#anyways hope you enjoyed this!! I had fun writing it

[feralgodmothers]

|| Beaten || || Austin Butler one-shot ||

Summary: As Austin’s new girlfriend, you expected that there would be negativity from some of the fans, but it turns out far worse than you imagined when you’re attacked in his home while he’s away.

Pairing: Austin Butler x female reader

Word count: 5.9k

Disclaimer: I’m not a very experienced writer, I just do this for fun on occasion (They say to write what you know, but what if you don’t know anything?? What then???). Anyway, I hope you like it. ‪‪‬‪‪‬♥

CW: violence, assault, mentions of blood and injury, swearing, verbal abuse, angst, ptsd, feelings of unworthiness

The last few months have been a surreal blur.

It’s only been five months since you had the opportunity to meet Austin Butler - and now you were pulling into his driveway to house sit for him.

Of course, this wouldn’t be your first time at his house - you’ve been here many times, in fact - because it just so happened that the two of you were dating.

You hit it off from the moment you met. His kind and gentle nature had put you at ease, and the conversation between you flowed so naturally, that it was as if you’d known each other for years, yet at the same time - you had that flutter of excitement that always blooms inside your chest when you feel a spark with someone new.

Prior to Austin, you had never felt an instant connection so strongly in your life - you believed something like that only belonged in the movies and that it couldn’t have been real, and yet… here it was. Ever since then, you’d spent so much time with him here, that his house was beginning to feel a little bit like home for you too.

Whenever you stopped to consider how quickly things progressed between you - from being very friendly acquaintances, to having cuddle sessions and movie marathons on his couch, cooking together in his kitchen, swimming in his pool, and reading on his balcony - it made your head spin in a delightfully intoxicating way. Everything Austin enjoyed doing, he enjoyed doing with you. He was so open and inviting - he had a way of making you feel comfortable and safe with him at all times. It was as if, as long as you were with him, you were exactly where you were meant to be… you belonged.

Of course, him having this effect on you may have been easier to pull off than usual, since the timing of your getting together never overlapped any public appearances he needed to make. He had just finished three films and their press tours back-to-back, with no real break in between. So, as a result, he decided to take an extended hiatus.

And that’s when he met you.

You pretty much had him all to yourself, and you were lucky enough to be eased into his lifestyle, rather than having to jump in headfirst. The routine that the two of you created for yourselves was almost normal, and you very much enjoyed your private little bubble with him.

Well… mostly private.

You were vaguely aware that the paparazzi captured some photos of you while you were out spending time together, but you never saw them. You never bothered to look them up to see how they came out, or what people were saying about you. Because, if you were truly honest - you were afraid to.

Austin was one of the biggest rising stars in the world right now, and you were a nobody. There was nothing about you that screamed ‘celebrity love interest’, and you knew how harsh and judgmental the public could be. You concluded that it was just best to leave it alone, and remain in ignorant bliss.

But now it was back to business for Austin, which meant that it was time for you to begin your transition into a new way of life ahead.

At least he didn’t leave you in the dark over what to expect. As fully as he was able, he mentally prepared you for the long absences, the events, the tours - the hectic schedules that wouldn’t allow as much contact and communication as you would like. You would miss him, but at least you were ready.

The only thing you regretted was that you weren’t able to see him off at the airport - he had to leave early that morning while you were at work, and had arranged for a chauffeur to come pick him up.

“We don’t even get our airport moment?” you ask in mock offense.

He laughs. “No, I’m afraid not. Not this time.”

“Romance is so dead, man!”

He softly grabs your chin and lifts it slightly to get you to look at him.

“That’s why we should make the time we still have together count,” he says, with a suggestive glint in his eye.

You try to glare at him, but fail to stop the corners of your lips from turning up in amusement.

He grins and steals a kiss.

You give him a feigned unconvinced face.

He pulls you in slowly for another one, this time deeper, and more lingering. Your casual act dissolves, and you fully submit - sinking right into it.

He pulls away, and your vision comes slowly back into focus, as you’re staring right into his stunning blue eyes.

“And I’ll be sure to make it up to you once I get back…”

It wouldn’t be exaggerating to say that fantasies surrounding what exactly he meant by “make it up to you”, had been running nonstop through your head ever since. It was so good of him, yet so diabolical to give you something like that to look forward to during your time apart.

In any case, if what he had planned was anything like what he did for you last night, well…

You’re grinning to yourself as you approach the front door and start reaching for the keypad.

“Hey, girl!”

Startled, you snap out of your reverie and look around.  

You see a group of three girls approaching you out of the darkness. You don’t know how you could have missed them. After a quick glance, you suspect that they all might be about 18 or 19 years old. You’ve never seen them around here before, and you wonder why they'd be here now of all times.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. You see any other dumb bitches we might be talkin’ to?”

The harsh aggressiveness has you frozen. You’ve seen people trying to act tough and posture before in a way you’ve found amusing, but this feels different. They’re slowly making their way towards you with purpose. Their movements vaguely remind you of pack animals closing in on their prey, and pretty soon you’ll be trapped in a corner. Your only thought is: I need to get inside, now. 

“Where’s your man at?”

“My what?”

“Your man. Where’s he at?”

Oh, God. What did they want with him?

“You mean Austin?”

“Yeah.”

You see they’ve made it to the bottom of the front steps now.

Shaking a little, but still trying to act casual, you start fumbling to put in the security code.

“He’s filming in London right now, but he should be back in a couple of weeks.”

The light on the pad flashes green and you hear the front door unlock. You grab hold of the handle and start to open the door.

“But I can give him a message for you if you’d like,”

“Oh, we got a message for him, alright.”

You’re shoved hard from behind. Your body slams the door the rest of the way open as you’re sent sprawling across the threshold and onto the floor. You barely manage to scramble onto all fours, when a sudden sharp kick smashes you across the face, knocking you back down.

You feel an open gash on the inside of your lip, and your mouth rapidly fills up with blood. You have just enough to time to spit it out onto the floor, before they all close in on you at once, inflicting a barrage of strong kicks and hard punches from all directions. Your face, your head, your back, your front - whatever they’re able to find contact with is fair game for their ruthless onslaught. It’s a confusing whirlwind of pain, as hard blows endlessly crash into your body. They leave you no opportunity to get up, or even to get into a position to defend yourself. They keep you down on the floor, completely at their mercy. Vulnerable, with no way to dodge them.

You could tell that at least one of them was wearing rings, because you felt the sting of metal pierce through your skin over and over again. You also catch fragments of the abuse they were shouting at you between blows:

“You think you’re special?”

“…his little princess? His dumb little fucking princess?”

“Fake bitch-”

“Filthy whore-”

“Slut-”

They all pause to take a breath. You’re lying in a heap on your side, your own lungs crying out for air. You see the feet of one of them as she squares herself up in front of you.

“I can’t believe he’s slumming it-”

She gives you a sharp kick to the stomach, knocking the wind out of you.

“with such a piece of shit-”

Another one.

“trashy-”

Another.

“cunt like you.”

And just as quickly as they started, they stop. You’re left there choking and gasping as they stand there, hovering around you.

Still slightly out of breath, you hear one of them say, “C’mon guys, let’s go.”

They group together and follow her command. As they’re leaving, one of them calls out to you in a mockingly sweet voice “Goodbye, darling!” They all start to laugh and you hear the front door slam shut.

The silence afterward is hollow and oppressive.

As you lay there, you cough, and try to gulp back your breath in ragged spurts, like a fish out of water. You attempt to roll over, and your body screams out in agony. Everything hurts. Your head is throbbing, and your whole body feels broken.

You lift yourself onto your elbows and slide yourself to the front door. You go to reach for the lock, but your ribs sharply protest and you double back over in pain. You focus on your breathing as you prepare to try again. The last thing you need is for those girls to come back if they decide they want to finish what they started. You take a deep breath, and through gritted teeth, you lunge yourself forward and turn the lock. Exhaling with a puff, you slump against the door in relief.

Struck by the irony of only just now barring out danger, a half-laugh, half-sob tears from your throat as you sink back onto the floor. The strong metallic taste that’s filling your mouth, combined with the intense dull pain you feel in your abdomen, makes you want to throw up. But resting your face on the cool tile floor was helping to keep that feeling at bay.

You don’t know how long you laid there for. It could have been just a minute, or it could have been an hour. As much as your body pleaded with you to stay right where you were, and to let yourself slip into unconsciousness - something was telling you that you needed to fight that urge.

Austin.

His name rings out like a beacon inside your head.

You slowly ease yourself back up on all fours, and - through sheer force of will - you push yourself up onto your feet. You touch your hand to the front pocket of your jeans, and feel that your phone is still there. You pull it out and stagger to the couch, which you’re grateful is so mercifully close.

You pull up Austin’s number and call him.

He picks up, and you can hear the smile in his voice as he greets you with that familiar warmth of his.

“Heyyyyy, I was just thinking about my favorite girl!”

A tear runs down your cheek as you put your hand over your mouth, trying to smother the sob that was threatening to escape. 

“Baby? Are you there?”

Your voice tumbles out of you, sounding very faint and shaky. “Austin?”

There’s a dreadful silence on the other end.

“What’s wrong?” You can hear that his regular happy and easygoing tone has shifted to alarm. 

“I…”

You’re not even sure what to say. You had no plan when you decided to call his number. “I just- I… I don’t know. I just needed to hear your voice.”

“Baby, you’re scaring me. What is it?”

You don’t answer. You have no answers. You can barely even breathe. You feel like you’re lost and all alone, drowning at sea…

“Let me FaceTime you.”

“No!”

“Why not?” 

The dam finally breaks, and a choked sob escapes your throat before you can stop it. 

“Austin, you really don’t want to see me right now.”

“Baby, please.”

You stay quiet. Your heart is hammering inside your chest.

Austin ends the call, and before you know it, the incoming FaceTime flashes over your screen. You hesitate for a moment before you answer. You slowly slide the button to the right and the screen casts a spotlight on you, putting the gruesome wreck of your face on full display.

He sees your battered face - all scraped, swollen, and bruised. 

“Oh my God, what happened?”

You try to look at him through the phone, but you immediately drop your gaze, because you can’t bear the sight of your own face looking back at you.

“There were these girls, waiting outside… they… they barged in after me… and then they…”

You can’t bring yourself to say anymore. All you can do is break down and cry.

“Somebody call 911!”

You glance up to see Austin looking stricken, talking to someone outside of the camera frame. “Somebody broke into my house, and there’s been an assault.”

You hear a slight commotion in the background, as whoever he was talking to springs into action. Austin looks back into the camera at you.

“Stay with me baby. I’m going to get you help. Stay with me on the line until they get there, okay?”

You nod at him.

He doesn’t make you say anything else. He does all the talking for you. He keeps you grounded like your own personal lifeline, with a string of encouraging words and gentle declarations. Just the sound of his voice is enough to soothe you.

It feels like no time at all before the ambulance pulls up and the paramedics come in, carrying a gurney with them. They place it on the floor and gently take hold of you, easing you down onto it to carry you outside and into the brightly lit ambulance car. They place an oxygen mask over your face. You barely register anything else the paramedics say or do as they scramble around you. You just turn your head to watch the red and white lights flashing outside of the window.

They’re so beautiful… especially now that they’re starting to blur together….

~

You wake up, and struggle to open your eyes. They feel so heavy, swollen, and sore - and only one of them manages to open properly. Your head has the most intense, splitting ache you’ve ever felt in your life, and you instantly snap your eyes back shut against the bright lights flooding in. Just then, you realize that someone’s been holding your hand - so you open your eyes again to see who was there with you.

It’s Austin.

He looks completely ragged and worn out. He’s sitting in a chair next to you, staring blankly at his lap, and there are dark circles under his eyes. You give his hand a gentle squeeze, and his head snaps up to look at you. A warm glow spreads across his face, bringing the life back into it as he smiles at you.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

He brings your hand up to his lips and kisses it so tenderly, it’s as though he’s afraid it might break. “Welcome back.”

Your brows knit in confusion.

“What do you mean ‘welcome back’?”

“They say you passed out in the ambulance. You’ve been out for hours.”

Your heart aches to see him looking so exhausted. You realize he must have flown here directly from London as soon as he could.

“You look tired,” was all you could muster to say.

He chuckles. “I’ll be alright, baby. It’s you we need to worry about now, okay?”

You nod.

“Okay...”

~

You must have fallen asleep again, but you didn’t remember it happening. All you know is that your eyes had been closed, and now Austin wasn’t there anymore.

The main lights in your hospital room were off, leaving only the softer overhead light above your bed. There was more of a hush out in the hallway now… it must be late. Well past visiting hours.

You realize you have to pee.

After looking down at your arms, you see you’re connected to various wires - but right next to your hand is the call button for the nurse. You press it.

The nurse immediately comes swooping in. After telling her what you need, she disconnects you from all your wiring in just a few swift movements, places a strong hand under your arm to assist you out of bed, and escorts you over to the bathroom.

“Thank you,” you say.

“You’re welcome, hon. Push the call button next to the toilet when you’re done, and I’ll come and help you get settled back into bed, okay?”

“Okay.”

She shuts the door behind you, and you hear her leave the room.

You turn to glance into the mirror above the sink.

Jesus.

No wonder he treated me like porcelain.

You looked like you’ve been hit by a truck. Truth be told… you felt like it too.

Somehow, your face looked even worse now - with larger patches of swelling, and several lines of stitching scattered all over it, your reflection looked like it belonged in a funhouse mirror from hell. You wince at the soreness as you lift your hospital gown to inspect your body in the mirror. Various shades of purple and blue were splotched all over your torso. You lift your hand to gingerly touch one of the bruises, and you instantly regret it. Your skin feels raw, and the sharp ache runs deep inside your body. You release the hem of your gown.

There had to be a lot of hatred to want to do this to somebody…

You feel dread settle in, and it makes a home inside your stomach.

~

Angry faces surround you in the darkness. They circle in on you, and the closer they get - the more their features blend together into one vague, formless mass. Only their malice remains discernible.

A voice floats to you from somewhere in the crowd. “We’ve got a message for him, alright…”

You’re jostled around, being roughly shoved and yanked by pairs of hands you can’t see, before you feel a blinding pain in your head and body, as some malevolent, invisible force is released, crashing into you, trying to knock whatever life it can out of you. You whip around, disoriented, your eyes darting back forth, trying to find the source of the attack, but it’s all in vain - the heavy impacts just keep coming, consistently knocking you off balance. The crowd gathered around watches on, and cheers. You try to see who they are, or how many - but a harsh, white light keeps flashing in your face, preventing you from seeing anything. You feel dizzy and sick from all the twisting around, and the increasing rush of savage violence. You’re not going to last much longer. Your body can’t take anymore.

Stop… please stop…

“Goodbye, darling!”

One final blow smashes into your face like a battering ram, and everything goes dark.

You jerk awake. Your heart is pounding.

~

It’s the next morning, and although the sun is already shining brightly through the window - the room manages to become even brighter when Austin steps in with his soft, endearing smile, and a bouquet of flowers. You smile back as you try to straighten yourself up in bed, but the pain from moving makes you wince. You notice that his smile falters, and a flash of concern runs across his face.

“I’m okay,” you try to reassure him, “I’m just sore.”

He nods, not looking entirely convinced. He sets the flowers down, and settles in the chair next to you and takes hold of your hand.

“Is there anything you want me to do for you? Anything that you need?”

You shake your head and smile at him fondly. “No, I’m fine. I’m just really happy to see you.”

His eyes light up and he smiles back. “I’m really happy to see you too.”

You quietly hold hands for a while. You start to notice that his eyes keep glancing anxiously across your face, and that he’s fidgeting a bit more than usual. A restless, brooding shadow seems to be settling over him.

“Are you sure there’s nothing that I can do?”

You smile again.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I promise you, I’m okay,” you give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Relax. The fact that you’re here at all is more than I hoped for.”

“I’d like to see anyone try to stop me from being here.” There may have been some levity in his tone, but there was none in his expression. A flicker of intensity was raging behind his eyes. He clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath. “They showed me the surveillance footage today. To see if I recognized any of them.”

“Oh?” Curiosity perks you up. “And?”

He shakes his head. He looks so regretful about it, that his whole body appears to wilt in defeat.

You feel a little pang of regret yourself, just from having to see him like this. The last thing you ever wanted to do was cause him pain or stress, so to see it there - so clearly written across his face and taking its toll on him - made your heart ache.

You decide to change the subject. “So… what’s happening over in London?”

He rubs his eyes.

“Well… they decided to delay production for a little bit, because they were willing to give me an extension. Maybe a week or two.” He shrugs. “You know, whatever’s needed. They said it was no problem.”

You wish you had chosen a different subject. Now you felt even more guilty.

“I’m sorry.”

You see his brow furrow.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

You shrug. “I don’t know… disrupting?”

“Hey…”

Austin leans forward, and his eyes lock with yours. “None of this was your fault. Sometimes people do terrible things, and any ‘disrupted’ plans that happen, is on them. Okay?”

You nod. “Okay.”

You wonder what was making him so tense today. You do your best to keep things light, but the dark cloud hanging over him continues to linger, despite his best efforts to try and hide it for your sake.

~

After a few more days at the hospital - where Austin was always by your side for as long as visiting hours allowed - you’re finally discharged, and he drives you back home with him.

You can’t tell if you’re feeling more dread or relief - both are swirling around inside you for the entire car ride - but you notice that the dread is crowding out everything else once he pulls into the driveway. Your eyes start scanning over the whole area.

Where had they emerged from? Where did they sit and wait for you when you arrived that night?

“Hey… you okay?”

He sounds so far away…

You don’t answer. You try and fail to swallow the dry knot that’s forming in your throat. Staring at the front of the house, you feel a twinge of panic in your gut. You jump slightly when Austin opens his car door and gets out. He walks around to your side and opens your door, then he kneels down and puts his arms around you.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m with you.”

He gently guides you out of the car and up the stone walkway. A disturbing feeling of deja vu weighs heavily on you and holds you back, like a shackle around your ankle. He can feel your reluctance, and his tender strength keeps you moving forward - albeit slowly.

With every step, you pass by the spots where everything happened, and swift and violent flashbacks surge through your head. You try your best not to show that anything was wrong, but you know that you flinched several times - and you also know that he noticed it every single time.

~

Later that night, you enter the bathroom to get ready for bed, and you catch your reflection in the mirror.

I look like Frankenstein’s monster with all these stitches.

Your heart sinks. You know that looks shouldn’t be important, but the truth was: Austin was a celebrity. He was very much on the public’s radar, and is a stunningly beautiful human being. And now his girlfriend looks like… this. It was like staring into a physical portrait of how the two of you were from vastly different leagues - a harsh reminder of how little sense it truly made that he chooses to be with you.

When you come out of the bathroom, Austin is already there, waiting for you in bed. You must have been looking downcast, because his expression changes to concern after he looks up and sees you.

“What’s wrong?”

You point to your face. “I look like a medical experiment.”

He chuckles. “It’s not so bad,” he reaches out a hand to you. You walk over and take it, climbing into bed next to him. He puts his arm around you as you settle in against his chest. “It just means that you’re alive and healing - and right now, that’s the most beautiful thing in the world to me.” He kisses the top of your head, and you relax a little.

~

You wake up suddenly, and decide to get yourself a glass of water. You slowly head towards the kitchen in the dark, feeling your way along the walls with your hands. Once you reach the kitchen, you try to flip on the light.

Nothing.

The dim glow of the overnight lights above the countertop are still on, so you know the power hasn’t gone out…

“Hey, girl!”

Your heart freezes like a block of ice in your chest.

Oh, no… not again…

You look around, your panic rising, but you don't see anyone. Then someone grabs you by the hair and yanks you backwards onto the floor.

A torrent of kicks pelt your stomach, and the impact to your tender, healing bruises make you feel as though you’re being ripped in half. You crumple in on yourself.

“We thought me made ourselves clear the first time, but I guess some bitches never listen.”

Please… just leave me alone…

They all pounce on you at once, and you scream…

“Hey, hey - shhhh, it’s okay! I’m here, it’s okay…”

You feel Austin holding you close to him from behind. You’re breathing heavily, and your eyes feel wet… you must have been crying in your sleep. You know where you are, but the fear you felt in your nightmare is still lingering with you.

You twist around to face him, still trying to catch your breath. He gazes down at you, looking pained. He clenches his jaw and reaches up to cup your face. He moves his thumb in gentle little circles, spreading the dampness from your tears across your cheekbone.

“I’m here,” he whispers. He places butterfly kisses on your lips, and then over the coarse landscape of the rest of your face - every bump, every bruise, every imperfection. “I’m here… I’m not going anywhere.”

He hugs you to him, and gently rolls you over with him as he settles onto his back. Lying on his chest, you can hear his heartbeat - its steady rhythm grounding you back into reality. He starts playing with your hair, as his other hand finds yours, and your fingers lace together across his stomach.

You both continue to lie quietly like this together until you fall back to sleep.

~

The next morning is slow and quiet. The two of you move around each other on autopilot, fixing your coffees in silence, before you settle in the kitchen to drink them together. He’s leaning back against the countertop, while you’re sitting on one of the barstools. You cradle your warm mug on the counter, and watch the steam rise in lazy patterns.

Austin is the first to speak up.

“Did you sleep alright? I mean, after…?”

“Yeah… how about you?”

“Mostly.”

The silence settles back between you. Once again, Austin was the one to break it.

“Were you dreaming about what happened?”

You nod.

He pauses before broaching his next question.

“Do you think that my bringing you back here might have triggered it?”

You shake your head. “Not necessarily. I had my first nightmare about it at the hospital.”

“Oh.”

He looks down into his mug and stirs his coffee again.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here… I should have been here.”

You close your eyes and rest your forehead on your hands.

Hearing him apologize hurts so much, that it turns out to be the final straw.

“Please don’t apologize.” You press your eyes against your palms, trying to fight off the unbearable weight of guilt you feel at hearing his misplaced blame. “If anything, it’s me who should be sorry. The second you try to go back to work, I manage to become nothing but a wrench in your life.”

You take a deep, shaking breath. You’re finally working up the courage to say what you’ve been thinking this whole week. “Honestly, I’ve been wondering if this is just a sign that you should be with someone else.”

“What are you talking about?”

You lower your hands down to your lap and stare at them.

“You didn’t need this on top of everything else. I never wanted to cause you pain - I only ever wanted to make you happy. And…maybe, if you were with someone else… this never would have happened.”

A heavy silence suspends in the air between you. It goes on for so long, that you look up.

Still as a statue, Austin was staring at you as if you were a thousand miles away. All you could do was stare back, as the silence continued to go on. You had never seen him look like this before - Austin was always so present, that this was a completely new experience for you.

Finally, he blinks.

“Why would you say that?”

He asked the question so quietly… and yet there was so much anguish behind it, that it takes you aback.

“I’m just trying to be realistic… there are certain things we have to weigh out, and sometimes-”

“I love you.”

Your train of thought stops dead in its tracks.

“What?”

“I love you.”

Now it was your turn to do the thousand-yard stare.

“I’ve felt it for a while now. I just didn’t want to rush into saying it, because I was trying to be rational. But then this happened, and I…” he screws up his face like he was in pain. “Do you know how hard it was to watch that security footage and see what they did to you? To be completely powerless to try and stop it? I could have lost you. They could have killed you. And now you want me to just… trade you in? You really think I’d ever be the type of person who would want to do something like that?”

“It’s not about wanting to, Austin. You have to.”

“No, I don’t,” he says, firmly.

He sets his coffee down and crosses to your side, gently taking your face in both of his hands. “I love you, and I told you - I’m not going anywhere.”

You close your eyes and lean into his hands. You love the way he feels on your skin, the warmth that radiates from him.

You open your eyes again and look up at him. You feel wounded inside, because you know in your heart that you’re right, and you’ll have to do the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do: you’ll have to give him up.

The pain you’re feeling must be written all over your face, because his expression turns into one of sudden and silent desperation. His gaze drops down to your lips, and he kisses you, hungrily, like he’s trying to drink you in, wordlessly pleading with you to let go, and to fully submit to him in love. You kiss him back with equal fervor, because of course you love him too. You want nothing more than for this to be the rest of your life - to throw caution to the wind, and ride off into the sunset with the man of your dreams. But love wasn’t enough. Sometimes, it didn’t conquer all. You still had one major obstacle in your way, and this one - you couldn’t allow yourself to ignore.

When he finally pulls back, you see his eyes are immediately searching yours.

Even though your whole heart is screaming in protest, tearing itself apart inside you, you shake your head. A lump forms in your throat, and your voice struggles to work around it.

“Austin… they all hate me. I can’t drag you down with me… I just can’t. And I won’t.”

His hands were still cupped around your face. You reach up and take hold of them, gently pushing them away.

“You’ve worked too hard to get where you are. I can’t stick around and ruin what you’ve built.”

Suddenly, his expression shifts, as if something just clicked inside his head.

“Hang on… there’s something I want to show you.”

He hurries out of the room, heading towards the bedroom.

You wait there, confused.

He walks back in, holding his phone and scrolling through it. He hands it to you without saying anything. You look at it and see that it’s opened up on a social search.

Post after post reveals a flood of outrage towards your attackers, as well as of sympathy and support for you and Austin.

“What those girls did was completely vile. I hope they get caught soon”

“Poor y/n. Those girls are absolute monsters”

“Sending prayers and good thoughts to Austin and y/n during this difficult time 🙏🏼”

“I can’t believe someone would do this. Whoever they are, they’ve proven they’re not real Austin fans.”

“I hope y/n recovers soon. She never did anything to deserve this.”

You can’t read anymore, because tears are welling up and beginning to blur your vision. You look up at Austin. Just like that, your final barrier had come crashing down, and you were overcome with emotion. Austin was standing there, beaming at you like the first ray of sunshine after a storm.

You spring out of your chair and throw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his chest as you softly weep. Every negative feeling you had - every doubt, every ache, every pain, every cutting remark, every insecurity - felt like it was being purged from your body through your tears. You feel his arms enfold you. He holds you tight and supports you as you come undone in his embrace.

“I love you too,” you whisper, tugging at the folds of his shirt.

You finally feel safe again.

Tag list: @thefloatingpickle and @psycheetamore

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this! 💜

[consistencynevermether]

Elyon x Hound Reader (Touchstarved)

Content: Elyon x Gender neutral hound background reader, SFW, 2.2k words, bodyguard reader

A/N: Heyoo how we doing guys? So in honor of the new update and the hound being retired (rip hound background i love playing strong characters but also i 100% trust the devs) i thought maybe id write the hound with a background character like Elyon, so in some ways it lives on in a different interpretation lmaooooo. This truly is just a self indulgent little drabble because I loved the hound so much and wanted to play with the origin a bit more even though it's retired. Anyways if this is your vibe i hope y'all enjoy it!!! Now enough of my ramblings and onto the story!

If you had a million guesses on where you would end up after being betrayed by the thief syndicate you had dedicated your entire life to, working as the personal bodyguard for some rich noble would have never crossed your mind.

Yet here you were, at some stuffy gala wearing a ridiculous fancy outfit, watching your client (and boss) Elyon like a hawk. 

Elyon was a highborn noble of Eridia, with more money than you could ever dream of having. Not just the family wealth that came with being a noble, but his businesses raked in more money in a month than you could have ever hoped to make working all those years in the thieves syndicate. Lucky bastard.

When you first arrived in Eridia, Elyon had hired you up almost immediately. 

You had been minding your own damn business when someone claiming to be a potential recruit for a gang called “the Adderstones” had knocked into you and decided to start a fight. You dodged his first punch with an embarrassing amount of ease and knocked him out cold with a quick right hook. You’d faced bigger. And even when the opponent was bigger or stronger, you were faster, more skilled, or just plain smarter. You may be down on your luck and out of money, but there certainly weren't any humans that scared you. Not in this city or any other. 

It was then that Elyon decided to approach you. His outrageously expensive and perfectly clean clothes contrasting with the filth of the street that so called Adderstone was currently lying in. 

Needless to say, you had no interest at first. He looked so delicate you figured you could probably just pick him up and move him out of your way if you wanted. But those ideas halted as soon as he pulled out a coin purse with more silver and gold than you had ever seen in one place. 

“An advance payment, should you choose to work with me.” he had said. You didn't want to appear desperate, but unfortunately that's exactly what you were. 

You followed him to a brothel more fancy than your vocabulary could properly articulate, and that was where he proposed the idea of you working for him. He needed a 24/7 bodyguard. And you had nobody who would miss you at home, any money, or even a home to begin with. That combined with your strength, fighting abilities, and street smarts, made you the perfect candidate. 

And so here you were, 6 months later, Elyons full time bodyguard. You had adjusted well enough to your new role. You had become Elyons shadow, following him wherever he went and protecting him in more ways than one. You had assumed drunkards or criminals would be the people you fought the most, but to your dismay, you were usually protecting him from handsy clients and opportunist nobles. Significantly less fun, because you couldn't beat them to a pulp. On the only plus side, you had gotten better at intimidating people with just a glance. 

Speaking of protecting Elyon from creeps, one of the noble women was getting a little close for his liking, you could tell by the way his black sclera narrowed, his smile politely tight. She looked to be a lesser noble looking to climb the social ladder, either in terms of business or pleasure. You didn't judge her for this of course, she was born into a certain family and was making the most of her situation. Something everyone does in their own way, you respected her initiative. You also knew there was no way in hell this would work out the way she wanted.  

You couldn't help but let a sigh escape. There was a good chance you were going to have to step in. 

You tugged at the high collar of your outfit. It was a combination of stylish and functional. You could easily move in it, but the silk was the same color blue Elyon wore, making it a beautiful outfit, and also denoting you as one of Elyons people. Which was useful, because then most people would steer clear of you. Or at least have some modicum of respect when talking to you. Still, you couldn't help but feel uncomfortable in the silk. It felt like you were wearing a bad costume and everyone knew it. 

Elyons silver irises flicked over to you, a silent order.

Looks like you were stepping in then. Great. 

You swept to the other side of the ballroom where Elyon was, and smoothly stepped between the lesser noblewoman and Elyon.

You learned into Elyon, pretending to say something important into his ear, but in reality you were focused on giving the noblewoman a knowing look. 

Your eyes met hers, and she knew you were silently telling her to leave, but giving her the opportunity to do it on her own terms.

A slight nod from her behind her fan conveyed she understood what you meant, and to your immeasurable pleasure, she took the loss in strides. With a light smile and easy excuse, she gracefully exited the conversation. 

Elyon smiled at you, his slender fingers wrapping around a flute of champagne. As he brought the flute to his lips and took a sip, his eyes never broke contact with yours.

The two of you stood there in silence for a few seconds before you attempted to walk back to your corner and continue to silently watch him, when Elyon's hand shot out to grab your wrist, his grip light but firm. You weren't getting out of this so easily it seemed. 

Elyons silver eyes flicked to the hoard of nobles, each one waiting for a chance to ask him to dance. But you focused on a man in white in the middle of the group, his eyes trained on Elyon. A Sinobium cleric. 

Elyon had told you the most important part of your job was making sure he only met members of the Sinobium on his terms, and preferably on his territory. And that cleric was clearly looking to get in Elyon’s ear.

Unfortunately, not on your watch.

Elyon let go of your wrist to extend his hand out to you. An invitation to dance. 

“I can’t dance.” you murmured in his ear, as you took his hand regardless.

“Not to worry, I'll lead.” Elyon responded, firmly pulling you to the dance floor. 

You sighed and did the only thing you could do: follow his lead.

Your fine leather boots clipped against the gold veined marble floors, following Elyon’s movement as the two of you slowly spun across the dance floor. 

“If you think I’m going to thank you for doing your job, you haven't been paying attention.” Elyon murmured, a light smile gracing his face.

He was teasing you, clearly. You were at least close enough that you both felt comfortable enough to lightly poke fun at the other. Or at least, Elyon poked. You mainly just laughed or gave him an eyebrow raise or smirk that conveyed everything you needed to say. After six months, he understood your quiet expressions more than most people could ever hope to, which was slightly unnerving. The last time you had people get that close to you, it ended poorly. 

Elyon seemed to notice you were lost in thought, and in one swift motion his fingers closed around the collar of your outfit, tugging you close as the two of you continued to dance. 

The sudden contact snapped you back to reality, and on instinct you wrapped your arm around his waist protectively, worried he needed to be steadied. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Elyon questioned, his delicate hands smoothing out your collar now that the two of you were breast to breast.

Without a word, you reached up and tucked Elyons hair behind his ear. He gave no indication of shock or attempt to stop you, the only indication of him even registering the touch being the way his eyes slightly fluttered at the contact.

You pulled your hand back, and smugly showed off your prize. You had swiped one of Elyon’s small silver earrings. Elyon’s black sclera widened at the reveal. 

You could only smile back. You were part of a thieves syndicate for most of your life after all. 

You took the silver earring and stuck it through the empty helix piercing hole in your ear. You had gotten it when another member of the Syndicate had pestered you, but you rarely used it. After all, earrings would be a weakness in a physical fight, someone could try to tear them out. 

Elyons eyes were fixed on the little silver hoop that now graced your right ear, and before you knew it the two of you had been dancing together for the past 3 songs. This was probably some social taboo. Then again, dancing with a bodyguard was also probably taboo for someone in Elyon’s position so maybe he just didn't care at the moment. 

“We've been here long enough for it to be respectful, time to leave.” Elyon stated, already gliding to the door.

He did not have to look back to know you would follow. Your form constantly two steps behind him, always a respectful distance. Always employer and employee.

As you walked along the dark streets of Hightown, the glow of the moon caught your eye. Before, you were too busy surviving to take in the beauty of such things. Of course, your distraction was only momentary as you remembered your job. Keep your eyes on Elyon, always. As you returned your focus back to him, you realized he was already staring at you, peering behind him to watch you, yet his steady pace never faltered.

You knew so much about Elyon from a physical perspective, it was your job. You knew the part of his hair, the angle of his collar, the ways in which he would drape those silver chains over his cloak. You knew what the raise of an eyebrow or tap of the finger meant, it was all he needed to summon you to action. Yet his mind remained a mystery to you. Even now, as you stared directly into his silver eyes, you had no idea what he was thinking. 

The light of the moon reflected off them in such a strange way, his black as night eyes. You always wondered why they were such a unique color. If it was a sign of nobility, or something beyond the shroud. But you knew that topic was off limits, even for his bodyguard. 

Eventually you reached his manor in the heart of hightown. You imagined many found it beautiful, but to you it represented rest. This manor was the one place you were off duty, when you didn't have to watch Elyon every second of every day. The one place you could let your mind wander. 

The steel gates clicked open at Elyon’s touch. Magic. Only he could open the doors to his manor. 

As you followed him in, you undid the silver earring from your ear and attempted to hand it back over to Elyon, your outstretched open palm waiting for him to grab the piece. 

“Keep it.” was Elyon’s only reply as he headed towards the main manor. “I will be in my study. See you check in with me within the next two hours.” 

Most likely he was going to brief you on tomorrow's plans. Very well. But at least you had a little while to yourself. 

You gave a slight nod, almost like a bow, and began to walk towards the gardens in the back of the manor.

If you were to look back, you would have seen Elyon watch your retreating figure in the moonlight. He wasn’t scared you would catch him, you never looked back. Never at him anyways. His hand reached up to where his hair was still tucked behind his ear, letting his own fingers run over the tip of his ear like your calloused ones had done just an hour earlier.

If he didn't already have plans, there was a balcony on the way to his office he would occasionally stop at. It overlooked the garden, and gave him a perfect view of you laying on your back in the garden, looking up at the full moon, surrounded by blue orchids. 

It was a good thing he was busy tonight, because if he had stopped to watch you, he would have seen the way you flipped his silver earring in your fingers, the pure metal glinting light starlight with every new angle. He would have seen the way you stared at the small piece of jewelry, as if scrutinizing it enough would interrogate it into spilling its secrets to you. 

Yes, it was a good thing he didn't see that. Because then he may have gotten the idea that you too wished to be closer than a simple employee and employer. A good thing indeed.

[lorelune]

inversion

|| rin itoshi x reader || E/18+ || angst with a happy ending || wc: 7.2k || ao3 ||

Preemptive grief defines your relationship with Rin. Heartbreak is in the nature of your connection. You are forced to reckon with its end.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: eeeeeee this piece is part of a trade i'm doing with beloved @rabbbitseason :3c they asked for angst + rin and i am here to deliver a bruisy piece 🙂‍↕️!!!! he was an interesting (read: slippery) character to chew!! but very fun as well :3c thank you to @suguwu for beta reading this piece and talking through rin's character as well!!! jun's invaluable feedback rlly helped bring the piece together. please read and enjoy something a bit achey my kind reader 💗

CWs: angst with a happy ending, gn reader with afab anatomy, rin is assumed to be 20+ and playing professionally, f receiving oral, missionary, some possible abandonment issues for the reader

You do not mean to fall in love with Rin Itoshi.

Distinctly, you did not want to fall in love with him. Because he is probably not a good lover, nor does he want to be a lover at all. It’s a poor combination. Being enamored with him is a poor way of being.

It’s unfortunate that you have found yourself in this position— hopelessly in love and irrevocably attached to him. 

... 

Drizzle falls from the sky in a mist. It’s been like this for days, a haze of light rain with thick fog that rolls in during the mornings. You’ve almost gotten used to your hair frizzing up and returning home damp from any outing. 

It’s unpleasant. But then again, everything is unpleasant at this moment, so the rain is the least of your worries.

Rin Itoshi is on your front stoop.

There’s a little cement step there that he sits on. In front of your door, just behind him, is a welcome mat. A large, ceramic cat is set just next to the door. As you walk up to your home, grocery bags in tow, you cannot see your normal, friendly guardian.

Instead, all you see is Rin Itoshi. 

Stopping in the little walkway up to your small home, you let the rain drench you. Rin looks up from the ground with an expression between a scowl and a pout. His hood is drawn up over his head, but his hair still looks wet. The tips of his shoes are soaked through. Even from a distance, you can tell.

You sigh.

“You’re home late,” he says. His words get eaten by the ambient sounds of the city, and the pittering of rain on nearby roofs.

You raise your arms, trembling with the weight of your haul. “Groceries.”

“Hm.” 

You frown and Rin rises. 

He takes your bags, taking them from you and easily looping them on a single forearm. He moves aside so you can slip past him, to your door, now able to see your fat-bodied kitty cat protector (who really isn’t doing much protecting at the moment—) and give him a nod of acknowledgement. 

Rin makes a sound behind you; a huff. He’s amused. You contend with kicking his shin but decide against it.

Like a lost, wet puppy, Rin follows you inside. 

There’s a pair of house slippers for him; there has been for months. The fuzzy fabric of the slippers is patterned to look like big, pink cat paws. You purchased them for Rin as a joke, a gag that you didn’t expect to get a rise out of him beyond a heavy blush, and yet he took to them immediately. His pair sits next to your own slippers like the two belong next to each other. 

Rin shuffles behind you.

(How many times have you done this?)

You turn on the electric kettle and put away the groceries Rin has carried inside for you. You mentally plan out your meals for the week and concurrently catastrophize about what the fuck to do with the man in front of you. 

He leans against your kitchen counter. His outer layer has been shed, all he’s in now is a (somehow, still damp) white t-shirt and his warm-up joggers. Rainwater still clings to his bottom lashes, dew-like. You lean forward, cupping his face to brush the moisture away. His cheeks are clammy, still so chilled. 

(It’s all too tender.)

“You’re cold.” You frown. “Go sit down. I’ll finish making tea.”

“I am sitting down.”

“Leaning isn’t sitting.” 

“Close enough.”

You sigh. “I meant in the other room, preferably with a blanket.”

“I’ll wait.” 

You sigh, “Fine.”

It’s not worth arguing with Rin. 

Rin is so— so— frustratingly single-minded. Motivated in a single direction to a fault. You’ve long since learned that attempting to sway him, regardless of how sensible and sensical of an idea you have, is fruitless. If it doesn’t align with what he has already decided he is going to do, he simply won’t change. It’s something rather immutable about him.

His nature is as stubborn as his thoughts. 

(Loving him is so difficult; you wish that you didn’t.)

Rin grabs two mugs (your mugs) while you fetch the tea. It’s the same selection as it always is— your cup of ginger and honey, and his plain peppermint. 

You only settle once the two of you make your way to the couch, side-by-side, covered in the worn quilt that Rin likes best. It’s a tawny mix of grey and tan yarn. You picked it up from a thrift store years ago. You never would’ve thought that it would become such an integral part of a pathetic, mutual routine.

Rin is stiff beside you. One glance at him tells you that he’s chewing on his words. He doesn’t tend to— to do that. He doesn’t mince anything that flows from his brain to his lips. Your stomach rolls with a sense of unease. 

“Is everything alright?” You ask. 

(It never is, not really, when this routine is being completed.)

Rin looks at him. His gaze is piercing, crystalline. It lances you. “I’m leaving.”

You know this already; you aren’t supposed to.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“... For how long?” This you don’t know. 

“A while.” Rin's hands ball into fists on the tops of his thighs. “Half a year, at least.”

“I see.”

(You feel your world begin to cave in.) 

An eerie quiet settles over the room. The rain patters outside, streaking your windows in droplets, obscuring the greater world. It makes it feel like all that exists is you, Rin, and the lucid knowledge that your connection has nearly run its course. 

You swallow; it’s audible. “Where to?”

“Europe.”

“Europe’s big. Countries—?”

“Germany, Italy, and France,” replies Rin. “Maybe more.”

The back of your eyes sting. “I could visit?”

“I’ll be busy.”

“... Could you not make time?”

(Could you not make time for me?)

“I don’t know.”

“Hm.” You feel something cold and dreadful coat your insides. 

Your tea is cooling down, steam hardly rising from the mug now. You take a sip of it, and hold the mug in both hands, grasping onto the warmth that radiates off of it. The ceramic of the vessel still holds heat, enough to scald your palms. Yet, you don’t put it down. 

This big, unspoken thing lingers between you both. It writhes, swirls, like it always does when you enter this routine. There’s always been an impending end date to your connection, even if neither of you could quantify the time you had left together. Rin's career, his ambitions, his nature to not just excel, but crush and break in tandem, have always floated above your dynamic. 

This thing would immolate eventually.

(And you along with it.)

...

You end up in your bedroom, the gloomy day sliding into a thickly dark night. You’re not even sure if the moon is out. The room only glows with light from a few soft lamps. The spray of them catches the angles of Rin’s face well. Even with age, his face hasn't hardened all that much. He still has pudge in his cheeks that he can’t shake. It makes him look younger, more innocent, like there hasn’t been a thing in him, forever, threatening to devour him as it craves to brutalize others. 

Another part of your routine commences once you enter your soft, kindly-lit bedroom. Sex— of some sort. Today it feels bad. You’re not sure what’s coming other than grief. 

Stripping feels like a funeral march. The drizzle that continues to fall outside may as well be a dirge. 

Rin pulls his shirt over his head and off. It’s a quiet affair today, though typically it isn’t. On a more normal day, when you aren’t witnessing your romantically entangled decay in real-time, there’s banter. You might rib Rin, he may respond with his own barbed remark that you find a bit silly. It’s fun, despite Rin’s perpetually bruised demeanor.

Today, though, there’s no humor. No jesting. All that’s left is the unfathomable depth of— something behind Rin’s eyes and the ache in your chest that you’re afraid will kill you.

You kneel on your bed, left only in a sweater, goofy-looking socks, and panties. The stupid satiny kind that you think is kind of uncomfortable, but you know Rin enjoys. He leaves his boxers on, coming to rest on his own knees across from you.

Your eyes feel damp, you feel stupid, and can’t make yourself look at him.

“Don’t be a crybaby,” he tells you.

You scoff, the sound warbly and your voice watery. “Like you’re any better.” 

(Rin isn’t the crybaby notably. You think he gets close to it sometimes. Maybe that’s just your own wishful thinking.)

(You want Rin to crack; it would make your own fissures less shameful.)

Rin kisses you then like he can hear your thoughts, and kissing you hard on the mouth will extract them from your brain. It does, in a way. He’s warm and familiar. You love him so terribly. 

You cup his cheeks in your palms, still aching from your mug earlier. You don’t care. You couldn’t make yourself care as you lean into him, pitching your weight forward. For all the things Rin isn’t good at, he is good at catching you. He bears the weight of you easily, wrapping an arm around your waist and securing you with a hand on the nape of your neck.

He’s so solid. Bigger than he appears. Firm muscle over firm muscle, he’s so entirely unyielding beneath your hands. There are so many parts of him that contradict each other; it’s what drew you to him in the first place. Rin Itoshi has always been a spectacle for you to untangle and know, even if, at first, it was just to satiate your own curiosity about the foul-mannered, enigmatic man he appears to be. 

Unfortunately, now, you have untangled Rin. The essence of him has been unraveled in your hands, laying across your palms like sheets of satin fabric— the kind that catches the light and almost shimmers in sun rays and moonbeams alike. Rin is so much more fragile than he appears, tough at some angles, but so bruiseable at others. This knowledge is held by you so intimately, you cherish it, what else can you do? 

It’s damning. It’s made you love him.

You stifle a noise against his lips and fall into him more.

In a single motion, Rin has you on your back, laid beneath him while he straddles your hips. He doesn’t stop kissing you. If anything, the leverage has him leaning into you more deeply. It’s suffocating, the weight of his body and him over you. Like it’s bearing down into your soul.

Rin licks into your mouth and you let him.

It’s almost gross when he kisses you like this. Filthy— dirty. He practically plunders the inside of your mouth, running his tongue over the back of your teeth, pushing it against your own, spit dripping out of the corners of your mouth. If you felt like you could be properly romantic with Rin, you might even say it’s a claiming act.

But you can’t be romantic with Rin. Because this doesn’t matter. The physicality you share serves the function of physical release and gratification. You love him and it is useless that you do. These are immutable facts.

(Facts that you hate, despise, and loathe. Why can’t he love you—? Why can’t he— just understand?)

You growl against his lips and shove at his chest.

“Just—” You sigh, turning your head to the side. You can’t look in his eyes or you’ll immolate. “Fuck me already, okay?”

Rin wordlessly presses his forehead against your temple. His hands claw into your hips. He’ll leave bruises, but they’ll never last the six months that he’ll be gone for. You’ll be a distant memory to him by then, you’re certain.

Something awful and far too hot is boiling in your chest. 

“No,” says Rin

“No?”

“No.” He repeats, dragging his nose down to your jaw, then your throat. 

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to yet.”

“Well, get a move on then.” You scoff. The watery quality of your voice has shifted to something sharper, angrier. 

“What’s with you?” He sighs out of his nose and it makes you flinch. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like this—” Rin tugs your jaw to face him and holds you there. You’re stuck looking into his eyes, azure and shiny like polished stones. Full of something you can’t name, lest you break your heart further.

(Your delusions are both damning you and saving you.)

Your eyes water; maybe you are a crybaby. “Fuck off.”

Rin kisses you hard again, flattening himself to you. He’s a cage like this, where you can only take what he gives you and—

(Rin gives you everything. Because that’s how he is with things he cares about.)

You feel like you're melting into the duvet as you desperately claw into Rin’s scalp, raking your hands through his hair. A pathetic noise bubbles up from your throat, pours from your mouth into Rin’s, and he takes it in kind. He always does. 

(He shouldn’t be reliable, but he is.)

It’s hard to think when he kisses you like this. Rin’s physicality is consuming, like he’s attempting to crush you and absorb you into him. It’s an intoxicating type of connection; it’s part of why you linger within your entanglement. In the moments you’re under him, intertwined with him like this, god, touching at all— you can’t do anything but think of Rin and his attention.

You kick him because he’s leaving— he’s leaving you and he isn’t letting you follow.

Rin grunts at the impact, even though you don’t kick him all that hard. You nip him at the same time— 

You’re so angry.

All the dread in you is angry, bitter like bile, and white hot. Preemptive grief, loss that you have to start swallowing before Rin isn’t even out of your arms.

“I hate you—” You tell him against his lips.”You’re awful. You’re the worst—”

Rin breaks away from you in an instant, slamming you back on the bed by the shoulder in a single, decisive motion. It makes your head spin.

“You don’t mean that.”

“And what if I did?” It’s not convincing, your voice is wobbling too much for it to be. You stare up at him, lips curling. 

“You’re being a brat.”

“Oh my god, says you—” You roll your eyes. “You’re the brat here. Just— fucking kiss me—”

“No.”

“Then fucking leave already—!”

Rin holds you steady by the jaw, bowing over your body. You can’t look anywhere other than him. It’s consuming, like you’re being engulfed by a rushing tide. 

“Stop. It.” His words are clipped, filled with his own anger. His grip is too tight; you fear he may crush you. 

“Choke.”

“You’re throwing a tantrum.”

“So what if I am?” you laugh, the sound too high and airy to be comfortable. “If it bothers you so much, just leave already. It’s not like you want to be here. Does passing time in my bed make it go faster for you, Rin? Getting your last taste of this before you fuck off and leave—?”

“That’s what this is about?”

“What else would it be about!”

Your voice breaks and you close your eyes. God, you don't want to cry, but it feels unavoidable now. All of Rin’s attention, potential vitriol, judgment, and rejection is pointed at you. You might as well fucking die.

Rin is quiet over top of you, like a dark, stormy cloud in its last moments before a thunder crack. Heat lightning crackles between the two of you, but nothing strikes the ground yet. 

“It’s better for you to stay here,” he says eventually. 

“Why do you think that?” You sound exasperated.

Rin’s quiet again, then speaks like he’s seated at a confessional, and not over your hips. 

“You shouldn’t be around me too much when I’m playing,” Rin confesses and squeezes your jaw. “It’s bad enough here. All I’ll be doing is playing soccer—”

“And that’s what you want, right?”

“Yes—” Rin admittance hits you in the chest and you have to let out a steadying breath, so you don’t shatter right there. “And you can’t be there for that.”

“Why?”

Rin lets go of your jaw and you open your eyes. 

His own jaw is tight, his bottom lip bitten between his teeth. His eyes are wet, almost like there could be tears threatening to spill into his lower lashes. Maybe you’re imagining it. 

“Trust me.” His tone is a bowstring. You’re both ready to snap. “Please.”

A whine echoes from your throat, out of your control. 

(You love him and you hate seeing someone you love hurt—)

You can’t help yourself. You tug him down by the shoulders and into you, so he can lay over your chest. He lets you, so easily, and tucks his face into the curve of your neck. He hides there, arms wrapping around your middle, so tightly that you’re sure that you’ll ache there the next day. 

It hurts, it hurts— not the pressure on your ribs, but having the atypically unsteady presence of Rin in your arms. It’s not uncommon for the two of you to cuddle, Rin is clingy, especially after sex, but it is odd to see him this visibly upset. It hurts because he’s hurting. It hurts because he’s choosing to leave and telling you not to follow, despite... everything. It hurts so deep in your chest, that you let yourself become so involved and in love with him.

You bury your face in his hair and shake.

...

Rin is bad at protecting people.

It’s a given, knowing his nature and the fact that he had an older brother closely looking out for him for most of his life, makes his ineptitude at protection make sense. 

He clearly wants to be. He has the strength and tenacity to bare his teeth and claw, but you don’t think Rin knows which way to direct his fear and grief— whether to inflict wrath on himself, the aggressor, or the person he actually means to protect. 

You can’t blame him. Some things, Rin only understands in theory and not in practice. Rin is so highly attuned to feelings but so absolutely atrocious at empathizing. You think— with you— he tried. He even succeeded at points, which makes your own heartbreak feel all that more infectious and virulent.

Your back is laid out over your duvet, your legs cradling Rin’s hips. He has three fingers in you, stretching you out with as much care and intention as he can muster. You can tell by the furrow in his brow, the peek of his tongue sticking out from his lips. Pleasure burns in your core, but the sensation is eclipsed by a well of fondness and grief, drowning you.

Rin slides onto his stomach and hikes your legs over his shoulders. He takes one of your hands and places it into his hair. You knot your fingers into the soft texture of it and tug. He likes when you do that, when you try to take from him. Rin shudders between your thighs, huffing a breath into the pudge of them. He nips.

On another night, you’d scold him and give him a playful amount of grief for it.

Tonight, you want him to bite you so hard that you bleed and scar.

(Would he? He’s so scared of hurting you, even if he doesn’t say it. He is hurting you. A sick part of you wants him to do material harm to you, so you’ll have something tangible to remember him by. An imprint of his teeth in your thigh would be too romantic, maybe. Too much to ask for.)

Rin kisses up toward your cunt, taking his time over the outside of it. He breathes in the scent of you, long and hard, a few times. A wishful part of you hopes that he is committing it to memory. 

“Hurry up,” you snap. 

“No.” Rin keeps fucking denying you. Haste would make this hurt less. You could speed things up to the inevitable end where Rin Itoshi has thrown this— you— away and you are left alone. Instead, he prolongs it. Instead he is carving a piece of you out, in the shape of himself, the wound never to fill as cicatrix and heal.

You drag him closer by the hair and grind against his face—

“Impatient—” he says against your cunt with a growl. His arms wrap around your hips, holding you down and in place, keeping you from squirming. 

It’s needed as he drags his tongue over your cunt, dipping the tip of it into your hole before landing on your clit. He laps at it, at you, humming and groaning as you tug at his hair. The motion you’re allowed lets you just barely grind against his face. It’s not enough contact. You want more, need more, but Rin is only giving you so much. 

“God,” you breathe out. “Fuck you.”

Rin practically growls, the vibration of the sound against your sex makes your back arch, a pretty, croaking sound dripping from your throat. He dives into you with more fervor, digging hand-shaped bruises into your hips.

The pleasure comes to you like licks of a flame, just as scorching as they are whimsical. Your toes curl as Rin’s sucks your clit. There’s finesse in his actions. There didn’t used to be, at the start of things, but now Rin knows your body so intimately—

(It feels crushing to know this will be the last time—)

It feels like you’ve been struck.

Never again— this is it—? The last time he’ll be in your bed, between your thighs, in your arms. You’ll never get to share this proximity with Rin Itoshi again. Not this version of him, anyway. You know what the journey that he’s about to embark on will do to him. The Rin that you know won’t exist for much longer, and— 

The version of himself that he’ll return as won’t be yours.

(And he won’t give a fuck about you, will he?)

It feels— like you’re going to die. Preemptive grief for a still-living person feels selfish. And yet, you can’t breathe suddenly, even with Rin, present, between your thighs, lavishing you with (fleeting— fleeting!) attention.

You rip your hand from Rin’s hair and cover your face. You can’t look at him. You can’t. Tears are dripping from the corners of your eyes, soaking into your hairline. Your breathing speeds up, painful and raw. Rin is still between your legs.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, looming over you once more. You can feel his shadow, more than you can see it. 

He grabs your wrists and tries to drag them away from your face. When you don’t budge, he pries them down to your sides. Perhaps it was foolish of you to think that you could hide from him.

“Just—” You breathe, staring into the shadows thrown onto your bedroom wall. “Keep going. Please. Ignore me.”

“The last thing in the world I can do is ignore you right now.” Rin squeezes you, less for comfort and more to remind you that he is there. “Don’t be unreasonable.”

“I just want to get this over with—” Your voice wobbles and you squeeze your eyes shut. A sob is trapped in your throat, breaking in an ugly sound. Your wrist jolts in Rin’s grip, desperate to try and hide the noise. 

You want to hide this from Rin.

If Rin wants to hide the ugly, poisonous part of him that comes out in his career, you want to hide the lovesick one that has infected you. The one that is shattering, in real-time, at the idea of Rin leaving your bed cold, forever. 

“I want to take my time,” Rin tells you. “Let me?”

“And I want you to just get it over with—” You repeat, a sob finally breaking from your lips, fully. Rin noses into your cheek. “Finish breaking my fucking heart already, Rin. Then you can hop on a plane and I can block your fucking number.”

There’s a stall. A beat, then two, followed by a third.

Rin is shaking on top of you.

“Would it be that easy for you?” He speaks with gritted teeth.

Would it?

(No, it would actually be so hard for you to cut Rin off so swiftly. Even if you blocked his number, you’re bound to see him in the news. You don’t even follow football all that closely, but he’s such a household name these days that you’re sure to encounter news of him and his accumulating accolades.)

(If not, you know his teammates. Rin begrudgingly introduced you after the lot of them crossed paths with you enough times. You have a few of their phone numbers. Rin’s mother has your contact information too, from the time that Rin spiked a high fever and you needed her specific oyaku recipe. She messages you photos of her garden now, and asks if Rin’s alright.)

(And none of that is even acknowledging the personal, emotional wreckage that cleaving Rin from your life so swiftly will leave behind.)

“No,” you say. 

Rin takes a steadying breath, his breath too warm against your cheek and down your jaw.

“You said,” his voice maybe wobbles, you may be imagining it, “that I’m breaking your heart?”

You laugh, something horrible and pained. “I thought that was obvious?”

He pauses. “Maybe it was.”

God, he’s so shit at this kind of thing.

“You’re awful, you know that?”

And you cry.

You’ve become so fragile in the past few weeks. Imagining this day, these exact moments of fleeting intimacy, like doing so could prepare you in any way for the pain that’s now tearing through you. The fear of losing him is being actualized, and you’re making it worse, pushing him away like this. But what would happen if you held him closer when it’s so clear that’s not what Rin wants?

You tear your wrists from Rin’s grip, taking a great amount of effort to flip and attempt to crawl across the bed. Crying like this makes you feel awful and ugly; you want nothing more than to hide. Rin is frozen, motionless, above you at first, letting you writhe until you get onto your tummy, squirming and clawing your way out from under him.

Then, he bears his weight down on you. He gathers your wrists up again and pins them to the bed on either side of your head. It’s a single moment of strength that immobilizes you flat all over again.

“Rin!” You mean to shout it, but instead, it’s a cracking sob that you have to muffle into the duvet.

He gathers your wrists in a single hand, and pets your hair, like you so often do for him. He rubs circles on your shoulders as you wail into the duvet. Bucking him off doesn’t work, he’s an unrelenting presence, sitting on your lower back, almost laid over you. It’s hard to breathe.

(A sick part of you likes this. Knowing that your blatant pain and struggle are being acknowledged by Rin, held and quelled by him, soothes the part of you that craves his attention so terribly. You love him so much, you feel guilty for these feelings just as much as you feel elated by the touch and care he is providing you.)

“It’s okay,” he tells you. He is not a being meant to comfort, the words sound wrong coming out of his mouth. “It’s okay.”

“You know it’s n-not!”

A fresh wave of tears pours from you. You’re soaking the mattress. 

“I’m sorry,” he doesn’t apologize either. “If I could give you what you want, I would.”

The sob that you scream into rumpled bed sheets is like thunder that splits the sky.

...

Rin fucks you like he loves you.

He kneels between your legs, holding your hands, thrusting into you at an unhurried, almost reverent pace. Slow and deep, busting up your insides. You’re stretched around his pretty cock beautifully; he told you so. 

Each cant of his hips knocks a teary breath out of you. You— you haven’t stopped crying. You’re not sure that you ever will.

Rin kisses you despite the tears and snot, licks your cheeks and mars your neck with mark after mark. His teeth dig into fragile flesh, biting and sucking like he could be eating you, rather than bedding you. It’s a shift in his demeanor— he’s not normally this desperate. Maybe your shattering has made him more lucid to your coming loss. 

His hands slip up the backs of your thighs, resting behind your knees. He bears his weight down on you, folding you in half easily. It pushes his cock deeper in you, maybe too deep, but you relish the pain anyway. The pressure of him forces a sound of you, aborted and frail. When you try to cover your mouth, muffle yourself, Rin is pulling your hand away to kiss you. 

Rin swallows down every sound, every breath, every bit of you that he can. You press back at him with as much desperation as you muster. He takes and takes, regardless of your tears and jagged edges. 

He curses under his breath, tilting his forehead against your own.

��C-Close?” You ask, another involuntary sound being punched out of your lungs. 

“No—” He shakes his head.

“Are you lying?”

“No—”

“I’m unconvinced,” you manage to grit out, a bubbling sob creeping up your throat just after. 

Rin growls, something in his chest, and thrusts harder, like he’s trying to carve out your insides. 

“I—” Rin’s words choke off, pressed against your lips, a frantic edge to it. “I don’t want to be done yet.”

You both freeze.

Rin’s as deep in you as he can be, his hips pressed to your pelvis. Every bit of his weight is bared into you, into your cunt and flesh. He’s breathing in deep, hurried breaths, sweat beads on his brow. You’re grasping his shoulders, digging your nails into him as his words hit you.

“You—” You laugh and cry in the same breath. “You don’t mean what I think you mean, do you?”

His grip on you tightens. His expression is cloudy, his focus solely on you (what a terrifying thing to be on the receiving end of—)

You continue speaking, feeling a creeping amount of panic, “You— you mean sex right? You want to k-keep going?”

“If I said yes to that, I’d be lying.” Rin thrusts into you, hard and fast. You arch your back against the duvet. 

“S-So you don’t want—”

“I want to keep fucking you,” Rin corrects, easily. He pushes you down into the mattress like he’s trying to crush you, pulverize you. “I don’t want to be done fucking you.”

“God,” you hit his shoulder with your fist and the force of an angry kitten. “You fucking suck, Rin.”

“I’m sorry—”

“ — Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

He kisses you again, this time softer. More kind, but still like he wants to eat you. 

You finish like that, with his lips laid over yours, with the tempest of loss having consumed you. Rin heavy over your body and heart, pleasure having snuck up behind him enough that tension has coiled in your gut. Your orgasm washes over you slowly, in waves, and you’re sucked down into the sensation with darkening vision and curling toes.

Rin kisses you through it, cursing as you tighten around him. He didn’t— he didn’t use a condom.

“Inside—” You beg him. “Inside— please, please—”

Rin listens to you, bowing over you and pushing your knees up to the sides of your skull. A choked sound leaves his lips and you swallow it down with your own keen. A gush of warmth follows, and you shiver with the heat and fullness of it.

Rin fucks you through his orgasm, muscles drawn tight as he fucks you deep and slow. He only stops when his cock is too soft to continue, and you’re both shivering from overstimulation. 

His cock drags out of you, wet and chilling in the still air. You whine at the loss, the panic and grief of this all hitting you again.

You don’t have much time to spiral, as Rin is gathering you up his arms, rolling away from the soaked sheets. He holds you tight, chest-to-chest. His hand is in your hair, and he grabs yours and places it on his own. Reflexively, you scratch his scalp and tug him closer.

You’re both quiet for a long time. The rain hasn’t stopped, dribbling on, but it doesn’t feel as grim now, more sedating. Your eyes go half-lidded.

“Can you clarify?” You ask Rin, peeking up at him. “What you meant before?”

(“I don’t want to be done—”)

“Hm.”

“God—!” You laugh, headbutting him. “You do suck.”

He squeezes you, so hard that a sound is forced from your lips. 

“So you want to keep fucking?”

“It’s more than that.”

“Fuck, Rin—”

“Shut up.”

“Still figuring it out?”

“Something like that.” He muffles the words into the top of your head.

You’re not sure where your grief sits then. Maybe it’s gone, and your release was just that— release. It makes you laugh again, into Rin’s chest. You squeeze him like doing so will keep him here, in this moment, for a little longer. 

Rin wordlessly squeezes you back even harder.

...

You and Rin don’t talk much once he goes to Europe.

You lose your mind right after he leaves, obviously. Screaming, crying, not throwing up, but pretty close to it. His house slippers get thrown in the back of a closet (rather than in the trash because, despite everything, you have hope—) and you rot for several weeks.

It takes a while for you to be close to normal.

Your routine with Rin had been a regular occurrence. Maybe once a week, sometimes twice. Not having it to count on unmoors you and makes you lonely in a way that feels unwelcome and raw. There’s a piece of you missing, just like you knew there would be.

You get a few texts from him. A photo or two of monuments he encounters with a few choice words—

[Rin]: I thought you would like this

You’re going to fucking kill him.

You’re never sure what to reply, so you tend to keep things brief. Your last encounter made you question your understanding of your relationship so profoundly that you don’t know how to proceed. There’s... certainly more than you expected, but upon Rin departing for Europe, so much had been left unsaid. How do you begin to broach that— is it even your place to?

You don’t bring it up. You don’t call him, you leave the wound he left alone, and it aches a little less each day. Still gaping and empty, but less raw maybe.

It’s late one evening when you receive a call from a random, international number.

You ignore it at first, thinking it’s spam, but they recall you several times, and you pick up on the fourth attempt.

“... Hello?” You ask into the receiver. 

“Oh, hi! Is this [name]?”

“It is— who is this?”

“Oh, it’s Isagi— I’m one of Rin’s teammates from Bluelock. I’m not sure if you remember me, but we’ve met a few times!”

You have— Rin has a serious chip on his shoulder about Isagi, which has been made to be an incredibly comical fact when realized Isagi is one of the most genuinely kind, polite people you’ve ever encountered. 

“Oh yeah, it's nice to— um, hear from you. What’s up?

“Ah, yeah! I apologize for the abrupt calls. I’ve got something to ask you that’s kind of time-sensitive— if you have a minute.”

“Yeah, I’ve got time.” You swallow. “Is... everything alright? Is... Rin okay?”

“Oh, yeah! He’s totally fine. Maybe a little hungover, but fine.”

You straighten up and withhold gasp. “Rin drank?”

Rin has refused alcohol the entire time you’ve known him. He swears it affects his performance. 

Isagi laughs on the other side of the line. “Oh man, you don’t even know. I’ve never seen the guy with any alcohol in his system before either, and I kind of get why. He really is a lightweight.

“I imagine... and this has to do with why you called?”

“Yes, actually—” Your phone chimes with a new message from Isagi. “Is this you in the photo?”

The photo is of another phone, specifically of its lock screen. The time on the photographed phone screen reads [01:11]. The lock screen is a photo of you.

You’re sleeping, clearly, face half-smushed into one of your pillows. Mascara smears under your eyes and hickeys are bruised up and down your throat. From the location of the marks and makeup, you know this is from the last night you saw Rin. Your chest feels tight. 

“What the fuck.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah, oh my god.” You had no idea Rin took this photo— and it’s his fucking lock screen? That fucker only had the generic, preloaded graphics displayed on his phone the entire time you knew him. 

“I thought so— sorry, it’s kind of insane for Rin to have a photo like that—”

“It is, yeah.” You run a hand over your face, switching your phone to speaker and rubbing your cheeks. “How does this relate to you calling?”

“Well,” says Isagi, “Rin’s been playing like shit.”

“He has been.” Oh my god, has he. Like actual garbage. You’re not sure you should admit that you watch Rin’s games religiously, because at this point it’s a bit pathetic of you. But you do watch them live if at all possible, otherwise you purchased some stupid European streaming service to catch the recording as soon as possible. And because of this, you know he has been playing sloppily. You’ve been... blaming jetlag. Or something. Adjusting to the European diet or whatever.

(Not the vestiges of your relationship still, miraculously, affecting him in any way.)

“It hasn’t been great. We won our match yesterday, but barely. And we went out drinking which was good for morale! But maybe not great for Rin. He drank a bit too much and got a bit weepy.”

Your stomach drops. You can see where this is going.

“He kept talking about missing someone but didn’t say any name. And when we saw his lock screen... we kind of put two-and-two together.”

“Great deduction. Aren’t you known for that?”

Isagi laughs, sounding good-natured. It makes you smile. It’s nice to know Rin hangs out with good people who aren’t all dour and weird like him. 

“Something like that. Anyway, his birthday is in a few weeks, and me and a few of the other guys thought it would be a good gift for him to fly you out and surprise him.”

You stay silent, attempting to suffocate the spark of hope that traitorously stirs in you.

“Isagi.” You fold your hands and put them vertically to your lips. “Have you met Rin?”

That makes him laugh, “I have, I’m probably around him too much. But he’s been weird since we started the season here. If you visited, the team would cover everything. Our coach even offered to arrange rooms for you at the hotels we’ll be at. If you don’t want to room with Rin, anyway—”

“Rin and I aren’t together.”

“Damn.” Isagi clicks his tongue. “Does he know that?”

Maybe you’re an idiot. Maybe Rin’s an idiot. Maybe you’re both idiots. 

“I should ask him, maybe.”

“He’s never been the type to do things in halves, you know.”

“Trust me, I’m very aware of that.”

Isagi whistles and you shake your head. 

“You don’t have to give me an answer right away. If you could let me know in the next few days, that would be great. You’ve got my number now that I’ve called, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll be in touch.” You swallow. “Thanks for reaching out, Isagi. I appreciate it. And— thanks for keeping an eye on Rin too.”

“Yeah, yeah. Someone needs to while he’s here. Let me know what you’re thinking, feel free to call if you need anything too. Or want me to spy on Rin for you.”

“Will do,” You laugh, light-hearted for the first time in weeks. You exchange goodbyes and you drop your phone onto your lap.

...

Oh my fucking god.

You know several things immediately— you want to go. Desperately, actually, especially with the knowledge that stupid fucking Rin Itoshi has you as his fucking lock screen? You need answers, if nothing else. You won’t settle for a very sad, weepy fuck this time around. 

You also know that you should not surprise Rin. 

So, you act before you can convince yourself better of it. You scroll to your messages with Rin and craft.

[you]: hey, i hope you’re doing alright. your teammate (isagi) just called me and invited me out for your birthday to surprise you. but i know you well enough to know that if i surprise you like that you will either kill me, isagi, yourself, or all three of us.

[you]: i wanted to touch base before i gave isagi an answer

[you]: i’d love to see you

[you]: and we should talk too.

Rin almost immediately sees the message— the freak has read receipts on. A bubble indicating he’s typing appears, then disappears.

A call from him comes in. You nearly drop your phone as the screen lights up your face and vibrates.

With a steadying breath, you answer.

“Hello?”

“What did Isagi tell you?”

You snort. “That your play sucks and that you’re a weepy drunk.” 

“He sucks. Don’t talk to him again.”

“I have to, so he and the rest of your team can buy me tickets and a hotel room—”

“If— if you want to come, I’ll buy your ticket. And why would you need a hotel room?”

“So I have somewhere to sleep.”

“Is my bed not good enough for you?”

“Are you implying that I’d sleep with you?”

“...Yes.”

“Damn,” you fall back onto your couch with a laugh. There’s an odd coil of relief that’s unspooling in your chest. You could cry again. “Is that alright?” 

“I— I wouldn’t want—” Rin so rarely loses his words, it shocks you to hear when he does. “Yes. It’s fine. I can meet you at the airport too.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet?”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

There’s a poignant moment of silence that passes between you two. You can imagine Rin now— it’s the morning where he is. He probably is nursing both a bottle of water and that electrolyte drink he prefers— he likes the blue flavor the best. He’s probably in his warm-up clothes, preparing for his meticulous morning routine. 

“I’m excited,” Rin says, stilted but there. “To see you again.”

Something warm burns in you, frail but burgeoning.

“So am I.” You wipe your eyes and laugh. “Don’t break my heart again, Rin, I swear to God.”

“I won’t.”

He says it with enough conviction that you believe him. 

[baisemains]

Golden Hour

Melvika Week 2025 - Day 6: Mirror Sex (@melvikaweek2025)

mel medarda x sevika

word count: 4.3k

contains: smut 🫦 , dom!sev, sub!mel, strap-on, praise kink, consensual recording during sex, spit kink, light choking, overstimulation, squirting, sev gets a little mean, sweet in the beginning but then they get freaky!

description: after finally moving in together, mel and sevika spend the first evening christening their new furniture in style.

ao3 link | spotify playlist

mel medarda masterlist // sevika masterlist

“That’s the last of ‘em!” Sevika shouts as she drops a medium sized box labeled Mel’s books onto the floor outside their walk in closet. She dusts her hands off as she glances around the room, taking in the sight. Moving boxes cover the majority of the space, scattered throughout the room in stacks. Her and Mel had decided it was time to take their relationship to the next level and move in together, so here they are in their new house, filled with new furniture. Whereas Sevika couldn’t care less about interior design, Mel adored it and dragged her girlfriend along to every place she could find to purchase the most ideal items for their joint home.

After the first few spots, the older woman found herself gaining a slight interest in fabrics and color schemes, much to Mel’s delight. She did end up inserting her opinion a handful of times, helping pick the occasional lamp or bookshelf, but the only item she insisted on was the floor to ceiling mirror situated in front of her. The moment she entered the umpteenth upscale furnishing store of that day, her attention was drawn to it, and she knew it was meant for them. Mel had also fallen in love with the piece, commenting how it was the perfect size to take joint pictures in, but Sevika had other things in mind.

Waltzing into the room while looking at her phone, Mel glances up to see the faraway look in her lover’s eye, taking advantage of the distraction to creep up behind her and wrap a slender arm around her waist.

“Say cheese.”

Raising her phone up, she positions them within the grid of the camera and snaps a photo, capturing a pair of beaming smiles. Cooing after zooming in on the result, she places the screen in Sevika’s line of sight to show her. “We look so cute!”

The woman chuckles at Mel’s adorable reaction, she never tired of seeing her so cheerful. Pulling her into a gentle embrace, Sevika nudges her nose against the younger’s, breaths now mingling between them. “You’re always cute, baby.”

Mel only giggles at the cheesy line, in too happy of a mood to ruin the moment.

“Okay, cornball.”

She shakes her head lightly before leaning in and closing the gap between them, humming as her lips slot right in between her girlfriend’s. They settle into a comfortable rhythm, simply enjoying the other’s presence and the start of this new chapter together.

Eventually, the kiss gets more and more heated, tongues and teeth entering the mix. The older woman whirls Mel around to face the mirror, nipping just under her ear as a firm hand slowly drags across her stomach and journeys toward her waistband.

Mel flinches and gasps at the sudden movement while goosebumps break out on her skin at the feeling. The grip on her stomach only adds more fuel to the heat and has her anticipation rising, a soft shiver wracking her body. Jade eyes flick open and catch sight of their joint reflection, Sevika’s chin resting on her shoulder, piercing her with a stare akin to a predator about to go in for the kill.

“You look delicious like this.” The setting sun casts a warm glow over the room, bathing the two of them in a light orange hue. Mel’s skin actually glistens under the light, features caressed with the gentle hold of golden hour. Sevika’s never seen anything so beautiful.

The shorter woman’s breath stutters at the compliment whispered into her ear and she can feel the static spreading over her body. The grip on her waist tightens and Sevika places a kiss right on her pulse, torturously so. Mel lets out a breathless huff, fingers sliding up and curling around broad shoulders as she pushes herself back into heated flesh, eyes darting to the mirror to watch their movements.

A large hand dips below Mel’s waistband and drags a teasing finger through her folds, eliciting a huff from her. Sevika’s hand re-emerges in front of them, a glistening coat of wetness silently revealing itself. She can only watch as her lover brings it to her own lips, sliding onto a waiting tongue. A wanton moan leaves Sevika’s chest as they lock eyes and she makes a show of cleaning herself off.

Mel feels a surge of arousal flood her body and she whips around to capture dark lips, hunger evident in her touch. The other woman smiles into the kiss, savoring the rhythm of the push and pull. Clothes start hitting the floor, flung around carelessly as the need to feel skin on skin overtakes any other thoughts.

A needy whine falls through Mel’s lips as she undresses, Sevika making it her priority to kiss every inch of exposed flesh on Mel’s chest once it’s within her reach. Her hands then go flying up to grip onto the older woman’s face and pull her in for a passionate kiss. Nails rake against Sevika’s shoulders and a shiver racks the latter’s body, her own hands finding Mel’s thighs and digging in, sure to leave a mark.

The taller woman leads them toward the bed, Mel plopping down once the edge hits the back of her knees. Their lips separate as Sevika stands up straight and takes in the sight. Mel’s chest is heaving as her dusky nipples stand proudly in the air, momentarily distracting her girlfriend.

Snapping herself out of it and remembering her plan, Sevika begins heading to the nightstand, kneeling in front of a small box boldly labeled and underlined Sevika’s. Her broad back obstructs Mel’s view, leaving her to wonder what could possibly have pulled her away.

Sevika eventually finds what she’s looking for and strolls back over with her hands behind her back. Mel tries to peek behind her and look through the mirror to see what she’s holding, but all she can make out is a black drawstring bag.

“Move back and get on your knees.”

Confused and wanting answers, Mel tries to ask what she’s doing before being abruptly cut off.

“Baby, what—“

The woman in question lunges forward and tosses the bag on the bed before picking Mel up like a ragdoll and dropping her where she had requested.

“Sev! What the hell are you doing?!”

Her girlfriend had never been this rough with her before; firm, yes, but this was a whole new level. Sevika then leans down and roughly grips Mel’s chin before lifting her head up in her direction.

“Do what I say the first time and there won’t be an issue. Okay?”

Pressing a wet kiss to her forehead, Sevika then reaches for the bag she cast aside and opens it up, much to Mel’s shock. A dildo she had never seen before stands proudly in the other woman’s grip, long and girthy and a gorgeous shade of purple. Sevika’s favorite color.

“What is that…” A dazed Mel asks aloud, not even caring that the answer was obvious.

Her lover breaks into a proud grin, showcasing that gap that Mel adores, and rotates the strap in her hand as if she was inspecting it.

“Mmm, we’ll call it a housewarming gift.”

The younger woman sits there stunned for a moment before scrambling into the position her girlfriend had commanded she get into. Sevika can’t help how her smile widens as Mel willingly adjusts her body exactly how she wanted, all for her to take.

The anticipation in her eyes is just delightful, and the older woman slowly approaches the bed, gently setting the bag down before running her hand up her girlfriend’s thigh, admiring the view.

“You’re excited for this one, huh?”

It’s a bit larger than anything they had used before, but Sevika figured a special occasion called for a special toy. Nodding slowly, Mel watches in anticipation as the woman in front of her attaches it to her trusty harness and slips it on, adjusting the straps to a comfortable position.

Looking up, Sevika chuckles at the dazed look on her partner’s face before reaching into the bag and grabbing a bottle of lube. She flips open the cap and moves to pour some on her hand before pausing, an idea popping into her mind.

Sevika lifts the container in Mel’s direction before tilting her head. “You wanna put it on for me?”

A soft noise of surprise mixed with arousal falls from the younger woman’s throat as she takes a beat to register what was asked of her. Brain finally catching up to the idea, she slowly nods her head.

“Please.”

The words come out more breathy than intended, and she shuffles forward on her knees before sitting back on her heels. Her eyes darken as they gaze up at olive skin, taking in the sight of taut muscle before moving back down to the toy.

Pouring a generous amount into her palm, Mel reaches out and tentatively wraps her hand around the dildo, stroking it slowly as she familiarizes herself with the material. A low groan above her catches her attention, and her gaze rises to see Sevika locked into the motion, bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

A soft squelching noise is all that’s heard, the two women enthralled with the other and absorbing everything about the moment between them. When Mel leans down and gives the tip of it a soft kitten lick, Sevika grips the back of her hair to pull her away, shaking her head as her chest heaves.

“I had, hah, I had something else in mind.”

She pulls Mel’s hand away before walking around to the side of the bed and climbing on, settling behind the other woman before placing her forehead between her shoulder blades and running a warm hand down her back.

“I wanna fuck you while you watch.”

The words bring a hot flush to Mel’s face, her mouth opening with a short gasp. Her whole body tenses up, only to relax in the most satisfying of ways once a calloused hand soothes up and down her spine. She can feel her eyes closing as Sevika works her magic upon her skin, body going lax beneath her touch.

“That’s—Uh huh...”

Her response is soft and breathless, but it gets the point across. Mel can’t find the strength to turn around and face her girlfriend, focusing on trying to regulate her breathing. Sevika leans back and grips the strap between her legs, lifting it to tease her lover’s folds.

A whine claws its way out of the younger woman’s throat, her head dropping forward in anticipation of the action. Teeth graze across her lower lip, eyes trained on a fixed point in the mirror to avoid letting them close.

“Ah, please.”

Her voice is gentle, words falling from a mouth half open. She needs her, needs her to touch and fill and ruin her in the best way possible. Her entire body is on edge as she feels heat rising from her core and radiating outward.

“Lean forward for me.” Sevika commands with a firm hand on Mel’s back, pushing her until she’s on all fours. Her spine arches in a perfect curve as she braces her forearms on the mattress, legs spread open, and head hanging down just enough to still see the mirror in her peripheral. Pussy now exposed, Sevika can see just how wet the other woman is now and lets out an actual growl.

Mel feels the grip now at her hip, blunt nails digging in once the older woman rubs the toy between her asscheeks, spreading the lube there. Her breath hitches, chest expanding outwards as she tries to regulate her breathing and contain the noises threatening to break free. She’s so close to what she needs, so close to being completely filled.

Positioning the tip at a waiting entrance, Sevika begins pushing in slowly to let Mel adjust, feeling the way she grips the dildo. A loud moan claws out of the younger woman’s throat, reverberating throughout the room. “Oh, god.”

Once she’s completely inside, Sevika leans forward and presses her chest against her girlfriend’s toned back before pressing her lips against the shell of her ear.

“Eyes up here.”

She reaches a hand up to Mel’s chin and lifts her head to make eye contact in the mirror before slowly licking the shell of the younger woman’s ear.

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you in this mirror since the second I saw it.”

Eyes dilating and thighs tensing up, Mel feels her heart skip a beat as the words sink in and settle in her core. A full-body shiver travels through her body, a high whine falling from her lips. Her gaze follows Sevika’s hand as if trained to do so, watching it travel from her face to her throat.

“That’s why you wanted it so badly?”

She’s panting now, hands balling up into fists as her body struggles to keep still and remain focused. A single snap of Sevika’s hips has her rocking forward into the grip on her neck, choking out a gasp before the other woman replies. “Yes.”

The firm pressure at her neck feels amazing, a soft, breathless gasp escaping her when her head is pushed up higher. With Sevika’s body heat radiating against her back, her thoughts start to get a bit fuzzy, pleasure shooting down her spine.

“F—ah...fuck.”

Her girlfriend sits back and separates their damp bodies, aside from the toy connecting them, before pushing her hips upwards, rubbing the dildo against Mel’s walls. “Been imagining having you in this exact position, underneath me, just watching me ruin you.”

Sevika starts pulling out before firmly plunging back in and setting a brisk pace, the lube and Mel’s slick making it a pleasurable experience for the woman underneath her. She only responds in the form of moans, spine arching further as she pushes back against Sevika’s hips with each powerful thrust she receives. She keeps her gaze locked in place, the sight of their joint reflection only driving her more wild.

“Please...don’t stop.”

Mel can hardly think straight, breath stuttering in her chest as her eyes burn with an intense need. The coil in her stomach begins to tighten, and the sensation causes her head to drop forward, damp forehead hitting the mattress as moan after moan rings out.

Suddenly, she’s yanked back by her hair before a rough hand slaps her ass and she’s reprimanded by a gruff voice.

“Keep your eyes on me or I’m gonna stop.”

Despite how turned on she is, pain still shoots through her scalp as her hair is pulled and her back arches up. The sting quickly fades to an almost pleasant burn, and a shiver racks her body in the best of ways. Mel forces her gaze back up and locks eyes with Sevika, taking in the sight of her dark eyes, her tense jaw, and her heaving chest.

“I-I’m sorry, don’t Sev, please.”

The older woman then picks up the pace and slams into Mel, hitting the perfect spot inside of her. She immediately disobeys the order Sevika just gave her, face planting into the covers and letting out a muffled cry. An aggravated huff leaves the woman behind her and the beginning of a protest leaves her lips before she’s pulled back by her throat and pulled into a strong chest, pert nipples poking into her skin.

“What the fuck did I say?”

Gasping, she tries to speak before a firm hand lightly flexes around her neck, fingers digging into sensitive flesh.

“P—Please, I’ll be good.”

She sounds desperate, head tilted back and eyes half-lidded, trying and failing to focus on Sevika over her shoulder.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, I think it’s too late for that.”

Sevika begins thrusting up into Mel’s pussy, not giving the other woman a chance to catch her breath before setting a rapid pace and causing her to yell out a moan. The slapping of wet skin rings out in Mel’s ears, her girlfriend’s grunts arousing her more and more. Suddenly, she feels a metal hand press down onto her stomach and a shock of electricity shoots straight to her clit, feeling the second heartbeat there more intensely.

“Ahh, fuck!”

Laughing like a madman, Sevika leans down and nips at Mel’s neck, her intense pace bringing the other woman closer to the edge.

“Look. You can see the outline right here.”

She traces a finger around an area of Mel’s stomach, and when her vision focuses, she sees a bulge in the reflection staring back at her. Whining at the realization, she leans her head back in the crook of Sevika’s neck, gasping into her skin. Reaching behind her blindly, the taller woman feels for her phone and after finding it, she slides over to the camera and raises it to the scene in the mirror.

“I think we should capture the moment, don’t you?”

Mel’s eyes flutter open at the question, confusion lacing her features before she glances forward and sees the device. Heat shooting to her lower stomach, she enthusiastically nods without needing to think about it.

The idea of being able to watch their sessions back later was something Mel had thought about before, but never had the nerve to bring up. It’s like the other woman can read her mind, chuckling to herself and telling her, “I figured.”

Hearing the camera beginning to record, Mel feels a burst of energy course through her, fucking back into the other woman as best she can and groaning carelessly. Sevika lets out an amused sound, her fingers digging just a little bit deeper into the skin of Mel’s stomach, loving the jolt that shoots through their bodies upon impact. The way the younger woman is whimpering and moaning, the way her body is moving, it all just makes Sevika’s mouth water, and she takes it upon herself to mark any exposed flesh she can get her hands on.

“You close, baby? You got an audience now,” she murmurs, the hand holding her phone remaining surprisingly steady.

It takes a moment, but Mel manages to nod her head in affirmation, her breathing getting more and more uneven as the pleasure building inside her keeps increasing. Her body feels like it’s being lit ablaze, a fire burning from deep in her chest and threatening to devour her whole. She presses her head back into Sevika’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut and fingers grasping at thick thighs as she chases her release.

“Please, touch me.”

Sevika smirks at the request, knowing just what she wants to do, but still curious as to how far she can push Mel. Instead of doing as asked, Sevika pulls her back upright so that she’s once again staring at their reflection. Her breath hitches at the sight; a slender figure contrasting with a broad one, taut muscles flexing, both of them on full display. A hand leaves Mel’s stomach and wraps around her jaw, forcing their eyes to meet once more.

“You think you deserve it?”

Mel replies with an enthusiastic yes and leans her head back onto a strong shoulder, looking up with wide, glossy eyes. A shudder runs down Sevika’s spine and she decides to give her what she wants, but only after a craving of her own.

“Then open wide.”

Doing as she’s told, Mel parts her full lips and waits in suspense for what her lover has planned. Sevika’s mouth begins moving around, gathering a generous amount of saliva on her tongue before opening up and letting it trickle into a waiting mouth. A choked gasp leaves the younger woman as warm drool hits her taste buds, closing her mouth and swallowing without needing to be told.

Sevika lets out a low moan as she watches Mel take initiative, feeling her clit throb before her hand is tilting Mel’s head to the side so they’re locked in eye contact through the mirror. She looks euphoric, pupils dilated almost to the point of her irises disappearing, and Sevika can’t help but be completely entranced. The pressure on her clit combined with this is making her head spin.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to watch this back later.”

Her grip on Mel’s hip tightens as she speaks, nails digging in and sure to leave behind crescent shaped marks. She slips her hand between soft thighs, toying with her clit and applying the perfect amount of pressure.

Frantic thrusts pick back up from the languid pace they had dropped to, feeling the way Mel was sucking in the dildo. Feeling her lover clench tighter and tighter, Sevika dips her head down and begins leaving love bites on the supple skin of Mel’s throat. After sinking into a particularly sensitive spot, she feels Mel tense up and the other woman cries out, cumming with a shudder.

Sevika doesn’t cease her movements, adding a second finger to the rotations around Mel’s clit, the pleasure building and rising until it takes over her body.

“That’s too much, I’m—!”

Before she can reach out to cease her girlfriend’s movements, Mel feels a second, stronger wave hit her like a punch to the gut, knocking all of the breath from her. Liquid begins spraying out from between their bodies, coating the sheets and their lower bodies as Mel claws at Sevika’s thighs.

The other woman’s eyes widen upon feeling the fluid covering her skin, a low moan escaping her as her own pace stutters. She looks up to watch the scene through the mirror, a sheen of sweat covering them both, and she knows there’s no way she’s going to last much longer.

Her hand leaves Mel’s clit to go grasping roughly for a perky breast, her phone almost dropping onto the bed before she manages to catch it. She tries her best to adjust the angle so it’s capturing everything, but once the band in her stomach snaps, her face falls to Mel’s neck.

“F-Fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

Her body presses against the other woman’s as she finally reaches her climax, a harsh gasp leaving her lips. Her legs give out and she nearly collapses onto Mel, arms barely able to hold them both up. The two remain motionless for a few moments, chests heaving and trying to get their breath back. Sevika eventually turns her head to meet Mel’s gaze in the mirror.

“Holy shit.”

Mel can only nod in agreement, words completely escaping her at this point. The room is silent now, save for their panting, and when her vision finally clears, she can still see the remnants of her climax across her stomach and thighs. She can also feel something else.

“Sweetheart, can you, um, pull out?”

Mel’s voice is quiet, her head still tilted back as she eyes her girlfriend with a tired expression. This causes a short gasp to escape Sevika’s chest, gently moving back and removing the dildo from her girlfriend.

“Better?”

The other woman nods with an exhausted smile, feeling sore but unexpectedly empty. Maybe Sevika had actually rearranged her insides.

The taller woman can sense the change in Mel’s expression and gently lowers them both down on their sides; Sevika spooning her with her chin resting atop her head.

“You okay? I know that was a lot.”

She presses a gentle kiss to the crown of it, running a hand down the younger woman’s side before coming to rest her hand on her hip.

Mel is nearly drifting off already, humming softly at Sevika’s question. “I’m good, just…sensitive right now.”

A soft laugh leaves the older woman as she pulls her closer into her chest, fingers still tracing up and down her ribs. “You did so well though, it was amazing.”

Mel’s cheeks heat up and she presses her face against her pillow, already getting flashbacks. Sevika notices and gently tilts her chin up, making their eyes meet once more.

Her girlfriend’s gaze is tender as it always is in the aftermath of such acts, and Mel lets herself melt into the moment, simply enjoying the feeling of strong arms around her. Sevika’s hand begins moving again, slowly tracing down the curve of her hip and settling on her thigh, gently massaging the flesh there.

“You looked so gorgeous in the mirror, you know that? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

A satisfied smile reaches Mel’s lips as she looks up at the other woman. “Was it as perfect as you imagined?”

Laughing aloud, Sevika’s eyes twinkle as she tells her, “Even better.”

A moment later, Mel sits up and reaches for the phone before opening it and typing something in.

“You sending the video to yourself or what?” The older woman questions with a giggle.

“Yes, but also…” She flips the screen towards Sevika. “I’m hungry, let’s order some food.”

Nodding with a smile, Sevika grabs the outstretched device and places her order before dropping it to the bed and sighing, a content feeling settling over her. Feeling a tug between her thighs, she looks down in surprise as she sees Mel climbing over her and settling on her muscular thighs.

“While we wait…” She leans over and presses a wet kiss to Sevika’s lips. “Round two?”

Wide eyes take over her lover’s face as she sits there frozen, realizing Mel still hasn’t had her fill.

A breathless chuckle falls from Sevika’s lips, a sense of disbelief filling her. “Damn, the mirror turned you on that much?”

Soft lips begin trailing down her neck, eyes rolling back as Mel bites and licks at the skin there.

“Can you blame me?” the other woman muses, the sound sending a new wave of heat through Sevika’s body.

Sitting up and grabbing two firm thighs, she reaches forward and licks into her lover’s mouth, tangling their tongues together and humming into the kiss.

“Whoever cums first pays?”

A fierce look grows in Mel’s eye at the wager, never one to turn down a competition.

“Deal.”

[phannetasm]

"My sweet, how I have missed you~"

for those who loved the rarest of flowers mini series– Alucard and my oc commissioned by lovely @ishiin-esque

[noxious-fennec]

3 years and I'm STILL IN THE FUCKING BUILDING... unbelievable... anyway happy re-bday to my pathetic cringefail politician

Alt ver. under the cut

***Massive disclaimer: i do not support the cc this is strictly about the fictional character

[iggyshippingcorner]

okay so the sickfic has spiraled wildly out of control. it's at 2k words right now and i think the final is going to be around 5k... (sigh)

in the meantime! 1k words of Stone cooking that I wrote after baking dessert for an event last weekend. features: domestic stobotnik, some named badniks, and food as love language. mostly canon compliant, takes place sometime in the crab era :3

working at the hardened mass of brown sugar with slightly damp palms. the cheesecake is in the oven, cyan watching it with rapt focus through the glass. he’s refilling the baking supplies in the crab’s kitchen while he waits for the timer to go off. the brown sugar solidified into a brick of molasses while it waited on the counter, and while there are quicker ways to soften the sugar, he’s always preferred this method. small crystals cling to the grooves of his fingers and palms as he kneads at the brick, humming quietly to the music oni plays from her vantage point. a large clump breaks off from the brick, and he rolls it between his palms until it begins to crumple, and he deposits his fresh handful in the waiting jar. 

he dusts his sugar-coated hands off over the sink. a quick rinse to make sure he isn’t leaving crumbs across the whole kitchen. the terracotta disc gets a quick rinse as well, the old clumps of brown sugar clinging to it sloughing off under the spray. he towels it dry, revealing the familiar sparrow with its forked tail and sparse plumage. it goes in the jar, pressed down into the sugar to tamp it flat. with its labelled lid screwed back on, it returns to its designated spot in the cabinet beyond the marzocco. after the brown sugar comes the flour, a hefty glass jar with a bail lid that came from his own apartment. nearly empty. he scrapes out the last two cups and sets them aside, rolling up his sleeves as he wrangles the new bag of flour. 

alpha’s bzzt-brrp! from his perch above the fridge heralds the doctor’s arrival. stone doesn’t turn around so much as he drifts to a more interruptible task and then allows the doctor to step comfortably into his personal space, arms winding around his middle. his chin digs into stone’s clavicle. they don’t speak, not yet, just stand swaying slightly as he sets the kettle to boil and begins perusing their steadily growing tea collection. as much as the doctor despises switching things up, he’s been surprisingly accepting of stone introducing some diversity to his caffeine intake.

there’s clementines in the bowl by the marzocco, and the doctor reaches past stone to snag one. he rewards the snack choice with a silent shift, his elbow squeezing robotnik’s forearm to his ribs more securely. there’s the gentlest rumble of a laugh against his shoulder-blades. he tips his head to one side, curious, but the doctor doesn’t offer any explanation. just leans in and bumps his cheek against stone’s ear, moustache tickling his jaw and lips. 

“back to the grind,” he says, a touch too loud for how close he is. stone squeezes him again just because he can, and then lets him disentangle himself. “ETA?”

stone flicks the oven light on, and they both crouch in front of the glass once cyan shuttles away with a dejected zzzrr. the cheesecake bubbles quietly. stone checks the egg timer. “another hour. hungry?”

“biding my time,” robotnik hums, and waves the orange at him. “curry tonight?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” stone replies, like he wouldn’t carve the moon from the sky with his bare hands if the doctor asked him to. “what were you thinking?” 

“surprise me,” the doctor says, all magnanimous, which stone knows to mean reasonably spicy, and containing either lamb or pork. he graciously allows stone to steal the clementine from his hands, watching impassively as he quickly, efficiently peels it over the sink, and returns the exposed heart of it to his waiting hand. he pops one of the slices into his mouth and when the flesh splits between his teeth, stone has to take a slow, measured inhale. robotnik eyes him, but he just smiles, easy, agreeable. “I’ll send cyan to you when dinner’s ready.”

“sounds good,” the doctor nods, and leans in for an entirely unprompted kiss on the cheek that leaves stone blushing in the artificial sunlight of the crab’s kitchen windows. he shuffles out of the kitchen, peeled clementine in hand. stone watches him leave. cyan beeps eagerly from her post in front of the oven, and it breaks his reverie. 

“alright, alright. let me get in there,” he laughs, grabbing the oven mitts. 

the cheesecake comes out perfect. he has to swat multiple badniks and one robotnik away from it while it cools, and wrestles it into the fridge to chill properly despite more than a few protests (“this is a perfect time to test the liquid nitrogen chamber!”). 

dinner is a quiet affair crammed side by side at the island, legs tangled beneath the counter. the doctor steals more than a few pieces of lamb off his plate, and begrudgingly eats a few extra pieces of bell pepper in exchange. when they finally cut into the cheesecake, stone drinks in the sight of his doctor’s first bite-- the way his eyebrows raise a little, the way he assesses and catalogues consistency, texture, flavour. how his nose scrunches a little and he grins toothily down at his plate in appreciation. 

“excellent again, stone,” he says. such direct and genuine praise calls for a little preening, even if it causes robotnik to smack his arm and nearly send his own slice of cheesecake flying. the doctor snickers as he rights himself on his stool again, and accepts the retaliatory forehead kiss.

they drink tea on the couch afterwards, watching some telenovela while pretending (badly) to not notice the way they gravitate closer and closer, until robotnik’s head is in stone’s lap and both mugs are on the coffee table. stone is trained better than to fall asleep while the doctor provides running commentary on the anarrative arcs at play in the episode, but he would be a liar if he claimed his eyes never drifted shut listening to the familiar cadence of his doctor’s voice filling the warm space between them. his tangents ebb and lull like the waves overhead, their quiet domesticity concealed within the crab, far from the prying eyes of the world.

[thefrogdalorian]

Ner Aliit

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Travelling through the galaxy in the Razor Crest with a formidable Mandalorian is a harsh, unforgiving life. The feelings you have developed for him as you soar through the stars together have mitigated the unpleasant aspects. Still, you know it can't last. After all, you and Din are from different worlds. He follows a strict Creed and you know that you do not have what it takes to be Mandalorian.

Journeying with the best bounty hunter in the parsec has often brought you face to face with danger. It has never fazed you before. Until one day you come face to face with danger without Din's reassuring presence at your side, and everything changes.

Word Count: 5.4k ✯ Rating:  Teen ✯ Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, reader kills someone with a blaster in self defence (Nothing is described in graphic detail) and subsequently deals with anxiety/panic attacks.  ✯ Author's Note: Today is four years since I watched Mando for the first time so I wrote this to celebrate! Inspired by a little daydream I had while looking at my own Mythosaur necklace. It's an AU where Din never had Grogu but still had shiny beskar, allow it ahah. Really hope you enjoyed it, thanks for reading! 🤍

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

You can already tell from how Din’s footsteps thud a little heavier than usual against the ramp that something has angered him during his latest hunt. Perhaps he will share what precisely has troubled him later when you hurtle through hyperspace towards Nevarro. For now, you head towards the door, ready to help Din haul his latest bounty into the antiquated ship you call home.

Except, the man who stands before you is not Din Djarin.

Instead of the gleaming beskar you had been expecting to greet you on the ramp, a gloomy silhouette moves into view. There is something far darker about your presence than the man you had expected to see. It is not just the grimy, worn clothes he wears that send a shiver down your spine. Nor the way his beady eyes bore into you. They are sunken in his wizened face with a look of pure malice which sickens you to the pit of your stomach.

You are initially so shocked by the fact that the man standing before you is not Din, your eyes frantically examining the features of this stranger, that you almost fail to notice the weapon aimed at you.

Your heart skips a beat when you notice that the man is holding a blaster up at you. He stands unmoving, with his long, grungy fingers curled around the dark handle. The gesture sends a shiver down your spine. However, there is something even more terrifying than the reality of having a blaster aimed squarely in your direction. 

It is the expression on his face.

His glare is unrelenting in his coldness as his finger hovers over the trigger. You do not doubt for one moment that he will pull it.

Throughout your life, you have been exposed to danger many times, even before you met Din. Such brushes with death only increased when you started travelling through the galaxy with a bounty hunter. It was to be expected, of course. You think of the numerous occasions when you witnessed Din becoming embroiled in terrible binds and scrapes while you sat back and watched the carnage unfold. At first, you had been terrified by such violence. Now, you have come to expect it.

Perhaps before you met Din and began travelling with him, someone holding a blaster at you and gazing at you with such viciousness as the man before you would have been utterly petrifying.

However, it seems that the best bounty hunter in the parsec has somewhat hardened you to the realities of the galaxy. 

After the initial shock, you feel yourself accepting your current predicament with remarkable quickness. You assess the man's vulnerabilities and weak points, as Din once trained you to do. You notice a slight quake in his hand, the greyness of his scraggly beard and unkempt, greasy hair. He is not invincible. Soon, the terror you initially felt is replaced with anger; a simmering feeling in your gut as you are incredulous at the audacity of this man to threaten your life in this manner. You are furious at his attempt to intrude into your and Din's safe refuge like this. You are disgusted by him.

You have encountered plenty of unsavoury characters throughout your travels across the galaxy with Din. This pathetic coward does not faze you.

"Where is he?" the man finally speaks. His voice is gruff, his tone sharper than you imagined. It matches his wizened, wrinkly face, seemingly hardened by the decades of experience he undoubtedly possesses.

“Who?” you ask, feigning ignorance.

You know that the man will not buy your plea of ignorance regarding The Mandalorian. Yet, your act will buy you a few precious seconds to execute your plan. Plus, the more you converse with the man, the higher the chance his nerve may waver and that his sympathy for you might increase as you humanise yourself. You hope that by talking to him, his determination to mow you down in cold blood may decrease.

“Don’t play with me and give me a story full of bantha crap,” the man snarls, jabbing the blaster towards you, "I know you know where he is."

“I’m sorry,” you respond apologetically.

You know you must diffuse the situation and undo the damage you have caused with your blatant lies. Without hesitation, you raise your hands in a submissive gesture. Then, when the man does not take issue with a simple movement, you begin backing away from him. Fortunately, he lets you go. You can barely contain your grin as you know what you have in store for him.

Unknowingly, this man is playing right into your hands. 

This old rogue may have thought he could get the upper hand on The Mandalorian by returning to his ship and threatening his travelling companion. Unfortunately, he has underestimated the advantage you gain from knowing the Razor Crest inside out, including all of this old ship's quirks.

When you are satisfied both by the distance you have placed between you and your assailant and your relative proximity to the control panel, which is the key to your plan's success, you fake a stumble backwards. Your hand collides with the button that, when depressed, rapidly releases a cloud of pressurised gas into the hull. The jets that shoot out of the walls soon fill the Razor Crest and form a temporary barrier between you and the man that obscures you from his view. The distraction gives you just enough time to grab a blaster from Din’s workbench and aim it towards your surprise visitor. 

Then, without really consciously thinking about the consequences, you squeeze the trigger.

The sickening thud of the man’s body hitting the floor is the last sound you hear before you retreat up the ladder to the cockpit and seal yourself inside behind the secure door. You are pretty sure he will no longer prove a threat to you, but you have no desire to stick around and find out for definite. The reinforced door will provide sufficient protection, hopefully long enough for Din to return. 

Given that someone managed to reach the Razor Crest and callously threaten your life, you cannot imagine that Din will be far away. If the man has accomplices, you do not doubt Din's capability to take them out before he returns to ensure your safety.

Yet, as the minutes pass by Din is nowhere to be seen.

You are unsure how long you sit on the hard floor with your back to the door, trembling as you sit there. At first, the tremors that have overtaken your body may well be thanks to the frigid metal. Its coolness certainly does not help. As the adrenaline wears off and the realisation of what has just transpired dawns on you, you rapidly become reduced to a jittery, trembling wreck. 

Your state of mind following the skirmish is made worse by the paranoia which overtakes you. 

Initially your primary concern is for your own safety. You brace yourself for the companions of the man whose body lies below you to barge in and finish the job their ringleader started. You wonder which weapons they may possess. 

Would you try to fight them off, or should you flee?

You wonder whether you could even begin the launch sequence of the Razor Crest and fly away in search of Din. He has attempted to teach you how to fly the ship for emergencies such as this, but to your presently terrified brain, the dashboard looks like a confusing conundrum of buttons.

At the first thought of him wandering through the forests which cover the planet’s surface, your overactive imagination now runs away with the worst scenarios of what could be happening right this instant, elsewhere on this planet. 

Visions of the Mandalorian you love, lying in a ditch somewhere on this forest-covered planet, injured and frightened after being ambushed by the same band of dastardly scoundrels overwhelm your senses.

The fear that Din will never return to you, that the depth of your feelings towards him will remain unsaid forever, shatters you. 

You are unsure how long you sit there. Each creak and noise of the ship, noises that you are usually so familiar with and accustomed to now work against you, startling you each time. It is a constant cycle of alarm as your breathing rate picks up and your pulse rate thunders in your ears each time there is a faint thud. You feel your resolve draining with each disturbance.

So when you hear the sound of the Razor Crest's ramp whirring as it lowers to the ground, you barely have the energy to react. Instead, you are relieved that you are now seconds away from meeting your ultimate fate. One way or another, you will finally be put out of your misery. Whoever enters the Razor Crest will not be met with much fight from you, whatever their intentions.

When you hear footsteps this time, you believe that the thuds are indeed the familiar rhythmic, certain sounds of your favourite bounty hunter. Until you lay eyes upon him, however, you will not allow yourself to believe that fact.

Fortunately for your anguished soul, you get confirmation of Din’s return before ever laying eyes upon him. 

“Cyare?” Din calls, his deep voice cuts through the ship up to the cockpit where you continue to cower in the cockpit, “Are you alright?”

You are so relieved to hear him that you could almost burst into tears. Before that happens, you must give him some acknowledgement that you were unharmed in the skirmish.

“I’m up here in the cockpit, Din,” you respond, alarmed at how your voice trembles as the adrenaline has worn off, “I’m alright.”

You push yourself up on shaky limbs to stand and prepare to reunite with the man you have grown so close to. You aren't entirely sure when it happened, falling in love with Din. You certainly never intended it, nor did you imagine that the aloof bounty hunter who was so stoic and barely spoke could reveal himself to have such a beautiful soul beneath his cold, metallic armour. Yet, somewhere along the way, as you hurtled through hyperspace together, you did fall in love with Din. 

It was not one moment but rather a collection of smaller fragments which, when pieced together, form the warmth that spreads in your chest each time you think of Din. It has been the late-night conversations sitting in the red leather chairs of the cockpit, reminiscing on your past lives. The ability that Din possesses in never failing to make you laugh. Even on days when you feel despondent. It is how considerate Din is of you; he never fails to check on your well-being and ascertain whether you can handle one more job or whether you should return to Nevarro for a few days of rest.

All of those moments and more contributed to your present feelings for Din.

You realised how deeply you cared for him when you first noticed your overwhelming desire to please him. The fact that, without even realising it, you had learnt how he liked his ration packs prepared even if you could never enjoy a meal together, given the helmet restriction. You realised that you had attentively watched how Din polished his weapons and studied how he stored them so that you could alleviate some stress when he returned from another hunt and needed to rest. You have noticed that, even though your lives are in many ways different, you both retain the same core values and principles. Honesty, integrity and loyalty are traits you both hold dear.

Only moments ago, it had crushed you to think you would never get to enjoy such moments with Din again.

Now, you stand here, practically bursting with joy as you realise you will soon be back with the man whose presence you yearn to always be in. You can hear his feet hitting the rungs of the ladder that leads up to the cockpit and take a deep breath to steady yourself, even though your entire body quivers with the last dregs of adrenaline and the anticipation of seeing Din again.

The door opens. The familiar glint of the Beskar you had been expecting to see earlier finally comes into view, soothing your nerves instantly. Din surges towards you. You barely have time to react before his arms are around you. He brings a gloved hand up to your chin, holding your face in one hand while he secures his other arm snugly around your waist. You are grateful that he is holding you so tightly. Without his strong arms, you are unconvinced whether you could remain vertical. 

“Oh, cyare," Din exhales, his voice trembling under the weight of his emotions. "I was so worried when I saw the body down there. What in Maker’s name happened here?” Din asks, deep voice full of concern.

“I heard footsteps that I assumed were yours, but when I got there, the door opened. You weren't there, Din. I was so scared," you confess, your voice trembling too.

"Dank farrik!" Din harshly exclaims. You startle in response, and he tightens his hold around you, bringing your chest flush to the cold metal of his armour, before apologetically adding, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay, Din," you whisper in reassurance.

"Forgive me for my outburst. I was just frustrated that I couldn't be there for you. The same group, I assume, ambushed me. It took me a while to fight them off. I should have been here," Din shakes his head, "Anyway, do you want to tell me about what happened?"

You nod, your bottom lip trembling. You take some breaths to steady your nerves as you try your best to ignore your reflection in Din's helmet. If you pause for too long and perceive how fragile and broken you appear, you know you will crumble entirely.

"Well, I stepped up to the top of the ramp expecting to see you. Instead, that man was standing there. He held a blaster up at me. I was so scared that he was going to shoot," you squeak, voice barely above a whisper now. Din moves his hands up and down your back in soothing motions, comforting you enough to continue: "I managed to distract him enough to retreat with my hands up. Then I pretended to stumble and push the button on the control panel, which discharged the pressurised gas. It gave me the cover to grab your blaster on the workbench. And then, well, you saw...” you squeak out as you feel hot tears trail down your cheeks.

You permit yourself to fall apart now, knowing that Din is here to pick your pieces up and place you back together. He brings a hand to your cheek, wiping your tears away with his gloved fingers. A smile ghosts across your lips at the sensation of the buttery texture against your skin.

“You did so well, cyare,” Din whispers. "I promise you, you're safe now. No one will hurt you," he adds soothingly.

Din brings your head into his cowl. He gathers you to him and protects you from the anguish. From this position, you can faintly feel the warmth which emanates from the man beneath the beskar through the coarse yet soft material. The dark brown material is a sharp contrast to the hard, coldness of his armour, a sliver of humanity amongst the many facets of the formidable Mandalorian warrior. You never feel safer or more protected than when Din takes you into his arms and holds you close. The relief is immediate, but it does not stop the emotional outburst. Tears continue to stream down your face.

“I was so scared Din,” you manage out between the sobs that have suddenly overwhelmed your fragile state of mind.

“I know, I know. But I’m so proud of you,” Din says.

His ordinarily steady voice trembles with emotion except when he emphasises how proud he is of you. To know that Din Djarin himself is proud of you makes your chest ache with joy. You have made this strong, stoic warrior proud. It makes your head swim with glee. Yet, it only adds to the myriad of emotions which overwhelm your trembling body.

Din holds you close, but you cannot stop crying. The embarrassment you feel at your outburst further contributes to your distress. The tears flow in earnest now, Din’s cowl surely becoming damp with the moisture that has escaped your swollen, irritated eyes.

“Shhhhh my love, ner kar'ta,” Din soothes as he rocks you, “You’re safe now. I've got you. You’re safe.” 

With his comforting words and the way Din holds you, your sniffles eventually subside. Still, Din holds you until you can barely stand anymore.

When you can stand no longer, when your body finally succumbs to the emotional toll of the day, Din is there to coax you into moving. Somehow, 

Din manages to skillfully manoeuvre you into descending the ladder. You are too tired to question quite how it happens. The next thing you know, you are tucked up in the bunk. There is barely enough room for Din, yet he manages to lie beside you, holding you until you drift off.

Finally, you allow yourself to fall into the warm embrace of sleep…

✯✯✯

You remain confined to your bunk for most of the return trip to Nevarro. The skirmish took its toll on you. In your lethargicness, you struggle to have the energy to do anything other than sleep. Din is patient and attentive with you, taking care of all the maintenance jobs and meal preparation that you usually assist with.

Yet, it is not just the stress of events and the inescapable fact that you have claimed your first life which weighs on your mind. It is trying to figure out what the future looks like for you and Din. 

You have never met anyone like him. He is intelligent, caring and skilled in anything he turns his hand to. He provides for you. Since you began travelling together, you have wanted for nothing physically or spiritually. Din is diligent and attentive, always on hand to pick you up if things prove too much. He makes you laugh like you never have with anyone else you have met. Until your ribs ache and your cheeks hurt from grinning. You think of the hours spent together sitting in the red chairs of the cockpit as the blues and silvers of hyperspace streak outside the windows, illuminating Din's armour in a way that leaves you mesmerised.

When you first started travelling with Din, you were sceptical that you would ever grow close to a man who kept so much of himself a mystery. His face was hidden behind a helmet and you knew him only as Mando. How could you ever form a bond with someone so elusive?

Now, you understand that you do not need to see a person's face to know them entirely. There is no doubt that you completely understand who the man underneath the beskar is. You trust Din Djarin with everything you have. 

Although it took him long enough to honour you with knowing that name, now you speak it often. While he vows that he will know yours eternally, for it is the Mandalorian way to say, “I love you.”

You cannot imagine your life without him. 

However, as much as you care for Din and are certain he cares for you in return, you know you will never have what it takes to become Mandalorian. It is why you have held back from your feelings, never permitting yourself to return the sweet words and affectionate nicknames. Your destinies lie in opposite directions. You will never be truly worthy of his love.

It is a thought that leaves you thoroughly despondent as you lie in the bunk. If you are this distressed after taking a life in self-defence, how would you ever be able to participate in his culture, his identity, which is so dear to him?

Without that fighting spirit within you, you are sure you would never be able to be Mandalorian. Without being Mandalorian, it will be impossible for Din to build a life with you.

Whatever relationship the two of you have is more than likely fleeting. You will part when it becomes apparent that you are too fundamentally different to prove a compatible pairing. You know that. 

Yet, it does not stop the melancholia that such a fact provokes in you.

You understand that one day, Din Djarin will leave your life.

Knowing that evidence of your fundamentally opposing ways of life will become evident once more shortly leaves you inconsolable. Once the Razor Crest lands in Nevarro so the bounties can be offloaded Din will leave you alone for an indeterminate amount of time to be with his covert. 

Since you are not Mandalorian, you are forbidden from joining him. 

The thought of not being with him devastates you. Yet, the prospect of being alone on a planet without Din downright terrifies you after your brush with death.

Although you are frightened, you are determined not to let him see your discomfort. 

After all, it would be unfair of you to hold Din back from spending time with his tribe.

You know you will never be able to join him, yet you still respect Din's creed. You admire his devotion to his Way. You do not judge him for it, even if you are baffled by some rules Din must adhere to.

Yet, there is another reason you keep your emotions to yourself. 

You do not want to worry Din any further.

Following your brush with death, Din has been fussing over you so much that you almost feel smothered. He is watching you intently to check that the fact you have taken another’s life does not leave a scar on you. He constantly reassures you that it was self-defence and that you did the right thing. When you wake up screaming after terrible visions haunt you, Din is there in an instant to soothe your anguished soul.

Even though you are grateful for how much he cares, you want to be left alone. You feel guilty, as though you are a burden to him. Here you are, taking up so much of his precious time and energy when you are not even a member of his tribe. 

So, when Din informs you he will depart the Razor Crest to join up with his covert after the old ship finally touches down on Nevarro, you are glad to see him go.

Even if being on such a skughole makes you unsettled. You wish that you had Din’s comforting presence around to soothe your soul. But non-Mandalorians are not permitted to enter the covert’s hideout, and you respect that rule. 

So, you are alone. 

You pass the time polishing and reordering Din's assortment of weapons so they are exactly how he likes him upon his return. It is penance for the tremendous amount of extra effort he exerted in taking care of you during your journey here.

After you finish cleaning Din's most prized possessions, you stand before the weapons locker, adjusting each blaster and rifle until they are arrow straight. Din is fastidious when it comes to organising his armoury. You want to please him.

It is a task that you are still engaged in when you hear the ramp whirring. The noise makes you panic initially. Until, for your benefit, Din calls your name to reassure you that it is him returning; no one is here to harm you.

Your initial anxiety is soothed instantly by the sound of his deep voice. The apprehension is replaced by a smile at the way the syllables of your name warble through his vocoder.

You hastily close the doors to the locker. You weren't quite finished with your task yet. You do not want Din to catch a glimpse before everything is perfect.

"You're back quicker than I expected," you observe, greeting him with a look of surprise across your features.

"There was only one matter I wished to settle," Din shrugs.

"Oh?" you raise your eyebrows, wondering if it is connected to the drawstring pouch made of dark material he carries in one hand.

"Concerning you," Din simply says.

You are rendered speechless. Your initial concern is that Din has confessed to travelling with a non-Mandalorian. Perhaps it is forbidden for his tribe to befriend outsiders. Your stomach drops as you panic that Din has been forced to leave his covert in disgrace.

What if, after the skirmish, Din decided to leave you behind here on Nevarro and simply needed to ask his tribe's leader for advice so his nerves did not waver?

Your frantic train of thought halts at the thuds of Din's footsteps approaching you. Mercifully, it seems you are about to discover the nature of their conversation.

"I have something for you," Din explains as he reaches into the drawstring pouch and produces a shiny object attached to a string.

You are curious about the mysterious relic before you. You do not hesitate to reach your hand out, your palm up, ready to accept it. It glints in mid-air before Din places it into your palm. 

The sensation of the cool metal of the mysterious object

proves to be an intriguing yet comforting presence in your hand. It soothes you instantly. It is a grounding sensation you badly need. Especially after the dark places your mind has wandered to. Terrible visions and eventualities your imagination has frequented a lot recently since your brush with death.

You realise now that it is in your hand that Din has brought you a necklace. Peculiar. You wonder what in the galaxy an item of jewellery could have to do with his covert.

The metallic pendant is a shape you do not recognise; there is a long, thin strand of dark brown leather attached to the charm.

“Do you know what this is?” Din finally asks after he has left you alone to survey your gift.

You shake your head, looking up at him questioningly.

“This is the Mythosaur, an ancient creature our ancestors once rode. It is a symbol that belongs to all Mandalorians,” Din explains, gesturing a gloved fingertip at the shiny object.

You see now that the metallic outline appears to be the skull of a creature you have never heard before. With its sunken black eye sockets and intimidating, sharp features; the Mythosaur is a little intimidating. Still, you are mesmerised by its pointy teeth and long tusks. It is quite unlike anything you have ever seen. You run your thumb over the ridges, enjoying the sensation of the metal in your hand.

"I had it forged by my tribe's Armorer from the excess beskar of my new armour," Din explains, "The chain is taken from a strip of my bandolier, too."

"The craftsmanship..." you whisper, awestruck, "It's beautiful."

Then, Din says something which catches you completely off-guard. 

“I want you to be part of my Clan, cyare,” Din announces.

Your mouth falls open. You look up at Din, stunned at his declaration. He does not want to leave you behind or cast you out. He wants you to be with him forever. You begin to feel the rumbling of tears somewhere deep inside your gut. You almost allow yourself to smile.

Almost.

Your moment of happiness shatters when you realise joining Din's Clan likely comes with an expectation to be Mandalorian. You hope the necklace does not come with the assumption of committing yourself to something you remain unsure that you want for yourself. 

Yet bringing that up to Din would surely disappoint him, a terrible prospect. His Way is of utmost importance to him.

“But, Din… I’m not Mandalorian,” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears as you remind him of your differences.

“It doesn’t matter,” Din shakes his head.

"Are you sure?" you breathe, stunned.

"I'm positive, cyare. You can take this necklace to any Mandalorian and say my name. If you present this to a Mandalorian covert and tell them Din Djarin set you, they will ensure you are protected and safe for as long as you need. No matter where you are in the galaxy.”

“Even though I’m not Mandalorian?” you whisper, astonished. 

“Yes. One does not have to walk The Way in order to be protected by us," Din nods.

You are stunned. For so long, you had mistaken Mandalorian covertness for exclusion. You had believed they disliked and distrusted anyone who did not follow their way of life. Now you realise that you had entirely misconstrued their seclusion. Mandalorians, it transpires, are fiercely protective over anyone they care about, an honour not restricted to their own kind.

"After what happened, I want to feel reassured by knowing that you would have somewhere to turn to for refuge if something like that were ever to happen again. More than that, I want you…” Din sighs, steadying himself. “I want you to be part of my Clan,” he adds, his voice full of certainty.

“I couldn't possibly be worthy of such a thing,” you shake your head, unable to meet his gaze, "I shot one nerfherder in self-defence and look at the toll it took on me," you scoff, fiddling with the necklace and avoiding Din's gaze.

Din is unsatisfied with your words. He brings his hand to your chin and tilts it upwards until your eyes are level with the steely gaze of his dark T-visor.

“You are absolutely worthy,” Din adds with finality and certainty in his voice that causes your chest to constrict, “You have shown as much fight and resolve as any Mandalorian warrior would be proud of. You may not be Mandalorian, but you have our spirit. Our manda, our soul. You do not have to be Mandalorian to be loved by one. So, it would be the honour of my life if you would join my Clan, cyare,” Din adds solemnly.

He takes his hand from under your chin and balls it into a fist. Then he raises his clenched fist to his chestplate and holds it over his heart. He bows his head in your direction, wordlessly demonstrating his affection for you.

With his beautiful words and deferent actions, how could you refuse such an offer?

“Then, I will happily join your clan, Din Djarin,” you whisper.

You watch with curiosity as Din takes the necklace from your hand. Then, he softly places a gloved hand on your shoulder and gently turns you around. You realise what he is doing when the pendant slides down over your chest. You smile as you feel the cool metal make contact with your skin through the cloth of the simple clothes you wear. The thin leather is a comforting presence around your neck, especially when combined with the weight of the Mythosaur.

You turn around to face Din once again. You are unable to prevent the grin that spreads across your features. For the first time since that terrifying encounter with that ghastly man, you feel a true sense of tranquillity. You no longer find yourself plagued by fear for the future.

You realise that you should probably make some profound speech of gratitude. Instead, you sigh in contentment as you stand before Din. You are too happy to find words, perfectly content merely to stand before the man you adore. A man whom, thanks to the necklace you wear around your neck, you are now bound to. 

Din brings his hands to your sides, resting them against your body as his thumbs rub fond circles into your hips. There is no fear, no uncertainty anymore.

The future for you and Din is bright.

Din eventually sighs fondly, cupping your chin with his gloved hand.

“It suits you,” he nods in approval.

You smile at the gesture and turn your lips into his fingers, placing a kiss on the soft leather there. Then, Din brings your forehead to his helmet in a gesture he has assured you is akin to a kiss in his eyes. For now, at least, it is the only way he can kiss you.

You stay like that for a few moments. 

Eventually, Din's deep voice breaks the silence. 

“Ner aliit,” Din whispers. Then adds in basic, for the benefit of your ears:

“My family.”

[idunnowhattowriteheretbh]

HIVE short story yipeeeee :D

NOT CANON STORY BTW‼️‼️‼️

HIVE belongs to @braisedhoney, I recommend checking out Captain's acc and also @talesaboardthehive to see canon lore

This story contains some headcanons and there are also ideas from @beartitled about the HIVE (bumblebee dogs, honey pipes, etc.)

And also it is mainly from my hivesona's pov

Anyway have fun reading it :D I'm not sorry for possible grammar mistakes /silly

Late Night Walk

The HIVE was never silent.

During the day you can hear crew talking in the many halls of the ship. Conversations, jokes, laughter, arguments, cries, you name it, you hear it. Sometimes even in the vents when someone went up there, usually followed by startled yelps as they were caught by COLONY.

There are some calmer places to rest when someone is tired or needs to focus on something, you can rest in spots like the honeycomb nap rooms, or the library.

In the morning and evening it is a bit quieter, but not that much, the sound of crew waking up, finishing their duties, or preparing to go sleep can be heard. Its not that loud as it is during the day though.

In the night, most people would expect you could hear a needle fall because of how quiet it would be, but that wasn't true.

The HIVE was never silent.

Late at night you could hear the soft humming of the ship, or the buzzing of many of the mechanics on the ship, or if you pause around one of the many honey pipes you can hear bubbling. And throughout the night you can hear different sounds, like a door opening and sleepy footsteps, or rarely; the bark of one of the bumblebee puppies.

In its own way, it was interesting to listen to all of the sounds. It was calming and it was a way to keep themselves busy when Sol wasn't able to fall asleep like right now.

They listened to the humming, with a bit of imagination you could hear a rhythm in the humming. Kind of like a heartbeat, but that probably wasn't true. The ship didn't have a heart did it?

Along with the soft humming they listened to the quiet buzzing of their lamp on the table. They could've turned on their radio to listen to whatever channel would be able available, but they didn't feel like listening to a radio.

To be honest, they didn't feel like doing anything. They weren't able to fall asleep for the past 30 or so minutes and they have given up on trying to sleep.

Sigh.

They might aswell get up and go for a quick walk. That could help them fall asleep later.

Yea. They could grab something warm like milk with honey to help them sleep....or coffee with honey and work on the armours-

Either way, taking a walk won't hurt.

After a moment they stepped out of their sleeping quarters and looked around. The lights were dimmed and there wasn't anyone in the hallway. It was quiet.

With a sigh they let the door behind them close and locked the door with a keycard, then they started walking to one of the kitchens nearby.

It didn't take them as long as it usually did. Only one door which was surprising, but not like they minded. It was nice not to get lost for once.

After walking into the kitchen, Sol quickly looked through the snacks cabinets and didn't find anything they would like to munch on. Their

Hmmm.

They weren't feeling like eating anything right now.

Might aswell take a walk while they're out.

Upon hearing footsteps getting closer to the kitchen they quickly got out of the kitchen and disappeared in the nearest door. It led them into a hallway. Oo this one has green walls. That's not something you would commonly see on the honey themed ship.

The hallway changed directions few times and they had to go through multiple doors. One of them even lead to the cryo, no idea why there, but it sometimes happened.

Footsteps echoed through the hallways as it took them some time walking in the dark hallways, where the light source came from the dimmed lights and the honey pipes, before they got to the spot they wanted to go to.

One of the big windows that let in the soft light of the stars was on the wall to their right and they walked to it to gaze out into the space. The protective barrier that was around the ship was visible a bit behind the window along with the stars.

They loved to look into the space through the big windows that were around the HIVE.

One would think that windows and space isn't a great mix but the sight out of them is amazing. You just have to make sure the windows are strong enough.

Stars, planets, galaxies, meteorites, supernovas, whole planet systems and more were a sight to die for though.

Sol especially loved to see how colourful the space could be despite how they sometimes got existential crisis over how the space was big and empty.

They liked to space out (pun intended heh) while gazing out of the windows in the living room like places on the ship, not listening to what was going on around them and focusing only on the beauty of the space outside.

It was interesting and amazing to see what could be found there.

When something interesting like a new planet was found, then for the next few weeks it was the main topic in conversations, and the more curious and adventurous crew members even went down onto the planet to do some things to help Leander gather more information. Sol was apart of those expeditions few times and it was always fun.

Most of it was done by drones though to ensure safety. As far as Sol remembered there weren't many accidents on strange planets but it didn't hurt to be safe.

It didn't take away the excitement from how the space could be amazing, in fact, for them it made the unknown even more interesting.

Sol's workplace where they worked on their projects, like the weapons and now also armours, always has few posters with something about space and they even have some in their quarters.

They couldn't remember from where they got it and how long, but one of the posters were about stars and constellations that can be seen from the Earth and they sometimes try to find some of the stars. Sometimes they were successful and sometimes they weren't able to locate some of the stars.

They sighed and put their hand on the window.

(Open the image for better view)

The stars shimmered with soft glow and they stayed there, staring at something that kind of reminded them of the milky way.

It was a pretty sight and they would never get tired of it, it was always beautiful.

The company of the silent stars was welcome after one of the more busy days on the HIVE. The soft humming could be heard along with the bubbling of the honey pipes and they stood there, enjoying how calm and quiet everything was.

The HIVE was never silent.

They took a deep breath and smiled. There was a nice warm feeling in their chest as they continued to watch the space.

Even when they sometimes missed their time on Earth they wouldn't leave the HIVE. They have gotten used to the chaos on the ship and they loved to be here. They love the space and the HIVE with all the occupants. Maybe it was a little foolish to be this loyal, but they had truly found a home here.

The HIVE was their home and they would risk their live to protect it along with others on the ship.

[mc-tums-fog]

Under The Desert Sky

Pairing: Elliott Marston x GN! Reader

Chapter II: When Clusters of Stars Tell Stories

Chapter Summary: Every action has a reaction, that’s what you were taught at a young age. You just never figured your actions would cause Elliott Marston to have this kind of reaction.

Content Warnings For This Chapter: Period-Typical Racism (Mentions against the Aboriginal people and Native Americans)

Notes:

Wrote this chapter immediately after the first, and was proud with it initially. But now I'm not too sure. Did some minor rewrites but still, not too sure. I think that's just me second guessing myself, plus figuring out the exact order of events for the next chapters. I'm trying to trust the process gang.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

It took you about a week since the conversation between you and Elliott to notice a pattern and figure out what the catch was.

No, he didn’t lower your pay. Come payment day you found that it was the same as in the last two weeks. No, the workload hadn’t suddenly increased. It was like the other times, and you had already gotten used to it at this point. No, the men didn’t try their luck with getting back at you somehow. Comments and looks here and there, but it didn’t seem like they were going to carry out anything big. The only notable difference was how Coogan did his best to not talk to you, when he could help it. Not like you were complaining.

But maybe some of those things would have been more preferable. Because when you realize what the catch was, how minor and inconvenient it would be to others, it quickly spiraled your mind with questions that had no answers to them.

Elliott Marston would take any opportunity that he saw fit to interact with you in some way.

The first two days, you paid no mind and thought it was even reasonable. You had gotten into a fight with one of his men after all. You figured this was just his way of making sure it didn’t happen again, or to show you “who was boss”. On these first two days, he was observing you more often than he had previously. Even coming up to you to talk about the work you were doing and going to be doing. This was something he did during the first few days of working for him, where he was directing you, but then he made his men give you orders after some time. If it was just this, you probably would have brushed it off.

But the third and fourth day was when you started to question his behavior. Sure, he’d watch you from afar, come up to speak about the work, same as before. But then there would be a few times throughout the day that he’d just… started talking to you.

At first, you thought he was just mulling to himself aloud. You never really caught into it on the third day, with being focused on your work. It was the fourth when you noted he said something when you walked by him to do another one of your tasks. You paid it no mind. It wasn’t until you had walked past him again a second time that you completely registered that he was talking to you. Not to himself . To you . And only then did you register how irregular that was. In the past, if you happened to walk by him, he wouldn’t say anything. Just a quick look and go back to whatever he was doing. Unless the heat was really getting to you, you never recalled him doing this before.

“I’m sorry, did you need me to do something?” You weren’t exactly kind in your tone like you were previously whenever you asked that question, in case you didn’t hear one of the workers on the ranch talk to you the first time. So, you figured he wanted you to do something, and you didn’t realize since you were so focused.

From his front porch leaning on one of his pillars, he studied you for a moment. Once again wearing that unreadable expression, which was even harder to see under his hat.

“You don’t seem to pay much attention to your surroundings when working.”

You didn’t know what to make of that… statement? It didn’t sound like a question, but you weren’t sure what kind of observation that was, besides an obvious one.

“I pay attention when something or someone needs my attention.” Was all you could offer, wanting to end the conversation soon.

“From what I was told, it seemed like the men didn’t need your attention when talking among themselves earlier this week.”

You didn’t even try to hide your annoyance when he said that.

“I was giving the two Aboriginal women you have on your grounds attention. He only got my full attention after his comments about my family,” You wiped off some of the dirt that had been forming on your clothes. Not like it mattered; they would get dirty again. “Was that all, or may I get back to work?”

Was it a bit stupid and dangerous to give him mouth even after he was gracious with allowing you to stay? Sure. But you couldn’t really give a damn. You wanted to earn your paycheck, and the sooner you could get through the days, the sooner you’d get it.

You expected him to continue on whatever else he had on his mind just to irritate you and regain control of the situation. Instead, he gave a quick, dismissive nod. And so, you left, wanting to put that interaction aside and focus on what you had left to do.

But it didn’t stop with that. From the fourth and fifth day he continued to do this every time you walked by him. He was still doing his previous routine of watching you from afar and coming up to you directly to tell you what to do. But now he would add these small comments if you happened to be nearby while doing your work. It wasn’t even about the fight at that point. He would make comments about anything. The particular gun he carried in his holster that day. Deserters that were still on the loose. The Australian land in general.

You gave curt replies because you just wanted to stay focused on your work. But even with the small amount of replies you did give he would somehow make do and continue on with whatever he was going on about. And not totally wanting to push your luck into waving him off without the risk of your job security, you decided to listen. You figured, if he was the one to initiate the conversation in the first place, then he shouldn’t be mad if hardly any work managed to get done that day. Plus, he was always on his porch when talking, and if the sun was angled right and you were standing in the correct position, the shade would cover you up. So more for your benefit, you listened.

…Admittedly, you found some of his topics interesting to listen to. In some ways that statement on being a student was correct. He sounded intelligent with what he had to say. Whenever he talked about America, he was correct on a number of things. But some areas you knew he wasn’t.

And maybe it was a mistake on your part for the following events that would occur, but you decided to contest the stuff he was wrong about on the fifth day.

“The tribes did uphold those treaty deals.” You said in response to how America would often negotiate treaties among the different tribal groups. “The only reason some of them were broken was because the army kept infesting their lands.”

He must’ve not expected you to say anything at all that weren’t just replies to end the conversation, as he looked at you with just a hint of being surprised.

“Where did you hear that nonsense?”

“That nonsense ,” You gave him a look. “I witnessed. When working on one of the farms in America the owner became close with one of the tribes nearby. They would make trades, giving them crops for some herbal medicine for his animals that got sick.”

You leaned one of those pillars facing more away from Elliott, who had been sitting nearby on a chair.

“The head of that tribe would come and talk about a treaty that had been going on that the military kept breaking. He wanted the farms’ owner to be a witness to one of these meetings, and I came along as I would often be the one making the deliveries to the camp.”

You shook your head as you looked down. You hadn’t noticed that Elliott stopped what he’d been doing, cleaning his gun, and gave his full attention to you.

“Didn’t matter though. The military didn’t listen to our testimonies of our firsthand accounts, where we knew they didn’t break it. They were disrespectful the whole time. The tribe was forced to move once the military took over it. Then the farm went to shit because they couldn’t get the medicine for the animals.”

You thought about the farmer and the tribe’s leader. You hoped they, and their families were doing good while you were down here. It was never easy for you to make connections with other people, with how they treated your parents. But they were one of the few that showed kindness to your troubles.

“The owner of the farm never got help from the military?”

You looked over at Elliott. For once, you could hear just the slightest indication of an emotion that wasn’t stern. He sounded like he cared about whatever happened to him.

You snapped out of that observation and shrugged. “Sometimes they tried to provide some medicine, with the exchange of us giving them some crops. But it didn’t work as well as the herbal medicine, so he stopped dealing with them all together. Didn’t make the army men happy but I don’t think he really cared all that much.”

He looked down, his brows furrowing a bit to the point where you could see a line forming between them. It was an indication he was in thought of the story you told. You noticed how he would often do this, trying to dissect and think about what it was people had said to him, and particularly with you. In a strange way, you found this… respectable, was the best your compliment for him was going to get. Most people don’t take the time to fully process what they or others say to them. Unless it was in the heat of the moment when he was having a quick and rushed discussion, he still took the time to consider what he was going to say, or what others said.

And you realized it wasn’t just in his words that he did this. You realized how he would do this for his actions. The way he moved had a certain precision about it. Even in a frazzled state that you would sometimes see him in there was still somehow an air of thought that surrounded his movements. You could see how he became a ranch owner and a skilled gunslinger; with the few times you saw him using his gun before. It made sense. In his line of work, he couldn’t afford to be careless.

You hadn’t realized how you were staring intently at him mulling this over until one of his men called you over for help getting control over a wild horse they found and wanted to tame. You blinked as you looked over, and quickly rushed from down the porch, wincing a bit as your ribs were still in pain. You must’ve spent too long in the shade because you instantly felt your face heat up as you jogged away from the porch and into the sunlight.

The sixth day followed this similar format, where he would talk to you by his porch when you were nearby. Whenever you did, something about it made you feel like you could challenge him a bit more. And for whatever reason, he allowed it, and would challenge you back. In this back and forth you would learn a few things more about his country and him with yours. He would learn about the city life you had, and he would talk about the ranch life. You didn’t know what to make of these conversations after the first few times.

And you found yourself doing something you hadn’t expected yourself to do at the start of the seventh day.

You made conversation with him first.

It was early enough in the morning, and you were already getting ahead in some areas, thanks to working a bit longer in the evening prior. You put some water on your face and noted Elliott leaving his home to check on his horse. He did this every morning, he never wanted anyone else to take care of his steed, Maverick as he called him.

But as he was walking down the steps and to the stables, you felt like his appearance was off. You couldn’t pinpoint how though. From where you were standing you were a great distance away from him, but even so, you could still tell something wasn’t right. As the sun got a bit higher, casting more light onto the ranch, and onto him, it suddenly hit you.

He wasn’t wearing all black attire. His vest was a deeper shade of a maroon.

You tried to think if he always had a vest like that. With how busy you were with your tasks, you could never really look at him all that much, other than when he was talking to you. Or when you could catch some conversations between him and his men. But at those times you could only recall him wearing something black. Sometimes it was a full black coat with a vest and white button up to contrast it. Other times it was just his black vest and white button up. Rarely did you ever see him without a vest. If he did always have this one, you never noticed until now.

So, you felt like you had to make a comment on it. It was rational to you. Besides, you already had to go and feed the animals that were close by anyway.

When you walked by carrying the scraps for the livestock while he was still tending to his horse, you said something.

“I thought you only dressed like the grim reaper.”

He stopped brushing his horse’s hair and looked over at you. His look of confusion was clear as day. You clarified as you kept feeding the animals.

“I didn’t think you even liked any other color other than black is what I mean.”

He took note of his vest now and seemed to ponder further with what you said.

“I’ve worn this vest before.” He replied.

“Well, I’ve only seen you wear black. I never noticed this vest.”

“Really.”

You didn’t catch how he didn’t frame it as a question, or how thoughtful he sounded. You were more focused on the idea that he could like other things, how implausible that seemed.

“I’m not sure how you could mostly wear black, when the sun is so damn hot.” You said it more to yourself than to him, trying to rationalize a common thought you had about his choice of clothing aloud.

“It’s proper attire that suits my character well.”

“For a funeral maybe.”

You didn’t realize how much you had gone back and forth on this singular topic on something so small. You didn’t even realize that as you were working, he would follow you to finish this conversation. Which delved into a conversation on what you liked to wear, which was whatever was practical, you were never too picky growing up. That led to him rationalizing that his clothing was practical in getting to his weaponry quickly. That led you to asking about what shooting a gun was like, and him explaining how even being an expert he still found himself closing his eyes as a reaction whenever it went off. Which made you think about the times that you did see him use his gun, and he was right.

Throughout the morning it went like this, him following you around with you never phasing in doing your work. At times he would need to leave and would excuse himself. But then he’d get back right to wherever the two of you left off. By midday you didn’t realize how exhausted you were. A bit odd, since you’ve never gotten tired this quickly before. By the afternoon, when it was time to send out letters by one of the workers who were already going into town for a supply run, he let you know the payment you were sending to your family and gave you the leftover percentage to you personally. Noting it was the same, you were going to help the rest of the workers in loading up some crates for their journey. But before you could, Elliott stopped you and told you to get into some shade because the last thing he wanted was to drag another worker out of the sun.

You didn’t realize this was the first time he allowed you to have a break. Because if you did, it would’ve been a bigger deal. But you were exhausted. So, you went to the lodge and crashed out for some time.

Upon waking up, you could see that the sun had started to go down. You tried to get your bearings on why you went to bed earlier than usual when you could hear two men talking outside to each other, as one of the windows was partially open. They seemed like they were in the middle of a conversation when they came near the lodge.

“-y arm must’ve pulled something when carrying the crates,” The voice, you could recognize to be Dobkin, groaned. “Should’ve gotten the rookie to do it.”

You immediately knew he was talking about you. He’d called you that before, with how you were one of the newer workers for the ranch, despite now being here for a couple of months. You were about to ignore it when the other voice, you placed to be O’Flynn, spoke next.

“If you did, you’d be cuttin’ into Mr. Martson’s ‘buddy’ time.” He snickered.

You perked up at that. What did he mean by “buddy time”?

“If the rookie has time to be talking with Mr. Marston, then the rookie can take the time to actually do some work.”

You had been doing work. That’s all you have been doing for these past few months. In your still tired state, you wondered why he would even phrase it like that.

“You think it’s odd too, right? How they talk to each other?” O’Flynn asked. “I mean, that weasel beats the shit out of Coogan, and Mr. Marston doesn’t do anything about it.”

“It’s none of my business what Mr. Marston decides to do.” Dobkin responded back. He groaned again. “Christ this arm. Let’s go find a bottle.”

“All I’m saying is,” O’Flynn said as Dobkin’s footsteps were walking away. “Either Mr. Marston is planning a proper funeral or a wedding.”

Their voices grew distant, and you thought about what they said. You knew O’Flynn was just being a little shit saying that last part. But your conversations with Elliott did give you a pause. You really thought about it for a moment as you laid on the cot, looking up at the ceiling.

The past few days he had been observing you more and interacting with you. He sought you out to talk to you, as if he wanted to. And you realized that didn’t make any sense. Here you are working at his ranch even after beating up a man and not holding back when speaking either. How was it that you were still standing and breathing even? As best as you could with your ribs.

And more importantly, you had engaged with him back. You talked with him. Today you even talked to him first. Why?

You rubbed your eyes, your face not hurting as much when you touched it. It didn’t make sense to you. His behavior toward you and yours to him. You tried to rest further. But as the others would come in and rest as well, as much as you closed your eyes, it was hard to sleep with the lingering questions still in your mind. It had gotten well into the night, but you decided that you couldn’t sleep and put on your work outfit just so you had something warm to be in when outside.

You went back to the spot you were at the last time you gazed at the stars, only you stood up this time, as if it would get you closer to them.

They were still as beautiful as ever. And while they brought you a sense of comfort, they couldn’t answer any of the questions you had. But even if they could, it’s not like they would know what to do in your shoes anyway. They could just be there to listen, and you figured that satisfied you enough. That, and you could simply appreciate their beauty.

It amazed you on what you’d missed out on. It was the one thing you could give Australia credit for. You’ve never seen anything like this. You didn’t even think you would ever see something like this.

You stood there, for how long you weren’t sure, just basking in the starlight. You thought about making this a thing to do every night, just looking at the stars. Though you worried it would end up losing its beauty, if you had too much of one good thing. Suddenly, your ears picked up the precise footsteps coming from behind. You could easily recognize them, and it brought you back to your dilemma and questions.

Like last time, he took the place by your left, only not as towering as he was when you were sitting down like before. Upon leaning his arms on the fence’s wooden planks, he nodded to himself in satisfaction. Then he looked out to where you had been looking, right at the stars.

He didn’t rush to say anything like he had when this first happened. He took the time to let the quiet set back in before he could break it. Which of course, he did eventually.

“You know, I’m not paying you to stargaze.” He spoke.

Of course he had to act like this was above him too.

“I’m not telling you to.” You replied back, not even looking at him.

“You couldn’t tell me what you could get paid for any-” He started to go on before you cut him off. You decided that the only way you were going to get answers to your questions was from him.

“Why have you been trying to talk to me?”

He seemed to act like this was the first time you were blunt with him, as if you hadn’t been talking to him bluntly ever since last week. It annoyed you even more. So you made that clear. 

“Don’t act like you don’t get why this confuses me. You’re smarter than that. I beat up one of your men, I talked back to you when you tried to talk to me about it. And even if this was to just uphold a deal with my cousin, you still go out of your way to try to talk to me when neither of us have any reason to.” 

You finally looked over to him. “Why?”

He didn’t say anything at first. Despite being in the dark, without his hat on, and being about three feet from him, you could make out his face. Once again, he kept studying you and seemed to be contemplating what he was going to say next. He turned his head back to the stars and seemed to be contemplating them as well. Like the answer was up there.

You didn’t sense any heaviness in the silence like the last time you both talked under the stars. You’d almost call it peaceful. At least, there were no warning signs yet of anything dangerous to come. So, you waited. And eventually he spoke.

“My mother used to talk about how the stars told stories.”

You gave him a quizzical look.

He must’ve seen your reaction, because he let out a very light chuckle. You realized then that this was the first time you heard any kind of laughter coming out of him. Or even a broader smile than his cocky smirk he would have on from time to time.

“Sounds completely ridiculous right? But she wasn’t wrong. Certain stars have formations that if you really looked closely enough with the right materials, you could see them. They’re called constellations. Each one relates back to a character in a story rooted in Greek mythology.”

You looked back up to the sky. Personally, you couldn’t see anything distinct about them, besides that they were all beautiful. You saw some clusters that were brighter than others, sure. Nothing that told you a story though.

“I always found that interesting,” He continued. “That if you observed and interacted with the stars long enough, they would tell you a story.”

He looked over at you, causing you to look over to him as well.

“I would like to know yours. And I hope you’d like to know mine.”

It was the first time he said anything like it was an offer, rather than a demand. Like he was giving you a say in the matter. And it was said in the same tone that you briefly caught when claiming that you didn’t have the right to make that judgement about how he wasn’t better than anyone. 

It sounded like sincerity, if you had to give it a name.

You had already thought he knew enough, what he needed to know before hiring you. That your family was in financial trouble, and you were the only one who could work and could do the work well. That was it, the gist of what your cousin said, though including more of the circumstances on why you were the only one working. You didn’t even think he wanted to know more. But you also found yourself more focused on the latter half of what he said. How he hoped you would get to know him.

And you really hadn’t thought you would want to get to know him more. Why would you? You felt like he made his character and who he was pretty clear.

But then again…

You realized just how much you were engaging back with him. The details you remembered about these past conversations between the two of you. You talked to him more within the past week than you had within the past months since you’ve been here.

Did you want to get to know him more?

Something about that question made your heart miss a beat. But you couldn’t explain why.

You looked back up to the stars. Like they would have an answer for you. Something. Anything. You tried to clear your head and with whatever thought popped up, whatever your gut instincts were telling you, you would go with it. You couldn’t see how your choice would screw you over if he was giving you the option.

And so, after taking a moment, that’s what you did. You went with whatever came to your mind first. With the stars being witnesses to it.

[room217prayer]

Tamlin’s week - Day 5 (Biting / Chest)

Day five of @tamlinweek here we goo! Who isn’t obsessed with Tamlin’s chest? I beg to say everyone is ahaha but in this fic I selected only three characters to be quite... obsessed with it. uu♥

Important Info/Tags: Slightly n-sfw, both prompts are used (biting and chest, what a great combination indeed). There’s a hint of jealousy and yes, there are three ships, thanks to three simps dfdfdf. It’s mostly crack, fluffy, and silly. (even if a character always tends to slither away toward darker thoughts...)

It’s set before Amarantha’s reign – you can take it as a fun and silly story not set in the canon timeline.

As always, the dividers are thanks to @olenvasynyt ♥

I hope you’ll like this very short fic! ♥ I had so much fun writing this! ♥

The Wishful Midsummer Heat

A party in the Summer Court was always welcomed in Prythian, it was a grand spectacle every Fae wanted to see or be part of.

Especially when all the High Lords of the other courts were invited – a show of friendship and peace to all.

Maybe just an appearance, an illusion.

The calm before the storm and... there were indeed ones unleashed in three particular minds at the sight of the Spring High Lord thanks to his... attire.

Eris was the only son Beron decided to take with him and his wife to Nostrus grand party.

At the beginning he was almost bored, but slightly interested to see if his younger and exiled brother would show up with the High Lord of Spring.

His curiosity was quickly sated when he did show up.

But Eris attention – after mustering a veiled smile in seeing how he looked well, full of life instead of the hollow fae he left at the Spring borders – was cut short the moment Tamlin made his entrance behind him.

Least to say he was glad that he wasn’t drinking – lucky to be more precise, so he didn’t end up making a scene of himself, choking on the wine at the sight of the young High Lord.

Who clearly had decided to let the whole world have a window to look at his... chest. His quite full, big, veiled and decorated chest.

What kind of insanity had come to him?

He was dressed in the colors of the Summer Court, blue and gold, with the sheerest of the materials that tried to cover – not quite so – his upper body with an open triangle that closed just above his navel.

That stupid fabric was embroidered in the wrong – no, Eris, had to remind himself those horrible misplaced flowers were in the right places.

So that decorum could remain. So that he couldn’t openly ogle his nipples.

So that there could still remain some wonder when he would strip him of that bothersome dress so he would be able to bite his... Fuck.

There was surely something wrong with his wine, why else would he be thinking about wanting to bite and ravish Tamlin’s chest?

No.

Eris didn’t want to do any of these things and the High Lord wasn’t even wearing a dress: he had pants for the Cauldron’s sake!

That they looked more like stockings didn’t matter, really, but nonetheless he truly didn’t desire anything from him – except the wellbeing of his little brother.

Yes, nothing else.

Who did need to know if his pectoral were truly just as plush as they looked against his lips and fingers?

Fuck.

Nostrus must have done something wicked with his wine for sure.

And bless the Cauldron for whoever convinced Tamlin to wear those golden chains around his chest, like they were made as a support for his breasts –

Lucien was in pain.

He was trapped in the most uttered, tormented and vicious torture.

One he brought to himself alone, but Mother guide him, he was at the same time so grateful for it.

Tamlin was simply magnificent in his attire, with his hair tied up in braids that leaved his neck bare, so that the chains cascading on his skin – decorating the lines of his torso – would be the perfect central and focused accompaniment to his chest.

His beautiful, voluptuous and full chest.

Hidden by the sheerest of the bluest material, with golden flowers embroidered in it. Hiding away the pinkest and delectable –

Lucien had to stop himself, feeling his blood boiling in one place only, taking a deep, very deep breath, as he looked around the room and saw Beron – who didn’t even look in their direction and how he was glad about that, only seeing his profile made his rage flame up in his veins – and then his older brother: Eris.

Who was glaring in their direction, the most glazing and burning expression he ever saw in his face and eyes.

If he didn’t know better he would think he was looking at Tamlin and not him, but he did, so Lucien gave the slither of a smirk back, before having his attention returned toward his High Lord, who called him for a reassurance that he had chosen the right thing to wear.

His skin was flushed by a flicker of embarrassment and he found it so endearing and lovely. The red gracing down toward and beyond his cleavage.

How good would it look if it was slightly wet? Preferably thanks to his mouth, tongue and teeth, as he leaved his marks in bites–... No.

They were on an official gathering. He should not let his fantasies take hold of him.

Of his mind and body. No more than they were already.

He should truly refrain to let his mind wander in that direction, no matter how much he wanted to let his lips travel and taste his skin and the gold chains he made sure Tamlin would wear for this.

Mother guide him.

Lucien could and should only blame himself for the burning torment he was trapped in.

Andras for sure was laughing behind his back with a “told you so” written all other his grinning face.

But he simply couldn’t let this occasion slip by and so he had to fall in temptation.

He simply had to use the right words to convince Tamlin to wear that dress – a tunic, he had said to him with the gentlest smile to the unsure fae – with the right fabrics and accessories.

Ah.

He truly had created a masterpiece he couldn’t and wouldn’t dare to touch and that now everyone would be able to see and yearn for.

Fuck.

Maybe he would end up developing some masochist tendencies, but he was in for the long game.

For now, he could only dream of biting his plush breasts and wonder how deliciously he would look with his teeth marks all other his blushing skin.

In the longer run... maybe that wouldn’t be only a dream.

It was not like he had any competition to fear of, no?

Rhysand glass cracked and almost broke in his hand the moment he saw him, his Tamlin.

Who looked like a divine creature walking amongst lesser creatures.

Cassian and Azriel glanced at him with knowing eyes, their questions reaching his mind, but he paid them no mind.

His full attention was enclosed around only one person.

His doom made flesh, the succulent one he yearned to tarnish, to rip open.

To mold into a house made just for himself to own.

He wanted to leave a mark so deep he would never be able to erase his presence no matter what.

The temptation dressed in the most see-through and whimsy fabric of a dress hold together by the pure grace of the Mother herself.

Or maybe thanks to that entangling shimmering chains of gold, begging to be touched by his fingers, to be taken hold so he could pull him to his side, in his embrace.

What was all of that if not a gift ready to be opened and treasured, maybe Fate itself was giving him a clear signal to act and take what was his.

His jaw ached to be opened, to let his teeth sink into the plush flesh of his chest, right where his heart was, so that he could bite and eat it down to the last roots.

He would have liked to blamed the wine for these urges, if only he wasn’t already aware of the maddens of his mind and soul.

Of his lurking and bottomless desire.

He wanted to see his blood, to hear him scream in pain and agony – in pleasure and ecstasy – and at the same time to see him smile. To hear the laugher of freedom and happiness, of singing birds in full spring.

He deeply inspired the warm summer air, trying to take hold of his wishful and damning thoughts, because by the Cauldron, what took over Tamlin to dress like that?!

Oh, he could easily see the mischief of that damned fox, who was probably the cause of this.

Fuck him and bless him

For the free spectacle of having the perfect view to Tamlin’s chest, that should cost more gold and jewels than anyone here could permit to spend – except for him.

Only him should be permitted to cherish his beauty and grace. To look openly, trying to find the sweet pink hues of his nipples under the golden flowers.

His outfit was fit for the Summer Court – a grimace in seeing him in its colors – but Rhysand knew he would look so much better and fitting in the Night Court.

On his lap, where he would be able to touch and ravish him, to taste and bite every inch of his skin.

To play with him as he saw fit.

He would look so dazzlingly dancing under the starfall as his face would glow in the most beautiful smile, his green eyes twinkling lovely at him –

No.

He should never enter that line of thoughts, not even if it was all he ever dreamed of.

It was a damnation and madness worse than what he was already experiencing.

All of his blood was already concentrated south, his eyes unable to leave his bosoms – because what the fuck, it was that big. How else could he think of comparing it to anything less? And since when did he developed so much in that area?

So if he let himself go there, what else would remain of him?

Maybe the mark of his teeth on his soft skin.

Wouldn’t that worth it all in the end?

Tamlin was talking to the young cousin of the High Lord of Summer, Tarquin, and the youngster was watched sharply by three pairs of eye, who didn’t quite like the way he was smiling at him.

About how deep and prominent the color was in his cheeks.

In their observation – and quest – they find themselves in the same place, each one had another glass of wine in hand.

The silent tension, the subtle glares palpable in the dense summer air.

“I know your tricks, little fox”

“Do you now? And what tricks I’m playing as of now?”

“Oh, I think we all know, brother. When you escaped to Spring I never thought you would be so... Daring”

“Ah! You all can say whatever you want, but I know with who he’ll come back home with”

“I won’t be so sure of that, some accident could happen to you during the night– ”

“Easy now, Rhysand, but I do agree that Tamlin might prefer to stay longer and enjoy –”

Eris words got cut off as all three noticed the libertine Helion making his way toward Tamlin – his eyes fixed on the price everyone wanted to win and earn.

Silence was broken with only one word, an agreement.

“Truce”

They had a clear enemy in common to defeat as of now.

Tamlin was unaware all night of all the storms he created and how he became the reason of the birth of a new type of tournament and duels.

And the fifth day has come!

You don't know how happy I am as of right now that I was able to participate during this week!

Writiing this fic was sooooo fun! And I hope you have enjoyed it and yes, here's a bit of Tamris, Tamcien and Tamsand in a bundle of thirst and yearning, lol! Who do you think won the tournament? dsfdsfsd

Rip Helion, you will be missed. You truly flew too much near the sun (Tamlin's chest)

Ps: how nice is it when everyone can smell everything afsfjadh

Thank you again for all the likes, appreciation and kind words you've given me and I hope you all are enjoying and having fun during this week! ♥

See you (hopefully again) for another Tamlin’s week day! ♥

[skyloftian-nutcase]

The Pirate (Dad Squad)

EVERYBODY COME GET YOUR LINEBECK SOUP!!

Abel shook the strange feeling off of himself as they stepped through the gate created by the item. If it had led them here, that likely meant its twin had opened a portal to this land as well.

Blinking a few times to reorient after the brief kaleidoscope of light, Abel took in the sight of a bright sun, the smell of sea salt, and the sound of crashing waves. They were obviously by the ocean, though he had no idea where in particular, or what sea. He only knew of the Lanayru Sea, but tales spoke of other bodies of water that rivaled it.

Rusl walked ahead first, adapting quickly, eyes alert but face placid. Abel watched the Fierce Deity walk after him, unreadable as usual.

Something clearly caught their attention as they stood at the edge of the dock, staring. Abel peeked around them, wondering what it was, when he caught sight of the scene.

A ship was sinking. But it was moving towards them. Its deck had just been submerged, and its mast was all that was remaining. A man stood atop it, glaring ahead fiercely as if willing the boat to make it to the dock in time, but his posture was proud as if this had been planned all along.

What in the world...?

The mast managed to reach the dock in the nick of time, allowing the man to step off. He blew out a sigh, looking like his knees were about to buckle, when he caught sight of the group of men. He sized them up quickly, eyes widening a little at the sight of the deity, and then waved sharply. "How's it going? I'm just passing through. Gotta go now. Important things to do."

"Wait," Rusl interrupted, stepping into his way. "Can you tell us where we are?"

The man blinked, hackles less raised, confusion evident. "Where you--this is Mercay Island. How do you not know that? What, you get clocked by those red spandex wearing freakshows too?"

Abel immediately stiffened. "The Yiga were here?!"

"The who?" the man bounced back, looking even more confused as the wind whipped through his dark brown hair.

"It's a group of demon worshippers," Rusl explained. "They've taken our sons. We're tracking them. Where did you see them?"

The man's face flushed, eyebrows coming together in outrage. "They took someone of mine as well! And he's my best crewmate! Well, he's my only crewmate, but that isn't the point! I came here in search of a new ship to track them down since they--they sunk--"

Here the man sniffled, glancing away in seeming anguish at the lost of his boat.

"I'm sorry about your ship," Rusl said appeasingly. "But perhaps we can help each other."

The man hummed, crossing his arms and squinting at them as if he were debating the matter.

Abel started to grow impatient. "Do you want to find your crewmate or not?"

"Don't get short with me!" the man snapped. "I am Linebeck, captain of the seas, and I know this place better than anyone, especially you guys. I'm your only chance to find those freaks, so you're going to take orders from me now!"

The Fierce Deity picked the greasy looking man by the back of his coat, bringing him to eye level. The man, in turn, squealed, flailing his arms and legs in a desperate maneuver to get out of the hold, yelling, "LET ME GO, YOU BEACHED WHALE!"

Abel glanced at the deity, tempted to tell him to toss the man into the sea, but if he truly had seen the Yiga, then they unfortunately needed his help. Rusl just sighed, seeming to grow a little tired of being the sole negotiator of the group.

"How do you propose we find the Yiga if your ship has been damaged?" Fierce asked, silencing the man's squeals. "If I retrieve it, will you be able to repair it expediently?"

"Retrieve--it's sinking into the sea, you small brained land mass!"

Abel did have to almost laugh at that one. Rusl looked unimpressed by the man's impolite demeanor, but at least his insults were entertaining. Nevertheless, they needed to move.

Fierce seemed to sense Abel's impatience and Rusl's disapproval, casually tossing the sailor aside as he walked up to the mast. The man spluttered, shakily trying to get to his feet before promptly falling back on to his backside as he watched the deity singlehandedly start to pull the ship out of the water with a firm grasp at its mast. Abel heard the wood start to give, though, not tolerating the force it took to fight the water crushing the rest of the ship, and he put a hand on Fierce's shoulder. "Let it go. We'll have to find another way."

Rusl turned to Linebeck. "We'll work with you, friend, but not for you. Understood?"

Linebeck gulped, still trying to process what he just saw, and then he huffed, rising. "F-fine. Whatever. But I'm still in charge."

Abel felt his eyebrows pinch together. "That's not--"

"Let's go!" Linebeck announced, twirling around and marching towards the island. "I know just the ship we can acquire."

The three trudged behind him somewhat reluctantly. Abel bristled at being given orders from someone like this, but he kept his mouth shut for now. Instead, it was the sea captain who spoke first.

"So... what are all your names?" he asked as he continued to stride ahead.

The Ordonian answered first. "I'm Rusl. This is Abel, and Fierce."

"Fierce?" Linebeck repeated, glancing back at him. "Weird name."

"It is my title," Fierce clarified.

"Title? Who calls you Fierce? Fierce what, Fierce Breaker of Personal Boundaries?"

This man talked entirely too much.

"What's the plan?" Abel asked before the conversation could continue.

"That ship," Linebeck said, pointing towards a relatively large ship sitting in the harbor. "We can use that to track those scum."

"If you already had another ship, why were you perturbed at the loss of your other one?" Fierce questioned.

"It's not his," Abel surmised quickly.

Rusl smiled, rolling his shoulders. "All right, then. Who owns it?"

Abel glanced over at the Ordonian, a little baffled. He still hadn't entirely wrapped his head around what kind of work this man did - he was the most polite and kind of the group, easy with people, yet he condoned stealing in a heartbeat.

Not that Abel wouldn't steal if he had to, but... he had to. Rusl was... he didn't know. This just certainly was not the first time the man had done it, that was for sure.

And clearly, this sailor was more akin to a pirate.

Sighing heavily, Abel listened as Linebeck prattled on about some women "who won't be a problem," and the three men started moving steadily towards the boat.

Surprisingly, it only seemed to have two women aboard - Linebeck claimed that the rest of the crew was at the market. That at least made things simpler.

The four moved quickly. Rusl crouched low, leading the way and pulling out a dagger he hid in his belt. Despite being quite the swordsman, Abel had observed that Rusl often resorted to a dagger in close combat, and the more he saw it, the more he questioned the blacksmith's occupation. Fierce, on the other hand, left his hands open, likely not wanting to use his powerful blade on a couple women guarding a ship. Linebeck was also unarmed, curiously.

Sighing, Abel unsheathed his sword. He caught up to Rusl, and the two rushed up the gangway, picking a target and quickly overpowering them. Rusl never unsheathed his dagger, only using its small hilt to smack the woman across the temple, knocing her unconscious and covering her mouth as she fell. Her companion caught sight of him before Abel could get to her, yelling, but Abel easily tossed her overboard while Rusl pushed the other down the ramp.

Fierce walked aboard next, glancing around, while Linebeck sauntered aboard. The pirate's face was tight, as if he hadn't quite expected the ferocity the men had displayed, but he tried to cover it with a quick little, "Well done. Now we can depart."

"Not yet," Fierce said quietly, his voice in that low tone he used when stalking prey. Abel immediately went alert, whirling to find what he was looking at, when--

"Intruders!!"

Turning sharply, Abel saw a woman pointing from a door leading below deck. Within an instant, at least ten other women appeared, all armed and snarling.

"You said they were in the market!" Abel yelled as he readied for a fight.

Linebeck didn't reply, seemingly vanishing into thin air, and Abel only caught sight of his blue tailcoats slipping under a barrel.

"Did--did he just--"

"Not now!" Rusl snapped as their enemies charged on them.

Abel focused quickly, dodging a strike from a nearby fighter before parrying her blade and kicking her away to create some distance. Thankfully, he still had at least one functional shield left, and he quickly used it to block a jab from another enemy. Before he could retaliate, the two women were swept away by a... screaming woman?

Abel glanced to his right to see Fierce holding one of the fighters by her wrist and using her as a weapon to ram into the others. At his questioning glance, the deity explained, "The little hero usually does not approve of killing mortals. If these women prove problematic, I'll eliminate them, but for now--"

"Behind you!" Abel interrupted, pointing as another fighter tried to leap off the rail of the deck and stab Fierce in the head. The deity swatted her like a fly, and she rammed into the opposite end of the ship.

"Jolene!" some of the others shouted. Abel immediately perked up at the reaction - clearly this woman was important, maybe even the leader.

"Toss her off!" Abel ordered the deity, moving to intercept a few other enemies. He glanced to his left to check on Rusl and found the Ordonian starting to accumulate a pile of enemies who were on the ground writhing or motionless.

The former knight felt a swell of pride for his friend before looking back to see Fierce easily throwing the leader off the ship. As predicted, the others followed to check on her, leaving the men in peace temporarily. Abel put his sword and shield away to pull out his bow and arrows while Rusl pulled the gangway up to prevent them from returning. Moving to the edge of the ship, Abel nocked the arrow, aiming for a second before letting it fly. It sank into the woman's shoulder, making her scream in pain.

He nocked another arrow.

"Abel," Rusl interrupted, putting a hand on his shoulder. "The fight is over."

Abel continued to stare at his target. Killing her would put the rest of her crew into chaos. It would prevent them from following them.

Rusl's hand tightened a little, reassuring but firm. "Abel."

Sighing, Abel slowly lowered the bow and arrow. His focus was interrupted as he heard splashing, glancing over to see Fierce throwing the bodies overboard.

There was a scrape of wood on wood, catching the men's attention, and they all drew their weapons to see--

Linebeck, peeking out from under the barrel. "Oh, are they all gone?"

I'm going to kill him. Abel marched forward, eyes alight with rage, when he was held back by Fierce, who pinched the back of his tunic to prevent him from moving ahead. He turned to snap at the deity, but his words were quickly overrun by the pirate, who dusted himself off and continued, "Well done, then! We're ready to set sail! I'll man the helm."

As he moved forward on the deck, he scurried all of a sudden, filled with seemingly feral energy, and stood on his tiptoes at the railing, shouting, "THAT'S FOR ALMOST BLOWING UP MY SHIP TWO WEEKS AGO, JOLENE!"

Before anyone could comment, he rushed to set sail as if his life depended on it, guiding the ship out to sea.

Abel blew out a frustrated breath, and he felt Fierce release him. He kicked the barrel under which the pirate had been hiding, taking little satisfaction from it but having to get his anger out somehow.

Rusl took a moment to calm himself as well, though far less noticeably, before he walked over to the wheel. "So where are we going?"

"Bannan Island," Linebeck answered, eyes on the horizon. "That was the direction they went, towards the north sea. They also claimed to be going to a Banana Island, so I think they heard the place's name wrong."

Banana Island. Goddess. Sometimes Abel was almost embarrassed that these were his enemies. Though it simply proved that sheer numbers could cause enough of a threat, despite how idiotic they were.

There was silence for a while as Marcay Island grew steadily smaller. The adrenaline of the fight wore off, and Abel slowly slid to the ground, feeling his stomach grow steadily more upset at the tossing of the waves.

"Who are these people, anyway?" Linebeck eventually asked, glancing at Rusl. "What do they want?"

"They essentially want to see the world burn," Rusl answered, crossing his arms. "Somehow that involves taking our sons hostage."

Linebeck pursed his lips, debating some issue, and sighed. "Well, that's rotten luck. Good thing you have me."

"Oh yes," Abel huffed. "Where would we be without you?"

Linebeck didn't seem to catch his quip, or if he did, his rebuttal was interrupted by Fierce asking, "Why did they take your crewmate?"

Linebeck's face soured, and he glared ahead of him at nothing in particular. "Whatever the reason, Link can probably get himself of out of it. But... I need a crew. So I'm finding the kid."

Link?!

No. Surely not. There was no way this disgrace of a man had a Hero in his crew, and--

Oh goddess he did, didn't he? That would be why the Yiga targeted him.

"Our boys are named Link too," Rusl said, eyes widening a little as he came to the same conclusion. "Heroes of Hyrule, spread across time. I think they must be targeting them because they know they'd stop them otherwise."

"Heroes? Hyrule?" Linebeck repeated, staring at him. "My kid isn't a--I mean, he's--look, he's my crew, and... he's a good kid, but..."

The pirate bit his lip, staring at the wheel a moment, still and silent. Worry etched every feature before he shook his head.

"The Yiga will perish," Fierce assured him. "We'll find your child."

Linebeck flushed. "H-he's not my child!!"

"Right," Rusl chuckled, patting the man on the back.

Abel sighed, ignoring the pirate temporarily and looking at at sea. The horizon bounced up and down along with the ship, giving him a headache, and he closed his eyes. He wondered if they'd actually have any luck this time - all they'd found were scraps of information and cold leads. This attack seemed fairly fresh, so hopefully they could make it in time.

Ugh. Closing his eyes made the seasickness worse.

Thunder rumbled, catching Abel's attention, and he hastily opened his eyes to see dark clouds ahead. "Uh..."

"Are we going to sail through the storm?" Fierce questioned, staring at the abysmal weather.

"No sailor goes through a storm on purpose," Linebeck immediately said. "That's just suicide. Lucky for you, I'm an excellent sailor. We'll skirt around it - I don't want to lose too much time."

At least Abel could agree with the man on that. But still... even he, someone who did not navigate the ocean, knew not to get near a storm out in the open sea. "Are we sure about this? We should probably try to avoid it altogether."

"And give those sea vipers time to get away?" Linebeck growled, glaring at the clouds. "Ha! I, Linebeck, master of the seas, can handle this just fine! I'm getting my crew back, blast it!"

Well... he couldn't fault him for his determination, at least. But still... Abel sighed, hugging the wooden support rung under the railing, lightly bouncing his forehead against it. "We're going to die."

Abel's relatively mild quip felt more and more like a promise the closer they got. The winds picked up, the sea turning a sickly green, and Abel nearly threw up with how much they were being tossed around. Rusl nearly flew across the ship as one wave almost overturned them, and Fierce had to grab him by his shirt to save him. The three men clung to the rail desperately, occasionally getting beaten by walls of water spilling overtop them.

Abel looked to the helm worriedly, feeling completely out of control and petrified, only to see Linebeck standing firmly, holding the wheel with a steel grip. He glared defiantly at the sea, almost daring it to try its worst, confident and firm in his stance.

At the sight, the former knight had to admit he felt almost a little reassured.

Another wave crashed into them, and Abel watched Linebeck release the wheel a moment, letting it turn sharply, guiding the ship to ride with the wave. Then he grasped it, guiding the mast with gritted teeth as he fought against the whipping winds. Fierce pulled Abel close, shielding both him and Rusl with an iron grip to the railing so the waves wouldn't knock them off.

Honestly, with the way they were getting tossed, Abel would be surprised if they didn't capsize. He clung desperately to both the rail and the Fierce Deity, feeling the mythical being's strong arm pressing him and Rusl closer together. Rusl and Abel exchanged a look, some kind of finality or certainty in each other's eyes as they nearly flew over another wave, facing it head on.

They still had to find their boys. Abel had to get back to Tilieth. He'd survived a damn apocalypse, he wasn't letting this be what killed him.

Glancing up at the pirate again, Abel saw the same fierce determination on his face. It was a promise, and despite how Abel's entire world was trying to kill him, he took comfort in it.

Abel closed his eyes, his forehead touching Fierce's sleeve, his hand brushing against Rusl's as they both held on to the deity for dear life, shivering and trusting and letting go.

Hylia... I leave this up to you. Don't let me down.

He lost track of time. All he heard was the crashing of waves, like claps of thunder, roaring in his ears, making his heart pound. But slowly, surely, the boat jostled them less, the wind didn't howl as it had, and the ship rocked and bounced up and down like a hammock instead of feeling like an earthquake.

Abel opened his eyes, dripping wet, tasting salt and bile, and saw sunlight.

Linebeck smiled down at them, hands on his hips, looking triumphant. "Told you I was the best."

Rusl barked out a laugh, slowly rising while Abel continued to shiver in Fierce's hold. "Well, I'm certainly impressed."

"Are you alright?" Fierce whispered softly, his arm shifting to rest his hand on Abel's back.

Hesitantly, Abel rose, testing his legs, though his knees certainly felt like they could give out at any moment.

It was official. He despised sailing.

But he could recognize and admire skill when he saw it. "Well done, Linebeck."

The pirate beamed, postiively preening at the praise, and Abel found he couldn't hold himself together any longer, leaning over the rail and vomiting.

Linebeck cackled quietly, heading back to his original spot. "Well, it isn't for everyone, I guess. But I promise the rest of the way is less rough."

Rusl helped Abel sink back to the floor while Fierce grabbed some water at the Ordonian's request.

"You good?" Rusl asked. He was shivering too, just as soaked to the bone as Abel, but he seemed far better put together.

"Nothing fazes you, does it?" Abel asked hoarsely, somewhat annoyed and jealous.

Rusl smirked. "We all have our strengths. You're certainly a better fighter than me."

If you say so. Abel pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a little less nauseous, and accepted the water Fierce offered him.

The sun slowly dried everyone off as they continued to make their way to their destination. Eventually, Rusl, being the talkative man that he was, starting gently interrogating their captain while Abel leaned against Fierce with his eyes closed. The deity didn't mind, letting himself be a pillow, but Abel could hear fabric shift as he turned to listen in to the other two.

"How did Link become part of your crew?"

"Well, I was hunting treasure," Linebeck explained. "Link wanted to find the ship I was looking for. His friend, uh, needed some help. So we worked together. I figured the kid worked so well it only made sense that he stick around. He..."

Here the pirate paused, and Abel looked over at him. His eyes were cast downward, and though shadows pulled at the dark circles under his eyes, he had a gentle smile on his face.

"He's a good kid."

Fierce sighed quietly, barely audible over the breeze. "I must figure out why these Yiga are after our children."

Linebeck grew flustered. "I said he wasn't my kid!! Look, he's just a useful member of the crew, okay? Honestly, I'm not that soft!"

Fierce blinked, the slightest crinkle to his nose, a dead giveaway that he was bemused. "You speak of love and affection as if they are weaknesses."

"Wha--I--this is silly, I am a pirate, and--"

"And?" Rusl prompted, eyebrows raised, a mischievous, gentle smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. Fierce may not have understood the man's blustering, but Rusl clearly was just trying to mess with him now, seeing right through his bravado.

Personally, Abel was just a little exasperated by it. Men who pretended they were "tough" and nothing affected them all the time simply to show off annoyed him. He used to maintain a calm façade not because he was trying to prove a point, but because the last thing people needed was to see someone in charge panicking. This was different. This wasn't a way to keep others feeling safe and secure, this wasn't a means of protecting others, this was a pitiful attempt for Linebeck to protect himself.

Perhaps it wouldn't annoy him so much if he didn't suspect the man behaved this way in front of his kid too. He could act a fool to others, but if he denied his affection for his boy right in front of him, Abel did not approve of that.

But he didn't have to say anything. Fierce's innocent confusion would tear down his argument well enough.

Linebeck huffed, looking like he was scrambling for an argument, but Abel had to interrupt it when he caught sight of something. "Is that land?"

Everyone turned to look, seeing a small splotch of yellow and black andd green, and Linebeck laughed triumphantly. "There it is! Land ho! I told you I would get us there in record time! Now hold on, you sorry land slugs, we're coming in fast!"

He was true to his word as it seemed to take little time to reach their destination. For once, it was blessedly easy to find their target - a large ship with the Yiga symbol on its mast, painted sloppily as if it had just been done, was at the port. Linebeck worked to slow their approach, when Abel instead insisted, "Don't slow us down, just ram it - we'll take care of the rest!"

"There's a cannon on this ship," Rusl noted.

"We can't risk hurting the boys if they're aboard," Abel argued, shaking his head. "Just damage it enough to stop them from escaping, and we can board."

Linebeck nodded. "Just so you know... it's uh, all up to you once we get there. I'm a fantastic fighter, but I'm afraid my sword is on my own ship."

Rusl and Abel both stared at him dully. "Right."

The men prepared themselves, weapons at the ready. Fierce pulled out his double helix blade, making Linebeck's eyes double in size. "Geez, overkill much? Get ready, we'll hit them on the port side."

"The--the what side?"

"Port, on the port--ugh, on your left!!"

The three moved, and Linebeck snapped, "Your other left!! Left from facing the bow!"

Abel sighed heavily, positioning himself and bracing for impact alongside the other two. As the Yiga ship grew closer at an admittedly unnerving rate, he prepared to jump.

Their boat slammed the Yiga ship, impaling its hull slightly and causing it to rock so severely that they could hear some of the enemies screaming and falling into the sea.

Linebeck roared in satisfaction. "HAHA, TAKE THAT YOU BRAINLESS JELLYFISH!"

Abel let the momentum of the movement carry him, Rusl, and Fierce across as they leapt with the contact. The Yiga boat was still nearly on its side when they landed, causing them to slip a little, but Abel recovered quickly, decapitating the first Yiga in sight before moving on to the next. The team moved quickly, with Fierce taking out swathes of the enemy in one fell swoop while Rusl tore ahead. Abel scoured the area for signs of a leader, entering the underbelly of the ship as well.

When he reached the brig, he froze, breath stolen from his lungs. There was another gate there, its bright kaleidoscope dizzyingly swirling, and two Yiga stood before it, holding an unconscious boy.

Oh hell no! Charging ahead, Abel stabbed one Yiga quickly, kicking the other off the child before finishing him off. Rusl hastened in shortly thereafter, wiping blood of his sword.

"Anyone else?" Abel asked as he knelt down to check on the child.

Rusl shook his head, cheeks flushed, eyes aflame. He held up a booklet. "Found a journal log, though. Might be able to help us."

At this point, Abel honestly wasn't surprised, just exasperated. He supposed the Yiga's main purpose in being here was to take this boy. Theirs were still at large.

At least they'd spared this boy the same fate.

Fierce entered last. "The enemy has been eliminated."

Abel sighed, looking down. The boy in front of him was young, not even a teenager from the looks of it, though he was likely close. His hair was thick and wispy, golden as the sands and thick with mositure and sea salt. He wore a green tunic and undershirt, paired with white trousers.

"Link!"

Catching the men's attention, Linebeck rushed into the room, kneeling down beside the boy. His hands hovered over him hesitantly, face paling at the abrasions on the boy's face. At first his concern was genuine, but his eyes shifted to the dead Yiga around him and suddenly he looked woozy.

Abel fought the urge to roll his eyes. He motioned with his head to Fierce, who quietly removed the bodies. With the distraction gone, the pirate returned his attention to the child, considerably less pale but still oh so hesitant and gentle with Link.

The boy stirred, squeezing his eyes before slowly blinking them open. Abel could see the immediate sparkle of relief as the boy registered seeing Linebeck, and the former knight smiled a little.

Linebeck smiled in return, hands finally settling on the child, patting hsi cheek and helping him sit up. His grip settled on the boy's shoulders, and he took a steadying breath.

And then he started shaking him like a rag doll.

"You stupid sea monkey, what were you thinking do you have any idea how much trouble I had to go through just to get to you, they sank my ship, now we have to get a new one--!"

The other men stared, a little caught off guard, and then Rusl gently pointed out, "Easy, you're going to give the kid whiplash."

Linebeck paused, glancing at them, leaving Link nearly limp in his grip, eyes dazed and clearly dizzy. The pirate huffed, pulling the boy to his feet, and Link stumbled around a few paces before nearly collapsing against him.

Sighing, Linebeck settled an arm around the child to keep him from falling over, letting him lean against him. "Well. The job's done, at least. But... didn't you say your boys were missing too?"

Rusl smirked. "Ah, so he is your boy?"

Linebeck jumped, eyes widening. "W-wha--no, I--you're dodging the question!"

Rusl waved the booklet in response. "I'm sure this log will have valuable information for us. But you and your son should get out of here. We'll make sure the Yiga can't come back."

Linebeck was practically inflating with hot air to rebuke Rusl's claims about him and Link, but he instead stormed out. "Honestly, I rescue you ungrateful sea barnacles and you mock me. I'm leaving."

"You forgot your kid," Abel noted dully as the boy shook his head and steadied himself.

"Link, let's go, what are you waiting for!" Linebeck called from above deck.

Abel put a steadying hand on the boy's shoulder while Rusl smiled warmly at him. "Better get going, son."

The boy looked between them, adn then the Fierce Deity, and then he nodded, saying softly, "Thank you. Thank you for taking care Linebeck."

With that, the kid ran outside, and Rusl laughed. Abel had to chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all.

"Let's get through this gate and seal it," Abel suggested. "We can read the journal after we get out of here. The less likely they can come back, the better."

Fierce's reply was cut off by voices from above.

"Linebeck, look! It's Jolene's ship!"

"Of course it is, I stole it!"

"But then why is your ship over there?"

"What?! My ship was--that's my ship!"

"Oh! I think I see Jolene on it!"

"She fixed my ship? SHE STOLE MY SHIP??"

Rusl and Abel exchanged a look, and then they both snickered.

Fierce glanced hesitantly above deck, but Abel shook his head. "Leave him to his fate. Clearly this is not their first encounter, and they've managed without us. We should go."

With that, the three men strode forward, preparing for another adventure.

[leonardalphachurch]

@redvsbluesecretsanta for @eyeaball!

they asked for something with donut, or with kai and caboose being friends, so i kinda melded those together into this, and then the rest of blue team wanted to participate…

the formatting for this was done using @sabotourist's chatlog formatting code! ty again so much raven for helping with troubleshooting! i know usually i like to put my writing both on here and on ao3 so ppl can choose where to read it but bc of the formatting this can only be read on ao3.

[cuz-reasons]

Summary: Emmet visits his brother's grave.

Guess what time it is!

[after-nine-at-the-oasis]

the needle gathering dust

hi! this is my gift for @swiftiefirefighters as part of the @buddietommydaily gift exchange :)! I had fun with this silly idea - and it kind of got away from me. Sorry to drag it on, but there will be a second (hopefully not a third) chapter in a few days lol. Tommy wanted to keep running into his loves instead of moving the plot forward, so here we are lol.

I hope you enjoy!

(title from Blues for Almost Forgotten Music by Roxane Beth Johnson)

~

“Agent 21! It’s been too long.”

Tommy sighed. Not again.

Sure enough, when he turned around, there stood Agent 115 and Agent 105. Matching suits, matching “hidden” guns, and matching cocky grins. Tommy was waiting for the day Agent 105 came in with scar matching Agent 115’s. Agent 115, who had spoken, had a key in his hand – that must’ve been how they got into the room. Tommy had double checked that the door was locked, but it didn’t matter when your opponents had keys.

“15, 05,” he responded dryly. “It’s been two weeks.”

Agent 115 looked deeply offended.

“He can’t even say the first digit,” he said mournfully. “Our poor ‘1’s.”

Agent 105 nodded, then added: “And two weeks is a long time for us.”

Tommy sighed again. They were almost always on the same missions as him, somehow. Half the time it didn’t even seem like something the A.A.H. would be interested in, given that they mainly focused on information over technology. Yet here they were.

“Listen, I’m just trying to do my job,” Tommy said, not able to stop the exasperation from bleeding into his voice. “All I need is the crystal.”

Agent 115 grimaced and Agent 105 sucked in a breath.

“Unfortunately,” said the former. “That’s what we’re here for, too.” 

Agent 105 nodded.

“We could always team up to get it,” continued Agent 115, a hopeful smile on his face.

Tommy blinked.

“There’s one crystal.”

“He’s got a point,” Agent 105 said quietly. Tommy started edging towards the other door as they whispered a few things to each other. They were like an old married couple – half the time, Tommy wondered if they were one. But hey – if it distracted them, it was all the better for him. Just a few more feet. . .

A shot sounded, and a metallic bang. Tommy dropped to the ground automatically, but no other shots came. He looked back at the door, only to see the handle blown off to who knows where. He growled in frustration as he turned his gaze back to the agents.

“Sorry, 21,” Agent 105 said, and he almost sounded regretful. “We can’t let you do that.”

“Seriously?” groused Tommy. These guys couldn’t mind their own business. He rolled to the side and hopped to his feet before tossing a charge at the door, then drew his own gun while waiting for the door. It never paid to be overly trusting with the A.A.H., especially with Agents 115 and 105. They always managed to cause trouble. Within seconds, both of their guns were out as well.

“It seems we’re at an impasse,” Agent 115 joked with a smile. That’s what they thought.

The door blew. A few small pieces of metal went flying, but luckily his aim was true – most of the door was still intact. The other agents stumbled away from the direction of the smoking door, but Tommy jumped towards it, kicking what was left of it in.

“T-” whichever one of them was speaking cut off with a small cough. “Agent 21, wait!”

He considered tossing a teasing reply back at them, but he didn’t have time. He had to get to that crystal before they got their wits about them (and apparently, their lungs – it really wasn’t that much smoke).

Still, a small smirk graced his face.

-

“Agents, what can I do for you?” Tommy asked dryly.

The two men startled just slightly, before whipping around to face him. Smiles lit up their faces – yugh, they were unbearable.

“Agent!” Agent 105 greeted. “We’re just browsing. How are you this fine afternoon?”

“It’s 9 P.M.”

“And?” asked Agent 115.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “I’d be better if you weren’t trying to steal my score, again.”

“There’s no way we didn’t get our assignment first,” Agent 115 argued. “Tw-” Agent 105 elbowed him in the side.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you that,” the former finished. Tommy fought back a smile. If he had to have nemeses, at least they were kind of idiots (and just a little funny, but you’d never catch him admitting that). It certainly helped make up for the annoyance they caused while trying to do his job.

“Step away from the computers,” he said, serious now. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

That wasn’t entirely true; he did want to punch them sometimes, and– well, oddly enough, that was about it. Nothing else. The thought made something deep inside his brain squirm, which was decidedly not comfortable, so he brushed it aside. He couldn’t be distracted while in the field, even just for a split second. He refocused on the agents in front of him. 

And they—they had a look, something between wan and heartbroken. Tommy frowned just slightly.

“We know,” Agent 105 said softly.

What?

But then smiles slid back onto their faces, eyes shuttered, and the moment was gone. That was also decidedly uncomfortable.

“How kind of you,” Agent 115 said cheerily.

“But, we’re just about done here,” Agent 105 completed. “So–”

Tommy drew his gun and shot one of the laptops they had set up. Both A.A.H. Agents jumped and ducked away from the shrapnel.

“Seriously?” complained Agent 115.

“Couldn’t let you get away with everything,” Tommy replied, gun trained on them.

Before anyone else could speak, the other agents’ watches started blinking. They both glanced down (now, now, he could take them out right now), then looked back up at him. There was something in Agent 115’s eyes as Agent 105 started collecting their other equipment.

“Well, looks like our visit’s going to have to be cut short,” 115 said with a fake frown. The smile quickly took over his face again as Agent 105 tapped him on the shoulder, equipment packed up.

Agent 115 nodded to 105, then to Tommy. He grabbed a rope that was laying on the floor, leading to– the window. Of course. The other end was attached to the sill. With a mock salute, he jumped out the window.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Agent 105 said, before following his partner.

Tommy lowered his gun and sighed. That uncomfortable moment was still sitting in his shoulders, tension he hadn’t yet shaken. But he could still get at least some information from this mission. He holstered his gun and started plugging his own devices into the computers, trying to roll out his shoulders as he did.

But somewhere deep in his chest, past the harsh feeling, some part of him couldn’t help but feel comforted.

-

“I just keep running into them on missions,” complained Tommy. “It’s like we have a rivalry that I don’t know about!”

Lucy laughed. “Do you know how many people would kill for a nemesis, let alone two?”

Tommy rolled his eyes and picked at his salad. It was dumb.

Lucy closed the cupboard and turned back to him as she set her plate on the counter. She started dishing herself lasagna as she spoke.

“And look at you. Here you are, complaining about them. They’ve been your rivals for a while now.”

And they. They had—

“Okay, sure,” Tommy acknowledged. “But it still feels like they’re way more invested in it than I am.”

Lucy shrugged, rolling the foil back over the pan.

“I think A.A.H. agents are just extra like that,” she said as she put the lasagna back in the oven.

“Maybe,” he said noncommittally.

“What does A.A.H. even stand for?” asked Melton, entering the kitchen. There was a coffee cup in his hand and a tired look on his face – which made sense, given that Tommy was pretty sure he’d just gotten off of a 24 hour stakeout.

“It doesn’t stand for anything,” Lucy answered, sounding exasperated. Tommy hid a smile. Melton had definitely asked this before (though again: 24 hour stakeout). “It’s a designation number.”

“Ohh, right,” Melton said. A look of understanding lit up his face, and then something more sheepish. “I’ve asked that like, four times, haven’t I?”

“Six,” Tommy cut in as he stabbed a few pieces of lettuce. He ducked the coffee packet that went soaring at him with a laugh.

“In my defense, I’m always the one on stakeouts,” Melton said with mock-offense. Probably.

“Not our fault the boss hates you,” Lucy joked, taking a seat at the edge of the island.

“Hey, I like stakeouts! At least I’m not diffusing bombs all the time. It’s like they want you to blow up,” shot back the other man.

Tommy just watched as the other two bickered, smiling into his salad.

-

Tommy swung his gun to 115.

“There’s no need for us to be stupid about this,” the other man said.

“I’m not the one who said ‘Hey, wouldn’t it be a good idea to call the police?!’” Tommy practically shouted.

“Okay, well– ah, yes. But,” 115 stuttered.

Tommy switched his aim back to 105, and he could see both of their guns shift slightly.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” 115 finished exasperatedly.

“But you did do it.”

“You’re on his side?”

Tommy let them argue for a moment as he tried to figure out a way out of this. They couldn’t have more than 5 minutes before the police got here, and they couldn’t stand here in a stalemate forever. It would take at least 2 of those to even get out of the building, let alone find the ID he was looking for. He growled in frustration.

“You triggered the alarm,” he interrupted, gun swinging back to 115. They stopped arguing to retrain their weapons on him and he rolled his eyes.

“Only because he pushed me,” 115 said. Tommy went back to 105, and they followed him.

“To keep you from hitting your head on the fire extinguisher!” 105 shot back. Tommy switched again. They followed.

“How are any of us supposed to do this now?” Tommy said, and turned his gun back on 105. 115 and 105 turned their guns towards each other.

Tommy blinked.

“Wait,” 115 said.

Tommy started laughing, the stress combining with the absurdity of the situation.

“Okay, okay, stop!” 105 shouted. “We’re not getting anywhere like this. Can we all just put our guns away?”

Still laughing, Tommy clipped his gun back into its holster. He paused, surprised. Not only was he laughing, he actually put his gun down. Just because 105 said so. Hm. He didn’t like that.

Tommy cleared his throat and composed his face again. The other two sighed as they holstered their own weapons.

“Now,” 105 continued. “We have–” he moved to check his watch, but 115 interrupted with “Four”.

“--Four minutes before the police get here,” finished 105.

“Not enough time to get the folder,” 115 added.

“So you’re proposing we. . .” Tommy trailed off. Wait. What? He was sent to get the ID of an employee in this building.

“The folder?” he asked.

Both agents turned to him, confused looks on their faces. “Yeah?” 115 said. It took another second for them to both freeze.

“You’re here for something else?” 105 asked. His face was pale, his eyes were wide.

Tommy shouldn’t have said anything. He could’ve let them believe he was here for whatever the folder was and they wouldn’t suspect anything with the ID. But, it did tell him that they had no idea he was looking for something else. Which meant that the A.A.H. was farther off than they had thought.

“It doesn’t matter. We need to get out of here,” he said brusquely. “No one’s getting what they want.”

115 and 105 were still looking at him as he made sure all of his equipment was secure. There was something in their eyes again.

“What?” Tommy asked gruffly.

There was a moment of silence where they were just staring at each other. The alarm had stopped ringing shortly after 115 triggered it, and without their voices there was nothing but the hum of the air conditioning. No one moved.

Distantly, sirens faded in. Tommy shook himself out of the staring contest, and Agent 105 spoke.

“Nothing,” he said, just softer than a normal speaking volume.

Tommy didn’t have time to figure that out. He turned, offering an annoyed half wave to the other agents, and started running back the way he came. Luckily, they’d gotten in different ways. Their paths collided in that room, but otherwise, they didn’t cross. He could just get out of here. And, luckily, two more lefts and he was.

He skidded around the second to last corner, ready to– camera. It took a few more steps to come to a stop, but by the time he had, his gun was out. Crack. Luckily, his silencer was on, so it was more of a slap than a full volume gun shot. The camera flopped, attached to its body by a straining handful of wires. Tommy didn’t even bother putting his gun away before he started running again. It took him a few tries while running and not looking at it, but he managed to get it clipped back into place as he made the last turn.

Right before his hand was on the fire escape door, another alarm started blaring. It sounded different from the one 115 had triggered (which still had blinking red lights going off along the top of the wall every few yards). Uh oh. Tommy swore he could hear footsteps and yelling, but he was so far from the main entrance it probably wasn’t possible. Ignoring it, he pushed open the fire escape (he’d cut the alarm wires on his way in) and burst out into the sunlight.

-

Lucy kicked the burnt. . . something lightly. Tommy thought it looked like a computer, but he honestly wasn’t sure.

The place was crawling with B.A.G. agents. Floodlights were being set up, items were being bagged, burnt and crushed items were being studied. It was a flurry of activity, but Tommy could still see what happened here.

“This was definitely them,” he said. Lucy looked up from the wreckage in front of her.

“Who?” she asked with a small frown.

“Agent 115 and 105,” Tommy answered, crossing his arms. He nodded towards the pile of burnt items. “I’ve seen them do that.”

Lucy blinked at him. What?

Eventually, she said: “Okay, Mr. Nemesis. I don’t even know how they would’ve done this, though.”

“They have an explosive that reacts to the coolant inside computers,” Tommy supplied immediately.

How did he know that?

Lucy stared at him again.

“How do you know that?” she asked incredulously.

The question of the hour. Had they mentioned it? Had he seen plans for it, even on a mission they weren’t on? He– Tommy had no idea.

He swallowed. “I heard them mention it.”

Lucy snorted as she looked back down at the (presumably electronic) remains.

“Your nemeses have big mouths,” she said.

Yeah, sure. He was pretty sure he was the one with the big mouth.

“They were gloating,” Tommy answered numbly.

“I guess. Still kind of dumb,” the other agent said. She shrugged. “But, it doesn’t matter. It’ll all get tested and we’ll figure it out. We’re B.A.G.”

Maybe it would be better if they didn’t. Then it wouldn’t prove Tommy right.

Tommy nodded, but couldn’t get his vocal cords to work.

Lucy walked away towards a group of lab techs, and Tommy just stared after her.

-

“Can you pass me the blue?”

Tommy smiled. He always used blue, in any craft.

“Here,” he said, just a hint of teasing in his voice. There was a small laugh from behind him, and Evan rolled his eyes.

“You two need to stop ganging up on me,” he said with mock annoyance.

Tommy has to physically restrain himself from making an innuendo as he turns back to his own work. Evan does take the blue, though.

“Never will,” Eddie responds. “You’re stuck with us.”

“Yep,” Tommy confirms, glancing back at Evan. The love in the other man’s eyes nearly takes his breath away. Even through the joking, and even after this long, it still leaves him speechless.

“Good,” Evan says after a moment, a smile on his face.

Tommy woke up to darkness and a beating heart. 

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, like the time he fell out of a second story window. There was a memory, of stark clarity and yet impossible to describe. A dream. Of a—a house, or a kitchen, or maybe just a weird realm of light. And something in his hands. A mix between a paintbrush and a pen, and maybe sandpaper. There was a person to his left, that he couldn’t see, and a person to his right, that was—Lucy, maybe. Or Derrick from accounting, or an A.A.H. agent he met once, or a mix of all three. And his chest was on fire but his hands were freezing. It didn’t make any sense.

But now his chest was tight. His shoulders too. There was sweat on his back, and his legs, and it was too warm and that must’ve been a nightmare, because he now felt terrified. There was a pinprick ache in his temples, like he was grinding his teeth.

And nothing made sense.

[yikesharringrove]

hi i've missed you!

can we do something soft and just cute like going for drives and getting fast food and just talking?

“I’m picking you up,” came the crackling voice from the walkie talkie on the nightstand. “Meet me at the spot in ten. Over.”

“No, you freakazoid,” Steve barely moved from his blanket cocoon, only reaching one arm out to press the button on the side. “I’m asleep.”

“Clearly not. I’m on my way, Shithead. Over and out.”

Steve rolled his eyes, and contemplated going back to sleep for all of five seconds before he sighed, and heaved himself to standing.

Curse Billy for stealing that walkie from Max, for suggesting they stay on their own channel, different than the ones the kids use. Curse Billy for his insomnia and his late night drives. Curse Billy for the way he keeps on hand on Steve’s thigh while they go and always stops at the nearest drive-thru to get Steve a milkshake and wolf down a double cheeseburger (because his dad slapped him and sent him to his room without dinner. Again.)

Steve trudged around the side of his house, crashing through the well-worn path through the sparse trees to the road on the other side.

They both agreed that Billy’s car shouldn’t be spotted outside of Steve’s house, even if they were publicly friends now.

The Camaro was rumbling up the street, and Steve could practically feel the road of the engine shake in his chest before he could even spot the headlights.

Doesn’t matter how many speeding tickets Officer Callahan gives him, Billy’s never gonna be a sensible driver.

He stops in front of Steve, and he grins as Steve joins him in the car, leaning over the center console and burying his left hand in thick, dark brown hair to kiss Steve in a way that steals the breath from his lungs.

“You owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah, Princess. I’ll get you a damn milkshake.”

The car lurched forward, and they flew down the service roads, flipping off the Leaving Hawkins sign as they went past, on their way to a different little town.

A different little slice of life.