#but work was the last place i wanted to be and then the second i get here who walks in but the actual worst person i’ve ever met

[swoo-bats]

Tucker didn't think he'd ever be interacting with one of the Big Bosses. Glimpses of them in the lobby, hallways, other work areas, sure; that's how he got in on the open secret, after all. A few too many times of the Waynes showing up to work with injuries that didn't really coincide with the "skiing accident" or whatever they claimed it to be. But Tucker, familiar with Danny's tendencies to hide his own injuries, knows what to look for.

After getting a little suspicious, Tucker started paying more attention to the Bats. He religiously followed social media posts. Twitter was a hot bed for sightings and Tiktok was great for seeing clips of fights. And after a few weeks of paying close attention to social media and any local celebrity gossip as well as the short sightings at work, Tucker can definitively say that Bruce Wayne is Batman and Tim Drake-Wayne is Red Robin.

Though he had to put in the work, he figured that with observation of the more obvious injuries and work absences over a long period of time, any Wayne Enterprises employee would come to the same conclusion. He just sped up the process a bit in his unrelenting curiosity. It must be an open secret like Danny's identity in Amity Park; people are being polite by not talking about it.

He even confirmed his speculation with his coworkers. At lunch he had casually mentioned to Jamie, a fellow systems engineer, "With what the Waynes get up to, I'm surprised they're actually at work as often as they are."

To which she eagerly replied, "Right?! They're probably so tired all the time. If I did what they did, I'd be calling out super often." She tilted her head back and forth, considering. "Though I don't have the money for that."

Two other coworkers nearby also joined in, commenting on how the Waynes are so rich, it's not really a surprise what shenanigans they get up to. Tucker nodded along, excited now that his suspicions were basically confirmed.

So when he had heard two guys in the alley outside of his apartment talking about a big drug shipment (do people really think no one will hear them if they talk in echoey alleys?), he figured he could pass it on to the Bats. Just slip a post-it into a file that's getting sent up to their office, no problem.

Safe to say, Tucker was not expecting to be called up to talk with them. Did they want more information about the drug shipment? He already wrote down everything he knew! Or... oh no, he hopes that they don't think he's involved with those guys. He walks out of the elevator, hoping he looks like a normal employee and isn't giving off, like, criminal vibes or whatever. He knows he's not guilty of anything, that this is definitely one of those scenarios like "oh shit, what if I accidentally brought a gun to the airport?" where the anxiety obviously doesn't come from any rational place. But he is still excited to meet them for real. They're heroes! The only other hero Tucker has ever met is Danny and he doesn't really count.

He makes his way to the secretary at the desk in front of the office doors and says that he was asked to come up to talk. They confirm his name with his employee ID and let him through.

The first thing Tucker notices is that the office is way less cool than he thought it'd be. It's a little bland, honestly. He wasn't expecting, like, a Batman costume to just be displayed in the room, but typical office gray is what meets his eyes.

The second thing he notices is that Tim Drake-Wayne is the only other one in the room. Tucker guesses that makes sense, he heard Batman got a nasty hit over the head last night, so he's probably taking care of his concussion or head wound or whatever.

Tim gestures for him to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Tucker does. It isn't a comfortable chair.

"So Mr. Foley, I was wondering if you could explain why you passed on a note involving a drug deal to me."

"Well, sir, I figured this was the most direct way I had to pass on some information to the Bats. I don't know anything more than what I wrote on there, though."

Tim's expression turns confused. "Why would you think I have a method of communication with the Bats?"

Tucker's own face becomes confused. Are they still pretending they both don't know that the other knows? "Why wouldn't you?"

Tim blinks. "Although they may have... saved me... from kidnappings a couple of times," he says very reluctantly, "I definitely do not have direct contact with the Bats. I suggest you find another way to contact them." He finishes, pushing the note towards Tucker.

Mind running, Tucker picks up his note. Why keep denying it? Unless he thinks that Tucker's gonna tell someone? But it's already an open secret in the building, so why worry about that? Maybe he doesn't want any rogues going after WE employees and targeting them since they know the Bats' identities? But how would the rogues find out what the employees know? Everyone is pretending they don't know, since it's an open secret and everything...

Understanding dawns on Tucker's face. Plausible deniability! If Tim confirms his identity to Tucker, who knows who Tucker could tell. If the Waynes never outright confirm it then they can decry anyone who blabs as making it up. Tucker nods.

"Ah, I see, sir. I'll definitely make sure to pass it on correctly this time." Tucker puts the note in a pocket of his slacks. When he looks back up, Tim looks skeptical. "Anything else you need to discuss?"

"You didn't answer my earlier question. Why did you think I had a way to communicate with the Bats?"

Tucker runs a few answers through his mind and picks the least plausible one. "I've never seen you or Mr. Wayne in the same place as the Bats."

Tim's expression turns bewildered and Tucker holds back a laugh. This guy is a pretty good actor, though Tucker's answer was pretty funny too. Too bad "the butts match" isn't a joke he can make in a work setting.

"I'm sure you haven't seen most people together with the Bats though? Why us?" Tim questions.

For a moment Tucker wonders why Tim's dragging the explanation out, but he knows this building is full of security cameras and whatnot. One of Batman's enemies might be like Technus and be able to get to this footage.

'Wow, he's thorough,' he thinks.

Tucker shrugs, "Celebrities are more interesting to gossip and form theories around." He pauses and scrambles to add, "Not that I'm gossiping about you and Mr. Wayne or anything! I just mean in general, celebrities have to deal with more gossip because they're assumed to be more interesting than average people."

He watches Tim's face until it eases into something more neutral. Tucker really hopes he didn't just talk himself out of his job.

"Ah. I see. That's all then, you can go."

Tucker sighs in relief. "Thank you, sir." He stands and takes his leave. In the elevator back to his floor Tucker wonders if he should actually send the note again or if that's redundant since he knows they already got it.

Well, he may as well look for an alternate method of communication in case something like this happens again.

---

Tim watches Tucker Foley exit his office and his racing mind is full of questions about the man. He was definitely lying about the "same room" excuse, there's no way he would be working in system engineering if that was the extent of his logical reasoning ability. Tim wants to know what actually made him suspicious to Foley, why he thought that Tim could easily communicate with the Bats.

The preliminary research paints a picture of a man wanting to get out of his hometown and live in the big city. His hometown is a city itself, so he was probably looking for something new and exciting. And nothing screams exciting like Gotham.

The interesting part of this research is that Amity Park's main tourist attraction is their supposed haunted city and ghost hero. Who fights other ghosts. Tim rolls his eyes at the obvious gimmick. But more research proves the hero to be real, whether he's a ghost remains to be seen. Though it seems like the city's opinion was the complete opposite when the hero first appeared, lumping him in with the other "ghosts." That early information is hard to find, just sparse blog posts about "Phantom" and the occasional facebook post made by complaining residents. In fact, all of their digital newspapers only seem to go back a few years. If it was only a couple papers it wouldn't be weird, but all of them have nothing earlier than five years ago.

No wait, he needs to focus on Foley. Find out what he thinks he knows. And he can't have the other Bats look into him either because then Foley will know for sure that Tim is connected to them. So a trawl through his digital footprint it is, then.

He can't get through the security.

Tim is frustrated, at home on his own computer trying to access Foley's tech and nothing he's doing is working. If Foley did this himself then Tim is glad he's working for WE because he is having difficulties getting through the security. He scowls at the screen.

As Red Robin he's on par with Oracle with their tech knowledge. So there's no reason why he can't do this. He just needs to persevere.

Two hours later finds Tim angrily looking for more information on Amity Park. Is it secretly a tech haven? Could it rival Silicon Valley for their advancements in cybersecurity? He finds a few engineers located in the city but none of them are listed as cybersecurity or any related fields. One listing has him pausing when he sees "ecto-tech engineers" next to a name. The Fentons. What the hell is ecto-tech?

The Fentons' website is cringe-inducing, but he scans through their bright-colored pages and comes away not knowing whether or not this technology could be used to amp up someone's cybersecurity. Though it definitely could amp up someone's building security, given that you were trying to secure it from ghosts. Tim sighs.

Are these even real engineers? This has to be part of the city's ghost tourism attraction, right? But on the Fentons' About page, they do list degrees from the University of Wisconsin in... ectobiology? Tim wants to slam his head against his desk. What the hell is up with this city?

Tucker gets a job at Wayne Enterprises, and instantly clocks Bruce and Tim and Batman and Red Robin (and thus by extension figures out the rest of the family).

But since he figured it out so easily, he assumes it’s an open secret that everyone knows but keeps on the down-low for privacy and whatnot. After all, that’s what Danny’s identity had been like by the time they all graduated. Basically everyone in town knew unless the feds were asking. Because those white-suited government bastards can Fuck Right Off.

And thus, when he later finds an important potential lead on something, he doesn’t think much of just… handing it off to them to deal with. Yeah, he’s temporarily breaking the illusion, but it’s not that big of a deal.

Needless to say, Tim vehemently disagrees with that assessment, and is now deeply invested in finding out what the hell is up with his employee and his weirdly secretive hometown.

[little-miss-apple]

jealous hard hot steamy rough sex??? 😫😫😫😫

((oh hell yeah! obvious CW// for jealous and rough sex. probably lots of mistakes bc it's almost 4am and I did not reread to check so bear with me.. also did not do the fancy coloured words for now bc its a pain in the butt... also this takes place at a time where they are aware of their own and eachothers feelings but arent "exclusive" yet, just to clarify))

It is no secret that you love getting a rise out of Caleb. It's not often that you get to see his carefully curated persona crack. Even when he's upset, he's not one to raise his voice against you.

But today you did it. You made him loose his temper. And now he's dragging you back home by your wrist, refusing to let you go.

It had started a few days ago when ran into an old college friend in Skyhaven. Jeremy and you couldn't hang out that often back then due to conflicting schedules, but now he had a few days of work and you were taking a holiday in Skyhaven anyway.

Jeremy had always been a bit wilder than most, enjoying parties every week, getting drunk on school nights and violating campus rules from time to time. Nothing changed, Jeremy was still the same guy he was back then, just with a big boy job now.

Caleb felt a bit off when he first met him, maybe it was his possible bad influence or maybe how comfortable he was touching you right in front of him. But you seemed to allow it and he didn't want to start a fight with a stranger in front of you.

His annoyance kept growing everytime you got a message and would giggle, engrossed in the conversation on your phone.

"who's that, pipsqueak?"

"oh.. just Jeremy!"

"what did he say?"

"nothing.. nothing..." you'd dismiss him, still giggling.

His emotions boiled over when he came home late at night one day, finding nothing but a note on the kitchen table.

'out with Jeremy, will be back by 12am :)'

It was already well past 2 A.M. and you weren't picking up your phone. Frustrated he opens his tracking app as a last resort. He had told himself not to use it unless it was absolutely necessary, but right now felt more than necessary.

He is still in uniform when he stalks into the club. Some people give him weird looks, but he can't be bothered to care. All he cares about is finding you and getting you out of here.

Thankful for his convenient height, he looks over people's heads until he finds you on the dance floor, Jeremy's body practically glued to yours as you dance under the flickering neon lights.

Suddenly you're snatched away by your arm. Dragged outside the club by a familiar figure. The bouncers, who Caleb had threatened earlier when they didn't want to let him in initially, shamefully look away, tails between their legs.

"Get in." are the first words he speaks the second you get to the car. There is no room for discussion as he basically forces you into the car with the use of his evol before making his way over to the drivers side.

He doesn't say a word as he starts the car and speeds off. Luckily the roads are empty because even you feel a bit nervous at his current speed, but deep down you know he would never put you in danger.

The ride home is quiet, a thick and obvious tension in the air and even if you're a little tipsy, you know now isn't the time to start a fight.

When you arrive at his apartment, he doesn't waste time. And now he's dragging you back home by your wrist, refusing to let you go.

"you're being too rough..." you mutter once inside. He looks at you with angered, darkened eyes, brows furrowed. Yet he let's out a sigh and loosens his grip. He doesn't want to hurt you, he can't.

"Don't go out with him again. Matter of fact, give me you phone. I will block him for you."

"what? no... i don't wanna."

"He is clearly a bad influence, you can't hang out with him again!"

"You don't get to choose that for me, Caleb!" you argue back.

He let's out a deep sigh, closing his eyes as he tries to suppress his emotions by himself, not wanting that damned chip to take over.

He steadies himself, his tone calmer and more composed.

"He was all over you, he was touching you in ways he shouldn't, I don't want you to see him again."

"...or what?"

That's it. You've done it now.

Before you even realise what has happened, you are slung over his shoulder as he stalks into his room and throws you on his bed, hoping you don't notice the way he softens your landing with his evol.

"Your safe word is apple. I don't plan on being soft or gentle, so use it when you need it." he says as he practically rips of his uniform until he's wearing nothing but his pants.

He reaches down, untying the ribbons of your lace up heels as he mutters some some words in frustration.

"You're always defying me lately. I'm trying to take care of you, I'm trying to make you as comfortable as possible and hold myself back... yet you're out there grinding on some guy I don't even know... it's pissing me off!"

You scoff. He's pouring his heart out and you fucking scoff.

He pushes you back down to the bed and yanks down the top of your strapless party dress. He hovers over your exposed breasts, hunger evident in his eyes before he surges down, capturing one of your nipples between his lips, sucking and licking the bud while his hand kneads your other breast.

You feel the urge to tangle your fingers in his hair but your hands are held above your head by his gravity evol.

He switches nipples, making sure both get equal attention. He loves the sound of your moans, the way you wither under him and desperately try to rub your thighs together.

He detaches his mouth from you breast, instead leaving marks all around the area. Light bites and purple marks are forming as he ravishes your skin, fondly looking at the art he's leaving behind.

"will he still touch you if my marks are all over your skin?"

He gets up, standing between your legs as he allows you to sit up. You're eye to eye with the tent in his pants. He pulls down the zipper, eyes never leaving your nervous ones.

"Suck." he commands when he fully pulls out his thick and hard member, his veins throbbing at the sight of you, his tip a muted pink and leaking precum. "If it's too much, tap my thigh."

Though as caring as ever, he leaves no room for objection as he slides his cock into your mouth. But you're struggling, mouth dry from the alcoholic drink you had earlier.

His thumb and pointer finger hold your soft cheeks as he leans down and tells you; "open up." You obey but are taken aback when he spits in you mouth, helping you lubricate before shoving his throbbing cock back into your mouth.

He gently fucks into you, hand on the back of your head as you can't help but gag a bit. But you don't tap out. Instead you feel yourself growing wetter at the lewd sounds leaving his lips and the way his face contours in pleasure as swirl your tongue over and around his member.

He looks down into your pleading eyes. It's clear you want to make him feel good and for a moment he debates on cumming in your mouth, making you swallow his seed, but he decides against it.

"Can't waste a drop when your pretty pussy hasn't even been touched yet..." he mumbles to himself more than to you.

You're pushed back down on the bed as Caleb now fully tug down you dress, leaving you in nothing but your black, lace panties with a little pink bow in the front. He lifts your legs over a shoulder as he slowly slides the off, revealing your wet hole ready for him.

He spreads your legs, after not so subtly slipping your panties into his back pocket for later, and enjoys the view of you practically leaking onto his sheets. Embarrassed by how exposed you are and how hungrily he's staring at your entrance, you try to cover yourself with your hands, but they are quickly restrained by his evol again.

"Nuh-uh... I can look at what's mine all I want..." he growls.

He puts your legs on either sides of his head, resting them on his strong shoulders as he takes his cock and slides it along your wet folds in a teasing manner. A shaky moan leaves your lips and it makes him feral.

No longer having the patience to tease you, he stretches you out with his thick cock, not stopping until he bottoms out fully. You're already clenching around him, trying to adjust to his big size.

"fuck... you feel so good, sweetheart..." he says as he slides out and slams back in. You squeal when his balls hit you, over and over again.

"He could never make you feel like this... only I can! this pussy was made for me, you know that right, pretty girl?" he grunts as his pace increases. you mumble an unintelligible agreement as he pushes you legs to you chest, hitting angles you didn't even know were possible.

You feel a strange warmth bubbling in the pit of you stomach. Your whole buddy begins to tingle from the tips of your toes up to the top of your head. You clench around his length as you come hard, spitting out mumbles that resemble his name.

He rides out your orgasm, not pulling out until your stuttering clenches have stopped.

You're about to close your eyes when you are suddenly turned around, on your hands and knees before he pulls your upper body against him.

"You thought I was done with you? after what you've been putting me through these past few days?" He scoffs as he aligns himself with your entrance again, one of his muscular arms snaking around you neck, keeping your face nestled between his muscles.

"I'm far from done... Gonna make sure your pussy is shaped like my cock, so no one else will ever feel as good and filling as I do. Gonna make you cum so hard, all you'll remember is my name and how good I make you feel. Gonna fuck you so good, you're legs will be like jelly so you can't run away from me..." His free arm sneaks around your waist as his fingers find their way to your clit.

He pushes in again. Your thighs are already weak, but the way he has trapped you makes it impossible to to escape your position and all you can do is hold on to his muscular arm. He smoothly falls into a quick and ruthless pace.

If your brains weren't getting fucked out right this moment, you'd probably think about how grateful you are Caleb doesn't have any neighbours, because the ungodly sounds you're making are loud. Moans, groans, curses, mumbles and eachothers names echoe through the room.

He's rough but it feels so good and the way his calloused fingers rub your clit is making you see stars.

"C-caleb! Gonna.. gonna cum!" you say as you feel that familiar feeling spread through your limbs again.

"Go ahead, baby... Cum on my cock, yeah? want your juices dripping all over it... want you to say my name, tell me you're mine alone..." his strained voice reveals he's not far from cumming himself.

The heat and tingles spread all throughout your body, even harder than the first time.

"I'm yours, Caleb! Only yours... oh my gosh... All yours, Caleb-!" the words leave your lips like a chant before turning into a mumbled mess as you cum again. You're clenching onto him so hard, sucking him in in a way that milks his own orgasm out of him.

You feel your juices mixing inside of you as he fucks both of you through it. The room is spinning and specs of light blur your vision. Your body goes limp in his embrace, but he doesn't let you down until he completely emptied himself inside you.

When he has nothing left to give, he pulls out with a plop. He gently lays you down on his pillow. Your brain is mush and you struggle to conjure up any real words. Caleb laughs softly as he shushes you; "it's okay pipsqueak, I gotcha'.. just lay down for now, okay? I'll get you some water and clean you up, yeah?"

He takes care of you as diligently as ever, wiping you down with a warm, wet towel, bringing you a glass of water and making sure you're okay before sliding into the bed next to you. He pulls you into his chest, gently stroking your hair as you listen to his calming heart beat.

"Does it hurt anywhere?"

"no... just a bit weak and sleepy..."

He let's out a soft, relieved laugh.

"'m sorry if I was rough.. just wanted to remind you you're mine..."

"did you ever doubt that?"

He is quiet for a moment.

"no... but I didn't like seeing that guy so close to you, touching you like that... he enjoyed it way too much..."

You snort.

"I doubt you'll have to worry about that... I'm not exactly his type."

"How could you not be? have you seen you-"

"He's not into girls, Caleb..."

There's a moment of silence.

"...oh."

You laugh as the realisation hits.

"besides.. even if he was, it wouldn't matter... because I'm yours, only yours..." you whisper as your eyes close and you drift into a soft slumber in your lovers arms.

"yeah, you are..." He says as he kisses your forehead. "...and I am yours."

03:11 A.M.

Jeremy: are u okay? he seemed really mad...

Jeremy: I just wanted to scare away that creep but seems I caught two flies with one stone lmao

Jeremy: u better tell me everything over coffee tomorrow ;)

[himbo-kuto]

doctor!reader x doctor!zayne summary: zayne just loves u or sumn :p

“hmm.. that’s strange..” you mumbled to yourself as you looked at the chart that your husband just handed to you. zayne studied your confused expression as you flipped back and forth between pages. he came to your office with results that he couldn’t exactly connect all the dots on. you worked in orthopedics and in many instances you were able to fill in the blanks. 

“and you ran all the tests and they came back…” you looked back at his figure that was hovering over you– one hand on the back of your chair, one on your desk. 

“negative.” he confirmed. 

“mhmm…” you turned your attention back to the chart, your brows furrowing immediately as you now had to read every word on the page slowly, just to make sure you didn’t miss any important information. you took the glasses that were resting on the bridge of your nose and pushed them upward into your hair, now feeling like you were able to see the chart more clearly. 

zayne took a pause as he fully took in your appearance. your glasses perfectly pushed your hair back, giving him a clear view of your face– furrowed brows and pouty lips. he smiled unbeknownst to him as he was just filled with love and gratitude. the sun from the outside was hitting you perfectly, making you glow like an angel (his angel). 

“i think we should run a–” you looked over to find your husband with a soft expression that was oozing admiration and affection. it made you blush instantly. just how long had he been looking at you like that?

“why are you looking at me like that, dr. zayne?” he reached over and tucked a stray hair behind your ear as you tried to refocus on the task at hand, though failing miserably. 

“no reason in particular. you just look radiant, my love.” you whined as you kicked your feet under your desk, using the clipboard to hide your blushing cheeks.

“zayne, what did we say about compliments in the office!” he turned your chair around so you were fully facing him. he took said clipboard, placing it on your desk (now forgotten) and caged you into your chair. he leaned in further, now inches from your face. 

“i don’t remember anything about giving compliments, doctor. we agreed not to kiss you in public and last time i checked..” you watched as his gaze flickered upward to view your empty office.

“...it was just you and me.” you bit back your smile as you shyly looked up at him, your cheeks deepening in color. he planted a kiss on your forehead before leaning down and capturing your lips. he stayed there for a moment, reveling in the feeling of your lips on his. 

“did you come in here to get a second opinion or to steal a kiss dr. zayne?” you whispered softly as he pulled back, as to not break the moment. 

“you can’t steal something that already belongs to you, dear.” in one fell swoop, he landed another kiss on your lips, grabbed the clipboard from your desk and headed toward the door. 

“i’ll run that test you suggested, thank you doctor.” and just like that he was gone from your office. you blinked a few times before shouting to his fleeting figure. 

“you didn’t even hear what test i wanted to run!” 

[ivycopper]

I think you're fundamentally misunderstanding the premise of this convo. My point is not "let yourself want good things". My point is abt the language we use as ppl who already want Good Things (tm).

So all I did was stress that we need to please please please not act words like "alternate universe" or, as some ppl other than did, "utopia" when talking abt things that exist in some places of the world. And I didn't blame OP, bc I get it. I really do.

I told you why that's important. And I hold myself to that standard. Like for example, until last yr, changing your gender marker required a costly court case and a number of deeply humiliating examinations and several psychologist's reports in my country. And there seemed to be no change in sight, so I was very tempted to talk abt it as if it's not attainable. But I didn't, bc Ik the less we believe it can happen over here, the more likely it is to get scrapped again elsewhere. I mean, you guys know first hand how quickly it can happen. (And I fucking wish I could offer my fellow trans ppl from the US more than my sympathy.)

Ik you care, how could you not! I don't doubt for a second so many of you fight hard for progress. I'm solely talking abt changing our rhetoric surrounding the topic, shifting it away from the irrealis. In online spaces, all we have is our words.

I'm not passing judgement on OP or any of the commenters. There's no moral failure here, oc there isn't.

What I don't understand is why you're opposed to making this point on here? Discourse abt activist rhetoric only makes sense in activist spaces. That's where it belongs.

I didn't call you a prick - you did. I only concurred, mirroring your tone. I'm sure that if you hold your horses a bit and try to understand where I'm coming from, you're probably a cool person I agree with on many levels.

It's funny to me that you seem to assume I don't fight for these things irl. I do. In fact, I'm becoming a teacher bc I want to work directly with disadvantaged students. I do charity work with kids. I'm baffled where that assumption comes from and how it relates to my initial reply. Bc, as I said: We have got free access to education here, so Idek what I would be calling my local representatives abt? And I obviously can't call your local representatives? (Btw, "local representatives" are not a thing with this kind of topic here. Germany is a highly bureaucratic country, and the education system in particular is extremely intransparent, which is partly why I'll have to go into teaching to have any sort of influence on things, however miniscule. Things move a lot faster over where you are, for better or worse. That was a bit of US defaultism there, but that's an aside, and I'm not mad abt that.)

Alternate universe where I literally just to go to school forever (for free) so I can just learn about art and literature and history and languages for 100 years. No job skills. No credit requirements. No student loans. Just learning.

[bluntzah]

SPARK UP ♡ HAMZAH.

ⓘ ⋮ WC: 3.2k words.

ⓘ ⋮ CONTENT: 18+ CONTENT, making out, smoking, sexy asf. if my work isn’t to your taste, feel free to leave but negativity has no place here.

ⓘ ⋮ SUMMARY: poor hamzah, stressed and pouty, weighed down by the misery of his sick friends. if only there were a way to ease his frustration, to make him feel better…

THE DOOR SWUNG OPEN, the old, creaky door of your room slowly rattled with a groan as your best friend strolled in. You didn’t even flinch, fingers moving with ease as you rolled the blunt, the familiar scent already pervading the air with its smell.

“What’s that?” he asked, and you nearly rolled your eyes. Not because he’d interrupted you: you could do this blindfolded — but because the question was stupid. The smell was obvious, sticking to the room despite the spritz of perfume you’d tried moments before. He knew exactly what it was.

He just wanted a hit.

“What does it look like?” As if the scattered rolling papers and the scent weren’t enough evidence. You didn’t bother turning around, fingers working efficiently as you crushed the weed into fine pieces.

Hamzah flopped onto your bed with a dramatic sigh, the mattress creaking under his weight. “Come onnnn,” he drawled, stretching the word out. “Just let me take, like, at least three hits.”

He fucking wishes.

You didn’t even hesitate, shaking your head as you focused on sealing the wrap. “Buy your own.” And you meant it. Last time you shared with this motherfucker, not only did he have the audacity to complain about your lip gloss making it - in his words -“soggy,” but he also damn near finished the whole thing himself.

“The high just doesn’t hit the same when it’s your own,” Hamzah mused, then paused, brow furrowing like he was already second guessing himself. “know what I mean?”

“No.” But you did. You just liked to fuck with him, liked the way he’d start tripping over his own logic, scrambling to make his point sound less ridiculous. He always did - back then, and even more now.

Hamzah let out a sharp breath, already annoyed. “Yeah, okay, so just fuck me then, right?”

Normally, he would have brushed off your saying with a roll of his eyes, a scoff, or a flick to your forehead. The two of you had a certain banter, a dance of sorts, that usually left you irritated and grinning despite yourself. His words, while sometimes sharp, always carried banter.

But this time was different. This time, there was a tension in his voice, a real edge that cut through the usual playful tips. It caught you off guard, making you pause. You found yourself turning back, glancing over your shoulder.

Hamzah lay there, hands tucked behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. The pillow, your pillow, rested on his bicep as he lost himself in thought. He seemed oblivious to your presence, his brow furrowed slightly as if deep in thought of something only he could understand.

With a sigh, you decide to let the matter drop, choosing instead to be the good friend Hamzah needs right now. "What happened?" you ask, your voice casual but concerned. "You've been off all day."

"Nothin'," he replied. You raise an eyebrow at Hamzah's response, giving him a sidelong glance. You know him well enough to recognize the signs. The quick, almost snappy tone, the evasive answer. Something's bothering him, it's not like him to brush you off like this.

Nodding slowly, you finish rolling the blunt, licking the paper carefully to seal it. Turning to face Hamzah fully, you cross your arms and meet his gaze head on. "Don't give me that 'nothin' bullshit," you say. "You're always a real snappy fucker when something's got you all worked up. Spill it already."

Hamzah pauses, considering your words. He fidgets with his beanie, adjusting it slightly on his head as he gathers his thoughts. Then, with a sigh, he sits up and swings his legs around to the same side of the bed as you. The pillow fell to the floor with a soft thud.

As he moves, his knees brush against yours, the contact subtle. He glances down at the point where your legs touch before meeting your gaze.

“Work,” he replied, his voice stripped down to a single syllable, delivered with a shrug: careless, almost dismissive. But his dark eyes told another story, tracking the way your fingers reached for the pink lighter on your desk, the way your nails tapped against its plastic surface before the flick of your thumb coaxed a small flame to life.

You hummed a quiet, expectant sound, pressing him to elaborate without words.

But he didn’t, so you let the silence stretch, let his answer settle between you as you brought the blunt to your lips. The glossy shine of your lip gloss caught the light as you took a slow drag, hollowing your cheeks. You ghosted the smoke, holding it just at the edge of release before drawing it back in, letting it unfurl inside you.

When you finally exhaled, the smoke curled lazily into the air, dissipating into nothing.

Hamzah’s mouth, half open in the middle of speaking, slowly parted wider as his gaze lingered on the way your lips wrapped around the blunt; glossy, plush. For a second, he seemed to forget what he was saying. “Uhm, Martin and Mandy are sick —“

He barely got the words out before you exhaled, sending a stream of smoke straight into his face. The moment it hit him, he choked mid sentence, the burn catching at the back of his throat.

A harsh cough tore through him: once, twice, five times in a row.

His chest shook with it, and by the time he managed to stop, his eyes were watering, blinking rapidly as his vision swam at the edges.

“You —” He broke off, still breathless, rubbing at his face as if that would clear the haze. “Okay, stop that.” Hamzah gestured toward the blunt.

You shrugged.

“And my electricity is out,” he went on, exhaling. “I can’t even do anything at home.” his elbow dropped onto his thigh, palm cradling his jaw as he watched you take another slow drag. The blunt rested between your thumb and pointer finger. Smoke curled around your lips before you inhaled it back, letting it sit in your lungs for a second longer than necessary.

“And we need something posted by tomorrow,” Hamzah finished, voice flat, but his eyes never left you.

You leaned back, letting your mind drift for a moment, the haze of the blunt loosening the knots of your thoughts just enough for a solution to slip through. And when it did, it felt obvious; so obvious that you almost laughed. Of course. Why hadn’t you thought of it sooner?

“Do like a ‘smoke with us’ or something,” you suggested, exhaling the words along with a slow ribbon of smoke. It was perfect, really. Especially since your sister had just visited a few days ago and left you with more weed than you knew what to do with.

Hamzah sat with it for a moment, eyes flickering in thought before inevitably settling back on the blunt between your fingers.

“That means you’ll share?” he asked, licking his lips slightly, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

No shit. But since he was already stressed, you figured there was no need to add your attitude to the mix. “Yeah,” you said instead, exhaling lightly. “Get your phone out, or whatever you use, and I’ll roll another blunt.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the way Hamzah’s face lit up, his grin flashing white. You turned away before he could say anything, swiveling in your chair to face your desk. With ease, you pulled open the top drawer, fingers brushing past scattered papers and lighters until you found what you needed: a fresh wrap and your little white tube of weed.

Popping it open, you pinched a few pieces between your fingertips, the familiar scent filling your senses. You worked the weed between your fingers, breaking it apart, the familiar rhythm settling you into focus.

Behind you, Hamzah moved, slipping one hand behind your chair while the other pressed flat against the desk; right beside where you worked. His presence loomed, chest nearly brushing your back as he hovered over you.

“Why don’t we just share one?” His voice curled into your ear like smoke. You didn’t pause, rolling your eyes instead. “You complain too much about my lip gloss,” you muttered, pressing the crushed pieces into the wrap. “So, to shut you the fuck up, I’m making your own.”

Hamzah straightened slightly, but his hands stayed where they were: one gripping the back of your chair, the other still pressed against the desk. “I don’t mind,” he said.

Is he serious right now? You turned to look at him, your movements sharp, forcing you to tilt your chin just slightly to meet his gaze. He was still leaning over you, close enough that you could catch the faintest trace of his cologne beneath the scent of weed and smoke.

“Oh, you do,” you countered, eyes narrowing. You could count the number of times he had complained, each one irritating you more than the last. Because, hello? You wanted to enjoy your blunt in peace, to feel good with every slow drag, the warmth settling in your chest just right. It was a whole experience; the pull of smoke, the heady ring, a song playing low in the background, setting the perfect mood.

Hamzah didn’t respond, simply reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He and Martin had been losing their minds trying to come up with a new YouTube video, hard to do when one of them was sick and the other’s electricity was completely shot.

But now? Now, he had a plan. Thanks to you and that clever mind.

Excitement flickered beneath his calm act as he powered on his phone, the screen glowing to life. His lock screen flashed up first; a photo of him, Martin, Mandy, and you, all crammed into the frame. With a glance at you, he swiped up on his phone, apps flashing across the screen before he tapped on the messages app and selected Martin’s contact.

HAMZAH: Nvm, got it under control 🍃🍃

MARTIN: Zahhh?? 🤑🤑

HAMZAH: Can’t spell Hamzah without that Zah 😛

“I’ve honestly never gotten high with someone on camera before,” Hamzah admitted, glancing at the lens as you adjusted the lighting slightly. The two of you were tucked into the coziest corner of your room, right where your small personal library lined the wall. Two beanbags sat on either side of a low table, and Hamzah was already sinking comfortably into his.

On the table in front of you, the two rolled blunts rested beside the heart shaped ashtray, the camera positioned just beside them, angled perfectly to capture everything. “Is the lighting good?” you asked, stepping back to survey the setup.

Hamzah glanced at the camera and nodded. “That’s actually perfect.” Satisfied, you gave a small nod in return before settling back into your beanbag chair.

The video started with bickering: sharp insults and lazy eye rolls before shifting into something more relaxed. You both sparked up, tapping the glowing red ends of your blunts together in a toast before taking the first slow drags.

From there, the energy shifted into an easy rhythm: attempting ghost challenges, showing off smoke tricks, laughing at failed attempts. Eventually, the blunts burned low, and you put them out, the conversation melting into stories - random memories, inside jokes, moments that had you both grinning through the haze.

At some point, hunger kicked in, and you ordered food. While waiting, the talking didn’t stop, if anything, the high made it even funnier, each topic spiraling into another until only laughter was heard.

And when the food finally arrived? You both absolutely demolished it. You ordered these sandwiches, and the moment you took a bite, it was easily one of the most delicious things you’d ever tasted.

Once you had devoured every last bite, the two of you made your way back to the beanbag setup, sinking into the cushions as you picked up your blunt again. The room was foggy, the conversation flowing as the camera rolled, capturing each lazy inhale, each slow exhale.

“Can I get a hit of yours?” Hamzah asked, reaching out with one hand, his fingers making an impatient grabbing motion.

Without missing a beat, you swatted him away. “You have yours right there.” And he did. His own blunt sat in his other hand, already burned halfway down from the greedy pulls he’d been taking. The ashtray in front of you held the evidence: most of it his.

“Remember what I said earlier?”

Unfortunately, you did. Something about how hitting someone else’s blunt always made the high better for some inexplicable reason. But instead of admitting it, you exhaled slowly and deadpanned, “No.”

Silence pulled. The only sound was the faint crackle of burning paper as you took another slow drag, the smoke curling past your lips before disappearing into nothingness. It was so quiet that you finally glanced over at Hamzah — only to find him already watching you.

Not just watching. Staring.

His gaze was locked onto your mouth, eyes red and all, following every movement like he was trying to learn it. Your brows pulled together slightly, confusion flickering across your face as you studied him in return. “Are you okay—?” “—Wanna try something,” he interrupted at the exact same time, his voice cutting through yours.

You paused. “What?”

Hamzah’s eyes flickered between your blunts before he lifted his own, the slender roll pinched effortlessly between his fingers. He didn’t answer; not with words, at least. Instead, he brought the blunt closer, hovering it right in front of your lips, a silent invitation.

Your gaze shifted between him and the smoldering tip, hesitation flickering for only a second before you leaned in slightly. Lips parted just enough, just the perfect amount to wrap around the end of the blunt.

You took a long, slow drag of the blunt, feeling the rich, earthy smoke fill your lungs as you held Hamzah's gaze. Your eyes remained locked on his, watching as a flicker of something danced in their depths. The smoke curled in your mouth, lingering, but before you could exhale, his voice cut through.

“Don’t exhale it.”

There was something different about the way he said it: almost more like a command than a suggestion. He leaned in, face mere inches from yours. Heavy lidded gaze flickered to your lips before he gave the smallest tilt of his chin.

“Back to me,” he murmured, voice low, almost lost beneath the hum of the room. For a second, you hesitated, mind replaying his words just to make sure you heard him right. Back to me?

But then there were red rimmed eyes, dark and low, like he was sinking into the moment, and you couldn’t tell if it was the high or something else entirely. The messy grown out buzz cut, the way a few strands stuck up slightly, making him look even better in that lazy, effortless kind of way. It did something to you. Something you weren’t sure you wanted to name.

Your mouth went dry — no, worse, it watered, whether you liked it or not.

You leaned in fully, pushing yourself up from the beanbag just enough to close the space between you. Your lips parted, breath warm and slow, and for a second, his mouth; slightly chapped, slightly inviting — grazed yours.

You exhaled.

The smoke poured between you, curling into his mouth as he took it in without hesitation, without flinching.

It wasn’t until you pulled away, the heat of him still in the space between, when he finally exhaled, the smoke uncurling in soft, ghostly tendrils.

The two of you sat there, unmoving, staring at the camera as if waiting for it to tell you what the hell to do next.

As if pulled by some hidden force, the two of you turned to each other in perfect sync.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, threading through the soft strands as if remembering the texture, while your other hand gripped the firm curve of his bicep. His own hands found you just as quickly: settling at your waist, the other cradling your face in hot dog style. and, as if the moment had been waiting for you both, your mouths met.

His top lip slotted perfectly between yours, a sluggish, passive press that deepened as he drew you in, sucking softly at your lower lip before angling his head just so — nose grazing your cheek in a way that sent a tickle down your spine.

His eyes fluttered shut, savoring the taste of you, and God, you could drown in this. The drag of his lips, the way he kissed. The taste of weed remained on his tongue, a misty thing that made you chase after it. You parted for a breath, only to press back in; once, twice, three times — greedy for more, drunk on the way he melted into you.

It still wasn’t enough.

So you moved, swinging a leg over his lap, settling yourself against him as his hands instinctively found purchase at your hips, steadying you as you adjusted.

And, just like before, he tilted his head, nose brushing your cheek, breath warm against your skin as you found his mouth once more. There was only this: hands, mouth, the heady taste of smoke, pulling you deeper, deeper, deeper.

Your fingers tightened around his bicep, loving in the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch, a silent response to the squeeze. The sensation sent a quiet thrill through you, a warmth that curled low in your stomach as you hummed softly into the kiss.

As you both began to pull away, Hamzah caught your bottom lip between his teeth, dragging it slightly before letting go, leaving it to swell back into its usual, kiss-bitten fullness. A breath of something unsaid hung between you, thick as smoke.

You stared at each other, the realization of what just happened slowly sinking in, seeping into your skin like. And then, as if some invisible tether between you both had been stretched too tight, you hesitated, pulling back ever so slightly.

Your lips parted, a thought hovering on the tip of your tongue, but nothing came. The words dissolved before they could form, leaving you to press your mouth shut again. From where you still sat on his lap, Hamzah looked up at you, brown eyes glinting. And for the first time, you truly saw them — not just as his eyes, but as something impossibly beautiful. Warm, liquid honey, rich and golden, so sweet, so — fuck.

A beat of silence followed between you. Then, all at once, the tension cracked. A quiet chuckle, hesitant at first, then another. The sound tumbled into laughter, bubbling up from your chests, startled and breathless, like neither of you could quite believe what had just happened.

Because — what the fuck was that?

Hamzah’s laughter softened into a grin as he lazily lifted a hand, pointing past you. You followed his gaze, realization dawning when you turned slightly; your back was to the camera. “can’t post that,” he exhaled, still catching his breath.

You only shrugged, leaning in, your lips a whisper away from his. “Good,” you murmured. “It’s just for us.”

And then you kissed him again, pushing him back into the beanbag, his body sinking into the plush fabric as your fingers curled around the soft fabric of his hoodie.

HAMZAH: Nvm video didn’t work out 🙃

MARTIN: Aw man :(

[rockwoodchevy]

Cold

Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: after an attack by raiders, you end up lost in the dead of winter. Joel doesn't take the news very well.

Word count: 2.9k

warnings: mentions of death (no actual death though), some swear words

a/n: hi all! this is my first piece of Joel workings so please let me know what you think! i have some WIPs that i am excited for as well so look forward to those as well! thanks for reading!

_________________________________________________

You’re smart enough to know that the fact that you no longer feel the cold isn’t a good thing.

The shaking has stopped, so have the pins and needles in your body. Your breathing is shallow and little puffs of what seems like fog come from your mouth as you exhale. The ripped up puffer jacket on your body is no longer keeping your body heat in, the thick leggings barely helped in the first place but now helping even less with the rips. In all honesty, you’re slightly surprised that you’re still alive or at least conscious. You know that you’ve probably lost quite a bit of blood from the stab wound in your upper thigh and maybe the laceration on your head. You can’t feel if the beanie you were wearing hours ago is still there but that thing was pretty itchy anyways so you don’t necessarily mind. The only thing you can feel right now is the pressure of your body pressed against the ground, your eyes locked on the sky. What seems like thousands of stars staring back at you almost taunting you, waiting for you to join them. You can’t feel it in the slightest, but a tear rolls down your temple. It’s a beautiful way to go, numb and looking at the galaxy above your head. 

You aren’t completely positive what happened, all you know is there was a yell from one of the others on patrol behind you and suddenly you were on the ground, head ricocheting off of something, what it was you aren’t sure. It took a second to come to, but everyone was a blur. The only person you could really recognize was Jesse who was fighting off some raider. In your attempt to help him, one of them stabbed you deep in your thigh. The last thing you remember is Jesse telling you to run and you didn’t second guess his words. You took off in the first direction that you saw, running until your leg could no longer hold you up anymore. You were losing too much blood and the cold was no help. You had no idea where you were or what your surroundings were. No idea how far away Jackson was. All you knew was that you were going to die here. No warmth. No pain. 

No Joel.

God, you almost want to pray to whatever deity was listening that your body would rot away out here after you die and nobody, at least nobody from Jackson, would ever find it. You would hate for Joel to have to see you like this. You know that he isn’t a very emotional man, but good God, does he love you. You’ve heard it from multiple people in Jackson; Ellie, Tommy, Maria, even people that you have never even talked to before. You can hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch. You’ve never had to worry with him, knowing that you were safe, appreciated and loved every second of every day. You couldn’t bear the thought of him having to see you like this; broken down and dying if that is what this is. Knowing that he’ll be in pain once you go, that is the worst part of all of this.

What you don’t know is that Jesse spent the better part of an hour searching for you. He began panicking once the sun went down and decided he had to make his way back to the town and gather a search party. He feared having to explain to Joel and Tommy why he was alone. As he rode up to the gates on one of the horses that was spared in the fight, he could hear one of the gatekeepers yell out ‘lone rider!’ and his heart dropped. He knew that Joel waited for you after every patrol shift that you had and that he most likely heard the keeper yell. As the gate opened, he could see multiple people, including both Joel and Tommy, run out to him. While a couple of the people including Tommy helped tend to Jesse’s wounds, Joel immediately started questioning him about your whereabouts. Jesse could only babble out what he could about the raid as he broke down into tears, explaining the attack and him telling you to run so you wouldn’t get more hurt all the way up to his search for you in the surrounding wooded area. Joel’s heart fell completely out of his body, freezing as it landed in the soft pile of frosted grass beneath his feet. He didn’t hesitate to help drag Jesse back inside the safety of Jackson’s walls, not to ensure their protection but to question the hell out of him as to where he looked. Jesse told him everything he could. After Jesse was brought to the infirmary, Joel looked to Tommy who was already looking at him wearily. 

“Joel-“ Tommy began, but Joel didn’t let him finish his sentence.

”I’m going whether ya like it or not. With or without ya.” 

In 20 minutes time, a search party of about 10 people, including Tommy, Maria and Ellie, had gathered together to search for you. Joel’s heart couldn’t stop its rapid beating in his chest. Jesse told him about your hit to the head and injury to your thigh. They didn’t know the severity of them both. The party headed off in the general direction of where both you and Jesse were attacked and spread out from there. Joel started to yell out your name in hopes that you would be able to respond to it. Tommy immediately began to shush him.

”Joel, we can’t just start screaming her name out here, there could be more raiders in the area-“

”I don’t give a fuck who else is out here,” Joel interrupted Tommy. “My girl is out here and we are gonna find her tonight.”

They agreed, much to both Joel and Ellie’s dismay, that an hour-long search would happen before they would all have to retire until the next day. They all separated in 5 groups of 2. Each with weapons to defend themselves, whistles around their necks and first aid in the hopes that they could find you.

But you had already given up mentally and almost physically. You couldn't ask for better company in death than the stars. The crickets. The wind. The trees. Death would be peaceful, painless, easy. The only thing you wished was that you could say goodbye to Joel. Kiss him one last time. Hold him one last time. The only heat you’ve had in a while bursts in your chest at the thought of him. You close your eyes, the heat dissipating. 

Maybe you’re dreaming or maybe you’re just hallucinating, but you think you can hear someone calling your name. You think it could be an angel calling you home or some religious shit like that, but no, you know that voice. You open your eyes, looking back at the stars. You hear it again and another familiar voice echoes behind it. 

Tommy and Maria are here.

You could cry, out of happiness or sadness you don’t know. Happy that you could be rescued and brought back to your home, regardless of either it was Jackson or Joel. Sadness because you know that there is a bigger chance of you not making it than there is that you will, and either they or Joel will have to watch it happen. But regardless, you’re happy it was them and not Joel. 

Your name is called again, slightly closer than it was before. You know that you won’t be able to speak, to call out that you’re here, so close yet so far away it seems. You worry that if you don’t make noise soon, they’ll turn the other way and your fate will be sealed. You think fast, remembering that small handgun Joel likes to shove into your pack. You muster up all the strength that you can and search for the pack without turning your head. Feeling the zipper, you undo it and slip your hand in, feeling around until you grasp the handle of the gun. Pulling it out, achingly slow since the burn in your muscles is agonizing. Tears fall down your temples again as you hear your name once more, now further away. Using all the strength you can, you aim the gun away, cock it and shoot. The sound of it is almost deafening, the shot making your arm fly back some. That shot is all it takes.

Tommy and Maria both turn towards the sound of the shot, both of them reaching for their weapons. They’re confused when they don’t see another raider but continue towards the area. Maria gets there first, gasping and throwing herself off of her horse and falling to her knees at your side. She touches your face a few times and says something to you, but you can’t hear it through the relief that floods your brain. More tears fall as Tommy slips off his thick jacket, laying it on top of you. Maria rubs her hands along your arms to attempt to warm you as much as she can. 

“We gotta get her back to town. She’ll die out here.” Tommy says hastily. 

They both aid each other in helping to lift you up and onto Tommy’s horse. He straddles it behind you, praying Joel will forgive him for doing what he has to in order to keep you both warm and alive. He pressed his front to your back, resting his head on your shoulder and immediately began to ride back towards Jackson as fast as he could. He was speaking to you, telling you that you had to hold on, that you had to fight because he didn’t know if Joel could take another heartbreak like this. He had one hand on the reigns of the horse, the other one rubbing against your thigh to try and help you gain your heat back. His hand felt wet and he pulled it back to see it covered in crimson. His stomach churned and he attempted to get his horse to ride faster. He couldn’t let you die, Joel wouldn’t be able to come back from this. He barely came back from Sarah, he couldn’t imagine what this would do to him. 

Maria rode back towards where the party originally separated and blew her whistle as loud as she could. She did it for a few moments before turning back towards the town while still blowing it. As she left the wooded area, she could see a few of the other riding back towards Jackson as well. Mostly, she could see both Joel and Ellie riding as hard as they could back to their little sanctuary. They all reached their within the same small time frame. Maria, Joel and Ellie all stormed towards the infirmary and saw Tommy’s horse abandoned outside. Maria could see the fear in Joel’s eyes as they stormed inside, pushing past the doors and into the main room. 

Joel pushed past a few people to get to the back room that they usually keep unoccupied for emergencies. When he pushed the door open, the doctor was hovering over Tommy who had her huddled in his lap, hands gliding up and down whatever inch of skin he could reach. Joel promised himself that this was the one time he would let that slide, especially since her life depended on it. Tommy made eye contact with Joel as he stormed over to them, subtly sliding her over to Joel as he sat next to them. Joel could feel her weight press down on him and first the first time that night, the tightening in his chest loosened just a little bit. He immediately started to run his hands up and down your body through the two blankets that were tucked around you. The doctor was speaking to him, but he wasn’t listening. He called your name a few times, hoping that you could hear him. 

“C’mon, honey,” he begged, “I need you to open those pretty eyes for me. Lemme see them.”

He was practically talking to a statue, the cold almost becoming you. Joel didn’t cry very often but he figured now would be an exception. They ran down his cheeks rapidly as he held back a small sob; he couldn’t care less that Ellie, Tommy and Maria were there to see it.

”Please, baby. I need you to look at me.” He sniffled some. “I can’t do this without you. I’m so sorry; I should have been there. I should have protected you. You… you’re everythin’ to me. Please don’t go. I promise I’ll do anything as long as you stay. I won’t… I won’t make it through this.” Joel shook his head, pulling you closer to him. “I need you to stay with me. I’m beggin’ you.”

Ellie had to turn and leave, she thought she was going to be sick. Maria left with her, not wanting to interrupt this moment, whether it ended good or bad. Tommy stayed with Joel, assisting in trying to get your body heat back to somewhat normal. 

You, on the other hand, felt like you were floating. You could hear Joel’s words, the pleading in his voice, the urgency in his and whoever else’s hands were brushing up and down your skin. You thought that the stars were the perfect company in death but now, you realize that if there was something you’d want to look at as you go, it would be Joel. You wanted so badly to let him know that you were here with him, that you could hear him but your muscles were so tight, so tired. All you could get out was a deep hum from the back of your throat that you weren't sure was even your voice, you couldn’t recognize it. But Joel did, pulling you tighter against him. 

Joel turned to Tommy quickly with an urgent look in his eyes.

“You gotta leave.” He told him.

Tommy looked at him oddly. Joel shook his head.

“Body heat. She needs body heat.”

Tommy finally understood, standing and exiting the room to go and find both Maria and Ellie. The doctor excused himself as well, standing outside the room in case there was some sort of emergency. Joel wasted no time in stripping off any layer of clothing that he could get to. It didn’t take much to rip off what was left of the leggings that you wore but he struggled a bit with your jacket. He laid you down on the small bed, taking off his clothes as fast as he could; he didn’t want you away from him, worried that even a second not near you could do more harm. He laid himself on top of your body, both of you now only covered in your undergarments. He knew that you would most likely complain about the fact that we were practically naked in a public place but at this point, he couldn’t give a shit. All he cared about was making sure you stayed alive. He covered as much of your body as he could while still whispering sweet nothings into your ear, trying to get some sort of reaction from you.

It took about half an hour but your body temperature was coming up slowly. You almost wished you were still numb because the pins and needles were returning, causing some discomfort. You found your voice a little while later, moaning out of pain. The dull throbbing in both your thigh, now stitched and covered up, and your head (which surprisingly wasn’t busted open like you thought it was) was hurting. Tears developed in your eyes and for the first time that night, you could feel them running down your face. You could feel a sob rising in your chest quickly before it came out of your mouth. And though it was a sign that you were in pain, Joel was ecstatic. Because it meant that you were warm enough to feel again. 

“I know, I know honey. I know it hurts. I’ll get you taken care of.” Tears rose in his eyes. He never thought he would be excited to hear you crying, but here he was. He continued to warm your body as he held you while you cried. You genuinely thought that you were going to die out there, alone with the stars and sounds of nature. You never realized how you had taken being held by Joel for granted and boy, did he know how to hold you. 

Once you could feel your limbs again and had full control over them, you slowly lifted an arm to warm around Joel’s middle, holding you to him as tight as you could. Joel released a sob at the touch of your skin on his. Like you, Joel started to realize how he had taken holding you for granted. The world was a scary, uncertain place. Every day, people walked a thin line between life and death and today, you almost crossed it. You were both so close to never being held by each other again and Joel couldn’t handle the thought of that. 

“It’s alright, honey. I gotcha. I always have ya.”

And you believed him. Because he saved your life. 

And unbeknownst to you, you had saved his too.

[cherrylibby]

Turbulence & Temptation

The Hard Deck was buzzing with life, a mixture of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional holler from a victorious game of pool. You sat at the bar beside your dad, nursing a soda while he talked to Penny, their conversation drifting between nostalgia and easy laughter. It was nice to see him smile—something that had been rare in the past few years.

Across the bar, a familiar face caught your eye. Rooster, lounging like he owned the place, decked out in his signature Hawaiian shirt, aviators perched on his nose, talking animatedly with a few other pilots. You smiled, shaking your head. He was practically your big brother, always looking out for you.

But then, a voice cut through the air—smooth, cocky, and dripping with that unmistakable Southern drawl.

“C’mon, Rooster, don’t tell me you’re still sore about that last dogfight. I swear, you almost had me this time. Almost.”

You knew that voice before you even turned your head.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin.

Rolling your eyes, you turned back toward Penny and your dad, refusing to give him the satisfaction of your attention. But apparently, that wasn’t enough to deter him.

A moment later, he was at the bar beside you, casually ordering another beer. You felt his eyes on you before he even spoke.

“Well, well,” Jake drawled, turning just enough to face you. “Didn’t know they let angels walk around a place like this.”

You blinked, caught between amusement and disbelief. “Wow. That’s your opening line? That’s embarrassing for you.”

He smirked, undeterred. “Oh, c’mon, that was solid. A ten out of ten, even.”

“I’d give it a four,” you shot back, taking a sip of your drink.

Jake clutched his chest dramatically. “A four? You wound me, darlin’.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Maybe work on your material, Hangman.”

His grin widened, clearly enjoying himself. “So you know who I am?”

“You have a reputation,” you said smoothly. “Cocky pilot, big ego, always leaving his wingman.”

Jake leaned in slightly, just enough to make your heart stutter. “Now, sweetheart, that’s just hearsay. You can’t believe everything Rooster tells you.”

You scoffed, tilting your head. “And yet, here you are proving him right.”

Before he could fire back, your dad’s voice cut through the conversation.

“Time to head out, kid.”

Jake’s eyebrows shot up as he looked between you and your dad, realization dawning.

“Maverick’s kid?” He let out a low whistle. “Well, damn. No wonder you’re dangerous.”

You smirked, grabbing your jacket. “Oh, Hangman, you have no idea.”

As you turned to leave, you heard his chuckle, warm and full of promise.

“See you around, darlin’.”

You should’ve gone home. You really, really should’ve.

But after dropping your dad off at the house, you found yourself back at The Hard Deck, unable to shake the energy buzzing under your skin. Maybe it was the way Jake had looked at you, all cocky smirks and teasing words. Maybe it was the way you wanted to get the last word in.

Or maybe, just maybe, you wanted to see if he was still here.

And, of course, he was.

Jake was back at the bar, leaned against it like he belonged there, beer in hand, laughing at something one of his buddies said. But the second his eyes landed on you, that easy grin turned into something slower—more deliberate.

“Well, well,” he drawled as you sauntered up beside him, mirroring his earlier entrance. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

You rolled your eyes, motioning for Penny to pour you another drink. “Don’t flatter yourself, Hangman.”

He smirked, taking a slow sip of his beer, eyes never leaving yours. “Too late.”

The air between you crackled, thick with something neither of you wanted to name just yet.

“You always this cocky?” you asked, tilting your head.

Jake chuckled, setting his drink down. “Only when I’ve got something to back it up.”

You scoffed. “And what exactly are you backing up?”

That was all the invitation he needed.

One second, you were standing at the bar, trading barbs. The next, Jake’s hand was curling around your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your breath hitched, but you didn’t pull away. His other hand lifted, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your chin up just slightly.

“I think you like me,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave.

You let out a breathless laugh. “You think wrong.”

His thumb traced lightly over your bottom lip, his smirk deepening when your breath caught. “Then tell me to stop.”

You could have. You should have.

But instead, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down to crash your lips against his.

Jake didn’t hesitate—didn’t waste a second before responding, hands tightening on your waist as he pressed you back against the bar. His lips moved against yours with a heated confidence, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and damn it, he did.

You gasped when his tongue brushed against yours, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, one hand slipping under the hem of your top, fingers tracing fire along your skin.

You barely noticed the way the bar around you seemed to disappear, people fading into nothing as you lost yourself in him—the taste of beer and mint, the warmth of his body, the way he kissed like he had all night to figure you out.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, Jake leaned in, lips ghosting over yours. “Told you,” he murmured, cocky as ever. “You like me.”

You swallowed, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Still debating.”

He chuckled, hands still firm on your waist. “Guess I’ll have to convince you.”

And judging by the way you were already tugging him in for another kiss, you had a feeling he would.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One FortyThree

Owens holds the metal thing at the end of the stethoscope to warm it up before pressing it to the bend of Eddie’s elbow, and Steve doesn’t like him, even if he does seem to be thoughtful about what he’s doing. He also gives Eddie his full attention and time to talk his way through his thoughts, and how good he is with Eddie makes Steve’s blood fucking boil. “Blood pressure is good. Could you pull up the back of your shirt?” He spends some time asking Eddie to take deep breathes while he moves the thing around, listening. “That all sounds normal, can I do your temperature too?”

Eddie nods and happily opens up for the thermometer.

“And...that’s normal too. Did you have any more symptoms you want to talk me through?”

Eddie shakes his head, curls shifting over his shoulders as he fidgets and settles his shirt again.

Owens hums, “so one bout of nausea, and vomiting. Weight gain, which we did confirm that you have gained a little, but with your build Eddie, I’d say that’s a good thing. You’ve been more active with work and your friends, so you may simply still be building some muscle. Steve’s having a recurring dream, and he thinks you should drink milk?”

“And not beer,” Eddie adds, scowling at Steve briefly.

Owens sits, thinking for a second. He’s clearly taking it seriously, which irritates Steve beyond reason. Someone who was involved in the torture of children cannot be kind; it’s got to be an act. When Owens shows his true colors, Steve is going to be right there to gloat. “Okay, all that’s left is for me to take some bloods, if you’re okay with that.” Eddie flops his arm out in answer, “I’ll call with the results in a couple of days.”

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

Steve reaches over reflexively, pulling the strands of hair free from where Eddie’s practically chewing them, “no. I think you’re fine.”

“Okay...do you think there’s something wrong with you?”

Steve makes a dismissive noise, “pfffft, of course not.”

“What then?” Eddie waves his hands about dramatically.

“I...don’t know. Maybe you’re getting superpowers, like El?”

Eddie spends the rest of the day frowning at random inanimate items, but he doesn’t manage to move anything with his mind powers.

“Stevie?” Eddie sounds part curious and part amused, “what are you doing?”

Steve’s borrowed his mothers clothes steamer for his shirt. Most of her clothes far too expensive to simply press. Steve wriggles the head of the thing around, “it’s a steamer, it gets the creases out...I need to look smart tomorrow, I...have a job interview.”

Steve has the shirt hanging from the shower rail in their bathroom.

“For something new? Not Family Video?” Eddie leans against the counter.

“Uhm...yeah, it’s for working at a school. Well, Kindergarten, in a school.”

Eddie’s face brightens, “little kids?” He sounds excited about it.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s right. I’ll be, helping the teacher I guess. If I get the job. The hours will be different, but it’s more money.”

Eddie just shrugs, “as long as you’re happy Stevie love.”

Steve sighs at himself, setting the shirt straight and turning the steamer off, he doesn’t even know what he was so worried about, “I applied last week, well, posted the letters, the day after the pot luck. I should have told you.”

“I don’t mind,” Eddie smiles brightly.

“No. No baby,” Eddie pulls Steve close, still leaning against the counter. Steve lifts their linked hands, twisting Eddie’s engagement ring on his finger, “we’re in it together. A new job is a big deal, so we have to tell each other these things. One day we might...get our own place. And that means we have to pay bills to keep the water and the electricity on, we would rely on each other. I was wrong not to tell you.”

“I...okay. I think I understand. So...when it comes to important things, we should just say?”

“Yeah, yeah we should.”

“Okay,” Eddie frowns for a second, thinking, but then visibly brightens, grinning, “I got a C plus!”

“You did? On what?”

“English literature,” Eddie still kind of says it a little stilted ‘lit-er-ra-ture,’ but it’s getting stronger, “she said it was very clear, but I need to,” Eddie frowns up at the ceiling a second, “analyze the language more fully, to highlight deeper understanding. Or something.”

“Baby, that’s so great,” Steve kisses him on the cheek, “and the math?”

Eddie looks suddenly petulant, “math is hard and doesn’t make any sense.”

Steve snorts a laugh, “yup. I feel you. You need to get someone who isn’t me to help with that.”

Eddie nods, then sighs, “Dustin.”

“Afraid so.”

Eddie scrambles over the back of the couch, desperate to get to the ringing phone. Steve sighs, hoping that it is Owens this time, just so Eddie will stop panicking every time it rings. He’s spent the last two days jumping at every sound and leaping for the phone whenever it rings.

He’s probably been offending people with the disappointed way he hands the phone off to Steve every time it hasn’t been Owens.

“It’s for you,” Eddie hands him the phone, frowning, but not his disappointed frown, which probably means it’s someone Eddie doesn’t know.

“Mr. Harrington?”

“Speaking.”

“I’m calling in regards to your recent interview, we were wondering if you’d like to come in for a trial. We need copies of your identification and, subject to checks-” Steve just agrees. The interview went sort of okay, he thought. Everyone was nice enough, and he was enthusiastic about the little kids, but the fact that he had no experience at all really showed. Steve had left the interview feeling kind of deflated, so he’d tried to put it from his mind since.

He figured he'd just leave it for a week or so, and when he didn't hear anything, he could just try something else.

Steve scribbles down what he needs to bring on the notepad next to the phone, which is good, because he’s not taking in a single thing he’s being told. He thinks he ends the conversation politely, but honestly it’s a bit of a blur.

Eddie’s got his trying to understand face on, and no doubt he heard everything being said with his super powered hearing, “did you get the job? A trial?”

“I, yeah…I think as long as the trial goes well then yes. Yes, I think so?” Steve tries to go back through what the woman's just told him, the news sinking in enough that he’s starting to feel excited about it, “yes, as long as my security check thing is okay, so I can work with the kids.”

Eddie breaks into a beaming smile, and Steve can’t help but feel a little pleased with himself, “you’re going to do so great! And Monday...we need to get you a lunch box! Like mine! You won’t be able to eat red vines at work any more.”

“No, I guess I won’t. I’m probably going to need some more actual shirts-”

Steve is cut off by the phone ringing again, and Eddie practically dives for it.

“Owens! Hello!”

Oh finally, Steve thinks to himself, “he’s just going to say you’re fine,” he mumbles at Eddie.

Eddie’s frowning, “what hormone? What does that do?” There’s a long minute of silence, “what does gravid mean?” Eddie’s frown becomes more and more spectacular, “but I’m not-” Eddie looks up at Steve helplessly. Steve offers to take the phone but Eddie shakes his head at Steve’s outstretched hand, “okay. Yeah, we’re on our way.”

Eddie hangs up, “well? We’re going to see him now?” It makes Steve a little uneasy that Owens wants to see him straight away.

“He wants to do a scan.”

“What kind of scan?” Steve is instantly suspicious along with worried, “he wants to see you now? Right now? Is there something wrong?”

“He doesn’t think so but there’s...things in my blood that don’t make sense. He said if I was a snake I’d be gravid.”

“What the fuck is gravid?”

“Uhm…” Eddie touches his stomach, looking down at himself, “eggs?”

Steve swallows thickly, reaching to rest his hand over Eddie’s. Eddie moves to rest both of his hands on top, holding Steve’s hand close to himself, black nails pressing a little, “you mean...like a baby? In there? Right now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Jesus Christ, that...that can’t be? Can it?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie says again, looking helpless and more than a little worried.

Steve breathes out slowly, “okay. Okay get your coat, lets go and find out.”

The car ride is mostly silent, but Steve senses Eddie’s unease and rests his hand on Eddie’s thigh, “it’ll be fine. We’re together, so it’ll be fine.”

Eddie just nods, fiddling with his rings.

Eddie’s laid out on the bed at the motel, stuff spread across his tummy, “this may just be a simple quirk of Eddie’s transformation, my concern is that they will need to be removed surgically, if I can actually find evidence of anything,” Owens is saying as he moves the thing around. Steve has no idea where all this equipment came from, and to be honest, he doesn’t want to know. Owens must have already been unloading it all when he called.

“What, why?”

“An operation?”

Steve and Eddie both speak at the same time, both concerned. Eddie reaches for Steve’s hand, face full of fear.

“Well, how else?” Owens says absently, moving the thing around on Eddie’s stomach, “they can’t possibly be fertilized, and male genitalia isn’t exactly designed to…” he finishes with a thoughtful hum, “there’s definitely something there. Eddie your internal organs aren’t laid out exactly as I would expect, but I only have the x-rays from before you got your legs, so it’s...difficult to tell, considering the change, but there’s definitely something there.”

“Wait, just wait a second, are you saying Eddie does have eggs inside him, right now?”

Owens follows the low waistband of Eddie’s jeans with the wand thing, “I’m fairly sure, yes, just here.” He points to the screen, a lot of it makes no fucking sense at all to Steve, but there’s some dark splotches and he takes Owens word for it. “So we would have to remove them. My concern is that they would eventually begin to break down, causing infection, or worse.”

Steve rubs his forehead, slowly realizing what Owens means, “and what if they are...fertilized?”

“Well, I’m working on the assumption that isn’t the case, since Eddie is male. Well, can’t be the case, unless...Eddie, in the Upside Down, did you ever see any part of the reproductive process?”

Eddie frowns at Steve, “did you see anything ever lay any eggs baby?”

Eddie nods, “only Demogorgons. After a fight with each other. The...hurt one, laid the eggs. I don’t...it was dangerous, to be around, but sometimes they were hurt bad enough that they might die. So, it was safe enough for us to eat some.”

“Eat some?” Owens is carefully wiping the jelly off, but he stops for a second looking between Steve and Eddie, “this is how you transform? Or how you would have done, had you not had Steve’s...toes, available.” Eddie nods, “and then you would become a Demogorgon?”

Eddie nods again, this is stuff they’ve been over before, but neither Steve nor Eddie have revealed anything further.

“So it was about who won the fight, and not about...say, male or female?”

“I don’t think so. Demogorgon...have both I think.”

Owens sits back for a second, “there is precedent for it. It makes sense, in a way. The party laying the eggs would be more vulnerable during the process, and their invested energy would be much higher. I’m assuming that creating the eggs themselves, rather than just being the party the fertilizes them, would take a much greater investment of energy.”

“I think I have...I’m like a Demogorgon. Kind of.”

“Right,” Owens says gently, “in that you..?”

Steve does not like talking about this. It feels inherently very private, and he really doesn’t want to talk about it with Owens of all people.

But he’s the closest thing Eddie has to a doctor, and the idea of eggs rotting inside Eddie and making him really sick is causing enough concern that Steve knows they need to pull the plaster off.

“Eddie’s...not exactly built like a human guy, down there.”

“He isn’t?”

Eddie shakes his head, also clearly a little pained by the conversation, “I’m...different to Steve. There’s a way in. Like a...girl?” He hedges, speaking softly.

“Oh.” Owens sits back, letting Eddie pull his shirt down, “I thought this would just be a...well. I assumed it was just an odd test result due to Eddie not being human. I wasn’t expecting the possibility of actual...so if there is indeed something…Eddie how would you feel about me examining you?”

“Would you be able to tell better?”

“Well...yes. I wasn’t aware that your physiology was...so different. A...general health check might be...beneficial? There were no evidence of any reproductive organs at all when we x-rayed you at the lab, when you had a tail. But now...well, you’re half human now, so I guess this is...possible? It makes sense that Eddie’s genetic code has filled in the gaps with human code so...it’s best I have a look.”

Steve wants to say no, he really, desperately, wants to stop this from happening, but...it doesn’t feel like it’s up to him.

“Okay,” Eddie says quietly.

“You really don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Steve tells him, soft but firm. He really does not like the idea of Owens poking around down there but...he also kind of feels like they need to know. What if Eddie’s health is at risk?

“I...want to know. Stay with me?” Eddie grips his hand.

“I’m not going anywhere baby.”

Owens is continues to be really considerate, which makes Steve grit his teeth so hard they hurt. He leaves the room while Eddie strips his bottom half. He’s given Eddie a soft towel to lie down on and another to cover himself with. It’s a little awkward, because despite all the kit Owens has with him, this is still a motel room. The best they can do is Eddie lying with his ass at the bottom of the bed, one leg bent enough that his heel is hooked onto the edge of the bed next to his ass.

Steve kneels next to him, rubbing a thumb in soothing circles on Eddie’s palm while Owens gathers some things and puts some gloves on. He pulls over a chair, “still okay for me to go ahead?”

“Yeah. Yeah I’m okay.”

“Okay, you can tell me to stop at any time and we will, right away. I wasn’t expecting to do a,” Owens thinks briefly, “internal exam, so I’m improvising a little, but if anything makes you uncomfortable, just say, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie squeezes Steve’s fingers.

Owens holds the end of a small torch in his mouth, improvising. It’s not ideal but needs to happen, Steve guesses.

Owens mumbles something around the torch, and Eddie frowns up at Steve, looking scared and upset enough that Steve wants to call a halt to the whole thing already, but Eddie just squeezes his hand tighter. Steve can’t see what Owens is doing under the tent of the towel, but Eddie flinches and suddenly moves, pulling away, drawing his legs up.

Owens' chair creeks as it topples over, the torch gets dropped as Owens makes a shocked noise. Before Steve can really process what’s happening Eddie is pressed against him, sat up and dragging the towel tight against himself, and Owens is sitting on his ass on the floor, hand held to his cheek, looking shocked, “Eddie, you okay?”

Eddie nods, but he looks near tears, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t know it would do that.”

Owens pulls his hand away from his cheek, looking at his fingers, “it’s okay there’s no blood, you didn’t...break the skin.”

There is a pink mark through, a clear scrape on Owens cheek, just below his eye, Steve can see it from here, “Eddie, did your dick just bite Owens?” He asks before he can think it through, Eddie just clings to him tighter, so Steve wraps him up in a big hug, “it’s okay.”

“I am fine Eddie just...startled. Give me a moment I should...probably get cleaned up.”

“Eddie!” Steve calls through the trees, “come on baby!”

Steve actually finds him pretty quickly, squatting next to one of his saplings. He’s curled up into a little ball, hugging his knees, hair sticking out everywhere from under his bobble hat.

“Eddie, baby, come on, it’s freezing out here.”

“No,” it sounds petulant, but Steve knows he’s still really upset, so he doesn’t push it. Eddie had cried on and off on the way home, and headed out into the yard. Steve had given him twenty minutes of alone time but it really is cold out here, and he’s worried, and doesn’t want Eddie to be alone.

Steve crouches next to him, “checking on your trees huh?”

“Do you think they will be okay?” Eddie’s voice is soft, but he’s not crying any more. He does have faint tear trails on his cheeks, Eddie’s tears still not quite clear, even now.

“I don’t know a lot about trees baby but...I think they’re supposed to lose their leaves and everything in the winter, and they still look okay,” some of them are tall enough now to have a few spindly branches on them, “we have to wait for spring, okay? We have to wait and see.”

“Wait and see,” Eddie repeats absently, pressing his cold pinked nose into his coat sleeve.

“Can we go in? You need to get warmed up, okay? Owens is fine, it was just a scrape.” Eddie just nods, and Steve knows he’s upset about hurting someone; Eddie hates that. Doesn’t like to think he would ever hurt anyone. He stays silent though, and doesn’t answer.

“And I’ve...been thinking,” Steve volunteers, “if you want Owens to check you out properly I could, you know, just block him in. I’m pretty sure he won’t hurt me, I could just have my hand in the way.”

“Never hurt you, Stevie love.”

"What do you think?"

"I...maybe. I was...scared. It was different to before, but still kind of the same."

"Before...what do you mean baby?"

Eddie swallows thickly, before finally lifting his head to look at Steve, "before, when they would take me out of the tank."

Steve has to close his eyes briefly and let the horror wash over him before he answers, "baby, I am so sorry, I didn't even think of it. Or that it would remind you of that." And Steve berates himself for not thinking of it; Eddie was literally experimented on, of course this would affect him, "you really don't have to do it again if you want want to."

Eddie huffs out of his nose, the cold air making a faint cloud, "we maybe should find out, though?"

"Come on, lets go inside, it's cold out here.”

Eddie lets Steve pull him up, and they walk into the house, Eddie’s mittened hand held firmly.

“Do you want to try again?” Steve asks, helping gently with the arms of Eddie’s coat. Eddie shakes his hair out after pulling off his hat.

“I think...maybe we have to?” Eddie says quietly, and oh so sad. “Stevie, what if there’s…” he touches his stomach absently, huge brown eyes looking to Steve. But Steve doesn’t know. He can’t know...and...what if there are eggs, like Owens seems to think?

What if there is a baby?

It’s...almost too much to deal with. The possibility of it. Something Steve had so easily dismissed as never ever going to happen. There’s a kernel of hope under all that worry and confusion, that Steve keeps wrapped up, shoved right to the back.

“You’re probably right baby, about trying again, you want me to call him? It’s...probably the only way we’re going to find out.” Eddie nods, “want him to come here? Or the motel?”

“Here,” Eddie says right away.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll call him, and then hot chocolate, okay?”

Eddie doesn’t say a thing about whizzy cream, so Steve knows it’s bad.

“It’s okay baby, it’s still fine, okay?” Steve’s multitasking. They’re in a guest bedroom; Steve didn’t really want Eddie having an invasive medical examination in their bed. Kind of feels like the sort of thing that would leave an uncomfortable memory.

Steve has one hand in Eddie’s hair, and the other cupped at the juncture of Eddie’s thighs. Eddie’s penis is desperately trying to get through the barrier of Steve’s hand. It’s not trying to hurt Steve, the petals are pulled tight closed. The blunted head is pressing and trying to burrow through Steve’s fingers, just straight up trying to force it’s way past to get at Owens.

It’s angry. Sometimes it pulls back and goes for a headbutt, and Steve’s vaguely concerned Eddie’s dick will remember this and come for him in his sleep. Or something.

Eddie nods, “I’m okay,” but he has a pained look on his face, “nearly done?”

“All done actually,” Owens pulls back, withdrawing the thing he’s using to get a better look. It looks like a ducks bill crossed with a metal torture device to Steve.

Eddie’s dick doesn’t go back in until Eddie is securely wrapped up in a blanket.

“Okay, Eddie,” Owens starts slowly, turning off his head torch. He was better prepared this time. “The layout of your insides is...understandably different to what I’m used to seeing. That being said, I believe you have a kind of,” Owens gestures vaguely, which isn’t in the slightest bit helpful, Steve can’t help but think. “Like a pouch, and from what I can see, it does have eggs in it.”

“Eggs, plural?” Steve tries not to panic, he really does.

“Yes, but there’s already signs that some have developed further than others. Some are still very small and dark, some a little bigger, but...there’s one that’s visibly larger than the rest. It’s too soon to tell but...I think that shows that at least one is definitely growing. Eddie, you said Demogorgans lay eggs?” Eddie nods, “okay, so...it makes sense to me that your body would try and find a middle ground between the human way of doing things, and your Upside Down biology. If Demogorgons produce many eggs, then maybe of the few I can see, only one is developing because of the human parts of you.”

“So...what does that mean?”

“I think...it’s possible...that one egg may keep growing into a baby.”

Part FortyFive

[misshorneigh]

i'm breakin’ dishes up in here (all night)

john price x fem!reader

summery - john didn’t make the best impression on you when you first met, so he had to make an extra effort to get on your good side.

cw/ enemies to lovers, misogynistic themes, talk about terrorist attacks + nazis, slight angst w/ comfort, sexual tension

only a fool, after all

Stupid Germans and their stupid problems. It was perhaps a bit of a cliché that they were often the ones who played the bad guys, but at the same time, it was undeniable that they were on the wrong side of history more than once. I guess it’s true that the past can be hard to let go of sometimes - maybe that wasn’t too bad.

These days, a few of them are still causing trouble. Almost seems as if some just like to conform to the cliché and well, if the boot fits. Still, did it have to be in London of all places? “The guy we’re after just has to be some German idiot, just our luck.” Kyle sighed while he leaned against the wall and tried to massage away a knot in his neck. He just couldn’t seem to sleep properly last night.

The team was in a bad mood.

There has been a huge uproar from sides of the British secret service and the police since there was a suspicion that a far-right organization might be planning a terrorist attack in the capital of England. Unfortunately, even after several days, no one was able to locate the possible perpetrators, which is why the SAS was finally deployed to search for clues. Though, even after several sleepless nights, they only found out one thing and it didn’t make any one of them happy.

The mastermind behind all this is some guy wanted by the German government, which is why they had to - or rather should have - handed over the mission to them. “Here they come,” Johnny pronounced slightly wearily as the black SUV pulled up, leaving the men standing upright at the awaited arrival.

Price watched the soldiers disembark with both hands on the front of his belt. He hadn’t been a big fan of the situation himself, though he still had to admit that it was better to work with a couple of Germans rather than hand them all the hard work on a silver platter. Besides, nobody liked to leave things half-finished, right? He was quite thankful that Laswell got them this deal.

“Be nice, boys.” he simply ordered, ignoring the discontent of his men when two figures started to walk in their direction. He gave the broadly built man next to you a polite smile as he extended his hand to him. “Nice meeting you, name’s John Price. I’m the captain of unit 141.” he introduced himself but the man in a foreign uniform didn’t give the impression of shaking his hand when he continued to just give him a blank stare with his arms folded behind his back.

Johnny’s eyebrows furrowed slightly in irritation while watching the scene in front of him, what kind of asshole was that? The Scot would be the first of the three to hurl some kind of insult at the guy’s head if he wouldn’t try to keep his mouth shut. Nobody treats their captain with such disrespect and certainly not some man from ugly potato country. Wait - there was no reason for holding back, why did he even keep his thoughts to himself? “What? Think yer too good for some good old manners, ya big -”

There was a tension in the air within seconds that would have surprised you if you hadn’t been working in a male-dominated profession for over a decade. You interrupted the sergeant. “I apologize, my lieutenant can seem a bit cold sometimes, he doesn’t mean it,” your voice cut through the wind after you patted the soldier on the back in a friendly manner.

It felt like your light slap hit the Task Force members in the guts with full force at the same time. John’s eyes then met your unwavering gaze for the first time and he couldn’t help but think that maybe this was just a little game from the man in the sky. It was almost cinematic how he was the one who fucked up in the first second, even though he had fully expected it from the other side. Of course, the captain of the other unit is a perfectly competent woman, why wouldn’t she be?

He almost wanted to let out a touché, but he felt too ashamed to say anything for a few seconds as he continued to hold his hand in the air, almost frozen. Meanwhile, you just made a casual movement with your arm, indicating that they should continue. “Go on, don’t let me get in the way of your conversation. I’ll just stand back here and let the men do the talking, right?” you laughed out as you symbolically took a step back, smearing the stupid mistake all over their faces like shit.

Your lieutenant held out his hand as instructed this time, like a dog that heard the word paws, and you were proud of his unwavering loyalty. However, this time it was Price who hesitated as his gaze continued to stay on you. “I’m the one who should do some apologizing -”

“I don’t think so. I think you should just shake my lieutenant’s hand so you can start discussing some important matters, hm? That is unless you are a big -” You stopped talking abruptly and turned to the sergeant, who had opened his mouth a while ago, but now held his lips in a straight line. “Sorry, you couldn’t finish your sentence earlier, what did you want to say?”

And Johnny practically feels the authority dripping from your composed speech so he did nothing but be subordinate. “Nothin’, ma’am,” he replied with a straight face.

You nodded with feigned confusion. “Too bad, I guess we’ll never know then.” you sighed as you met the captain’s guilty gaze. “Well, I’ll grab a bite to eat since I’m not really needed here,” you announced, not really expecting any of them to oppose you. Still, you waited a few seconds before saying your goodbyes. “I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you Captain Price, but that would be a lie.” you turned to your soldier. “Have fun you two.”

Finn just looked at you with a monotone look, already familiar with the antics of his superior. “We should sit down together to discuss the current situation, Captain.” he said, but his voice did nothing to keep you here.

“Then quit standing around and get to work! I’m sure you can figure it out!” you shouted after him as you moved further away from them without a care in the world.

She doesn’t even know where to go, Finn thought to himself with a heavy sigh when he found himself with the responsibility in front of him. “There was a few problems on the way here, but I doubt her reaction was affected much from that,” he told the man in front of him with a slight German accent and didn’t sugarcoat his words. “It may seem like she don’t like you, but she's a reliable person no matter what when it comes down to it," he added a little awkwardly before taking his leave to help his men with the luggage.

It may seem like she hates you, and that's because she does.

The words continued to echo in John’s head while his hand went through his beard, being slightly disappointed in himself. What a hell of a first impression, he didn’t blame you one bit - knew he wasn’t the greatest human being, but still liked to believe he was a good man and soldier.

However, right now he was neither. Probably just another asshold in your everyday life.

“All this time we thought the Germans were the Germans.” Kyle spoke up defeatedly once they were among themselves again and sighed, “But turns out we’re the Germans.”

Ghost, who had been quiet the whole time, just looked at his comrade quizzically. Whatever that means, he thought to himself, not in the mood for any riddles. His gaze turned to his captain who was looking through the air with a distant look. “Are we postponing the meeting?” he finally asked, unsure of what their next action would be.

John’s eyes looked at him from the side. “Well, haven’t had a chance to tell her about it, did I? Been too busy living in the 19th century apparently,” he spat, still thinking about your interaction. Of course, he’s the lieutenant, looks far too young to be anything else.

Meanwhile, Johnny’s mind drifted somewhere else as he thought back to the moment when he felt compelled to submit under your stern gaze. He had to hold back a grunt. “The way she got me callin’ her ma’am just awakened somethin’ in me,” he announced without anyone asking, earning a weird look from the guys, though they should be used to his odd statements by now.

Kyle shook his head. “She didn’t make you call her anything you filthy dog. Control yourself a little, for fuck’s sake.”

The Scot just laughed unaffected by the name he was being called. “Have tae be on our best behavior now if we want tae get on the pretty captain’s good side, aye?"

It was only natural that John’s mistake reflected poorly on his members and he couldn’t allow that for too long. He was always the one who took the blame - always the one who took the responsibility - for his team’s actions and for his own. “Let’s start by helping the newbies out around base then, yeah?” John suggested to the team so they could stay productive.

Price didn’t see you for the rest of that day and he didn’t try reaching out to you either. He wanted to give you a bit of space to get yourself and your people used to the new surroundings. Someone from administration apparently showed you your quarters - he knew because he asked.

The next day he send you a short message as soon as your number was forwarded to him to tell you about the meeting at noon. You replied with only a k and John sighed slightly when he saw the single letter on his screen, feeling somehow defeated.

“This all you got?” you asked after flicking through the familiar files on the table again, you already read through them on the plane over. There was no malicious tone behind your voice, it was just observation.

Price nodded. “Didn’t have much time for more, German government took over as soon as we had a name, and the mission was suspended until your arrival,” he said, hands clasped on the table in front of him. Next to him was the rest of his team, in front of them were you, your lieutenant, and what looked like a sergeant.

“Thomas Richter,” you repeated, humming as you looked at his picture in the top corner of his profile before throwing the files flat on the table. “How do you even know it’s him? No one heard of the guy ever since he fled the country four years ago.”

Some guy with a mask answered the question, if you remembered correctly he was the lieutenant of Task Force 141. He flipped through a few more pages until his fingers landed on a different photo. “We were able to locate this man, part of the organization and in possession of several illegal weapons. Spoke some after we pulled a few teeth,” he explained, handing you the paper.

“He’s British?” you posed the question and laughed when you got a nod in response. “They certainly seem to have recruited a few of your people, didn’t know being a Nazi was so popular around here.”

Your sergeant sighed at your choice of words after seeing your new colleagues raise their eyebrows in surprise. “Why don’t we try to watch our language, Captain?” she tried to convince you but you just shook her attempt away with your hand as if she was just an annoying fly in your ear.

“What? We’re all adults, I think we can call the issue by its name,” you said carelessly, looking at the captain in front of you with a grin. Somehow, it drew John’s attention even more to the prominent scar that went through those sweet lips of yours. He couldn’t seem to look away, especially when you talked. “I know you’ve been dying to say it. You can, I won't be offended, promise."

You kept trying to get a reaction out of John and it didn’t escape him how you seemed to have your fun while doing it. His index finger tapped in a steady rhythm on the table while he continued to stare you down and that was the only sound in the room for a short time. There was a tension between you two that made the rest sit a bit uneasy in their seats until he finally decided to speak up. “And why would a few Nazis plan to attack London out of all places?” he asked, interested in your opinion.

You shrugged your shoulders. “It’s too early to tell, a lot of it is probably just to gain attention. Maybe to set a statement - some kind of revenge act for Britain beating the Nazis in World War II, I don’t know.”

You couldn’t do more than speculate with the amount of information you had right now. You pointed to the woman next to you. “Well, Sara here has a good eye for detail and is good with tech. If the guy you detained had a phone with him I want it checked for IP addresses or whatever the fuck it is to track down locations for a possible hideout. If not look up if he has any type of social media account, guys like him are always in some weird chat rooms.” You emphasized and your sergeant nodded before your gaze turned back to the men in front of you.

“I hope I’m not asking for too much but it would be good if one of you sergeants could accompany her. I’m sure that your input would be very helpful,” you invited them before adding something quickly. “That’s of course if it’s alright with you, Captain Price.”

He shook his head as if he wanted to tell you that his permission wasn’t something that you needed to ask for. “Sounds fine to me,” he replied and pointed absentmindedly to his men when he agreed to your suggestion. “Take whichever one you want.”

That was something they could figure out themselves so you left the details and whatnot to the soldiers themselves. “Think you can spear some time for poor old me, Captain?” John’s deep voice stopped you before you could leave the meeting room. Hearing the familiar title come out of his own mouth felt a little strange but he didn’t dislike it.

You looked a little uncertain after hearing his question “Depends, I didn’t know where I could get a coffee this morning."

Price nodded with a smile as he led the way to wherever. “Hm. Think I can solve your little problem.”

It looked like John Price and his team had their very own area on base and you weren’t really used to seeing small units like theirs enjoy such luxury. Your eyes wandered around their break room, slightly perplexed, before sitting down on the couch and turning your gaze to the open kitchen. John had already informed you that they didn’t have a fancy coffee maker or anything, but you weren’t picky.

“Have a feeling you don’t want me apoligizing, but I will anyway,” John spoke up as soon as he joined you with two cups, milk and sugar were already on the table. “I’m sorry for the mix up yesterday, should’ve know better than that.”

You hummed being pleased by his sincerity and well, he seemed to make some kind of effort. You'd been in several situations where some people deliberately ignored your title to make it clear you weren’t welcome so you were not expecting something like this. Men can be so emotional sometimes. “All right,” you accepted without a lot of fuss before you sat back with the coffee in your hand. “I don’t really care, it takes a little more than that to hurt my feelings, sweetie. Though, I do appreciate it.”

Price laughed lightly and threw his arm on the back of the headrest, his eyes watched you with a hint of a certain something. “Hm. Glad to hear that. Though I would prefer if a pretty woman like you would at least care a bit about little me. But, we’ll get there.”

You raised an eyebrow slightly in surprise and rolled your eyes at his bold advances. “It hasn’t even been a day, keep it in your pants for fuck’s sake.” you teased him, but didn’t punch him in the face for his comment.

John wouldn’t care if you did. He couldn’t deny the attraction he felt for you when he looked at you like this. It was unfortunate that he had to be professional when approaching you, perhaps if you had met in a bar he would have been able to act on his feelings better. “C’mon, didn’t mean it like that. Just want to get along with my new colleague so she doesn’t leave me bleeding out in the field.”

You ignored what he said. “Didn’t think you’d take me so kindly. I would be pretty pissed if I had to share my case with someone from another country.”

He shrugged and took a sip of his tea. “Hm. Suppose I could tell you the same thing.”

Touché. “Suppose you could.”

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

The Easter Bunny

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: I feel like I don’t write fast enough and at the same time I write too much. By the way is it obvious how badly I want pan dulce rn

P.S I did not reread this after finishing it don't tell me if there are mistakes okay

Most parties, if there was going to be a party were held at Athena’s house. She had the nicest, (Buck fought her on it) place that had the most space for everyone. But this year, it was being hosted at Eddie’s. Athena was getting work done on the patio and Buck was getting his plumbing fixed so- 

Eddie’s house it was. 

It was a potluck, so at least he didn’t have to worry about that part and since he was hosting he didn’t have to make anything. 

He did anyway because his Tìa and Abuelita would murder him if he didn’t, so he went out and bought some Pan Dulce. 

Everything was clean and in order, Buck had slept over last night and helped get it all together. There was just one issue that he had been avoiding this entire time. 

You were coming. 

He’d met you a few months ago at a dinner party at Hens. You were Karen’s cousin and had moved into a place close to theirs and she’d introduced you to everyone. He didn’t even mean to talk to you all night, but you spent the entire night talking in the corner of the room and he was the last to leave. Eventually, Hen kicked you both out and you invited him over to your place.

You’d been texting every day since. Things hadn’t really aligned so you hadn’t had time to hang out, but that didn’t stop the conversation from getting flirty and it certainly didn’t stop you from purposely posting thirst traps on your Instagram that he always liked around 45 minutes after you posted it and after Buck liked it.

They didn’t think you noticed the pattern. 

But now you were on your way to his house and he had to make sure everything looked perfect. He’d gone over everything with a fine-tooth comb, his Military instincts were drilled into his head enough that everything was perfectly in order and no matter how much he fussed they weren’t going to get any better than he’d already done.

“Dude, You have got to calm down.” 

Buck sat on the couch with a beer in his hand, waiting for everyone to show up. He’d been watching Eddie nervously rush around the living room for the past half hour and it was starting to make him tired. 

“I am calm” Eddie puts his hands on his hips and stares at Buck. 

“No, you’re not. But don’t worry! I’ve got just the thing for you!” He gets up and puts his beer in Eddie’s hand before running off the his bedroom. 

Buck comes back and Eddie is fixing the fruit bowl on the table (again) and Buck shakes his head and walks up to him. 

“Okay. Stop.” He slaps the bowl from Eddie’s hands and Eddie yanks them to his chest like he’s burned them and glares at Buck. 

“No. You stop.” He retorts and Buck pinches the bridge of his nose and holds his hand out 

“Just eat this, please.” 

“A fruit snack? You think a fruit snack is going to make me feel better??” He pops it in his mouth and chews angrily… okay actually it was kinda good. But whatever. 

“It’s not a-“ 

“I don’t care. I do not care okay? I’m gonna go lock myself in my room and stay there until they come so I don’t touch anything else” He turns to walk down the hall and stops for a second, his shoulders fall and he takes a deep breath. 

“…Thanks Buck. For being here” 

“What are best friends for? Take a nap buddy I’ll wake you up the second the first guest arrives” 

Buck is standing next to Chimney who’s standing next to Hen who’s standing next to Bobby. 

And they’re all watching Eddie stare into the punch bowl. 

“I warned you they were strong” Chimney mutters through the side of his mouth and Buck cringes. 

“I didn’t think they’d be that strong”

“How long has he been staring for?” Hen checks her watch 

“Seven minutes” Bobby sips his drink and gives Buck a look over the rim. The “go save him and get him to bed” look and Buck starts after Eddie.

“Hey Ed-“ 

But before Buck can get to him, you do. You put your hand on his back and a visible shudder goes through him, he slowly looks at you and you swear you can see little hearts in his eyes.

“Hi,” He swoons with a silly smile on his face. 

“Hi” You smile too and start to gently rub his back. He practically purrs at your touch.

“You doin’ okay? You’ve kinda been getting a glass of punch for a while” 

He blinks at you and then at the bowl of pink punch in front of him. It swirls slowly, the shimmering from the glitter really catches his attention and he finds himself staring again

“Eddie?” You tug his shirt and he looks down at you.

“Hi”

“Hello,” You say again with a snort and take his wrist, “I think you need to sit down honey” 

“Honey? I don’t think I have any. Do you want me to send Buck to the store for some? Or I can go, I’d love to go. I’d go anywhere for you.” 

You guide him into a chair in the corner of the room where it’s a bit quieter and he falls forward and wraps his arms around your waist.

“Oh!” You put your arms up startled, and he nuzzles his face into your torso. 

“You smell like cotton candy” 

At least he was right about that part. 

“It’s my perfume…” you put your arms over his shoulders and he rubs his face on your shirt 

“Just wanna get it all over me” He sighs dreamily “Like your dog does when he goes to the pet store and tries to rub himself against the bone bins” 

“That was so specific.”

“It really fits though!” 

You hold his face in your hands and examine him closely. You slowly turn his head and his eyelashes flutter closed, he looks so… content. You hold his chin in your hand and run your fingers over his hair satisfied that he has no freaking head injury. 

“You wanna open your eyes for me?” You say softly and Eddie looks up at you. Your heart drops into your stomach at that look in his eyes. Your hands tremble and he darts his tongue out to wet his lips. 

“Is everything okay?” His voice is like really freaking low and it’s as smooth as honey and you can practically feel his vocal cords against your palm when he speaks and when he looks at you like that you forget what you’re even thinking. 

Your fingers flutter around his face and you sort of claw at the edges of his jaw and he smirks. He knows that little nervous habit of yours and he’s so proud of you for not hurting him. He stands up slowly and you back up right into the wall behind you. 

“H-hey we’re supposed to be making sure you’re okay” You put your hands on his chest but he doesn’t budge. His arm comes up against the wall and he leans over you, he hooks his finger under your chin and tilts your face up to look at him. 

“I’m okay” His breath fans across your face and you can feel yourself melting into the wall, it’s like this entire party isn’t even here right now. 

He leans forward and ghosts his lips over yours. 

“I really, really want to kiss you right now” 

“What’s stopping you?” You mumble and he shuts down for a second. His eyes lock with yours and you don’t look away this time. 

“I’m not sure” He admits “I-I’m not sure you want this as much as I do” 

“Have I given any indication that I didn’t?” Your fingers glide down his sides and grip the fabric of his shirt. 

“I didn’t want to be too forward” He laughs nervously and you giggle and let your head rest against the wall.

“And… cornering me in a party with all your friends and family who just happen to be ignoring us right now, wasn’t forward?” 

He thinks about it for a second, like he’s actually really thinking about it. You can see the gears turning in his head, you can also see the way his eyes start to glaze over again and you narrow your eyes.

“Eddie… Are you high??” 

It finally clicks for you and you have to slap your hand over your mouth to stifle your giggles. 

“Oh god, what have you done?” You cup his face and his bravado from earlier is gone and he’s back to wrapping his arms around your waist and whining into your shoulder. 

You wrap your arms around his neck pull him close to you and coo softly over his adorable puppy attitude. 

“Come on, let’s get you into your room.” 

He doesn’t want to let go and you can’t exactly carry him, so he does the most logical thing. 

He picks you up. 

“Eddie, Eddie no, no put me down honey, put- put me-“ 

Yeah, he’s not listening at all. He keeps his arms wrapped tightly around you and you wrap your legs around his waist and hold on. 

You’re begging for a Level 25 million Earthquake to just come and swallow you whole as you avoid the curious gazes of a few people watching. They don’t stop until Buck follows after you two and closes the door behind him. 

Eddie literally falls back and crashes on the bed with you. You bounce off his chest and roll to the side of the bed with a wheeze and spread out like a little starfish. 

“What did you do to him?!” 

“C’mere baby” Eddie pulls you into his arms and nuzzles his head into your neck and you yelp and try and reach for Buck. 

“Maybe you should stay here with him… I can run the party. I could just say he wasn’t feeling well”

“Right because me and him in here together and he “doesn’t feel good” doesn’t sound suspicious at all.”

“Well, I can get Bobby and the others to back me up. They’ll have to believe it after that.” 

“Buck I’m really not-“

“It’ll be fine, it’s cool, it’s fine, trust me. I’ll be back in with some food in a few minutes.” 

He doesn’t even let you finish your sentence before he’s closing the door and you’re sighing loudly and cursing him in as many languages as you can think of. 

You’re so busy trying to figure out another way to tell him to shove it up his ass you don’t even realize Eddie’s staring at you again. 

He’s just watching the way the fading sunlight seems to highlight the contours of your face. You’re staring at the ceiling and his eyes are trailing over your figure and his entire body is just like a puddle at this point because he can’t possibly melt anymore for you than he already has. 

You finally turn to face him and you flinch back slightly. He’s doing that thing again, where he looks like he���s staring into your soul and he’s actually liking what he’s seeing. 

His heart nearly stops in his chest when you look up at him, Golden hour today was just for you, he was sure. He reaches forward and pushes a curl behind your ear and you smile at him. 

“Hi” 

“Hi” 

He leans in closer, nuzzling his nose against yours again and you blush and scoot closer to him.

“We back here again?” You tease and he looks at you. His hand cups your cheek and he runs his thumb over your soft skin.

“Yeah. I still wanna kiss you.” 

“You say it so freely” Your lids flutter closed and you feel his hand moving, gently feeling your face under his fingertips. 

“I’ve never really had the courage to admit it out loud. Remind me never to eat fruit snacks again.” 

“Is that what you thought that was?” You snicker and it makes him roll his eyes. He’s a bit more sober now. 

“He didn’t exactly tell me any different… I don’t think I’d have eaten the entire thing. I can feel my cerebral fluid” 

You turn over into him and laugh into his side, your hand slaps over his chest and he places his over it. His fingers wrap around your hand and he purposefully keeps you trapped against his chest now.

Not that you’ve noticed. 

“How strong was that gummy, holy shit Eddie” 

“I have no damn clue but I can hear colors and it’s great”

That gets him giggling and eventually, you’re both laughing like a bunch of psychos. You slap at his chest and he shakes you and somehow you don’t realize how close you’re getting to the edge of the bed. Because one second you’re rolling over onto him to try and breathe and the next you’re both toppling onto the floor and screaming. 

You hit the ground first and Eddie lands half on top of you. You both groan loudly and he shuffles off you as much as he can in the tiny space. 

“I can’t feel my kidneys” 

“I can’t feel your kidneys” 

He has a little trouble pushing himself up and it’s sending you. He’s still dazed and disoriented and his words slur together the sleepier he’s getting. 

“S’not funny, you little weenie”

You cackle and push him to try and help him get off. 

“Weenie?? You called me a weenie?!”

Eddie’s head is spinning as he stops for a second, on all fours. You look up, your giggles fading and he hovers over you. You’re trapped beneath him and the floor and there’s nowhere to go. 

He leans in close, his breath hot and heavy, mixing with yours. Your hands come up almost immediately and wrap around his neck to pull him closer. One hand keeps him up while the other finds a home on your hip. He keeps you pinned to the floor and finally takes what he’s been wanting all night, hell what he’s been wanting since he first met you. 

All he can focus on is the feeling of your lips pressed to his. His heart pounds in his ears with every little noise you make, he’s the one on top of you and yet he feels helplessly lost in you. Your fingers card through his hair and tug him closer and he groans against your lips. 

“I think I have a boner” 

Eddie finally pulls away and you let out a laughing gasp and peck his lips one more time. 

“Y-yeah, I think you do” 

You look between the two of you to the tent in his pants and your cheeks flush. 

“I think it’s because we were kissing” He whispers like it’s some secret and you nod along with him trying not to laugh at how adorable he is. 

“Usually I at least get halfway through a video or two before this…” He looks down curiously and you sit up under him 

“Ooh-Kay. Let’s- let's think about what we wanna say before we say it okay?” He sits on his legs and the… very big problem is evident as he stares quietly at the floor for a few minutes. 

You take this time to fix yourself up a little,  fixing your shirt he was pawing at and readjusting your-

“I’ve thought about my sentence,” He says clearly, getting your attention. 

“Im disappointed in myself for not making you cum. I really should have paid closer attention to your wants and needs you know?” 

“Eddie sweetie we were just-“

“I mean I’m really into you, you know? I think about you so much. I get excited every time I hear your text tone or when you call me. I like our scheduled FaceTimes and our movie nights where you never hit play at the same time” 

He looks so stressed that he’s telling you all this and you can’t tell if it’s from his lowered inhibitions letting it all out, or that he just feels so much for you he doesn’t know how to put it all into words.

“You’re just so pretty. And- and I keep pussying out of asking you on a real date. I shouldn’t phrase it like that, pussy is actually really powerful.” He sniffles and wipes his eyes “I should call it something to do with men, men are losers. I’m a loser, you deserve someone who won’t dick out of asking you on a date. That makes less sense but you get the point.” 

“Eddie p-please- please stop” You put your hands on your chest because Jesus fucking Christ he is so absolutely painfully cute right now and he just looks so sad and dejected, like a little puppy and he’s literally breaking your heart. 

“Did I upset you?” His voice cracks and you literally burst out laughing and crying at the same time 

“No!! Baby boy no, no of course not. You just- you said so many nice things and- if you remember any of this of course I’ll go on a date with you. You’re not a loser, you’re nowhere close to being a loser. You’re sweet and kind and pretty and so loving- it’s- I’ve also been dicking out of asking you on a date. And you’re right, this totally doesn’t make sense but the point does get across.” 

“You want to go on a date with me? Really? Can we go right now?” His entire demeanor is changed and you’re sure he’s about to start bouncing off some walls. You get up and help him and he sways immediately and crashes back down onto the bed with a loud groan.

“Did you even try using your legs?” You put your hands on your hips 

“Would you believe yes? Do you still wanna go on a date? We can have a date right here.” He nuzzles his face into the blankets and inchworms himself up onto the bed. 

Dear god. 

“Yes we can still have our date… why don’t I get us something to eat and we can have a picnic hm?” 

“I can get it!” He goes to roll off the bed and you jump on it and stop him 

“No!! No- no I want to! Since you finally asked me out, I’ll get the food. You stay right here okay? Don’t move”

Eddie pushes himself up to the pillows and collapses down in them. He hugs one to his chest, snuggles into it and gives it a little kiss.

“Don’t be too long okay? I’ll miss you.” 

“I won’t remember, no moving.” 

“I’ll remember, Hey Y/N?” 

You stop in the open doorway and turn back to him with a little smile.

“Yeah?”

“I think I love you, but don’t quote me on that. I need some more time to get my guest room fixed up. It should be ready for you sometime this year okay? You’ve always wanted a library room, right?” 

Your jaw drops open and you stand there like an idiot, just staring at him. What the hell was this man talking about and why did it send your heart fluttering so high you couldn’t even feel it in your chest anymore? 

“It’s just the drugs talking” 

You jump six feet out of your skin as Buck appears in the doorway. He pushes you back in a little and shuts the door behind him with his foot. He’s got two full plates and a couple of sodas in his pocket. 

“O-oh??” You’re still a bit stunned and you place a hand on your forehead.

“Yeah, He actually can’t decide between a plant room, a library, or a library-plant room.” 

[joshujihan23]

Take a break

☆ pairing: bf!wonwoo x reader

☆ genre: romance, fluff, slice of life, gruelling finals season

☆ synopsis: wonwoo, the guy that would always be there to provide to your needs, even if you didn’t ask for it

————————————————————————

[10:58pm]

the clock ticked. your eyelids fluttering shut every few seconds. your handwriting turned more and more illegible as you scribbled in your notebook.

finals seasons this year seemed to be even more tougher than usual. the previous papers played with your heartstrings more than you wanted them to, and that made you even more anxious for the next.

sipping on the final drops of the hazelnut latte right at the corner of your desk, you groaned softly at the finish of your drink, the only thing that seemed to keep you awake this entire day.

and the chemistry question right in front of you? it was almost as if it was speaking to you in another language.

don’t do it y/n, don’t rip it apart. you kept repeating to yourself as you erased your workings.

you sighed in defeat, your pencil scratching against the paper as you attempt the question yet again, for the fourth time.

the music blasting into your ears, your mind fixated on the equations and explanations in front of you, you didn’t even realise that someone had entered your room.

until from the corner of your eye, you see a glass of water and a bowl of grapes clinked onto the table.

from his hands, you knew who it was from.

wonwoo.

you took off your headphones, your eyes glued onto his.

“you’re home early.” you mumbled under your breath, which he heard.

“11:17 isn’t early, my dear. i told you to sleep early, didn’t i?” he placed his hands on your shoulders, massaging them gently, making you groan softly.

“i can’t solve this question, it doesn’t even make sense.” you tapped on the paper with your pencil, your eyebrows furrowing at the words.

wonwoo took one look at the question, scanning at the chemical formulas and the information given. he took the pencil from your hand, leaning forward until his chest was brushing against the back of your shoulders.

“you’re lucky i take the same major as you and graduated last year. alright so..”

————————————————————————

the both of you took 10 minutes to debunk that question, with you asking about every single detail, while wonwoo was there to answer each and every question.

finally, you both came to a conclusion, with the entire page being done. you sighed in relief, throwing your arms around wonwoo’s neck.

“i don’t know what i’ll do without you, my smartie~” you spoke in a soft tone, your head resting on his chest.

wonwoo chuckled softly, his chest rumbling slightly. he placed a hand on your head, rubbing it gently.

“so can my princess finally accompany her prince on the bed now?” his gaze scanning your face, noticing your chapped lips. he glanced at your table, seeing the finished cup of coffee. he placed his thumb on your bottom lip, rubbing it gently.

“but you’re so dehydrated now. when was your last time you drank water? you know coffee isn’t good for your health.. here, drink this cup of water and eat these bowl of grapes. after that you may sleep.” he said, in a sweet yet serious voice.

you grumbled softly, your lips pouting slightly.

“but..”

“no buts. come on, i’ll even feed you the grapes, if that helps you to eat them.”

your eyes immediately lit up at those words, your arms tightening around his neck.

“i’ll eat them, only in that condition~”

wonwoo chuckled, placing a kiss on your lips gently.

“then c’mon, let’s have a feast on the bed.” he grabbed the glass of water and the bowl of grapes, guiding you to the bed.

you giggled, following behind him.

well, that is one way to make you forget about your exam stress.

[strawb4kdior]

~ PRISON WIFE II ~

pairings: vi x FEM reader

tw: alot of angst - im sorryyyy

summary: you go to find vi, only to discover where her feelings truly lie

a/n: hey darlings here's part 2 :)) also i was wondering two things: 1. Should I make a lil series of a different vi story?? 2. Should I write part two of Caitlyn x Rhea??

taglist: @ren-ren23 @aubs-243 @sweetbcgs 🫶🫶🫶

< part 1 part 3 >

The first thing you noticed when you stepped out of Stillwater was the smell. It wasn’t mold, sweat, or the metallic tang of blood—just fresh air. Something you had been denied for two whole years. You inhaled deeply, rolling your shoulders as the heavy steel gates groaned behind you.

You were free.

But freedom didn’t mean anything. Not yet.

Not until you found Vi.

She was supposed to do this with you. Serve your sentences together, bide your time, get out, and start fresh. She had promised. She had told you, over and over, through whispered words in the dark corners of Stillwater’s cells, her hands wrapped around your waist, her lips against yours:

"I won’t leave you. I swear it. We’ll get out together."

But she had left.

She had been bailed out by Caitlyn, the enforcer she always spoke about with that mix of admiration and guilt. You should’ve known. You should’ve seen it coming, but you had been blinded by her—by the way she held you, by the way she made you feel like you were the only thing keeping her sane inside those walls.

And then she was gone.

No letters. No visits. Nothing.

She had left you to rot.

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to start walking. You had spent the last two years simmering in rage, planning what you’d say, what you’d do when you saw her again. You didn’t know if you wanted to scream at her, hit her, or pull her in and kiss her like she hadn’t broken you. Maybe all three.

The streets of Zaun were the same but different. More rundown in some areas, better in others. You pulled your hood up and moved fast, heading to the one place you knew would have answers: The Last Drop.

THE LAST DROP

The bar was crowded, neon lights flickering above as people drank, laughed, and fought. The air was thick with the scent of liquor, sweat, and the ever-present stench of desperation that clung to Zaunites trying to survive.

You pushed through the crowd, heading straight for the bar. The bartender was a familiar face—some guy who had been working there since before you were locked up. You leaned over the counter.

"Where’s Vi?" you asked, your voice sharp, demanding.

The bartender gave you a once-over, his brows lifting. "Well, shit. Didn’t think I’d see you again. You’re out, huh?"

"Yeah. Now where the fuck is she?"

He hesitated, wiping his hands on a rag. "You sure you wanna do this? I mean, word is, she’s different now."

Your jaw tightened. "Where. Is. She?"

A sigh. "She’s in Piltover. Been living there with her little enforcer girlfriend. Working with the cops now. Fancy apartment and all."

The rage that had been simmering for years turned white-hot. Piltover. She had abandoned you for Piltover. For her.

You turned on your heel without another word, shoving past bodies as you stormed out of the bar.

She had some fucking explaining to do.

VI & CAITLYN’S APARTMENT

Piltover was too clean, too bright, too polished. It made your skin itch. The second you reached Vi’s apartment complex, you knew you were in the wrong place. Gilded railings, pristine cobblestone walkways, expensive lanterns illuminating the street—it was everything Vi had told you she hated.

And yet, here she was.

You pounded on the door. Hard.

A few seconds later, footsteps. Then the door opened, and there she was.

Vi.

Your breath caught, just for a second. She looked different. Healthier. Softer. She wasn’t in a prison jumpsuit, wasn’t bruised or bleeding. She was dressed in casual clothes, a tank top and loose sweatpants, her hair a little longer, her face clean. She looked… comfortable.

Happy.

The realization made something inside you snap.

Vi’s eyes widened when she saw you. "Holy shit."

You shoved her back, stepping into the apartment. "That’s all you have to say?"

Vi stumbled slightly but didn’t push you away. She looked stunned, guilty even. "I—shit, I didn’t know you were out yet."

"You didn’t know?" You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "That’s funny, because I spent two years wondering if you even fucking cared!"

Vi winced, rubbing the back of her neck. "Listen—"

"No. You listen." You stepped closer, your voice shaking with anger. "We were in that hellhole together. We had a plan. And then you left me there."

"I didn’t have a choice!" Vi shot back, her own frustration bubbling to the surface. "Caitlyn got me out. She gave me a second chance. What was I supposed to do? Say no?"

"Yes!" you shouted. "You were supposed to remember what we had. You were supposed to fight for me, Vi. But instead, you just—what? Walked away? Forgot I existed?"

Vi’s jaw clenched. "I didn’t forget."

"Bullshit," you spat. "You never even came to see me. Not once."

She opened her mouth but closed it again, unable to argue. The silence was deafening.

Your voice dropped to something quieter, something more broken. "You told me you loved me."

Vi’s eyes flickered with something—regret, guilt, pain. "I did love you."

The past tense hit you like a punch to the gut.

You took a shaky breath, blinking rapidly. "Right. Of course. And now what? You love her?"

Vi hesitated, and that was all the answer you needed.

A bitter smile twisted your lips. "I should’ve known. Should’ve fucking known that I was just a mistake you wanted to forget."

"That’s not true," Vi said quickly. "You weren’t a mistake."

"Then why did you leave me?" Your voice cracked. "Why didn’t you come back for me?"

Vi swallowed hard. "Because I was scared. Scared that if I came back, I’d never leave. That I’d get sucked back into that life and never get out. Caitlyn gave me a chance to be better, and I took it."

You stared at her, feeling your anger start to crack under the weight of exhaustion and heartbreak. "And what about me?"

Vi exhaled slowly. "I didn’t know how to face you."

"You’re facing me now," you whispered.

A beat of silence. Then Vi stepped closer, her voice softer. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"You did anyway."

She reached for you, but you stepped back. She froze.

"I don’t even know why I came here," you muttered. "Maybe I thought you’d have some explanation that made it all make sense. But you don’t, do you?"

Vi’s face twisted with something like regret. "I wish I did."

You nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yeah. Me too."

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at each other, memories flickering between you like ghosts. Then you turned toward the door.

Vi didn’t stop you.

And that, more than anything, told you what you needed to know.

[bidisasterevankinard]

Buck knows Tommy avoids him. 

He feels him putting the distance between them. Feels when Tommy looks at him with not love and fondness as before, but with something dark and biting. Something that feels like his husband harbors hate for him.

He hopes he's wrong.

But when Tommy doesn’t give him his hand to feel the kick of their daughter he knows it’s true.

Something is wrong between them.

Tommy avoids him. His husband doesn't need him anymore.

“D-don’t you,” Buck coughs, “don’t you want to feel her first kick?”

Tommy slowly looks at his hands, then at the bump.

Buck’s sure with how cold their bed was and with how man never was present when Buck’s changing from his hoodies and shirts, Tommy sees it for the first time in a while.

The silence feels too loud. It surrounds him uncomfortably, like an unwanted hug.

Tommy’s voice breaks it. Buck wished he'd drown it after hearing what his husband said.

“It should have been me.”

“What?”

“It should have been me,” Tommy repeats in the voice so cold Buck needs a jacket, “It should have been me with a bump. It should have been me with morning sickness. It should have been me feeling she was moving all the time. It should have been me!” 

Buck is speechless.

“And yet, it was you! I was trying for months. Changed my diet, read thousands of recommendations, took vitamins, stopped working to prevent stress, but one night! One night when YOU asked us to stop stressing over it and boom! You have all I dreamt about!”

Buck feels like if the words were poison he would be dead. If the eyes could kick he’d be laying near Tommy bleeding.

He doesn’t know how to react.

“I-I though we were happy with it?”

Tommy was smiling when he looked at the test. He held his hand and told him he couldn’t wait to see them.

When did it change?

“That’s what you always do! You think just because it’s easy for you and you’re happy others are too! That I am too!”

“YOU NEVER SAID YOU WERE NOT!” He can’t stop that scream. He’s too angry for their baby. Tommy should be happy she’s there. Not hate that it’s Buck with her.

Maybe he hates that she’s part of you, says that small dark further corner of his brain that Buck believed disappeared after their engagement. 

He coughs and adds in a smaller voice, “you l-looked happy. You were talking about how you can’t wait to see her.”

“Just because someone plays their role doesn’t mean they’re actually happy Evan. But what can you know about it, right?”

“W-hat does it mean?”

“It means that it is always easy for you! You have parents who say sorry and try to have relationships with you and even agree for therapy. You have the family you built in 118 in a year, when I was there for more than decade! You come out in five minutes after finding out you like men! You don’t overcompensate more than one date to prove you’re straight! You don’t spend years upon years trying to love who you are! You get pregnant in one night!”

Tommy turns to look at something. 

“You know what? I’m tired of it all,” he takes his jacket and goes to the door, “I’ll live with Sal. I’ll take my stuff tomorrow when you’re at work.”

Buck rushes to him, grabbing his hand, “Tommy, please. L-let’s talk. If not today then soon, please, W-we can,”

Tommy interrupts him, pulling out his hand and shaking it as if he had stumbled into something unpleasant, “we can’t have anything, Evan. I will send you divorce papers soon.”

Buck never knew your heart breaks in seconds with so much pain that having a fire truck on you is like walking in a park. 

He looks at the door for a long time till his legs feel weak.

He sits on the couch. The last half an hour feels like a nightmare. Strong pinching does not lead to waking up. 

That’s when tears come.

“I’m-m sorry, love,” he rubs his bump, “s-sorry you must have my curse of watching people you love leave you. It’s unfair. B-but, hey, I’m always here for you. Pinky promise.”

He touches his belly with his pinky and feels her kicking that place, so he smiles at her even with tears running down his face.

“And papa hates me, not you, ok? He will be here for you too. Eventually.”

Buck hopes he actually promises her truth. He feels like he never knew Tommy at all.

-

Buck puts the last biscuit on the plate when he feels too dizzy and his pants get wet too quickly. Looking down, he feels nauseous from the amount of blood.

“EDDIE!” 

He knows his voice is too frantic but he can’t help it.

He loses his daughter. He can lose anything, even his life, but not her. 

“Oh, fuck, I’m calling 911, let me see.”

Last thing he remembers is Eddie helping him sit on the floor in his kitchen when he blackouts.

Please let Sky live. Choose me over her if needed.

-

“What do you want, Eddie?” Tommy sighs, sitting on the couch in his new apartment he found a month ago. 

“First Presbyterian,” the man says, basically roars through his teeth, “he wanted you to still be part of her life. Sky needs you.”

“Evan chose the name already?” 

Tommy remembered his ex-husband wanted to wait till she’s here before deciding.

“Yes. And it’s a good thing because if her dad won’t survive she deserves to at least have the name he chose for her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you missed me starting with the hospital? Buck had complications. They did a C-section and Sky’s here, four weeks early but passing everything with flying colors. 36 weeks is actually basically not premature. But Buck,” Eddie’s voice breaks. “It’s a miracle he didn’t bleed out at home.”

Eddie ends the call. 

Tommy feels like he ended his life.

Was he too late to make it right between him and Evan?

-

“You said you promised to Sky that you would always be here for her. So do it, Buck!” he hears Maddie’s voice but it’s like it goes from the radio.

He tries to move to it.

“C’mon, Evan,” he feels a soft silky touch of something really small to his pinky. It tugs him up, up, up. Till he opens his eyes and sees the most precious little girl in Tommy’s arms, her pinky is connected to his.

He did as he promised.

“Welcome back,” Tommy smiles.

Buck just nods. 

[kinda-indecisive]

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⋆ Face Kisses pt. III⋆ .˳⁺˚ ⋆･˳

Basically how I imagine their reactions to an onslaught of face kisses from you (MC). MC worries about Caleb. A LOT.

Part 3: The Caleb Edition!

+:★:+* *+:★:+* +:★:+━━━+:★:+━━━+:★:+* *+:★+:★:+* *+:★

Caleb 

Caleb is being stretched thin.

Between his work in the Fleet and his insistence on keeping his engagements with you despite you insisting it’s all right if he cancels, you can tell he’s wearing himself thin by the way he comes home and sighs, sinking into the couch while still completely in uniform—hat, boots, and all.

Watching him from your position across the room, you perk up when you hear him murmur without so much as opening his eyes, “You’re staring very hard right now. Have I got something on my face?”

“No,” you snort, turning away and adding, “You look like you got hit by a bus, but your suit somehow stayed nice and crisp in the process.”

He snorts, then opens his eyes. He looks at you and even though you have the broad distance of the living room between you two, you swear you can feel his gaze on you just as intensely as he had probably felt your own.

“Now you’re staring,” you mumble, picking up your phone to distract yourself. You hear him chuckle tiredly and when you peek up at him, he’s closed his eyes again, “Are you hungry?”

He hums in response, then, “I’ll get up to cook in a minute. Actually, that reminds me that I was supposed to order some groceries to be sent over before I got home.”

He sounds exhausted as he brings his arm over his face in a frustrated manner, probably annoyed with himself for having forgotten something so simple. Sliding off your stool, you wander up to him and lift his arm. You notice his furrowed brow for only a second, revealing to you just how frustrated he is, just before he forces himself to lighten up for your sake.

Sometimes you wish Caleb wouldn’t put on an act for you. It has to be even more exhausting for him, keeping it all buried inside. For once, it’d be nice to be the reassuring one.

“I’ll order some takeout for tonight,” you start, keeping your voice light, “And we can order the groceries tomorrow morning. I’ll be able to stay here during the day and wait for them, so you don’t have to worry about any lettuce getting wilted or anything.”

“I promised you a homecooked meal tonight,” he sighs, sounding more than a little disappointed in himself.

“And you also promised several other things to several other people this week, by the look of you,” you tease, gently poking his cheek. He grabs your hand before you can poke him again and you snicker, “You also promised me that you aren’t leaving me again. That means we have all the time in the world for you to make me a homecooked dinner. Tonight you should rest.”

“I’m fine. Let me just—”

He starts to stand when you swiftly drop yourself into his lap, which is enough of a surprise attack to knock the already tired colonel back onto his butt.

“Are you listening to me?” you glare down at him as he looks up at you, alarm painting the edges of his purple eyes, “You’re always up and moving. You fret and you worry and you never give me a single second to take care of you like you take care of me. You’ve got me spoiled and I appreciate that more than you know. But why don’t you ever let me spoil you back?”

“I hear you, pip-squeak, but I’m telling you that I’m perfectly alright. I’ve just overworked myself a little these last few weeks.”

“A little?” you scoff, shaking your hand out of his grasp to grab ahold of his face and lean in closer, “You’ve got bags under your eyes, Caleb.”

He reaches up as if to take your hands off his face and you lean in before he can, bringing your lips to his cheekbone, just under those eye bags you’d been scrutinizing. He freezes at the sudden touch of your lips on his skin and you don’t hesitate, continuing to place kiss after kiss after kiss. And, finally, you seem to get the effect you want out of him, as his eyes flutter shut and he slowly sinks heavily into the cushion he sits on.

You intentionally end with a quick peck on the lips and then lean back. Slowly, his eyes open again. His guard is all but shattered and his look is sheepish as his head tilts to look up at you, his cap tipping and toppling off the couch behind him.

“Feel better?”

“Like a million bucks,” he breathes.

“What you’re going to do now is change out of this uniform and put on something super comfy. Then you’re gonna return to this couch and not get up again until I tell you to, alright?”

He cocks his head slightly, the black-hole intensity of his attention trying to swallow you whole, before he breaks into a soft smile. Chuckling, he responds, “Message received, pips, loud and clear.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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I am officially all caught up with Caleb scenarios!! I'm hoping now that I got this one done, that the next ones can be pure fluff. It's just so hard for me to write pure fluff for Caleb because I'm literally so concerned for him all of the time. This man stresses me out! 😭

taglist❤: @fallthelong

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE MASTERLIST

[eldritch-spouse]

How would the other clergymen receive to cumming instantly for their obsession like in that ask with the icons? I imagine nebul would hate it. Patches wouldn’t notice for a bit lol

[Continuing from this ask, minus Santi.]

Morell struggles to understand. That didn't just happen. That's never happened, not since his first. As embarrassed as he is, he knows he can't give you too much time to think about it, so he overwhelms you with his fingers as best as he can. Morell is touchy about this and will keep ceaselessly trying to find a workaround. It's just no fun if, the second he's in you, it's over. Tease him and he may become unpredictable.

Gallon, entirely not predicting this, has a frozen moment where he simply processes his own orgasm. While he won't outright react to teasing now, he'll use several tendrils to make you orgasm into exhaustion, silently wondering why this took place. The experience was ruined, for his pride at least, and he'll show less interest in penetrative sex when he determines this is a pattern, scheming ways to fix the problem.

Patches does, absolutely, not notice it at first. He figures the next time he'll last a bit more. But he doesn't. Ever. It's as mildly horrifying as it is predictable. He knows it's a problem when Stitches suffers from it too, out of nowhere, and turns to the world of magic to find if he can either extend his endurance artificially, or negate any anomalous properties you might have. This can result in him never again being a minute man.

Grimbly honestly tears up from shame. This is gross and weird and it wasn't meant to end like that. Comforting him through it is appreciated, but the more this happens, the more Grimbly thinks there's something wrong with him. He wants to fuck you! He doesn't want to be pegged or penetrated by toys all the time!! He'll even resort to condoms to make things last longer. He never thought this would eat at him as much as it does.

Vinnel just sighs. Figures his sickness would ruin his sexual performance as well. Having days where his genitals simply refuse to work is one thing, now he's cumming in seconds? Fortunately, he can pull a switcheroo and keep fucking you with an approximation, but his own frustration might translate into sadism dealt onto you. Whatever.

Belo, well, he figures the first time this happens it's normal? There's suspicion it's not. You might need to have a talk with him. Ultimately, he's conflicted. On the one hand, this must mean you're very compatible, right? You resonate with him! On the other, he's aware he should offer his Lady/charge a more worthwhile experience of love in its' physical form. Could... Could he consult Krulu about this?

Nebul is eating this memory. No way you're keeping that. Penetration is off the table until he can find a workaround. He would rather not fuck you at all than orgasm in seconds. You will not have power here, not even power you're unaware of.

Sybastian grunted some kind of incomprehensible curse and looked as if something was deeply wrong with his body. Although he tries to stroke himself back to hardness, something he's regularly achieved, it might be fruitless. Sybastian doesn't quite know what to do with himself and fears that you now see him as subpar and laughable. He will seek reassurance subtly, also trying desperately to find ways to prolong his performance.

Fank-e has no idea how you achieved this?? This isn't supposed to be possible? He can go for hours if he feels like it, then you come along and he orgasms so hard that he nearly has to shut down. Very funny. Instead of feeling threatened by this, Fank-e resorts to his other incredibly effective means of making you orgasm, and later forcibly modifies all his genital attachments to a very diminished sensitivity. It took several tries to find a good balance.

Krulu has to resist the urge to pry your body open and inspect what caused this. His first idea is that the feedback response from your part was simply too intense. Irregardless, he's rattled that this didn't go according to how he wants it to, but his refractory period isn't notable to you, so he spends the time in-between isolating and nullifying the trait that makes your partners unable to perform. The trait is not erased, particularly because he thinks he can weaponize it. You know better than to tease him for that first encounter, hopefully. Silently savor the win of making a siadar bust immediately, if you're smart.

[salt-clangen]

Moon 16

Green Leaf

Lynxdawn was a miracle worker—Snowspeckle was sure of it. In less than a moon, Nightleap was already up and moving again. It had taken countless poultices and strict nest rest, but her wound had finally closed, leaving behind a fresh pink scar. It was rigid and sensitive, but it held her mate’s weight again.

Just in time for Greenleaf’s sweltering heat to settle over the clans. Snowspeckle was grateful for the ocean breeze that cut through the rising temperatures, though she knew her darker-furred clanmates struggled more with the heat. That was why, in the cool hush of early morning, she asked Nightleap to join her on a gathering patrol.

The black molly agreed without hesitation—any excuse to spend time with her beloved—and the two of them set out with their baskets.

Snowspeckle chatted as they walked, her voice light and warm. She spoke of the upcoming Longest Day Festival, the decorations SaltClan was tasked with, and how HoneyClan’s artisans had kept their assignment simple: crafting flower, bee, and sun charms to hang at the gathering place. They wandered the shore collecting wood and cordage materials, the gentle rhythm of Snowspeckle’s words soothing Nightleap’s nerves.

But there was a nagging thought she couldn’t shake.

“I think we should have another litter,” Nightleap blurted out.

Snowspeckle froze mid-step, her words cut short. She turned to face Nightleap fully, expression unreadable. “You do?”

Nightleap shrugged, but excitement flickered beneath her nonchalance. “Yeah. I think we’re in a good place. It’d be nice.”

Snowspeckle hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t think now is the time.”

The answer hit like a wave crashing against rock. Disappointment surged in Nightleap’s chest, hot and sharp. She turned away, ears twitching as she resumed walking, silent.

Snowspeckle hurried after her. “It’s just—my first kitting was hard to recover from,” she explained, voice gentle but firm. “And I’m deputy now. I need to focus on my duties.”

Nightleap didn’t respond. Her jaw was tight, her steps clipped.

The tension between them crackled like fire, thick and oppressive. Snowspeckle sighed, then cut in front of her, stepping into her space and pressing their foreheads together.

“Hey.” Her voice softened. “Talk to me.”

The warmth in her tone shattered the last of Nightleap’s restraint.

“I…” Nightleap exhaled sharply, ears flicking back. “I want another litter so I can be there when they’re young.” She swallowed hard, shame creeping into her voice. “I feel like I don’t have a strong bond with our sons. It feels weird even calling them that.”

A shadow crossed Snowspeckle’s face. She stepped back, tail flicking. When she spoke, she fought to keep her voice even.

“Kits aren’t do-overs or second chances.”

Nightleap flinched. “I know! I know. But it’s how I feel.”

“You don’t need another litter to grow closer to them,” Snowspeckle said, her voice gentler now. “You might not be close now, but there’s still time. You have so many chances to bond as they grow.”

She let the words sink in before adding, “Think about how close you and Ripplepaw have gotten. It’s not impossible.”

The morning sun peeked over the horizon, turning the air muggy and thick. Nightleap shifted uncomfortably, struggling to find the right words.

“You don’t have to say anything now,” Snowspeckle murmured, stepping closer to press a fond lick to her cheek. “Let’s get to the trees, stay out of the sun while we work. Yeah?”

Nightleap nodded and shyly bumped her head against her mate’s. She still felt the weight of disappointment, but Snowspeckle was right—she needed to try.

Her paws felt heavy as they made their way to the tree line, but as she caught the warmth in her mate’s gaze, something in her chest lightened.

Everything was going well for Mallowstripe. Every day, he courted Shadowdive, bringing the large tom gifts and lingering by his side. In turn, Wolfstar courted him—her words and gestures flustering him even as he worked.

Even under the sweltering Greenleaf sun, with the fires and ovens making the air thick and oppressive, he felt giddy whenever either of them approached. They seemed to enjoy teasing him—Shadowdive smirking as Mallowstripe stuttered through the day’s meal plans, pressing his heavy body against the smaller tom’s side. Wolfstar, on the other paw, would murmur praises in his ear, for the food and for him.

It was perfect. Exactly what he had always wanted.

So why did his heart race like he was being hunted? Why did the shadows stretch too long at night? Why did he brace for the worst every time a cat entered camp too quickly?

Nothing was wrong. He knew that. Nothing was happening. There was no immediate danger, no reason for his paws to shake or his stomach to churn. His life was too good to ruin with his nerves.

And yet, when Wolfstar was gone too long, he hid behind the oven or curled up in the warriors’ den, shivering like a leaf caught in a storm. He tried what Darkfold had taught him so many moons ago—deep breaths, counting on the exhale—but it didn’t help.

Mallowstripe felt powerless, out of control. Embarrassed.

Today’s panic hit at sunhigh, nearly halfway through the moon. It started slow—prickling at the base of his tail like ants crawling under his fur. He tensed, willing himself to push through, to focus on the evening’s meal preparations. The camp was mostly empty, warriors and apprentices dozing in the dens through the worst of the heat.

And still, the feeling spread, creeping up his spine, bristling his hackles. His face itched, his scar burned, and the heat from the oven pressed in like suffocating paws.

It was too easy to lose everything.

The thought seized him, and he gasped, choking on his own breath. He pressed himself against the stone wall, claws sinking into the sand as images flashed behind his eyes—scenes of terror and death. Memories. Possibilities. He squeezed his eyes shut against them, trembling all over.

A small paw pad pressed against his hip.

A normal warrior would leap at the unexpected touch. Mallowstripe only curled in on himself.

Pathetic.

The ringing in his head made it hard to hear, but someone was speaking. He forced his eyes open and found Coralkit standing over him, her wide, curious gaze locked onto his.

He let out a shaky breath. The sight of her—so small, so unaffected by whatever monsters lurked in his head—was enough to drag him back, at least a little. Still shaking, he retracted his claws and tried to shift away.

But Coralkit was nothing if not stubborn. She pressed in closer. He wanted to snap at her, to tell her to go away—to shove down the shame clawing at his throat—but he couldn’t. She nosed her way under his chin, tucking herself against him, small enough to fit between his cheek and shoulder.

It was too hot for this. His pelt burned, but her nose was cold against his fur. She purred—a small, trilling sound, forced and high-pitched, like she wasn’t used to doing it on purpose.

Still, it soothed him.

He hadn’t even realized he was crying until he felt the warm, salty wetness on his fur.

They stayed like that for a long time. Long enough for his chest to stop aching and his breathing to steady. When he finally purred back, her own purr wobbled, going even higher.

At last, Coralkit pulled away, no doubt sweltering in her thick coat. She stood, peering up at him. “Is it better?”

Mallowstripe swallowed, his throat dry. “Y-yeah. A lot better. Th-thank you.”

Her tail flicked, pleased. “Are you ready to go to ma—Lynxdawn?”

He stiffened at the suggestion. The movement didn’t escape her shining eyes.

“It’d be good,” she pressed gently. “She can help. She says clerics take care of every part of a cat, even their mind.”

Mallowstripe couldn’t meet her gaze. “I think I’ll be fine.” He forced a smile, ears flicking back. “I’ll go if it happens again.”

Coralkit frowned, clearly unconvinced. “But this has happened before. A lot. Like, every day at least.”

She took a step closer, like she might curl up against him again, but this time, he stood.

Her ears dropped. He could see it in her face—like he’d just cut her off, shut her out.

Shame burned under his fur. What kind of warrior needed comfort from a kit?

“It’s fine,” he insisted, voice sharper than intended. “I can handle it.”

“But—”

“I said it’s fine!” He snapped, his tail lashing.

A normal kit would have flinched. Would have run off, tail tucked.

But Coralkit was not a normal kit.

She held her ground, her expression shifting—not scared, not angry. Just… sad.

“I thought you were dying,” she murmured.

Mallowstripe stilled, her words knocking the breath from his lungs. “What?”

“The first time I saw it happen, I thought you were hurt.” She scuffed a paw against the ground. “But then you got up again. And this time, you… you looked like Fennelheart when he was sick.”

A chill seeped into his bones despite the heat.

He had never considered what it must look like from the outside. What it must feel like for a kit to witness.

Coralkit kept her gaze on her paws. “It was really scary. So I came to check on you.”

Mallowstripe swallowed hard. “How long have you known?”

“A couple days.” She shrugged, though he suspected longer.

“Does… does your mother know?”

She shook her head, ears flicking.

He hesitated. He should brush it off, tell her he was fine. But she wasn’t wrong.

And she wasn’t going to let it go.

“…I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask for her help,” he muttered, the words heavy in his mouth.

Coralkit’s face brightened just a little. Without another word, she turned and started leading him toward the cleric’s den.

Mallowstripe followed.

“Skullcap and chamomile.” Lynxdawn’s voice was soft, as if she was afraid he might startle. “Keep it in the kitchen—make a big bowl of tea in the morning and sip it throughout the day.”

She slid the bundled herbs toward him, and he hooked a gentle claw under the twine, pulling them closer. He sniffed the leaves, focusing on the earthy scent as if it might ground him.

“You need to talk to someone.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

Mallowstripe ducked his head, his throat tightening.

“You won’t get better without talking it out,” Lynxdawn pressed gently.

His chest clenched. “I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing wrong. I shouldn’t be this anxious.”

“There’s plenty to be worried about,” she countered, her tail brushing his side as she turned to scan her stores. “The tensions with the clans, the strange dreams, the dead ends about Lostclaw…”

He stayed quiet, ears twitching at the distant sounds of camp—warriors stretching, kits squealing, the low murmur of conversation as cats returned to their duties.

Lynxdawn didn’t let the silence linger. “You’ve always been nervous,” she said, voice patient. “Why is it worse now?”

Mallowstripe shuffled his paws in the sand. “Things are… going well.” His voice wavered, and he let the words trail off.

She glanced at him. “Things are going well.”

He sighed, hesitating before admitting, “With me and Wolfstar and Shadowdive… I just—I worry it won’t last.”

“You’re afraid something bad will happen now that you’re happy,” she murmured.

He nodded stiffly, shoulders drawn tight. “I’ve never been this happy before. I’ve always felt… left behind. Tolerated.” His breath hitched. “But with them, with this courtship, with taking care of the camp… I feel secure for the first time.” A shudder ran through him. “And I’m scared it’s all going to go away.”

Lynxdawn leaned forward, pressing a comforting lick between his eyes.

Tears welled, spilling over despite his effort to hold them back.

In the quiet dark of the den, he stifled his sobs, and she stayed beside him, silent and steady.

Lynxdawn let him cry, her presence warm and unwavering. She didn’t offer meaningless reassurances or tell him everything would be fine—because they both knew life didn’t work that way. But she stayed, and for now, that was enough.

After a while, Mallowstripe sniffled and sat up, rubbing at his damp eyes with a paw. He felt wrung out, but lighter, like he could finally breathe again.

Lynxdawn tilted her head, studying him. “You don’t have to carry this alone, you know.”

“I know,” he admitted, voice raw. And for the first time, he almost believed it.

She nudged the herbs toward him again. “Start with the tea. Let yourself rest. And when you’re ready, talk to them—really talk to them. Wolfstar and Shadowdive aren’t just going to vanish because you’re scared.”

His ear flicked. It was so simple when she said it like that.

“I’ll try,” he said, and this time, he meant it.

Lynxdawn smiled. “Good. That’s all healing really is—trying, a little more each day.”

Mallowstripe let out a breath, slow and steady. His chest still felt tight, but there was something else now, too—a quiet hope, small and fragile but real.

And for now, that was enough.

Entering Saltclan’s camp used to be as simple as leaping down from the low, western rocks. But as the clan grew, defense became paramount. Now, dried bramble bushes crowned the most accessible entries. A cat would have to squeeze through a narrow gap—only two tail lengths of sand between rugged rocks and the high tide—or brave wading through the water.

Crowpaw had visited the camp only once before, on a late night in leaf bare. And as the warm morning sun beat on their back, a prickling suspicion told them that Nightleap was leading them the wrong way. They hesitated, almost ready to voice their complaint when, unexpectedly, Nightleap rounded the rocky wall.

With cautious steps, Crowpaw followed, eyes fixed on the water even at its low tide. Then they were stunned: the familiar rocky barrier gave way to a large, beautiful camp. The bright sun painted the rocks golden, and the surrounding plants shone a vivid green. Even the tide pools practically sparkled.

“Not too bad, huh?” Nightleap asked with a hint of snide amusement.

Crowpaw’s grey eyes widened in wonder. “I’ve never seen anywhere like this…” they whispered.

Nightleap rolled her eyes lightly. “You haven’t exactly been to a lot of places,” She chided, tail beckoning the young cleric to follow.

Soon, the SaltClan cats began to watch as they approached the cleric’s den. Crowpaw recognized Mallowstripe and Snowspeckle immediately—both eyed them with cautious curiosity.

“Nightleap?” The white deputy asked, tone firm.

The dark molly answered quickly. “They were at the border, requesting to visit Lynxdawn.”

Stopping before a large den, Nightleap announced with a tail flourish that didn’t quite match her tone. “Here’s the clerics’ den. A warrior will be waiting outside to escort you back to the border when you’re done.”

Crowpaw bowed politely. “Thank you. I shouldn’t be long.”

Nightleap offered a curt nod—barely a bow, really. Just then, a large tom and a white tabby emerged from a den across the camp.

“Crowpaw,” Wolfstar greeted, offering a proper bow. “What brings you to our camp?”

Taking a steadying breath, Crowpaw replied, “I’m here to ask to borrow medicine from your cleric. Is she here?”

A soft, familiar face appeared as Lynxdawn’s fluffy head peeked out from behind the curtain of her den, followed by a gentle waft of fragrant herbs. “I am.” she said.

Crowpaw pushed past the curtain, uneasy as Wolfstar trailed close behind—the large, brown tom remaining at the entrance.

“Respectfully, Wolfstar,” The apprentice said, voice clipped. “This isn’t a matter that typically needs the leader’s input.”

Lynxdawn raised a brow at them. “We’re a bit more collaborative in SaltClan. Wolfstar and I make most decisions together.”

Crowpaw cleared their throat, not expecting her to side with the leader. “I suppose that’s fine. I’m here for poppy seeds.”

Wolfstar tilted her head. “Poppy seeds? That’s for severe pain. What do you need it for?”

Crowpaw’s tail twitched ever so slightly, though their tone remained steady. “I have a patient in severe pain.”

A tense silence fell as Lynxdawn’s eyes darted between her leader and the nervous apprentice. Finally, with a quick ear flick and nod from Wolfstar, Lynxdawn cleared her throat. “Poppy seeds are very uncommon. How much do you need?”

“As much as you can spare,” Crowpaw replied, voice low.

After a long pause, Lynxdawn sighed. “I’m afraid the seeds are too precious for charity. Perhaps I can offer willow bark instead—if I knew the nature of the injury, I can give you something more specific.”

At this, Crowpaw nearly stormed out of the den, their frustration boiling. “I don’t need to explain myself,” they hissed, tail lashing with a mix of anger and desperation. “But if it matters at all… I need it for Darkfold. Nothing else is working—her joints are swollen, and she can barely walk. I’ve sought help from Mousefoot and Rosedrift, but no one can soothe her pain.”

Wolfstar stepped forward, concern evident in their tone. “And you think poppy seeds will help?”

“It’s the only thing that allows her to stand,” Crowpaw said solemnly. “We’ve run out of our stores, and our artisans say we have too few trades to barter with HoneyClan for more.”

A hush fell among the pair as they exchanged silent looks. Wolfstar’s tail brushed lightly over Lynxdawn’s shoulder.

“Please,” Crowpaw bowed deeply, chest pressed against the cool, leather-lined floor. “I know it’s a big favor, and I can’t offer anything close to its worth—but I need the poppy seeds.”

The apprentice glanced up, uneasy at the look in Wolfstar’s eyes.

“Sit up,” Lynxdawn said gently. “We can send you with our stock.”

“If you can answer our questions.”

Crowpaw’s heart sank, they knew this came at a cost—they’d already revealed too much. Steeling themselves, they squared their shoulders and asked. “What questions?”

Wolfstar’s blue eyes met theirs. “Do you know the name Lostclaw?”

The calm façade in Crowpaw’s expression wavered; the mere mention of the name sent shivers down their spine. They averted their gaze toward the entrance, tempted to escape the interrogation.

“So you do know who she is,” Lynxdawn pressed.

Whipping their head around, Crowpaw was caught off-guard. “It’s a molly?” they stuttered.

Wolfstar’s tone hardened. “What do you know?”

Crowpaw’s pulse raced, and the large molly stepped in, blocking the entrance so no one could see their reaction. “I have obligations to my clan,” they growled, eyes darting nervously between the assembled cats. “I can’t disclose DuskClan’s weaknesses.”

Wolfstar’s voice was icy, “So Lostclaw was a DuskClan warrior?”

“No! I—I meant that…” Crowpaw stammered, heart pounding as they realized how trapped they were. “I don’t know who Lostclaw was, but I’ve heard the name before.”

Lynxdawn stepped in with quiet authority. “Please, Crowpaw. We’ve had signs linking this name to troubling events.”

“Darkfold mentioned it once… when she was more coherent. Our warriors—” They paused, unable to finish.

Wolfstar stepped back, offering Crowpaw space, her tone gentler now. “I know you’re reluctant to reveal too much. But we’re all looking out for DuskClan—and for the clan as a whole.”

Lynxdawn closed the gap, her maternal energy radiating in her soft words. “We believe Lostclaw is a threat to every clan.”

Crowpaw took a long breath, recalling the visions that haunted their nights. “I’ve had dreams that are… different. In them, I see a figure rising from the darkness—eyes that burn like cold fire. It’s not just a warning. It feels like a remnant of something lost, something that wasn’t meant to be a ghost at all.”

Wolfstar’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You mean Lostclaw?” she prompted, already knowing the answer.

Crowpaw nodded, then lowered their gaze. “Yes. But there’s more.” They hesitated, then continued in a softer tone. “I was out near the border a few nights ago after the dream, and I saw something… unsettling. I found these deep claw marks carved into an ancient oak.”

They paused, feeling overwhelmed in the tight den. “The marks weren’t there before and they were too deep to be cause by a cat or even a badger.”

The silence that followed the admission was long, in the distance Crowpaw could hear the roar of the ocean. It unnerved them, setting their hackles up.

“It’s best if I get back.” They said dismissively. “Have I answered all your questions?”

Wolfstar nodded, starting to push the jar forward, then hesitated, glancing guiltily at her cleric.

“What about my siblings?” She asked, Lynxdawn sent a sharp look to her now, but she went on. “They haven’t been at the last few gatherings. Are they ok?”

“I can’t tell you.” Crowpaw said firmly, grabbing the twine handle in their teeth.

They march towards the entrance, stopping just short to glance back. “But…if you were asking as their sister…. And not the leader of Saltclan….”

They trailed off, but Wolfstar was quick to nod.

Crowpaw gulped, worrying the twine between their jaws as they thought.

“Greyclaw is…busy. He’s got a lot of responsibility.” They paused, glancing down to speak to the ground. “Ashenstep hasn’t spoken in moons, hardly a word from them.”

Wolfstar tried not to let her heart break, but she was weak.

“Can you ask them, please I know it’s…wrong but can you ask them to meet me at the border by the knotted pine.” She asked, Lynxdawn at her hip, a weight reminding her of her duties. “The night after the gathering. Please tell them.”

Crowpaw doesn’t meet their gaze, tail tucked. “I…. I’m not sure I can, but I’ll…try.”

Crowpaw hesitated, then lowered their gaze. With one last furtive glance at Lynxdawn, Crowpaw turned to leave, their footsteps subdued as Shadowdive stepped forward to escort them home.

The air was thick with humidity as Snowspeckle left camp, making her way west to HoneyClan. The day was just beginning, but already the sun’s warmth pressed down, breaking through the cloud cover in hazy streaks. She moved quickly, crossing the river over the stepping stones, the spray of water a welcome relief against her flank.

“Snowspeckle!” A voice carried on the wind.

Her ears flicked back, and she grimaced as Swiftdance trotted toward her, the blue tabby’s tail held confidently high. Snowspeckle wouldn’t have been surprised if the deputy found amusement in her irritation. The Molly’s tail brushed against her side, a touch far too familiar to be accidental.

Snowspeckle shifted away, keeping her greeting curt. “Swiftdance.”

“I’ll be your guide.” Swiftdance was undeterred by the cold reception. “I know you’re familiar with the way, but I’ll try not to walk ahead so you don’t struggle to keep up.”

Snowspeckle bit back the urge to roll her eyes. A classic Swiftdance move—brag and insult in the same breath. She kept silent and walked forward, ignoring the prickle of frustration as the HoneyClan deputy matched her pace, occasionally letting their pelts brush.

Don’t react, she told herself. She wants a reaction. Just focus on the meeting.

Interactions with HoneyClan always left her gritting her teeth. They carried themselves with an air of effortless superiority, wrapped in honeyed words and casual dismissal. Every meeting was a battle of patience, their condescending nature forcing her to bite her tongue. OakClan boasted out of genuine excitement, proud of their innovations. HoneyClan flaunted with a practiced ease, as if they were the standard to which all others should aspire.

That was why Nightleap had been different. Nervous, humble, content in her skills without the need to prove herself. It was why Snowspeckle had loved her from the start.

The thought occupied her enough that she barely noticed the transition from open plains to the lone hill that cradled HoneyClan’s camp. She entered through the narrow space between dens, only for Swiftdance to press against her once more, the scent of wildflowers clinging to her like pollen.

“Oh, you haven’t changed at all,” Swiftdance murmured, voice laced with amusement.

Snowspeckle’s tail flicked, but before she could snap, Rookstar and his mate, Bluemoon, approached.

“Snowspeckle! Nice to see you,” Rookstar greeted warmly, touching noses with her. “I hope the heat wasn’t too bad. Where’s Wolfstar?”

Snowspeckle nodded respectfully to Bluemoon before answering. “She’s come down with whitecough. Nothing serious, but we didn’t want to risk spreading it.”

Rookstar dismissed Swiftdance with a flick of his tail, and though the deputy left, her scent still clung stubbornly to Snowspeckle’s pelt.

“Some things never change, huh?” Bluemoon said lightly, watching Swiftdance disappear into camp. Her gaze was warm but sharp.

Snowspeckle exhaled slowly. “No, they don’t.”

Rookstar led them to a shaded patch of soft grass, lined with vibrant flowers. “Would you like some tea?” he offered, waiting as Bluemoon settled beside him.

“I’m fine, thank you.” She gave an awkward smile. “This shouldn’t take long.”

Rookstar, unbothered, nuzzled his mate before rising. “I’ll bring you some, love.”

As he padded away, Snowspeckle finally noticed the curve of Bluemoon’s belly.

“You’re pregnant,” she said, blinking in surprise.

Bluemoon purred, amused. “I am. This will be my third litter.”

“Congratulations.” The words came easily, but an itch of unease remained under her pelt.

“Thank you. I’m fortunate to have such a supportive mate.” Bluemoon sighed contentedly. “Your kits are nearly warriors now. You must be excited.”

Snowspeckle wasn’t sure if it was a dig or a genuine observation. Bluemoon was more tolerable than most HoneyClan cats, but even she had a way of prodding at sore spots.

“I’m thrilled,” Snowspeckle answered smoothly. “They’ll make great warriors.”

Bluemoon didn’t push further as Rookstar returned, carrying a bowl for his mate before settling beside her. “Thank you for coming. I hope you don’t mind Bluemoon being present—I’d rather not be away from her this far into her pregnancy.”

“I don’t mind,” Snowspeckle replied politely. “Let’s begin.”

The meeting dragged into sunhigh, the heat growing heavier as they discussed OakClan and DuskClan. Rookstar spoke of OakClan’s scent lingering past the borders, particularly near their graveyard. Archstar dodged all attempts to address it, claiming it was handled, yet the scent always returned.

Finally, after enough incidents, they realized it was the same cat each time. No one Rookstar recognized, but HoneyClan planned to identify them at the next gathering.

Swiftdance even returned with a broken tree branch, unusually serious as she asked Snowspeckle to scent it. The scent was undeniably OakClan—but unrecognizable to her.

For her part, Snowspeckle shared what little they had learned from DuskClan. The abandoned nest’s border remained unstable, and though encounters had been civil, there was an underlying unease. She mentioned the nightmares and Crowpaw’s vague revelations. None of it provided answers.

“Well, I’m sorry you traveled all this way for so little,” Rookstar sighed, tail flicking in frustration. The weight of the unknown bore heavily on him.

“It’s alright. I wish I could’ve been more help.” Snowspeckle exhaled, rubbing at her temple. “It’s awful, being kept in suspense. Just waiting for something to happen.”

Rookstar nodded, lost in thought.

A sudden gasp from behind startled Snowspeckle. She turned to see a large apprentice staring at her, amber eyes wide.

“Sunpaw, don’t be rude,” Bluemoon chided, though the tom remained transfixed.

Rookstar beckoned him closer. “This is our son, Sunpaw. He’s a little older than your kits.”

Sunpaw beamed and bowed—deeply, clumsily. “It’s nice to meet you!”

Snowspeckle chuckled. “Nice to meet you too. What are you training as?”

“I’m gonna be an artisan!” he announced proudly, fur fluffed up with excitement.

“That’s lovely!” Snowspeckle purred. “I’m an artisan as well. I look forward to seeing your crafts.”

Sunpaw nearly vibrated with joy. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

She laughed. “You said that already.”

His eyes grew impossibly round. “It’s just—you’re a deputy! And an artisan! That’s so cool!”

She blinked, taken aback by his enthusiasm. “It’s not common, but there’ve been a few before me.”

“None that I’ve met,” he whispered, awed. “This is awesome.”

Bluemoon and Rookstar exchanged amused glances, clearly surprised by their son’s eagerness. His openness was unlike HoneyClan’s usual smooth confidence, and yet, Snowspeckle found herself unexpectedly warmed by it.

For the first time that day, she felt the trip had been worth it.

That feeling lingered, even as she left, even as Swiftdance escorted her, even as the sun-scorched rocks burned beneath her paws. And even as she washed the scent of another molly from her fur in the tide pools, she couldn’t shake the smile tugging at her whiskers.

It was late at night when Wolfstar pulled Lynxdawn from her nest. The kits were snoring, curled up in a warm heap, undisturbed as their mother stepped out into the cool night air.

Blinking sleep from her eyes, Lynxdawn yawned widely. "What’s going on?"

"I had a dream. I think it was a vision." Wolfstar shuffled her paws, glancing around as if making sure they were alone.

It took Lynxdawn a moment to realize they were. No Shadowdive or Mallowstripe trailing at Wolfstar’s heels, no comforting presence flanking their leader. The sight was unsettling—Wolfstar was rarely alone, let alone looking this shaken.

The silence pressed heavy between them, thick as the salt in the air. "Can we go to the waves?" Wolfstar asked, her voice quiet but urgent.

"Yeah." Lynxdawn yawned again but followed the white molly to the edge of camp, where the ocean kissed the shore.

Technically, they had stepped beyond the camp’s boundaries, just past the jagged rocks that marked the entrance. But they were still visible from the dens, and the crashing waves muffled any conversation, granting the illusion of privacy.

The cool water lapping at Lynxdawn’s paws woke her fully. "What did you see?" she asked, breaking the heavy silence. Wolfstar was not often one to hold back.

"I was here." Wolfstar murmured, pressing a paw into the wet sand. "But the sand was white—like old bones. And the sea was red."

Lynxdawn stiffened. This was surely a vision. "Did anything happen?"

Wolfstar hesitated. "A cat rose from the waves, their fur blending into the bloody water. Their eyes—her eyes—were gone. Just empty, black holes."

A shiver ran down Lynxdawn’s spine. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to retreat from the tide, to step away from the lapping water. But she stayed firm.

"Her jaw hung open," Wolfstar continued, voice barely above a whisper. "I could see everything inside—her teeth, the soft flesh of her mouth. She rose from the horizon, walking on the water like it was solid ground. Closer and closer, until I couldn’t move. I woke up when she pressed her nose—if she had one—to mine."

The wind picked up then, tugging at their fur. Lynxdawn swallowed, the vision digging cold claws into her stomach.

"This was surely a vision," she said firmly, though her own conviction wavered. Her gaze flicked to her leader, studying her haggard expression. "But from who? That’s the question."

Wolfstar’s jaw clenched. "Do you think... do you think it wasn’t StarClan that led me here?"

Lynxdawn balked, her breath hitching. "How could you say that? You met Nettletuft! Clouddawn practically raised me!"

Wolfstar flinched. "I know! Maybe they did lead us here, but it feels like... like something else set this in motion."

The wind died suddenly, an eerie stillness settling over them, as if the coast itself held its breath.

"We need faith now more than ever," Lynxdawn said, voice steady despite the dread curling in her belly. "We were ordained by StarClan many times. You can’t forget that."

Wolfstar was silent, her hackles raised as she stared out at the sea. When she finally turned back, Lynxdawn recoiled at the wild look in her eyes—red-rimmed, bloodshot, frantic.

"Do you think the prophecies about us were sent by the Dark Forest?" Wolfstar’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but the words felt like a snarl in Lynxdawn’s ears.

A sickening chill twisted in Lynxdawn’s gut. The image of her kits, sleeping soundly in their nest, grounded her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were suddenly... unprotected.

"We should go back." She straightened, hackles rising. Everything felt wrong out here—the ocean, the air, and most of all, the way Wolfstar was looking at her.

But Wolfstar wasn’t finished. "Do you think StarClan sent us here to correct what was told to my mother? Doesn’t it feel like we aren’t welcome here?"

"We are blessed by StarClan!" Lynxdawn snapped, stepping back.

"There’s something else here, Lynxdawn." Wolfstar’s voice was a hiss, her eyes gleaming feverishly. "Something that was here before us. And it wants us out."

Lynxdawn reared onto her hind legs and shoved her. Wolfstar collapsed into the wet sand with a startled gasp as the waves rushed over her, soaking her fur.

"Enough!" Lynxdawn barked, breath coming fast.

Wolfstar coughed, sputtering as seawater stung her nose. But as she sat up, something in her posture shifted. Her body sagged, the manic glint in her eyes dimming, as if she had just woken from a fever dream.

"I’m sorry," she murmured, shaking out her drenched fur. "I don’t know why I said that. I’m just... I’m so worried. I don’t know what to do."

Lynxdawn exhaled, still rattled but unwilling to let her leader suffer alone. "I’ll make us some tea for the stress," she offered. "Maybe it’ll help us sleep tonight. We’ll talk more in the morning."

They pressed their foreheads together, purring despite the unease still coiled in their chests.

As they turned to leave, something blocked their path.

Lynxdawn stopped short, her stomach dropping like a stone. "Was that there before?"

Wolfstar stepped in front of her, bristling. "No."

A dark shape lay in their way, its scent curling into Lynxdawn’s nose—a mix of feathers and fish. Wolfstar padded forward cautiously, eyes scanning the darkness for an unseen enemy.

"It’s a puffin," she murmured.

They drew closer. Lynxdawn hesitated before lowering her nose to inspect the bird. Its scent was fresh. Too fresh.

"Wolfstar," she whispered, voice trembling. "Look at it."

Wolfstar crouched beside her, peering at the lifeless bird. "It’s covered in claw marks."

The words felt like ice sliding down Lynxdawn’s spine. The scent of blood was sharp in the air. Wounds marred the puffin’s body—deep, deliberate. Its wings were stretched out unnaturally, as if it had been flying when it died.

"I’ve never seen a dead bird look like that." Wolfstar swallowed, glancing around the darkness.

Lynxdawn’s breath hitched. "This was placed here." Her voice was barely audible over the crashing waves. "This was placed here by something."

Sage, rosemary, tansy.

Sage, rosemary, tansy.

Sage, rosemary, tansy.

The words echoed in Lynxdawn’s mind like a drumbeat.

Those were the essentials for protective channeling—the bare minimum she needed to safely invoke a patron.

But was it enough?

She clenched her jaw, scanning the shelves of her den.

Cedar for banishment. Thistles to ward off spirits. Hawthorn, betony, thyme—any of those could add another layer of protection.

But what about clarity? If she was calling on a patron for guidance, shouldn’t she include something for that too? Calendula? Lilac? Eyebright was too scarce, but maybe a rarer herb would make the ritual stronger?

A dull ache throbbed behind her eyes. With an irritated grunt, she snatched a dried dandelion from the shelf and chewed it, hoping it would ease her headache.

Mullein. That could work. Burned, it cleansed the spirit of nightmares and possession. She could mix it with beeswax and tallow to make a torch.

Or yarrow. Or mugwort. Or nettles. Or—

“No, basil’s for tools and prosperity,” she muttered, exasperated.

“What is?”

Lynxdawn jumped, fur bristling. She spun around to find Shadowdive standing at the den’s entrance, his dark fur nearly indistinguishable from the shadows behind him.

“Basil,” she said, voice hoarse. “It’s for tools and prosperity.” Her ears drooped with exhaustion. “What are you doing up?”

He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Wolfstar’s on guard, Mallowstripe’s with your kits. Figured I might as well be useful.”

Lynxdawn exhaled sharply, turning back to the shelves. “No offense, but I don’t think you’ll be much help with this.”

Shadowdive didn’t move. He just leaned against the entrance, watching her.

“What’s the issue?” His voice was low, almost gentle.

She huffed, annoyed at herself as much as at him. “I don’t know what herbs to use for the ritual.”

“The channeling ritual?”

She nodded, ears flicking as he stepped inside and sat beside her.

“What’s it for?” His tail brushed against hers.

She hesitated, feeling foolish. “It’s for cleansing and protection.”

His expression darkened into a glare. “I knew that, mouse-brain. I meant, what kind of cleansing?”

Lynxdawn scowled, but at least the embarrassment subsided. “Spiritual cleansing.”

He gestured to the shelves with a large paw. “At least one of these should work, right?”

“That’s the problem!” she groaned. “I have ten different herbs that could work, and I don’t know which to pick.”

Shadowdive tilted his head, ears brushing against hers. “Can’t you just use all of them? Like, one leaf each?”

“That’s not how this works, Shadowdive.” She knocked her head against his shoulder in mild annoyance. "It needs to be a specific combination."

"You don't know the recipe?" Shadowdive asked incredulously. "Shouldn’t this have been part of your training?"

Lynxdawn threw her head back with a groan, tail lashing. "That’s just not how it works!"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Then explain it. I’ve never seen this stuff before."

She sighed, rubbing her face with a paw. "I haven’t either. That’s the hard part about being a cleric. The ritual I’m trying to perform is called invocation—I’m trying to invoke a cat from StarClan. To do that, I need to use the right combination of herbs and items."

Shadowdive’s gaze flicked over the shelves. "And if you use the wrong ones?"

"Either I summon no one... or the wrong patron—one that won’t cleanse or protect us."

His whiskers twitched. "Oh, like how camp keepers invoke Scorchstar to start fires on rainy days." He absently peeked into a bowl on the lower shelf, sniffing at the fine green powder inside.

"Kinda," Lynxdawn said, pulling the bowl away from him with slow, deliberate care, eyeing him like she would an overeager kit. "That’s just prayer—hoping Scorchstar hears and has the ability to help. What I’m doing is channeling. It’s different. The herbs and items act as a sort of sacrifice, eh more like an exchange."

He flicked an ear, nodding for her to continue.

"It’s like saying, ‘Here’s the spiritual energy of these items. Please use it to help me.’ But each herb works differently. Like this one—" She held up a stalk of dried mullein. "Mullein protects against nightmares and spiritual enemies."

"That would help us now, right?" He sniffed it cautiously.

"Yes, but not enough." She set it aside. "It’d protect against nightmares and visions, but we’d still be vulnerable to physical attacks. A strong dark spirit could cause real harm if we aren’t careful."

"Then let’s find something to use with it," he suggested.

She scowled, feeling like she was back at step one. "That’s the problem. What’s the right combination? What’s the next herb?" She huffed, glancing toward the entrance where the sky was beginning to lighten.

Morning was close. Soon, everyone would expect her to walk out of this den with a perfect plan to fix everything.

"Well," Shadowdive said, snapping her out of her thoughts, "what would you use for physical protection?"

She hesitated, and he nudged her. "No thinking. You already know."

Lynxdawn rolled her eyes but answered immediately. "Burdock—it protects the camp and dens."

"And outside of camp?"

She smiled as the answer came easily. "Tansy—it prevents injury and enhances intuition."

"Perfect. What about cleansing?"

"Rosemary clears the mind of doubt. Thyme and sage are good for purifying physical spaces." She pulled a few jars down.

Shadowdive purred, bumping his head against hers. "Anything else?" His tone was smug, but she let it slide.

For the first time in hours, she felt like she was getting somewhere.

Lynxdawn frowned at the gathered herbs, her tail-tip twitching. Was this truly enough? Was it the right combination?

Shadowdive nudged her shoulder again. "You're overthinking it."

She scoffed. "You make it sound easy."

"It is." He stood, stretching. "You’re the expert. You know what you're doing. And if you don’t—" he gave a pointed glance at the herbs, "—figure it out like you always do."

She sighed but didn't argue. He was right, even if she hated to admit it. "I just wish I had more time."

"You don’t," he said bluntly. "Sun’s coming up."

Lynxdawn cast a glance toward the entrance, where the first pale light of dawn was creeping in. Soon, the others would be waking. Soon, they would all be looking to her.

"Then I better get started," she muttered.

Shadowdive hesitated, then flicked her ear with his tail. "Good luck." And with that, he slipped out of the den, his dark fur melting into the disappearing shadows.

Lynxdawn turned back to the herbs, taking a deep breath. No more doubts. No more second-guessing.

She reached for the rosemary first.

Time to call upon the stars.