#outpost chatter

[outpost51]

Desperately need to overhaul blinding neon, I wanna get back into it. Anybody wanna be brainstorm buddies? hmu for my discord if you don’t have it tumblr dm is trash

[outpost51]

I’ve always seen it as supernatural dealing more with matters of the soul, the afterlife, etc that are beyond human understanding whereas paranormal is just that — adjacent to normal. This is oversimplified for brevity’s (and spoons) sake, but that’s it for me! The two tend to be used interchangeably though, and I prefer using “paranormal” for my romances despite incorporating elements of both.

What, in your opinion, is the difference between paranormal fiction and supernatural fiction and which genre do you prefer?

🔪🩸👻 🧛‍♀️👽

I've been looking for a good way to define the differences in the genres but I can't find a good example online, so I thought I'd ask my writeblr friends since y'all are into this stuff like I am! Please lemme know what you think makes these genres different and why you like a specific one, please! 😊❤️

[pearlcatcher-problems]

spire ᛜ false amphithere ᛜ beast wyrm ᛜ king of the roost

finally had the time to tackle this lad's reference; next up is a custom skin for him to match his headcanon! Lore rambles and general discussion of him / his spot in the lair beneath the cut to keep length down q wq

Spire is a false amphithere, technically a beast wyrm, that has settled and taken over one of the lair outposts. Most of his body is furred with thick boar bristle, but his chestplate is heavier armoured scale. Like most outpost heads, he bears the emblem of the joined clans on his wings and garb, although the over-ornamentation is mostly his magpie-like mate's preference.

The 'koi' on his wings is only ever visible under direct sunlight, where the fish-like scaling on his wings is most iridescent. Otherwise, it's just yet another glossy protective layer over his already armoured hide.

Beast wyrms are usually territorial and brutish, usually lone-wanderers due to conflict with others of their species. They rarely breed, which means their numbers are low, and quite a few of them will integrate themselves in mixed-species lairs that better suits the beast side of their bloodlines. Boars, bears, ox, and bison tend to be the most plentiful beast lines, with other species spotted scarcely. There's very little understanding on how they can continue their bloodlines or how new species are still popping up, and there are theories that they're instead created through corrupted interference. It very well could be both.

Spire's nature is a benefit to him where he is now, having quickly charmed most of the chattering amphitheres over within days of his first landing within their borders and ended up being the prize gem of their matriarch within a season. The amphitheres are chaotic and fickle creatures, and as such, they had strained relations with neighbouring clans until Spire was able to better translate between the groups. While the neighbouring dragon clans simply wanted access to the amphithere grounds for study and ( hopefully ) trade, the amphithere's distrusting nature made it near impossible to conduct anything of the sort safely. With the amphitheres now well-fed due to an influx of ley magics and their society a little more organised, they've been able to progress their roost to the point of joining a proper network. Most who venture into the roost know that they only have one chance, if they overstep they will be tossed either by an amphithere denizen, or Spire himself.

He's unable to fly for long distances, both due to his shorter wingspan compared to most flying-beasts, and the added weight of the boar bristling. He is able to glide, climb, crawl, and charge at quite a good speed though, which means most of his fighting is done on-ground after intentionally disabling his opponents' wings somehow or hindering their ability to fly at all. Like most dragon-folk, he has the ability to breathe 'fire' but it requires quite a lot of fuel to do so and is used sparingly. It takes his body at least twenty seconds to get a devastating flame charged and it's visibly obvious when he's preparing for it as the scaling on his chestplate will flare up, which means it's not something used without thought or desperation. He is powerful, but there are always limits and calls to that power. It's why he agreed to engage in the political alliances for the good of the roost, at least then if they do encounter a threat where he's limited in his abilities, the allied clans have promised to step in.

He has five functioning digits on his forelimbs, but they're limited in dexterity and mostly used as anchoring grapples or simple motion. Given the shape of his wings, it's difficult for him to turn his wrists without moving his entire wing, which means a lot of fine-tune work is often left to a different dragon. His hindlimbs only have two functioning digits, with a pair of curved claws and a pair of dewclaws for gripping behind them.

Although he can technically eat anything, his favourite foods are tubers and fresh melons, but he also enjoys just gnawing on bones. The amphitheres are unable to eat anything outside of raw ley energy and flesh, so any growing produce within their territory tends to be just for him, a few of the locals specifically hiding away small melon farms in corners of the cliffs away from where younglings may try to play with them.

Most of the allied clans call all citizens of the roost 'amphitheres,' which has lead to some confusion as not all dragons in the roost are technically amphitheres. Despite the differences in species though, socially and culturally, all species are amphitheres and equal as long as the same goals are kept. It's an odd place, but it somehow works.

l m a o none of this is organised but mmmm I just love this lad qwq

[partoffantasy]

When Words Hurt - Bodhi Durran

⸻ image credits to OC & scribe.jesinia⸻

summary: after a heated argument shatters their year-long relationship, Y/N isolates herself in guilt and confusion, while Bodhi struggles with the depth of the pain she caused.

pairing: bodhi durran x fem!reader warnings: angst word count: 5.8k

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

Bodhi and Y/N were the embodiment of what everyone around them dreamed of when it came to a perfect relationship. It wasn’t the whirlwind romance that came with grand gestures or dramatic moments. No, theirs was the quiet, steady kind of love that built itself on a foundation of small, everyday acts that spoke louder than anything else.

Their mornings began with the simple act of sharing breakfast together, the sounds of the bustling cafeteria fading as they found their own small corner, away from the chatter of other cadets. Y/N would pour herself a cup of steaming tea, settling down across from Bodhi, and they’d talk as if they were the only two people in the world. Bodhi would reach over, stealing a piece of toast from her plate, teasing her playfully for always getting more than she needed. Y/N would roll her eyes but smile nonetheless, always finding amusement in his actions.

“You know,” Bodhi would say between bites, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to starve me.” “Maybe you deserve it,” Y/N would tease back, nudging him with her foot under the table. “You’re always trying to steal my food.” And for a moment, everything was perfect. They’d laugh, carefree, without a care in the world. The moments they shared—small, quiet, and filled with affection—felt like the most natural thing. To those around them, it was obvious. They were in tune with each other, understanding each other’s rhythms, without needing to try.

When classes were over, when their responsibilities were done for the day, Bodhi and Y/N found themselves walking side by side across Basgiath’s grounds. The sun would be setting, painting the sky in soft shades of orange and pink, and they’d stroll along the pathways, hands brushing together before inevitably clasping. Bodhi was always the first to pull her close, wrapping his arm around her shoulders in a protective manner, while Y/N would rest her head against his shoulder, content.

“So,” Y/N would ask, breaking the comfortable silence. “What do you think you’ll do when we graduate?” Bodhi would pause for a moment, his thoughts drifting to the future. “I’ve got my plans,” he’d say, voice light, but there was something deeper there. “I’ll probably stick around here for a bit longer. Maybe take a leadership role if they’ll have me.” He’d glance at her, raising an eyebrow. “What about you?”

Y/N would smile, a hint of pride in her expression. “I’m thinking of leading some army in one of the outposts, maybe becoming an emissary. But that’s only if I’m not too busy with Caelan.” She’d nudge him with a playful grin. “You never know, next year I might be a wingleader myself.”

Bodhi would chuckle, the idea of Y/N being a wingleader somehow making her even more attractive in his eyes. He loved her strength, her independence. She wasn’t someone who would sit quietly in the background; she had dreams, ambitions that matched his own. And that was what made them work—together, they were unstoppable.

It wasn’t just the big conversations that made their bond unshakable; it was the small moments, the ones that no one saw but the two of them. At night, when they’d go back to their quarters after a long day, the world outside would fade away. Bodhi would close the door softly behind him, and before he could even settle, Y/N would be by his side, her arms reaching for him. Her presence was like a calm, steadying force, and he’d pull her close, kissing all her thoughts away. They didn’t need anything grand, no words, just the simple act of being there for one another.

There was something so real about their connection. The way Bodhi would tuck a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear as she focused on her notes, the way she would always leave a small note for him in his bag when he wasn’t looking, just a simple “thinking of you.” They were there for each other in every little way, both showing love in their own, quiet way. But like all relationships, there were moments of vulnerability, too. It wasn’t all smooth sailing. In the rare quiet moments, when Y/N would let her guard down, she would open up about her deepest fears.

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for all of this,” she admitted one night, voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m not living up to my potential. Like I’m just playing catch-up with everyone around me.” Bodhi didn’t hesitate. He didn’t need to. He knew exactly what to say. “You’re doing great. You’re stronger than you think. You’ve got a fire in you that no one else has. Don’t doubt yourself, Y/N. Not for a second.”

His words, his steady belief in her, were enough to ease her mind for the night. And in return, she would reassure him of his own worth, how much she admired his dedication and his ability to balance the weight of leadership with the care he showed for others. Together, they built each other up, piece by piece.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

But as the months went by, a subtle shift began to take place—a shift that neither of them could quite identify. What once felt effortless had begun to feel strained, their responsibilities—both academic and personal—pressing in on them. Bodhi had always been the steady one. He thrived in leadership roles, balancing the expectations of Xaden and the revolution with the loyalty he felt for his squadmates. He cared for Y/N with a devotion that was hard to match. He was protective in ways that went beyond simple affection—he truly cared for her well-being. He wanted to be the one who helped carry the weight of her burdens, who kept her grounded when everything else felt too overwhelming.

But lately, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was slipping away from him. It wasn’t something blatant, not at first. It was the small things. Her absences were becoming more frequent. Her distracted glances when he spoke to her, her lack of presence in their shared moments—it all felt like he was trying to hold onto something that was slowly evaporating.

One evening, as they sat together in their shared dorm room, the air between them felt thick, too thick for comfort. Y/N was sprawled on the bed, playing around with one of her knives, her brow furrowed in concentration. Bodhi sat on the chair across from her, watching her, feeling a strange mix of frustration and longing. They hadn’t had a moment to themselves in days. Between her workload and her own ambitions, it felt like she was always on the move, always focused on something else.

He tried to strike up a conversation, his voice soft, trying to break the silence that had grown around them. “So, what’s on your mind tonight?” Bodhi asked, leaning forward slightly. Y/N didn’t look up, her fingers still moving across the blade. “Just wondering about the alloy for the knives. We need to speak to Xaden about the next deliveries.” Bodhi tried to smile, though it felt strained. “I get that. You’ve been busy. But... don’t you think you’ve been working yourself too hard lately?”

Y/N’s eyes flickered to him for just a moment, but she quickly looked away, refocusing on the task at hand. “I’ve got a lot of things to juggle, Bodhi. You know how it is.” Bodhi nodded, but the words stung more than he let on. You know how it is. He had always been there for her, supportive in every way, but it felt as though she was pushing him aside, pulling away emotionally. And it wasn’t just this one moment. It was a pattern he had noticed over the past few weeks.

He let out a breath, leaning back in the chair. “I know,” he said quietly, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “But we haven’t really spent any time together lately. Not real time. Just... us.” Her eyes finally met his, but there was a coldness in them that he hadn’t seen before. “I’m just busy, Bodhi. I can’t help that. You’re not the only one with things to do. And besides, I am here with you now, am I not?"

He flinched at her tone. It wasn’t harsh, but there was an edge to it, an impatience that he wasn’t used to. Bodhi’s chest tightened, and he bit back the words he really wanted to say. He could feel the wall between them growing thicker. She was withdrawing, and it was driving him mad. Bodhi tried again, softer this time. “I’m not asking you to stop everything. I just... I miss you. We’ve barely talked in days.” Y/N’s gaze softened for a brief moment, but it didn’t last. She sighed and set the knife down, rubbing her forehead. “I know, okay? I know, but I can’t just ignore my responsibilities. There’s a lot at stake, and you don’t always understand that.”

Her words hit him like a cold slap. She wasn’t wrong. He didn’t understand the pressure she was under—he had his own burdens, but hers seemed to weigh on her in ways that he couldn’t relate to. But still, the words stung. Did she think he didn’t understand the sacrifices she made? Did she think he was just here for the easy moments?

“I’m not asking you to ignore your responsibilities,” Bodhi said, his voice thick with the emotion he was struggling to keep in check. “I’m just asking you to be present with me. You’re here, but you’re not really here, Y/N. It’s like you’re always somewhere else.” Y/N crossed her arms, a frown tugging at her lips. “You don’t get it, Bodhi. You’re not the only one trying to juggle everything. I don’t have the luxury of just... being present right now. I’m trying to build something for myself. To prove that I can handle it all.”

The air between them felt suffocating now. Bodhi’s chest tightened as he tried to process what she was saying. He did understand. He understood better than anyone, probably, what it was like to fight for your place in the world, to prove yourself worthy. But that wasn’t the issue here. The issue was that she was pushing him away, choosing her workload and her goals over their relationship.

“I’m not trying to hold you back,” Bodhi said, his voice trembling slightly. “I’m just trying to be a part of your life. You were making time for me, Y/N. We used to laugh, we used to talk, we used to do everything together. Now... it’s like you’re shutting me out.” Y/N’s face hardened, and she stood up abruptly, pacing back and forth in the small room. “Maybe I’m shutting you out because I’m tired, Bodhi! Tired of trying to balance it all. I’m not a damn machine. I can’t just drop everything for you whenever you want.”

Bodhi’s heart sank as the words hit him, and for a moment, he felt his stomach twist with the weight of her frustration. He never wanted to be a burden to her. But it felt like every effort he made to reach her was just falling short. “I’m not asking you to drop everything,” Bodhi said again, his voice softer now, quieter. “I’m just asking for a little bit of your time. A little bit of you. That’s all.” Y/N stopped pacing and turned to face him. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—frustration, maybe, or guilt—but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. “I can’t do this, Bodhi. I can’t keep apologizing for being busy. I’m not the one who’s dropping the ball here.”

Bodhi’s eyes narrowed, his heart pounding. “I never said you were. But it sure feels like it.” They both fell silent. The tension between them is thicker than it had ever been. What had started as a small misunderstanding was starting to feel like something much bigger. Bodhi stood with his fists clenched, trying to keep his composure, but his frustration was boiling over. The words Y/N had said still echoed in his mind. 

His jaw tightened, and he forced himself to speak calmly, even though every fiber of his being wanted to shout. “You don’t get it, Y/N. I’m not asking you to drop everything. I’m asking you to show up. To be here when I need you. I’m not just your boyfriend, you know. I’m your partner. And I can’t keep doing this alone.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed, and the defensiveness that had been building all evening reached its peak. “I never asked you to do anything alone, Bodhi! I’m not the one who’s been disappearing!” Her voice shook, but it was laced with an anger that hadn’t been there before. “I’m doing my best! But it’s never enough for you, is it? You always want more. You always need more.”

Bodhi felt like a slap had landed across his cheek. He shook his head, refusing to back down. “You think I want more? I don’t want more, Y/N. I just want you to care. I want you to see me. You’ve been so wrapped up in your own world that it’s like I don’t even matter anymore.”

Her breath hitched, and her hands balled into fists at her sides. She was shaking now, both from the hurt and the anger. “What is that supposed to mean, Bodhi? Of course you matter! I never said you didn’t!” Her voice cracked slightly as she took a step closer to him, the distance between them narrowing but the emotional gap only widening. “But you don’t understand, okay? I have things to do. I’m trying to be someone.”

Bodhi’s heart ached at her words, and for a brief moment, it felt like his chest might cave in. He wanted to reach out to her, to pull her close and make everything better, but every time he tried, she seemed to pull further away. “You think I don’t understand? I’m the one who’s been trying to support you through all this, Y/N. I’ve been right here, waiting for you to open up, waiting for you to let me in. But you won’t! You won’t let me in.”

Y/N flinched at the raw emotion in his voice, but the anger in her rose again. She was feeling overwhelmed by her own insecurities and frustrations. “I can’t just let you in all the time, Bodhi! I’m not some fragile thing that needs fixing!” Her words were harsh now, her temper flaring. “You always act like you need to protect me, like I’m some damsel in distress! But I’m not! I’m not weak, and I don’t need you to always be there to pick up the pieces!”

Bodhi recoiled as though he’d been struck. The air between them felt like it was charged with a thousand volts, and every word that left their mouths only made the storm between them grow more intense. “So what do you want from me, Y/N?” he demanded, his voice rising. “Do you want me to just stand by and watch you burn out? Watch you push me away because you’re too proud to admit you need help?”

Y/N’s eyes flashed with pain, and she took a step back, her face hardening as she crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “Maybe I don’t need help, Bodhi! Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t get it! Maybe you’re just making it all about you when it’s never been about you!”

The words cut deep, deeper than anything she had said before. Bodhi felt his heart drop into his stomach. He hadn’t meant to make it about himself. He had only wanted to be there for her. He had always wanted to be the one who supported her, who could stand by her side when things got hard. But now, it felt like she was pushing him away with every word.

He was struggling to keep his voice steady, but it was slipping. “I never said it was only about me. But damn it, Y/N, I’m trying so hard! I’m trying to be the one who makes it easier for you, but you’re shutting me out. I don’t know what to do anymore.” He swallowed thickly, his chest tight, the words clawing their way out of his throat. “I’m not asking for everything, I’m asking for something. For you to want this too. For us to make this work.”

Y/N’s face flushed with frustration, the hurt on her face now replaced by something darker. “Maybe I can’t make it work right now, Bodhi!” Her voice was trembling now, but there was a finality in it. “Maybe I can’t balance you and everything else. Maybe it would be better if we never got together.”

The words hit Bodhi like a physical blow. He froze, staring at her as though he couldn’t comprehend what she had just said. His heart seemed to stop in his chest, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. He couldn’t breathe. His mind raced to catch up with the statement. It felt like the ground had slipped out from under him, leaving him with nothing but empty space.

Y/N’s eyes widened the moment the words left her mouth. She didn’t mean them—not like that, at least. But the damage had already been done. She couldn’t take them back. Bodhi’s face fell, his expression crumpling as the pain from her words hit him. “What?” His voice was barely above a whisper, cracking from the hurt he couldn’t hide. “You really think that? You think it would be better if we never got together?”

Y/N felt a knot form in her stomach, her own emotions overwhelming her. “I—Bodhi, I didn’t mean... I didn’t mean it like that... I just...” But the words were trapped in her throat, tangled with the emotions she couldn’t untangle. She wanted to explain, to make him understand, but she felt too lost inside herself to find the right words.

“I don’t know what to do with this anymore,” Bodhi muttered, his voice strained. He backed away from her slowly, like he couldn’t bear to be close, but he didn’t know how to leave either. The space between them was too vast, too raw, and every second that passed only made the distance grow wider. He rubbed his hands over his face in frustration, trying to push the tears that threatened to rise.

Y/N stood there, her own heart breaking as she realized what she had said. She hadn’t wanted to destroy them, but everything felt so impossible. She couldn’t fix it. She couldn’t fix herself. And that is what she has been feeling lately—broken. And she thought she could fix herself without also breaking Bodhi. "Please go," she heard him mutter, his back to her. Tears welled up in her eyes and she felt her heart break into pieces. She walked away before she lost herself in front of him.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Days passed in a haze for Y/N. Each morning she awoke with a heavy heart, as though her own guilt and sadness had settled deep into her bones. She moved through the motions of daily life, but everything felt muted, distant. Her once-vibrant energy had drained, leaving behind a hollow version of herself. She would sit in class, staring at the words on the pages, but none of it registered. Her mind was elsewhere, spinning in a cycle of regret, confusion, and the overwhelming feeling that something precious had been irreparably broken.

The worst part was that she couldn’t even pinpoint exactly when things had started to fall apart. One moment, everything had felt perfect. Bodhi had been her rock, the one person who had made everything feel right. And now, after their fight, it was as if the ground beneath her had cracked open, swallowing everything she had once known to be true.

It wasn’t just Bodhi. It was herself. She didn’t recognize the person staring back at her in the mirror. Gone was the happy, confident Y/N who would laugh and joke with Violet and Rhi, who would plan their future together with hopeful optimism. Now, she was someone completely different—someone unsure, hollowed out by grief she hadn’t even allowed herself to mourn yet.

At first, she tried to keep up appearances. She showed up to class, walked through the halls of Basgiath with her head down, avoided eye contact with everyone. She still managed to smile when she crossed paths with people, but it was always strained, a thin mask that hid the wreckage beneath. Her usual bright spark had dimmed, her eyes clouded with unshed tears.

Bodhi was always on her mind, but every time she thought of him, a deep pit formed in her stomach. She couldn’t bear the thought of facing him, not after the words she had said. She didn’t mean them. She never meant them. But they had come out in a moment of anger and frustration, and now they hung over her like a cloud she couldn’t shake.

Her attempts to fix things had failed before they even started. She’d sit in her room late at night, fingers hovering over the paper in front of her, ready to write something to Bodhi. But every time she tried, the words felt like poison on her tongue. What could she say? How could she apologize for everything she had done wrong? It all felt too much, and so she simply dropped the quill, burying her face in her hands and crying alone in the darkness.

Violet noticed the change in Y/N almost immediately. Her best friend looked withdrawn, exhausted, and endlessly distant. Violet’s heart ached for her, but she didn’t know how to help. She tried. She really did. At first, she gave Y/N space, assuming that maybe the fight with Bodhi had simply rattled her, and that some time apart would help ease the tension. But as the days passed, Y/N only seemed to retreat further into herself, like a tortoise pulling its head into its shell to protect itself from the world. Violet’s gentle attempts to check in—whether through a nudge in the hallway or a quiet question during meals—were always met with short, unconvincing answers.

“Hey, are you alright?” Violet would ask softly, her voice full of concern as they sat in the cafeteria. “I’m fine,” Y/N would respond, her words hollow. But Violet wasn’t stupid. She could see it in the way Y/N’s shoulders hunched, the way her eyes never fully met anyone’s gaze, how she seemed almost disconnected from the world around her. The energy that once made Y/N the heart of their group was gone, replaced by emptiness.

But Violet didn’t know how to break through the wall Y/N had built around herself. Her friend wasn’t angry with her—Y/N never had been—but there was something about the way she withdrew that felt like a rejection, like a door being slammed in her face. And it hurt, even though Violet knew it wasn’t personal. She just wanted to help, to bring Y/N back, but each time she tried, she was met with resistance.

For Y/N, it was like being trapped in her own head, unable to escape the constant loop of grief and guilt that kept her awake at night. She didn’t know how to fix what had been broken. She didn’t know how to apologize for the things she’d said, the hurt she had caused, or the mess she had created. But more than anything, she didn’t know how to stop feeling like the person she loved the most had slipped through her fingers.

Every time she thought of Bodhi, the pain twisted in her chest, deeper than anything she had felt before. The memory of the words she had thrown at him—the ones she didn’t mean, but couldn’t take back—haunted her. She didn’t want to end things. She couldn’t stand the idea of losing him. But every time she thought of reaching out, her own internal walls pushed her back. How could she face him after everything? How could she face herself?

She was slowly unraveling, piece by piece, and all she wanted was for everything to go back to how it had been before. But deep down, she feared it was already too late.

Y/N had spent days between self-imposed isolation. Every time she tried to work up the courage to talk to Bodhi, she found herself retreating further into herself, scared of what would happen if she faced him. But the guilt, the shame—it became too much to bear. The longer she waited, the heavier it felt, and the more her emotions threatened to consume her. She could no longer pretend she wasn’t devastated by the rift she had created.

It was late afternoon when she finally decided to face him. The decision came after a long, restless day where she had hardly spoken to anyone. Violet had tried to talk to her, but Y/N had shut her out, unable to let anyone in. She knew she had to do something—anything—to begin to fix the mess she had made. Bodhi deserved an apology. More than that, he deserved answers.

With shaky hands, Y/N left her room. Her heart was racing in her chest, and her breath came in short, shallow bursts. The hallways of Basgiath felt like a labyrinth, every step heavier than the last. She didn’t know where to find him, but it was only a matter of time before she came across him. She had to talk to him. She couldn’t keep avoiding it.

She wandered aimlessly, her thoughts drowning out everything else. The distant sounds of cadets laughing, training, and talking barely registered as she moved, her mind focused solely on the weight of what was coming. She didn’t know what she would say, only that she needed to see him. It was the first time in days she felt some semblance of determination rising within her.

And then, just as she was about to turn a corner, she saw him. Bodhi. He was standing near a window at the far end of the hallway, looking out at the distant mountains with a contemplative expression, his posture rigid. She froze for a moment, unsure if she should approach him or turn and run. Her body tensed with anxiety, but something deep inside her knew this was it—this was her chance to make it right.

Taking a breath, she gathered her courage and walked toward him, each step feeling like it took forever. When she reached him, she hesitated for a moment, unsure how to start. The silence between them stretched painfully. His back was to her, but Y/N could see his jaw tighten, as though he knew she was there, knew what was coming.

“Bodhi,” she said softly, the sound of his name breaking the quiet like a fragile glass. He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto hers with a mixture of guarded pain and something else—something unreadable. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N opened her mouth, then closed it again, not knowing where to begin. She had rehearsed this conversation in her head a hundred times, but now that it was happening, the words felt so inadequate.

“I… I didn’t know if I should come,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I didn’t know if I should just leave things be, but… I can’t. I can’t just pretend like nothing happened.” Bodhi’s expression softened slightly, but he still didn’t say anything. It was as though he was waiting for her, giving her space to speak without pushing her. Taking a deep breath, Y/N finally forced the words out. “I’m sorry, Bodhi. I never meant for it to go this far, never meant for the things I said to hurt you. I—I was lost, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I was so caught up in my own confusion that I hurt you. And for that, I am so sorry.”

Her voice faltered as the weight of her own words hit her. The apology wasn’t smooth, but it was the most honest thing she could say. She had no idea how he would react, no idea if this would be enough to bridge the chasm she had created. But she had to try. For both of them.

Let's talk in my room," he sighed and started walking towards the dormitories. Y/N followed him, feeling so small but also hopeful for the first time since their fight.

Bodhi was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at her, his expression unreadable. The distance between them felt huge, even though they were only a few feet apart. Y/N shifted uncomfortably, nervously fidgeting with her hands. She had never felt more lost in her life, more unsure of everything she thought she had known. This wasn’t who she was—this wasn’t the confident, composed woman who had once walked alongside him, sharing laughter and love. No, this was someone broken, someone desperate for redemption.

“I… I don’t even know where to start,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavy, like they had to push through a wall before they could leave her mouth. Bodhi didn’t respond immediately. He just watched her, his gaze intense but distant at the same time. It made Y/N feel small, insignificant, as though everything that had happened had erased her worth in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she continued, swallowing hard. “I’m so sorry for what I said. I never should have—” “Stop,” Bodhi interrupted, his voice hoarse. “You don’t need to apologize for that, Y/N.” But Y/N shook her head, a tear escaping before she could hold it back. “I do,” she said, her voice shaking. “I do need to apologize. You… you don’t deserve the things I said. It wasn’t about you. It was never about you. I was just—lost. And I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel like you weren’t enough.”

Bodhi flinched at her words, and Y/N immediately regretted them. Her heart cracked as she watched him process her apology. She could see the hurt in his eyes, and it was a mirror to the agony she felt inside. Her own pain had caused this—this chasm between them. This hurt that she couldn’t undo, no matter how many times she said the words.

“I’ve never felt more lost in my life,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I don’t even know how we got here… how everything just—” She choked on the words, unable to finish the thought. “I’ve been so confused, and I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted it to end like this.” Bodhi didn’t say anything right away. He looked down, his jaw clenched tightly as he took in her words. Y/N could feel the silence between them, heavy and suffocating, and it made her want to disappear.

“I never wanted it to come to this,” she said, voice trembling. “I never wanted to be this version of myself, the one who can’t fix what’s broken. I just… I don’t know how to fix it.” Bodhi let out a long breath, his hands gripping the edge of the bed as though he needed something to hold onto. He looked up at Y/N then, his eyes filled with raw vulnerability—something she hadn’t seen from him in a long time.

“You hurt me, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His words were soft but heavy, filled with pain. “When you said that… it felt like you were telling me that everything we had wasn’t enough. That I wasn’t enough. And it… it crushed me.” Y/N’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She could feel the weight of his words, like a physical blow. Bodhi, always the strong one, the rock that she could lean on, was broken. And it was her fault.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” she said, her voice hoarse with guilt. “I didn’t mean it, Bodhi. I just—everything felt like it was slipping away, and I didn’t know how to fix it, so I said the worst thing I could think of. And now… now I don’t know how to fix this.” Bodhi swallowed hard, his gaze softening ever so slightly. “I don’t know if I can forgive you,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I can forget what you said.”

The words hit her like a wave, pulling her under. She wanted to say something to make it better, to promise him that she would do whatever it took to fix the damage she had caused, but her throat felt tight, her words stuck. What could she say? What could she do? The weight of everything between them was too much to handle, and she didn’t know if she was worthy of fixing it.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me right away,” she said quietly. “I just… I need you to know how sorry I am. I never wanted to hurt you like that. I love you. I really do. So, so much Bodhi.”

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The silence that followed was thick, but there was something softer in it now. Something that felt like a small crack in the wall they had built between each other. They found a quiet space in the corner of the courtyard, the soft glow of the late afternoon sun casting a warm, golden light over everything. Bodhi and Y/N sat across from each other, the tension still there, but now there was something different in the air. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t guilt—it was a fragile hope. They both knew that their relationship had been shaken to its core, but they were willing to work through it. Together.

“I don’t know how we got here,” Y/N said quietly, breaking the silence. “I don’t know how we went from being so close to…” She trailed off, the words too painful to finish. Bodhi sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Neither do I. But we’re here now. And we can’t change what happened. All we can do is… try to figure out what comes next.”

Y/N nodded, tears welling up again. “I never wanted to hurt you, Bodhi. I’m so sorry. I feel like I’m drowning in what I’ve done, in how I’ve broken this. And I don’t know how to make it right.” Bodhi’s expression softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N saw the familiar spark of the man she loved. “We’re not broken,” he said gently. “We’re hurt. But we can heal, together.”

They sat there for a long time, in silence, just letting the moment settle between them. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But it was real. It was a step toward something new—a new beginning, perhaps. And maybe that was all they needed for now. They weren’t fixed. But they were trying. And sometimes, that was enough.

[grayandthyme]

thinking very hard about firefly!tommy & firefly!reader...

Firefly!Tommy, who didn’t even blink when Marlene introduced you. Just a glance. One heartbeat held a little too long, the kind of look that doesn’t invite conversation. Not unfriendly—just tired.

You both were. Wary. Scarred. The kind of people who stopped flinching at distant gunfire. It was like white-noise.

You stood across from each other in that burned-out school-turned-Firefly-outpost somewhere in the Connecticut wilds. The walls smelled like mold and smoke. The floor creaked with rot.

You gave your real name. So did he.

Even in that first instance of trust was something kindling.

Firefly!Tommy, with buzzed hair and the permanent scowl of a man who’d stopped believing in salvation—but kept fighting anyway. He had dark circles so ingrained under his eyes that they looked bruised. Like exhaustion had been tattooed into him.

Marlene handed him leadership of that region’s patrols, and he took it with a nod and a sigh—no pride, just obligation.

Not because he believed in the cause. Not really. Because doing something—anything—felt better than sitting still.

You didn’t trust him. Not at first. He didn’t trust you either. But you shared ammo. Cleared infected. Patched each other up in silence, backs pressed against the same cold wall.

Firefly!Tommy, who carried his rifle like it was fused to his spine.

He must have had military training. The way his hands glided across metal, fingers reloading like second nature. This man acted more machine than a man most time.

He wasn’t cruel. Practiced.

The kind of man who knew how to make a decision before someone else had to suffer for it. You saw it in the way he checked his sights.

How fast he moved when a newer recruit froze up.

How quiet he became after pulling the trigger.

He didn’t flinch when someone needed killing.

But he did flinch when someone called it justice.

Firefly!Tommy, who didn’t believe in the Fireflies’ dream—but still fixed their radios and fortified their checkpoints.

You found him once, hands black with grease, rewiring an old antenna for a broadcast no one would hear.

“It’s all over you.”

You leaned on the rust-bitten railing above, arms folded, half a smile tugging at your lips. The fading skyline behind you cast a molten amber glow, like the sun was trying its hardest to give beauty to a world that had stopped deserving it. “Practically showerin’ in grease, Miller.”

He didn’t look up right away. Just kept working the screwdriver like the world would split open if he stopped. But you caught the corner of his mouth twitch — a breath of a smirk, quick and reluctant.

“Better grease than blood,” he muttered.

Like belief was a luxury, but duty was muscle memory.

He didn’t buy into the revolution.

He just couldn’t sit still while things fell apart.

Firefly!Tommy, who started sitting next to you without ever saying why.

No declaration. No ask. One day, there was just an empty chair beside you—and the next, there wasn’t.

Briefings, meals, strategy huddles… even in the dead spaces in between, Tommy was there.

Not smothering. Just constant. Like your shadow had grown flesh and breath and a tired Southern drawl.

He never interrupted. Rarely spoke.

But if FEDRA chatter picked up on the shortest wave, he was suddenly next to you, knuckles tight around his rifle.

If Marlene called you in for a closed-door talk, he was already posted outside by the time you got there—arms folded, head leaned back, jaw set like stone.

You got used to it. The weight of him nearby.

The stillness he brought.

In fact, you might have even liked it.

And even though you never asked him to, it was like he’d decided that wherever you were… that was the safest place to stand.

Firefly!Tommy, who started joking with you when the silence stopped being... just silence.

Slowly, cracks began to show. Not in the kind that break—but the kind that let the light in. It started with a stray comment here, a dry remark there. His voice was low, almost lazy, carrying that southern rasp like a secret weapon. You’d say something sharp, and he’d meet it without missing a beat—like match to dry grass.

After a supply run that ended with you ankle-deep in mud and both of you soaked to the bone, you’d thrown your ruined coat down in disgust. Tommy had just looked at you, expression unreadable, then calmly unwrapped a moldy granola bar and held it out like it was treasure.

“Dinner for two,” he said, all mock-serious. “Aged five years. Pairs nicely with hypothermia.”

You snorted despite yourself, wringing water from your sleeve.

“Is this flattery?"

He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, that crooked half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Depends. You like your men damp, starvin’, and debatably insane?”

“Only when they bring me radiated moldy shit.”

You tossed the granola bar back at him, and he caught it one-handed.

He didn’t stop smiling, though.

Didn’t stop watching you like you’d become the only thing in the room worth looking at.

Firefly!Tommy, who only spoke of the past when the silence got too heavy to carry alone.

Because you were there.

Little by little, holding more and more weight.

That’s when he said it. Voice low, more gravel than usual, like the words had to be pulled from somewhere deep.

“I’m from Texas.”

“Small town. Hot as hell. Nothin’ but dust and bar fights and high school football.”

He didn’t smile when he said it, but there was something softer in his face. A flicker of memory not yet worn down by time.

“Had a brother,” he added, after a pause. “Older. Smart. Stubborn as all hell. Always thinkin’ he knew best.”

You leaned back against the cold wall, tucking your arms across your chest. Let the fire crackle a bit before you answered.

“You talk like you don’t know whether to miss him or hate him.”

Tommy’s jaw ticked. “That’s ‘cause I don’t.”

His voice was quiet, but it carried. Years of distance packed into four words.

“We fought. Over the dumbest shit. Over everything. But when it all started—when things went to hell—he got us out. Saved me more times than I earned.”

You watched his hands. One was flexing slowly, thumb running over the old scar on his knuckle.

“I joined the Fireflies ‘cause I thought maybe it’d make up for… somethin’. I don’t even know what anymore.”

Like memory lived in the motion.

Then he finally looked at you.

“Ain’t told that to anyone else. So if you’re plannin’ to disappear on me, maybe give me a head start.”

Your mouth quirked, almost involuntarily.

"I'm not gonna disappear, Miller."

Firefly!Tommy, who sat beside you in silence laced with unease after receiving the Denver bombing orders.

You just sat—elbows on your knees, staring out past the blown-out windows of an old high-rise, watching the Denver skyline flicker in the dying light.

Below that horizon, a couple of hundred people were still breathing. People with names, with stories, with the simple crime of living on the wrong side of a line someone else had drawn.

And you’d been ordered to end that.

The Fireflies called it a strategic strike — a message to FEDRA. A line in the sand. You called it something else. You didn’t say the word out loud.

Neither did Tommy. But it sat between you like a loaded weapon.

“You think they’ll actually do it?” you asked, finally — voice low, uncertain.

Tommy didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, rubbed his palms over his face, and exhaled like the weight in his chest had nowhere else to go.

“Don’t matter if they will,” he muttered. “Matters if we will.”

That was the thing about Tommy Miller. He didn’t hide from hard choices — but he didn’t pretend they were clean, either. He knew what orders could make a person become.

And maybe that’s why he didn’t move away from you. Maybe that’s why he was still sitting there, quiet and rigid, instead of prepping explosives like the others downstairs.

He was waiting. For you to say something. Or maybe for you to admit you no longer believed.

Firefly!Tommy, who saved you without hesitation, like pulling the trigger, was an instinct, not a decision.

The Fireflies had made up their minds—the zone was compromised, crawling with FEDRA loyalists and “acceptable casualties.”

That’s what they called it.

But you saw what was really out there—not enemies, not soldiers. Just people. Mothers are clinging to sick kids. Old men limping between crumbling buildings. Teens with knives that they barely knew how to hold.

So you spoke up.

Argued in hallways. Raised your voice in rooms. Pleaded with anyone who would stop long enough to listen.

They didn’t. They dismissed you as soft, naive—crazy, even.

Told you the “message” was worth it.

So you went alone.

Slipped past the cracks. Found who you could. Warned them in whispers and sharp gestures. Told them to run.

Told them the fire was coming, and it wouldn’t stop for who they used to be.

You didn’t tell Tommy.

Because if Tommy helped, Tommy would die.

And he was the only good thing left in a world full of rot.

The only good thing left in your world.

But it wasn’t enough. Someone saw. Another Firefly.

One who believed in the mission, the way you believed in people.

One who found you on your knees, ushering a family of four out through a sewer grate near the east checkpoint.

Gun raised. Screaming. Shaking with rage.

The cold bit at your throat as you turned, hands raised, breath fogging in the chill.

“You’re a goddamn traitor!” The man's voice cracked, wild with disbelief. “You compromised the entire fucking mission!”

His hands shook around the grip of the pistol.

You saw it—the fear behind the fury.

The part of him that wanted you to be wrong, because if you were right… Then they were monsters.

“You’re gonna get us all killed, you think that makes you a hero?!”

You didn't answer.

There was nothing to say that would change the ending.

So you closed your eyes. Hands raised, still shaking. Because if you were going to die, at least you died saving innocence.

A sharp crack split the air.

Not from the Firefly’s pistol.

The man dropped, his body jerking forward as a bullet punched clean through the side of his head.

His blood misted against the concrete wall.

Your exhale was sharp, startled—hands coming down to plaster against your mouth, “—Jesus Christ."

Rifle still raised—was Tommy.

He didn’t speak. Not right away.

Just moved toward you in long, determined strides. His jaw was clenched, eyes still locked on where the body had fallen.

Your breath hitched. You tried to hold it in—the panic, the guilt, the ache clawing up your ribs—but it spilled out anyway.

“I had to—” You choked on the words, breath coming in sharp gasps as the tears finally broke free. “I had to warn them. They’re not fighters, they’re—”

You looked up at him, helpless. The words tangled in your throat, “They’re just people. Just… innocent.”

Tommy, who kissed you like it was your last night on earth.

He moved without thought—just instinct. His rifle dropped slack against his chest, the strap groaning under its weight as his hands reached for you.

Rough palms found your jaw, fingers trembling slightly as they cupped your face.

There was no warning—just the sharp breath before he pulled you in.

The kiss landed hard. Weighty. Not soft, not tentative—but lived-in.

The kind that speaks for all the things that couldn’t be said in blood or silence.

It wasn’t just relief. It was what had been building in every glance across firelit rooms, in every shared watch, every wordless loyalty.

It was the only thing left he could give you, after all the wreckage.

It was the only thing he had.

When he pulled back, barely an inch, his eyes stayed locked on yours—chest heaving, hands still on your cheeks like he was afraid you’d vanish the second he let go.

“I'm gon' get us out of this,” he said quietly, voice raw at the edges.

Tommy Miller—who you’d once mistaken for nothing more than grit and gunpowder—turned out to be one of the sharpest fucking men you'd ever met.

He didn’t wear it loud.

Didn’t speak in long strings of plans or ideologies.

He let others talk. Let them fill rooms with noise. All the while, he watched, listened, and thought.

He carried it like everything else—behind the eyes, under the scarred skin, in the quiet tilt of his head when no one else was looking.

He hid kindness like a secret weapon.

Humor like a memory he didn’t trust to resurface.

So when he looked at you—grime on his face, blood drying on his hands—and muttered, “Trust me,” —it wasn't a plea. It was a vow.

His eyes traced your face like it was the last honest thing left in the world. And to him, it was.

He didn’t believe in the Fireflies anymore. Not in their decree, their city lights, their promised tomorrows.

He believed in you.

You winced as he pressed cloth against your arm, red blooming instantly through the bandages.

Not your blood.

“Too much?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Looks real enough,” you muttered.

“Ain’t what I asked.”

You met his eyes—dark, serious, unwavering.

“No. It’s fine.”

He nodded once, then reached up and dragged two fingers across his temple, smearing blood like a crude wound.

“Gotta look messy,” he said. “Like we barely made it out.”

The lie was already halfway born. A made-up story. A patrol gone wrong. An ambush by dissenters. One Firefly dead. Two bloodied survivors. A disagreement, they’d say. An accident.

Tommy would tell it clean. Just enough truth woven in to keep it believable.

And he did.

When Marlene found you both hours later, limping through the checkpoint gates, she didn’t question it for long. Not with the blood. Not with Tommy’s voice steady, gaze hard, jaw set.

“They didn’t like us speakin’ up,” he told her, teeth clenched. “Didn’t like what we said about the op. Came at us like animals.”

“And the one you killed?” she asked.

“Would’ve killed her first,” Tommy said. “Would’ve killed me, too.”

She looked at him. Then at you. Then nodded, slowly.

“Get patched up,” was all she said. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

The walk back to your quarters was steeped in silence.

Pressurized.

Every footstep echoed like it was too loud. Even your breaths came shallow, like making too much noise might undo the fragile lie still hanging in the air.

Tommy shut the door behind you, his hand resting on the metal longer than it needed to.

His shoulders slumped just slightly—not from pain, but from release. Like a man finally letting the mask slip, if only for a second.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Neither did you.

“What do we do now?” Your voice barely carried. It scratched at the edge of the quiet, uncertain, worn thin.

He looked at you. Really looked.

Eyes steady. Quietly thinking — like he was lining up the next steps of your life before he even spoke them.

Then, with a soft exhale.

“You ever been to Wyoming?”

Join the taglist

[outpost51]

I do my own trick or treat thing for Halloween proper but I’m so down for extended festivities!!

🎃 Trick or Treat 🎃

The Event

Let’s celebrate Halloween together with a fun game! During this event, we’ll knock on people’s ask boxes and send them a simple question: Trick or Treat? 🦇

The recipient decides if it’s to be a trick, or a treat, as the owner of the house.

🍬 Treat — If the recipient choses treat, they share something with us as a treat. This could be a snippet, a line, OC trivia, or what have you!

👻 Trick — Turning the question around, the asker now has to share something of their own! But, seeing as it’s a trick, they may leave something under a read more, or link to something, that may catch you off guard… 😱

The event is held* through 27th-29th of October.

(Examples of) What you can share:

A snippet

A scene

OC trivia

Worldbuilding fact

A song, or even a playlist

A moodboard

Poetry

Anything you think is a treat you want to share!

If you get “Trick 👻”, pulling a trick is up to you.

❗ Tricksters ❗ Keep to etiquette. A rick roll is fun, a spooky gif, a picrew of your character dressed up for Halloween, and other fun tricks are what I hope to see, should someone chose to pull a trick.

Yes, you read that right! "Trick or Treat" is making a comeback this year 🍬🗡️ Spread this post to get the word out. I'll send an ask to everyone who reblogs this! 🎃

*I will be sending asks during these dates but you are welcome to start this event any time you like and tweak it how you want. Remember Writeblr etiquette and send an ask back to the one who sent one to you! (Excluding me 👻)

🧡 Enjoy 🧡

[callmegaith]

Updated my G-man according to feedback

Drew Otis for a request too c:

And made my own Resistance oc

You can call him Pete. He's stationed in an outpost that Gordon never passed, in fact all he knows about Gordon is from over the radio and Resistance members chatter. He has a Walkman that is his most prized possession and keeps him sane in these hard times. Not sure what I Wanna do with him yet I just really wanted to draw some Resistance members lol.

[nahoney22]

Hello there!

Congratulations on 4,500 followers!

May I request a NSFW prompt 30: come closer and keep me warm or something like with F! Reader x Mayday, please?

He needs more love!

Warmth in the Night*** 🌊

🫧 pairings: Commander Mayday X Female!Reader

word count: 1.9k

prompts:

• “Come here and keep me warm.”

plot: Trapped with nothing but a lousy flickering fusion lantern to keep you both warm, yourself and Mayday decide to take advantage of this time alone.

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Established relationship, cuddling (amongst other things) for warmth, kissing, consensual sex, p in v sex, cock warming, dirty talk, explicit sexual content language, praising, fingering, trapped in a snow storm.

authors note: im so sorry for the wait @ladypunz and I apologise it’s short! But you’re right, he does deserve some love!

“Do you think it’ll hold?” you ask, your voice trembling as much from the cold as the worry gnawing at you. Together, yourself and Mayday had managed to barricade the rickety door of the abandoned shack you’d stumbled upon, but the raging blizzard outside wasn’t letting up.

Mayday steps back, eyeing the door with his hands on his hips. “Should do,” he says, his tone calm but a little cautious. “And if not… well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

You try to laugh, but the bitter cold seeps into every part of you, stealing the sound before it can form. Stars, the bitter breeze stabs at your skin like little needles.

Pushing aside your discomfort, you move to help him gather whatever scraps of blankets and fabric you can find and then drape them around a fusion lantern. It was the only thing providing little warm but its light flickers weakly, threatening to go out at any moment. The thought of it completely shutting down makes you nervous which doesn’t go unnoticed by Mayday.

Setting his helmet on a cracked, uneven table, he steps closer, his gloved hand brushing against your frosty cheek. His touch was warm despite the frigid air.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring. “We’ll get through this. We’ll rest tonight, and by morning, the storm will have passed. Then we’ll make our way to the rendezvous point.”

You lean into his touch, seeking out the comfort it offers, and before you know it, your arms are around his waist, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you knitted to warmth and safety. “At least I’m with you,” you say softly.

His lips curve into a fond smile as he wraps his arms around you, his hands rubbing gently up and down your back in an effort to warm you. “Likewise.”

You were both meant to be delivering supplies to an outpost but were caught off guard by the sudden storm and luckily, you and Mayday had been together for a while now. He liked to tease that you fell for him first, and while that wasn’t entirely untrue, it didn’t mean he didn’t fall harder. He was everything you wanted in a relationship and you were glad he was so calm in a rather precarious situation.

“How are we on rations?” you ask after a moment, sitting down on the pile of tattered blankets whilst he pushes a broken table against the door just for a little extra reinforcement.

He grabs his pack, rummages around, and pulls out two ration bars, offering a wry smile as he hands you one. “At least it’s the flavor you like.”

“Lucky me,” you mutter with a half-smile, taking the bar and nibbling on it. If you were going to be stuck here, you wanted it to last.

Once the makeshift barricades are as secure as they’ll get, Mayday settles in beside you, the two of you huddling under the pile of blankets. The only light comes from the pathetic sputtering lantern, and the majority of warmth from each other. Despite your best efforts, your teeth chatter relentlessly.

Mayday drapes an arm over you, pulling you closer until your back is tucked against his chest. “Come here,” he says, his voice low and soft. “Keep me warm.”

You don’t hesitate, nestling into him, your head resting in the crook of his neck and shoulder. His warmth envelops you, a small reprieve from the biting cold.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to the back of your head.

“A little bit,” you admit, your breath shaky, though you can’t deny how much this was helping.

Night falls swiftly, the wind still screaming against your shelter. “I hope this storm ends soon,” you whisper, your voice barely audible above the howl of the wind.

“Me too,” Mayday replies, his arms tightening around you. “But at least the company’s good, right?”

You smile despite everything, catching the teasing lilt in his voice. “It’s perfect,”

“You know,” Mayday murmurs, his voice low and teasing as his fingers trace gentle patterns across your stomach, “it’s been a while since we’ve had some time alone.”

Your eyes, which had been closed in contentment, flutter open. A playful smirk spreads across your lips as you tilt your head just enough to meet his gaze. “You’re right,” you say softly, your voice holding a hint of mischief. “It has been a while.”

Mayday’s answering smirk is wicked, a flicker of heat sparking in his inviting eyes. He leans down, capturing your lips with his, the kiss starting soft but quickly deepening into something more needy.

A gasp escapes you as his hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer. You turn fully to face him, your fingers threading through the textured strands of his long hair, tugging gently. The sensation draws a low groan from his throat, his lips parting against yours as your tongue slips into his mouth.

The kiss turns hungrier, more demanding, as his hands begin to wander. One gloved hand peels away, and when his now-bare palm glides over your skin, the chill of his touch makes you gasp again.

His lips curve into a smirk against yours, and his free hand slips lower, exploring with deliberate slowness until it finds the waistband of your pants. He pauses for just a moment, enough to let anticipation coil tightly in your chest, before sliding his hand inside.

You tremble under his touch, his fingers brushing against your folds. The coldness of his skin sends shivers across your body, but it only heightens the heat rapidly building between you.

“Already wet for me?” he murmurs darkly, his lips brushing against yours. His thumb circles your clit with an intense and measured pace, and he bites down lightly on your lower lip. “You needy girl.”

A whimper escapes you, your body arching into his hand as waves of pleasure roll through you. “C-can’t help it,” you stammer, your voice breathless. “You’ve been neglecting me.”

A low groan rumbles deep in his chest, his mouth moving to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His breath is warm against you, a stark contrast to the icy air around you.

“Let me fix that.”

His fingers move with purpose now, sliding against you with expert precision. Every flick of his thumb, every stroke of his hand, draws soft gasps and moans from your lips. The storm outside is forgotten, the cold replaced by the searing heat of his touch.

“Mayday, shit… don’t stop,” you plead, your voice trembling as you clutch his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric of his under-armor.

He grins, a low, knowing chuckle rumbling in his chest as he tugs your pants down just enough to give his hand the space it needs. His fingers slide against you, then press inside, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. The sound makes his grin widen. “You feel so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice rough and reverent. “So perfect.”

Your hips buck instinctively against his hand, desperate for more. A string of curses falls from your lips as he adds another finger, spreading you open with a skilled, deliberate rhythm. His lips find your neck again, trailing hot, searing kisses along your skin that make you shudder beneath him.

“Stars, I’m g-gonna—” you stammer, the words caught in your throat as the pressure inside you builds to a dizzying peak after a measly few minutes.

“Yes, you are,” he growls, his voice laced with hungry satisfaction. His lips leave your neck, his gaze locking onto yours as he watches you unravel. Your eyes roll back, your body arching as pleasure crashes over you in an uncontrollable wave.

You come undone, trembling and gasping his name like a prayer. “Yes, you fucking are,” he says, his voice thick with pride, his fingers slowing but never stopping, coaxing every last ounce of bliss from you.

Stars blurred your vision, your body trembling as waves of you come down from your high. You felt drunk on his touch, the aftershocks of your climax leaving you breathless and spent. Sweat glistened on your brow, your legs shaking as you tried to steady yourself.

“That’s it,” Mayday murmured in your ear, his voice low and soothing. He withdrew his fingers carefully, his touch lingering for just a moment before he lifted his hand into the faint glow of the lantern. Slick with your arousal, his fingers shimmered in the dim light.

You closed your eyes briefly, letting the moment sink in, before looking up at him with a lazy, somewhat goofy smile. “I think it’s only fair if I return the favour.”

His lips form into a smirk, and without hesitation, he leaned down to kiss you, his mouth claiming yours with renewed desperation. As his tongue brushed against yours, your hands found their way to the waistband of his pants, fumbling with the latch. Mayday chuckled against your lips, helping you shove them down before kicking them off entirely.

Your breath hitched as his cock sprang free, thick and swollen with need. He gripped it lightly, stroking himself with deliberate slowness.

A soft moan escaped your lips at the sight, and an idea formed in your mind. You slipped your pants completely off and shifted closer, your hand wrapping around his length. He gasped at the initial contact, your touch cold against his heated skin, but the sound quickly melted into a groan as you aligned him with your entrance.

With a gentle roll of your hips, you guided him inside, both of you sighing as he stretched you open and settled deep within. His forehead dropped against your shoulder, and he let out a sinful groan, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he buried his face in your chest.

“Fuck, it’s been too long,” he rasped needily, “You feel amazing.”

You bit your lip, your walls fluttering around him, clinging to every inch of him as he throbbed inside you. A teasing smile played on your lips as you whispered, “You like this, Commander? You like being in my pussy?”

“I love it,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your skin and knowing full well that you calling him Commander gets him all hot and bothered. One of your hands tangled in his hair, holding him close as you shifted your hips experimentally.

But before you could start moving in earnest, his grip on you tightened. “Stop. Stop,” he panted, his tone commanding yet soft.

You froze, concern flickering in your eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“Don’t move,” he said, his voice ragged. Pulling back slightly, he cupped your face with both hands, his gaze locking with yours. “You’re keeping my cock so nice and warm.”

It took a moment for his words to register, but then a playful smile tugged at your lips. “Using me as a cockwarmer, are you?”

“Yes, baby,” he murmured, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips. “You’re so damn warm, and it feels so good. Just… let me stay like this for a while.”

Your smile softened, and you leaned into him, brushing your lips against his once more. “Anything you want.”

Settling against his chest, you let your body relax, your arms wrapping around him as his cock remained snugly sheathed inside you. He pulled the covers over the two of you, cocooning you both in warmth.

The storm outside howled, but for the first time in hours, you felt nothing but comfort. You didn’t know how long this moment would last, but for now, you hoped the storm wouldn’t let up anytime soon…

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[areyoufuckingcrazy]

My crazy idea born from lack of sleep and need of Soft!Crosshair: Reader is a new addition to the team and doesn't really get along with Crosshair. After a rain-soaked mission, Reader discovers he smuggled a tooka kitten he found planetside onto the Maurader. Reader and Cross bond over trying to keep the feline secret. Bonus if the rest of the Batch play along :)

“Classified Feline: Operation Purrfect Secret”

Crosshair x Reader

The mission had been drenched in disaster.

Quite literally.

Rain pelted down the moment you landed, soaking your gear and morale alike. Everything felt heavier—your pack, your boots, your mood. And somehow, Crosshair managed to make it worse with every eye roll and passive-aggressive sigh he threw your way.

You two did not get along. You weren’t sure what you’d done—maybe just exist—but he seemed to have it out for you since day one.

So when you trudged up the ramp of the Marauder, dripping water onto the floor, the last person you wanted to share confined space with was him.

Naturally, he was the only one aboard.

The ship was dim, quiet—Hunter and the others were still securing the perimeter, leaving just the two of you. You peeled off your wet outer layer and tossed it over a crate, teeth chattering slightly.

Crosshair barely spared you a glance from where he leaned against the galley counter, cleaning his rifle with practiced ease. “Try not to flood the whole ship, would you?”

You glared at him. “Wouldn’t be a problem if someone had rigged a proper tarp over the outpost.”

He scoffed. “Not my fault you didn’t pack waterproof gear.”

You bit your tongue. Not worth the argument.

You turned away toward your bunk when you heard it.

A tiny, inquisitive mrrrp.

You froze.

Then another. Mrrroww.

You whipped around. Crosshair had gone very still.

“What was that?” you asked.

“Nothing.”

You took a cautious step toward the storage crates stacked near the side panel. Crosshair moved in front of you.

“Don’t.”

Your brow furrowed. “You’re hiding something.”

“No, I’m not.”

Another plaintive mewl betrayed him.

You sidestepped quickly before he could block you again and yanked open the crate lid—and gasped.

Curled up inside a slightly worn blanket was a tiny, rain-speckled tooka kitten. Its big eyes blinked up at you, and it let out a soft, hopeful purr.

“…No kriffing way,” you whispered. “You smuggled a kitten?”

Crosshair’s scowl deepened. “It was abandoned. Would’ve died.”

Your brain short-circuited.

Crosshair. The grumpiest, most sarcastic member of the team. Adopted a tooka.

You blinked at the sight of him awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at you.

“I haven’t told the others,” he muttered. “And I don’t need you ruining this.”

You crouched next to the crate, letting the kitten sniff your fingers. It rubbed against your hand with a loud purr.

“…You kept her dry in that storm?” you asked softly.

He shrugged, looking almost… bashful. “Used my cloak.”

You stared at him, stunned. “You do have a heart.”

“Don’t get sentimental.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

A long pause. “Really?”

You looked up at him. “Yeah. But only if I get to help take care of her.”

“…Fine.” His voice was gruff, but there was no bite to it.

⸻

You were doing your best.

Really.

But there were only so many coincidences you could explain away before Clone Force 99 started to get suspicious.

It started with Hunter.

He stood in front of the rations locker with his arms crossed, brow furrowed. “We’re missing another protein bar.”

You tried to sound casual. “You sure Wrecker didn’t just… eat it and forget?”

From the front of the ship, Wrecker called out, “I heard that! And no, I counted mine!”

Hunter squinted at you, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve been spending a lot of time in the back.”

You shrugged, clutching your datapad just a bit too tightly. “I like the… ambience?”

There was a long, silent pause.

“…Right,” Hunter muttered, before walking off.

Disaster narrowly avoided. For now.

But then there was Tech.

He stood in front of Crosshair’s bunk one morning with a puzzled look, scanning his datapad.

“I am registering a 2.6 kilogram mass increase localized to this area of the ship,” Tech said aloud. “It’s not equipment. Possibly organic. That is… odd.”

You froze mid-step.

Crosshair, brushing past you with his usual scowl, drawled, “Maybe someone left a datapad in their bunk.”

Tech blinked at him. “A datapad does not purr, Crosshair.”

Crosshair shot you a look like, say anything and I’ll stun you.

You cleared your throat. “Maybe Tech’s sensors are malfunctioning! I mean, organic interference? Could be you,” you added, pointing at Wrecker.

Wrecker blinked. “Wait, what did I do?”

“Exactly,” you said quickly. “No one ever knows.”

Somehow… that worked.

Tech muttered something about recalibrating the sensors and walked away, still frowning.

But nothing—and you mean nothing—was as bad as the moment Echo accidentally walked into the supply closet.

You were already there, kneeling on the floor, brushing out the tooka kitten’s fur with an old toothbrush you’d repurposed. Crosshair sat beside you, chin on his hand, watching with an almost fond expression on his face.

And then—

“Hey, have you guys seen—”

Echo froze in the doorway.

You froze.

Crosshair definitely froze.

The tooka let out a very smug prrrrp.

Echo blinked. “…Is that a cat?”

You opened your mouth, panicked. “It’s—It’s a thermal sensor! Prototype. Classified.”

Crosshair deadpanned, “You walked in on a hallucination. Go sleep it off.”

But Echo was staring. Not at you. Not even at the kitten.

At Crosshair.

Who was still holding a tiny toy you’d found planetside—a little tooka-shaped plush the kitten had become obsessed with—and softly murmuring, “You’re a menace, you know that? Little terror. Bite me again and I’ll feed you to Wrecker.”

Echo blinked.

Then snorted.

Then lost it.

He had to grip the doorway as he laughed so hard he nearly slid down the frame. “Oh—oh my stars, I have to tell Hunter—”

“No,” you and Crosshair snapped in unison.

“Echo,” you added, eyes wide, “we’re keeping her until she’s big enough to survive being rehomed.”

“She’s… very small,” Crosshair muttered. “And loud. And annoying. And mine.”

Echo looked between the two of you—and the purring, clearly adored kitten now batting at Crosshair’s long fingers—and then smirked.

“I’ll keep your secret.”

You both exhaled in relief.

“…For a price.”

You groaned. “Of course.”

He grinned, wicked. “I want a holopic of Crosshair kissing the tooka. Frame it. Hang it in the cockpit.”

Crosshair’s glare could’ve melted durasteel.

“Deal,” you said, before he could object. “Now get out before she claws your face.”

Echo left, still chuckling.

Crosshair looked at you like you’d just offered up his soul. “You’re enjoying this.”

You offered the tooka back to him, who immediately curled into his chest like it was her throne.

“…Maybe a little.”

⸻

That night, you returned to your bunk to find a protein bar sitting neatly on your pillow, and a note—scrawled in Crosshair’s sharp handwriting:

Thanks for not ratting me out. And for brushing her. She likes you. (Don’t let it go to your head.)

—C

P.S. She peed on your blanket.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Finding Home

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Summary: Commissioned by @Lizybeth104-mommabatte. During a raid, Dabi get hit with a quirk that tears him out of the world he knows and into a new one. In this place, he is once again the odd man out as he discovered the world is made of half-animal hybrids and only a select few have ‘magic’ like his quirk that make them witches in this world. Thankfully there is a far stranger, but more helpful version of his boss here who is willing to give him guidance as Dabi is forced to confront the reality of what his life really means across worlds. 

Contents: Isekai AU, Fantasy AU, Naga!Shigaraki, Cannibalism, Dabi Angst, Violence, Size Kink, Breeding Kink, Feminization, Loss of Virginity, Grinding, Non-Human Genitalia, Monster Fucking, Double Penetration, Tail Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia, Biting, Blood Drinking, Bathing/Washing, Mating Bonds, Scent Kink, Belly Bulge.

Word Count: 31,314

Dabi really didn't think he was gonna be anywhere near the CRC raid, but when he shows up to the outpost that the rest of the League has been using after his initial talk with Hawks, he finds that the others are only just preparing to head out.

"I thought you guys were supposed to do this two days ago?" He had deliberately stayed away so that he wouldn't end up getting involved, not wanting to put the stress on his seams when he was already struggling to adapt without medicine readily available. Now that they're cut off from AFO's resources, he has to be wiser about how he handles League business or he won't make it to his fight against his father. 

"Ah, we were going to," Compress says, "But as we were keeping an eye out, it appears that one of the main leaders was still recovering from a stomach bug and they postponed the meeting, so we were forced to follow suit." Well, he supposes that's a better excuse than the other members just being lazy and directionless. 

"But now that you're here," Shigaraki says, putting his mask over his face, "You can join us." 

Dabi doesn't want the others to start thinking of him as 'fragile' so he just shrugs, cracking his neck to one side. "Yeah, whatever, boss." He hopes that they won't need him much. They're going to steal whatever valuables that they can get. He's certain that they won't want him to destroy everything the way that he knows he can if he actually uses his quirk to the full extent that he knows he's capable of.

Regardless, he trails along behind the others, letting their excited chatter of conversation flow around him. He doesn't want to get too involved with their shit. Hell, even this job, to his knowledge, is Spinner's personal grudge getting satisfied. Not that he's using the League for anything else. He just doesn't want them to catch onto that fact before he's ready to use it as a weapon on his own. They walk on towards their target and he doesn't draw any attention to himself as they go. 

///

He knew that the CRC was not just going to let them walk in and steal from them, but he has to say that he wasn't expecting them to put up so much of a fight either. It's a good thing that they do. He has been in a lot of fights throughout his life, but he knows that a number of them haven't been. They don't know how to keep their wits about them on the field when there are dozens of enemies and quirks flying every which way, their only experience the summer camp job and their training in AFO-controlled environments. He knew that Toga got a better taste of it when she snuck into the Hero Licensing exam, but she's still young. And he knows that the most field experience that Spinner has had period was the Summer Camp job. Driving the getaway car, poorly, during the Overhaul thing does not count. So he is trying to keep an eye out for them as much as he is for himself. The League is already so small now that he's worried that it won't have been worth the anonymity that he'd lost by throwing in his lot with them for the resources they no longer have. He needs allies to clear the path to his father and make it so that the hero world is so fragile that his very existence will shatter it into pieces. 

He's not actively protecting any of the others, he's just trying to control the battlefield so that they have a chance to learn from this experience as he does so. He is focused on his job and making sure that nothing comes near him. And then he catches a stray. He doesn't know who dodged out of the way, not aware of their surroundings and sending it towards the rest of the group because they just don't know how to watch their backs well. 

The stone spike that tears through his side puts a hard enough pressure along that seam that he feels the staples tear out of it higher along his side than he thinks that it should. Dabi is used to pain, and even as he stumbles slightly as his mind starts to shift, moving to try and work out how the fuck he is going to get medical attention after the monster maker cut them off post Compress getting his arm torn off, he keeps his wits about him. He knows to make sure the others are clear before he sends off a gout of flame so hot and so intense that it turns everyone on that side of the room to ash before they can even scream. The explosion of heat in the air has nearly everyone else in the building screaming, even his own people are reeling back in horror as they see for themselves just how much he's been trying to hold back so they never fully knew the amount of power he's been sitting on and waiting to let erupt. But he is going to need medical attention as soon as he can get it if he doesn't want to have to cauterize this wound himself and hope that's enough, so he is done playing around and letting the others use this as a training exercise. 

"Dabi--" It's Shigaraki's voice, him who notices first how badly hurt he is because he's the only one so far that he's actually seen growing into his role of a villain. He knows the value of keeping his pieces together and making sure he doesn't lose any of his party members when they are already strapped for resources. He can't do anything to help him though, and he hears Duster bark out, "Twice! Mustard!" 

He knows that Twos has all of their measurements and Dabi takes a deep breath and holds it in his lungs as the other man makes their arrested ally. It's no surprise that the double sees the combat and covers his own nose and mouth before pumping out the toxic gas that will help clear this room even faster. 

Dabi starts to feel light-headed far before his lungs start to burn from the lack of air, and his side is soaked with his blood. Compress is the one who swoops in immediately, getting an arm under his own and trying to lead him towards the doors. The others let the gas do its work as they try to clear the area too, everyone making their way outside so that they can breathe and block the doors. Twice doubles Shigaraki and they head around to the back entrance so that none of the CRC members can escape and tell anyone what they've been up to as the warm afternoon sun hits Dabi's skin as they get out into the fresh air. 

"Dabi--" Shigaraki's voice as he circles around him, reaching for his coat and shirt. He thinks the other is going to pull the fabric aside, but he doesn't get the chance. Those deadly hands that he's never seen slip before reach, but before they can grasp, Dabi's back is arching as he feels something else impact him at the center of his spine. He has been hit by other quirks before, and this one doesn't cause an immediate, searing pain, so he knows that it's bad. If a quirk doesn't hurt on impact, then that means it does something worse and he pushes himself away from Mister, away from Shigaraki, as he fears that it will do something to anyone near him as he feels his whole body start to go numb and tingly at the same time, like he's cut off the circulation to every inch of his body. He can feel the sensation in his teeth, in his eyeballs, and there is no escaping it. There's a furious resentment that goes through him as he feels like his consciousness is slipping away, his limbs too heavy to support himself anymore and sending him crashing to the ground. He was supposed to use the League to reach his goals, not be just another pawn that got sacrificed so that Shigaraki could hold onto his delusions of being king. He was supposed to burn it all down. He was supposed to make sure that Endeavor knew what he created that night on the mountain. 

He lets out a furious roar, his flames erupting along his skin, unable to be contained by his good sense as he feels the same helplessness that he was surrounded by as a child come crashing in on him again as the whole world goes weightless. 

He hits the ground for a second time, the air cooler, the sun set, and the smell of a forest in his nose for a split second before he's incinerating everything around him before darkness can rush up over his eyes. 

///

He's in pain, dizzy, and confused when he feels hands on his body, pushing up his shirt that has gone tacky with his blood, the motion hurting badly enough to stir him from unconsciousness as the fabric tears away the barely formed scabs. He manages to squint his eyes open, but there is no bright sunlight to burn them as he manages it. Just moonlight and embers. His mind feels foggy, but he knows it was day before. He is even more confused when his vision clears enough for him to make out the appearance of the person leaning over him who is certainly not a doctor. 

Shigaraki's hair has been growing out lately, but it is definitely not down to his waist and absolutely not such a pure white that it would be glowing in the moonlight like it is right now. He knows that his eyes are red, but he doesn't remember his pupils being black slits through them, doesn't remember that his teeth were fangs behind his lips, doesn't remember him having a forked tongue that flicks out from between them like a demon. 

"Shigaraki?" Is he seeing the world wrong? Some sort of hallucinogenic quirk? He doesn't know. He just knows that when he says the other man's name, his eyes go from his wounded side to his own and that the word feels like it takes out the last of the energy that he had in his body.

"How do you know me?" His voice sounds the same, but Dabi doesn't understand the words. 

He feels his whole body is heavy and floaty at the same time. The way he remembers it being the last time he got so sick that he had to seek out medical attention, and he knows that if he doesn't get it soon, he's not going to make it long. "Fuck, if you let me die, I'm going to come back and burn down everything you've ever touched." He manages to croak. He could demand that he take him to the doctor, but he just doesn't have the energy for it, his body starting to slump into the soil even more. He can't keep his eyes open even when he hears a loud, unfamiliar sound of something heavy being dragged across the earth. He just knows that there is movement near him and can only hope Shigaraki didn't leave them open to some other attack. 

"What a curious creature." He hears Shigaraki murmur before there are hands on his body. They're so cold that he shivers and doesn't have the wherewithal to think about how that might be strange as he is lifted from the ground and pulled into a solid, muscular chest before his consciousness is slipping away again. 

///

When he wakes next, it is with a throb in his side and a musty smell of cold clogging his nose. Dabi groans slightly, opening his eyes and finding himself still in the dark somewhere. He doesn't know where he is, has no idea if the League was able to get him to a hospital or not, but he knows that this isn't the worst pain that he's ever been in, so he thinks that he stands a fair chance of surviving this the same way he has survived everything else. Dabi forces himself to sit up a bit, letting what feels like a tattered blanket slip away from his body. He has to light up one of his hands to have anything at all to see by and as he does, his dread sets in as he sees that the others... did not bring him to the doctor. He knows that things have been strained with him, but he thought that they would still make an effort for him. He didn't expect them to instead bring him to a... cave. A cave, he realizes as he takes in the curved stone that makes up the walls and ceiling, a hard-packed dirt floor beneath him, a threadbare blanket put across his skin, and a poultice of what he really hopes are medicinal herbs packed over the wound and the places where his staples separated from his skin. Those fucking bastards. Hurt because of them in the first place and then they don't even really bother to take care of him. If he survives this, he's burning them alive.

Dabi means to try and scrape away some of this mess, even more annoyed to realize that he doesn't see his coat or shirt anywhere around him. He's sure the shirt is soaked with blood and completely unsalvageable, but if he's going to leave here, he would have liked to have his coat. That, at least, would have let him cover up the worst of the damage to his side, and hopefully not make him look like an easy target for anyone that he might come across. But as he tries to get his legs under himself to push up from the ground and try to find his way to medical help on his own, he hears the sound of something large moving across the dirt. Dabi keeps his hands lit up, ready to send a gout of flame in the direction of whatever is approaching him and turn it to ash completely. 

He's not expecting Shigaraki to emerge from the dark, looking... differently, but the way he remembers him from before he slipped under. He sees the long, wild white hair, the bright red eyes with the strange pupils, the thick muscle and knotted scars corded along his entire torso and making him look like he might have taken more hits than Dabi has seen evidence for in their time of rolling together. He absolutely was not this ripped, his hair not that long when he passed out before, and a cold dread spreads through his gut as he wonders just how long he's been asleep. 

And then he has an entirely different, entirely primal fear when Shigaraki keeps moving closer to him. The movement is accompanied by that same heavy sound of something, his body just seeming to stretch towards him out of the darkness and making him bring a wider arch of flame through the air as he doesn't hear any footsteps, as his mind reels as he sees Shigaraki's body far higher than it should be as it moves. He casts more of the flickering blue light of his flames all around the cavern and a scream gets caught in his throat as an icy fear saturates his veins as he sees the other man approaching.

"You're finally awake." Shigaraki's voice sounds the same as he pauses his approach, looking at his hands like he's the one who needs to be weary as Dabi sees that his torso is not attached to legs the way it has always been before, but instead transitions from pale, scarred skin to serpentine scales of black that glitter in his firelight. The tail that makes up the lower half of his body and stretches out behind him to a place that he cannot find the end of in the dark, is thicker than Dabi's entire body, and moves so fluidly that, although he has never been afraid of snakes before, the unnaturalness of the sight has his entire body going all the hotter with his distress. 

"What the fuck happened to you?" He knew that Shigaraki was getting experimented on by AFO and Ujiko, of course he was when Dabi knows that Ujiko is the one responsible for that entire hospital full of spares that took him in while he was in his coma. But he didn't know that the mad doctor would have any real interest in turning Shigaraki into a heteromorph. 

Shigaraki's head tilts to the side slightly, his tongue flicking out, long and forked, like any other serpent's and making Dabi shudder from the wrongness of the action. "You speak to me like we've met before, witch. You knew my name before we'd ever spoken." Shigaraki has always had a sort of awkwardness to the way he talks, too much playing a megalomaniacal villain and too much other nerd shit throughout his life, Dabi guesses. But he doesn't normally sound so stilted and formal. He calls them his party members, but Dabi is what Duster likes to call their 'glass cannon', not a 'witch'. 

"Did turning into a heteromorphic nomu turn your brain into mush? Of course I know you, you've been my worthless boss for months. Even more worthless if I get an infection and die because you put me on the ground and packed leaves into my wound. Where the fuck are we? Where are the others?" He asks, his hands starting to sting from having to hold his flames to see by. But he can't think of anything more frightening than to let the dark swallow him up and lose sight of the other man who is not what he is used to. 

Shigaraki's head tilts again, his tongue flicking out. "You're frightened... and hurting." His body lowers from the height that he was stretched to before, moving closer and making Dabi all the more skittish over what he might do to him. But he stoops down and pauses about half a meter from his burning hands. "Let me check your poultice. I promise that no harm will come to you from my hands, witch." 

"Stop calling me that, Duster!" He snaps, not letting his quirk waver. "You know my name, fucking use it, dick." 

There's a pause, a strange look that crosses the other man's face as he raises his hands placatingly towards them. "I think that you may be confused-- whether it be from your magic or your injuries, I'm not certain, but all I can say is that I am unfamiliar with you." His voice is softer than Dabi has ever heard it before. Gentle in a way that has his skin bristling further, like he's the wild animal that needs to be soothed lest he lash out. "I will provide the care I can, but I do not know you." He says again. "You know it already, but my name is Tomura Shigaraki. Perhaps you could do me the kindness of introducing yourself to me?"

Dabi stares, willing this all to be wrong, for this not to be real, but when Shigaraki lowers himself further reaching into a shadowy corner that he couldn't see into before and he picks up Dabi's coat with all five fingers, he is filled with a cold dread that tells him so clearly that this is not the world that he existed in before. 

///

Shigaraki, when he smells his flesh burning, insists on taking him closer to the mouth of the cave. He tells him that he brought him so deep inside so that no one would be able to smell his injuries while he was hunting, and that he can bring him closer to the fresh air so that he can light a proper fire to see by when he picks up on how scared Dabi is of being left in the dark with this unfamiliar man who is wearing his boss's face. Dabi tries to walk there himself, but he's so weak that he collapses almost immediately, Shigaraki catching him from falling with one of the thick coils of his tail, the scales chilly and smooth under his hands as he does so. Dabi can't help bristling when Duster-- not 'Duster', not anymore-- shifts his body so that he is sitting side-saddle on his back, his hands bringing Dabi's coat around his shoulders when he shivers, before he starts to move beneath him, taking him to the mouth of the cave. 

It is still night outside and Dabi's stomach sinks further just from seeing how many stars light up the sky. He never paid any attention to astrological signs or astrology, but just looking up, he can see that they aren't near any city. That the sky is so free of light pollution that, as far as the eye can see, there are stars. He can't think it's beautiful as he takes in the thick conifer forest around him and the entrance to the cave that he was brought into. Shigaraki moves easily over the dirt and twigs, pushing them aside so that he can find an old log and roll that onto its side so that Dabi can sit there instead of on his back. He an only just make out that his tail has to be long at least three of him from head to toe if he were going to lay down beside him as Shigaraki moves around the area, gathering fallen branches and stones, bringing them together into a small fire pit that Dabi is able to light and give himself more light to see by. He still feels his skin bristling with anticipation, but once Shigaraki has done that, he settles on the other side of the fire, his tail coiling up beneath him and his torso resting on top of it, those bright, foreign eyes watching him as it happens. He doesn't know what he wants him to say, but after a long moment, Dabi knows that he has to speak. He needs to make sense of wherever it is he is now. 

"Do you have quirks?" 

Shigaraki's head tilts, his tongue flicking out again. "Oddities of my personality? I suppose some would find the fact I was willing to associate with a witch strange." 

"No-- your hands, when you touch things with all five of your fingers, do you turn whatever you're touching into dust?" He suspects he already knows the answer to that question, but he can't help asking it again anyway. He doesn't want to be right. He wants to be wrong, wants this to be some elaborate prank that the others are pulling on him or some psychological experiment that Ujiko is running because he just can. But he knows it's not when Shigaraki answers so earnestly, 

"I can't perform any feats of magic." He asks a question of his own while Dabi is still reeling from that flat admittance. "You don't have a secondary species?" 

"A what?" 

"You aren't an animal as well as a man?" He asks with a little bit more of a gently prompting tone. 

"No. Only heteromorphs have-- is... magic rare? Are people without being animals not normal here?" He hates that these are the questions that he's being forced to ask, but he needs to understand this place, needs to know what is happening to him, around him. 

"Magic is very rare, I've only ever met one other witch in all of my life." Shigaraki tells him, sounding like that is as fascinating to him as Dabi wonders if the rest of this should be to him. "He could do many things with his abilities, shaping the world around him to his whims, until a warrior came to slay him." There's a melancholy laid plain on Shigaraki's face that Dabi isn't expecting, that he doesn't want to see because his Shigaraki has never been so blatant with his emotions like this in front of him. Not any that weren't anger or manic joy at least." He took me in when my family disowned me when my species became known." 

"All For One?" He asks hesitantly, Shigaraki's eyes snapping back to his immediately. 

"So you have the gift of sight as well as the elements?" 

"No." Dabi says, his voice a hoarse croak. "I'm not from here. I don't know what this is, but this isn't where I belong." 

Shigaraki seems to settle in further as he prompts, "Where are you from, little one?" 

Dabi has never been a chatty guy when it comes to the League, but there's no stopping the words now as they come spilling out from behind his lips. 

///

He talks for a while. Until his throat is dry and he feels exhausted, and the serpent version of his boss that does not know him, goes to a basin of stone that he has carved, and brings him a whittled ladle of the rain water collected there. Dabi is hesitant to drink it, worried about inviting sickness into his already vulnerable body, but he has no choice if he doesn't want to perish from thirst. Everything feels wrong around him, but Shigaraki takes in what he tells him about his world in easy stride. He assures him that he will be allowed to stay here until he's healed-- for as long as he wants really, and the earnest way that the other man looks at him tells Dabi... that he wants that companionship. That he's been alone for a long time and that he wants to not be alone any longer. He tells Dabi that he had been hunting a lovely rabbit, but as he lost sight of it in the thicket of the forest, he had started to smell smoke. And then an intense wave of blue fire lashed out and turned so much of the surrounding area to ash. He had moved closer when the fires had died down and found him collapsed and bleeding at the center of the crater. His curiosity about Dabi is what caused him to treat his wounds and make sure that he was safe in his den for the time being. But Shigaraki also tells him that witches are rare, that he has only met one in all of his life before Dabi, and that if they do exist anywhere, it would be in the larger cities, not out in the wildlands where they are now. 

Dabi is still hurt, that much is clear when Shigaraki pulls the medicinal herbs from his skin, but he is not nearly as hurt as he should be given what he remembers before he passed out. But his skin is not gouged as deeply as it looked before, and there is a comfort in the very fact that he isn't seeing any swelling or signs of infection along the wound. Maybe in this world, the plants are more magical than the pharmaceuticals that he's used to. He doesn't care as long as it means that he's not about to keel over at any second from how much damage his skin has taken. Shigaraki assesses the wound and tells him he'll likely need to keep it on his body for another week before he decides to travel, and he goes to procure more of the herbs from his stash, returning within half an hour and soaking them in the rainwater for a few minutes before he starts to apply them in careful layers along his side. 

"I wasn't certain if... the rest of it was something fresh or not." He says gently, carefully, as if this version of Shigaraki does not want to offend him when they had tried to kill each other practically on first sight in Dabi's world. But the comment doesn't offend him, it just puts a further pit in his gut as he's given a firm reminder that even in a completely new world, he won't ever be something that isn't strange and unpleasant to look at. "So I just treated any places that were bleeding. If you need more--" 

"Happened eight years ago." He tells Shigaraki, glad his voice sounds gruff instead of choked. "There's nothing I can do about them now." He tells him and this version of Shigaraki seems to be much better at picking up on social cues than his was because he drops the subject and just makes sure that Dabi's wounds are treated the best he can. 

"Are you hungry?" Shigaraki asks more gently. 

Dabi thinks he probably should be. The snake creature told him that he was unconscious for a few days, but everything in his head and the exhaustion that is still clinging to his body is stopping him from finding his appetite. He shakes his head weakly.

"I will hunt for you tonight," Shigaraki tells him anyway. "So you won't have to wait throughout the entire day before I can bring you something if you wake and need food then." Dabi doesn't protest, letting the other carry him back into the cave when his legs feel too weak to actually support his weight, and accepting the thin blanket that he was given. His coat and quirk also help with the spring chill in the air, and he makes due with curling up on the hard dirt floor. Truth be told, this is not the worst sleeping arrangement that he's ever experienced in his life, so he figures that he'll survive it for the night and figure out what he can do in the morning.

///

When Dabi wakes, he's not certain if it's still night or if it has ticked over into day. Shigaraki's den curves after a few meters from the entrance of the cavern mouth, creating a wall of stone between it and the entrance when one travels as far back as the naga insisted on keeping him when he brought him back inside the night before. With any possible light blocked off, Dabi realizes just how pitch black the world can really get. He lights a spark on his finger and finds that he's surrounded in iridescent darkness too, the thick coils of Shigaraki's body wrapped around him loosely, the other man's torso and head pillowed on the length of his tail as he sleeps, his breaths even and slow with the small candle flame flickering on Dabi's fingertip. He is careful as he extracts himself from the loose... embrace. For as weirdly kind and understanding as this Shigaraki has been, he doesn't know if that is going to last forever, especially when he doesn't know who exactly this is now, and he would much rather err on the side of caution with him.

He slips out and goes towards the end of the cavern, finding that curve and able to see the sunlight from the entrance beyond. His body doesn't feel as sluggish as it did yesterday, his legs carrying him even if he does have to lean against the wall to make it easier for him. He gets all the way to the entrance and has to squint against the bright sunlight. He can hear bird song and the buzzing of insects in the forest around him, the warmth of the sun immediately taking away the chill that was coming from deep inside of the cave. It's been a long time since he was somewhere so far away from the city that the smells of it couldn't reach him anymore, but this air is fresh and crisp as he takes it in. His eyes adjust and he tries to get a better look at his surroundings, stopping with a scream lodged in his throat as he sees, barely a meter from the place where his fire burned out the night before, a body laying slumped in the dirt.

Dabi has killed a lot of people in his life, he's seen a lot of corpses too, just in passing. He knows the difference from someone who is unconscious, and someone who is dead, and there is no doubt in his mind, even just from a glance, that this person is the latter. The person on the ground is a naked man with dark hair and small, dark ears that curve out from the top of his head, a long tail with long fur that lends it a sleek rather than bushy look limp against his legs. He sees that Shigaraki has scratched a message for him into the dirt, a brief note that Dabi still spends an eternity trying to make sense of. 

'Eat as much as you need.'

The other said that he had been hunting a rabbit. He told him that he had already hunted once the night before and that his appetite was sated. Dabi had wondered, absent-mindedly, when his mind was far more occupied with everything else that he needed to worry about right now, if that meant that he had unhinged his jaw like a serpent and had swallowed his meal whole. But when he had thought that, he had been picturing real animals. When Shigaraki said that everyone in this world was an animal, he thought that simply meant that they were animals as well as there being real animals in the world. But as he looks at this dead man and the innocuous note beside the body, he has a horrible feeling that he understands even less about this world than he thought he did.

///

Dabi is still hurt and he can't go far, but he does go into the forest. He knows that pine cones have pine nuts and that he can eat those. He hates himself when he reaches for his phone, intent on looking up other forms of foraging that he might be able to do, but finds that his phone, even though there is still a small charge left, is a useless hunk of plastic, glass, and metal. There is no signal of any kind to be found, no satellites for it to hook up to, no way of using it to help better his chances for survival in its current state and he makes the decision to power it off completely in the hope of conserving what is left of the battery if this strange quirk ever wears off, so that if he magically pops back to the correct universe, he'll at least be able to call his actual companions and find out what the hell happened. 

He gathers pinecones, looks for other food, water, anything, and after about half an hour of walking, making sure to burn little scorch marks into the trees as he passes so that he doesn't get lost in the woods, he comes across a burbling stream. It feels like just another cruelty of fate that he is going to be forced to eat fish to survive, but he will take anything that he can get that is not the dead man who is laying naked at the mouth of Shigaraki's cave. No. He's not nearly in dire enough straits to think that cannibalism is the way he should go to get through this situation for now. 

Dabi has never had to fish before, but without a line, hooks, or rod, he figures that he's probably going to be better off trying to use his quirk for the task. He hates to do it, but he has to take off his coat, taking two thick fallen tree branches and stabbing them as deeply as he can into the muddy bank of the stream. It only reaches his mid-thigh, so he is able to wade across it, tying the sleeves to each end of the post and then using the long tails of it, weighing it down with heavy stones he pulls up from the bottom of the bed. It doesn't stop the water from flowing through it, or the fish from swimming into, and then around it, but it does stall them for a moment and Dabi climbs back out, moving about a meter down from the coat and building a fireball as hot as he can make it into his hands. He throws it into the stream, twisting away quickly as it erupts into a burst of steam that would burn him as badly as the fire. The sound of the explosion echoes around the area and he moves as quickly as he can to try and get the fish that are now floating to the surface of the stream as the water rushes back in. He gets down into the bank and uses the barrier of his coat to gather as many of the dead fish as he can before they're swept away, managing to get seven, one nearly as long as his forearm, and toss them up on the bank before he retrieves his soaked coat. He runs it through the water, cleaning the bottom of mud, and then slings the heavy fabric over one arm as he heads back up to the bank. With his spoils in hand, he starts to make his way back along the trail of soot marks. 

He still has to go and gather more firewood and sticks to cook the fish on, and he realizes that if he's going to be here for days at least, he also needs to make sure he has a way of getting clean drinking water too. His side is aching badly, but he goes out anyway to do whatever he needs to, not wanting to rely on the snake to help him when the offering he was given was cannibalism. It's probably some time after noon that Dabi is back in the camp with a decent sized pile of branches to use as firewood. He knows some of them are probably too wet to use, but he can dry anything that isn't suitable.

The next issue is drinking water and a knife. He hasn't actually ever gutted a fish or scraped away its scales, but he knows that he needs to do those kinds of things if he wants to actually be able to eat today. It takes him a good hour of trying to find any stone that seems like it might be thin enough and sharp enough for the task, and even then, he's certain that he's going to make a mess of this whole process. Whatever. He just needs to make sure that it's cleaned enough that he'll be able to gag it down. Figuring out how to make a vessel to boil in is harder. The basin of rain water is a massive stone formation that cannot be moved, and he doesn't exactly have a lot of metal to use, even if he can get hot enough to melt most of them. It pains him to do it, but he takes his support cuffs off of his sleeves, splitting the seam along the welding line and taking out all of the internal bits that actually make them work, including the tiny canisters of liquid nitrogen. The metal then, is fairly thin and he takes it and the fish back to the stream because he's fucking stupid and should have stayed there in the first place. 

But he goes to the bottom of the stream and pulls out one of the smooth rocks that has been curved from the water constantly running over it. He sinks that halfway into the ground along the bank and then heats the thin sheets of metal around it, circling it with his hands and irritating his seams badly from having to keep contact with the material. But over the course of a few minutes, he's turned one of his cuffs into a small cup that he should be able to put into the fire. He does his best to make a handle so that it can hang over the fire but he doesn't know how long that will last. He also takes the second cuff and tries to melt it as hot as it will go and pound it out between two stones, one fairly wide and flat, to try to make a lid with an edge sharp enough to be used on the fish. He doesn't think he's as successful with making a knife from that, but at least he can cover the cup to keep too much water from evaporating. 

He's only just started to try and gut the fish, tearing through the skin and muscle beneath in a messy, jagged way, that he still has to hook his fingers into so he can actually, fully, tear it open, when he nearly jumps out of his skin as Shigaraki says, 

"You shouldn't have gone this far from the den," His voice is gentle and lightly chastising, but Dabi is too busy trying not to send the mess of things that he has with him into the stream as he jumps out of his skin. He had heard the snake creature the night before when he moved, but looking up now to find that he has been able to make his way through the trees without calling attention to himself at all, is a terrifying reality to be made aware of. "You're still healing." 

"Yeah, and where I'm from, we don't eat people." He snaps, turning his attention back to the fish. He has its sticky blood all over his fingers, his nails trying to scrape through the guts to take out the things that he knows he can't eat. But he's never liked fish, and this process is making eating the things even less appealing. 

"Your people only eat fish?" And just from the tone, he can tell that the other man is not at all impressed with the mess he's making of trying to do just that. 

"No. Where I'm from," he says, flinging the fish guts off of his fingers and back into the stream. He thinks he has to wash them out too before he skewers them and puts them over the campfire. "Only a small amount of the population are heteromorphs-- animal people. The rest of us are normal humans and unless you're really fucked in the head, none of us eat people, we just eat real animals." The fact that he's having to deal with an ally twice in his life that considers cannibalism perfectly normal and acceptable is truly a horror he could have never been prepared for, but he gives up on trying to make it make sense. He can only ask for his sanity to withstand so much. 

"True animals are rare," Shigaraki tells him, coming up to the pile of fish and taking one. Dabi opens his mouth to snap at him, but he simply extends a claw which normal, limbless snakes definitely do not have, and slits the fish along its stomach easily. He lets the blood and guts spill out, more careful in taking out the innards before he offers it to Dabi. 

He still has to scrape the scales from it, but he will take that over trying to dig around the insides as Shigaraki settles by him. "...Thanks." 

"I'm sorry I didn't ask for more clarity when it came to your diet. Will this be enough to sustain you?" 

"Until I'm well enough to go to one of the cities you mentioned, yeah." He mutters, trying his best to make these fish properly edible. "I need to see if I can find someone who can send me back home." 

"Witches are rare," Shigaraki warns him again. 

"Because people burn them at the stake or what?"

"At the stake?" The other creature sounds genuinely confused, but he shakes it off quickly enough. "No, the blessing of magic is just rare and it often takes a toll, stopping a person from gaining a secondary species. I think that Ustron is the nearest city that I've heard tale has a witch living within the walls."

"How far away is that?" 

"Nearly eighty kilometers on foot." Shigaraki tells him, "And the travel will be dangerous. Trade between cities is difficult to facilitate and oftentimes merchants who travel are ambushed by bandits from the wilds trying to take whatever they can get." 

"I can protect myself." He's certain of that, at least. 

"If I had wanted to kill you when I approached, I would have been able to do so before you even noticed my presence. You do not have nearly strong enough senses to keep yourself protected from those who would make a meal out of you."

Dabi wants to protest further, if anything even touches him, he'll turn it to ash, but if something is able to sneak up on him, if his neck could be snapped before he even notices that he's no longer alone, then his quirk won't matter at all. He doesn't like that thought, but there isn't anything to do for it. He needs to find a way home. He isn't going to make it long if he doesn't. 

"I can accompany you, once you are well enough to travel, and I can collect the fee." 

"'Fee'?" He doesn't necessarily want a babysitter, but at least this Shigaraki is actually trying to look after him instead of just leaving him to fend for himself the way he did after Kamino. 

"The 'civilized folk'," There is a clear derision in Shigaraki's tone as he says it, finishing with gutting the pile of fish and dipping down to the stream to wash them out for Dabi. "Believe that the 'ferals' will enter their cities and wreak havoc, devouring their citizens, mounting attacks, things of that nature. If a feral wishes to enter the city, then they must do so by bribing the right people. They only get very specific portions of meat from their dead and most of the predators subsist on fish, as you insist on. But the right guards want something else. For two of us to enter, we will need to procure thirty pounds of flesh." 

"What about the guy back at camp?" 

"Unless we leave tonight, which I would not recommend, the stoat will be long rotted." 

Dabi is not a stranger to killing people to get to his goals, so he shrugs. "Okay. I can last on fish for a while, though vegetables or something else would be good." He doesn't know much about edible plants and he really isn't surprised when, for as helpful as the other man has been so far, he doesn't offer him any other comments about that. He supposes if Shigaraki's diet really is that of a snake, then he probably doesn't eat any plants. "How long do you think it will take for me to be good to travel?" Especially after all of the activity today, his side is hurting, a dull throb on the edge of his awareness that he is going to have to deal with sooner or later. Once he gets something to eat and drink, he'll sleep for the rest of the night. It's not like Shigaraki seems to need him for anything in particular. 

"I'll check your dressings at my den." He tells him, helping Dabi finish up the process of cleaning the fish. 

When they're done, Shigaraki selects a large flat stone and he brings it easily back to the camp. The body is gone, a smattering of blood left on the dirt in its wake, and Dabi does his very best to not think about that too much. He arranges the fire, the flat stone put nearby for him to use as a cooking surface if he wants it, and he skewers the fish, hangs his cup filled with rainwater, and covers it so that it boils and the meat cooks.

Shigaraki doesn't make small talk with him as he prepares and forces himself to choke down the meal, every bite only just adequate enough to sustain him, but still absolutely foul. He can't believe that he was so unlucky that he would end up not only being hit by a quirk that sent him to another world entirely, but one where his only options for food are cannibalism or fish. It really is amazing just how cruel his life keeps turning out to be as he does his best to just make it through. 

///

Shigaraki shows him the plants that he's been using to make the poultice, how it is mashed between stones and a larger leaf is laid over top so that it keeps the moisture inside and helps to improve the healing process and keep out parasites or infection. Dabi learns well enough that he knows how to deal with it on his own, which is good, because after eating two meals in such a short span of time, Shigaraki is tired. He barely makes it through teaching Dabi before he's excusing himself to go deep into his burrow again and curl up. Dabi knows snakes eat big meals and then don't do much else for a while, but when the snake doesn't wake when he slips back into the den to go to bed for the night too, and he's still sleeping soundly in the morning, and all the way until sundown the next night, he realizes that must apply to nagas too. Shigaraki doesn't react to his footsteps or to him bringing in a torch, made from putting some twigs and embers in his water cup and holding it on the end of a stick so that he doesn't have to burn his hands again to keep the light going. He just slumbers on as the dim light flickers across his features. It's a far cry from his boss, the Shigaraki who is scrawny with his pale blue hair and nerdy references who never fucking sleeps. This Shigaraki didn't know him, but his curiosity had been enough to go out of the way to save his life, who is willing to go so far to help a stranger that he has decided to help him travel all the way to a city just on the off chance that he might be able to find someone with just the right kind of magic to take him back home. He doesn't know if his Shigaraki would have done that. Sure, the boss usually tries to do right by them now that they're the only thing that he has left, but if the League thinks that Dabi was straight up vaporized the way Magne was, then he knows in his heart that Duster will just use him as another martyr to rally behind. Dabi wasn't even supposed to be on that job. Pure chance that he was, pure chance that one of their fuck-ups got him killed like it did Magne. He hopes that when he gets back that they're all ready to sob at his feet and he can use that to get whatever else he needs to get to his revenge the way he so wants to. He holds onto those hopes as his new companion sleeps on. 

///

On the day that Dabi and Shigaraki are ready to set out, his side is still not healed perfectly. It is still tender to the touch, but the fresh pink layer of skin has sealed it up where it can, and has tightened around his seam enough that he's not worried about springing a leak and letting his guts fall out. Shigaraki considers him, considers their path of travel, and makes Dabi rest for the day. He has better camouflage at night and that is when he wants them to travel. 

"I can't see in the dark and walking around carrying a torch is going to get us noticed too." He says flatly. 

"You won't have to walk." Shigaraki tells him easily. "You can ride on my back." 

The immediate response of sputtering and blushing like a schoolgirl is not exactly very good for his ego, but he can't help it. "I'm not gonna ride you like you're the world's weirdest horse!" He's never even ridden a horse in the first place for god's sake. 

"Why not? It won't be a burden." Shigaraki tells him, moving in close without hesitation. He also doesn't hesitate to bend down and reach for him, picking him up from the ground and holding him in his arms. Dabi sees the ripple of muscle through his chest and arms, his stomach swooping as he is made so weightless as the naga lifts him like he weighs nothing. "You're very light," he tells him, shifting so that he can put Dabi onto his tail. Dabi scrambles for something to hold onto so he doesn't slip off of the side as the other starts to move, making a lap around the outside of the camping grounds as if that's the reason Dabi protested. "See? You'll be safe this close and you won't have to worry about being able to travel by sight."  

"I--" he loses his protests as he makes himself let go of the other man's waist that he'd been clutching onto for dear life. "Fucking, fine, whatever." He makes himself slide off of the other's tail. He's so much longer than Dabi thinks he should be, and the appendage is probably half as thick as Dabi is tall. He can easily support his body too, but it still feels humiliating to be made so small in such a new way. 

He stomps back over to the camp fire and continues to dry his fish into jerky. The taste has gotten no better, but he won't be very happy if he has to go multiple days of travel without food, even if he doesn't have to walk. Maybe when they get to the city-- A thought comes to him and Dabi looks up at the other man. 

"What about once we get into the city? The meat is a bribe to open the doors, but when we're there, what about money? I only have yen." He doesn't think, given everything else that is different about this world, that his money will actually be good here. Which means that he's going to need something else instead. 

"Trade is more common than coin, even in the city." Shigaraki tells him. "And I'll be gathering a good amount of the herbs that I used to help you so that we will be able to afford what we need." Shigaraki gestures for him to follow and Dabi gets up and does so. It's mid-afternoon, but this is the first time Shigaraki has been awake in days, and he is just glad for the company after several days of just sitting alone in the silence with his own thoughts. 

The naga brings him to a small area near his den that is lush with plant life. These are the herbs that he showed him how to use before and he isn't sure what the other wants to show him. "We were meant to live like this." Shigaraki tells him. "In the wild, with our instincts, strength, and wit. But centuries ago, when there were more witches, they created cities. People gathered there and over time, nature started to abandon them." Shigaraki leans down and starts to pick the plants, careful to do so in a way that doesn't damage the roots or too far along the stems. "Medicine became less potent, food became less filling, sleep less satisfying. But they insist that because they are able to farm plenty, even making places where they breed fish for their abundance, that the way they live is right and true. They are weaker, even if they have some luxuries that would benefit those in the wild." 

"So I guess you're not thrilled about my cup?" He asks, trying to work out how much of what he said is actually true and how much of it is just legends and hearsay. 

"Simple tools to supplement your abilities are fine." Shigaraki tells him with a shrug. "Using medicine to heal wounds, sharing an overabundance with a neighbor, those are all things that can do us well. It's the gathering together, forcing nature to bend to one's own will, that nature itself is punishing those in cities for." 

"So making a garden of medicinal plants is fine, but making a garden for vegetables is not? Seems like a weird double-standard to me." He tells the other because he just can't stop himself from being contradictory even when every ounce of good sense tells him not to offend the giant snake monster that could kill him in a heartbeat. 

"Perhaps, but my plants brought you back from the edge of death, and the ones in the city barely heal. Why do you think they have so many dead to use for their meat rations?" He posits, and Dabi really doesn't have any way of countering that claim. He helps the other man gather a large amount of the herbs, but still not enough to even cause a quarter of the plants to look bare as they do so, and is just glad that this means that he won't have to try and make money in a world he doesn't understand at all. He's spent more than enough time doing that just after his coma. 

When they've finished with their gathering, he manages, past his pride, to mumble, "Thank you." 

"Of course." Shigaraki tells him and Dabi has to make himself actually move to look the other creature in the eye. 

"Thank you." He grounds out. "If you hadn't pulled me out of that crater I would have died. If you weren't helping me now, I wouldn't have any way to get back home. You didn't have to do any of it and I would have probably been more useful to you as a snack. But you helped me instead of eating me and you're going out of your way to get me to the city. Thank you." 

Shigaraki considers him for a long moment, long enough that Dabi worries that this all hasn't been some act of grace after all. That this was some sort of scheme to get him to let his guard down so that he would fall victim to his fangs or claws in some other way that he just wasn't expecting. But then his head tilts slightly to the side, "In your world, do you have... bonds?" 

Dabi frowns. "What kinds of bonds? Like family ties?" 

"I suppose that's one way of considering them." 

That does not give him the answer that he wants, but this Shigaraki can apparently be as esoteric and weird as his own. "Some people do-- I don't. I want to destroy my family." He sees the way that something... dims behind Shigaraki's eyes as he says that. 

"I see." 

And Dabi hates the way that those two simple words can make him feel so painfully inadequate. "But you do, sort of. You made a group that I was a part of. You've been doing your best to lead us to a new future. In my world, everyone has magic and some people use it to pretend to be heroes of the people, but it's all just to cover up their own selfishness and ambition. The League that you made is supposed to be fighting back and destroying it all so that no one ends up forgotten or tossed aside like we were." 

Shigaraki takes that all in and tilts his head slightly. "And were you happy in my care?" 

Dabi isn't sure about the phrasing, but he tries to be a little more generous, "You got the job done for the most part, and that's the main thing that I cared about. But we weren't exactly hanging out when we weren't working. We don't have much in common. To be honest, I think I get along with you more than I ever did with him, and it's not just because you saved my life." 

He knows that the other man is a giant snake, but there's no other way to describe his demeanor than that he perks up like a puppy when he says that. "That is good to know. Come, let's finish preparing for our trip." 

Dabi trails after him, more than ready to stop with the genuine shit and get ready to leave. 

///

Traveling through the dark, sitting on Shigaraki's back, is a strange experience. The serpent can move nearly silently through the brush, his long body curving gently, and keeping his torso low, Dabi ducking along his tail as well, so that any other creatures will have a hard time of spotting them as they go. They don't speak a word, and Dabi tries to strain his eyes to ensure that no other creatures come towards them, but the truth is that he can't see more than a meter or so away from himself with how thick the tree cover is. He just has to trust the other man to guide them. They don't speak as they travel and Dabi doesn't know how he should feel about that. He's tried not to converse too much with the League, with his own Shigaraki because he was always of the mind that he needed to be careful so that none of them catch onto what he's doing before he's ready to actually achieve his goals. But traveling in silence now feels far less like he's doing it because he's worried about sharing too much with this stranger, and far more like any word could lead to their downfall if one of the other creatures that must be living in this forest finds them. 

They travel through the night, but when he starts to see the sky being brought just a few shades bluer as dawn starts to set in above them, Shigaraki starts to look for somewhere for them to rest. There isn't a good space for them, but they eventually find a felled tree and Shigaraki uses his tail to push the dirt up alongside of it, creating a little trench for him to lay his body in that will be nearly completely concealed by the tall grass and bushes that are in the area. 

"If you need anything, wake me. Don't wander off on your own." Shigaraki warns him, and Dabi hates the wave of helplessness that goes through him as he's made to feel like a child. He hasn't been helpless in a long time, has worked so hard to make sure that he never would be again, and the reality that he just can't help being anything but that in this unfamiliar world makes him furious. But Shigaraki has done so much for him already, so much he had no need of, to make certain he got even just this far. He isn't just going to spit in the face of that kindness when he could have been devoured the moment that the other man found him. So as Shigaraki lays down to sleep, he just stays sitting up, trying to keep an eye and ear out for anyone who might come near them. 

It takes about four hours, if he had to guess purely from the location of the sun in the sky, before he spots any kind of movement around him. It's at least ten meters away, a man, probably shorter than Dabi himself, climbing down from a tree. Like the other that Tomura ate, he wears no clothes, and he has a set of ears and a tail that are inhuman, The ears are small, thin, and rounded, while the tail is extremely bushy and brown, the length of it and the slight curl at the tip telling Dabi that this must be a squirrel. He watches the man gather pine cones and acorns, careful not to move a centimeter so that he isn't noticed, until the man goes back up into the tree again and stays there for a good long while. Dabi eventually decides that he should probably sleep too and when he shifts, meaning to take off his filthy coat to use as a blanket, Tomura cracks an eye open at him. That alone surprised Dabi, given how hard the other man slept, but he wonders if not being in the safety of his own den is making him more aware is the cause. He doesn't protest as the other pulls on his wrist and brings him down into the ditch, though he feels his face heat when Shigaraki pulls him into his chest and Dabi feels his entire face go hot. Physical touch isn't something that he's gotten much of in his life, certainly not since he became an adult, and absolutely not of the 'buff naked man' variety. Shigaraki lets out a soft, contented sigh and closes his eyes again, his breaths evening out like he was barely awake to pull him close, and Dabi is really glad that he doesn't stay conscious for long enough to see how much he struggles with staying where he's been laid. He hasn't ever... cuddled up to someone like this before, and he's not entirely certain where his hands should be, if he should have taken off his boots first, if he should have his nose pressed so close to Shigaraki's skin that he can smell him. He doesn't smell bad, not sour with old sweat the way Dabi's skin keeps feeling like it is despite his best efforts to rinse off in the stream before he knew he would be close to the other man for two days. Dabi wonders if snakes even sweat at all, because the scent that clings to him just smells like the forest. It fills his nose, his skin cooler against his own, even as the sun shines above them, and Dabi... lets himself slump against his body too, lets himself rest his hands against the other's skin and shift so that his weight is settled more comfortably over Shigaraki's body, and he lets himself close his eyes. 

///

By the time he wakes again, it's to Shigaraki gently shifting him and the sky darkening as the light leaves for the day. "You can go back to sleep, firefly." He murmurs softly. "I need to go hunt for our fee. I'll be  back shortly." 

Dabi shakes the dregs of sleep off very quickly at that, pushing up and trying to find his words. He has killed plenty of people, he's worked with other cannibals before, though his mind still catches on the reality that in this one, all people who eat meat are cannibals. That he can just exist in a world where the circle of life will take its toll day in and day out and there is no reprieve for it because they all have to eat, that this is a place that would punish its people for going against that very nature by trying to create outposts of civilization with more plenty. It's all so much, so horrifying in a strange way that he doesn't quite have words for. 

But this is the fee required for him to even attempt to find a way home, so he keeps his voice low as he catches Shigaraki's forearm, "I saw a squirrel, earlier. A man." A dull sickness stirs in his gut as the naga's attention sharpens on him intensely, his head tilting in inquiry. Dabi sits up from the ditch all the way with a shaky breath and strains his eyes to find the right tree in the dying light. "There," he points. 

"Thank you. This shouldn't take long, stay here, keep low, and be quiet. I won't be the only one starting my hunt." Shigaraki waits for him to tuck himself in the space that he's left behind and then watches as the naga turns to start to stalk towards the tree. Dabi keeps his eyes out, watching with bated breath. He's seen his boss kill people before. A lot of times now that they've been on the run. He's seen him exact bloody revenge. He knows what his Duster is capable of. But the body he brought back the first time seemed pristine. He wants to see how this version of him kills. 

He tracks him as he moves, finding the other man goes to the adjacent tree rather than the one Dabi pointed out and watching as Shigaraki uses the strong muscles of his tail to creep his body up along the bark vertically until his dark body is disappearing into the tree. Dabi watches, his heart beat loud in his ears, as he waits to see the snake strike. 

The crack of a twig to his left is the only thing that keeps him from being gored on claws, his twisting towards the sound allowing him to narrowly avoid the figure that comes lunging over the log to tear out his throat with a snarl. 

"Fuck!" The outburst and the other man's body slamming into the ditch as Dabi pushes himself out of it absolutely ruins any semblance of stealth that Shigaraki had, so he doesn't hesitate to light up his hands as he faces off against the creature in much closer proximity than he likes to. He only gets a better look at the other man as he sends a gout of flame towards him, and even then, all he can make sense of is dog of some kind from the way the ears look as the creature darts out of the way and skitters across the ground, hands against the dirt as he comes to a stop, claws tearing up lines through it. 

His ears pin back and he bares his teeth in a loud snarl. "A witch,"

"A fucking idiot." Dabi snaps right back, not even waiting for the words to be off of his lips before he has a much bigger arch of flame leaving his hands. This one isn't so easy for the other to dodge, so hot that just breathing in the air near it will scorch the lungs and give any skin within half a meter of it a first degree burn. It's more than hot enough, apparently, that even though the wolf is able to dodge the worst of it, he can't move away fast enough to keep his tail from catching. 

The yip that comes out of him as he drops to the ground, trying to put it out, has Dabi filled with a malicious satisfaction, that he's finally getting to show this strange new world that he is capable and dangerous. And then, just before he can throw his hand out to burn the man to death, he lets out a much louder, more resonant howl that chills him to his bones. Dabi burns him anyway. He knows they need the meat, but he doesn't know if anyone will want the mess he usually leaves behind when he does his business of killing. But he knows that he doesn't have another way of getting this done without his flames. They only need thirty pounds. Maybe Shig will be able to tear away the chunks of flesh from the charred skin and they'll be able to put together enough--

The sound of footsteps echoing through the woods and getting closer do not care about subtlety in the slightest. They come accompanied with howls and snarls and Dabi runs. The body is still burning, the grass is starting to catch, and he needs to not get caged in with the pack of wolves at his back and the fire separating him from where he saw Tomura last. He manages to make it to the tree, seeing the squirrel overhead crashing through the trees as he tries to flee, but he can't see Shigaraki up in the tangle of the branches as he pauses with his back to the thick trunk of the tree so that he's at least not exposed from that angle. He sees one of the wolves stop near the body of the first, the acrid smell of cooking flesh starting to spread through the air. But two more start towards him and Dabi lights his hands up again. 

"Didn't work out so well for your friend," he warns, putting as much venom in his voice as he can. "Back off, or I'll burn it all down!" He doesn't wait for these ones to get in close. He sends out a gout of flame towards them that tears through the forest, Dabi not having seen or heard a drop of rain fall since he arrived here. He really will destroy this forest if he unleashes himself completely, and if they're stupid enough to fuck with that, then he will. If he rolls up to the city as a serious threat, then maybe word will spread and other witches will come rushing to him to try and make certain that he doesn't do any more damage beyond what he's already sowed. 

He hears the wolves snarling and barking at each other and he doesn't know if they are actually speaking another language or if they are just doing their best to confuse him as they try to circle around to flank him on either side. Dabi throws out both of his arms, lighting up his palms separately to prove to them that won't split his attention enough to let them actually hurt him, but before the one on the left can be stupid enough to try to rush at him anyway, a rustle in the tree overhead has the wolf's head snapping up. He doesn't look quickly enough though, as Shigaraki lunges down, his tail holding him to the tree as his arms reach out and he catches the wolf with his fingers around his neck, hauling him up into the tree again in a split second. Dabi is breathless just from the sheer speed of the strike before he hears a snap and then the body is dropped back down to the ground where several other bones crunch as the entirely dead weight of it hits the hard earth. The other wolf that had been approaching them yips, this one sounding far more frightened, and he quickly turns, rushing back to the third who is still by the first body. He grabs the other by the arm and yanks them from the ground, the two of them disappearing into the growing dark.

Shigaraki slips down from the tree, "Can you douse those flames?" He asks as he sees them starting to spread more through the forest. 

"Not even a bit." 

"Come on then," he says, his voice tight with his urgency. He grabs Dabi's arm, hoisting him onto his tail before he slithers, so quickly that Dabi is having to wrap his arms around his waist and hold on tight with both his hands and his thighs as he clenches them around the other's body. And the naga grabs his kill too, not bothering to throw it onto his tail or even be delicate with it as he catches the ankle and drags it alongside them as he flees from the flames as fast as he can go. 

///

They keep that breakneck speed for a good hour, Dabi's body aching just from having to hold the other so tightly, doing his best to not look at the body being dragged along with them as he knows that dragging it over the dirt and vegetation have torn into it because he can smell blood following them as they travel. He can't see the smoke from the forest bleeding into the sky, but it takes a while before he stops seeing the glow of his flames against the dark backdrop. When they're fairly far, Shigaraki slows his pace, looking for somewhere safe for them to pause their travel. He seems to find it under the shade of two large trees, dropping the body before he's coiling his tail around, making Dabi let go of his waist, as he brings him to his front so that he can see him. Dabi is expecting to be reprimanded, he's not expecting for Shigaraki's hands to cup around his face, tilting his head up so that they can meet one another's eyes, something desperate and... frightened in Shigaraki's. 

"Are you alright?" 

No one's asked him something like that in a long time. Even the League. He was always just expected to be alright because he is the one that is supposed to be the best at this. Sure Compress and Twice have more years of experience than him, but Twice isn't all together anymore and Compress wasn't doing the kind of on the street villainy that Dabi has been just to survive for the past decade. Duster always just put him in charge when he had something else to do, and he was expected to figure it out. When he had gotten knocked out in Kamino and woken up, puking, slurring his speech, dizzy with the worst concussion that he'd ever had in his life, no one asked him if he was okay. They just threw a bucket into his arms and started to debrief him extensively on everything that had been happening while he was unconscious before. He was always expected to just be fine, so no one ever bothered to check that he actually was. 

He didn't know that one simple question to make something sharp slip in behind his ribs, but he feels it sink a hook into something that he thinks is best left untouched as he answers, "Fine, sorry. Don't know how they spotted me." 

"It doesn't matter, as long as you're alright." Dabi isn't expecting Shigaraki to move his hands from his cheeks, down to his neck, along his shoulders, his palms going over the fabric of his shirt as he reaches his waist, and then he's tugging it up. Dabi isn't expecting the way that floods his entire body with heat again as it happens, glad that his scars and the dark will probably hide his blush from the other man. He opens his mouth to get an explanation, but the other is inspecting his side, making sure the vigorous movement didn't tear him open again and Dabi is able to breathe a little easier again. His side is throbbing dully, but he knows that he's fine. He knows how much more his body can handle before it starts to fall apart. 

"I'm okay," he's not expecting his voice to be so... soft. It's quiet and he feels like he needs to clear his throat, needs to make some comment about the body that they've been dragging with them. But he can't actually find a sound to make as Tomura looks back up at him. 

"Okay, wrap your arms back around my waist, firefly. I want to get us there before the city catches wind of the fire if it continues to spread." Dabi would have just waited to get moved into the right position, but Shigaraki's hands linger around his waist for another second as he leans down, Dabi's breath catching in the back of his throat, as his chapped, scarred lips press to his cheek, on that thin sliver of unmarred flesh between his staples and scars. A part of his skin that gets hotter still as Shigaraki pulls away and shifts to get a better grip on the body and start to move towards where they are going. 

Dabi wraps his arms around his waist, having to fight the urge to press his cheek against his back because that isn't about to hide how much embarrassment is coursing through his body as they travel now. 

///

It takes them the rest of the night, Shigaraki pushing past dawn as Dabi sees the... 'city' looming ahead of them. It is a city, he supposes, but he also supposes, based on everything else that he's been shown and told about this world, he should have expected it to be more of a large, rustic village, not the sprawling structure of metal, glass, and concrete that he's always expected when going to a city. He sees the wall that has been built out of probably the hundreds of trees that they cleared so that they could make this homestead, pinned into the ground with guard towers stationed periodically along it, and a large gate that he sees is open and has guards on the ground and in the two adjacent towers that are absolutely certain to see them approaching from the short grass that covers the half a kilometer stretch between the end of the the forest and the actual village itself. Shigaraki doesn't hesitate though, the body with them as he makes his way to the gates. 

"Hault," The guard yells when they're about five meters away and Dabi's skin bristles as he sees that the guards at the top of the towers reveal that they've got bows and their arrows are already notched towards them, the ones on the ground wielding spears and swords as they move up a bit closer. 

"We come to enjoy the hospitality of your city and converse with your witch." Shigaraki doesn't seem put off by the scrutiny and Dabi tries to sit up a little straighter. 

"Do you--" 

"Toya?" The voice comes, softly awed, and unfamiliar to him, but it still has him flinching. He peers around Tomura's shoulder and sees one of the guards rapidly descending from the tower, sees the rest of the guards tense a bit more as well. "What are you doing here-- If dad finds out--" 

The Shoto standing in front of them is not his brother. He knows that. He knows that he can't possibly be because he's too old, probably eighteen or nineteen, definitely not human with the white and red wolf ears poking up from the top of his head and the red tail that swishes behind him. He looks at him with an earnest ache in his expression, and his voice is hoarse as he fully takes in his appearance. 

"What happened to your ears?" 

Dabi hates how horrified he sounds. Hates that this Shoto looks concerned over what has happened to him. He always meant to reveal his identity to the world and use it as a weapon against his father and the supposedly perfect family that he crafted, but he wanted Shoto to be terrified of the destruction he was. He didn't want the pity or sorrow that he currently sees etching itself across his youngest brother's features. 

"Not your brother, kid." He says, slipping off Shigaraki's back as casually as possible, cracking his neck as he goes. "From a different world, I guess. No animal parts to begin with, plenty of, well I guess you guys call it 'magic'. Looking for someone who can send me back to where I belong." He says, deliberately running his hand through his dark hair, hoping they'll see there are no stumps of ears or evidence that they've been removed. He also hopes that just the way that he's dressed will keep them from questioning too much. Their clothes are far more simplistic, rustic, homespun, than Dabi's are and he has his phone in his pocket as well as further proof of his claims. 

Shoto considers him, "You have magic?" 

Dabi flicks out a hand, starting a flame that dances along his elbow and curls all around his fingers in homage to his serpentine companion before he lets it coil in the palm of his hand and he closes his fingers around it, snuffing it out. "Did your brother not?" 

He sees more than hears the rough breath that comes out of this Shoto's chest. "No, he didn't." He turns his attention to Shigaraki and the body that he's tossed to the guards. 

"More than thirty pounds. Enough to keep us here until he's finished his business, surely?" Shig sounds almost bored, but his eyes are sharp. Dabi would really like to not get into another fight before they've been able to sleep, and after a moment, Shoto nods. 

"Sir," one of the guards sounds like he's going to properly reprimand him. 

"The exile was for my brother. Not this one. If he's a foreigner in a strange land, then the best we can do is show him our hospitality. I will go to tell my father about our visitor." Shoto reaches into a pocket and gets out a wooden talisman that has their family name engraved in it. "For anything you need while you're here." He says, offering it to him. "It's connected to our family funds." And he doesn't say it, but Dabi sees the vindictive flash in his eyes as he hesitantly reaches to take it. Shoto is taller than him. He saw his brother at the summer camp, and they were the same height. The bear, fox, coyote, and raven all watching as this happens are also bigger, and Dabi wonders if that's a result of their mixed species. It probably doesn't matter, he just knows that it makes him feel so small even as he tries to keep his spine straight and tries to ensure that this Shoto doesn't see anything waver in him. 

He doesn't want his family's charity, especially not from someone who isn't his. But he wants to know who this Toya Todoroki was, if he had just as much reason to want to burn this village to the ground, if he might have had his own grudge against his father that he was just waiting for. He wants to know why he was exiled. He takes the talisman and drops it into his pocket without looking, drawling instead, "My companion is rather large," still at least two and a half lengths longer than any of the other creatures here, even the bear woman who stands nearly half a meter taller than Dabi himself, "Any place in town that can accommodate us comfortably?"

"Well, I think that the Third Cherry would have the room." Shoto's eyes spark with his delight. "It's the large building on the main square with the red shingles. They should be able to provide anything that you need. I'll come by after my shift and we can go see Natsuo and Mom." Dabi bristles slightly. He never wanted to see Natuso again in his pursuit of getting his revenge, definitely never wanted to be in the same room as his mother. Natsuo was the only one who he thought was okay, who he didn't think deserved to burn, but his mother? Fuyumi? Those two had rolled over for everything Enji did. Even when Rei shattered, she crumbled and let him sweep her dust under the rug by putting her in the hospital while Dabi was left as nothing but a pile of glass shards looking to lash out at everything that he could cut. And to his knowledge, Fuyumi had gone off to college and then gone right back home to play housemaid for their father instead of cutting ties. It curls his lip and makes his stomach sour. 

"I'm here for business, not to catch up with some people I don't know." He says with as much dry venom as he can.

Shoto really looks at him then, his brows pulled together slightly, something that isn't quite pity in his eyes so much as it is... disappointment. Acceptance maybe. "Of course, but you see, Natsuo, Rei, and I are the only witches in the city." 

Of fucking course they are.

///

Dabi is able to walk with Shigaraki through the city, people darting out of the way for the naga with looks of abject terror. He sees plenty of other animal-people hybrids that he would expect to be dangerous, plenty more dogs, cats, boars, bears, and the like-- though he does note that the majority of them are all in guard uniforms, with most shop venders being... prey. Animals like deer, squirrels, rabbits, sparrows, sheep, and the like. There are some bigger prey animals that he sees moving larger bundles of wheat or bags of fish, but he doesn't see any prey at all that are dressed as guards. Neither he nor Shigaraki speak as they make their way through the main square, easily spotting a couple of other inns, but the largest of them is absolutely the one with the red shingles. He's not expecting that to put a little twist of worry in his gut. He doesn't know this Shoto, not that he even knows his real brother, but he doesn't like the idea of going somewhere that could result in their being found easily. But at the same time, he can't very well hide away from him if he really is one of the witches that Dabi is here to speak with. 

So they go to the Third Cherry and the deer at the front desk looks absolutely terrified when she sees Shigaraki. "We need a room," he pulls the seal out of his pocket and sets it on the counter between them. "On the Todoroki's generosity." 

The woman still looks like she would rather bolt than take out the logbook and see what she has available, but she does it anyway. "W-we have the bonding room on the top floor available. I-it--" Her voice squeaks as she rushes through the next words, "It's the only one with a bed large enough for your companion. But I can get you a separate--"

"That won't be necessary." Shigaraki cuts in, the 's' in the word lilting in a way that he's never heard him speak before as his tongue flicks out. "We'll be sharing the bonding room." 

Dabi wants to ask why a hotel has a room explicitly made for families, but then he considers that the secondary species might have closer family relationships than he's used to, and is completely distracted by the musings when the deer is quick to go on, "Of course, sir!" Her hand shakes as she picks up a quill and starts to write into the ledger. "A name for the room, or should I put it under 'Todoroki'?" 

"Shigaraki." Dabi tells her. He doesn't know if Shoto knows his chosen name, and he knows that no one should know Shigaraki's. "If someone comes looking for 'Toya', you can send up word, but my companion and I would prefer not to be bothered unexpectedly and would like to keep our privacy intact." He doesn't have fangs to bear, but the slow smile that he knows stretches his staples in horrible ways at the edges of his lips seems to be enough to help him to get his point across very clearly. 

"Yes, sir." She swallows, her eyes flicking from him to Shigaraki, and then back to him again, "T-the bonding suite comes with an hour in the bathing pools as well as a full meal prepared and arranged in your room. Would you... like to schedule that?" 

"We've been traveling for quite a distance," Shigaraki interjects smoothly. "If it's available, we would like to do both as soon as possible before we retire." 

"Yes, sir," Her voice is still a little frantic as she answers them. "We can have that arranged. Is there anything else?" 

"Fish, meat substitutes for the meal," Shigaraki tells her. "No meat." 

The look that crosses her face then seems more... confused than frightened then and Dabi feels his face flush slightly. He hasn't ever seen Shigaraki eat. He knows that he's hunted, knows he ate the first body he offered him, but he didn't think that he might be deliberately choosing to not eat in front of him to keep him from being upset. He wants to tell the other that he isn't some fair maiden with such delicate sensibilities that he can't handle the reality of what Shigaraki eats. 

"Meat is fine," he tells her. "Just make sure there's also fish and whatever substitutes you have." 

Her eyes flick back to Shigaraki, looking for approval, but he just inclines his head towards Dabi, seeming to show that he is the one that she should take into account first. "Of course." She finishes making her notes in the ledger and then turns to get a big, ornate key off of the wall behind her, handing it to him instead of the naga. "Top floor," she gestures to the double staircase that leads up from the first floor, "There will be a knock on your door when the bathing chamber is ready for you. Your meal will be prepared while you are in the baths." That's more than enough for him and he collects the talisman before he and Shigaraki turn to go upstairs. He's feeling the ache in his side, the dirt on his skin, and he wants to be clean, fed, and able to lay down in a real bed to rest until Shoto shows up.

He and Shigaraki head upstairs and he sees that there must be four floors to this building, the grand staircase going only to the second before it turns into a large hallway, at the end of which is a more normal and modest one that they take up the additional floors. He isn't surprised, based on the size of the building from the outside, that there are a good number of rooms on those floors. But when they get to their own, things start to differ clearly. The top floor only has four doors, three on one side of the hall, and a singular one on the opposite. When Dabi looks down at the key, he doesn't think he's really all that surprised to see the number for the single door. Shigaraki says nothing as they unlock it, though Dabi almost immediately wants to turn around and head back downstairs to say that, actually, this is too much, because the room inside is massive. Immediately he is blasted by light from an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, the area so big that it a bed that make a California King look like it it might be modest, a massive dining table that is low to the ground that could probably seat a dozen, but that only has two cushions set out. He doesn't understand that, nor does he think that a large lounge area with a full bar is entirely necessary either. 

But before he can say anything about all of this, Shigaraki is coaxing him gently into the room and he's going because even though this is excessive, that bed really is probably the only one in the world that would allow Shigaraki to fit comfortably on it. They get inside and close the door behind them and Dabi is left at a loss of what to do, having never been in a hotel this grand even on his own planet. it's not like he has luggage or anything to put down. Shigaraki moves through the room, going to a decently sized wardrobe that Dabi hadn't even noticed was built into the wall, and opening it. Inside hangs two crisp, off-white robes with pants and a cropped wrap top, a pair of similarly pale slippers beneath them and a small wicker hamper in the corner of the closet.

"Here, you can put this on and we can leave the hamper by the door. They will do their best to wash your clothes, though I can't make any guarantees." He doesn't want to get the clothes dirty with his sweat, but he does go behind the screen to change into the robe, hoping that the bath will be ready soon as he makes sure his phone and the talisman are tucked away so that they can't be stolen. When he's finished that, Dabi ends up pacing the room, it's more than large enough to do so, and Shigaraki watches him from where he's coiled himself up on the couch. 

"Do you know anything about the witches here?" 

"...Only that they were related. I had no idea that the you who must have existed here was also related to them." Shigaraki considers his next words for a long moment in a way that has Dabi locking in on him. "I wasn't certain, but the rabbit I was chasing before you appeared, it smelled like you. I thought that my nose was confused, that I had only been able to lock onto your smell through the smoke and ash, but if that person was you before you came here, then the Toya Todoroki here was a rabbit." 

That's an indignity that Dabi doesn't like to think about, though he doesn't know if it's better or worse-- "Let's not tell them that I might’ve vaporized him by turning into a fireball on impact. I don't know if they'll give me any help getting home if they think I killed their brother." He means for the words to be mostly flippant as he flops into place beside Shigaraki on the couch. But they don't feel it when the other man's sharp red eyes never waver from him. 

"It's a surprise they're offering you any assistance at all if he was exiled from this place." He says with deliberate slowness. Dabi had caught that comment, but he had filed it away for later. Shigaraki seems to think it's important enough to bring up now though. "If he was exiled then he must have broken an extremely severe law or someone wanted him out of the picture. Exiling a prey is a death sentence." He stresses. "The fact that this version of your brother greeted you without malice and with a willingness to allow you to speak with other members of his family, makes me think that the latter scenario is the more likely." 

"Wouldn't surprise me," Dabi says, only hesitating a few seconds before he decides that there isn't much risk in telling this version of Tomura more. "My father is a bastard and he had a habit of throwing away anyone who couldn't help him get closer to his goals. If this Toya didn't have the magic that he wanted, then I guarantee he wanted him gone." He pauses, "You said he was a rabbit?" 

Shigaraki hums in agreement. "A rabbit in a family of witches and wolves would be a dangerous thing-- for the rabbit. Witches can defend themselves and have a more singular reasoning than others with secondary species. I can't imagine the amount of stress that Toya Todoroki must have been under if he was surrounded by wolves." 

Dabi... isn't expecting that comment to put something sour in his chest. An ache that goes right through him as he realizes that even in an entirely other world, he was still born unlucky. He still wasn't what he was expected to be. He was still thrown out. Fuck. Is he just wrong in every universe? He never thought much about the afterlife, about String Theory, or alternate universes or whatever. His eyes were always on the goal directly ahead of him. But two worlds that show him that he... just wasn't meant to have an easy life or to succeed leaves him with that sourness trying to root itself through his entire body. 

He attempts to shake it by asking, "What's so special about a 'bonding room'? The way she was squirming made it seem like she was worried about giving us the honeymoon suite." 

"What's a 'honeymoon'?" Shigaraki asks him before answering his question.

Dabi rolls his eyes, waving his hand flippantly, "It's a holiday that newlyweds take so they can fuck." 

"Oh, then yes, it is just like that." Shigaraki isn't making eye contact with him anymore, the very tip of his tail flicking slowly and... nervously against the floor. 

The heavier thoughts that had been rattling around in his head come to a sudden stop as he tries to put things together. "What?" 

Shigaraki still doesn't look up at him and Dabi doesn't think he's ever seen the giant snake acting like such a guilty dog before. "In our world, we form bonds. Usually we're drawn together by fate and a scent that calls to us when we're close. When we've found our mate-- or mates-- we participate in a bonding. We cleanse the bodies together, share in a meal, mark one another's skin, and entwine our blood, before we bring our bodies into one as well. Bondings don't have to be as elaborate as all of this," he gestures loosely to the massive room that they've found themselves in. "It can just be a rag, a cup of water, teeth or claws on the neck, and then sex in whatever home the pair have made for themselves. But it is... important. Sacred for wildfolk and walledfolk alike." 

Dabi feels heat rushing back to his face. "So she thinks that we're here celebrating our wedding on the Todoroki's yen?"

"'Yen'?" 

"Fuck you, I know you're smart enough to use context clues to figure that out." He snaps, hating that the sunlight pouring through the window isn't going to help him hide his embarrassment any like it had before sunrise.

Shigaraki sighs softly and turns his attention to him. "Yes. You can clarify to the version of your brother when they come to see us if it's an assumption that displeases you." Shigaraki's eyes slip away from his own again. "But in all truth... I was not chasing the rabbit version of you to hunt. I smelled him as he traveled by my den and I followed my nose to him. He smelled like... overcooked sugar and his terror. I thought it might just be how a rabbit would smell, I haven't hunted many in my life. There are usually stoats, foxes, and wolves in the forest that focus on using those creatures as their main food source, so I usually take to the trees to do my hunting instead. But when I pulled you from the center of that crater of ash you made for yourself, you smelled just the same-- though there was blood on you instead of fear." Shigaraki looks back up at him, that same glimmer of hope that he saw shining in the other man's eyes from when he first asked him about bonds there again. "I know that you aren't from this world, and I would never begrudge you to stay when you have a home that you want to return to, I just hope that you will let me be beside you when you go, so that if that magic can bring the version of you who was from this world back, then I'll be able to meet him." 

Dabi feels like his throat might collapse in on itself, but he still manages to force himself to croak, "What if he doesn't come back?" 

He hates that he can see that there was always a fracture behind that hope, behind any help that Shigaraki has offered him since he pulled him from the ground. "Then I will be very grateful for the time that I've been able to spend meeting you." He smiles and Dabi feels an unexpected pressure coming up from beneath his eyes, the tell-tale ache that he feels now when he is... about to cry. Why? Shigaraki has been kind, but this isn't his fault. He just... picked the wrong fight and ruined Shigaraki's maybe only chance at having a partner. Not his fault, but it still seems like another way he's been fucked over by the entire universe. In this world, this Toya Todoroki wasn't able to live a good life in the city, he was probably stressed out of his mind surrounded by wolves, got exiled, probably was being hunted by other creatures besides Shigaraki, and before he could even meet the person this world said would have been right for him, he got fucking yoinked out of his reality and thrown into a world where... he'll have all of Dabi's criminal reputation and none of the quirk that he needs to actually fight and protect himself. Dabi wants to throw up, wants to cry, because how could the universe be so unfair to him across so many worlds? How could it choose to not just punish him, but make him complicit in punishing Shigaraki too? Sure his boss Shigaraki isn't his favorite person, but snake Shigaraki is... good. He's good, kind, he would have taken such good care of a rabbit who had been exiled and scared. He bets that he would have planted a garden for him instead of helping him gut fish by the stream. 

Before the blood can actually slip over his cheeks or he can find a new way to put his foot in his mouth, there is a light knock on the door. "Sirs?" The voice that calls through it is not the same woman as the front desk, this one a bit lower and possibly masculine, though he's not sure. "The bathing chamber has been prepared for you." 

Shigaraki gets up, "I'm sure that you're more than ready to be properly clean." He says easily as he moves over to the door quickly and easily, opening it before the fox has left. 

He sees them duck their head slightly. "Would you like your meal brought up for you after your bath?" 

"Yes. We traveled through the night and will be retiring after we've bathed and eaten." He tells her easily. 

"Of course. Your meal will be put out in an hour, unless you would like us to delay it further?" 

"No, an hour should be more than sufficient." He looks up, whatever wistfulness, hopefulness that was in his eyes has been so neatly put away and he smiles without that fracture in it even though Dabi feels even more like a mess of shattered glass. "Ready, Dabi?" 

He feels numb, but he makes himself get up from the edge of the couch and shoves his feet back into the slippers, feeling smaller than even his stature makes him here as he walks over to them. The fox turns and leads them down the stairs, back to the first floor, and into a large, open onsen. There aren't other people inside, but it is mid-morning and based on the bustle from the streets outside, Dabi expects that most people are already out and doing their work for the day. But they don't stop at the public onsen. The worker brings them to a private chamber that contains a large, sunken tub-- not nearly as large as the bed upstairs, but clearly made so that two bearfolk or other large creatures would be able to enter it comfortably. The main tub is full of steaming water, but there is also a rudimentary shower set-up, and a table with a variety of soaps, scrubs, loofahs, and the like as well as one with towels, and hooks mounted on the wall for their robes. 

"If you need anything else, please ring the bell for an attendant." 

"Thank you." 

The fox bows their head again, "Congratulations," and then they turn to leave. 

Dabi's skin bristles, but Shigaraki doesn't seem concerned. This is an onsen, and he is from the wilds. No one wears clothes there. Dabi isn't normally concerned about nudity himself, not when he knows that he has a lot more to deal with if he ever is stripped naked in front of other people, but he knows that the nudity feels different now because now he knows... that Shigaraki thinks that they're mates. That if Dabi belonged in this world, that even if he doesn't, he would want to bond with him, that the idea had brought him some kind of joy that he didn't know he would even be capable of offering to any other person, let alone Shigaraki of all people. Even if this Shigaraki is nothing like the one that he knew from his reality. 

The other man just goes over, not paying him any mind, and turns on the shower head and moves so that it can cascade over his head, wetting his hair and taking the dirt from his skin. Dabi hadn't noticed it before, but he sees the water cutting through the grime, sees his tail coil up beneath him, scales moving against themselves and looking like oil, as he tries to get himself clean. Dabi takes a breath. Shigaraki hasn't pushed anything about the bonding and if he does, Dabi knows how to tell him 'no'. He thinks that... he would stop. He hasn't ever done anything else that would tell him otherwise. He hangs his robe and goes over to the second shower head, set just beside the first, and cranks the water to as hot as he can stand it, letting the water take the smell of sweat, blood, and dirt from his skin, and he tries to wall up any other thoughts that could distract him from the simple, animal pleasure of getting clean. 

///

The bath is wonderful, when he lets himself soak up that by itself. He makes sure to scrub his body with the offered soaps until he finally smells and feels clean. Then he and Shigaraki both get into the larger pool together. Shigaraki has to coil his tail twice to fit inside of it comfortably, and the water he displaces with his bulk is nearly a small tidal wave even though he clearly tries to do it gingerly. Dabi laughs at him, and he pouts on the other end of the tub from him, his torso at least. Dabi's legs still brush against his scales as they sat together. And when an hour has passed, there was a knock at the door again to alert them that their meal was waiting for them in their room. Dabi pulls himself out of the water first, going to retrieve one of the towels and drying off as Shigaraki attempts to do the same. His scales don't hold onto a lot of water, but he has a lot of scales to get through, and once Dabi has pulled his robe back over his body, he has to take pity on him. He picks up one of the extra towels and moves over to him, 

"Come on, I want to go eat and sleep." 

Shigaraki doesn't protest the help, and when they're both dry enough to make their way back to their room, they do so, leaving the bathing chamber without difficulty. When they get back up to their room, Dabi immediately pales as he sees the amount of food that has been put out on the table. The entire thing, from end to end, is covered in dishes. vegetables, fish, rice, soup, cuts of meat sliced so thin and delicately that Dabi would have no way of telling what person they came from. His nose is hit with the smell of spices that are familiar to him, and he has to force himself to go put on the pants and wrap from the closet instead of setting upon the feast ravenously. 

But seeing that plenty when he makes himself take a second to pause before he can sit and enjoy it, he thinks he finally understands the distinction that Shigaraki said there was between the plants that he's cultivated in his garden and what the people of this city are accustomed to. That amount of food could feed a dozen-- maybe two dozen, and it's been provided for just their enjoyment. Even for a wedding, that is a lot, especially if they don't have refrigeration here, which, given the oil lanterns, he's really doubting that there is any electricity here at all. This is too much. 

The fact he's been given so little all of his life nearly takes away his appetite, but he's forced himself to eat things that had no business being in his mouth just to survive. He isn't about to make that harder by being stubborn now when he's been given a feast after choking down fish for so long. He goes over to the table and finds that Shigaraki has poured them both a glass of water and one of saké as well. Dabi surveys the table and he finds that the food here, like the language, is all mostly traditional Japanese fare, and that puts him more at ease. That means that he just has to avoid anything that is made of meat from his world to avoid it here. Dabi deliberately decides to lock away whatever part of his brain that wants to worry about the fat used to cook things in, the butter, the stocks that must have been used, and the eggs that he can see as toppings and mixed into the fried rice. As long as he's not eating an actual dead body, he is not going to think about it. 

Dabi serves himself and Shigaraki does as well, the snake gravitating towards the many plates of raw meat that has been put out. There is a little table-top grill that has been brought up, filled with coal and accompanied by flint to use to start the fire, but Shigaraki doesn't bother to cook any of the meat. "Do you just prefer your meals raw or are you trying to limit your indulgence with city stuff?" He asks, before he's shoving a bite of rice into his mouth. 

"Both, I suppose. But I doubt that nature herself will punish me for a few days of this after choosing the wilds and staying there for seven years now." 

Dabi pauses, "You lived here before?" 

"Not here," Shigaraki tells him easily. "But yes, I did live in a city, I was born in one." He seems to consider his next words, but perhaps like Dabi weighed how much telling him his past would do, he seems to decide that Dabi's ears are worthy of hearing his own. "The city I was born in was very far away, nearly a year's travel, and my mother was a sheep and my father was an ox." Shigaraki meets his eyes across from him at the table, deliberately taking a bite of his food, telling him, without words, that he won't go on if he thinks that Dabi is going to stop eating as he listens. Dabi shoves something else into his mouth. He doesn't know how his Shigaraki ended up in the care of AFO, but if there is a world where he gets back where he belongs, it's probably going to come through whatever version of All For One is here. That creep has to be a witch, and he will probably have all of the power that he needs to send Dabi home.  

"It's rare, normally a child is one of their parent's species, but I didn't fit in. I didn't start to show signs of finding my secondary species until I was already close to five, when most do so at three, sometimes even younger. And I became a snake. That was... a horrifying process for them to watch from the outside, I'm sure. But I don't remember much beyond how itchy I was when my scales were growing in, and how hot my body was from the fever. I think my father would have caved in my skull if he'd actually had the stomach for that kind of violence." Shigaraki takes another cut of the meat and dips it into one of the small dishes of sauces littered around the table. "But he only hit me the first time I begged for meat instead of vegetables that they were starving me on. It was stupid of him to hit a starving predator, and I didn't remember that night for a long time. I do now. I had to take my sister's arms off her torso to get her down my throat, but she was the only one small enough that I could manage that with. I fled the city with my stomach full, and a powerful witch happened upon me not too long later, and took me in." 

"What happened to him?" He asks, unable to keep the eagerness out of his voice. He only realizes belatedly that he shouldn't have asked that first, "Fuck, sorry-- Sorry about your family being shit. I... I get it." He doesn't want to tell him just how little his father cared for him, that he had been too weak to ever fight back as violently as it sounds like Shigaraki was able to. 

"I take it that there is a person like my teacher in your world?" 

Dabi ducks his head slightly, "...Yeah. He's powerful." 

"He was here too. He would have been fascinated to hear about your world. But when I was fifteen, he got into a fight with a rival he had been dealing with for decades. They both perished in the fight. After that, I had the choice of trying to find a home for myself alone in the city we had been settled in, or going away from it all and living wildly. I chose the latter and have been doing so ever since." 

Fuck. "Sorry." He says again. He always was creeped out by the guy, but it does seem like Shigaraki's got some cruel luck across the universes as well if he just can't keep his father figure in his life no matter what he tries. 

"I've mourned him," it's such a flat statement, so at ease and so practiced when Dabi doesn't know if Shigaraki has even spoken to anyone else after he left his city. He could have been alone in that cave for years just telling himself those words to make the ache of the loss better. "And I would prefer to look towards the future. We shouldn't linger if we want to get any sleep before your brother's shift ends. Perhaps when he visits, your family will hold the solution to your problems." 

Dabi still feels hollow as they both turn their attention completely back to the food. He wonders if there really is something to what Shigaraki told him about nature's curse on the inhabitants inside the city when he ends up eating so much more than he usually does just to make that hollowness abait a bit. 

///

He wants there to be a solution. He wants things to be easy, but when a knock on the door wakes them from their sleep, their bodies not needing to be pressed together to share heat in the massive bed, and Dabi is forced to see his mother and brothers again, he is hit with the unpleasant reality that there just isn't. Natsuo and Rei don't have ears or a tail like Shoto, and they seem to find it more than a bit off-putting that he doesn't, that they have to tell him what his life was like here. That the Himuras are primarily a family of snow hares with occasional witches in their bloodline and that the Todorokis were wolves with genes of a similar magical stock. That Enji had been trying to breed an heir that was both a witch and wolf here, getting it in Shoto, and Toya losing his magic at twelve when he burned himself badly as he tried to train and prove he could still be useful even as a prey. Fuyumi has no magic and is a wolf, Natuso has no secondary species and is a witch. A healer specifically, who is more than happy to put his cold hands on Dabi's side and take away any trace of the wound he came here with. The scars, the staples, those are too old for him to do anything about, but he is just glad that he gets this much help. Especially when none of them have ever even heard about magic that can reach across worlds like this. They promise to look into it, but given how trade between cities is, just from what Tomura has told him about these little outcroppings of civilization, he understands that this is something that will probably take... months of travel. Of research. And they can't stay here this long, even if this version of his family seems to more than delight in them using Enji's fortune to get whatever they need. Dabi is quick to wheedle out where the next closest witch is, and that is something they tell him reluctantly. Another city. Two weeks of travel. 

It feels strange when the three of them give him hugs on their way out, but when they go, it's with a desperate look in their eyes like they want to keep him close even though he is a stranger to them. It makes more of that horrible hollowness bloom inside of him as he wonders if that's... how his family would feel about him if he ever showed himself to them. He doesn't say anything when they've gone. The staff collected the leftovers from their meal earlier and he and Shigaraki only got a handful of hours of sleep before they arrived, and he feels so much more exhausted than he did when they first woke up. He's glad the naga doesn't push at that and lets him just crawl back into the bed for sleep. 

Shigaraki doesn't say anything, but he slips back into the bed with him, close enough this time to press their spines together as they settle in for sleep again. It's such a small thing, but Dabi still nearly lets his seams split beneath his eyes as they ache with unshed, bloody tears. 

///

Two weeks of travel is a lot of travel. Just two days were dangerous for him, but Dabi needs to find a way home and this is all he can think of. So the next day, urged to keep the amount of people who see him small, he asks Shigaraki to go out and use the seal to buy anything he thinks that he'll need for traveling that long. And without fail, Shigaraki does. He comes back with a travel pack, a backpack made out of durable, if rustic fabric, a small sewing kit for any tears, a blanket and liner that can be stuffed with dry leaves for sleeping, a knife, some rations, a canteen, trowel, small pot and spoon, and other supplies for things like foraging and fishing. 

"We can leave tomorrow at dusk." He tells him as Dabi inspects all of the supplies. He never really had to camp, his time homeless spent in cities, but he thinks that this will be more than enough to get him through this time without issue. Sure, he's going to have to be careful to keep himself safe from predators, but he-- 

"'We'?" Dabi looks up, a small frown tugging at the edge of his lips. "You don't have to come with me. I mean, thank you for getting me this far, but I'm not going to make you stay with me when you have a place of your own to go back to." 

And Shigaraki doesn't miss a beat when he says, "There isn't anywhere in the world I would rather be than by your side, Dabi." 

It puts that lump right back in his throat. "I'm not your mate." 

"You could be," Shigaraki's voice is gentle when he says it. "But I know that you just want to go home and I wouldn't ask you to tie yourself here to be with me." He doesn't look away from him as he goes on, "But I can be with you for as long as I'm able while you're here. That is what I want. But if you would prefer to make your way without my company, then I will let you go." 

No one has ever wanted to hold onto him as badly as Shigaraki is saying that he does and Dabi hates that he feels like he's been fighting back tears for two days, because he can't keep up that fight any more. His vision mists red as pain starts in his eyes, blood slipping down his cheeks as he gives into that horrible ache in his chest. And this Shigaraki can't stop trying to be helpful, to be sweet, because he comes right into his space, he pulls him close and tucks his head underneath his chin and strokes his skin so softly as he embraces him. He holds onto him and doesn't say a word as Dabi falls apart. 

Two worlds. Two versions of himself, and he wasn't wanted by anyone in either. He was born wrong, chewed up by his father's ambitions, put through the agony of burning, and then still thrown away. Even if it took longer for it to happen to the Dabi who lived here, he still lost all of it. He would have never been able to get the revenge that he deserved. Would have never gotten any of it. Would have lived a short, awful life in the wilds if Shigaraki hadn't found him and tried to go to him to be his mate. And Dabi took that away from him. Is in the arms of someone that doesn't belong to him and that he shouldn't have. 

Shigaraki keeps holding him as he cries though, and it takes a long time for him to stop. When he finally manages to quell the emotions in him and tries to straighten out of the embrace to insist that the serpent lets him make his way through this world on his own so he can actually go find a real mate instead of holding onto him, if he even has another option out in the world, Shigaraki doesn't let the words leave his lips. His hand comes to his chin and he tilts his head up, dipping his own so that he can lick away some of the blood on his cheeks. 

"Don't--" The word hitches on his breath, another agonizing pang going through his chest as he knows that this is part of the way that they could be bonded properly. 

"Shh, you never have to belong to me, Dabi." He promises. "But I am yours for as long as you are in this world." 

And that brings a fresh ache of tears along his cheeks. Shigaraki doesn't hesitate to lick them away, to hold him close, to press soft kisses against his brow, over his cheeks, his eyelids, his nose. But he doesn't take his lips. It's the reckless, selfish, desperate need in him for something to be good when the world has shown him again and again that wasn't ever in the stars for him. He's the one who tilts his head up and presses his lips to Shigaraki's, and the truth is that that doesn't feel good either. He hasn't ever kissed anyone before, and just skin-to-skin is really nothing but the texture of their lips together, him able to feel the solidness of his fangs behind them, and wondering how his burned lip feels against the other's mouth. 

But like with everything else that he's done for him since Dabi arrived, Shigaraki guides him so gently. He threads his hands through his hair at the nape of his neck, cradling his skull carefully and tilting him so that he is in the position that he wants. His mouth slants back over his again, much more carefully, much softer, and Dabi lets out a weak sob as he tries to hold onto him, his fingers biting into his chest like if he just holds onto one thing it won't turn to ash in his hands like everything else. 

Shigaraki kisses him slow and sweet, moving his lips against Dabi's and making it feel... better. Nicer than the mash of their lips before. He keeps his hands above his neck, doesn't prod his lips with his tongue, doesn't try to give him the passion or violence that Dabi has always associated with sex and has been the reason he's avoided even the suggestion of it since he was so young. He's the one who pulls away and Shigaraki lets him, his grip immediately loosening, red eyes searching his face. 

"You should be with someone who can stay." He hates the rough croak in his voice, but he hates it even more when he lets himself fall apart when Tomura brushes away another tear from his cheek as he murmurs, 

"I want to be with you." 

Dabi is the one who pushes in again and Tomura takes him back. Holds onto him, pulls him closer, and he kisses him hotter this time. He uses his strength to catch him around his waist, arms encircling him completely and able to lift him up so that he can pull him into his body. He knows that he shouldn't let himself have this, but the show of strength, being made to feel so small in his arms as he picks him up, makes his whole body warm in a way that feels like the first threads of embarrassment, but turns sweeter beneath his skin instead of souring him. He brings his arms up around Tomura's neck, his hands tangling into that long mane of white hair that he hasn't gotten to touch before. It's softer than he expected it would be against his palms, and Tomura's tongue feels even stranger than he considered it might when it flicks imploringly against his lips. He doesn't know what he's doing, but he opens his mouth for the kiss that he wants so badly. He lets that forked tongue push in past his lips, lets it taste him and tries to taste him in turn. All the can make out is the copper tang of his own blood, but it doesn't matter, not when the probing touches of it inside of his mouth is sending more of that good, bright heat burning through him, burning away the melancholy that has been clinging so closely to him since this all started, maybe since he went wrong as a child. 

Tomura starts to move and Dabi squeaks, his legs instinctively wrapping around his waist at the start of his tail, so that he isn't dropped. The naga hums softly, a delighted sound at the closeness, as he moves them quickly over to the large bed. Dabi is breathless when he breaks the kiss to lower his body onto the bed, not going far as he slithers between his legs, his long hair falling around them in a curtain as he leans over his body. 

"You're so lovely, little one." He murmurs. 

And that makes the broken thing left in his chest try to force him to find some small sliver of decency in this mess. "I can't stay," he tells him, tries to tell him that they need to stop because this isn't fair. 

"You never have to, Dabi." He murmurs back, hand coming up to cup his face. "You never have to do this, never have to be mine in even the most basic way. You will always have my assistance and devotion while you are in this world." He promises him something that no one in two worlds has ever bothered with and Dabi doesn't know how not to be selfish as his whole body grows even warmer.

"I-- I don't-- I've never," He hasn't ever had to own up to that. It never bothered him that he didn't have sex before, he didn't think it was all that important, didn't think that anyone would ever want to touch him in the first place, and that he didn't need it before he got his revenge. And nothing would matter after that. But now he feels terribly inadequate as he is pinned beneath the weight of the goliath that is over top of him, his body already so different from Dabi's own that he would have been fumbling for that alone, and yet he still has to find a way of making this work. 

He's not expecting for Tomura's pupils to blow, for him to hiss softly as he presses back in to give him a kiss that seems to lick the air out of Dabi's lungs from how deep and hungry that it is. Dabi hasn't ever felt his... arousal start to build like this, normally only finding it in his sleep, and he isn't ready for the way that it makes every inch of his skin start to feel like it's more sensitive and tingly than it was just a second before. He's gasping for breath when Tomura pulls away again, his mouth immediately dipping to his neck as he breathes in his scent so deeply. 

"I'll make you feel good," he promises, his own voice thicker with his lust. "I'll have you howling your pleasure so loudly that no one in this entire building doubts that I am doing right by my blushing bride." 

Dabi's whole body goes even hotter at that, blood rushing to his cheeks as he blushes so brightly, proving the snakefolk right. "I'm not a girl." 

"No, and you're not my mate either." He says, his hands starting to move up to the tie that keeps the shirt he's been given in place. "But we could pretend for a little while." His voice is low, his lips against his throat and trailing down to his collarbone as his fingers tease that knot and Dabi's whole body feels like it is on the verge of melting in a way that he never has before. "You can be my bride, my lovely girl that I get to make feel so good for the first time. I promise that I'll make certain that your cunt, your clit, your pretty tits, every inch of my baby girl's body feels so good." Every word only makes Dabi's head foggier with heat. He thinks that his quirk might be boiling his brain in his skull. That's the only explanation for the reason that such words, that the thought of being... a girl for Tomura, is making his cock start to harden as he goes on. 

Dabi hears a tiny sound, a little whimper in the space between their bodies and it takes so long for him to realize that was him. He never thought he could sound like that, could feel like this when the other man has barely touched him, when he's desperate to be touched at all for the first time in his life. He must be delirious with the heat in his head to make him nod it weakly. 

Tomura gives him another scorching kiss, even though every place their skin is touching is chilled from his scales and skin, before his fingers deftly pull loose the knot on Dabi's shirt. The serpent knows what he's doing, knows how to kiss Dabi so deeply that his whole body is singing for more as his hands, his strong, large hands that make Dabi feel fragile beneath them, are able to lift him enough to gently take the fabric from around his chest before those same hands are moving over his skin. Dabi doesn't know what to do with his own, and ends up tangling his fingers in the sheets as Tomura's move across his chest. He has been made very aware that most of the other duel-species creatures that they've met are larger than him. He's known from the moment he woke in Shigaraki's den that he was so much smaller than the other man, but having him put a hand on his chest and being able to cup the entirety of the muscle in one palm makes his body flood with his arousal. He's never been particularly tall, but he was always intimidating from how he looked with his scars and the attitude that he cultivated for himself. But he's seen Tomura snap bones with barely an effort, knows that he could cave in his chest around his palm faster than Dabi could light his body on fire, and he is suddenly overwhelmed with the reality of just how large and powerful the other man is. 

And he wants him. 

Tomura proves it as his fingers rub against his nipples, his mouth dipping down to lick along his scars and the seam that cuts over his chest without an ounce of disgust or hesitation. "You're so beautiful, princess." He murmurs. "Ever since I saw you-- I was certain that you must have been a star that was plucked from the sky, you were so radiant when I found you."  

Dabi hasn't ever heard himself let out such a sound, but the wounded keen that comes from his throat is nearly as humiliating with how hard his is cock at those words. Tomura doesn't seem to think that any of this is embarrassing though, his hands moving down his waist as he kisses along his chest, his mouth replacing his fingers over one nipple, his lips rough against his skin, but the softness of his tongue and the dexterity of the two-pronged tip of it as it tugs at his piercings there making Dabi moan again. He tries to bite his lip to keep the sound inside, especially when Tomura shifts between his legs, putting the weight of his tail more firmly between them, higher along them, so that he can definitely feel Dabi's hard cock against his body, and Dabi can feel the coolness and the texture of his scales through the thin fabric. 

"Oh, princess," his voice is nearly a purr, hissing out those ‘s’ sounds in a way that has a shiver going down Dabi's spine as he feels and hears just how foreign Tomura's body is against his own. "Let me make you feel good?" 

It's so hard for him to find his tongue, and he still barely manages as he gives a weak nod. "Please, Tomura--" 

But he doesn't have to beg. Shigaraki is more than willing to move his hands down as he kisses along his stomach, until he's at his waist band. He unties that as well on either side and Dabi shivers as he moves away from him, letting the cool air of the room rush across his overheated skin as he sits up a bit. Tomura makes him slip the fabric from his legs and Dabi trembles as his eyes roam over his body so voraciously. It wasn't like this when they bathed together. Not at all. This is a look that changes the nudity to nakedness, to a prelude to the raw desire that alights every feature across Tomura's face as he presses back between his legs, hands curving over his hips and teasing his claws along the inside of Dabi's thighs. Despite the heat of his body, that light prickling sensation that comes so bluntly with the knowledge that if he wanted to, Tomura could split his skin all the way down to the artery, gooseflesh starts to prickle against his skin there. It doesn't keep his prick from aching between his legs beneath the hungry stare at Tomura is giving him. 

"Such a pretty clit, baby girl," he purrs, bringing a hand so he can carefully trail a single finger along the underside of him. Dabi has never felt himself so sensitive, never thought that being spoken to like that would have him biting his lip hard to keep another moan smothered even as the way his clit twitches shows Shigaraki how much he likes it. "Are all of the people in your world so decorated?" 

He manages to weakly shake his head. He only got the piercings because he thought the empty spots of his skin looked even worse. Because he just wanted a few pieces of metal in him that he picked for himself. 

Tomura doesn't close his hand around to stroke him, but his tail swishes as the naga leans back in to give him another kiss that makes Dabi feel like he's offered his body up as a feast for this creature. He's not sure that he would even have a chance to feel betrayed if Tomura did kill him, not when his whole body is already strung out on the anticipation of the intangible more that every touch and kiss seem to promise him. He hears wood against wood, feels the shift in the bed, and he pulls away so that he can see what the other man is doing. He brings his tail back from the edge of the bed, a corked bottle in his grip as he does. He pulls the cork out and spills the liquid inside over Dabi's skin, making him shiver from how cool the oil is as it drips along his clit. 

"Never been such a sweet little girl for anyone else," Tomura murmurs. "But have you ever touched your clit, baby? Rubbed it until you're left trembling and messy?" 

Dabi isn't sure he's going to be able to blush any hotter without actually turning into a fireball on this massive bed. But Tomura won't touch him again without an answer and he barely manages to shake his head. 

Tomura smiles at him, a look that he might have mistaken as sweet and innocent if he had given it to Dabi at any other time. "Good, let me show you your first pleasure then too, princess." He presses his tail back against Dabi's body, the muscles shifting beneath his scales even as he stays stationary above him. Dabi can't help crying out, his whole body going taut as he feels the smooth, repeating texture of Shigaraki's scales against him. The oil makes him slick and Dabi can't help rolling his hips up, trying to get even more friction. "That's it, baby girl," he purrs, his hands going to Dabi's thighs and then he rolls him so that Dabi is slumped against his body, clinging to his torso as the change in angle has his crotch pressed even tighter against Tomura's tail. He moans loudly, trying to rub himself against him. He knows that sex is supposed to be more than this-- he doesn't even know if Tomura has a dick-- but the sensation against him now makes him so desperate to hump him like he's nothing but an eager dog. 

"T-Tomura," he should figure out how to do this right. This is the only thing that has felt good for him in so long, he doesn't want to ruin it all by being so completely inadequate. 

Shig doesn't hesitate to put one of his large hands against the small of his back, making Dabi roll his hips to get more of that perfect pressure against himself, another moan tumbling off of his lips. "Come on, princess, you can feel good. Let me see how pretty you look as you rub your cute clit against my scales." 

Whatever thread of Dabi's sanity was left, snaps completely after that. He moans again and lets go. He loses himself in the slick slide, the soft texture, and the wonderful friction of the other's body beneath his. He rubs his clit against his tail the way that he's seen girls in bars rub themselves against their boyfriend's thighs when they get too drunk and horny to remember that they're in public. He lets himself chase his pleasure with moans falling off of his lips as Tomura's hands move to his ass to cup either side of him and spread him open as he drags Dabi's body in harder. He devours his lips as his tail moves again, the thickest part stays between his thighs, letting Dabi grind against him and chase that delicious friction, but the tip slithers between his spread ass. It flicks, slick with more oil against his hole, and before Dabi can feel any trepidation over it, the tip starts to push inside, rubbing around the rim of him. That movement paired with the ones of his hips, sends the pleasure across his nerves sparking even higher and he can't stop himself from moaning loudly as he starts to fuck himself on the bare inch of tail he's been given. Tomura's mouth dips to his neck, his fangs so sharp, but never breaking his skin as he devours him. 

Dabi thinks that he should probably be embarrassed when it only takes a few minutes of the movements, his hole getting more and more stretched as Tomura gives him his tail, before his thighs are shaking and his balls are going so tight. He's woken with the mess of an orgasm in his pants before, but he's never sought one out while he was awake, and as his thrusts grow erratic and frantic, Tomura catches him by the chin so that he can watch his face as Dabi falls apart. The realization that this man wants to see him enjoying himself, wants to savor every flicker of pleasure that he's sure is contorting his features, is what sends him over the edge. Dabi lets out a loud moan, eyes shutting, thighs squeezing tightly around Tomura's waist, as he pushes his hips against his roughly one more time before his balls are going so tight and his clit is twitching as it spills all over Tomura's scales. The pulsating pleasure that rushes along his length makes him dizzy as his whole body slumps so bonelessly against the other's chest, that blinding rush of endorphins making him feel like he might melt away into nothing at all. 

And then Tomura is pulling him back into another kiss, a soft hiss leaving his throat as he pushes another length of his tail inside of Dabi's hole, the muscles slacking from his pleasure. The movement has him keening, unable to make sense of just how much it is stretching him as Tomura pushes it inside. He feels one of Tomura's hands leave his skin and he looks down as the naga reaches for his pelvis, for the patch of midnight scales that Dabi flushes to see are painted white with streaks of his spend. He's not expecting to also see that there is a... seam. In Tomura's body. In the place that would have been between his legs if he had those at all. There is a thin parting that is getting wider as oil and Dabi's cum dribble onto it that is flushed as bright as blood on the inside. He watches breathlessly as Tomura doesn't use his fingertips, keeping his sharp claws away from his skin, as he instead bends his knuckles to rub along that seam, a clear fluid dripping out of him as he does so. 

"You look so cute falling apart like that for me, baby girl." The roughness in his voice makes the echoes of Dabi's pleasure sting his nerves, that coming even more sharply when Tomura moves his tail inside of him again, curling it towards Dabi's stomach and pushing it against something that makes his whole body jolt. His spine goes taut as that stinging turns into a burning as his body tries to warm back up for more, greedy for it even though his mind tells him that he's not ready yet. "And your pussy is so warm and tight," Tomura hums, his knuckles dipping into his slit and spreading it open wider so that Dabi can start to see inside of him. "Will you let me fill you up, princess? Let me put my cocks inside and fill you up so much that your tight little cunt thinks that you're swollen with my clutch?" 

Dabi whimpers, worried that his brain is not just boiled at this point, but that it's actively leaking out of his ears as smoke starts to trickle out of his seams. It's all animal instinct to have more of whatever he can get that is making him nod his head weakly as he watches Tomura's... cocks start to press out from his body. They're both thicker and longer than his own as they spill from his body, erect with the same dark coloration at their tips, getting more flushed with his blood and flesh-colored like the inner lips of his slit. He's shaped the way that Dabi expects cocks to be otherwise, and as he gets a look at him, the other man rolls Dabi onto his back again, shifting his weight and pulling his tail out from his cunt. 

His nerves fight through the haze of his body's pleasure and Dabi doesn't manage to find words or move as the other lays him back on the bed. He doesn't know if his trepidation is written across his face, or if the naga can smell his fear, but Tomura pauses too, shifting to cup his face between his palms. Dabi has always felt small against his body, but that is made all the starker now as the sheer size of this creature on top of him blocks out any light not reflected off of his ruby eyes. 

"We can stop, princess." He reassures him so gently that Dabi can't doubt the truth behind the words. 

But he wants to prove to at least one person, to the only person who has bothered to try to stick around in his life and care for him, that he can be worthy of the effort. He wants to make Tomura feel as good as he's made him feel. "Don't stop," he manages to whisper in the space between their bodies. Tomura's features soften, and then he leans back in to give him another kiss. 

It's only when Dabi's distracted by how his long hair is tickling his skin, and how sweet his mouth is against his own, that he coaxes his thighs open wider. His breath catches in the back of his throat as he feels the other man between his legs. Big, all of him is so big, but the twin cocks feel enormous as they prod against his hole. He isn't a snake. He wasn't ever really made to put something so big inside of him, but before he can lose his nerve, the slick cocks are starting to press. Dabi's breath catches in the back of his throat as it happens. 

At first it doesn't feel much different from the other's tail, Tomura easing his body into it as he keeps touching every sensitive inch of his skin, as his mouth descends on his neck again. But he gets a stronger pulse of pressure the further inside of his body that the naga sinks his cocks and weight into him. It doesn't hurt, the slickness easing his way, but by the time he's even halfway inside, Dabi is gasping for breath, so full already that it feels like there isn't room in him for the air. His whole body is starting to go so hot again too, his sore clit starting to fill for a second time as Tomura brings their bodies closer and closer until he's completely intertwined with him. Falling apart. He's falling apart around everything inside of him as he's filled up so completely. 

Dabi is seeing stars by the time Tomura is fully seated inside of him and begins to move. It's nothing like the frantic twitches of his hips that Dabi had managed as he chased his pleasure. This is slow, methodical, a shift against him again and a again that builds up a rhythm along his walls and against his clit as more of those smooth, soft scales rub against him. Tomura shows him how good it can be. Shows him how finding the right pace can heighten everything that came before and Dabi is just clawing at his skin, his throat raw from the sounds that are coming out of him as moans and wordless cries of his ecstasy are torn out of his throat. It's good, too good for him. He wasn't ever supposed to have something so good, this world and his own were constantly telling him that. But he wants it so badly. 

He clings onto Tomura's skin as the other keeps moving inside of him. He pulls him into more desperate kisses as he tries to figure out how to make his weak limbs work enough to roll into the thrusts too as his insides are stretched so wide that there is always a pressure against that place inside of him that spills liquid heat all along his nerves. He feels all of it, savors all of it. And he knows that he's going to crave it every second if he gets back home. 

But those kinds of thoughts threaten to sour the need inside of him, and Dabi lets himself focus on the way he feels as the pleasure builds, on the way that Tomura's body doesn't sweat, but his scales finally start to take on some of Dabi's overabundance of heat as they move together. He sees that his pupils are wide, sees the red of his eyes glinting as he looks down at him like... like he really would take a mate as broken and ugly as he is, and he really would love and cherish him if Dabi gave him the chance. 

He is the one who tugs Tomura back in for another kiss, his body going taut with his need again. Tighter and tighter, his muscles clenching around Tomura's cocks and making him not thrust so much as roll into his body, making sure to rub against every inch of his cunt. And then that tension snaps again. Dabi cries out as his clit twitches again, trapped entirely by Tomura's body as he makes both of their skin sticky and wet as he spills. That tightens his walls more, and that added pressure is already dragging out his second orgasm when Tomura reaches his first. Dabi feels the twitch of his cocks, hears the way that his long tail whips across the sheets in rapid succession, before he is suddenly soaked as Tomura pumps his cunt so full of his cum that even the tight seal of his cocks inside of him isn't enough to keep it all inside. it has to spill out of him again and he is left delirious and moaning as it happens. 

There is so much cum in his body that when the other angles his body up again, keeping him plugged with his cocks inside, Dabi can see that his lower stomach has expanded slightly. Tomura can’t purr, but the soft sound of delight that he makes as he brings a hand there and lets Dabi really feel how swollen his guts are with his cum, makes his pleasure clear and Dabi dizzy. He can’t be pregnant, can’t actually give Tomura a clutch of eggs, isn’t a girl, but this seems to be enough of an illusion of it to keep both of their pleasure ringing through their bodies for an extended period. 

Tomura brings him down from that high with more soft words and kisses pressed against his skin, but he lets his skin stay sticky and sour until Dabi is able to get up and go wash for himself. He can't blame the other for that. They had dinner together, he tasted his blood, he mated him. Dabi already wonders if it feels like torture to be allowed all of those things, but it would be far worse if Tomura let himself do the last thing to make a bond when he knows that Dabi won't reciprocate it. Not now. Not when he has to find a way home. Dabi is letting that sit heavily around his heart, ready to insist that the other go back to his den and not waste any more time on him, only for Tomura to immediately pull him back into the bed and wrap his whole body around Dabi's, making him feel so small, and so cherished as he's held against his chest. 

///

Tomura comes with him the next morning when they leave. Dabi leaves the seal in the mailbox outside of the Todoroki house, making sure that he doesn't see any of the people who are not his family before they go. And Tomura lets him ride on his back again as they travel. He always does. He follows him to the next city, two weeks away. And when the witch there doesn't have any way of helping them, but gives word of another, another three weeks of travel away, Tomura comes with him then too. He never asks Dabi to stay, never hesitates to keep him safe, never pushes him for sex, and alway touches him so gently when Dabi is lost in the anguish of not finding a solution to this predicament. He knows it's not fair to seek comfort in the other man's arms when things keep going wrong, but he keeps doing it, and Tomura keeps telling him that it's alright. That he's happy to have whatever relationship that he can have with him while he's still here. 

He follows him to villages further and further away. He teaches Dabi how to forage, how to tell when there are predators around, and tells him more about the world that he is in now. The cities are bogged down, as he sees as they travel between ones months away from Tomura's burrow, with the same kinds of problems as in his world, even without heroes in play. But things are better here in some aspects because even though the wilds are brutal, people can leave and try to make their way there instead of being trapped the way so many are in his home. The people in the wild aren't villains, but they're the ones who have seen what the cities have to offer and have decided that it wasn't better than the potential of the violence of nature itself. 

The city they're at now is the second largest they've been to, but that still means there have only been five witches for them to speak to. Five, and he has met with every single one as Tomura went to barter for more supplies in case they're sent somewhere new. 

"I've never heard of magic that could cross the space between worlds." It's a refrain that he has come to know well in the past five months of travel. "But there is another witch--" Dabi takes down the name of the city, charting it on the map they bought at the biggest city that they've visited so far. Five months so far. He's been working towards his revenge for eight years, and he tries to tell himself that this is fine. That he can make this happen just like he always worked to make that. But when he goes back to the inn that they're staying at and finds Shigaraki scratching at his neck, a pensive expression on his face, it feels much harder and more hopeless than it did even just half an hour before. 

"Dabi," 

"What's wrong? Were prices bad?" They don't have unlimited funds, but different cities have different rules when it comes to what they accept for trade. This city, with a far larger percent of predators, is more willing to trade with meat. Tomura can usually eat an entire person when he hunts, unless he takes down a particularly large species like a deer, moose, or bear. But when that happens, they butcher whatever he can't eat and Dabi dries the meat into strips of jerky. He still won't eat them, but Tomura can if for some reason he can't go hunting again in a week or two once that meal has finished digesting. He hoped that the jerky would go over well enough here for trade, but things are so subjective from place to place. 

"No, I got everything for our next trip but... I need to go back to my den." 

Dabi has been waiting for those words. For Tomura to finally wise up and realise that he isn't worth all of the trouble that he's caused him. He immediately bites back any bitterness, any sorrow, or other wealth of emotion that he feels building inside of himself. He has been expecting to be abandoned. He isn't allowed to be sad now that it's actually, finally, happening. "Okay, no problem. Thanks for coming so--" Tomura cuts him off, moving into his space and cupping his cheeks in his palms, forcing him to meet his eyes, his own serious and somber. 

"Dabi," and he says his name sometimes the same way he calls him 'firefly', the same way he talks about mates and bonds, and that really only makes the ache in his chest worse. "During the winter, nagas enter a state called brumation. It's similar to hibernation, but we don't sleep completely, we just become much less active to conserve our strength for the coming spring when hunting will be better. I'm not leaving you because I want to be away-- but I won't have the strength to travel. I have to go home to rest." His hand shifts, knuckles brushing against his cheek. "You are more than welcome to come back to my den for the winter, and in the spring, I will take you wherever you need to go to get you home." He promises. "But I understand if that's too long for you to wait for any other possible leads. I know that you have a purpose that you want to go back to and I would never begrudge you that." 

There is too much in his chest, too much in his head. He always feels like there is too much happening to him when it comes to existing in this world. So he forces himself to latch onto one thing: Tomura is not abandoning him. He would stay with him, would keep helping him, if he could. But this is something that is in his nature and beyond his control. Dabi thinks he can travel on his own now, but he knows that he is nowhere near as fast as the naga, and that his senses are dull enough that he could be in far greater danger trying to travel for three months alone than he would be waiting. He already isn't making much progress. But he's spoken to more witches now. Maybe they will have more chatter as people travel for winter holidays, if there are any. 

"Okay, we can go back to your den. Do you need anything to prepare? Do you eat while you're in brumation?" 

The smile that splits Tomura's features before he leans down to press a kiss to Dabi's forehead helps to warm him a bit more than he thought could ever happen before. He tries to let that burn away the shadows lingering around his heart. 

///

They get more supplies, different supplies, so that they can go back to the den and Dabi will be able to live relatively comfortably throughout the winter months. Tomura will mostly be staying deep in the den, the space filled with dried leaves and hay so that it holds onto as much warmth as it can, though Dabi's body lingering in the space will also help keep his companion comfortable, especially when they're sleeping. Tomura won't really eat for three months, but Dabi will, and he gets a couple of big bags of rice that he'll be able to cook along with dried fish and tofu. When the dried things run out, he'll be able to melt the stream and ice fish. He does his best to focus on the practicality of this all, and to that end, he thinks that Shigaraki isn't too worried about him. But when they actually do get back to the den and they finish making the space right for him, Tomura slithers deep into the den and stays there, sleeping most days.

And then Dabi is alone. 

It's not real solitude, because Tomura shifts and pulls him close whenever he comes into the den. He presses his lips to his temples and makes sure that he doesn't need anything, and Dabi curls into his chest and warms his body enough that Tomura is able to focus for longer and not leave him alone with his thoughts. But Dabi can't stay in his arms all day every day, and the hours he spends in the snow makes him so... aware of the heavy cold and thick silence that has fallen over the entire forest. He walks around. There are other creatures out, he sees the evidence of them through the tracks in the snow, but the snow crunches loudly under every step, and he feels like being here has given him an extra sense that keeps him aware when he's being hunted. 

He knows that he's alone when he goes to the large crater, cleared of trees, with snow sloping in on the ground that he shattered when he landed, and stands at the edge of it for a few minutes. There are no tracks here at all, as if all of the other creatures who call this forest home could also sense the strangeness of this occurrence and decided that they would be better off not coming near. Dabi's footprints are the only ones that crack the snow here as he walks down to the cauldron. Maybe it's desperation, maybe it's just stupidity, but Dabi ignores the cold of the snow seeping into the clothes that they bought for him at one of the other villages that had to replace his villain gear when the travel through the untamed wilds wore it down far faster than sneaking through Japan would have. He lays in the snow and looks up at the gray haze of the sky above and a pain so sharp and keen goes aching through him that it takes the breath from his lungs in an automatic sob. 

Years. He spent so many years preparing for the revenge that the League of Villains was supposed to give him. He was so ready to finally reveal himself, to show the world that Enji Todoroki wasn't worthy of the title of hero. He was ready to kill him. He was... ready for this all to be over. But the horses he hitched himself to got him hurt, got him sent here. He's not even sure if there is a person in this entire world who has the magic to send him home. Dabi knows how to be patient, how to bide his time and work to get closer to his goals. But he already waited eight years and his own world isn't waiting for him now. The League is probably going on, maybe the Dabi from here is still with them, though if he doesn't have a quirk anymore, then he won't be of much use to them. He won't know to keep his mouth shut about his family and maybe the Shigaraki that was his boss will think he's too much of a liability. Maybe he'll be dead and if Dabi can ever get home, he'll sentence his Tomura to a life without a mate because all that comes back is dust. 

It's a horrible tangled mess inside of him as he lays on the ground, like he did that very first day, blood slipping over his skin. He can look and search for the rest of his life. Until Tomura really does grow tired of this, or they make a bad call while traveling and get killed, or Dabi dies because he's still more fragile than anyone else in this world because he doesn't have the animalistic traits that make the natives so much faster and stronger than him. He could search the entire globe and still never find what he's looking for. And he knows, even if the other version of him is searching for someone to reverse this too, the chances of either of them finding it are slim to none. They might never get to go home. They probably won't. 

Letting that thought ring through his body has him letting out a cry of anguish, of fury, his quirk racing up to the surface of his skin and pouring out across the crater again, sending a cascade of frigid water sloping back down into the crater and drenching him again as that rage gives way. He could fall to despair or he can find some new determination. He has only ever been able to live his life through cultivating the latter and he pushes himself up, his body soaked, but his blood so hot under his skin that he can't feel the chill as he goes straight back to the den. 

His cry must have been loud enough to rouse Tomura, because he is trying to get himself out of the den, an arm pressed against the wall to try and keep him upright through his exhaustion. 

"Dabi-- I heard you-- are you--" Dabi doesn't let him finish, going over to their supplies. It's easy to snatch up the cup he made for himself and crack it through their basin of water that he melts every morning. He plunges it inside and takes half of the liquid and a scrap of fabric before he moves right in front of the serpent. Tomura sputters and hisses as Dabi throws the contents of the cup against his chest, frigid, he's certain. But he starts to wipe it away quickly, moving in before Tomura can fully recoil. "Dabi!" It's a little scandalized, but he doesn't care. He isn't getting home. He's not ever going to get the revenge that he suffered for all of his life. He was brought into this world, into every world, apparently, to suffer. But he is going to hold onto the one thing that he can that has made him feel good. To the one person who has cherished him, cared for him, loved him even though he’s never used that word before. There is nothing else that could explain why someone would go to the ends of the world for him of all people. 

He presses the cloth into Tomura's hand as he pulls loose the fastenings of his own shirt, not caring that the cold is making his skin and quirk clash terribly. He takes his coat and shirt off, and then he catches Tomura's wrist and he brings the cloth up to his face so that he can get rid of the tears still on his cheeks. He's tired of the sorrow, tired of crying over how unfair the world has been. No. He's ready to move past this. 

"Dabi, what's going on? What's wrong?" Tomura drops the rag to put his hand on his cheek instead, trying to pull him to a stop and make him slow down. But Dabi knows if he does, then the reality of never getting what he's worked for for years will tear him apart. He can't do it. He needs something else to replace that if he doesn't want to ignite again. 

He twists away, going to their food stores and pulls out a chunk of deep red jerky. Not fish. He knows that, knows that it's something they hunted, and that, maybe, makes it more special than the big meal they had together when they were actually in the bonding room. He hears Tomura move over to him, and he turns back around, pressing himself into the other's chest, trying to get his head catching up to where Dabi is at by trying to saturate his body with heat without actually slipping over the edge and burning them both to a crisp. Tomura opens his mouth to speak and Dabi brings the jerky to his lips, watching as the tiredness starts to fade away from his lover's eyes as he takes in what Dabi is trying to offer him. 

He sees that recognition come in, the joy immediately chased away as he puts his hand over his own, his voice far too gentle when he asks, "What about going home?" 

Dabi's whole chest feels shattered when he all but begs, "Can't this be it?" 

Tomura tears off a chunk of the meat, swallowing it without chewing the way he does with so much of his food, before he guides the piece to Dabi's mouth. He's avoided this for months, but this is normal here. And if he's going to stay, to make a home with Tomura, he is not going to make their lives any harder. He takes a bite of the jerky, chewing quickly, not recognizing the flavor as anything other than meat that is gamier than the beef jerky he's had before. It doesn't matter anyway, because he made sure to take a small enough bite he wouldn't be chewing it forever, able to swallow it away in seconds so that Tomura can curl his hand around the back of Dabi's neck as he pulls him in to kiss him as deeply, as passionately, as he always had, holding onto him a little tighter though because he doesn't have to be scared that he'll try to bolt if he is pinned down this time. Dabi throws himself into the kiss just as recklessly, his teeth still too blunt and entirely human compared to the other man's but he doesn't care. They're still sharp enough for him to catch his lower lip between them and bite. 

Tomura's blood bursts across his tongue and the naga wraps both arms around him. Dabi's twine around his neck, pushing into him as the larger creature lifts him, and wrapping his legs around his waist so that he can be carried easily. His lover takes him deeper into the den, to the stones that Dabi made sure were warm for his mate when he left the den earlier, and among the soft grasses and leaves that they selected to make sure that Dabi could be more comfortable. He laps up the blood on Tomura's lip, showing him as many ways as he can how much he wants this. How, if he's trapped in another world that didn't even want him in the first place, he wants to belong to the only creature who has ever wanted to have him too. 

Tomura slithers into their bed and lays him onto his back, his weight over him and deliciously smothering. "My mate," His lover murmurs, his eyes bright with his adoration and love. 

"Make me your bride," he begs breathlessly. He wants it to be real. Wants to show Tomura that he's not going to keep running towards a future that doesn't have him in it anymore. 

The words have his lover letting out a growl. Dabi never gave what he would like in bed any consideration before Tomura, because he thought he would die without his body ever knowing that kind of pleasure. But he likes to be his, likes to have him call him delicate and lovely. Likes it when he murmurs, "Forever, princess. Going to spend all winter having a honeymoon with my beautiful bride." He leans in, leans down, his mouth against his neck, "let me taste that blush I have admired for so many months." 

Dabi doesn't have words left, but he manages to tangle his hands in Tomura's long hair, a weak nod as his whole body warms with his arousal. Tomura's breath is cool against his overheated skin, but his teeth are so sharp as they sink into his neck that he doesn't even feel the ache of them for a moment. But when the pain does come, it floods his veins with pleasure so singular and unlike anything that he's ever known that he isn't certain that he'll be able to hold onto any of this at all. He moans loudly, his arms dropping away from Tomura's neck because he needs to kick off his boots, needs to tug the laces of his pants open, needs to have his mate's cocks inside of his body as quickly as he's allowed to get them. 

Tomura pulls his teeth from his neck, lapping up the blood as he hears his tail swish through their den to find their oil as his hands help to strip Dabi bare. "Your blood is so sweet, princess." He murmurs as he laps up the drops that spill over his skin as Dabi's clothes are tossed aside. 

"Tomura," he is breathless from how much he wants this to be more and faster. He needs to know that this is forever. Needs this to replace every rotten thing inside of him that he had before because it was all he thought he would ever be allowed to hold onto. He wants to cling to Tomura as tightly as he has his revenge, wants to focus on making sure that whatever life they decide to have, that he has been worth all of the patience, kindness, and compassion that Tomura put in to have Dabi get to this point. He wants to be his mate and not have the naga ever think that he'll be running away to some distant possibility of abandoning him ever again. His hand goes down to the place where he knows that his mate's body will open up for him, and he can't help the delighted sound that he makes when he feels the warm wetness that is already starting to drip out of him, his arousal so high that his sheath is already starting to open. Just being able to feel how badly his mate wants him has Dabi moaning in turn, his clit swelling rapidly too as he spreads his legs wider to show his eagerness. 

Tomura kisses him again, their blood mixing between their lips the same way it is going to mix in their bodies, as his tail moves up between Dabi's legs, slick with oil. He moans, grinding down against him, desperate for that because it's a necessary prelude to what he really wants. "I'm going to give you the world, love." Tomura promises him as the tip circles him only enough to get him wet before he starts to push inside. "I'm going to give you everything," His tail pushes inside as he presses their pelvises tighter together, making Dabi cry out, his hips jerking up instinctively, as his slick, soft scales cup his clit and rub against him. It's not often that Tomura lets him grind against his sheath, the lips incredibly soft and sensitive, but the sensation making his cocks ache as they can't press out the way they want to if there is something blocking his entrance. "Going to make sure that you only regret that you weren't born in this world because that was years that we went without meeting." 

The words shake loose the last bits or agony that have been sitting around his heart. He can't have the future he thought he was racing towards back. It's just not possible for him anymore. But he can have this. He can have Tomura loving him. Can have their soft, warm den, and the comfort of knowing that someone will always have his back and take care of him when he needs it. That he trusts him to do the same. 

Dabi didn't think that love was something he would be allowed to have either. But he thinks this has to be the thing that is rushing heat through his whole body as he reaches for the other again, his nails scraping along his back, as he pulls his body tighter against his own and begs, "Please, please, please!" Because he doesn't have any other words to tell the other man how much he wants to be full of him and joined together in a way that this world will never be able to take away. He begs and Tomura kisses him again, only fucking him open enough on his tail to make sure that his insides are warm and wet for him, before he pulls back. His hands move over Dabi's body, touching him everywhere that makes his body sing with pleasure, as he shifts so that his cocks can push out into the open air. They've fucked so many times since the first. Tomura has always been so attentive to him, but there is a franticness to their movements now, a passion that Dabi is only just realizing was missing before. A barrier that he had put up between them to keep himself from sinking into what Tomura was offering him. Love. Everything. He was offering him a future.

Tomura doesn't stop when Dabi pulls him in to get another kiss, his mouth desperate against his mate's as he pushes between his legs. Dabi gasps, the pressure of both of his cocks always so deliciously large as they stretch him open. He just pushes in, and in, and in, until Dabi is seeing stars as his arousal is so high from feeling the way that they're joined together forever now, that it takes him over the edge. If Tomura were anyone else, he thinks that he might be embarrassed about how easily that did it for him, but his lover lets out a low rumble of approval before his lips are peppering kisses all over his face as he starts to grind into his body again and again, loosening his muscles further so that he'll accept the thrusts when they work up to that point. Even that, as Dabi's orgasm washes through him, is enough to have him gasping and seeing stars.

"Gorgeous, princess, fuck," his voice is deeper with his own arousal, making him slip and hiss on the syllabate sounds in his words more than he ever does normally. "Love to watch you fall apart on my cocks, baby girl." He rolls his hips again and Dabi nearly sobs because his whole body goes even tighter with pleasure, his legs twitching around where they have been spread wide by Tomura's tail. His lover reaches a hand between their bodies and cups his much larger palm over him, his hand able to completely cover his sticky clit. His nerves squeal with oversensitivity, but he can't escape the touch. Tomura is just licking at his neck again, rolling his hips into his again as he sets them to a harder pace that leaves him seeing more stars. "Show me it again, princess. Let me see how good I can make my pretty bride feel." 

The words, the feeling of his insides stretched as far as they can go, the friction of Tomura's palm against him, has him keening as his clit is forced to stay hard even though his body wants to soften. He can't, not with his mate trying to push every inch of pleasure into his body that he can possibly feel. Dabi whimpers, but he manages to rock his hips up into his lover again. He wants it. Wants to be his, wants to let this pleasure take away every bitter, hurt thing that he's clung to for years. He wants to let Tomura fill up those spaces inside of him with his love, and if the only physical way he can have it is by feeling his cocks spill his cum deep inside of him, then that will be more than enough. 

"I love you," the words are gasped, more a desperate promise than a declaration. He wasn't made for love, but for Tomura? He'll remake himself to give him that every day for the rest of their lives. It's the least he can do when the other man has given it to him for months now even knowing Dabi might leave him, that he might have stolen away his only chance to have a mate after losing everyone else in his life that was ever important to him. 

Tomura kisses him again, the movements slowing, but dragging against his insides all the more tantalizingly. "I love you, firefly. My bride, my bonded, my mate, I'll tear down this world to make it perfect for you." 

Dabi shakes his head weakly, pulling him in tighter. He doesn't need Tomura to change anything about this. About his lifestyle, about the nature of the world around them. Dabi's world never wanted him, he doesn't need to make this world more like that. Not when he has a chance to be with Tomura and make all of this better than what it was when he was there. He can be better, can be happier. They can do that together just as they are. "Just like this," he begs. 

And Tomura proves that even across worlds, they were made for each other, because he doesn't need any clarification before he kisses him again so sweetly Dabi's heart aches as he continues to make love to him.  

By the time he's full of his cum, his clit is sore and aching from the three orgasms he's dragged out of him, and for the first time in all of these months, Tomura uses the strength the heat generated between their bodies has given him, and he goes and gets water, soap, and the washcloths, and then he spends a careful hour, cleaning away any drop of filth that clings to Dabi's skin, pressing kisses to each scar and seam with a reverence that has Dabi crying again. Tomura cleans up those tears too, and when he curls around Dabi's body when it's time for them to get settled back in the nest, Dabi feels like he's finally been allowed to come home. 

///

It's with a healing poultice on his neck that he sits outside the next afternoon and he turns on his phone. He doesn't know when the battery will not only die, but rot, but he doesn't have to keep it inside of the device for what he wants it for. He uses what's left of the power to type up a message. He writes down who he was, what he suffered, everything that Enji did to him and the rest of his family before he burned to death. He writes about the League and how they were a mess of fuck-ups who got him sent to another world and probably killed his only way back home. He writes that if they want evidence of his claims, then a DNA test against his relatives will prove the truth of it all. And he writes... that he's only making this brief memoir because he doesn't know if he'll magically poof back into his own world when he dies. It doesn't seem likely, but it is possible and he wanted a record of this all. He wanted someone to know that he ended up in a new world, that he gave up on getting home because quirks are magic here and witches are few in number. He wanted some record of the fact that he chose to be happy with this world's version of Tomura Shigaraki who is a far cry from the one he met that tried to kill him. He wants it all written down so he can take the battery back out of his phone and tuck the device back into his belt pouch, and let it sink to the bottom, not to be touched again. 

He writes it all so he can disown it and go back to the reality that he wants to live in so badly now, before he goes back into the den, immediately letting his own heart warm as his sleeping mate reaches for his body instinctively the moment he strays close enough. 

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[gardenladysworld]

Starbound hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

Tags: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf

Part 9: To see

Part 10: To touch

The outpost was quiet, the hum of its systems a familiar background noise as you sat on your bed, staring at the data pad in your hands. The words on the screen blurred as your mind wandered, far from the plant samples and bioluminescent analyses you’d been reviewing. A sigh escaped you, and you set the pad down, leaning back against the wall just to massage your tired eyes.

A soft knock on your door pulled you from your thoughts. One of the younger scientists, Brian, stood there, a boyish grin on his face and a bottle tucked under his arm.

“Hey,” he said, his voice light and cheerful. “We’re having a little... gathering in the lounge. You should come.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “A gathering?”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer. “Just the xenobotany team. Some drinks, some laughs. Maybe a game of truth or dare. You know, good, old-fashioned bonding. Kate said you’d be too boring to come, so... prove her wrong?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes at the mention of Kate’s teasing. “I don’t know, Brian. I’ve got—”

“Come on,” he interrupted, flashing a pleading look. “We’ve been stuck on this rock for years. You deserve a little fun. Just an hour, I promise. And if it’s lame, you can leave. Please?” he looked at you, clasping his hands together in mock begging. “We need you to balance out the chaos. You’re the only one who can keep Kate from going rogue.”

A small laugh escaped you despite yourself, and you shook your head. “Fine. But only because I love you guys,” you said, a wry smile tugging at your lips.

Brian pumped a fist in victory. “Yes! You won’t regret it. Promise.”

You doubted that, but you followed him to the common area.

The rec room was buzzing with laughter and chatter when you arrived. The team had rearranged the furniture to form a loose circle, and a makeshift table in the center held a few half-empty bottle of some kind of cheap Earth alcohol. Kate was perched on the edge of the couch, mid-story, her hands gesturing animatedly as the others listened, their faces alight with amusement.

“And then,” Kate was saying, barely able to contain her laughter, “the harness snaps, and poor Tim is dangling upside down, yelling, ‘This isn’t in the manual!’”

The room erupted into laughter, and even you couldn’t help but chuckle as you slipped into an open seat. Kate waved you over, patting the seat beside her. “There’s my favorite hermit. I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to socialize.”

You rolled your eyes, settling into the chair. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Norm passed you a cup, his smile warm. “Glad you could make it. It’s been a while since we’ve all just... hung out.”

Max, sitting across from you, raised his own cup in agreement. “Cheers to that.”

You smiled, taking an empty seat beside her as Norm handed you a cup. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing yet,” Norm said, leaning back with a smirk. “Just the usual chaos. Kate was just regaling us with her latest embarrassing memory.”

“Not embarrassing,” Kate corrected, pointing at him. “Hilarious. There’s a difference.”

Kate leaned in, smirking. “You know, back when Brian tried to impress a Na’vi by speaking their language and accidentally proposed marriage instead.”

Brian groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “I knew that story would come up.”

The room erupted into laughter, and even you couldn’t help but join in. The alcohol was cheap and burned going down, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. You let yourself relax as the conversation flowed, each story more ridiculous than the last.

You found a seat on one of the armchairs, sipping your drink as the conversation flowed around you. Kate was in rare form, regaling everyone with stories from her trainee days. One particularly ridiculous tale involved her accidentally gluing herself to a desk during a safety demonstration, and the room erupted in laughter as she acted out the scene.

The mood was light, the banter easy, and for the first time in days, you felt a little of the tension in your chest ease. You let yourself laugh, even chiming in with a few quips as the stories grew wilder. The alcohol loosened tongues and lightened moods, and before long, someone suggested playing truth or dare.

As the laughter died down, Brian leaned forward with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Let’s play truth or dare.”

Kate groaned. “Brian, you live for this, don’t you?”

“You know it,” he replied. “Come on, who’s first?”

The game started innocently enough, with silly dares and harmless truths. Tyler dared Norm to eat an entire spoonful of powdered coffee, which resulted in a coughing fit that left everyone in stitches. Max was asked to confess the worst grade he’d ever gotten during his training, and he sheepishly admitted to failing a chemistry quiz because he’d confused sulfur and silicon.

The game picked up quickly, the cheap alcohol loosening everyone’s inhibitions and making even the most reserved members of the team lean into the fun. Brian, one of the younger members of the xenobotany team, was practically bouncing in his seat, grinning mischievously as he leaned forward.

“Alright, let’s start this properly,” Brian declared, scanning the room. His gaze landed on Kate first. “Kate! Truth or dare?”

Kate rolled her eyes but smirked. “Truth. Let’s ease into this disaster, shall we?”

Brian grinned. “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever said to a superior?”

Kate didn’t even hesitate. “Oh, easy. I once called the lead botanist ‘Plant Daddy’ by accident. To his face.”

The room burst into laughter, Max nearly choking on his drink. “Please tell me he responded to that,” he managed between gasps.

“Oh, he did,” Kate replied, her voice dry. “He said, ‘I prefer Dr. Grant.’ I think I wanted to crawl under the nearest microscope and die.”

As the laughter died down, Kate rubbed her hands together and turned to Norm. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

Norm raised an eyebrow, taking a long sip of his drink before replying. “Dare.”

Kate’s grin widened. “Alright, I dare you to chug this entire cup without making a face.”

Norm glanced down at his half-filled cup of the questionable alcohol, then shrugged. “Please. I’ve survived worse.”

The group cheered him on as Norm tipped the cup back and drained it in one go. He managed to keep a straight face for about two seconds before his entire body shuddered, and he sputtered, coughing as the burn hit him.

“Oh, god,” he choked out, his face scrunching up as everyone roared with laughter. “What is this? Paint thinner?”

“Close enough,” Brian said, grinning triumphantly. “But hey, you tried.”

“Alright, Brian,” Norm said once the chaos subsided, pointing a finger at him. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Brian said confidently, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin.

Norm tilted his head thoughtfully. “If you could switch jobs with anyone here, who would it be and why?”

Brian grinned. “Obviously Max. Then I could slack off and call it ‘management.’”

Max held a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Excuse me! My job is integral to this team.”

“Integral to keeping your chair warm,” Kate quipped, and the room dissolved into laughter again as Max threw up his hands.

“Okay, your turn,” Max said, leaning forward with a grin turning toward you.

“Truth”

„What’s the cringiest thing you’ve ever done at the Omaticaya village?”

Everyone turned to look at you expectantly, and you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “My Na’vi talking skills aren’t enough cringe for you?” you tried to deflect.

“Nope,” Kate said, grinning wickedly. “Spill.”

You sighed, setting your cup down. “Fine. It was maybe... my fifth visit? I was trying to joke around with Lo’ak. So I... uh... I threatened to touch him all over his body with my creepy tiny human hands.”

The room erupted into laughter, Max nearly spilling his drink as he doubled over. “You didn’t!” Kate gasped, clutching her stomach.

„Oh, I did!”

“Lo’ak must have been mortified,” Norm said, grinning.

“He was!” you said, laughing along with them. “He jumped back like I’d just threatened to poison him.”

As the laughter died down, you felt a warmth settle in your chest. For a moment, the weight of everything—the pressure, the uncertainty—felt lighter. Here, surrounded by friends and laughter, you let yourself forget the complications of your heart and simply enjoy the moment.

*Flashback – 3 years ago*

The soft hum of the transport reverberated through your feet as you stepped off with Norm and Max. You adjusted your exo-mask out of habit, even though the fit was perfectly snug, the air filters working as seamlessly as ever. Pandora's lush, living expanse stretched before you, the vibrant greens and soft bioluminescent glows making your heart swell with awe—as they always did. No matter how many times you visited the Omaticaya village, the sight of it never failed to take your breath away.

You spotted Kiri and Lo’ak bounding toward you, their movements fluid and full of energy. Their excitement was contagious, and you smiled widely as they greeted you with playful enthusiasm. Kiri reached you first, grabbing your hand and tugging you forward as if you might bolt. Lo’ak, always the charmer, grinned his signature mischievous smile and gave a mock bow.

“Back to grace us with your presence, huh?” he teased.

“Of course,” you replied, smiling. “Who else would put up with you?”

Their laughter was warm, and you found yourself relaxing despite the faint nervousness that always accompanied these visits. You tried not to think about the towering figure lingering near the entrance of the Sully family kelku. You knew he was watching—he always was. Neteyam had a way of observing from a distance that set your pulse racing for reasons you refused to examine too closely.

As you approached, your eyes flicked toward him briefly, catching the faint light in his golden gaze. He stood tall and composed, his arms crossed over his chest, every inch the stoic warrior. Something about his presence was magnetic, grounding even, and yet it left you feeling like your balance might slip if you got too close. You quickly shifted your focus back to Kiri, letting her lead you inside the family’s home.

The interior was warm and inviting, the bioluminescent patterns on the walls casting soft light across the space. You marveled at the woven tapestries and carefully crafted furnishings, each piece an extension of the forest itself. The air was filled with the subtle scent of wood and earth, calming and alive.

“These are beautiful,” you said, your fingers brushing over a hanging tapestry. The texture was rough but intricate, the patterns telling stories you could only begin to understand. “Did you make these, Kiri?”

Kiri’s face lit up with pride. “Some of them. Others are my mother’s. She’s incredible at weaving.”

“She is,” you said, your admiration genuine. “I could never do something this delicate.”

“Maybe I can teach you,” Kiri offered with a grin. “But you’d need to come here more often.”

Before you could respond, Lo’ak piped up, throwing an arm around Kiri’s shoulder. “She should. She’s already half-Na’vi, the way she’s always hanging around.”

Your cheeks warmed at his comment, but you laughed it off. “If that’s your way of inviting me, I’ll take it.”

Lo’ak smirked. “Anytime.”

Still, you couldn’t ignore the way Neteyam’s gaze lingered. You felt the weight of it even as he stayed silent near the wall, his posture relaxed but his presence undeniable. He always seemed to watch from the sidelines, and you often wondered what he thought. Did he see you as an interloper, an outsider trying too hard to fit into a world that wasn’t yours? Or did he feel the same pull that you did—the unspoken connection that hummed between you whenever he was near?

“Neteyam,” Kiri’s teasing voice cut through the quiet. “Are you just going to stand there like a statue?”

You glanced at him, your heart skipping as his golden eyes flicked toward you before quickly darting away. His ears twitched slightly, betraying his discomfort, and he straightened, clearing his throat.

“I am just... observing,” he said, his voice measured and steady.

Lo’ak grinned, clearly enjoying the moment. “Yeah, big bro. Observing her, more like.”

Your face flushed, but you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Oh, come on, Neteyam,” you said, gesturing to him. “Sit with us. You’re making me nervous, standing there like that.”

For a moment, he hesitated, as if weighing your words. Then, slowly, he joined the circle, his movements deliberate. He sat a few feet away, keeping a respectful distance, but even from there, his presence felt all-encompassing. You tried not to let it affect you, focusing instead on Kiri and Lo’ak’s playful banter.

Your curiosity got the better of you as you turned to Kiri, her dark braids swaying as she laughed. “Can I touch your hair?” you asked tentatively. “It’s so intricate.”

“Of course,” Kiri replied, leaning forward. Her braids shimmered faintly in the soft light as you reached out, your fingers brushing over them with care. The texture was unlike anything you’d felt before—firm yet soft, a perfect harmony of the natural and the crafted.

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly, genuinely in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Maybe you’ll have braids one day,” Kiri teased. “Then you can really fit in.”

Your laugh was light, but the idea lingered in your mind. You couldn’t help but glance at Neteyam as you spoke, wondering if he thought the same. Was he as curious about you as you were about him?

Kiri beamed, clearly delighted by your interest. “You humans have strange hair too,” she teased, her smile wide. “So light and... fluffy.”

You laughed at that, the sound soft and genuine. “I guess we do. It’s not nearly as beautiful as yours, though.”

Lo’ak snorted from where he was sprawled out nearby. “Kiri’s just showing off because her braids are better than mine.”

“Because I take care of them,” Kiri shot back, sticking her tongue out at him.

Their banter made you laugh again, the warm, musical sound filling the space. Being with them always felt so natural, so easy. You hadn’t expected to feel this level of comfort here, surrounded by a culture and people so different from your own. But with Kiri and Lo’ak, it was like you belonged, even if only for a little while.

Your curiosity was insatiable as you reached out to trace one of the dark blue stripes running along Kiri’s arm. The texture of her skin was fascinating—smooth yet firm, so different from your own. “Your stripes are so unique,” you murmured, your voice filled with wonder. “Do they mean anything?”

Kiri glanced at the lines on her arm, a thoughtful smile playing on her lips. “Not really,” she said. “They’re just... us. Like fingerprints for humans, I guess.”

“That’s incredible,” you said softly, marveling at the intricate patterns that adorned her body. Each stripe seemed perfectly placed, as though painted by an artist’s hand. You couldn’t help but feel a deep admiration for the natural beauty of the Na’vi, a beauty that seemed to harmonize so effortlessly with the world around them.

Your gaze lingered on Kiri’s arm for a moment before curiosity tugged at you again. You turned slightly, your eyes falling on Neteyam. He was sitting quietly, his posture relaxed but his presence commanding. There was something about him that always made your heart flutter, a quiet intensity that drew you in no matter how hard you tried to resist.

You knelt in front of Neteyam, your heart racing as your hand hovered just inches from his arm. The stripes on his skin were mesmerizing, curving and twisting in intricate patterns that seemed to pulse with life. They weren’t just beautiful—they were a testament to the connection he had to this place, to Eywa, to the world you were still learning to understand.

You hesitated, your fingers twitching slightly. “Neteyam,” you said softly, your voice quieter than you intended. “May I...?”

He blinked, his golden eyes meeting yours, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. For a moment, you thought he might say no, but then he nodded, his expression calm though you could see the faintest flicker of something behind his eyes—curiosity, maybe, or something deeper.

Gently, you reached out, your fingertips brushing against his forearm. His skin was warm, the texture smooth yet firm, and you marveled at the way the stripes curved along the muscles of his arm. You let your fingers trace one of the lines, following it with careful precision, afraid to press too hard, as though he might pull away.

“Yours are different,” you murmured, your eyes flicking up to meet his for a brief moment before returning to his arm. “The way they curve here... it’s beautiful.”

You saw his ears twitch in response, a small movement that he probably thought went unnoticed. It didn’t. The little gestures, the way his tail swayed or his ears shifted, were all things you’d come to recognize. They spoke volumes, more than words ever could.

Your curiosity got the better of you, and your gaze shifted to his hand. “Your hands,” you said, leaning closer so you could see more closely. You reached out without thinking, gently taking his hand in yours. His hand dwarfed yours entirely, the sheer size of it fascinating. “You have four fingers,” you said, your tone soft with wonder. “Not five like Kiri and Lo’ak.”

“It’s... normal for most Na’vi,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. It was almost hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure why you found it so interesting.

You turned his hand slightly, your fingers brushing over the rough calluses on his palm. “They’re amazing,” you said softly, tracing one of the lines that ran along the base of his fingers. “So strong.”

He didn’t pull away, but his tail flicked behind him, and you noticed the way his shoulders seemed to tense ever so slightly. You felt a twinge of guilt, wondering if you were being too forward, but his lack of protest gave you the courage to continue.

“Does it feel different?” you asked, tilting your head as you compared his four fingers to your five. “Having four instead of five?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied, and you couldn’t help but notice how quiet his voice was. “I’ve never had five.”

You laughed softly, the sound breaking the quiet tension between you. “Fair enough,” you said, glancing up at him. His golden eyes were focused on you, watching your every move with an intensity that made your heart flutter.

Holding up your hand, you placed it against his, palm to palm. The difference in size was stark, his hand engulfing yours entirely. “It’s so big,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I knew it would be, but... wow.”

The moment hung in the air, your fingers lightly resting against his. You could feel his warmth, the steady strength of his hand beneath yours. Your gaze flicked up to his face, catching the faint color blooming on his cheeks, the way his ears twitched and his tail swayed more erratically.

“Look at him!” Lo’ak’s voice shattered the quiet moment, and you turned to see him grinning, pointing at Neteyam. “His tail’s going wild! Big bro’s flustered because of her tiny alien hands!”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and before you could think, you turned to Lo’ak, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “Oh, so you want my tiny alien hands crawling up your body?” you teased, wiggling your fingers at him like claws.

Lo’ak’s grin vanished, his eyes widening in mock horror as he stumbled back. “No, no! Keep those creepy little hands away from me!”

Kiri burst into laughter, doubling over as she clutched her stomach. Even Neteyam, who had been so still and composed moments ago, let out a deep, rich laugh that sent warmth flooding through your chest. It was a sound you hadn’t heard often, and it made your heart ache in the best way.

You turned back to Neteyam, catching the way his laughter softened into a smile as he looked at you. His golden eyes sparkled in the dim light, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The teasing, the laughter, the noise—it all fell into the background. All that mattered was the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world.

Your own smile softened, and you felt a quiet joy settle in your chest. Neteyam had always been steady, composed, a figure of strength and responsibility. But here, in this moment, he was just... him. And it felt like a gift, one you hadn’t expected but cherished all the same.

You didn’t know what Eywa intended or where this path would lead, but as you watched him, you thought that maybe, just maybe, this was where you were meant to be.

Part 11: To ask

[lady-phasma]

To Serve

Feyd Rautha x Fremen!reader

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, rough foreplay, biting, no penetration, masochism, strange power dynamics, completely ridiculous premise that Feyd would even notice a Fremen servant, I don’t know - it’s fanfiction so let’s suspend disbelief together

Summary: You are a Fremen working in the Arrakeen palace after House Harkonnen has retaken Arrakis, watching and studying the Planetary Governor. 2k words (no beta because I was in a hurry to get this out of my head)

You were actually grateful to be allowed to continue to serve in the Arrakeen palace. When House Atreides had been slaughtered, so had most of the servants. The Harkonnen kept some of the Fremen to do menial labor. You spent your days much as you had when Duke Leto and his family resided here. You cleaned floors, helped in the kitchens from time to time, and occasionally cleaned the personal chambers of the Planetary Governor.

As the Harkonnens struggled to retaliate against the guerrilla Fremen and Muad’Dib you kept your head down, listening, never drawing attention to yourself. You had received instructions from your home sietch to observe and not act. However, you had promised yourself you would take advantage of the right opportunity.

Weeks passed with the na-Baron at the helm of the sadistic assaults on sietchs and Fremen outposts. Your anger grew, but so did your caution. At night you lay awake replaying the routines of the Harkonnen, as well as his peculiar desires. You only saw these from a distance but you listened to chatter among the palace staff, appalled at times, curious at others.

You were assigned to replace the person who regularly cleaned the na-Baron’s chambers, perhaps for an extended time. You were only allowed in when the room was empty. The Harpies spent much of their day in repose, eating, sleeping, always waiting on Feyd Rautha. There were occasions when he demanded their company elsewhere and you were then permitted entrance. The only task that was particularly unpleasant and unusual compared to the rest of the palace was cleaning their “nest.” The pile of pillows and fabric were never filthy but often stained and you did not envy the poor souls who had to launder them.

At least twice in the first week, the na-Baron himself had been leaving the room as you were lead down the hall by a guard. You had not seen him up close before, not this close. His pale skin looked as cold as the palace walls, but his eyes were bright and constantly assessing everything and everyone around him. He looked at you the first time you passed, deemed you unimportant, and looked away. The second time you crossed paths he didn’t look at you at all.

You had no plan, you were no assassin. You simply wanted to hurt him. Nothing you could do would stop the war or persuade the Harkonnens to call a truce. You weren’t ignorant. You just wanted him to feel some of what you felt. If he could feel similar emotions. You weren’t sure about that, but every living creature could feel pain.

You were always on guard in the palace unless you were in your bed. When you performed your duties you heard every footstep, every door opening or closing within your vicinity. These footsteps were so quiet that you hadn’t known anyone had walked in until you heard him speak. Your mouth went dry and your mind raced.

“Out,” Feyd commanded. You looked over your shoulder at him, turned, bowed your head slightly, then an impulse came over you.

“Lord na-Baron,” you spoke evenly, but quietly. “I was waiting for you. I was instructed to tend to you personally.”

He looked perplexed but still annoyed. He appraised you, looking into your blue eyes as you raised your head. He let out a derisive snort of laughter.

“What use could I have for a Fremen?”

“Well,” you swallowed, feigning embarrassment. “I was told, my Lord, you had certain appetites and I was required to be at your service. That you were…” You flashed your blue eyes at him. “Curious.”

Feyd licked his lips. You had no idea from his expression if he believed your lie. The way he raked his gaze over you, from head to foot, implied that it didn’t matter.

“Curious,” he mused, almost to himself. “Quite.”

You tried not to flinch as he stepped closer. You faced him, appearing less nervous than you actually were. He was a man rumored to have many odd desires from what you had learned. Perhaps your impulse was correct, perhaps he had never had a Fremen before. Hopefully you had used that to your advantage and not to his.

When he stroked your cheek with the back of his hand you nearly pulled away. His hand was surprisingly warm and the touch seemed deceptively gentle. You stared brazenly into his eyes, trying to decide your next move. You decided to try something you thought few people ever dared.

You grabbed Feyd’s wrist and held it away from your face. The look of surprise and dismay that appeared on his face was incredibly satisfying. You let yourself smile just a little at this, then quickly set your mouth into an impassive line as you let go of his wrist. You thought he brought his hand back to slap you but he merely dropped it to his side. His brows were furrowed and he looked as confused as he was impressed.

Feyd stepped forward so quickly that you could barely see him do it. His hand grasped your neck and held you still as he drew his face close to yours. He looked down at you, contemplating, eyes darting back and forth between yours. He leaned in as if to kiss you.

“Do you think I can’t break you?” He hissed. You narrowed your eyes, not hiding your defiance.

“I think you will want to try,” you whispered. “I think you will fail.” His hand loosened for an instant and you used his moment of shock to force your mouth on his. It was a rough crashing together of mouths but Feyd did not falter or pull back. He met your mouth, your ferocity, with his own. His hand was no longer on your neck but gripping your shoulder. You pushed your hands againsthis chest but found that, instead of pushing him away, you gripped the fabric of his shirt in your fists. A flickering heat pulsed in your belly and your chest was tight. This was not in your plans.

He pulled his head back and grinned. His black teeth were fearsome this close. Yet they didn’t frighten you exactly. You reached up and held his chin as you kissed him again, licking his teeth, finding his tongue. You wanted to hurt him but something had begun to mingle with that feeling, a different kind of want. He growled into your mouth and grabbed your hair at the back of your head. You let your hand fall from his face as he pulled your head back. He licked your throat, your jaw, scraping his teeth against your skin as he went.

In a nearly painful movement, Feyd turned you both to move toward the bed. What had begun as an impulse was now becoming a reality. You warred with yourself as he walked you backward, releasing your hair and sucking hungrily at your lips. You needed to make a decision and quickly. You slid your hands to the back of his head and caught his bottom lip in your teeth. If you were going to do this it would be on your terms. You didn’t bite him hard enough to draw blood. It was hard enough to make him push you against the bed. When you let him go he was grinning.

“If all Fremen are like this, I have missed many opportunities,” he sneered. The instinct to slap him was overridden by the feeling of his erection pressing into your lower belly. You slowly moved one hand from his neck, down his torso, and stroked him through the fabric of his pants. His sneer faded as his eyes almost closed.

Feyd didn’t push you onto the bed as you thought he might, but guided you by the shoulders and slid his thigh between your legs in one graceful movement. He raked his hands under your shirt and jerked it off you. He licked your stomach, your ribs, and as he moved upward he tried to pin your hands above your head. Before he could, you leveraged your position under him, you were no match for his strength, and used his imblanace to roll him onto his back. You threw one leg across him and straddled him.

There was a horribly wonderful glint in his eyes as he grinned up at you. His breathing was shallow and quick. You glanced at his chest rising and falling. You slid your hands under his shirt, his abdomen firm under your fingers. You shifted your hips against his. He must have felt the same ache you did because he groaned. You leaned forward to pull Feyd’s shirt over his head and heat radiated from your core. Even your own breathing had become shallow.

As you looked at him, laying beneath you, there was something magnificent about him. Yes, he was horrid, still your enemy, but he was beautiful in a way which was unlike anything on your desert planet. You leaned forward and placed your mouth on his chest, listening to his response. You felt his hands move to your thighs. You slid your hands up his bare shoulders and you bit his chest, hard.

Feyd’s hips jerked up into yours. His fingers dug into your thighs through your pants and he growled. You expected him to push you off, command you to stop but he didn’t. You moaned against him as his hips ground into yours. When you let go and sat up you saw his eyes were closed. His face looked almost peaceful. Even so, you had gotten a peculiar satisfaction out of that. You had wanted to hurt him but this… this was very unusual for you. Not only did he seem to enjoy it but you did as well.

He opened his eyes slightly and stared at you. You stroked his stomach. You glanced down at the red bite mark on his chest and you actually smiled. When you looked back at him he lifted his hips gently and you shuddered. You curled your fingers against his flesh, fingernails scratching him. His cock was hard against your core, through both of your pants. You shifted your weight forward slightly, a small rocking motion, and his eyes closed. His fingers still clung to your thighs.

You slowly leaned forward and lowered your mouth to his. You licked his lips, his chin, down his jaw and neck. You made your way to his chest and teased him with your teeth. His hips had begun a steady rhythm under you. As you bit down this time you didn’t hold back. You thought of the wrongs done to your planet, his cock against you, his malice, and his sculpted muscles. All of the images swirled together as you closed your eyes and enjoyed the sensation of him rocking beneath you.

You increased the pressure of your bite slightly and his hands flew to your ass, pulling you against him to get you as close as possible. He rutted and groaned. You released your bite and you felt the pleasure of it wrack his body. He tensed, cursed, and arched his back against you. His cum soaked his pants, then yours. You ground against him as he came down from his high. The overstimulation caused a nearly pained look to cross his face. He opened his eyes and scowled.

Your core throbbed and ached. You wanted a release but were satisfied with what you had been able to do to him. A smug grin grew on your lips. You had gotten far more than you had planned.

Without warning, taking advantage of the moment in which you had let down your guard, Feyd lifted you off him. Within a second he was on top of you, knee back between your thighs. Only this time you couldn’t help rubbing against him, desperate.

“Let’s see if I can’t break you after all,” Feyd growled as he pinned your hands above your head.

[warpostcoitum]

BUDS DO NOT BLOSSOM ON THE BATTLEFIELD

keegan p. russ & gn! reader

WARNINGS. au: referenced off ww2, angst, unrequited, brief mentions of alcohol consumption and drug usage, smoking & death. wc. 5.7k

The first time Keegan met you was when you lit his cigarette for him. Not a word was spoken and your names were still yet to be exchanged, it was an entirely silent affair of shared solitude. But words were not necessary when he approached with his head down and spirits low. He didn’t realize you were there, not until it was too late; how unlike him. When Keegan finally tore his gaze away from the damp ground his eyes instantly landed on you. You found temporary relief where you stood by resting your back against one of the building walls of the outpost, and paid him no mind as not even a glance was spared in his direction.

The only sound was the ash falling from the cigarette caught in your fingertips, dead quiet. He took a spot beside you less than an arm’s length away, just enough to get some privacy out of the immediate sights of the frontier. Keegan quickly got to work, retrieving a mini-pack of Camels from his pocket and eagerly placing one between his lips as he fished for his lighter. But to no avail, for whatever purpose and whatever terrible stroke of luck, he’d forgotten it (how could he have been so careless)? Keegan hadn't dragged his feet all this way to waste his own time.

An outstretched arm caught his peripheral and he stopped to look. Keegan blinked owlishly after being greeted by the lighter in your hand, flame already ablaze. Then he locked eyes with yours. For a few moments, there was nothing Keegan could think of to say, there was hardly anything for him to think of at all because his mind suddenly drew a blank. Like he was in an astonished stupor, whether at the abrupt generosity or the fact that said generosity was coming from you remained unknown. You shot him an expectant look after shaking your hand, and he got the memo. He secured the cigarette resting between his lips with his index and middle finger, and leaned down to meet you halfway.

You didn’t seem to mind the whole ordeal, and because of that, it became a habit. Prior to the accidental rendezvous, he always tried to have his smoke breaks alone. Keegan was never a social smoker, even if his time spent in the military seemed desperate to change that. He couldn’t help himself, Keegan wanted more—more of your time and more of you. His lingering eyes and covert surveillance in the days following soon revealed to him that you had a routine to your smoking habits, where and what time. It eventually became a frequent thing, smoking with you. The second time Keegan made sure to bring his lighter and lit yours to return the favor.

That was the first time Keegan met you—at least, properly. The real first time was years ago, he reckoned four or five now. The day was ordinary, nothing of significance to show for it. But for some reason, that day he looked at you. He didn’t know you, and he didn't know why he did it. But amongst the scattered soldiers engaging in idle chatter, you were standing alone. Such a thing wasn’t unheard of, but in that moment, you stood out to him. You appeared to be lost in thought, holding something in your hands that kept you occupied. Upon further inspection, Keegan immediately recognized the familiar black crackle Zippo held possessively in your grip, the most coveted item on the battlefield, right? Your forefinger absentmindedly traced over what he presumed were the engravings on it, and Keegan allowed himself to stare a little longer. But by some miracle, or perhaps a natural instinct, the movements of your finger stilled and your eyes lifted from the steel trinket. The eye contact was instantaneous, as if you had known exactly where to pinpoint the perpetrator responsible for the unwanted gaze.

Keegan’s own grey-blues widened ever so slightly in response, but made no move to look away. He wouldn’t dare to, and the first thought that came to his mind was that he liked your eyes. You don’t smile at him, the other soldiers typically do, even the ones he doesn’t know well, sometimes he even gets a friendly wave. But no, your eyes narrowed when you saw him, or rather, caught him; your brows furrowed and nose scrunched with disdain. How could such captivating eyes belong to someone so cold? Keegan wanted to know, desperately so.

These days, you don’t hold eye contact much anymore, with anyone for that matter. The amphetamines did you in, just like they did everyone in. If it wasn’t that, then it was the alcohol from half-empty flasks and caffeine from the instant coffee, or whatever performance enhancers the army could manage to force you to keep down. Keegan wanted to see your eyes again, thought they were pretty. He knew good and well that nothing pretty survives war, but he hoped that just this once, there would be an exception.

Keegan would get his wish soon, a week after the first encounter to be exact. He couldn’t resist going back a second time, especially after he memorized your little schedule. Fortunately for him, it was much more rewarding than the first time because Keegan finally got to hear your voice.

He slowly jogged to the same spot where he had met you seven days ago. Keegan couldn’t risk missing the opportunity, or so he told himself. Not after he had been so patient, his curiosity went hungry for so long, and Keegan finally had the chance to indulge it. As he neared the lonely building and turned the corner, his pace eased into a languid stroll. Keegan’s shoulders relaxed when he caught a glimpse of you. You were right where he hoped you would be.

“Hey,” he greeted with a nod.

You stared back at him blankly, a cigarette in your mouth that you were just about to light. But you didn’t, you froze when you saw him, as one would do if they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t have. But you didn’t look guilty, not in the slightest. Just careful.

Keegan offered a half-hearted wave, flashing the lighter in his hand as if to assure you he hadn’t forgotten it this time. Like you would have been expecting him or something. You were not amused, and he could feel his heart sink when you remained as still as a statue. Surely he hadn’t made any wrong moves before he could even attempt to, right? It was awkward, and Keegan briefly considered turning his heel for he felt he had wronged you somehow with that vacant glare you were giving him. But then you put your lighter away, tilting your head up at him while two of your fingers held onto the cigarette from beneath as if it were a long pipe. You were inviting him.

He stepped closer until he was standing right in front of you. With one hand he cautiously flicked the lighter cap open and lit it up for you, sheltering the flame with the other. It wasn’t necessary, but he did it anyway. You closed your eyes and he couldn’t help but watch. Even when you inhaled and leaned away from him, holding momentarily before breathing out, Keegan remained in place. When you opened your eyes they were downcast, focused below you rather than above, at him. It didn’t hurt him too much, Keegan still liked them as much as he did when he first saw you, even if they seemed more dull.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch me?” you asked faintly. Despite the sarcastic nature of the question, there was no bite to it.

“Don’t think so,” Keegan replied, leaning against the wall next to you. “Besides, can’t let you hog this place all to yourself.”

He pulls out that familiar white box, briskly opening it and turning it on its side over the open palm of his right hand, still holding his lighter. One measly cigarette fell out, and his frown deepened. Keegan shook the package, though not because he was hoping for another. It was only Thursday, and if he hadn’t anymore he’d be out of luck until they rationed out cartons at the start of the week. Keegan began regretting being too generous in lending some to Ajax and Merrick. He contemplated crushing the little paper parcel now that it was empty and useless, but for some reason, he didn’t.

Keegan’s eyes drifted toward you as he lit his cigarette, and you waited until he did so to continue speaking.

“Well, it isn’t exactly a hidden gem.” While you gestured at the landscape surrounding you two, Keegan tracked the movement of your hand with mild interest. There were hillsides covered with trees, some tall and laden with age, and others small and scattered. If one wasn’t looking at the flora that stretched endlessly for miles upon miles, then they were forced to look at the large rocks, and even those were always partially painted green with moss. Perhaps the best sight to see was the river, although not particularly special, it seemed to be your favorite piece of scenery judging by how you hadn’t taken your eyes off of it since Keegan had lit your cigarette.

“Any place where you can get some peace and quiet around here’s a hidden gem,” he said resolutely. “So you’ve come to invade mine?”

Keegan took a drag on his cigarette, he hadn’t intended for it to come off that way. But he considered that if he were in your shoes, he would have thought the same. If it were someone he didn’t know, that he wasn’t interested in. However, if it happened to be you… He wouldn’t have minded. But Keegan had no idea how you felt. He momentarily closed his eyes and gathered himself.

“No.” Keegan chewed on his lip, contemplating whether he should even say what he was thinking in his head, “wanted to share it with you.”

You turned your head to the side, and Keegan was already looking at you. You got a good look at his face, studying him—in search of what? He hadn’t the faintest. You looked like you wanted to say something, as if there was some sort of snide remark on the tip of your tongue. You held back, and Keegan prayed that whatever you had to restrain yourself from saying wasn’t anything too bad. Your eyes shifted to the ground and you leaned back against the wall once more. Then it was quiet.

Keegan leisurely observed the river run with you in a pleasant silence. It was a change of pace, one he actually preferred. He was used to the noise now. Oftentimes, he was accustomed to others leading the conversation, and not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t care to. It was a change but not an unwelcome one. Keegan ran his thumb up and down the empty box of Camels now and then, a mindless self-soothing gesture. He remained that way with you for a while, and he was content to do so.

But good things never last long, and he was promptly reminded so when you let the cigarette butt fall from your fingers and into the pile of ash it left in its wake. You stomped on it, digging the outsole of your boot into the ground. Keegan expected you to take off quickly like the first time, you hadn’t even cared to look back at him then. He remembered watching you as you headed back, until he could no longer make out your figure. But you stayed a little longer this time.

You approached him slowly, still cautious. Keegan was stationary, so unmoving that he stopped breathing, as if the slightest inhale was going to scare you off. You came to a halt once you were in front of him, but you were still gazing down below. He thought that was a shame. Reaching into your trousers pocket, you pulled out your pack of cigarettes. Keegan’s head tilted to the side, you smoked Lucky Strike. Sliding the top open, you pulled one out with nimble fingers before dropping it into his empty container.

“For next time.” You tucked them away as fast as you had gotten them out. “See you ’round.”

Keegan didn’t smoke the Lucky Strike until he saw you again. He hid it away like it was contraband, keeping it in the same empty Camel’s pack and stashing it elsewhere. Keegan regularly moved it from one hiding spot to another, he would be taking no risks. There were a few close calls, the worst of them all being when Merrick had miraculously found it lying around unguarded while Keegan was tidying up his sleeping quarters. He hadn’t realized it’d fallen until he checked his person and realized it was no longer on him. As if on cue, Merrick picked it up, assuming it was trash until he felt the slightest bit of weight inside. He took a peek inside but before he could inquire why Keegan even held onto such dross, the latter swiped the box from his hands; and barked about how he should lay off touching his belongings (all the while shoving it haphazardly into his pocket). They never spoke of the incident. Thankfully Keegan would no longer have to take such arduous precautions because he knew the day you would return to your sanctum was coming up soon.

Keegan tiredly trudged his way there after triple-checking to make sure he was equipped with his lighter and the Camel’s pack housing your cigarette. Keegan pondered over whether the cigarette you had given him was actually for him, his to smoke, or intended for him to bring back for “next time”. As if to prove something, as to what, that escaped him.

“Hey.” He rounded the side of the building, raising his arm with an open hand to make his presence known.

“Hello,” you slowly replied.

Keegan was a bit taken aback that you even acknowledged him with a greeting of your own. He never found the absence of your warm welcome to come from a place of ill manners, but rather that you were just that quiet. Somehow, more than himself.

He eyed you up and down. You looked tired, but if he were being honest, you always looked tired nowadays. Keegan easily noticed the lack of cigarette in between your fingers—and your lips—you hadn’t had one yet. He felt a bit proud at that, that you waited for him. Why else would you? It was because of him, it was the only logical explanation. Keegan wouldn’t keep you waiting, then.

Taking his stand in the same place he always did, a little ways off to the side, always on your left. Simultaneously, both of you pulled out your packs of cigarettes at the same time. And while your eyes were fixated on the ground, Keegan’s were on you. Subtly, he copied your movements. When it came down to it, he was impatient when he wanted a smoke. But you were deliberate, like you were prolonging the gratification. Keegan didn’t mind, though, he liked the visuals of you mirroring each other. You hadn’t caught on until the sound of your lighters going off at the same time broke the silence. Then your eyes flickered in his direction.

Keegan then saw an expression he’d never seen on your face before. “You didn’t smoke it.” He followed the point of your finger to the Lucky Strike pinched between his fingers.

“You told me to wait for next time, didn’t you?” Keegan flashed you a haughty grin.

He only found it in himself to do it because he caught you off guard.

“I suppose I did,” you concurred, exhaling smoke.

Keegan was a man of his word, even if he hadn’t said anything at all the last time you two parted ways. He figured the least he could do to earn your trust (and make it seem less like he was imposing on your downtime and more like he was trying to get to know you) was to listen to what you asked of him.

You turned your head to the side, and Keegan could no longer see your face. If he were to guess, your eyes must have been half-lidded with fatigue and disinterest, and your lips pressed together into a thin line with a similar apathy. He continued to stare at you from behind, even as you disregarded him like you were lost in your own world. Keegan would keep trying. He should have been content to enjoy the silence with you, but he wanted more.

Sucking in a long breath of air through his teeth, the smoke of his cigarette forgotten in the moment, Keegan swiveled to face you fully. Inadvertently his head cocked to the side, about to speak. But upon hearing the sound of his boots shuffling your neck careened in his direction, and your scrutinizing gaze soon bore into him. He maintained eye contact with you, and time gradually began to pass. It was a bit rewarding, but only a little. And yet, Keegan couldn’t help but think about how his guess on your expression was spot on. He knew you far better than you could ever have imagined. Not that you would even begin to suspect him of such a thing, you never knew he was watching. But he was, you caught his eye all those years ago, after all. You, a soldier half a decade his senior, the one who smokes at 17:30 every other day.

Looking into your eyes reminded him of why he even liked you in the first place. They played a crucial part in it, as well. But over time, as he observed you, Keegan grew to like you for more than just your eyes. He had begun to think you were impressive, respectable. Keegan liked how you carried yourself, and how you handled it, being in the military and fighting at the height of the now full-fledged war. Keegan found himself in you, he thought you two were similar in ways, if only the fact that you were a tad more reclusive than he was, but even that he liked about you too. Everything you did was worth watching, admiring from afar; he liked to look out for you even if you were none the wiser because he liked you.

Yeah, Keegan liked you all right. Now, he was so caught up in his thoughts that a comment about your eyes was at risk of slipping out from under his breath—until you told him your name. Keegan already knew it, first and last, but the fact that you introduced yourself on your own volition rather than him having to coerce you made it feel like he was finally getting somewhere. He still didn’t miss how your eyes narrowed at him afterward, a contempt quiver to your frown. All before quickly averting your gaze from him. To him, it reminded him of the first time, though you wouldn’t have looked away back then.

“Just call me Keegan, then.” He felt a bit guilty since you gave him your full government, a habit of formality perhaps. But Keegan refused to let you address him so coldly, he wouldn’t even give you the chance to.

“Keegan,” you tested his name on your tongue, “all right.”

“Yeah.” Even though it was the third time. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Soon enough, Keegan was no longer able to savor the tranquil pastimes that were smoking with you behind that lone building at the outpost. Not when the two of you were now fighting on foreign soil. Months had passed since the early days of your quiet companionship. Keegan liked to believe you were closer now, even if it never quite seemed like it. You were friends who weren’t really friends. Comrades in arms, yes, it came with occupation. Fighting on the same side of war will do that. Keegan had gotten you to laugh a few times, that was arguably his greatest achievement when it came to getting to know you. You once said in an off-handed jest of your own that you would take a bullet for him, even if it was a grim reality, Keegan was relieved to know so. That you felt the same, he’d have certainly done it for you, no questions necessary. He prayed that a day like that would never come.

But sometimes you two were more like strangers than friends—strangers who only knew each other when they shared a smoke.

You wouldn’t be caught dead talking to Keegan. It seemed you had your own friends, and Keegan had his. He often stole glances at you from afar during mealtime, it satiated him until the next time he could have a cig with you. There was one time he approached you before then. Keegan didn’t know why he did it, why he would dare to overstep the unspoken boundary he had been so careful not to, knowing all the progress he had made would disappear in that instance. A high risk but with high reward.

It’s just that he saw you, and when he did, Keegan pulled away from the other ghosts. Hesh stopped whatever he had been talking about to make a fuss of it when he moved further and further away from them and toward you. Their shouts had faded out, Keegan was absolutely zoned in on you. You were by yourself, maybe that’s why he got the confidence. It was a mindless interaction, he walked up with his head down to peer at you. His shoulders were scrunched up in an odd way, as if to make himself look smaller, less intimidating.

Keegan put his hand up, “Hey.”

“Hello.” You nodded to him, and he went on, “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Raising a brow, you shook your head and disagreed, “You saw me the other day.”

“Yeah, well. Y’know.” Keegan shrugged, “figured I’d say hi anyway.”

You let out a quiet “oh” but elaborated no further. He was pleased you did not tell him off, but you seemed distracted. Even as you entertained him with small talk, your eyes wandered back and forth, never settling on him.

Then you finally pointed behind him and it clicked, “I think your friends are waiting for you.”

Keegan whipped his head around, and sure enough, they were watching you two. The confused and borderline bewildered faces they were making did not help his case. They were probably unnerving you, if he was being honest. He made sure to say goodbye to you before taking off. Keegan never did it again, randomly coming up to you. He caught too much flack for it the first time.

“Man, what the hell was that?” Unsurprisingly, Hesh was the first to comment on it. And the worst part was that he couldn’t even hold it until you got out of earshot either. “Just upped and left us, too.”

“Looked awkward,” Ajax backed him.

Keegan insisted that: “It was not.”

Didn’t save him from the interrogation, though. The only saving grace was that Kick wasn’t there to make it worse. He was truly spared by the gods that day.

“I just know ’em, that’s all.”

He realized after that that you had never once approached him first, and it made Keegan wonder if you were curious about him as he was with you. He wanted to know if you even liked him, it didn’t feel like it sometimes. Just that you were tolerating him. He got the closest thing to an answer that late spring of ’45.

“Hey, there you are,” Keegan whispered aloud, mainly to himself as he maneuvered over the stray rubble and debris toward you. “You hear?”

“Yes.”

The news of V-E Day was bittersweet and a long time coming, but it wouldn’t change the fact that he and you were still on the front lines in the Pacific.

You were always quite good at finding peaceful places amid war. Keegan let out a huff as he plodded over to you, and placed a hand on each of his knees for the last few strides. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t tired just like everybody else was, no matter how much he tried to play it off, especially in front of you. Keegan muttered a curse at the incline on the way up before fixing his face once he got close enough. You made do with standing considering there wasn’t a stable vertical surface for miles, cigarette already in hand. He found his place across from you, opting to remain facing you instead of by your side. Keegan bent down and planted his palm flat on the ground before taking a seat.

“It isn’t over,” you said in a clipped tone.

Keegan hummed before chiming in, “but almost. We just gotta survive a little while longer.”

A pause.

“Yeah, let’s hope so.”

The conversation didn’t last long, even after all these months of getting to know you they still didn’t. You reached into your pants pocket, grabbing a pack of Camels. Keegan couldn’t help the lopsided smirk that grew on his lips after seeing them, a sight he’d seen countless times now. He got you to start smoking them eventually, but you would never refuse a Lucky Strike so long as someone else was offering. Keegan stretched his hand out, palm facing the sky as you gently placed one in his hand. The tips of his fingers just barely curled around your wrist and then your hand with feather-light touches as you retracted your arm. You didn’t seem to take notice of the feeling of his lingering hands, and if you did, you hid it. At the same time, you returned the pack to its rightful place and Keegan dug for his lighter. He had no success.

Quietly dispelling smoke, you soon realized Keegan didn’t have his lighter on him again. He fumbled a little longer while you stared at him. You knew how Keegan conveniently “forgot” it from time to time, and it always resulted in you lighting his cigarette for him. You also knew this was intentional. But unbeknownst to you, this time he had honestly forgotten it and he was beginning to panic. Wordlessly, you inhaled and let the smoke fill your lungs before nudging his foot with your own. Keegan tilted his head up at you, opening his mouth to explain himself, but you cut him off by chucking your lighter at him. You figured he could handle lighting one himself for a change.

“Thanks.” He rolled his eyes, more at his doltishness if anything. “But you’ll be needing it soon.”

Keegan reached to give you the lighter back, but you put your palm up and shook your head, “keep it.”

“Huh?” he asked incredulously, “You sure?”

“Yes, positive.”

What went unsaid by you was that he needed it more.

Keegan brought the Zippo closer to his face and examined it, turning it around in his hand. It wasn’t a terrible loss for you, there was plenty to go around even in limited circumstances. Keegan tapped his thumbnail against the side of the lighter as he memorized the design on it. Your name and some unfinished penmanship below it. You must not have gotten to it.

“Well, thanks again.” Keegan slid it into his pocket for safekeeping. “I owe you. Maybe too many times now.”

“You didn’t even light it,” you stated monotonously, disregarding his previous statements as you pointed to his unlit cigarette.

It seemed that making a fool of himself always came easily to Keegan when in your presence. Frankly, he was too enraptured by getting his hands on your lighter—without even utilizing it—that it passed his mind. Keegan internally blamed it on his exhaustion.

Before he could fetch the lighter again Keegan felt the pressure of your hand on his shoulder. He froze in place, not daring to move, you had gotten so close. It was the exact same as when you gave him a cigarette, only this time it was a lighter. Standing directly before him, you took one last drag of your cigarette, effortlessly exhaling a cloud of smoke before looking down. With wide eyes, Keegan watched you slowly lower into a crouching position and knelt down until you were eye level with him. You held him there with your gaze and took the dying cigarette into your fingers. Keegan was mesmerized by you. You were so nice to look at, he’d never seen you so close. Not enough, not like this. Even when you used one flame to light both your cigarettes, it couldn’t compare. All he could see was your eyes, and he never tired of seeing them.

Then, he looked at your lips.

He thought about how uninterested you were in him. And he thought about how your lips looked. He thought about how you didn’t want to open up to him. And he thought about what your lips felt like. He thought about how you weren’t curious about him. And he thought about what your lips felt like on his.

Your eyes, despite their beauty, were still so far away. You seemed unimpressed, you certainly looked it, but Keegan was hopeful. He never told you, but he didn’t need to. Now, he was certain you already knew anyway, that you always did. That there was something else, and it was precisely that which kept him tethered so closely to you. Keegan’s hope increased tenfold when you barely leaned toward him. His heart was brutally beating against the confines of his ribcage, and Keegan felt the same as he did before the war. He closed his eyes.

But nothing came.

Keegan opened his eyes when he felt you tug the cigarette out of his hands. You brought it up to his face and wordlessly instructed him to open his mouth. He took it from you and did it himself. Using the embers of your burnt-out cigarette, you pressed it against the end of the one in his mouth, telling him to inhale.

“Thought it didn’t work for a moment there.” Standing up, you tossed the remains of your cigarette to the ground, smothering it underneath your boot.

Keegan’s silence warranted a long stare from you, and then you understood.

“What?” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity, “Did you think I was going to kiss you or something?” You never even considered it a reality.

You placed a hand atop your helmet and took it off, looking down at the ground as you ran your fingers through your hair and tousled with it. Then, sighing softly, you placed your hand on your hip and firmly held the helmet in place at your side. He could only bring himself to watch with a heavy heart.

“You must be tired, too,” you told him, “rest up. The next time I see you, we’ll have taken the capital.”

It was as you had said, the capture was 11 days after war had been renounced in Europe. A week-long and hard-fought battle that neither the American soldier nor the Japanese soldier won. There were no winners in war, only survivors. The sentiment would always remain true when standing against the test of time.

Keegan lay motionless on his back, quietly and to himself. His glossed-over eyes observed the endless sky which was dim and somber due to the heavy rains. The feeling of his body sinking down into the muddied earth was a morbid reminder. Yet, his fingers twitched. They desperately reached and aimlessly searched around without his command, and they couldn’t be stilled. Keegan worried that if this continued, if he couldn’t get his trembling hands under control, he would feel the stiff corpse of one of his comrades. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he was there, just that it had gone eerily silent. Maybe it was a good thing, but he doubted it. Keegan knew he wouldn’t be found or saved; he knew because he too was forced to leave behind fallen soldiers as the mud was too thick to take them away or give them proper burial. They would stay wherever they fell.

He knew he was wounded, likely fatal. Keegan couldn’t recall how or where, though, just that it hurt all over. His body no longer obeyed him. His ears felt as if they had been stuffed full of cotton, yet somehow the low rumble of persistent ringing reverberated. His eyes would not close despite the tears that formed because of their dryness, Keegan thought it to be a miracle that he could still see. The rise and fall of his chest was dangerously weak, his chest had become like fragile glass, threatening to crack and give away under the slightest pressure. He couldn’t feel his heartbeat, but blood was still spitefully pumping through his veins.

Is this how you had felt, too?

It was always he who watched over you. But before he could see you again, in the present and now—forevermore and always—you became the one to watch over him. From heaven, that is, if the men who fought in war could still fathom such an end after what they had witnessed and endured. He did. Keegan allowed himself to be fooled, if only to grant himself fleeting happiness, he believed.

I believe, Keegan thinks. He mustered the little strength he had left to put his shaky hands to use and retrieved the lighter. I have to, he prayed with a chaste kiss to the cold metal, leaving a bloodstained mark of his lips to fade away against the black. He would have to if he wanted to see you again.

You would never live to see the rise of the American flag fly, or the end of the war, and it seemed neither would he. Just long enough to fight in the last battle, just long enough to outlive you and die trying.

© 2025 warpostcoitum

[toska-writes]

Clone commandos request if possible. 😁 Could you do delta squad. where on a mission they get captured along with the Padawan, and get protective when they try to separate them or interrogate them.

So i thought about writing a fic based on todays bad batch episode (but I need to get some of the requests done- if you wanna request some Wolffe *wink wink* that’s ok)

“Got your back”

Summary: a mission goes south with the delta squad but they have your back

Paring: The delta Squad/ republic commandos x padawan!reader (PLATONIC OFC)

Warning: slight mentions of injury and imprisonment nothing too bad… the most scary- not proofread

Word count: 1688

Notes: Delta Squad fics are not my “most popular” but ones I always do so much for and I don’t know why

Also I swear to god someone asked to join the Taglist but I can’t remember nor find it so let me know!

"Can you focus for one second Scorch? EVER?" Fixed screamed through the comms, you could see his tense movements from a mile away as the squad ducked once again behind a wall.

Boss could only nod this head, he quickly spun around from where you, Sev and him were hiding to shoot an incoming droid.

"Sorry Scorch I can't defend you this time it's not looking good." You spoke between gasp of your own breath, the adrenaline from the long hours fighting wearing on you and the whole group.

Sev leaned heavily on Fixer from where you could see him, though Scorch as of now was doing a good job covering them.

"Boss," You yelled over the hiss of a smoke bomb going off- the contents of which were going in your eyes and making you cough. "I'm all out of ideas here."

The comando spared you a glance for a second, you feared what his face would have looked like if his helmet was discarded.

Boss looked down at the padawan for a moment. A thin cut ran along their cheek way too close to their eye for Boss’s comfort. He watched their head whip around looking through the fog desperately before a huge bang went off.

After a moment of slight ringing Boss felt the bump of another person against his side. The padawan looked around frantically for the force of the bomb before looking up to the comando.

In a more solemn voice they asked. “Boss what are we gonna do?”

Boss thought about their options then. Backed into the corner of what should have been an abandoned outpost, on of their men injured and the rest ready to collapse from exhaustion. He as a leader thought he was better than this but Boss felt as if he walked his squad right into this trap.

“The missions easy enough for us.” Boss had said only hours before. A knot sat in his stomach but the team needed an easy mission, a break from their last fiasco with the bugs.

He’s never been more wrong in his life.

While he was lost in thought, Boss nearly missed Scorch sliding up next to their leader, his panicked voice tried to fill Boss’s ears.

For a moment the other comando didn’t realize the trooper in yellow was talking until Scorch made a shhh gesture with his hand.

That’s when you noticed it too, the complete lack of noise. No more clanker chatter or blaster bullets from each side. Just the low hiss of the fog that didn’t seem to die down.

You opened your mouth to say something before the unmistakable scraping of metals filled your ears.

“Rollies! get down!” Scorch shouted pulling you and Boss to the floor with him. About 5 Droidekas emerged from the smoke…. Lucky you guys.

“Scorch handle them.” Boss yelled using his hands to signal something at Fixer and Sev at the speed of light. His gruff tone scratched your ears but you all seemed pretty fed up at the situation.

Blaster bullets were blocked by your lightsaber left and right until the next words made your heart drop all together. “Out of hand grenades sir.” Scorch ripped his blaster out now but the shields were too strong on the droids.

“Down the hall!” Fixer yelled as both He and Sev passed the 3 of you, a way out hopefully planned.

You felt them before you saw them, you tried skidding to a stop before turning into the next hall as a hand shot out to grab Boss.

“Shit.” Was the only thing you could say, before they could question what you meant a group of comando droids emerged with guns drawn.

“You’ve got to be joking me.” Sev rasped out, his arm shook while he tried to lift his blaster up and fire. The tiredness leaked off of him though you were sure it did for everyone.

A ring of blue light hit the wall behind you. It didn’t make sense though, comando droids weren’t the type to show mercy.

Your lightsaber flashed along the darkened walls trying to keep the nimble droids away, why couldn’t the separatists just send the normal clankers.

Once again the hall was engulfed in a think smoke. You heard more blasters going off but you feared you were getting more and more disoriented. After a moment you heard a sickening thunk next to you and you assumed the worst.

In the blink of an eye you felt the blast hit its mark and half your body go limp. Unlike the bulking clones you were with it only took about 2 hits before you were out.

•✩•

Boss was the first one to awaken. His head bobbed around and his eyes fluttered open. Boss reached his hand up only to finally realize that his armor was gone.

He laid there for a moment, confusion laced his face. What had happened to him? To them….

In a split second Boss shot up to a sitting position , which his head greatly protested, and looked for the rest of his squad.

Relief was one of the best things in the galaxy in this moment. In the dim light of the ray shield keeping them in Boss could count the 3 other comandos and the form of their padawan knocked out next to Scorch.

Sev still looked bad as now Boss could get the full view of his gash along his side- the blacks on all of the men seemed to be tattered.

Boss observed their surroundings for a moment before giving a light tap to Fixer on the foot. When that didn’t work the first time a much hard kick was implemented.

Fixer gasped awake along with Scorch after a “friendly” tap from the clone comando.

I didn’t take Scorch long before he leaned back against the wall and groaned, clearly he knew the situation at hand.

Boss could only stare for another second at Sev, guilt rummaged through his insides as he helped his injured brother up ultimately waking him as well. This was his fault and Boss couldn’t shake that.

“Fixer start working on those bindings.” Boss ordered unable to keep his gaze on the unconscious padawan. Clearly to the eyes of their captors the Jedi was the bigger threat.

Sev hissed for a moment now finding a new brother to lean on.

You came to with the feeling of someone’s exposed hands brushing against your arms. The pounding in your head was present but the blanket of confusion was much scarier.

“Thanks for joinin’ us.” The unmistakable voice of scorch chimed in. Your eyes strained against the darkness but you could tell what the problem was.

The cool metal hurt your wrists as Fixer fiddled with them muttering a small apology every once in a while.

Boss’ low voice filled the cell, plans of just how they would get out to fight another day. Your eyes scanned the worrisome group.

Scorch sat fidgeting with his hands trying desperately to listen but you could see the worry in his eyes as clear as day.

Fixer sat in front of you cursing and apologizing but he just couldn’t seem to do anything useful without his tools and data pad.

Sev’s eyes closed everyone once in a while and you could see the fight to remain in the moment, though his scowl never seemed to be wiped off.

And finally Boss. His voice was level and low just like the countless other times you heard him give directions, however this time was different. He knew this wasn’t in their favor and he was worried beyond belief.

Someone had to stay strong for them all.

Your heartbeat beat out of your chest, a dull throb started in your temples the feeling seemed vaguely familiar.

“I think someone’s coming.” For the first time you were unsure in the force. Fixer faltered for a moment before meeting your eyes. “It’s probably these. Messing with you.” He shook the bindings.

Though to your surprise, and relief in a way, someone did make their way down the hall. Boss spoke out quickly as you averted your gaze, sweat started to form on your brow.

“We need a medic.” It was hard to call it pleading despite where Boss said it from his position on the floor, but it was definitely more of a demand.

2 masked figures approached though they seemed to ignore Boss all together.

“We need the Jedi.” The cool voice stated only once.

Everyone seemed to freeze for a moment unsure about which group would make the first move.

“Get up.” Was demanded at you and you glanced around meeting Boss’ eyes for only a moment before you gripped onto the sleeve of Fixer.

The ray shield was down now and the larger figure stepped in. “I’m not asking again”

“Like kriff they’re going with you.” Scorch stood in front of you now. His full height filled up their line of sight.

“Move clone.” For a second Scorch was pushed back that was until Boss stood as well and shoved their captor away from his brother.

Before the other could react with their blaster Scorch was all over them. Fixer taking the hint that their time was now scrambled to get their other brother still on the floor.

Your eyes were blown wide with the loud alarm that was set off. You felt someone grab your arm as you were still in a little daze.

“I hope you didn’t think we were really gonna let them take ya.” Scorch said as the group rushed down the halls.

You thought about that for a moment, had there truly been something to worry about while you were surrounded but the Delta Squad, your brothers?

A smile broke out of your face and Scorch seemed to get your reply.

“I hope you know.” Scorch called over his shoulder. “You’re never picking the missions by yourself again Boss.”

An angry yell was heard from somewhere behind you replacing the fear in your body with a laugh. “You were the one to pick the bug mission Scorch!”

______________________________

Taglist:

@arctrooper69 @thereforepizza @padawancat97 @pb-jellybeans @floffytofu @verybadatwriting @solstraalaa @ray-rook @gregorsmissingarmor

[mya-valentine]

Do you think you could write a piece of Traveler!Reader travels around with Kaeya and brother-in-law Diluc? I think it could be a fun dynamic. Please and thank you!

A Traveler’s Love: Adventures with Kaeya and Diluc

The sun was just rising over Mondstadt when your day began. As a traveler, your days were often filled with new sights, thrilling encounters, and the occasional monster skirmish. But today was special—it marked the second anniversary of your marriage to Kaeya Alberich, the Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius.

Traveling with Kaeya was always an adventure in itself. His charisma and penchant for mischief turned even the simplest journey into a lively tale. To add to the excitement, your brother-in-law, Diluc Ragnvindr, often joined these expeditions. While his involvement was primarily to ensure your safety (he’d never say it outright, but you knew he cared), the dynamic between the two brothers was... eventful.

"Darling, are you ready?" Kaeya’s smooth voice called from the kitchen, where he was preparing breakfast.

You smiled as you adjusted your satchel. "Just about! Are you sure you packed everything?"

Kaeya stepped into view, his signature smirk firmly in place. He held up a bottle of his favorite wine. "Do you even have to ask? Priorities, my love."

Before you could respond, Diluc walked in, already dressed in his usual dark attire, his claymore strapped to his back. "Kaeya, this isn’t a vacation. It’s a supply run for Dawn Winery."

Kaeya raised an eyebrow. "Ah, yes, because there’s nothing more thrilling than carrying barrels of wine across Teyvat."

You stifled a laugh as Diluc shot his brother a glare.

The journey began on horseback, with Kaeya riding beside you and Diluc leading the way. The path was peaceful at first, with the sun warming the countryside and the breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers.

Kaeya, of course, took this opportunity to swoon over you. "Isn’t the sunlight just perfect on their face today, Diluc? Truly, I’ve married the most radiant star in all of Mondstadt."

Diluc grumbled under his breath but kept his focus ahead. "We’re wasting daylight."

You chuckled. "Thank you, Kaeya, but maybe save the flattery for later? I’d like to get to Springvale before nightfall."

"Anything for you, my dear." Kaeya winked, but you noticed his smirk widen as he glanced at Diluc, clearly enjoying the irritation he was causing.

Springvale was bustling with activity, and you stopped for supplies while Diluc arranged for the wine barrels to be delivered to the nearby outpost. Kaeya took the opportunity to charm the locals, his smooth words leaving the merchants and townsfolk either blushing or laughing.

"Kaeya," you called, holding up a map. "Do you think we should take the southern route back? It looks like it might be faster."

He sidled up to you, leaning close to look over your shoulder. "Hmm, you’re right. And it would give us more time alone before my dear brother catches up."

"Kaeya," you said, nudging him playfully, "behave."

From a distance, Diluc’s voice cut through the chatter. "If you’re done flirting, we need to move."

Kaeya turned to you with mock seriousness. "He’s such a spoilsport, isn’t he?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "He’s efficient. Let’s go before he leaves us behind."

As you traveled through the southern woods, Kaeya couldn’t resist teasing Diluc.

"Brother," Kaeya began, his tone overly casual, "don’t you think it’s impressive how well my spouse handles traveling? A perfect match for someone as worldly as myself."

Diluc didn’t even glance back. "I think it’s impressive they tolerate you."

You burst out laughing, nearly doubling over in your saddle. Kaeya gasped in mock offense. "Darling! Are you siding with him?"

"Only because he’s not entirely wrong," you teased.

Kaeya clutched his chest dramatically. "Betrayed by my own beloved! Truly, I am heartbroken."

Diluc sighed. "Can we focus on the road? We’re not far from the Hilichurl camp."

Kaeya leaned closer to you, his voice low. "He’s just upset because he knows I’m right."

"Kaeya," you whispered back, trying not to laugh, "don’t push him too far."

"But it’s so fun," he replied with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Sure enough, a Hilichurl ambush awaited just ahead. The three of you leapt into action, Kaeya’s cryo abilities freezing enemies in place while you and Diluc handled the rest.

"Careful, darling!" Kaeya called as he dispatched a Mitachurl, glancing your way.

"I’m fine," you assured him, dodging an attack with ease.

Diluc’s fiery strikes lit up the battlefield, his movements precise and efficient. "Kaeya, less talking, more fighting."

"Ah, but where’s the drama in that?" Kaeya replied, effortlessly freezing another group of enemies.

When the battle ended, you wiped sweat from your brow and looked at the two brothers. "Nice work, both of you."

Kaeya grinned, tossing an arm around your shoulders. "See, even my beloved thinks I’m impressive."

Diluc rolled his eyes. "Let’s keep moving."

As night fell, you set up camp near a river. Diluc tended to the fire while Kaeya uncorked his precious bottle of wine.

"To a successful journey," Kaeya said, handing you a glass before raising his own.

"To not losing my sanity," Diluc muttered, sipping tea instead.

You smiled, feeling warmth from the fire and the company. "To family," you said, raising your glass.

Kaeya leaned over and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "The best toast of all."

Diluc pretended not to notice, focusing on the flames, but you caught the faintest hint of a smile.

You leaned against Kaeya, his arm around you as he regaled you with tales of Mondstadt’s history. Despite the teasing, the chaos, and the occasional battle, you wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

As the stars appeared overhead, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for these moments. Traveling with Kaeya was never dull, and even with Diluc’s gruff demeanor, the dynamic between the three of you made every journey unforgettable.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[0kurakura0]

Case Files Pt. 3

Simon Riley "Ghost" x UN lawyer Reader

TF 141 receives a visit from a UN prosecutor working at the ICC. This overworked prosecutor is trying to build a case against war criminals and must team up with them to catch these criminals. Along the way, they may even catch feelings for a brooding soldier. slow-burn, M/F, cursing

>> Pt.1 >> Pt.2

The steady hum of the plane engines filled the cabin as Task Force 141 and their new reluctant companion settled into their seats. Ghost was seated near the back, arms crossed and gaze fixed straight ahead, his mask revealing nothing of his thoughts. Soap and Gaz sat side by side a few rows ahead, already engrossed in a spirited debate over whether the in-flight rations counted as edible.

Price, ever the professional, was at the front of the cabin, reviewing the mission details on his tablet. ___, sat slightly apart from the group, her normal suit attire traded for a more practical outfit consisting of cargo pants, boots, and a plain black jacket. Despite the attire, she still looked out of place amongst the others. 

The tension from the earlier briefing hadn’t dissipated. Ghost’s warning lingered in her mind, and she’d caught Soap throwing her a few sideways glances since they boarded. She adjusted her seatbelt, shifting uncomfortably as the turbulence made the plane shudder.

“Relax,” Gaz said from across the aisle, offering a small smile. “We’ve been through worse flights.”

“Great,” she muttered, gripping the armrest tighter. “Good to know my first field mission might involve falling out of the sky.”

Soap leaned back in his seat, flashing her a grin. “Don’t worry, lass. If we crash, Ghost’ll probably land us on his feet like a bloody cat.”

Ghost didn’t even bother looking at him. “Focus on the mission, MacTavish.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Soap quipped, though his grin didn’t waver.

Price’s voice broke through the chatter. “Listen up. Once we’re on the ground, things will move quickly. Tarek’s network is vast, but we have intel on a small arms deal happening at a warehouse outside Beirut. Our job is to intercept, secure evidence, and take down anyone who tries to stop us.”

“And the suit?” Ghost asked, his tone devoid of any warmth.

Leaning forward to glare at Ghost. “The suit has a name you know.” 

Price’s gaze flicked to ___. “She’s here to ensure what we find sticks in court and to make sure we don't violate any international laws. You’ll keep her safe.”

Ghost didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes. __ decided to stay quiet for the rest of the flight, knowing anything she said would only add fuel to the fire. She stared out the window instead, watching the dark clouds swirl outside.

This was going to be a long mission.

---

The plane touched down on a small airstrip outside the city, the wheels screeching against the tarmac. The team disembarked quickly, the cold night air biting at their skin. They moved with practiced efficiency, loading their gear onto waiting trucks.

The base was a small, makeshift outpost nestled in the hills overlooking Beirut. As the convoy approached, the sound of generators and the hum of radio chatter greeted them. Soldiers moved about purposefully, their silhouettes stark against the floodlights illuminating the area.

Price led the group into the main operations tent, where maps and monitors covered every available surface. An officer greeted them with a sharp salute, then handed Price a tablet with the latest intel.

“Welcome Captin,” the officer said. “We’ve got eyes on the warehouse. Minimal movement so.”

Price nodded, motioning for the team to gather around. “We’ll go over the plan in the morning. For now, get some rest. Long day ahead.”

The team dispersed, each heading to their assigned quarters. __ was shown to a small, room with a cot, a desk, and a single lamp. She dropped her bag onto the floor and sat on the edge of the cot, exhaustion already creeping in. Just as she started to kick off her boots, there was a knock at the door.

Price stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“Got a minute?” he asked.

“Yeah sure,” she replied, though her tone was wary.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You’re not a soldier. I get that. But out there, it won’t matter. Bullets don’t discriminate. If you can’t hold your own, you’re a liability to the team.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m not here to fight. I’m here to ensure justice is served.”

“And you can’t do that if you’re dead,” he countered. “Starting tomorrow, Ghost will run you through the basics. Enough to keep you alive if things go south.”

Her stomach sank. “Ghost?”

Price’s lips twitched in what might’ve been a small smrik. “He’s the best we’ve got. You’ll learn fast.”

---

The morning sun cast a pale light over the base as __ made her way to the training area. She’d slept fitfully, the looming prospect of Ghost’s “training” keeping her awake. When she arrived, he was already there, his imposing figure standing by a table laden with gear.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice as gruff as ever.

“It’s six in the morning,” she shot back. “I’m not exactly a morning person.”

“Good thing you’re not here for a vacation,” he retorted. “Grab a vest. We’ll start with the basics.”

She sighed, shrugging into the heavy tactical vest he handed her. It felt like wearing a brick wall. He led her to a small range, where targets were set up at varying distances.

“First lesson: handling a firearm. If you’re in a fight, the last thing you want is to fumble.” He handed her a pistol. “Show me what you know.”

She hesitated, gripping the weapon awkwardly. “I’ve only ever handled a gun once. And it was a carnival game… I lost”

“Fantastic,” he said dryly. “Let’s fix that.”

For the next hour, he drilled her on the basics: stance, aim, trigger discipline. Her first shot hit the dirt two feet in front of the target, and her second ricocheted off the side of the range, prompting Ghost to step back with a muttered, “Bloody hell.”

“Are you trying to hit the target or scare it to death?” he asked.

“It’s harder than it looks!” she snapped, reloading with all the grace of someone trying to assemble IKEA furniture without instructions.

By the end of the session, she managed to hit the target more often than not, though her technique left much to be desired.

The second half of the sessions was worse, however. Ghost led her to an open area where he demonstrated hand-to-hand combat techniques.

“What are we doing now?” she asked, eyeing him warily.

“Teaching you how not to die when someone gets too close,” he replied. “Come at me.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Attack me,” he said, gesturing for her to move. “Don’t think. Just do it.”

With no small amount of reluctance, she lunged at him. It ended poorly—she found herself on the ground in less than two seconds.

“Again,” he ordered.

She groaned, getting to her feet. “Do you enjoy this?”

“You’ll thank me later,” he said not masking the amusement in his voice, motioning for her to try again.

Her next attempt was equally disastrous. She tried to throw a punch, but it lacked any real force, and Ghost easily sidestepped, causing her to stumble forward. By her third attempt, she was so frustrated she let out a battle cry that sounded more like an angry goose, which prompted Soap—watching from a distance—to burst out laughing.

By the time they finished, she was bruised, exhausted, and thoroughly annoyed. Ghost, on the other hand, looked as unbothered as ever almost happy even.

---

By the time dinner rolled around,  was utterly spent. Her muscles ached, her pride was bruised, and her stomach growled loud enough to echo in the mess hall. She grabbed a tray and slumped into a seat at one of the long tables, praying for a moment of peace.

Naturally, that wasn’t going to happen.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite new recruit,” Soap announced, plopping down across from her with an exaggerated grin. Gaz followed, carrying his tray and shaking his head at Soap’s antics.

“I’m not a recruit,” she mumbled, poking at the unidentifiable stew on her plate. “I’m a lawyer.”

“A lawyer who can’t throw a punch to save her life,” Soap teased. “That wee war cry of yours? Nearly killed me. From laughter.”

Gaz snorted into his drink. “I’ve seen geese with more intimidating moves.”

“Ha, ha,” she said dryly, stabbing a piece of whatever kinda meat this was with her fork. “Glad I could entertain you.”

“To be fair,” Gaz added, “you did hit the target a few times by the end. Progress, eh?”

“Sure, if you call barely competent progress,” she muttered. “Ghost probably thinks I’m hopeless.”

Soap grinned. “Nah, if he thought you were hopeless, he wouldn’t bother trainin’ you. He’s just got a funny way of showin’ encouragement.”

“Funny isn’t the word I’d use,” she said, though a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

Before they could continue, an officer entered the mess hall, his expression tense. The room quieted as he approached their table.

“Captain Price wants everyone in the operations tent,” he said, his tone brisk. “We’ve got activity at the warehouse. Looks like the deal’s happening sooner than expected.”

Instantly, the atmosphere shifted. Soap and Gaz were on their feet in seconds, their joking demeanor replaced with sharp focus.

“Guess playtime’s over,” Soap said, getting up from his spot and heading to the operation tent outside. 

__ stares down at her food before getting up with Gaz as they both start to head to the tent. 

“Hey maybe you might get lucky and Terek is scared of geese,” Gaz says with a chuckle.

“Please shut up…”

hey guys... so... yeah been a minute hasn't it.

I'm so sorry for the super super late update. Iv been stuck in the hospital due to a heart condition I suffer from and with the holidays I was just so stressed with that and my condition that I wasn't able to write anything.

but now I'm out horray so happy lol. but I started writing again just not sure about the schedule of when stuff with come out now also since I'll be starting college back up again so ill be busy. but I'll try my best to get stuff out to yall. also, I don't want this story to be a crazy slow burn so I might try to push things along in the next one and start the juicy stuff soon. hehehehhehehe.