#i wish this gets the attention it got last time

[harumasa-wifey]

➹Happy New Year»———>

✖Asaba Harumasa x Fem!Reader

Warnings: slight spoilers of chap 5(nothing major) Not proofread

Category: fluff

Note:i was inspired by the new official art and wrote this I was supposed to post it last night but I fell asleep while writing,Sorry for the wait.i cannot picture the accurate spot of this pic but I saw one in game I'll post a pic of it later for reference!

“Meet me behind the cafe in lumina square”

This was the last text you had received from him as you left Random play after meeting with the siblings to return the movie you had rented and wishing them a happy New year in advance.

It was New year's eve and thankfully to the deputy chief you all were out and about today. No fighting hollows , No overload paperwork and some extra which asaba adds to you sneakily because he is too lazy to do them.You love him a lot but you wish sometimes he would Stop adding his paperwork on your desk. It can be a great hassle to finish them in time.

Lumina square always makes every New Year a grand one and a beautiful one to look forward to. You made your way to the metro station hurriedly taking the last train of the hour to the lumina square after talking with Nicole and the others in the cunning hares. The metro was full of people like the elderly, the people with their family, the young highschool students and the couples.

The thought of how this year went passes through your mind. The whole incident with the vision cooperation and the chase in the hollow was stressful. Although it hasn't been completely disposed of, you all can rest easy for the holidays. It was thanks to all of the background support everyone made it safely in the end.

Your thoughts came to an end as the mic on the train announced its stop , you got off the train heading out the metro station into the bustling city of New Eridu. There were lights everywhere and it was more crowded than usual, but there was still one place left to visit before you went to meet him.

Meeting the person you love on new year's eve without a gift doesn't sound right to you so here you are.Standing outside the shop while having second thoughts on what to get him. You had made up your mind to feed him some delicious sweets that are being sold around this time of year even though he likes the bitterness now and is not bothered by it.Having something sweet every once a while would definitely not harm him.

As you look around and yellowish star keychain catches your eye with a little Clover inside. There was something that attracted you to it, so without thinking further you had made the purchase and had it warped in a box.

And your next stop was The cafe.

You had made your way over to the cafe with a little pubsec bangboo to help you cross the road. You re-read his message and made your way to the back of the cafe.

There he was standing while leaning against the palisade while holding a small wrapped box in his hand, his attention over to you as he heard your footsteps coming closer.

“Well look who finally decided to grace me with their presence.Took you long enough”

He spoke with a gentle smile on his face as you rushed over to him.

“I am sorry! I was at the Sixth street when I got your message”

He chuckled at her worries about being late.

“Calm down baby, I was just teasing. No need to rush i just got in myself”

You could hear the crowd hushed as the first firework arched into the velvety night sky as he extended his hand holding the gift box his yellow eyes shining in the lights whispering in a soft tone.

“Happy new year”

Your instinct told you to go and hug him so that's what you did, wrapping your arms around his neck particularly throwing yourself over him not to worry he will always there to catch you.

“Happy new year asaba,may we be together in the next one too”

“Don't worry I'll live long” He said locking his lips with yours into a kiss.

[starburstminibot]

Ok, seeing the post about the playlist, you mentioned how Breakdown only gets his act together after finding out that Bee was carrying

So it got me thinking (and this has actually been in my mind since i first came across the au tbh), but how was it while Bee was like, carrying?? There's the fact that, at first, many of the bots probably don't like Breakdown too since, well, he was not the best bf let's be honest.

Idk, I'm just curious to how things were before Breakcheck came to see the world

(Im going out of town for a week and cant draw so im just answering this with a straight up fanfiction-esk paragraph I’m so sorry wish I could be artistic for you anon)

Long story short: the Autobots are very forgiving but they can also be petty motherfuckers.

I mean they welcomed Megatron among their ranks and treat him (for the most part) as an equal and sometimes even a friend. Of course, Megatron earned that trust after years and years of repentance.

I imagine Breakdown is going through a similar arc. He’s never really been THAT loyal to the Decepticon cause. He just… kinda ended up there and didn’t care enough to do anything about it. He views Autobots as these goody, righteous people that he doesn’t feel like he belongs with. So really… what’s left besides Decepticons (considering yourself a neutral at one point was pretty much a death wish. A faction was the only way to acquire any sort of Energon or medical attention. Something Optimus tried hard to avoid, but the reality was safety in numbers.) the only kinship Breakdown ever felt was with the Stunticons… and they’ve been scattered to who knows where… if they’re even still alive.

Except he did have one friend. A friend he’s somehow managed to keep despite being on opposite sides of the war. He tried to convince Bee to join the Decepticons a few times but it was never with genuine intent. Bee was too good for the Cons; Breakdown knew that. He asked to get a rile out of him more than anything. Of course Bee would retort with his own argument of why BD should defect. He was serious about it… but Breakdown knew his place. He’d already done too much…

Now the war is over. And the leader of his faction doesn’t even believe in the cause anymore. Now, Breakdown’s never been a fan of Megatron anyways, but he sure as hell is pissed off when he abandons them to go be buddies with the Autobots. Maybe Breakdown is a little jealous (Of course, he’d never admit it) That Megatron, possibly the cruelest and most unforgiving of them all, is allowed to be redeemed.

He feels betrayed. All the Decepticons do really… He feels like he was led down a path that would only end in self destruction and at the last moment, the one who was paving the way jumped ship, leaving them all to suffer the consequences alone.

He never even wanted this.

But it’s way too late now. He dug this grave and he’s going to see to it that he’s buried in it. But despite the betrayal, and most of the Decepticons now stabbing each other in the back, trying to claim whatever power they can while holding on to this flimsy cause they can barely call a functioning faction, he still has Bee… who is maybe more than just a friend at this point but that’s a lot of feelings Breakdown isn’t ready to unpack.

And he still runs every time it feels a little too good to be true. Still proclaims his loyalty to the Decepticons because he’s too stubborn to admit he’s on a sinking ship. And he still keeps his distance because he refuses to take Bumblebee down with him when it finally goes under.

And maybe they’ve got a fling going… and maybe the autobots start to catch on. It doesn’t matter though, Breakdown doesn’t stick around long enough to see their sneers.

Until… he finds out Bee’s carrying that is… because damn he may not be the best bot in the galaxy but he’s not a complete deadbeat.

And when it hits him… that he’s going to be a sire… well maybe… he start’s sticking around to see the sneers. He hears the mumbles of disapproval. And boyyy does it make him so angry at first. How dare these holier-than-thou bots. They don’t know him or what he’s had to do to survive. How many comrades he’s lost thanks to them. They don’t know what Bee means to him. They don’t know just how much he loves Bumblebee. How he would lay down his spark for him in a klick.

Then Breakdown questions… Does Bee even know that?

From then on… Breakdown realizes, preserving his ego isn’t worth this. He has a chance now. A real honest chance. To do better… to have the life he actually wants… with the one bot who hasn’t ever given up on him.

He wants it so bad.

So he puts up with the comments and the obvious distrust. Because he’s willing to put in the work it takes to earn it. He’s going to prove how much he wants this. He’s going to prove how much he cares. He’s going to prove he is capable of doing better… and maybe along the way he’ll learn… he’s deserving of better too…

Breakdown is lucky Bumblebee has always been a little spoiled because it didn’t take too much convincing for the autobots to give him a shot. To attempt to accept him into their ranks.

He thought Optimus would be the worst of it. The one who practically raised the bot Breakdown knocked up. And for a while it is. Optimus lectures him every chance he gets. Any small hiccup, any little mistake. He doesn’t go easy on breakdown. Optimus at least pretends to be polite about it, or at least professional.He doesn’t yell, or make unnecessary insults. His words are always very honest (which makes them that much harder to hear) but Breakdown will take it… he’ll sit through it, no matter how hard he has to bite his tongue against saying something he’ll regret. He knows how thin the ice is. But he’ll do it for Bee.

The others are a little more brutal… Elita especially so… they are more sharp with their words (and sometimes their blasters) letting him know just what they think of him.

But no… the worst of all… is Megatron. Because Megatron is probably the only bot in the whole faction who looks at him and empathizes. Breakdown doesn’t want empathy. Especially not from the damn bot who betrayed him. Megatron doesn’t give lectures, he doesn’t verbally or physically abuse him when he steps out of line. He barely even raises his voice. And it pisses Breakdown off more than anything. Sometimes he slips up in front of Megatron just to push his boundaries, just to see if he can break this peaceful facade the ex-brutal-dictator seems to be taking. He’s witnessed the warlord beat bots into scrap for far less… and yet… Megatron won’t. Megatron seems to be attempting to guide Breakdown, to offer a new start to their relationship, and Primus Breakdown wants nothing to do with it. He’d rather be lectured and assigned extra training.

And it takes a long while… longer than Bee’s carrying term, and a little while into Breakcheck’s sparklinghood for the Autobots to really start to come around to him. Optimus’ lectures seem to have a bit of fondness to them. And perhaps Breakdown listens a bit more earnestly and takes to heart some of the genuine advice the Prime gives him. And maybe the sparring with Elita has turned less from a one-sided fight and into an enjoyable workout. And MAYBE… he doesn’t intentionally push Megatron as much, and has come to a realization of his own that his Megatron… is nothing like the one who betrayed him… and perhaps there is more in common between them than he’d like to admit.

And when people look at him now, he’s not just the Con Bumblebee has been sneaking around with. He’s a Sire… and a devoted Conjux…

And maybe this is what he’s always wanted. And he can be deserving of it too.

[mosoderbergh]

Have some more NSFW Emmrich

I just couldn’t keep my hands off of Emmrich’s breeding kink. Honestly? What a thought. So here’s my own little twist.

The first time, Rook very much accidentally triggers him. They’re still in their honeymoon phase, still at the lighthouse. Everyone sits at the kitchen table. Manfred’S latest shenanigans are discussed. Rook, not for the first time, calls him their “skeleton son”.

“Do you have any children, Emmrich?”, asks Davrin. “Other than Manfred, of course.”

“Ah.” It’s said with a smile, but there’s a buried sadness there. “I’m afraid it wasn’t to be, no.”

“Not yet, anyway”, Davrin chuckles.

There’s a flash of concern on Emmrich’s face. His eyes meet Rook’s, who has already come to suspect this is a sensitive subject. They swoop in to save him.

“Oh, he knows he’s welcome to try and get me pregnant whenever he wants”, they say, their voice dripping with innuendo. They take potions regularly to make sure it doesn’t happen, which Emmrich knows. Their intention is to gross the others out so much the subject gets dropped.

Lucanis chokes on his coffee. Taash boos. Davrin tells them to get a room. The conversation moves on. But Rook catches Emmrich’s glance, his face blank, eyes dark. As soon as the topic is well and truly forgotten he leans in, whispers: “A word, dearest”, his voice tense in a way that gives Rook anxiety. They excuse themselves from the table and Rook earnestly worries that they’ve offended him. They barely make it through the door to Emmrich’s library before he has Rook pinned against the nearest wall. Rook knows Emmrich as an attentive lover, giving to a fault. More often than not, Rook has to do a bit of sweet-talking before Emmrich lets his own pleasure be the focus, and wringing little sighs from him has become one of Rook’s favourite games. Right now, Emmrich is whimpering into Rook’s mouth, groping them with a neediness that renders him clumsy. Rook is more than willing to help. They are undressed within moments, and Emmrich in on them again immediately, taking just enough time to position them both against the desk for support.

It doesn’t take long before they are soaking wet, mainly because this new side of Emmrich turns them on so much they think they might just black out. Usually, Emmrich tends to lavish them with praise, and the way his voice falters in between declarations of affection when he’s losing control is the hottest thing Rook has ever heard - until tonight. Because right now, Emmrich, who usually doesn’t shut up right until the very end, is unmistakably too horny to form words. He enters them with a cry that is equal parts need and relief, as if every second leading up to their union had him in agony. Rook wraps themselves around him, cooing into his ear that yes, Maker, he feels good, this is so right, they want him so much. The one word that makes it over Emmrich’s lips is Rook’s name, uttered over and over, a moan, a whisper, a plea. Emmrich doesn’t last long, and he comes with a groan from so deep within his soul it seems entirely removed from his speaking voice.

Rook wraps their arms tight around Emmrich as he catches his breath against their neck. They can sense his mind kicking back into gear, ever overthinking.

“That”, they whisper into his ear before he can even begin to feel self-conscious about what just happened, “was amazing.”

Emmrich huffs a laugh that is muffled by Rook’s skin. He sounds incredulous. They untangle from each other, just enough for Emmrich to rest his forehead against Rook’s. His smile is somewhat sheepish, but his eyes glow with adoration.

“I truly wish I could explain”, he says.

“Oh, I think I got the gist of it”, Rook says with a grin.

The way he spoils Rook after feels almost like an apology. Rook wishes he left them with enough breath to say there’s nothing to be sorry for. Then again: They’ll have time enough to talk later.

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Baking Christmas Cookies With Sanji

Sanji Vinsmoke X FemReader

Rating: G

Warnings: None just some Christmas fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

(A/N:) Just an idea I had last year that I never got time to write. I have so much I want to write but everything has been so chaotic and busy it's hard to find time to sit down and write. I'm hoping after the Christmas season my job will start to slow down and I can get back into the swing of writing! This is the second time in a month that I've wrote for Sanji so hopefully this makes his fangirls happy! Merry Christmas everyone and I will try my best to get my other two Christmas fics wrote in time for Christmas! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

The Sunny was quiet for a change as Christmas Eve evening turned into Christmas Day. The excitement kept you from being able to sleep deeply and a little after midnight you finally gave up. Tossing and turning wasn't restful and you rather be up and about anyway if you weren't going to be able to sleep. Climbing up onto the deck, you shivered a little at the chill and rubbed warmth into your arms. A clear sky overhead and the magic of Christmas floating on the chilly breeze. You breathed deeply watching the stars wink back playfully. You joined Luffy's crew about a year ago and since day one it had been an adventure worthy of a thousand books.

But it was this time of year that made you miss home the most. You had set out for a grand adventure to shoot for the dream you wanted to accomplish since childhood. Leaving home had been one of your toughest decisions. But when Luffy offered, you couldn't say no, no matter how much it tore you to pieces to say goodbye. The friends you made along the way and the battles you faced made you forget for a little while. Special times, like Christmas always brought your attention back to the hole that was left when you began your journey.

The kitchen door opened behind you and Sanji stepped outside with a steaming mug in one hand and a blanket draped over his arm. He wore an apron with a generous dusting of flour and a smear of butter on his cheek.

"I thought I heard the ladies' cabin door open. You okay," Sanji asked, handing you the mug and wrapping the blanket around your shoulders but kept his arm around you. His concerned expression melted your heart and you leaned in deeper into his embrace.

"Yeah. Just feeling a little homesick," you sipped at the hot beverage. Sighing as peppermint and chocolate coated your tongue and the heat radiating from your insides.

"I'm sure Christmas time makes it a little more lonely," Sanji squeezed you.

"I'm not lonely I have you and everyone else. But I would be lying if I said I didn't miss my family," you swallowed while trying to blink back tears.

"It's okay," Sanji whispered.

You both stood quietly watching a shooting star, letting the moment remain until you started to shiver a little harder.

"Why are you up Sanji," you asked clutching the blanket around your shoulders tighter and taking another sip of cocoa. "Surely you didn't wait up to hear some kind of sob story from yours truly?"

Sanji chuckled, "While I would do that any time for you. I'm actually working on some Christmas cookies. With Luffy around I have to make an obscene amount so to make sure there is plenty for everyone on Christmas morning, so I have to work through the night."

"That sounds like a lot of work," you were concerned about Sanji doing so much by himself. "But it also sounds really fun. Can I help?"

"Only if you want to and not feel like you have to help me because you feel sorry for me."

"No I want to," you argue! "I can't sleep anyway and the kitchen will be much warmer."

"Then your wish is my command."

Leading the way Sanji opened the kitchen door for you and swept you inside. He closed the door behind you both quietly before he unhooked another apron from the wall. You relished in the warmth as the oven was preheating and the smell of sugar and cinnamon tickled your nose. Sanji had to have been busy for several hours now as the counter was full of different types of doughs and several pans of Christmas shaped sugar cookies waiting to go in the oven. Icing filled up the mixing bowl waiting to be dyed and piped onto baked and cooled cookies. It felt like a winter wonderland bakery, it would make Santa jealous by default. In your awe Sanji gently slipped an apron over your head and tied the strings at the back with deft fingers. He kissed your cheek before leading you behind the counter.

"Wash those hands and you can start rolling out dough and cutting out shapes," Sanji winked.

"Aye chef," you saluted before pumping soap into your hands and washing them thoroughly in warm water. With freshly cleaned and dried hands, you got to work. Humming Christmas carols as you worked, there was something relaxing about the process. Roll. Cut. Place. Bake. Repeat. It felt like a dance and Sanji was just happy to watch. Your spirits rose with every carol you hummed and the kitchen filled with a warmth that the oven couldn't make. Sanji mixed food dye into the icings as you removed cookies from pans onto cooling racks. With two working it didn't take long for the counter to be overrun with cookies of all shapes and flavors.

"Now we just have to decorate the sugar cookies and we're done," Sanji wiped his hands on a towel. He set out piping bags he had been filling while you finished baking the last of the cookies. He rummaged around in the cabinet and placed several bottles of sprinkles next to the piping bags. He pulled up a couple of stools and you both sat close to one another, quickly getting to work on decorating. A peaceful silence settled between you two as you both worked. Sometimes your fingers brushed against Sanji's dyed ones as you both reached for something at the same time. You thought the little splotches of red and green staining his fingers were cute as they contrasted against his skin. A heat bloomed in your cheeks that the temperature of the kitchen had nothing to do with.

Once again you started filling the kitchen with Christmas carols and this time Sanji joined in. He didn't sing much, and if he did it was quietly and to himself. But now he sang out boldly, harmonizing with your voice as you both worked. When the last cookie was finally finished you stretched your back and rubbed at your sleepy eyes. You were covered in sticky icing and you were pretty sure there was sprinkles stuck in your hair, thanks to the minor sprinkle war you and Sanji waged, but your heart was full and the sadness you felt earlier had dissipated. That's when you caught Sanji staring. Once again your cheeks warmed at the steady gaze of the Sunny's gourmet cook.

Sanji leaned in, lips brushing against yours, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas Sanji," you whispered before his mouth claimed yours.

You tasted the sugar on his tongue and the strong hands gripping your arms as your present came early in the arms of the cook you adored for so long. Sanji pulled away, his cheeks a bright red and suddenly becoming bashful he stood up awkwardly.

"Sorry," he muttered. Though he lied he wasn't sorry at all.

"Don't be," you replied. "Thank you Sanji for everything."

He nodded grabbing platters to start stacking cookies. You eased over helping him place cookies in neat little piles on the decorative platters. You nudged him a little with your arm causing him to wobble and you knew something had shifted between you both. And you knew it was for something good as your time with Sanji this Christmas morning was a present all in itself.

[salt-clangen]

Moon 10

Leaf bare

First Frost Festival

“Are you sure, you’re alright staying behind for the gathering?” Wolfstar asked as she loaded another basket with charms.

“Someone has too.” Shadowdive responded gruffly.

She paused and glanced over the camp, Burnpaw was bundling rosemary with Lynxpaw. Meanwhile, Snowspeckle was playing moss ball with her kits, getting them tired before breaking the news they’ll be gone all day. No one was near the pair.

“I didn’t expect you to volunteer. I figured Burnpaw would stay back since he hasn’t been to a gathering since joining.” She admitted, not missing his hackles raise just a hair as she spoke.

“Makes more sense for me to stay back and guard the camp. Lynxpaw is the cleric, Snow is the deputy, and Burnpaw is helping cook.” He paused for a moment and lifted his still sprained paw. “Not much use on three legs anyways.”

Normally, she would accept that, Shadowdive had always been pragmatic even when it meant he got the short end of the stick. But it just doesn’t sit right with her this time.

“I guess I just wish you could come as well.” She sighed, ears flicking a little as a cold wind blew through the camp.

“It’ll be fine.” He said dismissively, busying himself with his leg wrap.

“Oh I’m not worried about you.” She laughed, but cut herself off quickly. “What I mean-heh is I’m not worried about the camp in your care. Heh.”

His back was to her so she couldn’t get a good read on him. Regardless, he didn’t respond.

Wolfstar wished she could just ask him why he seemed so off, but she wasn’t entirely sure it was him who was acting different. Her dreams were still plaguing her with visions of mismatched eyes, she wondered if the restless sleep was changing her.

As she finished with the baskets and he staked another torch beside the nursery den entrance, the winds died down. The clan had been working on torches for most of leaf fall and now with leaf bare finally arriving they’d planted multiple unlit torches in the sand around camp to help maintain warmth and deter snow building up.

She brushed her side against Shadowdive’s as she walked by to check on Burnpaw, the dark tom pulled back quickly. Not missing a step she tried to not look upset as she approached the camp keeper.

“Oh, hey Wolfstar.” The red tom greeted her, cinching a knot in the twine as he did. “This is the last one and we should be ready.”

“Good, all our charms are loaded up and Oakclan said we didn’t need to bring anything aside from the that and rosemary.” She smiled, looking over the bundles.

“I think Lynxpaw was gonna bring some black salt as well for some more spiritual protection.”

“Oh? How’d you make black salt?” She asked the young cleric as she returned from her den. “Normally clerics use coltsfoot and ash.”

“Similar process, but since salt is a powerful tool both spiritually and in our food, I figured I could kinda combine it and see how the other clerics like it.” Lynxpaw opened the jar she was carrying to show her. “I mixed ground up herbs like sage and thyme and gently toasted them in a dry pot over the fire. When it cooled I added in the salt and some ash. It’s a nice color and should contain all the properties of its ingredients.”

“Wow very impressive.” Wolfstar gave the mixture a sniff. “Mousefoot will be impressed.”

“I hope so!”

Squealing from across the camp caught their attention.

“Uh oh, looks like Snowspeckle broke the news to them.” Burnpaw murmured, settling into a loaf.

Wolfstar sat beside him and watched, pressing her side against his to make up for the chilly morning. Otterkit was crying, clinging to his mother’s leg, while Ripplekit just looked angry. Poor Snowspeckle tried to ease the black kit’s grip but he clung tighter.

“Should we help her?” Lynxpaw asked, settling on Wolfstar’s other side.

“Fuck that.” The leader laughed. “I might actually break and bring them with us.”

“I mean, is it against the rules?”

“Lynxpaw we are not bringing the kits to the festival.” Wolfstar said firmly.

“I’m just saying it’s not like it’s the worst thing in the world.”

“She’s got a point.” Burnpaw added, though his tone was playful.

“This is why we’re letting Snowspeckle handle this. You two are weak and so am I.” She nipped Lynxpaw’s ear tuft gently.

Eventually, Snowspeckle got untangled from her kits and passed them over to Shadowdive. The large warrior was prepared though and had a new moss ball toy ready for them, distracting the pair so Snowspeckle could trot over to the lounging group.

“Let’s go before they remember why they’re upset.” She hurriedly grabbed a basket.

The walk to the gathering place was chilly, the patrol took the long way to avoid swimming, the baskets not water proofed let alone their coats.

The festival was still setting up as the group arrived, cats lighting torches around the clearing to drive off the cold. The ground was rock solid with frost and many of the plants were dead and wilting. No snow yet, but Wolfstar suspected it would come before the end of the moon.

“Oh our friends from Saltclan have arrived!” Archstar called out as they caught sight of the group.

Wolfstar nodded to them politely before addressing her clan.

“Burnpaw, go help set up with the other cooks. Lynxpaw, you and Snowspeckle start hanging the charms around the edge of camp, then go show the other clerics your salt.”

Burnpaw seemed nervous to be present, but didn’t argue as he left to join other camp keepers.

Glancing around the camp it seemed they were the last clan to arrive, Oakclan’s artisans organizing various groups and activities. With everyone buzzing about, Wolfstar let herself be waved over by Archstar.

“Come join us Wolfstar, we’re discussing the new leaf festival.” They offered her a spot next to them on the deputy rocks. On their other side sat Rookstar, the orange leader looking as laid back as always. Across from the three stood Jaggedstar, the only cat not sitting or lying.

Wolfstar bowed her head briefly to each leader, but didn’t chime in. She settled into a loaf and waited for the conversation to begin again.

“As you know typically the first day of new leaf is celebrated by all the clans, but no one has ever really hosted.” Rookstar began.

“Though Oakclan does seem to love taking charge of it as if they were the hosts.” Jaggedstar cut in quickly.

“It only makes sense given my clan’s prosperity and gift of artisans.” Archstar said slyly, a cheeky grin on their face. “But that’s why I’m suggesting that Saltclan host the festival going forward.”

“You do?” Wolfstar asked.

“You haven’t even thought to discuss it with them?” Jaggedstar scoffed.

“We’re discussing it now aren’t we?”

“I don’t see an issue with it.” Rookstar said.

“We’d be honored to host, however I’m not sure how effective it would be given our current size, but we’d be happy to organize something suitable.” Wolfstar rushed out, hoping to get her opinion out before more arguments arouse. “If every clan finds this agreeable of course.”

She glanced at Jaggedstar for a moment, but the dark molly was quiet and stone faced, finally settling into a loaf.

“Well then, I’ll let my artisan know and we’ll begin planning.” She chirped, a little surprised the issue was resolved so quickly.

“Feel free to lean on Oakclan for this, we have plenty of resources and artisans to spare. Plus plenty of experience.” Archstar purred.

The conversation devolved into the silvery leader trying to give advice on how they’d prepare for the new leaf holiday. Wolfstar tried to politely engage, while still minimizing the pushy clan’s involvement. It continued on like that until mid morning when Jaggedstar finally rose to speak.

“If you two would excuse us, I need to speak with Wolfstar for a moment.” She huffed out, eyeing Archstar who gave her a placating smile.

Rookstar, for his part, had drifted off and began snoozing during all the chatter.

“Oh a little family reunion?” Archstar teased, tail flicking as Wolfstar stood to follow her mother.

“Hardly,” Jaggedstar hissed, sending a few cats scurrying out of her way. “We need to discuss a border issue.”

“Well don’t spend all of Wolfstar’s time discussing work matters, this is her first leaf bare festival.” They chirped, though it sounded much more snide than their other quips.

“Hmm isn’t your first frost holiday as well?” Wolfstar asked, eyes sharp on them. Archstar’s smile widened, like this was fun for them, but their tail flick betrayed themself.

They were bested.

The mother daughter pair trotted off to the other side of the clearing. Near where some apprentices were practicing their skits for the feast.

“You pissed them off.” Jaggedstar had a wide, toothy grin as she turned to face her. “I’m almost mad I wasn’t the one to put that look on their arrogant face.”

“You wanted to discuss the border?” Wolfstar asked, making her face neutral to hide her nerves. “I’m assuming you mean the abandoned nest?”

“What? No I lied to get us away from Archstar.” She shocked her coat out as a chilly drizzle began. “The nest is our territory and we’ll continue to guard it as such.”

“And we’ll continue to reclaim our territory.”

“There, now we’ve discussed it.” Jaggedstar said, seemingly pleased.

“If you wanted to get away from Archstar you could’ve just left, no need to drag me into this.” She sighed, tucking herself under some brush to avoid the rain, making room for the larger cat.

“They’re setting you up.” The larger cat hissed.

“Look I know they’re trying to take over planning the festival. I’m not gonna let them, my clan will host and that’ll be that.”

“No it won’t. Don’t you see? They’re being pushy to make you defensive, then you’ll try to host the festival all on your own right after leaf bare when your clan is already struggling. Then when the festival goes poorly because you ran out of time or supplies they get to say that you don’t deserve to host and try to claim it for themselves.”

“That’s a stretch.” Wolfstar scoffed. “I’d say Archstar is more arrogant than conniving.”

“Don’t underestimate them.” She hissed.

Like you underestimated me? Wolfstar didn’t say it, but they could both feel it hang in the air.

“So either I let them take over planning and they get to gloat or I do all the planning, fail and then they gloat?”

“Just be careful how you move with them, you don’t know them like I do.” Jaggedstar said, voice rumbling like thunder. “Don’t be afraid to delegate tasks to other clans.”

The pair sat in silence before Wolfstar finally said.

“What happened to not giving me anything for free?” She chuckled.

“I’m not helping you, I’m hurting Oakclan, there’s a difference!” The dark molly growled, tail thrashing.

Wolfstar barked out a laugh, slowly her mother’s tension lessened and she huffed a laugh too.

“Just, be reasonable with what you do give to the other clans.” She coughed to cover up her smirk. “Not too much but not too little.”

“Thank you for the advice. I’ll keep it in mind.”

The pair stood awkwardly as they watched the clans finish setting up, the little drizzle of rain slowing down to a drip.

“I’m gonna go play some Paw n Prey, if you wanna join me.” Wolfstar gestured to the Duskclan elders setting up the three cups for the game.

“Perhaps later.” Jaggedstar said dismissively, eyes sharp as she looked over the clearing. “I’m going to go find Thornstrike. I don’t see him.”

Wolfstar nodded at the older cat, her steps slow as she walked away, hoping she’d change her mind. Finally as she got a few tail lengths away, her pace quickened. By the time she reached the trio of elders, a small crowd had gather, a diverse mix of age and clan origin.

She sat between an Oakclan tom and Honeyclan gib, waiting for her turn.

“Wolfpaw?” A voice to her left called out, she wanted to turn on instinct but kept her gaze locked forward.

“She’s Wolfstar, you idiot don’t be rude.” An older voice hissed and she heard a firm thump, finally her curiosity made her turn to look.

Sparkpaw sat, her large figure hunched over, rubbing her ear after the harsh smack her mentor gave her. Stoatfang sat beside her, a fierce image despite her small frame, she glared at the apprentice before flicking an ear and turning to the group, most of which watching openly.

“Wolfstar.” The older warrior nodded at her.

“Stoatfang.” She nodded back, awkwardly glancing around as she tried to think of what to say.

Thankfully the elders running the game announced they were taking bets, they made a show of placing the roasted beech but under one cup and began to shuffle the trio. Wolfstar had nothing to bet, but bragging rights were still on the table and she was glad for the distraction.

Inkpath waited until everyone either made their claim or placed a bet before revealing the cups one by one. Wolfstar, like many, had picked the left most cup, which unfortunately came up empty. Grumbles broke out amongst the group, but no one strayed, eager for the next game.

Several rounds went by, Wolfstar winning several and enjoying a delicious beech nut for her efforts. A few cats mumbled accusations of cheating under their breathes, but she ignored them. Sparkpaw after the third round wandered off, though her mentor was too engulf in the games to notice.

It was nearly sun high when the games paused, everyone yawning and feeling the need to rest. Wolfstar felt a prickle of panic set in, she was exhausted and could use the nap, but she worried about having a nightmare around so many cats. Even her own clan didn’t know the extent of her restless sleep.

As cats began hunkering down, sleeping near the warm fires or under bushes as pairs or trios, Wolfstar made her rounds to check on her clan mates. Burnpaw was tending the soup, adding in salt and toasted sage. Snowspeckle was speaking with some artisans, already settled down to rest. And Lynxpaw was tucked near Mousefoot and Rosedrift, eyes wide and head nodding.

Everyone seemed busy, perhaps she could sneak off to a spot outside of the clearing to nap. The brisk winds and barely there drizzle made the idea less than appealing, even the idea of trudging all the way back to camp for rest seemed better.

“Hey, uh hey Wolfstar,” Burnpaw interrupted her internal debate. “I saved a spot for you to rest.”

She glanced back not realizing she’d walked right by him in her contemplation. An older tom had taken over stirring, likely to relieve him for a nap, well deserved given how most of the other cooks had ditched him for games and socializing.

“Here it’s towards the edge over here.” He waved her over with his tail.

She trailed behind him, letting him lead her past the edge of the clearing into the thick woods. Just past the tree line there was a shallow dip in the dead grass and an evergreen bush, making a modest den between them. He stood beside the entrance as she inspected it, there were several small pelts already laid down and an unlit torch sat a few tail lengths in front of the entrance.

“Thank you.” She gave him a fond lick, earnest in her gratitude. It was perfect, far enough away, but well sheltered from the cold and lined with pelts for added heat. Even the ground around the torch was clawed away so only dirt and rocks encircled it. “You put a lot of effort here. I appreciate it.”

The red tom ducked his head to the side, dodging her praise and licks. His paws crunched the ground under him as he danced in place nervously.

“Well I know you’ve been having a hard time sleeping the past couple moons so I figured you’d want a more secluded spot to nap.” He mumbled. “In case you have a bad dream.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, a chill sweeping up her spine.

“Huh?” He looked at her now, confusion pushing his nervousness back.

“How do you know I don’t sleep well? Or that I have nightmares?” She asked, eyes narrowed.

“Oh I don’t know, it’s just obvious I guess.” He shrugged.

“Do you hear me at night?”

“What? No never.”

“Do I seem more tired or upset?”

“Not really. I mean you seem tired but not like lethargic.”

“Then how do you know?” She wanted to hiss, feeing exposed and surprised.

“I don’t know.” He seemed helpless to explain himself, but her hackles raising seemed to give him the words. “I just know when someone isn’t sleeping well or if they have good or bad dreams. I just wake up and know ‘oh Wolfstar had a nightmare’ or ‘Lynxpaw slept deeply’. You know?”

“Have you always been able to tell someone’s sleep and dreams just like that?” She asked, feeling slightly better she wasn’t the only one.

“Yeah, when I lived in the apprentice den in Duskclan I could even guess what someone dreamt of. Like hunting or drowning.” He shrugged.

“Did Darkfold know?”

“Yeah but she told me to stop telling others, that it’s invasive and rude. So I try not to, but I can’t help it.” He sighed, like he was disappointed in himself. “She thought I’d grow out of it, like kits do when they sometimes see Starclan cats, I never told her I didn’t.”

That’s why he never said anything. She thought. Makes me wonder what Darkfold was hiding that she didn’t want him poking around.

Wolfstar had heard of cats who could walk dreams, but she’d always thought those cats would be clerics or at least spiritual. Burnpaw didn’t seem like the type, but maybe she should pay him more attention.

“Have you told anyone about my nightmares?” She asked, letting out a deep sigh and closing her eyes. Trying to will her heartbeat down.

“No, I didn’t wanna overstep.” He mumbled again, shifting awkwardly again.

“It’s alright. I didn’t know you knew, thank you for making me this nest.” She opened her eyes again and tried to smile. “Would you like to share tongues for a bit and rest?”

He smiled brightly, eyes squinting.

“Really? You’re ok if I stay?”

“Of course, you found the den you should be allowed to sleep here too.” She entered the brush, crouching low. She definitely preferred her den to the brushy walls, the smooth rock and solid trunk draped with lichen was spacious but easy to heat. But the low height was worth the privacy, she decided as she draped a pelt over herself.

Burnpaw lit the torch before he followed behind her, settling close so they could groom each other. She pushed her blanket back so he could work on her pelt as well.

They didn’t speak much as they groomed, working out tangles and smoothing wind blown fur. She felt herself calming down enough to actually rest, at one point she laid her chin on his paws, nearly asleep. His purrs quieted as he pulled the pelt over her again, staying sat up to watch the torch from their nest.

Wolfstar’s sleep is fitful and short, she’s almost bored with how predictable the sequence is. She’s in the dark, the acrid smell hits her, then the sounds overwhelm her ears, then she sees the odd eyes. If she wasn’t so gripped with involuntary fear she’d yawn. But the terror has an unshakeable hold on her like always and she’s panting and fighting to breathe.

“Shhhhh it’s okay, it’s me. Just breathe.” A squeaky voice purred in her ear. She went to swat at it but her paws felt like they were filled with sand, a nose pressed into her cheek fur. “You’re safe, breathe in and out.”

Slowly, she blinked, taking breathes in and out with him. Her mind faded into consciousness again and she pressed back against Burnpaw, their ribs pressed together.

The torch outside had dwindled a little, not much time had passed, most of the festival would still be napping or lazing about. She stared at the fire and breathed in her friend’s scent.

“Sorry.” Her voice was hoarse, had she been shouting?

“It’s ok.” He said quickly, pulling back slightly.

She sighed and rested her chin on her paws, staring out into the cold.

“Do you always dream about red and green eyes?” He asked, her head popped up.

“You saw it too?”

“Yeah.”

“What else did you see? I have the same nightmare over and over, maybe you saw something I missed.”

“Well it was dark and strange smelling, kinda reminded me of a monster. There was a lot of clanking and screaming from other cats.”

She fell back down with a sigh.

“Yeah that’s what I got too.”

The pair sat in silence for a while, until Wolfstar decided to get up and return to the festival. Together they bundled up the pelts and snuffed out the torch. As they reached the clearing she stopped him before he could rejoin the camp keepers.

“Thank you for resting with me, I really appreciate it.” She bumped her head against his, he tried to duck away but she circled around and bumped him anyways. They giggled for a moment before his face got serious. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone else is dreaming about red and green eyes.” He twisted his head around, eyes searching.

“Wait what? Who?”

“I don’t know, I can’t tell there’s too many cats.” He turned each way, as if it would help him ascertain who it was.

Burnpaw wandered around, looking for sleeping cats, they stumbled across many pairs and trios of cats sleeping.

“It’s no use.” He growled, surprising her with his intensity. “I can’t find it.”

“It’s alright, thank you for trying.” She couldn’t help the disappointment in her voice.

The rest of the festival was fun, she met up with her brother Greyclaw and played Red Fall for fish jerky. She spoke with Archstar again and told him she’d speak with his head artisan about what help Oakclan would contribute. The silver leader surprisingly gave in without a fight, just a grin on their face.

The skits put on my Oakclan’s apprentices was nice, telling the exaggerated story of the first lead Oakstar and his life before earning his nine lives. They had Tanglerfur play the role of Oakstar’s father, Oak, and Tawnyclaw played his mother, Moth. Otherwise the entire cast was apprentices.

Mousefoot and Lynxpaw spent most of the festival together, practicing clerical duties until finally Wolfstar had enough and dragged the apprentice away to gamble with her. They spent the evening playing Paw and Prey until the evening feast of roasted boar and stewed bird was served. Burnpaw joined them after serving his clan.

It was very late evening when the clan finally gathered their things and returned to camp. The kits already asleep and Shadowdive standing guard to greet them as they arrived.

Leaf bare was in full swing when Wolfstar departs for the western most border. The half bridge and two leg place slowly coming into view as she crossed the rocky coast. Most of the sand is dark and coarse, with nearly black jagged rocks jutting out closer and closer together as she goes.

She stays well away from the waves, wishing she had better cover from the blistering winds, it tears through her pelt like claws. The cold keeps the sand wetter than normal and frosty too, she can feel herself sink into the sand each step with a loud crunch. The sound makes her flinch, grateful she isn’t hunting.

The tide pools Shadowdive likes to frequent makes her straddle the rocky cliffs, darting amongst the slick rocks carefully. It was here where Shadowdive sprained his paw, scavenging in the pools on an early leaf fall morning, frost making the rocks slick and dangerous. He was still nursing the injury, keeping weight off of it and taking his herbs like he was told, though Wolfstar suspects he’s a reluctant patient.

His injury has put them in a small bind, luckily Snowspeckle is able to hunt and work in his place while he kit sat for her. Still, without the powerhouse of a tom, the clan was eating more food than they could catch. Burnpaw and Snowspeckle hadn’t really been able to prep a lot of meat ahead of the freeze and what little they had stored was already being used to compensate.

Wolfstar and Snowspeckle were the last to eat, feeding the kits first, then the keeper, then cleric, then the reluctant Shadowdive, then themselves. It reminded her of the early days of Saltclan, hunger driving her forward, it gave her an edge to hone in and focus on her tasks.

For this morning, however, her only task was marking the western most border. Rarely did they have issues with loners over stepping, this area of the coast not desirable for most wanderers, but it was good to keep up the boundary. So once every other day, a solo patrol would head out, mark then return to camp for another assignment.

The white molly approached the large wall of rocks and edge of the half bridge. Truly a cat had to be lost or desperate to try and cross here, the rocks were difficult to scale even in warm seasons let alone with frost and snow. Even at low tide the waters covered up the underside to the half bridge, allowing the water to meet the rocky cliffs the two leg nest sat atop of.

The rocks and water stayed locked together for many tail lengths until finally on the other side, barely visible from where she stood, there was a break and the sandy coast was present again. No cat was swimming that distance without significant risk, same with the rocky slope, they had to come too close to the two leg nest and Honeyclan’s border to make the climb.

Wolfstar let her mind go blank as she marked a few spots.

Until the sound of paws steps traipsing around just above her broke her out of her musings.

She whirled around, hackles up as she kept her eyes on the tops of the rocks. A feline face finally peeked over the edge, mottled calico with bright eyes that locked on Wolfstar. The cat smiled widely and climbed closer to the edge, nearly falling over.

“Stop! You’re about to enter Saltclan’s territory, you must turn back now!” She called out, fur fluffed up and claws out.

“I know!” The cat called out, still smiling.

“Stop!” She snarled again, wishing she could pin the cat to the spot with her glare.

Thankfully the calico slows down and waits, eyes wide and watching.

“State your business.” She ordered.

“I’m here to join your clan!” The cat answered, now restarting their movements and making their way down.

“Um ok, uh why? Where do you come from and how did you know about us?” Wolfstar stumbled over her words effectively off balance. She’d never met a loner who was so…eager to join the clans.

“I used to live with my housefolk, but I left because I heard stories about the clans.” They said, coming closer, scent wafting over Wolfstar finally.

The calico smelled like a molly, though before Wolfstar could even respond, the cat cut in again.

“Don’t get any ideas! I’m a tom cat!” He glared, eyes sharp, losing that excited shine. Instantly Wolfstar wanted the jovial look back.

“Ok, I’m a molly. My name is Wolfstar, I’m leader of Saltclan.” She politely bowed her head, the cat perked up and smiled.

“Wow the leader! I’m so lucky I ran into you.“ He chirped. “You clan cats really are accepting of cats like me.”

“What shifted cats? Yeah, it’s pretty common.” She tilted her head in confusion. “Did cats not know that where you come from?”

The cat seems to pause.

“There wasn’t a lot of cats around my house, everyone laughed when I said I was a tom. Then they got mad when I kept saying it. After a while I got sick of the teasing and mean looks. So I left.” His voice was soft, barely audible above the winds. “I heard from some other cats about the clans and one of them suggested I join Saltclan. They said that you have medicine and herbs that could make me feel more like myself.”

“Really? Who?”

“Capri and her granddaughter Jade.” Finally the cat climbed down to the last large rock, only a small leap from being equal with Wolfstar.

Instantly, her face lit up.

“Oh! Capri and Jade sent you?” All tension left from her body. “I haven’t been able to visit them for a while, are they doing ok?”

“They’re fabulous and living out in the barn the twolegs keep their water monsters in. It’s very warm, I was tempted to stay but I wanted to come to Saltclan.”

“Well clan life isn’t easy, we have to hunt for our food and fight to protect our borders. It takes a lot of work and you’re coming to us in leaf bare, it’ll be especially tough. We’re a small clan, we can’t afford to shelter anyone who can’t contribute.” Wolfstar fell solemn, the delight she felt hearing of her friends shifted back to a serious tone. “Can you hunt?”

“I hunted all the time with my housefolk!” The cat boasted. “I was in charge of killing all the bugs that came into the house.”

Wolfstar wanted to sigh, the little glimmer of hope snuffed out. Still she may as well humor the tom before sending him back to Capri.

“Not quite the same, but how about we hunt together. If you catch something, you can stay. If not, you’ll need to leave.” She said firmly, expecting some pouting and arguing.

“Deal!” He seemed smug, like he’d already joined.

He leapt down, crunching into the sand with his heavy body. Wolfstar took a moment to look him over, he had a heavy coat with a thick frame underneath, his paws were large. Other than his scent he looked like a tom cat either born or shifted.

She led the outsider back up the rocky walls, surprised he didn’t complain about having to traverse back up after just getting down. Once at the top they walked around the two leg nest and barn until they reached a small open field squished between the thunder path and more two leg nests.

It wasn’t the most substantial area to hunt on, but making the cat try to prove himself by fishing in the cold, frigid waters seemed unfair. The alternative was leading a stranger through the majority of the clan’s territory just to reach the grassy fields to the north east of their lands. The scrubby grass, battered by wind and carrion would have to do.

At the edge of the tall, dry grass she let him take the lead. He stalked fairly quiet, taking care to avoid patches that would crunch loudly. Once they reached the middle of the field they came to a halt, his nose twitching and ears moving. Wolfstar already knew what he was trying to hone in on, a large shrew, just a few tail lengths ahead was digging in the hard dirt.

It took a moment longer for him to finally pin point the prey, his ears swiveling to the exact spot. He launched quickly, quiet until he landed, crushing the grass and prey under him with a heavy paw.

The way he flaunted the shrew made her laugh, just like a kit who caught a feather, he flapped the limp prey at her as he passed. As she was about to scold him on treating prey well, he gentle placed the shrew down and covered it with a thin layer of dirt and foliage.

“Thank you little shrew. I’m sure you’ll be delicious.” He patted the mound with a wide grin before turning to her. “I think I heard a bird further up by the fence.”

He started to walk deeper into the field, but Wolfstar stopped him with a laugh.

“What?” He asked, immediately pulling back to her.

“Let’s head back to camp and get you settled.” She chuckled.

“Don’t you wanna see me hunt more?” He asked, genuinely confused.

Just like Shadowdive, she snorted.

“Deals a deal, you caught something, you can stay until we officially have you join the clan.” She explained, brushing the dirt off of the shrew. “Plus this isn’t our territory, it’s best to leave plenty of resources to the other predators that live around here.”

“Huh, I wouldn’t have thought of that.” He picked up the shrew.

“It’s one of our rules, there’s a lot of them. Once you join you’ll be expected to learn and follow them, we call it the warrior code.” She said, his mouth was full so the only response was his wide, bright eyes.

The pair trotted back to the rocks to enter Saltclan, taking their time down the slick rocks. Finally on the sand she turned to him.

“Before we go.” She stopped him from walking ahead. “You never said your name.”

He sat the shrew down to answer.

“It was Penny, but I’d like to take a warrior name like you.”

“What would you like to be named?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, still grinning. “You pick, you’re in charge.”

“Hmmmm.” She took a moment to appraise him, thinking through various combinations. Somehow thinking of a full name was easier than matching a prefix to a suffix, she had no idea what to name the kits or Burnpaw.

But with this cat, it seemed obvious.

“Fennelheart.” She said proudly, he cocked his head, likely not understanding the prefix.

But Wolfstar knew, when he got to the clerics den and received his first dose of shifting herbs, he’d understand.

Fennelheart’s introduction into the clan went smoothly, the tom was confident and charming, greeting his new clan mates with a wide smile. He seemed particularly dazzled by Shadowdive, following him with reverence throughout the camp. Shadowdive, for his part, mostly ignored the new cat, but when they did speak he was surprisingly tolerant of the former kittypet.

Lynxpaw had started him on shifting herbs, primarily fennel, and seemed to like the tom’s banter. They would spend most of the evenings together, Fennelheart very curious about their medical abilities.

While Burnpaw was naturally shy and easily flustered, he didn’t complain as he explained fire and cooking to their newest addition. It helped that Fennelheart praised his cooking and was eager to help.

Since he was new, he wasn’t allowed to roam about the territory just yet, usually he’d go hunting with Wolfstar. He was a surprisingly good hunter, his fishing skills were lack luster, but the clan could live with more rodent and birds in their diet for a while.

The first few days had gone so well, Wolfstar was ready to official invite him into the clan, she only need to speak with her deputy.

“Do you think I’m being too hasty?” She asked Snowspeckle one morning, the pair on their way to gather crafting supplies by the abandoned nest. “What if I’m rushing this?”

The snow was piling up but the artisan had insisted she could find supplies. They pushed through the powdery snow, keeping a brisk pace.

“I don’t know if we can afford to take our time, we need the help. Lynxpaw still hasn’t cleared Shadowdive to return to his full work.” Snowspeckle replied.

“Don’t you think that should make us slow down? I mean, what if this was all planned? He shows up in leafbare when we need help the most?” She knew she sounded paranoid, but around the older molly she felt safe enough to voice her nervous thoughts.

“No offense to Fennelheart, but he’s not exactly the sneaky type. He still tries to eat raw prey.” She chuckled. “Plus didn’t he say he came to us to find tolerance and safety? Sounds familiar right?”

“Heh yeah, you’re right.” Wolfstar’s laugh turned into a tense shiver, breathing in the cold air too fast. “I’ll speak with Lynxpaw before the half moon, ask for her to reflect on his arrival during her visit to the moon spring.”

They made it to the old twoleg nest, it reeked of Duskclan, but the clearing was empty. While the snow was still banking in some spots, the large branches and old structure blocked most of it and they could paw at the bare ground.

“Great idea, now help me dig up these roots.” The artisan patted the dirt surrounding a young spruce tree.

The pair worked in pleasant silence throughout the morning and well past sun high. They only had to dig a few pawfuls down to pull up spruce roots for cordage. Then they found a downed birch tree, usually harvesting the white barked trees was reserved for new leaf, but the bark was much easier to peel now that it was felled.

While Snowspeckle inspected various rocks, Wolfstar took time to mark the borders.

“Ugh every time I come here the border is fucked up.” She hissed as she clawed a tree.

“I’m surprised we haven’t run into them, no matter what time I visit the border is remarked.” Snowspeckle added, digging a rock out of the cold ground.

“They have enough warriors they could send someone six times a day easily.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t shown up now, we’ve been here so long. It’s like they don’t want to fight.” Snowspeckle mumbled as she lift the rock into her basket. “Which is fine by me, we can’t afford any injuries.”

Wolfstar didn’t answer, she suspected she knew why they’d never encountered the other clan. Jaggedstar knew just as well as she did that Saltclan was at a vast disadvantage numbers wise. Duskclan could easily take out their patrols, even if they had the full clan. But they didn’t.

Her tail twitched and she wasn’t sure if she was angry or relieved at her mother’s hypocrisy.

“Well I guess we’ll just keeping praying to Starclan we don’t have a confrontation.” Snowspeckle eventually said, eyeing her stiff leader.

Wolfstar shook her coat out with a huff.

“I was gonna try to hunt but the place stinks of cat so much I can’t get a scent on anything.” She grouched. “Let’s head back.”

The walk back was quiet and slow, snow beginning to fall. Without any historians to help with weather predictions and patterns, the clan had no way to know when a snowstorm or blizzard would hit. The unofficial rule was when the snow starts up, head to the clan.

“Have you thought anymore about what role your sons would be best for?” Wolfstar asked as they neared the camp.

“I’ve been watching how they play and what stories they like, but lately neither of them seem interested in anything but whatever Shadowdive is doing.” She huffed. “I wish one of them would be interested in artisan work, but they are very uninterested.”

“I plan to ask them before their apprenticeship, but I think they’ll choose to be warriors.” The leader smiled. “In that case, Shadowdive will obviously mentor one. Do you want to mentor one too?”

“Oh stars no! I’ve done my time, it’s someone else’s turn to handle them.” She laughed deeply. “I know Shadowdive will be a good mentor.”

“I figured you’d wanna skip that, in that case I’ll obviously take the other one.”

“I’m glad, you’ll be good for them, you already are.”

The pair bumped heads, tails twined as they entered the camp. The only cat in the camp was Shadowdive, he had his injured paw in the tide pools, working on his stretches like Lynxpaw told him. Mousefoot had even visited to show him how to do them.

Wolfstar slipped her basket off her neck and sat it beside the unlit oven. She peeked into the cleric den, seeing Lynxpaw sorting herbs. Snowspeckle began to organize the supplies they brought back.

Wolfstar took a look into the apprentice den, expecting to see Burnpaw, when it was empty she quickly checked the warrior den. Inside he was curled up next to Fennelheart, their backs touching.

She glanced back to Shadowdive, still working on his paw.

“Where are the kits?” She asked.

He glanced up with a sour expression, the cold water making him grumpy.

“With Lynxpaw.” He said, Snowspeckle’s head popped up.

“Lynxpaw are the kits in there with you?” The queen called out.

“No? They were napping with Burnpaw and Fennelheart.” Lynxpaw stepped out of her cave.

Wolfstar entered the warrior’s den, the shouting slowly waking up both toms. She checked under the pelts, no sign of the kits.

“What’s going on?” Fennelheart asks as Burnpaw leaps to his feet, fur fluffed up.

“When did you last see the kits?” Wolfstar asked him, behind her Shadowdive ran to check the nursery and other dens.

“Before our nap, they were gonna join us but then they said they wanted to wait for Shadowdive.” He said stepping out to around the camp.

“They’re not in camp!” Snowspeckle cried, head whipping around. “Where could they have gone? Oh Starclan it’s snowing they could be anywhere.”

“There’s no outsider scents, but I can’t find a trail for the kits.” Shadowdive said.

Wolfstar leapt onto a large rock atop the warrior’s den.

“Everyone! Remain calm, the kits likely snuck out and have been gone a while.” She yowled, pulling the groups focus. “We must find them soon, we will pair up and search the territory.”

Pointing to each cat she began to pair them up.

Snowspeckle and Burnpaw.

Wolfstar and Lynxpaw.

Shadowdive and Fennelheart.

“Should someone stay here in case they return?” Lynxpaw asked.

“No its best for everyone to have backup just in case.” Wolfstar jumped down, eyes focused.

The teams set off immediately, Wolfstar and Lynxpaw headed east up the coast line and towards the abandoned nest. Shadowdive and Fennelheart up north filling the east river to the border. Snowspeckle and Burnpaw went west towards the half bridge.

Shadowdive moved slowly, his sprain painful in the cold, but Fennelheart didn’t seem to notice. The calico tom sprinting ahead in the flurry, he’d turn back when he was just out of sight. This pattern continued, he’d search ahead of the dark cat, returning back when called.

The pair slowly worked their way up the river before reaching the Duskclan border, it was difficult to tell based in scent, but Shadowdive recognized claw marks on the tree trunks.

“Follow the tree line, of we don’t find them before the twoleg nest, we’ll search the forest.” He ordered.

Fennelheart paused.

“That’s not what Wolfstar told us to do.” He hesitated.

“She can yell at me later, we’re finding those kits.” Shadowdive snarled, pushing past the calico to trudge through the snow, ignoring the stinging in his paws.

Fennelheart remained quiet as he ran behind the larger tom, paws crunching the thick snow. He sped past his companion, taking off down the border line.

“Shadowdive! Come here!” Fennelheart called out, Shadowdive hissed as he sprinted, pushing past his pain as he leapt over a snowbank.

Fennelheart was standing upright with his paws on the bark of a dead tree, his eyes locked on the upper branches. Shadowdive had to shake the snow out of his whiskers to see Otterkit clinging to the trunk.

Getting closer he could see Ripplekit, the pair were practically covered in snow, yowling and crying.

“It’s ok we’re here!” Shadowdive called out, Otterkit’s head turned, big teary eyes locked on the brown tabby. “I’ll get them, be ready to help catch.” He ordered Fennelheart who nodded.

Gathering his frozen paws under him, Shadowdive launched himself up the trunk. The wood crunched under his weight, shaking the tree.

“Shit,” He spat, letting himself fall back to the ground, taking care not to land on his injured leg. “I’m too heavy.”

“Let me try.” Fennelheart jumped up the trunk, not getting far before the trunk began to splinter as well. He tumbled back down to the ground. “What do we do?”

“They’re up too high, damnit, you need to run and grab the others. As fast as you can go back to camp, at least one team should’ve returned by now.” His chest felt tight. “The storm is blowing from the south over the ocean, run into the wind and you’ll make it to the coast.”

If Fennelheart responded, he ran off too fast for Shadowdive to hear it. The brown tabby tom stayed at the base of the tree, eyes locked on the trembling kits.

“Shadowdive.” He could hear Otterkit’s sniffles.

“It’s ok brat, I’m here. You’re gonna be ok.” He tried to purr soothingly, but the rumbling comfort was lost in the winds. “Try to huddle together for warmth.”

Fennelheart ran fast south, the wing and snow stinging his eyes. His legs felt like ice and he could barely feel his ears.

It felt like he’d been running forever before he finally crashed into camp, so snow blind he didn’t even see it before tumbling over the walls. He landed with a grunt in the sand, coughing the grit up he scrambled to his feet.

“Fennelheart?” Snowspeckle yelped as he spun around, she and Burnpaw were the only team that’s returned. “What happened?”

“The kit-“ He coughed and gagged, Burnpaw stepped forward to help him. “They’re at the border up a dead tree, Shadowdive and I are too heavy to climb it!”

As the three left, they ran into Wolfstar and Lynxpaw, the final pair to return. Quickly they joined the group and followed the calico north.

It took a while to find the tree, they could barely see, but soon they could hear Shadowdive’s shouts. Gathering around the trunk, Wolfstar tested the trunks, it was shaky and easily swayed.

“Burnpaw, climb up to grab them, you’re the lightest of us.” She instructed him, he looked nervously between her and Snowspeckle. “Hurry, we can’t risk anyone else damaging it.”

Hesitantly, the red tabby began climbing, claws digging into the icy wood. He worked his way up the rickety trunk slowly. Otterkit clung to the trunk, unable to crawl to meet him, shivering so much he nearly lost his grip.

Burnpaw grabbed him by his scruff, alarmed by how cold he felt and tried to beckon Ripplekit closer. But the white kits eyes were screwed shut and he stayed frozen in place. Slowly Burnpaw climbed back downwards, holding the kit between his chest and the tree.

When he got close enough he passed the kit down to Lynxpaw who took him and ran back to camp with him and Fennelheart for treatment. Snowspeckle stayed behind, watching Ripplekit with wide eyes and circling the trunk.

With more confidence, Burnpaw climbed back up.

“Ripplekit! Ripplekit!” He called out, but the kit didn’t seem to hear him.

He crawled onto the branch more, but the wood crunched and shakes under his weight. He could hear gasps bellow him, but the shaking did make the kit’s eyes snap open. As soon as he locked on Burnpaw’s face, Ripplekit launched himself across the branch.

Burnpaw grabbed his scruff and yanked him down just as the tree began to shake and splinter. The two fell to the ground, Burnpaw managing to land roughly on his feet, still clutching Ripplekit.

The group flocks around him as Snowspeckle takes her kit and runs ahead home. Wolfstar following after her, leaving Shadowdive and Burnpaw to hobble home together.

Burnpaw felt like his entire body was sore and rattled, while Shadowdive’s sprain felt the worst it ever had. It was the first time they’d been alone together since Burnpaw had joined the clan. The tense silence punctuated by the stifling cold.

“That was good… what you did. That was brave.” Shadowdive finally said, surprising the apprentice.

“Th-thanks, that me-means a lot coming from you.” Burnpaw stuttered, the chill making his teeth chatter.

Shadowdive scoffed, jaw tense as he glared ahead into the snowy white. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Burnpaw wanted to argue, to say that it really did mean a lot that it was him who praised him. He wanted to tell the larger tom how brave he thought he was, how he climbed that tree because he knew it was what Shadowdive would’ve done.

But instead he let the words die in his throat, the world getting darker as night fell.

That night, Lynxpaw treated the kits with warm soup and fire warmed pelts in her den. She put plenty of burdock root and fennel seeds in their bowls to help heat them up. Snowspeckle spent the evening grooming and rubbing them, to get their blood circulating.

Wolfstar cooked that night, making a quick rabbit and seaweed soup with prey Burnpaw had been prepping. Adding flax to thickened it up and warming herbs as well, she served the clan while they waited to be checked out by Lynxpaw.

Fennelheart’s body was sore and covered in bruises from his fall into camp, though he insisted her didn’t need any care and returned to the warrior den with his soup quickly. She still gave him some comfrey to place in his nest to help soothe his bruises. Burnpaw thankfully was uninjured, just some sore joints from his landing. Lynxpaw gave him some daisy leaf oil and heather honey.

Shadowdive’s wrist was swollen and hot to the touch, she gave him more herbs and placed a cooling balm of chamomile and lavender on it. He protested the treatment and even tried to go to his nest, but Wolfstar dragged him by his scruff back. The cooling balm was uncomfortable and he disliked how chilly it felt, but perked up when Wolfstar suggested everyone sleep in the nursery together to stay warm. Given how it was the most insulated den and had majority of the pelts, everyone agreed.

Gathering the clan inside, she kept Fennelheart, Burnpaw, and the kits in the center, her and Lynxpaw taking the spots by the entrance. Shadowdive ignored her suggestion to stay towards the back, instead pushing himself into her nest, pressing himself to her side purring loudly. Lynxpaw tucked herself in the nest on his other side, tucking her nose into her bushy tail.

Tomorrow, the kits will be scolded, made to explain why’d they’d done what they did and to promise never to do it again. Otterkit will cry and ask if they’ll not be made apprentices, only quieting down when Wolfstar steps in. Ripplekit will be extra quiet, complain his ears are too cold and sulk in the den.

But tonight, in the warmth of the den, the clan can breathe a sigh of relief.

[five-and-dimes]

🥶🥶 for the ask thing :)

The end of this snippet is definitely something I've shared before, but because of you I finally wrote the part that connects it to the last scene! Progress! 🙌

“I would not want to intrude…” he says slowly. Hob waves him off, “Nonsense, it looks like the end of days out there, what kind of mate would I be if I let you out in that? You’d probably blow away.” Dream huffed, a little offended, but he couldn’t deny Hob had a point, “Well… thank you,” he muttered awkwardly. “No problem!” Hob began stacking their books and putting their notes into orderly piles. Dream assisted, putting his own supplies back into his backpack and handing Hob the highlighters that were just out of his reach. “I can loan you some sweats. And I know the bed is small, but I got one of those mattress toppers so it’s super comfy at least-” “Wait-” Dream interrupted, blinking in confusion, “I will simply sleep on the floor. I do not mind.” Hob shrugged, “I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.” For a moment, Dream opened and closed his mouth, no words coming out. Finally, he explains softly, “I do not wish to disturb your rest. I have been told I am. Unpleasant to share a bed with.” Hob looks up from where he was rifling through his dresser, appalled, “Someone said that to you?” “Many have.” Many have said much worse. Few people bother softening their words to Dream. On one memorable occasion a hookup had laughed in his ear and said he felt like he was fucking a corpse. After he finished, he’d practically shoved Dream out the door, cheerfully letting him know “this ain’t a morgue, sweetheart” with a wink before slamming the door in his face. When he got home, he sat in the shower for hours, wondering why no one had a problem with his body when they were fucking him, but they did when he wanted anything else. But. Hob does not need these details. Strangely, he looks upset with the little Dream has revealed. “God, people can be such assholes.” Dream tilted his head, “You often talk about how much you value truthfulness. I would think you’d appreciate their brutal honesty.” “I hate brutal honesty.” The vehemence in his voice catches Dream by surprise. Turning to give Dream his full attention, Hob continues, “The whole ‘brutal honesty’ thing is an excuse people use to get away with being cruel. I value compassionate honesty. Much different.” Not for the first time, Dream thinks that Hob Gadling is the strangest man he’s ever met. “Very well,” he responds slowly, “In that case. Out of compassion, I will tell you that I am a poor bedmate. You are being very kind to let me stay the night, you need not sacrifice your comfort as well.” Hob hums in consideration, crossing his arms as he looks at Dream in consideration, “Would it make you uncomfortable?” The question catches him by surprise, and for a moment Dream just blinks at him. “Pardon?” “Well, you keep going on about my comfort,” Hob points out, “If you’re uncomfortable sharing, and this is like, your roundabout way of getting out of it, that’s totally fine, I’ll drop it,” He raises an eyebrow like a challenge, “But be honest.”

[tortureddarkstar]

✩ IS IT NEW YEARS YET?

IS IT NEW YEARS YET? / / I’M GETTING BORED SO, CAN WE SKIP AHEAD?

STANFORD!SAM WINCHESTER X AFAB!READER

18+ CONTENT. MINORS DNI.

✩ BACK TO… NOURA’S CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

summary: the typical on and off couple at college.. everything would be easier if they were just off.

warnings: sex, cunnilingus, no aftercare, regret

inspired by: is it new years yet?- sabrina carpenter

this was the seventh time in the span of six months that you’d found yourself in sam winchester’s arms as told your self ‘this is the last time’.

you had broken up with him six months ago, however evidently, the orthodox concept of being ‘broken up’ hadn’t really taken to your situation.

it was quite strange to describe- you’d ignore each other on campus, in class, pretty much altogether in public, but as soon as you stepped foot in the apartment you and sam had once shared, it was as if the words “we’re over.” had never been said.

sam would come pounding on your door most times, drawing out pleas and apologies and anything he could come up with that he knew would make you crumble and open the door.

after about the fifth time, you’d changed the locks and told yourself, even looked yourself in the eyes and said:

“this is the last time”

there had, so far, been one more “last time” since then.

now, would be the second.

today, he came in through the window, all puppy-dog eyed and frazzled hair, he almost got on his knees to beg you for one more time.

and as soon as the word “okay.” fell from your lips, he was on you like you were water in an empty desert.

sam’s hands were all over you. his hands were soft and attentive, and calculated and brazen all at once. his lips were the same, gently grazing rhythmically against yours before sucking his way into your mouth, all the while maintaining that delicacy.

and then, when he got you into bed, the same bed you’d spent with him, without him, thinking of him, he’d made you come once more than the last, which today, was three. and his method, today, of beating his own record was eating you out.

“sam… sam, please.” you whined out, pushing his face deeper into you, while he pulled back. sam held an admiration for the way you’d pulse for him just before cumming. it was something you found only happened when you’re were with him, which is probably why you’d kept going back to him every few weeks since ‘breaking up’.

frustratingly, your hands moved from creasing the sheets to grasping sam’s hair, drawing out groans accompanied by slurps from him as he continued to bring you closer to the edge you’d been teetering towards the past ten minutes.

with one more long, pressurised suck on your clit, you came undone. shaking, writhing, twitching, and all sam did was watch with an almost evilly accomplished smile painted on his face, before falling next to you.

god, number one on your list of new year’s resolutions was definitely ‘no more sam’ written in permanent ink, on your eyeballs if needed.

and as you stared at the ceiling, out of breath with sam’s sleeping hand around you, you could only wish for new years to come.

a/n: god… i changed my mind about it the plot of this so many times and again, i had no intention of making it smutty it just happens sue me i guess (i haven’t written the next one im sorry lol)

[lovers-rck]

price on emotion | caitlyn kiramman x vi

okay first of all hi.

okay second of all this fic is inspired by this drawing made by @/XWilson127 on twitter. can't stop thinking about it so yeah.

i lost my ability to write so this kinda sucks

enjoy

☆

outside its raining. lightning pierces through the curtains into that poorly lit room.

vi lies on the bed. her limbs feel incredibly tense to the point that she wonders if it is possible that her muscles have contracted so much that they can never return to normal. today it was her turn to fight, at first that giant man managed to destabilize her with a punch in her chest, so hard that she lost her breath for a good ten seconds. she thinks she only got air in her lungs back just because she saw that stupid smile of victory in that man's face and she got mad.

but she had won anyway, so she went home with a taste of victory and a bottle of alcohol. loris wasn't in town today to celebrate, so now she was in her rented room, watching how the light was hitting in the empty bottles of alcohol reflecting the color in her wall, like a cheap aurora borealis.

her room is a mess. besides the bottles of alcohol scattered on the floor, vi's room is decorated with clothes everywhere; on the floor, on the door handle, on her bed. from her point of view, she can see the little mark that jinx left on her last visit made with the paint that vi uses for her fights.

jinx has been in and out for a couple months now. last time she showed up when vi was sleeping; when the pink haired girl opened her eyes to hear drawers being rattled, a pair of long blue braids greeted her. vi remembers how her first instinct was to attack her, then jinx insulted her, then left. to this day vi doesn't know how she managed to get into the apartment.

so yeah, jinx has been... there.

before vi can wander further in her thoughts, a knock on the door catches her attention. she thinks maybe it's from the heavy blizzard outside, so she doesn't think much of it; she keeps looking at jinx mark.

a clap of thunder explodes in the sky, vi feels the earth that holds her rumble. she really wishes that loris would be here tonight. he is good company, she thinks; he is quiet, so most of the talking is on vi's part, usually riddled with strange babbling and exaggeratedly pronounced words because of the alcohol.

lately, vi has noticed how the alcohol has worn off; she still can't decide if she likes it or if it scares her. her life has been all about finding options to avoid consciousness for the past few months, from bruises to the cheapest alcohol she could find at the corner store. they work for a couple of weeks, then she is back at the same spot where she started.

another knock on the door comes.

she doesn't consider herself suicidal. she doesn't want to die, for sure, but she is aware of her personality's propensity for not-so-healthy methods. or so she thinks.

it's the third knock on the door that succeeds in calling vi to the surface of her thoughts. she lets out a groan of pain as she gets out of bed, her legs dragging heavily toward the door.

vi thinks maybe it's loris, deploying a sudden apparition that manages to save vi from that boring, lonely rainy night. she also thinks it might be jinx, but jinx isn't polite enough to knock on the door.

instead, a pair of crooked teeths greet her.

"what took you so long? it's raining outside."

her body instinctively slides to the side, leaving the way clear for the slender body to scurry inside quickly. a sea-blue haze pervades the room, and vi feels like she hasn't had a drop of alcohol in years.

"yeah, hello to you too" vi mutters, closing the door.

the noise of the storm leaves the room, but the presence of water makes an appearance; in front of her, caitlyn is soaking wet. the locks of her long hair shed fat drops of water, her uniform turns a darker shade where the drops landed, which becomes tighter and louder with every step she takes, leaving an unobtrusive trail for her craft.

cailtyn's eyebrows furrow. her lips open, but no sound comes from them. vi sits on the bed, her eyes match those of the blue-haired woman; it's been two weeks.

for the past few months an unorthodox routine has been going on in those four walls that vi calls home. she doesn't remember when it started, or how it became so recurrent, but when the nights became lonely and boring, she would catch herself waiting for a knock on the door.

or at least that was two weeks ago, when caitlyn showed signs of life.

"so, you came back from the dead" vi says, her legs manspreading

caitlyn purses her lips "i was busy"

"yeah, i can tell"

"things got... complicated" her hair sheds droplets of water; vi follows the path of one with her eyes, who descends caitlyn's long torso.

vi's eyes reconnect with caitlyn's as the droplet disappears "you don't owe me explanations" vi murmurs

vi can't figure out where in the recesses of her being such hostility comes from, she feels a little stupid about it, but she can't help it. two fucking weeks.

caitlyn's eyes transform, they become harder, less bright, emptier. "you are right. i dont owe you nothing" she says, her strong accent punctuating every word.

the atmosphere feels tense. the thunder continues to make a presentation in the sky, which lights up with each flash of lightning, small rays of light among so much darkness.

"so" vi says "what brings you here?"

vi knows, and caitlyn knows that vi knows. she knows why caitlyn is there, that night, when a thunderstorm is practically tearing the city apart. she could be anywhere, but there she is, in vi's disgusting room, which smells like alcohol and something that she cannot decipher.

caitlyn's furtive visits happen on random days of the week, sometimes in her civilian clothes, sometimes in her enforcer's clothes; usually at night time, when the streets of zaun lie uninhabited, where any sound could be mistaken for the rushing wind.

vi can recite this nightly routine as if it were the anthem: caitlyn shows up at her door with an excuse of being in the middle of an investigation, vi says she doesn't know anything about it, they argue, and then they fuck.

sometimes vi thinks caitlyn's lie isn't necessary, but she can't help but feel that it adds a more interesting twist to the whole thing.

"i heard that jinx has been around lately" caitlyn says, and vi smiles.

well, she hasn't used that one in a while. it's fair.

"mhm" vi says "so that is all it takes for you to come back. jinx."

"i already told you. things has been busy."

"no, i know" vi says "since deciding which fancy restaurant to go eat at every night must be complicated" she knows that she's been a little bit to hard on her, but she can't help to care.

caitlyn lets out a snort. everything she's saying is true, or at least partially true.

normally, caitlyn's secret, spontaneous visits occurred once a week, twice a week if she was feeling lucky, but those last two weeks luck was not something that characterized them. the weight of the power that her own family name inherited from her had been stealing overtime from caitlyn's life, and she had been feeling a little bit of a struggle to take care of it. sometimes caitlyn felt as if her last name was something tangible, a solid object she had to carry all day, every day, for the rest of eternity.

but her words aren't sincere enough to tell vi is that during these weeks apart, caitlyn has been searching for vi's essence in other women.

things were never easy between them. somehow, something always got left unsaid in between them, pricking like a thorn in the prettiest rose in the whole garden, pressing the skin against the thorn to see how long it can last before you hurt yourself.

she knows. she knows all of this is pointless, she knows that sex isn't enough with vi, that somehow nothing is enough with her lately. these last weeks, she found herself daydreaming about the curvature of her nose, the ink on her cheek, the scar on her lips.

but she can't afford that. even coming from a wealthy family, caitlyn can't afford the luxury of feelings, nothing there seems to have a price for her to get it, so the closest thing she can get is the sex.

and she knows that it may be selfish, but if that is the only thing she can get from vi, she will take it.

"i don't care if you don't believe me" caitlyn says "i dont know why i even bother to tell you".

her words sound harsh, her thick accent stands out.

when vi stands up, a few inches separate them. the only source of light from a dim lamp on the makeshift bedside table illuminates caitlyn's features, a dance of light and shadow reflected on her face. vi thinks that maybe the way her face is illuminated is her favorite aurora borealis.

vi's fingertips gently brush the seam of caitlyn's skirt, wrapping the fabric around her finger and causing a slight tug. she can see caitlyn's chest rise and fall.

"what are you really here for, cupcake?"

and that is all it takes.

vi still has her fight makeup on; the black shadow is scattered across her eyelids, there are spots where the shadow has patched and left large uneven chunks. she has a band-aid over her eyebrow and the artificially dyed hair lie messily across her face, but still, underneath all that, it doesn't stop her from seeing the moment when caitlyn leaves her performance and launches into her touch.

everything feels desperate. their lips fight fiercely in an intense kiss, the sound of saliva and wet lips floods the room that was once tamed by the rain outside. vi's hands clutch at caitlyn's jaw, who allows herself to be manipulated with pleasure.

none of it is tender; it's carnal. bot of them are aware of the sound of spit and heaving breaths heard in the room, but none of them seem to care enough to stop. two weeks.

caitlyn's slender, nimble fingers drop vi's leather jacket to the floor, which falls with a thud. her fingertips touch every inch of accessible skin with desperation, trying to memorize every detail, every texture of her physiognomy, to absorb every reaction of her body and then repeat the action and get the same results. the blue-haired woman's hands slip down vi's shirt until they find her breasts, where she squeezes and rubs, pinches and plays.

she loves vi's body. maybe it's superficial, but the way her muscles contract and her skin lies so tight is something that caitlyn could swear changes her brain chemistry.

she can feel how vi drags her toward the bed with steps too clumsy that they are both surprised when their bodies collide against the soft mattress and not the cold floor. caitlyn falls on top of vi, but quickly vi goes on top, leaving caitlyn's long body under her power. vi's hands navigate the full expanse of skin, her fingers sliding the fabric of caitlyn's skirt toward her hips, leaving the flesh of her thighs exposed.

vi's lips leave caitlyn's for a new adventure that begins at her neck. vi sucks and bites lightly like a famished animal, she can feel the taste of rain on caitlyn's skin, who lets out muffled moans.

she can feel vi's fingers squeezing the flesh of her inner thighs. the touch is hard and ecstatic, and both can predict the marks that will appear in the not-too-distant future. their fingers entwine in vi's hair, who whimpers as she is tugged with pleasure.

she has missed this. no one has ever treated her, or well, fuck her, like vi does. she likes that she doesn't feel the necessity of being in control with her, that she can lay down and vi will make her feel good no matter what. with vi, everything flows.

when other women got to touch caitly's body, she often found herself being overly calculating, the need to be in control of the situation overtaking her in a way where enjoyment was the last thing on the list, focused on displaying that performance for an imaginary audience.

last week, caitlyn found herself in a brothel. when the girl was eating her out, caitlyn couldn't force herself to enjoy the moment, so when she faked an orgasm and went home, she vowed never to return.

with vi, caitlyn is stripped of this obsessive need for control.

a flash of lightning illuminates the room. vi can see the desire in cait's eyes.

sometimes vi feels like it's all meaningless; too many nights have passed where the alcohol doesn't work as intended and her mind navigates the sea of worries that inhabit her being, convincing herself that the next time caitlyn shows up at her door, vi won't open it, that she will stop satisfying the needs of a piltover enforcer who only comes to her aid when the nights seem endless and sleep is not present, when frustration and the desire to ignore the exaggerated power she possesses suddenly invades her, guiding her blindly to that dark and lonely room. vi thinks that this is the only way she can break the cycle in half.

but then, for a fraction of a millisecond, she sees that familiar look in caitlyn's eyes and vi knows that her desire has betrayed her once again.

and she hates it. she hates that when all of the sex is over, she goes back to the same place where she started; drunk, beaten and missing a warmth that doesn't belong to her. there have been multiple nights when caitlyn's face where the only thing she could see, where every tone of midnight blue sent shocks through her whole body reminding her that she is alive, and alone.

but she'd rather have a little bit of caitlyn than none of her.

one night, after vi won a fight against a fucking monster -that's what she called him-, she went to a bar with loris, with the excuse that she deserved a good drink after she was about to be beaten to death. the night went well, loris bought her a drink and they talked about the next rounds, training, among other things, but when vi turned to look at loris, a flash of blue eyes caught her attention.

her ears were deafened and loris' words were forgotten. vi could have sworn she felt her heart stop for a few seconds, her skin drained of any trace of color and a bead of cold sweat ran down her spine, paralyzing her completely in a pigsty in the depths of zaun.

it wasn't many seconds before that woman turned around and her identity was revealed; it wasn't her. of course. she took a shot after that, and ended up throwing up on some random people's porch on the way back home, with loris by her side.

but that doesn't matter at the moment, not when vi's fingers slip inside caitlyn's underwear, the fabric of the skirt covering up that indecent act taking place in the privacy of four walls.

she didn't tell violet that these last two weeks she's been away she touched herself imagining that her fingers were vi's. or that she put a handful of pillows down imagining that it was vi beside her and not her usual solitude.

she wasn't allowed to say that.

vi straightens up. look at that view; the way cait is spreading her legs, the way her hips chase vi's touch, how her eyebrows furrow and her lips search for air. caitlyn's hands tug vi's t-shirt hard enough for vi to get the message. she pulls it off and tosses it to the floor, revealing her breasts to cait, who is already drooling.

they usually don't talk when they have sex, the only things that are uttered aloud are directions, like faster or louder, or some insult when vi pushes cait too hard when she is overstimulated.

the lack of talking is not because they don't care about each other, but because they have learned each other's bodies in such a way that they don't need words. a language so intimate that there are only two speakers in the whole world.

the bleached locks fall over her face in a perfectly messy way that caitlyn doesn't know whether to run them off or leave them there for her enjoyment, but before she can even decide, vi leans over and drops a trickle of saliva toward caitlyn's pussy.

caitlyn stifles a moan, her body getting used to the change in temperature. she feels vi's saliva running down her folds.

all of it it's so nasty, but she likes it.

vi's fingers quickly unbutton her pants, revealing the strap clinging to her pelvis. caitlyn wants to roll her eyes at that.

then she thinks if she is seeing someone else.

the head of the fake penis rubs against caitlyn's entrance. vi takes the length of it and moves it up and down, spreading that whitish liquid and sending shudders through the blue-haired woman's body.

vi feels mesmerized. the wet noises make her go crazy, the way caitlyn moves her hips in desperation, her lips letting out low moans. her fingers attack her clitoris, massaging that bundle of nerves as if all the time in the world belonged to her.

she knows she can make cait feel good, and that fills her with an explosion of power that vi feels drunk.

a thunderclap explodes outside, the earth beneath the floor that holds them trembles. the whole world belongs to them.

the light in the room is not bright enough to reveal how much they have missed each other.

another thunderclap.

caitlyn loves being teased by vi, but it's been two fucking weeks, and she can't wait anymore longer.

so when vi pulls out the strap, caitlyn pulls on vi's arm until her back hits the mattress and she's positioned on top of her body, her thighs on either side of vi's legs, who lies mesmerized by the sight.

her uniform is still on as if nothing has happened, the fabric of her skirt bunched up over her hips, a wet mark revealed in her underwear where vi touched her.

vi rests her weight on one of her arms, her torso is leaning back slightly, her other hand holds caitlyn's bare thigh.

"do you need help?" vi says. she feels like she hasn't used her voice in a million times. her throat itches.

caitlyn shakes her head. her hands seek support on vi's broad shoulders, which lend themselves without complaint. her body lifts a little, vi can see her chew her lower lip hard, and before sinking into the strap, caitlyn pulls her underwear to the side.

vi thinks that was the hottest thing ever. she also thinks she can cum with just that.

when caitlyn feels the base of the strap touch her skin, she lets out a sigh. she never tried this position with vi before, or with any other women. she feels full. somehow, her throat feels full, as if a million moans made themselves at home in her throat, and that at the slightest movement of her hips they'll all come rushing out.

she goes up, and then down. she does this a few times before she can get used to. her hands never leave vi's shoulders, squeezing the tanned skin tightly as the strap hits some sensitive part inside her. quickly, caitlyn's rhythm increases, who dances her hips faster and harder.

the sound of skin colliding is as dirty as it is addictive. vi lets out slight moans, not just from the sight, but because csitlyn's thrusts cause the base of the strap to rub against her clit, making her see stars.

vi's lips find their home again on caitlyn's neck, who facilitates access. everything feels hot. the redhead's skin burns, her neck carries a flush that extends into her cleavage, a path vi has traversed countless times. the pace only increases with each second, caitlyn's hips become unruly, the movements more awkward and faster. vi tilts her hips up, and the sound caitlyn makes is one she's never heard before.

she does this a couple of times before caitlyn starts to shake. vi's lips come up, capturing caitlyn's in a wet kiss, caitlyn fucks herself into vi while her mouth is getting fucked the same way by vi's tongue, who shamelessly assaults caitlyn's mouth.

more than a kiss it might seem like an attempt to shut the other up mutually, the guttural moans die on the other's tongue, vibrating at the movement of the onslaught. vi's hand travels from caitlyn's throat, caressing every inch of her body, squeezing the flesh of her hips and thighs, until it reaches her clitoris, where it presses.

she can't kiss caitlyn no more. she can't keep her mouth shut, her legs tremble and vi knows she's on the verge of an explosion. her moans sound more like whimpers, jumping on vi again and again.

"violet" cailtyn moans, her voice is shaky and high-pitched.

her pleasure is so great that it drugs her. caitlyn feels the need to vomit all her feelings to vi, to tell her that she really is the woman she imagined every time another girl touched her, that when she closes her eyes her scar on her lip is the only thing she can see, that her heart constantly seeks her warmth.

but she can't do it, so when she climaxes and the orgasm passes, she rises from vi's lap, her legs shaky and sticky

"let me know if you hear from Jinx."

and she's gone.

[smilingformoney]

Rickmas Day 23: Eve of Revelations

Character: Elliott Marston (Quigley Down Under), Judge Turpin (Sweeney Todd) Relationship(s): Turpin/Mary (OC), Elliott/Mary (OC) Warnings: kidnapping, loss/grief, moving on

Based on The Eternal Summer and Part 2 to Shivering Certainty

Read on Ao3 or below:

When Mary opened her eyes, everything was black.

That wasn’t right. Even in the dead of night, a sliver of moonlight should be visible.

She tried to lift her head from the pillow, and it was then that she realised… she wasn’t lying on a pillow. In fact — she wasn’t even lying down. She was sitting. And…

Oh, no.

She tried to move, but she was stuck. She was tied down. And everything was black because there was some sort of blindfold over her eyes.

She tried to cry out, but realised her mouth was taped shut, and she was breathing through her nose.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t even check her belly.

Mary tried to calm herself as she focused her attention on how she felt inside. She didn’t seem to be in pain, only discomfort. And baby Elliott was definitely still there, she could feel him pressing against her organs; she wished that he would kick, just so she could know he was okay.

She tried to remember something, anything, about how she got there, but she was drawing a blank. The last thing she remembered, Turpin had been working late again, or so Mary had assumed when he didn’t come back from court at his usual time — he often worked late, although he usually sent word that he’d be doing so. She hadn’t heard anything from him.

After eating dinner alone, Mary had gone up to her workshop, and found Elliott waiting there for her. She tried to get some sewing done, but he was so distracting, she barely touched the dress she’d been making for herself to accommodate her growing belly.

Eventually, she’d given up trying to get any work done, and ended up curled up in bed with Elliott, who seemed to spend more time talking to his son through her belly than he did her. Not that Mary minded - she was just glad he was still there. Every time he disappeared, she feared he wouldn’t come back again. She was perfectly content to drift off to sleep, listening to Elliott’s soothing voice as he told baby Elliott his favourite stories about the American West.

That was the last thing she remembered. Laying in her husband’s bed as her dead lover’s ghost told stories of far off lands to their unborn son… she must have fallen asleep, and then… this.

She was cold, she realised as she shivered.

A blanket was dropped around her shoulders.

There was someone there!

“Who’s there?!” Mary tried to exclaim, but thanks to the tape over her mouth, all that came out was a muffled cry.

Nobody replied. She tried to listen, but she heard no footsteps. There must be someone there, unless the blanket had been dropped by a ghost!

Well… it wouldn’t be the first time a ghost had given her something to keep her warm.

Elliott! Mary thought desperately. If her need for him had brought his ghost to her before, could it happen again? Elliott, please, please, come and save me. I don’t know where I am. Please find me.

He had promised to protect her, to keep her safe. He had sworn it on his own mother’s grave. She needed him now, so where was he?!

Time passed strangely. Mary had no way of knowing how long it had been. Had it been five minutes, five hours, five days? It couldn’t have been that long, she hadn’t had any food or water, she’d never have lasted that long.

She was hungry. Baby Elliott was hungry. She could feel him wriggling around impatiently, as if to say, Feed me, Mummy!

If only whoever had taken her would take the tape off her mouth. She wouldn’t scream, only ask for some food, if not for herself then for him. She was almost six months pregnant, her belly was obvious — surely her captors wouldn’t be so heartless as to starve a pregnant woman?

Speaking of her captors - she’d neither heard nor felt anything from them since the blanket had appeared around her shoulders. Whatever reason they had for holding her here, it didn’t seem to be with the intent of harming her.

Still… she shuddered to think what they could do when she was so helpless. She had nothing, no way to defend herself, no one to defend her.

Where are you, Elliott? Mary pleaded internally. Why didn’t you protect me like you promised? If I was taken from my bed, where were you?

Baby Elliott was kicking now. Mary grunted slightly as a well-placed kick collided directly with her bladder. Great, now she needed to pee too.

If her captors were in the room, they didn’t seem to care for her evident discomfort.

But she’d heard nothing. Maybe she was alone.

She tried to manoeuvre her chair. She had no idea if she was near a wall or anything useful, but she had to try something.

One of the legs wobbled, threatening to topple over, and Mary quickly ceased her movements. She didn’t want to risk falling and hurting her baby.

All she had left was to scream. She knew she couldn’t make much noise with her mouth taped shut, but she hoped at least her muffled cries would alert someone that she needed help.

“Mmhff! Mmm-mhf-mhhh!”

She swung her head around, hoping maybe she could catch the corner of the tape on something and loosen it, but she had no luck. All she could find was her own shoulder.

She tried pushing against the tape with her tongue, but all that gave her was a nasty taste of tape glue.

Elliott, please, she begged, tears beginning to stream from her eyes. Elliott, where are you? Please, I need you…

Her silent prayers unanswered, Mary began to cry. That just made things worse, because she could only breathe through her nose, so the sobs that tried to escape her throat just got caught, and she struggled to breathe when her nose began to run.

I’m going to die like this, she thought to herself with terror. I’m going to suffocate on my own tears and my son will die before he gets to breathe.

Was this really what her life had led to? After everything she’d been through, the orphanage, living on the streets, sacrificing her innocence for Tommy’s life, losing Elliott… had she really survived her own attempt on her life just to be given hope and have it taken away?

She couldn’t die like this. She wouldn’t. Someone had to come for her, eventually. Her captors hadn’t tied her up just to let her die — they needed her alive, else they’d have killed her straight away. They needed her for something.

Her sobbing subsided, Mary did her best to wipe her nose clean on the neckline of her clothing. She was definitely still wearing the nightdress she’d gone to sleep in. Her captors hadn’t undressed her. Small mercies, she supposed…

Baby Elliott kicked again.

I know, sweetheart, I know, Mary thought. I’m hungry too.

She had nothing to do but wait.

After what could have been minutes or hours or days, Mary finally heard something.

It sounded like men shouting. Heavy footsteps, running. Fighting? Or a chase? It was coming from above her. She must be in a basement of some sort.

Gunshots. She winced.

Gunshots! He was here! Elliott, he’d come to save her at last! He was up there now, gunning down anyone who stood in his path.

She heard a door open, and the shouting became suddenly clearer. Footsteps - more than one set - coming closer - down some stairs. There was a very small gap at the bottom of her blindfold - she could see a dim light creeping through.

“Elliott!” Mary tried to call out, but the tape muffled her again, so all she really said was, “Mhmhm!”

“I’ll get the rope,” said a voice, familiar, but in her daze Mary couldn’t place it.

Fingers grazed her cheek, grabbed the corner of the tape, and yanked it from her face. Mary gasped, breathing deeply, gladder than she’d ever been in her life for the luxury of air.

Next came the blindfold, and Mary squinted, her eyes sensitive to the sudden light. She instinctively turned her head away from where the light was pouring in, peering through her eyelids as she tried to adjust to the sudden light after so much darkness for so long.

Someone was untying her. Someone else cupped her face in two large hands and lifted her head.

“Mary! Mary, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“Elliott…”

There was a pause, and one of the hands left her cheek to cover her belly.

“He must be hungry. Let’s get you out of here.”

The other pair of hands finished untying Mary’s wrists, and she gratefully let herself be hoisted into the air, resting her head against the firm shoulder of her saviour.

She was carried up the stairs, her eyes still squinting as they came closer to the door. As she slowly adjusted to the light, she began to see her surroundings - they seemed to be in a house. The smaller figure - possibly the one who’d untied her, though Mary couldn’t be sure - opened the front door, and Mary was carried outside. It was night, so only the oil lamps and the moonlight illuminated the area, and by the time Mary found herself being carefully placed back on her feet, she was able to see again.

Strong hands held her shoulders firmly to keep her upright in her dazed condition.

“Mary…”

She looked up bleary-eyed, expecting to see Elliott…

“…Will?”

Turpin’s usually stoic face was lined with worry, his piercing eyes ablaze with a mixture of worry and anger.

“Did they hurt you?”

“N - no, they… they didn’t even touch me…”

“Thank the Lord,” Turpin said with a sigh of relief, wrapping his arms around her to hold her close. “I was so worried, Mary… I was ready to burn down the whole of Perth to find you.”

Mary grunted as she felt another impatient kick to her bladder.

“Elliott —”

“Yes, yes, you both must be starving. Come, let’s get you home. We’ll wake the cook and have some very early breakfast. Fletcher! Drive us home, would you?”

“Of course, m’lord,” said a man who was presumably Fletcher.

One arm firmly around Mary, Turpin guided her to a nearby police coach. Fletcher must be a constable, Mary realised.

“Taylor, come.”

A small figure caught up to them and helped Turpin aid Mary into the coach, and she realised it was Tommy.

As soon as he sat down between the two of them, Turpin wrapped his arm around Mary again, as if worried she might disappear again.

“What happened?” Mary asked, clinging onto her husband as if she, too, worried she might disappear again. “I fell asleep at home and woke up there, I couldn’t see or hear anything until you arrived…”

“Some lowlife scum with no care for women or children,” Turpin said bitterly. “A gang; it seems I sentenced one of their own to hang, and they thought they’d take their revenge by kidnapping you. I came home from court to find you gone, and a note on your pillow demanding their friend’s release before his execution on Monday, or else your life would be forfeit. Of course, I don’t bow to threats from criminal scum. I rounded up every constable in the area and had them raid every single house until we found you.”

“How long was I gone? Time seemed so confusing down there…”

“I came home at around half past nine. It’s now…”

Turpin dug out his pocketwatch with his spare hand to check the time.

“…quarter to five.”

“All night!” Mary gasped. Had he really been searching for her for seven hours?

“And all day. You were taken on Friday night, darling… it’s Sunday morning now. It may have taken even longer, but it seems your brother isn’t entirely without brains. He went to the police station and spoke to the prisoner they were so concerned about, and convinced him to reveal where you likely were.”

Mary leaned forward slightly to look at Tommy. “Is that so? What did you do, Tommy?”

Tommy shrugged. “Wasn’t much. I just said the truth. Said you’re my big sister, all I got left, and you gonna have a baby.”

“I’d already interrogated him, of course,” Turpin said, “but it seems the man was more receptive to a pleading child than the strikes of my cane.”

“And are you… going to release him? If he helped find me?”

“Heavens no! The only boon I’ll grant him is he can see his friends one more time… when they all hang together tomorrow at noon.”

“I heard gunshots…”

Turpin hummed with amusement. “Well, those that are left will hang. The ones I shot had swifter deaths.”

Mary looked up at her husband. He smiled, his relief at finding her alive still clearly etched into his features.

“How’s Elliott?”

Her heart skipped a beat. How did he know about Elliott? He couldn’t know, could he? Elliott only ever appeared when Mary was alone, disappearing when Turpin came home… and any trace of him disappeared too, clothes he’d removed vanished from the floor, her skin dry where once his seed had spilled…

And when she needed him most, he hadn’t been there.

Turpin placed a hand protectively over her belly, and laughed when his hand immediately became the recipient of a frustrated kick.

Elliott.

“He’s hungry,” Mary replied, placing her hand over her husband’s. “It seems he gets angry when he’s hungry.”

“Just like his father,” Turpin chortled. “Not to worry, little one, we’ll get you both fed soon enough.”

Mary let out a sudden sob, and Turpin looked at her in alarm.

“Is something the matter?”

She shook her head, words failing her, and instead buried her head against her husband’s chest.

“Thank you for saving me,” she breathed.

Turpin wrapped his arms around her and held her close, letting her cry in his arms.

She knew what she had to do.

Turpin was reluctant to go to church for once, but Mary insisted he go on his own. She needed rest, they both agreed that much, and he needed to tell the town she'd been found - most of the people in the church would have had constables knocking on their door the night before, searching their houses for any signs of Lord Turpin's wife, and there was no need letting them pray for her safe return when she was already home.

As a compromise, Tommy stayed home, swearing to Turpin he’d protect Mary if something happened. He respected his sister’s wish to be alone in her workshop for a while, and when he closed the door behind him, she closed her eyes and steadied her breath before turning around.

And there he was, sitting on her drawing desk, waiting for her.

“Where have you been?!” Elliott demanded, leaping to his feet before crossing the room to take her in his arms. “It’s been a day and a night!”

Mary stepped back before he could touch her, and he frowned.

“Mary? What’s wrong?”

“Where were you?” she asked in a whisper.

“…What?”

“Where were you?!”

She’d told herself not to cry, but already she was bursting into tears.

“You said you’d protect me! You promised me, El! I was kidnapped from my own bed, and you didn’t stop them! I was lost, and you didn’t find me! I begged for you to find me! I was locked up for over a day and I waited for you! I’m so mad with grief that I begged for a dead man to find me! And all that time - all that time - William was out there, looking for me, searching house to house for me! What were you doing?!”

“I’m only here when you are, darling, you know that —”

“Then what good are you? We can’t go on like this, El! I can’t go on like this! What good are secret trysts with a ghost if you can’t protect me, can’t protect our son? All I’m doing is… hanging on to something that’s gone. Because you’re gone, Elliott, you’re dead. You’re dead. You were stupid and prideful and it got you killed. And I love you, Lord do I love you, I always will. But you’re gone, and William is here, and he loves me. He loves me and he saved me, and he saved our son. Our son he thinks is his. Maybe - maybe he knows he’s yours but won’t say it. I don’t know. But I can’t… I can’t keep on like this, Elliott. I… I have to let you go.”

Elliott’s expression was unreadable. If he was hurt, angry, Mary couldn’t tell. But he certainly didn’t seem surprised.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No,” Mary sobbed. She threw herself into his arms, clutching him desperately. “No, I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay, I want you to live, I want you to be my husband and give me a dozen children.”

Elliott’s hand cradled her head, his thumb stroking her hair lovingly.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“I know.”

Mary sniffed and straightened up to look at him. She drank in the sight of him, memorising every inch of his face, the amber eyes, the little crease between his eyebrows, his wonky bottom tooth, the precisely shaped moustache and goatee that used to tickle her when they kissed.

“I love you,” Elliott said.

Mary nodded as the tears fell down her cheeks.

“And I love you. But you can’t stay.”

Elliott took her face in his hands and kissed her like it was his final breath.

When their lips parted, both their faces were stained with tears, and Mary knew it would be the last.

“I’ll always be with you, Mary,” he promised, placing a hand over her belly. “I know you’ll take care of him.”

“Of course I will. He’s you.”

His hands fell away from her, and she closed her eyes, wiping the tears from her face.

When she looked up again, he was gone.

She placed a hand over her belly. Elliott kicked.

Mary smiled.

Maybe he wasn’t so dead after all.

[kwinsispn3]

tag, you’re it

anon request: I need a winchester lazer tag au ASAP

word count: 1.6k

pairings: sam & dean winchester x platonic!reader

“oh! ho ho ho yeah!! Look, Sammy... we gotta do that.” Dean nudged Sam, pointing over to the laser tag booth that came into view. It was rare that the brothers got to have any innocent fun. When Dean saw the arcade in the town they were passing through, Sam actually agreed to stop in. Neither of them could remember the last time they had been to an arcade. 

“Nah, man c’mon. Let’s go check out some of the machines first.” Sam dropped his shoulders.

“What. You scared I’m gunna beat ya?” Dean snickered.

Sam let out an annoyed breath. “No...”

“Then let’s go, chicken.” Dean smiled as he walked backwards towards the entrance. Sam threw his hands up in a ‘fine, whatever’ motion. 

Both men suited up in the laser tag vests and each grabbed a plastic gun as they stood before the worker giving instructions to the group. 

“When the lights on your vest blink twice, you’ve been hit. When the lights on your vest blink a bunch of times, then turn off, it means you are out! Please remember, no pushing or shoving. No screaming or yelling and do not go climbing anything in the arena. Game starts in 60 seconds, have fun.” He stood aside as everyone flooded into the game arena. 

“Watch your back, Sammy.” Dean taunted as he ran off into the dark. Sam shook his head, looking around at the few kids, some teenagers and young adults. He felt silly in the vest that looked too small on his large torso, yet joined the crowd in finding a spot to hide.

The first few kids were out within the first 5 minutes. Dean came into the game feeling a bit cocky, while Sam felt a little weird if he didn’t let the younger kids win. Dean came face to face with a teenage boy, holding his gun up on instinct. The kid’s reflexes were just too fast enough to catch Dean off guard in that moment as he lit up Dean’s lights. “Ey, c’mon.” Dean huffed.

“Aren’t you a little old to be in here.” The teenager teased. 

“W-wha. No!” Dean retorted. His face flush with slight anger and embarrassment. His attention quickly brought to the hushed laughter straight ahead of him where he looked up and spotted Sam behind a corner. 

“Not funny...” He grumbled.

“Actually, it is.” Sam giggled.

“Well, you’re right up there with me.” Dean sassed, pointing his gun up at Sam.

“Shit.” He whispered as he ducked behind a beam.

“You can run, but you can’t hide, Sammy.”

“Shut up, Dean.” his voice descended as he ran to find another hiding spot. 

Dean got a little too comfortable walking around the almost empty arena. His grip tightened on his weapon as he heard footsteps echoing through out the glowing neon room. He looked down, startled at his vest as its lights flashed, indicating he was hit. His head swooshed back and forth, trying to catch whoever got him. Instead he caught two teenagers running in the opposite direction, trying to sneak around him. 

Dean got a clear shot and lit both vests up with blinking lights which then fell dark. “Nice try!”

The two girls looked back at him with disgust. Tossing their guns down in defeat and walking towards the exit. 

Dean rounded the corner, peeking through a circular window at all the hotspots. Sam was crouched behind a barrier, trying to listen for how many players were left. Sam’s vest then lit up twice, he swiftly stood up to move forward as he looked around. “Dean! Hey!”

“What!” Dean called out from across the room. There was no way Dean could’ve got him from where he was hiding. “You try’n to give yourself away!?” Dean shouted.

Sam looked behind him, confused. “No... but didn’t you just get me?”

“No, why?” Dean wished he had.

“Well, someone just did...”

Dean caught up to Sam, putting a time out on their game. “So, someone sniped you. Big whoop!”

Sam huffed, looking at Dean. His expression changing to a snobby smirk as he watched Dean’s vest light up. “Oh, how the tables have turned.” he laughed.

Dean’s head shot around in all directions. “That’s not funny! Who the hell is left? I don’t see anyone else.” He pouted.

“Ok, well let’s get out of the open. Who ever it is, is probably hiding.” Sam pulled Dean to the side. “So, I guess this makes us a team now, huh? Now you don’t gotta worry about me smokin your ass.” Sam teased.

“Sure. We can be a team until we gank this last sucker. Then, it’s a one on one duel.” Dean corrected. Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

The two men moved through out the arena, so cautious and hyperaware of their surroundings. “Look! There.” Sam whispered, pointing out the glowing lights of a vest, illuminating on a wall. Dean smirked as he hand signaled Sam to follow him. The two snuck up on the barrier, on Dean’s cue aiming to fire. Except, nothing was there.

“What the hell?” Dean lost in confusion. “How does someone move that fast?”

Just then, Sam’s vest lit up, followed by Dean’s. Both of them looked down in surprise. “Are you freaking kidding me!?” Dean threw his hands in the air. He turned around, facing the open emptiness of the room. 

“You want a battle? You got one!” He declared. “C’mon, Sam.”

The brothers split into two sides of the arena, ready to catch whatever kid was left in the game with them. How they had even gotten the upper hand on two skilled hunters baffled them. 

Sam heard light footsteps run across the room in front of him. Definitely did not sound like Dean’s heavier boots. He raised the plastic gun, ready to aim when his vest lit up again. “What the- how?!” He slightly raged.

“Looks like you two don’t have the upper hand on us ‘kids’ huh!” A small voice rang from the middle of the arena, behind a pillar. Sam and Dean stood up, looking around until they spotted a young girls face, resting upon a ledge that she hid behind. 

Dean scoffed, taking a step forward. “Well, actually this was kind of supposed to be a battle to the death... with my brother. So, if you could just take the hit so we could finish up here.” 

“Oh! Sure, of course! Sorry to intrude, I didn’t know.” The girl’s voice full of sarcasm. “But, actually I’m gonna have to say no. I’d like to get my ten bucks worth out of this game, and win it in the process.”

“Hah! Sammy, I guess we are gonna be a team this time, because this one is going down.” Dean rolled up his sleeves. 

“Yeah, sure.” The girl said before ducking behind the pillar and running in another direction. 

“Hey! Where’d she go?” Dean already losing track of their opponent. 

“I dunno. But clearly, she’s fast.” Sam chimed in.

“Clearly, she’s gonna get beat. It’s two against one.”

The brothers took turns trying to aim at the girl whenever they thought they spotted her. Each time, failing miserably. “Dude, I don’t even know how many more hits we got on us until we’re out.” Sam drooped in defeat. Dean’s vest then blinked many times until the light went out. Sam’s vest followed with the same pattern. They both looked at each other with a look of annoyance. 

The girl then came out of hiding behind a wall, revealing herself in front of the two men. The arena lights came on, the loudspeaker on their vests blaring ‘GAME OVER’ and the girl’s vest blaring ‘WINNER’ with the lights flashing in all directions. 

Sam and Dean let out a breath, when they saw the girl before them. She looked like a teenager, but a teenager that could hold her own pretty well and had good aim. 

“Well, it has been a pleasure. Hope I didn’t break your laser tag spirits.” She spoke. 

“Nah, you’re all good. This one here just gets way too competitive.” Sam pointed at his brother, whose shoulders went up and down in response.

“No worries, it’s a fun outlet.” She half laughed.

“Gotta say, you got some good aim on ya.” Dean confessed. 

“Yeah? Well thank you, I work hard on my aim.” She smiled.

“Really? Uh, you ever shoot like... real guns?” Sam asked, his curiosity growing. 

“Yeah, here and there.” She said, being vague.

“What, do you go hunting or something?” Dean asked.

“Sure, something like that... Listen, thanks for being good sports. It’s not often you see a couple of ol’ timers playing laser tag, it’s pretty cool. I gotta get going though.”

“Oh, of course... Good game!” Sam paused at her words, giving a small genuine smile. 

She smiled before turning on her heels to exit the arena. The boys followed her out. The three of them took off their vests and guns to return to their respective hooks on the walls. Sam turned to see the girl throw a backpack over her shoulder, looking closely and spotting a pin secured on the top flap. 

“Dean, look...” He nudged him. 

Dean followed Sam’s gaze to the backpack as the girl started to walk away. An anti-possession symbol in the form of a little pin sat neatly attached to the bag. 

“A hunter?” Dean’s voice was low.

“Definitely. She has to be...” Sam thought.

“If she’s that good at laser tag, I can only imagine how good she is at the real game.”

[gasolinerainbowreads]

ON THE GREEN UPDATE?!?!?!??!?!

LET'S FUCKING GO HELL YEAH

The hatch takes some strength to pry open, and though you should be more nervous about what – or who — you might find inside, you’re temporarily distracted by the sound coming through your commlink. Heavy exhales, low grunts. A low groan of exertion as he pulls, followed by a breathless sound of relief. The crux of your thighs throbs, and as he disappears into the hatch, you scramble up behind him, right on his heels.

got that thang purrriiiinnngggg lmao

You grimace. “What did you call me?” “A channel rat. Your little scavenging fingers, digging through the depths of a ship for a treat.” Dismissing his teasing smile, you shake your head. “Didn’t you tell me once that those things reeked of piss?” He chuckles. “I did indeed.”

piss kink Ezra alert? 👀

That sound. You can hear it in your sleep. No different than the sound of your own zipper being tugged down, and yet, somehow, it is. You envision the entire scene with startling clarity every night: his bare fingers working the clasp, his suit falling away from his body, the sound underneath it all.

damn even a zipper is getting her worked up. he better rail her soon or she's gonna go full Yellow Wallpaper

Cross-legged on your cot, you enjoy the sounds of domesticity filling the pod: the gentle scrub of your steel cleaning brush, the clink of a metal pan on the stove, a spoon swirling along the bottom of the pan as Ezra stirs. His humming joins the din, and you glance up at him.

omg domestic Ezra 🥰

“If you go, I go.”

YOUR HONOR, I LOVE THEM

His gloved hand strokes down the smooth metal of the hatch, searching for an opening. When he finds it, you can hear a terse smile in his exhale of relief. “There she is,” he murmurs. “You gonna open up for me?”

something tells me this won't be the last time we hear Ezra say something like this 😏

“Just wait till I kill you,” the man warns between his teeth. “I’m gonna fuck that girl raw. Right here. Right next to your dead fucking –” A grizzled choking sound cuts off the man’s words, and you whirl to face them just in time to see Ezra jerking the knife out of the man’s neck. Blood spurts across Ezra’s gloves, and he shoves the knife down again, and again. The force behind it is immense, Ezra’s face contorted in a look you’ve never seen before. His jabs are ruthless and quick, cutting and deep, and his arm speeds up, his face in a rage-filled trance, his eyes wild and cold all at the same time. “Mine,” you hear him between heavy breaths, between each plunge. “She’s mine.” Frozen, you watch in a morbid sort of fascination, but also in relief. He doesn’t stop stabbing until the man is long dead.

Your hand sweeps across this skin more than once, trying not to think about all the ways you imagined touching his stomach for the first time. It’s soft under your fingertips, a slight round to his lean belly and though his neck is taut with tension, he remains still under your exploration.

nnnggghhhhh belly

Using one hand to pinch his flesh together, you brace the stapler against his skin, blood smearing on the metal. You punch the first one through, and he hisses, his hand gripping your wrist. “Shit. Shit. Keep going.”

another line I think we just might hear Ezra say again but in a different context lmao

You need him to survive and get off this planet, but you also need him more than that. Deeper than that.

oh yeah? how deep?

He’s been awake for a while. He has wished for you like this so many times.

lmao this fuckin sneaky bitch! pretending to be asleep is only gonna work so long when she sees you're bricked up 😂

He’s never been touched like this by anyone, and it takes everything he has to keep his eyes closed — until he feels you press your lips against his.

okay but can we talk about the parallels here bc, yes, she's younger/less experienced, yet here he is experiencing this sort of attention for the first time. there are still things that are new for him to experience - the emotional vulnerability (like him feeling worried), the physical intimacy that blossoms from tenderness, etc. I really love how they mirror and contrast each other all at once

“This,” you whisper back, bending down for another kiss.

I'm actually going insane that the chapter ended like this so thanks lmao

UGH another amazing chapter, Kelli! The sexual tension made me feel touch starved just reading it. And the looming threat of violence and then the high stakes action/violent scene were so so so well written. Even knowing they have more of a story, I was still sitting there reading worried something was going to happen! (yeah yeah Ezra got cut, but other than that hahaha)

THANK YOU FOR WRITING THIS! I love your Ezra so much, and I don't care how long in between updates it is, this story is worth it every. single. time. I think about it often, and it is always a better day when the next chapter to their story comes out. 💚

On The Green: 5

Ezra Prospect x f!reader

Rating: M — some prospecting violence

A/N: I cannot even tell you how much this chapter kicked my rear end — it would have never been finished without the love and care and hand holding of @the-scandalorian and @the-ginger-hedge-witch ❤️ Both extremely insightful in their own ways, I am eternally grateful to each of them ❤️ Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

—

All morning he’s been watching you when he thinks you aren’t looking.

The weight of his gaze on your back every time you turn around, logic argues it’s because he’s guiding you into something he knows you’re nervous about. But in the end, shame wins out. It tells you that he knows what you were doing last night while he was in the shower. You contemplate just asking him directly, if only to relieve the feeling, to get it out in the open.

Instead, you keep your mouth closed and decide to put your focus where it should be in the first place.

“Go over it again,” you ask him.

He nods underneath the dome of his helmet, carefully picking his way along a nearly invisible path.

“It’s a wreck. Been one for a while. I came across it a few cycles back, but once I saw that she was no longer functional, I cut my losses. Went through her innards, took what I could – which,” he looks back at you, “mind you, wasn’t much.”

He faces forward again, holding a branch to the side for you to pass. You step carefully over a thick root, accepting the hand that he holds out for help.

“She had been long abandoned even then, so I don’t think we’ll encounter any unsavory protectors today.”

You can tell from the state of the path that he must be telling the truth. The indentation made by long ago steps is covered by overgrowth, a trench you can only feel rather than see. The ground slopes underneath the creeping vines, the crooked line of it hidden by lush leaves. You follow his yellow suit like a beacon, the color a distinct contrast against all the green.

With each step, nerves unfurl in your stomach at the idea that he might be wrong. That there might be another person there, just as eager to keep what’s theirs as you are to take it. The feeling creeps through your veins like the thick vines that crawl over the soil, and keeping your eyes on the familiar yellow in front of you, you squash down the nervousness with every break of one under your boot.

“Slow now. She’s close.”

He holds a gloved hand out to the side, and you peek around the curve of his shoulder. Just beyond the trees, there’s a pod covered in overgrowth, a relic left behind. The windows are yellowed with age, mildew growing over their oval openings.

The hatch is closed, and the area is silent and still.

He takes careful, scouting steps and you follow close behind him.

“Weapon out, Birdie.”

Your thrower already in your grasp, you tighten your hold on it.

You focus on his breathing for a moment, slow and steady through the speaker in your helmet.

“You good?” His voice crackles over the comm link.

When you look up, he meets your gaze with a level one of his own. Patient, checking in.

At the hesitation you can feel in your expression, he reassures. “I promise you, any occupants are long gone.” Reaching out, he lifts the barrel of your thrower. “Still though, can’t be too careful.”

You nod, and he takes the lead, shielding you.

The hatch takes some strength to pry open, and though you should be more nervous about what – or who — you might find inside, you’re temporarily distracted by the sound coming through your commlink. Heavy exhales, low grunts. A low groan of exertion as he pulls, followed by a breathless sound of relief.

The crux of your thighs throbs, and as he disappears into the hatch, you scramble up behind him, right on his heels. There is a tense moment as he rounds the corner, but when he gives you the all clear, your shoulders drop their pressured weight. Relaxed, you both study the disarray in front of you.

Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust: the shards of broken monitor glass scattered on the floor, the torn seats with stuffing spilling out, the stripped panels from the wall. It’s easy to find the compartment you’re looking for: a gaping hole in the middle of the floor, wires spilling from its depths.

You curse silently. “Someone’s been in there.”

“They take everything?” he asks. Using the tip of his pistol, he nudges the lid off the top of a storage compartment and peers inside.

“I’m not sure.”

Setting your thrower and gloves to the side, you get down on all fours and reach into the open compartment. A tangle of wires obstructs your view and your fingers sift through them all, searching by touch alone.

Your arm disappears all the way up to the shoulder before you locate the sharp edge of the circuit board. Grasping it, you lift it free with a sharp tug. It takes forever to ease it out, but when you do, a grin breaks over your face.

Two converters. Worse for wear, but it’s something. Not near what you need, but it still feels like a victory nonetheless. Carefully detaching them from the board, you hold them out for his inspection, cradled in your palm.

“Look at you, my little channel rat.”

His levity sucks all of the remaining tension from the room.

You grimace. “What did you call me?”

“A channel rat. Your little scavenging fingers, digging through the depths of a ship for a treat.”

Dismissing his teasing smile, you shake your head. “Didn’t you tell me once that those things reeked of piss?”

He chuckles. “I did indeed.”

Going back to the hole in the floor, you study the wires left behind for possible scavenging. “If you call me that even one more time, I’ll shoot you in the back.”

His grin widens at your deadpan delivery.

“Deal.”

–

Back in the safety of your own pod, you pull in deep inhales of fresh air as soon as you lift your helmet off. There is a certain sort of pleasure to it, feeling the recycled air hit your cheeks. Inside the helmet, it’s humid and sticky, the blower pack in your suit not enough to combat the heat from your body. It’s built to keep you cool, but under the helmet, your hair sticks to your nape and your forehead with sweat. Under the helmet, your stale breath blows back into your face. Under the helmet, you feel like you can’t breathe sometimes - which is ironic, given the reason for it in the first place.

Ezra stands close, tossing his helmet down to fumble with the zipper of his suit.

That sound. You can hear it in your sleep. No different than the sound of your own zipper being tugged down, and yet, somehow, it is. You envision the entire scene with startling clarity every night: his bare fingers working the clasp, his suit falling away from his body, the sound underneath it all.

“You good?” He checks on you, and when you nod your head but don’t say anything, he bends his gaze to your level. The stark lighting of the pod makes his eyes look even darker, and his hand comes to rest on your shoulder. Right at the edge of your neckline, the heat of his palm brushes against your skin. “You sure?”

“Yea,” you reassure him, trying to ignore the weight behind your navel his touch brings. “It went good. Really good.”

“I think so,” he replies. “I’m impressed. Our first job as a duo, gone off without a hitch.”

He winks, squeezing your shoulder for a brief moment. When his hand slides away, you stop your body from chasing it.

“Here.” His voice pulls you from your reverie, a cleaning kit held outwards towards you. “You do this, and I’ll do dinner?”

Nodding, you take it from him.

Cross-legged on your cot, you enjoy the sounds of domesticity filling the pod: the gentle scrub of your steel cleaning brush, the clink of a metal pan on the stove, a spoon swirling along the bottom of the pan as Ezra stirs. His humming joins the din, and you glance up at him.

If there was something that you’d never have expected from your first confrontation with the man, a scene like this would be at the top of the list. When your attraction initially began, it used to eat you up inside thinking about how you didn’t know him. You felt immature and foolish thinking about how the feelings were rooted in loneliness, sprouting from a life lacking attention and flourishing in close proximity. However, as scenes like the one in front of you became more common, it was easier to accept it.

The want that you feel coats the space like the dust that lingers in the air outside; ever present, in every breath you take. You try to ignore it, a small pocket of embarrassment bubbling up every time you think about approaching him, though he seems like the type who would be into whatever arrangement you’d propose. Especially given how long he’s been alone. Not only that, but the way in which he carries himself suggests he’s ever fluid, open for whatever comes his way. Adaptable, a side effect of his lifestyle you’re sure.

You know better though.

His carefree conversation is practiced, a facade. One meant to disarm and distract. You’re fairly certain he’s past that stage with you, given not only the amount of time you’ve spent together, but also the way he looks at you. Unguarded, in the morning after he wakes or in the evening, right before he goes to bed. Distracted, letting himself slip into thought, his eyes hooded as his tongue slides slowly across his bottom lip.

Sometimes though, sometimes you see him looking at you in the same way he looks at others: like they are something to study, his eyes keenly assessing.

That look always gives you pause. No matter how much you know he’d probably say yes, his motives are the question you’d really want answered.

Picturing the bare skin along his ribs that rippled in his stretch the other day when he emerged from the shower, you silently flex your hand, mentally fitting your fingers along the velvet skin. Safe in the secrecy of your own mind, you let your daydreams flourish – a bubble that pops when he approaches your cot.

“Not a feast, by any means,” he says, sitting down next to you. “But it’ll do.”

You accept the bowl gratefully, steam rising from its contents. He blows on his spoon, taking a bite. The motion makes his jaw work, and when he swallows, you watch through the fringe of your eyelashes.

“You did good today.”

His easy praise just slips off his tongue, and for someone who has spent so much time in the darkness, you keen under its light.

You smile over at him, and he returns it - but only for a fraction before it drops.

He looks away, down at his food. “The next one might be a touch harder.”

“How come?” you ask, your mouth full.

“Because it’s occupied.”

You stop chewing.

His eyes flick up to meet yours. “Unattended pods are a thing of rarity. Most are occupied, and their inhabitants can be…”

You raise your eyebrows when he doesn’t finish the sentence. “Can be…?”

“Protective of what’s theirs.”

His statement hangs in the air, his expression sober.

Swallowing hard, you sit with it for a minute. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“Look,” he sighs, studying you. “I feel I should go alone, little bird.”

Frowning, you let your bowl rest in your lap. “What? Why? It’s too dangerous.”

He huffs in amusement. “You wound me with your lack of faith in my skills. I assure you, I’ve been navigating such situations alone for far longer than you’ve even been alive.”

The reminder of his age compared to yours should make you feel more at ease about his capabilities, but instead the statement temporarily distracts you. You take in his calloused hands, the lines that edge around the corners of his eyes, the grey flecks in his beard.

“I’ve taught you a lot,” he continues, “But letting the idea marinate, I believe it’s safer to keep you here.”

His suggestion catches you off guard. Everything about your arrangement has been with the word “partnership” in mind: he’s taught you how to dig, how to shoot, how to be aware of your surroundings. For him to want you to stay behind versus alongside him must mean there is something more dangerous about the situation than he’s letting on.

Not liking the idea of being separated from him, you press. “Trust me, I don’t doubt your skills. I’ve seen you in action.”

He sits up straighter, a proud smile stretching his cheeks, and you roll your eyes, undeterred.

“You’re the mechanic, I’m the muscle,” you mimic in his voice. “Weren’t those your words? If there is anyone there, you’ll deal with them so I can get the converters.”

“I’m afraid they won’t part with them as easily as your statement suggests.”

“I never thought they would.” You hold his gaze, searching. “Why don’t you want me there?”

He hesitates, and you can see a war within the depths of his eyes. Eventually, he answers, his voice softer. “I don’t want to subject you to…an avoidable confrontation. Not if I don’t have to.”

A beat of significant silence fills the space between you. Your dinners forgotten, the space around you shrinks to the size of the cot that you share. The urge to toss your bowl onto the ground and pull him to you builds the longer you sit with his statement, but there is something else about his words that tugs at the back of your mind.

You picture him walking into the Green alone, disappearing from your sight. Weeks with him at your side has you rejecting the mental image. Your stomach churns, your hand reaching out to cover his.

“If you go, I go.”

A grimace flashes over his features, the scar along his cheek highlighted for a moment. “I thought you’d say that.”

Rationally, you know he’s just trying to protect you, but you let your hand fall back, hurt. Busying yourself with your bowl again, you can feel him looking at you.

“Hey now,” he says, soft, but stern. “It’s not a lack of faith in your skills, trust me. It’s just that mercs out here are ruthless, raw. Their sensibilities have been swallowed whole by this place, and I don’t want you anywhere near them.”

His voice lowers even more, his tone gentle. “You remember what I said? About girls being rare in this place?”

You look up, and his gaze is fixed on yours, earnest and serious.

“I meant it.”

Apprehension flickers in your chest, but you remain firm in holding your ground. He can’t go alone.

“You really want to come with?” he asks.

You nod instantly. “Yes.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up, a hint of pride flashing through his eyes.

“Okay then, partner. Let’s talk about a plan.”

–

Ezra shifts on his cot, forcing his pillow into submission under his head.

“If you go, I go.”

Your words echo in his mind, your face appearing alongside. Your presence pulls at him from across the short distance between your cots, and he shifts again, rolling to face the wall.

He doesn’t want you to come with tomorrow.

He knows what this place is capable of, the way it carves out the morals of men to leave them shells of desperation. He himself has fallen victim to it, and though he hasn’t often found regret in his actions, he already regrets agreeing to let you come. He’s been here long enough to know that a partner is crucial to survival, but you…you’re unprecedented. You’re a girl. You’re something no one has seen in a long time, and he worries (an emotion he’s not used to) about how they’ll react when they see you.

If it’s anything like the way he reacts to you, you’re both in trouble.

You stir behind him, and he listens. You shift again, and he stills his breath.

The idea that you might be restless with the want you sated last night blossoms in his mind, heat pooling behind his navel. His fingers lightly scratch the wiry hair underneath it, just over where he aches. His cock twitches in interest, and distracting himself from the thought of everything that could go wrong tomorrow, he immerses himself in the thought of you.

You, right behind him, feet away.

You, trying to be quiet, slick need gathering between your thighs.

You, slipping your hand underneath the band of your leggings.

A phantom stickiness smears across the tips of his fingers, and they twitch against his skin. He teases at the band of his thermals, pretending his hand is yours. He moves it slowly, imagining your hesitation - eager, yet shy.

He thickens fully at the thought.

Unpracticed at hiding his attraction towards someone, he’s testing the limits of his self restraint with every minute spent in your presence. Constantly reminding himself of how vulnerable you are, the idea that you’d go along with any sort of proposition out of intimidation makes him sick. But you wanting it? You making the first move?

His hand (your hand) creeps a little lower, brushing against the base of his cock. It’s stiff to the touch, and he closes his eyes – only to be assaulted with the idea of someone else grabbing your hand to force it underneath their pants. His erection wanes, a series of images flashing through his mind: you screaming for help, you being forcibly dragged out of his sight, someone else taking from you what you never offered.

He softens.

His attachment to you is something like he’s never experienced before. This urge to keep you hidden from the world to protect you, while also helping you flourish. The need that coats him from the inside out, yet is forced to stay on a leash. It feels like a fever dream sometimes, the time he spends in the pod with you. A liminal place, a trapped sort of existence akin to hell itself in the way he wants you, but also something akin to heaven.

A companionship he’s missed, a presence he ached for and now has. Like you dropped from the sky, meant just for him.

He hears you shift again, and he frowns.

He should roll over and ask you if everything’s okay, but he knows it’s not. You’re probably worried about tomorrow and you should be. You’re as ready as you’ll ever be — as ready as this place will allow you to become before you’re thrown into the heat of the fire.

He also shouldn’t because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop himself. If he rolls over, he’ll see you — see your shadowed form in the darkness, the dips and curves of your body. He pictures himself being drawn to it, crawling the distance between your cots. Settling close to you, feeling the heat of your skin. Murmured, dulcet tones of soothing. His hands smoothing away your nerves.

His mouth being drawn to yours in the dark intimacy of the night.

He wants to tuck your face into the crook of his neck and tell you it will be fine.

But he doesn’t know if it will be, and so he stays still, guilt eating at his restless bones.

—

The pod stands alone in the clearing, silent and imposing.

Boot prints have tamped down the soil surrounding it, the greenery eaten away. The tracks are fresh, and they lead in every direction.

“How many do you think there are?”

Hidden in the green together, you speak lowly even though no one is tuned into your frequency but Ezra.

“Hard to say. I’d judge two, maybe three.” He shifts, trying to get a better view. “The size of their vessel doesn’t say much for numbers. Can’t be more than that.”

“Do you think they’re in there?”

Noting no sign of life surrounding the pod, you try to peer in the windows from afar to spot any movement.

He sighs, a heavy and resigned thing through your connection. He turns his head, and you do the same, facing each other.

“Unfortunately, Birdie, we won’t know until we open the door.”

He checks the charge on his pistol, flicking his eyes to your weapon in a motion for you to do the same. “You ready?”

Nodding, you grip your thrower. “Ready.”

Standing from your hidden spot, he takes an automatic lead in front of you. His slinking steps are careful, his breathing steady and measured. The dust motes surrounding you make the whole thing seem like a suspended dream, like you’re moving in slow motion along with them. For every step he takes, you do the same until you’re moving as mirror images, creeping closer and closer.

Anticipation and adrenaline have your entire body on high alert, yet the green around you remains eerily calm. There is no movement and no sound other than the gentle rustle of the trees, and while that would normally be muted underneath the dome of your helmet, your straining ears pick it up. A bead of sweat glides down the back of your neck, your eyes focused on Ezra’s back as he reaches the pod.

His gloved hand strokes down the smooth metal of the hatch, searching for an opening. When he finds it, you can hear a terse smile in his exhale of relief.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “You gonna open up for me?”

He works the latch open with force, and you spot check the edges of the clearing. Your heart is beating so fast you can feel it in your chest, and in contrast, Ezra seems as calm as ever. You think about your own pod in the middle of a similar clearing, and how your role has reversed in your weeks here. Once the trapped person inside, now the intruder seeking what belongs to someone else.

The hatch opens, and you crawl in behind him.

It’s empty inside, though clearly in use. Two cots are pushed against the wall, blankets and pillows crumpled on top of them. Thermals litter the floor, metal dishes are stacked next to the small sink, and there is a station of cleaning tools left out, as if someone stopped mid-task.

“Speed is of the essence, little bird.”

His voice grounds you, your eyes immediately scanning the floor. It takes a minute to find the sealed compartment, but you catch the edge of it underneath one of the cots.

“Help me move this,” you ask him, picking your way over to the panel. While you’re careful with your steps, he stomps without care on anything in his way: discarded papers on the floor, a dirty shirt. He lifts the cot with a grunt, and you drop to your knees.

The panel springs open and sifting through the wires, you wish you stopped to take your helmet off. It’s hard to get close enough to the floor with the dome limiting how close you can get, and a small huff of frustration slips from your mouth as you stick your arm down, down, down, stretching it as much as you can.

Just when you’ve reached your limit, you feel the edge of the panel.

“Anything there?” He delivers the question calmly, though you can hear the slight tone of urgency that slips through.

“Got it,” you grit through your teeth, tugging it free.

The edges of it catch on the neat wiring that surrounds it, and impatiently, you tear through it all. Lifting it from the floor, your eyes widen.

“Ten. There are ten, Ez.”

You look up at him in awestruck wonder, and he returns a tight smile.

“Speedy now. Show me how you use those nimble fingers of yours.”

You click them off with practiced precision, trying to tamp down the elation that you feel at the added weight of each one in the pouch attached to your hip. When you have all ten, you toss the panel back into the nest of wires and slip the lid back into place. Standing to get out of his way, you watch as Ezra unceremoniously drops the cot back onto the floor.

He smiles at you, a genuine one this time. “You did so good, Birdie. So good.”

Relief floods your chest at his praise. Your stomach has been in knots all morning, worsening as you sat in the bush and waited, and though you know you’re not out of danger yet, you take a moment to let your victory wash over you. A sudden, fierce wish to be back in your own pod with him takes you by surprise, a burning need to throw your helmet off and have him do the same so you can kiss him. Your body subconsciously leans forward, drawn to the idea and to him and to the need to have his praise breathed directly into your mouth for you to swallow.

A similar look flashes across his own dark features, and there is a beat of weighted tension. It swirls in the space between you, filling it — and breaking, when he grabs your hand.

He gives it a squeeze, leading you back towards the hatch. “Come on. Before they get back.”

Following the back of his suit out of the pod, you notice the surroundings of the clearing seem brighter, less ominous. The dust that floats through the air no longer seems threatening and nightmarish, but more like a pleasant dream. You take in the details for the first time today, your eyes fixed where the tops of the trees brush the sky – disappearing when you’re ripped from behind with a sudden, forceful jerk backwards.

“Ezra!”

Your thrower gets tossed from your hand, and the air is pushed from your lungs as your back hits the ground with a thud. You kick wildly and try to scramble up, and a sharp kick from behind keeps you trapped in place, forcing you onto your front.

Coughing, you lift your head under the helmet, but the edges of the dome obstruct your view. Straining, you squirm underneath the heavy pressure of a boot on your back, fighting to see where Ezra is. You can see only his boots, toe to toe with a stranger’s.

The voice above you is grizzled and deep. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Looking for something we need,” Ezra drawls, and though you can’t see his face, you can picture it. The truthful admission comes out slow and confident. “We found it, so we’ll be on our way.”

You hear the charge of a thrower above you, and Ezra’s boots shift slightly. It’s a special sort of hell to hear him through the comm link without being able to see him.

“Go in there and see what the fuck they took,” orders the man pinning you to the ground.

You see his partner's boots walk out of your sight, and hear him climb the ramp to the pod.

“You stay right there,” he warns Ezra. “One move and I’ll shoot your partner here.”

Lifting your torso with a grunt, you shift just enough to get Ezra in your sights before the boot on your back forces you back down. Even though you’re prone and he’s being held at gunpoint—both at the mercy of a stranger—reassurance floods through you at just being able to see his face.

“That would be…regrettable.”

The shift in Ezra’s expression is cold and menacing, his fingers flexing slightly on the grip of his pistol.

“That so?” the man teases. His boot wiggles, shoving you deeper into the soil. “Feels kinda scrawny. Can’t imagine what use he is to you for someone so small.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ezra counters.

“Let’s see him.”

The words take you by surprise, just like the swift jerk of your shoulders. He flips you faster than you can react, his boots coming down to step on your arms and the tip of his thrower aims directly at your face – his eyes wide with surprise right above it.

“Is this – is this a girl?”

Your boot flies up to kick him in the back, and he grunts but doesn’t budge. You do it again, and he presses the muzzle of his thrower into your chest.

“Do it again and see what happens.” Antsy, he glances up in the direction of the pod and yells to his partner. “What the fuck is taking you so long?”

Taking advantage of his split second of distraction, you use every ounce of strength you have to bow your back off the ground just enough to catch him by surprise. His boots falter, taking the pressure off your arms and you quickly sit up, driving your elbows into his thighs. He growls in frustration, trying to keep his thrower on you while also bending to swipe for your leg, and you scramble backwards in the soil. Your boots slide on the damp earth, your gloved fingers digging into the ground for purchase and there is a sharp crack in the air as Ezra aims his pistol at the man and misses. You flinch, crawling backwards to get out of the man’s reach, and panic cuts through you when you hear the stomp of boots coming down the ramp.

“What the hell –”

Those are the only words the man gets out before you hear more cracking shots, and then he’s falling backwards, dead, onto the ground.

“You son of a bitch!” The man who had you pinned lunges for Ezra, his thrower tossed to the side, a knife in his hand instead.

Ezra abandons his own weapon, throwing himself at the stranger. You watch helplessly as two of them hit the ground, fighting for control of the knife. Crawling towards Ezra’s gun, you stretch your hand towards the weapon when you hear it.

“Just wait till I kill you,” the man warns between his teeth. “I’m gonna fuck that girl raw. Right here. Right next to your dead fucking –”

A grizzled choking sound cuts off the man’s words, and you whirl to face them just in time to see Ezra jerking the knife out of the man’s neck. Blood spurts across Ezra’s gloves, and he shoves the knife down again, and again. The force behind it is immense, Ezra’s face contorted in a look you’ve never seen before. His jabs are ruthless and quick, cutting and deep, and his arm speeds up, his face in a rage-filled trance, his eyes wild and cold all at the same time.

“Mine,” you hear him between heavy breaths, between each plunge. “She’s mine.”

Frozen, you watch in a morbid sort of fascination, but also in relief.

He doesn’t stop stabbing until the man is long dead.

—

The walk back to the pod is as quick as it can be, with Ezra’s weight leaning heavily on your side. All traces of joy and victory have long vanished, and the two of you say nothing to each other as you trudge along the hidden path.

His expression as he killed that man plays on repeat in your mind the whole way, along with his words.

“She’s mine.”

Though he’s trying to mask his pain, his grip on your hip tells you the truth, as does his labored breathing. You didn’t see it happen, but the man must have hit his mark at least once, judging from a telltale stain of dark red smeared across the front of Ezra’s suit. It seems to take forever to get back, and with every step, his wound gets worse and worse in your mind.

Finally back inside your pod, you strip and toss everything carelessly onto the ground.

“I need the med kit,” he groans, collapsing against the wall. His movements are jerky as he rips his helmet off, and then his gloves, using his teeth. “Fuck,” he sighs, his eyes pinched closed.

He’s pale, his sweat matted hair stuck to his forehead and you kneel in front of him with the kit, rifling through the contents.

“What do you need?”

His hand splays protectively over his lower stomach. “He got me through my suit, just here.” He shifts, a loud groan breaking free when he peels down the top of his suit. He rolls it to the waist, and gingerly pushing the fabric down, you see his thermals underneath, stained dark and saturated with blood.

He lifts it, and you wince.

“Looks worse than it is,” he breathes heavily, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“It looks pretty bad, Ez. Really bad.”

His stomach is matted and smeared with blood, and at the center of it all, a gash.

He holds his hand out for gauze, dabbing at the wound with a hiss. “See?” His stomach flinches, and he wipes it again before looking at you. “A stitch or two should do it.”

“You sure?” you ask, and he nods, letting his head fall to the side as he looks away.

“In you? Always.”

Your fingers tremble slightly when you flick open the med kit, and then rote memory takes over. You’ve done this – your father used to stumble home all the time with various gashes. Bar fights, brawls in alley ways. Prospectors are a rough crowd, and you’d stitched him up more than once. This is just like that, only better because you don’t have someone yelling at you to do it faster – but also worse, because you care about this person more. The thought leaps into your mind, and knowing you don’t have time to dwell on it, you shove it away.

Ezra flinches at the touch of your hand against his bare stomach, his muscles tensing under your fingers.

You pause, and he lets out a nervous laugh.

“Sorry. Cold hands.”

You give him an apologetic smile.

“Keep going.”

You take your time disinfecting the wound, making sure all traces of dirt are gone. Your hand sweeps across this skin more than once, trying not to think about all the ways you imagined touching his stomach for the first time. It’s soft under your fingertips, a slight round to his lean belly and though his neck is taut with tension, he remains still under your exploration. You want him to look at you: for reassurance, for acknowledgement of your hands on his skin – but he is resolute, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall.

Setting your rag down, you pick up the stapler.

“You ready?”

He nods.

Using one hand to pinch his flesh together, you brace the stapler against his skin, blood smearing on the metal. You punch the first one through, and he hisses, his hand gripping your wrist.

“Shit. Shit. Keep going.”

His breathing has turned into panting, his eyes clenched tight. You slide it along his skin an inch, and then punch another one.

The groan he lets out would be filthy, if not for the situation you’re in. It’s a strained, long thing — his head tipped back, veins highlighted along his neck and you toss the stapler to the side, pressing fresh gauze against the wound.

“All done. It’s done.”

He nods, a tired smile gracing his face. Leaning forward, he keeps one hand on his stomach and you watch nervously as he crawls onto his cot. He falls back onto his pillow, calmer now, but still pale.

“My thanks, Birdie.”

He slips into a stress-induced sleep, and you look at him for a moment before cleaning up.

At the sink, you notice his red hand print around your wrist. The blood had pooled between his fingers, the digits a slick slide over your small wrist and you brush your thumb over the marks he left behind. It looks violent, yet there is a part of you that likes it. Being branded with him, a part of him smeared into your skin.

You hesitate to wash it off.

—

He sleeps, and you keep watch.

You had worried for your father sometimes, but it was nothing like this. In the small amount of time that you’d come to know him, Ezra already meant more to you than your own father ever did.

In the dark, you finally let yourself dwell on the realization.

Your father had never truly been a father. He was more of a stranger, or a roommate at best. He dragged you down with him, keeping you close enough to use you when he needed. He was never invested in you, never cared what you thought or wanted. You never needed him for anything, but Ezra…Ezra you need. You need him to survive and get off this planet, but you also need him more than that. Deeper than that.

The respect and courtesy he treats you with is something that surprised you, given the way you met. In a short while though, you’ve come to realize it’s exactly what’s been missing from your life this whole time. His curiosity and interest is genuine, and his care for you — especially after the events of today — is obvious.

She’s mine.

Did he say that because it’s true? Or because he needs everyone else to believe it’s true?

His lashes flutter, a dream seemingly racing through his slumber and you watch the movement of his eyes under his lids. His fingers flex, and without thinking, you place your hand on top of his.

He stills, and so do you.

The minutes and hours slip by, the moon slowly making its way from one pod window to another and you keep your vigil all the while. He murmurs in his sleep, and you cradle the curve of his jaw. Even after he stops, you keep your hand in place.

Your thumb traces the line of the scar on his cheek - a hooked thing, violent. He never told you how he got it, and you long for him to wake up and regale you with the story. He’d make a meal out of it, you know he would.

When he doesn’t stir, you continue your exploration.

Delicate touches: a swipe over his silken eyelid, a trace down the line of his nose. The bristle of his moustache tickles the pad of your thumb, a direct contrast against the smooth patch of skin on his jawline where there is no hair.

He’s a killer, and you wonder how many have gotten as close as this.

She’s mine.

He’s right — you are. In a short while you have become his. The juxtaposition of the man you saw today versus the man in front of you now is jarring, as if he couldn’t be the same man at all. And maybe he’s not, for anyone else. But for you, he is.

You get both, and while you should have been scared by the way he savagely killed today, you instead find yourself proud. You find yourself drawn to it, admiration and assurance and a sense of protection swirling around in your mind.

He did that for you, something no one has ever done.

Emboldened by this knowledge and drawn to his profile in the dark, you rest on his firm chest, and your fingers splay outwards over his heart.

Leaning down, you press your lips lightly against his.

–

He’s been awake for a while.

He has wished for you like this so many times. Just like this, only he never imagined himself like this. Just his luck that his wish comes true, but at a cost.

You’re so close, your face hovering just above his. He can smell the sweetness of your breath, of your skin. The way you’re looking at him has been one he’s only ever seen in his dreams, and though his body aches with a hidden want that threatens to consume, he stays perfectly still, not wanting it to end.

He’s never been touched like this by anyone, and it takes everything he has to keep his eyes closed — until he feels you press your lips against his.

He responds instantly, his hand coming up to cup the crown of your head.

Your kiss is so soft — soft and delicate and vulnerable, just like you. Your mouth fits neatly against his own, and before he can truly savor it, it’s gone.

He opens his eyes and your shadowed form comes into focus, your proximity intoxicating. His dream come to life.

His hand slides down the back of your hair, settling on your neck. Holding you place, he can see the vulnerability that seeps out of your every pore, and he longs to soothe you. If he knew what he should soothe, he would.

He knows what he wants to soothe, but he waits.

“What are you doing, Birdie?” he whispers.

Your eyes flit between his, and you bite your lip, thinking. He watches as you war with yourself inside your head, and his touch drifts to cup your cheek. His thumb slides across the soft curve of it, and when his eyes dip to your mouth, he watches your expression change to something more assured.

Confident, resolute.

“This,” you whisper back, bending down for another kiss.

[voided-selfships]

I might need to remove Angel from my f/o list

[dbphantom]

you know if you guys voted for stretch armstrong i probably would have shut up a lot sooner tonight

[kookies2000]

My fearless feline friends, we got Twitter in the fiesta as well!!!

[nomaishuttle]

i do fr need to work on differentiating between "actually middleclass" and "doesnt live paycheck to paycheck" lmao bc that is something i struggle with... obviously ik i have more in common with like. even somebody whos fr middleclass disney vacations every year. I know i have more in common with them than i do with bezos but god at least i dont have to see bezos being annoying in front of me every day KJANDJKLNLJD

[milo-is-rambling]

Day whatever it is recap!