#and various medical tools

[science-lings]

I feel like ppl focus on Bruce training the robins to kick ass from a young age when that’s definitely not all that was. He had to teach them field medicine and how to pick locks and sneak around silently and how to notice things, sure he taught them how to hit things with sticks of multiple sizes, but he also taught them how to grapple around and land from a fall.

They probably had intimidation lessons and interrogation lessons and sessions where they just meditated for hours straight. They’re taught how to calm down civilians and to train their voices to sound different in costume and so many things that would make them the most terrifying children to live with.

Bruce is actively training them to be good at bothering him because they like trying out their new espionage skills at Galas and trying to sneak around him while he’s asleep to prank him.

When we think of training to be Robin it’s easy to think of sparring and gymnastics equipment when it’s fun to remember the other parts of it. Some days Bruce would probably just give the kids a Hunt a Killer box and a time limit.

[vvelegrin]

augh i need to get a new phone, and i need to give my doctor a form so i can get accommodations for the GRE, and i need to contact people for letters of recommendation, and i need to get my car smogged, and i need to make an appointment for a sleep study, and i need to get a livescan done like three months ago, and i need to fill out a thing for my master gardener project, and i need to scout out areas that are safe and legal to shoot some arrows and also maybe make a lesson with the local range to clean up my form, and i need to reach out to some local falconers so i can flush game for them and whatever and be best friends forever, and also get ear drops again for my recurring double ear infections lmao, and probably about 400 other things.

sigh. what if i... didn't.

[mouthfulofdirtandmoss]

#chaos

i think what’s on a person’s nightstand is very telling so reblog this and put in the tags the things you have on your nightstand

[theambitiouswoman]

How To Become A Brand New Person ✨✨

Self Reflect:

Journal daily.

Think about past decisions and how they impacted your life.

Meditate regularly.

Create a vision board to visualize your goals.

Review your strengths and weaknesses.

Identify your core values and beliefs.

Figure out your passions and interests.

Think about your childhood dreams and aspirations.

Evaluate your current state of happiness and fulfillment.

Set Clear Goals:

Define specific career goals, like "Get promoted within two years."

Set health goals, like "Lose 20 pounds in six months."

Create financial goals such as "Save $10,000 for a vacation."

Establish personal development goals, like "Read 24 books in a year."

Set relationship goals, such as "Improve communication with my partner."

Define education goals, like "Complete a master's degree in three years."

Set travel goals, like "Visit five new countries in the next two years."

Create hobbies and interests goals, such as "Learn to play a musical instrument."

Set community or volunteer goals, like "Volunteer 100 hours this year."

Establish mindfulness or self-care goals, such as "Practice meditation daily."

Self Care:

Exercise for at least 30 minutes a day.

Follow a balanced diet with plenty of fruits and vegetables.

Prioritize getting 7-9 hours of quality sleep each night.

Practice in relaxation techniques like deep breathing or yoga.

Take regular breaks at work to avoid burnout.

Schedule "me time" for activities you enjoy.

Limit exposure to stressors and toxic people.

Practice regular skincare and grooming routines.

Seek regular medical check-ups and screenings.

Stay hydrated by drinking enough water daily.

Personal Development:

Read a book every month from various genres.

Attend workshops or seminars on topics of interest.

Learn a new language or musical instrument.

Take online courses to acquire new skills.

Set aside time for daily reflection and self improvement.

Seek a mentor in your field for guidance.

Attend conferences and networking events.

Start a side project or hobby to expand your abilities.

Practice public speaking or communication skills.

Do creative activities like painting, writing, or photography.

Create a Support System:

Build a close knit group of friends who uplift and inspire you.

Join clubs or organizations aligned with your interests.

Connect with a mentor or life coach.

Attend family gatherings to maintain bonds.

Be open and honest in your communication with loved ones.

Seek advice from trusted colleagues or supervisors.

Attend support groups for specific challenges (e.g., addiction recovery).

Cultivate online connections through social media.

Find a therapist or counselor for emotional support.

Participate in community or volunteer activities to meet like minded people.

Change Habits:

Cut back on sugary or processed foods.

Reduce screen time and increase physical activity.

Practice gratitude by keeping a daily journal.

Manage stress through mindfulness meditation.

Limit procrastination by setting specific deadlines.

Reduce negative self-talk by practicing self-compassion.

Establish a regular exercise routine.

Create a budget and stick to it.

Develop a morning and evening routine for consistency.

Overcome Fear and Self Doubt:

Face a specific fear head-on (example: public speaking).

Challenge your negative thoughts with positive affirmations.

Seek therapy to address underlying fears or traumas.

Take small, calculated risks to build confidence.

Visualize success in challenging situations.

Surround yourself with supportive and encouraging people.

Journal about your fears and doubts to gain clarity.

Celebrate your accomplishments, no matter how small.

Focus on your strengths and accomplishments.

Embrace failure as a valuable learning experience.

Embrace Change:

Relocate to a new city or country.

Switch careers or industries to pursue your passion.

Take on leadership roles in your workplace.

Volunteer for projects outside your comfort zone.

Embrace new technologies and digital tools.

Travel to unfamiliar destinations.

Start a new hobby or creative endeavor.

Change your daily routine to add variety.

Adjust your mindset to see change as an opportunity.

Seek out diverse perspectives and viewpoints.

Practice Gratitude:

Write down three things you're grateful for each day.

Express gratitude to loved ones regularly.

Create a gratitude jar and add notes of appreciation.

Reflect on the positive aspects of challenging situations.

Show gratitude by volunteering or helping others in need.

Send thank-you notes or messages to people who've helped you.

Keep a gratitude journal and review it regularly.

Share your gratitude openly during family meals or gatherings.

Focus on the present moment and appreciate the little things.

Practice gratitude even in times of adversity.

Be Patient:

Set realistic expectations for your progress.

Accept that personal growth takes time.

Focus on the journey rather than the destination.

Learn from setbacks and view them as opportunities to improve.

Celebrate small milestones along the way.

Practice self-compassion during challenging times.

Stay committed to your goals, even when progress is slow.

Keep a journal to track your personal growth.

Recognize that patience is a valuable skill in personal transformation.

Celebrate Small Wins:

Treat yourself to your favorite meal or dessert.

Reward yourself with a spa day or self-care activity.

Share your achievements with friends and loved ones.

Create a vision board to visualize your successes.

Acknowledge and congratulate yourself in a journal.

Give yourself permission to take a break and relax.

Display reminders of your accomplishments in your workspace.

Take a day off to celebrate a major milestone.

Host a small gathering to mark your achievements.

Set aside time to reflect on how far you've come.

Maintain Balance:

Set clear boundaries in your personal and work life.

Prioritize self care activities in your daily routine.

Schedule regular breaks and downtime.

Learn to say "no" when necessary to avoid overcommitment.

Evaluate your work life balance regularly.

Seek support from friends and family to avoid burnout.

Be kind to yourself and accept imperfections.

Practice mindfulness to stay present and grounded.

Revisit your priorities and adjust them as needed.

Embrace self love and self acceptance as part of your daily life.

[muletia]

𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐝 ₊ ⊹

obsessed!optimus prime x human!reader obsessed!megatron x human!reader obsessed!starscream x human!reader

summary: various mechs react to your injury. didn't specify what happened to reader in starscream' part so you can fill the gaps yourself

cw: angst, hurt, graphic injury (reader), blood and gore, possessiveness, obsessive thoughts, very ooc starscream

word count: 2700

thank you!! <33

i may write the 'next part' for other bots too when mood for angst comes back...

He reacted too slowly, missing the leap by mere seconds. Didn’t make it in time to shield you from the stray projectile, which struck directly at your side, piercing the abdomen and immediately knocking you to the ground. He deals with the attacker without hesitation, taking down the Vehicon that had ambushed you during your ride. Quickly moves to your side, shielding from further threats. Something he should have done from the very beginning.

Your eyes are closed, and chest heaves rapidly, chasing after the blood slowly spilling from your wound. Optimus realizes he has never seen your equivalent of energon before. He’s seen bruises and scratches but never blood. Once, he was curious about what it might look like, how it would behave outside your body. Now, he would give everything to erase this image from memory.

He feels disgust—not with you, never with you—but with himself. Because he let this happen. Because your suffering and the scar that will forever remind you of his failure are his doing. He looked into your eyes and swore to protect you at all costs, even at the cost of his own life.

He failed. As always. But you should not bear the harvest of his incompetence.

And to think, he once desired to be your partner, to bear the title of conjunx. Now, as he considers it, the thought feels like a cruel joke.

He’s convinced his entire body is aflame, as though he’s sharing your pain. As if the projectile had torn through his own frame. You deserve this pain, he thinks. Should suffer more, take this burden from you and carry it himself, and preferably, bear it for the rest of his life—an echo of failure, a reminder to never let anything happen to you again.

“[Name]…” he tries, his voice unworthy of a Prime—weak, strained, fighting against his own voice box. “I beg you…” He wants to add more, but physically cannot.

No response. He clenches his servo so tightly that it begins to tremble, energon soon dripping from the stress. The vision of your death flashes through processor. Then remorse, fury, and grief. Days spent admiring you, fantasizing about the future twist into self-torment, revisiting the image of your lifeless body before him because he acted too late.

Cannot allow that future to come to pass. You will not give your life for his mistake. Even if his passion never bears fruit, even if your smile continues to haunt him in his dreams, even if your closeness is limited to shared rides, he will not let you go. He is willing to endure the worst tortures, walk through hell and back, starve and ruin himself just so you can see another sunrise.

“Ratchet, ground bridge. Immediately.” The true Prime emerges. Stern and decisive. “Bring surgical tools.”

The medic arrives swiftly. Unlike his leader, Ratchet doesn’t take an eternity to overcome the shock. He gently lifts you onto his servo and takes you to the base, directly to the operating table. Optimus follows closely behind, optics fixed on you, desperately searching for signs of life.

Optimus doesn’t leave your side, staying through the operation, watching as Ratchet stitches the wound with his trademark precision. The medic refrains from his usual muttering about caution. One look at Optimus’s empty faceplate, devoid of any visible emotion but still fiercely focused on you, reveals the terror within. The fear and guilt have burrowed so deeply that even after the procedure is finished, with you unconscious but stabilized and safe, hooked up to an IV, Optimus does not leave you.

Wants to etch this image into his memory, so it becomes his specter. A motivation to reflect on himself, on your relationship. He must become better, more attentive, and less distracted. Because he isn’t sure if another failure like this would break him. If you were to end up on the operating table again, would he join you in death? Even though he knows it’s a lie. No matter how battered life makes him, no matter how many heartaches you bring him, he is compelled to continue the fight.

He longs to take your pain away. To bear it himself, to atone for his sins. And so he does, staying by your side without pause. Doesn’t eat, doesn’t rest, merely existing and waiting for you to wake up, incapable of doing anything else. He knows the team is worried, that they check in on him, bringing energon, begging him to rest, offering to take over the vigil, but he refuses every time. This is his burden, his failure, and he will not place it on anyone else. He must atone.

Intends to suffer alongside you until you fully recover. He doesn’t expect you to forgive him; doesn’t even dare to hope for it. But will the horror fade into the fog of an unpleasant memory if, from time to time, you grant him the same look you once did?

You lie in his servo, small, trembling, barely alive. Your entire forearm is crushed, and the side of your torso bears claw marks—a result of your encounter with a Vehicon who wasn’t acquainted with human fragility. Megatron’s soldier only intended to carry the runaway back to his master, not realizing that grabbing you by the arm would cause such devastating harm. It wasn’t done on purpose, nor was there any intent to deliberately hurt the partner of the Decepticon leader. Well, it didn’t matter anymore, now that the Vehicon lay dead with several holes in their frame.

Despite the carnage, Megatron doesn’t seem fazed. He carries you to the medbay with his familiar proud stride, showing no signs of stress. Calm and cold-blooded, unnaturally so. Yet his optics remain fixed on you, monitoring you, searching for signs of agony.

"You will survive," he states firmly, words resolute.

This composure is a bluff, a rational decision to avoid spiraling into destruction and despair. You didn’t need his wrath right now, silently demanding rescue. There would be time later for him to unleash his fury, to drive the message into everyone’s heads that if a similar situation ever occurred again, it wouldn’t end with just one Vehicon. He wouldn’t be so composed next time.

"I do not permit you to die," he adds.

In the recess of his servo, blood pools—your reminder that you urgently need medical attention, but also his. Perhaps for the first time since you set foot on the Nemesis. He clings to that need, even though he wishes to experience it under different, more fitting circumstances.

The medic is already waiting in the medbay, preparing the operating table for a small human. Knockout straightens at the sight of his leader and gestures to the empty table, where you are carefully placed. The silver mech steps back but does not leave the room. He intends to witness the procedure, to maintain complete control over it, even if he isn’t the one holding the tools. Needs to be certain that the only thing you leave this room with is scars from the operation. He allows no thought of any other outcome.

"My liege," Knockout begins, but Megatron’s optics remain locked on you. "I must inform you that I’m not yet fully versed in human anatomy."

Fury begins to seep through in the form of bared dentas.

"Well, I trust you are versed enough to save their life."

"Yes, I will do my best, but I must emphasize that the likelihood—"

"Knockout. You have exactly three nanokliks to make a decision. Your life or theirs. What is your choice?"

The medic bows submissively and picks up his tools. "Understood, my lord."

Megatron stays present throughout the entire procedure, closely observing as the bleeding gradually subsides and your body begins to regain its shape. He should be pleased that you’ll survive and soon be able to sit in his servo again—this time not bleeding out. Perhaps you’ll even look at him a bit more kindly when you learn that he personally carried you to the medic and dealt with the wretch who spilled your blood.

Yet his mind keeps returning to the feeling of utter panic he experienced when he saw you barely alive, with a cascade of crimson flowing from your wounds. He hadn’t expected anyone to provoke such a reaction in him—a sensation of dread, of helplessness. It lasted only a moment, swiftly transforming into rage, but it was enough to take him by surprise. Normally, he considers hypotheticals a complete waste of time, but he can’t stop wondering: what if you had died? He knows you won’t, because you belong to him. But if you had truly left him, struck him in his most vulnerable spot by taking yourself away—would anyone have been able to stop him? To halt the devastation before it consumed even him?

"There’s a strong chance they’ll survive," Knockout reports, wiping his servos clean of the unpleasant, human blood.

"I cannot rely on a ‘strong chance,’ Knockout. I need certainty," he growls. "So… is everything fine with [Name]?"

"Yes, my lord. However, they must rest extensively, preferably under the close supervision of a me—"

He doesn’t finish the sentence, as Megatron has already lifted you back into his servo. "I will decide that," he interrupts. "Expect frequent visits. Be prepared." With that, he leaves the medbay.

A claw gently strokes your head, tousling your tangled hair. You’ve already spent too much time in the company of the narcissistic medic—as if he would ever allow you to remain there without his constant vigilance. No, he had sworn to care for you, and not even death could meddle with that vow.

At first, he thinks it’s a weak start to a joke. You like to tell him jokes, maybe that’s how you got to his spark and shaped it into your likeness. He never considered them exceptional, and they were rarely funny, not measuring up to the quality of those from his home planet. But sometimes, they made life more bearable than he’d ever admit because they were yours, and then they became private, reserved just for the two of you.

But the closer he gets, and the larger your figure becomes, the prologue turns cruelly engaging. Because you’re lying motionless on the ground with your eyes closed, and blood seeping from your side. You show no signs of life.

He mass-shifts even before transforming, landing sharply on the ground, pedes digging into the surface.

"[Name]!" he yells. Kneeling beside you, knees sink into the soft earth, staining them with dirt. But his focus remains entirely on your small, unmoving body. "Would you be so kind as to stop joking? Get up!"

Because if this is a joke, it’s exceptionally cruel.

His claws tremble as he brings them closer to you, gently brushing your cheek, trying to rouse you. To make you show him any sign that everything is okay, even though he knows it’s not. As always, he tries to deceive himself, convince himself that you’ll come out of this unscathed, and that the horror before him won’t leave a mental burden behind.

"You fool," he hisses. "This isn’t funny, not even a little, do you hear me? Get up!" Voice cracks, and his strokes quicken. "Ha ha, you got me. Congratulations, one of your pathetic jokes finally caught me off guard. You can stop now..." He’s no longer stating; now, he’s pleading — for mercy, for another dose of humanity that you had mercifully bestowed upon him, even though he never truly deserved it.

With uncharacteristic tenderness, he pulls you into his arms, yearning to feel some sign of life against his body—proof that this isn’t the end. Your heart beats rapidly; feels it drumming against his chassis, granting him temporary peace. But it’s fleeting, as panic swiftly regains control. He doesn’t let it show, the terror boiling inside. He holds you tighter. Optics stare into nothingness as he tries not to think about the implications of your condition and what consequences it might lead to.

"Wake up, do you hear me? Now!" he screams desperately "[Name], please, I feel like I’m losing my mind."

No, you won’t leave him. You can’t do this. You mustn’t.

A faint groan catches his attention, and he gently pulls you away from his chassis to inspect your face. Apparently, you heard his plea, because a grimace appears on your pale face. Starscream can’t discern what it signifies. Pain? Despair? Confusion? Whatever it is, it softens his features, revealing hope that this is, in fact, a poor joke.

You blink rapidly, revealing bloodshot, unfocused eyes that lock onto him. Your chest begins to rise and fall more quickly. And even despite the horror you must feel, the pain burrowing deep into your body, the confusion and exhaustion, you manage to smile for him. As if you had a reason to.

"Star..." you whisper.

"Yes, yes, I’m here! You’re never to scare me like this again, do you understand? Never." His last word is a growl, though his servos remain gentle.

Hearing your voice anchors his thoughts, letting him focus on the possibility that things will be alright. That you’ll both come out of this unscathed, because this entire farce was driving him to madness. But he realizes he doesn’t want to hear you say his name as though it were for the last time. As if it were a farewell. No. You promised him eternity. You broke him, reprogrammed his processor to think only of you, infected his body to make it weep when he hadn’t seen you for too long, and now you intended to leave him? No. He won’t allow it. You swore eternity, and you will keep that promise. Otherwise, it would prove he truly didn’t deserve softness. That he was never meant to know comfort.

"Frag," he curses, lowering his helm because, for some reason, he can’t bear to look at you. Instead, he notices the crimson stain on your side growing, overtaking your shirt and slowly reaching your pants. His olfactory senses are assaulted by the metallic, unpleasant smell, and he concludes that this must be the scent of human death. "Did he do this to you? Hurt you? Violate you?"

Did Megatron finally find out about your relationship? Recognized you as a weak point, a tactic to get to him in the most devastating and cruel way? He searches his memories for provocation, an act of defiance, another attempt to seize power, though he’d recently tried to keep his head down, to behave. For you, so this would never happen. But Megatron needed no particular reason to strike. Especially not him.

Vents a sigh of relief when you weakly shake your head, but it’s not enough to restore calm. You’re still suffering, still bleeding out, and he is powerless. Usually, such powerlessness was closely tied to irritation when he lost control over his own fate. Now, he feels only a chilling terror in his lines at the thought of losing you. Of losing the love you gave him.

"Good... That’s good." It’s not good. Nothing is fragging good.

Your eyelids begin to flutter again, as if you’re fighting with yourself to stay conscious. You try to focus on him, keep your gaze fixed on a single point, but your eyes refuse to cooperate, rolling back.

"[Name]?" your chest rises and falls rapidly. "You must hold on, do you hear me?! Hey, hey! Focus!"

"S-Star..." you try, even quieter than before. "It hurts... help..."

"Stay with me, now. Please," his voice cracks. "You won’t leave me alone, will you? You promised..."

"It hurts..."

"I know, I know, hold on." He repeats himself. Knows how to get out of this situation, to use the last resort. It involves enormous risk and danger, especially for you, but he can’t hesitate any longer. Can’t wait. Can’t lose you.

He sends a message to Ratchet.

"Just a little longer, [Name]." He soothes, though he no longer knows who needs reassurance more. "Don’t make me die with you."

[snarky-badger]

Places to donate to help Palestine

PCRF.net - They did over a 100 medical missions in 2022 (Palestine Children’s Relief Fund)

Middle East Children's Alliance - A Non-profit organization fighting for the well-being and rights of Middle Eastern Children. They also have a link to a 'tool kit' to help spread information about the Gaza Genocide. I'm linking to it directly HERE

Anera: Where Hope Finds a Way - They provide everything from food, medicine and hygiene kits. $30 equals 16 blood bags - an essential thing for helping doctors help people survive horrible physical trauma.

UNICEF.org - Link to where you can donate to help UNICEF get aid to those suffering in Palestine.

And because I know damn well that lots of people don't have the extra funds to donate money - you can help by simply clicking here once a day. It donates ad revenue. Click to help Palestine

[I wanted so much to find other places people could donate that weren't in the US or Canada, but I was having problems figuring out how to ensure that they were reputable. If anyone knows of any, please reblog and add the links!]

And some basic informational sources for those who want to understand what's really going on other than the misleading information from the media.

BDS - The Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions movement works to end international support for Israel's oppression of Palestinians. Offers actual news about what's happening.

Decolonize Palestine - In depth information about the history and origins of Palestine. Also has a great 'debunked myths' section that lists almost all of all the lies the Media has been peddling.

Mondoweiss - An independent website devoted to informing readers about developments in Israel/Palestine and related US foreign policy. (Be aware: Some articles show disturbing images of the horrors happening in Gaza.)

Petitions I found with reputable track records (there are a LOT of fakes out there)

Canada:

Independant Jewish Voices Canada - Gaza on the Brink Ceasefire Now! - Prewritten letter to Justin Trudeau and Mélanie Joly calling for an immediate ceasefire, and for an end to the collective punishment of Palestinians. Just sign your name and it sends a letter!

There are several other ways (Including email addresses to various people/companies, as well as physical addresses you can mail letters to) listed here.

DON'T send threats/hate mail. That does nothing but make them double down on their current stances. Be polite. You don't have to take a happy tone, but be polite.

United States:

USA - Tell Congress: Stop Fueling the Gaza Genocide - Demanding an immediate ceasefire and for Humanitarian Aid to be allowed into Gaza.

Jewish Voice for Peace - You can use their form for send a letter to Congress to demand that they should focus on de-escalation instead of sending money and weapons to Israel so they can continue their genocidal war against Palestinians.

Jewish Voice for Peace (part 2) - Fill out this form and inform President Biden that he should call for a ceasefire and stop supplying money and weapons to Israel.

[pigfacedbitch]

Let's Break Up (II)

summary : you try to do the break up prank on your boyfriend.

word count : 0.5k

type : headcanons

pairing/s involved : Leo Valdez / Frank Zhang / Will Solace x Reader

warning/s : none

here is my masterlist! Part I is composed of Jason, Percy, and Nico.

Leo Valdez

"I don't love you anymore. I want to end this."

He will think it's joke but when the 'I'm kidding!' never comes, he tries not to make a big deal out of it.

Just chill and shrug like he was expecting it to happen.

"Oh well, if that's what you want."

He will overthink every situation where you acted suspicious; rejecting his affections, flirting with other guys— you know... signs of possible cheating or interest in other people?

Not that he doubts your loyalty but Leo's sense of inferiority can cloud his judgement; it's himself he is unsure of.

I'm not enough for her. There are better guys out there. I'm supposed to understand. Thoughts like that.

You better say it's a prank right away! Because once you let him go, he will probably cry and lock himself in Bunker 9.

You had to knock continuously on the metal door and sing like Anna in "Do You Wanna Buid A Snowman?" for Leo to get out.

"It's just a prank, love. I'm sorry."

He lets out quiet sobs when your eyes meet, but he's obviously relieved.

COMFORT HIM AND NEVER DO IT AGAIN.

Frank Zhang

"Listen, this relationship is not working out anymore. I want to break up."

Now, if you've watched the part in American Psycho where Patrick Batman breaks up with his fiancee then you'll be able to picture this.

Frank will cry, loudly at that. It will catch the attention of anyone nearby, embarassing you.

He won't hold back. No, no, no, my friend. There will be whining and any other loud noises any human in pain is possible of letting out.

Did you instantly think you are an idiot for doing this? Yes, sir! 😊😙

"Frank, quiet down!"

"Oh gods, (Y/N) doesn't love me anymore!"

"I do, it's just a prank!"

Stops immediately, dramatically wiping his tears with a smug look on his face. With your mouth agape, he walks away from you like an action star in a explosion movie scene.

"Next time you try to prank me, don't tell anyone beforehand!"

"...Damn it, Hazel!"

Will Solace

This lovely son of Apollo is always busy due to his medical duties in Camp Half Blood so he truly cherishes the short moments he gets to spend with you.

In other words? Don't fucking waste his time.

"Will, I think we should break up."

He had encountered many campers pretend sickness for various of reasons— wanting to escape cleaning duties, skip training, and many more.

He will see through your lie. He always does.

If you decided to pull this prank AFTER he got to rest from the infirmary, he will just give you the don't-try-me-bitch look.

If you picked BEFORE he got to rest, you're dead. Expect him to throw medical tools at you.

Don't worry, not sharp ones. Just the scabs, cotton balls, and such.

It can be annoying though, not mention the scolding Chiron will give you later for wasting inventory materials.

"Will, stop it!"

"Take it back!"

"Sorry, it was just a joke."

The man very tired, okay? Stop with the nonsense and just cuddle with him. The gods know he desperately needs it.

[innerfare]

Eustass Kid Fluff // Angst Compilation

Summary: A compilation of Eustass Kid angst and fluff from my multi character posts (You're Wounded, Brushing Your Teeth Together, Flowers, Type of Date, You See His Cabin, Fighting and Making Up, Paradise, Nightmares, I Love You, You're Jealous).

Genre: Fluff // Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

You’re Wounded: 

Lectures you on your fighting form, tears into you for taking any unnecessary risks, gets on your case about not seeking medical attention fast enough. Tells you to get some rest, sits at your bed side until you’re better, claims he’s not there for you and is just resting his own eyes. 

Brushing Your Teeth Together: 

Was always too ADHD to stand in front of the mirror for a full minute brushing his teeth, always ended up wandering around the ship while brushing and then forgetting to finish; only started staying put when you began joining him. 

Flowers: 

If it’s at the point where he’s buying flowers, this man is so far beyond pride he won’t flinch at purchasing a bundle of pink tulips, even if they clash with his outfit/aesthetic. He also presents you one night with a bouquet of metal flowers he made himself. He spent ages on it, but he really didn’t mean to. He intended to make one but got absorbed in his work and made an entire bundle of dainty little metal flowers. He’s oddly proud of himself for making something so delicate and would be crushed if you ever got rid of them. 

Type of Date: 

He’ll take you to a concert, best seats in the house. He would prefer rock, but he’ll go to any concert you want. Honestly has no qualms about pulling up to an Ariana Grande or Taylor Swift concert with you, won’t go so far as to learn the lyrics but will nod his head and dance with you because he doesn’t believe people should be ashamed of their music taste (that being said, he can’t help but be embarrassed by just how much he likes Olivia Rodrigo; Sour is punk rock and Brutal is his favorite song, no matter what Killer says). He’ll buy you two matching t-shirts, too. 

You See His Cabin For The First Time: 

It’s as messy and ostentatious as you’d expect, but he sheepishly tries to fold the leopard-print blanket crumpled on the bed and put some laundry in the hamper, though you quickly deduce he has no clue which clothes belong in the hamper and which go in his closet. It’s shocking to see him care what someone thinks. He has a pile of lipstick and nail polish on his desk and an impressive collection of weapons he’s stolen from various pirates; he could probably open a museum with all the weapons he has. Also has lots of tools he forgot were in there. TBH, he’s probably as shocked as you are by the state of his cabin because he spends most of his alone time in his workshop, anyway. 

Fighting and Making Up: 

Actually loves to fight, lives to butt heads. Has a notoriously bad temper, meaning the two of you often fight. Serious fights usually happen because his temper got him into trouble. The number of arguments you’ve had while you’re patching him up because he got in a nasty bar is unreal. Your argument always over something stupid, at least in his opinion. He usually ends up storming off and locking himself in his workshop because he doesn’t want to yell at you too much but he’s furious with you and still has a bunch of adrenaline flowering through his bloodstream from his last fight. Alternately, he’ll start fights with you when feels like you’re keeping something from him, even if it’s something small, because it drives him crazy and he thinks you should be an open book. He's not really the jealous type when it comes to physical stuff, but he does get upset when you seem to have an emotional or intellectual connection with someone else, and that can cause some arguments. Oh, and fights are most definitely foreplay, so you can conclude how the two of you make up. 

Paradise 1: 

Waking up to fresh powder blanketing the ground and jumping out of bed, barely getting your boots and one of his coats on before you’re outside, romping through the snow. Falling into a snow bank with your arms out, giggling as you make a snow angel, grinning even wider when he surprises you by laying down beside you and doing the same, letting his inner child show through for a brief moment. 

Paradise 2: 

Escaping the chaos of life and climbing a desolate hill, sharing a late afternoon snack as you stare up at the clouds and point out different shapes, saying, “that’s you,” when you see a funny one. Arguing over which one of you gets to be the dragon cloud, your argument turning into roughhousing and the two of you accidentally rolling down the hill, him laughing and kissing your cheek when he knows you’re okay and then starting the argument again. 

Nightmares: 

It’s never like it happened with his first love, Victoria. And it’s always some way new. You fall overboard during a storm and drown, Kid diving into the water to save you but sinking due to his devil fruit ability, Killer diving in to save him but leaving you to die. You get deathly ill and he enlists the help of his ally, Trafalgar Law, to save your life, but he betrays Kid and kills you. He gets captured by a crew of enemy pirates, and when the crew comes to save him, you get killed in the crossfire. The nightmares just keep coming like this, you dying because he couldn’t protect you or expected someone else to do it for him. And each time he wakes up, it is with a renewed certainty that the only way to keep you safe is to do it himself.  

I Love You: 

You say it first. You say it a couple of times, actually, before you ever hear it back. You’re sitting in his workshop watching him build something, and you just sort of blurt the words out. You swear Kid hesitates before picking up the next piece of metal, but he gives no real acknowledgment you uttered those three words. Knowing exactly the sort of man he is and not expecting to receive anything in return, just wanting him to know how you feel in the moment, you aren’t actually offended, but you are wondering if he didn’t hear you. So, the next day in his workshop, you say it again, once more receiving no response. The third time you say it to him, catching him while he’s painting his nails, you receive a grunt in response (Kid is a man of grunts, not a man of words). Only in the heat of battle do you hear it back. He catches you around the waist and picks you up, and you fight thinking it’s an enemy, only for him to say, “I love you,” in your ear before deflecting a canon ball headed straight for the two of you and then setting you on your feet like nothing happened. From that point forward, he’ll say it, but only at inopportune times.

You’re Jealous: 

He doesn’t ever talk about his first love, Victoria. In fact, you didn’t even know she existed until Killer got drunk one night and began speaking of his dearly departed. What he didn’t mention was that Kid, too, had been in love with her. It only comes up the next night when you mention it to Wire, who mentions it was the death of his first love, Victoria, that put Kid on the war path and united the first four members of the Kid Pirates. Realizing Wire messed up, Heat chimes in to say, “he’d do the same for you.” But you’re not convinced, mainly because Kid never told you any of this. It tears you apart, leaves you tossing and turning for nights on end, until you finally burst into Kid’s workshop one night ranting about how he doesn’t trust you and holds you at arm’s length. “Heat says you’d do the same for me, but-” Kid cuts you off and says, “I wouldn’t do the same, I’d do worse. Much, much worse.” And from the wicked gleam in his eye, you’re inclined to believe him. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[blindbeta]

Hello! I recently got into a ship where one of the characters is blind. I mostly write domestic fanfics and so I’d like to know: what are some items or tools that are common to see in a blind person’s living space? What are some things that their partner or daughter might help them with in their day-to-day life? Thank you!

Here is a post with ideas about making homes accessible.

Here is post I made with ideas for accessible cooking.

A lot of YouTubers, such as those listed here, post about making their homes accessible or ideas they would like to implement. Molly Burke and Sam from TheBlindLife have several videos on this topic.

Claire at canseecantsee is on YouTube and TikTok. She posts often about how she does household and work tasks.

If your story is not modern, here is an example of finding assistance devices to use that work for your story’s time period. You can read it here.

Here are two asks about partners and romance: one and two.

Ideas that are common in a blind person’s living space might include:

-different types of labels

-a cane or guide animal, with a cane often hanging somewhere, in a bag the character uses daily, or resting against a wall by the door

-eye drops or other medication for their eye condition, potential eye strain, or tangentially related pain management

-ice and heating packs for eye strain

-a slate and stylus

-perhaps items such as a Braille display, computer, phone, scanner, or magnification device for reading

-perhaps Braille or large print books, particularly if this person is an elder or a young student, with the caveat that Braille literacy is declining and Braille books also take up a lot of space and so are not as popular

-talking or tactile devices

-bump dots, such as for microwaves

-tactile items, such as figures, tactile art, textured elements, or comfort items like stuffed animals. While this does not only apply to blind folks, we do tend to engage with touch more often and our comfort items and decorative items reflect this

-various lighting devices

-glasses or sunglasses

Depending on your character, you can justify almost anything in their home even if it is not common. For example, a person who plays goal ball or blind football might have a room strewn about with uniforms, shoes, bandages, medication, and sports equipment if needed. In another example, an elderly blind person might continue to use a tape player with books on tape for nostalgia purposes.

Those are some ideas. I hope this helps.

[marlynnofmany]

Confidential Human Questions

I was walking past the door to the cockpit quietly because I heard Captain Sunlight on a video call with a client, but then I heard, “Was that a human? Call them back; I have a question.”

This ought to be good, I thought as I spun on my heel.

Captain Sunlight was just calling my name as I reached the doorway. “Ah yes, thank you. Would you mind answering a human-related question?” She stood in the middle of the room, yellow scales bright in the good lighting. She managed to look up to my height without making it seem awkward.

“Sure,” I said. “What’s the question?” I stayed in the doorway. The room was a little crowded, with Wio in one pilot’s chair, tentacles manipulating many controls at once, and Kavlae doing something to fix her own chair with a hand tool. Judging by the way her head frills were flaring with frustration, she wasn’t done yet.

The client on the big screen curled his own tentacles. “I’m concerned about my ship’s human,” he said, turning his pointy squid head to make sure he wasn’t overheard. He lowered his voice and spoke closely to the screen. “We only have the one, you see, and I don’t want to ask any awkward questions directly.”

“I understand,” I said with a nod. Captain Sunlight ushered me into the room, then stepped out to talk to Zhee about something. I heard the distinctive click of his bug feet.

The client was still talking, with agitated twists of his pebbly gray tentacles. “We don’t have a medic onboard, just an automated medical suite. The human will be going home soon — limited time work contract, you know — but I’m honestly worried about infection spreading there, since I think this human caught it by meeting up with another. I gather that this other is on good terms with ours, and may be going to the same place either way, but I don’t want to contribute any contagion from my ship.”

“What kind of symptoms are we talking about?” I asked, mentally going over the short list of diseases that I knew of which could jump between species. This might be worth consulting our own medic. “No one else onboard is affected?”

“No, just the human,” he said, making vague loops with his tentacles. “There’s a malignant-looking growth, along with fatigue and gastrointestinal distress. The human has been acting a little… unpredictable.” He looked behind himself again. “I very much don’t want to cause an incident by prying, especially if this is something she knows to be terminal.”

I opened my mouth then closed it, choosing my questions with care. “Is the growth about here?” I pantomimed a roundness at my own stomach. “How long since she met with the other human?”

“Yes, exactly there! It’s been approximately half a standard orbit. What is it? Do you know?”

He was so sincere and worried that I had to smile. “Good news! In my opinion as a professional human, that’s not a disease at all. Your human is going to be a parent.”

Instead of relaxing, he looked confused. “Humans gestate eggs for that long? Shouldn’t she have laid them by now? She looks awfully uncomfortable. Oh no, are they stuck?” Now he was getting alarmed. “I had a relative who got eggbound once, and it was dire!”

I raised my hands in a calming gesture that I hoped he understood. “No, no eggs. Humans give live birth.”

“Live what?”

“Just — we lay the babies, already hatched.��� I looked to my various crewmates for support, and found four different sets of eyes watching in curiosity. “All of you lay eggs, don’t you?”

Several nods answered me, along with, “Well not personally,” from Zhee. “But yes.”

I sighed and turned back to the screen. “It’s extremely normal on my planet. Just think of it as carrying the nest around internally. There are pros and cons to the whole thing, but yeah. At any rate, it sounds like she’s planning to join up with her mate at home, and raise their offspring together.”

The client looked fascinated. “Is there anything I should do? Or not do? I can make sure my crew is informed.”

“I understand it’s an uncomfortable process. Just be gentle, and encourage rest,” I said. “Oh, and have other crewmembers handle anything that involves bending over or moving heavy things.”

By the swift tentacle motions offscreen, he was typing notes.

Another thought occurred to me. “I don’t know how long until you reach her home, but if things take too long, you’d better hope your medical suite is up to overseeing a childbirth. They’re very painful, sometimes dangerous. And messy.”

He stopped typing, eyes wide. “I need to check with someone about changing our schedule. Thank you, goodbye!” The screen went blank.

I looked to the captain. “Were you done talking with him, I hope?”

She nodded. “Yes, business is concluded. Which is good, since I don’t fancy having to track him down because he forgot to pay us.”

“Yeah, me neither,” I said with a glance back at the screen. “I didn’t even get to tell him how loud human newborns are, or how often they cry. I doubt there’s a crib onboard.”

Zhee made a disparaging hiss and wandered off in a cloud of opinions about species without the good sense to hatch at a properly capable stage of development.

Wio snorted. “Judging by the speed they just took off at, I don’t think they’re going to need one.” She pointed a blue-ringed tentacle at a display that showed the other ship departing in an all-fired hurry.

I shook my head. “Best of luck to all involved!”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[ironunderstands]

2.1 was so good holy shit (spoilers, obviously)

GOD THEY ATE AND IM SPECIFICALLY GONNA TALK ABOUT HOW WELL THEY WROTE RATIO IN THIS BECAUSE IM FOAMING AT THE GODDAMN MOUTH IT CHANGES HOW YOU VIEW EVERYTHING BUT IN A GOOD WAY.

so, let’s start from the beginning in 2.0 I want to walk you through my experience of it

ratio mean to aventurine, everyone gets mad. I feel weird about it, pre-2.1 I come to the conclusion that he got used as a plot device in that scene, since being racist contradicts his core motivations and the dialogue is awkward and has no real reason behind it, I chalk it up to bad writing but ultimately forgive it because 2.1 seems centered around Aventurine so they need setup for that

2.1 drops, my bsf plays the update throughout the night and we are losing our shit. He gets to the part where Ratio “betrays” Aventurine. I fucking lose it, I try to reconcile this with my preconceived notions of ratio, they don’t match up at all, his behavior that whole time doesn’t in the slightest. I am confused, I wonder if I have been wrong about him this whole time, if his whole speech on the Space Station and his character quests were some kind of fluke. I mean it could be in character? Knowledge of how a stellaron works could save millions if not billions of lives, invaluable information which Ratio would have trouble turning down because of its value. It still feels deeply wrong, Ratio isnt a backstabber, and he wouldn’t so easily bargain with Sunday over information he has no confirmation of (and could likely obtain in some other way).

The story continues, me and Haseeb (aforementioned best friend) are still pissed, I’m losing it because my favorite character just did something so unforgivable and out of character and I feel like a complete and utter idiot for interpreting a character to be a good person when they so clearly weren’t. Well, I (luckily) was so so so so so so so wrong about that, as it was all a setup, a plan devised by Aventurine to distract Sunday and forward their goals. I’ve never been happier, and suddenly every weird behavior, every “this doesn’t make sense” goes from “bad writing” to perhaps one of my favorite retroactive twists in fiction.

Ratio belittling Aventurine for his background doesn’t make any sense, I mean we literally saw the guy give a whole ass speech about how he believes all people deserve access to knowledge and that everyone is capable of being creative and having intellect, but that they just have to try for it, and if they are incapable of it, he DOCTOR Ratio is there to lend a helping hand. To cure the galaxy of stupidity, something which he views as not the lack of knowledge but rather the misuse and misinterpretation of it, how he depises the Genius Society because they mostly do not try and use their intellect from the betterment of other, and actively guide/encourage other scientists (and in Hertas case the researchers at the space station) to view knowledge as some sort of prize or commodity rather than tool. This notion is what causes Screwellum to acknowledge that Ratio is more like a medical doctor than a scholar. And this notion is something Sunday Isn’t Aware Of.

Sunday doesn’t know who Ratio really is, he may have heard of his various exploits, but Ratio has a reputation for arrogance, bluntness and insensitivity, something which Ratio plays up to the nines. The 2.0 scene with Aventurine goes from seemingly massively OOC for Ratio to him actively playing up his negative reputation to play into Sundays perceptions of the pair for their plan. Ratio->

a) makes it seem like Aventurine fucked up and he’s mad at him for losing the cornerstones, something which Sunday would see and go “hmm they don’t like each other

b) this “oh I can drive a wedge between them” notion gets worse (although in their case better) when Ratio brings up Aventurine’s (not entirely accurate) background. Sunday now thinks he has leverage over Aventurine and even more of a chance of getting Ratio to betray him. Ratio also makes it seem like he just learned this information by stating he “did his homework” and this supposed unfamiliarity with one another would give Sunday more confidence to try and drive a wedge between them

c) this makes it seem like the IPC are unaware of the Families constant surveillance, as it looks like they are having an important conversation in a private room, which would make Sunday think they are unaware of his eyes and ears everywhere

Now let me qualify this notion with more evidence because you could still try and argue that the deal Ratio and Aventurine struck was post 2.0 argument

Topaz (my glorious Queen). At the end of the 1.4 (or was it 1.5?) Belabog quest she has a conversation with Aventurine in which he requests for her help in Penacony, and we do not get a confirmation on if she said yes or not. Until 2.1, in which the the Topaz (and Jade) stone in in Aventurines possession, meaning she took him up on that offer prior to 2.0 because how else would he bring multiple cornerstones there, which we know there are many because Ratio says he lost the cornerstones, not just his own. Topaz would not give this item up easily or on a whim in between 2.0 and 2.1, meaning she would have to be let in on his plan prior, meaning the plan was formed prior. Since Ratio was also assigned to this mission keeping him in the dark would make negative sense and actively undermine their collaboration, something which he brings up in their fake argument

2. The Final Victory Lightcone. I originally thought this scene to be after their argument for complicated reasons, the most important of which being the minor snippet of conversation we see between Ratio and Aventurine during the first time we meet Acheron. Aventurine mentions 3 chips, Ratio doubts him, and the lightcone description starts with Aventurine questioning his doubt and firing three shots, a perfect correlation that made me place the order of events in that way. However, we get to see the snippet of conversation between Aventurine and Ratio in game, right before they meet Sunday, not prior to the lightcone events. However, they are still clearly connected for aforementioned reasons, just in a different manner, let me explain. Now we know the three chips reference not bullets but the three cornerstones, and Ratio openly expresses his doubt because the family is always watching (something which I will get into) and because a part of him does doubt this plan will go well. However, Aventurine prior reminds him of the events of the lightcone with the three chips. My interpretation is that Aventurine took that gamble in the lightcone to convince Ratio to go along with his crazy plan since if he can win a game of Russian Roulette with an unwavering smile on his face he an insane gamble means nothing to him (ratio doesn’t buy it because it’s ratio but the sheer audacity or you could say the “charming audacity” makes him go along with it). In my opinion this scene only makes sense pre-penacony, due to the timeline of events, which is why I believe it the reason for the events in it has to be Aventurine trying to convince Ratio to join in.

3) The family is always watching. During the 2.1 story quest it gets brought up several times in many different ways that it seems like the family has eyes on everything and everyone. Sunday’s fuckass bird is everywhere, and the man himself (minus being a goddamn biblically accurate angel) is covered in eye shaped shit and possesses close ties with the Harmony, which lends itself well to a character that knows things considering the Aeon itself is a conglomeration of many different perspectives. He fucking perception checks Aventurine, when the crew goes to look for info on firefly they learn the dream pools monitor people’s vitals and everything, even producing a dialogue option where the trailblazer states they feel like their every move is being watched. Topaz gets stalked by bloodhound members upon arrival, I could go on. TLDR Sunday knows almost everything that’s going on in Penacony, this is what leads him to believe the traitor is within the family, and his access to knowledge is something the IPC 100% knows about. I mean they have been presumably attempting to try and get it back for a while, and they would reasonably extensively try and learn everything about it. The Family notoriously hates negotiating with them so the IPC either learning and/or coming to the conclusion that the Family is watching their every move isn’t a ridiculous notion. If this conversation was genuine, if Ratio truly wanted to discuss this matter with Aventurine, why would he do it in a likely wiretapped, not very soundproof room where any passerby could hear Ratio loudly exclaim that Aventurine lost the very important cornerstones and that he is also one of the most despised groups in the galaxy because that would really do numbers for both their reputations. If you think about it, this not being staged is an incredibly stupid blunder on Ratio’s end (minus the deliberate OOCness) because of all the places Ratio could set up a very important meeting he does it in one of the worst places ever.

4) The dialogue in the scene. It’s awkward, it’s so awkward and the whole “also my family died I didn’t get an education” seemed so tacked on the first time I watched it. Knowing now, it seemed so tacked on because it was, Aventurine had to shove the info in there somewhere and their incredible conversational skills decided that was the best part in there. Ratio fucking leaving before Aventurine is even done talking goes from a “huh weird” to a “wow he is really playing up this arrogant scholar role”. And if Ratio is playing the arrogant scholar, Aventurine is playing the dumb, helpless, blonde to a T. Losing the cornerstones and acting nonchalant about it, letting Ratio insult him so callously and letting the insults slide, talking absolute nonsense at the end about random things that don’t matter, sadly lamenting into the distance that he’s alone again. Bro is playing it up and I live for it. They also and play up these personas in their little adventure prior to meeting Sunday, Aventurine asks stupid questions like wondering about the species of the bird that make up the statues and talking about how he wants to play in the sandpit and even insulting Sunday a bit, behavior that would make Sunday think him unprepared and unserious rather than cold and calculating. If Aventurine does that well, Ratio plays up his arrogant, uncaring scholar persona to the nines. He insults any and every decision or thing Aventurine does, loudly sighing of how happy he is to finally have some peace and quiet when Aventurine leaves his sight for 0.00008 milleseconds, pointing out his sarcasm, beefing with a random Pepeshi bodyguard no reason, pointing out his sarcasm, just the exaggerated way he talks in general, and suggesting he admit Aventurine into the Genius Society (even Ratio wouldn’t stoop so low as to suggest Aventurine was worthy of that).

Moreover, this is really, really tragic because I do think there are several moments of genuine banter and fun the two share “Ratio, you’re huge!” was not added to the script to enhance the plot guys. And obviously Aventurine knows most of Ratios behavior is acting, however he has such severe trust issues, and Ratio is so damn straightforward and blunt that he worries the man was serious about some of it which just breaks my heart. Soft Ratio please add it give me one conversation, the note at the end of 2.1 doesn’t count it’s too short.

Ultimately, knowing what I know now I can’t help but view the 2.0 conversation with Aventurine as being anything but staged, it simply makes no sense otherwise, and it happily obsolescent Ratio of his sins. This was a bit incoherent I honestly just wanted to rant (if you couldn’t tell haha) but I hope you enjoyed it regardless. I need sincere Ratio more then I need oxygen and I’m not afraid to say it.

[the-kr8tor]

Solo Mission

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 15k

Summary: What was supposed to be a simple mission goes awry. Your choices have consequences.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), CW food mentions, TW death, TW blood and gore, Body horror, CW injury, TW violence. Space exploration AU, Set in the future, Established relationships, space scavenger! Hobie and reader, horror elements.

A/N: Heavily inspired by the alien franchise and oats studio's zygote short film.

Navigation

Octobie 🎸

You float weightlessly in the vastness of space like an untethered satellite. Space, all encompassing, dark and foreboding land of stars and galaxies.

You dance in the windless place, swimming amidst the rocky asteroids, and gaseous gas that parts for you like seafoam on the shores of your old home. The sounds of twinkling wind chimes clink sweetly. Your eyes shine as you continue to fly, Saturn's rings wave by, Pluto's speck whizzes past you. Your fingers rake through the dust of ancient cosmos. A burnt smell of metal and steel enters your lungs, and as you look up to see the source, A blackhole appears, it sings an empty song.

And then suddenly, there's nothing but emptiness where the sun used to be. Your screams are taken from your throat as tendrils of darkness envelope your weightless being, stretching, and tugging and pulling at your body until you're nothing but a part of its ancient mass.

Gone and forgotten.

“Fuck!” You wake up in your cot, head almost hitting the top bunk that has been empty since you've claimed the cabin for your own. Heaving, hand on your chest, you feel arms snake around your middle, and his nose nudging your side. “Sorry, nightmare.”

Hobie inhales, looking up at you through half lidded eyes. “What's it about this time?” His voice is gravelly from sleep, palm softly pressing on your stomach to lay you back down.

“A blackhole this time.” You whisper as you lay down on the soft pillow. The cot barely fits the two of you, but you wouldn't have it any other way. “It swallowed me, I think.”

He hums, chin placed on your shoulder, one eye closed from sleepiness. “It was a metaphor for capitalism.”

Smiling, you wipe at the crust gathering in the corner of his eyes. “You're so good at interpreting dreams.”

“I should have made it a career instead of bein’ a scavenger.” He pulls you towards him so you don't fall over the edge of the cot. His hand is warmer than the summers back on earth.

“Well, if you did go into that industry you wouldn't have met me, captain.” You snuggle closer, “also, I think you wouldn't earn much.” Your hand finds penchants on the back of his neck, fingers kneading softly.

Chuckling, he pecks your cheek before closing his eyes, completely relaxing in your gentle touch. “You never know, we might've met because you wanted me to decipher your dreams.”

“Go back to dreaming, you sap.” you giggle, “We might have a long day today, we need you bright and sharp, cap.”

“Don't have to tell me twice, doc.” He yawns, hugging you tightly. “You feel alright though? I can stay awake if you need someone to talk to, lovie.”

“I'm good, thank you, but holding me like this is already helping me.”

“Maybe I should've become a professional hugger then.” He mumbles as he drifts off to sleep. The soft whirring of the station lulls him to dream of better things, and the big space metal he calls home floats and rotates in place, almost like it's rocking the two of you.

“Yeah, maybe.” You inhale sharply at the familiar scent of the space station. It's metallic in nature, but the gentle smell of home trumps the acrid scent of steel.

Your eyes roam the grey room that you and Hobie have made your own. Various posters and pictures of your travels across the galaxy are taped to the walls, numerous tools, both medical and mechanical, lay about the room. But the thing that hasn't stopped you from staring at it is the large circular window sitting at the far wall just across from the bed. It's an eternal darkness out here, with no way to tell what time it is, or what day it is without a watch. It can make anyone go insane without proper training. It's like living underground, except you get to see the sky and everything above and below it.

Amidst the darkness of space there lies Mars, in all its crimson glory, stares back at you. The red planet drenches your room in its hue as the station floats and rotates, it bathes you in its magnificence. The planet is a large beautiful thing, and it makes you feel small in its primordial presence. It has you thinking that home is only a stone throw away— Earth, even though it's thousands of miles away from you. Thousands of miles away from the salty sea, miles away from the chirping birds, and sweet flowers. You miss home. But with Hobie in your arms, this is the closest to home.

A knock echoes in the room, the comms cackles to life, and a tired raspy voice speaks in a mechanical tone from the old comms. “Either one of you awake?”

You sigh, taking a peek at your sleeping captain. With a double tap in your ear, you turn on the communication on your end, “Someone better be dying, Yuri.” You whisper, making sure that Hobie doesn't stir awake as you rub your knuckles over his arm affectionately.

“This night shift is killing me but that's not why I'm here.” You hear her sneeze on the other side, and then a sniffle. “Sorry, but I think we found something.”

“What kind of something?”

“A big payday kind of something.”

—

The door hisses as you enter the kitchen of the space station. The sudden bright lights make you wince in your fatigued state, one eye open while your hand roams all over the wall next to you to dim the lights. Once you feel the knob of the light switch, you turn down the harshness of the white light.

“I've gone blind.” You blink rapidly, adjusting your sight to the now darker room.

“Will a pot of fresh coffee cure your blindness?” Yuri asks behind you. In her arm is a holopad where hundreds of flashing dots appear. It's gibberish to you, but to the ship's personal navigator, it comes natural to Yuri.

“Maybe? Is it the good stuff from AE-67?”

“What are we, the emperor?” She raises a brow, and you shake your head with a pout. “When we scrap this ship we're tailing, we can drink that shit every single day, babes.”

You walk towards the coffee pot, grabbing two mugs, knowing that Hobie is bound to wake up now that your warmth next to him is gone. “You said that last time. And we almost ended up space scrap ourselves.”

“Oh this one would be different because…” she turns her holo pad to face you, revealing an old government issued ship just floating in space. “I think we might've found the motherload.”

“That looks ancient.” You pinch at the screen, zooming in on the chipping markings. “And very much confidential. This is an army ship, Yuri—”

“At three fucking A.M. Yuri?! Really?” James walks inside the kitchen, fuming and very tired from how his eyebags sag underneath his blue eyes. Ned follows behind him, hair disheveled and still in his pajamas. “Where's the captain?”

“Sleeping, but I bet he's waking up from how loud you were screaming.” You toss a balled up napkin at him, hitting him right on his chest.

“Everyone shut the fuck up,” Ned yawns, hands placed on top of his ears. “I need my coffee stat.” He takes your cup instead of getting his own. Putting three scoops of sugar and four spoonfuls of creamer, which he stirs quickly before chugging it.

“We live with a barbarian.” You roll your eyes, getting a fresh cup. You meet with Yuri's eyes, she gestures towards the dining table, and sits the holodeck on top of it, which immediately activates the projector that shows a bigger, much clearer picture of the ship. “Damn.” Hands protectively over the two cups, you watch as Ned’s eyes widen at the sight.

James whistles lowly, “wait, I know that ship. I remember my dad reporting on it fifteen years ago.”

Yuri snorts, “so back when you were in diapers?”

“No—”

“Is that what I think it is?” Hobie appears in the doorway, bleary eyes blinking at the projection. He walks towards the table, hands swiping at the hologram to turn it around, and zooming in on what's left of the markings. “Fuckin' hell.” He curses under his breath.

You close the distance, sliding his cup next to him as you sip on your own. “What is it? You recognize it?”

“It's the ‘Herodotus.’ It's been missing for years. How the fuck—?” You remember that name, and how infamous it became over the years. It's a myth spread across the galaxy, where treasures could lie.

“I came across it on our radar. A more modern radar isn't designed to detect old ships like this, but ours is old as balls, so our old girl found it.” Yuri answers him, patting the table as if it's sentient. “Then I sent our little droid to take pictures of it. It's in the zeta quadrant in the Remus constellation. Not that far from where we are.” She looks over to a bewildered you. “I knew we had something.”

“Some people say they're carrying tons of credits to be transported to some planet in sector seven.” Ned enters a few codes in the panel on the table, and a second later, the news article about said ship pops up. A picture of the ship looking shiny and new is on top of the page. “Some say it exploded, or looted while en route.”

You read through the article. “There were no survivors.” Your hand instinctively wraps around Hobie's, making him squeeze you. “There were no escape pods recorded to have left the ship.”

“That they know of,” Hobie replies. “No one found the bloody ship, until now.”

“So what's the course of action, captain?” Yuri asks.

Hobie looks over to you. And your mind runs a thousand miles per second. “What if there was a disease that wiped them out instead? It happened before on Romulus five years ago, what if—” you sigh, knowing the crew's minds are made up. “The ship looks pristine, no sign of explosion or pirates looting outside.”

“Or we could find millions inside.” James adds. “If there's no credits on board— it's an army ship, the weapons alone could be worthwhile. Or hell, even the power core and the cryo pods.”

“I can't believe I'm saying this but, James is right.” Yuri sighs and James fist pumps the air victoriously. “This could be the one we're waiting for.”

You purse your lips, and Hobie looks at you through pensive eyes. “If the captain wants to go, I'll go.”

Hobie cups your cheek briefly with a smile before returning his attention towards his small crew. “We'll take precautions in case there's a virus,” Yuri, claps her hands with a grin while Ned and James share a look. “And we take anythin' valuable.”

“Crunching the numbers, I think we're looking at ten mill, each.” Ned smiles, clasping Hobie's shoulder. “So just like any job then?”

“Just like any job.”

“Let's go get rich then.” Yuri hoots and hollers down towards the cockpit to punch in the coordinates.

The crew leaves to prepare, but you can't help but ignore the gnawing worry in your stomach. Hobie notices while drinking his coffee. He turns his attention towards you, calloused hands rubbing along your arms comfortingly.

“You alright?”

“Mm-hmm, just worried. The usual.” You take his hand from your arm to kiss the back of it. “It's nothing.”

“You know I trust your gut, right? Remember that heist we had on earth?” You nod with a faint smile. “You said you had a bad feelin’ and it turns out it was a trap. If not for you tellin’ your concerns we would be talkin’ through our cells in blackwater right now.”

“Okay, I worry that something is wrong with it.” You glance at the projection of the ship. “Just— I have an eerie feeling about it.”

“Tell you what, just say the word and we don't do it.” Hobie cups your jaw, thumbs rubbing along your skin gently. “We go about our way through the bloody cosmos like usual.”

You inhale. “We do need the money though.”

He gives you a smile, lips meeting your forehead. “I know. We'll be set for life if we do this.” You hum, eyes closed. “No more space farin’, no more diggin’ through dead ships for scraps.”

“And we can go home.”

“And we can go back to earth, and buy that place you like.” He whispers the last part.

You chuckle as he kisses the tip of your nose. “With the reading nook, and large bathtub?”

“Big enough for the two of us. All that and more, love.” He smiles, and you feel reassured. Tilting his head, he kisses you properly this time.

—

You sit just behind Yuri in the control room, you're tucked in safely with the seatbelts that's properly secured. Hobie sits at the front, navigating through the asteroid belt expertly. His hand flexes over the controls as the ship goes to a cruising speed once the decommissioned ship appears in sight.

Behind the large circular ship lays a red planet with its storms brewing just above the surface with yellow lightning that sparks and illuminates the dark space for a brief time.

“No wonder no one found this ship.” James mumbles in his seat.

“Until now.” Yuri smirks at him, eyebrow raised in a teasing manner which James scoffs at.

“Is that?” You narrow your eyes at the broken down droid floating aimlessly, it's barely a dot in the radar. The mechanical eyes are dim, wings broken in half next to it, and its tail is sparking from its broken down state.

“Damn it!” Yuri curses, eyes flicking towards Ned, who's groaning in anguish.

“No, Terry 2.0!” Ned thumps his head on the seat headrest. “He was my favourite!”

“I see something behind the ship!” James exclaims as he activates the ship's radar, your screen lights up like a Christmas tree in the shape of another ship.

“Wankers.” Hobie guides the ship carefully, rounding the corner to stare down at the rival emerald coloured ship. With a few clicks on the panel, he calls up whoever is left on the ship.

“I swear those martians are always right on our tail.” Yuri shakes her head with an angry look on her face.

The call rings and rings, yet no one answers. “Fuck it, let's dock on the other side. I bet we'll come across those arseholes.” With an annoyed grunt, Hobie moves the ship on the other side to dock.

Everything happens by the book. Hobie lines up the ship perfectly along the docking clasps while Riri makes sure that the crimson spider is nicely locked on the military ship. And once everything is in place, you make sure that Hobie has his double lined suit on and everyone else that's coming on board the decommissioned ship. It's not needed most of the time, but with your worry of unknown disease that could be on board, it's a necessity.

“Yuri, you stay ‘ere in case things shit the fan.” Hobie instructs Yuri and she slumps down just as she's about to put on her boots.

“Come on, cap! I wanted to give those dicks a piece of my mind!”

“Sorry, James stayed last time.”

James smirks under his helmet, forgetting that it's completely see through.

“Oh fuck off, James.” Yuri kicks his shin, causing the smug blond to hold his leg and jump in place. He winces, the sound echoing through the comms.

“Ow! I just smiled!”

“Alright, enough of that. We have a job to do.” Ned says before you could. You give him a thankful nod. The other two doesn't seem to get the message, their arguing echoes throughout the ship.

Your suit hugs you in its silicon material, helmet fitting snugly and smelling faintly of jasmine. You can bet that Yuri used it before on a routine space walk. Tapping on the controls right on your wrist, you make sure the oxygen and carbon dioxide levels are alright. Sighing, Hobie sidles up to you, hand grabbing onto the med kid on your belt, pulling you closer to him.

“Just say the word, love.”

“I'm starting to think you're the one who's more worried than me.”

“It's my job to worry.” He smiles, “and it's part of the deal in lovin’ you.” He whispers the last sentence, making sure the other three are still arguing right behind you.

“You make it sound like I blackmailed you into loving me.”

“Nah, I walked right into it with open arms.” Hobie winks, sending your heart into a marathon.

You hold onto his wrist, wishing that you could feel his warmth under the suit. Smiling, you draw circles around his wrist. “Now that we're here, I actually feel good about it now.”

He chuckles, “you're a bad liar, love. I have to teach you how to lie better.”

You feign annoyance with a click of your tongue, smile betraying you. “Damn it, you saw right through me—”

“Fine!” Yuri's angry voice pops the bubble of affection around you and Hobie. She gives James the middle finger. “When you come back, your room will be filled with fucking jelly!”

“I hope an alien abducts you while you're alone here!”

“Moron, aliens aren't real!”

“Enough.” One word from Hobie and they both quiet down. (The ghost of his smile betrays him though) But their glares don't subside. “We have to move quickly or the Martians will get the loot before we can.”

“Aye, aye, cap.” Yuri says with a roll of her eyes, clearly annoyed at the situation. “Get me something good, babes.” She says to you as she moves out of the room and back into the cockpit. She opens the airlock, waving goodbye through the glass window.

Alarms blare, a high pitched sound declaring that the air lock has been opened. Red light illuminates the room as the air hisses and squeaks from the pressure change. Hobie holds onto your hand, squeezing three times when the giant door opens and reveals the state of the old ship.

“It's dark.” James says through the comms, voice a bit muffled by the system. “There goes looting the power supply.”

“Maybe the emergency system shut it off after whatever happened to them.” Ned steps inside first, opening his flashlight perched on his shoulder. “Besides, basic shit like doors and gravity would still work without it.”

The unmistakable click of a gun's safety goes off in James’ hand as he takes the rear end of the line right behind you. Your hand reluctantly lets go of Hobie, fingers stopping once you feel the familiar indents of your pistol right on your hip. Hobie's back is in front of you, no doubt holding on to his own gun just like Ned and James.

The doors close right behind you, and the crimson spider’s light is snuffed out, plunging the crew in darkness. Your hand shakes as you click your torch open. The air is stale and stagnant, with dust particles flying about. The ship is a mess inside, full of broken down metal, and scraps of papers strewn about. But still no sign of life.

The visitor's desk that should've greeted you on the way in sits empty. The booth is cracked, and the inside looks like a hurricane ran through it. Your hand unclips the holster, thumb practically glued on the gun. You have a bad feeling about all of this despite what you just told Hobie.

The comms cackle to life in your ears. “Everyone alive in there?” Yuri's voice echoes, and you hear her munching on her breakfast.

“Good on our end.” Ned answers, walking at a reasonable pace. “Are you seriously eating right now—!” He hits something with his foot, and whatever it was, it lights up the hallway, bathing it in blue light. “What the fuck!”

“Calm down.” Hobie clasps his shoulder as Ned moves to the side, giving you the perfect view of a droid on its last life.

“What happened?!” Yuri yells.

“It's just a service droid.” You sigh, answering her question. “We're good, Yuri.”

“You're a fucking scaredy cat, Ned.” James chortles behind you. Ned rolls his eyes, flipping the bird at James.

Hobie crouches down, turning the droid’s head to the side to see its cracked screen. It still smiles as sparks fly from its joints. “Ned, can you splice its memory?”

“Child's play.” He says, still clutching his chest. “It might take some time but I can do it remotely once I've connected to its head.”

“Good, thanks, mate.” Hobie stands up, letting Ned do his work. He looks at you, wordlessly asking if you're alright with just a nod.

You send a wink at him despite your anxiety crawling up your neck.

“And…I'm in. We can go.” Ned groans as he stands up, Hobie gives him a helping hand which the man takes.

“How long?” You ask, looking over Ned’s shoulder.

“Fifteen minutes, give or take.”

“I'll take the lead this time.” Hobie says, gesturing for Ned to move behind him and in front of you. You don't like how Hobie went further down the line, but you sucked it up as it's part of the job you signed up for.

The crew continues to stalk the hallways, guns raised, and with your heart rate quickening with every step. The place has become more disheveled with every move you take, tables turned over, consoles broken into pieces, shards of glass littered across the floor and broken wires sparking on the walls. And there has been no sign of the other crew, or other life forms amidst the destruction.

“Where are they?” You ask, swallowing thickly at the broken down dining area you passed. Good thing you have helmets on or the smell would've been rancid with the leftovers you saw still on the table.

James scoffs behind you. “Fuck them, Y/N, why are you so worried? It's a big ass ship, odds are we don't see them.”

“If they're going where we're going, we're bound to walk into them.” You raise a brow, looking over your shoulder. “Besides, we should've seen a sign from them by now.” Peeking at your small console on your arm with the map of the ship, you surmise your group has already reached the middle of it, which means you should've heard the other group talking or even their footsteps echoing by now. It has been silent ever since you stepped foot inside.

You pat your pistol on your hip, the hair on your nape rises with your anxiety boiling inside you. Maybe it's better if you do see them, it would mean the place is safe from any contaminants or other dangerous obstacles bound to happen when you're exploring a decommissioned ship.

The group walks in silence with each of their heavy footsteps echoing around the winding hallway. On your right sits numerous rooms where the crew would've slept in. On your left are large windows that showcase the vast space just outside of the ship. You're used to the view, but you always loved looking at the dark with its numerous stars and planets dotting the view. You always wonder if someone out there was gazing at the same view as you, and you always have an answer to it, and that's Hobie.

You meet with his eyes just as when he looks away from the window to you. He smiles beneath his helmet, winking casually, reassuring that he's right there with you. You grin at him, pursing your lips and mocking a silent kiss that makes him chuckle before shaking his head and taking his attention back towards the front.

“Heads up.” Yuri's voice cackles on the intercom. “Cryo room inbound.”

Hobie stops when he sees the big letters on his right. The large double doors are tightly sealed with the panels on its left still blinking and softly beeping amidst the darkened room. A number is painted on the doors, and a few symbols indicating the rooms importance and what lies inside.

“Do you want to check it out, Hobie?” Ned asks, lifting his head briefly from his console to look at the doors. “The pods could still be intact, we can sell them if they are.” His console beeps, and he presses a few buttons on it. “We got time anyway, decryption is at seventeen percent.”

“And there could be people inside.” You add, “it is protocol to get inside a pod if all else fails in the ship.”

“Imagine if they were,” James mutters. “they've been sleeping and waiting in there for fifteen or so years. Fucking creepy.”

“Probably,” Hobie says while lining up his torchlight at the dinging control panels. Your heart thumps with trepidation from their words. “Ned, could you?”

“Sure thing.” Ned walks towards the panel to connect his console with it. “Good thing we saw that droid, now I've got access to most of the ship.”

“Everyone say ‘thank you, dead robot.’” James chimes.

“Thank you, dead robot!” Yuri laughs in the coms, “we'll be sure to remember its memory once we get our own mansions.”

“Cryo pods are worth half a mil each in the market nowadays.” You say while you wait for Ned to open the doors. Hobie sidles up next to you, leaning against you casually. “And with how vintage this is, it could fetch us a handsome prize from the right collector.”

He turns his head towards you, bumping his helmet against yours gently. “You're brilliant.”

You show him your console that is showing how much a cryo pod is in the online blackmarket. “I was reading off of it.”

Hobie chuckles, moving away to pat your shoulder. “Should've said so, love.” You giggle at his reaction. “You're still gettin’ reception from ‘ere?”

“It's a bit choppy now, but yeah.”

“It's because of my genius with the net expander—” Ned pats himself on the back, literally. “There, it's open.” With a chiming sound and a hiss of compacted air, the cryo room opens to you.

Hobie and James go inside first with their weapons drawn, their steps calculated, and eyes watchful at the blue lined walls. You follow closely with Ned by your side, he shifts his head around the expansive room. Unlike the hallways, the room is pristine. With its walls and floors clean as if it's the first time someone has stepped foot inside. In the center sits a dozen or so cryo pods. Its cylindrical shape and glass lid sparkles from your flashlights.

Once Hobie and James cleared the room, you peek inside one of the pods, finding it empty. “Ah shit.” You look inside each pod to make sure, only seeing its white padded walls instead of what you expected. “It's all empty.” You sigh, hands placed on your hips.

“Thank fuck.” James takes a peek at one of them with a relieved sigh. “I would be freaked out if there was someone in one of these.”

Ned raises a teasing brow, “weren't you born in one?”

“Fuck off.” James flips him the bird.

Hobie smiles at the interaction while punching in a few buttons at the control panel in the center. You walk closer to him, hand placed on his waist while looking at the display.

“It says that it's in optimal condition.” You say while reading the rest of the information. “Even the cryo fuel has never been used.”

“I can read y’know.” He tilts his head at you, glancing briefly while he presses a few more buttons.

“Ha ha.” You squeeze his side, if not for the suit he would've felt it better. And yet he still yelps, as if it hurt him.

With a chuckle, he calls Yuri. “Ready the ship at dock number three, I'm sending the pods to you.”

“Fuck yeah!” Yuri's happy cheers ring in your coms. James even claps in place but when Ned doesn't show his excitement, he nudges him, and Ned scoffs at him in return before turning his attention back towards his screen, probably monitoring the decryption.

“Right, stand aside, I don't want you lot getting pulled in.” Hobie pulls you back by your belt, you stagger backwards, earning a yelp from you. When you stare daggers at him he just grins playfully. “What? I was jus' lookin' out for you is all.”

“Thank you, Hobie.” You say sarcastically, head bopping to the side while the floor around the cryo pods open with a mechanical hiss.

“You're welcome, love.” He pats your behind, chuckling as the pods descend from the floors downwards to the docking bay. You pat his flat ass in retaliation, which James makes a face at the two of you. “You got it from ‘ere, Yuri?”

“Got it, cap.” You can hear some clicking and whirring on the other side of the call. “Anddd… It's in! We're rich!”

While the others celebrate with high fives and fist pumps, a trilling sound from outside the room takes your attention. You walk towards the door, peeking over the doorway, eyes roaming around the dark with your flashlight following your line of sight.

You turn your head to the right. Nothing, just an open shutter with another dark hallway.

You turn to your left, nothing but dust flitting about.

A hand suddenly grasps your shoulder, and you jump from the shock of it. “Jus’ me, love.” Hobie rubs his gloved thumb over your shoulder blade, amused eyes turning into concern when he notices your anxious self. “You alright?”

“Y–yeah, I thought I heard something.”

He gives you a tight smile, pulling you towards him for a quick hug. “It's an old ship, it creaks and groans.”

You inhale sharply, “yeah, I know. I'm just jumpy.” Placing your hand on his cheek, the helmet stops you from fully feeling his warmth against your skin. “We can go now, right?”

“You kidding?” James appears from behind, grinning from ear to ear. “We gotta get the power source now, doc. Go big or go home, right?”

“I'd rather go home now actually, James.” You frown at him.

“Come on, there could still be valuable shit in here.” He pushes in between you and Hobie, going out of the room to spread his arms to his side. “You never know there could be that treasure we've heard about.”

“That's a load of shit.” You say, annoyed. “We got what we need, let's just go back to our ship instead of chasing some old wives tale.”

“We're not leaving until we see for ourselves that it is just some story.” James doesn't back down, “right, cap?”

You turn towards Hobie, clearly contemplating his choices. “How ‘bout we put it to a vote, like usual.”

“Come on, Hobie—” You start.

“I vote stay!” James cuts you off.

“Sorry, gorgeous, but I also vote yes. I have debts to pay, y’know.” Yuri adds to the conversation, you were hoping that she was on your side in this.

You shift towards Ned, who finds himself in the middle while he stares (or pretends to) at his screen. “What?”

“You need to vote, Ned.” You say, arms crossed atop your chest while leaning on the doorway.

“Vote yes to be a multi millionaire, Ned.” James teases you some more with a smirk playing on his lips.

“I found the ship map from the files I got from the droid.” Ned says, and James groans loudly. “And it says here that there's a hidden chamber deep inside the ship—”

“The treasure!” Both Yuri and James exclaim.

Hobie beckons Ned over, looking at the map on his console to see it for himself. You glance at it, and sure enough, there's a large chamber right in the center of the ship that wasn't in the original map placed around the ship walls.

Hobie turns towards you, and you already know what he's about to say. “Love—”

“Fine, majority wins.” you slink off outside without another word.

Hobie tries to reach for you but you're already walking away.

—

The group stays on course. With Hobie leading and with you in the back of the line, frowning and jaw clenched at the hallway ahead. At least the view outside is pretty. You glance at Hobie, finding that he's focused on what lies ahead.

With a huff, you open your screen to amuse yourself with some good old space invaders but you find that the net has stopped connecting with you being so far from the crimson spider. You could still play to spite the team, but you opt not to be such a child in the face of uncertainty. So you put the console to sleep, a flicker of Hobie's photo appearing before the screen turns to black.

You bite your lip when the group turns a corner towards the ship's cockpit. Again, the hallway is empty save for a few glass shards cracking under your boots. The air is as stale as before, and there hasn't been anyone you've come across through the short walk from the cryo room to the control room.

Hobie tries to open the door on the panel to the side, but it beeps in a high pitched tone, indicating that he can't access it.

“Ned,” he looks over his shoulder, only to find that Ned’s already by his side, console at the ready.

“I should send you all the authorization so you don't need me anymore to do this for you.”

“Aw, but we always need you, Neddy.” Yuri jokes in the coms, and you manage to let out a small chuckle.

Hobie hears you, turning to smile at you, which you slink away from, still annoyed and frustrated by him and his decision. His expression falters as the entire team hears a beeping sound from their screens to find that Ned has given you and the rest the access codes he got from the droid.

“There, in case we get separated, we can all open doors now.” Just as Ned says it, the cockpit doors open with a groan and a hiss. But it stops halfway, only opening enough for one person to pass through one at a time. “Damn it.” He tries to fix it by banging at the panel, but the doors only wheeze as sparks fly. “Note to self: don't do that.”

“It's fine, we can get inside anyway.” Hobie squeezes himself inside, you stop him immediately with your hand on his bicep. “Yeah, love?” He pauses in place right in between the double sliding doors.

You quickly scan the room, finding no one else inside or anything that would put him in danger. “Sorry, just checking.”

He pats your hand with a smile, reassuring you. “Thanks, love, I've got this, don't worry.”

“She always worries.” James utters under his breath. You snap your head at him, eyes narrowed. “What? I didn't say nothing.”

You hum, still staring daggers at him. “Watch your tone, James or I'll give you all those vaccines you keep avoiding, all at once.”

James surrenders while Ned goes inside the control room. “Jeez, sorry.” He gestures for you to squeeze yourself in next.

With a roll of your eyes, you move to shimmy yourself in, but that same trilling sound echoes from down the hallway towards you. It sends goosebumps to your arms, hair standing on the back of your neck.

“Did you hear that?” You ask James, who's standing next to you, waiting for his turn.

“No, it was probably the pipes. Old ship—”

“Yeah, I get it, this place is old.” With a quick push, you get yourself out of the doors.

The command center is as dark as the rest of the ship. The air seems to be more stagnant here than the rest with its lights flickering on and off, bulbs buzzing, threatening to pop. You scan the floors, finding it as disordered with broken glass, and scattered papers. But what gets your attention is the oozing dark matter still dripping from a table down to the floors. You briefly scan it with your device built in with your console, but after a few seconds of it trying to identify the substance, an error code pops up on the screen.

“What is it?” Ned sidles up next to you, eyes narrowed at the slimy material. “Goo?”

“I don't know, my console can't identify it.” You feel a sense of deja vu around it.

“Weird, it's probably on the fritz. I'll check it once we're back.” He nudges your arm. But when you could only stare at it, he shakes you lightly. “Y/N? You alright?”

A bright light seems to appear from inside the ooze, as if something is moving inside it. Something alive, ready to reach towards you with its dark tendrils.

“Hey.” Ned shakes you harder this time, managing to wake you up from your haze. “Do you feel dizzy?”

You inhale, craning your neck to look at him. “I'm fine, Ned. And that's my job.”

He chuckles, “not trying to take your job, doc.” Walking away, he looks over his shoulder, waiting for you to follow. “Come on then, before the captain worries.”

You take one last look at the substance before following Ned. It looks the same as before, maybe it was the trick of the light coming from the planet slowly rotating in the large window up front. It's a gaseous ball with its numerous storms laying waste to the entire planet. Its red lightning flaring, lighting up the cockpit with brief crimson. Hundreds of hurricanes' swirling clouds can be seen from where you are. It's magnificent, a terrifying force of nature. If this ship plummets down, there's no surviving it.

Tamping down your dark thoughts, you make your way towards Hobie, who's connecting his console with the main control panel. He glances at you, nodding briefly before returning his attention towards the blinking panels. His helmet reflects the storm in front, a dance of lightning and clouds circling around the glass of his helmet.

“Good thing the emergency power is keeping this place afloat.” James sighs, arms perched atop his rifle. “I really don't want to go down with this ship.”

“Stop it, James.” Hobie mutters, brows furrowed at his screen. He's still trying to keep your worries away even though he's busy. “It's not giving me any of the captain's logs.”

“You might need a higher clearance.” Ned connects himself to the controls, trying to override the clearance. “Wait— the decryption is done.” He unplugs to check the files, finding hundreds of audio files from a crew member named ‘Harry’.

The team shares a look, and you inhale deeply. As Ned pressed play on the last known recording, the crackling sound of the garbled audio echoes around the dark and silent room.

“Log 277, I've run out of food up here.” His voice is weak, as if he has been running a hundred miles before recording. “Serves me right for not stopping by the mess hall before shit hit the fan.” Something metallic can be heard in the audio, as if a gust of wind is blowing a tin roof away. “I can't— I can't do this anymore.” His sobs fade away for a second before he composes himself. “I've only got three days worth of water left— and I keep seeing that fucking face whenever I close my goddamn eyes!” He sharply inhales. “I–If you're hearing this recording that means I've successfully sent my logs to all the droids in the ship. I could at least warn you. And if you're still on the ship, run.” The recording cackles until it ends.

“What the fuck?” You whisper yell, palm gripping at your chest to ease your quick heartbeat.

Hobie reaches for you, hand placed on your nape, and his eyes swimming with fear. “We should get out of ‘ere.” You grip his hand, lips wobbling as you look at the side of his face.

“But—” James starts, eyes wide but clearly wanting to push through.

“We need to go, James.” You shake your head at him, steely eyes staring at him.

“Yuri—” Hobie calls for her.

“I heard, cap, I'm already docking the ship to the nearest exit.” She replies, tone serious.

“Let's go—” Ned gestures to leave, but a strained cough from somewhere freezes the group in place.

You flick your eyes at everyone, finding each of their faces morph into a terrified expression.

“P–please…” The mysterious voice pleads. “Behind…the controls.”

As terrified as you are right now, you can't help but try to save them, whoever they are.

Sliding away from Hobie's side despite his protests, you go around the panels to find the stranger. You gasp at his slumped state, his helmet is shattered to bits, lungs desperately trying to intake air, and his eyes— they're nothing but bloody sockets in his head.

Hobie follows you, immediately freezing when he sees what you're looking at with your wide eyes. “Fuck.”

Ned and James watch on with similar horror etched on their faces while Yuri’s gasps can be heard while she sees the stranger from your camera connected to the ship.

You slowly kneel down, trembling hands trying to open your med pack from your belt. Hobie's hand tries to keep you in place, protecting you from the man. The velcro from your pack rips as you open it, and the man raises a bruised hand to stop you.

“Not worth trying.” He wheezes. “I'm a dead man.”

Hobie narrows his eyes at the familiar patch on the man's suit, he sports a similar logo as the martians who got on the ship before you. “Are you with the—?”

“Commander Andy Landers at your service.” He salutes weakly, chuckling which was quickly replaced by a pained cough. “Who are you fuckers?” He points at his nonexistent eyes. “I'm not wearing my glasses right now.”

“Hobie Brown…” he kneels beside you, hand never leaving your shoulder. “You’re with my team. What happened ‘ere?”

Andy licks his cracked lips, hands flexing into fists as a wave of pain washes over him. “You need to get out of here.”

You try to patch up his eyes with a cloth of bandage but he stops you by suddenly grabbing your wrists in a bruising grip. “L–let go.”

“Don't look at it, or else it will know where you are.” He squeezes you tighter, his eye sockets dripping with fresh blood like a tear. Hobie comes to your side, trying to pry Andy away from you. “You can't kill it, but you can take your eyes away before it gets you!”

You desperately pull your hands away, Hobie manages to yank you off, and you immediately crawl away from Andy and towards Hobie. Hobie embraces your side, fingers gripping onto your suit, shielding you from the strange and eerie man.

The former commander gasps, as if his breath is being sucked right out of his lungs. His head is held up high, chest heaving and gasping for air. Bloodied tears flow down on his cheeks, leaving trails of crimson on his battered flesh. As fast as it came, he falls back into place, sockets seeming to stare right at you.

“It’s coming for you, doc.”

Your vision turns hazy with a kaleidoscope of light, but before you could blink it away, you're yanked up to your feet with Hobie dragging you out of there.

“We need to help him.” Just as you said the words, alarms blare out in the cockpit. Red lights suddenly illuminate the room, and a blue fog creeps from below the vents to the floor. The ship has activated its waste protocol, which means it has detected a foreign and dangerous object within the room.

“There's no helping him!” Hobie runs, while Ned manages to squeeze himself through the doors before it suddenly shuts closed. Hobie and James hit the steel doors harshly from their speed. And you run into Hobie's back right after. “Fuck!” He punches the doors, it doesn't even dent it. “Ned!”

“Already on it!” Ned's frantic muffled voice can be heard on the other side.

“That's it! I'm coming in!” Yuri screams into the coms as you hear her running footsteps in the background.

“No, Yuri, stay on the bloody ship!”

While Hobie and James try to pry open the door with their bare hands, a sound akin to crawling coming from the vents gets your attention. It seems to get closer amidst the blaring alarms.

“Take me, oh magnificent one!” Andy shouts from his place, and now you see fingers gripping the metal vents from below the floors, then another, then another as if three pairs of hands are trying to open it.

“Hobie.” You stagger back, hands grasping at Hobie's suit.

“‘m tryin', love!”

With the rattling of metal, the vent hatch disappears from beyond, sucked inside. The fingers reach out until a bloodied arm appears, then another, and another until you see dozens of fingers attached to three mangled and melded arms. A grotesque being of unfathomable nature.

“Hobie!” You shake him, and he finally looks back to see the creature rear its ugly head from under the vents— Heads, there's dozens of heads stuck together on its thick bloodied neck that oozes dark tendrils. Faces all morphed together into agonized expressions. Their voices are warbled, screaming in different tones and jumbled up words of suffering. “Ned, we need this opened now!”

You stand and watch as the being crawls out of the dark as sirens ring in your ears and ruby lights flicker in and out of place with the kaleidoscope haze in your vision. Its skin bends into a mass of flesh, a rat king of sorts, limbs tangled together, strewn together by a black substance ebbing out of its pores.

“Water!” The creature gargles out the words from deep within its throat. “Help!”

“Oh god.” You walk backwards into the wall, seeing the creature wobble towards the commander behind the control panels. Panting in place, you see James aim at it. “Don't!” You yell at him, arm outstretched. “You'll get its attention. Andy's giving us time.”

“I'm here!” Yuri's muffled voice from behind the door gives you hope. “Ned, tell me what to do!”

Their conversation falls from your ears as the mangled mess of flesh and muscle gets to the commander. It rises up to its full height, revealing you more of its hands and feet on its belly, all melted into place to create a wall of bloody and beaten flesh. A rainbow light flashes in your vision as it devours the man. Blood gushes out on the floor while it tears into him. He doesn't scream or plead for mercy, he stays in place, accepting his fate.

“Y/N!” Hobie's voice takes your attention away from the gore filled sight. “You go first!” He pushes you towards the crack in the door that Ned and Yuri managed to open. You can see their faces freeze in fear as they see the creature feed.

“What about you?!” You grab his arms, pulling him towards you.

“I'll be right behind you, love, I promise, yeah?” He pushes you further out while Ned and Yuri help pull you outside.

You hit the floor in a grunt, back aching that you push down to help Hobie get out. Standing up, you take out your pistol, aiming behind him while you cover Hobie as he scrambles out.

“Hurry!” Yuri yells, “James, you're next!”

Hobie manages to get out just as the creature's delighted hums of pleasure stop. You pull him closer to you for an embrace, he hugs back, face hidden on the crook of your neck.

“Fuck!” James' rifle buzzes and then goes off, and you immediately move away to help him. He shoots at the alien, bullets getting absorbed by its wall of flesh whenever he hits his mark.

“Forget it and just get out!” Yuri sticks her hand out to pull him out. She manages to grab hold of his belt, pulling him out into the barely opened door.

A spray of bullets rain inside while you join Yuri in pulling James out. “James! You need to go!”

Ned panics on the panel as it beeps an error sound, warning of the doors closing. “Fuck! Hobie—!”

Hobie stops from pulling James to help Ned. “Shit, it needs a fingerprint!” He presses his own thumb on the scanner to no avail. He realizes what happens next. “Pull him out now—!”

The unmistakable click of the empty rifle rings like a death knell. James' body is only a quarter from getting through as the creature grabs him with its multiple hands, pulling him away from your grasp, lifting him up while it opens its bloodied maw. He's face to face with rows upon rows of mismatched teeth, a dozen tongues lolling out and flicking the same dark substance on his helmet.

“Yuri!” James screams while you try to push yourself back into the room to grab his legs but Hobie yanks you away from the doors. Giving time for Yuri to replace you.

“Yuri, no! Get away!” Hobie yells as he holds you in place with his arms around you.

“James!” Yuri continues to push herself inside, prompting Ned to dive for her and pull her away but Yuri fights. “I've got his foot—!” As she says it, James' screams are cut abruptly. His blood dripping down on the floors, raining down on Yuri. “No!” Ned manages to pull her back enough but her arm is still taking hold of his limp leg. “I've got him—!”

Bang!

The doors suddenly shut on Yuri's arm, and her screams of sorrow are replaced with agonizing pain. The sound of muscle and bone being ripped apart from its sockets would haunt your dreams.

“Yuri! Oh god!” You crawl towards her while her shoulder sprays blood on your suit, “I've got you— oh fuck!” Your eyes fill with tears as your hand shakes around the bandage you're desperately trying to wrap around her wound. “Hobie!” With your cry, Hobie jumps to help, eyes wide with shock. “We need to stop the bleeding!”

He takes more bandages from your kit, pushing the cloth inside as she wails in pain. Ned cradles her in place, hand placed over her eyes as he shields her away from the sight.

The cockpit doors bang with every cry she lets out. You glance at it briefly, heart buzzing to the beat of the brute's knocking.

Once you've gotten your entire supply of bandages around her, Hobie inhales deeply. “We need to get back on board.” You and Ned nod while Yuri's sobs quiets down dangerously. “Help me get her up.” He sniffs as he stands up, “love, can you manage to cover us?”

You swallow down your fear. “Y-yeah, I think so.” He hands you the gun while he puts his arm under Yuri. She yelps, sobbing while she continues to bleed out. “She needs a lot of blood, Hobie.” You say while you put the gun strap over your shoulder.

“We'll get her some, don't worry.” The banging gets louder, “we might need to run. Yuri, which dock—”

“James…” She says in between sobs.

“I know, I know.” Ned calms her down with his hand wiping away at her blood soaked helmet. “We'll get him once you're alright, okay? For now, which dock, Yuri?”

“T–thirteen, near medical.” She gasps out before her head lays on Hobie's chest.

The three of you look at your right, opposite of the way you came from. “Alright, no time to lose.” He fixes his hold on Yuri, earning a staggered exhale from her. “Hold on for us, Yuri.”

Ned guides you all throughout the hallway while you can hear the banging echoing from behind. You take the rear, gun at the ready even though you aren't.

“Just a few more minutes, Yuri!” Ned yells from up front, numerous boots clanging against the metal floors.

You keep running despite your lungs heaving out. Checking your weapon's ammo, you glance at the floor to find the rest of commander Andy's team laying on the ground with numerous parts of their bodies missing.

“Fuck! This is fucked!” Ned screams but he keeps running.

The team turns a corner, that's when the lights flicker into the same shade as the bloody floors. The identical alarms ring from the cockpit, filling the entire hallway with blue fog. Your vision fills with a rainbow of light briefly.

It's here.

“Keep running!” You yell as you hear its heavy footfalls behind you. Hobie spares you a worried glance, “I'm fine, Hobie, keep going!”

You can see dock thirteen in the distance.

There's a new set of footsteps running in the halls.

“Who the fuck is that?!” Ned shouts, pointing ahead of him where a couple of strangers are running towards the dock. “Oi, no!”

They get there before you, sporting a similar suit like yours. But they don't wait for you as they open the dock hatch.

“Wait!” You point the gun at them as a warning. “Please!”

They look like they're arguing, but once they see the creature stalking right behind you, they don't stop to wait. With a frantic hand they shut the hatch close without your team making it inside your ship.

“Motherfucker!” Hobie yells, body hitting the glass hatch from his running momentum. Ned tries to open the doors with the panel to the side, but it beeps, error code reflecting on his helmet. “Open the fucking door!”

You look behind you, seeing the mass of flesh running towards you sloppily, body hitting the sides of the hallway as it gasps a gravelly voice.

“Yuri!” It says in James' voice, and you immediately aim, rifle powering up for a second before you shoot at its legs.

It staggers back as you hit its enormous knee caps in a shatter of bone and blood. You keep shooting, its skin tearing off from the bullets.

“I'm sorry!” The people on the other side say as they get into the ship, leaving you all behind. You can hear Hobie's console warning you of your shared ship undocking.

“Fuckers!” Ned punches the glass as it cracks under his fist.

“We need to go!” Hobie shouts above the rain of gunfire. He yells your name, and you immediately feel someone's hand grip the belt of your suit to pull you away.

Twisting around, you follow your team out of the hallway as you hear the deep rumble of the organism’s footsteps. Without looking back, you hear the shatter of glass and your ship's alarm systems kicking in. It got in, but the airlock already went back in place with a hiss, reminding you that the two strangers have left you all to die in this dying piece of scrap metal with an unknown creature.

—

Ned locks the med bay doors behind him while you and Hobie pause for a second to gawp at the mess of skin and muscle on the operating table.

“What the fuck is that?” Hobie waits for you to answer.

The body is barely recognizable as a human being. Its skeletal structure is all over the place with its seven legs curled to its side in a fetal position, with ten arms embracing its legs. The bones are in deep crimson, as if the shade was painted on. The muscles look like it's melting away from its bones, dripping flesh into the metal table.

“I don't fucking know.” You say while Ned closes the shutters to the windows. “Put Yuri down over there, I'll find where they keep the blood.” Pointing at an empty metal table, you set off to find some blood, or at least a transfusion kit. You remember Ned is an O negative, meaning he can give to Yuri.

Shuffling quickly around the room while Hobie sets Yuri down, you fling numerous cabinets open in hopes to find something, anything to help her instead of just bandages.

Hobie calls for you, his tone soft and sullen. “Love,” he cries out for you again. “Love.”

With one last cabinet to open, you finally find bags upon bags of blood stored inside. “I found it!” You smile, grabbing an armful of blood bags. Turning around, your smile falters when you see Ned sobbing while holding Yuri's hand. Hobie shakes his head, eyes filled with tears. A tear falls down your cheeks, you refuse to let it be. “I found the blood, Hobie, help me with—” you step forward, Hobie quickly embraces you, “she needs them!” muffling your cries as he holds you against his chest while bags of blood fall on your feet.

He cradles you in place as your legs give out from under you. “‘m sorry, love.” Leaning on the cabinets, he lets you hide yourself in his neck, letting your cries reverberate through him as he puts his head atop your shoulder, arms around your body and cradling you back and forth.

—

You've said your goodbyes to Yuri and James, but the shock still hasn't worn off from your bodies. The team, or what's left of you, sit on the cold floors, helmets off for now, backs leaning against the cabinets as the three of you stare off into space wordlessly.

“I'm gonna miss their arguing.” Ned cuts off the heavy silence. “I'm already missing Yuri's coffee, and James' parfait.”

“Or you could just be hungry, mate.” Hobie jokes, hand reaching on top of Ned’s head. Wiggling him gently while Ned smiles softly.

“I'll miss James' hugs, and the way Yuri haggles the prices on the black market.” You smile faintly, avoiding looking at her body covered by a fire blanket. “I remember when she managed to get the price of fuel down to only three hundred credits when it was supposed to be six hundred.”

“Remember when we had to pull her away from a bar fight?” Hobie turns to you, head placed on your shoulder with lips briefly kissing you. He wishes that the suit wasn't there. “While we were tryin’ to not get her arrested, James jumped in to join the fight. We ended up stayin’ a night in jail.” He chuckles, and you soon follow after with your gentle laughter.

Ned joins in, laughing that quickly turns into sniffles. “Yeah, I'll m–miss them.”

You slither your hand behind Hobie to pat Ned’s shoulder. “They were the best.”

“The pods.” Hobie suddenly says, perking up from your shoulder.

“Mate, this is no time to worry about the shit we stole.”

“Not that pod. The escape pods, every ship has ‘em. If we get the power goin' we can get out of ‘ere.”

Ned checks his console for the ship's map. “Says here that there are escape pods left in the ship.” He pinches his fingers, zooming in on the map. “And there's also some sort of executive panic room in case of an uprising inside the ship.” He hisses, “but we both need admin clearance and the power back on to open them.”

“Then let's find someone to open it for us. And open the lights back on.” Hobie thumps his head against the cabinet. “Fuckin' easy, eh?”

You chuckle, nuzzling your face on his bicep, “we need a miracle to pull it off.”

He bumps his head atop yours. “That's quitter talk, lovie.” A gentle smile appears on your lips, eyes glinting under the flashlights. “But I know that look, you've got a plan, don't you?”

“A half of a plan.” You pat his cheek affectionately before standing up. “We're surrounded by medical supplies, and that includes anesthesia. Lots of them.” Walking towards a glass cabinet filled with green vials, you open the door quietly, plucking a single vial from its place. “We may not be able to kill it with what we have, but we can paralyze it to give us enough time to chop off one of its hands.”

Ned's eyes widen in realization. “To get admin access.” He stands up, joining your side. “I saw its gigantic hand too, there’s dozens of fingers on there, one is bound to be from someone who has the credentials.”

“That plan is bonkers enough that it might work.” Hobie joins in with a groan, stretching his neck from side to side. “We’ll load up the rifle with your concoction, and one of you chops it off.” He glances at you with a look of admiration. “Good on you, love.” His hand cups your elbow, squeezing once before letting go.

“We just need to turn on the power then we'll head off to— wait, the escape pods or the panic room?” Ned asks the two of you, fingers flying to his console, pulling up the ship's map, flicking away an image of the center of the ship where he previously wanted to go before everything happened. You'll never know what lies there. “According to the map, they're near each other.”

“The panic room could give us enough time to wait it out for a ship to come along and rescue us, and maybe wait until the beast starves and dies. From what I've heard of rooms like this…” Hobie points at the dotted line on the screen where the room lays. “They have enough supplies to last the blood sucking executives two years inside the room.”

“And the pods could grant us a quick escape, but ships as old as this one are wonky at best. There's a chance that the built in autopilot won't even work.” You add.

“But a chance that it could.” Ned sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We've got enough time to figure it out later, for now we need to get ready, make sure that we don't fuck up our one chance.” He closes his eyes, breath stuck in his throat. “For them.”

You glance at Yuri's body, Hobie follows your gaze, immediately reaching for your hand, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “For them.”

—

Everything has been set in place, you've mixed at least three magazines worth of ammo with paralyzing agents that could bring down two elephants with one bullet. Or kill an adult human with just a graze from it. Good thing Hobie didn't pinch pennies to buy an old shitty gun but instead he got one that could be loaded with different cartridges. The bright green substance sloshes from side to side as you carefully load it in the remaining rifle and your pistol.

Hobie has armed himself with an ax he took from the fire emergency kit on the wall. He weighs it in his hands, eyes darting towards you and Ned.

“Change of plans, I'll do the cuttin’”

“I thought that was my job?” You ask, chest tightening with worry.

“I don't want either of you gettin' that close to it.” He places it on his belt, securing it with velcro. His suit is now matted with dried blood, you try not to think about it.

You close the distance towards him while Ned wordlessly shakes his head from the corner of your eyes. “At least take this with you, I know that there's no arguing with you, captain.” Handing him your pistol, you don't wait for him to take it, knowing that he will refuse it. Instead you place it on his holster after taking his own pistol to replace the bullets with the paralyzing serum. “This one is for Ned, I'll take the rifle.”

“Love—”

“You can't do everything all at once, Hobie.” You grab his helmet from the counter, placing on his head gently as you turn it until it's secured in place. Tapping the glass, you smile at him sweetly. “Let us help you, okay? We're a team, remember?” You glance at Ned.

“Hey, don't look at me, I'm all in favour of not getting close to it.” He shrugs, chuckling softly.

Hobie grasps your chin carefully with his gloved hand, corner of his lips curling into a tender smile. His eyes hide all his fears, an image of you laying in your pool of blood with Ned's body right next to yours.. “I remember, I just don't want to lose any more of my team.” He should've listened to you and left before everything turned to shit.

“You won't.” You say, palm placed over his heart, wishing the suit wasn't there to feel his heartbeat. “We're not planning on leaving you all alone, Hobie.”

“Hear, hear.” Ned clasps his hands together impatiently. “Can we load up my pistol before you two start snogging right in front of me? We don't have HR remember?”

Hobie chuckles, punching Ned's shoulder lightly. “After this you can send your complains to HR all you want.” He says as he points towards the trash can in the corner.

Your giggles softly echo above their banter while you load Ned's gun. You could only hope everything goes to plan. You don't want to lose either of them. They're what remains of your family and Yuri and James' memory. You want them back but you have to save the ones you still can no matter how much your heart aches for the ones who were lost.

—

The three of you walk silently through the halls, passing by dismembered bodies, coagulated blood sticking to the floors, and the beast's waste laying amongst the dead. You didn't know them, but you no one deserves such a fate.

The hallways are still drenched in darkness, this time it's filled with bodies with limbs all over. You try not to move your flashlight towards the dead in respect for them. Your heart thrums in your ears as Ned leads the way this time towards the power supply room. Hobie walks behind you, ax at the ready, eyes trained to watch out for any sudden movements.

You inhale sharply, trying to even out your staggered breathing which Hobie immediately notices. With a warm hand, he rubs his palm on your back, silently easing you.

Without a word, you reach for his hand atop your shoulder, patting it a few times and placing it over your helmet in a ‘kiss’. Hobie squeezes back before returning his hand to the heavy ax.

You finally make it to the front of the supply room. Its large double steel doors loom over you, the warning signs plastered right next to it take your attention. Highlighting all of your nerves even more.

Ned opens the door, using the same access codes he nicked from the droid just a few hours ago. To think that in a little over three hours your team was still complete, the crimson spider still had its crew and you still had your entire family with you. You should've fought harder to get back on the ship after taking the cryo pods. If you held your ground, told them about your gut instinct telling you to leave. Hell even threw a tantrum just for them to agree with you, the entire team would've been on the ship on your way back home to buy the life you've always wanted. Not stalking the halls of a dead space ship with a killer alien out for your blood.

At least Hobie and Ned are with you. You think you wouldn't have survived this long without them.

With a mechanical hiss, the doors open ever so slowly. The first thing you see under your flashlight is the water inside that sloshes with every creak and groan of the ship.

“What the fuck?” Hobie beats you to it, shining his torch all over the flooded room. The water laps gently at the small staircase further leading down to the room, as far as you can see, the entire place is filled with dark near stagnant water. It rises to the half of the iron coils connected together, good thing the power's off or else it could electrocute you.

Ned raises his light towards the ceiling, seeing a huge hole from it with water leaking down. “Fuck, that's coming from the quarters.”

“That's toilet water.” You grimace, glad that you have your helmet on so you can't smell the nasty water.

Hobie roams his light towards the middle, finding the large console with a lever that was similar to an older ship's power supply that you and Hobie were flying in before you two upgraded to the crimson spider. The bright blue fuel inside the cannisters shimmers in the light, still full as if someone just refueled the ship. The power core looks to be unscathed, James would've been thrilled.

“There.” Hobie sighs, “we need to trudge the water.” He curses under his breath, “I remember this type of supply has the initial surge of power before levelin’ out. We need a rope to tie it around the lever and pull once we're out of the water. Or we'll turn into fish and chips.”

“I fucking hate this, god.” Ned groans but is already coming down the slippery stairs. “Watch your step.”

Hobie lets you go first, ax in hand and takes one last look around before following you. The doors close behind him as the heavy water parts before you. It's cold over your suit, a kind of biting cold that shivers through your spine. Not even the thermal lining in your suit keeps it out.

Hobie sees your uncomfortable posture as you go further into the water until it reaches up to your waist. “Just a few minutes, love, this is nothin' compared to winters back home.”

“Y–yeah,” you shiver. “but this time there's no hot cocoa waiting at the end.”

“We get out of here and I'll drown you in hot cocoa.” Ned tinkers with his console. “Damn it, my screen’s wet.”

“Not a good way to say that you'll drown me while we're wading through waist deep water, Ned—”

The sound of an audio recording suddenly cackles to life, and Harry's voice echoes around the quiet room. “Log 15, I've figured out what attracts it.” He huffs in the recording, and there's some shuffling in the background. But you feel a sudden tugging at your leg, looking down and shining your light on it, you find that one of the metal coils has snagged into your suit. With every pull, it rips into the suit even more. Hobie helps you with his hand pulling at your leg to the opposite side, but with your impatience and nerves, you pull too hard, causing the sharp metal to scratch your skin, leaving a rip on your leg as you bleed into the water.

“Fuck.” You clench your teeth, holding onto Hobie for support from the sudden rush of cold water entering your suit and the ache from the wound.

“We just need to get you out of the water—”

“Blood.” Harry from the recording continues, “fresh ones. I don't know why but it seems to like it. Maybe because it's warm, but I'm no scientist. So if you're bleeding, put a cork in it immediately, if not, run for your life.”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, meeting your eyes with Hobie's wide ones. “Hobie—!”

The sudden trilling sound filters through the hallway outside, and its guttural shriek sends shivers down your spine. “Fuck! Go!” He gestures for you and Ned to run in the water, there's no going back where you came from since you're already a quarter away from the lever. You just need to push through.

The water makes waves as you move as fast as you can. Ned gets to the lever first, leaving you and Hobie to wade through it.

Ned points at another exit just to the side of the room with another staircase leading up to it. “Go! I'll tie the rope!”

“Ned, we ain't leavin’ you!” Hobie gets to his side, hands shaking at his oldest friend's shoulder.

“Go! The thing is following Y/N, not me!”

“But—!” You start.

“Just fucking go, captain!” His sad eyes flick over to you. “I can manage myself.”

The doors where you came from bursts open, metal shutters flying down into the freezing water with a splash. “Water!” It roars in its many voices.

“Fuck!” Ned pushes you and Hobie towards the other exit, body shimmying behind the console, hiding himself from view while the creature trudges the waters.

Hobie grabs you by the armpits, half carrying you towards the door while the water splashes all around you.

Body drenched, you two make it towards the door, opening it manually with a strong push. You step out onto the dry floor with Hobie right next to you. Once you turn around to face the being, you take your rifle from your back to aim directly at it. Hobie's hands grip the ax tight as he sees it ignore Ned and heading right towards your form with its large gangly form of stolen limbs.

“Now, love!” He yells as you don't waste time by shooting at it. The rifle didn't take a second to power up completely, once the gun beeps, your ammo hits its chest.

The sound of gunfire reverberates around you, muzzle flash painting the whole room in flashing light.

It staggers forwards, groaning and warbling but it still continues to grasp at you desperately. Hobie readies his ax, raising it above his head while you reload another round of the paralyzing serum. Ned sees a long arm snaking towards your foot, and as you see it headed for you, you snap your eyes towards Ned, who's smiling kindly at you. Mouthing words that you can't quite decipher while his hand is placed around the lever before pulling it down.

“No!” The sudden bright sparks burns your eyes, staggering you backwards as it blinds you for a moment. The beast wails, but you can't hear Ned anymore. Then you see it, the same rainbow of light flitting across your vision. It floats into a circle until it speeds up, as fast as it came, it flickers into a steady circle of light. Blinking it away with tears trapped in your eyes, you find Hobie clutching his eyes right next to you, one hand trying to find you. Meeting him halfway, you squeeze his hand and he falls limp. “I'm okay, Hobie. Are you—?”

“Ned!” He cries out, legs tucked underneath him as he slouches on the floor in a fetal position. “Fuck!” Banging on the floor, he inches his hands towards the fallen ax above him.

“Hobie.” You cry for him, hands tugging at his suit as he stands up. You refuse to look at Ned's floating body in the water. “I'll do it, please sit back down.” You're still trying to blink away the light.

He clenches his jaw, eyes brimming with fire. “no, I'll do it.” Walking towards the long arm that was reaching out to you, it has stopped right at the top of the stairs where it's dry. Looking at Ned as he raises the weapon, he chops it off with a furious yell.

Blood gushes out of it like a fountain of gore, splashing Hobie in streaks of rubies. The hand cuts without much resistance. He drags the large hand that is the size of your torso, the skin is burnt and almost charred as welts pop on its skin, he drops it to the side as he falls on his knees, catching him before he gets hurt. You gather him on your lap for a moment, fingers digging to your side but not for a second longer as the creature seizes up, slowly waking up.

Hobie moves away, eyes turned towards the hand. “We need to move.” You stand up first, reaching out for a helping hand. He looks up at you with tears clinging onto his lashes. “Love?” He asks as he takes your hand.

“Y–yeah?” You sniff away the tears.

“We should've left.”

“We can leave now, Hobie.” Lifting him up, you place your helmet upon his own. Closing your eyes for a second before pulling away. “C’mon, let's go home.”

—

You two make your way out wordlessly. The rifle in your hands weighs heavier, the wound on your leg has stopped bleeding, but the ache persists. Hobie walks next to you with the bloody ax swinging on his hip. The large hand he's carrying makes him smaller under the now whirring lights of the ship.

Ned did it, he opened the power back on the entire ship. You can now open the previous restricted doors. Add that with the hand, there's probably at least one finger in there that has the admin clearance to open either the escape pods or the panic room.

“Love.” Hobie's boots squeak as he stops. You follow his line of sight with your tired eyes. “Where to?”

You have found yourself at a crossroads, a fork in the road with two converging hallways leading to different outcomes. Which one will it be? Your choice determines your fate and Hobie's.

The creature roars behind you. Calling you by your name.

The Escape Pods.

The Panic Room.

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A/N: please consider reblogging if you liked this! ❤️❤️❤️

[morgana-ren]

Throwing out the idea that Astarion furiously masturbates over your sleeping body while he drinks your blood. Your blood is the first he’s ever drank in 200 years, it also dosn’t help that you keep being so nice to him. He can’t help it.

I am sorta back after months of medical troubles and I am announcing it in my normal fashion: with a reprehensible smut piece.

Warning: Extreme sexual content, vulgar language, thoughts of noncon, references to noncon, semi-dark Astarion, things that could be interpreted as sexual violence and regular violence, blood and the works.

The skulking has him feeling like more of a lowly rat than usual. He slinks quietly through the fauna like a cat stalking a canary, sneaking across the camp where he has made his own nest, his eyes darting about at every slight flicker of light and every unexpected noise. His comrades-in-arms sleep peacefully, strewn about the ground and various makeshift tents, blissfully unaware that a monster lurks within their midsts, and he fully intends to keep it that way.

As dastardly and lowly as he feels, an unknown feeling courses through him. Something that leaves him feeling strong– predatory. The weak blood of rodents and livestock thrums through his veins, every synapse sparking alive, the string and sinew of his body singing to his limbs in anticipation. Anxiety sends his thoughts racing, and yet, he is giddy as a child with mischief on the mind.

A long-denied truth demands acknowledgement, and so he finally acknowledges it. He is vampire. And he is hunting. 

Even a spawn possesses fangs sharp enough to rend flesh from bone and claws of steel, honed to a fine point. His senses so keen that he is aware of the deer that scamper in the forest and the birds coupled away in the branches of trees on the outskirts of the meadow. The pulsing of blood that rings a siren’s song in his ears, awakening the long-dead glands nestled alongside his teeth.

He finds that, for once, he is not the victim in the arrangement. No, he isn't. In fact, he is the horror, looming over his vulnerable and slumbering mark, their body entirely at his mercy— His right to his to sink deep fang and claw and anything else he might deem fit, helpless to stop him. For once, his true self shines through in the dim firelight of camp, and he is not the Astarion he has been browbeaten into seeing himself as. He is not unmolded clay, ready to be shaped at will by clutching hands and eager thoughts. He is not malleable and he shall not bend. 

He is not Astarion the spawn; Astarion the mongrel; Astarion the Honeypot; Astarion the tool to be used and discarded. He is not the meek, or the charming, or whatever else his prey finds need of. He is power and gluttonous greed incarnate. He is the prowling shadow over the unsuspecting sweet and he will take what he needs. 

He is Astarion the Vampire– and he is ravenous.

The gentle toe-tip-toe through the grass to where his prey lies ignorant, sleeping so terribly peacefully, his silken shoes making nary a sound as he creeps ever closer. Feet light as air, graceful as a swan. Even the wind seems to disregard his presence, passing over him with hardly a fuss through his silver curls.

They suspect not a thing. Even the warrioress Lae’zel, her sharpened senses whetted like a blade, keeps her eyes sheathed shut, her breath even and her body unmoving. There is no cry of anger or protest as he approaches the clutch of blankets where you have made your rest, leering over your slumbering form, feeling all parts pure need as he observes.

Saliva slicks his ivory teeth like a slavering mutt, his hands almost shaking as he kneels on bended knee to witness the gently pulsing column of your exposed throat. It calls to him, sings to his senses, and every ounce of his being begs him to shred hungrily into his meal like a carnivore– like a beaten animal starved of nourishment. Like a dog offered scraps of offal.

But he is not an animal, and you are useful to him yet. He is dignified, but more than that, he is in control of himself. He is in control of his words and actions, and for one time in his all-too-long life, he will not yield to the whims of another, even the dark voice in the back of his mind that urges him to rip and tear and maul like the wretched thing he is. 

No, his first meal will not be one of viscera and terror and screaming, even as the idea appeals to the baser parts of him. It shall be quiet and quick as a rogue in the night, and though he would expect disappointment from the revelation, he finds that this moment shared privately with himself and only himself is something he intends to treasure. 

He has named you for his mark for this most special of occasions. Even as he knows you likely wouldn’t feel honored by such a thing, he feels a quiet sense of pride on your behalf. You are his first taste of true life. A place of high honor in the triumvirate of freedom:

His first glimpse of the sun; his first venture into the world; his first true meal. 

Gentle as a lover, he kneels over you, teeth bared, scarlet eyes flashing in the firelight. A calm hand on your shoulder to steady you, the other splayed across the grass to anchor himself. His fingers quake in both eagerness and anxiety, his hearing hypersensitive to every rustle and sigh that does not belong to the chorus of nature in the evening hours. He has committed himself to this, but to be caught is to condemn himself red-handed to the stake– a fate he’d rather avoid. 

As he leans, his teeth gliding gently across delicate, slightly dampened skin, he believes it worth the risk. 

The tang of sweat and flesh hits his taste buds as he softly glides his tongue across the pulse-point of your throat. He licks where he intends to find his feast, savoring the flavor of his intended prey. Many times he had caught himself staring, wondering what it might be like; what you might be like, and he fully intends to satiate the curiosity that had been building in his brain for weeks on end.

As he indulges himself in the thought, he finds he can no longer wait. He tells himself he cannot stall– cannot draw this out as he might’ve liked to– but the nagging churning in his gut rings above all else. He is starved and he must sate it. He does not join in the argument between the two warring forces in his mind, and instead resorts to pure instinct to settle the matter. 

His fangs dimple tender flesh at first, and then, soft as a whisper, sink inside. Lifeblood floods his mouth like a symphony of rapture, the taste of ecstasy on his tongue, and his lips clamp like a viper on your throat, eager and yearning for more. It is as liquid fire as it slides down his throat, your soft whimpering spurring in tandem with the  glory that branches through his every quivering limb and sets his mind alight. His eyes, vigilant at first, now flutter shut, allowing himself to fall into the velvet-cloaked abyss.

The thousand-year fog lifts from his brain as he drinks and for the first time since breath still filled his lungs, he feels right. 

Raw strength almost seems to inflate his lean muscle, plucking a harpsichord on his tendons. The pounding drum of your rabbiting heart beneath your ribs plays in tandem with the rush of blood in his ears. The deafening cacophony of the cold, miserable years is blasted away and finally stitches together in unison with an ethereal orchestra of utter intoxication. A preternaturally beautiful song that lulls him into the first sense of peace he has felt in years– perhaps that he has ever felt. A tune he shall never forget for as long as he lives.

His senses soar so high that he swears, beneath the deafening chorus of euphoria, he can hear the revelry as far as Baldur’s Gate. In his mind’s eye, the unsuspecting citizens of the Jewel are celebrating the birth of a new man born under the silvery spears of moonlight miles away. These many long years, he has been truly dead, and only now, he is resurrected in the swaddling shroud of blood and dark. He has been truly reborn. At one with himself at last, he thinks. At one with you. 

The blood falls easily down his throat, pooling warmly in his gut in glorious fulfillment. The delirium tendrils outward, gently coaxing bliss and promise where it caresses. His legs buckle, pale cheeks hot and flushed, some unknown sensation taking hold like a fist as he suckles and refusing to relinquish the iron grip. The low of his abdomen tingles, drawing in life like a vacuum to a place once desolate and lifeless. 

It is a feeling he cannot place at first. Something dusted and forgotten and placed far and away in his mind, out of reach. And yet, as the delectable warmth floods every inch of his body anew, he experiences it as plainly as when his heart still beat in his chest and youth was as inevitable as the rising sun. The needle-thin hairs of his body stand on end, palms beginning to sweat against your shoulder. A primal need swells in his stomach, a gentle throbbing between his thighs that translates into pain as he strains against the leather of his breeches. 

Arousal. 

Desire bleeds into itself, separate colors swirling together to become one enthralling splash on the rapacious canvas of his brain. The scalding hot bliss of the feed and the tiny, breathy mewls of your still-sleeping form. You have given him what he so desperately coveted, and now, it seems, his nature demands he take more– everything you hold dear in its entirety offered up at the altar of his superior strength and cunning and existence. 

The inherent eroticism of feeding is not lost on him, but it has never held any meaning until this moment. Lust is a cruel stranger that he has opted to spurn. Something wielded against him as a weapon– a barbed whip that has flogged and scarred him into conditioned disgust. It is unfamiliar at first, and yet it screams now with the same familiarity as every other function and twice as demanding. 

Pale lashes flutter open, doubled vision focusing in almost too sharply on your strained features: the soft furrow of your brow, the scrunch of your still-closed eyes, the soft pout of your petal-pink lips, slick with moisture from your unconscious whines of pain. He has noticed you, yes, in the way another might notice a dagger or a halberd or a stocky shield to wield. Your appearance is just one in a long line of defenses he intended to harvest for his own gain, and yet now, as he hazily stares at the shadow of your profile that flickers in the flames, he feels the unmistakable curl and coil of a different kind of need. 

Something steely clamps onto his consciousness beyond the haze of unreason. He cannot. That is too far, and something distant and shrill in his mind knows it. As desperate as he is to crawl atop and mount you, leaving you breathless and hoarse in his wake, he cannot. Some things can never be forgiven, and he has already crossed that line for his own well-being. Ravaging you as you lie vulnerable and helpless– trusting– serves no purpose in keeping him alive.

He tells himself this, his suckling receding to a temperate drawl, laving tongue and teeth across the puncture wounds. The baser parts of him cry protest, the pulsing becoming more insistent with each passing second, until it leaves him knock-kneed and clutching at the grass for purchase against the cresting tide of want. All variety of debased scenarios fly through his mind, each one more debauched than the last. 

Control and lust, two things unfamiliar with each other before now due to the cruel nature of his existence, fold in perfectly as one and sharpen into a vengeful blade he craves to use. How he longs to leave a wound as deep as the one he carries day after day, unrelenting and open as the day it was wrought. He wants to lash out, to strike, to take as he pleases as the world has taken so from him–

A wound not meant for you, he must remind himself through the hot-pink haze, even as it defies him. 

No. It is a line he will not cross. He is a monster, but he is a monster of a different breed. You have given him everything, even as you do not know it. More pragmatically, he will not give his life for one brief, violent encounter of forcefully obliged desire. He is worth more than such vile things, he tells himself, and strangely, he finds as he ponders it, so too are you. 

He repeats it in his head as a mantra, over and over, practically yelling it over the tidal wave of instinctual impulse that threatens to drag him undertow. He is his own man, and he shall not be controlled ever again; not by Cazador, and certainly not by the more wretched pieces of himself, even as they screech and claw at the cell where he has locked them away, howling their dreadful, unspeakable demands.

It does not abate. The insistent pulse of blood that brings long forgotten life to his appetite, the mortifyingly genuine urge that begs him to touch you, feel you, taste you in the ways he has not craved in eons. It frightens him, and yet, even as he longs to pull himself away, to run and run and run into the darkness where neither you nor this horrible need can find him, he does not. He sits still as a marble statue, almost as if carved in some grotesque form of this heinous moment captured in one rotten, eternal exhibit: half atop your sleeping body, clutching and panting in need, and half splayed absurdly in the dirt, straining and desperately trying to conceal his shame from some invisible force that mocks him.

He cannot have you. Even as he yearns and craves it with a fire that singes and burns his overactive nerves and imagination, he cannot. Yet, his body will not relent, demanding release from the torment that plagues both his mind and his nethers in equal form, paralyzing him in a dangerous inactivity. You won’t awaken– he has taken too much and your weakness is apparent– but the others might and he must act. Compromise is a risk he cannot take–

And still he must. 

And so, even as he should withdraw and return to the pitiful, empty loneliness of his tent, he does not. Instead, he realigns himself, as quiet and swift as the wind, still half-perched over you, but with a newly freed hand to his disposal for a contemptible purpose. It snakes the length of his torso to the waist of his breeches, his dexterous fingers undoing the laces with desperate speed and agility, his expression equal parts humiliation, shame, and anxious desire. He slides the waistband down enough that his long-neglected cock springs free, his muscles bracing and tensed as his newly blood-warmed flesh is chilled in the cool night air. Pinprick pores betray his discomfort at the crisp evening gale, but the rest of himself is otherwise occupied, consumed by his present task. 

One of his sharply tipped fangs worries at the swell of his plush lower lip as he wiggles his pants further down, both internally cursing and praising the newly unlocked spectrum of his vampiric grace that make such conspicuous actions effortless and reticent. Even as he is agile and practiced, each urgent movement feels fluid and natural. Silent as the grave and insignificant against the sounds of nature that envelop their surroundings. He does not fumble or falter, smooth as satin and with steely resolve as his palm finds his shaft and a shiver runs the length of his spine, settling readily in his abdomen.

In his previous encounters, he could put himself into working order, but nothing like this. It was a job– something that must be done, no matter how distasteful or degrading. What he feels now, it’s almost foreign to him; his cock strangely hot and pulsing with a heartbeat of its own. Heavy as sin in his hand and just as demanding, just as cruel in its insistence. Stiff and throbbing, a compass point dogged and unrelenting as it seeks to nestle between your wet, silky thighs and burrow there. It shrieks in his head, unsatisfied and wailing at his refusal to acquiesce. 

He ignores it, testing with one brusque stroke with his palm. It twitches, pleasure blooming upward through his gut even at the slightest of contact. Again, he tightens his fingers around his girth, pumping slowly as the sepulcher where he had locked away all dead semblance of lustful craving and fervor comes to life once more. As he thumbs the top, he feels the thin, sticky fluid leak from the tip, betraying his eagerness even as he pretends composure– as much composure as he can pretend in this unbelievably humiliating debacle. 

He will have to worry about that later. 

His eyes sweep over your face once more, peaceful now that his teeth no longer injure your tender neck. Your lips slightly agape, eyelashes fluttering softly as you sweetly dream once more. He imagines how different it might look if he were to uncage his urges– to allow himself the forbidden pleasure of sinking himself inside of you twice in one night. How your eyes might fly open in horror, your lips ready to shriek, little fists balled in defense, only to gasp as he pushes his length between your splayed thighs, enveloping himself in your tight, wet heat. White-hot. Exquisite. Immaculate.

The companions are gone– no, they don’t exist. It is only you and him now, you sprawled beneath him, half shock and half horror, and he– the predator that has stalked you from the shadows, the vampire in the night– taking as he pleases, as is his right. He feels your velvet walls flutter around him, trying to adjust to the cruel new thickness bullying inside them, squeezing him in the most delicious way. Your mouth is still open in a wordless cry as he plunges his tongue between your teeth, tasting a different part of you now, swallowing the desperate sounds you begin to make. 

His cock throbs against the calloused flesh of his palm as he strokes himself, teeth gritting to quiet the noise that bubbles in his throat from the blossoming pleasure that takes root and begins to grow rapidly out of control. The fantasy plays in perfect form in his head, and it almost feels real as he gathers the precum in the crook of his thumb and slicks it over the shaft with firm fingers, pretending it’s your body that wets and grips him.

You would fight and struggle– he knows you would– but you are nothing in the face of his sheer strength and dominance. Pinned by the deceptively strong muscle of his lean body, you have no choice but to follow his lead, thighs forced wider to accommodate his narrow hips, back pressed firmly against the ground by his weight. Your tits, warm and soft beneath the thin fabric of your nightshirt and begging to be squeezed, squashed against him with the frantic rise and fall of your chest.

The squeal his first thrust would rip from you would be heavenly. High-pitched and pathetic, and yet almost drowned out by the equally sweet clench of your body around his. So tight that it almost aches him, unaccustomed to the intrusion and compelled to yield to him, moulding itself to the shape of him inside of you. He slides out slow, almost callous and so terribly casual in his malice, making you feel every inch of him drag against the supple walls of your cunt before slamming in again, vicious in his impact. Your body jumps beneath him from the force, whining into his mouth. Your blunt nails digging into his arms and tearing at his frigid, stone flesh. It is futile– he can barely even feel it, and the slight sting he can is laced with pleasure and the reminder that you are at his mercy now.

He is panting, breath coming in ragged staccato bursts even as it is unnecessary to him. Pure instinct has a hold of him now, his hand working in unfailing rhythm between his thighs as he loses himself in the vision. Your injury weeps ever so slightly, and he cannot help the flick of his tongue along the twin-pocked bitemarks, leaving a thinly shining trail of blood-streaked saliva in his wake. He aches to touch you; to slip the delicate sleeve of your nightwear down and indulge himself in the softness of your body. 

He is not so subtle in his mind. He simply tears the garment, ripping it from your body with terrible ease. One hand busies itself with containing yours above your head, squeezing at the wrist to keep you captive even as you thrash, the other luckier still as it gropes and pinches your breast. Warm in his hand, he can feel your pulse skyrocketing in fear or perhaps excitement– whichever suits him most– as he reels back and cants his hips forward again. 

His hips slap against your thighs with bruising strength, your body beginning to respond to his in kind. He feels your wetness slick over his cock and lubricate his next few thrusts, heightening his pleasure. You mewl against his tongue, body arching into his, perhaps against your own will, fingers flexing and furling fruitlessly in his grasp. He settles into rhythm, cruel but precise, hips grinding with every punctuating impetus. It takes an absurd amount of mental discipline not to simply take you in furious, animalistic fashion as he longs, but he manages through the impulse, lower body moving in circular rhythm, his pelvic bone stimulating you with each contact. 

Your panicked breaths become heaving pants, flittering eyes glazing over and becoming heavy, the muscles that are pulled so tautly in defense waver and eventually flop, accepting your defeat at his hands. Perhaps you are betrayed and hurt and hateful, but you desire him. He is beautiful in the moonlight, pale as a ghost but alive and burning with unhinged need and that same fire kindles between your legs and winds and winds tighter like a top before the spin. He releases your swollen, puffy lips only for his fangs to find your throat and your cry is desperate and howling, your blood sweeter than the finest wine as it touches his tongue. 

You cannot formulate words– neither of encouragement nor protest– as he fucks you relentlessly into the ground, helping himself to your body and your blood. Only nasally, frantic cries can make it past your throat, your hands grasping at him, pleading and desperate. He hooks your thigh around his waist, fingers digging into the flesh with bruising strength, and you clamp it there, almost as if clinging to him for purchase as he bucks and snaps, snarling like a beast perched to pounce.

You are helpless and small and defenseless and vulnerable in the face of him, and he is strong and virile and predatory and fearsome. He has no need of your protection; he is the ruthless power of the night and the fear the lurks in the dark. He ravages you with no regard to the future, knowing only that he holds it in his palm, and if he wants you, he shall take you. He does not walk in shadow and skulk in fear, but boldly in the open, the world and you ripe for the plucking. 

He cannot help it. His hand is not enough. Ecstasy builds in his apex, building and bubbling at his fantasy, but he needs to feel. The hand not currently stroking himself in frantic need finds a way under the loose opening of your shirt, defying his mental mantra. The curve of your breast coaxes his skin, swelling and warm against his flesh as his insubordinate fingers find their way lower and lower under your blouse. Your nipple peaks as he gently rolls it in his careful, ghostlike fingertips, squeezing at your chest with an inhuman tenderness that only has him craving harder, more– 

Your cries would come in unison with his own, yours wailing and pathetic and squealing, and his rugged and husky and snarling. You would bare yourself to him– all of you– acquiescing to his unrelenting power. He would take you there, on the ground like an animal how he pleased and for as long as he pleased. Now you are the clay for him to shape and play with and use as he pleases, existing only for him and his wants. Your blood is in no short supply, and he sups and dines as he pleases while he uses your body to pleasure his cock and the baser parts of himself that have reignited inside of your core. You are powerless to fight him, so you give yourself over completely to him, debasing yourself for him, crawling for him, needing him. 

You’d beg for him, body and soul, so eager and ready. Desperate and pathetic. He’d fuck you until your whines became higher and higher, eventually spilling into the night in humiliating urgency as you came undone beneath him. Your legs quivering and shaking, senses gone and inhibition nonexistent. Your fluttering walls would tighten and squeeze and damn near strangle him, the absurd sound of your wetness utterly mortifying if you had your wits about you, but music to his ears. 

Harder and faster with no regard for your overstimulated crooning, he’d take you, working himself to his peak, almost rabid in his unhinged, disjointed movements. His rhythm would fail, becoming more convulsive and urgent with every plunge of his hips. He’d chase his end inside of you, the blissful heat of your body, the cadence of your moans, and snug, velveteen swaddling of your sopping cunt the closest taste of the divines he’ll ever have– that he’ll ever want. 

He’d cum inside of you, burying himself so deep that he’d be certain you could taste it. It would spill out of you as he milked himself to completion with your pliant body, heaving against your bloody neck, a hand in your hair to rip your head back and drag down against him. Bruised inside and out in the shape of him, his hands, his teeth, his cock all leaving their permanent mark. It won’t heal, it won’t ever heal, he’ll make sure of it–

It’s his– it’s his– it’s all for him and no one else. Not even the Gods could wrestle this away from him. There isn’t a force in the planes that could pry him from atop you– you belong to him, your body, your mind, your tongue, your taste, your cunt–

His cock throbs furiously in his hand, gritted pants and strangled noises escaping his throat. It is only through sheer supernatural ability that he is able to withdraw his hand from your shirt and catch himself before he slumps completely atop you, no doubt waking you with the force of it. The ecstasy spills over, unfettered bliss exploding outward from his core and sparking fire throughout every inch of his body. His eyes roll backward, head slooping forward as he works his pulsing cock, every last ounce of self-control in his ancient body holding back a howling cry. 

He spills into his palm, carelessly covering his shaft in the sticky, gossamer fluid as he milks clean the very last remnants of pleasure from himself with the fervor of a man starved of it. His toes curl in his shoes, teeth gritting to the point of pain as he withholds a sigh of euphoria. His extremities tingle as his body sags, muscles exhausted and screaming from the exertion, and he almost collapses as it fades from him as quickly as it approached, still singing beautiful contentment somewhere deep inside of him.

Sagging completely into the dirt, he lies there, bare and open to the sky: Hand defiled and dripping with the seed of his shame, sweat wetting the delicate white curls behind his ears, breeches pulled cleanly to his akimbo knees. It takes a moment for the world to settle into his foggy brain once more, but shame cuts as cleanly as a knife as the clouds of desire split and the light of reality once again illuminates the situation. 

Frantic fear takes hold of his stomach, and his head swivels towards where you sleep, calmed only by the fact that you still sleep soundly with no inkling or inclination as to what he has just done. As he glances around, the rest of the camp is equally unaware, each person neatly in their place, unmoving and unalert. His secret is his and no one elses.

He allows himself a few moments to catch the breath he does not need, wiping the evidence of the encounter into the grass with a sense of disgust and indignity as he does. He feels remarkable– alive for the first time in centuries– and yet it is marred by the yoke of scandal he feels having been bested by such an absurd thing. Overwhelming desire he has not felt since he was a young, handsome elf brimming with potential and swarming with suitors, back when his chest still beat with blood and his skin was flushed and warm rather than pale and pallor. 

It’s unfamiliar to him, and he bares his teeth at the thought. Sex is something filthy and cursed– and yet it didn’t feel so in the moment. Even now, his fingertips tingle at the thought of your puckered peak gently caressed, the soft sound of your sighs, the vulnerability you show him. He’d barely touched you and yet you sent his senses alight like a bonfire. The taste of you still lingers on his tongue, and he cannot help but savor it. As he hikes the band of his pants back up his hips, he feels shame, yes, but also something different. Something oceans away from the helpless misery he usually feels after the degrading act. 

He feels at peace. He feels satisfaction. He feels right. He does not feel debased, but empowered– almost giggly as a schoolboy at the wrongness of it all.

He chose this. For the first time he can remember, he chose this. He took control and his pleasure did not come at his own expense. It came at yours, yes, but he doesn’t like to make a habit of grappling with fragile, banal things such as morality. He is a libertine, and where he finds pleasure, he shall take it, because he knows all too well what it is to be starved of it and all that makes life worth living. 

Besides, you seem fine. Sleeping deep as a babe in the cradle, none the wiser. As he sits right and dabs potion at the wounds at your neck so as to not leave a trace of his crime, he allows himself one quiet, satisfied sigh. It disconcerts him that as he studies your slumbering body and slack face, he feels pinpricks in his core once again, whispering remnants of that desire that had unhinged him so before, but he will have to unpack that later. 

He is no fool. Something has changed, and it isn��t the strength that flows through him free as a fountain that was once clogged and stunted, nor the heightened attunement of his mind to damn near everything around him to the point of absurdity. He feels right for the first time with the blood he has stolen away with, and smug at getting away with something so risky as he often does, but more than that. 

He is a vampire fully satisfied in more ways than one, and the fulfillment and delight he feels overrides the shame and wrestles it into the quiet. 

You are something to him, though he isn’t sure what. He had not questioned why he’d picked you before, but the question begs itself now. He does not allow himself the indulgence of touching you once more. He doesn’t taste you or feel your skin. He only withdraws as silently as he came, backing off and away from the light of the fire that burns low, dying embers spitting against charred, ashen logs, his shadow stretching long before disappearing into the dark of the night. 

As he moves back to his tent, he stalks the shadows, but he does so with head held high, back straight as a bow, graceful and the very picture of pride. There’s an unmistakable grin on his reddened lips and a flush to his face not wholly attributed to the blood that now courses through him. Pieces of himself unlocked after so many years of servitude. He feels himself again, and the world feels his oyster once more. What your role is in that world, he doesn’t know yet. 

But he has a feeling he’ll figure it out soon enough.

[raainberry]

Cross The Line - I

« It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything. »

Mina x gn!reader

synopsis - if you promise not to step foot in her hospital again, the line disappears, right?

wordcount - 3K

T/W - resident!mina x fighter!reader. mentions of violence, injuries, food. (reader is involved in an underground fight club) medical environment. angst for now and dahyun guest starring😎

A/N - i have decided to make this into a movie. it serves as a prologue to the series but tbh i feel like you can get it without it if you want. Enjoy!

You don’t know if she noticed you.

The minutes passed by, and so did she; a few times. You watched from your seat as you waited for your name to be called, various scenes from silly incidents to more serious ones, old people to kids...

The place was bustling, you could feel your head getting heavier, only keeping it up just in case Mina appeared. She seemed busy, focused. She must have a lot on her mind.

How selfish would it be to wish you were on it too?

You wondered, feeling the familiar tug at your heart when she took the time to reassure a little girl across the room. You could make out the tears staining her cheeks despite how far you were sitting, and witnessed how quickly they dried up under Mina’s gentle voice.

How wrong would it be to feel jealous?

You shook the ridiculous thought away, just in time to hear your name finally get called out. The voice was familiar, but not the one you were hoping for. Sweet, but not enough.

Your gaze left Mina’s figure to meet her dear friend’s, a nurse you’d gotten to know more than the one you heart longed for. She let you call her by her name, but only if you promised not to overstep the set of obvious boundaries that came with it.

You gave your word, although it was tempting to take it back. Everytime Dahyun assisted in your care, you fought the need to ask her anything about Mina. You only faltered once, anesthesia having gotten the best of you after a long set of stitches.

You had the decency to wait until Mina stepped out of the room before asking about her love life. That’s how Dahyun came to know of this… mess of emotions between the two of you.

She never answered you, but she did have questions to which she tried to pull the answers to from Mina herself a few hours later.

Nearly a year later now, and she was still trying. Pieced a few of them together over time and rare, quiet wine drunken nights, but it was nowhere near enough to uncover the reasons.

The ones behind your visits, not your interest in her best friend. She has glasses but she’s not blind.

Although she did wonder what still had you so hung up after years.

If you knew yourself, you probably wouldn’t be in this mess.

“Do you guys have lunch breaks?" Your voice was quiet in an attempt to conceal how awkward you felt.

You were sat on a similar table as your last time here, only surrounded by proper walls this time. Still as blank and unstimulating, letting your mind roam free and back to Mina.

Dahyun paused in her tasks.

This was her third time seeing you, and it was the first time you’d spoken to her without her needing to pull the words out of you.

She cleared her throat, setting down the tools she’d just used to get your cast off. "We do.” She answered hesitantly. “Why wouldn't we?"

The room fell silent once again as you gazed at your weakened arm, turning her question rhetorical. Dahyun only chuckled at the sight before offering some reassurance, "I'm going to show you a few rehabilitation exercises. Your arm will be back to normal in no time."

You simply nodded, your eyes glued to the foreign feeling in your limb. "Do I need to rest it?"

Dahyun’s eyebrows furrowed at your question, but kept her curiosity to herself. Not everyone has her knowledge, she tended to forget it so she cut you some slack although something in her itched to be nosy.

She watched as you tentatively moved your arm, clenching your fist as if trying to regain familiarity with it. "Just avoid putting excessive strain on it.” She finally said, causing you to stop. “No intense use for a couple of weeks, and it should be fine."

"A couple weeks..." You muttered. This wasn’t good. Money was getting short. “Can I have some paper and a pen?”

It was getting hard to do, but Dahyun concealed her confusion again before fulfilling your request, observing as you used your weakened hand to scribble something barely legible.

“Does that count as exercise?" You playfully questioned, causing Dahyun to chuckle.

“It could, yeah." She nodded and you smiled, glancing back at your writing before handing it to her.

“Hopefully she can read it.”

You don’t need to say anything else. Not even her name. Dahyun knew who you were referring to.

You were sure of it, but she managed to make you second guess - yourself and your own intentions - when she tensed up in front of you.

Her hand didn’t reach for the piece you offered of yourself. As futile and impersonal as it was, you couldn’t help but take offense at her doubts.

“Please.” You muttered. It was pathetic. It felt like it too. But it was worth the discomfort if it meant convincing the woman standing before you. Her silence was painful, it almost made you laugh. She wasn’t even the one you were trying to reach.

Were you even allowed to feel so troubled yet?

Rightfully so. Dahyun took forever to make up her mind, staring long enough for your arm to fatigue.

Part of her didn’t want to enable and push her best friend into what looked like a hopeless abyss. Mina deserved much more. She deserved something safer, easier than whatever you brought to the table.

Then again this wasn’t her place to say. This wasn’t her game to play.

She just hoped Mina wouldn’t dismiss its risks.

—

Mina looked down at the paper in her hand, her features tensed in a mix of surprise and apprehension as she processed the words she’d managed to decipher.

« I’ll try really hard not to visit ever again, so if you ever miss me and have a moment to spare : xx xxx xxx. »

She took the numbers in as they slowly burned themselves into her mind. She tried to suppress that small hope within her as it prayed you’d written them well enough.

Needless to say it was a vain attempt. Her thoughts were scattered and she struggled to compose herself.

“What are you going to do?" Dahyun's voice broke an eerie silence that had settled itself in the break room, and Mina exhaled softly, her gaze lingering on your message.

"I'm not sure," she admitted, meeting Dahyun’s eyes. "It's complicated, you know that."

Dahyun nodded, understanding. Or at least she hoped it came across as because quite frankly she had no idea.

It was complicated, yes, but for her, the next step was a no-brainer.

"Maybe it's worth considering," she offered, her words gentle. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

That pulled a chuckle out of the black haired woman next to her. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, but someone who needs to be stitched up every few months can’t not be involved in something dumb or careless.” Dahyun pointed out, but it only amused Mina even more. “I’m serious.” The nurse chuckled despite herself, “Something’s not right.”

“I can take care of myself.” Mina reassured, “I’m sure it’s nothing too bad. Careless maybe, but not dumb either.”

“How would you know?” Dahyun probed as Mina piqued at the nosiest part of her.

Mina only shrugged though, considering the paper in her hand. The weight of your message briefly pulled her thoughts back to the unspoken moments, the lingering emotions that built and shaped this odd link between the two of you.

"Just a feeling.”

—

“Looking to kill your winning streak?”

The coach’s voice resonated in the warehouse and you huffed out a breath, keeping your eyes from rolling back into your brain only to look at him instead. “What are you being so shy for? Hit it, damn it!”

You stayed silent, your jaw clenched shut to keep the thoughts in your head. The punching bag still swung back and forth behind you as you reached for the small bottle of water he was handing you.

The small ‘thank you’ you mumbled was enough for him to get off your back about respect and whatnot, but he still clung onto it about your arm.

“It’s been weeks, Y/n, you’ve had plenty of time to recover, come on…” He said, opting for a more gentle approach.

The switch up didn’t surprise you. He wasn’t exactly stable, but he was good at his job. Good enough to run this whole thing smoothly. You’d respect him if he weren’t so corrupt, pulling at big kids desperate enough for life to ruin it for them. People like you. Exposing them, showing them off in a violent spectacle only the richest could afford to enjoy.

The scheme was vicious. Designed to make staying in the only way out. To make him the only one you could turn to when life’s biggest troubles got too big to ignore.

He knew you well enough by now to know the gentle card wouldn’t work, but that’s also how he knew he had to give it a shot anyway. If not take action, you could open up.

You could, but you wouldn’t. Not to him. Your relationship didn’t allow it, as much as he tried to shape it that way over the years. Not that he was pushing it, he was decently nice. He cared. Just not enough.

You could feel it in the way he watched you, silent while his eyes questioned whatever you did he didn’t understand - which was almost always linked to whatever didn’t fill his pockets.

The edge of the ring pushed into your thighs as you took a seat there, staring into the space in front of you. Your gaze was vacant, you could feel yourself zone out, thoughts begging to drown into your heart and its selfish desire to burn over Mina’s absence; but the coach shaking his head kept you over the surface.

Seeing you space out was new, but he didn’t like how familiar the sight was getting.

You expected his rough tone to spit at you any second, but he surprisingly stayed calm. Too calm. So your eyes left the void to check on him, and his demeanor was all but reassuring.

You could feel his impatience grow by the second, the frustration practically radiating from him was off-putting, but the silence… It was as scary as it was encouraging.

“I need more time.” You finally said.

The words didn’t please him. They didn’t make you happy either. You’d love to be able to hit that bag as you used to just months ago.

“We can’t do that. People are damn near jumping the fence to see you fight, Y/n, you have to come back.”

“They’ll be fine.” You brushed off, feeling the guilt slowly weigh off your shoulders at the desperation in his voice. Something about hearing him beg, even implicitly.

You suddenly rose to your feet, feeling yourself growing wings as you clung onto the third rope of the ring. Entertaining the conversation seemed pointless, so you turned your back on him to get back to training. Something he made sure to prove as a mistake... He didn’t hesitate to burn those wings at the first sight of them.

He never did.

“But you won’t.” You heard him say. The words were heavy, probably because of how fast he’d thrown them at you.

Your features twitched, eyebrows creasing as you tried to argue, “I’m not ready.”

The weakness was bitter, obvious and unfair. Unfitting for a moneymaker like you. If anything you should be the one dictating things.

Yet he somehow always kept the reigns.

“You never were.”

—

His last words ran laps in your mind.

As hard as you tried to alter their course, nothing seemed to stop them. Nothing seemed to change.

The following days melted into themselves, fogging your memory with nothing but defeat.

You felt disoriented. Hopeless. Hurt. Yet somewhat motivated by it all. Problem was you had no goal to put it into.

This fighting thing proved itself to be nothing but a fickle string of glory. A glory you failed to even enjoy. Sure, the underground and illegal part of it didn’t help, but everyone around you seemed to do just fine.

Maybe you’ll ask them about it tomorrow. How they do it. For now you paced around the room, searching for a solution, only for your brain to come up with thoughts of her. You’d long passed the point of it being and feeling pathetic, surrendering to the insanity of the situation. Your soul yearned for the sense of peace she brought with her mere presence, and her absence was suffocating.

Why? It’s not like you were close. All she did was flirt back, it was no reason to get so attached.

You felt insane. Out of mind. All because of that bridge you’d humiliated yourself into trying to hold together.

Maybe giving her your number was a mistake. Maybe you’d have been better off keeping your distance.

Crossing those rarely ever was good.

—

Later that day, your apartment was cloaked in a hushed ambiance, the only source of light emanating from the soft glow of the TV screen as you absently filled up on what felt like a last meal.

A light, protein heavy collation you had no pleasure in swallowing. The only reason you were doing so was not to pass out mid-fight the next day.

You couldn’t go back to her. Not there.

So you folded into the old routine, only finding comfort in your favorite show playing in the background. It was a nice, fleeting distraction from the weight of your impending return to the fight club.

The night was slowly falling silent outside your walls. Your plate emptied itself slowly as episodes followed each other with few breaks in between. You nearly fell asleep from the monotony of it all, but the sound of your phone vibrating against the table jolted you back to full consciousness.

The screen had lit itself up, drawing your attention to the screen. An unknown number and a message that only made sense after connecting a few dots.

« I have a moment. »

Mina's words, a lifeline in the midst of this mounting anxiety.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, the weight of your feelings pulling them down to write and erase every word that came to mind before settling on a much simpler approach.

« Would you mind if I called? »

On the other side of the screen, Mina’s heart fluttered much to her dismay. Needless to say she was apprehensive, eyes fixated on your text while its content resonated in her mind. It stirred a few feelings she’d kept away and guarded for far too long now.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to, but she knew she had to try. She owed it to herself. She’d risked too much, jeopardized too much of her sanity over you to leave without answers.

So she called.

This type of adrenaline was nothing compared to the one you got in the ring. The ring, it was cold. Chilling. The things you did, that you’ve done to get to where you were… It was a rush you were getting used to.

This one was different. Warm. Thrilling. It was new. A rush you looked forward to. No matter how much you denied yourself it.

“Hello?” You spoke into the phone after raising it to your ear. The line was silent for a second before you heard the soft timbre of her voice greeting you back.

Three weeks was the shortest time you’d gone without hearing it yet there you were; practically giggling to yourself over the few words you managed to exchange. The first ones that didn’t revolve around an injury or her scolding you for using her first name.

You made sure not to use it though, as you told her about this colorful place you liked to hang at. It wasn’t the most vibrant, but you found the atmosphere to be fitting for a talk. Cute even, if you’d dared to say.

Mina couldn’t help the flutter of her heart, the burning in her veins traveling all the way to her cheeks as she listened to you trying not to stutter over your words as you basically asked her out.

She could - and she would - have agreed to meet you in the following second, but something held her back, unlike the words pouring out of her mouth with no control, “Sounds lovely. But I don’t know…”

A small silence took over the line as you thought, “What… do you mean you don’t know?”

“It’s just that…” Mina sighed, “The hospital—”

“I’m not a patient anymore, Mina.” You cut her off, desperately clinging onto the small opening. Mina could sense that, letting her frustration slip into her tone.

“Yes, but for how long?” Another silence. Heavier this time. Longer. “We can’t know, right?”

Mina’s voice rung through the line, startling a thought you’d been dying to voice out to her.

“You can’t, but you do know something.”

“What?”

“You know exactly why I can’t make sure to never come back.” You partially confessed in hopes she would understand. “Don’t act dumber than you are, Dr. Mina.”

“That’s the thing, Y/n. I’m not.” She sighed. “I’m not. I don’t know why you show up in such states, I shouldn’t want to know as bad as I do, but something about you makes me—”

Mina stopped herself, realizing what her words were leading to. Somewhere a little too real and raw too quickly. She fought the tears begging to relieve her frustrations, and opted for another sigh. One soft, barely noticeable and far too weak to have any effect on her state of mind.

“It feels like I’m playing with fire.”

For the first time since you’d heard it, the sound of her voice hurt. You could tell how much it cost her to say those words. Just above a whisper, tainted by the shadows of her unshed tears. Ever so softly, like it would glide over the lines, the cracks staining the distance and reach you with no consequences.

“Listen…” You started. “I know you’ve been… curious about me. I know you’ve made your guesses, your bets, and I don’t know what those are. I can’t say I don’t care, because I do, but I have enough self-awareness to know they’re not the most positive.”

You paused in order to gather your thoughts. The next words you’d utter felt like the most important of your life. How worthless had it been… “I feel crazy just asking you this - I’ll understand if you don’t want to, but… I just want to see you. Talk to you, anything that’s not you fixing me up.”

There was a small silence again. It’s agonizing, not being able to tell where this was going. All you could do was wait. You were tired of it but it was suddenly worth it all. The pain, the silence, the longing. The quiet tears you let go off in the dark, the memories and wonders of her gentle soul tormenting you days after your stays.

“I want to see you too.”

[aynavaano]

Tell me you want me

Hunter x f!reader

Rating: Explicit/NSFW

Wordcount: 3.5k

Summary:

You’re part of Clone Force 99 since a while and have an eye on your Sarge ever since you joined. When you are left alone with him skinny dipping in natural hot springs, things get steamy.

Notes:

Enjoy this little Hunterxf!reader smutlet while we all anxiously wait for the final episode to drop. Reader is part of the squad, she is their medic and has a nickname. All other Batchers make an appearance too. We have fingering and unprotected sex. All happening in the water.

As the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across the landscape, you and the squad finally retreat back into the Marauder, weary from another grueling day of repairs after your crash landing a few rotations ago. Dropping your tools with a clatter in the corner, you sink down onto the floor, feeling the exhaustion seep into your bones. The day's work has left you covered in a film of sweat and grime, your skin sticky with oil and dust, again.

"If I have to endure one more shower with that recycled water, I swear..." you mutter under your breath, frustration lacing your words. Despite the pressing need to fill up your rations and change the water in the Marauders system or at least the filters, there was no way off this kriffing rock before you got the ship back up and running. The overly recycled water, depleted and stale, left you feeling far worse than without a shower since the last days.

Suddenly, Tech's voice cuts through the exhaustion, his tone matter-of-fact as he suggests an alternative. "There are geothermal hot springs just a couple of clicks south from here, they are perfectly safe to utilize for personal hygiene," he remarks, drawing everyone's attention.

Wrecker's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "So that's where you've been sneaking off to in the evenings," he says, earning a knowing nod from Tech.

"Why didn't you mention THAT before?" you inquire, taken aback by the revelation. Tech shrugs nonchalantly.

"Nobody asked me and you all seemed content with the ship's refresher,besides I didn’t sneak off I just went there, " he replies simply, earning an eye-roll from Crosshair and a sigh from Hunter.

"Well, looks like we're all going tonight," Hunter declares, scanning the room as everyone nods eagerly. However, Tech interjects with an apologetic tone.

"Except for Echo. I'm sorry, but the mineral composition of the water isn't compatible with your mechanical parts." Echo sighs resignedly.

"Well, Someone has to watch the ship anyway," he remarks, grabbing a ration bar before retreating to the cockpit.

Watching him leave, Hunter urges everyone else to gather their essentials as you prepare for the trip to the hot springs.

Following Tech's lead, you traverse through a dense thicket of trees and across a rugged terrain, the distant plumes of steam already signaling the promise of warm, rejuvenating waters.

When you finally arrive at the steaming natural pools, happiness surges through your veins, eager to immerse yourself in the warm, relaxing waters. You swiftly cast your bag aside and quickly shed your clothes, opting for a skinny dip - a necessity, given that swimwear isn’t something provided by the GAR. But the night is dark enough to conceal your naked body, the dense steam rising from the water further obscuring any view.

As the squad's medic, you've seen them in various states of undress during countless check-ups or emergencies, but you've managed to maintain your own privacy, determined not to stir up any trouble within the group. However, you can’t deny that you have a weak spot for your Sergeant ever since you joined them and enjoyed patching him up a bit too much.

The sound of water splashing nearby interrupts your thoughts, and you turn to see Wrecker paddling around eagerly. "Come on in Mini, it's amazing. We won't peek, I promise," he assures you with a boisterous grin. You chuckle at the affectionate nickname he gave you a while ago, and the others quickly adopted, not wrongly, given that you are barely more than half his size.

With a contented sigh, you lower yourself into the soothing embrace of the hot spring, feeling the tension melt away from your weary muscles. The clean, refreshing sensation of the water provides a stark contrast to the sticky residue left behind by the Marauder's recycled water and it feels incredibly good to finally get rid of it.

Occasionally, a gentle breeze disperses the swirling steam, offering you fleeting glimpses of your crew mates. Your gaze lingers on Hunter, captivated by the droplets cascading from his tousled hair, now freed from his bandana. You trace the lines of his tattoo down over his broad chest as they disappear beneath the surface of the dark water. Despite your best efforts to remain discreet, you find yourself locked in a momentary exchange of gazes with Crosshair, his piercing eyes betraying a knowing awareness.

Your breath catches in your throat as Crosshair maintains his gaze, his lips curling into a sly grin. Wrecker interjects, attempting to diffuse the tension. "Cut it out, Crosshair. You're making her uncomfortable. We promised not to look," he scolds, casting a wary glance in your direction.

“You did” Crosshair hisses at Wrecker before turning his attention back to you, his tone teasing. "Like what you see, Mini?" he quips, his confidence evident, that smug bastard you think to yourself and attempt to muster a confident response in return, but the slight tremor in your voice is betraying you. "Nothing I haven't seen while patching you all up," you retort, hoping to deflect his attention.

“Sure” he groans with a mischievous glint in his eyes but thankfully, he decides to let the matter drop, and you exhale a silent sigh of relief, sinking deeper into the warm embrace of the water, trying to hide your reddened cheeks. Casting a fleeting glance skyward, you marvel at the sight of two moons ascending over the horizon, casting a serene silvery blue glow over the landscape.

Before long, Tech emerges from the water, signaling for the group to prepare to depart. You, however, are reluctant to leave the comforting embrace of the hot springs just yet.

"Already? Can't we stay a bit longer?" you plead, attempting to negotiate for more time.

"It was ample time to get clean," Tech responds, his tone firm. "And we have another full day of repairs before we can leave this planet. You need at least seven standard hours of sleep to—"

You cut him off, feeling frustration bubbling up. "Stop it, Tech," you interject firmly, your disappointment evident.

"I'm only concerned for your well-being," Tech counters, his concern genuine.

"I know, I'm sorry," you answer, softening your tone. "I didn't mean to sound so annoyed. It's just... I can't remember the last time we had something like this. I'd like to soak in the warm water a bit longer. My whole body is sore from our crash, and this feels so good," you explain, hoping to convey your genuine need for relaxation.

Tech hesitates. “I understand, but it’s too dangerous to leave you here alone, besides the way back to the Marauder is …”.

"It's okay, Tech. You go. I'll stay here with her," a voice rings through the thick steam from behind you.

Hunter.

Your heart skips a beat at his unexpected offer, a rush of warmth flooding through you at the thought of him and you being here alone.

It takes a moment for the rest of them to processes his proposition. Finally, Tech breaks the silence "That is an acceptable solution," he states, his usual pragmatic tone cutting through the night.

Relieved you allow yourself to sink back into the soothing warmth of the hot springs, the steam enveloping you like a comforting embrace. In the background, you hear the others bustling about, dressing and gathering their belongings. Amidst the activity, you catch snatches of conversation and you could swear you heard Wrecker grumbling that he also wants to stay, interrupted by a sharp retort from Crosshair.

"Alright," Tech announces, drawing your attention. "We're heading back. I'll leave the comm open in case of unforeseen events. Regardless, please remember it is not recommended to stay longer than two standard hours in water with this temperature" and with that, the group begins their trek back to the Marauder, leaving you and Hunter alone in the quiet of the night.

As the sounds of their footsteps fade into the distance, a slightly uncomfortable silence descends, punctuated only by the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. It’s not the first time you’re alone with Hunter, but THIS, this is different and you are trying to control your heartbeat knowing very well that he can pick that up with his heightened senses.

“Thank you for staying with me Hunter” you whisper through the thick steam wafting over the pool. The thought of him naked in the water, just a few steps away from you sends a shiver through your whole body and you feel the heat pooling between your legs.

Stars, stay calm you try to control the visions overtaking you, flashes of his naked body and his hands all over you flickering through your mind.

You try to catch another glimpse at him past the billowing steam and through an opening you see him slowly treading through the water towards you, his eyes locking on yours, a look of concern on his face. The water reaches barely up to his lower stomach, exposing an ungodly amount of his luscious body, his caramel skin, toned chest and a tempting trail of hair running down his abdomen now illuminated by the silvery glow of the moons, you can’t break your gaze away but you are close to loosing control completely now.

“For someone happily relaxing in a hot bath your heart rate is concerningly high. Are you uncomfortable? Did you change your mind, do you want me to take you back to the Marauder?”

“No, I…I want to stay” is all you can stumble. Him being so concerned and caring is only adding fuel to the fire already burning inside you.

Hunter is right before you now, scanning your face for any signs of distress but the only thing he finds is your bright pink cheeks and dilated pupils.

He carefully brushes a loose strand of your hair from your face, his hand lingering a bit too long to go unnoticed.

“Is this because of me?” he whispers softly, a hint of trepidation in his voice. He lost count of how often he wanted to ask you this, when he felt your heart jump at his touch, when he sensed your eyes lingering on him, but he didn’t dare, knowing a no would destroy him. So he decided to remain oblivious instead of getting hurt. Until now.

You gaze up at him and there is no denying anymore, no hiding, so you nod, not able to voice what you feel for him. That you want him so badly.

And before you know whats happening his lips are on yours. His kiss is soft but quickly getting hungrier and messier. He pulls you closer to him sliding one arm around your waist and you intuitively wrap your legs around him feeling his already hardening cock pressing against your core.

He gasps at the sensation of you grinding your hips against him and breaks away from the kiss, looking deep into your eyes.

“Tell me you want this," Hunter's voice is a low, urgent whisper, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me you want me."

You lean back in to kiss him, desperate for his lips on yours and hungry for more but he breaks away again, searching your face for an answer.

“I’m your Sarge, I don’t want to take advantage of you, I need to hear you say it. Say you want me and I’ll give you everything.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you meet his intense gaze. "I do, Hunter," you reply without hesitation, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want nothing more than you."

Before you can even finish your words, he pulls you closer again, his arms wrapping around you possessively. The warmth of his embrace fueling your hunger for him and when his lips crash against yours in another searing kiss, you melt into him completely, his tongue trailing along your lips pleating for access.

Your tongues entwine and Hunter's touch feeds the fire within you, every caress sending sparks of heat coursing through your veins. You feel his hands hungrily roaming over your body, down your chest, gently cupping your breasts, leaving a trail of longing wherever they touch you.

His hands slide down to your hips, one hand cupping your ass, pulling you closer as his lips trail down your neck, leaving a line of open mouthes kisses and soft bites in their wake. With each movement, you feel yourself melting into him, your body craving more of his touch and your pussy aching desperately for his attention.

"Stars, you feel amazing," Hunter murmurs against your skin, his voice husky with desire. "I've been wanting this for so long."

A soft moan escapes your lips at his words, the sound mingling with the gentle lapping of the water around you. You feel his fingers trailing down to your throbbing core and you can't help but arch into his touch, desperately yearning for more.

He carefully slides his fingers between your slick folds, teasing your clit with a slow gentle rhythm that leaves you gasping for breath. Each stroke sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, quickly building a tension that threatens to unravel you completely in his arms.

He keeps you steady, his strong arms easily holding you up, the water flowing around you, fingers trailing through your slit and finally with a slow, deliberate motion, he slides one finger inside you, giving you a taste of what you so desperately want. You gasp at the sensation of him entering you and arch into his hand, aching for more friction.

"Stars, you're so wet for me," Hunter whispers, his voice low and breathless.

You can't help but beg for more, craving the sensation of him deep inside you, filling you up completely. And as he picks up the pace and slides in another finger, you feel your body tightening, getting ready to explode with pleasure.

"Kriff, I love how responsive you are to my touch." he whispers in your ear, nibbling on your neck.

You let out a few lewd moans and gasps at his words, the sensation of his fingers driving you completely crazy. With each thrust, you feel yourself spiraling closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable in its intensity. The tension in your core almost reaching it’s snapping point, two fingers pushing inside you and his thumb rubbing your clit.

And then, with a flick of his wrist, Hunter finds that perfect spot that sends you hurtling over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your release. Waves of ecstasy wash over you, rippling through your whole body, leaving you trembling in the wake of your orgasm as you cling to him for support.

“Stars, do you know how beautiful you look cuming all over my fingers?” he moans against your skin, looking at you as if you’re the most precious thing in the galaxy.

He slowly slides his fingers out of you to steady you against his chest while you catch your breath. You let out a low whine when he slips out of your core, leaving you feeling empty, and immediately desperate for more. You fumble around trying to reach his cock but he firmly holds you up, both hands under your thighs, his face buried between your breasts.

“Hungry, are we?” he grins up at you, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth and sliding his fingers over your wet folds aching to be stretched again, drawing a couple of lewd sounds from you.

You tilt your head back when he captures your other nipple between his teeth and finally pulls you closer until you're straddling him in the water, your bodies pressed together in a heated embrace. You feel the pressure of his rock hard cock straining against your core, fueling your hunger for him even more.

"I need you," you whisper, your voice barely above a breathless moan, impatiently wiggling around in his arms to line him up at your entrance. When he carefully bites down on your neck, leaving a mark, while squeezing your breast with one hand, you are completely loosing any kind of self control, you might as well just beg.

"Hunter, kriff…please…fuck me"

He looks up finding your gaze and without a word, he guides himself inside you with a single deep thrust, his huge cock stretching you in all the right ways as he fills you completely. You gasp at the sensation of your pussy stretching around him, your body arching into his as he begins to move, each thrust giving you more of what you’ve been longing for ever since you joined the squad. He starts slowly, not far from teasing you, pulling out almost completely a few times, until only his tip rest inside you and then slamming back in until he is buried to the hilt.

The water around you amplifies every sensation, the gentle rocking motion only adding to the intensity of his thrusts. He increases his pace and with each push of his hips against yours, you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak, your pussy already clenching around him.

“Fuck, not gonna last long like this” he groans “ …y..you feel too good around my cock…so tight…been dreaming about this too often…”

"I'm close," you whimper, your voice barely above a desperate plea. "Please, Hunter, don't stop."

With a low growl against your neck, he increases the intensity, each thrust pushing you further towards the brink of oblivion. You cling to him, nails digging into his back, grinding your hips against his, to take him as deep as possible until you feel the tip of his cock deliciously pressing against your cervix with every thrust. You wrap your arms around his neck your fingers finding hold in his hair, as you begin shaking, and with a shuddering gasp, you feel the tension in you snap and the first wave of pleasure crashing over you with an intensity you haven’t felt before, stars exploding before your eyes, your whole body trembling as you ride out the waves of your orgasm on his cock without slowing down.

He keeps fucking you through your high, drawing more moans and gasps from you until you feel him tense too, his length pressing even harder against your walls.

“Where do you want me?” he gasps.

“Inside” is all you can get out with a loud moan, your pussy still clenching around his cock and you feel Hunter's own release echoing yours, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm. With a final thrust, he spills himself inside you, filling you to the brim with his warm cum as you both ride out the waves of pleasure ripping through you together.

You cling to each other, panting, your bodies pressed together in a sweet embrace as you bask in the afterglow of your lovemaking. You let your fingers trail through his hair and softly trace the lines of his tattoo looking at him in awe, completely blissed out. He let’s his forehead rest against yours and you are exchanging soft loving kisses when you suddenly hear your comms crackle from somewhere beside the pool.

“Hunter are you listening… Hunter…Mini… “

“noooo Tech…leave them” you hear clattering and a voice in the background

“Hunter do you hear me? Even though Crosshair suggested you are not solely bathing but possibly engaging in intercourse I recommend you get out of the water. The time you spent there is unacceptable and will negatively affect your blood circulation. Mini… I’m sure you know that, you’re the medic. Do you hear me? It’s clearly been too long. Get out of ther…” the comm crackles again, weird noises and mumbling in the background until you hear Crosshair.

“Sorry for the interruption Sarge, I couldn’t stop him, just give us a sign when you’re headed back” and with that the comm falls silent again.

You can’t help but blush, feeling a bit exposed before the whole squad not even knowing where this is going or if it was just a one time thing. You desperately hope it’s not, when you said you want him, you meant it but you’re to afraid to ask how he is feeling, so you just revel in the heat radiating from his body drinking up every scent, every detail while it lasts, legs still wrapped around his waist, holding him close, fingers trailing trough his hair. Hunter nestles his head in your neck, pulling you even closer to his chest, leaving a few soft kisses along the way while his softening cock is slowly slipping out of you.

“Let’s get back to the Marauder then” he murmurs against your skin, “at least it seems they already suspect whats going on and appear to be ok with us being together…sleep in my bunk tonight?”

Your heart beams at his question, pounding in your chest.

“Guess that’s a yes” he chuckles, giving you one last loving kiss before he sets you on the edge of the pool to get ready for heading back to the ship.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Be still my foolish heart

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 10

Series Masterlist         Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: swearing, angst (resolution at end), discussion about money and struggling financially, continuing sexual thoughts, MINORS DNI, sad matt (as if that needs a warning)

a/n: Sorry for the sporadic posting everyone, the past few weeks months, years have been crazy. Here is the resolution for the spicy angst in chapter 9! I hope you all enjoy.

w/c: 6k

Running your thumb over the crease you’d inadvertently made in the page, you worried your bottom lip as you tried to press it flat beneath the pad of your finger. This book was a rental and you could NOT afford to pay for it if it wasn't returned in pristine condition. Bills had been piling up this semester. In itself, being broke wasn't a new problem. Your inability to cope with said bills, however, very much was.

You'd been treading the poverty line since you'd left for Columbia. School was expensive, your mom wasn't there to buy groceries, and the company managing your gas bill had increased their rates, meaning your previous budget was worthless.  The high cost of heating, combined with the fact that your dad was once again flaking on his contributions to your mom's rising medical debt... It was adding up.

Sure, it was stressful. Money was the biggest cause of your anxiety most days, with your difficult curriculum following closely behind. But you'd been coping well enough.

Until your subconscious decided to pile more weight onto your already struggling psyche.

The image of Matt's pompous smirk hovering over you had been haunting you all week. Every time you closed your eyes, his deep rasp rumbled in your ears–praising you for your tenacity, your performance. Even days later, the thought was thrilling. And that made you feel unbelievably guilty.

Though nothing had actually happened between you and Matt, your brain was determined to brand you as an adulterer. Any time you heard from Everett, even if it was just a text, your stomach rolled with intense regret. You felt dirty and ashamed. For needing the thought of another man to get you off, for mentally cheating on Evs while being beneath him, and for exploiting your friendship with Matt by crafting this sinful image of him. 

You’d unintentionally dragged your boyfriend onto the emotional rollercoaster you were stuck on, swerving between desperate lust and distant tension without a warning. One day, you’d need to be on top of him, lips locked, and the next you couldn’t stand being within ten feet of each other. After a week of continuous flip-flopping, Everett had reached his limit, telling you sternly to figure out what you wanted before teasing him further. The brief argument only added to the embarrassment you’d been wading in. 

Sighing roughly, you pinched the bridge of your nose. Humiliation bubbled in your stomach, churning around your day-to-day anxiety. Your brain felt like it was being slapped around like a tennis ball, jumping between various reasons to spiral. You had no money. You were going to flunk out of school. You were unable to hold a relationship. You'd never be satisfied in love.

Groaning, you rubbed at your temples, the pads of your fingers flickering as your pulse pushed at them. You needed to fucking study, which seemed impossible when your brain would not shut up.

“Doin' ok there, bug?”

The familiar voice startled a shriek from you, your hands flying to grab the counter as you nearly toppled out of your seat. Wide eyes flying up from your textbook, you felt heat rush to your cheeks when you saw Foggy standing there. Foggy's brows were raised, an amused smile directed at your frazzled state.

“Jesus Christ, Fog. You're gonna give me a heart attack one day.” You grumbled, shaking off the lingering fear and smoothing your clothes in an attempt to regain your dignity.

“You sure that day isn't today?” The blond asked innocently, eyes twinkling with the jest.

Huffing, you raised the heavy text you'd been pretending to read, hiding behind it as you muttered, “Shut up.”

Foggy cackled, striding behind the counter and hopping onto a stool. “What’s so interesting? You clearly didn't hear me come in.”

“This stupid Contracts assignment.” You huffed, absently running your thumb over the corner again. “I can’t get through it and, trust me, I’ve tried.” 

“Hamer v. Sidway?” Foggy clarified. When you nodded, a sly grin slid over his face. “Well, wouldn’t you be lucky to have a certain handsome friend who has already digested that opinion! If only you were in a study group with him…” 

You shook your head as Foggy tapped chin thoughtfully, a smile breaking through your stony expression despite yourself. “Oh are we disbanding the 3 Musketeers? I wasn’t notified.” 

“You missed the public hearing.” Foggy shrugged, sighing with exaggerated weariness. “With no opposing testimony, the vote was unanimous.” 

“Mr. Nelson, you aren’t suggesting that I missed 10 days worth of public notice, are you?” You raised an eyebrow, tension rolling off your shoulders in Foggy’s presence. “Because I’d have to live under a rock to overlook those signs in my most frequented areas.” 

“Oh woe is me!” Foggy crooned mournfully. “Losing my beloved Musketeers to a default judgment.”

“Your Musketeers?” You scoffed out a laugh. 

“Well, as the founder of our little band of misfits–” Foggy puffed out his chest, barely stifling his grin as you protested incredulously. 

“Excuse you!” Crossing your arms, you forced a scowl onto your face as Foggy giggled beside you. “The 3 Musketeers of Columbia will go down in history as nothing short of a team effort. Mark my words, Franklin: if you so much as insinuate–” 

Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Foggy’s laughter was infectious. “Ok, ok! I concede. This ruse was a test of your loyalty, my fair lady. One that you’ve passed excellently, I might add.” 

“A test of my loyalty? I’m not the one trying to break up the crew, Fog.” You narrowed your eyes at him, your smile most definitely undermining your ability to look threatening.

Averting his gaze as his expression softened a bit, Foggy kicked his feet like a child on a swing, scuffing them lightly on the ground at the low point of their respective arc. “Fair enough. It just…you haven’t been around this week. Thought maybe you’d found better people to study with.” All humor had drained from his face, his brow slightly pinched with anxiety as he continued to avoid eye contact. 

Frowning in lieu of a response, you stood from your seat at the counter, snatching Foggy in a bear hug. Relievingly he chuckled, leaning into the embrace. Resting your chin on his beanie-clad head, you squeezed him tightly. ‘Listen here, Nelson. You and Matt mean too much to me for me to even consider replacing you as study group co-founders. Not to mention that 99% of the other students here don’t hold a candle to the pair of you in any respect.” 

Releasing your friend from your hold, you dragged the empty stool closer. Your shoulders brushed Foggy’s as you plopped back on top of the chair. “I promise, Fog. I’m not leaving the group.” Your voice was grave as you made the vow, the seriousness apparently escaping the man next to you who, of course, laughed. 

“Christ, bug, you make it sound like we’re a middle school band on the verge of collapse.” 

“And what if we are, Fog?” You threw a hand over your chest dramatically. “You know your heart ain’t in it anymore. And Matt’s kazoo work hasn’t been the same since the tour.” Breaking off into a forced voice crack, you chewed the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling when Foggy snorted. 

“Ok, Matt would never step foot into a room with a kazoo in it, let alone select it as his instrument of choice.” He grimaced, no doubt imagining the assault of a kazoo on his roommate’s delicate senses. 

“Well you’re lead vocals and I’m tambourine, so he doesn’t have many other options.” You explained, no longer hiding your grin as Foggy cackled. 

“I’m vocals!? Ugh, we’re DOOMED!” He groaned, running a hand over his throat as if it was sore from imaginary over-exertion. 

“Are we? I’ve heard legends of the Siren deep in the showers of Jay Hall.” You smirked as his jaw dropped.

“Oh that little–Doesn’t he know that making false promises is, like, unholy or something?” Foggy scoffed with embarrassed frustration. “I should’ve known he’d tell you. He can’t keep anything from you.”

Heat rose to your cheeks at the reference to your and Matt’s close relationship. Your brain began to spiral as you remembered the image of his smile hovering above you. 

“Hey, I'm not actually mad, bug. It’s alright.” Foggy elbowed you, studying your face. 

Nodding uneasily, you gave a weak chuckle. “I know, Fog. Sorry.” 

“Did Matt do something stupid? Is that why you haven’t been around?” Foggy asked, turning his body to face you as his concern piqued. 

“No!” You squeaked out in a rush, shaking your head furiously. “No, he didn’t do anything, Fog. I’ve just been stressed about school and my mom and stuff. I’ll make more of an effort to tell you guys when I need space, ok?” 

The long-haired man didn’t seem to fully buy the excuse, but he swiveled back towards the counter. “Mmmhmm. Sounds plausible, but you know you can always come to me if something happens, right?” 

There was clearly more to that promise than he was trying to let on, but you were too frazzled to decipher what the hidden meaning was. “Course, Fog. You too. With me, I mean.” 

Knocking his shoulder against yours, Foggy’s nose crinkled as he smiled. “I know, jitterbug. Now stop worrying over me. My ego will get too big.”

Snorting at the thought, you linked your arm with his. “I’m going to ignore the slightly insulting nickname in favor of asking you how it went with Marcia the other day.”

“Marci, not Marcia. And it was AWESOME!” Foggy squealed, face lighting up as he began recounting his evening with her the weekend before.

Homework entirely forgotten, you were enraptured as Foggy animatedly walked you through his eventful evening with his bombshell classmate. Ignoring the fact that he was certainly embellishing the story for your benefit, but he'd clearly had a good time.

Just as he began to narrate how the night eventually ended, your phone buzzed.

“Saved by the bell!” You shuddered comically, smirking when Foggy scoffed in offense. Flipping open your phone, you tried not to cackle in Jen's ear as Foggy pouted beside you. “Hey Jen, what's up?”

“Did you see the email?” Glossing over pleasantries, Jen was obviously annoyed, sparking a rush of worry in your gut.

“Um, no? What happened?” You frowned, chewing the inside of your cheek as your brain began to spiral over the numerous mistakes you could've made that would result in a pissed off roommate.

“Our building won't have heat for the rest of the month.” She grumbled, definitely rolling her eyes on the other end of the line.

“The rest of the MONTH? You're fucking kidding.” Anxiety quickly turning to shared frustration, you held up a finger when Foggy looked at you quizzically.

Your building was ancient and the baseboard heaters were probably older than you, which meant they'd stood no chance against the bitter New York weather this winter. The heat had sporadically given out over the past few months, resulting in half hearted promises from the owner about new systems being installed–so this news wasn't necessarily surprising, but that didn't mean you wanted to deal with it.

“Super wanted us to know so we could 'make the necessary arrangements'. Piece of shit.” She sulked.

“Fuck, Jen, what are we gonna do? I can't afford a space heater.” Scrubbing a hand over your face, the resilient debt-induced panic that had faded to the back of your mind reared its mangey head.

“Well, good news and bad news. Good news is Oscar's parents are willing to loan us a pair that they have in their garage so we won't need to buy or rent any.” She trailed off, clearly not excited about the latter half of the plan.

“C'mon Jen, break it to me.” You huffed, not at all willing to let her ignore the less fortunate piece of the situation. If you wanted to prevent your impending nervous breakdown for another few weeks, you'd need to act on this issue immediately.

“Wewon'tbeabletograbthemuntilaftertheconference.” She muttered in a rush.

Drawing in a breath to extend your waning patience, you asked again. “Jen, in English please.”

An uneasy groan came across the line before she clarified. “We won't be able to grab the space heaters until after the conference.”

Shit. That was bad news. Most, if not all, of Columbia's 3Ls were at the Tri-State Justice Conference in New Jersey until Friday—three days from now.

“I'm sorry, but we both need the attendance credit and—” Jen explained, sounding like she was about to cry.

“Hey, it's ok, babes. I'll figure it out. Don't worry, ok? Just enjoy the conference as much as you can and I'll find a place to stay.”

“I'm really sorry, I—” She stammered.

“I promise I'll be ok.” Your throat felt tight, your efforts to stave off a breakdown over this clearly failing. ”I'll talk to you soon.“

Hanging up the phone, you dropped your head into your hands, digging your fingers into the bridge of your nose in an attempt to collect yourself.

Hesitantly, Foggy called your name. “Everything ok?”

“Uh, not really...but when is it ever?” You chuckled bitterly, your words muffled by your palms.

Two arms wound around your shoulders, pulling you into a hug that mirrored the one you'd given Fog earlier. Your face met his sturdy shoulder, and it took every ounce of your resolve to not let yourself dissolve into tears.

“What happened, bug?” Foggy asked, holding you tightly as you inhaled shakily.

“Apparently our heat went out. Again. And, uh, I don't really know what to do, Fog.” You admitted, craning your neck to look at him. “Everett, Jen, and Oscar are all out of town and I–”

“You can stay in our room.” Foggy stated simply, as if it was the obvious solution to the problem. “We don't have much, but we DO have heat.”

“Fog, you don't have to–” You protested, but he cut you off with a wave of his hand.

“I know I don't have to, I want to! It'll be a study group sleepover!!” He rubbed a circle into your back before taking his seat once more.

And that was that. The long-haired boy had already turned back to the book he’d pulled out while you were on the phone, considering the matter resolved. Sitting there dumb founded, you stared at him for a moment, half expecting him to yell “Psych!” and leave you to sort your own shit out. But he didn’t.

“Do Frodo and Sam kinda give you a gay vibe?” He asked suddenly, jarring you out of your anxious stance.

“What?” You blinked, trying to process the jump to a completely different topic while you were still thinking about a sleepover in Matt and Foggy’s shared room.

Giving a shrug, Foggy turned the page. “I mean, they’re soulmates for sure. But sometimes it seems like Tolkien did not mean for it to be platonic, ya know?” Glancing up at you with a grin, he giggled. “What? Is there something on my face?”

“Fog,” You chuckled in exasperation, shaking your head at his unfailing positivity.

“What?” Raising the book as he threw his arms up, Foggy’s smirk made you laugh harder. “See this is precisely why you need to sleepover. Matt never finds me this funny.”

“You were serious about that?” You asked hesitantly, fisting the cuff of your sweater sleeve in one hand, toying with a loose thread along its edge.

“Uh, yah? Why?” Foggy snorted, still reading and no doubt hosting a heated internal debate over one or more hobbits’ sexualities.

“I mean..I dunno, wouldn’t that be…weird?” Heat was clawing at your face, your insecurities making you cringe sheepishly.

“Ah, I suppose I’ve neglected to consider all the facts.” Sticking a folded gum wrapper in the joint of his book, he let the cover flap shut, crossing his arms as he pondered. “You are a girl, and the latest studies suggest a correlation between your gender and high levels of 'cooties'.”

Expression utterly serious, you couldn't help but dissolve into giggles as Foggy tapped a finger on his chin in deep contemplation. “Shut up, you know what I meant.”

“I'm not sure I do. Unless you DO in fact have cooties. In which case Matt and I would need to draft a contract to distribute liability in the event that we CATCH your cooties.”

“You know what,” You laughed. “Let's all be honest about who is catching 'cooties' from who. I have fantastic hygiene, counselor.”

“You're right. It's Murdock we need to worry about.”

Looking at each other solemnly, you and Foggy broke at the same time, cackling over the ridiculous notion.

“Of course I was serious, dude!“ Foggy kicked your shin lightly as you wiped a tear from your cheek. ”Did you really think I was just going to let you freeze to death? That Matt would allow that to happen?”

“No,” You murmured, tucking the toes of your sneakers behind the legs of your stool. “I guess not.”

Mouth squishing to one side with his skepticism, Foggy leaned closer to your hunched form. “In case I am not making myself clear, let me lay it out for you, jitterbug. Neither Matt nor I would ever object to you staying over if you wanted to, let alone needed to for your own safety. We care about you and we would never jeopardize a fellow Musketeer.”

Nodding bashfully, you linked your pinkies together, dropping them into your lap. “Ok. Thanks, Fog.”

“Anytime, bug. How much longer are you chained to this counter?” He frowned at the offending furniture with distaste, laying a palm over his stomach. “I'm getting hungry.”

Rolling your eyes, you glanced at the clock behind you. “About another hour. But you are more than welcome to venture out for a meal before that. Only one of us is contractually obligated to be here.”

“NO MAN LEFT BEHIND” Foggy declared, saluting you before turning back to his book diligently.

Biting your cheek to stifle a grin, you turned back to your own homework, grateful for the two men keeping you sane as your life crumbled into chaos.

Swallowing as your throat constricted with nerves, your knuckles hovered an inch away from the nicked wooden door. Your adrenaline-soaked subconscious was buzzing, telling every cell to enter “flight” mode, but your feet felt glued to the dingy carpet.

What are you so afraid of? You chastised yourself. It's just Fog and Matt. Not like you're about to have open heart surgery or something.

Tilting your entire body forward until your knuckles brushed the surface of the door, you'd barely made a sound before it opened, revealing a confused Matt and a beaming Foggy.

Greeting you simultaneously, Matt's perplexed tone didn't match his roommate's joyful one in the slightest. “Are you ok?”

Despite being evidently baffled, Matt ushered you into the room.

“Um, yes? Why…” Looking to Foggy questioningly, you watched as the long-haired boy grimaced apologetically. “Ah, I see someone did not fill you in on the situation.”

“I forgot!” Foggy smiled sheepishly.

Exhaling with a frustrated huff, you shifted from foot to foot as the ball of nervous energy fueling you tumbled around your body. “Um, my building has no heat for the rest of the week so Foggy said I could stay here? But if that's not ok with you–” You took a small pace backwards, giving you the option to completely eject from the situation, but Matt carefully reached for your arm.

His fingers brushed over your wrist, gently clasping around your arm. At his cautious touch, the air flew out of your lungs, your eyes widening as they focused on his face. Lips turned down ever so slightly, his brow was furrowed with his classic Matt Murdock concern. Whether you'd given yourself a papercut or received news of your mother's recurrence, Matt's worry and desire to fix whatever he could was etched deeply in his expression.

“Of course that's ok, sweetheart. The heat's out again? Did they say they were going to replace the baseboards?” As he asked his follow-up questions, his free hand came up to cup your other elbow, until he was practically cradling you in his arms.

Sighing, you didn't fight him as his grip tightened, morphing into a full body embrace. Hands spread over your back, Matt's chin landed over your head like it belonged there. Anxiety fading, you shrugged against him with a bitter laugh. “Sure, but they say that every time.”

Planting a kiss against your hairline, and coincidentally reigniting the swarm of murderous butterflies in your stomach, Matt withdrew his arms and stepped aside to wave you into the room. His mouth was still curved into a frown, the wheels in his head clearly turning as you set down your backpack and hopped onto Foggy's mattress.

“Thank god you're here, bug. I desperately need someone to read through my legal writing assignment. She only drops the two lowest and I need a decent grade in this class.” Foggy rummaged through his bag, yanking out a few pages filled with illegible handwriting and margin doodles, dropping them in your lap.

With a giggle, you made a show of copying Foggy's movements, dropping the assignment back into his possession. “Yah, sorry bud but you're going to need to read that to me if you want my help.”

“Oh come on, my handwriting isn't THAT bad.” Foggy protested, squinting at the essay.

“It might not be the worst print in the world, but I'm not a grade school teacher. I'm not practiced at–” You explained, smiling innocently as Foggy grew more affronted by the accusation.

“Woah, woah, woah, GRADE school–”

“Ok, you're right, 7th grade maybe?” You shrugged, laughing as the blond shoved you in response. The two of you were grinning at each other when Matt's question burst out of him.

“Have you complained to the board of health? Or the HPD?”

Meeting Foggy's gaze, you both blinked owlishly before turning to face Matt. The dark-haired boy was staring blankly at the pair of you, his face flitting between dark concern and pure fury.

“What?” You asked, eyes drawn to Matt's fists as they flexed at his sides.

“About the heat. It's..it's not safe for your landlord to be leaving his tenants without heat. Not when it's this cold.”

“Matt, buddy,” Foggy interrupted placatingly, throwing an arm around your shoulders. ”That's why she's here, remember? Problem solved.“

“Until it goes out again next month.” Matt growled.

Squeezing Foggy's leg, you shot him a knowing look. “Matt, I'll call HPD tomorrow when they open. Promise. You can sit with me to listen, if you'd like.”

Pursing his lips, Matt considered the suggestion. With a weary exhale, he nodded, his fingers sliding out of their rigid curls. “Ok.”

“Right, well, now that we've settled that, let's listen to Foggy read his essay aloud—since neither of us will be able to look it over otherwise.”

Grumbling, Foggy flopped onto his stomach, resolutely ignoring your chuckles as he cleared his throat. “Prepare to be dazzled—”

As much as you wanted to help your friend out with his assignment, Foggy’s words flew into one ear and out the other, briefly tapping your brain like a small steel sphere on a pinball bumper. Once you'd seemingly put his mind at ease, Matt had joined the two of you on the opposite side of the room, Snuggling in close and sandwiching you between the pair of men.

On any other day, the position would be comforting. Your limbs cloaked with their combined body heat, their soothing voices overriding the anxious buzzing in your brain. Today, the invisible swarm of bees in your skull only became more enraged. You felt trapped, cornered by your friends and your own tattered feelings.

Matt's shoulder flanked yours, his body pressed in so tightly to you that the thin hairs on your cheeks and neck fluttered with his every exhale. A small vibration in your pocket pushed you over the edge. Had Everett finally responded to your apology? Was he still upset? How could you accept his forgiveness when you were practically sitting in Matt's lap?

Shifting your weight uncomfortably, you tried to keep yourself separate from Matt, digging your shoulder into the wall rather than leaning it against his chest. Another buzz from your pocket had you gritting your teeth. It was too much, it was all too much. Foggy was talking so loud and the temperature of this room was stifling and how on earth could he sleep in these sheets–they must have the thread count of a fast food napkin.

Choking in a breath, you dove off the bed. “It sounds great so far, bubs. I have to check my phone real quick, someone is calling me.” Nearly toppling over in your haste to escape the room, the door shook as it closed roughly against its frame. Shakily pulling your phone from your jeans, you opened it, trying to get your breathing under control. It was like you'd been shoved underwater with a dwindling oxygen tank–given the sudden atmospheric pressure and your inability to take a full breath.

One text was from your father, reminding you to pay the most recent medical bill. I'll get right on that. You rolled your eyes, deleting the message.

The other message was from Everett. Your body went rigid as you read his name, your finger inching towards the button that would open it up, revealing whatever he'd sent you. As the screen flashed, pixels shifting to spell out the five words he'd deemed important enough to send, your heart momentarily stopped.

Talk when I’m back.

Nothing else. No indication of how angry he was, what the talk would be about, if you would still be together in a week. Fuck.

Behind you, the door creaked open, a worried Foggy appearing from the shadows. ”Everything ok?“

”Yep!” You squeaked, snapping your phone shut with a force that made you grimace. “All good.”

Sending your friend a smile that you hoped looked more honest than it felt, you shuffled back into the room, sensing that the energy had changed. “Sorry, just Everett and my dad bothering me.”

In your absence, Matt had returned to his bed. His posture was gracefully straight, a book lying across his lap beneath his fingers. If his stance hadn't clued you into his mood, the lenses now propped on the bridge of his nose had. Something was up, but you weren't in any state to handle both of your emotions right now. Foggy gave a weak smile, hopping back onto his bed.

“Matt pointed out that you might not want to think about homework all night. I actually rented some movies on my way home! I was thinking we could watch one.”

“That sounds fun, Fog. Matt are you–”

“No.��� His answer was curt, pitched low. He must've sensed your surprise because the edges of his expression immediately softened. “I have a headache. Don't want to spoil the fun.”

“I'm sorry! We probably aren't helping. Did you want us to go to the lounge?” You asked, fingers grasping for your bag in case you needed to switch locations.

“No need. I'll put my headphones on if I need to.” Matt's lips flickered with the barest hint of a smile before settling back into the neutral expression he'd originally had on.

“Let us know if you change your mind, buddy.” Foggy chirped, opening his laptop. “Ok, bug. Take your pick.”

With a wave of one hand, Foggy displayed three DVD cases as if they were a winning poker hand. “We've got: National Treasure, Happy Feet, and The Ring.”

“What an eclectic bunch.” You snorted. “Scary movie first, Nick Cage last. We'll scream, cry, and laugh in that order.”

“Genius. She's a genius!” Foggy remarked, cracking the first plastic sleeve open. “This girl is going places, Murdock.”

Matt smirked, but said nothing, his fingers still dancing over the raised dots on the pages.

Lying on his side, one ear turned out to the rest of the room, Matt's own skin prickled sympathetically as you rolled over on the grimy carpet–each plastic fiber screeching as it dragged across your skin. The sound made him cringe, far too similar to fingernails on a chalkboard.

It was late. You and Foggy had indeed made it through all three movies, only pausing to run to the bathroom and the corner market for more snacks. Matt couldn't help but feel like he was intruding, eavesdropping on a sweet moment between friends and existing where he wasn't welcome. While Foggy was glued to his computer screen, your attention was sporadic, heart rate spiking whenever he so much as shifted on his bed.

You were paying more mind to him than the entertainment you were pretending to enjoy. Which was irritatingly amusing given how little you'd wanted to do with him recently. Something deep inside him was crying out in warning, telling him just how close you were to slipping through his fingers and disappearing forever. But how could he steady his grip when every pump of his heart had you spooking like a prey animal.

The rustling of fabric from your body on the floor nettled at his conscience. Your breathing was shallow, your vocal chords emitting small aggravated groans that should've been imperceptible, if Matt was a lucky man. Inches away from his bed, you were writhing in discomfort, lying awake just as he was—unlike Foggy who was snoring away, dead to the world. That couldn't be helping your frustration, it sure wasn't doing him any favors.

The tiniest of sighs slipped through your lips, wafting the scent of salt into his space. Frowning in concern, he set aside the pity party he'd been throwing himself and swallowed his nerves.

“Can't sleep?” His voice was barely a whisper, but you startled anyway, shooting up into a seated position.

“Christ, Matt.” You chuckled feebly.

“Language.” He joked, lips curving as you laughed again.

“Forgive me, Saint Matthew. I was taken by surprise. Thought you might be that little girl from the ring coming to get me.”

“Is my voice that feminine?“ He wrinkled his nose, feeling a bubble of pride when your heartbeat began to slow, his distractions working for now.

“No, but when you're expecting a ghost, everything seems ghastly.” You shuddered.

A jumble of words sat at the tip of his tongue, an accusation he needed to make if he wanted to get any rest tonight. It was as though you were expecting it, aware you'd done something wrong. Awaiting your punishment without a word.

“You don't have to sleep on the floor, you know. My mattress won't bite.” Avoiding confrontation for as long as he could, he attempted for another quip. Unfortunately, you'd picked up on his barely concealed aggravation, if your flinch was any indication.

Huffing out a laugh, you craned your neck to face him. “I know, Matt. But I'm not going to put you out like that. You didn't even know I was coming.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your heat?” He couldn't stop himself. He needed to know. He needed to understand why you were pushing him away.

“I mean, I only found out this afternoon–”

“I could’ve helped you report them.” He explained, still thoroughly confused.

“You still can!” Your muscles creaked as your arms tightened around your shins, instinctively defending yourself from his questioning.

“You just..showed up. And I had no idea what had happened.” His voice sounded hollow, even to him.

“I figured Fog would ask you, I'm sorry.” That was truthful, but it still didn't answer anything.

“So you're still avoiding me, then.” Your breath was cut short, fingers digging into your flesh. His own body was eerily still, trying to hold the immense guilt he'd been feeling back until the conversation was over. Until he knew what he'd done.

“Matt, I'm not—”

“No? Then why does it feel like you're trying to constantly escape me?” Snapping his mouth shut before his words revealed just how hurt he really was, he forced himself to take a deep breath.

“What are you—”

“When I hugged you earlier, you went all stiff. You’re clearly upset about something on your phone, but you refuse to tell me about it. And you keep calling me 'Matt'.” His throat constricted, fists clenching around his blankets.

“That's your name–” You reasoned desperately, but your heart gave you away. He wasn't crazy. It was deliberate.

“Not to you!” He hissed. Sitting up slowly, he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to force the pain in his skull to subside. “You always..you used to call me Matty or trouble or bubs. Recently, I've just been Matt. I just..please tell me what I did so I can fix it?”

“Matt,” You sounded mournful. Defensive stance abandoned, you crept closer to his bed, falling into a sloppy heap beside him, still on the floor. “Trouble, you didn't do anything. I've been jumpy and in my head recently because of my own shit, not because of you.”

The steady thump of your pulse echoed in his ears. It didn't waver. Not once.

Blinking rapidly, Matt shoved his hands against his face again, this time to rub away the tears forming before you could see them.

Reaching one hand up, you brushed a knuckle against his rightmost calf. “I'm so sorry that I hurt you. It was not intentional. I care about you so much and I...” You trailed off, drawing in a ragged breath before speaking again. “I care about you. I always will.”

“I care about you too.” Tangling your hand with his, Matt ducked his head, feeling incredibly exposed. “You scared me.”

“I'm sorry.” There it was again. The consistent beat of your heart. Even as the patter of rain. He squeezed your fingers.

“I know.” Trailing a thumb over the back of your hand, he felt another icy current of fear in his veins. “And I’m serious about reporting your building. We can always host you but what if you get snowed in or something? If you’re stuck there with no heat..I don’t want that to happen to you, bug. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

Grabbing his bed frame with your free hand, you hauled yourself up and onto his mattress, collapsing into his open arms. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I've already forgiven you. But I just needed you to know that it matters. That you matter.”

“Fuck, trouble. You're gonna make me cry harder than that stupid bird movie.” You laughed, the puffs of air tickling his neck as they left your lungs.

“That one did seem especially sad.” He hummed.

“Don't know why they had to rip my fuckin' heart out. Seems a little unnecessary.” You scoffed, body slowly melting against him as he rubbed circles over your back.

“Definitely unnecessary.” He agreed, loosening his grip on you. “You should get some sleep before classes tomorrow.”

He started to unwind from you, intending to take your place on the floor, but you caught his waist with your arms, tipping you both onto the mattress. “If I'm not sleeping on the floor, neither are you, bubba.”

With a single hand, you grabbed the spare blanket off the floor, moving away from him as you bundled yourself up, a happy exhale tumbling out of you as you relaxed into the cocoon. Though you seemed to have worked through whatever mental block had existed before, Matt wasn't quite convinced.

“Are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You wouldn't.” Was your sleepy response. “Besides, if that little bitch crawls out of Foggy's computer screen, she can take you first.”

A startled laugh escaped him and he shook his head. “Sure she can, bug. Sleep well.”

“You too, Matty.”

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