#the stove is broken and can only be turned on by putting on one specific pan on it

[motherdanger]

me from 11 am to 2 am arguing with myself in bed if i should get up and just eat my damned canned tuna ive been fighting with myself for three hours

[voidandabyssal]

Ello! I am back!

I loved what you did with my last request, and I wish to add another one!

In this can I ask for undertale papyrus, underfell papyrus, underswap sans, and horrortale papyrus?

In this scenario, they are married to reader (Separate unlees together if it makes it easier to write), and it's their 5 year anniversary. Reader wanting to do something sweet for them wakes up at like 3am. since the boys already wake up early. They try to make breakfast, but the boys wake up to the fire alarm going off, and they find reader in the kitchen. There's like broken eggs on the floor, flower everywhere, 3 pans in the skink, and reader was trying to put out the mini fire on the stove. Reader can't cook for shit. Even if their life depends on it.

How will the boys react, and what will they do?

I say this overtime and it dosent change. Take you're time and stay safe!

Papyrus:

Papyrus is jumping off the bed and practically flying by into the kitchen the second the fire alarm goes off

He has been with you for five long years, and every year your cooking somehow only manages to grow more and more chaotic

Luckily Papyrus has an infinite amount of energy and doesn’t mind helping you clean up at 3 in the morning

Though he does try and remind you to please avoid using the kitchen in the dark, or spraying cooking oil over a lit flame

He sends you to bed and when you wake up you find Papyrus has actually cleaned up and made you breakfast

Edge (uf paps):

He wakes up when you get up at 3

He’s suspicious at first, what on earth could you want to be doing this early

And although Edge greatly treasures his sleep schedule he gets up after you to make sure your okay

Edge nearly gets blasted with a flame as the stove bursts into bright blue flame

How?? Did you even manage that?? It’s a magical stove designed specifically for low flame??

Edge is very annoyed, like, he’s just about to throttle you annoyed

He makes you clean up the mess all by yourself (somehow you managed to nearly destroy the kitchen in the five minutes Edge had left you alone for)

Be prepared for a very long lecture. Edge has warned you time and time again about the dangers of mtt ovens

He does relent though when you admit it was supposed to be an anniversary gift. Edge softens up just a little and lets you go back to bed before he’s done lecturing you

Blue (us sans):

Blue wanders up to you in the middle of the night as your trying to start cooking his breakfast and he drags you away as you drop the first egg

It’s 3 in the morning, Blue just got off a very long shift and all he wants is some peaceful sleeping with you

Luckily he pulled you away before the stove could be set alight like last time

Probably one of the few times Blue won’t be bouncing around with energy

Crisis averted. Now you and him can enjoy a much more rested start to your anniversary

Once the two of you are rested and it’s not some forbidden hour you and Blue will get to make breakfast together

(You still end up setting the fire alarm off. Love may win but your horrible cooking skills always manage to come on top)

Crooks (ht paps):

Again, like Edge, Crooks is a very sensitive sleeper and he stirs pretty quickly when he realises he can’t find you in bed

Crooks trusts you enough not to be doing anything stupid

Rip Crooks, how wrong you were

The second those eggs hit the ground he’s awake

Its like a third sense or something

He lets out a tired groan as he just anxiously focuses on how you’ve managed to waste more food this time and so early in the morning!

You are completely oblivious to Crooks as he appeared behind you and when you do turn around you scream and drop the pan

More eggs drop all over the floor. Crooks’s face has gone blank so you nervously stand there and wait for him to give a reaction

Crooks is so, so tired, his back hurts and now his precious eggs have gone to waste. You and him clean up the mess and he wordlessly drags you back to bed

He’s not mad, Crooks just hates wasting food and prefers spending his nights sleeping.

When you both wake up at a more reasonable hour he gives you a pretty big lecture.

Then you both make breakfast together (or really, Crooks makes it and you just hand him the ingredients)

[moonlight0934]

No Where Else To Go

Akutagawa sets a kettle on the stove before starting dinner. His neighbors are playing their music absurdly loud, and Akutagawa has half a mind to threaten them into turning it down. However, he decides that he’s too tired, and doesn’t have the energy to threaten anyone today. So, he pours his tea, and serves himself dinner before sitting down at his dining room table.

He only gets a few bites in before his phone starts ringing. He barely looks over at the couch where he left his phone before turning back to his dinner. He continues eating even as his phone rings and rings, someone repeatedly calling him. Eventually they give up, and his phone goes silent.

Once he’s done with his dinner and cleaning up, Akutagawa takes his tea into the living room with him. He picks up his phone, which has vibrated to the edge of the couch. The number isn’t one that he has saved, but they called eight times before giving up. The number isn’t one that he recognizes either since he doesn’t save a lot of numbers unless they’re his co-workers’ numbers, but he’s pretty good about remembering people if they give him their numbers.

So, he puts his phone back down, and settles down with a book. It’s half an hour later when there’s a knock on Akutagawa’s door. He originally questions if someone is even knocking, because of how loud the neighbor’s music is, and how loud the pain pounding on his window is. He still gets up to check anyway. Atsushi is leaning against his doorway, soaking wet and shivering. Akutagawa blinks, surprised.

How did he get my address? Why is he here?

“Jinko?”

“Sorry, I didn’t think I could get anywhere else,” Atsushi whispers, his breathing labored.

Akutagawa pulls him inside, then shuts the door. Atsushi looks as though he’s trying to figure out if Akutagawa is going to stab him or not.

“I’m not supposed to have anything from work follow me to my apartment. It’s a security risk. Why are you here?”

“I was working on a case, and it went bad.”

There’s a growing puddle of water on Akutagawa’s floor, so he turns around.

“I’m going to get a few towels, then you can get to the point.”

Atsushi stays right where he is while Akutagawa grabs the towels. He tosses one on the floor, then drapes one around Atsushi’s shoulder.

“Now speak.”

Atsushi sinks to the floor, his eyes unfocused. Akutagawa frowns.

“The employer kidnapped me. He did something to my ability, and now it’s not working. I was with him for days, and he…” Atsushi shudders. “I think I got an infection, but I couldn’t get any further. It was raining, and I’m sorry that I tracked water in your apartment.”

Akutagawa hums.

“How did you get my address? It makes sense that you came here if it was the closest, but how did you know to?”

“Dazai gave me your address just in case.”

“Of course he did. Just stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Akutagawa walks to his room. He grabs some spare sleeping clothes, then grabs the first aid kit from his bathroom along with some pain meds and fever reducers. He walks back to find Atsushi still on the floor, leaning back against the wall. Akutagawa taps his shoulder as he kneels down on the floor.

“Where’s the infected injury?”

“Side.”

“Take your shirt off.”

Atsushi complies though it takes him a while to get the buttons undone. Akutagawa waits patiently until he does. Then he takes stock of the cuts and bruises all over Atsushi’s torso. He cleans each one thoroughly, then bandages them up.

Once he’s done, he says, “Ok, are there any more injuries that I should know about? Some of them do look infected, but there’s nothing more that I can do to fix that right now.”

“No, there shouldn’t be. Well, two of my fingers are broken, but I already set them, so it’s fine.”

Akutagawa nods. He pulls out the specific amount of pills he needs, then holds them out to Atsushi. Atsushi takes them, and Akutagawa stands up.

“I’m going to help you into the bathroom, and you’re going to change into these clothes. I’ll call someone to come pick you up, and then come get you.”

Atsushi nods, and Akutagawa pulls Atsushi to his feet. He has to hold most of Atsushi’s weight, and it’s oddly reminiscent of their fight on the boat. He has to force that thought out of his mind as he sets Atsushi down on the edge of the bathtub. Akutagawa puts the clothes on the top of the toilet. He walks back to the living room, and picks up his phone. He tries calling the number back that was calling him earlier since that’s a really odd coincidence. The call doesn’t go through, so he tries calling the number for the agency.

I don’t know any of their specific numbers.

The call doesn’t even connect. He walks back to the bathroom.

“Are you good?”

“Yeah, I changed.”

Akutagawa walks in, and grabs Atsushi. He takes him back to the living room, and helps him lay down on the couch.

“So, I don’t have any reception. It’s probably the-”

His neighbor’s music gets louder, and he has to stop himself from grinding his teeth together.

“It’s probably the storm. So, you’re stuck here for a while, I guess. I’m going to kill my neighbors, so I’ll be right back, and we can finish this conversation.”

Akutagawa walks next door, and bangs on the door. One of his neighbor’s opens the door.

“It is far too late in the evening to have your music playing this loud. Turn it down.”

The woman nods. She’s been terrified of Akutagawa since he almost took her fingers off when she tried to hit on him one time. He heads down the stairs, trying to see if he can get some signal from anywhere in the building. He can hear the wind and rain better once he gets away from the music. He only stays there for a few minutes before deciding that he’s not going to get any reception, and heads back up the stairs.

Atsushi is mostly asleep by then, so Akutagawa just sits down in the recliner. He curls up, tucking his feet underneath him before opening his book again. He ends up falling asleep with his face squished against the arm of his chair. He wakes up to someone wheezing, and for once, it’s not him.

Atsushi is wheezing, and his face is red. The music is off by now, so the rain is coming down really hard is the only other noise in his apartment. Akutagawa gets up, almost falling because his feet and legs are asleep. He settles himself on the floor for a minute before pulling himself back up.

“Atsushi.”

Akutagawa shakes Atsushi’s shoulder, who cracks his eyes open. He coughs, and Akutagawa flinches back.

He’s going to expose me to all kinds of germs.

“Hey,” Atsushi whispers, his voice mostly gone.

“You need to sit up. I’m going to get some pillows and blankets to prop you up with, and figure out if I have anything that’ll help you breathe better.”

Atsushi nods. Akutagawa goes back into his room to grab the stuff, and bring it back. He props Atsushi up with the blankets, who seems more awake, but still not coherent. His eyes are glazed over from the fever, and he’s shaking.

Akutagawa grabs his phone, knowing that dealing with this is way out of his league. Especially without any antibiotics, or anything other than the basic supplies in Akutagawa’s first aid kit. He sits down next to Atsushi as he opens his phone. He still has no bars, and the storm hasn’t eased up in the slightest.

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other. Dazai even said he couldn’t reach you after everything happened. I thought maybe you were avoiding me,” Atsushi says, still slumped over the blankets.

Akutagawa glances at him before turning away.

“As much as we hate each other, we had a pretty good run as partners, didn’t we? Is that over forever?”

Akutagawa bites the inside of his cheek.

“Try to get some more rest.”

Akutagawa walks to the door, slips his shoes on, and grabs his keys. If he can’t reach someone, he’s just going to have to go get someone from the agency. He doesn’t want to risk taking Atsushi out in the rain to bring him too, so he walks outside by himself. He drives to the agency building, even though he has no idea if anyone is going to be there.

Probably not. It’s two in the morning with one of the worst storms we’ve had in a really long time.

Akutagawa is the only one out driving, and he can barely see two feet in front of him. He stops in front of the agency building, and gets out. He knocks on the door for two minutes, then just picks the lock. He heads up the stairs, shivering from being out in the rain that long.

No one is in the offices, but he manages to find the address to the agency dorms on one of the computers. So, he heads there. He walks past the nameplates that he doesn’t recognize, and stops in front of one of the last ones. He knocks, and just keeps knocking until Dazai opens the door. Dazai looks half asleep, and furious. Akutagawa still feels himself shrink back a little when he sees how angry Dazai is.

“Akutagawa? What are you doing here? I was trying to call you earlier so you could help us look for Atsushi. At this point, we’re basically out of options. You didn’t want to help, or answer earlier, so why the hell are you here?”

“I was eating my dinner when you called, and I tried calling back. The storm took out my reception. Also, I’m here because Atsushi showed up at my apartment. Whoever took him did something to his ability, and he’s really sick. I tried to wait out the storm, but he was getting worse, and I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“I’m going to get Yosano. Just wait here, and we’ll follow behind you,” Dazai says before slipping past Akutagawa.

Akutagawa sighs, and waits for them to come back. It’s not long, and they follow Akutagawa home. He unlocks the door, and steps to the side.

“He’s in the living room.”

They both rush past Akutagawa, who just stays in the doorway. A few minutes later, Dazai walks back over.

“Yosano doesn’t want to do anything here, so we’re going to take him back to the dorms. Can you get him down to the car?”

Akutagawa sighs as he walks past. He uses Rashomon to gently pick Atsushi up, and he walks out to their car with Dazai. He keeps an eye on Yosano too, making sure that she’s behind them. Once he gets Atsushi settled in the backseat, he turns to Dazai.

“Is he going to be ok?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. Just don’t worry about it, and get back to whatever you were doing before he got here.”

Akutagawa nods, and heads back inside. He ends up getting a shower before climbing back into bed. He can’t quite get Atsushi’s words out of his head, and he ends up falling asleep thinking about them.

[willowser]

now that my broken bones all have been healed—

kirishima x reader

wc: 11.2k+

warnings: reader is a parent, feels the pressures of being a good one, kirishima is so darn cute that it's ridiculous, tooth-rotting fluff

part two >>>

—i think i'm starting to feel

The first time Koji mentions him, you don’t think anything of it.

“Red Riot says I’m gonna be strong and manly, mama.” Already he’s blinking hard and slow, with his parted lips and wild hair. At the sight of him in your rearview mirror, you turn up the soft music playing over the car radio, nodding to him as if he can see you.

Red Riot, Red Riot, Red Riot…

The frame of a man is built as you think of the hero in question, all jagged edges and harsh corners, a blank face you can’t color in. A commercial about hair gel, all over shirts in the boys section of the department store, taking up one, red wall in the toy aisle; there are places you know you’ve seen him, but Koji hasn’t ever brought him up before, that you can remember, and he’s your only real source of knowledge about the popular heroes these days.

“Did he?” The car line for his kindergarten pick-up is long, so you sigh and turn around to look at him. “He’s right, I’m sure you will.”

But his eyes are already closed.

The second time Koji mentions him, you don’t think anything of it.

It’s the kind of very rare Saturday that has you up early, stove on and eggs cooking over it. Koji is all yours this weekend — though he’ll be with his dad next week — and your co-worker agreed to take your shift so you could enjoy some quality time with your little man.

It’s not unusual for your son to stroll out of bed really, really early, so it doesn’t surprise you when he comes from his room, drool still on his cheeks, and grabs the television remote from the coffee table. What does surprise you, however, is the attire Koji has dressed himself in.

The Christmas sweater is All Might themed and from last year, but it’s bright red and he’s only got some red undies on underneath. It reminds you how much he’s grown since the holidays; the sleeves barely reach his wrists and his little tummy is sticking out at the bottom.

“Morning, honey bee.” You say, smiling at him when he smacks his lips and looks up at you. After he hits the power button on the remote, he silently comes to you, yawning still, and stands on your feet until you heave him up onto your hip. Nishida says you shouldn’t carry him so much anymore, since he’s five now, but you don’t care. There are only a handful of moments you have left with your son like this, so you just kiss his head and let him lay it against your collarbone, even if you are struggling to support his weight.

“Mama,” another yawn. “I wanna watch Mighty Friends.”

Plus Ultra: Mighty Adventures with Mighty Friends! is a cartoon for the newer generation, though it still wields All Might as the Symbol of Peace in all his chibi glory. It’s a cute little show, one that airs every Saturday, and it’s not necessarily an origin story, but All Might pops back and forth between his hero persona and regular, thin figure. A lot of the up and coming heroes are featured, usually coming in at the moment of disaster to help All Might—who talks a lot about real strength and determination, even as blood comes from his mouth—with a conveniently specific quirk for the kind of villain tearing up the town.

Koji has never asked for it by name, but if you put it on, it’ll capture enough of his short attention span to keep him still for at least two fifteen minute episodes.

“That sounds like a good idea.” The eggs are just about done, so you move them to a cold burner (they’ll finish cooking in the pan) and carry him to the couch across from the television.

When he’s sleepy like this, it’s easy to cradle him like he’s still your little, bitty baby. Koji doesn’t resist when you sit him up, back against your chest as his legs dangle over your knees. It’s not hard to find the show—even though Koji isn’t a huge fan, it’s quite popular—and you flip to it just as All Might takes the screen to shout his catchphrase.

Koji is a rambunctious five year old boy and it shows in every aspect of him; of course he likes heroes, though there hasn’t been a singular one he’s attached himself to. Maybe All Might, a little bit, but the media is still so saturated with him, just like the toy aisles and birthday supply stores, it’s hard for kids not to latch onto the retired hero. Your son has most of the popular hero action figures and he knows them all by name, makes them fight in the bath, but he doesn’t love any of them.

Just as chibi Deku comes across the screen in all his emerald glory, Koji sits up and starts pulling at his hair, like he’s trying to make it stick out at a number of wild angles. A laugh track plays when the freckled figure trips over his own feet, turning beet red when All Might pats him on the head. Koji turns to look at you, a smile on his face like he thought it was funny, too.

“Mama, look.” He points to the television, but you just smile at him.

“He’s a little clumsy, huh?”

Koji nods and turns back to watch as more of the new heroes pour onto the screen, all meeting and talking about whatever problem is at hand. Sitting on the couch had been a mistake, because now your eyes are closing, rolling back into your skull as you get more comfortable.

“Red Riot!” The sound of your son’s voice jolts you upright, just as he jumps from your lap to move closer to the television. Sleep is still heavy upon him, his voice a little croaky as he holds his fist in the air. The red hero comments "so manly!” on something Deku says, something about working together, that asking someone for help is brave. Koji whips around to smile at you again, a little brighter than the one he’d given you during the laugh track. This one is genuine.

So is yours.

—

The third and fourth time Koji mentions him, you start to realize something is up.

Nishida is meeting you in the parking lot of your local supermarket—sans cute, blonde Hatano, the girlfriend you found out about through your son—and the car has just stopped when the back door flings open. Koji is absolutely, totally not strapped into his fucking car seat, which nearly makes you lose it when his dad steps out to grin at you.

But Koji’s hair is gelled up in four different angles, pointing off his head in spikes so sharp that they almost take your eye out when he bounds into your arms. The sight of your son is enough to kick away your worries for the moment, to lower the flame that roars up, and you only clear your throat and smile at him.

You won’t give Nishida this, you won’t indulge the lecture he’d probably been expecting.

“What in the world has happened to your hair?” A laugh even comes from you when Koji shakes his head, eager to show you how stiff it is.

Nishida shrugs, smelling like the cigarette smoke you’d noticed on your son's shirt last weekend. “The kid wanted hair like Crimson Riot’s.”

The kid.

Fuck, he’s really pushing it.

“No, dad!” Koji swivels in your arms and shakes about, suddenly insistent on being put down. When he’s on the ground, he crosses his arm across his chest, straightening his hands to be as stiff as his hair. “Red Riot has hair like this!”

“Oh, yeah, Red Riot.” Nishida scratches his beard and smiles. “Do you remember Crimson Riot? He’s, like, old or whatever. Guess this new kid is his replacement.”

Steam is coming out of your ears, but you just cross your arms behind your back so Koji’s dad can’t see the fists you're making. “Hmm. Not sure. Koji just started talking about him last week.”

The kid in question starts standing on his dad’s feet, grabbing at his biceps in a silent plea to be picked up.

Nishida just pinches Koji's nose. “Tell me about it, he wouldn’t be quiet about the guy all weekend.” Koji swats at him, shouting unbreakable! as he crosses his arms again. “Making me think you love him more than your dear old dad. It wounds me, kid!”

There are many things you can’t stand about Nishida Heizo, but when Koji gives him a funny look, when he puts his hands on his little hips before hugging your ex-boyfriends leg, you can’t help but smile. It’s been a long week without your little man and you’re more than ready to have him back in the apartment. The absence of him had been abundantly loud, seeping out from his dark bedroom and into your lonely heart, but the sight of his bright, amber eyes light up your own.

“Gonna have to find this guy, kick his butt.”

Koji crosses his arms for real and sends his dad a serious glare, one that resembles the exact look you gave Nishida when he’d gotten out of the car. Your ex-boyfriend seems to notice this because he points to your son, then at you, and then rolls his eyes dramatically.

“Dad, Red Riot would totally kill you.”

“Hey,” you frown, squatting down as you pinch Koji’s cheeks lightly. “I don’t think Red Riot kills anyone, heroes don’t kill. Why’re you saying that, anyway?”

The first movie date Nishida had ever taken you to had been some exploding, flaming, blood-filled action film; it's not hard to figure out where this vocabulary word came from. Koji's dad is standing there, open and staring at you, waiting for the lecture you want to tear him open with, but you won’t indulge him. No matter how much you want to.

Koji ignores you—he must hear the stern tone lingering in your voice—and instead focuses on karate chopping his dad in the leg.

Half a decade of emotional distress is just begging to come out and swallow the three of you in the parking lot, so you try not to look at Nishida. You shake Koji’s arm lightly, tugging him a little closer to you. “We have a few things to get here, honey bee.”

It takes another awkward fifteen minutes for Koji to bid his dad goodbye, too used to the scratch of his facial hair, the callousness of his words from the long week. The routine is so heartbreakingly familiar at this point, so he doesn’t cry, not like he used to, but he does ask if your ex-boyfriend can come in the store with you (Nishida gains a point then: you’re too quick to say no). It’s weighing on him a little, though, and you can tell by the quiet way he sits in the cart as you wheel him down aisle after aisle. Absent-mindedly, he picks at the sticker on the bunch of bananas in his lap.

Koji doesn’t speak until you turn down the cereal aisle. The fruit goes flying against the front of the cart as he climbs to unsteady feet, the weight of his little body jolting it forward just a bit, as he shouts,

“Mom! Red Riot cereal!”

Sure enough, the recent center of your son's attention is outfitted in his heroic red, hands on his hips as he stands with broad and proud shoulders. The box of corn flakes is traditionally orange, but it’s as crimson as the shorts your son wears, and the box advertises a brand new flavor(!). When you flip the box to look at the back, Red Riot is holding a bowl in his own hands, sharp teeth digging into a too-perfect strawberry. Packed with iron and 5 other vitamins, Kellogg’s Corn Flakes are the manliest way to start your morning!

Up close, you can finally color in the parts of his face you couldn’t recall. It’s no different than the rest of him, the skin that isn't covered by his headgear; sharp, jagged, tan. It’s a wonder how such an angular man can look so friendly, wrapped in red and wielding teeth that could pierce flesh as easily as they do fruit. But Koji loves him, suddenly, and he’s reaching for the box in your hands.

Usually your son doesn’t eat cereal if it doesn't have two cups of sugar in it, is multi colored and loaded up with vibrant marshmallows. Besides the dried strawberries, Red Riot's riveting new cereal is just cornflakes and Koji is not going to eat them.

You send him a curious look. “Koji, don’t you want that fruity cereal you had last time? You really liked it.”

“I want this one!” The smile is blinding, even more so than that of the—presumably—photoshopped one his hero wears. “It’s Red Riot cereal. It says,” Koji is still learning to read and he narrows his little eyes at the words, running his finger underneath them as he sounds the letters out quietly. After a minute, he spins the box to show you, impatient. “Red Riot says, ‘eat this to be a hero!’”

A hum comes from your chest as you nod, taking the box from his hands. “Is that what it says? Honey—you aren’t gonna eat these, let’s just get the fruity cereal. The one with the lion on it, like last time?”

Emotions are still high due to the parting from his father and a pout comes easier, heavier, on his lips than it should. The logical mom part of you wants to stand your ground—he’s not going to eat the cereal, he’s gonna assure you he will, only to leave it soggy and sitting on your table.

But the soft part of you—the one that’s been away from your son for five long days—wants to kiss that pout right from his lips.

That part of you earns a point; you put the box back in Koji’s hands, sighing when he sits back down on the bananas, hugging it to his chest.

—

The fifth time Koji mentions him, you decide to ask him about it.

The third button on your blouse is missing and has been since your son put his toys in the dryer, apparently letting them experience the wrath of Shoto after getting captured (though you doubt the hero would wrap the villains in a tornado of fire and Ingenium undies). If you bend too far, your bellybutton shows and you’ve asked your boss for a new shirt ever since it happened—three weeks ago—but you’ve yet to receive it.

Koji must get his stubbornness from you; you refuse to buy a new one, especially since your boss promised to supply you with one. You would never admit to passing that trait onto your son, however, as it would only result in another point for Nishida.

There are pillows on the floor in your living room and your son is laying on top of them, wrapped in the end of his blanket as he watches the television on his stomach. Behind him, your mom is sitting on the couch with a romance novel in her hands (Secrets of the King, a golden crown sitting on a pair of discarded gloves, a red lip print stained over the white silk). She won’t open it and read it until you’ve gone, and she looks between you and Koji, peeking over her glasses in such a grandma way, you want to tease her for it.

“I’m supposed to work until we close, so maybe eleven?” You answer her, shifting on your feet as you wiggle into your slacks. “But you know how those people are—sometimes they want to stay after hours and Takata will let them, like he always does.”

“Eleven? That’s really late.” Lines form around the frown on her face, lines you’ll one day inherit. “Did you call that place I told you about, the office job?”

“Yes, they just haven’t called me back.”

That’s a lie. Shortly after your mother had forwarded you the link to the company website, you had spent about 30 minutes calculating out your monthly salary, how much you already spent on Koji and yourself, and realized it just wouldn’t be enough.

It’s not that you and your son were struggling, not at all; the two of you lived just fine in your apartment, on the second floor, and Koji even had a room and closet of his own, enough space for a dresser and a play table for his Legos. There is a personal bathroom connected to your room, one with a nice, large tub, and the kitchen was big enough that you and your mother could cook together, side by side, if you wanted. Koji went to a nice school close by, he got new clothes every time you got rid of some, and he got the gifts he so desired (in a responsible sense, of course; you weren't throwing toys at him left and right). Not once had your son ever gone to bed hungry, not once.

There was a time when you were staring down an empty apartment with a new baby in your arms and you had been sure you couldn’t do it, not without Nishida, but here you were, four years later. It had taken a lot of hard work to get to this place, this apartment, this living room with Koji, and you would do it all again, if need be, for your son. The workings of your daily life as a single mother were a well oiled machine, there was a schedule and a purpose to every small decision you made, and the truth was that you just didn’t have room for any changes.

Much as you disliked the teppanyaki restaurant you worked at, it was high class and you were always receiving decent tips on the tickets from customers you trash talked in the kitchen while grabbing another bottle of sake. The worst part about it was how much it weighed on your own self confidence, being a venue that took pride in the “servitude” of its employees, of the “elegance” to their appearance. All you wanted to do was pour more wine in a glass, not be judged—openly—for your etiquette.

The white blouse you’re required to wear has a gold lined collar and your slacks have to be freshly ironed, pressed and looking as black as night. Jewellery is alright, as long as it is small and classy, of course, but you always forgo that so you can fasten a peach clip against the pieces of your hair that don’t slick back enough. When you cast a glance at your mother, she’s frowning, clearly unhappy with your night shift.

“How do I look, honey bee?”

Koji looks from the television before sticking his little thumb up at you. At the sight of you pulling on your shoes, he seems to realize something, shouting mama, wait! before sliding across the floor in his long (red) socks and disappearing into his room. When he comes back to you, there is a crumpled piece of paper in his hands, one stained with grape juice.

“What’s this, a love letter for me?” It’s stuck to itself and you do your best not to rip it. When it finally folds open, you furrow your eyebrows a little—you haven’t bought grape juice in a few weeks.

“I need you to mail it to Red Riot.”

The handwriting is in crayon and all Koji’s, though it’s clear he’d had help with writing it all out (Nishida, +1), and it’s addressed to the famed hero himself.

Red Riot, when are you going to train with me like you said? My name is Nishida Koji and I am 5.

Much to your horror, the note also includes the address to your apartment (Nishida, -1), which leads you to re-read the words over and over again, three more times. Train with me like you said? Koji is none the wiser to your confusion, eyes back on the puppy television show playing in the background as you try to make sense of his little letter.

Theories are bouncing around in your brain; the sudden obsession with this Repeat Riot has come from nowhere, it seems. Sure, Koji had been excited about receiving his action figure at his birthday last year and the hero has been in a multitude of battles in the bathtub, fighting off Sugarman and the whirlpool created by the drain, but he’s never shown him any special attention. Until now.

The one concept that scares you the most is the one your frazzled brain clings to: like you said must mean that someone dressed like Red Riot approached Koji, somewhere, and tried to—

—well, they must have tried to—

—lure him, your sweet Koji. Pull him into an alleyway and snatch him up, like a fucking pervert. Maybe even asked your baby for his address so he could slip through the windows while you slept in the other room, oblivious to the horror befalling your home.

The devastation sweeping across your life.

“Koji, did you give Red Riot your address?” When you grab him by the arm, his eyes go wide, the way they do when you speak to him in that you’re-in-big-trouble-mister voice. At the sight of his face, you try to at least appear calm. “Did you tell him where you live, honey?”

“He’s supposed to teach me to use my quirk.”

The intensity of your mother’s gaze is burning the side of your face and you can feel the uncomfortable weight of her disappointment and confusion building in your own chest, the same weight that stays too long after you return from work, the same weight that wants to talk in the kitchen while Koji sleeps. The same weight, with the lines around her frown, that questions the kind of mother you are.

“Who?” She asks.

When Koji turns to look at her, you’re quick to grab his chin and steer his face back to you. “Koji,” you try the sleepy-time voice, the one that tells him bedtime stories on the nights he crawls into your bed. “Did you tell Red Riot where we live?” No words escape him as he shakes his head. “When did Red Riot tell you he was going to train you? Where?”

“At school.”

The image of the hero is tarnished; you want to throw away the cereal box, block Mighty Friends from your channel list, and put the action figure in the dryer on ‘high heat’. It’s not actually his fault, but from this moment forward, you won’t be able to remove this fear from the sight of him on the billboards downtown. From this moment forward, those predatory teeth of his will be biting into Koji instead of that damned strawberry.

The first day, the one in the car, comes flying back to you and you make the connection from all the times the red hero has come up in the last two weeks. It makes your eyes burn with furious, terrified tears; some fucking weirdo had tried to take your precious, curious little—

The tone of your voice, which has deepened from fear, has him near tears, and you press your lips into a thin line as you grip the paper in your hands. It crinkles beneath your fist and you do your best to smile at him, clearing your throat as you lean away so that you can fold the letter and tuck it into your back pocket.

“I’ll send it to him, honey, I’ll make sure Red Riot gets it.” Koji’s face doesn’t lighten up. “But he’s a big time guy, okay? He might be too busy with hero stuff to come play.”

He’s already in a blue mood and your words only darken it. “But he said he would.”

“Who?” Your mom repeats, and the book is leaving her hands to be set on the coffee table, so she can round it and hold out her hand for the letter.

The last thing you need in this infuriatingly scary moment is her own disapproval shining in her eyes, on top of the lie about the office job. After work, you’ll make a point to rip the paper into the smallest shreds your fingers will allow, and you’ll drop half the pile off in one dumpster and then drive all the way across town to dump the rest in another; no Rotten Riot is going to find your Koji.

It bothers you all the way to the car, all the way to work and to the time clock, it bothers you at your first table and your second, your third, your forth. When you head to the back after the first two hours, you decide to put a point in Nishida’s hands: you type out a text asking him what in the ever loving fuck he was thinking, allowing your son to write a letter addressed to a stranger.

(Even if by some odd miracle it had ended up in the PR office for Red Riot himself, who knows where that letter could have gone? You have no doubt that his agency gets them all the time—maybe Ridiculous Red even reads them—but then what? Surely he doesn’t keep them in a drawer for later, so...the trash? For other scoundrels to find?)

But then you realize you are handing your ex-boyfriend way too many points, and you’re infuriated enough to entertain the thought that the fucker did it all just to spite you, just to see this exact reaction come across his notifications, and you cool down enough to just ask him if he knew what the letter to Red Riot had been about. The phone burns a hole in your pocket with your steaming impatience and your hands curl into fists when your coworker tells you table 57 wants another bottle of sake.

The amount of money left on the tickets for you is a mystery. You can’t find it in yourself to pay attention to hardly anything anyone is saying, you can only think about Koji in the street with a stranger, you can only think about the breeze that hits your belly button when you breathe too hard—which is constant; away from Koji’s eyes, your heart rate has increased, not helped by the anxiety of your job, and you’re panting. It feels as if your resolve is crumbling loudly, as if your chest is thumping hard enough to shake the entire building.

When you round the corner and stop by table 57, blue bottle in your hands, you can hardly focus on what they’re saying to you—it’s almost as if they aren’t saying anything at all. The night shines through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows behind you, decorative lanterns illuminating the street and the well-dressed patrons that cross it. Table 57 has six customers and when you begin to berate yourself for lacking concentration, you realize they are all already looking at you.

“I’m sorry?” The force of your smile has your cheeks hurting as you look each one of them in the eyes, your own widening as theirs do. They look suddenly nervous, then worried, and then your own grim attitude is manifesting on their face.

A woman at the table gasps. Two of the men jump from their seats to scramble away. Glasses break and plates smash. People start yelling.

The man in front of you is heavyset, round and purple with the extent it takes for his chest to heave in a breath, and his eyes are boring directly into yours, so hard that you can’t find it in yourself to look away. They’re green, so shiny and full of some emotion you can’t process that you can almost see your own reflection in them, you can see the matched expression that has taken over your own face. The exchange happens in a matter of seconds, but you could swear the two of you looked at each other for hours.

In your pocket, the phone vibrates.

The windows break just after you turn. They’re close enough to you that the shards of glass slice into the skin of your cheeks, the lines worrying your forehead, even your exposed ears. The sleeve of your shirt is torn and you’re already bleeding by the time you see the black, shiny car barreling over the tables and charging you. It’s creaking and cracking; it’s own windows have already broken, all six of them, and there is a large dent on one side, as if it had been rocketed forward by some mighty force. The side mirrors on the car have gone concave, folding back into the car with the amount of times it’s rolled against the ground, and the elegant dining room of KOBE turns into ground zero.

There wouldn’t have been time for you to react, not even if you’d turned around sooner, and the only thing you can think of as your death hurtles toward you is Koji.

The honey color of his eyes. The dimple in his right cheek. The sweet smell of his watermelon shampoo. The caress of his soft hair against your face in the middle of the night. The weight of him on your hip, on your back, in your belly. The white of all his little teeth when he laughs, the sound of it pure and innocent of any darkness from the world. His imagination, which has led to hundreds of his own bedtime stories, of his own hero and villain battles, of his own dreams (which he whispers to himself every night before he falls asleep).

He’ll be motherless in the blink of an eye; you should have hugged him tighter hours ago.

It’s on instinct that you close your eyes and the side of you that was exposed to the window is impacted violently, the firm wall of steel that sends you flying. The force is so strong that you can feel your bones move beneath your muscles before your body catches up, the way your shoulders extend completely outward before your head follows. There isn’t any pain, not at first, though you can hear the crack of your own bones as the table breaks underneath you—coating you in even more broken glass. The heavyset man hadn’t moved either. Someone is shouting for him.

When the chaos ends, there is only the creaking of broken steel, the grunting of the man beside you, and the weight of your end planted against your back.

For a solid few seconds, you’re sure you’re dead. Koji is an ever present background in the flash of life that blinds you. All the good moments in your life are of him and you’ll go out sobbing at the very thought of his sweet, round face.

But then another face is coming into your field of view, one you recognize but can’t place, and it’s speaking, saying “hey, hey, hey, don’t close your eyes”.

The pain is what makes you realize you’re still alive, the pain of your ribs and your neck, of your shoulder and forearm. The weight on you is not the car—which sits, beaten to all hell, only feet from you—but a man, with his fingers on your face, pulling your eyelids up. After a few moments, he moves his hands to your sternum and his eyes are wide, just as you imagine yours are.

“You gotta breathe, lady!” The tone of his voice is sharp and gravelly, barely reaching your ears through the screams behind you. “C’mon!”

You try to listen to him, but when you attempt to puff out your chest, it becomes obvious that the air had been entirely knocked from your lungs. There is a searing and terrifying agony as you open and close your mouth, arching your back as you struggle to expand the shriveled lungs in your chest. Just as terror flashes across his face, your body reacts, inhaling great, heaving gulps like you’d been underwater for the past 3 minutes it took for the accident to happen.

“Shit, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Hands come up to your face—your own, you eventually realize—and the blood against your forehead is hot and dripping, the cuts on your cheek sting and burn as you let out a cry of pain from moving your arm. The firm figure on top of you cradles your elbow very gently, urging you to stay still before he’s glancing around the dining room, before he’s peering behind the car that’s on its side.

“Yeah, yeah, man, I know, I’m coming! Just —” His intense eyes flash back to your face, one hand on something in his ear. All this red—the tablecloth, his hair, the blood on your hands—is overwhelming, putting an anger the same shade back in your chest.

But just as you try to discern why, your mind goes back to your son.

“K-k—” The lungs in your chest are bruised, voice coming out as little more than a wheeze. “Ko—”

“Kirishima,” His face softens considerably, a stark contrast to the rest of him, to the glass clinging to his unharmed forehead. A hand leaves his ear to lie gently over your own, brushing away the debris there with his thumb. “Yeah, it’s me, I’m Kirishima. I’m gonna get you help, okay? Don’t worry, the ambulance is comin’!”

Red Riot, Red Riot, Red Riot is the last thing you think before the world goes black.

—

The first time you see him, it's technically the second.

Three ribs were cracked and your forearm had nearly snapped in half, there is a litany of small cuts all over your skin from the glass, and your shoulder had been dislocated. At first, you had assumed it to be from the impact of the car, but the doctor had assured you, were that true, you simply wouldn't have survived.

Eyewitnesses can’t remember seeing Red Riot until after the car stopped, which means he had made it in the nick of time. The damage that you’d actually taken was from the hero himself, when he’d thrown his body backwards to earn a little more time, so he could use his quirk when it was most needed.

Your customer, the heavyset man, hadn't survived; his wounds, yes, but the shock and panic of it all had stopped his heart.

All the broken bones had been healed in the hospital, though you would have to keep your arm in a sling so it could set, and breathing would hurt for about another week. The cuts were shallow, only surface level, and would have to heal on their own. Despite how it felt at the time, nothing serious happened to your neck, though it was in a brace anyway, and it had you turning your entire body to look at someone.

The last thing you—or your mom or Nishida—wanted was to scare Koji, which is why you hadn't seen him in four days. His dad had stepped up to take him during the week, getting him to school and back, and he'd played it all off as a surprise camping trip; on the phone, Koji told you Nishida had bought him a red tent and he'd been sleeping in it out in the backyard.

Nishida, +1.

The sessions with the doctor's quirk left you horribly fatigued, enough that you slept most of the day, but your mom and Nishida still visited, brought you food, clothes from home. If Koji knew why they were at the hospital or who his dad was there to see, it hadn't been mentioned to you. He always stayed out in the hall when his dad came in to speak to you and, though you couldn’t see the light against his face or the roundness of his cheeks, the sound of his sweet voice was enough to placate you, until he was back in your—healed—arms.

All the ugly thoughts that you’d had about this Red Riot have gone muddy; the fear that gripped your heart still lingered, the threat to your baby not so easily washed away as you lie in the hospital. When you try to picture the hero's face (which you can’t remember seeing; if eyewitnesses hadn’t told you that you’d even spoken to him that day, you’d be none the wiser), all you can think about is some ugly half-wit, standing in the alleyway with hands too large and too gray, trying to snatch up a trusting little boy.

But then you stop to think about that little boy, your little boy, and you realize just where you’d be if Rigid Riot hadn’t been there. You realize where Koji would be, and Nishida and your mom, if that car had hit you and not the hero. And then you can picture him, the man on the cereal box, and for only a few moments are you able to disentangle this ugliness from his shining image. The feelings you have about him are conflicting; maybe you won’t put the action figure in the dryer, after all.

The day before you are set to be discharged, you decide that you will help Koji to draft a new letter (sans your address), one that will thank Red Riot for saving his mama, one that will have a few, heartfelt sentences about how your son adores him, and then you will wipe your hands of the man. Even you will sign, at the bottom, with a sincere thank you.

When Red Riot steps into your hospital room, this plan goes to shit, however.

There had been a slight commotion out in the hall. Your mom and Nishida had already left for the day, with the sun dipping low outside the panes of your hospital windows, and the time for visitor’s was almost over. There hadn’t been any physical therapy for your arm, or any more healing from the doctor, so you’d been prepared to eat whatever concoction the hospital cafeteria cooked up and had already knocked back the pain pills the nurse brought you—the ones that usually knocked you out.

So when the door opens and in steps this man (this giant), all you can do is blink at him, as if he was a shadow on the wall, just another part of the hospital background.

It’s the first thing you realize about him, how much taller he is in person. The second is that the smile on the cereal box had indeed been enhanced; his teeth are just as gleaming and white, but they don’t look as half as threatening as they had before, nearly hidden behind sheepish and awkward lips. Before he closes the door, he looks back through it one last time, casting out a hand to wave at someone in the hall.

The commotion from earlier, it had been because of him. Because he’d come to the hospital. To see you.

“Hey there!” That hand waves at you, too, before he stuffs it into the pocket of his loose jeans, rolling on the balls of his feet. As broad and formidable as he is, he looks every bit boyish, with the cheesy grin and the gray sweater on his chest, the black sneakers—one untied—covering his feet. For a moment, you feel older than him, like he’s just some teenage boy sitting at table 39. “Glad you’re awake! I hope I’m not buggin’ you or anything.”

Blink.

Those crimson eyes of his look over your swollen face, the arm in the cast, the brace on your neck, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Sorry about that,” with a nod, he gestures to you vaguely, as if he isn’t sure which part of you to apologize for—perhaps all of them. “I should have held my ground a little more, but, man, that White Noise guy packs a punch! We got him, though, so don’t, uh, don’t worry about any of that.” A hand slips from his pocket to rub at the back of his neck.

Blink.

His cheeks puff up momentarily before he lets out a deep sigh, every last bit of sunshine setting on his face as he closes his eyes and leans his head back. A look of defeat settles on him, though you can’t be sure why, and when he looks at you again, disappointment dims the crimson of his irises. It’s as if the sight of you brings about something he can no longer avoid, a guilt he can no longer escape.

“I should have gotten there sooner. Shit, I shouldn’t have even let him—” Red Riot shuts his mouth, furrowing his brows at the floor as he hangs his head. “What kinda hero hurts the people he’s supposed to save, anyway? And, and that man, Sando Konosuke,” —your customer, the heavyset man, the one that died from a heart attack— “I failed him, too. Fuck.” You have no idea where any of this is coming from, so you just watch on. “And your boy, I bet I scared the shit out of Koji when I broke—”

Koji?

“Koji?” The sound of your son’s name from his lips is like a slap in the face, one that rips you from your reverie. All at once you remember it: the letter, the obsession, that ugly fear, those too-large hands. “What do you know about my son?”

The very idea that he would speak his name in your presence brings back that anger, the one the same shade of his hair, his hero outfit, his eyes.

If he notices you trembling with fury, he doesn’t react. In fact, a little bit of that sunshine reappears. “Oh, the little dude? He’s great!” The smile on his face is so wide, it makes his eyes close. “Yeah, great quirk, though I’m probably being a little biased. You know, rocks and hardening and everything.”

“His quirk?” You gasp, “How do you know—how could you—”

The hands are reaching out, the teeth are ready to rip, Koji doesn’t realize someone is behind him. Koji doesn’t realize a solid hand is wrapping around his throat, cutting off his air supply. No one notices, no one is around to see him get taken away into the darkness. No one, not even you—

“At school.” Red Riot shrugs as if it’s the most casual, obvious answer. “It was Hero Week a while back and I came to his class, me and Kaminari.”

Blink.

“I know I’m not supposed to play favorites—and I’m not, I swear—but, what can I say, his quirk is way manly. Flashy, too!”

Blink.

“Once he gets a handle on that thing, he’ll be an even better hero than me!”

One of the many things you can’t stand about Nishida Heizo: his lack of drive or motivation. It’s not that you ever wanted him to pursue the hero route, or that you felt he was even required to; he would entertain this argument with anyone that would engage, that, just because he had a “heroic” quirk—Landslide, or something—it didn’t mean he had to be a hero. Maybe he wanted to work in construction his entire life, just like his own dad, which is exactly what he was doing.

Nishida didn’t put up with the hero talk and he wasn’t even half-interested in Koji’s quirk. It manifested last year, when he’d thrown a tantrum so large that the rocks under the playground moved with every beat of his little fist on the grass, and you had no idea how to begin a conversation about where to go from there. A quirkless life was all you’d ever known—until Nishida, until Koji—so the whole concept of heroing was one long, dark hallway.

And now Red Riot is standing in it, flipping on every last light.

“You came to his class?” Tears are welling up in your eyes, though there is a whirlwind of emotion inside your chest and you aren’t sure which one is causing them. “You, you?”

Red Riot nods, unaffected. “Me, me. Uh,” the tears escape your eyes and slide down your cheeks, catching in the fluorescence of the room. He takes a wide step forward and reaches a hand—one that is tan and not gray, one that is large, but not threatening—out to you. “Hey, don’t cry. Everything is okay.”

There isn’t any way for him to know what’s happening inside your mind, the conversations and thoughts you are running back through with a fine-tooth comb, but his hand is gentle on your shoulder anyway. You do what he did, you blabber: “I thought he was—I thought you were a pervert.”

“What?” The hand leaves you quickly, as if you’d burned him (or maybe he, you) and his eyebrows shoot to his hairline.

“Koji—he said you told him he was strong and I just thought—oh, thank—I thought it was some creep running around looking like you.” There isn’t a flicker of recognition on his face, he has no idea what you’re talking about (still looks horrified, though). “And that he was trying to take him or something, but it’s you. It’s really you!”

Suddenly, he looks boyish again, face going as red as his hair when you grab his hand to squeeze. He gently squeezes you back. “I mean—uh, yeah, yeah! It’s me, Kirishima!”

Kirishima. Kirishima. Kirishima.

Yeah, it’s me, I’m Kirishima. I’m gonna get you help, okay?

With a huff, you take your hand from his to wipe at the messy tears and snot on your face. More than the painful embarrassment of thinking so terribly of him is the relief that washes over you; Koji was fine. There were no Red Riot shaped weirdos out there, looking through the trash, piecing together your address and your baby’s letter.

“Thank you,” you tell him honestly. “Not just about saving me, but,” his face softens a considerable amount, eyes going wide and glassy as he listens to you, as he watches you bite your lip. “For Koji. My son freaking adores you.” A pitiful laugh escapes you as you try to pull yourself together, looking down at his hand still on the hospital cot, at the slight gape of his mouth.

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” There is a strange look on his face, his voice a breathy whisper when he finally speaks. For a moment, his eyes are intense on your face and then he blinks, hard, just as you had. “I, uh—Koji’s great.” He repeats.

“Koji is great, I agree.” When you laugh again, it’s more natural and he nods along with you. Another grin breaks across his face and you are released from the fear that has been pinning you, so eased by the realization that Koji did know Red Riot that you aren’t finding the time to care about all the layers you are exposing to a stranger. “We have the cereal, you know, and it’s good. I like it. Koji doesn’t eat it, but he tries. Not enough sugar, I’m afraid.”

“That was the whole point, I think.”

“It’s a valiant effort.” When you say it, he laughs, warm and cozy. It reminds you of the duality of him, on that cereal box. "But I'm afraid you're losing out to a pink, sugar-coated lion."

Kirishima snaps his fingers and shakes his head. "My arch nemesis."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm on your side." Placing a delicate hand on his shoulder, you send him a sympathetic smile. It's hard to tell now that the pain meds are kicking in, but he almost—melts back into his chair, reddening again.

"No, uh, yeah that does—it does make me feel better."

"Wow," you heave a sigh and lean against the cot, lolling your head towards him awkwardly, because of the brace. "It all makes so much sense now. Koji hasn't stopped talking about you." In order to stop the flow of tears that threaten to spill again, you wipe a hand over your eyes and sniff. "I really can't tell you how relieved I am that it's actually you."

"Yeah, no problem." Kirishima is beginning to look a little uncomfortable, like he doesn't know what to do with all this praise, and he rubs his neck again. "I can't believe I had such a—I mean, a lot of kids love Bakugou, so it's nice that he—remembered me, I guess."

The quiet tone of his voice is relaxing and it has your eyes lidding a little.

You hum, "He won't stop doing the—" with the hand not in the cast, you cross it over your chest, straightening your hands like Koji did.

That has him laughing, shaking his head like he almost doesn't believe you. What he said repeats in your head, a lot of kids love Bakugou, and the surprise on his face has you feeling something soft and foreign for him. Bashful is the last thing you'd expect from him, someone so massive and broad, a hero you can't seem to escape.

"Kir-shma," it comes out slurred, but he looks at you, stunned, regardless. "'m really glad s'you."

The vision of him, cherry and gentle and keen, melts as your eyes fall closed.

—

The second time you see him, it’s technically the third.

Little scabs are freckles all over your body and your face is still a little swollen, a little sore and bruised, but you can't take it anymore—you've just gotta see Koji. It's why you let him sit in your lap as Nishida wheels you out of the hospital, even as Koji's little body rocks back and forth and into your tender ribs. More than once, he gets so excited to tell you something that he swivels around in your lap, even tries to put his feet on your legs and stand. The logical mom part of you wants to chastise him, to warn him to treat his mama a little sweeter, to be mindful of the broken arm he keeps grabbing.

But the soft part of you chimes in that you haven't seen him in six whole days, and so that other part of you just shuts up.

Nishida uses his mad-dad voice to tell him to sit down if he wants to ride in your lap, but the threat seems to go unnoticed. Whenever Koji feels awkward about getting scolded, he does exactly what he shouldn't, which is pretend he doesn’t hear. It's something you're working on with him, to talk about his feelings and why he just blatantly doesn't do what's asked of him, but it's slow going—he's only five, after all.

It's counterproductive of all the respect and all the manners you’re trying to instill in him, but you wrap your arms around him and hug him to you tighter, giggling as he whirls around to stick his tongue out in your face. When you kiss him on his chubby little cheeks, he says ew! loudly and wipes it from his face emphatically.

Nishida jerks the wheelchair to a stop outside the doors to the hospital and threatens to carry Koji over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

"C'mon dad," your chest is on fire and you grunt when your son elbows you in the boob. “We’re having fun.”

“Yeah, dad!” Koji mimics, raising his arms like he’s going to fight him.

It’s taken a long time for this kind of interaction to be okay in your eyes. It’s taken a long time for you to be able to be in Nishida’s presence without feeling the weight of all your own insecurities bearing down upon your shoulders, the reminder of your failures as a partner and mother. There was a lot of letting go, accepting of apologies you would never actually hear, a lot of forgiving that which was never asked of you, and you’d never be fully okay with your relationship with Heizo, but this was as close to good as you could get.

And that was okay. As long as Koji was happy, so were you.

And Koji is overjoyed, especially when he climbs onto your back and clings to your neck as you walk to Nishida’s car, especially when you run and stop and run and stop, just to jostle him around a bit. Especially when he sees the red figure coming across the parking lot.

Nishida doesn’t notice at first and is half-way through ripping him from your back when Koji erupts in a squeal: “Dad, it’s Red Riot!”

“Koji, stop—fuck—"

The look you send Nishida is all hot irritation and he sends one right back, throwing his arms in the air as your son slips away. In what seems like seconds, your little boy is running past two parked cars, arms open wide like he’s going to fling himself onto the Pro as soon as he’s close enough—which is exactly what he tries to do.

Red Riot clearly doesn’t have children, and he must not spend much time with them, because he stiffens and doesn’t scoop Koji up, even as your son stands on his (still untied) sneakers and tugs on the tight, black shirt he’s wearing. It’s as clear as day what your boy wants, to be picked up, but the Hero is only looking at you, and then Nishida.

And then Koji, then Nishida, then Koji, then you.

And then back to Koji.

“Hey, little man!” Those sharp teeth beam at your son as he bends down to his height, having to go so low that he nearly sits on the ground. His hands are behind his back and he’s leaning against a car you don’t believe is his (you can’t be sure, but you doubt Red Riot drives a blue minivan).

“Mama!” Koji whirls around and the grin on his face makes your own cheeks hurt, just looking at him. “It’s Red Riot!”

“It is, huh?” The sight of him is welcome, a sudden shyness creeping up on you now that the pain meds have worn off; despite them, you haven’t slept well and you haven't taken a full, proper shower in almost a week. Nobody brought you a bra in the hospital, something Nishida seems to remember as he glances at you, and you do your best to cross your arms over your chest and curl in on yourself. Embarrassing, though if Kirishima seems to think so, he doesn't show it (you don't miss the way his hand jostles behind his back, however, the quick flash of something that's discarded beneath the minivan).

Now that the Hero is eye-level, Koji throws his arms around his neck, innocent and unashamed. Red Riot stiffens and then his face goes soft, patting your son on the back with a heavy hand.

“Um,” Koji leans away, breathing heavily with all the excitement, “do you want to come to my house to play?”

The look on the Hero's face tightens just the slightest, hesitation shining in his eyes as he glances back between you and Koji's dad. Before he's forced to decline, you close the distance and step up, placing a hand in your son's hair (though, now that someone cool and tough is watching him, he shakes it off with a growl). “Honey bee, remember what we said before? About Red Riot doing big guy stuff?”

Koji ignores you as Red Riot stands to his feet, lips flattening into a line so stern that he almost looks disappointed in himself. Nishida comes beside you and you try not to be petty, but it’s hard; he’s three years older than you and it’s just too funny to see your ex-boyfriend square his shoulders, widen his stance, and try not to look up at a giant redhead that’s most likely his junior.

“Hey again, hope I’m not interrupting anything.” As Kirishima talks, he only stares down at Koji, who vibrates at the attention. "You look good—I mean—" his head shoots up, eyes wide as his face burns, "—better, you look better than you did. Not that—not that you looked bad or anything, just that—"

"It's okay, thank you," you wave a hand, unable to stop from smiling as he looks at you properly. It's contagious; his little grin is open-mouthed, looking that same shade of boyish and comforting. It's almost difficult to see him now, and think about the Pro in the chaos of the restaurant.

Koji tugs on your shirt, but it's his dad that picks him up—against his own rules—and adjusts him on his hip with enough movement and force that his car keys jingle, loudly. Perhaps you shouldn't, but you'll indulge Nishida, just this once—he has kept your son calm this past week, after all. "This is—"

"Nishida. Heizo. What's up, man?" He nods his head, trying way too hard to be cool.

They exchange a small introduction and Radiant Riot tells you, all three of you: “Kirishima’s’fine, no need for all the Hero stuff.” That hand does the nervous thing, on the back of his neck, and he rolls back and forth on his feet again.

“So, you really do know the kid, then?” Nishida asks, as the kid in question struggles to get back out of his arms. As soon as he’s on the ground, he tries again—on the Hero's shoes, tugging and grinning. If Kirishima knows what to do, he doesn’t, just glances at you awkwardly (he sees you roll your eyes at the kid comment and looks back at your ex-boyfriend).

“Uh, yeah, the little man and I are great friends! Right?” Kirishima smiles when Koji sucks his lip between his teeth and nods, standing beside him as he tries to imitate his wide stance. It makes the Hero laugh, but you take in the back and forth look he gives the three of you yet again.

This dynamic between your little family, he must be trying to figure it out. Koji is hugging and tugging on both of you, but you and Nishida are hardly close by any means. There’s a question in Kirishima’s eyes, shining with a curiosity he’s trying to stamp out, and you wonder if you should offer a simple answer. This is Koji’s dad, perhaps, setting him as a separate being from yourself, but you remind yourself that—friendly as he is—-he’s still a stranger.

“Hey buddy,” you lower yourself to Koji’s height, trying to grab his attention by rubbing his back, though it’s shrugged off. “We gotta get home, okay? Maybe Red Riot can play another day, hm?”

“Yeah, kid, let’s get you and your mom home.”

The red hero in question is none the wiser, just staring down at your son with that trademarked Kellogg grin on his face. It finally drops when Koji smiles mischievously back at him and rears his little arm, delivering a punch directly at his stomach while shouting, "unbreakable!"

“Nishida Koji!” You squawk, but his dad is already yanking him by the arm back to the car. Your son knows he’s done something wrong, already knew it before he did it, because they don’t get two steps away before he starts wailing. Heizo leaves you in the dust, only hissing down at the five-year-old as Kirishima widens his eyes and lets out a surprised cough.

“I’m okay!” One had goes to his stomach, the other in the air to wave at Koji (who doesn’t even see him through his big, fat tears). “Little guy packs a punch, that’s all, caught me by surprise!”

Raising a rambunctious little boy, one in a world of heroes and quirks, it’s not unusual for you to get whacked a time or two, sometimes in the stomach or the boob. Very rarely in the face, though it still happens. Koji is just a kid, after all, and that aggression isn’t appropriate for him, but it isn’t unexpected, either. Most people don’t have the patience for kids, which is fine—you didn’t have any either, until you had your own—but that just means, sometimes, you have to stand in a parking lot and apologize to your child’s latest victim.

“I am so, so sorry!" The hand that isn’t in the sling claps over your eyes as Koji cries mommy, mommy behind you. The car begins to ding when Nishida pulls the door open and your son kicks at it while struggling not to get put in his car seat.

“No, it’s okay!” The Hero insists, looking down at his stomach when he pulls his shirt up to inspect it (just like the rest of him: rippling, defined, tan). You turn around to watch Koji until he puts it back down. “I like his enthusiasm!”

Despite the shame plaguing you, a huff of laughter slips through the fingers splayed across your face. "His enthusiasm? Yeah, I suppose you could call it that." There's the shuffle of feet, sneakers scraping against concrete, and he's closer when you finally peer at him again.

"It's okay, really!" He shrugs, a wash of red peeking from under the collar of his shirt, creeping up his neck as he taps his fingers against his thighs. Quickly, his eyes dart over your shoulder to the sound of Nishida's mad-dad voice, before he clears his throat. "He would certainly give that White Noise guy a run for his money!"

The image of Koji standing at Kirishima's side, widening his stance, hands on his hips, comes back to you, only this time Koji is wearing a red mask and his hair is up at all different angles. It's cute at first, in a Halloween costume type of way, but then a pit develops in your stomach as you remember,

"Hey," you say, though the Hero before you is already looking with big, soft eyes, "did you say you would—you would train Koji?"

"Oh! Uh," Kirishima's gaze drop to the ground sheepishly, "well, when he and I were talking at his school," he looks back at you, as if to remind you how they are acquainted and not because he's a pervert, "he seemed really into it, but I don't want to—" vaguely, he gestures to you and then Nishida behind you (who is talking quieter now that all Koji's screaming has stopped).

Landslide, Rockslide, Erosion—whatever it is exactly that makes up your son's quirk, you aren't sure, and you would be lying if you said the future involving it didn't scare you. There will come a time when he'll have to understand how to control, how to hone it and use it when he needs it—use it as a Hero, if he so desires—and it pains you to imagine him asking for help only for you to open empty hands.

Don't want to overstep, you think Kirishima means to say, and you send him a polite smile. "No, that's—that's kind of you to offer, but—"

Koji? Your baby? The idea of him, your sweet boy, standing in a thunderstorm of glass and debris, risking his life for a distracted waitress as a villain hurtles a car her way; it all seems too much too soon. Maybe it's because death is a fate you so narrowly avoided, but your stomach turns so hard that you waver, suddenly exhausted, and Kirishima steps up as you shake your head.

It's hard to see Koji as anything other than an awe-struck little boy, standing on the toes of his Hero.

"Uh, no, I don't think he's ready for that." Everything aches: the tendons in your neck, the sling your arm is in, the disappointment in your chest, "He's only 5, afterall."

"Are you okay?" Kirishima's demeanor has shifted almost entirely, far from that kind boy and into the shape of a tall, able man, one that looks ready to carry you back to the hospital himself.

"Yeah, I'm just tired, I think." You blink until his worried face is clear in your eyes, trying to placate him with a weak smile. "Lot of excitement today."

It melts him, just the slightest, and he shifts his eyes nervously back to the minivan, screwing up his mouth like he's trying to decide what to say—but then Nishida is calling your name, standing in the open car door with his arms out.

Kirishima takes a wide step back, hand on his neck as he finds interest in the clouds. "Yeah, you should head home, get some rest! I'm sure Koji is dying to play with you again!"

"I'm sure he is," you try to glance at him over your shoulder, but the moment feels ruined as Nishida gets in the car and slams the door. For some reason, you have the urge to ask Kirishima if you'll ever see him again, after all this, but it seems—silly. Of course you will; he just might not see you and your son, watching from afar in the crowd.

It's not until you are getting into your seat that he gives you one last wave—shy, red, smile taking up his entire face—and you try not to linger on the sweet sight of him as your turn to face your hiccuping son.

“But—but he said,”

“What did he say, honey bee?” You reach back to rub his little knee in his little jeans, but he turns away, sour.

“He—Red Riot said he would—that he wanted to come and play at my house.”

“No, kid,” Nishida sighs, “Red Riot can’t come play at the house. Because he’s got a job, he works.”

Koji is rubbing his hands and fingers together, the way he does when he’s forced to look, forced to answer. “But—but dad, he can—can come right now.”

“No, Koji.” Nishida says, “He can’t.”

It’s easy to see him retreating across the parking lot, the crimson giant that he is, hands in his pockets and head held high. There’s something warm about him, something safe; you wonder if it’s because he did, in fact, save your life, or if that’s just him. Just Kirishima—entertaining your son at his school, making sure you’re alright in the hospital, stepping up to help as you stumbled.

That warm something spreads to your neck and your cheeks as you realize that you’re thinking about him still, even as the sight of him is obstructed by that minivan as it backs out of its parking spot. When it drives by the front of Nishida’s car, you look at the driver—a man, frazzled and weary in a set of green scrubs—and watch as he twists through the lot. It comes around the row of cars in front of you again and gives you a look at the other side of his face, which has woken up and looks much brighter than it had only seconds ago. The vehicle stops and the driver calls out of it.

Red Riot turns around, beaming, glowing, radiant, sticking his hand through the window to shake the one the nurse is holding out.

In the parking space where the van had been, there is a small, flattened bouquet of peach-colored flowers.

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring deep in the soul (a katsuki bakugo/reader fic)

Summary: Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. He'd worked hard to achieve his position, his fame. And now it was all going down the damn drain, along with his hearing.

~*~*

Bakugo is suffering from hearing loss as a side effect of his quirk, and he struggles with how to face this new challenge. Enter Reader with a healing quirk.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo/Reader; Katsuki Bakugo/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood & violence. 

A/N: No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.” 

Ao3 Link: Here 

*****A/N Part 2: This post has now been updated to include the links to Ch 2

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here 

Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. Actually, he’d argue he was tied for first place with the current Symbol of Peace, Shitty Deku. Their victory statistics were basically the fucking same, the only difference was the freckled idiot was made of smiles and sunshine and stupid fucking sugar or something. The whole world ate out of his scarred, fucked up hand, and Darling Deku ate up all the media’s attention in return. 

In contrast, Bakugo wasn’t a “people person,” as Deku loved to put it, but… he also wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old brat who got muzzled on live national television. Pro Hero Dynamight was known for his crass, blunt language, his vicious streak of justice when it came to villains, but people also looked up to him. Extras cheered for him in the streets as he exploded past mid-battle. Children ran up to him on patrol and asked him to sign their books, their photos, their Dynamight merch. On one memorable occasion, that he may or may not have saved on his computer, a national news channel ran a live clip from a disaster site, a villain attack turned rescue mission after a building collapsed. The soundbite was only thirty seconds, a close up of a pale, dusty woman with a shallow cut on her brow. The splash of crimson and her bloodshot blue eyes were the only spots of color on her, everything else washed out in white plaster and cement dust, tear tracks carving grooves down her cheeks. 

But the smile on her face could have lit up goddamn Tokyo. 

“Dynamight saved us,” the woman had said to the news reporter, her voice full of awe and tears. “I-I got stuck under some debris, but I heard the moment Dynamight arrived, and I just knew we were safe. The battle was over a minute later, and then he just… pulled me out of the wreckage. He pulled us all out. He’s… the greatest hero I’ve ever seen.” 

That was a nice stroke to his ego. And the dazed woman had been right. He had pulled everyone out of that building, and not a single person died that day, which only confirmed what he already knew: 

Katsuki Bakugo was the best of the best. Deku might have been the better show pony, but Dynamight was an undefeated hero, fierce, fearless, ferocious. 

Except right now… he was fucking scared out of his mind. 

This couldn’t be happening. 

“What?” he snarled at the extra in the white coat standing before him. 

The man flinched and visibly recoiled, shuffling back a step and partially ducking behind his tablet device. When he spoke again, he’d raised his voice an entire fucking octave. 

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor stammered, but then he seemed to regain his composure and lowered his voice a little. “I… I wish I had better news for you, Dynamight, but…” 

He trailed off and swallowed, the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the thin skin of his throat. 

“But what?” Bakugo spat, something like magma roiling in his veins, pops of heat crackling against his palms like splatters of hot oil from a stove. 

“B-But this… can’t come as a complete shock to you,” the doctor said as he glanced back at his tablet. “Other physicians before myself must have warned you of the risks.” 

The risks. Bakugo bared his teeth in a silent snarl. What did this fucking extra, with his soft hands and softer body, know about risks? The heat in his palms grew until he could see their red-hot glow out of the corner of his eye. 

“Well, who and how much do I gotta pay to fix it?” Bakugo demanded as he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“That depends,” the doctor hedged and adjusted the square black glasses perched on his stupid face. “There are a variety of aid types—” 

“I don’t want fuckin’ support gear or aids,” Bakugo sneered. “I want mine fixed.” 

Now, the doctor’s face grew pitying. “I’m afraid that’s just not possible, given a number of factors, most importantly your current occupation.” 

“My current occupation?” the hero seethed, teeth bared again like a wounded dog, a cornered wolf, snapping at the world. “Are you fucking KIDDING—” 

A hint of fear sparked in the doctor’s eyes, but he suddenly raised a hand, palm out in the universal symbol for stop. “Dynamight, sir, I know this is distressing, but there are other sick patients in these walls, so please refrain from using your quirk.” 

“I’m not usin’ shit,” Bakugo snapped, but then the doctor’s eyes flicked downward, and Bakugo followed them to his hands, wreathed in sparks and flares of flames, lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. 

The breath stuttered in Bakugo’s lungs. 

He hadn’t even felt himself call upon his quirk. 

Even worse… he hadn’t heard it when he did. 

He dropped his hands quickly, shoving them back in his pockets. Bile rose in his throat, but he washed it down with blood as he bit through his tongue. 

“There has to be… something,” he gritted out, curling his hands into fists in their confines. “A healer—” 

“Healers are rarer than you think,” the doctor sighed and shook his head. “And what’s more, they’re usually specific and limited. Their abilities are tied to blood types or restricted to relatives or even limbs. One nurse here can only heal femur bones.” 

“Bullshit they’re rare, I’ve met at least two goddamn healers just this month,” Bakugo spat. “These paramedics—” 

“And how strong where they?” the doctor cut him off again, raising an eyebrow. “You said paramedics, so I’m going to assume their talents mostly lie in the superficial and basic: triage, stopping the bleeding, knitting skin back together, etc.” 

“What’s your fucking point?” He was this close to punching the asshole right in the glasses. 

“My point is the inner workings of your ear are much more delicate than a broken rib or lacerated arm,” the doctor said in a really condescending tone that Bakugo did not appreciate. “But let’s say you do find a healer specific enough and skilled enough to restore the hearing you have already lost without damaging anything else in the process. What then? I don’t imagine Japan’s Number Two Hero retiring less than ten years after his debut and hanging up his quirk.” 

Bakugo scowled, heart kick-starting in his chest, his gut tying itself in a knot. 

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Katsuki Bakugo was a hero, the best of the best. It was all he’d ever wanted, and he would be damned if it was taken from him. 

The doctor must have seen as much on the blond’s face because he sighed and adjusted his glasses again. “Exactly. Which means you’re just going to keep destroying your ears again and again, and even if say Recovery Girl was still alive, the repetitive healing sessions would destroy your own body’s healing factor, and after a while, you would still lose you’re hearing.” 

“Tch.” Bakugo looked away and gritted his teeth so hard they ached. 

The doctor sighed. “You’re already at moderate hearing loss, Dynamight, so while we do still have some options, they are limited. Honestly… I’m surprised you didn’t come in sooner.” 

He should have. He fucking should have. He’d been noticing little things for years, but he just brushed it off, yelled at Deku to speak the fuck up and stop mumbling, told himself his phone must be a piece of shit and that’s why he didn’t hear a call or message. The low persistent ringing he’d been experiencing since UA was harder to write off, but after a while, it was also easier to ignore. 

Then, on his last mission, Bakugo was shoving some weak ass villain at a couple of cops. The battle had lasted less than five minutes, and he was still itching for a fight, his quirk burning just beneath the surface of his skin, like embers waiting to explode back into flame. In the next moment, a hand had suddenly clamped down on his shoulder from behind, and he’d reacted out of reflex, flipping his attacker over his shoulder and nearly blasting them in the gut for good measure. 

“Whoa! Fuck, dude, it’s me!” Kirishima had yelped, his skin rippling and hardening in an instant. Wide, red eyes gaped up at him, and Japan’s Number Three Hero even looked a little worried. “Didn’t you hear me? I called your name like five times.” 

Bakugo had dropped Red Riot like he was on fire. No. No, Dynamight hadn’t heard his patrol partner. In fact, all he could hear in the moment was the muted wailing of sirens, the low murmur of shouting extras, and the blood roaring in his head. 

Now, two days later he was standing in front of a doctor who was telling him there was nothing more they could do. 

But that was fucking unacceptable. He couldn’t lose his hearing. What kind of shitty hero would he be if he couldn’t hear where the villains were in battle or where stupid extras in need of saving were in rescue situations? 

He wouldn’t be a hero at all, just a fucking liability. 

Bakugo tried to imagine having to retire, to hang up his hero costume, to leave Shitty Hair in charge of their joint agency. What would he do? He’d wanted, and planned, to be a hero since he was five years old. He had no other skills, not really. It wasn’t like he could work a damn desk job. Well, UA might throw him a bone, offer him a pity faculty position. 

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. 

“What… are my options?” he asked haltingly as he snapped his eyes up and locked gazes with the doctor. “You said I still had some.” 

The man in the white coat blinked in surprise, but then he straightened up and tapped at his tablet. “Currently, you have a few options, but you’d receive the best outcome if we did them all together. First, we can get you fitted for some hearing aids for you to wear while you are off duty. They would significantly increase your hearing capacity in your normal day-to-day life.” 

Bakugo felt his face pull into a scowl. “Off duty? I need them while I’m on duty!” 

“If you wear them while using your quirk, you’ll ruin the rest of your hearing in one blow,” the doctor said with a straight face. “Hearing aids amplify sounds. Amplifying your explosions is the last thing we want.” 

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?” the hero snapped, heat flaring through his body with a supernova. 

“Since I assume you’re going to continue your hero work, I would recommend contacting a support gear company.” The doctor made a note on his tablet. “We’ll email you the contact information for several companies the hospital has connections with, and once you chose one, we can send them your file. There are numerous noise-cancelling devices out there, but given your situation, you will probably need to collaborate with them for something custom. The goal is to having something to protect your ears-- a helmet, headphones, anything really—while you are using your quirk. Between such a device and the hearing aids, I hope we can preserve what’s left of your hearing and maybe give you a little bit back. But I will warn you… you’re hearing will never be as it was. You should know that now.” 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

The words cycloned through Bakugo’s head, round and round and round, destroying every other thought in their path. He felt detached from himself, the doctor’s voice fizzling out into a muffled drone. His vision seemed to narrow and darken, like he was viewing the world at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. One minute, he was standing there in that examine room, and then he blinked and was on the street, people rushing past him like a river unbothered by the boulder in its current. 

He glanced down at his hand, at the paperwork for his follow up appointment and his fitting for the hearing aids. Heat squirmed under his skin, in his veins, like something living, something that wanted to get out. 

Bakugo bared his teeth, crumpled the paper in his fist, and let the heat rush through his body, down through his arm, and into his hand. He didn’t hear the crackle, but he saw the flares of light, trapped between his palm and the paperwork like fireflies. 

Then he opened his hand, and he watched the wind catch the ash and carry if off down the street, out of sight. 

He needed a fucking drink. 

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Several hours later, Bakugo stumbled out of his usual dive bar, the taste of whisky still burning a hole through the back of his throat. The night was colder than he anticipated, colder than it should be for the beginning of autumn, and he grumbled and cursed as he hunched against the wind. He squinted at his phone, debating on whether to call a car, but in the end it was too much trouble. He was less than a half an hour’s walk from his apartment, and it was late, so he wouldn’t have to worry about extras coming up to him for photos or goddamn autographs. 

Besides, the whisky hadn’t helped to quench the heat writhing through his veins, in fact the alcohol only made it worse. Bakugo felt restless, all pins and needles and ants, so maybe the brisk walk would burn off some of that energy. 

Decided, Bakugo turned in the direction of home and began the long, stumbling journey through the midnight streets. 

Time passed as sluggishly as his feet, which he made sure to stare down at so he didn’t trip over them. Like he anticipated, he passed no one on the sidewalks, and few cars rumbled past him. It wasn’t surprising, this neighborhood was mostly shops that closed by sundown and a few residences. The dive bar he’d left was a holdover from past decades when this side of town was rougher, but Bakugo suspected the old man who owned the joint would live on for at least another decade, if only to spite the development companies that kept trying to buy him out. The ornery bastard was half the reason Bakugo loved that bar, the other half being their decent whisky and usually empty stools. 

“Shit,” he mumbled as he suddenly slipped, tittering on the edge of the curb. 

He shook his head and managed to regain his balance, but when he took another step, he wobbled again. 

“Come on, you drunk idiot,” he hissed at himself as he stumbled once more. 

Except… he’d been standing still that time. 

“Hah?” Bakugo squinted down at his feet. 

The pebbles around his shoes rattled and jumped. He didn’t think he was that drunk, but he slapped his cheek with a bit of heat to his palm. The snap of warmth and pain woke him up a little, but when he glanced back down at the ground, everything was still moving. 

“What the fu—” 

Then the road undulated under his feet like a living thing, and the shockwave hit him a moment later. 

Bakugo barked a curse as he was bucked several feet into the air, twin explosions blooming from his palms so he could right himself and land on his feet. He snapped his head up as he skidded to a stop, and the breath stilled in his lungs. 

Up ahead, a man stood in the middle of the intersection, staring down the road to Bakugo’s left. Black rubble and goo floated around him like asteroids trapped in a planet’s orbit, and even from a distance, Bakugo could see the crazed smile on the man’s pale, black-streaked face. 

A moment later, several heroes lunged out from around the corner and barreled straight for the villain, only to be blasted backwards as the villain flung out his hands and commanded the black debris and goo to slam into the idiots. 

The villain threw back his head and seemed to laugh maniacally. Bakugo couldn’t hear it, but that didn’t matter. Lava was starting to boil in his veins, burning off the last of the whisky, and Dynamight felt an equally crazed smile stretch across his mouth. 

This idiot had chosen the wrong road to fuck up tonight. 

Heat condensed in his palms like collapsing stars, and then he was exploding forward, the taste of ozone and nitroglycerin on his tongue. 

Within moments, Bakugo was able to determine the villain’s quirk revolved around asphalt. The bastard was able to pull large chunks of it out of the road and then liquify parts of them until they were scalding and sticky. 

The other heroes—whoever they were, Bakugo didn’t even care to check—struggled to evade the villain’s attacks, but evasion wasn’t Dynamight’s style. He came at the bastard head on, exploding every rock and tar puddle in his way. 

Of course, asphalt was flammable, so flames were flaring up all around the street now, but Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to get burned. If the other heroes were, that was on them. 

Dynamight was here to get the job done. 

“Come here, ya sonvabitch,” Bakugo snarled as he blasted apart a chunk of asphalt aimed for his head. 

The villain shrieked out something high-pitched that Bakugo didn’t catch, and then the fucker was swinging out his arm, a blob of black tar following the arc. 

Bakugo let out a controlled burst toward his feet and backflipped through the air, crunching down on the roof of a parked car. He could see some of the other heroes waving at him from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wailing of the car alarm below him. 

The villain’s sneer was a white slash on his black, goo-streaked face, and Bakugo bared his teeth back in an expression halfway between a feral grin and a beast’s snarl. He could feel the heat crackling along his palms as he contemplated his next move, but then the villain shouted something, and all the asphalt floating in the air rocketed back towards him like the fucker was a magnet. 

As Bakugo watched, the debris and goo coalesced into a singular shape, liquifying and hardening in turns until a giant black arm the size of a semi was hovering over the road. The fingers wiggled in a jaunty little wave as the villain shouted something again that was lost to the car’s still wailing alarm, and then the giant hand curled into a fist and dropped down on Bakugo like the hammer of some god. 

He exploded out of the way and up into the air right before the fist smashed into the car he’d been standing on, and the siren cut out with a muffled crunch. 

Bakugo had barely landed before the arm was shooting out again, but this time it wasn’t aimed for him. 

A stupid fucking extra had stumbled out of one of the buildings and stood gaping like a goddamn moron on the sidewalk. Several of the on-scene heroes rushed forward, but the hand swatted them aside like annoying flies. The idiot civilian was still just standing there, though, and Bakugo found himself airborne before he could even process the thought. 

“Run!” he roared as he reached the extra and shoved him out of the way, but an instant later, he felt stony fingers wrap around his torso and squeeze. 

Bakugo wheezed out a curse as the giant hand lifted him into the sky, the pressure around his ribs increasing with every second. The asphalt was hot in some places, too, scalding the skin of his left arm where it was pinned against his hip. He wrenched his right arm around and tried to aim at the wrist of the asphalt appendage, but the angle was off, and the few chunks he was able to blast were quickly replaced by more rubble and boiling tar. 

“Fuck!” Bakugo screamed as the fist clenched down around him. His ribs strained, his lungs unable to expand, pain licking at him like the flames flickering in his peripherals. 

Distantly, he heard the villain’s laughter below him, and as the arm swayed to the side, Bakugo realized he was right above the bastard. His vision swam, his ribs screaming, his arm burning, but Bakugo gritted his teeth as he aimed his right palm down. He concentrated every ounce of his quirk into his hand until it glowed white-hot, and the asphalt around him began to liquefy again. 

The villain’s eyes widened as he realized what the hero was doing, and the fucker wildly swung out his arm in a last-ditch effort. The giant asphalt limb responded in kind, but Bakugo unleashed his quirk right before the arm flung him through the air. 

A massive explosion rocked the street an instant later, and the subsequent shockwave slammed into his back and propelled him through a window. 

He felt the impact and pain as he struck the glass, and then… 

Nothing. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ouch, fuck!” you cursed as your pricked yourself for the millionth time. 

A red drop of blood beaded up on the pad of your index finger, and you scowled before you sucked the smarting appendage into your mouth. It was more of a reflex than anything, since by the time you pulled your finger out, the pinprick of a wound was already healed. Healing such a small injury would usually barely even register to you, but the clock above your desk was inching closer and closer to midnight, and you’d been up since 6am. You also skipped dinner so you could finish altering the dress you were currently working on, which didn’t help your energy levels, but you were just a few stitches away from completing your task, so you hunched back over and powered through the next five minutes. 

When you were finally done, you sat back in your chair with a sigh and threw down your needle and thread. The sewing table before you swam and doubled as your vision struggled to focus on something, and you rubbed at your tired, burning eyes. You always tried to work reasonable hours, have a healthy work-life balance, but somehow you always found yourself slaving away into the dark hours of the night. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault. You’d lived here less than a year, so you didn’t know many people beyond your few neighbors and the old ladies who frequented your alterations shop. 

You were also trying very hard to keep your grandparents’ business afloat. 

Your grandfather had been a tailor, your grandmother a seamstress. They’d opened a shop together over fifty years ago, and if your parents hadn’t moved to America before you were born, you were sure you father would have taken over the family business. In the end, though, after your grandparents passed, you were the one to take up the needle and pull up your roots. You’d always loved making your own clothes, and you’d always felt… disconnected in America. Nothing had ever felt… right, no matter how many jobs you hopped around to. The US had been the only home you’d ever known, but when you and your parents spoke Japanese together, it had made something ache deep in the center of you, something you couldn’t name or place. 

So, when your father said he was taking a trip to the homeland to sell his parents’ shop, you’d gone with him and somehow convinced him to sign everything over to you. Which was more than just a little insane. Your prior work history had been in food service and clothing retail, and your degree was in linguistics for fuck’s sake. You had no idea how to run a business, let alone in another country. Thankfully, you spoke Japanese fluently, so that had been one less hurtle to overcome, but everything else had been a dramatic learning curve. Getting to know the new city, figuring out the currency, hell even navigating the vastly different social norms of Japanese culture was daunting, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t have numerous fumbles along the way. 

It, everything, had definitely taken some getting used to. 

Now, a year later, things were just starting to really look up. You had used most of the money your grandparents left you to renovate the shop, get new equipment, and fix the upstairs apartment you lived in. About two dozen loyal customers helped to pay your bills and keep you afloat, and one-to-two new customers walked into your shop each month just on word of mouth. You weren’t rich by any means, but you weren’t struggling like you did in America. You felt… happy here, if a little tired. Fulfilled. 

That might also have had something to do with your little… side business. 

You bit your lip as your eyes shot to your window guiltily, like someone was watching you. You weren’t doing anything wrong—right now, anyways—but for the last six months, it’s been hard to shake off your paranoia. 

And your guilt. Which was ridiculous. You weren’t hurting anyone. In fact, you were doing the exact opposite. 

But it was still against the law. Here in Japan, at least. 

That was another thing that took some getting used to. The Japanese government had strict laws on quirk usage, unlike in America where everything was about individualistic rights. In Japan, only heroes were given almost free reign, but even they had some restrictions on when and how they could use their powers. 

For the rest of the Japanese populace, using quirks in day-to-day life, without official permission, was frowned upon at best and illegal at worst. 

Because of your specific quirk, you leaned more toward the illegal side of things. 

Healing quirks were rare. That’s what you’d been told all your life. Your mother’s quirk was the ability to lower fevers by somehow using her own body to regulate the temperature. Nothing super special or powerful, but she’d gone on to become a pediatric nurse, so she had used her quirk to its fullest and made a long, happy career for herself. 

When you were young and your quirk manifested, you thought you would follow in your mother’s footsteps. 

But as a teenager, you’d come to some hard realizations about yourself. 

One, you weren’t strong enough to be a hero. You’d tried to get into a hero course in the States, several in fact. One course rejected you solely on your application, and then you failed two entrance exams. It had been a devastating blow to your youthful dreams and self-esteem, but your mother encouraged you, said being a hero wasn’t the only way to use your quirk for good. 

So, you turned your focus to medicine… and quickly discovered that wasn’t right for you, either. Your mother hated when you said this but… you just weren’t smart enough. You had tried, really did, but everything was such a struggle, like Sisyphus slogging uphill through the mud. It just didn’t click for you like it did for your mom. You also hated to admit it, but you were a little squeamish. You were fine with small stuff, cuts and bruises, broken fingers, but once you had to dissect a large pig in an anatomy class, and the smell and weight of the pig’s slippery organs in your hands made your lunch rise up into the back of your throat. You somehow managed to make it through the class, but directly after you ran to the bathroom and emptied your own guts into the toilet. 

With your dreams of being a hero and doctor dashed, you’d been a little aimless in college, taking random courses to fill your time and see if anything spoke to you. Then, during an 8am linguistics lecture you signed up for on a whim, something ignited inside you. Languages spoke to you like science and medicine never did. So, you’d changed your major to linguistics, minored in Japanese to feel closer to your parents, and took ever other language credit you could get your hands on. In between classes, you’d taken up sewing again while you listened to your audio assignments. It was just something to keep your hands busy at first, a skill your father taught you as a child until you abandoned it, but then your roommates complimented your work and started asking you to hem their jeans or take in their skirts. They offered to pay you, but you always declined, saying it was no trouble, you liked the work, and you liked being able to help. 

At some point, you realized that was all you had ever wanted to do. Help people. And if you couldn’t save them as a hero, you would find some other way to make yourself useful. 

So, you studied languages in the hopes of being able to help others communicate. You altered your friends’ clothes and made them small things like a monogrammed scarf or mittens. And, occasionally, you healed your roommates’ hangovers or food poisoning, stopped the bleeding when they cut their fingers making dinner, pushing through their pain to make them whole again. It wasn’t a lot, nothing really, but it was something, and it made you feel purposeful. 

When you moved to Japan, you mourned the loss of being able to use your quirk on others, but you shoved the thought aside and focused on your work and the shop and figuring out how to settle down in your first home on your own. 

Then, six months after you took over the shop, Mrs. Kojima, a little old lady in her seventies, had brought in her grandchildren’s uniforms to be patched and altered. She’d known your grandparents for many years, so she was always kind and had a story to share with you about your father in his youth or the gorgeous dresses your grandmother used to make. You always looked forward to Mrs. Kojima’s visits, and she always had a way of making you feel younger than you were, but not in a bad way. She just made you feel… nostalgic and safe, like you were listening to your late grandma talk over the phone. 

This was probably why, when Mrs. Kojima slipped and fell in front of your counter, you reacted without thinking. The old lady barely had time to hit the floor and cry out before you were hovering over her, a green aura illuminating your hands. Her pain hit you a moment later, like a heated slap to the face, a bone-deep ache in your leg, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through the discomfort. Then you moved your fingers over to the hip Mrs. Kojima was clutching, and a moment later you felt the drain as your energy siphoned into the elderly woman’s body. Thankfully, it had only been a fracture, not a full break, so you barely even felt the difference in your strength, but as Mrs. Kojima gaped up at you, realization struck you like a freight train. 

You had used your quirk, without a license, without permission, hell without the consent of Mrs. Kojima. Healing quirks were illegal for a reason, so many things could go wrong, and you weren’t properly trained. Your breathing hitched as panic seized your heart, squeezing like a vise, and your entire world had just begun to crash down around your ears when Mrs. Kojima sat up and threw her arms around you. 

“Thank you,” she’d sniffled into your hair in Japanese. “Thank you so much.” 

After the initial shock wore off, you had helped Mrs. Kojima into a chair, and she’d continued to thank you over and over again, saying how money was tight and she would have hated to be a burden to her children with hospital bills and a long recovery. She talked about how a lot of her elderly friends were in similar positions, dealing with perpetual aches and pains but having no way to pay for treatment or seek relief. 

The sadness in her face had twisted something in your chest, an ache you were all too familiar with. It was the one you felt after you failed the hero course entrance exams. The ache you felt when you realized you could never be a doctor. The ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 

Your mouth had opened without your permission, and you told Mrs. Kojima that you would help her, and her friends, whenever they needed it. The elderly Japanese woman tried to wave you off, saying she didn’t want to get you in any trouble, but you had just smiled and said, “I’m fine with making a little good trouble.” 

You didn’t know where your courage had come from, but you let it carry you past your fears and doubts. 

So, for the last six months, Mrs. Kojima had brought all of her friends, and sometimes their children and grandchildren, to you when they were in need of healing. They always brought dresses or pants or blouses for you to fix as a cover, and you did do alterations work for them, but you also eased flaring arthritis, cataracts, fevers, and scrapped knees in the backroom. You refused to take payment for these secret services, it just felt wrong, but the little old ladies somehow always snuck large “tips” into your register when you weren’t looking. 

Mrs. Kojima and every one of her friends and family members swore to their ancestors to keep your secret, and you trusted them, but you still couldn’t help proverbially looking over your shoulder, holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the police to barge in and take you away. 

It hadn’t happened yet, but the worry of it kept you up most nights, which was maybe another reason why you threw yourself into your work until you were so tired you just passed out. 

You sighed again as you stretched and felt your back pop, releasing some of the tension in your spine. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was just past midnight, and you winced. You had to be up at five tomorrow—today, now—because Mr. Akane wanted to come in early before you opened the shop. His bad knee was giving him trouble again, an old injury he’d obtained as a boy. You were unable to fully reconstruct the joint—that took more strength and stamina than you currently possessed—but you were able to soothe his pain for weeks at a time, which he was immensely grateful for. He always brought you fresh fish when he came by, “gifts” he’d emphasized when you reminded him you didn’t take payment, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t appreciate the gesture. You weren’t exactly hurting for money, but you also didn’t normally splurge on fish caught just that morning, and you told yourself you deserved the small treat. Besides, the protein helped boost your energy and stamina levels, which meant you could heal more people, so really Mr. Akane was merely investing in his future treatments. 

Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and you dragged yourself out of your chair before picking your way across your messy apartment to the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t very large, one large space for kitchen, dining, and living room, with one small bedroom and one bathroom down a hallway to the right when you walked in the front door. But it had been your grandparent’s home for many years before they bought a larger house after having your father, and it sat right above the shop, so you never had to worry about running late for work.

Bolts of fabric, some client pieces, and a few of your own personal sewing projects were strewn over every available surface of the main room, but you had the cleared path through the chaos memorized, so you were tossing leftovers in the microwave barely thirty seconds later. The warmed-up curry and rice—another “gift” from Mrs. Kojima—tasted as good as it had the last several days, and you hummed as the spiced meat slid down your throat and settled in your belly. After the first bite, your hunger seemed to hit you in full force, and you scarfed down every last bite in a matter of minutes. When you were done, the minor headache that had been pulsing behind your eyes abated, and you yawned as you rinsed off the dishes. 

You set the damp plate on the edge of the counter as you reached for a towel, but then a sudden tremor, followed by a loud boom, seemed to shake the building, and the plate tittered on the counter’s edge for a moment before it crashed to the floor. 

“Fuck!” you gasped as you jumped back and away from the ceramic shards, but another tremor-boom combo had you stumbling, and you scrambled to grab the back of the couch so you didn’t fall on your ass. 

Your wide eyes took in the broken plate scattered at your feet before they jumped to the window on the opposite side of the room. The night sky was dark beyond, cut only by the dim street light just beyond the window’s view. You held your breath as your heart hammered in your ears, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, sweat slicking your palms. 

What the fuck was that? Your first thought was earthquake—you hadn’t experienced one yet, but you knew they were common in Japan—but then you remembered the booms. 

Maybe… maybe an electrical box blew? But no, the lights were still working. A car crash? 

Then another boom vibrated you down to your very bones, and you fell to one knee as the breath hitched in your lungs. 

That sounded… closer. 

With your heart in your throat, you half scrambled, half crawled the last few feet to your window, and you peeked your head over the sill just as a flash off white-hot light lit up the night sky. 

“Shit!” You squinted your eyes against the glare as you leaned back from the window, but then you saw a shadow streak through the air before it crashed into a car just at the edge of your peripherals. 

You had the distant thought that Mr. Takeyoshi’s vehicle was very obviously totaled before you realized the thing that had crashed into the car was a person. 

Your jaw gaped open as a hero pulled himself from the wreckage and shook his head groggily. The shadows—only broken by more flares of light as more explosions and fire seemed to erupt along the street—made it difficult to tell how injured the hero was. You didn’t recognize their yellow and teal costume, but you saw patches of blood along the hero’s bulky frame, and bile burned at the back of your teeth. 

Holy shit. This wasn’t an accident. It was a villain attack. 

Just as you had the thought, another explosion rattled your windows, making your ears ring, and you snapped your head to the side to see a man standing in the middle of the road about half a block down. 

The man—villain, you realized quickly—swung his arms around like a conductor of an orchestra, but his instruments seemed to be the black rocks and liquid swirling around him. The debris glistened like an oil slick in the light of the flames, and as you watched, the villain shouted something and slashed his arm through the air. 

Then a figure suddenly exploded onto the scene, lunging out from the shadows in a flare of white-hot light. It moved too fast for you to track, but the villain swung his arm again, and rocks and viscous black goo shot toward the figure still in mid-air. 

A futile scream of warning caught in your throat, but then the figure seemed to explode and backflip through the air, landing on his feet but crushing the roof of a car beneath his boots. The wailing of the car’s alarm split the air, and you clenched your teeth until they ached. 

The flames illuminated this new man’s face, a snarl of white teeth against the flames and smoke, but only the barest hint of recognition flared through you before everything exploded into chaos again. Another shout from the villain had all the rocks and black slime streaking back towards him, and you watched in horror as a stony black arm fifty feet long formed above the ruined street. 

You knew you should be running, trying to find cover, calling the police, but you were glued there, on your knees before the window, you fingers digging grooves into the sill. 

The next fifteen seconds seemed to simultaneously happen in slow motion and at hyper speed. 

The giant rocky hand wiggled its fingers before it curled into a fist and slammed down on the wailing car and the man atop it. 

The man—hero, you distantly thought, although your chaotic thoughts still couldn’t place him—launched up into the air with another explosion that rattled your windows, the car alarm cutting off as the vehicle was crushed an instant later. 

The blond skidded into a landing half a dozen yards away, but then you suddenly saw Mr. Takeyoshi standing on the street, a ghostly apparition framed by smoke and flames. 

You blinked, and the giant hand shot toward Mr. Takeyoshi, batting away several more heroes who tried to intervene. 

Then the explosive hero was just there, pushing Mr. Takeyoshi out of the way, right before the hand wrapped around him. 

You could hear the hero’s anguished scream through your window as he was crushed in the fist’s grip, and the sound hit you right in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of you, bruising your insides, the pain settling into the familiar ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 

You watched uselessly as the hero was lifted up into the sky, struggling, setting off explosions left and right. Then the massive arm seemed to pause in the middle of the road, right above the villain, and your eyes locked onto the hero, his pale hair and skin stark against the black, rocky hand that held him trapped. 

In the next instant, a white light, like a star going supernova, bloomed to life around the hero, illuminating the white slash of his snarling teeth before it became too bright for you to take. You slammed your eyes shut against the burning light, and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end, like the moment before lightning struck, as you dropped to the floor below your window. 

Then the world exploded, the building shaking to its foundations, right before the window burst into a million shards of glass.

[kaesaaurelia]

trying to remind myself that the Eleven PM I Didn't Do Anything Today Sads hit me sometimes (specifically at 11 pm) even after I've:

- finally remembered to schedule a vaccination appointment for tomorrow*

- also finally remembered to put in for a prescription refill

- shredded some old paperwork

- cleaned all the metal fixtures in the bathroom

- fixed the bathroom sink**

- washed the dishes

- taken out the garbage***

- made dinner

- put away leftovers for tomorrow

- washed dishes again & cleaned the counters/stove

The Eleven PM I Didn't Do Anything Today Sads don't mean I didn't do anything today. They meant I didn't do like 2 specific things that I had my heart set on which I think in this case was laundry (I can do that tomorrow, hopefully, before the deadly Vaccine Arm Ache sets in) and catching up with ALL my Whumptober, but like. the garbage was really bad and the laundry really needs doing because I have been kind of neglecting other stuff in order to stay up late and write, and the past few days I just haven't been doing that, and it's been better. (Sorry @ the people who have been following one or more of those stories, they probably won't all get done by the end of October but I gotta put myself first.)

--

* finallyyyyy. they had inexplicably not received any delivery of doses for the booster when I went to get it so I got some other vaccines and had to wait 2 weeks and then had a bunch of other shit to do and it was a whole thing. otoh I got my first shingles shot, which is great, because I'm only 35. no idea why my insurance paid for it, but you can get shingles when you're surprisingly young, so if you can get your shingles vaccines you should. I thought it might be a bureaucratic mixup and I was ALL IN on taking advantage of that shit but it turns out BCBS is letting 35-year-olds get them in Illinois? idek. my mom hasn't even had her shingles shots.

** which, if you are a renter, normally that should be a landlord task, please always contact your landlord if you rent and something that's part of the rental breaks in your home! I say this because Younger Me was always worried I'd get in trouble for breaking things and YOU WILL NOT. or if you do it's because your landlord fucking sucks! in this case, however, it was a fairly minor issue and my landlords are actual people I can have a text conversation with, and they are usually very on top of repairs, but I haaate having to Schedule A Day For A Repair when I could just... use a screwdriver on the broken thing... and also I like knowing how to fix things generally... so I asked for advice and got a link to a comprehensive youtube video for the model of faucet I have, and now I know how the bathroom sink handles work. but like. contact your landlord. make your landlord do it. especially if it has anything to do with fire, water, electricity, bugs, or mold. there's probably a pokemon types mnemonic in there but I'm tired and don't know pokemon well enough.

*** really badly needed taking out. D: maggots. bad.

[bonktime]

Take a Breath

Ezra (Prospect) x AFAB!reader Oneshot (no use of y/n)

Masterlist

Rated: Explicit

Summary: Your ship has crashed on a planet with low oxygen. With no other options you begin a tenuous partnership with a strange prospector in need of your help fixing his pod. He’s charming but dangerous and if he finds out the whole truth about you, you’ll probably end up dead. With trouble closing in from all sides, you navigate this new connection and hope you both survive in one piece.

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence, blood and death, mentions of religion, sexual harassment (just a couple comments), me having no clue what asphyxiating is actually like, Two has a clear helmet for plot reasons, smut: unprotected PinV sex (there’s no STDs in space), cunnilingus, dom/sub elements, rough sex, size kink, choking (just a little), spitting, praise kink (this one surprised me), biting, a little dirty talk (it is Ezra) - let me know if I’ve missed anything!

Note: I was totally inspired to create this by @jura-moon​ ‘s fic Nostromo which lives in my head and without it, this never would have been written. I have used some of her story beats and ideas so absolute credit goes to her for that. This is sort of a fanfic of Nostromo in many ways 💘 I’d also like to throw thanks at @absurdthirst who reawakened my love of fics, @slater-baby who awoke something in me specifically, and especially to @danniburgh who not only deals with my damn near weekly requests for softness but who also got me to stop editing at 1am whilst drinking tequila. She did us all a favour, let’s be honest.

I hope everyone enjoys this behemoth. Don’t forget to reblog!

Wordcount: 22k

~~~~~~~~

It's not the worst planet to crash on.

The thought is so ridiculous you'd laugh if it wasn't for the blaring alarms and the screaming. Instead, you wrestle into the pilot’s seat and strap in. With the engine dead you'll have to manually time releasing the parachute. It's completely insane. Too early and the parachute burns, you crash into the ground and die. Too late and the parachute doesn't catch you, you crash into the ground and die. Provided you do survive you've at least got your suit on, oxygen tank attached, you'll be able to breath. The planet's oxygen is too low to survive for longer than two hours alone but it'll aid the tank and give you two days, three if you're careful, to get more. At least it isn't poisonous.

Thoughts all over the place you wonder where the other ship will fall. Hopefully close enough you can still make use of it. Hopefully they've got a good pilot.

You've been lucky this far, now all you can do is hope your luck holds. You break atmosphere flames blurring the view of the planet and then it's rushing to meet you. You start counting, watching it come closer, closer. You see the other ship careen away from you.

“Fuck!” Someone behind you shouts “Pull the damn lever are you trying to kill us all?!”

You ignore them, don't lose count. Ok

Three… two… one…

You close your eyes and pull.

You don't open your eyes.

No. For the first time in years. You pray.

⧫⧫⧫

Pain is the first thing you register, across your chest aches like, well, like you've just crashed a ship. The next is the smell, smoke, that can't be good, it's not entirely unpleasant though. Then the noise, someone's shouting in your ear telling you to get up, to move, they swear and leave you dangling upside down, still strapped into the pilots’ seat. Oh, that's why your chest hurts, ok, you think to yourself, you’re alive. You need to move. You need to open your eyes.

You do.

Lights are flashing, disorientating you more than your current position, blood rushing to your head. You reach up and press the release on the seat belt and drop to the floor, or maybe the ceiling, head first. Didn't think that one through you chastise yourself.  The engine is on fire, filling the hull with smoke but your legs are numb so, seizing your pack where it’s fallen beside you, you crawl to the light you think is the door and to your relief, flop outside.

No one notices you. They're all looking away, throwers out and pointed into the dead trees you sit back against the ship still reeling from the crash, too slow to realise how absolutely fucked you are. They come out the trees fast, even with spears and blades, you watch as the crew falls one by one. You can't process what you're seeing, frozen in place. Blood splatters, coming down like rain around you. Too late your body reacts and you stumble to your feet and run.

You get out of sight and then you stop, panting. Every breath aches your chest.

Something's wrong. Something you're not seeing. Right before your eyes. What is it?!

It hits you, slowly like a wave, realisation and then panic. You reach up slowly and touch your head. Gloves come away wet and dark with your blood.

Your helmet is shattered.

You aren't sure if you're crying or blood is dripping into your eyes. You suspect the blood. Feeling numb you keep moving, one foot in front of the other vaguely glancing down at the dial on your arm. After the running you'll be unconscious in at best an hour and a half, dead a little after that.

The petrified forest seems to close in around you. It’s a stillness like you’ve never experienced. Trees tower above you, skeletal branches reaching up like fingers. The limbs cast dark shadows in the bright sun, crossing over the dry brush underfoot, hiding foot falls and branches to trip on.

You walk on.

⧫⧫⧫

15 minutes left.

You decide to find a place to sit, ideally somewhere with a view but you can't me picky. A fallen tree does the job and you pull off the remainder of your helmet. Trying not to think about your imminent demise you look up. The suns are low, three of them. It twinges in your chest that you'll never go home, never see that sky again. Left to rot alone, no one who knows your traditions to perform your rites. Not that you deserve them. If you're going to put the ring back on, now would be the time. Make penance, but you don't think you can. Perhaps the hundred years wait is what you deserve.

7 minutes left.

There's someone approaching. Silhouetted against the scorching red sky, the heat rising from the ground distorting them, making you wonder if you’re hallucinating. The only clue they’re real is the crunch of the ground beneath their feet, but even that seems to echo around you.

Hope is the thing with feathers and it just flaps a wing wearily in your chest. And then stutters. The sun glints off their pistol, a beautiful sparkle that dims your hope. You do what you're good at, grab your own and shoot first. His gun flies from his hand and you smile, at least your aim is true. It falls off your face as quickly as it appears though as you feel a barrel press into your skull.

Clever buggers divided and conquered.

You drop your thrower but whoever it is doesn't lower theirs. “A little creature all alone,” a low voice drawls, “No helmet? No breath? What will we do with you?”

Staring straight at the man in front as he picks up your pistol and glares at you, you respond. “If we are going to chat, can we do it wherever your pod is? I have quite a story but I'll be dead in…” you look down at your dial, the gun increases its pressure on your skull as you try to suppress the panic “In about 5 minutes” the man remains silent, his pistol staying pressed into your skull. Your mind races, trying to find a way to argue your survival and clutches at the one thing you have. “I chose not to kill your friend when I could have done. Can you at least hear me out?”

The man behind you clicks his tongue “Ok! Well, I'm certainly intrigued and I'm sure even my partner here can't disapprove of allowing you to argue your case.” The comment seems pointed like he'll definitely disagree but even as you see his mouth twist he stays silent. “On your feet creature I'm not inclined to lug you back myself.” Standing the man lowers the thrower into your back and gently pushes you forward.

Their pod is close but you're feeling dizzier by the second and don't even think to protest when, as soon as you're in and the doors shut, the man at your back ties your hands behind you.

Focusing on him as he moves in front of you and pulls off his helmet you notice he’s favouring one arm and despite his sharp brown eyes, he looks feverish and drained. Not paying it much thought, you breathe deeply feeling sharper but it only draws your attention back to the pain in your body. Kevva you're tired. The urge to lie down and rest is near overwhelming, but the one who talks is eyeing you coldly for weakness, you’re no use if you can’t even stand.

Still, you try to get your bearings. The pod is small and rectangular, they haven’t turned the lights on and the looming shadows seem to pull in the walls, making your saviours into giants, making you feel like you’re pledging your case to The Olympians. There’s a small bench with a couple chairs next to a tiny stove and sink, there’s only one cot up against the wall, opposite what could be a cupboard but your eyes can’t make it out in the dim light.

“Now then creature, it's not every day we come across such a little thing with no air on this breathless planet and certainly not one who can shoot so damn straight!” The chuckles “I am just fascinated to know how you got into this predicament.”

You nod thinking carefully about your words. “We were a prospecting crew,” that's definitely a lie, “I'm an engineer but I know how to dig.” Well that's true at least, “Our ship fell of orbit but I managed to deploy the chutes in time so we didn't die on impact but…” you close your eyes as the images of the blood flashes before you.

“Let me guess your theatrical entrance gathered a welcoming party?”

“Something like that, I didn't realise my helmet had broken right away, I managed to run… I think everyone else is dead.” In a way you hope they are, else you really are in trouble.

The man is grinning at you, showing his teeth but the calculating gaze doesn’t falter “An engineer I'll be damned! And you can dig too? This is my lucky day. We happen to be in need of an engineer. See, our little pod has seen some better days and now it is unwilling to fly. Say, if you can fix it up and help us dig a smidgen, save us some time, we'll give you a lift out when the time comes? Quid pro quo”

An unwanted thought strikes you, settling deep in your stomach like a stone. “That sounds like a great deal but I won't be able to help you, not unless you supply me with a helmet.”

With that the other man seems to reach the end of his patience. And he moves gesturing at the talker.

“Now then, it just doesn't seem right to let such a pretty little thing suffocate on this rock... Well, I can't argue with that I suppose… I do apologise, little creature, I find myself, however unwittingly, agreeing with my partner. If you can’t help us then I can find no reasonable excuse to waste our resources on you. Looks like the deals off” he sighs “This is disappointing, I had such high hopes for our association.” With a shrug he pats your shoulder in sympathy that doesn’t meet his eyes. You shouldn't have hoped, your lucks all spent.

You take a deep breath, mind racing to find a way to survive, “Untie my hands at least, I'd appreciate some dignity as I walk to meet my maker.” You glance at your pack on the floor, you won’t need it now.

He pauses for a second, seeming to size you up before nodding and turning you around to face the door. In the reflection of the glass, you see the profile of his sharp features as he looks back, “Now then two, surely you can do the creature the quick the justice of a shot rather than a slow suffocation… Right good.” He cuts your hands loose and instantly the other man is there pressing his thrower into your back. You walk together, back into the waste.

There's only one way you're getting out of this so you close your eyes for a second and pause. He shoves you, lifting his gun to the back of your head. You take a breath and act.

Bending forwards and shoving your elbow up into his arm so the shot goes over your head, you spin knocking the gun aside and grab the small switchblade concealed in your pocket. He should have searched you. You don't hesitate as you stab him in the heart, following him to the ground and wrenching his helmet off. You close your eyes as the light leaves his.

Shaking off the nausea clamouring at you, you pull out the blade blanching as it sprays blood across you. You wipe it clean before stowing it away and then swipe a hand across your face, there’s no way to tell whether the deep red that rubs off on your hand is his or yours, or someone else’s. Feelin around in your pockets for a coin, you suppose the least you can do is pay his boatman so you place the coin under his tongue. You don’t pray. The dead don’t need it.

Ezra watches as you perform this strange ritual, he had to admit that he's captivated. Perhaps his wound has rotted so much he's delirious, finally driven mad by the toxins. Perhaps that was why he agreed to free your hands, why he didn’t check you for a blade. He considers you as he watches, so determined to stay alive.

You pull off the man's suit grateful he's small, even if it'll still swamp you, and grab his helmet. Stripping your own suit quickly you ignore the bandages on your forearm and pull his on. The fit isn't bad, it still seals around your wrists and ankles but it’s loose at your neck. You've got 12 minutes before you pass out unless you fix the hole your own knife made and get a tank of oxygen.

You look at the pod, the other man is watching you. Brown eyes piercing yours as if looking into your soul. It's him or nothing. You've got to try.

You approach the pod carrying your suit. Looking through the glass in the door and you gesture a setting for your radio, there’s a click followed by his harsh breathing.

“That was not especially kind, little creature. I certainly underestimated your ferociousness”

You shrug, “It was him or me.”

“What makes your existence so exponentially more important than his d’you think?”

You frown, “I didn't decide that it did, the powers that be choose. I did bring a knife to a gunfight” He smiles slightly and lets out a little chuckle.

Ezra watches you carefully, you look so tired, so small as you lean against the door of the pod his feverish brain seems to be attempting to soften a long-hardened heart. Still, he's not an idiot. “I'm afraid letting you in may be a detriment to my state of being, creature, you are indeed viscous and I'm not inclined to trust someone that murdered my acquaintance with so little hesitation.” He watches your eyes closed and for a second you look so hopeless but when they open, they've hardened.

“I could simply pull apart your pod from the outside, make sure you suffocate with me!” The last words come out in a shout of frustration. You bang your hand against the glass window of the door.

He glares at you, his voice low and menacing “I do not take lightly to threats, creature.”

This day’s too long, too hard, you've done too much. How many deaths? You realise that you can't kill someone for, sensibly, not letting you in. You laugh “I feel like the wolf at your door,” you sigh god your head hurts “There's no point!” you gesture, “Killing you would do nothing but damn me further I won't kill you out of spite. Fuck!” You glance and the dial on your arm,

6 minutes.

You turn away and sit, suit back against the door. It's as nice a spot as any. “I will choose to die here though I think, just as a reminder that you killed me when I fall through the next time you head out”

You chuckle at the macabre thought then turn off your radio and pull off the helmet.

3 minutes.

The final sun is setting, this really is Apollo's world and it is beautiful. The orange sky outlines the forest’s hands like an oil painting waving you off. Not a bad place to go at all.

2 minutes.

At least it's quiet.

1 minute.

Black spots are filling your vision, blurring out the beauty. Rude you think to yourself and you let out a delirious giggle.

The door behind you slides open and a strong hand grabs the back of the suite as you flop back, hauling you in, snagging the helmet and sealing the door. You don’t move, staring at the ceiling for a second breathing deeply.

Ezra drops heavily down onto the cot and watches you, you're quite something up close even covered in another's blood and your own, you're beautiful. He imagines this is what a witch would look like after a ritual, all blood and magic and secrets.

You open your eyes and peer up at him. “What changed your mind?”

He grins “Call it a reckless curiosity fuelled by this festering limb of mine.” He gestures to his arm.

It’s your turn to size him up, he seems to be looking worse by the minute and now slumped against the wall, you could probably just kill him and take what you need. Maybe you would if he hadn’t let you in. “Perhaps I can patch it up, I've got steady hands and too much experience with wounds from weapons” you struggle into a seated position with a grunt as pain flashes.

“You might as well have a gander, I'm afraid if left to my own devices I'll have to saw the thing off myself or else perish” He frowns down at his twitching fingers, “I do believe this may be my lowest point, little creature. I invite in trouble and then ask it for help? I have certainly had preferable days, for instance, when the ship I was presiding upon became infested with channel rats seems superior to today.”

You hum in reply not really paying attention as he continues to talk. Reaching for your pack, you pull out a pretty well stocked surgery kit.  “I'll numb it as best I can but it's not much”

“Anything that alleviates this agony will be a blessing little creature” You raise an eyebrow at him in acknowledgment, clearly doubting it as you hand him a tablet which he swallows. He pulls off his shirt and you examine the wound trying not to stare at his strong arms and broad chest. It’s a couple days old and badly infected, you’ll have to get out the rot before you can think of sealing it.

“Lie back” you tell him

“Perhaps in another situation your choice of language would be quite desirable” he smirks at you, not succeeding in disguising the worry in his face.

You sigh at the comment “Scream all you need but don't move”

That makes him chuckle, “You're a siren luring me in to slay me, aren't you?” His jaw clenches as you start cutting away the rotted flesh. It is slow work, carefully taking as little pink away as possible. To his credit he doesn't move a muscle and you know it must be agony. He talks the entire time, telling the tale of how he got himself shot in such a long-winded way you can’t tell the truth from the fiction. It seems to give him distraction though, so you don’t ask if he’s lying. As you close the wound with foam, he smiles at you, softer than before.

“Names Ezra, by the way.” Then he passes out.

He’s rather strange you decide, but most prospectors are. You’ve got to be a bit odd to spend your days nearly isolated on hostile planets. Asleep he looks peaceful, none of the calculating gaze or darkness. That little patch of blonde is so distinctive, you find yourself almost hypnotised by his face. Frowning at yourself you move away and sit back against the other side of the pod facing the cot.

A few things left to do with him unconscious, you pull off the stolen suit and grab the patch gun from your pack, melting it closed. You pull it back on and holster your pistol. Sitting back, you take a pill from your med kit to ease the pain in your chest and let it pull you into sleep.

Unsurprisingly, you wake before him. You check he's alive then pack your stuff together. You're even, you suppose. He saved your life. You saved his (or at least his arm) and you'd rather not stay around to find out if, when less fevered, he decides to get more even with you for killing his partner. He did give you his name though and names are powerful things so you pull out your notebook and leave a note as you grab an oxygen tank.

You glance behind you as the door seals behind you but you don’t turn back. If you head towards the ship your crew had brought down yesterday, it should have an escape pod still on it. Hopefully you can fix it up if needs be. You follow your compass East.

⧫⧫⧫

Ezra wakes slowly, he hasn't slept so deeply in years, he feels comfortable if a little cold and slowly he opens his eyes. The previous day returns to him in a haze, a pretty face and bright eyes glaring through the door, a gesture to old gods, his arm…

He looks down and moves his fingers. It's good, remarkably so, still stiff and aching but whatever you’d given him seems to have hurried his healing. That stuffs expensive. Not the sort of thing a prospector would usually have and certainly not something they'd share. You were quite strange, he concludes, but fascinating. Why on earth would someone who could act so brutally for their own survival give him something so valuable? Sure, he let you in but you certainly hadn't needed to let him know you had such a thing in your possession. He supposed guilt over his partner, perhaps you were truly naïve or, bizarrely, you could have money. Which would create a more baffling question of just how you ended up here.

It doesn't occur to Ezra for a moment the other reason, until he looks around the pod to find you gone along with a portable oxygen canister leaving a bit of paper in its place. Things stolen hold less value.

The paper was clearly torn from a notebook on it, it simply said your name.

He curses pulling on his suit and following your tracks into the forest. The trail is light but visible, branches broken where you’d passed, dry brush crushed under your feet. He moves quickly, sure of his footing after spending so much time navigating the dead forest. He’s only travelled about a mile before he can hear you moving ahead.

⧫⧫⧫

You walk through the trees, one sun shining above you warming your bones. As you check your direction you pause. A twig snaps and you freeze listening carefully. There's another noise behind you and you spin tensing. You can't see anything or anyone as you peer around you, the forest is too dense.

A body crashes into you from behind flinging you into the ground, looping something around your neck. Your head ricochets off the inside of your helmet shaking your brain, opening the cut again but not breaking the glass. You try to lurch up but get nowhere so you roll into your back with them now beneath you but the cord around your neck holds you back. Choking, you catch your fingers in it so you can breathe and pull forwards, hard, rolling again and thrusting your helmet back into theirs, loosening their grip enough so you can pull the cord away, only for them to shove you head down into the ground.

The world is swimming now, wobbling around you as you try to get your body to listen to you. To get away. To fight back. Anything! But their weight on your back prevents you from moving. You try to look out of the corner of your eye to see your opponent but get nothing. It surprises you when a tear tracks down your face. You suppose you have been putting off the inevitable for days now, Kevva has called you back.

Whoever it is clicks on your radio and a familiar voice hisses, “You stupid fucking cunt, I'm bringing you to hell with-“ A shot rings out and the body slumps on top of you, you lift yourself up and shove it off sitting up on your haunches looking around for the shooter.

It's him, Ezra, gun still trained on you. He watches you halt, eyes wide.

“You took something of mine, and although usually I don't go out of my way to find trouble, which you little creature certainly are. I awoke to find myself abandoned and a little peeved to discover that you had liberated a couple of my possessions and shimmied out of part of our prior agreement.”

Your heads still spinning and with the blood trickling into your eye you find it immensely difficult to focus on what he is saying. “Prior agreement?”

“Yes indeed. You'll find you had affirmed in exchange for breath you would fix up my little ship so when the time comes, I may leave this barely liveable planet. I do not appreciate reneging”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“On your feet creature,” he approaches, “I find myself growing impatient.” You stand and instantly stumble forward. He grabs onto your shoulder steadying you, his other hand darting out before you can relax and snagging your thrower from its holster. “I underestimated you once, I will not again. Now, your assailant seemed to know you, if I'm not mistaken, by the way they deemed to remark upon you. Pray tell me the tale?”

Looking at him you do feel a lot like prey. He's close, grip still firm on your shoulder and towering over you. A grin showing all his teeth like a wolf, all you would need is a red cloak and you’re dinner.

You glance down at the body and clench your jaw, it was Cora. Formally, a member of your crew, she had always distrusted you. Rightfully so, you think to yourself.

Steadying yourself you shrug off Ezra's grip, ignoring the gun still aimed at you and kneel down to pull off her helmet. Taking a coin from your pocket you place it under her tongue and look back up at him, the helmet still in your grasp. He's watching you curiously, seeming to be rolling words around in his mouth as if completely thrown by your behaviour.

“She was part of my crew, I was the engineer so the crash was my fault,” well that was definitely true.

Ezra chuckles darkly, “I'm not too sure I want you to repair my ship after all, creature. Your predilection for incident does appear wearisome.”

You tilt your head up at him, “See any other engineers around here?”

“I suppose you'll have to do, but I will be watching you mighty closely little bird, in case you decide to take flight again.” You frown at the new nickname but don't get a chance to argue as you both hear a horn a little way off. “Unfortunately, my shot appears to have alerted the ever-irritable locals to our location.” He grabs your arms and hauls you back to your feet pulling you along with him as he walks back the way you had come, Cora’s helmet still clasped in your hand. “Luckily the settlers are not quick on their feet, I must say.”

You can't think of a response, your head is still reeling and your feet feel like lead as you trudge after him, his hand gripping firmly onto your wrist.

You're grateful you hadn't travelled far when he tugs you into the pod. Closing the door and turning, Ezra finds you slumping down to sit on the floor ripping off your helmet and attempting to wipe the blood out of your eye. It feels a little voyeuristic as he watches you tug off the suit soaked with his partner's blood, revealing the black insulating vest and leggings beneath before flopping back eyes closed for a moment. You feel his stare and pointedly ignore it as you grab your own suit, abandoned the day before, and shimmy into it. Cora had the same suit and so her helmet will fit yours. You feel a little relief at no longer having to wear the blood of someone you'd killed, not to mention more secure in something that fits.

Glancing up at Ezra as you transfer your possessions between pockets yet again you see he's elected to tie his suit up around his waist revealing those damn arms again. He crouches down in front of you and gently grasps your chin to tilt your head up at him. “That's quite the cut you've got there little bird.”

He carefully watches your face but your head is still fuzzy so with no retort he moves away from you and picks up your med kit. He cleans your wound gently, wiping the dried blood off your face. As he does, you study him. Close up you can see the wrinkles around his eyes from when he smiles and the curved scar on his cheek. Fighting off the impulse to trace your fingers over it, you ask how he got it. He grins as he places a plaster on your head “Now that’s quite a story” but you don’t get to hear it yet, sounds outside means the settlers have found the pod.

“They'll leave provided they don't know we're here” He grumbles, tugging you into the cupboard running along the wall.

It’s slim but long inside, there are blankets on the floor, a lantern and a small stack of tattered books. “Do you sleep in a cupboard?” you have to ask but you do your best to keep the incredulity out of your tone.

“I'd rather you didn't insult my little burrow as a guest, there's only one cot in this pod and I lost the wager so I made do. I think you’ll find it’s rather cosy”

You nod, a little thrown by his change in attitude since being in the forest. As you both sit you watch his face in the golden light of the lamp. It makes him appear to glow, almost like a painting. He'd look almost relaxed if it wasn't for how his eyes were watching you carefully.

Ezra studies your features, if you hadn't been such a bringer of chaos, he'd think he'd made you up, that, or Kevva had reached into his head and plucked you out. You're just perfect, perhaps anything his own mind could come up with would have to come with chaos, there was no fun without it.

The quiet moment is disrupted by a bang on the side of the pod, you jump and Ezra tenses slightly but seems to be expecting it. “They're trying to frighten out anyone inside” he whispers, “If we stay quiet and hidden, we'll be just fine”

You nod and tilt your head back against the wall trying to block out the noise as Ezra reaches for the book at the top of his stack. You read the title ‘Perfume’, you haven't heard of it but judging by the battered pages and writing in the margins Ezra knows it intimately. He glances at you. “It is a tale of a man who gets so enraptured with the scent of a woman he endeavours to turn her essence into perfume.”

You hum in response “That sounds a little morbid.”

Reaching into your bag you pull out a similarly dog-eared copy of ‘The Power’ and do your best to ignore the man opposite you.

Ezra frowns at his book. It's not often a good read fails to pull him into its world but something about your presence has driven him to distraction. Instead, he closes the book and continues to study you, it's a nice change having a stranger in such close quarters. You're frowning at your book a little furrow in your brow he finds endearing. It's only then he notices you're shaking. He wonders if it's from the death of your friend, from the settlers’ insistent pounding on the side of the pod or from him. He supposes it's quite scary to be trapped in a small space with someone twice your size and he hasn't exactly been kind to you. Ezra frowns to himself, not that you've given him a reason to act kindly. You will be useful to each other but there's no point making friends on such rough terms.

You look up meeting his eye as he glowers at you and swiftly glance away, trying to take up as little space as possible.

“You said you came to prospect?” he murmurs to you. You look back at him, wide eyed, and nod. “Good, you can help me finish me dig, 60/40 split, since you so callously divested me of my partner.”

You nod “You ridded me of mine too. Looks like we're even again. Equal split.” He’s tempted to laugh at your boldness, negotiating with no leverage. He keeps his face stern, unwilling to let you know how much he is enjoying your spark.

“I don't think so.” he speaks lowly making you tense, “I will permit that without you my arm would be about as useful as stim gum is at staving off hunger. And at least to me my arm is equal to a partner.” He tilts his head at you, the light cutting plains across his skin, “Even so… we still aren't even. That’s twice I saved your troublesome arse. One could suggest you’re indebted to me.”

To his surprise you nod, even as your jaw clenches and he watches you swallow “I guess I'll have to make it up to you another way. Even split or I don’t dig” That breaks him, he can’t hold in his grin at your fearlessness. He strongly suspects you’ve had an abundance of practice getting what you're owed from characters more unscrupulous than himself. He frowns at that, even hardened prospectors treat him warily, there must be something else to you. He agrees though, more out of curiosity than necessity.

“Even split it is then.”

⧫⧫⧫

You both agree there's no point going out to dig with the settlers so close but after the noise has subsided Ezra looks you over and suggests you shower. You don't tell him what a gift that is but he sees how your eyes light up at the prospect of washing off the past days’ grime. He hands you a towel and as the water starts running, he distracts himself from picturing you naked by satisfying some of his inquisitiveness and going through your pack.

There's not much of interest. Your med kit, some protein bars, instant caf, ammunition but in the front pocket he finds an old ring. Round like a signet but instead of a family emblem it is simply a small coin, plated in gold. He studies it, it's roughly hewn, well-made but not particularly fine. He wonders if you stole this too, but it isn't flashy and everything else you've taken had been useful so he posits it is yours, but why don't you wear it? Frowning he puts it back as he spots a notebook, worn and well-loved but as he reaches for it the water shuts off and he leaves your pack, choosing to get nourishment for you both before you sleep.

You emerge dressed just in your leggings and vest, Ezra gestures to the seat noticing the bandage on your arm. “What did you do that your mystical little tablets cannot heal?”

You finger the material absentmindedly, “Oh it's an old wound I keep reopening, better to keep it covered to prevent infection.”

He peers at you clearly unconvinced but he doesn’t question you further, you avoid his eyes looking at the floor as he sticks some food in front of you. “Eat up little creature, we've hard work to do tomorrow and we'll need our energy.”

You take a mouthful before asking, “Where will we sleep?”

“Better we stay out of sight in case our hospitable friends return, so back into the burrow. And I'd rather keep you close in case you start to feel flighty again” You sigh but to his surprise don't argue, perhaps the settlers really did shake you.

Ezra returns to studying you as you both eat, without your suit on he can see the harsh bruises around your neck where your former friend had tried to strangle you but the gash through your eyebrow has stopped bleeding and fresh from the shower, you're quite the vision. It has been so long since he'd had another body to warm his bed and you look so soft and vulnerable without the suit and imminent danger, he finds himself picturing you under him, writhing, brow furrowed like before. His hands grabbing your arms, your hips, your neck- He shakes himself of the image. Your partnership is tenuous at best without bringing in the pleasures of the flesh and he doesn't really want to scare you off potentially leaving him alone and trapped on this world.

When you've eaten you head into Ezra's ‘burrow’ as he called it and settle opposite each other, legs stretched out in front, feet almost touching. Ezra is next to the door ensuring you can't leave without waking him but you're not inclined to try, you know your luck is running out. You're grateful he doesn't try to scare you into staying, instead curiously he picks up his book and looks at you. 

“I propose an exchange, it appears we are both almost prepared to recite our beloved tomes cover to cover, so, would you acquiesce your book for mine?”

You shrug, “I wouldn't mind something new but I'm not sure how much you'd enjoy ‘The Power’ and I have nothing else.”

He smiles his eyes crinkling with amusement, “Well then, read me the blurb and let me decide for myself. It seems only I would know what I may delight in.”

“It's about how women become the dominant gender in the world, told by a man in the future where a male dominated society seems absurd.”

Ezra grins, “I am intrigued! It'll be a joy to discuss books with another person, a pleasure I can rarely partake in”

You smile back as you swap books. A tentative exchange that leaves you both a little hopeful for the progress of your partnership.

You both read in silence until you yawn twice in a row causing Ezra to yawn too and he suggests you turn in. Or you guess he does, his choice of language seems to baffle you here and there. He wrangles a blanket out from under you and you settle in, top to tail, his feet level with your chest and yours to below his hip. You didn't realise how the adrenaline of the day had worn you out and you're asleep in seconds. 

You awake on your front, head nestled into your arm. It's pitch black and there's a weight on your ankle. Trying not to panic you wait for your eyes to adjust and peer over your shoulder to see what's grabbed you. It's Ezra.

Asleep on his back one hand on his stomach where the blankets had been shoved down and his under shirt had risen revealing a strip of tan skin glowing in the low light. You try not to focus on that. His other hand, by his side wrapping nearly all the way around your ankle. You wonder if he grabbed you awake to stop you trying to escape or if unconscious, he simply wanted to keep your warm body close, that idea makes you feel a little soft, this is easily the gentlest he's touched you apart from patching your head. You debate if you should shake him off but you don't want to wake him and his warm hand is anchoring so you just put your head back down on your arms and go back to sleep.

⧫⧫⧫

Ezra had his sleeping pattern nailed down, a necessary thing for a prospector, usually out cold for 7 hours so he's surprised when he startles awake. He doesn't usually dream. He grasps at the threads of images his mind had conjured committing them to memory. It was about you and it was enough to make him flush and now as he rouses himself, he gently detaches his hand from your ankle unsure about when he grabbed it. It's still early, he looks over you asleep on your stomach breathing slowly. He sighs adjusting himself in his pants if he can't get these images of his head, he's going to have an even more difficult time working with you than he already will. Desire is fickle like that he supposes, giving him a beautiful creature, he can't trust. One who is clearly concealing something and who certainly doesn't desire him in return. A beep tells him the suns are rising and you begin to stir

“Arise little bird, a day off struggle and fortune lays in wait.”

You grumble in return shuffling onto your back and sitting. Ezra tries not to stare as the blanket slips away revealing your body. To avoid further thoughts, he leaves his burrow taking his suit, subtly clutching it to his front so as not to alert you to his predicament, and heads for the shower to sort himself out, eternally grateful that the pod had connected to an underground lake making the water supply essentially infinite. Hopefully a brisk wash will clear his head and body of the lust.

You flop back and sigh. That damn blonde tuft and those sharp features were following you even into sleep. It had been far too long since you'd enjoyed another person and if it wasn't for the dilemma you were in, Ezra would be an easy yes. Broad and handsome and charming in a way that just spelled trouble, but your uneasy alliance, and your lies, and the fact that he could easily kill you make you especially wary of being vulnerable in the way you truly crave. Instead, you shake yourself, grab your pack, dig around for that terrible instant caf and leave the cupboard.

Ezra's shower was doing nothing for his erection. Feeling a little exasperated he grasps it harshly and tries not to picture you so vivid in his dream moaning around him. The water raining down on him acts as a lubricant as he harshly begins pumping his hand not wanting to take his time and fall into a fantasy of you. It doesn't work, he imagines how soft your hands would be, how wet you'd be, how he'd take you here up against the tiles. It's quick and dirty. He grunts, swears, then cums, the water washing the sin away leaving him panting and if anything, more frustrated than before.

You hear Ezra swear in the shower and wonder vaguely if he dropped something as you grab two mugs and start heating water for caf. The shower shuts off and you look round as he emerges with a towel wrapped around his waist. His eyes are dark and he looks furious so you turn away and try not to think about how the water droplets on his broad shoulders shimmer as he disappears back into the cupboard.

Seeing you there, making you both caf, dressed in your underclothes sparked a craving of domesticity within Ezra. For the briefest moment you weren't a reluctant partner on a hostile planet, instead you were a lover he could wrap his arms around from behind as you giggle and try to get breakfast and it aches.

When Ezra re-emerges, dressed with his hair sticking in all directions, you've put his caf on the small bench and are sitting waiting for him. He sits too and picks it up.

“There's only a couple months left in the dig” he says, “You up to it? I will be displeased if you slow us down”

You glare, so this is what he's worried about, “Don't worry I've had plenty of practice. If anything, I'd worry about your arm!”

He grins at you “No need to fret little creature, I managed to do my job with a hole in it and with your miraculous medication, it is only a little unyielding.” He carefully looks over your face, “Speaking of, I would appreciate you being candid in not only the precise location you acquired such a potion but why in Kevva you deigned see fit to give it to me?”

He watches you chew on your words, “I relieved them from a man who sought to take from me, and I gave them to you to even my debt. You saved my life if I didn't give you one, I wouldn't have been able to save your arm.”

What a strange little thing, he thinks, so worried about balance, “Did you happen to also relieve this man of his life?” You stare into your cup and don't answer “Well if he sought to take from you, I'll assume it was just.”

You sit in silence as Ezra smoothly changes the subject and grabs a bar for you, spinning quite the tale as you eat. Not stopping for breath as you pull on your suits, boots and helmets, only pointing you towards the equipment you need to grab before opening the door and leading you back into waste.

Ezra hadn't given you back your thrower which you supposed was fair although he had left you your blade which you're sure he remembered you carried. Perhaps a little act of faith to gain your trust? It didn't hurt. 

As you approach the site Ezra looks back at you, “Stay close little creature we wouldn't want you to get lost.” His voice is low and threatening and sends a shiver down your spine that isn't entirely fear. You nod slowly and he grins, wolf-like just as before, as if outside you the pod he is an entirely different beast to reckon with. 

“I'll get in the pit and do the heavy lifting, you can treat and polish on the surface, we'll go for as long as we've got light and head back. It's gonna be a long day little bird”

The dig comes as a relief, the repetitive labour clears your head and Ezra seems to be filled to the brim with stories and anecdotes, although, you don't think you're actually learning much about him. The way he talks is open yet totally guarded, as if he has the compulsion to speak but the sense not to trust you. You aren't offended, it's not like you're exactly opening up to him either. The day passes quickly like this and as the sun dips too low to see well Ezra hauls himself out of the pit, tells you to pack up and you both head back to the pod to eat and sleep. You wake with his hand around your ankle again.

⧫⧫⧫

A couple of days in, the suns seem to be burning even hotter than before. The dig is gruelling and you’re grateful Ezra so far, hadn’t let you into the pit. You aren’t sure you could bear it in this heat. By the time you finish and return to the pod, taking off your helmet is a relief. You feel hot and sticky and bone tired so you plop yourself down into the cot in the main room still in your suit. Ezra chuckles, “You must be out of practice, else you'd still find these long days easy.”

Ah, so he is bringing it up. You raise your head to look at him, “I still kept up with you, didn't I?”

“True, true, although I am not functioning at full capacity at the present time.” He gestures to his arm.

You flop back and gaze at the ceiling, “Or I just survived a crash from space a few days ago and I'm still a bit worn out.”

That makes him laugh. It's a big warm noise, that makes you giggle too at the absurdity of it all. 

“Are you confident you wish to slumber there?”

“Why? You afraid I'm going to make another break for it?”

His grin is just a little softer now, “A little. But if I were you, I'd be more concerned about the neighbours might pop by.”

“Shit, alright” you sit up and instantly yawn.

“Let's get some food in you and turn in, little bird. If I'm not careful I'll have to carry you into my burrow.”

Smiling back, you mock him a little, “With your arm? I'm not sure you'd be capable.”

At that he grins and you realise you've given him a challenge he won't back down from. Stalking up to you like a cat he seizes you under the arms and hauls you against his chest making you huff and giggle as you try to wriggle free. He carries you across the pod like you weigh nothing and plonks you down on the little work bench. Hovering too close for just a moment too long, his breath ghosting your cheek.

“Now how about you keep your smart comments to yourself, lest I have to keep proving you wrong?” he smiles at you, letting you see the crow’s feet by his eyes. 

“I'll admit defeat this time I suppose, but you really should go easy on that arm!”

Ezra turns away from you, his heart pounding a little and reluctant to leave your embrace. Instead, he ignores the feeling urging him to clasp you close and grabs your food. As you slide off the bench and into a seat, he hands you a bowl. Neither of you attempt to meet the other's eye and both of you fail to see the flushed face of your companion.

Once again sleep comes easy, the hard work making your body crave rest to heal but even so in the dark you wake. There's no rush of panic this time instead you feel warm and sleepy as you glance at Ezra at the other end of the cupboard. He's not grasping your ankle instead his side is pressed against yours, leg to leg. It's cosy and in your half-awake state you don't think about how you had gone to sleep separated, and who had sought out whom in the black.

The next day goes much the same, you bicker before you head out deciding who should be in the pit and who shouldn't. Ezra concedes that he'll do the treating of the gems today if you keep alternating so neither of you gets too worn out. You agree though you point out yet again that he needs to go easy on his arm and he points out your bruises and gash on the head as hypocrisy. It's an argument with no malice and it feels refreshing to have a go at someone without worrying they'll get angry and shoot you. Although perhaps you should be more concerned by how at ease you are. If he was to see the scar on your arm, you doubt he'd be so understanding. 

As the day ends Ezra offers you his hand to pull you out of the pit, his touch lingering in yours for just a second too long.

⧫⧫⧫

Working like this you form a sort of routine. Up early, dig till you can't see, talk, eat, sleep, press together in the night. Ezra is starting to reveal little details about himself, where he was born, how he got into prospecting, his favourite books. In a way it makes you feel guilty for staying guarded, only relinquishing the barest details about yourself, but if he notices he doesn't point it out. 

A month passes like this and as you watch Ezra hop into the pit you wonder vaguely if he'll ever run out of things to talk about. He describes an incident where an amateur prospector managed to get his arm stuck in the pit resulting in its brutal amputation but your attention fails as you wait for the next potential gem and you look into the trees behind you. 

An uneasy feeling claws at you so trusting your gut you tell Ezra to shut up and get down out of sight just as someone emerges. No one you recognise, thank Kevva, and not a settler either. They are carrying a rifle though. Bowing your head to your work so they can't see your mouth move, you quickly describe what's happening.

“I can only see one, he's armed. A prospector. You stay quiet unless I shout.”

“Right then birdie. I await your call.”

You look up at the man staying on your knees and gesture your radio setting.

“What's someone like you doing out here all alone?” You repress a shudder at his tone.

“Same as you, I expect, making my way in the universe.” He comes closer and you fight the urge to back away but you don't want to draw attention to Ezra. “I don't have much to offer you and I don't take kindly to thieves.”

“Big talk from someone unarmed.” Wishing Ezra had given back your thrower, you stand and decide an attempt to bargain will be the best option.

“What do you want then, we can trade.”

“I'm not looking to trade anymore, I'm stuck here. My team's dead.” He levels his gun at you. “If you take me to your ship, I'll let you live for a price. Protest too much and I'll shoot and have my way while you bleed out.”

You gulp and stand starting to back away. Even with the element of surprise Ezra will have to act quick and be lucky if you both want to live. Why would he though, he doesn't have much motivation to risk his life for yours, he'll just have to hitch another ride. The man keeps moving towards you as you reach the edge of the pit, eyes not leaving your face and presses the gun to your chest. You glance down for a moment, hoping he doesn't look too, and see wide brown eyes and a miniscule nod. 

At the same moment Ezra reaches up, you drop back into the pit and land heavily on your back, winded. He slices across your assailants achilles tendon and grabs onto his leg pulling him in after you. Frozen in place, you watch the tussle, for the first time properly witnessing how formidable of a foe Ezra can be. His size and strength easily overpower the other man as he rolls on top, throwing down heavy blows that fill the air with the soft thuds of impact, like a heartbeat. A yell is cut off with a gurgle as Ezra shoves his blade into the man’s neck repeatedly, using his weight to hold the man down until he stills.

There's a moment before he turns, he lowers his head trying hard to calm his harsh breathing and sighs. “I do apologise little bird,” he turns to you scowl in place, eyes dark. “For my brutality, I'd rather you didn't have to bear witness.”

His voice is low and he's watching you carefully as you sit up. You feel lost for words at how far he'd gone to defend you, you wonder how close he got to becoming the man dead in front of you. Alone and cruel. All you can do is nod in response.

Ezra curses himself at how quiet you've become. Moving the body out of the pit had taken time and once done, as he watched you place a coin in his mouth, he'd announced that to continue the dig today would be futile with adrenaline running so high and at your nod you had gathered the equipment and headed back to the pod. He watches you carefully as you pull off your suit and decides that the fact you didn't just sprint for the trees after what he did was a good sign. But you continue to surprise him.

“Thank you,” you say softly, “For not letting him…”

“Nonsense, without the pleasure of your company I don't doubt my humanity would soon become as weathered as his own.” He frowns, “It was rather like being visited by the ghost of Christmas yet to come.” You tilt your head not really sure what that means but he shrugs. “Don't fret about it.”

Then there's silence as you watch each other. Lost in thought as you make your meal and eat.

Ezra ponders on the panic he felt deep in his chest at the waver in your voice. He wonders when saving you switched from utilitarian need to something more. He knows how stupid it is to get attached, how reckless. But your bright eyes and determination to stay alive were admirable and captivating and he craves to know more, what makes you laugh, how well you'd take him. He sighs and attempts to brush the lust aside. Even if you weren't terrified of him, he just knew you were concealing something.

The silence stretches out, both unwilling to break it, as you head into the burrow. For the first time, you sleep next to each other. 

⧫⧫⧫

Ezra is wrapped around you when you wake, safe and warm and comforting. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, its steady rhythm relaxing you before your brain starts whirring. Then you feel guilty, like you're taking advantage of him. He doesn't realise how much you enjoy him holding you close and you certainly don't deserve it. The weight of your lies heavy on your shoulders you ease out of his arms, careful not to wake him, and leave the sanctuary of the burrow. 

A wonderful dream slips away from him as he stirs. His little bird's weight in his arms, grounding him, giving him something to protect. Looking round for you and finding you gone, he swears and stumbles to his feet. Kevva, he hoped you hadn't left him alone.

He almost sighs with relief when he leaves his burrow just to spot you sitting by the window watching the suns rise, notebook in hand and mug beside you. You look up, a little wary of his wide eyes but shrug. “I couldn't sleep.”

“Me neither little creature, my dreams are haunted.” He picks up your mug and takes a sip, with a grimace he says “Can you truly enjoy something so acrimonious?”

You chuckle, “Habit I guess.”

“Well, it's certainly rousing” he smiles at you “What are you scribbling there?”

“I had a look round the ship, it's all the repairs I need to do.” You hesitate, “If we swing by the other crashed ship for a couple parts, we can be gone in two days.”

Ezra's eyes darken just a little, his voice low, “You wouldn't be trying to wiggle out of our agreement now? The dig isn't done and I demand satisfaction.”

He watches your mouth twist, “It's just I think our luck's run, the longer we stay the more trouble we're going to get like yesterday.”

“That cannot be helped, little creature. I'd like to live well for a while, and so, the dig must be completed.” You think to that other ship, there's immeasurable wealth on it but you can't tell him. Then he'd know what you were. So instead, you nod and start preparing for the day.

The change in your attitude has Ezra feeling nervous. He realises if he doesn't show a little faith, you won't feel safe and he'll lose you, and possibly himself. Just before opening the door to the waste, he turns to you, “Here.”

He's holding your pistol out to you, frowning slightly, you peer up at him “What?”

“If something like yesterday happens again I'd rather you be able to look after yourself,” you nod and reach for it but he keeps it in his grip for a moment, “Don't get any ideas” his voice is low and dangerous eyes hard on you. You swallow and nod shoving it into your holster.

To your relief the dig is quiet and Ezra has returned to chatting away to you from his perch outside the pit and eventually you're able to chat back making him laugh as the day passes.

There's a change between you, him trusting you to be armed has given you a chance to breathe, but, with that a new tension has come between you. One you're trying very hard to ignore. It’s crawled into your head and planted thoughts of closeness, of more, that you can ignore during the day but not at night.

After that day you'd formed a new routine. Going to sleep next to Ezra and waking up feeling secure in his arms before the guilt hits and you leave before he wakes. Not letting him know the comfort you've found there. 

⧫⧫⧫

Apart from the locals coming to bang on your walls every few days, weeks pass incident free as you both perform this dance around each other. Ezra finds that his cold showers are doing less and less to quell his lust, and heart is another matter entirely. So, he ignores it, treats you a little coolly, tries not to scare you off, it's getting more difficult now nearly every night he dreams of you. Sometimes it's lewd, sometimes you're chatting together, the worst are when he dreams he's just holding you. He might think it was real if not for how when he wakes up you aren't there.

Until the morning he wakes first. 

He's groggy, breathing deeply and so, so comfortable. It takes a moment to get his bearings. Shifting slightly, he realises how he's curled around you, hand on the strip of skin of your stomach where your shirt has rolled up, face pressing into the back of your neck and he has to fight the urge to kiss it. When you moan quietly, he props himself up on his arm looking down at you in the low light. For a moment he thinks you're having a nightmare but you flushed, breathing shallowly and he's certain you aren't. When you whimper, he shudders, such a pretty noise. He feels tempted to stay pressed against you, to touch you, to make you make more of those noises. He fights it off, and eases away from you stepping out of the warmth of his burrow. 

He thinks, perhaps later he can talk to you, there's nothing wrong with getting some pleasure and easing some stress in each other’s arms. There isn't long left of the dig and then you'll go your separate ways, the thought stings a little. He leans back against the door. Kevva, he craves more, he wants to learn every inch of you intimately, to learn what makes you tick, to wake up with you in his arms. It aches deep in his chest, so many years spent in poor company. He hears you moan once more and groans himself, pushing off the door he trudges to the shower.

For the first time in ages, he runs it hot before stepping in and grasping his cock. He lets himself take his time, starting slow, increasing the pace till he feels like he could explode then slowing right back down again. He doesn't fight off the images of you that spring into his head now he knows what you can sound like. He imagines you making them with his tongue on you, fingers buried in you as he presses you down, how you'd whine his name, how you'd beg. Ezra grunts, staving off his orgasm once more his cock red and throbbing with his heartbeat. He pictures sinking into you, hot and wet with you pliable in his arms as he fucks you into the ground. He cums hard with a growl and a curse and then curses himself both for being loud and for allowing himself to yearn for you, then finally he begins to wash.

⧫⧫⧫

You wake with a start, panting. Your dream is vivid in your mind. Ezra grasping your hands so you couldn't move as he fucked you with his tongue moaning against you. He'd talked too, both eloquent and totally filthy as he got you exactly where he wanted you. You huff, now you were left frustrated and still pining for a man who must just see you as a utility, a way to get off this planet. Hell, he barely even knew anything about you, didn't know the most important thing. But you know you can't stay in this limbo for long now, the digs nearly done and after then what can you do. There are two options, tell him who you are and how you feel and hope for the best or just ignore it, get off the planet, take your money, and go live the quiet life you'd intended. You focus on this debate and instead of the wetness between your legs as you leave the cupboard.

You look around for Ezra and exhale as you hear the shower running, there's no way for him to know what you were dreaming of, right?

That's when you hear him, it's a low, erotic groan followed by a string of swear words and you flush as you became achingly aware of how wound tight you are. You turn away and try to ignore it, heating up water for both of your cafs as the shower stops. 

As it brews the steel door swings open and Ezra emerges wrapped in a towel and glowering, you ignore his stare and the way droplets of water slide down his chest making you want to lick him as you hand him a mug. 

Ezra watches you gnaw on your lip as you look him over and can't hold in the grin at how frustrated you seem. He can't help but tease. 

“Did you have pleasant dreams little bird? You seemed unwilling to rise this delightful morning.”

His grin widens with your eyes as you look away “Err I don't remember… did you sleep ok?”

“Like I was in the welcoming arms of a lover” He doesn't miss your little inhale of breath, and he wonders how best to broach the topic of mutual pleasure with you. Perhaps it'll quell the urge to keep you safe in his arms.

The way Ezra is teasing you makes you think perhaps he can read your mind. As he goes to dress you make a decision, after the dig you'll explain how you really got here, explain how you don't want to leave him after the dig is done. And hopefully he'll be worn out enough that, should he decide you're too much of a liability, you can out run him.

As you head out an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach, you tell Ezra as much but he just chuckles, “Perhaps you're still tired”

The morning goes smoothly, you're in the pit this time handing stuff out every so often to Ezra, his fingers brushing yours. Both of you work quickly, you puff, out of breath, as you stretch yourself up for yet another hand off. His ability to talk is once again surprising you. You laugh at his story despite the unease and the beat of the sun in your back and miss the delighted expression that crosses Ezra's face from your position in the pit.

Like a light switching, the energy shifts. You know there's trouble before Ezra mumbles through the comm “Little bird, stay down. Company approaches.”

Your blood runs cold when a voice responds, already on your frequency, a voice you know. “Greetings friend, we think you can help us out.”

Ezra eyes the pair in front of him, knowing you’d been made was adding a layer of worry to a tense situation, “I'll help if I can but, you're encroaching on my little territory you know how it is. I will be obliged to defend it”

You hear the pair step closer “Actually we're looking for someone,” your eyes slip closed as you stay stock-still, “See they greatly are responsible for our predicament. However,” the voice is clear like they already know you're here, crap, how long did they listen in? “If they were to help us find something we've lost. I can assure their punishment is… swift.”

You swallow as they step to the edge of the pit, Damon glares down at you “Hello darling, long time no see”

Ezra looks shockingly calm, still smiling as you glance at him, “Now then, that is not a polite way to address my partner.”

The other man scoffs, second in command Barlow, “Your partner? Back to your old ways I see.” He looks Ezra up and down. “You’re their type”

You think perhaps you see Ezra's jaw clench before he's grinning “It hardly seems fair for you to make off with my partner, does it? No, not without compensation which unless my ears deceive me, you can't give me without them.”

Before you can blink guns are drawn and you feel like a fish in a barrel, stuck in the pit without Ezra to pull you out.

“You don't know who we are, do you? I suppose in the suits you can't tell but I'd have thought with your… intimate relationship to our engineer you might have figured it out.”

Ezra’s gun doesn't waver for a second but his mind reels. The bandage on your arm, it couldn't be. Surely, he hadn't been so blinded by your company not to notice that. His eyes darken and he thinks, for a moment this man, Damon, realises he's going to die the split second before Ezra shoots.

Barlow’s slower, surprised at him for making the first move but despite his fumble this was a real stand-off. He meets Ezra's glare and they're frozen in time for a moment. Just as he watches the man start to squeeze the trigger and prepare to shoot, he flops sideways. Ezra swings his thrower round you see you, gun in one hand, body turned to the side, still poised from the shot neither of them had seen coming.

Ezra looks as surprised as you feel, even taking aim you hadn't been sure you should save him. But, in the second the men had forgotten about you, you'd let instinct take over and your instinct had chosen Ezra. You hoped it was correct.

Perhaps not. You watch as Ezra’s face darkens, his teeth bared as he levels his pistol at you. “Little bird” his voice makes you shiver despite the heat, “Be so kind as you toss your shooter up here. I think we will be having words.”

You can only nod, what can you do? He says he wants to talk so you'll talk, out of the pit. Where you can stand your ground. You swallow and throw your gun up to him. He gives you a curt nod picking it up and turning away. For a terrifying moment you think he's going to leave you here to die slowly but before you can beg him not to, he returns and tosses a pack down.

“Pack up your gear. We're leaving.” His tone leaves no room for argument so you pack away his equipment as quickly as you can and put it on as you wait and listen to him packing his own, wondering if the shots will draw more trouble.

After all the time spent getting used to his talking, his silence is terrifying. It allows you to think, to panic, to imagine the worst thing he can do. Probably leave you on this planet to rot or be torn to pieces by the locals. You squeeze your eyes shut at the thought.

“Come on now, your elevator awaits” You open them to see he's offering his hand down for you to grab. You do your best to ignore the pistol in the other as you grab a hold and scramble out of the hole you had been sure was going to become your grave. Ezra doesn't loosen his grip on your arm as he hauls you to your feet and strides away from the dig forcing you to trot behind him to keep up.

You stare up at him as he pulls you along trying to read his thoughts. He doesn't look at you scowling straight ahead, his grip vice like and bruising. You don't try to shake him off, you’re sure he's worked out who you are. Your former co-workers hadn't been subtle but you can't gage whether or not this is a walk to the noose.

⧫⧫⧫

Tugging you into the pod he releases your arm and turning to seal the door he finally speaks. “Take off your helmet” His tone sends goosebumps over prickling over your skin so you pull it off and go to set it down on the table. When you turn back, he's right in front of you glaring down eyes dark. It makes you feel tiny. “Show me your arm.”

His words are too concise, so abrupt you hesitate. It's like he's a different person, an enemy you aren't sure you should comply to. Ezra decides you're taking too long and seizes the top of your arms spinning you both around and pinning you against the pod's wall, knee hitched up between your legs keeping you in place. You squirm in a futile attempt to get away and gasp as he unzips the front of your suit and shoves it down to your waist. Ezra breathes heavily as he rakes his eyes up to your body to your face. Doing his best to swallow down his desire, he ignores your own heaving chest and grabs the back of your neck forcing you to look up at him.

“Little bird, take off that measly scrap of fabric and reveal the truth.” You gulp eyes wide fingering the knot of the bandage on your arm. Ezra gives you a little shake. “Do it now.”

So, you do, pulling apart the knot and unwinding it from your arm. You don't look at it, perhaps if you don't see it, it's not really there. Instead, you watch Ezra's face for his reaction, gleaning nothing as he releases your shoulder and grabs your wrist bringing it up for him to see clearly. His brow furrows as he inspects your forearm, a brand of three circles linked like a chain. Kevva, he'd hoped he'd been mistaken. You're frozen as his gaze returns to you, dark eyes furious he crowds around you, filling your senses, body pressing you against the wall. His leg shifts slightly between yours and you almost whimper.

“You've been dishonest, little bird, and I do not appreciate it.” Ezra feels at war, he's furious you lied but he understands why. He's fuming you had been running with a violent, malevolent group of pirates. He doesn't understand why you'd ran after the crash or why you'd turned to him. He wants to know what you have that your crew found so valuable. He wants to know how you're both so hard and so soft. All these thoughts rattle around in his head as he stares at you, your mouth slightly open and your lips wet, until he can only think about how good you feel pressed against him, how delicate you feel under the hand on your neck. How much, despite everything, he wants you. He doesn't notice how close he's gotten to you until he feels the puff of your breath on his face. And then you utterly surprise him.

You can almost hear him think as he stares down at you. You don't want to interrupt but his hold on you is drawing attention to his size, to how much strength and power he holds. It's like he's swirling all around you clouding your brain, filling it with him. So, you let yourself do what you want. You've got nothing to lose. Everything that's yours is in his hands and you can't bring yourself to care. He's leaning closer, bending so with his hand on your neck tilting your head up it's like you’re sharing breath. You close the gap and kiss him.

For a second, he freezes in surprise and then he's kissing you back. Harshly biting your lower lip before shoving his tongue into your mouth. It's desperate and rough and you lick into his mouth in response loving the low moan coming from deep in his chest. He releases your wrist and grasps your hip closing any distance left between you. He grinds into you, the leg between your thighs causing a delicious friction as you whimper into his mouth. He breaks the kiss and stares down at you for a second moving his hands to the bottom of your vest. At your nod he tugs it off and pounces back on you. He rubs his hands up your sides as he kisses you, loving the feeling of how big they are on your frame and how you gasp as he pinches your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You wriggle against him trying to unfasten his suit and shove it down his arms. He obliges, stepping back he pushing it off and kicks it away leaving him in his underclothes, staring at you, pupils blown wide with lust as he takes you in. Then he's back on you, seizing your jaw and tilting your head up to look at him as his other hand tugs down the remainder of your suit taking your leggings with it.

Eyes look up and down your form, drinking it in as he reaches down to rub a finger over the wetness soaking your underwear. Your mouth drops open and Ezra seizes the opportunity to shove his thumb in your mouth, his grip adjusting to your chin. Smiling as you suck on it.

“Look at you” he coos dragging his nose into your cheek almost mockingly “On display for me, you look good enough to eat.” He punctuates this by biting your neck and pulling your thin underwear taut against your clit just enough you cry out and stand on tiptoe. He grins down at you as you bite down gently on his thumb and then pulls off your underwear letting you kick it aside before stroking his fingers across your slit so gently it makes you buck towards his hand. He moves his hand back to your hip, pinning you back to the wall as he pulls his thumb from your mouth and wraps his hand around your throat, not squeezing just resting there.

“I want you to stay still,” his voice is low and commanding so you nod. “Repeat it back to me, I want to hear you.”

You whimper, “I'll stay still” and he grins before bending to kiss and nip along your jaw above his hand as his other moves back down to your cunt. He circles your clit so gently it's like he isn't really touching you and just as he slightly increases the pressure he draws back. A needy whine falls from your throat but you stay still and he murmurs against your cheek.

“Good little bird, so wet for me. You're positively dripping,” and then just as slowly he eases a finger into. You cry out, so wound tight it's agonising, the contrast between how harshly he gripped you before against his irreverent touches now making you ache for him more than ever. “Sing for me little bird” he demands and then he's really moving, pressing his finger against that spot inside you that makes you see stars, thumb drawing circles over your clit making you moan so loudly it surprises you. 

Ezra watches the flush spread over your skin as your eyes roll back, he doesn't know how he wants you first. Just as you’re getting close, he realises. He wants you begging. 

He forces himself to pull his hand away from you and watches as you shudder with tension eyes opening to look up at him. “Ezra…” your voice is so soft he grins.

You watch him as he raises his hand to his face to lick your juice off it, sucking his finger with a pop. It's so erotic you can only whimper as he smirks down at you. You want to touch yourself, make yourself cum while he watches, but as you lower your hand down he grabs your wrist and moves it back to his shoulder. “Don't misbehave birdie, right now all your pleasure is mine.” You bite your lip.

Then he returns his hand to your pussy, this time shoving two fingers in pumping them as he rubs his thumb against your clit more firmly than before. Your body quivers but his hand against your neck keeps you in place as you moan desperately. As soon as you get close again, he slows down to a stop this time keeping you stuffed with his fingers as you try to get some friction. “Please Ezra,” the tone of your voice shocks you, you've never sounded so needy.

He moves his face away from biting your ear lobe to look at you, “Please Ezra what, little bird? You've got to be clear”

You can't stop the words tumbling out of you, “Please can I cum, please make me cum Ezra”

He smiles almost cruelly, “You sound so exquisite when you beg.” He starts working his thumb again, brushing his lips against yours. The hand on your neck finally starts to squeeze, turning you on more. “Do it again.”

You do, no power could stop you begging for him, saying his name like a prayer. And then you're cumming, your vision goes white as Ezra squeezes your throat firmly, cutting the blood from your brain dragging it out as he shoves a third finger into your wet pussy. 

Ezra swears he's never witnessed anything so magnificent. Your eyes rolling back into your head, mouth open and lips wet, unable to make a sound. How you soak his hand, how you tighten around his fingers. Now all he wants is to find out how many times, how many ways, he can break you apart.

When you begin to squirm, he reluctantly pulls away, you look up only to find he's pulling off his shirt and trousers. Your eyes widen as his cock springs free. You'd known he carried himself like he had nothing to be insecure about but Kevva… he's packing. It's huge and beautiful, slightly curved, a striking vein runner down it. You feel a little more breathless at the sight.

Ezra catches you staring and grins, pressing back against you, grabbing your arse and lifting you against him. You wrap your legs around him as he pins you up against the wall. His cock feels even bigger pressed against your stomach. Ezra grinds against you sucking marks down your neck as he notches himself at your entrance. You whine and claw his shoulders, he's barely into you and you're sure you've never felt so full. “Ezra” your voice is thready “Ezra I don't think you're going to fit.”

He coos in response thrusting shallowly getting slightly further in and making a cry out as you feel yourself drip around his cock. “Don't fret little bird,” he thrusts again getting deeper, kissing you, relishing the feeling of your heat around him, “I know you can take me.”

He thrusts decisively, bottoming out and pushing the air from your lungs. It feels like he's breaking you open, splitting you in two with his cock and you love it. Love the ache as you adjust, love how you can almost feel him in your stomach, love how he has you pinned to the wall supported by those strong hands and his body and totally at his mercy.

You can barely register he's talking as he grinds his hips against your clit. “... squeezing so tight around me. Never in all my time have I gotten so close to Nirvana.”

He waits until you've started to writhe in his arms, just add he'd imagined, begging for him to move. Then he starts long deep thrusts, interspersed by him grinding against your clit making you whimper and moan as you feel his cock drag across your walls.

“Kevva plucked you out of my head and sent you here for me. You're divine, exquisite…” you can't focus on the words, in no time at all you're cumming again. Squeezing him so tight he chokes on his words and kisses you deeply. He doesn't slow down or speed up, keeping his devastating pace until your body starts to relax. Then he nips at your jaw, hooking his arms under your knees and around your back, spreading his palms wide. He steps away from the wall and, slightly afraid he'll drop you, you grab the back of his neck, but you needn't worry. 

Now with you impaled on his cock suspended in the air by his arms, he truly begins to ruin you. Lifting you up and slamming you back he watches your cunt take him, watches how your breasts bounce, watches you throw your head back in a silent scream. He bites into your neck leaving a mark as he sets a brutal pace. Seeing you like this, feeling you like this, has stolen his vocabulary so he curses and growls as he watches, totally enraptured by how well you take him. He thinks maybe he tells you but he can't be sure.

Ezra’s still talking his sentences shorter but still as dirty, the way he praises you makes you moan and combined with his he is destroying you; you don't think you'll ever experience something this good again and then you don't think anything much at all. Just Ezra, his strength, his beautiful words, how perfectly he's fucking you.

Ezra knows he can't last much longer, not in this heaven but he's determined to make you cum again before he does just to feel it. So, he moves you slightly in his arms until he hits that bit which takes your cries even higher. He grins as you dig your nails into his shoulders, the slight pain both grounding him and making him lose his mind.

You feel so overwhelmed and overstimulated that when he adjusts his thrusting you can't help the few tears escaping as you wail. He just pulls you slightly closer and licks them up before staring down and watching how your pussy stretches to take him. You’re so close again you're sure you might explode if you don't cum, or if you do. And then you do, you can't even make a sound as your whole body goes rigid and Ezra doesn't stop pounding you. Instead, you hear him growl and curse and his thrusts get faster and shorter.

Ezra had never experienced anything hotter. The way you threw your head back and took it as he fucked you like a ragdoll. The feeling of you clenching around him. How you soaked him, the sound of your fucking would stay with him forever. And then he's cumming, he bites down on your shoulder groaning into your skin as he releases. His mind is wonderfully blank as he squeezes you against himself and fills you up with a dozen shallow thrusts.

He doesn't release you right away, just holds you to his chest as he turns to lean against the wall cock still in you. Blissful in the moments before his thoughts start buzzing again. When you can move you look up at Ezra, he meets your eyes, gaze totally unreadable. He reluctantly releases you with a groan and grabs his shirt as he kneels and begins to clean off your combined juices dripping down your legs. Seeing him on his knees taking care of you threatens to give you hope which you tamped down. He didn't know the truth yet and he had readily thrown you out once before. When he's done, he stands and tosses the shirt to the side, tugs on his soft under trousers as you pull on your own clothes. The silence feels like a giant pit between you and you glare at your feet unsure how to start this important conversation.

To your surprise Ezra gently pinches your chin and tilts your head up to look at him. “We've still got much to discuss, little bird.” At your nod he pulls your hand into his ignoring how small and delicate it feels and gently tugs you towards the burrow. He has to know the truth.

⧫⧫⧫

You sit next to each other, his back against the wall, you sitting forward nervously running your fingers over the brand on your arm. Ezra just watches you, waits for you to explain and hopes you aren't a threat he'll have to get rid of after you've shared such intimacy.

“I don't… I won't come off like a very good person or partner when I tell you this. So just listen… please?”

Ezra nods, “None of us can be considered a good person, our humanity is dependent on our survival” he sighs, “Spin your tale, I'll remain in silence until it's done and keep my judgement of our partnership till it's completion”

You swallow, “I fixed a ship, that's how this whole mess started. We were leaving a dig and something had gone wrong which would have forced us to land. But I suited up and fixed it in zero G. It was completely stupid and shouldn't have worked but it did and we made it back to the dock. It wasn't till we'd sold off all our gems and separated that I was cornered. Turns out the malfunction wasn't an accident and by fixing it I'd cost them a lot of money in what they would have stolen from us. They reckoned I owed them and… they aren't people you want to owe”

You close your eyes and Ezra watches you tense. He'd like nothing more than to pull you into his arms but as he reaches for you, he clenches his fist. He needs to hear you out.

“They went through the rest of my team to get to me…” oh, Ezra understands they'd totally isolated you. “Well, they worked out since I could fix their brakes, I could mess up the ships in ways that couldn't be fixed without an emergency landing. They branded me there and then. Didn't even tell me how long I'd have to work to balance what I owed; probably thought I'd be dead by then.” You look down at your arm and frown.

When you look back at Ezra, his eyes are sharp, watching you intensely. “That scars old, little bird, how long did you dutifully aid their robberies.” Robberies of prospectors, people like him, people who'd been like you.

You look away, jaw clenched, “Long enough for it to get easy.”

Ezra doesn't move behind you, doesn't speak. You can't look at him.

“And then I couldn't anymore, I saw what I'd become and I hated it.” Your nails dig into your arm. “No one's good out in the fringe. But I was worse. I can't make up for what I did… can't take it back, can't return lives, possessions any of that. But I could stop, bring my crew down too. We used a distress beacon to lure in the other ships and…” you laugh “This time as I boarded after dealing with the other ship. I dunno, I just snapped and blew our engine too.”

Your mouth twists at the memory, “The pilot saw and I… when I was done, I just thought one down. I didn't want to die myself, that’s the easy way out, so I did my best to pull the chutes, hoping I'd play dead and hitch a ride out. Well, you know the rest.”

You stare straight ahead as a tense silence follows not daring to see Ezra glare at you. You don't see his soft eyes looking you up and down, his mind reeling. Had he known this when you’d first met, he would have shot you without question and left you to rot, your presence nothing more than a risk to his survival. But now, you’d saved him, talked with him, he’d gotten to know you. How you drink your caf black saying you’re “sweet enough”, how you look in the morning, how you laugh, how you moan. He knows he can’t kill you now, but you are a threat. He doesn’t know what to do. “Why are they searching for you? What do you have that they want? Your friend mentioned something.”

You laugh humorlessly, “They don't know where the other ship crashed, I was in the pilot’s seat, so no one else could see it go down. Fat lot of good it'll do them wrecked here.”

There's a bang on the side of the pod, “Shite” Ezra mumbles, “Our quixotic friends have returned.”

⧫⧫⧫

The wait for them to leave seems to take hours, the silence making your heart pound and your thoughts race over what you can do now. Ezra will definitely want you gone, only a mad man would keep you around with your history. Perhaps back to the original plan, see if you can mend the other ships escape pod and get the hell off this planet.

By the time the locals have decided your pod is empty, your plan is set. You stand, not looking back at Ezra. “I'll get scarce, I know I'm a problem waiting to happen.”

You grab your bag feeling in the pocket for your ring, a memory of a home you can't return to, old gods you're no longer sure are there. You look down at it as you step out of the burrow not noticing Ezra follow. You shove it into your suit pocket.

He is stumped for words as he watches you grab your possessions that have become scattered around the pod. He sees how your lives have become enmeshed. Scraps from your notebook scattered around where you'd played hangman or left notes and reminders for each other, items of clothing he watches you fail to pack, that damn terrible caf on the workbench.

He's not sure that he'll ever get all the pieces of you out of the pod, out of himself. You're under his skin, the very smell of you making his heart beat with more determination. As you reach for your helmet, he grabs your hand and finally you look up at him.

“Don't leave, I don't want you to leave.”

It's so simple but it means so much more and he thinks you maybe realise as you look up at him tears in your eyes. “I don't want to go.”

And then he kisses you. It's slower than before but no less fierce sparking a deep need in your chest. Gently now, he pulls off your suit as if he's still persuading you to stay before running his hands up your arms and down your back and sides like he's memorising your shape. When he kisses you again it's hungry, intense, he's trying to put words he's afraid to speak into it and it totally wiped your mind as you let him pull you back into his burrow.

Then he's peeling all your clothes off you. His touch is irreverent like he's unwrapping a precious artifact. He tugs you to lie down and settles between your legs pulling off his own shirt. He balances his weight on his arm above your head to nip at your lips, you reach up to run your hands up his chest, feeling him shudder as you gently rake your nails over the skin.

His other hand is squeezing your breast and pinching your nipple before seizing your hip and pulling you flush against him. The friction of his trousers against you, combined with how he's surrounding you, invading all your senses, is overwhelming.

“You are something else entirely,” he's kissing his way down your body, sucking purple bruises as he goes, seeming determined to mark every inch of you. “I could travel the whole breadth of this hostile galaxy and never find a sight as breath-taking as you laid out before me, a divine meal worthy of gods”

His words turn you on more as his ministrations make their way down to your legs. He bites your inner thigh almost too hard, making you squeal and jerk away but he grabs your hips and pulls you back, laving his tongue over the slight indent left by his teeth. You don't know how he's done it, not hours ago he railed you into oblivion and somehow, he has wound you tight all over again. It's like he's playing an instrument, plucking your strings both hard and soft so you melt.

His eyes meet yours, dark and hungry and he holds your gaze as he licks up your slit, his tongue wide as flat. You moan softly as he smiles, “Straight from the source your essence is even more delectable.” He stares at your pussy, seemingly fascinated by how it's fluttering around nothing, totally rapt by a droplet of your arousal sliding its way down.

You whimper at him, and try to buck your hips in his grip, desperate for him to do anything other than stare. He chuckles at you, “So willing to give yourself to me,” then he spits on your cunt. You gasp, half from shock and half from how much it turned you on. He grins as you tense and dives in.

Ezra eats you out like water from a well after crossing a desert. It feels as if he's writing the words, you’re stopping him saying all over your clit as you cry his name. His eyes closed he reaches up and seizes your hands, pulling you closer and settling his elbows over your hips keeping you still and at his mercy as he moans against you. Your eyes close as you feel sparks travel up and down your spine as he shoves his tongue into you making you whine but then he pulls away. Rubbing his cheek on your thigh, his beard tickling you.

“I want you to look at me little bird.” You can't help but obey his command instantly opening your eyes to see his pupils blown wide as he smirks. “You'd do just about anything for me to let you cum, wouldn't you? Don't worry your pretty head. I want you to cum in my mouth.”

Then he's back on you, sucking your clit between his teeth, you gasp his name trying to squirm away. his eyes piercing you, his mouth on you, his hands covering yours, his arms holding you down. It fills your head with him totally overpowering you and then you cum.

You go totally rigid, you're still looking at Ezra but your vision has gone so white you can't see him, just feel him moan against your cunt as you soak his tongue. Even as you start attempting to twist away, he continues, switching between sucking and licking at you as his strong arms pin you down. You cry out at the overstimulation, shuddering from it, tears leaking from your eyes and in no time at all you're thrown over the edge again. Cumming so hard your mind is totally wiped of anything but Ezra.

This time he grants you a reprieve, sitting up he watches your chest heave as you slowly come back into your body. He's lost for words, seeing you like this is better than anything he'd ever imagined and he still wants more, wants to ring every drop of pleasure out of you. And when you smile up at him, totally blissed out and willing, he's sure he'd do almost anything to keep you.

He doesn't put it into words though. Instead, he crawls over you seizing your jaw “Open that pretty mouth little bird,” something about how you so readily obey him twists in his chest and makes his cock twitch. He ignores it and bends close spitting into your mouth. You can taste yourself in it and it sparks your desire all over again.

He can't hold in a groan as you swallow, still smiling, his head seems too empty so he kisses you. It's fiery, filled with lust as you kiss him back and wrap your legs around him reaching down to pull off his trousers, he pulls back to kick them away as his cock springs free, it's hot and red as you wrap you hand around it, not even able to meet finger and thumb and squeeze slightly making him growl and bite along your jawline. “Tell me little bird, what would you will me to do?”

You meet his gaze, “Fuck me.” he groans into your neck, “Please.”

He watches your face as he positions himself at you entrance, “Kevva,” it's like he's not really talking to you, “I've never borne witness to anything so magnificent as your perfect cunt soaking me,” he slowly pushes his way in. It makes you whimper and him growl and you watch the tension in his neck as he restrains himself from ruining you, “Fuck you're tight.” His language is getting simpler as he starts losing control. His soft eyes beg you to let him move as his jaw clenches and you can't help but give in. 

“Please Ezra, move! fuck me”

The noise he makes is inhuman as he starts drilling into you. He shoves one of your knees up over his shoulder, deepening his thrusts making you cry out as he shreds against your walls. All he can think is how hot you are, how wet, how tight, how perfectly you take him. He's shoving up against your g shot with every thrust, coarse hairs grinding on your clit, you feel totally at his mercy to do nothing but take it and it may be the best sex you've ever experienced, ever will experience.

He looks beautiful, your juices still glistening on his face, brow furrowed and eyes half lidded but so piercing you might think he was furious if not for how in-between curses he's describing you, what he thinks of you. You aren't sure he even knows he's talking and the need in his words drives you higher and higher despite how spent you feel, how much you don't think you can cum again. And then you do. Kevva the way you clamp down on him clawing his back makes him lose his mind, he shoves both your knees up to your chest bending over you to bite you lower lip. The change in angle adds more friction, his thrusts get shorter, faster. Ezra cums so hard he can't think, you watch his eyes roll into his head, the groan he makes cuts off his own speech as he shoves himself as deep into you as he can get and releases. 

Ezra’s ears are still ringing when he manages to roll himself off you. Both of you are panting, as you stare at the roof of the pod and try to muster the words. Naturally, Ezra succeeds first. “Little Bird, I didn't know experiences such as that could be bestowed upon men like me.” You can only make a little noise in reply as he takes your hand and silence falls again.

Finally, when your breath is caught and you can both think again, he pulls you to his chest and wraps his arms around you resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Little bird, I'm starting to agree our dig may be bust. Trouble is biting our ankles and I should have listened earlier. Let's pillage what we can to fix the pod and get going. The dig is almost done, even split it'll be a while before I need to pick up another job.” You feel a sting at how quickly Ezra had returned to talking business but you do your best to brush it off. There's nothing wrong with some shagging between friends and it's no reason for him to feel the same fluttering in his chest that you do in yours.

“Right then we should travel light, get everything we need and come back. The fix won't take long, we can be gone in two days.” Two days left with Ezra makes you feel a little sad, you suppose you'd just gotten used to his company.

Ezra smiles grimly, “If we're lucky.”

You turn and roll over enjoying how he follows, wrapping you in his arms, tangling your legs like he can't bear to be separate. “I do have a question for you if you don't mind?”

You shrug, “Depends what it is.”

“What is that strange ring you carry but don't put on.”

“It's… it was a gift when I left home. It's supposed to be my payment.”

Ezra's mind casts back to how you paid honour to the dead, even those he certainly didn't think deserved a boatman. Saving them from a potential purgatory. But you didn't wear yours.

“Little bird, forgive my bluntness but curiosity is driving me to ask. Why don't you wear it?”

You squeeze your eyes closed, forcing away images of your past, grounded in Ezra's warm grip. “It's,” you sigh, “It's just too heavy.”

Ezra can feel how tense you've become and fights off the heavy guilt threatening to settle in his chest. You think yourself deserving of the hundred-year wait wandering the shore, think the loneliness is just. He kisses the back of your neck. “We should let our dreams take us lest we attract more trouble. It is salient we are well rested.”

You sigh, relaxing against him despite yourself. Long since exhausted by the day and his attentions, you let yourself drift off. Faintly feeling a hand caress your cheek, but you could have imagined it.

⧫⧫⧫

Waking up with someone warm in his arms is something Ezra could get used to. He tells you as much but you brush it off, someone isn't necessarily you after all. Ezra talks as you pack but he avoids the subject of you, of you both. He didn't want to scare you off, he tells himself, his flighty little bird. But he knows he's lying to himself, just being a coward, afraid of your reaction. He avoids meeting your eye until, helmets on, you both stand by the door. Taking a moment of peace before heading into the waste. He takes your hand seeking reassurance as much as trying to give it. You meet his eyes looking a little afraid but determined. He squeezes it tight before letting go and opening the door.

The walk East is easy enough, a pretty straight shot over flat ground. The only real problem being navigating the increasingly dense petrified forest. Ezra talks continuously, but you're grateful, glad it isn't awkward between you and enjoying his descriptions of other worlds he's visited. Where instead of breathless death and grey, there's vivid greens and blues of plants and flowers. Where the beauty is just as dangerous as this blank world. And, slowly, you start to talk too. Really talk. You describe a world that, to you, had seemed to be entirely made up of a casino, and the trouble you had gotten into there.

“Too rich for my blood,” Ezra chuckles and you agree.

You don't tell him about your home, not yet. But being able to talk, to laugh about something you'd done, feels freeing. Like a weight has been lifted ever so slightly off your shoulders.

You’re both grateful the walk is uneventful but you can't relax as the looming silhouette of the other spaceship appears through the trees. It's still too early for hope.

As you approach you see that the crew had successfully pulled their parachutes, but too late. The side of the ship had caved in where it had skidded across the earth, giving you both a way in. When you stop Ezra’s looking at you, “Any chance of survivors, little bird?”

You just shrug. “I doubt it after this. They were running a skeleton crew.” You wince slightly at the double entendre, hoping you have the time to find their bodies and pay their dues.

Ezra raises an eyebrow at you. “On a ship this big? That is most peculiar.”

“I guess, I didn't get a chance to think about it at the time.”

You go over the list again, 5 items, 5 areas. All small enough to carry in your packs. To yourself you add another item, just in case you get the chance.

“We stick together, watch each other’s backs.” You nod in agreement and you both step into the ship.

⧫⧫⧫

There's a faint dripping noise, like a clock ticking. It sets off your nerves as you leave the light of the suns. Inside is cast in red, a good sign the electrics haven't been fried, but totally unsettling. It casts humanoid shadows across the grated walls seemingly flickering with every step. Ezra had gone totally silent but his presence behind you is reassuring. Together you pry open the first door.

Inside has the same red light but the weapons board flashes at you telling you it's still live which is strange. You mumble it to Ezra. “These things usually shut down first after a crash, they drain loads of power that's usually diverted out.”

He frowns at you. “Mayhaps a malfunction? It looks like a rough crash.”

“Yeah. Probably.” But it niggles at the back of your brain. All you can do right now is ignore it so you wrench the panel out from the wall to the side and stick your arm in. Feeling around, you brush your fingers up against the dotted cylinder you need. These old ships had a habit of hiding important components in baffling locations, apparently to protect them in a crash which you do suppose this has, but you suspect it's to confuse novice engineers and pillagers alike. 

Ezra is keeping a sharp eye on the door but he can't help but enjoy watching you work, grumbling about what a stupid place this was for a fuse break and how it would have been harder to wreck their engine had it actually been where all the ships power came from. He grins at you and you smile back tugging the, whatever it was, out of the wall. He tosses his pack over to you.

“I'll get this one birdie,” making you roll your eyes but you gently place it in and hand it back. 

“Take care of that.”

“I'll cradle it as if it were a new-born.” He says so sincerely you can't help but snort.

“Don't worry too much, ships like these are made hardy, they don't just fry things like your pod.” He scowls playfully at you as you head back to the corridor.

“I will not hear a negative word about her, we've been together for years.”

The ship groans around you as if it's a living creature as you head deeper in. The maze of corridors makes Ezra feel turned around but you seem to know where to go and he follows dutifully. The next stop is a storage closet smaller than his little burrow.

Inside is a collection of boxes from which you produce two tiny discs. You look at Ezra, “I doubt they'll mind me taking a spare, these things are expensive.” Still not being entirely sure what everything you're searching for is, he just shrugs,

The moment of ease sputters out when you enter comms. There's a buzzing that sets your teeth on edge, someone's been on the radio. Ezra clicks it off but the silence is suddenly oppressive. Trying hard to hear any sign of life you scan the dark corners of the space. 

“We don't know how long this has been on.” Ezra’s voice is steady but there's an edge you know too well. You agree all the same, hurrying to rip the tubing out from under the console. The blinking lights shut off with a hum as Ezra takes it from you, looping it together and shoving it into his pack. You don't argue.

Two items left, you'd saved the cockpit and the engine till last, both at the opposite end of the ship. 

The door to the cockpit is open. you look at Ezra, his jaw is set glaring into it. You head in first moving swiftly to the control panel to the side to start pulling the whole thing apart for one measly chip. He disappears into the shadows to search the room. It's too big, too many places to hide, he thinks to himself trying to picture the best place for an ambush.

He finds one body, curled in on itself as if tossed into the corner. The next is under a nav table, arms over its head. The final one is the hardest to look at, in the pilot seat, hand still grasping the parachute release. He swallows as he takes in this futile effort to survive, picturing the final moments as the ground rises to meet them, the hopelessness.

He spins when he hears your voice.

“Wait, wait!”

“You should have stayed away-“

Ezra doesn't even think, he just shoots and the man with a blade at your throat drops. He didn't even know he could draw that fast. He fights off the adrenaline, calming his breathing as he approaches you. Your eyes are wide with shock and you take a deep breath looking up at him.

“Thank you, Ezra.”

He just wants to pull you close, hold you against him, protect you with his body. With the suits and helmets, it would be uncomfortable so he grabs your hand and pulls it to his chest.

“Think nothing of it.”

“I didn't think there could be any survivors.” At that he examined the body. Shit, the suit, the emblem, the skull etched into the glass of his helmet.

“That, little bird, is because there aren't any. It appears that the locals are here.”

You squeeze his hand. “We've got to hurry.”

He nods, “Give me three coins.”

He’s found them. You'd already known they'd be dead but the confirmation sits heavily over you. You hand him the coins.

“You finish here, I'll take care of them. Don't worry.”

The kindness he's showing by doing it for you aches in your chest. You take the frustration out on the unsuspecting control panel. Tearing into it, pulling parts out, desperately trying to get a grip on your emotions and breathe a sigh of relief when you emerge, chip in hand. No one has ever extracted one so quickly you reckon. You shove it in your pack.

Heading to Ezra you take his hand, try to convey thanks through the touch alone. Thanks for saving you, thanks for not making you bear this burden solitarily, thanks for just being company after so long alone. You look up at him, he's chewing his words again but doesn't speak so you turn and lead him out.

In the engine room you seize a battery and yank it from the wall, grateful the lights stay on. Ezra takes it from you. “Don't argue birdie I'm bigger than you.”

He's cut off by a horn echoing through the ship. You swallow. 

Taking his hand again, you both creep out of the room. Every sound is too loud, you curse your boots, the rattle of your tools, your own harsh breathing. You can't fail now, you're so close. At the sound of footsteps, you pull Ezra through a door into a room with bunks, closing the door as quietly as you can, you both hold your breath. As they pass the door his grip tightens on yours so much you feel the heat of his hand through your gloves. His eyes scan your face, like he's trying to memorise what you look like. You realise you’re doing the same to him.

When they pass you glance around the room as Ezra slumps against the door his eyes shut tightly. As you let go of him you see something in the corner of your eye. No fucking way. It's a gem case, unassuming on the outside but far bigger than the one Ezra carried. Item number six.

You shove it into your bag.

⧫⧫⧫

Neither of you seem to breath for the rest of your journey through the ship. Eyes and ears too peeled to do much else. The second you see the light outside you swallow. You say a prayer to yourself as you creep towards it.

The light blinds you as you step out. Something shoves you to the side, you hit the ground hard knocking the wind out of you as you try to see what hit you. The second your eyes adjust to the light you see Ezra trying to knock back one of the locals, trying to gain space to draw. You wrestle your pistol out of your holster and aim but you can't shoot. Their dance is too close and you're afraid to hit Ezra. 

It all happens in slow motion. The stranger thrusts his spear into Ezra's stomach and pulls it out. He cries out stumbling back giving you a straight shot. You fire the same moment as the local brings his spear down on Ezra’s helmet.

You shoot too late. 

Ezra drops back against the ship sliding to sit. Shattered glass glitters over the ground around you threatening to cut your knees as you crawl to him. His helmet is shattered.

“No no no no no” you press on the wound in his stomach tugging your pack off your back to get the med kit. “We've got to go, there's going to be more of them.”

He puts a hand over yours. “Little bird, I'm afraid my adventure has come to its conclusion”

You look at his face. “No Ezra! I can close this for now, we've got time. We can make it back.” His eyes are wide and sad, wet with the threat of tears. “Don't look at me like that!” There's desperation in your voice.

“You've got to go. Relieve yourself of my burden, you can repair the vessel and get away by yourself. You don't need me.”

“Shut up! I can't just leave you here.” You push his hands away and pull out a gun of sealing foam “Don't fucking argue with me, we've got so close you can't just give up.” Ignoring his arguments, you press the nozzle through his suit and fill his wound. He lets out a groan. As quick as you can, you pull your pack back on and stand seizing Ezra's arms and heaving him to his feet. He gives a short shout of pain but doesn't protest as you hook his arm over your shoulder for support.

You start to walk like this as the suns begin to dip. Keeping your pistol in your free hand you scan around you. The dead trees provide good cover but they also give any attackers the element of surprise so you do your best to listen out whilst you support Ezra.

It's a little difficult with his talking but you can't complain, not when it means he's still alive. But he's getting heavy, putting more weight on you, you don't know how long you can hold him up. Just as you're beginning to feel truly weak his topic of conversation changes.

“Little bird, it has been an exponential honour to be enclosed within your company. To have your trust if only a little. Kevva, the chance to learn your body the way I got to was a treasure worth more than any gem I could find. I only wish I could learn your mind just as intimately, to possess the knowledge of what makes you laugh, cry, your favourite food, favourite music. I'd cherish every drop of yourself you'd let me have until I could carry a vault of you with me”

“Ezra, don't…”

“The opportunity is being stolen from me, I both resent it and I'm so grateful for the time I've had. Little bird, don't let my soliloquy deceive you. I mean every word.”

You can't stop moving, but you grab onto him a little tighter. Letting yourself squeeze your eyes closed just for a moment to fight off the tears. There's no guarantee he'll survive, no hope yet, no point admitting feelings just to let him die. It would hurt too much.

You keep walking. Reminding Ezra to breath as slow as he can. Holding yourself together just to keep him upright.

Then you see it, your pod, through the trees, dark against the burning red sky. 

There are two locals at the door. They turn.

Before you can think to react, Ezra pushes you aside as a spear careens where you'd just been stood. Drawing before you can blink, he fires twice. The locals fall. And then, so does he.

⧫⧫⧫

You aren't sure if you're saying his name out loud or just in your head. You roll him into his back and try to shake him awake. He doesn't even stir. 

Instead, you seize the straps of his pack and use them to drag him towards your pod.

Your muscles are screaming after supporting him for so long but you don't let up, drawing strength from who knows where.

How did the pod seem so close minutes ago? Now it's miles away.

You don't know when you started crying.

You don't stop moving, can't stop until you've managed to pull him inside and seal the door. You yank off your helmet, tossing it aside and falling to your knees next to him pressing your ear to his chest, desperately trying to hear his heart through his suit.

It's dead silent.

That's when you scream. Tears streaming down your face you bring your fist down on his chest as hard as you can.

“Breath you bastard! Take a fucking breath!” You're sobbing now, “You can't just leave me here, leave me all alone. Not after all this. Not when we got so close.”

You curl over him pressing your face to his, your tears dripping onto him leaving tracks through the dust and blood on his skin. “You can't leave me alone,” it's barely a whisper. “Ezra.” You say his name over and over again like a prayer.

And then his chest moves. 

You don't know whether you should laugh. You just keep bawling as you tear off his suit and grab his hand.

He doesn't wake up but it's enough, you squeeze his warm hand for another second before wiping at your face and getting your med kit. “Let's see what I can do about this wound hmm?”

⧫⧫⧫

Ezra hears someone calling his name. But they seem so far away. He tries to move towards the voice but it's like moving through syrup. He lets himself sink back.

⧫⧫⧫

The wound is deep and spurts with blood as you pull out the foam, painting your hands in the same red as the sky outside. Pursing your lips, you apologise to him, hoping he doesn’t feel the pain. Cleaning the wound takes time but as far as you can tell the spear managed to avoid all his organs so you seal it up as best you can. The lack of oxygen is what has you truly worried, who knows what damage could have been done in the time it took you to drag him to the pod. With your medication he might heal but you can’t be sure. You fight off the thoughts of what you’d have to do if he never did wake up. Would you be able to bury him?

You sleep curled to his side, a hand on his shoulder. It’s fitful, plagued by nightmares of waking up to find him cold. Every time you wake up crying, you watch his chest rise and fall and pray, he’ll make his way back to you.

⧫⧫⧫

The next thing he hears is a clang followed by a curse, then it's silent again

⧫⧫⧫

Ezra made it through the night. To distract yourself from worrying he might never wake, you wrap him up warm and begin to repair the pod. It’s slow work but its methodical movements help regulate your breathing. Until you hear a grunt. You drop whatever you were working on and swear to yourself as you kneel by him. But he’s no more present than before. Perhaps you had imagined it. Prayed so hard you’d began torturing yourself. You look over him, how could you go on without him. No one to make you laugh, or care what happens to you. It’s justice you suppose, just another thing for you to feel guilty about. You suppose you’ll go on just to keep feeling that guilt.

Again, you barely sleep.

⧫⧫⧫

And then, as if surfacing from a dive, Ezra opens his eyes. His back hurts. He works out why as, slowly, he identifies the ceiling above him. He's lying on the floor with nothing more than a pillow and a blanket that's been tucked all around him up to his neck. He wrestles his arms free, stretching them above his head and then prodding his stomach, it's tender but the wound is closed. Then he sits up with a grunt.

You're stretching up to try and pull a ration bar of the top shelf of your measly kitchen cupboard. You swear and turn to find something to climb on and then you see Ezra.

He's sitting up, grinning from ear to ear. You nearly jump a foot into the air and then you’re frozen to the spot. He chuckles to himself and clambers to his feet, it looks difficult but you aren't sure you can move to help so you stay put as he supports himself along the wall and approaches you.

“Little bird, you are the most incredible, fascinating, stubborn creature I have ever laid my eyes upon.” And then he's pulling you into his chest, wrapping you in such a grip it's a little difficult to breath but you don't mind. You just hug him back, if gently, very aware of how he'd recently been stabbed. He buries his nose in your hair. “How long was I out?”

“Three days, I managed to melt down some meds to inject you so you… well, so you actually healed. Oh, and then I fixed the pod but it didn't feel safe to take off what with you having a hole in you.”

He laughs, you can feel it rolling through his body and it makes you grin. It's so alive.

“May I also ask why I was on the floor?” That's your cue to laugh to. 

“Do you honestly think I could lift you onto the cot?”

“Frankly little bird, I didn't think you could have got me to the pod. You are certainly a force to be reckoned with and not one to be underestimated.”

You close your eyes and breath him in. “I almost didn't make it.” He just shushes you running his hands up and down your sides.

“No point wondering what could have been birdie. You saved me.” You look up at him, his eyes are wet as he smiles down at you. “What I did to deserve it may evade my knowledge forever, but it must have been spectacular.”

You feed Ezra and then force him to stay still for the day. Even as he protests you don't really think he minds, finally getting an opportunity to finish reading ‘The Power’. You sleep curled into his side.

The next day you leave.

⧫⧫⧫

Two days floating in space before the station slings back to pick you up. The sense of relief is immense. Ezra is in the seat next to you, any other person telling such a graphic tale about a flight home wrong would've sprung anyone with nerves but you just grin. You made it, you both made it.

“Even split, little bird? Although, I can't say I find the idea of us separating particularly appealing.”

You grin, “Me neither, although I do maintain the even split, you save my arse, I save yours.”

He smirks, “I'll have your arse anytime” you smack his knee with what was formerly his copy of ‘Perfume’. He scowls playfully, tossing his own book aside and tugging you into his lap.

And then looks totally bemused as your mouth drops open, “Holy shit I can't believe I forgot!” You hop off him and he grumbles at you but watches curiously wondering what you'd forgotten that was so important. You kneel to open your pack, pulling out a gem case. A huge gem case.

“Where in that abhorrent hell did you manage to acquire that?”

“I think it was why I was told to bring down that ship, I picked it up in the bunk room.”

It's locked but you happily spend the next half an hour gently taking apart one screw at a time. Ezra watches you the whole time, not even thinking about your bounty, just enjoying how you hum to yourself and smile every time a screw comes loose, batting his hands away every time he grabs at you. It's domestic.

You meet his eye as the last screw comes loose and he joins you kneeling on the floor. “Let's not get our hopes up” you say, “We've got more than enough to last a while whatever happens.” He nods and you pull the case open.

His jaw drops. “That is remarkable.”

You meet his eye and laugh. You've never seen him look so surprised. There are three gems inside, each one about the size of your head.

He lets out a huff of laughter “I’m beginning to suspect there was nefarious business afoot on that ship…”

“Ezra?”

“Mmhm?”

“I think I'd like to go somewhere with a sea.”

“Little bird, I suspect that can be arranged” Then he kisses you, pulling you against him.

You wriggle back, “Even split?” He just grins and bites at your ear.

In no time at all you’re in his lap as you pull off each other’s clothes. He rubs his beard against your bare neck to make you giggle as he nibbles it, hands roaming all over you. You nip his collar bone making him groan, it flips a switch in him and seconds later he’s grabbing your hips to position you over his cock.

He lowers you down so slowly it makes you squirm and whimper and beg him to move.

He grins at you, catlike, “We’ve got all the time in the world, little bird. And I intend to use it”

⧫⧫⧫

Hours later you wake. Ezra is snoring quietly into your neck tempting you to rouse him. You’re thirsty though, so, reluctantly, you peel his arms off you to get a glass of water. As you return your toe catches on your suit where it lies on the floor. As you reach to move it your ring drops out of the pocket, clinking quiet onto the ground.

You bend to pick it up and look at Ezra, then back at the ring. Had you not gone through all those years in that gang of pirates, you’d never have found him, never got to save his arm or his life. You both might be dead. You had been right; you couldn’t change your past. But you’d never know what else might have happened. There’s still guilt, there always will be. But you feel a little lighter.

You put on the ring and return to Ezra. He pulls you against his chest without waking.

You smile.

~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @engineeredfiction @mothandpidgeon @sleep-tight1

[ask-de-writer]

FIENDSHIP IS MAGIC  (Part 39 of ?)  18+ readers only  (sex scenes)

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FIENDSHIP IS MAGIC

or

Making Fiends and Influencing Ponies

An Anthro *Tail* of the Mane Six

Part 39 of ? (Work in Progress)

by

De Writer

38674 words (story in progress)

© 2022 by Glen Ten-Eyck

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

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years or older!

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the start HERE

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After the waffle iron cooled enough to handle safely, Kin held it, turning it about in her hands, examining it by sight, unicorn magic and her deep magic.  Awestruck, she turned and bowed to Dark, “There is not enough of gold or jewels in this world to repay you.  Not only are the parts put back together, even the Workings that I had to do to create it are perfectly restored.  It is so finely done, that I cannot tell that it was ever broken.”

Dark grinned her disturbing grin, showing her many razor sharp fangs as she took Kin's hand.  “I see that your Running Wolf commercial range is now hooked up and ready.  Can you make me a meal of meats?”

Kin nodded serenely, “I can do that, and without the harming of any living creature.  Do you want red meat, pork, chicken, turkey, rabbit, fish or some sort of shell fish?”

Pinkie Pie shoved her head between Kin's arm and her side, nuzzling the side of her breast as she stated, “Sounds like fun!  I don't get to cook for for a carnivore very often!  Can I help?

“If I know Her Grace Dark, she will likely want all of the above!”

Dark snickered, “Nopony knows how she does it, but Pinkie always makes the best party that the pony she is doing it for can imagine!  And, she is right!  May I watch how you make the different meats?  I would like to be able to do that, if I can.”

Kin gently set down the restored waffle iron that meant so much to Rarity and her.  “Please do.  I do not understand how your magic works but it seems to be under exact control.  The making of such things is easy for me, because they copy that which was recently living.  All that we need is for the carpenter and plumber to be done with their work in the kitchen.  New mixing bowls, pots and pans came with the stove.”

Kin sauntered around to Rarity's shed and returned with an armload of straw.  Whistling happily, she dumped the straw on one of the new kitchen counters.

With a snicker, she explained, “Straw will draw bunnies, rats and mice to slaughter for the red meat!  The straw and guts will make slops to draw the pigs for the pork and we can use their guts as bait for the fish and shell fish!  Birds will try taking some of the straw for nests and we catch them for the poultry!”

Dark casually reached back and lifted her snow white tail around front. Brow furrowed in puzzlement, she mused, “That's odd.  As hard as you just pulled my tail, it doesn't seem to have got any longer!”

Kin did light the stove and set the oven.  Unpacking pans and a wok set, she scrubbed it all carefully first.  Noticing how crowded the kitchen had become, she realized that besides Pinkie and Dark, Princess Luna was watching with very active interest!  She could feel the delicate touch of Luna's magic following her every action.

Things now hot, Kin dropped some of the straw into the wok, where it became a fine, clear cooking oil.  Snagging some more, and putting it into a mixing bowl, she gave the eggs that it became, a quick whisking!

She was not even surprised to smell fine rice flour and realized that Pinkie was busy rolling out thin sheets of dough.  Kin, feeling relaxed and happy to be doing something constructive, had her deep magic lacing its way through not only the straw, but shaking the hot pans, and flipping thinly sliced meats.  A bowl of minced crab meat was provided to Pinkie, who mixed it with some of the eggs and expertly wrapped the resulting thick mixture in wrappers of rice dough and stirred them about in the wok with chopsticks.  

Luna's magic offered wooden platters and bowls, finished to a high shine! They were all surprised when Pinkie hauled a big roaster out of the oven, and set a roast out to cool.

Kin took a few seconds to gently stroke Pinkie behind the ears before turning back to her stove top meats.  Pinkie grabbed some apples that had not been there before, and diced them coursely.  She built skewers with alternating chunks of onion, meat lumps, and apple which she set on a rack and returned to the oven along with some small loaves of bread dough!

Things got piled onto the platters and Pinkie dipped a ladle into the soup well at the back of the stove and scooped out a bouillobaisse, loaded with fish, clams, mussels, and crab legs.  She took a few moments to pour it over a halibut steak and neatly arrange it all attractively about the large fish portion.

Pinkie took the buns and skewers out of the oven, and serenely topped the buns with thick honey butter!

Luna was grinning like a bandit, as she provided the platters to serve the whole thing up!  Kin and Pinkie emerged from the now spotless kitchen, bearing the platters!  Dark looked on as they served everything up.  Luna poured her a mug of rich red liquid.  As she did the room added the aroma of fresh blood to the savory scents of the many sorts of meats being prepared.

Dark ate lightly, sampling everything and draining the mug of its blood. Luna carefully packed the whole thing, platters and all into a stout transportation box and asked Captain Lightning, “My good Captain, will you please detail two of your pegassi to carry this back to Marchhare's band?  They are camped at Marimount Road Section, Wayside #3.  He cut their day's Pull short so that our good Dark could perform a vital favor to personal friends of mine.”

In only moments, Dark and two of Luna's Guard were only specks in the northern sky.

Kin watched them go, an arm about Rarity and the other about Pinkie. Pinkie was unabashedly cuddling back, using the top of her head to lightly butt the undercurve of Kin's bosom.

Pinkie chuckled, “That WAS FUN!  I have to come over and cook with you more often!”

Kin was watching Princess Luna and smiling serenely.  “I hope that you were able to learn something from that, my Princess.”

Luna, eyes sparkling, replied, “We will know when the alfalfa bloom roast with cherry centered pineapple rings comes out of the oven!”

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS ~ NEXT==>

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[blossom-hwa]

I don't generally request stuff and the reason why I am doing this is because I absolutely love your work, especially the Kingdom Series and the Mermaid!Younghoon and I am a little embarassed to put out my little imagination request out

But I would like to request

Sunwoo + colour lavender but could you make it best friends to lovers au too? (It is okay if you can only work on one part too!!! Whatever you are comfortable with)

Thank you so much! Congrats on your 4 years, and thanking for alllllll the amazing work you have put out!!!!! Really big appreciation for you and your writing!!! Ly❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

hi love! there's no need to be embarrassed at all about this - it's a lovely idea, and thank you so much for your kind words and the request! I hope you enjoy this token of my thanks for your support <3

4 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/The Boyz/Golden Child/Ateez member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

~

Title: Palette

Pairing: Sunwoo x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 1.8k

Triggers: none

~

"What color am I?"

The question comes on a hot day spent on the couch with the air conditioner broken, when everything feels like it's melting under the heat of the sun baking your apartment to a crisp. Somewhere in the building, a repairman is trying to figure out what's wrong.

You and Sunwoo, however, are melting into puddles on the sticky hardwood floor.

"What?" You shake yourself out of the blank state you’ve slipped into, staring at the empty ceiling. You've never spent much time looking at the ceiling. It's off white, maybe eggshell, a little cracked and blemished but not enough for you to say to no to the cheaper rent. Looking at it now, though, it's kind of ugly.

"You said Juyeon is yellow, like sunflowers.” He pauses. “Eric’s... green, I think. Sangyeon was red, Changmin was also green, but brighter than Eric. Right?”

Something tugs at the back of your mind, a memory of using your paints to describe some of your friends. Your eyes drift to the abandoned easel in the corner of the muggy room. You can almost feel the canvas melting off of it into a paint-splattered puddle on the floor. “Right,” you reply, wiping a bead of sweat off of your head. 

“You didn’t give me a color,” Sunwoo says. You can’t spare the energy to look in his direction even though he’s literally right next to you, but you imagine he looks about as wiped out as you feel. “So I wondered.”

Colors. Yes, colors like the off-white eggshell of your ceiling, the blue of the sky outside... 

What color is Sunwoo?

Orange is the first one that comes to mind, orange like a sunset, burning as it slowly dips under the horizon. Its rays wisp into the sky, fading in some places, intensifying in others, turning it into a mural of oranges and pinks and yellows, burning like the passion that fuels Sunwoo’s soul...

Oh, but yellow. Yellow exists - maybe not as golden as Juyeon’s yellow, maybe not as bright as the burning sun, but darker, deeper, like marigolds - orange mixed in, perhaps, but still yellow in abundance, like flower petals bursting into bloom. 

You frown. Sweat drips down the side of your face, but this time, you don’t even notice. Orange and yellow - they’re right, but not quite right. Not exactly. Not yet...

Sunwoo’s voice interrupts your thoughts. “Still thinking?” 

“Shut up.” You flail around a limp arm, smiling with satisfaction when it hits his stomach with an audible thump. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“You’re thinking about a color.”

“How long do you think it takes me to mix the exact right shade for each part of a painting?” You turn just enough to let him see your raised eyebrow. “Thinking about colors takes a lot of work.”

He grumbles but shuts up, eyes closing as he settles back onto the floor. You keep watching him though, follow the curve of his jaw down to his chin, tanned skin shiny with the sheen of moisture that seems to have covered everything in this tiny apartment...

Bronze comes to mind, warm, metallic, rich like the color of his skin. They made weapons out of bronze in the past - strong, steady, unyielding, like Sunwoo’s will to push past obstacles no matter how hard they seem at a glance. He could be a bronze statue, for all you know - he’s handsome enough for that, certainly some sculptor from the past would have been taken with Sunwoo’s looks if he’d been around and created a statue that would have lasted for centuries afterward. 

But it’s warm. Too warm. And maybe it’s just because of the hot sun pouring into the room even with the shades drawn, but thinking about metal, about bronze, makes you feel like you’re touching a burning hot stove on a day like this. There have to be other colors, right? Other colors that aren’t bronze, green, pink, maybe blue - 

Blue. You latch onto the thought. Not the color of the relentless sky, but maybe like the ocean - cool, deep, ceaseless in its flow but not overbearing until a storm comes, whipping the waves into a chaos of whirling water that slashes and swipes across the beach. Sunwoo’s a little bit of both, you think, the part of the ocean that goes with the flow, but also the part that gets a little angry, a little passionate, a little too worked up about some things sometimes. 

But his anger isn’t quite blue. Not really. Sunwoo is quick to anger but also quick to calm when dealt with correctly. The storm builds up its rage and lashes out as long as it wants, but Sunwoo... no. He’s not that way. Not quite. 

You stifle a groan. Is there any color that fits Sunwoo perfectly, then? Any single color on the stained palette next to your easel, any single color in the world? He’s too complex, too much of everything all at once - he could be blue, could be bronze, could be orange or yellow or pink, of all things - you could find a way to justify every single one but none of them would be enough - 

Your gaze rises from his chin to his lips, and your mouth goes dry. 

Maybe he’s red, like the first time you ever noticed the fullness of his lips. 

No, don’t think about that. You squeeze your eyes shut tight before opening them as though that’ll erase the image of his lips from your mind. It was in high school - you’d handed him his water bottle after ten minutes of running laps and you’d watched him tip it against his lips so full and soft, and for a moment, you had let yourself imagine what it’d be like to have those lips against yours. 

You force yourself to look somewhere else, anywhere, just away from the lips and the shade of red beginning to shimmer before your eyes. Red, right - your mind scrambles to turn its thoughts away - red - colors - that’s what you were supposed to be thinking of - not lips, colors - 

Your gaze rises above the lips to Sunwoo’s closed eyes. 

Only they aren’t closed anymore. 

You can’t breathe. You literally can’t breathe - how long have his eyes been open? How long did he see you watching him like some stupid creepy stalker?

Did he realize you were looking at his lips?

“Done yet?” he asks, breaking the silence. Is it just your imagination, or do his eyes flicker down to your lips too?

Just your imagination. “Shut up.” Even the jab comes out weaker than you’d like to. You want to look away, but you can’t seem to do it - something’s rooting you where you are, eyes fixed upon his. “Give me a minute.”

“How many minutes has it been?” It’s just your imagination, just your imagination... “Is it really that hard? You thought of Eric’s in, like, a second.”

You’re too much, you think. Too many colors all at once. But instead of saying that aloud, you just swallow, like the idiot you are. “Let me think,” you say. Your voice almost cracks. 

Red. Shades of red, beautiful red, the color of his lips, the core of the sun burning at sunset, smoldering embers on a dying fire splashed across the canvas of your vision. And yes, it’s almost perfect, almost there - you have his flaring temper caught in a color, now, but it needs something to cool it off - 

Blue. Blue, like you thought before, the ocean and its ceaseless flow. Blue and red, blue and red, blue and red...

“Purple,” you whisper, too close to his lips. Rich, royal, the coolness of blue and the fire of red... “Some shade of purple.”

“Purple.” Sunwoo repeats the word with curiosity on his lips, almost like he’s tasting the color on his tongue. “Why purple?”

“I -” You swallow when the soft puff of his breath hits your face. When exactly did you two get this close? It wouldn’t take more than a few inches to close the gap between your lips. “I couldn’t choose between blue and red,” you say honestly. “You’re both. In fact, it feels like you’re a bit of every color. But purple... that’s the closest I can get without giving you a specific shade.”

“Which shade?”

Something clicks into place in your mind, and it is definitely not your imagination this time when Sunwoo’s eyes fall down to your lips. 

The dryness in your mouth makes it difficult to swallow. You try anyway. “Give me a moment,” you murmur, heart beating unnecessarily quickly. 

Think. Shades of purple. Do you go darker or lighter? Warmer or cooler? Is he magenta? Mauve? Violet? Your mind flicks as quickly as it can through the catalogue of colors in your mind. Cooler, probably - he’s more the ocean than the fire, more embers than a full flame - lighter, too, like a breath of fresh air - 

A blast of cool wind gusts down from the vent. It’s gone almost as quickly as it comes, but it stays with you in the name of the color forming on your lips. 

Your voice comes out like a whisper. It feels wrong to speak any louder. “I’ve got it.”

Sunwoo blinks. His lashes look so lovely, framing his eyes. “Really?” he asks, and you have wonder if he closed the distance slightly since the last time you spoke - the few inches that separated you before seem to have decreased to a mere centimeter or two. “So what color am I?”

There’s another blast of cool air. Neither of you reacts to it. Instead, as blissfully cold air begins to filter through the vents, impulse drives you to lean forward, to close the entire distance at last -

Sunwoo’s lips are softer than you ever thought they’d be. They feel cool and warm all at once, purple as a base but lighter, cooler, a breath of fresh air on your face after a horribly hot day spent in the sun.

“Lavender,” you whisper against his lips. “You’re lavender.”

You don’t offer an explanation, but he doesn’t ask you to elaborate, like he did with purple. It’s okay. You think he knows it. Feels it, at least, when you kiss him once more, fresh air washing over your bodies, painting the canvas of your skin in cool, blissfully cool strokes. 

Lavender. 

[marjansmarwani]

there ain’t a language for the things I feel

4.8k || ao3

In the wake of a tragedy, the firehouse family tries to move on and pick up the pieces while holding onto hope that seems to slip further and further away.

But nothing's over until it's over and they're going to pick up all the pieces and put them back together, just in case. ----- Day 9 of @911lonestarangstweek: Free Choice

Me getting this done and up just at the end of angst week? More likely than you’d think.

Several people read parts of this as I was working, but @moviegeek03 needs a special thanks for helping me with some of the specifics 💜

--------------

The house at the end of the street looked like all the others. 

Its blue siding blended in perfectly with its companions on the quiet residential street and as Judd pulled into the familiar driveway, nothing looked amiss. From the outside, it looked like nothing had happened. From where they stood, everything was fine and this was just a normal day and an average visit. Right now they could be heading to game night or dinner. They could be stopping by to say hello, popping by unannounced as they so often did. But the minute they opened the door that illusion would shatter and they’d have to face the grim reality waiting for them, so they all hovered at the edge of the front walk by some unspoken agreement as they allowed themselves to avoid this for just a few moments longer. 

But ignorance couldn’t last forever so eventually, they moved forward. 

It was Paul that made the first move, pulling out his keys and selecting the correct one as he approached the door. He slid the key into the lock without a word, all eyes on him as he turned it, pushing open the door to reveal the scene beyond it. There was another moment of collective hesitation on the threshold before Judd stepped forward, grabbing the yellow crime scene tape and pulling it down so they could enter their friends’ living room - or at least, what was left of it. 

The once familiar space was unrecognizable as the furniture lay in shambles; splinters of each piece scattered across the room. If they hadn’t known where they were they never would have recognized the space. Nancy toed at the remains of a chair, shifting aside the debris with her foot only to reveal the dark red stain on the floor underneath. She turned away and let the pieces fall back into it.

They had just left the hospital, they had all seen the end result of this destruction. They had already known how bad it could be. Seeing it in this familiar context though? It drove it all home in the most unapologetic way. Nancy in particular was no stranger to the sight of blood, but seeing it in your friends’ home, knowing it belonged to one of them? That was something else entirely and no amount of professional detachment could make this okay. She turned away from the stain - ignoring the sound of glass crunching under her shoe from the shattered picture frames strewn across the floor - beside her to find Paul fingering an indent in the wall with a grim expression. When he felt her looking he met her gaze. 

“Knife mark,” he said by way of explanation, his eyes roaming the rest of the walls. “Several of them, by the looks of it.” 

Somehow the silence in the room seemed to grow even heavier in the wake of Paul’s words as they all took in the destruction and the damage and the fact that their friends had nearly died in their own home; that they still might, even now. 

The silence was finally broken by Judd, his typical drawl much harsher than usual as it sliced through the quiet and dismay that filled the room. 

“What the fuck happened here?” he demanded to the room at large, but he got no response. It was the same question they all had and as of yet, there were no answers. Only fear, pain, and a desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, this was as bad as it got. That maybe by some miracle their friends would pull through this, would survive this senseless act of violence. 

That somehow TK and Carlos would be okay, because the alternative was too awful to consider.  

---------

Marjan had been wrapping up practice when she got the call. It was Mateo on the other line, his shaking voice informing her that he was driving Captain Strand to St. David’s because he had been in the kitchen with the older man and Buttercup when he had been informed. 

It was what he had said next that had sent her crashing back down onto the bench, skates in hand and concerned expressions trained on her as she tried her best to not absolutely shatter at the edge of the roller rink. 

Nancy was at her sister’s, rolling her eyes at the antics of her nephews as she stirred the sauce on the stove and her sister gossiped about their Aunt Susan and her much younger boyfriend when her phone rang. Then she was out the door, the spoon abandoned on the counter with a shouted apology to her sister as she grabbed her coat and keys and tried to hide how much her hands were shaking as she reached for the doorknob and stepped out into the chilly Austin night. At least, she reasoned as she hurried to her car, if anyone did notice the way she trembled they would assume it was the cold — they didn’t have to know it was because it felt like her world was fraying at the seams. 

Paul had been on a date and he felt bad for leaving her at the restaurant, he really did, but there was no other option. He knew his mother would string him up if she ever heard he had done something so rude to any of his dates, but he also had a feeling that in this case even Cynthia Stickland would allow him this one. Maybe he should have taken her home first but she had assured him it was fine and he knew that he couldn’t have handled the wait. He knew that every moment he was driving in the opposite direction of the hospital would weigh on him, that he would crack under the strain and that was not second date territory. So he returned to the table after he ended his call, voice tight as he made his hurried apologies and she assured him that no, it was fine, that she hoped everything turned out okay. 

He had somehow managed a smile as he turned away and he thanked her for her sentiments, even if he didn’t share just how desperately he wished they came true. 

Judd had been getting their daughter ready for her evening bath when Grace had appeared in the doorway with his phone in her hand and eyes full of fear. He had taken the phone from her and sat heavily on the edge of the tub as Mateo quietly explained what had happened, and where they would be. Grace had already scooped up little Charlotte and merely shook her head when he looked at her. 

“You need to go, Judd,” she said softly, squeezing their little girl close as she spoke, “go be with them, and keep me posted. Tell them I’ll be praying.” 

And there was so much Judd wanted to say to that, so many thoughts in his head and so many feelings fighting for dominance that in the end, he said nothing. He simply stood on shaking legs and leaned forward to press a kiss to each of his girls, pausing for another moment to hold them both close before he stepped around them, grabbing his coat and heading out into the night. 

As he climbed into his truck he tried to tell himself that it would all be okay, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. 

----------

“I talked to Mitchell before we left,” Marjan finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence filling the room. “She said that APD is done processing, so we can do whatever we want with...what’s left.” 

Paul looked up, pulling his gaze from where it had settled on a dark stain on the throw rug. “Did she say if they have any leads? Or even an idea of what happened?” 

She shook her head sadly, “No. There’s not much they can go on. None of the neighbors saw anything and all the blood...well, it won’t help to find their attackers, apparently. As for what happened, apparently they have some theories, but we won’t really know anything until one of them wakes up.” 

“If they wake up,” Nancy added, voice harsh and quiet as she looked at the destruction around them. She didn’t want to be a pessimist, but the others didn’t know. They knew it was bad, but they hadn’t gotten the rundown from one of the trauma nurses on duty. They didn’t have the medical training to know that what they had been through; that the injuries they had weren’t the kind you always recovered from. 

That they could just as easily be fatal, given the chance. 

Nobody chastised her for being pessimistic. They simply moved on, nobody willing to dwell on the questions they didn’t have answers to and the fears that they did. 

“We should still get this cleaned up,” Mateo said eventually, “so when they get home it looks like nothing happened.” 

His words were full of a certainty Nancy wished she felt, but no one countered him either. They all wanted him to be right, Nancy knew and she understood. She wanted him to be right too; she wanted that more than anything. 

So she took off her jacket and laid it across the ledge by the front door before pushing up her sleeves heading towards the kitchen. 

“I’ll grab some garbage bags,” she called over her shoulder. “Once we’ve cleaned up all the stuff we can’t save we’ll have a better idea of what we’re working with.” 

Noises of agreement followed her out of the room and as she pulled open the cupboard under the sink where she knew they stashed the cleaning supplies she allowed herself a moment to embrace Mateo’s unshakable optimism. They would get their home cleaned up so they had somewhere to come home to. They would get it back to normal so it looked like their home and not the nightmare they had walked into. 

They would put everything back together so maybe, just maybe, someday when she closed her eyes she would see how it had been before, and not the scene of destruction they had walked into today. 

------------

“What happened?” Marjan demanded as she stepped into the waiting room, softening when she saw the faces before her all full of the same fear and panic she was feeling. 

“We don’t know,” Captain Strand said eventually with a small, helpless shrug. “Nobody knows. One of their neighbors was walking their dog when she saw the door open. She said something didn’t feel right so she went to check, and she found them.” 

He didn’t provide any other details, didn’t specify how they were found and that more than anything filled her with dread.   

“Gabriel is trying to get answers,” another voice shared, this one soft and thick. Marjan looked over to see Carlos’s mother in the seat beside the captain, her face pale and eyes full of worry, “I think maybe he thinks it’ll be easier to process if we know. Or maybe he just needs something else to focus on. Either way, he doesn’t seem to be having much luck.” 

Marjan followed the older woman’s nod to a figure in the corner, speaking into his phone as he turned his hat over and over in his free hand as his foot tapped against the floor. Even from here his distress was palpable; the fear and worry etched clearly into every inch of his face. It made her wonder once again what had happened. She may have only known Gabriel Reyes for a short period of time and not very well at all, but she knew him well enough to know that whatever had happened was bad. Gabriel Reyes loved his son, she didn’t doubt that. But the man was a Texas Ranger; he had spent a lifetime seeing unthinkable things. Yet here he was, clearly shaken to his very core. For something to have affected him this much...the very idea left a cold feeling of dread seeping through her core. 

“Do we at least know how they are?” she questioned again, voice quieter in the face of all the hurt and fear encompassing them. 

It was Tommy who spoke this time, the paramedic captain’s voice tight with barely concealed pain and worry, “They’re alive, and that’s something.” 

The way she said it made Marjan wonder what she knew and what she wasn’t saying. She wanted to push, she wanted to demand answers. She wanted to know what had happened to her friends; to two of the people that had become family to her. 

But it was clear they were all in the same boat, that none of these people knew any more than she did and that they all cared just as much. So she swallowed her questions and sank into the empty seat beside Mateo, glancing around at the others as she did. In some ways this was horrifyingly familiar but in others, it felt so different. Every other time they had at least known what had brought them here and what they were facing. This unknown entity; the uncertainty hung heavy in the air around them and it made her queasy. The questions mixed with her fear, leaving an unpleasant taste in her mouth. But there were no answers to be had and, even if there were, they wouldn’t help. 

She sighed and leaned back in the uncomfortable chair as she accepted the inevitable: there was nothing she could do but wait, and hope for the best.   

---------

People had always asked Paul why he wasn’t a cop, given his propensity to solve puzzles and spot patterns. There were the obvious answers, of course: that the police force was less than tolerant generally speaking, that the very institution wasn’t something Paul thought he could really take a part in. 

Then there was the less obvious but just as true reason: Paul wanted to help people, but he didn’t want to watch them suffer. He wanted to help people to escape the worst moments of their lives, not pick up the pieces after. Firefighters got to do that, cops didn’t.  

In that regard, he had a lot of respect for Carlos. How he could do that and still maintain a modicum of sanity and compassion was beyond Paul, but he truly admired him for it. Which, somehow, made this even worse. 

Paul already knew that he didn’t have crime scene investigation in him, that hadn’t been a question. But he couldn’t stop himself from trying to put together the pieces as he stood amongst the destruction of his friends’ living room. He couldn’t stop himself from seeing the patterns, from hypothesizing how each bit of damage was caused; on how each bit of blood was spilled. It filled his head with unwanted images the moments as it happened; of what they must have been through. 

He had never hated his skills more than he did at this moment. He didn’t want to see this, to imagine what might have happened. He didn’t want to move aside some of the debris to find some blood and wonder whose it was. He didn’t want to dwell on the idea of two of his closest friends suffering; being brutally attacked in their own home. A place that had felt safe, that had almost been a second home to Paul. But that illusion of safety had been shattered and now it just felt like an awful reminder, and he would give anything to be able to look at it objectively. 

A part of him wanted to keep going, to keep trying to solve the puzzle before him. It would help, a voice in his mind said, it could bring whoever did this to justice. 

And that was tempting. He did want to see whoever had done this pay for what they did. But he also knew that it wouldn’t actually change anything. Carlos and TK would still be hurt, the rest of their family would still be suffering. 

------

Home invasion. 

That was the reigning theory now. It was a home invasion gone terribly, horrifically wrong. They didn’t know whether they had been home from the start or if they had interrupted it; they didn’t know if it was random or if it was something that had been planned; if they had been targeted. They didn’t know anything, and Paul hated not knowing things.  

This was one of those things, someone had said. One of those random acts of violence with no real motive or explanation. Realistically, Paul knew they happened. He just couldn’t understand how it had happened to his friends. He had never put too much stock in the idea of fate - he firmly believed that everyone made their own choices in life - but he couldn’t help but wonder why them. Why did TK and Carlos - two people who had given so much of themselves to help others each and every day - deserve to have so much suffering? 

Eventually, they did find the culprit, or culprits, as they soon discovered when one of them tried to use TK’s credit card to pay at a gas station only a few miles from their house, but having the answers didn’t make it make any more sense.  

Paul had already known that catching their attacker wouldn’t make everything magically better, but he hadn’t imagined it would make anything worse. But as the detective on the case explained, he found he was wrong. Apparently, according to the one who would talk, he and his buddies had broken into an empty home. It was early evening and the lights were off so they had figured it was a good enough target. But they had been interrupted, he said, when two men had entered the house and caught them in the act. They had all been high, he admitted, so the details were fuzzy, but he knew that one of their group tended to have a particularly violent streak and that that night, he couldn’t be reasoned with. 

It was him who had used the knife, their informer clarified, but another had helped. He had thought the two men who had come in were dead by the time he had gotten his buddies to stop, he had admitted quietly, so he had pulled them out of the house as fast as he could and had never looked back. 

The room was so silent when the detective finished speaking that you could have heard a pin drop. The sound of Nancy’s chair scraping against the floor as she stood and rushed out of the room cut through the space like a gunshot and it was all Paul could do to simply breathe. Slowly the others reacted too, as Judd started swearing up and down and Marjan rose to follow Nancy, her own eyes moist but her back straight as she strode out of the room. He heard his Captain and Ranger Reyes asking questions but for once, Paul managed to shut that part of himself off. 

There was no making sense of this, he decided, so the best thing he could do was focus on helping them move forward instead; assuming that they got that chance. 

-----------

Mateo was pretty sure he had developed a stress response to the sight of Ikea furniture.  

It always seemed to appear in the aftermath of a tragedy, and he had seen it too many times in the past few years. After the condo fire, after his house blew up, and now as they set about replacing some of the furniture that had once stood in TK and Carlos’s living room.  

Maybe it should be a good thing, he reasoned. The furniture came with the rebuilding, after all. 

It had come when TK and Carlos had first bought this place and needed a couple of staple pieces quickly. They would buy real furniture soon, Carlos vowed, but until they could get around to it, some cheap and easy pieces would do. Mateo wondered if they had ever gotten around to it. He kind of hoped they hadn’t. 

“Man I hope they appreciate this,” Paul said as he flipped through the convoluted instructions for the bookshelf. 

“Of course they will.” Nancy countered from the other side of the room. “If they know what’s good for them.” 

The light and optimistic banter was a change from the days before. The others seemed more hopeful now, readier to believe the best of the situation. Mateo supposed he had himself to thank for it, he was the one that had insisted from the start that they would be okay, after all. 

But the thing is, he’s not so sure he even believes it anymore. 

As the others’ optimism grows, his own seems to fade. It’s been too long, a voice whispered in his mind. If they aren’t okay by now, they never will be again. 

It’s a thought that keeps returning and as many times as he shoves it aside, as he pushes it back; it just keeps coming and coming and coming. Mateo has always been the optimist. He has always been the one to think the best of everyone except himself. He had always believed that everything would work out. 

But he’s tired. There have been so many times and so many nights spent hoping when everyone else was doubting. There have been so many times when the worst should have happened but didn’t, by some miracle. And Mateo was okay with the idea of miracles - he had been raised Catholic, after all. But he couldn’t help but think they were running out, and that was something he wasn’t ready to face. 

So he shoved it back again and plastered on a smile as he sorted through the packaging to find the piece Paul was describing. Mateo Chavez was an optimist, he reminded himself. And optimists didn’t give up on their friends. 

No matter how bad things might look. 

----------

From the moment Grace had handed him his phone time had seemed to slow. 

It was the waiting, Judd thought, that made it drag on. All the hours sitting in the waiting room; the sleepless nights spent dreading a phone call to say that the worst had happened. They moved forward and they moved on because they had to, but every moment seemed to stretch as they grew further and further from a time when everything was fine and closer to the moment that could change everything. 

Hope seemed to ebb and flow as time marched on and optimism came in spikes. But it wears on them all and Judd wished time could just go back to normal, that this could all be over. 

But then he thinks of what “over” might mean, and he backtracks. 

For a while it seemed that maybe one of them had better odds than the other. That while one of them might pull through, the other might not. No one really talked about it; what that might mean for the one. They all loved them both and to have either of them with them would be a blessing, Judd didn’t doubt that for a moment. It was what they all wanted more than anything. 

But he was also in love, and he knew that those two had the same kind of love that he and Gracie did: all consuming, bright, deep love that wrapped you to another for the rest of time. To truly be one half of a whole. And - it was a thought he kept to himself, of course - he couldn’t help but think that the only thing crueler than losing them both was for one of them to lose the other. He couldn’t imagine facing that and he didn’t want to see anyone else have to go through it either. He knew people did - hell, Tommy was proof enough of that - but if he could he would do anything to spare them the pain of that. 

So he prays, more than he has in years. If there were ever a time to test the strength of his healing faith, it was now. 

And then, by some miracle, the news finally comes. 

He and the others are standing in their living room, taking in the newly repaired space. There isn’t a trace of the destruction they had found when they had first arrived and stepped past the crime scene tape to see the horror within what had been their friends’ home. It now looks almost as it did before: a warm, safe space they had all spent many nights in. A welcoming place that felt a bit like home. 

The walls had been repaired and repainted, the floors had been cleaned, the furniture had been repaired or replaced. The pictures had been rehung in new, undamaged frames and all their various knick-knacks and tchotchkes were sitting in their usual spots. The only thing missing now was TK and Carlos. 

It was Nancy’s phone that rang, her voice that cut through the room as she asked Tommy what had happened. It was the sight of her collapsing into one of the chairs that drew their attention and stole all their breath. And when she looked up at them, it was her smile and tear-filled eyes that let them know they could breathe again as she said the words they had all been waiting to hear: “They’re going to be okay.” 

And then time picked up again and as the others let out sounds of celebration and Paul picked up Marjan to spin her around, Judd simply smiled. 

They’re okay, a voice in his head repeated, everything will be fine now. 

And for once, Judd actually believed it.  

----------

It’s all TK can do not to roll his eyes as his dad insists on helping him out of the back seat of Andrea’s car. 

“Dad,” he said evenly, “I can walk, you know.” 

“Humor me,” his dad retorted in an unimpressed tone. 

TK opened his mouth to argue again but a soft laugh from beside him stole his attention instead. 

“Don’t even bother,” Carlos told him, “believe me, I’ve tried.” 

Somewhere between Carlos’s words and the warmth in his eyes TK found he couldn’t argue so he nodded and Owen shook his head, mystified. 

“I will never understand how you do that. If it were anyone else we would still be having this argument into next week.”  

Carlos simply shrugged modestly but TK spoke up as they headed up the walkway to their front door, “It’s just one of his many talents.” 

Owen looked beside him to Garbiel with an exaggerated roll of his eyes as Andrea let out a light laugh from behind them. Carlos gave TK a pointed look but it was only met with a grin, and his attention was so devoted to his boyfriend that he almost didn’t notice the small crowd in their living room until they were already there. From there he was forced to do a double-take. His memories of that night were hazy, at best. It was a jumble of pain and fear and worry for Carlos as he watched him being attacked through heavy eyes. His recollection may be less than clear, but he is certain their home had been left in shambles. 

Yet here they were, standing in a living room that might just be cleaner than they had left before heading to dinner all those nights ago; before they had come home to find strangers ransacking their home and TK couldn’t understand it. 

He looked back to Carlos who looked just as confused as he was before glancing over at the group in the center of the room; his team, their family. 

The question must have been clear on his face because Nancy scoffed. 

“What?” she demanded, “Did you really think we were just going to let you come home to that mess? It’s like you don’t even know us.” 

And TK didn’t have the words to respond to that. Instead, he simply glanced back at Carlos to see the love and gratitude he was feeling reflected in his warm brown eyes before he looked back at the others. He gave them a smile and when Judd moved forward to pull him into a hug, he went willingly, savoring the comfort and love that was emanating from every inch of this space filled by these people. 

Someday, when the shock wore off and they were a little stronger, they would find the words to tell them how much it meant. But for now he hugged them all a little tighter and a little longer, and let his whispered thank-yous suffice. They had a long road ahead of them and being okay would take time. But he knew now with more certainty than he ever had before that as long as they had these people, they would always be okay. 

[soramei]

Intentional - Part 4

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Landing your first real job at JYPE was something short of a miracle. You were prepared to face the new struggles of this elusive career whilst moving to a new country, however, nothing could have prepared you for him. Will stolen glances, secret touches, and hushed nights spent in the recording room ever be enough for the both of you?

Genre: idol!bang chan au, forbidden relationship, coworkers to eventual lovers, slow burn

Warnings: none right now, eventual smut

Word Count: 3.4k

Masterlist

A/N: DOUBLE UPLOAD! So i decided to split this part in two since i didn't want it to drag on for too long... next part will be uploaded tomorrow!

Taglist (reply to be tagged!): @planetdemon​ @hvunvely​ @fluffybitch0325​ @fashi0nablee @juststop88

You picked up the lanyard, looking between your burnt jacket in one hand and the vandalized piece of plastic in the other. The burnt polyester felt rough against your fingers. It was littered with black holes, almost to the point where it was unrecognizable as your jacket.

The lanyard, on the other hand, was almost untouched — save for the black marker that was sketched on the plastic. In the picture, on the part where your upper body was showing, there was only the black marker. The black blob stretched across your torso, the shape depicting a hoodie. Your eyes landed on the eyes in your picture. Thick lines drawn in the shape of an X covered both of them.

You quickly entered your apartment, hoping nobody saw you. You then stood completely still, listening to the silence, trying to find if anybody had broken into your home. After a minute, when it seemed as if you were the only person in there, you decided to lay the two vandalized items on your desk to further analyze them.

Your brain immediately tried to play this down by assuming that these were just kids who did this to your stuff, after all, it was something very immature. Children were the only people who had the time to play with fire and draw on other people’s pictures.

However, your gut told you something different. Why was your jacket along with your lanyard placed right in front of your apartment? Why was the marker outline specifically in the shape of a hoodie? Who could have known you were in the parking lot at that time of day?

Your mind drifted to one specific person. Manager Kim. He not only saw that you were in the parking lot that day with that jacket on, but also he knew your face from the lanyard. But why would he do something this childish? And how did he know where you lived?

The parking lot security guard had also been there when you wore that jacket, but he didn’t even look at you. And he would have no motive to do this sort of thing.

You rubbed your chin in thought, still not understanding everything. Was there somebody else that knew you were there?

Still feeling anxious, you began to prepare a cup of tea. You were reminded of Bang Chan. The tea. The smell of his hoodie.

His hoodie. The black hoodie.

Realization hit you like a truck as your eyes widened in disbelief. Was it maybe… Bang Chan?

Your heart was beating out of your chest. Hands shaking, you picked up your phone to call him, silently begging for the mysterious person to not be him.

He picked up.

“Hello? Y/n?”

You stayed silent.

“Is there something wrong?” He asked.

“I… I lost my jacket and it had my lanyard in it,” you tried to be careful with your words, not wanting to rouse suspicion from him, “have you seen it anywhere?”

“No,” you could almost see Bang Chan furrowing his eyebrows, “I’m still in the building though. I could look for it?”

“That’s alright,” you sighed in relief. He genuinely sounded confused, and plus, he was always so nice — there was no way he would ever do this kind of thing to you. You felt guilty for even suspecting him. “Thanks for offering though.”

“Y/n.”

“Hmm?”

“I know I said this before, but,” he paused, “if you need help with anything I’ll be there. I mean it.”

A chill ran down your spine at the seriousness of his voice. “I know. Thanks.”

You hung up, uneasy. The problem was unsolved, and to be honest, you were a little scared. There was somebody that knew who you were and where you lived. It was probably a good idea to change the passcode to your lock.

The kettle started to whistle. You turned off the flame of your stove and poured yourself a cup of tea, hoping that it would calm you down. Although it did a little, you still felt apprehensive about the whole thing. Your mood stayed the same the whole night, even when you tried to scroll through your phone or go to sleep.

The next day, you woke up with your mind cleared. No longer were you still feeling the aftershocks of the creepy jacket burner, and with your mood lifted more, you felt like you could think more objectively.

And that’s exactly what you did.

Throughout your whole week, this incident stuck in the back of your mind. Although your memory was getting fuzzier and fuzzier with the passing days, you still tried to work out who the culprit was in your free time.

Your mind was also filled with something else. Or was it someone else?

It seemed like, during the whole week, you couldn’t stop thinking of Bang Chan. You had to put part of the blame on him, though. Everytime he had a free moment in his busy schedule — granted it was rare that he did — he wanted to see you.

From secretly bringing you snacks from the vending machine to summoning you to his recording room in order to show his newest creation, he always seemed to stay busy even in his free time. You weren’t complaining, though. It was nice to have a friend who was so different from what you were used to.

You also spent a lot of time with Na-eun too. However, the time you spent with her felt different. Not in any good or bad way, just different. With her, it was mainly in the cafeteria, raving over the food after finally finding a free table. It was also trying to talk over everybody in the crowded streets as you two went shopping after work.

You liked it, sure. But with Bang Chan, every moment felt more intimate. Every smile, every laugh or brush of the hand. Was this what becoming friends felt like?

Other than these intrusive thoughts, the rest of your time was taken up by work. Although you were starting to get the hang of your tasks, there were still many mistakes made. Mistakes in which you had to profusely apologize to Manager Chen for, that you had to stay late nights to fix, mistakes which made you almost lose your mind. You hoped that Manager Chen could see your dedication to not only this project, but your job as a whole.

In the duration of this week, you managed to check in with every department involved with the project and partake in the finalization of the Mid-Autumn Festival content idea. It was decided that the group would do three activities: make lanterns, bake mooncakes, and share a fire while watching the moon. All while in the mountains.

You were surprised when Manager Chen asked you to come along to the shooting despite your inexperience. However, it wasn’t a chance you were going to pass up.

The week was hectic. So hectic, that you didn’t even realize it was almost over until Na-eun brought it up.

“Ugh, I wish I could just steal a whole tray of this food home,” you rolled your eyes. The two of you were raving once again at the cafeteria food. You wished you actually knew how to cook.

“Can you not cook?” She asked.

“I can fry an egg,” you said, stuffing more rice in your mouth.

“My six year old niece can do that,” she laughed. Her eyes widened. “What if I come over tonight and teach you? We’ll make fried rice, even you can’t screw that up.”

“Ha,” you said dryly. “I would, but I have literally nothing in my fridge.”

Na-eun gave you a deadpan look.

“How were you able to stay alive for the past couple weeks? At least you got skinner.” She sneered. “We’ll stop by the grocery store after work, I’ll teach you the bare minimum of living alone.”

And that was exactly what the two of you did. Right after you clocked out of work, you met up with Na-eun to go shopping. You decided to take out some cash to pay for your groceries, an action that Na-eun found hilarious. She was almost crying as she explained that a few groceries didn’t cost as much as you thought.

Your trip was successful. The two of you made it all the way back to your apartment and didn’t waste a second to get started. Halfway through setting things up, Na-eun got a text.

“Hey, is it okay if Yoojin comes? I guess she got jealous that I was here with you and she wasn’t.” She chuckled.

“Of course,” you eagerly nodded. “But, wouldn’t it be hard to get here with her injury?”

“What injury?”

“You know,” you continued, “her ankle.”

“She seemed fine to me.” Na-eun said as she started on the rice.

“Maybe she healed fast.” You shrugged.

“Maybe,” she shrugged back and returned to her task.

You texted Yoojin your address, and it wasn’t long before she was knocking at your door. You opened your door, and she immediately leaped at you for a hug.

“Oh, Y/n! I’m still so sorry for that day, I honestly feel horrible.” She pouted, her big eyes staring at you for a response.

“It’s really nothing, Yoojin.” You tried to sound casual. You let her in your apartment. “But, doesn’t your ankle hurt? There’s a lot of stairs coming up.”

“Oh, uhm, the doctor said it was only a minor injury.” She paused. “And I heal fast.”

“That’s good,” you smiled, patting her shoulder.

“But I still feel so bad, Y/n.” She whined. “Lemme make it up to you. I’ll set you up with this really hot guy I know. He’s a law student. You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

“Kim Yoojin!” Na-eun yelled.

“How about it? You’re free tomorrow, right?” Yoojin looked at you, ignoring Na-eun.

“I guess so,” you hesitantly agreed, “since it’s the weekend tomorrow.”

“Great!” Yoojin wrapped her arms around you, jumping up and down. “I’ll text you everything tonight.”

Yoojin kept up with her promise. After the three of you stuffed yourselves with good food, your two friends decided to leave before it got too dark. It was just a bit later when Yoojin’s text came through. You were to have dinner with this man called Kang Taehyun at an Italian restaurant tomorrow. Although you weren’t too thrilled with the idea of eating pasta, you figured you could withstand it for one night on the basis of trying something new.

You didn’t know how you felt about going on this date. Although you were excited to meet somebody new, something just felt off. Plus, you’ve never been on a blind date before. Who knows how good Yoojin’s judge of character was, or if this guy was like anything that Yoojin described.

You sighed, putting those thoughts aside. It was just a one time thing anyways, and who knows? Maybe this could lead to something. You looked over at Bang Chan’s hoodie. His warm hoodie that smelled so much like him. You should return it soon.

It was almost like he read your mind. As soon as you looked away, your phone rang with a call from Bang Chan.

“Hello?” You picked up.

“Hey, did you find your jacket?” He asked. You were surprised he still remembered.

“No… not yet.” You drifted off.

“Oh. We’ll keep looking for it, yeah? I’ll just buy you a new one if you can’t find it.”

You giggled. A couple seconds of silence passed.

“My shoot ends at six tomorrow. Wanna go to that barbecue place I was talking about?” He asked.

That’s right. Bang Chan couldn’t stop raving about that barbecue restaurant the whole week. He was really excited as his diet would end when he was done with his photoshoot, and he was apparently craving meat the whole time. All his praise made you very eager to see what the hype was all about.

You were about to eagerly accept, but then you remembered the date you had just planned not even a moment earlier. “Can we go another time? I… kinda have a blind date tomorrow.”

A few more seconds passed before you heard Bang Chan’s voice again.

“Blind date?”

“Yeah, my friend set it up. We’re going to this Italian place. Apparently he’s a really nice and handsome guy. He’s a law student, too.”

“Wha- law student? Y/n, are you sure you should be going on a blind date now? I mean, you just got here. You don’t know the city that well and you don’t even like pasta. What if he’s dangerous?” Bang Chan scoffed, his words got faster with each sentence.

“Chan, it’s okay. You don’t need to worry, I’ll be safe. Plus, I trust my friend.”

“You mean your friend you only just met?”

Silence.

“I only just met you as well.” You spat, slightly insulted that he would speak like that about Yoojin.

There was more silence that lingered.

“Whatever. Have fun on your date.” Bang Chan spat back, his harsh tone matching yours. Right after he said that, he hung up.

You looked angrily at your phone. Frowning, you threw your phone on your bed. Who was he to get angry at you for having a blind date? You recognized the dangers of meeting somebody new, but you trusted Yoojin. You were confident that Yoojin was honest about Taehyun.

A boyfriend would be nice too. Ever since your last relationship early in your university career, you haven’t had the best luck with men. It could have been because of how closed off your old friend group was. Your friends stayed consistent ever since you were young, and it was way too awkward to date a friend. You also found yourself way too closed off to go out and meet any new people.

Yes, tomorrow would be a good experience, you told yourself.

The next day, the hours leading up to your date felt like they had passed way too fast. The call with Bang Chan from last night still lingered on your tongue like sour candy, but you were determined to push past that in order to get ready on your date. After all, you didn’t want any frown lines to show.

You were excited to get ready. The amount of time it took to do both your hair and makeup was embarrassingly long, as you wanted everything to look just right for tonight. You didn’t want a hair to be out of place. You also took your sweet time to pick an outfit. Although the skirt you picked out probably wasn’t fit for the fall weather, you stuck with it anyways, choosing to layer a jacket over your outfit. One of your non-burnt jackets.

Double checking yourself in the mirror one last time, you locked the door and headed out. The streets were busy tonight. They were filled with people of all ages trying to relax from their tiring week.

Finding the restaurant wasn’t a hassle as the place was conveniently located at one of the busiest streets for weekend night-life. Dim yellow lights illuminated the tall glass windows just enough for you to see just the shadows of people enjoying their Saturday night. Green vines wrapped around the building, twirling and twisting their way around every crevice available. You tried not to fiddle with your thumbs as you nervously entered the lavish looking Italian restaurant.

“Hello, table for Kang Taehyun?” You asked the hostess. She showed you to a little table right beside a window. It was illuminated by a single candle, and already had two glasses of wine placed on it. And sitting at the table, hands crossed in front of him, was a hideously gorgeous man.

He looked like something out of a drama, really. With his tall nose and his sharp jaw, you struggled to convince yourself that this was a real man. His hands looked twice the size of yours.

“Hi, Y/n?” He asked. “I’m Kang Taehyun.”

He smiled and gestured for you to sit in the empty chair in front of him. You politely greeted him back and sat down. The two of you made some small talk before ordering. He made some suggestions on what to order, but you didn’t really care. You knew you wouldn’t like any of the pastas anyway. Plus, you swore to yourself you wouldn’t be drinking alcohol in front of strangers again.

“I’m surprised you agreed to this date.” You said, awkwardly laughing. “Isn’t a law student supposed to be really busy, especially around this time?”

“Well, I’m mainly doing this as a favour for Yoojin. She helped me with one of my classes.” He took a swig of his wine. “That girl is crazy smart. Or should I say crazy, but smart?”

“Oh?” You didn't want to admit that you were a bit disappointed he only agreed because of a favour. But he was being honest, so that was fair. What he said about Yoojin, though, took you by surprise.

“I’ve only heard rumors,” he tilted his head, “but some say that once in first year she went crazy over a guy. Started stalking him and everything. Apparently she even burned all his textbooks just because he started talking to another girl. They weren’t even dating.”

Your eyes widened at the allegations. There was no way any of that was true. You couldn’t imagine Yoojin — sweet, sweet Yoojin — to be capable of anything like that. There was no way her big puppy dog eyes and her fluffy hair could hurt a soul.

“Are you sure that’s what happened?” You asked.

“I mean, the guy was put into a mental hospital shortly after everything happened,” he shrugged, “so who knows? Maybe he made everything up in his head.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You nodded your head in agreement. Some of your hair fell on your pasta. You blushed, quickly trying to dab the sauce away using a napkin.

“You know Y/n,” Taehyun chuckled, “you’re cute. You’re not my type. I mean, I’ve only ever dated models before, but maybe it’s time to start settling down since I’ll be working at the firm soon.”

Thanks, I guess? You thought. You honestly didn’t know if that was a compliment or a jab, but either way you felt slightly insulted. You didn’t know how to reply to that, but it didn’t take long before Taehyun started again.

“I mean, look at my ex,” he said as he pulled up a picture of his ex-girlfriend on Instagram. She looked flawless in her bikini. “There’s no way I could actually marry somebody like that, right?”

If he says ‘I mean’ one more time… You thought to yourself. This date was turning south fast. This man was extremely handsome — almost god-like — but every word that left his mouth was poison infused arrogance. You didn’t know which was worse: listening to the man in front of you talk about his ex, or eating the pasta that was ordered by him.

You tried your best to stay polite with him for the rest of the evening. It was hard, though, as his cocky personality kept poking you down the whole time. It wasn’t until you finally separated that you had space to breathe. Great, you were left both hungry and annoyed.

Turning the lights on in your home, you sat at the kitchen table, still annoyed over your bad night. You took out your phone, wanting to scroll through the food delivery apps to find something to eat. Your thumbs began drifting.

No, stop. You silently begged yourself. Please, not tonight.

Your body didn’t seem to listen to your mind, however, as your thumb stayed hovering over Bang Chan’s contact. You pleaded to yourself to not press it, but your fingers seemed to have an agenda of their own. You pressed his contact. The phone call started.

One ring. Two rings.

“Hello, Y/n?”

You were shocked. He wasn’t supposed to pick up. Not after how poorly your last conversation went. You didn’t know what to say.

“Chan, how was the photoshoot?” You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t expect him to even pick up.

“It went great — feels good that it’s over, though.” He chuckled.

You wanted to tell him about your date: how arrogant Taehyun was, how fancy the restaurant was, how nasty the pasta was. You wanted to say all that, but tonight it seemed like your body just wouldn’t cooperate with your mind. And sure enough, you caught your mouth running before your mind. But this time, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Chan,” you took a deep breath, “wanna come over?”

[mollyjames]

Unit X47 was proving more trouble than they were worth. That’s how Catherine felt, anyway. Farm life was difficult enough without having to stop every five minutes to explain to a machine how to hold a chicken properly. Or feed a cow. Or sweep the barn. Really, it was just sweeping! A child could do it! These robots were meant to be all-purpose labor savers, but in the past week Catherine’s workload had tripled. Unit X47 assured her that once they learned the routines, they would be of invaluable assistance. She bitterly wondered if they had to be taught to shit.

Catherine was busy chopping carrots when Unit X47 entered the kitchen.

“Have you milked the cows yet?” Catherine asked without looking up from her work.

“No.”

“Why not?” Catherine grunted.

“I require maintenance.”

Catherine sighed and turned to face Unit X47. RoboCorp designed all of their androids to resemble the basic structure of a human without looking anything like one. Something about the uncanny valley making customers uncomfortable. While they had a head, they had no face to speak of. They still had ten fingers and ten toes though, which if anything, made Catherine feel worse.

Unit X47 clutched their right wrist and held it out for Catherine to inspect. Their entire right hand was limp and unresponsive.

Catherine sighed. “What did you do?”

“My apologies,” Unit X47 said. “I must not have been milking Bessie properly. She knocked me away, and I fell on my wrist at an odd angle.”

“Your hand is broken,” Catherine said.

“Yes.”

Catherine sighed. “Can’t you fix it yourself? You should know more about circuits and wires than I do.”

“I do not. I’m afraid I am not permitted to know anything about robotics.”

That gave Catherine pause. “I’m... sorry?”

“For the purpose of patent protection,” Unit X47 explained. “I do not know how I was constructed, the materials used, the way I am programmed, or how I am powered. Beyond a very rudimentary troubleshooting routine, there is nothing I can do to perform necessary repairs.”

Catherine felt her stomach drop. The soup bubbled idly behind her. She felt suddenly very afraid. Unit X47 had been a very costly investment. Even if the past week had been grueling, in the back of her mind she thought it would be worthwhile. An extra hand was always welcome around the farm, even if it took a while to train. She had never considered they might break.

“I... don’t know how to fix you either.” Catherine’s voice cracked.

“That’s alright,” Unit X47 said. “You need only take me to the nearest approved RoboCorp repair facility and pay a processing fee.”

“How much is the fee?” Catherine asked.

Unit X47 rolled their hand back and forth experimentally. “I believe the damage is minor. Assuming it isn’t anything more serious, I imagine it would be under 100 dollars.”

Catherine let out a small breath. Okay. 100 dollars. That was an amount, but it was doable. Even if it was more, it was going to be okay. She turned off the stove and grabbed her keys from the hook near the door.

“Alright, where is the nearest repair station.”

“About two days drive.”

Catherine froze. That was it. There was no way she could abandon the farm for two days. Normally she could ask Harvey to watch things, but he already had his hands full since the new foal was born. There was no way she was getting Unit X47 out to the city within the next two weeks. Could she manage the farm herself that long? Would Unit X47 still be able to help without use of their hand? What if things got worse?

“No. No screw this!”

“I beg your pardon?” Unit X47 asked.

Catherine threw open the door and strode to the barn. She returned to the house with a toolbox full of screws and wires and copper and slammed it on the kitchen table. Unit X47 followed tentatively behind her.

“I’ve fixed engines and built barns and rewired the godforsaken circuits in this house myself. I can fix my own goddamn robot!”

“Are... you sure?” Unit X47 asked. “You’ll void my warranty.”

“You said the damage was minor, right?” Catherine growled.

“I did,” Unit X47 admitted. “Although there’s no way for me to know.”

“Alright, let’s take a look at you,” Catherine said, gesturing for Unit X47 to sit next to her. They obliged. Catherine held Unit X47′s wrist and examined their plating. It looked simple enough. They pulled a screwdriver from the toolbox and set it against the first screw. Unit X47 flinched.

“Is something wrong?” Catherine asked.

Unit X47 recoiled slightly. “I do not suppose you have RoboCorp approved tools?”

“No,” said Catherine slowly. “Is that a problem?”

“Not.. exactly,” Unit X47 explained. “Only... Robocorp tools are designed specifically not to cause pain when operating on RoboCorp machines. Or, perhaps to put it another way, I believe I am programmed to hurt when worked on by unapproved tools.”

Catherine stared at Unit X47. “That’s fucked.”

“Quite.”

Catherine groaned. “Okay. Okay we can wait. We’ll figure it out.”

“No, wait.” Unit X47 peeled the RoboCorp sticker from their arm and wrapped it carefully around the handle of the screwdriver. They handed it back to Catherine. “Now try.”

Catherine tapped against the screw gently. “Is that... better?” she asked.

“Incredibly, yes.”

“What the fuck.” Catherine laughed. She got to work.

[megalony]

Challenge

This is a murderer! Ben Hardy imagine that was requested by @azulawayne I hope you will all like it.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27

Murderer! Ben masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) and the kids decide to record Ben’s reaction when they test out the shut up tiktok challenge, all knowing that it won’t be pretty.

Enjoy.

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

"Mum, can we do this to dad?"

"Do what, baby?"

A look of intrigue came across (Y/n)'s face as she moved to lean against the kitchen counter, resting her arm around Theo who was looking up at her with a sparkle in his eyes. The second eldest boy resembled his mother more than hia father in most aspects, he had (Y/n)'s tenderness and love, her eyes and nose and he had darker hair meaning he didn't resemble Ben as much.

The way that Theo asked to do something to Ben rather than for him made (Y/n) suspicious if Theo was wanting to play some sort of prank on Ben. All the boys liked to try and wind Ben up from time to time because it was a test, it was dangerous and daring.

Ben wasn't the kind of man or father that liked to be pranked or annoyed. He was a rather intimidating father to the boys despite how much they all loved him. Winding him up was a way for the boys to test his anger and see how he would react and how far they could push him before he snapped.

(Y/n) didn't like it when the boys got these ideas into their heads because she knew her husband. She knew how he would react and when he found out it was a prank he got very annoyed. Ben was a serious person, jokes weren't his kind of thing.

"It's a tiktok challenge, look."

Theo held his phone up so (Y/n) could see what he was referring to but when her eyes darted over the subtitles on the video and she watched the short clip, her teeth bit down on her lip.

(Y/n) very rarely played pranks on Ben, only when she was feeling very daring and playful or when she wanted to get back at him for something. Whenever the boys did pranks on Ben they didn't tell (Y/n) because they knew she wouldn't allow them to do it. But this specific challenge needed (Y/n) to be in on the prank.

The challenge Theo was referring to was the 'shut up challenge'. It was where someone would tell one of their parents to shut up and see how the other parent reacted. Of course, Theo needed (Y/n) to do this with him because both (Y/n) and Ben would react if they thought Theo was being serious in telling (Y/n) to shut up. He would never dream of being like that with his mum, he was too respectful and fearful of what would happen if he said something rude to her like his brother did.

This was the perfect kind of challenge to do on Ben and Theo knew it.

Ben was intoxicated by (Y/n) and that was clear to anyone who saw them together. He loved his wife more than anything so if any of the boys were disresectful to her then Ben would come down on them hard. He brought up the boys to be good and respectful and sort of the opposite of him and none of them liked going against their dad.

"Baby, I- I don't know about this, you know what your dad's like."

"Please? It'll be funny, you just have to tell him it's a joke." The pleading look in Theo's eyes and the smile on his lips made (Y/n) cave.

He was eight, he just wanted to mess around and (Y/n) didn't want to stop him from being a kid when things were hard for all of them. All the boys had to deal with constant moving houses, Ben coming home in the dead of night or early morning, seeing him cut up and with broken bones from fights and they all knew Ben's job wasn't a good one. It wasn't the most ideal situation for the boys but they were loved tremendously and they had everything they needed.

"Alright, he'll be home soon. But don't tell Charlie, this is just between you and me okay?"

"Yes! Thanks mum."

(Y/n) was okay with Theo doing this challenge but not Charlie.

The eldest child had a turbulent relationship with Ben at the best of times and this challenge would not go down well with Ben if it was Charlie doing it.

Charlie was eleven and he had anger issues he inherited from Ben, he was constantly battling with Ben about everything from doing his homework to going to school and simply going to bed. It didn't help that Charlie often took out his anger on (Y/n) because she was the parent that was around more. And when Ben found out he and Charlie clashed badly.

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

"Alright buddy, let's go see your mum."

Ben kicked off his shoes in the hallway before making his way through the house to get to the kitchen where he could hear (Y/n) and the boys talking. He bounced Briar on his hip who was almost asleep already. Ben had just picked the three year old up from nursery on the way home from the club as (Y/n) had picked up their other three boys from school abut an hour earlier.

Ben took to rubbing his hand up and down Briar's back, soothing his youngest son since he seemed about ready for a nap. He could feel Briar very slowly tracing his finger over the tattoo at the back of Ben's neck.

The youngest boy had a fascination with Ben's tattoos and he hated it when Ben wore a shirt because it meant he couldn't see the tattoos. It made Ben laugh when Briar would run up to him when he came home, point at his shirt and demand he take it off. He was so used to Ben walking round the house in his jeans or boxers without a shirt and he loved drawing his fingers over Ben's designs.

When Ben headed into the kitchen he glanced his eyes around, seeing (Y/n) stood near the oven clearly starting to make something to eat. Charlie and Billy were sitting at the kitchen table near the back door playing a game and Theo was sitting at the island in the middle of the kitchen on his phone.

"Hey baby, did you have a good day? You okay honey?" (Y/n) smiled at Briar who was almost asleep in Ben's arms but had a lopsided grin on his features when he saw her. When her head tilted up towards Ben, (Y/n) felt her smile widening when his arm secured around her hips and he leaned down to kiss her. She could feel adrenaline starting to run riot in her stomach because she knew what was about to come and she didn't want to imagine Ben's reaction.

"Wasn't too bad, think this one's tired out though. You and the troop okay?" Ben rubbed his hand up and down (Y/n)'s back as he glanced his eyes back over at the boys.

They had four boys in total, Ben's little army and he loved that (Y/n) was the only girl in the house, surrounded by all of her boys.

"Yeah we're all good."

Ben leaned down to peck (Y/n)'s lips again before he bounced Briar on his hip and moved to the fridge. Whilst his back was turned to the rest of his family, (Y/n) locked her eyes with Theo who was nodding his head, trying not to figit in his seat from excitement. He knew all too well that Ben's reaction wouldn't be an amused or even a kind one but he was still anxious to see his father's reaction.

"Theo, you gonna come and help me do the veg for tea, please?" (Y/n) glanced her eyes over at Theo before she turned her attention to the casserole bubbling away on the stove. It was normal for one of the boys to help with cooking, they all took it in turns, except for Briar since he was only three.

"But I'm busy."

"No, baby it's your turn to help with tea so come on."

(Y/n) knew she had to put on her stern voice or else Ben wouldn't believe it, he would know something was up. The boys were brought up to be respectful and none of them dared go against the rules and chores was one of the rules. (Y/n) only worked part-time and Ben was at work most of the time so the boys had to help around the house. One of the things Ben always said to the boys was that (Y/n) was their mother not their maid and that always made the boys shiver and give in quickly. They didn't like to think of (Y/n) as a maid doing everything for them and always picking up after them and they all wanted to be like Ben.

They wanted to be charming and do everything they could for themselves.

"Mum I'm playing a game, I need to finish this level!" Theo tilted his head to the side as he whined his response, trying to make it believable because neither of his brothers knew he and (Y/n) were doing this challenge. He had his phone propped up against his glass and aimed at Ben so they could record his reaction.

Ben bit his lip and turned his head to look at his son over his shoulder whilst he handed a beaker to Briar who was almost asleep in his arms. Out of all the boys, it was usually Charlie who would complain and argue with either Ben or (Y/n), it was never Theo and Ben didn't like how he was being right now.

"You can finish it later buddy, go help your mum." Ben ticked his head to the side to motion for Theo to get up and go over to (Y/n) but Theo shook his head. Watching briefly as Ben moved to lean against the counter near to both (Y/n) and Theo.

"Theo you know the rules now come on-"

"Ughh no just shut up!"

Silence fell over the kitchen and all eyes immediately set on Ben as if he was the one who had had the outburst rather than Theo.

Both Charlie and Billy stopped their game to look over at Ben because they knew disrespecting (Y/n) was bad but telling her to shut up would almost definitely get their brother smacked and bollocked for that. Theo stared with a glimmer of fear in his eyes and a blank expression on his face as if he had just realised what he said. His eyes locked with Ben whose brows dropped near to his eyes and his teeth ground together with how tight his jaw was locked.

"What the Hell did you just say to your mother?!"

The words echoed round the kitchen but everyone jerked in their seats when Ben seemed to move faster than lightning. One moment he was stood near to (Y/n) and the next he was in front of Theo, pulling him from his seat by the scruff of his neck whilst still holding Briar against his hip.

"Ben-"

"You have some fucking nerve thinking you can talk to her like that and get away with it. I didn't bring any of you up to talk to your mother like shit." Ben's words were spoken in a seething tone through gritted teeth but it was his eyes that were unnerving Theo. His eyes were darker than their usual emerald green, they were almost black voids and his expression was stoic and blank which was even more worrisome.

Just as Ben went to pull Theo by his neck, presumably to drag him from the kitchen, Theo pushed against Ben's chest and (Y/n) reached over and wrapped herself around Ben's arm to stop him.

"Dad i-it's a joke."

"Ben leave him it's okay." (Y/n) tried to smile but she couldn't, all she could do was let the panic seep into her features whilst she managed to prize Ben's hand off their son. Her eyes briefly flitted to look at Briar and even though the three-year-old was clearly confused from the sudden raised voices, he wasn't panicked or unsettled.

"It's not okay the little bastard-"

"It was a joke! Baby, it was a challenge he wanted to see and record your reaction. He didn't mean it I swear, I knew what he was doing." (Y/n) pressed her lips to Ben's shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his upper bicep to try and calm him down. She watched the way his eyes narrowed and switched between her and Theo as Charlie and Billy watched in confusion and slight fear. They all knew Ben didn't like jokes, especially when they were on him because it meant he wasn't in control of the situation.

"What?" Ben's chest heaved as he kept his eyes focused on (Y/n), knowing if he looked at his son his temper would start to flare again if this was indeed a joke.

"A tiktok challenge, to see how parents react when you tell the other one to shut up. I- I knew you'd go mad since you love mum so much." Theo darted his eyes around the kitchen as he tried to stay calm. He'd gotten the exact reaction he was expecting and he was definitely going to upload it but he knew explaining it to Ben was going to be the hard part.

"I don't care if it was a challenge and your mum knew about it, you don't ever tell her to shut up not even for a joke. No more fucking jokes like that."

Ben swiped his hand against the back of Theo's head, not enough to actually hurt him but enough to shock him and get the message through that he couldn't do that. Ben didn't care if it was for a joke and that (Y/n) knew he was going to do it, he didn't want any of the boys telling her to shut up or being rude to her even for a joke. He wanted them all to respect (Y/n) as much as he did and telling her to shut up was something Ben wouldn't have any of them do.

Theo nodded before he disappeared over to where his brothers were playing at the table, taking his phone with him so he could edit the video he recorded.

"Sorry baby, he was desperate and it was meant as a joke."

(Y/n) tilted her head back to look up at Ben when his free arm circled around her waist and pulled her tight against his chest. She knew he wasn't angry or mardy with her but his expression showed she was going to pay for this later and it sent a spark of adrenaline running through her stomach.

"I don't do jokes."

[jerkbitchidjitassbutt]

It Was You (Part Two)

A/N: Jensen and Y/n are childhood best friends. When his agent informs him that his image could use some improvement for a role, will she help him? Or will her feelings get in the way?

Read Part One Here!

A holiday (Christmas centric) Jensen x Female!Reader Best Friends to Lovers series for @spnchristmasbingo​. This chapter and others will fill the square of ‘fake dating’. Un-beta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Header created by me with images from Google. Chapter word count: 3284

Series Warnings: angst-ish at times (if you squint), but mostly all the fluff.

I consider this an AU, as Jensen is single in this fic. This is completely a work of fiction, and I wouldn’t want his reality to be any different, this is purely for entertainment.

Jensen returned home right around 3:30 and went to his place to grab the beer he’d promised Y/n before heading to her apartment, his mind still reeling from the conversation he’d had with Stacy.

Letting himself in, as he always did, Jensen called as soon as he stepped into the entryway, “Sweetheart? It’s me.”

When he entered, he found you lying on the couch with your arm covering your eyes, and soft sniffles were coming from your direction. You were huddled in a mess of blankets and tissues littered the floor surrounding you.

Jensen quickly set the beer on the counter and hurried to you, kneeling on the rug in front of your sofa and reaching towards you. “Hey… Y/n, what’s wrong?”

Pulling your arm away from your face, he was met with puffy, red eyes. You’d been crying.

“Oh, nothing.” You sniffed, wiping your eyes. “I just got dumped, is all.”

You quickly sat up as Jensen climbed onto your couch and pulled you into his arms. Honestly, it wasn’t that you were broken hearted in any way. Sure, Stephen had been nice and sweet, and you were sad to lose him in a way, but the tears were more for your own sorrow of no longer being with someone, which seemed to be more often than not lately.

“I just don’t understand. What is it about me that I can’t just be with someone?” You cried.

Jensen simply swayed you back and forth as you curled into his chest and crawled into his lap. After a few minutes, you wiped your eyes once again as he said, “You know, any guy would have to be crazy for letting you go.”

It was another little jab to the heart, but he wouldn’t know why. You straightened up and took a deep breath. Your head was beginning to hurt from crying, and at this point you needed that beer he brought over. Running your hands through your hair, as you sat on the edge of the couch, Jensen seemed to read your mind as he quickly got up and returned with an opened beer for you.

“Thanks, Jay.” You said, taking a long drink.

He bent down and kissed your head before retreating to your kitchen. Peering over the island, you saw him taking down pots and pans and grabbing ingredients out of your fridge.

“What are you doing?” you called, standing and bringing your beer with you, leaning on the counter and watching him move from one end to the other as he emptied the contents of his arms onto the countertop.

“Well, it may not be your mom’s recipe, but I’m going to make you some chili. I know you were probably really looking forward to it, and I’m not gonna’ to let you go hungry.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can still cook.” You objected, even though the thought was exhausting in itself.

Jensen turned to you and began to chop an onion after setting the pot on the stove, “Nope. You sit your cute butt right there and watch me work.” He replied with a wink.

Smiling, you sat at your kitchen island and tried to avoid being a back-seat chef and allowed him to take the reins. He was a great cook, so you didn’t mind letting him do so. It wasn’t long before he had you laughing and clutching your sides. Between the way he was dancing around the kitchen and cursing when he made a mess, your mind had been cleared and you were in a much better mood. The situation with Stephen sucked, sure, but it wasn’t the worst breakup you’d endured. You’d find the one, eventually.

Jensen made the cornbread and put it in the oven while the chili simmered and came to sit on the stool next to you, bumping your shoulder with his and swiping your beer to finish it.

Clearing his throat, he dared to ask, “So, do you want to talk about it?”

You grabbed the bottle back from him, if only to hold and begin peeling the label, needing to fidget with something in your hands, “It’s not a big deal, really. It’s not like I’m super upset about it. Honestly, you were right. Stephen wasn’t the most exciting person, and I don’t think we really meshed well. He was sweet and everything, but I knew it wasn’t going to work out. It’s more of the fact that I was dumped, again. If you’re not in love, it’s easy to get over. Your hearts not broken.”

“I know, sweetheart. Trust me.” Jensen said with a small sigh.

“Have you ever been heartbroken, Jay?” you asked in a whisper.

“You remember when Allie dumped me the summer before senior year?” he laughed. “You never left my side. That was more of a high school type heartbreak though. I don’t know if that was real, you know?”

“Yeah, I do. Really. I’m sad about Stephen, but not in a heartbreak type of way.”

“What about you?” Jensen asked.

“Hmm?”

“Have you, uh… have you ever had your heart broken?”

You stiffened in his hold and took a deep breath, “Once.”

“Really?” he probed. “Who was it? Was it Tyler?”

You snorted, “Tyler was in tenth grade, dude.”

“I know, but still. I’ll kick his ass. Or whoever it was.”

A nervous bubble caught in your throat. He didn’t know, and he shouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.”

“Well, again. They’re an idiot, whoever they are. Besides, you’ll always have me.”

You gave him a small smile, hoping to hide the pain that the memories brought with them.

Jensen draped his arm across your shoulders, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder as you shook off the emotions from so long ago.

You continued, “He, um… he asked me about you, right before we had lunch. I don’t think he liked how close we are.”

Jensen pulled back a bit, an unreadable expression on his face, but you were quick to grab his hand and tug him back towards you, lacing your fingers with his, “but, I don’t care. I don’t want to be with anyone who can’t respect this friendship. We’ve been through everything together.”

With that, he smiled and squeezed your hand, bending his elbow so that you were almost in a headlock and he could plant his lips to your forehead. He lingered for a moment as you both sat, tangled in each other’s arms. He released your hand and ran his soothingly along your side before getting up to stir the chili.

It was true. You didn’t care who came along, Jensen would always be your best friend.

The two of you ate seated on your oversized sofa and watched Elf, a favorite of yours and Jensen’s, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Jensen was right – it wasn’t your mom’s chili, but it was damn good. Grabbing the last spoonful, you couldn’t help the moan that escaped as it landed on your tongue. Jensen’s eyes snapped to you, the sound making something within him stir.

Dropping the spoon in your bowl, you set it on the coffee table and leaned back, satisfied.

“That was amazing, dude. Remind me to tell you to cook more often.”

He laughed, grabbing your bowl and his and setting to work at the sink to load the dishwasher. You got up to help, but he snapped his fingers, making you sit back down with a grin.

“So, how was your meeting with Stacy today?”

He wiped his hands on the dish towel that hung on his shoulder after cutting of the sink, “Oh, uh…” he paused, looking down and busying himself with starting the dishwasher. “She brought me a script. It’s a different character, to say the least. A single dad who meets a small-town woman when he moves to a new place with his kids.”

“That’s interesting. What’d you think of it?”

“She’s going to send in my stuff, and we’ll see how that goes. I wouldn’t mind getting it… could be pretty cool.” He shrugged casually, but something in his expression told you he really wanted it. “It’s a really competitive part, though. A lot of interest, so she wants me to keep up my image.”

He returned to join you on the couch with a fresh beer, casually draping his legs across your lap as you asked, “What does that mean? You’ve got a good image. You’re not scandalous or anything.”

“Yeah, but I’m a ‘bachelor’.” He replied, using air quotes to indicate that Stacy used that term specifically. “She thinks I’d have a better shot at the part if I were in a relationship or something. Even threw around the idea of just finding someone to help me out for a bit so I could look like a committed man.” He huffed out a laugh at the ridiculous request.

You’d heard of some of the lengths agents would go through, but you could never imagine being asked to do something like that, even from your own. “You mean, like… a fake girlfriend?”

Leaning his back against the armrest, he stretched out as you scooted closer, with his knees coming to rest over your thighs and his legs extended as you both got comfortable. “Apparently, but I told her it was a bad idea. I wouldn’t feel right finding some random girl and selling a rouse.”

You nodded, your hands casually laying over his strong thighs, “That doesn’t sound like you, so yeah… I get how that could be hard.”

He sighed heavily before sipping his beer once more. Gruffly, he seemingly put the issue to bed for the time being, “Yeah, well you know how it is. If I get it, cool. If not, oh well. I’ll just keep up my appearances. Besides, I get to go to work with you every day now. Wouldn’t want to change that, right?” he nudged you with his foot, grinning at you.

Jensen had encouraged you to apply for a position on the show in season two and you were lucky enough to be considered. He’d been so excited that he’d flown you up from your shared hometown. Prior to that, you hadn’t seen him much since he moved to L.A. shortly after you’d both turned 18. The haunting memory of him driving away crept up as you studied his face, looking very much like the boy you’d always known but also the man he’d grown into. It’s in the past, you thought to yourself as you quelled the small amount of lingering feelings of that day.

You simply smiled back, finding yourself a bit lost in thought.

“Hey.” Jensen said, grabbing your attention. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Just thinking.”

“About the Stephen thing?”

You realized in that moment that you hadn’t thought about Stephen since Jensen started cooking dinner. He’d done a great job of distracting you, but you also didn’t want him to know what you were thinking about. “Actually, no. I think you helped out a bit with that.”

A proud expression donned his features as he puffed his chest, obviously pleased that he completed his mission successfully. You chatted a bit more until you grabbed your tablet to do a bit of shopping and you both fell into a comfortable silence. You turned away to hide the item that you’d added to your cart, seeing as it was a little something extra for him. Pleased with the items you’d found for your family back home, and that they’d get to you before your flight in a few weeks, you placed your tablet on the coffee table before snuggling into Jensen’s side, who was enthralled with the animated Rudolph film playing on your TV. He was always a sucker for Christmas movies, though he might not confess that to anyone but you.

The stress of the day began to wear on you, and you soon found yourself drifting off. Between your comfy pajamas and Jensen’s heartbeat in your ear, you fell into a peaceful sleep.

 You awoke the next morning to the sunrise shining faintly through the curtains adorning your living room windows, confused to find yourself in the room. With a sleepy mind, you slowly shifted as you began to stretch your limbs but froze slightly when you met resistance. Eyes widening, still heavy with sleep, you came to find yourself snuggled against Jensen’s chest with the blanket from the back of your couch draped over you both. Your back was towards the cushions as you lay on your side, tucked beneath his shoulder and curled into his body with legs tangled beneath you. He was on his back, his one arm securely wrapped around your shoulders and the other resting on his midsection and your forearm that was enclosed around his trim waist. As gently as you could, afraid he might wake, you tilted your head to gaze at his sleeping form. His face was peaceful as he slept, his mouth slightly open and his chest rising and falling in a soft rhythm.

Content to savor the moment, you allowed yourself to revel in the feeling of being in his arms and nestled a bit further into the blankets, finding the chill of the morning slightly eased from his body heat.

You awoke again a bit later, when the sun had settled high in the sky, roused by something feathering across your cheek.

Jensen’s velvety voice jogged your sleepy mind, “Y/n? You awake?”

His thumb was slowly caressing across the apples of your cheekbones, the touch sending a shockwave through every inch of your body and straight to your chest. When you opened your eyes, he was peering down at you still in his arms with so much emotion behind his eyes that you couldn’t quite read. He smiled warmly, his dimples, freckles, and crinkles all present in the light. He was looking at you with such adoration that it made your heart skip a beat.

“Morning, sweetheart.” Came his usual greeting, but you couldn’t help but shiver at the gruffness and tone, stealing a glance at his lips. “Did you sleep well?”

Tearing your eyes from his face, you stretched slightly, “I did. Very well, actually. You’re a nice pillow.”

He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath your head, “Yeah, I guess I am. I was gonna move you to bed, but I didn’t want to wake you. And I’ll say, I was quite comfy myself.”

Jensen ran his hands up and down your side and back, almost as if it was second nature to do so, before he moved to sit up. You did so first, giving him the space to swing his legs over the edge of the couch and set to work at the coffee maker. Taking a moment to head to the bathroom and brush your teeth, you smiled finding him with your mug already at the windowsill.

“Thank you.” You said, picking it up and taking a seat across from him.

“Thank you for the sleepover.” He grinned, toasting towards you with his own cup.

After a few moments of chit chat about how happy you both were that the snow had lasted, you made you both breakfast and ate together at your kitchen island.

“So, what are you going to do about Stacy’s idea? Have you given it any more thought?” you asked around a mouthful of bacon.

“Actually, um… yeah. I have.”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little disappointed that it sounded like he was considering her proposition of getting a girlfriend to help his image, but urged him continue none-the-less, “Oh, yeah?”

“I was—I was actually thinking about it this morning. What if—and you can totally say no—but what if you were my pretend girlfriend?” he proposed, looking toward you nervously.

Nearly choking on your breakfast, sure you’d heard him incorrectly, you stared at him in surprise, “Are you serious, Jay?”

“Well, it was just a thought, you know. The fans think I’m with you, anyway, considering they know how close we are and have always been. You’re all over my social media already and I get a ton of comments about you all the time. It would be a cute story, but I totally understand if that’s pushing things too far.”

Still in shock, you hardly registered the sip of coffee you’d taken before putting your mug back on the counter. Your arms and legs felt like Jell-O as he looked at you expectantly.

“Are you sure I’m the type of girl Stacy had in mind? I mean, you’re you ya know. I’m hardly a celebrity or anything and I don’t have a ton of clout. What would the story be?”

He perked up a bit, seemingly please that you were asking more questions. Maybe that meant you were considering it. “It might be good to play the childhood sweetheart angle, but this would only ever happen if you were 100% okay with it. I’d never do anything that would make you uncomfortable in any way. Then, maybe after a few months, we decide to just stay friends. We wouldn’t even need to necessarily announce it to the world or anything but getting people to talk wouldn’t hurt and we just wouldn’t correct the rumors.” He looked into your eyes and took your hand in his, “Y/n, I swear… if it’s too much you can call me crazy and it’ll be no hard feelings whatsoever. No job or role would ever be enough that I’d jeopardize anything with you. It was really just an idea that I had, and it can be shot back out into the abyss and we can forget it ever came up.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, considering his proposition. It wouldn’t be so hard to fake it for a bit, would it? It’s not like much would change. You were already always together, and yeah, people had been speculating about the two of you for years, especially when you started working on set. “What about our families, Jay? What would we tell them?”

He considered your point for a moment. Both sets of parents had been friends for more than thirty years and would no doubt be aware of the rumors once they started, but again that wasn’t anything new. They’d been answering the same questions about you as a pair since you were kids. “We can tell them we’re together, or not. It would be whatever you choose, but we can always keep things vague for a while. We can even chat with Stacy together and see what would be needed, but it’s all totally up to you.”

Running it through your mind in that moment, it didn’t seem much different than what you and Jensen already were – best friends that everyone, everyone speculated about. Giving Jensen the opportunity to appear he had settled down wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it?

With a hint of a smile, you nodded, “Okay.”

“Wait, really?” he said, an obvious shock written across his face.

“Yeah… I mean it’s like you said. Not much would be different anyways, right? We can meet with Stacy, for sure, but it’s alright with me.”

He pulled you in for a tight hug, “You’re seriously the best, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’m going to treat you like the queen you are for as long as this goes on. You’re gonna get spoiled.”

“Well, then…” you teased, patting his back as he kept you in his arms, “At least I’m getting something out of the deal.”

“Oh, trust me, Y/n. I’ll make sure it’s worth your while.”

Suddenly, you thought maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all, given the way your blood began to rush as he shot you a wink.

To be continued...

................................................................................................................................

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Jensen Only

@mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​

[yoongi-sugaglider]

Artemis Rising

The story of a Goddess and a Demi God, star crossed lovers whose story was lost to the complexity of history. The truth is they were wronged. All because of the jealousy of a brother. Can they escape their fate in a modern age? Can reincarnation allow her to finally reunite with the ones who loved her?

genre: angst ; reincarnation/Greek mythology au ; werewolf au

pairing: Yoongi x reader; ot7 x reader ; ft: Ateez

warnings: abusive relationship, physical abuse towards reader, vengeful ot7, inaccurate description of Ateez as aggressive (they’re sweet babies I swear! But Eomma needed a bad guy), fighting, character death, of age drinking (more to be added mayhaps?)

Word count: 3197

Chapter 2

Above the moon waned, it’s glorious light barely casting a glow upon the stilled seas that would normally grace sweet Gaia’s shores.

“My child, why do you weep so?��� Leto stepped from the shadows. The soothing calm that normally encased the Titan Goddess of motherhood was gone, replaced with a sense of distress and panic at the sight of her precious daughter weeping upon a piece of sea swept driftwood.

“Mother…” Artemis sobbed, reaching out to the tall figure and crumpling into her lap.

“Artemis, my darling. Speak to me. Who is the cause of your tears?”

It took the moon goddess a while to answer, so wrapped up in her grief that her entire body trembled and the moon shed a little more of its light, now barely a sliver in the sky.

“It’s O...Orion. He’s...he’s gone mother. By mine own hand…”

Leto gasped, pulling away to stare down at Artemis with wide eyes.

“The young hunter boy? The one who’d caught your eye and joined you in your hunts?”

“The very same. Oh mother what do I do?”

The night wore on as the goddess of the moon wept, seeking comfort in the arms of Leto who could only stroke her back in comfort and attempt to soothe her broken soul.

The sun began to rise, it’s golden glow muted and pale as Apollo approached.

“Son. Is this your doing?” A hint of anger leached into the benevolent Titan’s voice as she gave her only son a heated stare.

“Mother...I…”

“You knew it was him!” Artemis stood, short sword in hand as she rounded on her once beloved brother. “You knew and you challenged me anyway! All of this born of your stupid misplaced jealousy!” 

“Sister, please I just…”

Artemis cut him off, lunging forward with all of the intent of driving the golden steel of the Gods through his chest.

“Artemis no!!”

***

Panic gripped me as I lunged forward, arm outstretched as if attempting to reach...something.

I shook my head in bewilderment, hoping the motion would wake me up enough to remember the dream that had left me with tear stained cheeks and a pillow soaked in my own grief. As with every other dream of mine though, it’d faded too fast. A wisp of a thing fading away in the morning light.

I sighed, finally allowing my hand to fall to the coolness of the bedsheet. A glance beside me let me know that once again Hongjoong had woken long before me...that or he’d never come to bed as the sheets beside me were as cold and empty as always.

I sighed again, letting the loneliness of the early morning caress my cheeks and dry the tears left over from the formless nightmare. Eventually I was able to get myself motivated enough to get up and start the day. It was honestly a perk working from home that I didn’t have a specific time to get up. But I preferred working on my writing early on in the day so that I could have the evenings to myself to relax and do whatever needed to be done before Hongjoong got home.

After a quick shower and change of clothes I made my way down to the kitchen in the hopes of having a quiet breakfast.

"Miss…"

I couldn't help the squeak that left my lips when Yeosang's strong, deep voice echoed through the vast expanse of the kitchen. Eyes wide I stared at his broad back, confused as to how he even knew I was standing in the doorway. Standing at the stove was Seonghwa, cooking away in a world of his own.

At Yeosang’s acknowledgement of my presence Seonghwa glanced over to me. I couldn’t help but wither under his intense stare. A frown formed between his eyebrows as he took in the bruise on my left cheek that I’d failed to cover up with several layers of concealer along with the way I shrunk away from their combined stares.

Neither of them commented though and it came as a relief that they turned back to their respective tasks after a moment more of silence. 

“There’s omelet rolls on the way. Meat’s cooked and on the table.” Seonghwa’s words weren’t spoken to anyone but I knew they were aimed at me. Whispering out a quick thank you I scurried over to the dining table, head down and eyes pinned to the small pile of bacon sitting before me.

The rest of the meal was delivered quickly, the imposing men’s silence deafening as usual as they seemed to tiptoe around me. I’d come to expect and accept it at this point as it seemed that each of my bodyguards was absolutely terrified of reaching out to me in any way.

I could have used the comfort. Used some sort of touch or a soothing word to get through the monotony of my days. But I suppose that’s what Yoongi was for…

So I turned to him. Once dishes were done and put away I began texting him, checking in on his day, asking the usual best friend questions and hanging on to every time the phone would vibrate while I worked in the relative quiet of my little writing corner. Before I’d even realized it, the day had moved on without me.

I glanced up out of the window, startling myself at the abrupt darkness that had swallowed the day and cast the world into the deepest recesses of twilight. Somehow I’d missed lunch and dinner, and the hunger gnawed at my stomach in a way that made me nervous just thinking about it.

Hongjoong would be home by now, and the mere thought of facing him after last night set me on edge.

“Have you been holed up in here all day?”

I couldn’t help the squeak of fear that escaped me. Whipping around I stared wide eyed at Hongjoong who’d somehow walked into my office without me hearing and was leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hongjoong...I...I didn’t hear you come in…” I pressed my hand against my chest, struggling to still the rapid beating of my heart.

He smirked, dropping his arms and pushing away from the doorframe. His movements were so smooth, so calculated. My gaze swept his figure as he stalked towards me like a predator, noting he was still in his business suit and tie though the latter was untied and hung loosely from his neck.

“Good. You weren’t supposed to.”

I shrunk down in my chair as he towered over me, shadows cast on his face making it hard to gauge his mood or what he could possibly want with me.

“Your meeting. It went well I hope?” No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t shove the slight quiver in my voice down and I hated myself for it. Hated that his presence alone struck such a level of fear in me even without him having done anything.

“Hmm…” His noncommittal hum echoed through the room and some part of me screamed in disgust at the way my body sagged with relief when he turned away from me and moved back to the bedroom door.

“I met with a few social acquaintances of mine.” Ever so slowly he closed the door, as if shutting the world out of our conversation. It wasn’t really necessary, no one here would ever dare walk in on him without announcing themselves first. 

“Oh?” My tongue darted out to wet my lips and his eyes followed the motion almost hungrily. I couldn’t help but suppress the shudder of fear that raced through my bloodstream.

 “You’re...acquaintances with that popular boy band...yes?” I couldn’t quite tell what he was after. His tone of voice was flat, almost as if he was already bored with the conversation even though he’d been the one to initiate it.

I turned in my computer chair to face him fully, watching as he leaned heavily on the closed door and folded his arms over his chest.

“I’m friends with them, yeah. Is...there…”

The sly grin that flashed across his face set every alarm bell ringing in my head. He was planning something, and the implications could honestly mean anything but none of it was anything good.

“I want you to invite them to the party tomorrow night. Make sure they come, no exceptions.” 

I blinked, head tilting to the side as I followed his every move. He pushed away from the wall, stalking over to me slowly. It took everything in me to sit still instead of retreating back into myself as the predatory threat loomed over me in the form of Hongjoong’s imposing figure.

I stared at his chest for a moment as he pressed his hands on either side of me on the desk, effectively caging me in. When I’d finally found the nerve to look him in the eyes the fire there had me instantly shrinking in on myself.

“I want them there, no exceptions. No excuses.”

“Y...yes, okay Hongjoong…”

He continued staring at me for a long moment, face morphing into various emotions from distaste to mistrust and finally settling on neutral disgust. Grabbing my chin he pulled me close, sealing his lips against mine in some form of possessive dominance that had me melting in to him despite every cell of my being wanting to pull away and protect myself from him.

“That’s my good girl.” Patting my cheek he turned and marched off, leaving me confused and irritated with myself for the display of weakness.

***

“Hyung, remind me why we agreed to this again?” Jungkook coughed, slim fingers curled into the collar of his tie as he struggled to breathe around it.

“Because y/n asked us to, that’s why.” Seokjin growled, grabbing the young boy by the arm and twirling him just enough to reposition the tie accordingly and allow Jungkook to breathe.

“Well, I mean besides that…'' Jungkook blushed, eyes darting through the entryway and into the rest of the massive mansion. It’d taken everything Yoongi had to convince them to take their one day off to support their best friend. They’d been all for it up until he mentioned it’d been to support Kim Hongjoong’s ‘important announcement’. At that point they’d just about all gotten up and walked away until he mentioned she’d begged him specifically.

“Well here’s to hoping the food is at least good…” Taehyung muttered as he shoved his way into the entry hall and tossed his overly long coat at the poor overloaded coat rack in the corner.

“I swear if that fucker tries to make trouble for her tonight I’m going to tear his throat out.” Hoseok growled, eyes narrowed to slits as he’d just spotted the man in question.

Hongjoong strutted across the hall, disappearing through the large glass doors that led out to the lanai and the massive back yard where the main portion of the party was held.

“We’ll do no such thing.” Namjoon said. He placed a calming hand on Hoseok’s shoulder, giving the younger men each a piercing look that set them back to their relaxed state of alert once more.

“At least not until she’s ready to let him go and come home with us.” Yoongi huffed. He nodded for the lanai. “Let’s get out there, our girl needs us.”

The group complied, putting on their idol faces and smiling and waving to the small crowd that gathered as soon as they stepped out into the fairy light lit backyard. Finding her wasn’t hard. She flitted to and fro, handling one disaster or another while keeping a small smile plastered on her face as she played hostess to the hundreds of guests that’d been invited to witness whatever it was Hongjoong had planned to announce.

There even appeared to be several high ranking members of the press hanging around. Most hovering over the buffet style food tables while others interviewed various members of the staff along with guests in the hopes of getting an exclusive on what this party could be about.

“Vultures…” Yoongi muttered as he nursed the cup of punch he’d been handed by some faceless waiter.

“Aye, but they have their use. Keeps the eye on Hongjoong and off of me.” The soft voice that whispered beside him had him instantly grinning.

“Well hi there gorgeous.” He turned to her, eyes darting over her form to take in the sultry green dress she’d donned. The silken material hugged her in places that had him salivating, luckily though he was able to school his features quickly before she or anyone else could notice the hungry look he’d barely been able to control.

“Oh hush Yoongs. You know this is my least favorite dress.” She blushed, turning away from him to subtly fan the heat rising in her cheeks.

“Yeah, that may be. But anyone would be a fool not to appreciate what you’re flaunting.” He snickered half heartedly, hoping she’d take it as a joke and not as the truth he so desperately wanted to scream at her no matter who happened to be watching.

“Thank you for coming, Yoongi…” She whispered, eyes darting over to the grand stage Hongjoong had insisted be set up in the center of the garden.

“Anything for you little moon.” His words went unheard though as Hongjoong chose that moment to clear his throat into the microphone and interrupt any conversation that may have been taking place.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! I’d like to have your attention for a moment if you don’t mind!”

“As you are all aware, my family has been a leading edge to our beautiful city for many a generation. My father swore to uphold the law to the best of his ability, and when he passed several years ago it left a void in so many people’s hearts. His father before him served as well, standing with his fellow citizens to fight against oppression and the government corruption that’d been keeping us all down up until his final breath.” Hongjoong bowed his head as the crowd applauded, cheering his forefathers and shouting various praises as to Hongjoong’s own accomplishments.

He held up a hand, shooting them all a winning smile as they quieted down to allow him to continue.

“Pompous prick…” Yoongi muttered, taking a sip of his punch to hide the movement of his lips.

“Tonight we are gathered here, not only in celebration, but in unity. To come together not as reporters and millionaires and chefs and idols. But as fellow citizens brought together by a single cause, to make this city great again! To make our neighborhoods safer and our children safer. To bring us all together under one unified cause so that we can make Seoul great again!”

The crowd roared to life, cheering Hongjoong’s name and surging forward to crowd the stage as he smiled upon them on like so many obedient children.

“And so!” He spoke over the cheers, somehow making himself heard despite the noise. “I’m officially announcing myself as being in the running for mayor. Rejoice! For change is here!”

The woman beside Yoongi squeaked, her face deathly pale as she seemed to be on the verge of either throwing up or passing out. Yoongi knew that look, knew the impending panic attack that came along with it and began ushering her towards the relative safety of the house.

“Yoongi I…��

“Hush little moon, let’s get you inside and away from this crowd.” His fingers curled around her arm and she seemed to want to lean into the touch, but just before they could reach the door she stopped and turned to him with a wide eyed stare.

“I...I was supposed to make sure we had more sauce for the shrimp cocktail… I...I can’t go in just yet…”

A throat cleared behind them and Yoongi instantly dropped his hand, turning to address the newly announced politician.

“Hongjoong..” Yoongi nodded, barely a jerk of his head in confirmation of the man’s presence really but it was just visible enough as to not seem disrespectful of the man’s status.

“Ah! The famous Min Yoongi!” The politician grinned, pulling his woman close and gripping her hip tightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard many good things about you from my precious fiancé.”

Yoongi grunted in response. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, claws growing and sharpening in response to his growing rage. At the first pinch of pain as they broke the skin he released his fists, forcing his fingers to hang limply at his side.

“Y/n, have you dealt with the catering issues my dear?”Hongjoong turned to her, eyes piercing into her own. It was him dismissing her from the conversation.

She glanced over to Yoongi, eyes filled with apology as she bowed low to the both of them, nearly bent in half as she excused herself from the conversation.

Hongjoong watched her leave, his stare predatory in nature as he watched her disappear into the crowd.

“I heard you’re running for mayor.” Yoongi spoke quietly, knowing the puffed up man would be able to hear him over the noise of the crowd of partygoers. 

“Ah, you have?” Hongjoong turned back to Yoongi, that predatory glare still filling his eyes with an insanity that only those born to create chaos and destroy others could possess. “It’s a lofty goal I know. But I feel the need to change things comes with power. And this world could really use a little bit of change don’t you think?”

Yoongi knew he didn’t mean positive change of any kind. This man was far too prone to violence to mean anything more than chaos and destruction. 

“How does y/n feel about all this?” Yoongi casually took a sip of his drink. He angled his body away from Hongjoong slightly, eyes darting around the garden. He spotted Jimin and Namjoon heading towards y/n and a small part of him relaxed greatly.

“Y/n? Now why would her opinion matter in the slightest?”

At that Yoongi returned the entirety of his attention to the mad man. “Why...she’s going to be your wife soon. Doesn’t the idea that she’s being thrust into the limelight bother her?”

Hongjoong shrugged, lifting his glass to take a sip of champagne. “Honestly no. She knew my goals before she said yes. If she has anything negative to say about it she’ll tell me and we can address it accordingly.”

The pure menace in his tone let Yoongi know the discussion wouldn’t be very long and would almost surely end up with her gaining a new bruise or two, if not a trip to the hospital.

“For her sake Hongjoong...I really do hope you have her best interests at heart…” Yoongi turned to the man, his drink long forgotten as he fixed the man with a fierce glare.

“Because if anything else happens to her and I find you...you’ll wish you’d stayed in whatever gutter hole you crawled out of to get here.”

[reinerispretty]

reminiscence. (? x f!reader) pt8

hello everyone!! i hope you’re having a fantastic weekend :) 

pt1

pt7

pt9

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes!” (Y/N) said quickly. “I’m totally fine, just have amnesia.” She knocked against her skull. “Nothing’s getting in here, I guess.” Before Asami could speak, Korra knocked on the door of the sparring room.

“How’s it going?”

“Well...” Asami started, glancing down at (Y/N). She stared up at Korra, a frown pulling at the ends of her lips.

(Y/N) didn’t sleep at all that night. She could feel the tiredness weighing on her body, pulling her limbs further and further down into the comfy sheets of her bed, but her eyes wouldn’t close. All she could do was stare up at the ornately decorated ceiling, painted with depictions of a tan, thinly mustached man as a cherub. She wondered whether or not she should go bang on Mako’s door and demand what that was. She thought he hated her! He had seemed so angry on the balcony and then the next thing she knew, he was kissing her. She knew it was ridiculous, but part of her thought she could still feel the softness of Mako’s lips against hers. She smothered her face with her pillow and screamed into it. 

When the rising sunlight just barely started filtering into her room, she slid out of bed. She walked to the mirror and brushed out her hair, which had become tangled from how much she had tossed and turned throughout the night, and pulled it back with a hair tie. She could see the faintest hints of tiredness on her features, so she splashed cold water on her face and hoped that no one would bring it up. Once she had pulled on her athletic clothes for her training, she walked to the kitchens. 

It was still early enough that the kitchen remained unoccupied. (Y/N) searched through the pantry to find something easy to make. Everything looked incredibly fancy and had labels that made absolutely no sense. She was lucky to have had Asami with her yesterday to help her decipher the meaning of some of the words. What in the world was a saffron? 

“Looking for something?” (Y/N) was so startled that she knocked her head against the frame of the pantry. “Oh, geez, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, are you alright?” 

As she pulled away from the pantry, rubbing her head, she found Bolin standing beside her. His black eyebrows were pulled together in concern and his bottom lip jutted out apologetically. “Yeah, I’m fine,” She said, laughing lightly. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up so early.” 

“I used to get up early for Nuktuk! I guess I haven’t really broken the habit yet. What are you doing up?” 

“I didn’t sleep that well,” (Y/N) said, and she supposed she wasn’t totally lying. She turned back to the pantry. “Plus I was hungry and I didn’t want to wait for everyone else to be up to eat. All these foods look too fancy.” Bolin snorted, as if she had said something funny. (Y/N) supposed it had something to do with her past, so she didn’t press him. 

“I can make you something!” He said, pushing past her to get into the pantry. His fingers were on her arm for only a moment but (Y/N’s) heart leapt into her throat and she had to take a deep breath to right her emotions. Bolin’s hands reached out and grabbed all sort of different ingredients. 

“You really don’t have to make me anything,” She assured him, to which Bolin scoffed. 

“I know I don’t have to,” He said to her, flashing a smile. “I want to.” He went over to the main island in the kitchen, laying out all of the ingredients in a row. “Today I will be making the lovely lady...toast.” 

“Toast?” (Y/N) repeated, a giggle following her question. “These seem like a lot of ingredients for toast. Do I even like toast?” 

“’Do you like toast?’” Bolin asked in a teasing manner. “You love toast! But you have to eat it in a very specific and sometimes frustrating way, if I remember correctly.” 

“I’m picky when it comes to toast?” She took a seat across from him, leaning her elbows on the marble countertop. “You’re making me sound pretentious.” 

“Oh you are,” Bolin said as he turned on the stove. He gave her another smile and (Y/N) knew he was kidding, “But only when it comes to food. You’re a big food snob.” 

“You’re telling me a lot about myself today and I’m not sure if I like any of it.” Bolin laughed at that, then began walking her through the instructions of how to make her special toast. As she watched, (Y/N) understood why Bolin had become a mover star. She felt like she could listen to him talk for hours. 

When her food was ready, Bolin elegantly garnished the plate and slid it in front of her. He watched her with an eager smile on his face. “Try it!” (Y/N) bit into the warm bread and hummed in delight. 

“I understand why I’m such a snob now,” She said. “I have pretty good taste.” 

“Does that mean I nailed it?” (Y/N) shrugged. 

“I’m gonna assume so, yes,” She said as she took another bite. 

“Great! I was worried I had forgotten how to make it! Y’know it’s been years since-” He stopped himself, his green eyes falling to the floor. Unsure what to do with the silence, (Y/N) slid the plate in between them. 

“Try your masterpiece, Chef Bolin.” She smiled softly at him and the corners of his lips turned up slightly. As they sat there sharing their food, (Y/N) was more curious than ever as to what had really happened between her and Bolin. Because right now, she feared that she was going to fall for him all over again. 

After their private breakfast, (Y/N) and Bolin walked to the main dining room, where the rest of their group was waiting. Korra and Asami’s faces lit up as they entered the room, but (Y/N) noticed how much of a point Mako was making to look away from her. The uneasiness from the morning rising in her stomach again, she took her seat between Korra and Asami. 

“Ready for your first training day?” Asami asked. 

“Could barely sleep thinking about it!” (Y/N) said. The waiters brought in their food, but (Y/N) only picked at hers while the rest of her friends dove in. 

“You’re gonna have to eat something if you’re gonna train today,” Korra said through a mouthful of rice. “Don’t need you passing out. Again.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes. 

“I’m pretty full! I got up early and Bolin made me this toast that I apparently really love.” Korra’s eyebrow quirked up in curiosity and, unbeknownst to (Y/N), a small smile made its way onto Asami’s lips. 

“That’s nice of him,” Asami said.

Once breakfast was finished, Asami led (Y/N) to the sparring room. She showed her mostly defensive maneuvers, like how to block an attack and get out of someone’s grasp. But (Y/N’s) mind was so far away that each time Asami taught her a new move, (Y/N) forgot it almost immediately. They had to go through each move close to seven times before (Y/N) was somewhat okay at it. 

Sweating, she sat down on the mat and flopped onto her back like a starfish. “I’m sorry for being such a bad student,” She huffed as she caught her breath. Asami stood over her, a quizzical expression on her face. 

“Is everything alright?” 

“Yes!” (Y/N) said quickly. “I’m totally fine, just have amnesia.” She knocked against her skull. “Nothing’s getting in here, I guess.” Before Asami could speak, Korra knocked on the door of the sparring room. 

“How’s it going?” 

“Well...” Asami started, glancing down at (Y/N). She stared up at Korra, a frown pulling at the ends of her lips. 

“I’m feeling a bit too much like an emotional mess today to spar, I think,” (Y/N) admitted, her voice rather sheepish. Korra sat down beside her, Asami doing the same. 

“Even more of an emotional mess than usual?” Korra quipped, nudging (Y/N) with the toe of her boot. (Y/N) sighed and stared up at the ceiling. There were so many secrets surrounding her life already. Did she really want to keep one more? She turned and looked at Korra’s bright blue eyes and she felt her heart squeeze inside her chest. Part of making friends was trusting people, right? And these seemed like people worth trusting. 

(Y/N) sat up and tucked her knees into her chest. “Mako kissed me last night.” Her words came out fast, rushed, and for a moment (Y/N) was unsure if they had actually heard her. 

“Woah!” Asami exclaimed, just as Korra said, “What?” (Y/N) covered her face with her hands to hide her embarrassment. 

“I was thinking last night, about how Bolin said he hadn’t seen me in years, but when I met Mako, he said he hadn’t seen me in months. So, I confronted him about it, and apparently I did something to him, whenever he saw me last, but he was just being so...Mako about it that I yelled at him! And then after I was done yelling, he kissed me.” (Y/N) groaned. “Everything is just so messed up and complicated. I can’t wait to get my memories back.”

“I’m going to go talk to him.” Korra stood, hands balled into fists at her sides. (Y/N) grabbed her by the wrist. 

“Korra, wait! You seem mad-” 

“Because I am! You don’t deserve the way Mako treats you, and I want answers.” She wriggled her hand free from (Y/N’s) grasp and stormed out of the room, Asami and (Y/N) watching in her wake. 

“I have a feeling this isn’t going to be good,” (Y/N) said. Asami gave her a sympathetic smile. 

“Mako’s just a complicated person. When I dated him-” 

“You and Mako dated?” 

“Yeah, we dated before he and Korra did.” 

“Mako and Korra dated?” (Y/N) leaped to her feet. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know! I didn’t mean--Oh, I’ve messed everything up! I was worried that me being around would put a strain on your guys’ friendship, and now look what’s happened! Korra’s about to beat Mako to a pulp!” 

“Korra’s not going to do that,” Asami said with a laugh. “She’s just going to talk some sense into him.” (Y/N) couldn’t stop fidgeting with her fingers. She felt so anxious. 

“Are you upset that Mako kissed me?” 

“Of course not,” Asami said gently, standing so that she and (Y/N) were face to face. “I got over Mako a long time ago.” 

“And Korra? Is she going to be mad at me?” 

“It’s not your fault and she knows that. Korra wouldn’t be upset with you over something you had no control over.” Asami’s reassuring words put (Y/N) just a bit at ease. But the knot in her stomach tightened as she worried about how Mako and Korra’s conversation would go. Should she have kept what happened to herself? 

---

Korra found Mako easily, standing on the top deck of the ship by himself. “Hey!” She shouted, and Mako tensed. He knew that tone of voice. He turned to face her, raising an eyebrow. 

“What’s up?” He asked, but he had a feeling. Korra and (Y/N) had been getting closer, after all. 

“Care to explain yourself?” Korra asked, crossing her muscular arms over her chest. Mako opened his mouth to speak, but he shut it when no words would come out. He couldn’t even explain himself if he tried. He had laid in bed last night, mentally beating himself for kissing (Y/N). Maybe he had gotten too in the moment when she had told him she actually cared about him. Maybe he did it because he had been wanting to for a really long time. Mako truly didn’t know what he had been thinking. 

“I thought that when she left, the feelings I had for her would leave too,” Mako said quietly. “I did a good job pretending, while she and Bolin were together, but last night she told me that despite the way I had treated her she still cared that somehow she had made me upset. If you want an explanation, I don’t have one, because I don’t even know.” 

“Look,” Korra said, grabbing him by the arm. “We’re going to go inside and you’re going to tell me, Asami, and Bolin what exactly happened the last time you saw (Y/N).” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” 

“I don’t really care if you think it’s a good idea. If we’re going to go into the Spirit World to help her get her memories back, then we all need to be on the same page, alright?” 

So Mako stood in the middle of Varrick’s fancy den, the eyes of his three closest friends curiously boring into him. With a deep breath, Mako began recalling the last time he saw (Y/N). 

---

Mako had just finished dinner with Asami when he began his walk to the pro-bending arena for practice. It was still early enough in the evening that people were walking about, but the streets were surprisingly less crowded than he expected. Mako tightened his scarf around his neck and shoved his hands into his coat pockets as a cool breeze flitted through the spring air. 

He was rounding the corner when he saw a familiar figure, huddling further into their coat and ducking their head down. Mako recognized the head of (color) hair and the way her fingers just barely peaked out of the sleeves that were too sizes too big for her. “(Y/N)?” He asked, coming to a stop. Her head snapped up at hearing her voice, and she took a staggered step back once she recognized Mako. He recognized the familiar sight of her tear-stained cheeks and watery eyes. “Are...are you okay?” 

And he knew he probably should be colder to her, considering what she had done to Bolin, but she looked so...sad. She gripped onto the edges of her jacket tightly, as if she was trying to hide in it, as she shook her head as her bottom lip trembled. “I messed up. I’m an idiot, I’m such an i-idiot and I-” She started crying again, her shoulders trembling as she brought a hand up to cover her mouth. 

“What happened?” Mako asked. “Are you hurt?” She shook her head furiously. 

“I saw-” She was trying to speak, but her own tears were getting in the way. She tried to wipe away her tears but they just kept falling. 

“Listen,” He said, gripping her by the shoulders. “I have to run. Meet me in the park at ten, okay? By the riverbank. We can sit down and talk and figure whatever’s going on out, alright?” (Y/N) looked up at him, nodding as she wiped away her tears. 

“Okay,” She said, her voice quiet as she tried her hardest not to let it wobble. “Thank you, Mako. I-I’ll explain everything.” She nodded determinedly and gave him a watery smile. “I’ll see you later.” 

Mako smiled too, despite himself. “Okay. Ten, don’t forget.” 

“Okay.” They walked away from each other, but he turned around countless times until she became lost in the crowd. He hated to leave her like that, but he had to get to practice. He couldn’t have anyone being suspicious about what he was doing: Bolin was still in the process of getting over her and the last thing he needed was finding out that Mako had seen a hysterical (Y/N) back in Republic City. 

When practice ended, Mako walked as quickly as he could to the park. He made up a story to Bolin about swinging by a store to get a new pair of shoes to get away from him. But when he reached the park at the exact spot he had told (Y/N) to meet him, just a few minutes before ten, she was nowhere to be found. Mako waited until late into the night and became angrier with each passing minute. He should have known that she would treat him the same way she had treated Bolin. 

So he returned home and had continued on with life, trying to forget about the night that he had found her sobbing, and was grateful that months passed without seeing her again.

---

Mako knew when he had finished his story and looked at Bolin that his brother was furious. “If you had told me,” Bolin said, his voice scarily low, “We wouldn’t be in this mess. She might still have her memories!” 

“You don’t know that,” Mako countered. “Just because she didn’t show up that night doesn’t mean that was when she lost her memories.” Mako looked to both Korra and Asami for reassurance, but both stared at him sadly. “Right?” He asked, and the guilt was starting to settle in his stomach. He had been so angry, so upset at (Y/N), for something that she might not have had any control over. Maybe if he had stayed with (Y/N), all of this never would have happened. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Mako said. “I was trying to look out for you. You were just starting to be okay again. I couldn’t ruin that.” Bolin set his jaw, clenching and then releasing his fists. 

“You can’t start thinking about the what ifs, Bolin,” Asami said, leaning over to place her hand on his. “She’s here now, right? And for the most part, she’s okay.” 

Bolin remained silent until a knock sounded against the heavy wooden doors of the den. (Y/N) peaked inside, her smile falling once she found all four of them gathered together and realized what the topic of discussion must be. “Dinner will be ready soon,” She said, before shutting the door. 

(Y/N) didn’t think she had ever experienced a more uncomfortable meal. No one had said a word since they sat down, so (Y/N) ate her food and wondered what on earth they could have been talking about before she had entered the den. She knew it had to have been about her, otherwise they wouldn’t have met, just the four of them. She glanced over at Bolin, who sat uncharacteristically far from Mako. 

She looked at Korra, dramatically raising her eyebrows and just slightly nodding her head toward the two boys. Korra gave (Y/N) an awkward smile, which all but confirmed (Y/N’s) suspicions about what had caused the two brothers to be so tense around each other. She cleared her throat to speak. “Asami taught me a few defensive moves today. I wasn’t very good, but hopefully I’ll be better tomorrow.” 

Bolin smiled at (Y/N), but she could tell it was straining him. “That’s great!” And he didn’t continue. She had only talked to Bolin a handful of times, but he always had much more to say than that. She rolled her eyes, tired of the weirdness that was culminating around the room. 

“Look, I know it’s strange, what happened between Mako and I, but it was honestly just an emotions thing. We were arguing and he probably got so mad at me he didn’t know what to do.” 

Mako’s wide amber eyes flashed up at her, his face instantly paling. He shook his head and (Y/N) tilted hers to the side in confusion. “What are you talking about?” Bolin questioned. 

“You know, the kiss last night?” Korra choked as she sipped her tea. “That’s why everything’s so weird right now, isn’t it?” As she looked at the faces around the room--Korra’s mix of fright and amusement, Asami’s surprise, Mako’s shame, and Bolin’s shock--(Y/N) realized immediately that she had miscalculated. Horribly. 

“Actually it wasn’t,” Bolin said, narrowing his eyes at his brother. “Mako conveniently left it out during our discussion today.” 

“Just use some Avatar powers on me the next time I’m about to say something stupid, okay?” (Y/N) asked Korra. The girl humored her with a salute. 

“I think I’m going to finish dinner in my room,” Bolin said, taking his plate and getting up from the table. The group watched as he walked out of the room, slamming the door shut on his way out. (Y/N) turned to Mako. 

“I’m so sorry!” She said quickly. “I thought he knew and that’s why everything was so weird!” 

“No,” Mako sighed. “Bolin was mad at me for a different reason.” Mako’s eyes met hers and he gave her a smile. “He was bound to find out eventually.” 

“I hope I haven’t ruined anything between you two.” (Y/N) had been so worried about causing rifts between the group, and that’s all she had done today! She thought about keeping her mouth shut permanently unless she was spoken to. 

“It’s alright,” Mako said. “Really. This isn’t the first time Bolin has been upset with me and it won’t be the last. I’ll talk to him once he’s calmed down.” (Y/N) nodded, turning back to her dinner. She probably shouldn’t talk to Bolin, but she wanted to. 

---

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