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zerocoded · 6 months ago

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summary: caleb makes you kung pao chicken and you repay him by milking him dry.

authors note: gut wrenching smut to my caleb girlies. like jungkook said, SEVEN DAYS A WEEEK 😩 get in the car babes, we're going to pound town. so sorry for the delay! like i said, idk how to write happy feelings so i struggled with this one a little lol. but i still had a good time! thanks for reading this four-chapter series, you guys have my heart. again, this was supposed to be allll in the last chapter but i figured it would be too much for just one post, so i split them in two.

warnings: HEAVY ANGST • nsfw content, mdni • obsessive!caleb • UNCANNON bc i finished this before caleb release • grinding • astraphobia • downplaying fears as we all do • soft!dom caleb but then hard!dom caleb • teasing • orgasm denial • SO MUCH TEASING • word play • fingering • skyhaven is under a isolation period.

word count: 13.3k (i swear i'm not sane)

the first time you see caleb after the incident┃caleb uses you as a hostage at the farspace fleet┃you punch caleb in the face┃you're here

isolation week blurred together in a strange rhythm, the days blending into each other like half-forgotten dreams. you didn’t keep track of the hours—there was no point. the world outside skyhaven felt distant, unreachable, as if it had been swallowed by the endless hum of magnetic fields holding this floating island in the sky.

caleb made it easier, somehow. his presence was a strange mix of soothing and frustrating, a reminder of the man you used to know and the one he’d become. you hadn’t realized how much you’d come to depend on him until you were confined to this room together.

the first morning felt awkward, to say the least. after inviting him back to the bed, you woke up to find him sprawled out beside you, his bionic arm stretched across the mattress like an unfamiliar guest. he wasn’t touching you—you could see he’d been careful about that—but the warmth of his presence was undeniable.

“morning,” he’d said when he caught you staring, his voice low and teasing. “sleep well?”

you hadn’t, but you didn’t tell him that. instead, you muttered something incoherent and shuffled to the bathroom, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened under his gaze.

that first day passed in cautious steps, a strange dance of proximity and avoidance. caleb filled the silences with stories from the base—how he’d managed a near-disastrous training exercise or how a recruit had accidentally fried half the communication systems. you found yourself laughing more than you expected, his sharp wit and easy charm tugging at memories you thought you’d buried.

the second day was spent with caleb working in the living room and you lounging in his room. turns out that the floor-to-ceiling glass windows weren’t as soundproof as you thought. every time caleb cursed under his breath at whatever he was tinkering with, it carried into the bedroom like a muffled echo, forcing you to stifle laughter more than once. by the fourth time he muttered something about “rookie mistakes” and “damn loose wiring,” you couldn’t help but shout, “you talking to the wiring or yourself?”

his reply was immediate, his voice full of dry humor. “depends. which one’s listening better?”

when the evening of the second isolation day came, a storm rolled in slowly, creeping over skyhaven like a shadow. it began with the faintest rumble of thunder in the distance, barely audible over the soft hum of the dorm. the sky outside the windows darkened, heavy clouds gathering until the first streak of lightning cut through the horizon. you glanced toward the glass, drawn to the way the city lights below flickered like stars against the storm.

caleb called you to the kitchen for dinner, his voice casual but tinged with an edge of exhaustion. “nothing fancy,” he’d said, placing a plate in front of you. “just leftovers. figured you wouldn’t complain.”

you didn’t, especially not when you caught the faint scent of whatever he’d reheated—it smelled good, and by now, you were too hungry to care about the lack of flair. you sat together at the small table, the storm outside casting shifting shadows across the walls. the dim lighting made the space feel smaller, more intimate, and for the first time in days, the silence between you felt easy, comfortable.

“do you remember when we used to sneak into the kitchen at gran’s place?” you asked between bites, the memory coming unbidden but welcome.

caleb snorted, a rare, genuine laugh slipping past his usual guarded demeanor. “you mean when you’d sneak and i’d get dragged into it?”

“oh, please,” you shot back, a grin tugging at your lips. “you were the one who wanted to make those awful peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with way too much jelly.”

“you ate them, didn’t you?” he countered, raising an eyebrow.

“because i was starving!” you laughed, shaking your head. “you could’ve fed me cardboard, and i would’ve said thank you.”

he chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “you were easy to please back then. now look at you, living the high life with reheated kung pao chicken.”

the playful jab earned him a mock glare, but the warmth in his voice made it impossible to be annoyed. the shared memory lingered between you, softening the edges of everything else. for a moment, it felt like you were kids again, stealing moments of joy in the quiet corners of a world that never quite felt safe.

outside, the storm intensified, the thunder growing louder, closer. lightning lit up the room in sharp flashes, followed by the low growl of the sky. you turned your gaze to the windows, the storm demanding attention with its unpredictable rhythm. caleb followed your line of sight, his expression shifting as he watched the storm unfold and your reaction at the same time.

“this one’s going to be loud,” he said, almost to himself. “storms like these always are, especially up here.”

his voice was calm, but the weight of the storm pressed against the walls, creeping into the space between you. as the wind howled and the rain began to streak the glass, the moment of levity faded, replaced by a quiet intensity that you weren’t capable of ignoring.

“guess we’re in for an interesting night,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the first sharp crack of thunder.

“looks like it,” caleb replied, his tone softer now, his gaze flicking to you as the storm continued to rage outside.

for the next minutes, you realized that storms in skyhaven were way different from the storms in linkon city. the way the lightning lit up the entire sky, crackling with a brightness that seemed to ripple through the clouds, was almost beautiful—if it wasn’t so overwhelming. the thunder was deeper here, more resonant, as if the very air carried its weight. every flash and rumble seemed to rattle the walls, making the room feel smaller, like the storm was trying to press its way in.

unfortunately, you were scared of both.

you tried to keep your composure, focusing on your plate and the casual rhythm of caleb’s fork against his. but when a particularly loud clap of thunder roared through the dorm, your hand flinched, nearly knocking over your glass. caleb’s head snapped up at the sound, his gaze flicking to you with an intensity that made your cheeks flush.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice steady, though his brow furrowed slightly.

“fine,” you replied too quickly, your voice thinner than you meant. you placed your hands in your lap, twisting your fingers together to hide the slight tremor. “just… loud, that’s all.”

he didn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing just a fraction before he set his fork down. “are you still scared of them?” he said, leaning back in his chair. his tone was casual, but there was a softness to it, the kind he used when he was trying not to push too hard.

you nodded, your gaze fixed on the plate in front of you. “still not my thing.”

he watched you for a moment longer, his gaze steady but unreadable, before a particularly sharp crack of thunder split the air. it was closer this time, louder, and it made you flinch despite yourself. your breath hitched, your shoulders tensing as you tried to steady yourself.

“hey,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, the edge gone. “come here.”

you hesitated, your fingers tightening in your lap. “i’m fine,” you started, but the words felt hollow, unconvincing even to yourself.

“you’re not, pipsqueak” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. he reached out then, not quite touching you but close enough that the gesture felt like a tether. “i know you. just… come here.”

you stood slowly, unsure at first, but when you moved closer, he didn’t hesitate. he pulled you gently into his lap, his arms wrapping around you like a shield against the storm.

the movement caught you off guard, but you didn’t resist. the warmth of him was immediate, grounding, his bionic arm cool against your side as he adjusted it carefully.

“better?” he asked softly, his breath brushing against your temple.

you nodded, your cheek pressing against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calming the chaos inside you. “a little,” you admitted, your voice muffled but steadying.

another roar of thunder shook the room, and your hands gripped his shirt instinctively. he didn’t flinch or pull away—he just held you tighter, his hand moving in slow, reassuring circles against your back.

“you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “i’ve got you.”

“i look like a child, sorry,” you muttered, your voice barely audible as you kept your face buried against his chest. “i fight wanderers, for god’s sake.”

caleb chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you. “you don’t look like a child,” he said, his tone light but carrying that familiar edge of warmth. “you are you, pipsqueak.”

you huffed a quiet laugh, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “comforting.”

“it’s true,” he added, his voice dropping slightly, almost like he wasn’t sure he should say it. “i remember you always cried when it was storming back then.”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, his words tugging at a long-forgotten memory. “you teased me at first,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “but then you always slept with me in my room afterward.”

his lips quirked into a faint grin, his eyes softening. “because you’d cling to me like a little barnacle,” he teased gently, though the fondness in his voice was unmistakable.

“you never complained,” you countered, your cheeks warming at the memory.

“never had a reason to,” he said simply, his gaze steady on yours.

the room felt quieter then, the storm outside reduced to a distant rumble as the two of you sat there, his arms stayed around you.

“it’s not so different now, is it?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “just you and me. like it’s always been.”

you didn’t reply, but the way you stayed pressed against him, your hand unconsciously gripping his shirt, was answer enough.

“stupid floating island, why did the daa have to make their base here?” you joked, your voice muffled against his chest. “now i can’t even finish my burnt kung pao.”

“burnt?!” caleb laughed, mock-offended, pulling back just enough to look at you. “you just said you wouldn’t complain. for me, that’s partially overcooked, nothing more.”

you tilted your head, giving him an incredulous look. “partially overcooked? caleb, the chicken was practically charcoal.”

he smirked, his hands still resting lightly on your sides. “it’s called adding texture. i’m innovating.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in your chest easing as his grin widened.

the storm rumbled outside, the occasional flash of lightning casting fleeting patterns across the walls. his hands, still steady on your sides, seemed to hesitate for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of your shirt. it was such a small, unconscious gesture, but it sent a shiver down your spine nonetheless.

you glanced down at his hand, then back up at him, and found his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. there was no teasing in his expression now, no quick retort or sarcastic comment. just him, watching you like you were something fragile and precious, something he couldn’t bring himself to look away from.

“caleb…” you started, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“what?” he asked softly, his tone steady but edged with something deeper.

you shook your head, unsure of what to say, unsure if you should say anything at all. “nothing,” you murmured, though your heartbeat betrayed you, thudding loudly in your ears.

he didn’t press, but his gaze stayed on you, unrelenting. the hand on your side shifted slightly, his fingers curling just enough to ground you, to remind you he was there. “you sure about that?” he asked after a beat, his voice low.

you nodded, but the motion felt half-hearted, like you weren’t entirely sure of anything anymore. the tension between you grew heavier, the air around you thick with something unspoken, and you wondered if he could feel it too—the way the space between you seemed to shrink without either of you moving.

“you’re trembling,” he said softly, his brow furrowing as his other hand came up, hesitating before resting lightly against your arm.

“it’s the storm,” you replied, though you weren’t sure if that was entirely true.

“is it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now, his thumb brushing a slow, deliberate line against your arm.

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. instead, you stayed there, caught between the steady warmth of his hands and the wild rhythm of your own heart, waiting to see what would happen next.

another thunder came, the loudest yet, and you trembled in his hold. his arms tightened instinctively around you, grounding you as your breath hitched.

"fuck, this sucks," you muttered, frustration and embarrassment creeping into your voice. "i’m sorry, i think i should—"

"do you want to watch something on the tv?" he interrupted, his tone casual but deliberate, like he was trying to steer your focus elsewhere.

you looked at him, confused. "i think i shouldn’t—you don’t have to worry about me."

he tilted his head slightly, his expression soft but unyielding. "i used to distract you from the storms with silly cartoons when you were younger," he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "i think it will help."

"we’re not kids anymore—" you started, but he didn’t let you finish. in one swift motion, he stood, lifting you effortlessly into his arms, bridal style. "what the hell!" you gasped, your hands instinctively clutching at his neck to steady yourself.

"i can walk, you know," you said, glaring up at him, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed the annoyance in your voice.

"i know," he replied, his voice warm but firm. "but i prefer you don’t when i’m around."

you opened your mouth to argue but stopped when you caught the way he looked at you—steady, unwavering, his grip on you secure but gentle. as he crossed the living room and entered his bedroom, you couldn’t help but feel the tension in your chest begin to ease.

as he set you down carefully on the edge of his bed, his hands lingered for a moment, his touch light yet grounding. his fingers brushed your arms briefly as he pulled back, and the faint contact left a trail of warmth on your skin.

"you good here?" he asked softly, his voice low, his gaze searching yours as if to make sure you were really okay.

you nodded, but the truth was, the weight of the storm still pressed on you.

"yeah," you murmured, your voice quieter than you intended. but even as you said it, your hands fidgeted in your lap, betraying the unease that still lingered.

caleb didn’t move far, instead crouching in front of you, his arms resting on his knees as he leveled his gaze with yours. "you don’t have to pretend, you know," he said, his tone soft but firm. "if it’s still too much, just tell me."

his sincerity made your chest tighten, the way his eyes softened as he spoke, the faint crease of worry between his brows. the storm outside growled again, a low rumble that rattled the glass, and before you could stop yourself, you moved.

your body acted on instinct, seeking out the comfort that had been so immediate and steady. you slid forward, closing the space between you as you climbed into his lap, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“hey,” he murmured, startled for only a moment before his hands came up to steady you, one resting firmly on your back while the other settled on your hip. “you okay?”

“sorry,” you whispered, your face pressed against the curve of his neck. “i just… it’s better like this.”

he exhaled softly, the sound more like a sigh of relief than anything else. “don’t apologize, pipsqueak” he said, his voice low and soothing. “the storms you’ll encounter in the future… they shouldn’t exist here.”

his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt his arms tighten slightly around you, holding you closer. the heat of his body seeped through the thin fabric of your clothes, and the steady rhythm of his breathing calmed the erratic beat of your heart.

his fingers flexed against your hip, the warmth of his hand seeping through the material. “i’ve got you,” he replied.

he sat on the bed bringing you with him, his back touching the headboard.

the storm outside roared again, but it felt distant now, muffled by the space you shared. you shifted slightly in his lap, and his grip tightened reflexively, a quiet inhale escaping him as you moved.

“sorry,” you murmured, your cheeks warming with the apology.

“you’re trembling,” he noted again, his voice quieter now, rougher at the edges. his hand on your back moved in slow, soothing circles, but there was a tension in him that hadn’t been there before—a subtle stiffness in his posture, the way his fingers lingered just a moment too long.

“i’m just a little shaken,” you replied, though your voice betrayed you, wavering slightly as your chest pressed against his.

“don’t worry too much, princess,” he murmured, his voice dipping low, the words brushing against your ear like a secret. his hand stilled on your back, the pause heavy, loaded with something unspoken. “i like when we’re close like this.”

you didn’t reply at first, your breath catching as his gaze held yours. his eyes searched, questioned, the intensity of his closeness overwhelming—the faint warmth of his breath on your cheek, the steady weight of his hand against your back. it was too much and not enough all at once. you swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper as you said, “me too.”

“do you?” his tone was curious, soft, yet laced with something deeper, and you felt a flicker of need pulse through you. his question lingered in the air, fragile and heavy. you didn’t know how to respond, unsure if the truth would feel like breaking something—or like setting it free.

“because i do,” he admitted, his voice unwavering, his honesty unraveling something inside you. “always have.”

the sincerity in his words, the way his eyes held no doubt, no hesitation—it pulled at you. it felt like stepping into something safe and terrifying all at once, his certainty acting as a charm you couldn’t resist.

“i do,” you murmured timidly, your voice so soft it was almost lost to the storm outside. you couldn’t meet his gaze, your eyes dropping to avoid the weight of everything he’d laid bare.

smoothly, caleb's hands tightened on your sides, his touch a quiet plea for your attention. and so, you look at him. your gaze meets his amethystine eyes, and there, you find it—yearning, raw and unguarded, etched into every facet of him.

"would you hate me even more if i said i wanted to kiss you right now?"

his voice was so steady, so effortless, that it left you momentarily stunned. you stayed silent, your heart pounding against the truth you were too afraid to confront, the truth simmering just beneath the surface of your heart.

“i don’t hate you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. they hung in the air between you, fragile and vulnerable. his gaze softened, searching your face for something—permission, maybe, or clarity.

“but you don’t want this,” he said, though his voice wavered, unsure. his grip loosened, like he was already preparing to pull away, to retreat.

you shook your head slightly, barely more than a tremble. “it’s not that…” your voice cracked, and you hated how exposed you felt.

"i’m sorry," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret, eyes staring at both of his hands on your side. his bangs fell over his eyes, giving him an innocent look. caleb had always been effortlessly pretty in your eyes.

you caught yourself staring at his sudden shyness with more awe than apprehension. ever since you’d grown a little taller and started seeing caleb through a different lens—one that wasn’t colored by the “older brother” view you once had—you couldn’t help but admire his beauty. moments like this, when his youthful charm caught you off guard, felt like they pressed you against an invisible wall, leaving you breathless.

because how many times had you wanted to kiss him before? god, you’d had the silliest crush on this man for what felt like forever. and now, knowing he’d been pining for you just the same all along? it felt unreal and unfair at the same time.

"i shouldn’t put you in a position like this… let’s just—let’s watch something." he leaned back slightly, creating space that felt colder, emptier, and pretended to be searching for the controller on his bedside table.

but you saw it—the restraint in his eyes, the way he was holding himself back for your sake. and you couldn’t let that linger. "caleb," you said softly, reaching for his hand before he could fully pull away. "it’s not that… you’re not putting me on the spot." you hesitated, your breath shaky as you forced the words out. "i kind of… want to be on the spot."

were you caving yourself in a bigger mess? you honestly couldn’t tell. but ignoring your childhood feelings right now seemed to be as painful as the possible ache of regret you could face later.

his eyes snapped back to yours, wide, searching for any sign of doubt. "you do?" his voice was quieter now, almost disbelieving.

"i do," you admitted, your cheeks warming under his gaze. "it’s just… this is new, and i’m scared, but that doesn’t mean i don’t want it."

he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing as he took in your words. "fuck, i don’t want to scare you, pipsqueak," he said, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

“you could never.”

his lips parted slightly, his jaw tightening as he exhaled through his nose, seeming thoughtful. “you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though there was a hint of strain behind it.

again, caleb seemed so youthful in this light, his features softer, the usual sharpness in his gaze replaced with something gentler. there was an innocence about him now, a vulnerability that clung to the edges of his desperation. it wasn’t just restraint—it was care. as if the fear of scaring you, of pushing you too far, outweighed any longing he might have for your body.

you shook your head, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you leaned closer. “no,” you whispered, the word trembling between you.

your breath caught, and for a moment, the world outside—the storm, the hum of skyhaven, everything—faded into a quiet, dizzying stillness. his touch was grounding, his gaze searching, and yet, all you could think about was the last time you felt this close to him.

a week ago.

it came rushing back, unbidden and vivid, like a memory you’d tried to bury but couldn’t. the moment when he reappeared on your front door in linkon city, alive and impossibly real, standing in the doorway of your tiny apartment as if the months between you hadn’t happened.

your chest tightened as the ache in your heart shifted into something else—something sharper, hungrier. you leaned in without thinking, your hand moving to his jaw, your lips hovering just a breath away from his.

but before you could close the distance, he froze. his hand moved to yours, holding it gently but firmly, his eyes now wide and dark, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“don’t,” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath hot against your skin. “don’t do it if you are not ready to forgive me yet, princess.”

his words made your heart stutter, the rawness in his tone cutting through the haze in your mind. his jaw tightened beneath your hand, his grip on your waist trembling slightly, as if the effort to stop himself was taking everything he had.

“tell me you want it first,” he pleaded, his voice rough, almost pained. “please.”

your breath caught, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place. he looked at you like the thought of stopping physically hurt him, like holding himself back was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

“caleb…” you started, but your voice wavered, the unspoken pull between you making it hard to find the words.

“say it,” he urged, his forehead resting against yours, his voice a whisper now, almost broken. “if you want me, tell me.”

fuck, caleb was trembling.

“i think,” you whispered, your voice shaking as much as he was. you brought your hand to his jaw again, your fingers brushing against the faint stubble there, grounding both of you in the moment. “i think this will help.”

—with the forgiving part, you wanted to complete.

his eyes searched yours, desperation and longing swirling together in a way that made your chest ache. “don’t say it unless you mean it,” he murmured, his voice rough, his forehead pressing against yours harder now, like he needed the contact to steady himself.

you swallowed hard, your thumb brushing the edge of his jaw as you let out a shaky breath. “i want this,” you said, the words fragile but true. “i want you.”

his breath hitched, his fingers tightening on your waist as if those words had been the only thing holding him back.

“say it again,” he whispered, his lips so close to yours that you could feel the heat of them.

“i want you,” you repeated, your voice steadier now, your grip on him tightening as if to prove it.

that was all it took. the tension between you snapped, and caleb closed the space between you in one fluid motion, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that stole your breath. this wasn’t like the kiss in linkon city, sharp and painful and desperate. this was different—deeper, slower, filled with a need that burned just as fiercely but carried the weight of something more.

his hands moved to your back, pulling you closer, every inch of him pressing against you as if he couldn’t bear the thought of space between you. the storm outside raged on, but in that moment, it felt like the two of you had created your own—just as powerful, just as unstoppable.

his lips moved against yours with a deliberate intensity, each touch igniting something deeper. his hands, strong and steady, slid up your back, grounding you.

your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groaned softly against your lips, the sound low and desperate. the sheer intensity of it all made your pulse race, and you felt a rush of heat spread through your body as he deepened the kiss, his teeth grazing your lower lip before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

“tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, his voice rough, his breath fanning across your cheek. his forehead rested against yours again, his grip on your waist firm but trembling just slightly, a reminder of how much he was feeling at the moment.

“it’s not,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. “don’t stop.”

he leaned in again, his kisses softer now but no less consuming, his mouth tracing a path down your jaw to the curve of your neck.

his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you into his lap again as if he needed you even closer, needed to feel every part of you against him. his bionic arm settled carefully on your side, his fingers cool against your skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. the contrast between the metal and the heat of his other hand sent a thrill down your spine, grounding you in the moment.

“you’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, his voice raw and unguarded, the words slipping out like he couldn’t hold them back. “i don’t deserve you.”

“i’ve wanted this—wanted you—so much, princess, you have no idea.”

your chest tightened at his confession, the vulnerability in his tone cutting through the haze of heat and desire. your fingers moved to his face, cradling his jaw as you pulled him back to look at you. his lips were swollen, his breathing uneven, but his eyes—his eyes were full of unshed tears that broke your heart.

"caleb," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of it all. you searched his face, seeing not just the man you cared for but the fragile edges of him he never let anyone else see. "i’m here," you said, the words barely louder than a breath. "it’s okay. i want this."

his hands moved to yours, holding them against his face as if grounding himself in the moment. “i’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered.

“show me, then” you said softly, the words trembling with their own weight. “show me how much you wanted me, caleb.”

as if echoing the tension that crackled in the air between you, a thunderclap roared outside, the sound reverberating through the walls and into your chest.

a trembled exhale escapes you, and in that moment of vulnerability, he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue alongside yours.

his bionic fingers shift against your cheek, you can feel the tension in him—the way he’s holding you so carefully despite the intensity of the moment. it’s as though he’s trying to reconcile the boy he used to be with the man he’s become, and in that kiss, he’s asking you if you can love both.

the kiss is frenzied, a desperate tangle of lips and breaths.

without thinking, your body moves on its own, testing his resolve with a slow, deliberate roll of your hips into his lap. the effect is immediate—his jaw tightens, the sharp edge of restraint etched into his expression. his hands fly to your waist, one strong and warm, the other cold and unyielding, gripping you tightly as if to steady himself.

“princess,” he groans, his voice low and ragged, though his hold betrays how much he doesn’t want you to stop.

ignoring his warning, you roll your hips again, feeling the heat of his reaction through the thin layers between you. a low, guttural sound escapes him, and the sheer rawness of it sends a rush of heat through your body. the sound pulls a whimper from your own lips, and you move with more purpose, your body seeking to draw that noise from him again, needing to unravel him.

it felt like your core had its own heartbeat.

“pipsqueak” he mutters, his grip tightening as if trying to regain control. his head falls forward, his forehead pressing against your shoulder. his sweet resolve was being tested and you felt your lips curl into a smile, sweet vengeance sounding fair in your ears.

“pipsqueak,” he muttered, his grip tightening as if he were struggling to regain control. his head dipped forward, his forehead resting against your shoulder. his sweet resolve was fraying at the edges, and you couldn’t help the smile that curled on your lips—sweet vengeance was practically begging to be served.

but just as you were about to push him a little further, his metal hand gripped your behind with enough force to draw a startled squeak from you.

“fuck—” you breathed, the word tumbling out unbidden.

“watch it, baby,” he murmured, his lips trailing up from your neck to your ear, his voice a low, tantalizing growl. “i’ve got years of pent-up tension to take out on you.”

was that a promise? god, why did you wanted it to be so much?

“caleb, please,” you whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of need and vulnerability. the sound of his name—your plea—seems to undo him. his resolve snaps like a frayed wire. with a growl, his hands shift, pulling you even tighter against him as his lips crash into yours again, no longer holding back the storm that’s been building inside him for so long.

“i know, princess,” caleb mutters, his voice thick with restraint. his erection twitches in the confines of his pants as he watches you, the sight of you slowly grinding into his lap nearly ending him. your eyes, half-lidded and dark with lust, hold him captive, and he swears he could lose himself in that expression alone.

every slow roll of your hips sends a wave of pleasure coursing through both of you, the friction igniting sparks that only leave you wanting more. there’s an incessant throbbing between your legs, a growing need that these teasing movements can’t quite satiate. each brush of your core against him only heightens the ache.

caleb feels it too, because he’s already pulling at the waistband of his pants, his thumb hooking into both layers as he tugs them down, revealing the sharp definition of his defined v-line. the sight alone makes your mouth go dry, heat flooding your veins as your gaze lingers.

“fuck,” you whisper under your breath, unable to stop the word from slipping out.

caleb catches the way your eyes widen, and his lips curve into a slow, wicked smirk. his bionic hand rests on the bed beside him for balance, while his flesh hand gestures toward you. “take it off,” he commands, his tone soft but laced with a quiet authority that makes your pulse quicken.

you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity in his voice, and the way his gaze seems to pin you in place. the handsome smirk that tugs at his lips grows wider as you let out a startled breath, your cheeks burning hot with embarrassment and arousal.

you’d seen his body before, seen the dedication he put into keeping it in peak form. you’d been there when his once-lean chest began to transform, muscles growing larger than any of your own limbs as he transitioned from boy to man.

and you’d dreamed about his touch too—wild, fleeting thoughts that only a hormonal teenage girl could summon on those countless nights when the ache of loneliness crept in.

god, you should probably feel embarrassed for all of it right now.

but caleb didn’t seem to mind. he didn’t seem to care about your wild thoughts swirling around him now or the teenage fixation you’d once had on his quiet care. all that mattered to him was the relief painted across his face—the realization that this wasn’t a one-sided transition, that you were right here with him. aching for him.

biting your lip, you slip off his lap and move to stand, your fingers curling around his waistband as you carefully pull his pants and boxers the rest of the way down. his member springs free, hard and aching, and the sight sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. your thighs press together instinctively as you shiver at how thick and undeniably pretty he looks.

fuck, you weren’t exactly a novice—but being a deep-space hunter didn’t leave much time for fooling around. still, every fantasy you’d ever buried seemed to find its way to the surface, all centered on the boy you could once call your first love.

caleb was intimidating, but in the most deliciously enticing way. you weren’t a teenager anymore, and your desires had grown with you, maturing into something sharper, more urgent. whatever this was between the two of you—it felt like the thing you’d been craving for so long, the missing piece you didn’t even realize you’d been waiting for.

he was thick, but not in an overwhelming way—just enough to leave you aching, his desire for you palpable in every movement. but what truly left your mouth watering was his length, something you’d only ever imagined existed in exaggerated adult videos or ridiculous ads.

was this really the same person who stood up to bullies for you and patiently taught you how to cook when you were 14? fuck, you were absolutely cooked.

in a good way, it seems.

you don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until caleb clears his throat, the sound breaking through the haze of your thoughts. your gaze snaps up to meet his, only to find his smirk has softened into something more amused, though no less confident.

“while i appreciate the compliment,” he teases, propping himself up on one elbow, “i wasn’t talking about me, princess. i meant you. take it off.”

your nerves were impossible to hide, and his commanding voice only made it worse. for a fleeting moment, you wondered if there was a way to skip past this awkwardness and dive straight into satisfying the ache in your core that you could no longer ignore.

caleb seemed to catch onto your hesitation. he offered you a kind, almost reassuring smile as his flesh hand wrapped gently around your wrist, his touch grounding you in the moment.

suppressing your nerves, you hook your fingers into the waistband of your shorts, sliding them down your legs along with your panties. they pool at your ankles, and you step out of them with a small, shaky breath, standing between his legs as his gaze sweeps over you.

“beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and sincere. the word sends a rush of warmth through you, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the galaxy—makes your chest tighten.

did he feel this instant pull towards each other too?

sitting up fully, caleb pats his lap, his smirk softening into a smile that’s equal parts playful and inviting. “c’mere,” he says, his voice rich and steady, like a promise.

you could come, my god. but you hope you weren’t so transparent in your lack of confidence in the moment, hoping to have some leverage over the man who seemed to be eating you alive with only his eyes.

caleb seemed so sure of his love and his expression for you, it made you feel small—not in a bad way—, but maybe a bit childish.

you hesitate for only a second before stepping closer, climbing back onto his lap. his hands, warm and steady, settle on your hips as he pulls you against him.

“that’s better,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin.

you crawl onto caleb’s lap, careful not to sit fully. hovering just above him, your knees press firmly into the mattress on either side of his thighs, effectively trapping him in place. you can feel the heat radiating off his body, but there’s no way in hell you’re going to lower yourself—not yet.

if you did, you’d be pressing your bare pussy against his naked thigh, and he’d feel everything. the thought alone has your cheeks flushing hot, knowing it would expose just how soaked you’ve become from mere kissing.

caleb’s gaze doesn’t waver, his sharp eyes watching you like a predator sizing up his prey. he hums softly, one hand trailing up your side to lift the hem of the shirt you were wearing—his shirt—, pushing it up just enough to reveal your bare chest. his expression softens slightly as he sighs, a low, appreciative sound rumbling from his throat. “pretty,” he murmurs, his voice husky and thick with restraint.

before you can respond, he leans forward, his lips capturing one of your nipples. the sudden contact makes you gasp sharply, your hands instinctively flying to his shoulders for balance. his tongue swirls over the sensitive peak, rolling it in a way that has your back arching toward him.

“caleb—ah!” your cry cuts off as his hand moves between your legs, startling you with its boldness. his bionic fingers rest against your thigh, steadying you, while the fingers of his other hand slip against your slick folds, testing you.

“you’re wet,” he comments, his voice quiet but undeniably teasing as his fingers slide through your arousal. the statement is casual, but the tone of his voice sounded almost painful, as if the realization seemed to fucking pain him.

you swear you heard him mutter a “fuck” while closing his eyes.

“no fuck, sherlock,” you almost whine, the words sharp though your voice lacks any bite. your head falls forward against his neck, the words trembling as his touch continues to unravel you.

but he doesn’t stop. instead, he presses another finger against you, slipping them both at once inside with deliberate ease. the stretch has you gasping, your hips jerking instinctively against his hand as he curls his fingers, finding the spot that makes your breath hitch. “you got this wet just from grinding, pipsqueak?” he murmurs, his tone both teasing and utterly sinful.

“shut up,” you try to protest, but the way his fingers push deeper, curling again, steals the words from your lips. a whimper escapes you instead, and you clutch at his shoulders, your body trembling against him. “fuck”.

regardless of the resistance that was impossible to ignore, your body was so hot that the initial discomfort was quickly replaced but more desire. caleb’s fingers were so damn long, reaching places your personal toys used to reach. the knowledge made your insides clench, something so dirty crossing your mind in the early stages of your love making.

“you’re incredible,” he mutters, his voice low and reverent, his lips brushing against your temple as he works you open with a deliberate precision that leaves you breathless. “don’t be shy, princess. let me hear you.”

a shaky breath stutters out of your mouth as you rock yourself against his hand, chasing the initial fire that have taken upon your core. but it’s not enough—not nearly enough. the ache in your core is unbearable, and every deliberate curl of caleb’s fingers only makes you crave more.

“do you have a condom?” you manage to gasp, your voice trembling with urgency.

his movements still for a fraction of a second before a sly, knowing smirk spreads across his face. “oh my, already?” he drawls, his tone dripping with playful teasing. “princess, i’m just starting with you.”

before you can respond, he moves. with a fluid motion, caleb rolls both of you over, his body pinning you down against the soft expanse of his king-sized bed. the shift leaves you breathless, his weight grounding you in the moment. his hands frame your face, one warm and rough, the other cool and unyielding, a perfect contrast that sends a shiver down your spine.

his lips hover just above yours, his breath mingling with your own as his teasing smirk softens into something darker, more intent. “we’ve got all the time in the universe, princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety, sending a thrill through your body. “i’m not rushing this. i’ve waited too damn long to rush things now.”

your heart pounds in your chest as his gaze locks onto yours, his eyes filled with a heady mix of desire and something deeper. “please—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as his lips press against your neck, soft and deliberate, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“c’mon, princess, don’t be shy. it’s just me, caleb.”

you were grateful his fingers weren’t inside you anymore, or else he’d have felt the dangerous clench your pussy made upon hearing his sentence. how can someone act so innocent with so much craving embedded in his voice?

“i want to savor this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice muffled but no less commanding. his hand slides down your side, his touch lingering as if committing every curve to memory. “savor you.”

you swallow hard, your body arching into his touch despite your best efforts to remain steady. “but i want—”

“shh,” he interrupts gently, his lips brushing over your collarbone before he leans back to look at you. his smirk returns, though it’s softer now, tinged with affection. “don’t worry, princess. i’ve got you. you’re going to have to be patient, all right? let caleb take his time with you?”

his words are both a promise and a warning, and you can feel the anticipation building as he begins to move inside of your heat again, his touch deliberate, his actions slow and measured, as if determined to explore every inch of you before giving you exactly what you asked for.

“of course, you’re so warm, you had to be…” caleb mutters, his voice low and strained, each word dripping with unfiltered desire. his lips brush against the shell of your ear, and the heat of his breath sends shivers down your spine. “i’ve always imagined how you’d feel—if you’re as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside.”

the deliberate tease in his tone is enough to set your skin aflame, and your breath hitches at his words.

“stop,” you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body reacts to every word, every touch. the intensity of his gaze locks you in place, your heart racing under the weight of his attention.

“what’s wrong, pipsqueak?” he asks, his smirk wicked, his voice like velvet. “am i being too honest for you?” his lips graze your jaw, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “or is it that you like hearing how much i’ve wanted you all this time?”

your cheeks burn as your hands clutch his biceps tighter, your body betraying you by arching closer to his.

“do you like the fact that i’m obsessed with you? that i’d burn the world down for you?” caleb teases, his voice a dark, sinful whisper as his fingers curl inside you, scissoring your pussy with deliberate precision.

your body betrays you completely—your walls clench tightly around him, and a loud, unrestrained moan spills from your lips before you can stop it. your head tilts back, your thighs trembling as he chuckles low in his throat, the sound dripping with satisfaction.

“oh, what’s that?” he drawls, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth as his fingers continue their relentless rhythm. “is this your special spot?”

your cheeks burn, and your hands grasp at his shoulders for support as his words wash over you, leaving you utterly exposed. how come his fingers were so fucking long? to the point where only them were already making you feel lightheaded.

or maybe it was him the one to blame for that.

“shut up,” you manage to gasp, though there’s no real weight behind your protest. every inch of your body is responding to him, and he knows it.

“my princess likes being naughty?” caleb counters, his tone as infuriatingly smug as the grin tugging at his lips. his bionic hand steadies your hip, keeping you from squirming too much, as his flesh fingers work deeper inside you. “you’re the one clenching around me like that, baby.”

“caleb—” your voice breaks as he curls his fingers just right, hitting the spot that makes your back arch and your moans grow louder. his smirk widens, his eyes glinting with mischief and unrelenting focus.

“that’s what i thought,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. “don’t fight it, let me hear you, please.” his fingers curl again, dragging another sharp moan from you, and the sound only seems to spur him on. “thank you, princess,” he adds softly, but there’s an edge to his words, a possessiveness that makes your heart race even faster. “every little sound, every little reaction—thank you for gracing me with them.”

“you’re impossible,” you manage to whisper, though your voice trembles, your resolve crumbling under his teasing.

“and you’re irresistible,” he counters, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s equal parts tender and consuming. his words, his touch, his presence—it’s all too much and not enough, and you can feel yourself spiraling under his careful control.

your hands move instinctively, cradling his face, your thumbs brushing gently along his cheekbones as you pull him closer. his eyes search yours, intense and dark, as though waiting for you to shatter whatever thin line of control remains between you.

“just fuck me already,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need, your lips brushing against his as the words spill out. “please, caleb… i’m sensitive.”

the corner of caleb’s mouth lifts into a crooked smirk, though there’s a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—desire tempered by affection, by the weight of how much he feels for you.

“sensitive, huh?” he whispered against your lips, his tone teasing, but his eyes were anything but. they searched yours, dark and heavy with longing, silently asking for permission, for trust.

you nodded, your breath hitching, and he smiled—a soft, crooked smile that made your heart stutter.

he brings his lips close to your pulse point, his warm breath brushing against your neck. you feel the tease in his exhale, deliberate and slow, as if savoring the moment. instinctively, you tilt your head, offering more, knuckles still buried inside of you.

he leans in close, his voice low and dark as he murmurs, “you love being teased like this, don’t you?” a soft whimper escapes your lips, your body responding instinctively to the way his fingers work, each movement sending waves of sensation through you.

your hands press against his shoulders, searching for control, but he holds you firmly in place, his grip on your waist unyielding. his movements are deliberate, precise, barely grazing over sensitive spots, leaving you aching for more.

he doesn’t relent, his rhythm intensifying with every motion, each calculated touch sending your body into spiraling sensations. your breaths hitch as your body tightens, overwhelmed by the building tension, every moment pushing you closer to the edge.

"you look so damn gorgeous here in my arms, princess," caleb murmurs, his voice dripping with heat. "makes me wonder what would happen if i just..." he trails off, bending his fingers inside you until they hit that perfect spot again, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. he focuses on it relentlessly, each movement precise and deliberate, drawing sharp gasps from your lips as your body responds instinctively.

the tension builds, pooling low in your stomach, ready to snap at any moment. you're right there, teetering on the edge of release, when suddenly, he stops. the absence is jarring, leaving your body aching for what it was so close to having.

your eyes fly open, heat rising in your cheeks as shock and frustration flood your senses. "caleb, what the hell?!" you gasp, scandalized, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

he chuckles darkly, the sound low and unapologetic, almost infuriating. "did you really think it would be that easy, my sweet girl?" his tone is teasing, almost rhetorical. "i love to savor what i want. so tell me..." his gaze locks with yours, daring and full of mischief. "will you let me play with you a little longer?"

"this isn’t funny," you pout, the frustration evident in your voice. "i want you."

"i know that, baby," caleb replies, his tone soft but teasing. "and i’ll give it to you. just hang in there for me a little longer, okay? don’t you want to be a good girl? i promise, it’ll feel even better."

before you can respond, his fingers are back inside you, curling with precision as he picks up where he left off. the intensity leaves you gasping, your body arching into his touch as he pins you firmly to the bed, each movement calculated to unravel you.

he drinks in every sound you make, the way your body reacts under his control. the tension builds quickly, spiraling upward as he focuses on that spot that drives you wild, your walls tightening around him. but just as the wave threatens to crash over you, he stops again, pulling away like it’s a game.

"caleb," you whine, your voice trembling as you feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "i-i need to come, please."

"i know, baby, i know," he soothes, his fingers moving gently now, almost comforting, though his teasing tone betrays him. "you trust me, don’t you, sweet girl?"

you nod weakly, cheeks wet and burning with embarrassment, but caleb’s gaze softens as he leans closer. "so pretty, my princess," he murmurs, his words wrapping around you like a caress. "i’ve waited so much for this. you deserve the world," he whispers, his lips trailing kisses down your body until his warm breath fans over your chest, teasing the hardened peaks of your nipples.

"she’s going to wait for me, just like i waited for her all this time, right, baby?" his voice sounded almost mocking, a dangerous mix of sarcasm and pure love.

was he talking about your pussy? oh god.

his words make your eyes widen, shock coursing through you as you try to pull away, only for him to hold you firmly in place.

"caleb," your voice trembles, barely above a whisper, and he chuckles softly, finding your helplessness endearing.

"hey, hey, look at me," he says gently, tilting your chin so your eyes meet his. "i’m here, aren’t i? don’t you think it’s fair, pipsqueak?” his lips press harder against your skin with every word, leaving marks that bloom red and tender. “i’ve always held myself back, endured for you." his canines leave two red dots just above your nipples, "day after day, after day, it was suffocating."

he pauses, his lips lingering just above your chest, leaving a bruise that you know will remind you of this moment long after. "at some point, i thought you liked me too," he whispers, pain lacing his words. "but then you left me. and forgot about me."

“caleb!” you try to protest, wanting to tell him he’s wrong, that he doesn’t understand, but the way he touches you—so deliberately, so tenderly, even when he’s pushing you to your limits—leaves you breathless, knees weak, eyes fluttering shut.

how does he know exactly what to do to unravel you like this?

before you can gather your thoughts, his fingers are back inside you, moving with an unrelenting rhythm that has you gasping, every thrust calculated to drive you closer and closer to the edge. just when you think you’re finally about to tip over into bliss, he pulls away again, leaving you trembling and desperate.

and the worst part? he keeps doing it—again and again—pushing you to the brink only to deny you at the last second. tears streak down your cheeks as you thrash beneath him, pleading for release, your body betraying you with every lewd moan and quiver. his fingers work you over, drawing out every sound, every reaction, but he never lets you find that sweet relief.

it doesn’t make sense—how can he know your body this well after such a short time? how can he read every twitch, every sigh, like he’s been doing this for years? there’s something almost reverent in the way he watches you, as if your pleasure is his own, even as he denies you again and again.

he’s wicked—a tormentor wrapped in the guise of a lover.

each time you’re on the verge of release, he withdraws, and fresh tears spill over as you whimper and beg. “please, caleb, let me come,” you plead, voice breaking. “i promise, i’ll listen, i’ll be good—just please, let me come!”

his lips curl into a smug grin, the glint in his eyes almost cruel as he leans in, voice a dark whisper against your ear. “princess wants to give in so soon?” he teases, the condescension in his tone making you burn.

he chuckles, low and sinister, the sound vibrating through you as he promises, “i haven’t even started yet.”

you’re reduced to a tearful mess, your body trembling with desperation as you try to cling to whatever composure you have left. you’d kick him if you could, but caleb holds all the power, the keeper of your release, and you know you have to play his game if you want even the slightest chance of relief today.

"caleb, baby," you plead, voice dripping with desperation. "the love of my life, please, please—i’ll be good now. i won’t push you away anymore. i need you."

did you sound pathetic? a little. but there are moments where you couldn’t find the strength to protect your pride when all that you ever wanted was to untie the knot burning in your core.

his dry chuckle sends a shiver down your spine as his grip tightens on your torso, holding you steady while his fingers continue their relentless rhythm. "i know, baby," he murmurs, his voice softer now. "just give me this moment, please."

and then he’s right back at it, thrusting his fingers deep inside you without mercy, his other hand occasionally teasing your clit. each precise movement against your sensitive spot sends you spiraling, the overwhelming pleasure leaving you breathless.

this time, though, he leans in, his mouth finding your pulse point. the heat of his lips against your damp skin, the way he bites and sucks at you, adds another layer of stimulation that has you reeling. it’s like he’s devouring you, taking every piece of control for himself as he plays with your body, denying you over and over like it’s a game he never tires of.

but when you find your voice again, it’s what finally cracks his composure. "caleb, baby, please—i need your cock, or i swear i’m gonna die."

it’s dramatic, sure, but it works.

he pauses, his breath uneven as he seems to wrestle with himself. his hand slips away from your aching core, giving you a brief moment of reprieve before he lines himself up against your entrance. the thick head of his member presses against you, the sensation so euphoric it has you pressing your forehead against the nearest pillow, trying to ground yourself.

was that what he wanted to hear all along?

biting his lip, he drags himself against your slick heat, collecting your essence along his tip, his gaze locked on the way your body clenches, desperate to be filled.

“you see, princess,” he continues, his voice a mix of tenderness and control, “maybe you’ve learned today, but i will always put you first.” his movements slow, deliberate, as he anchors your wrists against his shoulders, his hands firm but not harsh. “in my own selfish way, i just want the best for you. okay?”

you nod frantically, your body practically begging, even if your mind can’t quite catch up. you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to anymore, only that you want him—need him—to follow through.

but just as you think you’re finally there, everything shifts.

in one swift motion, caleb flips you onto your stomach, his weight pressing you into the bed as he adjusts himself behind you. the next thing you feel is the coarse sensation of something binding your wrists together behind your back, leaving you to hold yourself up by your shoulders.

a rope.

your heart races as you realize what he’s done, his control over you now complete, and all you can do is submit to whatever he has planned next.

it wasn’t just a rope, it was almost like a wire.

"caleb?" your voice wavered as you heard a mechanical whirring behind you. craning your neck, you caught a glimpse of his bionic arm in motion, a thin wire smoothly retracting from his forearm. the precision of it left you breathless—it was designed for this, leaving the prosthetic intact as it unraveled into a makeshift rope.

he wasted no time, expertly wrapping the wire around your wrists, binding them together at the small of your back. the restraint pressed you further into the bed, leaving you utterly at his mercy.

god, this was so hot.

"fuck, do you enjoy this, pipsqueak?" he murmured, his lips trailing soft kisses along your shoulders as he spoke. the heat in your body answered for you, clenching around nothing, leaving you needy and exposed.

"oh my…" his voice dropped, intimate and teasing. "if i knew my dirty princess was this naughty all this time…"

the way his tone dipped lower, filled with a mix of awe and desire, sent shivers down your spine. once again, you felt dangerously adored, like the very center of his universe.

he paused, leaning close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. "you tell me to stop, and i’ll stop. you know that, right, baby?" his question hung in the air, a gentle reminder that despite everything, he was always seeking your consent.

"yes, just—go on with it already," you manage, your voice trembling with anticipation as the tension within you continues to build, lingering in every nerve. even the sound of his voice feels like it could unravel you completely.

and that’s all the warning you get before caleb presses forward, his movements slow and deliberate at first, as though testing your reactions. his hands steady your hips, his touch both firm and grounding, as he finds a rhythm that makes you gasp softly.

the press of his member was initially a relief. you could see yourself opening your mouth in an embarrassing long moan that reverated into the walls of his bedroom. the pitch was drown out by the teasing of his bare member, no protection whatsoever, and the feeling of each vein of his pressing against your insides.

you could feel everything. and the clench of your walls was the proof of that.

caleb moaned too—almost a pornographic grunt—and left you searching for the back of your head with your own eyes as he pushed and pushed and pushed inside of you.

“oh fuck, baby,” caleb fucking whined, too lost in the heat of your pussy. you could picture him throwing his head back and taking a deep breath after setting himself all the way in.

you were left clenching and clenching and clenching until you could feel the pressure in your abdomen starting to hurt you.

“caleb, wait—,” you hissed and pinched your eyebrows, bound hands trying to reach for his hips. at the sound of your plea, he seemed to get back to himself.

“what, sweet girl?”. he pressed his forehead on your shoulder and hissed at the clench your pussy made because of the new angle.

“just—go slow please.” you asked and he nodded.

“can you feel this, princess?”, caleb snaked his hand in your stomach and pressed his long fingers into the bulge he could feel right there. you moaned loudly at his teasing, feeling his member twitch inside of you.

“is that you?”, you whined weakly, already feeling lightheaded.

“yes, my sweet girl, this is me right here,” he pressed the tent in your stomach again, making your breath hitch and your cheeks wet. “see how well you were made for me? my perfect baby”. caleb pressed kissed all along your back until he was no more touching your skin.

he fucks you experimentally slow for all but one minute before he speeds up, and fucks you mean and hard and rough from the get-go. you whine and thrash at first, but then you start feeling the delicious burn of his movements right below your navel and surrender yourself to the pleasure. he buries himself to the hilt, revels in the perfect sponginess of your tight, warm walls until he pulls out, only to insert himself again.

you gasp sharply, the intensity of caleb’s movements overwhelming as he keeps a steady, unrelenting rhythm. the sounds between you fill the room, a harmony of raw emotion and connection. his presence feels all-encompassing as you adjust to him, every motion deliberate, leaving you breathless.

you brace against the makeshift restraint, your body responding instinctively to the sensation, a soft moan escaping your lips. “caleb...” his name falls from you like a prayer, your voice trembling with both need and surrender as the moment consumes you completely.

you don’t even realize you’re reciprocating caleb’s movements with your own, meeting his rhythm as he keeps up a rough, relentless pace. you submit to his every motion so easily, fueling caleb’s confidence, his nerves alight with a mix of dominance and raw desire.

“fuck, princess. look at how good you take it… such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, his voice rough and breathy, laced with his own building tension. you can tell he’s been holding himself back, the strain evident in his tone.

“god, caleb, please—go harder. you’re so…” you pause, your words trailing off as the sensations overwhelm you.

caleb takes your plea to heart, his grip tightening as one hand tangles in your hair. he pulls gently but firmly for leverage, picking up his pace, the sound of every movement echoing through the room like a symphony of chaos and passion.

of course him pulling your hair made you moan even louder, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

caleb’s ego swells as he takes in your pleas, doing exactly as you ask. his hand tightens in your hair, using it as leverage to increase his pace, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room in a rhythm that leaves you breathless.

you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips, his grip on your hair sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body. “fuck, caleb, yes,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need.

caleb chuckles deeply, the sound rich and heady, his own composure slipping as he leans further into the moment. “now i’m sure you were made for me,” he mutters, his voice rough and strained. “god, i’ve dreamed of this for so fucking long…”

his words push you further, every syllable igniting something primal in you. you let go of every inhibition, your moans growing louder as he finds that perfect spot inside you, the one that leaves you reeling.

just when you think you’ve felt it all, caleb surprises you. his grip on your hair tightens slightly as he brings his other hand to your throat, his palm pressing lightly against your skin. the added sensation leaves you stunned, his breath hot against your ear as he leans in close, his voice a low whisper that makes your pulse race.

“how are you so loud, princess?” caleb murmurs, his words teasing yet softened by the gentleness in his tone as he trails praises over your skin. “i know you can take more than this. my girl is so strong, isn’t she?”

tears prick at the corners of your eyes, the overwhelming sensations building, the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter with each second. you squirm against your restraints, craving more of him, every fiber of your being begging to let go.

“caleb, i’m so close,” you gasp sharply, his movements deliberate as he pulls your hips closer, each thrust leaving you breathless. “you fuck me so good, yes,” you manage, voice breaking under the weight of everything.

caleb pauses just long enough to undo the makeshift restraint, his dark, intent gaze never leaving you. his fingers work quickly, and the wire is discarded without a second thought. his hands steady you as he flips you onto your back, positioning you in missionary again.

you look up at him, relieved to see the same undone expression mirrored on his face. sweat beads along his skin as he breathes heavily, his movements just as affected as yours. instinctively, you reach out for him, but he catches your hands effortlessly, pinning them above your head.

“you’re mine,” he growls lowly, his voice strained with intensity, his gaze burning into yours. “all pretty and mine, finally.”

his grip remains firm as he leans down, his lips finding your neck, leaving heated kisses and light marks in his wake. his other hand braces against your hip, steadying you as he moves with an intensity that leaves no room for anything else. the bed shifts with each motion, his every movement deliberate and overwhelming as your own release builds again, unstoppable this time.

“caleb, please—i need to,” you plead, your voice trembling, barely holding yourself together as you teeter on the edge. “please let me…”

his gaze softens briefly, his focus solely on you as he leans closer, his movements never faltering. “just a little more, princess,” he murmurs. “i’ve got you.”

his thrusts are so powerful you’re sure he’s beating up your stomach, guts fully rearranged until they spell his fucking name.

“you want to come, princess? is that what you’re asking for?” caleb’s voice is firm, laced with dominance, but there’s a tenderness beneath the edge as his hands hold you firmly in place, grounding you amidst the chaos.

“yes, caleb, please,” you gasp, your voice breaking under the weight of your own need.

he holds you strictly in place as he gives it to you unforgivingly, hammering your pussy like it’s his, because fuck, are you goddamn his.

he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “then tell me, baby,” he murmurs, his tone commanding yet teasing, “what’s my name?”

your voice trembles as caleb moans, your walls aching so bad your clit’s engorged beyond comprehension. it’s sickening the way he fucks you, so intoxicating and blissful and perfect you feel your soul leaving your body, feel your insides coiling so tightly you’re going to snap any second.

“caleb, fuck, caleb!”

“do i treat you right, baby?” caleb asks, his voice softer now, tinged with vulnerability beneath the heat. “will you let me be yours? will you let me love you, finally?”

“yes,” you gasp, your voice trembling with conviction. “god, yes—whatever you want. i’m yours, caleb. always have been.”

his response is immediate, shifting his position to deepen his movements, his breaths coming out in rough, raw grunts as he finds an angle that leaves you utterly undone. every motion is purposeful, pushing you to the brink as your hands strain against his hold, your body giving in completely to him.

and then it happens—your vision clouds, a rush of heat and intensity overtaking you as the tension inside you snaps like a tightly wound coil. everything bursts at once, your body consumed by waves of release so powerful it leaves you breathless, shaking as the moment overwhelms you entirely.

you’re so in your head it’s caleb’s frantic speaking that even keeps you at it, suddenly feeling something gush out of you in sheer abundance. “oh, oh shit, princess, you’re squirting, holy fuck, yes. just like that, baby, this is so fucking hot.” he praises copiously as you squirt all over caleb’s cock, leaving a gigantic, sloppy mess as he finally allows himself to come fiercely.

the connection between you remains unbroken as he lets himself go, his own release crashing over him. his body shudders, and you feel him tremble against you as the intensity of it all leaves you both breathless. the world narrows down to this shared moment, leaving you weightless and entirely consumed by the euphoria of being completely his.

your body lurches off his cushions and caleb’s dick twitches inside you, throbs and fills you up to the brim with his cum, the feeling nothing short of euphoria.

he releases with a deep, guttural groan, his body trembling as his palms press into the bed on either side of your head, caging you in. his breaths come in heavy, uneven huffs as he hovers above you, beads of sweat clinging to his damp hair, a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction radiating from him.

your wrists fall limply above your head, released from his grip, but you barely have the strength to move them. your body feels heavy, spent, every muscle lax from the intensity of the moment. your eyes flutter open and closed, exhaustion pulling at you as you try to focus on the man above you.

he’s still nestled against you, his body fitting yours like it was meant to, his forehead coming to rest gently against yours. his voice, low and husky, breaks through the haze. “pipsqueak, baby, don’t sleep just yet,” he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours as he cups your face in his warm hands.

your throat feels dry, your body too worn to respond fully, but his touch keeps you grounded. he brushes his thumbs over your cheeks, his voice soft and tender, as if to anchor you. “princess, you were amazing. you did so well… my good girl, forever my good girl,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose.

you barely manage a small nod, the pull of sleep too strong to resist much longer. his words are like a lullaby, soft and full of adoration, wrapping around you as you drift.

“i love you, caleb,” you manage to mutter, your body still trembling faintly from the aftershocks coursing through you. “i always have.”

his movements still at your confession, and though your eyes remain closed, you can feel the weight of his shock. his silence stretches, thick with emotion, and you wish you could see the expression on his face.

“you do, princess?” he finally breathes, his voice cracking with disbelief. “are you sure?” the raw vulnerability in his tone is almost heartbreaking, as if the idea of you loving him is too fragile, too precious for him to fully believe.

you nod, unable to speak, too afraid to shatter the fragile moment between you.

his hand brushes against your face, trembling slightly. “i’ll be good for you, princess,” he murmurs, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “i promise. you’ll never have to cry again. not ever.”

you feel a strange pressure leave your body, realizing it’s caleb pulling out of you. the sensation leaves you feeling empty, but his gentle care grounds you. he moves with practiced tenderness, cleaning you up and whispering soft reassurances as your exhausted muscles fight against the weight of sleep. even as your body surrenders to the pull of rest, his touch remains a steady reminder that you’re safe in his hands.

as caleb works quietly, his hands careful and deliberate, you can’t help but notice the shift in him. the way he moves, the way he looks at you—it’s different now. softer, almost reverent. he’s so eager, so determined to tend to your every need, as though this moment means as much to him as it does to you.

he catches your gaze, and for a moment, you see it—his redemption arc, written in the lines of his face, in the way his hands tremble ever so slightly as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. he’s trying so hard, pouring every ounce of himself into being what he thinks you need.

“princess,” he murmurs, his voice soft as his fingers trace your jaw. “you okay? do you need anything else?”

his question is earnest, his eyes searching yours for any hint of discomfort or lingering pain. and it’s in that moment you realize—this isn’t just about pleasing you. this is about him trying to earn something he doesn’t think he deserves. your love. your trust. your forgiveness.

“the condom, you asshole—you forgot the fucking condom,” you say, trying to sound angry, though there’s a playful glint in your eyes.

caleb freezes, his body going rigid as panic spreads across his face. his gaze darts to your body, and it’s like his senses have only just returned to him.

“shit—fuck, princess, i swear it wasn’t on purpose! i just… i wanted to feel you so fucking bad,” he blurts out, his words tumbling over themselves in his desperation to explain. “after you said you needed me or else you were going to die, i—i lost it. i threw all caution out the window. i’m so fucking sorry—”

his rambling apology is so frantic, so guilt-ridden, that you can’t hold back the soft chuckle bubbling up from your chest. it cuts him off mid-sentence, his eyes snapping up to meet yours, wide and full of worry. the tenderness in his expression, the way he’s so wrapped up in your well-being, tugs at something deep inside you.

“what?” he asks, his voice almost breaking. “fuck—i know it’s my fault, i know, i’m going to—”

“caleb,” you interrupt softly, reaching up to thread your fingers through his tousled brown hair. the motion draws his attention, grounding him as his frantic thoughts start to settle. “i’m joking. i’m on the pill.”

his eyes search yours, blinking in disbelief as your words sink in. “you’re… you’re joking?” he repeats, his voice a mix of relief and exasperation.

“yeah,” you say with a small, teasing smile, letting your fingers curl a little tighter in his hair. “relax. i’ve got it handled.”

he exhales a shaky laugh, resting his forehead against yours as his body finally unclenches. “jesus, princess, you almost gave me a fucking heart attack.”

��good,” you reply, smirking. “you deserve it for forgetting the condom in the first place.”

he laughs again, softer this time, and there’s something vulnerable about the sound. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to your lips.

“maybe,” you whisper against his mouth, your smile growing.

caleb pulls back just enough to look at you, his lips still curved in a soft smile, but his eyes are searching yours. there's something unspoken there, a mixture of relief and lingering uncertainty, like he’s still trying to believe this moment is real. his hand brushes your cheek, his thumb trailing a path down to your jaw, grounding you both in the quiet intimacy of the aftermath.

"you know," he murmurs, his voice low and steady, "i’ve always dreamed of us like this. not just the… well, you know," he says with a small, self-conscious laugh that tugs at your heart. "but being with you, waking up next to you, knowing that this isn’t just something fleeting." his brow furrows slightly, the vulnerability in his expression catching you off guard. "this means everything to me, princess."

your chest tightens at his words, the weight of them settling over you like a warm blanket. you reach up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over the faint stubble on his cheeks. "this isn’t fleeting, caleb," you say softly, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "it never was. i’m here, and i’m not going anywhere. not now, not ever."

his eyes close briefly, like he’s taking in the full meaning of your words, before he leans down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. "thank you," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "thank you for giving me this. for giving us a chance."

the silence between you stretches, but it’s not the kind that feels empty. it’s filled with understanding, with promises unspoken but felt in every look, every touch. outside, the faint hum of skyhaven’s magnetic fields reminds you of where you are, but for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not afraid of the isolation. caleb is here, and that’s all that matters.

"we should probably clean up," you say after a moment, your voice light but teasing as you glance at the mess the two of you have made. caleb grins, a mischievous glint in his eye as he leans down to nuzzle against your neck.

"or," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, "we could stay like this a little longer. i mean, i’d hate to let go of my good girl so soon." his playful tone makes you laugh, the sound light and free, and you realize that for all the chaos that brought you here, you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

"five more minutes," you agree, your arms wrapping around him as he settles beside you. it’s not perfect—not yet—but as you lie there together, tangled up in each other, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of something that will be. something that feels a lot like forever.

author’s note: thank you for everyone who took the time to read the four chapters of this mini-series, especially those who commented, you guys have my heart. the cheeky ending is a must, i'm sorry. send me a request • my masterpost

taglist: @bbieainee

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syntheticsymp · 3 months ago

Text

Running from our Ghosts

Chapter One

Ghost x fém!reader

Ghost has always been running away from his past. That’s why he ran away from home, why he joined the military, why he became the thing he is today. But what happened to the boy he was before? What happened to Simon Riley? And what would happen if he finally managed to stop running?

Aka, the amnesia fic

Tw: angst, injuries, Simon Riley’s Past (from the comics), just general rehashing of trauma. Eventual sex/noncon with reader but not quite yet. Buckle in for the ride, it’s gonna be a longer one

Ghost's lungs ached as he forced himself to walk through the forest. The rotting green leaves dipped as the rain weighed them down. Pure water was tainted by the blood that didn't soak up into his tactical gear.

He had been in this position numerous times by now.

Stumbling through the middle of nowhere, bleeding from practically everywhere, his injuries nothing more than a mere nuisance. It didn't matter how much it hurt, he had to get through it, just like he had before.

It didn't matter if he was done with this world, because it wasn't yet done with him. And he couldn't die until it was. He learned that lesson far too many times over.

The sun shining through the clouds only seemed to mock him. His mask was becoming insufferable, the air somehow too warm and wet at the same time. Ghost was running like some coward, doing his best to simply survive after his squad was ambushed. They scattered, planned to meet up back at headquarters if they managed to evade their enemies. Yet the sun followed Ghost with more ease than those tracking him.

Crackling mud caked onto his black tennis shoes, dragging him deeper into the earth. It wanted to reclaim him, just as it had done when he was buried in that coffin, the sand unwilling to let him escape. If he could survive that, then surely he could make it back to base. He had been through worse. Surely, this wouldn’t be the end of the elusive Ghost.

Sweat beaded down his forehead, mixing with the rain and blood. It clung to his pretty blond eyelashes, unable to soak into his balaclava. The eyeblack he had applied two days earlier was finally smudging, running down his pale skin, making it impossible to see.

Any rational man would have simply taken off the patterned cloth. But Ghost was not exactly rational.

He was logical, precise to a fault, yet neither of those things were the same as having ration. Having ration assumed that Ghost's thoughts would somehow make sense, which they most certainly did not.

Taking off the balaclava meant he would no longer be Ghost. He would return to the sad little boy he killed off years ago in the desert. Simon Riley, who still rested in that crappy coffin. That boy wasn't ready to return to this world. He was long gone in the recesses of his own consciousness, becoming a shell of a person, a ghost haunting its own body.

It took three more steps for Ghost to slip and fall in the mud. Such a pathetic thing for an operative to do.

That little boy inside him couldn't keep running. He needed rest.

So, Ghost pushed himself against an old tree, the greenery giving him cover as he closed his eyes. Just a few minutes. He would rest, wake up, then repeat the cycle just as he always had. It was far easier to keep running than it was to break free.

———

It was Simon Riley who woke up in your bed a week later.

That was all he remembered. A name. The rough outlines of his face. Maybe a fleeting memory or two of his childhood. Not much else.

He tried to call out to the owner of wherever he was, only to make rough, gagging sounds with his dry throat. He tried to stand, but his feet were too sore. His knees couldn’t support his weight. Instead, he tried to sit up, only to end up back where he started as stitches he couldn't remember getting threatened to pop open. So, he stayed where he was, looking around frantically.

Someone had to live here. His mind ran through every possible scenario. Though, all he knew, was that they were going to hurt them. Simon was already beaten and bruised, he wouldn’t be able to withstand anything more. Fear followed each little noise around the house, and he fought the urge to flinch. There wasn’t a single person he wanted to see. It would probably be safer for him to hide, try to launch a sneak attack, then try to find an exit. If there was one, hazy thing he remembered from his childhood, it was the games of hide and seek. He was the best at those.

But, he doubted he could make it far. So all he could do was hold his breath and clench his fists on instinct.

Sure enough, you appeared not long after he woke. A sweet little thing who placed water on his nightstand, not yet noticing that the man she had let into her home was very much awake.

Simon just stared. Did he know you? He didn't think so. But, then again, even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to remember.

When you finally noticed his annoying blue gaze following you, you let out a squeak that could only be described as delicious. God, Simon hoped that he knew you. You were far too good to pass up. Even in his panicked state, he noticed that much.

You rushed to his side. "Oh, you're awake! Thank God."

He scoffed at the term, but for the life of him, he had no idea why. The concept of God seemed like a concept so foreign that he couldn't touch it directly. He was the reason that he was awake, not some deity in the sky.

You picked the glass of water back up and sat down on the bed beside him, so close to the edge you looked like you were about to fall off. The space was a welcome reprieve.

“Are you alright?”

Simon didn’t answer. He couldn’t, his throat hurt too bad. You seemed to pick up on this.

"You need to drink," you said softly. The tone you used was meant to be forceful, but didn't compare at all to the people he was used to bossing him around.

Though, he couldn't remember the face of the man who barked orders like a second nature. Any of them. They just kept morphing, twisting, before disappearing into smoke.

Under any other circumstances, Simon would have argued. But right now, his throat was drier than he could ever remember it being.

The cold rim of the glass pressed against his lips and he dutifully swallowed. Everything inside him lit back up, his organs suddenly deciding to work again, his world exploding into color. Simon took the glass from you, the sweat of the glass dripping down his hand, not so much as caring to wipe it off.

It felt like he hadn't had anything to drink in days.

And, as far as he knew, he hadn't.

You just stayed where you were, staring at him with the same intensity that he had stared at you.

"Wha'?" he muttered, setting down the empty glass back down on the nightstand. His accent was heavy, heavier than it had been in years.

You shook your head, looking away like a child caught.

“Nothing. It's just that you're actually awake,

For a while there I was kinda worried..."

He could fill in the gaps for you. "That I'd die?"

"Well, yeah."

It was a fair assumption, he supposed. The last thing he remembered was the desert, walking around, searching for something, though he had no clue what.

"Do you want some more water?" You asked, standing back up. "It might help a little."

Just as you reached out for the glass, he grabbed your wrist. It was pure instinct, nothing more. The bone felt so brittle in his grip.

Break it. Don't let her get away.

He let go just as quickly as he had grabbed you.

Hearing voices combined with the horrified look on your face was enough to get him to shove his hand under the pillow, as if it was something evil. His sheepish smile was hard to distinguish with all his scars.

“Sorry." He cleared his throat and continued, "I'd love some more water."

You nodded, not needing any more prompting before running off. The angry red marks where his fingers had grabbed your wrists were enough to put some speed in your step.

You had no idea how dangerous the man you let in your home was. And he didn't, either.

Simon forced himself to his feet as soon as you left, not caring how much it hurt. He had to have supplies on him when you found him. He could use that to get home to...

Home. Right, where was that again?

Before he could think too deeply into that question, he found a pile of his things stacked neatly on a dresser. His thick fingers thumbed through the items, most freshly laundered, judging by the soft lavender scent that wafted from them. Though, he was still wearing the same undershirt and pants he had been wearing before. You must have been too nervous to change him completely.

Next, he went through the little trinkets on top of the pile. He picked up one after the other, holding it up to the light, trying to see if it sparked anything. Even the simplest memory would do.

It didn't help that most of his 'belongings' were just knives. Cold metal with no sentimental attachment.

None of these things were truly his own.

He was about to give up and patiently wait for you to return with another glass of water when something jumped out at him, the pattern scaring the shit out of him.

It was a mask. Or, a balaclava, to be more specific.

The black and white pattern seemed familiar somehow. It seemed like Tommy’s, but it wasn’t quite right. Simon ran his fingers over the material, the soft ridges of woven fabric drawing him back in.

Explaining it would be impossible, so he settled for the phrase, 'it was him’. Something about that mask held a piece of him, that he couldn't ignore. So, he slipped it over his face, his features becoming obscured as he looked in the mirror.

Simon had to fight the urge to laugh when he made eye contact with the person staring back. They looked like a skeleton or some crappy ghost. Surely, Simon hadn't been wearing that. If the cute girl who saved him saw him in that, he'd have to die of embarrassment.

Laughter bubbled up and spilled through his lips, painfully stabbing at his lungs as he pulled the mask off with practiced ease.

It was only once it was off that he realized what was amiss.

The mirror- it was wrong.

That had to be what was going on. The mirror was wrong. The person staring back at him wasn't him, it couldn't be. No, because Simon knew what he looked like. And he wasn't that...

Hideous.

His rough fingers went to touch the scars along his face. Everything about it was just wrong. If something happened to make him look like that, he would have remembered. He wouldn't have forgotten. Scars practically littered every part of his skin to the point most of it was scars alone, whatever pristine skin he used to have being torched away. The most prominent was the one on the left of his lower lip. It was split open, an old wound.

Jaw clicking as he opened it, he inspected his mouth next. His teeth were sharp, far too sharp for a human.

And two of his teeth were replaced with ones that were clearly fake. Not gold, but something of far lower quality. Its plasticky white color stood out viscerally against his coffee and tobacco-stained teeth. Since when had he started smoking?

The tips of his fingers found their way to the bottom of his undershirt. A tank top, a standard thing. He remembered his father calling it a 'wife beater' when he wore one. The title had fit for him. For Simon, however, it just made him nauseous. The browning blood caked into the white thread didn't help with the feeling. Every time he glanced over his skin, did so much as blink, another scar seemed to appear.

Another imperfection.

Things may have changed, but he did hold one truth evident. This wasn't his face. This wasn't his body.

There was only one way to tell if it was truly his. The birthmark on his hip. The one thing that couldn't be taken away from him.

He pulled his shirt up desperately, searching, half-hoping that he wouldn't find it. That it was wiped away. Proof that he wasn't crazy, that this wasn't him. But, sure enough, the dark brown streak was right where he remembered it.

Simon couldn't stop himself. He sunk to his knees, fat, ugly tears rolling down his face. This didn't make sense. None of it made sense. He didn't know where he was- he didn't know who he was. Some fundamental part of him had been ripped away, and he couldn't even remember what it was.

It felt like a violation, like it had been stolen from him.

He wanted those memories back. It didn't matter if they caused scars, if they made him relive that pain.

Those memories were his.

You came back not long after, holding a fresh cup of ice water. But poor Simon was too miserable to even look up at you. He couldn't let you see him, not in this condition. Crying was pathetic. His brother— Tommy, he thought it was— had taught him that lesson one too many times.

Still, you put down the glass and sat down a respectable distance beside him. You seemed just as lost as he was.

After a moment, you extended your hand to him. He didn't acknowledge it for a long time. Until finally, like a child seeking comfort, he took your hand in his. He still couldn't look you in the eye, but it was a touch he needed.

Having emotions was hard. And it was even harder when he was clueless about how to use them. It felt like drowning for an eternity, so now that he was finally on land, he couldn't remember how to walk.

So, after years of keeping everything bottled, Simon Riley finally cried. He cried for what felt like hours, so hard that at one point you forced him to drink water so he wouldn't dehydrate. By the end of it, his eyes were red and puffy. He had fallen asleep in your lap, trapping you in the uncomfortable position.

Only one word wormed through his mind as he slept.

It writhed and hissed like a living thing, whispering its name.

Ghost.

#call of duty #cod x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #09 ghost #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley cod #09 ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod #tw blood #tw amnesia

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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Amazon Alexa is a graduate of the Darth Vader MBA

Next Tuesday (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

If you own an Alexa, you might enjoy its integration with IFTTT, an easy scripting environment that lets you create your own little voice-controlled apps, like "start my Roomba" or "close the garage door." If so, tough shit, Amazon just nuked IFTTT for Alexa:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/10/25/23931463/ifttt-amazon-alexa-applets-ending-support-integration-automation

Amazon can do this because the Alexa's operating system sits behind a cryptographic lock, and any tool that bypasses that lock is a felony under Section 1201 of the DMCA, punishable by a 5-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine. That means that it's literally a crime to provide a rival OS that lets users retain functionality that Amazon no longer supports.

This is the proverbial gun on the mantelpiece, a moral hazard and invitation to mischief that tempts Amazon executives to run a bait-and-switch con where they sell you a gadget with five features and then remotely kill-switch two of them. This is prime directive of the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further."

So many companies got their business-plan at the Darth Vader MBA. The ability to revoke features after the fact means that companies can fuck around, but never find out. Apple sold millions of tracks via iTunes with the promise of letting you stream them to any other device you owned. After a couple years of this, the company caught some heat from the record labels, so they just pushed an update that killed the feature:

https://memex.craphound.com/2004/10/30/apple-to-ipod-owners-eat-shit-and-die-updated/

That gun on the mantelpiece went off all the way back in 2004 and it turns out it was a starter-pistol. Pretty soon, everyone was getting in on the act. If you find an alert on your printer screen demanding that you install a "security update" there's a damned good chance that the "update" is designed to block you from using third-party ink cartridges in a printer that you (sorta) own:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Selling your Tesla? Have fun being poor. The upgrades you spent thousands of dollars on go up in a puff of smoke the minute you trade the car into the dealer, annihilating the resale value of your car at the speed of light:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/23/how-to-fix-cars-by-breaking-felony-contempt-of-business-model/

Telsa has to detect the ownership transfer first. But once a product is sufficiently cloud-based, they can destroy your property from a distance without any warning or intervention on your part. That's what Adobe did last year, when it literally stole the colors from your Photoshop files, in history's SaaSiest heist caper:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/28/fade-to-black/#trust-the-process

And yet, when we hear about remote killswitches in the news, it's most often as part of a PR blitz for their virtues. Russia's invasion of Ukraine kicked off a new genre of these PR pieces, celebrating the fact that a John Deere dealership was able to remotely brick looted tractors that had been removed to Chechnya:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

Today, Deere's PR minions are pitching search-and-replace versions of this story about Israeli tractors that Hamas is said to have looted, which were also remotely bricked.

But the main use of this remote killswitch isn't confounding war-looters: it's preventing farmers from fixing their own tractors without paying rent to John Deere. An even bigger omission from this narrative is the fact that John Deere is objectively Very Bad At Security, which means that the world's fleet of critical agricultural equipment is one breach away from being rendered permanently inert:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#deere-john

There are plenty of good and honorable people working at big companies, from Adobe to Apple to Deere to Tesla to Amazon. But those people have to convince their colleagues that they should do the right thing. Those debates weigh the expected gains from scammy, immoral behavior against the expected costs.

Without DMCA 1201, Amazon would have to worry that their decision to revoke IFTTT functionality would motivate customers to seek out alternative software for their Alexas. This is a big deal: once a customer learns how to de-Amazon their Alexa, Amazon might never recapture that customer. Such a switch wouldn't have to come from a scrappy startup or a hacker's DIY solution, either. Take away DMCA 1201 and Walmart could step up, offering an alternative Alexa software stack that let you switch your purchases away from Amazon.

Money talks, bullshit walks. In any boardroom argument about whether to shift value away from customers to the company, a credible argument about how the company will suffer a net loss as a result has a better chance of prevailing than an argument that's just about the ethics of such a course of action:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

Inevitably, these killswitches are pitched as a paternalistic tool for protecting customers. An HP rep once told me that they push deceptive security updates to brick third-party ink cartridges so that printer owners aren't tricked into printing out cherished family photos with ink that fades over time. Apple insists that its ability to push iOS updates that revoke functionality is about keeping mobile users safe – not monopolizing repair:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/22/vin-locking/#thought-differently

John Deere's killswitches protect you from looters. Adobe's killswitches let them add valuable functionality to their products. Tesla? Well, Tesla at least is refreshingly honest: "We have a killswitch because fuck you, that's why."

These excuses ring hollow because they conspicuously omit the possibility that you could have the benefits without the harms. Like, your tractor could come with a killswitch that you could bypass, meaning you could brick it at a distance, and still fix it yourself. Same with your phone. Software updates that take away functionality you want can be mitigated with the ability to roll back those updates – and by giving users the ability to apply part of a patch, but not the whole patch.

Cloud computing and software as a service are a choice. "Local first" computing is possible, and desirable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/03/there-is-no-cloud/#only-other-peoples-computers

The cheapest rhetorical trick of the tech sector is the "indivisibility gambit" – the idea that these prix-fixe menus could never be served a la carte. Wanna talk to your friends online? Sorry there's just no way to help you do that without spying on you:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/08/divisibility/#technognosticism

One important argument over smart-speakers was poisoned by this false dichotomy: the debate about accessibility and IoT gadgets. Every IoT privacy or revocation scandal would provoke blanket statements from technically savvy people like, "No one should ever use one of these." The replies would then swiftly follow: "That's an ableist statement: I rely on my automation because I have a disability and I would otherwise be reliant on a caregiver or have to go without."

But the excluded middle here is: "No one should use one of these because they are killswitched. This is especially bad when a smart speaker is an assistive technology, because those applications are too important to leave up to the whims of giant companies that might brick them or revoke their features due to their own commercial imperatives, callousness, or financial straits."

Like the problem with the "bionic eyes" that Second Sight bricked wasn't that they helped visually impaired people see – it was that they couldn't be operated without the company's ongoing support and consent:

https://spectrum.ieee.org/bionic-eye-obsolete

It's perfectly possible to imagine a bionic eye whose software can be maintained by third parties, whose parts and schematics are widely available. The challenge of making this assistive technology fail gracefully isn't technical – it's commercial.

We're meant to believe that no bionic eye company could survive unless they devise their assistive technology such that it fails catastrophically if the business goes under. But it turns out that a bionic eye company can't survive even if they are allowed to do this.

Even if you believe Milton Friedman's Big Lie that a company is legally obligated to "maximize shareholder value," not even Friedman says that you are legally obligated to maximize companies' shareholder value. The fact that a company can make more money by defrauding you by revoking or bricking the things you buy from them doesn't oblige you to stand up for their right to do this.

Indeed, all of this conduct is arguably illegal, under Section 5 of the FTC Act, which prohibits "unfair and deceptive business practices":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

"No one should ever use a smart speaker" lacks nuance. "Anyone who uses a smart speaker should be insulated from unilateral revocations by the manufacturer, both through legal restrictions that bind the manufacturer, and legal rights that empower others to modify our devices to help us," is a much better formulation.

It's only in the land of the Darth Vader MBA that the deal is "take it or leave it." In a good world, we should be able to take the parts that work, and throw away the parts that don't.

(Image: Stock Catalog/https://www.quotecatalog.com, Sam Howzit; CC BY 2.0; modified)

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

#pluralistic #alexa #ifttt #criptech #disability #drm #revocation #nothing about us without us #futureproofing #graceful failure #darth vader MBA #enshittification

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murkysirenblue · 3 months ago

Text

Humpty �� ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

In your opinion, you had always lived a relatively normal life.

You were a fisherman, as were your forefathers for as long as it could be recorded. You lived alone in your little cottage by the sea, and rarely found yourself caught in precarious situations. A storm like none you’d ever seen before quickly changes that, and now housed in your tiny cottage is an injured yet vicious mermaid. With such a beast subdued, all lines of predator and prey are blurred- who is the hunter and who is the hunted?

Never forget where you belong on the food chain. (Title from Mitski)

Heres my boat inspo but im too lazy to talk about the sails

http://www.nefa.net/nefajnr/archive/peopleandlife/sea/fisherfolk.htm its the (M.V. “Trustfull” under the motorboat category

Chapter 1: Chapter 2: Chapter 3: Chapter 4: Chapter 5:

A sailor would never be able to predict the sea.

Skies shifted quickly from light blues with gentle winds to storms that could engulf entire fleets. Frevent waves crashed against your own little wooden boat more times than you could count. Tempestuous winds would strike you down to the deck amidst a storm with a loud thud- an injury more to your pride than yourself.

But despite these turbulent waves, those storms with no visible way out, you thanked the sea for leaving you alive to tell the tale.

The sea was your life, your livelihood. Yet you were no great sailor, with no great ship. A mere fisherman, as was your father before you and his before him. A nickname befitted you, dubbed by townspeople behind clasped hands and through whispering lips, ‘Hermit Fisher’. You enjoyed peace, time on the sea and in your secluded cottage, you found no issue with your way of life. You sighed, shuddering and clutching your coat closer to your body as you trekked through the cold fog towards the boat dock. Today was one of the many days you ventured out to the ocean- you lived out the fisher part of your nickname quite frequently.

A biting coldness pervaded throughout this little island you called home more frequently than not, even during the heights of summer. Winds whisked through rocky cliffs, sending harsh icy gusts throughout the isolated land. As you walked down the dirt track you listened, hearing sea birds cry overhead- their calls mingled with the sounds of the waves that crashed against the base of the cliffs, their violent icy waters molding them like clay. Familiar clouds hung above you, dark grey and ominous as they so often were. Tugging within you yelled two thoughts. The first one begged you to stay home, to prevent pride from persevering and to not put yourself at risk. The other merely told you to bring a raincoat.

You, of course, travelled onwards, for you were no fair weather fisher. A gut feeling told you these next few days would bring a good haul, and if it wasn’t too windy on the sea then lady luck was on your side.

You restocked the boat just yesterday- enough to last you a week. You had emergency rations plus a whole sea of fish in the water below. A plan lay in your pocket to be out for six days as well as the path you’d take. You’d go just a little ways past the Crone’s Finger, however if the weather made a turn for the worst you had another plan for what path to take homeward.

Bobbing up and down on gentle water was a familiar red boat- your one. Its scarlet red paint was slightly faded on its pine wood exterior, but vibrant enough to stand out against the ever expansive blue. Along the bottom of the ship in white paint read ‘The Salmon Seeker’. Your great-great-grandfather had named the ship in hopes of fishing lots of the stuff, or so the family legend said.

Unfortunately for him, all there was to be found for you was herring. Your father and his as well all found themself stuck with a similar issue, your father often floated the idea of a curse. Superstition was a sailor's best friend after all. Often you considered changing the boat’s name, as if to spare yourself from any more jokes at the town market- yet the humour in it held you back from doing so.

As you inspected your boat, footsteps followed by a familiar head of thick orange hair found itself in the corner of your eye. You quickly turned around, a smile spreading on your face.

“Well, who do we have here,” you mused.

“Mornin’ Yuu, figured I’d meet you here before you left,” Ace said, throwing a lazy arm around your shoulder, “And also to get that key,”

You reached into the pockets of your pants, retrieving a small chain of keys and placing them into Ace’s open palm, “Make sure you don’t break my windows this time,” you teased, poking him in the chest.

“Well you forgot the keys that time! How else was I supposed to get in?” He quickly came to his own defence, a playful pout on his face.

“Typically by checking under the mat for the spare ones,” You replied.

Ace quickly muttered something under his breath before quickly changing the subject, “So, getting any salmon this time round?”

“You know it,” you slapped his shoulder lightly, a gentle laugh leaving your lips, “Say, where's Deuce? You’re usually attached by the hip,”

“Eh, he had to go into work early, you know how Riddle is sometimes,” he sighed, “And before you ask, no, I’m not slacking,”

You and Ace made simple conversation as you finished up your inspection of the boat, running your gloved hands against the outside of the boat. The coating of pitch was cracked, with small bits peeling off as your rubber-covered fingers made contact. You made a short mental note to buy another can once you returned.

“Don’t worry about Grim’s breakfast today- he’s already been fed. He’ll be expecting his dinner at 6 though,” You said, heaving yourself onto the boat.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be yowling at us till we do,” Ace said in his typical relaxed tone, “Try not to die this time round?” he said with a wink.

“Always,” you winked back.

You entered the steering room with one last wave to your friend, finally beginning to head out to the fog covered sea. The scent of salt was thick in the air, carried by the early morning breeze. The fog quickly made the view around you murkier than the depths below, and it didn’t take long for the red-head’s waving form to disappear amidst the wraith-like tendrils of mist. A cone-shaped flash of light occasionally appeared overhead, and you silently thanked the lighthouse keeper for operating the beacon.

If you were considered a hermit by the townsfolk, you could only imagine what they said about him.

It was operated by one Idia Shroud, the lighthouse having stayed in his family for generations. He was so rarely seen, that son of theirs. Only once or twice had you ever even seen Idia in town. Though you hadn’t much else to say about the man, you felt appreciation for the light flashing above.

Despite the surrounding dimness, the sea looked to be calm, with the waves playfully bopping your boat up and down as it journeyed through the blue. It was a comforting rocking motion, like a mothers cradle. You’d known the sea long enough to know that the conditions in the open ocean were far better than the ones surrounding your home- all you had to do was traverse the misty grey haze. The winds felt slow and humid, a good sign that any schools of fish would be larger than usual. Windy days led to them being split up into smaller groups against the harshened currents.

You leaned against the wheel, waiting as the propellor pushed you through the greyish blue expanse. You’d occasionally catch sight of another boat's light through the dizzying mist, but not much else.

After what felt like hours of waiting, you finally found an end to the fog. Passing through, you looked back on the wall of grey that engulfed the area, spilling out slightly along the top of the water. You coughed slightly as you breached through, eyes trained on its almost wave-like appearance. Soon all that fog was but a memory, and you pulled out your map and pencil. It was an older map, covered with dates and small markings of where not to go and where bigger schools met up and what seasons you should go where. You drew small dotted lines spreading out from your island, tracing along a larger, older circle. It seemed as though your home were encased in a dome of fog. It ended at roughly similar coordinates each day, and rarely did you see it dissipate.

You liked to track where it ended, searching for a hint for something. You weren't sure what you were trying to solve, or how anything connected- you knew you had to work it out though.

As you left the sight of the misty wall, you began to lower your net in the water, watching as the hemp material all but disappeared as it sank into the depths. There was a lot of waiting in this job.

As you drifted, you looked out at the dull sea- the clouds overhead having turned everything into a blueish grey. It was lonely at times; boring at others. Minutes turned to hours and hours to days. Days and days of looking out at nothing but blue. Sevens, it was lucky to even run into a merchant ship- anything to keep you from going crazy. As time ticked by, you were left wondering what to fill the empty minutes with. Tic-Tac-Toe? No, it’s no fun to play by yourself. Filling in the Captain’s Log? There wasn’t really much to write about either- not even far fetched theories on the nature of the misty dome. And you didn’t particularly feel like doing that kind of work anyways.

You sighed and looked out at the sea, pondering the idea of hiring a deck-hand. You were sure Ace and Deuce would be happy to hang around on a little journey out to sea, if only to escape their boss from having their heads… Actually, considering the amount of meticulous tasks there were, those two probably wouldn’t be the best to hire. You also doubted Riddle would even allow them to spend that long away from work to fool around on your boat anyways. Perhaps your cat - a gluttonous grey chartreux- could stand to see where you went so often for days on end. However, the more you spent thinking the more you realised what a disaster that would turn out to be. Fish, Grim and hard work would not be a very good mix.

Sighing again, you looked out into the surrounding ocean - after all there was very little else to look at. You leaned on the edge of your boat, looking up at the seabirds that occasionally flew above your boat. Their loud calls echoed through the expanse of the open seas as they dived down below looking for their next meal. It all felt like a careful, frenzied dance. Like the outstretched arms of spinning dancers just shy of missing each other. Their wings whirled as the oceans twirled, opening its mouth for them to enter within. They would launch out again, fish of all sorts wrestling against them as they were made a meal. Everything danced, everything moved around, spinning and spinning into each other- your own personal vicious ballet to view.

Suddenly, there was a pause in it all. A flash of light. Then a splash of a long, slender scaled tail. Everything felt as though it stopped, and you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips as you stood up straight. You surveyed the sea with a critical eye, leaning over the edge as you tried to force your eyes to see past the blue barrier of the darkened ocean. You spied black tendrils, something pale and a bright flashing emerald green. The scales when they had breached earlier were gleaming, managing to catch what little light the sun provided. You stood back from the edge, throwing your hands away as though burned.

Could such tales your father spoke of be true? Could it have been…

You were no stranger to tales of mythical creatures. In taverns you had often overheard tales of 30ft long tentacles ripping great hulking ships in two as though it were nothing, legends of whirlpools the size of whole countries sucking fishing boats into its mass. Stories of sirens driving sailors mad with their voice along. And quite frequently of mermaids, most of such from your father.

Could it have been a trick of the light? Could such an impossible sight be a cruel joke your mind was playing on you? Sailors were often plighted by ocean madness, could it be ailing you? But with such a calm, darkened ocean there was no possible way you could mistake something for the view you just saw.

Half fish, half human- something your father avidly believed in. You let out a shaky breath as you took another step back from the edge. Petty beasts, you corrected. No matter what role they played in the stories spun by him whilst at sea together, whether they were healers, guides, all powerful; they were always spiteful at heart. Without feelings, without empathy. Accursed and too far removed from the Sevens love.

You tried to recompose yourself, ignoring your rapidly beating heart. You closed your eyes briefly, remembering an encounter with two passing merchants from the Scalding Sands. Kalim and Jamil, if your memory served you right. Kalim had been excitedly telling you he once saw a mermaid- with scales of amethyst and a beautiful face- just a ways past the Coral Sea. Taking a swig of your drink, you prayed to never see such a beast. He didn’t understand, others did.

You knew all too well what became of people driven by delusion. Stuck in sights they couldn’t prove they’d seen.

After more minutes of staring into the expanse of blue below bore no change to the surface and what came from it, you breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps it merely was a trick of the light. You wouldn’t be swayed by delusion or superstition, you thought, taking one last look back as you returned to the steering room. Maybe you should fill your logbook out after all.

There was no fog out here, but dark clouds remained above. You felt an odd itching feeling build within. The air felt dry around you, but there was still a pleasant warmness to it. You’d been sailing long enough to know there was nothing good about that. You left the steering room, deciding to bring your net in one final time. It had been a full day out at sea already, and your initial gut feeling was correct- you had a good haul. However you would have to cut the journey short, for you wanted to make it back before whatever was brewing above hit. You heaved in your catch- all herring as usual.

Part of you felt almost disappointed nothing ever came of that long tailed mer- creature, but another, far larger part of you was relieved to not bring such a bad omen onto your boat. With your catch, you made your way down into the cabin to pack them away in ice-filled crates. Your step backing a bit more speed than usual and a furrowed brow were the only visible signs of your worry.

It felt a bit silly to believe that the ocean could sense fear the same way a predator could- that it could smell the trickle of nervous sweat running down your forehead, or feel the increase of your heartbeat vibrating through your body like a snake hiding beneath sand, waiting to strike. Yet despite knowing how irrational this fear was, you still attempted to keep up the brave face to cover the increasing worries seeping through you.

Looking down, each fish was stacked into a crate, their scaled bodies writhing against each other as the cold sent them slowly into shock. You once heard someone call herrings 'silver darlings’ at the markets once, for their scales were as slick and as bright as liquid mercury. Ever since you were a child fishing with your father you had seen schools of them shimmer beneath the golden setting sun. The soft yellow light radiated off their scales, penetrating past the blanket of darkening blue above them. Standing by your father, he would smile down at you. Fleeting moments that had long fled, and you were grown now, left to appreciate the sight alone.

The herring’s stare had also long unnerved you. They seemed to look right through you with those bulging, cold dead eyes. They were nearly as large as their head, with uneven black pupils surrounded by a moat of silver. The pupils weren’t perfect circles like most creatures- hell, not like most sea creatures, giving them an awkward gaze. When you would scale them, oftentimes the vessels near their eyes popped, leading to them being filled with blood and turning the silver iris a dark red- as did their flesh when they were smoked. A ‘red herring’, you chuffed.

You shook your head- you were getting distracted. As you stacked the crates, you secured them in place with a tan hemp rope. The storm brewing above told you many things. That you would be getting saturated, that you probably should have bought that can of pitch this morning, and that if you didn’t secure everything now you would be very pissed at yourself later.

Looking over at the ladder that led to the deck, you noticed a couple fat droplets of water had splattered across the floor and began to stain the ladder a darker colour. Sighing, you grabbed a yellow raincoat from a shelf securing it on as you quickly made your way up the ladder, almost an eyesore- you had bought it from the Al Asim merchant.

Procuring a key and padlock from a shelf below, you locked the hatch leading to the cabin as you exited. As you popped your head up, you could already see dark waves beginning to build up as the skies turned black above. You had anchored the boat early, and that was the only reason you hadn’t drifted away yet. After turning on all the boat lights you could, you rushed to the bow side, deciding if you should unanchor or not. On one hand, you could remain secure to the seabed, and hopefully not be bashed around too much by the waves. The seabed wasn’t too deep, but it would still take about 5 minutes for you to unanchor; it already began to rain, you didn’t have long till the storm decided to hit.

But on the other hand, the anchor could be ripped out by the waves if they were harsh enough, and you would be in a very precarious situation. Also depending on where the waves hit, your boat could take a lot of damage. If you were to push it enough now, you might be able to get away before the worst of the storm hits. You were a few hours away from home, and you weren’t a fan of returning late in the night. However the more you spent thinking about it, the less time you had.

You let out a huff as you decided to bring the anchor in, listening to the rusted chain rattling as you strained to pull it up into the boat. You heaved and panted as the boat now began to rock to-and-fro amidst the navy waves, with white foam occasionally spraying across the deck and soaking the few exposed parts of your body. Your rubber gloves clutched onto the chain as you used your full body force to pull it on board, silently praying you wouldn’t lose your grip or slip on the rapidly wettening ground. Your teeth were clenched so hard you near feared they would shatter had you not done this hundreds of times before.

Lead grey clouds let out deep rumbles above as they sat across the skies, a fully darkened suffocating mass. Splutters of rain fell harder and colder as the minutes pressed on, and you shivered despite the layers of clothes you wore. Your boots squeaked against the slippery wood below with each step, your heart near palpitating as you tried not to fall.

You anxiously watched the stygian waves around you, relief spreading through you as the anchor finally revealed itself from the embrace of the sea. “Finally,” you wheezed as you locked it back in place, a dull ache spreading through your tired arms. Looking around you, you wished the clouds from this morning were enough to persuade you from going out to sea. You weren’t a fair weather fisher by any means, but you were foolish to doubt the storm brewing.

And as such, whatever God of Storms existed decided to unload all they had on you. Waves were beginning to build all around you- far worse compared to before pulling up the anchor. Rain was pelted down as well, dying your world a dark and vicious grey haze. You would have to get to the steering room soon to even have a chance to get yourself out of here. Spying something from the corner of your eye, you look to the left, just in time for a leviathan wave to crash beside the boat, throwing your little ship like a ragdoll with its sheer force. You quickly gripped onto the railing, practically hugging it as you used everything from your fingers to your arms to remain on the boat. You were sure your fingertips were turning white as you clutched with all you had, waiting for the spinning to stop so that you could dash into the steering room that sat at the other end of the boat. Your heart pounded against your ribs as you tried to calm your breath.

The boat suddenly began to tilt upwards at the bow, and looking down past the railings you saw another large wave begin to build up towards the sky, slowly pulling your boat up at its base. Your heart dropped. From the sheer size and speed, it was likely a rogue wave. This quickly shifted to a ‘get into the steering room to have any chance of living’ situation. You would, quite simply, die if you were to stay out here. The chances of survival even in the steering room began to dwindle too, you knew it deep down.

Grabbing a spare rope, you made a run for it. You all but swung the door off its hinges as you barged into the room, swiftly slamming it shut. You clutched the steering wheel and pulled the level below to full throttle, feeling the vibrations of the propellor as it whirred to life amidst the chaos around. You tried your best to power the boat across the water, pulling the wheel to turn the boat as fast as possible.

If you were to go forward away from it and take the full force of the wave from the stern-side, you would be completely wiped out- same case for the bow-side. Repairs would be costly as well, if you were to even survive. Taking such a blow across the side would be your best option, and hopefully if the Sevens were to smile down from above onto this poor fisher's soul, you could make it out before such a thing happens. As you navigated through the swirling ink all around, you tied yourself to the steering wheel with your rope; if only not to lose your balance amidst the shaking sea below. Thunder rolled above, near deafening as the noise rang through your ears. Your father always knew how to stay calm in storms- you wished desperately for any kind of guidance in a prayer spoken through gritted teeth.

Just as you neared the whirling edge, the curling mass of water above decided to give in, crashing down on itself with a noise not unlike the thunder above. Water quickly blackened the windows in front of you and began to seep through the cracks in the door. You cursed loudly, oh shit, oh shit, oh fuck. In hindsight, you should have bought more seels. Actually, you could have done a lot more in hindsight.

Everything then began to groan and creak as you felt the boat begin to tilt even more. You grabbed onto whatever you could and braced yourself as it then rolled over, again and again and again, as you were blown several metres across the abyss. You tried to remain upright the best you could, but even as it finally stopped spinning and something other than water could be seen through the window, your ship continued to be roughhoused by the conditions around you. Suddenly you lost your footing, smashing your head against the ship's wooden wheel- the world turning black again, as though your head was underwater.

—

Somewhere on a lonely little island in the middle of a stormy sea, two men sat in a quaint little cottage slouched by a cosy fire; its warm glow the only thing illuminating the decorated space. The ginger one of the pair looked out the window, watching out as rain pelted loudly against the glass panes. Time was passing on still, and the night began to grow late. There was nothing to do but sleep. He sighed, bored as he looked over at his usual accomplice, a worried look staining the bluenettes face.

“Yuu is fine, Deuce - they’ve handled weather like since before they could even walk,” he said, a relaxed grin hiding his own uneasy feelings.

“I know, but it feels weird that we’re relaxing in their house by a fire while they’re stuck doing Sevens knows what in the freezing cold alone!” He said exasperated, startling the sleeping grey cat, “Sorry Grim,”

Grim merely mewed in return, promptly falling back to sleep.

“See, Grim isn’t worried about them- you should follow in his paw prints,” Ace said lightheartedly.

Deuce scowled at him in return, and the two promptly argued to the background of distant thunder and rolling waves against jagged cliff-side rocks.

#twisted wonderland #twst #malleus draconia #twst fanfic #malleus x reader #mermaid au #fisherman au #19th century Baltic Sea inspiration

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carionto · 2 years ago

Text

A Proper Welcoming Party - Epilogue

Always Rig to Blow

Parts 1 2 3 and extra context

Jumping short distances with an emergency activation is generally safe due to the simple fact that the universe is so vast that 99.9999% of the time you'll end up in empty space.

This group of Big Thrashers raiders - Gobsmack's Gobbers (Big Thrasher named everyone and objections meant death) - found themselves in a nightmarish cluster of icy planetesimals, heavily illuminated for some reason, and criss-crossed with makeshift installations and contraptions whose purpose one could only guess at.

Alarms rang out of imminent collision as one of the ice rocks was hurtling towards their general direction. Barely composing themselves, the crew managed to fire up the engines and perform evasive maneuvers, but only just. And only for a brief moment - they were in a navigational nightmare, the likes of which even the most hardcore simulations only ever run as an example for places you never, ever, EVER fly into.

To add to their distress and confusion, the raiders were hailed by a lone Human vessel, which was darting with unbelievable agility through the impossible and ever changing field.

"Howdy there, names Abigail, you boys are lost I'm guessin'. Keep moving for a bit more, I'll turn off the Intermediate track config."

The Gobbers were stunned and blinded by a sudden outburst of hundreds of massive jets streaming immense propulsion force from all of the moving icy objects. Viewed from afar, a magnificent sight to behold - cascading lights, reflections, fiery cones, and sparkly clouds from escaping ice particles. Viewed from within, pure terror, a torturous miasma of fire, ice, dust, and raw force of power emanating from whatever is powering all these massive engines.

Merely a few seconds later though, complete silence. Peaceful even.

"So... bad jump, eh? It happens. Real poor luck ending up here though, gotta say. You should buy lottery tickets beating the odds like this!"

Abigail snort-laughs.

"If ya want, hook up to any of the track-layer movers, those things you just saw that, well, move the track pieces around. I hear our generators can fill up your wee batteries or whatever you got in minutes. Sorry I ain't got much else to offer, still working out the logistics for food and drink stalls here. Hard to get any sponsors so far out, you know?"

The raiders did not.

The more quick witted of the crew had already scanned the whole... mess of whatever this was, as well as Abigail's vessel, and realized something - all these engines mounted on some useless rocks, and her craft in particular, were extraordinarily powerful and tough, and most importantly - not attached to things with giant rail cannons. Big Thrasher wasn't here, so they were allowed to speak up and convince the others using evidence based facts and to make decisions as a group.

The pack of about a dozen ships had made a decision - they would plunder this area, take the Human as a trophy, and form a new Pirate Fleet with their soon-to-be enhanced ships. Abigail did not respond how they expected her to when they made their statement.

"Ooh, so like, you wanna have a competition, eh? See who's gonna be on top of the food chain. Alright."

An excited grin forming on her lips with that last word. A second later, every engine fired a searing jet of energy to once again engage the race track. This time on Expert difficulty.

Two of the Gobbers' ships were instantly crushed between colliding ice rocks, sending a shower of dust and debris all over the place, the rocks bouncing around (with the aid of the engines) to create a true chaos field of death.

It was a struggle to find any valid escape vectors in this ever changing vortex, but a few of the crew were working on a plan. The pilots just needed to keep the ships alive long enough. Meanwhile, Abigail was practically dancing around the field in her customized vessel, named Victor in bold neon lettering on its left flank. Whenever she spotted an opportunity, she manually fired off certain engines to make life for these pirates just a tad more unsurvivable than it already was.

Just as she had split three more ships in half with a particularly slim and sharpened icicle (the size of a small container ship) Victor came to a halt. All systems fried - it was a targeted EMP. Due to the prevalence of shielding technology, electromagnetic pulses were generally not that useful, unless you could generate one powerful enough to overwhelm the entire shield system, but that would be the equivalent of a star shooting one off, so they were rarely fielded. But as ramshackle pirate fleets go, you mount and use whatever you can get your hands on.

One of the more tech-savvy of the crew remembered that they had yet to encounter Human craft with shields, and that one of their ships had an EMP cannon. Being able to put two and two together at a greater pace than their former "Admiral", this one cleverly found a way to quickly defeat the Human.

Another crew member, who liked to dabble in the digital realm, initially dismissed their surprisingly easy access to the engine systems, thinking only a poorly set trap would use "Password" as the passcode for full system access. Once the excitement was slightly lesser from Abigail no longer making it worse every second, did they think to give it a try anyway.

And it worked. The UI was comically simple, again, most would dismiss a screen that just had five buttons on it labeled - [Beginner] [Novice] [Intermediate] [Expert] [Reset] - as a trap, but getting the sense this Human liked things simple, they pressed the Reset button, and once more the fireworks of engines and particles illuminated the area before halting the movements of the race track entirely.

Relieved beyond belief that the nightmare was over, the pirates, formerly know as Gobsmack's Gobbers (they'll come up with a new name soon, they just wanna get rid of Big Thrashers legacy as quickly as possible) set about to strip the place for all it was worth.

All of the pirate ships had indeed taken Abigail up on her previous offer and one of them was the first to finish recharging their hyperdrive, and was about to set out to go and retrieve Abigail's craft, when it suddenly burst back to life and a modified looking escape pod shot off to a fair distance from the track and the pirates who had all latched themselves to it. She opened a comm-link to the pack of raiders:

"Ehmps are annoying, but we got redundancies for a reason fellas. Also, you didn't think this place wasn't set to blow if I couldn't deal with ya'll in a bit more controlled way, did ya?

Well, cuz it is.

Rule #1, buckos - Always rig to blow."

With the flick of a switch and the brightness of a star, Abby's Action Asteroids (trademark never made it through), alongside a half-dozen of the remaining Raider ships, was no more.

Victor, or what's left of him, a shabby escape pod. Hector, sound asleep, she'd just given him a can of wet food before the whole... excitement started. And Abigail - miffed, scuffed, and a little drained, was looking to see what she hadn't "modified" or outright removed from the pod for her other "ideas". Fortunately, basic life support is intact, thrusters and quantum comms though... not so much. There's enough to cobble a regular transmitter and the cryo-stasis module appears intact.

"Welp, looks like it'll just be me, Victor, and Hector, ain't that right? (Oi, at least turn one of yer ears at me). Fine, then it'll be me and Victor. A-hem:

Dear diary, I hope somebody is less than a light-month out from here, cuz I got a fair to attend. They'll be showing off the newest burst jets. Imagine - you're going 0.002C, full stop, 180 turn, then back to 0.002C in under 10 seconds! Sure, any organic'll become a puddle, but at race-track speeds - think of the cornering we can do with that! Anyway, there's food for maybe a week, so imma join Hector now. (C'mere ya bum, we're sleepin' together). The end.

P.S. If you're the popo, it was totally self defense, I got the footage right here, I am not responsible for where the debris goes."

#humans are space orcs #humanity fuck yeah #humans are deathworlders #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #story #scifi #carionto

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crusherthedoctor · 8 months ago

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Top 5 Underappreciated Sonic levels, in your opinion

I was holding off on this one because being the weirdo that I am, there's a lot that come to mind, which is what happens when a fandom seems to only care about three or four locations in the whole series. So since I can do what I want with my lists, I'll instead list one per game. :] Not every game, just whichever ones that I can think of an example for.

Marble: the level design is blocky, but I dig the lava ruins aesthetic

Crystal Egg: really unique final zone, I'd love to see another stab at this concept

Hill Top: seems to get more love nowadays, but used to be widely considered the weakest Sonic 2 zone for being Emerald Hill 2: This Time It's Blue, I like it for being another unique take on a lava zone, very proto-Red Mountain

Quartz Quadrant: favourite zone (sorry, round) in CD, and not just cause it reminds me of @greenyvertekins' OC Verte Sinople, though that helps :>

Gigalopolis: an eye-catching city zone, even in 8-bit

Marble Garden: memorable Eggman fight with Tails, also has my favourite music in the Sonic 3 half next to Launch Base

Sandopolis: Act 2 might be a little slow, but I really like the Act 1 aesthetic, so there >:[

Marina Madness: level design is certified Knuckles Chaotix, but at least it looks pretty

Spring Stadium: I could really say any zone in 3D Blast because it's 3D Blast (Rusty Ruin <3, Volcano Valley <3), but I've really grown fond of the funhouse aesthetic here, shame about all the spears and spikes though :P

Radiant Emerald: glad they brought it back in Super Circuit, Double Dash, DS, Wii, this is a funny joke, pls laugh

Final Egg: picking one for SA1 is difficult because I think all of them are liked well enough, but Final Egg tends to get mentioned less frequently than other final levels in the series, and I won't stand for that

Pyramid Cave: probably the least discussed Sonic stage in SA2... well I like it (ghosts touching you inappropriately aside)

Ice Mountain: one of my favourite ice zones and Act 1 tracks

Techno Base: just as great as Music Plant

Egg Fleet: tends to get overshadowed by Final Fortress, I love how with this airship level in particular, the lack of clouds in the upper half of the skybox make it feel as though you're REALLY high up

Twinkle Snow: another favourite ice zone and music, even if the level design is one of the more... yeah

Digital Circuit: better cyberspace than the one in Frontiers (I would like to say Lost Impact for the atmosphere, but the tedium of the actual gameplay overwrites it for me unfortunately)

Mirage Road: underrated banger

Dark Desert: I know I keep mentioning desert levels lol, but a desert town during an eclipse is very striking

Aquatic Base: level itself is certified '06, but the music is S-tier and it paves the way for the greatest Eggman defeated cutscene in all of fiction

Night Palace: see Crystal Egg

Pirates' Island: interesting final zone, also leads up to TE DAVY JOOONES WITH YE

Aquatic Capital: includes Tempest Waterway as well

Jungle Joyride: despite the framerate's spirited efforts to drag it down

Misty Lake: I don't care too much for most of the levels in Black Knight, but Not Kingdom Valley looks nice

Sylvania Castle: aesthetically at least, it's a cool take on an Aquatic Ruin-type area

Dolphin Resort: cool aquarium/shopping mall combo, just a shame it was trapped in Free Riders

Aquarium Park: this has always been my favourite zone in Colours... between this and Dolphin Resort, clearly I enjoy me some underwater tubes

Titanic Monarch: dark and colorful simultaneously, and I don't struggle with it as much as most fans seem to

Mortar Canyon: its biggest crime is how short it is, cause then I can't hear the music :(

Egg Fortress: it might start off as a standard Not Death Egg, but I love the reverse gimmick in Act 2, and I actually like the final boss' brutality because it's Eggman punishing fans for portraying him as a dad ack ack ack ack ack

#Crusher's Asks #Opinion #Sonic the Hedgehog

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limey-self-inserts · 10 months ago

Text

First Day Alive

Word Count: 3.8k words F/Os: The 501st (familial) Summary: Ajax's first meeting with the 501st and Domino Squad, before they even have a name. Content warnings: canon is a sandpit and we are building castles here

Tag list: @lavenoon @mikealys-ael @rexscanonwife @space-sweetheart @bugsband @ssunnybee @avenships @faerie-circle-ships

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As ever it did, a storm rolled over the surface of Kamino. It rained more than it shone sunlight out here, but the weather was as much deterrent to those who wanted to reach the secrets on the surface as much as the fleet of starships that floated in space above the planet. Within the clone factory and training base, it was usually impossible to hear any of the storm’s sounds. To do that, you needed to find the quiet spaces in the corridors where the vents drew close, and the thunder could sneak down the metal veins to rumble in the distance. Or you could head to the hangar bay.

“How goes it?” Rex called out to the other trooper who stood to the side of the hangar doors, just barely touched by the rain that lashed the metal floors and roof tops of the smooth domed buildings. Neither of them could see the ocean from here, but it roared louder than the wind.

“Miserable, but a good light show,” Fox replied, gesturing up towards the skies. Thick clouds were intermittently split by lightning, turning the grey-green sky to hues of blue. And somewhere beyond that, roiling red and orange sparks could be seen descending towards the ocean horizon, far from their reach. Although the sparks were certainly not natural, neither clone trooper reacted with surprise.

“General Shaak Ti had mentioned a Separatist cruiser coming in too close for comfort. Looks like that’s not going to be an issue for us,” Rex commented, folding his arms as he watched the shreds of debris cascade down past the lightning storm.

“Mmm. Someone too bold or too stupid,” Fox agreed. “But that’s their problem now.”

“Was their problem.”

Both clones shared a small smile of amusement, silently laughing over some hapless droids that had been left to burn up in the atmosphere on the orders of someone who hadn’t put their head on straight. Anything that could be a victory, even the destruction of a Separatist cruiser without needing to lift a blaster, was taken as one.

There wasn’t time to celebrate, of course.

“You’re expected in the training facility with the rest of the boys soon,” Rex said. “We might be here on medical but we still need to keep sharp. I’ve got to track down Jesse, so I’ll see you there.”

“Right you are, Captain.” Fox snapped a quick salute before marching back inside alongside Rex, leaving the rolling storm, far away falling debris, and the very close hungry ocean behind the hangar doors.

Ninety-Nine knew the corridors of the Tipoca City facility well. So well in fact he could easily have navigated it blind. Not that he ever had to - the facility was constantly bathed in white light, as if the darkened sky of storm clouds didn’t exist. But he knew each corridor and each store room and every maintenance hatch’s location, a little helping hand for his janitorial duties.

Shuffling along to the next store room along, he ducked aside for a squad of clone infantrymen - freshly graduated from the look and sounds of them, their high spirits and eagerness as they chatted amongst themselves. Ninety-Nine would never count in one of their number on the battlefield, but he took great pride in being a clone still. Important duties needed to be done here at home as much as at war.

The store room door slid open and he pushed the hov-trolley inside. This room was mostly medical supplies, boxes of mediscan units and painkillers alongside huge tanks of bacta, mostly to be shipped off to the front line alongside medic squads. Picking a data-pad off the trolley, Ninety-Nine began to scan over the crates and tanks surrounding him, ticking off what he saw. Anything they needed he would be able to bring to the Kaminoans attention, and then they would ensure the shipments arrived. Although not always in good time, as he noted that the supplies here had already been flagged as needing restocking.

“War’s tough on everyone and everything,” he muttered, holstering the data-pad back on the trolley and beginning to load up a supply run for the medical wing.

Wait.

What was thudding?

Turning around, his eyes skimmed over the store room. There it was again, that low metal beating sound. The waves were too far below to be able to strike against the sides of the facility, and the storms rarely got so bad as to physically impact the city. So then…

His eyes turned to the maintenance hatch in the floor.

THUNK THUNK

Turning on his heel, Ninety-Nine shuffle-ran for the store room door, grateful for the automation to fling it open fast enough for him to exit. Further gratitude arose as he spotted familiar faces of Domino Squad in the corridor, Fives and Hevy both catching sight of him and rapidly going from delight to concern.

“Ninety-Nine! What’s wrong?” Fives called out, leading the squad to hurry across. Other eyes spotted the attention. Other passing troopers paused to watch. It was a soldier’s instinct - to see the disturbance before it could begin. And Jesse, one of the elite 501st, was the closest to be drawn over with a frown.

“Someone’s below the maintenance hatch,” Ninety-Nine replied breathlessly. “We’ve got a security breach.”

“Shouldn’t we alert the system?” Echo asked quickly.

“Not if we deal with the intruder ourselves,” Heavy replied, hand squeezing on the grip of his blaster pistol. But Jesse stepped in, pushing his hand down and away.

“Are they actively breaking in?” he asked Ninety-Nine, who shook his head.

“They’re…knocking.”

“Alright. You open the hatch. Domino, you provide cover. I’ll alert the system the moment we start shooting.”

Domino Squad were still fresh from graduating, waiting for their first assignment, but they moved like a squadron that had been fighting together for years. They filed into the store room as one, flanking around Ninety-Nine as he took position at the entrance hatch. The knocking was beginning to get more rapid, as if the entity below knew that there were people in the room. Briefly the clones all glanced to each other, before Cutup nodded towards Ninety-Nine. He reached down and twisted at the locking system. The hatch hissed. Locks fell back from sockets. The hinge swung upwards. Four blaster pistols readied themselves at the open hole where the storm and wind began to howl from.

A sodden human stared back. Possibly a youngling. They gripped to the emergency escape ladder like it was the only thing keeping them alive, wet hair plastered to their face. Bright blue eyes looked up at the squad and Ninety-Nine, wide and scared and exhausted.

For a moment, no-one moved. The clones waited. The human stared.

“Sorry,” they murmured. “I-I couldn’t find the front door.”

“Kriff’s sake, what’s this supposed to be?” Hevy snapped.

“Could be a spy?” Fives raised.

“We won’t find out leaving them out in the cold, will we?” Droidbait looked over his shoulder to Jesse, who was also caught staring. “Alert General Shaak Ti. Let her know an intruder got into the facility but we have them secured.”

As Jesse turned to speak rapidly into a comms device, Echo holstered his pistol, kneeling down to extend a hand to the human. They took it quickly, a foot slipping from the ladder, but Echo’s strength and their arm pulling onto the room flooring overhead kept both from tumbling back down to the ocean below. He hauled them through, Hevy reaching over to hook a hand under the human’s other arm and help pull them fully into the store room, allowing Ninety-Nine to seal the hatch once more. They lay on the floor, more beached fish than human, gulping down deep breaths as their eyes tried to focus on the figures around them.

“C’mon, get up,” Hevy said firmly.

“I don’t think they can.” Ninety-Nine approached, kneeling down and taking the human’s pulse. “Heart rate is going too fast.”

“You might need to call in a med-bay,” Echo called over to Jesse. “Looks like they really did climb all the way up from the ocean.”

As the squad continued to discuss over their heads, Ninety-Nine felt fingers catch on the edge of his uniform sleeve. The human caught his eye, and the faintest of smiles slipped past their lips. A faint “Thank you” formed but was not spoken.

He was a good soldier. He hadn’t seen the enemy but knew them well. It seemed wrong that the enemy would come directly to the clone force’s doorstep with a face that was so exhausted.

He held their hand until the medics came in with the gravstretcher.

“Human, planetary origin unknown. Biological age, around twenty six standard years. Anatomically female, although signs of past surgery suggest alternative designation. Much more recent signs of surgeries show the subject to have experienced numerous incisions across the front and sides of the torso, although our medical scans have not picked up on any foreign objects present in the body.”

Nala Se read the results from the data pad in her hands, although her eyes frequently flickered to the individual that lay within the medibed. Shaak Ti also rarely looked away, her face creased by a firm frown, the humming of electrical equipment punctuated by the soft rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.

“Closer examination of the subject found broken fingernails and bruised pads from impact or attempts to open an object; a near hypothermic state from exposure to cold temperatures; trace amounts of seawater in the lungs; and severe muscle fatigue.” Nala Se now glanced across to Shaak Ti. “Tying in from the Separatist medical robes they were first found in, it would seem that it was not only shipwreck debris that has been falling on Kamino.”

“If escape pods managed to get past the blockade then anything else could have made it past,” Shaak Ti muttered. “This isn’t good.”

“The prime minister will need to be informed,” Nala Se agreed, nodding her head slowly. “Defences must be fortified.”

“Have you managed to identify them?”

“It is….proving to be difficult.”

Something about Nala Se’s hesitancy and body posture carried the tone of embarrassment more than evasiveness. Shaak Ti’s head tilted, her gaze turning to fix upon the Kaminoan scientist. Caught under scrutiny, Nala Se ducked her head down further.

“With our biometric scanners, we are normally well capable of identifying any individual. However, it is reliant on using live tissue. The subject’s tissue….is not live.”

But then - both scientist and general looked back to the medibed. To the heart monitor that beeped steadily away.

“They are living, are they not?” Shaak Ti questioned.

“They are indeed, general. It is possible there is a technological fault at hand. I will speak to one of the facility technicians to have the subject scanned elsewhere.”

And just like that, the thought was pushed to the back of their minds, where it would remain unwilling to be considered. Far easier to fault the highest state of technology on the planet, than to take into truth the possibility of something that could be alive and dead at the same time.

“I will go to speak with Lama Su,” Shaak Ti says, pulling away towards the exit of the medical room. “I have instructed Domino Squad to guard the intruder until a decision is made as to what will be done with them.”

“I must accompany you, to provide the prime minister with information on the subject’s state,” Nala Se commented, her steps gliding along beside the jedi. “Once we have concluded whether the subject is a threat or not, we will want to take steps to interrogate them as to how they escaped the transport ship, whether before or after the cruiser was brought down by the blockade.”

The room emptied, door sliding closed behind the pair.

Silence. A steady beep. Blue highlights across a still body.

Eyes opened. Head turning to glance towards the door, a steady breath escaping before they lay back again. Eyes closed.

The door slid open again, allowing the tail of a conversation to spill into the quiet space.

“- delaying us from taking proper assignments.”

“This is our assignment now. It’s important for the safety of the facility, for the city, for the rest of our brothers,” Droidbait returned fire to Cutup, who folded his arms.

“I do reckon we don’t need everyone in this room,” he said. “I’d rather keep guard on the front door.”

“That’s a fair call. Who wants front door and who wants inside the room?”

The squad split relatively evenly, Fives and Echo settling on chairs inside the room as the rest of the troopers filed out to the front door. Another silence returned, although this one accompanied by an air of….impatience. Curiosity. Thoughts rotated in the space between.

“Do you think they’re actually a spy?” Echo asked.

“Anyone could be a spy. Could be they put themselves in this condition as a way for us to lower our guard, or they’re just a….” Fives waved a hand through the air. “Bad spy.”

“Guess you’re right about that.” More silence. More thoughts. “It seems risky though. They could’ve been blown up with the Separatist cruiser. If they came down with an escape pod, it might’ve sunk with them inside. Too many holes in that sort of a plan.”

“Who’s to say it wasn’t ejected before the cruiser was blown up?”

“But then the system would’ve flagged it. Instead it was hidden with the debris fall. That’s why no-one was alerted until they were quite literally knocking at the front door.”

“So it was risky, but still perfectly timed to be hidden?”

Echo went silent, and Fives folded his arms as he looked back to the resting figure.

More silence. But fewer thoughts now.

Boredom was easy to slip through the edges. Even good soldiers got bored, and guarding a sleeping body was a sure-fire way to go about it.

“Where do you think we’ll go first?” Echo asked.

“From what I’ve heard, it’s a seventy-thirty shot of being sent straight to the frontlines or posted up on active guard duty. There’s some talk of a new push being made for Hypori. And although Christophsis was cleared up, there’s still skirmishes happening on the planet’s surface that’ll need reinforcements.”

“There’s a lot of talk about Ryloth. Seems risky leaving the Separatists to establish a base there without sending in troops to counter-.”

“Orders are orders. We wait for the command to come as to where to go.”

The chatter eased through, back and forth, falling and rising through periods of quiet to moments of casual discussion. There was more silence than talk - the reason for their presence wasn’t forgotten.

But it meant the room, for a while, was disconnected from the rest of the facility. So when the blue lighting switched to emergency red, it jolted Fives and Echo into action immediately.

“What’s happening?” Fives called out to the rest of the squad, opening the door to look outside. The corridors, normally so bright and clear, were now also bathed in red lighting. Troopers ran to their stations, calling out to one another. Domino Squad bristled in their posts, watching as others hurried to where they might be needed.

“Security breach. A proper one this time,” Droidbait replied. “Comm chatter says it’s Separatist droids, stealth bots.”

“Looks like something did come down with the debris fall,” Echo muttered. “The intruder hasn’t done anything over here, so the droids are something separate.”

“We need to gear up and get moving,” Cutup said, Hevy nodding in agreement. But Droidbait shook his head.

“We have our orders to guard this intruder.”

“They’re not doing anything, look at-”

All eyes focused on the human that was very much sat up in the medibed, tentatively shifting over the edge with feet dangling towards the floor. They froze at the sound of no further talking, meeting their gaze.

“I can help.”

Cutup snorted in amusement.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands.”

“I’m not demanding I just…I can help,” the human replied, voice shaking. “You said it was droids.”

“How long have you been awake?” Fives questioned, beginning to prickle. How much had been listened to, eavesdropped on.

“Just for the important bit.” They dropped down the short distance off the medibed and their knees buckled immediately, forcing them to cling to the handles of the bed-frame. Despite the hesitation, despite the tension, Echo took the few steps forward. Slinging an arm under their shoulders, he hoisted them upright.

It was like the first breath before a lightning strike. Hair over his body standing on end, the edges of his armour buzzing just barely to be noticeable, a metallic taste across his tongue.

“I can help,” the human repeated, insistently, looking up towards Echo. And he believed them.

“I think they can help,” he said, glancing back to his squad, who all recoiled in various levels of disbelief and confusion.

“Echo, now is not the time to be acting a di’kut,” Droidbait muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We just managed to pull through graduation, we cannot be spoiling that by assisting an intruder in doing goodness only knows.”

“Look at them, they can barely stand, do you think they’re a threat to us?”

“That makes this worse, you realise? How can they help if they can’t even walk?”

The lights above them flickered. Somewhere deeper in the facility came the echoes of blaster fire. Somewhere in the red there was a haze of blue.

“We managed to conquer the Citadel by trusting each other,” Fives said, slowly, picking through the words. “I can’t see what Echo sees, but we are all brothers, aren’t we? Maybe this will prove us well too.”

That seemed to bring a shift in the squad. Cutup still looked reluctant, but Hevy was beginning to glance over his shoulder, in the direction of the blaster fire.

“Wouldn’t this count as keeping our post? We’re still guarding the intruder, just…not in the med-bay,” he raised. Droidbait’s gaze flickered madly from him, to Fives, to Echo, to the human.

“If we get court-martialed for this, I’m putting all the blame on you lot,” Droidbait muttered, as he unholstered his pistol and activated it.

“If we get court-martialed.”

“What’s your plan?” Echo asked the human, who’d been steadily leaving more of their weight in his hands. He could hold it at least.

“I need to see one of the droids. I can take care of them from there.”

“You heard the civvie. Let’s go droid hunting,” Hevy commented, beginning to head further down the corridor.

Boots and bare feet fell against the metal flooring, footsteps swallowed behind the background of the alarm blaring. Blaster fire rattled like rain on a hollow roof, echoing louder and louder the further and further Domino Squad proceeded. Rounding a corner together, the sound of the fight washed in hard. Hevy and Cutup split to the opposite side of the T-junction’s mouth, giving cover fire for the other clones who had cornered a pair of stealth droids - lanky bastards that, for any other droid, would be pinned down under the heavy fire, but even now were progressing bit-by-bit up the corridor.

Glancing back towards the reinforcements, Kix and Jesse both went from relief to confusion to alarm. Sensing the pause from his fellow brothers, Rex took a quick look over his shoulder and it was only thanks to the cover of Domino Squad that they were able to maintain the blaster pressure.

“Really? You brought a civvie to a firefight?” Rex questioned as Kix hurried back towards the squad, relieving Echo of his cargo for the moment. The human was visibly sweating under the emergency lighting, but their eyes were clear and hands steady as they accepted the new arm to support them.

“They said they can help,” Echo replied, kneeling down to join Jesse’s side with pistol in hand.

“Oh, I’d like to see what that means.” Jesse rolled his eyes.

Kix didn’t speak up. His gaze was firmly on the human’s hands that were lifted into the air. Their focus trained on the stealth droids, further down the corridor.

The smell of the storm warped its way through the ventilation system. Or maybe it came from a different source entirely.

With a harsh crackle, electricity sprung from the human’s fingertips. Arching down the corridor in the blink of an eye, the lightning connected with one droid, then the second. Both froze in place, limbs jerking wildly as their wires and connections were burnt to a crisp.

The human dropped, and Kix dropped with them, but it was on purpose instead of fatigue. Palms flat on the floor, those threads of lightning bounced into the metal of the facility, racing through the maintenance tunnels and cords of wires. They’d dug into the droids, and knew how they felt under the bright blue electricity that rolled off them.

Across the facility, the other stealth droids jolted, electrocuted from the sudden burst of electricity that sprung from the floors and walls. The scrap came to as an abrupt halt as it had started, clone troopers and one jedi staring in disbelief as the droids fell to the ground, smoke wafting from their joints.

The human gritted their teeth together, eyes alight with a glow that was almost white. Steam and smoke rolled off their back and shoulders, curled from under their fingertips. Thinking and acting rapidly, Fives rushed forward and brought the butt of his blaster rifle hard on the back of their head.

Silence. Still bodies on the ground. The creeping smell of ozone and petrichor lingered.

“You alright?” Jesse asked, pulling Kix to his feet.

“I’m fine,” Kix replied, turning his hands over in disbelief. He’d been supporting them up until Fives knocked them out, yet not a single burn or char appeared on his palms, or anywhere on his armour.

Lifting the human back up into his arms, Echo felt very aware of how fast his heart was beating. Adrenaline was a natural thing, and he was swimming in it now, just from proximity to this…person? This thing? They’d nearly burned themselves inside out. Had they even known what they were going to do?

I can help.

“General Shaak Ti will have to be informed,” Jesse said firmly. “Again."

"Get them back to the medical bay, so any damage they dealt to themselves can be treated," Rex added in. "There'll be discussions about your decisions another time. But at the very least...good job, Domino Squad."

“They did help,” Fives muttered, glancing away as he holstered his rifle, unwilling to look back at the human’s face. Domino Squad began to tail away towards the med-bay again, only too aware of the murmurings that were already beginning to snake through those present. That the squad had brought a civvie in, and the civvie had brought the storm indoors.

#writings #world: star wars #self insert #lets goooo I finally write this down after 3 years

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