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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

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Fallen From Grace. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

Giorno has given you too many gifts to count.

This benevolent act serves multiple purposes, culminating towards the goal of making your time here better. He doesn’t shy away from the reality of what he’s doing to you, the extent of your loneliness after being displaced. Forcing himself to remember this bitter truth keeps him from getting complacent, striving to make your experience all the better.

No detail is to be overlooked. In what little free time Giorno has, he molds your surroundings to your liking. The meals that are planned for you consist of high nutritional value, often rotating your favorites with only the best ingredients and chefs to prepare them. Your wardrobe is full of outfits tailored to your measurements and tastes. Rare and ethereal flowers span across the master bedroom you share with Giorno, him creating them with the purpose of soothing you.

For all this effort, Giorno never has an expectation for your gratitude. He doesn’t believe he deserves it, having stolen you from your normal life. He’s the reason for the tear soaked pillows, the restless nights and detached demeanor you’ve adopted. Whether it’s to ease the guilt that suffocates his heart, or to see your eyes light up for only a moment, Giorno tends to you.

This custom, handmade journal is one he gave you at the start of your time here. With you receiving limited human interaction, Giorno found it important for you to have a way to express your thoughts. While you were initially antagonistic towards him about the journal, you began to use it. He lets you hide it from him, letting you believe it’s out of his reach for peace of mind.

Ironic as it may sound, Giorno respected you by never laying a finger on it. The overwhelming temptation of learning his beloved’s most inner thoughts isn’t lost on him. He could read it and place it back to its original spot without you being none the wiser. For months, he made a point in refusing this alluring idea.

That is, until this very second.

Sitting on his dark mahogany desk, is the journal that contains your private thoughts and experiences. Giorno’s eyelids flutter shut, a soft sigh leaving his lips. Leaning further into his chair, he gives more thought to the situation. The forbidden fruit lays before him, ready to give knowledge he shouldn’t have.

There’s a grander reason for this dilemma. When spending time with you, Giorno is keen to pick up every nuance of your behavior. It’s a trait of his that has followed him since childhood. Every twitch of your mouth or hesitation in your voice paints a larger picture. He’s capable of reading you, knowing your thoughts before you even know them yourself. This often works out in his favor.

But lately, when he speaks to you, something feels different. In a way that doesn’t make sense. You still hold apparent dislike for him, but you avoid eye contact less. There’s a sense of underlying assurance, like you’re privy to information that he isn’t. It gets under his skin, eating him from the inside out.

No longer do you threaten him with bitter words, detailing your resentment towards him. You seem content to sit in his presence, talking casually about what you’ve done that day and asking him the same. He won’t lie and say he doesn’t like the development. But his gut tells him there’s a malicious intent laced in your new behavior.

What are you hiding from him?

The realm of possibilities is few and far between, and Giorno considers every possibility. None of his theories placate a voice in his head, a gnawing that something is very wrong. Talking to you and asking questions laced with hidden agendas has led to no discoveries, options growing limited to discover the truth.

Running his fingertips over the spine of your journal, he gingerly opens to the first page. It’s a dirty feeling to be doing this, invading your privacy behind your back. He’s done worse for the sake of your well being, the justification spurring him to continue on to the next page. It contains your first entry.

“I didn’t want to write this. Putting the words into paper almost feels like I’m accepting the reality of what’s happening to me, this parody of a life. I don’t have much else to do to pass the time.

Even my hobbies bring me little joy, knowing who set them up for me like a doll in a dollhouse. Focusing is another thing entirely. How can I focus knowing I’m always being monitored to some degree? Even as I write this, I wonder who’s watching me.

In the past, when I felt anxious, I’d write. And well… anxiety is the heartbeat of my life now. Everyday I wake up, more numb than the last. All I look forward to is when I’ll sleep next. At least then I don’t have to feel anything, I can just exist without trying. There’s nothing else for me to say.”

He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Giorno’s lips curl down into a frown, his eyebrows furrowing and stomach dropping. Seeing the depths of your pain so tangible, in your own words, kills a piece of his soul. It’d be an insult to you to waver now, he thinks, resolve staying firm. Not wanting to invade your privacy more than necessary, he skims through more entries in hopes of finding any leads on your current behavior.

“It’s already been three months since I’ve begun living here, if you can even call it that. I’ve gotten better at spotting the guards. I like to think of it as a little game. They’re good, I give them that. But when you have nothing to do, living in a house with no noise, it grows easier to listen. To notice things I wouldn’t have before.

Maybe I’m going stir crazy. I don’t like knowing how I’m being monitored, but I’ve grown accustomed to it. I hate to admit how he was right , when he said I’d grow accommodated to this with time. I don’t want to. I don’t want to learn to live like this. But I can’t stop it. Resisting the inevitable is a pointless waste of energy, which I hardly have anymore.”

Giorno picks up on your lack of mentioning him by name. In most of your entries, you avoid even insinuating to his existence when possible. It’s a cold sensation, knowing who he loves most omits him at every chance. He understands -- it’s what he deserves after putting you through this isolation -- yet the complex hurt remains prevalent. Every word stingers more than the last.

He soldiers on, searching through more entries.

“I wonder if they’re allowed to talk to me. When I call out to the occasional shadow, or creak in a room beside me, there’s no response. But I know they’re here, I’ve seen him giving them orders in the past when I pretend to sleep. It’s always in hushed whispers, as if anything they say could surprise me.

I just want to talk to someone. Someone that isn’t him. Someone that doesn’t avoid my gaze like everyone else here. It makes me feel like I’m a disgusting sight to behold, even though I know why they look away. The guilt from witnessing what they do, outweighed by their longing for money. I hate it. It makes me hate them. At least look at me, like I’m a human.

They’re spineless cowards. All of them. Disgusting subhumans that take a paycheck over my suffering. I hate them so much, almost more than I hate him.”

Giorno freezes, noticing small crinkles in the paper towards the end of this entry. Signs that you must’ve been crying, he deduces. God. He wants to tell himself that it’s worse than he thought, but that’d be a lie. All along he’s been aware of the great extents of your suffering, all pointing back to him.

Running a hand through his hair, loose from its normal styling, Giorno wonders if he should stop now. Every word is like a nail in the coffin of his heart, paining him in more ways he thought possible. Making difficult decisions has come as second nature to him, so he preserves on.

“Yesterday was my birthday. What a shitty thing to realize. I got a lot of things. More than I ever had gotten before. More offline games, clothes, perfume, shoes, jewelry, and even a painting. By the looks of it I think it’s rare, but who gives a fuck.

An interesting development occurred. One of my guards, if that’s what you’d even call them, approached me. He had just gotten off the phone, and informed me that my plans for the day were going to be different. Apparently the big boss got held up at work, so he wouldn’t be joining me for dinner.

Am I supposed to be upset about that? Well, I certainly wasn’t. Who cares. Seeing him would just make me feel worse. I hate how out of control I feel like he’s around. I almost find myself forgetting about all he’s done, when he speaks to me so calmly. Just thinking about it makes me feel dirty, like I should shower.

I didn’t see a point in responding at first. But eventually, I spoke up before the guard could leave. I asked him why he was okay with this, what he sees everyday. He didn’t offer a response. But I noticed something. His breath hitched, I’m sure of it.

Maybe there is another human being in this pseudo-prison after all.”

A painful reminder of the past. It did hurt him at the time to have to miss out on an important day with you, even though Giorno was self aware to know his presence brought you little comfort. There had been emergency phone calls over an attack from former Passione members, retaliating for losing drug related income.

The timing of it was awful, just thinking back to it reminds Giorno of the impatience he felt then. Hours were spent personally dealing with cleaning up what had happened, meaning he wasn’t able to see you as was originally planned. Orders were given back home to inform you of this change, though it’s now evident it impacted Giorno more than you.

The last section piques his interest. You felt you had noticed guilt in one of the guards? The pool of men that Giorno had carefully sifted through are no strangers to witnessing barbaric acts. Such is the life of a gangster. In your state of heightened emotions, there’s a possibility you could’ve imagined it.

The journal goads him to continue, unraveling the mysteries of your heart.

“I’ve gotten better at spotting the guards.

I can’t believe something like this is exciting to me, but it is these days. It’s kinda funny in a pathetic way, watching as they shrink back when I spot them. The guard from before is the one I recognize the most. I pretended to be hurt, and he came out of the shadows to check on me.

I guess he wasn’t expecting me to turn around looking fine after my acting, because he didn’t leave right away. Before he got the chance, I asked what his name is. He sighed, probably relieved that he wouldn’t have to report to his boss about me being harmed. He said his name is Marco.

At that point, it was my turn to be surprised. I guess he was too, given the slip up. I must confess, it felt nice talking to someone. It’s been so long since I’ve heard another person’s voice. He went to walk away soon after, but I stopped him. It’s not like they can use force to get rid of me, so why the hell not?

I told him I was bored and wanted someone to talk to. And, for some reason… he stayed.”

Giorno rereads this passage multiple times, scrutinizing it. So you managed to speak to one of the guards he assigned to watch over you? When he was recruiting within Passione for the position, he made expectations explicitly clear. They were not to interact with you unless an emergency calls for it. And if they felt the situation called for it, they needed to report it back to Giorno.

Your safety is paramount in his eyes. Regardless of this being a minor grievance, this guard will be punished accordingly for breaking the rules Giorno set. All of them were put in place knowing that if you grew connected to someone and they you, possibilities of insubordination would blossom.

The dates on the pages are getting closer to the current day, not many more entries left.

“Marco and I have been speaking more frequently.

He gave me a rough idea of the conditions in which we can talk, only in certain blind spots and times where other guards aren’t around as often. I wish it wasn’t so complicated. In our rushed conversations, I’ve learned more about him. I didn’t really think I would get all that invested in this person, since he’s stood by and watched my situation for a while now.

But now it makes a bit more sense. He told me that his little sister is unwell, having to practically live in a hospital room. That this dirty job is the only one that can cover the full expenses, and that without it she wouldn’t last. I can’t say that I forgive him entirely yet, but… I guess I can sympathize. I wish there was more I could do to help.

Her name is Lucia. One of the times we talked Marco told me she’s the strongest person he knows, staying dedicated to her studies despite having waning strength. She’s a few years younger than me, but I think we’d have gotten along well. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave this place, but I wish I could meet her one day.

Having him to talk to is nice.”

Ah... so that’s what it is then.

Unpleasant emotions rise within, feelings that Giorno long thought were gone. Times before when you were speaking freely with your friends, laughing among them and living your life to the fullest. Those times were he wanted nothing more than to join you, to have you by his side and share in the experience. His position shot down any hopes of that, the possibility of endangering you deterring him.

It was a painful time. Knowing that what he wanted was close and yet so painfully far, just out of his reach. Giorno wanted you to look at him like that, mirth in your eyes and a smile on your lips. To enjoy outings to the movies like you did with your friends, to have inside jokes and memories to fondly look back on.

Envy doesn’t begin to describe the hideous feeling that permeates within him. Giorno’s grasp on your journal feels weaker, fingers shaking as he flips to the next page. Predator-like intent shines on his visage, emerald eyes narrowed and grip tightening. Not typically one to dwell on what could’ve been, it’s rare Giorno would feel like this. He makes the most out of every situation, his resolve unwavering and sights set on a single goal.

You throw all of it into a loop, his normal composure a long forgotten memory.

“Today I played a game of checkers with Marco.

I think he was letting me win, but it was fun nonetheless. Apparently one of the normal guards was tending to business elsewhere, so we had more time together. He’s kind, kinder than I would’ve ever expected. When we’re together I just forget about everything other than the present moment.

For once, I don’t feel like a prisoner all on my lonesome. I don’t notice the heavy ring on my finger, the suffocating air of this villa that I despise. It’s just us, cracking jokes and learning about one another. It’s what I look forward to the most, what I hold onto even when Marco isn’t around. It makes me feel human again. Like I’m not [First] Giovanna, but entirely myself.

Smiling comes a lot more naturally these days. I can even find myself stomaching his presence easier, though I still don’t like when he’s around. As long as he doesn’t find out about Marco and I, I feel like I can get through this. Everyday I change the location of this journal, within the expanses of this mansion.

I still wish there was more I could do to help Lucia. I suggested giving Marco some of this stupid jewelry to pawn off, but he said it’s too risky. It’s surreal to know even pawnshops in Italy are fiercely loyal to Passione’s Don, and would be too hesitant to purchase his wife’s jewelry in fear of retaliation.

Having all this wealth surround me feels like a waste when I know there’s someone who could actually use it. As much as I don’t like the thought, maybe I could convince Giorno to help Marco somehow. I have a few ideas but they’re probably all too risky. He does always tell me, ‘If you ever want anything in this world, tell me.’

I want to help Lucia. I want to help Marco, who I’ve found myself caring for.

I’ve never asked Giorno for anything really. I don’t know how to propose it without making him suspicious--”

Giorno can’t stand to read it anymore.

Closing the book and placing it down, he steeples his fingers together. It takes a great deal of effort to frustrate him, normal composure melting away. Is it betrayal? Hurt? Jealousy? Everything wraps around his person, the air in his office feeling thick. Loosening the tie around his neck, he takes a much needed deep breath.

A flash of your smile from earlier this evening at dinner comes to mind. You called him by his name, maintaining eye contact and asking about his day. Lulled into a false sense of security, wanting to believe nothing more than the farce unfolding before him. Of course you didn’t love him back. He was a fool to have deluded himself into believing that.

At his fingertips is his phone. With a single phone call, he could command the world to fall. To have this guard who failed him tortured in the worst ways imaginable, experiencing hell on earth. Or to even join Passione’s former boss in a never ending cycle of death, that stretches the lengths of eternity.

So many possibilities. Yet none of them would soothe the agony of his heart. Completely and utterly alone once more, like his earlier days. Requited love was all but an illusion, a fog that has now been lifted.

Giorno purses his lips, considering. Fingers drum against his desk, the sound reverberating across the empty room. Grabbing a hold of his phone, he calls upon someone who could help him deal with this traitor appropriately. A message must be sent, he thinks, that will set the tone within the organization. It will hurt you to lose this newfound companion, but it’s a sacrifice he is willing to make. It’s not like you need to know the details either.

The phone rings. Once, twice. Before his second in command on the other line picks up.

“Yo, Giorno? You’re calling pretty late,” Mista’s voice is chipper as ever, the distant sound of music playing in the background. “Everything alright?”

Getting up from his chair, he walks over to the window that overlooks his garden. His beloved wife walks among the paths, bending down and inspecting a rose. Giorno remembers when he turned an object into that very flower, how your dull eyes lit up at the awe inspiring sight.

This is ultimately all for you, he reminds himself.

“Yes, everything is fine. Are you free at the moment? I have a job for you.”

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anothertimdrakestan · 3 years

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Heat Waves (TimKon)

Words: 3k

Hi! I’m so glad you’re here! I’ve been working on this for way too long and definitely have a pt2 planned out if you guys like part one! I hope you’ll take the time to read this because I spent way too long on it and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out!

for the like 0.1% of my audience that this overlaps with, yes, i too am utterly obsessed with Heat Waves for DNF and have been listening to this song on repeat for three days straight waiting for chapter 8. But, i figured why not let that amazing piece of absolute art inspire a Timkon fic cuz they have the same dynamic as DNF in my eyes! All credits go to tbhyourelame on ao3!

if you don’t know what heat waves is that’s fine this is just a regular fic but I highly recommend you checkout the amazing song here

It was as hot as death itself in Kansas. Not to mention a farm with no AC was just about the worst place Conner could be forced to “vacation” at. But Ma and Pa had been begging to have him over and the month of June just seemed to overlap, so there Kon was, sweating buckets in the middle of nowhere.

It felt so cold in Gotham. Though, the temperature was comfortable- the most comfortable it had been all year- but Tim always felt colder, lonelier, when Conner wasn’t by his side. The two of them were a duo, fitting together like a puzzle piece, the absolute best of friends and best of heroes. But now, he was using his mandatory away-from-the-tower weeks up while Conner was in Kansas, it was some sort of mandate that Bruce’s kids come home occasionally and instead of suffering weekends in Gotham Tim opted to just grind out a few weeks at the manor, even if it meant dealing with Damian’s unrelenting murder attempts. But it wasn’t all bad, Tim got to patrol with Bruce again, hang out with Jason occasionally, and even see Dick from time to time. “Family” bonding at it’s finest.

“Hello?” Tim’s voice was quiet, Kon constantly felt himself turning the volume button up on his phone just to hear a decibel more of his best friend’s comforting tone.

“Hey Timbers how was your day?” Conner felt himself relaxing to the light sound of Tim breathing, he was laying on the floor, spread like a starfish so that no sticky part of his body could touch and create more sweat.

“Nothing much, no patrol tonight- I guess you remembered,” Tim’s voice was filling his ears. I remember everything you tell me. “Yeah, yeah I did,” Conner quickly replied. “Any boring farm chores today?” Conner heard the familiar rustling, he could hear Tim stand up, he’d memorized the sound of Tim taking him off speaker and resting the phone in between his shoulder and ear. He could hear Tim’s hair, that he knew he was probably growing out, brush the mic. I always liked his hair longer.

“Kon?” Tim snapped him back into the stiflingly hot room. “Oh sorry, it’s really hot here, kinda makes me zone out. Um, I’m alright I got to hangout with the cows today which was cool- they don’t like the heat either but Ma says it’ll be over soon,” Conner rambled, all too focused on Tim’s breath in his ear.

“Sorry for making you zone out, I guess nothing interesting is happening here,” Tim sighed, Conner shook his head, rolling over on the floor, leaning down into the mic of his phone.

“Nothing about you bores me Tim,”

Tim didn’t reply. Conner mentally cursed himself, he was really too tired, too hot and bothered to be this flirtatious with Tim, who was a complete wild card when it came to Conner.

And then he answered, Tim’s voice was higher pitched, the way it ascended when he was blushing- he was blushing. “Well that’s not true, I’m very boring. When I’m doing cases or training or-” Conner couldn’t take it.

“Nothing about you could bore me Tim. I’m down to be with you whenever, doing whatever, you know that,” he felt his tone soften, loving the way Tim’s breath hitched with every compliment.

“Be with me?” Tim shot back playfully, Conner could practically hear the smirk toying on the smaller boy’s lips.

“Did I stutter?” Conner heard a loud noise, a thump. Tim’s voice was high pitched again, “Sorry- uh I dropped my phone,” Conner felt himself growing warmer, if at all physically possible. “No problem. So, what are you doing tomorrow with Bruce?” Conner didn’t like pushing Tim too far, hell, he barely knew how he felt half the time. Tim’s voice brightened, “Oh! We’re gonna go to this old ice cream shop I adored as a kid! It’s been too long since I’ve been there, you remember me talking about it?”

Conner didn’t need a second to answer, “Sub 30, you always get the one with the espresso poured over it,” he couldn’t lie, ice cream sounded absolutely heavenly at the moment. Tim’s voice flooded through the heat, “Right as always- I swear they programmed some sort of photographic memory inside of you,” Tim teased, Conner answered honestly, “I just listen when you tell me things”. The night went on, Tim quickly had to go, believe it or not he did sleep when given the opportunity. “Try not to die of heat exhaustion, drink lots of water throughout the day, not all at once,” Conner smiled, “will do, goodnight Timmy,” Tim answered mid yawn, “night Kon”.

And then he was alone. Alone with the heat, with his thoughts, the latter far more dangerous. He’s my best friend, of course I remember everything. Conner found himself staring at the ceiling, Ma had painted constellations on the walls and ceilings of the room, something funny about alien genes liking the stars. Conner used to be able to find every pattern, name every star, but the only shape he could trace was Tim. There were his eyes, they were pools of deep blue, they sparkled when he laughed but could glare bullets when he tried. If he stared hard enough Kon could find his hair, it’s always soft and smells delicious, layers falling effortlessly- cascading to frame his face. Then there were his lips, Conner found himself constantly mesmerized with the way Tim bit his bottom lip when thinking, the way they scrunched together when he said something funny, how they constricted when he bit the inside of his cheek just enough to hide the emotion he was so scared of portraying. They were perfect.

He let the heat take his mind, flowing with the stars as he thought dangerous thoughts about his best friend. His thoughts danced around Tim’s waist, flowing carefully around his chest, wrapping Kon in every layer of Tim’s personality, every smile, laugh, tear, scowl, it was Tim. Kon’s Tim.

And there, on the floor, he drifted to an uncomfortable, sweaty sleep.

Tim was scrolling aimlessly through his phone, Gotham was surprisingly boring. He once found the city bustling and distinctly alive but now it only left him cold, cold and bored.

“Ice cream as good as you remember?” Bruce’s voice lifted him from his device. “Yup! Can’t believe you let me have espresso at like 10, you basically started my addiction.” Tim threw on a smile, glancing down at the half eaten dessert. “Yeah, can’t say I was the best father but, I tried,” Bruce’s shoulders shook lightly, but the laughter didn’t make it to his eyes. Did you really try? Truly? Tim dove back into the creamy sweet, admiring the bitterness the espresso brought the flavor. His phone buzzed.

K: Did you get the ice cream?

T: yeah, you remembered?

K: You literally told me last night

T: have i been off your mind since?

K: No.

Conner always did this, every time Tim thought he’d throw him off guard with something funny or flirtatious just to have a little fun Kon took it and ran with it. And I’m always the one who ends up blushing. Tim thought, shaking his head. It was really his fault he let Conner get him riled up. They were best friends, flirting or dealing out little sexual quips were natural, and often pretty funny.

“Earth to Tim? I’ve got a meeting you wanna head back while I head to the office?” Tim glanced over at Bruce who was now standing up in front of him. “Yeah, I can work on cases back at the manor, you gonna head to the office?” stretching his arms he stood up, noticing Bruce had put on his business face- the one stone cold and dry that only brought back the worst memories. “Yes.” His response was gruff, Tim suppressed the shudder that tried to dance down his spine. “Uh yeah, I’ll head back, have a nice day B,” he smiled, hoping it made it to his eyes.

“You can’t keep calling me while I’m on patrol, it’s not safe,” Tim chastised Conner loosely, appreciating the company as his patrol with Damian was always deathly silent. “C’mon, you’re used to having me in your ear,” Tim gulped, glancing around for Damian who was three buildings over, deeply uninterested. “Kon, oh my god, I’m gonna mute you,” Tim whispered, revelling in the chuckle that stirred in Conner’s chest. It was deep, and warm, so distinctly warm Tim felt the heat budding in his chest.

“So, patrol with the demon? He hasn’t cut your grapple line yet?” Conner’s tone was low and silky smooth. Coughing to clear his throat Tim replied, “nope, he’s most horrific when Bruce is here, when he’s not the punk couldn’t care less whether I live or die,”

“I care,”

“I know Kon,” If only you knew how much I appreciated it.

“Asshole, can you hear me? I said we’ve got a gang robbery on second? You coming genius?” Damian’s disgusted tone flooded over his comm, and Tim quickly turned his attention to the bat-brat who was already grappling towards the alarms and shouts. Conner’s whisper asked, “can he hear me?” and Tim replied, “no, you’re on a separate channel, Dami can only hear me when I unmute. Just be quiet while I take out these thugs,”

“Why? Because my voice distracts you?” Conner’s tone shifted into dangerously flirtatious.

“No, cuz you’re annoying as shit,” Tim smirked, running across the top of a building, letting Damian call the signals so he didn’t get all upset.

“Do I make you uncomfortable Tim? Do I make you forget just exactly what you’re doing, whether you want to use your batarang or bo staff? Do I make you, warm? Because it’s so warm here, so hot, god I’m just so hot I-”

“Shut. Up.” Tim struck the gun out of a scared looking man. Rolling his eyes at the man in his ear.

“Why? Are you too focused? We’ve taken out much harder criminals all while talking. Aren’t we just talking right now?” Kon’s voice was ringing in his head like never before.

“I’m trying to focus but it’s no good when you’re in my ear.”

“And what if I wasn’t in your ear? You remember? When we work side by side, so close- are you an affectionate person Tim?” Tim could feel the heat dripping off of Conner’s voice, but he was taken aback by Conner’s new line of thought.

“Wha- what? Am I affectionate? I don’t know. Sometimes?” Tim almost missed a hit, huffing as Damian blocked what would’ve been a hard blow on him. “Start paying attention Drake,” Damian’s tone was acidic. But he was drawn back into his com as Conner’s voice flooded his ears again.

“Would you be affectionate with me?”

“Yes” Tim’s breathless reply was instant, his brain not giving him a chance to think.

“Good, I like that. You know I’m very affectionate too? I like getting to hold the people I care about close, feeling their warmth. You know I’m very warm right now?”

“I- I know Kon, I bet, are you doing alright? Drinking water?” Tim shook out the thought of Conner lazing out in his room, sweaty, lips parted as he pushed out warm breath- Stop. Focus. Your job is to defend these people. Damian’s doing a good job, You just have to round up the civilians. Tim forced himself back into the real world, taking on one of the gang members with ease, tying him up swiftly before moving on to the next.

“I heard that, I can hear it every time you take out one of those men. This is easy isn’t it? I can’t be that distracting to you. You’re too good.”

“You always do this,” Tim felt his cheeks heating up, his steps felt forced, like he had to remind himself to breathe. Tim carefully rounded up civilians, escorting them to safety as Conner started again in his ear.

“Always do what Tim? Tell you how much I appreciate you? How much I miss you? Do you not think you deserve to be missed? To be loved?”

“Conner” Tim’s tone was harsher than he wanted it to be. But nonetheless Conner continued.

“Why not? Why the hell not? You’re amazing Tim.”

Tim scoffed, playing it off as a cough to the people in front of him.

“What do you need to hear Tim? That you’re amazing? Brilliant?-”

“Oh my god Kon-” Tim interrupted, but Conner wasn’t done.

“Talented? Impressive? [his tone deepended] - Attractive?”

“I’m gonna hang up,” Tim was breathing so hard he was practically hyperventilating. The compliments were all that consumed his thoughts, swirling around his brain, packing it full of deep, dangerously flammable thoughts.

And Conner was ready to let it burn.

“You need to be kissed Tim,” Conner murmurs, throat raw, “so hard that you can’t remember your name- maybe then you’ll understand what I mean.”

The batarang in Tim’s hand clattered to the floor. Damian’s head whipped to him as Tim struggled to regain function.

“I’m muting you, see you in a bit,” was all Tim could choke out before he ripped the earpiece out, unable to let it sit, burning into his skull. You’re almost done here, cool down, finish up. Tim told himself as he manually reminded himself to breathe. You’ve got this.

Conner knew Tim ended the call. But he didn’t have the energy to stop the endless beeping from the disconnected phone.

He was laying on the floor of his room, limbs spread out as he clawed for anything that could cool him down, but all he could feel was heat as he stared up at the stars.

He had to admit, he’d pushed Tim further than ever before. But it felt too right to stop, too good. He couldn’t stop replaying the way Tim’s breath hitched after every word, desperately grasping for the feeling budding up in his chest. It was too addictive to not let the words he’d spent too long crafting pour from his lips into Tim’s heart.

Kon didn’t know how long he laid there, dazed in the heat, just trying to relive word after perfect word.

Until his phone rang.

“Tim?” his voice was ragged and raw.

Tim’s was high pitched and tight. “Conner what the hell was that? Was that funny to you? Saying all those things- flirting with me while I’m trying to do my job?”

“Flirting?” Conner mused, staring at the stars with a tattered smirk on his face.

“Don’t act dumb, I don’t know what kind of sick joke it was saying all that while I’m on patrol but I’m glad you think you’re funny,” Tim’s voice was cold. But not the cooling tone, it was sharp, like the way the freeze of ice can feel so painfully hot when applied too harshly.

“I would’ve said it to you no matter what you were doing,” Conner whispered, resting his phone on his chest, wincing at the sticky noise it made as he tried to adjust it’s positioning.

“So that was just all for you? To let you listen as you screwed with my brain?” Tim retorted.

Conner was done dancing around the truth, all forms of control eluding his mind. “Yes,”

“That’s cruel Kon, can you imagine if I did that with you? Told you how you needed to be kissed while you’re out with Jon or something?” Tim sounded exasperated, but at the end of each quip Kon could hear the deep breaths he was taking. Does- Does he like this?

Tim continued. “Don’t answer that. Shut up, I know what you’re gonna say. ‘Oh Tim it’s not the same,’ just- just get out of my head!”

Conner sat up. He was floating. Floating in the middle of his room, the phone on his chest tumbling to the floor as he scrambled to grab it again, feeling his feet touch the ground as he held the phone as close to his lips as he could.

“What do you mean Tim? How am I in your head?” Do you feel the same way I do right now?

“You- you just know me. So well, and when you say stuff like that- when you’re in my ear saying those things your voice, it’s like fire, it burns.” Tim sounded desperate, his voice painfully strained.

Conner’s head was spinning, “I burn you?” he matched Tim’s desperate tone.

“You melt me.”

Conner’s head slammed against the roof of his room, as he tried to regain control of his senses he heard Tim murmur, “does that make sense?”

“More than you know Timbers, more than you know,” Conner could hear Tim let out a sigh, the kind that told him all would be okay.

As Conner took a deep breath, steadying himself for what was to come Tim spoke first. “It’s so late Kon, I’ve been up to long, I think I need to go to bed,” Tim’s tone was soft again, the cooling, comforting tone that Kon was scared he’d never hear again.

"Yeah, I- uh, have chores in the morning anyways.” Conner answered, hoping to give Tim some peace of mind.

“Okay, sounds good. Goodnight Conner,” Tim said quietly, his tone thoughtful and slow, finally letting the sleep crowd his mind.

“Goodnight Tim, talk to you tomorrow?” Conner let too much hope sink into those last few words.

“Yes, night now,” Tim answered easily, quickly hanging up the call, letting Conner sink down back into the carpet of his floor.

“Tomorrow,” Conner whispered to himself, feeling the intense heat start to creep back in as he drifted into a sweaty sleep.

“Tomorrow,” Tim whispered to himself, trying to swallow the nerves he didn’t know Conner could draw out of him.

“I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

not my usual fic but I really hope you enjoyed!

taglist: @vintageroses10 @idkmanicantenglish @kishony-the-geek @foenixphire @how--are--you @psych0crybaby @romance-is-tragic @birdy-bat-writes @subtleappreciation @officiallydarkgeek also kita cuz i love u and wanted to try writing timkon more in your style hehehe @river-bottom-nightmare

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downwiththeficness · 3 years

Text

In the Bond-Chapter 4

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~5,600

Warnings: Violence, Gore

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

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In hindsight, leaving her perch was the wrong decision. Lilah knew that. But, she couldn’t sit on the roof and watch her friends get ambushed. A move she wouldn’t even have to make if they’d been wearing the comms, like she asked. But, no, the effort it took to synch several ear pieces to the same network, safeguard that network from outsiders, just so they’d not only have extra eyes but extra ears didn’t mesh with their old school style.

It wasn’t as if Lilah was going in completely blind or empty handed. She’d gotten her order in the previous day and spent a little time with it, firing off a few rounds. Richie had given her a clip full of shiny new bullets, and Lilah thought it was time to use them.

She stepped out onto the street, reflexively looking both ways. It was a useless gesture. The little pack of warehouses was abandoned, the perfect place for a nest to form. This particular nest was working its way through the nearest town, picking off the homeless and the outsiders first. In a few months, they would be hitting the homes, the schools, and the churches. Seth was lucky he’d gotten the tip about it early, before they could take too many.

As quietly as she could, Lilah crept to the window of the building opposite where she’d set up her computer and the controls for demolition. The plan was to funnel them all into the building as they returned from feeding, then blow the place, taking the whole nest out in one go. They (Lilah) expected that it would take some time to get the explosives placed. What they didn’t expect was an early return of a few culebras. Before Lilah could get a word of warning out, Seth had hauled himself down the stairs from their makeshift hub on the rooftop, followed by Richie, who had given a long suffering sigh and followed suit, tucking his glasses into the breast pocket of his jacket.

Lilah peered through the window, eyes wide as she took in the fight. They were doing pretty well. Richie had his game face on, fangs flashing as he threw someone across the room. Seth had another on the ground, beating them senseless with what looked like a tire iron. All in all, not too bad a situation. She still didn’t understand why Seth had needed to come down here to begin with, but he had never been one to engage in a risk analysis—not when he could solve the problem with his fists.

As she continued to watch him fight, Lilah caught the anger in his face. He raged against his opponents, swinging hard and fast, giving no quarter. He’d been doing that a lot, lately—sublimated fury bursting forth untethered by any kind of control. Long after the battle was over, Seth would continue to fight with a singular focus. It was a blind spot that had caused this very situation.

The group of culebras she’d seen sneaking in through the side were approaching fast, picking up Seth and tossing him off their friend. Lilah did the only thing she could think of. She leaned down and grabbed a rock from the ground, used it to break the window, and took aim. The first shot took one by surprise, his body falling to the floor for Seth to finish off.

Looking over his shoulder, Seth yelled, “The fuck are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass,” she shot back, firing another round. Followed by an irritated murmur, “Since you can’t seem to follow a simple plan.”

With ruthless efficiency, the brothers took out the remaining culebras. Lilah held her position as she watched, picking off one or two more and wounding another enough for Richie to punch through his chest and pull out his heart. She was so focused on the fight inside that she didn’t hear the footsteps coming towards her. It wasn’t until she was yanked by the collar of her sweatshirt that she even knew there was another person there.

Stumbling back, Lilah hit the ground with an ‘oof’, her gun slipping from her hands with the impact. She looked at it, dejected, her brain helpfully telling her that she was a literal cliche at that moment. Her opponent kicked it away with a laugh, joining her in the world of walking cliches.

Angry, Lilah scrambled to standing. He was ugly in a way that told her that he was ugly even when he wasn’t baring his fangs at her. Long hair, cut haphazardly in what might have been a mullet. Plaid shirt, jeans, boots. All dirty, somewhat torn. She could smell him, even from ten feet away.

“Pretty girl,” he growled, “I’m gonna love draining the life outta you.”

Did every bad guy have a book of one-liners that they studied from? Lilah had heard this particular one about a hundred times and it got old by round four. Just once, she’d like to hear a little creativity in the threat to her life. She sneered at him taking a step back and assessing. The knife Richie had given her was strapped to her forearm. Lilah could use that, though she’d have to let him close. The thought filled her with revulsion.

Still, she pulled it from its sheath, brandishing it in her dominant hand. As she expected, he laughed again. Also as she expected, he lashed out. Hands with torn nails reached for her. Lilah brought the blade up in a slicing motion, just like Seth had shown her.

Catch the muscle in the forearm, it’ll fuck up their grip. Can’t punch if they can’t make a fist.

That’s what she did. The move wasn’t without cost. He caught her with an upper cut to her diaphragm, knocking all the air out of her. Lilah fell back on her ass, arm around her middle as she tried to draw a breath. Viciously, she pushed down the panic and tried to focus. It was difficult to do when heat was suffusing her, burning so hot that she looked at her clothes to see if they’d caught fire.

It had been happening a lot of the last few days, in moments when Lilah wasn’t quite paying attention. She’d suddenly get warm. It was usually localized—her shoulder, her cheek, ruffling through her hair. This was total body. Head to toe. Fire burning just beneath her skin in a raging sizzle that made her muscles spasm. Despite the warmth, she shivered.

Her opponent grabbed her beneath an arm and one thigh, hoisting her up above his head. She adjusted her grip on the blade, shoving it down into the space between shoulder and neck. He screamed, and she had about half a second to be satisfied with it before he was throwing her through a window. In the free fall, Lilah was able to keep hold of the knife, much good that it did her.

This time, she landed with much more than an ‘oof’. The wind having already been knocked out of her, the sound Lilah made was something akin to a frog being stepped on.

“I hate plate glass,” she said, when she found her voice, “I really, really hate plate glass.”

Her shoulder burned with pain, along with her hip. Lilah had to take a few breaths to see through it enough to get the layout of the room. There was an old desk that had been turned over. She started crawling towards it, wincing at the strain it put on her body. From behind her, she hear him jump through the window after her, still laughing.

She hadn’t gotten more than a foot or so from where she’d landed when he used the toe of his boot to roll her over. Biting her lip to keep from screaming, Lilah swung her arm in an arch, slicing through the meat of his thigh. He grunted, and smiled. Jaw clenched, she glared up at him.

He opened his mouth to speak, then paused, his head tilting to the side. Against her better judgment, Lilah followed his line of sight, eyes widening at she caught the glint of a familiar black coat. Brasa stepped forward out of what looked like literal shadows. She could feel the heat rolling off him in waves, his eyes dark with rage.

While her attacker was distracted, she scooted further away, managing to get to the desk before the guy even realized what kind of danger he was in. Brasa said nothing, telegraphed nothing, but anger. He simply approached her opponent, stood within about a foot of him, and waited.

Lilah had the distinct feeling that this guy was pretty stupid, all things considered. He was looking at what he had to know was a more powerful being, and he was smirking at him. The arm holding her knife fell across her stomach, her body relaxing. There was nothing left for her to do but settle in and watch the show.

Brasa looked the other guy up and down, and though he was standing between her and the culebra, Lilah knew he did not like what he saw. Hell, she doubted anyone would like looking at him.

Without so much as a sound, Brasa lifted an arm, shoved his thumb into the guy’s eye socket and wrenched his wrist to the side. The skull cracked beneath the skin, which separated with the ease of tearing a piece of paper down a perforation. Lilah caught his brain matter sloshing out of the cavity before she had to look away. Wet, gooey sounds were followed by the heavy thud of the body. She swallowed back the urge the retch.

A moment later, Brasa’s boots were in front of her and he was kneeling down. Lilah chanced a glance at him, offering him a small smile.

“Good timing,” she said through a clenched throat.

The pain in her arm and hip throbbed to point of distraction, making even the effort to breathe almost more trouble than it was worth. She shifted as she tried to find a comfortable position that would take some of the strain off her limbs.

His eyes narrowed, “You’re hurt.”

She shrugged, winced, and said, “Part of the job.”

A breath hissed through his teeth, “It is not. You’re too fragile to be fighting off his kind.”

Lilah’s hand tightened around the knife, “Gee, thank you.”

Scoffing, Brasa adjusted his stance, moving to pull her to standing. The motion jostled her arm and she groaned, eyes closing as she breathed deep. He stilled, eyes assessing.

“Where?”

Jaw working, Lilah replied, “Rotator cuff is torn, hip may or may not be cracked. Bruised all to hell. That about sums it up.”

With a harsh sound, Brasa ripped off his jacket and began working the button of his cuff, rolling the sleeve up. Out came the now familiar knife, and he was pushing it into his skin before she could say a word.

Gingerly, he helped her sit up a bit, “This will take care of the pain, for now.”

Hurting too much to complain, Lilah took the blood, refusing to acknowledge how good he tasted or how easily she had taken to the act. It took less convincing to make her throat swallow the blood downward, the warm, sweet taste coating her tongue. Breathing through her nose, she sucked deeper, eliciting a choked sound from him.

A few moments later, he tensed and eased her away. He stood, circling the desk, hand pushing his sleeve down. Lilah ducked back, unsure if he was going to have to take out another culebra. She held her knife at the ready, just in case.

“What is it with you and showing up unannounced?”

Seth. Also, valid question. Lilah wondered how he’d known when and where to show up.

“Who do you think gave you the information that there was a nest growing in these warehouses?”

Lilah wiped her face to make sure there would be no evidence of what they’d just been doing. And then she grabbed his coat, still laying on the floor, and stood on shaky legs.

“Hey guys,” she said with false levity, “Late again, as usual.”

To his credit, Seth didn’t look surprised, “You good?”

She nodded, “Just holding his coat while he took they guy out. Now I know what you guys feel like holding a purse in the dressing room.”

Solicitously, Lilah handed Brasa’s coat back to him. His expression when he took it was amused, but she didn’t think he was going to renege on his side of their deal. Their secret was safe, for now. To keep herself busy, she tucked the knife back into its sheath.

Richie sauntered in, cigarette in hand, “Charges are live...and we have company.”

Seth moved next to his brother, the two of them forming a wall of caustic sarcasm, “Indeed we do. Apparently, Brasa gave us the tip about the nest.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Seth drawled, “Awful nice of him.”

“It is.”

“Yes. It. Is.”

Lilah rolled her eyes, “Alright, we still have a job to do. Can we put aside our, frankly massive, egos and get it done. I’d like to get home before sunrise this time.”

Seth’s mouth pursed, but he eventually nodded. Richie was unmoved, but he followed his brother’s lead and his posture relaxed. Lilah resisted the breath of relief that threatened to blow through her nose.

“Okay,” she announced, hands flexing in front of her, “Let’s start with the two of you putting in your goddamned ear pieces.”

“You know I don’t work that way,” Seth protested.

“I literally don’t care,” she shot back, “I need to be able to communicate with you if we’re going to be successful.”

“This isn’t our first job,” Richie said, even as he pulled the ear bud from his pocket.

It wasn’t even their first job with Lilah. And, from the start, she’d insisted on better communication between herself in the eagle’s nest and the players down below. It was the only way she’d have enough information to give good directives and get everyone out alive. She was no longer amazed at their stubborn refusal.

“You want to go off half-cocked with twenty pounds of explosives wired to a detonator that only I know how to activate, sure. I’ll have our guy put in an order for a prosthetic...or two.”

“I’ll heal,” Richie said, brow lifted.

She nodded, “Your brother won’t.”

Looking somewhat censured, Richie stuffed the bud into his ear, his eyes narrow behind his glasses. Seth reluctantly did the same.

“Great. Now, I’m going to go up to the roof where my shit is set up. You both are going to get to your secondary location, and wait for my cue to pick off the stragglers after I set off the bombs. We clear?”

Neither of them said anything, their eyes looking one way or another—anywhere that wasn’t at her. She crossed her arms, waiting. It occurred to her that she should feel more pain from her shoulder with the motion. At present, it had receded to a throbbing ache. Curious.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Seth muttered, finally, “What about him?”

Brasa had been watching the entire exchange, threading his arms through the jacket, interest in his eyes. He looked at Seth pointing suspiciously at him, then to Lilah for direction.

“He’ll come with me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“He can literally see in the dark,” Lilah reasoned, “And, he’ll provide backup in case I have another...incident.”

There was no need to detail the ‘incident’ in question. Lilah wasn’t a sure thing in a fight. Too little training, too little strength. She watched Seth consider it, ignoring the smirk on Richie’s face.

With a nod, Seth turned and grabbed his brother’s shoulder, hauling him towards the door. Lilah turned her attention to Brasa and jerked her head towards the stairs.

“Roof is this way.”

He followed her up two flights of stairs, nearly silent, while Lilah made a serious attempt to keep her breathing even. Despite the cardio she regularly performed to stay in shape, stairs were stairs.

“How does the blood thing work?”

While her wounds weren’t healed by any means, the pain had lessened considerably. There was now only a dull tingle now where there had been sizzling wounds that radiated discomfort. She had almost full extension in her shoulder.

He hummed a little in question.

“The healing. You knew that the blood would help with the pain.”

They reached to roof entrance, stepping out into a humid night, a smattering of stars above. Lilah crossed over to the folding table that she’d brought with her. A laptop and the detonation device sitting next to a few odds and ends that she generally found useful to have around on any job.

“We are bondmates,” Brasa answered, as if that was all the explanation she would need.

Lilah shot him an annoyed grimace, silently telling him that she needed more information.

His brows quirked, hands sliding into the pockets of his jacket, “Blood is a conduit, Lilah. I gave you a little of my strength, that’s all.”

She blinked, “Is that why you,” she cleared her throat, the words stuck, “drink from me, too? So you get some of that strength back?”

It hadn’t escaped her notice that he had given her blood tonight, but hadn’t taken any. The deal wasn’t reciprocal, as was usual. She didn’t like feeling as if she owed him something.

Brasa shook his head, “No. My body will regenerate regardless of how much I give you.”

Her brows furrowed, “Then…?”

Eyes hooded, Brasa crowded her space. Two fingers touched beneath her chin gently. He leaned down, saying in a low voice, “Lilah, I drink from you because I want to. Because you taste so sweet that I wake up craving you. Because its better than any meal I’ve ever had.”

Her mouth went dry at the intensity of his gaze, the unwavering confidence in his voice. She had no words to respond with, couldn’t parse the feelings roiling in her belly.

A voice sounded in her ear, “We’re in position.”

The job. Seth. Richie. The explosives. Lilah shook herself and stepped away. Though her gaze remained on Brasa, she tapped her computer to wake it up.

“McNamara online,” she said as a reflex, “I don’t have a visual on the group, but recon puts them at returning in,” she looked at the clock in the lower right hand corner of the screen, “Ten minutes. You boys ready?”

“Roger that,” Richie said, laughter in his voice.

From over the line, Lilah heard a loud smack, followed by, “What? We can’t have a little fun with these things?”

With a deep sigh, Lilah muted her line and tugged on the hem of her sweatshirt. She never really expected a job to go perfectly smooth, but this one was just full of little stumbles that were adding up. Things were usually a little more organized than this, a little more polished. Since they had taken on the bar, their attention had been pulled in so many different directions that it was difficult to get everyone on the same page and focused. Lilah ran her hand over her face to calm herself.

A soft warmth bloomed at her shoulder, running along down her hand. Lilah, who hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes, opened them and glanced at the only other person around. He was standing a few feet away, observing her with interest.

Her eyes narrowed, “I knew it.”

Surprised, Brasa’s brows lifted, but he said nothing.

Turning to face him, Lilah pointed a finger, “I don’t know how, but I knew that was you.”

He looked just a little bit startled, lips parted, blinking slowly. Lilah crossed her arms, cocking a hip to the side as she waited for an explanation.

“I won’t apologize,” he said, finally, having collected himself.

Jerking her chin towards him, Lilah asked, “What would I want you to apologize for?”

A breath, “It is unusual for bondmates to be separate for long periods of time, and unheard of so soon after finding one another.”

“And?”

“And, I find that I need to check in with you to ensure you’re well.”

That was...almost sweet. It didn’t excuse the behavior, but the context was reassuring.

“You could have called me.”

“You didn’t give me your number.”

“You could have called the bar.”

In a voice laced with sarcasm, he said, “Yes, I’ll just call the establishment owned by people who are more enemies than friends and ask for you. I wonder how long it would take for your secret to get to Seth and Richie.”

Mouth thinning, Lilah felt her face heat, “I am doing my best, here.”

“As am I,” he retorted, shifting his stance, “I’d appreciate some consideration for my position.”

“Your position?”

“Yes, my position. I have people to keep fed, a business to run, and a bondmate who not only insists on living separately, but also insists on secrecy.”

“I have responsibilities, too,” Lilah asserted, throwing her hands up, “I can’t drop my entire life because of,” she gestured weakly between them, “This.”

A voice sounded in her earbud, “Uh, Lilah?”

She stabbed the mute button, “What?”

“How many were supposed to be in this nest?” Seth asked, a tinge of panic in his voice.

“Recon put it at no more than 20.”

“Well, it looks like they found some friends.”

Craning her neck to look over the edge of the roof, Lilah checked the deep black horizon, seeing nothing, “How many?”

A beat, muffled voices, “Richie says he sees about forty or fifty, but its hard to tell. They’re moving pretty fast.”

Lilah did a few calculations in her head—the size of the warehouse, the amount of C4 they’d put in there, the structure of the building as a whole.

“Plan stays the same,” she announced, “Funnel ‘em in. Blow ‘em to hell.”

“Roger that,” came Richie’s voice.

“Shut up,” Seth griped, and Lilah could just see him rolling his eyes, “We’ll hold position and pick off the ones that run.”

With a nod, Lilah pushed the mute button again. As she stared at the computer screen, another thought brushed against the forefront of her mind.

“How does it work?”

Brasa made a soft, questioning sound.

She looked up at him, “How does the...touching without touching thing work?”

He gave an elegant shrug, “Magic.”

Lilah huffed in disbelief, shaking her head and returning her attention to the screen. All detonators were active. Absently, she pressed her hand to the little box to her right. It wouldn’t open without her fingerprints, a safety precaution she may not have needed to take—she was a safety girl, through and through. A little bit of paranormal phenomenon wasn’t going to change that. Flipping the top open, she flicked the little levers over each of the detonator buttons. Red lights turned green. Active and ready to fire.

“You know that culebras exist, you’re standing next for a born and bred Xibalban, and you scoff at magic?”

Lilah eyed him briefly, “Call me a cynic, if you like. But magic can’t be the only explanation.”

“Blood is the conduit of the soul,” he murmured. Lilah heard his voice, and Richie’s voice saying it in real time, the rhythm exact in a way that told her this was something ingrained into all of them. “It is also what ties us irrevocably together.”

She didn’t like the way he said ‘irrevocably’, the finality of his tone. Before she’d been taken on by the brothers Gecko, Lilah had been pretty much a nomad. She went where the work was, stayed exclusively in hotels or slept in her car (rented, or otherwise). The concrete knowledge that this thing between her and Brasa was so solid that it could not be broken made her skittish.

Before she could stop herself, and full well knowing that she wasn’t going to get a good reaction, Lilah said, “Is this like what you had with Amaru, a blood bond?”

His jaw clenched, eyes looking up and away. He even took a tiny step back. Lilah swallowed back the urge to apologize, hands clenching on the keyboard of her laptop.

“What that was,” he began, “Is not what this is. It could never be. The queen bonded me into service, into servitude. I could not refuse a command, no matter the cost.” His voice grew tense as he continued, “I fought who she wanted, fucked who she wanted, killed at her will.”

Lifting up from where she was leaning on the little table, Lilah cast him a soft look, “That must have been frustrating.”

His expression was dark and more than a little angry, “It was.”

“But you’re not still bound to her? Or, I guess, to Kate?” She’d heard it from Kate, but Lilah needed to hear it from him.

Brasa shook his head, “No. The bond died with her.”

There was a long silence that yawned between them, Lilah trying to figure out if she’d crossed a line, and Brasa brooded nearby. It went on so long that the plan kicked into action while they were both still waiting for one another to say anything.

Sounds filtered in from across the street, people talking, doors opening. She knew they’d find the bodies of their friends where Seth and Richie had left them. She also knew that they would take time to search the area. The plan remained. Bomb the ones inside, shoot the ones running outside.

Leaning over to look off the roof, Lilah’s hand hovered over the ignition. She watched the group argue, watched them look furtively around for their enemies. And, when as many of them were gathered in the building as were likely to do so, she pressed the button. It took about three seconds for the first one to go off, the rest followed in a staccato of fire and sound that blew out the windows.

She ducked down, attempting to avoid flying debris. To her surprise, Brasa knelt down next to her, though he continued to look over the edge of the roof.

“Is this how you normally operate?”

“Not really,” she answered, “Why?”

His eyes turned to her, “Because this is the second time I’ve seen you use explosives.”

She shrugged, “We had some left over from the last job. I didn’t want it to go to waste.”

Mouth tugging up on one side, Brasa dipped his chin and said, “Speaking of the last job.”

He reached back and pulled her gun from the waistband of his pants, hidden by the heavy drape of his coat. He must have picked it up in the street where she’d dropped it below, a complete circle that had started when he’d first taken her weapon in that dark basement.

Lilah took it from him, “You have a habit of taking my weapons.”

“You have a habit of losing them.”

Gunshots fired, and Lilah knew the second part of the plan had started. She stayed right where she was, her weight on one knee, looking at him. His expression had softened to amusement, and it looked like his earlier ire had passed. More gunshots, raised voices, snarls. Lilah leaned over the edge and looked down, cursing when one of the culebras caught sight of her.

“They saw me,” she breathed, thumb rolling over the safety on her pistol. “Gonna be a fight.”

Brasa smiled, “Good.”

They both stood, having no further need to hide. Lilah kept her eye on the door, but that turned out to be unnecessary. Brasa tapped her arm, flicking his fingers towards the street. Lilah peered down and groaned. They were climbing the fucking walls. She aimed, firing off a few rounds and knocking one down.

“Let them up,” Brasa ordered.

Lilah looked at him, incredulous, “You’re kidding.”

“No,” he shook his head, “Let them up. I’ll take care of them. You cover me.”

She looked at him a few more moments longer, then lifted both hands in surrender, taking several steps back from the edge and aiming. Brasa continued to look down, eyes focused. When the first of them cleared the edge, he bent at the knees, hauled them up, and threw them down head first onto the roof. Dazed, the guy didn’t react when he was rolled over and subsequently put out of his misery by a well placed stomp of Brasa’s boot, the kick going rough his rib cage straight to the other side. She winced, but held her stance.

The next guy had his arm ripped off before he could get to the lip of the roof, his head following soon after. And then two breached the roof, both of them attacking at the same time. Lilah had enough distance and focus to note how easily Brasa was fighting them off. But, when one got an arm around his shoulder and pushed him down, the other poised to use both hands to hammer punch him, Lilah squeezed the trigger.

Brasa dispatched with the guy trying to hold him down, and then turned to flash her a pleased smile, “You have good aim.”

She blinked, “I have shitty aim. I was going for his arm.”

“But you hit him in the neck. Better shot,” he countered as he approached. “Are you hurt?”

Lilah laughed, “I should be asking you that.”

“I’m fine,” he said, smile holding, “No sweat.”

She eyed him, “I can see that.”

He wasn’t even out of breath. Could he even sweat? What was the physiology of a Xibalban?

Her earbud buzzed, “You good up there?”

Lilah stepped over to her computer, holstering her gun and tapping the mute button, “I’m good. You get them all?”

“No,” Richie said with a growl, “Couple got away.”

Hissing through her teeth, Lilah shook her head, “Well, maybe we scared them enough that they won’t come back.”

“Or,” Seth cut in, and she could hear muffled sounds behind his voice, “We just taught them how to be more careful.”

Shutting down her computer and pulling her bag out from underneath the table, Lilah gave a deep sigh, “Doesn’t matter. We’re done, here. At least for tonight.”

Brasa observed her while she packed up, his gaze a physical weight on the back of her neck. Uncomfortable with the silence, Lilah asked the question that had been burning at the back of her brain since the night she’d met him.

“How come you don’t bite me? Do Xibalbans not bite?”

A low chuckle rumbled, “We bite.”

She dropped the bag gently on the ground and tipped the table over to fold its legs underneath and the tabletop in half so that it would fit in her carrying case. When he didn’t elaborate, she rolled her wrist at him, an unspoken gesture for more.

“What do you know about venom?”

She paused, an ache forming behind her eyes. He’d asked her a similar question when he’d explained the bond between them. She clocked it for what it was, a stalling technique.

“Just pretend that I don’t know shit about anything, okay?” She snapped, “Pretend I’ve been living under a rock.”

His brows drew together in confusion, but he continued nonetheless, “Behind my fangs are two glands that secrete a venom that is meant to keep my,” he paused, “donor...pliable.”

Hauling both bags over her shoulder, Lilah asked, “Pliable?”

He hummed in confirmation, “Less fighting means a cleaner bite.”

“Is it toxic?”

Brasa shook his head, “Not really. My experience is that the venom induces pleasurable feelings, though the effects are different for everyone.”

He followed her to the stairs, angling around her to get the door.

Lilah gave him a grateful nod, “And you don’t want to expose me to the venom?”

With the load she was carrying, Lilah didn’t dare turn her head to look at him, but she was comforted by the sound in the negative that reached her ears.

“I don’t want your perception of me to be colored by...the effects.”

At the landing, Lilah turned and smiled wryly at him, “You think I’ll like you more if you get me high.”

The slight pause in his step told her that she’d guessed right. Her smile widened, and she turned to make her way outside.

“The consideration is appreciated,” she called back to him as she cleared the door.

“Thank you,” he responded, following her out.

They watched Seth and Richie approached, rifles over their shoulders. Lilah moved to the alley, the trunk popping from a distance. She threw both bags in it and closed the lid, heading back to the men who were staring each other down not far away. Lilah noticed that both Seth and Richie were still holding their rifles close to their bodies.

“Okay,” she said loudly, “I think that’s a wrap, don’t you?”

Seth cut a look at her that was more annoyed than angry, “I agree.” Then, to Brasa, “Thanks for coming to the party. How about, next time, you RSVP first.”

Brasa smirked, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Lilah rolled her eyes and reached over to pull Seth by the arm, “Let’s go. Like I said, I want to be home before the sun comes up.” Over her shoulder, she said, “Thanks for the assist.”

Brasa gave her a courteous nod. Lilah congratulated herself that she didn’t look back, even when they were tearing out into the desert towards home. They did, in fact, get there before sunrise.

#from dusk til dawn #from dusk til dawn: the series #In the Bond #Brasa

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honeyvbarnes · 4 years

Text

I’m Baby

Pairing: Stucky x Reader … hehehe

Warnings: 18+ Mentions of anxiety, polyamory, sexy times but no actual smut.

Summary: Love is a crazy thing.

A/N: This was supposed to be a Steve Drabble… oops. Sorry I couldn’t resist. :-) This is my first Stucky piece soooo feedback would be very much appreciated! And thank you to @mypassionsarenysins @mushyjellybeans for helping me out! Love you!

Small but violent. Petite and sassy. When you first joined the world renowned Avengers, you’re teammates described you as such. Peter would often say that you “looked like a cinnamon roll, but could actually kill someone.” It was your cute and cuddly nature that granted you the nickname Baby. Everyone on the team called you this and you loved it. Especially when it came from your captain.

Steve took a special liking to you. He wasn’t sure if it was your kind heart, or your undeniable beauty, but he knew he was in trouble every time you snuggled up next to him. At first, Steve often worried about the age difference, but you’d often remind him that he couldn’t necessarily date someone his own age even if he wanted to. The way your persona would interchange from sexy deadly assassin to cute and giggly baby, truly astonished him. Your youthfulness distracted him from the blood filled life you two lived in, he was grateful for your love. Due to your small stature and him being quite *ahem* large, he truly dwarfed you. Some days when he’d stress over reports in his office, you’d climb into his lap and lay against his chest, whispering sweet words, or hum a soft tune to ground him once more.

You loved all your teammates all the same, and as your relationship with Steve blossomed, so did your friendship with his best pal. Bucky loved you just as much, maybe even more but he’d never admit it. He often grew worrisome over his ongoing crush he had on you, but he’d remind himself just that. It’s just a crush. Everyone pretty much had a crush on you, he thought, even Natasha. You were like a breath of fresh air to the team. Sweet and adventurous, always bright with a positive attitude. Your skills leveled as being just as sly and smart like Natasha, and your knife work and marksmanship was almost as sharp as his own. You were perfect in his eyes, and he’d hope in Steve’s eyes too.

It became a habit of yours to stick by Bucky’s side while Steve was away on a mission. It was rare that neither you nor Bucky weren’t sent on the same mission with the captain, but when the time did come, you’d be a nervous wreck until he arrived back safely.

Bucky, the ever devoted friend, distracted you from your anxiety. He’d take you to all your favorite spots in the city, train with you (and let you kick his butt), and he’d watch all your favorite movies until you fell asleep in his arms.

Steve was away on a month long mission, with Sam and Wanda. Both you and Bucky spent every single day with each other, trying to busy yourselves until your teammates returned. The dynamic between you two stayed the same, and you’d gotten into somewhat of a routine. In the late night when you’d finally let sleep take over, Bucky would carry you to your room and tuck you into bed. Sleep rarely paid him a visit when Steve was away, because while you were worried about Steve, he naturally was just worried about you.

“Buck?”

He heard your soft voice with the creak of his bedroom door being opened.

“Yeah Doll? What are you doin’ up?” He asks sitting up. He looks at you standing in the dim light of the hallway and you’re wearing one of Steve’s shirts, the material ends just right above your knees, and he smiles at the little fuzzy socks you have on.

“I- I can’t sleep. Too nervous.”

Without another word being exchanged, you made your way to Bucky’s bed and climbed in. He freezes at your actions and he physically feels the shift of your friendship. This is new to him. He’s not necessarily sure what Steve would think if he knew he’s got his girl in his bed, half dressed nonetheless. A small palm on his chest brings him back from his thoughts.

“James, please tell me everything is going to be alright.” Your voice is soft, your hands pull him to lay down with you.

“Okay baby, okay.”

Bucky holds you all night long, he whispers old lullabies to you, in Russian because he knows you understand, and when your breathing matches his own, a sense of loneliness washes over him. You are not his girl, but you are giving him a glimpse of what it would be like if you were.

Steve arrives back to his room in the early morning, much before the sun has a chance to rise. The bed has clearly been slept in, but you’re no where in sight. At first his heart drops, his mind going straight to the worst case. Bucky, he thinks. Bucky would definitely know where you are. Steve gently pushes open the door of his best friends room, and he is met with an unfamiliar sight. There you are, he sighs in relief, yet something twists deep in his gut. Your sleeping form is tucked tight on top of Bucky’s bare chest, both his arms holding you to him protectively. Steve is shocked, but not at the scene before him. His shock comes from, well the lack of. His gut feeling isn’t something of negativity, yet it is heart warming, his love for both his lover and best friend doubles in size and he almost tears up. He’s never seen Bucky sleep so peacefully, and he can’t help but smile at how small and precious you look cuddled up with him. Steve knows he loves you, and he loves Bucky, but maybe its all one in the same?

Love is a crazy thing. It’s overflowing and pure, and sometimes it can be twisty and overwhelming, but love has never been monogamous for you. As your love grew for Steve, it also grew for Bucky, and you were just lucky they were on the same page.

After much persuasion and begging, mostly on your part, Bucky agreed on the arrangement. He was new to this type of relationship, and didn’t want to intrude on what you and Steve already had. He knew he loved Steve but he loved you all the same.

Love is a crazy thing, all three of you know that for sure.

“Buck? You in here?” Steve steps into the dim light of the compound gym.

He sees Bucky immediately. He’s destroying a punching bag. Each blow creating tears, and it looks like its about to fall apart at any moment. The angry whirls of his left arm fill the silent room. Bucky is fully aware of Steve’s presence, but decides to ignore him just a little longer.

“Buck, come on. What did that bag ever do to you?” Steve steps forward, not phased by the heaving man in front of him. A gentle hand on the shoulder, and Bucky flinches. He’s trying to ease the inevitable pain, but the former winter soldier takes losses a little too personally. It’s not that they lost exactly, there were just a couple of more casualties than there should have been. No one was at fault, luck was just not a factor.

“Leave me alone Steve.” Bucky grits.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Can’t or won’t?” He finally turns to Steve. Eyes rimmed red, face flush with shame, and eyes swirling with guilt. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“It’s not anyone’s fault, pal.” Steve tries, taking Bucky’s right hand in his. His knuckles are bleeding, and Steve applies pressure.

Bucky returns the gesture with a tight hold.

“I know. I- it’s just haunting. I’ve caused so much bad in this world, Steve. It feels like it’ll never stop. I close my eyes and all I see is red.” Bucky allows his walls to crumble, tears streaming steady. Pushing his face in Steve’s chest letting out sobs, as arms circle around him tightly. Steve knows theres nothing he can really say to change Bucky’s mind on how he feels, so he holds him. He lets him cry out all the pain, plants kisses on the top of his head, and whispers apologies. He feels sick that he can’t physically take this pain from him, so he does everything he can to soothe him.

“Stevie? James?”

The small voice startles them, not realizing someone had entered the gym. Bucky’s head shoots up, away from Steve as he takes you in, and Steve turns to greet you with a sorry look.

“Baby! I- I’m sorry. It’s late, you should be sleeping.” Bucky tries desperately to wipe his tears away, to compose himself in front of you.

The scene before you shatters your heart, and both men know it. It’s not that they’re here without you, but it’s the moments like these they try to hide from you. As if the darkest moments aren’t meant for Baby’s eyes. They are dead set on being your protectors, and you know Bucky tries to hide his anxiety and nightmares from you, as if it’d scare you away.

“James, come here.” your voice makes him soft, and he kneels in front of you. Arms of flesh and metal grab your waist almost frantically as he struggles to keep his panic attack at bay. You start to card your fingers through his hair, and tell him everything will be alright. Steve joins after a moment, kneels right down with Bucky.

“We’re here James, we love you.”

The pride that swells in both Steve’s and Bucky’s hearts is tangible. Mostly on missions when you show your alter ego. The team makes some joke over the comms like “Wheres Baby?”. On missions you’re focused, deadly even. The way you carry yourself is the complete opposite of your everyday persona. Baby is nowhere in site as you throw yourself into any fight. Steve had helped you with tactics, and Bucky helped you improve on hand to hand combat. Your talents truly shine through, on every mission.

“Jesus Y/N! You’re going to give us a heart attack!” Steve yells from the top story of the crumbling building you’re in. There’s an old man joke somewhere stuck at the back of your throat but you swallow it as you climb out from under the rubble.

“Oh calm down Stevie! Like you’ve never fallen down a couple of stories of a building!” You yell.

“Y/N, you scared us!” You can see Bucky already climbing down to come help you.

“Oh no guys, they’re calling me by my government name. I’m practically dead, start planning my funeral.” You tease.

“Alright, if everyone is okay down there it’s time to get out. The building is ready to blow!” You hear Sam’s voice filter through.

You know you’re in no real danger when you’re on missions with them. Your enhanced skills are just a plus when you have two Super Soldiers in love with you.

“James? Could you help me for a sec?” You’d call from the kitchen.

“What can I do for ya Baby doll?”

“I can’t reach the bowl from the top shelf, would you be a peach and get it down for me?” You ask with a sweet kiss to his chest.

Bucky looked down to you with a bright smile and a chuckle. He’s fully aware that you can very well climb the counter to reach it, but he knows you love playing baby.

‘Of course Doll, I got it.”

With a kiss to the top of your head, you turn to finish preparing dinner.

“Somethin’ smells good.” Steve’s voice filters the small room and you smile. Excited for both of your men to be home, you run and jump into Steve’s open arms.

“Welcome home Stevie! I made a real good dinner today, I found one of my mama’s old recipes!” You cover his jaw with excited kisses and you feel a hard chest at your back.

“She’s been slaving away in this kitchen all day, Steve. I’m so proud of our baby.” Bucky greets Steve with a kiss, then places a kiss to the side of your neck. The sound of your giggles fill the air and both men bask in your joy.

“Alright sweetheart, lets enjoy this amazing dinner you made.”

The three of you know that this is just temporary. A leave of absence, a vacation in your eyes. The harsh missions and bloodshed taking a toll on your lives and your health, a break was very much needed. You could’ve chosen the luxury of sandy beaches and resorts, but when asked where you wanted to spend the time off, you simply replied with “home.” The domesticity of it all warmed your heart like nothing else on this earth. Playing housewife was a dream all in its own, and you just wanted them to feel like they had a home with you. Being from a different time period agitates them on occasion, knowing they missed out on living normal lives. So you try your hardest to show them that they can still have that, they have a home.

Tony’s always the first to make some sort of Sugar Daddy joke. You think its funny and you like to tease Steve and watch his blush grow from his neck to his cheeks. Bucky on the other hand teases you, because he knows you enjoy calling him Daddy.

Both men spoil you to no end. On your days off they’ll take you shopping, bags upon bags filled with clothes, jewelry, and lingerie. It’s a dream come true really. You’ll pick out new shoes and pants for Steve, because he’s dead set on his casual dad look. Bucky will ask for your opinion on every single little thing he chooses. He’s got a very modern biker model look going for him and he owns multiple leather and jeans jackets that you absolutely adore him in.

Broad chests press both to your front and your back, leaving you breathless. Strong hands roam your body as if it’s a map, that they’ve memorized. Love is overflowing from all three bodies, conjoined with the need for one another.

Steve has always been a gentle lover. In some cases he’d get a bit forceful, usually after a stressful mission, but normally he worships you. From your head to your toes, there is not a piece of your skin left untouched by his lips. Completely addicted to the taste of you. Steve knows you’re strong, but he makes love to you as if you were made of glass. Like you’d break under him and he’d lose you if he was too rough. It’s not something you dislike, you love it actually. The way he takes care of you makes you feel wanted and truly loved. He holds you tight, whispers praise, and doesn’t stop until he knows you’ve been satisfied, at least more than three times.

Bucky is the complete opposite of Steve. Yet he is gentle with you, he’s an adventurous lover. The gleam in his eye can set you afire from across the room. He’s needy, and he’ll take you anywhere he pleases. The thrill of it excites you and his stamina is just as great as Steve’s. Bucky knows all your kinks. He knows when you’re in the mood to be spanked, choked, and downright used, and he happily obliges. He knows you’re a feisty little one, and being rough with you pleases him just as much as being gentle does. Bucky likes trying new things with you as well, and he thinks it’s hilarious when you seduce Steve into agreeing into something new, because he’ll get flustered and blush uncontrollably so.

Together they make you feel like a goddess. The contrast of the two sets your nerves on fire, hot flames run through your veins, and every time you swear it can’t get any better, but it always does.

Both men shower with you with affection, you simply drown in their love. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do for you. You’re their baby after all.

Taglist: @pinnedandneedled @perpetually-tuned-out @stuckonjbbarnes @rayche776 @sebbbystaaan @the-wayward-robot @captnrogers @chloerinebarnes @valkyriesryde @captain-kelli @stateoflovinged @mushyjellybeans @bitchassbucky @an-adventureland @imma-new-soul @mypassionsarenysins @rumoured-whispers @mrwinterr @elizzysnow13

#Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #Stucky #stucky x reader #bucky x reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel fic #marvel

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 4 years

Text

A Study in Allies

Until We Meet Again: Part 2/?

Thrawn x Senator!Reader, Female Pronouns

Summary: You and Thrawn meet again, your fascination only growing.

A/N: I’m not exactly sure where this is going. I plan this to be a series of one shots revolving around this Senator!Reader. If your interested in reading more about her and Thrawn, feel free to send any request my way! And remember REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS!!!

Word Count: 3.7K

As much as you tried to fight it, Lieutenant Thrawn did not fully leave your mind for the next twenty-four hours.

You had spent the rest of the evening performing your duties, shaking hands and introducing yourself to as many of the movers and shakers of Courscant as you were able. But as you finally made it home and drifted off to sleep, your conversation with Thrawn was the only thing to remain in your memory.

The next day was relatively light. As soon as you finished your morning calls, you spent your time researching what you could on the Chiss and Thrawn in preparation for your next meeting.

A small twinge of guilt twisted your stomach, but you suppressed it. All Thrawn’s military exploits were public record. It wasn’t as if you were digging up private, personal information. Besides, you had no doubt he was doing the same thing with you.

You ought to have been embarrassed by this strange new obsession, but he couldn’t help holding your fascination. You hadn’t met anyone like him before.

You had heard stories about leaders in various systems throughout the years. Conquerors, emperors, generals, all of which were described as having a strange aura of power and charisma. An unflinching confidence that inspired people to rally behind them.

You had met many political leaders over the years, from kings to admirals. None possessed the air described by the stories, except Thrawn. It was a rare quality, often lamented as occurring only once in a lifetime. Was it so strange then to want to be in its presence again?

Your comm rang, pulling your from your thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Pardon me Senator,” Cora, your aid, called. “But there is a Lieutenant Thrawn here to see you.”

You straightened, feeling a small smile touch your lips.

“Please, send him in.”

You stood from your desk as the door slid open.

Lieutenant Thrawn stood before you just as he had the night before; tall, confident, and dressed in his Imperial navy uniform. A part of you wondered if he possessed any other type of clothing.

The light of day also helped to clear a suspicion you had been harboring; he was handsome.

“Good afternoon, Senator,” he greeted, inclining his head in respect.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant,” you replied, matching his movement. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

You gestured to a small table and chairs placed just to the right of your desk. On the table was a small selection of fruits, meats and vegetables, along with a range of alcohols. You hadn’t been sure how long the meeting would go and wanted to be prepared.

If Thrawn was in any way affected by the spread, he made no indication.

“Thank you.”

He took his time choosing a seat as his eyes wandered your office, pausing at each of the paintings and sculptures you had scattered throughout.

You followed his gaze, noticing how it lingered on one particular painting; an impressionist interpretation of the sky of Danu just as the sun was rising; it’s pinks and oranges contrasting and over powering the purples and dark blues of the night sky. It was a gift to your family by one of Danu’s prominent art museums, and one of your personal favorites.

You turned your eyes back to Thrawn, whose attention still remained on the painting.

“See something you like?” you asked, with just a hint of teasing.

Thrawn blinked, before turning to you. His glowing red eyes now focused with inquisitive intensity.

“It is an interesting collection,” he said, smoothly. “Were these all selected yourself?”

“Yes. A bit eclectic perhaps, but I like them,” you said, taking the seat just across from him.

“And those in the reception area?”

You frowned, thinking of that rather gaudy display of golden vines and multi-colored flowers. “Those were chosen by Governor Lir. I’ll be replacing them once the commissions are finished.”

Thrawn nodded in consideration. “If you don’t mind, I would be interested in seeing them once they’re finished. I assume you asked the painting to be done by an artist from Danu?”

“Yes,” you said carefully. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Some of the sculptures have been done relatively recently,” Thrawn answered, easily. “Their subject matter and style match current trends in Danu art. I assume if you’re having a piece commissioned you want to keep them in continuity with your office.”

You wanted, very much, to ask him how he knew anything about current artistic trends on Danu or even how it was relevant. Upon brief reflection, however, you realized you didn’t have to.

You had done your research on him, he had done the same. His searches simply lead him to invest an interest in Danu’s art scene. And, considering what he was able to discern from the mural, it wasn’t so strange.

“I will say to make fast work,” he continued. “I understand you’ve only been on Coursant for a few weeks.”

You gave a casual shrug. “This will be my place of work and home for a long time if all goes according to plan. I might as well make myself comfortable.”

He raised his eyebrow slightly with an amused, possibly even impressed, half smile on his lips.

“Indeed.”

You couldn’t help but smile yourself a little. “Now Lieutenant, I believe you’re here to listen to some stories. Where would you like to start?”

You weren’t sure how long the pair of you talked and you didn’t really care.

You related to him all the stories you could bring yourself to remember about the Chiss. The image you had painted in your mind of honor bound warriors wasn’t as far off the mark as you believed they might have been, according to Thrawn. But, like all stories faced with reality, there were some more nuanced shades of grey.

He didn’t openly share any new information. But from small hints, decisive silences, and rather obvious dodges, you were starting to get a slightly clearer picture. The Chiss were warriors certainly, but they had their own bureaucracy to contend with, family squabbles, and pride which was always found within such systems. A pride Thrawn most certainly possessed, whether he wished to acknowledge it or not.

“May I ask you a possibly personal question?” you asked, pouring you each another glass of wine.

“You may ask,” Thrawn said, a note of suspicion in his voice.

You gave a small laugh. “It’s nothing too terrible, I hope. I simply wanted to know if Thrawn is your true name. From what I’ve come to understand, Chiss usually have much longer names.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly. “We do. Thrawn is my core name.”

“Then, what’s the rest of it? Or are outsiders not allowed to know?”

“Others may hear it. It is more a matter of efficiency,” he explained. “Those with Basic as their primary language have a difficult time pronouncing it. But, if you truly wish to know, my full name is Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” you repeated back.

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” he corrected.

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo.” This time you tried rolling the “r”s as he did.

“Mitth'raw'nuruodo.”

Your lip pursued in concentration. You could hear how you were saying it wrong, but couldn’t quite figure out how to correct the mistake. But you had to try at least once more.

“Mit-thra-nur-uod-o,” you said, deciding to disregard the “r” roll and simply pronounce each syllable as best you could.

“Better,” Thrawn conceded. “But not quite.”

You let out a sigh. “I will get it eventually.”

A small amused smile came to his lips. “You may try.”

It linger there a while longer, but a small shift in his eye convinced you it was about something else.

“Is there something else you find amusing?” you asked.

“More interesting,” he said, diplomatically. “Your selection of stories is very different from others I’ve heard.”

“How so?”

“Ensign Vanto recounted stories of The Chiss’ military exploits or combat abilities. No doubt you have heard the same. You, however, chose to tell stories referring to our culture and traditions.”

“Maybe I assumed you have heard them before.”

“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “But, unlikely. You stated yourself how you admired the times of peace in the Republic. Tales of war do not hold your interest.”

“Guns and battleships don’t hold my interest. It’s the people behind them that do,” you corrected. “Like you for instance.”

“How do you mean?”

You gave him a doubtful look. “Don’t play that game. You’ve done your research on me, it’s only fair I do the same. I only wish to parse out facts from fiction.”

Thrawn watched you closely. His glowing red eyes burned into you, but you did not look away as you did before. You held your ground, until finally he relented.

“What have you learned?

“Very little, I’m afraid,” you admitted, with a small smile. “Your recent military exploits speak for themselves. By all accounts a series of miraculous victories pulled seemingly from thin air orchestrated by a brilliant military mind who should by all accounts be an Admiral, but is instead the first weapons officer. This most recent encounter with the Dromedar being emblematic of that.”

He nodded. “You’ve heard about my court marshal, I take it. “

“There had to be some reason why you’re here,” you said, your expression turning apologetic. “I am truly sorry. The navy has no right to pursue you in such a way. As far as I’m concerned you made the right decision. Life should always be valued over profit. If there is any way I can help, please let me know.”

“I will,” he said, in a tone that made you feel as if not only did he mean it, but truly appreciated it. A small part of you had to wonder who, if anyone on Coruscant had offered him help.

“What else have you heard,” Thrawn prompted.

This part was tricky and for the first time that afternoon, you looked down.

“I understand you were discovered in exile, though the reasons why vary from telling to telling.”

“Which of these tellings do you believe?”

You glanced up again.

Thrawn sat coolly in the chair. His body and positioning were relaxed but still ultimately in control as he stared unblinking awaiting your answer.

You thought of the man before you, and the one described in the reports. You thought of the priority of minimal casualties on both sides. You thought of the crew of the Dromedar. And you thought of the calculation in his responses when talking about his people.

“You ordered a preemptive strike on an enemy,” you said with a confidence foreign to you. “But I have a hard time believing it was done in a fit of blind ruthlessness.”

“And what do you believe?”

He learned forward. It was just a hair, not many would notice, but it was enough for you to know you had to choose your next words very carefully.

“I think you would do whatever is necessary to protect who you perceive your people to be, whether it be your crew or The Chiss.”

“Do you?” he questioned.

You nodded. “I know a little something about that.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

“Yes,” Thrawn said, quietly as if to himself. “I believe you do.”

Something flashed across his features. Understanding, perhaps? Or maybe admiration?

You didn’t have time to question it as all too quickly, he leaned back and his unreadable mask slipped easily into place.

“You’re quite perceptive, Senator,” he commended.

“Not really,” you said, with a shrug. “In my experience people are very open about what they want either through their actions or outright stating it. The only ones who aren’t are those who have yet to make up their mind. You don’t strike me as the indecisive sort.”

“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “But do not belittle your abilities. Stating one’s wants is one thing, but often actions can be misinterpreted, their true meaning plagued by personal bias. Being able to clearly see someone’s reasoning for their actions is a rare skill.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm slightly. “But you’re avoiding the question.”

“Which is?”

“Am I right?”

Thrawn was silent for a moment.

“You are right in the ways that matter,” he said. “I will always do what is necessary to protect my people.”

You frowned, but knew better than to ask further. Perhaps he wasn’t allowed to talk about the true reason for his exile. Which itself only lead to more questions.

“Something else?” Thrawn asked.

“Yes…” you said. Your stomach twisted, unsure if what you were about to ask truly was crossing some invisible line. But, you had come this far.

“Why join the Empire?”

Thrawn stared a moment as if surprised by your question. You didn’t blame him, but instead of anger or even indignantly you expected, there was just confusion. “As I have stated, and you have observed, I will do what I feel is necessary to protect my people.”

“So why not go back to them? How does joining the Empire do that?”

Thrawn’s eyes darkened, his expression going distant, almost regretful. “There are many dangers in the galaxy. Dangers greater than The Chiss Ascendancy or The Empire can face alone. I believe an alliance is necessary to face such a danger.”

“Assuming the Empire doesn’t turn on you.”

He glanced at you, titling his head curiously. “Do you believe it will?”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” you dismissed. “You obviously believe it won’t.”

“But you do have your doubts.”

It was your turn to remain silent as your own mind flashed to darker times. The Clone Wars. Your father. Danu torn apart and only now starting to rebuild.

You let out a tired sigh. “I suppose we each have to settle for an uneasy alliance to maintain peace for our people.”

“Spoken like a diplomat,” Thrawn said, dryly.

Your lip twisted into an ironic smile. “I have to get my practice in somewhere.”

Thrawn’s own lips turned upward slightly, giving just a hint of amusement. It softened his features, if only a little. You found you rather liked it.

His expression then shifted into an oddly thoughtful expression.

“Do you have a question for me?” you asked.

Thrawn shook his head. “Not a question. I was just musing on how you have heard so little of me and my people and yet are able to construct a fairly accurate picture. While I comparatively have heard much of you, and yet the reality speaks to something entirely different.”

“And what have you heard of me?”

For the first time since you met him he appeared uncomfortable. “I hesitate to say. As I said, the reality is much different.”

“I can take it,” you assured. “I promise not to shoot the messenger. And besides, you said it yourself; it’s often illuminating to hear stories about yourself from an outside source.”

Thrawn nodded in consideration.

“I understand you were made Senator four months ago,” he began. “Your family has lived on Danu for generations and is highly regarded within its sphere of influence. Your father was governor during the time of The Clone Wars, but was killed in a Seprestist attack.”

He bowed his head to you, his voice growing surprisingly gentle. “My sympathies.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling your heart ache at the old wound. “Please, continue.”

“Governor Lir was appointed to the position soon after although not to the same success. He was the one to suggest the previous senator, Senator Trask. Unfortunately, Trask was eventually charged with corruption after being found in league with a pirate gang stealing and reselling food stuffs on the black market. Governor Lir was cleared of any involvement. It was then, your name was selected to be Trask’s replacement. From what I gathered, you made a name for yourself on Danu for various public works and, given your father’s legacy, it was the logical choice.”

You nodded in understanding. Governor Lir needed his name associated with your father’s to maintain his reputation. The thought made your stomach twist unpleasantly.

“As Colonel Yularen explained it to me, Danu lost much of its influence after the Clone Wars,” Thrawn continued. “It is now in direct control of its governors who are themselves controlled by Grand Moff Tarkin.”

“So, I’m a puppet head. A naive heiress, picked out of a hat because of her father’s accomplishments,” you said, feeling like you were about to be sick. Was that why Lir had been so insistent on showing you around, introducing you as some non-threatening, pretty young thing?

You gave a dry scoff. “Not a very flattering portrait.”

“No,” Thrawn agreed.

You laughed again, sincerely this time. “You really need to work on your interpersonal skills if you’re going to survive Coruscant,” you said dryly. You then let out a sigh. “Well, I’ve certainly got a much harder job ahead of me than I anticipated.”

“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “Perhaps not. As I said before, what I have been told and what I have observed are very different. You may use that to your advantage.”

“How?”

“They will underestimate you.”

It was said so calmly, so matter-of-factly you couldn’t help but be taken aback.

“That implies I am more than what they make of me.”

“You are.”

And there it was again, that unwavering confidence that what he was saying was unquestionably right.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you doubt me?”

You blinked, pulling yourself back to the moment.

“I believe, you believe your words,” you said. “I can only hope you’re right.”

“Time will tell.”

It was at that moment, your comm buzzed.

“Yes?” you asked.

“I’m sorry Senator,” Cora answered. “But you asked to remind you about your appointment with Governor Lir.”

You frowned, but a quick look out the window told you she was right to do so. The sun was just starting to set, and Governor Lir insisted on meeting before the next round of parties you needed to attend.

“Yes, thank you for reminding me. Please message the Governor to let him know I’ll be a few minutes late.”

Cora offered an acknowledgement before clicking off the comm.

You gave Thrawn an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I really do have to attend to this.”

“Of course,” Thrawn said, rising from his seat. “I will not keep you from your duties any longer.”

You rose as well. “I only wish you could. You’re certainly more interesting company. Will you be joining in any of the festivities tonight?”

“I do not believe so. Ensign Vanto and I must meet with the high command tomorrow.”

“Of course,” you said, feeling a twinge of regret. It may be some time before you saw him again, if at all, but you pushed it down. You each had your duties.

You met his eye then with a gentle smile. “Thank you for your stories and advice. And, please know you have a friend on Coruscant, should you need one.”

Thrawn gave you an odd look. “Are we friends?”

“We were able to discuss art and politics without feeling compelled to throw things at each other. If that’s not friendship, I don’t know what is,” you said, dryly. “But, if the word is too familiar, could we at least part as allies?”

You offered your hand.

Thrawn hesitated a moment, taking your words into careful consideration.

“I do not believe either term is exactly the right one, but for the sake of simplicity, friend will have to do.”

Your brows furrowed, unsure about what exactly he could mean.

He gave not further explanation as he took a small step forward and took your hand in his. His skin was warm, warmer than you anticipated. He held you hand in an oddly gentle, but firm grip; his palms rough from years of experience and untold battles. It was a strange combination, but not unpleasant.

He held your gaze. You couldn’t even guess what he was thinking, all you knew was that your throat was going dry and your heart was beating rapidly against your chest.

“Until we meet again, Senator,” he said. “I look forward to your career with interest.”

“So do I, Lieutenant,” you managed. “Until then.”

He released your hand, and it was over.

You watched him as he walked out of the room, staring after him even after the door had hissed closed.

You let out a breath, willing your heart to calm to a walking pace. What could he possibly mean by neither friend nor ally?

Without thinking, you flexed the hand he had touched as if to make sure it wasn’t truly burning. Had he felt it too?

Mentally, you shook your head. It didn’t matter. You had no idea if and when you would ever see him again. He would undoubtedly get out of this court marshal and accelerate up the ranks of the Imperial Navy. Meanwhile, you had your duties here on Coruscant. Duties you had to attend to.

You quickly gathered your things, and walked briskly out of your office.

“Excuse me, Senator?” Cora said, her words stopping you in mid-stride.

“Something wrong?” you asked.

“No ma’am. It’s just…” she hesitated as if unsure if she was even allowed to know what she was about to say. “Lieutenant Thrawn asked me to give you a message.”

“Which is?”

“He asked me to remind you he would like a holo copy of the pieces you have commissioned for the reception area. And if it wasn’t an inconvenience, he would be interested in having holo copies of the pieces you have in your office as well.”

You blinked unsure whether to feel flattered or utterly exposed.

“Should I tell him you’re unable to,” Cora asked, tentatively.

“No,” you said, shaking out of your temporary shock. “No, go ahead and collect holo copies of the pieces and send them along. Contact Ensign Vanto of the Imperial Navy, I’m sure he will pass them along.”

Cora gave a look of confusion, but seemed to know better than to question a Senator.

“Yes ma’am. Goodnight.”

You barely gave her a wave of acknowledgment as you walked out the door, the same question reverberating in your mind; friend, ally, or something else?

#thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn x reader #grand admiral thrawn x reader #star wars #sw rebels #timothy zahn #thrawn x senator

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barnesandco · 3 years

Text

Fly Home

Sam and Bucky get stranded in Siberia with their only way out damaged from an explosion during the mission that brought them out here.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2020. Word count: 1591. Square filled: “Sam’s Wings”

Pairing: Platonic! Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: I am not a mechanic, much less someone with any knowledge about the workings of mechanical wings, so please forgive me for my technical failings.

The wings are a mess. Sam, thankfully, has gotten away from the explosion that tore holes in his flying rig with some cuts and scrapes, as the wings bore the brunt of the blast. So now he and Bucky are in the snow-clad, Siberian wilderness with no plan of extraction. They weren’t allowed to bring radio or cell phones because it’s traceable equipment, their comms fell out during the fight, and they’re probably hours away from any sort of civilization. Truly, truly lost.

Bucky sits down as Sam removes what remains of his wings from his back and lays them on the ground before joining Bucky. The cold is mostly kept out by the insulating gear they are wearing, but he is certain that will change soon.

“You got a plan for this one?” Sam asks as Bucky opens his bag. Retrieving what seems to be a toolbox from the bag, Bucky reaches for Sam’s wings and tugs them over.

Bucky stretches the wings to their full span, and scanning the damage, says, “If we can fix your wings, you can fly us outta here.”

Sam laughs, the tension lifting just a little, and when Bucky looks up, deadpan, Sam stops. “Those wings are Swiss cheese, man. And even if they weren’t, how do you know how to fix them?” He asks.

“You have the blueprints, don’t you?”

And yes, Sam does. Riri Williams, the genius spotted by Sharon Carter at Stark Expo last year, redesigned Sam’s wings and walked him through the entire process. He knows how they work in theory, and he has the blueprints stored in his arm panel, but, “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

Bucky laughs, now, and something in Sam’s stomach swells with warmth at the sight and sound. “ ‘Course not. That’s why you’re going to help me, Cap,” Bucky tells him, and Sam pulls forth the blueprints, taking off the control panel on his arm and presenting it, with a roll of his eyes. This centenarian is going to be the death of him. “We’ll need parts, though,” Bucky says, looking at Redwing, who is laying in the snow, also having been debilitated earlier in the day.

Sam is horrified. “No!” He says, reaching for his metal companion before Bucky can get his hands on him. “Riri put some spare panels in the pack,” Sam informs, keeping Redwing behind him and opening the pack. He’s still not on board with this DIY plan, and if they weren’t already sheltered by a forest, he’d have tried to find a safer location, but right now, there’s no way of knowing if there is one. So he lets Bucky survey the equipment.

“This is good. We can work with this.”

And with that, they get started. They only need to repair the upper surface of the wings to ensure that air stays trapped underneath so that Sam can fly, and the blueprints help. Sam’s knowledge of his wings and how they operate, when added to Bucky’s knowledge of metallic body parts, make for enough understanding to fix these wings.

They work mostly in silence, allowing the failure of the mission to hover in the background while they put their way out of here back together again. Helmut Zemo, having escaped from the Raft during the Snap, has slipped from their fingers yet again. Sam thinks about what must go through Bucky’s mind every time he sees his face, whether in combat or during a mission briefing.

What goes through Sam’s head is white-hot rage. Zemo killed a lot of people in Vienna, and caused that much more havoc, amongst the Avengers and otherwise. Now, many of them aren’t even alive to see him roam free.

The world is struggling, upside down, and going all the wrong ways, after the Blip. Fear reigns stronger than ever, and so does mistrust. Sam’s been carrying the weight of the shield in a world that doesn’t want to see him do so, a world that longs for that old-fashioned symbol of heroism now more than ever, and it’s taking its toll.

He has help, of course. He sees people who help with it. He firmly believes that he is the right person to carry it, no matter what the world says. He has always fought for what is right, and what he believes in, and he believes that this is his calling. He still has the VA, and Sharon, and Bucky, of course.

Bucky, who now studies a larger hole near the shoulder of the left wing with determination. His eyes are narrowed at it like it’s a miniature battle all on its own. Bucky walks the Earth with his shoulders tense and braced, and a fight in his fists, waiting for the next battle in this war that isn’t ending. Except for when he’s with Sam, away from conference rooms in the Compound or in the busy streets of New York. In their apartment in Queens, he unwinds.

They laugh together at silly sitcoms that Sam has been introducing him to, he relearns the history he wasn’t allowed to remember, and he marvels at the advancements of technology. They spent a month’s worth of weekends exploring every science museum Bucky could find in the area thanks to Google. And he’s really taken to cooking.

Not only does he enjoy eating the stuff Sam makes and that he has quickly learned how to replicate, he loves discovering a new smell wafting from somewhere in their diverse neighborhood and asking Sam about it, before going online to see the nearest place they can get it from. Takeout for a taste, another google for a recipe, and a new dish added to Bucky’s ever-growing repertoire. Queens is a good place to expand one’s palates and horizons.

They chose it when the remaining enhanced individuals of the world had recuperated enough to get back out there. Brooklyn came with too much pressure for Bucky to remember, to be something he no longer is, and living in the Compound would mean living at work, which didn’t feel healthy, either. Sam felt that Queens would be a good fresh start, for them both. A blank page. Not to mention it helps to be nearby in case the Parker kid gets in trouble, which he does quite a bit.

Sam smiles down at the panel he’s repairing when he remembers Bucky’s paternal ranting and raving after they caught Peter trying to take on some robbers with alien equipment. When Sam looks up, Bucky is staring at him, and he feels his cheeks heat.

They’re almost done, with just one more hole in the upper surface left when Bucky pierces the silence. “We don’t have this piece,” he says, pointing towards that gap. Riri couldn’t give him a full set of backup wings for obvious reasons, so she gave him the panels for the regions of the wings likely to experience more wear and tear. Her calculations must not have considered an actual bomb, Sam thinks.

But Bucky is already working on the solution. “It kind of matches this part in my arm,” Bucky says, tapping a human forefinger on his upper arm. Near the crook of his elbow is a metal panel that does, indeed, look like it might fit in the damaged part of Sam’s wings.

“We’re not takin’ your arm off, Barnes.”

“You don’t have to. Just the one part. Shuri taught me how,” Bucky says so matter-of-factly that if Sam wasn’t aware of the context, Bucky could’ve been talking casually about any number of every day tricks the Wakandan princess taught him. As it is, Sam does know the context, and he does not want to mess with his partner’s arm.

He tells him as much. “Fine.”

“I can’t be the one to do it,” Bucky tells Sam, and the latter’s eyebrows raise as he suppresses the want to roll his eyes heavenwards. “There’s some sensitive circuitry near that panel and if I try to open it from my angle, I might hit it. It’s better if you do it.”

Sam looks at Bucky, hoping he’s bluffing, pulling some stupid joke in a situation that it doesn’t fit in, but no. No bluff. “Fine,” Sam repeats, huffing, and scoots closer. The screwdriver in Sam’s hand is dirty with soot and traces of grease. “I don’t need to sterilize this, do I?” He asks.

Bucky shakes his head but wipes the screwdriver on his pants anyway before handing it back. “You might need some lubrication, though.”

That is the kind of comment that Sam would have cracked a joke at around an hour ago, but now, he coats the tip in some machine oil from the toolbox and sends a prayer above before starting to pry at the panel in Bucky’s upper arm. Bucky’s breath is warm against Sam’s ear, and he struggles to ignore it. Bucky’s eyes are bright blue in his periphery, and he focuses on the gleam of black and gold in front of him. The panel lifts, and he reaches for it with light hands, a paramedics steady fingers, and removes it.

Bucky takes it from him and starts altering the shape with a knife he has produced from nowhere and once that’s done, hands it to Sam for the final honors. The piece clicks into place. It looks a bit different, a darker shade amidst the red, grey, and white of Sam’s wings, but Sam thinks it’s a good fix. A job well done. A way home.

#SSB2020 #ayesha writes #sam wilson #bucky barnes #mcu #marvel fanfiction #captain america #the winter soldier

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queenofmoons67 · 4 years

Text

Midori Oni: Prologue

Welcome to my obligatory Tiger and Bunny and BNHA fic!

Summary: When Wild Tiger accidentally ends up 155 years in the future, he’s still being chased by a criminal mastermind, and as such does his best to blend into the new world around him. But Kotetsu has never been the best at hiding, and this time is no different:

Before long, Wild Tiger is making ripples amongst villains as a new vigilante. And as he fights to simultaneously be a hero, stay safe, and find a way home, he stumbles upon two students of UA’s hero course. And then eighteen more.

Aka an outsider view of Kotetsu, through the eyes of Class 1A.

(Shinsou Hitoshi replaces Mineta Minoru)

Canon timeline-wise, the story begins during the time leap after cour one of "Tiger & Bunny." Kotetsu enters the BNHA timeline during the sports festival.

Kotetsu panted, struggling to catch his breath when he was already out of Hundred Power and racing through the lowest part of Sternbild.

“Wild Tiger!” a voice called, echoing off the alley walls close behind him. “Why don’t you just give up? There’s nowhere to run!”

Kotetsu grinned. “Hear that, Bunny?” he asked. “He thinks there’s nowhere to run.”

Bunny’s voice was tinny through the comms, but the scoff came through loud and clear. “Focus, Wild Tiger. You’re going to take a right on the next street; I’m almost there myself.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m bringing this guy straight to you, don’t worry.”

There was just the sound of panting as Kotetsu leapt over a fallen trashcan, and he imagined Bunny pausing to think about what to say. Since dealing with Martinez and Kriem, they had both been trying to be more patient with one another and acknowledge each other’s ideas, and personally, Kotetsu thought they were working a lot better as partners. Bunny had actually agreed to Kotetsu’s idea of using himself as bait for this criminal, for one, and for another—

Kotetsu wouldn’t admit it to Bunny, but it was strange for him, running through the streets without his partner by his side. Having him on the comms just wasn’t the same.

But there was the corner, and with a grin, Kotetsu put on a burst of speed as he rounded it. Bunny was waiting for him.

Mario blinked, adjusted his glasses, and peered closer at the camera image before him as it was overwhelmed by a bright white light.

“Just a second folks, we might be having some technical difficulties. Orlando, can you zoom in for us and try to find Wild Tiger again?”

Orlando gave him a thumbs up, already messing with his camera, and Mario leaned back in his seat.

This segment had been weird from the very beginning. The criminal had been stopped while in the middle of robbing a bank, but had seemed unbothered by it—in fact, he’d seemed downright delighted to get the chance to taunt each hero as they arrived on the scene, his super strength power easily keeping the heroes back from being able to actually arrest him.

Barnaby and Wild Tiger had ended up in charge of the fight when Wild Tiger’s fight with the criminal had accidentally sent them down to Sternbild’s lower levels, where the HeroTV chopper couldn’t follow. Mario and Orlando had done their best to follow them from the skies, and report on how Wild Tiger had quickly run out of Hundred Power and started fleeing from the criminal instead of chasing him—and instead of escaping, the criminal had actually given chase in turn! But now…

Orlando shook his head and gave him a sideways thumb. Frowning, Mario directed his attention to the screen and began to narrate for their viewers.

“Orlando has gotten the view back for us, folks, but it—it doesn’t seem to be working that well. That is, we can see where Wild Tiger and the criminal just were, but we can’t actually see them now. Oh, and here comes Barnaby, looking for his partner—”

Mario kept talking, but he also gestured frantically for Orlando to contact Agnes. They had a missing hero on their hands.

Kotetsu stumbled to a halt, jaw dropping as Sternbild’s night sky was replaced by daylight and a cheering crowd. He himself was standing in the shadows beside them, but inching forward, he realized that they were all gathered around a wall of tv screens facing outwards from a store’s glass front.

There was someone with green hair fighting someone else with red-and-white hair. What was this, some new kind of Christmas style?

Peering closer, Kotetsu noted with surprise the tagline was in Japanese. Thankful he knew his mother’s language, he read: “UA Sports Festival—Second Round of the Battle Tournament.” What on earth…?

Kotetsu tore his gaze away, meaning to see if any of the other televisions were showing something that actually made sense, but his eyes caught on the reflection of someone staring back at him. The criminal he’d been chasing grinned.

Kotetsu bolted, dashing into the nearest alley and heading away from the crowd. So far the criminal hadn’t attempted to harm any civilians, but there was no reason to take that risk.

“Come back, hero!” the criminal called, his feet slapping against the concrete as he followed Kotetsu.

“Not on your life!” Kotetsu replied, and the criminal laughed.

As Kotetsu focused back on the path before him, though, he realized that someone else had been unusually quiet through all of this.

“Bunny?”

No answer, but the comm was still on.

“Hey, Bunny, you there?”

Still nothing.

“Barnaby, this isn’t funny! Answer me!”

Silence yet again.

Cursing, Kotetsu made a series of quick turns, one after another. He’d obviously been transported somewhere new, likely in Japan. Maybe the comms were fried when the transport happened? They still looked like they were on, but Kotetsu knew weird things happened with technology sometimes. Case in point: Whatever happened to land him here.

For now, though, there was nothing Kotetsu could do about it. He wasn’t a tech wizard like Saito, and he had to focus on just evading the criminal for now. In this unfamiliar place, where his hero license didn’t apply and he had no Hundred Power for at least another forty-five minutes, he couldn’t risk a fight.

If he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t risk a fight even after his Hundred Power came back. He’d lost the first one; that was why he’d been leading the criminal to Bunny in the first place.

Kotetsu swerved around another corner and took the opportunity to look behind him. His tail was still a bit back, but—but was he gaining on him? Kotetsu couldn’t tell.

For a moment, he thought about dumping his suit. Its weight only slowed him down, and without his Hundred Power, it was less than useless.

It would take time for him to wrestle the suit off without mechanical help, though, and he might not remember where he dumped it. Plus, Saito would kill him if he lost it.

Resolving to losing the criminal the good old-fashioned way, Kotetsu turned deeper into this maze of alleys.

When Kotetsu’s Hundred Power finally returned, he took the opportunity to get away for good and turned on his speed, sprinting through a series of dizzying turns before grappling up to a roof. Safe in the high ground, he tried every rooftop entrance he came across before tiredly stumbling into the first open one he found and collapsing in a metal heap in a stairwell.

Kotetsu spent the night like that, still in his suit, and when he woke up, he made a mental note to never do that again. His poor, aching body did not like him right now—though Kotetsu liked his comms still being fried even less.

He would have to go out and try to figure out what all of this was himself. But he couldn’t do that while in his suit; that was just asking for the criminal to spot him again, and Kotetsu wasn’t in the mood for another high speed chase through the alleys. He would have to take the suit off.

An hour later, Kotetsu shielded his eyes with a hand as he walked out onto a busy street. Removing the suit had been an adventure and a half. He’d always had Saito by his side for it, which meant this time, he’d fought his way out mostly by randomly selecting pieces to remove individually. He felt bad about it, but he figured Saito should be able to put it back together—and if not, the man would probably just go to Maverick with the idea for a new set of matching suits for Tiger and Bunny.

Reasonably satisfied, Kotetsu had stashed the suit pieces behind some dust-covered boxes in a supply closet, then headed out.

Perhaps he should have second-guessed his outfit choice, though. His tight black under-armor was drawing a lot of looks.

After the third person he spotted openly checking him out, Kotetsu turned on his Hundred Power and sped through an apartment building at top speed, stopping only to snag a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt hanging in a communal laundry room. A little wet, and the theft made his skin prickle uncomfortably, but necessary.

As comfortable as he could be, given the circumstances, Kotetsu finally turned his full attention to finding a newspaper and figuring out where he was.

Or rather, he tried to, but Kotetsu was quickly distracted by just how strange his new surroundings were. Some people looked normal, but there were others with even weirder hair dyes than the two on TV the night before. And even stranger than that was the way some NEXTs’ powers had affected them. Kotetsu had never seen a NEXT mutate before, let alone take on the features of animals.

And then there was just how many people seemed to be NEXTs. Kotetsu was used to being one of a minority, but here, NEXTs seemed to actually be the majority. They walked the streets freely, unafraid of using their powers for trivial things. One boy idly stirred his coffee, finger steaming, while a girl used some of the eyes on the ends of her hair to read a book even while the eyes in her head watched where she was going.

The strangest thing of all, though, was how no one else blinked. Not a single person, whether they seemed to be a NEXT or not, was afraid of those using their powers. It was as though Kotetsu had stepped into some idealistic future where NEXTs were no longer discriminated against.

Finally spotting a stand selling newspapers, Kotetsu hurried over, picked one up, and scanned it. Like the TV the night before, and like most of the conversations around him, the text was in Japanese: “Musutafu Local News.” That wasn’t surprising.

What was surprising was the date next to it.

“Excuse me, sir?” Kotetsu asked the seller, handing him the newspaper. “Is this date right?”

The seller barely glanced at it. “Yep. Do you want to buy it?”

Numbly, Kotetsu shook his head and walked away.

He was 155 years in the future.

The first thing Kotetsu did was find a library and research everything he could about current events. He refused to touch anything from his entire time, worrying that this might be like one of those sci-fi novels where he risked accidentally changing everything.

Even with his research, though, he was missing things. Refusing to go too far back meant he missed a lot of both the civil rights movement for NEXTs, and the laws that were eventually put in place for both civilians and their present-day version of heroes.

Because of that, what he knew could generally be summed up as most of the population having powers, now called ‘quirks.’

A consequence of this was stricter laws on when and where a person could use their quirk; what Kotetsu had seen in public so far was generally the limit. There was also discrimination against the quirkless, which threw Kotetsu for a loop for a moment since he was used to being discriminated against for his Hundred Power, though he supposed it made sense considering he was now in the majority.

For a moment, Kotetsu wondered if he would still be discriminated in this future, since he as good as had no quirk for most of the day—then he shook his head and moved on. If he was, it wasn’t like it was anything he wasn’t used to. If anything, he thought wryly, it might be refreshing to be discriminated against for how weak his power was, instead of how powerful it could make him.

Hopefully, though, Kotetsu wouldn’t be in this future long enough to find out.

Unfortunately, he was losing that same hope every second longer he was stuck here. It had been nearly twenty-four hours, and the power still hadn’t faded.

For all Kotetsu knew, it would take technology to get him back—technology that not even this future seemed to have.

Kotetsu headed back to the same stairwell he’d stashed his suit in that night, and sighed when he woke there the next morning.

For now, he decided, he would act as though he would be stuck in this new society for the rest of his life: Settle in and build a base of support, before trying whatever it would take to find a way home. He would have to lay low, since it was possible the criminal who’d also gotten snapped here was still after him. It was also possible that same criminal knew how to get back home, but Kotetsu had nothing to make him want to take Kotetsu back with him. Besides, it was better to be the one surprising than the one being surprised. He could track down the criminal and stay low.

The next big problem was money. Kotetsu needed it for food, shelter, a place to store his suit, toiletries, and just about everything else. He had a decent amount of cash stashed away in his suit for emergencies, but for the most part: For money, he needed a job, and for a job, he needed a new identity.

Kotetsu couldn’t trust that the heroes of this time wouldn’t see straight through a fake paper trail, which meant no seeking a position with them.

At the same time, this new society was different enough to the one that Kotetsu knew that he didn’t quite trust it anyway. Before, he knew that money motivated sponsors, while heroes competed but ultimately trusted each other. Now, he didn’t know what pushed society—if they did catch him, they might not let him go free. They might not even help him. And for now, that meant avoiding heroes and picking up smalltime jobs until he had the money for a new identity.

Kotetsu chased criminals for more than ten years; he knew how to track down a forger—though admittedly, this would be his first time hiring one.

It didn’t take long for Kotetsu to figure out the main issue with his plan: When you’re searching for one kind of criminal, it’s not hard to stumble upon others. Kotetsu managed to ignore them for as long as it took to set up a new civilian identity—Kaburagi Muramasa, after his brother—and to find a retail position.

Several weeks later, Kotetsu had enough money that, while he still returned to that stairwell every night, he felt comfortable caving to his instincts and putting his suit on for the first time since he’d taken it off that first morning.

Or at least, he tried.

Without Saito and his mechanics to help, it took Kotetsu an entire day to figure out how to piece his suit back together.

After that, though, Kotetsu started spending all of his free time on the streets. He knew Bunny wouldn’t be happy about him going out, but he also knew that Bunny would understand why Kotetsu couldn’t just sit still when there were people in need. In a compromise to his partner, though, he at least tried to stick to the shadows.

It only took a week and a half for the heroes and police to start hunting him.

Naomasa Tsukauchi pinned a sketch to an otherwise blank board, then sat on his desk and stared it. Glowing neon green eyes stared back.

A new vigilante had appeared on the streets, and those eyes were one of the only clues he had for finding the man. He hid behind armor that lit up when he used his quirk, though they hadn’t yet figured out what it was: Some of the villains he’d caught claimed super strength, others super hearing and a half dozen more.

Naomasa had been tempted to nickname the vigilante ‘Superman,’ after the classic comic, but the villains had already named him ‘Midori Oni.’

The Green Oni.

Naomasa couldn’t deny the vigilante had the typical horns and green coloring down perfectly, though he lacked a tiger pelt.

Sighing, Naomasa stood back up and grabbed a box already full with case files for villains Midori Oni had caught. He’d been busy, Naomasa could give him that—but vigilantism was illegal. They had heroes for a reason.

#kotetsu t. kaburagi #wild tiger #tiger & bunny #tiger and bunny #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #tiger and bunny fic #bnha fic #mine #My fic #fanfic #Midori Oni

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greyias · 4 years

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FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 11

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something’s rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won’t rest until he finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic’s top spy can handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter Index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | Crossposted to AO3

All-in-all, Darok was not gone at all that long. Just a few minutes if that.

Maybe he went to the refresher, Theron thought to himself sarcastically. Just couldn’t hold it another minute.

By the time the colonel returned, Theron had busied himself back at the terminal. He caught the movement in the reflection of the monitor and made a mental note of the time. It hadn’t been enough to make more than a quick call, although the question of to who remained. Most of the comm traffic going in and out of Carrick Station was either monitored or secured. If it had been on official channels, there would be a log of it somewhere. Another item for Theron’s ever expanding to-do list once he had the freedom to begin his investigation.

That would be soon.

Not long after Darok had made his reappearance, they’d gotten word from the team on the ground that the battle had been won. Tython was theirs again, but it had come at a high cost. There was cleanup work to be done — major cleanup work. It would take months to repair or rebuild what the bombings had destroyed. To say nothing of the fatalities they were currently tallying.

That uncomfortable feeling in Theron’s chest was trying to settle back in, and he still didn’t have the time nor energy to spend on it. Part of Theron wished he had an unobstructed view of the temple from the armorcams of Darok’s men, but he still wanted to keep a low profile. From his position, he could only catch glimpses of what was mostly wreckage. Unless he went and joined Darok at the holotable, there was no chance he could look at any of the faces of the dead. Perhaps that was for the best. Outside of Hashimuut, Theron hadn’t spent much time among large groups of Jedi. It had mostly just Master Zho and him. Easier to focus on the larger picture if he didn’t try to individual faces. Or maybe just one face in particular. But he wasn’t thinking about that right now.

Instead he busied himself with sorting through the data that Teeseven fed him. The rest of Highwind’s team had been put to work with the rescue crews, and the little faithful astromech had begun the long arduous process of sifting through the wreckage to try and salvage what was left of the temple’s security footage and data.

If there was anything to salvage at all. Theron pursed his lips, seeing the fragments of code he would have to sort through later. Piecing together exactly what had happened was going to be a massive undertaking.

That left one last wildcard in this situation: Highwind herself.

Apparently she had ordered Bickell and his men to keep all of the prisoners secured until a team of SIS agents could begin questioning them. Theron found it interesting that she was attempting to direct the investigation work over to his branch rather than leave any interrogation to SpecOps. Perhaps that meant she trusted Theron more than Darok with this. The colonel himself had only grunted with just the barest amount of disgruntlement at the announcement, as if the fate of the prisoners on the ground didn’t matter to him at all. Like he’d already gotten what he wanted.

Theron was still musing on that, and the other little mysteries surrounding his asset when she strode in with all of the force (and Force) of a Jedi to be reckoned with. Her strides were measured and deliberate, setting a quick pace that made her cape billow behind her as she once again commanded the attention of the entire room. Perhaps it was in the stern set of her jaw, or the way her attention zeroed in on Darok. Maybe it was just something in her eyes, a dangerous glint that a less observant person might pick up on. Whatever it was, Theron was almost glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of her attention at the moment. Maybe that was the look that Doc had kept mentioning.

“Master Jedi, good to see you,” Darok said smoothly, standing up to his full height. “Our forces are sweeping the rest of the muck off of Tython as we speak.”

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently, as her brows drew down into an unhappy expression. Yeah, no. Theron wasn’t saving Darok from whatever storm was brewing in the Jedi’s intense gaze. In fact, he would’ve broken out the bangcorn if he’d had any on hand.

“Tell me, Colonel, this muck you speak of. Are you referring to the devastation wrought upon my temple? Or perhaps the people we’ve taken prisoner?”

Darok’s lips pressed into a thin line as his wide shoulders raised up in indignation. He apparently did not like being called out on his behavior. Not that it was the first time that Theron had heard that sort of comment from the military. He was pretty sure that not even the Jedi were so perfect as to keep that sort of sentiment tamped down completely.

For all his bluster, the colonel seemed smart enough to not fall into the trap of clarifying his comment, and instead just snorted out a breath before forcing a grim smile onto his face. “You will be glad to hear that reconstruction crews are already being prepped.”

“That is good news,” she said evenly. “It sounds like you have been busy over here.”

“The Jedi homeworld coming under attack tends to garner a lot of attention from Republic command,” he agreed. “The Imps caught us by surprise, but it could have been a lot worse. Thanks in no small part to your leadership.”

The flattery seemed to fall on deaf ears as Highwind just crossed her arms, fixing the larger man with that same intense stare. “I have been meditating as you suggested, Colonel.”

Confusion stole across Darok’s face, as he tried to recall whenever he’d made that sort of suggestion. “I don’t—”

“You said that after we recovered Tython that I should meditate on the coincidences of today. I spent my time on the journey here doing just that.”

“Have you now?”

“Yes, on the timing of our attack and the Empire’s. They must have happened almost simultaneously. That is a remarkable coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Maybe you’re right,” Darok rumbled. “For them to launch an assault of this magnitude speaks of a robust intelligence network. Perhaps Imperial Intelligence isn’t quite as devastated as we have been led to believe. I am sure the SIS will determine how we managed to miss so many red flags.”

It was a comment designed to rile Theron. Another mark of a con. Keep the targets off balance. Keep them emotional. Nice try, but he wasn’t falling for it. That said, it didn’t take much to lace a good amount of anger and indignation into his tone. “Yes. We’ll get right on that.”

Highwind’s gaze briefly flicked away from Darok to study Theron, but the action was too quick for him to decipher it.

“All the same,” Darok continued on, “your work has been exemplary — gaining us two back-to-back victories. You are a hero and that deserves recognition.”

“A Jedi does not need to seek recognition. The act of doing what is right is enough.” Stars, she sounded like a recruitment pamphlet. Well. If the Jedi had recruitment pamphlets.

The colonel didn’t seem to hear her, as he pulled out a box that had been delivered during her return flight and held it out as if for inspection. She eyed the box with the same amount of skepticism that Theron had on its arrival, but her lack of enthusiasm didn’t make an impact on the show that Darok was putting on. Without another word, he opened it up to reveal a glinting, ornate medal.

The medal was just shiny and distracting enough that neither of them were paying close enough attention to see Theron’s startled reaction at its appearance. Had that been what Darok had disappeared off to take care of? No. It couldn’t have been. That had happened before Tython had been successfully recovered. That would have meant Darok would have had to arrange for the medal before there was a victory to award it for. Or… or perhaps that was Darok’s cover story. Come to think of it, there hadn’t been any mention of the teams that had remained behind on Korriban. Had they made it out safely? And if they hadn’t, why hadn’t Darok brought it up? Why was he so focused on branding today as a day of victory?

If Theron voiced his thoughts aloud they would sound utterly paranoid. This whole thing would sound paranoid. But no… there was something here. Theron would need to comb through whatever communication logs he could get his hands on to verify.

“This is the medal of valor. One of the Republic’s most prestigious commendations.” Perfect. She could hang it up next her Cross of Glory and whatever other trinkets she’d collected over the course of her overly heroic career. “The Chancellor herself wanted me to present this to you. She was truly impressed with your heroic actions today, just as I am. Congratulations.”

One dark blonde brow arched high as she glanced between Darok and his offering. The colonel continued to hold out the medal and its rather ornate box, and as the moment began to stretch out, the more awkwardness and tension built. Finally, she blew out a breath and accepted the box, shutting the lid without giving its contents a second look.

“My crew, Bickell, and the rest of your men deserve just as much recognition for their work on Tython,” she said, managing to sound almost diplomatic. “Perhaps more.”

“They do,” Darok agreed, “but your name is the one that lights up the HoloNet. Especially considering this particular commendation has never been awarded as quick before.”

A flicker of that shadow appeared in her eyes again, before she successfully smoothed her expression back into that Jedi placidity. “I am more interested in speaking of what happened today than the headline that will lead on RNN tonight.”

“It’s hard to leave an operation,” he rumbled, “we’ve all been there. But your part in this is done now. You should focus on your victory and all the rewards that come with it.”

“I do not need a medal,” she said firmly, “what I need are answers. We need to find the person responsible for what happened today and bring them to justice.”

“We have all of the information you gathered,” Darok’s smooth, complimentary tone began to harden. “I’m sure we’ll be able to identify them soon enough.”

“There’s also the matter of a Sith lord that I spoke to on the holo in the Council’s chambers. I told Bickell about it,” she continued on, as if she hadn’t heard the shift in tone. “Before the Sith realized I was not his compatriot he was talking about a package that had been secured.”

“Maybe they just took the opportunity to grab a few things,” the colonel, his words coming out in a tight clip.

“We need to identify who this Sith is and what he wants. He said something about—”

Now that she was on a roll, Highwind kept going as if she needed to be heard. As she did so, Darok’s frown settled in deeper and deeper. The large man’s shoulders bunched up, big meaty fists settling on his hips while his lips pressed together in a line.

For all of her keen observations and quick thinking in the field, right now Highwind was like a Sibian hound that had caught a scent. So fixated on her goal, the Jedi wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings and appeared to be almost oblivious to the danger practically tingling in the air. Nor did she seem to notice that with each protest she uttered the more predatory the colonel’s expression became. He didn’t seem to like questions.

Theron took several steps back so that he was out of Darok’s line of sight, before he keyed his subvocal mic. “Stop.”

That seemed to take her off guard, and for a moment she looked like she was about to bring attention to the subterfuge. Her protest ended in a lurch as he gaze strayed over Darok’s shoulder to Theron. He didn’t say anything else, just caught her eye and shook his head ever so slowly. They couldn’t talk here.

She pursed her lips together, that Jedi calm driven away as her temper flared in a way that Theron had not expected at all. Then again, she kept finding new ways to surprise him. This was just one more to the tally. Thankfully, though, she relented in pressing on in her line of questioning. Frustration evident, she let out an annoyed sigh before turning her attention back to Darok. He was still eyeing her with a sharp intensity that made Theron’s skin crawl.

“I apologize, Colonel, perhaps you are right,” she said tersely, as if it cost her something to say it. “I suppose that there might be some good to be found in today. I should meditate on that further.”

“That is most wise, Master Highwind,” Darok rumbled, continuing to eye her for several long moments. “I have my own work to do. I’ve been tasked with organizing the Tython cleanup.”

She tipped her head to him in acknowledgement. “I see, that is quite the task. I should not keep you from it.”

“I need to let the Jedi Council know the Republic is behind them. Let them know this is not like Coruscant. If you’ll excuse me.” He turned back to the holotable, completely dismissing the remaining two people in the room as if they weren’t even there.

The tension that had filled the room seemed to dissipate with the action, and Theron quietly let out a breath. He would definitely be adding “stubborn and bullheaded” as a note to Highwind’s file, just as a warning to any future handler. Maybe put in a warning or two about her propensity to take dangerous risks. She was still glaring at the colonel’s back with undisguised suspicion at this point.

“I don’t know about you,” he said, managing to pulling her attention away, “but I need that drink.”

He was eager to leave this damn room and put some distance between them and Darok, so Theron didn’t even wait to see if she followed. He just made a beeline for the bar. If she was as quick on the uptake as she seemed, she’d get the hint.

#swtor fanfiction #theron shan x jedi knight #Theron Shan #Female Jedi Knight/Hero of Tython #oc: greyias highwind #otp: adorkable #smoke and mirrors #SoR Fic O Doom #swtor #fanfic #greyfic

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ryder-s-block · 4 years

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Jaig Eyes (Ch 52)

Jaig Eyes (52/?)

Summary:

Kida, a former slave who now thrives as a bounty hunter, finds herself sucked into the war she advised Jango Fett against. Now that she’s involved, she has to finally mourn the loss of Jango, seeing his face in the clones that man the GAR. What happens when she allows herself to get attached to one, not for his resemblance to her former mentor, but for his heart?

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Chapter Fifty-Two: The Lightsaber

“Ah, welcome,” Bendu’s voice echoed as I made my way across the coral-like plains of Atollon. My ship’s engines were barely even cooling and he already sensed my presence, greeting me as I descended into his pit. “A new person approaches me this day,” he commented, sitting back on his haunches to regard me. “You are far less loud.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at my friend. “I’ve spent some time thinking about what you said. And had some experiences that better helped me understand.”

Bendu smiled gently. “You’ve listened to your crystal. I hear it now. It no longer screams as it once did.”

“No, but it’s still broken.”

He regarded me with his deep gaze. “Are you? Still broken, I mean.”

I breathed slowly, considering. “I have my scars, I’ll admit. And I’m sure I’ll get more. But no. I’m not broken. Not anymore.”

“Then it’s time your kyber was the same way. Are you ready?” He leaned back, gesturing to the cave I’d already entered once before.

I closed my eyes, drawing out my pistols and putting them on the ground. Pulling forth my ancestor’s lightsaber and the new kyber hilt, I clipped them both to my belt. “Yes. I’ve reassembled this countless times,” I breathed, touching the saber at my hip. “I can do it with my eyes closed.”

“Forget all you’ve read,” my friend suggested, shocking me. “Forget all you’ve studied. Your saber must be your own. You will be tested. Trust only in the Force.”

“I will,” I assured gently, walking into the tunnels with as much confidence as I could muster.

The air was stale. Potent with the scent of decay I knew came from the spiders. They were ancient. Maybe even as old as Bendu, who I knew had watched empires rise and fall. I couldn’t sense them, but I felt their eyes on me. Heard their pinchers clacking with curiosity. I walked on, letting the Force guide me into the tunnels.

Aware of Bendu’s thoughts following me through my journey, I focused on keeping myself centered. Now understanding the creatures that lurked here, I knew they would react as I did. Fear wasn’t an option.

I walked for likely half an hour beneath the surface of the deserted planet before I felt drawn to a particular junction. It was parted five ways, with a long wall on one side. It was almost...reflective.

I stepped up to it, feeling it calling for me to sit before it. Kneeling and ignoring the hiss of the curious spiders that were blocking my exits, I drew out my lightsaber and new hilt, placing them on the ground before me. Closing my eyes, I let the Force take over, feeling the pieces lift and separate in the air, revealing the broken kyber crystal.

It hummed with pain. Loss. And hope.

I felt a whisper of the Force, opening my eyes to see my crystal floating before me. Further, in the reflection of the wall, I saw a shadow that looked nothing like me. The shoulders were wider, but the stature shorter. I looked boyish.

I was drawn to this unknown shadow, both by blatant curiosity and the gentle nudging of the Force. My fingers reached past my suspended crystal, the shadow mimicking me. As the pads of my bare hands touched the reflection, the other hand met it, the reflection clearing from a shadow to an image.

The boy before me was likely eight or nine, his skin tan and hair cropped short. He was wearing Jedi robes, some frost sticking to the edges.

I pulled my hand away sharply, the boy I recognized as a young Remulus Dreypa doing the same. We stared at each other, our shared crystal floating between us. I shoved down my fear and emotions, feeling the spiders behind me reacting.

Stilling myself and my whirlwind of a mind, I reached back out, prodding Remulus to do the same. Pressing my hand firmly against the wall, I could almost feel the heat of his hand against mine. And then his fingers curled, growing longer and stronger, emerging from the wall to link with my hand roughly.

I tried to pull away again, on instinct, as his face warped to grow older, his eyes turning a menacing yellow. Gritting my teeth, I felt the spiders hiss in anxiety, edging closer as I pushed down my panic. I closed my eyes, feeling the pull of the mirrored wall as it tried to drag me into what I feared most.

I steadied myself, turning my free hand to be palm up, resting easily on my lap. I stopped pulling from Dreypa’s grasp, letting him hold me and glare through the wall. I looked him in the eyes, steeling myself.

“I do not fear where I come from. Nor do I fear the past. My gaze lies ahead now,” I announced to the room, the spiders stilling as I spoke calmly. Clenching my jaw, I dared him, “Do your worst.”

He only smiled at me, his grip becoming less severe as image faded to a slightly lighter complexion, his eyes turning a warm golden color.

“Rex,” I whispered, earning another silent smile. Behind him, I saw the image of Qui-Gon. Yilria. Jango. Boba. Fives. Echo. Obi-wan. Anakin. Padme. Ahsoka. Merl. Rouva. Cody. Hardcase. Jesse. Kix.

My family.

I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth they brought me, even though they weren’t here. And when I opened them, they were gone, the wall a dark stone, rather than reflective. And my crystal was glowing. Fractures ran through it like veins, but it wasn’t cracked anymore. It was healed.

Scarred, like me. But no longer broken.

Concentrating in my meditation, I let the Force guide the pieces, ignoring how I’d once put it together when I practiced. Lifting my hands to better guide myself, I turned the mechanism over as it came together, watching the kyber slide into its place eagerly. The sleeve slid over the finished version, sweat beading on my brow as I allowed the Force to guide everything into its perfect position.

I felt the click in the Force more so than I heard it.

Standing slowly, I reached out to take the hilt from where it floated, feeling eyes on me in the darkness. The saber felt...right...in my hands. Strong. Powerful. But peaceful. Hopeful.

I thumbed the activator, the blade igniting to life. It shined a brilliant white--a symptom of a healed crystal, Bendu had told me--illuminating the cavern.

As I held my blade high in the air, I was shocked to find there were no spiders near me at all. It had been my worries. My fear.

When I let it all go in the reflection of the mirror...I let them go, too. And now I could get to work.

------------------------------------------

The blade came to my hand easily when I called for it through the Force, igniting in its blinding white brilliance. I spun it in my grasp, slicing my cuffs, before holding it at the ready.

Dooku glared at me through the holoprojector. “Kill her.” I thrust out my hand, throwing Sobeck backwards and into the projector, cutting off the count. The special units leapt into action, but I deflected their bolts easily, rolling sideways to slice two of them in half before deflecting the last two back at the final ones.

I would’ve stuck around to finish off Sobeck and take down the Citadel from the inside, but the command droid was already calling squads our way. I could even hear the destroyers rolling down the halls.

So I bolted, hurrying from the room and sprinting down the halls, saber in hand. I made my way to an elevator, calling the button to bring me back up towards the holding cells, where I assumed Obi-wan and the others were being taken again.

Break-out...take two.

The lift doors hissed open, revealing a squad of unsuspecting battle droids. “Hey!” one of them yelled as I smirked before them, lifting my lightsaber for them to see. “Blast her!” They didn’t get the chance as I surged into the lift, slicing them down easily.

In reality, Piell was right. A lightsaber really was so much more effective.

The lift brought me up quickly, opening to reveal even more droids. Oh boy...this wasn’t going to be very easy.

Still, the bounty hunter that still resided in me revelled in the chance to finally use this weapon in the open. I recalled what the armorer had said. “Swear to wield this weapon with the honor of a Mandalorian...Use this weapon wisely, young Fett.

I gave the blade a little flourish with an easy smile. “Hi guys,” I said, earning the attention of the dozen droids there. They all turned with fright, but had little time to react as I leapt forward, dodging through them easily.

The longer I wielded the blade, the more at ease I became. I felt myself connect with the Force...flow with it. I knew where to put my blade. To deflect a shot. To sweep through a droid. I knew where to step. To dodge. To deflect a shot. To get in close.

It wasn’t until all the droids had fallen that I became aware of my knelt form, lightsaber thrust behind me. I panted, finally feeling fatigue from the use of both my body and my mind. Disengaging the saber, I hooked it to the front of my belt easily to assess the room. The droids were scattered in pieces--something I’d achieved with ease with my use of the Force. Maybe I should consider implementing the lightsaber and the Force when I worked my usual jobs. It certainly made things easier.

Then again, maybe it made things more dangerous, too. Higher stakes. Higher prices. Higher threats.

A comm beeped from one of the droids, drawing my attention. “To the hangar! To the hangar!” a droid cried through it. “The prisoners have escaped!”

Ah. So they didn’t make it to the cells after all. I glanced around, grinning when I spotted a window at the far end of the hall. Conveniently, it was in the direction of the hangar.

Just what I needed.

I raced towards it, leaving the droid parts behind. The sound of destroyers echoed down the far hall, moving to cut off my escape. Well, I wouldn’t allow that, especially considering I could hear the beginnings of a battle outside. As they rolled into my way, I grounded my stance, pushing my hands towards them.

And with my hands, the Force shoved forwards, launching the destroyers backwards and through the window. Yay. No glass shards in my face this time. I followed them shortly, leaping down onto a platform above the landing pad. Turrets were firing endlessly into the hangar below--likely at my fellow escapees.

Without even thinking, I rushed forward to the blinding shine of the spotlights. Igniting my lightsaber, I slashed through the base of the turret closest to me, spinning away as it sparked and slid forwards to crash into the hangar.

As much as taking out a turret helped the plight of my friends, it only drew attention to me. The next turret turned in its base, aiming at me. “Uh oh,” I muttered before leaping backwards, barely dodging the twin green blasts it shot at me.

With the closest turrets turning to aim at me, I knew there was no more I could do up here but be killed. I turned and left the death trap behind, leaping into the hangar to join the others. Droid squadrons began to enter the area, emerging from the hallways of the Citadel, as I raced around the corner of the shipping containers.

The clones in 212th yellow nearly shot me as I came around, all seeming shocked at my escape. My lightsaber wasn’t ignited anymore, but it was still easily seen hanging from my belt.

Piell eyed me as I joined them, giving me a small grin. “Nice to see you didn’t need a rescue.”

“Never,” I smiled back, peering around the corner to see our situation only getting worse as more droids joined the fray. “Though you seem to always need one.” I received some looks from the Kenobi and the clones alike, but Piell only chuckled at my teasing.

Shots sounded from behind us, a familiar tremor rippling in the Force. We turned, seeing Anakin’s group racing over the rocky surface of Lola Sayu. I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw Echo and Fives, as well as Rex and Ahsoka, all doing well and fine.

Perhaps the sense of dread I’d felt while saying goodbye to Echo and Fives had only been my paranoia, rather than the Force.

“Sorry I’m late,” Anakin joked as he joined us at our cover.

“How nice of you to join us,” Obi-wan responded easily with equal sass, earning a smile from his former padawan. Ahsoka moved beside me where I was looking out at the hangar, Tarkin kneeling as well.

“The ship is surrounded,” she announced, clearly getting tired herself.

“We need to launch a full scale assault and take that vessel!” I turned slowly, already knowing which worm was talking. Tarkin.

“I thought you were a renowned military leader, Captain,” I bit, earning some looks from the others present. Notably...Rex. “Take a second to take in your battlefield. Rushing out there will get us all killed with those turrets up there.”

“She’s right,” Obi-wan allowed, though I could sense his distaste at my bitterness. “If we don’t take them out, they will use them to destroy the shuttle and prevent our escape.”

Tarkin threw up his hands in exasperation. “Which is precisely why we should get aboard that shuttle and use the weapons systems to decimate those droids!”

I was going to say something back in a snarl, but stopped when Anakin rose to his feet. “Whatever we’re going to do,” he said, sounding as annoyed as I was. “We better do it fast.” He lifted his hand, pointing in the direction his squad had come from. I followed his line of sight, seeing a squadron of droids on STAPs, heading our way. They open fired on us, everyone diving out of the way. I rolled to the next container, joining Fives and Echo as they worked to take down the droids storming the hangar floor.

Aiming my wrist gauntlet skyward, I fired the fibercord at one of the oncoming STAPs, watching it wrap around the battledroid’s leg. I pulled hard, putting my whole body into it, before smirking as the droid was pulled from its mount and sent hurtling to the ground.

While the Jedi took care of the rest, I drew my lightsaber, getting in front of the brothers to help defend them. “Nice to see you again,” Fives joked while he joined my side and fired his blaster at the oncoming droids. Echo moved out from cover right after him, throwing a detonator under one of the approaching spider droids.

I grinned at them both as the droids went down, only for the hangar doors to hiss open again. Sobeck’s special units, equipped with shields, emerged from the interior hallways, heading right for us. “Stay behind me,” I ordered, crossing my saber in front of my body, creating a ready guard.

As I deflected the incoming fire, Echo through another detonator. Unfortunately, while they did well against battle droids, these commandos were sturdy. They were flown backwards, but quickly found their feet again.

We ducked behind the crate again, my energy beginning to sap with all the Force use I’d been putting in that day...not to mention all the running.

“As helpful as that thing is,” Fives muttered to me as we pressed our backs to the metal container. “I don’t think it’ll be enough.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I assured him, breathing heavily as I examined the landing pad. Our odds were pretty grim. Especially since I spotted a commando droid climbing up to one of the turrets they’d shot a droid out of earlier.

“General Skywalker,” I heard Echo say into his wrist comm behind me. “A droid is manning one of those turrets. They’re gonna blow up the shuttle, sir.”

We looked up as the turret’s hydraulics hissed and groaned, aiming skyward. That didn’t make sense… the shuttle was--

Anakin and Piell were both on a STAP together, zooming at top speed towards the turret. “Get ‘em, General,” Fives whispered as he and his brother peered around the corner with me. It was said almost like a prayer, rather than an encouragement.

Whatever deity he was praying to wasn’t listening.

The turret caught the STAP in its front, sending both Jedi tumbling to the ground, their ride destroyed. We ducked behind cover again as the commandos began to advance on us again, Anakin and Piell racing for cover as the turret’s blasts followed them across the hangar.

“This is our only chance,” Echo said beside me, taking my place at the corner. “We’ve got to stop him.”

I steadied myself as Fives nodded, stepping out after his brother, who was scooping up one of the shields a commando had dropped. As I turned to stop them, connecting myself with the Force, I was struck with a vision.

I didn’t see much, but I was struck with the same sense of dread I’d felt when I’d said goodbye to the brothers. When I’d feared I wouldn’t be there to protect them. My body turned cold, my breath hitching in my chest.

I saw a scorched clone helmet.

“Echo, look out!” I heard Fives call from only a few feet in front of me. Echo was rushing forward with the shield, making his way onto the gangway.

“Fives,” I said urgently, grabbing shoulder pauldron and turning him away. “Move!” We dove backwards as the turret’s blasts struck the shuttle, blowing it….and my friend...to pieces. I was nearly blinded by the amount of brutal grief I felt from the clones. And Skywalker and his padawan.

“Echo!” Fives screamed beside me as he found his feet. I looked over my shoulder, lightsaber hilt in hand. Echo’s helmet laid on the hangar floor before us. Scorched and destroyed. Just as I had seen in my vision.

“We have to go now,” Obi-wan commanded from behind us, lightsaber still up to deflect oncoming shots.

I swallowed past the emotion I felt not only from those around me, but from within myself. I touched Fives’ shoulder, glancing at him. He didn’t look at me for a second, before his head finally turned. I saw my own teary eyes reflected in the black visor.

He pivoted with me, shoving down his grief as I did, before running to catch up with the others as they raced towards somewhere to hide within Lola Sayu’s deadly landscape.

----------------------------------

Author’s Note:

I know a lot of you wanted me to save Echo. However, I chose against doing that, not only because Echo’s death plays an important role in Fives’ arc, but also will tie into the next season coming out.

I don’t want to lock myself out of potentially having Kida in the new season one day, if I mess with canon TOO much.

As always, likes/comments/reviews/shares are always appreciated.

-Ryder

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jenovahh · 4 years

Text

NSFW Comm 00 - OCxOC

With me opening commissions I’d figure I’d showcase one of my pieces I’ve written about my OC and a friend who wishes to remain anonymous’ OC (featuring the OC of another mutual friend). In terms of OCxOC work, here is what my writing looks like! NSFW - M/F, Heat Kink, Cunnilingus, Penetration ============================================================ A’yana had been acting...strangely...as of late.

Florentel had spent plenty of time around A’yana to know enough of her habits. They had seen enough of each other in the same circles enough to eventually form a bond of friendship. He had found A’yana charming in her own way, despite all the constant flirtation she had seen fit to lob at him. Eventually he returned it in kind, to where the two would often get dirty looks for their bawdy jokes, but it mattered little as it seemed to only strengthen their bond further. Though she was not incredibly expressive with her feelings, he could tell from her small gestures that she treasured his friendship greatly.

But bonds were always meant to be tested.

It was not uncommon for Florentel to stop by A’yana’s humble room within the home of her free company, taking naps together or simply enjoying each other’s presence. Florentel would often come to work on any crafts he had as A’yana would relax in her bed and draw or study, talking about any and everything to simply popping a roll into her miniature orchestrion and enjoying the music in silence.

It was on one of these visits, that Florentel had begun to notice the change.

While A’yana’s room had already fit her gentle personality, she was not one to fill it with an abundance of soft things. She preferred plants and other forms of life to fill her space, but upon entering he was surprised to find an increase in cushions and pillows.

“I just wanted something a bit soft around lately.” Was her answer when he questioned her about it. She had said it with so little hesitation, it never even crossed his mind to have the warning bell go off in his head.

“You smell really nice you know.” It was considered a high form of flattery (and in some circles, an expression of interest) to comment upon another Miqo’te’s scent. Florentel would be embarrassed to recall his face tinting pink as A’yana leaned into his neck, taking a deep breath, pressing her body onto him. It was not as if the two of them had never been physically close before, but coupled with her compliment, Florentel couldn’t help but feel a bit off guard.

“I mean really nice, Flor.” Her usual nickname for him is almost purred out so lowly it makes his tail frizz up and his ears press against his head. Her blue eyes betray nothing, her claws gently tugging at his shirt as she takes another deep breath. His nose catches her scent rolling off her chestnut skin, a muted sweetness he can’t quite place assaulting him. “Why the sudden uh...” he stammers, suddenly unable to look her in the eye.

“I know it’s a bit forward but,” Florentel practically freezes as she presses herself against him, letting him feel the weight of her body against his chest. “I thought you should know.” She grins, showing off perfectly pointed canines. Giving an insistent tug on his outer coat, she turns those doe eyes on him. “Can I keep your Ala Mhigan gown for awhile? Please?”

Florentel might’ve been able to deny her, were she not pressing against him so insistently. Friendly flirting was one thing, but it was another matter entirely to actually feel her body against his own. “Y-You know this is my favorite...” he grumbles, arms slowly coming to try and pry her off of him, to no avail.

“Just for a little while. I promise to give it back.” She begs, all but pressing her entire weight against him. Warning bells are sounding but Twelve above is Florentel having a hard time focusing.

“Okay, okay...” He sighs, slowly shrugging out of his beloved gown. He cracks a small smile at her look of joy as he hands it to her, her fingers greedily grasping the material while still making sure to not tear through it. She takes another whiff, sighing peacefully. “Thank you, Flor.”

“Its nothing...”

“It's definitely something.”

Florentel runs a hand through his hair as he watches his friend Nielle pour him a cup of tea. “Is it really?” He asks, watching as his friend pours their own cup.

“Well it's not like she was cold right?” Nielle asks, placing the teapot down gently. “And to my knowledge complimenting another’s scent is not just a casual remark in most Miqo’te circles.”

“You would be correct.” Florentel sighs, stirring his tea lazily. “She’s never done this before. She kept...pushing up against me to smell me,” Nielle perks up at that, flashing him a look.

“Do tell.” They prompt, a small smirk playing on their lips.

“Well she just kept...getting really close...and her room! It’s filled with so many plushies and pillows now! This is really out of character for her...” As lost as he feels, he feels even more so now as Nielle’s smirk grows even more pronounced. “What’s that look for?” He asks, and from Nielle’s grin, he can already tell he’s not going to like the answer.

“Oh nothing...that behavior is certainly strange.” They chuckle, making Florentel nearly growl in frustration. “I’m guessing you’re not going to enlighten me since clearly you know something?” He grounds out, running a hand through his hair.

“You would be correct.” Nielle answers, parroting his earlier reply. “I find it far more amusing to watch this play out. Let me know how it goes in a few days, won't you?”

A few days?

That phrase drifts through Florentel’s mind, making him pour over it for hours. As far as he knew, Nielle was not going anywhere that would keep him from seeing them for a few days...

Maybe he was overthinking things?

A good hunt would do the trick. He can already feel the crisp air of the Churning Mists clearing his mind, his hatchet heavy on his back as he looks for the elusive seventh heaven, in hopes of luring the hunt Gandarewa out of his hiding place.

With a practiced eye, he finds his usual spot, cursing as he sees a body already toiling away at it. Getting closer, he finds that head of purple hair unmistakable, A’yana’s blue eyes landing on him as he flies in closer. Before he can smile and wave in greeting, something else unmistakable hits him.

Her scent.

Carefully he lands, quickly sending his carbuncle away in a flash. “Flor!” She greets, all shiny teeth as he stands there, somewhat frozen in place. He watches as she takes one breath, her pupils dilating slightly as she moves toward him. “I didn’t expect you to be here.” Her voice is that low purr again, Florentel fighting for control as her scent seems so terribly thick in the area around the two of them. It’s a wonder she had even managed to make it out of her home in this state.

“Shouldn’t you be...A’yana, can’t you tell,” He finds himself taking steps backwards, trying to keep in mind that this is his friend. And while he certainly had no problem with intimate relations with friends that was to say, but a friend in heat is another thing entirely. “You’re not thinking straight! I should get you home,” He practically yelps as she tackles him to the ground.

How on earth did he get here?

A’yana is by no means aggressive, so to be tackled to the ground leaves Florentel in a daze. “A’yana, by the Twelve,” he grunts, using his strength to push her off of him. He lets out a slight yell as A’yana hangs tight, pulling him with her, leaving him hovering over her body. A’yana’s long legs come to wrap around his hips, pushing herself against him and Florentel hisses as she grinds herself along his length.

He had always suspected A’yana was a little minx, but hadn’t given enough thought to truly pursue anything sexual with her. She was his friend and the thought of her rejecting any advance of his had stayed his hand, even if he found himself occasionally a little curious.

“Flor.” His name on her lips threatens to undo him, her hips pressing so insistently to his own. He clenches his eyes shut, as if to block out that she’s there looking at him expectantly, shame washing through him at his inability to control himself. “Flor.” he hears again, biting hard on his lip as her arms slowly wind themselves into his hair, but they do not pull.

“Flor. Look at me.”

His eyes snap open, blue against blue. He gasps as he sees an iota of clarity in her eyes, a small smile on her dark lips. Her copper skin glistens in the sun, her amethyst tresses having fallen out of her face from their tumble. “It’s okay.” She murmurs, her hands slowly bringing his face down, their breath intermingling. He can see the need swimming in her eyes, that moment of clarity passing by in seconds as she presses his lips to hers, kissing him as fiercely as expected of her. She nips at his bottom lip, hungry, greedy, and he lets their tongues dance because he couldn’t find it in himself to deny her. The sigh she gives sends dormant instincts into what feels like overdrive, his hands finally latching onto her hips, claws pricking her skin.

His hands, rough and calloused, slide downwards to where her thighs are wrapped around his hips, grazing over the sliver of exposed skin before toying with the tops of her thigh high boots. Parting for a moment, he groans as A’yana continues to kiss and lap at his neck as he scans the area. It’s mostly devoid of any other creatures, and she’d blessedly picked a spot quite a ways from any Moogles or Dragons; he doesn’t think he could handle Hraesvaelgr catch him doing this.

As oddly shaped as the trees here are, they will provide suitable cover from any other stray adventurers that somehow make their way to this strange and mystical land. Gripping A’yana’s thighs, he manages to get himself to stand, her weight hanging off him as distracting as her attentions as he moves them closer to a nearby tree.

He all but falls to his knees with a well placed bite on his neck, her fangs just barely breaking skin. “Calm down,” he snarls, the sound turning into a moan as she gives kitten licks to the offended area. Her hands leave their place at his hair and drift down to his pants, carefully pulling them open just enough to get his cock free. A shudder rolls through him as her fingers wrap around him, her thumb smearing precum on the head. He’s frozen there for moments as she teases him, using his own wetness against him to slick his shaft, stroking with an unheard rhythm.

“You won’t hold back on me, will you Flor?” She teases, pressing a kiss to the side of his face. He’s helpless as she pushes him backwards, sending him practically sprawling as she climbs atop him. “Unless, you’d like for me to do everything myself...” Releasing his length, she stands above him, all legs and confidence as she quickly shimmies out of her shorts. The sight takes his breath away, seeing this more brazen side of A’yana. She’s never been afraid to speak her mind, but she always maintained a very demure air, matching that gentleness he had always associated with her.

But to have her standing above him, looking at him with those lust filled eyes, her sex glistening in the sun...

“Holy shit.” Florentel curses, lying still as she kicks her underthings to the side as well, not all shy about being entirely out in the open. He makes no moves of protest as she lowers herself on him, settling just over his exposed cock, teasing him with the heat of her sex. He’s enamored with the very sight of her, willing and wanting on top of him, giving him all of her focus. He doesn’t stop her as she crawls higher up his body until her arousal is right above his face, unable to ignore her potent scent when it’s so godsdamned close. His arms seem to move on their own as they reach to grab her thighs, pushing the boots down as best he can so he can grasp at her flesh. She needs no further instruction to lower herself on him, letting him get a taste of what she has to offer.

She’s as sweet as he had thought, her essence coating his tongue, her mewls music to his ears. Rational thought seems to be slipping away as her scent filled his senses, the instinct to please her in her time of need overriding everything else. He lets his tongue run over her slit, her needy moans spurring him on as she quivers atop him. Through his haze he can feel her lean back, reaching for his cock to take in her hand. He has no choice but to pause as a moan is pulled from him, his hips eagerly rising to meet her touch.

“Keep going,” she urges, wiggling her hips to get his attention back where it belongs. Pushing through the haze of pleasure he resumes his task, swirling his tongue around her clit. He can’t deny that he’s incredibly turned on from A’yana’s forwardness, how in the throes of passion she seems to be far more uninhibited. The thought makes him groan into her pussy, giving a suck on her clit that has his name falling from her lips in the most delicious way. His eyes fall closed as he surrenders to the feeling of her hand insistently tugging on his cock, his breath coming fast as his hips try so very hard to thrust into her hand. “I knew you’d be good at this Flor...” she hums, her voice breathless as she releases another loud moan. The fact that they are entirely in the open is now lost on him; he can’t think of anything else except for the satisfaction that awaits him.

Her cries increase as he finally figures out what she likes, her hand slowing its motion on his cock as her own pleasure takes over. He grips her thighs even tighter, his name falling from her lips even faster now, until her hand leaves his cock entirely and moves to grab his hair. “Oh, fuck,” she curses, panting with each lick of his tongue across her slit. He opens his eyes to see her head thrown back, mouth hanging open as she cries out into the open air.

He stops.

Her retribution is swift, her pupils narrowing into thin slits as they turn to him in pure frustration, her fangs bared as she opens her mouth to question him. He hardly gives her the time, carefully toppling them over to where she lays on her back, jarred from the sudden movement.

He wants to see.

He wants to see what she looks like coming undone. To see what the face of someone usually so quiet and reserved looks like as she absolutely gives herself over to pleasure. He’s loathe to deny himself any longer as well, the need to bury himself within her tearing him apart, to mark, to claim...

His control is but mere threads now, his hands parting her thighs so that he may settle between them. He’s suddenly far too hot, there’s not nearly enough skin against skin for his tastes. Shrugging out of his shirt, he tosses it carelessly to the side, basking in the sun warming his milky skin. His clawed hands reach for her shirt, impatiently pushing it upwards, pulling her brassiere down in one motion. Any foul words she had for him are forgotten as he takes her breasts in hand, feeling their weight, their softness. A’yana is back to mewling like a kitten, practically purring beneath his hands. He doesn’t think he’ll ever see her the same way again.

Sliding his hands downwards, he forces her boots down a little further, gripping her thighs in his hands as he pulls her closer still. He can hear himself panting, his body wound tight in anticipation as he finally takes himself in hand and slides against her opening. He moans long and low as the heat of her slicks his shaft, her juices coating him easily, letting him know how ready she is for him. “Flor,” she whines, reaching for his shoulders, pulling him down to her. “Inside,” she begs, arching her hips upward, fraying the fine threads of his control even further.

Done with waiting, he pushes in the head, a low groan rising up from his throat alongside her moan, allowing his hips to continue to press forward. Ilm by ilm does he feed himself into her, his cock hypersensitive in response to her scent, until he’s fully sheathed inside. A’yana’s hands wrap around his shoulders to clutch him to her, her full lips pressing soft kisses against his neck as she adjusts to his girth. He slowly pulls out, the tug feeling mind-numblingly good, his arms weak from the shots of pleasure racing up his spine.

He continues slowly for a moment, pushing himself up enough so that he can look at where they’re joined, watch how readily she accepts him, how her essence coats his length. The eroticism of it all threatens to undo him, a low rumble rolling through his chest as he sets a slow pace. “You feel...really good A’yana,” he manages to get out, turning to face her once more as she stares back up at him, a hand coming to cover her mouth in a moment of embarrassment.

Shifting his weight he takes her wrist in hand to pull it from her face, holding it tightly as she tries to struggle against him. “I want to hear you, A’yana.” he implores, but still she shakes her head, trying to wrench her wrist from his grasp. “It’s embarrassing,” she whimpers, her voice an absolute wreck. Where did this sudden shyness come from, where was the woman who had seemed so determined to get what she wanted?

Her other hand tries to cover her face but he grabs that too, pausing his thrusts to pin them on either side of her head. Her brows furrow in anger at him at his use of force but that quickly fades as he begins to thrust again, choosing a faster pace. “Flor, please,” She begs, but he only shakes his head, locking eyes with her.

“I said I want to hear you.” His voice is ragged, his tongue swiping over his lips as he takes in all of her. Leaning down, he takes her ear between his teeth and nibbles, the resulting cry coming from her loud and desperate, her body seizing around him. Her body grips him tight and he’s just barely able to stop himself from falling off that edge with her, quickly leaning back and shifting to twine their hands together to watch as ecstasy overtakes her.

Her mouth hangs open, the heels of her feet digging into his lower back almost painfully. He can feel her claws have broken skin but just barely, already able to feel the twinge of her marks upon him. She keeps whimpering his name in a way that’s almost pleading, as if to save her from the bliss he had put her through. He can’t help but smile affectionately, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to her temple. “Was that so bad?” he teases, earning nothing but a light whimper of protest from the Miqo’te beneath him.

Her bottom lip pokes out in a pout, her hands sliding to run across his chest, feeling the muscle beneath her fingertips. She runs her thumbs across his nipples, earning a light grunt from him, a twitch from his cock. His hips seem to move of their own accord, pulling out before thrusting back inside. “Not satisfied yet?” he growls, moving his hands to grip at her hips, aiding him in bringing her down harder onto him. She’s whimpering with each thrust, until she finally lets loose her moans, arching her back as pleasure takes over.

“H-Harder,”

His ears perk up, unsure if he heard her speak. Meeting her eyes, she still has that shy look, as if ashamed of her request. “Fuck me harder please,” she asks, gripping tight to his arms. Smirking, he pauses his thrusts, enjoying her growling. Using his strength he untangles her legs from around his hips, hooking them on his arms and pressing closer against her. He can feel himself reach deeper, his next words soft as he utters them. “All right. Harder.”

He starts off slow, steadily picking up speed. Eventually he reaches a brutal pace, fucking deeply into her wet cave. She’s practically wailing now, his hands releasing her knees to plant themselves on the ground, putting all his force into his hips. The sound of skin against skin is absolutely lewd, sounding loud in his ears even though they are still out in the open. He can no longer hold his own moans back, joining her in their shared pleasure. His claws dig into the ground below, resisting the urge to claim, claim, claim, to mark, to breed--

A Tia he may be, but the urge is still there. His head is thrown back, teeth clenched as he pounds into A’yana’s needy core, his head swimming in pure bliss as he pushes himself closer and closer to orgasm. “A’yana,” he moans, not resisting when she pulls him down for a kiss. Their tongues dance together just as their bodies do, A’yana giving a playful bite to his lip that makes him fuck impossibly harder.

He’s so close, he can feel it. “A’yana,” he moans once more, hissing as her claws drag down his back. “Come in me,” A’yana pleads, weakening his will to deny her. Had she done anything to make sure she wouldn’t become with child? Should he stop?

Any say he had in the matter was taken from him as her hands found his tail and stroked at the base, making him come with a strangled shout. “Ah, fuck,” he growls, giving a last few thrusts as he can feel the knot begin to form. With shaky hands he reaches for her clit, rubbing in circles as his lips find hers again, kissing fiercely until she finally comes, crying out his name into the crisp air. She’s boneless against him, moaning quietly as his body follows its course, shooting his seed inside her. He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, groaning as the knot shows no sign of going away anytime soon.

Pulling himself from her hold, he sits up, staring at the sky. The sun had moved a bit more than he had thought... “A’yana.” he breathes, giving her a slight nudge. “A’yana.” He repeats, raising an eyebrow as a smile breaks out on her face.

“Thank you, Flor.” She sighs, finally opening her crystal blue eyes to meet his own. She seems entirely too pleased, the look of satisfaction doing nothing but bolstering his ego. “I’m sorry for being so careless.” She laughs, as if he is not buried inside her, filling her with his cum. Her smile is warm and welcoming, easing his doubts.

“So you really had no...” he drifts off, chuckling as she suddenly averts her eyes.

“No. It had snuck up on me...” She grumbles, finally looking at him again. “I’m sorry for putting you in such a position.” Shaking his head he offers her a small smile. “It’s all right. I can’t deny I had been a little curious...” he murmurs, eyes drifting across her form. She looks thoroughly debauched, not the neat, unassuming friend he knew.

“If that’s the case...” she whispers, face tinting red slightly. “Would you mind sticking around for the next few days?” she asks, her hands covering her face.

“Don’t get all shy on me now A’yana.” he growls playfully, giving her waist a gentle squeeze. “I’m no Nunh, but I think I’m up to the challenge.” He purrs, watching as her eyes fill with lust. “I’m always willing to help a friend in need-” his sentence is cut off by A’yana yanking him down for a kiss, wrapping her legs around his hips as his seed spills out of her. “A’yana we’re a mess,” he groans, even as he feels himself responding to her attentions. He’s hoping he can at least have some time to let others know that he’ll be busy for a few days...but that thought is pushed from his mind as A’yana grabs his attention, running her tongue across his skin. With a moan, he gives in, even as the sun falls lower and lower on the horizon.

---

A’yana is fast asleep in her bed, surrounded by her recent surplus of plushies. He’d given her his shirt to keep her asleep, finally able to wrench himself free of her demands after several hours. It wasn’t his first time dealing with a Miqo’te in heat, but it certainly didn’t make the demands on his body any easier, no matter how good it felt. And it was only the first day after he had managed to calm her enough to get her home...

Closing the door gently behind him he strolls through the mansion to step outside for some fresh air, basking in the sun’s warm glow. The chiming of the nearby mooglebox grabs his attention, running through his head at who could’ve possibly sent him a letter.

Opening it, he quickly tears through the letter inside, immediately groaning at the handwriting he recognized.

Dear Florentel,

If you’re reading this, I presume you’re quite busy keeping A’yana happy. I’ve made sure to let anyone important know that you’re otherwise occupied for a few days. You two have fun!

Love,

Nielle

Dragging his hand down his face he crumples the paper up. He supposes he should thank them...

But for now, it seems best to recharge. A’yana at least has excellent taste in plushies, and he’s been told he cuddles well. Stepping back inside, he smiles at her still sleeping form, climbing into bed beside her. It’s a bit crowded, but he doesn’t mind the closeness as he allows his eyes to fall closed and sleep to claim him.

#my writings #FFXIV #ff14 #Smut #Final Fantasy XIV

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blog-sliverofjade · 4 years

Text

Omega Protocol 23: Bite Me

Summary: In the mid-21st century, the elite decided to cement society’s strata into our DNA, creating a genetic caste system. One of the early Omegas is cryogenically frozen and forgotten. Revived nearly two centuries later, she has no idea what she has become and has to navigate a strange new world while surrounded by Alphas, whatever those are.

Leading the military arm of his people in exile on a dangerous planet is no easy feat for Captain Niklaus Reed. He has to build and secure a settlement against megafauna straight out of the Ice Age before families start arriving on the distant planet. When an Omega is found in an old research base, things become… complicated.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 24

Word Count: 2172

Credit to @pandabearer for beta reading!

Waking up to yet another bland room and ensconced in a bed that quietly registered her vitals made Emma want to scream, but the pounding in her head made her reconsider that urge. Easing to a sitting position woke other pains in other places. She winced, hissed, and grunted with each shift until she managed to swing her legs over the edge. Geez, and she’d thought she was sore after getting knotted through her heat. That was nothing compared to this.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” she muttered with a rueful pat to the mattress. The bed must have tattled on her because a knock came at the door a minute later. “Unless you’re Dr. Nguyen or Mihaela, go away.” The door swung open to reveal Captain Reed. Since there’d be no getting rid of him, she sighed and waved him in.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he frowned. She suppressed a shiver. Since when was she afraid of disappointing him? She must have hit her head harder than she thought.

“To my own room,” she replied. As inappropriate as it was, he wanted to kiss those primly pursed lips. He could have fallen to his knees in gratitude that she hadn’t lost the spark of temper whenever he’d overstepped his bounds as she saw them.

“You have a concussion.” He could hear the edge of a growl to his voice, but she barely batted an eye. “Do I need to sit on you to make sure you stay in bed, like you did to me?”

“I did not sit on you!” Her protest died as his grin grew. “But that explains the headache.” Grimacing, she squirmed to lay back down. Her features were too pale and drawn for his comfort. He’d crossed the room before he knew it and had to stop himself from touching her at the last minute. Fists held uselessly at his side, he couldn’t force himself to turn away from her. “Ok, fine, please help me before you have an aneurysm or something.”

Slipping one arm behind her shoulders and another under her knees, he picked her small form up and laid her back down a bit higher on the bed. She stiffened with a sharp inhalation and dug her fingers into his shoulders, mouth pressed into a thin, white line. By the furrowing of her brow, he presumed she was hurting rather than afraid of his touch, yet he didn’t linger more than he had to. If he wasn’t so focused on being gentle, he would have noticed the delicate sniff she gave his shoulder as he withdrew. He hooked a foot around the chair in the corner and dragged it behind him while she fiddled with the bed controls until she was comfortable.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he observed once she settled back with a contented sigh that was music to his ears.

“Should I be?” she quirked a brow.

“After… You were after. Afraid, that is.” The memory of her dark eyes wide in terror still speared through him like a lance. Now they were focused on the ridiculous pink camouflage blanket pushed to the footboard. He took the bundle of fabric and unfurled it to drape over her legs before retaking his seat.

“You were scary then,” she confessed in a tiny voice, still unable to look at him. “You were… you smelled kinda like him.” With a heavy sigh, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, wracking his brain to come up with the words to explain.

“I was feral,” he began, studying palms that a short time ago were covered in blood. “When we or someone close to us is in danger we go a little berserk in their defense. I was… I was worried about you.” For someone who was a member of the Council, negotiating the terms of exile, and accustomed to commanding people he found it ridiculous he was tongue-tied.

“Is it only Alphas?”

“Any dynamic,” he shook his head. “Although we are more susceptible to it than others.” She gnawed on her bottom lip until it was pink and swollen. He ran his hands over his face to shake thoughts from his mind that he had no business thinking.

“I didn’t know there were other people here,” she said to finally break the silence. “On the planet.”

“You weren’t the only person experimented on here,” he began. Waiting for him to collect his thoughts, the Omega reached for the water on the side table. He nudged it closer so she didn’t have to move as far. “The early Alphas and Betas weren’t easily controlled.” She snorted at the idea of trying to control the Captain, or Barbie, or Chimi, or anyone she knew in the here and now. “They were stronger than the scientists, and more of them, almost all of them permanently feral. Before long they killed their creators and had the run of the planet to themselves.”

“I guess I should be grateful that they didn’t find me back then,” she murmured, eyes a little too glassy. “Otherwise this might have happened sooner.”

“This shouldn’t have happened at all.” A crack punctuated his snarl. He followed her startled gaze to the piece of broken armrest in his hand. Scowling, he tossed it into the corner. “What were you doing out there, anyway?”

“I’m s-sorry,” she whispered, hunching in on herself. “I was too afraid of losing even one of the chickens.” The one flock was all they had. They couldn’t afford to lose a good layer. His silent glowering was worse than any yelling he could have done. To her shame, she trembled uncontrollably, still unable to look up from her fists tangled in the sheets.

“And what if we lost you? Over one chicken?” he asked softly. She recoiled as if he’d struck her.

“Technically, I’ve lived for far longer than I should have,” she mumbled, plucking idly at the soft blanket. It was Barbie’s, which, last she saw, was in her room. It still carried that smell of home, such as it was. “Besides, I’m a liability and a drain on resources.” A growl like the one he used at the nomads’ camp erupted from his chest. Before she knew what she was doing, she tilted her bowed head to the side, exposing the line of her neck. Niklaus moved so quickly all she saw was a blur at the corner of her eye, then felt a bruising, tearing pain before everything went black.

What had he done? No one knew if she could be Claimed, being the first of them. The instincts didn’t develop until the second generation, there was no precedence for bonding with one of the originals. What if she couldn’t and there were problems?

“What-?” Dr. Nguyen rushed in, summoned by the noise, and stopped when she saw the bite. If she wanted to harangue him for his rashness, she put it aside for the little female. After an agonizing eternity, the doctor had results from the bed sensors.

“Well?” he barked.

“Does she know what you did?” she snapped back.

“Is she ok?”

“Answer my question, Captain.” She spat his title derisively, hands on her slim hips. “Did she agree to this?”

“No.” His molars ground painfully with his need to shake her until answers spilled out. He would accept any censure as long as she would be fine. The Beta’s right hook caught him by surprise.

“After all that she’s been through, you…” she hissed, words failing her in her anger, and shoved him out of the room while he was still recovering from the shock of being attacked by the normally mild-mannered doctor. No matter how deserved it was.

“You can’t keep me from her.” Only Emma’s need for Nguyen’s care kept him from fighting back.

“Oh, but I can.” She folded her arms and spread her feet as if she’d be any kind of barrier between him and the door. The protective rage pouring off her would have done credit to any Alpha. “Mihaela, please grab an Alpha grade sedative. Don’t worry about needle gauge, I doubt the good captain will cooperate anyway.” She activated her comm wristband. “Lieutenant Triggs, I recommend that Captain Reed be relieved of duty due to mental instability.” She paused as she listened to his response. “Come to med bay and see for yourself. I suggest that you bring a couple of your people to make sure he cooperates.”

The throbbing ache at the juncture of her neck is what woke her. She didn’t recall getting injured there. There was a strange tension at the edges of her awareness. It sharpened, feeding into her own. The voices arguing in the distance wasn’t helping her calm down any. The monitors barely started to beep a warning over her agitated state when Nguyen came bustling in.

“You need to calm down,” the doctor crooned.

“You do realize that telling someone to calm down doesn’t work, right?” she asked with a cocked brow. Nguyen ignored the snarky response as she turned off the alarm and studied the readings. “What happened here?” she asked, gesturing to the thin skin bandage on her neck.

“You were bitten.” Her blithe tone sent the fine hairs on Emma’s neck to prickling. She froze. Bitten? That didn’t match up her with recollections of the assault. Sure, memories could get fuzzy while protecting the psyche, but she was fairly confident that it wasn’t from the nomads. Wincing at the pull of the wound and the pain between her legs, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. The doctor moved to stop her.

“Let me up. I’ve spent enough time in hospital beds to last a couple of lifetimes,” she glared up at the Beta. With a sigh, Nguyen helped her to stand. “Now, is this what I think it is?” She pointed to the mark.

“It is,” she nodded with as much grace and solemnity as Emma had seen when she was given the diagnosis.

“Is there any way to break it?” She knew she was rapidly approaching hysteria, but couldn’t bring herself to care. The squirming knot in her chest wasn’t easing up, which wasn’t helping any. Rubbing at it with the heel of her palm wasn’t making it loosen. She was pretty sure she’d only succeeded in bruising her breastbone, but she couldn’t stop, wanting to carve the odd sensation out of her like a parasite.

“Emma…” Nguyen began soothingly.

“Answer me!” The doctor wet her lips and sighed, shaking her head. Continuing to dig at her chest, the Omega began pacing the small room, her quickening steps mirroring the manic spiral of her thoughts. I’m trapped. I was finally starting my life. Free of illness. Got a job. Making friends. Real choices. He ripped that away from me because he thought I couldn’t function as an independent adult. Because of what they did to me. It’s all been taken from me again!

A slender hand gently tugged her wrist away from her breast. Startled, she looked down to find her own smeared with crimson. Nguyen said something, but she couldn’t hear over the pounding of her own heartbeat and ragged breathing. The older woman was leading her towards a hospital bed. No, she didn’t want to go back. She was better.

Shivers wracked her body and she sank down to the floor, ignoring the twinges in her backside. Dropping her forehead against her drawn up knees, she tried to breathe through the impending panic attack. Thoughts buzzed in her mind like the inhabitants of an upended wasp nest. Society might have drastically changed during her extended snooze, but she was pretty sure both parties still were supposed to consent. A curiously soothing sensation bloomed between her breasts as if in response.

The foreign feeling had the opposite effect. Anxiety shot through Emma like poison. The doctor was speaking to her, but a curious droning filled her ears, drowning out all sounds. She jumped to her feet and dashed for the exit, all physical discomfort forgotten in her terror. Throwing the door wide open, the hall was thick with people who turned to stare at her in surprise. Cold sweat trickled along the hairline of her temples and slithered down the small of her back. Footsteps from behind spooked her into jackrabbiting again, leaping to her right. As if someone had pressed play on a paused movie, motion erupted in the corridor. Bodies roiled and she ducked and dodged, diving through at least one pair of legs.

Flesh covered coils of steel wrapped around her from behind and lifted. She threw her head back, but dazed herself against a chin instead of a nose. Her bare feet collided with at least one set of genitals and a face before they were pinned. A sting in her arm brought ice seeping into her blood. Her last coherent thought was, I don’t want to wake up different again.

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years

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CSUAPR PRT 2 DRAFT... its already just under 6k. shoulder i cut it here then save the real nazty stuff for the next chapter?

Keith was tired. The kind of bone numbing tired that came from having to supply additional cover during the mission they'd arrived back on Daibazaal from the previous night. Having slept the last several vargas away, the half-Galra knew he should be feeling somewhat refreshed, yet falling asleep had been more like chore. His mind wouldn't let rest, leaving him tossing and turning until his body finally gave up and decided that his mind was filled with crap. Which it was. He missed Lance like crazy, not being able to talk to him was wearing thin on his emotions. Lance understood that there were certain missions that needed to be conducted in complete radio silence. He was able to have his comms on in his ship, the cloaking device scrambling incoming and outgoing signals to the ship so the person on the other end of the line couldn't be traced, but the fact there was that signal in existence in an area was enough to tip off most people that something didn't quite add up. With Lance's mental health practically a roller coaster, and with his line of work more dangerous than most people's, Krolia had granted Keith special permission that in extreme circumstances he was allowed to pick up a call from Lance at his discretion. Not wanting to cause a scene, or risk compromising a mission, his husband hadn't once made use of his special privilege. When Keith had tried to call him, as he laid in his overly large and empty bed, his call hadn't been accepted. He'd hoped for at least a message from his husband, but it seemed like he'd disturbed Kosmo off his feet for nothing as both his comms were notification free. Well, not completely free. His mother had sent a message teasing him for sleeping so long, and Acxa had sent one teasing him over not having gone straight home to Lance. He'd wanted to. Every single piece of him wanted to curled around his husband, enjoying his warmth and the feel of Lance's soft skin against his own. Marvelling over the mystery of how Lance was still his despite him forever being at work, then their schedules clashing... He wouldn't be surprised if he his husband wanted to dump him for how often he was called in, and how long his missions were. Keith knew it hurt Lance to be apart for so long, yet his husband bit his lip and held his head high. But now he needed to debrief his mother over why the whole mission had gone to quiznak, and why their cover had been blown by recruits who's job was to observe, not directly participate. He also needed to check in with the rest of the team to make sure those who needed medical treatment had received it... Quiznak... that sounded like far too much work...

Allowing himself to pull the blankets up over his head, and ignore the world for a little longer. Keith barely had a few doboshes of peace before his secondary comms were ringing. He hadn't been sure when Lance had given him a comms device connected to the bounty hunter network. He wasn't sure he wanted to know when Lance was throwing himself into danger until after the fact, when his husband was home safe and sound. He still regretted that he hadn't been there when Lance had been hospitalised. Daehra had politely explained it all to him, but anyone in love knows that when you hear the words "medically induced coma", your first instinct is to be there by their side. No matter how contagious they were. Besides, Coran had got to go. Lance hadn't thrown him out the room... Yes... he was slightly bitter about it still. He wanted Lance to rely on him. To talk to him. No matter what he was thinking or feeling. Sticking his hand out from under the blankets, he felt around for him comms. Kosmo thinking it was an invitation for him to climb under the blankets and make a nuisance. By the time he got Kosmo settled, he'd missed the call. His wolf licking at his hands as he they lay back to chest. Lance was much less trouble to cuddle like this. Plus, it led to early morning kisses and nuzzles, then Lance would turn in his arms, kisses deepening, Keith sliding up and between his husband's leg... Fuck... he should have just gone home.

Seeing Daehra had called, Keith battled Kosmo to sit up. Daehra would keep him updated on Lance, and on things that she felt Keith should know about. Like when something triggered a change in his husband, or who Lance didn't like in the bar... The sorts of things Lance wouldn't admit to him because he'd think them trivial. It was hardly trivial when more than one bounty hunter had asked Daehra to put a good word in with Lance. Returning the call, Daehra scowled through the screen at him

"Why did you not answer? I only just called you"

"Nice to see you too, Daehra. I'm sorry, I just woke up. What's going on?"

"We require you come home immediately"

"Uh... Dae, you're going to need to make sense. I came back from a mission last night"

"Lance is soon to start his heat cycle. He was hospitalised during the time his last one was supposed to come, and he'd acting completely irrational about this one. He says he doesn't wish to burden you, but he's locked himself up in his room"

Pinching the bridge of his nose Keith closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly before opening them again. He had no idea it was supposed to come so soon. He barely had two quintants off before there was a coalition meeting Krolia wanted him to attend

"I take it you tried reasoning with him?"

"A customer told him he smelt like a "ripe whore". Normally he ignores comments like that, but he barely made it out to the storage room before throwing up. No one's allowed in your room, he can't stomach smells at the moment, or touched. I'm sorry I missed most of his symptoms. He's been acting strange lately, I guess this would be why"

"He didn't say anything to me about... anything"

"Keith, you know he wishes not to worry you. You know he would never ask you to put him before your job, no matter how depressed he is. From the emotions I feel coming from him, his heat cycle should be starting rather soon"

That little shit. He knew Lance wasn't telling him everything. He'd asked him over and over if he was coping with his workload. If he needed help, or needed Krolia or Shiro to send out a team to assist, but Lance had brushed it off with "it's hard and there's a lot to do, but it feels good to be working towards something". What a load of shit. Sure, it'd be hard to get time off and it'd involve some major rearranging of the schedules on Kolivan and Krolia's ends. But Zethrid, Ezor and Acxa were all perfectly capable leaders. They'd be able to take his spot with ease...

"Keith. I can feel your anger from here. He is working very hard. He still talks to his therapist. He's finished his injections. He barely drinks as much as he used to. He participates in your team calls with the ex-Paladin members and contacts Miriam each Earth movement. He is trying, it's just... these last three movements he's been trying too much. I know you were unable to avoid leaving due to the emergency with the trainee members, but it feels to me like he was simply going through the motions until you arrived. He was so happy to have you home, that he hadn't mentally prepared himself for you having to leave early. Lance understands your work load, and I feel he feels that asking you to keep your promise of spending his heat with him has either been forgotten, or is at an unopportune time for you"

Why was he being lectured? It wasn't as if he'd intention set out to let Lance down. He didn't know how this heat thing worked... why couldn't Lance have more faith in him? He loved him. He adored him... He hated that he'd broken promises and missed things... They'd barely been able to do the initial shopping for their bedroom before leaving Earth, and he'd had to rush back to work

"He's my husband... he's supposed to come to me for these kinds of things..."

"You're the most precious person in existence when it comes to Lance. He only wants for you to be happy, and to be focusing on your mission so you can come home safe"

"Does he... is he in heat right now?"

"Soon..."

Lance hated his heats. He hated his body was "betraying him". He'd even said it physically hurt. Keith might have been mad at his idiot husband for not contacting him, but it was entirely possible that Lance was laying in their bed crying, torn between not wanting to burden Keith, and desperately wanting him to come home. He'd messed so much up. He couldn't mess this up for Lance, even if he didn't know what he'd be walking into, his husband desperately needed him home

"I'll be there within the varga. I'm leaving now"

Daehra's expression turned to one of relief

"Thank you! I'll meet you in front of the outpost. I'm sorry to worry you with this when you've only just woken"

"No. I want to... I want to know. I should have known he'd shy away from it"

"That doesn't matter. The pair of you are still just as bad as each other"

Keith feigned insult

"I'm not that bad"

"Tell that to Rachel"

"I'm hanging up now Dae. See you soon"

Ending the call, Keith forced himself out of bed. What Daehra had been referring to was he and Lance had bought their bed for the outpost. Having spent the day buying things for their new home and the bar part of the outpost, they'd filled the two bedrooms closest to their room on the Telula. There new bed in Keith's old room upon the ship. Exhausted from a day of shopping, Lance had thrown himself down on their new mattress, pulling Keith down on top of him where he would up elbowing his husband in the gut. Laughing as Lance whined at him, he peppered kisses to Lance lips as he tried to bring his laughter under control, his husband pushing at him, but giving up and instead wrapping his arms around him and rolling them over so Lance was straddling his lap. Somewhere between kissing Lance's stomach better, and tickling his sides, they'd wound up progressing into sex, Lance's jeans around his ankles, Keith's jeans barely pulled down mid-thigh in their rush to feel connected. Having waited until the day where the Telula was mostly open so they could load her up, Rachel had sprung her plan to "heist" Lance's ship. Appearing in the doorway just in time to catch cuddling during their post-sex high... Keith still between Lance's legs, his arse in the air... Leading to his sister-in-law screaming and running. Lance was initially mortified, starting to cry thinking that Keith was more ashamed of the compromising pose than he was. He loved Lance. He didn't feel ashamed over showing that love... maybe a little awkward because Rachel had seen his arse, but she'd seen a mostly clothed Lance, and nothing of his husband's more intimate areas. When caught by Daehra and Lucteal, demanding to know why she'd screamed, the pair had simply rolled their eyes at her. Her revenge for the situation was to cover the Telula in cloaking camo while everyone was eating lunch, which might have worked if the Telula didn't cut off the shadow of his own ship unnaturally. In the end Lance gave her a blaster to shut her up, though she really didn't deserve it. She hadn't won whatever sibling battle that it'd been. She'd only annoyed everyone by talking about them having sex, and leading to Lance banning sex for the rest of their time on Earth, which wasn't long due to him being called back for a mission. Even when they'd christened their room in the outpost, Lance was jumpy and expecting someone to walk in. Keith could have killed Rachel for upsetting his husband like she had, Lance had even been sleeping in his wardrobe like the bed was a taboo area... She'd fast become his least favourite family member.

Given that he'd be preoccupied with Lance once he reached the outpost, he couldn't take Kosmo with him. The last thing they needed was Kosmo interrupting with a wet nose to places no wet nose needed to go. Dressing casually, Keith's mind was busy with trying to figure out how to tell his mother he needed to leave immediately, not paying attention as he jogged through the halls. Jogging straight into Acxa with their two new most promising recruits Krystaal and Regetta.

Caught by Acxa, she stopped his backwards fall with a laugh. Things were going great for her and Veronica, her mood much more happy and outgoing, and her cheek had gone through the roof

"What are you doing? Krolia has been waiting for you all morning. You still have bed hair!"

"Leave him alone, Acxa. He's obviously sleep walking"

Ignoring Krystaal's jab, Keith crossed his arms. The Galra reminded him so much of Lance that it was cruel. He might look like the love child of Acxa and Lotor, with Lotor's build and Acxa's cuteness, as his mother said, it was his personality that really reminded him of his husband. His stupid recklessness to throw himself in harms way to protect someone else was just like Lance. He was a good guy, and it felt to him like he'd made a friend with no ulterior motives. He didn't suck up to him because he was Krolia's son or a past Paladin

"I have to go home. Lance needs me"

Acxa sobered

"Is he alright? He's not injured is he? Veronica is always saying he's working far too hard... He's not in hospital again is he?"

"No. It's not like that... well, it's kind of like that. He's not in a good place right now"

Keith appreciated how Acxa cared for Lance. Zethrid and Ezor had developed a soft spot for Lance too, though they were much more subtle about it...

"Will he alright? Can I do anything to help?"

Shaking his head, he realised he had no idea how exactly to explain why Lance needed him home without betraying his trust

"He'll be alright, but I need to leave right away. I don't know how long I'll be gone for"

"Of course. We'll handle things here, you go look after your husband"

"Thanks, Acxa. Oh... Let Veronica know I'm there, so Lance might not check in..."

"I know you want to reassure her, but when you're both together anything could happen"

"With Daehra there? No, seriously though, he'll be fine. He's just a bit stressed from over working himself so I need to head out. Can you watch Kosmo too?"

"Consider it done. Now go already!"

Slipping between them group, he started jogging again, throwing back over his shoulder

"I'll see you guys when I get back! Don't slack of training!"

Krolia let him go with minimal fuss, Kolivan however didn't look amused that he needed to take time off for his husband. Explaining that he didn't know when he'd come back only increased Kolivan's scowl, Krolia smacking her boyfriend upside the back of his head in a move only she'd be brave enough to try. The air around her had changed lately, Keith was wondering if she'd fallen pregnant again... He hadn't told anyone her news, and he suspected that part of the reason why they'd both kept him so busy because they were leading up to revealing their news and asking him to stay on longer... Which he didn't want, and didn't know how to say no too. She was his mother... and Lance... Lance was his whole goddamn world. It was hard enough to be with Lance as it was. A year like this... Keith wasn't sure he had the strength to keep leaving Lance behind. His heart felt like it was breaking each time he did, and he knew his husband felt the same way. The photos of them that hung in the cockpit of his ship were painful on the long trips between planets. The videos Lance sent him lulled him sleep each night, he must have watched them a hundred times by now. He knew them off by heart. He was struggling so badly with this situation that he didn't want to go back to Daibazaal. It already felt like he wasn't made for a teaching role. Being with Lance had finally taught him the value of being patient, something Shiro had never drummed into his thick scull despite his personal mantra. He found himself quick to find fault with the latest batch of recruits, despite knowing that everything they'd trained in in their whole lives had to be thrown away as they learned how to live in peace. One simply couldn't blindly strike out, or act rashly, it would compromise the mission to act in haste. Yet the instinct was still there. The instinct and culture of proving ones superiority through strength. He was tired of it. He was tired of knowing that he and Lance would perform these mission with ease. He was tired of cleaning up messes. Lance might not have thought himself worthy of being a Paladin, but at least he'd been useful from the start. Not like some of the recruits. Shaking his head, he dismisses the train of thought as his wormhole to the outpost opened. His stomach felt queasy with nervousness over what condition Lance would be when he arrived, and his heart was racing slightly over the fact that he'd be spending the next movement having sex with his lover repeatedly. As excited as he was over that, he still felt as if he was forcing himself on his husband, who'd in his right mind, was still coming to terms with sex being part of their relationship. He didn't want Lance to ever feel forced, but his heat was about to do just that.

Landing his ship next to the outpost in his designated bay, Keith nearly forgot how to human as he went to disembark. First he forgot to undo the straps to the harness, then he stumbled over his own feet once he was finally free. Berating himself for his idiocy, he bit his tongue as he missed the last step of ship's ramp. Waiting for him, Daehra was wringing her hands, rushing to him once he was few metres clear of his ship

"How is he?"

"I don't know. He's in your bedroom, but he didn't look well when he left"

Falling into step with Daehra, the pair of them headed towards the side entrance of the main building of the outpost skipping entering through the bar area

"Did it come on suddenly, or has he been feeling the effects for days?"

"He felt jittery last night, but the rest of his symptoms seemed to hit all at once while behind the bar. He said the events were too much for him to handle, even with his mask on he could smell them"

"Do you think I need to shower?"

"I do not know. I would recommend it, but your clothes are in the bedroom..."

Which meant walking around naked. Every corner of the outpost was under camera surveillance, except for the staff quarters, bedrooms and bathrooms. Instead cameras were in the halls facing towards room doors in case of any incidents. Lance didn't want to invade people's rights privacy, the footage stored in the basement of the outpost where most of it would never see the light of day

"I think I'll try talking to him first. If he hasn't showered, I'll try getting him to"

"Good. I know there's food and water in the refrigerator in your quarters. Lance mentioned only once before that he isn't able to fend for himself properly during these heats, and that he often isn't in his right mind or control of his actions. As it is only starting, you should be able to converse. If you can't, and you need something delivered, I can bring it to your door for you to collect, but I'd rather not enter Lance's room"

"That's probably for the best. I don't know how my own instincts are going to react to the situation. I've told mum I might be here a while"

"Of course you are. You simply cannot leave once it's over. He needs to step back from his workload and I'm hoping your presence here will force him to do so"

Keith frowned, holding the door open for Daehra before following her into the brightly lit hallway

"How much sleep has been getting?"

"I think he's been averaging 5 vargas a night, then an afternoon nap of a varga or two, depending on how busy the bar is. Lately he's been rearranging the storage area for trade items, but he insists on being hands on in every aspect of running the outpost from maintenance all the way through to cooking. He's been compiling a new menu that is better fitted to Tobias's skills, as well as helping to explain Earth food to the new man we took on in the kitchen. To ensure quality, he tastes almost everything"

"I know he doesn't mind cooking, but he used to leave it to your cook"

"Our cook left after being insulted. We swapped two of the housekeepers into the kitchen while Lance is looking for a new one, yet... They all fail when compared to Hunk or Miriam"

Keith rolled his eyes. Lance wanted to serve travellers a taste of home. He served mostly Earth alcohol, with special stock set aside for those he dubbed regulars

"Everyone fails when it comes to Hunk. Why don't you and Lucteal have a look at cooks? Like make a list of potential candidates, and I'll talk him into hiring someone"

"If anyone can make him see reason it is you"

"I don't know about that. He didn't even tell me about this"

"I know it's hard to handle. I can feel your emotions rolling off of you. He's been having a hard time readjusting to having his marks. So many people were commenting on it, he wears his mask in the bar now to hide them, or tries to cover them with make up. I don't think it helped either to learn that his seizures were more or less maintained by the blue medication he was previously on, and that's why the number rose after weaning himself off it it. Then there's the fact he was told he'd be feeling residual weakness for up to 6 phoebs after coming off the gold injections. Now that they've stopped, he refuses to take anything orally, even for something as minor as a headache. He's most frustrating"

"He has his moments. Has he relapsed again?"

"No. No, he said he's scared that he will if given the chance. A customer tried to pay in pills for his lodging with you know we do take. He fled the bar and refused to leave his room until their stay had passed"

Most of the pills they took nowadays only went to greasing deals or working as bait. The worst of them were destroyed so they wouldn't fall into the hands of people like Lance who were recklessly using them to cope

"He didn't tell me that"

"He was ashamed of the incident"

Continuing the small talk until they reached the wing to where Lance was hiding, things hadn't been all bad for his husband. They'd travelled to a mostly water planet where Lance had made friends with a group of orphaned children. Having no homes, he'd made it his mission to find someone to take them in. Daehra had said he'd acted like Miriam as he'd fussed over the 6 children like they were his own. He'd brought all of them new clothes, toys, food, backpacks to store their own belongings in, then found a space for them at a rebel camp because most orphanages wouldn't have been able to keep them all together. He'd also given them a comms in case of any emergencies or if they simply wanted to talk. Some had sent through photos of drawings with Lance and his team. There were other things his husband had achieved, like saving those tribes that had landed him in hospital. They'd wanted to build a shrine to him once they were able to resettle, instead Lance had made them promise to talk and trade more with each other. Just because they lived the same lifestyle and came from the same planet, didn't mean they all got along. Not everyone they'd been able to evacuate survived, yet if Lance hadn't come all of them would be dead. He knew how his husband's silly brain fixated on the bad, without requiring Daehra's little push towards reminding Lance that the work he was doing mattered.

Pausing to knock on their bedroom door, Keith let himself into their room to find Lance hidden under a pile of blankets. The scent filling the space so powerful he unconsciously took half a step back as his senses filled with it. Distress. Apprehension. Fear. Loneliness. Horniness... He could taste it on the tip of his tongue. Mentally kicking himself for stepping back, the half-Galra's legs shook as he approached the bed. His brain felt as if it was being invaded. A little voice whispering all the dirty things the could be doing to his husband as he forced himself to keep himself in check. Reaching the side of the bed, he knelt do undo his boots, his fingers clumsy and jeans far too tight as started panicking over how his body was reacting. He didn't want to hurt Lance, yet he'd barely been in the room a dobosh and all he could think about was how he needed bend Lance over and fuck him several ways to Sunday. He wasn't going to last.

Stripping his clothes with his boots, Keith climbed up and crawled across their bed, his hand landing on the curve of the lump that would be Lance's hip. Beneath the blankets, his husband whimpered

"Babe, it's Keith. Can you come out so we can talk?"

"Go away!"

"Go away" was followed by a soft sob

"I can't do that, babe. Daehra said your heat's starting. I promised I'd be here for this"

Tugging on the top of the blanket, Lance started to cry harder

"Babe, I'm not going anywhere. I'm here now..."

"Go away... please go away"

"I can't do that..."

"Please! Don't look at me!"

That piqued his interest. Pulling the blankets back, Lance had both hands between his legs, fingering and jerking himself off as he cried into his pillow. He'd thought the scent bad enough before revealing the source of it

"Don't look!"

"Babe..."

"Don't look at me! Please... please... don't look at me..."

Beneath Lance's hip and arse the light brown sheet was darkened from his wetness with each obscene squelch that Lance's fingers made. Whimpering away from him, his husband tried to curl downwards to hide away. Taking Lance by the shoulder, he forced him back onto his back. The Cuban's eyes scrunched closed tightly as he continued to cry

"Oh, baby..."

Hiccuping, Lance shook his head at him

"I can't... I'm sorry... I didn't know it was going to hit today..."

Lance had no idea how hard it was for Keith to hold back, but he wasn't an animal. He wasn't going to pounce on Lance simply because his dick was twitching with interest

"I'm sorry... I'll be good... just... stop looking at me..."

Hushing him softly, Keith stroked at Lance's hair

"Baby, you're not doing anything wrong. Let me help you?"

"I can't..."

"You can't what?"

"Can't... come... it hurts... it hurts so much..."

"I've got you... you just need to relax for me"

"I can't... you smell wrong... you don't smell like you... I can't... I can't..."

Running his free hand up Lance's thigh, Lance arched his back under his touch

"You're so tense baby. Open your eyes for me, ok? I'm here... your husband is here... come on, show my those blue eyes of yours"

Sniffling sadly, Lance did as he was asked. Watery blue eyes staring up at him as he bit his bottom lip. Running his hand back up from Lance's thigh to his cheek, Keith tugged Lance's lip free with the pad of his thumb

"See babe. It's me. You're safe now. You're in a safe place. You can relax"

"I'm sorry..."

"Shhh. This isn't your fault. I want you to come for me"

"I can't..."

"Spread your legs for me, and let your fingers slide out your arse..."

"I feel..."

"I know you're all confused right now, but I want to see you come for me and I know you can"

"It's dirty"

"It's natural..."

"I'm... a freak..."

"No, babe. Your going to come for me"

"It hurts... it's never hit so hard before... it hurts so much"

"Babe, I'm here... I need you to let yourself go. Put your legs down, and slide your fingers out"

With both arms trapped between his tightly closed legs, the position hard to hurt as Lance tried to ignore what his body wanted him to do. Inch by inch, his husband wrenched his shaking legs apart, not removing his fingers but making space to jerk himself better. The sight was glorious. Lance's leaking precum rolling down his fist into his short pubes

"That's it... your doing so good"

"I can't come..."

"Don't think about anyone else. Think about me. Do you want me to touch you?"

Nodding, Lance's already flushed face grew redder. Shifting his hand from Lance's face, he wrapped it around Lance's, controlling the pace as he thumbed at his slit. Gasping, Lance's cheeks glowed brightly as his husband came, cum splattering down his chest and stomach as his whole body finally relaxed. Drawing all he could, Keith milked Lance's erection until finally nothing more coated his fingers

"Better, babe?"

"You smell wrong..."

"I came straight from Daibazaal..."

"Your smell... is making me feel sick... feel so hot"

"I'm pretty sure that's the fever from your heat. I thought we could take a shower together"

Lance whimpered as Keith propped himself up. His lover flinching as he tried to bring his legs back up to cover himself up

"Shhh. It's ok. I'm going to pick you up and carry you into the shower"

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musicprincess655 · 5 years

Link

Youichi ripped another page from his sketchbook and threw it to the ground at his feet. The crumpled pieces of paper had gathered around him, and if Youichi wasn’t feeling so stubborn and contrary, he’d consider now a good time to stop.

Drawing was frustrating at normal speed. It shouldn’t have made a difference. After all, he could perceive things at super speeds as if they were happening in regular time, but somehow it changed everything. Youichi sometimes drew at normal speeds, just to change things up, but being forced to do so felt stifling.

Usually, drawing was an escape. It was something that was just his, and if what he wanted to escape from something to do with the team, what better place to go than somewhere they couldn’t really follow?

“Did that sketchbook do something to offend you?” Youichi turned to see Barry drop onto the porch beside him. “Need me to fight it off for you?”

“I should probably give it a rest, huh?” Youichi asked, mouth quirking up in a self-deprecating grin.

After two months in America, his English had already started to smooth out. Barry couldn’t speak Japanese all that well, and his aunt Arisa had insisted Youichi practice English if he was spending time in America.

“It’s an interesting coping mechanism, but not a bad one,” Barry said. “At least you’re only raining down destruction and mayhem on paper. I’ve seen worse methods.”

“I’ll run out of sketchbook at this rate,” Youichi said.

“So we’ll get you another one,” Barry said simply. “It’s a solvable problem.”

Unlike my speed, Youichi couldn’t help but think. Barry seemed to notice his shift in mood, and reached down to pick up one of the crumpled sketchbook pages at his feet.

“So what did this one do to offend you so badly it had to be purged?” Barry asked, holding up the sketch of the house across the street that Youichi had been attempting. “I think it looks pretty good.”

“The perspective is all wrong,” Youichi said, pointing out all the flaws he could see. “And I didn’t get the roof right at all, it slants different. And over here…”

“I can’t see any of that,” Barry admitted sheepishly.

“You don’t know much about drawing.” Youichi said it without accusation, even though it was true. Barry was a scientist, and it was how he’d come by his speed. Youichi had just been the product of an accident and a particularly fortunate lightning strike.

Or particularly unlucky, in light of recent events.

“This has always been just your thing, huh?” Barry sighed. “I understand the world through science, and your aunt has her words, and you have this.”

“Don’t have it so much right now,” Youichi said. He was pretty sure they weren’t just talking about art anymore.

“Maybe you’re just focusing in on the finer details too much,” Barry said. “If you step back, maybe it’s not so bad.”

Youichi stared hard at the drawing, glare deepening.

“I don’t think I can keep doing metaphors in English,” he said finally. Barry laughed.

“That’s fair,” he said. “Have you talked to your team at all since you left?”

Youichi looked down at his hands. It was a fair question, but not one he wanted to answer.

“Thought not,” Barry said, not unkindly. “They’re worried about you, you know. They keep calling me to ask how you’re doing. Ryou especially.”

Youichi tried to laugh at how hard Barry hit the R in Ryou’s name instead of feeling the separation between them more keenly.

Because he missed his team in a way that hurt to his core. He missed Miyuki’s shitty personality, and Sawamura’s bright, obnoxious laughter, and Jun’s shouts, and Tetsu’s terrible jokes.

And more than anything, he missed Ryou. They’d been best friends since they were young kids, practically inseparable since the day they’d met. Ever since they’d formed their own team with just the six of them, they’d been even closer.

It had been easy, falling for Ryou. From the first day, he’d captured Youichi’s attention, and as Youichi had slowly learned to translate the jabs and insults and appreciate the genuine words when they came, as they grew up together...he couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t fall hopelessly in love with Kominato Ryousuke.

And his feelings were returned. That was something Youichi was sure of. It wasn’t just the one kiss they’d shared, either, it was everything put together. It was the shared looks, the easy partnership, the quiet moments where both of them were content to just be. Youichi missed those most of all.

It had been easy to just let things develop at their own pace. After all, they should have had their entire lifetimes together. What was a few years while they figured everything out? It couldn’t feel like a waste of time, not when they were together. They’d been friends first, and they would always be best friends first, no matter what else happened.

And then the time Youichi had left had changed from decades to potentially months. Oh, he could still live a long life, but it would mean giving up what he loved doing the most. Every day, he got to wake up and do the best job in the world. Being a hero was cool, and it was all he’d ever wanted to do, and he was expected to drop all that because his body was starting to reject the lightning that flowed through it?

Surviving wasn’t living, and Youichi couldn’t be content just surviving.

“They’ll be okay without me,” Youichi finally said. “They’re all strong.”

“I’m sure they’ll survive just fine without you,” Barry said. “But it’s obvious none of them want to.”

“No place on a hero team for a speedster who can’t run, right?” Youichi asked. He could feel Barry’s eyes boring into the side of his head.

“You know, kid, when you first got your speed, I had no clue how I was gonna handle it,” Barry admitted. “And I’m not ashamed to admit that I was terrified.”

“I never noticed,” Youichi said. He’d been too starstruck, in awe of the fact that his favorite uncle and personal hero was a real superhero, and that Youichi was all of a sudden just like him.

“Well, I did at least one thing right, then,” Barry said. “You were just so young, and so different from me. I could understand all this hero stuff with science, but even when you came to the lab with me, it was pretty obvious you were just humoring me.”

Youichi shrugged. He’d never been much of a science kid. Like Barry had said earlier, it wasn’t the way he understood the world.

“You took to this better than I ever expected, considering I had no clue how to teach you,” Barry continued. “I was still learning myself. I was barely an adult, and suddenly I had this sidekick who looked at me like I hung the moon?”

“American saying,” Youichi said out of habit.

“Oh, sorry. It means…” Barry trailed off as he tried to find the words.

“I kind of get it,” Youichi said, cutting off the explanation. “You’re still my hero. All I wanted when I was a kid was to run just like you. I still want to do that.”

Barry looked at him for so long that Youichi was sure that he’d said something wrong. But Barry’s face was gentle, not angry, so maybe it was okay.

“You know, kid, you’ve spent a long time trying to run just like me,” Barry said. “Maybe it’s about time you started running like you.”

He clapped Youichi on the shoulder, getting up and heading back into the house.

“I’ll let you get back to your angry sketchbook rampage,” Barry said.

Which left Youichi alone with that thought.

Maybe it’s about time you started running like you.

What did that mean, though? Youichi had always tried to follow the theory of running from Barry, and then from Bart too. Both of them were faster than him, because they understood the physics of speed, the mechanics of running. Their brains worked with numbers and scientific principles and Youichi had spent years trying to keep up.

But Youichi wasn’t a scientist. He wasn’t a numbers guy. He didn’t see the world through hard constants like that.

Youichi worked on instincts. He saw the world through feelings, through images, through emotions. He couldn’t always describe his world, so he had to feel it out. His gut had always been good, and he’d learned to trust it even in the face of conventional logic.

Maybe it’s about time you started running like you.

So if he was supposed to run like himself, did that mean to let go of the theory? The form he’d spent so many years forcing himself into? Was he supposed to just listen to his instincts? What were they even telling him?

Youichi stood, grabbing his comm. as he left the house. He’d come to love Central City over the years, but right now, as he tried to think, the bustle and noise was only distracting.

He’d gotten familiar with the bus system, and after an hour jumping from bus to bus, he was finally outside the city. There was nothing romantic about this country. There was just a cracked asphalt road, dead grass on the sides, and a fence quickly falling into disrepair.

It was perfect.

Youichi stood perfectly still, trying to listen. What were his instincts trying to tell him? What did his gut say was the right move?

Wind swirled around him, cooling the warm sunlight that fell across his cheeks as he closed his eyes and really tried to listen. The wind hummed in his ears, and if Youichi really listened, he could almost pretend he heard a voice in it.

Run, the voice seemed to say. Run like the wind, run faster, run like you have a force of nature inside your soul. Run to the ends of the earth just because you can, run just to feel the freedom in your heart.

Youichi couldn’t help the half-hearted chuckle that fell from his lips. He couldn’t tell if he’d just imagined the voice saying everything he wanted to hear. After all, he wanted to run again, and he’d always wanted to be fast. And it was impossible that there really was a voice on the wind. That was only his imagination.

Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was wishful thinking.

Youichi opened his eyes anyway. He could see all the way to the horizon, and all he wanted to do now was see what was beyond it. And then see what was beyond that horizon, again and again and again. He loved his speed because he loved being a hero, but more than that, when he was running, when he was flying, that was when he felt truly free. There was joy to it, joy to the action itself, and that was what truly pained Youichi to lose.

It was a reckless idea. Stupid beyond belief, stupid in a way that Youichi had never been before. But he’d always been reckless. He took risks, just to see if they paid off, and even if it killed him, he’d wanted to stay in this game for just a little longer, for just one more glimpse at the summit.

Youichi set his feet for a sprint, and then he let go of all the tension in his shoulders, dropping them from the form he’d forced himself to adopt, letting his arms fall wherever they wanted, shaking out his legs until they felt just right instead of stiff.

“New message from Nightwing,” the comm. link said in his ear, and Youichi jumped. He’d almost forgotten that even if he was alone out here, he’d never really be alone in this world, not when he had his team.

Youichi tapped the comm. It wasn’t often that they left each other messages. If it was important enough to call each other on the comm., it was important enough to speak directly. But Youichi could understand the difficulty in speaking directly. He’d let go of his anger towards Ryou almost as soon as he’d left, but reaching out was something he was still trying to do.

“Hey,” Ryou’s voice said in his ear, and Youichi clenched his jaw against all the emotions inside him. But even with the lingering frustration, even with the pain...it was obvious which ones he felt the strongest. “I just wanted to say one last thing before we go out on this mission. I bet you’ve seen the Warworld thing on the news. We’re going to go take it down. I need to say this before we go, just in case. This isn’t a guilt trip, though. I’m definitely coming back. Just in case.”

Youichi snorted. That was all Ryou. Of course he’d deflect from what he really meant. Youichi chose to ignore the part where they were maybe going on a suicide mission in favor of listening to the rest of Ryou’s words.

“I’ve decided you’re right about one thing. I have really shitty timing.” Ryou laughed a little. “I had two months to tell you all of this, and I decided to wait until now. I guess I really am a coward. But I still need to say that I’m sorry, one more time, because I never said that. I never said it that way. I’m sorry for calling you replaceable, and for implying that you weren’t hero enough to defend yourself. I wanted to keep you safe at all costs, but that wasn’t right. The choice I tried to force you to accept was one that would hurt you, and I’m sorry I was selfish enough to ask you to accept it anyway.”

Ryou cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his voice was steadier.

“So that’s it. I’m sorry for everything. And when we get back, if you’re willing to hear me out, I want to say it in person. Because you deserve that. You deserve so much more than I’ve given you. You’re a better man than I am, but I can promise I’ll try. For you, I’ll try. You’re worth that. So just wait for us to get back, and I’ll give you a real apology. And I’ll tell you everything else I was too scared to say before.”

The message ended, and Youichi tried to force the lump in his throat down. There had been so much raw emotion in Ryou’s voice, and it told so much more than his words. Ryou had bared his soul to Youichi, and even if his message was unspoken, Youichi had heard it loud and clear.

Youichi tuned into the comm. link that the team would be using on the mission to the Warworld. Even if he was stuck on Earth, he could still listen, supporting them in spirit.

“We’re losing in here!” Haruichi’s was the first voice Youichi heard. “We need backup!”

“There is no backup!” Nori said, his voice edging into desperation.

“I can’t get the power core shut down!” An screamed. “Arsenal’s down!”

“I could use backup in the crystal key chamber,” Ryou said, and Youichi shivered at the fear in his voice.

“There is no backup,” Nori said again. “All other squads are pinned down.”

Youichi stopped listening, staring up at the sky while the sounds of everyone he cared about slowly losing surrounded him.

Run with the wind. Run faster.

Was this it, then? Was he really better off staying here, staying safe, listening to the deaths of the people he loved.

But was the alternative better? Was throwing all his hopes onto a vague feeling, knowing it would probably kill him, but praying that it wouldn’t, the right way to go? If this was his last run, was it worth the price he would pay for one final look at the summit?

There was no question. Youichi turned and ran.

#kuraryou #miyusawa #daiya no a #dna #my writing #dc!au #inv

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millennial-medusa · 6 years

Text

Help Me Piece It All Together, Darling

This was just supposed to be a little Jasiper drabble for my Baseball AU, but I love these two so much and it got away from me and, well...here’s 11k words of them being idiots and honestly barely any baseball. It is absolutely as cheesy as it sounds.

This is set their sophomore year, so earlier than the other fics I’ve written for this au.

Jason x Piper, rated T, read on ao3

Jason Grace might just be the death of her.

She’d thought he was attractive as soon as she’d started going to baseball games last year and spotted him from the stands. She’d thought he was gorgeous when she’d approached him at that bar a few months ago, the couple drinks in her system giving her the courage to toss her hair and tease him a little, the resulting blush across his cheeks and the electric blue of his eyes weakening her knees.

But now, sitting in the library watching him help Leo through a research paper with all the patience and kindness and—yes, she’d admit it, grace, no pun intended—of a seasoned kindergarten teacher, she was positive he was the most beautiful person she’d ever met.

And this was a problem.

It was a problem because Piper, despite being a decent flirt when she wanted to be, had absolutely zero skills in terms of getting a guy to date her. She’d had her fair share of one night stands and casual hookups, but those were easy; the kind of guys that were willing to do one night stands were willing to do them with anyone decently attractive and emotionally detached. Piper checked those boxes pretty well, minimal work required.

But Jason wasn’t one of those guys. The more time she spent with him, the more obvious it was that he was the kind of guy to hold open doors and only kiss on the third date and ask for a lady’s favor before going to fight a dragon for her hand because he was literally a knight in shining armor, and it sucked because Piper was pretty sure she was the scullery maid in that scenario. Or the evil step-sister. Or the dragon.

(Okay, she reasoned, she wasn’t that bad. She wasn’t evil. Just hopeless and delusional. One of the nameless court ladies who swooned at a glance from the knight, but was overlooked in favor of the lovely and virtuous princess he would live happily ever after with.)

So a crush on Jason was a terrible, awful, absolutely horrendous idea, but for some reason her heart didn’t get the message her brain was so desperately signaling to it with red flags and emergency flares, because it kept picking up speed with every blindingly white smile he sent her from across the table.

(What had she just been saying about swooning?)

“But I say right there what it’s about,” Leo was complaining, gesturing to his laptop screen.

“No, that’s your topic sentence for that paragraph,” Jason explained. He ran a hand through his already mussed hair.

Piper wanted to run her own hands through it, tugging on the blonde locks while her tongue explored his mouth.

“Isn’t that what a topic sentence is supposed to do?”

“Yes, but you don’t have a thesis. Or an introduction.”

“Why would I need one of those when you made me write that abstract thing that explained the whole paper anyway? I still maintain that invalidates even needing to write a paper, by the way.”

“Leo, have you ever written an essay in your life?”

Leo’s eyes darted to Piper’s, and twin smiles stretched slowly across their faces.

“Oh yeah,” Leo answered, turning back to Jason. “I’ve written tons, and they were fantastic. Totally winners.”

Piper bit back a laugh. “Honestly, Leo’s written some of the finest essays of our generation. I’m incredibly proud of my—ah, of his work,” she added.

Jason’s brow furrowed—in a non-totally adorable and distracting way, of course—as he glanced back and forth between the two of them.

“Leo,” he repeated slowly, fixing him with a stern gaze, “have you ever written an essay in your life?”

“Define ‘written.’”

“Are you serious?” Jason’s eyebrows hit his hairline, and Piper didn’t bother to hold back her laughter. “How did you get through high school? How did you get through all of last year?”

Leo grinned over at him. “Wilderness school didn’t assign too many essays, and when they did, they didn’t read them closely enough to realize the similarities in Piper’s and my writing styles.”

Jason’s eyes widened before landing on Piper. “You—you wrote his essays for him? For all of high school?”

Piper shrugged. “Like he said, there weren’t that many to write. Besides, I can knock out a three page paper in less than an hour, and Leo did lots of my math assignments to pay me back.”

“Yes, she drove a hard bargain, but every equation was worth it to not have to analyze Jane Eyre," Leo sighed.

“What can I say? The rates are high, but I provide excellent customer service.”

“Absolutely. I’d give you four stars on yelp.”

“Only four? That rhetorical analysis of Mark Antony’s speech got you a 98!”

“Sure, the quality is great, but your options are limited. You’re not writing this essay, for example.”

“You’re right, the uses of obscure elements is a little out of my scope of provided services. That’s what you get for taking chemistry.”

“What good are you comm majors if you can’t even write my essays for me?”

“You committed plagiarism for four years and got away with it?” Jason interrupted with a harsh whisper.

“Relax, Sparky, the teachers didn’t care what we did as long as we sat quietly,” Piper laughed.

“Which, naturally, we always did,” Leo added. “We’re both known for our ability to sit in silence and behave just like we should.”

Jason shook his head. “I have no idea how I ended up with the two of you for friends.”

“Aww c’mon, you know you love us,” Leo crooned.

Jason chuckled and adjusted his glasses. “You’re lucky I do. I would not risk having ‘aiding and abetting criminals’ on my record for anybody else.”

With that, the air shifted. Piper felt her stomach drop, and her eyes met Leo’s again, but this time the knowledge that passed between them was not of an inside joke. The laughter had disappeared from their expressions, and Jason noticed.

“Guys?” he asked tentatively, glancing between the two of them nervously before landing on Piper. “Is everything okay? Did I say someth—”

“So I don’t have a thesis,” Leo interrupted, “what is that, exactly?”

Jason was still studying Piper, who was avoiding his gaze. She could feel his eyes, all too perceptive, roaming over her drawn face and tensed shoulders, but she focused resolutely on the textbook in front of her.

“Your thesis statement sums up your argument and the key points you’re using to prove it,” she spoke up, her gaze trained on Leo now. “It’s like, a shortened version of the back of a book. Or a highlights reel. Or a movie trailer.”

Leo looked back at her blankly. “So…another thing that sums up the whole paper. Why do I have to write the whole paper if I can prove it in one sentence?”

Piper rolled her eyes, but, to his credit, Jason managed a small smile. “It doesn’t prove your claim, it just gives a little preview of how you’re going to prove it. It gives the reader an idea of what to expect,” he explained, far more patiently than Piper ever could have. She was good with words, but even Leo exceeded her patience at times like these.

Jason was just so good. Piper couldn’t think of anybody deserving of him, especially not herself.

Her heart ached.

Over the past three months, Jason had fit seamlessly into Leo and Piper’s lives, clicking instantly. She and Jason were easy friends in their own right, getting pizza together or hanging out in the apartment when Leo was out. Of course, she’d befriended Percy, Annabeth, and many of the other team members and their assorted friends in the same amount of time, but her connection to Jason was just…different, somehow. And not just because she was perilously close to falling in love with him already.

Leo would always be Piper’s best friend—they’d been through so much together that losing him wasn’t even a possibility to Piper, they were stuck with each other for life—but Jason, even after only three months, was already a close second. After their initial meeting of tipsy flirting, they’d bonded quickly over their shared love of baseball and Disney movies.

So now Piper knew just how kind and genuine of a person he really was. She also knew how much of a disaster she was, and how much he didn’t deserve to have to put up with that.

So she suffered in silence, hoping her little crush would go away painlessly and soon. The way her stomach flipped when Jason glanced over at her again, his eyes still slightly apprehensive, seemed to insist she would not be getting an easy out.

When she tuned back into the boys’ conversation, Jason was asking Leo when the paper was due.

“Tomorrow?” he yelped at Leo’s answer. “And you waited until now to ask for my help? Leo, you have six more pages to write, we’re gonna be here all night!”

“Nice rhyme, Dr. Seuss,” Leo teased, but at the look Jason gave him, he ducked his head guiltily. “I know, honestly I didn’t think writing a dumb essay would take that long,” he mumbled. “You guys can go home if you want, it’s pretty late and finals are in a few days and I’m sure I can figure this out—”

Piper just snorted. “Not going anywhere, Valdez. We’re a team.”

“She’s right,” Jason chimed in, patting Leo lightly on the shoulder. “I meant it when I said I’d help. If we have to stay until the paper is due, then that’s what we’re gonna do.”

Leo smiled at both of them, and they went back to work.

—

Three hours later, Piper felt her eyelids drooping. It was only 10 PM, but she'd had gotten up early and worked all day, so she could already tell staying up with Leo was gonna be rough. The boys, she noted, were looking a little frazzled too, so she stood and told them she was going on a coffee run.

Jason frowned. “It’s late, Pipes, are you sure you should be walking across campus alone?”

Warmth spread through her at his concern, but she shrugged it off and her jacket on. “I’m a tough girl, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Jason opened his mouth to protest, but Leo cut him off. “Just go with her, Jason, I need some time alone anyway.”

Piper nodded at Jason’s questioning glance, but she glared daggers at Leo when Jason turned to grab his coat. Leo just gave her a shit eating grin; he’d picked up on Piper’s crush early on and frequently found excuses to leave them alone together.

A few moments later, Piper and Jason were walking out into a wall of freezing December air that had Piper tugging her coat around her and wishing she could cuddle up to Jason. Strictly to conserve heat, naturally.

They chatted easily as they walked to a small coffee shop about five minutes away, the only one on campus open 24 hours.

“Are your finals bad?” Jason asked, his words a puff of steam in the frigid air.

Piper shook her head and buried her hands deeper in her pockets. “Nah. My media law final is the only one I’m really worried about, but I think I’ll do okay. What about yours? Is that political theory stuff still giving you trouble?”

“I’ve been studying for it, so I think I’ll be okay,” he shrugged.

“I wish I had the self discipline to already be studying for finals,” Piper grumbled. “I can’t get myself to study before the last minute.”

Jason laughed at her sullen expression. “You just need the right motivation, like a reward or a study buddy.”

“You offering?” She caught his eye and smirked; Jason blushed a pretty shade of pink that spread down his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his peacoat. Piper found herself wishing she could see just how far down that blush travelled.

“Yeah—I mean, if you wanted,” Jason stammered, looking hurriedly away from her.

Piper cringed inwardly; she hadn’t meant to embarrass or pressure him. But she had to admit, having someone to make her study would be helpful—Leo was no help at all and Annabeth had her hands full with Percy—and she couldn’t bring herself to say no to spending time with Jason, even if she should for her own sake.

“I’d like that,” she found herself saying, and his resulting smile was so bright she forgot all about the awkwardness of the previous moment. His teeth were so perfect and straight, he could’ve done toothpaste commercials, she noted. And his lips—well, Piper had spent plenty of time thinking about them already; they were a little thin and a little chapped, but they were so frequently pulled into a smile and looked so inviting she knew she wouldn’t mind the roughness if they were working with her own. She wanted to bite the scar on his upper lip—where had it come from? She’d have to ask him sometime.

Her eyes traveled upward then, following the gentle slope of his nose to his bright blue eyes. Piper usually preferred brown, like her own, but Jason’s were so genuinely captivating, fringed with long, blonde lashes, that she longed to drown herself in them.

That thought snapped her out of her haze: she wasn’t this much of a fucking sap, and she couldn’t afford to be thinking things that sounded like they were written by a lovesick thirteen year old. She couldn’t take her eyes off his, though, and she noted the way they dropped to her mouth as her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

He was looking at her mouth. And his eyes were different somehow—darker? Or maybe that was just the shadowy lighting, but either way he was definitely staring at her mouth and either he was going to stop and kiss her or she had something stuck in her teeth. She really hoped it was the former, because they’d gotten so close their arms were touching as they walked and his eyes were flitting up to her own and back down again, and Piper prayed, oh she prayed that she was right because she was leaning forward now so there was no going back and—

Unfortunately, staring prolongedly at a boy who probably wasn’t even into her meant that Piper didn’t notice the patch of ice she was walking towards.

She shrieked as her feet slid out from under her, the dark pavement suddenly racing towards her. She braced for impact, but instead of freezing concrete to the nose, she felt a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist and hauling her back to her feet.

Before she could fully process what was happening she found herself pressed entirely up against Jason’s front, his arms securely around her waist and his wide eyes blinking down at her from behind his glasses. Her hands settled on his chest as they stared at each other, and then slid down to grip his forearms. Neither his hands nor his gaze shifted.

Piper swallowed hard before noting just how nice his arms felt, even through his coat. All those workouts and baseball practices had really paid off.

Jason’s cheeks were stained crimson again—he blushed a lot, and Piper adored it—but he started laughing.

“Yeah, uh, I guess they have,” he said. Suddenly his eyes went wide. “Not—not that you’re heavy, or anything. Because you aren’t. I mean, you’re like, average weight I assume? For a girl your height? I don’t really know, I haven’t caught very many people—”

Piper was mortified her comment had been spoken aloud, but thankfully Jason’s own stammering had shifted the focus off of her.

“What?” she asked, cutting him off with a raised eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you don’t regularly swoop in and catch people? And here I thought you were some kind of blonde Superman. It’s kind of a let down that you don’t save the day all the time.”

Jason grinned, a little sheepishly, but without most of the previous nervousness. “Haven’t noticed too many people falling.”

Piper’s heart hammered in her chest, and surely he could feel it with the way they were still pressed together. Then you must be blind, she wanted to say.

Instead, she stepped back, letting his arms fall away from her. She instantly felt the chill seep into her as though she weren’t even wearing a coat.

“Guess it’s just me, then,” she quipped, tossing him a smile as they headed toward the coffee shop again. They were nearly there. “Figures, I’m pretty clumsy.”

A small smile appeared on Jason’s face at that. Piper saw him attempt to subtlety lengthen his strides—attempt being the key word, because it wasn’t subtle at all—and reached the door first, just in time to open it for her, ever the perfect gentleman. “Hey, every princess needs a little saving now and then,” he said.

This time, Piper was the one blushing.

—

Piper McLean was going to be the death of him, he was sure of it.

Jason had never been great with girls. He knew there had been girls who’d liked him in the past, definitely more than a few who’d flirted with him, but he never had much interest. The only relationship he’d ever had was with Reyna in high school, and that had been short lived; Jason cared about her deeply but not romantically, and Reyna…well. Reyna had ended up dating his older sister.

Where was he going with that? Oh, he was bad with girls. Right.

So when he’d seen Piper across that bar in September, he’d nearly panicked. She was gorgeous, looking him up and down with eyes that were shifting color, and she seemed to approve of what she saw, but Jason couldn’t flirt to save his life when he was sober, let alone several drinks in. Luckily she’d been about as drunk as he had, so she hadn’t minded his inability to keep up with her.

Since that night, Jason couldn’t get her out of his head. She was beautiful and brilliant and funny, and they just matched. The more time he spent with her, the harder he fell, and he knew it would end badly because she was clearly out of his league—but that didn’t stop him.

Being around her and knowing she would never be interested in him was torture, but if it meant he could make her laugh and watch her re-braid her hair and listen to the little songs she made up under her breath when she thought he couldn’t hear, then he’d gladly suffer every day of his life.

They’d gotten the coffee and headed back to the library after the rather embarrassing incident outside the shop (he wanted to die a little remembering how he’d basically called her heavy, and that he’d stood there and not let her go like some kind of clingy creeper. It was worth it to get to hold her like that—it just felt right—but still. And had he really called her a princess in need of saving? As if Piper needed him to save her. Piper was more like a badass queen who slew her own dragons, so Jason really had no idea what had possessed him to make that comment).

In any case, they’d made it through the rest of the night without any more awkward moments, and now, at nearly 4 AM, Leo was finishing up his paper. Jason’s eyelids had been drooping for the past hour even with the enormous amount of coffee he drank, and Piper had slumped forward and fell asleep on her arms some time ago. Leo, however, somehow managed to maintain his ridiculously high energy levels, which struck Jason as a little concerning. Did he ever sleep?

“Okay,” he was saying now, his fingers flitting frantically over the keyboard, “what if I shifted this quote down here, and I could add something up here about the chemical bonding process?”

Jason shook his head to wake himself up. It didn’t work. “Uh, yeah, if you’ve got more to say about…about uh, chemical bonding, I say go for it, man.”

He looked over at Piper. One of her arms was extended across the table in front of her, and the other was bent next to it. Her head rested on them at an angle that didn’t look comfortable to Jason, but either didn’t bother Piper or the discomfort was outweighed by her exhaustion. Her hair was a mess, thrown across her shoulders and sticking to her face. Jason’s fingers twitched on the table, wanting to brush it back.

Even when she was messy and undone and practically drooling onto her oversized flannel, Piper still made Jason’s heart skip a beat. It wasn’t that she was traditionally beautiful at all times (because that was just unrealistic), but she was her own kind of beautiful, and it was the most breathtaking kind Jason had ever seen.

He must have been staring, because Leo nudged his shoulder and shot him a knowing grin that heated Jason’s cheeks. “I’ve got this covered here, if you wanna take Piper to bed.”

Jason’s face went full red at that. “What? I-I wouldn’t—she’s, I mean that’s not really—”

And then Leo was laughing, laughing way too loudly for four in the morning. “Relax, Grace, I just meant take her back to our place. This is basically all written, but I’ll probably stay a couple more hours to finish editing and then print it and turn it in while I’m up, so I’m not gonna be able to take her back. And I don’t…I don’t like her walking alone at night, even if she says she can,” he added quietly, suddenly more serious. Jason nodded in agreement. The idea of Piper going out alone at night on a college campus made his stomach turn. He knew how a lot of guys their age could be and wouldn’t put it past them to try something, as horrible as that was.

And the thought of one of them trying something with Piper made him want to punch someone’s teeth out.

“You sure you’re okay here?” he asked. “I can stay if you need more help.”

Leo shook his head. “I’m good now. But listen…thanks. I know this isn’t your ideal Saturday night, so, um, thank you.” He kept his gaze down, fiddling with his fingers like he always did, but this time it seemed more…agitated?

Nervous, Jason realized.

He gripped Leo’s shoulder tightly until the other boy met his gaze. “Remember what Piper said about us being a team? That includes me now, and I’ve always got your back, Leo.”

A grin lit up Leo’s face, and he shoved the hand off his shoulder playfully. “Welcome to Team Valdez and the Crew, then!”

“That name needs a little work.”

“What are you talking about? It’s perfect!”

“I somehow doubt Piper signed off on it, and I may be late to the game but I know I hold some kind of veto power.”

“Fine, we can workshop it. Later. Right now you need to get the beauty queen home, because if she stays like that any longer I’m pretty sure her arm is gonna lose blood flow.”

Jason chuckled and moved to Piper, trying to gently wake her. It took a few tries—wow, she was a deep sleeper—but eventually she stirred.

“Hmm? Jason?” Her eyes blinked in the fluorescent lights of the library, and closed again.

“Yeah, Pipes, it’s me,” he reassured quietly. “Come on, let’s get your coat on.”

“Coat?”

“Yep, I’m gonna get you home.”

“Oh. ‘S cold outside.” Jason had to keep himself from laughing at her slurred words. Half awake was as good as he was going to get, he supposed, but damn, it was too adorable for him to mind.

“Yep, that’s what the coat’s for.”

“Where’s—” she yawned dramatically— “where’s m’purse?”

“On your shoulder.”

“…oh. Hmm.”

Piper’s eyes were barely open, and he honestly didn’t trust her to not walk into a wall or something, so Jason hesitantly wrapped his arm behind her waist, gripping her hip to keep her pressed to his side. She immediately nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder and sighed, and Jason’s brain sort of broke for a moment. He stared down at the top of her head, his heart pounding.

That doesn’t mean anything, he told himself. Pull it together, man. She’s basically asleep. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

So he shook his head in an attempt to clear it and started to steer her to the exit.

“Grace!”

Jason turned back a little to half face Leo. “Yeah?”

“Be careful with her. She’s more fragile than she looks.” The normal teasing lilt to his voice was there, but his eyes were serious, piercing into his own with purpose.

Jason nodded solemnly. He knew Leo meant more than just to be careful tonight, though he wasn’t sure exactly what he intended beyond that. What Jason did know is that he would never hurt Piper.

Besides, his own heart seemed much more at risk than hers.

—

Jason was living in a dorm this year and didn’t have a car, but luckily Piper and Leo’s apartment was only a short walk from campus. Plus, the longer they walked, the longer Piper was wrapped up in his arm, pressed against his side and nuzzling into him like a kitten.

By the time they reached her apartment building, the chill and the walk had woken Piper up some, and she was a bit more conscious of what was going on, but Jason noted giddily that she made no attempt to move away from him. In fact, she may have even pushed closer, but that could have been his imagination. Besides, it was probably just because it was below freezing and she wasn’t completely awake.

(He really didn’t mind.)

Finally he had to release her so she could kick off her shoes and shrug her coat off and fall into bed. He felt colder without her, and almost…hollow, like something was missing where she had been? But that was just silly. They were just friends, and he was fine with that. He had to be.

“Okay, well if you’re good I’m gonna—” he gestured towards her door, starting to leave, but her soft voice calling his name stopped him in his tracks.

“Just crash here,” she said sleepily, her eyes barely open. “It’s late.”

“Only if you don’t mind,” he said, but he was praying she would insist because it was freezing, and his dorm was on the other side of campus, and he was almost as exhausted as she was.

“‘Course not.” She yawned again, and her eyes drifted shut. “C’mere.”

Jason blinked, confused. “Um, I’ll just sleep on the couch, Pipes,” he tried to explain, but even in her mostly-asleep state she was pushy.

“Couch is lumpy and I want you to stay here,” she insisted, though her slurred words made her a little less intimidating than usual.

Still, Jason hesitated. She was so tired she was practically drunk, she could not be thinking straight. She’d probably wake up tomorrow and wonder what was wrong with him that he didn’t ignore her.

“C’mon, Sparky, I’m cold,” she pleaded, and when he glanced back at her, her eyes were open and clear. “Please?”

As Jason toed off his sneakers, draped his coat over her desk chair, set his glasses carefully aside, and crawled into bed beside her, he was cursing himself for being so weak for this woman. He knew he’d regret it tomorrow, but, well…he just couldn’t say no to her.

—

Piper woke suddenly. She sat up and glanced around blearily, trying to find what had woken her up. Her eyes landed on her clock. It was 7:28 on a Sunday morning, why the hell—

A noise came from beside her, a kind of strangled yelp, and she jumped. Jason was lying in her bed—Jason was lying in her bed, oh, God—Jason was lying in her bed—and he was shaking, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his frowning forehead. His chest was heaving, and Piper realized with a clench of her heart that he was having a nightmare.

She placed a hand on his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat beneath her fingers. Then she shook him gently, trying to wake him up.

“Jason,” she whispered, repeating it louder when he didn’t stir.

Suddenly he jolted awake, gasping, his eyes glancing about the room frantically before landing on her face and softening.

“Piper?” he croaked.

“Yeah, Jason, it’s me,” she answered softly, unthinkingly combing his hair back from his forehead. He leaned into her touch and her heart nearly stopped. What was she doing? It had been stupid of her to ask him to stay; he would’ve been fine on the couch.

He seemed to notice something was off, and he coughed awkwardly as he sat up. “I should go,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes. “I-I shouldn’t have stayed, I’m sorry, you were basically asleep, you—”

“I asked you to stay, and I meant it,” she insisted. It was the truth, even if she was kicking herself now for practically forcing herself on him. He paused and wiped the sweat from his brow. Together, they waited in silence for something Piper couldn’t name.

“What was it about?” she asked hesitantly. Her voice was small and cautious. “The dream.”

Jason’s head lifted and their eyes met, sparks lighting up Piper’s spine. Her nickname for him was more accurate than he realized.

But he hesitated, and Piper rushed to add, “If you don’t wanna talk about it that’s fine, I shouldn’t have pried, I just thought maybe—”

“My mom,” he answered quietly. “My real mom. She—well, she was an alcoholic, so Thalia and I got taken away from her when I was really little. I barely remember her, just bits of memories here and there. I was only two, so...I found out later my dad is some politician, barely even knew we existed, and his wife hated us so she made sure they didn’t have to take us. We were put into foster care, different families. Took us years to find each other again.”

His gaze hadn’t wavered from hers, and Piper could see the pain in his eyes. She hadn’t meant to make him relive something that hurt so much, she hadn’t realized.

“Jason,” she breathed, her hand finding his. He gripped it hard.

“She died,” he said, his eyes finally dropping from hers to settle on their hands. “Went sort of crazy and drank herself to death a couple years after we were taken away. I only found out years later, when Thalia told me. I never…I didn’t get to see her again.”

His hand was shaking in hers, so Piper squeezed harder. Minutes ticked by in silence, and she wasn’t sure how else to comfort him. There was nothing she could think to say to make him feel better, and it didn’t feel right to try to brush past what he’d just admitted to her. He’d opened up a huge part of himself to her.

Maybe that called for her to do the same.

“I never knew my mom,” she said finally. Jason glanced up at her earnestly, questioningly. She took a shaky breath and continued, “My dad’s a movie star and all so I guess it could be pretty much anyone, but he never talks about her and shuts down when I ask, so I gave up on trying a long time ago. He was never really around either though, with his film schedule and press stuff. He tried, for a while anyway, when I was little. He used to come home more often and take me to the beach, but I was always a difficult kid and pretty soon it was visits for a day every couple weeks when he could make the time to fly out and see me. Pretty sure he didn’t even want a kid, but he was stuck with me.”

Jason was watching her, studying her face openly, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead she focused on their entwined hands, as he had done. Her fingers played with his as she talked, and she took comfort in the fact that he let her.

“Anyway, Leo and I met in middle school and he got me through it. His mom was really sweet to me, way nicer than the nanny my dad hired to watch me most of the time. That’s around the time I…I started acting out? You know, doing stupid stuff to get my dad to pay attention to me, even if it was just to scold me or whatever. Leo was happy to help, and after his mom died and he got stuck with his awful relatives it just got worse, and we probably spent most of our time in detention. It wasn’t enough for me, though, and it kept escalating, and I—I was in a really bad place, but my sophomore year I got caught shoplifting some clothes.”

She paused to look up at him, expecting to see judgement written across his face, but she found only the same earnest expression as before.

“It was dumb, and my dad’s lawyers got me off without anything on my record somehow, but I finally got my dad’s full attention. He flew all the way home just to chew me out.” She laughed a little at the absurdity. “It was really bad, and the next week I was at wilderness school, which was like this boarding school for troubled kids out in the middle of some bumblefuck Nevada desert.”

“Shit, Piper,” Jason said, “I’m sorry.”

Piper waved him off. “Please, even the racial slurs those kids threw at me is nothing compared to what you just told me, and Leo acted up enough to end up out there with me, so it wasn’t the end of the world. I just thought I should be honest.”

Jason frowned. “You don’t owe me anything. I told you that stuff because I wanted to, Pipes. I trust you.”

“I know. I trust you too,” she answered, squeezing his hand. “So now that we’ve agreed that parents are shitty, wanna go back to sleep for a few hours?” She forced a smile and hoped he would miss the tension behind it.

He studied her a moment longer, but finally relented with a nod. Together they lay back down in Piper’s bed and drifted back into sleep.

Piper smiled to herself at the realization that they were still holding hands.

—

The second time Jason woke that morning was not to Piper’s voice calling him out of a nightmare, but to her hair in his mouth and Leo��s loud laughter, which was somewhat less pleasant.

Apparently they had shifted over the last few hours so they were no longer holding hands; rather, Piper was stretched out face down on top of him, one leg slung over his hips and her head nestled on his chest, hence the aforementioned hair in his mouth. Jason had instinctually wrapped his arms around her, and he thanked every deity he could think of that there was no morning…issue to deal with. The situation was embarrassing enough without it.

He stared down at her as she came to, blinking confusedly in the morning light before meeting his eyes. She seemed to realize where she was then and shot up, Jason’s arms jerking back immediately.

Leo laughed again from the doorway, wiping tears from his eyes. “Jason, man, I told you I didn’t mean it literally when I said take her to bed!” he was giggling, and Jason felt his face flush brightly.

He was gonna kill him.

“Leo, get out of my room before I murder you,” Piper snapped from behind her hands covering her face.

Never mind, Piper had it handled.

Leo did as she asked, but not before blowing them each a kiss and winking at Jason.

The pause that followed was tense, unsurprisingly.

“Piper,” he started, but she interrupted him.

“I’m sorry, I was asleep so obviously I didn’t really know what I was doing,” she rushed, sliding out of bed and hurrying around her room, searching the clutter until she found a hair tie to braid her hair back with as she talked. “I wouldn’t have—I mean, I shouldn’t have made you stay. Sorry.”

Jason grit his teeth. There was the rejection he’d been anticipating since last night. It hurt more than he'd expected, but it was his own fault. He'd known the risks. He should’ve just slept on the couch. He should’ve kept quiet about his mom. He should’ve stopped her, told her he wasn’t trying to pressure her into talking, into anything.

He should’ve known better.

“No, I’m sorry,” he muttered, trying to mask the hurt on his face and bending to put his shoes on. “I appreciate you letting me stay. I’m gonna head out.”

She may have nodded, or maybe she didn’t answer, or maybe she watched him go. He wasn’t sure, he walked out and didn’t look back.

—

Piper didn’t hear from him for the next several days, and kicked herself every time she checked her phone hoping to see a message from him. Of course he isn’t gonna text you, she chided, you basically told him you regretted letting him stay over right after he poured his heart out to you, and you were cuddling with him when he woke up. You’ll be lucky if he talks to you again.

So Piper went to Annabeth, the only person she’d actually told about her feelings for Jason, unsure of what exactly she was hoping for.

What she got was a frown over the carton of ice cream they were sharing.

“You’re taking all the cookie dough chunks,” Annabeth complained.

“No I’m not. Focus on the real issue here!”

“The issue of you not telling Jason how you feel? Because that’s the real issue.”

Piper rolled her eyes; they’d had this exact conversation about a million times already. “There’s no reason to ruin the friendship we’ve got because my stupid feelings got in the way.”

“You seem to think you’ve already ruined it,” Annabeth pointed out, nudging Piper’s spoon away from another chunk of cookie dough.

“It’s been three days, what am I supposed to think?”

“Maybe he got busy?” Annabeth suggested. “Maybe his phone got broken or lost, maybe he thought you didn’t want to hear from him. Have you tried texting him?”

Piper bit her lip and focused very hard on getting a decent spoonful of ice cream.

“You haven’t even tried texting him. Of course not. Piper, I thought you were good with guys!”

“I am!” she insisted. “Guys that I wanna sleep with and then never see again, or that I want to flirt with and not have to worry about their feelings. But Jason is all perfect and handsome and sweet and suddenly my brain feels like it’s been zapped by lightning.”

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “Well he probably thinks you don’t want to hear from him and is agonizing over why you haven’t texted him.”

Piper perked up a little at that. “You think so?”

“I don’t know, Percy said he was really off Monday but seems mostly fine now, just distracted. Sounds like it could have something to do with why he hasn’t said anything.”

Piper chewed on her lower lip, mulling the possibilities over. Either he was distracted by what had happened Sunday—though she hoped that wasn’t the case—or something else had happened and that was keeping him preoccupied. She just had to figure out what was bothering him, and then maybe things could go back to normal.

“So you think I should text him?”

Annabeth sighed. “Honestly? I think you should both wake up and realize you’re obviously head over heels for each other. But since neither of you is going to admit it apparently, yes, I think you should text him before it gets weird.”

Piper grinned and snagged a hunk of dough before pulling out her phone.

hey, she typed. Very eloquent. Definitely summed up the “please talk to me I’m really sorry and I miss you also I might be falling in love with you” sentiment she was going for.

But, having nothing else she could think to say, Piper pressed send and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long. Less than a minute later, her phone buzzed with an answering, Hey!! from him. Piper grinned, just as another message followed: What’s up?

“He answer?” Annabeth asked around the spoon in her mouth.

Piper nodded as her fingers flew across the keyboard. just haven’t heard from you in a few days, everything ok?

Yeah everything is fine, I’ve just been busy. he answered. Piper smiled at his perfect grammar. She’d tried to explain to him once that he didn’t need to worry about that with her, but he’d furrowed his brow and asked why she wouldn’t want the same consideration he gave to everyone else. She’d laughed at his seriousness and let the issue drop. She glanced down when her phone buzzed again. Are you still in need of a study buddy?

Only if it’s you, she shot back. It was a little risky, but she figured it was just a casual friendly remark. No hidden truths to be found anywhere.

Her anxiety mounted a little when the three dots showed up at the bottom of the screen and then disappeared. Was that the wrong thing to say? Had that sent her crashing through the thin ice she’d been standing on with him and right into hot water?

But no, his answer was simply, Tomorrow, 7 PM at the library? and she breathed a sigh of relief.

make it the coffee shop and you’ve got a deal

Sounds good. See you then.

Piper grinned giddily down at the screen. Everything was okay, and their friendship was intact.

She looked up to see Annabeth smirking at her from the other side of the couch.

“Shut up,” Piper muttered. Annabeth only shrugged and returned to the ice cream.

—

The “study date”, as Percy and Leo insisted on calling it, went smoothly, much to Jason’s relief. He’d panicked after not hearing from Piper for so long, thinking that either his storming out or the waking up cuddling incident had upset her, so getting a text from her was a huge weight off his shoulders. He focused on everything, including baseball, a little better when he was on good terms with her. It was dangerous, he knew; he couldn’t afford to let every disagreement with a girl he’d only known a few months throw him off his game, but he couldn’t exactly help it. He’d just have to settle for keeping her happy. (Luckily for him, keeping Piper happy was becoming a top priority at an alarming rate. Or…perhaps that was unluckily.)

Things had just about returned to normal between the two of them, and they hung like nothing had changed. Which, Jason reminded himself, was true. Nothing had changed. He just knew for certain that she wasn’t interested in him the way he wanted her to be. But he’d known that before. So.

Jason was just reflecting on this when Leo caught up to him, leaving the locker room after the last practice of the semester.

“You missed an easy shot at the end there, you sure you don’t need a little more practice?”

Jason raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s your average again?”

“Point taken. When are you headed home?”

“I’ve got one more final tomorrow and then I’m out. What about you?”

Leo looked down, his fingers tapping out an agitated rhythm on the shoulder strap of his bag. “I’m staying here, actually. Lotta money to fly to Houston, and I’ve got lots of stuff to work on here, so.” He shrugged.

“You’re from Houston?” Jason frowned. “I thought you and Piper went to school together.”

“We did. Piper lived at her dad’s little ranch house thing even while he was filming, supposedly so she didn’t ‘get sucked into the Hollywood stuff.’ Really it was because he didn’t want to deal with her.” Suddenly Leo glanced at him, eyes wide. “Shit, don’t tell her I said anything, yeah? I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”

Jason waved him off. “I won’t, but it’s fine, she already told me about her dad.”

This seemed to interest Leo. “She did?” A small smile appeared on his face at Jason’s nod, which seemed…odd, for such a serious subject. “Anyway yeah, we knew each other in Texas before we both got banished to the desert.”

“So she’s going home to Texas?”

“Nah, her dad sold the property as soon as she went to college. He didn’t use it, so no point in keeping it if you don’t need somewhere to stash a kid, I guess.” Leo’s tone was bitter, and Jason got the impression Leo felt about the same way toward Tristan McLean as his daughter did. “Besides, Piper’s only going to L.A. for Christmas because she has to, and then she’ll be back. We spend every New Year’s together. It’s tradition.”

“You’re lucky,” Jason commented drily, “my foster mom is great and all, but she’s a little…I don’t know, militant? Makes holidays kind of stressful.”

Leo grabbed his shoulders and pulled him so they were facing each other in the middle of the sidewalk. “Come back for New Year’s.”

“What?”

“I’m serious, you can stay in the apartment until the spring semester starts. You’ll still have Christmas with your mom, but you can have a little fun with us for the new year!”

Jason frowned, thinking it over. “I don’t know, Leo…”

“Piper will be there, too.” Leo wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Jason blushed.

“Are you sure she wouldn’t mind me staying for a couple weeks?”

Leo snorted and released his shoulders so they could walk again. “Please, Piper would love having you there.”

Jason started to ask what that meant, but before he could, Leo slapped him on the back.

“Great! Glad that’s settled. You’re gonna see Piper before you leave, right?”

“Um, I was planning on it, but Leo—”

“Smart man. Have a good break! See you at the end of the month!”

And then Leo was gone, leaving Jason with plans for the holidays and several questions.

—

“He what?”

Jason winced. He knew he shouldn’t have agreed without asking Piper first, but then again, Leo hadn’t left much room for debate.

“Yeah,” he answered once he’d swallowed the bite of pizza he’d been working on. “He kind of insisted, so now I guess I’m spending New Year's and the following couple weeks with you guys? I mean, if that’s okay with you. I can always tell him no,” he added, watching her chew her lip and resisting the urge to reach over and soothe it with his thumb.

“No!” she yelped, and immediately blushed. Probably remembering what had happened the last time he’d stayed with her, he figured. This plan was seeming worse with every passing minute. “It’s fine,” she amended more quietly, “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“I’ll be sleeping on the couch, obviously,” he said with a dry smile. He’d hoped to reassure her, but her face seemed to fall, almost like…disappointment? But that didn’t seem right, unless she really didn’t want him there.

Her expression shifted almost immediately to one of excitement, though, and he didn’t have time to overthink anymore. “Right. It’ll be fun!” she was saying. “You can join in all our New Year’s Eve traditions, like drinking.”

Jason waited a moment for her to continue. She didn’t. “Oh, I thought you were listing things.”

Piper nodded, taking a sip of her soda. “I was.”

“So…?”

“That was the whole list.”

Jason laughed. “Of course. Well, it’s more traditions than I’ve got, so I’d be happy to join in.”

Piper’s answering smile lit up her whole face, and Jason had to swallow hard to keep his heart from jumping into his mouth. She was so beautiful it was just unfair.

—

As soon as Piper walked into their apartment on December 29th, she felt at ease again. Her Christmas had been stressful—which is completely unfair, by the way, it’s Christmas—because yeah, he was her dad, and he was trying and she got that, really she did, but she always felt a little on edge around him because, frankly, they didn’t know each other very well. It was easy for constant filming to get in the way of visiting your kid when you didn’t really want it in the first place.

So coming back to Leo, who always wanted her around and never made her feel awkward in the slightest, was an enormous relief.

“Hey, Beauty Queen, how’s it hanging?” he called from the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” she laughed, “but I don’t think anyone has used the phrase ‘how’s it hanging’ since, like, the seventies.”

Leo only shrugged, abandoning his bowl of cereal to grab her suitcase and carry it to her room. “I’m bringing it back. The seventies had some great trends.”

“Such as?”

“Well, for starters, I could rock a pair of bell bottomed pants and one of those shiny disco shirts.”

Piper laughed and wrapped him in a tight hug, which he returned enthusiastically. “I missed you, Valdez.”

“Don’t be such a sap. You were gone for like a week and a half.”

“I know, don’t remind me.”

“That bad, huh?” He pulled back to examine her face. “You guys fight?”

Piper shook her head and started unpacking. “I’m just always on edge when I’m there. I hate L.A.”

Leo nodded in solidarity. “Wanna order pizza?”

“Obviously.”

Leo grinned and pulled out his phone.

—

As soon as Jason walked through the door on December 31st, he was treated to the sight of Piper wearing a blue bra, a beanie, jeans, and a single sock. It was in interesting look, but Leo was enough to distract him in socks, boxer shorts, a glove, and a top hat.

Jason was more than a little confused, but had the presence of mind to be grateful that Leo’s outfit was weird enough to take his attention from Piper in just a bra. That thought had the unfortunate effect, however, of directing his attention right back to her though, because Piper was in just a bra and Jason’s brain was sort of short circuiting because holy shit Piper was in just a bra.

(And the pants or whatever, but who could be bothered to look that low when Piper. Was. In. Just. A. Bra.)

Focus on something else, he told himself. Don’t be a creep. That’s super weird and predator-y and you’re not even dating. Yes, Leo’s top hat. Stare at that. Just focus on the top hat. He mentally patted himself on the back for pulling that off.

“Hey,” Leo and Piper called in unison, not even glancing up from the cards in their hands.

“Um, hey,” he answered, pausing to allow one of them to jump in and explain just what exactly was happening. Neither did. “What’s, uh…what’s going on?”

“Strip or sip poker,” Leo answered, laying a card down with incredible focus.

“Sorry?”

“It’s like strip poker, but you have the option of taking a drink instead of losing an article of clothing,” Piper explained, finally looking up at him. “It’s, um…”

Jason could swear her cheeks got redder when their eyes met; he knew his certainly did. Her loss of words made him feel a little better about his own at her state of undress as well.

“It’s our New Year’s Eve tradition,” she finished finally, looking back down at her cards. “Shit, Leo!”

Leo laughed triumphantly at whatever had just happened in the game.

“I thought your tradition was just drinking,” Jason commented, removing his coat and wheeling his suitcase farther into the living room.

“Didn’t you hear the drinking part of the rules?” Leo asked, grinning up at him from his seat on the floor. “Come on, I’ll deal you in as soon as this round’s over, which should be soon with the way Piper’s playing.”

Piper flashed her middle finger at him.

“You guys don’t think it’s weird that you play strip poker together every year?” Jason asked, running a hand through his hair.

“Why would it be weird?” Leo asked.

“You’re playing a game favored by couples and horny groups of teenagers because the purpose is to get naked.’’

“The purpose is to have fun and get drunk,” Piper countered. “Besides, we only strip until we reach our underwear. Then you have to forfeit or chug your drink.”

“I don’t know if I can keep up with these rules,” Jason laughed.

“Well you’re gonna have to learn quick,” she said, smirking. “Hurry up, Grace, it’s only two hours ’til midnight and I’m not even tipsy!"

“Alright, alright, but someone’s gonna have to explain how poker works because I haven’t played it in years.”

Leo and Piper groaned in unison, and Jason grinned as he took a seat where they’d left room for him beside the table. It was good to be back, even if he knew he was about to end up either drunk or naked very quickly.

—

As it turned out, it was a combination of the two.

By the time 11:59 rolled around, Piper had lost her beanie and her other sock, Leo was down to his boxers and top hat, and Jason was left with just his underwear (purple briefs, one of his nicer pairs which he was now thanking himself from this morning for picking out) because, as he’d expected, he lost horribly. He wasn’t nearly as drunk as the other two, however, as he’d had more items of clothing to lose and had to drink less to keep up.

He was exceedingly thankful for that as well, because he had no idea what drunk Jason would say to a half naked Piper and he certainly didn’t want to find out.

There were 60 seconds until midnight, and Leo was trying to get the other two to come out on the fire escape with him, insisting it was the best spot to watch the fireworks. Piper was laughing, definitely drunk but lucid enough to know it was way too cold for that. Jason was insisting Leo get back inside, that it was below freezing and Leo was going to catch a cold out there in just his underwear.

(Leo countered this by explaining he was also wearing a hat.)

There were 45 seconds until midnight, and Leo was attempting to translate Auld Lang Syne into Spanish. Piper was singing the English lyrics, since she didn’t know much Spanish to begin with and translating that was just too difficult. Jason was listening to Piper sing, because she had the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard, which was unfair because everything else about her was beautiful too, and it was keeping him rooted in place, just staring at her.

(Piper caught his eye more than once and her skin took on a pretty deep pink tinge, but Jason figured it was probably just the alcohol.)

There were 15 seconds until midnight, and Leo was beginning to count down, watching his phone to keep track of the seconds as they disappeared into the ether. Piper was warning him to be careful, that he was too drunk to be waving his phone around out there, that he was going to drop it. Jason was watching her inch closer to him, each second vanishing along with an inch of space between them until she was pressed fully to his side and his heart rate was skyrocketing.

(Jason was pressing closer to her too, he realized.)

Three, Leo was shouting over the railing.

Two, Piper was looking up at him expectantly through her eyelashes.

One, Jason panicked.

“Happy New Year!” the three of them yelled together, and Jason bent down, and Piper’s eyes fluttered shut, and he pressed his lips to her cheek, softly, so softly.

He pulled back to see Piper frown, looking almost disappointed. Maybe he wasn’t misreading signals then, maybe Piper really did want him to kiss her, and he’d majorly screwed up. But he wouldn’t let their first (and maybe last, if he really was just tipsy and she wasn’t into him at all) kiss be a drunken fumbling one for the sake of the holiday with Leo jumping around in his underwear. His brain was cloudy and he wanted so badly to press Piper up against a wall and hear her sigh his name, but he knew that she deserved better than anything that would happen tonight.

So together, shivering, they pulled Leo back inside and, after a bit of celebrating and watching whatever fireworks they could see, pushed him in the direction of his room. They all needed to get some sleep.

Jason found himself standing with Piper outside her bedroom door, which was across from Leo’s. She was studying his face, and had the same look in her eyes she’d had at midnight. It had Jason’s breath quickening, and his hands ached to brush her hair behind her ear or find her waist and pull her against him.

“What’s your resolution?” Piper asked, catching him off guard. Her words were only the slightest bit slurred, and her eyes were bright, the color seeming to change in the dim light.

“Haven’t really thought about it,” he answered truthfully.

Piper nodded solemnly, eyes still locked on his. Her voice was gentle, and soothed him even as the heat passing between them riled him up. “Wanna know mine?”

Jason nodded.

“It’s to go after the things I want,” she said, just a whisper, nearly drowned out by the sounds of partying and fireworks from outside.

“I like it,” Jason said. “Does it apply to anything in particular?”

Piper smiled coyly, and Jason couldn’t quite catch his breath. “Mm hm. But I think what I want can wait for another night, when I’m a little more sober.”

Unable to formulate a response to that, Jason nodded mutely again.

She turned and opened her bedroom door. “Goodnight, Sparky.”

“Happy New Year, Pipes.”

Her eyes sparkled at him, and then the door shut and he was left alone in the hallway.

—

Piper spent the first half of the next day hungover and hoping she wasn’t as obvious last night as she thought she’d been, and the second half regretting ever having made that ridiculous resolution because Jason fit so well with her and Leo and she really wasn’t looking forward to the awkwardness that would surely follow his rejection of her, but there was always a chance the heat in his eyes and the tenderness of his kiss last night hadn’t been a drunken hallucination, and besides, Piper had committed to going after what she wanted. What she wanted was him, and every time she thought about backing out she reminded herself that mama didn’t raise no bitch.

(You know, metaphorically, because she had no idea who her mother was and her father certainly didn’t raise her and the nanny didn’t put in much effort, so really it was more like…Piper didn’t raise herself to be no bitch. But that was too complicated, so she stuck with the original phrase.)

Actually telling Jason how she felt was a little more challenging with Leo hanging about—yeah, he lived there, but that was hardly an excuse—so before she knew it they were going to bed and she was lying awake, and then sneaking past a sleeping Jason to sit out on the fire escape, bundled in a hoodie and a blanket.

It was freezing, but the cold air helped her think, so she didn’t mind it too much. It was still pretty early for her, only a quarter past midnight, but the stars blinking down at her made it feel later than it was. A car honked in the distance. Someone in another building was blasting music.

“Jeez, Pipes, it’s freezing out here.”

And then Jason was sitting next to her, and it didn’t feel quite as cold as it had before.

She unwrapped one side of the blanket and held it open for him, letting him scoot closer and wrap the blanket around himself.

“It’s a good system,” she said, looking back up at the stars. “We can share a blanket and body heat.”

She hoped he couldn’t feel her heart pounding.

They sat in silence for what felt like hours, just drinking in each other’s presence and watching their breath turn to steam in the air, curling and entwining before vanishing into the night. Finally, it was Jason who broke the spell.

“Piper?”

Just her name, but it was enough to knock the wind out of her. “Yeah?”

“How drunk were you last night?”

She kept her eyes on the sky above them. “Not drunk enough to say anything I didn’t mean.”

He was silent then, but she could feel his eyes on the side of her face, watching her. She wondered what he saw.

“Piper?” he asked again.

“Yeah?”

“I came up with a resolution.”

She turned to look at him, and suddenly his lips were pressed to hers and the blanket was sliding down because his hands were on her waist, hot even through her hoodie, pulling her closer and closer and closer and somehow it still wasn’t enough, so Piper pressed back, one hand bunched in his shirt and the other finding his cheek. She needed air so desperately but she couldn’t pull back, not when his tongue was sliding against hers and she finally felt like she could breathe, and her hand slid up to wrap his hair around her fingers like she’d always wanted to.

She was practically in his lap now, nipping at the little scar on his lip, and she still didn’t know where he’d gotten it but she didn’t really care at the moment. His hands slid up, one around her back to hold her against his front and the other to her hair where it tugged on her braid, making her moan into his mouth. He must’ve liked that because he kissed her harder and his tongue dipped deeper and Piper had just about lost all presence of mind when she suddenly put her hands on his chest and shoved herself back.

She stared at him, panting, and he stared at her right back with his cheeks flushed gorgeously and his eyes wide. He opened his mouth and she knew he was about to apologize, he was going to think she stopped him because she didn’t want him to kiss her, and of course that couldn’t be farther from the truth, so—

“Jason Grace, how dare you have the audacity to kiss me,” she took a brief pause to catch her breath, not long enough for him to start to apologize but enough to scare him a little (she couldn’t resist messing with him just a tiny bit when he looked so adorably shocked), “when you knew it was my resolution to go after what I want, which is obviously you!”

Jason’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out. He blinked and frowned, and, “Um…what?”

“I was going to make the first move,” she sniffed. “I’d made a resolution and worked up the balls and even had a speech prepared. And backup speeches for different scenarios! I can’t believe you just ruined all those plans.”

Jason blinked several times, but a shadow of a smile had appeared on his face. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“I basically told you last night.”

“I didn’t realize you were preparing speeches, though. I figured I’d save you the trouble with a resolution of my own.”

“You stole my resolution, too. Who’s committing plagiarism now?”

“Not true. Your resolution was to go after what you want. Mine was much simpler.”

“Oh yeah?” she challenged, picking up the fallen blanket to ward off the chill seeping back through her clothes. “What was it?”

“‘Kiss Piper.’”

She brushed back a piece of hair that had come loose from her braid—probably when Jason’s hand had tangled in it and pulled, she realized, the memory causing heat to pool low in her belly—to cover her smile. “Well that’s just…boring. Where’s the pizzazz?”

When she turned to look at him again, his face was much closer than it had been, his warm breath ghosting over her lips in a way that made them tingle deliciously. “I thought there was plenty of pizzazz. You need a refresher?” he teased.

Piper sucked in a breath. She had been far less prepared for confident, sexy, teasing, ready-to-kiss-her-stupid Jason than she’d thought, and it might just kill her. Trying to regain some control of the situation, she raised an eyebrow and said, “It still doesn’t make up for all the work I put in. Now I’ll never get to fulfill my New Year’s Resolution. I’m a failure.”

“Would it make you feel better to give me one of the speeches you prepared?”

“No, I don’t have one for this scenario.”

“You prepared for multiple scenarios but none of them included me kissing you?”

“I thought it would be at least another month before you made a move on me, Sparky, so no.”

“That stings.”

Piper laughed and nuzzled her nose against his, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Can you blame me?”

“No,” he sighed, “I’m still pretty amazed I got it together long enough to kiss you. I’m sorry you didn’t get to give your speeches, though. You sure you can’t tell me one anyway?”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, you’ll never know what I was going to say.”

Jason laughed. “You are a cruel woman, Piper McLean.”

She just shrugged, a smirk spreading across her face. “That’s what you get for stealing my moment.”

“How about I make it up to you?” His eyes were dark now, his nose brushing along hers and his voice deep. Piper shivered, and it wasn’t from the January air.

“I think we can work something out,” she whispered, and their mouths met in the middle as they reached for each other.

—

The first game of the season, Jason was third up to bat, and he was nervous as hell.

It was normal, especially for him. His nerves would decrease as the game went on, but that didn’t stop the shaking of his hands as he stepped up to the plate and took a couple warm up swings.

The first pitch veered to the left, just out of the strike zone.

The second was a fastball, and he was half a second too late.

He adjusted the straps on his gloves and tried to steady his breathing. This is normal, he told himself. You just need to pull it together and get your head in the game.

Great. Now I’m quoting High School Musical.

This, naturally, got I Don’t Dance stuck in his head, which wouldn’t even be an issue if Piper hadn’t made him watch the movies last week and sung that song at him constantly. (Not that he really minded; Piper’s singing voice was one of his favorite things in the world to listen to, even when accompanied by cheesy choreography.)

He glanced at the stands to his left, where he knew she was sitting with Annabeth, Grover, Hazel, and Percy’s family. He found her quickly, and she waved. His heart rate slowed, and the haze in his brain seemed to clear as he stepped back to the plate.

It probably wasn’t great to rely on her to keep him relaxed at bat. If they broke up, or fought, or even if she just missed seeing him play, he couldn’t afford to be off his game. He’d never had an issue working through his nerves before; he was sure he could do it without her, but it was so much easier to take one look at her and feel himself relax.

When he hit the ball way out to left field and made it to first with plenty of time to spare, he figured he didn’t mind relying on Piper so much. Watching her jump up and down, cheering in the stands, he got the feeling she wasn’t going anywhere.

#here it is #finally #jasiper #baseball au #otp: if i fall you're catching me #jason grace #piper mclean #fanfic #my writing #pjo #hoo

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