#tech just cocks his head and squints at echo like hes trying to remember if that was a real reg or if echo is full of shit again

[probadbatch]

Headcanon that Echo still quotes regulations from time to time but these days he just blatantly makes shit up and everyone just assumes he's for real because he says it in such a deadpan serious voice and he will shamelessly abuse this in order to get what he wants

[noteguk]

pretty in pink | kth | m

— summary; in which you try to rekindle your sex life with a devilish plan and a very sexy, very pink set of langerie. 

— contents and warnings; smut, a bit of fluff, marriage au, taehyung x reader, mischievous use of lingerie, dirty talk, dom!tae x sub!reader, pretty heavy dom/sub themes, constant use of the word “sir”, begging, Tae has a big dick, cock worship, blowjob, deepthroat, cum eating, fingering, hair pulling, a bit of praise, degradation (use of slut/cockslut), but also use of pet names (honey, love, baby, doll…), mentions of cum play, spanking, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, orgasm control/denial, overstimulation, impreg kink if you squint, being nasty in the name of love 

— words; 6,4k 

— author’s note; homies… this is basically one long smut scene. There are like 3 paragraphs of context. Brain empty no excuse. 

Requested by anon! Requests are currently closed. 

By the time that Taehyung got home, you had pretty much forgotten you had a plan in the first place.

He removed his shoes after closing the door behind him, his coat hanging over his forearm and an expression of exhaustion plastered all over his face. “Hi, honey,” he called, only slightly aware of your silhouette coming out of the kitchen and into the living room. “How was your day?” 

Now, you see, your day had two main parts. The first (the usual one), was the part that started as soon as your husband left home for work, and you made your unceremonious walk towards the kitchen table, where you proceeded to work yourself. A few years back, you had managed to score an amazing job in the tech industry which allowed you to work mostly from home, and get a great salary while you’re at it — one downside, though, was that things started to get a bit lonely as your husband’s hours increased. 

You knew that Taehyung wasn’t doing it on purpose: he was working hard for a promotion, one that could considerably improve your living situation, and you wouldn’t shoot his plans down like that. But it was a bit disheartening to see him leaving so early and getting home so late, sometimes only after you had already gone to bed. And, besides the emotional void growing inside of you, there was also the sexual one you needed to take care of. 

Which leads you to the second part of your day. The scheming one. 

You and Taehyung used to have an extremely active sex life, practically fucking like rabbits throughout your dating, engagement, and marriage phases. But now things had started to cool down — really, no one’s fault: Taehyung was too tired most days and you felt too moody — and you had started to grow a bit desperate. It wasn’t as if the two of you never had sex anymore, it was just mostly a very vanilla, very boring, once-every-weekend-maybe kind of thing. 

All that being said, it’s understandable why you had started to construct a plan to rekindle that old, dying-out flame of yours. You didn’t want to do anything crazy — regardless of how interesting the idea of handcuffing your husband was, you didn’t think the best approach would be to scare him away from the get-go — so you eventually settled for a few things he particularly liked from back in the dating days. 

(You felt so old thinking that.)  

Number one: baby pink lingerie, the lacy kind. You didn’t know what kind of intense reaction it unleashed in your husband’s primal brain, but you knew that those were his favorites, and that Taehyung never stopped until he could take them off you. For that special occasion, you had even gone out and bought yourself a new set, matched with some semi-transparent thigh high socks that you also knew he loved. Cover all that up with a loose satin robe (the same color, of course), and you were ready to go. 

Number two: a healthy amount of roleplay, matched with absolute submission from your part. Now, that’s where the money was: even if, by some curse placed on him by working countless hours in a corporate, hyper-capitalist job, Taehyung didn’t react to your very sexy, very skimpy set of new lingerie, you knew that would get a reaction out of him. It was exactly the dynamic the two of you liked the most, and you still remembered exactly how to push his buttons. 

It was a perfect plan. 

Only, you forgot about it. 

“It was fine, finally finished coding that page after a bazillion years,” you responded, placing your mug on the coffee table before throwing yourself on the couch. The signs of old age were approaching: your back hurt so much that you could only think about sleeping for the next ten hours. “And yours?” 

Taehyung hadn’t really looked at you yet, instead fighting to hang his coat next to the door. “It was good, actually. My boss told me he has some good news to tell me tomorrow.” 

Your eyes lit up. “You’re getting that promotion?” 

He sighed. “Maybe, I don’t know. I don’t wanna get any expectations, you know my boss. Maybe he’ll just give me a new stapl— What the hell do you have on?” 

You paused, looking down at yourself. Oh. Yeah. You had forgotten about that. Or, rather, you forgot about the second part of your plan — because your very pink, very exposed underwear was staring you right in the face. 

Still, you managed to keep yourself composed. “It’s new, do you like it?” You smiled, pulling your satin robe to the side. It exposed your breasts, made Taehyung clench his jaw at the sight. You needed to snap into submissive mode soon enough if you wanted that to work, but you also needed a few seconds to center yourself. “Baby?” 

You watched as your husband blinked his way back into reality, taking a hesitant step towards you. You wanted to laugh: Taehyung was looking at you like there was a tiger in his living room, and he was trying to find out the best possible approach to deal with it. 

And that was the perfect time to strike. 

You pouted, hand slithering down to the level of your waist so you could untie the loose knot of the robe. “You don’t like it, sir?” The innocent inflection of your voice made his eyes snap up at yours, something dark starting to swim on the bottom of his irises. He was catching the drift. “I bought it just for you.” The robe was pushed to the side, presenting him with the glorious view of your panties; those socks that made him want to bury his face between your thighs. Taehyung took another step in your direction. “If you want, I can change into something else.” 

Just like magic, Taehyung’s expression of exhaustion had been casted away, replaced by one of sheer, unshakable lust. Your breath almost got stuck in your throat as he placed his hands inside the pockets of his pants and took a few silent steps towards the couch. “Don’t change it,” he spoke up. His voice was deep and velvety, shot straight down to your core. “You look beautiful, love.” 

You smiled as he sat down next to you. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Of course.” Taehyung’s large hand cupped your cheek, and you leaned into his warm touch. His calm disposition was a threatening thing, it got you on edge as his gaze trailed down to your lips; your breasts; your thighs. He hummed. “Want my doll to look pretty for me.” 

“Yes, sir,” you said promptly. His eyes were back on yours in no time, thumb caressing your bottom lip. “Can you kiss me, sir?” 

His hand brushed down your face, moving onto your neck. Taehyung was thinking of what to do to you, and you were kind enough to wait. “Does my baby want a kiss?” He asked and you nodded. “Very well. Sit on my lap, love.” 

You could barely contain your excitement as you followed his order, one leg moving over his thighs so you could straddle him. Taehyung sighed in content as you sat on his erection, which only made the arousal between your legs grow. 

“My girl is beautiful, isn’t she?” He mumbled to himself, hands swiftly pulling your robe down your shoulders. A cold breeze embraced your body as the discarded piece of clothing fell somewhere on the floor. “But so, so quick to misbehave.” 

Your heartbeat quickened. “I didn’t misbehave, sir.” 

“You did, love,” Taehyung spoke slowly, as if he was talking to a child. His movements were tender when he pushed your hair away from your face, but you knew there was wickedness hiding in those still waters. “You are trying to provoke me.” 

“I’m not,” you lied. 

“You are.” His hands placed themselves on your waist, pulling your body closer to his. They were a bit firmer than before, spreading goosebumps through your skin as they slithered down your lower back, palming your ass cheeks. “You put this on because you wanted me to fuck you, baby. Don’t lie to me now.” 

Your hand started playing with his tie, eyes following the movement of your fingers so you could avoid his penetrative gaze. “Sorry, sir.” 

His finger found the underside of your chin, pushing it up. You couldn’t escape those eyes, he wouldn’t allow you to. “Why are you apologizing?” He asked calmly. His other hand was still firm on your ass, squeezing the flesh. “I’m not mad. I just find it funny.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Funny?” You echoed. 

“Yes, doll,” Taehyung said. “Funny the lengths you go to just because you want my cock.” 

Heat exploded on your cheeks at his dirty words, your own speech getting stuck in your throat. You were in trouble, and it was exactly what you had been looking for. 

“Hm? Not gonna say anything?” He egged you on, leaning his head to the side. You wanted to touch him, to kiss him, but you knew that things would follow his own pace. “My baby’s so horny for cock she’s not gonna even answer me?” 

His words were suffocating you, earning a timid roll of your hips against his hard member. Your underwear was absolutely soaked and you could barely think straight. “I want you, sir,” was what you managed to get out. 

“I know,” Taehyung said, his tone so nonchalant, so passive. His knuckles brushed tenderly against your cheek, a sly smirk curling up on his lips. “My pretty little slut just wants to get fucked so bad, doesn’t she?” 

You nodded. “Yes.”

He hummed, the corners of his lips moving down in disapproval. “Yes…?”

“Yes, sir,” you were quick to correct yourself, hands slithering up his shoulders and behind his neck. It was electrifying how Taehyung managed to get you so worked up so quickly, his unbothered stare burning holes on your skin. You felt so small like that, and you knew he was getting high on the power play. Some things never change. “Sorry, sir.” 

“Mhm.” Taehyung didn’t grant you forgiveness so fast, instead leaning back on the couch and analyzing your demeanor. “I don’t know if you deserve my cock, though.” 

You blinked, not hesitating for a second. “I do deserve it, sir.”

He scoffed, both of his hands back on your waist. His palms were heavy and warm against your skin, and you could not hold back the thought of having his fingers moving in and out of you. No matter how many times Taehyung touched you, his hands were just so big that he got you seeing stars in no time, filling you up and reaching deep inside you in ways that your own fingers never could. “Show me, then.” His firm voice broke your reveries, digits pressing down on your naked flesh. “You can kiss me now.”

Obedient, you leaned in and trapped his mouth in yours. It was a different world when Taehyung was in that headspace — often, he would kiss you so eagerly, so hungry for more, but, now, his mouth was barely following yours; a disinterested hum melting past his throat, silently daring you to try harder, to show him that you were worth his time. You dug your fingers in his soft hair and placed your tongue inside his mouth, trying to be the best you could be for him and, yet, it seemed as if he was deadset on giving you the bare minimum reaction. 

At the same time, you still felt the effects of that kiss, your body heating up as you moaned against his mouth. Taehyung’s hands had traveled downwards and were now tugging at your panties, pulling them up and burying them between your asschecks. It made your back arch; there was a slight pressure on your clit that got you grinding down on his cock. He sighed at that, sucking on your tongue as one of his hands slithered beneath your panties, harshly groping your ass. 

You swore he was just about to get into it when he decided to pull away. Slightly breathless and completely overwhelmed, you could only watch as Taehyung tilted his head to the side and, just as nonchalant as before, asked, “What do we say, doll?”

Lucky you, you knew the answer to that question. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Very well.” He caressed your cheek once more, eyes trapped on the swell of your lips. Taehyung’s mind was flickering through the details of you — your breasts, your thighs, the perfect weight of your center against his — as he slowly figured out what he wanted to do to you. At last, he made up his mind. “On your knees.” 

To move away from his embrace seemed to be a medieval sort of torture, but you did as he told you. You were on your knees in no time, the harsh wooden floor hurting your flesh when you looked up at him, expectant. 

Taehyung leaned forward, trapping your chin between his fingers. “So pretty, aren’t you, doll?” He asked, voice velvety and slow. “Wanna be good for me?” 

You nodded, eager to please him. 

With a deep exhale, he moved back, spreading his arms over the couch’s back. “Good. Take my cock out,” he commanded. You stared up at him for a second too long, waiting to see if that was a test. It was a bit suspicious, after all: he used to tease you for far longer than that before even allowing you to touch him. And, because Taehyung knew you very well, he caught your trail of thought quickly enough. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Go on.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said, just to be sure, and took your hands to his pants. Taehyung had chosen one of his most beautiful suits to work that day, and the dark grey shade did not conceal his erection in the slightest. 

The smallest of things got you waiting for more: the sound of his pants being pulled down, apparently so loud in that silent living room; the gradual rise and fall of his chest; the wet mark on his underwear and the straining of his hard, leaking cock against the fabric. It was a good kind of anticipation, for you loved when Taehyung got you on the edge like that, unsure of what would follow, of how he would treat you. 

Truth was: you loved being good for him, loved treating him as well as you could. Above all, you loved when he praised you for it, all warm touches and kind regards. But also, you adored when he made you work for those praises, glancing down at you like you were bothering him, like you couldn’t do anything right, not even pleasure him. 

His cock was out soon after, heavy in your hands. Taehyung managed to control his demeanor rather well, but you could see that he was extremely turned on: tip reddened and covered in his precum, his length fully hard and throbbing as you gave him a small, tentative pump. 

“Spit on it,” he said. “Come on, you know better than to touch me dry.” 

You nodded, doing as he told you. A big glob of saliva dripped down onto his member, which you used to help with your movements. Saliva wasn’t lube, that’s true, but it did manage to calm down his attitude for a bit. 

Being married meant that you had grown extremely used to each other’s bodies and, just like Taehyung knew your weak spots like the back of his hand, you knew his. Soon enough, you had your tongue trailing the underside of his cock, placing a special pressure on his frenulum. Taehyung inhaled sharply, hands digging to the sofa cushions as you lethargically continued your actions, swirling your tongue around his sensitive tip and tasting his precum. 

“In your mouth,” he ordered, “now.” 

Eager to please him, your lips wrapped around his crown and you gradually began sinking down on him. Taehyung was thick, always gave you a hard time as you slowly grew used to his size inside your mouth; a strangled moan perishing in your throat as you took him in. Above you, the man groaned in satisfaction, one of his large hands resting on the back of your head. 

“Move.”

You agreed with a whimper, closing your eyes as your mouth moved up and down on his member, cheeks hollowing every time you sucked him. Taehyung got you just the way that he liked: so small beneath him, with your doll-like eyes looking up at him through a thin curtain of your tears. He always thought you looked so pretty with his cock inside your mouth, your perfect lips and tongue making him lose his mind. 

“Fuck. Such a good cockslut.” He raised his hips just enough to reach deeper inside your throat, making you gag around him. The sound was beautiful to his ears, turned into a much more heavenly symphony when it quickly morphed into a muffled moan. Taehyung loved watching you struggle with his size, it made him want to break you apart. “You like my cock, baby?” 

You nodded, but it seemed like it wasn’t enough. Taehyung tugged in your hair, signaling that he wanted you to remove your mouth from him. He needed to hear you say it, and you were beyond happy to oblige. “I love it, sir,” you told him, your voice a bit groggy from your previous act. “So much. It’s so huge.” 

“Suck it harder, then.” His own voice was a bit airy, not so rough around the edges. He must’ve been close. “Show me how much you love it.” 

This time, just a simple nod from your part satisfied him, for he allowed your mouth to wrap around his cock once again. Without hesitation, you did as he told you to, sucking his cock harder, taking it deeper than you were before. Your new approach was a gift from god, it appeared, because it took you no time to have Taehyung’s animosity meeting away. 

“That’s it, that’s my dirty girl,” he praised, fingers intertwined in your hair. You could feel his big cock throbbing inside your mouth, releasing precum. It was just a matter of time before he spilled himself inside your mouth. “Gonna make me cum like a good slut.” 

You moaned around him, one hand moving down to play with his balls. Taehyung hissed at the sensation, throwing his head back and groaning something you couldn’t quite grasp. There were beautiful droplets of sweat accumulating just above his white collar — it was almost humiliating how naked you felt when compared to his dressed, composed self — and this thick neck seemed to be calling for you, wishing that you’d place hot, messy kisses all over it. But you couldn’t do it just yet, not when he was about to cum down your throat. 

Taehyung’s breath hitched and you instantly knew that he was just there. A couple more seconds and your theory was proven right: he grunted as his hot cum filled your mouth, a vague rising of his hips making his tip hit the back of your throat. “Fuck,” he cursed. “Don’t swallow yet.”

Oh he was in that mood, it seemed. 

Apparently your plan had worked better than expected, because it had been a long time since Taehyung didn’t ask you to swallow his cum right away. As much as he adored when you did that, he also loved seeing his cum on you — splattered on your abdomen, on your tits, on your ass; maybe running between your pussy lips after he was done fucking you or, in that case, in your mouth. You didn’t quite understand the appeal that it had, but who were you to judge? 

You removed his cock from your mouth soon after, filled with expectation as he shifted above you, leaning in closer. You blinked up at him as his hand found the underside of your jaw. 

“Let me see.” Taehyung pulled on your chin and you quickly got your cue, opening your mouth. A flash of lust shimmered inside his eyes at the sight of his cum inside your mouth, the corner of his lips being tugged upwards into a satisfied smirk. “Perfect. Swallow now.” He closed your mouth. 

Once again, you did as he commanded. “Thank you, sir,” you said. The discomfort between your legs was growing at a fast progression, monopolizing your mind — you had already been so good to your husband, did everything that he told you to, and now your own arousal was getting the best of you. You shifted around on the ground, your knees still hurting a bit. “Sir, please…”

Taehyung hummed, caressing your cheek. “What is it?” 

“I'm so horny, I wanna cum,” you whined. 

“Is that so?” Taehyung questioned, thumb caressing your bottom lip. It was a bit swollen after you had blown him, made him want to bite it. Instead, he leaned back against the couch. “Stand up.” 

You fumbled as you got up to your feet, unsure of what to do next. Luckily, you didn’t have to think about it for long, because Taehyung soon gripped you by the hips and pulled you closer to him, your shins knocking on the sofa. His fingers were surprisingly tender as they slowly navigated towards your pussy, pulling the dainty pink fabric aside. “Love the color,” he mumbled as if he was talking to himself. You were just about to thank him, but your words were ripped out of you when his finger sunk between your folds. “Look at my girl. Got this wet just by sucking my cock, baby?” He looked up at you. You felt dizzy under his intense gaze, barely nodding in return. He smiled. “How dirty.” 

You wanted to touch him, to find support on his broad shoulders, but you didn’t know if you were allowed to. Instead, you merely gasped as Taehyung started toying with your sensitive entrance, feeling as if your legs would fail you at any time. “Sir, please,” you pleaded once more, “I need you.” 

He hummed, one finger slowly entering you. You practically melted as Taehyung added a second one right away, curling them up in the way you loved so much. “Yes, darling, I heard you.” But it didn’t seem like he did, for his hungry gaze was trapped on the sinking of his digits inside your tight hole. You were so on edge that you could cum just like that; a few desperate whimpers already dripping from your lips as he continued his movements. Your sounds seemed to drag him back to reality, though, for he was soon removing them from your pussy, ignoring your frustrated cries. “Go to the bedroom.” His eyes snapped up at you. “You better be naked in bed when I get there.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

If you didn’t know Taehyung as well as you did, perhaps that command would’ve taken the worries off your shoulders. However, the thing was: when your husband was in that headspace, you could never really predict what would come from it. Just because he had sent you to the bedroom, it didn’t mean that he would suddenly become pliant and adamant to fulfill your every need — if anything, it meant that he had enough energy and discipline to spare. If he wanted to fuck you straight away (like you had begged him to), he would’ve just taken you on the couch, like he had done countless times before. No, the fact that he was sending you — alone — to the bedroom was probably not such a good sign. 

When you entered the suite, you started removing your bra, then your panties and, finally, the thigh high socks. You felt yourself become more and more uneasy as you laid down bare on the bed, feeling as small shock waves of anticipation ran through your body. Every time you heard a noise coming from somewhere else in the apartment, your heart missed a beat. 

Taehyung liked to make those moments as dragged-out as possible. He got some sick kick out of it, you guessed, probably made him feel like a predator stalking its prey, playing with its food. He liked to leave you wondering what he would do to you, and you couldn’t say you were bothered by it either. 

At last, when you thought that your heart was about to jump out of your chest, he walked into the bedroom, his slender fingers loosening his silk tie. It was a stark contrast how dressed Taehyung still was — everything still in place, with only the zipper of his pants still opened. He looked absolutely composed, his dark eyes following the curves of your body as he gradually approached you. 

“Beautiful,” he complimented, sitting down next to you. The bed dipped under his weight, making your breasts bounce slightly. His gaze fell over them and he hummed, one hand tenderly squeezing the flesh. You gasped at the sensation, which ripped a small chuckle out of him. “And so sensitive.” 

You didn’t know if it was the best moment to speak up, so you didn’t. Instead, you waited as Taehyung’s hand gradually made its way up your chest, towards your neck and, finally, to your cheek. There, it stayed for a moment, his thumb caressing your bottom lip. He really enjoyed doing that, it seemed. “Open up for me,” he requested. And so you did, lips parting so two of his fingers could enter your mouth. Taehyung pressed down on your tongue, making you release a small whimper, before allowing you to suck on his fingers. “That’s it. What do we say?”

“Thank you, sir,” you struggled to speak against his fingers. 

“That’s right.” Taehyung removed his digits from your mouth, lowering them until they were pressed against your clit. You moaned and raised your hips under the random surge of pleasure, but his other hand soon met the skin of your inner thigh, making you stand still. “Shhh, shhh,” he shushed you, “don’t move now.” 

Your breath caught in your throat as he slowly slid between your folds. The pressure was light, barely teasing your sensitive entrance before going back up to play with your clit. 

“So fucking soaked for me, doll,” Taehyung groaned, tracing small circles on your sensitive spot. Your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth opened a little, allowing a small sob to fall from it. “Such an eager little pussy.”

“S-Sir,” you gasped, fingers digging to the pristine white sheets of your bed. You had just changed them, and now they were bearing witness to your sinful acts. “I want you.”

Taehyung hummed, apparently distracted with the sensation of your slickness covering him. “You have me, darling.” 

“N-Not your fingers,” you said. “Want your cock, please.”

The moment he stopped his movements, you realized you had fucked up. Taehyung made a clicking sound with his tongue that shot straight through your chest, quickening your heartbeat. “You’re so spoiled.” He removed his hand from your heat and you didn’t even find the force within you to complain about it. Not when he was looking at you with such a mixture of disappointment and frustration. “You tell me you want to cum, and then that my fingers aren’t good enough for you?”

“Sorry, sir,” you rushed to say, a frail veil of tears shimmering in your eyes. You felt like you had been edged for hours, even if that wasn’t the case. The sexual tension was just too high, leaving you so worked up that it hurt. And there was also an extra level of desperation knowing that your release wasn't exactly your decision at that moment. “Please, I need it so bad.” 

Taehyung scrutinized your face for a moment, watching the quick beating of your eyelashes and the thin layer of sweat that covered your skin. He felt a familiar sense of power washing over him, watching intently for every sign of pleading eagerness that covered your features. You looked so beautiful, he thought, so meek and polite under him. You had been so good, after all, there was no need to postpone your pain any further. 

But he would. For just a tiny bit longer. 

Taehyung breathed out. “You’re lucky I’m feeling nice. Turn around.” He slapped the inside of your thigh, a smirk blossoming at the corners of his pink lips as he watched you yelp in surprise. Still, you obeyed him once again, turning until you were on your stomach. “Hands and knees. Ass up. And don’t look behind you.” 

After you had positioned yourself, Taehyung started undressing. You could only hear the shuffling of his clothes as he gradually removed them — taking his sweet time as his eyes lingered on your form. He could see that you were still so absolutely soaked for him, the glistening of your pussy making his cock throb inside his underwear. He would tease you a bit further if he, himself, had it in him to wait a bit longer. However, at that moment, there was nothing that Taehyung wanted more than to be buried deep inside your cunt. 

You bounced up and down on the bed as he kneeled on it, hands on your hips tugging you towards him. You whined when you felt the pressure of his hard cock between your ass cheeks, your pussy clenching around nothing. Still, you waited for him to make the first move, since your latest attempt at asking for more had earned you a scolding from his part. 

And, apparently, not only that. All air ran out of your lungs when you felt Taehyung’s hand collapsing against the skin of your ass once, twice, until you were crying out. “Sir, wait—“ 

“Quiet,” he reprimanded. “You’re always misbehaving. Can you take your punishment now? Or are you going to keep complaining?”

That was his way of asking for your consent to keep going, you realized, and you promptly gave it to him. “Y-Yes, sir.” 

Another slap against your ass was what you recieved, this time on the other side. Taehyung’s palm was heavy on your skin, and you relished in the pain it left behind; your hands holding onto the pillows for any sort of grounding. “Good. Maybe this will teach you not to be so fucking spoiled,” he growled, hitting you once more. Your body jumped forwards a bit, legs weak beneath you. “Stand still.”

You tried your best to do so, enduring a few more spanks until Taehyung had deemed it sufficient. If you had been wet before, now you were completely drenched, every nerve on your body standing alert to the smallest of touches. So much in fact that, when he leaned in to place a kiss against your shoulder, you cried out at the feeling of his cock moving between your ass cheeks.

“Pretty.” His hand caressed the sensitive skin where he had hit you before. You flinched under his touch, but liked the stinging pain that came along with it. “Gonna fuck you now, love.” 

You could’ve sobbed in relief. “Yes, yes, please, sir.” 

Taehyung leaned back slowly, one hand curling around the base of his cock so he could guide himself inside you. His crown slid between your folds once, twice, making you whimper as it accidentally hit your clit. The sounds of your wetness were shameful, filling the room as he pressed himself against your opening. You sighed and whimpered at the feeling, for a moment thinking that your thighs would give out beneath you. Instead, Taehyung held you up as his cock gradually plunged inside you, stretching you wide. 

There hadn’t been as much preparation as you’d like, but the small rush of pain was a welcomed one. You moaned out his name as his big cock continued to sink inside you, feeling every inch of it as it filled you up. Taehyung was fucking huge and, even after so long by his side, you had never truly grown used to it. 

You gasped when he entered you completely, his hands giving a last pull on your hips to make sure that he couldn’t go any deeper. “S-So much,” you stuttered. 

He scoffed. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Now fucking take it.” Taehyung angled his hips back, sliding his cock out of your heat until only his tip was inside. He came slamming back in, sinking into your velvety walls like they were made for him to fuck. “Pussy’s so fucking tight, it’s just pulling me in. Dripping down my cock, fuck.” 

And you could only moan out at his filthy words, brain turning into a chaotic mess as he started drilling in and out of you. At that point, you had been so worked up that you could only focus on the amazing sensation of his cock fucking you open, so big and heavy inside you. 

From what you could hear, Taehyung wasn’t much different. His controlling attitude had started to wash away as his high started to approach; the room filled with the low grunts and moans that came from his throat. He was holding onto you so tightly that you thought he was going to break you in half, his thrusts deep, fast and precise. Really, it was shameful how close you already were, walls tightening around his length as your legs started to shake. 

“S-So good, sir, your cock feels so good,” you moaned out, lost in bliss. “I’m c-close.” 

“Cum all over my cock, baby,” Taehyung grunted. “Come on, be good for me.”

You nodded, clenching your jaw as you felt your pleasure rising at a thundering speed. Taehyung wasn’t planning on slowing down either, his cock hitting deep inside your pussy and making your eyes roll back. 

“Fuck, oh my—“ you cursed out, but could not finish your sentence. Your orgasm washed over you like an avalanche, whitening out your thoughts as your walls clenched around him; loud moans and whimpers of his name falling in a jumbled mess between your lips. “T-Tae…” 

The lack of his preferred title seemed to be lost on him, since Taehyung was also approaching his own climax. “So fucking wet. So tight and warm for me. Perfect little cunt,” he was talking to himself at this point, letting his thoughts flow out of his mouth with no apparent direction. “Wanna cum inside your pussy, doll. Fill you up so good.” 

You whined out at his words. You were still holding onto the pillows, trying to find any sort of foundation to fight against the sensitivity that was growing inside you. “P-Please, yes.” 

Taehyung growled at your words, pushing his body forward until he was squeezing you against the bed. The new angle made his cock hit different spots inside your cunt, a newfound wave of euphoria starting to buzz inside you. “Want that?” His voice was a rough moan against your ear, his breath kissing your skin in dense, hot clouds. “Gonna take my cum like a good slut?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, “I want it so bad.”

“Yeah? Wanna give you a baby, gonna look so fucking pretty for me.” Taehyung’s words hit you like a ton of bricks, making you clench around his cock. You had never realized that you wanted him to say that, especially in a context like that, but it made you melt instantly. And because he knew you so well, he rapidly noticed the way your body responded to it. “You like that?” 

You nodded. “Y-Yes.” 

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he moaned, placing a sloppy kiss against your neck. You could feel Taehyung throbbing inside you, signaling that he was close. “So fucking perfect. I love you so much.” 

“L-Love you too,” you said back. 

Taehyung sighed at your words, a last moan reverberating in his chest before he was spilling himself inside of you. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned at the feeling, getting utterly lost in the way that your walls milked his cock clean, taking everything that he gave you. “Fuck, that’s it.” 

With a final, shuddering breath, Taehyung collapsed against you, placing a bunch of kisses on your shoulders. You giggled at the random softness of his actions, feeling as his cock slipped out of you. He rolled around until he was falling backwards on the bed, a final puff of air exploding upon his lips. 

“Well, damn.” Taehyung laughed. You could only do the same, pushing your body closer to his. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

You rested your head on his chest. “Because adult life fucking sucks, that’s why.” 

“Fair enough.” He sighed. One of his arms wrapped around your waist and he pulled you close, kissing the top of your head. A fond smile curled up on your lips. “Was I too rough?”

“Just a bit, but I liked it.” You angled your head up to look at him. Taehyung took his cue to kiss your lips instead. “Can you get something to clean me up?”

He clicked his tongue. “I’m feeling pretty lazy right now. Besides…” he trailed off, “Kinda like you like this.”

You rolled your eyes, but the teasing nature of your tone gave your faux-annoyance away. “I figured,” you said. “Wanna talk about the baby situation?” 

Taehyung’s face swiftly grew serious. He apparently discovered a new source of energy, because, within a second, he was pushing you off and bolting out of bed. “Suddenly I need to find a towel.” 

And you could only laugh because, as it has been proven, you were kind of a mastermind when it came to making evil plans. If Taehyung needed another one to get him talking, you wouldn’t mind elaborating it. 

You wouldn’t mind at all. 

[crab-instruments]

Dust in the Wind Part 8 (tbb)

Master <Part 7 Part 9>

Pairing: Hunter x Secret Jedi! Reader (GN)

Rating and warning: General audience, panic/stress (minimal)

Words: 1.5k

a/n: haha well we don't have time to unpack all that finale, so here's an update of this instead. Fresh off the press and yeeted to tumblr. I'm thinking the next update will have some cool stuff. I hope.

Image credit in the notes

When your eyes opened, you laid there for a bit, taking in the events of yesterday and what some sleep had done to clear the mind. You must have slept well, not even remembering the dreams you had or stirring when others got up, as only Hunter and you were left in the bunks. This was based on assumption by reaching out using the Force, at least, as you hadn’t moved an inch yet.

Being with the Batch had made it easy to settle back into your ‘old life’ or maybe just who you really were, a force user. You were becoming more comfortable, but if you were being honest with yourself, that was a scary thought. It would make leaving so much harder.

You slowly started to move, careful to keep quiet, putting your feet on the cold metal floor. The ship buzzed and hummed through your feet, accentuating the dull pain in your muscles, but the pain had an odd nostalgic feel, something you would be used to after a mission.

Echo, Crosshair, and Wrecker were all out in the main cabin as you approached, all still sleepy, though the sniper was better at hiding it.

Echo handed you a cup and you presumed he said something along the lines of ‘mornin’ but your brain was still fuzzy, not used to the amount of sleep you got. You looked at the contents of the cup; caf that had a stale smell to it and enough water to have your reflection look back at you. Still, you drank it all in one go and then turned to back to the Clone who gave it to you. “Thank you, that was the worst caf I’ve ever had, and I’ve never been more grateful for it.”

Echo chuckled; a small smirk spread across his face. “I see you slept well. Surprised to see Sarg still in bed.” You cocked your head, not sure what he was getting at.

“He is usually up first, not able to sleep when people start waking up,” Wrecker filled in.

“It might have something to do with having more people sleeping comfortably,” Tech had walked from the cockpit. “He has said that when there’s more resting heartbeats around him, he is calmer. He was worried about Maxis so possibly having them closer helped him relax.” Tech had kept his voice even when speaking, but it still felt like there was a hint of something.

“What are you—”

“I came back here to let you know we will be landing soon, and someone should wake Hunter.” He turned around before you could address what you wanted.

Echo had grabbed another cup of caf and handed it out for you to take. “Maxis, would you mind? I have a few other things to do and you’re closer.” You squinted your eyes in skepticism at the Clone for a moment, before taking the cup and walking back to the bunks, making a mental note to corner those two and figure out what they were scheming.

Once you crossed the threshold of the room, you slowed down in front of where Hunter was laying. He had fallen asleep on his stomach, his arms under his pillow, and his face turned away from the wall. No bandana in his hair, you could see how thick his locks are, almost a little envious. Really, it suited him, and he knew it. You lowered yourself to the floor, taking a moment to just study his sleeping face. So calm and handsome, in this state you couldn’t see how much the war had taken its toll on him. It was something you could get used to—

“Mesh’la, staring is impolite.” You would never… ever… admit what his sleepy morning voice did to you in that moment. His voice startled you, sloshing some caf onto the floor. He hadn’t yet opened his eyes when he addressed you, but they stared straight through you now.

Say something! “Um… sorry, I didn’t mean… We just… We’re going to be landing soon.” Smooth, about as smooth as this caf.

Hunter chuckled, amused at the effect he had on you in that moment. Slowly he sat up, swinging his legs carefully over the side of the bunk. You had stood up and took a step back to give him space but were still more or less frozen.

“Is… one of those cups for me? Or do you just really enjoy the dirt caf…”

“Oh, right.” You held out the cup, certainly not loving every second he touched your hand. Holy kriff, you needed to get a grip on your life, or you were going to lose your mind. “Uhm, I’ll just…” you looked back to the doorway but then back at him. “Wait, mesh’la?”

A look of surprise took over Hunter’s face for a hot second before a smile took its place. He shook his head, and responded, “It’s Mando’a, I’ll have to teach you some day.” He stood up and walked past you to the main cabin, obviously still avoiding giving a real answer.

“But that doesn’t… what does it mean?” Hunter had already weaved his way through the ship, leaving you wondering. Maybe I’ll ask Tech about the best way to learn a new language.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Under the ship, you checked and cleaned the landing gear. It had seen better days and probably hadn’t even been washed since the Republic. You worked meticulously, finally able to show more of what you could do now that you didn’t have the possibility of needing a quick escape. The soreness that swam through your muscles sang loudly while you focused, it was clear you needed a break.

Two shadows, one much larger than the other, closed in on the area. Omega didn’t need to crouch all that much as she approached, Wrecker waiting by the side of the ship. “Hey Maxis, you should take a break. Wrecker and I were about to go get our Mantell Mix. It’s a tradition, we get some after every mission.”

You stopped working for a moment. “I didn’t really… I wasn’t a part of the mission. But—”

“You protected the ship from four troopers, I’d say that’s enough to get some Mix.” Wrecker said, with a bit of pride.

“Ah yeah, I guess. Let me put this piece back on and we can go.”

Crawling out from the ship, you wiped the dirt of your pants. Something about Ord Mantell always stuck to you though, but that was a part of its charm. Or that’s what you say to convince yourself. You had explored the market a bit, to pick up supplies and replacements for maintenance, but never really experienced it.

As Omega led the way, you asked, “what exactly is Mantell Mix?”

“Only the best treat in the entire galaxy,” Omega looked back at you, very excited.

“Well, when you mostly have rations, anything would be a treat. Very low bar. I think I’m more concerned about the name, Mantell Mix. A mix of what? Grime and overpriced goods?”

“I think adventure and a hint of sweetness is more like it.”

You chuckled. “Always good at the positive spin, Omega. That’s a good quality.” She beamed.

Once the food was acquired, you could only eat so much of it before deciding that Omega had lied about the ‘hint of sweetness’. But you did your best to show gratitude in being included.

The three of you decided to wander around the open-air shops. You ended up looking at some unrefined gems on display. Not something you would usually stop to look at, but something about the display caught your attention. A crystal, somewhat clear but had a red hue, stuck out.

“See something you like?”

“What… is this?” You pointed to the crystal. “And where did you get it?”

“Ahh, I’m not sure. I travel and trade quite a bit, unfortunately, and don’t remember much about every piece. But if it is to your liking, you should have a closer look.” The owner had a creepy facial expression, you were unsure if they were trying to just sell the item or if they had other motives. But what other motives could they have?

You reached for the crystal but could only hold it for a second due to the extreme pain and pressure you felt from it. Another force echo. Luckily, you pushed yourself out of it quick, only getting a brief glimpse of the horrible feeling, but it stuck to you, sitting heavy on your shoulders. A reminder of the past.

It was a kyber crystal, a synthetic one specifically. This one had been used by a Sith or an apprentice of one, having such a dark and evil aura around the force echo. It made you sick and scared. Suddenly, it felt like all eyes were on you, walls closing in. Fear crept into your mind.

“I’m s-sorry, I have to-… to go.” You swiftly made your way back to the Marauder, leaving Omega and Wrecker behind. The corner you hid in after your fight with the troopers felt like the perfect fit for you at that moment. You curled up in a ball as tightly as you could and hummed to yourself.

It took a while, but everyone made their way back and Hunter was discussing about their next mission that would take place in a few rotations.

Part 9

________________________________________________________________

Notes:

Mando'a: I assume if you're reading this, you know, but here's a link anyway.

Synthetic Lightsaber/Kyber crystal: One of my favorite things I learned about lightsabers is that the Sith used synthetic crystals and synthetic crystals are normally red, leading to the Sith having mostly red lightsabers. I don't know if that's still considered canon anymore, but for me it is. Image credit

Tag List: @rintheemolion @xxspqcebunsxx @salamidraws @lokigirlszendaya

If you want to be added to the tag list, just ask in the most convenient way for you or by faxing me a picture of a crab

[admin-in-residence]

Show and Tell

One more fic based on Padawan Skip from @clonesandmoans​ this is technically a sequel to my first fic Order 66.

Skip is roughly 15-16 years old in this one. Flashbacks to 12-13 year old Skip.

Length: 2,333 Words

Skip dragged her feet along the dirt path, wincing at every step. Strange creatures called out in the night, and her path was illuminated only by the light of the twin moon’s hung high in the sky.

She nearly missed her turn, which wouldn’t be the first time since they’ve landed upon this planet, hiding their ship in layers of vines, mud, and brush. Thankfully their was one corner, high up on the space craft that she hadn’t been able to reach and the metal shined under the moonlight.

She gave her signature knock, three sharp raps followed by 2 slower knocks, and was relieved as the ramp  instantly lowered.

Entering inside, she slammed her hand back on the door panel, the ramp closing behind them. The lights were set on dim, any higher and they risk shining through their camouflage.

“Thank’s for waiting up for me.” She said softly, catching Echo’s tired gaze.

The Clone in mention sat in the Captain’s chair, a mug of steaming tea in hand. Skip couldn’t help herself as she ran a hand through the fuzzy hair that had begun to grow in once again, carefully minding the cybernetic’s implant’s.

“Stop that.” Echo groaned.

“Can’t help it.” Skip teased, sticking out her tongue before stealing the tea from his grasp. She took a sip from it before passing it back to Echo.

“How was your shift?” Echo asked.

Skip groaned in response, sinking into the seats of the co-pilot’s chair.

It had been a rough year...and it felt so much longer.

After escaping Naboo upon their stolen spacecraft, they had hopped from planet to planet exchanging ship’s for other ones, trying to create a untraceable trail. She had begun to lose track of the names of all the planets she had been to, and remembered a time in her life when she used to track them all excitedly, wanting to see everything...the chart that Tech-

She winced involuntarily.

“You know. I could be out there helping, I’m sure there’s someone who would be willing to hire me.” Echo said.

Money was one of their biggest troubles, there never seemed to be enough of it. Skip was thankful she had managed to find a diner upon this planet and had been waitressing in order to pay for their rations. The owner was harsh and demanding, and the shifts were long and grueling, not to mention the far walk from the hideout to town and then back.

Most days, she would leave before the sun rose and make it back when the moon was high like tonight.

Echo wanted so badly to help, but with the Imperial presence beginning to rise, more and more people were beginning to memorize the identical Clone faces, and Echo would fit the bill...no doubt if he was seen the Batch would be on their tail again.

“It’s alright. It’s best if your here, taking care of the ship. Just a couple more week’s and I’ll have enough credit’s saved up...we’ll be able to stock up on some food and move on.” Skip said.

“Your wearing yourself down Skip.” Echo said, “I’m just worried about you. You and me...that’s all I’ve got left.”

Skip hummed in response, her eyes shutting by the invisible wights pulling them down. She needed some sleep...sleep that wasn’t just a few hours between shifts.

“Hey, I had to go through the chest today...” Echo said.

Skip squinted as she looked to her companion.

“For?”

“My old armor...I needed some wires from my communicator cuff. I was careful, and I was able to fix the comm system on the ship.” Echo stated proudly. “But...I found something...”

Skip sat up eyes narrowed.

“It slipped out of your old belt pouch...I don’t know if you wanted it, or if you want me to stick it back in the chest.” Echo said.

The chest, in reference was a small storage crate that had been carried from ship to ship since they had first started stealing and trading ships, it was full of their old lives, Echo’s armor, Skip’s lightsaber was buried somewhere inside, and they tried to avoid it all costs...they just didn’t have the heart to leave it behind.

Echo reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small wooden figure.

Skip gasped as she reached out to take it in her hands.

The figure was small, light and whittled oh so carefully in the shape of a Tooka cat.

“I didn’t even know I had it on me that day.” Skip whispered.

“Hunter made it right? I wasn’t with you guys very long, but I know he liked to work on things like that.”

Skip smiled.

“He made one for each member of the Batch...I remember the day he gave this to me...”

*

“I’m sorry Padawan, but I can’t make it...” Her master trailed off, “You should know how much this mission means to the Republic.”

Skip forced a smile on her face, “Of course Master. I wish you luck.”

The transmission cut off after that, and Skip sank down, wrapping her arms around her knees.

As part of her Padawan Classes, the Padawans had been given a task to find something to bring in that showcased what they had learned since they had first started their trainings. Most Padawans brought their own Masters, who better to showcase then the person that taught them so much in the first place?

But now, Skip didn’t have anything.

“What’s the long face for kid?”

Skip looked up, hoping she didn’t look as upset as she currently felt. Sergeant Hunter, the leader of their Clone Force eyed her warily.

“Tomorrow’s my showcasing day.” Skip sighed standing up before Hunter. “But now my Master can’t make it...I don’t have anything else.”

“What’s the showcasing for?” Hunter asked curiously.

“It’s to show what we’ve learned so far, things that have taught us lessons...that have inspired us.” Skip answered.

Now how could she choose? What should she bring...she had learned so much...her master’s teachings, lightsaber duels, sniper training with Crosshair, decoding with Tech, demolition from Wrecker, knife training and hand to hand combat from-

“Hunter!” Skip exclaimed. “My batch!”

Hunter eyed her warily as she looked at him excitedly.

“You guys can come instead!”

“Come where?” Wrecker asked as the rest of the Batch walked in.

“To the Jedi Temple! Tomorrow!” Skip said.

“Now hang on-” Hunter held a hand out.

“Why would we go to the Temple?” Crosshair frowned.

“Think of all the things I could analyze.” Tech said in wonder.

“Do you have any animals there?” Wrecker asked.

“Hold on!” Hunter frowned, “Skip...we can’t just go with you to the temple.”

Skip frowned before resting her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed, eyebrow cocked.

“Now you’ve done it.” Crosshair muttered.

“Skip-don’t...” Hunter groaned.

“We’ll if you can’t just go. Perhap’s you’ll need some orders to do so.” Skip said.

“Can she do that?” Wrecker questioned.

“Do you want to question me on it?” Skip retorted.

“Don’t question her on it.” Tech said, “She can-”

“And will!”

“-And will do that.” Tech finished.

The rest of the batch looked between Skip and Hunter, both who were staring each other down, arms crossed.

Hunter finally sighed, nodding his head.

“So we’re doing this?” Crosshair groaned.

“We’re doing this.”

*

Standing in front of her peer’s after their own presentations felt a lot more intimidating then it probably should.

Curious Jedi Master’s stood behind their padawans as Skip took the center of the room, the Batch standing behind her.

“Padawan, share with us what you have come to learn from...” The temple teacher trailed off unsure of how to address the clones.

Eyeing her batch she saw how uncomfortable they seemed standing behind her.

Looking around the room, she saw her peer’s eye the clone’s distastefully.

“These are my brothers.” Skip spoke, her voice unwavering as she stood up straighter, shoulders back.

She could feel the Batch’s eye’s snap to the back of her head...she wished she could see the looks on their faces.

“Some of you wouldn’t understand, because most of you aren’t on the front-lines. But these guys always have my back, no matter the situation.” Skip said.

“But it’s more then just that...because any clone will have your backs. These guys do more...they teach me how to protect my own back because sometimes there not always there. Hunter’s taught me all different kinds of forms. They help me handle my lightsaber better...” Skip moved next to Hunter.

“He’s showed me all kind’s of different tricks to disarm enemy’s, along with close contact fighting.” Skip moved to Tech next.

“If you ever need to override a security terminal, or need to hack into some separatist information outposts. this is your guy.” Skip said proudly.

“But that’s not even the best part! Tech know’s all different kind’s of languages, traditions, religions and he can spout all sort of facts about them!” Skip looped behind coming around to Crosshair.

“Crosshair is the best sniper out there! He’s taught me all about vantage points, where the best locations are to scout against the seppies, and he’s great at spotting extra details. He’s always there to correct my forms...although he doesn’t always make it easy on me.” Skip bounced over to Wrecker who looked excitedly down at her.

“Of course, I can’t forget about Wrecker. If his name doesn’t give it away, he’s good at demolition. But he’s also super strong!”

Proving her statement, Wrecker lifted Skip up onto his shoulder.

“But beyond that, Wreckers the best person to talk to....if meditation isn’t working, talking things out with Wrecker always help...and he’s a good listener.” Skip said.

The fellow padawans had changed their views and know seemed overjoyed at seeing the clones, they fidgeted and some looked to their master’s wanting to ask questions about her batch.

The temple teacher however, frowned.

“Padawan...perhaps you’ve mistaken my assignment. I requested you show what you have learned as a padawan. A member of the Jedi order. Not what you have learned in the war.” The temple teacher stated.

Skip frowned, Wrecker gently setting her back down.

The room was quiet, eerily quiet as the other padawans watched the standoff between teacher and student.

Then Skip looked up.

Hunter watched as she stood straight once more, shoulders back, eye’s narrowed, eyebrow cocked.

“Oh no...” Tech whispered.

Oh yes. Hunter thought.

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear Teacher. You assigned me to tell and show you something I have learned since I’ve become a padawan. Originally I was going to bring my Master, and he was going to demonstrate one of his lightsaber forms...but thinking about it now, I realize that this wouldn’t have shown what I learned. No.” Skip began.

“It is my batch, my brothers that I have learned from. Every time Hunter teaches me a form, I know that he has put every thought into how it will help me with my saber skill’s for battle, for defense. When Tech teaches me languages, tradition, culture, he is teaching me to accept everything of other beings of our galaxy. When Crosshair is teaching me vantage points, he’s not just showing me battle strategies, he’s making sure I understand that the slightest detail can change an entire outcome. And Wrecker teaches me that no matter how much destruction can be created, that there is still love and acceptance within that. These men may not be jedi, may not be one with the force, but they have taught me more then any temple learning, or lesson from my master.” Skip finished.

The temple teacher was taken back before an angry look crossed over her face.

Then a Rodian stepped forewards.

“Padawan, perhaps Hunter can teach us one of the forms he has taught you...I admit, I’m not very comfortable with Saber skills.”  The Rodian said.

Hunter smiled. 

“I’d be honored, though I’m gonna need some assistance Skip.” Hunter said.

And Hunter watched as his vod’ika gave a wide grin.

*

The Batch made their way back to the Havoc Marauder, Tech was talking adamantly about the questions he had received from the other padawans, and Crosshair looked as if he might strangle him any second.

“Hey Skip, hold on for a sec.” Hunter called.

Skip halted as Hunter pulled something out from his belt pouch.

“You made me real proud today vod’ika.But your still as annoying as a Tooka.” Hunter stated passing something into her hands, before walking after his brothers.

Skip looked down to her hands, seeing a wooden Tooka in her hand, it’s face carved into a mischievous grin.

Skip looked up happily.

“Wipe that grin off your face. I can’t believe you made me go through with this. Your going to be doing twice as much work tomorrow in training Skip!” Crosshair teased.

“Whatever you say ori’vod!” Skip smiled.

*

“You guys were pretty close.” Echo said, “I wish I could have known them a bit better.”

“They were great.” Skip whispered, a stray tear falling down her face.

“It’s late.” Skip said a moment later, wiping her eyes. “I gotta get to bed. I have a early shift.”

“Goodnight.” Echo said softly. Skip ruffled his hair once more in passing.

*

By morning, Skip found herself at work. Not even an hour into her shift a nearby customer’s conversation broke through her focus.

“Such an odd group they were...strange armor wearing helmets...no no...nothing like those imperial troopers...no there were skulls on them!”

Skip dropped the breakfast platters in her arms.

As the owner came out to yell at her employee, the door slammed shut behind Skip, apron falling to the tiled floor.

Skip ran all the way back to the ship, knocking on the metal before beginning to pull on the vines.

Echo opened the ramp quickly, coming out.

“It’s time isn’t it...” He said, tearing at the brush

“Maybe the next planet we can save some money up huh?” Skip answered.

“Doesn’t matter to me. It’s you and me Skip...”

“Your all I got Echo.” 

The weight of the wooden figure tucked securely in her pocket reminded her of a time however, when there had been more.

[dead-fandom-imagines]

Unchain My Heart | Chapter 1

I was originally going to post this on Wednesday, but then I was like, what the hell. Here you go my guys.

TITLE: Unchain My Heart

CHAPTER: Chapter I

PAIRING: Dr. Greg House x OC Female

WORD COUNT: 3,196

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’ll try to post a new chapter every week, and I want to try and hit over 2,600 words each chapter too. I hope you guys enjoy this one!

THE WALLS SEEMED TO BE CAVING IN, not because Kylan Taylor was nervous on her first day on the job, no, it was all the people that seemed to be alive that made her nerves twitch and spasm. Working for five years alone in a basement does something to a person's psyche, and even more so when the people you're constantly surrounded by have been dead for more than a few days. As in, they twitched, gassed, and sometimes even breathed, but most of them had either their brain bashed in, or worse, no head at all, to comment on how her hair was always pulled with a broken pen, how her makeup became horribly smudged after working thirty hours straight, how sometimes she smelt like a mix of formaldehyde, Chinese food and other people's BO after long nights. Now she had to interact with people. Gross, disgusting, breathing human beings.

"It won't be that bad," Dr. James Wilson reassured her, handing Kylan a manila folder of paperwork she had yet to fill out. About three inches thick of stapled books and contracts she'd barely graze through, and she stuck it right underneath her arm with the other packs of paper and a mass amount of protocol packets she's received since she entered the doors that morning. The hospital must have chopped down a new tree just for her paperwork alone, how many forests rested on her new desk?

"Won't be that bad," Kylan scoffed, rolling her eyes, "didn't you say that about medical school before I applied?"

James pressed one of the elevator buttons, downwards to Kylan's new and improved basement, and chuckled to himself. It was hard not to. She seemed to still be pissed about not getting the full hardened truth of how awful and tedious medical school really was, instead, James had dazzled his story with a flat-out hopeful lie while she still attended Columbia University without him.  Kylan had such childish eyes back then. Like honey drizzled in coffee.

"If I remember correctly, I said it was like normal classes." And a smile spread on his pretty-boy features, diverting his attention from Kylan enough to make his point, "what I didn't tell you was the classes were all set on fire and you had only oil to put them out."

The elevator doors opened briefly and fast enough before Kylan could stab in another remark about her undergrad years. A few nurses dressed in colorful scrubs stepped out, and James and Kylan stepped in to replace them just as quickly.

"Any reason why the hospital is so busy?" She asked, pressing the button to the last level. Her curiosity seemed to be getting the better of her. She usually wouldn't have pried, but with James, she allowed it to slide. "Any epidemics I should be worried about?"

"It's always like this."

"Always?"

A shiver ran down her spine. Hospitals were never her favorite, in fact, she resented them with every fiber in her being. Everything about modern medicine caused her skin to crawl in a million different ways, the smells, the touch, the needles. She could sew up a body, chop it up, pull out their organs no problem, but it usually took three weeks of procrastination and a few sedatives just to get through a simple flu shot.

Watching a thirty-seven-year-old woman sniffling with her lips quivering, wet eyes and swollen cheeks just over a simple flu shot were deemed as downright embarrassing in her eyes, even more so if it was her young coworkers doing the job.

Kylan took a deep sigh as the elevator dinged at their arrival. Most of the hospitals Kylan had visited usually had empty basements, this one was no different. The lights were the usual bright LSD types, overhanging cement walls, cold air and an aura that reeked of old death. The morgue hadn't smelt of new corpses just yet, but it soon would be. Most nurses and doctors wouldn't dare come down to investigate the spooky sounds emitting from down below past the morgue.

Which was excellent. Kylan liked to blast Britney Spears in her headphones as she worked. There didn't need to be wondering eyes investigating the autopsies. What thoughts would come in your mind if you saw a middle-aged woman singing along to Toxic while messing with a bone saw in someone's torso? She'd probably receive a lengthy letter on proper procedures again if a staff member showed up in the midst of her examination, and they'd most likely repeat the sentence of "do not have a smile on your face as you chop someone's brother in half."

She claimed she never had a smile, the victim's unsuspecting family said otherwise.

When they exited the elevator, it didn't take long for James to pop out another question, "How do you like being the state medical examiner? This time by yourself right?"

Kylan kept a grin from forming on her face. Ah yes. Dr. Kylan Taylor, chief state medical examiner, board-certified and voted to be Mercer County's one and only top forensic pathologist who specializes in the strange and unusual. Dream come true that's for sure. After her long residency and following the now-retired Dr. Shoo, she was finally ready to take her first steps alone, and her heart was pumping just thinking about it.

"Yep," she said, now a white smile glowing in the otherwise dark hallways. "I always liked to cut open bodies, working through the hospital also prevents me from having to go to the crime scenes myself now. Those interns who call themselves "death investigators" really help me out." She giggled a little, "now they'll just drop off the bodies and photos for me. Less bloody in the long run." James stifled a laugh. There was a reason why he picked to help the living. Bloody crime scenes were not something he'd be able to get past, Kylan however, didn't even seem fazed.

Kylan Taylor was a five-foot-two woman with dark auburn hair, chartreuse eyes, and exceptional beauty. Everything about her radiated, from her perfect smile, the way her messy waves framed her face, her stance, her voice hidden with a slight Spanish accent. Where someone like her got the love for the dead remained a mystery even to good, long-time friend Wilson.

"So have you starred in any other pornos since you left college?" She asked out of the blue, with a hardy laugh bellowing from the pits of her stomach. "Because I'm sure some of the nurses would like to know the gentleman Dr. Wilson is not as gentlemanly as they first predicted."

Wilson stopped dead in his tracks, and Kylan had no choice but to stop and wait for him, even though her laughter was echoing the quiet hallways, James was one step away from having an aneurysm. He seemed to be both embarrassed and angry, and on the brink of hyperventilating just by thinking about it.

Everyone had mistakes in college, Wilson just happened to have been a part of a future porno.

"You are not to tell anyone about that." he cautioned, causing Kylan to laugh even harder.

"So uptight."

"I'm warning you, I have people upstairs that will use that to their advantage, and I don't need them knowing."

Kylan's eyebrow cocked, "I thought you said everyone here was your friend?"

"They are." And with her now silent, he seemed to be on the verge of either breaking out more information or keeping it to himself. But the way she stood, her eyes squinting, her arms crossed over her chest and waiting, he had no choice. He had to explain now, or she'd find some unorthodox way of getting the information herself. Sounded awfully familiar. "Okay, some of them may not be my best friends, but there are some that like to make my life miserable."

"Miserable how?"

Wilson's beeper blew off before he said anything, and for a moment he seemed hesitant to even take it seriously.

"Listen, I have to go back upstairs, think you can settle in yourself for a minute?" He asked, "this shouldn't be very long."

"Of course."

He gestured down the hall, pointing to one of the wooden doors on the left, "go through there. Your office is right next to the main morgue, so you shouldn't have too many difficulties finding it. If you need any help you can come back upstairs and ask for me or Cuddy."

She nodded, and Wilson zipped back down the hallways and back to the elevator. For a second, she didn't move. The hospital basement was too quiet now, and the taps of her heels echoed in a way she did not like. There were chairs sitting outside doorways, for reasons unknown, and the light down the hall seemed to be flickering.

Kylan liked dead bodies, but she didn't like the idea of working in a hospital that may or may not be haunted. If she heard something move or a weird voice echoing in the night, she was going to quit. Right then and there, no questions asked. Didn't matter if they were willing to pay a few million dollars for her to stay, being haunted was not worth it.

But luckily she hadn't heard anything yet, so Kylan graciously took the time to skedaddle her way into the room.

Just as Wilson had said, her new office was hidden in the back. Warm air hit her face momentarily, and the smell of something sweet caused her to sneeze as she took a glance around. It seemed the Hospital Interior Designer didn't leave even her new office out of the budget.

Mahogany bookshelves with vases and sculptures hiding in its walls, a set of encyclopedias Kylan would never read, a desk with a high-tech computer system and neatly organized file holders, small lockers, a pretty little lamp, and just as she predicted, enough paper to fill a large forest. She couldn't believe she was right, and she smiled to herself as she slowly walked to her new desk. Glass top. Perfect.

Kylan placed the files Wilson had given her on the corner and set her purse at the side of the table leg, biting her lip with a smile. She had a new coat rack where she could hang her scarves and coats in the winter, and a hook for her lab coats when she had the time to bring them in from her old space. She'd need to get the rest of her medical supplies from her house too, and she'd be all settled in, as she had always been wanting.

It was better than her old office at the county police station that was for sure She had a desk there, and shelves just like the ones presented to her now, but much smaller, and basically the room itself was about the size of a coat closet. It would get too hot in the summers, too cold in the winter, it felt like a meat locker half the time and she had to wear some sort of winter coat and finger less gloves just to do paperwork without shivering.

This was a much better improvement.

Before Kylan could even start going through the paperwork, a strange noise in the back caused her skin to crawl with goosebumps. For a moment she had figured it to be the strong winds she had experienced in the parking lot, but another shuffling caused her logical thoughts to scurry away just as quick. Her office had giant windows showcasing the first part of the morgue, but from what she could tell no lights were on, and there was definitely no one coming from the hall. She would have heard the footsteps on the concrete floors or even the ding of the elevator. This was much different, and it caused her spine to shiver.

Kylan hesitated on going anywhere near the windows. Wilson would have mentioned something about animals sneaking in, right? Or even mention if anyone else would be wondering the morgue, cleaners, nurses, someone. But she doubted someone would even go into the main laboratory, and doing so in the dark was downright stupid. There were thousands of dollars of sharp knives, saws, needles and equipment that no ordinary person could just get their hands on, and one wrong move those things would cause some serious damage. She kept her eyes locked at the windows, waiting for something to emerge. But nothing came out it, and another loud bang caused her skin to jump right off her bones.

Against her better judgment, Kylan slowly walked forward. Waiting for a dead person to smack against the window, bloody and oozing like those horror movies her brother loved so much. But even in her wildest imagination, she had doubted something like that would ever happen, so she kept close to the wall trying to find the damn light switch to the morgue. Maybe if it was a raccoon or a rat, the light would scare them off. Give her enough time to warn staff on an infestation of rodents and they could come and clean it quick. God, even the thought of having a few rats where dead bodies would be sitting caused her stomach to churn.

Kylan fiddled with the light switch until a flood of artificial flood lamps lit the room. It seemed the first part of the morgue was clean, untouched, the tools hanging off nails and boards, steel glimmering in the light. Sinks seemed to be unused, aprons and refrigerators sat in corners, and a scale polished and ready for use on the main table. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, but this was only the first part. The secondary part of the morgue was something she wasn't ready for. The place where they shoved the bodies in those metal crates screwed on the wall, where tags hung from people's blue toes and made gross noises as gas began to be let out of their orifices. But Wilson would have mentioned bodies already dressed down on the slabs. The place was brand new, cleaned just for Kylan. There was no way there were already bodies taking up space on the cold tables.

Another shuffle caused her to nerves to spike, and again, she almost wanted to follow her better instincts and run back upstairs where someone could investigate for her. Hell, as much as she knew Wilson hated ghosts and anything spooky, she would feel better if he was standing behind her in case something bad happened. What would happen if a crazed raccoon bit her on the arm? Or worse, a crazy patient who escaped from the psych ward. All those tools were nice weapons if they needed to be, and Kylan certainly didn't like the idea of someone wielding them against her.

Kylan carefully pitter-pattered to the next light switch, hoping to whoever controlled the heavens to just be a few dead bodies rotting in the cold. Her fingers slid against the chilly tile, and her fingers slid against the plastic switch, she flipped it on.

Nothing.

Not a god damn thing.

She let out a deep breath Kylan wasn't aware she had been holding. Her chest hurt now. Like her heart had just pumped enough blood and adrenaline to run a ten mile marathon. Twice. She laughed at herself on how ridiculous she had been acting. She could only imagine how Wilson would look when she'd tell him the thoughts she had over some old piping or some bullshit like that. Just as she flicked the light back off, she turned, and collided with a mass of fabric.

"Jesus Christ!" She yelled, slamming into the man who scared the crap out of her.

His aftershave permeated her nose for a second, like spice, and she staggard back, trying to put as much distance as she could between the two of them. Which wasn't much, since she had hit the back of the autopsy table, moving it an inch or two causing a loud skid to cover the heavy breathing. Her hands leaned on the sides, and she tried to not to let her nerves get the better of her.

"What the hell are you doing in there?" She finally asked the moment she could break out a few words. The room was barely lit from the other room's light, but she could definitely tell it was a man from the way his shoulders were shaped, the clothing, the smell still stuck in her nostrils. "What the fuck are you doing here in the dark?"

She seemed more surprised than angry. Sure someone was sticking their nose in her new toys, but that didn't mean she cared enough to get a little angry. Maybe a signal or a word or two could have stopped her from wanting to rip off his balls for scaring her like that. Who in their right mind just snooped around a morgue touching things that didn't belong to them?

The light flickered back on, and the bright light caused her eyes to hurt from the sudden adjustment.

The man kept silent, moving past her with a clear and visual limp. For a second she thought she might have kneed him somewhere, but the looks of a cane resting on the cabinet counter across from her, she doubted she injured him. At least, not enough to cause anything like that.

"I sometimes kept pills down here, I'm guessing someone hid them or threw them away."  He finally said, and Kylan couldn't help but get a little irritated at his condescending tone.

"You kept pills in a morgue?" She spit.

"I'm sure you keep pills in cupboards too."

"Not in a morgue."

Kylan would have been freaked out on coming face-to-face with a man so suddenly, especially in the dark and in a room by herself. But she bet herself that if the time came, all she'd have to do was kick him in his bad leg and take off. No immediate amount of danger that screamed red at her, at least, from what she could tell.

He was a taller man, much older than her by ten years from the indication of his peppered hair, he seem withered in the face, wrinkles near his eyes, a much older demeanor overall in his appearance. His limp added to the age, but his clothing, loose and almost ill fitting, made Kylan second-guess herself.

"Who are you? How'd you even get access to the basement, you need a key-card." Kylan said matter-of-fact. her breathing steady finally, and now she wanted actual answers. She didn't doubt he was an actual doctor, but she would be damn well surprised if he was.

As if he thought it was a stupid question, he grabbed a plastic ID card much like hers from his jacket pocket, shoved it close to her nose, and pulled it away like three seconds staring at a white piece of glistening words would give Kylan all the information she needed. But she did get one thing.

A name.

Dr. Gregory House.

Well I'll be damned. She thought. This guy is a damn doctor.

[lokikingofasgardslover713]

6} Week of War

Masterlist

Loki’s Gilded Pet Masterlist

Warnings: SMUT, torture, heartbreak

A/N: Let us see what becomes of Loki’ pet after the Black Order gets their claws in her.

Words: +3,400

Searing pain ripped through tender body as the bastards echoing monologue continued in Y/N’ mind, telling her that her master, Loki, had broken easily which would make it all the simpler to destroy the mortal to rebuild in her new masters vision. Spikes driving harder, slicing, burning, scorching & destroying all in its path to harness the seidr to find that memory Y/N was holding tightly to in an attempt to prevent it from being stolen. It finally dawning on her why Loki had taken time to teach her how to fight telepathic intrusions.

“Your newest charge appears to be more stubborn than Loki,” Cull smirked over at the hovering Ebony Maw who actually had his brow furrowed at the woman hanging midair.

The dazzling psychic spikes driving into every part of thick form for screams to die off for a few moments while he addressed the hulking reptile like alien that eyed the woman close, leathers in tatters, face contorted in pain but managing to look over at Cull when he spoke.

Y/N letting out a pained breath she didn’t realize she held once the pain eased, body shivering as she noted the large alien held a metal disc in his hand, it looked like a device of some sorts, looking similar to the obedience disc seen on Sakaar but instinct told woman this was more sinister. Red rimmed eyes filled with tears Y/N was trying to hold back, peering through disheveled Y/H/C locks, looking up to the towering Ebony who lifted stilled form more to look over her, eliciting a yelp of pain as a spike forced in further finally breaking a wall that was holding a decent memory.

“She is almost ready, will be when we reach Earth,” Ebony spoke in his monotone voice, hinting to the other to place the disc on her, wanting so bad to fight, to make a hateful remark but the spikes made it unbearable to think & remember.

Wait, who or what was she to remember?

A sharp pinch to both temples making the mortal, no Asgardian, flinch from the hands that placed them on sweat soaked temples, eyes scrunching in pain as Y/N looked up through blinding white to eye the ones before her.

Wait, what were they to her?

“You know what your job is when we arrive on earth, Argent,” the tall one began, the creature’s voice echoing around in throbbing skull of who he & the other was & who she was to be.

A hard swallow, a furrowing of brow, the name Loki repeating to cause a sharp shot from the disc on her temples when it seemed she didn’t answer Ebony quick enough filling them heat up as well, the light turning from blue to red as it dug harder at jumbled mind until haggard mind to focus on the task at hand. Eyes glowing with silver seidr as focused returned to the creatures before her.

“Find the stones,” Y/N began coldly.

The burning hot spikes slowly receding as it appeared she was being righted in front of the alien who hovered off the ground, feeling him probing at a wall in shattered mind that kept the location of the two stones hidden, knowing Ebony would have to reduce Y/N to a drooling mess & rebuilt & that wasn’t a delay they had time for.

“Specialty which ones,” Ebony spoke stoically, the disc flaring red for a split second then back to blue as it seemed she realized it wasn’t worth the pain to think on it or hesitate.

“Mind & time stones,” she began, final allowed to oddly steady feet, looking over the two steadily the bigger one stepping close now to survey curvaceous form over closer than what she felt was comfortable.

“Their locations,” the Maw began, making gaze turn back to him, the alien feeling the woman’s mind working, trying to hide it, knew they where headed to the location of the time stone they just didn’t know who had it or exactly where.

“A sorcerer has the time stone,” Y/N gritted out, the light staying red longer than necessary making the woman flinch before it finally eased for the next question to be asked.

“The other,” Ebony spoke with a sick smirk making Y/N cock disheveled head, looking to the larger one, swearing he was ogling her, mind may be shattered, ripped to shreds but she knew a creep when she seen one.

Loki remember Loki. Wait, who, Loki, he can help, he taught you to fight this, you know how to beat them they done the same to him & he, Loki, taught you to overcome it as well to fight through the pain how to use it how to… to… Wait, who was Loki? What was the question…

“The mind stone Argent. Answer, it only gets worse the more you fight…,” Cull spoke up, obviously annoyed this was dragging out to be reprimanded by Ebony as the woman squinted at the pain until it, the torture, it just clicked, taxed mind checking out to take the uninhibited way, the painless option.

No, she, Argent, didn’t want to fight this not when complacency offered more.

“In a android, his name is Vision. Last I spoke to him, he was in Scotland with his girlfriend, she’s a witch that can pose a problem. The witch, Wanda Maximoff, received her powers from the mind stone itself,” Y/N gave the information, not truly freely but for self-preservation.

They could stop them, but who was they? A team of warriors on earth, maybe. What about this Loki, or Thor. No stop, it's heating up, searing, hurting. Task at hand, eyes clearing to focus on the two aliens before her as the larger one was ushered forward as Y/N, no Argent focused.

“Go with Cull to get a new uniform, we have minutes before we arrive,” Ebony explained, Y/N stepping up to the giant to look up at him a heavy hand falling on the ripped leather than barely held on to her shoulder before moving to soft neck to direct her to some other compartment on the Q-ship.

It was eerily quiet down the corridors, wondering if they were the only ones on the ship that ran quietly, the hand gripping tight when the light on the disc turned red making the woman have to pause not truly sure what the thought was to cause it to kick on or what it was supposed to pull to the surface for her to remember. Finally coming around to find she had in reality been walked into a darkish room a small table before her a  suit for her thrown in it along with what looked to be several various weapons on a belt that oddly enough she knew how to use every single weapon there.

“Put it on runt,” the creature growled at her back, making her realize he hadn’t left, turning slightly to look Cull over as he stood with arms folded to watch her.

Without a thought she did as told, she should feel violated to say the least since it appeared he watched her every move, but it didn’t. Not wanting to have white hot pain shoot through throbbing skull Y/N quickly pulled the ruined leathers off to replace them with the newer leather pants on followed by the tight-fitting vest that appeared to have an armor plate in front & back. Grabbing the belt to wrap it around thick middle to fasten it loosely, adjusting it until it rested comfortably on plump hips then throwing on the long coat before pulling on the knee-high boots that actually had a plate that covered her knees made into them.

Eyes sparkling with seidr as she looked at the alien, curios to his motives to watching her every move, not having to wait to long when he stepped closed, noting that the seidr collar hadn’t been removed.

“After this…,” was all he said as a heavy hand feel back to armored shoulder to direct the woman out, something tickling to inform Y/N they were ready to pick up the first stone, but she was to remain onboard while it seemed Proxima & Corvus were on the way to Scotland to collect the other.

It was pleading that echoed around the ship. The man, the sorcerer had taken to pleading with Y/N as she stood stoically with Ebony, watching the pale alien work, the disc flashing red every now & then when her name, Y/N, was spoken. The woman fighting the urge to take the stone herself, knowing the sorcerer seen it, she wanted to end his suffering & was fighting her own urges. Hearing catching a noise at armored back, feeling relief at the recognition of Tony Stark’s voice & to a lesser extent Peter Parker.

A swift look getting the aliens attention to the fact the newest of the Order had noted something, speaking to Y/N to gain her attention to nod to the woman to check it out. With a nod the woman left without a word but one last worried look at the sorcerer before stepping in the direction of the noise to disappear behind several pieces of the ship.

A swift use of seidr the instant she spotted them, wrapping the young spider in a web of it's own as she glared at Tony, without thought, subconscious working to mask true thoughts. Finger pointing to the devices clamped into sweaty temples before letting the blabbering teen down Tony shushing him.

The billionaire stepping forward to note the lights glowing red, Y/N’ eyes shutting in pain as he looked over the devices, a quite OK whispered so only she heard as he touched the devices feeling the suits current flow for a moment to figure how to release them.

“I’ll make this quick, it will hurt, I'm sorry,” was the last the billionaire uttered.

Y/N was almost unrecognizable due to the dead look about her as well as the garb, not the one he remembered as she squeezed eyes shut, hands clasping over her mouth to stop the scream that tried to rip forth as the disc dug deeper as they ripped free. Pain racked body falling to weak knees with Peter falling with to her to keep the woman from collapsing any further while the billionaire’s hands fell to the gaping holes in her temples & Nano tech bleeding over to help heal the flesh.

The edge easing to look up at Tony who gave a weak smile, feeling the alien probe at her & cursing the connection he had with her. A finger going to her lips to keep them quiet & pointing to the direction she had come as they got Y/N to shaky feet to take care of the problem at hand.

On Titan

Y/N didn’t mean to flinch when the one called Mantis stepped over to where the woman had hid herself from the others, everyone else preparing for the arrival of Thanos while she decided to hide in efforts to make since of shattered thoughts & attempt to remember Loki. The memories of tangled limbs bringing the Asgardian back to what it was to be loved by someone, a feeling that would have had her toppling over if it wasn’t for the soft hand that pushed her back into her seat. The woman drawing away from the wide black-eyed creature but feeling a calm take over as she watched Mantis close.

“You’re trying to remember. It's painful,” Mantis spoke quietly, obvious the alien was picking up on the fact Y/N wasn’t able to handle loud noises at the moment.

“Yeah, you are an empath, correct,” Y/N spoke surveying the woman, trying not to shy away when a hand was laid on her shoulder.

“I just want to help,” she spoke calmly, Y/N shaking tired head slowly to allow the woman to do what she could not very trusting of anyone but what more could she hurt.

Memories dredged up from the darkness that had screams echoing around in the emptiness until it calmed to focus on the first night on the ship from Sakaar, the calmness of the darkness that enveloped around Y/N & Loki that night.

It was surreal, light from passing stars glinting off of the gods bare chest as he emerged from the shower, obvious he didn’t care the mortal that stood before him looked him over, a worried expression as she reached out to touch the scar on his chest, jagged, pink, it should have killed him, should have killed her truthfully.

The woman unmoving as lithe fingers slid around her soft neck to touch over the seidr collar feeling it tingle as he allowed himself to enjoy the feel of it along with how gently she touched over the soft scar on his chest, the gods freehand reaching up to toy with the strap on the shift Y/N wore as if getting up the nerve to push it away.

“You know you have never been a pet to me,” Loki began, calloused finger finally pushing the strap down as the one on her neck slid to do the same to the other for the shift to fall to the floor at their feet looking up into emerald orbs that sparkled with the star light filtering in through the large window.

“I know, more like a pain,” Y/N began, not budging when the god took a step to pull flush to bare curves, body hot against his as she laid palms flat on toned chest as his hands rested gently on full hips, thumbs cherishing the soft flesh.

“No, more than that, you’ve been my light in the darkness,” Loki echoed, Y/N’ breath hitching in her throat not sure what to say obvious Loki wanted to say more. “You are my heart love, my whole heart. I'm an empty shell without you lover. You're mine, my treasure, my lover, all that I am,” Loki echoed out once again, reaching up to push her hair behind her ear as all the woman could manage was a teary eyed smile.

“Say something love? I’ve upset you,” he began, obvious he was just as rusty as Y/N was when it came to this sort of thing & the act of being romantic had left the two due to isolation.

“No, no you said it beautifully,” Y/N finally breathed, the god bowing inches from her lips so they would touch when they spoke.

“Then allow me to show you as well,” Loki spoke darkly hands falling to thick thighs to jerk them around bare toned waist while she cupped his face in order to smash their lips together in a desperate bruising kiss to taste one another, the god moving swiftly back towards the king size bed without breaking it.

“Does that help you,” Mantis asked kindly as Y/N focused on the alien with a smile trying to tug at her lips, the Asgardian glancing down to the ground then back to the creature trying to help.

With a nod yes, a smile breaking through before Tony walked up to Y/N. Mantis getting to her fee to leave Y/N & the billionaire to discuss a few details.

“You OK,” he began taking a seat next to her, Y/N knew he was making sure her head was in the game as they both began discussing the upcoming scenario that was appearing to happen now.

{Adrift In Space}

It was fitting they, being Y/N, Tony, & Nebula mange to escape Titan, adrift in space, no way to reach anyone as they wafted. With a lazy look over to the billionaire who had finished his transmission to the helmet, supposedly the last, trying to conserve air as Nebula stood at a distance before stepping forward. Y/N looking up at the blue skinned woman that had oddly enough became accustomed to & friendly with the standoffish creature that took a seat as Y/N laid her head back as if to take a nap.

“Gonna dream of Loki huh,” came the billionaire’s voice, Y/N cracking a smile as the Luphomoid let out a “oh god” before Y/N answered.

“Best memory I have, I'm going to play it on repeat,” Y/N chuckled, hand falling on the billionaires shoulder as she felt the Luphomoid lean in to her, well that was new, but wasn’t about to deny Nebula the friendship as Tony actually leaned on the other side his head on Y/N’ shoulder.

“Easy Stark, you will make Loki jealous,” Y/N tried to laugh, but she was already falling asleep, having forgone sleep for several days to purposefully cause her body to crave it so it would shut down.

“You should be more worried about Pepper,” he laughed all three getting comfortable before the quiet of the craft lulled them to sleep.

It was a harsh beginning to the dream, the Black Order surrounding her, a body pressing over her, filling like she was suffocating already but then again she was pressed flat to the grating a quiet whisper to be still as there was flash of green seidr that had the scene melting away to a open meadow. Midsummer, birds chirping, the setting just right as she looked around to realize someone stood at her back, turning to find Loki holding the reigns to two well cared for horses.

OK, this wasn’t the dream she was hoping for but would take it & the god that stood before her. Y/N looking down to the elegant gown that followed her curves perfectly, Loki’s colors of course but light enough to allow movement. Finally taking steps to stand before Loki to take a soft kiss before ushering her to the saddle of the pitch-black animal that waited patiently before he mounted his own.

“After you love, I’ll follow you were ever you go,” the god smiled as Y/N smirked & spurred the horse through the clearing the god quick on her heels.

The run nothing at all like she expected as they stopped next to a stream what felt like hours later, the god quick to dismount to lift Y/N from the saddle to her feet to which she stumbled, feeling light headed for a second the god steadying her.

“Are you alright lover,” the god asked worriedly making sure Y/N was OK before letting go, breath felt shallow but brushing it off.

“I'm fine Loki, where to now,” she smiled breathlessly looking over to where the god hinted to find a Viking like cottage sitting back from the river, a slow smoke coming from the chimney.

Y/N hinting for him to lead the way but was lifted into strong arms. Wow, hell of a dream to die to she thought as she fell into the bliss of the moment, the gentle rocking as he walked a calming move that had her dazed as he carried her int o the sparsely furnished cabin but focusing solely on the lavish four poster canopy bed.

Curvaceous body sat gingerly on the surface for green seidr to take their clothes, Y/N laying out bare before her god that feel to his knees before her, a harsh grip to her legs to throw them over his shoulders before licking a stripe along readied slit to lace her fingers in his hair to tug.

Edging the woman closer to orgasm but stopping to jerk thick writhing form from the bed to throw thick thighs around string waist to impale her instantly on waiting cock, breath coming shallower as she reached release as oxygen dwindled. A cursing scream of release as breath left her body to descend into an abyss clouded with ecstasy feeling body jerk, a spasm, a gasp for breath.

This was it, oh god, she should have known oxygen deprivation wouldn’t have been painless, lungs screaming for air & swearing it burned. Swearing she still felt the god holding her, rocking her, cooing to her it was OK, he understood, he knew her torture, understood Y/N, his lover needed it to end, it was hard to live with it, but she needed to hang on, needed to try to take another breath, to breathe to live for him, he was coming for her, his lover, his Y/N.

Darkness calling, telling her it was OK to let go, a shuttering choke having her reaching for something that wasn’t there, wanting to cry out but there was no breath in deflating lungs, limbs feeling heavy as she attempted to fight with the darkness swearing she got a hit in before it finally got its hands around her throat to make her choke on nothing & then… silence.

Tags open! And re-blogs are ALWAYS welcomed!

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[mylovelymarvel]

Paint My Sins Away (Part 6)

 Pairing: au!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Chapter Summary: Time for a fun outing to the Stark Tower (soulmate au where what you write on your skin appears on your soulmate’s skin)

Warnings: swearing and some secondhand embarrassment?

Word Count: 2k

a/n: hmm i hate writers block. this is my last stocked part of this series and I’m trying really hard to write pt 7. i have another fic in the works though that’s just about finished so that’ll be posted some time soon. I love you guys!

Masterlist

      The loading screen of PS I Love You plays quietly in the background. They’re drowning in blankets when she wakes up, curled around Ash on the couch. It’s just past dawn and the sun barely breaks the horizon, rising ever so slowly as its lovely tendrils of warmth crawl into her apartment. It’s far too early to be awake, but still she stirs, blearily blinking open her eyes.

    Sleep still makes its home in her bones, pulls her down back into the pleasant confines of the sofa, but she slips away from her friend and tucks the blanket around Ash’s shoulders.

***

    The smell of bacon fills the as she flips another pancake. The movie plays softly in the living room, just muffling the sizzling of the grease.

    “...finding someone you love, and who loves you back is a wonderful, wonderful feeling. But finding a true soulmate is an even better feeling. A soulmate is someone who understands you like no other, loves you like no other, will be there for you forever, no matter what…”

    With an almost unnoticeable tremor, she slides two pancakes onto a porcelain plate and settles bacon besides them. She can hear Ash stirring, a muffled groan floating up from amongst the blankets and cushions.

    “Hello, sleepy head,” she hums, switching off the stove. “I made breakfast.”

    “I smell bacon and I am in love.”

    Her laugh echoes off the tile and it’s like the room brightens with it.

    “Better hurry up or I’ll eat it all,” she warns, a teasing and sing songy note in her voice.

    Ash is up within seconds, swaying precariously for a few moments before she rushes to grab her plate. She’s quick to shovel the food in.

    “So,” she mumbles through a mouth full of pancake. “I usually head into the office around nine and it’s currently-” she checks her watch “-7:45. Do you want to shower first, or shall I?”

    “Ah.” She glances around the kitchen and living room. “You go first Ash, I’ll tidy up.”

    “You sure?”

    She nods, already gathering the dishes. “Shoo.”

    “Alrighty,” Ash laughs. “I’ll be out in twenty minutes.”

***

    The walk to the Tower is over faster than they anticipate.

    “And then this fuckbucket says- oof!” Her sentence is cut off rather abruptly as she collides with something warm and solid. An arm automatically wraps around her waist as she’s knocked backwards.

    “Oh, shit, are you okay?” His fingers slip off her hips when he’s sure she’s steady, and she finds herself almost missing that contact. What the fuck.

    Her gaze flickers around, touching on the broad, jacket covered shoulders, the leather glove on his left hand, and the cargo pants that are tucked into black work boots, before darting up and freezing. Any words dry in her mouth as she blinks once, twice, three times. She sucks in a breath.

    “Um, uh, yeah, yes, I’m-I’m fine, are you okay? I ran right into you, I’m sorry, I, um,” she stumbles along, red beginning to tinge her cheeks. “You’re um, you’re-”

    “The Winter Soldier, I know,” he grimaces, eyes tightening.

    “-James Barnes,” she breathes, admiration coiling itself around her words. “You’re um…” She swallows. “Wow.”

    He blinks, recoiling slightly as his brows raise up. She’s quick to notice, mistaking his movement for discomfort and pulls away.

    “Sorry, sorry,” she mumbles, flicking her eyes towards Ash. She watches the two, cocking an eyebrow up and she grins. His reply comes three beats too slow.

    “Uh, yeah, I’m…” His confusion is evident. “...James Barnes?”

    He looks away for a moment and catches sight of Ash, and although they’ve talked for a grand total of four times, he’s grateful for the familiar face. His eyes dart between her and the stunned, awestruck? woman in front of him for a few moments.

    “Y/n,” Ash laughs, grabbing her arm and pulling out of the way. “You’re drooling.”

    A small squeak escapes from her lips and she teeters away. There’s a small smile that pulls at his mouth, and although he’s entirely bewildered, he can feel the beginning of a laugh.

    “Um, shit, I’m-I’m-” She stops and sucks in a deep breath, shooting Ash a dirty look. “I’m sorry James. I’m just, uh, just a big fan.”

    His eyes widen and he can’t help his sharp inhale. A tingle dances along his spine and he shivers, shuddering beneath the layers he has on. The silence grows between them.

    This interaction is going on far too long for a simple run-in and there’s an abhorrent sort of guilt that sinks in her stomach, though she can’t locate the exact source of it.

    soulmatesoulmatesoulmate

    “Um.” She’s incredibly nervous, and at this point, too flustered to function correctly. “Yeah, it was, it was nice to meet you!”

    Even to her own ears, she sounds stupidly excited and she cringes. His brows draw down even further in confusion and he rubs his ungloved hand along his arm.

    “Yeah, it was-” He squints for a moment. “-nice to meet you, too.”

    “Um, yeah!” Her voice is high pitched as she whirls around, nearly bashing into Ash and practically sprints for the elevator. “Have a good day!”

    She stands in front of the door, frantically smashing the button as a blush crawls down the back of her neck. Ash’s laughter rings behind her and she can hear her speaking quietly to James.

    Finally, there’s a beep and the doors slide open. She rushes inside, hovering awkwardly as she tries to curl into herself.

    “Ash. Come on. Let’s go,” she pleads, her voice verging on desperate. She risks a reluctant glance towards Barnes, only to find him already watching her with a peculiar expression. A faint pink dusts his cheeks.

    “Ash!”

    “Coming, coming,” she replies, strolling towards her with a careless edge to her walk. She’s taking her goddamn time just to taunt me.

    “Later, Bucky,” Asher calls, a smile on her lips as she waves. He’s still standing by the entrance door, a hand shoved into the pocket of his cargo pants with his jacket unzipped. He gives a faint wave bak, his gaze still glued to Y/n.

    “Oh my god, close close close, please can you fucking close,” she whispers to the elevator, ignoring the giggle it elicits from the blonde next to her. “Oh, thank god.”

    They begin to slide shut and she leans back against the wall, her head buried in her hands.

    “Oh my god, that was so embarrassing, when did I turn into such a stuttering idiot, dear god.” She glances up and through the sliver between the doors, she catches the small head tilt and smile Bucky adorns. And in that instant, he’s unguarded, his eyes alight in quiet wonderment. It feels too personal, too private and intimate, and she looks away.

    Ash giggles and she snaps back to the present.

    “Oh, fuck me,” she groans, shaking her head. “God, why did I freeze up so badly?”

    The blonde shrugs, a laugh on her lips as she pats Y/n on the arm. “You weren’t that bad. You just, you know, totally froze up and gawked over and, you know, I could see your panties dropping from here.” A sly grin decorates her face and Y/n’s eyes dart up to her, glaring. “I didn’t know you had such a thing for our very own Bucky Barnes.”

    “I don’t! He’s just, I just- I- Shut up!” She sputters, dragging her fingers down her face with a groan.”

    “He was looking awfully fuzzy while he was talking to you,” she teases, nudging her with her shoulder as the elevator shifts to a stop with a mechanical hum.

    “Stop, no- no he didn’t, he’s like, he’s James fucking Barnes, he- he. Aghgh.”

    Nervous giggles tumble from her lips and Ash laughs along with her before she grabs her arm and pulls her upright. There’s a dull thunk as the doors start to open.

    “Come on, let’s go fiddle with Tony’s gadgets.” She waggles her eyebrows and tugs Y/n along.    Red still tinges the tips of her ears and her brows are drawn down, but she obliges with a roll of her eyes.

    “Yeah, yeah, okay, let’s go.”

***

    Nanobats crawl across her arm, twining around to form a strange sort of second skin when the one and only Tony Stark strolls through a door. He has a hologrammed clipboard in hand and although he’s clad in jeans and a T-shirt over a longsleeve, he looks as stylish as ever.

    He stops for a moment when he notices the girls, pausing midstep. Y/n is frozen as the bots continue their journey up her arm. She stares at Stark, eyes wide as she slowly lowers her hand, guilt laden on her face. Uh oh, am I allowed to be playing with this?

    “Hey, girls,” he smiles, continuing over to them. “What brings you to the lab, Ash? You’re usually in the one upstairs.”

    “Hey, Tony,” Asher chirps, waving her fingers as she glances up.”I’m just here showing my friend the tech. I told you about her the other day, remember?”

    He walks over to an LED display, the clipboard disappearing as he flicks his finger against the hologram. Tony quirks an eyebrow at the still silent Y/n. Her eyes are cast down as she tries to discreetly wipe away the nanobots, scraping at the rapidly rising edge.

    “Yeah. yeah, I remember. Y/n, right?” He checks, his gaze darting from the women to his screen. Her head whips up again, and he wants to laugh at the deer in headlights look she has plastered on.

    “Um, yeah, yes sir, it’s Y/n,” she stammers, offering her uncovered hand. “You’re Tony Stark.”

    “The one and only,” he replies, shaking her hand as he grins.

    “Me and Ash were just leaving though, weren’t we?” She stresses, trying to motion discreetly with her head, staring pointedly at Ash. “It’s nearly lunch and we wouldn’t want to be in his hair, would we?”

    “Nonsense.” He waves his hand, stepping over in front of Y/n. “You girls don’t have to leave.”

    He holds his hand out to her, raising an eyebrow when she hesitates. At his touch the nanobots begin to dissolve, sliding back into a small capsule in the bracelet around her wrist. A relieved sigh falls from her lips.

    He continues, “However, it is lunchtime and you girls need to eat. There’s a fully stocked kitchen on floor seven, if you wanna go up. There’s like three fridges up there, so I’m sure you can find something.”

    “Three?” Ash laughs, shaking her head.

    He cocks an eyebrow, turning back to the LED display. “I have to feed a whole team. On top of it, damned super soldiers eat everything. The Capsicle himself empties one of the fridges on a weekly basis. I’m this close to making him get his own groceries.”

    This pulls a laugh from the both of them as Y/n wipes her sweaty palms against her pants. Ash and her share a look.

    “Well, Mr. Stark, it was, uh, really good to meet you.” She slides the bracelet off and sets back onto its stand.

    “Just call me Tony, Y/n. Mr. Stark makes me feel even older,” he says over his shoulder. “Now, shoo. Go eat.”

    “We’re going, we’re going. I’ll see you later, Tony.” With a little hop in her step, she pulls Y/n with her, heading for the elevator. “I’ve got the access, right?”

    “Yup, yup. Now shoo, time to go.”

    There’s a shlunk as the doors open and they step inside. “Toodle-oo,”

    “So, where are we going for food?”

    Ash turns to her and tilts her head with a laugh. “We’re going upstairs.”

    “What, why?”

    The elevator shifts. “Uh, why wouldn’t we? Did you not just hear what Tony said? Come on, you’re never one to say no to free food.”

    “Well, I just, I don’t know, I don’t want to be a bother, I don’t wanna overstep.” She shrugs and she’s met with an eyeroll.

    “Dude, he literally offered and there’s three fridges. It’s not like we’re gonna put them out of food.” The doors open and they walk into the lounge.

    “Okay, okay, fine, let’s go,” she concedes, glancing away from the fancy elevator display.

    “Hello, hello,” someone calls from the far side of the room and she looks up, catching sight of the man tucked into a chair by the window. “Who’s this?”

thank you to the lovely @peter-parkerman for this moodboard

Taglist:

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[j-esbian]

Just Go With It

I’ve got an @mlsecretsanta​ gift for... *squints at the shipping label* @ladyblackcats​! Hmm. This box is pretty heavy... feels like there’s some good adrienette content in there for you <3

on ao3

Words: 2.9k

Marinette Dupain-Cheng had worked her ass off at school and at internships and the graveyard shift at a fast food place, but it was all worth it, because today she was starting a new job, and it was one that she hoped would take her all the way to her dreams. Today was her first day as Gabriel Agreste’s personal assistant.

Temporarily, of course. No one could ever replace Ms. Sancoeur, but she’d just adopted a child, and was taking maternity leave. In her stead, Adrien had suggested his friend, who was presented with an opportunity he couldn’t let her miss out on. Adrien was nothing if not supportive of his friends’ dreams. Gabriel had met her before, and she’d left the impression of a strong-willed, mild-mannered young woman, with a firm voice, impeccable organization, and a penchant for running late. He’d already received five emails from her when Adrien’s recommendation sealed the deal.

Thanks to Tikki, Marinette managed to show up at the Agreste house five minutes before she was due. Nathalie had given her a brief orientation the day before, and she was confident to face any obstacle she might encounter. Her skirt was pressed, shoes shined, scarf knotted neatly, hair twirled tightly away. She tripped on her way up the stairs to the front door, but thankfully, no one but the security cameras caught it, and it was her job to monitor that once she got inside.

She slipped through the main doors and through to a little office off of the foyer. It looked different than she remembered, from the first time she’d been there, years ago. Since Adrien’s fifteenth birthday party, no doubt much of the furniture in the house had been cycled out to keep with current fashions, but the only thing that had stayed current in this office was the computer monitor on the desk. Wires snaked from the display to the baseboards where, she knew, they connected to the systems in the house: heating, security, electricity.

A single cord ran to a small roll-top desk that sat underneath the window, and she opened it and turned the computer on. The monitor flickered to life, as did a tablet mounted on the wall by the door. Marinette leaned back in her swivel chair as she waited for the computer to boot up. The light fixture was impressive for such a small room, but then, everything in Mr. Agreste’s house was fancy and expensive and just screamed fashion . It was the perfect mix of antique and high-tech. Marinette was really going to like it there.

She’d declined to put her purse in the closet, and had set it underneath her desk, where it was hidden from view by the front panel. Tikki flew out and sat on top of the computer monitor.

“Big day, Marinette,” she chirped. “When are you going to see Mr. Agreste?”

“In a few minutes,” Marinette said. She typed the password into the computer and waited as the system continued to load. “I want to make sure everything is up and running when I check in for the morning.”

She'd left the office door open, and while Tikki wasn't in plain sight, she was still more visible than may have been wise. They both heard footsteps echoing through the foyer, and by the time Marinette had ensured the kwami was hidden and looked back up to see who was coming, Adrien had fully descended the stairs and was waving hesitantly toward her. She smiled sheepishly and waved back. The close call and close encounter had her heart pounding, and when the tablet on the wall buzzed, she jumped in her seat.

It buzzed again impatiently, and she scurried over to accept the call. Gabriel’s face blossomed into view. He graced her with a rare smile.

“Mr. Agreste!” she stammered. “Good morning, sir.”

“Yes, it is morning, isn't it? Who can say if it's a good one,” he remarked dryly. “And two minutes past the hour, if I'm not mistaken. I hope it's not too much trouble to inquire as to when I may have an assistant?

“Right. Yes,” she said. “Sorry. I was just making sure that everything was operational. I'll be over momentarily, sir.”

As she spoke, her fingers flew over the tablet, bringing up the day's schedule and to-do list.

“I believe Nathalie took Adrien’s tablet last night and forgot it somewhere; you'll need to find it and return it to him so he has his schedule for the day,” Gabriel continued, unfazed. “Quickly, please, for we have much to do.”

“Yes, sir, I'm aware,” Marinette replied, trying to keep the bite out of her voice. “The deadline for the final fall line is in six days, and there's still a lot you haven't done.”

Mr. Agreste raised an eyebrow at her. “I'm on my way,” she said, and then hung up. She snatched the tablet off the wall with one hand and pressed the other against her mouth to keep it from shaking. “It's been five minutes and I'm already fired,” she whispered.

Tikki, meanwhile, had been searching for Adrien's tablet and found it in a drawer under a manilla folder. “It's not that bad,” she reassured Marinette. “You've got spunk. That's a good thing!”

Marinette scooped up the other tablet and patted Tikki on the head. “I appreciate it, Tikki, but I'm pretty sure I just blew it.” She walked out, leaving Tikki to snuggle into a niche in the drawer. As she strode across the foyer, she unlocked Adrien's tablet, smiling for a moment at his background; he and Nino were hanging out in his room, locked in a comic, over exaggerated video game battle for the camera. Their elbows were cocked to the sides, faces screwed in concentration. Nino was leaning his whole body to the left, and Adrien's tongue poked out between his lips.

She brought up his schedule on her tablet, then synced it over to his. She looked up just as she entered the dining room, where he was seated at the end of a very long table with a steaming mug of coffee and a bowl of fruit. One of his t-shirt sleeves was flipped inside-out, his pants rode a few inches above his ankles, and there was a stain along his collar that might have been blood, or jam, or coffee at one point, but had faded into a vague brown blotch over time. Adrien smiled at her and self-consciously smoothed his hair down.

Marinette tried to keep her composure as she took in his bedhead and pajamas. Once upon a time, she would have fainted to see Adrien up-close and fresh out of bed, and even now that her crazy infatuation was left years in the past, she still found it kind of cute. He’d done a terrible job of removing his makeup the night before and his eyes were rimmed with smudged eyeliner.

She cleared her throat and held out the tablet to him. “This is yours, I believe,” she said.

He rubbed the heel of his hand along his forehead and gave her a tired grin. “Oh, yeah. Thanks. Good morning to you, too.”

“O-of course. Good morning.” She smiled faintly at him. They were friends, of course, but she was here on professional business, right? There was no mixing of work and pleasure.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he continued, still grinning.

She gave him a puzzled look. “I… I’m working for your father now. Or, at least until Nathalie gets back. Didn’t he tell you?”

“Oh, I know.” He arched an eyebrow, but if he was trying to share in a joke with her, she was missing the punchline.

“Anyway,” she said after a moment. “I should go. I’m kind of… keeping your dad waiting. To fire me, most likely.”

He grabbed her elbow. “Hey. I’m sure you’re doing fine. My dad’s an ass sometimes, but I guarantee you can’t have done anything already to make him angry.”

“Right,” she said slowly. “In any case, I still need to go. I’ll see you later, I suppose.”

“See you later,” he said cheerily, turning back to his breakfast.

Marinette walked briskly back into the foyer and across to Gabriel’s office. She paused for a moment in front of the door, wondering whether she should knock or just let herself in, before deciding on both; she rapped her knuckles on one door while turning the other handle. Mr. Agreste looked up as she entered the room, and she kept a straight face as she strode coolly to him, all professionalism and punctuality, turning her tablet, her lifeline, back on and using it as an excuse to avoid his icy stare.

Before she could say anything, however, he asked, “What do you think of this?”

She looked up. “Sorry?”

He gestured to his side, where a row of mannequins were assembled; all were bare except one, which wore a jacket. Before Marinette could stop herself, her lip curled as she took it in. She caught his eye, and saw there was no going back, so she took a deep breath.

“It’s just… what’s special about it?” Marinette frowned. “Denim jackets are everywhere . This one looks like it could be from any label, even those cheap mall stores. I don’t see anything that makes it stand out. It doesn’t seem like it would sell.”

Gabriel tilted his head. “An excellent assessment,” he allowed.

Marinette stood up a little straighter.

“However,” he continued, “your initial impression is insufficient. You’ve barely given it a first look, much less a second. Come at look at it from the back.”

She walked around to the other side, and found that butterflies were embroidered on the jacket’s back, in shimmering purple and black and silver. And now that she was closer, she could see the faint flowers embossed on the jacket’s lapels and cuffs.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “That’s beautiful!”

“So, after consideration, what do you think?” he asked.

“Well…” Gabriel’s face was inscrutable, to her frustration. “To be honest, sir, it still doesn’t seem like much. I’ve always admired the hidden details in your designs, but there needs to be something to catch your eye, or no one will be interested in looking further.”

“And what would you suggest?” he pressed.

“A zipper?” Marinette winced internally.

He rubbed his chin. “A zipper,” he repeated. “On a denim jacket? Interesting… Call Alain and tell him I want to see that, by noon at the latest. And in the meantime, hold off on any of the jackets. You’ll need to check the back room and see what items we have already, but if they haven’t already finished with the corduroys, tell them to get them here by the end of the day. Now, I’ll need you to run me through this morning’s schedule…”

By her fourth day on the job, Marinette had fallen into the rhythm of things. It helped that, as the deadline neared, her job became more and more passive; making sure that boxes were checked and things were on schedule. Lately, everything was down to the photographers and their models, and there wasn’t much for her to do.

This season would mark the modelling debut of one Chloé Bourgeois, and Marinette retreated to her office the moment she heard those familiar, shrill tones echo through the mansion. She would be working from her desk today.

Through the open door, Marinette could see the bustle of people passing through the foyer, but she managed to remain uninterrupted for a few hours. That streak was broken just before 11:30.

The office door slammed shut, and Marinette swiveled in her chair to see what had happened. Adrien was pressed against it, palms flattened and head craned sharply to the right; his head tilted, as though he was listening for something, but after a few seconds, he relaxed, and turned towards Marinette, shooting her a sheepish smile.

“Sorry. My father,” was all he offered.

She leaned forward. “What happened?”

“Some new guy managed to confuse suede and velvet.” Adrien grimaced as the sound of shouting faintly reached their ears. “And when my dad noticed…”

“He started giving him an earful,” Marinette finished. She smirked. “How does that even happen?”

“Hey, now,” he laughed. “Don’t get too cocky. Isn’t it your job to catch that kind of stuff? He’ll be coming after you, next.”

He froze, smile still in place but dread slowly dawning in his eyes, as he realized what that meant. The shouting upstairs faded away.

“Oh, shit. He’s coming after you, next,” Adrien repeated.

“So much for getting away,” Marinette said. She tried to bring back the banter, but her palms were sweating. The click of Gabriel’s heels against the tile sounded sharply in their ears.

“Hide me!” Adrien hissed, diving underneath the desk she was still sitting at. Marinette barely had time to react before Gabriel was upon them.

He rapped on the door. “Marinette?” he said sharply.

She dried her palms on her skirt and straightened in her seat. “Come in.”

Gabriel pushed the door open and strode into the room. “Marinette,” he said. “Would you care to explain to me how, in all of your checks and double-checks, an error might have slipped in? And why yesterday evening, when I asked if everything was ready for today, you told me everything was, quote, perfect ?”

“I… don’t know, sir.” She wanted to look away, but she held eye contact with him. Maybe she could fool him into thinking she was more confident than she felt. “It won’t happen again.”

“You don’t know,” he sniffed. “You know, negligence and incompetence are qualities I can’t stand, especially in my employees. And all of you are complicit in this; not one person noticed anything amiss. Not one of you looked at the skirt closely enough to realize it was the wrong material. Suede? ” He pinched his nose. “I’m getting a migraine.”

Marinette went to stand up. “I’ll get you some--”

He waved his hand at her dismissively, and she dropped back into her seat. “Don’t bother. I’ll get it myself. Have you seen Adrien? He seems to have disappeared.”

At the mention of his name, Adrien squeaked from under the desk, and Marinette’s eyes widened. Gabriel’s, however, narrowed, and he took a step backward.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know the nature of your relationship with my son, and frankly, I don’t want to know. But I expect that, while you are working for me, you will remain professional and not let yourself get… distracted from your work. Am I clear?”

“N-no!” Marinette protested. “I mean, yes, but no! Adrien and-- I’m not-- We’re--” Her shoulders slumped. “I understand, sir.”

“Good.” He nodded firmly and spun on his heel. “I’ll be in my office.”

As soon as his footsteps faded, Adrien burst from his hiding place, crawling out and gasping as though he’d been hiding underwater. “Do you think he knew I was here?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think it’s safe to say that,” Marinette replied bitterly.

“Oh, god. What did he think, we were...” He laughed nervously. “What? No. No, no. Right? No.”

Marinette buried her head in her hands. “Oh my god. My boss thinks I’m secretly dating his son.”

“Hi? Son, right here,” Adrien reminded her. “Oh, shit. Now he probably thinks--” He pressed his lips together.

“Thinks what?” Marinette asked.

Adrien sat back on his knees and said in a small voice, “That I only got you this job so we could bang.”

Marinette waved her hands, like she was batting away all the other thoughts in her head. “Hang on, you got me this job? I applied for it. You didn’t…” She groaned. “God, so I’m only here as a favor?”

“What? No, of course not!” Adrien leaned forward, still on his knees. He shuffled closer and put a reassuring hand on her knee. “Marinette, you definitely deserve this job.”

“I mean, thanks, Adrien, but that’s not the biggest issue right now.” Marinette groaned again. “God, what do we--Do we say something to him? I don’t want to bring this up again. What if we just… don’t do anything out of the ordinary. Act professionally around him. And then he’ll realize he was wrong. Easy!”

Adrien frowned. “Yeah, that’s cool and all, except my dad isn’t going to pay enough attention to ever pick up on that. And then, two years from now, he’ll probably still think we’re dating. And then he’ll be mad that I didn’t say something sooner.”

Marinette spread her hands at him, clearly exasperated.

“I don’t want to talk to him about this either!” he yelped. “So…”

“So,” she responded. “Do we-- I mean, we should, um. Your dad already thinks we’re dating… Do you want to get coffee, sometime?”

Adrien blinked. “Wha-? I mean, yeah, definitely! Uh, hang on, let me just, like, run upstairs and change, and--”

Marinette giggled. “Not right now. I’m working, and you--oh, shit. Your dad’s still looking for you. You should go.”

“Oh. Right, right, yeah.” He scrambled to his feet. “I’ll… text you?”

She beamed. “Sounds good.”

When his footsteps faded, Marinette turned and wrenched open one of her desk drawers. “Hey, Tikki?”

“Yeah?” The kwami blinked up at her; she was swaddled in a handkerchief, and had clearly been napping when all the ruckus started, and she yawned as Marinette tried to form a question.

Marinette pointed towards the door that Adrien had just disappeared through. “That… just happened, right? Like, you heard that, and it was real?”

Tikki smiled. “Yes, Marinette.”

Marinette leaned back in her chair and sighed. “I think this is the best day of my life.”

Adrien messaged her two hours and seventeen minutes later. Not that either of them were keeping track.

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around... (Part 27b)

This is PART 27b of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-seven different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 27b is written by @cheshirecatstrut.

[Part 27a]

PART TWO--CONCLUSION

DICK

This new tunnel Rubes found, just to switch things up, is artificially lit, fluorescents attached at intervals along the walls. Plaques at every junction read, “NO FIREARMS, NO SMOKING, NO CELL PHONES, NO LAPTOPS, PLEASE WEAR PROTECTIVE GEAR.”  

“Something’s flammable down here.” Ruby pauses to consult the blueprint, points right. “Also secret.”

“Bunch of wine crates were stacked near the spot where you left Sean,” Dick says. “Old ones. I bet these catacombs were used for smuggling once. Toss a match on some two-hundred-years-buried booze, you’d have a big-ass underground bonfire, amirite?”

“Sure, but I don’t think that’s the reason for the signs.” Ruby taps one as they pass. “These mention modern tech, and someone’s keeping every light working.” She glances back at him. “Is it just me, or is your brain reverting to normal?”

“Haven’t smoked up in, like, half an hour,” Dick says. “And I’ve got what you’d call a high tolerance. There’s a roach in my pocket, still, but do you really want me to ignore the warnings?”

“Probably it’s best to hold off.” She stops at a metal door with a plaque that reads PROCESSING ROOM and tests the handle. “We’ll never save America from the Fuchsia Menace if we’re unexpectedly burned alive.”

Removing supplies from her purse, she goes through her straw-air-hammer routine again; the safety door swings open with a clang. Ruby’s eyes widen as she enters. Once Dick sidles through behind her, he totally concurs.

The big round space on the blueprints marks an enormous underground cavern, walled in rock machine-scraped smooth. Higher-tech coffins than the one in the barn fill most of the available floor space—they look like hyper-sleep pods from Alien, windows showing pink soup beneath. Gigantic steel tanks at the cave’s center sprout spiderish sprays of pipes, each attaching to one coffin. Dick wonders how any amount of revenge could be worth lying Matrix-style for DAYS.

“I KNEW IT!” he crows, prompting Ruby to shush him. His voice echoes. “Didn’t I call this scenario, last time we were theorizing? Seriously, I need to patent this weed-- it’s, like, miracle shit, Rub-a-roni.”

“Did you breed and grow the particular strain in your pocket? No? Then you can’t patent it, dummy. Now hush. Something just started beeping over there, and I need to figure out what and why.”

She crosses the room, picking her way carefully between coffins; for lack of anything better to do, Dick follows. When she stops at a screen of scrolling, random-seeming words he looks over her shoulder, shifting his murse back out of the way.

“Is that the names of the pink dudes?” He squints at one line that reads ‘Henson’, and another, “Soloway’. “And if so, what do you think ‘BEGIN DETACHMENT’ means? ‘Cause it seems like some of these coffins are doing it.”

Ruby gasps as, with a loud, clanking hiss, half the tubes uncouple from coffins and begin, slowly, to retract. The list pauses, flashes a ‘DETACHMENT COMPLETE’ message, and begins scrolling again with new names.

“Shit!” she murmurs, and looks up at him with terrified eyes. “Shit, shit, shit, Dick, I think all these zombies are about to wake up! We have to hide; if they find us in here, who KNOWS what they’ll do?”

Dick casts around for a likely nook, but it’s a fucking cave. Notices part of the wall to their left contains an inset desk, and shoves her that direction. “Under there!” he hisses, as several coffin lids creak open. “Quick, we’re out of time!”

“But we’re not hidden!” she whispers back, obliging just the same. He scrambles in after and pulls the rolling chair in front. “They can see us if they look!”

“That Pez guy turned into a moron,” Dick argues, feeling his pocket to make sure the joint’s still there, for after. “Just shut it--I bet you a grand they won’t notice.”

One by one, the coffins’ inhabitants rise, in a flurry of flailing pink limbs and high-pitched shrieks. Hulks of various shapes and sizes, all clad in white t-shirts and briefs, claw and stumble free as if coordination was a casualty of the process. They land on heads and sides, with zero instinct for self-preservation, then bicycle like upended cockroaches until they make it to their feet.

The room fills, rapidly, with milling, squealing pinkness; Ruby clutches Dick in a way that would be gratifying under less gross circumstances. Then, abruptly, a voice booms out across the room. The hulks turn, as one, towards a white movie screen slowly descending from the ceiling.

Sean Friedrich appears in ten-foot Technicolor, wearing a laurel-leaf crown and toga, lit in such a flattering and gilded style Dick’s positive he directed this segment. Raising his arms like that Italian dictator from Call of Duty: World War II, Sean shouts, “Welcome to the Pantheon, demigods!” Then giggles, the way he always does when he’s had a shitload too much coke.

The Hot Pink Funky Bunch cock their heads and screech like a bunch of brain-damaged birds. But at least they quit staggering around, and a few actually try to listen.

“You’ve been selected, after a VERY competitive search, and gifted with powers FAR beyond those of mortal men,” Sean intones, voice getting higher and rapider as if someone’s switched him to fast-forward. “Now it’s time to USE those powers for our common good. And to teach the assholes populating the rest of the world their PLACE!”

Lots of howling punctuates this statement, along with rudimentary words; a few fights break out between Hulks that stumble into each other. “Please form a line,” Sean continues, more prosaically, “and walk through the door beneath the flashing red light to get street clothes. We’ll gather in the auditorium for a speech. Then you’ll be bused to the location specified on your liability waivers, so you can FULFILL YOUR HEROIC DESTINIES!”

More chaos accompanies this statement--the screen retracts into the ceiling as ‘A Film by Sean Friedrich’ flashes across. Then a red safety light, accompanied by a klaxon, begins flashing over a door on the far wall. The Hulks gather to stare, attracted by the noise and color. When the door swings open, they file out, screaming and punching all the way.

In the quiet after the last of them leave, Dick exhales, then checks to make sure he didn’t pee himself again. Ruby peeks out from beneath the desk.

“Come on!” She turns to tug urgently at Dick. “We need to LEAVE, pronto, and call somebody! If those guys are set loose all over the city to wreak havoc, it could become a statewide emergency!”

He shushes her frantically as booted footsteps echo through the room—this guy moves like he’s got a purpose, and more importantly, is wearing shoes. She hears, presses in close, but her silence comes too late. The feet pause, the chair’s jerked aside, and the owner of two denim-clad legs says, “Come out right now, you idiots. Don’t make me shoot.”

Ruby emerges slowly, hands up. Dick follows, wishing for once she’d let him go first. Then sighs with relief when he sees who exactly it IS, holding the gun.

“What the hell?” he demands, shoving their discoverer back a step. “You scared the crap out of me! Don’t you realize this place is dangerous?” Then, as the gun barrel pointed at him doesn’t waver, adds, “Wait, wait, wait…you’re not…IN on the whole zombie thing with these douchebags, are you?”

VERONICA

V pushes aside a branch and peers past it into a clearing; at the center stands a tall, pink individual in rags and Hanes Big Boys, face pressed fervently against a piece of fabric. Birds have fallen silent as the woods reverberate with his moans.

“That’s definitely not Wallace,” Logan observes in her ear, barely a breath of sound. “He’s as tall as me, and his hair is spiky.”

“No,” Veronica muses, “but he seems familiar somehow. Like I met him once but can’t quite remember the name?”

“WHERE YOU GO RONKAAAAA?” the figure wails, turning its face in profile to the sky, and Mac says hesitantly, from behind them, “Listen I hate to be the one to point out the obvious, but…isn’t that Piz?”

“Oh shit!” Veronica says, and apparently the Hulk hears THAT. It turns abruptly, face lighting up in a ghoulish-pink too-many-teeth grin.

“RONKAAAAA!” it yells, staggering towards her on twisted, bleeding feet. Extends the piece of fabric and adds, “RONKA YOU MEET MY MOTHERRRRR!”

“Is he holding a woman’s jacket?” Veronica takes an involuntary step back, hand on Logan’s arm. “Why does he have…and what’s the milky smear, that CAN’T be…EW!”

“Maybe he thought it was yours?” Mac suggests, sotto voce, and Veronica shoots her a scandalized look. “So what are our options? We can’t hurt the guy, it’s Stosh Piznarski! You used to do his laundry.”

“As if.” Veronica shifts to evade when Piz lumbers closer. “And he’d better not be hoping I’m willing to wash THAT.”

The creature stops, head cocking, to study Logan, who’s standing very quiet and still, rhythmically flexing his hand. Eyes going wide with belated-recognition rage—confused, possibly, by the donkey shirt—he screams, “LOGAN I KICK ASS YOUUUU!” at the top of his lungs. Then charges.

Pink Piz is fast, far faster than he was as a person; V flinches in reaction, expecting him to take Logan down. But her boyfriend somehow manages a spectacular leap, vaulting over the zombie’s shoulder like an Olympic gold medalist. He lands, crouched and sneering, at the clearing’s center and beckons.

“What was THAT?” Mac demands as Piz shrieks and lowers his head. He does another flailing run, reminding Veronica why she stopped going with him to dance clubs. Logan stands braced until he’s a foot distant—then unexpectedly runs top speed out of the woods. Bellowing, Piz follows.

“Ugh, he’s protecting us by leading that thing away!” Veronica growls, giving chase. Raises her voice to add, “I’m the one with the gun here, dipwad! Will you EVER quit acting suicidally heroic?”

“You can’t shoot, though,” Mac chides, stumbling along behind her. “Because you’d be offing your ex. Remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Veronica shoves branches aside, emerging onto the lawn. “But I’m not letting him murder Logan based on an excess of sentiment, either.”

“Clearly,” Mac says, dry. Moves up beside her as Piz chases Logan in circles like a frustrated pink Elmer Fudd. He makes an actually-successful grab, ripping a flap loose from the donkey shirt, and Logan uses the moment of confusion to punch him in the face.

With a roar, Piz lunges and catches him, lifting him high into the air; pink lips peel back from giant pink teeth as excited zombie squeals fill the air. Veronica cocks the golden pistol and aims, falling into a two-handed stance.

Then a cop car barrels up over the hill, emergency lights flashing, horn honking, and makes straight for the unequal combatants.

Piz tosses Logan aside like he used to toss aside used towels, even when the laundry basket was right there. Screams at the approaching vehicle, “LOGAN GO TO JAIL NOT MEEEEE!” then takes off at a shambling run for the woods. He shouts, “I COME BACK RONKAA!” as he goes.

The car skids and squeals to a halt. V rushes across the yard, uncocking the gun as she goes. “Are you okay?” she asks, landing on her knees beside Logan, visually inspecting him for injuries. “Did he hurt you?”

Logan manages to sit up, flushed and sweaty, shakes his head like words are a bridge too far. Grabs the flap that used to be his shirt sleeve, and uses it to wipe his face. “Just chill for a minute,” V says, brushing back his hair. “We should head up to the house and get you some water.”

The cruiser’s driver door opens, and Veronica does a double-take as Weevil climbs out, definitely the worse for wear. “Forget Echolls, he’s just winded,” Weevil calls, voice muted by distance. “Fennel here is in way worse shape. I hope you’ve got the antidote ON you.”

“Oh thank God,” Veronica says, as Logan fumbles in his pocket for the vial of green liquid. “We came back and everyone had disappeared. We thought something terrible happened.”

“Your yuppie ex rampaged all over the house chasing Casablancas in a wig.” Weevil beckons her impatiently closer and opens the rear door. “We escaped through the catacombs, then I TRIED to drive this guy to the CDC.”

“The WHAT-acombs?” Veronica kneels on the floorboard beside Wallace, laying a palm along his forehead. He’s bright pink and thrashing, burning up with fever; a slow dribble of foam leaks from his mouth. Quickly she uncorks the vial. “Jesus, hold that thought. How much of this should I give him?”

Mac moves up behind her, carrying the slip of paper with the formulas. “Whoever wrote this could stand to work on penmanship,” she says. “But it looks to me like the dosage is one drop.”

“Okay, buddy, keep it together just a little bit longer.” Very carefully, Veronica tilts the vial over Wallace’s slack mouth. A single, emerald-green drop slips between his lips, and the effect is immediate. Wallace’s whole body stiffens and jerks, arms thrashing, nearly spilling the antidote before Veronica can re-cork. His jaw opens wide like he’s gasping for air, his lashes snap up, and the pink flush staining his body begins slowly to turn…green?

He stares at Veronica upside down for a moment, face frozen in rictus; then all his muscles relax and he manages a smile. “Just in time,” he says, faintly. “I can always count on you to milk situations for every ounce of drama.”

WEEVIL

Sparing a glance for Echolls, who doesn’t look so hot after fleeing Pinkzilla, Weevil runs his palms over his shaved head, breathing out stress. His hopeful musings about this weird-ass night maybe being over are interrupted by Veronica’s friend Cindy, who sidles up beside him.

“Not to pry,” she says, prying, “but how on Earth did you show up in the nick of time with Wallace, driving a police car?”

Oh right, Weevil thinks. Keith. So much for even half an hour of sleep in his own bed. And he can’t call Hector to open the shop, because there’s no freaking cell service.

As if on cue, his phone rings. Mac lifts a brow as he removes it from his pocket and reads ‘unknown’ on the caller ID. “It’s Clayton’s vehicle,” he tells her, pressing ‘accept’. “I dropped him at the Pro Med on the way through town--I’ll explain in a minute.”

“MAN, the mobile reception here is weird.” Cindy shakes her head, looking as disgusted as Weevil feels. Across the line a male voice calls, “Hello?”

“Navarro,” Weevil says, curt, and the guy says, “Oh, thank God. I was beginning to think I’d never reach anyone but Casablancas. And no offense, but that guy sounded WAY too high to help much.”

“If you think I’ll be offended by someone ragging on Casablancas, you don’t know me very well.” Weevil walks away from the ongoing tearful reunion so he can hear better. “Who is this, and how’d you get my number?”

“It’s Leo D’Amato.” The voice pauses to cough. “I’m looking for Veronica Mars, you seen her?”

“Yeah, she’s here.” Weevil relaxes—he knows this cop’s a friend of V’s. “But now’s not a good time. She just gave the antidote to her pink friend, and it’s having some weird-ass side effects.”

“The ANTIDOTE? She FOUND it? Navarro, that needs to get to the CDC, like yesterday! At last count thirteen pink individuals have been captured all over the city, after wreaking havoc to confuse the news crews. If we don’t provide a remedy soon, those men are going to die.”

“Yeah, that was never gonna happen before Fennel got a dose.” Weevil smirks. “Guy’s eyeballs were pink, and you know V takes care of her people first.”

“Fine, whatever. Just make sure she saves some for testing; the government scientists can reverse-engineer it. Look, here’s the main reason I called—you guys aren’t anywhere near the Van Vliet winery, right?”

“We’re standing in the middle of it,” Weevil says. “Strange shit’s been going down here all day. Piznarski’s running around hot pink in his underwear. And your dirty detective pal has you would not BELIEVE how complicated a plot going with Liam Fitpatrick, this drug dealer I know, and my high school English teacher.”

“Explain all that to me later,” Leo says. “When I’m not hopped up on morphine and can figure out what you mean. Right now I need to warn you--this plot you’re talking about goes way beyond drug dealing with a side of rosacea. Military officers keep turning up to grill me about secret armies and political rebellions, and one of them made a crack about going in hot. Which means someone’s thinking of dropping a bomb. On YOU. SOON.”

“Shit,” Weevil says, takes a step back like that will somehow protect him. Then promptly falls down a hole.

He lands on sand after a ten-foot drop, winded but mostly unhurt, gazing up at the night sky through a small, square opening. His phone, not so lucky, hits a rock, and shatters into a hundred sharp fragments.

“Mackenzie!” Weevil calls--pauses to cough, tries again. Hopes fervently he’s not catching a cold on top of everything else. “Echolls! Get over here, I found something!”

Silence for a minute, while he sits up with a groan. Then Echolls’ smug face appears in the rectangle of sky. “Looks like…you found a hole, man.”

Weevil extends a middle finger, pushing up to standing; Echolls slaps a previously-unnoticed ladder bolted to the rock. “Trap door,” he says, unnecessarily. “Can you climb?”

“Yeah, give me a minute.” Weevil spreads palms on knees and bends over, trying to get air back into his lungs. A stray moonbeam flashes across metal, making it shimmer, and he kneels to pick the shiny object up. It’s a tie clip, shaped like a pair of handcuffs.

“You recognize this?” He passes the clip to Echolls, then slowly, painfully, returns to the yard. “Looks familiar, but I’m not sure from where.”

“Yeah, Keith.” Echolls sits to study the thing, rubbing a thumb along the crease between his eyes. He glances apprehensively at Veronica, still by the car cooing over Fennel. “It’s…Mr. Mars. Was wearing it tonight.” Spreading a palm over his face, he shakes his head, as if trying to clear it.

Mackenzie approaches to touch Echolls’ shoulder. “You OK?” she asks, concerned. “Did Piz clobber you?” She inspects his scalp for lumps, then extends a hand, palm out. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Mac, I’m just tired,” Echolls says. Weevil sighs, because he’s the one who fell down a fucking hole.

But he’s not a whiny two-year-old, so, “Mars!” he calls, instead of complaining. Her head bobs up over the cop car, like a prairie dog on some nature show. “We got a situation!”

Veronica helps Wallace gently out and offers a shoulder. The guy admittedly seems better, coherent and moving on his own, despite rocking the Jolly Green Not-So-Giant look. “What’s wrong?” she asks, with a concerned frown at Logan, when she gets close enough to talk.

In answer, Echolls holds up the tie tack; V sets Fennel on the grass to examine it. “This is Dad’s.” She looks between them for confirmation. “He was wearing it earlier. Where did you find this?”

Weevil points to the hole, and Veronica lies beside it, peering down. “Do you hear CHANTING?” she calls, girly voice audible despite the wind. The rest of them move closer, and yeah.

“So I guess we follow the creepy underground cult sounds?” Weevil asks, resigned. Veronica gives him the you-get-a-gold-star smile he learned to dread in eleventh grade. “Can Fennel even hike?”

“Somebody should take him to a hospital,” Veronica decides. “Mac, you game? You’re most able to explain his symptoms from a scientific perspective, and I’m sure the CDC doctors will have questions.”

“Of course.” Cindy holds out her hand for the car keys, which Weevil slaps into her palm. “You want me to surrender the antidote formula?”

“Yes,” Veronica says. “But first…” she takes the slip back, pulls out her phone, and quickly photographs both sides. “Insurance,” she says with a grin, returning it. “In case they have trouble distributing medicine to anyone in need. Oh, and after Wallace is squared away, call Bob Dillen at the San Diego PD and tell him everything. He’ll make sure nothing important gets swept under the rug.”

Veronica and her friend hug goodbye; Echolls sits on the ground staring at the tie tack while Weevil helps Fennel back to the car. Seems like V’s BFF is fading, exhausted by his ordeal--but he still grabs Weevil’s arm as soon as he’s buckled in.

“Thanks, man,” Fennel says, flashing a tired green smile. “For working so hard to save me, I really owe you one. And thanks for sticking around to look after these characters, too.”

“No problem, man, just get better.” Weevil pats the hood. “And less like a glow-stick at some rich kid’s party, this right here is not a good look for you.”

“Beats being dead,” Wallace says, and Weevil smiles and shuts the door. Veronica waves as Cindy drives away.

They descend into the tunnel, Weevil first (of course), Echolls shambling along ten feet back; Weevil wonders, watching him, if another trip to Pro Med’s in the cards. V has a hard time with the ladder, her hand doesn’t want to grip. She keeps flexing her fingers and frowning as they traverse the sandy dimness.

“You all right?” Weevil asks. V glances up at him with a faint smile.

“I landed weird when I fell this afternoon. My whole arm was numb for a while, then seemed better—maybe adrenaline masked the pain.” She waves off personal injury, activating the flashlight on her phone. “Doesn’t matter. Breitski’s got Dad’s down here somewhere--job one is to find him.”

“Dick’s on the premises, too,” Echolls contributes from behind. “And my stalker, whatshername, Jetson, and…Piz.”

“Oh yeah,” Veronica says, unenthusiastically. “Those guys. Sure, we can save them as well, if the opportunity presents.”

“Whatever we’re planning, we need to do it soon.” Weevil frowns as the chanting grows louder. “D’Amato called right before I smashed my phone, said the military’s gonna drop bombs.”

“Great.” Echolls emits a choked half-laugh. “Shock and awe. My karma.”

“Man, what did Piznarski DO to you?” Weevil demands, turning back to watch the guy stagger. “Usually your conversation’s all five-dollar words, and you won’t ever fucking shut up.”

“I’m fine,” Echolls says, stubbornly, and manages a reassuring smile. “Gotta find Dad, can’t…get lit up. Then X-rays.”

Veronica frowns, laying a palm against his cheek; but takes him at his word, because they’re both drama queens with hard-ons for saving humanity. Weevil shakes his head, checks his watch, and points at the door through which chanting filters.

He tries the handle--it’s unlocked, so he cracks it and peeks through. Echolls and V line up above and below so they can see, and softly, Veronica gasps.

Inside a big-ass cave, done up like a Broadway theater, a hundred pink idiots mill, dressed in street clothes, bumping each other and yelling. A video screen on the wall is playing loops--a pink Nice Guy shoves a leather-clad douche off a pretty girl, who then melts into Pinkie’s arms.

That senator’s son who framed Echolls for murder lounges in a throne center-stage, surrounded on three sides by soldiers-for-hire. He’s desultorily leading the Pinks in a chant of, “What do we want? Revenge! When do we want it? Now!” between sips of Topo Chico.

And handcuffed to a bench, stage left, are Dick, Ruby and a groggy-looking Keith Mars.

DICK

Richard Casablancas, Esquire is way glad, at this point, he’s high as fuck. Because watching LUKE, of all people, turn out to be the brains behind a zombie superhero rebellion is…really pretty hilarious, when he thinks about it.

To Dick’s left, Keith Mars is finally starting to rise and shine. Which takes a load off, because Ron Ron would ruin anyone who let the guy die. “Wha…?” the slightly-less-tiny detective manages, trying to make it upright. “Where?”

“Take it easy, man.” Dick uses his shoulder to lever Daddy Mars upright. “I think Breitski whomped you good. You’ve got a knot on your temple the size of an egg.”

“Where am I?” Keith asks, sinking against the wall for support. “And what on Earth is…all this?”

“You’re in the catacombs,” Ruby buts in, on top of the sitch as usual. “Under the Van Vliet winery. I’m Ruby Jetson, by the way, Mr. Mars. You’ve probably heard of me?”

Keith frowns, clearly at a loss, and Dick explains, “Dude, she’s on our side, no worries. And as for ‘all this’…looks like a motivational meeting to rouse the idiot brigade?”

Luke abandons the chant, because none of the zombies are listening, and beckons one of the mercs. “They’re as riled up as they’re getting,” he says, draining his Topo Chico. Snaps for someone to fetch him another. “Get ‘em on a bus, drop ‘em off all over the city, let them wreck as much infrastructure as possible. And try to monitor their…activities during the trip. Last time we had to hose the seats down.”

The guy salutes, activates another flashing-light-klaxon, and rounds up a couple buddies to herd out the Hulks. The dumbasses moan, punch and protest—one tries to grab and hump the girl in the video—but the soldiers have cattle prods to keep them in line.

“Your evil plan will never work!” Ruby calls out, movie-bravely, and Luke spares her a bored look.

“Are you talking about them?” He accepts a fresh sparkling water and gestures with it at the Pink Horde. “What do you take me for? They couldn’t execute a plan if you drew it out in crayon. They’re just meant to tie up police resources--and confuse the public--while our REAL operation goes down.”

“Which is what?” Keith asks, seemingly calm. But Dick, who’s been interrogated by the guy more than once during Keith’s Sheriff days and Dick’s vandalism ones, recognizes his sneaky cop face. “World domination? Why is it always world domination with you guys?”

“Not the WORLD,” Luke says, impatient. “Just the nice part of California, from Neptune to Malibu. Our non-pink militia is poised to take over, during the chaos caused by those morons.”

“But dude,” Dick protests. “Why work so hard? You’re already rich as fuck, your dad’s a politician—you framed Logan for murder, plus threw Susan off a boat, and all you got was PROBATION.”

“Duh,” Luke says. “Would YOU want to report to some mouth-breather every week for a year? I’m sick of being told what to do! First my dad forbids me to come out, then that douchecanoe Cobb makes me pretend to be his friend, and THEN the cops get all up in my face, sending me to rehab for six MONTHS. All because stupid Carrie Bishop had to sing about my every tiny mistake, for catharsis or whatever.”

“Hey!” Ruby yells, struggling to get loose like she’s overcome with fury. “Carrie was a goddess! You take that back!”

“Whatever, wannabe.” Luke favors her with a dismissive look. “Anyway, a lot of us missed the old days when Van Lowe and the Lambs were Sheriffs, and we did what we wanted, and no one cared. So we figured, the whole country’s expecting Calexit anyway--why not oblige? Create our own little utopian kingdom, where nobody can tell us no. Sean, admittedly, got carried away with his Gods Among Men delusions of grandeur; but you know how cokeheads freak when their artistic travesties fail. Have you seen Sean around this evening, by the way? He’s been missing since last night, and he was supposed to run this meeting so I wouldn’t have to. He lives for the Dr. Wayne Dyer shit.”

“Yeah, he’s at the bottom of your service-road Pungi pit with a broken leg,” Dick says. “And some dead body named Andy to keep him company. Ruby gave him Kleenex, though, to wipe away his tears.”

Ruby snickers beside him; Dick smiles, ‘cause it feels good to make her laugh.

“Damn it!” Luke throws up his hands. “WHY is good help so hard to find?”

A yelling uproar begins as Veronica, Logan and Weevil burst in from the hallway--Dick grins, because about fucking time. “Ronniekins!” he calls, even though he knows she can’t hear. “You came to save me!”

“Veronica Mars,” Luke says with disgust, draining his Topo Chico and tossing it aside. “Always showing up to kill my buzz. Go take care of them for me, will you boys? We’re on a tight schedule of California-conquering, we don’t need Miss Nosy butting in.”

The mercs file down to fight, only Wei remaining behind, presumably as Luke’s bodyguard. Logan and Weevil, neither of whom frankly looks so hot, go back to back and raise fists; Veronica, who seems fine despite that memory-loss business, comes running towards the stage. She’s waving a gun…and granted, Dick’s still kinda high, but they can’t make pistols out of solid gold, can they?

“Get away from my father, Luke!” she yells, aiming; that little Ronnie face Dick privately considers chipmunk-ish is screwed up into a scowl. Wei doesn’t bother to take her weapon—probably he knows as well as everyone Veronica won’t shoot. Luke, safely shielded, stifles a snicker.

“Come on, guys, Star Wars reference!” He points at Veronica, then himself. “God, you’re a bunch of buzzkills. It’s like you’re not even grateful I’m changing the world for your BENEFIT!”

“Maybe Dick would rather live in the REAL world…with people who are actually his friends,” Ruby says defiantly, and laughter distracts Wei and Luke long enough for Veronica to toss Dick a handcuff key. He can’t catch it, because, well, handcuffs; but he puts his foot over it on the floor and winks.

“Friends like you?” Luke asks. “Or Veronica? Whatever, Veronica Mars CONSTANTLY oppresses Dick and me both. And it’s not like she doesn’t want the status that comes with being elite. I mean, she hitched her wagon to Logan fucking Echolls. That guy used to be our KING.”

Everybody turns for a minute to look at Logan, who’s mid-room fighting like a BOSS, throwing super-mercs around as if they’re Cabbage Patch dolls. Ruby fans herself, muttering, “HUBBA, HUBBA!” Veronica gets so distracted LUKE kicks her gun out of her hand.

Keith falls on the floor during the chaos, faking unconsciousness, but secretly whacking Dick in the ankle to attract his attention. Obligingly, Dick moves his foot. Keith grabs the key, and gets to work on his handcuffs.

“If I wasn’t so appalled, I’d be impressed,” Veronica bluffs, glaring at Luke and gauging the distance to the fallen gun. “Who knew you had a scheme like this in you?”

Breitski picks up Keith and sets him back on the bench; studies the fight mid-room, frowning, as he tosses the gun backstage, then reluctantly wades into the fray. Luke says, “Hey, I’m just tired of being kept down by the Man. If people would let me do what I want with no CONSEQUENCES, I would never have had to get nasty.”

Handcuffs undone, Keith covertly passes the key to Ruby, and chimes in to distract their captors’ attention. “I think you might want to brush up on your Bill of Rights, Haldemann,” he says. “You seem to be laboring under some misconceptions.”

“Yeah, well soon I’m not going to be laboring at ALL.” Luke cracks up over his own joke, then dives for the gun a half-second after Veronica does. They begin tussling on the floor for possession; Keith wades in to help, and Ruby gets herself free, then uses the key to unlock Dick.

Dick grabs his sort-of girl, plants one on her, says, “My hero!” while she blushes and shoves him (but not like she means it). Then he yells, “DUDE, I’M COMING!” and takes a running leap, stage-diving into the fray.

The fight’s down to six mercs versus the Three Amigos; Navarro’s getting the shit beat out of him, which Dick finds weird. It’s not like these guys are especially tough. Dick’s grabbing and throwing them like it’s a Matrix video game, and Logan’s a freaking machine. Super-soldier shmuper-soldier, he thinks, kicking one jackoff sideways across the room. They’re no match for the Wonder Pot. Dick just needs to figure out how to grow the stuff from scratch, then he’s gonna make millions.

“Dude, military training is seriously underrated!” he shouts at Logan, who grunts in response. His pal knocks two bad guys together just as Navarro goes flying, landing against the stage with a thud. Dick blocks a hammer punch by stupid Breitski, kicks the douchebag in the nards, and says, “Yeah, that hurts, doesn’t it?” when the guy stays down for a minute, writhing.

He forgets what he’s doing for a second—apparently he IS still baked--then cackles and punches some asshole in the neck. Navarro shakes it off and forges back into the fray. “It’s like this is all going in slow motion!” Dick yells with glee, spinning in a circle and striking a karate pose. “Super Weed is so cool! I know kung fu!”

“Man, how much dope did you SMOKE?” Navarro asks, barely dodging a blow that would have broken his nose for sure. “And why do you smell like piss?”

“Long story.” Dick waves it off. Then gapes as Logan grabs one of the two mercs still standing, swings him around over his head by one arm, and throws him all the way across the fucking room. “Holy shit, dude, someone ate his Wheaties this morning! Did you SEE that, Weevs? Even all sunburned and exhausted and shit, he is kicking ASS!”

“He’s sunburned?” Navarro demands, grabbing up an empty shoe and slamming it into Breitski’s face. “You’re practically scalded, even your eyes are fucking….oh SHIT! Shit, Casablancas, man, did you and Echolls touch the pink goo?”

Dick thinks back as he grabs Breiski and throws him onto the stage, where he slides halfway under the big, red curtain. “Well, Rubster said not to, while they were giving Wallace a bath. And Piz just chased me around and tried to hand me flowers…oh crap! Logan and I carried Wallace inside the house, after I kinda-sorta ran him over, and we didn’t wash off! We’re fucking PINKIFYING!”

Logan lets out a roar, snarling as he waits for the next threat to come at him. Dick glances around, observes that all the nearby mercs look unconscious, and pulls the half-smoked joint out of his pocket. “Don’t worry, dude, I’ve got this. I just need to spark up and blow some in Logan’s face. This pot must work, like, synergistically with the pink to make people extra-smart; because every time I’ve gotten high all afternoon, I turn into, like, this super-efficient genius.”

Weevil manages a skeptical look with his swollen face; but Dick, undeterred, sticks to his plan. Logan tries to attack him when he ventures close—man the guy really does look as grapefruit-colored as Piz—but Dick just says, “No, dude, trust me.” Then grabs his arm, and blows the biggest drag he can right up Logan’s nostrils.

“Help!” Veronica yells from the stage, and Weevil goes sprinting off her direction--but Dick’s got his hands full, so he doesn’t bother to look. He feeds Logan another hit, which brings enough of his friend’s mind back to bat weakly at the smoke and go, “No, Navy….trouble…BREITSKI!”

Then he shoves Dick down and aims a punch over his head, right into that pain-in-the-ass rogue cop’s face.

Rolling his eyes at Wei’s deck shoes with no socks, Dick trips the guy and stands to feed the last hit to his friend, because that’s the kind of sharing bros do. Logan coughs, says, “I can’t believe this is helping,” then kicks Breitski for good measure. “You need to resign yourself…jail,” he adds, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s two against one, and we’re all on the same drugs.”

“Ah, but I believe in the righteousness of my cause.” Wei grabs Logan’s foot and tries to yank him down—but Logan does some jump-over-the-leg martial-arts thing and plants a foot in the guy’s head because he’s just. that. awesome.

“Impressive,” Breitski admits, shaking off the blow. “I could use fighters like you two. And frankly, I’ve never understood why you’d both thwart us rather than join us. Aren’t you as sick of lawyer fees and taxes as I am? Superior officers threatening to court-martial, parents causing trouble even from jail, and never enough time to REALLY surf?”

He backs off and begins to circle, somehow under the impression they have time to listen to words. “Help us establish our kingdom, and all that’s behind you. The wannabe’s dumb enough to sign up for Pink Formula take the fall. And you know the serving class will fall in line, because things won’t be so different, really, from the way they are now. You could be kings again, just like you were in high school. You’ll never face another murder charge as long as you live.”

“Wow.” Logan tilts his head to loosen his neck, bones cracking. The smirk on his face clues Dick in that whatever comes next will be sweet. “Ten years ago, right after Veronica left, that line might have held faint appeal. But I’ve cleaned up my act, since, and learned something your desperate-to-be-Bodie-Chang ass won’t—rules and social accountability are GOOD.”

“Whoo, political arguments from the Log-meister! The Wonder Pot is wor-KANG!” Dick claps as Logan lays his right hook on Brietski, a really epic one, like a sledgehammer. The guy goes flying backwards and lands on his knees, flush to the edge of the stage. Rushing forwards, grinning (because no matter how spit-shined he gets, Logan’s always gonna love a good fight) he cocks a fist to annihilate. But before he can, Veronica appears from behind the curtain, and administers a whack to the poor bastard’s head with the butt of her golden gun.

Breitski goes down with a smear of gold to his temple, eyes rolling back. “And that,” she tells his unconscious form, with satisfaction, “is what you get when you mess with the bull. Or the bull’s impressively ethical boyfriend, as the case may be.”

“Ronniekins!” Dick crows, as Logan leaps onto the stage to lift and embrace her. “Is that gun, like, made of titanium? Because nobody’s disputing you have balls, babes, but this asshole’s super-soldier strong.”

Veronica holds out a palm, which is bright pink; pushes up her sleeve to reveal creepy-ass pink tendrils stretching up her arm. “I held hands with Logan,” she says, favoring her biggest admirer with a worried glance. “So temporarily, I am, too.”

Dick glances up at the stage, where Haldemann lies hogtied with the curtain rope, under the watch of Keith Mars and his handgun. Navarro slumps, panting, on the bench. Around the room, a sea of out-of-it super mercs lie groaning, but…Dick frowns. “Where’s Rubes?” he asks, patting his pocket and wishing he had just one more joint. “I ran off to help fight, and when I looked up, she was gone.”

Veronica ignores him, naturally, busy administering antidote to Logan and herself. Just as Dick’s about to remind her he could use that shit too, the door at the far end of the room slams open. A Special Forces squad storms in, late as usual because fucking military red tape.

Dick knows the drill so he just lies on his face with his hands behind his head. Wonders if his lawyer’s even awake yet.

A small boot nudges him, after a moment. A voice from above says, “You can get up now. We’re only arresting the actual criminals.”

He rolls over, and there, looming, is Ruby, decked out in a flak vest and helmet over the Lara Croft gear, carrying a freaking automatic. She extends a hand to help; he stands and gestures up and down at her outfit. “What’s this all about? Where did you GO?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” she says, with a faint smirk, and he actually can’t tell if she’s kidding. She pats his chest. “But let me remind you, I DID hint from the start I had a part to play.”

Going up on tiptoe, she kisses Dick’s cheek, then wanders off to confer with what looks like the squad’s leader. She looks scarily at home holding a gun. Dick files the moment away for the spank bank, since it’s clear, now, she’s too badass to date him.

Logan moves up beside him, sweaty and starting to show bruises—though it’s pretty hard to tell how big they are, since the poor bastard’s currently bright green. “Was that Ruby JETSON?” he asks, running a hand through his short Navy hair. “I thought her leg was broken!”

Dick shrugs and mutters, “Women.” He figures that pretty much says it all.

VERONICA

A half hour of general chaos follows, during which super-soldiers are cuffed and hauled to quarantine, and Luke is led away in chains; her friends are herded up to the surface for individual debriefs, while the catacombs are quartered and searched. Veronica answers a tired commando’s questions to the best of her ability. Watches Logan joke, out of the corner of her eye, with a couple of armored guys who seem to know him.

When her story’s told she searches the crowd for Weevil, last spotted in an ambulance receiving first aid; she still has no clue what he was doing here, and curiosity’s her besetting sin. The ambulance hasn’t moved—Sean Friedrich, attached to a stretcher, is being loaded into it--but Weevil’s long gone. Probably he headed back to Neptune, away from all the authority figures with guns. V decides to stop by his shop on Monday. She needs help with a few more cases, and he’ll be easier to grill if she gets him alone.

Veronica DOES find Dick, sprawled morosely on the lawn with his back to a tree, a woman’s purse and grocery bag beside him. He’s still lobster-pink, in startling contrast to his yellow hair. Glancing around covertly to make sure they’re unobserved, she hisses to attract his attention, and administers a drop of antidote.

“Aw, I KNEW you cared.” Dick tilts his head back, letting the violent trembling that seems to be a side effect overtake him. Watches, amused, as she re-pockets the still-half-full vial. “Not planning to give that up to the brass?”

“Do YOU trust our government to use powerful drugs for the good of humanity?” She sits beside him. “I told them we drank it all. Besides, they’ve got the formula, if they really want to save people. If not—if some kind of cover-up takes place—I want as much proof as possible squirreled away, so I can create a counter-narrative.”

“You’ll need this, then.” Dick hands over the woman’s bag; Veronica frowns, because it looks just like hers from college. “It’s Ruby’s,” Dick explains, maybe reading her expression. “She disappeared and left it behind. Her cell’s dead, but there’s a video in ‘photos’ of Lydia, Sean and Jeff confessing to crimes.”

“Nice!” Veronica fishes out the heavily-bedazzled phone and pockets it. “Way to be a player on the noble team for a change.”

The commandos begin loading up their transports; the guy in charge approaches, followed by Logan leading Dad (who’s got a bandage around his head, but looks a lot more chipper). “Ms. Mars, Mr. Casablancas,” the officer greets them, admirably avoiding comment on their general greenness. “Is your vehicle on the lawn over there operational?”

Dick shrugs and looks to Veronica, who nods. Logan says, “I’ve got the keys, I’ll check,” and crosses to the SUV. A moment later, the engine revs, and he returns with a thumbs-up.

“Excellent,” Guy in Charge says. “What we need you to do is remove it from the premises immediately. Unofficially, this place will look like the surface of the moon in about half an hour, and we don’t want any debris found that point to your presence. As for the serum you absorbed through the skin--medic says you all seem healthy. But we’d like you to avoid contact with civilians for the night, just in case. If you report to the base in Coronado you’ll be given temporary rooms, and a full repeat eval in the morning. Maybe the docs can help with the…staining issue.” He glances over at Logan, just barely represses a snicker, and adds, “Good thing Echolls already has a girlfriend.”

Logan offers him a bland, yet still somehow sarcastic, return smile, and the guy grins. Shouts, “Move your asses, we’re Oscar Mike!” and climbs into the nearest vehicle. The military convoy moves slowly down the service road…accompanied, faintly, by the sound of some jackass singing “It Ain’t Easy Being Green.”

“Hoo-kay.” Logan dusts his hands together in a good-riddance gesture. “Anybody want to enjoy a re-enactment of my basic training days, insufficient-sleep version? Sounds like they have some uncomfortable cots and scratchy blankets with our names on them, waiting.”

“I’m doing concussion watch, so I’ll be in the sick bay,” Dad says, with a wry smile. “But I’d love a chance to lie down. It’s not every day an old guy like me helps his daughter wrestle evil masterminds.”

“Need a hand climbing up?” Logan asks. Dad waves him off and gets in alone. Logan takes the opportunity to grab Veronica and kiss her senseless, the sweet-but-promising-scorching variety that always gets her going. She sighs, happily, twining her arms around his neck…surprisingly unfazed that he DOES look vaguely Kermit-y.

Dick snorts disdain. Removes a blonde wig from the bag, which he slaps on his head, muttering, “Oh, Logan, do me, you’re so MANLY!” Reaches back in to locate an old wine bottle, which he uncorks and toasts them with in one economical motion. Lifts it to his mouth, sniffs…then tosses it away, repulsed.

“Pink goo,” he explains, examining his hand to make sure nothing got on him. “Maybe some of that super-old wine zombie-formula-ified when it spoiled? Lydia could have figured out her crackpot idea from there.”

Logan laughs, bends his head for another kiss. Which is when Piz comes rushing out of the woods, screaming, “RONKAAAAAA!” and tackles Dick sideways.

Veronica digs for her taser, before remembering she gave it to Mac; Keith calls, “What’s happening?” from the passenger seat, and attempts to get down. Logan runs straight towards the altercation (of course), but trips on a tree root. Piz begins humping a startled Dick with a fervency that’s truly disturbing.

“Dude, get OFF,” Dick shouts, an unfortunate choice of words, and fumbles for the purse beside him. Manages to remove a can of air before any of the rest of them can find a weapon, and sprays it directly into Piz’s eyes.

Captain Pinkness shrieks and scuttles back, and Dick follows, whacking him with a hammer. “Give it up, man!” he yells, striking Piz’s shoulder with a meaty crunch. “Veronica is NEVER going to date a guy who acts so needy!”

“YOU NOT LOVE LOGAN LIKE YOU LOVE MEEEE!” Piz screeches in response, deterred from romance by the viciously swinging hammer. He stares, panting, for a moment, angry longing of a thousand thwarted Nice Guys in his eyes; then turns and runs, past the barn and off into the distance, almost too fast to track.

He’s just reached the line of foliage near the cell tower when the first bomb hits. Both the fake tree and NPR’s Greatest Millennial Hope are abruptly reduced to a plume of white ash.

Veronica winces. Logan shouts, “We need to MOVE!” grabs her hand, and races for the car, Dick on their heels. They pile in. Executing the kind of tidy three-sixty only a jet pilot could, Logan guns it down the service road at top speed, the approaching apocalypse literally at their heels.

Bombs are going off in the rearview by the time they make it onto the highway--Veronica winces as incandescent flashes and sonic booms wipe the Van Vliet Experiment from existence. Sighs, as they gain distance and the noise fades, slumping back into her seat.

“Hey guys?” she asks, not opening her eyes. “Thanks for riding to the rescue when I didn’t make it home.”

“Protecting Veronica Mars is job one,” Logan says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “If you went and made it easy on us, life would be no fun.”

“Well in that case…” she says. “I won’t bother fake-promising never to do it again.”

“You gotta be you.” Dick elbows her from his position sprawled against the window. “Come on, let’s get to that base, see what they can do about this whole turning-green problem. Maybe Rubester will show up dressed like a naughty nurse and administer the treatment.”

“Ew,” Veronica says, but not with any heat. She stretches her legs out, crossing them at the ankle. Drifts off as they speed down the road, the receding sound of explosions like a lullaby.

THE END

This concludes our VMHQ Round Robin / Campfire Tale story. We hope you all enjoyed this collaborative fic as much as we did. Many thanks to all the wonderful writers who participated, and all the wonderful readers who commented and reblogged the story posts. 

Next up at VMHQ is our Holiday Fic Grab Bag challenge, which will post on Christmas Eve! Submit your prompts to our Ask Box now, and maybe your favorite writer will be inspired!