#WHY DOES SWERVE HAVE EIGHT FINGERS

[peznutbutter]

Are you a magnet because I’m weirdly attracted to you

[royalscarlet]

Let's Stay and Count the STARS (Ch 1)

My contribution to Chreon week: an eight chapter long fic of Re1/2 era Chris and Leon. I prefer to write longer fics, so each chapter was inspired by the given prompts. (Also posted on my Ao3)

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield

Prompt: "Have we met before?"

Words: 1.3K~

Tags for Chapter: minor argument/swearing

It was already a rough week for rookie Leon Kennedy; new job, recently moved to Raccoon City, girlfriend dumped him. But now here he was stuck in traffic. Leon’s eyes darted from his stereo clock to the bumper of the car in front of him. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel as he absentmindedly listened to whatever was on the radio.

Leon glanced to his right to see his neighbor in this gridlock mess. The guy next to him had his head rested back against the chair with his eyes closed. Leon slightly turned away, but watched from the corner of his eye as the man lifted his hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. His arms were impressive, Leon gulped as he tried to stop himself from staring too long.

A car behind them honked and Leon’s attention was now brought to the empty road in front of him. As Leon pressed on the gas, the other man’s truck spun to life and cut Leon off as he started to move. The two nearly collided as their respective horns blared and tires squealed.

Leon slammed on the horn harder as the black truck sped away and swerved around another car in the distance.

“Asshole!” Leon yelled as he reclaimed control of his jeep. “Who even does that?” He waved his hand in the air.

It was already a hard enough morning, he didn’t need something like that to ruin his mood. Apart from that it was an uneventful drive to the underground parking garage of the RPD. Leon pulled into an empty spot and turned off the ignition before he rested his forehead on the wheel. He took a few deep breaths to try to calm his growing nerves.

“I want to help people,” Leon whispered. “I did well in the academy and I deserve to be here,” another deep breath. “It’ll all be fine,” he sat up and opened the door.

Leon walked upstairs and checked in with reception before he headed to his new office space. As he opened the door a small group of people stood and welcomed him. Leon was surprised by the warm reception, and amazed they even managed to get a banner to hang from the ceiling.

Lieutenant Marvin Branagh approached Leon with a firm handshake and a smile and walked him to his desk. Leon went to sit down, but paused when he saw two padlocks that kept his desk firmly shut.

“It’s a form of an ice breaker,” Marvin pointed towards the locks. “You seem like a good kid, shouldn’t take you too long to figure it out.” Marvin smiled again before he returned to his own desk.

Leon had to admit that it was a strange way to get to know his co-workers, but it was effective. He had his desk opened in no time and was already getting acclimated to it when Marvin walked up to him.

“First off,” Marvin placed a uniform on Leon’s desk, “this is for you. You should run up to the locker room and change into it.”

Leon picked up the blue fabric and ran his finger over the embroidery, “no problem.”

“And, while you’re up there, can you run these up to Chief Irons?” Marvin stacked some files on the uniform. “He’ll also want to meet you, so make a good first impression. I don’t want to have to find a replacement so soon.”

Leon stared at Marvin, who cracked a smile.

“I’m kidding,” Marvin slammed his hand on Leon’s shoulder. “Relax Kennedy, everyone’s first week is tough. Just don’t stick your nose in anyone’s business and it’ll be smooth sailing.”

“Uh, yes sir,” Leon took his uniform and files and left the room.

Leon stepped out into the main foyer and studied the makeshift map Marvin drew out for him. Apparently people had a tendency to get lost. As Leon looked at the room layout, he could see why. Leon walked up the stairs and started down a hallway as he glanced at the map again.

It took less than five minutes for Leon to mess up the one piece of advice his Lieutenant gave him as he crashed into another officer.

“Oh crap, I’m sorry.” Leon fumbled with his papers as he looked up at who he bumped into.

A brunette stood before him; only a few inches taller, but more toned. He wore a green vest with the STARS logo sewn onto it. Leon could just make out the name ‘Chris’ on the badge.

Leon looked at the man longer and felt something stirred inside of him, “have we met before?”

‘Definitely not, now I have some things to do. And by how clean cut your uniform is, and that fresh look in your eyes, I can tell you have a lot to do too.”

Chris brushed his arm against Leon as he started to walk away.

“Do you drive a black truck?” Leon couldn’t help but ask as something clicked in his mind.

Chris stopped and turned, “yeah, why?”

Leon shook his head and would have cursed at himself if he knew the chain of events he was about to set off. “You almost crashed into me this morning downtown.”

“Oh so you were that idiot in the Jeep?” Chris crossed his arms and scoffed. “You know I wish I could remember half the things I yelled at you.”

“At me?” Leon straightened his back, “you were the one that made the illegal move.”

Chris smiled, “someone was double parked in front of me. It wasn’t my fault you were too distracted to move when the light changed.”

Leon gulped as he glanced at Chris’ arms, ‘actually it was.’ He shook his head, “It didn’t matter, I had the right of way for Pete’s sake!”

Chris opened his mouth but was cut off as a voice boomed from down the hallway, “Redfield!”

Chris’ jaw clenched as he turned, “what Wesker?”

“I need those forms filled out by today, so would the two of you lovebirds shut it and get back to work?”

Chris turned back towards Leon and glared daggers at him.

“Sorry sir,” Leon stated as he looked towards who he assumed was the STARS captain. His blond hair was overly manicured and Leon couldn’t help but wonder why he needed sunglasses inside.

“Ahhhh, see Chris. At least someone here knows respect.” Wesker chuckled, “maybe I’ll get him to take your job?” Wesker returned to the corner he appeared from.

Chris scowled, “you better watch yourself, rookie. I have enough to deal with without you gettin’ in the way.” Chris walked off down the hall.

Leon stood alone and took a deep breath. ‘How could someone screw up so badly in just a few minutes of starting a new job?’ He would have slapped himself in the face if his hands weren’t full.

After he changed, Leon had a brief, but stressful, introduction with the Chief. He was careful to watch his step as he returned to the office and fell into his chair with a sigh.

“What got into you Kennedy? Irons put you through the wringer?” Marvin rolled his chair next to Leon and leaned on his desk.

“No,” Leon was embarrassed, but he felt he should be honest with his commanding officer. “I ran into some STARS members, and it wasn’t exactly a great introduction.”

Marvin shook his head, “Captain Wesker can be a tough son of a gun.”

“It wasn’t him exactly,” Leon pushed a pen on his desk around. “It was Chris… Redfield I think his name was.”

“Oh, Chris?” Marvin sat up, “must have just caught him on a bad day. He’s usually really nice.”

“Maybe,” Leon looked away and sighed, “what a hell of a way to start a job, huh?”

“Don’t worry Leon,” Marvin smiled, “I’m sure this will all work out.”

[moldisgoodforyou]

on my mom's grave

wordcount: 3.7k

warnings: n/a

______

“How drunk do you think we’re going to get tonight?” Sophie asked, tipping back the last of a lemon White Claw as the two of them got ready for the night in her room.

“Dunno. I’m not really feeling it tonight.”

She paused, glancing back at him. “Do you not want to go?”

He shook his head and took the can from her, disappointed to realize there was nothing left. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m cool. Probably just won’t drink.”

“Is this about the phone call with your dad earlier?”

Rafe sighed, gritting his teeth. “It’s not - I’m fine, Soph.”

She crossed her arms and eyed him over, trying to get a read on his body language. “You’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” After Rafe tugged his shirt over his head, ready much faster than Sophie, he paced around the room for a few seconds before speaking up. "Hey, so...Sarah's getting presented at the annual deb ball in spring."

Sophie seemed unbothered, turning her back to him as she wrestled her way into a crop top to get ready for the night. "Those are still a thing? Cool, so you're going home for it?" She paused, glancing over at him in his polo. "Undo another button."

He did so, then rocked back on his heels with his hands in his pockets, trying to figure out what to say next.

She slowly turned back to him, realizing he was still tense across his shoulders. "What?"

Rafe rubbed the back of his neck, a tell-tale sign he was nervous and Sophie wasn't going to like what he was about to say. "Yeah...my dad wanted you to come home for it too."

"What? Ward? Why?"

"He, kinda, uh, wants you to be presented too?"

She just laughed, turning back to the mirror with her brow furrowed in slight concentration as she applied another coat of mascara. "Okay. Sure." But when he didn't elaborate, she turned back to him again, lips pursed. "Cameron. Tell me you told him no."

"...I didn't not not tell him no."

"Rafe."

He cracked under her stare. "I'm sorry, okay! Look, it's easy, all you have to do is throw on a pretty white dress and gloves -"

"A dress that costs thousands of dollars -"

"Hundreds, but - I'll cover you, obviously -"

"No." She turned back to the mirror, shaking her head. "Fuck no. I'm not going."

"Sophie." He nearly begged, stepping closer and running his hand through his hair. "Baby. C'mon."

"Don't call me that. No. I don’t fit into that part of your world.”

"Not even for me?" He pleaded, giving her a half-hearted grin. He ignored her last sentence, knowing any argument he had for her point would be dismissed in two seconds. "I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important, you know that."

She turned back to him with crossed arms, fixing him with a glare. "Do I know that?"

"Soph."

"Don't, Rafe." She warned, holding one hand out, but he stepped closer anyways.

"Angel. Please. For me." He forced a smile, tried cracking a joke. "I really don't want to have to call him up and get read the riot act."

She furrowed her brow and Rafe reached out and smoothed out the lines in between her eyebrows before he could stop himself, making her soften just a little. "If I were to say yes. What would I have to do?"

"Just wear the dress, attend a dinner, party the night before and party that night." He paused, thinking. "And stay at my house for the weekend. Be civil to my dad.” At her eyeroll, he fixed her with a more serious gaze. “Meet my grandparents. Hang with my sisters. C'mon, Wheezie adores you."

"You're lying."

"I'm not. She thinks you're cool. Sarah too, but she’s less likely to admit it." He kissed her forehead, hands going to her waist. "Please?"

"It's that important?"

"I swear. On my mom's grave."

Sophie frowned immediately, reaching up to fix his hair. "That's not necessary."

"You'll do it?"

"...Yes." When he made a small fist pump, she fixed him with a glare. "Only because I love you."

“I'll go down on you every night for the next two weeks -”

She rolled her eyes at his promise, shoving lightly at his chest. "You basically already do that anyways, Rafe -”

"Okay, fine, I'll tie you up, something, anything, god, thank you, Soph. You don't know how big of a favor this is. I mean it." He sighed in relief, the tension draining from his body.

She ignored him, turning back to the mirror to apply lip gloss, carefully smearing the wand across her lips. “Why does he want me to do this? I don’t understand.”

“Is that the sticky stuff? I hate that stuff, it gets all over me when we’re kissing -” He started, then quickly shut his mouth as she flipped him off without looking. “Uh, ‘to integrate you into our society.’ Direct quote.”

“Oh god.” She groaned, setting the lip gloss aside after applying it, then started searching through her jewelry case. “So I’m gonna have to be on my best kook behavior?”

He snorted. “Sophie Flint, a kook. Not likely.”

“Watch it.” She pointed a warning finger in his face. “You don’t see anything weird with this? Your dad hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Rose does.”

“That’s not true either.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows, challenging him.

He shrugged, relenting with a sigh. “You’re not her favorite person, no, but neither am I.”

“You think this was more her idea? For Sarah to do it too?”

“Nah, actually, pretty sure it was my grandparents’ idea. Probably Granddad. My mom went through all this, so…”

She turned her back to him and gathered her hair, offering the clasp of her gold chain to him. “Your mom was a debutante?” She questioned with interest.

_______

Rafe rarely ever talked about his mom - Sophie had only found out how she died from a newspaper article in the online archives, and hadn’t wanted to bring it up since. All she knew was that Mrs. Cameron had passed away in a car accident when Rafe was fourteen.

Both Sophie and Rafe’s schools shared a building, despite them going to private academies, and overlapped for certain advanced placement classes. In freshman year, they were together for AP chemistry, with Sophie sitting proudly at the front of the class while Rafe sat in the back with a group of his friends, often cracking jokes at inappropriate times or throwing wads of paper at each other. Freshman year Sophie was the epitome of stuck-up - she resorted to insults instead of making friends and kept to herself, terrified someone might find out that she was on scholarship and wasn’t truly meant to be there.

The day after the car accident, Rafe was unusually quiet. Sophie hadn’t heard the news yet, it was barely second period and she wasn’t looped into the trail of gossip like the rest of the girls at Greenville. They were partnered for an experiment that day - Rafe had groaned when he heard Sophie’s name after his from the teacher, and Sophie barely suppressed a roll of her eyes. She took charge right away, getting all the supplies and set up their work station without even addressing him. After a few minutes, she slid the small glass of solution to Rafe, raising her eyebrows. “You can do the work too, you know.”

He was completely spaced out, only glancing up when she said something. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, lifting a beaker and extending it to him. “Yeah. I know. Just drop in 10 milliliters of the solution, it’s not hard.”

Rafe sighed as he rested his elbows on the edge of the table, rubbing his temples. “Look, can you just do it?”

She finally took note of the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders were slumped, but misinterpreted it all. She smirked, taking on a taunting tone. “What, you’re still drunk from last night or something?”

He gritted his jaw, his entire body growing tense, and tugged at the collar of his polo. “Fuck off, Flint. Not in the mood today.”

She recoiled immediately, setting the beaker down with a little too much force. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Don’t be a fucking bitch.” He spit back, standing abruptly. She winced as the stool squeaked across the floor, drawing everyone’s attention - as if they hadn’t had it already. Kelce stepped over and went to grab Rafe’s arm, possibly pull him away, but Rafe just wrenched his arm out of his grip. “I’m fine.” He growled, storming out of the classroom without looking back.

After a few moments of stunned silence, with Sophie on the verge of shocked tears, their teacher cleared her throat and redirected everyone’s attention, pointing one of the girls over to join Sophie instead. Molly made her way over, occupying Rafe’s seat in the space across from her. “Poor Rafe,” she murmured.

Sophie frowned, pulling her jacket tighter across her chest like a shield of armor. “Poor Rafe? What?”

Molly nodded, lowering her voice a little. “Yeah, you didn’t hear? I’m surprised he’s at school, honestly.”

“I didn’t...what happened?”

“Oh.” Molly frowned. “Um. You know that winding road, the one that goes downhill toward the ballet studio?”

Sophie didn’t, she didn’t even have a clue - the ballet studio was on the entire opposite side of the island from where she lived, the height of Figure 8, and she hadn’t ever had a reason to even venture that way. “Yeah? What does that have to do with Rafe?”

“Um, well, it was pouring last night, and his mom was driving down that road. I heard she lost control of the car and wrecked it. There was, like, a drunk driver that swerved into her lane, but she tried to avoid him and hit a tree.” Molly told her, careful on the details.

“I’m pretty sure the Camerons can replace a car.” Sophie replied, not wanting Molly to confirm where she thought she was going with the story. She dug her nails into the skin of her thigh anyways, feeling anxiety bubble up in her chest.

Molly shook her head, slowly. “Mrs. Cameron died, Sophie.”

Her heart dropped and she bit the inside of her cheek, hard. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m surprised you didn’t hear the sirens last night, I saw like eight police cars last night headed toward his house. I heard Sarah was in the car too, I think -”

“Is Sarah okay?” She couldn’t concentrate on anything but her ears ringing, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Oh, yeah, I think so. But god, how awful, right? The funeral is next weekend, Ward Cameron told my dad this morning. Is your family going?”

“Um...I don’t know.” Sophie glanced toward the door, hoping to god he would come back through the door and Molly would confess that it was all a joke, that she hadn’t just started something with Rafe on that day of all days.

________

Rafe nodded. “Yeah. ‘Course she was. I think she really enjoyed it, actually, she’d always tell Sarah when she was little about how pretty she would look in the dress, how important it was to learn the right etiquette and -” He cut himself off, realizing he was sharing too much, and deftly fastened the clasp before pressing a kiss to the top of her head, letting her step away. “All that.”

“Huh.”

He smiled to himself, thinking about how his mom would let little Sarah play dress up in her old ballgown with gloves that went up to her armpits, wobbling around in high heels twice the size of her feet. His mom would tell Rafe he’d have to watch out for Sarah with her escort, keep him in line, and that when he was in college he’d be presenting a girl as well. But he was nine and didn’t think of girls in that way quite yet, so he always scowled and left the room.

“It’s kind of cool, I think. The tradition of it all.”

“The ball? Have you been?” She caught his eye in the mirror as she adjusted her top, not wanting to push for too much information before he’d shut down altogether.

“No...I was gonna present Brooklyn at the one here in Columbus, sophomore year’s normally when the girl gets presented, but. Yeah. No, I meant, it’s kind of cool that you’ll be doing something my mom did.” He rubbed the back of his neck, meeting her gaze for a moment then looked away.

“Yeah?”

“She would have liked you. I know it.”

Sophie perked up a little, cocking her head. “You really mean it?”

“Yeah. She would have liked that you have an attitude with me.” He grinned when she turned back around and took his hand, tugging him over to sit on the bed next to her. “She was always saying I needed to find someone to match my energy, keep me in check. I wish she could have met you.”

“I did meet her. Once.”

He perked up, cocking his head. “You did?”

“Yeah, I served her when I was working at the restaurant at the country club once, I was only fourteen. I remember she made some comment about me being too young to work and I told her I liked it. Then she asked my name, and I remember she seemed like she knew already when I told her.” Sophie nodded. “She was really nice, left way too big of a tip and wrote my name on the bill. I always thought that was funny.”

Of course she knew, Rafe thought as he smiled to himself. She knew, because Rafe had come home and complained about a girl getting on his nerves every single week since seventh grade. She knew, when the complaints turned to “why won’t just be nice to me” and his mom had quipped that Sophie probably liked him - he had scoffed and walked away. She knew, because his mom had come home from the country club and told him Sophie Flint was a much nicer girl than Rafe painted her to be, and Rafe had immediately turned bright red and been embarrassed that his mom sought her out.

“I like that.” She leaned into him, taking his hand to play with his rings. “Will your grandparents be there? At the ball?”

“Oh, yeah. They sit on the board, I’m pretty sure, it’s this gigantic charity event. I’ll introduce you, but don’t worry, they’re chill. Nothing like my dad.” He adjusted himself so she was comfortable, then pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

She chewed on the inside of her lip, treading carefully. “I thought your dad grew up on the Cut.”

“He did. But my mom, no way. Kook through and through. That’s, uh, where a lot of my trust is from. After she died, um. She wanted to be sure me and Sarah were set.” He shrugged, ears turning red as he felt his throat getting tight.

Sophie frowned, feeling him closing off, and leaned closer to hug him, arms wrapped tight around his waist. “You know you can talk to me about this stuff whenever, Rafe? I’d like to hear more about your mom. She sounds like an amazing woman.”

“She was.” He nodded, settling his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin on the top of her head, closing his eyes for a moment. “Thanks, Soph. This is a really big deal to me, that you’ll go. I know it’s not your scene.”

“Love you.” She murmured. “You’d better buy me a pretty dress.”

He laughed, leaning back just enough to tip up her chin with one finger and kiss her. “You’ll be the best looking one there. I swear.”

“Oh, I already knew that.”

“Okay, okay, big head -”

She swatted his arm, laughing as she ducked out from under him. “Watch it, or I won’t go -”

“I was kidding!” He exclaimed, wrestling with her for a moment before grabbing both her hands and pinning them above her head.

Sophie sucked in a breath, caught off guard. “We are going to be late.”

“We’re already late.” He pointed out, taking a moment to realize the lack of innocence in the position, then slowly smirked. “We could be later. They’re not gonna miss us.”

“Rafe.”

“Sophie.”

“No.”

“You’re positive?”

She just gave him a look, staring him dead in the eyes and willing herself not to react when he leaned down with a grin and kissed the bridge of her nose.

“Please?”

“Fine. The ball or sex right now. You choose.” She raised her eyebrows, arching her back a little on purpose, pressing her hips up against his.

“That’s not fair.” He frowned, immediately shifting his hips away and moving so both his knees were on either side of her instead. “This is blackmail.”

“Your choice.” She reminded him, biting her lip for good measure.

He faltered, sitting back on her thighs and letting go of her wrists. “Soph, it’s - it’s for my mom. I swear. Not for my dad, Rose, anyone else.”

Sophie dropped the teasing act right away, propping herself up on her elbows. “Right, right, sorry. I won’t push it.”

“It’s alright.” He climbed off her, standing, and offered his hands. “Five bucks James makes some joke about us being late because we were having sex.”

“I’m not taking you up on that.” She rolled her eyes, accepting his hand and pulled him into a hug. “Love you long time, Cameron.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Love you too, favorite girl.”

“What do the dresses look like?”

“Uh...white?” Rafe shrugged, tugging on her hand to get her to follow him downstairs. “I dunno. When we go home for Thanksgiving I’ll book you an appointment to get fitted, I think it’s at some bridal shop on the mainland.”

“Sounds expensive.” She muttered, shaking her head.

“It’s…yeah. It’s not cheap.” He admitted, then shrugged as she followed him out the door, starting their walk toward the bars. “I’ll take care of it though. All of it. By the way, have you booked your flight home for Thanksgiving yet?”

“Um...no. I was going to look this week, it’s probably too late now though.”

“Hm.”

“Hm? Why, are you going home?”

Rafe nodded, not looking her in the eye. “Taking the plane.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“The plane...that no one else will be on...and it’s kinda ridiculous for you to waste money and carbon emissions on a separate flight…” He tried convincing her, a small smile playing on his lips as she rolled her eyes.

“You need to learn how carbon emissions work if you’re going to use that as an argument with me.”

“So that’s a no to sex on the plane?”

Sophie stopped in her tracks, confused. “That wasn’t - Rafe, what?”

“You, me, alone on the plane. Sorry, was I not clear enough?”

“I didn’t even say yes -”

“Oh, so you’re going to leave me all by myself on our one-year anniversary -”

She raised her eyebrows, challenging him. “When’s our anniversary, Rafe?”

He raised his back, stopping on the sidewalk to face her. “On my terms or yours? Because if we’re going with mine, it’s Halloween -”

“No, I had to ask you to be my boyfriend, it’s November 18th -”

“That is such an arbitrary thing, Sophie -”

“Hey! Stop stealing my vocabulary.” She interjected, pushing at his chest. “It’s the 18th, because I had to ask you out.”

“Okay. Whatever story makes you happy.” He shrugged, laughing when she shoved at him again. “Come on the plane with me.”

“...Fine. Only because I don’t want to miss our class reunion party on Wednesday night, I’m pretty sure some people still don’t believe we’re together.”

Rafe laughed loud at that, looping his arm around her shoulders and started walking again. “Pretty sure Topper still thinks it’s all an elaborate lie.”

“Does he know that we nearly hooked up in his room last winter break?”

“No.” He grinned. “Are you forgetting that you had to sprint into his bathroom right when I was about to kiss you because of some tequila thing you had?”

She tilted her head slightly. “You’re remembering wrong. That was sophomore year, before we were dating, I barely drank last year...you almost kissed me?”

“What? No, I think...remember, we were arguing over something, then you whispered in my ear to go up to his room and left. I went up a couple minutes later.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t going to make a move, Brooklyn and I were together then.”

Sophie scowled at the mention of Brooklyn. “I must have been hammered, I don’t remember any of this.”

“You wanted me.” He smirked, trailing his fingers along her collarbone. “One might say desperate.”

“No, no. All I remember is waking up in Topper’s bed feeling like shit, I had some crewneck on from your academy.” She ignored the blush creeping up her neck.

“How do you think you got there and got the sweatshirt?” He frowned. “I took care of you, Sophie. You really don’t remember?”

“I think I blacked out.” She confessed, shaking her head. “You took care of me?”

“Of course I did. Plus, I thought I was about to get some, I would have done anything for you.” He grinned, laughing when she shoved his shoulder. “Really thought that was the night I’d finally win you over.”

“Yeah, well, you can blame Sarah for her heavy pour that night.” She shook her head, smiling fondly. “I really wish I remembered that.”

“I wish you remembered too. Maybe you would have given me a chance before then instead of setting me up with Julia.”

“I - no! She asked to be set up with you, no, I did not instigate that at all.” She defended herself straightaway, cheeks flushing pink. “She said if I wasn’t going to make a move, then she was going to.”

“Sure. Whatever you believe.” He teased, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as they arrived at the bar. “Hey, Soph.”

She rolled her eyes, going to get in the winding line outside until he tugged her wrist back, pulling her to his chest. “What?”

“Thank you. I mean it.”

Sophie softened, smiling as she rose up on her toes to kiss him. “Of course, baby. I’ve got your back.”

taglist: @drewstarkey @lemur46 @jjmaybanksbaby @edgeofgr8 @quxxnxfhxll @obxtess @hoodpankow @vtgirl802 @outerbankies @messagesinthesky @nicolecarsley @svechnikolan @ilovejjmaybank @obxtess @abbyj1822 @oopsiedoopsie23 @g4bster @jjmaybankzz @freddymaybank @dontjinx-it @illbesafeforyou @moniamaybank @tovvaa @jailcalledlife @sunshineitsfine44 @randomficsandshit @outerbankspreferences @outerbanksbro @karsinner @kkmaybank @whoeveniskendall @lemur46 @outerbankies

[fandomsonrequests]

dad!ateez: your instincts kick in this time

reader is female. kind of a second part to this but not really..? it could be read as a second part requested by an anon, i hope you enjoy it!

taglist: @ddeonghwva​

Hongjoong: 

You wake up to an empty bed and a loud clang in the kitchen. You reach over to the lamp beside you, blearily blinking away the sleep in your eyes as your ears pick up various giggling in the hallway. The digital clock beside the lamp read 2:30 am. It took you a couple of seconds to realize what was happening before you were jumping out of bed and storming towards the kitchen.

“Kim Hongjoong and Kim Junseo,” You grumble as you appear in the kitchen doorway. 

The two loves of your life stopped what they were doing- which was currently mixing some espresso with a shot of some energy drink. You knew what this meant- your husband had no plan of sleeping yet and your son thought it would be a good idea to go along. But you, of course, weren’t having it.

“It was daddy’s idea,” The little boy said and pointed to his father the minute he saw your unamused expression.

“Yah, don’t sell me out like that-” 

“It’s two-thirty in the morning. Go to sleep,” You lifted your finger before they could protest. “You need sleep, you’re still growing.” You tell your son before facing your husband. “And you, have been working overtime. Come on now misters- off to bed.”

The father and son pair decided to follow before you push them into bed. But as Junseo hops off the counter, he knocks the glass of espresso-energy drink cocktail down to the ground. Your body moved on its own accord before you could realize what happened, and grabbed the glass, spilling some of the content on the floor.

“Go to bed, I’ll clean this up.” You say when you come to your senses. “And please for the love of God, no more staying up.”

Seonghwa: 

It was a sunny day in the amusement park. You, Seonghwa, and Hyojin were by the large slides. And of course, Seonghwa was taking pictures of his two beautiful models, whether candid or planned. 

“Again, again!” Hyonjin cheered when she reached the end of the slide, standing up and clapping her hands. “But let’s do the big ones!”

“Are you sure you can handle that sweetie?” Your husband asks her as he helps her off the slide, fixing her little dress and the bow in her hair. He smiles when she nods and tugs on his and your hands to lead you to the slide she wanted. 

She had definitely gotten this enthusiasm from you. She was always so ready to jump into things and try them, even if it seemed scary. He always called her his brave little princess for that. Sometimes he feels like he’d get a heart attack from what she does but as long as he or you was there, it was fine. 

You and Seonghwa stay at the end of the slide and wave up to her when she reaches the top. She waves back energetically before sitting on the small mat that was given to her to help go down the rather enormous slide. As Hyonjin scoots forward, she lets out an excited holler, her long tresses flowing behind her as she zooms down towards you. 

Unfortunately, she tried to slow down her descent by sticking her feet to the sides. And of course, by the law of inertia, the sudden stop makes her fly forward. Her face could have planted into the ground if you hadn’t jumped forward and caught her in your arms. 

You both tumbled to the ground and Seonghwa immediately rushes over to you, ushering his two princesses to the side. “Are you two okay?” He says as he looks over the both of you. 

Hyonjin, oblivious as ever, only nodded. “Mommy caught me so I’m okay.” 

“I’m a little shaken,” You admit but the smile never leaves your face. “Maybe a kiss from my prince and my baby would help me feel better.”

Hyonjin only giggled and placed a big, wet kiss on your cheek. You chuckled at the ticklish feeling before Seonghwa cups your chin, gently turning your head to face him. He lovingly strokes your cheek before leaning in to press a short but sweet peck to your lips. 

Yunho:

“Daddy look, it’s uncle Mingi!” Eun-jung, now nine years old, said from her spot on her father’s shoulder. 

Yunho laughs as she indicates the giraffe in front of them. “Oh yeah, it does look like him.” He mused and handed her a short branch of leaves for her to feed to the creature.

Yunho turns to you while you were busy entertaining your son, Eun-sang. He was now three years old and can hold a conversation with people. It felt like only yesterday when his son was just born and his sister was begging to hold him. 

“You enjoying the giraffes buddy?” Yunho asks his son.

“Mhmm! I wanna see something ewls too.” Eun-sang says. 

“I’ll take him to see the koalas,” You tell Yunho. “Don’t give daddy a hard time, Eun-jung!” 

“I won’t mommy,” She promises and waves goodbye to you.

You adjusted your hold on your son, lifting him up further, and started to walk to where the koala enclosure was. The two of you were so wrapped up in your conversation that you didn’t notice a couple of children running in your direction. Yunho’s eyes widened, realizing that the kids could barrel into you, making you fall.

“______, watch out!”

You turn at his voice, seeing the kids rushing at you. You jump to the side but you lose your footing, making you tumble to the ground. Your son grasps onto you but you swerve and fall onto your knees so that you don’t crush him under you. He looks up at you, wondering what had happened. “You okay mommy?” He asks and puts his small hand on your cheek

Your husband rushes to you, your daughter following alongside him and checking up on the both of you. Eun-jung, being the hands on older sister she was, took her brother from you while Yunho helped you up. “God, that was terrifying.” He admits and helps you brush off the dirt on your clothes. “But that was quick of you babe.” 

“Mommy has Spider-Man refwekses.” Eun-sang giggles and you smirk up at your husband. 

“HAH, I told you I had them too.”

Yeosang:

You cooed down to your daughter, Haneul, as she lay on her back on the changing table. She smiles up at you, hands outstretched as you cleaned her up and started changing her diaper. You handed her the chicken stick rattle that Yeosang gave her the month she could start holding things to distract her.

“Oh, that’s stinky!” Ji-ho complains as he passes by his little sister’s room, dragging his toy behind him. 

“You’ll be on diaper changing duty one day, mister!” You call out to your son in amusement as you finish up. 

You only chuckle to yourself when he protests, making you shake your head. You hum to yourself as you throw away all the used materials. “Where’s her shorts?” You ask yourself and momentarily turn away to get it.

But what you didn’t realize was that Haneul grew bored of her rattle and became impatient of just laying there. She cooed as she started to roll over, thinking that it was just another flat surface to crawl all over. The second she fell off the edge of the changing table was the second you turned back around to put it on her.

Your eyes widened and it felt like the whole world slowed down. You lunged forward and caught your baby in time before she could hit the ground. The force of the impact made her cry, causing you to snap out of your stupor. You cradle her to you, gently hushing her and leaning her head against your shoulder. 

“It’s okay baby, mommy’s here,” You coo to her and pull away to kiss her head. “You’re such a little troublemaker aren’t you?”

San:

The sounds of giggles floated around the kitchen along with the clanging of cupboards. It was currently eight-thirty in the evening in the Choi household. Nari and Sooyun, both four and nine years old respectively, were in the kitchen, sneaking cookies from the cookie jar after managing to slip past their babysitter who was watching tv in the living room. 

They were supposed to be asleep in their shared room and for a while they were. That was until the coast was clear and their babysitter returned to the living room. That meant to wake up from their fake sleep, grab some goodies from the kitchen, and head back into the room to snack on it. 

Nari and Sooyun were now in their room, mouth, and teeth covered in chocolate while their little plastic cups were filled with strawberry milk. They giggled to themselves, high on success after sneaking past their babysitter. But that joy was short-lived when they heard the familiar rumble of the car’s engine in the driveway. 

“Quick Nari!” Sooyun urges her sister and the two girls quickly cleaned up and disposed of their trash. They hastily taped the plastic bag full of Kisses Chocolates, thinking their parents wouldn’t find out, threw it in the fridge, and jumped into bed. The oldest girl turned off the lights and made sure things were in order before sleeping. 

You and San come to check on your two angels after your little date night. But as soon you walked into the room, you knew something was off. You spot the little crumbs by the foot of Sooyun’s bed and the pink plastic cup that she had hastily shoved under it. You shake your head in amusement, walking over to pick it up as your husband kissed the two girls’ foreheads.

“Why do you have that?” San asks when he sees you with the cup. You say nothing, but nod your head towards your daughters. It took him a couple of seconds before he realized what had happened and he nodded in understanding. 

“Oh well, I guess we won’t be going to the ice cream parlor tomorrow,” San sighs loudly, seeing the girls tense under their blankets. “I guess you and I will be the only ones to go. What do you say _____-”

“We’re sorry mommy!” Nari said, the first to cave in. She was sniffling as tears threatened to fall down her round cheeks. “Please take us to ice cream!”

Mingi:

You chuckle as Young-soo bounces on the mattress, cupping his dad’s cheeks when his father leans over him. Mingi settles his son in the middle of the mattress again while you stay on the other side, ready to catch him in the next few seconds. Your husband flops down onto the edge of the mattress, making the two-year-old boy fly up in the air and squeal in delight. 

“Hold on, I have to head to the bathroom,” You say as you get up. 

“Don’t take too long babe,” Mingi says as he pulls his son towards him and tickles his stomach.

You assure him and jog to the bathroom, leaving the two boys alone. For a while, Mingi entertains Young-soo by blowing raspberries into his stomach or cheeks and by tickling his sides. Joyous giggles fill the air but the boy soon grows bored of just being tickled. 

“Up, up!” He tells his dad, shaking the man’s much larger hand. 

“Let’s wait for mommy bud, it’s not safe.” He tells his son. The boy, sensing that he didn’t get what he wanted, started to burst into tears. Mingi cringes at the sound, trying his best to hush him. Eventually, he caves in when none of his attempts seem to work. 

“Alright, alright. Just this once. But don’t tell your mom.” He says as he settles his son on the center of the mattress again. 

Once more, he launches his son into the air but the little boy twists, making him go off course. And he would’ve fallen to the floor if you didn’t enter in time to catch him. You grab Young-soo by the arm and leg and pull him to you. “Oh my God- Song Mingi.”

“Baby he wanted it!” He tried to protest, only to see his son make a funny face at him. 

Wooyoung:

“Good job kiddo,” Wooyoung says as he pats his son’s head.

Minjoon beams proudly up at his father, continuing with mixing the batter for their little cake meant for you. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he took after his father’s cooking skills- in fact he always made sure to mention it to his friends. And because he wanted to level up his skills to be on par with his dad’s he always made sure to practice whenever he could. 

Minjoon hums as he rocks back and forth on the bar stool behind the counter. Wooyoung hears the creaking noise of the chair’s wood and reaches out to still his son’s actions. He didn’t want to have the high chair incident repeat again. 

“You can’t sit still, now can you buddy?” The man teases his son, only to receive a pout. 

“I’m not going to fall dad,” Minjoon argues but follows nonetheless. He only pouted more when his dad ruffled his hair and went back to what he was doing. 

Eventually the two fell into routine again, exchanging some father-son banter and helping each other around the kitchen. The two grew focused on what they were doing that Wooyoung didn’t notice that his son started to rock back and forth on the seat again.

You walk into the kitchen a little later, a gentle smile on your face. You were about to ask what the two were doing when Minjoon tilts a little too backward, making the chair tip over in that direction. You drop whatever you were holding at that moment and rush to catch him. 

Your son falls with a choked yell, landing into your arms as you both topple to the floor from the impact. Wooyoung ran from his spot by the stove, turning it to low heat first- you didn’t want a fire to start, and over to you. “What happened??”

You look up from your spot on the floor, your arms protectively wrapped around Minjoon. “The little rascal fell,” You breathed. You look down to your son and kiss his hair, letting out a relieved chuckle. “You have got to stop doing that, buddy.” 

Jongho: 

One of the perks of being an active family is that the kids are always entertained and you get to have fun at the same time. Exercise is just a bonus. Right now, you were in this bouncy house/parkour gym for people of all ages- a treat for your kids who managed to get high grades in class. 

As of now, your twins were by a small area where some short wire-lines were set up for the zipline. It was the type of zipline where you hang by your hands, allowing you to jump into the pit filled with soft blue blocks. Jongho was on top with your son, Young-min, while you and your daughter, Young-soon, were at the foot of the zipline, cheering him on. 

“Come on Young-min! You got this!” She encourages as she bounced around. She was always the more daring one between the two of them. 

Jongho knelt by his son, cupping the back of his head. “You ready bud?” He asks gently.

The boy only nodded, both excitement and nerves filling his system. He brushes his sweaty palms against his pants and releases a curt sigh. His fingers then curled around the bars that the gym worker handed him, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“You don’t have to do it if you’re scared-”

“No, dad-” Young-min answers firmly. “I got this.”

He exhales and pushes off, feeling the wind whip against his face as he zipped down. He could faintly hear his sister’s cheers as he raced to the bottom. Unfortunately, he doesn't let go on time. So when he hits the metal stopper at the bottom of the zipline, the force of the impact causes him to launch forward, throwing him out of his hold on the zipline and away from the safety pit below. 

You instinctively reached out, your body reacting before you could register what was happening, and pulled him towards you; you’ve practically saved him from potentially face planting into the ground. He looks shaken up when you help him to the ground, eyes wide with adrenaline. 

“Are you okay?” You ask him, a bit worriedly, as you look over him for any pulled muscles. 

All anxiety melts away when he beams widley and throws his hand up in the air. “AGAIN!” 

[chronicbatfictioner]

Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 17

Jason was having the time of his life.

Dick was sure of it. He might grump and sulk a lot more than before, but Dick was sure that he was having fun. Sure, guarding Damian might be a little more than tasking, after a while - especially since Damian was so certain that he could face Bane alone if it comes down to it, conveniently ignoring the fact that: a. he's ten and practically one-tenth of Bane's size; b. the Waynes most likely would detest having to clear intestines off the marble floor if Damian were to be let near a katana and/or Bane, and c. Alfred definitely would detest cleaning intestines or parts of Damian off the floor or walls.

And d. Bruce Wayne seemed to actually enjoy having Damian around and has no qualm in talking to Damian as if he was twice his age. Bruce's age, that is. Not Damian's. Dick suspected that Bruce has spent a lot of time talking to 60-year-olds.

But there were numerous forms of excitement that were offered by the Wayne Manor. First and foremost were the cars. Dick has never learned to drive - being a Talon kind of impeded the learning process of 'common human things'. Jason, however, was an excellent driver. He had mentioned something about being a getaway driver in warzones, and Dick couldn't be sure if he was telling the truth or joking. Either way, he rather enjoyed it whenever he and Jason had to take Damian somewhere in town.

Except for today, as somebody seemed to have tampered with the car.

It wouldn't brake, and they were cruising really, really fast.

Hence Dick's belief that Jason was having fun. He did not look perturbed at the slightest as he controlled the car, swerving crazily over the backroads, making sharp u-turns instead of going into the city roads and went back where they came from. Within a mile from the Drake House's gate, Jason finally managed to cut down the speed to the point where the car's engines died and it rolled to a stop. On the Drake House's gate.

"Seriously, people," Tim remarked dryly as they walked in - leaving the car at the gate and settling their respective adrenaline back down. "I've heard of visiting the neighbors, but must you be like, dying and/or damaging people's property before you come here to say hi?"

"The car was tampered with," Damian reported. "Must be the brute. And I shall replace your gate, Drake."

"I think I'm down to like, eight lives. No-- seven." Dick admitted, "my heart's still beating a hundred miles per minute. Good thing, though, at least that way I know I'm quite alive."

"Dick, you're a bird. Not a cat." Tim deadpanned. His eyes never leaving Jason, who had lit up a cigarette as he walked through the house. "Since when do you smoke?"

"Since I was eleven," Jason replied. "And since I walked into a house that has laser triggers that were set up by a lunatic. Smoke worked to reveal them all."

"I'm... partially scowling because smoking kills. But I suppose laser triggers would kill faster..." Tim replied.

"The lasers are used to trigger booby traps just about Damian's height. If he were to be a common kid and run around the house, he'd be decapitated within the first few days." Jason continued bitterly. "What the fuck is wrong with that giant lump of steroids, anyway? He was ready to kill a child!"

"The nutshell version is that the child would prevent his usurping the Waynes' wealth." Tim pointed out. "The long version is that I don't think he's really the child of Dr Wayne, the Waynes know of it, and they're literally being held hostage in their own home. Also, you people are being watched, too, by drones. I've asked Harper to kill those drones for entering my property."

Tim then explained Bruce's visit and the USB. "Oracle has contacted him and told him we... the Birds, that is - are investigating the evidence."

"How long until we can punch the asshole out of the house for good?" Jason demanded, accepting a bottle of water Tim handed him. Slowly and gently. Making sure his fingers brushed Tim's. And Dick had to swallow a grin.

"That, unfortunately, would be up to the GCPD. Did you guys saw the news? Vicky Vale's article on Damian?" Tim... preened a little, waving his hair as he walked away from Jason. Dick's lips itched, he wondered if Barbara or the other girls -- if Selina or Dinah have noticed this. The two were definitely flirting.

"I have seen it. It had good pictures of my mother and grandfather, and quite... adequate descriptions of both of them." Damian replied. "Evidently father has made a comment to the writer about me looking like him when he was my age."

"Well, you kind of do look like him, except for the green eyes." Dick pointed out. Bruce's eyes were blue - like both his parents. But from the photos of little Brucie around the house, Dick could see a little of Martha Wayne in Damian's still-round face. "When did Bruce make the comment?"

"Oh, Vale called him." Tim snickered. "She still has his personal number, and she commented something about hearing a - quote: 'constipated buffalo sounds in the background' - unquote. She was also wondering if Bruce was in a bullfighting ring somewhere."

"Seriously?" Dick laughed.

"Seriously. Even Barbara couldn't stop laughing hearing that." Tim assured him. Jason rolled his eyes but looking amused, anyway.

"Sooo... a possible off-road accident for the apparent heir is in the books?" Jason suggested.

"I won't put it past Bane. Damian...?" Tim started. But Damian already nodded in acknowledgment.

"I shan't eat anything that is not presented by Todd or Grayson, nor will I frolic the manor on my own. This shall be more to bear witness to your insinuation of my 'child-like' behavior than to take care of me, Drake, as I am quite capable of sustaining my own life." Damian scoffed.

Tim paused visibly for a good two seconds, before nodding, "of course. Furthermore, I can assure you that Alfred is safe, mainly because as a butler, his focal interest would be the actual Waynes. That's in his training - unless an offspring is publicly announced, they are not to be cared for by the Butler. In Wayne Manor, the proverbial child would solely be Bruce - for obvious reasons, and Damian, whom Bruce has publicly acknowledged." Tim explained.

"He was in MI6," Jason remarked. "Alfred, that is. Not Bane. It would be safe to say he's loyal. He told me of the booby traps and that Bane has a daily dose of injection of the steroid-like substance. But I-- we shall prepare you emergency rations - just in case, anyway."

"You guys can always drop by here. And don't think that Damian would be Bane's only target." Tim reminded. "If I was him, I'd take out the big guns - that is you two - first; and then Bruce, because he'll want to be protective of his son; and then Dr and Mrs Wayne last."

"Then I'm afraid you are forgetting one of the members of the household that is most dangerous, Master Tim," a voice spoke; Jason pulled out his gun, Damian automatically hid behind him while pulling out a small dagger.

Dick wanted to lunge right toward the source of the voice until he realized that it was Alfred Pennyworth, both hands raised up to show that he was unarmed.

"How...?" Jason growled, "I didn't hear the front door open."

"Apologies, gentlemen. I should have informed you that there is an underground passageway between the two houses that were once used frequently, but now has all been forgotten." Alfred explained. "You were right that I was in MI6, Jason; as you were right that my focus will and forever shall remain the true Wayne blood, Master Tim. Not ones who claimed as such and refused to provide irrefutable evidence."

"Does Bane know of this passageway?" Tim asked.

"It is located in the staff's wing, and as he is not permitted to be there, I sincerely doubt it," Alfred replied. "I have my own... booby traps and surveillance that should tell me if anyone has been there." he smiled. "I am aware that both of you have prowled the entire house at one point or the other in the past few weeks." he nodded toward Jason and Dick. "You were stealthy, indeed."

"But not stealthy enough?" Dick quipped. "I gotta go back to training... Anyway, why are you here?"

"I saw your vehicle's mishap and its stop here. If anything, Bane is not... stealthy enough." Alfred pulled out a small memory card. "To get to the garage, one must pass the servants' hall. And the garage is my province."

Tim accepted the memory card, plugged it into his cellphone; and then projected its content to a wall. "Huh... this should be enough evidence of tampering..." Tim commented. The memory card showed a clear date stamp - that morning, a few hours before Bane and the Waynes left the house. It also showed Bane himself, jacking the car that was now resting with a dented bumper at Tim's gate, while holding a plier.

"Anyone watching our car now?" Dick commented. "Won't be cool to have it suddenly fixed, will it?"

"Harper should be. Plus, y'all are on my property. If he trespasses, I'll have his ass arrested." Tim huffed. "So... if anyone has ideas--" Jason and Damian's eyes lit up; Tim glared at them and continued "--that do not include sharp and/or exploding objects of how to remove Bane from the Manor..."

"I'm fresh out," Jason replied mournfully. "No sharp objects, no exploding objects... what do you expect me to do? Poison him?"

"But Todd, did my mother not teach you the arts of food as medicine?" Damian piped up.

The sudden silence as all eyes landed on Alfred was quite ominous.

"I will not conduct a crime, young masters," Alfred remarked dryly.

"Oh nooo... not a crime," Jason grinned mischievously. "It's just... you know that Damian was born in the Middle East, yeah?"

"I may have quite a culinary skill, but I fear that my Middle Eastern cuisine knowledge is rather limited," Alfred said demurely.

"Well, mine isn't." Jason grinned. "Besides, what else should one do to celebrate one's entrance into such a distinguished family; but hold a family dinner?"

"You're going to poison him." Dick groaned.

"Not to death!" Jason protested. Dick gave him an unimpressed glare. "Just... to the point where he would realize that he and I have opposing objectives."

"Do let me know of the ingredients you require, Jason." Alfred intoned. "Or perhaps you prefer to shop on your own? I shall fetch a new, un-tampered-with vehicle."

"Oh, please do, Alfred. I doubt we can make a single trip. But they will be fun." Jason replied, grinning.

Dick knew that the sense of foreboding was not in him only. Tim looked like he was contemplating moving away to Alaska.

"For the records, I don't know anything about cooking," Dick said defensively.

"I'm... truly and fully reconsidering my life choices," Tim admitted.

"Oh, don't worry, Drake. Todd was trained by the best," Damian grinned mischievously. "I pity the fools who think him as a brute. I pity the brute who think that small equals weak."

[sxnyarostova]

heehee modern hadesephone

dumb idiots who can’t communicate with each other, the fic. featuring persephone struggling with pavlova and hades being a big tough looking softie

When Persephone invites him over to her mama’s house, Hades doesn’t think much about it. Friends always hang out at their friend’s parents’ houses all the time; well, that was the case back in primary school, anyway. 

Persephone drops the bomb that Hades’ gut has been subtly expecting when they’re in the car. “Uh, I told my mom that we were dating,” she blurts. “And that you, bein’ the gentleman that you were, y’know, was going to bring dessert.” 

Hades, calm and collected as he is, doesn’t show much of how he’s feeling on his face. “What?” he asks. He suddenly looks a lot more nervous and starts fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt, smoothing out invisible wrinkles and dusting away non-existent speckles of dirt. “Persephone, I- I don’t quite understand.”

“Look, I’m sorry that I threw this onto you this late,” she says, awkwardly adjusting her tote bag, “but I didn’t know how I could say something like this at, I don’t know, a brunch meet-up. Hey, I’ve told my mom that we’re dating because she won’t stop breathing down my neck in regards to when I’m gonna go out with someone.”

He sighs, and Persephone sees something inside of him shift. “So where are we going to get the pavlova?” he says resignedly, rummaging through his suit jacket for his wallet. “I don’t know any good places for dessert, I’m afraid. Never had much of a sweet tooth myself.”

“Oh, that’s a lie,” Persephone huffs, half-trotting in double time to make up for the big steps that Hades takes. “I’ve seen you eat a stack of pancakes drowned in half a bottle of syrup, Hades.”

“My favorite place is an hour from here by freeway,” Hades says, stopping so suddenly that Persephone slams into his back. “Oof!” Persephone exclaims, stumbling backward a little. “Uh, maybe I could just call my kid to grab a cake from the grocery store?”

“Don’t trouble Eurydice,” Hades says. “The girl’s got enough on her plate already. How hard is it to get a pavlova, anyway?!”

(It is, in fact, very hard to find a pavlova.)

Eventually, the pair of them manage to locate one in the seventh dessert store they visit. Persephone triumphantly holds up the decorated meringue in its paper box, and Hades feels his mouth twitch at the corners.

“See?” Persephone says as the two of them slide into Hades’ car. “It wasn’t that hard.” 

(Hades doesn’t bother arguing with her as he turns the ignition.)

Demeter’s farmhouse is located in a quiet section of town. It’s a big place, with ornate glass windows and a bright red front door that screams ‘welcome.’ Persephone instructs Hades to park in the driveway, which Hades does so easily.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Persephone says, looking at Hades. Oh no, Hades thinks. Persephone’s plans are never good. Even so, he nods and indicates to his friend to go on. 

“My ma usually doesn’t run background checks on the people that I take home, so don’t worry about that,” she starts. “So long as you can keep a conversation going, you’ll be fine. Oh, don’t bring up anything about the weather lately, either; climate change always gets her in a tizzy. And don’t get her started on Eurydice, because she’ll break out the photo albums and you’ll be stuck here all night.”

Hades makes a mental note of all the information that Persephone has just thrown at him and nods along. “Will we have to hold hands or exhibit any public signs of affection?” he asks, and Persephone bursts into a fit of laughter. “Why did you ask it like that?” she chuckles, running a hand through her scalp. “And no, we don’t. Ma not big on PDA, anyway.”

“What’s PDA?” Hades asks again, and Persephone patiently explains to him what the acronym stands for. “I didn’t know what it meant until Eurydice told me, either, so don’t worry,” she says, jostling him in the side playfully. “We’re both old rocks.” 

Persephone gets out of the car with the meringue in her hands, smoothing out the folds of her chartreuse green dress as best as she can. She’s not nervous, but her armpits are sweating buckets.

Hades stoically walks towards the front door like a man to his death. Persephone would laugh, but she’s still got some sympathy left in her. She feels slightly guilty for thrusting Hades into this situation, but there’s nothing that can be done now, right? 

Awkwardly, Persephone slides her arm into Hades’. “Look the part, boyfriend,” she murmurs, as she knocks on the door. Hades blushes bright red but does as he’s told, putting on a smile that looks more forced than anything. 

“Hi, ma,” Persephone says, greeting the woman who opens the door with a cheek kiss. “Kore!” Demeter exclaims. Hades feels like he’s third-wheeling and interrupting a moment, but he doesn’t say anything, his ‘smile’ never leaving his face. 

“Ma, this is Hades. Hades, this is my mother, Demeter,” Persephone introduces, when she pulls away from her mother’s embrace. 

Demeter turns to Hades and looks the man up and down. Hades stays mostly still as he’s scrutinised, not even daring to breathe. God, what happens when the plan is exposed? Does Demeter know that this is just a ruse that Persephone’s caused? 

Hades’ inner monologue is interrupted by Demeter extending her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Hades,” Demeter says, a warm smile on her face as Hades shakes her calloused hand. “I’ve heard so much about you from Persephone.”

“All good things, I hope,” Hades jokes, and Demeter laughs out loud. Persephone does a silent victory dance with her fingers, for this is going so, so well. Screw everyone who doubted them; they’ve got this.

“Oh, they’ve all been wonderful things,” Demeter says warmly, opening the door wide. “Come on in, both of you.” 

The house carries the aroma of cooking food and the faint scent of burning incense. It’s all extremely homely and comfortable; the environment of Demeter’s farmhouse does wonders for Hades’ anxiety. “Persephone, put the pavlova in the fridge,” Demeter calls, just as her daughter’s about to close the refrigerator door. 

“I’m one step ahead of you,” Persephone says with a bright smile. “Food smells amazing, ma.” 

Dinner is amazing. Demeter’s ability to cook up a storm is otherworldly, Hades learns. He’s on his third plate of casserole now and he’s relatively sure he’s still got room for another. “So,” Demeter asks, mouth full of carrot and potato, “how did you and Persephone meet?”

Hades blanches; the two of them hadn’t gone over a cover story before. “Uh,” he says, stuttering. “We met when I went to her diner for pancakes. I was drawn in by her eyes… they’re beautiful. I fell in love with her right there.” 

(Most of that sentence is true, save the last part. Persephone’s warm, inviting, and brown eyes are beautiful. They’d hooked him in so much that Hades had frozen on the spot when Persephone came to take his order.)

Persephone feels her breath catch in her throat. “Oh, yeah,” she continues. “I heard that deep voice of his laugh, and that was it for me.”

Demeter beams. 

Hades finds that it’s not hard at all to pretend to be Persephone’s significant other. It feels natural to compliment the woman, to exchange loving glances with her. By the time they leave Demeter’s place that night, Hades realises that he’s been infatuated with Persephone for quite some time now; it’s just taken the evening to unearth those feelings of his. 

The drive back to Persephone’s house is quiet. Sometime in the middle of the ride, Persephone turns on the radio. Soft country music fills the air between them, slowly easing the tension between them. “I like this song,” Persephone says quietly. “It’s music to my ears.”

“It is music,” Hades deadpans, prompting a giggle from Persephone. 

“Tonight was...fun,” Hades says, trying to break the silence. “I enjoyed it quite thoroughly.”

“Did you mean what you told my ma?” Persephone asks. “About my eyes?”

“Yes,” Hades says, swerving towards the highway. “I meant it. All of it, Persephone.”

“Do you want to do this again? Not hang out at my ma’s place, I mean, but somewhere else. Somewhere where we can be ourselves and get to learn to be infatuated with each other,” Persephone says, looking out the window. The stars are out, lighting their way home. It’s oddly poetic to be in this situation with Hades.

“That sounds good,” Hades says, stumbling over his words like he’s a pathetic teenager in love. “That- yeah. Let’s do this again. Next week? I can take you to that dessert place I was talking about earlier. Unless you don’t want to go that far? I’ve- I’ve, uh, got other places-”

“Stop spiraling,” Persephone cuts in. “For the love of God, please stop spiraling. I- yes. I’ll go with you next week.”

Hades beams. It’s one of the most genuine smiles Persephone’s ever seen in her thirty-eight years of living. 

(Maybe she’ll be inviting her ma to walk her down the aisle sooner than she thought.)

[hale-13]

Dazed and Confused

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 21 - Panic (Thanks @spideyhoarder for the prompt!)

“I’ll be okay,” he croaks out hoarsely with weak smile. May gives him a look like she doesn’t believe him and Peter tries to make his expression even more earnest. He, actually, really doesn’t want her to go but he knows that they can’t afford her to miss this shift since she’s already used all her PTO on his Spider-Man related hospital stays. Things have been a little tight lately and, even though May is careful not to talk to Peter about money much, he knows that one shift could make or break them.

Words: 2301, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Helen Cho

TW: Vomiting, Fainting

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay baby,” May asked him for the fifth time, combing his wet bangs back from his forehead and surreptitiously checking his fever with the cool palm of her hand. Peter fights against the inclination to push his head further into her hand.

“I’ll be okay,” he croaks out hoarsely with weak smile. May gives him a look like she doesn’t believe him and Peter tries to make his expression even more earnest. He, actually, really doesn’t want her to go but he knows that they can’t afford her to miss this shift since she’s already used all her PTO on his Spider-Man related hospital stays. Things have been a little tight lately and, even though May is careful not to talk to Peter about money much, he knows that one shift could make or break them.

“Alright,” May says dubiously, looking torn and guilty about leaving him. “If you start feeling any worse I want you to have the desk page me okay? Promise me Peter.”

“I will,” Peter promised, crossing his fingers under his sheets. There was no way that he would pull her from work. Literally none.

“Okay,” May says still looking guilty and Peter hates it. Hates that its just the two of them now, hates that May overworks herself, hates that he makes her worry about him. She leans forward to pull him into a soft hug and Peter returns it, mindful of his strength and a little misty eyed – fevers always make him emotional. “I love you. Get some sleep; I left plenty of water and Gatorade on your nightstand and there’s soup in the crock pot for lunch. Eat some of it okay?”

“I will May,” Peter agrees, releasing her and pulling back even though he doesn’t want to. Even though all he wants is to cuddle up next to her on the couch and watch cartoons like he did when he was eight and sick and miserable. “You need to go or you’ll be late,” Peter says with a smile and May runs her hands through his hair one more time before standing from the bed.

“Love you,” she repeats as she leaves the room. He hears her grab her bag and then the sound of the door closing, her footsteps fading into the distance and Peter relaxes back against his bed with a sigh and glances at the alarm clock next to him.

Thirteen hours. He can make it thirteen hours.

———————————————

Peter can’t make it thirteen hours.

He gags again, leaning over the toilet to dry heave and feels tears of effort and frustration leak down his cheeks. God he feels so awful.

The fit subsides and Peter collapses back to lean against the tub. The cramped single bathroom in their Queens apartment smells like stale bile and Peter grimaces as it turns his stomach, grabbing his water bottle to rinse out his mouth. It’s only just after ten and Peter has no idea how he’s going to make it until nine in the evening, he can tell his fever is rising and he’s feeling so much worse. The Advil that he had taken that morning is doing absolutely nothing for him and Peter just wants to cry.

He should call May. He can’t call May.

He can call Mr. Stark.

“No,” Peter says, shaking his head vigorously to clear it and making his headache throb worse, the room spinning and leaving him dizzy. There’s no way he can ask Tony Stark, Iron Man, his hero since he was a kid to rub his back while he vomits and get him soup. It’s way too embarrassing.

“This is fine,” Peter says, pinching his eyes shut and swallowing convulsively against the rising nausea. “I’m fine,” he gags, leaning over again to dry heave.

Eleven more hours. He can do that.

———————————————

The subway is bright and loud and full of people. Peter sways with the movement and tries to remember how he got here.

He’s freezing, the thin hoodie jacket, sweats and beat up tennis shoes doing nothing to block out the October chill that’s seeping through the underground. He feels sweat beading the back of his neck and face, chilling him more and making him shiver weakly. The smartly dressed business woman sitting across from him is eyeing him with distaste and Peter hunches in on himself.

How did he get here? Where is he going?

May?

No. Not May. May’s working.

Then where…?

He lets his eyes slip closed. The swirling of his vision and the movement of the subway car are making him want to vomit again and he can’t do that. There’s nothing more pathetic than vomiting on the train.

Also it’ll probably get him kicked off. So.

He drifts.

Stark Tower looms over him and Peter sways, dizzy and confused. Why is he here? What is he doing?

The crowds of people walking on the sidewalk – on their way to lunch or meetings or whatever it is that business people do – swerve around him with irritation and Peter stumbles when one smacks him with their elbow.

Is it a lab day? What day is it? He’s so tired, he wants to sleep.

He has a bed in Mr. Stark’s penthouse Peter remembers. Mr. Stark got him a whole room once Peter started hanging around more often, surely the man won’t mind if he uses it for a quick nap?

The fluorescent lights of the elevator burn his retinas and Peter squints. When did he get here?

“Hello Peter,” FRIDAY’s disembodied voice echos through the elevator car. “You seem to have a temperature, do you want me to let Boss know you’re here?”

Does he want Mr. Stark to know he’s here? Yeah he does. He wants someone to take care of him – he’s so tired and he feels awful and he can’t do this alone what was he thinking?

“No,” his voice is quiet and broken from all the vomiting and from not drinking and it hurts to talk holy shit. He clears his throat once and winces, gripping tightly onto the rail that runs around the car and grimacing when he feels it warp. He didn’t mean to do that. He’ll fix it.

FRIDAY’s silence is telling and judge mental and Peter has things he wants to say about that, many things actually, but he doesn’t. He kinda feels like vomiting again so he needs to keep his mouth closed.

The elevator stops on the penthouse floor and Peter stumbles out, listing into the wall and panting as he exits. He’s got this – his room is just down the hall. He can make it.

The floor tilts threateningly in front of his eyes and he keeps both hands on the wall as he walks down the hallway. He’s so close. He can’t give up now. The door to his room is closed and it takes some doing but he gets the door open; the room is dark, the windows opaque and blotting out the weak morning sunlight. His bed is still in disarray from the last time he stayed over and it looks so inviting.

Peter lets go of the wall to walk in the room.

His vision tilts again and starts to grey and tunnel and he stops dead where he’s standing to sway in place.

Oh he’s definitely going to pass out.

“FRI…”

It’s all he gets out before the floor rushes up to meet him.

—————————————

“Penthouse FRI,” Tony says brusquely as he boards his private elevator, loosening his tie and popping the top button of his white dress shirt as he goes. There’s nothing he hates more than pointless budgeting meetings except for long pointless budgeting meetings that ruin his whole day.

The car starts to move and Tony goes to lean against the railing; the metal in his left hand is the smooth, burnished steel he is used to but the left side… He glances down and see the railing is warped and bent, clearly in the shape of a hand and he frowns.

“What happened here?” He asks himself, running his index finger over the blemish curiously. Oh well. He can easily ix it and he can look through the video footage later to see how it happened but his money is on the kid. The only problem with this theory is that if Peter did this he would have been falling all over himself to apologize and he’d be trying to fix it himself.

Strange.

The elevator opens to the penthouse and Tony steps out, pulling of his tie fully and allowing it to drape around his shoulders loosely. Something feels off and he can’t quite put his finger on what; whatever it is warrants further investigation but he wants to change first – his workshop jeans are calling his name.

The hallway is darkened as he makes his way to the room he shares with Pepper except for a square of light from Peter’s doorway. Tony frowns – he’s sure the door was closed this morning?

Quickening his pace, he approaches the door and peers in the room.

Peter’s laid out limp on the floor just inside the doorway, limbs sprawled out and face pale except his cheeks which are bright red with fever and his nose which is purpling and bloody from where he clearly hit it passing out.

“Shit!” Tony says, dropping to the floor next to the kid and rolling him onto his side in the recovery position. He’s positively burning, sweating through his clothes and matting his hair to his skull. “FRI how long’s the kid been here?” He asks as he checks Peter’s pulse (rapid and thready) and breathing (congested).

“Two hours,” she responds. “He didn’t want me to alert you he was here.”

“Update that protocol dear,” he snaps at her, moving Peter’s bangs out of his face. “And call down to Bruce and Helen in the MedBay to let them know the situation. Can I move him?”

“He should be safe to move”,” FRIDAY tells him, “Dr.’s Banner and Cho are preparing for you now.”

“This is going to be so bad for my back,” Tony grouses to the unconscious kid as he rolls Peter fully onto his back and slips one arm under his back and the other under his knees. He takes a deep breath and lifts, stumbling a little – the wiry and corded muscles Peter developed from the bite are heavy.

The elevator ride to the MedBay thankfully is quick and, soon, Tony is dropping Peter gently onto one of the beds and stepping back as Bruce and Helen converge on him, setting up monitors and sticking a thermometer under his tongue.

Bruce hisses at the thermometer readout when he pulls it from Peter’s slack jaw. “One hundred and four point one,” he declares, stripping Peter’s hoodie off and leaving the kid in just his sweats and a loose t-shirt. “We need to get him cooled down before he boils his brain.”

“How did he even get here?” Helen asks, confused, as she sets up an IV catheter and a bag of plasmalyte.

“Kid’s stubborn,.” Tony says sardonically as he scrolls through his phone for May Parker’s contact info – he’s willing to bet a few billion that she has no idea that he kid decided to go on a unapproved field trip today. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Probably the flu,” Helen says as she places the catheter and starts running the fluids. “It’s been going around and the strain is particularly awful this year.”

“Great,” Tony says, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I’ve got to call his aunt.”

Tony just hopes that the tentative rapport he’s built up with May over the past few months will prevent her from gutting him when she finds out her kid was under his roof for two hours without him noticing.

—————————————————

When Peter wakes up he feels loads better. The ache in his head is subsiding and everything feels more clear, sharper somehow. He takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh, the nausea’s gone.

“You awake kiddo?”A voice asks next to him and Peter’s eyes shoot open in panic and, oh shit, Mr. Stark is sitting on one of the uncomfortable MedBay chairs beside his bed with a tablet in his lap and his glasses low on his nose.

“Oh shit,” he says again, out loud this time and his mentor chuckles at him, setting the tablet aside.

“Yeah you’re not wrong,” he agrees with a grin. “Once you’re better you, May and I are having a discussion about self-care.” Peter groans and closes his eyes, throwing an arm across his eyes dramatically and hears Tony snort.

“Sorry,” Peter apologizes, coughing a little as talking irritates his throat and he swallows, trying to wet his throat. Mr. Stark passes him a cup of water and Peter takes it gratefully and sips it slowly, the coolness like ambrosia. “Uh… how did I get here?”

“You took the subway apparently,” Tony says with an eye roll. “Although I have no idea how you got here in one piece – your fever was over a hundred and four. Bruce and Helen say you ‘re lucky you have a healing factor or it could have been much worse. You have the flu by the way.”

“Great,” Peter mutters, picking at the tape covering the IV in his arm and letting out a yawn. He’s so tired.

“Go back to sleep,” Tony tells him, leaning forward to run his fingers through Peter’s hair and lower the bed some so that he’s more reclined. “May won’t be here for a few more hours.”

“Thanks Mr. Stark,” Peter breathes, letting his eyes close. He falls asleep to the even breathing of his mentor sitting vigil next to him.

[burnedbyshoto]

Buckle Up

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

warning: road head, cursing

word count: 3,000

a/n: I was supposed to write this when I was having a denied writers block, but here we are out of it and able to write what i was supposed to!!!! enjoy!!!! also you wanted to be tagged in this @lady-bakuhoe, so good morning jo!!!

edit: ROAD HEAD IS DANGEROUS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT ATTEMPT IRL IF YOU WANNA SUCK DICK ON THE ROAD PULL OVER TO THE SIDE!!!!!!! NO HORNINESS IS WORTH DEATH!!!!!

Synopsis: On your way for a weekend getaway, Bakugou is having trouble staying awake, and you have an unconventional way at waking him up.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

“Are they really fucking sleeping right now?”

You turned around in the passenger seat. Humming you looked at the five people currently all knocked out in their seats. Kirishima sat behind the driver’s seat, his head against the door as his mouth was wide and hung open. Mina was in the middle seat, her body draped against Kirishima’s and Jirou’s lap as she snored. Jirou was by the window on your side. Her eyes are tight and closed as she held Mina’s legs, her chest rising and falling as puffs of air left her mouth. In the back seat, Sero and Kaminari were very sprawled in each other’s arms as drool escaped their mouths. Your lips pursed as you turn back around a grin on your face as your boyfriend grips the steering wheel.

“They are,” you confirm Bakugou’s suspicion as he rolls his eyes.

“They said they weren’t going to fall asleep too,” he growls as his foot falls heavier against the gas pedal. “I should crash the goddamn car right now!”

Placing your phone back to where Bakugou could see the directions, you smacked his arm.

“You are not crashing this ‘goddamn car!’” You laugh as your boyfriend rolls his eyes again. “I am not dying because you won’t let Kaminari or me drive.”

“Of course I wasn’t going to trust dunce face to drive the fucking car, he would crash it the second he saw an opening.” Bakugou lies as his head pressed against the headrest. “I’m not letting you drive because the last time that happened you managed to make all four tires go flat.”

“Aw, it’s not because you love me?” You tease as Bakugou glares at you, but the way his cheeks and ears tinge red tell you a different story. “Besides the tire popping wasn’t my fault! Mina dared me to go in reverse on those pikes and mama didn’t raise no pussy.”

“You cried for four months when you had to pay off that bill, dumbass.”

“But I did it, so STILL mama didn’t raise a goddamn pussy!”

Bakugou snorts as his left-hand falls from the wheel placing itself on his lap. You grin at his not so subtle sign of him wanting you to hold his hand. Taking your right hand, you take his in yours and pull it towards you. His hands were forever clammy but they exhausted heat. They were large enough to completely drown yours as you slipped your fingers through his. Placing a kiss to the top of his hand you smiled at the way the car shifted in the lane.

Flustering Bakugou was the highlight of your life.

“‘Suki, I’m so proud of you,” you whisper as the car is silent. The road is empty before you two, nothing else was awake but the moon in the sky. A small questioning grunt emits from Bakugou’s mouth as you turned toward him. Your smile growing as he looks your way. “It’s ten at night and you’re still functioning? My little old man is growing young again!”

Those words made Bakugou tears his hand from yours. His eye twitching as he pivots away from you, his body hunched over the wheel.

Your chuckles were muffled over your hand as Bakugou growled about shitty girlfriends and shitty friends. So-called friends who wouldn’t let him drive during the day.

“It’s a compliment, ‘suki! I usually have to make you excited to have you up until ten!”

“Yeah, because you’re a fucking brat who refuses to do anything until past nine.”

“I may be a brat, but I always give fine rewards.”

“Yeah sure, now shut up, you’re annoying and distracting me.”

It didn’t take very long for Bakugou to start talking to you again. All it took was a small threat of joining the girls in their tent instead of his. So now you sat with your legs on his lap, your hand over his own as he stroked your leg with senseless shapes. Your eyes fall over to the clock, it’s almost midnight and your ass hurts. Shifting in your seat your eyes lock onto Bakugou who is trying to stifle a yawn. His jaw is down as a low breath of air escapes his lips and you move your leg to let him know that you caught him mid-yawn.

“Come on, ‘suki,” you try again. “I’m not tired, please let me drive.”

“I’m not letting you fucking drive, y/n.”

His hand on your leg has stopped moving. The raw heat emitting from his palm burns through your sweats as you glare at him.

“I don’t want to die on the road because of you falling asleep behind the wheel!” You whisper, your tone is deadly as your legs pull from his lap and you lean in close.

“You’re not going to fucking die, shitty woman!” Bakugou sneers as he rolls his head on his shoulders, the muscles popping as he does so. “Like hell, I’d let that… let that happen!”

You roll your eyes as your boyfriend is forcing himself to swallow his yawns now. Bakugou was someone who will push himself to the edge to prove a point, so you weren’t going to let him win. Not in this situation, now or ever.

“Of course you won’t, but you’re yawning and that’s why you’re going to pull over and let me drive. By the time I’m tired Kirishima should be awake again!”

“Fucking make me pull over.”

Your back stiffens as you stare at Bakugou. His vermillion eyes lock on you as long as he can before they shift back onto the road.

Bakugou Katsuki was as wrapped around your little finger as much as you were also wrapped around his. Bakugou Katsuki was also vehement and stubborn but hell, so could you be. His stubbornness concerned not only your wellbeing but everyone currently asleep. Not only that but the health of your boyfriend! So you were going to do everything in your power to get him to pull over. Your fingers trailed to the red button that held your seat belt. And without so much as thinking more about it, your finger pressed down on it.

“There’s a gas station in eight kilometers, I’ll get out to stretch if that’ll make you hap— what the fuck are you doing?!” Bakugou’s eyes are on you as you slip the belt from your shoulder, shifting closer to him. “Y/n, this isn’t fucking funny, put your goddamn seat belt on!”

“Make me,” you whisper as your lips meet his jaw.

Bakugou stills as your mouth caresses his skin your lips trailing down his throat which is strained under your touch. Fact number one, Bakugou was a sucker for neck kisses. Your hands shook slightly as your body swayed with the movement of the car. The continuous snoring of your friends in the back seat made your heart race as your teeth nibble at his caramel tasting skin. Your hands trailed down his chest that heaved with quickened breaths. The way his hands gripping the wheel as you reached his naval making you whimper. Fact number two, Bakugou’s eyes always flutter close when your fingers graze his inner thigh.

“Y/n…” Bakugou whines as quiet as he can as his shoulder tries boxing you out. “Stop.”

His tone is warning but you know that these actions are frying his brain. As you huff against a hickie you formed on his skin, you pull away as you press against his arm. “Pull over now.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Fine,” you sigh as your fingers unbuckle his own seat belt.

“Y-Y/n!” His voice shakes despite him snapping and the car swerves. “Don’t fucking do that!”

“You said I had to make you pull over,” you smirk as your fingers hook in the waistline of his baggy grey sweats. “I have to make you do it.”

“Fucking wait seven kilometers,” he grits as you shrug.

“Oh I don't think I can,” you sigh as you get his sweat pants down his thigh. You’re met with his grey underwear, your fingers brushing on top of his now growing hard bulge as he groans lowly. “Better keep quiet love, we don’t wanna wake them up to me sucking your dick.”

“You’re not fucking sucking my dick,” Bakugou twitches. He's trying not to give in but his hips buck against your palms that come to rub small circles onto his cock. You glance up at him, his eyes fluttering as they fight to stay upon despite his natural instinct to close them. You knew at his next words, you had him on board. “Baby girl…”

“Do you not want me to suck your dick?” You whisper as his eyes shift back to you. Despite the darkness of the night, you can see his blown wide pupils when he stares at you. His eyes swim with love, lust, and desire, and his lips press together as his left under shoves his underwear down. His eyes return to the road as his fingers grip the steering wheel so tight they turn white. He wants this. “I hope you can keep that mouth of yours closed,” you giggle as your fingers firmly grip the base of his hardening cock.

The sharp intake of breath from Bakugou throat when your fingers made contact with his dick was sinful as it was silent. He leaned against your body, your shoulder momentarily brushing against the wheel before you gently pushed him back. You smirk as you look up at him, but Bakugou’s eyes remain stubborn and they’re steady on the road ahead. So your hand grips around his girth as his head drops to the wheel.

You maintained eye contact with your boyfriend’s flustered face as he swerved the car again before he returns to his upright position. Not satisfied with his refusal to pull over to the side, you lowered your head towards his throbbing cock. Your lips are the first to make contact with his heated dick. You trail soft and puckered kisses along its side before your tongue runs down the side of his dick. Looking at the strip of saliva, you blow a gentle and cold stream of air as you slide back up his dick. Bakugou lets out a whistled breathe at the cool contact. His hips stuttering under your fingers as his hand presses against your back.

His hand grips the clasp of your bra, teasing it and toying with it most likely to distract you. But if there’s one thing you’ve learned in life was to keep a one-track mind when it came to Bakugou.

As you make your way back up to his tip, you feel with delight when your thumb swipes and spreads the hot pre-cum that gathered there. Sticking out your tongue, you lay it flat against the slit on his head as you teasingly massage his dick between your fist. Bakugou let out a rough breath through his nose as his arms tremble because of the grip he holds. The sight of Bakugou once again refusing how this was making him feel made you moan softly against his skin. Your thighs rubbing together as you shift to ease the building pleasure within you. Bakugou lets out a ragged breath as his eyes shift to the rearview mirror, no one has stirred.

With his attention on your friends, you catch him by surprise when you envelop him into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his head as you took his length deeper into your mouth, and the hand on your back burns you as nails dig into your skin. He likes this.

Once you feel his tip hit the back of your throat you sink only further down his length. You choke slightly against his dick, but you know it’s not loud enough to wake up your snoring friends. It doesn’t stop Bakugou’s eyes from widening at your actions and noises. He's moaning softly himself as he tried to quiet your vulgar noises.

Bakugou‘s head slams against the headrest as you moan against his length, the car picking up in speed as well. The vibrations of your mouth resonating through him and you whimper as he fights his reaction. But the hand that lay on your back moved to twist your hair into a faux ponytail. This simple action makes your legs rub together for friction.

His hips snap up against your mouth as fire shoots down your throat. His hips are merciless as they drill into your mouth, his hands pulling at your hair as tears prick at your eyes. You do everything to not pull away. Your jaw is completely relaxed and your fingers grip his thigh as your nose hits his trimmed pubes. His actions are too rough so your throat hums as you try to calm down.

Bakugou pushes you further against his length, keeping your lips flushed against his skin as his hand swerves the car. Your body tumbles as you choke against his length, and he lets you go. You pull away gasping for air as your lips are covered in a mixture of his pre-cum and your saliva. Staring at his rigid features, you licked your lips as you wheeze. Your eyes turn to your friends who are still asleep.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Bakugou spat between gritted teeth. His eyes blazing feebly as he glares down at your bruised lips. Bakugou’s rough grip in your hair was preventing you from moving your lips too far away from his still hard cock. So, wanting to give him what he desires, your lips surround his dick. Your hand moving to roughly jerk his length as your other hand grip his balls.

This time Bakugou moaned lowly. "Baby girl, fucking shit," he moans as he rocks his hips.

His hips bucking up towards your touch as his foot slams even harder against the gas pedal. The car engine revving from the sharp increase in speed. You smirked up at him as you continued your movements. You can see him glancing down at you much more frequently. His eyes flickering from you, the road, and the passengers while your tongue swirls against his leaking tip.

"Get your fucking mouth on my cock," he wheezes as he tugs your hair. But you don't move as your tongue slides against his slit.

Bakugou grunts loudly in response as his hand in your hair buries into your scalp. He shoves your face down to his length, forcing you into his rhythm. He was pushing your head down so you were gagging on his length as it hit the back of your throat, the sounds only goading Bakugou further. So with one final moan from you, one final surge of his hips into your mouth, and slam of his forehead against the wheel, Bakugou came in your mouth.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

You pull away grinning as you swallow his salty load, your mouth opening to show that you swallowed him all.

“You look much more awake love,” you tease as Bakugou's eyes are wide open now. His body is tense and rigid as he stares ahead.

“Fucking buckle up,” Bakugou hisses as he shoves you into your seat.

You barely sit correctly as Bakugou pulls into a gas station. Your eyes are wide as Bakugou throws open the car door after slipping his pants back up. The door slamming behind him was enough to wake up everyone.

“Wah—?” You heard someone heave in a sleepy voice. Before you could explain your door swung open and Bakugou pulled you out.

“Are we there yet?” Kirishima’s voice asks clearly from the back.

“No! Stop asking fucking questions and just wait there!” Bakugou growls as he closes the door behind you.

Your legs barely keep up with Bakugou’s long strides as you’re suddenly in the bathroom. the door locking behind you as his mouth overwhelms you.

“You’re going to make yourself come in two minutes, or you don’t get to come for a fucking week. Do you understand?” Bakugou hisses against your lips as his fingers curl onto your clit.

“Yes, my love.”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

taglist (message to be added):

@flayvus @antigenius @mariahschoices @cherry-pie-shay @the-secret-thief @vampire-dumbass @monst @theaceofspades @kitten-on-ecstasy

[lokislittlesigyn]

A Day’s Work - Pt.2

Click for part 1!

Pairing: Loki / Sigyn (basically an oc based off the marvel/myth namesake)

Warnings: Some slight/implied language. The Collector being creepy (again).

Summary: The Guardians of The Galaxy have been, well, guarding the galaxy on their own time. But when a handsome reward for the safe return of an Asgardian princess is released, they may get more adventure than they bargained for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Guardians stood in a dark alleyway of Knowhere, trying to avoid prying eyes. Rocket returned to the group, having just spied on the Collector.

”I got good news and bad news. Good news is, I know exactly where the princess is. Bad news is, she’s already locked up tight in Tivan’s little freakshow.”

"Tivan already knows who we are, we can't just burst in." Gamora crossed her arms. "We may have to act like we're selling something ourselves."

"And what, just use one of our own as bait?" Rocket sat up on a barrel, Groot next to him.

"Gamora's right. We outta beat Tivan at his own game.. But how do we get the princess out of the cage?" Peter shifted his weight.

"I can rig up a deciphering doohicky with one hand tied behind my back. You just gotta keep the Collector distracted for long enough." Rocket smirked.

"Okay.. Well, while I am admittedly super handsome, I don't think Tivan would want to buy me. Plus I'm the leader, and the leader never acts as bait." Peter glanced at Gamora.

"If you think I'm going to offer myself up to be a pet for Tivan, Peter-"

"I am Groot."

"What?" All eyes turned to the small tree seated next to Rocket.

"I am Groot."

"Wait wait wait - you want to do that?" Rocket blinked.

"I am Groot." The tiny creature nodded, shrugging.

"Hey, Groot's got a point.. I mean Tivan wanted him before, right?" Peter glanced around. "It's a good enough plan. Not a great plan, but.. It'll work. We've got limited time anyway, right? With a reward like that, somebody else is bound to be looking for the princess."

Gamora shrugged in agreement.

"Yeah, all right. It might work. Maybe." Rocket huffed.

"I do not understand why we don't just destroy the Collector's collection like before, but so long as we retrieve the princess, I will be satisfied." Drax nodded firmly.

"Great. So we're all in agreement." Peter nodded. "Guardians, out."

The others stared at him.

"...Uh. Yeah, let's go." ~~~~ “I present Tanaleer Tivan, The Collector.” A pink woman lead the Guardians to the Collector. Peter was flanked by Gamora and Drax, who carried a small sack. There they stood before Tivan as Rocket broke off from the group, skittering around to the backside of the princess’s cage - already starting to hack in.

"The Guardians of the Galaxy." The Collector's tone was harsh. He turned on his heel, facing them.

Peter swallowed. "Hey, Tivan. You did a great job, uh, fixing your place up.. Looks great.." He met eyes with the Asgardian, who stared at him apprehensively. She seemed to have a strange collar on - whenever she moved her mouth to speak, no sound came out. He looked back at Tivan.

"What do you want?"

"We want to give you the best damn offer you've ever got." He snapped his fingers, motioning to the table. Drax stepped up, dropping the sack on the table, then stepped back. "Go on. Open up." Peter nodded at the sack.

The Collector glanced at it, then took a curious step forward. Grabbed the sack and opened it.

There stood a tiny, baby Groot.

"I am Groot."

The Collector raised his brows at the group.

"Yeah, he's too small to be any use to us now," Peter shrugged, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. "Figured you might like to have him, seeing as you liked him so much and all.."

"Will he reach his previous size?"

"Uhhhh-"

"Yes." Gamora cut him off. "It's a matter of time. Time we can't spare, seeing as keeping a child around is so dangerous.."

"Of course." The Collector sounded unconvinced, but interested. "And what does he do?"

"Do?" Quill faltered. "Well, he can grow vines from his arms. And his back. Basically anywhere."

"He dances." Drax piped up. "Clumsily."

"I am Groot."

"Hey, quiet down, pipsqueak." Peter feigned anger.

"And he eats about twice his weight in food. Daily." Gamora shifted her weight.

"Yeah- Yeah he does. But he'll eat anything. Literally anything. Maybe even one of your other, uh.." Peter glanced back at the princess, then at the Collector. "Collector's items. So keep him by himself."

The Collector took another moment to examine Groot. Picked him up, glancing him over. Then placed him on the table, scratching his chin.

"... Eight million units." He gazed at Peter.

"We'll do fifteen."

"Twelve."

"This is a one of a kind creature here, Tivan," Peter motioned toward Groot, who stood proud, chin up. "Look at him. He's a specimen."

The Collector began pacing. "Twelve million."

"Fourteen and he's yours."

"Thirteen."

"Fourteen," Peter shrugged.

Tivan huffed. Glanced at Groot, then seemingly in pain, glared up at Peter. "Thirteen and a half."

"Tivan..." Peter sighed, glancing over Tivan's shoulder at Rocket, who gave him and thumb's up. "You've got yourself a deal."

Tivan smirked, opening his drawer to grab the money - then KABOOM. Rocket exploded the lock on Sigyn's cage and the door swung open. She screamed silently.

"What-" The Collector turned to face the sudden noise, but Drax grabbed him, tackling him away. "Get off me-!"

Gamora and Peter rushed over to help the Asgardian. She stared at them, scared, but let them cut and break the strange wires that connected her collar to the cage. Soon, she was free.

She coughed, struggling to leave the cage. "Thank you, whoever you- AH!"

Gamora grabbed her, hoisting her over her shoulders. "Let's go!"

"Drax!" Quill called. Drax came running, and Rocket scooped up baby Groot before the group, ran, rather sloppily, from the premises.

Rocket pulled a small device from his pocket.

"Wha- Rocket, is that a bomb? Did you rig a BOMB?!" Peter glared.

"What? I've gotta have some fun!" He pressed the button. Behind them, a louder, larger explosion sounded. He cackled.

"Why is the rabbit talking?!" Sigyn shrieked.

"I am not a rabbit!"

~~~~ Sigyn sat in a seat on a strange ship, gazing apprehensively down at the tiny tree-like creature before her.

He glared at her, arms crossed, apparently convinced he was the most ferocious thing in the galaxy.

She was convinced.

"You been keeping an eye on our guest, Groot?" Quill walked in, leaning against the door frame coolly.

"I am Groot."

"Interesting."

"I am Groot..." He glanced at Peter. "I am Groot!" He turned, glaring at Sigyn, who shifted back slightly. She glanced at Quill, then at Groot, then back again.

"What is he saying?"

"That's none of your business." Peter walked closer.

Sigyn swallowed, looking Peter up and down. Dirty boots, jeans, a t-shirt, and a red leather jacket... She examined his face. Blushed gently. "Who are you?"

"Call me Star-Lord." He smiled.

She blinked. "Star-Lord?"

"Yeah. Star-Lord. And my crew, who you met when we saved your butt, are the Guardians of the Galaxy." He pointed at Groot. "That little guy is Groot."

"I'd put that one together myself, actually..." Sigyn shifted in her seat. "Thank you. For saving me."

Peter shrugged, sashaying into the room, and kept a casual tone. "Eh. Nothing personal, really..."

"No, thank you. I.. I was afraid I'd never leave that horrible place.."

He glanced over his shoulder. "You wouldn't have if it weren't for us, princess."

"Why does everyone think I'm a princess?"

"Uh, because you are."

"But I'm not-"

"You are." Gamora walked in. Sigyn visibly tensed, eyeing the blade on Gamora's hip.

"I'm not."

"The kidnappers that grabbed you must've given you something to cloud your memories. You are a princess, you just don't know it."

"That's ridiculous."

"All right, then." Gamora crossed her arms. "Who are you?"

"What?"

"Who are you? What's your name?"

"I-.." Sigyn stopped short. Name. She had a name. She just couldn't place it. "I... I-I don't remember my name.."

"Where are you from?"

Sigyn gulped. "I don't know."

"How old are you?"

"I don't know!" Tears welled up in her eyes. "I-I don't know. I must be.. Must be whatever you are, right?" She looked at Star-Lord.

Peter shrugged. "Not exactly.”

She glared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well-" He was cut off by a blaring alarm. The whole ship shook. "What was that?!"

"Uh, Quill!" Rocket popped his head in. "Might wanna come see this!" The Guardians hurried to the cockpit. Groot hopped up onto the back of a chair. An enemy ship was baring down on them, brandishing its many energy blasters. The audio on the Milano stuttered, then a static-y message came through: "Guardians of the Galaxy. Ashok of Sakaar sends his regards."

Peter's eyes widened. "Oh, son of a-"

The enemy ship fired.

"Shields up- come on!" Peter swerved to miss another barrage. "Rocket, I need those shields working!"

"I'm on it!" Rocket skittered off, Groot following close behind.

Sigyn gasped as another blast hit, grabbing onto a chair for support. "Wha- Why are we being attacked?"

"I got into a bar fight, okay?!" Peter fired back at the enemy ship. "I'd rather not talk about it!"

"But if you're Guardians of the Galaxy, people shouldn’t attack you-"

"Don't want to talk about it!"

The Milano swerved again, barely dodging another hit.

"Gamora, could you put our guest somewhere else?!"

"With pleasure." Gamora grabbed Sigyn, leading her to the back of the ship, and sat her down. "Stay here."

Sigyn swallowed, bowing her head slightly - obeying. Gamora went back to the cockpit. The Milano was hit. "Peter, we've got to take out their guns..!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it!"

"Ha!" Rocket yelled, running back into the cockpit, "Shields are up! Give 'em hell!"

"'Atta boy, Rocket!" Quill grinned, turning onto the enemy craft and firing at will. The enemy blasts barely grazed the Milano, and after a mere few minutes of fighting, the other ship retreated.

The Guardians cheered. Peter turned to beam at them, "And that, people, is how you beat-"

The others were all staring out the cockpit window. Peter turned, following their gaze. An enormous, hodgepodge ship had arrived. The tinier ship seeming to join with it, meld with it, and begin repairing.

"I do not think we beat them," Drax pointed out, as multiple tiny ships emerged from the larger one, surrounding the Milano.

"You think?" Rocket sneered.

The Milano shook as the enemy ships grabbed it, towing them in to a hangar on the larger ship.

"Well, Guardians, any ideas on how to get out of this one?" Quill swallowed. ~~~~ The Guardians, and Sigyn, stripped of their weapons and belongings, were thrown in a cell. Around them, other cell-like rooms contained various species of aliens. The control panel on the outside of their cell displayed a flickering message: PETER QUILL, "STAR-LORD" GAMORA, DAUGHTER OF THANOS DRAX THE DESTROYER “ROCKET RACCOON” “GROOT” SIGYN LOKIWIFE OF ASGARD RETRIEVAL FOR ASHOK OF SAKAAR Sigyn sat in the far corner of the cell. "How did a bar fight escalate to this? Is that normal in space?"

"I don't know, princess, you tell me." Peter huffed. "This sucks.."

"I feel no sucking sensation." Drax furrowed his brow.

"I-.. Never mind."

"Quit sulking." Rocket walked over to the cell bars. "This whole place runs on electricity. Bet these bars do too. There's an easy way out of here." He touched the bar- "Yow!" -and received a shock. He growled. Drax laughed.

"Oh, shuttup!" Rocket bristled at Drax.

Sigyn stood, staring at the ceiling. "...Is that a vent?"

Gamora followed her gaze. "It's minuscule."

"So is your tree friend.."

They exchanged a look. ~~~~ "Okay. Now you gotta go up in there, and walk that way-" Rocket crouched in front of Groot, pointing to the outside of the cell, "And then drop down on the outside. Right?"

"I am Groot."

"Good. Then you're gonna reach up to the control panel and press the big blue button. That'll set us free."

"I am Groot."

"Excellent. Now say it back to me."

"I am Groot.."

"Uh-huh."

"I am Groot.."

"Yeah."

"I am Groot."

"No- No! Not the orange button, there might not even be an orange button! Blue! Blue button!"

Sigyn glanced over. Bit her lip, stepping over to the pair, and sat down.

"Hey. Uhm. Groot?"

The tiny creature looked at her. She held out her arm, pointing to the blue fabric. "This color. Blue. Blue button."

Groot reached out and touched the fabric. "I am Groot."

"...What'd he say?" She glanced at Rocket.

"He said it's soft."

"Does he at least understand what color the button will be?"

"Groot, what color is the button?"

Groot pointed to Sigyn's arm.

"Well, what do you know.." Rocket picked up Groot. "All right, buddy, let's see if this works."

Drax lifted Groot up into the vent, which they'd finally managed to pry open just enough. "Be free, tiny, stupid Groot." Pattering footsteps sounded above their heads, making their way toward the hallway outside the cell. Stopped.

"C'mon.. C'mon..." Rocket stood, watching, waiting.

Seconds later, Groot dropped down from the ceiling, landing with a clang. He shook his head, standing.

"Ha! Yeah, baby! Okay, now press the blue button. Blue button!"

Groot walked over to the wall. Stared up at the panel. Blue button. Orange button. He reached up.

The cell doors doubled.

"No!" Rocket pounded the door, "Blue button!"

A moment later, the door opened.

"Yes!" Rocket was the first out of the cell. He scooped up Groot, placing him on his shoulder. "All right, let's move."

"We'll stick together. Find our stuff, then the Milano, and bust out of here." Peter stepped ahead of the group.

"What about the others?" Sigyn glanced at the other captives. They were beginning to wake up from dazed naps, ask for help, gaze out at her and the Guardians with desperation in their eyes...

"We don't know these people."

"But.." Sigyn faltered.

"They could be murderers. Robbers. Kidnappers - like the guys that took you."

She swallowed. "...They could also be a very nice distraction." She looked at Quill. They stood a moment, locked in a silent battle of stubborn wills.

"...Fine. But if any of them try to kill us, that is totally on you."

[pernatius]

Lost in Space Part 12: Ch 2

Previous 

Summary: The fate of the universe will be decided in the final five chapters.

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

Two pieces. Two halves dropped to what was once an empty, white floor. A golden pool of their blood spilled out from the gash and rippled as my watery eyes met with it. I stepped away, stomach-churning, seeing One’s added reflection. The Lord’s ring and middle fingers pressed against the cigarette and raised it to where their lips should be. Somehow the Lord sucked in its toxic chemicals. A greyish ball spun inside their eye, then seeped out and blew away with a smile. 

Something is vibrating from the tension. As I am slowly realizing, those are the tendons from what I thought I killed seconds ago. They’re reconnecting, twisting, and pulling the halves back together. I take a step back. I take another when the revitalized corpse pounces. Its blood seeps back into its body. After a deep-throated cough, the Watcher looks up at me with dirty yellow eyes. The fragments of my sword spun around my arm one moment, and the next, they’re lunging at the ominously silent Watcher who’s sprinting, seemingly teleporting from left to right, without losing eye contact. 

Both their whips reappear in their hands and come zipping through the air and at me. I outmaneuver both and am about to respond with a heated ball of rich, golden light, but they vanish. 

Looking around the room, I try to sense where the Watcher went. I try focusing to the best of my abilities, but to no avail. So, I wasn’t able to stop the knee to the face, and both straps of electric currents tightly looped around my body, electrocuting and spinning me about as they slid off my frame. 

Above me, the reminiscence of the guard’s commander is charging their hand. It glows. Rays shone between their fingers, but my focus turned elsewhere. One mouths that I have thirty seconds left. Looking up at the opposing figure, I tell them, “This isn’t the end, and I’m sorry about that. I wish I could’ve done better than me that brought you here.” 

The blazing light disappears from their lowering hand. “I can’t forgive you because I won’t forget.”

“I understand. I don’t think I could either. I am the monster.” Two hands charged, I release a massive energy blast that finally puts to rest the still Watcher. Two summons a shield that absorbs the explosion before it could hit One and Five. The Lord struggled a bit, arms shook, and they were pushed back as they fought to best the roaming energy. When they do, the Lord looks at me with a mix of interest and respect as the both of us are exhausted, I am a lot more so, but it marked the end of my one-on-one fight. The outnumbered fight continued on with the return of hundreds wanting to blast my limbs off, hundreds more wanting to tire me more out with hand-to-hand combat, and eight of them hoping to slit my throat with a solidified, sharpened aura. 

I survive it all not because I’m a fighter but because of this cheapened state. So, I don’t take pride in what I’ve done. But I don’t feel disgusted either. With each blink, I can still see and hear them. They’re crawling onto me, piling up, covering the light, pushing me deeper into the emptiness beneath, and moaning in agony. The flames of my gleaming light envelop us, killing not only them but my emotions as well. My vision, too, apparently, because I can see a familiar red-headed figure lifting me up from my collapsed state. She looked like an angel with how the light circled around her edges, softening it too. The blinding, heavenly sight brings me to push myself once again as I reach out towards her. Resting my trembling hand on my love’s face, wiping the tears with my numb thumb, brings her to rest her other hand above mine. It’s warm, unlike mine. For me, it’s only been minutes since the last time we touched, but for her, it’s been years. Her eyes are baggy, and wrinkles are prominent. There’s a thick, white strand of hair at the center of her synthetic red hair. Most associate the color with seduction, but I switch it with blue’s symbolism. It brings me sorrow and tears in my eyes because I left her alone in this confusing place we call the universe for far too long. 

Instead of me forcing out an apology, it’s her letting her heart out, “I’m sorry for everything.” She then proceeds to hug me. It hurts, but not because I have hardly any strength left. Instead, I’m in pain because I love her so much. 

One dismisses their cigarette as they get up from their throne. “A minute off.” 

Raising a single finger, they shoot, and I try creating a shield before her. Something sparks in front of her, but it poofs out of existence. I’m far too weak to do anything but cling onto Ashley, who’s looking confidently directly at the spinning light. I shut my eyes, and with the ringing, loud resonant sound that followed after, I reopened them to see a large blue shield between us and the attack. Turning my head back, I see Saamuki with a rich blue coat, brown boots, and a red sash to tie it all together. Her arms are raised, holding up her makeshift shield. On her ring finger is a ring sparkling because of the blue light. Two Tauvoxes, one a long-time friend and the other a prisoner the last time I saw him, are on either side of her. Like Saamuki, and now that I notice Ashley too, Mikrovos is wearing Quadrant Forty’s fifth battalion uniform and has a prosthetic horn. He also has a ring on, which has me crack a smile. The four of them aren’t the only ones here. Sakhra, Bichak, and that leafy, fearsome giant from the fallen Zeq’s town are here too, with the same clothing as well. Syco is not matching. He’s also the least clean, having scuff marks and untamed hair. An odd reunion, but a welcome one. 

“So, this is where you’ve been. I knew it would take a lot more than that to kill you,” the musty Tauvox professed smugly. 

The smaller Tauvox rolls his eyes before replying with, “We can do the whole ‘I told you so’ after we beat the Lords. Bichak, what’s your status?” Bichak, who’s quickly skimming through the floating book Four gave to him, slides his free hand into his coat and takes out seven dull crystals. Three, Five, and Six join with One. Saamuki encases us in a bubble as Two separates from the Lords and teleports behind us with a battle cry and a flaming fist. It cracks but holds. 

She’s gotten a lot stronger but not all-powerful yet. It’s the reason why she blurts out, “We are all going to die if I’m the only one defending us against four Lords.” The silent vegetation presses his hand on Saamuki’s back. Soon after, she burst with a blue glow, which is almost blinding. Blue symbols etch onto her skin, peeking between her scales, as well. They’re the same ones I’ve seen plenty of times, and as I learned not too long ago, they are words from the very first language. Finally, with Saamuki overflowing with her powers, he pushes past to get to me. He motions for Ashley to hand me over to him. She hesitates, looking into his eyes as she tightens her grip on me.

“Kaishi,” Sakhra hissed. 

Ashley has changed her name. Of course, she’s changed a lot, but she’s still the same woman I’ve grown to love. Respectfully feisty as she grabs hold of the green alien and orders, “Don’t do anything that will make me regret bringing you along with us.” He slowly nods. “We’re all going to make it out of this.” She lets go of him before turning to Bichak. “We only have one chance at this. The Nantos won’t be giving the second time.”

“Just a quick memorization,” Bichak assured.

“Right. Saamuki, the bubble.” Coming from her back, liquified metal slides down to her hands. They solidify once they cover them and shoot through the newly formed opening. “Syco. Sakhra.” The two nod to her. As the Lord stumbles back, holding their wounded eye too, the three dart towards the rest of the Lords. They easily dodge Three’s, Five’s, and Six’s blasts. While the three of them are against the four Lords unless Four and Seven decide to stop being spectators, it’s Saamuki and Mikrovos against the one beefy Lord who’s been trying to smash through.

The bubble does, but it smashes against Two. It flew towards the Lord, who could’ve just moved out of the way but trying to push it back towards us interested them more. A shield comes flying towards the Lord and then another. Another comes. Each time Two tries to punch through it. It takes five times until they unleash a solidified, sharp aura in the shape of a sword to cut right through the sixth time. Mikrovos, with two blades from his gauntlets, blocks the colossal sword. Two’s much greater size pushes Mikrovos back, but Saamuki quickly returns to the fight by transforming her sash into a sword again. It floats next to and follows her as she runs across the makeshift, see-through blue staircase. She jumps the final step and thrusts the barreling long red blade towards Two with its tip pointed directly between where the Lord’s eyes should be. The Lord sidesteps away but is cut by Mikrovos in the process. 

Saamuki strikes the floor. Her sword comes back right next to her. It spins in the air as it once again tries to contact Two, but it clashes with the Lord’s sword. Mikrovos proceeds towards Two’s weaponless right, jumping over Saamuki’s blast, but Two realizes this between having their sword gliding against Saamuki’s, and so forms another one. Both of the Lord’s hands are preoccupied with the lover’s swords, and they are also busy swerving away from the serpent’s blasts. The trio seemed to match until the titan’s right foot stomped across the floor, causing the floor beneath Mikrovos to rip open. A pure black hole appeared beneath him, it swallowed him, but he didn’t disappear for long because he came crashing into the ground from the newly conceived tear above. 

Five is about to grab Kaishi, but because of their weight, it slows them down, making it easy for Sakhra to defend her with a ferocious punch. Amazingly, the collision didn’t crack the stones that makeup Sakhra’s right arm. Sakhra’s other arm grabs the Lord’s wrist and, with ease, throws the figure who’s more than four times his size and weight. Five’s fats jiggle as they spin in the air, going between the recently distanced One, Three, and Kaishi. The three watch the bulbous Lord land at Four’s feet. The landed Lord asks for Four’s hand, but Four peaks up from their book for just a moment and then slides it back up, ignoring Five’s continued pleas. The two reconvene when One and Three send disembodied fists, which Kaishi shoots. As for Six and Syco, the two are engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Like with Sakhra, Syco cannot yield against the far more powerful force that is Six. Nevertheless, he’s holding his own.

Everything seems to be going well. I thought it was until I noticed the subtle look Four and Seven give to each other as Seven’s crusty fingers stroke against their chains. I feel my body revitalized. I’m glowing brighter than ever before with symbols from the ancient language I’ve grown accustomed to pulsing across my skin, so with the boost thanks to the nameless hulking figure over my shoulder, I set myself towards the suspicious Lords until I’m scolded by Bichak. “What do you think you’re doing?” The seven crystals are spinning around the small four-eyed figure who also has the same symbols across his arms and face, coloring, no longer a hideous gray. 

“Helping my friends.”

“Commander Kaishi ordered us not to get in the way. Well, you weren’t a part of the order as everyone assumed you were dead, but she’d see it best for you to stay here. Protecting these crystals until they’re ready is everyone’s priority. Besides, I’ve seen how angry she can get. So I don’t want to be on her bad side this time.” All four of his eyes side-eyed the green giant. 

I turn with the snap of One’s fingers. With it, all around us, Watchers appeared. I tried looking away to not be reminded of the atrocities I committed, but they are all around. I covered my mouth and began to quietly cry. The two enemies turned allies just looked at me, but I wasn’t expecting sympathy from either. I sure wasn’t expecting Saamuki to be enraged. Well, The Speaker is the one enraged as they punch through Watchers left and right in what I assume is them freeing the blood. 

[theshrubbery]

Here’s the link to my fake-dating snowbaz au! Alternatively, read the next chapter here :)

BAZ

The rest of the week passes in an uncomfortably fast blur, interspersed with Snow asking ridiculous questions that are setting my nerves on edge.

“But Baz, how do I act like your boyfriend?”

“Baz, do I have to hold your hand?”

“Do I have to kiss you?”

Christ above this was a mistake. Why I ever opened my fucking mouth in the first place and told my father what I did, I’ll never know. All I do know, is that I’m not sure I’ll actually survive this holiday knowing my family are going to be thinking Simon Snow is my bloody boyfriend. All I’ll be able to think is how much I wish he was. It feels like cruelty, to wave this in front of my face, to have Simon’s hand in mine and know it’s all for show. I don’t know how I’ll control myself.

I look over in the darkness at Simon’s bed. He’s sleeping, snoring so obnoxiously loudly I can almost pretend for a moment that I dowant to kill him, that I want to smother him out of existence with a pillow instead of smothering my lips against his. Snow does everything with flourish, with so much extra energy and I don’t even think it’s on purpose. It should irritate the shit out of me but I think it’s adorable. It’s adorable how his mouth is hanging open in sleep as he snores, how his golden hair is mussed up around his freckled face.

My chest aches with how badly I want to reach out and touch him. I probably could, if I really wanted to, if I shifted to the edge of the bed and just stretched my arm across, the beds are close enough together. I don’t though, I never have taken advantage of him. I didn’t intend to start either until this little fiasco.

I cannot believe I have to fake-date Simon Snow and somehow keep my feelings to myself, somehow pretend like I’m not touching the sun after all this time. I need to love him in public and hate him in private, it seems so backwards, the complete opposite of what I’ve been doing these past eight years.

I honestly don’t know how I’m getting out of this alive.

“Le’go o’ me you fuckin’…” Snow mumbles in his sleep. His words are garbled around the spit spilling down his face. Disgusting. I want to lick it. God, I’m so disturbed. I sigh, quietly, and roll over in bed. I’ve had enough of watching him sleep for one night, though I don’t know how he’s managing it considering tomorrow I’ll be driving him on his merry way to Hampshire to meet my family and begin this excruciating week of torment.

The next morning is the same as any other, and for a moment I have no idea why I ever imagined it could be different. Snow stretches obnoxiously, as usual, and pushes himself up in his bed, looking blearily around. I watch him in the reflection from where I stand before the mirror, fixing my tie. He looks at me but doesn’t make any sound of acknowledgement. Snow looks down at the bed, out of the window, then at his phone, as though he’s going through the motions and has no idea whether he’s actually awake or not.

“Are you going to get ready any time today?” I ask impatiently. We need to be on the road soon if we’re to make it to Hampshire for the lunch my father and step-mother wanted to prepare. “We’re going to be late.”

“Late for what? Class doesn’t start till nine, it’s only seven-forty,” Snow says in a way that’s so matter-of-fact I almost can’t believe his idiocy. I pause for a second, waiting to see if Simon’s joking, then I slowly turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “What?” He asks, defensive.

“Are you actually as stupid as you look?” I ask him, watching as his cheeks heat up and his eyebrows knot together in frustration.

“Fuck off, Baz. Stop talking shit.”

“Uh, no. It’s you who’s talking shit,” I inform him, watching the confusion sweep across his features in a slow wave. It would be funny if he weren’t so infuriatingly dense. “Have you forgotten what day it is?”

Snow stares at me blankly, then a dull realisation drops his jaw.

“Wait…” Snow holds up a hand towards me, using the other to cover his eyes. “That’s today?”

“Yes?” I take a step towards him. “Did you seriously forget? No wonder you slept like a baby last night.” I realise in hindsight that I probably should have left that last part out. It makes it sounds like I was watching him. Which I was, but he doesn’t need to bloody know that.

“Fuck,” Snow says bluntly, pulling his hand away from his eyes and staring at me. My skin tingles. “Fuck, I thought that was next week!”

“Next week? Snow, do you not know what a calendar is? Do you not know the date?”

“Shut up, I wrote it down, I swear!” Snow fumbles with his phone, unlocking it on the fourth attempt and rushing to prove himself right. Except he doesn’t, I know that before he even opens his mouth. Snow’s eyes widen and his face reddens impressively. “Shit. My phone isn’t even set to the right year.”

I can’t help but burst out laughing at how ridiculously stupid Simon Snow is. The great Simon Snow, the scholarship student, the headmaster’s unofficial apprentice, is an absolute fucking prat. I love him for it.

“Christ, Snow, get yourself together,” I say when I’ve collected myself. I smirk at him in a way I know will get under his skin. “Pucker up, buttercup, it’s time to start pretending we’re deeply, deeply in love.”

“Like anyone would ever love you.” I turn around and try not to wince at the sting that leaves behind. Something tells me he doesn’t mean it, probably my hopeless subconscious, the back of my mind telling me maybe this won’t be so bad. But I’m not thick, I know this is going to be atrocious. The way Snow bristles as I pat his back as he walks past with his clothes in his arms is a great signal of how frustrating this next week is going to be.

SIMON

When we get into the car, we’re both silent. My mind is full and busy but for the life of me I can’t think of a way to properly start a conversation. There’s some old rock song playing through the car’s tinny speakers that Baz briefly murmurs belongs to his aunt, and that’s about as close as we get to speaking for the first half an hour or so.

I feel uncomfortable, like I’m being driven to my doom. Baz is dressed all in black, black trousers, black shirt, jacket, everything. He made me dress as presentable as possible before we left too, he said when we got to his house (although I’m expecting something grander than a house) there’d be a formal dinner with compulsory attendance. Compulsory makes it sound impersonal, like it’s less a family gathering and more a business meeting. I didn’t have any ‘formal’ clothes, not like the ones Baz is wearing, not outside of my school uniform, so Baz has lent me a grey turtleneck jumper. It’s soft and smells like something musky; it feels expensive. Apparently I can get away with wearing my school trousers, so I have.

“Stop fidgeting,” Baz says suddenly. It makes me jump a little in my seat, the seatbelt pinches my neck. I clear my throat and shift, tugging the belt away and settling it over my chest. I hadn’t even realised I was fidgeting and part of me suspects I hadn’t been and Baz just wanted an excuse to pick a fight. It wouldn’t surprise me.

I glance up at Baz and watch the tension in his jaw, clenching and unclenching, take in the whites of his knuckles against his smooth skin where they tighten around the wheel. He looks tense. I suppose I can’t really blame him considering the situation we’re in, can I?

“We need to lay down some ground rules,” Baz tells me, looking briefly away from the road to make eye contact, and then just as quickly away. I grimace and scratch the side of my head with my pointer finger if only for something to do other than face the fact I’m about to talk through the laws of mine and Baz’s fake relationship.

“What kind… of ground rules?” I say slowly, keeping my gaze fixed on the road. There’s not really much to see, just the grey of the motorway, the flitting of fields and trees to the left of the car.

“We need to make this believable,” Baz says. I see him swallow thickly out of my peripheral vision. “But not—we don’t need to do anything too hasty.” I think it’s one of the first times I’ve ever actually seen Baz genuinely lose his composure. He seems to be fighting for the right words, he’s agitated and scowling and I’m glad I’m not the only one uncomfortable with the situation. We aren’t even friends, let alone in the position to pretend to be boyfriends. I don’t even know if I’m gay.

“So what do we actually have to do? Are we going to have to kiss?”

“No.” Baz says immediately, before the last syllable has even left my lips. I look at him in surprise. “I mean. Maybe. If the situation calls for it. Obviously we just need to make sure we’re believable enough to fool my father and I can’t see why he’d expect us to kiss.”

I nod and look back out of the window. “What about hugging? Holding hands?”

“Just stand close to me and we should be fine. Don’t get trying anything, Snow.”

“Trying anything?” I parrot, incredulous. What kind of ideas does that prat have in his head? “Sorry, Baz, you’re handsome but you’re not that handsome. Fuck off.”

“Just do whatever you did with Wellbelove,” Baz says offhandedly. Then he realises what he’s just said and grimaces. “Actually, no. Just—you get the fucking idea, Snow, don’t you?”

“Righto, Baz,” I say, leaving a beat of silence whilst I consider the weight of my next words. “I’ll leave the fucking part out.” The car swerves sharply to the right as Baz splutters before he realises what he’s doing. His face is the most menacing shade of red I think I’ve ever seen and I can’t help but burst out laughing at the hilarity of it all.

“You did that?” Baz’s voice is strained, a thick vein bulges in the column of his flushed throat. I imagine I can see his pulse thrumming.

“No, I’m joking, calm your tits, Baz.” I wave a hand dismissively, pretending I don’t notice how Baz seems to sink back into his seat with relief. He was probably pissed that he thought I’d beaten him to it. “The most we did was a bit of groping.”

“Snow, I don’t want to know about whatever depraved antics you and Wellbelove got up to.”

“Are you sure you don’t care?” I retort. “Seeing as you’re the reason she left me and all.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Baz says. He’s recovered himself from whatever the flying fuck thatemotional display was earlier, and now his smug smirk is plastered back on his face. The one that tells me he knows exactly what he’s saying and exactly what he’s doing to piss me off. “I never liked her anyways. She obviously just had enough of you.”

“You literally flirted with her!” I snap, recalling how I caught them in the woods behind the school at the end of last year. “I saw you both holding hands like a couple of fairies in fantasy land! Staring into each other’s eyes like you were about to break out into song and dance into the sunset!”

“Jesus Christ, Snow, that’s a bit much, don’t you think?” Baz flicks a curl of hair out of his face with a deft movement of his head. I want to take his hair and pull it straight out. “I promise you, nothing happened in those woods. Wellbelove thought I was into her and was trying to get me to go out with her. Obviously I didn’t. I have no interest in her. She left you of her own accord, thank you very much.”

“Fuck off, Baz,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say, and because I need to calm down if I’m going to make this whole fake dating debacle look even slightly real. Baz scoffs at me but I barely hear it, all I can think about is the way Baz had stared at Agatha whenever he saw us together. I don’t buy the shit he’s spouting, it’s obvious he wanted to come between me and Agatha, it was just another of his schemes. I need to remember throughout this that at the end of the day Baz is still my enemy, I can’t let my guard down too far or it’ll just come round to bite me in the ass.

BAZ

Simon Snow is a fucking imbecile. Of course I don’t have any feelings for Wellbelove. For starters she’s not a bloke, instantly off my radar. For seconds she’s not Snow, so I really couldn’t care less. This whole conversation has only served to remind me that Snow will probably never figure out why I do what I do, that I came between them for my own selfish reasons rather than for a shot at his girlfriend. I know it makes me a git, I know that it’s a pretty despicable thing to do, even to your proclaimed enemy, but still. Seeing them together was a special kind of death. They were an atrocious fit for one another anyways, Snow should be grateful. He can do so much better than her.

The rest of the drive is silence. Snow hums lowly to one of the songs at some point, as though he’s forgotten who it is that’s driving the car, then I see him jolt out the corner of his eye and he goes quiet again. Other than that there’s nothing but Aunt Fiona’s CDs filling the air. It’s thick with tension. Probably sexual tension on my part, but I doubt Snow picks up on that.

“We’re nearly there now,” I say as we approach the grand metal gates at the start of the road marking our private land. Snow had fallen into a kind of stupor, half dozing with his head against the window, not really paying attention to what was outside of the car. It was kind of adorable, I wanted to wrap him in a blanket and hold him close.

“Woah…” Snow perks up, pressing his hands into his seat either side of his legs as he leans forwards to get closer to the window. I roll down my own window and lean out, typing the passcode to open the gates and not hiding my smugness as how utterly bloody delighted Snow gets as they slowly creak open and we drive through. “You live here?”

“No, I live at Watford.” I reply bluntly, trying to get under Snow’s skin. He tuts at me, swears, and then passes over my aggression entirely.

“This is incredible,” Snow praises as the manor comes into view with its elaborate Victorian architecture lined with trees on either side, a large garden complete with hedges, flower beds, and a water fountain sitting before it. To me this was normal, it was home, what I’d grown up with, to Snow it was something out of a dream. “I never knew people actually lived like this.”

“My family is very prosperous,” I say offhandedly, ignoring the way my stomach is bubbling with the nerves of introducing Snow to my father and the adoration I feel for his stupid fucking face. “It makes sense.”

“Yeah, but this?” Snow is still gawping. He fumbles to unclip his seatbelt as soon as I stop the car in the driveway to the side of the main entrance without looking away from the building. I refrain from reaching out and doing it for him. I really want to. But instead I unclip my own and open the door to the car, barely smothering a laugh as Snow almost falls flat on his face in his haste to get out.

“Put your face right before a fly lays eggs in there,” I snap. Even I can tell it lacks my usual malice, though. “Come on you blithering idiot, we need to go and meet my father.” This sobers Snow right up. His mouth snaps closed and his eyes widen, as though he’d completely forgotten the whole reason we were even here in the first place. I hate to admit that I wouldn’t put it past him—not considering he’s the same fool who had his phone set to the wrong year and hadn’t ever noticed.

“I—Baz—” He grabs the sleeve of my arm as I walk past him, I could easily break free and keep going, but I don’t. I turn to look at him over my shoulder. His legs are spread where he stands, his knees slightly bent as though he’s considering legging it. I really hope he doesn’t. I don’t have a clue how I’d explain that one to my father. Not that he can get out anyways, the grounds are all fenced in and I don’t intend on telling Snow the passcode.

“Spit it out then,” I say, watching his cheeks flood with colour.

“I don’t know what to do,” Snow says earnestly. I don’t know what to tell him.

“Just pretend to be my boyfriend, easy.” It’s not easy.

“But what if your dad hates me?” I roll my eyes.

“Of course he’ll hate you. That’s the whole point of this exercise, idiot.” I pull my sleeve from his hand. “You’ll be fine, just come on. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” In place of my sleeve, I put my hand through his instead. It feels alien and unfamiliar as I tighten my fingers around his palm and he reflexively curls his around mine. His hand is warm and rough and not for the first time I wonder why I’m doing this to myself.

“Uh…” Snow looks down at our joined hands, looking like he’s short-circuited, but he doesn’t try to pull his hand back. My heart is thudding in my chest and I hope to God my hand doesn’t start sweating.

“We best start now,” I say before Snow has a chance to back out of it. I fix the collar of his (my) turtleneck with my free hand, as casually as I can manage through the thundering in my chest, and I quickly turn and start leading him to the doorway of the house to hide the hitch in my breath when my hand accidentally brushes against the skin of his neck.

And then, we’re standing, hand-in-hand, on the doorstep to my father’s manor, knowing that he’s on the other side. I look to Snow and Snow looks to me. I can’t work out how he’s feeling but his fingers twitch against the back of my hand. I hope he can’t read my face either. I push the door open and we step inside the polished interior towards the dining room where my father waits for us.

[capricornus-rex]

Bad Ideas Make Good Memories (2)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by @queen-destenie​ | Prompt:

i live for you qUEEN! i LOVE your writing. if you have the time, could you do a fic where reader is the most reckless badass and Cal is like ‘wait don’t do THAT’ and she is just ‘im living life BABYY’. she does the most insane things that always somehow work and Cal is literally like what the F*CK’. reader is basically a GOD. please and thank you

Additional tags: Rebel base, Rebel fleet

Previous: Part 1 | Next: Part 3 | Masterlist

2 of ?

Both Jedi Interceptors hovered out of the covered hangar, following the standard operating procedures of the ship—with the help of your astromech droids and BD-1 for Cal only—your ship’s speed warmed up as the landing gears folded in and you’re starting to feel the altitude.

A medley of starfighters and gunships of different make followed at your flank. As all of the ships poured out of the hangar and hovered above the treelines, the two Jedi enhanced their ships’ communications so that it reaches both the command on the ground and the Mantis.

“Wings are now out of the nest,” a scout from the watchtower reports, he repeated the words twice until his voice came through to the command center on the ground.

“All wings report in,” a commander from the ground radioed through all communications.

“Interceptors, standing by.” you and Cal reported.

“Guns, standing by.”

“Aqua Squadron, standing by.”

“Maroon Squadron, standing by.”

The leaders of the Aqua and Maroon Squadrons commanded all of the pilots to report in their call signs—each squadron had eight pilots. The ships were not uniform, but they have the streaks painted across the exteriors of their fighter ships to distinguish them from the other.

R-12 beeped anxiously at you as its scanners picked up the signatures of the incoming TIE Fighters.

“Yeah, I see them, buddy. Good job,” you affirmed.

“Interceptor Two, what’s the current status?”

“Picking up seven signatures, they’ve cut through the atmosphere,” you reported coolly while keeping calm breaths. “TIE Fighters.”

The speeds of the Jedi Interceptors are picking up, the distance between those TIE Fighters is gradually shrinking, and the two of your prepared yourself to attack.

“Stay close, [y/n],”

“I’m gonna have a hard time doing that!” you chuckled.

The TIE Fighters were the first to open fire, all the ships scrambled from their line of fire, causing the TIEs to disperse and chase after their targets—each one has caught an Interceptor in their fronts, both of you were trying to shake it.

In the first few minutes, fighters from the Aqua Squadron have been shot down but the Maroon Squadron backed up the numbers. From the ground, the operators are working real-time as the skirmish occurs in the air.

“Cal and [y/n]?”

“Interceptors One and Two are still online!”

Cere released a sigh that has been choking her since the ships have been deployed. She spotted the twin blips glowing white against the transparent screen, behind those twin blips were the other ships in their designated colors; one by one, each mark vanished from the screen faster than the red ones flying on the other side of the screen.

“Come on, you two…” Cere mumbled under her breath.

The TIE Fighter persisted in tailing you and shooting you until you’re in its range. Glancing only for a second on your radar, you knew you had to think fast.

“[y/n], that TIE is still on your tail!” Cal pointed out.

“I know, I’m trying to shake him. He’s slippery too!”

Cal’s Interceptor and the TIE chasing him flew in your view at your windshield, a lightbulb flickered bright as the sun in your head.

“Cal, I have an idea!”

“Hoo boy, here she comes!” he remarked jokingly. “Okay, what’s the plan?”

“Cover me and I’ll cover you!”

He immediately understood your idea and continued darting through the skies. You gently pushed the steering wheel forward.

“R-12, can you crank up the attack speed!”

“Bee-woop!”

“Attaboy!”

The droid accelerated your Interceptor’s speed to level three. You and Cal’s Interceptors with the TIE Fighters behind you made a swerving bee-line in the sky. The targeting device activated, a white-lined grid glowed over the red screen and the icon of the TIE Fighter registers on the screen.

The enemy’s icon finally settled in the center circle and without a moment’s hesitation, your thumbs crunched the trigger, blue twin lasers shot out of your ship’s guns and damaged the TIE’s wing; you let out another shot and decimated the second wing until it bursts into flames while spinning out of control.

“Alright, my turn, sweetie!”

Cal did a somersault with his Interceptor and placed himself right behind your pursuant. He manually boosted the Interceptor’s attack speed until he was within shooting range. He rested his thumbs over the trigger.

“Watch this, BD!”

“Woooo!”

Ion cannons sputtered out of the barrels and Cal hit a bullseye straight into the TIE Figher’s cockpit. The excited redhead celebrated from the cockpit of his ship and he didn’t realize that his headset in linked in communicating with yours. His celebratory howling busted your right eardrum that you flinched and your ship quaked when you lost a split-second’s worth of control.

“Show-off!” you exclaimed while massaging the crevices of your ear.

“Oh sorry, too loud?”

“No worries, but I’m not gonna let you one-up me, honey!”

“Oh, it’s on!”

The Interceptors flew back into the heart of the skirmish and helped out the other pilots with persistent TIE Fighters on their tails. You and Cal split up to cover the pilots—especially the gunships.

“Keep those TIEs out of the gunships! Guns pack a punch but they’re not built for easy maneuvering!” you barked through the shared-line communications.

“Copy that, Interceptor Two!” the Aqua Seven pilot responded to your call, speaking on behalf of everyone.

All of the smaller and nimbler fighters drew the fire of the TIEs, away from the big gunships that also served as transports for the soldiers; the slippery ones were the ones you pursued, hanging tight in your seat as you maneuver your ship in spins—something that was once a luxury for you when the moment in opportune—and reducing those TIEs into shrapnel with your shooting.

“Nice shooting,” Cal complimented.

“Thanks!” you beamed in a high-pitch, almost too-effeminate tone.

An urgent transmission from the ground cut off your fun, private banter, “I’m picking up some signatures… THEY’RE HUGE!!”

“That can never be good,” you muttered, the playful smile in your face dissolving.

R-12’s scanners have picked up the said signatures as well and reflected them on your radar. Before you even had the time to glance at your screen, they emerged like the undead out of their graves—AT-ATs rising up, rearing their hunched metal backs and heads, and breaking down the trees that stood in their way as they erected themselves.

“Okay, now that is overkill!” you exclaimed at the sight of the pair of AT-ATs.

“Interceptors, I’m picking up another signature—but it’s in the air!”

“Can’t catch a damn break, can we?”

A TIE Assault Shuttle comes to you in full speed and pulls a barrage against you! You barely dodged the hail of blasts it sent your way; only affording a second, you peered at the window at your side while maneuvering your Interceptor—the AT-ATs surely aren’t taking their time, their walking pace doubled from their usual, keeping their sights set on the rebel base after the trees.

Big radar signatures and SHE is going towards it? Great. Cal thought to himself as soon as he saw you zooming past at the corner of his windshield.

“I’ll cover you,” the firm tone in his voice indicated that he doesn’t want to hear a counterargument.

You orbited the walkers and then caught sight of the TIE Assault Shuttle, you only have seconds to come up with a plan; in the blink of an eye, the craziest idea borne from that little disadvantage popped into your head.

“[y/n], you’ve been quiet now. What are you thinking?”

There was a nervous tone in Cal’s voice as he continued to fly by your side while observing the enemy lines. The ground base can also hear everyone’s transmission in designated receivers, and most of them had their ears on you and Cal’s; they detected that unusual silence in your end, they all blankly stared at the holograph that relays your transmissions—anticipating to hear your voice. Cere’s eyes wandered across the flat surface of the illuminated holotable—she stopped observing the other friendlies’ blips, she focused at that one quadrant of the radar with you and Cal’s blips circling the AT-ATs’ signatures.

“What’s happened to her? She’s not down, is she?” one of the head operators blurted.

“No, she’s not—she’s still there,” Cere answered, even if the question wasn’t for her to answer.

You ignored Cal’s question and tightened your grip around your steering wheel. Your fingers dexterously danced across your dashboard.

“She’s prepping her droid… but for what?” the operator relayed.

“R-12, remember when you said you’ll have my back?”

“[y/n]!?” Cal prolonged the syllable in your name as he called you again for your attention.

“Well, you gotta have my back now, R-12!”

“Be-bee… BEEEE?!!?”

Cal saw your starfighter’s cockpit dome opening up in the middle of flight. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. He still can’t comprehend what plan is running in your mind—and why, of all things, this kind of plan—and how are you going to execute it.

“[Y/N]!!!” he screamed, he didn’t think that you’d hear him with just his bare voice. The microphone of his headset was so overwhelmed by the volume that feedback crackled through your headset—nevertheless, you ignored his voice and for good reason.

Feel… don’t think. You chanted in your mind as you prepared yourself to execute your plan alone.

“R-12, override now!”

“BEEEEE!!!!”

You released your grip from the steering wheel, the Interceptor was now in full control of R-12, and you ejected yourself out of the cockpit, surfing on the wing as your starfighter did a fly-by near the larger TIE. You timed the moment of your jump across with a pinpoint precision that you basically have no backup plan if you don’t make it.

The Jedi Interceptor’s wingspan did little in bridging you to the top of the TIE Assault Shuttle. You kept your feet planted on the wing and then sprang off towards the large enemy ship. You didn’t realize the gap in between was great and you’re afraid that you might have miscalculated yourself.

[jmeelee]

The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Stiles and Derek’s Cat

Sterek Week 2019 • Mystery

Rating: T (for swearing and lite innuendo)

Word Count: 2.1 K

***********

Derek flips on his blinker, and the taxi driver riding his ass swerves around the Camaro, rolling down a window and shouting something indecipherable while Derek pulls into the fire lane in front of the airport. His sister walks through the automatic doors as he climbs out and pops the trunk, a parting blast of air conditioning blowing her dark shoulder-length hair around her head like a demonic halo. She’s dressed in an old band t-shirt with a black blazer layered over top, and ripped skinny jeans, one hand gripping the handle of her rolling luggage, the other pressing a ratty book to her chest.

“It seems stupid for a werewolf to be superstitious,” Cora greets, handing Derek the leather-bound album, “but I didn’t want to take the chance of it getting lost in the mail.”

He pulls her close in a one-armed hug; Cora was never the overly affectionate type, but distance and pseudo-death make the heart grow fonder. “I appreciate you lugging it all this way. Stiles has been asking me a lot of family questions since he started emissary training, and I wanted to put some faces to the names he’s been hearing.” Pictures that aren't attached to obituaries, he silently adds.

She tosses her suitcase into the trunk, dusty wheels leaving a streak of dirt across the upholstery, and slams it closed, climbing in through the passenger door Derek holds open. “Alpha Varela had a decent amount, and Alpha Ogden gave me a half-dozen,” she supplies as he slides behind the wheel and pulls out into traffic, “but they only fill up a quarter of the pages. It’s pretty pathetic.”

She reaches out a hand, lovingly runs fingers over the brown cover embossed with a triskelion.

“It is,” Derek concedes, “but it’s better than nothing.” His fingers itch to flip through the meager pages immediately, pour over the pictures like Cora’s been able to do, and bring his long-dead family back to life, but it will have to wait through rush hour traffic and a trip to the pet store. They’re out of cat food, and Agnes Nutter—the stray orange tabby Stiles fell in love with when he started spending so much time with Deaton at the vet clinic, and proceeded to drag home—has been known to take claws to the curtains, leather couches and freshly painted walls when dinner isn’t served on time.

“We’re back!” Derek calls through the front door an hour later, pulling his key out of the lock.

Cora drops two five-pound bags of dry food to the entry-way floor. “How much does this damn cat eat?” She laughs. Derek shrugs, wet food cans clanking in the bags hanging from his hands. The album is tucked securely under his armpit.

“I’m in the family room!” Comes Stiles’ disembodied voice. Derek detours to the kitchen to stock the cat food in the walk-in pantry and Cora heads to the back of the house to greet her brother-in-law. He’s only moments behind her, but when he finally rounds the corner into the family room, his little sister’s face is shifted, snarls twisting out of her throat through elongated teeth, and Stiles is sitting on the couch, eyes wide, laptop in one hand and the other raised, palm out, sparks sizzling along his fingertips. Acrid ozone spikes the air.

“What. The. Hell.”

“I don’t know, dude!” Stiles’ voice trills and Derek doesn’t have the time to admonish his husband for calling him dude. “She rolled in here and didn’t even say hello! Just went all grrrr-” his nose does the scrunchy little thing Derek secretly loves, top teeth bared like an adorably angry hamster- “and scared the shit out of me.”

“It’s that...thing,” Cora rasps, pointing a claw-tipped finger at Agnes Nutter, calmly lording over the room from Stiles’ blanketed lap, like a ginger queen on a throne.

Stiles drops his laptop to the couch cushion, wrapping his now free arm around Agnes, who’s yellow eyes squint in annoyance at the vigorous display of affectionate protection. “What’s your problem with my cat? Does the lupine-feline rivalry actually run that deep?”

“Really, Stiles? Dog jokes? Now?” Derek rubs at a tension headache brewing over his left eyebrow.

“Stiles,” Cora commands through sharp white teeth, “get away from it. It’s a demon.”

Agnes answers the accusation with a charming little “meow,” and rubs a paw over her docked left ear.

“Put your teeth away. She’s my pet!” Stiles shrieks.

“Derek. Get the photo album,” Cora orders.

Derek glances back toward the kitchen. He can see the book sitting on the granite countertop, but is loathe to leave the room. “Is this really the best time for a Hale family history lesson?”

“You bet your hairy ass it is. Go get those pictures. Now.”

Derek’s never been more grateful for supernatural speed. “Here.” He hands the album to his sister, who flips open to the second page, turns the book around and hands it back to him.

At first, Derek’s baffled. What do his unearthed family photos have to do with a c—

An orange and white striped cat that’s sitting on his grandmother’s lap, when she was roughly thirty years old. A cat that twists around his mother’s ankles as she stands on tip-toe to kiss his father on the cheek, while toddler Laura plays in the background. A cat that lingers behind his great-grandfather as he cuts the ribbon at the dedication ceremony for the Beacon Hills preserve. The last photo is in black and white, but this cat, like the others, has a docked left ear.

“Stiles…” Derek looks up at his husband. Agnes stares at him with slanted eyes. He does the math in his head. At least fifty years…

Stiles groans, head lolling on the back of the couch. “Don’t tell me she’s a Flerkin. I knew I should have named her Goose.”

“Not a Flerkin,” Cora says. “But definitely something.”

Agnes jumps off Stiles’ lap and calmly pads over to her empty food dish, flops down next to it, and lets out a loud, piercing howl.

“Get the cat carrier,” Derek says. “We’re going to Deaton’s.”

———-

“Why did you let me adopt a time-traveling cat?!”

Deaton, as usual, says nothing in face of Stiles’ hysterics. Agnes dangles from Stiles’ outstretched arms, held at a forty-five-degree angle like a domesticated lion king. She blinks, whiskers twitching. Derek feels her pain; the overlapping scents of animal, iodine and industrial-grade disinfectant makes him want to hurl.

“I was surprised you even got a cat,” Scott chimes in from the waiting room chair. Having a pet who turns out to be old enough to collect social security merits calling your alpha right away. “I didn’t think you liked them. Remember my old Maine Coon, Louis? You used to pelt him in the ass with spitballs.”

Everyone’s mouths drop collectively, and Stiles reels Agnes back to his chest, hiding part of his blushing cheek in her soft orange fur. “I was seven, Scott! And in my defense, Louis used to bite my toes through my sleeping bag.”

“Well, thank goodness it was in retaliation,” Derek deadpans. “I wouldn’t want to be married to an animal abuser.”

A war plays out on Stiles’ flushed face; narrowed eyes shooting daggers at Derek, while the corner of his generous mouth cocks up. “I didn’t hear any complaints from you the other night.”

“Gross,” Cora bemoans. “Get a room.”

“Already did.” Tucking Agnes under his arm like a football, Stiles holds up his free hand and wiggles his fingers, white-gold wedding band flashing under the fluorescent lights. “Made it legal and everything.”

“Did you bring the photos?” Deaton inquires, enigmatic face as placid as the surface of the little pond in the preserve. Cora hands them over, and everyone watches Deaton slowly flip through the pages, eyes skimming over each picture. “Hum,” he says, laying the album on top of the reception desk, open to the picture of Derek’s parents with Agnes at their feet.

“Hum? That’s all you have to say?” Stiles scoffs.

“I’m surprised at you, Stiles,” Deaton says softly, crossing arms over his lab coat. “I thought you knew what Agnes was when you took her home.”

“Obviously not,” Stiles grumbles. “I’m supposed to be learning from you, aren’t I? One would assume the teacher would tell the student if the class pet was an immortal demon waiting to eat their face off when they fell asleep.”

Derek feels a hysterical giggle crawl up his throat and clamps his lips closed.

Deaton spins the album around to face the waiting room, and Scott extricates his butt from the chair to creep closer. Deaton taps the top right corner of the Hale’s photograph. “I took this picture in nineteen-eighty-eight. Derek,” he says, glancing up into his face, “your parents had just gotten the news they were pregnant with you.”

The giggle threatens to turn into a sob.

“Talia and Sebation celebrated their good fortune with a pack dinner. As you well know-” Deaton turns toward Scott- “emissaries are invited to important pack events.” He turns back to the room at large. “I came that evening, and Agnes, as you are fond of calling her, came with me.” He flips to the picture of Derek’s great-grandfather. “Emissaries protect their alpha’s, so I assume the former Hale pack emissary was somewhere in the crowd during this ceremony.” Deaton blinks, letting the pregnant pause come to full gestation. “Familiars tend to follow witches wherever they go.”

“So…” Cora trails off, tilting her head to the side and pursing her lips while she studies Agnes. “She’s a familiar? Familiars are demons, right?”

“Fantastic,” Stiles sighs, shoulders slumping. “We all know my track record with demons.” His face is carefully blank, except for the bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“No concrete evidence exists to say familiars are demons,” Deaton lectures. “In fact, that tends to be an antiquated belief held over from the witch trials. Some believe they are fae, or goblins, sent to assist fledgling witches in the practice of magic. Others believe they’re guardian angels.”

“Ha!” Stiles crows, sticking his tongue out at Cora. “She’s not a demon after all. She’s an angel. Take that!”

“Hey!” Scott helpfully adds. “You could change her name to Aziraphale!” Stiles looks like he’s considering it.

“I’m not trying to rain on the parade,” Derek cuts in, ignoring Stiles’ mumbled Sourwolf, “but you’re saying Agnes is here to help Stiles? She mostly just eats, craps, coughs up hairballs in my shoes and knocks shit off the counters. Like that time she broke the vial of ground-up Mucuna pruriens, and we all broke out in that horrible rash.” Derek’s butt itches just thinking about it.

Scott snaps his fingers, goofy smile stretching across his face. “Yeah! And then Stiles used it to make those smoke bombs we attacked the hunter’s compound with the following month. It’s like she knew exactly what he needed to use.”

Everyone stares at Agnes, baffled and impressed.

“Legends say familiars most often take small animal forms,” Deaton continues, “but some are human-like, or can shape-shift. One was a horse.”

“No,” Derek says to both his husband and Agnes, on the off chance any ideas are forming in their heads. “No horses in the house. We don’t have the room.”

“So, you’ve told us what legends say, and what other people think about familiars.” Stiles bounces on his toes, jostling Agnes. She yowls, and he plops her onto the reception desk next to her portraits. “You’ve been an emissary for years. What do you believe?”

Deaton inhales deeply through his nose, exhales through his mouth. “I believe they’re an extension of our souls.”

Stiles smiles, scritching Agnes behind her mangled ear. “You’re the Pantalaimon to my Lyra. The Salem to my Sabrina. The—” Agnes hoists one leg straight into the air and starts licking her butt.

“Yup.” Cora smirks. “That makes total sense.”

“In conclusion, Stiles, your pet is not a demon who’s waiting to eat your face off. Now, can I please go home for the evening?”

It takes half a bag of treats to coax Agnes back into the cat carrier, and Deaton locks the doors to the clinic on their way out.

“I thought she was a stray,” Stiles says as they all head out into the moonlit night, voice a little wobbly. “I didn’t realize she was... Do you want her back?”

Deaton’s smile is as mystifying as ever. “She’s yours now, Stiles.”

Derek notes that, unsurprisingly, Deaton didn’t actually answer the question.

“One more thing,” Derek says, loading Agnes into the backseat of the Camaro. He’s strangely curious, even though he’s heard what curiosity did to the proverbial cat. “If she was yours for years, you must have given her a name. What was it?” Even arcane Dr. Deaton must be human enough to name his cat. Right?

“Some things,” Deaton answers before he slams his car door, “will have to remain a mystery.”

[downwiththeficness]

In the Blood-Part Six

Pairing:  Brasa/ Female OC

Word Count: ~4,900

Warnings: A little shit kicking, but not much else.

Part One  Part Two  Part Three  Part Four  Part Five

Part Seven

Part Eight  Part Nine  Part Ten  Part Eleven Part Twelve

Driving across the city always took longer than she thought it would.  Lilah was thankful that she’d been able to leave early.  Absently, she flipped her phone between her fingers while she waited on a red light, her brain picking at her that something didn’t seem right.  She’d scouted the rooftop, she’d done more research than was necessary.  Something just wasn’t adding up.  The blonde guy from the meeting, he’d said something that just didn’t sit right.

“We’re very interested to see how you do with this?”

Lilah had looked at him with surprise, “Handling a boy who talks too much?  If anything, I’m overqualified for the job.”

Blondie laughed, “We’ll see.”

We’ll see. It was the way he said it that kept coming back to her.  Lilah had been thrown a softball just when Javier had asked her to level up.  She should be paying off politicians and lobbying for leniency at customs, possibly running point on market research and expediting shipment of product (she didn’t need to know what kind of product).  Instead, she was quieting a little bird who chirped.  It was strange.

“If you keep making that face, it will stay that way.”

Lilah nearly swerved into oncoming traffic.  She righted the car and looked to the passenger’s side.  Strange man? Check. Gold rimmed sunglasses? Check. Her sanity? To be determined.

“Oh god,” she breathed, “I’m losing it.”

His chuckle was almost derisive, “You’re half right.”

Lilah jabbed a finger at him, “No, you do not get to make jokes right now.”

He shrugged and settled a little further into his seat, “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Did you—what?” She sputtered, “I’m sorry, I think I have a right to be a little testy when—a week ago—I saw you pull a snake out of a person, followed by her heart.” She tapped her hand on the steering wheel, “And, oh yeah, you drank her blood.”

His head tilted to the side, considering her.  His hands moved to fold in his lap, one thumb pressing into the meat of his hand, “So, it works both ways.”

He didn’t even looked surprised, or sorry, or guilty, or anything that she would have expected after she had revealed what she’d seen. There was a pause as he processed, but her mouth had started up and Lilah just couldn’t stop it.

“Am I in the wrong, here? Is that what’s happening?  Because I still haven’t decided if I’ve been hallucinating or not.  Seriously. I’ve half a mind to check myself into a hospital for psychiatric evaluation.”

She ran out of steam, both hands on the wheel as she navigated traffic.  Beside her, she could feel the weight of his gaze.  Lilah refused to look at him—angry and off-balance weren’t a good look for her.

“Is that all?”

Her head snapped around so quickly, she felt her muscles cry out in protest. When she opened her mouth to speak, he held up both hands.  Lilah’s jaw clicked shut and she turned her attention back on the road. Carefully, she inhaled and exhaled, calming herself.

“You don’t know what you saw,” he said, tension in his voice.

“No,” she replied.  “I don’t.”  

What she saw was a waking nightmare, with little to no context, and despite years of inuring herself to bloodshed, the violence ate at her. She turned off the highway and down a few blocks, following the navigation in silence. He leaned his elbow on the window, saying nothing, eyes forward. Lilah didn’t like the silence.

They arrived at the location and Lilah cut the engine.  “I can’t do this right now.  I have to finish this job.”

She heard him sigh deeply and she pushed down the part of her that wanted to turn in her seat and ask more questions. It took effort.

“I live to serve.”

And then he was gone.  She sucked in a breath and forced her body to steady.  Do the job. Go back to the hotel.  Figure it out later.

Lilah exited the car and pulled her hoodie around her, one hand running over the gun she had tucked into her waistband.  She checked her texts one more time, reading the confirmation she needed.  Then, she pushed her phone into her pocket and headed inside. Her target was already being worked on, from the sound of it.  Rough thuds, skin hitting skin, a grunt of pain.

She entered the room and took in the scene.  He was tied to a chair, and a man she didn’t recognize was hitting him across the face. Standard protocol.

“Easy,” she called out, “I need him conscious.”

Seeing that her directive was being obeyed, Lilah took a spare chair and sat it in front of the target. She sat on the edge of, keeping her feet braced in case she needed to move.  

“Rafe,” she called to get his attention, “I need you to tell me who you talked to.”

Her target, Rafe, spit on the floor between them, blood combining with the mucus.  Lilah kept her expression neutral. He looked at her with both eyes swollen, his nose hadn’t yet been broken.

“Who did you talk to?”

“I didn’t fucking talk to anyone.”

“You did,” Lilah prompted, “At the bar.  You were in the VIP booth, with a couple dancers.”

Rafe looked away, and she knew that she’d gotten good information. He wasn’t old enough or experienced enough to play this kind of game very well.  

“Listen,” she urged, her voice low and smooth, “These guys mean business.  You said something to someone that cost them money.  That’s not acceptable. If you tell me, I will ask them to go easy on you.”

He looked at her in a way that told her that he knew she was lying.  She nodded, conceding the point.

“Okay.  If you tell me, I’ll shoot you, myself.  You won’t be tortured.  That, you can believe in.”

Rafe looked like he was weighing his options.  His feet flexed on the ground below him.  Lilah caught just a bit of movement before hauled himself backwards onto his hands. There was a sickening crunch of his bones, and then the oddest thing happened. He gave a little wriggle, and managed to slip the bindings.  

Lilah stood and pulled her gun from the waistband of her pants, she trained it on him carefully.  He was grunting in pain, but still moving, pulling himself free and rolling to his belly. There was something strange about the way he was moving—unnatural.

“You don’t want to try that,” she asserted in a tone that she hoped would stop him from getting up and bull rushing her.

Her teammate took a step back, and she spared him a glance.  His entire job was to keep Rafe in line while she questioned him.  Why was he standing there?

A kind of snarling hiss sounded from the ground, and Lilah felt her spine straighten.  She spread her stance and moved her finger to the trigger.  This wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to improvise.  Wouldn’t be the last, either.

With careful steps, she put a little distance between herself and Rafe, clocking her teammate leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, relaxed.  Something wasn’t right.

Another hiss sounded, and Rafe’s head shot up, fixing her with yellow, reptilian eyes.  The entire bone structure of his face had changed, scaled forming along a protruding forehead, two long, dripping fangs falling from his behind his upper lip.  Lilah caught the sound that wanted to burst forth and clenched her jaw. Rafe dropped low, readying himself for attack.

She cursed, and then did the only thing she could think of.  She ran. The door to the exit was maybe a hundred yards away, but as she ran for it, she saw that it had been chained and locked behind her.  How had she not heard that? Who else was in the building?

Lilah took a sharp left and moved up the stairwell, adrenaline pumping through her system and giving her the ability to take five flights without her muscles giving out.  She pushed through the rooftop doors and headed for the North corner, where she’d been not a few days prior, scouting.  In the back of her mind, she congratulated herself on memorizing the layout of the building before she left. The little bit of extra prep had probably just saved her life.

When she reached it, she pulled her phone out and checked the time.  Two minutes.  The door flew off the hinges, and Rafe came through.  It landed with a loud thunk, and she could see imprints where he slammed his shoulder into the solid steel.  

“You know,” he said, sliding forward with unnatural grace, “If you give up now, I’m definitely going to  torture you.  That, you can believe in.”

Lilah hated it when they turned her words against her.  She lifted her gun with a sneer and aimed. He continued moving closer.

“Won’t work on me, sweetie.”

She pulled the trigger, anyway. Twice. The bullets ripped through the night, echoing off the nearby buildings. Two sharp sounds that rang in her ears. They didn’t do any good, as she somehow suspected they wouldn’t, despite all experience pointing to the contrary. From the door came her teammate, his gaze curious.  She released her hold on the gun with one hand and flipped him the bird. He chuckled and stood next to Rafe.

“Who did you talk to?” he asked Rafe conversationally.

Lilah blinked, Is he really going to keep going with an interrogation?

Rafe eased away, “Doesn’t matter.”

Her teammate placed a heavy hand on Rafe’s shoulder, “I think it does.”

Lilah’s phone vibrated in her pocket and she shifted to stand on the ledge of the building.  Right on top of the black painted ‘x’ that she’d drawn for this specific outcome.  

Below her, Rafe smiled, his strange bone structure taking the expression and turning it cruel, “You don’t have to do that, honey—or, do it.  I’ll eat your brains from off the side walk.”

“Tell me, Rafe,” Lilah said, flicking the safety on the gun and putting into the pocket not holding her cell.  “Who did you talk to, really?”

“Oh, fuck it,” Rafe huffed, arms akimbo, “It was some guy named Javier.”

Lilah concealed the betrayal that would have shown on her face by turning and jumping off the roof.  Below, a large dump truck with an inflatable bed that may or may not have been crafted from a bouncy house had been parked in an exact spot marked for the occasion.  She fell into it with a loud, unfeminine grunt, rolling a little as the truck took off.  

After gathering herself, she crawled to the front of the bed and hauled her body up and over the side, reaching out and opening the passenger door.  With not a little maneuvering, Lilah pulled herself into the seat, shut the door, and put on her seat belt.

“Guess you’re glad for the back up plan,” Chewie said with a smile.

Lilah nodded, “Yeah, I’m glad for it.”

Rubbing at her face to clear the faint dizziness that came with free fall, she pulled out her cell, shut off the alarm she’d set, and pulled up a website she’d saved.  She then purchased a small, but well reviewed, electric piano and had it shipped to Chewie’s shop.  Lilah hadn’t gotten Joey anything for his birthday and she owed Chewie for coming through on this.

As she entered the too nice hotel room, Lilah made a mental note to report the rental stolen the next morning.  Right now, she had to initiate all the emergency protocols she needed to get out while she still lived. Her entire life would have to be wiped clean and she’d have to start over.  Mexico was out, as was most of the Southern United States.  She thought about the cabin in Canada.  Maybe.

“You look remarkably well for having taken a five story dive off a building.”

Fucking Javier.

Lilah put her hand in her pocket and felt for the safety on her pistol. She flicked it off and gripped the gun as casually as she could, aiming for him from the hip.

“Don’t forget being lied to by someone I trust.”

He nodded, adjusting his tie.  It was white, to match the suit, which matched his shoes, and so forth.  All white.  What a drama queen.

“That was unavoidable.  An unfortunate necessity.”

Her mouth thinned, “A necessity for what?  I thought I had proved myself already.”

Years of checking and double checking her status and position—every shitty hotel, every night spent in sleeping in her car, no friends, no family contact, nothing but the job.  She’d done everything right.

Javier smiled, “Your loyalty has never been in question.”

Lilah sneered, “Then, what?”

He stood from where he sat on the couch and Lilah watched him button his suit jacket warily.  She kept distance between them when he started to approach.

“We needed to know what you would do if you saw something...strange.”

She laughed, “You mean the fangs?”

Lifting her hand to her chin, she extended two fingers and wiggled them.  Javier nodded sagely and she rolled her eyes.

“This could have been a conversation instead of a set up.  Probably would have cost you less in overhead, too.”

One hand rotating outward, Javier gave a little flick of his wrist, “I wanted to see what you would do under pressure.  I needed to see if fear would make you stupid.”

Insulted, Lilah felt her mouth turn down, anger burning in her belly, “I’ve been in a lot worse situations than that.”

He looked doubtful, “You couldn’t have killed him with a bullet.  What would you have killed him with?”

She scoffed, “I don’t know, maybe the knife that whoever the hell else was there should have had on them.”

“Knives won’t do it.  Neither will bullets.  Takes a lot to kill a culebra.”

Lilah refused to ask what the fuck that was. Javier put his hands in the pockets of his slacks looked around the room.  She recognized the habit.  He had more to say and trying to figure out how to say it.

“What I do, the real work, is keep little idiots like that in line for those higher up than me.  It would be a very bad thing for the world to know they exist beyond fairy tales.”

She shifted on her feet, trying to track his thought process, “So, you want me to do it, too?”

“No,” replied with a shake of his head, “I’m quite good at my job, and quite successful.  I have another job for you.”

Lilah’s hand itched to pull the trigger, “What kind of job?”

Javier lifted a hand and scratched at his eyebrow, his eyes falling to the side, “Culebra nests usually don’t get more than a few dozen, at maximum.  But, there are outliers here and there.  The Lords used to check them when they got too big, but there aren’t any of them left, really.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want me to run collateral damage?”

“I’m getting there, Lilah, if you’ll listen,” Javier censured her with a frown.

Lilah motioned for him to continue, but held her spot.  She didn’t trust him, and part of her wondered if he, too, had hidden fangs.  Rafe’s distorted features flashed across her mind’s eye and for the first time since she’d met him, Lilah felt fear. She covered it by pressing her lips together and locking her jaw.

Javier took a step to the side, around the coffee table. He went over to the minibar and grabbed a glass and one of the little bottles, spinning off the cap and pouring.

“Under the new rule—or, rulers, I should say—there has been a kind of peace treaty signed. One faction won’t attack the other, as long as everyone stays on their own turf.  But, there are outliers, those who want to bring back the old ways.  What I want from you is a permanent solution, so that we don’t go backwards after having fought so hard to make progress.”

Lilah waited for several heartbeats, in case he had more to say, then, “That makes absolutely no fucking sense.”

He rolled his eyes and drained the glass in his hand, “I know.  And I can’t make it make more sense without a several thousand year history lesson.  What it boils down to is that there are far worse things than what you saw today trying to get into our world.  I want you to help us close the door so that they can’t.”

She laughed, “How am I supposed to do that?”

Javier lifted a shoulder, brows quirking upwards, “You already did most of it.  I need you to acquire another artifact.”

Lilah’s brain connected several dots in quick succession.  Javier and her sporadic hallucinations were connected, which meant that Javier knew the man who kept interrupting her life, which meant she could finally get the answers she wanted.  She looked at Javier for the longest time, wanting to call him out, and wanting to demand he give her more information.  She pushed it back.  Javier had been downgraded to a need to know basis, and he didn’t need to know she’d been seeing a man who alternatively kissed her, annoyed her, and scared the bejeezus out of her, depending on his mood.

“Alright, send me the details.”

Javier flinched, as if he expected it would take more than that to get her on board, “You’re sure?  Once you enter into this, it will be impossible to let you leave.”

She nodded, Lilah was already down the rabbit hole, but he didn’t need to know that, “I’m sure.”

He set his glass down, “I’ll send you an email.”

“Great.”

Lilah took her eyes off him and dropped them to the ground.  She could tell Javier wanted to say more, but he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and gave her a nod, taking his leave without preamble.

Lilah moved to the couch and sat on it heavily with a huff.  She slumped back and pulled the gun and her cell phone from her pockets, setting them both on the coffee table. Belatedly, she wondered if she’d made the right choice.  Lilah had basically let the only person she knew in the flesh that could provide her with context for her insane visions walk out the door. She craned her neck to stare at it.

Slapping her hands on her thighs, she rose and stripped.  She wanted a shower.  The bathroom thankfully remained a bathroom as she closed the door and started the water. Stepping inside, she let it fall over her.  Lilah’s life was getting a little too fucked up, although nothing had really changed, outside of the fact that she now knew another species existed that couldn’t be killed with knives or bullets. Which, she had to give herself credit, was pretty fucking weird.

Moving through her routine without really thinking about it, Lilah rinsed the soap from her hair and body before leaning down to turn off the water.  When she turned to reach for the frosted glass door separating her from the rest of the bathroom, she gave a yelp and pushed back to the far wall.

“How long have you been there?” She yelled, wishing this fancy hotel had, had a towel hook at the back of the stall.

He was leaning against the bathroom counter, and that was about all she could see with the glass obscuring her view. Dark clothes, broad shoulders.

“A few seconds.”

Lilah pushed her wet hair back from her face, feeling no small amount of embarrassment.  She forced the feeling into anger, “You know what? Nevermind, I’ve got questions.”

The amorphous shape shifted, “Ask them. I will answer.”

She hesitated, then thought,  fuck it, and barreled full steam ahead, “Are you a culebra?”

Faster than she thought possible, he was up against the glass, both hands bracing his body, “Where did you hear that word?”

Lilah, having jerked back a bit, her arms coming up to cover herself, tried to keep her voice steady, “I ran into one today.  Shot him.  Discovered that was just not going to work, and then jumped off a building.”

She could see his head turn to the side a bit, fingers widening on the glass, “You jumped off a building…”

Angry, she spat, “That’s not what’s important.  For once, answer my question.”

Dropping his hands, he simply said, “I am not.”

Which begged the question, “What are you?”

Lilah heard his sigh, “I have been called a demon, a slave, a master, a lord, and a god. Does this satisfy you?”

“Not really.”

He was silent and unmoving long enough that Lilah began to feel uncomfortable with it. She was wet, naked, and talking to a man through a shower door.  She needed a little more equilibrium.

“Listen, go outside, let me get dressed.  We can continue this conversation after that.  Okay?”

Rather than answer, he simply turned and left, closing the door behind him. She had the good grace to be surprised for about half a second before she took action. Frantic, Lilah stepped out and pulled on the camisole, underwear, and shorts she’d brought with her into the bathroom.  Wringing most of the water from her hair, she toweled it off so that she wasn’t dripping water all over the place.  For the second time that night, she stared at a door, feeling the cold from the tile seeping into her feet.  

Did she really want to know what he was? Lilah decided that she did.  If he was like Rafe, what then? She didn’t know.  He hadn’t hurt her, but she couldn’t put aside the incident in the church.  It scared her too much to forget.  Setting that aside, she apparently worked in the same organization as he did, for the same people—her brows lifted as she considered that he might actually be the person who signed her pay checks.  That was a knot she wasn’t actually sure she wanted to unravel.  Lilah put her hands on her hips and continued to look at the door.  She’d been hiding behind it for a few minutes too long and her brain was telling her to rip off the bandage, so to speak.

When she left the bathroom, she half expected him to be gone. Disappeared, as he seemed won’t to do. But, there he was, laying on the far side of the bed.  He looked relaxed, one arm beneath his head, the other resting on his stomach. He had no right to look that good when she was freaking out on the inside—broad in a way that made the king size bed look small beneath him. Dark eyes watched her hesitate at the door before squaring her shoulders and stepping forward.  

With careful movements, she crawled into the bed and laid down facing him, tucking one hand under the pillow and the other beneath her chin. He watched her settle in, then turned to his side.  Lilah followed the curve of his jawline, down to the little dip between his collar bones.  Was he tan all over, and did that intriguing patch of hair peeking out from his shirt spread over his chest and down to his navel?

“What’s your name?” Lilah questioned in an effort to take her mind elsewhere.

His expression relaxed just a bit, “Brasa.  And you?”

She told him. He repeated her name and it made something warm coil inside her. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from doing something embarrassing, like moaning, or launching herself at him, or both. Brasa followed the motion and she watched his pupils expand, lips parting on an exhale. He reached out and cupped the back of her neck, thumb resting along her jaw.

If he kissed her, she wouldn’t get any of her questions answered.  It took longer that Lilah would readily admit to decide whether or not she cared.

“Can you tell me what a culebra is?”

His eyes searched her face for a moment, “What do you know about Xibalba?”

She smiled wanly, “Never heard of it.”

Brasa shifted a little closer and propped his head up on his palm so that he was looking down at her, “It is where I was created.  It is where they were made.”

Lilah repeated the word ‘made’ slowly, her brows furrowing.  He hummed in assent.

“Culebra are...vampires, for lack of a better word.  Blood drinkers.  In Xibalba, they were slaves.”

Rafe had displayed an impressive amount of strength and took two bullets like they were nothing more than bits of cotton.  It would take something very powerful, indeed, to enslave a whole race of them. Lilah looked him over.  He was impressively built, but she had a feeling that there was latent power hiding beneath.

“And what does that make you?”

The hand on her jaw shifted, following the line of her shoulder to her wrist, on the way back, he said, “I was also a slave, of sorts.  To a queen.  When I was made, she bound me in blood to her will. For a very long time, I did everything she asked.  I fought who she wanted me to, killed who she wanted me to, fucked who she wanted me to.  At first, I did so blindly.  In the end, I did it because I believed in the war we were fighting. I...enjoyed it.”

It was the most he’d ever said to her, and densely packed with more than she thought she could work through in a single night. The long sweep of his fingers over her skin was soothing and she felt her eyes grow heavy.  With effort, she regained her focus.

His touch changed route at the top of her shoulder, running down the strap of her camisole.  He considered it, tapping gently with two fingers.

“I like this,” he announced. “Is this what you sleep in?”

Lilah rolled with the subject change and looked down and shrugged, “Sometimes.”

“You’re always wearing clothes with thick fabric,” he murmured, slipping his hand around her waist. Her back arched just a little, which seemed to please him. “Every time I see you.”

Lilah blew out a breath and reached out to tap him gently in the center of his chest, “Says the man who wears literally nothing but black.”

His smile reached his eyes, and Lilah drew her hand back to avoid the urge to scrunch the fabric in her hand and pull him down to kiss her.  It must have shown on her face, because his smile faded, replaced by intent.  Lilah felt pressure at the small of her back as he closed a few more of the inches between them.  

“Are you still bound to the queen?” She blurted out before he could pull her fully into his embrace.

Brasa shook his head, deterred for the moment, “No, she is gone.”

“Then,” Lilah started, thinking that he might be angry, but she needed to know, “Why did you kill that woman in the church?”

His jaw clenched a little, “She killed indiscriminately, drained an entire family and left them to be discovered by local police.  Bringing that kind of attention to us is unwise.”

Lilah gave a little ‘oh’, her mind forming the picture of the gruesome scene.  She couldn’t stop the shudder that went through her as she thought about a whole family being killed, parents and children. There was an unspoken violence in that image that far exceeding her experience or expectations. And, she’d just agreed to be a part of it, in a way.

Brasa pressed her to her back and slid up to mold himself along her side.  One of her arms folded into his chest, the other laying across the arm he kept across her middle. God, but he was warm.  It took real effort not to roll right back to her side and nuzzle her cheek into it, soaking up all the heat until it melted into her bones.

“I had to make an example out of her,” he continued, eyes on his gloved hand as it ran across her belly from one side to the other and back.

“By killing her?”

He nodded, “A true death. The others will see what waits for them, if they follow her lead. There are alternatives to feeding in this way.”

His hand continued that slow, hypnotic stroke across her stomach. Lilah closed her eyes, focusing on it, feeling herself fall into a sleepy, comfortable place.  Lips gently touched her forehead, the tip of her nose, her mouth.  She opened her eyes to see him leaning over her, most of his weight braced on the arm next to her ear. Lifting up, she returned the kiss softly, not more than the press of her mouth to his.

Letting her head drop to the pillow, she struggled to keep her eyes open, “’m falling asleep, I think.”

Brasa pushed her hair back, “Rest, querida, we will see each other soon.”

She squinted up at him in confusion, “How do you know that?”

“Call it intuition.”

[valeriethepussycats]

I’m Only Human

Chapter 3

Pairing- Loki x Reader, Thor x Reader( Best friends)

Warning- cursing 

Your thoughts in italics.

Thor continues fighting, his blood lust rising.He taunts the Jotuns around him. “Come on!” Thor urged. But when he hurls his hammer to take out a Jotun, the Frost Giants seize the opportunity.

A group of Jotuns swarm Thor from all sides, keeping him separate from his weapon. Mjolnir falls to the ground. A Frost Giant desperately struggles to lift Mjolnir off the ground, to no avail. Now free, the wounded Fandral looks relieved as Volstagg slings him over his shoulder, and the warriors start to leave. From his balcony, Laufey looks upon the battlefield, decides it's time to pull out the big guns. He touches a wall of the palace. An energy wave sweeps from his touch, across the  wall of the palace, and down to the ground below. The Asgardians hear a foreboding crack of ice below their feet.

“That can't be good.” Loki pointed out.

“Yes, it could! Might be an early spring!” Volstagg claimed.

They look down, suddenly filled with dread when they see shadowy figures moving in the ice -- dozens of Jotun warriors awakening beneath the surface, rousing to join the battle. Loki turns to his brother, who battles a group of the Giants.

“Thor, we must go!” Loki urged.

Thor, still without his hammer, fights his Jotun foes mercilessly, a man consumed by blood lust. Loki sees the look on his brother's face -- the savage thrill of the heat of battle.

“Then go!” Thor suggested Loudly.

“There are too many of them!” Sif replied.

“I can stop them!” Thor proclaimed.

The others hesitate. Jotuns break up through the ice all around them.

“Thor!” Sif yelled.

But Thor ignores his comrades, continues fighting.

“Run!” Volstagg cried out.

Reluctantly, the group flees back toward the inner edge of the planet as the Giants break up through the ice and give chase. Thor battles valiantly, but there's just too many of them.

The Frost Giants swarm him from all sides now, as he disappears beneath a pile of blue flesh and ice. After a moment- Thor’s fist Forces its way up through the middle of the pile of Jotuns. He opens his hand, beckoning. One of Thor's attackers hears something Roaring up behind him. 

He whirls around -- Bam!-- Mjolnir nails him square in the face, then flies into Thor's outstretched hand. Thor raises the hammer up high, and brings it down on the ground with all his might. KRAKABOOM! lightning strikes down from the sky, the hammer channeling the blast, firing the electricity out at the Jotuns around him. They're blasted back in a massive shockwave. The Jotuns convulse, drop dead to the ground.

But the force of the blast also cracks the ice below, the shockwave continuing to spread outwards. It moves out to where his comrades are running, breaking up the ground beneath them, exposing the black void of space below.

“What's Thor done?” Volstagg questioned

“Likely killed us all!” Loki Announced.

As the Jotuns race towards the Asgardians, they open their mouths wide and breathe out an icy fog. The swirling mists quickly engulf the fleeing Asgardians before them. The Asgardians stand in the mist, unable to see. Hogun takes a step back, the ice cracking beneath him. They dare not move, for fear of falling through, into the void below. Thor sees he's put his friends in even greater danger. He raises Mjolnir high, summoning the winds. They lift him off  the ground and carry him across the frozen wasteland to his comrades. Thor lands beside his comrades in the shroud of mists.

“Loki, we have to see.” Thor disclosed.

Loki raises his arms, concentrates, the mists dissipating. But as they do, the Asgardians see before them the faces of the Frost Giants. And there are hundreds of them -- too many, even for a Thunder God.

“Actually, could you bring the mists back, please?” Volstagg asked Loki.

Thor realizes that he and his comrades are as good as dead. The Giants move in for the kill, when they hear a deafening Roar. A hole in the sky opens up, and the Bifrost blasts down onto the inner edge of the planet. Out of the maelstrom comes the sound of thundering hooves, and, to the shock of all, tearing across the frozen wasteland comes -- Odin Astride his powerful, eight-legged steed sleipnir He's clad in battle armor, Gungnir in his hand -- an imposing sight.  

The Giants part in fear as he thunders into their ranks, stopping before Laufey and the Asgardians. Laufey slams his fists into the ground, and the ice beneath his feet raises him towards Odin. The Asgardians start to react, thinking it's an attack, but Laufey just stands face-to-face with Odin. Asgardian and Jotun alike look on uneasily, unsure what's about to happen. Laufey sizes up Odin, notices that as powerful as the Allfather still is, the years have taken their toll. He's not the foe he once was. The two rulers talk quietly, out of earshot of the others.

“Laufey. End this.” Odin Announced.

“Your boy sought this out.” Laufey answered.

“You're right. These are the actions of a boy. Treat them as such. You and I can stop this before there's further bloodshed.” Odin disclosed.

Unseen by Odin and the others, Laufey starts to form an ice blade at the end of his arm.

“We are beyond diplomacy now, Allfather.”

He'll get what he came for -- war and death.” Laufey grinned.

Odin looks grim, determined. “So be it.”

Without warning, Laufey swings his ice blade at Odin, but Odin is quicker. The Allfather brings his spear down upon the ice. Laufey and the nearest Jotuns go falling backwards in a wave, the ice cracking beneath their feet. The other Frost Giants turn tail and run. Thor watches the fleeing Jotuns with delight.

“Now! We'll finish them together!” Thor exclaimed.

“Silence!” Odin hissed ordered.

Odin raises his spear. The hole in the sky opens, the Bifrost energy blasting forth from it. The Bifrost envelops the Asgardians, yanks them off the ground and up through the hole. The vortex closes behind them as all falls silent.Laufey stares up after them contemptuously.

Heimdall stands at the Observatory controls. Odin pulls Heimdall's sword from the control panel and throws it to him. Heimdall backs away.

“Why did you bring us back?” Thor questioned.

“Do you realize what you've done? What you've started?” Odin Asked without sounding unduly curious.

“I was protecting my home.” Thor declared Sincerely.

“You cannot protect your friends. How can you hope to protect a kingdom?” Odin Remarked Odin turns to the others. “Get him to the healing room!” Odin barked at Sif, Volstagg, and Hogun to hurry to help Fandral out of the room.

“There won't be a kingdom to protect  if you're afraid to act!” Thor scoffed. Odin stares at him.

“Whatever the cost, the world must know that the new King of Asgard will not be held in contempt.” Thor finished.

“That's pride and vanity that talks! Not leadership! Have you forgotten everything I've taught you? What of a warrior's patience, cunning?” Odin testified.

“While you wait and be patient, the Nine Realms laugh at us! The old ways are done. You'd stand giving  speeches while Asgard falls!” Thor Acidly voiced.

“You're a vain, greedy, cruel boy!” Odin snarled.

“And you are an old man and a fool!” Thor scolded.

The whole world seems to stop at Thor's words. Odin falls quiet. When he speaks again, there's something terrifying beneath the calmness of his words.

“A fool, yes! I was a fool to think  you were ready.” Odin Accepted.

Loki takes a step towards Odin imploringly.

“Father--“ Loki started.

Odin yells in which stops Loki in his tracks. “Thor Odinson... You have disobeyed  the express command of your King. Through your arrogance and stupidity, you have opened these peaceful Realms and innocent lives to the horrors of war.” Odin Announced. 

The Allfather plunges Gungnir into Observatory's control panel. The turret turns, the Bifrost energy building along with Odin's rage. It fires, as the Bifrost opens at the end of the platform, creating a portal behind Thor.

Odin turns angrily to his son. “You are unworthy of this Realm...” Odin exclaimed as he rips a disc off Thor's chest. “...unworthy of your title...” he rips away Thor's cloak.“...unworthy of the loved ones you've betrayed. I hereby take from you your powers.”Odin extends his hand towards his son. Mjolnir goes flying from Thor's grasp into Odin's hand. “In the name of my father...”

A fingers of lightning comes off the hammer and hits Thor, disintegrating the right arm of his armor and part of the chest piece. “...and of his father before...” Another strike disintegrates the remainder of Thor's armor, including the cape and torn-away disc on the floor. “I cast you out!” Odin ended.

Odin thrusts Mjolnir before him and -- with a crack of thunder-- Thor is hurled backwards into the open Bifrost and disappears in the vortex.

Odin holds Mjolnir in his hand, stares at it bitterly. He closes his eyes, lost in contemplation, whispers something quietly. “Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.”

Runes appear on the side of the hammer, as if carved into its smooth surface. The runes linger for but a moment, then disappear. Suddenly, Odin turns and hurls the hammer into the Bifrost.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Thor opens his eyes, surrounded by darkness. Suddenly, he's blinded by bright headlights of a vehicle -- an SUV. It  swerves, the side of it coming straight at him. It  slams Into him. As Thor is semi unconscious he hears voices.

“I think that was legally your fault.” Said one Voice.

“Get the first aid kit.” Said A different voice. Then moments later the same voice.“Come on, big guy. Do me a favor and don't be dead, okay? Open your eyes and look at me.”

Thor opens his eyes to see Jane Foster staring at him, concerned. She looks vulnerable and beautiful.

“Wow. Does he need CPR? Because I know CPR.”

Jane regretfully watches Y/n make the storm evaporate above their heads. A thought strikes her.

“Where did he come from?” Jane asked Y/n Erik.

They exchange puzzled looks when Thor groans again. He sits up abruptly, and Jane topples backwards in surprise. Thor staggers groggily to his feet, then turns and offers Jane a hand up. She takes it hesitantly, and he easily pulls her up. She can't help but marvel at his strength.

“Uh, thanks. Are you okay?” Jane questioned Thor as he is searching the ground.

“Hammer...” Thor Announced Unexpectedly.

“Yeah, we can tell you're hammered. That's pretty obvious.”  Darcy claimed.

“No that’s not what’s he’s talking.” Y/n informed Darcy.

“How do you know what’s he’s talking about?” Darcy questioned Y/n.

“He Doesn’t look hammered you just hit him with a car.” Y/n replied.

“Technically it was Jane’s fault.” Darcy answered.

“Tomahto tomayto.” Y/n told Darcy.

Jane notices something on the ground around them. She shines  her flashlight down at the sand. “Erik  Y/n... look at this.” Jane encouraged as they  joins her at her side and sees it. A faint, discernible pattern is etched into the sand. They exchange a look. Amazed and excited, Jane hurriedly takes out a camera and snaps some photos of the runes. A breeze begins to blow them away.

“We've got to move fast before anything changes.” Jane urged. “We need soil samples, light readings, everything Y/n you think you can stop the wind from blowing?” Jane asked Y/n

“Ya sure.” Y/n said as she lift her hand in a stop motion as the wind comes to a complete stop.

Jane then  pulls out a light meter, holds it up, takes some readings, jots them down in her notebook.

Erik looks at Thor, who stares up at the sky. “Jane, we need get him to a hospital.”  Erik stressed.

Jane kneels and quickly scoops up a soil sample in the cannister.

“Not right now. It'll take too long. County's an hour away. We'll drop him off after we're done here.” Jane promised. Erik looks uncertain.

“Look at him, he's fine.”

Thor stares up at the stars, shouts up at them angrily. “Father! Heimdall! I know you can hear me! Open the bridge!”  

“Okay, you and Darcy take him to the hospital, Me and Y/n stay here.” Jane said looking over at Y/n and seeing her nodded agreeably.

“You expect me to leave you and Y/n alone in the middle of the desert?” Erik replied sternly.

Thor turns to the others, frustrated. ”You! What world is this?” Thor commanded.

As everyone except Y/n is intimidated by his fervor.

“Demanding is not how you get things done.” Y/n told Thor ignoring how he’s trying to intimidate her and her friends.

“It's all right, my friend. We're going to get you some help.” Erik said sympathetically.

Selvig touches Thor's shoulder. Thor shoves him off, grows agitated, belligerent. Doing this makes Y/n’s power flair to the surface the wind picking up, thunder and lightning clap across the sky.

“Where am I?! Answer me!” Thor barked loudly.

Knowing what Darcy is about to do Y/n powers calms down. Darcy reaches into her fanny pack, pulls something out of it.

Jane looks on, concerned. “Erik, just back away...” Jane cautioned Erik.

“You're in the desert outside the town of Puente Antiguo.” Erik said calmly to Thor.

“What Realm?! Alfheim? Nornheim?” Thor yelled.

“Uh... New Mexico?” Darcy disclosed raising a taser at him. Thor looks at the weapon, unsure what to make of it.

“You dare threaten Thor with so puny A-“ Thor started.

Darcy fires, the electrified wires shooting out of the taser, zapping him in the chest. Thor convulses, falls to the ground unconscious. Jane and Erik stare at her, shocked while Y/n looks amused.

“What? He was freaking me out.” Darcy answered.

As Jane and Y/n  still takes soil samples, Darcy and Erik struggle to drag an unconscious Thor to the SUV and lift him inside.

“Next time you decide to taser someone, do me a favor and make sure they're already inside the truck.” Erik expressed to Darcy. “Jane Y/n, come on...”

Reluctantly, Jane and Y/n joins the others inside the SUV. The SUV heads off into the distance. Behind it, high  overhead, a hole opens in the sky. A last blast of Bifrost  energy bursts forth from it, and a small object comes firing into our world. It burns across the desert sky like a  meteor.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

The SUV sits parked before the emergency room entrance. Erik and Y/n watches the unconscious Thor with interest as two orderlies set the Asgardian onto a gurney. Jane and Darcy

stand before a sweet, ditzy admission nurse.

“Name?” The nurse asked.

“He said it was "Thor."  Jane replied.

The Nurse painstakingly types it into the computer, one key at a time. Y/n watches as Thor is wheeled out of the room.

“T-H-O-R. And your relationship to him?” The nurse said spelling his name out.

“I've never met him before.” Jane answered.

“Until she hit him with the car.” Darcy Chimed in.

“Grazed him, actually.” Jane noted. “Oh, and we tasered him, too.”

“Must have been quite the spat.” The nurse said sounding sympathetic.

“I told you, I don't know him.” Jane stated.

“We just want to make sure he's okay.” Y/n expressed Smiling faintly.

“I'm going to need a name and contact number.” The nurse announced.

“Jane Foster.” Jane told the nurse.

“J...A...N...-“ The nurse was typing slowly

“Oh, for God's sake...” Erik voiced as he reaches over Jane's shoulder and hands the Nurse his business card. “Here. Let's go.”

“Let’s go” we can’t just leave him here what if he doesn’t have anyone?” Y/n questioned looking at Erik, Jane, and Darcy.

“Y/n right maybe one of us should stay here with him just to make sure he’s ok.” Jane agreed with Y/n.

“Well it’s not going to be me.”

“No no I’ll do it ok I’ll stay here and, you guys head back to see what happened to your reading.” Y/n  answered with sincerity.

“ I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here by yourself with a complete stranger.” Erik said with worry.

“ i’m going to be fine ok. I’m in a hospital what can he do?” Y/n asked Erik.

”Fine call if anything happens.” Erik said with firm persistence.

“Will do now go.” Y/n told Them.

Erik, Darcy, and Jane head out out of the hospital when Y/n goes to sit down in the waiting room.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Thor, now in a hospital gown, winces in pain as he awakens on a gurney to find a nurse standing over him, a syringe in his arm.

“Hi. Just taking a little blood.” The nurse said calmly.

Thor slaps the syringe away angrily, starts to sit up. “How dare you attack the son of Odin!” Thor bellowed.

“I need some help!” The nurse yelled then two orderlies race over, try to hold Thor down. “We're trying to help you!”

Sensing somethings wrong Y/n  gets up from her seat in the waiting room and rushes to the room they have Thor in and sees two orderlies try to hold Thor down. Laughing to herself then projecting a thought to Thor. Dude you are batshit crazy tough cookie I gave you that.

For a quick second Thor looks around wondering where the hell did The voice come from. “Then bring me a healing stone, you savages!” Thor said still putting up a fight. He hurls one of them off, smashing against a wall. Now a couple security guards and Male nurses  join the fracas, all struggling to hold Thor down. Medical equipment goes flying, furniture overturned.

“Maybe I should stop this.”Y/n wanders out loud.

“What the hell is this guy on?” The orderly questioned.

Finally, they force him back down onto the gurney. Thor  looks shocked and amazed that he's actually being overpowered by this small group he then looks up out the window and see the woman that was with him last night laughing. A nurse injects him with a sedative.

“You're no match for the Mighty--“ Thor started as he struggles for a beat then pass out Thor struggles a beat, then passes out.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Smoke rises from a fifty foot wide Crater A. Townie pulls his pick-up to a stop at the crater's edge. He climbs out, peers down below, his curiosity piqued by what he sees.

“Huh.” Townie grunted.

The Townie approaches something at the center of the crater. We don't see what it is, but it bathes him in an otherworldly, blue luminous glow . He reaches for the object, tries to lift it, but can't. He redoubles his efforts, strains with all his might, with no luck. He takes off his hat, fans himself, stares at the mysterious object.                        

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

The distant mountains glint snow in the early morning light. Erik is hanging up the phone after checking in on Y/n, with a cup of coffee and surveys the vast desert. He turns back into the lab and sees Jane, busy at her workstation, soldering a piece of equipment. A printer churns out blown-up screen-cap Photos of the Bifrost footage. Darcy hangs them on the wall. Erik surveys the scene, watches how Jane works, impressed. He notices a monitor which displays a complex program entitled "J.Foster Algorithm Analysis.” He looks proud. The three of them have been up all night, fueled by caffeine and excitement.

“Darcy, when you're done, take the  soil samples to Professor Meyers in geology. Remind him, he owes me.” Jane called out.

“We might want to perform a spectral analysis.”Erik Chimed in.

"We?" Jane questioned.

“I flew all the way out here and I made a pitstop in New York and got Y/n— might as well make myself useful.” Erik declared.

This is the offer Jane's been waiting for. She gets up, inserts the piece of equipment she's been working on into a  rack-mounted server.

“You know what would be really useful? Do you still have that friend at LIGO?” Jane asked.

“She was more than a friend.” Erik corrected.

“Could you call in a favor?” Jane wandered.

“You don't think this was just a magnetic storm?” Erik

“If I'm right, their observatory must have picked up gravitational waves during last night's event.” Jane informed.

“Meaning?” Erik voiced.

Jane heads over to a computer monitor. Selvig follows. “Meaning these anomalies might signify something bigger.” Jane finished.

“How big” are  we talking about?” Erik said uncertainly.

Jane indicates the footage on the monitor. As the last of the Bifrost cloud disappears into the night sky, there appears to be a blister in space, bulging out in convex and covered with stars.

“I think the lensing around the edges is characteristic of an Einstein-Rosen Bridge.” Jane announce.

“A what?” Darcy said confused.

“I thought you were a science major.” Erik commented.

“Political Science.” Darcy replied.

Selvig shoots Jane a confused look. Jane shrugs. “She was the only applicant.”

“An Einstein-Rosen Bridge -- a "theoretical" connection between two different points of space-time. Darcy stares blankly.” Erik explained to Darcy

“A wormhole.” Jane disclose. Erik looks skeptical. Jane prints out a frame-grab off the monitor.

“Erik, look...” Jane indicates the print-out showing the constellations seen through the "bubble" in the clouds.

“What do you see here?” Jane asked Erik.

“Stars.” Erik told Jane.

“Yes. But not our stars.” Jane started. She then spreads out a star chart, barely able to contain her excitement.

“This is the star alignment for our quadrant, this time of year. So  unless Ursa Minor decided to take the day off... those are someone else's constellations.” Jane proclaimed.

Erik’s intrigued, in spite of himself. Darcy pulls another frame-grab of the Bifrost footage from the printer and hangs it on the wall, when something in the image catches her eye.

“Hey, check it out.”  Darcy calls out.

Jane and Selvig examine the photo, amazed.

“Is that...?” Erik trailed off.

“I think I left something at the hospital. Darcy call Y/n tell her to make sure he doesn’t leave.” Jane urged.

As Jane walks away, revealing a photo. Inside the Bifrost funnel cloud is an figure -- the vague, but unmistakable shape of a man.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

At the top of the palace, we see it is a burdened Odin,looking out over Asgard. Frigga enters to find Odin standing lost in thought.

“How could you have done this?” Frigga shouts.

“Do you understand what he set in motion? He's taken us to the brink  of war!” Odin scolded.

“But banishment? You would lose him forever? He's your son!” Frigga fumed.

“What would you have done?” Odin question Frigga loudly.

“I would not have exiled him to a world of mortals, stripped of his powers, to suffer alone. I would not have had the heart for such cruelty!” Frigga explained Sadly.

“That is why I'm King.” Odin voiced. “I, too, grieve the loss of our son. But there are some things that even I cannot undo.”

“You can bring him back.” Frigga insisted.

“No. His fate is in his own hands now.” Odin declared.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Being bored out of her mind after sitting hours in the waiting room Y/n walks to Thor’s room. She sees him laying in the hospital bed in restraints  with the arch of her eyebrows Thor is out of his restraints

“Wake up.” Y/n urged

Thor opens his eye and looks around the room then sits up. when his eyes finally finds Y/n’s she does a hand movement to tell Thor to “come here” and Thor gets up and walks over to Y/n.

“ I know you you’re the lady from last night.” Thor  acknowledged.

“Ya hi I’m Y/n  I’m so sorry about my friends hitting you with there car and tasering you not the best way to wake up in a new world.”  Y/n shared.

“It is fine... how do you know I don’t belong here.” Thor questioned.

Broadcasting a thought into Thor’s mind. I’m just that good.

“How can you do that?” Thor wondered

“I can read minds.” Y/n  answered.

“Really?” Thor asked not believing Y/n as they were walking out of the hospital and into the parking lot.

“I know who you really are.” Y/n replied.

Thor turns and looks at Y/n intrigued. “You do-“ Thor started but before he can get The rest of his words he  gets hit by a car.

Knowing who just hit him Y/n laughs.”Are you trying to kill the man.”

Jane and Selvig emerge from the SUV, help Thor to his feet.

“I'm so sorry. I swear I'm not doing that on purpose.” Jane promised.

Thor looks up at the sky. “Blue sky... one sun... This is Earth, isn't it?” Thor asked Y/n.

“All you have to do is ask I would’ve told you this is earth.” Y/n reply without missing a beat.

“I think you may have hit Y/n with the car. And him one time too many.” Darcy announced.

“Let's get you some clothes.” Jane said to Thor as Y/n helps him into the truck.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Sif, Loki, and the Warriors three, battered and shell-shocked, still reeling from the day's events, sit before a roaring central fire. Hogun reaches into the flames, pulls out some fragile healing stones. Neither the fire, nor the stones burn him. As he carefully places the stones over the wounds of his comrades, the stones begin to glow. He crushes them to a powder. His omrades' injuries heal up at the glowing powder's touch.

Fandral winces in pain as Hogun heals his gaping wound. Volstagg looks at the skin on his arm -- healing, but still blackened from the necrotizing touch of the Frost Giant. Loki watches him, then stares at his own arm, where the Giant's touch turned his skin blue. It's undamaged, back to Its normal color.

“We should never have let him go.” Volstagg announced.

“There was no stopping him.” Sif said trying to reassure Volstagg.

“At least he's only banished, not dead. Which is what we'd all be if that guard hadn't told Odin where we'd gone.” Fandral Chimed in.

“How did the guard even know?” Volstagg question.

Loki stares at his arm and then says.“I told him.”

“What?” Fandral hissed loudly.

“I told him to go to Odin after we'd left. Though he should be flogged for taking so long.” Loki informed.

“You told the guard?” Volstagg Asked.

“I saved our lives! And Thor's. I had no idea Father would banish him for what he did.” Loki answered.

“Loki, you're the only one who can help Thor now. You must go to the Allfather and convince him to change his mind!” Sif explained.

“And if I do, then what? I love Thor more dearly than any of you, but you know what he is. He's arrogant. He's reckless. He's dangerous. You saw how he was today. Is that what Asgard needs from its King?” Loki replied.

The others exchange glances, torn. Loki has a point. He leaves the room. Hogun stares after him.

“He may speak about the good of Asgard, but he's always been jealous of Thor.” Sif noted.

“True, but we should be grateful to him. He did save our lives.” Volstagg replied.

“Laufey said there were traitors in the House of Odin.” Hogun Chimed in.

The others turn to the usually quiet Hogun.

“Why is it every time you choose to speak, it has to be something dark and ominous?” Fandral wondered.

“A master of magic could easily bring three Jotuns into Asgard.” Hogun verified.

The others look to Hogun, understanding the implication.

“No! Surely not!” Volstagg proclaimed.

“Loki's always been one for mischief, but you're talking about something else entirely.” Fandral commanded.

“Who else could elude Heimdall's gaze with tricks of light and shadow?” Sif Remarked.

“The ceremony was interrupted just  before Thor was named King.” Volstagg Reported.

“We should go to the Allfather.”  Sif voiced.

“And tell him what? "Oh, by the way, we think your son just betrayed the throne. And do us a favor. Bring back Thor. There's a good fellow!" Fandral mocked.

“It's our duty. If any of our suspicions are right, then all of Asgard is in danger.” Sif insisted.

Part 4

I had to put that gif in.

[devilrising]

Fallen Draco, Pt. 18

This story is following a prompt set by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry

Word Count (Part 18): 3,069

Word Count (Total): 57,450

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic), confined spaces and darkness

***

29th April, 1998 (continued)

Light is swallowed the second I enter. I’m plunged into thick darkness, and there’s no apparent way out. I whirl around to glower at Ron, but the maze’s walls have covered the entrance. The only thing there is hedge. I sigh but turn back around all the same. According to Ron, the only way to get through this maze is to alter the lighting. I need to adjust the brightness and darkness constantly if I want to find a way out, all while avoiding the random objects serving as obstacles. I groan. This is going to take ages.

Squeezing my hands into fists and opening my eyes wide, I try to increase the light slowly. Instead, it rapidly illuminates and forces my eyes shut. I feel like screaming. I haven’t even walked a metre yet, and I’m already losing my mind. But this needs to be done. I need to help with the war, need to help Harry, and if I lose all of my faculties in a maze to do that? Well, that’s just a side effect. Taking a determined breath, I actually manage to slowly decrease the light. As I do, the first paths become more and more visible. The maze veers off to the left, as well as continuing straight ahead. I’m not sure which option is the better one to take. On a whim, I decide to move forward. The second I take a step though, the maze is plunged back into darkness.

I pull at my hair. Hard. This is so frustrating. I take a step back, fingers crossed that Ron was feeling nice when designing the maze’s mechanics. With a rush, the light increases again. It seems that I can only light up single steps at a time, and either have to keep changing the brightness, or memorise everything. I will tear Ron apart if I ever get out of here. Taking a breath to calm myself down, I notice that a couple of steps ahead there is a large vase to the left. Other than that, the path straight ahead is clear until a wall cuts it off. Hoping for the best and praying that I’ve remembered accurately, I take a single step forward. I’m careful to keep to the right. I don’t want to knock the vase over, no matter how ugly it is.

It’s weird, walking forward but not being able to see where to go next. My hand stretches out ahead of me, hoping to stop myself crashing into the wall. Eventually, after shuffling cautiously for a while, a leaf digs into my skin. I push forward slightly further, and my entire hand rests flat against what has to be a hedge wall. Grinning to myself, I drop my hand and clench my fists once again, trying to lighten the maze. Slowly but surely, new obstacles are revealed. One thing that hadn’t happened earlier though, was that as the light continued to brighten, new objects appeared while others faded. Thankfully though, the only path available is to my left. It seems to be half the distance of the first stretch, but it has four obstacles that I’ve seen. I continue to lift the brightness until I can’t see anymore. There are only the four objects—a giant book, a crystal bowl, a grimy kettle, and a child’s chair—but only two are visible at once.

I fiddle with the light and note where each one is in comparison to the others, but also compared to me. I figure out that the kettle is closest to me and to the left, followed by the bowl on the right with the chair just after it, and then the book on the left at the very end. It’s a lot to remember. Especially since once I take a step forward, it will all vanish. Gritting my teeth, I close my eyes. If I’m going to lose my vision, it might as well be on my own terms. Moving forward slightly, I see the world fade through my eyelids. I veer to the right, avoiding the kettle entirely. The last thing I want to do is stub my toe on the bloody thing. Swerving to the left when I think it’s safe, I move out of reach of the bowl. Being pure crystal, it is probably a relic from the nineteenth century. Apparently muggles have their own versions, but if it’s from the Wizarding World then the only thing holding it together is magic. Sometimes the muggles manage to come up with better ways of doing things—like having a bowl actually stay a bowl without it threatening to cave in—but we make fun of them and continue as we are.

When I think I’ve passed both the bowl and the chair, I shift to the right once again. A grunt of pain pushes through my lips as I stub my toe on the chair. I feel like cursing the sky away, but my pride gets in the way. I may have just walked right into a tiny, wooden chair, but that doesn’t mean someone outside of the maze has to know that. Regardless, it hurts quite a bit and I frown. How does something hurt so much through shoes? At least I now know where I am. Trying and failing to ignore the pain in my little toe, I feel around the chair and continue on the right side of the path. I reach out my hand again, and soon there is hedge poking against my skin. I shout in triumph.

Turning to face the way I just came from, I play around with the light. Once I get it correct, I scowl. Even though I walked right into the chair, it is in exactly the same place. Scoffing at the awful piece of furniture and suppressing my desire to burn it to ashes, I turn around and look for the next path. I can only move right this time, but I can see from where I’m standing that the path splits up ahead. I have to choose between right and left. I keep adjusting the brightness, but no obstacles make themselves visible. Even when I decrease the light with the thought that something might glow in the artificial darkness, nothing shows up. Shrugging to myself, I step forward. Considering I had just darkened the room, the inevitable plummet in light isn’t anywhere near as bad as the last couple of times were.

I walk straight ahead, my hand already up since it’s a rather short path. In eight steps, I feel the hedge under my palm yet again. Now I have to make a decision; based on literally nothing. Cursing under my breath, I decide to go left. I don’t know why, but it seems like a reasonable option. I feel around for the entry and then step into it. Once again, I tweak the light. There is a small coffee table right in the middle of the path, but that’s it. I calmly walk forward and off to the right, hoping to avoid stubbing my toe again. When I get to the end, my hand happens to land on a very sharp stick. Now I really do curse. A little bout of swears I wouldn’t want my mother to hear leave my mouth, and when I adjust the light I realise that I’m bleeding.

Huffing to myself, I carefully glide my wand over my hand and heal the skin. Clearly I’ve picked a few things up from Harry, as it smooths over and the bleeding stops. Not even a scar remains, and the pain instantly fades. Now that I’ve fixed my hand, I look around. There is only one option again, so I fiddle around with the light and then turn left. There don’t appear to be any objects anywhere, and when I lean forward I can see that the path swings right. Deciding to just go with it, I walk away from the spot I can see in and onto the next path. I continue forward until a leaf gently pricks my hand, and then feel around for the other entrance. Once I’ve found it, I stop moving and play with the light again. Immediately, it becomes quite obvious that I’ve turned the wrong way. A wall of hedge sits at the other end, with no obstacles or entrance.

Remembering that Ron said some paths were visible under different lights than others, even in the same path, I decide to keep trying. I widen my eyes as much as possible, light swarming the maze, but there aren’t any paths. I then squeeze them closed and dim the light as much as I can. When I open my eyes again... nothing is revealed. I groan and turn around to go back the way I’d just come from. To my surprise, the maze immediately brightens so that I can see where I’m going. It must be a feature that when you realise you’ve chosen wrong, it allows you to go back to the actual route. Hopefully that means I don’t run into any more furniture.

As I wind my way back to the last split, I take a wide berth around the coffee table. Once the maze evens out into a straight line again, I see the option to go right or forward. I came from the right, meaning I must continue to go straight ahead. The very second I step into the split the light vanishes, leaving me dizzy in the darkness. Without a second thought, I start to alter the light. There is a passageway up ahead with only a saucepan in it, and if I squint I can make out a turn to the left. Preparing myself for the inevitable blackness of the next step, I squeeze my eyes shut. Plunged into darkness yet again, I begin to walk forward.

It’s only as I run into something that feels a lot like metal that I realise I didn’t actually note where the saucepan was. I groan loudly as the big toe of my left foot begins to swell up. Already I can feel it starting to bruise! Sighing to myself at my stupidity, I pull my wand out and fix both of my toes. The little one doesn’t feel too bad anymore, but as the big one is healed it’s like my mind is free again. Happy now that I can think beyond the pain, I keep walking forward down the black path. After a couple of really paranoid steps—even though the only thing to run into was the saucepan, and I’ve already hit it—my outstretched hand brushes leaves. I immediately turn left, remembering that that was the only option.

I continue on in a whir, my consciousness fading and my feet taking over. Adjusting light becomes easier and easier, requiring less effort the more I do it. The maze really was a clever idea. Even if I’m sick of cutting myself on branches and running into random household items and pieces of furniture. I turn left, left, right, right again, left, and promptly hit a dead end. Burying my head in my hands as the maze lights up, I move back onto the path and plunge into the dark. Any fears I used to hold of the dark are gone, both from spending an uncomfortable amount of time in it, and also because I can now dispel it and replace it with light.

Once I’m back on the path I turn left, right, right two more times, left twice, right twice, left, left, left. My hand hits a wall and the lights come back to life. Returning to the correct passage quickly, I continue. Left, left again. As I adjust the light to look for the next path, I note that there is only one option again. I take it, turning right. I’m blinded as I step into sun-soaked day time. Cheering erupts around me, three people clapping and whooping as loud as they can. It’s surreal, being in this much light after being enclosed in the dark for so long.

“You did it Draco!” Hermione shouts from a few paces away.

I turn to her, giving her a grin that hurts my cheeks. Just as I’m about to reply though, Harry is barrelling into me and wrapping me up in a tight hug. I relax into it immediately, comforted in his strong arms. A tug of embarrassment pulls at my stomach, but I ignore it. There’s no need to be embarrassed about affection, despite what my pureblood childhood might say against it. The people here won’t use this against me. They won’t turn my emotions into a weapon against myself, and Harry certainly couldn’t care less about that.

A hand claps me on the back, and Ron’s voice booms behind me. “Just under an hour! Good job mate!” He hits me hard twice, nearly knocking the wind out of me. I feel unbelievably pleased at being called ‘mate’. Ron reserves that for his closest friends, and even though I’ve brought myself to use his first name, it’s a totally other thing to be called ‘mate’.

“I’m just glad you’re out!” Harry exclaims, tightening his hold on me and pressing a kiss to the side of my head. “I don’t know what they were thinking, trapping you in a maze!”

“Harry,” Hermione laughs, “you know it would have disappeared after the hour and he would’ve been safe.”

“Still.” Harry releases me, holding me at arms length and just looking for a second. Something seems to nag at him in his head, as he kisses me full on the mouth. It’s very unexpected, but I return it readily. It’s warm and happy, a safe and comfortable place. There’s a spark of longing and possessiveness from Harry’s side, and my stomach does weird things at that thought. I try to return the sentiment, while still being painfully aware of his friends right next to us. Our friends.

“How are you feeling, Draco?” Ron asks when Harry releases me. “Did you hit any of the obstacles?”

After smiling at Harry for a while I turn to scowl at him. “Yes, actually, I did.” I lift my head and sniff the air. “And it really hurt. Especially that saucepan.”

Ron and Harry both chuckle, Hermione the only one to actually look concerned. “Do you need any help healing anything? I’ve gotten quite good at healing charms recently.”

Ignoring the reason behind why she’s become good at them, I shake my head. “No, I think I have them all. Although, I did walk into a broom which was suspended from the wall at head height.” I glare at Ron, certain that was his idea. “I might need help easing the bruising.”

Hermione nods and busies herself with her wand and various creams. As she sets about casting complex spells over my head and smearing a cream which leaves tingling all over my skin, Harry starts talking about a room that he’s set aside.

“Set aside for what?” I ask.

“Oh!” Harry only just seems to realise he hasn’t actually explained any of the context. “Well, Ron mentioned Murder in the Dark earlier yeah?”

I nod in response.

“Okay, so basically I’ve cleared out a room so that we can walk around without running into furniture.”

I purse my lips. “So you’re telling me,” I start, “that I bumped into furniture for an hour by myself, but that you don’t have to?!”

Harry smirks but breaks into a laugh. “Exactly correct, Dray.”

When Hermione tells me that I should be set for minimal pain and bruising, we all move back inside. Harry leads us deep into Grimmauld, dragging us up to floors I’ve never been on. Eventually, he stops before a regular door.

“Here we are,” he announces. “I’ll explain the rules once we’re inside.”

With that vague statement, he opens the door and gestures for us to file in. It’s well-lit and, as promised, void of any furniture. Hermione stops in the centre of the floor and Ron quickly joins her side. I awkwardly stand behind them, not wanting to get in the way. I know it’s stupid, and they aren’t going to do anything to make me feel left out or like a third wheel—which is kind of ridiculous, since if anything this is more like a double date, if you ignore the reason behind the gathering…—but I still don’t want to intrude. Harry smiles at me, a soft and private thing that’s only meant for my eyes. I try hard to stop the grin spreading over my face, but I don’t think I quite succeed.

Harry rubs his hands together and clears his throat. “Murder in the Dark.” He paces a couple of steps back and forth before turning to face us. “Draco, since this training exercise is mainly for you, most of the rules centre around you. This isn’t the traditional game though, so it’s really important that everyone listens,” he starts. “Ron, Hermione, and I are all murderers—or in this case, Death Eaters. Draco, you have to avoid us using any means necessary. You have three choices of how to defend yourself, none of which will cause actual damage. The first option is to dim the lights so that no one can see where they are going. This is typical of Murder in the Dark, hence the name of the game. Your second choice is to brighten the room so sharply that our eyes need a second to adjust, giving you time to duck out of the way.

“The third and final option is something you’ve never done before. You should be able to bend light so much so that you can create a reflection, or even make yourself invisible. I must admit… I’m not quite sure how you’d do that, but it should be possible. You could reflect whoever’s closest to you back at them and confuse them for a second, or you could warp light to bend around you, rendering you basically invisible,” Harry explains. “The rest of us—the Death Eaters—need to tap you somewhere above the waist but below the neck. While the real ones won’t have any difficulties hitting you elsewhere, we don’t actually want to cause anyone any harm.”

Everyone nods around him, prepared to play.

“Let’s get to it,” Hermione announces.

***

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I am writing on a new schedule it seems to be working much better!! So excited to get this out, I will see you guys next week :) Xx

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