#this intel one has been destroyed by heat :]

[msftzune]

if i get a laptop again i'll probably get an arm one

[221bshrlocked]

i remember...

Pairings: Captain Rex x afab! Jedi Reader

Words: 8579

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. Mutual Pining. Some mention of blood loss but it’s not graphic. Love Confessions due to anesthesia-like fluids. I make up some random stuff about bacta so just ignore that bit please. Sad Rex. Heated Make-Out Session. Oral (female receiving). Squirting. Oversensitivity. Biting. Slight Dirty Talk. Penetrative, Unprotected Sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong my dudes). Breeding Kink. Creampie. Rex being a gentleman after sex. 

Summary: “You’re s-safe, thank the Force.” His hold on you tightens when you hiss in pain, but you never once turn away from him, wanting to commit every moment to memory. If you survive this, you are sure you will never come this close to him again. But if you die, oh, if you die, then you would have spent your last seconds showing him how much he means to you. 

A/N: This is for @imarvelatthestars​ who is also taking part in the @cloneficgiftexchange​. I hope you enjoy this and I can’t wait for you to read the two other fics as well. Also, hi it’s nice to meet you :) This was originally going to be just fluff but my hands slipped and they went all the way so I hope you don’t mind. P.S. This is the first time I write for our dear Captain so I hope I got his character down correctly. If not, please let me know how I can write him better. As always, reblogs are appreciated. 

It was becoming unbearable, mustering up the courage to fight every day in a war that meant absolutely nothing, that held no benefits for anyone except for those in political standings. The feeling of dread only worsened in the past few months, almost as soon as you were added to the 501st as another General. Count Dooku’s thirst for blood has increased, and you had this fear that it wasn’t only him. No, there was something much bigger playing at hand. 

Perhaps someone even. 

Shaking the dreadful thoughts aside, you scan the grounds quickly to see if any of your men were still alive. As you walk through the carnage, you will yourself to come to terms with the reality of this new life that has been thrust upon you, the recognition that it was most likely worse for your men making you wince angrily before returning to the task at hand. 

“General,” the familiar voice of your Captain shifts your attention behind you, and you nod with an exasperation you’re sure is visible to him as you head towards his equally fatigued body. 

“Any news on whether Anakin managed to get the intel?” You rub the side of your temple as you wait for Captain Rex to focus on you instead of his dead brothers surrounding you. 

“He uh, he didn’t get there in time. He thinks one of the super tactical droids destroyed everything before it self-destructed.” You can hear the disappointment in his voice, and you look into his eyes for a moment to gauge his reaction. Grief swims in his eyes as he returns your gaze, and you hate that you don’t have to look at him to know what’s going through his mind. His Force signature is a cool shade of blue, one that parallels the lines adorning his armor, and your heart clenches when you see how different it is from the normally calming purple hue often surrounding him and setting your mind at ease. You’re reminded once again of just how much of a toll this war is taking on him and his brothers, and you turn away from him out of fear of bursting into tears and making matters worse. 

If only you could comfort him beyond what’s deemed appropriate. 

If only you could tell him how you feel. 

“Don’t worry General, we’ll get them next time.” You hate that he’s trying to make you feel better when it is you who should be offering him supporting words. No words manage to part your lips, and you hum at him as you kick one of the battle droids nearby, trying to distract yourself from pushing past those hidden boundaries and embracing him in an attempt to return those affections he so clearly pushed upon you. 

Just as you walk around him, you sense a strange feeling overtake your mind, and you glance to the side quickly, not really thinking of what you’re doing as you step in front of the Captain and activate your lightsaber. The sequence of the blaster shots drives your anger deeper, and you evade them to the best of your abilities, away from Rex and yourself until they each hit the battle droid attempting to kill you. 

Scanning the area one last time, your mouth runs dry when you turn around and watch pure and utter shock display as clear as daylight on your Captain’s features. Pushing the weapon back into the holster around your hips, you smile at him to let him know that he would always be safe with you, only to tilt your head in confusion when he doesn’t return the gesture. You follow his line of sight and watch as the adrenaline of the battle leaves your body and makes way for a searing hot pain shooting through your side. Pushing your palm against your hip, you take it away and find it laced with fresh blood.

“C-Commander?” 

In all the time you have spent with Rex, you have never once heard him display such unadulterated fear, not when he was near death all those months ago, nor when he thought there was no escape for him and his brothers after a particularly draining battle. 

“Rex.”

You whisper his name as you fall to your knees, but strong arms reach for you before you hit the ground, turning you over and pushing violently against the wound to prevent it from bleeding. 

“Kriff, why- why would you…you shouldn’t have-” He can’t get a single word out, and you try your best to set aside the pain shooting through your body so you can enjoy being in his arms. You feel your muscles give out, barely allowing you to reach up and caress his cheek. You don’t realize you’ve painted his beautiful skin with blood until you see tears rolling down his cheeks and stream a pink line to his chin. 

“You’re s-safe, thank the Force.” His hold on you tightens when you hiss in pain, but you never once turn away from him, wanting to commit every moment to memory. If you survive this, you are sure you will never come this close to him again. But if you die, oh, if you die, then you would have spent your last seconds showing him how much he means to you. 

“Stay with me, mesh’la.” He leans down and rests his forehead against your own, distracting you enough before he lifts you in his arms and runs to the nearest gunship. You clutch onto his shoulder like your life depends on it, unable to hold back from crying as each movement sends throbbing stabs down your spine and across your hip. You can faintly hear his apologies, and you rest your head against his shoulder to distract yourself once again. This close, you can smell his natural scent, and you shiver when you recognize how musky and sweet it is as it seeps through your senses. 

You think you hear him call for Kix, but you can’t stay awake for much longer, the blood loss and your body’s fatigued nature taking over as soon as you get on the gunship. Rex puts you down with ease, but he snaps your name harshly when he sees you shutting your eyes and going limp in his arms again. 

“Don’t close your eyes,” it’s his Captain voice, and you laugh at the demanding tone he’s aiming at you, only to cough violently and clutch at your side when your body jolts forward. 

“I thought I g-give the orders here?” He doesn’t bother to smile at you, and you hate that he knows you’re only trying to diffuse the tension. When you look up at him, you find him frowning down at you, the blue aura around him now turning even darker as he looks around to see if Kix is nearby. 

You gulp as the ship comes to life, and the harder you try to remain awake, the more tired your mind becomes. As you look around you, you find several of the men staring at you with worry etched on their features, and you feel a sense of peace wash over you at the thought of being so important to them. You can no longer keep yourself conscious, and just as you turn your head to the side and see Kix jumping into the gunship, you surrender to a deep sleep filled with midnight blue embraces and loving words. 

A bright light wakes you from your haze, and you flutter your eyes quickly to get used to the blinding rays shining down on you. You try to get up immediately but a hand to your shoulder keeps you laying down, and you look to the side to see Kix whispering calming words to you. 

“You nearly gave us a fright Commander,” he says after a while, and you look around to try and figure out where you are, only to find an extremely uncomfortable and worried Captain standing by your bed. 

“Rex…”

“What were you thinking, hmm?” He snaps harshly at you, making you furrow your eyebrows in curiosity before you turn to Kix. Before you can say anything, Kix walks around and pushes Rex’s chest, urging him to move back and calm himself. 

“You may be the Captain, but I outrank you here. I will not have you yelling at one of my patients. Understand?” His tone is firm, and you giggle at the thought of hearing one of Rex’s men not minding getting physical with him. 

“I…feel weird.” You sigh deeply and look down, only to see several tubes coming in and out of your skin. 

“That would be the Bacta IV. You weren’t doing so well Commander, a simple bacta patch wouldn’t have done the trick.” Kix removes himself from Rex but remains in between the two of you, checking on the needles one last time before moving to the other end of the room. You watch as he makes himself busy, and whatever conscious part of your mind thinks that he’s only pretending so he can give the two of you some privacy. 

“To answer your question Captain, I- uhhh…I wasn’t thinking.” You drag the sheets down your body, suddenly feeling flushed as Rex continues to stare at you with a fiery anger you never thought him capable of. 

“Actually, that’s…n-not true. I was thinking…but- you know what I mean.” You are not making much sense, and when Rex sighs before pulling up a chair to sit next to you, you smile at you and reach for his hand. He takes it reluctantly but never once looks at you. Neither of you say anything for a while, and you slowly begin to fall asleep when he continues to rub your wrist with his thumb. 

“What were you thinking mesh’la…”

It’s a rhetorical question, or at least, you would have recognized that it is had you been more aware and less drugged. You open your eyes and gaze into his own, finding them filled with unshed tears. He looks defeated, and you frown at him while you tug on his hand to bring him closer to you. 

“Don’t…don’t cry. It makes me sad to see you cry Rex.”

He chuckles then and you smile at him, rubbing the back of his hand in return to soothe him a little. 

“I was thinking of you, and- and how it would kill me if I were to lose you. I can’t lose you Rex, I- I would not survive another day without you…I love you too much to let you go.” You’re not sure why the room is suddenly silent. All you know is, Rex’s Force signature has turned a deep shade of red and his fingers stopped drawing patterns on your skin. You think you hear Kix turn around but you’re too busy looking into the Captain’s eyes to register anything that’s not him. 

“Mesh’la,” you want to ask him what the word means, but your eyes grow heavy yet again, and you rest your cheek on the pillow while gazing into his hazel, brown orbs. Before you can say anything else, you fall right back to sleep, completely missing Rex’s reaction to your confession and Kix’s reassurances that you were stable but required to rest further. 

You dream of a time filled with peace, of longing gazes and soft caresses. Your mind fills your heart with hopes and wishes, ones you pretend are not impossible to reach. Your heart, once guarding a close-kept secret, finally feels as light as a feather, and it clenches softly when it hears revelations of a similar love, words yo uneven thought would be reciprocated as desperately. 

It’s this last sensation that wakes you again, except this time, you’re less dazed than before but much more awake. Sitting up quickly, you study the room you’re in and take a few deep breaths to try and collect your bearings. 

“Commander, you’re safe. You’re alive and safe. Breathe, breathe for me.” You look up and watch as Kix guides you through breathing techniques, and only when you’re relaxed and aware of your surroundings do you finally notice the other figure standing nearby. 

“How long have I been out?” You ask as you look down and move the medbay gown to the side to see the wound. It’s fully healed and you throw Kix a quick glance, silently thanking him for everything that he has done for you. 

“Almost 22 hours, sir. It’s quite remarkable actually, most people would take much longer to heal, even with the bacta. Then again, you’re a Jedi after all.” He checks your vitals, not bothering to mention that Rex is in the room. When he’s sure you’re all clear, he steps aside and finishes some reports on his holopad. You look to your right and watch as Rex slowly approaches you, sitting down on a chair near your bedside and slowly reaching for your hand. You’re surprised by the gesture but don’t deny him, looking back to Kix to see if he is aware of what his Captain is doing. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Like a bantha ran me over,” you laugh at your own reply, but Rex doesn’t grace you with a hint of a smile. There is something nagging at the back of your mind, and you narrow your eyes at your joined hands, only to gasp lightly when he rubs your wrist and moves closer to you. If Kix notices what’s happening, he says nothing and turns around to give you some privacy. 

“Do you…do you remember anything?” Rex asks reluctantly, and you get the sense that he wants to tell you something but is holding back out of fear of your reaction. 

“I remember walking through the battle, and…and talking with you. I remember a droid trying to shoot at you but I took him down before he hurt you. And…I remember getting shot at.” You recollect the events of the last rotation to the best of your abilities, and when you stop speaking, you notice Rex’s aura shift to a cool haze once more. 

Kriff, what was it? 

“You don’t remember anything else?” He asks yet again, and you tilt your head to the side in confusion, his tone of voice bordering that of a man who has just lost everything he ever had. 

“I- I uhh…no. I don’t.” You shake your head several times to figure out if he was referring to anything specific. When you turn to Kix to ask him if he knows what his Captain is talking about, you notice an apologetic expression on his features, one that was not aimed at you but his brother. Before you can say anything, Rex lets go of your hands, making you wish you can give him whatever answer he was searching for. 

“I see,” it’s all Rex says before he stands up and pushes the chair back to the wall. You watch as he takes a stance and salutes you, his eyes never meeting your own again as he thanks you for saving him before running out of the room. You don’t turn away from the shut door until Kix walks by and checks your vitals again. 

There is so much you want to ask him, but knowing Kix, you get the sense that he wouldn’t tell you even if you begged. He was good at keeping secrets, always has been. 

“You’re cleared to leave General, though I do suggest you take it easy for the next few days. You may have physically healed but the psychological strain will take longer to get back to normal. Will you be needing any pain medication?” Kix asks as he takes out all of the needles and tubes from your arms, and you shake your head while you look up at him, hoping that you find whatever answer Rex was looking for swimming in his eyes. He avoids your gaze altogether, and you shut your eyes in irritation at the thought of upsetting Rex. 

Maker, what was it?

You do your best to not take your frustration out on Kix as you get dressed, and before you leave, you thank him for taking care of you for the past rotation. He offers you his best wishes before returning to his seat and you make your way back to your quarters in the Jedi Temple slowly, all the while trying to figure out what transpired that made Rex ask you several times if you remembered anything, but more importantly, what you could have possibly said that upset Rex so much and made him leave without sparing you a second glance. 

You keep to yourself as you head to your rooms, searching your mind for any clue as to what has happened after the battle. When you finally make it to the privacy of your space, you remove all of your clothes and go straight to the refresher, wanting to get rid of the blood and grime that has stuck to your skin for the past day. But no matter what you do, you can’t remember anything past the battlefield, and you feel your mind almost collapse on itself when the annoyance of memory loss turns into sheer anger. 

Force above, what was it?

It occurs to you much later than you would care to admit that there was no way you can recall anything if you’re this unstable, and against your better judgment, you make your way to one of the meditation rooms instead of getting some rest as Kix suggested. As soon as you enter the quiet place, you move near one of the fountains, finding the consistent sound of water soothing to your soul. As you sit down, you take a few deep breaths and clear your mind of anything not related to the Captain of the 501st. 

As you initially thought, it’s much more difficult to focus your mind when all you can feel is guilt for making Rex feel so disappointed and sad. You recall back all of the conversations you’ve held with him, especially the ones that lasted for an entire night as you kept watch before a serious battle. You remember the snide remarks aimed at Anakin, and the jokes he often laughed at the expense of Ahsoka. You remember and remember…

But no matter what you think of, you still can’t quite figure out what happened in the past rotation. 

Willing yourself to focus harder, you decide to empty your mind altogether, even of those moments with Rex that you cherished and kept closely-guarded within your heart. 

The Coruscanti sun slowly moves past the horizon but you remain seated against the flowing waters, pleading with the Force to give you a sliver of a hint so you can fix whatever wrong you made against Rex. 

It’s only when your senses finally still do you see a faint dark red pass through your mind’s eye. You zero in on the memory, pushing yourself past your levels of comfort to seek out the desperate aura once again. 

I was thinking of you.

Your voice rings through your mind, not sounding normal to your ears, but you are confident it is your own. Clenching your fists tightly, you seek out the memory until it flashes before your eyes as clear as the searing Twin Suns on a hot Tatooine day. 

I can’t lose you Rex.

A faint sensation passes down your arm to your wrist, and you feel Rex’s thumb halt in its movement the more you reveal to him your secret. You can see his hands shaking as you pull him closer to you, the words spilling from your mouth making your heart skip a beat as realization washes over you. 

I love you too much to let you go.

The last image flashing before your eyes is the look of utter shock that befalls Rex’s handsome features, and had it not been for the soft manner in which he whispers that one word to you in return, you would think he was completely repulsed by what you just confessed to him. 

You open your eyes instantly, wincing yet again when your senses become overloaded with the sounds and scents all around you. Looking around the room, you take a few minutes to come to terms with the reality of what has transpired between yourself and the Captain. 

Maker. 

You had told him what you promised yourself you would never reveal to him. 

In a moment of weakness, your heart decided to reveal its deepest secret instead of continuing to keep it hidden. 

Looking outside the large glass windows, you notice how dark it became outside and curse yourself for taking so long to remember. It would be inappropriate to go to him now.

You look down to your hand and trace the skin Rex has touched all those hours ago, smiling to yourself when you recognize that your heart has already made the decision for you. 

Not caring for how mad you must look, you race outside of the meditation rooms and run through the hallways of the Temple, ignoring the strange and concerning looks from the others still awake as you make it past the gates of your home and towards the barracks of the 501st Legion. It is raining uncontrollably outside, and you nearly lose your footing a few times as you run across the grounds towards the familiar building near the Jedi Temple. You see a handful of men hanging outside the barracks, and they try to call out to you to see if you need any assistance, but you pay them no mind, heading straight to the quarters of the Captain and ignoring how soaked you’ve become in your journey to him. 

When you reach the hallways housing the Clone leaders, you slow down and move past the doors silently, praying to the maker that he was in his quarters and not elsewhere. As you reach the end of the hallway, you come to a stop in front of the large, steel doors housing Rex, and before you can think twice of what you’re doing, you push a few buttons on the pad beside the doors, waiting patiently for them to slide open to you. 

There is a faint sound of frustrated sighs from behind the door, and you nearly laugh at the sudden turn of events, but the doors slide open and reveal an extremely tired and irritated Clone Captain, one that had just gotten out of the showers from the looks of it. 

“Fives, if I have to tell you one more time- kriff, G-General!” His eyes widen in horror at the sight of you, and he walks out to the hallway to see if there are any signs of danger that led you to him. When he finds it as empty as ever, he turns back around and eyes you suspiciously. 

“General, what- what are you doing here?” Rex asks, continuing to avoid your gaze as he moves back to his quarters and tugs you along with him. You realize too late that you probably shouldn’t be found at such an odd hour in your Captain’s private rooms, but you brush the thought aside, knowing that this could not wait for another time. You don’t respond right away though, and Rex studies you slowly before moving to his dresser and taking out a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. 

“Here, change into these.” He throws the articles of clothing towards you, but you throw them back on the bed instantly, approaching him slowly to avoid scaring him. 

“Captain.” You try to catch his attention, but Rex is adamant on not sparing you a single glance, moving to the other end of the room and grabbing one of his shirts before putting it on quickly. 

“I don’t mind General,” he attempts to distract you, and you shake your head at him while following him around the small room. 

“Captain, please.”

“You’re going to catch a cold, and I’m not going to hear the end of it from Kix.” Rex ignores whatever you’re saying and rubs his temples furiously, making you wish he would just look at you instead of avoiding you as if you were just another commanding officer. 

As if you hadn’t spilled your heart out to him a day ago. 

Your frustrations nearly get to you, but you quickly come to understand that the man in front of you would continue ignoring your pleas if you didn’t cut to the chase and tell him what you came here for. 

“I remember.” 

Rex stops in his pacing, dropping his arms to his side and looking at the gray wall ahead of him. He doesn’t move a muscle, and your heart skips a beat when the hue around him turns into that familiar shade of burgundy once more, the same one that graced your sight when you told him how much you love him. 

“I remember, Rex.”

You repeat your words and watch as he slowly turns around and meets your eyes in a heated gaze. He continues to remain silent and you take the chance to step closer to him, hoping that he doesn’t get spooked by your revelation and walk away again. 

“You- you remember?” His question is laced with a faltering anxiety that you hate you’ve caused him to feel, and you close the last bit of space between the two of you, smiling at him as you reach for his hand and rub your thumb over his wrist. 

“I remember…I remember everything Rex.” 

He gulps down at you, watching carefully as you extend his wrist up to your mouth and lay the softest of kisses across the sensitive skin beneath your thumb. His sharp intake of breath sends a shiver down your spine, and before you can say anything else, Rex pushes you back against the nearest wall and attacks your lips in a desperate kiss. You moan into him immediately, throwing your arms around his shoulders just as he leans down and grabs your hips to hoist you up in between his rigid body and the solid wall behind you. 

You part your lips in a gasp and Rex takes advantage of your shock, sneaking his tongue into your mouth and devouring you without a care for anything except the lewd noises you are gracing him with. He doesn’t know where he can touch you, but as he feels your nail sink into his neck, he breaks the kiss and moans your name over and over again, giving you but a moment of respite before lunging for your mouth once again. You’re soaking wet, and you want to warn him so he doesn’t get wet as well, but he doesn’t let up once, moving down your jaw and licking the droplets of water sticking to your skin. His tongue feels hot against your already flushed skin, but you can’t find it in yourself to complain, not when you finally had him in your arms, stealing your breath with such needy kisses. You don’t realize you’re crying until he pulls away abruptly and looks at you with concern. 

“No, please…don’t stop. I’m just- I’m so happy.” You try to bring him back again but he’s much stronger than you, keeping some bit of distance between your mouth until he can ask you that burning question. 

“Are you sure I’m not hurting you, mesh’la?”

“No, gods no. I never thought you’d reciprocate my feelings Rex, and- and when I remembered the way you looked at me, I…I ran over here.” Your smile grows when you notice the soft smirk gracing his handsome features, and you lean your forehead against his own briefly to relish in the moment. 

“I love you, cyare…so damn much. I- I thought I lost you back there…couldn’t, couldn’t believe what you did for me. And then you told me why and I nearly lost my mind all over again.” He lays as many kisses as possible across your entire face, making you sniffle each time he reveals to you what was going through his mind. 

“I love you too Rex, have been ever since I joined your legion.” The sentiment manages to put a halt to his words and he looks at you for what you deem is too long before leaning down and taking your lips in between his own again. It’s much less frantic than before, but it is just as deeply felt, and you tilt your head to the side to deepen it further, whining against him when he removes the both of you from the wall and walks back to his bed. 

He lays you down softly and continues to leave a trail of kisses down your neck, swearing beneath his breath when you reach for his shirt and try to remove it off of him.

“Rex, what- oh kriff, what does that word mean?” You manage to ask in between each kiss and nip he marks your body with, whispering his name over and over again when he chuckles at you and sits up to remove his shirt. You bite into your lower lip as soon as he reveals his broad chest to you, giggling like a little girl as Rex throws his shirt aside and drags his hand up and down your body. 

“Why don’t I show you sweetheart?” The Captain descends down upon you possessively, dragging his hands everywhere with an aggressiveness you’ve never seen him display before. He has you whimpering in the span of a few minutes, and with each bit of fabric he rips from your body, you’re left wishing he would put you out of your misery and claim you. 

“Please, Rex.” You beg shamelessly, covering your eyes with your arm when you’re left in nothing but your undergarments. 

“Shh, I got you cyar’ika…I got you.” The Captain coos at you as he traces lines up and down your body, passing his fingers in between your thighs teasingly and laughing when he notices goosebumps erupt across your skin. You peak from above your wrist, only to find him studying you closely and with a hunger unseen on his features before. 

“S-stop looking at me like that.” You turn your head to the side when he drags your arms away from your face and places them above your head, making you wish he wasn’t enjoying making you flustered. 

“Like what?” He’s nearly breathless as he asks you the question, not caring for how wanton he looks as he hovers his lips above your sternum before slowly making his way down your stomach. 

“Like…like-” You can’t find the words to tell him what he looks like, mostly because you know he’ll only laugh and reiterate whatever you say in agreement and cause you to feel even more embarrassed at being the subject of his scrutiny. 

“Like I want to eat you? Like I want to devour every fucking inch of you? Like I want to mark you with my teeth and hands until the whole kriffing galaxy knows who’s making you feel good? Is that how I’m looking at you sweet girl?” He pronounces each question with a harsh bite to your skin, smiling wickedly at you as he descends between your thighs and shoves them wide open to make room for himself. 

“Y-yes…I- oh gods please Rex, just- just…”

“I hate to break it to you ner cyare, but I will never,” he growls his need for you against the edge of your panties, biting down and chuckling when you twitch beneath him and reach for his shoulder, “ever,” his voice is much rougher, and you think that perhaps he will kill you through sheer frustration, “ stop looking at you like that.” You whine his name, and as you try to ask him once more to not be so brazen with you, he shoves his nose into your core and breathes in deeply. It’s absolutely filthy, the manner in which he nudges along the damp material hiding you from him while staring directly into your eyes. You shouldn’t be surprised by how far dilated his pupils are, but as you sink your nails into his muscles, you furrow your eyebrows and will yourself to continue staring at him, wanting to ensure that he wants this just as much as you. 

“Rex…please, touch me.” You slide one of your hands up to his cheek, cupping his chiseled jaw beneath your palm out of fear of having him move away. 

“I am touching you, mesh’la.” Rex raises a curious eyebrow at you, nuzzling into your hand when he feels you settle down and whine in frustration. 

“I need more.” You hope he understands what you’re trying to say, but it seems that Rex wants nothing more than to push you over the edge of irritation, huffing out in laughter once as he leans over and kisses your inner thighs. 

“Like this?” He asks, licking the spot he’s kissed before moving to the space just below your hip and nipping it lightly. “Or like this?” He inquires with a whisper, taking the edge of your panties in between his teeth and pulling them up until he makes sure you’re still looking at him before letting go and smirking at the snapping sound that forces you to jolt your hips into his face. He must be able to see the annoyance etched on your features because as soon as you try to sit up on your elbows and give him a piece of your mind, he drags both of his hands beneath your thighs and hoists them up until you’re perfectly laid out for him. 

“Rex, if you don’t- ahhh fuck,” you throw your head back as soon as you feel the heat of his mouth engulf your wet core. He’s licking you violently through the flimsy fabric of your panties, and when you manage to look down at him through dazed eyes, Rex shoves the material aside and shoves his tongue violently against your clit. You drag your nails across his scalp before you realize how painful it might be, but when you attempt to grab anything else, Rex shakes his head and sucks on your clit before letting go altogether. 

“Don’t fucking stop…mark me baby, mark me so the whole GAR knows who fucks you like the filthy jetii’ika I know you are.” Your eyes widen in shock at his words, amazed that the normally respectful and shy Captain is capable of groaning the filthiest words ever as he goes down on you. You return your hands to his blonde hair, a zap of lightning shooting across your muscles when you feel the buzzed cut tickle your heated skin while he continues to fuck you with his tongue. 

“Rex…oh fuck, you- you feel so good. Please don’t stop…don’t stop Captain!” You don’t mean for the honorific to fall so easily from your lips, and you look down to see if it made him uncomfortable, only to find him staring hungrily at you as he pulls you harder on his face. 

“Is that what you want, cyar’ika? You want me to be your Captain…give you orders and make you cum on my face before I fuck you till you can’t feel your legs?” You know it’s a rhetorical question because he returns his attention to your engorged clit soon after, laying his tongue flat against your bundle nerves as he drools over the fingers resting just below his mouth. You want to watch him as he worships you, commit to memory the desperation filling every muscle of his body as he shows you how much he craves you, but as soon as he eases two of his fingers past your slit and rubs against your walls, you’re shutting your eyes and arching your back at the sudden flash of pleasure that takes over your whole body. 

“Cum for me ner jetii’ika,” the tone of his voice, along with the needy order, are all it takes for you to reach your pleasure, and you dig your nails into his scalp in an attempt to bring him closer to you as you roll your hips back and forth against his mouth. You can’t feel anything except his tongue and his fingers, and you manage to look down through heavy-lidded eyes to watch Rex as he makes you cum. Your body shakes violently when you see his Force signature turn into a bright cloud of red, the shade validating to you the Captain’s feelings as he continues to assault your cunt until you grow oversensitive. 

You try to push him off of you but he is relentless in his mission to pleasure you, wrapping his arms around your hips and pushing down your body until you understand that he won’t be letting you go anytime soon. You feel empty all of a sudden, but then you notice his wet fingers as they grab you through your chest bindings and you feel another wave of ecstasy slowly creep up on you. 

“R-Rex…I-”

“Drench my face, sir.” You’re not sure what it is that coaxes another orgasm out of you, if it is the way he orders you to cum on his mouth again, or the sound of the honorific falling from his lips as he licks and sucks on your clit. You scream his name like a benediction, the sensation he was bringing upon your fatigued body driving you mad with lust. You can faintly hear him moan your name in return, and it’s only when you look down after he’s let up do you realize that you’ve done exactly what he wanted and drenched his face. You should be embarrassed, but as Rex licks at you softly with a lazy smile, you realize that he may have enjoyed this more than you. 

“Oh maker, I- I’ve never…” You try to speak but your voice comes out hoarse, making Rex laugh even harder as he sits up and wipes his face with the back of his hand. 

“That was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen sweetheart…I want you to do it again.” He drags his gaze down your body as he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks on them, the same ones that were showing you stars not a moment ago. He looks positively sinful, and you giggle embarrassingly at him before you try to reach for the tent on his sweatpants. 

“No,” he grips your wrist tightly and falls against you, pushing you down into his bed with his whole body before reaching for both of your hands and laying them above your head. You frown at him, unsure why he was denying you the same pleasure he brought upon you. 

“Don’t look so upset, mesh’la.” He winks at you as he kisses down your neck and licks the water droplets sticking to your sternum. You sigh heavily and extend your neck out further to give him more access, the action pleasing him more than you thought it would and making him groan deeply into your breasts. “Believe me when I tell you…if you touch me now, this night will end much earlier than I would like it to.” He sucks bruises across your chest, managing to hold both of your wrists with one hand while the other moves to unbind the wrapping around your breasts. It doesn’t take much to reveal you to his eyes, and when you’re finally freed of the offending article of clothing, Rex growls before ascending upon you, not caring for how rough he’s being as he takes a nipple in between his teeth while he rolls his thumb over the other. 

“Ah f-fuck…Rex, you- your tongue is- oh kriff, I need you Captain…please. I want to feel you, want you to fuck me, hard.”

“Yeah sweetheart?” Rex soothes the love bites with his tongue, swirling the rough muscle around your hardened peak until your chest rises and falls rapidly. He’s memorizing every inch of your skin, and you notice his smile grow deeper when he sees evidence of his claim beginning to appear all over your body. You always imagined him to be possessive with things he enjoyed, but you never thought once you’d be at the receiving end of such dedication, such admiration. 

“Claim me, my dear Captain.” You plead one last time, tilting your head down to try and kiss the top of his head in an attempt to make him lose control. The gesture does the trick, and Rex ascends up your body and takes your lips in between his own, ripping the breath out of your lungs as he sucks and licks into your mouth until you could no longer focus on anything but the sensations he was ringing from your body. You whine and moan for him as he pushes you harder into his sheets, and when you tries to rest his weight on one of his arms, you throw your own around his neck and pull him as flush to you as possible. 

“I want to feel you, all of you.” You whisper the request against his cheek, kissing his jaw lightly in anticipation for what comes next. When you sense his hand moving down your body, you nip across his neck and mirror his actions from earlier, distracting him on his journey just as he did with you not a moment ago. 

“Fuck sweetheart, you’re going to be the death of me.” Rex groans against your forehead as he struggles to pull the edge of his sweatpants down his hips. It becomes very clear to him soon that you weren’t going to let up on marking his skin, and he sighs in irritation before deciding to pull his cock out from underneath the band of his pants. 

“Please Rex,” you urge him with soft pleas and wet kisses, laying your head back to look into his eyes as he pushes aside your panties and rubs your clit with the hard tip of his cock. 

“Are you ready for me, cyare?” Rex asks, furrowing his eyebrows in focus so as to not hurt you. You nod frantically at him, widening your legs even further to allow him to settle more comfortably in between your thighs. 

“Fuck me, Captain.” You breathe against his quivering lips, sighing in relief when the crown of his dick catches at your wet entrance. 

“Yes, sir!” It’s all the warning you get before Rex thrusts his throbbing cock into your cunt, and you watch with fascination as the aura shadowing over the two of you becomes an even deeper shade of red, one that mixed perfectly with his normally blue hue and created a soothing new wave to your eyes. 

Neither of you move, looking into the other’s eyes to ensure that this was actually happening. 

Rex struggles to breathe, and you massage his neck with your fingers before shifting your hips to get closer to him. The movement sends his cock gliding against your clenching walls, and you both moan the other’s name as you feel pure ecstasy take over your spirits. 

“You- you feel…” Rex tries to speak, but he loses focus of the sentence, instead moving all of his attention into committing this moment to memory. 

“Perfect.” You finish his thought, leaning up and kissing his lips once before relaxing back into the mattress and silently urging him to move. When he pulls out of you and pushes back in slowly, you realize that you’ll never get enough of this. 

Enough of him. 

And from the way he was gazing down at you, it seems that the feeling was mutual. 

“Rex, just- I want you to cum. I don’t care about me, I only w-want to feel you cum.” You cross your legs behind his back to bring him deeper inside you, the action forcing a cry from his lips that sounds awfully like your name. You giggle beneath him, pride feeling your chest at being the one to bring him to such pleasure. 

“I- I’ll be damned if you don’t cum on my cock at least once tonight, mesh’la.” The promise is accompanied with a dangerous glint in his eyes, and you gulp nervously at him, shutting your eyes to relish in the feeling of being so full. Each thrust brings about a fresh wave of arousal to your core, and you dig your nails into his back to show him just how good he’s making you feel. The delicious drag of his cock across your tight walls nearly makes you question whether this was all real, not because you didn’t expect him to feel so perfect inside you, but because he was so much better than your imagination. 

His grunts are music to your ears, and you leave a trail of kisses across face the closer he gets to his peak, wanting him to scream your name when he finally cums and claims you. It’s a battle of needs at this point, with your minds telling you to make this last as long as possible but your joined bodies screaming for a sweet release. You can feel every inch of him, every hard vein slide against your fluttering walls the harder he fucks into you. 

There is so much on your mind, so much you want to tell him, but you’re not coherent enough to remotely breathe out a string of affirmations to him, so you instead look back into his eyes and hope he can see right through you, recognize every bit of your heart that has always screamed his name since they day you met. 

“I- I won’t last much longer, cyar’ika.” He manages to confess as he thrusts become harder, deeper, more intimate. You shake your head and whisper your lack of care for what he just said, wanting him to finally mark you as his own and fill you with his seed. There’s something inherently faithful about wanting him to fuck his cum inside you, a sensation you’re aware would scream your devotion to each other but is against every rule set in place for someone like you…someone like him as well, 

But you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when Rex was finally sinking so sweetly into your pussy over and over again until you couldn’t think of anything else but how utterly divine he felt as he joined your bodies with a string of unparalleled pleasure. 

“Ner jetii’ika, I- I’m…oh kriff, where do I-”

“Inside me, please!” You cut him off, swallowing his moans as he shakes above you while bringing one of his hands in between your bodies, the sudden touch of his digits against your oversensitive clit making you arch your back into his chest and part your lips for him. He grunts several times while rubbing your hardened bundle of nerves, swirling his tongue around your own when he feels you clench harshly around him. You shudder beneath him, unable to fathom the sensations he was pulling from you so easily, so exquisitely. Just as you break the kiss to breathe, Rex growls your name in between expletives, shoving his cock into you a few times before finally coming undone. Your pleasure lasts for longer than you thought possible, the feeling of his seed painting your walls and oozing out of you somehow making you feel even more attuned to his pleasure, as if his ecstasy was connected to your own and refused to part from it. He bucks his hips into you with shallow thrusts, resting his forehead against your chest as he slowly comes down from the brief high. 

You’re both too dazed to move a single muscle, and when you try to unwrap your legs from around him, Rex hisses in surprise at feeling your pussy flutter around him one last time. He finally sits up to look at you, and you watch as the smirk on his face grows with each bit of skin he sees adorned with his touch. 

“So…all of that means ‘mesh’la’?” You break the silence and laugh along with him when he finally catches on to what you’re referring to, only to hiss in discomfort when he pulls out of you and leaves you empty. You watch as Rex reluctantly sits up and shoves your thighs apart to look at the mess he’s made of you. You want to shake your head at him, call him disgusting for being so obvious with what he’s done to you, but when you find him biting his lips and staring at you with newfound lust, you realize that teasing him may not be the best idea now. 

“Fuck cyare, you look beautiful.” You giggle as you hide behind your arms once more, making Rex tease you about your shy bedside manner when he was literally fucking you into kingdom come not a moment ago. He gets up and walks to the refresher, quickly coming back to you to clean you up so you don’t have to move much. You can’t help but look at him with adoration as he rubs every inch of your skin. He’s careful and patient with you, taking his time to caress your skin before throwing the towel aside and reaching for one of his shirts to hand you. 

“Why give me a shirt when you know you’ll take it off of me in another hour?” You ask him teasingly, laughing hysterically when he throws it aside and shoves his sweatpants down his thighs. 

Your eyes shift to his cock instantly, and you marvel at how thick and long he is…and the fact that he was already starting to get hard again. 

“To even the field,” he winks at you as he slips beneath the covers and pulls you into his side, wrapping his arm around you before dimming down the lights. 

You sit in silence for what feels like hours, drawing patterns on his beautiful, bronze chest while he rubs your shoulder and back to soothe your body. It’s only after a while that Rex finally breaks the quiet air of the room and looks down at you, waiting until you meet his eyes before he finally tells you what he’s wanted to say for so long. 

“I would rather die than let anything happen to you, ner cyare. You know that right?” He says, matter-of-factly, and you sense a sliver of anxiety fill his otherwise calm aura for a brief moment before it evaporates into thin air. 

“I know darling, and you know by now that the feeling is mutual.” It’s not what he wants to hear, that you are sure of, but you can’t find it in yourself to lie to him, wanting him to know that you care for him just as much as he cares for you. 

“I guess both of us are going to be stubborn about this.” He shakes his head and leans over to kiss your forehead before resting back against the pillow once more. 

“You bet your sweet ass.” You retort immediately, yelping in shock when he pinches your shoulder and sends you closer into his chest. 

“You haven’t even seen my ass, sweetheart.” He snorts at your comeback, glancing down at you for a moment before shutting his eyes and enjoying the feeling of having you so willing and relaxed in his arms. 

“Oh, believe me Captain, I have seen your ass…and I fucking love it.”

[embodies]

THE DRAGON'S HOARDE. ACCEPTING. " please, don't let them know i'm here. "

@rab2bit.

the sniper surveys the scene with her visor's aid, remnants of mekas strung like scrap metal amidst the rubble. this is not all the work of talon, for the signature stamp of the gwishin omnics is pressed into every corner of this land. fear strikes the citizens into a panic, their cries faintly heard in the distance as they flee. yet her infra - sight picks up a heat signature all the same, leaving her to wonder — is this straggler brave, stupid, or simply too injured to move ? leaving no stone unturned, she finds the girl and heeds her plea. widowmaker is one of few words, not immediate to respond as she gleans what information she can from the sight. suited, meka logo faded and torn but nonetheless present on her thigh. for a brief moment, her mouth upturns subtly : that colour is absolutely garish. but more serious matters than fashion prevail, seeking her visor's database for guidance as the mission objective rings clear in her mind.

CONFIDENTIAL | TALON OPERATIVE EYES ONLY LOCATION : SOUTH KOREA OBJECTIVE : ELIMINATE ███████, A HIGH-PROFILE INDIVIDUAL SUSPECTED OF ORCHESTRATING █████ █████████. COLLATERAL DAMAGE IS OF NO CONCERN BUT MAINTAIN ABSOLUTE DISCRETION. SECONDARY OBJECTIVES : (1) RETRIEVE ANY CRITICAL INTEL FROM TARGET [HARD DRIVE, DOCUMENTS, ETC.] (2) NEUTRALISE ANY SIGNIFICANT SECURITY THREATS DIRECTLY HINDERING THE MISSION. (3) LEAVE NO TRACES THAT LINKS THE MISSION TO TALON.

she pauses for a moment here to once again assess the girl, not necessarily deeming her a threat now that the mission objective has been reached. nor is the assassin directly linked to talon from visuals alone, perhaps aiding the notion that she is affiliated to the gwishin omnics themselves. her revision continues. there may be use of this yet.

ENVIRONMENT : HEAVILY GUARDED SKYSCRAPER. EXPECT A MIX OF HIGH-TECH SURVEILLANCE AND PHYSICAL SECURITY PATROLS. POTENTIAL MEKA AND/OR GWISHIN INTERFERENCE TO BE EXPECTED. OPERATIONAL RULES: (1) DO NOT ENGAGE NON-COMBATANTS. (2) IF CAPTURED, DESTROY ALL MISSION-SENSITIVE EQUIPMENT AND PERSONNEL IMMEDIATELY. SELF-DESTRUCTION SHOULD NOT BE RULED OUT.

a brief intermission to herself, permitting a laugh. self - destruction, as if she were not a person but an object. perhaps there is truth to such an implication. she has read enough. determining the girl as a non-combatant, engagement is not an option. walking away without a word, she asserts that if the omnics want the meka pilot badly enough, she will be found regardless of her involvement or lack thereof. lacroix may not know her name but she predicts this will be the first and last time she encounters hana song. she could not have been more wrong.

[thinkingnot]

okay literally got hit with ideas for a villain syndicate (with foundfamily) fic

the syndicate is looking to rob one of the richest people in the world, they start scouting via infiltration to gather intel, in other words, spies were sent.

Phil, was one deployed by his own sons’ egging (‘phil youre too old to pull it off’) (they totally made a bet to see who could get valuable, vital intels first.

He went under as the new chauffeur for ‘prince’ (its our boi fic!tommy!!) of said empire. (*insert your own interpretation of tommy’s relationship with the current big boss, ie: im picturing hes an orphan taken care of by his grandpa <- surprise! this grandpa is now the antagonist >:))

anticpated to handle a spoiled ill tempered rich kid, Phil found himself struggling to find the words to say as he discovers a hurt, neglected child, who only means of getting genuine human interactions from his guradians is lashing out.

you know the jig.

*some news articles online*

hot news! —> the syndicate suspected to be behind the kidnapping of [big corp]’s heir kidnapping

BREAKING NEWS!!! —> the lastest syndicate’s appearance with the rumouted 6th member!!!!

Economic section breaking news!! —> [big corp]’s stocks value dropped by 60% from recent scandals heat (ie: foul play, unethical practices, in other words the corp has been cancelled ough) <- cuz rhe sundicate initial ‘just gonna rob and run’ turned into ‘we gotta destroy this big boss thoroughly’

anyone could use this idea it would be so cool (im attempting to but im bad at series and planning ahead in general 😭😭😭 *looks to the sky whistling as i recall the many 1/? fics*

[xsystema99]

Armored Core VI: Fires of Rubicon

A shell the size of a tanker car screams next to me, the heat and pressure alone enough to shred most of my armor plating. There is a great thunder behind me as it throws up such a fireball into the sky that it eats a helicopter whole. What is ahead of me is “The Wall” - a towering “rebel” fortress, near impenetrable, its defenses bolstered by the behemoth artillery piece that just wiped out any chance of profiting from this exercise within the first fifteen seconds on the ground. I’ve been contracted by BALAM, a corporation heavily investing in natural resource speculation, to “climb the Wall”; to beat the rebels into submission, silence their guns, and leave that killdozer Gustav Schwerer hybrid a sundered wreck. I will fight them all so fiercely, with such exacting precision, that I will almost feel guilty. Each cry of pain, desperate plea, that’s another few thousand c-notes hitting my bank account. It’s just business, after all. If I didn’t take this job, some other merc would.

This is a game about doing the dirty work nobody else will. It’s about taking a huge fucking paycheck to wipe out the desperate and hopeless prisoners of this barred off tomb-world to clear the way for capitalist exploitation. Your actions on Rubicon 3 are, contrary to what you may be conditioned to think by an economic system that’s all but enslaved you to brutal individualist violence, of truly interstellar importance. A new epoch is about to begin – and you? For two of the endings, you staight up do not give a fuck, and the “third way” will see you standing on the broken and bloodied bodies of everyone who put their trust into you. This game feels like the end times, an inescapable and absolutely crushing sense of impending doom bearing down on you at all times, the total and complete collapse of all order. There is a razor thin line between somewhat ordered anarcho-capitalism and desperate turmoil constantly being walked. 

Missions take the form of contracts, freelance gigs passed to you through the enigmatic “Handler Walter”, where your on the job performance determines your payout or penalty, depending(One criticism I have is that my finances were never in a truly desperate state in Armored Core VI, probably because you can replay missions at any time to earn some extra cash). You’ll be hit with a video briefing outlining the job request, intel on enemy positions and equipment, and some potential risks. Often, missions are simple affairs, “destroy this” and “activate that”, but when they go wildly off course, like when the PCA begins to invade Rubicon during a routine intel gathering mission, forcing you to stare down a battleship and it’s mecha escorts, that’s where Armored Core VI’s structure really shines. More often than not, you’ll get absolutely beasted on by whatever surprises Armored Core VI has in store, but in those moments where you fight back with all your might and win – that’s prime mecha right there. Facing down overwhelming odds and coming out on top by the skin of your teeth. When I stood amidst the flaming wreckage of foes I had never seen before, only a few hundred health points left and completely bereft of ammo, that’s when I was like “oh they get it”. The mechanics and structure synthesize in such a way that, to invoke a classic games writing cliche, makes you feel like Char Aznable. To some, that sentence won’t even register, but to those who know, it will mean everything.

Mechanized warfare is fast like lightning and loud like thunder. Build depending, mechs will either shriek or roar as nuclear thrusters send them hurtling towards each other, clashing in a dizzying acrobatic whirlwind where the visuals ascend from realism into impressions. Your unfocused eyes adhere to monocolor silhouettes, calculating movement, trajectory, angles of attack – It’s in these moments where Armored Core VI’s visuals truly ascend, the cold realism disappears in this haze of light and fire and everything becomes a kind of industrial impressionism.  To fully take in every movement of your foe is an outright impossibility, so you enter a sort of high blood pressure fugue state where everything melts away except you and the enemy. With four weapons (one in each hand, two on your shoulders) on your AC, each with unique damage and stagger properties, firing stances, accuracy values, and ideal ranges, Armored Core VI frequently becomes overwhelming in the best way possible. And god, the movement. After boosting, your AC skates across the ground Armored Trooper VOTOMS style, kicking up an inferno of sparks and shrapnel. Adjusting your course in one direction has your AC lean into the turn like it’s on roller skates, igniting peripheral thrusters on the opposite side to heave this hundred ton titan into a new trajectory. Leaping between and on top of buildings, chaining evasive dodges into forward boosts, and then chaining that movement into a devastating frontal kick felt surprisingly natural on keyboard and mouse after only a few hours of playtime. 

The addition of a Sekiro-esque posture mechanic, where attacks deal damage to both health and stamina, gives more freedom in build variety than I’ve experienced in any prior Armored Core. Looking to reddit and twitter, you’ll see no shortage of dual gatling and grenade launcher builds absolutely stomping some of the game’s nastiest bosses into the dirt, but that is easily the least rewarding playstyle on offer here. The general purpose AC that I would default to when going out on missions and fighting in the arena, was a mid-weight, in your face beast, blasting pistols akimbo to build up stagger from mid range before boosting in with dual shotguns, obliterating enemy armor at close-range. Shoulder weapons are cool, and offer no shortage of unique, artillery heavy playstyles, but I wound up having a lot more fun hot swapping between hand weapons like a 20 meter tall gunslinger. Regardless, there are so many parts, all with such distinctive properties that meaningfully alter your approach to combat, that I suspect my preferred AC build is going to change on each subsequent deployment to Rubicon’s surface. 

The boss fights are some of From Software’s best. My personal highlight was an early game showdown with a PCA prototype, BALTHEUS, an Armored Core strapped into a rocket-propelled throne with orbiting wheels of fire that invoke oppressive biblically imagery, a vainglorious robotic testament to the PCA’s bloated self-importance. I probably spent two whole days getting skill checked by this thing, but by the time I dealt the killing blow, my piloting skills had increased ten-fold. I was deftly dodging heat-seeking missile barrages, keeping track of their orientation and orbit path in my head as they screeched out of view, relentlessly pressing my assault while anticipating them circling back on a new heading. I was jumping over sword slashes and boosting under white hot napalm barrages, retaliating with a kind of exacting precision that Sekiro’s triumphant displays of martial skill. SEA SPIDER was similarly thrilling, especially when I identified the blind spot near its abdomen. Chasing this Hollywood producer’s wet dream down required constant assault boosts towards its thorax, always aligning my AC with one of it’s gargantuan legs so that I would be obscured from the firing path of the devastating central laser cannon. There’s a genuinely uncountable number of thrilling, suck the air out of your lungs encounters just like these in Armored Core VI.

My colleague Ted Litchfield wrote about how the presence of the Interior Ministry in Sekiro communicates so much about the state of the wider world – the vast, homogenizing engine of homogenizing snuffing out whole cultures, the great die-off of magic and folklore in society. Armored Core VI uses a similar technique with the presence of the PCA, albeit to a somehow more depressing effect. After a brief inter-corporate ceasefire, the PCA are all but routed from Rubicon in the conclusion of the second act, serving as a grandiose but ultimately ineffectual presence. I was so immersed in Armored Core VI’s setting that I found myself longing for the return of these strict legalists, the only evidence of some kind of centralized government or authority that stands a chance at stopping the corporations from achieving total dominance. If the PCA can’t stop the corporations, who can? 

The answer, obviously, is you. That “third way” ending, the Liberation of Rubicon, is one of the most uplifting finales to a game I’ve played since Ace Combat Zero. The bodies of your masters still fresh, you act independently to become the tip of the spear of an organized military effort to dislodge the corps from Rubicon, fighting above and alongside the mercenaries you’ve bested in the Arena and on the job. The droning synths and irregular industrial beats that dominated Armored Core VI’s soundtrack are remixed into a composition that is nothing short of angelic, the perfect accompaniment to a conclusion that sees Rubicon’s impenetrable gray skies part as you soar glorious and above a planet again consumed by raging fire – the fires of liberation. And after all is laid to rest, laid to waste, Armored Core VI still ends on a melancholy, mournful note: You can only do what you think is right. 

Ultimately, Armored Core VI is a deep game, both mechanically and narratively. It’s unlikely that this will be my final piece of writing on a game that genuinely moved me in a way few games have. It is the platonic ideal of the mech action game, all your Gundam and Macross daydreams and power fantasies made playable at the highest fidelity possible, with a narrative that stands tall in how it contextualizes, and allows you to contextualize, your own sordid actions. I cannot recommend Armored Core VI: Fires of Rubicon enough. 

[bb-8]

Tech Savvy

Pairing: Tech x female reader Summary:  You’re an ex-imperial who has a crush on Tech. He’s awkward about it. Until he’s not. Rating: Explicit (18+, minors DNI) Warnings/tags: crack treated seriously, smut, unprotected PIV, awkward flirting, oral sex, first kisses, accidental exhibitionism, lots of bad jokes, slight angst Word count: 5.4K Notes: It’s smutty crack treated seriously, guys. Read on AO3.

The planet you land on isn’t anything special. It’s a humid swamp world in the Outer Rim that offers enough seclusion for even the Empire’s Most Wanted to pass by unnoticed.

You, being the kind and selfless individual you are, decide to help with repairs while Clone Force 99 are on a supply run. It’s the first time the ship has made planet fall in weeks and everyone is a bit stir-crazy, jumping at the chance to stretch their legs. Prolonged time spent in hyperspace has that effect.

Before he left, you told Hunter that your status as an ex-Imperial put an unnecessary target on their back. You’re still wearing your Imperial uniform, after all, and you know for a fact that the Empire is not exactly merciful to deserters. Especially deserters that committed high treason. Like aiding Clone Force 99’s escape from an Imperial prison.

You definitely didn’t just jump at the chance to stay behind because Tech opted to. That would be ridiculous.

You feel your face heat at the thought.

(What? His goggles are cute.)

The truth is, there’s been something – a tension, as it were – between the two of you since you arrived on board. You know it, he knows it. You’ve been orbiting around each other for some weeks now, and this is the first time you’ve been alone –

“Can you spare a minute?” Tech calls out, pulling you away from your thoughts. You swivel in your chair and shift your attention to him, a bit surprised.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t realise I was on board,” you reply as you make your way to the cockpit where Tech is currently fiddling with some wires.

“You’re...very hard to miss,” Tech replies and your heart skips a beat. “The ship is far too small to miss another sentient being’s presence.”

“Right,” you mutter while taking a seat, trying not to sound too deflated. So maybe he didn’t feel that tension. “What do you need help with?”

“I am taking this opportunity to rewrite the ship’s central comm unit to be more covert when passing through areas with increased Imperial traffic. If I can update the ship’s communication infrastructure to resemble that of a first generation Imperial craft, then we will considerably reduce our chances of being identified. Which is why I am particularly glad you stayed behind today. Considering your, er, history.” He fiddles with a mess of wires in front of him, not once looking up.

“And here I was thinking you wanted me around because you enjoyed my company,” you playfully jab.

“There’s that, too,” Tech replies. “Though it would be advantageous if you could list all of the Imperial access codes you can remember. The computer and I can do some pattern recognition to better–,” he cut himself off and anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. “Apologies, you don’t need a long-winded explanation. If you’re happy to share, you can do so whenever you’re ready.”

You consider protesting and telling him that you find his rambling cute, but you decide not to dwell on it for his sake. You list the codes you remember from the Academy. You keep talking, relaying any tangential intel relating to access codes. If it’s irrelevant, Tech doesn’t stop you.

He is silent for a few moments analysing the data you’ve given him. You watch him closely, admiring the way his brow furrows and his lips purse while he’s concentrating.

“You trust me then?” you venture to say. You play with your hands in your lap. “Even though I was with the Empire?”

“You’re helping us now,” Tech replies, as if it’s obvious. He is still inputting data into the datapad he is holding when he continues, “You trust us, it would seem. And we were soldiers programmed upon our creation to destroy the Republic.”

You fumble over your next words.

“That’s – it’s entirely different.”

“And from my perspective, all that matters is where you are now,” he states with finality.

“Well,” you say shyly, “I like where I am.”

Tech smirks despite himself, briefly glancing up at you from his datapad.

You hold his gaze for a moment, before settling into a comfortable silence. You sit in next to him for several minutes, revelling in his closeness like a brezak basking under the Zygerrian sun. It’s only when you notice yourself blushing like a teenager that you decide to make yourself useful and actually help with repairs like you promised.

++++++++++++++++++++

“Would you mind holding this wire out of the way for me while I solder the capacitors for the localised memory bank?” Tech calls, breaking your concentration. The illumination device you were repairing could wait.

You have no idea what Tech means, if his string of words means anything, and you survey his makeshift workbench for a hint. Several panels are detached, limply dangling from a few brightly coloured wires. Tech is focusing his attention on a large panel that is plugged into a cylindrical storage device.

“Maker, that’s a big data stick,” you can’t help but mutter.

Tech makes an incoherent choking sound.

You do as requested and lean over his shoulder to take hold of the wire he specified between your thumb and forefinger. The fabric of your sleeves brushes against his shoulder armour and it feels as though there is a static shift in the air, like the air around you is alive and humming.

And Tech gulps with the contact. He types a few sets of numbers into his datapad with excess force, seriously testing the build quality of the device. His posture is especially rigid as focuses on testing the wires currently in his lap.

Your pulse is racing. It’s as if each second that passes without a confession threatens to rip apart the very fabric of reality.

“Tech?” He has to feel this too, right? “Why...why did you stay behind today?” you ask, careful to keep your voice even. You need him to say it, admit that he feels it, too. You’re desperate for it.

“You can let go now,” he replied, pointedly ignoring your question.

You let go of the wire, but make no move to step away from him. You’re acutely aware of yourself right now and suddenly self-conscious: about the deep shade of crimson enveloping your face, the way you’re breathing, the clamminess you can feel on your palms. You hope you smell alright and silently pray that any traces of caf on your breath are long gone.

Several seconds pass before Tech looks up, over his shoulder at you. His face briefly flickers with concern.

“Your flushed features and increased heart rate indicates that you are nervous,” he remarks.

Maker, is it that obvious, you cringe.

Your mouth is dry and you contemplate making an excuse, but your brain does not want to cooperate.

“Sometimes I –,” you begin. Void, here I go. “Sometimes I get nervous around you,” you admit, attempting to make your confession sound as casual as possible. You bite your bottom lip in a way that you hope will be interpreted as sensual, or, at the very least, cute.

And Tech? Tech is flustered. Like visibly shaken, blushing furiously, two-steps-away-from-hyperventilating, kind of flustered.

“Please do not be nervous,” he responds tightly. Each word is taking considerable effort to be spoken. “I already told you: we trust you. I am not a threat to you.”

The poor guy. There’s no way he can really be misinterpreting that –.

“No, no, it’s a good kind of nervous,” you attempt to clarify.

“Nervousness is not conducive to high quality work,” Tech chokes out.

“No, I mean like giddy. I feel giddy around you.”

Come on, Tech.

“Would you like a chair–.”

“Stars, Tech, I like you!”

Tech...errors. He attempts to start several sentences with no success before mumbling an excuse that he has to go, “fix the reverse polarity capacitive inductor,” which, to your knowledge, is definitely not a real thing.

So maybe that could have gone better. All things considered, he did seem affected by your admission. On the other hand, he also left the room entirely.

Your face burns with embarrassment and, hey, maybe this backwater planet could make a decent home. Maybe the swamp water would be safe for consumption and you could spend the rest of your days foraging for swamp... berries. Sure, it might be a little uncomfortable, but no less uncomfortable than staying here for one more second.

And this is why you don’t admit your feelings to anyone. Ever.

Ugh. You were so confident, too. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to transport to another star system.

The door to the ‘fresher shuts, followed by a slight scuffle of feet, and a thunk that sounds decidedly like a head hitting the door.

You briefly consider leaving the ship to attempt to meet up with the rest of the Bad Batch. It’s been far too long since you’ve breathed fresh, clean, air and you feel a second wave of self-pity wash over you as you contemplate the thought of breathing in the smell of Wrecker’s feet for several more weeks in the Marauder’s circulated air. They hadn’t been gone longer than a standard hour and there was a clear path to get into town. You could still salvage the day, you could still stretch your legs–

‘Oh you want to know why I suddenly decided to join you, Hunter, after promising I’d help fix the ship? Funny story, I was trying to seduce your brother and he rejected me!’

You physically cringe at that. On second thought, maybe just pretending this didn’t happen would be the easier option. Lesser of two evils and all that.

Well, you’ve endured worse situations than this. Swamp berries, if they exist, probably won’t offer enough sustenance anyway, you conclude. You turn your attention to fixing several access panels that require little to no attention.

++++++++++++++++++++

It takes a long while for Tech to exit the ‘fresher. The door opens with a hiss and you stiffen, not looking up until he briskly walks past you and resumes his makeshift work station in the cockpit. Once he is seated and his back is facing you and you can hear the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on his datapad, you allow your entire body to relax.

You look back down to your newest project: fixing the swivel action on a chair. You’re not entirely sure if the chair needed to swivel, or whether it was supposed to, but it does now. At least Omega would have fun with that.

“Can you spare another minute?” Tech says after a considerable stretch of silence.

His comment catches you off-guard. It’s fine, it’s fine, you are just going to pretend like nothing happened. You can just carry on helping with actual repairs like you promised.

“I’m coming,” you say, while putting your entire weight into tightening a screw.

Tech coughs slightly.

“The, uh, I need your help with the cum system. The comm system!” he stutters.

Your eyes widen and decide it’s best not to comment, furiously thinking about the fact that Tech rarely makes mistakes. You wipe your hands on your trousers and stride over to the cockpit where Tech is fiddling with some wires on his lap.

“Take these,” he says while coiling a piece of wire to make a conductor. He pushes right through the awkwardness and places a handful of resistors in your outstretched hand.

You stand there in silence for several moments before you drum your fingers on the back of his chair. He makes no move to immediately utilise the resistors, so you resign yourself to stand there and watch him work. (You suppress a sigh – you wish you weren’t attracted to him at this moment, but here you are, drawn in by his confidence and fixated on watching his nimble fingers work their magic.)

Normally, you’d have already lost your patience. But not now, not when you are trying to decipher just what exactly Tech was trying to accomplish by calling you over and ignoring you. And that’s when you realise that Tech either forgot you were there or forgot to give you whichever menial task he originally intended.

But there’s absolutely no chance that Tech makes two mistakes within the same standard year, never mind two mistakes within the same afternoon.

You start to wonder if he even has any use for the resistors. Your knowledge of technology is limited, but you really don’t see how they’d be useful with his current task. Maybe this is Tech’s uncharacteristically inefficient way to try to initiate conversation. You really hope you’re not completely misreading the situation, but it’s not like you have any pride left to lose.

“Why did you stay behind today, Tech?” you ask quietly, voice tinged with apprehension and perhaps an unmistakable eagerness. You phrase it more like a statement than a question this time.

He continues to fidget, his leg bouncing anxiously as he works.

“I did some research,” he blurts. “Regarding intimacy between human males and human females.”

Huh.

“I read the specifics on how to kiss,” he continues, “but I fear that I am a bit out of my depth as to how I am supposed to initiate it.” He is still fussing with the wires in his lap, not quite able to look up at you.

“You...want to kiss?” you surmise, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. “Me?”

“Very much so.”

A grin breaks across your face and the sharp sting of Tech’s previous rejection immediately melts away. You deposit the handful of resistors in a tray containing various tools Tech had been using throughout the day before taking a tentative step forward from behind the chair. He cranes his neck to look at you, an unfamiliar expression that you’re not quite able to decipher written across his face.

You reach your hand out to caress his cheek, and sliding your hand down to his chin to guide it upwards as you bend down to bring your lips to his. The kiss is chaste, at first, but Tech proves himself a quick study as slightly parts his lips to deepen the kiss. His goggles nudge against your face and you’re pretty sure you’re leaving a greasy cheek print on one of them.

You pull away to gauge his reaction.

“Was that... satisfactory?” he asks, seemingly dazed. His eyes are hooded and still focused on your lips.

“It was perfect.” You offer a small smile.

He removes the goggles to clean one side of them with a nearby cloth. So you were leaving a cheek print. Once his goggles are back in place, he’s looking at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real, his golden brown eyes blinking owlishly at you.

“I apologise for leaving you earlier. I did not anticipate you returning my affections – it did not seem probable. And I was, regrettably, not prepared,” he mumbles.

“Probable?” It’s your turn to malfunction. You want to usher a thousand reassurances at once.

“Well, no.” Tech shifts his weight uncomfortably, not quite able to meet your eyes. “Hunter or Crosshair usually are the ones who capture the affections of –,”

“I like your goggles,” you interrupt in a rush before you surge forward to press your lips against his, hoping to convey just how much you return his affections. It’s a messy, urgent kiss that Tech returns with equal fervour. His fingers find their way into your hair, pulling you closer.

When you finally break the kiss, you straighten your back and take both of his hands in yours and take small, hesitant steps backwards, encouraging Tech to stand. As he does, the project he is working on slides off of his lap and clatters to the floor. He pays it no attention as he closes the distance between you, his eyes darkened with lust. He kisses you with renewed purpose as his hands wrap around your waist, roaming across your body, before they settle firmly on your ass.

Your hips grind into his codpiece and Tech lets out a low groan that goes straight to your core. He moves to kiss the curve of your neck, sucking at the delicate skin and making you squirm. The dampness between your legs becomes apparent and you press yourself closer to him, desperate for friction where you need it the most. As if he can read your mind, he trails a hand from your ass and places it between your legs, grazing over your clit before cupping your cunt. You involuntarily rock into his hand and moan into his mouth, hardly recognising the sounds you’re making.

Tech’s hand abruptly stills as he draws back to meet your eyes. His expression mirrors yours: searching wide eyes filled with longing, a silent acknowledgement passes between you as you reach the point of no return.

And in that moment you are struck with the urge to want nothing more than his cock in your mouth.

“Can I?” you blurt, glancing downward, hoping he is able to intuit exactly what you are suggesting in that moment.

“You may.” You allow the grammatical correction to slip by. “But I’ve never–,” he begins.

You don’t break eye contact and you begin to drop to your knees. He’s looking at you with his eyes wide, mouth slack. Tech’s bulged codpiece is mere inches from your face, and it’s in that moment that you realise that you have no idea how to undress this man.

And this, this is when you start to worry.

Does it have a latch? Does it even come off?

Your eyes dart from left to right looking for some sort of hint as to how it could be removed. You’re half tempted to just plant a smooch on the armour or the kiss inside of his thigh and pretend that all of this was intentional.

“I can get that,” Tech helpfully chimes in, blessedly oblivious to your internal struggle. He removes the pelvic plate with ease and, to your relief, you can see the shape of his erection straining under a layer of thick black fabric. Black fabric that conforms to his body shape exceedingly well. You reach out to feel his length, gently cupping his balls through the fabric before applying more pressure as you palm his shaft. He soft groan escapes his lips.

It catches you a little off guard, actually, to see him so hard. Knowing he’s been hard underneath his armour this entire time. Wondering when else he’s been hard and you had been none the wiser.

His cock has an attractive silhouette – it’s thicker than you expected and you can feel the patch of pre-cum that dampens the black fabric near his tip. You reach for his waistband and pull it down before slowly wrapping a hand around his shaft. He hisses with the contact and brings a white-knuckled fist to his lips.

You peer up at him through your lashes and you lick your lips, preparing to tease him a bit before taking him as deep as you can manage.

And that’s when something inside Tech snaps.

He looks down at you with wild eyes and places his hand on the back of your head to guide your mouth to his cock, apparently unable to continue the role of a passive observer for any longer. Clearly intent at putting his newfound research to good use. You lick a wet stripe from the base to the tip, before taking him in your mouth, the pre-cum tangy on your tongue. His grip tightens on your hair the same time he tilts his hips forward to push his cock further and you hollow your cheeks, sucking hard enough to make Tech groan and his knees buckle. He braces himself against the back of the pilot’s chair, captivated at the sight your mouth stretched around his length.

You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, taking him as deep as you’re able. You drag your tongue and press it flush on the underside of his cock, looking up at Tech with wide doe eyes, batting your eyelashes prettily as he struggles to maintain composure. You continue your pace until sweat starts to bead at his temple and his breathing becomes less controlled.

Patience isn’t your strong point and you’re too pent up not to touch yourself. You bring your free hand down your trousers, between your thighs, running your fingers through your wet folds and hum at the sensation. Tech’s hips stutter with the vibrations and his face contorts in what looks like a pained grimace. He takes a miniature step back and your lips leave his cock with a pop. He’s breathing heavily now and his weeping cock is painfully hard, his balls tight.

“I don’t want to finish in your mouth, mesh’la,” he pants, voice low.

You nod dumbly, currently unable to form a coherent thought or tear your eyes away from his erect length, only inches away from your face.

Tech takes hold of both of your forearms, helping you get to your feet, before wrapping his hands around your thighs, picking you up with surprising ease. You lock your thighs around his torso as he strides over to press you against one of the auxiliary control panels adjacent to the co-pilot’s chair in the cockpit. The incline on the panel is steep and the pressure of his hips against yours is the only thing keeping you from sliding down.

“Let me taste you,” Tech groans against your ear.

You let out a frustrated whine and desperately move to unclasp your trousers as Tech works to open your shirt. You shudder once the cool air hits your sweat-dampened skin and Tech messily palms your exposed breast while nipping at your neck. He helps you shimmy out of your clothing while holding you in firmly place before discarding them on the floor of he Marauder.

And this is how you find yourself spread eagle on the Marauder's control panel in possibly the most undignified position you’ve ever been in.

He goes to remove his goggles and you stop him.

“If they’re not uncomfortable for you, I’d like for you to leave them on.” He quirks a brow at you, quizzical. “What? I told you that they’re cute.”

His face evolves from sceptical to bashful in a few moments.

“Very well, then. I can leave them on.”

Tech moves his hands under your thighs as he lowers himself, draping your legs across each of his shoulders with surprising gentleness for a man who looks like he is ready to devour you. Once he’s on his knees and comfortably supporting your weight, keeping you pressed against the console, he places an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of your thigh.

“A-are you okay with this?” you manage to stutter out. It’s not like you haven’t pictured his head between your thighs before, but something about his head actually being between your thighs fills you with a nervousness you hadn’t anticipated.

He mumbles his assurances against your clit. He begins with slow, languid licks and you suck in a sharp breath as you feel yourself craving more and have to stop yourself from violently bucking your hips up.

Okay, so he’s actually really good at this. You know you really shouldn’t be that surprised, Tech is nothing if not thorough with his research and it’s, er, practical applications. Any thoughts of humour at Tech’s expense are, however, ripped from your mind when he sinks a single finger inside your cunt. His finger curls with a precision that only Tech could manage and you moan in encouragement as he pumps it in and out.

You squirm when he hits the spot that makes you want to beg for more and you feel your bare ass hit a button on the console. The next thing you hear is a soft swish swish sound of the Marauder's screen wipers that you inadvertently turned on. Mercifully, it doesn’t break Tech’s concentration and his hands continue to grip your hips, holding your cunt to his face.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you chant. You writhe again and another button sounds its activation. Nothing immediately makes itself known. You hope it’s not something like a proton torpedo firing into the swampy area the Marauder landed in. Not because there’s anything nearby, but because you’ll die if Tech stops here.

He moans into your core as he brings a hand down to grip his leaking cock, desperate for some friction.

“Kriff,” you grunt at the sight of him fucking his fist, only to hear Tech utter the same exclamation at the same time.

“Is there an echo in here or something?” You smile at him, offering a half-laugh before your face contorts with pleasure once again and you hiss through your teeth.

“Yes?” a new, tinny voice chimes in on the overhead speaker system. “This is Echo... You’ve, uh, turned on the short range comm system.”

You knew Tech was a good soldier, but the reflexes in which he slammed the short range comm transmitter with his free hand surprised you. He didn’t move himself from between your thighs and skilfully cut off the transmission while continuing to work your clit with his tongue and your cunt with his finger.

Before you could die from embarrassment and wonder just how much Echo and the rest of the Batch heard, Tech adds another finger and your entire body jerks and tenses.

“I’ve – ah, right there – Maker, that feels good. I’ve never been with anyone who is patient enough to let me come,” you manage to say through gritted teeth.

“My research indicated that it can take around 20 standard minutes for women to orgasm if properly relaxed, why would others stop prematurely?” Tech replies, only briefly removing his mouth from your cunt to reply.

“Selfishness?” you guess.

Tech seemed to take your admission (and ability to form sentences) personally, clearly intent on rendering you incapacitated. He returns to his attention to your clit and maintains his rhythm, teasing a third finger near your entrance. You whine at the sensation and move to hold Tech’s head in place, because if he stops now, there’s no way you’ll ever forgive him. The pressure that’s been mounting in your core finally, finally peaks and your entire body tenses as you surrender to your climax.

“Tech,” you whine, unable to formulate thoughts, let alone words.

He assures you with a soft groan and tightens his grip on your hip. He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he guides you through your climax.

As you come down from your orgasm, you feel like you’ve spent a year in bacta. You can’t move. Honestly, your bones are like Andorian jelly. The feeling is only temporary, however, as you’re overcome with the desire – no, need – to be filled.

“In me,” you urge. “Now.”

He adjusts his goggles and looks at you, spread out, completely ready for him.

“Lie back then.”

Tech settles between your thighs and nudges his cock head against your entrance. He takes a breath to steady himself, rubbing his length through your folds, covering it in your arousal.

“So wet and ready for me, mesh’la.”

Your hands wildly grasp at his chest plate, fingernails scratching along the plastoid, desperate to hold onto anything to anchor you. You meet his mouth with a graceless kiss, before he finally sinks into you.

“You’re tight,” he grits out.

He waits a few moments letting you adjust to his size before he begins to move. He restrains himself, slowly rolling his hips as your cunt stretches around his length.

“More,” you plead, breathlessly. “Please.”

Your encouragement is all he needs before he snaps his hips against yours, setting an unrelenting rhythm. He rocks into you harder with each thrust of his hips, his plastoid leg places slapping your skin.

“You feel so good, cyar'ika,” he pants. You surge upwards to greet his lips with a messy kiss, which only spurs him on to fuck you faster. “You’re, ah, taking me so well.”

“Fuck –,” you whine.

His grip tightens and his whole body starts to tense – he’s dangerously close to coming undone. And that’s when you notice his pace start to slow, his movements clearly distracted.

“Tech?” you mumble. You focus your eyes on his face and he looks dazed, you can practically hear him thinking. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but he doesn’t give you any time to panic.

“Elevate your hips by seven to ten degrees,” he states through heavy breaths.

“What?” Definitely not what you were expecting him to say.

Tech seems unfazed by your apparent annoyance. He wordlessly repositions himself, grabbing both of your hips and raising them slightly, holding your body up so it’s just the sharp incline of the console and Tech’s hands keeping you in place.

He began thrusting in earnest again, his eyes screwing shut in pleasure. And, Maker, he was right. The new angle hits a spot that makes your toes curl and you lose the ability to speak almost instantly and mewl helplessly as Tech fucks into you.

You made an undignified noise as you gripped his bicep, desperate to hold onto something, feeling the pressure mount in your core. With Tech’s hands busy holding you in place as he maintains a brutal pace, you bring a hand down to your clit, still wet with spit and your own essence. You barely have to touch yourself before you feel your body screaming for release.

“’M coming,” is all the warning you are able to give him before your cunt spasms around his twitching cock as your vision whites out. Tech grunts at the sensation, unable to hold his own climax off any longer.

“Where do you want me to –,” he grates out.

“Anywhere,” you cut him off, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Just want to feel you.”

“Fuck, mesh’la, I’m going to come,” Tech groans, desperately chasing his release with harsh thrusts. His hips forcefully buck into you before his cock stiffens and he spills himself inside of you. He buries his face in your neck, slowly pumping you full of his cum, before he slumps against you. “Bid jate par me,” he mumbles into your neck, barely audible. “Gotal par me.”

You don’t know Mando’a, but whatever he is saying, the way he is saying it, sends a pleasant chill over your body.

You’re both still breathing heavily when Tech gingerly places you back down with a surprising gentleness for someone who had just been fucking you within an inch of your life. He’s in no rush to remove himself from you, but when his softened cock does slip out and his cum leaks out of you and onto the console, he helps you slide down. When your feet touch the floor, your legs wobble slightly and Tech has to grasp your forearms to steady you, softly chuckling at the state you’re in.

And when you look at him, he looks positively debauched. Sated, but debauched. You probably look worse.

In one swift motion he bends down, brings an arm down under your knees, and lifts you up. You wrap your arms around your neck while he carries you to his bunk. His cool armour against your overheated skin is a welcome sensation and you press yourself closer.

“Your research paid off,” you mumble into his chest as he sets you down on his bed.

“Please do not act so surprised by that.”

++++++++++++++++++++

You and Tech aren’t quite finished with the repairs by the time the Batch return hours later, long after the moons have risen and the bioluminescent plants surrounding the ship have begun to glow. If the squad notice you’re sitting a bit too close to Tech, your thigh pressing comfortably against his, they don’t say anything.

Neither of you were expecting to defile the Marauder all day and Tech was frantically fixing the lever on a storage hatch access panel, attempting to make up for lost time.

“Wrecker!” Echo shouts. “Clean up after yourself, for kriff’s sake.”

“Why?” Wrecker drawls, stomping towards the cockpit. “What did I do this time?”

“You’ve spilled your juice on the console again, all the keys are stuck in place.”

The access lever snaps clean off in Tech’s hands.

[sparkypantaloons]

Bird Call

"I guess I'm kind of like your car keys." Superman says from where he lies in the Cave medbay. His words slur slightly. "Always nearby if you look."

Batman scowls. "Or never where you're supposed to be."

Lucky for the Robin's, Batman's not entirely correct this time.

Or;

Five times Superman saved Robin, and one time Robin saved Superman.

~~

Jason

“Batman, Batman please.” Robin’s pleading, his teeth grit to stop them chattering. “B, wake up, please wake up. We gotta go.” He shakes Batman’s massive frame. The man lies prone on the marble floor, unconscious. Icicles cling to his cape.

Robin’s left foot is still frozen up to his knee, trapping him in an awkward half lunge against the floor. He hasn’t been able to feel his toes for the last twenty minutes. He’s been cold before, but never anything like this; he tries not to think about what might happen if that doesn’t change soon.

His shakes Batman again, presses the button that’s meant to activate the Batsuit’s built in-heater, for what must be the twelfth time. It still doesn’t work. “Please, B.” He says, desperately. But Batman’s lips are almost white with cold now, and the cloud that rises with each of his breaths is getting smaller and smaller.

Robin shrugs off his cape. Lays it over Batman’s torso, tucks it around his neck. Anything to try and give the larger man some warmth. Robin can’t lose Batman, can’t lose Bruce, can’t lose his— his Dad.

The situation is horribly familiar. This isn’t the first time Robin has watched the rise and fall of a parent’s chest, terrified that each one might be their last. It had been freezing the first time too. The dingy apartment over on Crime Alley. They hadn’t had heating for a week, a proper meal for almost twice as long—

Robin shakes the thought from his head. Goes back to trying to chip away the ice around his foot. He can hardly grip the batarang his hands are so cold.

They’d been following up intel on a suspected heist at Gotham Museum. The Pharaoh’s Eye. A new Ancient Egypt exhibit, of a recently discovered ankh. A giant and gold cross with a loop on top and an enormous glittering diamond placed in the middle. Even with the extra security in place, there was always going to be an attempt to steal it. This was Gotham after all.

Robin would have put money on it being Freeze, should have put money on Batman being too soft on him as well. Always so eager to see the good in people.

“You’re better than this Victor.” Batman had called, across the central chamber of the Museum’s main gallery. “Don’t undo the good work you’ve been doing at Belle Reve.”

Freeze hadn’t been interested this time. No longer willing to listen to Batman’s attempts at reasoning. He’d fired his freeze gun almost immediately, destroyed one of the sarcophaguses found with the ankh. “This diamond will accelerate my work exponentially. I cannot let this opportunity pass!”

It took Batman and Robin less time to take out Freeze’s henchmen than it had taken Freeze to disable the security around the ankh’s display case.

“Give it up, Freeze.” Robin said carefully, as he and Batman approached the scientist. “You’ve lost this one.”

Freeze rested his head against the display case. Closed his eyes. This was normally how it went. Batman tried to reason with him. He and Robin fought the goons. Freeze realised he shouldn’t steal priceless ancient artefacts and went back to prison. Batman and Robin went home (via Batburger, ideally).

Except this time as Batman approached, Freeze had flipped. Unleashed a hurricane of rage in Batman’s direction. An assault of fist and ice and fury nobody had seen coming.He may as well have been a rag doll under Freeze’s frenzy.

Before Robin could even react, Freeze had thrown Batman clear across the gallery. He crashed through a display of canopic jars and lay still and unmoving in the dusk.

“What have you done?” Robin breathed, eyes wide, as even Freeze looked shocked by his own outburst. “What’ve you done?” Robin asked again, voice high and tight now.

He ran across the room, skidding to a stop next to The Bat. “Batman! Batman, can you hear me?”

Behind him he could hear Freeze disable the final security measure protecting the ankh. “Finally.”

Robin was too busy checking Batman’s vitals, too busy trying to check that Bruce was still alive. Hands shaking as he searched for a pulse, checked his pupils, made sure there was no spinal injury.

Freeze came to stand behind them. He raised his gun.

“Get back!” Robin growled, teeth bared as he stood face the scientist.

“I can’t have you coming after me.” Freeze said, looking a little giddy. “Not this time.”

He raised his Freeze Gun, Robin could see The Pharaoh’s eye had already been inserted.

“No!” Robin flung himself over Batman’s prone form, as Freeze fired the gun into the air love them.

Ice; cold, bitter and deadly began to creep into the air, clawing its way up Robin’s leg before he could move, setting itself into the stone of the floor, the brick of the walls, the temperature plummeting rapidly.

Robin heard his communicator short circuit in his ear. Could swear he could hear the air in his lungs crystalise in the cold. Below him, Batman remained unmoving. His cape now freezing him to the floor.

Twenty minutes later and they’re still there and Robin will never forgive Freeze for this. Will never trust him again. How many times has Batman offered to help him? How many times has Wayne Enterprises offered to fund his work? If Robin can’t get free, if he can’t wake Batman up…

“Please, B.” Robin says again, and his voice is small against the freezing cold of the gallery. His eyes locked on the tiny cloud of breath that escapes Batman’s lips. “Please.” His voice breaks, tears freezing as soon as they hit his cheeks, because he knows nobody can hear him. Nobody is coming to help. Just like before and Robin is going to watch another parent die in the cold and the dark…

Nobody can hear him. His brain says. Nobody except—

“Superman.” Robin says and it’s almost a question. He’s only met Superman a few times. Hardly knows the man really. He knows that Dick had been close to the Kryptonian. Knows that Batman and he have a good working relationship. But Robin’s just… some kid to Clark.

He waits a moment. Silence. And he’s sure that every cloud of breath from Batman will be his last. He can’t watch this happen again, he can’thecan’thecan’t—

“Superman!” He screams as loud as he can, draws out the final syllable. His voice is wretched with cold and desperation. “Superman! Superman!” A sob cuts him off, cold and sharp in his throat.

Then with a crash of ice and glass and stone Superman is there. Eyes wide as he searches for whoever called for him, takes in the destruction of the museum’s central gallery.

“Robin!” He’s by Robin’s side in an instant, his eyes raking over first Robin’s form and then Batman’s. “Robin, what happened?” He demands.

“Freeze.” Robin’s says through chattering teeth and frozen sobs. “I can’t wake him up, he won’t wake up, I can’t lose��, he can’t d—” He’s shivering too hard to get his words out. All attempts at remaining calm shrivel to nothing now that help is here.

Superman is melting the ice that pins Robin to the ground. Is removing his cloak and wrapping it around Robin’s shoulders, manoeuvring Robin’s frozen fingers to hold it closed around him. Warmth seeps into Robin’s limbs like the cape is made of the sun itself.

Robin watches as Superman’s heat vision goes to work, steam slowly rising from Batman’s figure. He turns to Robin. “I need to get him back to the Cave. I’ll come back for you, Robin. I won’t be a minute.” And then he’s gone, and Robin sits wrapped in his cape alone.

True to his word, Superman is only gone 48 seconds. It feels like a lifetime to Robin. Long enough that he’s imagined every awful possibility of what happens from here. Bruce dies. Batman with him. And the rest of Robin’s life is spent on the streets in the cold.

“Let’s go Robin.” Superman says gently, lifting the fourteen year old into his arms. “B’s okay.” He says, when Robin doesn’t say anything, as they rise into the Gotham sky.

“You did the right thing,” Superman says as they near the Cave. “Calling me.”

“Thank you for coming.” Robin says dully, as they fly through the Cave entrance. “I didn’t know if you…” He trails off. Shrugs at the look Superman gives him. “I’m just some kid.”

Superman places Robin on the ground of the Cave. Places a steadying hand on his shoulder before the fourteen year old can sprint off to see Bruce. “Batman’s still alive tonight, because of you.” He says seriously. “Just some kid couldn’t be Robin.”

Robin ducks his head, nods. He shrugs the cape off his shoulders, offers it back to Superman.

“Keep it.” Superman says. “As a promise. I’ll always come if you call.”

(Dick)

[obiwanobi]

okay but,, I can't get this idea out of my head of an au where anakin falls early, maybe halfway through the war– but instead of joining sidious or dooku he runs, terrified of himself, and stays somewhere he can't tear the galaxy apart like the darkest part of himself keeps goading him to. and he's there for a handful of months, and he's lonely and scared– until obi-wan comes to find him. and this man who anakin has loved for so long never stopped searching, razed a path through the galaxy (1/2)

I TOLD you all to stop sending me perfect prompts, god, here’s 3k that could be resumed by ‘it’s rotten work’ ‘not to me, not if it’s you’  because I have no self control:

"Anakin."

It's the first time in seven months that Obi-Wan pronounces his name with hope.

The back of the hooded figure visibly tenses in front of him. Obi-Wan can see his hand clenching around his glass, and his head starts turning in his direction but stops before Obi-Wan can see his eyes. Instead, it's in the Force that Anakin looks for him. It's a small, tentative tendril that crosses the space between them, ridiculously shy in comparison to the enthusiastic maelstrom that usually greets him when Obi-Wan extends his mind to Anakin.

But it's him. Too warm and barely controlled, the familiar flame of a burning pyre that Obi-Wan has never learned how to turn his eyes from.

 Headache-inducing and almost unbearable, have been some words used to describe Anakin's presence in the Force.  The most comforting of infernos, Obi-Wan has always thought.

Anakin feels surprised, and something close to joy colours the Force around him for a fleeting moment. Obi-Wan can feel the corners of his mouth turning up as he sighs affectionately.

"De—"

Then it all turns to panic.

He doesn't even have the time to realise that Anakin has retracted his signature behind durasteel shields the second it touched Obi-Wan's, because the man in front of him is already jumping to his feet, pushing the Twi'lek waiter away, and running for the exit of the cantina.

It leaves Obi-Wan stunned, arm still raised toward an empty chair.

Surprisingly, it's not panic that filled him, or even the persistent fear that if he loses Anakin now, after months of roaming the galaxy looking for him, then how long will it take before catching the smallest clue of his location again? No, this time, the worry and dread that has been his faithful companions for so long, now make way for something only Anakin knows how to infuse into him in the most inappropriate of times: exasperation.

"Anakin!" he yells, making the Rodian next to him jump in his seat. 

Rushing outside, his eyes scan the street, trying to find a tall figure in a brown robe at the same time he stretches his senses through the Force to guide him toward his infuriating former padawan. Not used to the brightness of the twin suns and the constant particles of sand and dust floating around, Obi-Wan is almost sure that the glimpse of Anakin's presence he felt for half a second is only due to his inattention and not Obi-Wan's skills. For once, Obi-Wan isn't going to complain about Anakin's lack of focus: he starts running right away.

Anakin goes through three sharp turns, two attempts at climbing a roof and even one force-jump through the window of a shop, but Obi-Wan is determined to follow him wherever he goes. Even if he has to apologise to every irritated person he pushes out of the way.

"This is ridiculous," he says loudly, when he catches the dark brown robe trying to zigzag between stands, "I don't even know why you're running away from me!"

He thinks he can see Anakin throwing him a look, but with the hood over his face and one of the suns starting to set in front of him, can't be certain. It's only when Anakin seems to miss a turn and finds himself a few seconds later out of the streets, at the edge of a cliff overlooking the desert and its endless dunes, that he realises his mistake.

They're out of town now. There's nothing but the background noise of civilisation left behind, a warm wind sweeping the sand between them, and the twin suns bathing Anakin's silhouette in a glowing light.

"An—" Obi-Wan says, trying to get his breath under control. He's not used to such heat, and all the running, Force-jumping and the sweating really didn't help. Still, he takes a step toward him.

"Don't."

Even if it's just a simple word, hearing the sound of his voice soothes a deep ache that has plagued most of Obi-Wan's nights for the past few months.

Anakin is facing the canyon, the dune sea and the suns, a dark form with a double shadow, only showing his back to Obi-Wan. Even if he doesn't show his face, feelings bleed through his shields, as if he's still a padawan trying to get an awkward hold on the Force. There are confusion and anger, most of it directed at himself, Obi-Wan notes, and an all-encompassing veil of shame. Fear is here too, blending the edges of the mess produced by the cacophony of so many emotions clattering against each other. Obi-Wan can feel Anakin realising the flaws in his mental defences, and the spark of mortification before he hastily tries to rein it all in.

For a second, Obi-Wan thinks he's going to jump down the canyon just to avoid the embarrassment of inadvertently broadcasting his emotions.

"I won't stop chasing you now that I've found you," Obi-Wan warns, before the idea comes to Anakin's mind. The jump wouldn't kill him, but Obi-Wan really doesn't feel like tracking him through rocky canyons, tusken traps and krayt dragons. "I won't stop before you tell me why you're running away from me."

Anakin lowers his head without replying, shoulders sagging. Obi-Wan's feet move slowly. His mind reaches once again toward Anakin's, brushing against him in a wordless question. All irritation gone by now, he adds quietly:

"...And why you didn't come home."

Anakin's shields shudder. "You shouldn't have come."

"Anakin, the Separatists had you as their prisoner for almost a month. Rex told me he saw Grievous dragging your body to his ship himself. The Council waited for their terms of release, and when it didn't come, we thought you were dead."

"The Council," he snarls darkly, "they probably were happy to finally get rid of me."

"You know it's not true."

"No, I don't."

"Do you think I was happy, then?" Obi-Wan retorts, trying to stop the need to grab his robe and shake some senses into him. "Do you think Rex and I enjoyed having to plead with the Republic War Council to give us more time to look for you?"

The dark robe in front of him shuffles a bit. "You took the 501st to look for me?"

"Of course we looked for you! We went through every report of Grievous' flagship presence and got every intel we could gather about your possible location. There was no clue in any Separatist outposts we raided," he adds, focusing on his words to stay composed, and not the memory of becoming desperate enough after another fruitless day to check black markets for familiar mechno-arm's parts. "And we were starting to believe that you were truly dead then, until... Until we found an abandoned facility. With a lot of battle droids destroyed, and Grievous and Dooku dead. Force-choked to death."

Anakin stays silent again.

In the horizon, one of the suns has settled low enough to brush against the dune sea. The light has turned to a deep orange around his silhouette.

Obi-Wan takes a step.

"There was a holorecording."

The only answer he gets is the sound of a sharp intake of air, and an intensity in the Force that always saturates the air when Anakin tries, in vain, to calm his mind.

Another step.

"I saw you taking a starfighter. I saw you leaving the facility, free."

Another step.

"Why didn't you come back to the Temple?"

"There was nothing for me there anymore."

The word stops Obi-Wan in his tracks.  Somehow, one sentence is harder to swallow than months of worry. He's always known that he failed to make Anakin feel at home at the Temple, or make him realise that there might not be parents or siblings in names there, but the feeling of kinship remains the same. But to hear him say that the sum of all these years spent there together boils down to nothing to him, still manages to crack Obi-Wan's composure.

The burn in his throat makes his next words difficult to pronounce.

"Why didn't you come back to me, Anakin?"

"BECAUSE I'VE FAILED YOU!" Anakin snaps, throwing his arms up and his shields down, and finally turns toward Obi-Wan in a dramatic movement of his robe.

The hood falls from his head, and even if the sunset at his back prevents Obi-Wan from seeing his expression, hidden in the shadow, he can't miss his golden hair forming an incandescent halo around his face. The Force has erupted in a bonfire within Anakin, crackling around him in warning to anyone who would approach it, white-heat fever and boundless darkness at the same time.

It tastes like ash on Obi-Wan's tongue.

He pulls his own shields a bit tighter around him.

"Why do you keep asking this question when you know what I've done? Why are you even here? Are you here to kill me? Because I failed you, Obi-Wan! I killed them and I felt nothing but satisfaction! I accepted the dark side, I welcomed it even, it burned through me and it's still burning right now, and I'm incapable of controlling anything, not even my own shields, so no, I couldn't come back and pretend I could still be a Jedi. And now you saw it, you saw everything, so I can't even prete— I can't..."

The swirling of emotions comes crashing down around Anakin so violently that Obi-Wan physically flinches, and it looks like the Force is suddenly cutting down the strings holding him upright. He crumples to the ground in a cloud of sand and dust, close, too close to the edge of the cliff.

There's only the sound of Anakin panting for a moment, long enough for Obi-Wan to gather his thoughts, and take another step.

Only he would be foolish enough to want to touch glowing embers.

"It doesn't change my question," he says calmly, like he's always done after one of his padawan's tantrum. "Why didn't you come back to me, Anakin?"

He thinks he can see Anakin opening his mouth to answer, but only a short derisive laugh leaves his lips before he drags his feet in the dust and turns away from him again.

Finally, —finally—, Obi-Wan is close enough. Stopping just a few centimetres from Anakin's back, his hand instinctively reaches for his shoulder but hovers right before touching it. And then settles there and squeezes. It belongs there, he thinks as Anakin makes a small noise at the back of his throat.

He expects Anakin to shrug off his hand, refuse his touch, just like he's refusing to look directly at him.

But he doesn't.

"I couldn't see you," he admits after a pause, eyes closed. "I don't care about the Council, or the Republic, or anyone else, but I couldn't... I couldn't bear the disappointment in your eyes. I didn't want you to leave me, so I left first."

"Oh, Anakin," Obi-Wan sighs, trying to swallow the affection in his voice. He pauses for a second, relishing the feel of Anakin letting him rub his thumb on his shoulder. "I am saddened and upset, yes. When I watched all that anger unleashed and how you succumbed to it, how you crushed Grievous and Dooku so easily that I could almost feel the dark side through the holo, I felt... I felt heartbroken."

The indignation he expected, or any sort of accusations to shift the blame on something or someone else, doesn't come. Instead, Anakin bends his head and pulls his legs closer to him, like he has just been hit.

"I'm sorry Master," he manages to whisper, face hidden behind his arms and hair, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

"Listen, listen," Obi-Wan begs rapidly, kneeling next to him. His hand moves from his shoulder to the back of his neck, trying to soothe him. "I was heartbroken for you. You were alone, in a terrible situation, being taunted, electrocuted, tortured. It doesn't excuse what you did, but, Anakin, you disappeared for months after that. You ran away without a word, without an explanation, and I couldn't— I couldn't believe you would voluntarily turn your back on us. I couldn't let the thought that you didn't trust us enough to help you go. And then... you called for me."

"No, I didn't." The muffled, petulant tone makes Obi-Wan smiles a bit. His hand moves up along his nape to Anakin's curls, stroking gently, pushing unruly locks behind his ears.

"You did. Unconsciously, probably, but you did. For so long, I couldn't reach you through the Force, but I kept trying every time I meditated, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, anything to make sure you were still alive somewhere. And one day, I heard you. Far, far away, barely loud enough to recognise, but I heard you. Wishing I was with you."

Anakin's hand clenches in a fist at the words. Obi-Wan ignores it, fingers still running through his hair in a rhythmic movement.

"That's why I've spent seven months looking for you, searching the galaxy for you. Because I wished I was with you too."

Obi-Wan didn't expect the wounded noise that escaped Anakin's mouth, and even less that his admission would cause Anakin to throw himself at him in a fierce embrace. Caught off-guard, Obi-Wan topples and falls on his back in a cloud of dust. In the Force, Anakin's shields come crashing down again, but this time, Obi-Wan doesn't draw back from it. Their bond suddenly bursts open, emotions spilling in all directions and showering him with a chaotic jumble of relief-longing-hope, eventually blending together to only leave lovelovelove.

"Anakin," he sighs, with his usual falsely annoyed and secretly fond tone that seems to be the only way he knows how to pronounce his name. Anakin, heavy on top of him now, doesn't respond, too busy nuzzling Obi-Wan neck. "The cliff is right there, we could have died."

"Don't care," he replies, squeezing his arms impossibly tighter around Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan chuckles, and he can feel more than hear him hums in appreciation at the sound, face hidden under his chin.

After months of extending his mind through millions of Force-sensitive beings scattered around the galaxy and still finding it empty, there is nothing more reassuring than being smothered by Anakin's presence in the Force. He tugs on their bond a bit, just to feel it, and when Anakin instantly tugs back, Obi-Wan's hand on his waist pulls him closer.

"Would you look at me, Anakin? Just for a second. I have yet to really see you."

There is a short pause and then a long breath against his neck before Anakin puts one elbow on the ground next to Obi-Wan's face, raises his head, and finally, truly looks at Obi-Wan.

"Hello, there," Obi-Wan whispers, as familiar blue eyes blink at him.

Embarrassment tinges the Force and his cheeks pink, and Anakin seems to promptly remember that his shields are non-existent right now and that he's lying flat on Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan watches, amused, as he awkwardly starts to untangle his legs from him and shifts his weight to get to his knees.

"Now, shall we—"

"Watch the sunset with me," Anakin blurts out, then realises what he just said and starts babbling. "I mean, we're already here and it's almost over now, but it's the only beautiful thing on this Force-forsaken planet."

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that," Obi-Wan grins as Anakin's eyes widen. He opens his mouth, thinks better of it and closes it, looking at anything but Obi-Wan. Taking pity on him, Obi-Wan holds his hand toward him to help him get up. "Also, Anakin, the next time you want to punish yourself, please choose to do it on another planet than Tatooine. I don't think I can handle one more day of the suns trying to roast me like an Endorian chicken."

"Yes Master, your fair skin will be my first consideration the next time I turn to the dark side."

"I'm sure it will," he teases, squeezing Anakin's hand as he pulls him into a sitting position.

Anakin rolls his eyes, but quickly ducks his head to hide his reddened cheeks.

And then it hits him.

Right at this moment, seated next to his former padawan, their feet dangling above the desert, easy banter and the quiet tune of their signatures melting into each other again, Obi-Wan is happy. Even if Anakin is still dangerously close to the dark side, even if the war isn't completely over yet, even if he's not going to get away with deliberately ignoring the Council's messages for the past few months, Obi-Wan feels at peace. Content.

Eyes closed, he whispers his thanks to the Force for not taking another one of the most important people in his life away from him.

He doesn't need to look at Anakin to know he's wondering what he's doing, and his smile only grows before taking his hand in his own. Anakin makes a surprised noise, raising his head to look at him. His expression turns almost alarmed when Obi-Wan cups his face, thumb rubbing lightly against his cheek.

"We'll figure it out, Anakin. I won't leave you."

He's framing his face with both hands now, and can’t resist pressing his lips to his forehead. Anakin's signature turns impossibly brighter at the touch, and between the new uproar of feelings tangled together, Obi-Wan notices a tinge of desire and want, that will definitely be analysed later and probably used to tease him a bit more. This shade of red does look lovely on his cheeks, he notices, pleased.

But he will have time to embarrass him further later. Now, Obi-Wan just wants to enjoy the moment with him.

"...Also because I can't. The starship I borrowed has been making a worrying rattling noise since I left the Mid Rim. It's a miracle I arrived on Tatooine in one piece, and there is no way I'm putting another foot in it before you can assure me that it won't explode the moment I activate the hyperdrive regulator."

Anakin bursts into laughter. "Borrowed? Who did you steal it from this time?"

"I would never—" Obi-Wan scoffs, falsely indignant at the accusation.

"Don't lie, Master, it's unbecoming of you."

"I left a very apologetic note behind, if you must know."

Anakin laughs again, and it warms Obi-Wan's heart like nothing has managed to for the past seven months. He leans on his side to rest his head against Obi-Wan's, bumping his shoulder with his. There isn't any space left between them.

"What would you do without me, Master?"

"Crash and burn, probably." 

Basking in the golden light of the sunset, Obi-Wan tries not to burst with how warm he feels with Anakin messy locks tickling his face and Anakin's breath near his ear and Anakin's hand in his.

The last of Tatooine’s suns goes down in front of them. 

The most comforting of infernos, Obi-Wan thinks as the scorching heat of Anakin's signature clings to him too tightly.

He doesn't mind burning at all.

[carelessannie]

lookin for love (in all the wrong places)

chapter five

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

In CA:CW Steve kicks Spider-Man in the chest, awakening a soul deep bond and sending Peter into his first heat, before running away to Wakanda.

The soul bond, omegaverse, Spidershield angsty romance everyone needs.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Peter Parker Chapters: 5/ Chapter word count: 6.5K Fic Rating: E Warnings: mild violence and implied sex trafficking, extreme levels of fluff Read it here on AO3 Title is from this song by Johnny Lee

Steve

The ferry docks in the Åland Islands for a few hours overnight, allowing the two of them to sleep in shifts to be safe. After dinner, they had swept the ship for suspicious persons and bugs, tagging three places around their hallway with ears to keep an eye out for possible threats.

Even with the precautions, Steve feels on edge as they sail in the morning. Neither he nor Natasha get more than a few hours of sleep, and once the sun rises, they decide to spend the rest of the journey on the upper deck. Separating for the duration of the trip, Steve takes the helm while Natasha lounges closer to the stern.

There’s no attack, no threat to be concerned about— so when the ferry docks a few hours later, the two of them are already seated in their car and driving down the off-ramp. Steve takes the wheel first, while Natasha guides him East, following the sun until it sits high in the sky.

They stop at the border to Russia and switch vehicles, easily slipping through as the newly-mated Alpha and Omega couple on their Russian passports.

And if Natasha bats her eyes and gets them a free passage to St. Petersburg, Steve isn’t complaining.

It’s as they’re driving away that Natasha flinches at something one of the border police says under their breath, and Steve raises his eyebrow in question as he steers to merge back onto the highway. If Natasha is showing her reactions, it has to be important.

“They thought…” she pauses, chewing on her lower lip, before starting over, “When they reviewed our documents, they thought you might be my... trophy Alpha.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly, furrowing his eyebrows, “Is that bad for us?” He doesn’t quite understand what the issue is, or why Natasha might be anxious. The two men— Betas, probably— had given them a suspicious onceover, but otherwise let them travel in peace.

Natasha makes a frustrated noise, “I’m not translating it right. They think you’re my stud— that I brought you in from America or England to… breed.”

Horrified, Steve almost swerves the car off the road. “What— does that happen often?”

“Often enough that they may call it in. It’s not illegal, technically, but if they catch wind of possible trafficking…”

“Oh,” Steve checks the rearview mirror, suddenly all too aware of the surrounding cars and trucks. “What’s our move, Nat? Do you think they’ll actually come after us?”

She shakes her head again, “Best to get to St. Petersburg. We can call Tony from there, and switch out cars. If someone’s on our tail, they’re bound to know where we’re headed anyways. Stark can get us new documents by the time we reach the base.”

“Fine. I assume you know your way around the city?”

“Steve,” Natasha coos, “haven’t I taught you not to ask questions you already know the answer to?”

He shoots her a grin, “Good, then you’re in charge of ditching our ride. I’ll make a few calls.”

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” Natasha murmurs as she reclines in the seat, shifting to give herself a good view of both side mirrors while still seeing clearly out the front windshield. She crosses her feet at the ankle and pulls down the lid of a carefully worn baseball cap. If Steve didn’t know better, he would assume she fell asleep in the passenger seat.

They spend the last two hours of the drive in a tense silence, both of them on high alert. Steve knows from experience that Hydra likes to hide in plain sight— so he scans license plates, calculates distances, and carefully surveys the people in each car, looking for anything out of the ordinary. So far, nothing.

That changes when they enter the city.

Immediately, both of them sit up straighter, scanning the surrounding lanes for a threat.

“Do you—”

“Yes, stay alert,” Natasha hisses. Her hands are digging rapidly through her backpack until they pull out their last international phone. In one swift motion, she destroys it on the dashboard, lowering the window to sprinkle pieces onto the highway, sure to be crushed further by oncoming vehicles.

Steve changes lanes, inching closer to the quickly passing exit ramps. He doesn’t see a suspicious car— no black sedans, no tinted windows— but the feeling of being watched is undeniable.

“Exit here.”

Natasha’s voice is flat, and if Steve wasn’t listening for it, he would have missed the direction. Instead, he steps on the gas and throws the car into the right lane, barely avoiding the traffic cones as he speeds down the single exit ramp.

“Slower,” Natasha is reaching behind him as he merges back into traffic, this time heading West into the heart of the city. “When we get into the city, look for a coffee shop. You’re going to drop me off. Drive around the corner and watch for me— I’ll order you a drink inside and pretend I’m grabbing an item from my car. Instead, you will switch places with me, and sit outdoors drinking what I order. Keep your eyes up, run if you need to. I’ll rendezvous within an hour. Got it?”

“Got it,” Steve confirms, already slowing down as they breach the populated city limits. It isn’t long until he’s pulling up to a small café and Natasha is sauntering down the sidewalk, drawing any nearby attention to herself as he swings the car around back.

Traffic is thick, stifling, and he’s grateful to have the intel portion of this operation. Within five minutes, Natasha is in his rearview mirror, and he steps out of the vehicle to offer her the wheel.

He pulls his own hat lower to shield his face before slipping into the coffee shop, sidestepping immediately and settling into a corner table. There are three other patrons, all scattered throughout the space and engaged in the work in front of them. No threats yet.

“Peter?” a heavily accented voice calls, and Steve has to stop himself from flinching. It’s a common name— he needs to get himself under control. The voice calls out, “Peter?” once more, just as a tall, well-built man strides through the door, walking up the counter and picking up the drink.

The man turns around, “Huh. Didn’t know you were goin’ by Peter these days.”

“Sam,” Steve breathes, meeting his friends’ eyes with a shocked smile. He jumps to his feet and pulls the other man into a hug. It’s shakey— both of them chuckling and holding on tight— but the embrace is warm and feels like home.

“The hell are you doing here?” Steve grabs his arm, steering them both outside and towards the patio. “Not that I’m not grateful to see you, but… how did you find us?”

Sam shoots him a disbelieving look, placing the coffee cup between them before reclining back in his seat, “I got a tip a few days ago— something about Hydra and a base nearby. Stark got me a ride over yesterday and said I could plan on intercepting you here.”

Something in his face turns thoughtful, “You seriously didn’t see Redwing on the way in?”

“Uh,” Steve sorts through the details of their fast paced cut into the city, but can’t remember Sam’s drone being anywhere in sight.

Sam chuckles, “I followed you from the moment you entered the city— c’mon, you can’t tell me you didn’t see him, not with the way you were driving.”

“Dammit, Sam,” Steve curses. “We thought…” and then he laughs, slumping back into the patio chair and scrubbing his face. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

Sam spreads his arms wide, and gives Steve his widest, most charming smile, “Takes one to know one, Cap.”

There’s a beat of silence as Steve sips his drink— it’s perfect, not that he expected anything less from Natasha. Sam looks good, if not a bit tired. The smile on his face is practiced, and Steve knows it’s more for his sake than anything. They’ve never lied to each other, never had the opportunity to, so if Sam is appearing strained and weary, Steve knows he’s supposed to notice.

“Decide not to take a pardon, then?” Steve hedges, watching as Sam raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“No, Steve,” he looks out into traffic, carefully thoughtful, “it’s been a rough few months since Germany, but Sharon and I have been doing some ground work wherever King T’Challa is willing to send us. There’s a lot of shit going down, and— up until now— the only goal I really had was finding you again.”

A rush of guilt hits Steve in the chest, and he winces, “Look, I’m sorry for leaving you—”

“Hey, no— don’t do that,” Sam dismisses him, waving away the apology with one hand, “I knew you had to go to Wakanda, I had other shit that needed to get done.”

“Still, you deserved a better friend than that.”

Sam laughs, but the sound lacks any real joy, “I think we all deserved better than we got.”

There’s not much to say after, and Steve takes a long pull of his drink, trying discreetly to check his watch. Forty minutes until Natasha returns.

And speaking of, “So where did the Widow herself head off to?” Sam asks, checking his own watch. “Thought I’d catch both of you here.”

“Switching out cars. We assumed Hydra was tracking us into the city,” Steve narrows his eyes across the table, and it makes Sam laugh again.

“Damn, well... can’t say I’m sorry. Stark wanted me to keep a low profile until we crossed paths, and…” Sam sits up taller and leans across the table, forcing Steve to meet his eyes, “he mentioned something about keeping you stable.”

“God dammit—”

“Language.”

“Shut up, Sam,” Steve huffs, scrubbing his face with one hand, “why can’t Tony keep shit to himself.”

“Something I shouldn’t know about?”

Sam’s always been good at coaxing answers out of him, and Steve curses the other Alpha mentally for it. Why does he always attract friends who know him better than he knows himself?

“I found my soulmate, Sam.”

Jerking forward, the other Alpha’s eyes grow wide as his hands come down, hard, on the table. “Shit, Steve. When on earth did you have time—”

“I didn’t, Sam. That’s the thing. Fuck—”

He feels rage flow through his body for the first time in ages, and Steve’s hit with a flash of their bonding moment, marred by fear and devastation from his young Omega. He closes his eyes, remembering the residual pain from each heat. Scared and empty and alone.

There’s a hand on his arm, but Steve shakes it off, “Remember the kid Stark brought to Germany? Spider-man?”

“Sure, Bucky and I fought the kid, and he stuck us to the floor.”

“I fought him, too,” Steve sighs, rolling up the sleeve over his left arm to show the bright red and irritated word etched into his skin, “and I kicked him right in the chest.”

Sam doesn’t reach forward to touch. He barely gives it a glance, reaching over to roll up his own sleeve. Steve has to stop himself from growling in sympathy— the writing is black, smudged and illegible.

“Sam…”

With a sad smile, Sam rolls his shirt back in place, “It was years ago— and we bonded in combat. I got a few years with him on active duty, and then I felt when he was shot out of the sky.”

Sam meets his eyes, “Fucked me up good for a few years.”

“I had no idea.”

“I’m better now, sure. Wouldn’t show you if I wasn’t. Just letting you know, whatever you’re going through with this kid— because obviously you’re not with him now— that you’ve gotta value whatever time you get. In our line of business? I’m grateful I got years instead of moments, you know?”

Something clenches in his chest. Steve feels tears prick his eyes. He has to look away, afraid of the suddenly all too real possibility of crying in public. Quickly, he covers it up with a swig of cooling coffee, letting the emotions wash away alongside the bitter, familiar taste.

“I’ve never even met the kid, Sam. All I know is that he’s an Omega, and he has a strong bond with Tony.” Steve sighs, checking his watch again, “We were supposed to be extracted in Oslo, but got the tip instead. I’ll head home to him after we take care of the threat here.”

He can tell Sam disapproves of this choice, but the other Alpha just shakes his head, nodding to draw Steve’s attention back to the street, “Looks like our ride is here,” he chuckles just as a beat up Jeep swerves across traffic, coming to an abrupt stop in front of them.

The window rolls down, and Natasha makes a show of lowering her sunglasses, “Pickin’ up strays, Rogers?”

Both of them stand and approach the car, and Sam smiles as he takes the backseat, “Good to see you too, Romanoff.”

“I hope you brought your uniform,” she muses, swerving back into traffic once both of them are buckled in, “we’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

---

Peter

I think you’d hate my friends, Alpha. I don’t know, maybe not. I think you’d like that they wanna take care of me, even if they’re both little pieces of shit. I bet a visit from Captain America would shut them up. Or… Are you still Captain America, Steve?

Just as Peter finishes the line, the main cafeteria doors slam open. Both of his friends— MJ and Ned— have their arms in the air, gesturing animatedly.

“There you are!”

It’s as if he summoned them. Damn Spidey-senses, never working when he needs them to.

Peter squirms in his seat, “Hey, guys…” he checks his exits, noting quick escape routes. Sure, he’s never actually needed to run from his friends, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. “What’s up?”

Ned scoots into the bench next to him, pressing in close and draping an arm over Peter’s shoulders. MJ takes a seat on Peter’s other side, and both of them give Peter award-winning smiles— terrifying, really. Matching smiles only usually mean one thing.

“Can’t we just hang anymore, Parker?” MJ rolls her eyes, taking a discreet look at the pages in front of Peter on the table.

He quickly closes his notebook, “Sure, sure. I mean, we can hang— we hang all the time,” Peter catches them exchanging a glance, and sighs, “is there something you want? I’m trying to get homework done before practice.”

With a shake to his shoulders, Ned chuckles nervously, “No, no… we’re just looking out— ow!”

Peter looks down. MJ definitely kicked him.

“— I mean, we’re just wondering…”

“You wanna go to a Halloween party, Peter?” MJ cuts in, flicking at Ned’s arm where it’s still draped around his shoulder. Her face is open, fairly honest, and it catches Peter off guard.

“When’s Halloween?” he asks, thankful when Ned pulls his arm back.

The two of them exchange another look, “Uh…” Ned clears his throat, “it’s today, Peter. Today’s Halloween.”

“Oh.” Peter peeks into his folders to check the date on today’s homework, and sure enough, October Thirtyfirst is printed clearly across every page. Huh. He’s usually great at remembering holidays like this. “I wonder why May didn’t say anything…”

“Because,” MJ grabs his backpack, starting to shove notebooks and textbooks back inside, “we asked her to keep it a surprise. And your mom, too. We just didn’t think you were enough of a dumbass to miss the whole holiday.”

“Honestly, Peter, I don’t get how clueless you can be.”

He just nods along, letting the two of them pull him out of the cafeteria and walk towards the carpool lane. Maybe some part of him wanted them to find him today— who knows? Several other, better, hiding spots come to mind, but Peter doesn’t have it in him to protest.

A night off sounds like too much fun.

His mood immediately improves when they step outside. Parked closest to them, dark and intimidating on the curb, is one of Mr. Stark’s cars.

Happy is standing outside, holding the back door open, “Hey, kid. C’mon— haven’t got all day.”

“Oh!” Peter turns to his friends, both of their expressions smug and satisfied, “Please tell me the party’s at the compound? Oh god, I literally have nothing to wear. I have no idea—”

“We’ve got it taken care of,” MJ pushes him from behind, and Ned laughs, motioning for Peter to get in the car first.

“How did you—” Peter slides into the back seat, freezing when he sees who’s waiting for him, “Mama!”

Mr. Stark smiles— wide and genuine— and opens his arms wide. “Hey, kid. Surprise?”

Peter melts into the older Omega’s arms and squirms to get closer, ignoring how his friends laugh and tease him as he does so. Mr. Stark ruffles his hair, and rearranges them as the car starts moving. Ducking under his arm, Peter settles into Mr. Stark’s side and lets his eyes slip shut with the steady movement and noise of chatter in the background.

“You have a good day, Pete?”

He looks up to Mr. Stark and smiles, “It was okay, a lot better now. Did you help plan this?”

“What do you think, bambino? These friends of yours are… passionate.”

The description makes Peter chuckle. He’s fully aware just how passionate his friends can be. They are digging through the amenities stored in hidden compartments, and somehow both end up with a can of soda and several boxes of candy.

Peter ignores them in favor of burying himself into the warmth of Mr. Stark’s scent. There are lazy, calloused fingers in his hair, and he relaxes even more— a pleased purr building effortlessly from his chest.

When they eventually pull up to the compound, Ned and MJ are out in a shot— barreling through the doors and screaming into the empty halls.

Before Peter can leave the car, Mr. Stark grabs his shoulders and turns them to face each other, staring intentionally into his eyes. “If you don’t want to do this, Peter, we don’t have to? I have about fifty people coming over for a costume party, but I can cancel it and we can spend the night just us, if you’d like?”

He takes a moment to actually think it over. His skin is crawling, eyes already heavy with exhaustion. The thought of socializing with more than a few people is turning his stomach, and he looks into Mr. Stark’s eyes with a helpless grimace, “I guess I wouldn’t mind a party…”

“But you’d rather not?” Mr. Stark guesses, giving him a knowing smirk. Peter scrunches up his nose and shakes his head, and gets a chuckle in response, “Alright bambino, let me make a few calls. Why don’t you go inside and coral the animals.”

Peter laughs and leans in to give Mr. Stark a quick peck on the cheek, “Okay, Mama. Don’t work too hard.”

He catches a glimpse of Mr. Stark’s embarrassed flush before hopping out of the car, skipping towards the compound joyfully. Now that the threat of social interaction is out of the way, Peter feels excited about Halloween and the evening ahead of them.

“Ned?” He calls out, “MJ? Where are you guys?”

“Try the Eastern living room, Peter,” Friday’s voice rings out in the hallway, and Peter turns around to race down the corridor in the opposite direction, still calling out their names.

“In here, Pete!” Ned hollers.

When he turns the corner, Peter comes face to face with the classiest Halloween party room he’s ever seen. Every wall is covered in glass decorations, backlit with soft lights in various colors. An entire section of the room has been converted to a wardrobe, and both of his friends are rifling through the options.

Peter gravitates towards them, pushing aside different dresses and masks, “What’s…”

“Look, Pete— I’m you!” MJ has a Spider-man mask pulled down over her face as she laughs, pretending to shoot webs from her wrists, “bet I’d be a kick-ass Spider-man.”

He just shakes his head, “I bet you would, MJ.”

“What about me?”

Both of them turn to look at Ned as he wobbles over, legs and arms shoved haphazardly into the wrong end of a Spider-man onesie. His face is so confident as he stands in the middle of the room, and Peter can’t help the cackle that bursts out of his mouth, bringing tears to his eyes as he keels over in laughter.

“Where did… what did…” he can barely breathe, and looking up again at Ned is just a mistake.

MJ isn’t any better. She tears off the mask and coughs loudly, falling to the floor in a heap, “Ned! Where did you find that?”

“What?” Ned whines, striking a pose that sends them back into a fit of hysterics, “I don’t get how you can fight bad guys in this Peter— I feel too sexy for crime right now.”

“Please!” Peter begs as he wipes away tears, “mercy!”

“What’s all the— oh mother of god,” Mr. Stark’s voice rings out in the room, and it sends all three teenagers back into peels of laughter. He stands at the entrance to the living room with his arms crossed and an indulgent smile stretched across his face, and Peter lets himself roll on the floor and laugh and laugh and laugh.

Peter turns onto his back and lets the tears flow. They drench his cheeks and drip onto the rug, creating small spots on both sides of his head. It feels good— freeing. His next inhale is deep, his mind clears completely, and Peter realizes this is the first time he’s laughed in months. That every time he’s cried in the past few weeks has been full of devastation and sorrow.

Their combined scents slowly fill the room and bind them together as the evening progresses, each of them relaxing further and further into the moment. By the time the sun’s setting, Ms. Potts and Aunt May arrive with delivery, and the small group of them curl up on the couches to watch a Halloween movie.

Mr. Stark and Pepper take the love seat, and— with one last, longing gaze at the small spot in between them— Peter settles into a lump of blankets and pillows on the far end of the longer couch. He keeps a good distance between himself and his friends at the other end, but he can tell that there’s some awkward tension in the room as the movie starts to play.

He tries to ignore it, but Aunt May keeps giving him a look from her seat on a nearby chair.

“What?” he hisses at her, pouting a bit when she smirks.

May points at the loveseat and whispers, “You should sit with them. I know you wanna.”

“Stop!” Peter shakes his head in denial, “I’m not going to—”

“Hey, pup!” Mr. Stark calls from across the room, and Peter flushes. He knows the nickname is aimed at him.

Peter pulls the blankets up around his face, “Yes, Mama?”

There’s a snort from the MJ-Ned-shaped-lump, but it’s ignored. Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts exchange a few hushed words before motioning for him to join them, “Come on over, Peter,” Pepper says with a confident smile, “plenty of room to join us.”

He’s up and out of the seat before he even processes moving.

At different points in his life, Peter has imagined how it might feel to curl up, safe and warm, between his parents. Never, in a million years, did he think he would get to experience that.

But the space between Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts feels like home. Scents like home. It’s sweet and warm in a way Aunt May’s Beta scent has never been. Peter has never scented Ms. Potts up close, but he’s not surprised when her scent has him immediately relaxing, melting back into the couch cushions.

The only Alpha he’s ever been close to is MJ, and her scent is terrifying .

Pepper lifts her arm and gives him a small smile, “You comfortable, Peter?”

Words won’t come, his senses are on overload. He feels a hand on his shoulder as Mr. Stark moves him, turning him bodily to lay across their laps with his feet in Pepper’s lap, head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder.

“Just relax, bambino,” Mr. Stark whispers, scratching at the baby hairs behind Peter’s ear, “we’ve got you.”

He lets his eyes close slowly. Both of them are scent-marking him subtly— squeezing his arms and legs, kissing his hair, and laying a blanket over him sometime later. The movie passes by completely unnoticed, and Peter dozes comfortably.

Why can’t every night be like tonight?

As the thrill of the night is fading away, Peter hears Mr. Stark offer his friends a ride back to the city. The two of them are fading as well, and it doesn’t take much convincing to get them out the door and into a waiting car.

May kisses him on the head before she leaves, “Sure you don’t want me to stay, Pete?”

“M’sure,” he murmurs, blinking up at her lazily, “you have work in the morning, right?”

“Yeah, champ. I do. You okay staying the night here, or do you want to head back with me?”

Peter looks back at Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts with a hopeful smile. Both of them laugh, and Mr. Stark waves his hand dismissively, “You know you’re always wanted here, Pete.”

“By both of us,” Pepper adds, squeezing his leg where her hand is resting.

“Alright, alright, I can take a hint,” May chuckles. She leans in for another kiss and Mr. Stark gets up to walk her out, leaving Peter and Pepper together on the couch.

He looks up at her. Everything about Pepper screams an intimidating mix of composure and warmth. Now that Mr. Stark is gone, he can separate their scents— and something about her distinct Alpha scent has him ducking his head, shy and submissive.

There’s a light touch on his arm, “Don’t hide from me, Peter,” her grin is soft and reassuring, “if you feel uncomfortable with me like this, you don’t have to stay— you know that, right?”

Her eyes are kind and not at all judgemental. He believes her doubtlessly.

“We haven’t spent much time together, have we?” Peter asks, hesitantly.

Pepper shakes her head, strawberry hair sweeping gracefully over her shoulder, “No, I don’t think so. Tony does come home smelling of you often, though.”

“Oh!” Peter sniffs his shirt, grimacing, “sorry about that, he helps me…”

“No, don’t worry, Peter,” she places a hand on his shoulder again, “I just meant that I’m familiar with your scent already. Tony even puts some of your items in our nest— I know he wants me to get used to our scents together.”

“Why… why would he do that?”

“Oh, Peter,” Pepper sighs. She shakes her head and leans back against the cushions, “we’re gone on you Peter. We really want to adopt you… at least informally.”

“She’s right.”

Mr. Stark’s voice is loud in the living room as he makes his way back to the couch. With a little bit of maneuvering, Peter is stuck in between them again, and this time he’s resting against Pepper’s chest. Her arms easily settle next to him on the sofa, aware of his space and cautious not to close him in.

“We have a secret plot to adopt and steal you away, kid,” Mr. Stark smirks and kicks his legs up, sipping on a drink as they settle together. “I just needed to get proper approval beforehand, you know?”

Peter hums, and he knows his own scent has gone sweet in satisfaction. The thought of being adopted— having a mom and dad, Alpha and Omega— is overwhelming.

“You promise?” Peter whispers. Part of him is scared of the possible rejection, even though he knows Mr. Stark rarely lies to him.

“Of course, bambino— whatever you want.”

As they cuddle together on the couch, trading hushed stories and sweet laughter, Peter has a thought.

It’s not the most responsible thought he’s ever had. If Mr. Stark digs too deep, he’ll chalk it up to being a teenager, being emotional, being an Omega.

“Mama?” Peter stares up at Mr. Stark with his best puppy-dog expression, and pouts his bottom lip, “Can I ask a favor?”

“I’m suspicious already, but sure— what is it?”

Pepper chuckles behind him, and Peter reaches down to hold her hand for comfort, “Can you get my letters to Steve?”

With a loud cough, Mr. Stark chokes on his drink and sputters. His hands fly up and wave around frantically, possibly looking for something to anchor him. Peter curls further into the shield of Pepper’s body and lets her deal with the aftermath— patting Mr. Stark’s back and criticizing him for being so dramatic.

“In what—“ Mr. Stark starts, coughing hard, “In what universe would that be a good idea, Peter?”

“I... I didn’t...”

“Actually,” Pepper interrupts, interlacing their fingers together, “I think that might be a good idea.”

Mr. Stark looks betrayed, affronted. Peter turns to smile up at her, “Really? You think so?”

“Once your hormones are stable, why not?” Pepper asks, kicking at Mr. Stark when her Omega makes a disappointed face, “It might be helpful for your Alpha to hear from you.”

“Get his head on straight,” Mr. Stark grumbles. His hands are clenched, and he refuses to look at them.

There’s a beat of silence where Peter just stares at Mr. Stark, hoping for an answer. He knows it’s a big favor to ask— but if anyone can get it done, he knows Tony Stark can.

“Fine.”

---

Hi Steven Grant Rogers, God. Would you make me take your name? I really hate that. Maybe I’ll ask you to take my name instead. Mr. Stark said I could send you one letter every month, and that if you respond, I can have that letter back. I hope you respond. Uh... I’m not sure what else to say. My name is Peter and I’m in high school. I know that makes things hard for you, being old as dirt, but I hope when we meet that it won’t be too awkward. I hope you stay safe. I’m finally on suppressants and doing better than I was before. Your words on my arm barely hurt anymore. Okay. That’s all for now. Yours, Peter Benjamin Parker Oh! PS I’ve sent a little sample of what I scent like. Mama said that you would like that.

Tag list (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @purplefreakwolffish @instantsharkskeletonpizza @justslightlycrazy @angelstarker @femmeparker @starkeraddictbaby @starkentrprises @snowstark @sarcastich

[sarawritesx]

starter for @amoroxs​

For Jefferson it was hard to trust anyone, but once it was earned, he took it hurt in case they would try and betray him. It has happened before, although rarely, but with desire for power, money, and making their business successful there has been attempts at the undermining of Godric’s business and just overall taking over; but that’s why he had Jefferson to deal with a lot of things, they were like one yet different in certain ways, there were some things Godric was better at noticing, and some Jeff was. Feelings wasn’t something he really did, but Evelyn constantly kept on just getting under his skin; she was more than just someone to warm up his bed, there was the connection between them that was hard to explain and that not many would understand. Sure, the families weren’t the enemies, but in business as such there was always some tension going on. And this time around it was getting heated rather quickly. Shootings on the street, ambushes and destroying the cargo, cutting the contacts, it was all getting messy and Jefferson was made to believe it was all Evelyn’s doing. That wasn’t something he wanted to believe, even though the intel was showing her men were involved with certain raids and such. Even though he didn’t want to admit it to himself, they were at war now. None of it sat right with him, so he took the liberty of contacting her from another number to schedule a meeting. Just the two of them, no backup, no weapons. Well, not sure how much the last one was going to be possible as he wasn’t sure if he could trust her. Jeff sat in his car, just outside of the location, with gun in his lap and scouting for anything suspicious that would make him step on the gas and leave this place.

[natasha-romanoff-deserved-better]

Clintasha Advent 2020 

Day two - Music 

(small trigger warning for brief mentions of red room abuse.) 

.

At first, Clint thinks Natasha just really, really likes music.

She is constantly listening to it- through the Bluetooth speakers she had bought for every safe house and apartment she had, through her laptop as she types away while doing research, through her headphones plugged into her cellphone. He even discovers she keeps a second pair of headphones in her pocket “just in case” the first pair dies or is somehow broken.

It doesn’t seem to matter what type of music, either. Her favorite seems to be rock, but he’s heard her playing everything from rock to country to EDM. Once he even caught her listening to the full soundtrack of Hamilton.  

He’s teased her about it several times since noticing it- poking at her and asking if she is making her own life soundtrack. But she’s never actually said much about the habit, usually just rolling her eyes or maybe flicking him off on particularly feisty days.

Sometimes it was annoying to constantly have her playing something, but it was easy enough to tune out and ignore. Usually.

Tonight was not one of those nights.

Their mission had been hard and grueling, eleven days spent in the sweltering desert of Africa only to discover the intel had been bad at the last minute after engaging the leaders of the trafficking ring. There had been a casualty- an innocent bystander who had happened to wonder into the wrong place at the wrong place.

They’re sitting in the tiny room SHEILD had directed them to wait in while awaiting extraction. It’s nothing special- a small mattress on the floor tucked into a corner with some blankets thrown on, a Bunsen burner in the other corner, and a bathroom so small it might as well have been a coffin. All Clint wants to do is drift into thoughtless sleep, but Natasha has her headphones in, and she is blasting the music in them so loudly that she might as well have been playing it out loud on full volume.

He tosses a sock at her, hitting her square in the head from where she is sprawled out on the floor while writing a report. She glances up at him, an eyebrow raised in question.

“MUSIC TURN DOWN PLEASE” he signs at her. Using his voice would be useless right now.

She stares at him for a second, and then signs a simple “no” as she goes back to her writing.

Clint is slightly taken back at first. Sure, Natasha often ignores him on things, but he didn’t expect a struggle over some songs. But fine.

He pushes himself up from the mattress, leans in closer to his partner and yanks her headphones out of her ears. She makes a grab at them, but his reflexes are faster and he snaps away his hand, the headphone wire still attached to the phone and dragging it away from her.

“What the fuck, Clint?”

“Tasha, please. I just need some quiet for a couple of hours, okay?”

“Give them back.” She growls, eyes fixated on his hand where he is wrapping the cord around the phone.

“I will in a bit. But you need to get some sleep as well. You haven’t slept since-“

“I don’t care! What I need is my music back.”

Clint’s brows furrow at her voice, the slight panic creeping in and the faint hint of desperation in the word need. That’s weird. She had never referred to the constant music as a need before.

“You don’t need it,”

Natasha swipes at him for her phone, but he catches her wrist and holds her still, not allowing her to pull away from him. “Yes, I do.” She says, breath hitching. “You have no fucking idea.”

“You’re right, I don’t. So tell me.”

Natasha struggles slightly in his grip for another second, before giving in to the exhaustion and heat and slumping against the wall, head dropping into her hands. “It never stops.” She moves a hand up to grip at some of her hair. “I can always hear them. My trainer’s voice every time I do something wrong telling me how failure is unacceptable. My ballet teachers voices constantly critiquing my body and my form and how im holding myself. The screaming of the girls when punishments were happening. Ivan telling me how special”- she spits the word- “I am every time I make a kill. They’re always there, I don’t know how to make them stop.”

She looks up at him, making eye contact as the moisture in hers threatens to overflow. “And I can’t stop thinking how I betrayed my country. How many innocent people I’ve killed. How many lives I’ve destroyed and didn’t even care.”

“The thoughts never fucking stop and the only thing that works is drowning them out and I can’t do that if you won’t give me my phone.” There’s a slight hiccup in her voice, something Clint has never heard from her before. His chest aches as he listens to her and he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close into his side.

“Focus on me instead.”

“What?” She stares up at him as if he’s insane.

“Focus on me instead. The texture of my clothes, if they’re soft or rough or itchy. My scent, which is probably not the greatest, sorry about that- remind me to pack extra deodorant the next time they send us to a damn desert- or trace the scars on my arms some. Hey, and my voice. Here, listen.”

He holds her close and sets off on a tangent about anything and everything he can think off. He tells her all about the childhood dog they had had, the silly pranks he and his brother would play on each other, fun stories from his circus days. Eventually, when he runs out of stories to tell, he begins giving random opinions no one asked for. “Fuckin ping pong,” He snorts. “Who the hell came up with that name? They really couldn’t think of anything better than ping pong? Is that name racist? It feels like it might be a bit racist.”

He keeps talking and talking, even as Natasha’s breathe begins to even out and her body finally gives away to sleep against him. Some of the first silent moments between them since he had brought her to SHIELD so many months ago.

[shnuggletea]

This is my entry for the Inuparents Day 2021! I was paired with a lovely and talented artist @kirrtash​. She'll be posting this fic with her art on her AO3 account for us. You can also find her Ko-fi account here! Make sure you check out her page for the AMAZING art that goes with this fic! I'm so glad I got to work with her; this was a true collab as I really felt she was working with me the entire time. I enjoyed every minute of this event! Thank you so much @inuparentsday​ for hosting and sharing with all of us! 

Link to AO3 HERE!!!

If you want more from this event (and trust me, you totally do) here's the Tumblr page! I would post the AO3 page buuuuutttt yeah I deleted mine lol! But there is one as well!!

Playlist is right here!!

TAGS!!!

@underwater0phelia​ @lavendertwilight89​ @mamabearcat​ @nartista​ @nopenname22​ @echobows​ @superpixie42​ @smmahamazing​ @redflamesofpassion​ @jme-chan​ @cstorm86​ @cicleydark-light​ @ruddcatha​ @lavaffair​ @kirrtash​ @sistasecbhere​ @obsessandfangirl​ @britonell​ @lordofthechips​ @mcornilliac​ @faolenwolf​ @classyhumanathletepalace @keichanz​ @phoenix-before-the-flame​ @artisticloveexpressitsall​ @lamuertadehambre​ @noyourenotreal​ @mitty-san​ @thenoammonster​ @little-deeluna​ @royaltrashpanda​ @sailorbabydoll92​ @storyweaver2017​ @malditamigs​ @adorabubblesblog​ @lilms-obsessed @petri808​ @anniehcresta​ @fan-dumpp​ @itzatakahashi​ @utakuprincess​ @theschultinator​ @all-too-ale​ @little-inukag-obsessed​ @theseagullqueen​ @queenofthesquirps​ @jolinaaa00​ @knowall7k​ @neutronstarchild​ @fawn-eyed-girl​ @eringobroke​ @sapphirestarxx​ @clearwillow​ @dangerouspompadour​ @misspepperpottss @kagometaishostory​​ @egosolivagant​​ @fandompromptsandfun​​ @fandomartlover​​ @fanficnewbiee 

Chapter One

“Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.”

― Mahatma Gandhi

It was a cold night. The kind that made your skin tense as soon as you stepped out into it. It also had a tendency to make a man’s scrotum shrivel and seek warmth. Not something they liked to talk about… usually.

“God damn it’s cold! My balls are up my ass!” Toga said at a level that made it even more inappropriate.

Miya shook his head, the image of Toga dancing on his toes to stay warm filling his brain. “How unpleasant that must be for you…”

“No, seriously! And those are big balls…”

Sitting back from his scope, the Monk pulled his shoulder-length black strands back and tied them there. “Just because we’re on comms doesn’t mean you have to talk so loud. No one is supposed to know you’re there, remember?”

“Right, right, right,” Toga was silent save for his huffing, warming up his hands with his breath, “still fucking cold though…”

“For fucks sake, aren’t you a demon? The temperature shouldn’t bother you!”

Pulling the sight around, Miya zeroed in on the loud mouth, shifting on his toes just as he knew Toga would be. He lifted his gold eyes right at him, somehow knowing Miya had turned his sights onto him. “Yeah, I’m a dog demon. I’m just as if not more sensitive to cold than insensitive humans like you!”

“Say that a little louder, I don’t think the old lady across the street from you heard it.”

“She needs new batteries in her hearing aid…”

“You couldn’t possibly know that!”

“I do, she just told the Shopkeep when she went inside.”

“Can you focus? Use that extra sensitive hearing to find our target?!”

“Can’t find what’s not there, Miya.”

“Then keep searching, Toga!!”

It was silent again but only for a second. “Now who’s being too loud…” Miya growled, getting to his feet and pacing away to kick something. “Calm down, you’re going to have a stroke.”

“Why the hell do I put up with you?”

Miya didn’t need to see Toga to know he was smirking. “Cause I’m the best. And who else you got? Myouga?” As much as he didn’t want to, a laugh sputtered loudly out of him, one the dog demon would have heard even without their comms. “See? You need me and I need you. Now get back to your post.”

Sighing and groaning, he did as ordered; laying down on the cold pavement of the thirty-story building he was perched on. He wasn’t an idiot, Toga placed him this high to keep him ‘safe’ if they found who/what they were looking for. It had been over an hour but Miya knew better than to question Toga’s judgment. Or Myouga’s intel.

Toga was cursing the inconvenience of it all. Winter was by far his least favorite season and he swore the others knew it too. It was why they waited until the middle of the season and hours after sunset to pull this crap. It was all to mess with Toga and nothing anyone said would change his mind about that. The heat from playing with Miya flooded out quickly so he was back to bouncing on his toes.  It made his two blades smack against his thighs but that was a nice distraction from the cold as well.

Black toboggan on his head was large enough to cover his ears and his long silvery-white hair covered his neck. But it was his fucking hands and feet, his fingers and toes numb with cold. 

He hated cold feet. 

Humans passed and didn’t even glance in his direction. And why would they? Humans had no clue of his existence. Him or anyone similar (like Miya) were a secret from the world. Even though Miya was far from a demon; he wasn’t human either. It was that difference that had Toga placing Miya on the high building and far from the fight. If there was even a fight to be had. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if this was all a rouse to force him to stand out in the cold all damn night!

That was until he smelled it. “Miya… they’re here.”

“You’re sure?”

Toga glanced upward towards the tiny dot. If he were human, he wouldn’t be able to see the agitation on Miya’s face. But he wasn’t human and it was always there. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

He pulled out So’unga and moved to the outer edge of the alley he hid in, glancing around. “Toga, get back! I’m here to scout not you!”

“Even with that scope you still see shit.”

“Toga, it’s an order! Get back!!”

“I’ll be fi….”

Toga was cut off, ice splitting up from his feet towards his heart. Leaping back, he avoided impalement with relative ease. When he found the perpetrator, Toga didn’t hold back his laugh in the slightest. “Good to see you too, Snowflake.”

The cat demon was growling at him and it had just as much to do with the fact that she was a cat and him a dog as it did that he called her ‘Snowflake’. “That’s not my name!!”

“Right, right, right. What was it again?” Toga teased.

If she wasn’t wearing a black hoodie that covered up all her fur, it would be standing up in anger. “It’s Toran, prick!!”

She slung out her arm and ice followed in a path along the ground. Toga stepped to the side to avoid it; making it seem like child’s play. “Well that’s not very nice. At least my nickname for you is a term of endearment. Yours sounds like an insult.”

Toga had his lower lip popped out and Toran roared, pissed. “IT IS AN INSULT!!!”

Glancing around, Toga saw that his little distraction had worked; the street was clear of all possible casualties. They had all seen the display the kitty cat had made and smartly left the area. Which was good because now Toran was tearing up the whole area with her rage; jagged and angry ice breaking up the sidewalk and pavement as it shot upward without warning.

Toga jumped and dodged it all, keeping his hands in his pockets. “Ice. Just had to be ice.”

The already frigid air was made much colder with the glacier that surrounded them. A small arena of sorts, Toga released a slow breath and watched the white puff float away. 

Toran broke out of her thoughts of murder for a moment and spun to find him; realizing quickly (but too late) that it was just the two of them now. “What have you done?!”

“Me? You’re the one creating your own ice castle. You know, for an Ice Queen, you sure are hot headed.”

Toga smirked while the cat hissed, throwing out her arm again. Only this time the ice didn’t form on the ground. It shot out of her hand like a missile; long and sharp like a spear. Aimed right at his heart.

He moved out of its way with little struggle. “Careful there Snowflake! Pretty sure your Boss didn’t order you to kill me!”

Toran shuddered and then turned her head back and forth to work out the tension. “No. Not not you.”

The smirk that grew on her face had Toga dropping his. Spinning on his feet was a pointless gesture, they had comms after all. “Miya! Look out!!”

This was why Toran’s attacks were lackluster and easy to dodge. He had thought she was holding back to keep from killing him. But no, it was because her attention and powers were split; ice racing up the front of the building Miya perched on. It shot out of the top in deadly spikes completely destroying the top floors of the short tower. And Miya was silent. Myouga hadn’t told them the target but given the location Toga had assumed it was a human they were after. And he was half right.

“He’s a human with demon powers. Powers that are extremely dangerous for demons; a Black Hole. Why you’ve allowed him to not only live but also stay by your side is a wonder, Fighting Fang. He shouldn’t be allowed to live…”

“Miya has lived just fine by mine and your side for a time. You pick now, of all, times to kill him?!” Toga screamed.

Toran’s smirk grew to a grin and she shrugged. “Orders are orders.”

“Oh?” They both turned and found the monk, a little out of breath, but with his sniper rifle on one arm and his hand out at the ready. “Good to know my life is worth so little. But I knew that already.”

Toga rolled his eyes at the drama queen. Miya had his fist closed tight but the runes that covered the cursed hand were removed. He was ready to kill. 

“You won’t do that! Not with Fighting Fang so close! You don’t have the control to suck up only me!” Toran said while shaking with her fear.

Miya tilted his head to the side at her and glanced over at Toga. “That’s true. But he’s such a pain in the ass…”

“HEY!”

The monk used the small distraction to whip his rifle up and fire. He got Snowflake in the upper thigh and she released a loud whimper mixed with a roar. The shot to the leg didn’t slow her down as she leaped away over her ice walls.

Toga turned back to his friend, a lopsided grin on his face. “I knew you wouldn’t risk it, buddy.”

“I should have. She got away.”

Now at his side in a flash, Toga clapped a hand on Miya’s shoulder. “You got her in the leg! Without aiming!!”

“I was aiming. For her gut. I missed.”

“But not completely!”

Miya pulled away roughly from his friend and surveyed the damage. “Those nosy people are going to have a coronary when they get word of this.”

“Speaking of, we should get out of here. I’m sure they’re already on their way.”

Toga grabbed Miya by the collar and hoisted them both to another high building; one not destroyed and closer to the scene below. It was a mixture of cops and men in lab coats. Toga didn’t know how much Miya could make out from their distance but he was sure the ones in lab coats were the ones that were at the last mess they made. One in particular was hard to miss; his long black ponytail stood out amongst the others. And he was becoming a constant in their lives.

He was becoming a problem.

“Izayoi, take a look at this for me please.”

Setting down her notes and her pencil, Izayoi straightened her lab coat as she made her way to her colleague’s microscope. Quickly, she pulled back and tied her long black locks out of her way and leaned over. Her colleague had stepped back out of her way and said nothing; so there was no bias.

“This can’t be right. It appears… deformed.”

“Right? I thought so too!”

Stepping back, Izayoi took the sample’s file and began reading. “It says here it was taken from an incident on fifth and Topsail last night? But it doesn’t say anything about the incident or those involved.”

The woman next to her nodded in silence and Izayoi handed her back the file, hurriedly leaving the lab to the one down and across the hall. The man she was looking for was directing boxes that looked like they were filled with ice of all things. He glanced up at her and quickly signed the form in his hands and pushed the attendant off hurriedly. “Dr. Hime, how are you finding your new lab?”

Izayoi shook her head. “It’s fine, Dr. Setsuna, but I’m here about the samples you sent us?”

“What about them?”

“Well… what are they?!”

He chuckled at her and she felt her blood rise to her temples. “That’s your job to figure out, isn’t it?”

“Sir, all science aside, it’s difficult to ascertain much from a few drops of blood when we know so little about it…”

“Run it through the database and see if you get a match.”

She squeezed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Izayoi liked her job, she really did, until it started to become some kind of cloak and dagger operation and Takemaru got promoted. “We already did that and it came up with nothing.”

“Of course it did.” Takemaru mused quietly.

“Excuse me?” 

Izayoi’s attention shot up to her boss but he shook his head with a fake smile. “Nothing. Just mark everything that you find in what you have, Izayoi.”

She turned and left quickly; part in frustration but also because it bothered her greatly when Takemaru spoke informally to her. Just because he was her boss now didn’t mean it was appropriate. Quite the opposite. With so much more going on, Izayoi let it go. For now.

Back in her lab and feeling safe, she looked over the blood sample again. Five had been taken and although they all looked the same they had different locations marked in their file. Izayoi looked again, taking the sample her colleague had away from her (and she was gracious to have it off her plate too). Switching back and forth, Izayoi looked over the DNA results again. They were inconclusive; the only recognizable strands reminded her of feline DNA while the rest were mutated or something. But she noticed one thing; although from different locations the blood was from the same person.

“Maybe the cat DNA is the answer?” She asked herself. The lab was empty as Izayoi got lost in her task. 

Even though all the same, she didn’t want to risk any more contamination, taking each sample and amplifying them. Polymerase Chain Reaction took a few hours so Izayoi left for the small cafeteria (more like a break room with a coffee maker and vending machines) for a cup of coffee. She had taken a seat at the small table in the middle when bodies hustled hurriedly past the door.

Leaving her cup behind, Izayoi leapt to her feet and followed as fast as she could behind the small group of overly excited Scientist. They went to the loading bay which was odd in itself. The loading bay was for supplies like chemicals and printing paper. Nothing exciting came through here except when her new genetic analyzer arrived. Izayoi doubted this many were excited over something like that. It was also far too late for a delivery; already nearing ten pm. 

Standing off to the side, she hid as she watched the large armored car as it backed into the loading dock. A few men in police uniform hopped out; Izayoi’s confusion and curiosity increased at the sight. One opened the back doors while the other stood right behind, his weapon up and armed. 

Everything that Izayoi could have possibly imagined dropped to the floor and shattered as a man walked off the truck. His long silver hair was pulled back and swung as he looked around at the group of men that surrounded him. It was pretty.

Izayoi shook her head of the thought, focusing on the man. His red jacket and dark jeans hid his body from her but he looked normal otherwise. He had drawn purple streaks on his face just under his eyes for some reason. She couldn’t see his eyes from where she hid or make out many details of his face but the purple was hard to miss. 

Her eyes traveled down to his hands; cuffed in front of him. He had long, sharp looking nails. And they looked thick and dangerous even from a distance. Her thoughts were interrupted when the man lifted his joined wrists and held his hands up. Everyone jumped except her as she watched with rapt attention; intrigued to just what the man was going to say.

“I come in peace.”

Her eyes rolled instantly and she let out a loud huff. What the hell was this guy even doing here? And why was the staff of Takemaru’s lab about to wet themselves with excitement?

She hadn’t seen him the entire time, too focused on the ‘specimen’ on the truck, but now Takemaru stood before the strange man with a wicked looking grin. He looked over the man in cuffs but said nothing to him, turning to his men who salivated behind. “Take him to the lab.”

They didn’t take the usual hallway. Instead they took the man the back way designed for deliveries. Izayoi stepped back and completely out of sight; sneaking down the hall and back to her lab. When the noise from Takemaru’s lab reached hers, she slowly left hers again and snuck down the hall. When she peeked inside, there was nothing out of the ordinary so she straightened herself and walked right in. Only to be stopped by Takemaru.

“Dr. Hime? What are you doing here?”

“I work here.” She said plainly. “I’m still working on those samples you gave me…”

“Oh there’s no rush. You don’t need to worry about them anymore.” He said, waving a hand at her like it was no big deal.

“I don’t need to worry?! Sir, I spent all day running them. I’m not about to drop them…”

“Fine, Izayoi, you do what you need to. In your lab.”

He was kicking her out and she resisted the urge to run from the informality; stretching on her toes to look around him instead. “Did you get a new project?”

Takemaru swayed and moved in her way more, blocking her view completely from spying the back of his lab. “It’s ‘need to know’.”

Izayoi seethed. Ever since Takemaru got promoted (over her) he acted like it was some kind of ‘boy’s club’. That’s what it was, all the men in the room moving around without issue while she was stuck in the doorway. She was sure that was how Takemaru got promoted instead of herself. Even with a few women on the board it was very much a ‘man’s world’ in the lab as of late. As much as it pissed her off they did give her a nice raise. And she loved her work as well as those who worked in her lab. 

She would put up with it for now until a better offer came along. As it stood, this was the only lab in town that could handle her caliber of study. Didn’t mean she had to pretend she was okay with it, huffing as she turned on her heel. “Whatever, Dr. Setsuna. Enjoy your new toy.”

Let them think they’re keeping their secrets. Izayoi was sure she would figure them out soon. She hated secrets. Secrets and liars her two main pet peeves. It was the reason she became a scientist. To discover all the secrets the world held and to uncover any lies. This was all just another mystery for her to unravel.

And unravel, she would.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

for the hugs prompts 💕

12. hugging while lying down together? :3

Two foolishly foolish fools being sickeningly in love, you ask? Oh, my friend, let me OBLIGE! >:D

Putting this under a cut for it is LOOOOONG!

***

It wasn't very often Fane had a moment to sit down, let alone lie down. There were war meetings to attend, letters to answer, research to piece together and sort out, Leliana forwarding scout intel to him on inquiries he had made, Blighted nobles to 'entertain', companions to silently check in on, and troops to observe and on occasion, guide when he felt the Commander's instructions weren't enough. It wasn't that he didn't trust Cullen. It was...just how he was, draconic nature rearing its head to help dormant talents flow and fearful emotions dissipate so a hand would no long tremble upon a haft or grip. Obviously, the human man always shot him a withering glare, which would then result in them snapping at each other like the creatures they embodied; a lion and a dragon. Fane usually opted to walk away from those confrontations, unable to explain and thus, control himself in the event his temper flared into a raging inferno. Solas had been attempting to instill alternative techniques of defusion, ones that didn't involve a fist or a roar, in him.

And one such session of alternatives was happening now, the two of them sitting upon the floor in front of the fire place in their shared quarters. Fane was staring hard into the lapping flames, face blank, vision hazy. Solas was next to him, their shoulders only lightly touching, but it was enough; for both of them.

"...If you feel the heat upon your skin, if you hear the flames within your ears, if you see the crimson line your vision, disconnect, but not wholly disassociate.", Solas said, evenly and quietly, gingerly reaching over to brush their hands together. They had been talking for a while since retiring. At first it had been mainly Fane yelling and the mage patiently waiting for him to calm down, but now...it was as quiet as the crackling log of the fire.

"I barely have enough time to control it, let alone identify it, Solas.", Fane bite back, still coming down from his high. He hadn't meant to snap at the sky, he hadn't meant to cause more tension, but he wasn't been in the mood or the right frame of mind for a therapy session.

Thankfully, Solas gave him a soft look, viewable from his peripheral despite the haze from his earlier outburst of destroying a wall, rage having gripped in him in a choke hold after a discussion with Mother Giselle. Faith made him sick, and the fact that she had had the gall to say he was like Corypheus...it nearly had him shattering again, fists clenching against fur and stone.

"Oh? You have told me numerous times what happens before your mind blackens, have you not?", Solas asked, calm and even, softly, but firmly. The mage's hand set itself over top of his, stroking it soothingly, knowing the edge was close and trying to draw him from it.

"I..", Fane sighed then, realizing he was cornered. "Fine, yes. I can identify it, but it's quick and...", he trailed off, hands balling tighter; the one upon one of them continuing its lulling strokes.

"You are frightened of it.", Solas stated, small smile having taken on a somber tone, blues eyes sorrowful, the grey melding with it like tender clouds. "You worry what will happen if the torches do not dim, and so you..black out, so to speak." The observations confident, the words resolute.

"...Yeah.", Fane agreed; his irritation beginning to fizzle out by this point by a soothing lilt, a tender caress, and because someone was willing to...talk to him, not condemn him. "I mean, it's other things, too; the intensity and the afterglow. The crimson gets so bright, so hot that I can't think, so the smoke chokes my mind, suffocates it. Afterwards, when the smoke clears, when my mind can breathe, the memories are...ashes, soft, but unrecognizable. And that...terrifies me.", he admitted it, he did, even if it made him lock up in defensive.

"You are terrified of forgetting, forgetting yourself from madness and fury.", Solas whispered, sorrow and guilt wiggling through. "Ir abelas, ma'isenatha if the Veil were not present, you--" Fane cut the mage off with a sharp glare and a quiet snarl. Not this again.

"It's not just the Veil that has me inching towards insanity, Solas.", Fane said firmly, turning his gaze from the crimson flames to see that sorrowful blue-grey was fixate on them instead, shadows and light dancing upon ancient features, sharp and soft. Further sight of a locked jaw and a glare lost in the past made him frown. No, not this again. He wouldn't have this guilt weighing down the sky again.

"It is a part of it. That is a fact that cannot be denied, Fane.", Solas said, somewhat biting, somewhat strained. Blue narrowed, fire dancing along a floor of paleness. "If I had been less rash, less overcome with grief, I could have--"

Fane shook his head, finally reciprocating the hand holding from earlier, his slightly larger one cupping one used to magic, not a sword. "Stop, Solas.", he said, scooting over a bit so they were resting against each other; the man beside him tensing up a bit, but relaxing with a quiet sigh. "My rage, my spiral is due to a lot of things. I went years not talking about it, with anyone. Not even Mhairi because I was scared to see judgement in her eyes, to see innocence die as surely as mine had." The confession a whisper, no more than the most delicate winds of the mountains outside frosty windows. "Fear is the culprit to my problems, and the fact that I won't face them until someone else does. And for that, I'm sorry. You don't deserve to--"

Solas turned on him them, free hand shooting up to cup his cheek, holding it fiercely, lovingly, as fierce as pale blue sparked like lightning. A sharp expression was sharper, harder, but held deep understanding in its angles and light crevices of a tiny frown. Fane averted his gaze a bit, emotions running hot, but not rage, not fury, not agitation. The sky was strong, willful, and it made his heart soar, even as it was leashed with fear and procrastination.

"Do not apologize for desiring help, vhenan.", Solas murmured, hand upon his cheek guiding his face back to lay a tender kiss upon his frowning lips. Fane hesitated, but reciprocated soon after with one of his own, Solas smiling a bit as he pulled back, eyes less harsh, but no less piercing. "True fear is overcome when one realizes they cannot face a battle alone, or when they recognize that a battle is being waged. You are aware of your problems, and your deflection is not solely from fear; it is from care."

Fane blinked a bit, raising an eyebrow. "Care?", he asked, eyes gently roaming and assessing the face of his cherished sky.

Solas nodded. "You care about everything, Fane.", he whispered, leaning into kiss him again, lightly, chastely, leaning more and more into his body to the point where Fane lifted his arms to wrap around a slender frame. "That care can be more dangerous to you than fear or rage, but it is also something you cannot afford to lose, for then, you would lose yourself. You would truly forget who you are."

Fane scoffed quietly. "Me breaking a wall in is caring?", he questioned, typical self loathing attempting to sour profound words born of love and understanding. It was hard to let go of everything at once. Solas chuckled softly, reaching up to card fingers slowly through his hair, brushing it back, fluffing it forward, tucking errant locks that were long enough behind a pointed ear.

"It can be.", the mage affirmed, smiling a bit more as Fane let out a calm hum from his petting. "You care about what other's perceive you as and when they perceive you as merely angry and hateful, you lash out, you roar for a shred of understanding, and there is nothing wrong with that." He leaned in more, their chests now flush, and the gentle working of slender fingers had Fane actually taking them back, the two of them landing on the fur blanket, Solas' eyes barely widening, so used to his random, spontaneous decisions.

The fire danced behind his sky, warming its cool edges with gentle orange, sharpening already sharp features with black shadows with crimson undertones. For once, however, Fane didn't fear the sight of it, the gentle flicker as he beckoned with both of his hands to the man gazing down at him with all the love and understanding he could never had asked for, fingers jerking slightly in a 'come here' gesture.

"Come here.", Fane vocalized the request when Solas merely continued to watch him softly, using his words, using his voice. "Let me hold you. Let me make you realize your grief, your decisions, are not who you are completely.", he whispered, eyes never tearing from crimson reflected in blue and grey as they widened a bit, an eloquent mouth finding itself speechless as it gaped slightly. "You were my sky before you were Fen'harel, Solas. There is no Veil between you and I, stunting understanding, blockading acceptance. I love you, and nothing will make that love falter. I remembered myself because of you, and how could I hate you for that?" He smiled, taking hold of slightly trembling arms as he knew emotions were being guided in the proper direction, finding their release. "So, let me remind you of who you are."

"And who am I?", Solas asked, voice dropping, fingers curling into the blackened cotton of his tunic as a mental battle danced in fire lit eyes. "Who am I to you?"

Fane closed his eyes, gently tugging on Solas' forearms, coaxing him to draw down to the earth, to the dragon that bade the sky release its clouds' bounty. After all, the sky had offered him the same, speaking with him, accepting him, but knowing when to guide him with a firm hand.

"You are the sky.", Fane murmured, smiling a bit as he felt Solas finally shift and slide down a bit to descend upon him, arms finding their way to his neck, face burying right along with it as the sky met the earth; his own arms coming up to wrap around it. "You offered me freedom when there was none. You offered me endless options when there was none. You offered me wisdom when there was none." Each confession drew out a shaky gale from his sky, the sensation of rain, warm, warm rain, making itself known upon his parched skin. "If I care, you care more. Your decisions were born of care. You wanted to free your people and mine from the leashes that ensnared them, never once asking for anything in return."

"I..no, I killed...so many..", Solas whispered shakily, arms tightening around his neck to hug him, to ground himself like a piece of cloth the wind was trying to rip away. "And for what? To watch the same thing happen again? To witness the leash tear apart what is left? It was a mistake; a mistake that has hurt you and so many of my people.."

Fane buried his face in Solas' neck, laying a few kisses upon the expanse as he felt more dampness against his own. It hurt to see the man this way, so used to witnessing quiet strength and endurance, but all creatures, no, all people, must be weak lest they shatter.

"It was a mistake, Solas.", Fane agreed, but not to condemn, laying more kisses when a shuddering breath left a tensed up form; his arms squeezing, anchoring the sky amidst its storm. "But you understand that, and it's why you care enough to try and fix it. If you truly wished to see the world fall, if you truly desired for death and destruction, cackling like the Dalish say, then you would not be crying right now.", he said, gingerly moving a hand up to work it between them, finding a wet jaw and unearthing it from its hole of security.

Solas' face was streaked with tears, lips pressed hard as it stifled shuddering, harsh breaths, but pale blue lightened further with orange and red did not turn from him, did not hide. Fane couldn't help but smile at the sight of tears and, most of all, emotion, but his heart did ache, his soul did cry right along with the sky.

"You're beautiful, Solas.", Fane murmured, leaning line to peck at salty cheeks, soaking in everything the sky had to offer without protest. "You're beautiful, and if you see me as more than my rage, than my twisted nature, then I see you as more than your mistakes, your decisions." The words tender, his voice dropping lower than normal, more rain appearing as sobs escaped. "Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma."

That had the clouds parting, the waters freely flowing as Solas melted against him, hands desperately entangling themselves in his hair as harsh sobs and just as harsh shudders that resembled lightning strikes coursed through a usually cool, composed body. Fane only closed his eyes as he pulled Solas close, deigning not to speak, only to listen, to accept the sky's wrath of heavens that had longed wished to breach its own veil.

***

Crying Solas anybody? Therapy sessions for two dorks who are emotionally constipated? YESSIR!

[cas-backwards-tie]

could you do “don’t be afraid, trust me” for five hargreeves please?

Warnings: Graphic description of torture, Murder, Suicidal thoughts, Fire, Kidnapping, Little bit of language.

A/N: Thanks for requesting this! It took me a little time to come up with an idea, but I managed! I hope you enjoy.

Somehow you’d gotten caught up in all of this. Of course, what this is exactly, you don’t know. But it’s hard to focus on that at the moment, raw heat itching at the skin of your bound wrists, the slightly frayed waxed ropes irritating your skin. The dark-haired man in front of you scrutinizes every inch of you, helpless in every definition. Yet you're not hopeless, not yet. Hot and heavy tears well up in your eyes, settling at the brim as you struggle to move, still bound to a chair. It's one of the few pieces of furniture they haven’t destroyed yet.

They haven’t started the fire yet, that’d attract too much attention, but the breaking of furniture apparently hasn’t. The man turns on the heels of his boots and grabs the red gas canister off the kitchen counter in front of you. Sloshing gasoline onto everything, his partner is still rummaging in the bathroom. “Aha! Found it. The tub will start filling now.” Next, the sound of running water overshadows the splashing of gasoline pooling up on the wooden floors of your apartment.

“How much longer? We need to end this and get out of here. It’s bad enough she had no intel, surely the board will be onto us if we take any longer. The sooner, the better,” the one who’d been pouring gasoline speaks to the other. The lanky one from the bathroom pops his head out from the doorway to peer at you. After a moment, their conversation defers back to whatever their goal is; all you remember is that they’d been asking questions solely about your father’s work.

He was an environmental scientist originally, though after an event- a bedtime story he used to tell-he shifted his work to primarily focus on meteorology. Closing your eyes, hot wet tears stream down your face and leaving a trail of sting in its wake. It still hurts to think about, it doesn’t even feel real; your father had been murdered in his office two nights ago when he was packing up after working a late shift. A knife to the stomach, multiple stab wounds. He bled to death on the floor, his iliac arteries primarily targeted. The cops had informed you it was a quick death, assured you he died a painless death… however the looks on their faces made their lying obvious.

Distant thumps pull you from your grieving, hope starting to dwindle as you begin to worry your fate, too, is death. As the thumps from the dark-haired man’s boots grow louder, he rounds the corner and appears in your eye line again, this time with a matchbox in hand. “Any last words?” He asks as though he’s a supervillain, some infamous mega-mind with a master craft for this sort of thing; you know he’s not. “Oh right,” he chuckles, eyeing the duct tape covering your mouth. “Looks like we can get started then! Lenny, grab the files. I’ll get the specimens.” Sure, your father had plenty of different artifacts and specimen in his office, but you still have no clue why this is important to anyone, let alone why you’d both be killed over such a thing! Suddenly he whips a match out of the box, striking it across the sandpaper once to no avail, twice, and then- fwip- there’s fire.

Flicking the match in the opposite corner of the room by the couch, it goes up in flames; the gasoline accelerating the process. Quickly making his way into the office you spot the second-lanky-man return with the files from the office. He throws them into the fire one by one, ripping apart the papers, photos attached with people, bodies, big bold letters, and numbers scrawled on top. Experiments. It slightly reminds you of those kids in the newspaper sometimes, the ones with the animated tv show, the ones you see kids in school have comics of and lunchboxes.

The flames grow, the room gets hot faster than you expect, and your wrists are practically screaming, begging for release from their hold as you squirm and try to escape. They don’t care anymore; they know you’re done for, there’s no escaping. Your screams and cries muffle against the duct tape and sweat begins to build on your forehead, the struggle becoming more immediate. Of course, you’d been scared before, but now that death is inching closer by the second, fire covering one wall and inching around the corner of the wall you’re on the end of, well, the adrenaline is racing through you.

It’s the furthest window that goes up in flames first, the window shattering as the men break the glass jars of specimen in the fire. Rocks, plants, DNA samples, all gone. They throw the jars down against the wooden floor and you can do nothing but try to rub your mouth against your shoulder to pry the duct tape off to scream for help. Maybe someone will notice the fire- call for the fire department. They’ll help. Someone has to come. They have to, don’t they? No. No, you know that’s not true. That’s not how real life works, it hadn’t happened for your mom when she died giving birth to you, it hadn’t happened to your dad, and now it won’t happen for you either.

The burst of cool wind from the winter air sends the flames soaring onto the ceiling, causing you to let out a muffled scream. Occasional crackles and pops from the flames cause you to flinch, and you shut your eyes as if that’ll help. Smoke fills the air and leaks out the window, the wretched heavy and fetid stench burns your nose and throat, your eyes watering as you try to cough through the tape, now struggling to breathe. If anything, hopefully, you’ll die from asphyxiation before burning… that’d be a much better way to go.

Your head feels light, your vision starting to blur, and you’re not sure whether that’s from the fumes or the tears or both. Just as you begin to mentally pray to whatever gods, deities, or spirits that live amongst you in hope of a swift and painless death, a blue flash appears. Before your very eyes, there’s a boy in a school uniform, his back turned to you, yet you still recognize the preppy look. “Hey, assholes! What’s the deal?” With the use of surprise, he pushes one of them off-balance and into the fire. The man instantly screams and flails as he rolls around, stands, body covered in flames as he runs around crazily. A putrid odor radiates from his burning flesh and his skin peels, his screams getting louder and louder until they eventually stop and he drops to the floor lifelessly.

“Shit! Come here, you little fuc-!” Another flash of blue and the kid is in the kitchen to your right, the side of the apartment not up in flames. In an instant he’s throwing the knives at the man, suddenly flashing again. Now behind him, he slits his throat, blood spilling down his front like a chocolate fountain.

With widened eyes you stare at the boy, only to whip your head to your left, a muffled scream escaping you as fire darts up the curtains of the window behind you. The window will surely shatter and break in a minute or so. It races across the top of the curtain above your head, ashes, and embers slowly drifting through the air. A tug on your ankles alerts you to the presence of the kid. He uses the bloodied knife to cut the rope that binds your wrists together. Immediately you stand, backing away from the fire, but standing far from him, still trapped inside the burning apartment.

“Come with me,” he commands, your eyes still widened in fear as you don’t trust him. Watching him easily pop through the room and teleport himself is frightening and unreal. It’s not possible, unless… unless you were one of those umbrella kids. That’s why the uniform looked familiar. He senses your fear and jerks his outstretched hand to get your attention. “Don’t be afraid, trust me.” You don’t, but he’s your only option of getting out of here alive. Slipping your hand into his slightly larger one, in a swirl of blue light, you’re instantly in another location.

[sakuratragedy]

Emperor’s Consort | Chapter 1

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairing: Zhongli / Childe, #Zhongchi Tags: R18, A/B/O Dynamics, Royalty AU Summary: aka "Emperor's consort doesn't know the difference between being a concubine and being a consort" Tsaritsa wants her child to have a good life after serving her on the battlefield for so long, so she makes a deal with an old friend. In exchange for her military might, he will marry her son. Childe who has no formal omega training has to do his best to cover up the fact he has no idea what he's doing. Do your best to be a good omega Childe!

“If we are the last two left, I’ll give up and let you be the Tsar.”

“‘That is only if we are the last two standing. We need to think of who to take down first.”

She had her back against the wall, listening to her brothers through the slightly open door as they sharpened their weapons while whispering quietly amongst themselves. The sound of blade being polished against whetstone echoed through the room.

“Yelena’s strike is the fiercest. She should be dealt with first.” she hears her brothers when the blade lifts from the stone before another sharp sound is heard.

The succession rites to become the next Tsar hosted by her father started tomorrow. The Tsar was an old and terrible tyrant, taking eight wives and will be making his children slaughter each other for the sake of tradition. She hated him and his rancid smell, the same stench he used to command his court by exerting his alpha pheromones and bringing them to their knees. She especially hated when he would use her mother as a means to torment her. She would feel the spikes of rage and the flash of red in her vision when he would threaten to humiliate her mother in front of the court to get her to do what he wanted.

The succession rite was a chance to change all that. She could fix decades of ugly rituals, dismantle the corruption and burn it to the ground, raising a new court from its ashes. She'll get rid of the corruption with her own two hands.

If she survives the succession rite as the true heir.

First, she had to survive the night. She moved away from the wall, making sure her footsteps were light so her brothers would not hear her.

-

The dawn came quickly with few casualties. Two of her eight siblings were missing during the morning ceremony. It was right to assume her other siblings had started early by eliminating some competition before the rites. They were surrounded by spectators from the court, their mothers cry and sob as their children were cut down and their father, watching them with a smirk on his face.

She was fast, she had to be to survive the slaughter. While her brothers and sisters were stronger, she was swift to cut deep and fast at their necks before avoiding the rest of the fight.

As she held her dagger to her dear older brother’s neck, his words echoed through her ears.

“Yelena’s strike is the fiercest.”  

She hesitated for a split second when he smiled at her and closed his eyes, giving up the fight and giving in to his death.

“I’ll give up and let you be the Tsar.”

Perhaps he knew that she was there that night. She frowned. She swore for her brothers and for her mother that this ugly methods of succession would die along with them. She landed a swift killing strike to make his death painless before a booming laughter filled the court. Yelena got off her brother's corpse and turned to face her father behind her.

“Who would have thought.” she turned to her father, who had a smirk on his face, overlooking his five dead children and his sole heir bathed in the blood of her beloved.

“My littlest won the succession rites all on her own. It is as true as the court says,” her scowl deepens at his show of pride. “You do have my good traits.”

-

That night she killed the tyrant that was her father.

-

It had been 40 years since she was 15 and living the nightmares of her succession rites. The ghosts follow her as she burns away the old world for her new one. One where her children do not have to cry from the heartache of losing their families. For 40 years, she had destroyed her fathers empire and built it back up with her own hands the way that she desired. Everyone in Snezhnaya are her children, as long as they were born in this frosty land of ice and snow they would be cared for by her.

Her children always did say that she loved too much. She loved too hard and that made her soft.

She had never been married, but she had adopted 11 children from different family situations to be her official princes and princesses, her Harbingers as they liked to call themselves when they assisted her in her endeavours. The fights are long and tiresome but after 40 years of fighting for her ideal world she can finally rest peacefully with her family.

Unfortunately, she had spent the last 40 years hardening her 11 children for battlefields and life in shadows, so suddenly wanting to have a loving relationship with her children was less than fruitful. Especially with her older children, which was understandable since Pedrelino and Dottore had been with her longest and since they were young she hadn’t been treating them like children. They were forced to oversee missions from the shadows, travelling Teyvat for her and lengthy battles away from home, so she understands when they couldn’t receive her motherly love very well.

Her younger children however were very welcoming to her attempts at affection.

She sat on her throne, she watched her only daughter approach her along with two fatui skirmishers by her side.

“Your majesty.” La Signora did a low curtsy before her. She nodded and the two skirmishers dismissed themselves, leaving her and her daughter alone together.

“Signora. How was your trip to Mondstadt? I trust you had a wonderful time.”

“It was alright.” she glanced over to the side, making a face the Tsaritsa couldn’t really read, but she could guess that it was distaste. The reason for the distaste was unknown, but according to the intel that reached her ears before Signora did, it could have something to do with that mysterious traveller and that omega bard she had encountered in Mondstadt as she was leaving.

“I’m glad you’re home.” she started before hesitating, clearing her throat behind her fist before shyly admitting. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Signora responds shyly, her neck and ears flushing red clearly unused to the outright affection. The red flush made Signora look like a young maiden in the moment, you could have forgotten that she was one of the Tsaritsa’s coldest killers. The Tsaritsa smiled behind her hand at how cute her daughter could look before she decided to move on to other matters.

“Signora, an old friend of mine would like support from our military might regarding a ghost from his past.” she started with a serious voice as she leaned into her throne. Signora’s expression changed immediately to her usual stoic expression as she listened to her mother speak.

“Don’t support him.” she says sternly without hesitation. She understands why her daughter feels that way. A foreigner having control over their old and great military might unsupervised would be an unwise decision for both Snezhnaya and her old friend. While the Tsaritsa knows that her fatui agents have good independent action and work in a team, sending them to a foreign land two weeks away from Snezhnaya without supervision for a friend could turn dangerous.

“He is a dear friend and I owe him a favour.” she continues. “When Pedrelino was very young and I was rebuilding Snezhnaya, he lent me a hand in terms of investigation of the court. I feel the need to return the favour.”

Signora still looked against the action, but Yelena was determined to convince her daughter.

“We both know how I feel for those who have ghosts.”

“Your majesty, I’m stepping out of line when I say this but you love too hard and too deeply. It is my job to make sure you don’t get hurt and by making such a bold decision to send our agents for this person... It is just unreasonable, especially if they are unsupervised.” Signora has her hand on her hips as she borderline lectures the Tsaritsa.

“We could send a Harbinger if supervision is your concern?” Tsaritsa says as she avoids her gaze. She knows her daughter is glaring at her. She hears Signora give in by her sigh and her fingers rubbing at her temple.

“Who is your friend? Let me get Dottore to run a background- ”

“He is the emperor from Liyue.”

“Tartaglia spent a year in Liyue, didn’t he?” Signora said as she thought out loud. Perhaps they could send a portion of their military might if it is under the supervision of their youngest Harbinger.

Then again… it is Tartaglia they’re talking about.

“Yes. Tartaglia is familiar with foreign languages to a certain degree as well, is he not? Perhaps we could send him as a consort?”

“Mother.”

“Yes?”

“Did you say consort.”

“Yes.”

A long silence filled the throne room.

“Your majesty.” she let out another heavy sigh. “Harbingers are not marriageable. Especially Tartaglia.” Signora knows her mother is a kind hearted woman, but attempting to marry off Tartaglia as a favour to the Liyue emperor was mind boggling. Surely, Tartaglia was the only omega of their siblings, but he was still a Harbinger. A nasty, cold hearted killer with blood on his hands.

Not to mention his pheromones that smelled too strong of withered roses, a result from years on the battlefield fighting through his heats by literally fighting enemies, muddying his scent by surrounding himself with bloodshed. No high class alpha let alone an emperor would be in their right mind to want to mate with him.

“Do not say that Signora.” Signora’s posture straightened at the appearance of her stern voice, perhaps automatically out of fear or respect, or something between those lines. Regardless her daughter had reverted back to actively listening rather than roasting her brother.

“Tartaglia has worked hard for years for this country. Nevertheless, he is an omega forced to live like an alpha for years on the battlefield for me. Snezhnaya is entering an era of peace, I would like him to start living like his age.” Signora still looked against the suggestion of sending Tartaglia to be married. She understands that perhaps it would be troublesome for her as well, since they were close in age and she would essentially be losing her closest sibling.  

“I think this would be good for him.”

“Mother… Tartaglia has no formal omega training for a supposedly ‘high class omega’, considering he’s a prince. If the emperor takes a whiff of his scent, he’d be sent back in a crate to Snezhnaya like an animal.”

“There’s no harm in letting Tartaglia try his chances. If he turns out to be the emperor's concubine, it would not be too bad, would it?” she says softly. She watches as Signora’s expression softens as well at her tone.

“Alright. I’ll let Tartaglia know and make the preparations.”

“Thank you Signora.”

-

“Childe! Be reasonable!” Signora yells as she chases her half naked brother through the palace gardens, passing by agents and maids who were forced to avert their gaze in fear of being beheaded for looking at the prince half decent.

“Advert your eyes!” Signora points at the oncoming squadron who were heading in their direction. Their faces turn to all different directions to avoid seeing the prince and princess racing each other through the palace grounds.

“Childe!” she lets out a shrill scream as she continues to chase him.

“No! I’ll never marry! You can’t make me!” he jumps over mother’s marble fence and lands behind an unfortunate fatui agent, making him jump from the scare. It doesn’t phase Childe and he continues running. Signora looked down from where Childe jumped and looked at the heels she was wearing ‘ah… my 500 thousand mora heels...’ and decided against it.

“Don’t treat me like a fucking omega!” he sneers at her. She rolls her eyes. In her vision Childe is nothing more like a hissing kitten.

“News flash genius, you are an omega.” Signora managed to catch up to him and successfully cornered him in his room after a long chase outdoors that lasted approximately two hours and forty five minutes, not that she was counting to spite him later. Her angry pheromones leak and overpower Childe, bringing him to his knees. If he were in his prime state, he would be able to resist her pheromones without flinching, but this version of Childe had taken a short break from the battlefield and has started to enjoy living the life of a spoiled prince.

“I’ll make him kick me out in a week if you keep this up.” Childe gasps with his mouth before pinching his nose, trying not to breathe in too much of her scent.

Signora rolls her eyes at how dramatic her younger sibling is being. In a palace full of boys and her being the sole princess, she lives in a house of stubborn alphas. Somehow, Childe being the only non-alpha had caught their terrible personality traits.

“Get up off the floor we have to start going through basic training now.”

- “Ow!” Childe whines when Signora pushes the dildo into him. His ankle rested on one of her shoulders as she stood at the end of the bed, monitoring how much slick he produced.

“Come on, you’ve got to be better at producing slick than this .” she says with a mixture of disappointment and irritation. Firstly, she had to chase her brother through the gardens and now she was in charge of his training?

Well, she did promise the Tsaritsa that she would handle it. But it doesn’t mean she couldn’t complain about it.

“It’s not my fault. You don’t turn me on.” Childe mutters into his pillow below his head, crossing his arms across his torso. Signora smiles, irritated before pushing the dildo further in harder than she should have. He flinches violently before sitting up.

“Ow!”

“The Tsaritsa wants you to go to Liyue and play nice with the emperor, and you know that whatever mom says goes.” Signora ignores the high pitched whine that Childe makes when she gently pushes the dildo further into his cunt.

“Mom just wants to marry me off to some old geezer. Isn’t the emperor supposed to be a 40 year old man.”

“Don’t call her mom. Refer to her as ‘her majesty’.” “You literally just called her mom.”

Childe feels a knot form on the base of the dildo, expanding uncomfortably against him while hitting all the wrong places that made him uncomfortable. One particularly hard thrust caused him to flinch violently again, arching up against the bed in discomfort.

“Ow, ow, ow! ” He complains as Signora finishes pushing the knot into him.

“You’re such a crybaby. How are you going to withstand those dreadfully long hours of mating when you can’t even handle a fake knot.” she pushes his ankle off her shoulder and they fall limp onto the bed below them. She throws her hair behind her shoulder before moving across the room and sitting on the sofa in his room, lying herself across it as if she’s done some terribly hard task. Childe sits up to look at her, irritated at how dramatic she looks.

“Mom should have gotten you a proper trainer years ago rather than this ridiculous last minute coaching.”

“News flash genius .” Childe bites back at her. “I was away on the battlefield ever since her majesty adopted me as a Harbinger? How long has that been, hmm?” he taps his chin, ignoring the shiver that ran down his spine from feeling so much of the knot against him.

“One? Two? Three years?”

“So you’ve been away for six years. Big deal. All of us travel around for her majesty’s missions.”

“None of you alphas need whatever this ‘formal omega training’ is.” he makes air quotations with his fingers. “Cause none of you are omegas.” he glares at her. He knows she can feel the glare, but it's making him angry how easily she ignores him in favour of closing her eyes and sinking her head into the plush pillow on the sofa.

“Most high ranking omegas from across Teyvat go through formal omega training. It teaches you the basics from how to control your pheromones to the importance of heats and proper mating rituals.”

“I’m not most high ranking omegas, if you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re right.” Childe feels some sort of pride with being agreed with.

“You smell like smelly roses and you’re not soft or cute at all.” He made an unhappy noise at his sister. How typical of her, unable to compliment him at any time. He feels the knot soften inside of him and thinks that it was the perfect opportunity to work the dildo out of him before aiming for his sister's head. The dildo misses Signora by two inches before falling on the other side of the couch.

“Tartaglia!” the shrill scream echoed throughout the palace.

- The day he was sent away, the Tsaritsa and Signora stood out at the front gates to bid Childe goodbye. He kisses her majesty’s knuckles before meeting her eyes.

“I promise I’ll do well.”

The Tsaritsa smiles at him, gentle and motherly while a step further behind her Signora is glaring at him with all her might. The wind blows harshly, little flakes of snow sticking to Childe’s red hair. He smiles mimicking the gentle one she gave him.

“I know you will. Even if he does not choose you to be his mate, as long as you are happy,” she hesitates and bites her lip. She knows that she would be lying if she continued. “I will be happy.” she finishes.

In her heart she is hoping that it does not come down to that and that her old friend would treat her son right, but the possibilities are endless when it comes to Zhongli. If he was similar to her image of him when they were younger, he would still be an unpredictable enigma, coming and doing as he pleases like an outdoor cat. Then again, Tartaglia was a hurricane in a human shaped shell, with the ability to sweep everything in his path off their feet, dragging the air from their lungs with the chaos he’s capable of leaving in his wake.

“Even if you come home, I’ll take you with open arms.” she says softly, unsure if he heard her over the harsh blowing of the Snezhnaya wind. He turns back to look at his mother (and his sister who caught his eye, and looked away) and the palace he could be leaving for the rest of his life before he boards his carriage that would take him to the docks to board his ship to Liyue, this time with no predicted date of his return.

If he would even return. He was unsure.

The carriage left the front gates of the palace, but the Tsaritsa continued to watch until it was out of their sight.

“I wonder if it was a good idea to send Tartaglia.” she puts a gloved hand to her mouth and another on her stomach. “He has no formal omega training. I’m afraid if he were to lose out to any other potential omega the emperor had his eye on.”

‘I literally told you that.’ Signora thinks, but she gives her mother a sympathetic look and places a hand over her shoulder, pulling the Tsaritsa close to her body. Tsaritsa’s eyes widen in surprise as she feels herself being pulled closer to her daughter's body. Signora is taller than her and blankets herself over her mother, sharing their warmth. While she’s proud that her daughter isn’t as afraid of her as she was years ago, she’s still worried about Tartaglia.

“You worry too much, your majesty. He will be fine.” Signora says as she brings a gloved hand to the Tsaritsa’s back and strokes fondly, comforting her.

[gypsydanger01]

THE STORM - Part twenty-two

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x OC

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

Threading dangerous waters

After Noir had taken his leave, Sarah took a few steady breaths and managed to put his untouched slice of cake away before collapsing on the couch.

Lightly tracing her knuckles, she laid on the only piece of furniture that hadn’t been left in shambles. The coffee table had been reduced to splinters, and the tv screen had a gaping hole where he’d sunk his knife to the hilt. Nails were stuck in the wall to her right, and she sighed at the thought of having to disable those explosives that hadn’t been triggered during their fight.

I’ll be back.

She sighed, pressing the back of her hand to her lips. God, what would she do.

 [Next day, at Vought Headquarters]

The following day, Noir left his living quarters quite early, a pair of dark brown eyes seared into his mind. He immediately delved into researching information on the latest experimental trials conducted by Vought. He searched and searched, with determined calculation. His eyes traced countless file names, patient numbers, and descriptions… until he found the one he’d been looking for.

He retreated back to his room and settled down, eyes pouring over the damning evidence.

Finally, he stood and left the room.

_ _ _

“All right, folks, how is everyone?”

The Deep started with a small “I’m o—,” but Homelander cut him off, and continued speaking. He didn’t really care, the question had been a pleasantry, an act he had no reason to entertain without an audience.

“—We all know about the break-in that occurred two nights ago while we were at the gala,” he nodded to himself as he slowly paced around the table. “And while our Noir gave it his all, this very dangerous woman played some tricks and is,” Homelander raised a hand in blatant disbelief, “still on the loose.”

Reaching the head of the table once again, he fixed his gaze on each of his team members.

“We also know of the unfortunate release of Compound V to the public, which has generated mixed emotions and alienated a part of our fans,” he paused, disgust pure on his face before he drew his conclusion. “It was her, this delinquent who stole from the archives and spilled to the news.”

The imposing man gripped the back of his chair, “I took this up with Stan Edgar, and he would have me—us, believe that he has it under control, that he’s handling it,” he exclaimed with a small burst of laughter.

Black Noir felt something creep up over his shoulder and settle in his chest: it was dread, a deep-seated sense of foreboding. And knowing what he’d learned that morning, what he’d promised himself, he again found himself conflicted. Focusing on Homelander’s speech, one sentence echoed inside his head: she is good, and he will protect her, she is good, and he will protect her.

“She must be found and swiftly dealt with as she poses a threat to Vought and all Americans,” Homelander announced. “She is obviously powerful if she was able to escape from Noir,” he paused. “I want everyone’s eyes open, and if you find her,” his face lost any sign of pleasantry, morphing with an unidentifiable emotion, “you will come to me first.”

Black Noir knew all too well what that unidentifiable emotions was: it was arrogance and a sense of superiority that underlined the man’s choices, again and again. It was his absolute need to be in the know and at the center of the attention at all times.

Everyone around the table stayed quiet. Maeve was picking at her nails, and Noir was doodling on a piece of paper. The Deep stared at the table’s surface, obviously afraid of the team leader’s mood swings. A-Train sat comfortably, more laid out than anything as he waited for the meeting to end. And Starlight, sitting delicately in her chair, counted down the seconds until she could clear out of the building.

Homelander slammed his palm against the table, “Is that clear.”

All eyes on him, he received a few nods and small acknowledgements.

Starlight tried to maintain her composure, but fear was clawing at her, demanding that she leave the room. She avoided looking at A-Train even though she could feel his gaze burning through her. If America’s favorite superhero found out she, member of the Seven, had leaked Compound V… she wasn’t sure that there’d be anything left of her once he was finished.

The leader of the Seven held his hands behind his back, making him an even more imposing figure.

“Vought is a great big company, our company,” he continued, “And Stan Edgar would have us believe that everything is under control… but he lies. It is not under control. I will find her, and I will end her before she can tear us down.”

His last statement held the finality and decisiveness of a promise.

“Remember, you come to me first,” he repeated, before going to stand by the large, paneled windows. A few seconds later, he glanced back at them.

“Still here?” he asked, suddenly irked by their presence. “Dismissed. Except you Noir, you can stay.”

Noir watched the other team members rapidly stand and leave the room, before letting his gaze fall back on the caped man standing by the windows.

“Noir, I’ll have you know that I trust you a great deal more than anyone else on this team,” he began, “and I trust you the most to gather intel on this Marianna Stacker.”

Sarah, his mind sighed.

“I want weekly updates until we catch her, I want to know who she is, where she lives, who she cares about—everything,” he carefully explained, “I will not have her and her lies destroy everything,” he gestured in general and Noir assumed he meant both the company and his popularity. The darkly suited man lightly rolled his eyes behind the mask but nodded.

He knew better than to anger Homelander. He wasn’t afraid of the maniac, no, he was a safety measure set in place to keep the man in check when the charismatic façade slipped off and revealed the monster beneath. Wasn’t there a saying? That to kill a monster you need a monster? And to do so, he’d rather know what the man was plotting than have to make a calculated guess.

Homelander nodded his head, “We’ll get her Noir.”

Noir stood, nodded, and left.

And Homelander watched him leave, always feeling a surge of respect for the silent superhero.

He turned back towards the windows and watched the busy city unfold beneath him, a murderous glint in his eyes. To hell with Stan Edgar, he was the true center of Vought. Fans called his name, he was their savior.

Finally, he too left the meeting room, deciding to take a stroll through the building..

_ _ _

That day, Sarah had returned to work, deeming a prolonged absence too risky since it could raise all sorts of red flags. She covered up with warm clothes, a pretty scarf wrapped around her neck, and faked a dry cough in the office.

She’d felt a shiver down her spine as she signed in at the front desk and ascended the stairs. Each step heavier than the last, she wondered if they would immediately pinpoint her as guilty. She’d taken sensitive information on one of the most terrible and controversial experimental trials ever: they would be looking for her, and they would employ every method. Her mind strayed to the variable in the equation, the one piece she could not control, the wild card that could make her or break her. Noir. And now that someone else had exposed them for using Compound V on babies to make them into superheroes, Vought was taking a lot of heat from fans, the media, and activists. They’d assume it was the same person who broke into the archives. So, they wouldn’t just be looking for her, they’d be hunting for her, ready to gun her down.

However, she was greeted back into the office with a couple waves and smiles, and everything went smoothly. She’d only been gone for a day, but a couple co-workers asked her about her cough and if she was feeling better. The day before, Martha had reassured a few of them when they’d asked about her so that she’d have an alibi.

And so, time rushed by, and, while she’d calmed down, she felt an inextricable knot in her chest. She was here, hiding in plain sight. And it could work, but only if Noir saw reason, if he questioned his loyalty towards the company and felt any for her.

Soon, it was time to pack up and go back home. She spoke with Martha and waved to a few co-workers before heading down the long hallway to take the elevator. She usually took the stairs, but suddenly preferred the quickest method to leave the building.

After pressing the button to call it up, Sarah stepped back and waited in the deserted hall. She felt, rather than heard a presence grow close. Noir came to stand beside her, seemingly waiting for the elevator himself. She looked at him through her dark lashes and fixed the scarf around her neck. Would this be it? Would he do it here at Vought where they could easily clean up the splatters?

The elevator arrived with a ding and he motioned for her to step in first, him following after. Were there no cameras in the elevators? Was that why he’d chosen this spot?

Noir moved closer to her and she wasn’t sure what to expect. She pressed her back to the elevator wall, feeling that characteristic warmth spread throughout her chest. But he did something surprising by placing his gloved hands on her hips, almost steadying her. He then produced a thin slip of folded paper, which he smoothly slid into one of her pants’ front pocket.

“What are you doing,” she whispered, trying to understand whatever he was trying to tell her.

Suddenly, the elevator dinged once again and slowed to a halt as someone got ready to join them on their way down.

Noir immediately stepped away as though she’d burned him. She soon realized why.

Crimson boots stepped into the small space, and Sarah thought she might suffocate as the doors slid closed. The dark blue suit and American flag taunted her.

Sarah knew what Homelander really was, how the selfishness and arrogance swam just below the surface.

He seemed deep in thought, but whatever trail he’d been following was interrupted by her loud heartbeat. He glanced to the side and saw the beautiful, albeit frazzled, woman in the corner. She stood straight and composed, yet she had a racing pulse.

Noir could also hear it and wished it would slow down to a normal rate. Capturing Homelander’s attention can be a dangerous thing.

She needed to stay hidden in the shadows, blend in with every other person at Vought. He would keep her from harm.

“Ma’am are you all right,” the Seven's leader asked with concern. “I don’t mean to invade your privacy,” he genuinely chuckled, “but I can hear your heart racing, like you're scared.”

Sarah shuffled her feet, “Oh no, I’m all right. I’m not a fan of small, enclosed spaces that’s all.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she suffocated the sudden need to shake it off. Just a few more floors and she’d be stepping off. Just a few more floors.

“Don’t worry, you have the strongest man in the world here, you’re safe.”

She smiled and thanked him before quickly stepping off. She slowed down, not wanting it to seem like she was running away. He’d meant to reassure her, but she could still feel the phantom weight of his hand on her shoulder. Once outside, she made her way home where she was ready to take a long shower and sleep amid her wrecked furniture.

Her fingers itched to touch the slip of paper in her pocket, to discover its meaning. She ultimately decided to read it at home away from prying eyes.

 [Vought Headquarters]

Once Sarah had stepped off the elevator, Black noir and Homelander made no move to follow. The doors closed and the caped man pressed the button for the upper levels.

Noir stilled, and suddenly had the urge to break the other man’s neck. He knew Homelander had seen them close together through the walls, and he realized he should’ve waited to hand her the note at her house.

“I was looking for you,” he spoke up with nonchalance, “and imagine my surprise when I saw you in here with that woman.”

Homelander smirked and slapped his shoulder, “You sly dog, Noir, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Noir fingers itched to pull a dagger, but he maintained his composure.

“Just keep your head on straight, yeah?”

Homelander straightened and faced forward, “You and me, Noir, we’re above it all—we were made for bigger things,” he cleared his throat, “I don’t want you distracted as we look for Stacker.”

Little did he know that she’d just rode the elevator with him, and never would he have imagined it possible for Black Noir to grow attached and protective of someone.

The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped out going their separate ways.

MASTERLIST

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