permanent Rebellion base, and you saw the same faces every day. That was bad for a variety of reasons, both personally and for the sake of the Rebellion, but it meant you knew exactly where to go when you wanted to work out a trade. 

Which was why you were extra confused when Captain Rex walked up to you in the mess hall, knocked twice on the surface of your table, and jerked his chin toward the door. “C’mon, patrol time.” 

You stared at him, aghast. The mess hall was spotless, thanks to your hours of hard work the night before. All of that had been done specifically because you had traded shifts with Pynsu, who was supposed to be on patrol with the captain that night. 

“No, I had KP last night,” you countered shakily. “Pynsu is on patrol tonight. We traded.” 

Captain Rex gave you the single most unimpressed look you had ever seen a human wear. “I’ve memorized every rule, protocol, and procedure the Rebels have come up with. None of them say anything about trading away a duty you were assigned. Let’s go.” 

You would have loved to argue further, but there were two major problems. First, as a captain, Rex outranked you and almost everyone else who consistently worked on Chopper Base. Second, he had already walked away. You had no choice but to dump your tray and awkwardly trot along after him. 

The captain didn’t make it easy to catch up and you were breathing heavily by the time you were trailing at his heels. His pace was brisk, and catching your breath took forever. Still, you had the time since you were apparently starting your patrol on the far side of the base that evening. 

Despite your burning lungs, you didn’t ask Captain Rex to slow down. How could you? He was the most well-known person on Chopper Base, and easily the most highly respected these days. 

His status as a war hero from the days of the Clone Wars was a mark in his favor. He had been a captain then, just as he was now, and he had served alongside some of the most famous Jedi generals. Though the accelerated aging built into clone genes was clearly starting to affect him, Rex was still tough and strong, his tactical skills easily on par with the best Rebel strategists. He was, in short, a living legend.

And, at this particular moment, you were impressed by his cardiovascular health and the fact that he wasn’t even breathing heavy after speed-walking up a hill.

When you reached the makeshift fence of border spikes driven into the ground, you slowed and stopped, trying not to openly clutch at your side. Fortunately, Captain Rex stopped in the same place so you didn’t seem to be giving up entirely. 

The moon was bright overhead, giving excellent visibility of the hills and strange rock outcroppings that surrounded Chopper Base. It was close to the perfect spot for a base - on enough of a hill that you could easily see anyone attempting to sneak up from the surrounding area, but nestled deep enough that you weren’t immediately apparent to anyone who may fly overhead. And no one flew overhead. 

But you cursed the bright moon and the clear view of the surrounding areas for the same reason you didn’t think Chopper Base was the perfect solution many of the Rebellion had believed it to be: the spiders. 

The instant you had gotten close enough to hear the hum of the border spikes, you could see the lurking gray blobs of the spiders and feel the vibrations of their ever-shifting legs hitting the ground. The creatures bobbed back and forth outside of the fence, and you weren’t sure whether they were waiting for an opening or trying to hypnotize you into leaving the safety of the fenced-in base. 

Either way, you dropped your gaze and tried not to shudder.

“Nice night.” 

The bland, almost laughable comment was the first thing either of you had said since you left the mess hall, and you turned to stare openly at Captain Rex. 

You supposed that, if you took the night at face value and ignored the hulking arachnids lurking nearby, it was a nice night. Between the spiders and the bats that occasionally swooped past overhead, the bugs were well under control. The nighttime temperature was almost perfect, and you had already noted the brightness of the moon. If you weren’t terrified, it would have been almost serene. 

“Yeah.”

If the captain was bothered by the shortness of your answer, he didn’t say anything about it. You stood in companionable silence, Rex scanning the surrounding perimeter while you kept your eyes fixed on the ground just outside of the border spikes. 

“You know something I don’t?”

Rex’s question came as another surprise, largely due to the fact that you had been standing guard in silence for almost ten minutes. 

“Sorry?” you asked, trying to focus. By this point, Captain Rex wasn’t going to think you were a true asset to the Rebellion, but you could manage to sound like a halfway intelligent person. Probably. 

He nodded at the ground. Specifically, the section you had been watching. “Looks like you’re expecting an attack from underground. Something I should know about?” 

You forced a laugh, though it held a hint of a shudder. You could hear one of the spider’s jaws clicking even from where you were standing. But you pushed away the awareness of your crawling skin and pulled your gaze upward. And when making direct eye contact with a spider made you want to gasp, you tipped your head further back until you were staring up at the sky. 

“Closer,” Rex commented. “At least you’ll be the first to notice if the Empire launches a ship against us. Want to try one last time?” 

In fact, you didn’t want to, but you let your eyes drift down once more. You were focusing intently on the foreground, as if you were trying to count the dust particles in the air. It didn’t work as well as you’d hoped, and your attention was soon captured by one of the spiders. 

You shuddered, and it was only luck that the captain had turned to look in the other direction when you did. You weren’t ashamed of your arachnophobia, per se… except when you were being particular arachnophobic in front of a living legend and war hero. 

It didn’t help your confidence that Rex was still an extremely handsome man.

“I don’t want to believe you’re a traitor.” 

The statement was calm and quiet, enough so that you didn’t immediately react. For a strange moment, you actually thought he had been talking to himself. But there was a new, terrible tension in the air and you could sense how still he was standing behind you. 

You glanced back over your shoulder at him. He was standing as casually as he had been when you had first arrived at the location, but you noticed for the first time that he had a set of dual blaster pistols strapped to his hips. Rex’s hands weren’t quite touching the grips of those pistols, but they were within easy grabbing distance of the weapons.

Suddenly, you got the feeling they weren’t just for protection from spiders or Imperial infiltrators.

You turned around slowly to face him, easing your hands upward and out to your sides. Whatever was going on, you didn’t want to do anything that would lead to a blaster wound. Or worse.

“Why do you always trade shifts?” Rex asked. Now that you were looking directly at him, you could see the bleeding sharp focus in his dark eyes. 

“I don’t like patrol duty,” you explained.

Rex’s hands dipped lower, drifting close to his blasters. “And it’s just a coincidence that the shifts you trade for end up with you cleaning the comms room alone overnight?” 

“Yes?” 

As soon as you heard the uncertainty in your own voice, you winced. It wasn’t a lie - it really was a coincidence. You had just… never thought about that before. Yes, you were often alone in the comms room, but that was because you were usually there in the small hours of the morning. Droids were left to observe the comms systems if there wasn’t an active Imperial presence in any nearby system. 

“I don’t believe you.” Faster than you would have thought possible, the blasters were in Rex’s hands, both aimed at you. 

“Captain… Rex, please,” you started, but were interrupted by a loud chittering sound behind you. Every part of your body was within the perimeter of the base, but your back was toward the spikes of the fence. The reminder of the giant spiders scuttling around, unobserved in the dark, made you shiver and take an instinctive step forward. 

One of Rex’s hands lifted and the other lowered a fraction. “Stay still. I don’t want to put a bolt through that pretty head, but I will if you force me to.” 

If you weren’t freezing with cold terror, you would have been ridiculously flattered by him saying that you had a pretty head. 

“I’m not a traitor,” you repeated, forcing your thoughts away from the inanity of pretty heads and back to reality of making sure yours continued operating without a blaster bolt through it. “There’s an explanation for all of this. I don’t like patrol duty. Usually, the shifts people want to trade are scheduled to last overnight. And it’s easiest to clean the comms room when only droids are inside.”

“Really?” he asked skeptically. “Because here’s what it looks like from the outside: First, you trade away the only shifts where you have to work with another person. No one to question your motives. Second, you always work at night, and those shifts are all across the base. That gives you time and privacy to gather information. Third, you’re in the comms room at least twice every week. Plenty of chances to make transmissions to the Empire.” 

“That’s not- It- I’m not a spy!” you stammered, outraged, but unable to refute any of what Rex had said. Yes, you had the opportunity to spy, but that didn’t mean you had actually done it. 

“Then explain it to me,” Rex challenged. “Explain why you’ve only worked one other patrol shift and you spent the entire thing refusing to speak with your partner.”

“I’m arachnophobic!” It burst out of you, but you weren’t upset about that. Obviously, you hadn’t earned the captain’s respect. Far from it, if he was accusing you of being a traitor to the Rebellion. It didn’t actually matter if he knew you were terrified of the spiders outside of the base. 

Rex didn’t say anything. More importantly, the blasters didn’t waver from their places aimed at your head and heart. You let more of an explanation pour from you: “I hate spiders. I don’t go on patrol duty because I would be too focused on them to notice if Palpatine himself was standing outside of the fence. It’s best for everyone if I stay inside the base and away from here.”

“Arachnophobic, eh?” Rex mused. He sounded thoughtful, but you were nervous when the blasters didn’t change position at all. “We’ll see about that.” 

“Wh-?” 

Before you could finish asking the shortest question you had, Rex had holstered one blaster and motioned you closer to the border spikes. You took a single step backward, skin crawling. Rex kept you in his sights as he walked in a wide circle around you. He ended up at the border, then used his free hand to wave between the spikes. 

You watched in confusion, then in horror as one of the massive spiders scented prey and started toward you.

Rex pulled his arm back in, seemingly satisfied. He motioned at you with the blaster he was still holding. “Go on.” 

This would be a stupid way to die, you thought, verging on desperate tears. “No. If you’re going to kill me, kill me. Don’t feed me to that thing.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” he explained patiently. “I’m going to test whether you’re really that scared of the spiders. If you are, I’ll believe you. If you aren’t… well, we’ll need enough of you to have a trial and figure out what intel you’ve passed along to the Empire.”

With that ominous statement, he waved you forward again. You weren’t sure exactly how you were walking, since everything below your neck was currently numb, but you found yourself at the very edge of the base’s border. The fence spikes hummed to your left and right sides, not nearly as far in front of you as you would prefer. 

The spider eyed you sharply. Since Rex was safe again and further away from the wall, it had clearly decided on different prey. 

It moved closer in an erratic, skittering sort of movement, clearly intended to be something you couldn’t anticipate. However, you were watching it with an intense focus borne of incredible fear. It had ended up hypnotizing you after all, but not because of any innate ability it had. 

You were still inside the border fence - that was what you kept telling yourself. It was fine, the spider couldn’t actually reach you. Never mind that it towered over you as it got closer and closer. Never mind that you could see something dripping from the fangs it was baring at you. Never mind that you were making eye contact with it and found only fascination and a bone-deep hunger staring back at you…

With the fear and adrenaline flooding your system, you were hyper-aware of everything going on around you. There was a whirr and a soft beep from behind you, but it was so much less threatening than the approaching arachnid that you discarded it immediately. The spider’s steps made the ground tremble under your feet, making the weakness in your knees even more pronounced. 

You could feel its breath. Surely that was impossible… wasn’t it? It was close, far too close by then. Close enough that you could see the walls of its tall body expanding and contracting at regular intervals. You swore you could feel the air playing across your face…

“Okay, you can step back now.” 

The sound of Rex’s voice should have been a relief, but you were far too focused on the massive predator in front of you to worry about minor things like human speech. 

“Step back.” Rex’s voice was more urgent then, but it wasn’t enough to force you into motion. “Come on, get away from there.” 

The assurance was nice, but it was helpless against the icy fear that had overtaken your entire body. The chill was deep enough that you didn’t flinch in the slightest when a strong arm looped around your stomach and started applying steady pressure. 

When you were far enough from the border fence - ‘far enough’ meaning that you and spider wouldn’t touch, even if you both extended a limb - you took such a rasping breath that you realized you hadn’t done so in far too long. The moment you did, it was as if your body shifted from prey mode into a sudden awareness of how afraid you had been. 

Your lungs burned as you took in deep, shuddering breaths. Every limb was shaking, and you couldn’t have gripped anything smaller than a canteen at that moment - tested when Rex handed you his canteen. Instead of drinking from it, however, you opted to sink slowly down to the ground. Your knees simply wouldn’t hold you anymore. 

“Easy, easy,” Rex soothed, squatting beside you as you braced your elbows against your thighs and tried to collect yourself. His hand rested heavy between your shoulder blades, a warm and soothing weight that reminded you to breathe. 

You were shaking, feeling hollow with the slow recede of adrenaline. Still, you managed to pant out the most important question: "Is… it… gone?" 

Rex looked up and you followed his gaze. The spider was still just outside the fence and - as if it were infuriated by your attention - reared up and clawed for you, jaws clattering. 

You hadn't seen Rex draw his blaster, but two loud reports sounded beside you, matching the almost instant holes bored into the spider. It shrieked once, then collapsed slowly onto its side. You shuddered again as you watched its legs curl beneath it. 

"Gone now," Rex told you. "Keep breathing and you'll be just fine in a minute." 

If you kept looking at the spider, you would never be able to focus. You turned your back to the dead arachnid, scooting further away from the fence as you did. Rex gave you an inscrutable look as you did, likely because the movement put you closer to him. 

But you couldn't see anything with your face buried in your hands. Without the visual reminders of everything that had just happened, you felt yourself calming. 

"Did I pass?" 

Despite the palms in front of your lips and the way the words had been aimed at your own lap, Rex heard you. When he answered, there was a tightness in his voice that worried you until you realized that it was laughter. 

"Yeah, you passed." There was a pause, then he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to put you through that. We can't take the chance that the Empire knows about this place." 

"I understand." It felt ridiculous to say since you were still trembling like a leaf, but you did get why they would think you were suspicious. "I really am scared of spiders." 

"No kidding," Rex said, clearly trying not to laugh again. "I've never seen anyone's pulse that high when they were standing still. Between that and the adrenaline spike, I think we should get you back to base." 

"We're… on patrol…" you said slowly. You let your hands lower away from your face, carefully not looking at the spider's body. “We can’t just leave.” 

“Are you going to be able to focus on anything other than the spiders?” 

You grimaced. “They are the most immediate threat.” 

Rex stood, reaching an arm down toward you. “Doesn’t matter if we leave. This is an extra guard shift. All the normal guard shifts are filled. I wanted to make sure we didn’t leave a gap in security if you had been a traitor and decided to fight back.” 

You stared at his hand, wondering dimly if that scenario had been meant for the possibility of him killing you or you killing him. Knowing Rex and his reputation for preparedness, he had probably been covering his bases for either. 

His hand was warm and large, and you had no sooner taken it than he pulled you to your feet. Your knees trembled dangerously, but you managed to keep yourself upright. “I think I want to go back to the base. I- I’m not going to do much good out here.” 

“Let’s go back, then,” Rex agreed, turning toward the buildings of the base. He wasn’t touching you, but you could feel warmth at the small of your back, as if he were hovering in case you started to stumble. 

“I do help the Rebellion,” you told him. It was abrupt after the two of you had been walking in silence for so long, but you felt the need to tell him that. “Maybe I avoid patrols, but I help out in other ways. Cleaning, helping in the kitchen, maintaining the weapons.” 

“I know, mesh’la,” he assured you. “You touch every part of this base’s operations other than guard duties. That’s what first drew our attention.” 

“Our?” you repeated, stomach sinking again. “Who else thinks I’m a traitor?” 

“My brothers and I are responsible for the security of this base,” Rex said steadily, redirecting from outright accusations of treachery. “”We noticed that you were everywhere, but always alone. That’s a warning sign for someone who isn’t who they claim to be. It all makes sense now, but you have to admit that it looked suspicious.” 

“I know it did,” you admitted freely. A horrible thought struck you and your voice was tense as you asked, “I don’t have to do this again with Wolffe and Gregor, do I?” 

Rex chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “No, you don’t. I’ll tell them what I learned and clear any suspicion from your name. I might accompany you on your next few shifts, but everything else is fine.” 

You frowned. “So you still think there’s a possibility that I’m passing information to the Empire?” 

“No, I don’t,” Rex denied, eyes kind as he glanced over at you. “But I don’t like the idea of you being alone all the time. That isolation isn’t good for anyone, especially with the stress of fighting the Imps. If I’m around, you’re always welcome to spend time with me. I lived with Wolffe and Gregor for longer than any being should ever have to. I could use some good company for a change.”

With some effort, you kept your expression smooth and your breathing steady. You didn’t want to presume anything, but it seemed like Rex might be… flirting with you. 

You smiled at him, heart stuttering when he smiled back. “I’d like that.”

---

Author's Note - Welcome to my experience watching those episodes of Rebels as someone with arachnophobia. It was… not a good time. This is my first time writing Rebels-era Rex, so please let me know if you have thoughts or advice for next time!

Thank you for reading!

[wanderinginksplot]

Kix + Competence

After a rocky meeting, you try to avoid Kix and the attraction of his competence. It doesn't work out.

Kix x gn!reader (no use of 'y/n' and no pronouns). Romantic.

Word Count: 3,200

Warnings: feelings of intimidation, mentions of trooper genetic manipulation, nervousness, some awkwardness.

---

"Alright, that finishes up the bulk of today's briefing," Captain Rex announced. "Any other business?"

"Yeah, why are we having a briefing when we're so deep in unoccupied space that a Seppie would be a welcome sight?" one of the nearby troopers asked rhetorically, his voice pitched low enough that only the trooper beside him - and you - could hear.

It wasn't a bad point. The briefing had mostly been made up of minor points about the ship's maintenance and small alterations to the mission… only the declassified pieces, of course. The captain was welcome to have as many meetings as he wanted, but you were curious why you had to attend.

You were a last-minute addition to the Resolute, pulled in to fill a position that had been vacated due to an unfortunate combination of injuries, deaths, and transfers. The job as a radar technician was one you excelled at, and your supervisor had immediately recommended you to fill the temporary vacancy. Your competitive streak had preened at the recognition of your skills, even if they sent you to a dangerous position far from home.

The fact that you had no family and few friends was probably part of the reason for your new assignment, but you were trying not to think about that.

In any case, silence reigned in the hangar bay after the captain had asked his question and you were ready for the meeting to end, but the captain nodded to one of the troopers.

As the man in question stepped forward, your heart gave a heaving thud and you did your best to look somewhere else.

Kix was the 501st's medic, the one assigned to keep the men safe and treat any injuries that may occur in the field. He was an efficient worker, an unflinching professional, and extremely competent in every respect.

That was the problem. 

Your first interaction with the medic had been less than ideal. You had been brand new to the Resolute and interacting with some troopers for the first time when you had asked how they spent down time on the cruiser. They had mentioned a few things, but seemed especially excited about competitions in the blaster ranges. As always, the mention of a chance to excel had piqued your interest and you had excitedly mentioned that you were a good shot. 

“Who knows?” you had joked. “I might even end up beating some of you!”

They had laughed, but Kix - standing nearby - hadn’t. “Doubtful. Troopers are bred from the genes up to be better than nat-borns at anything combat-related. Shooting, running, strategy, detonators…”

With the horrible sensation of prior interest that had now curdled in your stomach, you offered a curt nod and walked away. 

Kix’s bluntness hadn’t been a surprise, especially since he was a medic, but it paired poorly with a shocking revelation you had about yourself: you liked him. 

You hadn’t known how thrilling you found competence until you had joined the GAR… and even then, you encountered very few examples of it. But on the Resolute, Kix was the one who had drawn your attention. At first that was mostly due to irritation, but it had soon turned to reluctant admiration. He was attractive even beyond his bearing and you could see yourself in a relationship with him - hells, you had imagined it often enough - but your assignment was probably temporary and it seemed like a bad idea. 

So, as the self-assured, competitive technician you considered yourself, you put all your energy toward avoiding Kix any time there was a chance of sharing a space.

It really didn’t work very well. You always found yourself in situations where Kix was present. Even worse, he always seemed to be doing something that showed how intensely good he was at being a medic or influencing his brothers or any number of things he had been trained to do. It was frustrating.

At the front of the room, Kix had only just started to speak. Despite your determination not to stare at- ahem, watch him, his voice commanded your attention and you found your gaze locked on him anyway.

“As most of the veteran troopers on this ship know, you are expected to meet basic safety standards to serve aboard a space-faring vessel, especially in times of war. Every being on this ship must hold certain certifications concerning those standards.” Kix glanced around the room. “I know we have a few newcomers on the Resolute, so consider this your briefing: you need to attend a class and an assessment. Dates and times for those are posted on the ship’s information boards and outside of the medbay.”

This wasn’t the first you had heard about safety standards and certifications. You had even known they were required for serving on ships. However, you had always assumed you were exempt since you were only a specialist brought on for a temporary assignment. Apparently, that wasn’t the case.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, you reasoned. Kix probably wouldn’t be there. Why would a medic supervise safety regulatory compliance? …okay, you could guess why. But he had other work to do.

Your hopes were instantly dashed when Kix finished, “I’ll be personally supervising every training and assessment. If you don’t complete your full certification by the end of the week, you’ll be subject to disciplinary action.”

“What if we’re already certified but wanna come hang out with our favorite medic?” a voice called from the front of the group. 

Kix rolled his eyes, but a grin flashed over his face as he said, “Jesse, you can go ahead and let your certification expire. I don’t think anyone is comfortable with the idea of you trying to save their life.”

A loud scoff and some raucous laughter was the only answer to that… at least until Captain Rex announced, “Dismissed.”

You were slow to join the crowd of troopers drifting toward the doors back into the main body of the Resolute. Even just that split-second smirk on the handsome medic’s face had been enough to throw your heart into a pounding rhythm. 

How were you ever going to survive a full class with him and still learn enough to pass the assessment? You certainly didn’t want to be found lacking, even in a temporary assignment. And especially since you knew Kix had such a low opinion of nat-borns already.

Two days later, you hadn’t found an answer, but you were in the class. It wasn’t the last one offered, but it was the only one that worked with your schedule. Infuriatingly, Kix had been around even more often since the briefing. Any time you were somewhere for more than an hour or two, he would be there as well. The reasons were always different and valid: working on a project, checking on someone who had sustained an injury on the last mission, following up with people who had taken their assessments. 

When you finally walked into the class, you were relieved to find that it seemed to be a module-based course. There were workstations set around the room, each with a datapad lying on the desk. 

“Welcome,” a voice greeted warmly. You knew who the voice belonged to, and a polite - if mildly pained - smile was already stretched over your face by the time you turned. “Let me explain how the class is going to work.”

You nodded, glancing around the room as an excuse to avoid his eyes. You were worried what they would see in yours. “I would appreciate that. I’m a little lost.”

“Well, we’re going to start with a short holovid on the datapads,” Kix told you, gesturing to the waiting row of workstations. “It’ll walk you through some basic safety and first aid information. Then, when you’ve finished the video, you’ll come to the back area.”

You hadn’t seen the small, half-curtained area until Kix pointed it out, and then your nerves were thrumming with tension. 

“To demonstrate the skills there, I assume?” you checked. When Kix nodded, you asked, “And is this a test situation or a collaborative effort?”

“More the former than the latter,” Kix told you. “That works better for you, since you’re the only one who signed up for this particular time slot.”

The signups had indicated that you would need one to two hours to complete the full course. Just your luck that time would be spent completely alone with the 501st’s handsome medic.

“I’m sure you have other things to do,” you said in a desperate attempt to get out of this for a little longer. “I can sign up for a different course with other people in it. Just let me know what day and time.”

This was the only course that worked with your schedule, but surely you could be excused from your job to be certified in order to continue performing said job? That sounded like something you could convince your supervisor to allow. 

But Kix was already shaking his head. “You’re already here and I’ve had this time set aside since you signed up. Go ahead and grab a datapad. The holofilm is already queued up. Let me know when you’re done and we’ll move on to the second half of things.”

You weren’t sure what you had expected to see in the holofilm - maybe CPR or basic first aid - but you were met with a diagram of a Venator-class star destroyer. 

An LY-77 droid began speaking about the build of the ship, what each floor held, and where the major mechanical components were housed. You held a top-secret security clearance as part of the requirements for your job, but this was still intensely well-guarded information. Honestly, you weren’t sure you were supposed to be seeing it at all, but it was interesting enough to hold your attention. 

The droid talked you through emergency plans, evacuation routes, and the location of medical kits. Then the holovid delved deeper into the specifics of what you could find in the medkits and how each piece should be used. That was where things started to get more complex. The medkits were meant to help with anything from trips and falls to depressurization. 

Just as you were starting to feel bitter at Kix for describing the holovid as ‘short’, it ended. That would have been good, but it left you with the realization that you had to go spend time one-on-one with the medic. 

When you walked toward the curtained area, you found Kix sitting at his desk seemingly engrossed in filling out forms. You cleared your throat softly. “Kix? I’m done with the holovid.”

Kix immediately stowed his datapad in a drawer and stood. “Good. Any questions?” 

You shook your head and he gestured you toward the curtained area. When you stepped through, you found a realistic mannequin lying on the bed with a medkit on the table beside it. It seemed to be a generically humanoid medical mannequin, though someone had drawn the outline of a chestplate across the torso, along with some lines that looked suspiciously like Hardcase’s tattoos.

“We’re going to run through some questions and test how well you remember the different topics covered in the holovid,” Kix told you. 

Despite the nervousness screaming through your system, you passed the majority of the test without making a mistake. Luckily, the internal organization of a Venator-class star destroyer was fairly logical, which made it easier to follow. Questions about emergency situations had captured your attention, so you had retained more than you might have, otherwise.

“Okay, great job,” Kix congratulated. “Let’s move on to the practical portion. Go ahead and open the kit.”

That sounded simple enough - and it should have been - but the medkit had latches unlike anything you had ever seen before. Dimly, you remembered the holovid mentioning that the medkits were tamper-proof, with latches designed to be operated only by sentients. You weren’t sure whether the sentient-operated design was one you endorsed, especially since you couldn’t manage to pry them open, even as a sentient yourself. 

“They’re sent-op latches,” Kix reminded you. 

You gritted your teeth in an effort to hold back a biting retort. “I realize that. I’m just having trouble opening them.”

“The holovid showed you how to open them.”

The underlying meaning being that you should remember how to use the latches. Or that you hadn’t been paying attention. Both of those conclusions frustrated you because, despite paying attention, you didn’t remember how to operate the latches. 

“I don’t have a perfect memory, not like you do,” you countered. Your irritation made the factual statement sound snappish. Kix frowned and you shook your head, regret spiking in your chest. Just because you thought he was condescending didn’t mean you could be rude. “I didn’t mean it like that…”

“Do you need something to eat?” 

The sudden change in topic made you stare. “Wh-what?” 

“Your hands are shaking,” Kix pointed out, already bustling to a nearby cabinet. Before you could get more than two words into your explanation, he was back and pressing a small packet of crackers into your hands… Which, you had to admit, were noticeably shaking.

“Are you feeling okay?” he continued. “Eat and I’ll get you something to drink. I think I’ve got some juice around here. I haven’t seen anything noteworthy in your medical records, but we can run some tests-”

“Kix, I’m fine,” you interrupted. “I’m nervous, not sick.”

He pulled up short, squinting at you. “Nervous? Why are you nervous?”

“Well, I’m not sure…” you drawled slowly, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Maybe it’s because I’m being tested on a half-learned set of procedures by a hyper-competent medical officer?”

“You shouldn’t be nervous,” Kix assured you. 

You rolled your eyes. “Kix, put yourself in my position. You wouldn’t be nervous if you were me?”

“I’m already nervous.”

You would have taken it as a joke, a dry little comment meant to either put you down slightly or attempt to put you at ease (failure though it would be). However, the surprised and regretful look on Kix’s face told you that wasn’t the case. 

“You’re nervous?” you asked, feeling stunned. “Why would you be nervous?”

“It’s not- That isn’t-” Kix cut himself off with a sharp sigh and an impatient turn, like he had other things he needed to do. But now that you knew what to look for, you saw past the cool, professional facade. He really was on-edge. “You aren’t an easy person to get to know.”

If the galaxy had given you a thousand guesses, that wouldn’t have been among them. “Get to know me? I don’t understand.”

Another sigh. “You know the men talk amongst themselves, right?”

“Yes, I know,” you told him with a shrug. You had seen the troopers gossip in the mess hall, on the bridge, in hallways… anywhere, really. “They aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Of course not,” Kix agreed, shaking his head in exasperation and mild amusement. “But you may not know that they have plenty to say about you.”

You winced. “Anything I need to explain?”

Kix frowned for a moment in confusion, then barked out a laugh. “No, nothing concerning. They say good things about you. Really good things, actually. Mostly that you’re hardworking and trustworthy and funny. And there’s the- Well, the… You know you’re good-looking, right?”

Now it was your turn to give a sharp laugh. “Pretty rich coming from the best-looking trooper in the GAR.”

Any embarrassment you may have felt at saying that directly to Kix’s face was negated by the fact that you had heard the comment parroted word-for-word at least two dozen times since you had first stepped aboard the Resolute. 

And you made sure your tone showed that, too. 

Kix grinned anyway, as cocky as you would have expected if the compliment had been given by you alone. “Flattery won’t make me forget the rest of the assessment, but you’re welcome to keep trying.”

“Don’t get too excited,” you warned him, watching his expression stay exactly the same despite it. “I also think you’re rude and condescending.”

Finally a reaction - Kix grimaced slightly. “Because of the genetic superiority comment?”

“Yes.” If the confirmation came out flat and a little dry, it was still better than anything else that may have escaped you.

“Yeah, Denal told me I karked that one up pretty badly,” he admitted, looking a little sheepish. “I’ve wanted to make it up to you, but I was trying to let you make the first move and you never acknowledge me.”

That made you frown in realization. “Wait, is that why you’re always hanging around? Trying to get me to talk to you?”

Now Kix was frowning, too. “Yes? Why else would I do it?”

“Honestly, I thought you were showing off,” you replied. “You always seemed to be doing something to prove how great a soldier you are or how skilled you are at being the 501st’s medic.”

Kix ducked his head, handsome face reddening slightly. “Well, if I was going to be around anyway, I thought it might help if you thought I was good at my job.”

“That’s never been in question,” you countered, feeling exasperated. “Anyone can see you’re good at your job, Kix. But all it made me feel was intimidation.”

And attraction, a traitorous little voice reminded, not incorrectly. You pushed it away, but not soon enough. Whatever Kix had read in your expression, it was enough to give him a look that was almost gleeful.

“What was that?”

“I didn’t say anything,” you denied.

“No, but you didn’t have to.” Kix took a step toward you, putting himself squarely in touching distance. You got the distinct feeling it was meant to be for your benefit. “Come on, tell me what that face was about.”

The resulting argument was short, but longer than was worth it. Eventually, you sighed. “Like I said, you’re a good-looking man. Can we move on?”

“On one condition.”

You frowned at the cryptic answer. “And that is?”

“Spend some time with me,” he requested. “Just dinner here on the ship. Any time you want before we get back to Coruscant. And then it’s up to you - if you want to keep seeing each other, say the word and I’ll plan a better date planetside. What do you think?”

The pause you took to think it over was about twice the time you actually needed, but it was soothing the remains of your irritation to see him start looking nervous. At last, you took pity on him. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Kix said, gracing you with a small but sincere smile that spread over his handsome face. That smile turned into a grin the next moment as he nodded toward your hands. “I still need you to open that medkit, though.”

Your groan was loud and mostly theatrical, interrupted by Kix’s laugh and broken by your own.

---

Author's Note - I feel like I've written very few fics featuring Kix (other than Nobody Listens to Kix), so I wanted to write one. Thanks for reading. I hope you liked it!

You can find other works on my masterlist or sign up for my taglist here!

Taglist: @rexs-wife @sugarpuffsstuff @stargazingthenightaway @just-some-girl-92 @kimageddon @ladysongmaster @carodealmeida @adriiibell @boomtowngirl @bitchylittleredhead @blck-omen @lackofhonor @captxin-rex @literallydontlook @salaminus @lucyhelena @808tsuika @ladykatakuri @bikerlorian @torchbearerkyle @frietiemeloen @tsedeshgishnii @buddee @justanothersadperson93 @leotatombs @mavendeb @rain-on-kamino @itsagrimm @captain-splock-you @dancingwiththeplanets @hummellchen @theclonesdeservebetter @cyarinka @ladyemxo @maulslittlemeowmeow @rosmariner @staycalmandhugaclone @coruscanticoffee @crookedwiings @eyecandyeoz @fordo-kixed-rex @musigrusi @lucyysthings @dinsverdika @bombshe77 @cawyden

[balladbeetle]

I love For the Forgotten Ones 💜

[madschiavelique]

𝐀 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐈𝐧𝐤 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary : you have always been an excellent student in the Academy, getting the best results and always being first in every class. but it all changes as soon as you see your name in the second place, the first being occupied by a certain Viktor. "Rivals? Yes, rivals, so be it, that is what you will be."

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟏 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟐 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟑 — 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐬, 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟒 — 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟓 — 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟔 — 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐬

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟕 — 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟖 — 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟗 — 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎 — 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐬

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐 — 𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐬, 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑 — 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐒𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

[keferon]

I. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. I’m okay I’m fine I’m okay I’m fine I’m oka

The fic I'm illustrating and losing my mind about 👉 Mistakes on mistakes until

[fuckitimrowan]

crazy bcs you KNOW if jason had a diary it would consist of the singlehandedly most unhinged concerning shit ever. phrased like he’s a tormented poet or fuckin. he goes out has a fun day with his friends, literally everything is completely normal and then he’ll ponder for three minutes before writing in slanted cursive like. july 5. the thought of my mother still plagues me. someone you never knew can sometimes become all you know. perhaps a thought is just a memory if it changes you enough. close book goodnight

[anxious-chaos-art]

Quick comic I made bc I got sad after reading ‘planned obsolescence’ by @the-writer-nerd-ro abt Bucket thinking his friends wouldn’t care if he died

Bro is WRONG and INCORRECT abt how his friends perceive him

+ some of my fav lines in this fic (and some kip slander)

[vryfmi]

[id: ink drawings of modern au Lockwood and Co characters with Skull being a cat.

1. Lockwood and Lucy introduce themselves. Lucy holds Skull—a black cat with white markings on the head, resembling a skull—and extends his paw in direction of Lockwood's extended hand and taps him, Lockwood looks concerned. they have an exchange, “I'm Lockwood.”—“Lucy.”—“Please don't. He hates me.” 2. Lucy sits on the floor in front of her laptop with books and notebooks around her. cat!Skull circles her and leans to sniff her extended hand. Lucy is distracted from her screen. 3. George sits on the floor with his legs crossed, he's typing on laptop but is distracted by cat!Skull loafing on top of sheets of papers. George says, “I need those”./end id]

some sketches of @czenzo’s fic Watch Out for Skull featuring a lot of cat the skull AO3 link

[dandelion-roots]

[ID: a series of drawings featuring Riz Gukgak from D20 Fantasy High. In the first, Pok holds Riz's shoulders in heaven as says, smiling, when you work until the dead of night, your friends know you do it because you love them. In the second, Riz is having a group hug with his party and the text reads, but is it really love that drives you, Riz Gukgak... In the next, a desperate, pleading Riz clutches the shoulder of an indifferent, faceless person and the text continues, ...or is it fear? In the fourth, Riz is younger and digging through crystals with bleeding hands; the text reads, what use are you when you can no longer dig. In the fifth, Kalina, shrouded in darkness with only her eyes glowing, reaches towards the camera with a smile; the text reads, when you're too scared to think. Sixth, Riz is filling out Fig and Kristen's papers under the light of a lamp, serious and tired; the text reads, when you're too tired to work. Seventh, Riz is lying in bed, eyes hidden behind hair, hand on his father's picture; the text reads, too sad to keep the mood up. Eighth, Baron stares into the camera; the text reads, too lonely, too insecure, too weird. Ninth, Baron is holding a defeated Riz by the throat; the text reads, to keep moving? Tenth, Riz is standing in the distance, holding his briefcase, and behind him is a football/soccer ball; the text reads, what use is a ball that can no longer roll? The last drawing just says none in brackets on a dark background. End ID]

[somedaylazysomeday]

Fanfic February 2024 - Week Two

We are well past the halfway point of the month, but here are the collected links for Fanfic February 2024 - Week Two:

Winner Take All (Part Four) - A fourth chapter of my Nathan Bateman x fem!reader Ex Machina fic.

Hunted (Part Three) - A continuation of my Hunter x fem!reader Star Wars: The Bad Batch fic from FFF - 2022.

Noisy (Part Four) - A continuation of my Viktor x fem!reader Arcane fic.

Target Acquired (Part Three) - The first of a two-part installment of my Jango Fett x fem!reader Star Wars fic.

Target Acquired (Part Four) - The second half of this year's installment of my Jango Fett x fem!reader Star Wars fic.

A Boon (Part Five) - The fifth chapter of my Thranduil x fem!reader The Hobbit fic.

A Boon (Part Six) - The sixth (and final) chapter of my Thranduil x fem!reader The Hobbit fic.

All of these fics are either mature or explicit. Minors, please do not interact with my works.

You can find other fics on my masterlist, SFW Star Wars fics on my other sideblog - @wanderinginksplot-writes - or find me on AO3 under InkSplots.

[wanderinginksplot-writes]

One-Shot: Boss + Competence

Sergeant Boss x gn!reader (no pronouns, no use of 'y/n')

Word Count: 4,700

Warnings: Frustration, feelings of otherness, disrespect

---

“Ten o’clock, Boss,” Scorch muttered, elbowing Boss lightly in the side. 

Boss glared, but he knew it was useless. Nothing could put a damper on Scorch’s personality, especially when he thought he was helping. Besides, the head’s up was a sign that there were more important things to focus on. 

And, sure enough, there you were. 

A long-term mission with standard troopers hadn’t been a good use of Delta Squad’s time, in Boss’s opinion. The main strength of a commando squad was that they were fast and subtle, able to move in and out of an area without drawing a lot of attention. Strapping them with an entire Venator-class Star Destroyer was taking away that advantage as much as anyone could. 

But you had turned out to be an unexpected benefit. From what Boss could gather, you did something with the computational systems aboard the Resolute, though he hadn’t narrowed down exactly what your specialty was. You seemed to bounce all over the ship, working on whatever needed attention at that particular moment. 

Maybe you would have continued to be just another member of the ship’s crew - nat-borns weren’t common on ships, but they were hardly as rare as he would have thought - but you had quickly drawn Boss’s attention with your sharp temper. 

The first time someone had interrupted a vital power connection so they could charge a datapad, you had removed the offending connection and taken the datapad for good measure. The foolish owner had attempt to dress you down for confiscating the datapad, but you had pushed him aside with ease. In the end, you had threatened to tell his commanding officer that he had left sensitive information in such an easily accessible place. 

Any other stupidity had been met with an equal amount of sarcasm and impatience. It was everything Boss wanted to do when he was tired of trying to set a good example for the rest of Delta Squad. There was only so much idiocy any one person could be expected to endure, and it was clear that you had hit your limit. 

So, yes, watching you was one of Boss’s great joys. He justified it to himself that he was being respectful. He could also make sure others were being respectful, as well. From your temper, Boss assumed that you could take care of yourself, but you were in an unfamiliar place. You were outside of the typical power structure, which could put you at a disadvantage if someone decided to push your boundaries. 

Boss only realized how far his thoughts had drifted when he felt the others staring at him. Sev shook his head despairingly. “I thought you’d be able to handle yourself better than this, Sarge.” 

“Are you kidding?” Scorch asked. “This is the first time I’ve seen him look that way at something other than his Deece.” 

“Shut up, Six-Two,” Fixer ordered. “Three-Eight, if you want to make a good impression, I hear conversation is a good start. You won’t get anything out of staring from across the room.” 

“For once, I agree with Fixer,” Scorch said. 

“I do, too,” Sev said. 

Boss started to seriously consider the merits of desertion. 

“We’ll leave you to weigh your options,” Fixer said, marching away. Sev and Scorch followed after a moment. Scorch offered a broad grin as he left, nodding so determinedly toward you that he attracted a suspicious look from your direction. 

Boss turned away before you could follow Scorch’s gaze to him. That was all he needed - to be taken out by Scorch’s irritating nature before he’d even had the chance to make a good first impression. 

By the time he glanced back over, you were putting the finishing touches on some wires you had been setting up near the front of the room where this meeting was to take place. He didn’t envy you - the Negotiator was moving in and out of hyperspace to throw off chances of being tracked. It was a strong method of ensuring security, but it made connections to outside sources complex and unreliable.

You hardly seemed concerned, face unworried and hands sure as you wove together connections, typed strings of code into the terminal, and laid out the holoprojectors.

Boss tucked his helmet under one arm, inching closer to you under the guise of making room for the others who were filtering into the meeting room. You were just as stunning up close. Boss was struggling to come up with a conversational opening when you gathered some spare bundles of wires, tucked them into a bag on your shoulder, and left. 

He was still trying to manage his disappointment when General Kenobi started the meeting. 

Somehow, Boss managed to pay attention to the rest of the meeting. He chalked it up to some quirk of Jango’s genes that allowed him to remember every word with only half of his attention fixed on the proceedings. Delta Squad was a temporary attachment to the 212th. What did they care about setting long-term goals for better intelligence? Intel was intel and all of it was terrible. That was just how it went. 

“Sergeant Boss,” General Kenobi called. Boss turned his way, allocating approximately 5% more of his attention to the meeting. “Commander Cody tells me that you recently experienced trouble on a mission due to subpar intelligence. Can you tell us more about what happened and how you handled it?”

Boss fought back a snort. “You’ll have to be more specific, General. Most of the GAR’s intel is subpar, especially for the commando squads. More often than not, accuracy takes lower precedence than timeliness.”

General Kenobi’s gaze sharpened. “What percentage of your information would you estimate is accurate and useful?” 

And so it went. Kenobi wasn’t satisfied knowing about Boss’s low opinion of GAR intel - he wanted to know details. It was a special kind of hell for Boss, who wasn’t used to explaining his thought process or how his squad worked to anyone other than General Windu. Even then, the Coruscant debriefing sessions were usually kept as short and vague as they could manage without sacrificing important information. 

The meeting devolved further and further until it was little more than CTs asking for stories about commando missions. General Kenobi cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, I’m sure we all have important tasks to which we must return. If the sergeant has time, he can answer your questions. In the meantime, you are all dismissed.” 

Despite Boss’s best efforts, he was surrounded by standard troopers, stuck in the room until he had given enough vague answers and sharp reprimands that the crowd dissipated. He allowed himself a moment to silently curse Kenobi’s name before voices at the front of the room attracted his attention. 

“Excuse me, but that is not the proper way to disconnect a holoprojector.” 

There was a sigh, and Boss could recognize the sound of it without a moment of hesitation. You were back. 

“You aren’t listening to me,” the officer repeated. It was one of the nat-borns - a tall, lanky man drowning in his own self-importance. “I said, that is not the proper way to disconnect a holoprojector.” 

You dropped the cords in your hand, letting them hit the table with a weak slap. “Listen, lieutenant-” 

“Captain,” the man corrected, puffing out his chest so you would be sure to see the collection of medals there. Boss was willing to bet that none of them were earned for doing anything that could sully the captain’s perfect uniform.

“Captain, then-” You paused again, letting the silence dangle as you peered at him. “What’s my rank?” 

The captain frowned. “You… don’t have a rank.” 

“Exactly.” You started gathering the cords again, eyes dropping to your work. It was clear from your posture and the tone of your voice that you weren’t meekly looking away. No, the man had been dismissed, for all that you were still talking to him. “That’s because I’m a contractor.” 

“Yes, you are.” The captain frowned harder, like he was trying to see the trap in your statement. Boss started to grin, having already spotted it. “But-”

“If the GAR had to hire an outside contractor to handle their comms, it means that no one else knows how to do the work I do.” You finished rolling the cords into neat bundles and turned your attention to the holoprojector itself. “I’m the expert here. So you can take your opinion on how I do my job and-” 

You glanced around the room, eyes meeting Boss’s. He felt electrified by the eye contact, but you turned away just as quickly. 

“And keep it to yourself,” you finished.

“You’re a civilian serving on a military vessel,” the captain sputtered. “I am certain you signed an agreement to obey commands given by the officers-”

“My contract says I answer to General Kenobi,” you told him. “Any complaints about my performance go directly to him. He’s on the bridge if you want to report me because you don’t like the way I roll cords.” 

And then you turned to retrieve the case for the holoprojectors. It was an end to the conversation, as clearly as if you had left the room entirely. The captain stiffly walked away. Boss wondered for a moment if he really was going to the bridge, but then he put the man out of his head. You were in the same room, and he wasn’t going to waste another chance to speak with you. 

“Hey,” he started, walking over to the table where you were working.

…Only to freeze when you fixed him with an evil look. “I’m not in the mood for anyone else to tell me how I’m doing my job wrong, thanks. Since everyone is so concerned, let me explain how it works: I sign out all of the equipment I use, and it is regularly inspected by someone else. If there’s any damage from the way I set up or break down the equipment, it will be found and I’ll be held accountable. Leave me alone.” 

Boss was loathe to refuse such a direct request, especially since he could hear the weariness in it, but he was horrified at the idea of leaving you to think he was on the same level as the others who had doubted your ability to do your job. 

“Sorry, I just- wanted to tell you how much I respect the way you’ve been handling all of the osik they’re throwing your way.” An expression of bone-deep irritation had crossed your face when Boss started to speak, but it faded as you listened to the rest of his statement.

“Osik is banthashit, right?” 

Emboldened by the lack of vitriol, Boss nodded. “Basically. Any idiot with eyes can see that you know how to do your job. They’re just questioning you to make themselves feel better about not being able to do what you do.” 

“Among other things,” you agreed dryly. “I already know that’s what they’re doing.” 

An uncharacteristic self-doubt swept through Boss and he wondered if he had overstepped. That was eased when you took a deep breath, shoulders relaxing when you let it out. “But thanks. It’s nice to know that someone else sees it, too. Makes me feel less like I’m pushing a speeder uphill.”

“You’re good at your job,” Boss said firmly. “That’s not in doubt by anyone who matters.” 

“That’s-” Your comlink interrupted and you let out a frustrated groan when you looked at it. “Sorry, I have to get to another setup on the bridge.” 

Boss nodded again, but you didn’t see it. Your practiced motions had picked up in speed, working quickly to pack up the equipment from the meeting and load it onto a small cart. He helped with the last few containers, but the process would have gone just as fast without his help. Maybe faster.

You were almost to the door when you turned back. “Hey, what’s your name?” 

“Boss,” he told you reflexively. 

You grinned at that, and the sight of it made Boss’s heart stutter in his chest. “Great name. I’ll see you around, Boss.” 

All things considered, that had gone better than Boss had expected.

From that point, he really did seem to see you more often. You were fixing comms channels, checking on issues with the droids in the mess hall, or working on the data terminals in the main sections of the ship. Every time he saw you, you were too busy for another conversation - even as short as the last one had been - but you always took a moment to smile and greet him by name. 

If Boss had been half in love with you when he was watching you verbally eviscerate officers from a distance, he was fully gone now that you actually knew who he was. Any day was a little brighter when you were working nearby, and he found himself looking forward to meetings. There was always a chance that you would be responsible for the setup, especially if the required equipment was tricky or difficult. 

The downside was, he suspected, the same as it had always been: that you were given shockingly little respect by the people you helped. Boss had personally witnessed troopers and natties alike complaining about the technology and blaming you specifically. He made a point of dressing them down when he witnessed it, but it seemed to be widespread. 

“I can’t believe you found a nattie to moon over in the middle of hyperspace,” Fixer complained. At least, it was framed as a complaint, but Fixer’s tone was as close to camaraderie as Boss had ever heard it. 

“You wanna keep your voice down, Fixer?” he asked, purposefully cutting the other man off as they walked into a meeting room. “You know how regs like to talk. The wrong thing overheard by the wrong person leads to-” 

“An unhappy Three-Eight,” Fixer finished for him. “I’ll stow it, then. But you might see more of… your person of interest if Kenobi wasn’t obsessed with meetings.”

Boss snorted despite himself. None of the troopers were overly big fans of meetings - Jango’s genes made them men of action rather than words, and they didn’t get much from endless planning - but commandos seemed to have a particular loathing for them. 

Of course, it could be that the 212th had simply gotten used to them after working with Kenobi for as long as they had. 

Fortunately, this meeting was likely going to be shorter than previous ones had been. Kenobi and Cody were busy with a different meeting, so this would be attended by Delta Squad, a few officers from the 212th, and an ARC who had been attached to the battalion for their upcoming mission. 

“What do we need the long-range holos for?” one of the officers asked as Delta Squad walked into the room. 

Boss’s heart gave an exaggerated thud in his chest at the mention of equipment you might be responsible for, but it looked like this holoprojector had already been set up. 

“The ARC, Aftermath,” another answered, blissfully unaware of Boss’s sudden interest in long-range technology. “He’s finishing another assignment right now, but he’ll meet up with us as soon as we drop out of hyperspace. He requested an early briefing.”

A sergeant who Boss vaguely recognized - his name was Heft, if Boss remembered correctly - was trying to turn on the holoprojector. The first click of the button did nothing and Heft scowled. The second, third, and fourth times didn’t have any more effect, and Heft’s expression grew darker with every failed attempt. 

“This karkin’ thing is broken,” he concluded eventually. 

The holoprojector looked fine, but Boss couldn’t argue that it didn’t seem to be performing its intended function. 

“Maybe we should call the tech specialist,” one of the others suggested. 

Heft snarled. “Yeah, call back the ‘specialist’ who couldn’t set it up right the first time. Great idea.” 

Keeping a professional expression was a skill every trooper learned from a young age, but Boss suddenly found it more difficult than he had in a long time. The rest of Delta was throwing subtle glances his way, clearly trying to figure out if and how their sergeant would react.

The tricky part was that Boss couldn’t figure that out, either. Heft was a sergeant, too. Since there was no clear chain of command between the two of them, Boss had fewer options on how he could handle things. 

After a few moments of internal debate, Boss decided it would be the most helpful if he took charge of the situation. He found your GAR-issued comm channel on the directory easily enough, putting on his helmet so he could make the call in a little peace… especially since Heft was still spewing insults. 

You answered the call with your last name. No greeting, not even a first name. Boss blinked stupidly for a moment until he could shake himself. “Hey, it’s Boss. We’re in conference room 37 and the holoprojector isn’t working. Can you give us some ideas on how to fix it?” 

“37?” you checked. “For the ARC briefing?”

“That’s the one.” 

“I’ll be there in two minutes.” 

And the line went dead. Boss pulled off his helmet. “Specialist is on the way. ETA two minutes.” 

Heft grumbled while a lieutenant offered to comm Aftermath to let him know about the delay. Boss cleared his throat. “Who will be delivering the briefing to Aftermath? I’d like to wrap this up as quickly as possible.” 

“Who doesn’t?” Heft demanded, delivering a solid slap to the projector. “If this osik was set up correctly, we’d already be done.” 

“Do y’think he realizes what a shabuir he’s being?” Scorch asked, too quietly for anyone outside of Delta Squad to hear.

A single, perfunctory knock sounded through the room and then you were standing in the open doorway. Boss looked at you immediately, offering a subtle smile, but your attention had been captured by Heft. The other sergeant had stridden up to you, looming far too close. 

“This is ridiculous,” Heft ranted. “This was supposed to be set up and completed hours ago. Now we’ve had to delay a briefing for an important mission, all so you could get back here to see if you can do your job on the second try.” 

Boss bristled, but you were already studying the holoprojector - from across the room because Heft was blocking the way, but your eyes were roving over it determinedly. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t work. I tested it myself when I set it up. Has anyone messed with the settings since I left?” 

“No,” Heft said frostily. “That’s your job.” 

“Di’kut,” Sev muttered under his breath.

You eyed Heft, clearly unimpressed. “I can do my job a lot better if I can get a look at the projector. Do you mind letting me past?” 

Rather than wait for him to let you through, you stepped around Heft, the edge of your shoulder brushing against his armor as you passed. You took quick stock of the holoprojector, studying it from every angle even as Heft took a breath in preparation for more complaining. 

Heft’s face was red with anger and Boss’s fingers worked on his vambrace. Putting his helmet on would be too obvious, but his HUD could record even if it wasn’t currently sealed to the rest of his armor. With the helmet tucked beneath his arm and facing forward, Boss was sure he had a shot of you. 

“Maybe I do mind,” Heft bit out. “I want an apology for you wasting our time. We have an ARC trooper in the field who is taking time away from his mission to be debriefed. He has been waiting five minutes past when we were supposed to start and I’m not going to be the one held responsible for that delay! I’m going to Kenobi with this, I can tell you that much.”

Because Boss was watching you so closely, he noticed exactly when your eyes stopped roving over the projector. You straightened, standing calm and proud, a stoic monument against the weight of Heft’s irrational irritation. 

You pressed two buttons and the projector flickered on, a holographic image of an ARC trooper appearing in the next instant. 

In the quiet of Heft’s sudden speechlessness, you stepped forward and faced the projector. “Can you hear me?” 

“Loud and clear,” Aftermath reported immediately. 

You gave a satisfied nod and turned back toward the door - and, coincidentally, Heft. “It helps if you turn on the console.” 

Boss wouldn’t have blamed you if you had gloated for another ten minutes. Heft would have deserved every second of it. But you left the room, letting the door quietly close behind you.

He wanted to go after you, burned with the need to make sure you were okay, but he couldn’t leave the briefing. Not without a good reason. Especially since Heft was starting to brief Aftermath on the upcoming mission.

Fixer tapped his vambrace, then jammed his helmet onto his head. A moment later, he pulled it off, glancing at Boss. “Important call for you, Three-Eight. Needs an immediate response.”

“Understood,” Boss acknowledged with a nod. There were times when Fixer could be the most devious vod… Boss glanced over at Heft, who was watching them curiously. “I assume you have it from here, Sergeant?” 

“Of course, Sergeant,” Heft replied, using Boss’s rank just as pointedly as Boss had used Heft’s. 

Boss ducked out of the room, spotting your retreating figure immediately. Following you was simple - you clearly weren’t in a hurry, and his brisk strides caught up to your meandering pace with ease.

“Hey-” 

You turned to face him with an expression of frustration and disbelief that made him freeze. “It’s working now, I tested visuals and audio myself. What else could you need?” 

Boss raised his hands, hating that you had thought he would follow you to continue Heft’s beration. “No, I- Everything is working fine. It always was - Heft is just an idiot. Are you okay?” 

You let out a breath, and Boss could hear the hint of a tremble in it. He sent out a silent plea that you weren’t going to start crying. Your eyes were bright enough that he worried he was seeing tears, but he would give anything he owned to be wrong. 

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” you confided, voice sharp. “It’s not enough for me to do my job - I have to constantly reassure everyone that I know what I’m doing. Basic tasks take me triple the time they should because I have to convince people I’m competent, which puts me behind schedule, then everyone else thinks I’m incompetent because I’m late! Everyone warned me that government contractor work was a bad idea, but this is ridiculous.”

To Boss’s utter relief, you didn’t sound sad. Upset, sure, but more angry than sad. The glint he had seen in your eyes was barely-suppressed rage. He could deal with that. 

“Then don’t let me make you late to your next job,” he told you. 

Your expression froze, taking on a shade of guilt. “Boss, I’m not- I’m just venting. None of this is directed at you-” 

“I know that,” Boss reassured you. “But we can walk while you vent. Lead on.” 

“I-” You started walking, Boss gamely keeping pace beside you. “I think I might be done, actually.” 

“You sure?” Boss didn’t mean to sound so skeptical, but you still looked tense. “It’s good for you to bleed off the frustration. Better than keeping it all inside.” 

“Yeah, I’m good.” You sighed, rubbing at your temple. “I’m just tired. Seems like everyone has a grudge against me. I’m good at my job and I know it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swim against the current.” 

Boss gave a sympathetic hum. After a moment in which you didn’t say anything else, he asked, “Do you want to quit?” 

“Yes.” You gave a little laugh, which had the interesting effect of restarting Boss’s heart immediately after it had stopped. “But that doesn’t mean I will.” 

“I understand wanting to quit.” 

You squinted at him. “Do you? I thought you were, like, engineered to be the perfect soldier. What else would you want to do, if not this?” 

“I-” Boss hesitated. “It’s more theoretical than that for me. If I quit, it’s desertion.” 

You scoffed, and Boss liked to think it was at the institution of the GAR rather than at his confession. Judging by the warmth in your expression, he was correct. 

“Are you going to leave?” 

The question came out softer than he had meant it to, leaving the conversation with a sudden feeling of intimacy. You shrugged. “I’ll decide after this mission. We’re in hyperspace - I can’t exactly step off the ship anytime I want. Besides, I’ll get hazard pay when we actually reach the war zone.” 

“Lucky.” Boss’s pouting mutter made you laugh again. Wayii! He had just heard it for the first time few minutes before, but he already knew he would do anything to listen to you laugh. 

“If it’s any consolation,” he added. “I recorded your conversation with Heft and I’m sending it to Commander Cody. None of the men should speak to anyone the way Heft spoke to you. I couldn’t interfere, or I wouldn’t have gotten a clear recording. I’m sorry for not giving Heft what he deserved. But since he’s a sergeant, too, it’ll be better for it to come from his commanding officer-” 

“Boss, Boss,” you interrupted, lifting your hands up when he kept trying to explain. “I understand, and thank you. I don’t expect you to defend me against your brothers, though. That’s not a fair position to put you in.” 

“You haven’t asked me to do anything,” Boss rejected. “I’m following up on this because it’s not right for you to be talked down to for doing your job.”

“Be careful, Boss,” you warned. The way your eyes sparkled, he knew it wasn’t a real warning, but he was still intrigued. “If you keep being so nice to me, I’m going to insist on buying you a decent meal when we’re back on Coruscant.” 

Boss’s face went hot so quickly he wondered if they had wandered too close to the engine rooms. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“And you don’t have to do this,” you told him, gesturing at his helmet. “You’re the only one on this ship who talks to me like I’m an actual person.” 

“Sounds lonely.” Boss had experienced his share of dehumanizing experiences, both in the GAR and when they were in civilian surroundings, but he always had his brothers around. Without the rest of Delta Squad at his back, he wasn’t sure how well he would handle that kind of treatment.

“It is,” you agreed. “So I want to thank you. And I… I enjoy spending time with you.” 

You looked so sweet, so sincere… Boss was losing himself in your eyes, but he wasn’t about to stop it from happening. “Name the time and place. I’m there.” 

Your smile was just as breath-taking as every other time he had seen it. You gestured to the door that led to another set of conference rooms. “I have to go do some work for another long-distance comm this afternoon. But we could meet up later? We can debate about foods and restaurants, narrow down our options.” 

“Sounds great,” Boss agreed, finally breaking into a smile of his own. He gestured toward your comlink. “I called you from my frequency earlier. You can always reach me there, just save it to your files.” 

That smile turned undeniably to a grin as you ducked into the room. Just before the door closed between you, you winked. “I already did.” 

Boss laughed to himself as he walked back toward conference room 37. With any luck, the briefing with Aftermath was already over. If not, at least he had something to look forward to.

---

Author's Note - I'm pretty sure this is my first fic featuring Boss x reader and I'm really happy with how it turned out!

Reminder, this is a gender-neutral reader. But I'm also a woman who works in IT, so all of Heft's complaints were taken almost word-for-word from the stuff people have said to me. (Just in case you wanted some background!)

Thank you for reading and thank you to the anon who gave me this prompt! You can find other works on my masterlist here.

[wanderinginksplot]

Commander Fox + Mercenary!Reader

As a mercenary, you travel in and out of Coruscant a lot. You find it more than a little strange that Commander Fox himself always seems to be on the Coruscant Guard team investigating your transport when you come back planetside...

Commander Fox x gn!reader (platonic-ish, with a hint toward future feelings)

Thanks to @nowait-whathappened for the prompt!

Word Count: 3.4k words

Warnings: mentions of weapons, mentions of bodily injuries, implied lack of trust

Masterlist

---

“Transport 47816, prepare for boarding.”

The groans that echoed through the transport ship were instant and harsh. None of the familiar faces around you held an expression more pleasant than ‘irritation’, but you were well used to this by now. 

“Why?” Kann bit out harshly. You tried not to roll your eyes, but it was a close thing. As the Lament’s near-constant pilot, Kann knew exactly why you were being boarded just outside of Coruscant’s airspace, but that didn’t mean he was going to make things easy. 

“Transport 47816, you’re returning from a neutral star system. It’s protocol.”

Kann snarled. “Shove the protocol up your-”

“Shut up and let the troopers on the ship,” Skoh ordered. “I don’t have time for you to argue with the whole damn Guard.”

Despite his previous eagerness for a fight, Kann clenched his jaw and nodded. “Dropping shields now.” 

Kann was one of the more reckless members of the Lament, but Nakte Skoh was a force to be reckoned with. When the tall Togruta spoke, every one of the mercenaries on the team listened. Disobeying him was a good way to get killed - sometimes by the enemy and sometimes by Skoh himself. 

The troopers who boarded the transport were wearing the familiar Coruscant Guard colors. You even recognized a few of the patterns and greeted them with a slight nod. You wouldn’t have minded being a little more exuberant, but not among your coworkers. It would be unwise to show too much emotion surrounded by mercenaries. 

“Everyone stand.” Grumbling. “Leave all weapons here. We will be interviewing each of you separately.” More grumbling, even as everyone started to reluctantly comply. 

The trooper issuing instructions was none other than the commander of the Coruscant Guard, Commander Fox. You could recognize him by his visored helmet easily enough, but there was something in his voice. What exactly made his tone was hard to pinpoint, but if pressed, you thought you could pick it out of a crowd. Even if that crowd were made up of other clone troopers. 

So you stood with the others, smoothly pulling your blasters and blades out from their usual places. The pile they made on your empty seat was respectable, the wear on the weapons a mark of your ability to use every one. With a last quick count to make sure none of the other mercenaries decided to take something that wasn’t theirs, you followed everyone to the link between your ship and the Guard’s. 

“Hope they’ll be less stupid about their weapons checks this time,” Yarrex muttered to you. The Kiffar was impatient at the best of times, but she knew her stuff better than most. “Last time, they misaligned the power pack on my rifle. If I hadn’t checked, it would have taken all of us out.”

You nodded fervently, remember how close a call that had been. Yarrex’s rifle had been actively overheating by the time she returned to the transport ship and she had hissed loud curses the whole time she fixed it. You couldn’t blame her - the smell from the flesh of her fingertips burning had lingered in the ship for days. 

There was a Coruscant Guard trooper just inside the larger ship, ushering you to your ultimate destination. “This way, down the hall-”

“-And to the right,” you finished. “I know, I know.”

“Been here a few times?” Yarrax asked over her shoulder. 

You shrugged, glad there was no one else behind you. What you were about to say could easily turn into tales of bad luck, and eventually spiral into you not being hired onto as many jobs. “Every single time I come back to Coruscant.”

“That’s not fair,” one of the trooper protested. 

You aimed a dry look in his direction. “We both know it is, Chase.” 

“I didn’t know they had names,” Kann remarked as he was led to one of the interrogation rooms. 

Yarrax hissed disapprovingly at his back. The trooper stammered, “I- I’m not Chase.”

“Save it,” Skoh advised with a nod in your direction. “That one can smell lies.”

Chase glanced at you, clearly nervous even through the protective cover of his helmet. You gave him a broad smile and went to sit down. 

Chase and the trooper who had directed you to the interrogation area were watching the room. The unfamiliar one had a medic’s cross on one shoulder and you wondered idly whether the Guard was expecting trouble. 

They shouldn’t, honestly. The standard Coruscant Guard procedure was to pull everyone into individual rooms to ask questions about the most recent mission. The Lament had some latitude in the way they conducted business, but everyone made a point of being as vague as possible in their answers. It was an entertaining game you all played when you came back to Coruscant. 

Though, apparently, no one played it as often as you. 

There were two interrogation rooms being used at the moment. The ship had at least a few more, but Lament missions were made up of ten mercenaries by rule - no more, no less. With Kann and another mercenary in the interrogation rooms, there apparently weren’t enough of you to warrant using more rooms. 

Mercenaries weren’t the most lively and talkative bunch, especially not after a long mission. A few of them shut their eyes to catch a few moments of sleep. The lone Nautolan in the Lament, a female named Veng, worked on repairing a tear she had gotten in the shoulder of her shirt. The needle flashing in and out of the ripped halves was mesmerizing, but your attention was caught by Skoh. 

Your leader was watching the room, gaze intent as he studied the mercenaries and the troopers watching you. There was no real tension in him, not even the kind disguised by the specific relaxation he took on when a negotiation was leading toward violence. But he was awake and alert, so you decided that you should be, too. 

Not that there was any reason to, of course. Skoh and Yarrix were the next to disappear into interview rooms as the first two went back to the transport ship. You weren’t among the next two to be called, or the ones after that. When it was only you and Veng left on the Guard ship, the door opened for Khyr to step out. Commander Fox stood in the doorway, sternly announcing that you were next. 

Veng didn’t glance up to see the amused look you gave her, but that was fine. It hadn’t really been for her, anyway. The commander stepped aside for you to enter the interrogation room, then closed the door before following you to the table. 

“Commander Fox,” you greeted with a nod. “How are you? How’s the wife?” 

The commander removed his helmet, all the better for you to see the confusion and exasperation mingling on his handsome face. “The wife.” 

“Or husband,” you amended. “Or partner. Non-specific.”

“I don’t have any of those,” he told you. “Did you get hit on the head during this massacre?”

You rolled your eyes at him, the way you always did when he disparaged your line of work. “Not a massacre. Not this time, at least. We do things other than kill people, you know.” 

“Yeah? What was the objective on this mission?” 

It just so happened that the mission you were returning from had been far more violent than expected, so you stepped neatly around the question. “Anyway, the point is that I see you so often, I feel like I should get to know something about your life. With anyone else, I would know about their partner or children or pets or hobbies. I see you more often than my parents.” 

“That so?” Fox asked, tilting his head to deliver his skeptical expression to best effect.

“Not in the slightest,” you admitted easily. “But it has come to my attention that not every Lament mission gets investigated by the Guard when they return to Coruscant.” 

Fox stiffened slightly. “We do our best to stop every transport, but our team is spread thin…”

“I’m not doubting your work, Commander,” you assured, “just your selection methods. Why is it that my team is always the one to be stopped?” 

“Coincidence.” 

Now, it was your turn to be skeptical. “You’ll have to do better than that, Fox.” 

His eyes widened briefly and you wondered if you had offended him by dropping his title, but he recovered in the next instant. “Are you suggesting that we should be suspicious of you?” 

“No, but you are,” you countered. “Otherwise, why would you always be focused on my missions?” 

“I told you: we aren’t.” 

Despite the way Fox’s teeth were gritted, you pushed on. You had a trump card, and you intended to play it: “Then why are you here? You, specifically? The Head Commander of the Coruscant Guard, investigating a transport full of mercenaries? You have better things to be doing than this. It’s suspicious.”

“I’ve told you, it’s a coincidence.” Fox sounded overly stubborn, even for him. 

You lifted your hands innocently in front of yourself and leaned backward in your chair. “Fine, fine. Total coincidence. Your complete lack of supporting evidence or further arguments has convinced me. Proceed with your interrogation, Commander.” 

He scowled intensely at you, but sat in the chair across from yours and started with the typical round of questions. Name, address, interplanetary work-travel permit number, employer, job title.

When you had answered them all successfully, Fox set his datapad down on the table between you. “Now, tell me about the mission you completed just prior to coming back to Coruscant.” 

“We were on Raydonia,” you answered easily. “We were hired to protect a village.” 

Fox gestured for you to continue when you stopped. “And what were you protecting them from?” 

“They were hit by two unknowns a few weeks ago.” The explanation was a little shaky, but it was the only one you had been given. It was still more than you usually got for a job and you were fine with that, but Fox seemed determined to think you were untrustworthy. “They took some of the most powerful warriors in the village. The village elders were worried some of the surrounding people might take the chance to attack them. They were right.” 

“Were there any casualties?” Fox asked, carefully not looking at you. 

You smiled despite yourself. “No Republic citizens were harmed.”

It was a vague and a polite way of reminding him that he had no jurisdiction over things that happened outside of Republic-controlled planets. Technically speaking, Fox had no jurisdiction over things that happened outside of Coruscant, but you wouldn’t bet on that stopping him. 

“And among your team?” he asked. “No injuries or deaths?”

“Nothing major,” you told him with a shrug. “You can count. I’m sure you noticed all ten of us are here and accounted for.” 

“What about minor injuries?” he pressed. 

You knew better than to shift in your chair, or look away from the easy eye contact you had maintained up to that point. Fox was an expert, and a sharp one at that. The smallest possible tell and he would know everything there was to know. That was what made him dangerous.

“None to speak of.” 

Even your flawless delivery left him looking distinctly skeptical. “Then why are you limping?” 

Despite the surge of frustrated exasperation that rose in you, your lips curved into a smile. “You’re too observant for your own good, Commander.” 

“Which isn’t an answer.” 

That made you chuckle aloud. “No, it wasn’t. But since you’re so insistent on an explanation, I sustained a minor injury on the mission. I treated it promptly and it is well on its way to healing.”

“How were you injured?”

Dimly, you wondered if Fox realized that he had leaned forward slightly under the weight of his own intensity. But only dimly, because most of your attention was drawn to the way he was even more handsome from a shorter distance away. 

“Why?” 

Fox blinked, and it seemed to break the spell he had put himself under. An instant later, he was scowling again - a fairly regular expression for him during these stops. “Because I’m the Head Commander of the Coruscant Guard and I asked you a direct question.” 

“I don’t answer to you,” you reminded him, privately savoring the look of profound irritation blossoming on his face. “Not about missions that take place in independent systems. Even if they result in injuries.”

“Maybe I have cause to believe that you sustained that injury in Republic territory,” Fox proposed. “Maybe I need proof you aren’t lying to me.” 

For a mercenary, you were even-tempered. Remarkably so, in fact. It helped you get along with your more volatile coworkers. But you did have a temper, and when it sparked, you were far from subtle. 

The slam of the chair’s front legs reconnecting with the floor was loud. Fox didn’t jump - he had too much control over himself for that - but his eyes darted to yours in a way that made his surprise evident. Your hands connecting with the top of the table between you was loud, too, the sound specifically and purposefully sharp.

You leaned in toward Fox and the expression on your face was unpleasant enough that he looked concerned. “I like you, Fox. I think you’re a good man doing your best in the galaxy’s worst job. That’s why I’m gonna give you this one warning: I do not appreciate being called a liar.”

“I didn’t-” 

Your gaze was hard as you stared him in the eyes. Fox looked startled as well as concerned by that point. He had never seen you truly pissed before. 

“Yes, you did,” you said firmly. “I will be the first to admit that I exaggerate. I dramatize. I embellish for comedic effect. But I do not lie. I have never lied to you or any of your men, despite what is verging on harassment. I do not intend to lie in the future, and I don’t want to file a harassment charge, but all of that depends on you.”

It was honestly a shock when Fox didn’t take advantage of your pause to speak. It told you that he understood how deadly serious you were. With his attention sharp on you, you told him, “I’m a reasonable person. I am willing to overlook this misstep… once. And that offer is entirely dependent on what you say next.”

“I’m sorry,” Fox said, honesty ringing in the simple words. You waited for more and he obliged: “You’re right, you have never lied to me - to any of us. Not about anything big. It was unfair of me to accuse you of it.” 

“And why did you?” you asked. 

The question felt a little like twisting a blade in an injury, but you needed to know. You needed to know that it wasn’t going to happen again, and if it did, you needed to know enough to anticipate it. Because you had grown to respect Commander Fox, damn it, and it had hit surprisingly hard to have him misjudge your morals so dramatically. 

“I… don’t like the idea of you being injured,” Fox admitted, sounding mystified. You understood, since that explanation left you feeling a little mystified yourself. “I would like to know about your injury if you’ll agree to tell me.”

You watched the commander for another long moment, doing your best to gauge his sincerity. It wasn’t easy - especially since it required you to look past those lovely eyes and flawless bone structure - but you managed. It was one of your most reliable skills, after all. Fox seemed to be telling you the truth.

When you leaned your chair backward again, the tension in the room shattered. You sent him a cryptic half-smile. “You know us mercenaries,” you drawled. “We don’t give away anything for free. You ask your question and I’ll ask mine. A truthful answer for a truthful answer.”

Fox considered it for only a moment before he nodded. “How did you get injured?”

“One of the attacking villagers had better aim than I expected,” you said, smiling wryly. “After I pulled his vibroblade from my calf, I changed my previous opinion.”

“Do you have a bacta patch on it?” Fox asked. “If not, I can get you a fresh one before you go back to your transport.” 

“I already have one, thanks,” you assured him. “And I’m feeling generous, so I’m going to point out the fact that I let you ask two questions. Now it’s my turn.” 

Luckily for Fox, you really were in a good mood again. You only let him dangle in his discomfort for a few moments before you asked your question. “Do you always stop my transport on purpose?” 

“Yes.” 

For all that you had suspected that answer, hearing it directly was shocking. 

Instead of responding immediately, you paused for a moment to take a breath. If Fox was targeting you specifically, you had to believe there was a reason. And since you had already come this far, you may as well find out what that reason was. “Why?”

Fox looked reluctant and faintly uncomfortable. It was the look you imagined most of the troopers got when they were asked to do an unpleasant chore. But, to Fox’s credit, he gave the answer he had promised. 

“You’re not the typical mercenary.” You frowned, already opening your mouth, but he quickly went on. “Not that you don’t have your skills, but I’ve been keeping a close eye on the missions you’re a part of. That is, the Coruscant Guard has. There is a concern among the men that the Lament would leave you behind on a mission or allow an injury to go untreated.”

Well, it was an explanation, but you felt like it left you with more questions than answers. “Nice to know you guys worry about me, but I still don’t understand why you care.”

Fox shrugged, but the casual gesture was belied by the way his eyes were locked with yours. “You look at us like we’re human.” 

You frowned again. 

“And I… admire you,” Fox added quietly. “You have a code and you follow it. Unusual, especially for a mercenary.” 

“Again with the insults about my work.” Despite your heavy sigh, your tone was playful, and you knew he would take it as the tease that it was. “I look forward to seeing you too, Fox. That’s why I haven’t complained about being stopped every time we come back to Coruscant.”

He gave you a disbelieving look and you laughed. “Okay, fine. That’s why I don’t complain too much.”

Fox didn’t immediately reply. Normally, the two of you traded barbs and witty remarks back and forth so quickly that it would make an onlooker’s head spin. But you didn’t feel the need to say anything further and, apparently, neither did he. The room filled with a surprisingly comfortable silence, warm and cozy in a way that durasteel interrogation rooms rarely managed.  

“So you’ve decided against filing harassment charges?” Fox asked at length. 

“I have no intention of it,” you told him. “We made a deal. Guess that’s more evidence of my rare and admirable moral code…”

Fox rolled his eyes and you laughed. Before he could say something sarcastic, you added, “Besides, I think I would miss seeing you guys if you stopped checking up when I return from missions.”

“You would miss us?” You would have accused Fox of fishing for a compliment if he hadn’t sounded so charmingly stunned. 

“Of course,” you told him, narrowly stopping yourself from winking at him. He really was a very attractive man. “But I need to get back to the transport now. They wouldn’t leave without me, but one of the others might get a little grabby with the weapons I left behind. Especially since I have a sharp new vibroblade.”

Fox stood when you did, leading the way to the door with a suspicious look on his face. “This isn’t the vibroblade that…” He finished the question only with a vague gesture toward your injured leg.

“If someone stabs me with a knife, I get to keep it,” you told him seriously. “I believe that is common courtesy.”

“No new weapons on this next mission, then,” Fox said as he stood aside to let you pass. “No risks, no injuries, no killing.”

You shook your head in exasperation, already starting down the hall back to the Lament’s transport. “I’m starting to think you don’t understand what being a mercenary is, Commander.”

---

Author's Note - Happy Fox day! I knew I wanted to write something for 10/10, and big thanks to @nowait-whathappened for giving me this prompt! Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day!

You can find other works on my masterlist or sign up for my taglist here. As always, I'm happy to remove you from the taglist if it's no longer in your interests.

Taglist: @rexs-wife @sugarpuffsstuff @stargazingthenightaway @just-some-girl-92 @kimageddon @ladysongmaster @carodealmeida @adriiibell @boomtowngirl @bitchylittleredhead @blck-omen @lackofhonor @captxin-rex @literallydontlook @salaminus @lucyhelena @808tsuika @ladykatakuri @bikerlorian @torchbearerkyle @frietiemeloen @tsedeshgishnii @buddee @justanothersadperson93 @leotatombs @mavendeb @rain-on-kamino @itsagrimm @captain-splock-you @dancingwiththeplanets @hummellchen @theclonesdeservebetter @cyarinka @ladyemxo @maulslittlemeowmeow @rosmariner @staycalmandhugaclone @coruscanticoffee @crookedwiings @eyecandyeoz @fordo-kixed-rex @musigrusi @lucyysthings @dinsverdika @bombshe77 @cawyden

[juniemunie]

Its the kids turn!! ⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

i put way too much effort in this

Don't worry they're still FAR from the conventional nuclear family lmao

PJ is by @/7goodangel

Gradient is by @/askcomboclub

Template by @/unu-nunu-art

Error and Fresh by @/loverofpiggies

Ink by @/comyet

Design notes under!

Design Notes for PJ:

-Error patches up the tears on his scarf! Very nice of him to do.

-All the art materials he has stashed on his belt are for food. He likes to snack on em often.

-Because of Error's..."tolerance" of him, he has more strings that he can use. He's got enough to form legs.

-Fresh gifts him magical ink durable Heely shoes! Instead of shedding footprints all over the place, he can instead heely/skate around and leave behind lines. He's creative on using it during battles. He would never admit it, but he appreciates the gift.

Design Notes for Gradient:

-I based his outfit off ye old web aesthetics like Cyber Grunge,,, I really liked the big pants look on him.

-I placed his scarf on his neck to match with his family, but also to match Template's scarf hehe, a little sign of his influence.

-You can't see it but his laptop bag has a ton of pins and merch of random dated internet references.

-His shoes looking old design Ink's shoes were complete accident but I liked it enough to keep anyway. Maybe Ink gave it to him and he spiced it up!

[damian-lil-babybat]

'Dead Poets Society' gang

Headcanon that these four drop poetry and literature quotes on their conversations unprompted.

Jason 'English-major-I-only-visit-the-manor-for-the-library' Todd-Wayne

Damian 'I-master-liberal-arts-unlike-you-plebs-PHD-holder' al Ghul-Wayne

Cassandra 'I-learn-English-thru-Shakespeare-as-god-intended' Cain-Wayne

Duke 'only-title-holder-of-vigilante-poet-and-will-cuss-you-just-as-poetically' Thomas-(future) Wayne

[madschiavelique]

A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 10 - Three of Cups

summary : you are invited to a masquerade, and between battling to find a decent dress and the expectations of conducting oneself in high society, you manage to pull it off

content warnings : masquerade shit idk, reader putting men back in their places because duh, for reference here are the link to reader (the pic on the right) and viktor's outfit for the masquerade (art made by me)

word count : 8,5k

author's note : omygoodness, i’m so dubious about this chapter. i could NOT not give viktor some khôl sexy eyes okay. i just did and i don't regret it. also!!! i moved the taglist down the doc now hehe

proofread by the lovely @yaffles-world <3

masterlist : here ．．discord : here ．．playlist : here

"Really now?"

You looked at yourself in the mirror, your head barely visible above a fluorescent orange collar with multiple layers piling up on top of each other like lasagna.

Who would have thought that finding a dress was such a long and difficult job?

You'd already been in a few shops in Piltover for a good hour each. You'd been going from boutique to boutique for nearly three hours already, and you were beginning to lose hope about the possibilities open to you regarding your outfit.

Tonight was the gala, and you still hadn't found a dress. You'd probably imagined that the matter would be sorted out quickly. That, by some miracle or other, you would find a dress that was chic and presentable enough to wear to a masquerade.

But the clock was ticking, while your search continued unabated. Sélène and Sky had both come to accompany you, and the two of them had enough in common that the teacher-student barrier was forgotten and she just saw her as a friendly aunt.

Sélène had this extraordinary ability to always be open, to see everyone as an equal, no matter what their age or background was. It was an immense and admirable quality, coupled with her extraordinary patience to hold out and persevere in finding you a superb evening outfit.

You had tried on so many dresses that you thought you could now recognise every possible material a dress could be made of. You'd tried silk and velvet, pleats of tulle or organza, all sorts of cuts that made you look either too invested in this evening or far too casual.

You knew that, once you entered the gala hall, it would be an arena. A constant battle of eyes tearing at the others, comments on their appearances, their words - passive-aggressive phrases disguised as condescending benevolence. 

You could understand why Jayce didn't want to face such a world, always so hungry for crumbs that left stomachs screaming to invent new words and cover the world with a layer of sneaky ridicule.

Speaking of ridiculous, the outfit you were now wearing completed the criteria. 

You turned to Sky and Selene who, with a knowing glance, sighed in turn. You returned to the cabin, removing the dress and putting on your clothes again with annoyance.

"Maybe I should just tell Jayce I can't make it," you concluded as you left the cabin.

"No way in hell," chuckled Selene.

"Maybe we should try the other side of the river?" Sky suggested, after seeing that there was no one around to overhear.

Zaun owned huge dressmaking houses, however they clashed with Piltover’s aesthetic. If word got out that one of the guests at this prestigious gala was wearing couture from the enemy city... you didn't know what that would do to your reputation and the strings that would be pulled to constrain you in your aims.

"No," replied Selene, her eyes fixed on you as a flash of lucidity seemed to cross her mind. She gave you both a wise smile. "There's still a wardrobe in Piltover where you'll probably be able to find something."

She then turned to Sky, offering her a charming smile and taking both her hands, squeezing them gratefully.

"Sky sweetheart, I'll be taking over from now on. I thank you immensely for your time and your very pleasant company." She turned to you for a moment. "Dear, give me one of those tickets Jayce gave you."

You complied, handing her one of the tickets still looking crisply printed, which she handed to Sky.

"Go on a little shopping trip and get yourself some treats. You've earned it."

Sky looked deeply surprised, exchanging a glance with you for a moment as you shrugged, equally confused.

Selene turned to you. "As for us, we've got some real archaeological work to do."

The two of you returned to Selene's flat as Sky had left, exchanging one last minute and promising to tell each other absolutely everything once you got back from the Gala.

"What card did you draw today?" she asked as she opened the door to her dressing room.

You watched as she grabbed a small stepladder. "Three of Cups."

"Aha," she smiled as she climbed onto it, scanning the shelves above, "the cards know about this little soirée."

The little booklet was starting to feel a lot more familiar now: Joy shared with others. Friendship and celebration. The expression of love and warm feelings.

It all seemed very positive, you thought, as you continued to read the page. The Cups reflect the sacred triad of creativity and growth. This card reminds you to share with others. Empowering others increases your happiness, health and wealth. Surround yourself with people who uplift you.

Talk about elevation, you'd find yourself surrounded on all sides by aristocrats and other big heads, where the only level that could rise would be that of clever condescension camouflaged under dishonest smiles.

Selene's graceful hands, full of rings, clutched a large black leather suitcase. She blew on it, a cloud of dust rising into the air as she passed it to you.

“What's this?” you questioned as you picked it up, its weight comfortable in your arms as you observed the trunk.

She bent down to grab the handle of a second briefcase, brown and with the varnish starting to peel off the corners. 

"I was around your age when I started getting invited to Galas and other balls of the sort." She descended the small steps of the stepladder, facing you. "I kept all the dresses that some men had offered me."

You smiled, amazed and surprised. "Offered?"

Selene giggled, kneeling on the ground as you did the same.

"They offered me drinks, and the drinks went to the bed, and from the bed came enough adoration that I have to my credit two or three divorces in which I am the centre of the affair." She sighed as she undid the two golden buckles guarding the sealed chest. "They covered me with jewels," your eyes passed over her hands again, "flowers, and on special occasions, dresses."

She opened it, and your lips parted at the beauty of its contents. She pinched an emerald-green piece of fabric, lifting its heavy velvet into the air before you and revealing a winter dress all embroidered with carmine and obsidian stones, dripping like blood.

Another slipped through her fingers, a summer dress in a fine, peachy pink, its sleeves made of organza embroidered with gold embellishments.

Another made you open your mouth until your jaw hit the floor. A long golden dress, with a loose neckline reaching down to just above her navel, while the bare back almost reached her sacrum.

"You wore that?" you almost choked out.

She smiled, raising her eyebrows. "Some of them wanted to uncover me more than cover me."

You laughed softly, opening the black trunk in your lap. The glitter of a black sequined dress was immediately reflected on your skin.

"These are all so beautiful..." you said almost absently, your hand running through the fabric.

The thought then occurred to you that you were going to wear something so expensive and beautiful tonight, but you felt almost unworthy to have any of these dresses on your skin. You were first in the Academy, of course. And you had worked hard to get there. But a masquerade that would surely be attended by all the most important people in Piltover was no mean feat.

"Now," Selene broke through your incessant internal doubts, clutching the first dress that came her way, "let's see how beautiful you look in them."

You smiled softly at her, shyly accepting the piece of art as she stepped out of the dressing room and gave you time to change. 

You held the fabric close to you, the sequins reflecting off your hands as your eyes tried to visualise you wearing that same dress tonight. I must be perfect, you thought.

As you began undressing to put on the dress, a reflection caught your eye. Your attention was drawn to a dark patch peeking out from under an old pink dress.

Drawn in, intrigued, you gently pinched the shoulder of the dress to discover the one hidden beneath. A soft, violet fabric, approaching a dark blue, gleamed in the light from the ceiling, lines of small blue and black stones streaking it from top to bottom.

Purple, you thought, the conversation from the day you visited the museum coming back to mind.

You took the dress in your hands, rising up and letting it unfurl like a waterfall at night. The fabric seemed magical, shimmering like stars on water, glistening like the moon on snow. The neckline ran from around the neck in a V-shape to the centre of the valley of your breasts, a dark, almost black bodice hugging the waist while the skirt came down to the feet. The shoulders were covered, the sleeves parting loosely halfway down the arm until they met at gold bracelets around the wrist.

It was sublimely elegant, dark and mysterious, perfect for a masquerade. You carefully replaced the dress Selene had originally given you in the suitcase, and slipped it on. The fabric was soft against your skin, a slight reassuring weight on your shoulders as the bracelets closed around your wrists with ease. You felt neither too tight nor too loose – a perfect balance. 

Maybe purple wasn't such a bad colour after all.

"So?" called Selene from outside. 

You inhaled, hesitantly opening the dressing room door. Selene was at her vanity, looking in her drawers for the few palettes that might embellish your eyes. She looked away from her search, resting her eyes on you, and her gaze softened.

"Where did you get this one?" you asked, your finger pinching the skirt gently as you gazed at the stones glinting softly in the light.

She moved towards you, tender, as a thin smile stretched her lips, gazing wistfully at the dress on you.

"It was given to me..." her hand came to rest on one of your shoulders, sliding down your arm, "by a man I loved."

"You loved?" you repeated in wonder.

"Mhm," she hummed, her hand reaching for the gold bracelet, index and middle fingers together as if to trace its pulse. She seemed to come back to reality, regaining your eyes. "I'm glad you're wearing it."

She then turned her head to the mirror on her dressing table, taking your wrist gently and pulling it so that you came to sit in front of it. In your reflection, the dress looked stunning, highlighting your figure to perfection and lighting you up.

Selene then picked up a black circular mask, hanging over the mirror.

"Now," she brought the mask up to your face, placing it to make sure it would fit, "it's time for the world to figure out how to resist you."

Your heart was pounding as the music came closer to your ears and your heels echoed in the huge hallway you were walking through.

Selene had done your make-up after you'd showered, spending a good while on your eyes, since they and your lips would be the main attractions. She fixed your hair, gave you a few accessories and found a pair of heels in your size.

You made your way to the masquerade building without much trouble, the cool night air calming the heat in your cheeks. And now that you'd reached the big ballroom, your heart was starting to race in your chest.

What if you stumbled and made a fool of yourself? What if you said something wrong that didn't fit in with high society etiquette? What if you made a mistake?

You tried to breathe, to calm yourself down, to not assume that you were going to fail no matter what. You were the top of the Academy, after all, and defeat feared you. You thought about all the possibilities, and resigned yourself first of all to finding Jayce, who was probably just as lost and scared as you were.

You took one last breath, and turned into the chamber with your head held high.

The room had a high ceiling from which modern crystal chandeliers shone, illuminating the space where all sorts of silhouettes mingled. Some were standing by banqueting tables piled high with petits fours and amuse-bouches, while others were forming clusters of discussion groups, each carrying a champagne flute.

Do as they do, you thought, on the lookout for a waiter who might pass not far from you. With great luck, a charming butler came towards you as if a radar for people without champagne flutes had been grafted onto his eyes. 

You took one, offering him a polite smile. As he prepared to leave, already looking for new people to please, you thought hesitantly to ask him if he'd seen Jayce Talis. But you stopped yourself, instead bringing the drink to your lips to prevent making a fool of yourself. You were in a masquerade, the very principle of which was the doubt and mystery of those with whom you were sharing a discussion.

Fortunately for you, however, you knew Jayce well enough to recognise him in a crowd. Had Viktor even arrived? You had no idea. Perhaps you were alone here, a shrimp trying to pretend to be a shark when an ocean of danger could bring a deadly current at any moment.

You looked around the room a little more closely. On either side, pillars of white marble rose up to a vaulted ceiling covered with superb frescoes. The floor was almost a mirror of it because of its intensive polishing, the black and white tiles creating intricate rosettes which you could no doubt start counting if the evening ever got too boring for your liking. At the far end of the room, three huge windows, almost embedded in the domed ceiling, let you discover the night and its mysteries. There was even a small band playing a steady stream of classical music, much to the delight of everyone it appeared.

The setting was magnificent, the scents of expensive foods and fragrances mingling almost to the point of suffocation. Everyone was wearing quite different colours, but the majority were still in Piltover's gold and white.

Finally your eyes found Jayce, dressed in the colours of his house. It's all about subtlety, you thought as you walked towards him. You hoped that by some miracle he would turn his head towards you and recognise you, so that you wouldn't have to worry about interrupting a conversation.

Alas, he did not. You walked towards them, a sentence ending as you arrived.

"I thought I'd never find you," you said, Jayce and his chatting companion both turning to face you. 

Jayce looked confused for a moment, frowning and hoping he wasn't a complete idiot.

"Do I know y..." You feared the worst when a flash of genius crossed his eyes. "Oh it's you!"

Your shoulders relaxed as the stress subsided.

"I almost didn't recognise you," he admitted, apparently taken aback by your outfit. He turned for a moment to his conversation companion. "If you'll excuse us."

The latter nodded politely as you and Jayce walked away, along one of the buffet tables.

"This place is terrifying," you started, your eyes going around the room as you noticed a few glances being on you relentlessly.

Jayce shrugged, grabbing an appetiser that looked far too sophisticated for you and Sky to be lucky enough to find in the corner shop. "It's not as bad as I thought it would be," he said with his mouth full.

"That's because you're a social butterfly, Jayce," you remarked, your stare stretching across the room as a few eyes rested on you and smiled in what looked like an attempt at flirting from a distance for some. "You're the sunlight of this room."

He stopped chewing for a moment, looking at you with big eyes. "That's probably the nicest thing you ever said to me."

"It's not that complicated - all of them look like they were dipped in wax and can barely crack an actual smile."

"I take that back," he sighed, swallowing his bite.

You turned your attention back to the buffet, plates probably costing more than your salary, containing all sorts of arrangements mixing puff pastas and all sorts of garnishes.

You ventured to take one, exhaling a hum of relief as the taste was absolutely divine. Perhaps you'll be staying near the food this evening? The advantage with them at least was that you didn't risk having to talk yourself to sleep.

"So," you licked your fingers, "will you introduce us to your girlfriend?"

He sighed, his shoulders drooping. "Chances are she'll find you before I find her,” he mumbled, his eyes roaming the room in search of the aforementioned lady. "She's in her element here, but I think you'll recognise her once she comes to you."

You'd seen Mel Medarda before. Selene, who had a metaphorical place on the council, used to take you along from time to time when public meetings such as trials took place. You knew each of the councillors, like most of the people in Piltover, and would no doubt recognise them if the occasion arose.

Mel Medarda, sumptuous woman that she was, had left her mark on you in her beauty, her eloquence and her generosity. You hoped to honour your memory and her greatness by recognising her this evening.

"Is Viktor here with you?" you asked, curiosity winning out over silence.

"Yes," he smiled, raising his eyebrows, "I think he managed to temporarily escape to the toilets."

You brought your champagne flute to your lips. "Smart man."

From across the room, a guest raised her flute to Jayce. 

"Duty calls," Jayce confirmed as he rubbed his hand off of any crust before placing his hand on your shoulder, "don't sweat it in here, just... mingle."

And with that, he left, leaving you at the mercy of a world you despised.

You looked at the dishes, taking a second one in your hand so as not to stand there like another statue in the background. You took a few steps out of sight, trying to savour what little quiet and time you had on your own before anyone requested your attention.

"That is quite an unfamiliar silhouette that I meet."

You turned, your eyes landing on a young woman covered in a dress combining saturnine white, black and gold. 

Mel Medarda.

In her long dress with a skirt slit up her thighs, she looked like an elegant bottle of poison, an addictive elixir that gave you the serenity and comfort of knowing you were in control and that you had someone to talk to if any worries arose.

She had a mouth shaped like a chameleon, ready to take any shape or colour that might interest or uninterest her auditor. Her dark lips quirked into a smile as her eyes crinkled, all covered in gold and dark glitter. There was power in her grin as she moved forward, murmuring I've got lies so handsome you'll never want to believe the Truth, and that would make her jealous. I've got excuses so beautiful you'll want me to betray you to listen to them, so powerful you'll forgive me anything. 

She was the fiercest shark in the pond, and she was coming towards you.

"Councillor," you raised your flute in introduction, trying to gain the same calm and consistency of diplomatic discussions, "I don't think we ever officially met before."

She sighed as she came up to you, shaking her head. "Let us drop the formalities – you're not going in for a discussion joust with me."

You looked startled, Mel dropping her shoulders.

“I know you're a friend of Jayce and Viktor, you're not a part of any of..." she described a graceful circle in the air with her flute, "them."

You relaxed a little. ‘Thank the Hells, I thought I'd have to behave myself and have conversations about a multi-polarised conflict of international importance, or anything of the sort."

She smiled at you, all charming. She was young, if not the same age as you. So how did she go about her day-to-day life, pushing herself to act like an adult whose shoulders bore the weight of big, heavy decisions?

"To simplicity," she toasted.

You raised your flute to hers before taking a sip. Its contents were beginning to dwindle already.

"How did you and Jayce meet?" she asked after her own swig.

"Two years ago, when I first started at the Academy, I was transferred to his class after three months."

"Really? For what reason?" she inquired.

You shrugged. "I'd made enough progress on my year's programme that they were considering moving me to another class. Skipped two classes in my life," you smiled. 

"I'm beginning to understand why you're in first place in the rankings," she nodded, arching an eyebrow.

"Determination can take you a long way," you confirmed. "Jayce passed me the notes of the classes he'd taken since the beginning of the year, and wire by wire the title of classmate blurred into friend."

You thought back for a moment to the afternoons you'd spent poring over Jayce's notes, the question marks he'd drawn over and over again on his papers that you'd ended up completing for him. And when the weekends came and he came to see you at the café, he'd always wait until you had your break to talk about anything and everything with you.

“How about you?” you asked in return. “Haven't had many times this year to sit down and talk with him about his life, but I do want to know about you.”

“What don't you know?” she smiled. “The advantage of advisors is that a lot of their lives are biographed and catalogued.”

“Lucky then that I get to talk to a human being and not a pile of dead leaves,” you remarked.

She nodded gently before tilting her head to one side in consideration.

“I met Jayce after his trial. We had a long discussion and reconsidered his sentence after sharing it with the council. Since then, I've helped finance some of his projects, and the line between the professional and the romantic has blurred.”

“You're sure he's a good boyfriend, aren't you?” you inquired, ”if I find out he's not buying you a bouquet of flowers every week I may well have to perform an urgent intervention to educate him on the subject.”

She laughed softly, amused by your enthusiasm for making sure he was beyond reproach.

“No lesson needed, I assure you,” she confirmed, turning to the rest of the room and making a very subtle gesture with her hand for a butler to come and serve you both again. “How are you enjoying the night so far?”

“Well,” you sighed, ”I haven't made myself any new enemies so that's a good sign. You?”

“I think that if I hear another conversation about a love affair with a 62-year-old priest or a thesis on predictive models of pluripotent stem cell susceptibility, one of these drinks will end up poisoned by the end of the evening,” the butler reached you and poured you a refill, Mel smiling at him. “Thank you.”

She turned back to you.

“You are my breath of fresh air of the evening.” Her eyes drifted over your form for a moment, intrigued. “That's quite a lovely dress, by the way - I haven't seen such garments around here. Where did you find it?” she inquired as she pinched the fabric of one of your sleeves between her long fingers.

“Oh, my mother gave it to me,” you replied, pleasantly surprised that you could talk so calmly and simply without any pressure. “You probably know of Selene?”

Her eyes returned to yours. “Selene? Selene Phathe?”

You nodded, her lip stretching to the side. 

“I wasn't aware she had a daughter.” she remarked. 

“She has many children,” you smiled. “I'm her legal daughter.”

Selene had always had something very maternal, but had inherited the bitterness of infertility. Any child or young person she came across and helped became a bit like her spiritual children, and you knew your siblings were in good hands.

“I see,” Mel said, offering an understanding smile. “I ask her from time to time for readings and such. Everything she's shared with me has turned out to be true. I was quite skeptical about being carried away by such a science, but she managed to convince me of her certainty.”

“Started reading Tarot myself after a few years of getting readings, it's... startling how accurate they are.”

“Truly?” She pressed her shoulder against yours, “you'll have to come visit me to give me a reading someday.” She smiled. “And inform me of any of Jayce's mischief if he ever does any, I'll be sure to correct him on that matter.”

You raised your then-full flute, all smiles. “I'll drink to that.”

She returned the smile, taking a sip before her eyes found those of another guest in the room and she sighed.

“If you'll excuse me, I think I have another boring conversation to attend to.”

“Good luck - you have my support from afar,” you encouraged her as she gracefully made her way to the designated person.

Your eyes then roamed the room again, observing the few outfits the guests were wearing and all the high heels worn by the women who must have been killing their feet... But your eyes found the end of a cane, a cane you knew all too well and which almost appeared in your horizon like a real lifeline in this troubled sea.

You moved forward, your eyes still lowered on the end of the cane as someone blocked your field of vision and you bumped them. 

“I'm sorry,” you uttered immediately, checking to make sure your champagne hadn't spilled as your eyes darted back to the masked ones of-

Tyler?

The fool's blond curls had been partially combed back with gel, his scarlet mask matched by a suit in Councilman Hoskel's colors: Black, Red and Gold.

He frowned, his eyes watching you completely before he realized where he knew that voice from.

“You?” he pronounced with as much disgust, shock and surprise mingling in his voice.

“Equally pleased, Tyler,” you grumbled, moving to extricate yourself from the situation when he grabbed your arm.

Your eyes immediately landed on where his hand was, moving slowly until they found his. How dare he even touch that fabric?

“What are you doing here?” he questioned, still not letting go of your arm.

“Got the invite for the biggest bastard competition, but it's just my luck that you got here. Now I can't win it, so if you'll excuse me-” you tugged again but Tyler kept his grip firm.

“How the hell did you get in there, huh?”

“Through the door, like everyone else. Can you let me go?”

“Where did you get such an empyreal dress?”

“Oh, you learned a new word.”

“It's Talis, isn't it?” He chuckled, finding the situation pitiful. “Thought he could just let you in like this?”

“Did your mother throw the baby away to raise the placenta? I was invited by merit, unlike you,” you almost spat at him. “Now let go of me.”

“Say please, and I'll consider it.”

“Tyler, I'm going to make you soluble so I can dilute you in my piss and dispense you into every flute in this room,” you threatened. “Let go of me.”

He nodded. “That's not how please is pronounced.”

“Her? Saying please, to you?”

You both turned toward the voice that had just spoken to you, the accent now inscribed in your ears.

Viktor.

Your breath seemed to almost supernaturally halt as your eyes fell on him. A purple, almost black velvet coat sat on his shoulders, the collar of his pierced shirt from which golden chain ornaments dangled, reached down to his vest, which elegantly outlined his waist. His black pants, flowing harmoniously down to his ankles, led to perfectly polished black shoes.

As your gaze returned to his face, your eyes locked on his, whose eyelids, beneath his mask of purple velvet and gold, were covered with a layer of kohl. His amber eyes possessed something mystical, mysterious and powerful.

“You too?" huffed Tyler. "It's an epidemic.” 

“Tyler, I believe the Miss asked you politely to leave her alone. I suppose you wouldn't want any rumors to get out about the Hoskel heir and some of his violent behaviours,” Viktor remarked.

Tyler's eyes darted around the room, most of the masked faces turned towards him while many murmured unintelligible things as they watched the scene. His gaze reached yours again, one corner of his lips rising in annoyance as he finally let go of your arm.

“What's vermin like you doing here?” he asked, teeth clenched.

“We've been officially invited,” Viktor marked. “The efforts of the two top-ranking Academy students that we are have therefore been given the opportunity of such an evening to solidify diplomatic ties, with the hope later of obtaining alliances useful to our projects for the common good.”

You had no idea how quickly Viktor had combined all these justifications to give him an air of credibility. The possibility then occurred to you that Jayce and Viktor, before they came here, had probably rehearsed many times what they had to say in case fools like Tyler found themselves playing the curious.

“The standards have obviously gone down,” Tyler chuckled.

“Tell me about it,” you replied, looking at him almost apologetically, as if just seeing him made you feel sorry for him, so worn out was the little that served as his brain.

“Dearest Nephew!” Bombarded a voice.

Councillor Hoskel himself, then accompanied by what you recognized as Councillor Salo, strode towards your merry little group.

“It seems you have never mentioned such a beauty to be part of your acquaintances.” 

The latter's eyes roamed over your figure as his tongue ran over his teeth. The figure was repulsive, one of his ridiculously thin arms against the enormity of his round beer belly nudging Tyler to make the introductions.

“Um,” he suddenly seemed to have lost his good-for-nothing tongue.

“Revealing our identity at a masquerade would defy the very principle of it,” Viktor sighed, exchanging a glance with you.

You had to play along, take on the etiquette of the discussion for an evening. “Exactly,” you declared with a tense smile that you offered to the trio of troublemakers.

“Is this your date?” Hoskel pointed, his slender finger unwinding from his flute to point at Viktor.

“Pardon?” you questioned, close to choking on your own spit.

“For tonight, is this young man your date?” he corrected. “Unless fate has miraculously brought you together with stylists,” he remarked with a greasy laugh.

Exchanging glances with Viktor and your two outfits, it was almost impossible not to notice the fact that, subconsciously, you'd been matching. Anyone seeing you side by side like that might have wondered about it, and the thought brought what you presumed was shame to your cheeks.

“Oh, no,” you laughed nervously. “Sorry, I did not understand.”

He shrugged and nodded arrogantly. “It's normal, pretty and intelligent is rare.”

You suppressed the urge to throw the contents of your flute in his face, given that he himself seemed not to be on his first one for a while now, and decided instead to play in his own court. “Yes, when ugly and stupid is quite common.” 

Tyler's gaze narrowed as much as his uncle's and Councillor Salo's as Viktor lowered his head, a small smile spreading across his lips as he glanced at you from the side.

“Funny,” Hoskel struck a slight pose as he watched you, ”how being behind a mask gives you wings.”

You raised your chin, squinting your eyes as if looking down on him. “Funny how multiplying champagne flutes does so as well, only...” your eyes drifted to his red nose then his belly full of booze, ”one remains hidden better than the other.”

Hoskel seemed to chew air, grinding his teeth together as he grunted dully.

“My my,” Salo tilted his head down as his eyes remained on you, straightening, ”that's a sharp little one we have here with us tonight.” He cleared his throat, raising his gloved hand to point at the sky as if preparing to lecture. “Take care not to make a woman cry because gods count her tears. Whereas when a woman's up to something, the devil sits at his desk and takes notes.”

“A citation?” remarked Viktor, destitute as he was of a champagne flute while his free hand let only his thumb protrude from his pants pocket.

“From one of my books,” said Salo, proudly, resting his hand on his chest.

Viktor didn't seem any more enchanted than that to be taking part in the discussion, but no doubt had to try to find some fictional interest in all that was being told. “Do you write?”

Salo took a sip of his champagne, swallowing it quickly enough to respond with airy hand movements. “The Gods kindly offer me the first verse. What is difficult is to write the next ones which will be worthy of their supernatural brothers."

You brought your flute close to your lips. “Yes, otherwise who'd write the scripts for beggars,” you mumbled, before taking only one more sip.

Viktor huffed. Salo frowned, not seeming to have distinctly heard your words. “I beg your pardon?”

You swallowed, pressing your lips together to collect the rest of the contents of your sip. “Yes?”

“I don't think I quite heard what you said a moment ago.”

You thought you wouldn't be heard, your eyes shifting from Salo to Viktor for a moment before returning to the counselor and closing your eyes, a nervous smile spreading across your lips as you tried again to be diplomatic.

So you tried a graceful exit, shaking your head. “I think the champagne bubbles must have started their little rise, I'm thinking of getting some air to release them.” Just before leaving, you repeated the formula you'd heard so many times this evening. “If you'll excuse me.”

You looked at them one last time, lingering a moment longer on Viktor's gaze as you left for one of the balconies.

The night air bit into your cheeks like apples, the winter coolness slapping you in sharp contrast to the warmth inside. The cool air filled your lungs and you thought for a moment you'd end up frozen from the inside out. There was no wind, just the muted calm of the cold and the murmur of the city below.

You stepped forward, placing your glass on the edge of the balcony. You didn't care if it fell, if it flew away, if a pigeon shat in it. The mere fact that the crystal of this flute had touched the lips of so many people who had destroyed so much hope for your own made you want to grab it by its stem yourself and send it waltzing off to the stars.

You brought your hands to your arms, as much to prevent yourself from needlessly accessing this hatred as to gain warmth. Your eyes watched the horizon, the lights of Piltover in every window. How many knew what their consumption was bringing from the other end of the river? Your gaze drifted towards the latter, the lights much dimmer as they gleamed from the very bowels of the city. You thought back to Eris's letter for a moment, but what did she want to talk to you about? 

Your hips touched the guardrail, your fingers running over Tyler's previous grip as if to dust off any DNA that had settled there. It was a good thing Viktor had arrived, or Tyler's nose would surely have had a few stitches.

A warmth rose in the back of your neck, familiar from Viktor's breath when he'd saved you from a nasty fall in the library. He'd gone ahead and helped you. There seemed to be this mutual recognition, this acceptance that, whatever happened, you were there to take the lead from each other. 

Your hand instinctively went to the back of your neck, trying to banish this feeling, or to recover it on your fingers in the hope of getting a little warm comfort. Was this a reaction to the trauma of his presence? Surely it could be, unless shame had crept under your skin and lingered there. 

You drew your fingers up slightly until you found the string of your mask, undoing it and letting the fresh air spread over your face.

The distinct tinkle of a cane snapped you out of your thoughts, and you didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.

“You've left me in the lurch of a thorny conversation.” he said, his voice warm in the night air as he approached you, staying a reasonable distance to your left.

You sketched a smile, not yet turning towards him as you watched a fictitious dot in the distance. “What were they discussing?”

You felt him remove his mask, dropping the loop of black ribbon holding it to dangle from the handle of his cane. “I left as soon as they'd mentioned the matter of therapeutic obstinacy.” 

“A discussion like that should have had you hanging on to their every word,” you joked, finally turning your head towards him.

The prince of the night offered you his profile, his darkened eyes watching the horizon in the distance. He had a presence that froze you, a power so strong that it held you in place. You felt worthy of being the rival of a man like him. But were you still assuming this title?

“I think I'll let Tyler take it from here,” he smiled softly, turning to you.

His amber eyes planted themselves in yours, and you only managed to support it for a few seconds before your eyes drifted to his shoulders.

“You...” you breathed in, observing his elegant, sophisticated outfit, ”you look nice.”

He parted his lips, tilting his head slightly to one side as he squinted with a slight smile.

“Was that a compliment, miss?” he questioned.

“Don't get used to it,” you sighed, rolling your eyes, then reaching for your champagne flute, ”this is a special occasion after all.”

You brought your drink to your lips, the sensation of champagne making you feel a little freer, a little lighter and able to loosen your tongue to say or accept things you'd normally refuse.

You could feel his gaze on you in your peripheral vision, skirting the length of your body, your back illuminated by the interior of the room while the rest of your dress looked like a piece cut straight from the night that embraced you.

“That colour,” he began, his gaze drifting back to the horizon, ”it suits you.”

You thought back to what he'd said what seemed like an eternity ago. ‘It's beautiful, it's calm, in lavender as well as plum, in cassis as well as grape, in wisteria as well as... whatever, it's the one I prefer.’

It's the one I prefer.

You tried not to dwell on that thought, to move on.

“Who'd have thought Tyler would come all this way to bother us?” you huffed.

Viktor chuckled lightly. “He can't get enough of us.”

“I've rarely seen anyone scrape so deep into the depths of incompetence.”

“I believe you've met his uncle, though,” Viktor remarked. “And he, so far, holds a place on the Piltover council.”

“I guess it runs in the family to fall victim to one's own mediocrity.”

“And you had the gift of reminding them of it.”

You smiled, regaining his gaze for a moment. “Don't tell me you didn't want to either.”

He shrugged, pretending to think about it. “Yes, although I must applaud the success of your execution.”

“Would that be a compliment, Moravec?” you stressed.

He earned your gaze, eyes crinkled with a slight sneer. “Like you said - this is a special occasion after all.”

You nodded, shaking your head as if it were a song you'd heard too many times already.

A moment of silence passed, a slight quiver taking hold of you as the hour advanced and the air grew fresher and fresher.

“I've been thinking about the clauses for our truce.”

You turned towards him, arms again crossed as if to hold any ounce of warmth close to your body.

You smirked, grabbing your flute as if to help you listen to him and make those decisions.

“I'm listening.”

“Firstly,” he began, ”we shan't have any rivalry that doesn't engender some obsession pushing us into critical health situations.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was a one-time thing-”

“That is my first clause,” he cut in, his kohl-rimmed eyes insisting on the fact. “Second, mutual aid. If one of us experiences a difficulty somewhere, they must share it with the other, no matter how big their ego and pride.”

“Well that's going to be easy,” you sighed, pressing the crown of your flute close to your lower lip.

“Thirdly,” Viktor straightened up, tilting his head slightly forward as if in a short bow, ”let's be friends.”

You pressed your lips together, considering the offer truly.

Was there even a downside to becoming friends with Viktor? Besides the fact that you had to question your animosity towards him since the beginning of the year, what were the pros and cons?

Sure, he could get on your nerves in discussions, but it had been ages since you'd tried your hand at verbal jousting so constantly, and you were beginning to get used to it. 

But apart from that, he wasn't a threat, he was inclined towards progress and advancement rather than stagnation and stubbornness, and he'd already considered you friends for a while, if you went back to Agrane's attribution of detention where he'd wished to come to your defense.

Besides, he was from Zaun - few students here could say as much and understand you on certain points.

“Agreed,” you replied, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. “But be careful, don't expect me to hop like a flower around you.” You huffed. “Jayce has already had to chase me around for quite a while before I'd officially consider him a friend.”

He shrugged, pressing his lips together slightly as if indifferent.

“That's fine by me. Fourthly,” he continued, ”clauses can be added in the future. Of course, they won't be imposed and can be discussed.”

You arch an eyebrow, huffing. “Do you have many more clauses?

“Do you agree to this one?” he asked, frowning.

You looked at him for a moment. This seemed to be very close to his heart. “Yes.”

“Good.” he smiled.

“Is that all?”

His eyes trailed over your shoulders for a moment. “Just one last one.”

He set his cane down against the marble railing, unclipping one of the pins that held the chain holding his coat to his back. He pinched the shoulders of it, taking a single step towards you to place it on yours, pressing his hands lightly on them as you felt the warmth his back had spread over the fabric against your own. He took care, with his long, slender, cool fingers, to reattach the chain neatly.

“My last clause for tonight is for you not to get cold,” he said, his voice more tender as he took a step back as if to observe the vision you were. “Luckily, we wore the same color.”

You took one of the sides in your hands, bringing it close to you to cover yourself with it.

“Won't you get cold?” you asked. 

He shrugged, regaining the grip of his cane as his eyes remained on your coat-covered figure. “If you think Jayce won't get rid of his coat at some point this evening, you're wrong.”

You crack a smile, wondering what would happen if Jayce overindulged in champagne and Viktor had to go home with him tonight. Unless, of course, Jayce and Mel ended the evening together. He slipped on his mask again, replacing it gracefully over his features.

Viktor was getting ready to go back inside, and you didn't know if the magic of champagne bubbles was making you say things, or if out of sheer urge you were calling him.

“Viktor?”

He turned to you for a moment, one part of his face bathed in the warm light of the interior while the other remained in the night like a crescent moon.

You parted your lips, the simple two words coming pouring out without doubt or regret. 

“Thank you.”

He seemed amazed, even with his mask over his face. But the astonishment quickly gave way to a softening, until his lips stretched into a smile and he stepped back inside.

Some people won't get any magic words out of you, but Viktor was worthy of them. You brought the collar of his coat close to you. His scent was sweeter than you'd expected, that of sun-warmed stone mingling with a lingering coffee fragrance.

Your eyes returned to the city, the vision of his kingdom, of streets he would split with his cane to hit the color purple on their cream walls.

It's the one I prefer.

The evening had come to an end. You had tried to fit into some of the conversation circles that came and went as time went by, remaining mostly silent and listening without interjecting, laughing when they laughed, nodding when they nodded, and trying not to simply stuff yourself with petits fours.

You'd thought of finding a way to take a handful with you so you'd have a little variety to bring back to give Sky a taste of how the evening was going. But you expected that, of course, you'd be looked at strangely for this behavior if you went through with it.

Some of the guests began to leave one by one, and you took the opportunity to do the same. Jayce, Mel and Viktor seemed nowhere to be found, so you dropped the idea of venturing into such a building in search of them. Who knows what you might stumble upon in the surrounding rooms? You didn't want to accidentally walk in on the feverish one-night stands of the guests, so you just took off.

The city had been asleep for some time, and the quiet yet illuminated streets were deserted. Had it been Zaun, venturing out at such an hour of the night in such an outfit would have been worth a lot of trouble. But Piltover had real rules of respect and a very different general upbringing, so you didn't feel in any danger of advancing like that.

Your heels were starting to hurt seriously and you would have given anything to be carried home. But there was no vigilante Jayce in sight to catch you if you fainted, nor any gentleman gallant enough to carry you like a princess.

How nice it was to be looked after, to have someone take care of you simply because they could.

The memory of Viktor dozing beside you as you recovered came to mind a moment before you chased him away as you turned a corner. Viktor's scent had permeated your nostrils all evening, and it was the only familiar, reassuring thing that kept you going.

The vision of the dormitories appearing in your line of sight was the greatest relief of all.

You passed silently through the doors of the building, taking the opportunity to remove your heels and sighing at ease as the soles of your feet finally settled on a surface that didn't need to be arched.

You slowly climbed the stairs, the soft feel of the red carpet almost tickling your feet as you inserted your key into the lock. It was late, perhaps Sky had not stayed awake and had gone to bed, and you had no wish to disturb her peace.

You turned the knob, entering the still-lit apartment, Sky lying on her bed with a book. Her eyes turned to you, her mouth opening wide as she looked at your outfit, which she hadn't had a chance to see. You smiled, closing the door behind you and dropping your heels to the floor.

“Girl,” she'd chuckled, watching you as you took off the coat and folded it neatly to let it hang over your arm like a waiter's towel, ”give me a twirl.”

You performed, spinning around before finishing with an exaggerated supermodel pause that made Sky laugh.

She snapped her book shut and sat cross-legged on her bed. “I need every detail you can give me.”

You picked up a hanger in the dressing room, hanging Viktor's coat which you hoped to return in the next few days before returning to Sky and sitting down with her to tell her all about it.

She had you turning your back to her, helping you remove the few decorations in your hair as you described everything to her. The hall, the dresses, the atmosphere, all the endless discussions, your meeting with the famous Mel Medarda, your altercation with Tyler and his idiot uncle.

“In any case, you didn't miss a thing. Apart from a few exceptions, the room was filled with the heads of bankers who hadn't gotten laid for twenty years.”

She laughed softly, pausing in the unraveling of your hair, her eyes watching a point in the void.

“Doesn't it make you dream a bit?”

You turned to her, confused. “To be a banker who looks like she hasn't gotten laid in twenty years?”

“No,” she chirped, giving you a little nudge on the shoulder, ”the mystery of the masquerade, the richness of being able to organize such an event without having to worry about much?”

You rested your head on her shoulder, pondering her question for a moment. Finally, you raised your head, staring into space.

“I think I would rather spend my life close to the birds than waste my time thinking I can carve myself wings.”

Sky sighed, probably dreaming of the golden life of the princes and princesses the world inhabited and longing for more. You didn't envy them - you felt scorn for their privileges and their inability to act for change. But you had no intention of crushing your friend's hopes.

“Who knows, maybe one day you'll be one of them and laugh as you drink champagne with infinite bubbles.”

She smiled softly, wrapping an arm around you.

You didn't tell her about your discussion on the balcony with Viktor, preferring to keep your exchange a secret for the time being. perhaps you'd bring up the subject when she asked you where the dress and coat came from. 

But for now, you kept the secret of the purple close to you.

It's the one I prefer.

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