#also if youre wondering why its a lighting moon instead of a sun

[projectmischa]

We were finally able to have session last week after a lot of scheduling conflicts and I'm back on my Strahd-drawing bullshit xD

Icanthelpithesprettyyyyy

So have a WIP of some Strahd art :3

[northsoulss]

warmth from the moon and sun

pairing : ronal x tonowari x gn!reader

inspired by this! -> (a massive thank you to this author btw i got inspired to write again after reading this)

content warnings : mainly fluff, slightly suggestive in one of the last paragraphs, no use of y/n (replaced with “___” instead), brief descriptions of the reader’s body but nothing to obvious to suggest anything from it.

synopsis : tonowari is the sun, ronal the moon. that leaves you to be the ocean’s tides, pulled by the moon, warmed by the sun, providing life and love to all those who allow it.

a/n : this is my first fic for ATWOW so i hope its okay </3 - also, please let me know if i missed any warnings to this, i’ll be sure to add it!

the morning sun shone through the entrance of your mauri, the brightness casting a pleasant warmth on your face. it was a morning like any other, where you would wake up before both tonowari and ronal, taking some time for yourself before going to attend to your duties. you have learnt to treasure these rare times of momentary peace, hearing the waves crashing outside, hearing the soft snores coming from tonowari and the swallow breaths from ronal.

you sat up looking down at both of your lovers, watching their relaxed features as they continue to sleep. times like this were precious, for you all were important na’vi to the clan and the price of that unfortunately was the lack of quiet moments with just the three of you.

you move over to tuck a strand of hair that has fallen over ronal’s eyes behind her ears, the movement causing her to stir slightly in her sleep. you froze immediately, afraid to disturb tranquility that has settled amongst you all. thankfully, she grumbles something under her breath and turns the other way, soft breaths continuing to fill the air.

tonowari on the other hand is still dead asleep, his snoring proving to you how deep he was in dreamland. sighing and watching fondly, a small smile creeps onto your face seeing him slowly pat the area around him, trying to find where you where. his nose was scrunched up and his eyebrows bunched, a sharp exhale leaving his mouth in frustration finding out that your side was cold. you grasp onto his hand, feeling his fingers wrap around yours instantly. unbeknownst to you, your tail started to thump lightly on the mat they were lying on, causing him to twitch and jolt up.

“___? why is the floor vibrating?” his voice husky and clearly very groggy, his eyes squinted trying to adjust to the morning light. a loud cat-like yawn escapes his mouth, his chapped lips pressed into a thin line expecting an explanation.

“huh? um,” you turn around to find the source only see it was your tail and you immediately slap your hand onto it, trying your best to muffle a bit of the sound.

“sorry,” you say sheepishly, smoothening the loose hairs that framed his face. he stares at you with a half-lidded gaze, looking like he’s contemplating between falling back asleep or pulling you down with him. he ends up doing the latter, causing a small squeak to escape from your lips. he wraps his forearms around your waist, careful to not bump into ronal in fear of disturbing her.

nevertheless, your plans to let ronal sleep for a while more were foiled when you heard a low groan beside you. well, so much for trying not to wake her up.

“i was wondering why there was so much shuffling and noises, but i see that you two are the culprits here.” her hair was a dishevelled mess, with a bit of dried up drool on the corner of her mouth — it took every ounce of control in you to not laugh at how adorable she looks. she points a finger at you and tonowari, a pointed gaze lingering on her scrunched up face.

“r-ronal, yawne. (beloved) forgive me for i have awoken the tsahik from her slumber. i shall not do it again.” you say with a barely concealed laugh, even going so far as to clasp your hands together in a praying motion as if to beg for forgiveness.

she looked at you with pure disdain in her eyes, and yet the corners of her lips curled up slowly. “well, apology not accepted.” she proceeds to poke your sides, turning you into a laughing mess. in the midst of trying to catch your breath again, you do not see the fondness in their eyes, the warm smiles that spread on their lips that are only reserved for times like this.

“h-hey! that’s not very fair.” you gasp out, a giggle escaping your lips still feeling her phantom touch to your sides.

“you woke me up. of course it is fair.” ronal immediately counters, leaving you with no words to say, only wide eyes and lowered ears.

watching this whole interaction, tonowari chuckles watching the banter between his two mates, his tail reaching over to rest on ronal’s lower back while his hands remain on the dips on your waist.

“enough you two, is this how village leaders behave?” he throws a side-eye at you two and shakes his head, another small laugh escaping his lips. this was usually how it goes, you and ronal would “argue”, and tonowari would be the mediator, though he wasn’t the best at it (he’s actually wonderful at mediating when the time calls for it, but for his mates, he loves to be playful), usually only adding fuel to the growing fire.

“oh shush, you were the one who dragged me down first.” you smack his chest lightly, earning a small “ow” and a scandalised look from him. ronal looks at you at nods her head approvingly, leaning over to caress your face gently. taking her hand, you press feather-light kisses to her palm, leading up to each one of her fingers, before finally giving her a big kiss on the back of her hand.

times like this made you wish you led a simpler life, with no pressing troubles to deal with, only having to worry if the mats and baskets of your shared home have started to fray. however, your train of thought was soon interrupted by tonowari clearing his throat, a slight frown plastered on his lips.

you only smiled at him for wanting attention as well, giving him lingering kisses on either side on his temples and one on the bridge of his nose. you hear him release a content sigh, and your smile becomes wider, seeing his eyes closed in bliss. “there! does that satisfy you, tìyawn?” (love)

“hmmm, not quite.” he then opens his eyes again, full of mirth and pretends to think before his lips meet yours, his touch sweet like honey. then he moves further down your jaw before you can get more, slowly making his way across the expanse of your neck. just as you were about to try and recover from his kiss, ronal’s lips now meet yours as tonowari’s still remain lovingly on your neck, sucking lightly at the delicate skin. he nuzzles into your neck and smiles against your skin, feeling goosebumps arise quickly. ronal’s lips move slowly against yours, a quiet whine escaping your throat in pleasure as she lets her fangs drag across your lower lip.

when she finally breaks away, she is satisfied with your dazed look and your swollen lips. she then gives you one final peck on the lips and to your hairline. her hands move to cup your face, causing you to lean into her slightly calloused hands. though one may wish for their lover to have soft hands, ronal’s was that of a tsahik’s, a reminder that she is so incredibly strong, and so loving at the same time. tonowari’s was no different, his calloused as well from the duties of a olo'eyktan, evidence of a gentle but firm lover.

tonowari removes himself from your neck, before sealing a kiss to ronal’s lips, one hand on the curve of your hips while the other resting on her cheek. when they pull apart, he presses wet kisses on her cheeks, laughter spilling out of her mouth at the ticklish feeling. her eyes curve up like crescents during eclipse, twinkling like the constellations in the sky.

you stare at them awestruck and full of admiration, and you could have sworn you felt butterflies flutter rapidly in your stomach even after all these years of being mated. watching them laugh and connect foreheads made you fall in love all over again, seeing tonowari’s crinkled eyes as he grins at ronal, an amused look remaining on her face as she looks at him, before looking at you.

the morning passed in a flash with you and your mates lying with each other, basking in the warmth of your bodies pressed together, and the distant sounds of the village and ocean merging into one.

© northsoulss 2023, all rights reserved

[c-e-d-dreamer]

When We Howl, the Moon Will Cower: Prologue

A/N: I know it's technically November first, which means Spooky Season is officially over, but what do you say we keep the spooky vibes going just a little bit longer? And what better way to do that than with witchy Nesta! And future werewolf Cassian ;) I am very excited for what I have planned for this fic, and I hope everyone enjoys! And if you don't, well, this is a love letter fic to @dustjacketmusings only, so I don't care. Also, gold star to everyone who can pick up on the 3 easter eggs in this prologue.

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Next Part

Darkness from the west trembles in the light As the sun rises on a new empire Shatter, crack, and take back what is right The golden bonds escape the pyre Mother blessed unity births power unforeseen The gods will bow before the strength of three

~ * * * ~

“Again.”

Nesta swallows down her wince. Swallows down the tingling pain in her cramped fingers. Swallows down the throb that's taken up home in her head, the way it makes everything fuzzy around the edges. Instead, she takes a deep breath, reaching for that well of power within herself. Sometimes, she likes to imagine it as a cat, napping in the sun when it's resting. She imagines that now, imagines stroking her hand along its fur until it begins to purr to life.

“Nesta.”

The cold, clipped tone has Nesta flinching instinctively. “I'm trying, Mama.”

“Clearly, you are not trying hard enough,” her mother scoffs, and even without looking at her, Nesta can imagine the disappointed scowl that's sure to be pinching Elinor Archeron's face. “You are an Archeron witch, or did you forget?”

“My magic is drained,” Nesta defends, squeezing her eyes tighter and trying to focus. “I just need another moment.”

“Drained?” Elinor's laugh is nothing short of mocking. “Your ancestors could do this in their sleep. You are a disgrace to our family name. I don't even know why I bother.”

“I can do it.”

Nesta knows her snapped words mean nothing if she can't prove it. She reaches for that beast inside her again and grabs fur until it roars. Until she can feel her magic slink between her fingers, wreathing its way up her arms. It sings in her veins and floods her lungs so every breath is pure power, writhing like a dancer in time to her pounding heart.

A hard strike across the face has Nesta crashing back down, a pained gasp tumbling past her lips. She cradles her cheek with her hand, blinking up at her mother, but Elinor's rage is potent. A fire practically blazes in those blue eyes, its path of wrath and destruction pinned right on Nesta.

“You stupid girl. Are you trying to burn the whole house down?”

“I'm sorry, Mama,” Nesta whispers before she swallows hard and stands up straight again, holding her chin high. Never cower, never let her see the cracks. “I'll be better next time.”

“You better be,” Elinor sneers, brushing her hands down the skirts of her dress and turning toward the door. It's a clear dismissal, an end to today's lessons. “Do not disappoint me, Nesta.”

Nesta can't help but flinch at the too loud sound of the door closing behind her mother. She presses a hand to her mouth to quiet the shuddering breath she lets out, blinking hard around the stinging heat pressing behind her eyes. When she presses her fingers to the skin of her cheek, she can still feel the lingering soreness from being slapped, but she's hopeful there won't be any bruising.

There certainly won't be a scar.

As if of their own accord, Nesta's fingers absentmindedly slide along the raised skin on her thumb. At least her mother's lessons aren't like the ones with her grandmother.

A knock at the door has Nesta almost jumping out of her skin in surprise, and for a fearful moment, she half wonders if her thoughts somehow summoned her grandmother back from beyond the grave. But then she hears her sister's voice, tentatively calling her name through the wood.

“Go away, Elain,” Nesta calls back, rolling her eyes even though her sister can't see her.

“But I need your help,” Elain protests, a hint of the whine Nesta knows always works on their father bleeding into her tone.

With a huff, Nesta stalks over to the door, yanking it open and not even bothering to hide her annoyance as she demands, “what?”

Elain chews on her lip, fiddling with the skirts of her dress, before admitting, “I lost Feyre.”

“What do you mean you lost Feyre?”

“Well, we were playing hide and seek, and she must have chosen a really good hiding place because I can't find her.”

“For Mother's sake,” Nesta sighs, already stepping out into the hall. “You know, next year, you'll be of a witch's age, and you won't have any more time for baby games.”

“Just because you came of age last year doesn’t mean you have to be so mean.”

Nesta’s steps stutter at Elain’s words, and she turns back around to find her sister still standing by the study door, her arms crossed and her expression less than impressed. Nesta knows that she’s right, but Nesta would also give anything to keep Elain and Feyre from turning thirteen. To let them play hide and seek and run through the gardens forever. To protect them from their mother’s clutches and her cruel lessons.

But Nesta has yet to find a spell for that.

So Nesta lets out a soft breath and offers Elain a small smile of apology. “Where did you already look for Feyre?”

Elain huffs quietly, practically a lamenting sigh, as she continues down the hall and to Nesta’s side. “I checked all the normal places. Under all the beds. Under Papa’s desk. All the closets.”

“Did you check the cellar?” Nesta asks, leading the way toward the main staircase.

“We’re not allowed down there, remember?”

“Exactly. And this is Feyre we’re talking about.”

Elain hums, and that’s answer enough for Nesta. With a shake of her head, she hurries down the main staircase and down the hall that leads to the cellar door. The dark wood looks unassuming, exactly as their mother intended it, but Nesta can feel the magic imbued within it. It seems to hum and whisper to her, seems to jump off the wood and skate across her skin and up her arms. If Nesta squints, she can even make out the protection runes carved beneath the wood stain.

Checking both ways down the hallway to make sure no one is watching, Nesta reaches forward, her fingers curling around the handle of the door. She closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath, feeling the magic pulsing through her hand before the handle twists and the door opens. She grabs Elain’s wrist and tugs her inside, the door closing behind them with a quiet thud.

Neither of them say anything as they follow the winding staircase down, Elain keeping her hand firmly in Nesta’s own. Nesta can’t say she minds the contact. The cellar has always made her feel uneasy. It’s the way she always feels like she’s being watched when she’s down here. The way whispers seem to creep along the floor and the walls like fog, Nesta never quite able to hear the words being spoken, but always having the undeniable feeling that they’re saying her name. It’s the way the air is always thick and still, as if whatever ominous presence calls this dark place home is holding its breath, even as it smiles from the shadows with too sharp teeth.

Nesta lets out a quiet breath when they reach the bottom of the stairs, giving Elain’s hand a gentle, comforting squeeze. Or perhaps it’s to help ground herself. She turns her attention to the left, unsurprised to find the door at the very end is cracked open, watery light spilling out around the edges like some sort of eerie beacon.

For a moment, Nesta hesitates, swallowing hard around the churning in her gut, the lump threatening to press into her throat. But then she swears she feels it, a presence beside her and Elain. But it doesn’t bring with it any of the unease the shadows of the cellar do. Instead, it feels almost warm, comforting. Like a mother’s hand curling around her shoulders, it urges her forward, guiding her through the door and into the room.

“You found me!” Feyre exclaims, jumping up from her spot crouched beside the door with a wide smile.

“Feyre, you know you’re not supposed to be in here,” Nesta seethes, already grabbing her youngest sister’s arm to tug her out of the room and back upstairs.

But Feyre yanks herself free, crossing her arms across her chest. “Just because you’re the oldest, that doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”

Feyre sticks her tongue out, belying her eleven years of age, and Nesta merely rolls her eyes. “I’m serious. Mama would be furious if she knew.”

“We get it, Nesta. You’re Mama’s favorite, always the perfect child. That doesn’t mean the rest of us want to be.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, what you don’t know.”

“Um…” Elain speaks up quietly, breaking up her sisters’ glaring contest. “Is it supposed to be doing that?”

Nesta snaps her attention to the center of the room, to the magical object she’s always refused to look directly at for too long. The Cauldron stands on a slightly raised wooden platform, the wide circumference large enough that Nesta is sure it could swallow all three of her and her sisters whole if it wanted to. The black iron it’s made from is dark as night, dark enough to drown any light, any life, even as the legends sing of life being poured from it.

And for the first time since Nesta ever laid eyes on it, the Cauldron truly seems alive.

The liquid inside bubbles and pops, dark smoke rising and curling from its depths. The smoke spills over the edge of the platform, slithering down the platform and across the floor to them. Nesta swears it looks almost star flecked as it creeps closer to Feyre, threatening to curl around her ankles. Feyre jumps away from the smoke, hiding behind Nesta and curling her hands tight enough around Nesta’s arm that her nails bite into the skin.

“What’s it doing?” Feyre demands, her voice barely above a hushed whisper.

“I don’t know,” Nesta mutters, her own voice quiet, as if the Cauldron might hear them if they’re too loud. “But we need to get out of here.”

Nesta turns on her heel to do just that, keeping Feyre with her, but her feet stutter before she can even take a single step. Elain’s eyes have completely glazed over, the honey brown color of them foggy, and her gaze is focused solely on the Cauldron. Her expression is entirely blank in a way that has alarm bells ringing in Nesta’s head, has every hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

“Elain…” Nesta starts cautiously, watching with wide eyes as her sister starts to walk closer to the Cauldron. “Elain, what are you doing?”

Whether her sister can hear her or not, Nesta isn’t sure. Elain continues walking until she’s stood right at the foot of the wooden platform, smoke dancing and curling up her calves like flames, sparking against her skin like daylight. Like a puppet on strings, Elain’s hand slowly raises from her side, her outstretched hand reaching forward.

“Elain, don’t!”

Nesta’s free hand curls around Elain’s wrists at the same moment Elain’s fingers curl around the lip of the Cauldron. Nesta’s chest heaves, her entire body tensing up in anticipation, but nothing happens. There’s no explosion, no blinding light. The ground doesn’t shake and rumble beneath their feet. There’s just that choking stillness.

“Darkness from the west trembles in the light,” Elain speaks, her voice somehow sounding far away, like it’s not her own.

“Elain?” Nesta whispers, giving her sister’s wrist a tentative squeeze.

“As the sun rises on a new empire—”

“What’s wrong with her? Why is she saying that?” Feyre asks over Elain’s still speaking voice.

“I don’t know,” Nesta hisses, turning over her shoulder to glare at Feyre.

“The golden bonds escape the pyre—”

“Elain,” Nesta tries again, tugging on her sister’s hand more forcefully. “Stop that.”

“—unity births power unforeseen.” Nesta drops Feyre's hand and steps forward, physically prying Elain’s fingers off the Cauldron. “The gods will bow before the strength of three.”

With a soft gasp, Elain stumbles back, Nesta curling an arm around her waist to try and hold her steady. Elain blinks a few times, and it’s stark relief that floods through Nesta as she takes in the bright brown color, pink flooding back into her sister's cheeks and face.

“What happened?” Elain asks, her words slightly slurred together.

Before Nesta can answer her, Elain’s eyes flutter closed, Nesta practically crashing to the cold, hard stone floor in her effort to catch Elain’s deadweight. She wraps her arms tightly around Elain, tugging so her sister’s head is cradled in her lap. Her heart starts to pound when she lifts her hand to Elain’s cheek, the skin cool and clammy beneath her touch. She snaps her attention back to Feyre, her youngest sister standing with wide eyes and her arms curled around herself.

“We need to get Mama.”

~ * * * ~

“Think harder, Nesta.”

It takes everything within Nesta to swallow down her sigh. She already knows what making such a sound will earn her, but it’s easier said than done. They’ve been at this for what feels like hours now.

“I told you, Mama. I can’t be sure,” Nesta explains, keeping her eyes downcast and away from where her mother is pacing across the room. “I was more focused on making sure Elain was okay.”

“Honestly, Nesta,” Elinor sighs, and though Nesta keeps her attention firmly on her own lap, she can perfectly imagine her mother’s expression. “Your sister gives a prophecy in the Cauldron’s presence, and you couldn’t bother to remember it?”

“There was…” Nesta squeezes her eyes shut, trying to focus. “There was something about unity. Blessed unity and it creating unforseen power… something about an empire, I think?”

“An empire? What about an empire?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Dammit, Nesta. Focus.”

The slap sings hard across Nesta’s cheek, the metallic taste of blood spilling in her mouth from how hard she bites her tongue to keep in her cry of surprise. Her fingers curl into fists in her lap, nails biting into her skin to ground herself, and Nesta takes a shaking breath in and out of her nose. She can tell that her mother’s patience is wearing beyond thin, that soon her mother will tire of this back and forth. And she knows that if she doesn’t do this, Elinor will turn her methods on Feyre next.

So taking another, more calming breath, Nesta imagines herself back in that room, in that cellar with her sisters. She imagines the Cauldron before her, bubbling and smoking. She imagines Elain’s face and the faraway look in her eyes. She imagines seeing Elain’s mouth move, the words spilling forth.

“The gods will bow before the strength of three,” Nesta recites back, just as Elain had.

She waits for her mother's clipping words, perhaps another slap over only remembering the single, final line, but there's only silence echoing in the room. Tentatively, Nesta raises her head, intent on meeting her mother's steely blue gaze head on, but Elinor's focus is far away, her attention snagged out the window. Nesta turns her own attention outside, curiosity piqued, but whatever her mother is staring at, whatever she sees laid out before her, it's only in her mind. Finally, she turns back to Nesta, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at her painted lips.

“Perhaps you won't be a disappointment to the Archeron name after all.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy

[drmflm]

—summary: you fell in love with the magic of the night, so much so that when the nightcrawlers came out to play, you were at ease in the moon’s light, waiting, endlessly waiting, for him to find his way back to you.

—pairing: siren!wonwoo x gn human!reader

—word count: 3.5K

—genre: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, slightly philosophical

—au: siren au, magic au

—rating: pg-15

—warnings: dissatisfaction with life, feelings of self-doubt and insecurity, loss

—note: i was this close to sobbing during this fic,,, my heart ached for the two of them so much! ALSO!! the reader uses they/them pronouns for wonwoo before knowing to use he/him, just cuz sirens kinda have a funky system where gender doesn’t rlly exist!

—masterlist

You were immersed in the gentility of the night. You were a creature that craved the sweet blanket of darkness when the sun was put to rest, the moon’s loving caress. Though some people chastised your love for the darkness, made tales of the dark’s trenches, held horror stories of those that committed the wretched, you wondered what a tragedy it would have been, if you internalized their stances, and instead baked and burned in the monsters that roamed during the day?

For, you wondered, what could be darker than the darkness of your own life?

The night was brimming with wonders unexplored by human eyes, creatures that, just as you, were more comfortable expressing themselves where they were free of prying eyes and the burn of the sunrise.

You saw the blossoms of moonflowers that laid dormant beneath the weeds, watched as they grew under the nourishment of the moon, grew from the blackness of the woods.

Sparkles of magic dotted the sky in a wondrous display of stars, shooting across the sky and lingering in constellations. There swam the whale of the world in the sea of the sky, happily singing and happily dancing as it passed you by. Unlike the sting of the sun, your eyes were content to trace your friends in the sky, to meet constellations that would say their farewells and goodbyes when the night ended.

As your musicians for the evening, crickets chirped to compose your waltz, the flicker of fireflies created a perfect ambience. From your spot on the lake, you were mesmerized by the glamorous array of moonlight on its ripples, you were entranced by the reflection of stars and stunning visuals.

Looking at yourself staring back at you was like looking at a stranger. Seeing a stranger’s perfection was always debilitating to one’s self esteem. To compare oneself to another’s beauty was a different kind of hurt than anger-rimmed words and welts of insults.

No, instead it was a peaceful type of painfulness. It lingered in spaces otherwise left dormant, reignited a sting in every glance of the mirror. It hurt and it hurt, but it did ease. One day.

Under the moonlight’s careful ministrations of healing, you found yourself a resort of peace, a place you could wander to when life got the best of you. Instead of being confined to your bed, swathed in the thoughts you’d rather run away from, among the waters of this darkness-infused paradise, you found yourself slowly recovering from your poisonous heart.

You found yourself in the light of the dark.

So maybe it was this cycle of healing, maybe it was the spirits of the night that were looking out for you, but with every night you spent under the moon, the more you learned that the nightcrawlers were all lonely creatures like you.

“Why do you always come here when the moon shines?” A voice asked from the darkness.

You just shrugged, unbothered. “Perhaps for the same reason as you. The sun just uncovers too many unpleasant memories.”

The voice was silent for a moment, before a gentle rush of cool washed upon your hands, “how would you know how I feel?”

“I don’t,” you confessed, gently flicking the water off your hands. “I just know what I feel.”

You heard the gentle rippling of water, before you saw a figure swim into the rays of moonlight that tapped the water’s surface. There swam a person—no, a siren—whose shimmering blue eyes stared back at you curiously.

“You’re a strange human,” they said, looking at you once more before swimming closer. “You’re a kind person, I can sense it. Yet, despite being kind, why are you filled with so much hate?”

Unwillingly, your heart broke at this intimate observation, another’s perception on your own misdeeds, was something so comforting and touching to your soul. Knowing that someone—even a stranger, was kind enough to observe, and inquire about something as small as your own well-being, made you realize and recognize just how horrible you were treating yourself.

“I don’t know,” you said, looking up at the stars. “I guess after a lifetime of living among monsters, you eventually become one.”

They were silent a moment longer, before speaking once more. “You know, I’ve met a lot of those that wander in the night. I’ve seen the true nature of the monsters that haunt these woods. So I can tell you without a doubt in my heart, that you seem to be the farthest creature from a monster.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the soft, watery sensation of tears trailing down your face, “thank you for saying that.”

“Don’t thank me,” they said quickly, slinking back into the shadows. “I’m not your friend, I’m not somebody you should be thankful to. I am just a background voice in this scene of your life.”

“I’m Y/n,” you said, looking up and scanning the darkness. “Please don’t hide yourself. We’re alone together, at least let us know one another’s names.”

“Wonwoo,” they said after a moment before returning to the light. “I was just as you at one point: young and naive, thinking that the darkness was the only escape...”

Their eyes glazed over before focusing on you again, “I made so many rash decisions in my youth. When life got too tough, I went to the water, I fell into its trenches, and I let it consume me with its love.”

“Is that how you became a siren?” You asked carefully, mesmerized by their blue eyes.

They just laughed, “no, I was lured in. I was lured in by the sirens who stayed here. They made me think I had a home here after I lost my own. But the truth is, is that nobody ever really belongs anywhere.” They turned away, “I was happy as a man, sure, but over the last few millennia, I’ve realized that having the freedom to roam the darkness is what completes my eternal existence in this world.”

“But doesn’t it ever get tiring? Having to be a certain way? Having to live with the fact that all those who come across you will always see you as a monster?” You asked desperately, seeking comfort from the siren before you.

He just smiled solemnly, “but darling, why would I fear what I can’t change? It seems that your thinking is flawed, for when did you ever think I was a monster?”

You blinked, “what do you mean?”

“Humans think that my kind is a cursed being, but you seemed to grow comfortable with me quite quickly,” he said, looking at you once more. “Are you not afraid of me? Do you not think of me as a monster?”

As you stopped for a moment and realized what he said, your eyes were opened. You truly did not think of him as a monster—how could you? His ever constant kindness he had shown you in those few moments alone, the sweet blue of his eyes and the gentle camaraderie you felt with him… How could you ever find it in your heart to think of him as a monster?

There was this stigma about the night, that anybody or anything that lurked within it was a creature of darkness, a dark and looming force that dared to commit the atrocious, the reason for tragedy, an evil unrivalled by nothing, save for the light.

But was the dark really all that dangerous? You found yourself resonating with the nightcrawlers, using the term affectionately as a way to reference your friends of the night. The fireflies and the stars—sure they were light, but they were dim and gentle, not harsh or stinging. They helped lead you to your destination, gentle hands leading you to a place where you could find comfort, where you could be yourself.

The darkness was a home, a place where you could be your true self without feeling confined or restricted due to another’s perception. It was a celebration of individuality, a party that glorified your existence, whilst simultaneously erasing the pressure of your traits, of your identity.

And as you marvelled at Wonwoo’s observations, you were gloriously aware of the fact that you were anonymous in the dark. There was nothing against you here. Wonwoo was a perfect stranger, someone who was blind to your flaws in the day, and aware of your truth in the night.

“I don’t,” you said softly, looking through to the seas of his eyes. “I don’t see you as a monster.”

He smiled, and you saw his sharp teeth without fear, marvelling at their pearlescent white colour that glimmered in the moon’s rays. He swam to you, getting closer and closer before you saw his hands come up from the water.

“We just met, but I wish to ask you a question,” he said softly, looking at you with earnesty. “Do you trust me, Y/n?”

“I don’t know,” you said hesitantly. “If I say yes, what will you do?”

“I’d ask you to join me in the seas,” he said, looking up at the moon. “I’d ask if you’d join me for a night, to fill the darkness with your presence, to give me companionship for these few moments of my forever.”

“It’s not a trick right?”

He looked at you warmly, “The only thing that says its a trick is your mortal mind,” he said with a grin. “Do what feels right to you—that is where all magic stems from.”

You smiled, taking his outstretched hand, “then perhaps I should follow it.”

When you fell into the water, it was a liberation you would never forget.

“Y/n, you can open your eyes now,” Wonwoo said with a smile in his voice. “You are okay.”

You opened your eyes tentatively, expecting the water to sting, but fortunately it didn’t. Instead, you were basking in the moonlight, slightly cool and held in Wonwoo’s arms.

“How am I breathing?” You asked, before covering your lips. You let them go when you realized the water didn’t get into your lungs. “How am I talking?”

He laughed, “why, it is your magic, Y/n. Don’t you know that when you follow the truth of your heart, you unlock a trove of magic? You are magic darling, and there is nothing that you are not capable of unlocking.”

He turned you around to look at you, “you are worthy of so much happiness, Y/n. Don’t ever let the monsters of the day ever convince you that you aren’t.”

You felt something thick and slimy curl in your lungs, something that stung with every breath you took, “thank you Wonwoo.”

He smiled but for the first time that night, it felt melancholic, “stop thanking me for telling the truth. You deserve to hear it and believe it. Don’t cut yourself short, thinking that I’m just being nice because—I’m not. I’m being honest.”

You were silent, taking it in, as he scanned your face before nodding, “now, let’s continue on our one night journey to paradise.”

As he brought you throughout his lake, you realized what he meant. Sure, the lake seemed small when you were there, but under the moon’s light, you realized that the waters stretched on and on, revealing an underwater city beneath you, beneath the world.

“What is this place?” You asked while you swam along.

He continued looking forward as he responded, “Sizswqlio, the world of sirens. It’s known as Atlantis in the human world.”

“I thought that was just a myth,” you mumbled, looking around with awe.

“Sort of,” he said while pulling you aside to let a school of fish pass. “There’s only one entrance for humans to enter, known as the Siren’s Mouth, or the lake you visit every night.”

“Really?” You asked incredulously, staring at him in awe. “How strange. Why is it that lake?”

He looked at you with a quizzical expression on his face, “What do you mean, ‘why’? Do you think there is always a reason for everything? The entrance appears wherever it wishes to, and it just so happens you found it when it needed to be found.”

He seemed to be quite…chill, about the whole thing. It was as though nothing had a reason, that things just happened—things that you were always trying to find reasons for, to explain phenomenons that you weren’t familiar with.

In a way, you supposed, his philosophy was invaluable to your life. If one spent all their time thinking up reasons for why things happened, they wouldn’t have any time to live. Thinking about everything meant having no time to live those phenomenons, to find the wonder and magic of the unknown.

So perhaps you found that lake, or rather, it found you. But asking yourself why it chose you would just be an endless array of questions, questions in which you would never have the answer to.

Thus, you swam along beside him, feet kicking wildly as he tugged you along, taking you through coral reefs and pretty, distinctly siren, structures spread throughout the bottom of the sea. Or, were you still in the lake?

“So this is what magic is,” you mused, listening to the underwater beats coming from an underwater tavern. The entire atmosphere was filled with boisterous laughter and endless chatter. “The carefree sensation of always being in wonder, of seeing the world as a beautiful mystery and enjoying its pleasures to the fullest.”

“Indeed,” he said with a wink, before pulling you into one of the shops. “Just add a little glamour and flair to it, and you have that concept humans seem to adulate—“ he offered you a cheeky grin. “Perfection.”

Among the shelves, there were various accessories, like clamshell hair clips and pearlescent jewelry. Wonwoo guided you to a seat, and held up his hands, “Are you ready for a little magic?”

You winked at that.

The underwater tavern was cool, but do you know what was even better?

Tailflipping.

Prior to witnessing a round, you had no idea what that even was when Wonwoo first mentioned it. But after you were seated in a clamshell chair, ivory tail shimmering in the jellyfish lights, Wonwoo left you to head up to the centre of the stage to enthusiastic cheers.

It seemed that a common activity in the underwater world was a type of wresting match through the use of tails. Every siren’s tail was different, denoting their rank in magical energy, as well as their wisdom. The prettier the tale, the more powerful the siren.

Back in the olden days, according to siren legend, sirens used to eat mortal hearts to extend their tales—as well as their wisdom—for the sake of being the most powerful siren. But nowadays, sirens simply cared about tail length on the basis of one of two things: beauty and agility.

You were sure Wonwoo qualified for both, but in this case, it was for the latter option.

His tail was ebony black and coiled around itself like a snake. From the point where his scales melded to his torso, all the way down, smooth scales trailed all the way down before melding into a sharp, dragon-like tip.

He reminded you of a dragon, with the smoothness of a snake, the allure of a siren, and ferocity, so much ferocity.

His opponent seemed weak beside him, and you were right. As Wonwoo’s tail stretched outwards, a menacing, inky thing, the younger siren’s coral-hued tale was weak against its hold, easily trapped in endless coils.

To be honest, it wasn’t that interesting of a fight. By the time one blinked, Wonwoo’s coils had enclosed around the other entirely, and in one smooth flick of his tail, the other was spun completely around.

At the cheers of the crowd, it seemed to be a regular occurrence, which greatly surprised you. He seemed to be the quieter, brooding type, and yet, perhaps eternity had morphed a part of him into a more carefree, rambunctious person—someone unrestricted in norms and etiquette and rather, fun and young at heart.

When he came back to you after his performance, you said your praise, to which he shrugged you off modestly, and you continued on your journey throughout Sizswqlio, enjoying its amenities.

After a while time seemed to pass you by, and when you remembered you had to go back, something dark and looming reared within you. You didn’t want to leave, not when you had everything perfect right where you were, not when your heart pleaded for you to stay here, where you were happiest.

Wonwoo sensed this ambivalence from you, but ever the gentlesiren, he did not ask, opting instead to guide you back to the entrance that would take you back home.

“The sun is going to rise soon,” he said quietly. “It’s best you head back now, otherwise you will be stuck here another day.”

“What if I want to be?” You asked brazenly, withering under his sad gaze.

He shook his head, “No darling, you can’t. Any more than a night, and you will be chained to this lake. You must go, and never come back. This place is a paradise for the lost, for the broken. It’s a sea of broken hearts. So when you find your way, and your heart has healed, it is best that you find substance back where you belong: on the shore.”

You stopped, looking at him deeply, feeling the intense urge to cry, “What if I don’t belong there? What if I belong here instead? With you?”

He just kept shaking his head, “You don’t. You need to go back to the real world, Y/n. This is not the place you belong in. I will not allow you to chain yourself here.”

He hesitated, before continuing, “Y/n, there’s a reason why sirens are said to be cursed. It’s not the fact that we lure humans down, it’s that humans never want to go. They find their way to our world, and when they catch a taste of its wonders, their greedy hearts can never let it go. So please, I beg you, don’t be another one.” He squeezed your hands tighter, “Because you deserve so much more than this.”

You understood it then. He was trying to protect you from yourself, from that little voice inside your head that was urging you to stay. You didn’t belong down there, you weren’t meant for that world. So why was it so hard to let go? To let him go?

“This was the best night of my life,” you said, tracing the gentle planes of his face. “I wish it would never end.”

He nodded back, “I wish that too, more than you could ever know.”

You nodded, and let him bring you to the edge of the water, where the moon’s rays were dimmed and barely there.

“As a guardian of Sizswqlio’s waters, I hereby declare you free of your tail, to be free of this lake, and to carry on in all of your dreams,” he declared, before you felt the swift return of your legs, before he was pushing you upwards, where you floated away.

Once your fingers drifted apart in one final farewell, you felt yourself break the surface, just as he coiled back down, lost to the darkness.

As you breathed in air once more, the soft light of dawn caressing your cheeks, you wept at the loss of his hand in yours, devastated, as the siren of your heart slowly drifted away from your memory, lingering at the edges and never returning.

But deep inside, you hoped you remembered. You hoped you remembered that when things got tough, you would always remember the magic, joyful underwater blues and regal, inky coils.

And when the day woke, you felt tired, so incredibly tired. You longed for nightfall, you longed to swim in the water once more, to find something lost in the sea of your brain.

You waited at the pond every night and every day, waiting for something—someone, to find their way back to you.

One night, something in the universe came into fruition. In the cool night’s breeze, you heard the gentle rippling of water, before a figure swam into the rays of moonlight that tapped the water’s surface. There swam a person—no, a siren—whose shimmering blue eyes stared back at you curiously.

“Why do you always come here when the moon shines?”

©️ 2022 svt1117 all rights reserved.

[seldomscilence16]

Voltron in "The Little Mermaid" Part 2!

Alright so I wanted to get 2/3 of it out in July cause ya know Julance, so it may be a little rushed but im having fun so thats nice. And this one comes with burnt out art! (By that I mean I gave up half way cause drawing is hard but its still cute.) Once again, thank you to @paracosm299 for being the backbone to this fanfic. And I hope everyone else likes it too! If I ever find a laptop that doesnt hate me and tumblr I'll link the three together. Until then, hopefully my tags might work for ya'll...

Also, if ya'll havent listened to the music from all three versions (cartoon, live action, broadway) youre missing out and they are referenced in this part. So minor spoilers for the Live Action! ("Shes in love" OBC is a bop I do so recommend it)

~~~~~~~~~

Lance sprawls across one of the many rocks, chest heaving as he tries to slow his heart rate. His eyes roam what he can see of his collection, that familiar ache hitting him hard.

He just didn't understand. 

Here, in the waters he's always known, he should feel a sense of home. And yet at every corner, he simply feels trapped, unable to even breathe without the threat of punishment for doing it 'wrong'. Instead of love and encouragement, he is crushed under rules, expectations, and this pressure to do something, but with no idea what that something is. He has a vague recollection of a woman, with deep brown eyes- the only real feature he can recall- saying so earnestly, it was almost prayer-like, that he was their future. 

He still couldn't fathom what she meant. Lance, the future? Should he somehow outlive the Emperor, Lance would be taken down immediately, by those vying for the Triton. Sendak may drill his lessons and expectations into him daily, but Lance doubted very much he'd ever actually hold any power. The only future Lance can see, is either forever a decoration to the Emperor, or a trophy given to another. The very thought makes him shudder, but it's a reality he's long since acknowledged. 

Lance was no future. Lance was not free to be a future. Lance was simply... a dressed up prisoner. 

For every gadget, gizmo, whosit, whatsit, and thingamabob Lance found, for every glimpse of wonder, a longing grew. He wanted more than this, he wanted...

To be where the people are. To see them dance, to walk around on those... those... feet! To run along streets, to stay all day under the sun's warm rays, wandering free... was it so much to wish to be up there with them? He hasn't much to give, but he wonders idly, if he were offered a chance, would he give what was asked in return readily? To live out of these waters, for even just a day to spend warm on the sandy beaches. 

Coran has since crawled from his own little crevice, watching him with worried eyes,

"I bet you up there, they understand, that they don't reprimand your every move, that they see you for who you are. Im... I'm sick of swimming with an anchor strapped to my fin. I want to stand, free... is that so much to ask Coran?" 

"No child, to be free is not something that you should have to pay for." And the emotion in the man's voice has tears of his own burning in Lance's eyes. 

"I want to know everything, ask them my questions and get some real answers. Like, whats a fire and why does it, what's that word?? Burn! When will I be allowed to do something for me?" Lance swims through his treasures, towards the small hole at the top, reaching towards the surface he's forbidden from breaching, "I'd love to explore that world up above... out of the sea, I just... I wish I could be a part of a different world... I know that makes me terrible, but... I'm so tired..."

Lance stares at the barest glimpse of the moon before it's covered, casting a shadow that's dispersed by bursts of colored light. 

"What in the Seas?" 

"Wait, Lance my boy, it's not safe up there, not tonight!" 

But Lance ignores the octopus, for probably the first time, making his way towards the surface before he can stop himself, breaching it fully for the first time. Loud popping sounds assault his ears, and debris splashes around him, before him a little ways, is a large ship with joyous music playing. Lance looks around, maybe for a sign to turn back, but finds none, something almost seems to be... pulling him, calling him, towards the Ship. He navigates past the debris, until he comes to the side of the ship where smaller ones hang. It takes him a moment to pull himself up and into it, arms straining as he tries to remain quiet. 

There's a small gap that allows him to see the occupants, and a smile graces his face as he watches them dance. They throw each other around and slam their feet, and play instruments and drink. And just when Lance thinks it can't get any better, they start to sing. 

It wasn't as melodic as the songs of his people, or as hypnotic or power filled as the royal siren songs. And yet, Lance couldn't look away. To think that just as his people feared and hated humans, Humans too, feared his people. They were so different, but at the same time, not so different at all. 

One of the humans, seemingly younger than the rest, was on the edge of their celebration. The bright- and loud- lights in the air illuminated his face, eyes shining just so, like where water and sky meet. He's pulled aside by a taller man, who has a scar over his nose and a tuft of white hair laying on his forehead. They come close enough for their voices to drift to Lance's position, and he ducks away from the opening until only his eye is seen. 

"Keith, you know we have to go back." The taller one says, sounding apologetic. 

"Shiro it's my birthday, please let me have this one day not to think about that place." The shorter one- Keith- responds. 

"You know Kolivan will be coming over to lecture you soon. The late King-" 

"Wanted me to be trapped inside the castle for the rest of my life, isolated on our island home, never to do anything new because he had some crazy notion that that would keep us safe." He sighs, leaning heavily on the railing and staring off into the distance, the furry creature lays at his feet, staring at Lance curiously. He buries a hand in his fur with a smile. "I feel like the ocean is calling to me Shiro, I'm not afraid of it, I want to explore." 

Lance feels a sort of resonation, like he's looking in the mirror once again instead of at a human. Someone who sees a future, and is ready to make it himself...

A crack of lightning lights up the sky, violent and sudden as the ocean rises up and crashes against the ship. 

"Storms coming in fast! On your toes!" 

Lance jumps into the waves before he can hear more, he needed to leave, there was no telling if this was Posiedon or Sendak-

"Keith!" 

Lance's eyes flash back to the ship, to Keith holding the fluffy creature and throwing him as the ship is alight and collapsing. Lance curses in his head, diving below again to help, guiding him to the calls of the people in the little ships. When he comes up again, he sees no sign of Keith and a panic he can't describe grips his heart. 

He dives again, dodging wreckage as the ship sinks, swimming through the harsh currents in search for a splotch of red. His distress rises with each moment, movements quick and jerky, until finally, finally, he sees it. Unmoving except for his slow descent, arms raised like even in unconsciousness he's reaching for something. As Lance draws closer he sees the cut along his jaw, the ripped clothing, smaller injuries, and he's sure bruising will form. 

Hooking his arms under Keith's own Lance drags him to the surface. It's an effort to keep the human's head above the waves as the storm rages on, but Lance wont let him drown, not while he can do something about it. He heads inland, praying to any God that will listen, that the human survives. 

Even if it means his own demise when he returns to Atlantica. 

...

The sand is dry and coarse, but warm under the morning sun's rays, as he tugs the waterlogged human far enough from the lapping waves. His hand shakes as it hovers over the still form, the cut on his cheek still leaks blood, his pale skin taking on a sickly pallor, before he can really think twice, his voice rises from somewhere deep. A careful melody fills the air around them, a glow encompassing his own form as he finally places his hand to Keiths chest. 

It takes longer than he'd like for color to return to his cheeks, one now marred with a scabbing scar. A groan leaves his lips and Lance's relief is palpable, despite the exhaustion that settles into his very bones. He wants nothing more than to lay here, but he knows better. Shouts reach his ears, and with a reluctance he cant place, he returns to the sea, hiding behind a rock a ways off. 

He watches as a group of humans surround Keith, who seems at least semi-coherent now, watches as they make off towards their own settlements. 

"I don't know what this feeling is. I don't even know how I know, but... something changed. I've found the world I want to be a part of..." 

Lance watches until they've vanished from view, a pull stronger than ever before, calling him towards a human with inky hair and deep eyes, to a future he'd never thought of. 

If he lived past sunset that is. 

...

Allura practically falls on his head, Coran wrapped around his arm only a second behind. 

"Lonce! Where have you been!?" Allura is scanning his face, claws hovering, "Coran told me about the… thing… and then there was a storm and you were gone! We've been worried sick!" 

"Im sorry, I just-"

"Don't even think about lying to me Lonce!" 

Lance swears shes on the verge of tears, and he lets out a reluctant sigh,

"I…" he rubs his free hand over the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact, "Rescued a human…" he mumbles.

"You did WHAT!?" 

"No one saw me!" Lance is quick to defend, admittedly a little petulant. 

"Shhhh!!! Sendak can not know about this!" Allura looks around in a panic, her voice hushed.

"Know about what?" A new voice asks from behind, nearly scaring Lance right out of his scales. 

Flipping around Lance sees someone he hadn't in several years,

"Rachel?? What are you doing here? I thought you all weren't allowed at the gatherings anymore!" They clasp arms, exchanging smiles.

"Well, he wants info on our territory then someone has to come." Her grin turns sly, and Lance thinks there's more to what she says, but then again, it always seems like there's more when it comes to them. "So what's this I hear we aren't telling?" 

"Nothing. Seriously guys, I'm already gonna get a lecture from Se- my father, I really don't need this right now." 

He sees a bunch of Mers heading towards the reefs, decides that's a good way to delay the inevitable, and follows. Though of course he has company cause they dont give up that easily. And to continue his declining luck, four more mers to add to his growing entourage. 

"Wow, look how big you've gotten!!" Lisa exclaims, looking close to pinching his cheeks like a Grandma- though Lance only knew this through observation of their pod.

"Lance has a secret!" Rachel blabs, leaning over his shoulder with far more excitement than necessary. 

He groans, pushing her away as he joins the other mers in cleaning up the reef, a twinge of guilt in his gut despite the cause of the storm being from someone else's power. 

"Oh, what, does Grumpy blob have a crush or something?" Marco teases, elbowing Luis beside him. 

Lance grumbles as he fumbles with the debris hes moving, internally cursing himself at the gasps around him. 

"So! You're acting fishy because you're up to your gills in love!" Rachel swoons backwards into Marcos waiting arms. 

"Oh Dios Mios." Lance would love for a cavern to open up, right now, beneath him, please. 

The only Mers who don't treat him like Sendak's property and he wants to throttle them. 

"I see it now!" Luis exclaims, never one to miss out on a tease, the traitor, "he's dizzy, dreamy, head up in the foam! His eyes have got a gleam in them, like there's no one home." 

"Someone get this boy a coastal shelf to mope on!" Lisa instigates, laughter in her eyes. 

"He's moody as a snapper! As sure as a dogfish bites, someone’s made him lose his head!" Marcos' grin is as lopsided as he is, floating above Lance's head, he shoves him away, wondering if he should just retreat. 

"Seriously guys flip off, it's not gonna happen." Lance heaves a larger piece off the side as gently as he can, frowning at the coral beneath, it would take a lot of song and time for these poor things to come back. 

"Come on tell us who the deep-sea hunk is!" Rachel leers at him, eyebrows dancing, behind her Lance glimpses Coran and Allura, one has a look of concern, the other… well Lance can't quite identify Alluras look. 

"There's no deep sea hunk." Lance turns away, seriously debating finding that shark again.

There's a long pause, but Lances hope of them giving up is crushed when Veronicas panicked voice breaks the silence,

"Oh no. Please, please no. Lance please tell me you didn't go and," She cuts herself off, looking around frantically before coming in closer with a low hiss of, "seduce a human?" 

Lance gives an indignant squawk,

"I did not, seduce, anyone!" 

"But there is a human??? Lance, what are you thinking? Liking human stuff is one thing, but this- Lance what are you thinking??" With hands on his shoulders to hold him still, Veronica levels him with a desperate look. 

"Ronis right Lance, the human world is no place for us." Luis, like everyone else, has taken on a serious face. 

And those expectations are back. Those heavy looks, so much weight pressing into his chest, and yet no clue what it is they want from him. What it is they think he needs to do. 'Youre the future, Lance.' 

"I don't know what it is you think is up there Lance, but just take a look around you! Life under the sea is better than anything they got up there." Lisa takes on a lighter tone. 

Lance knows what's coming, knows because he's been told before, has tried to convince himself, but something always comes to remind him why he wants to escape. 

"I mean seriously, what more are you lookin for? Up there they work all day-'' Lance pointedly looks at the debris he's clearing and Marco is quick to continue, "they're slaving away under the sun's hot rays. While we get to float around down here all the time, nice and cool."

Lance wonders what they do in their territory, for all of Lance's collection, it's taken him years of little moments of free time to gather stuff, and honestly half of it was Coran and Romelle gifting him stuff. 

"And you know what they do to fish on land, they're either in a bowl or," Rachel runs a finger along her throat with a harsh click sound, "on the plate. Just imagine what they'd do to us!" 

"Not to mention, they can't possibly beat our rhythm." Luis sports a confident smile, but Lance remembers the song he'd heard on that ship. 

As if on cue however, the reef comes alive with song. Healing waves of energy that quickly distracts the mers before him, and Lance takes his chance and bolts with them none the wiser. 

He heads towards his grotto, needing some peace and quiet before his inevitable summons. He liked the McClain pod, they'd been around as long as he can remember, but they always left him feeling like he was missing something. Not that they weren't missing some major parts to his story too, but Lance didn't want them to know either. 

He enters his grotto with a tired sigh, running on no sleep and brain still too busy and anxious for it to come anytime soon. He takes in his collection, hoping for some comfort or peace of any kind. Anything to stave off what's to come-

"So you've finally returned."

Lance flips around fast enough to make his head spin, there looming in the shadows of the entrance, Triton now glowing with power,

"My. son." 

…

Keith stalks through the halls of the palace, determined to find a ship, or a carriage, something so he can search himself. To find the boy who saved him, the one whose song rings in his head, the one who risked their own life to get him home alive. 

"You aren't supposed to be out of bed yet." 

He turns to see his mother, standing tall and regal, like the Queen she is, in the doorway to the dining hall. She eyes him, the bandage on his head, the scaring mark on his jaw, the unsteady walk of a sailor on land- and a waterlogged man who should probably be resting, maybe.

"I don't need rest, I'm fine." Keith wants to leave it at that, but of course,

"Join me for breakfast." She turns without his answer, not that he could turn her down. 

They sit, eating quietly, but Keith is tense. He knows she wants to say more, but she takes her time, figuring out exactly what she wants to get across. After so many years away, only to return after news of her husband's passing, the two knew very little of interacting with each other. It was Kolivan and Shiro that kept them from having a bigger rift than they did. 

"I don't want you going out there again. You need to be here, preparing for the throne." 

Keith takes a breath, before he'll say something he'll regret,

"The boy who saved my life is out there. I'm going to find him-"

"Keith-"

Keith stands, chair falling behind him,

"I don't want to be king. I never have. I belong on the water-"

She slams her hands on the table, silencing filling the room,

"You are grounded. There will be no sailing, you will stay here and heal." 

He stares at her, the woman who never cared to stay, who left his father to raise him. The woman who knew next to nothing of him, who wanted to trap him to this existence of walls and nothingness. He turns and storms out of the room, heading for the cliffs, anything to get away.  

All he'd ever wanted, as a boy born on a ship but raised on an isolated island, was the open sea and sky, freedom that seemed so far from his reach. He was only able to grasp some semblance of happiness sailing on excursions to learn and trade, his brother- in all that mattered- right beside him. 

And now, his soul tugs again, towards something- not quite new- but foreign in a way he'd never thought of. He's haunted, thinking only of a blurry memory of someone leaning over him, more of a feeling really, and a song he sings. A song  that takes him, to places beyond his wildest dreams, to uncharted waters miles beyond the seas he knows. 

Keith had been sure he was darkness bound, destined to drown at sea and never return home. Then, miraculously, he’s saved, pulled above the stormy seas and all the way to land, before being left alone, to stand on the shoreline while his mind remains lost at sea. He wishes only for him to be found again, so he can stop wondering about who he is, where he’ll be next, and to hear his song from the source rather than this echoing in his head. Someone somehow stronger than the undertow, yet able to glow silhouetted by the rising sun, to return him to land in only a night's time. 

He won’t be able to get over this mystery, something- someone- so intriguing, there was no way he’d give up before it was solved. Somewhere, beyond where man can see, with eyes that outshine the horizon line, where they can face the unknown side by side. Whether on the shoreline where he was left, or where no compass or map can guide him, Keith would find this mystery boy, no one would stop him. It’d be easier, he’s sure, for this boy to find him once again, right where he was left, but good things aren’t always easy are they?

Throw whatever you have at me, wild uncharted waters, he’d face it all.

<<Prev next>>

[fractured-legacies]

Chapter 16: Interludes

Prologue | Chapter 15

Chapter 16: Interludes

~o0O0o~

Emuund glared up at the Night-Light as if it had personally offended him, and then returned his eye to the telescope’s eyepiece.

“Featureless. Completely featureless. How?”

He looked away again, and his sketchbook seemed to mock him with its emptiness. But what was there to sketch? Unlike the moon, which showed its usual half-face for the winter and moved through the sky against the stars in a nightly pattern that was easily explained by the mathematics of orbital motion, the Night-Light was a true mystery. It was unquestionably further away than their world was from the sun, so it should have a slower orbit, as per the law of gravity that every other known object seemed to obey, ranging from the smallest comets to the largest planets.

However, it didn’t. It remained at opposition to the sun relative to his world… mostly. Some very precise measurements in the last few years by the royal astronomers of Sloviori had shown that it was almost imperceptibly orbiting an imaginary point on the line between the sun and their planet’s center, tracing out gentle loops over a period of weeks… around what was apparently an empty point in space.

“You all right?” Haannes asked from his spot further down the rooftop by his own telescope.

“Just… what is the Night-Light orbiting?” Emuund grumbled. “It has no features, when we’ve seen clouds and craters on other bodies out there, and there’s nothing for it to orbit!”

“I have not the slightest clue,” Haannes said with a shrug, not moving from his eyepiece. “Although I do have to say that I’m partial to the ‘invisible planet’ theory.”

“You mean the theoretical object that only pulls on the Night-Light and doesn’t affect our own moon, or any of the other objects in orbit?” Emuund rebutted. “That theory was disproven fifteen years ago when that comet passed through the region and it wasn’t affected.”

“Yes, but then what is it orbiting?”

“Gaaah!”

“Here, why don’t you give a look at Kilia?” Haannes said. “It’s particularly gorgeous at the moment. Relax, draw some sketches, and then get back to pounding your head against the wall.”

“Gladly. At least there I can be of some use.” Emuund reoriented his telescope; this was his first winter with this particular one, and he adored it already. It had a curved silver mirror measuring almost a foot across instead of the outdated eight-inch glass lens of his old one, which he’d passed down to his nephew. Kilia was easy to spot, with its red-salmon coloring, and he had it in his eyepiece a few moments later.

“Gorgeous…” he breathed. The planet, which was the third one out from his own world, was marked by great belts of clouds and storms, and had an intricate set of rings banding around the planet’s equator. Unlike Nephaas, Kilia had a modest tilt of only eighteen degrees from its plane of orbit, but that was still enough to see the rings in all of their glory as they cast shadows on the surface of their world. Several of Kilia’s moons were also visible—and they orbited according to the laws of gravity, as the hundred and more years since their discovery had shown!

He looked at the Isurn Gap between the two largest sets of rings; the thin black line was stark against the red and white of the rings above and below it. “I wonder what causes that?”

“What?”

“The Isurn Gap.”

“I was just reading up on that, and one theory that seems to fit is orbital resonance,” Haannes said. “It’s at the right distance from the planet that every two orbits at that distance would match up to one orbit of Golea, so the moon is pulling the particles out of that gap.”

“You still think that the ring is made up of particles?”

“It has to be. A solid ring wouldn’t be stable.”

“You mean like how the Night-Light doesn’t seem to orbit anything?”

“Fair, but how many exceptions to natural laws are we making here?”

“As few as possible, I suppose.” He mused. Yes, over enough time, the gravity of the moon would pull out any little rocks from that ring, just like how the tides here on their world went in time with their own moon…

He looked away from his eyepiece and up at their moon. It was nearing ninety degrees away from the Night-Light, meaning that they were closing in on Mid-Winter. The general structure of his world’s orbital mechanics came up, almost as a model as he visualized it in his mind. The moon, orbiting over Nephaas’ deeply tilted equator, and the Night-Light, somewhere far beyond. Right now, the summer in the southern hemisphere would be reaching its height, with great storms that would blow northward from the south pole as the oceans steamed. It all worked so nicely, like clockwork.

Looking back through the eyepiece, he tried to just soak in the beauty of the far-off planet. It was fascinating to think that the gap in the rings could be from the influence of the moon, impacting its fellow orbiters…

The realization struck him like a blow, and he pulled away from the eyepiece.

“Everything all right?” Haannes asked.

“Yes! I just—I need paper and pen and a counting frame!” he said as he started to hurriedly put away his telescope.

“Check inside. I think Raavi left some in his desk.”

“Yes, yes!”

Having packed up his telescope, he went inside, barely taking the time to remove his coat and boots before going off to find the materials he needed. Sitting down at the kitchen table, he started by looking up in his reference book the figures he needed, and then began doing math.

“All right… so the orbit based on the mass of the sun is directly proportional to the product of the mass and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between their centers…” he said, citing the law of gravitation. “Now… what happens if I add the planet’s mass to that of the sun?”

Ten pages of paper and several hours of furious math later, he had an answer.

There was a stable point a million miles further out from the sun, where his world’s gravity and that of their sun would add together.

He slumped in the chair, exhausted but exultant. He’d solved it.

He’d solved it.

The Night-Light orbited this stable point. He’d need to do more of the math, but if he was correct, he’d just solved the greatest mystery in astronomy for his age—how far away was the Night-Light, and how did it keep pace with his planet?

And if he knew how far away it was… then he could figure out how big it was in reality. It appeared to be just under a quarter the size of the moon, but was much, much brighter. Which meant that they could figure out how reflective it was…

He realized he was crying and wiped away the tears.

“I wish Raavi was here…” he muttered. “The kid would love this…”

But the boy was off somewhere, escorting that duke’s wife to the capital… and he'd left weeks ago. He just hoped that he wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere. It would be awful to have to explain to his parents where their son had gone…

No, he was probably just holed up in the capital. Given the difficulties with traveling in winter, it was almost certain that they’d arrived and would be staying there until it was easier to come back. He’d probably be on the first canal barge come Spring, full of tales about the beauty of the capital by the sea.

He rose and got himself something to drink out of the icebox. A good beer proved handy, and he knocked it back, only to jump as someone pounded on the door. “Get out here! A courier from the capital just arrived!” he heard through the front door.

“What!? In winter?” Emuund demanded, but, his exhaustion forgotten, he ran to pull his boots and coat back on.

A few minutes later, he was down at the canal-head, where a crowd of the overwinterers had gathered around what looked strangely familiar—a copy of Raavi’s ice-boat.

Well, close to it, Emuund could see. It was smaller and lighter, with just two men in it.

Neither of them were Raavi.

The mayor came marching up, and the two men from the boat spoke with him before giving him a sealed sack in exchange for a signature. Then they were off down the canal, moving with incredible speed.

“I… I guess Raavi made it to the capital,” Emuund heard someone say. “And they liked his idea!”

“Good for him! I hope that he’s getting credit from the King for it!” someone else in the crowd commented, and they gave a little cheer. Their boy had done good!

Then they all turned to the mayor. “Any news?”

“Not that they told me. Just that this is mail, official and unofficial, for the town. I will look and see if there is anything of relevance and see to it that you all get your deliveries in short order,” the mayor said brusquely, but then he turned and looked down the canal, where the ice-boat had vanished already into the distance. Then he shook his head, and Emuund heard the mayor say quietly “Well done, lad. Well done.”

Shaking his own head, Emuund made his way back to the house. Just seeing the ice-boat made him relax. Raavi wasn’t dead or lost. Instead, royal couriers were using his design to travel through the winter. If that didn’t say so much right there…

The boy’s mother would be proud, and his father pleased and exasperated, and now Emuund couldn’t wait to tell them.

He’d gotten back to his calculations, cleaning them up and preparing them for publication, when Haannes came in. “Hoy! Emuund, you need to see this!”

“What is it?”

“News from the Royal Astronomy Society. So this Equal Night, we’re in for a treat!”

“Oh?”

“So someone has crunched the numbers and apparently, in three months, the moon will be in just the right place at just the right time that it’ll be between us and the sun. They’re calling it an ‘eclipse’.”

“I remember reading up on the idea. It was purely theoretical, wasn’t it?” Emuund said. “Just as a matter of probability?”

“Well, we’re going to have one for real, and it’s going to pass over our kingdom, Emuund!” Haannes looked like he was about to start bouncing from foot to foot. “Something that’s a once in a thousand year opportunity, and it’s going to happen right here! According to the math, it’ll be in a line across the Center Sea, and reach its maximum extent inland from here—in the duchy of Rechneesse.”

Emmund breathed out. “Wow. Let me see that.”

Just as Haannes handed him the paper, though, there was another pounding at the door. Emuund rose, wondering where his peaceful winter had gone.

One of the mayor’s staff stood outside. “Town meeting. Get going.”

“What is it?”

“We’re preparing for war.”

#

The snow crunched under Thamiyiba’s feet. Like the others with her, she carried a spear in her hands.

“There,” came the word from her group’s leader, Zaahur. “Another town.”

Thamiyiba squinted to peer through the darkness. Sure enough, a small settlement lay nestled in the valley between the rolling hills, a grove of oilsap trees on the northern edge, as was typical of these people.

Despite the suggestions of some, they had resisted burning those trees across all of their raids. A few of their people, who had been distraught at the loss of friends of centuries, had attempted to fire the groves, but they had managed to extinguish the fires before they’d caught and spread. It was bad enough what they were doing; there was no need to make it worse. They would be—had already been—spreading enough chaos and destruction as it was. Spreading more out of spite at their victims would be an even greater damnation.

Thamiyiba knelt with the others as Zaahur led the prayer. “Blessed be those who came before us, those who laid the trail for us to follow. Thank you to all of our ancestors, whose efforts raised us and enabled us. We shall follow in your footsteps, day by day, hour by hour, until the last, carrying our inheritors before us, so that they might know a better world.”

“A better world,” the group intoned, and rose.

As they trudged through the snow, Thamiyiba found her thoughts circling again. They gave thanks to their ancestors, but to the living of their people, they were the ancestors thus praised and thanked. Had her own parents and grandparents ever felt this conflicted? This confused and agonized at what they needed to do in order to survive? Seen a betrayal of their ideals in the name of continuing on?

But… if she didn’t… if they didn’t…

She remembered the Nightfest, the feast at the last rising of the sun before the winter. Her eightfold-great-grandchildren had looked at her with fear and worry, not knowing if they would see her again. Dressed in the fine tunics she had woven for them, the youngest squeezing a doll Thamiyiba had first crafted a hundred years before, and repaired anew for each generation, they had clutched their parents as they had gone down to the sleeping chambers… but not before each of them had given her an embrace and a blessing.

Her heart, which no longer beat, had broken at their fear and worry.

It was for them that she did this. It was so that they would survive and thrive from her efforts that she had first put her name on the scroll.

While no one spoke of it, it was an open secret among those who had seen their decades turn to centuries that the Oathbound needed to have ties to the living. As strong as principles were, one could not labor ceaselessly on behalf of principles. One needed a face, a family, loved ones on whose behalf they continued on, year after year, season after season, generation after generation. Because otherwise, one day, you would ask yourself why you were continuing on, spinning, weaving, herding, carving, painting, endlessly…

And one could say, for the sake of my tribe and my people all one wanted. And for some, that sustained for a while. But eventually, it would wear thin, and on the day when it broke…

There would be an empty spot on the scroll to be filled with a new name.

But for Thamiyiba?

She had sewn the wedding garments for all of her married descendants—all eight hundred and sixty-three of them. She had held them when they were born. She had anointed them when they passed into the company of the ancestors.

And she had assured the youngest of them that she would be there when winter passed.

She had made many oaths in her life, and intended to fulfill this one.

They reached the town, and began to search for those who were awake.

“Remember,” Zaahur said, “we pull back at the first sign of significant resistance, but if it comes down to it… don’t risk yourselves over them. We’re here to provoke, not slaughter.”

Thamiyiba nodded, and held the spear as she and the other spear-wielders moved together.

The overwinterers were easy to find, clustered in a few houses towards the center of the town, near a large building that had smoke drifting from a brick chimney.

A few Oathbound with massive hammers broke down the doors, and others smashed some windows and walls.

Inside, the Kalltii screamed and shouted, and there was a clangor of metal on metal as they fought back. They’d been warned, apparently.

Good. Thamiyiba still felt sick at the early attacks they’d been forced to stage, where they’d attacked an unaware populace in the middle of winter. It was dishonorable, a travesty, a violation of all that was good and proper…

And yet…

What choice did they have?

Still, as a building began to burn and they pulled back, Thamiyiba glanced back at the flaming structure.

All of her existence, she had made things. She had taken disorder and made order from it, whether that was a chaotic mass of fleece from a sheep, spun into yarn, dyed into colors, and then woven into the structure of cloth and fabric, or any of the other crafts she had trained in. It was the nature of the Oathbound of the Gehtun, the great contradiction of their existence—by binding themselves to death and decay, they brought life and order. While the world itself attempted to tear down everything they built, they defied the calling of death itself in order to rebuke chaos.

So it galled her that now she had become the sunderer in the winter night, bringing pain and death and destruction.

#

“Blessed to you are those who bring forth the life and the growth,” King Luitpoold intoned as he sat kneeling on the woven mat. He hummed in wordless vocalization as he threw another pinch of incense onto the brazier in front of him, making a small cloud of fragrant smoke appear in time with the chiming bell held by one of the acolytes. “Thanks be to those who bless the fields and the groves with fertility and spirit.” Another wordless intonation, echoed by those seated around him, and he threw in the next pinch of incense, again accompanied by the bell. “Thus we give thanks. Thus we mark the turnings of the years and the seasons. Thus we stand, as the next link in the chain, growing forth to tomorrow.”

“Thus we stand,” intoned the others. “Thus we give thanks.”

Luitpoold set the bowl of incense aside and bowed, pressing his forehead to the floor. “Thus passes the year.”

As the others echoed his words and followed his motion, the chamber felt as if it had grown damp and fecund; a smell like a forest after a rainstorm permeated the air. A shimmering of light seemed to be reflected in the smooth floor, but he did not dare look up; he knew what he would see, and he did not wish to offend the spirit. Not now, not when things were so dire for his kingdom.

The sensation passed, and Luitpoold rose; one of his aides helped him to his feet, and he looked out across the vast chamber that underlaid his capital.

Through some lost art he did not understand, the ceiling gave light when charged with Breath, but did so in a manner vastly different than the usual form of Breath-charged crystals.

And under those arcane lights stood something precious.

Bending over, Luitpoold reached down and examined the tiny seedling sprouting from the soil of its pot, and felt a thrill. No matter how many times he’d done this, no matter how many pots crowded the chamber, each with their freshly sprouted oilsap, conifur, or other baby tree, it always pleased him. His kingdom would grow, both in prosperity and in life. Come spring and the melting of the canals, these seedlings would be shipped out to every village, town, grove, and city in the realm, where they would be planted to add to the existing groves. Certainly they could plant their own—and many places did—but the trees that came from the royal nursery reportedly grew better, and were distinct from their fellows in hardiness and potency.

But that was for later, and first he had to make sure that they would have a kingdom to be planted in.

Leaving the underground chamber, he returned to the King’s Tower and was dressed in his robes of office by his attendants.

“So where do we stand?” he asked as his embroidered vest, the threads marking out the honors and ranks he held, was placed over his tunic.

His leading general, Conraad ava Eernst, bowed politely. “At the moment, damage from these barbarians seems to be light; generally, from the reports we’ve been given, they seem to be mostly probing for weaknesses. Mostly they come rushing in, attack, draw blood, and then retreat back out to the snows. Some fatalities, but mostly moderate to serious wounds are the worst we deal with.”

Luitpoold scoffed and held his arms out as his aides buttoned up his clothes. “Makes sense. Do probing attacks in winter, find out where the weakest places are, and then concentrate before the kingdom awakens and strike at those places. They have unmatched mobility in these conditions, after all.”

“At least they did, before we got our hands on these ice-boats,” Conraad said with a wry smile. “When Spring comes, we’ll be ready, mobilized in a way that we couldn’t have been without them.” He shook his head. “Why didn’t we ever come up with these before?”

“Because who has a major war break out in the middle of winter, where news and reports suddenly take on such magnitude?” Luitpoold said sourly.

“I know, sire. It was just a rhetorical question. I, for one, am blessing that young blacksmith boy.” He chuckled. “If he and the pirate end up coming back from their fool’s errand, I think that I would like to lay claim to the boy for the army and see what else he can cook up.”

Luitpoold scoffed. “If he manages to get back, we’ll speak. As far as I’m concerned, he’s either dead or lost in enemy territory. But at least before he went he gave us the tools to combat these raids.” He sighed. That was a letter he wasn’t terribly looking forward to have to write, but given the boy’s service to the kingdom, if and when it came to it, he would have to write to the boy’s parents, listing the accolades their son had earned in his short-lived service to the kingdom.

“You don’t think he and the Lady will survive?” Conraad asked. “She’s already shown considerable talent for survival.”

“Yes, she’s quite the mythologized pirate. And she is competent. And if she does manage to return with an armistice, I then have other problems. But I doubt it.” He shook his head… even as a small portion of the back of his mind was both annoyed and grateful that he wouldn’t have the excuse or reason to pin back Duke Rechneesse and his ambitions. But in the end, as annoying as the Duke was, his day would come. For now…

A war, on a flank he had always considered secure and safe, was burgeoning.

And it was time to prepare.

<<<<>>>>

A few housekeeping things.

First, it's my birthday next week, followed by my wife's two weeks later, so I'm going to be taking off from posting until September 17th for a vacation and build my buffer back up.

Second, for my birthday, I'm getting a proper website to host my writing, so I'll be linking to it there from here in the future, rather than posting entire chapters on here.

Enjoy!

Prologue | Chapter 15

[fluffbeast7]

Ruin dlc spoilers + big analysis of sun, there might be a few english mistakes, sorry

Just me thinking about sun's perspective on both games (dlc one is extremely interesting)

Sun is anything but a baby, sun is anything but weak, and of course neither is moon. I know many people stopped calling him a baby after a while but i saw some ppl saying similar things in the dlc when he sang and cried, that's just seems a little unfair!

Sun is extremely smart, while moon is.. "sick" (i will just call it that, we have proof that despite moon’s past he was a good care taker, he messed up sometimes but something made him worse), sun has:

In the first game:

- knew moon was unstable

- if he didn't want to turn off the lights so bad, there must have been a reason why

- moon used to be his partner in their old job at the theater, they played the act together , i don't think he's means to do anything to hurt moon.. But he also can't risk anyone else getting hurt by moon.

- "why did sun ban Gregory" simple answer my love, i will respond with an analogy, let's remember sun seems unaware of the situation in the pizzaplex,

Imagine you're going out with your kids, imagine going to a store with glass decorations, then you ask you kid "do not break the glass". When you enter, not even a second later the kid distracts you and break a bunch of glasses. Would you let that kid be near glass again?

In the dlc:

- sun is painfully aware of what's going on and is afraid. It's on the dlc that we prove how intelligent sun is even if he's broken down

- a few players pointed out that it was easy to find the generators and easier to navigate the daycare, hmm, i wonder who could have caused that?

- sun planned everything to get him and moon "fixed". not sure how responsible he is for the damage in the daycare, but he clearly made a pathway for the generators to be found. Its mostly linear, it has papers with directions and he stuffed other the other tunnels the player shouldn't go in with toys and junk

- then you ask "if he wanted to make it easy, why didn't he put the generators at the same place next to each other?"

- easy, HE CAN'T. he's STUCK in the AR world while moon is stuck in the physical world. he can't pick up the generators in the ar world, so he had to build a path for the generators in the ar world, even placing the lights in a singular space on purpose, he's doing literally everything he can to save himself and moon from this hell, he somehow knew someone would come in again

- in my theory, maybe he thought Gregory would come back. He seems unaffected by whatever is making the animatronics run for Gregory, but like Roxanne who thought Gregory was still hiding somewhere, he too hoped for that kid to return and save him

- he instead encounters a "NEW FRIEND!", or maybe not as new, im pretty sure sun knows who cassie is. She was one of the kids he looked after, therefore another reason eclipse wished her happy bday, they remembered

- he misses moon, he misses moon so much, the tea party set...

- yes he sings and cries SO WHAT? I would cry everyday if i was on his position, give him a break! Man has been through the sudden cancelation of his job and his life in ruin, and he was the only one working to get it fixed! Moon was too sick, no human to work with.

- tho i wonder why he made a bed in his room? He keeps the room really really tidy this time? Why isn't this the case in the first game? For those who dont know what im talking about, sun and moon's room is still a mess in the physical world (what the heck moon 🤨 lmao) but in the ar world, its very very clean, he even has a groceries list written "butter, butter, butter" lmfao.

-in his room there's a lil bed out of pillows...? For them?

-there is ONE thing i dont understand. How does the ar world work with sun? Does he have to let moon do what he wants or can he have any say on what they do? Can they talk with each other? Im guessing they have horrible communication skills but they have to communicate somehow (because of their old job in the theater)

[thanks--for--listening]

divine monstrosity

Chapter 3: Camila 

I interrupt my string of shadow and bone posts with chapter 3 of my warrior nun fic that is definitely on time and not at all late. 

also on ao3. (chapter 1.) (chapter 2) (chapter 4)

~~~

“your beauty never ever scared me.”

—mary on a cross, ghosts 

It was three-thirty when she phased back into Cat’s Cradle. 

Her bedroom was on the west end of the building, but she entered on the east side instead. She had no use for that room anymore, except for carefully timed entrances and exits to hide the fact that sleep was no longer a part of her daily routine. 

But nobody would be up to see her arrive at this hour, and Lilith didn’t expect to stick around past dawn. Not tonight. She just needed more ammo. There was one person who would have the answers she needed, and she knew he’d be heavily guarded. She’d wasted enough time following the group as a whole looking for weak points — to end this, she needed to find the traitor himself. No matter the cost.

She reached the armory, grabbed what she could. Her body was weapon enough, but it never hurt to be prepared. 

Part of her longed to phase away, to start her new search immediately, but she knew there was little she could do at this hour. Wherever he was, Vincent wouldn’t move until the sun rose; she would kill him in the daylight. 

The only thing she struggled to kill was time. It was why she loathed nights like these. Left with nothing to do but wait, no one but herself for company, the restlessness grew to unbearable heights. It ate away at her, until her mind filled the quiet in her head with doubts and memories she’d rather forget. 

Tonight, she was thinking about her memorial. The one she’d stumbled upon after its completion. Ever since her conversation with Mother Superion a few weeks ago, she kept coming back to it. She wasn’t entirely sure why. 

Her legs dragged her to the main hall, went through the motions with muscle memory she hardly recalled. A ghost haunting her own house, there was an uncanniness to what was once familiar. It was as if, even though she could see it, could feel it, it was still somehow out of reach.

Cat’s Cradle could take part of the blame. It was particularly eerie at night. Too empty. The ancient architecture echoed, the sound of her footsteps reverberating all around her. She walked like a musician in an abandoned performance hall, followed by the spirit of notes that she no longer had the ability to play, desperate to both starve off the quiet and leave it undisturbed. 

The only light came from the moon outside; in its gaps of coverage, anything could be lurking in the dark. Nevertheless, she walked on. It helped, knowing that she was scarier than any monster she might find hiding in the shadows.

Lilith paused mid-stride when she felt it. Another heartbeat. Another body. She crept forward slowly, let her nails grow in anticipation as she moved toward the back of the hall. 

She found her lying on the piano bench, right next to where her picture had been. Her eyes were glued to the ceiling, completely oblivious to the fact that she had company. 

Lilith exhaled, moving forward with a little more weight in her step. 

“Camila.”

She gasped, nearly falling off the bench as she turned toward her. 

“Oh! Lilith.” She seemed to relax as she recognized her. Lilith wondered how long that would last, how much time she had before the sight of her invoked feelings of fear rather than comfort. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“I got in late,” she said, her words not entirely a lie. “Didn’t want to wake anyone.”

“Does that mean no news?”

Lilith shook her head. Camila’s face dropped, the glimmer of hope gone as soon as it arrived. 

“I’m heading out again in the morning,” she told her. “I’m going after Vincent.”

“You think you can find him? My tracking algorithms haven’t had any luck. It’s like he jumps into sight out of nowhere, does some stupid ritual, and then disappears again.”

“I’ll find him,” she promised. “He may be able to hide from the rest of the world, but he can’t hide from me.”

Camila nodded. She’d moved to a sitting position now, back to the old piano. The one she’d played for Shannon. Its keys were rotting, its strings not properly strung. The music that came from it could hardly be called such a thing, not with every note ringing wildly out of tune. And yet, when she’d sat there, when she’d added her voice to it, the beauty had been undeniable. 

Had anyone played for her, she wondered, when they’d thought her lost? Had Camila looked at the crowd with tears in her eyes and a sad smile on her face? In the midst of what was surely a period of upheaval, of frantic shifts in power and plans made from little more than desperation and prayer, had they found time to miss her? 

“You said you’re heading out in the morning?” 

Lilith nodded, refocusing on Camila. It was happening with more frequency. The dissociation. Losing small moments of time along with the big. Succumbing to the thoughts that slipped into her brain, thoughts that may or may not belong to her. It was impossible to tell anymore. The knowledge that someone else had taken residence before left doubt lingering after every image and instinct her mind conjured up.

“Then how come you’re still awake?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she said in place of an answer. “Don’t you have morning service in a few hours?”

She’d meant it as a deflection, but the wrongness of the moment began to dawn on her. Camila only made it to morning service if she was dragged, and didn’t genuinely begin to wake until at least halfway through the sermon. 

“Yes, and I’m already up and ready to go. Aren’t you proud of me?”

Camila smiled as she spoke, but now that she was looking, Lilith could see right through her. It didn’t reach her eyes, which were surrounded by dark circles, etched too deeply to be the consequence of one sleepless night. 

“Camila,” she said slowly, “are you alright?”

“Of course I am.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

She tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out mangled. “Truly, I’m fine.” 

“People who are fine don’t sit in the dark at three in the morning.”

“You do.”

“Exactly.”

Self-preservation told her to hold her tongue, but she couldn’t help it. Camila wasn’t meant to look like that, light in her eyes so dim she could hardly find its shine. 

“It’s nothing,” she conceded. 

“Dreams?”

Camila bit her lip, which answered her question well enough. 

She’d already guessed the culprit — the problem was that Lilith was ill-equipped for this particular scenario. She’d never trained for it. Lacked the innate comfort found in Beatrice’s tone or Mary’s steadfast gaze. Hell, even Ava could be delicate when the moment dictated it. 

But she had always been sharp edges and harsh words. Providing comfort felt more unnatural to her than anything else. It was one of the only scenarios where her confidence wavered, where she looked to others for guidance. Mimicry had saved her countless times before, given her the answers she’d have never found on her own.

But Camila was still staring at the ground, hands fidgeting at her sides, and Lilith didn’t know what the right move was, but she knew she couldn’t stand there and do nothing. 

“Do you…want to talk about it?”

Camila shook her head; Lilith did her best to hide her sigh of relief. “No, I just…I just need to get out of my head, is all.”

That was something she could understand. “Sparring usually helps. It requires complete focus. No room for distraction.”

“It’s the same with playing.” She nodded to the keys behind her. “As a kid, I used to play at night a lot, whenever my mom worked late. Made the house feel less empty. Made me feel less alone.”

The image of a young Camila desperately clinging to music for companionship threatened to cut her hold on reality. Lilith forced herself to fight off the memories, to stay grounded in this moment, not get lost in any other.

“So play, then.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the middle of the night. I could handle the neighbors complaining, but I’m not going to wake the whole OCS. Not over something as pathetic as—“

She cut herself off. 

“As what?”

“Nothing.”

“Camila.”

“I can’t stop seeing it.” She spoke quickly, like she’d lose the words entirely if she paused for too long. “Mary drowning in all those bodies. Every time I close my eyes, I see it. And we’re all just standing there, completely helpless. And then we’re gone, and she’s...”

Oh. Somehow, she hadn’t considered that it would be her fault that Camila was up tonight. That they would both be haunted by her actions.

“And over all of it is that damned sound of Adriel laughing. Even when I wake, I still hear him. It’s like he’s in my head.” 

She was staring at her now, desperation in her eyes. Lilith had seen horrors that even her own mind hid from her, but nothing as upsetting as this anguish she knew was hers to blame.

Camila was the exact opposite of her. Kind where she was cruel. Gentle where she was rough. Lilith was the one who deserved sleepless nights and guilt that sat heavy on her shoulders; this pain was not meant for Camila to carry. 

Without thinking, she walked up to the bench. “Don’t panic,” she said as she wrapped her arms around her and willed them into the in between.

She could see exactly where they needed to go, and in the blink of an eye, there they were. Part of her was still slightly awed by her own ability, even if the otherworldliness was something she knew she should fear. Her mind echoed some parable about taking care of wishes lest they come true, but Lilith couldn’t help it — her entire life she’d fought to be remarkable. Now she finally was. 

Her body still clung to the rush that accompanied phasing no matter how many times she traveled. It was as if every one of the cells in her body was still vibrating with movement, energy that demanded a place to go. It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. Exhilaration in its purest form. 

The sight of her destination snuffed the feeling out rather quickly. The room was entirely unchanged since the last time she’d stepped inside. Cellar walls poorly disguised with hideous wallpaper. Chair in the corner that had never been used. Certificates in frames and medals on display, all for nobody to see. 

Despite its forthcomings, the baby grand sitting right in the center of it all commanded attention. Lilith wasn’t sure if anyone had maintained the tuning, but no matter the state, it had to be better than what they’d left behind. 

“Where are we?” Camila asked, eyes wide as she took in her surroundings. To her credit, she seemed unfazed by the mode of transportation.

“Somewhere you can play.”

Lilith watched her walk up to the piano slowly, as if it might disappear if she startled it. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s out of practice.”

“That doesn’t take away from its beauty.”

Camila lifted the cover, let her fingers move delicately above the keys. 

“What’s it doing, hiding down here?”

“The walls keep the sound contained.”

Camila turned back toward her. “Who would ever want to trap music?”

The same woman who deemed it unnecessary despite her growing proficiency. The one who pulled her from her lessons, replaced her sheet music with fencing swords and her theory textbooks with Latin and Greek. Who didn’t hate the success, but simply struggled to see its value once it had taught her discipline and patience. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she finally answered. “Nobody will be bothered if you play down here.”

Slowly, Camila sat down. If she noticed the name engraved on the metronome to her left and the trophy to her right, she gave no indication. Even if she had, it wouldn’t be one she’d recognize. The girl who’d won those awards had stopped existing long before this body left this earth. 

Lilith supposed she’d mourned herself twice already. When she’d joined the OCS, when she’d disregarded who she’d been before, she’d thought she was evolving. Moving on to the next stage of her life. Becoming something bigger than she was. Not a death, but a rebirth. 

The irony was not lost on her. Nor was the awareness that, by her own standards, abandoning who she’d been should have been easier. It wasn’t as if it was a new phenomenon. She’d spent her whole life preparing for another transformation. It was the sole purpose of her existence. Her mother had always made that very clear. 

She wondered what she’d thought when she heard the news of her unfortunate death. Whether she’d felt anything but disappointment. It wasn’t like she hadn’t considered the possibility — according to her, it was better to have a meaningful life than a long one. How else could she justify the fact that they came from a family of martyrs?

At least Lilith could still claim to have fulfilled some element of her destiny. Mother had never even been in consideration for the Warrior Nun, let alone laid her life down for her. She’d hardly seen combat at all — her priority had been on maintaining appearances, on acquiring funding while keeping their secret. Desk work.

Lilith had never understood how she managed the contradiction. Demanding a life she’d never lived. A sacrifice she’d never given. But what confused her most was knowing that even now, when she could see the outrageousness of her mother’s expectations, part of her still longed for approval she knew she’d never get. 

The sound of a C Major arpeggio commanded her attention. Camila was staring at her. She wasn’t sure how long she’d spent looking, what she’d seen when Lilith’s mind had slipped into a vault of memories, burdened by thoughts she used to have the strength not to linger on. 

She stared back, waiting to see if her face would change. Waiting for the final shoe to drop, for her to see through her and discover exactly what she’d become. For her to run. Even the slightest of movements, the tiniest inkling of disgust, would confirm her descent into wickedness, would make certain that her very being was irredeemable. If Camila couldn’t see good in her, there was certainly none left.

Instead of revolting, she seemed to ease into her position when she realized she’d regained her attention.

“I take requests,” Camila said with a smile, looking like herself for the first time all night. 

When she’d offered before, using a tablet in Jillian’s lab, Lilith had been similarly lost in her mind, searching desperately for memories she had no access to. Her head had throbbed and her hold over herself wavered every moment. She’d snapped, but when Camila didn’t back down, she’d given in, drank the tea and tried to relax. Let herself smile for a few seconds.

She’d been promptly punished for it. Fire burned in her side the instant she’d let her guard down, hurting and healing the wound that killed her. 

The pain had faded since then, but her mind remained untethered. She should have learned her lesson, but still she longed for the relief, for the inexplicable comfort that came with Camila’s company. Lilith wanted to smile again, even if her body would take its revenge.

“Play something happy,” she answered softly.

She expected sarcasm, a joke at her expense, but Camila just stared at her and said, “I can do that.”

Her hands began moving quickly, plucking out a lighthearted melody. Lilith backed up and sat in the chair in the corner. The oddity of it was almost distracting — this room existed for the sole purpose of not having an audience. Her seat was intended to be mere decoration on the off chance guests wandered where they didn’t belong. But the pleasant sound grounded her, let the thoughts come and go without taking her with it.

Part of her was tempted to close her eyes, to allow the music to wash over her undeterred by her other senses. But to do so would mean losing sight of Camila, still smiling, eyes glued to the keys and hands moving freely across them. 

Her technique was unpolished, her path to each note made harder than it needed to be. The instinct to correct her was there, itching to come out, but she refused to listen to it. Not when she could be listening to her.

When she played, there was a freedom to her spirit, one that eradicated the presence of fear entirely. Lilith was certain she’d never felt the sting of a ruler against her knuckles, never felt the glare from the audience anticipating mistakes. She played with flaws, and yet instead of hindering the performance, they only made it better.

The piece came to its natural end, but Camila allowed only a breath of silence before she began again. The next one sounded much like the first, with bright staccatos accompanying an airy melody, but after a few moments it transitioned into something somber. The melodic line remained, but it had lost its energy, its joy. And when it returned, although she could tell the notation was unchanged, it no longer had the same quality that it had at the start.

If she still believed in omens, she’d have called it such. 

Eventually, that piece came to a close as well. Rather than cutting it off, Camila held the final chord, and Lilith wasn’t familiar with the song but she could recognize that the length was unwritten. The sound wouldn’t last forever, but Camila seemed determined to give it more time than it was meant to have, more importance than it deserved. 

Her efforts, however noble, were in vain. Silence won in the end, as it always did. 

“Do you want to play something?” Camila asked, turning toward her. 

“What makes you think I know how?”

“The way you looked at it.” She said it casually, but there was a sadness in the way she spoke, as if she could tell from just a glance that it was something she’d lost. 

Lilith thought about what it might feel like. She hadn’t played a note since her school days. Her sheet music had likely been thrown out, her muscle memory nearly nonexistent. There was no reason why she should say yes.

Despite herself, she still hesitated. Her mind remembered the effect that playing used to have on her. For a period of time, when her mother abandoned the lessons and she’d been forced to play in secret, creeping down on nights exactly like this one, it had been all she’d had. The one thing she did where she sought no one’s approval but her own. There had been something freeing in that. 

Staring at the piano, it was easy to imagine it now. She could practically see herself sitting there, playing for Camila, welcoming back that feeling of ease and satisfaction. Allowing this body to grab hold of that sensation, to familiarize itself with what it meant to be truly at peace. 

The temptation to say yes nearly overwhelmed her, but the longer she pictured it, the more reality crept in. She imagined long, dark nails leaving scratch marks all over the keys. Entire sections of the piece played without her recollection. Her hands jumping through space to reach the next notes. Music ruined, becoming another thing she could never return to. 

“No,” she answered. “You keep playing.”

“Alright,” Camila conceded without pushback. “But let me know if you change your mind. I don’t mind listening.”

She turned back, began playing something Lilith suspected was a pop ballad. Camila sang along this time, and although there was a tragic nature to the lyrics, she was still certain that it was a love song. 

Lilith usually hated those. For as long as she could remember, and much to her mother’s dismay, she’d preferred the harsh, brutal, unapologetic honesty found in punk music. They expressed emotions she’d never been allowed to, with confidence she sought to emulate. But with the soft cadence of her voice, the ache and awe no less raw or real, Camila could convert anyone.

The lyrics had depth to them. No grand statements, no simple pleasantries. The love it spoke of was a quiet kind. The asks were not big, but significant nonetheless. It was a concept she found both entirely foreign and yet strikingly familiar. 

Again, the song ended all too quickly. She waited to see how she’d respond, what she’d play next, but Camila just sat there, staring at the empty space where sheet music usually stood. 

“Hey, Lilith?” She said after a moment, turning to face her. 

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Lilith couldn’t fight off the smile. “Play that one again.”

Camila’s grin widened, and she went back to the beginning, the initial chord progression returning as if it never left. 

In a few hours, Camila would be back in Cat’s Cradle. Despite her inexperience, she’d be leading them, working side by side with Mother Superion. Surrounded by faces who looked up to her, who saw talent with a computer and crossbow coupled with unbreakable spirit. She belonged there, in a way Lilith never had and never would again.

Come morning, Lilith would be hiding in shadows, following whispers until they led her where she needed to be. She would be giving in to her depravity, allowing it to become an asset, wondering when she’d finally cross a line she could not come back from. 

But right now, Camila was smiling. Music filled every inch of this lonely, hidden space, and it was all too easy to submit to it, to allow it to occupy the emptiness in her mind as well. 

[whiskeysorrows]

Questions from the Imaginary Therapist by ~m (from epiphany)

[Text ID:

What brings you to seek therapy?

all the birds in my town

died overnight

the sun still rose

& so did i

but i couldn’t remember

why

What do you think the problem is from your perspective?

chicks hatched too soon

drowns in their

own blood

what should bring you life

kills you —

the flesh feasting on itself

instead:

half-gone abominations

already fallen

before they could even 

fly sweet

children of lucifer

i chirp my prayers

& heard an elegy

answered

How is your relationship with friends and family?

something shattered in my mother’s hands

a plate

we all know the weakest of 

the lot is often 

sacrificed to save its siblings;

all that’s left is

a broken shell that

somehow 

resembles

the pieces of ceramic

we all went to pick

up

hand sliding over unlovable

hand

until we are all as broken

as the thing we’re

trying to save

Have you ever self-harmed?

…i

can’t… i

don’t… 

could…you…

please 

repeat…the question?

Have you hurt yourself and/or have thoughts of doing so?

…i suppose

the thing is…

hurting 

is a verb of the doing

& the being

not every bird dies 

some 

lives by straying too far

when the choice

is to die

from a rifle or from

yourself,

i’m not sure it matters —

what difference does it make 

if to hurt myself 

i must also be hurt?

Are you suicidal?

staring at myself in

the cracked mirror

i wonder if this

is me

splintering from reality;

somewhere out there 

another

shot splits the sky,

another 

stork casts out of heaven,

another 

pigeon buried in the feathers

of its own grave,

all

drowning in too much blood

too much blood

too much blood

i cracked the glass a little more

How long have you been feeling this way?

birds sleep one eye open

one eye close

a burst of feathers at night

& some murder 

themselves with the

light

this frail thing

so high on the air of its

own death

it holds the sun in one of god’s 

loneliest creation,

the moon in the other

trapped

between the fall and the impact

& i guess

when something has been rotting

for too long

you forget it was ever alive

What are your expectations from these sessions?

with some miracle the chick

breathed

its first gulp of oxygen, torn

between two agonies:

to be or not to be

a thing surviving off the scraps 

of its own genesis,

its own shell, 

every capillary a hunter’s rifle, every

twitch a chance of being

fallen —

it stood

the shell fell off

it lives

i want to say the same

What do you hope to accomplish in therapy?

& with that one

chick that

becomes a bird that

lays its eggs that

become chicks themselves

all the birds in my town

rebirthed overnight

the sun still rose

& so did I 

but I needed to remember

why

*the lines “[hand sliding over unlovable/hand]” alters the lyric “hand in unlovable hand” from the song ‘No Children’ by the Mountain Goats

* the phrase “god’s loneliest creation” comes from ‘On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous’ by Ocean Vuong 

* the phrase “to be or not to be” comes from a famous soliloquy in William Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’

/End ID]

[niy0ki]

Only sin can feel so holy.

Author’s note: this is the first time i’m sharing my writings online, and its a rather dark start i suppose. Not proofread, i wrote this at like 2 am, this is based on a few OC’s.

English isn’t my first language, please excuse any writing errors.

THIS POST INCLUDES DARK CONTENT, IT IS NOT MEANT TO GLORIFY/GLAMORIZE ANY OF THESE DARK TOPICS!

Trigger Warnings: Abuse, manipulation, masochism, suggestive content, [implied] delusions, [implied] drug usage, [implied] self harm, mentions of cuts, [implied]religion based trauma, power abuse, religious abuse, mention of gods.

A world of sin we live in, yet we believe saints to be saviors.

But in a world of sin; sinners and saints aren’t that different. The cruel gods above look at the earthlings in pity, yet never sorrow. The stars gaze at the angels as they cry their tears over humanity, and sinners groan at the pathetic and miserable connection between these two sides of a coin, connected by a physical bound we call the earth.

A particular saint watches the world of sin; between humanity, gods, and those titled saints. The demons never had business with the brawn of the holy, yet humans begged for their sins to be washed away in a forgotten sea in order to maybe even come close to touching heaven in a dream.

‘Save us, dear lord, hear our pleas! we beg of you to eliminate our records, the pearly gates are reserved for your most loyal subjects, no?

please, o great god, a single smile of yours would give us infinite joy, may you let our faults go unnoticed?’

She laughed.

Each time their pathetic pleas came up to her level, a thousand whispers filling the crowd of her mind, she laughed at how miserable they sounded.

she; one whom made those who lacked ambition drown in a sea of ashes that come from fires which have not yet been lit.

she; the one whom burnt tears of the beggars just to see them light their last cigars on.

and she; the one who’s throne was made of sorrow and weep coming from those at the core of earth.

Gods were cruel. The heavens didn’t accept those whom were filled with anything but sorrow. a cage; prison for those who wished to escape thoughts of saints. there was no home of holy nor sin; heaven and hell did not hold their respective elements. You cannot expect perfection from a universe with no literate god.

God existed, but never as reality. She was minds, she existed merely as concept, and what more could humanity ever ask for? they got their delusional sense of protection, and heaven and hell existed in the end, so whom would care what decided where you’d end up?

Who ever told you that stars would be kind to the skies, or that the sun had to be balanced with the moon? That was exactly why she existed.

She was there so that the sinners of this broken planet could at least convince themselves that they had a chance of redemption. The false hope to make the despair greater; to give the abomination at least the idea leading it to believe it would one day be pure. It was nothing but lies, and thats exactly how she liked it.

And that was also exactly why she never left her mind. An angel, wasn’t it heartless to give a saint such a cruel punishment? maybe the stars planned this, as the angel of dusk never was meant to have purity in the first place. She looked down on earth instead of up the skies where she’d be expected to be in. Looking down, a twisted smile on her face as she gazed upon earthlings.

‘oh how i wish i could descend, for her gaze to fall upon me. Maybe she would never leave me..? Infinite sky.. you have been cruel to me for far too long…’

..maybe the gods did hear her pleas after all.

Wondering around the streets, every step she took echoed.. sudden lack of the wings that she once wished she could snap into pieces made her long for their existence again. Maybe they were there and she just didn’t feel them, but why would it matter? The brunette waves of her forever ruined hair was now in contact with the breeze after eons.

if only she had kept her mouth shut.

or was it truly good that she spoke out?

The world, stepping on blades of grass as the weak common plants would crush underneath her heels.. was this what she felt like when she got to step on earth before the start of existence?

being back.. it wasn’t usual. after what felt like forever… maybe this was meant for her re-discovery.

‘I’m only ever yours- please don’t shove my grip off.. i beg of you!’

A stoic gaze thrown in her way, a bashing kick to her chest.

‘G-gah!-’

-and a thump to the floor. she let out a moan when she stepped on her chest with all her strength, crushing her ribcage as she let out a scream of pain

‘P-please..’

Only sounds of her heavy and hitched breathing, shaking from the crushing weight pressed on the centre of her chest as she laid on the floor

‘..more.’

A ruthless kick to her face, throwing her across the floor, making her nose bleed

“You’re pathetic” she spat out.

Only a cry-like moan of pleasure from the saint thrown across the floor. Bloodied and broken wings, nose like a red faucet leaking uncontrollably, and eyes half lidded with blurry vision as she kept on smiling, looking at her

After all.. it was always for her.

She asked for this after all, she begged to be on this earth full of sin just for her.

she leaned down and pulled her up painfully by her collar

“You insolent-

-slap.

-Pathetic,

-another slap, even harsher

-Mindless mortal”.

Suddenly, she pulled her into a kiss, the blood on the pure’s cracked lips coming in contact with hers as she tightened her pulling grip on her collar,

Gasps of air as her saliva felt like venom in her mouth, yet also so intoxicating like a drug.. was this what a god felt like?

‘P-please-‘

she whimpered desperately, cut off by her short breaths from the amount of wrecking pain on her chest, her face, her wings that have been snapped like toothpicks one by one… everywhere

pain caused by her.

pain that made her want more, more and even more.

As her tongue took over her mouth, making her squirm and gasp for air, her pupils dilating as she gazed at her god. Her hand at the throat of the ‘holy’, choking her whilst making her more and more desperate within the kiss. Tears were at the corners of the angel’s eyes, her broken and now dirtied wings making her want to scream in pain since her chokehold made her body press more and more onto the floor, bending her once pure white wings. Her other hand at her wrist, nails scratching and leaving small cuts right on her veins as she was seeking pleasure under the pain of her control.

She was breaking her so well.

She was an addiction

She was like a drug, making her become addicted more and more. She was in charge.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t real.

[greaterspawnislands]

Oh hell yeah it's music season bby!! 48, 7, 22, 13, and 64 :]] (also congrats on reaching nano!! Slams the ourna button in celebration)

yeah man music season!!! and ohh so many songs :D i will link them in text instead of filling it up with the big spotify links

48: In the Avenue by The Family Crest

no shockers here, lots of family crest listening + this is in the danse macabre playlist. here's some of my favorite lyrics

Here in the market, the old men smile and sell their goods These bakers, butchers, and buyers smile as old friends would She lifts her head, and the sun, it flares in orange hues How now she's moving along against the avenue

7: Beneath the Brine by The Family Crest

my hand is already showing... i'll drop my favorite lyrics here but reading them doesn't do enough you haveee to listen to this song it's so intense it's so wonderful

Now my heart is bound Like a plague upon this sound And oh, it slips away, such soft decay Then it grows

Oh, young love, young dear Why have you taken me in your fall? All of my love, all of my life Given to you, sacrificed

22: True Trans Soul Rebel by Against Me!

THIS SONG SLAPSSSS i love Against Me!

Does god bless your transsexual heart, true trans soul rebel?

13: Slowly by The Altogether and Karen Han

another danse macabre song, who's surprised!

Light reddens my room Though the shade is cooler The newer blooms are all so small Spring hues will come and soon I will recall That soon I’ll wish for fall

64: Full Moon by Avi Kaplan

I swear not every song in my top 100 is from my danse macabre playlist...

Full moon Stretching its arms to the sky He climbs into the night He flies, wondering why he shines Only tonight

and thank u for the congrats!! ourna indeed!! i am so happy it's over haha :') crazy month (thank u for sprinting with me so much i couldn't have gotten through it without u<3)

send me a number 1-100 and i'll give you a wrapped top 100 song

[orphicrose]

The Only One

Rick x Reader Fanfiction

Summary : life is strange in the rick and morty universe, as we all know. But things get just that little bit weirder when Rick meets you. Something seems oddly familiar with you, but for once In his life he has no idea why. So he searches from reality to reality to try and see if he had met another version of you, only to realise there where none. You where the only one. That’s when it finally hit him…

This is inspired by a song from Rick and morty that I think is beautiful https://youtu.be/epiOcz3HXNo

I accidentally got carried away and wrote too much, so I will probably just do a part 2 so it’s not to much to read if anyone is interested <3

_________________꧁♥︎꧂_________________

Humans are such fragile creatures, always have been and always will be. You knew that, but you refused to surrender down to it. Not wanting to be included In whatever earth had to offer, so you ran away. And not like how a silly fourteen years old runs away from home, Hah… no.

You left the fucking planet, not leaving behind a single trail or speck of dust for someone to follow you with. Your intelligence and ambition was all you needed to carry yourself through life. Travelling the infinite void of space, soon making a name for yourself. For good and for bad. An ordinary person couldnt even dream nor comprehend the things you’ve experienced or seen. And that’s just how you liked it. Being different. It was truly a gift to be intelligent.

And then there was rick, high IQ and normally not happy about it. Seeing his intelligence as a curse. Rick hadn’t seen it all, it was impossible, but he thought he had seen enough to make a valid opinion on life.

It’s pointless.

Such a bitter man with a bitter view on everything, including himself. You see, when you have an overwhelming amount of knowledge weighing down on your mind, you can go two ways. The first being ricks way, not caring about anything since he has seen how big the universe is and doesn’t see a point.

Then there’s your way, feeling blessed to be able to see things that no one else can, and finding a new reason to live every single day.

You two where polar opposites, but also the same. You where both alone in a universe you felt didn’t need you anymore.

The day both of your worlds collided should have been written down in the history books. It was the day both of your beliefs where almost questioned. Wondering whether fate really does exist.

————————————————

Out of the many things you have done, you’ve never visited the same place twice. Making everyday an adventure, as much of a cliche as that sounds it’s true. Not only that, but you seem to have people after you almost everywhere. For your intelligence, or for revenge. But there is one particular spot you cannot get enough of. Finding yourself there when you lose yourself.

It’s an isolated planet in the middle of the andromeda galaxy. It’s a newly ‘emerging moon’ as you like to call it. In fact, you pretty much founded this planet, since its a recent creation. This also means there is no intelligent life yet evolved, so it is safe for you to do what you please.

You go there often, to watch the two suns set over its small horizon and the thousands of stars come into view. Giving you time to reflect on your life. To appreciate it, but not to regret anything. The stars are far to beautiful to bring your mind to anything negative. The planet itself seems to project the meaning of peace and tranquillity even without life. Maybe that’s why it’s so comforting.

Your thoughts where leaving your mind, as you held your eyes closed. Feeling the breeze brush through your hair gently. That beautiful, genuine smile found its way to your face without you noticing. You where to lost in the feeling of relaxation.

But that soon came to an end. That euphoric state was snapped out of you when you noticed a bright light coming towards you. Getting bigger and bigger in just seconds. Until it became more clear, it was a spacecraft of some sort. A poorly built one to say the least. You sat and watched, mesmerised, as the flames from the object slowly engulfed it. Burning in the atmosphere. Finally hitting the ground, you shook your head and sighed. Being brought back into reality.

The flames took a second to fade after the ship had crashed. And it was clearer to see, it was the stereotypical UFO. The type you’d see in cheesy ski-fi films. But it had encryptions written in English. Which was very unusual, especially for it to be in this part of the galaxy.

What was even stranger was that it didn’t have even the slightest burn mark to it’s metal. Your vision of it became clearer and clearer the closer you got, slowly creeping past the incredibly green trees towards it. But just before you got too close, a figure fell out of the vehicle. Swearing like a drunken sailor.

This is what really messed with you, it was a human. You gasped quietly, not being able to remember the last time you saw one. A mix of feelings rushed over you; confusion, fear, excitement? You couldn’t help but stare, his unique blue hair bounced as he picked himself up, not even bothering to dust off the dirt on his lab coat.

“Fuck! You fucking piece of shit spacecraft. You’ve really done it this time Rick you fucking…” he didn’t finish his sentence, as he kicked the lump of metal. Screaming at the top of his voice.

“Fuck!”

You caught a small glimpse of his face, and recognised him. But you weren’t sure where from. You had met millions of people over the years so he could really be anyone. But there was something so compelling about his character. Something that felt like you where being pushed towards him. Or pulled, by a red string perhaps. Something that was just telling you to interact with him.

You stayed hidden behind a rather tall tree, still collecting your thoughts and questioning whether you should help him. Rick had slumped himself against the ship, putting his hands to his face and grunting. Pausing his breakdown for a second to take a sip from his flask, then proceeding to carry on.

He stayed like this for a good few minutes, before you had decided to approach him. Your curiosity and questions where burning at the edge of your mind. You just had to investigate. Keeping a hand on your weapon tucked neatly in a pocket behind your back. You slowly walked towards him, not even being able to speak before he noticed you.

A gun had been pulled to you, aiming directly between your eyes

“What do you want? I’m not in the mood so just tell me in advance if I should shoot you or not..” his eyebrows furrowed, looking at the hand tucked behind your back.

You rolled your eyes, putting your hands up in surrender. Just how you remembered humans to be. Aggressive and impulsive.

“Calm down, I saw your ship crash. Thought you where in need of some assistance. And put that gun down, god…” to your surprise, he did. With a loud grunt he put his gun back into his pocket and turned away. Usually, he probably would’ve shot on site. And who’s to say he still won’t, but right in this moment he is too preoccupied to care.

“God doesn’t fucking exist…” he mumbled “and I definitely don’t need any assistance!”

You raised an eyebrow at him, watching him as he attempted to fix his broken ship. Opening the lid to the engine and being greeted by a storm of smoke. Now Seconds away from another breakdown.

“Are you… okay?” You hesitantly asked, daring to inch closer to him. Probably was the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. He threw the wrench down at the engine as he exploded.

“No, I’m not fucking okay. I lost my grandson, the entire galactic government is after me, I broke my portal gun and I just crashed my ship into a planet with no helpful resources to fix it.!” His speech sped up, and he went dead silent when he stopped talking. Clearly regretting telling you anything. He is usually good at keeping his mind together and keeping his problems to himself. But he had so much adrenaline pumping through his blood, he could barely concentrate.

“I’m, i’m sorry for your loss” is all you managed to get out

“What? Oh no, my grandsons not dead. I just left him somewhere and forgot exactly where…” he spoke slightly softer, still grunting as he tried to analyse his engine.

There was a small silence while you processed everything he had just said. Moving closer to get a look at his engine, you shook your head.

“You’ve burnt it out…”

“Yeah, no shit smart ass” he bit at you

You rolled your eyes and snatched the spanner from the place he had dropped it. Not using it to fix his engine, but you pulled out a small metal box from your pocket instead. Fixing a few pieces together. Rick stood there and watched with a puzzled look on his face. Moving his eyes from the gadget, then up to get a look at you.

His eyebrows softened as he took in your features, the creases in his forehead disappeared. A rush of a strange feeling replaced the adrenaline, not being able to pinpoint what it was but he didn’t like it. He could only describe it as his heart softening, and getting lost in a place that was familiar to him. Thats what he felt when he looked at your eyes, reflecting off of his.

“Hav-have we met before?” He said in a much calmer tone

You placed the gadget on the engine and pressed a small red button on the top, looking up at him.

“I don’t think so?” The box moved around the engine, like a shield. Fixing it effortlessly, Ricks eyes darted from you, to the engine, then back to you. Now with amazement written all over his face.

Deja vu was the only state good enough to describe what he was experiencing. You broke the silence by holding a hand out to introduce yourself.

“I’m y/n”

It took a quick second for him to respond, still trying to process your face and remember how he knows you.

“I’m… Rick” he finally shook your hand.

“Rick Sanchez..”

That name was oddly familiar to you. Like you’d heard it in a dream. Or it was a loved ones name in a past life. You felt like you had heard it before, in a very distant memory. But no recollection of the connection.

“That seems…familiar” you tilted your head, squinting your eyes at the old man who gave you the same look.

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if you knew me. I am the smartest man In the universe”

[moonbeamsung]

You’re Just a Boy in a Blueberry Field

No fruit is sweeter than a summer love.

member: haechan

au: blueberry farmer!haechan x gn!reader

word count: 5.0k

genre: fluff, very light angst

warnings: mentions of food

author’s note: It’s here! I actually wrote most of this last summer, but only recently did I find the time to edit and get it ready to be posted. I added some parts and changed a few things, and now I like it quite a lot, so I hope you do as well! Thank you @astroboy-lele​ for beta-reading :) As always I would love to hear any feedback on this, and I hope that you enjoy the fic!

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kyuwoyo @rvse-hvvck @nakamotocore @kisshim @leejunini @chicksung @mrkcore @radiorenjun @moon-jun @jisungiest @stayctday @byutafy @jujubean23 @treasurehobi​ @bluejaem​ @lyshoonn​ @vera-liscious​ @allegxdly​ @cupfullofjeno​ @thats-a-jen-no-no​ @yo-ddream​

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct @k-dinernet 

Thank you lovely Ana @rvse-hvvck for this additional header!

Donghyuck knows everything there is to know about those blueberries.

Without even pausing for the briefest of moments to think, to instinctively recall the information instilled in him throughout his childhood spent on the farm, he can answer any question that’s thrown at him. He can point out just the right color of berry to pick so that they’ll be ripe when you eat them later. Likewise, he can also tell you which ones are best to eat now, as you pick them, pretending not to notice when you pop one or two into your mouth and grinning when your eyes light up from the sweetness.

A day comes where he, filled with mischief as usual, places a not-so-ripe blueberry into your hand, and you, being so wrapped up in the peacefulness of the morning that surrounds you, fail to notice its red color and don’t think twice about lifting it to your lips, biting into it with your teeth. When the tart taste meets your tongue, your face contorts into an expression that elicits a raucous fit of laughter from him. You’re the first one in the fields that day. When the sun had risen on the horizon, the fleeting touch of color in the sky that dawn left behind still lingering above, he had been there, sitting on the front porch as always to greet customers.

Donghyuck knows every bug that loves to rest on the branches of the blueberry bushes. After spending so much time next to you as you scan them for the pops of vivid blues and purples that are hidden behind jade green leaves, he begins to learn that you are not fond of any bug, no matter how harmless. It’s cute, he thinks, how you inspect every berry that you drop into your basket, fearing that some small creature is lurking on it. If you do find something, he hears a small noise of both surprise and disgust before you fling the perfectly good berry away from you. It also hurts a little, knowing that it’s one less for you to take home.

When more people arrive at the farm after you, he’s forced to leave your side and get them started on their own search for the delicious fruit that’s nestled among the branches of nearly every bush. And if they ask where the best ones are, he specifically points them in the direction of the fields where you aren’t. It isn’t a lie, really, because they’ve had a good harvest everywhere this year.

...Okay, so maybe it’s a little selfish on his part, but who can blame him for wanting you to have some of the most plentiful bushes all to yourself?

Wednesdays are his favorite because it’s always the least crowded of all the mornings they’re open for business, and he can spend more time following you as you make your way down the rows, admiring the focus on your face and the way that you sometimes pause mid-reach, closing your eyes and standing still as the sun peeks through the clouds and casts its warm glow down onto the farm. A gentle sigh tumbles from your lips, darkened by the violet nectar that remains from the countless blueberries that have crossed their usually pink-tinted threshold. You resume your search after a few seconds, catching his eye and returning a smile he didn’t even know was there.

He makes the berries taste a little sweeter when he’s next to you. The purple juice that stains your fingers is a little darker. The sun feels brighter and warmer than ever, its heat shining down onto your skin.

One particular morning, after you finish picking all the blueberries you can carry, you decide to accompany Donghyuck on the porch, sitting beside each other in matching rocking chairs that first belonged to his great-grandparents, the farm’s founders. The familiar sounds of birds chirping and the low mumbling amongst customers meet your ears. You both gaze fondly at the horizon while immersed in casual chatter, all the while tending to several families as they come and go.

Whenever a car turns off of the two-lane, paved road and onto the noisy gravel path leading into a small grassy area that functions as a parking lot, Donghyuck excuses himself from the lively conversation both of you always find yourselves sharing. He stands, brushing his hands off on his faded denim overalls that are only slightly too large for his frame. His hand lifts up the baseball cap he always wears while the other runs through his hair, and your gaze falls on the back of his neck where it rests in longer strands. You always wonder why he keeps it like that since he complains about how hot it makes him feel. The humid summer air is stifling enough as it is, after all. The thought vanishes only moments after it arrives, though, and he flashes a brilliant grin at you over his shoulder as he descends the wooden stairs leading down to the patio.

Today, a happy looking family gets out of a shiny silver minivan. The mother and father with two kids, a boy and a girl, make their way toward the covered patio and Donghyuck bounds down the steps like always, grabbing 4 stacked pails in his calloused hands. You lean forward a little in the creaky old rocking chair, your weight in your toes, ears just barely picking up his conversation with them. He greets the parents warmly, shaking their hands and then he kneels down to be eye-level with the small children. The little boy seems shy as he clasps his fingers in front of him, thumbs twiddling back and forth, while his sister is clearly the opposite. She skips over to the much taller boy, saying hello.

“Do you two like blueberries?” He asks them, one arm resting on his knee and the other extending a pail out in front of him. The young girl nods enthusiastically before she takes the container from his hand and turns around, passing it to her brother as he nods, making eye contact with Donghyuck for the first time. A small smile grows on his face when he’s met with the wider one of the unfamiliar but still welcoming stranger. His sister speaks up again, “Every Friday we get to help Mom make her famous blueberry pie!”

“Is that right?”

“Yep! In the morning we always go to the supermarket and get fresh blueberries,” she explains. Her mother leans down, softly telling her that this week they’re here to pick blueberries instead, fresh from the farm they were grown on.

“Really? So that means we’re not buying them at the store anymore?”

“Well, honey, today we can pick enough blueberries to last us for a whole month’s worth of blueberry pies.”

“And besides,” Donghyuck starts, still kneeling on the ground next to her, his boot leaving an imprint in the dirt underneath it, “it’ll taste even better since you picked them yourselves, don’t you think?” The boy punctuates his question with a wink.

The young boy steps up for the first time, grin stretching even wider as he finds the courage to happily agree with the wise words. Exclaiming eagerly and in a way that only a child can, he takes his sister by the hand that’s not holding his small bucket before scurrying off, their parents close behind after grabbing pails for each other as well as a third that their daughter had forgotten in the midst of the excitement.

As Donghyuck joins you on the porch once again, you can’t help but smile as you remember how he interacts with each and every customer that passes through the weathered fence surrounding the property. When he talks to kids in particular, his eyes seem to light up, and you see just how much of a kid he still is deep down. His playfulness never fails to make an appearance whenever you spend time with him.

You’re thankful for the moo of a cow in the distance that interrupts his question of why you’re smiling like an idiot and hopefully drowns out the steady sound of your pounding heart.

The next week he tells you that the rest of his family is out of town, and he’s been left with the responsibility of running the farm all on his own. He usually does most of the work himself these days anyway since he’s getting older and more mature, although some of his jokes say otherwise. You miss the way his mom would poke her head out of the upstairs window of the main house, calling out a greeting to you both from across the property, overjoyed at the sight of her son spending time with the particular customer he’s mentioned so many times before. Whether he would share an amusing anecdote of yours with his siblings at the dinner table or point out something that reminded him of you, it was far too easy for her to figure out how he feels about you.

In an effort to spend more time with him, keep him company and just help out in general, you offer to stay at the house with him for a little while. Or at least until his family gets back from their trip, and to your delight, he agrees. You arrive in the late evening, on a day when the fields are closed, just in time to catch the setting sun as it disappears behind the trees and power lines that seem to stretch for miles in the distance. Tugging an overnight bag of belongings with you, you knock twice on the wood of his front door.

It opens swiftly and Donghyuck welcomes you inside, wearing an apron that he must have outgrown 10 years ago, at least. You snicker at the snug choice of attire and he shoves your shoulder, though not with enough force to make you stumble. He whines a little in that saccharine-sweet voice of his that makes your heart clench, but you don’t give in. Not this time.

When the farm is closed for the day, the family has a chance to pick from some of the bushes that are planted in a more secluded area, all to ensure that they also have a big enough supply of the fruit to last them for the season. So Donghyuck had woken up at the crack of dawn, although you aren’t sure why. He had made his way downstairs and out into the dewy air of the morning, gathering just enough blueberries to bake a cobbler that night when you came over, since he’d learned it was your favorite treat after hours of conversation about anything and everything. The recipe comes straight from his great-grandfather, he informs you, and it’s written on a yellowing piece of paper in handwriting that you couldn’t read even if you tried. He, however, can somehow decode the seemingly nonsensical swirls and lines on the page. You suppose it’s part of the magic of the family recipe that gets passed down with it.

Donning an apron yourself, you join him at the sink as you begin washing the berries, gently grabbing a handful at a time as you let the tap water clean them. When you both reach into the large container at the same time, your hands brush and you almost scoff at the swell of your heart that you feel inside your chest.

As you’re working together to make the batter that you will soon pour into his mother’s finest glass baking pan, Donghyuck briskly swipes his fingertip on the side of the bowl where the mixer had splattered the combined ingredients, extending it in your direction. You raise an eyebrow at the boy and said fingertip before turning your head away.

“If you really think that I would lick that off your finger, then you’re terribly mistaken.”

Coyly, the mischief-maker in question retorts back as you glance at his impishly delighted expression. “Are you sure?” 

“Positive,” you state rather firmly, but matching the mirth in his eyes with a glimmer of amusement in your own. “I’ll settle for the spatula, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, your answer completely expected. At least he tried. 

You won’t deny that you enjoy sampling a bit of the batter of a dessert as much as anyone. But not that much.

Left with no choice, he takes himself up on his own offer and sticks his finger into his mouth with an audible ‘pop,’ exaggerating the action just to get a rise out of you, feeling the upward curl of his lips when you react ever so slightly with a silent chuckle.

You’re adding the last bit of flour to the mixture when you accidentally get some of the powdery substance on your hand in the process. Turning the automatic mixer off, you momentarily forget about your stained skin and you make the mistake of wiping your face with the back of your wrist, smearing the white stuff on your cheek. Donghyuck notices, of course, and an innocent attempt to help clean up the mess only ends with the two of you blushing like crazy.

“Let me help you,” he speaks up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, the pan’s not that heavy, and even if it was, I’m strong enough anyway—”

You’re about to pick up the glassware but his sudden strides over to you from across the large kitchen cause everything you were saying, doing, and thinking to come to a complete stop. You’ve never really had a problem with personal space before, but right now he’s leaning down and his face is so close that you’re afraid to even breathe for fear that the action might just throw you off balance and towards him. For fear that you might not push his chest away with your hands if that happens.

He’s bending his knees to match your eye level and his hand lifts from its place at his side, hovering in midair not far from where the flour still lingers on your skin. His eyes had been so focused on the stain but the shrinking proximity between you and him pulls his gaze from your cheek to your eyes, blown wide and confused because you still have no idea that there’s something on your face.

The undoubtedly palpable tension in the room almost reaches down his throat and pulls the words from his vocal chords in an effort to dispel the heavy air circulating around the both of you.

“There’s… uh… you have flour…”

Donghyuck still hasn’t broken the less than comfortable eye contact, but he’s unable to look away for reasons unknown to him. After an agonizing amount of seconds your brain switches on again, albeit slowly, and you’re able to properly process the position you’re currently in. Your own hand starts to lift and though the movement is slight, it’s enough to draw his eyes down to it and he finds the strength to complete his goal at last.

His thumb swipes across your cheek and without even thinking he pops it into his mouth once again, forgetting about the unpleasant taste of flour. The way that the boy’s face scrunches up when the bitter powder meets his tongue doesn’t eliminate the awkwardness completely, but it’s a start. You hastily make an effort to avert your gaze as you frantically wonder if he caught your face that’s surely as warm as a blazing fireplace, all because he did the unthinkable with that stupid finger of his.

You won’t let yourself dwell on how his hand is just the right size to cradle the side of your head, or how much nicer his lips look up close, or how they must taste like the blueberries that he snuck into his mouth as you made the cobbler, or how you wished he had used his lips on your cheek instead of his thumb.

How you wish he had closed the almost nonexistent distance between your flushed faces.

These thoughts do nothing to ease the steadily growing heat that’s currently taking over your skin. Your eyes land on the glass pan and you take the opportunity to grab it, acting as a sort of distraction for your mind and also as something to snap you both out of your embarrassed hazes.

You get the finished dessert into the oven with no trouble after that, and now you have a little over half an hour of time to kill before it’s ready, so Donghyuck leads you into the nicely furnished family room and plops down onto the plush couch. When you don’t immediately follow he glances up at you, sensing that you’re still hesitant after the awkward moment. He smiles softly and almost apologetically, as if he’s sending a silent signal that you’ll both move past it soon enough, an invitation to put the incident behind the two of you. And you accept it.

You take a deep breath before you sit down next to him, sinking into the cushions underneath and behind you. The material dips slightly under the weight of both your bodies and gravity itself seems to be in control as it pushes you together, shoulders bumping and the sides of your legs being pressed up against each other. Thankfully, the television roars to life with the laughter of a live audience on one of your favorite shows, and you exhale a puff of air you didn’t even know you were holding in. With every scene that lights up the large display, you curl up further and further into his side, his arm migrating across the back of the sofa and winding around your shoulder only a few centimeters at a time.

This feels like home. Donghyuck feels like home.

The buzzer of the oven interrupts when you’re halfway through another episode, prompting you to jump to your feet just as abruptly as the alarm-like noise had started blaring. Consequently his arm flops down by his side as he mentally curses the loud intrusion into what had become a comfortable atmosphere, an atmosphere that was finally surrounding you again after what felt like an eternity but had really only been an hour.

In no time, you’re returning from the kitchen, the warm blueberry contents of the cobbler oozing out onto the flowery pair of plates you had grabbed from the cupboard. Handing one to him and setting the other aside for yourself, you quickly go back around the corner to grab two tall cups of cold milk. Your second time joining him on the couch comes more easily, almost all of the earlier tension having dispersed into the room, wafting out the windows along with the delicious scent of the fruit baked into the sweet, flaky crust. In fact, you’re fairly sure that it’s strong enough for even his neighbors down the road to smell. Which reminds you: you need to package some up to deliver to them tomorrow, per Donghyuck’s suggestion.

You’re most definitely sure that he smells the aroma, of course, because it’s hard to ignore the eagerness with which he takes a large bite of the dessert. “We make better bakers that I thought we would,” the boy comments, taking a sip of milk. The white mustache that it creates above his top lip when he lifts the glass to his mouth is enough to make you giggle, and you’re unaware that this predictable reaction was his objective all along. He grins, rather satisfied.

With your stomach now full, a head-plaguing drowsiness begins to set in. It slowly fills your senses enough for you to drift off, fork nearly falling out of your hand and onto the floor before he catches it, along with your weight when you slump down against his shoulder. Donghyuck is barely able to reach one of the end tables, and he sets the dishes and silverware down next to the now empty cups. Your body unconsciously clings to his like a koala to a branch, with both hands clutching one of his arms and a leg hooked over his thighs.

He takes one look at you and wishes he could pause time, to stay here forever. It’s not every day that he meets someone who can easily match the amount of snark he possesses. Simultaneously, you also balance out the friendship you share with your compassion and sense of wonder about the world, always evident in your morning routine when you come to the fields. Donghyuck has noticed that you bring out those same qualities in him, perhaps more than anyone else ever has. And just like you’re holding him right now, he vows to hold on to you.

As much as he doesn’t want to get up and for the evening to progress, he knows he should, that it has to. So he manages to detach from the hold of your limbs, gently pushing himself up and off of the couch so he doesn’t disturb you.

Glancing at the large antique clock above the doorway that leads out into the hall, Donghyuck realizes it’s much later than he thought. He decides to turn in for the night, but on a regular day he usually finds himself still awake well past midnight, despite the need to wake up early the next morning and run the farm from the crack of dawn.

Since you’re tired and he doesn’t want to risk you waking up alone in an unfamiliar bed and place, he comes to the conclusion that he’ll join you. Only leaving your side for a moment, he puts the cobbler into the refrigerator and turns off the kitchen lights behind him as he goes. Softly padding halfway up the stairwell, Donghyuck makes sure there’s enough light for him to see where he’s going before making his way back into the living room one last time. He tucks one arm underneath both of your bent knees as tenderly as he can, and places the other behind the middle of your back, hand gently curling against your waist. He carries you with probably the most delicacy he’s shown in his entire life.

Going upstairs is generally an easy task, but doing so while carrying another person is a different story. He would never forgive himself if he were to hurt you in any way. If even your foot happened to bump the wall next to you, a burst of frustration at himself and his own carelessness would surface regardless of the impact’s intensity

Your position in his arms gives him yet another opportunity to gaze upon your peaceful expression, and he begins to think more deeply about what you are to him. Looking forward to your visits makes his work so much more enjoyable and worth it. You’re someone who truly appreciates what he and his family do for a living and you faithfully support them with your business as a customer whenever you can, which is a rare thing to find in most people that come. Most are just bored and in need of something to occupy themselves or their kids. Sometimes they don’t even pick that many berries. But you always make sure to bring your own basket, which holds just as many as if not more than the ones the farm provides, and fill it to the brim. In his eyes, you’re special.

Amidst the mostly-asleep state that you’re in, your eyes just barely open far enough to see a blurry picture of Donghyuck’s face as he carries you through the house and up into the bedroom he had suggested you share. He sets you down onto the soft mattress before pulling the covers up to your stomach, retreating into the attached bathroom to quickly change into a thin t-shirt and his favorite pair of plaid pajama pants.

The memory of that conversation floods back to you. Initially, you refused the offer, saying that he would rest better if he had more space to move around. But being the clingy person he is, he had pouted desperately as you struggled to stand your ground in the discussion. “Fine,” you had huffed, only half-frustrated with those doe eyes he always uses to get his way, and your lips had great difficulty holding back a smile.

The hum of electricity that can be heard emanating from the next room snaps you out of these thoughts, and is enough to wake you up a bit more. Your gaze scans the surroundings for a minute or two before he opens the door again, his eyes now looking as heavy as your own.

Donghyuck joins you under the blanket and shifts to lay on his side, facing you. It’s funny that you’re both able to adjust to a situation so intimate and new almost instantly. Still on your back, your head turns and you’re conscious enough to raise an eyebrow at the boy. There’s that pout again.

“Please?” He mumbles, his bottom lip jutting out in an action he’s perfected. You know exactly what he’s after: cuddles.

You don’t even try to hide the playful roll of your eyes as you scoot a little closer, but it’s not close enough for him. He gets impatient, meeting you halfway, and this time it’s him that flings a leg over yours. An endearing, small noise of contentment from him fills your ears as you take notice of his arms, now interlocked behind your neck and around your shoulders. You melt into the snug position, a hand landing on his forearm that’s laying across your chest. Turning ever so slightly to the side, your other hand winds around his middle and eventually rests just above his hip, pulling him into you even more. Donghyuck nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, a few strands of your hair tickling his skin as he sighs in complete and utter bliss.

Determined to savor the moment until the irresistible inevitability of slumber starts to overtake you once more, you fight to stay awake with all of your might. But in what you thought was only the blink of an eye, the glittering stars visible through the bay window’s sheer drapes morph into the pale golden rays of first light. There’s a soft murmur of your name along with an unintentional, almost imperceptible peck to the place where his lips meet your skin, and you’re wide awake. Not to mention a little shocked.

He’s utterly unfazed, though, slowly waking up now that the sun has gotten brighter, its beams filtering into the room and hitting his already glowing face that becomes a gorgeous honey-colored hue.

Donghyuck reluctantly withdraws his arms from your form after one last embrace, effortlessly rising from the wrinkled bed sheets and offering his hand to you when you start to do the same. A sleepy smile makes a home on his features and he reminds you of your task to deliver a portion of the dessert you made to his next-door neighbors.

That’s exactly what you do, first making yourselves presentable in the bathroom by smoothing down wild bed hair and freshening up your faces with cool water. Being around to see each other’s natural morning states is a major act of trust, and he doesn’t miss an opportunity to poke fun at you for it.

“How long does it normally take for you to do your hair every day before you come here?” His tone is dripping with feigned innocence, but the sly grin on his lips says otherwise.

“Shut up, Hyuck.”

Tupperware container in hand, your shoes step in rhythm with his as you amble along the grassy shoulder of the street together. Somehow you end up hand-in-hand by the time you reach his neighbors’ front patio.

“Donghyuck!” The elderly woman at the door greets him with a twinkling voice, her husband coming into view soon after. “Look who it is, honey,” she motions fondly to the boy who they both once knew to be much shorter and younger, but now is all grown up before their eyes. “You’re getting so tall. It seems like only yesterday you were scurrying through the blueberry fields and waving to us through the gaps in the fence.”

“Yes ma’am, it does,” he responds politely. The couple has been living there for as far back as he can remember, and quite honestly they feel as if they’ve become part of his family, too.

Her warm brown eyes light up. “Is this the customer your mother was telling me about last week? She mentioned how close you’ve become, and now I’m finally seeing it for myself. You make a lovely pair.”

“Oh—” Donghyuck startles. Not much can get him flustered, but he hadn’t exactly been anticipating for his mom to recount all the things he’s said about you to the sweetest and most innocent of elderly couples. Of course they would assume that there’s something going on.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, with you. He wouldn’t mind at all, really. He’ll just need to have a word about a little thing called privacy with his mother later.

You see the glint of panic in his eyes and speak up. It’s not often he makes such an easy target for teasing. “Thank you,” you state graciously, the smugness in the statement only noticeable to him. “We’re very happy together.” He feels you lean into him, fingers unwrapping from his and gripping the other side of his waist. You know exactly what you’re doing, and so does he.

Almost forgetting to hand over the slices of cobbler you’d cut earlier, Donghyuck nudges you to do so, and the four of you exchange thanks and farewells before you’re on your way back to the farm.

“Happy together, huh?”

“Shut up, Hyuck.” You mumble something else afterwards that he doesn’t quite catch.

“What’s that? Didn’t hear you,” he sings, stopping in his tracks. You do the same. “Shut up and what?”

“...And kiss me.”

After many days and many nights spent wondering, you can confirm that his lips do, indeed, taste as sweet as the blueberries in those fields.

[bastillia]

Loyalties Lie

AO3 Mirror

Summary: You're a bartender in a Lothal cantina, living a quiet life in the Outer Rim after the fall of the Empire. You can't help but wonder what more might be out there for you. One dangerous guest in particular keeps catching your eye. Unfortunately, you've also caught his.

Rating: E

Words: 6.1k

Warnings: possibly mild dubcon, threats with a weapon, rough sex, verbal degradation, mentions of alcohol, cumplay, Boba Fett has a 24oz monster can dick and he knows how to use it.

A/N: Remember when I said I had a Boba Fett WIP laying around like, months ago? Well guess who showed up in Mando S2 with a sexy dad bod and the fattest dick in the galaxy to overhaul my dreams and make them a reality. Fuck me. Yes this is the first thing I’ve written in months hi I’m still here. No I don’t know how many chapters this will be. I live in hell. Welcome. Thank you to @kylorengarbagedump​ for graciously beta reading and listening to me literally scream about this man all the time. Love y’all so much PLEASE ENJOY.

**

It’s the kind of night that hums. 

Like a moonlit Lothal prairie, quiet and alive somewhere beyond the outskirts of town. Except that in here, the crickets swoop past your bar to buy shots, and the stars fall steadily to become the lovely tink of credits in your tip jar. The twin moons are shifting hues of neon light, and time seems to stroll by, like it has nowhere better to be.

Tonight has been steady. 

It’s not busy enough tonight to challenge you, but not slow enough to let you rest. Your guard is up, as it always is when you’re behind the bar. But your hold on it can afford to be loose. 

Tonight has been…

Boring. 

No brawls, no assassinations, not even a drunken paw fumbling across the bar towards your tits, attached to some overly rowdy patron who you then get to watch with quiet glee as they’re dragged out by the ears. No, in fact, it’s hard to remember the last time something remotely interesting happened around here. So much for the Outer Rim’s rugged reputation. You hate to say you miss the Empire’s occupation from time to time. But at least it brought nightly intrigue.

Tonight, your guests are especially calm and happy, lulled by liquor and the easy flow of conversation, murmurs blending like a stream through the grassland. And you suppose you shouldn’t complain. You’ve more than earned your keep for the night, and then some. Best of all, your boss has no reason to be breathing down your neck. 

In fact, he’s happy, too, you note when the Lasat’s bellowing business-laugh resounds overtop a few flutes of spotchka, glowing inside a booth across the room. You pass a cloth around the rim of a clean glass, feeling a tickle of interest as to who he might be schmoozing this time. When you glance up, you can just make out a pair of well-dressed Rodians seated across from him through the leisure-thick air of the cantina, nudging each other and laughing at whatever witty, schmoozy thing he just said. 

A soft snort puffs through your nose. At least Dakk is a predictable man, if nothing else. Must be rich folk, probably well connected. Good. You’ll get no help tonight, but at least he will be occupied for a while.

In fact...

Flicking a quick glance around the room, you take your chance and shrug your outer tunic off your shoulders, quickly smoothing down your much more revealing undershirt until it clings to the shape of you. You know Dakk hates when you do this, always goes on about keeping the place “classy.” But he’s not looking, and if it puts a few extra credits in your jar by the end of the night, it’s worth it. Anyway, you’re in a good mood tonight. Bored nonetheless, and the combination always forges a mischievous kind of boldness in you; a tiny spark that glows just bright enough to cast the idea of consequence in shadow.

You scan the bar for an empty drink, a flirtatious urge rolling off of your freshly bared skin and filling your ribs with air. It’s not long before you hone on your target-- an unsuspecting guest sitting alone, head turned away. Probably eavesdropping. A smirk curves your lips and you sidle over, plink a glass down between you, leaning your elbows on the bartop. 

“Something else for you, sugar?”

His head whips around with a guilty swiftness, but you just offer an easy smile, shifting your weight through your hips to coax his eyes down your body. It works like a charm.

“I, uh...“ The young Mirialan stammers directly at your tits. “Yeah, c-can I, ah…” 

As you wait out his struggle, an idea sparks in your freshly emboldened mind. Maker’s sake, might as well help the poor thing out. 

“Got a ruge liqueur in stock, last shipment off Alderaan. Rare these days.” Your lashes flutter, tongue just barely playing your along your lower lip as if teasing some unspoken promise. “I just couldn’t help but notice, you seem like a person of exceptional taste.”

The words are warm summer air on your tongue, practiced and enticing. You can see them go to the kid’s head like spice smoke, his cheeks immediately flushing deep emerald beneath diamond-shaped tattoos. 

“Y-yeah?” He straightens, runs a hand through his hair, grinning sheepishly. “I mean...yeah! I, uh, I am. That s-sounds great, yeah. Um. Please.”

You smile. Too easy. 

Now, it’s not technically a lie. You do have the ruge in stock, it’s just that--well, it’s definitely nothing this kid can afford. But you’d bet a week’s worth of tips that you can slip him a cheap offworld varietal instead. Charge him triple its price, pocket the excess. Poor thing wouldn’t know the real stuff if it bit him.

You swell with the thought. That amount might even let you buy something nice for yourself for once. It might be a little slimy, but... fuck it. Kid seems well off enough. Decently nice clothes, cologne, that misplaced air of belonging that comes with sheltered entitlement. Surely he won’t miss a few extra credits. Anyway, you deserve this, right?

Moving to speak again, you prepare to lay the flirting on thick, really sell the gambit. But before you get the chance, a loud bang snaps your attention upward just in time to see the cantina door slam open. 

You straighten where you stand, irritation and curiosity pricking your ears in equal measure. But then a slight hush cuts the ease of your buzzing meadow, and your chest squeezes with it.

Boba Fett.

The hunter takes up almost the whole doorway, a broad tower of matte green beskar catching the soft neons of the cantina. The distinctly cold gaze of the Mandalorian helmet scans the room, stirring murmurs and averting eyes until it comes to rest, finally, upon you.

It feels like two cold weights set down on your shoulders, being the focus of that stare. 

Even as the energy picks back up around you, as conversations cautiously resume, it’s like you’re trapped in it, breathless under its weight and unable to look away. You vaguely register the Mirialan turn back to your tits and ask them something about when your shift ends. But you’re still transfixed, watching the armored man take a few deliberate steps towards the bar and straddle a stool, the visor trained like a crosshair upon you as his forearms settle on the bartop.

You’ve seen him here before. Heard his name whispered in weighted ripples ever since news spread through the Outer Rim that Bib Fortuna was dead. Since then, he’s come through maybe once every few dozen cycles, each time with a couple new chips in the paint of his armor. He comes here on business--or at least you assume that’s what it must be, since he always meets someone, speaks in hushed tones enshrouded by the dim corner booth in the back. He’ll toss a few credits on the bar when he leaves, but has never uttered a word to you, never ordered a drink.

Never even glanced your way, for all you know. Until right now. 

You swallow. Fucking hell, if there’s anything you’re used to, it’s being looked at. So why is this gaze kicking your pulse up into the base of your throat, making you feel exposed? A prickle of heat is already settling in your cheeks.

And then the visor cocks, and just barely tilts down the length of your figure. 

A tight breath snaps into your lungs, and your eyes dart to the bartop, across the room, back to the Mirialan still babbling dumbly at you, your face now hot. Kriff, what is wrong with you? Since when are you outright flustered by some stranger copping an eyeful? You try to breathe, ignoring how the hairs stand on your neck.

But you can still feel his attention like the heat of a sun warming your bare shoulder, and it makes something start to coil in your belly and glow there.

“I’ll have that ruge right up, sweetheart.” 

You’re pretty sure you interrupt the kid, but he doesn’t seem to mind, just calls out a stammered thank-you as you pivot away towards your new guest, your heart kicking against your sternum. Your feet almost feel weighted to the floor, and by the time you reach him, your pulse has an edge like a blade. 

“Something I can interest you in?” 

There’s a breathlessness to the warm air of your voice now, and you pray to the Maker that it doesn’t betray you. You lean against the bar, hoping that the solidity of the wood will somehow teach your nerves to follow its example. It doesn’t. 

He seems to study you for a moment, motionless. And then his shoulders shift, his elbows widen, and he leans in towards you.

“Information.” His voice is low and direct, barely above a graveled whisper, the single accent-laden word dragging through your belly and sparking like metal on stone.

Fuck.

Of course he’s after the one thing you’re not willing to sell.

Your heart stalls while your mind starts to race, eyes searching the dark visor. Of course you’d be a fool to deny him, and he knows it. That’s why he’s asking you. Why would you risk rousing a scene in your own bar, especially when the night is so mercifully calm? Easier to give him what he wants. Tap into your collection of liquor-loosened secrets, and knowledge of the local crowd.

The thing is, you’ve built a good rapport for your discretion. You think. Not to mention the number of cutting warnings Dakk has laid on you about the consequences for selling secrets in his bar. Is it really worth risking? Fett intimidates you, no doubt. But he’s also banking on the assumption that you won’t make this difficult for him. He has to be. And now unease and excitement are starting to play a game of catch between your ribs with that tiny, dangerous spark of boldness.

“Fresh out.” Your fingers drum the wood beneath them, trying to ground your reflexes through the rush of adrenaline that accompanies your words. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and you stare into the blackness of the visor as you let the tiniest, playful smirk flit over your face.  “Perhaps something to drink?”

Slowly, achingly slowly, Boba Fett settles back on the bar stool. Unease lances you, splintering with the immediate question of whether you just made the right choice. You don’t want to think about how many he’d manage to kill before you could even blink, if he decided to do something extreme. His hand starts to shift back along his thigh, drawing a path towards the blaster at his hip. You swallow, panic pricking your neck.

Just as your muscles are primed to dive behind the bar, convinced you’re going to have to evade his quickdraw, his palm just takes a lazy rest on the hilt. The helmet levels, and then leans slowly to the side. 

“No.” 

Dizzied, you blink. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking through that helmet, and he’s offered you all of two words. But was that… amusement, you heard? No. Anger? Fuck, now you’re really imagining things.

Still a little breathless, you straighten, sensing that you’re dismissed. The thought of flirting with a killer was a much-needed rush, but you need to take his indifference as a mercy after that little stunt and get on with your job while he’s giving you the chance. What little you apparently have left of a survival instinct is at least telling you that much.

You shrug. 

“Suit yourself.”

It feels dangerous to take your eyes off of him. But you force yourself to do so anyways, turning your back on the hunter and making your way to the dim doorway at the end of the bar, his attention still heating your spine. 

It’s a fucking relief to slip through the door to the storage room, ease the door shut behind you, and for the first time in what feels like moons, you let a long breath fill your lungs. The familiar scent of dust and wine-aged wood floods you, and something like disappointment tugs at your heart.

Maybe that stupid, adventure-craving side of your imagination took things too far, fueled by your boredom and the prospect of something exciting finally happening. You suppose you projected that naive hope onto Boba Fett, if nothing else just because he’s the first person to come through here in a long time that actually intrigues you. That confounds your prized, finely-calibrated radar for reading people without having to speak a word to them.

Fuck, he really wouldn’t give you much more than a word, would he? Guess he’s determined to keep scrambling your sensors. It shouldn’t deject you as much as it does. But...  come on, the least the son of a mudscuffer could do is flirt back if he was gonna fucking undress you with his eyes like that. 

Or maybe that was just your imagination, too. 

You sigh, scanning a shelf on the back wall for a ruge that will make a convincing enough dupe. A synthetic varietal, perhaps. No--too cheap. You’ve got something from a Naboo vineyard in here somewhere. Anyways, whatever, since when are you desperate for any man’s attention?

No, okay, it’s... you know that isn’t what this is really about. 

It would just be nice to feel important, is all. Like the secrets you’ve gathered might be worth something. Could someday give you a place in something bigger. Or at least like anything about you might be worth more than equivalent to a shot of shitty spotchka. 

Forget it. As if that will ever happen.

Your finger absently traces the dusty label of a bottle, and then a soft clink of metal behind you freezes your blood. 

You whip around to meet a wall of beskar, inches from your face.

You start to scream, but the sound catches in your throat when a big hand seizes you by the back of the neck and wrenches you around, bending you at the hips and slamming you chest-down against the stale wood of a storage crate. Cold metal presses your thighs and your heart smacks your ribs, your body completely trapped under Boba Fett’s mass in one motion. 

“I said I need information, little one, and you’re going to give it to me.” His voice scrapes over your body, sliding through the dim room like the shadow from a candle flame. You quail beneath him, brain racing with shock.

“I d-don’t—ugh!” The weight of his forearm comes down between your shoulder blades, pressing breathy little grunts from your lungs as you squirm. “I don’t sell out my customers.”

You freeze when the distinct click of a blaster registers right at your temple. 

“Never said I was buying.”

Panic zips down your spine, your chest heaving against the wooden crate as heat slams your core. Somewhere, your rational brain is scrambling to parse the threat, but something about the sheer filth and danger of it is setting your whole body on fire, making far more primal nerves come alive. Trying to shake the feeling, you squirm.

“At lea--ngh, least nothing’s changed there.”

Fucking hell, what are you doing? Besides sassing the known murderer with a blaster currently trained at your head, alone in a dark room. Yet somehow that very fact is making arousal bloom so wicked and fast that you can already start to feel your cunt throb against the fabric of his pants. 

“Willing to die to protect a few spineless slime crawlers who don’t even know your name?” Boba rocks his weight against you, powerful and lazy in the way he simply leans into his hips, grinds them up hard against your ass to keep you flattened over the edge of the crate. “Boss man lines his pockets while his good little pet works for scraps.” Air feels more scarce to your lungs by the second. “Interesting, how your loyalties lie.”

Indignance flares up your spine.

“I w-ouldn’t expect you to understand.” You try to put venom in the words, but it’s difficult between your breathlessness and the sheer eroticism of this position you’re in. “Small price to pay, f-for a good life.”

Through your annoyance, you can’t help feeling a twinge of enjoyment at his solidity, at how you can just discern the outline of him through his pants. An excited thrum of your pulse snaps to your core like a fuse.

Above you, Boba Fett chuckles.

“Is that what he gives you?” There’s a mockery to his tone that heats your blood, and you start to squirm in defiance before remembering the blaster at your temple. Fett simply crushes you harder, drawing your attention back to his crotch. “Seems to me like you’re the mouse in his attic.”

“I suppose you’re better than him? Than any of them?” you immediately bite, not wanting to acknowledge the truth behind his words. Instead, you grab that spark of bravery and crank the voltage until it drowns your doubt, throwing your caution to the stars faster than punching an airlock in hyperspace. “Do you even know m-my name, Mando?” A tiny giggle ripples your chest. “I know yours.”

“Might be the last one you know,” Boba growls, but you’re becoming fixated on his cock now, the way you could swear that it’s growing more distinct by the second.

Fear and pleasure wrack your brain, the combination intensifying so deliciously with the pressure of his groin against your ass that you can hardly think straight any more. In a moment of sick indulgence, you arch your back and shift just slightly, wanting to feel that pressure against something now pulsing and sensitive. 

The grip on your neck locks tight, and your breath stops. 

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, princess.” 

He kicks your legs apart and crushes his hardening bulge against your pussy. And, fuck, you moan. You don’t even mean to, but the thrill of helplessness has you so mindlessly turned on that you can’t stop the noise from squeezing out of your throat.

“Filthy little thing you are.” 

There’s a shift in his tone now. The vice hold disappears from your nape just before your pants are wrenched unceremoniously over your ass and down to mid thigh. You gasp at the feeling of air brushing your bare lips. He takes a moment, and you think he must be looking at you. Heat blossoms from your face all the way down to your chest, and then he’s against you again, a palm coming down between your shoulders as coarse fabric presses flush with your cunt. 

You can really feel the outline of his cock now, hard enough to rival his armor but warm and thick against you, and you whimper. It’s only a click that snaps your awareness back to the weapon pointed at your head. 

“Let’s try this again, little mouse.” Boba’s voice comes lower and airier through the vocoder now in a way that blazes right through you. “You give me what I want, and perhaps you’ll inspire my generosity.”

In emphasis of his intent, he rocks his erection against the cleft of your pussy. Your eyes snap wide, an almost painful stab of arousal making you immediately whine louder than you intend to. “Fuck--oh, please!”

“Careful.” His hand slides up your neck, angling your face so that he can see it twist in shame and pleasure. “Wouldn’t want anyone finding you like this.”

Your cheeks blaze. Shallow breaths stutter in your lungs as his thumb tugs the pillow of your lower lip. And then he releases you, his hand moving back somewhere you can’t sense. The pressure against your ass shifts for a moment, just before the wide, hot shaft of his bare cock caresses your cunt.

“Last night there was a man here, Mon Cala, middle aged.” Your body is on fire as he speaks, the skin to skin contact dousing your brain in blind want. You grit your teeth, screw your eyes shut, trying hard to focus on what he’s saying while your pussy twinges around nothing. “He talked to the owner here, then he met with someone. Tell me who.”

A reluctant whimper leaves your lips, and the noise might just be one of the most pathetic you’ve ever made as your tongue still stubbornly refuses to slip. But Fett’s words ring again through your head with a resentful pang: the mouse in his attic. Is that what you’ll die as?

At your temple, the blaster’s safety disengages.

“Fuck! Okay, okay.” Your breath comes heavily, brain uncertain and lust-addled, fumbling for the details. “He um. Met a--mmh, a woman, I d-didn’t catch her name. Please--” Your voice trails off in a soft whine, your hips shifting back, trying to find the means to swallow his cock where it teases your tender core, entice him with the diversion now that you’ve given him a crumb.

“You must be dumber than I took you for, sweetling.” His hips retreat slightly, evading you. The sheer display of restraint is infuriating, electrifying. It shallows your breath with need. He stills again, a rough, gloved hand running firmly up your spine, pushing your shirt up to bare more of your skin to his view. “Tell me the rest.”

Your teeth set with a final, feeble whine of hesitation. More instinct than anything. But then a cold ring of metal presses your temple, and fresh fear unbinds your tongue in a deluge.

“S-she had, ah--civilian clothes, but, um… an Imperial s-standard issue blaster.” Your eyes screw in concentration, details flickering like a glitchy holocom through your brain. “I heard them talk about, uh. A shipment. For… Fuck, uh. Th-three cycles from now.”

Boba hums, a sound that makes your eyes roll back as you feel yourself nearly dripping against him, your slick coating his cock where it just barely parts you.

“Smart girl.” His hand drags indulgently down your back, coming to rest on your hip and squeezing. “Where’s the shipment going, princess?”

Torture. This is some kind of galactic war crime, you’re sure of it. Pleasure surges from your teased cunt and his grip on your flesh, and his voice is almost soothing now, coaxing you further towards complacency. It’s all too much. Your head rests against the crate, defeat washing in a gentle tide over you. 

“Going... to Hosnian Prime.”

A soft, satisfied puff of noise comes from the modulator. The barrel retreats from your temple. 

“Now, there’s a good girl.”

Warmth crashes through your lower belly, a strange and exhilarating sensation that suddenly makes you want to... purr? No one has ever spoken to you like this, and it’s tickling a part of your brain that feels far, far too good. But then his cock glides thick and heavy along your folds, obliterating your thoughts, and all you can think about is having that inside of you. 

“Fuck,” you whine as he slowly aligns himself, teasing up and down the drenched, tender flesh of your pussy. He takes his time, massaging the blunt head over your clit and sending little shocks through your muscles, making you shiver and clench. “Please, please…” 

“Tame little creature when you want to be,” he grits, pressing against your entrance with an exhaled groan. “Keep being good for me.” 

Slowly, he starts to push. And, oh, fuck.

You’re not ready. 

You’re wetter and needier than you’ve ever been in your life, and you’re still not fucking ready to take a cock like this one when it crushes in and stretches you, setting an ache through your hips that tells you whatever happens, you’re bound to feel him for days. 

A cry sticks in your throat and you will yourself to breathe, to relax as he sinks in further, forcing your walls to flutter and part around him. It truly feels like being broken open, and your fingers have to dig into the wood beneath you when he pulls out an inch and then pushes again, sinking deeper this time as a choked noise pulls through the vocoder.

By the time he finally bottoms out, you swear you can feel him shifting your guts. Every muscle in your pelvis is straining to take him, the intensity mind-numbing already. You’re nearly choking on your own attempts to breathe while he pauses, sheathed like this for a few moments, seeming to concentrate on his own breathing at the same time. 

And then his voice comes again, a growl, pitched even lower and more ferocious than before through a clutched breath. 

“Fuck, you’re a tight little thing.” 

Stars.

This is different.

It’s so hard to think, you’ve never felt more full, but something in the back of your mind is unfurling, turning hot and primal with a roiling kind of need that burgeons and begs at the feeling of his cock rooted so fucking deep inside of you. You’ve had sex before, sure, but this…

You’re about to get fucked. 

“Please…” you mewl. Desperation pierces you when you feel his fingers flex strong and firm around your hip in response. You turn your head, trying to glimpse him--only to realize that the blaster is still right next to your face, its angle nonchalant, close enough to brush your lips. 

Your mind is so drenched in lust, the first urge that strikes you is to stick out your tongue and wet the metal, its sharp alloy piercing your senses and making your pussy seize with the shudder of danger.

In your periphery, you see the visor snap to attention, like he wasn’t fully looking at you before, lost in his own pleasure. But now he is. And he gives the weapon an experimental twist, allowing for your lips to wrap, delicate and wet, just around the tip of the barrel.

“Fearless little mouse.” There’s something dark and charged in his voice. “You look good like that.”

A slight wiggle to open your jaw, and the blaster shoves past your lips, resting thick and cold on your tongue, lighting your spine with a new thrill. Your voice swells on a muffled moan around it, such a soft and lovely sound to accompany a thing that’s orchestrated countless deaths. 

“There we are. Nice and quiet now.” 

Finally, finally, he starts to thrust, slow and measured, forcing your body to yield around the width of him. Something burns hot in your belly with each steady stroke, wiping your brain of everything but his presence.

The rough material of a glove smothers one of your asscheeks, grips and pulls at the pillowy flesh, spreading you open as his thrusts take up a steady, powerful rhythm. Boba Fett lets out a long groan, and you can only imagine the view he has right now. It sears you alive, the knowledge that he likes looking at you like this, pitching and whimpering with his rhythm, the sight of your pussy stretched, helpless around his cock and your mouth wetting his blaster. 

Your spit slicks the barrel more with every thrust, and you can feel the mechanics shifting dangerously between your lips. But his trigger finger is steadier than death, and his control gives you the nerve to let your tongue lick out along the barrel, bathe in the electric wash of fear that sets all of your nerves into overdrive.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he snarls as his pace starts to kick up wilder. 

Intense pleasure cracks through you now, visceral in a way you’ve never felt, and it’s all you can do to keep relatively quiet. The barrel on your tongue is a sharp enough reminder, yet it fuels your arousal to burn hotter and wetter all the same. The more you concentrate on the powerful bliss coiling in your core and rippling outwards, the more you can feel yourself starting to tighten around him, your body yearning vaguely towards a release it can’t seem to center on.

You hear him groan as you squeeze him, his grip on your flesh flexing and shifting. A few more strong thrusts, and then his cock pulls all the way out of you with a woeful pang, the blaster vacating your mouth in the same motion to leave you empty, dizzied and clenching. But before you can unscramble your brain, the blaster slots back into its holster and he’s moving you. With an effortless kind of control, he flips you over, shifting you until the solid wood of the crate supports your ass.

He hikes both of your legs onto one shoulder and in one swift, easy motion, whisks your pants over your shoes and off of your ankles, tossing them carelessly into the darkness of the room before hooking your legs around his armored waist.

“Going to watch you cum, princess. Nice and pretty.”

Your mouth opens on a gasp at his words, and a gloved thumb immediately presses your tongue, the taste of leather and plasma residue grounding your senses enough to register that he’s lining his cock back up at the heat of your entrance. You whine around his thick digit, and he growls somewhere low in his chest as he pushes the thick head back in, this new angle making you see stars all over again. 

He doesn’t bother letting you adjust this time, just uses your wetness to his advantage to start railing through your tightness, burning and stretching you as that warm swell starts to crest again. It’s such a deep, full feeling, spreading a delicious ache from the spot where he hits you deep in your tummy. 

Your brows draw together, your whines pitching higher as you search the visor. It’s a wordless plea, your vision swallowed by the power of him fucking you deep, your body now screaming to cum but needing something you can’t quite pinpoint.

The hunter’s thumb slips out of your mouth, his hand forging an eager path down your body. He palms your tit over your shirt, before grabbing the low collar and yanking it down, baring your nipples to his view one after the other. His whole hand spans your torso as he hooks the lower hem with his thumb, bunching the material until both your belly and tits are bare, your shirt like a handle at your diaphragm that he uses to pound you even harder, watching your body jolt, overpowered by his thrusts.

Airy little wails brush through your lips, the pleasure all too intense and not enough at the same time. You can’t take it anymore, you need something on your clit, and your fingers twitch to seek out that precious target. But he’s already moving, his hips slowing to a lazier pace while his free hand finds some destination at his belt, and what he produces freezes you in your tracks.

“Steady now,” he breathes as he slips a long blade out of his belt and spins it by the hilt, his fingers almost too quick, too tactful for such a brute. 

Instinctual panic grips you at the sight of the weapon, making your legs try to close. But he’s pushed too deep in you, his frame has you pinned open, and there’s nothing you can do against the sheer breadth of his body. Powerless, you simply whimper.

“Wh… what are y--”

“Hush, princess.” 

A flick of his thumb and the vibroblade springs to life, its hum filling the quiet air. He starts to bring the blunt hilt of it down where your body yields to his. Alarm pierces you one final time, but then he touches the pommel, just barely, against the tender swell of your clit.

You want to fucking scream. As if in anticipation of this, he claps his hand over your mouth just in time for you to bite down on his glove while your eyes roll back in a powerful wave of ecstasy. The vibrations surge through the sensitive nerves, lighting your whole body up in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s pure bliss, and then a low, long growl slips through the helmet’s modulator at the feeling of your walls pulsing tight, strangling his cock. 

His thrusts deepen again, powerful and steady, stroking some devastating spot deep inside you. Your muffled wails get lost in the breath-dampened fabric of his glove while the intense pleasure crests from your clit, higher, higher, lasering in on that intangible cusp and barreling you straight towards it.

You suspend at the peak, all senses failing, and then your orgasm takes you in a riptide, surging through your nerves like liquid fire. The magnitude of it rends you, stronger than you’ve ever felt, dragging you under and forcing you to ride it out while it just pulls and pulls. By the time you regain your sight you’re shaking, waves of bliss still pulsing and crashing through your body in time to the strong rhythm of his hips, the glowing epicenter that unwavering vibration at your clit. 

Sobs wrack your chest, pour out high and lose themselves somewhere in the meat of his hand, and you think you try to catch a few breaths, but you can’t even come down. Boba’s voice cuts through the rush in your ears.

“Good. Good girl.” 

He holds the buzzing hilt of the blade impossibly steady against your clit and that glow is still so bright, twitching, starting to spill through your nerves again and holy shit you think you just might--

“Again.”

Your second orgasm shreds you like a plasma cannon.

You’re blind, numb to everything but the intense pleasure, nerves now as raw and sharp as the edge of the blade itself. His hand is tight over your face and you feel your cunt convulsing and gushing around his cock, slick cum spilling to wet your asscheeks, and it must be your own because his pace hasn’t let up. 

A clatter resounds on the edge of your consciousness and when your eyes come into focus, Boba’s hand is locking into your waist, the blade discarded somewhere in the room. His hips piston hard with a few vulgar slaps of flesh, the head of his cock crushing against your deepest parts before he wrenches out of you and spills over your bare stomach with a strangled roar, gripping himself at the base and thrusting against you as warm, thick ropes paint your skin.

His release is long. Grunts distort into rough static through the vocoder as he rides out the last pulses, until finally he braces himself on the crate beside your head, hunched over you like a beast, his chest plate rolling with heavy breaths. You can only blink at him through hazed, damp eyes, your body feeling weak and utterly fucked dumb. The hand over your mouth slowly unlocks its grip, dragging downwards and leaving you to take shallow gulps of air while he gives your tit a deliberate squeeze. 

And then he drags himself off of you, straightening with an almost-concealed groan as he adjusts himself and leaves you to blink at the dark ceiling, still letting oxygen find your brain. 

When you shakily manage to sit up, you just glimpse him slipping the discarded vibroblade back into his belt and turning towards the door. Even through your dizziness, you scoff. Figures. Bastard is just going to fuck your brains out and then leave you like this.

“You know,” you sigh, watching him and lazily trailing your fingers in a circle on your tummy, enjoying the lingering buzz of your skin and gathering a bit of his spend where it coats you, still warm. “I’d say that tip-off was at least worth a handful of credits in my jar on your way out.”

He turns and looks at you then, the helmet cocking in consideration for a moment. As soon as his attention is on you, your fingers move from his mess on your belly to your mouth, where you slowly suckle him off of your fingers, never once taking your eyes off the visor, a tiny ripple of playfulness wiggling your shoulders and curling your lips.

His shoulders square to you, and that hunter’s stance still makes your chest seize, sends a pulse to your exhausted pussy.

Metal clinks softly as he walks towards you, stepping between your knees until you’re forced to drop your hand from your mouth and look up at him, heart fluttering again. He brushes the knuckle of his forefinger under your chin.

“Fresh out.”

His back turns as you stare, speechless. And then the door swings on its hinges, and Boba Fett is gone.

[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

[fawnandshadows]

After The Ceremony - Chapter 1

Hey Guys!

This is the first chapter of a mini Elriel fanfiction that I'm working on. You can also read it on AO3

Summary: Elain and Azriel after Nesta and Cassian's Mating Ceremony.

Words: 1,847

Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony has long since been over, but Elain couldn’t bring herself to go back to her room. No, Elain had too much restless energy to even attempt to fall asleep tonight, and instead of tossing and turning in her bed all night, she decided she may as well be useful and start to clean up. It took only ten minutes of laying in her bed, staring at the ceiling, before silently walking downstairs to the ballroom. Nuala and Cerridwen offered to help her, and Elain knew that they wouldn’t have minded staying up all night to clean with her, but she really just wanted to be alone. So, the twins like everyone else went to bed, and Elain stayed in the ballroom of Feyre and Rhysand’s River House putting herself to use.

There was something about being alone in the middle of the night that just seemed right to Elain, when everyone else was sleeping, she didn’t have to worry about putting on a face for everyone to see. She didn’t have to plaster a smile on her face while her heart was cracking in her chest. It was a test of her resolve today, Elain thought, as she pretended, yet again, that everything was alright. It took everything in Elain, every ounce of will power and restraint, to not break down and cry in the middle of the ballroom as she saw a familiar rose necklace around somebody else's neck.

Elain wanted to cry, scream, and cry some more whenever she looked at Gwyn, or Azriel, or even Mor. Especially Mor, when Elain saw her dancing and smiling with Azriel. It just felt so wrong. It should be Elain wearing his necklace, and it should be Elain in his arms as they spun around the room completely oblivious to everyone else.

After seeing Gwyn wearing her necklace, Elain immediately turned to leave the room because all she wanted was to be alone with her feelings and not worry about someone seeing through her fake smile, but as soon as she turned she caught a glimpse of the sun and a shadow dancing across the floor.

Elain had never seen Mor and Azriel dance together, and she never wanted to, especially when watching them smile at each other ruined whatever was left of her heart. They looked so incredibly beautiful together, and Azriel was smiling down at Mor with a warmth Elain hadn’t seen since the last solstice when she made him laugh. And Mor was smiling up at Azriel with an ease Elain had never noticed between them.

Confusion danced in her chest with every other emotion she was feeling.

Elain was only forced out of her staring from a heavy arm that fell across her shoulders. She blinked and a drunk Cassian appeared in front of her face, a stupid grin strectched across his face that was the result of unadulterated love and copious amounts of wine.

“Dance with me!” Cassian pulled her onto the dance floor, snapping her out of her imminent depression and into a crowded dance floor.

Elain let out a sign and continued sweeping the surprisingly messy floor. It seemed like most of the cake she and the twins had baked for the party ended up on the marble floor somehow, but she supposed that drunken fae couldn’t be expected to be tidy. The full moon illuminated most of the room, but there were still some faelights along the wall that added just enough light for her work. After sweeping, and picking up a surprising amount of glasses from the floor, Elain collected the bouquets from the tables.

It took her months to craft five bouquets for the ceremony, one for Nesta, and four for the women standing beside her. The core of Nesta’s bouquet were red carnations, pink roses, with bursting dahlias. Every bouquet held pink acacia’s - the flower of friendship. Feyre’s bouquet consisted of blooming magnolia’s and eye-catching violets. Her own was made from magnolias, nightshade, and a sprinkle of periwinkles. Emorie’s held vibrant hyacinths with white jasmine, and Gwyn’s bouquet was crafted from lavender, morning glories, oleanders. All the flowers were grown and cultivated by Elain herself, and she felt a shimmer of pride as she looked upon them.

Elain was getting ready to move the bouquets and their vases from the ballroom into the dining room, thinking they would look nice in a room where her family spends most of their time, when a familiar shiver floated down her spine. She didn’t look up as she said, “Hello, Azriel.” She knew he would reveal himself to her.

“It’s late. You should be sleeping.” His deep voice blended in with the night, causing her knees to weaken slightly and her eyelids to relax. What she wouldn’t give to fall asleep with that voice whispering in her ear while his fingers slid against her skin. What she wouldn’t give to stay awake all night with his voice in her ears and his fingers on her skin. Elain lost count of how many times she lost herself in thought as she tried to imagine what his lips would feel like against her throat.

“So should you,” Elain said, turning her body slightly to see him walk further into the room from where he leaned against the doorway. “I thought everyone was asleep. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

“Do you normally spend your nights cleaning up after drunken fae?” Azriel asked as he approached her. He stood maybe two feet away, but Elain could still feel the warmth radiating off his body. Another shiver made its way down her spine. Her skin felt so sensitive in his presence that it was hard to focus on anything besides him.

“Normally just Cassian,” Elain attempted to joke. Her chest felt slightly lighter as she noticed the twitch of his lips. It was a mistake looking at his lips. Her tongue brushed against her own that suddenly felt dry. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

Azriel nodded. No words, no explanation, no attempt at conversation.

“You’re a lovely dancer.” Elain said, unable to stop herself, but she wanted him to know that she noticed him. She wanted him to know that she wished it was her in his arms dancing in front of everyone else.

“Thank you. You didn’t dance much at all.” Azriel noted and Elain felt the warmth of a blush on cheeks.

She gave a small shrug and said, “I was only asked by Cass, Rhys, and Lucien.”

Rhys was the first to offer her a dance, and she loved her brother-in-law too much to say no. Rhys was a lovely dancer, and she fought to keep a smile on her face under his prying eyes. Her dance with Cassian involved mostly her propping him up so that he didn’t collapse on the floor. Her dance was Lucien was non-existent.

“Why didn’t you dance with him?” Azriel asked softly. If it wasn’t the dead of night she wouldn’t have heard it.

“I don’t want to give him false hope,” Elain said, taking a fortifying breath before she continued, “It’s wretched to think you have a chance, a connection, to someone when you don’t.” She prayed to the Mother that Azriel didn’t notice her shaky breath, her racing heart, or how it took all of her bravery to say that.

In the soft glow of the faelights Elain saw a flinch run across Azriels face. It took him a moment longer than usual to school his features into their usual mask, but he couldn’t hide the pain that shimmered in his eyes.

The similarities weren’t lost on Elain. How this night resembled that of the solstice. Azriel and Elain being the only two people awake in the house. Her mate sleeping upstairs. The same crackling excitement rushing through her. The hope that maybe she would finally feel the brush of his lips against hers, and she wouldn’t have to speculate about what he tasted like anymore.

“Elain.” Azriel said her name as if it pained him.

“Why did you do it?” She whispered hotly. “Why did you give my necklace away? Why did you dance with Mor and look at her as if she were the only female in the room?” Before her bravery completely ran out she took a step forward, grabbed his hand, and placed it against her heart. “Did you feel this break tonight?”

His hand was hot against the thin cotton of her nightgown. She could just barely feel the traces of his scars. Elain wished there was nothing between them.

“Because it did,” Elain continued. “It broke every time I looked at you. It broke when I saw the necklace, and it broke when I saw how beautiful you and Mor looked.”

“Elain,” Azriel said, his voice harsh, his hand pressed further into her as if he too wished there was no nightgown separating them. “I want to, but I can’t.”

“I don’t understand,” Elain stared at his churning hazel eyes. She couldn’t help the lonesome tear that slid down her face. She was about to wipe it away when he beat her to it. His large, warm, wonderful hand brushed away her tear before cupping her cheek. Despite the pain that was growing in her chest, she would feel it all again if it meant his skin on hers. She would withstand any pain if it kept them together. “Make me understand.”

“I want to kiss you,” Azriel said. Elain felt each word as it brushed against her face. “I want to rip this nightgown from your body, lay you on the table, spread your legs open and feast until I’m drunk off the taste of you. I want to slide into you until I’m the only thing on your mind, and then I want to bring you so much pleasure you’ll never want to be away from me. And once you found your pleasure, I’d take you upstairs and do it all again. If I ever got a hold on myself I would make love to you the way you deserve.”

Elain, loving the warmth and wetness that flooded her core, felt as if she was about to combust. One tiny spark and she would erupt into flame.

“And why can’t we do that?” Elain asked quietly, as if she were afraid of ruining the moment. As if she were afraid he would slip away from her yet again.

“Rhy’s pulled rank on me.” Azriel replied. The only sign of tension was the muscle that contracted in his jaw. Elain ignored the urge to run her tongue over it.

“Huh?” Elains brain was too hazed with desire to form a proper sentence.

“He forbid it.” Azriel replied, tilting his head forward slightly, and brushing his nose against hers. The breath that floated across her face threatened to knock her over.

“Forbid what?” Elain managed to get out - too absorbed in him to think clearly.

“Us.”

Elain didn’t have time to think about what Azriel said as his lips descended on hers.