#for reasons beyond my control had to wait longer than I preferred to get back

[isfjmel-phleg]

It was wonderful to see my family this week but what a relief to be home.

[ancha-aus]

Ghosts & Medium AU Drabble - Sleepover

I am back with this little AU of mine :3 Becuase I had an idea and I of course have no self control.

What is the focus? Killer and Cross getting to see Dust's and Ash's apartment.

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

Dust continues to stare through the front window. He is tired. And Not just physically.

"Come on Dusty! I want to explore my new body and I could use an extra set of hands~"

"It ISN'T your body!! Don't you fucking dare!"

Dust is way beyond his social quota. He has been for the last three weeks. With the last week being especially tiring.

Having Killer tag along as a ghost had been bad.

Killer now having a body?

Dust is used to waking up with a ghost hovering near. Ash does that all the time to wake him up. Seeing Killer instead had been a shock to his system and Dust had tried to hit the ghost. Not very effective because well, ghost. Even if a poltergeist is more physical than most ghosts he was still a ghost.

Well! Having an actual person near and hovering over him?! Yeah. Much more nerve wrecking and is ruining his already fragile and destroyed sleeping cycle.

It doesn't help that Cross is around. Pouting and grumbling all the time. Reminding Killer of what to do with his bdoy and what not to. Pestering Dust to solve it.

Dust doesn't even know what ritual Cross used! Dust had gone to Cross because he hadn't been able to get Killer to leave him. Yet now his problem is doubled.

Ash had offered that maybe they can go home. Get some rest and read some of his books for answers. Dust had figured it was fine. He still had some money from the last job. He would ahve to make every penny count and maybe just eat cheap rice for a while but he can make the money stretch a little longer.

So they got into his van and started going to his apartment.

Dust had considered leaving Killer in Cross's body behind somewhere. He got so close to just doing that. With Killer being stuck in Cross's body it would mean he would be free of him.

But well. Cross and him are still kinda friends. Cross is pretty much Dust's only kinda friend... even if Cross just treats him as any other customer.

Also it feels like a waiting disaster to leave a mobile Killer unsupervised.

So there are going back to his place. Even if Dust much prefers no one knowing where he lives but what can you do.

Ash floats by his shoulder "You sure you don't want to stop for coffee? You have been driving for seven hours now." Ash shoots him a disapproving look.

Dust shrugs "too expensive." he can get soo much rich for the price of one overpriced coffee.

God he misses coffee. Sadly it was one of the first things he stops buying once he gets into the lower amounts of money, same for cigarrettes. Which, with business being slow. He had been low on cash for the last seven months.

There is a reason he tried so hard with Killer's whole haunting thing. It had been the first job after anohter four months of no work or jobs. He needed the cash.

Not that it matters now. He got so many more problems now. At least Cross still has his own savings to keep his body alive while Killer inhibits it.

Dust remembers he should answer Ash "I am almost there." just two more hours. Maybe one and a half if he speeds a bit. That is one of the nice parts about having a ghost with you the whole time. Ash being near causes some electrics to shortcut.

Speedcameras count within those for some reason.

Works great for him.

Killer whines loudly "Dusty! Pay attention to me!"

"Don't distract him from driving Killer! YOu are going to get us killed!"

Killer gasps "OMG!"

Ash looks unimpressed "Did you just seriously say omg out loud? as just letters? as an actual reaction? In an actual conversation? seriously?"

Killer wiggles excited from side to side "We could be ghosts together! Haunt stuff together and-"

Ash rushes Killer and Killer yelps as Ash no doubt uses his own limited ghost ability power stuff to harm him now he is physical "If you ever even entertain the idea of my brother dying ever again I am killing you in this new host body myself. Am. I. understood?"

Cross looks panicked "Wait no! that is my body!"

Ash huffs "I am aware. But I am not risking Dust. Not for anything or anyone."

Killer pouts "Geez calm down. it was just an idea." he mutters unhappily "we wouldn't even be sure if it would work."

Dust just ignores the ghosts arguing. It is still a long drive.

Fuck he would kill for either a coffee or a cigarrette right about now. He would commit a war crime if he could get both.

--

It is late. Very late. But they are finally here!

Dust parks the van in an empty spot and grabs his bag as he walks towards the front door. He opens it with his key and has to hit it a few times before the door into the building opens.

Dust just nods to the door as he looks at Killer "Inside."

Killer has a hand on his, well cross's chest as he looks down at him. Damn Cross for being tall. "Oh? inviting me back home already? After just one date? I am scandalised and very interested." and he walks inside.

Ash makes a gaging sound and Dust rolls his eye lights before following after Killer. Once inside he pulls the door until it gets back stuck again and he locks it again. The doorhandle it broken so you need to force it in and out of place before keeping it shut with the lock itself.

Dust walks past the elevator that Killer is waiting by "don't use the elevator. it gets stuck and has the habit of dropping a few floors." and he walks towards the stairs. Fuck he hates the stairs.

Still he climbs the floors and eventually finally gets to floor eight and walks down the hallway. Door after door after door. There is his spot. 808.

He pulls out his key and tries it. Ugh. It is stuck again. He bonks his skull against the door "Ash?"

Ash floats through the door "on it."

a moment later he feels the key turn and he steps back as Ash forces the door open. He removes the key "Thanks." and he leads the other two inside as Ash closes the door and locks it again.

Dust stands in his room and ignores the very damning silence "Home sweet home." he throws the bag on the couch as he walks over to the window and opens it. Having to put the small wood board between some parts to keep it open.

Killer looks around the place as Cross looks a lot more alarmed "You live here?!"

Dust shrugs as he walks to his couch where he leavs a blanket and pillow "Euh. I live in my van. I only come here once in a while." Thinking that. He will probably need to get food. He never leaves food behind in his place. Makes the rats visit.

Cross looks so worried as he floats nearby "You enver said this was your place!"

Dust shrugs "It is fine."

Sure the enterance and living room and kitchen is one room... with the door hitting the couch... and the kitchen being one small fridge a counter and a electric little stove thing. and the place he eats is just one table with one chair. But it is a place! It has electricity kinda reliable and the water is mostly clean.

Dust blinks and shrugs "Rent is cheap." also the landlord does not pay attention to who pays and who doens't. Which is the only reason Dust still has this place and why he doesn't complain about everything being broken.

Dust looks at Killer and points at the couch "You can sleep here. That was Cross's body gets some rest. I will be in my room." and he turns and goes towards his own bedroom, after picking up his bag of course.

His room may have been an exaggeration. It is just his mattress on the floor with two different blankets and an old pillow. the room just barely fits the mattress and the small set of drawers for his clothes. He searches through it and finds a shirt some sweats and a beanie. This will have to do to sleep in.

He undressed and redresses. He will do all the stuff to clean up and stuff tomorrow. First sleep. It is like 4 am and he had been driving since they left Cross's chapel. at like 6ish... Dust thinks... maybe earlier?

It doesn't matter. Dust lets himself fall on his mattress and rolls up. Muttering a good night to Ash and getting one in return.

--

Someone is muttering stuff near him. Ugh. Can't he just sleep for a bit longer? He is tired.

He grumbles as he tries to curl more into his blanket but he is stuck. weird. did he get tangled with his blanket again? Would explain why it is so warm and... why... something... is moving...

Dust manages to open his sockets and freezes.

Cross, well Killer, is in bed with him. Killer pouts "You woke him-"

Dust just punched him in the face nad Killer rolls off the bed. Releasing him in the process. Dust glares at him "Why the fuck are you in my room." he rubs his sockets. no longer sleepy at all. what the actual fuck?!

Killer rubs his, well Cross's face "I wanted to get up close and comfortable. but then i realised that sleeping with you as very comfy. so i slept in your bed wiht you instead of the couch."

Dust looks around and spots Ash looking pissed. and Cross hiding his face nad looking beyond embarrassed "I am so sorry! I didn't know what to do and i thought he was asleep so i went to explore the building and when i came back he was well here and I couldn't convince him to leave as he was aslready asleep himself and well..."

Dust looks at Ash and Cross "wake me?!"

Ash grumbles unhappily "You need your sleep."

Cross sighs "also nothing we did could wake killer and it isn't like he listens."

...

What even is his life?

Okay. Fine.

Dust gets up and kicks Killer and he yelps. Dust just kicks him again "Out. I need to get dressed."

Killer grins and winks "I can assist-" Dust kicks him again. Killer pouts "okay fine fine fine!" and he leaves.

Dust gets dressed quickly and goes towards the living room. Time to look into some new options to get this situation wiht Killer and Cross sorted out.

First he needs to switch their places to get Cross his body back. And then a ritual to get Killer to leave him alone.

That is easy. That is just two rituals.

Dust grabs the first book and starts looking through the rituals.

There has to be something that can work... He could also try and summon something that can make the changes if he really needs to.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 318: On Your Left

Previously on BnHA: The Hawksquad+Lurkers were all “well this sucks” and sat around a bit talking about how maybe they should actually come up with a new plan that is actually good, but then in the end they were like “nah.” Deku was all, “THERE’S SOMETHING INSIDE ME THAT PULLS BENEATH THE SURFACE!! CONSUMING, CONFUSING!! THIS LACK OF SELF CONTROL I FEAR IS NEVERENDING. IT’S HAUNTING HOW I CANT SEEM TO FIND MYSELF AGAIN. MY WALLS ARE CLOSING IN.” Just, literally that whole entire song. All Might was all “Deku you should take care of yourself, try eating a thing,” and Deku was all “BYE, ALL MIGHT,” and just LEFT. He left!!! What the fuck!!!

Today on BnHA: Endeavor is all, “maybe if Deku didn’t listen to All Might he’ll listen to me instead.” Deku is all, “[doesn’t listen to Endeavor]” because, well, yeah. The Vestiges are all, “surprisingly, even we are a little concerned -- maybe you should get some rest, kid.” Deku is all, “((Ò ‸ Ó)).” The Vestiges are all, “holy shit.” Deku is all, “[wanders the ruined city streets terrifying the populace on account of him looking like Shelob had a baby with one of the Nazgul].” Some shriveled-up puppeteer villain asshole is all, “HORIKOSHI SAID IT’S MY TURN TO ATTACK DEKU TODAY SO I AM GOING TO SUMMON MY FRIGHTENED HELPLESS ATTACK MOB!!” Kacchan is all “WHADDYA MEAN THEY FOUND THE NERD!!! -- oh wait, that’s me, I found him. I found the nerd, you guys.” And just in time, too. I was about to owe a whole lot of people a whole lot of dollars.

so I have been super good about spoilers this week as always, but let me tell you guys, for the past 36 hours my dash filters have basically been nonstop “manga spoilers” this and “bnha 318” that, and so I’m coming in with a fair amount of hype here. your move, Horikoshi

oh, good! they got Endeavor to call Deku to try to talk him out of it. what a great and wonderful plan

“listen up kid, you haven’t slept since March and you are basically a walking biohazard right now, I’m just telling it like it is. didn’t you get shot like three times?? and there was a whole thing about how you urgently needed medical attention?? and supposedly we gave it to you, but I mean you haven’t even changed your clothes and don’t seem to have any fresh bandages or anything, so did we?? did we, really?? and also we all got blown up yesterday, so yeah.” hmm he’s making some reasonable points here you guys, but you sure do go on and on, Endeavor

oh he says foreign aid is finally on its way! I’m sure they’ll be very helpful. I mean in fairness they can hardly be worse than the home-grown heroes at this point

hey Enji, could you maybe try appealing to Deku the sixteen-year-old human boy, as opposed to Deku The World’s Last Hope? he does have value beyond his quirk. I know that’s always been an incredibly difficult concept for you to grasp, but could you maybe TRY, jesus

and also we’re worried about you as a person?? you’re just a kid and you’re pushing yourself way too hard?? you were going to say that part next, right. why the hell didn’t Hawks make this call instead

“don’t worry about me... I’m completely fine” Deku you do understand that saying it over and over again doesn’t actually make it true

and again with the rush!! all the rush rush rush!! we’re running out of time, we can’t let AFO and Tomura keep getting stronger, I have to end this now, there’s no time to rest, etc. etc. etc. just the constant pressure of this whole big countdown on top of everything else

holy shit, you KNOW it’s bad when even the Vestiges are telling him to chill

these guys are basically the walking talking embodiments of self-sacrifice; if even they’re telling him he needs to take five, then he must seriously be like half a step away from death’s door

OH SHIT LMAO

DIDN’T EVEN LET HIM FINISH HIS SENTENCE BEFORE HE SENT HIM INTO THE FUCKING SHADOW REALM WITH THAT FUCKING LOOK. HOLY FUCK. DIDN’T EVEN KNOW IT WAS POSSIBLE TO DIE TWICE. SHIT

(ETA: so I’m pretty sure this was just Danger Sense activating and so he cut them off to go do more hero stuff, but I’m gonna go ahead and stick to my original interpretation anyway lol.)

anyway so how’s everybody doing. we all good? En, you good? Banjou? Shino? I’m imagining you guys all curled up in a little ball on the floor right now lol. can’t say I blame you though, no shame

lmaoooooooooooo

“SHEESH.” sheesh indeed, lmao. “what in the FUCK was that”

see, this is why y’all need Kacchan. you need someone who’s not going to back down from him no matter what. if it’s a matter of out-stubborning Midoriya fucking Izuku, then there’s only one other person on the planet capable of that, and we all know it. don’t pretend like you don’t. I am not going to shut up about this! we’ve had our hurt so now what about SOME COMFORT, DAMMIT

“I’m afraid that he’s becoming influenced by my conscience” nah are you kidding Nana this is all 100% made-in-Japan pure original Deku right here

see, Banjou gets it. “that kid, he’s totally going on his own.” exactly. this was so inevitable it was basically scientific law

“well I for one don’t see the problem with Deku being so obsessed with saving everyone else that he pushes himself until his body and soul literally fall apart” okay, whose speech bubbles are these?? we’re about to have words

lol of course

well you always did prefer the direct route didn’t you. but even you can’t possibly think this is okay lol

dark AU!Kacchan please tell us more about your badass doomed timeline in which everything went to shit and you apparently had the same character arc that Deku is having right now except it somehow made you sexier instead of turning you into a rabid t-rex. I have so many questions

oh so now you want to help??? well -- good, actually. sorry if that sounded offended just now lol

(ETA: so at first when I got to the end of this chapter I was wondering if Katsuki B. had somehow summoned his alternate-universe counterpart through trippy OFA space telepathy lol. but in the original Japanese there’s no reference to “we”, so this appears to be a mistranslation. this line should probably read more like “if there’s something/someone out there that would be able to complement/complete the current Midoriya Izuku [it would be]…” which, oh hello, is that Horikoshi once again reaffirming that Deku and Bakugou complete each other lol. “guess what guys, the Vestiges ship it too" heck yeah. they know what’s up!)

look how admiring his boyfriends are. HORIKOSHI GIVE US THE REST OF THIS BACKSTORY ALREADY GODDAMMIT

“meanwhile somewhere in the depths of the ruined city, Deku was having a dance-off with the villains”

I like how the villains all have this “AHH WHAT THE FUCK” kind of body language to them lol. I mean if it were me, and an eldritch horror suddenly clawed its way from the shadows with its writhing glowy tentacles and pants-shitting nuclear death stare, I would probably just die on the spot. no need to stick around. only pain awaits

lol for a minute I thought this was Can’t Ya See-kun and I was like “WHAT A FASCINATING CROSSING OF PATHS” but it’s just some random girl

he seems genuinely confused lol

Deku it’s because you look like something that crawled out of a sewer drain, sweetheart

lol they just took his word for it?

so trusting. even though they’re immediately hauling ass anyway just to be safe lmao

“my appearance is frightening to others” no shit Deku it’s because you look like a fucking alien exorcism. you look like a Lich that got caught up in an oil spill my dude

NO NOT THE CHOSEN ONE ANGST AGAIN

I RAN OUT OF ESSAY JUICE FOR THIS ALREADY HORIKOSHI!! I’VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT IT FOR MONTHS NOW WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG!! BUT ANYWAYS, GOOD!! I MEAN, BAD, THOUGH, OBVIOUSLY. BUT YES

“ENJOY THIS MONTAGE OF DEKU BATTLING A RANDOM KAIJU AND WANDERING THE WOODS LIKE A DERANGED GREEN BABA YAGA” okay yes but sir, exactly how much longer is this going to go on. if it’s a matter of you wanting to make sure we get it, let me assure you that aside from a few stray chuunis who think that Deku embracing the Darkness is the coolest thing he’s ever done, all of us here in fandom fully comprehend that this is Not Good

-- OH SO IT’S LIKE THAT

really. with the flashbacks to his loved ones’ smiling faces and everything. not even gonna try to aim above the belt, huh

AND NO KACCHAN??! NO CLASSMATES?!?! IS HE PURPOSELY NOT THINKING OF THEM??? OR ARE THEY BEING SAVED FOR THE NEXT PAGE??? SO HELP ME, IF THE NEXT PART OF THIS SENTENCE IS “CAN PROTECT THEM”, OR EVEN WORSE, “CAN SEE THEIR SMILING FACES AGAIN”, I...

WHAT DID I JUST SAY

(ETA: my man did Sero and Kaminari fucking dirty lmao. I miss their smiling faces too omg.)

the sheer, unparalleled irony of him saying this while he stands there looking like the gargoyle demon from Fantasia got crossed with an umbrella that got struck by lightning. Deku :(

oi who the fuck is this clown

is he controlling this mob with his evil hair. “what if I made an exhausted, running-on-fumes Deku battle a brainwashed mob at Ground Zero.” Horikoshi do you just have like a checklist of horrible things you want to do to your protagonist

easy there Sasori

well joke’s on you buddy because he’s apparently “completely fine”, so

“here’s to hoping that you know more about AFO’s location than the others” jesus christ Deku you really have hung your mercy out to dry huh

now he’s forcing his mob of terrified prisoners to attack Deku ahhhh. sucks to be them. at least they’re not being controlled by bees

so Deku is saying that Sasori’s control can be broken with “physical trauma.” similar to Shinsou’s quirk I guess. but so does that mean he’s gonna have to hurt them? ( •﹏•)

NO NOT MORE SAD EYES

“DEATH BY EMPATHY!!!” HORIKOSHI NO

fuck. he looks like he’s on the verge of passing out

this is what happens when you nerf a character’s self-preservation stats in favor of spamming their bone-breaking stats instead. NOW ACCEPTING BRAIN CELL DONATIONS FOR A BOY IN NEED!! with your loving generosity we can hopefully help him live to the ripe old age of seventeen

OMGFGGG

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

[grabs your hands] ლ(*꒪ヮ꒪*)ლ [swings you in a circle] へ(ﾟ◇ﾟへ)

THASSSSSSSS WHATSSSSSSS UPPPPPPPPPP

HORIKOSHI REALLY SAID FUCK THAT MASK (ノ°ο°)ノ YOU FINALLY LEARNED!! IT’S CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!!!

JUST FOR YOU KACCHAN, HORIKOSHI LEFT THIS ONE BAD GUY WHO’S STILL WEAK TO FIRE. GOD BLESS

IT’S YOUR COUNTERPART, KATSUKI B!!!! HOW WE DOIN OVER THERE IN THE TRIPPY COSMIC OFA SPACE REALM LOL. DO WE BELIEVE YET, FANDOM???

LIGHTS!!!!

INSTANT RESULTS!!! IT’S SUPER EFFECTIVE!!!

(ETA: imagine what this must look like to Deku though. he’s been caught up in this dark cloud of despair and exhaustion that’s been building up over... I’m gonna go ahead and say “weeks”, because yeah. and now he finds himself here, in the place where All Might’s legacy ended and the torch was passed to him. and the world is in ruins, and he’s surrounded by frightened people who are all trying to hurt him -- because who isn’t trying to hurt him, these days -- and he’s scrambling to figure this all out, but meanwhile the weariness is finally starting to catch up to him, and so he’s basically just standing there in a fog of complete and utter misery.

and then all of a sudden through that haze, he hears the one voice that’s more familiar than any other that he knows. like, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he thought he was just imagining it at first. Kacchan showing up to save him right when he’s at his most desperate and feeling the most alone. Kacchan, showing up to save him.

this is the person he always looked up to as a child (to be fair he was quite a strange child lmao). the person who was even closer to him than All Might. the person he always thought was amazing. and bam, here he is now. appearing in the sky out of nowhere to one-shot the bad guy with a single blast (which, btw, that was his armor-piercing attack too lmao dslkjlk take it easy there kiddo). like, that must have felt absolutely surreal to him, especially coming at a time when he’s already half-delirious and barely hanging on to reality. he must have really thought that he was losing it there for a second.

but he’s really there. it really is him. and for this brief moment -- before the rest of the situation catches up to him, and he remembers about all of the fucked-up AFO stuff, and remembers why he was so afraid and why he was pushing everyone away -- for just this one brief moment, he’s too exhausted and stunned to do anything except to just react. just stands there, looking up at him in awe.

and you know, it almost reminds me of...

just. you guys. the character development. the freaking character development. someone who brings reassurance. someone who shows up and makes you think, “oh, it’s all going to be okay now, because [person] is here.” the role reversals. the growth. the payoff!! because who is the one person who always had faith that Kacchan would one day grow up to become an amazing hero like that. WHO IS IT. YOU ALREADY KNOW.

omg. anyways, bless you Horikoshi, my feels which have been on backorder since fucking September have finally arrived lmao. yes, good, thank you. worth the wait. it is always, always worth the wait. fuck yeah.)

“LOWFRIES” SO YOU’RE TELLING ME THE WHOLE GANG IS HERE, AHHHHHHHH (º̩̩́⌣º̩̩̀ )

BEAUTIFUL. WONDERFUL. SENSATIONAL. I DON’T EVEN CARE THAT JUMP IS ON BREAK NEXT WEEK. THIS RIGHT HERE WILL SUSTAIN ME

[ohheyitsokay]

found

pairing: Paz Vizsla x reader

wordcount: 3.3k

warnings: brief mentions of cannon typical violence, the general awkwardness of writing a new character, fluff

summary: you're someone surprisingly good st finding lost things, and you find a Mandalorian - who's looking for home

<<

Trying to get over my need to over explain things by leaving random plot holes. Don’t think about it too hard.

The charred remnants of the base were in tragic, disorganized, smoking piles all around you.

Feet still, you breathed in through your nose and out through your mouth, too tired to be in awe of what had taken place, too overwhelmed to realize that you were unscathed.

When a figure stepped out from behind one of the heaps, only your eyes moved, impressed in spite of yourself that they had managed to stay silent. It was a being barricaded in armor, solid like they were carved from the mountain around you, but blue, shockingly, wonderfully, beautifully blue.

You wondered if you had it in you to fight him.

It hadn’t been so long ago, that you’d met other Mandalorians – their helmets so full of pompous you wondered how they could fly. As he walked closer, you noticed that he did not look like them, did not hold his chin so high it begged to be knocked with the blunt end of a weapon. There was pride in his shoulders still, but no more than was in yours, and he approached you with empty hands.

“What happened here?” his voice had a rumble but he seemed curious, not disbelieving or angry.

“I tricked them,” you told him, and you were surprised to find yourself unafraid of telling him plainly. “I was looking for a missing flock of sant birds, and found them plumping the bellies of imperial troops.” You gestured loosely to a sparse gaggle of silly little beaked creatures tied a string toward the edge of the rubble. “I muddled the communication signals until they believed there was an incoming attack, and their would-be rescuers believed their own troops were the enemy.”

The Mandalorian's back straightened slightly and his helmet tilted.

“You did that for sant birds?”

“I have no love for imps or those who take what is not theirs,” it came out defensive, although he hadn’t belittled your choice. “It was more effective than I expected, but there were not many living who are not anymore, just droids.”

“You are one who finds what it lost?” there was a question there, but not one spoken aloud, and the subtext screamed.

“Can I help you find something, Mandalorian?”

His shoulders rose slightly - just a hair, really - and you couldn’t sworn his helmet dipped.

“Yes.”

-

Your fingers danced along the buttons and levers of the ship’s control panels, waiting for a command from your mind that would never come. They moved when you thought, searching for a memory – you couldn’t help it.

Next to you, Paz watched, amused as your sharp eyes were unfocused, mouth open just slightly with unspoken words.

“What are you thinking of, little one?” he asked, as quiet as he could manage, snapping you back to the present.

“When we first met,” you turned to him with a smile that made him fidget in his seat. It baffled him, how good you were, and how steady you’d been by his side.

Paz didn’t respond with words, just a thoughtful hum as he watched the stars race by in streaks. You didn’t know, but he was a little embarrassed by it – how enraptured he’d been by you, how quickly he trusted you.

After being separated from his clan, injured and angry, he had spent months stewing and brewing plans for finding his brethren again to no avail. Paz even hitched rides with strangers and picked up less than ideal work, hoping for something of his people to point him in the right direction.

Still healing, he settled on a little planet known for its rumors, known for spreading and sharing information so fresh it hadn’t had time to be twisted. It was there that he waited for words of Mandalorians, met the… other clans, and it was where he heard of you.

On the surface you weren’t remarkable, the whispers said, just a traveler with an uncanny ability to find lost things, and just smart enough to bend the world to your will and just slippery enough to stay one step ahead of genuine trouble. They said you were caring and cunning and clever and had a knack for judging a person’s character. From word alone he liked that, liked you.

The farmer who owned the barn he was sleeping in told Paz that he had asked you to find an old necklace of his mothers. A day later, both the necklace and a long lost sister were joining them for dinner, and you shrugged off both the thanks and the payment with a smile. Paz knew, because he had heard you distantly, through the weathered slats of the barn, and it stayed with him.

The dismissive words reminded him of home - the first reminder that wasn’t painful - evoking moments that were sweeter than the ache of loss. He would have said the same thing, when the Mandalorian’s who were not warriors requested his help. It wasn’t strict custom, but the way, to accept meals instead of money, stories instead of useless metal. Your actions, words, and far-away laughter reminded him of his home.

And when he found you, uninjured, a glint of satisfaction in your eyes and pride in your shoulders as you spoke casually about justice he couldn’t go back. You were almost glowing in the light of the still smoldering embers, gorgeous and determined and he knew he only had one choice – one shot take you with him.

Paz wasn’t in the habit of making promises he wasn’t absolutely sure he keep but he made himself one that day, buried it like a time capsule somewhere in his chest.

And then immediately put it to the test, by testing you.

He looked over at you, your hands now fiddling with your chair, and he fought the urge to mimic the movements. “I evaluated you,” he hoped you could hear that he was smiling.

You snorted, an impolite noise that made want to laugh.

Standing, you widened you stance comically lifting your limbs in an effort to be bigger, mocking him and saying “If I hire you, little one, I must know that I can trust you,” in an exaggerated tone. The exact words he’d told you after his test was over, something you teased him about often. Paz was laughing, but he wondered if you liked how deep his voice was – it was the key change to your mimicry. Looking satisfied with yourself, you settled down again, reminiscing.

The test had been to accompany him on a mission he’d picked up for extra cash – there were plenty of opportunities to be reckless but you gambled with neither his life nor your own. It was one of those circumstances where you were moving and guarding cargo for a rich young diplomat. He told you afterwards he wanted to see if you’d pocket anything beyond your payment, and of course you hadn’t.

“I passed with flying colors.”

The mission had veered left, when a misinformed bounty hunter pressed the tip of a blaster against your throat. At the time you were nearly strangers, but you didn’t give him up, even when you realized the bounty hunter was looking for a woman.

Paz was as in awe of you then as he was now. You agreed to help him the remnants of his clan, and to travel with him, and his promise to himself remained intact.

He nodded.

-

When he was young, Paz had a sweetheart, a kind Mandalorian girl with whom he enjoyed spending time with. It fizzled as apprenticeships and training were traded politics and responsibilities, and he had always had fond memories of that time.

It paled in comparison to how he felt about you.

You had been searching on your own for something you swore would help your search, and had been gone for days. If he hadn’t been sure before, he was certain now – what you were to him was infinitely more than anything else he had ever known. Still, he felt like a schoolboy, missing you, glancing at the door to the ship with eagerness every time he heard a creak.

He had thought for weeks it was because you felt like home, had been sure it was your ease with mando'a and his culture that made take to you like a duck to water. It made sense, he reasoned with himself. Of course he missed his family, those he was raised alongside, the very people who gave him purpose in life - of course he was looking for any scrap or taste of that wherever he could get it. Nevermind that your smile made him feel like he’d been stunned, it was just because your personal culture fit his like pieces of his armor.

Anyone would have been pleased, half smitten with someone who allowed then onto their ship, especially one as functional as yours. It was perfectly reasonable that he was comfortable with you, since you were always so thoughtful and honest and caring.

And you were talented, useful, that was all. The reason he valued you so highly was that you made his life easier, matched him step to step and balanced out his strength.

But that was all over now. It was special, how well you fit with him, and not to be taken lightly the vulnerability you gave as you shared your space and rations and time with him. All those other things were true, certainly, tenfold the longer you stayed in his company, but he could no longer explain away how much lighter his heart felt when you trotted into the ship, windblown hair and triumphant eyes.

He wanted you to be by his side, preferably if you wanted to be there.

Standing, he moved towards you, wishing he could hug you as you unceremoniously dumped your supplies on the floor. Instead, he picked them up, piling them or putting them back where they belong as you both filled each other in onto the days passed.

Eventually, the suspense overflowed, your excitement bubbling out of you.

“I got it!” your voice did something when you were excited that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it made him smile.

“Got what?” Paz swallowed a cyar'ika.

Eagerly, you produced a small drive and plugged it into the display, saying, “A map!” with pride.

“We already have a map,” That time, he nearly choked on the mesh'la his instincts insisted on, looking at you with genuine confusion.

When you grabbed his gloved hand, he thought he might never let it go.

“Not one like this, Paz.” You turned to the floating miniatures, and he only watched your face under their glow a moment longer before he tore himself away to look as well.

It was distracting, how close you stepped to him as you pointed, but your words were thick with value.

The map had details of Mandalorian sightings and rumors and stories. Even more than that, many of the planets had extra information tacked on, about resource numbers. Paz drank them in, your excitement finally making sense as he realized you were starting to highlight the ones where imported goods didn’t match the populations reported. Your voice was telling him you’d find them soon, that for him, you would do whatever it takes. His longing had become yours, in this little ship half buried in the dirt, under the expanse of the sky.

His hand found your shoulder, gently turning you and carefully, carefully, he hugged you.

-

The first three planets they chased were driven by pure, unadulterated excitement. He was eager for his brothers, eager to go back to protecting those who raised him and those who were being raised alike. Eager to be home, wherever that may be.

But as the weeks wore on, a realization settled in his mind. Finding home would mean your job was complete – his loss would be you, instead of his tribe.

And he did not like that thought at all.

It became a harsh contrast to his eagerness, as jarring as cool water cracking over heated metal, raising a stink that made his eyes threaten to fill. With each lead the two of you chased, there was a twist in his gut, anticipation suddenly less solid in his heart.

Your ship was nice, cozy and reliable, and he had filled his bunk with anything he found in the markets that reminded him of home. In between searches, you always managed to find the littlest work for the highest pay off – and really, work for a Mandalorian and his lovely, cunning companion was more than available. It was nice, filling your little kitchenette with foods you had introduced to him, and whatever he could get his hands on of the ingredients from his memories.

It wasn’t the same as his old home, with the people and culture who had shaped him, but it was something, and he… liked it, a lot.

He had gotten used to you, the way when his frustration built how you’d match it when he needed to, or lock him in a room with a pile of rations, or slip your hand between the gaps of his armor and rub circles with your thumb. Once he’d gotten in his head about the Mandalore, gone so far he wanted to fight everything that moved, maybe even stop some of them from breathing. You walked right up to him, wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned your weight on him until he remembered to breathe. And he didn’t really think anyone else in the galaxy would’ve done that.

So how could he give that up?

-

There was an elderly woman, Kori, who had missed the battle. Paz told you excitedly that she was fierce and had fought the armorer for the right to travel, unaware of the trouble that followed his brother-in-arms and the child.

You had set up the meeting at a little cantina you knew, and watched as Paz paced around your ship in his newly polished armor.

The last few months with him had been like a dream – and you had never been more selfish. When you’d met this Mandalorian you had been in awe, despite the previous encounters with the beskar-clad race. More than his formidable size, he cared fiercely, almost seeming larger by the passion that filled his frame.

And the more time you spent listening to his stories, why it all mattered so much to him, and having him listen to you in turn, the more thankful you were that he found you, and continued to let you help him in his search. He didn’t need you, not really. The man was resourceful and intimidating and held himself with the confident grace of a predator - it would have been just as easy for him to take what he wanted and be on his way.

It was strange, how his blood was equal parts humble and proud, but you were drawn to it, intoxicated by him. No one had ever made you feel as protected as he did, as… valuable as he treated you, and you ached for him. You couldn’t bear not to help him as much as you could, but you already knew you would miss your long nights spent talking or the way his gloved hand would grab yours like it was his second nature.

When it was time for the meeting, you had put extra care into your appearance, as if it would matter, wanting to make a good impression. Your companion stopped, and looked you over, and your feet shifted on the bumpy ramp of your ship.

Paz rumbled, as he had the first time you’d met, saying, “What is this?”

It made you laugh, sometimes, that someone so powerful and in control could be so awkward at times.

“Is it bad?” you quipped, trying to sound as though you did not care what he thought. In truth, he was the only one you had ever wanted so badly to think you were attractive.

Paz made a small noise, one you thought you recognized as annoyed, and you turned in time to see his helmet shaking and his shoulders tense.

“Mesh'la,” his voice was lower than normal. Logically you should’ve expected it, but it was amazing, almost overwhelming how his hand enveloped your cheek.

“Thank you,” you whispered, leaning into his touch. It was warm, and you felt selfish for wondering how much moreso it would be without his gloves.

And then a moment later the touch broke and he was hurrying to the cantina with you at his heels.

Kori was there, and they embraced. She greeted you kindly, but you kept your distance as they talked.

You settled at the bar, trying not to mourn a relationship that was hardly more than friendship, as you felt the eyes of someone on the back of your neck. It was a familiar feeling, and you turned, assuming it was Paz – but finding a man making his way over to you instead.

He was handsome, too tight clothes stretched over the muscles of his chest and a sweet, crooked smile. It made you think, maybe a distraction wouldn’t be so bad – and it wasn’t, at first. The guy was nice, attractive and charming and respectful enough that you let yourself actually enjoy his company. You almost didn’t feel the Mandalorians watching you – and you certainly didn’t see your Mandalorian's hands clench on the table.

-

Paz had hardly said a word to you since he dragged you back to the ship. He knew it was making you anxious, knew you were already waiting for him to start packing, knew you deserved some type of explanation as to what was happened but he just couldn’t.

For the very first time in his life he was petrified of getting the words wrong, desperate to say everything as right as be possibly could.

He wasn’t trained in this – they would say it was the way and move on, or have heated conversations driven by what they knew was right. Mandalorians weren’t … tactful, tentative, tender people, but Maker, did he want to be, for you.

You, in your nice clothes, settled in a crate, watching him and waiting, looking just touch guilty.

It’s not your fault, he wanted to say. It was his, for not being honest sooner. For letting you think he wasn’t head over heels in love with you, for letting you believe he would, could leave you. But he was angry, at himself and at the karking boy for thinking he had any right you make you smile like that.

Angry that it took Kori one look to know what he had spent weeks denying, to unearth the promise he'd made himself about keeping you close.

Angry it took her hand on his fists, and her quite, “Home is where the heart is, adi'ka,” for him to realize.

And when Paz was angry, words slipped past his tongue back down his throat like bitter medicine, and he couldn’t make it stop. He was a man who had spent years of his life in absolute control over every muscle in his body but he always failed with one, the one that seemed to matter most.

In the end, he remembered to do what he wished you would do – he pulled you into him, pressing he forehead of his helmet against yours.

In a moment, he could explain himself, tell you he loved you, ask you to let him stay. In a moment he would thank you for finding him.

But for now, he watched as the confusion cleared from your eyes before they closed and your mouth pulled into a smile, and didn’t run from the pride that filled him from head to toe.

<<

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[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XVI

Part I - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Part XIII - - - - Part XIV - - - - Part XV

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Masters Aerdo, Koon and Nu lurched forward in distress as Obi-Wan unceremoniously slammed his mental walls into place.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” He reassured them, smiling weakly and rubbing his temples.

“Cutting yourself off so abruptly from the force after a meditation that deep is dangerous,” Master Aerdo said, alarmed. “Please endeavor to be more gentle with yourself, Master Kenobi.”

“Of course, I simply thought it would be be best to allow for some, ah, uncertainty with my retreat to counteract my... necessary indiscretion.”

“Uncertainty!” Plo scolded. “If I hadn’t been in same room as you I might have thought you were dead!”

“Well, yes, that’s rather-”

Vokara Che burst through the door, followed closely by Bant Eerin.

“PLO KOON! WHAT IN THE GALACTIC CORE HAVE YOU DONE TO MY PATIENT!”

Master Koon took a step back, “Vokara, please-”

“I’m perfectly alright, Master Che,” Obi-Wan interjected, “Master Koon has helped me beyond what I can ever repay. I- Oh dear. You all have.” Obi-Wan looked around, guilt creeping into his voice. “Oh. OH. I am so sorry for what I must have put you all through. I- I assure you, it wasn’t what it looked like. Thank you so much for all you’ve done to save me from...well, my own foolishness, I suppose. Oh that must have been- I deeply apologize for the inconvenience I’ve caused.”

Master Che took a deep breath. “Your good health is repayment enough for whatever debt you feel you might owe. May I take your recent...reaching out to mean that you have begun to regain your sense of where and when you are and no longer feel the need for more...drastic means of escape? Alarming raising of shields notwithstanding?”

Obi-Wan winced. “I am...still confused on a number of points, I admit. But I’ve cleared up most of my important doubts. Its... 7957 by the Centralized Republic Calendar. I’m in the temple Halls of Healing on Couracant. Everyone in this room is a fellow member of Jedi Order.” Obi-Wan hastily wiped away a few tears forming in the corners of his eyes. 

He cleared his throat as the five onlookers watched with a mixture of sympathy and confusion. “It’s going to be difficult, but I owe you all an explanation. Actually I need to explain a few things quite urgently, but first-”

His train of thought was interrupted by the roiling force presence that proceeded Mace Windu’s entrance. Mace paused at the foot of the bed, eyeing Obi-Wan critically as everyone else shuffled slightly out of the way to the edges of the increasingly crowded room. 

“Master Kenobi. You’re looking better.” He finally said.

“I’m feeling better. You really can’t imagine. I’m sure you have questions, but first I must insist- ow!” Obi-Wan jerked back, startled by the sudden rap of a gimer stick on the side of his head.

“Master Yoda!” Che and Aerdo scolded as the Grandmaster suddenly appeared on the nightstand to get a better look at his troublesome great-grand padawan.

 Vokara actually grabbed the wizened elder with both hands, lifting him by the armpits and chastising him like a misbehaving youngling. “That is not an appropriate greeting for any of my patients. Shame on you.”

“Patients, hmm? Shame, shame indeed.” Yoda muttered, dangling in the air. “Gone, my patience is. For making us think he had joined the force too early, shame indeed on Obi-Wan.” 

Obi-Wan bowed his head. “My apologies, grandmaster. I had strong reason to believe that I was trapped in a hallucination. I will explain everything but first we really need to comm-”

“Your suicide attempt, I was not referring to, no. Do such a thing in your right mind, I know you would never. Concerned, we were, of course. Halfway fake your own death, the first thing you did was, after all this! The reason I am hitting you, that is! Too old for this, I am!” 

“I understand, and I had reason for retreating so suddenly. Which I will be happy to explain. But first we really need to do damage control and contact-”

- - - - -

“ANAKIN! Anakin, what’s wrong!” Padme shook her husband’s shoulders as he knelt, collapsed on the floor.

“It’s- Obi-Wan” he choked out. “He was here! He was awake and alive and then he just- stopped.” 

“Oh force. You don’t mean he’s-”

“I don’t know. I can’t sense him. I don’t know.”

“Go. And when you find him, please comm me to let me know if-”

But Anakin was already gone.

- - - - -

"Oh...hm.” Master Tiin shuddered slightly.

“Sir? Is everything alright?” Captain Rex asked.

“Does this have something to do with General Kenobi’s illness?” Boil called out anxiously. A low murmur rippled through the mixed meeting of high-level strategic and logistical officers. 

“His- force presence grew rather strong for a moment. I would have to contact the temple to-”

“He’s dead.”

“Master Krell!” Saesee Tiin chided as the room recoiled in horror. “We don’t know that.”

General Tiin addressed the anxious room, “His force presence did cut out abruptly, but there are a number of explanations for such a thing, and jumping to the worst case scenario prematurely does us no favors.”

“Perhaps we should pause the briefing while you contact the Temple, sir.” Commander Cody offered stiffly.

“Out of line, Clone.” General Krell said, sneering. “Regardless of the status of your former General, we depart at 22:00 hours this evening. This briefing will continue. Interrupt with such a meaningless and insubordinate suggestion again and I will have you put on review for decommissioning.”

“Yes, sir.” Cody replied.

“That’s enough, Master Krell. I realize tensions are running high but please control yourself.” Tiin sighed. “We do need to finish this planning session. I apologize for the disruption, everyone. Now if you will all turn your attention back to map 3a of the Ghost Nebula...”

Command training included modules on compartmentalizing unhelpful emotional responses in order to focus on tactical information, so that’s what Cody did.

- - - - -

“If you have some Sith-related intel to divulge, I think it might be more appropriate to contact the rest of the council first, Master Kenobi,” Mundi said, discarded fluid drip awkwardly jabbing him in the side . 

“I agree, but trust me, first, someone really needs to tell Anakin I’m not dead. If you don’t want to do it, I will,” Obi-Wan announced, trying to get up. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Bant snapped, pushing him back into bed.

“I- Oh Bant, It’s- some things are fuzzy, but you were one of the medi staff who came to my quarters after I...”

Bant glared in answer. 

“I am so sorry, again I-” 

“Obi-Wan, try not to worry too much about apologies right now. The important thing is you have people who care about you and we are all pleased by your renewed vigor for life.” Healer Aerdo interrupted, maintaining a death grip on Yoda while Che fussed over Obi-Wan’s vital readings. 

“I’ve commed Skywalker but if he’s acting as I suspect, he’s not checking messages” Master Windu said from his place in the corner.

- - - - - 

A Chiss Padawan leaned over to whisper to her Master as the mental flow halted unceremoniously. “Master, you don’t think...”

“Is something wrong, young one?” Chancellor Palpatine called out, smiling warmly at the young apprentice and drawing all eyes in the sub-committee meeting to the cloaked pair standing watch at the door.

“Ah, no, Supreme Chancellor, thank you for your concern. We simply observed a minor disruption in the force,” Her Tholothian Master replied smoothly as the padawan attempted not to fidget. “I’m sure the Council will contact us if it’s anything worth reporting to the Senate.” 

The meeting continued but more than a few senators spent the remainder of the session discretely swapping messages speculating on what could have ruffled the usually silent and stoic guardians. 

- - - - -

Shouted curses and wailing speeder horns followed Anakin as he raced to the temple. 

I swear to all the gods if he’s alive i’ll never kill anyone ever again I should have been there was no warning in the force please help me if he’s dead i’m going to kill everyone on this planet except Padme and then im going to kill Dooku and Grevious and then

- - - - -

“Master Fisto!” Ashoka said, turning anxiously to the Natuolan Master as Obi-Wan’s presence evaporated. “Do you think Master Kenobi is alright?”

“We’re quite a distance away,” Kit replied soothingly. “There’s a very good chance he simply had to withdraw because he was overreaching himself to say hello.” 

Ashoka frowned. “Can we contact the temple to make sure? Please?”

“I’ll send a comm, but we might not get a reply right away. We’re only a few hours out from the planet, so you’ll be able to check in on him yourself soon, alright?”

“Yes, Master.”

- - - - -

“Ah...perhaps we should shift into another room? This one is a little small for the...full Jedi Council. And I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to change out of these patients robes and into something a little more appropriate”

“You’re not going anywhere or changing into anything until I clear you.” Che snapped, elbowing Koth out of the way to jab Obi-Wan with another device.

“If one of the high council is unable to leave this room, than the high council is more than willing to meet here.” Master Gallia said calmly from her perch at the foot of the bed.  

“Well I’m not leaving.” Master Nu announced. “I still haven’t gotten the full explanation Plo promised.”

“As a healer-”

- - - - -

Klicks apart from one another, Sith Assassin Ventress and Knight Vos unknowingly shared identical frowns as Quinlan softly gave voice to what they were both thinking,

“What the fuck, Kenobi.”

- - - - - 

“WATCH OUT!”

“Kriff!”

“...Was that Anakin Skywalker? Did The Hero With No Fear just cut us off?”

“Must be some serious business for him to be flying like that.”

- - - - - 

Count Dooku redirected the Invisible Hand; his plans for Kiros would simply have to wait. Sidious might prefer the Umbaran seige to be a long, protracted affair rather than a decisive win one way or another, but if Tyrannus’s suspicions were correct, than the time for kowtowing to the Sith Master might be near its end. Sidious had long underestimated his Grandpadawan. He suspected that whatever play was going on was less the act of a new player and more the opening move of an experience one now shifting his attention to another arena. 

The ‘attack’ was likely a deliberate ruse to allow Kenobi to slip into the shadows and finally begin addressing the hint he had provided on Genosis long ago. Now, more than ever, Dooku needed to manage Separatist affairs strategically. Kenobi’s search into the force and subsequent rapid withdraw was too deliberate to be anything but the first steps of a larger plot. 

- - - - -

“Ah, Master Mundi?” A young apprentice healer asked the Cerean Master guarding the entranceway to the wing. “There’s a small crowd gathering outside. All very orderly, of course. But they want to know Master Kenobi’s Status. What should I tell them?”

Mundi Sighed. “If they ask, tell them Master Kenobi’s wellbeing is protected under healer client confidentiality and the highest security clearance.” 

Ki-Adi paused. “If Anakin Skywalker, arrives, just- send him this way, as you would a Council Member, understood? Don’t try and stop him.” he added begrudgingly.

“I see.” the padawan replied with impressive professional calm, "Thank you, Master Mundi” She bowed and returned to the front.

- - - - -

Maul staggered out of his cave. Kenobi was taunting him now. Kenobi would pay. Kenobi would see. Kenobi couldn’t die before Maul killed him.

- - - - -

A gap opened in the somber crowd as Anakin sprinted through, heart in his throat.

He should have been here there was no warning he should have been there

“Skywalker!” Mundi barked. “Calm yourself!”

Anakin stared at him with wild eyes and the High Master faltered, frightened for a moment. Before Anakin could say or do anything to the council member, Master Windu appeared. “Over here.”

Anakin blurred past him, mind tormenting him with images of nooses and blood and broken bodies and incomplete-

“Hello there, Anakin.” Obi-Wan sat upright in bed, smiling at him and surrounded by far too many Master’s for anyone’s comfort. Least of all the Masters, now that Mundi and Windu were forcing their back in. 

Anakin took in a strangled gasp, “Obi-Wan- you- i thought you were dead.”

Obi-Wan’s welcoming smile faltered. “Oh Anakin, I’ve really put you through a terrible ordeal the last few days, haven’t I? I am so, so sorry- I- I promise I didn’t intend to leave you like that. Come here, I’ll- its going to sound quite impossible but I can explain everything. There’s so much I have to tell everyone-”

Anakin threw himself forward, ignoring Jedi dignity and who he was knocking over.

He heard a tut of disapproval behind him as he embraced his Master. 

“Oh be quiet” Master Koon chided someone. “Honestly, he’s padawan age, have some compassion.”

Anakin decided to ignore that in favor of crying over Obi-Wan for the fourth time in as many days, utterly exhausted. 

Obi-Wan hesitated for a bare moment before wrapping his arms around his brother and friend for the first time in years (at least for the first time where he was aware that it was real and oh force he was really going to have to meditate to fully understand what he had said and done and what everyone had said in response).

“Perhaps we should give them a moment to collect themselves.” Master Aerdo offered diplomatically. Having largely reached their threshold for open displays of emotion, the Council non-verbally came to an agreement.

“You two have five minutes to pull yourselves together,” Master Windu said severely. 

“Of course, Master Windu. Thank you.” Obi-Wan rasped.

The group shuffled out with remarkable good grace, considering the number of inhabitants in the room, or rather remarkable bad grace, considering they were all supposed to be Jedi Masters.

Plo Koon patted them both on the shoulders before filing out. Master Yoda leapt nimbly out of Bant’s arms to land on the nightstand. He rapped them each lightly on the head before darting out with a chuckle. The door clicked shut.

“Master- I- never do that again.”

“I’m sorry Anakin, I promise, I wasn’t trying to die, I have far, far too much to live for. I’m never going to leave you again, I don’t care what else happens but- I’m not going to abandon you ever again, do you understand. Even if I die, I’ll come back and haunt you for the rest of your life, you’ll barely notice the difference, I swear.”

“...Thank you, but please stop talking now”

“Right, of course. I’m sorry. I’m so, so-”

“I love you, Obi-Wan.”

“...I love you too, Anakin.”

Part XVII

[winterscaptain]

no deal.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: and thus begins the 100 arc! i am so excited to share this with all of you. these are going to include more canon episode moments than my other episode-attached fics because everything builds on itself and the details are key. i promise we’ll still get a lot of added scenes and little changes! 

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own!  one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 8.4k warnings: canon-typical violence and discussion of violence, language

summary: a case comes back to haunt Aaron in more ways than you can imagine. you’re there to be his shadow, to catch him when he falls. 

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

“Hotch?” You poke your head around the door, and you find him at his desk, in a surprising ensemble of khakis and an earthy quarter zip.

Almost whimsical, for him. 

He looks up, his eyes softening for a moment before his brows pull in confusion. “You’re still here?”

You gesture to his desk lamp, the only light on in the entire office. “You are, so I figured…” You shrug. “I dunno. Is everything okay?” He looks exhausted, but it’s bone-deep - nothing sleep can fix. 

He shakes his head and sighs. 

That’s his tell.

But he says, “Yeah, everything’s fine.” 

You don’t believe him. 

“Are you sure?” You cross the room and lean on his side of the desk, quickly scanning over the documents you find there. He doesn’t mind your nosiness. He's mostly accustomed to it by now. 

Most of it is pretty normal - after-action reports, performance evaluations (it looks like you’re doing well), and task force meeting agendas - but there’s one file that sticks out. 

Your brow furrows. “The Boston Reaper?”

He shakes his head again. “I’m just reviewing it for an academy lecture about dormant or otherwise inactive serial killers.” 

“Ah, I see.” You know he’s still lying. “Anything I can help with?”

A little half-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “No, thank you.” He looks up at you and you offer him a small smile. There are many things at work behind his brown eyes. 

He never keeps things from you without reason, so the lying doesn’t bother you so much as the unease radiating off him in waves. 

For now, you decide to let it go and pat his shoulder as you stand. “Alright. Walk me out?” It’s a pointed question - you know he won’t leave if left to his own devices. 

He’s about to throw you a denial, but the look on your face leaves no room for it. “Yeah. I’ll just be a minute.” He starts packing up, sorting the files into neat little stacks that will be there waiting for him when he gets back tomorrow. The Reaper case, you notice, goes into his briefcase, decisively snapped shut and taken into his hand before you can process much else. 

The walk down to the garage is a quiet one. You take the stairs, happy for the excuse to stretch your legs. 

You snag the sleeve of his (very soft) quarter zip before he turns toward his car. “Aaron?”

His eyes snap to yours at the use of his first name. 

“Just…” you aren’t sure where you’re going with this, but he’s probably used to that by now, too. “Just, erm...Drive safe, please? Get some sleep when you get home?”

He takes a little breath and nods, his gaze softening. He’s quiet as you release his arm, quiet on the walk to his car, quiet (you imagine) as he drives out of the garage.

You watch him until the echo of his tail lights fall out of your sight.  

+++

The next morning, JJ trots up the stairs to Hotch’s office and exchanges a few words with him before he flies out of his office and down the stairs. 

“Shouldn’t we wait for the official request? We haven’t been invited.” JJ does her best to keep up with him, trotting down the stairs behind him with a file in her hand. 

“We will be.” 

You look at her with questions in your eyes and she shrugs. Derek, too, looks at her with confusion. Hotch continues toward the doors. 

Is he already headed toward the plane? 

She throws her hands up. “Well, it looks like we’re going to Boston.” 

+++

When all your things are packed and ready, you settle in beside Aaron in your usual place, on the arm of the couch across from the table. 

He walks you all through his work from a decade ago as you all review the files in your hands.  "The Reaper is driven by a need to dominate, control, and manipulate."

Emily’s the first to speak up. “So then why would he offer a deal that would stop him from doing that?”

“Well, killing gave him power, but after so many, the payoff began to diminish. So he decided to switch tactics. Offering the deal gave him the ultimate power, better even than killing. He manipulated the police into voluntarily surrendering.”

“He even got it in writing,” Reid adds. He’s looking closely at the letter, likely starting the structure of what would become a linguistic profile. 

JJ looks up, a little confused. ”He won. Why start killing again?” 

“Because the only person who knew he'd won, the person he made the deal with, just died.” Morgan says, closing the file and tossing it on the table in front of him. 

That’s an easy train of thought to jump on. “Narcissistic killers need other people to recognize their power.” With a little smile, you remind her, “That's why they contact the media.”

Emily’s next. “So how did he stop for 10 years? 

“In Night of the Reaper, the author suggests he had been arrested for an unrelated crime or died.” Reid pulls the book in question from his bag, placing it on the table. “Perhaps he's trying to correct that misconception.”

“Like BTK,” you offer. 

You can see Aaron's eyebrows rise for just a moment in your peripheral vision. Good one. 

You purposefully bump his shoulder on your way to steal one of Morgan’s snacks. Thanks. 

JJ takes the book, thumbing through. “What has he been doing all this time? 

“Well,” you say, “I would imagine he was planning what he would do if he started killing again.” You look at Aaron, who nods with his mouth in a thin, grim line. 

Morgan opens the file again, running his finger down the metrics as he speaks. “So, from '95 to '98, he shoots, stabs, and bludgeons twenty-one victims - men, women, all ages, all types, no specific victimology or MO.” He looks up at Hotch. “How did you build a profile from that?”

“We didn't. Shaunessy sent us home before we had a chance.” Aaron takes a breath before his next thought. “BTK, the Zodiac, and the Reaper all have similarities. They're all highly intelligent, disciplined, sadistic killers who name themselves in the press.”

“Highly intelligent may be a bit of an understatement,” Reid says. “The Reaper and The Zodiac Killer have never been arrested. And the BTK killer was only caught after twenty-five years because he went to the press to counter a book that said he'd died, moved away, or been locked up, just like this one.”

“Speaking of the media,” JJ notes, “when this gets out, it's going to be a frenzy. If they get wind of this, they're going to be all over the Boston Police.” 

Aaron agrees with a brisk nod. “The longer we can float the copycat story, the better chance we'll have of catching him.” 

You sit up straighter. “Meaning, if we keep pushing at his ego, he might take another risk?” 

“Exactly,” he says. “Rossi, Prentiss, and Morgan, go to the field office, set up shop, go through everything there.” He assigns himself, you, JJ, and Reid to the crime scene.

You’re happy for the chance to keep an eye on him. There’s still something off about this whole thing, and the fingers on his left hand worrying his pen is only the most obvious clue. You reach out for his sleeve across the aisle when the team breaks, tugging a little, just like you did last night. 

He looks over at you, almost startled. “Yeah?”

You don’t say anything. Tell me what you need. 

“I’m fine. Just want to get on the ground and get to work.” 

Bullshit. Your squint says it all. 

He sighs and you release his arm. He’ll talk to you when he’s ready. 

He always does. 

+++

You and JJ stand off Aaron's shoulder as he introduces the three of you to the local police authorities. Hotch is already on edge. 

An odd exchange between Hotch and one of the veteran cops leaves you with the entire department at your disposal. How he manages to do that every time is beyond you. 

Reid, the case file in his hand, walks you all through the preliminary findings. “Nina Hale, ninteen, and Evan Harvey, twenty-three. Nina's throat was slashed, she was stabbed forty-six times. Evan was bludgeoned and then shot. No shell casings were found.” 

“A revolver, maybe?” You ask, in-step with Aaron, whose gears are turning as he examines the inside and outside of the car. 

“He preferred revolvers, .44 magnum.” If he weren’t so focused, you were sure he’d be impressed by your observation. “The younger the female victim, the more time he spends with them, usually with a knife.”

You point at one of the photos of the female victim. “Tan line on her wrist. Probably wearing a watch of some sort.”

Aaron’s on the other side of the car now, leaning close to the driver’s side window, looking at a photo of the male victim. “Do we have his wallet?” At your questioning glance, he adds, “The Reaper took items from each victim and placed them on the next, so as to make sure we knew it was him.” 

“That’s quite the signature,” you muse, straightening. 

One of the crime scene techs hands him the wallet in question. After a quick examination: “No corrective lens requirement.”

Your brow furrows and you look over at him. “The glasses aren't his?”

“He only took glasses from one victim--the ninth.” He looks increasingly agitated as he speaks and the crease in your brow deepens to match his. “We should have found them on the tenth, and we didn't. They were never found.”

How does he know which victim was the ninth? How does he remember? 

“What was so special about the ninth victim?” 

Aaron levels you with a look that sends cold wriggling up your spine. “He survived.”

Oh. 

+++

JJ and Dave take the second car back, intending to make a few stops on their way back to the precinct. You sit shotgun, staring out the window, while Aaron drives. His fingers tap arrythmically on the steering wheel. 

He’s restless. Fidgety. It’s weird. 

“What are you thinking about over there?” You ask. 

He shakes his head, just a little. “It’s not a copycat.” 

Your brow furrows. “We knew that, though.”

“Right.” 

Oh.

It must be surreal to have a case come back to life like this. “Wasn’t this one of your first cases? You joined the BAU in ‘98, right?”

When I was a sophomore in high school…

Oh, shut up. 

You snap back to the audible conversation as he nods. “It was my first case as lead profiler, so I’d been on the team a couple of months. Gideon thought, well...I don’t know what he thought. He gave me point on this one for some reason or another.” 

“Look at you, hotshot.” You reach out and shove lightly against his shoulder and you’re rewarded with a huff. “Only on the team a few months and you get assigned your very own case.” 

He rolls his eyes. “I did it with you.” 

It’s true - he did. Spencer may have saved the day in the end, but you polished, delivered, and implemented the profile throughout the investigation. As scared as you were for the professional leap (and the personal one, given the nature of your teams’ closeness), it paid off. 

“That doesn’t count.” 

He glances at you before returning his eyes to the road. “Why not?”

You shrug. “We’re kind of…” You clam up, for some reason, a little embarrassed. 

Don’t be stupid. 

“...I don’t know? Friends?”

You get a real smile from him this time and you match it. “Well, ‘kind-of-I-don’t-know friends’ seems like a stretch, don’t you think?” He looks over at you and holds your gaze a little longer than he should, considering he’s driving a little more than eighty miles per hour. 

You’re an idiot, your eyes say, an amused chuff leaving your nose.

His eyebrows bounce before he looks out at the road again. And?

+++

“George Foyet, 28, was the ninth victim and the only one to survive The Reaper.” Aaron passes you files as he speaks, clearly not needing any notes or other aids to regurgitate the details of the case, verbatim. 

Dave snorts. “Not for lack of trying.”

Hotch walks you all through the Foyet attack, outlining the oddities and patterns that collectively create The Reaper’s signature. His good mood from the car has either entirely evaporated or been smothered by his focus on the case, leaving him with his normal operational stoicism. “The Reaper always uses some sort of ruse to get close to and spend time with his victims.”

“So, how did Foyet survive?” You ask. 

It’s weird he’s not summarizing it for you all, but then again, this case is odd in its obvious, meticulous execution. It’s probably best to let it speak for itself. 

Hotch wordlessly starts the recording. 

“911. What's your emergency?”

“I just murdered two more.” The voice is distorted, ominous. 

“Excuse me, sir, did you say you murdered someone?”

“Victims eight and nine, by a silver Toyota on Riverton past the Tyson Quarry.”

Reid fills you in. “That call was made from a payphone about a mile from the crime scene. EMTs arrived fifteen minutes later. Bertrand was DOA, Foyet barely breathing.”

“So,” you ask, looking over the case. “The Reaper made one of these calls after each of his killings telling the police where to find the bodies?”

Aaron nods. “Until this one, the ninth. If he hadn't made this call, Foyet wouldn't have been found in time. The call saved him.”

You look up from the file. “Can I guess that the Reaper didn't make any 911 calls after this one?”

Aaron’s brows raise for a moment. Exactly. 

“There's a reason he left Foyet's glasses at the last crime scene.” Aaron looks grim as he presents the glasses again. 

Morgan pulls his phone out of his pocket, likely for access to Penelope. “Foyet could be in danger.”

“Uh, Hotch,” JJ pops her head into the room, looking more than a little confused. “There's a reporter outside insisting on speaking with you.” At Aaron's questioning look, she adds, “Roy Colson. He says he knows you.”

You watch him leave and exchange words with the reporter, your lower lip planted firmly between your teeth. JJ hangs at your side while Derek comes up behind you, putting his hands on your shoulders. 

“Is Hotch okay?” He asks. Spencer, Dave, Emily, and JJ also look to you for an answer. 

You shake your head the barest amount and when you speak, it’s almost a whisper. “I don’t know.” You clear your throat and try again. “I don’t know.” 

+++

Dave peers into the car. “Another couple. Much older this time. One shot and one stabbed.” 

“No reason to stop out here.” You’re just off Aaron's shoulder, following the line of his flashlight. 

Dave sounds resigned, tired. “His license and registration are out of his wallet.” 

You squint. “Looks like he used a cop ruse."

“Good spot, isolated, few drivers.” 

Hotch sighs, coming in close to something with his flashlight. “He left Nina Hale's watch."

"Okay," Dave says. "So what'd he take?"

“His wedding ring.” You note the tan line on the man’s fourth finger - a dead giveaway. 

Pardon the pun...

A local officer is quick to give you the victim information, approaching Aaron with a file. “Arthur and Diane Lanessa. Weymouth. Married 32 years. They were coming home from the Elks, where they played bingo twice a week.” He looks over at the press, rapidly arriving at the perimeter. “I gotta go make notification.”

You refocus on the crime scene, anticipating Aaron's wandering eyes and shining the light where he needs it most. 

“Looks like he went through her purse,” he says. 

You hover over his shoulder again. “Any idea what he was looking for?”

Hotch shakes his head, moving on. 

A photo falls out of the drop-down mirror during Hotch’s cursory check. It depicts the victims and who you assume are members of their family. In blood, FATE? is scrawled across the front of the photo. Aaron straightens, leaving the car and crossing to Dave. You, of course, follow. 

When you both reach Dave, you finally have an opportunity to take a look at the photo. “The question mark is new.”

“It's for us.” Aaron doesn’t need further examination for his assessment. “He's saying it's not fate. He's saying we had ten years to save them and that these latest ones are on us.”

“You got all that from one question mark. That's impressive.” Dave’s compliment is only a little undercut by his sarcasm. You can’t help but agree with the implication. 

Aaron sighs, copping to it. “I may know him better than I've let on.”

“What does that mean?” You step closer to him, your brow furrowed. 

He levels you with a somewhat guilty look. “It means that there is a profile on The Reaper.”

Dave frowns. “I thought we were called off before we had one.”

“We were. I had just started the profile, and then he stopped killing, so officially we were done. But this case…”

“It stuck with you,” you finish for him. Your brows drop lower over your eyes, finally understanding the stakes at play. 

“I kept coming back to it over the years, and I worked on it alone.”

The exhaustion in his voice, gravelly and low, worries you more than you’d like to let on. “So you never shared it with anyone.”

“I know I'm always preaching that profiling is a collaborative effort, but this one wasn't. I don't know, maybe if -” he sighs. “If I was wrong, I was gonna head us in the wrong direction.” The doubt in Aaron's voice breaks your heart a little. 

“Now you think you're right.” Dave, of course, has the brief words to coax the thought out of Aaron. You’re thankful he’s here. Between the two of you, you’ll get more out of your unit chief in twenty minutes than anyone else would get in three days. 

“The more I see, the more accurate I think it may be.”

“Okay,” you say, “then we need to hear it.”

+++

It’s decided that Aaron will deliver the profile solo, with only a little input from Dave. It’s odd to see him up there all by himself while the rest of you stand off to the side. You’re students just as much as the local police, this time. 

You tune into Aaron, whose eyes are bouncing all over the room, from person to person, holding and keeping their attention. His eyes meet yours and you hope the respect and pride overflowing in your chest is visible on your face. 

“The Reaper fits a profile we refer to as an omnivore. Unlike most serial killers, an omnivore doesn't target a specific victim type. Although he tends to focus on his younger female victims with his knife, he essentially is a predator who will kill anyone.”

One of the local cops has a decent question (for once). “Why is he so democratic?”

“Because his kills aren't just about his victims. He needs recognition. He needs us to know.”

Dave chimes in. “The symbols, the placement of prior victims' possessions on subsequent victims--it's all for us.”

“Why?” 

“Power,” Aaron answers simply. “The Shaunessy letter is the clearest example of this. He manipulated Tom Shaunessy into literally surrendering to him.”

It reminds you of the first time you saw him - alone, in front of a room of people focused only on him. It was one of your first lectures at the academy, your favorite, and the one that inspired you to ask for a placement with the BAU when Jenny told you to take a running leap. 

How far you’ve come. 

Without permission, your mind wanders to a few things that haven’t changed in the last year and a half. Aaron is still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen - capable, worthy of deep admiration and respect. His voice is the same - demanding respect and carrying the weight of the world in it. 

Anything that won’t condemn you to a life of unrealistic expectations of men? 

No. Maybe you’re a better shot?

Great. That’s useful. 

“Like BTK killer Dennis Rader,” Aaron continues, “The Reaper is extremely disciplined. In his everyday life, this will very likely make him so inflexible, he can't keep close relationships or work closely with others. 

“I believe our killer has another interest that may give us the best opportunity to catch him.” You’re glad Dave is there to help, his seasoned expertise coming in handy once again. “The Reaper's last victim was an older woman. He killed her quickly, with a single shot. The prior, younger victim, he spent more time with and stabbed forty-six times.”

Yet another “Why?” from one of the local officers. 

Curious group, it seems. 

Aaron answers. “He pays special attention to his younger female victims, and his weapon of choice with them is the knife, a substitute instrument for bodily penetration.”

Dave, again, has something else for you all. “The younger the victim, the more time and effort he spends. I think our guy is a hebephile.”

“Hebephile?” Naturally, that particular proclivity is not a familiar one to the layman. 

Reid lends an assist. “A hebephile is someone who's attracted to adolescent post-pubescent children. Teenagers.” 

“Look for men with access and authority -” Aaron assumes command again, “- high school teachers, counselors, coaches--and anyone who's been charged with sex crimes against teenage girls in the last ten years.” He checks in with you, and you nod. “That's all for now. Thank you.”

+++

You look up as Aaron walks into the room, Derek ready with bad news. “Garcia can’t find George Foyet.” You stand and resume your post as his shadow, beside Emily. 

Morgan holds the phone toward Hotch. “I’ve got nothing, sir,” comes Garcia’s voice from the speaker. 

“What do you mean? 

“I mean, he’s gone. He’s completely off the grid. He’s gone.” 

“How is that possible?” You tap Aaron's shoulder with the back of your hand as his tone grows sharper with Penelope. 

Be nice. 

He shakes you off and you clench your jaw, looking over at Derek as Aaron tries to wiggle more information out of Penelope. It doesn’t work. “Garcia, we don’t have much time.” 

“I know, sir.” 

You huff. “I mean, how would you even drop off the grid like that? There has to be someone he talked to.”

Aaron wordlessly dials a number, shooting you a somewhat grateful, if not a little rueful, look. “Roy, Aaron Hotchner. I need a favor.” 

+++

“That’s him.”

Aaron shuts the back door of the car behind you and out of habit, you take quick stock of him while he does the same for you. 

You spot the man you’re looking for skittering across the street and toward the apartment. “George Foyet?” He’s visibly skeptical, and Aaron pulls his credentials. “It’s okay. We're FBI.” He introduces you and Rossi while you flash your credentials for good measure. “I'm Agent Hotchner. We met once before. Do you remember?”

"Yeah, I remember.” He’s agitated, his eyes jumping to every moving person on the near-empty street. “Would you mind if we get off the street, please?

You follow Dave and Aaron into the cramped apartment, noting the clutter and general feeling of paranoia permeating the space. Everything looks rushed - half-lived in and half-finished. 

When you reach the kitchen, Foyet collapses into a coughing fit and Dave immediately supplies him with a glass of water. 

“Thank you.” He takes another decent gulp. “How'd you guys find me?”

“Roy Colson,” Aaron says. He’s focused on Foyet, but you can tell he’s keyed into the peripherals, just in case. 

“Oh.” He seems disappointed, though in what you’re not sure. “Well, is this gonna take long? 'Cause I really can't be late for work.”

“What do you do?” You ask. 

“I'm a freelance computer specialist with the city.”

Dave steps forward. “We're sorry to bother you. We'll make it as quick as possible.”

Aaron pulls the evidence bag containing the glasses out of his breast pocket. “This yours?”

“I knew it wasn't a copycat.” 

You pull a chair for Foyet as he coughs again, feeling only a little odd about taking care of this man in his own house. 

“Thank you.” He takes another sip of water. “I'm sorry.” He pauses, remembering. “I was gonna propose to her that night...At the restaurant, but I got cold feet. The ring was still in my pocket when he approached us. He said he was lost. He had one of those sightseeing booklets. I was looking at it when he stabbed me. Yeah...Perfect timi-”

You interrupt him, attempting to stem his agitation. “Mr. Foyet, you don't need to go through this again.” Nevertheless, he continues, increasingly distraught. 

“I couldn't move. I just sat there, bleeding. I watched him kill Mandy. He stabbed her sixty-seven times. Do you know how long it takes to stab somebody sixty-seven times? ...I never found the ring.”

For some reason, your mind drifts to the man beside you, the horrifying thought of seeing him stabbed, the life leaving his body. You shake it off with a little shudder. 

Why, brain? Why? That’s a fucking awful thought. 

And yet the image sticks with you, forcing you to manually lock it away. Aaron looks at you, almost like he can read your mind. 

That’s nightmare fodder.

The smallest flex of his brow asks, Are you okay? 

Fine. You offer him a tight twitch of your lips. It’s not a smile, but you’d be thankful for at least a mockery of one right now. 

With a little bit of a squint, Aaron turns back to Foyet. “He should have left your glasses on his next victim, but he didn't. He held on to them all this time.”

“What, you think he's got some special interest in me?” He almost laughs. “I've been living with that possibility for the past eleven years.”

“Have you received any strange letters or calls? Hang-ups?” Dave asks. 

“I keep residences under different names. I move between them randomly. He likes to get you in the car, so I take the bus. Believe me, I've gone through great lengths to make sure that none of the things you've just mentioned ever happened.”

What a terrifying, sad existence. 

Dave offers George his notebook and a pen. “We'll need your other names and residences so we can reach you.” 

“We can take you someplace safe until this is over.” Aaron’s brow is knit in concern - it’s a look you’ve seen many times, but it never fails to inspire a little flicker of warmth in your chest. 

Quit, would you?

“No. Boston is my home. It's the one thing I promised I would never let him take from me.”

Aaron insists, pushing. “Then we'll protect you here.”

“You can't protect me. Nobody can.” He frantically writes in the notebook for a moment before handing it back to Dave. “Please be careful with this. Please.”

Dave assures him, “It's safe with us.”

“He's just a man, nothing more.” You hope it’s the right thing to say. You feel Aaron take a breath, and you almost feel bad. It’s a line he’s said before, one you borrow when necessary.

Don’t mean to steal his thunder. 

Instead of looking at you, he looks at Aaron. “Then why can't you catch him?”

“We will.”

+++

You’re both sitting in Aaron's hotel room, the photos from each of the crime scenes spread out all around you. It’s far later than you’d like, but the time spent is worth it if it gets you one step closer to this sick, scary bastard. 

“What was it like? The original case?”

Aaron sighs, pulling a hand down his face. “Frustrating. Exhausting. Like this.” He shakes his head. “Every day was another dead end, and then another pair of bodies every few weeks. Then…they just stopped.” He holds up the note. “Now I know why.” 

You tip your head to the side, studying him. “What would you do?”

“What, you mean about the deal?” 

“Yeah. What if -”

The phone rings, cutting you off, and you rise to answer. You’re stopped by a hand on your wrist as Aaron passes you and picks it up. “Hotchner.” 

You plant yourself back on the bed, legs folded underneath you. It’s probably one of the team, given the hour and -

“Who is this?” His voice is low, almost angry. 

You scramble to the edge of the bed, giving Aaron space while remaining completely keyed into him. 

“...You think I’d take that?...I’ve misjudged you. I thought you were smarter than this...Then you’ve misjudged me...I don’t make deals.”

Oh my god. It’s The Reaper. 

No. It can't be.

You pull out your cell and fire off a text as quickly as you can to Penelope. 

3:42am trace call to ah’s room stat

She doesn’t disappoint. 

3:42am on it. 

“I’m the guy who hunts guys like you..." Aaron laughs, dark and humorless. "You all think that...I’ll see you soon.” He slams the phone down and starts to pace, his hand over his mouth. 

“What’s going on?” You stand, stopping him with a hand on his arm. “Hotch. Who was that?”

He stares down the phone like it’s a living thing, but doesn’t breathe a word. After a moment, he jumps back into action, sitting heavily on the bed and going over everything with a renewed, almost frantic, focus. 

You watch him for a moment before you pull out your phone. A text message from six hours ago blinks up at you. 

Haley Brooks-Hotchner

9:13pm when you get a chance, can you have aaron give me a call? no rush. just school paperwork for j. he’s not picking up his phone. thanks xx

You answer her, praying she didn’t leave her ringer on. The hour alone will reveal the extent of the team’s attention on this case and you can only hope she understands. 

3:48am can do. this one’s bad. might be a minute. 

Aaron looks up at you, a question in his eyes.

You shake your head with a little smile. It’s nothing. 

+++

“Six bodies, not including the driver. He put 'em down with the gun--or more likely guns--and finished them off with his knife.” Dave looks around while Aaron stands stock still near the driver, slumped over the wheel. 

The scene inside the bus is macabre - bodies and blood everywhere. The numbers on the window send shivers up your spine. 

“There;s Arthur Lanessa's wedding ring.” You peer over Aaron's shoulder. “What'd he take?” 

He scoffs. “Does it matter?” 

He straightens quickly, shoving past you and getting off the bus. You get out of his way, letting him go with a frown. Dave meets your eyes and tips his head. You follow him out as he goes after Aaron, giving them just a little bit of distance 

Dave catches up to him. “Hey. What's goin' on with you?”

Aaron stops in the alley a little ways away from the bus. “He called me tonight and offered me the deal.”

So that’s what happened. 

You thought as much, but the thought alone was too much to consider. It’s never been less satisfying to be right. 

“What did you say?”

“I hung up on him, and then he does this.” Aaron gestures to the crime scene, NO DEAL staring you all in the face, along with all those numbers. 

The idea of The Reaper torturing Aaron like this is horrifying. Plenty of unsubs have made your skin crawl in the past, but this is a new kind of awful. You’ve never seen him like this. 

“So, you think this is your fault?”

“It is,” he insists. You’re shocked to see tears in his eyes when he looks back up at Dave. There’s a part of you that wants to reach out, but something keeps you back. 

Dave pulls his gun and releases the safety, turning the grip toward Aaron. 

What the fuck? 

“Well, here, use mine. You convinced me.” 

Aaron waves him off with one hand while he pinches the bridge of his nose with the other. 

Of all the things you would have thought of at this moment, pulling a gun on SSA Aaron Hotchner wouldn’t have made the list. You watch, ready to jump between them at a moment’s notice. They’ve never gone after each other before, but you’ve seen more worrisome behavior from Aaron in the last forty-eight hours than in the preceding eighteen months. 

Even at the height of the divorce proceedings, he was steadier than this. 

“No, no, you hung up on him.” Dave pushes the gun at him, trying to wrangle it into Aaron's hand. “You practically killed them yourself. Go ahead, get it over with. Don't worry about us.” He gestures to you and Aaron's eyes flicker to yours. You have no idea what you look like right now. “We'll get this guy without you.”

Dave is a genius. 

He blinks, tears wetting his cheeks. It’s certainly one of the more alarming things you’ve ever seen. He’s audibly frustrated, his hand flexing at his side as he talks. “Dave, I had 10 years to do something about it.”

That’s not fair. 

When has Aaron ever been fair, or even kind, to himself? 

Well, shit. 

That’s why you’re here. Do your job.

You step forward, keeping your voice down. Approaching him like a cornered animal seemed the best tactic at the moment. “Shaunessy made the deal. The killing stopped, as promised. He closed the case and sent you away, Hotch.” Your eyes beg for his as you continue. “You moved on. You worked on other cases, active cases. You saved lives in that time. It wasn’t wasted.”

Aaron huffs, clearly frustrated. “But I kept coming back to this one. I kept coming back to this profile.” There’s something desperate in his voice and you know he’s trying to get you to understand something he can’t articulate. 

Dave takes over again. “Hey. I was retired. Should I blame myself for every victim who got killed while I was on my book tour? Look, if you want to end up like Shaunessy, like Gideon, blaming yourself for everything, you go ahead.” 

Damn. Good point. 

Aaron’s eyes meet yours for just a moment before looking away again. You keep your face soft, neutral. 

Safe. 

“But that voice in your head,” Dave says, “it's not your conscience. It's your ego. This isn't about us, Aaron. It's about the bad guys. That's why we profile them. It's their fault. We're just guys doing a job. And when we stop doing it, someone else will. Trust me. I know.” 

Aaron checks in with you for a moment and you nod. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay. 

He wipes at his eyes before leveling Dave with something that looks almost like his classic glare, gesturing to the offered gun at his chest. “You can put that away.”

With a cheeky smile, Dave says, “You sure?”

“It's a little dramatic, don't you think?” You ask, stepping up and clapping Dave on the shoulder. 

“My wife always said I had a flair for the dramatic.” Dave’s deeply chuffed pleased that he was able to bring Aaron back to his senses. He holsters his weapon, throwing the safety back on. 

“Which one?” Aaron asks. You’re relieved to hear a little bit of humor in his voice. 

“All of 'em.”

The three of you share a little smile before you walk back to the crime scene. 

Aaron’s thanks is so quiet you’re almost certain you made it up. 

You’re only sure it happened at all when Dave replies, “Anytime.” 

+++

“He knows where Foyet lives. We’ll split up and cover each address. Go.” 

You rise and somehow end up with Derek. Though not your intention, it’s probably for the best. For good measure, you take Jameson, a seasoned SWAT agent. The three of you had the biggest of Foyet’s properties on lock. 

Derek speeds to the house, flooring it with sirens blaring. 

“I’ll take front,” Derek says, nearly shouting over the siren. 

You’re locked and loaded, ready to go in your vest as soon as the car stops. “I’ll take the back.” You twist in your seat to look in the back. “Jameson, you good on my six?”

“I’ve gotcha.” 

You’re clearing the house, kicking in the back door. There’s a thump behind you and you turn. Before you can do anything, something makes contact with the back of your head, sending you straight to the ground. You hit something else on your way down, and you’re done. 

Fuck. 

You’re knocked out cold, but come to only a few minutes later. You stumble to your feet as lights and sirens round the corner. Bringing a hand to your head, you feel the blood on your forehead. There’s probably a decent cut near your hairline and when you look down, you find an alarming amount of blood on your vest. 

Head wounds bleed. You’re fine. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

Derek. 

You brace yourself on the wall as you rise, checking your service weapon. It’s not in your holster, but you find it nearby on the floor. 

Why didn’t he take it? 

Kicking it under the table, you draw your secondary weapon. The thought of leaning down to reach for the gun on the floor is too much and your only aim is to get to Derek, then Jameson.

Blinking blood out of your eyes, you do your best to clear the rest of the house before finding the mess in the living room and front yard. Without much of a thought, you haul yourself over the broken window sill, getting a nice slice in your arm for your trouble, and land hard at Derek's side. With a groan, you roll over onto your knees, crawling toward your prone teammate. 

You look up as headlights hit you, shading your eyes with one of your hands. The other rests on Derek's chest. To your relief, you can feel his breath under his vest. He’s alive. He’s okay. 

With the intensity of the lights shining on you, you can’t see Hotch as he lifts you to your feet by your upper arms. He shields you from the light with his body, his brows drawn and concerned. You’re dizzy in the extreme, your right eye almost unable to open with all the blood caked down the side of your face. 

He takes you under his arm and brings you to one of the ambulances posted on the street. The paramedic takes your vitals, but Aaron keeps a hold on your other hand. You’re not sure he realizes he’s still got you, but you’re not about to let go. 

“What happened?” He asks, quiet and tense. 

You shake your head even though it only increases your dizziness. Blinking a couple of times, you answer, “I don’t know. He came out of nowhere. I had the side of the house, Jameson had the back, Morgan the front. We were clearing room by room and he just…” your eyes float to the front of the house, where Emily has Derek with a paramedic. “He appeared and I didn’t have time before he hit me with...Something. I was out before I could blink. I think I hit the table on the way down.” 

Hotch sighs and to your dismay, you see the coroner approaching the back of the house with a gurney. Jameson’s dead. 

Why aren’t you?

“He didn’t take my service weapon. It’s under the table in the kitchen now, but it was next to me when I came to. I don’t -” you swallow, still dazed. “I don’t know why he left us alive.” 

You can see Aaron's teeth grinding as he collects himself. “He’s trying to get in your head. Don’t let him.” 

“What, like you?” You know your functioning isn’t at one hundred percent - you’d never make a jab at him like that, even weak as it was, at a moment like this if you were clear-headed. 

He sighs as your eyes flutter shut, leaning on the inside of the ambulance. You hear the paramedic tell him you’re concussed and need to be kept awake for the next ten hours. Hotch gets the details on your other injuries before squeezing your hand once and leaving you. 

After another few minutes, EMS releases you with a packet of concussion information (which you immediately crumple and shove into a passing crime scene tech’s jacket pocket). Far too quickly, you make your way across the yard and into the house, avoiding Jameson's body and the coroner’s staff. 

You find Derek and Emily sitting together on the back of the couch as he, too, is patched up. 

“You okay, kid?” He asks. 

You nod. “Just concussed, a couple of lacerations. I’m fine. Are you okay?” There’s a compulsion to fuss over him, but you resist. 

He nods, bringing a pristine .44 caliber bullet into your eye line. “He left this.” 

A shiver runs down your spine. “Sadistic bastard.” 

Emily raises her eyebrows and cants her head, agreeing with your brief assessment. 

You look outside to where Hotch stands in the middle of the yard, with his arms crossed, looking over the damage to both the house and his team. 

Eventually, he returns to the house with Spencer in tow. You follow them, moving slow. 

Reid points to evidence as he talks. “Jameson was clearly killed outside. This is someone else. There are signs of a struggle and a lot of blood."

"But no body,” you note. 

What the hell happened here? 

Reid nods. "Just the drag marks. The human body holds 5 quarts of blood. I'd say there's a little more than half that here. Whoever the bleeder was, they lost too much to survive."

It begs the question, so you ask. "Foyet?” 

“It was his worst fear, that the Reaper would come back and finish the job,” Dave says, appearing out of nowhere and leaning on the door jamb to the kitchen. 

With a firm conviction, Aaron says, “We offered him protection. He refused. It was his choice.”

+++

JJ’s brow crumples as she looks over the files again. "Why is he so focused on Foyet? What's so special about him?"

Aaron, of course, answers her. "He was his only surviving victim, the only one he couldn't defeat."

“But he's not a threat. Defeating him would be no great accomplishment. There's something there that we're missing.” You thumb through the case again, certain the answers are there for you to find. 

JJ’s persistent. “What about the girlfriend, Amanda Bertrand? Wh-what do we know about her?”

“Nineteen. A freshman. She came here from Michigan to go to school. Foyet was a teacher's assistant in one of Amanda's courses.”

“Michigan. Where The Reaper had Shaunessy post the personal ad.”

“That can't be a coincidence.”

“He told us she was the love of his life, that he was gonna propose. But she just got here from Michigan. They only met when the class started.”

“How long had she been in the class?” You ask

There’s an incredulous laugh in Emily’s voice. “Four weeks.”

“So it was either love at first sight or what?”

Derek picks up JJ’s thought. “Foyet was lying?”

“He's a 28-year-old teacher's assistant in freshman classes.” Hotch immediately starts dialing a number, and you’re sure you know which one. As you suspected, he gets Penelope on the phone. 

“What are Foyet's aliases?” Quickly, you hand him Dave’s notebook, the rest of your body coiled for action. He bows his body over the phone, rattling off instructions. “I want you to look up in Boston city records Kevin Baskin, Miles Holden, and William Parker. Try the Department of Education.”

“Well played, sir.” You hear her keyboard in the background. “They all work for the Department of Education, they're all substitute teachers, and they all teach computer science.” She pauses. “Oops. Scratch that. They're not all working for the Department of Education.”

“They're not?” Aaron’s head tilts, listening. 

“No. William Parker was fired for alleged inappropriate behavior with his female students.”

Something clicks. You watch the gears turn and turn and turn, Aaron’s eyes flickering over the photos, the file, back and forth as he puts pieces together. 

“Hotch?” Your hand hovers over his shoulder, but he pays you no mind. 

“Roy Colson went to see Foyet.” He begins to stand, his voice rising as he gets farther from the phone. “Garcia, I need you to trace Roy Colson's cell phone. George Foyet is The Reaper.”

Garcia gives you the address and the rest of you chase Aaron out to the car. The headache pushing behind your eyes is the least of your worries. “What? What do you mean George Foyet is the Reaper?” It’s almost comical, the efforts you take to keep pace with him down the stairs and to the car. 

Aaron communicates all the details he put together in the conference room, taking you step-by-step through his process. “He stabbed Amanda Bertrand to death, he drove a mile, he called 911, he went back, and he inflicted those wounds on himself.”

You’ve already caught up, the pieces clicking in before he can repeat them. “He knew EMS would get there in time to save him.” 

“And between the phone call and the severity of his wounds, we never considered him as a suspect.” There’s frustration in his tone, but you know it goes deeper than that. It’s his pride. 

“Hotch, you couldn’t have -” 

Derek cuts you off. “Why would he do it?”

“It put him at the core of the investigation. Everything we had came from him.”

Talk about inserting yourself... 

Derek is right there with him. “He left his own glasses at the crime scene, he pointed us right back in his direction, and still, we didn't see it.”

Aaron nods, his jaw tighter than you’ve ever seen it. 

Don’t blame yourself. 

Hotch rolls up to the house, no lights or sirens, and you surround the house, on his six. You quietly breach the back door, clearing the kitchen and the hallway. 

“It's over.” Aaron’s tone leaves no room for argument as he levels his gun at Foyet’s head. 

There’s a strange smile on Foyet’s face as he speaks. “I'll kill him.”

“You need him to write your story.”

“I'm taking him with me. I'll let him go as soon as I'm safe.”

You step to the side, trying to get a better shot, but Aaron stops you with the smallest turn of his head as Foyet redirects his attention to you.

“I said I'll kill him.”

Aaron pulls his focus again. “You kill him, I kill you.”

“You think I'm afraid to die?”

“You're not afraid.” Aaron sneers. He’s aiming to hurt and it’s a good idea. “You're greedy and narcissistic. You want the recognition that's gonna come from the book that he's gonna write. You want the fame that's gonna come from the media. It's gonna be like Bundy.”

“I'm gonna be bigger than Bundy.”

“Well, you can't enjoy it if you're dead.”

You’ve got him there, Aaron. 

“If you know me so well, how come some many had to die to bring you here?”

You can almost feel the lance of shame and guilt that shoots through Aaron. He almost flinches. Between you and Emily, if looks could kill, Foyet would be long dead. 

You fucking asshole. 

It takes everything in you not to leap on him and pummel him into the floorboards. You’d love nothing more than to wipe that smug grin off his face. 

“That's your choice, not mine. You're the serial killer.” To your ears, it sounds like Aaron's convincing himself as much as telling Foyet. 

“That's right.” He turns, smirking. "Hello, Derek.” 

He drops his gun and Derek pounces on him, restraining him. "Where's my badge?” He jerks Foyet’s head back by the hair. “Where is it, you son of a bitch?”

He doesn’t answer Derek's question, but shifts his icy gaze to you. “How’s your head?” He gives you an imitation of a pout, and anger sears through your chest. “You took quite a spill last night, Agent. Probably had your unit chief very worried.”

You squint at him, but don’t respond. Aaron steps a little to the side and you’re not even sure he realizes it, but he’s made himself a barrier between you and Foyet. 

The bastard notices, though, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “I'm gonna be more famous than you even realize.”

The look he gives Hotch makes you shudder. 

+++

Only an hour or so after you land back at Quantico, JJ jogs from her office to Hotch’s. Your heart sinks. 

That’s never good. 

“Foyet escaped.”

You grab the remote and stand from your desk, turning the volume up on the TV. 

She chases Hotch down the stairs as he joins the rest of you, surrounding Derek's desk. “Guards found him in his cell vomiting blood and convulsing. They rushed him to the prison hospital.”

“Get me the U.S. Marshals office.” He turns, but she stops him. 

“I already called Don Reilly. I offered our assistance. He said they'd call us if they needed it.”

Aaron doesn’t stop moving until he’s at your side. Your search for his eyes and he meets your gaze after a moment. 

What do we do? 

His jaw clenches. I don’t know. Then, a huff. Fuck. 

You shake your head a little. It makes you feel a little dizzy. Fuck, indeed. 

“How’s your head?” He asks. 

Of all the things to worry about…

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Just then, Emily returns, a file in her hand. “The Boston field office just identified documents from Foyet's house. They're schematics for the electrical, heating, and water ducts of the East Woburn Correctional Facility.” 

You take it from her, looking it over before looking at Hotch. “He had the schematics. And not just for Woburn. For every jail, prison, and courthouse in Massachusetts.”

“And 10 years to plan,” Dave adds. 

"They're gonna find him, right?" Penelope’s voice is small, and you can’t blame her for it. Derek’s at her side, staring at the news footage with a grim look on his face. 

Aaron’s eyes are trained on the television when he answers. “No, they're not.”

Derek turns to you before looking at every member of the team individually. “He said he'd be more famous than we knew, and he was right.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @whoreforhotch @pinkdiamond1016 @pan-pride-12 @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @writerxinthedark @bauslut @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @garcia-reid-lovechild  @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster

[eternally-drifting]

Eclipsed (Jungkook FF) - Ch.1

Discovering the kings biggest secret leads you into understanding the way he is, and how perhaps you have been just a bit too prejudice. After all, who are you to judge anyone.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

genre: fantasy, fluff, inspired by the anime Inuyasha, slight e2l, the f2l, and some angst cuz why not, future smut.

warnings: TW - description / mentions of blood loss

word count: 1779

parts: 1 / next>?

a/n: I tried to get this out by Halloween last year but it was 2020 and life got in the way. A lot of stuff happened in my personal life so I just needed to cope with that first before I did anything. Also, since this is inspired somewhat by the anime Inuyasha, I wanted to give a moment and respect the passing of Kirby Morrow who is the english voice actor of Mirkou in the series as well as many other great characters. It felt like a piece of my childhood just left and while I know we can all still see and hear his work, it definitely did leave an impact on me as well as many other. Rest well Kirby. Aug. 28, 1973 - Nov. 18, 2020

Without further notice, hope you enjoy this.

“Come now darling, we need to hurry and head home before the sun sets.” A woman gently tugged on her child’s hand as she finished putting the last bit of herbs in her basket. The child’s eyes gleaming at every trinket that glistened in the rays of the setting sun. A certain fascination was held in the child’s eyes. Though, upon hearing what her mother said, she quickly drew her attention from the trinkets. Looking at her mother now as she was pulled through the crowd, a question laid heavy on her tongue.

“Mama, why do we always need to hurry home before the sun sets?” With a furrow of her brow the little girl couldn’t hide her disappointment. Despite being only eight, the little girl knew that it was an odd thing. Never really understanding the reasoning as to why one could not stay out past the sunset. “___ sweetheart, it’s a law that the king has set in place.” This answer did not seem to quell her curiosity.

“But why?” Her mother chuckles as she halts all her movements. She looks at her daughter before kneeling to her height and lifting her up. She scans around to ensure no one is paying attention before whispering in her daughters’ ear. “It’s to keep everyone safe.” You blink at her, owlishly so, that she lets a small giggle leave her lips. Squishing your cheek next to her, she places a kiss on it. “Safe? But doesn’t the king-”

Your mother simply smiles, “don’t believe everything people say ___.” Whispering ever so gently, she places you back onto the ground before taking your hand and leading you home. Where later into the night you lay up and think over your mother’s words.

Later that evening – once you are tucked into bed and in a deep sleep. Your mother looks out the window of the cabin, watching the glow of the barrier surround the entire kingdom. Just beyond that, she gazes up at the moon as it turns a striking blood red. It brings back a distant memory.

Entering the castle, she takes note at how dark it is inside, the curtains have been drawn and there are barely any candles lighting the corridors up. ‘Strange, the moon is full and bright tonight’ She isn’t allowed to think much of it any longer

“Your highness.” The man that sought her out for weeks – one of the kings’ advisors he informed – leads her into one of the many rooms in the enormous castle. She turns her gaze back to the front, where a man stood with his back faced towards them. There has been a demonic energy present since she passed the forest into the capital. And despite the darkness within the castle, she was able to distinct the horns that protruded through his head as he slightly turned it. ‘No doubt, he’s where all this demonic energy is coming from.’

“We have brought the priestess just as requested.” Surprisingly, his voice was soft, tone gentle. “You may leave us.” He remained facing the large window.

Nothing was said as they stayed in their spots. She didn’t know what to say or do, but by heavens is this a deafening silence. Just as she was gathering up all the courage to finally speak, he beat her to it.

“You were the high priestess of Faemma, were you not?” The mention of her past stuns her so much, that it takes her a full moment to compose herself. “Yes, your majesty.” She holds her head high, never allowing the blight to hinder her dignity. Another bout of silence engulfs them. A sudden shift in the air sends chills down her spine. Glancing at the king she is stunned in silence, lilac eyes shining in the dark room as they stare her down.

“If the rumors that proceed you are to be true, then I need you, to achieve something for me. In return, I will grant you asylum in Aurelia.” As though it never existed, his demonic aura disappeared along with the glow of his eyes.

That was over nine years ago. Just as the king promised, she was granted asylum and lived her life as much as she could. Starting her family of two in peace, no matter the consequences. One final look at the barrier, and she heads to bed.

‘I’ve done my part, the rest is up to you, my darling ___.’

 “You will regret ever crossing paths with us priestess!” Another attack was thrown your way, all too quickly that you barely managed to escape it – the ray of lighting hitting your arm. Blood seeped out from the open gash at an alarmingly rapid pace. The effects after the blow caused shock waves through your entire body.

‘If I don’t get away soon, I’ll surely be killed. If not by them, then certainly by all the blood that I’m losing.’ Casting a look over the horizon you see that the sun is nearly set. ‘The sunset!’

If you lead them close enough to the village - the sun should have set by then, activating the barrier! They won’t be able to penetrate through! With your plan set, you act and try to run without tumbling over everything in your way. Holding on tightly to your arm, hand over the wound, you feel blood pour out as your heart raced and pumped the blood through your veins. Your hand and arm completely drenched that it dripped down and caused a trail on the foliage.

“Running is futile! We can hear your heart beating, smell the very life pouring out of you!” One of the demons growled out at you as you looked back. Eye narrowing as you could see that your blood has lured other demons out. You hasten your pace as you see the last ray of light go out.

‘Yes! Just a little further!’ You ran desperately, that you had closed your eyes thinking that it would somehow aid you in running faster – only this led you into running and tripping on an uprooted tree root.

“Die priestess!” Just as the demons lunged at your fallen body, you felt a shift in the air – a pulse – almost. Within a moment, the barrier had activated. The light flashing across the sky as it shielded the entire kingdom. Looking back, you see as the demons are stopped, those touching the barrier bursting into flames.

‘I made it in time… but barely.’ You watch as the demons retreat into the forest, but not without sending a vicious glare your way before leaving. Once there were none left in sight, you let a sigh out and lay back down against the grass, eyes closed as you regained your breath. Thoughts consuming you.

‘They’ll be back after tonight, and with more demons seeking revenge. I miscalculated, didn’t take the threat seriously and ended up with more than I could handle…’ You grab hold of your arm again and feel where the blood had started to dry and crust, but also how wet it continues to be. ‘I’ve lost so much blood… I’m surprised I haven’t – no, I won’t think about that, not now.’

Deciding it best, you let your mind go blank for the remainder of the time. Still, you lay there in the grass as the cool breeze sways around you. Carrying the scent of the river down (along with your blood, no doubt). However, there is another sudden shift in the air, another ‘pulse’ is felt. It’s the same strong pulse you feel every other time the barrier goes up. On instinct you sit up as best at you can with your injured arm and look up.

Blood.

The once silver moon, is now a vibrant blood red. How befitting, your blanched sleeve has also become vibrant with the shade of blood.

‘Wait, there was a second ‘pulse’.’ Staring intently at the moon as though it would give you the answers. In some way it did.

The barrier had formed before the blood moon emerged… could it be due to your injury? Did the rapid beating of your heart force the barrier to appear before it should have? Are you starting to lose control of that too now?

‘Great, if his majesty noticed, then he’s sure to send his advisor to interrogate me again.’ It’d be the fifth time this month alone if he does. Certain things have gotten out of your control, and his majesty has been a thorn in your side. You shudder at the mere thought of the royal advisor to come and question you.

“My, my, that certainly is a gruesome wound you’ve acquired yourself this time.” On second thought, perhaps you prefer the royal advisor as appose to the current pest.

Merely side glancing, you can see the fiend look of concern on his face. How he irritates you with his underlying derisive attitude.

“Oh now, don’t look at me like that. If someone were to see they might think I’m nothing but a nuisance to you.” His tone is patronizing, and to hide the smirk gracing his lips, he spreads the fan out and brings it close to him.

“Then they’d think right.” Your brow twitches with annoyance as you brace yourself to stand. It’s a tough feat, but you manage it. “Why are you here?” Though it was grumbled you know he heard you. He however, doesn’t answer right away. You give it a moment but when he still hasn’t answered you, you decide to not waste anymore time on him and leave.

Until he does speak, and with such conviction, that it leads you to shudder for a moment. “You are using too much power. At a rather hasty pace at that. Tonight’s incident is one of many within the past few weeks where you have lost your abilities within moments of engaging battle.” His usual carefree aura is replaced with sternness you only witnessed once.

The breeze gently flows around you two, trapping you in tense silence. “___,”

You don’t look at him, instead you opt to look at the moon and take in how red it is. “You are losing control.” He’s figured it out, chances are, he knew before even you.

Inhaling the cool air, you whisper, letting the wind carry your voice over to him. “I don’t know… but I’m frightened.” With no more energy left in you, you make way to your cabin, walking past him without so much as even sharing a glance at one another.

‘Seokjin, I know my mother asked you to help me, but I’m afraid that even this maybe out of your control…’

[sanktnikolais]

Fool Truth

A/N: yep this is an old work to cover up the fact that i haven’t been able to write anything new ;-; so have this for now

set in the same universe as this other fic

Word count: 2176

Nikolai is tired of hearing his father's nonsense about his need to get married every time he sees him. So when the universe allowed his father to reprimand him about marriage again, Nikolai is able to say an excuse that would get him out of the situation and put him in a more complicated one.

Nikolai was ready to bolt from the battlefield.

          To hell with dessert, he thought, and yet his feet were still planted on the ground. Even after years of being away from their household, he could say he had missed their old, grumpy cook Baghra's chocolate mousse cake. 

          Maybe he should try holding on a bit longer, but one look from the man at the head of the table was only making running look like the most reasonable choice. 

          He braced himself over his father's next words, all too aware of what they would be. 

          "I've been talking to one of our partners yesterday," Alexander Lantsov started, his tone neutral as if he was delivering a monologue during one of their board meetings. He gave Nikolai an expectant look. "She's agreed to introduce you to her daughter."

          Nikolai felt his jaw tick in annoyance. He had expected this from his father; it was already old news. If there was one thing he got from him, it was stubbornness, and it was one of the rare times Nikolai hated inheriting that same trait. 

          Alexander continued to stare at him, and Nikolai could feel the gaze getting heavier with each second. 

          "Don't you ever get tired of trying to set me up with random people?" He put down his fork beside his plate as gently as possible even when slamming it down was inviting. "Because I'm exhausted, dad. Just drop it."

          The atmosphere in the room grew darker, the tension in the air crackling like electricity. Nikolai should have declined coming here, but his mother had insisted and she was sometimes the only one who could make the household a bit more bearable for him.

          He looked over to his older brother from across the table, seeing the amused smirk on Vasily's lips as he toyed with the glass of wine in his hand. Being the eldest came with a life perk; he was free to do anything he wanted and as he pleased. Whether it's scandalous or the barest minimum for their company, he would still be the favorite one. 

          Where his brother was pertained as Perfect Vasily, Nikolai was always Nikolai Nothing. Someone who would never appease his father's expectations of him. 

          So much for being the unfavorable second son. 

          Nikolai leaned back in his chair, already losing his appetite. He regarded Vasily with a nod. "Why won’t he be the one you introduce to your partner's daughter?" he said. "Besides, isn't he the one who will inherit all this? I think it's better for him to get married for a potential merging, and I see no benefit for anyone if I were to be engaged to someone of a big name."

          Alexander huffed in disbelief as if he just said the stupidest thing in the world. "You still don't get it, do you?" he said, his voice dropping to what it could sound was a threatening one. “I’m doing this for your own good.”

          “Oh, wow. Really now?” Nikolai’s voice had already risen, and it earned a look of warning from his mother but he didn’t bother acknowledging it. The rush of blood in his ears was raging. “My own good or for your own? As far as I remember, Lantsov Trading’s image wasn’t looking so good because of a certain scandal in one of the famous clubs in the city.” 

          Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vasily shift uncomfortably in his seat and Nikolai basked in the triumph of seeing his perfect big brother squirm. He fought the urge to smirk. 

          “Now tell me,” he goaded, not knowing where his confidence of talking back to his father was coming from, “is it for mine, or for your own image?”

          “Hey,” Vasily snapped. “Watch your mouth, Nikolai.”

          But Nikolai was having none of it and gave his older brother a pointed glance. “Shut it, I’m not talking to you.”

          The look of shock on Vasily’s face was priceless and Nikolai would have etched it in his mind if it weren’t for his anger taking over. He turned back to his father, whose face was now twisted into a full scowl as if he could lunge at Nikolai anytime he wanted to. Nikolai thought he could try to poke the beast out of its cage a bit more and see where it would go. 

          He put on an easy grin, the kind that he knew ticked at his father’s patience. “Please enlighten me, dad.”

          “You are no use in this family if you’re just going to continue your hobbies and not focus on doing important matters—”

          “Like trying to live quietly without you breathing down my neck and forcing me to marriage?”

          Alexander was visibly fuming, and Nikolai had to commend him for holding back. “You will not disgrace our name with your lack of achievements,” his father growled. Nikolai felt the words sting at his pride but he didn’t dare let it show. “Comply, else I will cut you off.”

          Nikolai chuckled humorlessly. Finally, something that makes sense. He put his hands up and shrugged. “Then cut me off. I’d gladly take it, father.”

          This somehow drained the last of his father’s patience because the old man almost threw the table up when he stood, his expression darker than the stormy sky. “You will comply whether you like it or not—”

          “I’m already married.”

          Everything went silent. Even breathing wasn’t even audible, as if everyone just decided to hold their breaths or some invisible force had forced them to stop breathing. 

          And for Nikolai, he might as well have stopped breathing. Panic overwhelmed the anger in his mind.

          Shitshitshitshitshit—

          The only thing keeping him from going insane and bolting off from their old home was the look of utter shock on their faces. It was one of the rare times they gave him their full attention, and Nikolai felt bitter when he realized it was a blatant lie that would make it happen again.

          But it didn’t change the fact the words he had just blurted out of control.

          You’re an idiot, Nikolai, an all too familiar voice echoed in his head, and for once, he found that he agreed with it.

          Another long moment passed. Nikolai’s legs were already shaking violently from under the table but he refused to break eye contact with his father. Doing so would only make his lie more uncertain than it already was.

          “What did you just say?” Alexander asked him when he finally found his voice. His grip on the table became impossibly tighter. 

          The calmness in Nikolai’s voice surprised even himself when he replied, “I said I’m already married.”

          “Since when?” his father asked in disbelief. “And to whom?”

          Nikolai was already expecting that question, and yet he still didn’t have anything to cover up for it. Who would he say? It wasn’t as if he had anyone that was convincing enough to be his girlfriend, let alone his wife. He had just dug his own grave with his recklessness and his family would see him lay rest in it. 

          You should’ve run when you had the chance, Lantsov, he silently berated himself as he continued to rack his mind for an answer. 

          Apparently, his distress didn’t go unnoticed by Vasily, as Nikolai could feel his gaze on him, and when he turned, he saw the first signs of a smirk on his older brother’s lips. If there was another thing Nikolai hated from his brother, it was Vasily always seeming to see right through everything. 

          Maybe he should just say something snarky enough to make them drop the subject—he didn’t owe them an explanation, not after treating him like he didn’t belong to their lives. He could just tell them to give up and leave it at that. He wouldn't mind another argument that would follow if it means straying from the current subject. 

          But of course, knowing his family, they wouldn’t stop until they got what they wanted.

          Vasily huffed, catching everyone’s attention. He almost looked like he was about to say something more when Nikolai’s ringtone blared. 

          With a startled glance down his pants pocket, he slowly got his phone. The caller ID at the top of the screen glared at him in big letters.

          Attorney Grumpy. 

          A thought suddenly formed in his head. He hesitated for a second when he realized he was going to get himself killed with the idea. But he figured that if he was going to die either way, he would prefer it to be by her hand.

          Nikolai put on his usual grin. “Look,” he said, waving his phone up for emphasis, “she’s actually calling me.” He slid the answer icon to the right and put the phone to his ear, trying to keep his hand from shaking. He mustered up his most cheery tone. “Yes, dear?”

          A beat, and then, “Are you still in that family dinner and somehow gotten drunk?” Zoya asked incredulously, and Nikolai had to fight off a wince from hearing her tone. He opened his mouth to reply, but it seemed like she already knew his answer. “Because I’m not fixing your shit if you ever do something beyond compare. But I would make an exception if it involves punching your brother.”

          Her statement made him laugh genuinely, and the looks his family was giving him only became more curious. “What’s up?”

          “I’m crashing over tonight.” 

          He waited for another moment before answering something that would surely be the reason for his death later. But he had to keep up the pretense going. “I know that all too well, dear. Don’t worry, I’ll be home soon. No need to miss me that much.”

          Zoya didn’t answer him right away, and he could already imagine the scowl on her face as she processed his words, and she was most likely thinking of the ways to murder him too. “Lantsov, what the fuck are you blabbering about?”

          One of his legs was already down the grave, and Nikolai sent a silent prayer to any deity who could hear him. Please protect me from her wrath later. He tried to smile, but he was sure it looked more of a grimace. “Yes, dear. I’ll be home in a bit.” He risked a furtive glance to his older brother, who was still looking at him quite suspiciously. And to sound more convincing, he went along with his instincts and blurted, “Love you.” 

          Then he ended the call before he could be given an earful of curses that would send his mother to a dead faint if she would ever hear it. As he put his phone back in his pocket, he could feel his heart beating erratically in his chest. Whether it was over his nervousness over the mess he’d thrown himself into or the last words he told Zoya, he didn’t know. 

          When he turned his attention back to his brother, he found that Vasily had his eyebrows raised as if he still didn’t want to believe about Nikolai’s married status. Nikolai challenged his brother’s look with his own, and a moment later, Vasily huffed and shook his head.

          Alexander glared down at Nikolai, a mixture of rage and confusion in his eyes, but it was the former that overwhelmed his gaze. “Who is she?” he asked, his tone demanding and angry. Nikolai suddenly felt nervous for no reason. His gut told him that there was something bad about to happen. An angry Alexander Lantsov wasn’t a man to be messed with, and Nikolai had just taunted the beast out of its cage. “And why didn’t you tell us?”

          A wave of protectiveness washed over Nikolai, and he glared back at his father as he said, “So you can break the marriage before it even happened? I don’t think so.”

          He grabbed the napkin at the side and used it to wipe at his hands before standing up. He was as tall as his father, but the old man always had the power to make someone shrink under his gaze, but Nikolai didn’t let it faze him.

          The scowl on Alexander’s face deepened. “Where are you going?” 

          “Why, home to my wife, of course. She’s waiting,” replied Nikolai with a sneer, and he could already sense the last remains of his father’s patience dwindling with the way he gripped the table again. But Nikolai was disappointed when Alexander didn’t decide to act out on it. Politely, he said, “Thank you for dinner.”

          With a final smile in his mother’s direction, he walked out of the dining room without as much as a glance back. When he felt that he was finally out of their sight, he let out a relieved breath. But there was still no denying that his hands were trembling as he got out of the mansion, and it wasn’t from the cold.

          What had he just gotten himself into?

          Nikolai shook himself out of his daze. At least he was out of their tight hold around his neck.

          For now. 

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Together 6: Inferno.

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CW: explicit language and content, multiple whumpees, torture, captivity, conditioning, noncon touching (non-sexual), implied noncon (sexual), dehumanization, electrocution, shock collar, beating, gaslighting, manipulation, restraints, extreme control of food/exercise for appearance, mention of passing out/vomiting due to exercise/restricted diet, controlling whumper, multiple whumpers, possessive whumper, masked whumper, letmeknowifimissedany

The next day, I wake up before August. He’s starfished on his back, feet, and one hand hanging off the bed. He looks even younger asleep, with freckles scattered across his nose, long eyelashes, and not much facial hair for a man who hasn’t had the chance to shave in a handful of days. The stubble that is there is even lighter than his hair, tending toward blondish rather than auburn. He sits up ramrod straight and groggy as hell when the keyring clangs against the outside of the metal door.

“Let’s go, Princess,” one of the goonies drones as he opens it. It’s Darius, but for some reason, he’s wearing a ski mask.

Weirdo. Did you just come from robbing a bank?

Maybe the mask means they’re planning to let August go, a good thing. I wouldn’t wish this life on anyone, but I still feel a bitter pang of jealousy. I don’t look back at him as I walk out.

Wyatt is waiting for me in his office, upstairs. He’s already cleared his desk for me. There are gauzy curtains in front of the windows so I can’t see the view but I always look forward to the daylight. Today, it’s muted like it might be overcast or raining. I strain to listen to see if I can hear it on the windows.

“Come here,” he says, standing and patting the desk in front of him.

I walk over, trying to read into his expression and tone. It’s never easy to tell what I’m in for because he’s so calculating. I don’t think I’ve ever once seen him lose control of himself in all these years. I sit up on the desk. He steps in between my knees so we’re eye-to-eye, tucks my hair behind both ears, and puts his hands on my thighs. Close enough that he can inhale every minute expression on my face and in my eyes like I’m shotgunning him.

“How do you like your new roommate?” he asks.

I’d shrug if it were allowed. There’s a remote to the collar in the pocket of his blazer. Instead, I just blink at him. Does it matter? Either way, he won’t be around very long.

Wyatt nods like I really did just answer him. “He made some poor choices last night. You were perfect, putting up with all of that.” He lifts his hand to the side of my neck, thumbing the collar through my shirt. “A little healthy fear will set him straight. I bought a new belt just for the occasion.”

Christ. I work to keep my face neutral.

Beatings have never been his M.O. with me. Except to make sure the silence was deep enough that not a damn thing earthside would illicit a fucking peep out of me, but he made it a point not to leave scars. He wants my body as perfect as my behavior. Otherwise, it’s all about the mind for this lunatic. Patient enough to find the trigger that will have me agreeing all on my own. He feels powerful, and I guess he is, for knowing just how to frame things, pinpointing what I want and need, even if I don’t realize.

“When it turned out he’d be staying longer than intended, I knew I couldn’t let the opportunity pass. He’s just too perfect,” Wyatt purrs.

What the fuck does that mean?

Wyatt stays silent and goes on reading my face while my thoughts snowball.

Shit. Why are you smiling at me like that?

Finally, he seems to have his fill of my reactions and squeezes my thigh. “It’s been quite a while since you took that many shocks, Emmy, and I can’t have you being stiff later,” he tells me, then pulls a tablet out of the desk drawer. “Do a yin yoga class—you haven’t eaten enough for anything else.”

I dip my head once in a nod.

He runs his thumb along my jaw before moving so I can hop off the desk.

The yoga is part of a whole distorted regimen. Wyatt wants my skeletal frame toned and flexible. “Not just skin and bones,” he says, but then goes on feeding me one meal a day. There’s no way he doesn’t calorie count the shit out of everything that passes my lips to elicit what he wants but it’s never enough to truly exercise on. He’s had me try other things but I’d just pass out or throw up and he wasn’t willing to adjust the input to equal the output. I love the yoga anyway.

The clothes he has me wear are skin tight and all black because boy does he love to watch me move. “You’re so graceful,” he’ll croon, admiring his maintenance of my figure. In the beginning, I wasn’t flexible enough for his liking, so he’d push me in the stretches until I thought my muscles would snap. Sometimes he’ll have some look-the-other-way woman come in and wax every surface below my neck so that in a black yoga bra and practically-underwear shorts, I shine. Then, he’ll have me to do all sorts of other things.

—

When I finish the video, an hour long, he waves me back over. He’s been watching me the whole time, a serene look on his face. He has me sit in front of him on the desk again. Prefers me up here, all within reach and eye-level. Carlos brings in our lunch in paper bags. It’s an endless rotation of delivery and takeout here. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a kitchen. Wyatt passes me a compostable bowl with a plastic lid. He knows this is one of my favorites.

I narrow my eyes.

The shit-eating grin comes back.

I don’t turn down the food though, despite the twisting in my stomach. Hunger strikes result in having a tube shoved down my throat. After all, my body is his wonderland. He eats a burrito, reclined in the chair with his feet on the desk next to me. Sips Coke out of a glass bottle and passes it to me. Purses his lips while he watches me hold it by the neck and take a swig before I hand it back. It fizzes down my throat sweetly.

Fuck, what is he planning?

It’s not strange to eat together or share a drink, but there’s something in his eyes today. An extra sparkle of anticipation. Last time he was like this, I wound up hanging from the ceiling for half a day. Contorted by silk rope knots into a goddamn living chandelier. The goonies had express permission to carry me after that one on account of my limbs turning to pins-and-needles jello.

After I finish eating, he tells me to find a book to pass the time. “I won’t have you getting sick later,” he says, pulling his phone out, dismissing me.

I move my ass before he moves it for me even though my sense of dread is deepening. I’ve made a fair dent in his library by now. Naturally, being a psychopath, Wyatt is well-read and intelligent. Lots of philosophy, social theory, plenty of psychology (but I feel like those must be a trap so I avoid them), books in other languages, and classic literature. I find it a little one-sandwich-short-of-a-picnic-basket that he wants his effectively-mute captive to also be well-read but it’s beyond me to try to understand his depraved logic.

—

When he’s decided it’s time, he stands and walks over to where I’m curled up in the armchair by the bookcase. “Let’s get you ready,” he says, holding out his hand and leading me over to his desk.

My pulse hammers in my throat.

He picks up a crisp sopping bag, pulls out folded black clothes. I usually change after I shower but it’s always a roll of the dice with Wyatt, especially in this kind of mood. I’m surprised when he starts putting the clothes on over what I’m already wearing. It’s baggy sweatpants and a hoodie—also black—and then some sneakers. I can’t remember the last time I wore shoes. Next, he pulls a little case out of the bag and opens it to reveal earbuds.

Oh, hell. Not again.

We’ve done this before. He took me out to some fluorescent superstore, spread his goonies around on video calls to record me, and sat in the fast-food restaurant with his laptop. Read me a shopping list and watched me sweat through it. I nearly had a conniption at the register. It was one of three times he’s ever taken me out.

Wyatt smirks at the misgivings playing across my face and passes me an elastic for my hair. I pull it all into a low, tight bun and then he uses first-aid tape to secure the headphone inside my ear. I’d never dream of removing it myself, and he knows that, so whatever is about to happen to me puts it at risk of falling out. I haven’t felt this scared in a while and it’s making him smile even more.

I know being hopeless but no longer frightened provides an irresistible challenge. It’s not like I can help being resigned to his life for me, exactly as he intended. He doesn’t want me shitting-my-pants-afraid. It’s not about that. He could have made me vacant, and not just silent if he’d wanted but there’s a thrilling risk to pushing me. My psyche is his game of Jenga and he never loses. He knows how to manipulate, balance, and finesse every piece so that I’ll only ever wobble, dangerously close to collapse but always just shy, leaving him infinitely validated. So, I know he’d never put me in a position to truly break but I still fear the magnitude of the wobble. And the duration.

Wyatt has handed me gloves and is now holding up the last item from the bag. A clown mask.

Oh, god. Are we actually robbing someplace?

If I weren’t wearing so many clothes, I would be convinced I was in for some twisted, kinky shit, especially with these gloves. He ties the mask securely behind my head and I’m already sweating under the foamy rubber just imagining silently holding someone up. With a loaded weapon in my hand.

Fuck, Wyatt. Seriously?

He traces his fingers down my arms, pulling up my hands and helping me off the desk. Holding my arms out and looking me over like he’s seeing his prom date’s outfit for the first time and just knows that he’ll get to take it all off later. He drops my hands and pulls the hood of the sweatshirt over my head.

“Perfect,” he purrs and leads me down the hallway toward a door I haven’t entered in a very long time. I’m wearing too many clothes for what that room is usually used for. I hope.

Wyatt moves in front of me and pulls me close so our noses almost touch, lowers his voice in a way that is far from soothing. “If I’m not happy, with any aspect of your performance, I will personally tenfold it. Understood?” He searches my eyes one at a time. Left to right and back again.

I nod, stomach already somewhere by my feet.

He leaves me in the little hall, alone. There’s a yellow light bulb underneath a metal cage on the wall.

Sonofabitch. I’m terrified.

Naturally, I don’t move until Wyatt's voice comes over the headphone in my ear. “Go in. Close the door behind you.”

Calm down, Emma, you just have to survive this one thing right now. How bad can it be?

I take a deep breath and open the door, step in, and close it softly behind me, not sure what is waiting for me since it’s dark. My eyes don’t have time to adjust before the lights flick on.

All my blood runs cold. This is undeniably the ninth circle of Hell.

Wyatt lets me stand there, frozen, and unable to pull air into my lungs, for more than a few of my stuttering heartbeats before he finally gives me my next command,

“Emma, pick up the belt.”

Previous — Masterlist — Next

Taglist: @deluxewhump

[crispyjenkins]

Omg! Dookus padawan au is fabulous! I love it! Although now im curious about how melida daan would go with a more confident obi and a master whos supportive of him and listens

(i originally planned this to be a dramatic harrowing recounting of obi’s time on Melida/Daan, but it did not turn out like that ಥ_ಥ 

thank you for enabling me with this au, anon, i love it so much and i somehow don’t write little-shit-obi nearly as much as i should. i hope this satisfies! ( ˘ ³˘) bonus nield ‘cause he’s dead in dha kar’ta and i got big sad about it)

Alt+R to Quick Reblog on Desktop, Hold the Reblog Symbol to Quick Reblog on Mobile

 "Obi-Wan, did you fuck the Mand'alor."

  Obi-Wan grins at Nield from the cell across from him, sitting in half-lotus like any proper Jedi on a routine kidnapping, and Jango sighs in the next cell over.

  "You overestimate how much either of us would like that," Obi-Wan chirps, even though they all know that's not really what Nield is asking. 

  And he makes his feelings about that clear, leveling Obi-Wan with an unimpressed deadpan that Obi-Wan really doesn't think is warranted. "Is this what you thought I meant when I told you to lay low?" he asks gruffly. "Become the youngest Jedi Master in two centuries and shack up with another Anti-Republic System's leader?"

  Jango slants a look at him. "What do you mean 'another'?"

  "Well, technically, Nield, I never shacked up with you either," Obi-Wan reasons. "And you were only governor for about three days."

  "That still counts!"

  "De'jate werda, this is about the Young?"

  "Language, dear," Obi-Wan chides blandly, and Jango throws his stale roll at him through the bars; it misses him by a foot anyways. "But yes, I'm afraid so. I did tell you the Daan regularly kidnap me for ransom from the Jedi, didn't I?"

  Grumbling, Jango flops against the back wall to scowl. "I was under the impression they had stopped after your Cerasi renamed the planet."

  "They did," Nield pipes up, poking at his own inedible roll. "Since I'm here, it probably still does have to do with the leaders of Tahl, but why they nabbed your boyfriend is beyond me."

  Jango rolls his eyes. "Probably because I was with him when they grabbed him."

  "Don't sound so put-upon, we hadn't seen each other in months." Aside from a single holocall before Obi-Wan had gone undercover with a Mid-Rim diplomatic convoy, both he and Jango had been too busy to take the time off for even a quick visit, and they'd had all of twenty minutes together before their kidnappers had broken into Jango's apartment on Coruscant. They had been in the middle of dinner and everything, and Obi-Wan mourns the tiingilar left on their table.

  Though, he supposes, he had made it with Rodian chillies instead of Mandalorian ones just to kark with Jango, so Maker knows if it had even been edible.

  Snorting, Nield runs his hands through his hair and leans as far over as he can to look down the halls of their cellblock, as if he and Jango hadn't already done that. "I imagine you haven't broken out yet because you're the only one of us in cuffs?"

  Obi-Wan helpfully raises his bound hands to show him the new-fangled force-suppressing manacles that have become more popular over the last few years, what with the sudden spike in number of Jedi. "I’ve never seen them before," he offers. "They're not nearly as strong as Ventress' collar, but I'm afraid I'm of no use to you unless we get them off."

  Nield sighs. "I said to lay low, Kenobi. You were the one to bag Ventress?"

  "I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter, my dear: she rather forced my hand."

  "No, no, we're not glossing over this again," Jango growls, getting to his feet to lean on his bars so he can glare at the both of them. "Why'd you tell him to lay low? When did you tell him to lay low?"

  “I’ve been telling him for years!”

  “But especially since the last attempt on Cerasi’s life.”

  “Ner ca’tra,” Jango sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Do you have a bounty on you again?”

  Nield waves emphatically, as if finally proven right. “‘Again’! What does he mean ‘again’, Obi-Wan?”

  Rolling his eyes, Obi-Wan knows it’s not nearly as bad as they’re both making it out to be. “To my knowledge, no, I don’t think I currently have a bounty out on my head, and Neild, it would only be the second time.” He unfolds himself and pushes upright, stretching his legs before sticking his bound hands through the bars. “Now, if you two would stop nagging, I need you to try shorting out the locking mechanism with your water cups.”

  Jango sighs but still moves to grab the single cup of water that had been in the cells when they arrived; Nield stays at his door and scowls. “You’re not sure if it’ll work?”

  Obi-Wan raises a brow. “No, I’m actually quite confident it will: Quinlan and I have escaped the Daan twice like this. I just wasn’t sure if your arms would reach.”

  “Ha ha,” Jango drawls, sticking his own arms out to try and reach across the narrow walkway between their lines of cells. “Was that before or after you liberated the planet.”

  Nield is absolutely no help, groaning and laughing both as he ducks back to get his own water. “I’ve yet to meet this mysterious Quinlan that you assure me is actually real, but it’s been a decade and a half, ‘Nobi.”

  He sniffs in offense, stretching out as far as he can for Jango to tip his cup over his wrists. “He’s doing it on purpose. Quinlan Vos is never more amused than when he is making my life more difficult, so I’m afraid he’s been avoiding you, my dear.”

  “A likely story,” Nield snorts, and his significantly-longer arms easily allow him to pour his water directly into the locking mechanism. It starts sparking immediately, Obi-Wan jerking to the side to protect his face while Nield yelps and pulls back. 

  Feeling the Force rush back into his bones like a splash of tihaar, Obi-Wan easily snaps the cuffs down the centre and kicks open his cell door.

-

  Obi-Wan wasn't even supposed to be here, but when he's on his way back from Ilum to finally build a second lightsaber so he can move up from the jar’kai practice ’sabers Master Windu has him using, the Force sidelines him by forcing the Crucible into an emergency landing for the first time since Huyang's creation. A problem with the hyperdrive or something, nothing crucial to replace, something easily fixed once planetside, but just bad enough that they have to land on the nearest planet to fix it.

  Where Qui-Gon Jinn just so happens to be already on a mission attempting to rescue another Jedi master. Where there are actual children fighting for control of the capital city. 

  It takes Obi-Wan less than an hour to find Jinn and the Young, and perhaps an hour more to decide he would be sending Masters Tahl and Jinn back to the Temple without him. Master Yan would understand, it would hardly be the first time he had taken advantage of his master’s absence to do what the Force was telling him to.

  He is there a month before Master Yan returns with four Jedi Masters and their padawans, and permission from the Senate to aid the Young until a treaty could be reached. Obi-Wan is frankly too intimidated by his master securing the warrant nobody had managed to in seventy-five years to ask just how he’d done it; and Master Yan doesn’t scold him except to tell him in no uncertain terms that he is never to trust Qui-Gon Jinn’s judgement on anything to do with children. 

  Luckily his following lecture about the faults of jar’kai and the importance of proper dueling technique is cut off by an ambush from the Melida, and he never gets back around to it even after the Young retake the planet. Obi-Wan is still unsure whether he prefers the three days of sexual education he gets instead, when Cerasi admits she had caught Nield and Obi-Wan kissing in the hall after her election.

-

  Yan meets them outside, not looking very surprised to see them simply walking from the brig that had been their home for the last eight hours. Their human kidnappers are cuffed and being processed by a pair of Judiciary Branch clerks Yan had evidently brought with him, which would rather explain why there had been no one to hinder their escape.

  Raising a brow, a million questions in the simple gesture, Yan holds out Obi-Wan’s cloak, waiting for him to put it on before giving him his ’sabers as well. “I fear I must apologise, your honor,” he rumbles like the words simultaneously amuse him and burn his mouth. “My former apprentice still has not learned how to keep others safe from his continued imbroglios.”

  Jango snorts, accepting one of Obi-Wan’s ’sabers to hold until he can get his blasters back; Nield’s eyes almost bug out of his head. “Do we know what they were after?”

  Yan’s lips curl almost-mockingly. “A trade agreement, I believe. President Cerasi and the Delegates of Tahl had already turned them away, so they thought to strong-arm the Melidaan system instead.”

  “So you weren’t even a political prisoner,” Obi-Wan teases a Nield already burying his face in his hands, “just a familial hostage, my dear.”

  “Shut him up before I do,” Nield tells Jango.

  Who simply smirks and holds up his hands. “You overestimate how much control I have over anything he does.”

  “Maker, he really does have you wrapped around his finger.”

  “To be fair, I’ve known Jango far more intimately.”

  “I’m leaving,” Nield announces, spinning on heel to stalk towards the rescue cruiser from Tahl despite knowing Obi-Wan simply means he’s never had visions of Nield, even as far back as the Civil War. 

  Jango leans over and surreptitiously whispers, "Was Nield the bad wall-makeout?"

  "Maker, he was horrible, my dear." 

Mando’a: Mand’alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore. "De'jate werda" — "By the Great Darkness", slang from Concord Dawn, used as an expletive similar to "Christ!" or "Good lord." tiingilar — Mandalorian casserole specified to be “blisteringly spicy” ner ca'tra — “my night sky”, intimate term of endearment  tihaar — Mandalorian strong clear spirit made from fruit

*also obi is a master earlier ‘cause of his clairvoyance, since i’m subscribing to the “you become a master jedi when you master a part of yourself” version of the master trials in this. anyways.*

[out-of-jams]

Vesper || jjk

↠ Vesper↞ “There’s a first time for everything.”

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings/Genre: doberman hybrid!kook. human reader. explicit language. fluff. PG 13. one shot.

This fic is apart of The Hybrid Collab hosted by @jeonggukkiepabo​! A special thank you to Anna for bearing with my idiotic forgetfulness, aka me writing this and then forgetting to post it over my hiatus. 🥴 ᵖˡˢ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʰᵃᵗᵉ ᵐᵉ  (also it’s a lot shorter now than it had been when i’d written it bc sfw lol)

All works here are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission. That is illegal and you are stealing no matter if you give credit or not

Cold – adjective.

Definition: freezing your fucking ass off.

You were well acquainted with the word– all but became one with it– what, with how absolutely balls cold out it was. The line to get into Vesper was stretched all the way down the sidewalk outside of the building, and extended out of sight around the corner. Sounds of city life echoed through the streets, cars zooming in between traffic and music leaking out of the bars.

From the crack in Vesper’s backdoor, the beginning’s of a hip-hop song filtered from the expensive sound system. It was loud, eardrum-rattling so, and you closed your eyes, leaning against the brick wall off to the side. A cloud of white left your parted lips as your warm breath hit the biting chill in the air. It was too bad that you were nowhere near drunk enough for the weather not to bother you.

Why you’d chosen to follow your friends out in sub-freezing temperatures was a mystery. You hated clubs, how packed to the walls they were, filled with writhing bodies so close together like sardines. It made you feel utterly claustrophobic, but it was your friend’s birthday and so you couldn’t opt out of following along with the group’s plans for the night. Not that you were ever able to say no to them when they insisted on dragging you out to the place.

Vesper was a popular club that you were sometimes forced to go to, located in the heart of downtown that catered to not only humans, but hybrids as well. It wasn’t the first establishment to do so, seeing as how hybrids integrated into society more than a decade ago. No longer were they as discriminated against as they once were, back when they first came about.

No one was 100% certain on how they’d even come to be; some sort of radiation exposure. The first hybrids had been humans, before they changed, morphed. Due to some sort of exposure to radiation, their cells had multiplied and transformed over the course of a few weeks until half of their genetic makeup resembled animal genes.

While the blatant racism had died out over the years, some, the more elitist members of society, still discriminated against hybrids. Looked down at them because they were born to be ruled more by their animal instincts than their human counterparts. Treated them as less-than because they weren’t completely human, when they were really just misunderstood.

Because of the fact that they were more tapped into their animal side and therefore behaved that way, hybrids used to be seen as beings who could be let loose into society. Who could not “control themselves.” So they took them as pets, tried to tame and sell them.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you fished a cardboard box from the inside pocket of your coat. The sound of you tapping out a white cigarette was in time with the beat of the song pouring outside, and blended in with the cars honking out past the alleyway. Normally, you weren’t one for smoking. But after the stress of college finals week on top of the feeling of the walls closing in on you back inside Vesper, you’d asked one of your friends for their carton in hopes of calming your racing heart.

“Shit,” you murmured as you scoured your pant pockets for a lighter and then groaned when you failed to find one.

Because of course, your luck was anything but lucky and you really didn’t feel like trying to part the sea of sweaty people back inside in search of one. Pursing your lips, you let your head tip back against the brick wall behind you and let your eyes flit over the light polluted sky like it somehow held the answers to all of your life’s problems.

“Need a light?”

The addition of a new voice had you jumping away from the wall with a startled squeak. Hand pressed to your chest as if that would somehow restart your skipping heart, you whirled around. Standing in the now wide-opened back doorway into Vesper was a familiar face. Well, as familiar as a practical stranger could be.

Beneath the single, flickering light in the alley, his black t-shirt with SECURITY printed in white glowed in the surrounding darkness. It stretched itself over his broad shoulders, the bottom tucked into the slim waist of his pants. Your gaze slowly slid up his tanned neck, past his coral colored, pouty lips, sharp jaw, and the straight bridge of his nose. His wavy, dark hair was parted a little off-center, the sides falling over his forehead until it threatened to hide his stare from your view.

Finally, your eyes met his. Framed by long eyelashes, they were a bright, inhuman shade of lilac. Not all hybrids were equipped with the features of one, like a set of sensitive, animal-like ears or even a tail. If a human and a hybrid got together and had children, those kids would end up possessing more human cells than animal. Therefore, their appearances mirrored that.

But they were never completely indiscernible.

Just like every other time you’d ever laid your sights on him, your pulse skyrocketed and your stomach fell through the floor. And also like every other time, you pushed the feeling away and refused to acknowledge it. Because harboring a crush on a man who you’d only conversed with occasionally was a bad idea.

Especially when they were as handsome as he was.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Jungkook apologized shyly. His voice wasn’t too deep, nor was it high; lying right in the middle. Switzerland

“No, it’s alright.”

It was notalright, if only because the man made you feel flustered.

The only time the two of you really interacted was whenever he’d be scheduled to man security at Vesper’s entrance checking IDs. A small comment about the weather here, a compliment given with a flash of a smile with the reddening of cheeks there. Hell, the only reason you even knew his name was because it was etched onto the heart of his shirt.

“So,” Jungkook began, still standing in the doorway like some kind of club guardian. “Need a light?” He nodded his head at the unlit white stick tucked between your fingers, his parted hair brushing across his eyebrows with the movement.

“Oh. Yeah, you have one,” you asked.

He answered your query by pulling a lighter from the back of his pants pocket and finally slipped away from the door, leaving it open a crack so the two of you wouldn’t get locked out. The music flooding out from inside quieted down to a barely-there whisper. Pressing the cigarette between your lips, you almost faltered when he stepped close to you.

Jungkook’s body heat practically swallowed you whole as he entered your personal space with a cute smile pulling up at the corners of his lips. His two front teeth were a little too big for his mouth and you would’ve suspected his animal counterpart to be a bunny or rabbit of some sort if it wasn’t for his job. The small mammals tended to be pacifists and you doubted working as a security guard counted towards pacifism.

The lighter came to life with a clickand a tiny burst of flame, and you watched from beneath your lashes as he lit the end of your preferred cigarette. As soon as you felt the heat of the smoke sear itself into your lungs, a thought came to you.

“Wait,” you began, lowering the white stick from your lips to dangle from your cold fingers. “Doesn’t the smell bother you?”

Jungkook’s cheeks puffed up beneath the weight of another smile and he stepped back from crowding you to lean a shoulder against the brick wall. “My roommate, Yoongi, smokes. So I’m used to it.” He tapped a finger to his nose.

“If you’re sure,” you said hesitantly.

“I’m sure.”

Humming, you resumed your position of leaning against the brick, your shoulder only a few inches away from his. Hybrid’s tended not to wear perfume or cologne because of their elevated sense of smell, but Jungkook must have been wearing some. Or perhaps it was just the scent of his laundry detergent that drifted from his body like an invisible cloud.

It was comforting. In a way that you couldn’t quite understand.

Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, you took a slow drag from your cigarette and made care to blow the resulting smoke away from him. “Ditching work?”

He was looking out past the alleyway and towards the busy street beyond. Jungkook’s side profile was stunning even in the near darkness. “Technically, I amworking.”

“Oh?” Your voice was filled with amusement. “Expecting someone to pop out from the darkness like Batman and attack the club?”

He snorted, his tongue darting out to wet his soft looking lips. “Batman would never attack a club.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Shrugging, you sneaked a peak over at him again to notice him already looking at you. His violet hued eyes glowed brightly as they roved over your features appreciatively.

“How about a first date then?”

You sputtered, choking on nothing except air at his blunt words. “I–what?”

Jungkook broke eye contact for a moment, your reaction coaxing a light shade of pink onto his cheeks. “I like you. And I know we don’t really know each other, but we always end up running into each other, which is why I want to change that.” He looked back at you, expression soft. “If you’re interested, of course.”

“I..,” swallowing, your mouth opened and closed in shock before your tongue finally let the syllables slip. “I would like that very much.”

His answering grin lit up the shadows lingering in the alleyway.

[chowtrolls]

Inferno

Length: 2155 Words TW: General Violence, brief mention of drugs. Brief: Boe causes problems for Bruuno. Credits: there's a reference to the Divine Comedy.

Google Docs

Bruuno knew the office building like the back of his hand. Walking in through the back cargo entrance was the easiest way in. The violet guard had basically watched Bruuno grow up and actually smiled as he passed. He towered over the violet at this point but always felt a small connection to the stranger, and made a point of smiling back. The elevator complained loudly when Bruuno stepped inside. The elevator only had twelve buttons. The thirteenth button was disguised as the emergency alarm. It was muscle memory by now, Bruuno held the alarm as it rang for fourty five seconds. The alarm stopped and the elevator started to go up.

It opened into a dimly lit hallway. Expensive art decorated the walls, each painting in the same exact spot as it had been the first time Bruuno walked past them. They always had a way of making him feel small. Chilly air encouraged him to stuff his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The secretary was gone, but the door to Boe's office was unlocked, so Bruuno invited himself inside.

"Hello, Bruuno. Always a treat to see you. How are you? It's been ages." Boe's voice filled the silence immediately. The jade had been waiting, standing in the center of his wide office. He always spoke too much. Despite being spoken to, Bruuno instantly knew something was wrong. There was a deafening silence. More notably, there was no fuchsia wriggler jumping up and bodyslamming him while laughing.

"Where's Shi?" Bruuno turned to the jade with a look of confusion. Boe's relaxed smile planted a seed of worry in the fuchsia's chest. His shoulders lifted slightly in a nonchalant shrug, as if they were discussing the location of a book and not a child.

"She's safe." Boe's voice, smooth as silk and honey, did nothing to ease the growing concern.

"I didn't ask if she was safe." Bruuno stepped closer to Boe, brow furrowed, "I asked where she was."

"And I asked how you were. You've been clean for a while, isn't that nice?" Boe closed the gap between him and his former charge. Bruuno's intimidation attempt went entirely ignored, the jade was seemingly unafraid of anything Bruuno may do. Boe's hands left his pockets so he could straighten the fuchsias' jacket, closing it slightly. "Your little moirails helped with that, right? Awfully sweet of them. You really owe them one."

"I don't owe anyone shit." Bruuno didn't stop Boe from touching him, but made no effort to hide the hostility in his voice. "Boznik, where is Shiloh?"

"Mmm, wrong there buddy. You still owe me." Boe smiled and patted Bruuno's chest, knowingly ignoring the constant pestering over Shiloh. Bruuno's expression must have been blatantly confused once again, because Boe laughed. The jade turned away from the conversation, walking over to his desk. He straightened out some papers as he continued.

"I only let you go because you became a liability. Became sloppy! Messy! Hard to fix your mistakes. You must've thought you were so smart, blaming that pesky little addiction problem on your matesprit. I knew what you were doing, Bru. You're not as clever as you think you are." Boe snickered softly as he spoke. Normally an unprofessional move, but Boe didn't care too much for the formalities when it came to his former charge. "I saw what you did to that other little fish, Klasha's brother. Both arms! Impressive! Ripped them off like they were nothing! Now Bruuno, that is the man I raised." Boe paused and looked up from his desk. Bruuno's silence was deafening as the horror started to sink in.

"I let you have your little fun. I helped you, even. You got to have your fifteen minutes of fame. You seadwellers live for so long...it really was just fifteen minutes out of that ancient lifespan of yours. And be honest with yourself Bru, who do you think helped you get there?" Boe's voice got softer, near a whisper, "I spared your life. I gave you fame. I let you have this glorious little life. And now you have to pay me back."

Each word that left Boe's mouth was a dash of salt on the ever growing wound. Anger started like milk on the stove, it always did. Slowly and slowly heating. One had to keep their eye on the pot every second it was there. It was so easy to just glance away for a moment, but doing so would cause the entire pot to boil over. Bruuno's anger was the same, growing slowly and unchecked until the pot boiled over and the contents burned everything around it.

"I never fuckin' asked you to spare me." Speaking between his teeth did little to hide the venom dripping from his voice. "I would've fuckin' preferred you didn't. But I didn't get a fuckin' say in any of this." Bruuno's fins pressed down flat like a cornered cat's ears.

"Well, that's unfortunate." Boe's smirk faded into an unamused frown. Any normal troll would've thought twice about being alone in a room with such a furious highblood. Boe knew better than anyone how catastrophic highblood rage could be. And yet, he stood before Bruuno, cool as a cucumber, collected as ever. He knew in his heart that Bruuno was a pushover, too soft to cause problems or stir the pot. Boe knew the troll he raised, how could he not?

Just as Boe knew Bruuno would never hurt him, Bruuno knew the jade would never harm Shiloh. There was an unspoken line between them that neither would dare to cross. Shiloh happened to stand directly on that line. Despite his rage, Bruuno knew Shiloh would be fine. She was most likely with Chowow, or Kamuuk, and they just hadn't told him. She certainly hadn't a single clue what was going on. Good, because this wasn't about her. His anger was less about Shiloh, and more the sheer audacity. The gall that Boe possessed to even dream of having that control over Bruuno's life. As the two stared each other down, Boe felt safe. Secure. He was certain that Bruuno would bend to his whim. After all, the fuchsia seemed to bend however someone wanted him to, why would he do any differently to Boe?

Boe's sense of security held Bruuno in his place. He felt small, smaller than he ever had in his entire life, because he knew what Boe thought of him. A passive troll who simply wishes to please everyone, who has no self worth beyond what he can present to others. He had done so much to get to where he was in life. Even if Boe really WAS pulling the strings, Bruuno was happy. He was genuinely happy with his life, the path he was heading down. For the first time in sweeps, Bruuno finally felt like he was healing. He no longer lamented over the torment he caused others, and the days spent awake wondering if karma would present itself with glittery fins once more seemed rare now. The pot of anger had boiled over moments ago, and was starting to burn in Bruuno's chest. One can never remember pain, brains aren't programmed to remember pain, but the raw burning in his lungs was so painstakingly familiar. It was an infection he covered up so well he started to believe it was really gone. An infection he had for so long that he almost felt empty when he covered it that well. Now that the anger fought through the makeshift gauze of happiness, Bruuno realized he missed it, in the same way someone misses a toxic friend or a migraine they had for too long. It had become a piece of him.

Bruuno remembered snippets from working under Boe, but more importantly he remembered how much he hated it. He hurt so many trolls for no reason beyond being told to. He was taught how to hold a gun before he was taught how to write. He learned the best methods of a hidden execution before he learned how to cook. The best took for pulling fingernails, pressure points to incapacitate someone, the direction to aim a weapon so it looked like an accident. From the best cleanup crew to call, to the safest places to dump a body, and the best excuses to tell a drone. Everything Boe taught him centered around pain and violence. Destroy lives and cause destruction for the sake of money and power. Breaking bones and shooting trolls at point blank did nothing but cause anxiety and depression, and created the insecurity that allowed Bubble to seep into his life like a virus. Bruuno was never happy with who he was or what he was doing. Who was Boe to decide if Bruuno got to be happy or not? Only Bruuno could decide that.

And Bruuno decided that he did deserve to be happy. That he didn't deserve this; not from Boe, or Bubble, Carina, the Empire, Shrivo, anyone else. He was worthy of being happy. And he didn't need to make himself valuable to others to be worthy of it.

By the time Bruuno had come to this mental conclusion, Boe had started and nearly finished another cheesy and demented monolog. He strolled right up to Bruuno once more, chattering away while folding some boring origami crane. At the end, he just crumpled the crane up in a dramatic show of power. It was apparent that he thought of himself as some kind of villain, that the hero in this story would do as every hero does. No hero would ever harm the villain, because that'd make them equal and just as evil.

But Bruuno was not Aeneas, nor was he Paul. There was hardly anything heroic about him.

"So, you see my point, Bru? Just a pawn in the game of life. An important pawn to some, sure. But you, too, can be so easily crushed." Boe's smile was sinister, but frankly Bruuno found it annoying. The burning anger had created the desire, no, the need to destroy, to break things.

The fuchsia silently looked at the crumpled paper in Boe's palm. After a moment, he gingerly took the crane from Boe. It was so small in his hand, so fragile, but he still craved to demolish it. Boe's smile returned, obviously pleased that his words stuck with his charge. That was, until Bruuno dropped the crane without a care and instead grabbed onto Boe's robotic wrist with one hand, and the opposite shoulder with his free hand. Without hesitating, Bruuno destroyed. He tore Boe's arm off, just as he had done with Meduza. The prosthetic came off like a breeze, but it was obviously never meant to, permanent prosthetics are so expensive and difficult to replace so they were secured in the socket so neatly. There was nothing neat about it now. Boe's expression was horrified. If he made a sound, Bruuno didn't hear it. All he heard was the crumbling of metal and the tear of flesh. The prosthetic may have been sturdy once but it bent and folded under the pressure of Bruuno's closing fist. The jagged parts of the metal cut his hand but the pain was a welcomed feeling, grounding almost.

The arm dropped unceremoniously to the floor, and Boe did too. Jade started to pool under him and stained his white button down. Boznik tried to prop himself up and move away, but was pushed back down by Bruuno's foot.

The weight of an 8 foot fuchsia on his chest was nothing compared to the weight of the trauma that hovers over Bruuno's heart constantly.

"How's that fer the man you raised? Still like 'im?" Bruuno's expression was deadpan as he spoke, with just enough weight on Boe's chest to hurt. "A real fuckin' asshole, ain't he? Takes after his lusus. Y'know how it is. Like lusus like son, eh?" A bitter laugh escaped, and only grew louder as more pressure was applied. Bruuno heard and felt a couple cracks, the pain being confirmed by Boe's strangled gasp of pain.

Boe was no stranger to pain, but the crushing weight on his chest and white hot burning from his arm had him fading in and out. Breathing was difficult, but not impossible, and was instantly better as Bruuno got off his former lusus.

"I hope we both rot, ya daft fuckin' jackass. Don't try this shit again." Bruuno wasn't certain if Boe even heard him, but he felt better saying it out loud.

He made sure to hit the emergency alarm on Boe's desk before he left out the way he came. The violet security guard was still at his post by the cargo entrance. The radio on his vest was going off with frantic chatter as Bruuno passed him.

He made sure to smile on his way out.

[re-diesirae]

16. Claire

When she woke up, the room was dark and barely lit by the light of the computer screens. Claire pushed herself up carefully and found Leon sleeping by her side. His hair perfectly combed, and his arms crossed over his chest. She didn't want to wake him, so she remained silent, letting herself get lost in her thoughts. Her headache had gotten a little better, but she wanted those painkillers, just in case.

Claire hated when she woke up in the middle of the night since she could never go back to sleep again. That left her lying in the darkness, thinking of a lot of useless things. That's why she had started staying in the office at night. That way, whenever she woke up in the middle of a night, something that happened often, she would drag herself into the lab and work on her research. She would often find Saya there, and the woman would make her hot chocolate, and they would either end up working the entire night or just casually chatting with Saya. Claire preferred that to the solitude of her apartment.

Well, I can't complain. I do have company. It's just that he is deeply asleep.

Thinking about Leon brought her memories of their earlier chat, and she was mad at herself for blushing when the agent had casually commented that he liked her. She already knew Leon liked her as a friend, so what was she doing getting flushed about it? Unfortunately, she couldn't control her physiological responses. Claire had always liked Leon. Even since Raccoon city, but back then, she had seen him go all over Ada, and she knew he still was all over her. They had had their moments after leaving the city, and she had thought about him often in the later years, but he had somehow become a platonic love, and she was okay with that.

Oh, Claire. You're just cursed. The decent men that you come to love and who care about you are the ones you can never have. She laughed at the irony.

"May gods kill me. What am I even thinking?" she whispered to herself as she looked at the sleeping man.

Ada was lucky; the woman should just swallow her pride and accept Leon once for all. That would make things easier for her. He would be happy, and she'd feel happy for him as well. That was the right thing to do..., right?

"Yeah, because at the end, you'll be alone." that little voice that had come to speak in her head so often whispered, "He will go to his beloved, and even your brother will leave you for his sweetheart. What will be left for you? An empty apartment filled with nightmares that lurk in the shadows and solitude."

Claire shook her head. If that voice was her conscience, she seemed to have a pretty rotten one, but maybe that inner voice wasn't wrong after all. Leon and Chris would make their lives someday. They wouldn't be agents forever, and when that happened, she would probably be in the way, but who was she to stop them from being happy? If Chris wanted to marry, she'd approve it. The same with Leon, even if it was that infamous spy.

"But you know you don't like it. You don't want him to go to her."

"Ugh, shut up," she mumbled, rubbing her temple.

" He likes her much more than he'd ever come to like you, even though you loved him that much."

Claire shook her head, trying to push away that annoying little voice.

"Pathetic, aren't you? Loving someone you shouldn't. It's your curse, maybe, Leon knows it too. All those who have come to you have died, one by one like Steve, like Piers, like Neil,"

Why did it have to mention Neil?

"Loving you would drag him to death. He'll die….painfully, just like they did."

Claire rubbed her head, maybe stronger than she had intended, but the pain made it hard to hear the voice, and that was a good thing, but suddenly, she felt a couple of warm hands grabbing hers and forcing her to stop.

" Hey, stop that…" Leon whispered, "You'll hurt yourself."

" Leon? I am sorry, did I wake you?"

"Don't worry about that. What happened? "

"I…"

I had an unpleasant conversation about you with my subconscious. Yeah, tell him that, so that he can take you for crazy.

"I had a nightmare... I have them pretty often. Sorry, I didn't warn you about that."

"Want to talk about it?"

"I'll rather not."

She stared at her hands. Leon was still holding them, and she cursed herself for wanting to stay like that for a bit longer.

Get a hold of yourself, Claire. You are not a teenage girl; you're a grown-up woman in a pretty bad situation. You can't be wasting your thoughts and energy on these stupid things.

Unfortunately, Leon wasn't helping. The man was rubbing her hands with his thumbs, a gesture that probably wanted to soothe her. He was worried, and she felt a pinch of guilt; she could at least try to tell him a part of what was making her uneasy.

"Neil…" she muttered.

"What?"

"Neil Fisher. My nightmare…" she lied. She felt bad about lying, but well, it wasn't entirely a lie. Part of her reaction was related to him, after all.

She felt his gaze staring at her, but he didn't reply as he waited for her to continue.

"I guess you might call it a trauma. Neil was a nice man, and for the first time in years, I thought I had found someone. It was stupid of me. I let my guard down. "

"You loved him?"

Love? She had liked him, yeah, but it couldn't be called love. They had things in common, and she had found his company pleasant, but their relationship never went beyond that. She somehow grew attached to him, and then she had thought that, maybe, something could happen there. How wrong she'd been.

"I don't think I would call it love. There was affection, but not real love. Call me old fashioned, but I am the kind that thinks there's no real love than the first. Neil was. someone special and what he did, god, it just tore me apart in so many ways."

She was honest. Neil's betrayal hurt more than anything. Neil broke her trust, the respect she felt for him, and she felt cheated. Maybe, to some, it would sound exaggerated, but to her, his betrayal had touched her deeply.

"It just….keeps tormenting me. I can't see anyone without thinking if that person would do the same. I just…., I recommended him for the job. He had experience, so I thought that he would do a good job, but if I think about it. Maybe if I hadn't, all that crap that happened would have never happened and, everyone: Pedro, Gabe, Edward, and Gina; they would all still be alive…"

"What happened was not your fault."

"It somehow was. I mean, Neil had access to our information because I rejected the spot and recommended him instead. If I hadn't been so biased about him.."

"You couldn't have known. Claire, you made a mistake, but it wasn't your fault. Some people are just good at hiding who they are. There was no way you could have foreseen what he planned."

"I guess… you might be right. I am sorry, I can be silly at times."

"Hey, it's okay. Don't worry about it."

"Thanks, Leon." she said with a friendly punch on his arm, "What times is it? Chris is certainly late, or it's just me?"

"He is late. It's 4 am. It'd be dawn soon."

"Ah...I think I've never been so grateful about sunlight."

"Not a morning person?"

"I am more a night owl, but mornings are okay, though. Do you think they'll bring us breakfast?"

"Who knows," he snorted, "But I'm sure they bring us some nice guns."

"They better do." she laughed, "I shouldn't complain. This little one saved my life enough times…"

The woman looked at the old rifle she'd picked on the village. The thing was old, but it had worked well until now. Still, she'd rather have something a little more powerful if she was to enter the underground facilities.

"But the girl is old. I don't know if her firepower will be enough for whatever is inside that laboratory."

"You tell me. I miss my guns."

"Don't worry. I can persuade Chris about sharing his toys."

"No doubt about that. Chris would never refuse that look."

Claire winked at him with a smile. She knew Chris had a soft spot for her, and with the years, she'd learned to use that to her advantage.

"What about you? Can you refuse it?" she laughed.

Leon meditated on his answer. His lips curled in a mischievous smile.

"Guess that would depend."

Claire rolled her eyes, ignoring the man's soft laughter. She pushed herself up and walked to the computer once more. Claire had skipped the night surveillance since she'd been tired, but now it was a good time to look through it. She had trusted that the facility security system would keep them safe.

"Signs from our little friend?" Leon said, approaching her after checking his gear. It seemed to be a habit of him, perhaps acquired with the years since she'd not seen him do that before.

" Let me see….well, look at that. Our ugly friend is finishing its diner-breakfast. Ugh, not something I fancy watching the first hour in the morning."

The image on the screen was nasty, and she knew that if that screen had not been a security camera, the screen would be a bloody mess. The B.O.W was the same that had attacked them in the cave, or at least the same type of beast. She felt chills as she stared at the same spider-like body crawl through that corridor, the claws on its front limbs impaled the bodies of some unfortunate Carriers.

"This thing intrigues me. I hope we can gather more information about it."

"I just want to know what it is and how I kill it. That's enough for me."

The redhead couldn't help but laugh about the boldness in his statement. Maybe it was that deadpan tone he had used, but she had found his words amusing.

"Do you think that's the one who attacked us?"

"Hard to tell. For all we know, the place could be crawling with those." Leon replied, shaking his head, "That's why I said what is it, and how do I kill it."

" I got you, Leon. If I figure that out, you'll be the first to know; but it's the first time I see B.O.W.s that "eat" B.O.W.s. I mean, I know there are some specimens that are extremely hostile to their kind, but to feed on each other?"

"These people are sick, so I wouldn't be surprised if they did it on purpose."

Claire was thinking of any reason why Neo-Umbrella would want to create a mutant who fed up with other mutants when a soft beeping interrupted her line of thought. She realized it was Leon's communicator when the man pulled it out from his pocket and answered.

"Hunnigan. It's so good to hear from you again."

" I can say the same thing, Leon. I got contacted by the B.S.A.A Alpha team just a while ago. They'll be arriving at your location within some minutes."

"Sure, they can take all the time they want. It's not like we'll be going anywhere."

"Funny, Leon. It's nice to see you still have your humor," Hunnigan said, amused.

"Well, someone needs to keep the mood up."

Hunnigan snorted.

"Anything important that we should know?" Leon said, "The jammer disconnected us from the rest of the world, so how about an update?"

"Well, I think I can fill you up with all the recent events, and perhaps you could do the same."

"Sounds fair. What do you have to tell, Hunnigan?"

"Is Ms. Redfield with you? I believe this might be of her interest, as well."

"She's right here."

"72h ago, exactly two hours after your disappearance, there was a bioterrorist attack launched over Hughesville."

"What?"

Claire was staggered in horror. There had been an attack in her city? Hughesville wasn't even a big city, so why would terrorists target it? Was that her fault, too?

"Luckily, I was informed by a TerraSave contact that there were few casualties. Most of the people of the city had successfully evacuated in the first 3 hours following the first attack thanks to the emergency procedure that Ms. Redfield had implemented some months ago."

"The Aganisia Procedure…" she whispered, " God, so it worked as it was supposed to."

"Yes, Ms. Redfield, and from what I heard, the results were satisfactory."

"If Aganisia activated, it means Anathallis got set into motion, as well. Did the B.S.A.A take the emergency call in time?"

"I was going to that. Indeed, B.S.A.A squads were deployed even before the first report of the bio-attack was done to the authorities."

"Oh, god. So it worked," she sighed in relief, "We've not used the procedure in real situations, only on simulations, so I was worried it might not work in a real context."

Leon looked at her quizzically, but she motioned at him, articulating a silent "Explain it later."

"It worked well, Ms. Redfield. You should be proud. The government wants to contact you once you have returned to the US, to talk about the possibility of implementing it in other cities, but we can discuss that later."

"So, what about the attack?" Leon asked.

"Yes, of course. The B.O.W.s used in the attack are from the C-virus. B.S.A.A managed to suppress most of the small scale weapons without major losses. However, the bigger ones represented a major challenge."

"So, they use C-virus Bioweapons? Damn, so Neo-Umbrella is still mass producing them."

"Mostly, yes. The attack was under control. However, a second attack launched late in the evening. This time, the attack forces included a new kind of B.O.W."

"A new...kind?"

"An unidentified specimen. It was suppressed by B.S.A.A elite Alpha Team."

"Chris…" Claire and Leon muttered at the same time.

"Yes, Mr. Redfield and his companions dispatched the entity after finding B.S.A.A Betta Team completely decimated."

"What did the B.O.W look like?" Leon asked, and Claire realized that the man was thinking the same as her. Could that new B.O.W be like the ones they had found in this place?

"I ...I don't have the details about that, I am sorry. I haven't received the report yet."

"That's fine, Hunnigan. Is the attack still on?"

"Yes, however, it seems that B.S.A.A. is handling it well. "

"Well, that's great. "

"That's all I have to report at the time being. It's your turn, Leon."

"There's not much I can tell you. We are in an isolated area. Judging by the vegetation, we are in highlands, and according to Claire, somewhere in Germany. The locals have been all infected with Plagas, but I have no idea which strain. There are also new B.O.W.s, but I can't tell if they'll match with the one seen in Hughesville. They're extremely violent and hostile with anything that moves, including other infection carriers, so we've tried to avoid confrontation. One of them found us last night. We barely made it alive…"

"Leon, that's terrible. Is any of you hurt?"

"We've been better, but it isn't anything serious: scratches and some bruises. We noticed a behavior pattern in this B.O.W.s. Their movement seems restricted to nighttime, and they seem to feed on other infection carriers. We reached a facility where we believe the responsible were carrying their research. I manage to inactivate the jammer that was interfering with communication, and so we can look for information once Chris's team arrives."

"Understood. I shall inform the higher-ups about this. Leon, be careful. I know it isn't an official mission, but…"

"Don't worry, Hunnigan. I consider it official."

"Okay, let me know if I can help with anything."

"Sure."

Claire watched him put down the command, look at her with an eyebrow raised.

"Care to explain it now?"

" Aganisia is the emergency evacuation protocol I designed for TerraSave. Once it sets in motion, it automatically starts the Anathallis procedure, which is a direct notice and deployment of B.S. anti-terrorist troops.

"I get it. Any particular reason about the names, though?"

"I… I like orchids," she shrugged. There was no deep reason behind the names. At that time, she had seen the flowers, and she found the sound of the name appealing.

"Orchids?"

"Well, what's wrong with that? Orchids are pretty."

Leon couldn't stop himself from laughing, and Claire just smiled shyly.

NOTE: if you guys want to come and chat about the fic, or just about CLEON in general. Feel free to drop by the discord and say hi! JOIN SERVER

[lemonadesoda]

Prelude story: Parting Words

Summary: Snatcher has a few more words to say to the Captain before he makes his final departure--words best not said in front of the kid.

Notes: Tumblr-only post for now, to give the interested folks the opening context story for the main fic I'm working on (so that some things referenced in future previews will make sense as well.) Once the main story goes up on ao3, this one will go up there too. As always, hope you enjoy!

When the meeting room doors slammed shut, both the Captain and the First Mate let out low breaths simultaneously. In the presence of the two strange Earth beings representing the child, a suffocating pressure had been steadily building--whether real or imagined was difficult to say, but in the empty hallway leading back to the ship’s bridge, the air no longer constricted their chests, no longer sat heavy on their necks.

The two of them walked in silence, the First Mate tense and staring at the ground but constantly glancing sidelong at the Captain whose narrow gaze remained fixed in the distance, far beyond the extent of the corridor, beyond the walls of the ship, beyond the present moment.

The First Mate flinched first when the blanched white light of the corridor flickered once, then again. They blinked and shook their head as the normally faint shadows deepened, sharpening the corners where the walls met the floor. Finally surfacing from his reverie, the Captain stopped mid-step, going completely still as the room darkened around them and the clamping weight returned to the air once more.

“I have something more to say.” The shadow that stretched out in front of their feet across the void-dark floor opened familiar gold eyes. Before them, projected into the floor with the silhouette of his hands clasped behind his back was the one called Snatcher, the proclaimed King of Subcon.

“What are you-” the First Mate yelped, dancing backward. They looked to the Captain who remained rooted in place, then back to the intruder. “You can’t be here!”

Snatcher lifted upward out of the floor to stand face-to-face with the two of them. He grinned far too broadly for what his theoretical bone-structure should have supported, a burning crescent splitting his expression like a volcanic fissure. “Our contractual business has concluded. What I have to say is of a personal matter. Off the record, you could call it.” As it had before, his voice echoed, layered as though he were speaking from multiple directions at once. Though his grin held, his eyes narrowed by a fraction, giving a bladed edge to the expression. “There are some things that are better not to say in front of my child.”

“This could be considered an act of aggression,” the Captain said in a low voice. He had recovered his composure after the initial alarm of the consuming shadows, returning to his rigid posture from their formal meeting.

“Good,” Snatcher snapped. “Because I really must emphasize that the only reason you are still alive is because that little kid, for some reason, prefers you to be.”

The Captain stood eye-level with Snatcher, forced to dig his heels into the floor to hold his ground. “What is your purpose in making these threats? I have already agreed to your terms.”

Just behind him, the First Mate straightened themself and moved up alongside the Captain. Snatcher’s lantern gaze flicked toward them, and he stared them down, holding the sickle-sharp smile in place until the First Mate’s jaw hurt from clenching their teeth. Like a bonfire, Snatcher radiated an aura that urged a retreat, that lit up the neurons in the brain that cried warning.

“Because I want to make some things very clear,” Snatcher said to the Captain, though still bearing down on the First Mate off to the side. “It would be in your best interest to make sure none of you come back. Because no one comes here to make threats or demands of our child. I don’t care if it becomes a diplomatic incident.” Snatcher’s shadowy form dissipated, melting like fog back into the floor.

“If it came down to it,” his voice came from over the Captain’s shoulder now, close as a whisper, making both the Captain and the First Mate whip their heads around, catching only darkness. “I would start an intergalactic war if only she asked me to.”

“That strikes me as irresponsible,” the Captain muttered, eyes searching the dark corners of the hallway for Snatcher’s reappearance.

“Then don’t make her ask me,” Snatcher said in a sing-song tone. His wheezing laugh rattled low in the air, shuddering through their rib cages. “I’m only warning you what’s at stake here. No matter what you or any of those people from wherever you came decide, we will protect our daughter above all else. But I can promise you this-” Snatcher materialized in the wall, shaping his silhouette in mimicry of the Captain’s form beside him. “If it really came down to it, you wouldn’t be around to witness the magnitude of your failure.” He lifted a clawed hand in the shadow and mimed a crushing vice with it. “So what happens next is really up to you.”

Snatcher peeled out from the wall, walking back into the center of the corridor as if from a hidden door. He looked at the two of them over his shoulder, the edge of his smile still visible. “Your move, Captain.”

With the echoes of a final cackle that shook the panels of the ship, the darkness blinked out all at once, replaced by the flash of the fluorescent white returning to the hall. Several meters ahead, the transport staff stood glancing about in confusion.

“Sir, what was that?” one of the staff asked as they approached. “There seemed to be a power failure just now, but we received no alert.”

The Captain remained silent for several seconds, prompting the staff to peer at him, brows furrowed.

“Sir?”

“Have engineering check the power couplers in the central hall,” the Captain said quietly, glaring over the shoulders of the staff. They ducked their heads, nodding at the command and one of them tapped a message into their hand-held terminal before hurrying past them to finish teleporting the entourage from Subcon back to the child’s ship.

As they neared the bridge, the First Mate looked up at the Captain. “You’re really just going to let that slide? We’re well within our rights to issue a reclamation of the time pieces after that.”

“When considering our options, it would not be worth the risk,” the Captain replied, striding just ahead of the First Mate and not turning back.

The First Mate hastened to walk in line with him, trying to catch his attention. “And leave that level of technology in the hands of a child? With those sorts of people as her guardians?”

“I can trust that she understands what’s at stake.”

“She’s a child! How can she uphold the Oath? If those things or anyone else on the planet wants to get ahold of that power-”

The Captain halted as the doors to the bridge chimed to alert them to their opening, finally whipping his gaze to the First Mate. “A child who apparently has the power to start wars with a word, given who is protecting her. The time pieces will see no misuse without her say so.” He bit the words out, an edge of aggravation hastening the statement more than his habit.

The First Mate snapped their mouth shut under the Captain’s scrutiny, only returning a sullen look as the two of them stepped back out to the bridge, the command crews all turning in acknowledgment.

As they took their place at the helm overlooking the various control stations of the ship, the First Mate muttered, “You’re setting a dangerous precedent here. Are we really going to kowtow because of a few verbal threats?”

The Captain’s jaw flexed. The nearest control crews looked up for prompting as to the upcoming course of action.

“What would you do, then?” the Captain asked in a low, steady voice. “Compel an invasion of a planet so far beyond the system that we had no existing record of it? For a derelict ship and its crudely harvested time power? Is that what you’re asking me to risk?”

The First Mate stared at him, mouth parting in disbelief. “He actually got to you, didn’t he? You’d jeopardize the stewardship of time because you’re afraid?”

This time, the Captain turned on them, pivoting on his heel in a lightning-sharp about-face, and though he did not actually advance a step, the First Mate took a half-pace back from the force of their commander’s attention, eyes going wide.

“You feel so strongly about this?” the Captain snapped. Though his voice remained low, his tone drew the nervous attention of the crew. “Then you make the decision, and you take the responsibility for it. I will defer to you!” He turned, addressing the rest of the bridge. “The First Mate will relay upcoming orders. Proceed as they command.” He stepped back, tipping his head to the First Mate, but holding eye contact throughout.

The crew all watched the tense showdown in silence, waiting on the First Mate who glanced helplessly between them and the Captain. Finally, with a last, frustrated glare at him, they stepped forward to oversee the crew. “...Chart courses for Cerian. Prepare for hyperjump,” they said, the orders so barely audible, the nearby staff had to relay them to the rest of the bridge.

As the crew hurried about to prepare for the jump, the First Mate stepped back, once again in line with the Captain.

“The Board won’t be happy with this,” they said.

“I will deal with the Board, if that’s what you’re worried about,” the Captain said, an underlying snarl barely contained by his professionalism worn thin.

The First Mate hazarded a glance at him. The Captain stood, focused ahead as he always was, as the crew always saw him. But the years working as his second reported to the First Mate the weight that currently bore down on him, the tightly-reigned frustration at having his hand forced and stress at the upcoming confrontation with the rest of the powers of the Enterprise. And if that Snatcher was true to his word, with the Captain’s own safety dangling precariously in the mix. They lowered their head. They shouldn’t have pushed.

As the alerts on the terminals warned of the impending hyperjump, the First Mate grimly replied, “It is what I’m worried about.”

The Captain made no further response, and the ship launched them across spacetime empty-handed.

[pl-panda]

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 8

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 8

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About that… It turned out he was very wrong.

It was already past eight when the couple was awoken by the sound of an army trumpet. Immediately, both of them jumped up and took a battle stance, only to see Tim rolling on the floor laughing. Behind him, Jason was snickering and Cass had a bright smile on her face. Damian grabbed the closest item, which happened to be Marinette’s pocket mirror and tossed it at the group. 

Tim and Jason ducked and Cass simply grabbed the mirror from the air, smirked, and checked herself over to make sure her face was still flawless. 

“Tt. Did anyone invite you to this room?”

“Technically, Demon Spawn, only the replacement is inside.” Red Hood sassed him. 

“Where did Drake even get an army trumpet?” Marinette didn’t even realize that she was channeling Damian. His brothers did though and started laughing even harder. 

“Internet,” Cass explained before covering her mouth to stifle a giggle. 

“Tt. It’s good to see you enjoying yourself, but kindly get the hell away from here.” Damian scoffed. 

“Suuureee. I’m not leaving you alone…” Jason was about to reach for his wallet when a small, sharp object flew right past his head. A Batarang embedded itself into the wall.

“I explained it to you in the past Todd. I will draw blood if I need to when it comes to defending my wife’s honor.”

“Calm down, Demon Spawn.” The older brother dismissed him, but his hand was no longer close to his wallet. “We came to spare you the embarrassment of being found like that by Mrs. Cheng.”

Until now, Marinette was too focused on the prank to realize what exactly happened and turned beet red. She meeped and jumped under the covers, red. Damian sent a glare at his brothers (and sister) and rushed at them with his fist. They all quickly scrambled and he closed the doors. 

“Tt. Pests.” He scoffed and turned to his beloved, who peaked from under the covers. 

“They will never let us live it down…” She complained. 

“We can always drop them off on some empty island when they’re asleep,” he offered with a hopeful look.

“But… won’t they wake up too soon?”

“The knock-out gas has more than one use, Angel.” He grinned. 

“So… you want to start a prank war?” She asked with a slight smirk, embarrassment forgotten.

“No. I want to leave them on some empty island.”

“Damian!” 

“Tt. Fine. Prank War. But you’re no fun.” 

Damian left to let Marinette get changed and put on some new clothes himself. They soon met near the stairs and went to dinner. 

Since today both Tim and Jason decided to come by, it was louder. The young couple had to suffer enough teasing to last them a lifetime. Damian promised horrible vengeance to both his brothers. 

“Can I have your katana? I mean now that you’re settling down you won’t need it, right? Maybe for cutting the vegetables. Will you be the househusband?” Jason was slowly approaching the peak of what Damian could take. Right now only the fact that Marinette was holding his hand under the table and that they weren’t saying anything inappropriate yet stopped him from drawing blood. 

“Ehm.” Bruce tried to interrupt the discussion and touch the matter that was actually important.

“Oh! Oh! I want the grappling hook! Mine never works that well!”

“If I tie you up with it and hang you from Wayne Tower, will you shut up?” He grumbled.

“Now, what kind of example will that be for…” Jason started, but then his gaze met Sabine’s and he froze. Suddenly, Hell seemed like a nice place to take vacations. 

“Tt. I dare you to finish, Todd.” Damian smirked, knowing full-well why his brother hesitated. 

“Um… I think I choose to live a little longer.” 

“Smart boy.” Sabine praised him with a bright smile. 

“Ehm.” Bruce tried to get everyone’s attention for the second time. This time, everyone looked at him curiously.

“Tomorrow the class will be visiting Wayne Tower. I would ask all of you to be on your best behavior and either not reveal who you are or what your relation to Damian is.” He started. 

“Did you finally disown him!?” Jason cheered. 

“No. But if the french class learns that Damian is dating someone, the news will be all over the internet within five minutes and we won’t be able to stop it on time.”

“Stop them with legal means you mean?”

“I know what I said. The class is accompanied by an A.I. advanced enough to be vulnerable to possession that is normally reserved to humans. I don’t know what else they have in terms of technology”

“So we get to treat Damian and Nettie as strangers the whole day?”

“No. It would be best if you just avoided the class, but I know it’s too much to ask.”

“Oh! I don’t think it would actually be that hard.” Sabine smiled brightly at the two boys. “After all, they are good boys who don’t want to needlessly make my trip harder, right?” Even though she was smiling, there was this dangerous edge in her voice. 

“Maman. Have you thought about taking tomorrow off? I know how hard dealing with the class is.” Her daughter asked worriedly. Sabine was acting angrier and angrier each time she saw them.

“I’m sorry sweetie. Dealing with that group is indeed tiring. And Caline is beyond useless.”

“It’s a wonder she is even a teacher,” Jason grumbled. 

“She is a good teacher when it comes to her subject, but she just can’t deal with kids…” Marinette said before stopping herself.

“So she is an awful teacher.” Her father commented. “Teaching at school is more than just helping someone learn, Cupcake.” 

“Listen. Tomorrow is the last day before the Gala on Friday. I really want us to have some control over how and what the press learns.”

“So… they don’t hear that Demon Spawn got hitched?”

“That stays strictly in the family. God knows it would make our life even more complicated if we had to somehow explain that mess. We’re almost done with the paperwork to make it binding.”

“I still think we could just ignore it.” Jason tried to push again. Back when Damian was in Paris, each of his attempts was rejected.

“Tt. While I do not need any formal documents, it will make sure that if needed the proper paperwork exists and there is no need to forge it.” 

“It’s a pointless risk though. Personally, I don’t care for the tabloid dramas that much…” 

“You caused a fair share of them,” Tim mumbled. 

“...But I wouldn’t want them,” he nodded toward Tom and Sabine, “to suddenly find themselves swarmed with journalists.” 

“Can’t they just wait two years?” The baker asked, scratching the back of his head. 

“We don’t know how the League will act. We are married so I don’t see any reason not to just have it out of the way. Once we’re adults, we will simply make a public ceremony to give those vultures something to choke on.” Damian said in an emotionless voice. By now Marinette learned that the more he was feeling at the moment, the more passive he tried to appear.

“We can discuss this later on. For now, I want you two to promise that you won’t intentionally reveal Damian.”

“And employees?”

“They won’t be a problem. The ones we must interact with received their instructions already and others will simply avoid me as usual.” 

“I’ll volunteer to serve as the guide and replacement as chaperone,” Jason said suddenly.

“That’s sweet of you, but I can do it. It’s only until Monday anyway. Then, the class will be Gotham Academy’s problem.” Sabine dismissed him. 

“But you and her,” Selina pointed at Marinette, “are coming with me and Stephanie for a spa day. We must look the part at the Gala after all.”

“You won’t hear me protesting.” The tired woman nodded. Cass looked curious between the two of them but didn’t speak anything. It didn’t escape Sabine’s notice. 

“Of course you can come too, Cassandra. That was never under question.” 

“Thank you.” The girl nodded. 

“And don’t forget me!” Chloé reminded everyone that she was still there, even though she opted to for once stay out of the discussion that was not about her. But just this once. 

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

“Is it time?”

“Not yet.” 

“But there are so many potential targets just waiting.” 

“It’s just an illusion. You must wait until something stands out from the crowd.”

“But I want it now!” 

“Don’t act like a spoiled brat. God knows I’ve seen my share of them to last me a lifetime.”

“Soon. Soon we will all get what we wanted.” 

“Indeed.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe, maybe not. If the plan is to succeed, we need to get their attention. Robin was not seen since Hawkmoth’s Fall.”

“It doesn’t matter. They will come. They’ll need to.”

“And if not? If the Justice League comes instead?”

“None of them can purify the Akuma. If they come… You know how Stoneheart ended.��� 

“Good.” 

“So now we just wait.”

“It is boring.”

“We could always…”

“No. I prefer to be bored.”

-----------

When the class arrived at Wayne Enterprises, they were greeted by Jason dressed in a semi-formal suit. He looked somewhat professional. If he wasn’t carrying a large plushy centipede that is.

“Um… Are you supposed to be our guide?”

“Oh! No. Not possible. I was supposed to lead a group of six-years-old.” He smirked. 

Damian scowled deeply. He didn’t like to be pranked like that. Then, he noted a Bluetooth headset in Jason’s left ear. Smirking, he pulled a small device from his inner pocket and directed it at him. Seeing Marinette’s questioning gaze, he smirked and activated the tool.

Jason was in the middle of arguing with Madame Bustier when he suddenly jumped and tossed the headset on the ground. 

“Fuck!” He cursed loud enough to get the attention of other employees.

“Please refrain from using such language near kids!” Sabine chastised him. She took perhaps more pleasure in it than she should’ve. 

“Ugh. Sorry. My headset short-circuited.” 

“I see.” The older woman smirked. “And what about the class trip?”

“Right… Wait just a second.” He quickly ran to the nearby janitor’s closet and put away the centipede, instead coming back with a large bat plushy. “Okay. Listen up. You’re to follow the bat. Where the bat goes, you go. If the Bat isn’t there, you don’t go there. Simple enough?”

A chorus of “Yessir” gave him some hope. Sabine, Damian, and Marinette gave him a detailed overview of the class and exactly what he should expect. And he was not impressed. Teenagers were stupid, reckless, and malleable, but they had to be idiots. 

Half-way across the trip his hope was dead and buried next to his fake body. 

The Lila brat continued to make subtle suggestions that she knew it all and already received a similar trip. The fact she never said anything that could make her vulnerable to a lawsuit or even have her as the reason for being kicked was mildly impressive but highly annoying. She just made some suggestions that the class later overinterpreted. 

Damian and Marinette stayed at the very end of the group. He gave her a ‘premium’ trip with much more juicy details than what Jason told. Chloé listened too, but she was more focused on texting with someone. The skater girl stayed close, but not too close. Looks like the best parting gift for the class would be a set of iron spines. They definitely need some. 

Finally, they arrived near a conference room where they would eat lunch, not to disturb the employees at the cafeteria. 

“Listen up. You’ll get the lunch brought in shortly. Remember what I said at the very beginning?”

“It rhymed with ‘duck’,” Damian smirked. 

“Not that, brat. You should forget that one entirely.” He glared at his brother (not that anyone knew that).

“Tt. Shut up.” 

“Damian! Don’t be rude to our guide.” Caline reacted. 

“Yeah! Mr. Wayne was so nice to offer this trip to Lila and us.” 

“Funny you need to put her sepa…” The angry boy started, but Marinette grabbed his hand and squeezed. Strong. 

“Whatever. The Bat stays in this room. Just so you get it into your one collective brain cell, that means you don’t leave this room until I’m back. Touch the bat and it explodes.” He warned before putting it on the doorframe and leaving. 

Damian and Marinette stayed in the back, talking in hushed voices about their plans for the Gala. To make sure nobody got the wind of it, they used Mandarin. Chloé listened too, but she was still on the phone. 

“Come on! You must introduce me, Lila!” Alya pleaded with the girl. 

“I want to. I really do. But Bruce Wayne is a busy man. Besides, we must stay with the bat.” 

“That trashy toy? Why do you need to listen to him? He is just an employee.” Alya complained. To prove her point, she grabbed the bat from the top of the doorframe. There was a sudden screeching sound and she instinctively handed it to Lila who threw the plushy away… right at Damian and Marinette. 

When it landed in front of the pair, their eyes widened. 

An explosion of yellow and black paint engulfed them. Momentarily they were both covered head to toes in paint while standing in a large Batman symbol.

Everyone but Chloe (who was also partially caught in the explosion) and Sabine (who glared daggers at Alya) laughed. Caline tried to hold it together, but a small giggle escaped her.

It was three minutes later that Jason came in with two more guards. He took a look at the room and zeroed on the painted couple. 

“I gave you brats a simple order. I even warned you that the bat can explode.” 

“It was Marinette!” Several people immediately pointed at the girl.

“Marinette?” Jason chuckled. “Don’t make me laugh. It’s obvious someone threw the Bat at her.”

“And how do you know it?” Lila tried to argue.

“Simple. She wouldn’t be able to grab the bat and cover that distance with it to end up sitting on the chair while it was in front of her before it exploded. Shadows in paint tell me everything.” Jason explained. You don’t live with the world’s greatest detective without picking some skills.

“Now I’m sure we can just dismiss it as an accident and…”

“Sorry, missy, but I’m under strict orders from B, right now. The party responsible for that is to be removed from the premise.” He spoke strictly professional, but to Marinette and Damian, it was clear he was enjoying it too much. 

“But… But…” Madame bustier tried still to say something, but nothing came to her mind that could solve this. 

“If the guilty confesses, the rest can stay. But I can’t legally send away a minor without a guardian’s supervision.”

“Tt. Lila and Alya were the ones that messed up.” Damian had a vindictive smirk on his face. 

“Liar!” The liar shouted.

“That can easily be checked. Show your hands.” 

“What does it have to…” She started, but Jason simply shined a violet-light flashlight at them and revealed they had some invisible dust at them. 

“Someone will have to go with them.” He looked at the two guardians on the trip.

“I’ll go. I think girls need a lecture on appropriate behavior.” Sabine’s grin was borderline feral. 

“Sab… Madame Cheng. I think it would be best if you stay with the group while I talk with the pair.” Caline tried to defuse the situation. 

“Nonsense. You should enjoy the trip. I’ll take care of them for the day.” Yup. Her grin was definitely feral. It was like a cat just got handed a crippled bird, but at the same time, it was friendly and inviting. 

“But… I think you should stay with Marinette! For at least the last few days until the next part of the exchange starts.” It was clear that the teacher disagreed with the idea of Sabine going with the girls.

“Oh! Don’t worry. I’m not leaving Gotham any time soon. I want to get to know my niece better and Tom got a great business offer.”

“Indeed.” The teacher did her best to keep a smile on her face. “Still, I’ll go with the girls and you stay with the class.” She said, resigned and started leaving, completely ignoring the discussion they just had.

“Caline.” Sabine’s face turned emotionless. “Remember that you are supposed to be giving them a good example.”

She received no answer. 

---------

Without the two main problems and the enabler, the rest of the trip passed mostly peacefully. Marinette enjoyed seeing the various departments, even though many of them seemed boring. During the remainder of the break, she and Damian changed into the spare clothes she had prepared. Tim brought them to work with him when he left earlier and had them waiting at the reception. 

When they were done, Sabine escorted the class to the hotel before coming back to the manor. Marinette was already locked in her room, giving the designs a final touch. Exhausted, the woman fell asleep on the couch in the library, only to wake in Tom’s embrace. She really loved her husband and would never replace him for anything.

The spa day went well. Marinette, when separate from Damian and his brothers, found herself the sole receiver of all the good-natured teasing. It was the first time she really participated in something like that, but she liked it. Mostly because of the company, not because of activities, but it was still nice to for once let herself be pampered. Her usually dark-blue hair was now a brighter shade, making the blue actually visible. It wasn’t anything close to Luka, but the metallic highlight gave her a bit more forward look.

The Gala was closing in and it was high time to get ready to rock.

---------

Masterlist // Next

[cycat4077]

When the Time is Right

Summary: Is it time to take your relationship to the next level?  Set at the start of S18 - roughly August 2016. Pairing: Sonny x Reader Warnings: Mature themes...of the NSFW variety, some cussing, fluff, feels, etc. Words: 1927 AO3 here

Technically part 12 in the Changes verse, but can act as a stand-alone.

Consider this a Valentine’s day themed thingy even though it’s set in August 🥰

"It's weird I guess," you say in between sips of tea, "how some parts of our relationship have happened so quickly, like meeting his parents right away, while other parts of it aren't rushed at all. For instance, the two of us were complete idiots and it took a couple of months to formally say ‘I love you’." The admission makes you chuckle, but as you look up from your drink, the devious grin pasted across your friend’s face tells you that she’s hung up on one small detail.

"You guys haven't done it yet, have you?" blurts Sydney, sitting wide-eyed across from you on her sofa.

You're normally a pretty private person so you can't help it when your cheeks start to burn, effectively giving away your secret.

"You haven't!" she exclaims, eagerly setting down her teacup, ready for details.

"Syd!"

The blonde raises her arms in mock defense. "Hey, hey! There's nothing wrong with it but it's kind of a rarity to not be in each other's pants by now!"

You grow even more self-conscious, tracing the rim of your mug handle as a distraction.

"Listen,” Sydney begins sternly, “he's super nice to you and charming and sweet, so I just wanna make sure he's not -"

But you interrupt her before she can make the accusation. "Sonny isn't like that," you state, adopting a firm tone of your own. "We just haven't gotten there yet...there's been no rush. I feel totally comfortable around Sonny and he's never once made me feel like we should be doing anything."

"Good," she asserts. "I just want to make sure you're not being played because the good ones are really hard to find."

Ever since you met in college, Sydney has been fiercely protective of you, and clearly that side of her is something that's never changed. Despite her thirst for details, you also know that you can truly trust her so you suppose there's no harm in opening up a little. "I mean, it's not like I haven't thought about it,” you confess sheepishly. “I went on the pill not long after we started dating because you never know, but our lives have been so busy and messy. Especially this summer. We've had our ups and downs - some beyond our control and some were issues that we've worked out together. I really feel like we've come out of it stronger and the more we experience together, the more I’m certain that Sonny is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with."

Sydney cracks a goofy smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Corny. I know," you wave dismissively, "but I can't help loving him more and more each day. Our relationship is so special to me and personally, sex is one of the most intimate things a couple can do. It's about love. So, waiting for the right time isn't a big deal. If anything, it will just bring us that much closer."

"Girl, you're crazy lucky!” chimes Sydney, affectionately. "And there's nothing wrong with waiting to bang. You remember me from back in the day and how I had my fair share of ‘promiscuous encounters’. Actually, with Geoff..." Sydney's eyes narrow as she recollects her ex, "fuck, do I wish we had waited! He said all the right things and made all the right gestures. Our relationship moved so fast! We hit the milestones at a hundred miles per hour…and I believed it! But then the cheating started. When I found out - and I still feel this way sometimes - when I think about having slept with him, I feel so dirty and cheap." She ducks her head and you can tell that the wound still smarts.

"You can't blame yourself for his behavior!" you rationalize, wishing your friend wouldn't be so hard on herself.

"I know! And I don't, but it's that shame and embarrassment of knowing I was so foolish to believe there was love there. Even the thought of having given myself over to him in that way makes me wanna upchuck. Hell, those one-night stands where the guy dips out as soon as he finishes don't feel as cheap or degrading. So, hon, there's nothing wrong with the pace you're moving at. Believe me. Maybe if I had waited longer with Geoff, his true colours would have shone through earlier..."

"It's in the past, Syd," you reason, "and you know what is special about that? It goes to show you how much you can trust and love someone. And even though Geoff was a total asshole, there's gonna be a guy out there for you someday who will be worthy of all that."

Sydney smiles despite herself. "You're a total sap, you know that, right?" You grin at her and nod proudly. "But I love ya for it." She then leans across the sofa and gives you a grateful hug. Parting, Sydney continues. "You'll know when the time is right," she reassures you. "You may talk about it or it may just happen, but you and Sonny are the mushiest, most in-love couple I've ever seen, so I know you'll be just fine."

-x-

Nights in with Sonny are the best. Lately you both had been so busy. Sonny was working overtime on top of double shifts, while you were occupied with perfecting your new course curriculum before the semester started.

When the two of you were finally able to have an evening off, you'd find something to eat and just lounge on the couch; maybe pop in a movie and sit snuggled up together. You didn't need to be doing anything in particular to enjoy each other's company.

Sometimes though, those cozy moments strayed towards other forms of physical affection. To put it in simple terms: you’d make out…And tonight happened to be no different.

"This movie's dumb," grumbles Sonny, leaning his head on the back of the sofa.

"Yep," you agree, staring blankly at the tv screen.

Sonny then turns his face towards you, offering a cheeky grin. "At least tha company's good."

You flop yours in his direction. "I suppoooose so," you tease with a roll of your eyes.

Sonny pouts and you laugh at how ridiculous he looks. When his put-on expression doesn't crack, you decide it's time to steer the evening towards a more preferable form of entertainment. "Y'know, if you don't stop making that face, I'm gonna have to wipe it off you myself." There's a deliberate hint of suggestion in your voice and you bite your lip to make your intentions crystal clear.

With a gleam in his eye, Sonny playfully deepens the curl of his frown which obviously leaves you with no choice but to reach out, nab his jaw and pull him to your lips. His arm encircles you and his hand presses against your back to coax you near. The quick peck blossoms into several more deep and passionate kisses; the two of you barely able to spare a breath in between.

As things continue to heat up you climb over and straddle Sonny’s lap. To your delight, this move elicits an 'Mmm!' of pleasant surprise from the Italian detective’s throat. Your hair falls over your shoulder as you peer down into his swirling blue eyes. "Hi," you grin quietly.

Sonny stares up at you in wonder. His hands fix themselves to the small of your waist. "Hey," he returns softly as the corners of his mouth cradle a gentle smile.

You hold his gaze a moment longer, soaking in the view. You're still in awe that the man before you is all yours, but as you lean down to capture his lips, you're reassured of your reality. Sonny mirrors your every move, matching your passion. The kisses grow even more heated. Your fingertips work at his silver temples while Sonny's hands burn up your skin where they've snuck themselves beneath your shirt. A gentle but firm squeeze is all it takes for your hips to involuntarily grind down against his.

Suddenly, Sonny raises your bum off of his lap. "What's wrong?" you ask with worry.

He shuts his eyes reluctantly before opening them to you, brow furrowed and expression vulnerable. "It's just...well, if we keep this up..." He winces and his cheeks turn pink.

You shift your knees on the sofa to steady yourself and raise your own eyebrows in understanding. "Oh," you say, growing quiet and nervous. The two of you never did get around to a discussion on taking things further, which left you to wonder where Sonny stood on the matter.

Ever the gentleman, he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, "I just don't know if we're ready for...this."

"Babe," you sit back on his thighs, rubbing your palms soothingly along his shoulders. "Do you want to wait? I know your beliefs are a little firmer than mine."

"Nuh-no! It's not that!" he exclaims. "I just don't wanna move too fast for you!" Sonny too, turns timid as he speaks.

You can't help but smile down at him. What had you done to deserve such a sweetheart? You recall the conversation with Sydney from a couple weeks ago. She was right.

"I believe in love," you breathe, running your thumb tenderly along his cheek, "and I love you more than anything."

"I love you too, doll," echoes Sonny, the confidence returning to his voice.

You kiss him again. It's long and lingering, reigniting the flame between you. Sonny draws you to his chest and you link your arms behind his neck. "I want this, if you do," you speak in a soft voice.

"I want this too. I want you...so much." The reply is almost a whisper, his lips mere inches from your own.

Emboldened, you withdraw and stand up, your skin tingling where his fingers brush along your waist. Never breaking eye contact, you reach out your hand. Sonny accepts and you lead him to the bedroom.

-x-

The next morning you awake to orange licks of early sunlight flickering through the blinds. Sonny's arm surrounds you, clutching you to his bare chest. His heavy breathing sounds beside your ear and you think it impossible for life to be any more perfect. You snuggle your naked form closer into his, wishing to stay in his warm embrace forever.

Then Sonny begins to stir. "Mornin' beautiful," he says, Staten Island accent heavy with sleep.

"Morning," you turn over in his arms to place a kiss at the corner of his mouth.

He releases you, propping his head up on an elbow. "Last night was..."

"Wow," you finish with a flirtatious grin.

Sonny sighs dreamily, "yeah." He then takes a finger and beings tracing light circles over your exposed shoulder. "Kinda wish we'd done that sooner." His tone is husky but his eyes are filled with affection.

"We've got our whole lives ahead of us, Sonny," you offer before delicately sweeping a piece of his hair away from his forehead.

You watch his blue eyes soften and crinkle at the corners. Dimples form from his smile. But instead of answering, he simply leans forward and kisses you.

Last night wasn't just physical; you found a whole new connection with Sonny. One deeply rooted in attraction but brought to life and nurtured by love. It was like you were completely in synch, giving and taking from one another wholly and completely. And, as you once again melt into his kiss, you know that everything had worked out just as it was meant to be.

---

Part 13 here!

A/N: I really love this fic. I've had it in my drafts for a long time and I really wanted to find the perfect place to add it into the series. I'm no expert but it kind of ticks me off how the media portrays physical relationships to be the holy grail...like it's a make or break type thing or that people need to be physical to fall in love. So, I tend to gravitate towards character-couples who do the opposite...and to me, Sonny seems like the type who values an emotional connection over a purely physical one. Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed reading this fic! The last paragraph is one of my favorite things I’ve ever written!