38. Josie
JOSIE
T he humming of the engines is our lullaby as the ship glides through the void, each burst of ion thrusters a soft heartbeat beneath the floor.
I lean against the control console, jaw unhinged in a lazy grin, my fingers idly tracing the holo-sketches of the Snowblossom ion grid I’ve been building in the workshop—miniature towers, wire conduits, schematic notations scarred by my coffee cup. It looks like home in miniature.
Dayn’s in the next compartment, interviewing a trainee in Garrus’s dojo—just a quick demo session. Every so often, I catch the dull thud of kneepads against the floor or the soft grunt of impact. It’s funny, the way home feels like a ship: sealed-off, humming with life, full of possibility.
I don’t pause my work when messages ping in.
First, a holo-mail from Novaria: “Professor McClintock, your curriculum is approved.” My chest hitches with pride, even though I should have been dancing in that moment—this is everything I ever dreamed of after graduation.
Then there’s a ping from the Hellfighters: “Dayn McShorcu, honored to have you train our rookie cadres.” Dowron's icon flashes on my screen, immaculately single-breasted and potentially scheming.
He suggests we lead a new covert task force. Together.
The voices all echo in my head, building a chorus of what-ifs. We could settle in one place—one life. We could have routines, steady schedules, even children somewhere down the timeline.
But Dayn walks in, towel draped over his broad shoulders, hair still damp. His eyes are bright with unanswered question but so much promise. I tuck a stray lock behind my ear and say, “Look at this—My micro-recreation of our favorite ion grid.”
He leans over, voice soft. “It’s perfect. But what are we going to do with it?”
I tap a tower. “We keep building. On Snowblossom, at Novaria, on scrap planets. But also… we build this ship.” I gesture at the holo and back at the ship. “The Sunny Assassin.”
His smile is slow and wicked. “You named our ship ‘Sunny Assassin’?”
“He’s going to be our pirate radio station, spaceship, classroom, strike team—whatever we want him to be.” I grin. “What’s wrong with a little chaos?”
“Only if I get to DJ,” Dayn teases, voice dry enough that I know he’s smiling.
“Compromise,” I say, hopping onto a stool next to him. “You DJ. I engineer every station from hyperjump to deep space.”
“Deal.”
We spend a moment in that silence between us—electric and warm. Then, in the background, the dojo thuds increase—Dayn is practicing with a trainee, every move quiet but controlled.
“Want to see something funny?” I say.
He arches an eyebrow. “Actually… no. But I’ll look anyway.”
I swipe my compad and open a window: a video stream from the dojo.
He steps back, watching himself in motion.
He’s calm, centered—until the trainee overcommits on a strike and Dayn flips him, full karate chop to the chest. The kid sputters on the mat; Dayn stands tall, calm, a hair flick of exasperation across his face.
His first thought after helping him up is a curse, not pride.
I laugh, low and genuine, the sound echoing through the cabin. “A trained Shorcu knocking the wind out of an overconfident kid is... priceless.”
Dayn’s lips twitch into a full grin—rare and open. “He shouldn’t have called me washed up.”
I reach into the compad’s storage and pull the real message. “Here—a note from Dowron. He wants us to lead a clandestine task force.”
I pass the holo-screen across the console. Dayn reads it silently. His jaw tightens.
“What’s in your head?” I ask.
He shrugs, gaze distant. “I can't be just an instructor in Kara’s shadow. But… a task force, with you beside me—it’s not so bad.”
I lean forward, voice careful. “We don’t need to choose. We can teach, we can fight, we can build this ship and be exactly who we are.”
Dayn looks at the miniature grid and then at me. “You’re terrifying,” he says softly.
“Good terrifying?” I quip. “Cause I'll take it.”
The hush that follows is warm and familiar, like falling into bed after a long day.
The decision crystallizes the next morning, over burnt holo-coffee and stale biscuit slabs. We call it a council—all four of us, packed into the tiny galley. Novaria's dean, two Hellfighter captains, Dowron's holo-presence projected from an off-ship terminal.
I stand ramrod straight, the room humming—non-Vortaxian engines, a scent of recycled air and ambition. “Thank you,” I begin. “For all of these opportunities—but Dayn and I... we’ve decided to take them all.”
Garrus’s stunned look, the dean’s arching brows, Dowron’s faint smirk—they’re each priceless. We unravel our plan: I teach engineering modules part-time, lead mobile operations with Dayn, spearhead the covert task force Dowron suggested, and yes—launch the Sunny Assassin as our home base.
No one says no. They nod. They murmur agreements. They shake hands.
I do a little victory dance—I can’t help it. Dayn’s laugh interrupts the room—and I’m diving into his arms before I even realize I’ve moved.
Later, I stand in our workshop, powered by exile solar plates I scavenged.
In the center is the physical model of Snowblossom’s ion grid—towers shining with tiny LEDs, asteroid dust pressed into resin to soil the base.
Dayn is seated next to me, a blueprint open on his lap that shows seating layouts for trainee fighters.
A small holo-beam projects the ship’s exterior, with its name emblazoned across the hull: The Sunny Assassin .
I trace the lines of the ship’s hull. “I want the name painted in yellow. With this little sunburst here.”
He nods. “Yellow. Because chaos.” Then he leans in close. “You did this.”
“Together,” I correct him, blinking up at his storm-dark eyes. “We did this.”
He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles—the same gesture we’ve shared hundreds of times, but each is new. “We.”
I pull him forward and kiss him mouth to mouth, love echoing in every pulse.
The rest of the day is a blur of noise—engines, drills, comms chatter. We toggle between instructors and mechanics, between budding field missions and academic credentials. I’m on a roll: tabletop diagrams, lecture outlines, early prototypes of training turrets and comm drones.
At one point, I tuck a stray braid behind my ear while tuning a shield generator, and hear Dayn murmur, “Boss lady.”
I smirk, without looking up. “Just doing my job.”
But the swish of his scan-gloves across sheet metal speaks louder than words.
Night falls quietly, tinted blue by distant starlight. I retreat to the observation bay—our little window to infinity. I curl wrists around a mug of herbal tea, steam swirling upward like ghostly trails.
Dayn slides in beside me, setting his own mug down and dipping into mine. We sip together, the silence warm and easy.
He breaks it: “This... is good.”
I rest my head on his shoulder. “It could get busier.”
“More chaos.”
I tuck my toes into his shin. “Yep.”
He chuckles. “You ever want a normal life?”
I lift my chin. “And miss all this?” I sweep my arm out at the stars. “No way. I didn’t build this to hang it up.”
He kisses the top of my head. “Me neither.”
We don’t need words to say we’re together.
Somewhere in the night, a new alert scrolls across the console: a distress beacon beyond Vortaxian space—ghost colony, unregistered, off-grid. I sit up, cold flush across my skin.
Dayn lifts his head. “Trouble calling?”
I tap the screen. “And I think it’s looking for us.”
He reaches for me. “Always.”
I touch his cheek. “Always.”
The galaxy is still twisted, dark, precarious. But now, we have a ship, a home, and a promise.
I kiss him, sweet and fierce, our hands knotting together with intent.
The console hums beneath us. Our futures, uncharted and chaotic, shine across the dark.
And together, we’ll meet them all.
Dayn shifts beneath me, the movement slow, fluid, predatory.
The fine dark silver scales along his chest ripple as his muscles tense.
My hand is still pressed to his heart, feeling its three-beat cadence beneath the warm plates of his skin.
The red tracer lines across his torso pulse faintly, responding to touch—Shorcu bioluminescence that glows soft and rhythmic when arousal builds.
I’ve learned him like a map, but every flicker still feels like a discovery.
He leans up and kisses me again, mouth parting mine with a slow hunger. “You’re not just chaos,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice low and ragged. “You’re gravity .”
“Then fall,” I whisper.
He growls—deep and soft, the sound vibrating through his chest where it touches mine—and grabs me by the thighs, flipping me onto my back against the chaise’s narrow edge. The leather squeaks faintly beneath us, the hum of the engines a pulsing backdrop like a heartbeat through steel.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, positioning himself between my legs.
I reach for him—hungry, shameless—and drag my nails down the ridges of his sides. “I want you to ruin me. I want to feel every part of you tomorrow when I sit at the captain’s table pretending nothing happened.”
His mouth curves. “You’ll be leaking my come while giving mission orders. Good.”
Dayn lowers himself onto me, the heat of his body pressing flush with mine. His cock, thick and heavy and ridged with that alien texture that drives me feral, rests hot against my inner thigh. The head teases my pussy lips, slicking through the wetness already pooling there.
“Fuck, Josie…” he groans. “You’re already soaking for me.”
“You’re the reason.” I pant, squirming. “Now give it to me. ”
He doesn’t tease.
Dayn thrusts into me in one long, devastating stroke.
I cry out, arching into him, the stretch perfect and filthy, full to the hilt in seconds.
His cock presses deep, the ridges along his shaft dragging against the sensitive walls of my pussy, grinding against that spot that makes my thighs tremble.
“Oh—fuck—Dayn,” I moan. “You fill me— fuck —you feel so fucking good?—”
He moves slowly at first. Deep thrusts. Heavy. Delicious. His cock slides out almost all the way, then slams back in, the impact a sharp slap of skin on skin. His hands grip my hips tight, claws pressing in just enough to mark.
“You like how different I am?” he growls in my ear. “You like this alien cock stretching your human pussy?”
“Gods, yes —don’t stop—please?—”
He shifts, pulling my hips up higher so he can thrust deeper. The ridged texture of his shaft stimulates everything—clit, walls, nerves I didn’t even know I had. Each stroke feels better than the last, building fire in my belly, pressure coiling tight.
“Touch yourself,” he commands.
I obey. My fingers find my clit, slippery with arousal, and I rub tight circles as he pounds into me. The pleasure sharpens instantly. I gasp, writhing under him, his name falling from my lips like a prayer.
He watches, all three of his eyes locked on me—one glowing crimson, two black with heat. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Wet, open, taking me like you were made for it.”
“Dayn—I’m close—I’m gonna?—”
“ Come, ” he growls. “Come while I fuck you into the core.”
I break.
The orgasm hits like a supernova—white heat bursting behind my eyes, body clenching around his cock in wave after wave of violent pleasure. I scream his name, my legs locking around his waist, pussy pulsing with release.
He doesn’t stop. He fucks me through it, drawing out every tremor, until I’m twitching and moaning, lips parted in helpless bliss.
He pulls out suddenly and flips me onto my stomach, yanking my hips up. I barely register the motion before he thrusts back in from behind, deeper this time, the new angle igniting another blaze of heat low in my spine.
My cheek presses to the leather, breath ragged. “F-Fuck—Dayn—I can’t?—”
“Yes, you can ,” he snarls. “You can take it. You will. ”
His claws splay over my back, holding me down as he slams into me, over and over. I sob with pleasure, body jerking with each thrust. I feel every ridge of his cock, every deliberate drive into my soaked, aching pussy.
“You love being fucked on the bridge, don’t you?” he hisses. “Where anyone could walk in. Where the ship knows what we’re doing.”
“Yes!” I cry. “Yes, fuck, I don’t care— only you. Only you.”
My second orgasm rips through me, sudden and intense. I scream again, collapsing under him, thighs quaking. My pussy clamps down hard, and I hear his breathing hitch.
He’s close.
“Gonna fill you,” he grunts. “Gonna make sure you leak me while flying this damn ship.”
“Do it—please, please ? — ”
He slams into me one last time and roars—deep and primal—cock pulsing as he comes inside me. I feel every twitch, every thick pulse of hot seed flooding my pussy, and I moan, shuddering, overwhelmed.
We collapse together, sticky and panting, bodies tangled and trembling.
The bridge lights dim further, as if tucking us in.
My cheek rests against Dayn’s chest. His hand finds my waist and draws me close. Our breathing syncs. Outside the viewport, a thousand stars blink silently, indifferent and eternal.
But in here? In this moment?
We’re infinite.