#I can handle ''shelter in place'' WAY better than ''YOU HAVE TWO MINUTES TO LEAVE OR YOU WILL DIE A HORRIBLE DEATH''

[thelastspeecher]

eregyrn-falls replied to your post: “I've been watching a lot of tornado related...”

tornadoes are something that terrified me as a little kid, no doubt due to television. (i can remember a nightmare from early childhood about a tornado.) i grew up in eastern PA, where at the time we didn't have any. so it was the IDEA of them that terrified me. honestly, it still does. i would very very VERY much prefer never to live in a place that gets them with any regularity.

​i realize they're old hat for you, and that's true for anyone who lives with a natural phenomenon. you come to respect it, rather than be terrified of it. but for me, i can't get past the suddenness of them. the fact that they can strike in the middle of the night when you might have almost no warning at all. while they aren't completely unpredictable (obviously there are observable weather fronts and stuff), to me, they feel that way.

the natural disasters that i can deal with are hurricanes, and blizzards. both of those are things you see coming for DAYS. you can get out ahead of them. you can take steps to protect your house and your pets and yourself. (i mean, both of those in theory, assuming you have the means and the financial situation.) earthquakes and tornadoes are too sudden for me and that's why they scare me.

oh you're not the only one who's had a tornado nightmare! one of the worst nightmares I've had in my entire life was a tornado nightmare!

I think that what allows me to continue living in a tornado-prone area despite my general anxiety over like, idk, life, is two things: 1) tornado predictions give a crazy amount of warning nowadays, and 2) I live in a tornado-prone area, I've had a few close calls, but it's not like I live in Moore, Oklahoma lmao.

most tornado warnings aren't even that a tornado has been spotted by someone or confirmed by radar. most of them are "radar indicated rotation", meaning that a thunderstorm with a rotating cloud has been detected on radar. which doesn't mean tornado. it does mean a storm capable of a tornado and more likely to produce one, but it doesn't mean a tornado. or even a funnel cloud!

very VERY rarely are people caught off guard by a tornado anymore. FEMA says the average amount of time between a tornado warning being issued and the tornado or storm striking the area is 10 to 15 minutes. plenty of time to grab your emergency kit and go to your safe place. we have tornado watches if the weather is favorable and often know days in advance whether we'll be hit by weather conducive for tornadogenesis.

and even when we don't know in advance, like I said, we still have plenty of warning! about a week ago, I woke up to sirens, then ten minutes later, heard them again. which I knew likely meant a tornado warning had been issued (the first time, I checked my phone and saw it was severe thunderstorm and just rolled over to sleep some more lol). and before I could check, my phone went off, blaring the same alarm as an Amber Alert. which I knew 100% meant tornado warning. and it was. my roommate and I had time to use the bathroom, grab the dogs and emergency bag, and even take the dogs outside really quick to pee before the storm hit us! and we didn't have a tornado watch in effect. there weren't supposed to be conditions for tornadoes that morning.

and like I said, I don't live in Moore. if I did, I wouldn't even DREAM of living somewhere without a basement. as it is, I fucking hate that my best option is a hallway on the first floor. we've gotten tornadoes before. some have gotten close to me. one literally lifted over a building I was in. but thankfully, we're not as prone as other locations in my state; the storms tend to lose some steam by the time they reach here. and the tornadoes that do spawn tend to be lower level, again, because of the storms losing steam by the time they get here.

I know a lot about the science of tornadoes and grew up in Tornado Alley (or adjacent, depending on what graphic you use), so I know that our current methods are so flipping good at protecting us. we DO have warning. not as much as for a hurricane, but generally speaking, enough to, like I said, use the bathroom and grab the pets. earthquakes...yeah those don't typically give much warning, but that's something scientists are working on. buildings in earthquake-prone areas are built to withstand them (much like many buildings in tornado-prone areas are built to withstand severe storms), and people grow up learning what to do in an earthquake. (which is find a table to hide under, essentially, btw.)

no, what scares ME the most are wildfires.

you're flat-out fucked over by those.

[samthemarvelfan]

Numb: One Shot

Summary: You’re on the verge of hypothermia, when Bucky comes up with a way to save your life.

Pairing: TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,400

Warnings: Angst? Implied friends-to-lovers, Bucky is a wise-ass. Fluff, nudity, swearing.

A/N: I’m in the middle of an actual blizzard with nothing but time, so here ya go! A cute lil blizzard fic :) Feedback is so, so appreciated!

Cold.

Dark.

Dark and fucking cold.

Freezing actually, the kind of weather that chills you down to your bones and makes the thought of leaving your bed seem like an impossibility.

Yet here you were, in the middle of January wading through well-over two feet of snow, searching for a safe house you weren’t all that sure existed.

All because Bucky Barnes didn’t want to take your advice.

“This is entirely your fault, I hope you know that.” Your voice is louder than normal. Partially from the annoyance burning in your chest, but also so Bucky could hear the annoyance over the whistling winds.

“Yeah, so you’ve said…what, four times now?” He’s nonchalant about the current predicament.

I’d probably be carefree too if I was a damn super soldier, unbothered by the cold. But alas, I’m a fucking human—a human popsicle right about now.

Your anger is all that’s fueling you to keep going though this mess. You’ve been out in the elements for about it 38 minutes; that’s a long fucking time to be in sub-zero temperatures.

“Should be just over the crest, if my memory serves me.” He said, barely showing any strain from the conditions.

You huffed, “I can’t believe we left the jet. Remind me again why we had to abandon a safe, warm place in search of a shelter that may or may not exist?”

He chuckles. “Because unlike a safe house, the jet’s electromagnet signal can be picked up by a drone.”

“And why is that a bad thing?”

He stops, and turns to you, his face twisted with annoyance. “Remember those guys a few hours ago? The ones who shot down the jet and tried to kill us? They’re gonna figure out we’re not dead and that jet is the first thing they’ll look for.”

Your irritation surely matches his, “Yeah but Sam is also gonna look for the jet—“

“Sam knows about the safe house.”

“Barnes—“

“Save your breath, Y/N.” He says as he continues to match. “Don’t wanna have to bury your body in the snow if you collapse from lack of oxygen.”

You stop walking, and he turns immediately.

“I’m kidding,” he chides. “You’re gonna be fine. Your heart is pumpin’ great, and you’re still able to give me that little death state of yours. I think you’ll live.”

You scoff and push past him, taking the lead for the first time since this walk began. “I’m about 10 minutes from hypothermia, Barnes. I’m shutting down over here.”

He’s at your side now, “Doll, I can hear your heartbeat. You’re fine, physically—you’re probably having a panic attack, which is kinda understandable. Want me to carry you?”

You roll your eyes as you reach the top of the hill, “No. I’ll live, remember?”

Well I’ll be damned, he was right.

A small house—and I’m using that term loosely, sat near the tree line. There was no visible sign of life anywhere near it, and you wondered how it isn’t covered in a mound of snow.

“How the hell is this thing still standing?” You pose.

“Can’t say that I much care for the details.” He says, squinting in search of something. “All I know is it’s better in there than it is out here.”

The red, weather door was locked as you tried jiggling the handle. “Got a key, Einstein?” You quip.

Bucky’s eyes scan the frame of the door, when he seemingly spots something. “Ah, there.” He reaches and removes an small piece of the frame, behind which is a compartment holding what is presumably the key in question. “What’d’ya think? Home sweet home, hm?”

Inside matches the outside perfectly. Rundown and dilapidated, no sign of electricity or running water anywhere. Not that you were expecting it, you’re in the middle of a literal frozen tundra.

“Okay let’s set up comms, see if we can get a signal to Sam. I’m gonna grab some firewood, saw a barrow of it on the side of the house.”

The house creaked and groaned from the wind blowing outside, and it was making you more than uneasy. Bucky seemed to notice by the way he hesitated to leave.

“Hey,” he called, making you whip your head to him. “You gonna be okay?”

He approached you slowly, almost like he cared whether or not you wanted him near you. His soft cerulean eyes watched you, taking in your features. “I mean, I know we’re in Yeti territory but I didn’t think it’d shake you up this bad.” He laughs.

You push him away from you, turning back to your gear. “Oh man, just when we were about to connect on an actual human level…” you’re ignoring him now, trying to get warm and trying to distract yourself by working.

“There she is.” He says proudly, poking the frozen tip of your nose. “I’ll be back.” You don’t respond, but you hear the door open and shut.

Fucking fuck it’s cold.

The industrial laptop in front of you booted up, and you were able to ping your location. You sent the coordinates to Sam and quickly shut it down to avoid any unwanted eyes picking up the signal.

The door swung open, banging against the wall, making you jump. “Jesus Christ, Barnes!” You shout.

He was holding 11 or 12 logs, and had that stupid, irritating, attractive, shit eating grin on his face. “Oh come on, now that was 100% on you. I told you I’d be right back.”

“Whatever. Just hurry up. The adrenaline is fading and I’m getting cold—fast.”

He didn’t hesitate to begin lighting a fire in the wood burning stove. You took the time to search from provisions; finding a few MRE’s and 5 or so cases of bottled water—frozen solid of course.

“Fires up.” He announced from the den. “Should spread through the house pretty quickly, vents are all over the place.”

You nod, “Thank you.”

“Sure,” Bucky watched you for a moment longer than you watch him, and then he’s walking up to you again. “You alright? You look kinda pale, Y/N.”

You scoff. “Ha-ha.”

“No, I’m serious.” He doesn’t hesitate to get closer and put his warm fingers against the pulse point on your neck. “Your blood pressure is low.”

Almost like he triggered it, when he backs up to look at your face you feel the dizziness take over. “Fuck…” you curse.

“C’mon, we gotta warm you up, Sugar.” He says, helping you to the den.

While it’s true that it’s warmer in here, what’s scaring you is that your extremities can’t feel it. Your toes are numb...your hands, and that’s definitely not a good thing.

Your eyes are closed now, “Barnes…” you call to him. “Numb. Really numb.”

“Shit, c’mere.” He placed your down in front of the fire, and crouched in front of you. His fingers work quickly to remove your soaking boots and socks. “Jesus, Y/N. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

That better not be an attitude I hear, Barnes.

“If I remember correctly, and I do, you told me I was fine.”

His face contorts. Eyebrows pinch together as he stares down at you. “I thought you were, we gotta get you warmed up fast, Honey. You’re losing circulation.”

He leaves for a moment, boots stomping through various rooms of the house like he’s in search of something.

When he returns, he’s got a few blankets and towels. “Now, you’re not gonna like this idea, but—“

You knew what he was thinking.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Y/N…” he pleaded.

“Bucky, no.” You shut your eyes, feeling the throbbing in your head.

“You got a better plan? You’re gonna actually go into hypothermia if we don’t warm you up. You’re wasting time arguing, not like I haven seen ya naked before.” He smirks.

Your eyes spring open, “One time! And it was because I had a bullet in my hip!”

“Exactly, I saved your life then and I’m gonna save it now. C’mon, I got a good track record of keeping you alive when you’re naked.” His chuckle is a genuine one, trying to make you comfortable but also wanting to see you smile.

Because if he sees your smile, he knows you’re alright. Bucky won’t accept the alternative.

Your jaw is clenched because you know he’s right. “Fine. Fucking fine, God I hate this.” You stand weakly, leaving on the wall for support.

“At least we’ll both be naked this time.”

You roll your eyes, “Lucky me.”

As you fiddle with the zipper of your tac suit, you come to the awful realization that you can’t grab it. Your fingers are locking up and aren’t allowing you much leeway. “Shit, Buck can--can you? God, I can’t believe I’m saying this.”

He’s shirtless when you look at him, his black cargo pants hanging on his hips. “All ya gotta do is ask, Sweets.”

What an asshole.

“Can you…unzip me?” You wanna vomit from the shame.

“Love too.” He smirks.

His large hands grab the small zipper, and he keeps eye contact with you. He falls to one knee as he pulls the zipper down the length of your body. It’s a sign of respect, he’d never objectify you, as much of a pain in the ass as Bucky Barnes is—he’s your friend first.

Bucky’s on his feet again, heat from his body radiating your now nearly bare chest. He’s still holding your gaze as he slips his hands under the fabric on your shoulders. “This okay?” He asks.

You swallow thickly, “Mhm, yeah. J-just do it.”

He pushed it past your shoulders and down the length of your body. Bucky helps you step out of it—a task you definitely couldn’t manage on your own, and now here you were.

Standing in front of your friend in nothing but a black thong.

“I hate this.” You say, avoiding his gaze.

You hear the clunk of his boots being tossed aside, and the removal of his pants. Suddenly, he’s just as bare as you are, but definitely not as worried about it.

Bucky grabbed two blankets, laying a makeshift bed out for the two of you. “Alright, lay down. I’m gonna hold you for a while, makes it easiest for heat to find an equilibrium.”

He helps you down, and is quick to join you. As you move to turn over, he stops you. “No, Doll. Chest to chest—keep the heat near your heart so it stops being stingy with the blood, okay?”

There is zero hesitation with this guy. Either he finds you repulsive and doesn’t wanna see you naked, or he’s just really concerned about you losing your life.

Bucky grabs your waist, pulling your body flush with his. “There we go.” He whispers. “Have ya better in no time, Sweets.”

You can feel the warmth of his breath on your nose, then his brushed against yours and you felt your stomach flutter.

God dammit, Bucky.

Not long after the impromptu cuddle session with your best friend did you start to feel the tingling sensation in your toes. “What do ya know, Barnes,” you remark, shifting to get more comfortable. “It’s work—“

Your voice catches in your throat when you feel the large, hard, and not-so-subtle sensation of Bucky’s, um, manhood pressing into your stomach.

This time it’s James who avoids your eyes. You chuckle, feeling the heat rise to your face.

It’s quiet for a beat, then Bucky clears his throat.

“Look, I-I’m sorry but I don’t know what you want me to do here, Y/N. It’s biological, I’m pressed against the most beautiful girl I’ve ever fucking seen and I’m supposed to not get hard?” His words are painted with sarcasm, but you can’t stop smiling at them.

Bucky moves to leave, but you hold him steady.

“I’m flattered, Buck.” You smile, closing your eyes. You feel him press his forehead to yours, and your smile grows.

“I mean it, ya know. You’re gorgeous, and I’m not just saying that cause your tits are pressed against me.”

Your eyes roll involuntarily, “Why do you do that?”

“What?” He asks.

You lean back a bit to look at him, “Say something sweet that makes me smile and then immediately ruin it by making some asinine comment? It’s like you’re numb to any actual real feelings.”

Bucky’s large hand grip your face. “It’s called a coping mechanism, Y/N. Heard of it?” He leans in a places a quick kiss on your nose.

You mimic him, holding his face in your small hands now. “And what exactly are you coping with, James?!” You ask dramatically.

Bucky smirks, his eyes tracing a path that leads straight to your lips. His eyes are on the target as he leans in, and meshes his soft, pink pillowy lips with yours.

It seems like mere seconds, yet somehow hours before you part. “I’m trying to cope with the fact that I’ve been in love with you since I met you, and I didn’t know if there was even a possibility you coulda felt that for me.”

He brings his hand to yours, and your fingers intertwine. “I’m happy with anything I could get from you, Sugar. But if there’s a chance I could have it all, I’m taking it.”

You pull him to your chest, and smooch the top of his head. “There’s a chance, Buck. A big one.”

You sat there like that for a long time. Talking, laughing, and sitting in completely comfortable silence. It almost made you grateful for being blown out of the sky.

“Sam’s gonna be here soon. You really wanna stay like this ‘til he gets here?” Your voice is soft, lips still practically attached to his skin.

Bucky sighed deeply and contently. “Hell yeah I do. I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be right now.”

“Maybe when we get back, you can take me on a date where I have my clothes on?”

Bucky’s chest rumbles with laughter, and he kissed your lips softly.

“Whatever my girl wants.” His sentence finishes quickly, and you can practically feel the comment on the tip of his tongue.

“Oh just say it, Buck…”

He smiles, “But if it’s another topless date, you won’t catch me complaining.”

[wearywinchester]

Regrets

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a fight leaves you both having some regrets, a little space brings some clarity.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: angsts, injury, mentions of death, guilt, comfort, fluff

The tension swirling around in the car was nearly unbearable, thick and heavy as you sat pressed to the passenger side door. You’d been doing it out of spite for the older Winchester, feeding off each other’s anger, each other’s huffs and puffs. He’d noticed just how far away you were sitting and it had him tensing his jaw because he knew exactly what you were doing and it was working.

It was working and he absolutely wouldn’t admit it.

The hunt had gone all kinds of wrong, couldn’t have gone worse apart from one of you dying. Actually, you almost did and that was the problem. That was every bit Dean’s problem and the very thought of it sent his anger from a simmer to a boil in the pit of his stomach every time it crossed his mind. To be more specific, it’s the only thing he’s been thinking about this whole time. But in true Dean Winchester fashion, the fear and concern eating away at him didn’t come out so clearly.

His vulnerability was mostly expressed through anger. Yelling and shutting down, mumbling strings of curses— it was anger in its truest form just to hide how scared he really is.

It was quiet, no radio no nothing save for the occasional clear of his throat or a heavy exhale coming from either one of you. It was quiet and you couldn’t wait to get out of that car, couldn’t wait to be back at the and take up residence in your room, maybe even one of the spares just to be farther from him. You have plenty of them to choose from. You felt like you’d scream if you spent even so much as another ten minutes with him.

You’d gotten hurt that day, gotten hurt and it wasn’t unlike other times. It wasn’t ideal how the hunt should have gone, ideally you wouldn’t have been a ghost’s kebab as she stuck her hand right through you and around your heart. Ideally you wouldn’t have been thrown against a wall without care for where you landed by Casper the unfriendly ghost. You almost sealed your fate that day all for the sake of getting the job done. All for the sake of saving lives.

That was his problem.

But, his problem wasn’t expressed in the best of ways. It was expressed in shouts and running his hand through his hair, in telling you he never wants you hunting again and a tightly clenched jaw. You argued back and forth for the better part of half the trip home, that lump still sitting heavy in your throat as you suppress your tears.

You were dying to be back home, in fact, you weren’t waiting another minute.

“Let me out,” you said, tone angry as you spoke.

His brows furrowed, looking at you for a moment. “What?”

“Pull over and let me out.”

“Not a chance, it’s ten at night and it’s about to freakin’ rain, Y/n. Who knows what’s out there,” he says, his voice raising.

“I know what’s out there, Dean, we hunt it for a living. Let me out. I’d rather walk than spend another minute listening to you huff and puff.”

“No.”

He pretended that it didn’t sting as much as it did, he pretended it didn’t make him swallow thickly and hid it with a little more tension in his jaw. They were just words. Just words spoken out of anger much like all of the things the two of you had spoken in the last half hour.

You could hear the frustration in his voice, in the single word, could see the tension in his jaw and just how tightly he gripped the wheel. That crease between his brows was deeper than ever and it showed each time a car passed you by.

“Dean.”

“Do you like throwing yourself in danger, Y/n? Is that what it is?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes, breathing out a huff that’s more than dramatic as the anger you feel only gets worse, both your anger is. You’re both feeding off of your own frustrations at this point and you can bear another second of it.

“Pull the damn car over or I’ll jump out myself,” you grit out, because if you talk any louder your voice just might fail you.

In a matter of seconds he veers off to pull over as you insisted, braking with a little more force than necessary as he stared ahead at the road. You were blind to the incoming storm, and Dean definitely wasn’t, couldn’t have been. But he pulled over anyway just like you wanted him to.

“You hate me so much, fine, you’re free to go.”

You pause for a moment, gaze narrowed at him before you grabbed your bag. “Yeah, well, maybe I do.”

Without another word from either of you, you got out, missing the way he looked at you as you did and the way he bit the inside of his cheek. And you missed the look on his face when you slammed the door shut, slinging your bag over your shoulder. After a beat of silence he pulls away, tires screeching against the pavement as he sped off down the road with the rev of his engine muffling the farther he gets.

You swallow thickly as you tighten your jacket around yourself, gaze narrowed as you watch the red of the tail lights disappear. Your anger still simmered as your heart raced, but that lump in your throat became near impossible to suppress as you walked along the gravelly side of the road by yourself. But that’s just it—you were by yourself. Those tears you fought so hard to hide glossed over your eyes now, spilling over your cheeks now. All of that built up frustration was seeping it’s way out.

You didn’t have to be so stubborn now that you were all alone, didn’t have to keep that front you put up for the sake of looking strong in front of green eyes.

Gravel and fallen leaves crunched under your feet as you walked along, the noises almost uncomfortably loud in contrast to your surroundings. You felt like an easy target for whatever is out there, felt like all eyes were on you despite the very real fact that you were all by yourself. But a part of you didn’t care at this point.

That adrenaline from the hunt still coursed through you, fueled by dwindling frustration that came and went in waves. It was seeping out in the form of tears, in the form of you kicking rocks in your path and throwing caution to the wind as you walked with heavier footsteps.

You weren’t that far from the bunker, not really. You had your knife tucked in your boot, you could handle yourself. You’re not as weak as you felt in that moment, and the emotions running wild through you was enough to have you putting up a good fight should you need to.

But you needed space. Needed space to keep any more words of regret from spilling past your lips. Needed space before you felt like your heart would burst right out of your chest.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets as you sniffed, tears running hot down cold cheeks as you watched the way your breath puffed out against the cold air. You tried to ignore the drizzle of the rain, tried to ignore it as you put your hood up, only for the wind to blow it right back down once more and after a few hasty battles with Mother Nature you decided to give it up. Decided to toss away your comfort as the icy droplets fell down on you heavier and heavier as the seconds passed.

You settle for picking up your pace as you walk down the road, the one that’s never been ideally lit for as long as you can remember. You weren’t that far, not really, you could make it back.

You tried not to think about your wavering anger, and the way it wavered more and more each time you thought about your conversation in the car. You tried not to think about how comforting one of his flannels would be, or the warmth of his arms. You shook it from your mind because you had yourself convinced you had to be angry at him.

What happened that day wasn’t just some run of the mill incident on a hunt. It wasn’t scraped knees or busted lips, it was sprained ankles or bloody noses. You almost bit the bullet and hunted your last hunt that day. You still felt that pain in your chest despite the threat of that ghost being long gone and put to rest. You still felt that jarring fear, that shake in your hands, and you still felt that urge to cry over it despite your overwhelming need to feel like you’ve got to be tough even when you don’t.

It was all still there, and now you’ve gone and had a screaming match with the older Winchester. Now you’ve both gone and spewed more than enough things you regret.

You didn’t know what was worse, the regretful anger sitting heavy in your stomach, or your overwhelming desire to get out of this awful weather so you could sulk in the warmth of the bunker. To get rid of that heavy sense of feeling vulnerable walking by yourself even though you’d insisted on doing so. You insisted and you got what you wanted.

But you picked up the pace once you reached that familiar stretch of road, once you spotted home tucked in that hillside. You picked up the pace despite the fatigue you felt telling you to slow it down.

You were cold, you were wet, you were miserable.

Meanwhile, Dean was back at the bunker stewing in his own regret unbeknownst to you. He’d debated a million and one times on turning back and going to get you. He could’ve handled you arguing with him, could’ve handled you hating him. Well, you’d gone and said that you did and he doesn’t know if he really could handle it as much as he’d like to act like it. But you were angry, you were angry and so was he and nothing good ever came out of arguing.

You snagged the key from where the three of you kept it hidden and sniffled once more before you pushed the door open, shutting out the terrible weather behind you in favor of the sheltered warmth of the bunker.

The place seemed empty despite the fact that you knew it wasn’t. Sam should be back after a hunt with Eileen, and surely Dean was around here somewhere. You knew he was judging by the fresh tire tracks in the gravel but you tried not to think about it. You tried to think about going unnoticed until you could get a change of clothes. He didn’t need to see how miserable you looked, how right he was about the rain, how right he was about how scared you truly were after that day.

If he knew that, then that tough guy act you put up after all this time would crumble to pieces in an instant.

You may have been able to snag a dry change of clothes without being seen, may have been able to sneak off to the bathroom without it either. But he knew you were here, and he knew you had to have been worse for wear and it had his guilt and regret simmering in a frenzy.

He saw the wet and slightly muddy footprints in the hall, he saw your rain soaking jacket on the coat rack, heavy with the accumulated rainfall. He saw the way those footprints first went to your shared room, tracked them all the way down the hall to a room that’s farthest from his own. And in there were more wet clothes, cold and heavy as he gathered them to toss in the hamper, in there were soaked leather boots with mud caked on the edges.

You were stubborn as hell and so was he.

But that anger was beginning to wash away with the cold as you cleaned yourself up, as you tried your hardest to have the day roll off your shoulders. But that pain in your chest was only a dreadful reminder of its events. You wanted to be angry, and a part of you still was, because being angry was better than facing Dean Winchester in that moment.

You swiped that dampened wash rag over your face once more, too tired to go so far as to take a shower. Too tired to do much more than sulk and stew in a heap of emotions as you changed your clothes into dryer, warmer ones. They only comforted you so much with the feelings you’ve got weighing you down.

You didn’t know how much time had passed since you exchanged some less than desirable words with him, didn’t know where he was as you walked down the hall and slipped into the room you’d claimed that night. You didn’t notice the pile of wet clothes that’d gone missing, but you saw the extra blanket on the bed. It could’ve been Sam, could’ve been, but deep down you knew it wasn’t.

There were plenty of things you would’ve noticed had you come home a little bit earlier. But you didn’t.

He cleaned up the books he’d swept off one of the tables in the library out of his own frustration. He’d righted the chair he kicked, cleaned up the mess of anger and frustration he’d made in his room. He picked up the pieces of his regret for letting you get out of that car at the dead of night.

You got in bed, you switched off the lights and climbed under the covers as you let out a sigh, one that was just as shaky as ever as your tears decided they were quite done with you. As you lay there on your side you fail to see the shadows of the boots on the other side of your door, standing there for a moment before they’d disappeared once more.

You were tired as ever, physically fatigued and emotionally exhausted as you lay there in a bed that’s worse for wear as the springs dig into your side. The room didn’t feel quite so welcoming, didn’t feel quite so comfortable as yours did because a certain green eyed hunter wasn’t on the other side of the wall. He wasn’t on the other side of the mattress.

That anger and that hurt still coursed through you, but it wasn’t scorching and hot, it wasn’t singing your actions like they had been a while ago. You tried to push it out of your mind, trying your hardest to convince yourself that a good night’s sleep would be the best answer to all of this, that it would keep you from saying anything else you surely would regret saying as soon as they’re spoken.

But you know you’re far past doing that.

You try anyway, try to tuck yourself further under the blankets and close your eyes. You were beyond tired, the day robbing you of any energy, stripping you of a good mood for a good long while. You tried your hardest to fall asleep and put the day behind you like you know you probably should. Things were said and done and there was no changing it, so the most you could do was sleep and restart the next day. But you couldn’t.

You tossed and turned on that mattress for a good half hour, riddled with discomfort and your mind plagued with just one thing, just one person. You knew he’d be awake, that was something you were certain of even if he pretends to be asleep like he sometimes does.

Indecision weighs you down as you sit on the edge of the bed, feet pressed to the cold concrete floor. It tugs you in every direction as you walk to the door with reluctance and ultimately step into the dimmed hallway. It was quiet as ever as you walked, footsteps much quieter than the squeak of your rain soaked boots.

It took some walking before you saw the light in the kitchen streaming into the hall, heard the clatter of a few dishes. You made it to the doorway, made it all the way there before you froze. You paused and waited, waited to work up the nerve. It could have been Sam, it very well could have been him but the thud of his boots answered that for you, a sound that drew closer and had you turning and walking away.

You didn’t get very far.

“Y/n?” You froze once more and paused, waiting a moment before you turned around. His gaze was on you as you looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “It’s raining, isn’t it?”

You sigh, shifting on your feet. “No, not really.”

“You’re wet, Y/n.”

“I took a shower,” you counter, too fast for your words to be true. It’s quiet as he nods, completely unconvinced by your words and he hears the edge to your tone.

His mouth opens and closes a few times with words he doesn’t even know are on the tip of his tongue. There’s too many things he wants to say at once, namely the bang up job you did at cleaning that scrape on your cheek. Or the way you look like you’re chilled to the bone. Or maybe a spew of words of how much he regrets listening to you, how he hates himself for listening and letting you go like that.

But he finds he doesn’t have the opportunity when you find yourself doing the same, only you do find words to say.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you say, looking at him for a moment before turning away and walking back down the hall.

You don’t see the way his hand reaches out, or the way it drops back to his side because you’re too busy rushing back to that miserable spare bedroom with another regret to add the the hefty and ever growing pile. It grows heavier when you hear that door close down the hall. It grows more and more as the seconds pass, as the minutes pass in that less than comfortable stupid spare room.

It’s laughable for you to think you’d make it a night on your own in there, not with the way you’re wiping angry tears away. It didn’t feel good to be at odds with him, not when it’s fueled by nothing more than stupidity and stubbornness at this point. There was no good reason to avoid him, no good reason to leave him standing there like you did.

You couldn’t take another minute.

You were quiet as you slipped out of that room with the intention of never returning to it, quiet as you padded back down that dimly lit hall towards your true home, rather the one that resides in that room. You’re timid as you twist the knob and open the door, finding green eyes laying on his side of the bed, the lamp switched off.

You swallow thickly as you stand there timidly, your lip between your teeth in a nervous habit. You let the moments pass as you stand there unsure of yourself, waiting a moment more before you close the door behind you. You circle the bed and climb in quietly, under the blankets before you turn and lay on your side too, your back to him.

It’s tense at first, tense for a good long few minutes with nothing other than the sound of the two of you breathing and the sound of the blankets rustling when one of you moves. But that tense quiet is melted as you feel his arm draped over you, tugging you closer and closer until you’re pressed to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin, soft but enough for you to hear.

You can hear the regret in his hushed tone, can hear the guilt weighing the two words down. At first you’re quiet, staring ahead as your lip wobbles under your emotions. You don’t say anything but after a little while you turn around, face to face with the expression that matched the words.

You look at him for a moment, gaze bouncing over every inch of his face. You swallow as you look at him, quietly mulling everything over that you wish you hadn’t said that day. But there’s one thing that keeps coming back, one thing that weighs heavy.

“I could never hate you,” you murmur, soft and embarrassed.

You see the way he nods softly, see the way the corner of his mouth quirks upwards in a half smile as he reaches up and traces the tips of his fingers across your cheek, along the curve of your ear. He nods until he rests his forehead against yours, noses bumping.

“What do you say we take a break from hunting for a little while,” he says softly, eyes falling closed as his breath puffs warmly against your lips. “Just for a little while.”

He’s sick of the close calls, doesn’t want to think about that day for a while even though he knows he won’t ever stop dwelling on it. This was too much and he desperately wants to have a break from the fear of losing you for a little while.

You take a breath and nod, you nod and you kiss him softly and it settles the nerves rumbling around within him.

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that, De,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his nose down to his lips in a lingering kiss.

That tension of regret still hangs heavy in his shoulders, still hangs heavy in your heart no matter how many times the two of you apologize. He knows you’ll never blame him for pulling over like that, you insisted after all. He knows he’ll never let himself off the hook either. But he doesn’t want to bring it up, not now that you’re safe in his arms once more.

He doesn’t want to bring up just how much he wishes you wouldn’t play tough guy after hunts like these, just how much that day bothered him. And you feel like you could tell him a million times over just how much you love him but he knows, even if you’re beating yourself up for what you said in the heat of the moment he knows it’s just that.

You were home, he was your home. Past the arguments and huffs and puffs and words spoken out of anger. None of that mattered in that moment.

You could apologize all you want another time and surely you would, but you keep yourself in that moment.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho @lyarr24 @happyt0exist

[s-brant]

The Endless Summer (2/?)

(gif: @beccs) (PART ONE) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: A day out on the water goes awry and puts JJ, John B, and Y/N in danger. With tensions rising and the stakes higher than ever, JJ finds it difficult to control his feelings.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, graphic violence, and JJ being an emotionally confused asshat.

A/N: Welcome back! Thanks for the love on this series, I’m so glad you guys like it and I hope this part is just as good. Things get a little heated in this chapter, so buckle up. Let me know if you enjoyed this. Have fun!

JJ isn't sure why she did it.

He wasn't sure then and he isn't sure now, but he knows one thing for certain: there isn't any going back to how things once were now that the barrier between them came crashing down.

Sweat drips off of his skin from the relentless heat of the Caribbean that has made their recent lives hell with the painful tinge of sunburn atop their tans and heat exhaustion they must be careful to avoid at all costs. They were educated on both topics by Pope, their godsend of a survival encyclopedia in human form, who advised them to spend most of their day outside of necessary tasks like fishing and constructing stable shelter under the shady cover of the treetops.

The sole reason he and John B aren't hiding in the safety of the shade is that it's their day to fish, but he's not thinking about the sun. In fact, neither of them is. They're both wondering where their third fishing buddy is.

It took roughly ten minutes of spearfishing with him in comfortable silence for JJ to finally break and spill his guts about what happened last night. Though there was an unspoken agreement to never tell anyone that their hatred has turned into desire, he couldn't help it. He was going mad trying to unravel it in his head.

After all, he already had a conversation with JB about the recent shift in their behavior with each other by the ocean last night, so it seems fitting to pick up where they left off with the calm and clear blue water in front of them again.

He walks on the jagged outcropping of rock that serves as their perch to observe the fish without disturbing the pattern of the current they swim through with John B closely behind.

"One second she's pissed at me, the next she's all over me. It makes no sense. Then, she didn’t say anything to me after it happened," JJ says with his face hardened into a look of concentration at the fish he squints against the sun to aim at, "Not even "Fuck you, Maybank" or one of her weirdly creative threats. She just sat there all night and talked to everyone but me."

His gaze slips away from the water as his chosen fish disappears from sight before he can bother to throw the spear, eyeing up his friend's reaction to the news.

John B doesn't seem that surprised by it, because who else, aside from everyone else in Kildare who knows of their "hatred" for one another, could've seen it coming as much as he did? He considers it for a second, then props his arm up on the handle side of the spear he digs into the rock to lean against.

"I'm pretty sure that means she likes you."

JJ retorts, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say."

Why would anyone ignore a person they like? It makes no sense to him. Every time he wanted a person, he'd simply walk over and make it happen. It's never been difficult for him to pursue the people he finds himself attracted to...Well, except for her. For a guy that also ignored her for the rest of the night and pretended their moment in the woods didn't happen, he has some balls of steel to be chastising her for the same things he did.

John B shrugs and says, "I'm being serious, dude. Sarah wouldn't even acknowledge my existence when I worked on the Druthers, and I thought it was some stuck-up rich person thing but it wasn't."

They shouldn't be talking at all right now as to not scare away the fish, but they do it anyway. They both know he won't let it go until it's out of his system for good. He wouldn't allow himself to forget it if he wanted to, so its better to talk it out than turn stir crazy from ruminating over it 24/7.

Though it's, as he worded it yesterday, hot as balls out, being by the sea lessens the feeling of it by a landslide.

The breeze they crave whenever they work on their huts or forage through the forest for wild berries, coconuts, or potential building supplies blows on them without pause for the time they spend here, which almost makes it more dangerous. They stand under the direct harm of the UV rays frying them without truly feeling it burn yet, and he dreads the next few days in anticipation of the returning sunburn he just peeled off of his shoulders the other day.

JJ walks down the side to get a better view of the water, balancing precariously on the sharpened edge with the spear clenched tightly in one hand. The breeze is strong enough to threaten his balance, but he holds firm and digs his toes into the sedimentary rock for traction. His body sways in the midday sun with the struggle for stability, or, at least he suspects its midday.

Since being stranded here, time is a foreign concept to them. With no phones, clocks, or any guide to go off of other that the position of the sun above to display the hours that pass, they've lost complete track of what day it is, let alone how long minutes or hours truly are in comparison to the endless summer they live within. They suspect it's been a month since they were left here, but, in all honesty, it could be two. None of them had the sense to mark the days in a tally until it was too late.

He says, lifting his arm to throw the spear, "Well, she is a stuck up rich person, so maybe it's just—"

"You know I'm right here, don't you?"

The sound of her voice from a few feet behind them startles JJ into turning around to look at her right when he lets go of the spear.

Unfortunately for him, the jerking movement throws off his carefully distributed weight and skews his balance, making the feet placed on the edge slip from underneath him and send him slipping down into the water. His calf is the first body part to hit the rocks, and the groan of pain he lets out at the feeling of the jagged rock slicing through his skin could make her heart stop mid-beat. But what truly scares her is seeing the back of his head hit the ground too.

Before he can slide the rest of the way into the water, two pairs of hands are grabbing onto his arms and heaving him up with all of their strength. She and John B grit their teeth with the effort it takes to pull him back up, their muscles burning from the strain, and once his feet are over the ledge, he pushes off the rock to help them the rest of the way. Drops of his blood disperse into the water off the edge from where he cut himself, dripping until there's hardly any left.

Once he's safely laid back down a few feet from where he slipped, Y/N is kneeling in front of him in a matter of seconds. The rock beneath her knees opens small cuts into her skin, but she doesn't pay it any heed. She sits on her heels to lessen the minor pain and lean forward to inspect the damage he took with nothing on her mind other than worry.

Soon enough, John B joins her to kneel at his feet as he sits up and watches them eye up his injury as though it’s some sort of ghastly, life threatening thing instead of a gash that won't need stitches. He watches them against the glittering ocean, waves washing up on the rocks around them to sting his wound with saltwater.

"It's a scratch, not an amputation," JJ says.

She ignores him with a frown lining her pretty features and twists his leg by the ankle to get a better view of the wound in the sunlight. It extends up the entire length of his calf, almost from ankle to knee, and dribbles fresh blood onto her hands as well as the ground beneath them. From what he can tell, it doesn't look all too severe. No muscle or bone can be seen, so it's a simple, superficial scratch.

When he doesn't get a response from either her or John B while they're too busy checking out his leg, he says again, "Guys, I'm serious, it's fine."

This time, she doesn't hesitate to answer.

"Yeah, well you may not need stitches but you still have infection to worry about. This wilderness isn't exactly the cleanliest place," she says retorts with as much snark as usual, and he quietly rejoices in the fact that she's finally acting normal after what happened last night, "Not to mention, you hit your head pretty hard. There's no need to act all tough."

He shrugs.

"It's not an act, it really doesn't hurt that bad."

John B stands and smears the blood on his hands off on the front of his shorts.

"I'll be right back, guys, I'm gonna go get stuff to patch him up."

Just like that, they are left plunging into silence as he is running away down the peninsula back to the beach they've claimed as their own.

Silence has always been her least favorite thing to share with JJ. She'd rather anything over it—screaming, fighting, joking, friendly conversation, or even what they did together yesterday night. Anything is preferable over the tense and insufferable feeling of silence when they're alone together with none of their friends, or their playful hatred, between them as a barrier between them.

Instead of seeing the same pestering jerk she always used to when she looks at him, she sees the memory of how he looked at her in the woods. He didn't look at her like she was the worst person to ever walk the planet, or like she was his least favorite Kook "Princess", he looked at her like she meant something to him.

They sit together in uncomfortable silence in the time it takes John B to rush to the beach and back, careful not to slip on the rocks the way JJ did, with the supplies from the dinghy in his arms. It isn't much to work with, but at least it's something to keep the nasty wound on his leg protected from dirt and germs. She's sure he'd leave it uncovered and up to fate if he had it his way.

Before he can set them down on the wet rocks, thus ruining the gauze and bandages in craters filled with ocean water, she gestures at JJ with a stern command, "Take off your shirt."

His brows raise.

"Shit, Princess, take me out to dinner first."

She groans in frustration, "Can you be quiet for a second and actually listen to me for once?"

He catches John B's gaze with wide eyes, but complies nonetheless, reaching down to tug the tank off of his torso by the frayed hem until it's balled up in his closed fist to hand off to her. Her eyes only linger on his body for a quick second on accident before snatching it from him.

Her bloodstained palms lay the shirt out on the flattest stretch of rock she can find to act as a barrier from the small puddles of water to protect the supplies. One nod at John B has him setting them down atop the navy fabric as she glances up at JJ with a smug smile.

"Believe it or not," she taunts, unscrewing the cap to the disinfectant, "I didn't ask for it so you could sit there and look pretty."

The words throw him back in time to their conversation on the beach while they thatched the roof to their hut, and he wonders how long she's been waiting to throw that back in his face since he first said it.

He grins at her as he asks, "You think I'm pretty?" but before he can say more, she's pouring a generous amount of the hydrogen peroxide along the length of his cut without a warning for him to prepare himself. His leg jerks away on instinct to save himself from the burning sensation, but she grips his ankle tightly enough to force him to stay still.

His nose scrunches up with the urge to groan in pain, and he does a little. Through grinding teeth, he winces in response to the peroxide slipping into every cell of open skin and bubbling up like the white water of the waves as it kills the bacteria lingering in the gash.

"Does it hurt now?" Y/N asks.

She's looking up at him through her lashes with her lips curled into a smirk as she packs gauze onto the wound until it's covered to her satisfaction. And it should be the last thing he's thinking about right now after cutting up his leg and hitting his head hard enough to worry her about concussions, but he can't help it. Looking down at her like this, it's impossible for him to not think about the unfinished business they have.

Everything is the same as it was yesterday—the tattered white top, the red panties in place of a bikini, sunburnt cheeks, and a taunting look that he'll never get tired of seeing. But that's precisely why he's reminded of it. She's wearing the same clothes and looking at him the way she did on the beach before any of last night's antics occurred, and he can't keep himself from wondering if it'll happen again.

"Yeah," he finally responds.

Her smirk grows for a second before she gets back to work.

"Good."

JJ subtly eyes her up from where she shifts on her knees to set the open gauze wrappers under the peroxide bottle in exchange for the bandage wrap, but he isn't as subtle as he thinks. She can feel his stare no matter how sneaky he attempts to be. He may be able to evade John B's attention, since he dove into the ocean to retrieve the wooden spear that began to float out in the tide, but she never misses a thing. Not when it comes to him.

When he looks at her, he finds memories.

Her legs folded up beneath her bring him back to how smooth they felt on his palms when he lifted them up around his hips. Her rosy lips pressing into a line in concentration bring him back to the coconut flavor he tasted on them. Her nipples poking against the fabric of her shirt bring him back to when he lifted it up over her breasts to suck at the sensitive skin until he got a moan from her—There isn't a place he can stare without going back to last night.

Part of him hates that.

He can't stand that a girl who he spent the last five years hating has found a way into his daydreams. Why couldn't it have been anyone else? Why did she have to lure him into her trap? He supposes there's nothing he can do about it now, though. After hours of stewing over it, he's reached the conclusion that it was likely a one-time thing, a mistake made in the heat of the moment that she won't make again, and he should get the idea of it out of his head.

When she has to adjust her grip to hold the gauze in place while she wraps the bandage around his leg, he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and jerks away again. She glances up at him with her best, "Are you kidding me?" face. Didn't he say he was tough?

"I'm starting to think you're a sadist, 'cause it's like you're trying to make it hurt," he says.

She gasps, feigning offense.

"Me? Enjoying this? It's not like we've hated each other for years or anything."

And though he may not realize it, this is her way of distracting him from the pain of having her apply added pressure to his cut while she wraps the bandage into place. It has to be tight enough to keep water and sand out, but not so tight that it cuts off circulation, and while it may have been tolerable without her touching it, the contact is enough to make it worse for him.

He asks, "Uh, speaking of, why are you the one doing this? Isn't it some kind of HIPAA thing to treat patients you've threatened to violate with tree branches before?"

The sound of her laughter makes his stomach flutter with butterflies, and he wonders what the hell is wrong with him.

"That's not what HIPAA is, genius"—her eyes crinkle at the sides with her wide smile while she wraps his leg—"and I'm the one doing this because I know way more medical shit than the rest of you."

Even Pope.

"Ohhh right, I forgot. Your dad is this hotshot surgeon and that makes you think you know everything," he taunts.

The casual mention of her father makes her chest ache with something not many of the Pogues, excluding Pope, have felt since being stranded on this island. With their parents either disowning them, absent, abusive, or dead, they have no reason to resist the allure of living here for the months or years it may take to be rescued, but she does.

She misses him.

For the longest time since her mom died, it was her and her dad versus the world. In everything they did, they did it together, and before she met Sarah, he was the closest she had to a best friend. Since they had no other family to help watch her as a child, she grew up in the hospital with him, drawing with crayons on his office’s printer paper with her babysitter and picking up small things along the way from watching him for so long.

He could've chosen to leave her at home, sure, but he didn't want to miss out on seeing her more than he already did, so she spent the majority of her childhood in offices, waiting rooms, and the indoor playground of the PEDs wing.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself after the sucker punch of being reminded of her dad and says, "Well, I know enough and, thankfully for you, I'm the one doing this instead of John B."

From far away, twenty or so feet offshore where their friend is paddling through the water with the lost spear held in one hand, they hear John B shouting an offended, "I heard that!" back at her. It draws a soft chuckle from them both, and she silently thanks him for distracting JJ one last time as she finishes and secures the bandage so it won't unravel.

She wipes her hands off on her water-soaked thighs one more time to get as much of his blood off of her fingers as possible before she reaches out with both arms extended to offer him help to stand. He takes them with a murmured, "Thanks," as they both try not to show how affected they are by the casual touch.

It makes them feel pathetic that something as small as holding each other's hands makes them remember what they did and desperately wish to continue it. Her throat bobs with how she must swallow the lump in her throat at their close proximity, barely breathing now that he's standing close to her with less than a few inches between them.

For a second, they don't move away. They stay face to face, and all she can think of is how badly she wants to kiss him again. But she can't do anything yet, not when she hears someone screaming from the water.

"There's a shark!" John B screams as he paddles back faster than he's ever swam in his life, already close enough to the peninsula that they can see the terror in his eyes when they turn to look.

Surely enough, there a tip of a fin too pointed to pass off as a dolphin cutting through the surface of the water to alert them of the fish's presence, but if that weren't enough, the water is clear enough for them to see its outline.

Thankfully for him, it isn't huge. It looks about as long as he is tall, but that doesn't change the degree of danger. Just because it isn't as big as other sharks doesn't make a bite any less lethal, especially when their only form of medical attention rests on her knowledgeable yet inexperienced shoulders.

For once in his life, JJ is frozen with no clue of what to do.

He's always the man with the plan, the one who jumps into action when others choke up and sit on the sidelines, but this makes him falter. What can he do to help other than stand here and pray John B can out-swim a shark? He's helpless, and now that he's faced with the prospect of losing his best friend for a second time, he doesn't know what to do.

It was his blood in the water that must have attracted the shark, and he was so caught up in his own drama with her and the pain of his cut that he didn't consider the danger of John B jumping in to retrieve the spear he dropped. It's his fault. His best friend is about to be eaten by a shark and it's his fault—

The blurred image of her rushing past in his peripheral vision rips him from his stormy thoughts, and right when he thought it couldn't get worse, it does. Water splashes up around her body and swallows her under the surface after she leaps off the edge of the rock with the aluminum spear from the dinghy raised in her dominant arm.

"Y/N!"

Before he even realizes what he's doing, JJ is screaming out her name, screaming it like he cares, and damns the consequences to dive in after her.

While he was frozen, she sprung into action without thinking of her own life first. She knew he was close to the rock, but not close enough to swim faster than a predator designed for the conditions of the ocean. It took one glance at the spear resting to the side for her to lean down, scoop it up, and get a running start to jump out as far as humanly possible. Various joints and muscles ached from how she strained to push herself far off the rock, taking flight with nothing but their survival in mind.

She sucks in a heaving breath upon breaking the surface, but she doesn't take a second to pause with John B paddling up to her so soon.

"Go back!"

The only answer she gives him is, "Use your spear!" before she brings hers out of the water in anticipation of the grey figure bolting straight for them.

It's a stupid plan, but it's the only one she has, and if one of them is in danger, they'd all risk everything they have to protect them. After all, they're already trapped here with the threat of death every day. Is there anything more worthy of dying for than your friends?

Neither of them is necessarily trying to kill it yet either, they're trying to keep it at a safe distance or hurt it enough so it swims away from them, but she puts all of her strength into spearing the fish between the eyes anyway. Her legs kick tirelessly to keep her afloat while she and John B stab as accurately as they can, choking down a mouthful of salty ocean water from how her head sinks at the surface without the help of her arms to keep her up.

Blood stains the water with a crimson hue spreading out around their bodies—whether it's theirs or the shark's, she doesn't know—and she must keep her lips clamped shut to prevent it from spilling into her mouth, breathing solely through her nose. She can tell her legs are soon to give out on her, but then a pair of hands latch onto her body. Call her irrational or stupid, but even with the clear distinction of human hands on her waist, her mind reacts in instinctual fear.

The touch makes her jolt mid-stab and sobers her feral mind back to reality for a moment until she realizes it's a human touching her, not the shark.

It's JJ.

His arms wrap around her thighs and hoist her up out of the water as much as he can while still swimming, effectively pushing himself underwater with one last gasp for air.

The sudden shift in view has her gaze shifting around to take in the new sights with a gush of red water rushing off of her onto the splashing surface: a light grey tail whips around in the chaos, the shark's head oozes blood from the multiple puncture wounds that didn't push quite deep enough, and its jaws snap right where John B's arm is before he yanks it back.

After a fraction of a second, it clicks with her that there's no time to waste watching her friend almost get his arm chomped off while she takes in the unbelievable sight. Her slippery grip on the handle remains as firm as possible, and she raises the spear over her head with an improved accuracy she never could've had from where she previously aimed it before. All of their shots landed well enough, but with the height advantage, she won't allow herself to fuck it up this time with her friend's life hanging in the balance.

She hardly recognizes her own frantic voice shouting at him, "Spear it in the gills!"

Her hands bring the razor-sharp tip of the spear down into its head repeatedly, and she isn't sure whether it's the splashing water or tears wetting her face when she buries the weapon down into it for a final time right when John B lodges his wooden spear in its gills.

Whatever she did, it must've hit its brain, because the animal halts its thrashing. Its teeth no longer snap at her friend, nor does its tail whip around in the water as violently as it did a moment ago.

As quickly as it started, it drops off into a sickening calm that leaves the white bubbles dissolving into a puddle of bloody water surrounding the trio and the fish that dies with no small amount of guilt on her part. There was no choice but to kill it. It makes her ache on the inside, but how could she regret it if she knows it saved them? The guilt might ravage her for the upcoming days, but she can't bring herself to regret jumping in after him.

She hardly has the chance to process it before she's being pulled away by both of the boys, her view of the scene shifting drastically once more with the abrupt drop of JJ letting her down in favor of guiding her through the gentle waves. His calloused hand squeezes her arm enough to cut circulation off on their journey back.

Time rushes past her in the next thirty seconds or so it takes them to reach the peninsula again in a paranoid sprint away from where the dead fish floats. One of them, John B she thinks, tosses the aluminum spear he dislodged from the shark's head up onto the rocks and clambers his way back up on his own. The waves closer to land grow rougher than the tender current out where they killed the shark, and she grunts in pain as one sends her and JJ straight into the rocks. His body hits her back with a solid ‘thump’ and forces her to wheeze with the wind getting knocked from her lungs upon impact, nails cracking on the black rock from the desperate grip she uses in an attempt to lift herself.

Meanwhile, JJ can't seem to catch his breath either, nor can he think of anything other than her once he sees that John B isn’t injured.

As soon as he sees his friend is unmarked from the teeth of the shark after he's out of the water, he positions himself behind Y/N to help her out first. He places his hands on her backside to push her up as quickly as he can. Knowing that the carcass in the water will soon attract more sharks in the surrounding area into a feeding frenzy, he'd rather it be him than her. It's a thought that shoots by too fast for him to fully acknowledge the meaning or weight of it at a time like this.

Somehow within his adrenaline-crazed mind, he is careful not to push her onto the jagged edge that sliced his leg open earlier, then climbs after her with little space left between them.

She's coughing up saltwater onto the rocks as he scrambles over to her, eyes wild with the petrifying worry of anything bad happening to her. They scan over her arms, legs, stomach, and back, and he doesn't even realize his hands are reaching out to inspect her as frantically as she had with him when he got hurt.

His hands cup her face, petting over her dripping hair and forcing her to look up so he can see if she somehow got hit in the face. Never has his mind been so void of rational thought, and, knowing him and his impulsive tendencies, that's saying a lot. The confusion of his contradictory feelings for her muddle his mind. Worry and hatred, attraction and anger—they battle it out, but only two manage to reach him externally.

Worry and anger it is. Worry for obvious reasons. Anger because—

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

She has never heard him sound so vicious since the start of whatever odd relationship/friendship/enemy-ship they have. With his worried expression and how he checked her entire body for injury after helping her out of the water, the last thing she would've anticipated from him was anger. Especially not after she saved his best friend's life. Considering what she just did for him, she thinks he should be thanking her, not chastising her.

Behind her back, she can hear a collection of yelling voices and splashing footsteps over the water dripping from them. It can only be the rest of their friends racing up the peninsula to them, but she can't turn around.

She stares at him with utter confusion flooding her at his unexpected outburst. Speechless.

"What was I thinking?" she asks incredulously with her face still cradled between his hands, "I was saving John B's life!"

Their emotional distance and disagreement are made up for in abundance by how physically entangled they've become. It wasn't intentional. It was a result of him needing to get close enough to scour her exposed skin for any bites, but now that they're sitting so near to each other, they forget to back away.

John B is too busy to engage with them.

He's doubled over on the ground with the compulsion to vomit the contents of his stomach into the ocean, but he doesn't dare get close to the edge again after what they went through. Instead, he positions himself away from them and their approaching friends until the half-digested food is forced back through his mouth. The acidic bile scorches his throat and nostrils on the way out.

JJ doesn't have the opportunity to retort back something about her being stupid, because Pope is the first person to reach them and ask, "What the hell happened?"

The rest of the group isn't far behind. It's Kie who asks the next question, then Sarah, then Cleo. They all pop off in rapid succession before either of the three of them can answer.

"Are any of you hurt?"

"Why is he throwing up?"

"Is that a shark?"

The last question draws everyone's attention over to the half-sunken mass of fish bobbing up and down on the breaths of the sea with a wooden spear sticking straight out of its gills. Though it isn't the biggest, most intimidating shark to roam the ocean, its presence doesn't fail to make everyone who looks at it shudder with the realization of what must have happened.

John B wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and points over at her with his trembling arm outstretched.

"She killed it."

The four of them whip their heads in her direction, jaws nearly falling off their faces in disbelief, but she doesn't say anything yet. Because as soon as they feel the eyes of their friends burning into them, she and JJ realize, as though they're returning to reality from the hazy layers of a dreamscape, that they're still holding each other.

She's slumped halfway onto him from when he hauled her body closer to inspect her, so she's essentially sitting on top of him at this point. Her legs, bruised and scratched up from when the waves crested to send them crashing into the rocks, are entangled around his enough that they look back and forth between them and where his hands cup her face in surprise.

JJ doesn't know what came over him.

Now that he snaps out of it at the same time as her, both of them separating and nudging each other away until their bodies are no longer entwined, he feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

When he saw her leaping past him to jump into the water, his mind shut off. He wasn't thinking about himself, or the possibility of getting killed, or anything at all. He was only thinking of the danger she put herself in, then he dove in and the rest of his conscious mind faded away into pure survival instinct. Yet, even after he knew the immediate danger was gone, the adrenaline kept him on edge, desperate to get her back to land and pray none of them were hurt.

"It was trying to attack him," she rasps. Her throat is raw from the saltwater she choked on, and every word burns. "But we did it together."

She pushes herself off the ground with an exhausted sigh.

Muscles spent from the struggle in the water, her legs wobble beneath the weight of her upper body as she takes a few steps to help John B up from his position on his hands and knees. From what she heard, he has thrown up all he has left in his stomach and hasn't gagged again in a minute or so, so attempting to stand again shouldn't be too strenuous for him.

His hand is cold in her grasp from the water soaking their bodies, but it holds firmly enough for her to help him into his feet without their palms slipping apart. No patches of blood are visible on his shorts, nor are there any puncture wounds on him from the sharp teeth that snapped at his arm in the quick but vigorous fight.

They were very, very fortunate to have made it out alive, and when he looks down at her face, he feels nothing but gratitude for the girl he previously saw as nothing more than his girlfriend's best friend. They went into the water as casual acquaintances, companions of convenience and the happenstance of being forced onto this island together, but they've come out of it differently. Now, they're friends.

Now, she's a Pogue.

He smiles at her, glancing up at their friends as their questions die down at the sight of his crazy grin, and says, "That was some real Pogue shit right there, Y/N." His eyes come back to meet hers. "I think it's about time we officially make you one of us. What do you think?"

She's opening her mouth to respond when Kiara cuts her off. The rest of them are staring at the trio as if they have ten heads sprouting from their bodies for not immediately surrendering more details of their near-death encounter other than saying she killed it.

"I'm sorry, can we please rewind to the part where you got attacked by a shark first?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I get a drumroll please for..."

The campfire is roaring with the abundance of sticks, leaves, and branches thrown onto the pile to fuel it as she feels a strong pair of arms looping around her thighs to lift her into the expansive, star-flecked sky.

In a flash of haunting memory, she relives the moment where JJ dove into the water after her and lifted her body above the surface to give her the high ground over the shark. She relives its thrashing hunger, the water splashing on her, and the cloudy hue of blood around them that she hoped wasn't either of the boys. For a second, as the world grows taller with her new perspective, she is brought back to the sudden shift she felt then and feels her stomach drop in panic, anticipating the danger.

But then the sound of her friends laughing, as well as the surging fire and crashing waves, comes back to her and forces the frightful flashback away. Her hip fits perfectly in the curve of John B's shoulder, and she lets her head fall back in giggling laughter at how he hoists her up in the air as though she's a holy figure of worship for the Pogues to kneel to.

His voice can likely be heard across the entire island when he shouts, "The Shark Conqueror!"

The group erupts into a triumphant mixture of cheers and laughter that fills the beach, everyone celebrating in their narrow escape earlier today...everyone except JJ.

After John B divulged the gory details of what happened, from JJ's fall to her picking up the spear and jumping in to save him from the shark, they made their way back with enough conversation to last the month. They all asked questions and took peeks back at where it happened in morbid curiosity, wondering how on earth they managed to come out of the situation without a scratch.

The rest of the afternoon continued on with the same buzzing energy that can only be created from the thrill of being alive. She's felt it many times since joining Sarah's group of friends that seem to find trouble wherever they go, but she has never felt it as vehemently as she does tonight. It's a mixture of euphoria, shock, and soul-crushing guilt for having to hurt another living creature, even one that was intending to make a meal of her friend.

No matter how much she grows up or discovers more about herself as a person, feelings never stop being as frustrating as they were to her as a child. You can get better at processing and hindering explosive reactions to them, but they never simplify. She doesn't know why she feels so much at once. She doesn't know why she feels simultaneously on top of the world and thrown off the edge of a cliff, but she thinks it has to do with him.

Since they walked back to the beach and talked about what happened until the day withered into night, which led them here to the “official” ceremony of her being named a Pogue for life, JJ hasn't spoken to her once.

Suddenly, the shoe is on the other foot.

Much like how she avoided him all night last night leading into this morning, he doesn't talk to her. He tries not to look at her too from where he sits on the log of driftwood across the fire, but it's somewhat inevitable with the spectacle John B is making of her at the moment.

Painted in the warm tones of the firelight like a goddess in her own right, Y/N is impossible to look away from, and it makes him angrier than he already is. A handwoven circlet crafted from the hibiscus and hippeastrum flowers growing in the forest around their camp sits atop her head. It doesn't fall to the ground with the movement of her throwing her head back in laughter. It stays in its rightful place against the rule of gravity until her face comes back into view for him to quickly look away from.

It dampers her laughter to see him avoiding her gaze so adamantly, taking a swig of water from one of the small cups they carved from wood and turning to talk to Kie to keep himself busy. The distinct sensation of being on top of the world slips away with the feeling of his cold avoidance and John B lowering her back to the ground until her bare feet sink into the soft sand.

Before she can start sulking about it for the foreseeable future, Sarah steps up beside her.

The familiar touch of a hand on her shoulder brings her comfort amidst her confusion and hurt over the way JJ is acting, and when she turns to see a pretty face looking fondly at her, a warm smile finds her lips.

"Pogue for life?" Sarah asks.

The three words bring make her smile grow the same way it had when she was talking to JJ on the peninsula. It crinkles the skin around her eyes with its unrestrained happiness to hear them because, as much as she pretends to let JJ's comments roll off of her, tonight marks one of the first times she's felt at home with them.

That's not to say they haven't made her feel welcome in the past, they did, but this isn’t the same. This is closer, this is the type of bond that's forged in situations like these where people have no choice but to rely on each other or let their worlds collectively fall apart, and she thinks, for the first time, that she could live here with them forever if she must.

None of them know how much time has passed since they arrived here, least of all her, but it sure as hell feels like an eternity. At first, she could barely withstand the idea of living here for months with the intention of being rescued as soon as possible, but now...

She brings Sarah into an embrace tight enough to force the air from their lungs.

"Pogue for life," she echoes back with her face buried into the salt-scented tresses of dirty blonde hair cascading over her tan shoulders.

Would it be crazy of her to think that this is where they're meant to be? That they're her family and this place she has fantasized about escaping is now their home?

After all, the lush island provides everything they need to sustain themselves with the rationing, scavenging, and hunting routines they adhere themselves to. Freshwater runs down the land in a stream from a water source uphill, plenty of different edible plants grow in the forest, and there's so much left of the expansive land to explore; it's perfect. Everything here is perfect for them, calling out to them to make it their home, but there's one little problem as of right now, and he's sitting across the fire behind her back.

Sarah's arms squeeze around her shoulders once to bring her in even closer.

"Thank you for saving him," her voice is so hushed, Y/N can hardly hear it with her lips brushing the shell of her ear to whisper into it, "I'm not gonna get all mushy with you right now, but I don't know what I would've done if"—Sarah's breath hitches in her throat, and she shakes her head—"I just wanted to thank you."

When they pull apart, Y/N is looking back at her with a knowing expression, one that says everything she can't in the presence of the others, and Sarah can't help but mirror it.

It isn't long before the blonde-haired beauty is whisked away by her boyfriend to help him cook the crabs they caught closer to shore after their encounter with the shark. Not wanting to swim out or risk slipping off the rocks again with the dead fish promising to lure more predators to their area for the next week or so, they settled for hunting for shellfish and making good use of the fruits they find growing in wild abundance in the forest.

The night ticks away in swiftly passing minutes thanks to the humorous company of the people around her.

She nearly chokes on a mouthful of banana as Cleo tells a story from before she met them, when she used to live in Nassau and work jobs with Terence and Stubbs on ships. For such new additions to the group, they both fit surprisingly well with the lifelong childhood friends that sit around and banter with such ease together.

They talk, laugh, dance, and eat together, and there are moments when she feels happier than ever. There are moments exactly like when John B lifted her up and made her giggle at how their friends cheered on her behalf in indulgence of the silly "ceremony" they did, half out of boredom and half out of gratitude for what she did. But then she is reminded of the man sitting on the outskirts of the group with his features hardened into an expression of contemplation she wishes she could decode.

The night breeze feels heavenly on her perpetually overexposed skin. It blows into the fire and allows it to swell from the oxygen supply, crackling and popping embers out every so often like the spark of the zippo lighter JJ fidgets with in his restless hands. The movement attracts her wandering eyes while they should be focused on Cleo and Kie dancing around the fire with boisterous laughter while Sarah and Pope sing for them.

She keeps herself honed in on the opening and closing of the lighter under the guidance of his ring-clad fingers for the next minute or so.

They may have been pitting themselves against each other since they met, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know him well. If anything, the keen attention that her old hatred for him forced her to keep on him made her memorize everything there is to know. And she surely has picked up on the nervous habit of him playing with the lighter whenever he's thinking, whenever there's something crawling under his skin that he can't piece together.

He sits with his back to her, facing out toward the ocean so all she can see is the hand he uses to flick the lighter open and shut with. With a quick glance at the rest of their friends to see if any of them are watching or wanting to speak with her, she pushes herself up from the log and dusts her sandy palms on her shirt.

The tracks of her footsteps lead around the corner of the driftwood he rests against until her feet appear, sunken into the sand in front of him. It takes a lot of control to not allow himself to follow up the length of her body, panning up along her legs until he sees that infuriatingly tenderhearted set of eyes looking down at him.

However, he doesn't have a choice in looking when her hand outstretches in a silent invitation. His first glimpse of her in the last half-hour shows her jerking her chin in the direction of the beach curving around the bend of the island.

This morning, he probably would've taken her up on the offer. He would've done anything to get a few minutes alone with her, but now he can't see past his anger and doesn't know why. He doesn't know why it hasn't calmed yet, but, in truth, it has more to do with him than it does her idiotic yet brave decision to fight off a shark today. Trust him, it still has a lot to do with the idiotic shark thing, but the rest is lost in translation for him.

"Not in the mood," he dismisses her.

Her brows furrow and form a crease between them as she tries to find something to say but comes up with nothing. At least not until it clicks with her what he thought she was trying to do by inviting him to walk with her.

The last time they went off on their own together, it ended in an explosive encounter they have yet to erase from their minds. It's what greets them whenever they close their eyes for a second too long, existing in their wildest daydreams and fantasies whenever they have a spare moment to themselves. Hell, he can't stop thinking about it even when he's already occupied. It was the reason why he didn't catch any fish this morning before the incident that made him pissed at her in the first place. He couldn't stop thinking of her.

"Oh," she murmurs and starts to kneel down until her knees are sinking into the sand the same way she did when patching up his leg. Her eyes peek over his shoulder to ensure the others didn't hear them—"That wasn't what I meant...I was just wondering if you wanted to talk about today. It must have been a lot to process, since he's your best friend and all, and—"

JJ snaps, unable to tolerate it anymore, and stands up from his spot on the sand to move away from her.

"You don't need act all therapist with me, okay? I'm fine, and I don't need you to fix me if that's what you wanted. Today was fine. Everything's fine, so let it go."

Her mouth opens and closes like a fish with a loss for words. For the second time in the span of a minute, she is grasping blindly for something to say in the wake of him shocking her to silence. He's starting to walk past her but she doesn't let him. Her hand shoots out to stop him and holds onto his arm to turn him back despite his rudeness.

Underneath it all, her concern touches him deeply. It shouldn't trigger a reaction like this in him, so why does it? What about today set him off? He hasn't been this genuinely angry with her since before the hunt for the gold began, before she started to blend into their friend group and establish herself as one of them.

"Woah, woah, woah," she says, "I never said that. I thought that you needed someone to talk to. You know, as a friend."

Their friends start to notice their interaction tensing up now. Before, they didn't pick up on her stepping away for a second to check on him. Now, it's impossible to ignore what unfolds hardly six steps from where they watch as slyly as they can. The two of them haven't had a conversation as cold as this one in months, and what he says next takes it to a place that freezes over the connection they made last night and shatters the warm place it held in her heart.

He scoffs.

"We're not friends. If you think you gotta act different 'cause you threw yourself at me last night, don't bother. You hate me and I hate you. That's how it is."

No nicknames, jokes, or anything to act as a buffer, just cruelty. Rejection.

Though they truly were trying to pretend like they weren't paying attention, every single one of their friends stops and stares. A chorus of hushed reactions sound off from across the fire, and the faint sound of Kie muttering, "Oh shit," is the first thing to reach their ears. It's needless to say that none of them could've expected something so callous to come from him, not after what they saw when they ran up to them on the peninsula this morning.

With the way he was holding her then, doting on her and cradling her face between his hands even in the midst of his anger at what she did, they sooner expected the pair to admit they're dating than have a blowout like this.

In the delayed seconds it takes for her to realize what the fuck he just said to her, he watches her face shift from a look of concern to sadness, to flush-faced embarrassment, then finally to anger. Her teeth grind together, nostrils flaring on her inhale, and in one quick moment, she comes to a conclusion within herself.

She reaches up to rip the handmade crown of vibrant flowers off her head with flames to match the camp fire flaring up in her eyes for him. Before she can do anything, he already knows he crossed a line, if not multiple lines. It's evident in everything he sees, from the hurt look on her face to the force with which she shoves the crown into the center of his chest to send him stumbling back a few steps. Just like yesterday, except it couldn't be any more different.

"Fuck. You." She spits the words as though they're venomous, and he almost shrinks away under the intensity of her stare, “Go find somewhere else to sleep tonight, 'cause it sure as hell isn't gonna be with me."

Petals flutter out upon impact against his solid chest and float peacefully to the sand around his feet as he watches her turn on her heels and storm off toward their hut. Though, after what he did and what she said to him as a goodbye, it isn't really theirs anymore, is it? At least not for tonight, tomorrow, or the next day until he finds a way to make her hear him out for an apology.

He stands there, frozen, the entire time he watches her leave. Nothing can move him from the spot, not even Sarah knocking her shoulder against his with a pointed glare on her way past to follow her into the moonlit darkness.

He doesn't even resist the disappointed looks he gets, or the shoulder check from Sarah. This time, he deserves it. He deserves every ounce of their judgment. All she was trying to do was make sure he was okay and he was too consumed in his unreleased frustration from today to see it. And, in a way, he's still frustrated over it, but it's greatly overshadowed by the guilt seeping through him.

The shadowy shapes of the two girls disappear into the small hut further down the beach, and JJ is left with nothing to do but look down at the flower crown clutched to his chest in regret.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

[cafedanslanuit]

chapter guide | prev. chapter | next chapter

✖   —   summary:  porco wasn't surprised when you called him at three in the morning because you were too drunk to drive back to your place. he would always be there when you needed, both as your best friend and the guy who was completely head over heels for you. and both of them were sure zeke jaeger was cheating on you.

✖   —   pairing: porco/reader & zeke/reader

✖   —   tags/warnings: so far it’s sfw but rating will change in future chapters, college au, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, unrequited love, cheating, toxic relationships, friends to lovers

chapter one: save your love

“Thanks for picking me up, Pock. You didn’t have to.”

“Tch. Of course I did,” Porco replied, putting his arm on the back of your seat on his car and reversing, getting out of the bar’s parking lot. You took your time observing him and noticed the bags under his eyes. You shouldn’t have been surprised. What were you expecting when you called him at 3 am asking him to pick you up from the bar because you were too drunk to drive home?

Porco rested his arm on the open window of his car, his other hand handling the wheel with ease. There were very few cars on the highway and the chilly air refreshed your body just right, making the ride home a lot more comfortable than you pictured. You closed your eyes, basking in the feeling of safeness you always felt whenever your best friend was around, plus the sweet dizziness on your head from the vodka and Porco’s cologne.

“What did the fucker do this time?”

It didn’t last long.

“He didn’t do a thing.”

Porco scoffed. “Yeah, right. Are you really going to pretend you didn’t end up in that bar because of what Zeke’s ‘friend’ just posted on her Instagram?”

“Porco, please.”

“What was the caption again? Oh, right. ‘Movie night’, devil face emoji, fire emoji,” he recalled with a snicker, his eyes fixated on the road. “She even tagged him on it, her legs resting on his lap and shit. Was it the same girl he took to the cat shelter for some ‘volunteer work’ last week or another?”

You didn’t answer. You knew Porco already knew who she was.

“She’s very pretty,” you mused. “It makes sense.”

“Please, have you looked at yourself?” Porco asked, taking a right turn.

Jokingly, you took the rearview mirror and angled it towards you. Your mascara was a little worn off and there were only traces of the red lipstick you had put on before heading to the bar. Your hair was messy as well and you look like you desperately needed a bottle of water.

“I look like shit,” you laughed, putting the mirror back to its original place.

“Shut the fuck up, you look good.”

“Pock, look at me. Whatever is going on here,” you said, gesturing at your face, “ain’t good. If you think so, your taste is really lacking.”

Porco chuckled, eliciting a soft smile from you.

“I like to think I have really good taste.”

“If we’re being serious, you have way too high standards,” you yawned, extending your arms and feeling some cracks on your back.

“How so?” he inquired, arching an eyebrow.

“You haven’t been in a relationship since I know you, which is what— a year?”

“And?”

“And I’m starting to think you’re afraid of commitment. Maybe you’re just afraid of a relationship,” you shrugged.

“Are you done, Freud?” he teased, sparing a quick glance at you before looking back at the road again.

“All I’m saying is you’ve had both beautiful girls and boys at your disposition and you have never even tried to date them. Well, no, my bad, you did take this one girl on a date. And what happened next?”

Porco chuckled. “Look, it’s not like that, we just didn’t click and—”

“You told her you were better off as friends and to this day I haven’t listened to a solid reason as to why you would drop such a pretty girl like her.”

“She just didn’t have what I was looking for,” he shrugged innocently.

“See what I mean? Unbelievable high standards. None of us is worthy of the mighty Porco Galliard, the lacrosse team captain who can fit seventeen marshmallows inside his mouth.”

Both of you broke in laughter, not caring about waking up someone from the houses alongside the road. You looked around and immediately recognized the neighbourhood, your laugh ceasing immediately. You patted Porco’s arm, trying to get his attention.

“Can you turn left at the next intersection?”

“We need to keep straight to get to your place.”

“I want to go to Zeke’s for a minute.”

Porco’s face twisted into a scowl. “Why would you want to go to him right now?”

“I— he told me he was watching movies by himself. I just want to check on him, we don’t even have to step off the car.”

“Hey,” he said sternly, catching your attention. “Don’t do this. You saw her Instagram post, you know what happened between those two. Are you really going to believe him after you just saw fucking evidence?”

“I know him,” you insisted. “He wouldn’t just flat out lie to me, not like that.”

“And the photo from tonight? How do you explain that?”

You took a deep breath, a sharp pain in your head making you close your eyes tightly.

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “Please, just— drive past his house. If his lights are out, then he must be sleeping after watching those movies by himself, just like he told me so.”

Porco scoffed.

“Porco, please,” you pleaded, squeezing his arm as you got closer and closer to the intersection. “Please.”

Rolling his eyes, Porco turned left as you asked him to and started driving to Zeke’s house, following your instructions. He didn’t try to come up with conversation again, instead, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as he pulled up crossing the street, a couple of houses away from your target.

Your heart immediately relaxed when you looked at Zeke’s window: the lights were off. You let out a long, tired sigh, letting your forehead rest on the glove compartment of Porco’s car.

“I don’t understand you,” Porco sneered, resting his chin on his hand, his elbow pressed on the open window of his car. “Him having the lights off means nothing, he could—”

Porco turned to you as you sat back up, your eyes meeting his. He bit his tongue, silently cursing and looked at his wheel, setting both his hands on it.

“He could what?” you insisted.

“Nothing,” he quickly replied, passing a hand through his hair. “His lights are off. Can we go now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you whispered, sitting back against his passenger seat and getting comfortable.

Right when Porco was reaching for his keys, a noise in the quiet neighbourhood startled you. Both of you raised their heads as a black car passed alongside them and parked in front of Zeke’s house. A tall, blonde girl exited the same house, accompanied by none other than your boyfriend. You recognized her as Yelena, who had begun appearing more and more frequently in his pictures at the same time he started posting less and less about you.

Zeke walked her to the car and you watched in horror as she pressed a kiss on the corner of his lips before getting in the car. He closed the door after her and patted the roof of the car twice before sending her off. Porco gripped the wheel tightly as Zeke stretched his arms and walked back home, dragging his feet without a care in the world.

Sighing, Porco turned to you, who were already dialling Zeke’s number.

“No, c’mon,” he said, trying to take your phone away but you swatted his hand away, putting a finger on top of your lips, asking for silence.

“Hey baby,” you greeted in your fake, cheery voice. Porco couldn’t believe after spending two years with you, Zeke couldn’t realize that when your voice got too high-pitched, it meant you were faking every word. “Yeah, I know it’s late. Sorry. Sorry. Yes, I just— I know. I know it’s too late to call.”

Porco could feel his blood boiling at every apology that came out of your mouth even after witnessing Yelena leaving his house not even five minutes ago.

“I just wanted to ask how you were doing? Were the movies fun?” you made a pause, your smile tight on your face. “Ah, I see. Wasn’t it boring to watch all by yourself?” you pressed and not even you could maintain your smile after hearing his response. “Mhm, I do know you prefer to watch movies alone. Anyway, it is quite late. Talk to you later, I love—”

You looked at the screen on your phone and noticed the call had already ended.

“Well, there’s that,” you mused to yourself before putting your phone back on your jeans.

Silently, Porco started his car again, driving away from the suburbs and heading to your place as he had intended in the first place. The comforting silence was now poisonous, his eyes flicking from the road every minute to check on you, who was looking outside the window with your eyes lost. your mind probably too full of thoughts that he couldn’t begin to understand.

It didn’t mean he didn’t want to, though.

He kept driving in silence until he reached your apartment, parking in his usual spot. He left the engine running, even if you knew he always waited until you entered the building to drive away. He unlocked the doors and let out a long sigh.

“Drink some water before getting to bed,” Porco reminded you, both his hands on the wheel.

You didn’t move a muscle, eyes lost on his glove compartment, the events of the night running around your head. Yelena’s Instagram photo. Zeke’s text telling you he was alone. Him kissing her goodnight at 2 am.

“Hey,” he called, startling you. “Are you okay?”

You opened your mouth but then closed it, not knowing where to start. You pursed your lips and tugged at your fingers in discomfort.

“Talk to me,” Porco insisted.

“Can you stay tonight?” you asked in a small voice. “Annie is out and I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts tonight.”

Before you could finish your sentence, Porco was already killing the engine.

It was a silent walk to your apartment. You checked yourself in the elevator's mirror, realizing how awful you truly looked. Your eyeliner was smudged along with your mascara and the bags under your eyes were more noticeable than ever. As you inspected your face, Porco grabbed your cheek between his thumb and index, playfully pulling it from side to side until you were laughing, asking him to stop.

When you entered your apartment, you immediately walked to the bathroom, in deep necessity of a shower. Porco knew your apartment like the back of his hand, so after a quick detour to the kitchen, he made his way to your bedroom. He saw your laptop on your bed, messy sheets and clothes on the floor, probably how you had left it after seeing Yelena’s post on Instagram and decided to go to your favourite bar and forget about it for a while.

Porco took off his shoes and started picking up your clothes and put them on your spare chair, your laptop now on your desk. While he made your bed, he listened to you using your hairdryer in the bathroom and figured you would be out soon. He took out his phone from his pocket and looked at this schedule. It was already four in the morning and he had classes at nine. It was okay, he told himself. He had a hoodie in his car he could change into the next morning, and no one would say anything about him arriving in sweatpants. Well, no one that cared enough about their reputation to try and make fun of one of the golden boys of the university, at least.

You stepped off your bathroom already wearing your pyjamas, a tank top and small cotton shorts. Being friends with Porco for so long, it wasn’t the first time he had seen you in your pyjamas but it was truly the first time he saw you so small while wearing them. Maybe it was because of everything that happened that night, your tired eyes or the way you were standing, but Porco had to fight off the urge to put his arms around your body and protect you. From what? He wasn’t quite sure.

He handed you a bottle of water he had grabbed from the kitchen and you drank it all in one try.

“The only true secret to avoid being hungover tomorrow,” he reminded you.

“I know,” you smiled, leaving the empty bottle on your desk. “C’mon, let's get to bed.”

Porco had slept with you before, sure. You had travelled to the beach together with some friends and your sleeping bags were always put next to each other, which only prompted you to talk all night, telling each other embarrassing stories from your younger years. You had also fallen asleep in Porco’s dorm before, after a party that left you too tired to go back to your place. He would always let you crash on his bed and you slept soundly, knowing you were safe if he was around.

Zeke had never liked that. But Porco couldn’t care less.

He got into bed first, scooting to the wall and making space for you. You laid next to Porco, facing him and sighed happily when your head finally hit your pillow

“Thanks for making the bed, Pock,” you smiled.

“Why are you still with him?”

You averted his gaze, your smile dropping in an instant. “I love him,” you muttered.

“Do you? Do you really love someone who is lying to you like this?” he insisted. You felt a knot forming on your throat. “You understand he was fucking Yelena, right?”

You nodded softly, hugging the pillow under your head.

“Then why waste your time with an asshole like him? What are you waiting for, what do you want him to do so you finally leave him? What’s your tipping point, huh?”

Porco’s voice was gentle yet firm as he tried to get to you. He watched you as you laid still, not willing to answer any of his questions. He wondered if maybe you didn’t want to know the answer either.

“You’re smart. You’re— fuck, you’re one of the smartest people I know. Why are you letting him treat you like garbage? Why are you allowing him to hurt you like this?”

Once again, he was met with silence.

“You’re are fun, beautiful and yet you’re drunk at 4 am on a fucking Wednesday because your boyfriend is cheating on you and not only that— he’s fucking her and letting everyone know. Why are you doing this to yourself?” he inquired, his voice getting a little desperate. “You should be with someone who treats you right, who— fuck, someone who knows how much you’re worth. Someone who would never hurt you like this.”

You couldn’t suppress a cold laugh.

“Yeah, like who?” you scoffed, nuzzling your face on your pillow.

“Like me.”

You snapped your head to Porco, eyes open wide and lips parted, trying to form words.

“W-what?”

You looked at Porco, his eyes looking intensely at you. He opened his mouth and closed it almost immediately, shaking his head.

“No,” he said, almost to himself, shifting on the bed and propping up on his elbow, his body still facing yours. “I said what I said. I… I love you. Have loved you for quite some time now,” he admitted. You watched heat rising to his cheeks, tinting them deep red.

“I— I love you too,” you said softly. “You know that. I always tell you how grateful I am to have you in my life and that I—”

“You know I don’t mean it like that. I don’t love you as a friend,” Porco muttered, rolling his eyes.

You stayed in silence, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as your eyes scanned the bed sheets between both your bodies. Even if Porco was being crystal clear with his words regarding his feelings towards you, somehow it didn’t make sense in your head.

“Why?” you whispered.

“What do you mean ‘why’?”

“Why do you… well—”

“Why do I love you?” Porco asked, raising an eyebrow. He watched you nod softly. “Well, ‘cause it’s you. Ever since we met, I just couldn’t stop thinking about you, your weird sense of humour and your irrational fear of panda bears,” he said, making both of you laugh, helping in releasing the tension both of you were carrying since his confession. “C’mon, you honestly thought I was so full of myself I didn’t think anyone was worthy of dating me? Fuck, I—,” he let out an honest chuckle, passing a hand through his hair. “I was just in love with you. And trust me, it’s not fun going out on a date with someone when all you can think is ‘Oh, she’d love this place’ or ‘I would be having much more fun if she was here instead’.”

“You really did that?” you asked in a small voice.

Porco smirked, cocking his head towards you. You knew his confession was playing a big part but you couldn’t stop noticing how handsome he truly was. Sure, you had always known he was good-looking, you knew this when you teased him for not going out with other people, but you never realized how truly beautiful he was.

Looking at him lying on your bed, the moonlight coming from your open window and hitting his face, it was as if you were looking at him for the first time, noticing the smallest details you had been ignoring for so long. Like how his eyes weren’t hazel but golden and that he had a few freckles on his cheekbones, decorating his slightly tanned skin. His lips also looked soft, even for someone who had woken up in the middle of the night to pick up their drunk friend. The white t-shirt he was wearing exposed his toned arms, making you feel the need to bury your face on his chest so he could put them around you.

You hadn’t realized you were moving forward until you felt Porco’s hand on your shoulder, preventing you from getting closer. You should have known you wouldn’t have been able to notice his freckles from afar. Porco’s eyes went from your lips back to your eyes and you sensed how bad he was rethinking his choices as he gently pushed you back on the bed.

“Listen, I—” he started, his blush only getting more noticeable, now making the tip of his nose turn red as well. “I’m not going to be your rebound, neither someone who you fuck out of spite or to get back at your boyfriend. Fuck, I don’t even know why I told you this,” he sighed, putting down his propped arm and laying his cheek on the pillow next to you. “Just… do better. For yourself. You deserve much more than that monkey man who hasn’t realized he’s a four dating a ten.”

You giggled at his remark and he smirked, proud of himself. Porco and you looked at each other’s eyes, a soft smile lingering on your lips. Tentatively, you reached for his hair, his golden locks feeling soft under your touch. Porco stayed still as you played with his hair, even closing his eyes as you did so.

After a few moments, your hand travelled to his cheek, making him open his eyes again. Your thumb gently stroked his skin, soft and tender under your touch. Porco’s eyes were fixed on your face as you caressed him silently. Your other fingers started running over his skin with a feather-like touch, entrapped in the sweet moment between the two of you.

Porco turned his head just enough for his mouth to meet your palm. He pressed a kiss on it, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt your heart skipping a beat and a smile creeping on your face.

“Can I hug you?” you asked in a whisper.

Porco nodded, opening his arms for you. You scooted closer to him, sliding your right arm around his waist, bending your other arm and flushing your head against his chest. Your legs tangled together, not taking too long before finding a comfortable position.

Once you were settled, Porco’s left arm draped around your body, pulling you closer to him gently. He pushed his right arm under your pillow, loving how easy it felt to be like this with you. It was as if you were always meant to sleep like this, with your face against his chest and your hand on his back. He looked down at you and pushed some of your hair away from your face

“Are you comfortable?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, taking a deep breath and sighing contently against his chest. Porco’s cologne filled your senses and you couldn’t help but smile at the homely feeling.

He pressed his lips against your forehead. “Goodnight,” he whispered, closing his eyes. You imitated him and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

...

When Porco opened his eyes the next morning, he felt as if only a couple of seconds had passed since he had closed his eyes. He sighed. Well, it wasn’t the first time that he had sleeping problems but a part of him innocently hoped it would change after he got to sleep by your side. He looked at your sleeping face. It was way too innocent from him to think just because he got to rest by your side he would have had a good sleep.

He looked down at your sleeping face and couldn’t help but smile a little. He recalled the moment you leaned into him, searching for a kiss before he had to push you away. Porco exhaled, his eyes travelling to your lips. There wasn’t anything he wanted more than to kiss the girl of his dreams— hell, he had dreamt about that for almost a year now.

But not like that. Never like that.

Porco took his phone on your bedside table and checked the time. Seven in the morning. He yawned, burying his face in the pillow. He hated his inability to go back to sleep after he had already woken up. His first class was in three hours and while you didn’t have any classes in the morning, he knew you would probably wake up regretting having drunk so much the night before.

Carefully, he pulled away from you and headed to the kitchen. You had mentioned Annie was going to be out and he figured either she hadn’t come home yet or she was asleep as well. Just in case, he tried to be extra silent while preparing coffee. He thanked Annie was the closest thing to a coffee connoisseur he knew, because he couldn’t help but let out a happy hum when the smell of coffee filled the kitchen.

As he watched the coffee drip on your mug, he leaned on the counter, his mind going back to the night he’d spent on your bed. How your fingers traced his hair, how your hand felt against his cheek and the way you looked at him when he kissed your palm. Even if he had stopped you from kissing him, somehow the tender moment you shared had felt even more intimate. Like it was always supposed to be like that: just you and him.

It wasn’t until several minutes later that Porco realized he had been smiling the whole time. He had told you he loved you. You hadn’t pushed him away after knowing how he really felt about you— not only that, you had shown him tenderness by cuddling with him the whole night. Even if Porco was aware things were far more complicated than that moment, he also knew it was a step in the right direction. He could almost see you sitting on the counter in front of him, morning light hitting your face and your legs swinging while you looked at him with a soft smile.

A shuffling noise made Porco snap out of his daydreaming. He peeked from the kitchen door, thinking Annie was back home but instead he found you stepping out of the room, wearing shorts and a big hoodie while you checked your phone.

“Thought you didn’t have class until later today,” Porco said, walking into the living room and startling you.

“Hey Pock— and no, I— Zeke called. He said he wants to talk, that he needs me, so I… I called an Uber, I’m going to his place now.”

“Are you serious right now?”

You looked into his eyes and immediately back to the floor, his glare too full of the truth for you to endure.

“The Uber is waiting,” you said in a small voice. “Thanks for… driving me home and staying. I have to go.”

In silence, Porco watched you walk past him to your apartment door and carefully close it behind you. A part of him wanted to think it was nothing but a joke from your part, that you would open the door any second now.

The song of the coffee machine turning off let him know he should have known better than to hope.

[oftenderweapons]

Hi!! I need to not forget to leave this idea with a trusted author so I’ve chosen to slide into ur asks w this very nsfw thing: Joon using a dick pump and vixen using a pussy pump. Simultaneously. Then having sex. That is all! I just wanted to share this with someone that could find use of it 😭

Hello, it's officially Joonsday and we're big time celebrating (sorry for the ugly banner I'm on a road trip with the fam) lessgooooooo

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (Vixen)

Wordcount: 3.5k words

Genre: smut? Pwp? Established relationship? Yes.

Warning: 18+ y'all better be adults if you're going to read this.

Trigger warnings: clearly, swearing, dick pump, pussy pump, vibrating cockring (it's becoming quite the thing for these two???) cumplay (he cums on her chest), creampie, unprotected sex (use CONDOMS PLEASE), DDLG (daddy) kink, making out, touch deprivation (? Kinda?), experimenting, mentions of oral, mentions of exhibitionism/voyeurism.

Here's my masterlist and enjoy 💜✨

Beta read by the one and only super patient golden-hearted wife, @joheunsaram

******

It was past nine pm when Namjoon entered the apartment, his eyes immediately focusing on your frame curled up on the sofa, under your chunky knit blanket. He needed to get you a pet.

You loved Moni, but he couldn't have him at his place that often since he was more of his family's dog than his.

He should get you something fluffy. Something that matched your personality. Like a toy poodle. Or a corgi.

No, a corgi wasn't fluffy enough…

He was sure he would find something suitable in a shelter. Maybe a cat? Something to keep you company.

Tutting, he shook his head as his mind wandered, trying to distract him from the panic he had been going through only a couple minutes ago. He reminded himself his current anxiety was due to surprising you with an unexpected gift, so he realised that launching himself into planning another surprise — a permanent one — was maybe not the smartest move.

Kneeling beside you, he touched his lips to your temple. “Hello, Vixen,” he spoke gently, his private voice making your eyes open, your arm reaching out of the blanket to hold him to yourself.

“Hi, baby. Did you eat? Tell me they fed you.”

He smiled. “Yeah. I grabbed dinner with Yoongi in the studio.”

You nodded and nuzzled up closer, kissing his neck sensually. “Wake me up?”

He chuckled. “Needy, baby?”

You nodded and frowned. “I'm getting my period in two days. You know I get needy.”

His knowing smile shifted to a loving one. “I know.” He looked at your face for a couple seconds, just taking in every detail. The fullness of your lips and the slight blush on your cheeks, the way you looked puffy after sleep, so soft and delicate and all his.

Oh so his.

Not falling into your temptation was almost a crime. Especially as you stretched your neck, lips lingering just one millimeter away from his.

“Ask, love.” His voice was gravelly against your face.

You looked away and relaxed your shoulders, not realising you had arched up towards him. In return he chuckled and ran the tip of his nose against your cheek. “You don’t like asking, mh?” His lips were velvety against your cheekbone. “Poor little fox.” You turned just in time for his mouth to meet yours, letting him have your sweetest whimper as his hand cupped the back of your neck, holding you. “I have a question for you, babylove.”

You stopped and backed an inch, looking him in the eye. “What kind of question?”

He sat up straight. “It makes me a bit nervous because this is not how we do it normally and… I feel like I went someplace uncharted without you and I’m a bit disoriented.”

You sat up too, feeling the nerves in his tone as he started talking faster, stuttering over his words a little.

“I… We usually shop together but I wanted to try this and I thought… I mean, we don’t have to do this and we can do this alone, or together, or… Or not do this at all or you can use this while I’m away and you need—”

“Joon,” you interrupted him, a hand on his shoulder as you tried to calm him down. “Hold on a second, darling.”

He shut his mouth and took a deep breath through his nose.

“You were shopping, correct?” you asked, trying to find reason in madness. He nodded. “What did you get? Toys, I assume?”

“Yes,” he replied calmly.

“Okay. Show me and then we can talk this out if you’d like.” You knew Namjoon’s brain tended to go a thousand miles a second, so you tried to limit the damage.

He stood and came back with a large box and scissors, opening the package. “It’s kinda scary at the beginning but… I think the final result is not that bad.”

“If that’s a furry mask I’m gonna scream and not in a good way,” you joked, trying to ease away the tension.

“Come on, we discussed that already. Hard no. No shaming, though.”

“No shaming,” you repeated, watching him open the lid and take another box out. “Oh my god.”

He looked at you, trying to interpret your reaction. “Good? Bad? Maybe?”

“Why would you make it… bigger? How do you even think I can handle bigger?” You stared at the… the thing and tried to wrap your brain around that.

“It’s not about getting bigger, it’s about lasting more.”

“We have cockrings for that!” you exclaimed, almost outraged. If anything perplexed and worried. Was he trying to break you? Send you to the ER? Because you much preferred saving yourself the embarrassment. “You’re gonna break me.”

He nodded and put the box away. “Okay, sorry.” He wasn’t even disappointed. After all he did know you were a tight fit on him and no matter how much he would stretch you, there were high chances of you getting hurt, and he obviously didn’t want that.

“No, no hold on,” you said as you realised your first reaction had been fear. “We can do that. Just not… Let’s say we can use that but the final goal is not penetration.”

Namjoon nodded. “That’s what I was thinking too. Plus, we could use that ring for buffering.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “And that should make you feel like… Like I’m sucking all of you, right?”

Namjoon halted for a second. “I don’t know, but that wouldn’t be the point.” He still remembered that one time you had almost had a breakdown because you couldn’t take more than a couple inches of him in your mouth. Since then, he had set the lowest bar in your sex life: not making you cry because you couldn’t deepthroat him. Somehow he was still traumatised by the memory. “It’s just a matter of giving you multiples, Vixen. Just that, Or fucking you feral, however you prefer to put it.”

You nodded.

“Plus it’s more of a… joined fantasy, actually,” he confessed, blushing and looking down.

So there were more surprises in that box. “Define?”

He took one more box out of the larger one. “It looks scarier than it is. It’s also, sort of… convoluted.”

You stared at the second toy, arching an eyebrow at it. “I don’t like things that keep your hands off me.”

“I know,” he reassured you, immediately touching your knee as a way to comfort you. “I know it, babylove. But this doesn’t mean my hands won’t be touching your body.”

Absentmindedly you nodded. “You want to try those now?”

He tipped his head from side to side in a so-and-so motion. “Only if you want to. We can wait till you get more acquainted with the idea.”

You thought about it for a second. “Those… devices technically mean no foreplay.”

“Well, they do the foreplay while we…” He hadn’t thought that far.

“We’ll just make out,” you said, standing up and grabbing your half of the kit. “Let’s take them out and wash them.”

Namjoon grabbed the other half and followed you. In your bathroom, you took out the toys, quickly scanning the instructions while he threw himself at his new object of interest, grabbing the toy soap and lathering everything in foam. “No reading?”

“It’s pretty easy,” he replied, rubbing everything thoroughly before rinsing and drying the tube. “I’ll read while I wait for you.”

He let the toy dry on the ledge and undressed, by now barely shy about walking around naked as he entered the shower and scrubbed himself clean with quick, brief strokes. In a bunch of minutes, you were sitting on the bed, reading the instructions of his device before he rolled down beside you, a towel around his waist. You were lounging in your panties and one of his shirts, his face already skimming the side of your thigh. “Come down here, miss Fox. Studying won’t get you straight As in this one.”

You chuckled and grabbed some lube. “Will you allow me the honour?”

Namjoon licked his lip and undid his towel, arching an eyebrow as he realised he already had a semi.

“Is it for the toy or the ‘fucking the class’s best student’ fantasy?” you teased him, pouring some cold lubricant on him in revenge.

“It’s all about having the sexiest girlfriend in the universe,” he flattered you, his hand squeezing your ass as you straddled him and grabbed the toy.

“You know you’re crazy for this, right?”

He nodded. “That makes two of us since you’re playing along.”

“Suck your dick,” you replied, saccharine sweet as you placed his cock into the plastic tube of the penis pump.

“Not when you’re so much better at that,” he cooed back, hissing a little once you pressed the base against his pelvis excessively hard — call it revenge. You studied the mechanism for starting to increase the pressure inside the cylinder. “Okay, fuck, it’s hot. I love the lube. Slippery.”

You appreciated the feedback. “Tighter?”

“Nah, hold on. We can tighten it later.” He bit his lip. “It’s very good. But… A bit cold.”

You stretched to his face and pushed his hair back. “I’ll warm it up next time. Sorry baby.” You kissed his lips, pampering him a little. He had looked so stressed earlier. And so eager too. He had to be both worried and excited about this. “My big bear,” you murmured, watching him melt for you. After all he was nothing but a tough looking boy with a gooey heart. “You were so nervous about this, huh?”

He nodded and caught your hand, holding it in his. “I love you,” he said with his million dollar smile, his eyes dreamy, his dimple shining on his face.

“I love you too, Joonie bear,” you murmured at him, your affection causing him to slip into the most peaceful of states. Yes, he felt like his dick was being squeezed and sucked, but he mostly felt entirely enamoured with you.

“Please, can you wear the toy too?”

You smiled and nodded. “Would you like to help?”

He stretched to kiss you again. He wanted more kisses. It had been so long since the two of you just made out and he missed that sometimes, just the intimacy of laying side by side, making out without things necessarily heating up. Of course he also loved when you got on top of him mid-session and ground on his thigh until you crumbled against his shoulder.

He loved even more when your hand would graze his lower belly before tracing his erection through his trousers, cupping him and squeezing him until he needed your hand on his length.

But the idea of laying side by side and focusing solely on your face was something too inviting for that night.

He sat up, a bit uncomfortable at the thing between his legs. “This makes it kinda hard to move,” he realised before finding your pvc cup. “Get comfy, my love,” he murmured before kissing your knee, crawling lower. Your legs stayed closed as you placed your feet on his thighs before getting rid of your shirt, letting him stare at the hardened peaks of your breasts. “You're so fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, his hands tracing the outside of your thighs, his frame shifting and stretching until he could reach for your chest, his thumbs feeling your pebbled nipples.

That was before you put the sole of your foot around his neck, pushing him back a little.

He was mesmerised by the gesture, feeling his brain short circuit as arousal hit him.

Now that he was far enough, you lifted your legs and quickly got rid of your panties, Namjoon barely resisting the need to press his whole face against your folds.

“Feisty,” he murmured, placing the toy on you, checking for your reaction. “Does it fit right?”

You nodded. “I'm tiny, it takes a bit more than it should but that's okay as long as it doesn't come off.”

He started pumping some pressure, still looking at your face to spot any discomfort.

“I think that's tight enough for now.”

He nodded and laid down beside you. “You wanna watch porn?”

You thought about it for a second. “Nah.” You rolled to the side, only to feel the toy limit your comfort.

“Maybe a pillow will help?” he mused, passing it to you.

“It feels strange. Static. Dry… Aseptic.”

He nodded. “Not a great feeling.” He also placed a pillow between his knees before cupping the back of your head and scooting closer to you. “Hi,” he whispered, breaking into a large smile.

“Hi,” you whispered back, joining your lips.

You didn't know how long you kissed, only that his hands were everywhere, rubbing your back, on your ass, pulling you closer, then pushing you back a little as he tried to massage your breasts, next tightening the pressure on your pussy pump.

“This good?” he asked, his lips already kissing the sweet spot below your ear. It made you purr and try to throw your leg over his, realising a minute too late that you couldn’t grind on him.

You made a disappointed little sound, Namjoon’s hands cupping your face and smoothening the frown on your brow with his thumbs. “It’s okay, little fox. Focus on me, babylove.”

With the most vulnerable expression, you brushed your lips to his as the tip of your nose played with his, his face glowing with a sudden bright smile before he drew a line of tiny smooches from your forehead to your chin. “I know, baby.”

“I don’t like this,” you whined, hiding your face into his neck. “I can’t feel you.”

He held you closer. “Would you like to take it off?” His hands were skimming every inch of your naked skin, soothing you.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” you mewled weakly, feeling ashamed of the statement.

“You’re not disappointing me, ____. We’re doing this to know if we like it, my angel.” He caressed your hair.

“I can do this, I just need to get used to the lack of touching.”

“I know it’s a delicate topic for you. You can take it off and grind on me if you want,” he reassured you.

You found his pump mechanism and asked, “Do you want it tighter?”

He hummed and nodded.

You didn’t last much longer after that, mostly because Namjoon knew he was tiptoeing around a soft limit of yours and he could feel you were already vulnerable. He knew a couple tears would come after your orgasm, your body too emotionally challenged for you not to release all the tension in crying.

“Let’s take this off,” he whispered into your ear, the pressure on him too tight, almost unbearable after fifteen minutes with the pump on, three of which on the highest setting. He would make a mess of you. He knew it already. “I'm gonna cum a lot,” he said with a half-embarrassed chuckle.

“Is that an issue?” you mused, blocking his hand as he tried to remove your pump. “I… I want you to cum on me.” It was easier to say after all this time. He was almost used to it. The following request however was unusual. “On my chest.”

He nodded. “Are you sure?”

“I want you to distract me. I want to keep the toy, just distract me from it.” You bat your lashes at him. “Please.”

In his mind, he had opposed your idea for maybe half a second. “Okay. But I want you to use your safeword if need be.”

After he ascertained you remembered it, he waited for your approval on him straddling your waist, your hands immediately touching him, starting from the base and pulling to the tip, a thick blob of precum helping you as both your palms started massaging him.

“You’re so damn good at this,” he praised you. “You’re such a good girl to me.”

You glowed at the compliment, starting to stroke him more powerfully. “Thank you, daddy.”

“You’re welcome, little one,” he replied sweetly before a grunt left his lips, his body waving a little before he propped himself up with one hand. “If you keep it up, I’ll be covering your tits in cum in seconds, Vixen.”

“Isn’t that our goal?” you asked with faux naivety, noticing the way he was starting to swell.

While you angled his cock downwards, to your stomach, he placed a hand under your jaw. He wouldn’t want your face to get accidentally dirty. That was the last conscious act he did before he felt his balls tighten a bit more than earlier, a strong spurt of his semen landing on your neck, the second one between your breasts, and then a third on your left breast, your nipple peaked and glazed in his cum as he slowly came down from an unstoppable high.

“Thank you, daddy,” you said again, truly thankful for the vision of him braced over you, completely ecstatic, head thrown back as he roared in pleasure, his throat beautifully exposed.

Too bad you couldn’t put your mouth on it.

It took him a full minute to come back to reality, and when he did, he inevitably noticed that he was still hard and you were still unbelievably horny right below him.

“Joon?” you called.

“Yes, Vixen?”

“Do you think you can slip your cock inside me and make me cum with a vibrator on my clit?” Your request was posed curtly, efficiently, almost as if you were asking him how a telescope works.

He rose from his half slumber at that. “Sure about the vibrator?”

You nodded. “The mild one, you know. The one from your ring.”

He thought about it for a millisecond before kissing your forehead. “You’re a blessing”. He thought it even more as a cascade of chuckles left your mouth. He took off your pump, a tiny bit distracted by the need to suck on your wet nipple, to draw a hickey where your neck had been stained by his orgasm. Next he slipped in, slowly, whimpering at the way your cunt was soaked and puffy and full. “You feel so fucking incredible?”

“Different from usual?” you wondered, a tiny gasp leaving your mouth as he settled.

“Just very sensitive. Like round three at six in the morning,” he explained, you humming in understanding.

“It feels a bit like that actually, now that I think of it.” You laid back while he pressed the tip of the vibrator to your chest, collecting some slickness before bringing the toy to your clit and switching it on.

Your reaction was immediate. “I am sensitive,” you exclaimed before squealing, your inner walls contracting and Namjoon shifting a little. It was the combo of fullness and clitoral stimulation that made you come apart in three minutes. And then again, five minutes later.

Namjoon was shocked. After the second orgasm, he just pulled out and wore the ring, fucking you in earnest. Your usually difficult third high rolled around like nothing, Namjoon reaching his climax together with you.

He thought he was done but apparently not yet, his back on the mattress while you ground on him, taking a pause from the vibrations before placing them on the highest setting and riding him, sliding back and forth. You knew he preferred it when you bounced, but his hands led you on a rolling motion until you collapsed forward, too exhausted to cry out, just shivering in his arms, trembling as your muscles succumbed in fatigue.

“Goodness,” you exhaled once all toys were out of the picture, your body laying on top of Namjoon’s while you slipped his cock back inside you, enjoying the easy connection coming from the gesture.

“What a night,” he agreed. You were both sticky and needed a shower, but first he needed to make sure you were okay emotionally. And cockwarming was specifically what you both needed. “How are you?”

“Tired,” you replied straight away. “Very fucking in love with you.”

“Language,” he reminded you before holding you closer. The shivering wasn’t stopping.

“Let’s take a bath, mh? You’re shivering. You need to relax.” He rubbed your back energetically before massaging your thighs. “You did amazing, babylove.” He cuddled you some more, staying quiet for a minute before asking, “Do you still not like the toys?”

You shrugged. “Can we talk about that later? I’m not ready yet,” you replied, still too biased about the experience to give judgement.

He nodded. “Sure thing, little fox. Come on, to the bathroom.”

“To the bathroom,” you agreed with a yawn.

Namjoon smiled. He loved aftercare baths. But he loved you more.

[hockeylvr59]

Hi. Number 1: taking a rain walk with cale. You can choose the time. Thank you !

So with all the UMass content I've been digging up I decided to take a trip back in time with this one. So we're setting this fall 2018 when Cale was a sophomore at UMass. I'm lowkey in love with this one. Big thanks to @bqstqnbruin for the help with this plot concept. (1,610 words)

~~~~~~~~

Ellie was so going to owe you for this. Dodging beer spilling out of a cup, you pushed your way through the crowded frat house, wincing as the volume of the music somehow got even louder. Your roommate Ellie had made plans to meet a guy here tonight and she’d pleaded with you to come with her in case he didn’t show or things didn’t turn out how she expected. But, as soon as she had spotted him in the crowd upon your arrival, she had disappeared and you hadn’t seen her since. That had been nearly two hours ago. Like a good friend you’d sent her a text twenty minutes or so ago checking in and you had just gotten a reply of a thumbs up and that they had left to go to a diner off-campus.

Of course, they had. A heads-up text would have been nice.

Though you wanted to be mad at her, it was hard to be when you knew how excited she had been for this date. Still, a packed frat house on a Friday night was one of the last places you wanted to spend your time. Trying to weave your way toward the door, you tripped over something and landed smack against a solid chest. A pair of hands quickly reacted, catching you and helping you regain your balance. Quickly you mumbled an apology, though it wasn’t your fault there was a drunk person sleeping on the floor with their leg in the middle of the path.

“No worries, you okay?” A deep voice questioned, causing you to look up. When you did, your eyes met a pair of reddened cheeks that were familiar to anyone on campus who didn’t live under a rock.

Cale Makar.

The hockey team’s superstar defenseman who was back for his second season despite the chance to make the jump to the NHL.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” You stated, snapping out of your daze. “Just need to get out of here.”

Cale’s gaze softened in concern and he quickly worked using his taller frame to clear a path for you until you reached the slightly less crowded front porch. It was still loud outside but at least you didn’t have to scream to hear yourself think. Slowing, you leaned against a railing just trying to catch your breath and rid your senses of some of the stench of cheap alcohol. You didn’t expect him to stay close so when he leaned against the railing beside you, you were slightly surprised.

“Did we have Western Thought together last fall?” He asked after a moment, the question catching you off guard. You thought back to your schedule last year and then bit your lip considering that query.

“Was that Tuesday/Thursday morning, Herter Hall?” Cale must have nodded because he spoke again a moment later, a smile evident in his voice.

“I thought you looked familiar.” He mused, offering out a hand. “Cale.” He greeted, introducing himself officially. Introducing yourself in return, you asked him what he had thought about the ridiculous question that had been on the final for that class. You may not remember much but that question had screwed over half the class and you certainly hadn’t forgotten the stress you’d felt waiting for grades to drop after that exam.

That question sparked an entire conversation and before you knew it, it was almost 1am.

“I should really head back to my dorm.” You admitted a bit reluctantly. “Thanks for the chat and making this party not a total bust for me.” You joked, looking up at the sky which was starting to look like rain.

“What dorm are you in?” Cale asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Grayson.” You replied with a shrug even as Cale’s eyes went a little wide.

“I’ll walk you.” He immediately declared.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.” You assured him. Grayson was all the way across campus and you weren’t sure where he was living.

“I’ll walk you,” Cale repeated, signaling that he wasn’t about to take no for an answer. “It’s late and you shouldn’t walk across campus by yourself, not with all these idiots around.” The way he phrased his explanation showed that he knew you could handle yourself but that didn’t mean that you should have to.

“Fine. Thank you.” You declared, shooting him a slightly exasperated look. Cale gave you a semi-dimpled smile and motioned for you to lead the way. As you walked toward the admin building and fine arts center you continued chatting about everything and nothing all at once. Conversation came easy and even if you didn’t want to admit it, you were a bit taken at how smart Cale was.

You had reached the western edge of the pond, with the intention of cutting across the northern shore to make your way to your residential area, when a loud boom sounded across the sky out of nowhere. Before you could even react, torrential rain was pelting you both, soaking you to the bone. Quickly, Cale herded you over toward the library and inside. The building was quiet as he guided you up to one of the study floors murmuring that you should wait out some of the heavy rain. Knowing that you really should get home and to bed, you wanted to protest but then a flash of lightning cracked across the sky. Maybe you should wait out the storm a little bit.

Moving into a study room overlooking the pond, you shivered slightly from the air conditioning blowing through the building.

“Come here,” Cale murmured from the spot on the floor where he had settled. For a moment you eyed the chairs but then decided maybe you shouldn’t get them soaked too and the floor was probably a better option. Though you sat with some space between you and Cale, it wasn’t long before he was tugging you closer murmuring that he can’t keep you warm if you’re so far away. With another chill racing up your spine, you shifted to press against him, sighing softly at the warmth he radiated even through wet clothes.

The two of you sat in silence for a while before you heard Cale murmur your name softly.

“Yeah?” You questioned, trying not to yawn.

“Did you know that the architect of this building forgot to account for the weight of the books in his plans and that’s why only every other floor has them?” Cale stated.

“One that was totally random.” You teased softly. “Two, that’s 1000% a myth.”

When you peeked up at Cale, his cheeks were even pinker than before and they matched his lips as he did this little mindless tick you had picked up on already.

“Totally true.” He defends softly, making you giggle slightly.

“It’s not but that’s okay, you aren’t the first person to buy that myth.” You assured him. Though you didn’t notice, Cale’s face fell into a bit of a frown and he murmured under his breath that there goes trying to impress you.

Watching the rain again, you couldn’t help but yawn. Slowly your head drifted down to rest against Cale’s shoulder and you must have dozed off because the next thing you knew, Cale was murmuring your name again, trying to wake you.

“C’mon sleepy. The rain has let up a bit. This is probably our best chance to get you home.” He explained, urging you to sit up before he moved from underneath you and then pulled you up onto your feet.

Leaving the library, you started walking again through the rain, Cale chattering non-stop. You were sure it was his attempt to keep you awake and you appreciated it. At the same time though, his voice was so soothing, you almost wanted to curl right back up against his shoulder and fall asleep while he talked to you.

By the time you finally reached your dorm, it was nearly 2:30 in the morning. With the rain, a normal half-hour walk had taken three times as long. Standing in a sheltered overhang, you turned to thank Cale for making sure you got home safely.

“Definitely the most interesting first date I think I’ve been on,” Cale replied with a tired smile, his eyes still somehow bright. When your brain processed his words, your jaw dropped.

“Date?” You prodded causing Cale to hum and shrug, glancing down at his watch.

“I mean we’ve spent the last three and a half hours together talking and walking through campus. Pretty sure we can call that a date.” He insisted. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach and you ran your fingers through your wet hair. Cale was calling this a date. That was...wow.

“A date huh…” You finally breathed. “Guess that means I better get a good night kiss. Though technically it’s definitely early morning now.” Cale’s fingers slid around your waist to press against your lower back gently as he crowded closer into your space and after a moment of his eyes searching yours, he leaned down for a kiss, his lips pressing against yours chastely but firmly.

One kiss turned into two and then three before your yawning caused Cale to pull away. After asking for your number so he could take you on a non-rain date, he kissed your cheek and murmured for you to go take a warm shower, put on dry clothes, and then get some sleep.

Your lips still tingled slightly as you climbed into bed and you couldn’t help but think that maybe you were the one that was going to have to owe Ellie.

[officialleehadan]

In the Food

Hello darlings! Today's story was brought to you by Stacey! Darling thank you so much for all your support!

Prompt: Monster of the Isle with more of Charlie and the crew.

+++

“We all signed a release form when we hired on for this mission.”

The new claws are useful. I use them to climb higher into our tree-camp, well above the walkways that link the shelters together, but still within the safe, protective bubble of the lights that fend of the giant birds. The camp is always quiet. No one wants to draw more attention than we have to, and that means making sure most of the monsters don’t even know we’re here.

It’s even quieter up on top of our metal shelter, where I can see the stars through the veil of leaves overhead. Now and then, I see the glow of the giant birds as they pass overhead. Hunting, I guess. I’m glad they don’t pause over us. Looks like the lights are working. I don’t look over as Zack climbs up and takes a seat beside me. He’s armed as always, but it’s just a sidearm clipped to his belt.

“They told you whatever I’ve got would probably hit you too, huh?” I ask. Another of the birds flies over, with two smaller ones in its wake. I wonder if those are the babies that almost ate me last time I was here. “Scared?”

“A little, but I knew it was gonna happen, so I’m not too freaked out.”

“Better than me I guess,” I sigh and hold up one of my hands. I’ve been practicing with the claws so I can figure out how to use them, or not use them, when I want to. I flex my fingers and extend my claws. “I’m gonna have to buy those claw caps for dogs if we make it off this island alive. I’ll be hell on wood floors.”

“Toes too, huh?”

“Shredded my socks.”

“Think we’re gonna get those too?” I can’t tell if Zack is pleased by the idea or nervous. I can hear his heartbeat, but it’s as steady as always. Not much seems to spook any of my four. The only time they get nervous is when something’s actively trying to eat us. “I was talking to one of the scientists. That specialist they sent along to try and figure out what’s going on here.”

“She does genetics, right?” I haven’t bothered to learn most of the names of Team Science. After the Vampire Frog incident, we found out that we lost two of the scientists today. Not to the frogs. One of them discovered a snake in a puddle. The caught the snake without getting bitten, but didn’t realize that what he thought was algae growing on its scales was actually hairlike venomous spines. The other tried to save him. She did her best to pick the spines out of his arm. She missed one that left an almost -invisible scratch over her wrist. They were both dead in minutes. “Any interesting thoughts?”

“She thinks there’s a viral symbiote on the island. Probably lives inside the animals here and is responsible for the mutations in the local flora and fauna.”

“That was a direct quote, wasn’t it?”

“Word for word. I shoot things for a living, bud. Science isn’t my job.”

I chuckle. He’s not being entirely honest. I’ve seen how he handles the team here on Hell Island. We lost most of the dumb thug types that first day. Everyone who’s lasted this long has a brain.

Even if the science team is still learning that when someone starts to die, the only smart thing to do is get tout of the way. It’s a hard lesson to learn. No one wants to let a colleague die right in front of them, even if there’s no  way to save them. In a weird way, I’m glad my first visit to this godforsaken place was alone. At least I didn’t have to watch anyone else die while I was here.

Jury’s still out about this trip. I knew most of them were going to die. I’m just hoping it’s not the ones I like.

“So the thing that’s changing me is a virus that got into me the first time I was here?” Science isn’t my strongest subject either, and virus stuff is way more complicated than my half-forgotten college courses can handle. “If she’s right, you four have been eating more of the local fare than everyone else. No wonder it’s hit you faster.”

“And you’re getting a second dose, with your system already primed, if I understand what she was mumbling. It was after she took that blood sample from each of us.”

So the strength, and all the other mostly invisible stuff was all from the first trip, and the new stuff, the claws and fangs, those are from this visit.

A faint scrape from the side of the shelter announces the other three members of our little group. They climb up onto the top of the shelter one by one and make themselves comfortable on the flat, sun-warmed metal. Even at night, Hell Island is comfortably tropic, but it does get cool enough to want a coat. Or, well, I used to think so. Maybe I don’t get cold anymore, either.

One more reminder that whatever is happening to me is taking my humanity with it.

“I could hear you talking,” Siggi explains. He takes up a place with his back against Zack’s so they can watch in every direction at once. Mariska actually sits on the next branch up from us, and Círce sits below her as she methodically starts to clean her rifle. “Figured out what’s going on?”

“We’re all turning into mutants because we ate the giant spiders,” Zack says with a grin. “Wanna go get another one? I don’t think I can stomach more MREs.”

+++

The Monster of the Isle:

Isle of Monsters

Return to the Isle of Monsters

Monsterpedia   (Subscriber Only!)

Doom in the Distance (Subscriber Only!)

Eight Down

In the Trees (Subscriber Only!)

Specimen Hunting

First Changes (Subscriber Only!)

Croczilla

Flying Vampire Frogs (Subscriber Only!)

Unsettling

In the Food (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter eight - “hovel, sweet hovel”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2k

synopsis: bucky and y/n arrive the shelter and take a look at what it has to offer.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N]: what would you like to see happen next? let me know! (p.s. this is what i pictured the shelter/hovel to look like)

"I think this is it," Bucky said, looking forward at the structure in front of them.

"That's the 'shelter?'" Y/N huffed, hopelessly annoyed.

They had been walking and jogging on and off for forty-five minutes straight. Her feet killed.

"We're... gonna die."

"We are not gonna die, Y/N."

"Look at it! That is a hovel!"

"Well, inside's better than outside," Bucky retorted. "At least no one will see us if we're in there. It looks abandoned, they'll assume it actually is.”

She sighed and followed behind Bucky into the shelter. It was a one story stone structure that looked so old and weathered. It... looked like a shed. An old ass stone shed. She briefly wondered if Wakanda had a storm season because she was almost certain this thing wouldn't withstand it.

The door let out an anticipated squeak, and she was just as disappointed to see the inside as she was the outside. Bucky put the bags down and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yeah... this... isn't great..."

It was just as small as it seemed. And empty. Mostly. There were a few withered shelves with dusty pots and bowls, and an even more withered attempt at a table. There was what looked like a furnace in one corner with old, rotted wood in it. The wooden floor creaked under their steps.

The whole place felt like a ghost: desolate, ancient, and lonely. Except for one peculiar thing...

"Bucky?" she beckoned.

"Hm?"

(Y/N) hadn't noticed it when she first entered, but in the middle of the table sat a small, shiny, black panther figurine. It posed on all fours, looking ferociously up at her. It looked so out of place in contrast of the eternal layer of dust on everything else.

"What is this?" she asked reaching for the one thing that didn't match.

When her hand wrapped around it, energy surged into her skin. It felt almost... alive.

"(Y/N) what-" Bucky was cut off by a sound that startled them both.

In the corner across from the furnace, a section of the floor starting moving. Wood on wood on stone was not a good sound. Nonetheless, in mere seconds, there was an opening, and if (Y/N) leaned forward, she could see stairs!

Both of them remained still, feet planted on the creaky floor. They immediately looked at each other.

"What did you do?"

"I'm... not sure. I think I opened it."

(Y/N) smirked.

"What?" Bucky asked, confusion clearly evident in his tone.

"I should've known," (Y/N) shook her head. "Shuri wouldn't have led us here unless there was something more."

She held the panther figurine as she walked towards the opening.

"Wait," he grabbed her arm. "We don't know that Shuri knew that was here. What if it's a trap?"

"A trap from who? I don't think anyone knows we're here except Shuri."

"I don't know. J-Just let me go first."

"Alright. After you, oh wise one," she acquiesced, voice sarcastic but endearing all the same.

Bucky tried to suppress a chuckle. "Smartass. You're the wise one."

She tried to go down the stairs, letting him go first, but apparently that wasn't enough.

"Wait, just let me go look around and I'll holler when it's all good."

"Holler? Who says holler?"

"Me. Wait here."

"Fine," she made a show of pointedly plopping down on the top step, still and waiting as he requested.

It only took about ten seconds.

"Woah..." his voice came from far away.

"What is it?!" (Y/N) leaned forward.

"You were right! Come down, you gotta see this!"

She wasted no time... and standing beside Bucky, her jaw dropped.

"Holy..."

Beneath the ground was a significantly larger, way more modernized, and highly advanced survival shelter. All equipped with smaller versions of a table, chairs, and cabinets, along with a compact freezer and miniature stove, a chest, a closet, and two sets of bunk beds. Everything was clean and looked in optimal condition. There was even a rug.

"Shuri definitely didn’t leave you with nothing," Bucky commented, still taking it all in.

"-us with nothing," she corrected, retreating back up to the shed to get the bags.

-

Later in the day, (Y/N) got a handle on the panther key and how to use it to open and close the entryway to the bunker. Once she figured it out, she kept it closed, ensuring their concealment and maximizing their safety.

Bucky had found his way into the closet, listing off the contents to (Y/N) who sat on the floor, back up against one of the bunk bed legs. She was exhausted. Her body had been assaulted by adrenaline and strenuous mortal-danger-physical-activity. Bucky seemed to be fine, though. Curse that super soldier serum. His energy was always so high.

"...oh, and here's the bedding stuff. I don't know what this is, though."

(Y/N) lethargically leaned her head over to get a good view of the closet.

She chuckled. "That's a space heater...Oh! And next to it - that's a portable AC. Makes sense. I doubt they could get electric or plumbing out here."

And her head rolled back to center, eyes closing, body exhausted.

Bucky seemed to notice. "Hey, if you're tired, I can make the beds...or at least yours if you wanna sleep now."

(Y/N) stretched her legs straight out in front of her. "No, that's okay."

She wasn't about to force her one armed friend to make a bed for her. That's just rude. Especially after he carried those bags. She felt bad; she wished she had done more.

"Nah, I don't mind. It's not like I got anything else to do," he insisted, bringing the bedding over.

(Y/N) stood, body internally complaining in aching protest. She didn't really have the energy to expertly persuade him.

"Buck, it's fine." Her voice was faint.

He didn't even stop to hesitate, seemingly determined on the task. She thought it better to just give up and let him do his thing since he was so set on it. However, the sheet was fitted and there were pillow cases, not really one-arm friendly assets. He was struggling... very clearly. (Y/N) felt even worse.

He started moving quicker, frustration jerking his arm in quick, irritated bursts as he was trying to get the sheet to stay. There was still no success.

She stepped forward gently. "Bucky..."

"Damn it!" he hissed, slamming his hand on the bed frame before forcefully standing up. His hand went to his forehead, rubbing his eyes in disappointment.

(Y/N) was a statue. She had never seen him mad before; she had no idea what to do. Don't get her wrong, she wasn't scared, she just wasn't sure what to say.

"Can't fuckin' do anything," he muttered under his breath.

She finally moved forward. "Hey, forget the bedding, it doesn't matter-"

"Yes it does," he turned. "We're hiding from a collapsed regime and I can't even make a damn bed. Plus you've done so much for me, I just wanted to help with something. I just wanted to be able to do something."

Oh. Suddenly, his anger was gone. It was replaced with a miserable helplessness. It made her chest tight; she needed to fix this.

"Buck, you don't owe me anything. I'm here because I wanted to help, not because I was expecting anything in return. And I don't know what you've been paying attention to, but I watched you carry the majority of those - heavy - bags the entire way here while simultaneously figuring out the way to the shelter while my brain was momentarily smooth. You were the voice of reason in that chaos we just escaped from, and it's a damn good thing you were so calm because I don't know if I could have handled the panic of the both of us."

"You could've," he murmured. "And I wasn't calm, I'm just used to this. I was trained for situations like this."

No, she wasn't going to lose to deflection.

"Regardless, you were a huge help. Seriously."

He still didn't look convinced.

"In fact, I feel more safe here with you than I would with Shuri and the Queen. You're like a super soldier body guard."

A look washed over his face that (Y/N) couldn't quite place. He looked at her quizzically, like he was trying to figure something out.

"You... feel safer with me?"

"That's what I said, yes."

"You're not like... worried about..."

"The Winter Soldier? No."

He sighed. "How can you be so sure? You have no idea if or when I might... you know."

"We are literally the only people here, and I don't plan on saying the trigger words. So unless you plan on saying them, I don't really think we have anything to worry about. And, even if you did 'you know,' you could definitely get away with it and no one would find the body."

He turned bright red. "What?!"

"I'm kidding! Sorry. But Bucky, you've been doing so well with me and Shuri, and honestly the Hydra programming might not even be there anymore."

"But we don't know for sure!"

"Bucky..." she pleaded, turning her head slightly as to say what is this about?

"I can't trust my own mind," he sighed looking at the floor. "I just don't wanna do anything bad. It's just - weird that you don't seem to be worried at all."

"Why is that?"

"Everyone sees me as a monster."

The room was dead silent. He wasn't looking at her, but if (Y/N) looked at him any harder, she was sure she'd burn a hole through his head. How could anyone see this man as a monster? Logically, she understood what other people saw. But personally, she couldn’t find it in her to perceive him like that. It just didn’t work. All she could find was gentleness, compassion, and sincerity.

"I can't see you as something you're not," she said, whisper soft. "I don't care if you hands are 'scarred from murder' or however you said it a few sessions ago. I trust them entirely."

He finally looked up at her, his face filled with something she couldn't quite place. It looked a bit like disbelief and then it changed into relief and then something else entirely. A slow smile crept up on his lips.

"...hand."

"What?"

"My hand. Singular. Not hands."

A deep, deep smile - to match the one on Bucky - grew on her face just before the pair started cracking up ridiculously. Perhaps this was an odd way of releasing the tension, fear, frustration, and exhaustion of the day. Nevertheless, laughter was cathartic. It was so cathartic that eventually (Y/N) could hardly catch her breath and Bucky's stomach hurt. This went on for several minutes.

In time, they both calmed down. She didn't remember when exactly it happened, but they were both sitting on the floor now. They sat in between the two bunk beds, facing one another, each back leaning against a respective bedpost.

The atmosphere was different now, but not in a bad way. It felt like 2 a.m. at a sleepover, when the conversations get drowsily deep, with slow voices and honest confessions. It was heavy eyelids and low inhibitions.

A fresh wave of exhaustion washed over her. She let her head fall slack against the bedpost, resting.

"Bucky, what were sleepovers like in the forties?" she asked softly, eyes closing ever so delicately. 

"Well," he started, getting into a story of his past with Steve and the couch cushions.

And that's how she fell asleep. Sitting on the floor, leaning against a bunk bed, and listening to his voice fade out into the background of her consciousness.

If only she knew how she would wake up: laying comfortably on one of the beds, with one blanket on top of her and another below her because he couldn't get the sheet to cooperate. With the pillowcase carefully draped atop the pillow instead of enveloping it because that's what one hand would allow. With the bed next to her being slept in with no blanket because he used his as the replacement for the sheet he couldn’t get to cooperate.

[windblooms]

topaz devices | ch. 01

if zhongli isn’t a the brightest individual blessed by the archons, then he’s socially inept, and spends his days stuck behind a desk as the heir of wangsheng incorporated.  frustrated by seeing his best friend burn through his days like paper over a bonfire, childe decides that if there’s one thing worse than a permeant desk job, it’s being converted into a corporate machine in one’s mid-twenties.  and he’s not going to let that happen to zhongli. 

gender-neutral reader x sugar daddy!zhongli.  modern au, slow burn.  chapter 1/?.  2213 words.

as usual, zhongli awakens a minute before his morning alarm goes off.  

and as he lays on the daybed, adjusting to the faint lighting of the moon that floats through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, the first thing he does is reach for his phone.  but when he pats down the area beside him, then above his head, and feels nothing, he begrudgingly props himself up on his elbows, and blinks the final bits of sleep out of his eyes.

this isn’t the first time he’s fallen asleep at the office.  admittedly, it’s probably over his hundredth, since he’s found it more practical to crash near his workspace than drag himself three floors up to his room.  but, oh, where did he leave his phone?  zhongli glances around, eyes no longer bleary; it’s not on the coffee table next to him, nor on the floor between it and the daybed, and for a split second he believes he left his phone at the tea station across the hall. 

and then it chimes with his alarm on the marble floor just before his work desk.

“ah,” he sighs to himself, voice still somewhat choked from the morning.  as the tone plays, he runs both of his hands through his hair, pulling back his bangs before letting them fall to the sides of his face, and takes a glance around his office: he vaguely remembers staying up until four in the morning to finish scanning over a forwarded contract, and the three empty cups of caffeinated tea that surround his desktop computer can attest to his commitment; there are reference binders on his desk that zhongli hadn’t put away after using, likely too engrossed in the project to tidy up as he worked, and the most damning evidence of his corporate devotion is easily the fact that, well – 

“conference in one hour,” his phone alarm is interrupted by the sound of its virtual assistant voice.  “conference with,” it continues in robotic fashion, “mrs. ningguang at seven-thirty-a.m.”

– he had scheduled an impromptu meeting after he finished reading said document.  as in, he intended to follow through with a meeting arrangement on less than four hours of sleep.  as in, arranged a meeting when it was three in the morning.  

as in, he also expected others to attend the conference on a four hour’s notice.  

such is the way of wangsheng incorporated, an institution where everyone involved is asked to sell their soul to the matriarch, all for the prosperity of her company.  the matriarch in this case being, of course, zhongli’s mother.

 “conference with,” his virtual assistant repeats, and zhongli hauls himself up from the daybed and onto his feet, padding over to his phone before swiping over the screen to silence all of his notifications. “mrs. ninggua – ” beep.

he inhales, stretches his arms, and then gazes out to the liyuen skyline. 

the horizon is still dark, with only hints of warmth leaking onto the expansive blanket of night.  below, however, the streets are illuminated by commuting vehicles and establishments opening for the day.  from his place on the higher floors of the company building, zhongli can only imagine the hum of life – he’s much too far up to actually hear anything.  

it’s at this moment he realizes that the last time he’s actually stepped foot out of the building was over a week ago – and a grimace becomes his first expression of the day.  archons, he didn’t think he was that busy, but begins mentally count the days regardless.  yeah, 9 days.  zhongli’s frown deepens; knowing himself, it’s probably also been 9 days since he’s left his floor on the building.

as much as he would like to leave, though, the company is more important to him.  until there’s a convenient time for him to take a break, he’ll keep working.  it’s what he’s always done – it’s what he’s good at.  

so he inhales once more, as the skyline is washed with violet.  exhales.  

the clock reads six thirty-three. 

. . . 

it’s around four in the morning when childe decides that zhongli is officially insane.

who the fuck arranges a meeting in the dead middle of the night?  granted, he’s only zhongli’s secretary, so it’s not like he has to take part in it – the gripe here is that he’s the one who manages zhongli’s entire schedule.  so when zhongli goes out on his own, arranging things without telling him first, that’s when the issues start.  

childe receives the conference notice just as the other executives do (while on a comfortable date with his bed); reading zhongli’s attached note with gunk wedged in his eyes and a screen flashing blue light directly into his irises makes him think – 

there’s no way zhongli’s in the right state of mind.  and after three whole years of working with him, others would think that childe’s used to his mercurial behavior by now.  but he would give himself more credit, insisting that he’s not that deep into the corporate mentality to put business before rationale – but maybe it’s the luxury that comes along with being a secretary and not anyone more important.

now, where was he?  oh, yeah.  plotting exactly which words to tell his boss when it’s an acceptable time in the morning.  

that means grumbling obscenities until he falls back asleep, brain power exhausted.  that means waking up at an appropriate time (read: six), rolling out of bed, then heading to the tea bar, and concluding that, well, this is just how zhongli operates.

as in, he can’t be angry at his best friend for long.

ceramic cup in hand and bedhead as thick as a haystack, childe recalls two things that were previously clouded by his indignance: one, that the business life is all zhongli’s ever known, even when he was a kid (that much was made obvious when he couldn’t even list out how many hobbies he had the first time they met).  two, the fact that, when asked, zhongli didn’t know which would be worse between losing stock investments or entire contact with the outside world. 

sheltered is probably the closest word childe can think of, but zhongli isn’t stupid either.  maybe socially inept is the better way to describe him – not like it cripples his personality entirely though.  he’s got some redeeming qualities – childe tells himself to think positively of zhongli for the entirety of his stroll down the hall towards his office – but stops short once he opens the door and realizes that, well, 

“three,” childe mouths incredulously, nearly dropping the ceramic in his hand.  “three cups of tea from last night alone?”

“good morning to you too.”

childe doesn’t have much time to gawk.  he would drag his face down with his fingers if his hands weren’t occupied, but knowing zhongli, he wouldn’t even make note of his dramatics.  absorbed into his work first thing in the morning – and childe, looking down at himself, isn’t even dressed properly.  just a dress shirt and pants, while zhongli has already decked himself out in a full-piece suit.

that’s what happens when zhongli decides that his office is where he’s going to live.

“you know,” childe starts, sighing for good measure.  the ginger makes his way over to zhongli’s desk, replacing the three cups with one of fresh tea.  glaze lily tea, to zhongli’s preference.  “staying up late isn’t good for your health.  especially when you’re high on caffeine six days a week.”

well, duh.  the words come out dumber than he intended, but it gets the point across.  it’s not childe’s job to sound intelligent, only that he knows how to manage someone else’s schedule.  

it takes a few seconds for zhongli to respond, as his fingers are busy typing away at the keyboard.  drafting another email, most likely.  in that time, childe hooks his fingers through the handles of the three cups zhongli had downed the previous night, preparing to carry them out.  “i do what i need to get things done,” the workaholic counters.  his eyes don’t leave the monitor for a second, and childe has half the mind to think that he’s a robot.  “we’ve talked about this before.”

zhongli’s not wrong, but childe’s face sours nonetheless.  “i can’t have the heir of the company sabotaged by his own toxic work ethic, and insist that you take a nap whenever possible, my liege.”

his dramatics doesn’t earn him any points.  he worries briefly that zhongli’s already gone into his own world, only able to be hauled back to the surface once the sun is far gone, and his eyebrows furrow.  but now bent on getting a constructive response from zhongli, he refuses to budge from his spot across the desk.  

almost as if he’s uncomfortable, zhongli looks up.  childe knows he’s not actually peeved, and that the brunette is just thinking of what to say.  three years of working for him taught him as much.  “if i have time to, then i will.”  the young heir averts his eyes towards the screen before meeting childe’s again.  “thanks for your concern.”

if childe were any other person, he would believe zhongli.  zhongli speaks without a falter in his voice – as if it weren’t already as smooth as velvet – and his eyes are resolute when locked onto his.  but he’s not someone else, and the closest individual to a friend that zhongli has.  it would be a disservice, both as a friend and coworker, to leave zhongli to his devices.  so childe doesn’t relent.  it’s his turn to be stubborn and set in his ways. 

he places the cups back onto the desk, and the other man looks up curiously, just in time to see childe’s eyes narrow.  “i mean it, zhongs.”

and, with just as much performative sincerity as before, zhongli says the same thing he always does, with a straight face and empty eyes.  “i do, too.”

“no, you don’t.”  childe’s scowl is as deep as his concern.  he wasn’t joking earlier when he said that zhongli would be murdered by his own obsession with work – “responsibility,” as the younger of the two would insist, but he’s blind to his own persistence, and time has made that blatantly obvious.  “i know you have a meeting soon, so i won’t stay long.  i don’t care if we’ve talked about this before,” he rushes his words, determined to get them in before zhongli quips, “it doesn’t make it any less important.”

a pause.  zhongli’s typing has halted and is instead replaced by silence.  hell, he even folds his fingers together on top of the keyboard, as if telling childe that he finally has his full attention.  but the void in his eyes hasn’t changed: amber, clouded with vermillion, and burning in coals.

childe assesses him sternly, extending the stillness of the moment, before proceeding.  “i’m going to block out your schedule tonight after eight, and we’re going to have a talk.”

zhongli tries not to look fazed.  to his credit, he really, really tries, but his posture bristles just enough to cue the secretary in on his client’s displeasure.  “no, i’m not going to watch over you for the rest of the night to make sure you sleep,” he reassures just as swiftly, half-teasing and half-serious, “but we are going to make some plans.”

both of childe’s hands are flat on the desk as the two of them regard each other.  although zhongli is the taller of the two, his position in the office chair gives childe the height advantage in the current situation.  “after you get enough rest this week, i’m going to get you out of this building,” childe vows to zhongli.  neither of them blink.  “you’re going to walk on the streets and breathe fresh air.  you’re going to spend time with people your age and eat at a restaurant.  you’re going to have fun.” 

it is at that moment, when zhongli’s face falters as if he’s being spoken to in python when his input is java, that childe realizes that he has no strategy, and that he’s just saying the things that he wants for zhongli: he refuses to believe that zhongli will continue to regard this room, conditioned with with frigid air and tailored to each tile on the floor, is his only future, and instead wants his 25 year-old boss to have some semblance of life in his days instead of bleeding through each, only to tear through the next.

childe had the choice to dream towards the life he currently lives.  on the other hand, zhongli never did.  inheriting a multi-million dollar company, especially being the son of the ceo, outwardly sounds like the opportunity only the archons could bestow.  childe would have thought the same too.  

until he realized that predestination sucks, and that zhongli is too good to wither his youth away behind a desk.  

childe has exactly thirteen hours to come up with a plan.  from the thoughts floating in his head, it can turn out in one of two ways:

one: zhongli is integrated back into society and lives a happier, more animated life than what he currently has. 

two: childe loses his job.

[redhairedfeistynerd]

Slush and a Side of Toys

Part 2

A/N:  Winter/Holiday Festival Challenge. I chose #38 donating toys to children.

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Warnings: 18+  Angst, frustrated reader, swearing, alcohol

Words:3500+

Part 1 here

Please like, comment and reblog. I appreciate it and thanks for reading.

All mistakes are my own

A reminder - my work is not to be re-posted anywhere.

Snow.  

Of all the days to make the largest and final delivery, the sky had to open and drop copious amount of fluffy, white snow throughout the morning, which dramatically turned to rain in the afternoon. The streets were bound to be a disaster and you didn’t have time for this mess.

Trying to slide another box into your SUV was like playing a game of Tetris and one that you were about to lose. With a push, the last piece fit in, but as one went in, another slid out. From the top of the pile, a large box (in painful slow motion) popped out of its comfy home and dropped to the ground, a large splash soaking your left side with cold, slushy water. All the carefully wrapped toys, were now submerged in the grey slush water at your feet.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you cried out to the sky and pulled your toque over your eyes. Lifting the wool from your eyes, you stared at the colossal mess at your feet, and tried to swallow down the lump that was quickly forming in your throat. Blinking fast, attempting to avoid that tears that were threatening to pour out of your eyes. What a mess.

“Y/N?” A male voice came from behind you, the sound of slushy footsteps quickly approaching.

Oh no. OH NO.

Not that voice.  

Squatting down once more to try and quickly pick up some of the packages, you stop when two large feet stand in the water beside you, splashing dirty droplets of water in your face.

“Thanks, asshole,” you muttered.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Chris chuckled from above you and offered his hand.

“Get the fuck away from me, Evans,” you shouted, slipping while trying to stand up. You made another attempt to stand and turned to face him, a look of disgust clearly showing across your face.  

“Damn. What exactly did I do to you again?”

“The fact that you are asking, pisses me off even more,” you shot back as you turned around and bent down, wrapping your arms around several sopping packages.

“Gifts for your boyfriend?” He asked, his tone emitting a slice of jealousy.

“These gifts are for the kids, you oaf,” you snapped back.

Chris didn’t have a response but leaned down to pick up a box floating near his feet “Here, don’t forget this one.  I’m...I’m sorry for the snarky comment,” he said biting at his lip, embarrassment running through him. “I didn’t mean to talk to you like that,” he added holding out the small, mushy box to you. “Are these going to the women’s centre? I can help you get them there if you like.”

You stared back at him, trying not to bit your lip so hard in frustration. “I don’t need your help. Please, stay away from me, Chris,” you said grabbing the wet box from his hand. “They’re going to the Neighbourhood House.”

“At least let me get the car door for you, the trunk looks a bit full,” Chris said as he opened the back door.  

Tossing the wet gifts into the back, not caring about the upholstery, you muttered a “thanks” Chris’s way before slamming the door and walking around to the driver's side, stopping to close the trunk on your way. Hopping in, you made the mistake of looking in your rearview mirror as you started up the car, Chris’s smirking face looking right at you. “Stupid good-looking asshole,” you snarled as you drove away from him, trying to ignore the small wave he gave as you drove down the street. Heading back to your office, hoping that your coworker was still there with the other pile of gifts that were ready to go out today to a few local schools.  

The office was quiet, no papers shuffling, no phones ringing. You knew you had missed your chance to switch out some of the gifts before heading over to the Neighbourhood House that evening. This day was not going the way you had planned and if you couldn’t deliver the gifts promised, this day was going to go from bad to worse, very quicky.  

You wanted to blame all of this on Chris, mainly because even looking at his handsome face infuriated you more than anything. But your reasonable side knew that the problems with the gifts had nothing to do with him and you were still holding a grudge from years before. You needed to get this out of your system, once and for all.  

You poked around the storage room in your office for any extra toys; a few boxes remained and you remembered that several gift cards remained – a few of the older kids may want to buy something instead.  

Okay, this will work. This isn’t so bad, right?

Packing up the new gifts in bags and leaving the soggy toys by your desk, you headed back to your car and off to the Neighbourhood House.  

*

“What? Where did these come from?” You gaped at the bags stuffed with tissue paper of every colour, full of gifts. Boxes upon boxes filled the front of the entryway, piled neatly underneath a large tree that almost touched the high ceiling.

“A gentleman came by, maybe 20 minutes ago with all of these, he said that they were part of the delivery you were bringing by this evening.”

“But...I...” Completely confused but relieved that you didn’t need to explain the mess that had happened earlier in the day, you smiled at the shelter employee and made your way back out to your car to bring in the remainder of the gifts.

“Thank you for your kind donation this year, including our staff this year was not expected,” Marjorie the director of the Neighbourhood House gushed.

Was this some alternate universe where gifts started popping up where ever you went. What the hell was going on? Had your team approved an extra donation at the last moment?  

It didn’t take more than a few minutes for you to figure out what was going on. There he stood, inside the main entrance of the building, hands in his pockets, bouncing on his heels, whistling a Christmas song and completely avoiding eye contact.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you asked, walking up to the smirking man.

“Trying to follow in your footsteps and help out the community more? Is that okay with you?” Chris snapped back at you.

Storming out of the building, you rushed to your car, in hopes of escaping Chris. His long strides caught up to you in no time, meeting you at the SUV but before you could put your hand on the door handle, he took hold of your arm and turned your body to face him.

“Why are you so angry at me? All I did after I saw you three years ago, was to send you flowers! Do you hate flowers or something?! I’m trying to figure out what the hell I did to you to make you act this way around me?”

“I have no idea what you’re going on about; you’re absolutely delusional,” you spat at him and went to pull at the handle too fast, ripping back one of your nails. You shouted out in pain, holding your finger tightly with the other hand, face flushing red out of anger and pain.

He reached out, placing his hand on your shoulder, trying to stop you from turning away. “Y/N-

“Don’t touch me!” You shouted, pulling away your arm in disgust, “the last time you did that, you broke my fucking heart!” And with those final words, you pulled on the door handle again, hopping into the car and screaming once more before starting the engine. Your head fell to the steering wheel, hitting your forehead into the it several times while angry words spouted out of your mouth.  

Having no idea what was going on, Chris drove away from the shelter, utterly confused by what you had screamed at him. How the hell had he broken your heart? After spending the night at your place all those years ago, a lazy morning and a wonderful breakfast, he had made his way back home with the promise to see you again two days later. Unfortunately, his schedule had a last-minute change and he had to head out several days earlier than expected. He’d spoken with Scott and begged him to pop by your office and drop off a bouquet as an apology and that he would reschedule when he returned to town the following week. What if...

Chris turned the wheel fast, tires screeching as he maneuvered a U-Turn and headed back towards his house. Once parked, he slammed his car door and pushed his way into his house, the aggression taken out on the door as he slammed it. He immediately headed up to the guest room to find his brother. He found him quickly, the younger Evans sitting back and looking engaged in a book that once sat on Chris’s nightstand. Scott jumped when Chris burst into the room, letting out a scream and throwing the book towards his older brother.

“Chris! What the hell, man,” shouted Scott and got up for the bed to stand in front of his brother.  

“I’ve got something to ask you and you better have an answer that makes sense,” Chris shouted. “What happened when I asked you to send Y/N flowers all those years ago?”

Scott nodded, his eyes looking to the ground, afraid to meet his brother's cold stare. “I... I forgot to do what you asked. I ended up with a call from my agent and was excited about the conversation I had and it slipped my mind. Plus, there were a thousand other things that came up that week. I’m sorry?” Scott apologized, looking up and meeting his brothers' eye, a little smile on his face, looking for forgiveness.

“Scott! What do you mean you forgot?” Chris stepped closer to Scott, almost nose to nose.

“Exactly what I said, I forgot to go by. I had a lot of other things going on that week if I’m remembering clearly. Was it too hard for you to call or message her?”

“I thought the flowers would be a romantic gesture. I can’t believe you never went by, now I know why she doesn’t want me near her. The thing is, when I got back, I did call her and she never picked up.”

“Do you not know how to leave a voicemail? A text? Are you really that idiotic?”

“She just...I just...” Chris couldn’t stop fumbling with his words.

“You’re something else, dear older brother. But I know you can talk and I know you have a romantic side. So, where to start?”

Chris shuffled his feet, embarrassed that he hadn’t given you the time and respect you deserved all those years ago. “I guess I should try to talk to her,” he mumbled.

Scott pushed his right shoulder, “Come on Rico Suave, you can fix this, right?”

“I’m pretty sure after her stewing on this for 3 years, that my chances are nil.”

“Bat those pretty blues and sing to her, I swear, use your Evans charm, or continue being a dumbass, your choice,” Scott shrugged.

Chris shook his head in annoyance and walked away from his brother. Could he fix this?

“So, lover boy, what’s going on in that big head of yours?”

“I’m going to go by her office and I’m going to beg her to come by the house.”

“And what

“I have an idea. What do you think about this...”

*

The chimes jingled as the door to your office opened “I’ll be right with you, I just have to send off this email,” you said. A few more words added and you hit the send button. “Okay, done. What can I help...” You tried to finish your sentence but that cat definitely had your tongue. The second your eyes met the blue eyes of the man you despised more than anything, you couldn’t finish asking your question.  

“Y/N, please, please let talk to you about what happened, or what I think happened. Please,” Chris pleaded, seconds away from falling to his knees and begging.  

You were tongue tied, the snark you could so easily dish out was stuck in the back of your throat, silenced.  

“I’m sorry that I came by work, I didn’t know how else to get a hold of you. You did a pretty good job of blocking me on every form of media and communication I have. When I saw Rosie, I couldn’t help but ask about you.”  

“Why are you here?” you whispered, trying to hold back tears that were fueled by sadness and anger.

“I want to, I need to talk to you about what happened. A few things came to light today, that I didn’t know and I would appreciate if you would take the time to listen and hear me out.”

Before you could try to respond, your phone sang out a tune, the one that you have reserved for Rosie. Pulling your phone from your back pocket, you now had an excuse to pull your eyes away from Chris.

Y/N. Please give him a chance. Hear him out, I swear it's worth it.  

“Rosie is in on this too? Why are you involving my friends Chris? I swear, you better make this worth it.”  

“Please. Y/N. After you finish up here, will you come by my place and I promise all I want to do is speak and I’d appreciate it if you’d be willing to listen.”

You needed to sit down. The anxiety building quickly, you couldn’t breathe. “Fine. I’ll come by in an hour. I’ll sit. I’ll listen. That’s all. Deal?”

Chris’s face lit up, a half-smile forming, “Deal, I’ll see you shortly.” He gave a little wave and headed back out into the night.

You sat in your car outside of Chris’s beautiful house, nervous as to what the night was going to bring. After all of these years, what did he need to tell you? Would a simple text not suffice? You took a deep breath and unbuckled your seatbelt, ready to pull off the Band-Aid quickly and get this all over with. Feet finally out of your car, you walked across the gravel drive to his front door, knocking and hearing Dodger bark at the sound. Footsteps followed soon after, the door unlocked, and there, there was the most handsome man you had ever seen (and couldn’t stand).

“I was wondering when you were going to get out of your car. I heard you drive up about twenty minutes ago and I figured you were having second thoughts about coming. I’m glad you’re here though, so thank you.” Chris moved aside and you walked into the entryway, pulling off your shoes and placing the beside the door. “Follow me, we can sit in the front room. Would you like a drink?”

“I’m pretty sure a drink is necessary.”  

“Let me go grab something, take a look around, okay?”  

Walking to the couch, you checked out the little plants and decorative items he had placed around the room. There were some great art pieces on his walls and when you got closer to the couch, the painting hung above it stopped you. “What the...” It couldn’t be, there was no way that he could have known all this time and not have said anything. This man lived to rub shit in your face – the ultimate gloater. In front of you, on the wall above his couch, was the painting you had donated all those years ago to the gallery. Dodger’s nails tapped on the wooden floor, pulling your mind (and jaw) back into place. You heard footsteps following and a tune being whistled as he walked through the doorway, a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hands.

“I thought you might like a glass of this, I...” he stopped halfway to you and realized that you were still standing in the middle of the room, your mouth half open and staring at him. His eyes flicked to the painting on the wall and then back to your face, you could see the look of panic slowly starting to take over. “I...I can explain,” he stuttered taking several steps closer to you.

“How-”

“There was something that was pushing me to find out and that night, I called the owner of the gallery and asked if I could find out which piece you had donated. She was hesitant to offer any details but as privileged as this sounds, I offered to donate a large sum to the charity and buy another painting from her gallery to get the information. I needed to see what you created and once I had it, I couldn’t stay away from you...which is why we kept running into each other the way we did. Please don’t be creeped out.”

“Are you completely forgetting about the whole fuck ‘n chuck moment? You hunt me down and flash your pearly whites at me, make me feel something for you, we get into bed, and poof, you disappear. Care to explain before I get the hell out of here? You replied angrily, your face flushing out of frustration.

“Y/N...”

“Y/N, what? Oh, it wasn’t the right time. I didn’t think it meant anything...”  

“That’s not it, that’s not it at all.”

"Then what is it, Christopher. You never shut up and when I need you to say something, you clam up. What IS IT?” You couldn’t help but shout, you were angry, sad, and had no idea where this was going.

“If you stopped jumping over what I keep trying to say, then maybe I could get everything out. So, for a few minutes, can you keep your mouth shut. Shit, and I thought I was annoying,” he explained loudly.

You nodded; eyes wide that he had raised his voice to get his story across. You were wound up so tightly, incredibly hurt by his action's years ago, that you didn’t exactly know how to contain and cope with your emotions. You took a seat on the couch and looked up at him, still standing where he first entered the room and had stopped when he noticed you looking at your own art in his house. He took a few steps closer and looked to you, “Is it okay if I sit on the couch next to you?”

“I guess...”

Chris sat a comfortable distance from you, placed the wine glasses and bottle on the table and waited until you settled and looked to him to continue on.  

“I messed everything up, I’m taking all responsibility for this giant mess.” Chris sat silent for a few moments, his fingers intertwined and his left thumb rubbing across the right. He was clearly nervous. Clearing his throat and lifting his head up, blue eyes meeting yours, he blinked once and began to speak. “It was never my intention to hurt you. I messed up and badly. When I left you that morning, my plan was to see you again, once I returned home from my work trip. Everything happened so fast that day and to be honest with you, my head was in the clouds; all of my thoughts revolved around you and the wonderful evening I had with you. I was so busy in dreamland, that I ended up almost missing my flight. I asked Scott to help me out and send a bouquet of flowers to you, with a note explaining that I had to leave earlier and that I would call you soon. The thing is, I thought he had followed through and didn’t even know until the other day that he had never sent the flowers or note to you. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I did try to call though, when I was home and you never answered and I figured the night meant nothing to you.”

You sat there, silent for a few moments trying to take in everything he had said “Well, aren’t we a bunch of idiots,” you said, looking at him, a smile on your face.

The corner of Chris’s mouth lifted, a smile in there. “Does this mean you forgive me?"

“I mean, I’m still upset but I get that miscommunication can happen and I mean, how many people go as far as calling a gallery to hunt down a painting and then buying it. You’re pretty unbelievable, Evans.”

“But do you forgive me?” Chris asked as he scooted closer to you and let his fingers crawl closer to yours.

You took a hold of his hand and brought it to your lips, and kissed his knuckles softly. “I do forgive you Chris and I hope you forgive me for how hostile I’ve been. I really appreciate what you did for the Neighbourhood House too, I’ve never seen anything like that and you saved the day, so, thank you.” You kissed his hand again and looked up at him, a smile still on his face.  

Chris sighed and watched as you pulled his hand into your lap. “Y/N, is it too soon to ask if I can kiss you?”

“That would make me incredibly happy,” you replied and moved in closer, meeting his soft lips again after all these years. “I’m still mad at you though, I hope you know that. And let’s not forget about Rosie. I can’t believe the two of you did this. I’m still mad at her too.

Chris pulled you in for another kiss, running his hands through your hair. “I know. I plan on making it up to you. I’ll help with every event; I’ll clean up your messy office. I’ll even carrying you and your toys through the slush.”

You couldn’t help but laugh and pull him down with you to lay on the couch. “I can’t wait for you to get started.”

[handy-dandy-monster-candy]

Inyez

Rating: NSFW Length: 5331 Pairing: Male Bat Creature x Male Reader (both cis)

xxx

Winter comes early up in the mountains, but I'm used to that. I like to sit by my living room windows and look down into the valley where I work, enjoying the way the city lights give the snow a warm glow. I figure myself lucky; I come from a happy family, I have a good career in a field I love, and I've managed to make a home out of the old observatory that sits like a squat little guardian at the top of a hill twenty minutes from the city.

My job gives me incredibly flexible hours, so I work whenever I'm awake and sleep whenever I want to. I've ended up with a mostly vespertine sleep schedule, which means I get to watch the sunset while I break for lunch. I'm a workaholic, though, so this "break" usually means that I step away from active work and focus on replying to emails from clients or looking up resources and reference images for my latest project as the sun goes down, and this time is no different.

I don't even notice the dark settling around me until I realise that I've been squinting at my laptop for the past half hour, and by then, the only source of light is its screen. I have outdoor lights, sure, and there's a street lamp or two on the way up the hill, but they amount to nothing unless they're on or nearby. I sigh and close my laptop to give my eyes a break, waiting for my vision to adjust properly to the lack of light around me.

I'm just contemplating making myself another cup of coffee when the window beside me explodes, and I have no qualms with admitting that despite being over six feet tall, I scream like a frightened squirrel. Instinct takes over and I find myself taking shelter behind my chair, waiting for the glass to settle before I risk peering around it. Adrenaline has made my vision sharper faster, but there's only so much I can make out in the darkness. I know I heard something heavy hit the floor after the crash, but nothing moves in the shadows, so I take the risk and scuttle over to the nearest switch plate to flick the lights on.

There's blood on what's left of the window and the scattered glass, and wide smears of it left in skid marks across the floorboards. Whatever has bled on my flooring is crumpled halfway behind my couch between me and my kitchen, cutting me off from any makeshift weapons I could use to defend myself. I creep around the other end of the couch with all the exaggerated stealth of a cartoon cat burglar, getting my first real look at the thing. It's dark and huge—about the size of a very large dog, at least—and even as my fingers grope for something to defend myself with, I don't take my eyes off of it for a second.

I approach the wounded creature with a skillet in one hand and a broom in the other, using the broom handle to prod gingerly at the thing that seems to be bleeding out on my living room floor. The first few pokes don't garner any reactions from the beast, and so I grow bolder, sending a silent prayer up to whatever gods might be listening that the thing doesn't have rabies or worse. I feel myself grimace as I lift one large, leathery wing to see more of the creature, only to snatch the broom handle back and away.

Whatever it was was awake, and it had been staring right at me with large, luminous eyes.

It takes me several seconds to work up the courage to repeat the action, and only then do I notice that those eyes are dazed and unfocused, shock settling in as blood dribbles down along its flat face. The creature murmurs when I prod it again—nothing I understand, but definitely something meant to be words—and that's when I realise that the thing on my floor is not a what, but a who. I swear and pace in my kitchen while keeping the thing well within sight at all times, but eventually my conscience wins out; I can't just let them bleed to death in front of me. Even knowing this, I know I don’t have the skills for what I need to do, so I pull an earpiece on and dial my cousin on my cell phone, grimacing when I glance at the time on my oven.

The phone rings a few times before there’s a shuffling on the other end, and then her groggy voice mumbles, “Hello?”

“Hey, Maraia,” I say, taking my first aid kit from beneath my sink and slipping a chef’s knife into my belt just in case. “I need your help.”

“Cuz? Do you know what time it is? I just got to bed an hour ago!”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s an emergency.”

I hear more shuffling, and then Maraia’s voice is much more alert. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Some sort of bat crashed through my window,” I say, hurrying over with my first aid kit and kneeling in the blood beside the lump on my floor. “It’s hurt real bad. Blood everywhere. It won’t make it to the vet if I don’t do something now.”

“You’re treating a wild animal?!”

“Maraia. It’s dying!”

“Fuck,” my cousin mutters, slipping back into her role as an ER nurse. “You owe me. Okay, tell me what you see.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, and try to turn off my anxiety as I listen to her expertise. First and foremost, I rush to apply pressure to a particularly ugly wound on the creature’s pelvis and thigh, cleaning and bandaging it up as best as I can once I’ve stopped the majority of the bleeding. This is about when I bump into the creature's, er, fiddly bits, barely hidden by a thick patch of fur. I work around them as I wrap him up in long bandages.

Per Maraia’s guidance, I check the creature's eyes and find wide, fixed pupils that indicate significant head trauma; it doesn't seem like he can see me, or even sense that I'm here. Still, I speak softly to him as I work, carefully picking glass and small twigs from open wounds and doing my best to clean and close them with a combination of butterfly closures and careful stitches. He whimpers and whines very softly when the discomfort is too great, but for the most part he hardly makes any sound at all, which Maraia and I agree is more worrying than if the creature were screeching and struggling with all his might.

Finally, after what feels like hours, I sit back on my legs with a sigh, certain that I’ve gotten to every wound that there is to be found. “I don’t think I can move it,” I say to Maraia, wiping my shaking hands clean with antibacterial wipes. “Not without popping something open.”

“You can’t keep it there with you,” she replies, using the same stern, reasonable tone that she uses on her children and patients. “Bats have rabies. What if it bites you?”

“I don’t think it can. I don’t even know if it will survive the night. For all I know, it’s haemorrhaging somewhere and this will all be for nothing.”

“All the more reason for you to take it to a vet! They can treat it there, maybe put it down if they have to. Whatever they decide will be better than what you can do at home.”

“I know,” I murmur, packing away my supplies. “Thanks, Raia. I’ll take care of it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Maraia sighs, and I can hear her exhaustion creeping back into her voice when she says, “Alright. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will. Sorry for waking you.”

“Oh, bull,” Maraia scoffs. “You were scared and came to me. That’s a good thing. Love you, kiddo.”

I can’t help but smile, despite my weariness. “Love you, too,” I say, and hang up once we’ve said our goodbyes. It would be cruel to leave this poor creature on my living room floor, so I haul my inflatable mattress out of storage and set it up in my bedroom, grateful for the large amount of floor space in the converted observatory. I check on my guest several times during the time it takes the bed to inflate, and then I carry him into my bedroom, careful not to jostle him too much when I place him on the air mattress.

I watch the shallow rise and fall of the creature’s chest for a moment before I look up into his elongated face, taking in his small, black, dog-like nose and the sharp teeth that I can see peeking out from behind parted lips. Two large, velvety ears poke up from the thick fur on his head, motionless in his unconsciousness.

From what I can tell, whatever this creature is appears to be around four feet tall, with long curled toes on each slender, delicate foot and sharp claws on the tips of his hairless fingers. He's barrel-chested from the musculature needed to support both arms and wings, with a slightly narrower waist and wide hips that lead to lithe, muscular legs. The majority of his body is covered in a short, dense layer of dark russet fur over deep brown skin, perhaps a shade or two darker than mine.

Whatever he is, I've read enough books and watched enough movies to know with certainty that I can't take him anywhere—not without possibly endangering him further. The last thing I want is this creature ending up dissected in a lab somewhere, or worse. I scrub my hands over my face and get up to go clean my living room, taking one last glance at the creature in my bedroom before closing the door behind me as quietly as I can.

The first night is harrowing. Batty—as I've taken to calling my guest in my head—has his first of three seizures shortly after I finish taping garbage bags over the hole in my window. I drop the duct tape and run to him when he lets out an unearthly wail, all of the air in his lungs being forced out by seizing muscles. There's nothing I can do but make sure that he doesn't hurt himself further, sitting vigil beside him until his convulsions die down and praying that he'll still draw breath when they're over.

He's unconscious for the entirety of the next day, so thoroughly insensate that I risk calling out a repairman to replace the broken window so that the cold stops seeping in. Other than supervising the appointment, I hardly dare to leave Batty's side, taking my laptop into my bedroom to do as much work there as I possibly can. I clean him up when he messes himself in his sleep, though I worry about him dying of dehydration. To prevent this, I pulse ice cubes in my blender and carefully feed him ice chips at first, being mindful of his body temperature by keeping him thoroughly bundled in blankets.

By the third day, Batty makes as if to swallow, and I drip water into his mouth in an effort to keep him hydrated. I don't know what he eats, so I climb into my car and make the drive into the city, buying a variety of potted baby foods with what I'm sure is a wild look in my eyes that keeps the cashier from attempting any small talk with me. I make it back to the observatory in record time, and though Batty doesn't stir when I waft different foods under his nose, I still manage to coax him into swallowing mixtures of meat and vegetables.

He runs a temperature that night, and I spend most of the early morning hours before dawn wiping him down with a cool cloth and stroking my fingers along his brow when he starts to shiver and mumble in his sleep. His fever finally breaks the following afternoon, and in the fading light of sunset, his eyes crack open. He's still exhausted and disoriented, though, so he only blinks sluggishly at me when I ask him gentle questions, eventually fading back into unconsciousness again. I figure it's progress.

Batty recovers slowly. For a long time, I only hear his voice when he mumbles in his sleep or when he whimpers as I tend to his wounds. Eventually, he begins to communicate with me using little humming noises, or he summons me from other parts of the house with plaintive chirps that break my heart. I carry him into the bathroom and find that he's fascinated by the toilet after startling at the sound of the first flush, though that's nothing compared to his awe when I decide to show off the shower. He's visibly disappointed when I deny his peeping requests to be carried under its spray, but he seems to understand when I explain that we should wait for his stitches to come out.

He gets a little stronger every day. After a couple of weeks, he's able to sit up for short periods of time as long as he's propped up with pillows. He holds his water bottle by himself a few days after that. Eating still takes more coordination than he's capable of, at least when it comes to utensils, but he's happy enough to nibble at the fruits I cut up for him. I take him out to the living room with me when he’s well enough, and there I play nature documentaries for him and keep him warm as the snow falls outside. He stares at the television in reverent silence when the voice of David Attenborough warbles through my speakers, and he spends the majority of the day curled around a couch cushion in a nest of blankets.

I learn that he’s as omnivorous as I’d hoped he’d be, and so I go to the store and get him a few different meats. I cook them with little to no seasoning at first, feeding him like one would a dog, but it isn’t long before he begins showing interest in my own meals, too. This urges me to start buying healthier food for myself; I figure that if I wouldn’t feed it to Batty for fear of his health, I probably shouldn’t be eating it, either. That doesn’t stop me from indulging in the odd treat, and his face when he tastes my favourite soft drink is priceless before he spits it out in shock, smacking his lips and looking at the bottle as though it’s bitten him.

“What?” I chuckle, taking the bottle from his hands and offering him a cloth. “Don’t like the fizz?”

“‘Fizz’?” Batty echoes, and I nearly drop the bottle before I can get the cap on.

“You can talk?” I ask, and I feel my eyes widen when he nods. “All this time?”

Batty hesitantly shakes his head, claws gently scratching at the cloth on his lap. “Don’t know,” he slowly replies, brows furrowing over his big, dark eyes. “I remember some. It’s hard.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him, reaching out to stroke between his ears in a way I’ve learned soothes him. “You took a bad blow to the head. I’m sorry that I couldn’t take you to someone who could treat you better. I didn’t want someone bad getting their hands on you.”

Batty nods his understanding, sighing deeply and nosing up into my palm to guide my hand along his muzzle. “Wanted to say all this time,” he murmurs, his soft, fluting voice growing weaker. “Thank you.”

I smile; my heart warms. “I’m just glad that you’re okay. I’ll take care of you for as long as it takes. Do you have a name?���

He frowns again, briefly closing his eyes. “Inyez.”

“Inyez,” I murmur, testing the name in my mouth and finding it fitting. I introduce myself in turn.

Inyez’s face relaxes into a small, sleepy smile. He echoes my name, and doesn’t resist when I tuck him back under the covers.

“Rest,” I whisper, brushing my fingertips between Inyez’s eyes. They flutter closed and don’t open again as he lets exhaustion pull him under, and I turn down the lights to let him fall asleep to the sound of whale song.

Once I know that Inyez can speak with me, I go a little bonkers with the need to provide enrichment for my guest. It’s been a while since I’ve had the company with which to play games, so I’m at once overwhelmed and exhilarated when I stand in front of the tabletop game section of the city mall’s toy store. I grab classics like Jenga and Parcheesi, but I also pick up games like Tokaido, Wingspan, and Betrayal at House on the Hill. Inyez fawns over the beautiful illustrations and pretty trinkets needed to play each of the games, and he’s held rapt by the game mechanics and advancements.

I can’t help but mirror his delighted smiles, watching him delicately place tokens on the boards with his slender fingers. The furrow in his brow as he puts together jigsaw puzzles is incredibly endearing, and he’s quick to summon me from where I’m working to show me his accomplishments. “Come!” he cries. “Hurry, come see!” My name on his tongue is the sweetest sound to my ears, and I look forward to hearing it in that cheerful tone throughout the day.

I buy an extension for the desk in my office and give Inyez his own space while I work, though more often than not, he ends up watching my monitors at my elbow, marveling at my work and asking countless questions. At his urging, I show him my digital portfolio, where I have most of my character designs, logos, and even a few structural blueprints and landscapes.

“Where is this?” he asks, hardly daring to tap my monitor screen with a claw.

“Nowhere,” I say, enlarging the image so that he can drink in the details. “Nowhere real, anyway. It’s a fantasy world.”

Inyez frowns. “A fantasy world? But it looks so real.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Well, I specialise in realism. There’s a lot of research that goes into it.”

Inyez doesn’t look entirely mollified by this response, but he subsides for the most part, only murmuring, “You even got the horns right.”

I turn my head to look down at him where he’s resting his cheek against my arm. “The dragon’s?”

“Yes.”

I can’t hold back my surprise. “There are dragons? They’re real?”

Inyez looks up at me, and I briefly get lost in his eyes. “Of course they are. They’re rare, though. Rarer than most everything else.”

“Rarer than you?”

Inyez bares his tiny sharp teeth at me in a cheeky little grin. “No. I’m one of a kind.”

I laugh, helplessly charmed. “That you are. Maybe I’ll draw you sometime.”

Inyez���s mouth drops open, eyes growing wider until I can just about see the whites. “Would you really? Me?”

“Why not?” I pull up a new canvas on my illustration programme, sketching up a quick little scene from the memory of looking down into his upturned face. He gasps softly at my side and shifts to cling to my shirt, murmuring in his strange language and making soft little cooing noises as I add colour and detail.

“Do I really look like that?” he breathes, looking from my face to the screen and back.

“Mhm.” I zoom in on the eyes, adding depth and highlights before moving to adjust the shape and fullness of the lips. Inyez goes very quiet for a few minutes as he watches the portrait come to life, only stirring to place his hand at the crook of my elbow to call my attention back to him. “What is it?”

“Do you really think I am so lovely?” asks Inyez, voice very soft and gaze shy.

I’m grateful for my dark skin as I feel warmth creep up into my face. “I do. You’re very beautiful.”

Inyez scoffs, but I can tell that he’s flustered. “You’ve only met one of us. Who are you to say that?”

“Sometimes one is enough,” I murmur, gently stroking Inyez’s small chin with a crooked finger. He makes an odd little twittering noise and hides behind his wings, and I feel my heart flutter wildly in my chest. I'm falling for this creature, I realise, and I can't bring myself to care; as far as I'm concerned, Inyez is the best thing to happen to me in a long time.

“Where do you go when you get into that terrible thing?” Inyez murmurs some nights later when we’re cuddled on the couch, his head on a pillow in my lap and my fingers gently stroking his head.

“In the car? To the city, mostly. To get food and toilet paper and other supplies.”

Inyez shifts to look up at me, confused. “You get food in that noisy place?”

I nod, brushing my hand along his cheek. “Everything we’ve eaten here, I’ve bought there.”

“But it doesn’t smell.”

“Smell?”

“The city. It smells, but the food doesn’t.”

I feel myself frown in thought. “Probably because a lot of it is washed and kept in clean places, or in airtight packaging.”

“I smell,” Inyez mumbles unhappily, tucking himself up in his wings. “When may I wash?”

I hum thoughtfully, rubbing one of his velvety ears between my fingers in a way that he likes. “Probably tonight, if we’re careful. If you really feel that bad.”

“I do.” Big, dark eyes look up from my lap, beseeching. “I don’t want to smell anymore. I want to be clean.”

“Alright,” I say, shifting to gather him up in my arms and carry him to the bathroom. “As long as we don’t scrub too hard or get your wounds too wet. I’ll still need to clean and redress them after we’re done.”

“You’ll wash me?” asks Inyez, a note of excitement in his voice. “Like lovers do! Could we be lovers?”

I can’t help but laugh, startled at the sudden change in conversation; I distract myself by fiddling with the shower controls. “We could be,” I reasonably reply, “if we both felt the same about one another.”

“Then we can,” says Inyez as he slips under the spray, cooing softly at the water’s warmth. “You think I’m lovely, and I think you’re lovely, too. It’s really that simple.”

“Is it?” I ask, dubious, even as I pull my clothing off and over my head to join him.

“Why does it have to be complicated? Is it more for humans? Is it not enough to feel safe and happy and goodness when I look at you? It’s like my heart has bitten a big, juicy apricot—it’s full of sweetness and the juice is overflowing!”

“A heart-apricot?” I chuckle, shaking my head at the silliness of the comparison. “Well, I’ll try to find you an apricot next time I’m in town.”

“Would you?” asks Inyez, burrowing against my chest and sighing. “I’d like that. I like you. Can that be enough?”

I run my hands carefully between his wings, earning myself a sleepy little burble. “I think it can.” I curb my enthusiastic reaction to this new turn of events and focus on gently cleaning Inyez’s fur to his satisfaction, and then I blow dry him until he’s warm and redress his wounds. By the time I carry him to bed—my bed, our bed—he’s limp as a noodle and snoring softly in his exhaustion, and I take great pleasure in tucking him in so that he’s safe and sound.

The next morning, I am kissed awake. That night, we kiss until we drift to sleep. Kisses and affection make up the bulk of my ‘duties’ as Inyez’s lover, and I take to the task of keeping him satisfied with relish. For his part, Inyez is content to groom me seemingly at random, running his small, clawed fingers delicately through my hair and humming to himself as he does so. I get a little less work done, but I don’t mind it if it’s to see Inyez so pleased with himself when he’s decided I’m primped to perfection.

It’s another couple of days before I give Inyez the all-clear to fly after his injuries have healed for a couple of months. We have to wait until nightfall until he takes to the air, but then he’s a dark blur against a darkening sky until I cannot see him at all. It makes me breathless when I realise that he’s lost to the night—what if, I think, he decides right then that he prefers the night and its freedoms to me? What if he misses his family, his friends, his former life. When he lands in front of me, panting and exhilarated and beautiful, I wrap him into my arms and crush him to my chest, burying my face against the side of his neck.

“What’s happened?” he asks, petting fretfully at my face and hair. “What’s wrong? Did you think I’d not come back?”

“Yes,” I say, and the word chokes me, making me realise that I’m crying.

“Oh, sweet one,” Inyez coos, wrapping me in his wings as best as he can. “I would never. Why would I? I am fed and loved and pampered, and you are a very good snuggler. You don’t even have fur, but you are very warm! Why would I leave, mm? Tell me.”

“I don’t know.” I laugh damply. “Missing your family. Your friends.”

“I’ll visit my family when my body is stronger,” Inyez tells me, tutting softly and nosing at my ear. “They deserve to know where I am, and they can come and visit us when the spring comes. They’ll be jealous of my roost and my mate.”

“Am I that?” I ask, sniffling and pulling away to look down into Inyez’s eyes. Inyez turns his face away, however, and I recognise that he is shy.

“You could be,” he murmurs, “but it’s not official yet. To do that, we have to—well, have sex. Hopefully more than once.”

“Do you want to?” I ask him, stroking between his wings so that they relax and rustle softly.

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask,” Inyez says all in a gust, looking up at me plaintively. “I’ve been wanting to have sex with you for days. Weeks, maybe.”

I can’t help but laugh again. “You could have asked.”

“I could have.” Inyez pouts. “You would have said no, because of my wounds. You treat me like I’m fragile.”

“You are fragile, in comparison. But you’re right, I would have denied you. Now I won’t. So, ask.”

Big eyes blink up at me from that small, furry face, hopeful to their core. “Really? You’ll be my mate?”

I can feel myself grinning. “I’ll be your mate.”

Inyez wriggles against me, clutching at my clothing with a sudden fervour. “Mine?”

“Yours,” I assure him, drawing him against me and carrying him back up into the observatory. The next few minutes are a blur as we leave my clothing strewn across the apartment in a trail that leads to the bed, and I manage to find a bottle of lube I haven’t touched in months but mercifully has enough for at least a round or two.

Preparation happens before all else. Normally, this is the part where I would begin to lose interest because my previous partners have treated it like a means to an end, but Inyez is so sensitive and receptive that every little touch I give him sends him into a fluttering little tizzy on the bed. His prick is slick and red when it hardens out of its sheath, tapered at the end and thicker at the base. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I play with it with a careful touch that seems to frustrate and overwhelm the small creature beneath me in equal measure.

I drink Inyez in as he squeaks and squirms with my fingers inside him, watching his claws tear tiny little holes in the sheets as he grips them in his hands and trembles like a taut bowstring. When I finally push into him, he makes a noise like an exultation, and I fight to keep myself from coming right there and then when he wraps his legs around my hips and digs his feet into my ass to drive me in deeper. He wants more of me and I give until there’s nothing left to give, letting him adjust for a moment before I take up a rhythm that rocks the bed against the wall.

I need him, too, and I tell him so as I fuck him down into the mattress, listening to him mew and moan and say my name in a way more beautiful than any I’ve heard yet. He clings to the headboard when I roll him over onto his stomach, breathless and gasping raggedly, wings trembling like they’re weathering a storm.

“There!” he cries when I angle my hips a certain way, one of his hands diving between himself and the sheets to pump away at his hard, leaking cock. “Oh, please, there! There!”

“You want it?” I ask, and I hardly recognise my own voice, so low and guttural it is.

“Yes, gods, I want it,” Inyez mewns, almost sobbing with his need. “I’m close. I’m gonna—I’m—Please—“

“Tell me you’ll stay.”

“I’ll stay!” Inyez squeaks, not a hint of hesitation in his desperate tones. “I’ll stay, I’ll stay, I’ll never leave this roost! I swear!”

“Yes,” I growl, pushing my chest down against his back and reaching a crescendo that makes the headboard hammer against the wall. I come so hard and so suddenly that it feels like I get pulled inside out from the toes on up, and my vision whites out to the sound of Inyez wailing beneath me. When I come around, we’re tangled together in the sheets and I have him on top of me, both of us panting heavily and both of my hands buried into the soft, downy fur at the small of Inyez’s back.

“Christ,” says Inyez, and I choke on a laugh, turning my head to cough.

“That’s not an expletive.”

Inyez grunts. “You use it like one.”

I laugh. “That’s fair.”

Inyez takes a long moment to gather his thoughts, stroking the skin of my torso with careful fingers. “Would you be willing to meet my family?”

I blink up at the ceiling. “Of course. How many of them are there?”

“I have six brothers and eight sisters. I’m fifth down in the birthing line.”

My eyes bulge. “How old is the youngest?”

“Tiisa? She’s six months old. The oldest is in her forties.” I can feel Inyez smother a smile against my chest. “Mother says she’s done for now. We don’t quite believe her.”

I laugh, shaking my head up at the ceiling. “I would offer them shelter for the winter, but I don’t think they’d all fit in here.”

“Oh, Mother would hate it here,” Inyez chuckles. “It would be much too quiet for her liking. She likes life with the roost. I’ve always preferred quiet. This roost is perfect for us.”

Us. The word makes my heart swell, and I bury a smile against the top of Inyez’s head. “We’ll figure something out for their visit.”

“Mm,” hums Inyez, sighing softly before he sits up and smiles impishly down at me in the darkness.

“What?”

“Again.”

“Again?” I laugh, wrapping my hands around Inyez’s hips as they begin to rock and wriggle on my lap. “I’ve created a monster.”

“Your monster,” Inyez smugly coos, kissing my chest right over my heart.

[kingofkingdom-archive]

So Much Like Stars - Part TWO

Pairing: Boba Fett x Female Reader

Part TWO (Read Part One HERE)

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Summary: During a trek through the mountains, you discover new things about both Boba and yourself.

Warnings: Explicit sex, p-in-v sex, hand feeding, breathplay, choking kink, power dynamics/power play, royalty kink (?), dom/sub dynamics, pool sex (kinda you'll see), unprotected sex, coming inside (do not do this in real life), age difference, dirty talk, spit kink, offscreen oral sex, AFAB reader, safe to read if triggered by pregnancy

Word Count: 10k+

A/N: Major apologies in order for the delay on this one! It's been up on AO3 (here) for a hot minute but it took me a bit longer to get around to posting it here. Anywho... here it is. Let me know what you think! I love to get reblogs/comments/messages so very much. As always, no use of Y/N, and please heed the warnings. <3

The early hours of the following day fly by like ash in the wind.

You and Boba leave as soon as you are able, gathering necessary supplies into packs and preparing for the grueling trek ahead of you. You notify your father of your departure - he is not happy about it, but he learned long ago that he has little sway over the decisions you make.

You also find Boba a cloak that fits over his armor and that doesn't hinder his ability to reach his weapons. It's thick around his neck, which is why you'd insisted he wear it.

He'd stopped complaining once you were about a kilometer out from the village gate.

The howling wind swirls around the two of you, snow and ice collecting on your clothes. The journey is not an easy one, but with Boba's natural strength and your knowledge of the terrain the two of you handle it better than most.

Boba's steps are always audible behind you, even when the air around you seems to be screaming. You appreciate his closeness, because far too often people have been lost and never found because they fell too far behind.

It's easy to become lost in a place like this. Being found tends to be a matter of life and death.

The sheer cliff faces and shifting dunes of snow present the most hazardous challenges on your journey. One single misstep could have either of you tumbling down, and as you walk you only gain elevation, increasing the distance between you and the ground below. It's terrain that you've traversed plenty of times, but you don't know how well-suited Boba is to such harsh elements.

You glance back at your companion when you come to a turn, sheltered from the biting wind and driving snow.

"Faring alright back there?" You have to yell to be heard, but Boba nods.

"I'm doing just fine, princess. Seen worse than this."

You raise your brows, even though he can't see your face through your mask. "If you say so. We'll be on this trail for the rest of today and most of tomorrow. Then we'll turn off and find the source."

There is, of course, the risk of encountering an ongrol. The idea of it looms over your journey like a dark cloud, and you keep alert to any shift in the wind or in the landscape ahead. The constant drone of air around you would typically mask the sound of any movement, but your ears have become attuned to listening for things outside the wind. Footsteps, especially those of a creature larger than yourself, will be obvious. The ongrol are not known for their stealth - if they want to attack, they'll do it with a thunderous leap and a swipe of razor-sharp claws.

You'd been telling the truth when you told Boba it was rare to escape an encounter with one alive. Boba had shown you the fire-blaster on his arm, and the two of you have no shortage of weapons, but still you worry. You keep alert, listening to the world around you.

Though your focus has a tight hold on your mind, you can't help but let your thoughts wander to Boba, and to the events of the previous night.

In all your life, you've never met a man quite like Boba.

Not only did he sense your needs intrinsically, it seemed as though he saw right through you the moment he laid eyes on you. You recall seeing his visor tilt toward you in the meeting room; you hadn't known it then, but now you can imagine what he'd been thinking. Boba saw your presence at that table and immediately knew what kind of girl you are.

It doesn't speak well to your sensibilities as a village leader, if you're being honest with yourself. This is the first foreigner to visit your people, and you let him into your home, between your legs? You suddenly feel rather guilty about it, but a small voice in your head reminds you how good it felt.

How good he felt.

Maker above. Nothing in your life could ever compare to the things he made you feel last night. Armor against skin - ice against fire, rough edges against smooth curves. The smell of him in your nose as he pleasured you, unkempt and raw. The splay of his hands on your hips as he took, and took, and gave you so much in return.

Boba knew exactly how to take you apart. And you'd only met him that day.

You didn't delude yourself into believing this could continue. He does not belong here, and you certainly can't leave. Above all else, your people need you, and to leave the planet would be to abandon them.

You steel your heart into acceptance. You'll enjoy Boba's company for as long as he's here, and then things will return to normal. You'll figure out how to hide the kyber and no one will bother you. Your people will live on in peace.

Whether you will ever find peace after knowing what it is to be with Boba Fett is another matter entirely. But you can't dwell on that, or you might decide to do something drastic.

You let that thought slip from your brain quickly, replacing it with memories of last night. Despite yourself, you smile beneath your mask, surely blushing as well. Though your steps forward are certain and sure, your center heats up at the thought of his hand around your throat, of his thick cock moving wickedly inside you.

From the depths of your mind float up a few words he'd said, a phrase you'd forgotten until just now.

Come for your king.

Odd, his choice of wording. It sends a shiver down your spine, but then you give it a moment of thought. Surely he didn't mean king in the context of you, of your village - that wouldn't make any sense. But then again, he couldn't mean --

You furrow your brow. Yes, it was the heat of the moment, but he still said it.

There's a possibility of something more there, something much more than just a bounty hunter in search of a handful of credits and some relief for the night. You remember how he'd asked if you knew his name, like he'd expected you to.

Do you know the name Boba Fett, princess?

Boba Fett. No, you have no knowledge of that name outside the armored man trekking behind you.

Who is he?

You frown, but decide to keep your questions to yourself for now. You're nothing if not careful - keeping your cards close to your chest is a skill you've more than mastered.

Boba Fett, no matter who he is, will be none the wiser to your doubts.

-

That night, once darkness begins to envelop the air around you, you lead Boba to a small, secluded, empty cave safe from the cold wind. There's a dark scorch mark on the ground, evidence of a past campfire.

"I've used this cave a number of times," you explain as you take off your pack, setting it on the ground with a groan. The weight on your shoulders never gets lighter. "The cold shouldn't reach us here, especially once we get a fire going."

Boba hums, unrolling his bedroll, which is a collection of mats and blankets identical to yours. "I know a few other ways we could stay warm, princess."

You look over at him. His back is turned to you, large and imposing in the dim light.

"Do you?" you ask, light with a hint of a sly smile in your voice. You lean your staff against the cave wall and crouch to begin extracting your own bedroll.

Behind you, you hear a gruff chuckle. The deep, rumbling sound of it makes your breath hitch. Boba Fett may be an enigma to you, but that doesn't mean you feel any less strongly for him now than you did last night.

In fact, the close quarters of this cave mean his words are more than just teasing.

You turn and spread your bedroll out beside the spot where you'll set up the fire, and you see that Boba has set his up so that it's perpendicular to yours, the corners overlapping.

Next you take out the meat and bread you brought along, as well as flint, some firestarter, and a few bricks of coal that will burn through the night. You prop yourself on your knees to get the fire started, and once the flames have sprung to life, you lean forward to set up the small spit to cook your meal.

You're just arranging the cut of meat on the metal spike when you feel movement behind you. The fire beneath you is searing, so hot that when you feel hands on your hips, you lean back into them to escape the heat.

Boba's hands grip your hips tighter and you yelp as he drags you backwards. His fingers land on your thigh, grasping at and arranging you until your back is flush with his chest. Your legs are tucked in between his, which are spread out in front of the two of you.

You look up at him. You're seated in his lap, but the layers of clothes and metal between you prevent you from feeling anything distinct.

He reaches a hand up to tug at your face mask.

"Let me see you," he murmurs.

You let him remove the cloth covering your mouth and nose, and then he slides your goggles off of your face. You're sure you've got marks around your eyes from wearing them for so long, but Boba doesn't seem to mind.

In return, you place your hands on the bottom of his helmet, fingers curling under. He allows you to press the small latch beneath your index finger and slide his helmet off, the warmth of his breath ghosting across your face as soon as you can see his mouth.

You lift Boba's helmet all the way off and set it to the side. He puts a hand on your waist, firm and grounding, fingers curled tightly into your ribs.

"I've been many places in my time, but I admit I've never met anyone quite like you, little one."

His words are smooth as silk, soft and tender in your ear. You smile and raise your brows, glancing from his eyes to his lips and back again.

"Surely you've met more than a few pretty girls in your travels," you reply.

Boba scoffs. His grip on your thigh tightens, pulling you close.

"I have. You…" he shakes his head, and you watch as his gazes slips down to land on your mouth. You bite your lip and your heart races at the way his pupils dilate at the sight of it.

"You're different, sweetheart."

The new pet name makes you shiver, subconsciously pressing closer to him. "Is that right? I can hardly believe I'm much different from anyone else."

You're baiting him, goading him into saying something more. You've never been one for compliments - they've always felt forced, almost disingenuous. Not with Boba.

"The girls I've known either want my head on a pike or can't look me in the eye," he tells you. You chuckle softly - you don't blame them.

"Is that 'cause you'll shoot them if they do?"

Boba grunts and pinches your side, making you squeal. You laugh, full-bodied and silly, at your own joke, spurred on by Boba's tickling.

He leans down, large body curling over you. Your giggles peter out as his lips press against your ear.

"What if I said yes, little one?"

You blink. Slowly, you turn to face him, so close that your noses are brushing.

"If you said yes?" you whisper into the air between your lips.

He hums.

You take a moment to study the scars on his face before grinning, soft and lazy. Your hand, resting on his knee, gives a gentle squeeze.

"Then I'd tell you there's more than a few men in that village who can't look me in the eye."

Your words seem to take Boba by surprise for a moment, from the way his eyebrows bounce up. It's true - when you were younger, boys in the village would try things, stupid dares and pranks you took none too lightly. There's one in particular who, if he looked at you funny, would get a blaster shot to the knee thanks to the shit he's pulled in the past.

They've learned their lessons.

"Is that so?" Boba's voice has gotten slightly deeper. It rolls through you like thunder, filling the small cave with its resonance.

You nod, a smirk playing at the edges of your lips.

His eyes flit down, gaze following the subtle movement of your mouth. It's too much - the closeness, the heat of the fire and of his body and of the way he's looking at you. You bring your hand up to rest on his shoulder, gripping his armor.

And you kiss him.

You press your lips against his, open and pliant, unable to save yourself from how much you want him. Boba groans and returns the kiss, tongue sweeping into your open mouth, licking into you like he's a man starved and you're his next meal. You savor the taste of him, because you can't pinpoint exactly what the flavor on his tongue is, and you know that must mean it's something uniquely Boba.

He shifts his hands to rearrange you, placing your legs on either side of his own so you're straddling him. Your palms come up to rest on his neck and jaw as his land on your hips, pulling you down so you're sitting right on his codpiece. You gasp at the feeling of it through your clothes. Boba bites at your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth, before releasing you.

You open your eyes, not having realized you'd closed them. Boba is staring at you, but you can't read the look in his eye.

"What?" you murmur, searching his expression for any hint of what he might be thinking.

He hums, hand on your hip flexing, squeezing. "Nothing, sweetheart, just…"

You wait for him to finish his thought. His brows furrow ever so slightly as he looks back at you. Behind you, the meat sizzles from the heat of the fire, filling the space with its aromatic scent.

Boba shakes his head. "Nevermind."

Before you can respond, he presses forward to kiss you again. You want to encourage him to share what he was going to say, but it only takes a swipe of his tongue against your own to have your eyelids fluttering shut and your thoughts quieting.

He kisses you like the sun - hot and insistent, reminding you how fleeting it all is. You've only ever seen the sun a few times in your life, but its brightness seared your mind in a way not dissimilar to the way Boba's laying his mark on your heart.

You let him kiss you deeply, unhurried, until your brain clicks on long enough to remind you that there's food cooking behind you.

You extract yourself from Boba's hold, which makes him grunt in displeasure until he sees what you're doing. In your pack there's a plate and a cloth, both of which you retrieve and bring back to the fire. Carefully you take the meat off of the spit and put it on the plate, along with the bread.

Boba watches, legs still spread as he sits, leaning back on his hands. You take the plate and sit between his thighs again.

You make to tear a piece of the tender meat off, but you feel a hand on your arm, preventing you from doing so. Confused, you look up at Boba, who simply rips off his own bit of meat. But instead of bringing it to his lips, he raises it to yours.

Wordlessly, you lock eyes with him and open your mouth. His stare is hot, intense, as he feeds you, your lips closing around his index finger and thumb, tongue licking the excess juices off his skin. You take a moment longer than is strictly necessary to taste the pads of his fingers, hollowing your cheeks and sucking his digits like you might something else of his.

You chew the meat once he's pulled his fingers from your mouth. He watches intently until you've swallowed, and then he takes a piece for himself.

As he eats, you find yourself full to the brim with curiosity about him. Once he's finished with his bite, you ask the first question you can think of.

"Last night you mentioned your father. I'd like to hear about him."

Boba raises his brows. He tears off another chunk of meat, offers it to you, and you take it. He speaks as you chew.

"His name was Jango. I -" he seems to consider his words, eyes darting down to the ground as he thinks "- he wasn't technically my father, but he raised me as his son. I traveled with him as a boy, until he was killed by a Jedi."

You frown. "What's that?”

Boba looks at you funny, tilting his head. "You've never heard of the Jedi?"

You shake your head no. "Are they human?"

"Some are," he explains. "They're Force-users, claiming to fight for peace and justice in the galaxy."

His voice is bitter, but you don't blame him, if what he says is true. "But they killed your father."

Boba nods. "They will tell you they fight for what's good and right. But they are no worse than those they call enemies."

"Who are their enemies?"

"The Empire. Dark users of the Force." Boba studies you as you take in this information. You've heard of the Empire, and the Republic, but clearly some information was omitted from your village's records.

"And the Force is…?"

Boba shifts, grabbing some more meat for himself, which he eats before replying.

"I've never fully understood it myself, but from what I gather it's an energy present in all things. The Jedi and the Sith can manipulate it to their will."

You have so many questions, but you know asking them will only make you more confused. Energy in all things? That sounds… well, it sounds overwhelming, to be truthful. It sounds like magic, which your father always told you was the stuff of fairy-stories.

Boba feeds you another morsel and you eat, thinking.

"Can they 'manipulate' blaster fire?" you ask once you've swallowed.

"I don't think so. They tend to deflect it with their lightsabers, which are swords powered by kyber, coincidentally."

You wrinkle your nose. "Swords? I'd take a well-timed blaster shot over a sword any day."

Boba laughs, hearty and full. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close, pressing his lips to your temple.

"That's my girl," he mutters. His words send a shiver down your spine.

Boba continues to feed you as he tells you about his father and his own travels. You learn about his time on Kamino, where Jango's DNA was made into clones, and that Boba himself is an unaltered clone of his father. You learn about Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, legendary Jedi who proved difficult for both Boba and Jango at various points through the years. He tells you about meeting Fennec Shand on Tatooine and about another companion of theirs, a man who just goes by the name Mando.

He doesn't tell you about the scars, so you don't ask.

When you're falling asleep, eyes drifting closed as your head rests on Boba's chest, you wonder at the life Boba Fett's led, how such excitement and pain ultimately finds him here, holding you close.

All you've ever known is this planet, your people. Perhaps the universe, in its vast, unknowable expanse, is really here beneath you, in Boba's stories and his scars. You think maybe it's okay that you aren't meant for more than your cold village, because at least you can travel through the galaxy just by listening to him.

At least you can know the taste of the stars just by kissing him.

-

The next morning is decidedly less relaxed than last night. You and Boba pack up hastily and you're on the trail when the first light of the morning is just beginning to show.

Hours pass in much the same way that they did yesterday. Snow and wind beat at you, but you press on until you reach the area you're no longer entirely familiar with.

You see the map in your mind's eye as you lead Boba across the rocky terrain. You're sure of your path, even though it's beyond any place you've been to previously. Somehow you just know, like the trail is programmed into your feet. Everything seems normal until the wind shifts and you catch the sound of something else on the air.

Throwing an arm out, fist closed, you immediately come to a halt, and Boba follows suit.

You're in an open expanse of snow and ice, still trekking upwards, but now a good distance away from any sheer cliff faces. You tighten your grip on your staff and listen, ears drowning out the howling wind to pick out the other you'd just sensed.

Something's ahead of you. Something large. You can hear the shifting of its weight, the silence of the space it takes up.

You glance back to Boba and nod. Carefully, quietly, he walks up to stand next to you.

"Up ahead," you tell him, voice as low as possible so as to not be heard by anyone - or anything - other than him. "Something big. It has to be -"

Your mouth snaps shut when you see it. Up ahead, a pair of glowing blue eyes emerge like beacons out of the fog, looming over you even before you can see the rest of its body. The ongrol moves forward, massive steps fading in and shaking the ground under your feet. You clench your jaw and ready yourself for what you know is coming.

You look over at Boba, and when the visor turns to face you, an unspoken agreement passes between the two of you, perfectly clear despite lack of words and facial expressions.

The ongrol doesn't allow you a moment longer, though. Its massive form is now visible through the driving snow - white fur with glowing blue stripes, pointed ears with long, flowing tips, and massive fangs.

You draw your blaster.

The moment it senses the two of you, it looks down and roars. Immediately it's charging forward and you fire off a volley of shots, though they don't seem to do a whole lot of good. Boba's hand comes down like durasteel on your arm and he jerks you back, positioning himself between you and the monster. He aims his fire-blaster at it, hosing it down with a torrent of flame. The ongrol yelps, then snarls, and you watch as it raises its massive paw, claws extended, piercing blue gaze zeroed in on Boba.

In that split second there's a feeling that comes over you, a gut instinct that pours over your body like warm water. It fills your skin, your nerves, your bones, so fully that your mind goes quiet in the wake of your body taking control.

As if you'd done it a thousand times before, you plant your feet and thrust your hand towards the beast, palm open. A feeling like electricity surges through you - not painful, but equally powerful and all-consuming.

The ongrol flies away, launched through the air, as if pulled by some invisible force.

Its cries echo against the mountainside as it falls, tumbling and rolling down a cliff face you can't quite see.

Boba whirls around to look at you, and the last thing you see is his visor coming closer as you collapse and the world goes dark.

-

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the warmth surrounding you. It's everywhere, like you're lying in front of a fire, and your immediate instinct is to turn over and fall back asleep. Your tired brain wants nothing more than to bask in the heat and enjoy it for as long as it will last.

But then your eyes flutter behind their lids, and you catch glimpses of something glowing, bluish-green in a way you've never before experienced. With considerable effort, you open your eyes wide, and the sight before you brings your mind to full awareness. You struggle to tuck an arm under yourself and push up slightly, getting a better view of where you are.

You're lying atop your bedroll, your staff on the ground next to you. Immediately in front of you is a pool of water, still and steaming, that glows a bright, shimmering combination of blues and greens. No, wait… the water itself isn't glowing - rather, it's reflecting light from the walls.

Walls lined with crystals.

You still feel exhausted, despite having just woken up, but the sight of the kyber makes you jolt to a sitting position. Your head swims, dizzy and drained.

From behind you, you hear Boba's voice.

"Woah there," he murmurs, a hand coming to rest gently on your shoulder. You squeeze your eyes shut to block out the rocking motion of the world around you.

When you open your eyes again, Boba's sitting to your left, facing you.

"What happened?" you ask, your memory of the events of this morning still foggy and distant.

Boba hums. "Well, you tossed that cat across a mountain with your mind."

You frown and look up at him incredulously. His helmet's off - in fact, he's also taken off the rest of his armor as well as the top half of his flight suit - he's left in his pants, undershirt, and boots.

His arms are bare. It's the most of him you've seen - his biceps bulge, large chest straining against the tight shirt he wears.

Your thoughts circle back to what he just said.

"Run that by me again," you mutter, searching his face for any hint of a lie. Boba blinks, raises a brow, and stares back, keeping the eye contact.

"You used the Force to kill that lion, princess."

His face is stone-straight. He's not lying to you, not that you can tell.

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut and rubbing the heels of your hands across them roughly. Stars erupt on the back of your eyelids, and for a moment, your nausea abates. It comes back to you in flashes - the creature's eyes, the sound of its roars on the wind, the feeling that overcame you when you watched it raise its deadly claws at Boba.

It's nothing you've ever felt before in your life.

"So…" you pause, trying to sort through the situation. "So - does this mean… how is that possible?"

Boba puts a hand on your calf, firm and grounding. "You want my theory?"

Hands still pressed to your eyes, you nod.

"The water. It's infused with kyber, which is what has healed your people, but it must have also awoken a Force-sensitivity in you."

You take a few deep breaths, the exhaustion and nausea slowly leaving your body with each exhalation. Boba's thumb rubs your skin softly, a simple back-and-forth motion that brings your racing mind back down into your head.

Carefully, you take your hands from your eyes. The world has finally stopped spinning. You look over at the pool to your right, into its calm, tranquil waters. Steam rises from its surface and dissipates before it can reach the cavernous ceiling above you. Kyber dots the walls, green and blue all around you, mesmerizing and radiant.

Sweat is beginning to gather under your eyes and on the back of your neck and between your breasts. You belatedly realize Boba has undressed you to your undergarments, so you sit there in little more than your underwear and a sleeveless top.

You stare at your hands, fidgeting between your thighs, and look up at Boba again. A million questions are floating through your mind, but you're not sure he'll be able or willing to answer them all. You bite your lip, brow furrowed.

"Does this mean I'm a Jedi?" It's the most pressing question on your mind, because if what Boba says is true, you're not so sure you want any part in your newfound gifts.

Boba shakes his head. "No, little one. All Jedi are force-users, but not all force-users are Jedi. Or Sith, for that matter."

In your lap, you turn your hands so your palms are facing up, cradling one another. Nothing has changed about them - still the same jagged patterns of lines as always. Still the same, but with this new… sensitivity, they feel foreign.

The Force feels like a new limb, a new sense that's now made your body a stranger to your mind.

"What do you remember from yesterday?" Boba asks, rough voice a soothing balm to your racing heart.

You tilt your head, trying to gather your memories together. "I remember walking up the mountain, and then there was the ongrol. I tried to shoot it, but that didn't work, and then you pushed me behind you. You threw your fire at it, and then it -"

Suddenly, you feel yourself getting choked up. It washes over you like a gust of cool air, returning to the emotion you felt in that moment on the mountainside. You blink a few times, swallowing down your panic and fear at the thought of it.

"And then it raised its paw, and I thought you were going to die."

Boba says nothing, just waits and lets you continue.

"All of a sudden this feeling came over me, like an instinct, and then there was this… this buzz that I felt. I just did it. I don't know how I knew how to."

Boba nods. He's looking at you with an expression you can't quite place, soft and severe all at the same time. It makes you shiver despite the heat that surrounds you.

You avert your eyes, instead focusing on his hand where it lay on your leg. His fingers nearly encircle your calf. You reach out and take his hand in yours, drawing it close to you, running the tips of your fingers over his knuckles, his wrist, the silvery scars that interrupt his tan skin.

"From what I understand," Boba murmurs, curling his fingers into yours ever so slightly, "it's supposed to take years of training for a Force-user to wield that sort of power, princess."

You glance up at him. He's smiling at you now, dark eyes sparkling.

Something about his expression, combined with what he just said, hooks into your brain and sours the taste on your tongue. You recall your doubts from earlier, doubts about who he is. Why would it matter if you - a village girl from a desolate snow planet - have more of a gift than most? Why would he care?

Your immediate reaction is that he's flattering you, like he did the other night in front of the fire. For some reason, your instinct tells you this is different, that he's got motives beyond those he's revealed to you.

Instinct has proven to be on your side lately, so you follow it headfirst.

"Why did you call yourself a king?"

Boba's smile vanishes, and the tension between you grows tenfold.

You grasp his hand firmly. Your faces seem so much closer now.

"What?" he asks, even though you know he heard you perfectly well. You narrow your eyes, not liking whatever game he's playing at. Boba Fett doesn't seem to be the type to play dumb, and you're certainly not the type to fall for it.

"You heard me," you say, voice calm and monotone. "Why did you call yourself a king when you were fucking me?"

Boba chuckles, a deadly sound that would have unnerved you if you were anyone but yourself.

He raises a brow. "Interesting question. Didn't you like it?"

"I liked it a lot less when I realized you had no reason to say it, bounty hunter."

Your voice is acidic, like venom hissing out from between your teeth.

"Or am I mistaken?"

Boba hums, but it feels more like a growl with your close proximity to him. "You sure you want to fall down that sarlacc pit, little one?"

You clench your jaw, giving your answer in the way you stare unwaveringly into his eyes.

His eyes flit down to your lips and back up again. You lean back slightly in response, refusing to let him distract you.

"It's not an official title, if that's your concern," he says.

"What sort of title is it, then?" you ask, guarded heart racing once again.

Boba tilts his head to one side, taking a long moment to look at you. His breathing is slow, steady, and you try to match your own to it, but his next words throw you off balance.

"A stolen one."

You blink, a fluttering sensation erupting in your chest - and not in a good way. It's as if your heart has tripped over itself in an attempt to flee him.

He brings his free hand up to cup your cheek, tender and authoritative as he runs his thumb along your lower lip. "I killed the man who last sat on my throne, so the title is now mine."

You frown, despite the digit near your mouth. "What's your kingdom, then? Who are your subjects?"

"Those like me," he responds, without hesitation. "Hunters. Mercenaries. People who are willing to do most anything for some credits."

The dots are beginning to connect in your brain, and you're not sure you like the picture that's forming.

"Criminals. You're - you're a crime lord," you mutter.

Boba chuckles again, a smirk forming at the edges of his lips. "Something like that."

A conflicted feeling rises in your chest. You twist your chin out of his grasp, looking away and into the waters beside you. Had you known this was the man you were dealing with, would you have let him between your legs that first night? You'd like to think not. But then again, a voice in your head reasons vehemently, you knew he was a bounty hunter, and how is that any better?

You purse your lips. At the moment you're not entirely sold on what your conscience is telling you to do, which is to cut him off now and end whatever it is that exists between the two of you.

In your lap, you're still holding his hand in both of yours.

"I want to trust you, Boba," you admit. He puts his other hand on your thigh as you turn back to face him. "But I'm not daft."

He opens his mouth to speak, but you aren't finished. "I know it may not be in your nature, but I would appreciate some clarity here. What does this... this Force sensitivity really mean? I'm not some spoiled, naive princess, either - despite what you may say."

Boba is silent - his brown eyes are as intense as they are unreadable as they look at you. It drags on long enough that you get restless. You let go of his hand and turn away, tucking your feet up under yourself to stand.

The water has been calling to you each time you’ve looked at it, and you can no longer resist its draw. Tentatively, you touch a toe into the shimmering pool, marvelling at its warmth.

You walk forward. With each step, you feel as though you're gaining life, absorbing energy you hadn't known you'd lost.

The water is up to your thighs when Boba finally speaks.

"The Force will die in you if you remain here for the rest of your life, princess."

That gives you pause. You turn around. Boba is shirtless now, but he's still reclining as he was. It takes a major effort not to let your eyes drop down to his abdomen, enticing like a beacon in your periphery.

"You want to know what I’m thinking, is that right?” He asks the question like he half expects you to say no.

You nod. Around you, the warm, steaming water is rippling with your movements, but it shimmers in a manner more than can be described as distinctly natural. Almost without thought, you step backwards, submerging yourself further in its enticing warmth. Your fingers and palms skim the surface.

"I wanted to ask you to join me. To come back with me."

It almost makes you laugh, the way he says it so seriously. A disbelieving smile crosses your features.

"You know I can't leave my people," you reply. "You've known that since the start."

Boba sighs. "I have. I was still tempted to ask, regardless. Ever since the tavern."

That's interesting. This whole line of conversation is peculiar - you get the feeling he rarely needs to explain himself in such a way to anyone.

"Why? What use am I to you?"

He stands, but does not follow you into the water. Instead, he walks over to another part of the cave and leans against the wall, observing you.

"It's always been selfish," he admits. "At first I just wanted you as a crew member. You have a way for negotiating, or at least the type of negotiating that would be useful for my sort of operation.

“But then you revealed yourself to be this needy little thing, so desperate for me to fuck you, and I could just picture you in my ship, or in the palace, spread out and wanting me wherever I am.”

Those words, low and promising, cause a certain sort of wetness to pool in your underwear, one that can’t be blamed on the water that surrounds you. By now, you’re up to your collarbones in it, hands no longer visible to him as they remain at your sides.

You hook a thumb under the waistband of your panties and slide them off, slowly floating down as the water pulls them from your form. When they get low enough, you tuck them under your heel to hide the garment away.

Boba gives no hint that he sees, so you assume he cannot tell.

“You wanted to bring me back as a rare specimen, to show off to the criminals who work for you,” you retort, though something deep within you preens at the idea.

Something hidden and unknown until that night in front of the fireplace.

He just hums. “Yes.”

You can’t decide if his blunt honesty is a fault or a virtue. Right now, it’s mainly serving to bring heat to the space between your thighs. To hide your arousal, you narrow your eyes, trying to focus on why exactly he thinks he can just… whisk you away to some strange planet.

“And now,” you reply, “what's your reason for asking me to come back with you?”

He shrugs. “As I said, without training, the Force will die in you. I have connections to nearly any type of creature in this galaxy, Force-users included. I am your only hope if you want to keep your gift. If not, we go back down this mountain and it’ll be as though I was never here.”

That does present an interesting twist. The gears in your mind turn a bit faster, thinking on what exactly this may mean for you.

You consider where you are in the present moment - the reason Boba is even here in the first place. You consider your duty to your people, and you consider the long life your father has ahead of him.

How much time you have before you'll need to take his place.

How little time you might have if someone else realizes what this mountain holds.

"You said this kyber puts out some sort of signature, one that others can pick up on."

Boba raises a brow, and you see that he catches on to what you're proposing.

You continue, because if you don't, you'll convince yourself the idea is foolish. "This Force-user could teach me to hide the signature, no?"

"I don't see why not," Boba replies. In his eyes you see a glimmer of humor, like he thinks he's got you wrapped around his little finger. The way you're talking, you're on the verge of agreeing to return with him. He's got it in stone - his negotiator, this girl who needs him so strongly.

You see through him, though. He's tough to read, but you're learning to look between the lines.

Boba Fett is a criminal. For your whole life, you've studied law and order, learning the diplomatic ways of other planets and societies. To go with him would be to align yourself with everything you should hate, everything you should fight against.

But you are, after all, more than just a meek princess. You're a leader, a role model, a strong woman and lover of your people. Are you willing to dispense with your morality in favor of this Force training? In favor of following this man who has stolen your heart like he stole his throne?

"Say I did go," you start, and he doesn't even bother to hide his small grin. "Say I go with you. What does that look like for me? I will not be reduced to some pleasure slave, hidden away in your palace."

Boba shakes his head. "You will be free, my dear. You and I will work together, for both of our benefits. When I need a kind, unrelenting negotiator, you will speak on my behalf. In return, I find your training."

It sounds too good to be true, especially considering the major aspect to your relationship he has not yet mentioned.

Your eyes finally flit down to his chest, broad and thick in a way you never knew you'd like so much. His arms and shoulders are equally as enticing, the knowledge of how strong he is only serving to make his body more attractive to you. He is scarred, long-healed gashes across his skin the echoes of unimaginable pain and fire. As your gaze drops lower, tracing the skin of his abdomen as it disappears into the waistband of his pants, you feel something tighten in your chest. In the space between your hips.

Seeing him like this is intimate, almost more so than that very first night, and he hasn't even touched you.

"And what else might I expect, traveling with you?" You ask it knowing he sees the way you're looking at him.

Boba hums, as though he's giving the question some thought. He pushes off from the stone wall he was leaned up against.

"You know where this will go, princess."

His hands drop down to hook into the front of his pants, fingers toying with the clasp there. Your eyes follow the movement, entranced. The tendons and muscles in his arms flex and ripple as he works his hands, movement capturing your eye like a mouse to bread.

"I do," you reply, "but I want you to tell me."

His gaze darkens at your words. You watch as he deftly unfastens his trousers and pushes them down, stepping out of them and towards you. He moves unhurriedly, but with clear purpose.

You feel like you're one of his bounties, caught in the crosshairs of his rifle. Trapped.

Excitement courses through your veins.

"The first place I'll fuck you will be the ship," Boba says as he walks forward into the water, his thick thighs flexing with each step. You're too caught up in watching him approach to think to respond.

"Before we even leave this planet, I'll have you screaming against the durasteel, begging for my cock."

Your brain goes a bit fuzzy at his words, at the force of the arousal that hits you. It's like the moment he starts speaking to you like this, all higher function in your mind shuts off, full only of the images he conjures with his voice.

Boba's getting closer, and before you know it, he's within arm's reach.

All at once his hands are on you, rucking up your top to search out your bare skin, warm under the water. You reach up and put your hands on his shoulders, savoring the heat of his skin on your own.

"Once we get to Tatooine," he continues, pressing his lips close to your ear, voice like honey flowing over you, "I'll get you the most expensive dresses credits can buy, and we'll go to the clubs and cantinas and everyone there will want what's mine."

Your grip tightens, nails digging into his flesh. Boba finally pushes your top all the way up and off. He absentmindedly tosses it behind him, landing with a wet smack against the stone floor of the cave. His palms find your breasts and he squeezes them, kneading, flicking his thumbs over your nipples.

The feeling of it, like sparks shooting through your chest, makes you gasp, light and breathy.

"You'll sit on my lap at the sabacc table, and all those filthy criminals will know exactly how much you love getting fucked."

Boba runs a hand down your side, the other still toying with your breast, and you watch his face as he realizes you're no longer wearing your panties.

His jaw clenches as his fingers curl into the meat of your hip. He dips his head down so his nose brushes against yours, his breath cool compared to the heat of the water.

"You're a temptress, little one."

You can't help the small smile that floats across your lips. "What was that about how much I love getting fucked?”

He hums, dark and deep, the sound nearly a growl with the way it reverberates around you. Boba slides his hands down beneath your ass, and then he's hauling you up and pressing you against the wall to your left. You squeal at the sudden movement, legs locking around his waist and hands gripping his shoulders even tighter to keep from slipping away.

You feel the heat of a cloth-covered bulge against your burning, most sensitive skin. The sudden pressure of it makes you gasp, smiling, breathing in the air he's just exhaled with how close your mouths are.

Boba holds you with such ease. It's as though you're floating, featherlight in his arms.

"Watch it," he mutters, leaning in to graze his lips against the shell of your ear, the broad plane of his chest covering your own.

"Or what?"

It’s clear that Boba is more turned on than annoyed by your teasing, despite his words. He adjusts his grip so his broad palms fit even tighter around your hips, pressing his erection solidly into your bare core once again, rolling his hips wickedly. The water enhances everything - the throbbing in your cunt is amplified tenfold and you can hardly contain yourself.

His words only serve to drive you madder, lips and teeth pressed against your neck.

“Or I’ll make sure every last man in that village sees the limp in your walk before I take you away,” he growls.

You moan at the thought of it, at the thought of walking past your friends and fellow townspeople in such a state. The things they'd say - the whispers - would never get back to you, for you know they respect you too much, but oh, would they talk.

Boba shifts, reaching down to finally free his cock from his underwear. Almost immediately, you feel the hot length of it pressed up against your pussy.

“Yeah,” he mutters, moving his hips and torturing you with the drag of his dick. “They’ll all see how well I’ve fucked you - how good their little princess takes a bounty hunter’s cock.”

Your eyes slip closed as you cry out, shaking with how much you need him. “Please, Boba!”

His shoulder muscles ripple under your palms and he groans. "I need to get you ready for me, little one --"

"No," you cut him off, voice little more than a whine, pulling him closer as best you can in your desperate state. "I can take it. Right now, I need it, I need you, Boba--"

With a grunt, Boba lines himself up, hands like durasteel on your hips as he pulls you close in tandem with the thrust of his cock. You moan, high-pitched and uninhibited, when you feel his hot member pierce your cunt. Your folds part easily for him, the head sliding into your pussy like it was built just for this.

Your legs tighten around Boba's waist as he starts fucking you, dirty promises and filthy imaginings rolling off his tongue. His voice strains with each thrust, and it all just feels so divine.

You think you could live like this, if he'd let you. Get addicted to the way his cock moves inside you and never spend another day without it.

"That's it," he mutters, teeth bearing down on your neck, surely leaving marks that'll turn black and blue in a day or so. On a particularly sharp thrust, you're jolted back, legs trembling in his hold.

"Maker, Boba." You open your eyes and see the way he's looking at you, teeth slightly bared and brows furrowed. He looks vicious as he uses you.

"You're so tight, princess. My fat cock fits in your little cunt so well," he grits out, your body still jostling with each thrust. Your eyes are fixated on his face, on his mouth, watching the words spill out from behind his lips.

For a moment, your brain provides a sliver of sass, making your eyes sparkle with mirth, even as your tits bounce against Boba's bare chest.

"You fuck pretty good for an old man."

Boba growls, a deep chuckle combined with a moan sounding from somewhere deep in his chest. His thrusts slow and he leans back, taking in the way your body is wrapped around him. Your hands fall to your breasts, pressing them together and flicking your thumbs over your nipples.

He snaps his hips up, hard, slamming his cock into you and forcing a whine from your throat. You can feel his balls smack your ass, even under the water. "You're desperate for it, princess. Desperate for this old man to fuck you like you need."

He rolls his hips again, rhythm slow and steady and deep. The air around you seems to rock in tandem with him.

"Yeah, you'll love Tatooine," he drawls, exhaling through his nose. "I could take this sweet pussy right on the throne and no one would say a thing. They'll all watch their King fuck a woman young enough to be his daughter."

You moan loudly, silken walls clenching and fluttering around his cock as it pounds into you.

He hums. "You like that, huh, little one?"

Despite yourself, you nod, squeezing your eyes shut again. Boba's left hand comes up to grip your chin, fingers like iron against your jaw. His thrusts get shallower, lazy, like he's become distracted from the fact that he's currently balls-deep inside you.

Your hands find his chest, getting your fill of his searing hot skin against your own.

"Open," he demands, and you do, tongue resting on your bottom lip.

Boba hesitates for a moment, and in that split second, the world around you is still once again. "This mouth," he murmurs, "is just begging to be filled, isn't it."

The words make you clench around him, an involuntary reaction to the thought of putting his cock in your mouth, of laving it with attention and worshipping it like it deserves.

Your eyes are still closed, so you can't see as he closes his mouth and works his jaw for a moment, gathering saliva on his tongue. You only feel the jarring sensation of spit landing in the back of your throat, filthy and debasing.

"Swallow it, little girl."

Eyes fluttering open, you do as you're told, and you know you'd do it a million more times if it means he'll look at you like he is right now, eyes dark as space itself.

"Thank you, my king."

You don't know what compels you to say it, other than the fact that it just feels right. Boba smiles, a sly thing that makes his dark eyes sparkle with something dangerous, and he begins fucking you again.

His hand slips down to your throat. Not tight, just resting there, a reminder.

Boba Fett licks his lips before speaking, the steam from the water around you making his face look almost eerie in the glow of the kyber. "You take me so well, my queen."

He picks up the pace again, and soon he's jackhammering into you with the same fervor as before. Your mind melts into a puddle inside your skull, only able to focus on the push-pull within you and the building crescendo that accompanies it. Boba's fingers tighten ever so slightly on your neck, and you respond in kind, curling your nails into the meat of his pecs like claws.

The fire within you is licking up your legs, winding through your ribs, and you gasp when it feels so close it's unbearable.

"Boba, I'm gonna - I need --"

He cuts you off with two simple words: "Touch yourself."

And so you do, the fingers of your dominant hand flying down to rub your clit and draw your orgasm to its inevitable peak. You press the pads of your middle and ring fingers to the bundle of nerves and frantically work to bring yourself off.

The sparks that shoot through you at the feeling of your own touch, combined with Boba's continued movements within you, force you up and over the edge of your climax in rapid succession. You cry out, the sound of it echoing far above your heads.

There must be something about the water, because the sensation is unlike anything you've ever experienced before. Your whole body seizes, straining against the hand that's wrapped like durasteel around your neck, and a tingling sensation shoots down your arms and legs to your toes. You've heard tales of the afterlife, of nirvana, of pure euphoria, and you think this must be it, because you can hardly comprehend the full-body pleasure that engulfs and drowns you.

When it passes, you go limp in his arms, head draped against his shoulder.

Boba finishes not long after, spilling into you. His spend is hot where it fills you, hotter than the water, and it's like an ancient lock has been fastened shut inside your cunt.

Your king carries you back to the dry stone floor. He lays you down and kisses you softly, heatedly, passionately. He kisses you as a lover should, like you're consummating a bond. A contract, signed in the twist of his tongue against yours.

The two of you do not leave that cave for a long while, taking the time to explore one another's bodies in every way you can dream up. You finally taste his cock, swallow his cum and find you love the taste, and Boba likewise licks and eats your pussy like he's a man starved.

When it's time to depart, you do so a changed woman. Boba Fett's body has left its touchmark on your soul. Now that you know true pleasure, the gratifying gift of submission to him, you couldn't imagine not going with him for at least some time. Leaving with him has become a need more than a want. You'll return someday, to rule and guide your people as you should, but not before you explore life with Boba for a while.

He promises so much, so many experiences and pleasures and truths. You can't let those promises go unfulfilled.

-

When Din enters the throne room, he surveys the space, as he always does when he walks through a doorway. Little is out of place.

Boba is seated upon the throne, conversing with a supplier, helmet betraying exactly as much emotion as Din's own does. From the grip Fett has on the arm of the throne, however, it's clear the negotiations aren't going to turn out well for the snivelling merchant.

Shand is leaning against a wall, jar of spotchka clutched in one hand, gesticulating with the other. She's smiling, which is rare for her, as she speaks in a tone Din can't quite hear.

Next to her is a girl Din's never seen in the palace before. She's dressed rather strangely - a thick cloak with fur trim over dark clothes, pants tucked into leather boots and some sort of shirt-tunic on her torso.

Certainly not suitable for the weather on Tatooine. In fact, Din would wager that's the clothing of someone from a snow planet.

He walks further into the room and catches the attention of Fennec and her friend. They both look at him; Fennec only for a second, but her companion's gaze lingers. Din thinks he sees something akin to curiosity - perhaps surprise - in her eyes, but it's hard to tell.

Her head turns to look directly at Boba, eyebrows raised. The other bounty hunter dips his head in acknowledgement.

Din stops in his tracks, unsure of the dynamic he's just walked into.

"You're excused," Boba barks, waving a hand at the supplier, who yelps and scurries out of the room.

He then rises from his seat and makes his way down to where Din's standing. He removes his helmet - an action that still makes Din tense up, even with everything that's happened - and tucks it under an arm. He sticks his other hand out and Din shakes it, nodding once.

"It went well, I assume?" Boba's almost smiling, which is a rare sight to see on his usually sullen visage.

Din nods again. "Yes. He's doing… he's doing great."

If he took his own helmet off, Din's smile would be clear as day.

Boba claps his hand against Din's shoulder, an amicable gesture that Din must remind himself is a sign of friendship, not posturing. Old habits die hard.

"I've got someone I'd like you to meet, Djarin," Boba says, turning towards the women who stand, watching them, not too far away.

They walk over. Fennec takes a sip of her spotchka, while the girl glances between him and Boba. For the life of him, he can't figure out where she might have come from, or what her role will be here. She's pretty, that much he will readily admit. Her eyes are bright and alert in a way that tells him she sees more than she lets on, and her stance is simultaneously relaxed and braced for conflict. He knows it well - it's as easy as beskar to spot.

She holds herself like a warrior.

She’s also young - certainly the youngest in the room.

Boba's voice pulls Din out of his thoughts. "This is our newest crew member. She'll be helping us with our… over-the-table dealings, in exchange for training."

Confused, Din tilts his head. "Training? What kind of training?"

"That's where I'd hoped you'd be able to help," Boba tells him. The girl looks from Fett to him, eyes focused right on his own through the visor.

"I need guidance in the Force. Boba said you have connections to people who could help me master my Force sensitivity."

Well, he supposes that's at least somewhat true. Ahsoka may be willing, but given how it went with Grogu, he wouldn't count on her.

"I'll see what I can do," he responds. As is his habit, he props his hand on his belt, hip jutting out just so.

The girl's eyes flicker down and back up again.

Boba clears his throat. "In the meantime, the princess and I have other matters to attend to."

He reaches out to her, and at first Din thinks he's going to grasp her shoulder in his firm grip like he tends to do with all of his close acquaintances.

Din quickly sees that this girl is much more than just a close acquaintance.

Boba’s hand finds its place on her neck, thumb tucked under her jaw and fingers wrapped around the base of her skull, tangled in her loose hair. As if they’ve done it a million times before, they lean towards one another. The girl’s eyes flutter closed, a soft smile on her face, while Boba’s study her unabashedly.

Their lips connect, heatedly, and Din knows his surprise shows in his movements. He glances over to Fennec, who just smirks at him.

The couple in front of him kiss one another completely without shame. Boba’s grip tightens to the point it looks almost painful, but the girl simply presses closer in response. She brings a hand up to rest on his chestplate, the only bare skin visible besides her face and neck.

Despite how warm his cheeks feel, Din can’t look away. He feels a rush of blood out of his head at the sight in front of him.

Boba and his lover kiss for another long moment before pulling away. He slides his hand to her hip, casually pulling her along as if he’d simply taken her by the hand.

She falls into step beside him, looking more comfortable than Din’s ever seen anyone next to Boba Fett. As they walk away, the girl glances back at Din, her observant gaze piercing right through him. Right through the beskar of his helmet.

And then she turns back, content in the embrace of the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy.

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hey I read your oxygen loss scenarios and I absolutely loved them, even if they made me really sad at first, but I still love them entirely! If you're still doing them, could you do one with Fort Max?

Thanks a bunch! Angst with a happy ending is kind of my favorite thing in the world, so I'm glad others feel the same! It absolutely works well with our big Maxy boy!

Here's the other posts for this prompt!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: You're Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Fort Max

·Somehow, he's fallen for a being so small they fit in his cupped palms, and yet the two of you fit together so well he can't complain. Though he's a tad bit overprotective, you don't mind at all, and understand what drives the behavior even if he doesn't say it. What matters is that he's improving, and adores you so much every little activity is better in his mind when done with you, even just chilling and managing his security reports. That's why you're on his desk at the moment, relaxing on the human sized furniture he occasionally uses as paperweights when you're not around. Every so often you'll look up and find him glancing your way with a loving expression just visible through his attempt to remain neutral, after which point he'll dart his optics back to his work and pretend he's been busy the whole time. You can't help but think you're the reason he can't get much done.

·In addition to his filing reports, he has his monitors open at all times, each of which feeds him the security information for the various sections and systems of the ship. Most of the time there's nothing to report, save for hijinks going wrong or an experiment accidentally knocking things offline, yet he's always quick to respond. The rapid reactions to potential threats has put him on surprisingly good terms with Red Alert. Thus you're none too alarmed when he sees something unusual on one data feed and immediately gets to investigating, his large digits tapping away for answers while he vocalizes his thought process. Curious as always as to what might be the source of the issue, you move in wordlessly and are placed on his shoulder without having to ask. Having you watch him work always makes him feel quite proud after all.

·Initially the issue appears to be a simple bug in the programming of the communication systems, an inconvenient but none too hard to fix dilemma. Seeking out the source however, he finds none of the expected signs of an internal miscalculation, and before you can ask what's wrong he's messaging the bridge with a full alert. You listen as an audibly erratic signal forces him to keep things brief; emergency defense units and protocols need to be scrambled now, the ship is suffering an encrypted hack and a physical assault is undoubtedly inbound. While you feel instinctive fear at every word, somehow being in his presence and seeing him take command lessens that to a remarkable extent, for not much can get through your partner when he's on alert. Unfortunately for him he's anything but unafraid.

·When the line inevitably goes dead, he actually struggles to recall the next phase of his crisis response plans, as having you right beside him makes doing anything but protecting his delicate partner seem insignificant. Only by reminding himself that protecting you requires him to protect the ship is he able to get moving. Double checking your position on his shoulder, he clarifies that you'll be going to the nearest secure zone before he heads off to check various rendezvous points, as the crew is trained for this and the silent alarm has already been triggered. As you settle in on the broad expanse beside his helm, he just manages to grab the last of his spare weapons before a cataclysmic tremor rocks the ship. An audible rumbling through the ship blocks out all sound as you briefly tumble through the air.

·Catching you in a mad dash, he bombards you with questions as to possible injuries before you can clarify that you're fine. Tragically the relief on his face isn't something you get to enjoy for long. A second metallic rumble through the Lost Light turns his expression to a scowl. The enemy must have snagged them with a kind of anchor, he surmises, which no doubt means they'll be boarding in very short order. He needs to get you out of here now. Knowing that high stress situations can exhaust him in ways he's still not used to, you hold one of his digits tightly from your place on his palm. You're ready, you assure him, and you know he's going to be just fine. It works in the smallest way. The two of you draw strength from shared reassuring smiles before he leaves the safety of his office to start moving.

·As usual, he's not really afraid for his own sake as he moves through the hallways, due in no small part to his massive size and strength. For you though, he has to at least admit to himself that he's terrified. Hearing and feeling the tremor as intensely as he did means it must have come from somewhere uncomfortably close by, and that means the likelihood of encountering a threat in the next few minutes was remarkably high. The intensity of Cybertronian combat made such an occurrence not unlikely to be fatal for squishy little you. Yet as he recalls the closest potential drop off spot he can secure you at, he can't help but think on his role as a protector of this ship and how his responsibilities seem divided at the moment. While he has to keep you from harm, the same is true of the crew, and he can hardly ensure your safety if the ship is compromised...

·The decision to take the route he settles on is one not made easily, but it still feels proper. By going a less direct way he can check on multiple key locations only a little out of the way, helping to ensure that protocol is being followed and that the enemy isn't overwhelming their defenses. He can get you somewhere safe, while protecting you and the rest of the crew at once. It doesn't feel ideal, but he has to do his job, right? You can't be safe without the ship, unlike a Cybertronian who can at least endure the vacuum of space and even has a fair chance of surviving a planets fiery atmosphere... Primus, he can't handle thinking about those things. Focusing on getting you to safety along with everyone else is what he has to think of instead, especially with the sensation of your tiny body so warm and delicate in his palm, which he tries to also draw comfort from.

·As you trust him above all else, you don't ask any questions as he moves through the ship, sneaking as much as a bot of his size can in the open hallways. You're hardly scared for your own sake with Fort Max holding you close to his spark. In fact, the world beyond doesn't seem scary at all from this perspective. Being such a massive bot equals out to a rather strong spark, and as close to it as you are, you can feel it humming even now. It's kind of like a miniature sun with how warm and alive it makes you feel. Silly as it sounds, you do believe it feels stronger than when you first met him, as if the healing he's done since has made his very spirit grow brighter. For the sake of that hard earned recovery you hope everything goes smoothly today. It's enough to make you hold on to him a little tighter, just to convey your support.

·Eons of training prevent him from being taken by surprise, but he feels far from prepared as he detects enemy movement down a hallway. The aliens are large, numerous, and well armed. Regardless of their intent to take prisoners, he knows he can't let them go, as the mere possibility of them hurting even a single being on this ship is too much for him to take. Knowing they have to be taken care of is unfortunate with you in his care, as he doesn't want you to see him in combat. But... he trusts himself enough not to take it too far, a realization that makes it easier for him to whisper a warning and secure you in a tiny maintenance hatch, from which you will be safe and hopefully won't observe much. As soon as you promise to stay put he takes off to end the threat as quickly as he can.

·From your spot the chaos of battle is mostly the noises that reach your ears, but through them you're still able to recognize Fort Max as the imminent victor, if only because the fight is so one sided he hardly has to make a sound. It still makes you curl up in the little shelter and hope for it to be over as soon as possible. Yet the darkness of the maintenance shaft makes worrying a tad bit difficult... in fact, it makes you oddly tired. Exhaustion you didn't even notice is suddenly weighing you down, making the battle seem so far away and insignificant, all despite how clearly you realize now isn't the time to sleep. Perhaps the rush of all this has simply worn you down?

·Max finishes off the batch of enemies quickly and without a trace of the usual thrill of battle. He doesn't want to enjoy combat the way he once did, or feel the way he used to when he was at his worst and tearing foes apart actually felt good... As soon as the last enemy is down he returns to you, actually thinking he made the right call for once in checking key locations like this, for now this batch won't be able to hurt anyone. Though his usual luck shows through when he returns and finds you extremely groggy, to the point that even as a bot without medical experience he knows something is wrong, and he scoops you up immediately to start looking for injuries. You react amicably to his concern and assure him you're fine, but your breathless tone gives away that something is obviously affecting your respiration. In a series of horrifying realizations he connects the dots.

·The ship being hacked must have affected everything, including the life support systems you need for the air to be breathable, which he should have considered as a possibility from the very beginning. Without a moment to spare, he tucks you close to his chest and charges towards the medical bay. It's painfully obvious to him now that he made the wrong decision. He should have prioritized you over everything, should have anticipated there being additional threats, should have done a million other things... Hearing your weak reassurance only makes it hurt more. Unable to comprehend what's going on and not getting anything from him but whispered apologies, you just try to stay awake to support him as he runs through the ship at full speed. The only thing that stops him is an ambush from a full legion of enemies, though thankfully he still has enough of a grip to shelter you when the energy weapons start firing. Your tiny form is shielded by the impenetrable armor of his curled body as he briefly retreats to secure you once again, but this time his charge into combat is anything but controlled.

·From a little cubby you watch him unleash total vengeance on a horde of unprepared combatants, his incredible strength reducing enemy weapons and bodies to shreds without a trace of hesitation. Yet as you slip from consciousness there's no fear in your heart. Only sadness, for his sake and your own, as his resurfaced trauma tears into him yet again. It's worse than that though, he blames himself almost more than the enemies he tears apart, because protecting you was supposed to be his job. He'd told himself you needed the ship secure to be safe, but had he even considered the air you needed to breathe? It should have been obvious. Fighting somehow dulls the pain, as if the little rush of every kill helps his processor subdue the ache, and as the enemy needs to die regardless for their crimes against you he doesn't hesitate to go all in. The heated blur of battle overtakes him so completely he almost doesn't realize when he's joined by backup Autobots on his security team until there's not an enemy left to kill.

·Your last conscious perception is his face as strong hands lift you gently, followed by muffled instructions to get you to the medical bay. Some part of you knows he won't rest until every threat on the ship is dealt with, and you're correct. As you're whisked away to the medical bay, he takes no prisoners as he initiates his defense, rallying the gathering bots to annihilate those who would have turned them into a quick profit. But with every blow, he can only think of you. As he's cheered on by his fellows, he can only think of you. At the final declaration of victory and the rebooting of the systems, he can only think of you... Not even knowing the medics saved you and that you'll fully recover assuages his guilt. If anything, as he washes the blood off his servos and forgoes the festivities to sit by your bedside, he's certain he's never felt more like a monster...

·When you wake up there's a lovely warmth all around you, coupled with a gentle hum through the air that you know has been there in the past. Open eyes let you see a familiar wall of a chest, and through the oxygen mask you happily whisper Fort Max's name, making the hulking bot twitch in surprise as he looks down to you. It's with a smile you realize he was dozing with you shielded beneath his tented form. Remembering the haze of chaos and danger, you reach out to him as he offers a gentle hand to adjust the blankets laid loosely over your small body, but despite the fact that you're both okay you only see sadness in his optics. At your first prompt he lightly deflects with a sad smile. At your second his face falls and the whole ordeal comes tumbling out of him, with particular emphasis on how he failed to protect you when it truly mattered, something that impacts him so greatly he sheds a few tears as he lays his head in his hand.

·Heart breaking at the sight, you quickly point out the multiple times he charged into battle for you, though he counters by recalling how savagely he killed his enemies in front of you. It was the kind of brutality he'd thought himself beyond, but if he isn't, how can he be safe for you? It takes all the strength you have to sit up and firmly request his attention. At what point, you ask, were any of his actions not in some way motivated by the greater good? Even if he didn't know everything that was going to happen, did he once abandon you? Of course not, because he's a good bot, and you know he is. Before he can bring up one more point about his perceived failure you remind him that he's come impossibly far, enough that no setback today could undo his progress, and that you're so proud of him. As the weakness forces you to lie back and he leans in with concern, you smile and point out that everything he's done has been to the benefit of others, whether it be you or the crew. For once he can't argue. Curling protectively around you once more, he decides to let himself be happy that you're safe, shaken but reassured by your faith in him. More than anything, it gives him faith in himself.

[fallinwitstyle]

In Your Arms

characters/pairings: Loki / Mobius

rating: general

word count: 4821

summary: Loki and Mobius find one another again in the apolycptic New York and while on the run, share a moment.

Notes: I am such shipper trash and in no way do I think this will happen, ever, but I needed to write some fluff for these two. Hope you enjoy.

Read on A03

They had been running for who knows how long. 

Loki didn't tire as fast as mortals and truly he could have kept running, his determination to escape this hellscape fierce but he was accompanied by a human.

A human man who, by all means, had done very well for himself in keeping up with Loki for as long as he could.

But eventually Mobius was starting to run on empty, his pace slowed and his breathing was far too heavy. 

When Loki looked back at him, his cheeks were red from exertion, and sweat beaded on his forehead. 

He had long since shed his TVA jacket and tie, undid a few buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves.. 

"Loki," he gasped for air and Loki, despite where they were and the situation they were in, still got a little thrill that Mobius was alive and was able to say his name. 

"Loki….hold..." Mobius breathed again and slowly came to a stop and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.

"Are you alright?" Loki stopped, briefly surveying their surroundings for any signs of danger but quickly turned his attention to his friend. 

He was consistently amazed by how much he actually cared for this man. He could count on one hand how many people he genuinely cared for and all of them, save for Mobius, were gods. 

He had only ever seen human beings as inferior creatures who needed to kneel before him but right from the start Mobius had been different. He never seemed afraid of Loki, he was never intimated, and in fact was almost amused, intrigued and as time drew on, seemed to have some kind of affection for him. 

Mobius panted for a few seconds and Loki watched, his brow furrowed in concern. 

"I just…" he gasped between breaths, and waved a hand. "I need a minute."

Loki frowned and glanced around him. It was getting darker and the other Lokis had warned him of the dangers that lurked in that land. 

They had no protection other than Loki's magic, which could sufficiently protect them but, and he'd be loath to admit out loud, he still felt a little uneasy.

He took a few steps toward Mobius and put a hand on his shoulder and then once more looked around them. 

"Perhaps we should stop here for the evening." Loki suggested, spotting a bit of shelter that would sufficiently keep them safe, at least for the night.

He glanced back at Mobius when the man weakly grabbed onto his forearm. 

His face was pale, despite the pink in his cheeks and his eyes were slightly glazed over. 

"You look like death, Mobius."

Mobius scoffed breathlessly, his lips twitching very slightly at the corners. "Oh thank you."

He wobbled on his feet and Loki tightened his hold on him.

Once Mobius caught his breath, he shook his head, looking up at Loki. "We should keep going."

Loki pressed his lips together and scrunched his nose. "If we do, it leaves me with two options: carrying your dead body or leaving you here. Frankly, neither are attractive options for me."

Mobius blinked up at him and then gave a slight roll of his eyes. "I am not going to die, Loki. I'm a little offended that you don't think I can handle myself."

"I believe you can handle yourself just fine under normal circumstances. However, your body is still recovered from being pruned and we've been on the move for hours. You're only a mortal, you don't have the stamina…"

"Oh spare me the superior god speech…" Mobius breathed out and Loki raised an eyebrow at him. 

"It is the truth."

Mobius continued to glare at him in annoyance and then sighed. 

"If it will make you feel better, then we'll stop."

Mobius came off like he was doing Loki a favor but Loki could see the relief in his face, and felt the way his body relaxed, even slumping forward a little.

"Oh yes, for my sake then." Loki remarked sarcastically and Mobius nodded his head weakly. 

Loki swore the human could sometimes be as stubborn and hard headed as he was, which Loki admittedly admired and the smallest hint of an affectionate smile pulled at his lips, just out of sight of Mobius' gaze as he attempted to straighten himself up and turn.

Loki watched, his brow raised as Mobius began to stagger around aimlessly.

Finally, Loki cleared his throat. "Mobius?"

"Yeah?" Mobius paused and looked back at him and Loki pointed over his shoulder. 

"Shelter's this way."

Mobius grumbled something under his breath and turned on his heel and shuffled back towards Loki. 

The only truly safe space, that wasn't entirely covered by rubble and who knows what else, was a small room just barely big enough for the two of them. 

Mobius immediately took to one wall and let out a groan, his eyes closing, a grimace covering his face as he lowered himself to the ground.

Loki looked around but then decided to take a seat beside him.

Mobius opened his eyes and blinked blearily to Loki. 

"Any more cracks about  human fragility?"

Loki smirked. "Oh I have many. None that I'll say now. For another time perhaps."

Mobius let out a little scoff of a laugh and then leaned forward with a small groan and a large sigh. 

Loki's brow furrowed and he felt an odd pang deep within. Something he was learning was concern. That deep, visceral pain that cut into him. Of course the grief of watching Mobius be vaporized before his eyes thinking he was dead was much worse in comparison but he did care for his health as well. 

Mobius swallowed hard, closed his eyes and tilted his head back to lean against the hard wall. 

"I think perhaps you were right." Mobius muttered softly. 

"Of course.” Loki remarked quickly. “About what?"

Mobius' lips twitched slightly but he didn't open his eyes. "I need to rest. I need to…" he trailed off.

"Rest." Loki surprised himself again with how gentle the command was. "I'll watch over us."

Mobius let out a small hum, but that was the only energy he had left to acknowledge.

Loki kept a watchful eye on him until it seemed he fell asleep. 

Then he let out a small sigh, straightened out his legs and looked out of the small crack in the wall that was letting in what bit of light there was. 

His thoughts drifted - to how they had ended up here, to what the existence of all the other variant Loki's meant, which of course then brought his thoughts to Sylvie.

It wasn't too long ago at all that he was trapped in another apocalypse with her as his companion. 

It somehow seemed fitting he'd end up on some doomed distant moon with another variant of himself and yet somehow wind up on Earth, in New York of all places, with the human responsible for taking him to the TVA in the first place.

Sylvie kept up with him on Lementis. In fact she was very much his equal, perhaps even his superior in some ways. 

She was astounding to him and he wouldn't have minded spending more time with her. 

Having Mobius as a companion was entirely different and by all accounts he should have been annoyed that he had to slow down and take into account a human's shortcomings.

But he wasn't. No, he was entirely too grateful to have Mobius alive to be annoyed with his presence. 

He was extremely irritated, angry even at the TVA and the situation they had put them in but Mobius was just as much of a victim. 

His heart ached at the way Mobius talked about his life before the TVA and how he couldn't remember it. 

Loki vowed to somehow, someway get Mobius to remember. Whether that was somehow finding Sylvie and having her access his memories or learning to do so himself.

He deserved to know the truth. 

Loki suddenly startled when he felt a sudden, solid warmth pressed against his side. 

He turned his head to find that Mobius had leaned in toward him, his head landing on Loki's shoulder, his arm pressing against his. 

Loki stared at the top of his head and his lips parted in slight awe. 

He recalled the brief conversation with Sylvie and how he couldn't let himself fall asleep in her presence because he didn't trust her. 

He knew he had fallen asleep with Mobius before but he was truly stunned that Mobius trusted him enough to not only fall asleep in his presence but seek him out for comfort.

It was a new and thrilling emotion, to have someone so comfortable around him and to be so comfortable around someone else

He had been beginning to feel that way with Sylvie as well but Sylvie was not like Mobius. 

Sylvie was like him and he admired her strength, her determination, her cunning, and wit. She seemed to be the very best parts of him.

Mobius was different- he was human, he was kind, he was good, almost irritatingly so but it was also admirable to Loki and he felt himself drawn to Mobius in a way he had never experienced before. 

He hated the look of disappointment on Mobius' face when he chose to follow Sylvie through the time portal. He hated the anger and betrayal and hurt that Mobius tried to hide when he accused Loki of working with Sylvie...of being in love with Sylvie. 

A ridiculous notion. Loki scoffed to himself and he was loath to admit how much Mobius words to him had stung. Of course he cared for Sylvie. If he knew what love was he might even admit to loving her but not in that way. In the same way he loved his mother. Another being on the same level as him who understood him in a way that no one else could. That was Sylvie.

Sylvie was connected to him, a part of him and he didn't want to let her go but he knew what he felt for her was anything but romantic or even lust, though she was incredibly beautiful, but that was to be expected, as she was, of course, a Loki. 

No, what he felt for Sylvie was nothing like lust and nothing like the warm, soft feeling deep in his belly when he looked down at the man sleeping peacefully on top of him. 

He took a shuddering breath and cleared away those thoughts before he allowed his mind to go there. Those thoughts were frightening and just a little too much to deal with. 

He'd much rather just enjoy this rare moment of peace and comfort beside a man who seemed just as content to be with him. 

He knew he promised Mobius he would keep watch but as the hours drew on, and he reveled in the warmth of the body beside him, he slowly found himself drifting. 

He used just a little bit of magic to shield their little shelter and then closed his eyes, his head leaning to the side until his cheek was pressed lightly against Mobius' soft hair. 

He inhaled slowly, taking in the scent of smoke and sweat and the faintest hint of the most bland shampoo in the universe. 

He tensed only for a moment as Mobius shifted against him but he only moved closer, his hand lightly falling against Loki's thigh. 

A small smile tugged at the corners of Loki's lips and he allowed himself to get lost in the moment, even if it was just going to be just this once. He clung onto it and sank into it, the feeling of Mobiua warm beneath him and slowly drifted off to sleep. 

--

Mobius felt like he was hit by a train. 

He had had particularly arduous missions that left him tired, chasing Variants through time but nothing like this. 

His mouth and throat was so dry that it hurt to swallow.

His whole entire body ached down to his bones and he felt completely drained. 

His head pounded as if there were a thousand hammers trying to knock out his skull.

He now regretted ever having anyone pruned, not only because of what the TVA was, how they had stolen his life, but because it was not an experience he would wish on anyone. 

Yet despite all of this pain, he felt strangely comforted.

His eyes seemed glued shut so he dare not try to open them yet.

As his mind woke up he began to feel his surroundings, it was hot and humid, and there was a tinge of smoke in the air. 

He could feel that he was lying against something solid, yet soft and warm and there was a comforting pressure against his head. 

Loki. He suddenly realized and his chest tightened. 

He finally managed to crack open his eyes and blinked past the initial blurry vision. 

His eyes scanned the area, dimly lit by that smoky haze. 

He vaguely remembered stopping there for the night, but he had been so far past the point of exhaustion that everything was a blur. 

He cast his gaze downward and his heart leapt when he found his hand rested on Loki's thigh and what's more, Loki's hand lightly covered his own. 

He realized then that while he had fallen asleep against Loki, Loki had also fallen asleep against him. 

He was beginning to feel the ache in his neck and back from his position but he didn't want to move. He knew as soon as he did Loki would also wake up and he wanted to marvel in this moment for a little while. 

Loki - the God of mischief. The variant he took control over, the narcissistic, infuriating being who tested his patience at every turn.

Loki had fallen asleep in front of him before, a few times in those early days when they were scouring through files, searching for the other Loki variant. 

However, Loki had never fallen asleep beside him, holding him even. Protecting him, just as he said he would.

Loki's promise had suddenly come to him and his chest tightened again. 

He'd never forget Loki's cry as he was pruned, never forget the look of awe and relief on his face when he saw him again, the smile that lit his face. 

Whatever transgressions Loki had committed against him, the betrayal of leaving him to chase after the Variant - Sylvie - were all forgiven. 

The last thing Loki had said to him before they were confronted by the TVA was the promise of friendship and this time, perhaps despite his best instincts, he believed him.

And so far, Loki hadn't done anything to lose his trust. He stuck by his side, made certain he was alright and watched over him, all the with the air of genuine concern.

Loki easily could have made his escape. Left him behind without a second thought but he didn't. He sat down beside him and went to sleep, holding onto his hand like he wanted to do the very opposite of run away - as if he was holding onto Mobius with all he had. 

The thought warmed something inside of him - sparked the ever growing flame of fondness he was gaining for this Loki. 

Someone good. 

He knew he could have stayed there for hours, his head rested comfortably on Loki's chest. 

That is where he was, he realized, when he became aware of the soft thumping of Loki's heart beneath his ear. 

He couldn't remember the last time he had been this close to another being. Certainly never at the TVA and before that…

His stomach twisted at the harsh reminder that he knew nothing of his life before the TVA. His only memory was that of a jetski and it only came in his fascination with them. He didn't know if he had ever ridden one. 

Finally the ache in his neck became too painful to stay where he was and he slowly lifted his head. 

Just as he suspected, Loki's head shot up, his body tensing as he leapt to the defensive. 

"It's only me." Mobius croaked and winced at his scratchy and sore throat. 

Loki turned his gaze downward to him and instantly relaxed.

Mobius was still aware that their hands were still together on Loki's lap but he couldn't keep his eyes off of Loki's face. 

His eyes were tired which put just a touch of humanity in him but he was most certainly a god and most certainly looked like one. 

Mobius took in a breath and finally broke their gaze and slid his hand away into his own lap. 

Loki's brow pressed together, his lips pursing as he looked down at his own lap. His fingers stretched where Mobius hand had been under his and then he clenched them in a slight fist. 

He forced a tight, small smile to his lips and looked back at Mobius.

"You stayed." Mobius said quietly, looking back up at Loki and his breath caught again at the look in his eyes. 

His gaze had softened, a rare look on Loki but one he had been seeing more and more often, particularly directed at him. 

"Of course." Loki answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like he hadn't been known for consistently stabbing people, Mobius included, in the back. 

There was a smirk on Loki's lips but he said with utter sincerity, "I'm not going to abandon you."

Mobius mouth went impossibly dryer and he couldn't speak, just stared at this marvelous being in wonder. 

"Not when you cannot fend for yourself." Loki continued and Mobius released a breath. 

"You still look utterly horrible."

Mobous clenched his jaw and attempted a swallow but his throat was like sandpaper and he only winced and Loki frowned. 

His hand lifted and hovered in the air, almost looking like he was going to reach out to grab Mobius but then his hand fell back to his lap with a small sigh. 

"I'm fine." Mobius insisted, his voice barely recognizable to his own ears and he knew that he wasn’t. His whole body felt like it could combust any moment if he moved.

Yet still he tried. He attempted to push himself up but his head spun and his legs shook and he fell back down. 

Loki's hand did move that time, pressing a steady hand to his back which then slid around his middle to rest on his side.

Mobius closed his eyes tightly, holding his breath while the world spun around him and his stomach churned. 

"I very much doubt that." Loki commented but he could hear the concern in his voice. 

"What do you need?" Loki's voice was quiet at his ear and though he dare not open his eyes to look at his companion, Loki's presence was comforting. 

"Water." He rasped and rested his head between his knees as waves of nausea rolled over him.

"Right." Loki muttered and then his hand was gone from Mobius. He sat in silence, concentrating on his breathing and trying not to throw up, vaguely wondering where Loki was going to find water.

He jumped, letting out a painful screech as suddenly ice cold water poured over him like the heavens had opened up in a personal rain cloud above him.

His head shot up and he ignored the splitting headache and glared in disbelief at Loki. 

The god was standing beside him impishly, his hands hovering in the air where he had conjured the water. 

"To drink, Loki." Mobius hissed at him as the water trickled down his back.

Loki raised his brow. "But do you not feel better?"

Mobius opened his mouth to yell at him but instead took a few seconds to take in what he was feeling. The cold water not only cooled his body but shocked his system back to somewhat functional. His head was still pounding but he no longer felt nauseous and could focus on something other than his pain. 

He huffed, pressing his lips together and ran a hand over his face, pulling the water down from his hair and towards his chest. 

"A little warning would have been nice." He grunted. 

Loki merely shrugged but then waved his hands again and in them appeared a small container of water. 

He extended it toward him and Mobius eyed it suspiciously. 

Loki rolled his eyes at his hesitance. "I'm not going to poison you Mobius. If I wanted you dead there are a million other ways I'd do it."

Mobius lifted his eyebrows at that.

"I won't." Loki quickly added. "But I could."

"I don't believe you would intentionally poison me." Mobius said and the surprised look of what might almost be joy in Loki's eyes made his heart soar. "But in case you haven't noticed, we're in an apocalyptic wasteland. I don't think anything is safe to consume here."

Loki gave him a small smile and extended hisnhand further. "Trust me."

Mobius' got a taste of the water that dripped off his nose onto his bottom lip and was too parched to think about it further. There were worse ways to die he supposed.

He eagerly grabbed it from Loki and at first took a cautious sip but once the cool water hit his throat, he guzzled the rest of it down.

"Thank you." 

He looked back up at Loki and Loki's hand was still outstretched, now palm up for him to take. 

He placed his hand into Loki's and Loki helped him up. He got a brief flash of memory of their first day at the TVA and how Mobius had done the same for him. Their eyes met and Mobius could tell he was remembering the same moment. 

"Like I said…" Loki started, his eyes never leaving his. "I don't feel like carrying around your dead body."

Mobius lifted his brow, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Is that the only reason?"

There was a flash of something in Loki's eyes that made his stomach flip. Then Loki blinked and his smirk returned to his lips. 

"Should there be another reason?"

Mobius shook his head slightly, pulling his hand out of Loki's and moving it to his hair. He quickly rubbed the water out of it and got a little burst of amusement at the droplets of water that sprayed across Loki's face. 

Loki shot him a faintly annoyed look, a few drops of water rolling down his cheeks.

Mobius chuckled lightly and taking a quick, deep breath, then moved to swiftly wipe then away with his knuckles.

Loki reared back in surprise at the sudden contact and Mobius swore he could have heard his breath catch and stutter. His eyes widened slightly and his eyes followed Mobius' hands as he then patted Loki's chest. 

"Well, friends do typically care for each other's needs."

Loki visibly swallowed and his eyes drifted back to Mobius’ and his gaze softened once more and Mobius felt his heart ache just a little.

Loki always seemed so surprised by gentle, intimate, genuine touches and words and Mobius made it his goal to make sure he did those things more often around Loki. Especially if it earned him the look Loki was giving him now. 

"Yes." Loki murmured slowly, as if he was just realizing this fact.

He realized then that his hands were still resting on Loki's chest. He gave Loki another small knowing smile and then began to pull away but Loki's hands quickly shot up and brought them back. 

Mobius blinked at him, his eyes widening slightly and Loki stared back at him, just as wide-eyed. 

"Mobius….I…" he choked over his words, his mouth hanging slightly open and Mobius smiled at him. 

"I understand Loki. You don't have to say anything."

Loki's brow pressed together and he shook his head. "But I do because I've...I've never had anyone to ever say anything to and now that I do…" he trailed off again and something warm flourished inside Mobius chest as he stared at the god in anticipation.

Loki's face scrunched in slight frustration and he tilted his head up as he searched for the right words. 

Feeling just a little bit daring, Mobius lifted one hand to Loki's cheek and pulled his attention back to him. Their eyes locked and Mobius gave him an encouraging nod. 

Loki was silent for another few seconds, his eyes exploring his. 

"Whatever you need to tell me, Loki, I'm listening."

Loki opened his mouth, taking a breath and then closed it again. His eyes quickly darted back and forth as he clearly argued with himself about something and then he quickly grabbed a hold of Mobius' shoulders. 

Mobius brow shot up and he opened his mouth to question Loki when he was suddenly silenced by Loki's mouth upon his. 

He froze in pure shock but then quickly felt himself melting into the kiss. 

He wouldn't deny that it had crossed his mind once or twice what it would be like but all of his fantasies paled in comparison to the feel of the pressure of his lips, the burning of his hands against his shoulders, the heat that grew within.

It was over just as nearly as it had begun and Mobius was left wobbling on his already weakened legs. His mouth still hung open as he blinked up at Loki. 

His eyes were alive with a spark of desire, and awe and surprise of his own actions. His intense eyes burned into him and he was breathless as he stared back. 

"You are perhaps one of the most irritating and stubborn humans I've ever met." Loki said and mobius blinked a few times, trying to connect his actions with the words. 

"Extremely complimentary Loki…" he breathed.

"I'm not finished." Loki cut him off and Mobius shut his mouth, staring at him silently. 

"I have never encountered a man like you before. You never give up - even on someone like me."

Mobius pressed his lips together in a slight smile. "You're worth it." He said quietly and Loki's eyes widened and he took a breath. 

"You are the only one to ever think so." His voice broke a little as he spoke and Mobius' thumb brushed across his cheek and Loki shuddered beneath the intimate gesture. 

He took a steadying breath and grabbed Mobius’ hand in his. 

"I've never cared about anyone, not really, but somehow you...you...you and all your ridiculous human quirks…." He shook his head and lifted his head. "I find myself caring more than I ever thought I could and it's...very unusual."

"It's good, Loki.” Mobius countered. “Embrace it. You don't have to hide your feelings with me. I promise, no matter what, you are safe with me."

Loki stared at him in awe, searching his eyes for any sign of deception but he'd find none and his eyes began to glisten. 

"You know…" Loki spoke finally, his voice slightly raspy. "I rather think I like you."

Mobius laughed quietly and glanced down wrinkles and then back up at him. "I rather think I like you too. For everything you are, Loki."

Something flashed in Loki's eyes again and he leaned forward toward him when a large explosion suddenly shook the small, faulty shelter they were standing in. 

They fell into one another, Mobius pressing himself against Loki's chest while one of Loki's arms surrounded his back and the other slid to the back of his head securing him to him. 

They closed their eyes as rubble fell around them and Loki created a bubble of protection around them. 

"I think we'd better keep moving." Loki said, once they opened their eyes and found themselves standing in a pile of rubble, now exposed to the smoky open air. 

Mobius frowned as he looked around them, suddenly reminded of where they were and how much danger they were in. 

A brand new cloud of smoke was billowing in the distance, rising from the explosion caused by who knows what. 

"I think you're right."

Loki turned to him, a serious look in his eyes. "I will get us out of here, Moby. Whatever it takes."

Mobius' heart flipped at the nickname. Loki certainly wasn't the first one to use it but it held something special coming from him. 

Mobius nodded hisbhead and lowered his hand, grasping Loki's in his tightly. "I'll be right by your side through it all."

Loki's eyes flashed, a mischievous glint that Mobius had seen countless times but it was accompanied by a certain fondness that was absent before and then he smirked, tugged at his hand and they were off again, prepared to face anything together. 

[stories-by-rie]

Chapter 1 - Heart of Silver

Evelyn turns to the infamous curse-broker Ariel for help, after she got cursed by a dead granny’s fork.

words: 3763 || masterlist

Despite the late summer, the air had grown cold with the night’s storm. The wind was blowing the rain drops harshly against Evelyn’s coat and the persistent noise of its dripping onto her hood mixed with the ringing sound in her ears. With the anxiety that threatened to overflow, she shivered. Even if her hood saved her from the worst, she had to hold it in place with one hand so the wind wouldn’t blow it off. Now, that hand was wet, cold and shook even more than the rest of her body. Tripping from one foot to the other did nothing to bring her warmth or to disperse the gnawing threat of doom inside her chest.

    Once again, she pulled out her phone. The fourth of September, 22:34, a Thursday, no new notifications, battery at eleven percent. Raindrops landed on the bright screen and distorted the picture of a flower field in irregular splashes. From the upper right corner, lines like spider legs drew through them. 

    Frustration settled in her, taking coin-sized bites. Her eyes flicked over to the doorbell again -- she had rung two times already -- maybe a third time would be all right? She knew that Ariel was home, so if they hadn’t opened the door after two times, a third ring wouldn't make them either. 

    Still.

    Just as Evelyn was about to press the bell again, the door opened slightly, barely enough for her to make contact with one eye. 

    “Why didn’t you text me that you’d come?” 

    “I did. You haven’t read it yet.”

    Ariel pulled out their old flip phone, dipping their glasses into bright white reflections, and skimmed through what had to be a real handful of messages. 

    “Ah. Oh. Hm.” They stared at a message for a while before they looked up to Evelyn again, opened the door a bit wider. “There will be a sale for winter tyres down in the old factory on the main road next week.”

    Evelyn was too stunned to answer anything but, “Ariel, you don’t drive. You don’t have a car.”

    “That’s true.”

    “It’s summer.”

    “Are you sure?” Ariel looked at the rainy night sky, and squinted their eyes. 

    “Listen, Ariel. I wrote in my message-”

    “Yeah, I read your message. So what?” They looked up at Evelyn again, closed the door a bit more to shelter from the rain. 

    “I didn’t know who else to ask.” Her voice sounded a bit thin to her own ears then, the uncertainty growing with each passing minute. But she had held on for hours now, and it didn’t feel like she had it in herself to hold on for much longer. 

    Ariel scoffed. “Yeah. Obviously, asking anyone but me would be foolish, but I am really busy, you know? A curse is a curse, you should just let it run its course. I am not some sort of all-purpose antidote.”

    Evelyn managed to put her foot in the door before Ariel shut it. 

    “Please? Listen, no one knows curses as well as you do. I am afraid I don’t have that long and I absolutely can’t do this by myself.”

    With both hands against the door, the wind had enough freedom to rob her of her hood, so it drenched her within seconds, stung on her skin like a hundred little needle pricks. 

    “There’s just a handful of curses that more or less kill. You want me to believe that you got one of those? Do you know how hard that is? What would be in it for me?” Ariel eyed her suspiciously. All Evelyn did was to pull up her sleeves as far as possible. Where the skin was thinner and fairer, the black veins stood in sharp contrast to her body, shimmering in a dark grey. Ariel’s eyes widened in surprise and excitement.

    “A Heart of Silver? How far has it spread?” They grabbed her wrist. 

    “It’s in my whole blood-stream,” Evelyn replied and pushed her hair from her temples where her veins were just as black. Ariel looked up with an ‘ah’ on their lips and then let go of her wrist again. 

    “So, I’d get the reaping?”

    “It’s all I could offer.”

    “Say, if we fail and you’ll be a silver statue, can I keep you then? Put you in the corner of my kitchen?”

    “This is not funny, Ariel.” 

    “That’s a yes then. Fine. Come in.” They opened the door enough for Evelyn to step through. Instantly, they were caught in this different world of theirs. She was quite certain that Ariel had put a curse on their own apartment somehow that captured the people who walked in, but so far she did not have evidence to support that theory.

    Books towered against the walls everywhere. There was a pot with an enormous fern right in the middle of the hallway. Not a single lamp was lit, and Evelyn could not shake the feeling that it was to hide the shadows of some ghosts living there as well. Perhaps it was the people the not-yet-proven-curse trapped inside of it.

    “You must tell me everything,” Ariel mumbled while pulling out a few books out of their stacks, seemingly randomly.

    “So, I got an unexpected call from a granny in the morning. She asked me to help with a haunting. I thought I could just handle a simple ghost. You know that I am good with ghosts.” Evelyn tried to follow them, focusing more on not tripping over most likely enchanted vases, gemstones, and one array that hopefully was not used to curse the apartment.

    “I am quite aware, that’s why I don’t like you coming over.”

    Or maybe the array was drawn to specifically keep her out, who knew.

    “So, I drove over in the afternoon. Just one old granny and a ghost. There is a nice magnolia tree in the garden. It’s next to the old school that’s half covered in ivy and the neighbours complain about it all the time because they think it’s weed, although ivy is very useful with old houses for climatic purposes-” Distinctly, she noticed how she started to ramble, her tongue too fast for her mind to catch up on. 

    “Please, for the love of the currently absent blood in your veins, cut yourself short,” Ariel thankfully interrupted and pushed the door to the kitchen open. Evelyn tried very hard to calm herself down with a few measured and calculated breaths, focused on the red lava lamp on the windowsill instead. Multiple candles were lit on the table and next to them slept her black cat whose name Evelyn had never learnt. She only knew her as a beast, my evil gremlin, an annoying menace, YOU!, and the apple of my eye. Currently, the proximity to the candles was once again anxiety inducing.

    Ariel pointed at one of the chairs, so Evelyn sat down and forced herself to keep talking, wiped some of the rain out of her face, along with her sticky bangs that hung in her eyes. 

“The granny didn’t have money to pay, which is fine, you know I like to help where I can, right? And she had this very evil looking set of silverware in her kitchen drawer, so I started to work on it and she kept rambling about how I had a heart of silver -- which was already a bit weird, I guess, since usually it’s a heart of gold, right? -- but at that moment, I thought she was just old and confused because I was working for free, right? Well, until I poked my finger on a fork and that’s when it happened.”

    “Was that the short version?”

    “I left out a lot of detail.”

    The coffee machine beeped and Ariel filled the matching cups. They slid one with big bold yellow letters over to Evelyn that read Best Curse Victim, and kept the one with Best Curse Broker In The Whole Wide World. 

    “Did you custom-make these?” Evelyn asked and Ariel set down the two cups with a grin. They knew that Evelyn preferred tea, but, Tea is for curses and rituals, you can’t make me drink hot water with leaves, they liked to argue. 

    Ariel raised an eyebrow at her quizzically. “I assume the granny then turned out to be a ghost?”

    “She apparently had died over three months ago, yes.”

There was a deep sigh coming from Ariel as they put up their feet onto the table, dangerously close to the candles.

    “And never once while working on silverware and getting praised for your silver heart did you consider the option that perhaps you were getting cursed?”

    “Ghosts get better at hiding themselves each day, Ariel,” Evelyn replied with multiple glances to the shadows. Ariel only offered a weak smile and nodded while they pushed the books into the middle of the table, tapped on it with their sparkly painted fingernails. 

    “I have fourteen books on the Heart of Silver, all very rare collections from back when curse-brokers still thought that this classy beast was curable. I also have read all of these fourteen books.” Ariel took a sip from their coffee and grabbed another pair of glasses that were tucked into a pot of parsley on the windowsill next to the lava lamp. They pushed their former golden glasses up into their soft pink dyed hair. 

Last time they had met, it had been deep purple. They had tried to make her believe once that it was tied to their moods, like those 90s mood rings of which they wore three. “Obviously, I read all the books you can find in this apartment, I wouldn’t keep anything that just took up space.” They opened the right page on the first try and slid the book over to Evelyn. The pages were blank.

    “The pages are blank.”

    “Ah, right. I put a curse on them. No one steals books you can’t read, am I right? Here,” they slid over the glasses to Evelyn, and once she put them on, black letters appeared on the blank pages. Just none she could read.

    “I don’t speak that language, Ariel.”

    “Ah, it’s just encrypted.”

Evelyn sighed deeply and put the glasses down again. She warmed her icy fingers on the coffee cup in front of her, the bitter smell of it made her jittery enough.

    “Please, can you just tell me what you know about it? I am certain that you know your curses, you don’t have to prove anything by showing me book excerpts I can’t read anyway.”

    Ariel smirked openly then, their eyes clearly tracing the black lines on her skin where the liquid silver was running through her veins.

    “The Heart of Silver is a curse that dates back all the way to the sixteenth century. That ultimately makes it a curse of the black night level, because we don’t know its origin anymore, so understanding it has become as good as impossible. Legends say that it was just another love story, though. Why it is a heart of silver and not of gold is equally unclear. Perhaps they didn’t know any better. Then again, a Heart of Gold curse already exists, so. Anyway, the story says that one woman, got  jealous of her maid. The maid, being kind-hearted, was just too lovely to her husband, you see. So when that woman died she cursed her maid on her deathbed and said something along the lines of With your heart made of silver, you still won’t be worth enough to appeal to him. Maybe you could feed his greed by turning into actual silver instead.” They took another sip of coffee, taking out another book from the stack on the table and flipping a page open. “How the curse is passed on is totally unclear as well, although, as you might have noticed, contact with silver seems to be one determinant, as well as someone actually cursing you, also known as a ghost. But why and how? No one knows.”

    “Not even you?” Evelyn asked, feeling punched out. She pulled the new book closer, putting on the glasses again, and there they were. The photos with the evidence that this curse existed. That it was more than just a rumour, a scary story told to teach children not to steal. Proof that her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her; that she had understood the situation of her own doom correctly. 

    A silver statue of a man, the face too realistic to be art, distorted in a scream. His arms were outstretched, all around him scrolls of parchment. 1982, Vienna.

    A silver statue of an old woman, sleeping in her bed. She looked much more peaceful, but her brows were drawn together, giving her discomfort away. 1864, Kuressaare.

    A teenage boy, locked inside a dark room with handcuffs tied to the walls, screams on his silver lips. 2003, Hildesheim.

    Evelyn didn’t need to look at more of them. It just made her picture herself as one more of these photos. A corpulent young woman, the face silver but clearly pleading for her life-

    “Does it hurt? Do you know?”

    “Not sure, sorry. Would it help if you knew?” Ariel looked directly at her then, the soft pink hair glimmering red from the lamp, the candles’ lights dancing on her glasses.

    “Probably not.”

    “Then let’s try to make it so that you don’t have to find out. But just to be clear, I will take notes on the curse’s progress, for scientific purposes.” They pulled a notebook out from under their coffee cup.

    “Sure.”

    Ariel grinned and drummed with their golden painted nails onto the table.

    “Soon I will be the first curse-broker to have dealt with the Heart of Silver. Everyone will know my name. Maybe someone will finally publish my book. My google reviews will skyrocket!”

    “You always say a truly good curse-broker gets only bad reviews. And that book doesn’t get published because you describe for three hundred pages how to create various curses. ”

    “That’s because if you want to deal with curses, you need to understand them from the inside out first. Also, creating curses can be fun, I promise.”

    With a glimpse to the shadows, Evelyn nodded in slight agreement. Unease found its way back to her, like an intrusive thought stuck to her skin. The more she listened to her body, the more she felt like it had changed. She was sure to feel the silver in her veins, believed that her body had gotten heavier – was silver heavier than blood? She was sure that her skin had gotten harder where it ran through her.

    “You still there?” Ariel waved before her eyes, nearly poked her, but Evelyn flinched back before they got to. She finally took a sip of her own coffee. The bitterness made her squirm but at least she was able to still taste it.

“So, if the books are all useless, as you say, then where do we start?”

    “Well, as I said, if you want to deal with curses, you have to know them from the inside out. Only if I know how you got it in the first place, I will have a chance at extracting it and exchanging it for a different one. A curse is a near-living thing, after all. If I just rip it out, it might do more damage than aid. I need to know why you fit in its scheme, how it develops inside of you. So I would say we should start with the ghost who put that curse on you, since that granny might be able to answer those questions, but I assume you hunted the shit out of that ghost, didn’t you?”

    Evelyn froze as she remembered the exchange, the prospect of a new curse. She gave her best not to tremble too much as she asked, “The new curse-”

“I can’t tell you what it will be yet.”

“But how-”

“Okay, I’ll give you the short explanation. Any curse corrupts its host. Your body lets it nest inside of it, and usually you will let the curse run its course until it’s fulfilled or withered and the space will grow back. More or less. If I have to extract the curse, the space will be hollow and harm your body and mind. It leaves room for possessions, diseases and much more. So instead I extract the awful curse and give you a new one that is slightly less awful. But in order to do that, the new curse needs to fill out the same space. I need to understand both curses to the T, so that this procedure works. That’s also why I can’t tell you anything about the new curse yet, because I need to understand the Heart of Silver first. Got it?” 

Evelyn nodded, a little as if in a daze. 

“So, the granny?”

“Gone, yes.” Evelyn sighed deeply. “I didn’t think that she would be of help. I just saw her as a ghost and sent her off.”

    “The mark?”

    “Just the silver veins, they started in the hand with which I touched the fork.”

    “Mn. It looks like it has spread completely since then. That doesn’t need to mean anything, though.” Ariel wrote down notes in a book, the pen’s ink invisible to Evelyn’s eyes.

    “When exactly was this?”

    “Somewhen between five and six, this evening.”

    Ariel wrote down more notes, far more than Evelyn had said, so she could only assume that those were some curse related conclusions. After a few minutes, Ariel had emptied their second cup of coffee. At this point, they looked up again and pressed their lips together.

    “I would like to see the curse medium then. You don’t happen to still have that fork?”

    Evelyn shook her head, “I assume it’s still in the house, though. I saw the police wrapping everything up as well, so we should be alone there.” She forced the rest of her coffee down her throat, ignoring how it upset her stomach just a moment later. Ariel nodded and got up, carrying the two cups over to the sink.

    “Well, then. Let’s get going, shall we?” They nodded towards the door and Evelyn went to follow them. Before Ariel closed the kitchen door, she looked back. “Shouldn’t you blow out your candles? Your cat is so close and-”

    “Oh, I cursed the candles, don’t worry. They don’t burn anything. I feel a little bad for doing it, though. Imagine being a fire and then the only thing you can burn is candle wax. So sad.”

    They reached the door and Evelyn stopped once more in her tracks.

    “Do you really want to leave like that?” she asked and looked down Ariel’s onesie with ghost-print.

    “Oh, right, shoes,” they answered, fetching a pair of run down converse, not bothering to tie the laces. They tucked them in and pointed to the door. “Now?”

    But Evelyn still felt like they had forgotten something important. Something they needed to consider before they left. Maybe it was just her fear of entering that house again where she had gotten cursed in the first place, the fear of not finding what they needed to. The fear that she would so utterly fail in the quest of saving her life, of destroying the curse. It was too close to past memories, perhaps. The image of the old lady dissipating into thin air as she sent her off still lingered in her mind, and she couldn’t help but see herself in that place.

    “Ah, of course,” Ariel mumbled, pulled out a single hair from Evelyn and burnt it in the candle standing next to the door. “My mistake.” They waved to the outside, and finally Evelyn found the strength to walk again.

    “So you did curse your own apartment!”

    “Nonsense, I never said that,” Ariel replied with a grin and the rain poured down on them once more. Like needles, it pricked on her skin. If she turned into a silver statue, she would never feel it again. They ran to her old Corolla, parked so very badly in line.

    “You know, those winter tires are really cheap now. You should get them as long as they are affordable. I bet they will be much pricier once it’s winter.”

    “Gotta make it to winter first,” Evelyn muttered and turned on the motor. The radio gave white noise – a side effect of getting cursed, or maybe just a coincidental break-down.

    “So pessimistic. Really, you’re insufferable.” Ariel started to play snake on their phone. 

The way to the old house was quiet except for the occasional white noise when the radio came to life unasked. The road was mostly deserted at the late hour, some street lights only blinked yellow already. It was not until she turned on the road to leave the small city that Ariel shifted in the front seat.

    “Where were you the whole last year, Evelyn?” Their voice was softer now. The phone tucked inside their pocket. With a quick glance, she could see that they looked outside. Of course, they would ask. Evelyn had known that. Despite this, she still didn’t know what to answer. How to say the words to Ariel that she could hardly think to herself.

    “I just… I was not so well.” A kind euphemism for lying in bed all day, ignoring her calls and living off of pizza and instant noodles.

    “We could have really used you then. There was that Undine in the sink of that favourite restaurant of yours. Took three of us to get her out of there. You could have probably managed her yourself.” A harsh way to say that she had been missed. A nice way to say that Ariel was hurt.

    “I’m sorry.” Lousy words. They would not make up for letting her friends down. Not really.

    “It’s fine, you don’t have to apologize.” She had to, though. She really had to.

    Evelyn pulled into the street, the utmost street of the small-town. One could see the forest behind it from here. At the end of the street stood an old house, next to the old school that was covered in ivy.

    “I just wanted you to know that you’re needed, even if you think you aren’t. Or I don’t know… Ah, you know.” Words were hard for Ariel, too. But Evelyn thought she understood them, and nodded with a slight smile. It had been like that between them from the beginning, somehow.

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