#clearly he’d be hotter without the vest

[jessieren]

Does this count as half naked if he’s still in that vest… oh who cares… he’s hot

@season-77 your favourite white vest 😁

[xxavengingangelxx]

Somewhere Only We Know 5/?

Ok, ya'll! This part is shorter and not as plot-heavy because I've been working non-stop (my husband had me take yesterday, American Thanksgiving, off from work completely) and am still full from Thanksgiving dinner as well as tonight's dinner <3

This is pretty much all smut so you won't see a preview like you usually do because smut starts immediately after the cut. ;) There is a wee little twist at the near end though and I think it's something some of you may like ;)

Val and Graves's relationship deepens in more ways than one the night before a dangerous mission.

MDNI, 18+

Triggers: This chapter is almost porn without plot, explicit sex, I mentioned in the previous chapter about an age gap so there's that, slightly rough sex, nothing too bad

Taglist! @bellgraves, @lily-lily131313, @unicorngirly1, @sharksausages, @shepgurl - if you want in to the taglist, let me know!

It wasn’t too much longer later that night that you found yourself on your knees before Graves. You were entirely nude before him while he was still uniformed. He’d taken his vest and the heavier parts of his gear off but the facts remained the same: he had a kink for seeing you on your knees, nude, and vulnerable in front of him while he sat on his throne, fully clothed and sometimes fully geared.

You were in his office and anyone could walk in couldn’t they? Especially because it was the night before a mission and Shadows tended to be working on pre-mission reports. They also tended to stop by with questions.

But honestly? That just made it hotter.

You took him deeper into your mouth, feeling his hot, thick length on your tongue. His hands were tangled in your hair but they’d lost that edge they used to have. He used to borderline not let you breathe when you sucked him off before. He used to grip your hair so hard you’d get headaches.

His grip was softer.

His cock was not.

You wanted more.

So you relaxed your throat and took him deeper. Deeper than you’d ever taken him in your mouth.

Above you, Graves sputtered and gasped and tightened his grip on your hair. He arched his hips off his seat and further into your mouth. You felt tears in your eyes and you had just a little trouble breathing but you fucking loved it.

But just like that, Graves pulled back, his hot, red cock just inches from your lips.

���I know what you’re doin,” Graves drawled. He looked down on you, his eyes hooded and dark. You could just barely see his blue eyes because his pupils were so dilated.

So you pouted up at him before your lips slightly parted. Your eyelashes were long but heavy with tears from when he was thrusting into your throat. Your knees hurt. But all of that took your focus away from two things that terrified you: Makarov and motherhood. Motherhood with a mercenary as your child’s father, no less.

“Get up, Val,” Graves demanded.

And he dragged you through another door before slamming it shut, the locking sound sending chills through you. So his office had a hidden door to his quarters, who knew. Well you, now.

You were tossed onto the bed and Graves wanted no time in crawling over you. He clearly didn’t mind tasting himself on your lips and tongue because he kissed you while slipping off his uniform shirt followed by taking off his dark undershirt.

Your nails wasted no time in tracing up his ribs, feeling the muscles in his torso. You scratched him, just slightly, and just enough to get him to hiss. He’d long since kicked off his boots, pants, and all other elements of clothing.

While you loved being vulnerable in front of him by being nude while he remain fully clothed, the sight of him naked was a fucking turn on. He was fit, his body tight and taut. He was so much bigger than you. He could easily kill you and for some reason that turned you on even more.

Your world tilted and you suddenly realized you were on top. And that he was buried inside you. You’d been fingering yourself while giving him head because you’d wanted to get off too. You had no idea that being on your knees would turn into this.

“Ride me, sweetheart,” Graves gasped. He was holding back, you could tell, but his hands were tight enough around your hips and thighs that they would leave finger-shaped bruises come morning.

You weren’t used to this, really. You were used to Graves being on top fucking the breath out of you. But you didn’t hate it. He was deeper than you’d ever felt him. Your full weight was settled on his pelvis. You still had room and so you wiggled on top of him, finally feeling him settle against your cervix. Graves moaned underneath you, arching his hips and further tightening his grasp on your hips.

You placed your hands on his chest and moved, riding him like he had so pleasantly asked. You leaned forward, catching his lips with yours, even biting his bottom lip with your teeth just barely so. Your cold dog tags, along with Graves’s dog tags were trapped between your heated bodies, glistening and shining like they were bows labeling you as gifts to each other.

And this was your world and Graves’s world for the next long moments. You moans, groans, and whispered nasty words into each other’s ears. It soon turned into a primal need when you felt yourself pick up the pace. Graves again tightened his grip and his pace combined with yours set up a brutal pace. You could feel him on your cervix and the repeated action of feeling his hot, thick length stretching you, rubbing your walls, and pounding your cervix along with the fingers from his free hand strumming your clit pushed you over the edge.

You cried out but stifled it after only split second. Yes, you’d moved to another black site but you were still nervous about the noises you made during sex behind heard by others. When Graves was on top of you he would either be kissing you, covering you mouth with his hand, or pushing you into pillows to stifle your cries. But tonight you had to reign yourself in.

Graves followed you over the edge not long after he felt you clamp and pulse around him. Graves groaned, muttered your name in a low growl as he held your hips still against him while he throbbed inside you.

You collapsed against him, placing your head on his chest. His heart still thundered away, a side effect of his orgasm.

And then…

Then Graves said something you weren’t expecting. It was something you didn’t know how to respond to.

“I love you,” he rasped, still trying to catch his breath.

Did he mean that or was it just the trauma bond getting stronger? Did Graves, a borderline sociopath, even know what love was? Was he saying this because he knew both of you or one of you might die tomorrow?

And while you didn’t know how to respond, you were terrified of what might happen to you if you didn’t respond in kind. So you responded exactly how you knew he wanted you to.

“I love you,” you echoed.

After the words were said, you realized you kinda did love him.

In a unique kind of way.

-

You tossed and turned that night because you were worried. About a lot of stuff. Would Shadow Company and 141 come to blows when they first saw each other face-to-face? Would they try to take you again?

Hell, what if Shadow Company, Graves, and a military German Shepherd, weren’t enough to keep you safe from Makarov?

[shipmistress9]

Sex Toy Advent Calendar: Day 6: Purple U-shaped Vibe

Fandom: HTTYD

Rating: E

Pairing: Hiccup/Astrid

Words: 3130

Summary: Day 6 of the Sex Toy Advent Calendar. Today's toy makes up for any previous disappointment. And leaves Hiccup and Astrid eager for further explorations.

AN: I ran a bit into a wall with this one. At some point, I had to delete half of what I'd written for this chapter because it wasn't working, and then RL became pretty tough. Ah, well. At least it's finished now. And in the meantime, I had a lot of fun making notes for the future parts of this series. ^^

. o O o .

Today, it was Hiccup’s turn to be thrumming with anticipation as he and Astrid went to open today’s box. After yesterday's disappointment —though everything had turned out more than bearable in the end—her excitement had noticeably dampened. It wasn’t that she wasn’t looking forward to seeing what was in today’s box, but more that she'd lowered her expectations. Which was a shame, really. 

Hiccup didn’t know for sure which gift they got today. But he'd seen a rough overview of which toys would be in this calendar when he’d bought it, and… Well, the fact that there were two black boxes with the golden letters saying ‘six’ was giving away a lot, especially with the additional information printed on the smaller one in his hand. 

“So, what does it say there?” Astrid asked, eyeing the tiny box skeptically. 

“It says that we can use this charging cable for the boxes 6, 12, and 24,” he said smugly. Then he nodded at the other, slightly bigger box in her hands. “Don't you want to take a look?”

Astrid's mouth had turned into a perfect O, her eyes now alight with new excitement. The sight made Hiccup smile. She was so beautiful like this. With quick eager motions, she tore the box open and held up its content. 

“Okay, and what is this?”

“Well, it’s not a cock ring,” he replied in a light, teasing tone. 

Astrid regarded him with a flat stare.

Chuckling, Hiccup took the purple u-shaped device out of her hands. “It’s a vibrator, obviously. If I remember correctly, it’s called Double Joy. A fitting name, because, well, both sides have their use.” He pointed at the differing ‘arms’ of the U. “The thinner side here is meant to go inside you, while the thicker side with the flared and flattened shape here is supposed to cover your clit. Both sides vibrate, individually if you want. Also, the bit that goes inside you is so narrow that I should easily fit in as well. That way, we can both feel the vibrations and also each other, and your clit gets attention, too.”

Astrid’s lips twitched in amusement as she glanced at him. “Someone’s done his homework, as it seems,” she teased. Then her attention returned to the vibrator. “But I admit, this sounds interesting. Should we try it right away?”

Chuckling, Hiccup shook his head. He wasn’t surprised at her eagerness, not at all. It was Sunday, so they both were off work today and had the entire day for themselves. And, well, she was Astrid. 

But sadly, they would have to wait. “Remember this?” He held up the other box, the charging cable. “It has a build-in batterie and needs to charge first. Besides, there’s something else this thing can do, and I think you’re going to want and explore this option before we get started.” 

“Who says we can only use it once?” she asked, attempting to look innocent and failing spectacularly. “But okay, the charging is a valid argument. So let's get this connected, and then you can tell me aaaaaall about its other features.”

. o O o .

Astrid’s eyes were gleaming as she went through the app’s options. She was thrilled, just like Hiccup had expected. 

“Okay, this alone is worth getting this calender,” she proclaimed after a few minutes. “I can control both sides of the vibrator individually, right here in the app. Strength and rhythm, and…” she paused, her eyes growing wide. “Oooohh. I can even connect it to a playlist and it pulses along with the music?” She smirked at him. “We’re definitely going to try this!”

Having expected nothing else, Hiccup nodded, and then leaned in to show her another feature. “Then I hope you have a fitting playlist saved. Anyway, see this here? It’s a partner feature.”

She squinted at her display. “Okay? And what does it do?”

“Once paired with your phone, only you can control the vibrator. For safety. However, you can decide to temporarily give this control over to another specific app user. For example, we could go out with you wearing it, but I control it. It’s apparently extra silent, so nobody at a restaurant or at the cinema would hear it. Well, unless your moans grow too loud.” He threw her a cheeky smirk, but had to bite back a laugh at the dazed look on her face. Oh, she liked that idea, didn’t she? 

Hiccup felt smug, having found this toy and within the fun context of this calendar, no less. She’d voiced interest in such a toy every now and then, and he was sure that it would see plenty of use. 

Intent on teasing her further, he stepped behind her, hands on her hips and letting her feel how thinking about the possibilities didn’t leave him unaffected either. “You could also take it with you when you have to go on a business trip again,” he murmured against her neck. “And then you could allow me control over it when we video chat before going to sleep. I could make you come and watch you, even without being there.”

Astrid moan, and a shiver ran through her body. She leaned into him, her cute butt pressing at his growing erection. “That sounds intriguing,” she murmured.

“Or you could wear it when you go to work,” he went on, voice low and rough now. “I wouldn’t know what you’re doing or how aroused you already are, but I could keep playing with the control the entire day through. I wonder what your annoying co-worker would say if you interrupt another one of her self-praises with an orgasm.”

Astrid nearly choked on breathy laughter, the image no doubt appealing to her. “Mmm, we should definitely keep that option in mind. How much longer until that thing is charged and ready for use?”

“Another hour, I fear,” he said after glancing at his watch. He wished he could give her a more satisfying answer, but that was the instruction he’d read up in advance. By now, he was pitching a full tent in his loose lounging bottoms. But they could bridge an hour by doing something else… right? 

It was a long hour. Astrid played some more with her new app, arranging playlists or something, while Hiccup made a food plan for the week to determine which ingredients he would have to get. Although he’d have to double-check it later with how… distracted he was. 

Every few minutes, Astrid’s eyes flicked toward the clock hanging over their TV, and every time, she gave an impatient sigh. It made Hiccup grin, her eagerness and curiosity so wonderfully blatant and so cute. Not that he wasn’t interested in seeing what this toy could do, but there was just something so refreshing and endearing about watching her that he was almost sad when the waiting was over. But only almost. 

When the hour was over—Astrid apparently had even set an alarm—she jumped up and all but ran toward their bedroom. Hiccup followed her, chuckling, and found her kneeling on the bed. She held the vibe in her one hand and her phone in the other, and let out a victorious “Ha!” the moment he sat down next to her. 

“It’s working?” He crawled behind her onto the bed, stabilising himself with his hands on her waist as he looked over her shoulder.

“Looks like it, yes.” She tapped a few buttons on her phone, and the vibrator buzzed to life. “Excellent!”

“And what’s your plan now?” he asked, a little bemused as she turned it off again and shifted until she lay on her back. “What do you want to try with it?” 

She smirked. “Oh, you’ll see.” 

With one swift motion, she pushed her bottoms and underwear down, giving him an unimpeded view of her lower half, and brought the toy down to her entrance. Hiccup’s breath caught in his throat as he watched it slip inside her, easily, as if it belonged there. It really was proof of how aroused and eager she was that even after an hour of waiting she was wet enough to not need the tiniest bit of foreplay or lube. 

To his slight disappointment, though, she then pulled her clothes up again and reached for her phone. A moment later, a low tune sounded through the room and Astrid’s eyes fluttered shut with a soft moan. The vibrator was indeed surprisingly quiet, Hiccup could only hear it because he was listening for it and there were no other noises around them, anyway. With his heart beating a little faster, he let out a low grunt as he watched her, clearly luxuriating in the invisible stimulation. She was so beautiful like this. 

She held her hand out toward him, reaching for him. “Come here,” she purred.

Hiccup obliged happily, covering her with his body as she pulled him into a deep kiss. Her hips moved in time with the music coming from her phone, grinding herself against his thigh and making her mewl. 

Oh, this was hotter than he’d expected. He could probably continue just like this, lazily making out, kissing her with one hand slowly combing through her hair, and she’d still come sooner rather than later. But tempted as he was—they had the entire day free, after all, and nothing was stopping them from just spending countless hours in bed—he still wanted to do a little more, go a little further. 

He sat up, much to her complaint, and removed his shirt with one quick motion, then leaned down to resume kissing her. Astrid hummed happily as his hand splayed over her breast, squeezing her through her thin vest before it slipped beneath the fabric to peel it off her. She wriggled to help him, but instead nearly arched off the bed when the music switched to a quicker part for a short while and the toy apparently followed along. 

“F-fuck!” she cursed, eyes out of focus as she gazed past him at the ceiling. Her fingers were digging into his arms, her hips moving in search of that elusive stimulation. “This… this is…”

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Hiccup mused idly, mouthing at her ear. “I think I love this toy already.” 

Astrid didn’t reply and just moaned weakly as he moved down her body and pulled aside the cups of her bra with his teeth. Her nipples were sensitive already and quickly hardened beneath his tongue, so much fun to play with. 

He kept it light for now, merely teasing her. But with half an ear, he listened to the music, and right before he knew another quicker part would come, his lips closed around the hard bud and he sucked, harshly. It made her mewl with longing, and when the music and vibrations grew stronger again, Astrid cried out, limps shaking and hands tightening into fists in his hair. 

Three times he repeated this pattern until she came undone beneath him with a beautiful scream. Her entire body spasmed as waves of pleasure crashed through her, her eyes rolling back into her head. It was a memorable sight, one Hiccup wished he could capture in a drawing later on. She was so utterly beautiful when in the throes of pleasure, so irresistible, so alluring. Just watching her made him feel as if he was about to come himself.

When it was over, she almost desperation reached out, whimpering, and her arm wandered around on the bedcovers as if she was searching for something. It took Hiccup a second to cotton on, still mesmerised by her sight. But then he understood, grabbed her phone lying next to her head, and turned the music off. The low buzzing stopped as well and a moment later, Astrid fell back onto the bed, blissful and relaxed.

“Oh, wow,” she gasped, her head lolling to the sight and with a huge grin on her face. “Okay, this baby alone was worth everything. That was awesome!” 

Chuckling, Hiccup sat up and took in more of her sight. Not even halfway undressed but with her hair sticking to her sweaty forehead and neck, she looked the picture of debauchery. 

“I’m glad to hear that. So I guess the hour of waiting wasn’t that unbearable, retrospectively?”

She let out a shaky laugh. “I’d say it was even more unbearable now that I know what I was missing out on. But just for the records. When I take this baby with me to work, promise me you won’t use the highest setting. I don’t want to fall off my chair when my body just stops responding.”

Hiccup laughed. The image was certainly intriguing, but he’d also noticed something else. She’d said when and not if. Somehow, that didn’t even surprise him. 

What did surprise him though was when Astrid suddenly reached up and pulled him into a blistering kiss. He’d thought that with the apparent intensity of her orgasm just now, she needed a slight break at least. But, obviously, he’d been wrong. Once, he was close enough again, her hands were all over him, roaming over his skin in a show of very obvious eagerness. 

Not one to complain, Hiccup let her guide him, getting rid of her shirt and bra, and enjoyed the sensation of hot skin against his own. Her hands on his back, her legs entangled with his own, her hips grinding against him, slow but insistent. 

“You’re sure you don’t need a break?” Even with how eager she was, he still had to ask, to make sure. “You’re not too sensitive?” 

She chuckled, breathy. “Actually, I am. Just a little, though. But no, I don’t need a break. Don’t want one. I want more.”

Groaning at her needy tone, Hiccup didn’t resist when she pushed his bottoms down and reached for his cock. After her lewd display, he was already hard, the touch of her hand more than welcome on his heated flesh. She stroked him slowly, her eyes drinking in his reaction, and he had to fight not to thrust into her grip in his eagerness. 

Getting rid of her remaining clothes was merely a formality, and before long, she guided his cock to slip inside her along with the toy. Even with how slim this part of the vibrator was, it was a noticeably tighter fit than usual, and at first, they struggled to find the right angle. Once inside though, Hiccup sighed as her silken heat surrounded him. She was so hot, so tight, and just so… so… Astrid!

She was biting her lip when he glanced down at her, her eyes pressed shut and brows furrowed. 

“Are you okay?” His voice was rough with desire, but her well-being was more important. 

Letting out a keening noise, low and needy, Astrid nodded. “I am. Just intense. But good.” 

To give her time to adjust, Hiccup leaned down, supporting his weight on his elbows, and breathed hot openmouthed kisses onto her jaw, down her neck, to her shoulders. It had the desired effect, distracting her and making her giggle. Then she pushed lightly against his chest with her flat hand, and Hiccup pushed himself up again, watching her curiously as she reached for her phone again. 

“Slowly at first, okay?”

Hiccup nodded and was about to say something in response when the vibrations set in. Instead, he just let out a weak groan, his eyes falling shut at the unfamiliar sensation. 

Oh, that felt good!

The toy wasn’t long enough to reach all the way along his cock, but that wasn’t much of an issue. As he slowly pulled out and pushed in again, he found that the toy covered him well enough, and the vibrations were enough to send an additional thrill through his body, anyway. 

And the music… Astrid had picked a calm piece, beautiful, and it was easy to fall into the slow rhythm. It was almost like a dance, in a way. Not that he would call himself a skilled or anything but awkward dancer, but this was different. Easy. Letting the music set the pace for their movements, he enjoyed how it gave him time to indulge in their closeness, their intimacy. Exploring every part of her he could reach with his nose and mouth alone was something he so rarely got the chance to. 

After a while, the music changed, the beat becoming a little faster. It was a natural development to follow, Astrid meeting his thrusts perfectly, and her endless string of moans and breathless sobs as the vibrations grew stronger was a beautiful addition to the familiar melody. 

Hiccup was entirely lost in it all, watching, listening, feeling. The music grew faster, the vibrations stronger, his thrusts harder. On and on it went, a crescendo of sensations. 

Beneath him, Astrid was teetering on the edge of another orgasm, her fingernails digging deeply into his arms. It was pure perfection, and when the music reached its climax, the same was true for them as well. 

It was intense; Astrid screamed with no restraints, and Hiccup muffled his howl against her sweaty neck. Her clenching muscles were like a velvet device of pleasure around his thrumming cock, and the vibrations fuelled his orgasm even further. His hips seemed to move on their own, his thrusts carrying them through to the end even as his cum made her insides slick and slippery. 

“Oh, f-fuck,” he groaned weakly as he nearly collapsed on top of her. He managed to roll to the side instead, forehead pressed against her shoulder, but he kept his arm slung across her chest in a loose embrace. After this, she would need the closeness just as much as he did. 

Astrid fumbled with her phone and then cuddled closer to him once the music—and the vibrations—had stopped. “Yeah, that’s an accurate summary,” she sighed, giggling. She snuggled closer, blindly reaching for a blanket to ward off the cool air. They were both in desperate need of a shower, but that could wait for later. “I don’t know what else we’re going to find in this calendar, but I dare say this toy is one of my top favourites.”

Hiccup let out a tired laugh. He’d hoped for this to be a good one, but the reality was still so much better than his imagination. 

“And you know what’s the best part of it?”

Too exhausted for many words, he just hummed weakly for her to continue. 

She shifted until her lips reached his, and he thought he could feel her smirk as she kissed him. 

“The best part is that we still have the entire day to keep enjoying this toy.”

. o O o .

AN: I bet neither of them will be able to walk anymore around noon at the latest. xD

* - . - * - . o O o . - * - . - *

If you want to support me you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊 (Ko-Fi)

[m00nslippers]

Everyone Crushing on Jason 2

Today is my birthday, and I’ve got a present for you all! It’s chapter 2 of the ECoJ AU! Later tonight I’m going to post the first on AO3 under the title Jay-Crazy, then a few days later I will add this chapter tow it and then all future chapters will be simulposted. So I hope you all enjoy this slice of complete crack.

If you missed Chapter 1, it’s here.

- - -

“Holy shit, who is that?” Hal demanded of Barry, jabbing his friend with his elbow to get the hero's attention.

They were in the Watchtower Satellite after routing a poorly orchestrated alien invasion attempt. Even compared to the usual morons that thought they could conquer Earth despite it's super-powered protectors, it had been especially inept and the whole endeavor had barely made it to the ground. Martian Manhunter, Cyborg and the Watchtower scanners had detected the alien vessels quickly and, once hostility was ascertained, the satellite and vacuum-hardy heroes like the Kryptonians and Lanterns  lit their asses up. A small force managed to slip by their attacks and make it to the Earth, but according to MM, a hastily dispatched contingent of available JLA members mopped them up easily enough. Hal hadn't heard any of the reports, was actively avoiding them to be honest, but everyone seemed to have come out of the incident alright except the bad guys, so he'd say everyone in participation had earned a beer, especially himself for being a front-line badass. Too bad he was stuck on the Watchtower until the all-clear went through.

He and Barry had just managed to dodge an after-action report with ugh Batman and were loitering in the infirmary—partly because Barry suggested they should be around in case anyone needed more hands with the injured, but mostly because Hal had found out the Bat was allergic to medical care—when Hal's eyes had zoned-in like a laser on the most exquisite pair of tits he'd ever seen on a man.

Jesus that chest was toned! Hal didn't know what kind of exorcize gave a guy pecs developed enough to spill out of your hand, but this guy was doing them and clearly never skipped. Hal was damn near hypnotized as he watched the man strip out of thigh holsters and shrug out of black reinforced-Kevlar body armor that zipped up from the back, revealing a body like a battle axe, hard, cut and stacked, shoulders broad and muscular. The man's legs were insane, his thighs were bigger than Hal's head! He looked like he could dead-lift Hal with one hand and Hal was suddenly wishing the guy would try.

Hal had pretty much been sold before he managed to take in the full package, but lighting on the guy's face Hal realized he was young, in his early to mid twenties, and almost painfully good-looking, even with the domino mask obscuring his eyes. His hair was dark and had a hint of a wave, longer on the top of his head and short at the sides, and at his temple was an interesting streak of white. His face was long and he had a wide, dynamic mouth that was on the verge of a snarl as he argued something with—oh, hey, Nightwing! Damn, he'd been so distracted with the view that he somehow missed that Nightwing, AKA the best ass in the entire vigilante community, was trying to stitch up a nasty three-inch gash in the mystery man's side that should have curbed Hal's arousal but somehow just made him hotter. Yeah, Hal liked the battle-worn and sweaty look all of a sudden.  

Barry squinted where Hal was staring (he assumes, Hal refused to look away from those drool-worthy abs, squeezable pecs and powerful arms and back muscles that had him drooling a puddle on the infirmary floor). Luckily his friend had an answer for him because Hal needed a name to put to that amazing piece of real estate ripe for the tapping that had presented itself before him.

Barry's voice was incredulous as he answered, “That's Red Hood. You know, the guy we all voted into the JLA two nights ago?”

Eh, Hal never paid attention at those things. “Remind me, will you?”

“Gotham Vigilante. Like Nightwing, he used to be Robin. He was a bit of a villain until a few years ago, but he's cleaned up his act and Batman vouched for him—which is all information you should know if you listened at the meetings,” Barry complained. “Don't tell me you voted for someone without knowing anything about them again, Hal...”

Hal tore his gaze away from the smoking hot Red Hood so he could roll his eyes at Barry. “Does it really matter? You listen to the boring stuff and look into all these people and I just vote what you vote.”

Barry sighed, wearily shaking his head. “Hal, that's not--”

Hal raised his fingers to Barry's lips and cut his friend off mid-sentence. “Shh—Daddy's on the prowl,” he whispered and bobbed his eyebrows suggestively.

The speedster's wince was clearly communicated despite his mask as he shoved Hal's hand away from his mouth. “Please don't let me ever hear you refer to yourself as 'Daddy' again, Hal. I'm begging you.”

Hal smirked and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Begging me, huh? Don't let Iris hear about this, she'll be jealous.”

“Why are we friends again? I can't say anything to you,” Barry mused, covering his face in embarrassment, ready to phase through the floor to disappear from the conversation.

“Don't know, but here is where I leave you, pal.” Hal gave a lazy two-fingered salute and grinned. “I've got a pair of pants to get into or die trying—and the pants don't belong to me!”

“I don't even know what to say...” he heard Barry profess as Hal smoothed his hair and strode confidently across the infirmary floor to where his future—Boyfriend? Sex friend? Morning regret? He'd take what he could get, honestly—had an arm resting on Nightwing's back while the other vigilante was underneath it, bent over his side, putting stitches into the long red gash across the man's ribs. And honestly it spoke to the power, or maybe just the novelty, of his new obsession that he wasn't drifting behind Nightwing to get a view of his fantastic booty, but was marching straight up to Red Hood, ignoring Nightwing almost entirely.

But no sooner had he stepped up to the plate then Guy Goddamn Gardner stepped out in front of him with his dumb red hair and his cocksure strut, cutting off his path.

“Hey, is that your jacket, there? Looks nice,” his rival Lantern said, nodding to a brown leather jacket laying on the medical cot next to Red Hood.

Guy's head blocked his view as he raised a brow in disbelief. 'Hey, is that your jacket, there'? 'Looks nice'? What kind of opening line was that? The hell was Guy playing at?

The Red Hood looked up from where he'd been scowling at the floor—damn, his scowl was mean, it was freaking hot—to eye Guy with the confused incredulity such a stupid ice-breaker deserved.

“Uh, thanks?” Hood said, sounding confused as to why anyone was talking to him, which was vaguely adorable to Hal for some reason. “'s kinda breezy, though. Gotta few bullets holes I haven't patched up yet.”

Hal thought he was going to melt into the floor. Shit, even Red Hood's voice was hot. On the deeper end of baritone with a street-sounding drawl Hal had only ever heard in movies because most people didn't actually have accents that strong.

Gotham vigilante, huh? He sure sounded like it. Hal usually had a 'no Bats' policy when it came to pretty much everything in his life he could manage, but this guy seemed different, more chill, more down to Earth than the usual Bat—or maybe Hal was just making excuses to justify sucking face with the guy. Whatever, he wasn't about to question it. The dick wants what the dick wants.

“Yeah, I used to do the whole leather jacket biker-schtick,” Guy said, his usual cockiness leaking into his tone as he flipped up the collar to his vest as if he actually thought he looked cool emulating a 60s greaser. He pointed a thumb at himself with pride as he said, “I incorporated it into my Lantern uniform and everything. It's a one of a kind style in the corps.” Hal could hear the attempt at a smolder in Guy's voice as it dropped half an octave and he praised, “I bet it doesn't look as good on me as it does on you, though.”

Red Hood's expression slanted into bafflement, mind clearly whirring as he processed the words spoken to him, turning them over every which way before hitting on the realization that he'd just been hit on. All at once Red Hood's cheeks blushed pink and he reached a hand up to tug through his hair anxiously, almost as if he wasn't used to people pulling out corny one-liners trying to get his attention and he had no idea what to do about it. It was so damn cute that Hal's brain momentarily ceased to function. Hal was stunned, amazed, incredibly turned on. What the hell, how does someone who looked like they could punch a hole in a car door, no powers necessary, and shoot you without remorse, look that sweet and innocent? It would be wrong if it wasn't so sexy.

Crap, he couldn’t let this go on. Hal had to get in there and break this up or he was going to be shown up by freaking Guy Gardner of all people, and that was something he simply couldn’t allow, especially when someone this good-looking was on the line.

“Okay, move over Horatio, the real Green Lantern has arrived,” Hal said, reaching out to physically maneuvered Guy out of his way before the other Lantern realized what was happening. Taking advantage of the opening, Hal swooped in to his place in front of the delectable Red Hood, whose eyes flicked from Guy to Hal and back quickly, with the almost creepy assessing intelligence that Gotham vigilante's were known for.

Hal offered a hand and his most dazzling smile. “Hi, Red Hood? I'm Hal Jordan, AKA Green Lantern, AKA Earth's first and best Green Lantern, AKA one of the JLA's founding members. I hear you just got accepted into the league, congrats! I bet you'll be a worthy addiction—I mean, addition, around here. Maybe after Wings finishes fixing you up I could show you around? I know all the best spots to avoid Batman.”

The Red Hood didn't take his hand but his mouth stretched into a lop-sided grin, a thing of brightness with a hint of mischief that had Hal going weak in the knees and he didn't know what he said to get said smile but damn was he going to enjoy it. Red Hood snorted in amusement. “'All the best spots to avoid Batman', huh? Maybe I'll take you up on tha—ow!”

Red Hood scowled down at Nightwing who was glaring at the Red Hood's wound as he tied off his stitches. “Oops,” he deadpanned, sliding his disapproving gaze Hal's way. Hal narrowed his eyes back, not sure when the guy had put on that party-pooper bat-look Hal hated, but now he suddenly couldn’t forget the other vigilante had worn the cowl of his greatest rival, world-class busybody Bruce Wayne. He'd always liked Nightwing better in the role of the big bat—he was more laid back, he cracked jokes even if they were mostly stupid puns—but he might have to reassess that opinion. Apparently Nightwing had picked up a thing or two from his mentor. Specifically, how to make Hal feel like scum for breathing.

Hal opened his mouth to ask Nightwing why he was here and what his relationship even was with Red Hood, but before he could confront his potential cockblock, Guy grabbed Hal by the arm and dragged him away to the corner of the room with a mumbled, “Excuse us, guys...” as Hal complained, “Hey, easy on the goods there, Guy!”

As soon as they were out of ear-shot, Guy rounded on Hal with fury in his face. His usually pale complexion was flushed red with anger and embarrassment, twin to his fiery red hair.

Guy shoved Hal hard enough to rock him back on his heels, whisper-shouting, “What the hell, Jordan! Why you gotta butt into my business?”

Hal scoffed. “Your business? No no no, I let you have first crack, but now it's my turn.”

Guy snorted and got in his face, as if he actually thought he could back down the GL Corps original 'man without fear' with his inadequate self. Please, Guy wasn't even close to his level. “You didn't let me do anything, Jordan. I saw him first and you just shoved your way in, like an asshole!”

Hal threw up his hands, unrepentant. “Hey, the man has a right to make his own choices, and clearly the better choice is yours truly. I'm just presenting him the option of my amazing self.”

Guy looked ready to strangle him with his bare hands, which was pretty typical of the man. “Why do you always have to be number one, huh Jordan?” he demanded and an edge of pleading entered his voice that put a momentary damper on Hal's sense of entitlement. “I might have found my soulmate here, why can't you just let me have this?”

Hal frowned, suddenly uncertain. Did Guy know Red Hood previously and have some relationship with him Hal didn't know? Was there some connection between the two that Hal was selfishly getting in the middle of?

“Soulmate?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and regarding his fellow Lantern with skeptical but open ears. “You think Red Hood is the one, huh? What makes you think that?”

Guy's face turned dreamy-eyed and dopey as he explained, “I saw him right-hook an alien in the jaw, take the goon's own gun and blast his face off in a quarter of a second, then back-flip off a car and detonate an explosion that wiped out a landing craft. I fell in love instantly Hal, this is the real deal, man!”

Oh, so he didn't have a connection, Guy was just being typical Guy.

Hal rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “He's not your soul-mate, you just saw him do something badass and now your smitten!”

“Well you just saw him take off his shirt and now your smitten,” Guy countered with a snarl, “At least my reason isn't superficial!”

Hey, physical attraction was usually the first step to a relationship, or so he'd heard somewhere. It was human nature to see a hot body and go after it. “There's nothing wrong with—”

“Hey!” Hal heard as someone snapped their fingers in front of his nose and he looked over to see another fellow Lantern, Kyle Rayner, gracing both of his predecessors with something like irritated disbelief. “Are you two seriously fighting over Jason Todd of all people?”

“So his name is 'Jason Todd'?” Guy perked up, voice soft, “I love it. It just perfectly captures his, like, his everything, and—”

Hal shook his head. “Words are not your strong suit Guy, just stop.” Please.

Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his Green Lantern's mask, wearing a pained look as he said, “Okay, let's just put on hold the absurdity that is anyone thinking that dickhead Todd is attractive enough to pursue despite his garbage fire of a personality--”

“Woah, that's a bit harsh Rayner,” Hal said with a raised eyebrow, taken aback by the fierceness of Kyle's insult. What the heck? The kid was usually so nice. What did he have against the other man, how did he even know him?

“—aside from all the obvious reasons Todd is a bad idea,” Kyle went on, ignoring him. “If you're really interested, then you guys have way bigger problems than each other.”

Guy crossed his arms and tilted his head in question. “The heck are you talking about?”

Kyle jerked a thumb behind him and Hal looked over his shoulder to find the object of his and Guy's affections, Red Hood, one Jason Todd, was crowded by no less than Supergirl, Superboy, Booster Gold, Arsenal and Starfire, as Nightwing and Orphan hovered nearby like stodgy nannies. Kara had actually latched onto one of Red Hood's arms like a leach and was pressing her breasts against the man's biceps as she covertly ran her eyes all over him, no doubt putting her Kryptonian x-ray vision to good use (so unfair). Superboy—the older one, Kent's kinda-clone, not his kid—was trying to shove Kara out of the way and insert himself into the conversation, but the girl was clinging fast and refused to let go. Booster Gold was yacking and gesticulating, trying to draw attention to himself, but Red Hood seemed to be ignoring him in favor of chatting with Green Arrow's old partner and the Tamaranean princess who were looking way too friendly, with Starfire's hand on his shoulder and Arsenal poking at his ribs, as Red Hood swatted back.

“What the hell is this?” Hal demanded, the unfairness of it all pissing him off. “We were there first, come on!”

“I was there first,” Guy corrected and clicked his tongue angrily. “Man, this is freaking bullshit. This is all your fault, Jordan!”

Hal huffed, indignant. “My fault? You're the one who dragged us away! If you hadn't we—”

“Seriously guys, don't fight over the Red Hood. He's the worst,” Kyle spat with an uncharacteristic vehemence. “He thinks with his gun instead of his head and he's a broody goth-nerd lone-wolf-wannabe who he doesn't know when to quit!”

Guy's face screwed up in confusion. “What's your angle here, Kyle? You're just making him sound hotter.”

Kyle put a hand on Guy's shoulder, inviting him to listen closely as he explained, “Look, he's not hot—I mean, yeah he is, he's like crazy hot—but he's not, trust me.”

Guy looked like his brain was struggling to keep up with Kyle's non-logic. Actually, Hal's was too. “You are making no sense,” Hal informed the kid.

Kyle didn't look especially bothered. “Just don't fight, okay? Seriously, I'll sic John on you.”

Oh, not John Stewart-stick-in-the-mud! He'd shut down their whole operation like the by-the-book buzzkill he was! Damn, when did Rayner get so bitter? The kid was still in his twenties but he was already old and jaded and wise to he and Guy's ways.

“Woah, calm down,” Hal said evenly, as if soothing a potential jumper away from the edge. “We don't need to get John involved. We're cool, right Guy?”

Guy was a bit closer to John than Hal was, so he wasn't sure if the other Lantern would back his play on keeping the third Lantern out of it, but Guy also seemed to realize they needed to think smart here.

“Yeah, we can act civil about this. Probably,” Guy said, fluttering his lashes innocently.

Okay, 'smart' was relative.

Kyle rolled his eyes, not in the least sorry that he was trying to ruin their day with a lecture from John about GL solidarity and keeping your mind out of the gutter, or whatever rules the architect-ex-Marine followed to keep his nose so damn clean.

“Yeah, sure you can,” was Kyle's skeptical retort. The younger man rolled his shoulders wearily and finally seemed to let up on the oppressive tone. “Well, I'm out of here—they sent out the all-clear, no casualties, so I'm flying to my apartment to crash.”

“Okay, goodnight, I guess. Good work out there,” Hal said by way of a goodbye.

The younger Lantern smiled back, suddenly more himself. “Thanks. You guys too.” As he started to walk away Kyle hesitated and stabbed a finger their way, saying, “And if you take my advice you'll stay away from Todd.”

With that, Kyle set off toward the door, only pausing as he walked passed Red Hood and his accumulated admirers to sling a snarky, “Not dead yet, asshole? Shame.”

Jason immediately reacted, throwing up a middle finger as he tossed out a, “Fuck you, Bitch-Lantern,” that sounded almost playful. “I've already come back once, what makes you think I wouldn't rise up from the grave just to kick your ass?”

Kyle was still walking towards the door, yelling back, “I'd like to see you try, Failure-Robin.”

“Suck a dick, Rayner, I could bend you in half,” Jason retorted easily.

“I've got a piece of alien jewelry that says otherwise.”

“I bet your ring runs out of power before I run out of bullets.”

Kyle huffed. “Pff, whatever.” He turned the corner out the door with a much more friendly, “See ya nerd.”

Red Hood rolled his eyes and flapped a dismissive hand at him. “See ya geek.”

Hal stared wide-eyed and dazed in Kyle's wake. The hell was all that? How the heck did Kyle know Red Hood, Jason Todd? And what was with all the belligerent sexual tension? Did he have to worry about Kyle now too? Damn it, this was getting out of hand!

“That kid's a problem,” Hal muttered darkly.

Guy looked like he had somehow fallen even deeper in love after hearing his crush shout at Kyle to suck a dick. “Shit, this is bad,” he said and Hal wasn't entirely sure what Guy meant by it, but he was also certain that the man was correct.

“I hate to say it, but I agree.” Hal chewed his lip, for the first time beginning to think this wouldn't be an open and shut case of show-up-get-laid. He might actually have to work for his prize. It would probably be worth it, though. God, but he could die happy crushed between those beefy thighs.

“Maybe we should...I don't know, join forces or something,” Guy offered.

Hal frowned. “How would that work?”

Guy raised both brows and pointed at himself with a deprecating chuckle. “You're asking me?”

Of course, what was he thinking? “Good point, um...” Hal thought a moment before he said, “How about...we share information and give each other space to work, but everyone else is the enemy. If either of us land him we back off.”

Guy nodded. “I'm game. Truce?”

“Truce,” Hal answered. They sealed their alliance with a fist bump, ring to ring, and both Lantern rings sparked green briefly. Hal and Guy dropped their hands and moved to regard their competition with zealous scrutiny.

“Right,” Hal said after a moment to strategize. “Now let's get in there. You try to push out Booster and the ex-Titans and I'll take the Supers.”

Guy punched a fist into his hand and grinned, ready for a brawl. “Got it.”

[fallintosanity]

four dudes on a camping trip with very limited funds, sharing tents, campers, and hotel rooms, is gonna lead to some Awkward(tm) situations

those situations are a lot funnier ten years later when you’re telling the story to someone else

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16

By the time they got to the little metal shed, Prompto was sweating under his borrowed wool mantle, and he was pretty sure he was starting to get a sunburn. Or heatstroke. His head ached from the heat and his throat was painfully dry, and he reached for the door of the shed, hoping to get inside and away from the relentless sun. 

But Future Prompto beat him to it, catching him by the shoulder and pulling him away. “Hang on,” he said, then banged hard on the metal wall beside the door. The sound rang across the desert and Prompto flinched, but his future self leaned in closer, his eyes unfocusing as he listened for something inside. Finally Future Prompto nodded, mostly to himself, and shoved open the door. “C’mon.”

“What was that about?” Prompto asked as he followed his adult self into the shed. The interior was dark after the unforgiving glare of the desert sun; the only light came from the sunlight leaking around the edges of the door and through a single dirt-crusted skylight in the middle of the ceiling. Squinting, he could just make out a hand pump in one corner and a narrow pipe on the wall behind it, capped with a calcium-encrusted showerhead. The floor was hard concrete, slanted unevenly inward to a rusted drain in the center. 

“Voretooths,” Future Prompto said. He pointed up toward the ceiling, to uneven gaps where the metal walls didn’t quite connect with the slanted roof. “I’ve never been sure if those holes are supposed to be for ventilation or if it’s just bad construction, but voretooths can sometimes wiggle through ‘em. They can smell the water in here. But once they’re in, they’re too dumb to get back out. Learned that the hard way the first time I opened the door and got jumped.” 

He grinned, as though getting jumped by freaking wild animals was amusing. Prompto stared at him. His future self’s grin widened and he thumped Prompto lightly on the shoulder. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. Really.” 

Prompto glared at him. “Getting mauled by voretooths isn’t bad?” 

Future Prompto made fingerguns and mimed shooting something in the face, then blew imaginary smoke from his fingertips. “Don’t worry,” he said lightly. “You’ll get used to it.” 

Prompto was still trying to come up with a response to that which wasn’t sputtering indignation or screaming horror - really? Get used to being attacked by monsters? - when his future self squatted beside the hand pump and gave it a cursory once-over. “Good to go,” he pronounced. “I’ll take first shower, unless you want it. First has better water pressure, second’s usually cooler ‘cause the water’s coming up from deeper.” 

“Sure,” Prompto said. Cooler water sounded great. He’d been hoping for some relief from the heat inside the shed, but while they were out of the direct sunlight, it somehow felt even hotter inside. The air was heavy and still, difficult to draw into his lungs, and sweat was pooling in all the hollows of his bones. At least outside there’d been a light breeze to draw the heat away from his skin.

Future Prompto started working the pump, throwing his whole body into the first few motions until water began spurting from the faucet and the handle started to move on its own as the water pressure took over. When the stream had steadied into a constant flow, Future Prompto fiddled with a couple of turn handles on the side, and the flow diverted from the pump faucet up to the showerhead on the wall, spraying the center of the shed with water. Prompto hopped back out of range, while his future self stripped off his Kingsglaive jacket, gloves, and vest, plus the black undershirt beneath. Without bothering to remove his pants or boots, Future Prompto leaned forward into the spray, eyes closed against the water. 

Prompto took the moment to study his adult self. Lean muscle rippled through his shoulders and arms, under skin even more sickly pale than that of his face. Scars marked his torso: a thin line along the top of his right shoulder; four jagged parallel lines that were obviously and horrifyingly claw marks curving around his left hip to vanish beneath the waistband of his pants; and a single round scar, roughly the size of a grape, just under his left shoulder blade. Without the gloves and jacket, his own barcode tattoo was clearly visible on his wrist, the black ink unfading, as vivid as it had been for as long as Prompto could remember. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Future Prompto remarked as he straightened out of the spray, shaking his head and sending water flying around the shed, “I missed the sun like fuck these last ten years, but boy did I forget how hot it gets in Leide in the daylight.” He turned to face Prompto, absently snagging his vest from where he’d draped it over the pump and using it to wipe his face dry. 

Given how scarred his back was, Prompto had half-expected to see more scars on his chest and stomach, but to his surprise there was only one: a small round rough patch on his left pec, directly opposite the grape-sized scar on his back, right over his… 

Prompto blinked, his stomach plummeting. 

Right over his future self’s heart.

The little round scar on his back wasn’t the size of a grape. It was the size of a bullet. 

“That’s…” he whispered. 

Noticing the direction of his gaze, Future Prompto glanced down at his own chest and flinched, his expression darkening. His left hand rose to wrap around his right wrist, over the barcode. “That’s how I learned never to turn my back on anyone,” he said softly. “Even people I thought were my friends.” 

He’d said earlier that everyone knew about the barcode, what it meant, but he hadn’t said someone had—Prompto’s stomach roiled and he leaned forward, curling his arms around himself as everything from the last twenty-four hours hit him in a sudden awful rush. 

Yesterday he’d been nothing more than the weird kid at school with a passion for photography, a tattoo he couldn’t explain, and the friendship of the Crown Prince. Now he’d been kidnapped by daemons, rescued, and swept outside the safety of the Wall by his future self. He’d learned he was an inhuman freak, a lab experiment meant to be turned into a daemon and harvested to power MTs. Such an empty little thing, Izunia had said last night. Prompto wasn’t a person, but an enemy weapon, something to be exterminated with a bullet to the heart. Someone had tried on his future self. Someone supposedly his friend. I’m surprised you care. There are so many more where it came from.  

The panic attack Prompto had managed to stave off last night roared back in full force and he staggered, would have fallen except his adult self caught him and held him up. He buried his face against Future Prompto’s shoulder, shaking, wanting to scream except he couldn’t get enough air. “I can’t—I’m not—I—” he gasped, and the words snapped something inside him and he wailed, “I want to go home!”    

His adult self didn’t answer, but the arms wrapped around him tightened. He didn’t need his future self to tell him he couldn’t go home, not anymore. Even if Prompto returned to his house, it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing would ever be the same again. 

They stood there for several minutes, until Prompto’s sobs eased and he was able to stand on his own again. He scrubbed an arm over his face, acutely aware of how much of a mess he was and feeling all the worse for it. Noctis would never break down like this. Ignis and Gladio would probably laugh at Prompto if they saw him right now. He’d always been worthless and this just proved it. 

Future Prompto, though, just nudged him toward the still-running shower. “Water’s safe to drink, if you want,” he said gently. 

Prompto hiccupped, nodded. Cupped his hands under the spray and splashed his face with water, then filled his palms for a drink. The water was cold on his skin, soothing to his parched throat, and he stuck his head directly into the spray and drank until he felt slightly less like a disaster.

When he came up for air, his adult self said, “It sucks. Not gonna pretend otherwise. But… there’s still a few good people out there. And Noctis needs you.” 

Prompto shuddered. “I’m not anyone,” he whispered. I’m not even human, apparently, and he didn’t have to say it; saw the thought reflected in his adult self’s eyes. “Why me?” 

Future Prompto gave a soft, strange little laugh, turning away to stare up out through the dirty skylight. “He told me once he doesn’t make time for any old loser. I guess if the Crown Prince - the King - says you’re good enough, you are. No matter what anyone else thinks.” 

Prompto opened his mouth and closed it again, not sure what to say to that. His adult self looked down again, a wry smile tugging at his mouth, and jerked his chin at the shower. “Better take that shower before the well runs dry,” he said. 

“...right,” Prompto whispered. He shivered again, not from cold - it was still baking hot in the little shed - but from all the emotions pounding beneath his skin. Pull yourself together, he thought. “Yeah, okay.” 

Blue crystals sparkled in Future Prompto’s hand, forming into a bar of soap he tossed to Prompto. “I’ll dig up some clothes, too, when you're done.”

“Thanks,” Prompto managed. He started to tug the wool mantle from his shoulders, then stopped, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks. Logically, there was no reason to be embarrassed to strip down in front of his adult self - there was literally nothing about his body Future Prompto hadn't already seen. But while Prompto wasn't fat anymore, he wasn't much happier with his knobby knees and bony elbows, and still had no desire to be naked in front of anyone. He looked back at his adult self - but Future Prompto had already turned around, humming under his breath and bobbing his head as he pulled on his black undershirt. Prompto almost laughed. Of course his future self would know he was uncomfortable. 

Well, Prompto could at least try not to make a bigger inconvenience of himself than he already had. He stripped off the mantle, his borrowed boots, and then his pajama pants, draping them over the pipes as Future Prompto had done earlier, and stepped into the water. The cold felt good on his overheated skin, washing away the tears on his face and easing the puffiness of his eyes. The soap smelled harsh and utilitarian, but worked just fine, and Prompto scrubbed off the dirt and blood from last night. The bruises on his torso were already a spectacular riot of purple, black, and blue; he could clearly see the imprint of the hand of the daemon that had carried him.

He didn't want to know if there was a bruise in the shape of Ardyn Izunia’s hand on his throat.

The water pressure had faded to a trickle by the time he finished. He eyed the pump, trying to guess how to turn it off properly, but his future self saved him. “I got that,” he said. “Gotta refill the water bottles anyway, or Iggy’ll kick my ass.” He crouched beside the pump, fiddling with the dials again until the water came out of the faucet instead of the showerhead, and began filling Kingsglaive-issue bottles he pulled from the armory. 

While he did that, Prompto stepped off to the side and tried to scrape the remaining water from his body with his hands. Without a towel, it didn't work well, and eventually he gave up and just shook himself, then squeezed the water out of his hair. For a couple of seconds he almost felt cool despite the shed’s oppressive heat, as the bone-dry desert air evaporated the last of the moisture from his skin. 

“Here,” Future Prompto said, and Prompto turned to see him holding out a bundle of tan and red cloth, though he was still looking away. “They’ll be a little big, but workable. The underwear’s clean, I promise,” he added. “Trust me, you don't want to go commando in those pants in this desert. I have no idea how Gladio stands it.”

Prompto nearly dropped the clothes into the water pooled on the floor. “You—Ugh!” he sputtered. “That’s more than I ever wanted to know about Gladio. Why do you know that?!”

“We lived in each other's pockets for a few months after the Crown City fell,” his future self said with a shrug. “You learn a lot about each other doing that.”

Prompto yanked on the clothes as fast as he could, trying very hard not to think about the fact that it was someone else's underwear. Was it really someone else if that someone was him in the future? “You guys know about this thing called ‘privacy’, don’t you?” he asked.

His adult self laughed. “Oh, we know. You learn real fucking quick to knock before entering the tent or hotel room if you aren't one hundred percent positive where everyone else is. Even if you think you are one hundred percent positive.”

It took a second for Prompto to realize what he meant. “Titan’s balls, dude!” he swore. “That’s so wrong!”

Future Prompto waggled his eyebrows. “Not Titan’s balls.”

“Ew!” Prompto buried his face in his hands. “That is more than I want to know about any of them.”

“Get used to it,” Future Prompto said loftily. “You make friends with the Crown Prince and his retainers, you get to learn all about the royal… assets.”

“My future self hates me,” Prompto announced dramatically, hauling his borrowed boots back on - though the protest was somewhat weakened by the fact that Future Prompto had included socks with the bundle of clothes so Prompto wasn’t barefoot inside the combat boots anymore. “You’re trying to kill me with embarrassment.” 

“C’mon,” Future Prompto protested. “I can give you all kinds of dirt on the guys. Did you know Ignis shaves his—”

Prompto clapped his hands over his ears. “No, I don’t, and I don’t want to!” 

“You sure? It’s good blackmail material next time you want to get Iggy to go to Kenny Crow’s instead of making stew for the hundredth time—” 

“I'm leaving now,” Prompto announced. He scooped up his pajama pants and the borrowed mantle and stomped out the door without waiting for a response. “You're disgusting.” The brilliant sunlight blinded him and he flinched back before catching his balance. 

Future Prompto followed, eyes sparkling, until the sun hit his face and he actually stumbled against the doorframe. “Ow. Sunlight. Right.” He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and blinked a few times, then set out toward the haven. “Okay, here’s one that’s safer for your tender virgin ears—”

“Ugh!”

“Did you know Gladio can sing?” Future Prompto said. “And I don’t just mean carry a tune - guy has pipes. If he hadn’t decided to be Noct’s Shield he could’ve been a headliner at the Altissia Opera House.” 

“Seriously?” Prompto asked in surprise. He didn’t know Gladio all that well yet, not nearly as well as his future self clearly did. Gladio had started accompanying Noct everywhere last year, as part of taking on full-time Shield duties when he turned twenty, but stayed in the background and didn’t talk much around Prompto. Prompto’d thought it was because Gladio disapproved of the Crown Prince’s friendship with a nobody. 

“Seriously,” Future Prompto confirmed. “Get a little beer in him and he’ll break your heart with the best rendition of ‘Every Day Gone By’ from Beloved you’ve ever heard. A few years back, he was visiting Hammerhead when this group of hunters passed through. One of ‘em was an ex-opera singer, and someone talked her and Gladio into doing some fancy piece from this two hundred-year-old opera. My Altissian’s not good enough to understand the lyrics, but they sounded fucking incredible.” 

“...Okay, that’s pretty cool actually,” Prompto admitted. 

“Told ya.” His adult self grinned. “There was this other time, shit, way back in Insomnia. Probably would’ve been this summer for you. Me ‘n Noct were out at the arcade, and Gladio was tagging along ‘cause, y’know, Shield, and…” He kept talking, telling stories about first Gladio and then Ignis and Noctis as they made their way across the desert, and by the time they reached the haven, Prompto was laughing. The horrors of his origin and what had happened to his future self still sat like iron weights at the back of his thoughts, but he could face the others now without risking another breakdown.

[hermannsthumb]

ohoho, the return of prompt memes!!! i'm still blazing through your entire ao3 collection but it's v cool to actually be here for one! 12 + 1 or 26? :o

Anonymous said: Yoooo how are you feelin about number 12 from the spring prompt thing. I love love love your writing

(edit: forgot an anon requested it too!)

WOOO PROMPT MEMES!! theyre just fun yknow… i did 26 earlier yesterday so i think i’ll do the 12 and 1…ripe for melodrama….

1. Rain and 12. Panicked/Accidental Confession

from spring fic prompts meme here

Hermann’s aware he must be a sight as he tears out onto the loading dock, parka unzipped, shirt untucked, one Oxford unlaced, and he’s aware he’s forgotten his umbrella and becoming more drenched by the second, and he’s aware, most of all, of the bewildered and frankly concerned looks being cast in his direction, but he’s in a bit of a hurry and can’t find it within himself to care in the slightest. Ten minutes ago, he was sitting in his bunk, stripped down to his undershirt and idly flipping through some old research, when he received a call that Newton–well–

“The boat,” he half-shouts, scarcely audible over the rain, as he catches a random Shatterdome worker by the shoulder, “the boat that went out this morning, has it returned?”

The man sets down the wooden crate he’d been toting. “One with the team?”

Hermann nods.

The man points further down, at the next dock over. More workers in their dark blue PPDC jumpsuits are hitching a rope from a boat to a post, and more still are beginning to unload more crates from it. “They’re getting in right now.”

Hermann wheezes out his thanks, and, cane slippery in his grasp, hauls himself over as fast as his legs will take him.

“Dr. Geiszler,” he shouts to the crew, squinting into the sheets of rain and trying, desperately, to seek out any even vaguely familiar blur, anyone who will know, “I’m looking for Dr. Geiszler, has anyone–Newton Geiszler, he was meant to–”

“Uh, Hermann,” a familiar voice says.

There, shivering on the edge of the boat under a small awning, soaking wet, reflective blanket around his shoulders, and only just visible, is Newton. “Hi,” he says sheepishly.

Hermann is struck with the overwhelming urge to slap him across the face. He settles, instead, on storming over, reaching out, and smacking his shoulder. “You’re a moron,” he hisses. 

The events of the day were this. Hermann awoke to find the lab suspiciously empty. Assuming Newton was taking a sick day, or was hungover, or had just overslept his alarm again, he resumed his work from the previous evening and thought nothing of it. When the lab remained suspiciously empty through lunch without even a text from Newton, Hermann–purely out of worry for their research, which would suffer without Newton there, of course–marched ‘round to his bunk and knocked repeatedly on the door. Newton did not answer. Hermann debated retrieving the spare key Newton gave to him in case of emergencies, but decided, instead, to call it a day as well. If Newton was going to be so blase about work, then so could Hermann, by Jove.

Early evening, once Hermann’d already showered and dressed for bed, he received a message from LOCCENT informing him that Dr. Geiszler had tagged along with a team going out on a boat that morning at five to survey the Breach up close, and had, subsequently, fallen off the boat. Hermann scarcely waited to hear if they’d even managed to fish Newton out or not before he was out the door.

They had, it appeared, managed to fish Newton out.

Newton has the decency to hang his head, at least. “It was an accident,” he says.

Hermann swats at his shoulder again. Newton pouts. “What was? Deliberately not telling me you were going out, and in a storm at that?”

“Falling in,” Newton says, and then, in a rush, “It was windy, and I dropped my glasses on the deck and I was trying to find them, and there was a wave, and I kinda–” The noise Hermann makes–something akin to a small growl–clearly startles Newton, because he speaks even faster. “I was wearing a life vest, okay! I was only in the water for, like, five minutes tops. Tops. And I’m alive! So, no harm done?”

“No harm done,” Hermann echoes sarcastically, though his heart rate has gone down significantly since seeing Newton in one piece. He begins to fuss with Newton’s blanket. “Look at you. Didn’t they give you a towel first?” He presses the back of his hand to Newton’s forehead. “You’re freezing.”

“It’s sixty degrees out, Hermann,” Newton says, though he is shivering and leaning in to each one of Hermann’s touches. The moment the rain lets up a little, Hermann’s going to force him inside the lab at the side of the contraband space heater and wrap him up in three more blankets. Make him some tea. Now, with just the blanket from the emergency medical kit to work from, Hermann shoves Newton’s damp leather jacket off his shoulders and to take stock of the man, purposefully ignoring how see-through his usual white button up has become.

“And your glasses,” Hermann tsks, finally noticing their absence. Newton always seems strangely naked without his glasses. He tsks again. “Newton.”

“I have a spare pair!” Newton says, as if it makes the loss of them, expensive as it is to find anyone who’ll fill their prescriptions in a timely fashion these days, remotely better. Hermann adds that to his mental checklist of things to do: bundle Newton up by the space heater, make him tea, and go off to find the spare pair while Newton warms himself up. Newton fidgets. “Jesus. See, this is why I didn’t tell you I was going in the first place. I knew you’d get all–”

Hermann clenches the fingers of his left hand around one end of the blanket. “All what?”

“All pissy,” Newton says. “Like you are right now.”

“I’m only pissy,” Hermann shouts, and Newton winces, “because I thought you’d gone and gotten yourself drowned, and that I’d never–” He shuts his mouth. His cheeks feel hot. “I was worried about you,” he continues, moderately calmer.

“Oh,” Newton squeaks. “…You were?”

“Of course I was,” Hermann says.

There’s a tense moment of silence. Then Newton reaches out, very carefully, and covers Hermann’s right hand (still clutching the slippery head of his cane) with his left. He’s gazing at Hermann with wide eyes. Hermann swallows. “Newton–”

“Hey,” a crewman says, suddenly appearing over Newton’s shoulder, “you know, you guys aren’t technically supposed to be here–”

Newton drops his hand. “Sorry,” he says. He scrambles off the edge of the boat to the concrete of the base’s dock as Hermann stands, dazed and useless. “Uh, let’s–”

Hermann shakes himself. “Let’s get you inside,” he finishes. His face feels hotter than before.

“Inside,” Newton agrees. “Yeah.”

[writethelifeyouwant]

Chapter 3: I Need A Vacation

Characters: Spencer, JJ and family, Emily, Luke, Tara, Rossi, Penelope, OFC

Word Count: 2014

Warnings: Fluff and friendship :)

Summary: I was on vacation and then I was thinking about what they would be like on vacation and then I pushed my loneliness and need for love onto Spencer and this is essentially gonna be super fluffy and probably corny and just roll with it. Am open to taking constructive criticism as well as scenario suggestions! Because I have some semblance of plot laid out but that pesky middle bit is non existent at the moment. So enjoy your fluffy team bonding on a beach with eventual Spencer love interest! This work is cross posted on AO3 and FFN.

The air here felt remarkably different from home despite only being a couple hours drive away. Spencer had been to beaches before, obviously. His work with the BAU hadn’t seen fit to spare carefree vacation goers and their beach paradises. This was the first time he had been to a beach without looking for, or at, a dead body. He had resolved, despite his apprehension about the incredibly foreign social situation he was about to be presented with, to relax on this trip. He was here with his best friends, his family really, he wanted to enjoy himself.

Reid was still in his sleep clothes, a t-shirt and his boxer shorts covered by a lightweight robe, as he leaned against the outdoor balcony railing. He sipped steadily at the cup of coffee he held cradled between his hands. The beach in front of him had a few lone joggers and dog walkers making their way up and down the coast of the bay. It was shaping up to be a peaceful morning.

In the distance, he couldn’t tell from which direction it came, he heard the delighted squeals of young children. He didn’t expect those jubilant noises to practically slam into the door of his room however.

“Uncle Spencer!” Henry and Michael’s voices echoed past the sliding glass door Reid had left open behind him. Spencer smiled as he pulled himself off his forearms and set his coffee down on his way to the hotel room door.

“Hey guys!” Spencer opened the door to JJ and her boys, who happily rushed in to his room. Spencer scooped up Michael before he ran himself into the bed-frame. The little boy giggled happily as Spencer ruffled his hair and sat him down on the bed next to his brother.

“Sorry it’s early Spence, they really wanted to get down to the beach.” JJ shrugged apologetically but smiled indulgently at her sons all the while. “It’s fine, um, let me just get dressed I guessed?” Spence ran a hand absentmindedly through his hair as he glanced around trying to mentally assemble a beach version of a go bag. He evaluated JJ’s attire and accompanying straw bag, visibly overflowing with toys, towels and sunblock. Grabbing for his duffle bag he rooted through to find the swim shorts and a t-shirt that he took into the ensuite to throw on. It felt odd to be wearing such a casual outfit outside his apartment. Spencer couldn’t remember a time he’d worn anything other than a collared shirt around his friends, except to work out under incredible amounts of duress.

Emerging from the bathroom dressed and carrying a towel, Spencer stopped short and held his arms out in a mid-shrug, silently asking for JJ’s approval of the ensemble.

“Wow Spence,” JJ nodded, thinking she could get used to this more relaxed Spencer. “Did you even own swim trunks before Garcia conned you into this trip?”

“Absolutely not,” Spencer laughed, feeling free to move around the room and collect a few things to take down to the beach with him.

“Uncle Spencer, can we go swimming now?” Henry asked, looking up from his handheld game.

“Sure can, Henry,” Spencer checked he had his room key one more time before the group went back out into the hall, the boys running ahead in their excitement.

“Henry, go put your game back in the room and get your dad, okay,” JJ called. Henry didn’t acknowledge his mom’s request but did as he was told. Moments later Will popped out into the hall, camera strung around his neck.

“You boys ready?” Will clapped his hands together once and swung Michael up into his arms. “Beach time!”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The rest of the team filtered down onto the beach, carrying towels and coffees and books, all the supplies necessary for a day of doing absolutely nothing that didn’t involve relaxation and supplementing their vitamin D intake. Garcia came bouncing down with a swimsuit splattered in a bright sunflower pattern with matching bright yellow sunglasses in the shape of stars, and a silk sunflower pinned garishly onto her sunhat.

Rossi was sporting an impressive get up comprising of matching linen shorts and loose linen button down with a hat that made him look like a Cuban mafia boss. All he was missing was his cigar. Tara and Emily came down sporting very sleek black bikinis and sunglasses, primarily intent on scouting the available eye candy. Luke brought down a soccer ball with him, kicking it aimlessly along the sand to where everyone had set up their towels and personal effects.

Spencer was lounged on a towel at the edge of the team’s group, reading through the first of his stack of books. A short distance away from him lay an abandoned towel and beach bag. The spot had been unattended since he had arrived on the beach with JJ a little while ago, and sand was slowly gathering in the crevices of the beach towel. Perched on top of the beach bag was a crisp looking paperback, clearly purchased to be this girl’s summer beach read. Curiosity piqued, Spencer leaned over casually and shifted his gaze to get a better view of the cover. “The Once and Future King” by T.H White. Nice, Spencer thought, returning to his own sci-fi compendium.

“Hey Prentiss,” Luke shouted towards Emily from the other end of the group, “wanna go?” He pointed down to the soccer ball he was tapping between his toes. Emily smirked.

“I don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

“What, you’re not chicken are you?” Luke knew his taunt was childish but he also knew it would work.

“Loser buys the winner’s drinks tonight?” Emily rolled up from her towel, brushing the sand off her thighs as she went.

“Goal’s that way!” Luke shouted as he ran past Emily, kicking the ball further up the beach. She tore after him, the picture of focus.

JJ came jogging back up the beach, leaning down over her own bag to extract a small inflatable life vest. “Are you gonna come in the water at all Spence?” JJ laughed.

“You know, since global warming has begun to increase the temperatures in the Atlantic there’s been a proliferation of vibrio vulnificus in the bays and inlets along the Chesapeake coast.” Spencer informed her.

“Do I want to know what that is?” JJ laughed, but nervously.

“It’s a rare flesh eating bacteria,” Spencer nodded calmly. JJ looked panicked for a second before Spencer’s poker face broke and he laughed, starting to pull himself up from the sand. JJ signed with relief, realising that Spencer wasn’t actually concerned about being eaten by microorganisms. “Don’t worry, people hardly ever catch it.” Spencer started to walk down towards the water and JJ followed, shaking her head a little in stunned disbelief.

Seeing them coming, Michael toddled away from Will with his arms outstretched. “Mommy, mommy!”

“Hey munchkin,” JJ groaned as she swung the boy up into her arms. “My goodness you’re getting heavy! When did you get so big?” Michael giggled as JJ tickled around his chin, life vest still slung over her arm. Will strolled forward and gave JJ a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m gonna go lay down for a bit, good luck with this one,” he huffed, ruffling Henry’s hair.

“Did you tucker your dad out, huh?” She questioned Michael as she put him back down and walked with him back to the water’s edge, Spencer trailing behind them leisurely. “Henry, come over here and put this on!” JJ waved the life jacket above her head.

“Ugh mom do I have to?” Henry pouted but came back over to grab the jacket anyhow, his blonde hair plastered down over his eyes.

“You have to wear it if you want to go any deeper young man.”

“Fine,” Henry mumbled, blowing into the little tube that inflated the vest. The sun was hot, and getting hotter the higher it moved in the sky, which felt at odds with the fairly strong breeze that was coming off the water in the inlet. Last night it had been peaceful, with barely any visible movement beyond the foaming of the surf as it ran into the shore. Today there were waves moving diagonally across the surface of the water, crashing in on themselves a few yards before they made it to the edge of the beach. Spencer had noticed more than one small child get bowled over in a white cap that day, and understood perfectly well why JJ was insisting Henry put on a life-vest if he wanted to go any deeper than his knees.

“Are you coming Uncle Spencer?” Henry’s question broke Reid from his thoughts and he blinked down at the boy.

“Henry, I will go into the water if you answer me these riddles three,” Spencer’s eyebrows waggled in an echo of his fingers as a mischievous grin sprung across his face.

“Is one of those riddles how you got wet?” Henry asked innocently.

“What do you mean I’m not-“ Spencer spluttered in the middle of his sentence as Henry grabbed a pail from Michael and tossed a bucketload of water right in Spencer’s face.

“Oh, you are gonna get it!” Spencer ran after Henry as he cackled and ran headfirst into the ocean spray.

The waves were cresting heavily that day, spurred on by the wind that was also whipping up clouds of sand along the shore. Spencer and Henry pushed their way through the crashing water as they chased each other. JJ stayed back with Michael, letting him plod along beside her as the tide washed over his toes. From her vantage point on the beach Garcia was taking dozens of photos, smiling as Spencer lost his balance and was toppled over by a wave. “Hey, send me those will you, Penelope?” Will laughed, peaking over her shoulder.

“Sure thing, sugar,” Penelope smiled.

“Mom, I wanna go further!” Henry’s complaining shouts reached back to them.

“Henry,” JJ shook her head at him, “I already told you no, that’s far enough. I can’t even touch the bottom out there.”

“But mom-“

“I can take him out,” Spencer volunteered, pushing his sopping hair back off of his face.

“No, Spence I can’t ask you to do that.”

“No, I don’t mind.” Spencer assured her. “The water will actually be gentler if we go a little deeper, it will be mostly swells instead of waves.”

JJ still looked hesitant but the look on Henry’s face, a well-practiced mix of anger and pathetic pleading, crumpled her convictions. “Okay, but hang on to him. And Henry you listen to Spencer out there.”

“Yes mom,” Henry’s mocking tone didn’t hide his excitement effectively.

“Okay, how far do you wanna go Henry?” Spencer asked.

“Out there,” Henry pointed towards where a woman with ocean darkened hair was bobbing up and down over the swelling sea. Spencer and Henry splashed across the sand and let the waves tumble them into the deep.

Pushing out into the ocean amidst the swells was a sensation that Spencer had never experienced before. As the wind drove the sea up and down around them it felt like he was being loomed over by a wall of water but he could still feel his toes buried comfortingly in the sand. And as the water came nearer he would push gently off the ground, gripping Henry’s arm to pull him along, to float easily over the top of the surge that had seconds before threatened to engulf him. It was simultaneously relaxing and exhilarating, and he laughed. Spencer’s laugh was loud and careless and utterly without thought. It was happy.

Time was obviously passing but Spencer wasn’t inclined to measure it. In this moment he felt happier than he could remember being in years. He grabbed for Henry’s waist and hoisted him up and over the oncoming swells, holding him out so he could pretend he was a superhero, flying above the waves. However, a moment later Spencer’s oblivion was shattered as a swell began to fold early, white foam raging forward to engulf Henry and drag him from Spencer’s grasp. The wave hit Spencer square in the face and he was shoved backwards with the strength of it, spluttering and coughing while he tried to regain his footing.

It could only have been a second that his eyes were closed but when he pried them open again, fighting the sting of the saltwater as it seeped past his lids, Spencer realised he could no longer see Henry. Panic shredded his thoughts as he launched himself into the water, grasping through thee sea in front of him and praying his fingers could find what his eyes couldn’t. Behind him Spencer heard a shout, devoid of any real words. Spinning he saw, with intense relief, the bright orange of Henry’s life vest and a small head of wet blonde hair, coughing as he tried to clear the water from his throat. Holding him above the waves was a petite, tan figure with dark hair splayed across her cheeks.

[higgsburyscience]

oooo perhaps maxwil+humiliation?

Wilson had never wondered before what he would do to eat.

In a past life, the one he'd lived before he'd gone to America, before he'd come to this accursed island with its wretched forests and impossible caves, he had been the son of aristocracy, the very cream of society. He had always had more than enough to eat. He never would have imagined being obliged to question where his next meal would come from.

Now he was shaking, an emptiness in his belly gnawing painfully through his insides as his wretched body demanded sustenance that he just wasn't giving it. His traps were empty, the bushes no longer producing for the searing heat that burned the life out of every living thing. The hunger made him weak, and the weakness made foraging in this hellish place that much more difficult.

He had no idea where his next meal would come from.

Here he'd thought the winter had been bad.

With a shaky sigh and the help of a handmade shovel, the scientist lowered himself to sit on the ground beneath the shelter of a makeshift lean-to, just to keep out of the sight of the cruel sun as it finally began to descend from the unlikely sky. He scratched lightly at the stubble that had begun to darken his face once again, and tried hard to ignore the audible groan that issued from his belly as the gnawing carried on tormenting him.

The evening would bring little relief, that was something he could be sure of— the heat here stayed thick in the summer air well into the dead of the night, and the Darkness was itself a hunter that would prey upon him if given a ghost of a chance. What cruel irony it would be to end up a meal in search of his own food. It was enough to bring a bitter chuckle to his throat, barely spilling over his dry, cracked lips.

Wilson couldn't tell if he'd lost weight, but he was sure that he must have, by now. Food had been getting scarcer and scarcer as the summer had worn on, and it had been days since he'd managed to get anything to eat at all. It wouldn't be long now before he became dizzy, and then sick from famish. What came next? He couldn't think of it right now...

Ah! What he could think of was some potential solution to all this. It was a long shot, a poor solution, and yet it was all he could come up with. Perhaps, Wilson thought, if he called upon the master of this island, he might be enticed to come and bargain with him. No, really it wasn't much, but it was better than sitting around idle waiting for the gnawing to expose his bones.

"Maxwell," he murmured. "Maxwell, are you there?"

Nothing happened. It was expected, but disappointing. It wasn't as if he still had that radio; he didn't have some direct line to the man. How could Maxwell possibly hear him? It was unscientific, even by the ridiculous standards of the Constant and its hellish lack of logic.

Frustrated, Wilson leaned against his shovel and groaned unintelligible curses into the rough wood. How could he have fallen so far? What could possess him to leave behind all he knew and grasp at twisted faerie tales?

"Say, pal. You don't look so good."

Wilson jumped with a most undignified yelp at the sound of the familiar greeting, snatching his shovel from the ground and rocking back to wield it breathlessly toward the source before he could even process the words. The Constant had made him paranoid; it had made him a survivor.

"My, my," chided the man standing now in Wilson's camp, tall and dark and sharp as knives. His eyes burned gold against the umber of his skin and the purple of evening, and his grin was fit to cut Wilson to ribbons. "Jumpy, are we? Here I just came because I thought you might be in need of a helping hand."

Wilson pressed his lips into a line and wrinkled his nose at the would-be helping hand, stained pitch black and talon-like. He accepted it anyway, dropping the shovel unceremoniously as he was drawn to his feet almost entirely without his strength.

"Well, I thank you, Maxwell," Wilson answered primly, releasing Maxwell's hand to wipe his own on his vest, "I must say, I, ah, didn't quite expect you to hear me."

"Oh no? I believe I told you that I would, if ever you spoke my name." Maxwell asked, raising an eyebrow. He gestured into the air, and a cigar manifested itself in his newly freed hand. He took a drag, long and thoughtful, and held it contemplatively before blowing smoke into the air like a modern dragon. Only once the smoke had dissipated completely did he go on to comment coolly, "But let's get straight to the point. It seems to me that you've been out of food for a while, right, pal? Lucky for you, I would so regret to see our little game to end so soon."

Wilson huffed, and he went to answer, but Maxwell was shaking his head, and that was just enough to give him pause. The magician pointed a finger like a claw toward the scientist's belly, and almost at once Wilson was made aware of the gnawing all over again, his stomach groaning as if in the pain it caused him. He winced, and Maxwell seemed satisfied.

"Don't be so quick to refute me, Higgsbury. After all, wasn't it you who called upon me?" Maxwell pointed out. He took another drag from his cigar, and allowed Wilson to speak what he wished now that he had been afforded a moment to reconsider his words.

As the magician had anticipated, Wilson had changed his answer, no longer wasting time arguing but instead asking, "Alright, so I concede you are correct. But what would it cost me, your helping hand? I have nothing to offer except what you see before you."

Maxwell's expression betrayed how pleased he was by this, yet he remained thoughtful, exhaling smoke, planning his every word as if he were strategizing a war. It was a war he would win, had already won; he had only to deliver that final blow and declare his victory. The only thing he had left to do was to decide what steps would bring him to that moment, unchallenged.

"I do see some value in what lies before me," Maxwell began idly, watching Wilson wipe the sweat off his sticky brow. "These tools are well-crafted, if of no use to me." he nudged the forsaken shovel with the toe of a well-polished shoe as he said this. Then he paused and gave a chuckle, a low huff of a sound that had no successor. "And then, of course, you stand before me. A scientist and a gentleman, am I wrong?"

Wilson froze, feeling the heat drained out of is body and leaving him numb to the overwhelming summer bearing down around him. Surely Maxwell could not imply what he seemed to. He could not have looked into Wilson's thoughts to turn his unspoken ideas against him, nor worse— could he intend to use his body in return for food!

Evidently the scientist's emotions were clear in his features, for Maxwell quirked an eyebrow and cocked his head slightly to one side with a bemused but pleasant smirk. Wilson was so humiliated he could have thrown himself to the mercy of the Merms.

"My... what are you imagining?" Maxwell asked. He dismissed the cigar once more with a wave of his hand and stepped towards Wilson, closing the distance between them easily with a single stride of those long legs.

There he was, suddenly, close enough to touch. And touch he did, putting a hand on Wilson's chin to tilt back the scientist's head, forcing him to look at him with gentle talons. There was a long silence, pouring into the emptiness that had made such work of Wilson's insides until he was full of it. He could see nothing but the gold of Maxwell's eyes and breathe nothing but his cologne, heady like musk. His face was hotter than the deadly summer itself.

"What do you think I was going to ask in return?" Maxwell asked, his voice dropping low, resonating with Wilson's very heartbeat. "What do you want me to ask?"

Wilson swallowed, shivering. To speak seemed an impossible task, beyond the reach of a simple human so intent only on living. Barely an aristocrat now, he was; his pride and education were all he had left of that life. His wealth and family were behind him, his handsome pale skin burned by chemicals, his fine ebony hair made wild from his life in the Constant. What good had any of it done him?

His hands came up to rest on Maxwell's chest as if of their own accord, and he looked at him with such earnestness that it could give the King of Shadows pause, even for an instant, as he waited to see what answer Wilson would give.

"I can't say I know what you're implying," the scientist said slowly, as the words stuck to his tongue and refused to leave a noble mouth, "but tell me so I may... consider it."

Maxwell's gentle touch became a harsh grip, almost enough to hurt. "Consider it?" he asked coyly. "There's nothing you wouldn't do to get my help, is there? Tell me, you would do anything." He drew out the final word deliberately, clearly enjoying its implications.

Wilson was beginning to reconsider, seriously entertaining the idea of giving this whole thing up and taking his chances foraging. Yet, the pain in his empty stomach wouldn't allow his pride to win this debate; it swallowed it down and forced him to put up his white flag.

"Yes! Do I have to spell it out?" Wilson's embarrassment was rough in his voice, impatient and high, making his accent seem more pronounced than usual. His wide eyes were like silver before Maxwell's gold. He went on unbidden, letting that frustration carry his words. "If you want me to beg, or you're intent on using me, or you've something else entirely up your sleeve, you have only to say it. My situation is as desperate as you believe, I'm starving. Does that satisfy you? Do you want me to go on?"

Maxwell drank this in, taking his time in turning it over in the way that had become characteristic over the course of this encounter. It was enough to make Wilson feel even weaker than the hunger had already made him, until his knees were shaking and his legs threatened to give way and drop him to the ground.

At length, the King of Shadows finally released Wilson's chin and took a step back, affording the scientist a little space once more. It was almost possible to breathe again, but Wilson didn't dare to try. He had to stay still lest he risk dropping to his knees of his own volition.

The cigar returned and with it, Maxwell's smirk. Wilson steeled himself to keep from falling.

"Hmm... I believe I'm satisfied already,"Maxwell said, gesturing with the cigar. "I suppose for now I'll leave it at that."

"What?" Wilson was so shocked that he was almost disappointed. "You... you aren't still going to help me? Don't you still require some tribute?"

"I liked hearing you betray that aristocratic pride of yours," Maxwell replied with a wink that sent chills down Wilson's spine. It was not unpleasant. "So, I'll leave it at that. This time."

He busied himself with his cigar for a moment, then, with smoke pouring out of his mouth he said, "Now, I do wish I could stick around, Higgsbury, but unfortunately, I do have somewhere I need to be. Until next time, pal."

He was gone before Wilson could reply, twisting tendrils of wispy shadow taking over his form and leaving only a purple smoke which quickly dissipated in his absence. It was how he always left; with the flair of a natural stage performer. It was always disappointing to see, in some odd way that stirred vaguely in the places that the gnawing hadn't yet eaten away.

Wilson was left with a small chest, which, upon opening, he found to be filled with fresh food. He touched it with an awed hand, almost unable to believe that it was real, before he began to eat with abandon, his cheeks flushed and his mind entirely on Maxwell, who took only the offered pieces of his pride, and nothing more.

[ladymacbethsspot]

Exquisite

Eruri Week 2018, Day 4, prompt: Hands

Pink suits. Smut. 1.5k words.

It was supposed to be a day full of joy- to celebrate the love of friends, but all Erwin felt was overwhelmingly horny.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying not to stare at the man sitting next to him, the picture of ease and nonchalance. Levi looked out onto the dancefloor, grey eyes hooded and bored, leaning back with his legs crossed. One hand rested on the bright pink fabric of his suit trousers, laid casually on his thigh.

One hand encased in tight, thin leather.

Black half-gloves that hugged the outline of long, delicate fingers.

Gloves that left pale wrists bare, an elegant curve defining each fragile joint.

Such a small hand.

Its presence immense: suffocating.

Erwin shivered- he knew exactly what that hand felt like on his body. Imagining it wrapped around his cock wasn’t helping.

He wasn’t supposed to be this horny at a wedding. He was supposed to eat, and dance, and not think about pulling Levi’s sinfully tight gloves off with his teeth. He was supposed to congratulate Hanji and Moblit instead of envisioning that skinny pink tie wrapped around Levi’s wrists, holding how down.

Levi’s fingers tapped on the field on pink, blackest shadow outlined and glaring. Not with nervousness, they beat an inaudible rhythm. One that soaked into Erwin’s bones, that he gulped down with starved eyes, that his heart matched without meaning. Inevitable in their pull.

Unthinkable in what they did to him.

Grey eyes turned from watching the dance floor to glance down at the plate, and Erwin’s followed. A square of cake was plucked with the utmost of care from white china, two fingers barely keeping it from falling. Two fingers covered in black, the dull shine of leather stark against the pale pink dessert. The square hovered, anticipation rising in Erwin’s chest as it approached Levi’s mouth. As thin lips parted, and the cake moved ever so slowly.

Levi’s mouth opened, and Erwin’s groin ached.

There was no way the square of cake would fit. He hadn’t opened his mouth nearly enough.

And yet.

Levi had never had any trouble before.

Even with things that were plenty bigger.

Two fingers pressed the cake between Levi’s lips, the way it dragged on them making the muscles in Erwin’s thighs clench.

Looking up from the plate, Levi’s calm eyes met Erwin’s.

He was caught.

The flash of panic was impossible to suppress.

But it felt good too, a thrill that only grew as the corner of Levi’s mouth turned up and he chewed the cake slowly, his fingers still in the air before his mouth. The treat finished, he swallowed, the slight bob of his Adam’s apple almost making Erwin break their eye contact.

But he didn’t.

Levi’s gloved fingers came up, closer until they grazed his lips, a bit of frosting left on their tips. He licked it off, the fingers into his mouth. One at a time. Not breaking his dark stare.

Not blinking.

Still hungry.

Erwin let out a weak groan, and felt his resolve flee with it.

Before he could think they were out in the hall, who had left the table first didn’t matter. Everyone was busy dancing, drinking- but they had other business. Business that could be fulfilled only once Erwin found his back pressed against the wall down a dim hall he hoped no one would find. Not that it mattered either. Nothing mattered more than Levi kneeling between his legs, tugging his belt open, his black shirt and pink vest already pushed up and out of the way while Levi nipped and sucked at his abdomen.

The cool of the air-conditioned hallway hit Erwin as his pants and underwear were pushed down, reddened cock bouncing free. Levi smirked up at him, making Erwin groan again- seeing the mischief in Levi’s now-dark eyes.

One small hand traced up from his knee, its touch burning a path even through the loose bunched fabric. It hit skin, the tickling lines drawn through blonde hair up to the sensitive skin of Erwin’s inner thigh already lightening straight to his groin. Fingers moving, a shadow of black nothing eating up the field of skin before them. They reached the top of his thigh, stroking lazily where his leg ended, the sensitive hollow so close, but so far from his throbbing cock.

Levi’s fingers circled closer, brushing over his balls, making the skin there tighten in response. Pleased with the response, they paused, passing behind to cup them for a moment, squeezing until the pressure made Erwin’s head fall back and his throat open to pull in air he’d been denying himself. Finally remembering to breath, prompted by the clarity of pain.

Levi’s grip eased and slid up, long fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. Erwin’s hips pressed forward, only to be pushed back hard by Levi’s other hand on his hip.

“Don’t move,” Levi whispered, “You wanted this, now take it.”

Erwin couldn’t deny it. He didn’t dare. Not with Levi’s hand stroking slowly up and down his heated length. Not with the tug and slip as thin leather stuck to his overheated skin, building friction until it released, sliding easily only to tug and slip again.

He might not be able to move, but Erwin was able to watch. So small, Levi’s hands always looked so small. Especially on his body, their boundaries clearly marked by the dark gloves, the little fist clenched around his cock as it stroked sending waves of greedy heat through him as they wound him tight.

They had to work harder, those thin fingers, to cover the whole length- and work harder they did.

Levi let him watch, forced him to as his head moved, mouth finding the soft skin of Erwin’s thigh where he sucked long deep marks into trembling flesh. The blooming purple ache each place Levi’s mouth had been, and the hard points of his teeth kept Erwin’s eyes wide, his breath ragged, his every nerve alight.

As the motion of Levi’s hand grew quicker, squeezing harder at his base and twisting slightly as it travelled up, Erwin’s hand felt the wall for support. He needed its solid comfort now, as Levi sucked every ounce of strength from his thighs and stroked every drop of reserve from his cock.

Pausing for a moment, and looking up from a fall of dark hair, Levi stared at him. Black eyelashes almost hiding half-open eyes, Erwin bit his lip as he stared back. A single finger felt slowly over the ridge of his cock’s head, smearing silken black through the precum beaded there. Soft but harsh, Levi dragged his palm over the end of Erwin’s cock, leaving shining stickiness in his wake. The hand slid back down, thumb tracing and massaging into the place where the head of his cock met the underside of its shaft, stroking his frenulum. Erwin moaned, knowing anyone could hear and reveling in it.

As Levi’s fist found an even rhythm, one that Erwin knew he wouldn’t outlast for long, he felt the brush of something between the cheeks of his bare ass. With a gasp he realized what it was, the fingers of Levi’s other hand, tracing up from behind his balls to stroke the tightness of his asshole. His hips jerked forward, uncontrolled.

“I fucking told you,” Levi hissed, “Don’t move. We don’t have any fucking lube, and we can’t afford accidents.”

With a whimper, Erwin’s hips stilled. He tried to focus, urging his body still as the pressure between his cheeks increased. The kisses to his thighs returned as Levi switched to the other leg. The lingering, wet strokes on his skin, and the even stroking on his cock eased his body enough to let two small fingers press into him: velvet and cool. The exquisite stretch as they slowly sought deeper only enhanced the heat washing from his groin.

Overwhelmed, tortured by bruising kisses on his thighs, brought to the edge and let hang there as Levi’s hand around his cock took on an unhurried pace even as he grew tighter and hotter, Erwin hung in space and time. The moments stretched, each press and stroke of Levi’s fingers within him magnified as it reverberated, plucking at nerves drawn tight. His cock throbbed, release so close but denied him by the barely-there flutter of Levi’s fingers over it.

Erwin’s throat opened, his head lolled back.

“Please,” he croaked.

Levi’s hand squeezed his cock, sending pleasure shooting through him as a fevered pace renewed. With a final press of fullness stroked forward within him and a twist of Levi’s wrist, Erwin came. Gasping and babbling Levi’s name, jaw tight, his body clenched in waves. Levi’s hand had stilled on his cock, but the fingers inside dragged over his prostate, pushing the air from his lungs as his orgasm burnt roman candles through frayed synapses, overloading all sense until nothing remained. Until he slumped, spent and gasping, relying entirely on the wall to stand.

Levi’s fingers eased from his ass, and Erwin looked down to see grey eyes trained on him, drinking in his every twitch. He smiled weakly, enjoying the sight of his lover kneeling before him.

Exquisite.

Sinful black gloves.

Dotted with stray pearls.

So generous.

So cruel.

Levi knew exactly how to break a man.

[thestoryweneededtowrite]

Javid Titanic AU - Part 13

This was not meant to be done tonight but what do you know, it is.

I’d say this chapter is like a 12 rating, maybe. It’s not that explicit, but it’s as not-PG as this story gets.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Eventually turning back to kiss Jack started to give Davey a crick in his neck, and the sharp flare of pain brought some sense back to him. Whilst he had no desire to put an end to anything, they were somewhere that was incredibly public and increasingly uncomfortable. He wasn’t quite sure what would happen if another passenger or a crewmember found two men making out, but he figured it wasn’t worth the risk of finding out. Not when there was a far more attractive alternative.

Pushing Jack away just a little so he had space to climb down from the railings, Davey turned to face him.

“Come with me,” he requested, surprising himself with his confidence - he didn’t even have to phrase it as a question. “Anywhere,” Jack breathed, wrapping his arms back around Davey’s waist to pull him close for another kiss. He was completely drunk in love with this man and he would happily follow him to the end of the earth if it meant he got to kiss him and keep making him smile.

Davey grinned, giving in to the kiss in the knowledge that they were probably going to have to go without for a few minutes whilst they navigated their way through the ship.

“Somewhere with a door that locks,” he clarified, with an innocent smile ��� though he felt anything but.

Staring at him for a long moment, Jack tilted his head and tried to work out what Davey was insinuating. There was a lot they could do it a locked room, but there had to be a line somewhere and the sooner he knew where it was, the sooner he could manage his expectations. Still, anything Davey wanted to do was going to be worth it, so Jack nodded and let himself be led across the deck.

They dropped each other’s hand as soon as they heard voices, knowing that they were going to draw far less attention if they weren’t visibly together. Everything passed in a blur to Jack and he was glad Davey knew where they were going or he’d never remember the way from that morning. He was itching to grab Davey’s hand again or to push him against the nearest wall with a kiss but that wasn’t going to help them in their attempt to be subtle. Davey was giddy with the knowledge of what he’d just done and what he was going to be doing, and he was almost surprised he remembered his way around.

As soon as they got to the corridor that the cabins were off, Jack couldn’t help himself anymore. There was no one in sight so, taking the risk, he pulled Davey in for a brief kiss, catching him by surprise. Davey just blinked, a little taken aback, but not about to complain. There was a thrill that came with kissing Jack in public, he was fast learning, a shot of adrenaline to go with the rush of dopamine that kicked in. It felt like he’d downed a glass of wine too fast. Now he’d started kissing Jack, he was certain he’d never be able to stop.

Wanting to return the affection but knowing his room was only metres away, Davey took Jack’s hand and pulled him down the corridor. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, smiling when Jack’s hands found his waist again, and ungracefully fumbled with the lock mechanism until the door swung open. Once they were both inside he locked the door and left the key there so it couldn’t be unlocked from the other side. That click was the best sound he’d ever heard: no one was walking in on him this time.

When he turned around, Jack was watching him. He didn’t give a second thought to the opulent surroundings, he just couldn’t look away from the poor little rich boy who had turned his life upside down. Davey knew he was blushing – he couldn’t help it. Jack’s eyes were so honest and so open, and no one had ever looked at him like he was worth so much. Albert had been confusion and experiment and a little pent-up desire, but Jack? Jack was everything. Davey wasn’t confused anymore.

He crossed the room, snagging Jack’s hand as he passed, and sat down on the couch, pulling Jack down beside him.

“What – uh, what do you want?” Jack asked roughly, needing to clear his voice halfway through.

“Make me feel everything they say I shouldn’t,” Davey said. He didn’t need to elaborate, Jack got it.

Gently, Jack reached up and cupped Davey’s jaw, tracing over his cheek with his thumb. Then he replaced his palm with his lips, kissing a trail and shifting so his knees were up on the sofa and Davey’s weight was resting back against the cushions.

Kissing Davey was an experience. Jack started slow, hands tracing gentle shapes and lips barely brushing – because Davey was new to all this and he was trying to be respectful and courteous. Only then Davey would kiss back and bite at Jack’s bottom lip, and he managed to forget Davey hadn’t really done this before and things got rougher and deeper and hotter. Until Davey whimpered or gasped when Jack trailed a hand up his inner thigh or tugged too hard on his hair, and then Jack would remember who he was kissing and he’d slow things back down again, only for Davey to pull him closer, or guide his hand back to his thigh, and so the cycle repeated itself again and again. Jack was getting dizzy, and he needed a break for a moment.

“Still think I’m bad for ya?” he teased, leaning away to withhold another kiss until he got an answer.

Davey hummed for a long moment, unsure exactly what he believed now. “For my productivity and general sanity? Yes. For my public image and my relationship with my parents? Yes. For my soul?” he paused for dramatic effect, trying to maintain a blank face. He managed a couple of seconds before slipping into a smile. “You’ll do just fine.”

Jack grinned and leant down for another kiss, only to be stopped when Davey reached up a hand. He figured this was it. Davey had realised he’d had enough and was going to kick him out. He was biting his lip and looking guilty, so Jack figured it had to be that. Sighing and moving away, Jack resigned himself to grabbing his stuff and going back down to steerage. But then Davey grabbed his suspenders and stopped him going too far.

“Draw me. Like that boy,” he said, all in one breath like he was almost afraid of it.

He didn’t necessarily just want to be another one of the men in Jack’s sketchbook, just a face that Jack wouldn’t be able to put a name to in a year or so, but he wanted there to be something tangible to mark this. If they got to America and parted ways forever, he wanted to know that somewhere there was drawing of him that proved this all really happened.

Jack smirked, relaxing again. He knew exactly what boy, what sketch, Davey was referring to, but that wasn’t how it worked. To get a drawing like that, he needed the subject to be sated and drowsy and boneless.

“I’d need to sleep with you first,” he shrugged, certain it wasn’t going to happen.

“Yes,” Davey said, immediately.

Well, that changed things. Jack stared at him, shocked. Surely he wasn’t actually agreeing to the half-hearted proposition.

"Davey…?” he trailed off, laughing shakily. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears. He’d slept with plenty of people, but it had never felt as important as this.

“Yes,” Davey repeated, ignoring the fact that his hands were shaking and his cheeks were the reddest it was possible for them to be.

"You’re going to be the death of me,” Jack managed, completely thrown.

"Come here,” Davey smiled, climbing off the sofa and leading Jack through to his bedroom. Jack followed willingly, like he knew he always would.

Climbing back onto the bed without breaking eye contact, Davey stripped off his bowtie and waistcoat and undid the first couple of buttons of his shirt so Jack knew this was all okay. He was still in his clothes from dinner so it felt like there were far too many layers to take off, even if he had left his tailcoat behind at the table when he’d ran. Jack was happy to take over, finishing off the buttons and untucking Davey’s vest so he could splay his fingers out over his stomach and watch his breath hitch at the contact.

“Okay?” he whispered, needing to be sure.

Davey just nodded, reaching out to pull Jack’s suspenders down over his arms and frantically fiddling with the buttons on Jack’s tattered shirt. Laughing, Jack just pulled it over his head still half buttoned and tossed it to the side. He was still in a worn vest of his own but it was clearly the most undressed Davey had ever seen another man, from the way he wasn’t quite sure where to look.

“I… I don’t know how to…” Davey waved his hands vaguely, a little flustered.

“That’s alright. We can do this one step at a time?” Jack promised, kissing Davey gently when he got an enthusiastic nod in return. “You got any kinda oil?” he asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

Davey blinked, convinced he’d heard wrong. “What for?” “I’m gonna cook with it,” Jack teased gently, bopping Davey on the nose and rolling his eyes.  “What’d’ya think it’s for.” “Oh!” Davey gasped, as soon as it occurred to him. His face suddenly caught fire, warmth rushing to his cheeks to turn them scarlet. They needed something so they could do that. He couldn’t think in more specifics – he was afraid he might get too lightheaded if he tried. Besides, he wasn’t even quite sure how everything worked. “No,” he said sadly. Oil hadn’t been something he ever thought he’d need, so there went his chance to get his drawing added to Jack’s collection of sketches.

Smiling fondly at the disappointed expression on Davey’s face, Jack pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“That’s okay, there are plenty other ways for me to make ya feel good,” he promised, with every intention of making good on his word. He returned his hands to the bare skin under Davey’s vest and pushed upwards, planning on getting rid of all the remaining layers of clothing between them. Davey had no objections, not anymore.

***

They lay breathing in sync on the bed afterwards, neither wanting to break the comfortable silence first. Jack had no reservations about being naked, lying on top of the sheets and tracing Davey’s cheekbones with this thumb. Davey was shyer, tucking himself under the bedding and hiding just a little. He watched as Jack’s gaze turned from relaxed and loving to slightly more calculating. Just as Davey started to get worried, Jack rolled away. Reaching out to grab his arm, Davey whined in protest. He didn’t want this to ever end. If it did then he had to face his parents, and the longer he could put that off, the better.

Jack laughed, taking Davey’s hand from his arm and kissing the back of it like he’d done on the staircase. He reached down and pulled on his drawers.

“You wanted me to draw ya, remember? I gotta move for that,” he explained.

Davey pouted but Jack refused to be encouraged back to bed by those gorgeous blue eyes until he’d collected his sketching supplies from the sitting room. When he climbed back onto the bed with the paper and charcoal in hand he considered slipping back out of the underwear, but chances were Davey was going to be more comfortable if he kept them on.

Davey watched as Jack made sure the tip of his stick of charcoal was sharp enough and found an empty page in his sketchbook. He remembered that original drawing, the way it was scandalously indecent without actually showing anything, and he gingerly pushed down the bed sheet until it was bunched around his hips. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.

“This okay?” he asked, his mouth dry.

“Perfect,” Jack nodded, staring. He didn’t just mean for the sketch.

Shaking himself out of his fixation, Jack started to trace out the outlines for the drawing, lightly shading the parts he knew he wanted to be in shadow. Davey tried to bear Jack’s eyes on him, so intently focused on the planes of his body, but eventually he started to shuffle uncomfortably. Sensing he needed a little encouragement, Jack pulled himself away from the sketch.

“Hey, hey, no. You ain’t gotta get embarrassed. You’re pretty, Dave. Real pretty,” he said, and he meant it.

Blushing and wishing he could pull the sheet right over his head and hide, Davey mumbled something that sounded vaguely like thank you and resolutely stared a hole into the wall behind Jack’s head.

“Look at me,” Jack coaxed, wanting to capture that expression in Davey’s eyes.

So Davey did, and he found that Artist Jack had given way to the Jack who had made him feel like the world had stopped turning, just for a second, and that was all he needed to take a deep breath and relax back against the bed, holding still so Jack could finish the drawing. It might have been held in the same sketchbook as the picture of the stranger Jack had slept with before, but Davey was pretty sure this was different. Jack was going to remember his name.

Part 14

[vaenire]

everyone lives but baze au pt 1/3. word count: 2,067

Baze was there when Chirrut awoke in the infirmary on Yavin IV. He had needed time to recover from the burns along his back from the explosions, and the various cuts and bruises he had sustained in the fight on Scarif. Baze watched over him the entire time.

 A monitor beside his bed alerted the others that he was conscious. A nurse responded, explaining where he was preventing him from sitting up.

 “Sir, you’re still healing from your wounds,” he explained. “Don’t move too quickly.”

 In a moment, Jyn was beside the nurse, reassuring Chirrut with a gentle hand. Baze had seen her come and go in the days that followed the Scarif battle; he was pleased to see her limp lessen until it was nearly undetectable.

 “Where’s Baze?” Chirrut asked her.

 A look passed between Jyn and the nurse. Silently, the nurse retreated to the other room. Jyn sat on the edge of the infirmary bed, and reached for Chirrut’s hand laying at his side.

 “Where is he?” Chirrut asked, more hushed.

 “He didn’t make it, Chirrut,” she said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

 Chirrut didn’t move for a long moment, staring at a spot he couldn’t see on Jyn’s shoulder, his breathing shallow but even. He swallowed, nodded, looked away from her.

 “He protected you,” she said. Baze could see how she ran her thumb in a soothing circle on the back of Chirrut’s hand.

 Chirrut took a long, slow breath. “Could I,” he began. He exhaled slowly. “Could I have a moment, Jyn?”

 “Of course.” She got up to leave, and remember something last second. “Bodhi wants to see you, when you’re ready.”

 Chirrut nodded weakly as the full effect of his burn wounds seemed to catch up with him. She left the room.

 Chirrut stared up at the ceiling sightlessly. Baze watched his face carefully, aching to comfort him, to let him know that he was with him and he was okay.

 Chirrut’s lips tightened, first. His brow knit close, and he shut his eyes. The lines between his brows and at the corners of his eyes deepened, his nose scrunching up. His shoulders concaved slightly, surely aggravating the healing burns on the tops of his arms and his upper back.

 When Baze died, it had only been painful for a moment. He laid eyes on Chirrut one last time and his vision was swallowed by the yellow of the Death Trooper’s grenade.

 Slowly, the yellow had ebbed into a soft gray, like he was laying on the ground staring up at an approaching storm cloud on Jedha. He felt warm, content, perfectly at ease. He felt himself easing back, into the gray. Letting go of his life and his identity.

 Chirrut, he had thought quite suddenly, jerking back into sentience. He looked around the amorphous gray surrounding him (was ‘look’ accurate, anymore, now that he didn’t have a body?) but Chirrut was nowhere to be found.

 Like being pulled up and out of a pool of water, Baze found his consciousness inserted back into the living world, in this room in the infirmary in the Rebel base on Yavin IV.

 No one could see him, no one could hear him when he tried to speak. At one point, when a nurse came in to redress Chirrut’s wounds, Baze willed himself to touch the nurse. She had turned, looking up expectantly to find no one standing behind her. She cocked her head and turned back to her work. That small gesture had taken a lot of Baze’s energy, and he lost the connection to the room for a period. It felt like falling asleep, but when he woke again, he could not tell how much time had passed.

 So he stayed in the corner of the room, waiting for Chirrut to wake.

 But now, Chirrut lay silently working through his grief. Even if it took Baze a while to come back from the gray, he couldn’t stop himself from trying to comfort him.

 Baze focused, willing his hand to be felt by Chirrut as he cupped his cheek. It’s okay, he hoped Chirrut could understand. I’m okay. I’m here.

 The edges of Baze’s vision softened out, turning gray, but he saw Chirrut’s shock, heard his gasp. Chirrut’s hand came up to touch where Baze had. Finding nothing, his face crumpled again, and he breathed a soft sob.

 Baze’s vision was consumed by the gray.

 -

 When Baze returned, they were no longer in the infirmary. Instead, he found a dormitory room with a single cot, on which Chirrut sat. Beside him, his robes were neatly cleaned and folded. Instead, he wore some clothes that the rebels spared him. Yavinese climate did not work with Jedhan clothing, after all.

 Chirrut seemed small without his robes.

 A knock came on the door. Chirrut straightened where he sat, cleared his throat and smiled. “Come in.”

 The door swooshed open, revealing Bodhi. He was cleaned up from when Baze had last seen him, his hair neatly pulled back and his dirty Imperial uniform replaced with a clean rebel vest and new black cargo pants.

 “Bodhi,” Chirrut greeted him, even as Bodhi stood, nervous and silent in the doorway. “Come in. I would offer you a seat but I’m afraid I only have my cot.” Chirrut patted the foot of it.

 Bodhi smiled, sitting beside him.

 “Jyn had told me you wished to see me the other day.”

 Bodhi nodded, to himself more than anything. “I wanted to talk to you before Cassian did. Has he been by?”

 Chirrut knit his eyebrows together in a question, tilting his head so Bodhi could see him more clearly. “No, why?”

 “He’s going to ask you if you want to join the rebels or be relocated somewhere else. Since Jedha is…” Bodhi trailed off.

 Chirrut nodded solemnly. “And why did you want to talk to me first?”

 Bodhi took a deep breath. “I’ve been trying to contact my family. I don’t know where they were when…” he trailed off again. He was quiet for a time, and Chirrut didn’t push. “You’re the only other Jedhan I know who survived.”

 Bodhi looked down at his hands. He wanted to say more, Baze could tell. His hands twitched nervously.  

 “What are you going to do?” Chirrut asked at long last. Bodhi looked up at him, surprised by the question.

 “I don’t have anything else other than the Rebellion now. Jyn is staying, too. I think we might continue as Rogue One. Cassian knows more.”

 Chirrut hummed. “What do you want me to do?”

 “I…” Bodhi considered it. “I would like you to stay with us.” Bodhi bit his lip and looked at his hands again. “I understand if you don’t want to. That’s fine. I was just thinking—“

 Chirrut cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. Bodhi just had time to look up at him before Chirrut slung his arm over his shoulders and pulled him in, hugging him. Slowly, Bodhi wrapped his arms around Chirrut’s frame tightly, ducking his head against Chirrut’s shoulder.

- 

 Baze doesn’t witness the conversation, but gathered that Chirrut chose to stay with the Rebellion. His wardrobe is stocked with his old Jedha robes, a khaki uniform and cargo pants, utilitarian jacket and plain shirts.

 His hair has grown out. He still shaves his face, and he keeps his hair trimmed, but it’s longer than he’d ever allowed it to grow before.

 At night, he’s often too tired to carry out his meditation routines. He washes quickly, changes into sleep clothing and retires.

 When he does meditate, however, Baze can feel his consciousness more strongly. He sits beside Chirrut on the narrow cot, reminiscent of their times in the temple’s dormitory as children.

 So much has changed since then.

Baze had tried to reach out to Chirrut in the first weeks; to touch his hand, try speaking to him—but Chirrut didn’t know it was actually him. His faith was shaken. He thought he was hallucinating, or imagining things and it would distress him. One morning, as Chirrut bent over on his cot to slip on his shoes, Baze sat beside him and touched his back.

Chirrut sat up, fast and straight, and his hand shot out to touch the bed where Baze’s presence was.

I’m here. Baze hoped he could hear. It’s me.

When his hand found nothing, Chirrut’s shoulder slouched. He took a deep breath, regulating himself. Another deep breath, and he bit his lip. A third deep breath. It took Chirrut many minutes to regain his composure.

 -

Baze did not witness the destruction of the Death Star. He had been in the cold gray haze, regaining his energy. He could feel Chirrut, though. His joy.

He could feel him praying. Baze couldn’t see him, couldn’t reach him through the fog. But he could hear Chirrut praying for his soul.

 -

 Sometimes, Baze found himself in the ship as Rogue One was deployed on a mission. Often Cassian and Kaytoo were in the cockpit, Jyn sitting across from Bodhi and Chirrut. Other times Bodhi would take Cassian’s place, who would sit beside Jyn.

 It felt most natural to see in the back, where he had once sat before, and observe the others.

 He observed the way that Bodhi and Chirrut sat close, talking softly.

 This time, Baze gathered that they were on their way back to the base after an assignment. Cassian was flying, and Kaytoo was going through a first aid kit for something to treat the gash on Chirrut’s head.  Jyn had a wet rag which she applied to his face, trying to clean off the blood that had dried on his brow.

 “You’re hurt, too,” Chirrut said. He grabbed her wrist and felt along her arm with his other hand until he found the rip on the inside of her jacket’s arm. “Jyn, this is worse much worse.”

 “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

 Chirrut gave her a sideways smile. “I’m not worried about you, but if you don’t tend to that we may soon have something to worry about.”

 “I’lll take care of it, let me finish cleaning yours first.”

 Chirrut chuckled, allowing her to dab at his dried blood again. “You remind me of a young man I once knew. Kaytoo, as soon as you have me bandaged up, go get Cassian to look over this,” he said, gesturing to the bloody rip in Jyn’s clothes.

 Jyn scoffed.

 “We have to look out for each other, now, lypiha,” Chirrut said with a soft smile.

 A feeling like adrenaline washed over Baze, sapping his energy at the sound of that word. His vision grayed out, and he was gone.

 -

 The city of Nalhipa was thirty cliques south of NiJedha, and while it wasn’t hotter than NiJedha, the sun was much harsher there.

 Baze’s robes had a hood, which sheltered him from the beating sun; Chirrut wore only his everyday monk clothing, which left him exposed without a hood. He had wrapped his neck scarf around his head, but the sun had shined through and burned the side of his neck quite badly.

 “Idiot,” Baze had scolded him. Baze had been given a stipend to cover their food and shelter for their trip, and now he’d spent a portion on it on burn ointment and a cap. He knew Chirrut could sense how displeased he was.

 Chirrut put his hand out for the vial of ointment, but Baze clicked his tongue.

 “No, idiot, I’ll put it on you. Just lay down on your side.”

 Chirrut lifted his eyebrows, but complied. As Baze unscrewed the vial and poured some on his fingertips, Chirrut pulled the shoulder of his tunic away from his burnt neck so Baze had easier access to the affected area.

 Baze tried to keep his touch gentle as he spread the oil. He was upset, yes, but it wasn’t Chirrut’s fault that this happened. Yes, it was foolish to wear such exposed clothes in the Nalhipa district, but Baze had been here before whereas Chirrut had never strayed too far from NiJedha.

 Baze blew on the oil lightly to help it dry faster. He ignored how it made Chirrut shiver. He grunted, signaling that Chirrut could sit up again.

 “Thank you,” Chirrut said quietly.

 Baze grunted again, shrugging off his thanks. “Whether we like it or not, we’re lyhipan now.”

Chirrut beamed.