#side plank progression

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 40: Where Do We Go From Here?

Summary: Things aren't going as smoothly as anyone would like. Maybe they can fix it. Maybe they can't.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,723 words

Warnings: Angst, discussion of nightmares, PTSD, discussion of death and killing people, emotions, so many emotions, angst, a little sliver of comfort

A/N: And it is back!! not super proud of this one but I'm starting out on a filler so...yeah. Really just setting up for the next part where some action starts again. You'll see. Anyway, glad to be back at it and I hope you enjoy!

11/30/24: **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

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John stands at the door, gazing out at the yard. It’s pouring rain, dumping buckets on the roof. The water has pooled on the planks of the deck, splattering with every big drop that pours from the sky. The weather once again mirrors your mood, your sobs audible from your room over the pounding on the roof. 

John holds his mug in his hands, staring at the reflection in the window. Kyle and Johnny are sitting on the couch, both looking like kicked puppies. They’re itching to enter your room and go comfort you, but they’ve been kicked out for now. You’re not in the state of mind to be around any of them right now, no matter how badly your sobs tear at their heartstrings. 

You haven’t been in that state of mind for a few hours now. 

Whatever nightmare had plagued your mind last night, it was particularly awful. You’ve been up since the early hours, waking from a nightmare with a terrified scream that had continued until Kyle finally got you to stop and breathe. His ears are still ringing with it, his mind still pulsing with that fear. Something happened. Someone got in. Someone hurt you. 

Nothing happened. No one got in.  

The only threat was still just in your mind. 

Graves. 

He knows that’s at least part of your nightmares. Christine had disclosed that to him quietly on the side. Even she doesn’t know everything that plagues your dreams, but Graves seems to be a common specter in the darkness of your mind. 

It makes his blood boil, and not just out of anger for what Graves did to you. 

It boils with anger at himself too. 

It’s his fault you’re in this state in the first place. He should have known, he should have seen, he should have suspected. He should have never left you there. You should have been his priority over anything else. 

How badly he’s failed you. 

He lets out a sigh, turning away from the window to move over to the couches. He sinks down with a sigh, resting his elbows on his knees. The little progress you’ve made has regressed with this new string of nightmares, the fear pushing you further and further back into your mind. He’s resolved himself to only get worried when Christine is worried, and right now she’s beginning to look worried. If you regress back again, the chances of bringing you out of that are slim. Sure, there are plenty of options to help, but you have to want them to help. 

He knows exactly what will help, you just don’t want it. 

He runs a hand through his hair as your sobs begin to quiet. It’s longer than he’s let it get for a long time. They’re all a bit scraggly and ragged looking, worn down and lazy now that there’s no strict rules guiding their lives. None of them quite know what to do outside of the regulations they’ve spent the better parts of their lives living under. He’s been in the military longer now than he hasn’t, and he’s been finding himself itching for that structure again. He can never bring himself to relax and put the job aside even on leave. He only takes it when he has to and usually spends it training and keeping his skills sharp. 

Now...now things have changed. 

They have no return now. There’s no clear, set time that they have to return to base. They can’t return to base. It would leave them too open to a possible retaliation from Shepherd. They were betrayed by one of their own already, who's to say someone else wouldn’t be just as eager to become a traitor for a chunk of cash? They’re not even truly safe here. 

How are they going to go back to base after this? Can he bring himself to take you back there, a place you never felt comfortable in the first place? 

Where do they go from here? 

He’s been trying not to think too much about it. That’s a dilemma for a different day. That’s thinking too far ahead. Day by day is as far as he dares to take it now. 

The door closes quietly, John’s head lifting to watch Christine as she approaches the couch. There’s a slump to her shoulders, something that’s been getting lower and lower as the days have progressed. She’s struggling with this just as much as they all are. 

She sinks down on the couch, letting out a long breath. Your sobs have quieted, no sound coming from the room now. The silence is almost eerie after days of constant sounds, good and bad, from your room. You were doing better. You were looking more alive and well. 

Then this happened. 

“She’s asleep.” Christine says, her voice strained. “Finally calmed down enough to nap.” She covers her eyes with a hand, sitting there still for a moment. 

“The nightmares?” John asks, glancing at Christine out of the corner of his eye. 

“Worse.” She says, her gaze far away. “She's remembering what happened.” 

John stares at Kyle and Johnny for a moment, the betas returning his worried gaze.

“Those shadows she killed...” Johnny says.

Christine nods. “She's, uh, not taking it well.” 

John runs a hand over his face. He knew it was possible you'd start to remember what happened during the time your omega took control. It wouldn't remain a dark spot forever, though he hoped it would. The things you were forced to do are coming to light now, the things you did to survive because they failed you. Taking the life of someone who deserves it is nothing to them. Taking the life of someone who would take yours just as quickly isn't so much as a second thought. 

You're not like them. 

You've never had to face that reality before, and you shouldn't have had to. 

“One of us should talk to her.” Kyle says.

“I don't think that's the best idea right now.” Christine shakes her head. “She's...regressed a bit. Pushing that on her, while well intentioned, might do more harm than good...” she trails off, her gaze still far away. 

The three of them sit there, waiting for what she’s going to say next. He’s not even sure Johnny or Kyle are breathing as they wait patiently for whatever solution Christine might be able to come up with, whatever move she thinks is the best one to take next. 

“I want to take her out.” Christine says. 

“What?” John asks in surprise. 

“She needs to get out of the house. It’s not doing any of us any good sitting in here all day.” She rubs her eyes. “She expressed interest in going for a walk a couple days ago. She needs to get up and moving, start regaining some of her strength.” 

John lets out a breath leaning back against the couch. He’s tempted to say no. His knee jerk reaction is to refuse. The world outside isn’t safe. If anyone is watching, if anyone sees them...

There’s always going to be that risk though, and Christine is right. Sitting in the house all day isn’t doing any of them any good. They’re at the mercy of the rain, but even then, he doubts it will keep any of them trapped inside for long. 

“When the rain clears up.” He finally says. “We'll discuss it more. But, I think that might be a good idea.” 

“What can we do?” Kyle asks, staring at Christine. 

She lets out a sigh, covering her eyes with her hand. “I don’t know. I’ve helped hundreds of omegas in crisis and yet I don’t know why this case is so hard.” 

“This has become more personal than those cases.” John says. 

Christine’s shoulders slump even more. “I know. I try so hard but she’s just so...different from other omegas.” 

“This entire situation is different from what you’ve done before.” Kyle says. 

“You’re right.” Christine sighs. “The best we can do is let her lead. Do what she needs, give her what she wants. The worst thing that can happen right now is regression. If she regresses too far, we might never get her back.” 

“What is it? Tell me what ye need.” 

“Can you make me forget?” 

“I wish I could.” 

“Hit me hard enough on the head I might forget everything. Then we can all just start over.” 

“That’s not funny.” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” 

“Kitten,” Johnny sighs, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I wish I could make those thoughts go away. I wish I could make them mine.” 

“I killed people.” 

“I know.” He reaches out, touching your hand. “I wish ye didnae have to. Ye were just defending yerself. Those Shadows would have done worse to ye if ye hadn’t.” 

You curl up in your chair, turning away from him. “That’s not helpful.” 

“Sorry.” He says, letting out another sigh. “We just want to help ye.” 

You’re silent for a moment, sitting there listening to the waves. It’s cold this morning, not even the thick blanket draped over you offering much respite. It’s the first morning it hasn’t poured rain in days and you were determined to take full advantage of it despite the objections of your pack. 

“I know.” You finally say, staring out at the grey clouds looming on the horizon. The rain will return, just like the dark thoughts constantly swirling in your mind. They make you sick, nausea constantly churning in your stomach and threatening to rise. 

Johnny wraps his hand around yours, his palm warm against your cold skin. “Should head inside. Gonnae catch a cold.” 

“You know that’s a myth right?” You say, tilting your head to stare at him. 

“No it’s not.” He says, pulling your hand between his. “It’s not good for ye being out in the cold.” 

“I’ll live.” You say, trying to pull your hand from his, but he holds you firm. He’s stubborn, but so are you. 

“Kitten...” He says, almost whining at you. “Go inside please.” 

You let out a sigh, staring out at the horizon again. The clouds promise more rain soon, another downpour on its way. You hate it, how much it’s been raining. You just want to be outside, down at the beach, going on walks. Your pack won’t let you though, not while it’s raining, even though they often leave no matter the weather. 

It’s not fair. 

You’re not a fragile flower and you’re tired of being treated that way. Even though your brain feels like it’s in a blender constantly. Even though the pain of what happened still drives into you like a knife, you just want to be treated like a normal human being again. 

“Fine.” You sigh, pushing yourself up to stand. “I’ll go inside.” 

Johnny grabs your arm before you can head back in the door. “Ye know we just want the best for you.” 

You stare at him for a long moment, emotions swirling in your mind. They are trying. You’ll give them that credit. They’re trying, but not hard enough. “What you think is best and what’s actually best isn’t always the same.” 

He looks like a kicked puppy as he lets you go. You turn away before you can feel guilty, heading back inside the cottage. 

You pull the blanket tighter around you as you stare at the flickering flames in the hearth. The heat is intense so close, but it’s warming the chill under your skin. It’s getting colder at night, foretelling the upcoming winter. All the blankets in the world couldn’t fight off the chill that’s settled in you at night. You know what might help, but you’re not brave enough to approach that solution. 

The footsteps on the stairs don’t startle you in the otherwise silent house, the creak of them audible over the crackle of the logs in the fire. 

“I’d add another one.” A voice says from behind you. 

“I’m going to.” You say, reaching for the stack next to the fireplace. 

“Careful. Put it on the side.” 

“I know how to make a fire, thank you.” You snap, shoving the log in before moving it into place with the poker. “I’m not useless.” 

“Didn’t mean to imply you were.” It’s silent for a moment as you settle back into place. “What are you doing out here?” 

“I’m cold.” You answer simply, not feeling up to giving an entire expose on your current state of mind to the person you want to speak to the least right now. 

“We can turn the heat up more.” John says. “Whatever you want to be more comfortable.” 

I want you to leave. You bite your lip, suddenly not brave enough to say it out loud. 

They are trying. 

“Why are you down here?” You ask instead. 

“Couldn’t sleep so I came to get a snack.” He says. “You want anything?” 

“No.” You say quickly, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. “I’m alright.” 

“You sure?” He presses, standing off to your right. 

You hesitate for a moment, curling your toes under the blanket as one of the logs snaps. It’s not food you need from him. Your appetite has decreased again with this new wave of horrible things plaguing your mind. You want answers. 

“I want to know why you decided to leave, why you went on that mission and left me when you knew things were not right.” 

John shifts on his feet behind you, the wood floor creaking just slightly. He’s silent for a long moment, so long you almost think he’s walked away. 

“I was too trusting. I got caught up in the mindset of a soldier and chose to trust my superiors when I knew I shouldn’t have. I wanted to send you somewhere else, to stay with Kate, but things didn’t work fast enough to make that possible. I shouldn’t have just left you there, even with Johnny and Simon. It’s the worst mistake I’ve ever made.” 

Tears burn your eyes as you stare into the fire. At least he knows he made a mistake. At least he thought up other plans, but that doesn’t excuse the fact he did nothing and just left you there so easily. 

Another question burns at the forefront of your mind. You think back to that conversation with Dr. Keller just a few days ago. You want to trust her, you know you can trust her. She’s given you no reason not to. She wouldn’t lie, even if the rest of your pack did. 

“You really didn’t leave me with Graves?” The words slip out before you can stop them, spilling forth from your lips, revealing part of those inner thoughts that have plagued you for the last few hours. 

“I would never have left you with him.” John says, the floorboards creaking as he takes a couple steps forward. “As soon as we found out we turned around and went to Kate’s safehouse. She was already looking for you. We did everything in our power to find you as quickly as we possibly could.” 

The tears start sliding down your cheeks as you sit there, taking in his words. They’re spoken with such conviction and match what Dr. Keller had told you. Some deep, dark part of your brain wants to think it’s all a lie that they’ve conjured to try and make you feel better about everything, to try and jumpstart the healing process. Yet, at the same time you want to believe they are telling the truth. 

Your other option is to trust Phil and what he said to you. For all you know, everything he said was a lie. Some sick justification to torture you as some kind of revenge towards your pack. Maybe it was all about revenge. 

Who can you trust more? Phil, or your alpha. 

Maybe if you had just held on a little bit longer. Maybe if you hadn’t believed Phil’s lie, you could have saved yourself the terror of letting your omega take over. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to take that risk and corrupt yourself with blood-stained hands. From what you can remember and have managed to weasel out of Dr. Keller, they were right behind you. A few more minutes and maybe none of it would have had to happen. 

Maybe you did do the right thing in the end. Phil might have ordered his men to kill you as soon as they arrived. Maybe they would have done it as soon as Simon and Johnny entered the room. Saving yourself might have been your only option. 

Those men would have killed you or worse. You did what you had to do. 

You’re shaking. The tears are cascading down your cheeks, warmed by the heat of the fire. You’re crying, your breaths nearly hyperventilating as you sob quietly. 

“Talk to me.” John says as he kneels down beside you. 

“I can’t do this.” You whisper, your knuckles white where they’re gripping the edges of the blanket. The words are coming out and you can’t stop them. Maybe it’s because deep down you remember the better times, when he was a comfort. Someone you could trust to catch you when you fall. “I keep seeing them, seeing what I did, what happened. I killed people.” 

“People that would have killed you without a second thought.” He says. “You were defending yourself in a situation where that was unavoidable. It’s not your fault. None of it is.” 

“She scares me, my omega.” Your inhale stutters. “She’s angry. She won’t settle. I’m scared I’m going to lose control and she’ll come out again.” 

“You’re not going to lose control.” John says. Despite the heat of the fire you’re not much warmer, a cold chill shooting through your veins. “If it were to happen, we’re right here. We’ll get you through it.” 

You stare into the flickering flames, your breaths slowly coming back down to normal. John sits there, as still as a tree. You don’t want him so close to you, yet you can’t deny how comforting his presence is. For the first time in a while you don’t feel quite so out of control.

“Can we ever move past this?” You ask, your voice quiet and broken.  

“I like to think we can.” John says. “It won’t be easy, but if that’s what you want, we sure as hell will work to make it happen. Things won’t go back to the way they were, and they shouldn’t. You deserve better than what we gave you.” 

You don’t respond because you can’t. His words float around in your mind, replaying over and over. You want to believe him. You desperately want to believe him, but a deep part of you can’t. He’s made promises before and then broke them. How can you trust this time will be different? 

The creak of the stairs wakes you. It’s jarring, pulling you out of a sleep you didn’t know you were in. You’re on the couch in the living room, bundled under a blanket with a decorative pillow under your head. You don’t remember moving to the couch. The fire is nothing more than embers now, but it feels warmer in the house. It’s dawn, the grey light streaming in through the window, chasing away the shadows of night. 

“What are you doing out here?” A gruff voice asks you. 

You groan, rubbing your eyes. “Fell asleep.” 

“On the couch?” 

“Think I was on the floor first.” You yawn, pressing your face back into the pillow. “Don’t remember getting to the couch.” 

“Why?” 

“Got cold.” Your voice is slightly muffled as you pull the blanket up higher. 

Simon lets out a sigh before moving around the couch to the fireplace. He adds a couple logs in before lighting it again, the fire crackling back to life. You’re half asleep already as another blanket is draped over you, tucked up around your neck. There’s a feeling of a hand brushing over your head, but that may have just been your imagination as you drift off back to sleep. 

You don’t get to sleep long, more footsteps coming down the stairs waking you. A hand does brush over your head this time, the scent of the beach filling your nose. You let out a groan, trying to snuggle deeper into the blankets. 

“Sleeping out here this morning?” Kyle’s soft voice reaches your ears. 

You grunt, chasing the quickly fading edges of sleep in your brain. 

“Breakfast is ready, if you want to get up.” 

You are hungry. There’s a quiet rumble of your stomach as you begin to register the smells coming from the kitchen: bacon and eggs and coffee. Johnny is making the coffee most likely. Maybe you’ll have some this morning. You might need it with how groggy you feel. 

You stretch out on the couch, trying to breathe some life into your limbs. It’s not the most comfortable couch, definitely not for sleeping, but it’s better than the floor. It was likely John that moved you. You’re not quite sure how that makes you feel. 

You don’t remember falling asleep after your little talk last night. You’re not sure how that moment of vulnerability makes you feel either. There was a time when you wouldn’t have thought twice about going to your alpha with such concerns and tumultuous feelings. There was a time when you would have sought him out for the comfort and stability you need right now. 

Things are different, though. Things have changed. 

You run a hand over your face, thinking back to the groggy conversation with Simon this morning. You’re not quite sure it even happened, or if you dreamed it. There’s two blankets on you, however, and you distinctly remember feeling the second one being draped over you. 

It’s a touching gesture from the specter in your life. Once again he’s been reduced to a shadow, a figure lingering only because he has to. The distance that had once been so close to closing has widened into an impossibly wide canyon. You’re not sure it’ll ever fully close again. Too much has transpired in such a short amount of time between the two of you. He’ll never forgive himself, and you’ll never be brave enough to force it again. 

You push yourself up to sit, joints cracking from being stuck in one position for so long. You blink slowly as you sit there for a moment. It’s warm in the house, almost too warm now with your body warmed from sleep. Dr. Keller is sitting at the table, a steaming mug in front of her. Tea, most likely. Maybe coffee. You’re not quite sure. She gives you a soft smile as you rub a hand across your face again. 

You feel groggy as you push yourself up to stand, letting your stomach and feet guide you towards the smells coming from the kitchen. Kyle guides you to the table with a promise of making you a plate and you take your usual seat at the end of the table facing the kitchen. Dr. Keller is to your left this time, coffee in her mug judging by the smell. 

“How did you sleep?” She asks, her hands wrapped around the mug. 

“Fine. Got cold.” You say, resting your head in your hand.

“John turned the heat up a bit. We can get you more blankets if you need them.” Dr. Keller says. 

You hum, letting your eyes close for a moment. You won’t complain about more blankets, more soft things to lay with. There is one thing you wish you had, though. You’re not quite sure how to ask for it, or that it would even be possible to get. 

You jump when a hand touches your back, not realizing you had even dozed off sitting there. 

“Sorry.” Kyle says, setting a plate on the table in front of you. “Food’s hot. You want coffee or tea.” 

“Coffee.” You say instantly, earning a wide grin from Johnny as he takes his own seat at the table. 

“Even split this morning.” He says cheekily, setting his own mug down. “Three against three.” 

“Tea is still the superior choice.” Kyle says from the kitchen. “Better for you anyway.” 

“Coffee has a lot of health benefits as well.” Dr. Keller says. “So long as you don’t add too much sugar into it.” 

“See.” Johnny says, giving them a victorious grin. 

“She said so long as you don’t put too much sugar in it.” Kyle says, carrying over your mug of coffee. “You’ll get diabetes from how much you add in.” 

“Two spoonfuls isnae too much.” He turns to look at Dr. Keller. “Is it?” 

Dr. Keller gives him a worried look. “You might be pushing it there.” 

Johnny’s grin turns into a pout. “What do ye mean?” 

A ghost of a smile tugs at your lips as you quickly shovel a forkful of eggs into your mouth. As much as the deep pain of trauma and their decisions ache in your chest, you have to admit you missed this. It’s the least tense you’ve seen all of them in the last few weeks. Even Dr. Keller’s shoulders don’t seem quite so squared as they have been. 

A part of you feels guilty about it. It is your fault deep down. You’re the one keeping them all on edge, driving that wedge between them over and over again. Deep down you’re the one causing the heavy weight that’s settled over the house. You wish you could just go back to normal, you wish you could just wave a wand and make yourself okay again. You wish you could ease their pain just a little bit. 

The eggs suddenly don’t taste quite so good anymore. 

You force them down regardless in favor of causing another scene, in favor of dragging the mood down. They deserve a little lighthearted moment after everything. They don’t need to know the inner turmoil plaguing your mind. 

Simon shifts next to you, his eyes darting to glance at your face. You can feel them, the intensity of his gaze just as sharp as it had been back in the beginning, back before he looked at you with fondness. He’s stiff as he sits there, almost as if he can sense the storm raging inside of you as you force yourself to pretend that you’re fine in favor of keeping the bright mood that’s settled over the table. 

Maybe he can sense it. He is an alpha after all. It’s his job to know, to understand. You glance across the table at John, his eyes on his phone as he sips his tea. 

Your gaze drops down to your plate as you pick up a piece of bacon, your heart shattering just a little bit more. 

“‘S too early.” You whine as hands pull the blanket off of you. Cold air nips at your skin, making you curl up in a ball. 

“It’s noon. Come on.” A hand closes around your arm, gently shaking you. “You want to get up.” 

You let out a whine, pinching your face up. “No.” 

“Trust me. It’ll be worth it.” Kyle says, brushing the hair back from your face. 

“Why.” You say, letting out a huff. 

“We’re going on a little trip.” Kyle pulls you up, forcing you into a seated position. “Dress warm.” 

You’re alone in the room again, the door left open. Light streams in, making you squint against the harsh intrusion. A quick glance at the clock reveals it is, in fact, a little past noon. You took a nap to make up for a night of tumultuous sleep, one of the few things you have to do here in this prison. Nap and read. It’s a lot like your life before the cottage, before everything that happened, except now you’re stuck with your pack around you at all times. 

You almost miss the times they were away. 

You’re half tempted to go back to sleep, but you’re too awake now, and the light streaming in the doorway is making it hard. It was done on purpose, left that way to prevent you from falling asleep again. 

You let out a huff as you maneuver yourself so your legs dangle over the edge of the bed. You try to blink the drowsiness away, no matter how much your brain is trying to chase the last lingering threads of sleep quickly receding. The nap hadn’t been nearly long enough, but judging by Kyle’s eagerness, they let you sleep a bit longer than they wanted. 

You let out a sigh before pushing yourself off the bed, moving to the dresser. You pull out warm clothes, quickly changing. You have no idea what they have planned, what’s going on. There was no frantic rush, Kyle’s energy more excited than anything. It makes you a bit worried as you step out of the room into the living area. 

They’re all waiting by the door, watching you as you approach them, rubbing your eyes. 

“Come on,” John says, setting a pair of shoes on the floor. “Boots on.” 

“What are we doing?” You ask, moving forward automatically. 

“We’re taking a little trip.” Kyle answers, repeating what he told you in the room. 

You look at him cautiously as you step into the boots, pulling them on. You haven’t been away from the cottage since you arrived two weeks ago. You’ve barely been let outside, weather permitting. It’s an overcast day today, the world grey outside, but grey is better than rain. 

“Ready?” John asks as you stare at him. 

“I guess.” You say, still a bit hesitant. 

They make no effort to ease your discomfort and nerves. 

You’re led out the door and towards the cars by Dr. Keller. Her face is brighter than it has been lately which doesn’t help your nervous energy. She’s excited too, just like the rest of them. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous. Maybe it’s the anxiety of leaving after being trapped inside for so long. You just want to know where you’re going, what it is you’re going to be doing. 

Dr. Keller ushers you into the back seat of one of the cars, getting in the other side. Kyle and John climb into the front while Johnny and Simon get into the other car. 

You watch the green pass by as they drive, taking in the new landscape. You don’t remember arriving at the cottage. You don’t remember most of the trip at all. It’s all a blur in your memory, much like the events that transpired after your omega took over had been. You wish you could remember the trip over those events. You’d take green rolling hills over your own hands taking lives. 

It had been jarring waking in the cottage for the first time. A new place, the lack of memories getting there. You’re beginning to get tired of the pattern. You half expect to fall asleep and wake up somewhere new again most nights. You wouldn’t know any better. A slip of a pill into some food and you’d wake up somewhere halfway across the world. 

You like to think they’d at least warn you beforehand. 

John pulls the car into a parking lot, parking near a line of trees. Johnny pulls into the parking lot behind John, parking near the entrance. It’s on purpose, you know that much. Everything is about safety and making things look as inconspicuous as possible. Anyone could be a rat. Anyone could be watching. 

It’s windier here as you step out of the car, even though you haven't gone far from the cottage. Walking distance, if you were up for a hike. You’re not. 

“Come on, kitten.” Johnny says, guiding you through the parking lot and towards a path. 

You still don’t know what’s happening as you follow them, Johnny holding your hand as you step onto the rocky path. He leads the way, the others following. John is behind you, hovering in case you slip in the gravel. You do your best not to, despite how quickly Johnny is leading you. He’s more eager than Kyle had been, and you’re sure he’d be running if you could keep up. 

You begin to figure out what’s happening as the sound of waves crashing on the shore gets louder and louder. Your chest starts to constrict with emotion as the trees start to get sparser and sparser, a cliff edge visible over Johnny’s shoulder. You want to run now, you want to break ahead and race your way to the edge of the cliff. Johnny, even in his excited state, would catch you before you could take off and potentially hurt yourself. 

You might hurt yourself just trying to run. 

You hate it. 

The land opens before you as you reach the edge of the cliff. The expanse of the sea seems daunting so close, grey and choppy from the wind. Salty air blasts you in the face, rustling your jacket as you stand there above a small beach. It’s empty, but that’s expected for late fall. All the tourists have gone home, those with vacation homes back in better weather for the winter. 

You’re glad you’re alone. You wouldn’t want anyone else ruining this moment. 

Kyle’s fingers wrap around yours as you stand there, staring down at the beach below. “Come on.” 

The gravel turns to dirt as it winds down the side of the cliff, getting steeper as you near the beach. You do nearly slip as you follow Johnny and Kyle down to the sand, your boots quickly getting muddy. You’re glad for them, understanding why John chose boots over more comfortable shoes. 

You pause as your feet sink into sand. You stare out at the water, at the white crests of waves crashing onto the shore. It’s real. It’s not just some mirage, some painting in the background of your life. It’s really here. You’re really here. 

No one says anything as you take a few steps forward before squatting down. You scoop up a handful of sand, letting it slip through your fingers. It’s coarse against your cold skin, thicker and rockier than the sand you’re used to, but it’s still sand. It’s still a beach. 

You’re at the beach. 

You scoop up another handful of sand, letting it run through your fingers again. You want to put some of it in a jar and set it on the nightstand at the cottage. You want to stare at it and remind yourself you’re really at the coast, you’re really just a short drive away from the sea. You want the sand to sink into your skin and flow through your veins and fill every crack that’s formed in your mind.  

You’re really here. 

You stand up straight, staring out at the water again. Your pack is still behind you, silently watching you. You shuffle forward a couple steps, waiting for one of them to stop you, to grab you and keep you from getting closer, but none of them move. You widen your steps, treading through the soft sand until you reach the edge of the wetter sand where the water was earlier. It’s easier to walk on as you continue to approach the water, the sound of your pack treading through the soft sand disappearing behind you as you get closer and closer to the water. The waves flow up the beach, your feet getting closer and closer to where that water stops. 

You half expect them to stop you as you step forward, letting the waves hit your feet. The salty water washes away the mud and sand clinging to your rubber boots, rushing up over the tops of your feet. You stare down at the water, watching it surge upward and around your ankles. You’d keep walking if you were brave enough, let it get higher and higher until it soaked your clothes, but you know they’d stop you. It’s far too cold to risk getting wet. You can feel the chill of the water through your boots as it flows over your feet. 

You’re not sure how long you stand there, watching the water rush back and forth, feeling the pressure of it against your boots as you stand in the waves. You’re really here. You’re really standing in the sea. 

You finally turn after what seems like an eternity, making your way back up to the softer sand. All of them are standing in a line, watching you. You wonder what’s going through their heads, what they feel standing here. Relief? Happiness? Guilt? Shame? The wind whips at your back, coming right off the water, blowing their scents away from you. What you wouldn’t give to be able to smell them right now. 

Tears burn your eyes as you make your way up towards John, trudging through the sand. His cheeks and nose are pink from the cold wind, his beard longer than you’ve ever seen it. You don’t remember the last time you’ve really looked at him up close. His gaze is uncertain as he stares down at you, trying to gauge your next move. He can’t. You know he can’t and it makes you feel powerful. 

It shouldn’t, but it does. 

“Thank you.” You say finally, a tear sliding down your cheek. “Thank you.” 

You can hear them. They don’t know it, but you can. They think they’re speaking quietly, but in the silence of the morning, you can hear almost every word. Dr. Keller’s protests, John's quiet insistence. 

Leaving. 

That’s the word that caught your attention. Leaving. Someone is leaving. Someone is separating themselves from the pack again, and not just for a trip to town to go to the store. This meaning is different, it hangs differently in the air. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea right now.” Dr. Keller says, her voice just barely audible through the open sliding glass door. It’s open just a crack, just enough to hear what’s transpiring inside. 

“We won’t have another chance.” John says, his voice insistent. “We have to do this. She deserves it.” 

She. You. Whatever it is, it involves you. It always does. You can’t remember a time over the last few weeks when it hasn’t been about you. It’s always about you and you hate it. You almost wish things would go back to the way they were before, when you were a second thought, the one left behind.

You’re going to be left behind again. 

“John-” 

“I know.” John’s voice is louder again. “We have to do what’s best for our pack, and right now this is it.” 

The sliding door opens, the conversation over. Your stomach is churning, nausea eating its way up your esophagus as John crosses the deck towards where you’re seated. His steps are slow and quiet, almost like he’s approaching a wild animal. He might be, depending on how this conversation is going to go. 

How are you going to react? You expected it eventually. They’ll always leave, they’ll always put you last and think about themselves first. Are you upset? Are you angry? Is it a relief? 

You wish you could feel something right now. Instead you feel numb. Another promise broken, another lie told. 

“You’re leaving again.” You say, staring out at the horizon as John takes a seat next to you. You need to get it out first, say what you know before he can say it and break your heart again. 

He lets out a quiet sigh, leaning back in the chair. “We are, but you’re coming with us.” 

You turn to glance at him, taken aback by his words. You’re leaving too? You hadn’t considered this. The cottage is your prison. You are Rapunzel trapped by the Mother Gothel that is your pack, stuck in the tower for the rest of time. 

Leaving? 

“There’s something we need to take care of back in the states.” John explains. “You’re coming with us.” 

Back in the states? What could possibly be there that is left for you, for your pack? 

You don’t like the sound of that. You don’t like the sound of that one bit. 

NEXT ->

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[blog-o-meter]

Pump It Up - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: Rained in, (Y/N) decides to workout at home while Nicholas reads a script in the kitchen. Halfway through, though, she realizes that he wasn’t really reading anymore.

warnings: 18+, caught masturbating, needy!nicholas, established relationship, dom/sub undertones, voyeurism, exhibitionism, denial

required listening: n/a

word count: 4,123

a/n: here’s a quick little fic <3 im sorry my word counts are so long compared to others’ — my brain literally won’t let me write unless I drag scenes out to make them seem more realistic/plausible in my head, if that makes sense LOL

reblogs, likes, and replies are greatly appreciated and let me know if you’d like to see more!

The rain outside was relentless, its constant drum against the window and the occasional rumble of thunder enough to convince me to not leave the house. I’d driven through too many rain storms in this neighborhood to know that risking getting my car flooded from driving through the backed up water at the end of the road was not worth it. That’s horrible infrastructure for you.

I had plans of hitting the gym, maybe even treating myself to a little smoothie that I had been looking forward to all day. Just thinking about the tartness of a berry smoothie after a grueling workout was enough to make my mouth water, but it looked like the rain wasn’t going to let up. The worst part was I had already gotten dressed, and I had so much pent up energy ready to be exerted.

That’s when I thought — why not just do my workout here? The living room was spacious enough, and as long as I had my music, I think I could manage. Sure, I wouldn’t have access to any of the fancy machinery, but I could still do some sets without anything extra — planks, sit-ups, Russian twists, leg raises, etc.

Determined to use up my energy, I grabbed my phone and earbuds and walked out of the bedroom, making my way over to the open-concept living room to find Nicholas perched on the kitchen counter, his back to me. He had been tirelessly looking over a potential script his agent had given him earlier — writing notes, highlighting pieces of dialogue, the like.

I set down my things on the coffee table before coming up behind him, running my hand up his back and settling it on his shoulder, giving him a little massage as I looked over the booklet open in front of him. He let out a sigh, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close.

“Nic, is it ok if I work out here?” I asked while I brushed away the single strand of hair flopped over his forehead.

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded his head.

I turned my attention to the script, bending over the counter a bit to reach for it. The half-scribbled nonsense caught my eye. I could barely make out any of the words he had written, but I guess the only person that had to understand it was Nicholas — and the guy knows his shit.

“Are you sure it won’t bother you while you’re looking over your script?” I asked as I flipped through the script casually.

Nicholas chuckled, leaning back slightly on the stool. His arm stayed wrapped around my waist, his thumb brushing idly against my side. “Don’t worry; I’ll tune it out.”

I smiled, thankful for his understanding. I planted a quick kiss on his temple, running my fingers through the back of his hair. “I’ll try to keep it quiet,” I said as I pulled away from his grasp and walked toward the open space between the coffee table and the tv in the living room.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a yoga mat, so the laminate floor would have to do, whether I liked it or not. Maybe I’d get used to the stiff floor the more my workout progressed, and I would have already done my exercise for the day by then. Note to self: buy a yoga mat.

I grabbed my earbuds, deciding to only put one in just in case Nicholas told me to keep it down, and reached for my phone to press play on my workout playlist, which consisted of EBM and Acid House — no lyrics for maximum concentration. Plus, it helped me keep a steady rhythm.

I began with a series of deep stretches, my arms reaching high above my head before I bent forward, letting my fingertips brush the floor. A quiet groan escaped my lips as I felt the soreness from yesterday’s workout still lingering.

The music pumped softly in one ear, the beat steady and hypnotic as I transitioned through my warm-up. I shifted into a runner’s lunge, my knee grazing the cold laminate as I leaned into the stretch. A soft sigh slipped out, my muscles pulling deliciously.

Rolling up slowly, I shook out my legs and moved into a few standing side bends, my hands clasped over my head. My breathing grew deeper, the ache in my sides fading as I worked through it. A low hum escaped me as I twisted my torso, relishing the sensation of each vertebra popping gently back into alignment.

I stood straight then, shaking my arms as I prepared to start the real workout. “Okay,” I muttered to myself.

I dropped to the floor for my first set of planks, planting my hands firmly and aligning my body. The strain hit almost immediately, my core engaging as I held the position. My breathing grew audible, sharp exhales through pursed lips as I counted the seconds.

“One… two… three…” My voice was quiet but breathy, each number punctuated by a soft grunt.

The timer on my phone ticked down, and when I reached thirty seconds, I pushed myself into a series of shoulder taps. My palm slapped the floor softly with each shift of weight, my breaths turning into little gasps as the effort increased.

“Almost there,” I whispered to myself, my tone more encouraging than determined.

When I finally finished the set, I rolled onto my back, chest heaving and gasping while the music in my ear pulsed. I clocked Nicholas shift in the stool then, but I didn’t think much of it. He had been sitting there a few hours now; his back must’ve been stinging.

Next up were leg raises. Lying flat on my back, I slid my hands beneath my lower back for support and lifted my legs until they were perpendicular to the floor. Lowering them slowly, I felt the familiar burn in my lower abs. Those were killer.

“God,” I groaned softly, squeezing my eyes shut as I held the hover position just above the floor.

My voice came out in broken exhales as I finished the set, letting my legs drop to the floor with a thud. My head tilted back, and I let out an exaggerated sigh, the exertion starting to creep up on me.

After a moment of rest, I rolled back onto my knees and pushed myself into a standing position. I moved into a series of squats, setting my feet shoulder-width apart and sinking low with each rep. The burn in my thighs was immediate, but I leaned into it, pushing deeper with every squat.

“One… two…” My voice grew louder, the numbers mingled with quiet grunts as I tried to keep my form steady.

By the time I reached 20, a soft whimper escaped me. I straightened, pausing to catch my breath before diving into the second set. Midway through, I let out a particularly loud groan, the sound filling the quiet room. I glanced over my shoulder toward the kitchen, half-expecting Nicholas to say something, but he remained silent, his back still turned.

He shifted in the stool again then. I noticed it this time — the way Nicholas’s arm moved. It wasn’t just a casual shift in his posture or an adjustment of his script. His elbow dipped, his shoulder tensed, and there was a sort of rhythm to it.

I thought it weird, but I pushed through the rest of my squats, continuing my quiet counting. But from the corner of my eye I could see him continuing to move his arm ever so slightly, like he didn’t want me to see. And of course, curiosity got the best of me.

When I finished the set, I let out an audible sigh to signal that I had finished my squats. His back was still to me, and I could see past the outline of his other arm on the counter that the script was still open in front of him, but his movements were stiff.

I strolled toward the kitchen under the guise of grabbing something to drink, letting my footsteps fall heavy against the floor to make noise. As I neared, I noticed the faint tremor in his shoulders as he turned the slightest bit away from me as I rounded the counter and made my way toward the fridge, opening the door casually.

I pulled out one of the cold-pressed juices Nicholas liked to keep stocked to indulge in after coming home from the gym and closed the door. I turned around on my heels, glancing over to him. His jaw was clenched, and he didn’t flick his eyes up once to glance up at me. I also noticed his left arm was under the counter while his right arm was propping up his chin, his pointer finger curled against his lips.

“Hey, Nic,” I said, my voice light as I twisted the cap off the juice bottle with a crisp crack. “Is my workout bothering you?”

He stiffened, his body locking up as if I’d just caught him in the middle of something incriminating. “No,” he said quickly, his voice unusually tight. “It’s fine. Keep going.”

I raised an eyebrow, taking a long sip of the juice as I watched him. He still wasn’t looking at me, his focus seemingly glued to the script in front of him, but he didn’t even have a pencil in his hand anymore, the pencil laying flat some inches away as if forgotten.

“Are you sure?” I asked, the tiniest bit amused at his behavior.

“It’s fine,” he replied a little too fast, his voice clipped. He shifted on the stool, his left arm pulling slightly closer to his body.

I lingered for a moment longer, watching the subtle tremor in his shoulders and the way his right hand moved to grip the edge of the counter. It was obvious he didn’t want me to see what he was doing.

“Alright,” I said with a shrug, “Let me know if I’m being too loud.”

I rounded the counter again, noticing from the corner of my eye Nicholas shifting his body away from me another time as I passed by to make my way back to the living room.

I didn’t sit down right away, instead taking my time to stretch dramatically, letting out a long exhale as I reached for my toes, glancing periodically over to Nicholas. Now that he had shifted from his previous position, I could catch his reflection from the framed artwork hung on the wall perpendicular to him, and it gave me a full view of what he was doing.

Nicholas’s left arm was indeed beneath the counter, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that told me everything I needed to know.

He was helping himself.

His head was tilted slightly forward as if he were trying to focus on the script, his jaw tight, and his eyes were closed — completely lost in the moment. His right hand gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white, as though grounding himself in reality, and he was being very mindful of keeping his noises to himself.

I froze mid-stretch, my fingertips grazing my toes as I processed what I was seeing. Heat rushed to my face and neck, a mix of shock and complete amusement. He had no idea I could see him — no idea that his every movement was perfectly reflected in the glossy surface of the artwork.

The realization sent a jolt of excitement through me. The idea of Nicholas pleasuring himself while listening to me grunt and huff was like a spark to my flame, and I intended to add more fuel.

Straightening from my stretch, I took a moment to steady my breathing and hide the growing smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. If Nicholas wanted to keep up his little secret act, I’d give him something to really work with.

Dropping back down to the floor, I positioned myself for a new set of planks, but this time, I exaggerated every movement, letting my body shift slowly as I adjusted my form. “Alright,” I muttered, just loud enough to carry over the sound of the rain outside.

As I held the plank, I let out a low groan, my voice breathy and drawn out. “God, that felt so good,” I said, my words broken by strained exhales.

From the corner of my eye, I could see his reflection in the artwork. Nicholas’s hand paused for the briefest moment before resuming its rhythm, a little quicker this time. His shoulders hunched slightly, his body shifting as if he were trying to control himself.

Biting back a grin, I moved into shoulder taps, each motion accompanied by a soft grunt. “One… two… three…” I counted aloud, my voice deliberately low and husky.

Nicholas’s head dipped lower, his jaw clenching tighter as his hand moved beneath the counter.

“Is my counting bothering you, Nic?” I called out between breaths, my tone innocent but teasing as I watched him through the reflection.

His head snapped up, and for a second, I thought he might stop altogether. But he quickly recovered, clearing his throat before replying, “No, I’m fine. Keep going.” His voice was rough, strained, and completely unconvincing.

I tilted my head, feigning innocence. “You sure?”

His jaw tightened, and he dropped his head back down, his eyes fluttering shut as he continued to stroke himself. “I’m sure,” he muttered. “Just… focus on your workout.”

“Ok,” I replied lightly, smiling to myself and dropping my hips to the floor as I transitioned into a set of cobra stretches. My back arched as I pushed up onto my hands, letting out a loud groan as I tilted my head back.

Nicholas’s breathing hitched audibly, and I couldn’t resist glancing at his reflection again. His movements had picked up just the tiniest bit of speed, as if he were afraid going any faster might have me catch on. His other hand, though, gripped the counter so tightly I thought it might leave marks.

Pushing back onto my knees, I transitioned into a child’s pose, my arms reaching out in front of me as I let my hips sink low, making sure I let out a soft moan. I tilted my head just enough to glance at the reflection, catching the way Nicholas’s head dipped even lower, his movements more frantic now.

My lips curled into a smirk as I pulled myself up from the floor and removed my earbud, tossing it onto the couch so it could land without making a sound. Keeping my steps light so as to not warn him, I slowly made my way over to Nicholas, inching my way closer and closer.

When I was close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, I paused, watching as Nicholas continued, completely unaware of my presence. His head was still bowed, his breathing shallow and uneven, his left hand continuing to stroke himself under the counter. I bit my lip, the smirk on my face growing as I leaned forward, positioning myself just behind him.

I stayed there for a moment, hovering, my own breath steady and quiet, while he was too lost in his own world to notice. Then, as quietly as possible, I leaned in until my lips were just inches from his ear, waiting a few beats before letting out a soft moan.

Nicholas froze, his entire body locking up as his hand stopped mid-motion. His head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock, and I could see the flush spreading rapidly up his neck and cheeks. He started to pull his hand away, stammering something incoherent, but I was faster.

I reached down, my hand sliding beneath the counter to replace his. His sharp inhale echoed in the quiet room, and I could feel the tension in his body as I wrapped my fingers around his hard length.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I murmured, my lips brushing against his ear as I began to move my hand in slow, deliberate strokes. With my free hand, I brushed my fingers through Nicholas’s hair, clutching it in a fist and lightly pulling his head back toward me.

Nicholas’s head fell back against my shoulder, letting out a low, guttural sound as his mouth fell open and his chest rose and fell with labored breaths. His hand, now free, gripped the edge of the counter again, his knuckles whitening as he held on for dear life.

“Did the sounds I was making turn you on, huh?” I teased, my voice a soft purr in his ear as my hand continued its slow, torturous rhythm.

Nicholas groaned in response, his voice ragged and desperate. “Mm-hmm,” he muttered, nodding as his breathing grew heavier. His free hand slid up to cover his face, his embarrassment palpable even as his body betrayed his need. But I made sure to pull his hand away, wanting to see his beautiful face.

“Don’t hide from me,” I whispered, tightening my grip on his wrist to keep his hand away from his face. “You wanted me to catch you, didn’t you? Isn’t this what you wanted?” I teased, increasing the pressure of my hand just enough to make him gasp.

Nicholas let out a shaky breath as his body gave into my touch. His chest rose and fell erratically, and he whimpered softly at the teasing in my voice.

“Yes,” he finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper. His hips bucked slightly into my hand, and he let out a needy moan, his restraint crumbling. “Please… don’t stop,” he begged, his voice trembling.

Nicholas’s desperation was intoxicating, and I couldn’t help but savor the way he melted under my touch. His vulnerability was rare, and seeing him this undone because of me was exhilarating. I let out a quiet moan into his ear, mimicking the sounds I was making while working out.

“Such a good boy,” I murmured against his ear, letting my lips brush against the shell of it. My hand continued its slow, steady rhythm, deliberately teasing him. His hips jerked, seeking more friction, but I tightened my grip slightly, controlling the pace.

“Please,” he whispered again, his voice cracking with need. “I need…”

I chuckled softly, my breath warm against his skin. “Need more…?” I asked, my tone dripping with playful cruelty.

Nicholas whimpered, his hand clutching at the counter like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “More of you,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Please… I can’t… I need you.”

His admission sent a shiver down my spine. I kissed the sensitive spot just below his ear, drawing a shaky breath from him. “You sound so pretty when you beg,” I whispered, my hand picking up its pace ever so slightly.

His entire body shuddered, and he turned his head to try to capture my lips with his own, but I pulled back just enough to keep him from reaching me. “Uh-uh, you’ve been bad, Nic,” I teased, my voice a low purr.

Nicholas let out a frustrated groan, his head dropping back against my shoulder again. His chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, his desperation spilling over in the way his fingers gripped the counter.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice trembling and raw. “Please, I’ll be good. I just… I need you.”

I smirked, savoring the way he unraveled beneath me. “Oh, I know you’ll be good,” I replied, my voice laced with mock sweetness. My hand slowed its pace just slightly, enough to make him whimper in protest, his hips shifting to chase the friction. “Tell me how much you want it,” I demanded, tightening my grip ever so slightly. “I want to hear it, Nic.”

He let out a shaky breath, his head tilting back to rest on my shoulder as he turned to look at me, his eyes glassy and pleading. “I need you so fucking bad,” he admitted, his voice rough with vulnerability.

His words sent a jolt of satisfaction through me. I leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good,” I murmured, pulling back just enough to see the way his lips parted, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment.

“You’re so perfect like this,” I said softly, my free hand sliding up to brush through his hair again, tugging gently at the strands. “So needy. So honest.”

Nicholas let out a low moan, his body trembling under my touch. “I’ll do anything,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

I chuckled, the sound low and teasing as I tilted his head back further, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. “You’re mine,” I murmured, pressing my lips against his skin, my hand resuming its deliberate pace. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice cracking under the weight of his need. “All yours.”

Hearing those words fall from his lips made my heart race. I pressed a kiss just below his ear, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Good boy,” I whispered, my tone both soft and commanding.

Nicholas let out a ragged moan, his body arching into the back of the stool as he surrendered completely to me. Every sound, every movement he made was for me, and I relished every second of it.

“I—” His voice cracked, his body trembling as he struggled to form coherent thoughts. “I need… I need to—please, just let me…”

I chuckled softly, tightening my grip for a moment to make him gasp. “You’re going to make a mess, aren’t you?” I teased, brushing my lips against his ear.

Nicholas let out a broken moan, his head falling back against my shoulder. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice trembling with need. “I can’t—please, I can’t hold it…”

I smirked, my hand picking up its pace just enough to push him closer to the edge. “Go ahead,” I whispered, my voice a low purr.

His entire body tensed, his hips jerking against my hand as he let out a strangled moan. His eyes squeezed shut, his breath hitching as he finally gave in. The tension in his body snapped, and a low, guttural sound escaped him as he spilled over, the warm evidence of his release landing on the script spread out on the counter.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the steady rhythm of the rain against the windows and Nicholas’s ragged breathing as he slumped backward, his head resting against my shoulder as his lips parted.

I pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, letting my hand linger on his waist as my other hand reached to brush my fingertip against the white ropes that landed all over the counter. I held his gaze as I brought my fingertip to my lips, letting the taste linger on my tongue. A slow, deliberate smile spread across my face as I tilted my head slightly, savoring both the flavor and the effect it had on Nicholas.

Quickly brushing my fingers through his hair, I softly asked, “How about you clean up your mess while I finish my workout, hmm?”

Nicholas let out a weak laugh, his cheeks still flushed as he tilted his head to look at me. “You really know how to humble a man,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but laced with affection.

I leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, tasting the lingering warmth of his breath. “And you really know how to make a workout interesting,” I teased, pulling back.

Nicholas groaned softly, running a hand through his tousled hair as he sat up straighter on the stool. “I’ll clean it up,” he muttered, reaching for a nearby paper towel with a sheepish grin.

Nicholas moved with a quiet efficiency, his usual confidence tinged with an endearing embarrassment. As I settled back into my workout, I couldn’t help but steal glances at him from the corner of my eye. His shoulders were still a little tense, his cheeks still faintly pink as he wiped the counter clean with meticulous care. He avoided looking at me directly, though I could see the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

When he finally finished cleaning up, Nicholas tossed the used paper towel into the trash with a dramatic sigh of relief. Turning to lean against the counter, he folded his arms over his chest, his eyes locking onto me with a playful intensity. “You know I’m going to get you back for this, right?”

As I settled into my next stretch, I smirked up at him, “I hope you do.”

[maybanksbaby]

warnings: none really

summary: jj really loves his new boat and shows it off to his girlfriend

a/n: he looked so cute in the comercial, i love him so much. please let him be happy this season 🙏🙏

⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

JJ Maybank was practically vibrating with excitement as he waited on the dock, a wide grin plastered across his face. His brand-new—well, new to him—boat was tied up right behind him, and he couldn’t wait to show it off to her. His pretty girlfriend and number one fan, the one who made everything in his life feel like it was coated in sugar and wrapped in a pink bow.

The sound of soft footsteps on the weathered wooden planks jolted him from his thoughts, and he whipped around to see his girlfriend, the absolute light of his life, making her way toward him. She looked as cute as ever, dressed in one of those sweet knitted tops she always wore, paired with a short skirt that twirled with each step. Her hair was bouncing with the sea breeze, and she had her usual pink gloss that smelled like strawberries, making him weak in the knees before she even said a word.

"J!" she called out, her voice making his already sky-high excitement bubble over.

Before she could even finish her next breath, JJ was already running toward her, grabbing her hand and practically dragging her down the dock. "You’re here, you’re here, you’re here! Okay, close your eyes!"

She blinked, giggling at his enthusiasm. "JJ, what are you—JJ!” she squealed, letting out an adorable little laugh when his hands covered her eyes from behind, her body relaxing into his. “What are you doing?”

“You trust me, right?”

“I do, yeah…”

“Then close your eyes,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, which instantly sent her into a new fit of giggles.

She sighs, her shoulders slumping down. “Can i at least get a hint of what it is?”

“Nope! Eyes closed, no peeking! This is a surprise!” He placed his other hand over her eyes too for extra insurance.

She let out a playful sigh but complied, trusting him as he eagerly led her down the last stretch of the dock. “Okay, okay! I’m closing them!”

JJ could barely contain himself as he guided her close to the boat, careful not to let her trip. “Alright… three… two… one—ta-da!” He whipped his hands away from her eyes and bounced on his heels as she finally saw it.

The messy panting, that if you narrowed your eyes read 'MAYBANK'S' on the right side, didn't let much to the imagination. Now, she understood.

Her eyes widened, and she let out a surprised gasp, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. "Oh my gosh, JJ! Is–Woah. Is this… this boat is yours?"

“Yup!” he said, puffing out his chest and throwing his hands up proudly.

Her gaze swept over the boat—a charming, beat-up thing, but it was perfect for JJ. The paint was chipped, and the motor looked like it had seen better days, but it had a certain rugged charm, just like him. “JJ, it’s—”

“Beautiful? Amazing? The best thing you’ve ever seen?” He interrupted, unable to contain his excitement.

She giggles, nodding along. “Yeah! How did you even manage this? We're... literally broke right now.”

JJ let out a short awkward chuckle, scratching his wrinkled eyebrows, “Uh, well... that's not really important. What is important though, is that she's all mine–Ours! It's not really new but, with a couple of technical adjustments, a little more of my girl's style right here and—boom! Meet 'The Maybank!”

She stared at him for a moment, eyes twinkling, before bursting into giggles. “The Maybank?”

“Okay, okay, it’s a work in progress, name-wise” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “But who cares about the name? Check this out! Come on, come on!" He grabbed her hand again and practically sprinted to the back of the boat, pulling her along with him like an overexcited puppy.

“JJ!” she laughed, trying to keep up with his energy.

“Look at this beauty of a motor!” he exclaimed, leaning over to pat the engine like it was some prized race car. “She purrs like a kitten! Well, kinda more like a sick kitten, but once I fix her up—purring.”

She smiled warmly, her heart swelling at how proud and happy he looked. JJ had been through so much, more than most people could handle, and yet here he was, smiling like a little kid on Christmas morning, showing her the boat he’d worked so hard to get. “A sick kitten? Oh, it's... Yeah, probably fixable. Without any more costs...”

“Oh, it is, princess!” JJ said, completely missing the uneasy tone. “You haven’t even seen the best part yet! Come here!”

He tugged her to the front of the boat, showing off the seats with grand gestures, talking a mile a minute. “These seats? Top-tier comfort. I mean, okay, there’s a rip or two, but it’s vintage, y’know? Character! Like–Like you say. Aesthetic.... And this right here—” He pointed to the tiny built-in cooler. “Boom! Cooler for all our drinks. You, me, the Pogues? Ice-cold sodas, beers, whatever we want. Fancy, huh?”

“Very fancy,” she giggled, nodding along.

“And wait, wait, there’s more!” He led her to the very front of the boat, practically skipping at this point. “See this space? Perfect for you to lay out and tan while I drive. Like a little sunbathing queen. Plus, I can park us in all the secret spots around OBX.”

She couldn’t stop laughing at how eager he was, and her heart swelled as she watched him ramble on. “You’re really proud of this, huh?”

He stopped mid-gesture and turned to her, his grin softening for a moment. “Yeah. I mean… it’s not much, but it’s mine. I can finally take you out on adventures, like we always talked about.”

Her heart melted at his words, and she reached up, cupping his cheek with her hand. “JJ, it’s perfect. I love it. I’m so proud of you.”

He leaned into her touch, his heart thudding in his chest. But before the moment could get too soft, his energy snapped back, and he grabbed her hand again. “Come on, I haven’t shown you the captain’s seat yet!”

He practically dragged her over to the helm, hopping into the driver’s seat and patting the spot next to him like an excited puppy. “Check it out! You wanna drive? You totally gotta drive.”

She shook her head, laughing again, but took a seat next to him, watching as he fiddled with the controls like a seasoned pro. “I don’t think I’m ready to drive a boat just yet, JJ. Can't even drive the HMS Pogue”

“Pfft, you’ve got me! I’m a captain now, baby. I’ll teach you everything. Plus, there’s not much to it—steering, not hitting rocks, easy peasy. You got it.”

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Maybe next time, Captain Maybank.”

“Next time, I’ll hold you to that,” he smirked, turning to plant a quick kiss on her forehead.

With one swift movement, JJ started up the boat, and they pulled away from the dock, the boat chugging forward at a steady pace. The wind whipped through her hair, and JJ was practically glowing beside her, his smile as wide as the ocean they were heading toward.

“See? Easy!” JJ exclaimed, beaming from ear to ear as they coasted along the water. “This is just the start. I’m gonna take you everywhere, baby—secret beaches, hidden coves, the works. We’ll go places no one else even knows about. And just then, we'll be traveling all over the world. Like pirates”

She watched him, her heart practically melting as he rambled on, his energy so infectious that it made her feel like they were the only two people in the world. His joy was her joy, and she couldn’t help but beam at how proud and excited he was. “JJ, this is… amazing.”

He shot her a playful smirk. “I'm telling you, just wait until I fix the motor. Then we’ll be flying across the water, like those fancy Kooky boats. But better.”

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as the boat slowed to a gentle stop in the middle of the water, the sound of the engine fading away to leave just the soft lapping of the waves. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the sky in a beautiful mix of orange, pink, and purple. It was serene, and perfect.

As they glided over the water, JJ kept up his constant narration, pointing out every little thing about the boat, from the condition of the steering wheel to a small patch he’d made on the deck with duct tape. She soaked it all in, giggling at his over-the-top enthusiasm, and her heart swelled at how happy and free he seemed.

After a while, JJ slowed the boat to a stop in a quiet, serene spot with a perfect view of the setting sun. The water around them was calm, reflecting the orange and pink hues of the sky.

“And here we are,” JJ announced, throwing his arm over her shoulders as if he’d just revealed a million-dollar mansion. “Not bad for a first trip, huh?”

She snuggled into his side, her fingers tracing little patterns on his arm. “Not bad at all. I think I could get used to this.”

JJ grinned, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, “You'll see, pretty girl. ”

She laughed, tipping her head up to kiss him on the cheek. “I can’t wait, Captain Maybank.”

JJ wrapped both arms around her, pulling her close as they watched the sunset together. His excitement from earlier had finally settled into a comfortable warmth, and for the first time in a while, he felt like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. He places his chin on his shoulder, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh-oh,” she teased, gentely tilting her head go look at him. “That’s never good.”

“Hey!” he laughed, then shook his head. “Nah, but seriously. You, know, the name of the boat? ‘The Maybank's’?" The way he pronounced it, slowly and with a twich of his eyebrows, managed to get a giggle from her. "It’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

"Mhm, yeah. Really... characterized"

His grin softened into something a little more serious but no less JJ—playful yet full of warmth. He stepped closer, the arms around her waist gentely tighting. “Well, I was thinking… It’s perfect for when we get married too, you know? You’re gonna be a Maybank one day. Well, if you want. You can keep your last name though, not sure how it all works up these days, but... I wouldn't mind to share, you know? Just saying”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt her cheeks flush as his words settled in. Instead of being flustered, she melted into him, her smile only growing wider, softer, and so full of love. “No–I... You really think so?” she whispered, gazing up at him with that sweet, adoring look she saved just for him.

Her breath caught, the realization washing over her in a wave of warmth. They both knew it, had known it for a while now. The thought of marrying JJ felt like the most natural thing in the world, like it was already written in the stars.

“Of course! You’re my girl,” he said, his voice steady, almost serious, as if he was laying down the law. “When we get married, it’s going to be you and me, officially. Just picture it: ‘Captain and Mrs. Maybank’—how cool is that?”

A dreamy smile spread across her face, and she bit her lip, feeling giddy at the thought. “Mhm, sounds amazing, Jayj. Like a dream.”

His eyes lit up, and he pulled her closer, their bodies practically melting into one another. “See? It’s meant to be. I’ll show you the ropes on this boat, and then we can plan our future adventures as a married couple. Our honeymoon even” He flashed that goofy grin that always made her heart race. “You’ll make the best wife ever.”

Her cheeks flushed at the sincerity in his words, and she felt her heart swell with love. “I would love to be your wife, Mr. Maybank,” she said earnestly, her voice a soft melody. “I can’t imagine anything better.”

“Mhm. You, me, and this boat—just sailing off into the sunset. It’s perfect.” He pointed to the sea vaguely, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “And, hey, we can even practice the whole captain and first mate thing. We'll be the king and queen of these waters”

Her heart is about go explode in her chest, her eyes hurting from how much love they're holding while looking at him.

“Do you think we can take it out soon?” she asked, turning around in his arms to be face to face with him.

“Oh, absolutely. I already imagine us cruising around the island, just the two of us,” he said, a dreamy look crossing his face. “And then, in a few years, we’ll be out here with our kids, teaching them how to sail. It’ll be perfect.”

Her heart swelled at the thought, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest. “I can’t wait for that, JJ. You make everything sound so fun and exciting.”

“Because it is! Especially with you!” He grinned down at her, and she could see the love and enthusiasm shining in his eyes. “You and me, forever, right?”

“Forever,” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper, but filled with all the certainty in the world. As they stood there together, she knew without a doubt that one day, they’d be sailing through life as Mr. and Mrs. Maybank, and nothing could be more perfect than that.

With her by his side and the open water ahead of them, JJ Maybank couldn’t imagine life getting any better.

[beansprean]

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oh my god they're engaged to be engaged...

(also this is entirely separate from the izzyguana series fyi, but my god I have drawn their little island so many times by now)

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Wide shot of Stede and Ed's ramshackle house on a hill of long grass, a forested mountain sliding into the sea behind them as the sun peeks above the waves, painting them orange and yellow. Some work has been put into the house since they found it: the holes in the roof have been boarded over or covered with tarp, a rickety porch railing and staircase off the left side have been built on from scraps, oil lamps have been hung on each corner, and an addition on the right side is in progress, rocks stacked on the wood-slat roof and tarps hanging from unfinished walls. Planks of wood, tools, and fishing poles are leaned up against the porch, the path to the house has been cleared out and defined by stones and shells, and a wooden sign out front has the words "Best Little Inn By The Sea! +fishing equipment" carved into it. Stede and Ed, wearing a teal blouse with brown leather trousers and purple tee with black leather trousers respectively, are standing on the porch and looking out over the land, arms around each others waist. Stede raises his arm in a wave and shouts, "Great to see you two! Come again any time!" In the foreground, Pete and Lucius are walking down the path away from the house, looking tired. Pete has one arm around Lucius's shoulders and his eyes are closed, head listing to the side. Lucius covers his mouth as he yawns, lifting the other to throw a halfhearted wave over his shoulder. 1b. Waist-up in profile of Stede and Ed on the porch, sunrise behind them. Closest to the viewer, Stede stares out after their guests, hand lowering, smile fading to something a little bittersweet. Ed leans into Stede, free hand in his pants pocket, and rests his head in the crook of his neck as he follows Stede's gaze with a thoughtful smile. Ed asks, "You ever think about that for us?" 1c. Repeat. Stede's hand drops further, wrist dangling, as he turns his face toward Ed with a bewildered smile. "What?" Ed straightens from his cuddle, embarrassed, but keeps his right hand on Stede's waist. His left gestures randomly as he scrunches up his face, avoiding Stede's gaze. He explains, "Y'know...the matie-monie thing, whatever."

2a. Zoom out slightly; Stede takes a step back toward the house to face Ed as he pivots with his back toward the yard. They are still connected waist-to-hand. Stede plants his free hand on his hip with a smug little smirk and says, "Well I certainly hope that's not your proposal." Ed waves his free hand in a 'stop' motion, flustered as he meets his partner's eyes, and splutters "Wha- no! No, mate, I just... 'M having a dialogue." 2b. Repeat, zoom in. Ed dips his chin to look up at Stede through his lashes, red-faced and accepting defeat as he mumbles, "...How would you want it to go, though? Hypothetically." Stede giggles helplessly, free hand leaving his hip to rest fingertips on Ed's chest. 2c. Repeat, the background cutting out in favor of the sunrise occurring between them. They are almost forehead-to forehead, both of Stede's hands now pressed to Ed's chest and idly playing with the tips of his hair. Ed stares at his face with hooded eyes. Stede smiles, gaze lowered to focus on his hands, and says "Oh, I don't know. A bit of romance, you know. Dazzle." 2d. Repeat, zoom in to bust, background now mottled oranges and yellows. Ed raises his head to look past Stede with a frown, brow furrowed in confusion as he repeats blankly, "Dazzle." Stede hums idly to himself, concentrating on petting Ed's chest. 2e. Repeat. Stede lifts his head with a little smile, putting them nose-to-nose and adds, "I wouldn't say no to some fireworks." Ed flusters at the pointed reminder of their first time, cheeks turning red and a wobbly smile creeping across his face.

3a. Repeat. Stede asks, "What about you?" Ed leans back from their embrace, smile turning incredulous as he repeats, "Me?!" 3b. Waist up of Ed as he turns, sunrise at his back, to lean his left arm against the porch railing. He glances over the yard with a resigned little frown, fiddling with a piece of his hair with his right hand. He replies, "I dunno. Never really thought about it." 3c. Chest up of Stede as he mirrors Ed's pose with a fond if slightly amused smile, stairs and forest behind him. Offscreen, Ed continues, "Bet you had a whole scrapbook of ideas, eh?" 3d. Repeat. Stede straightens with a "Well!" and turns his body to face the house. 3e. Knees-up from the house POV as both men lean against the porch railing, the yard, ocean, and brightening sky beginning to streak itself with orange beyond. Stede is facing the viewer, back to the yard, leaning with his elbows braced on the railing. He aims his gaze to the side with a bit of a pained smile and says, "When Mary and I were engaged, a scrapbook wouldn't have been much use." Ed is turned toward Stede, left elbow propped on the railing. He scowls and sticks out his tongue at mention of Mary. 3f. Repeat. Stede turns his head toward Ed, who quickly tucks his petty tongue back in his mouth and schools his expression into one of interest. Stede continues, "Everything had been decided for us already. Never really got to the proposal part."

4a. Repeat. Ed turns his body more fully toward Stede, folding his arms on the railing and leaning his head over them with a warm smile. Stede raises his eyebrows in surprise and goes slightly pink as Ed says, "I'll have to make it really good, then." 4b. Stede turns his body toward Ed, left arm sliding against the railing behind him and right hand cupping Ed's chin as he leans closer, nose to nose. Ed's eyes hood, looking at Stede's mouth as is curls into a loving smile. Stede responds, "Can't wait." 4c. Repeat. Ed suddenly goes pale and blurts out, "You'll say yes, though, right?" Stede freezes in surprise, lips puckered in preparation of a kiss. 4d. Repeat. Stede throws his head back in a loud bark of laughter, straightening up and turning fully toward Ed to cup his cheek in his right hand and his shoulder with the other. Ed aims an embarrassed, besotted smile at him as Stede replies, "Ed, of course! Who could say no to you?"

5a. Repeat, both now in profile. The orange and yellow light of the sunrise is slowly spreading across the sky from the left. Ed straightens up from his lean to bring their foreheads together, still a bit red-cheeked and with a nervous edge to his smile as he lowers his gaze. He says, "You can say no if you want, though." Stede smiles at him with every ounce of tenderness he has, hands firm on his cheek and shoulder. He replies, "There's nothing I want more than to say yes to you, Ed. Permanent ink, remember?" 5b. Repeat. Stede moves his right hand from Ed's cheek to hook around his back, tugging him closer as he leans himself back. Ed stumbles forward with a helpless grin, cheeks even redder, bracing himself with his right hand on Stede's chest. When their eyes meet, Stede's smile turns teasing and faux-sinister, continuing, "You're stuck with me regardless. Foreverrr~" 5c. Repeat, larger and brighter, as Stede and Ed finally come together in an affirming kiss, the land behind them retreating to allow the sea and sky to fill the background. The sun finally breaches the horizon, sending glitter sparkling across the waves and gilding the pair in warm golden light. Ed's right hand is cupping the side of Stede's neck, thumb tracing through his sideburns, and Stede's right is hooked fully around his shoulders, cushioned in his soft hair. They are both smiling into the kiss, unhurried and in harmony.

6a. Repeat as they pull back from the kiss just far enough to meet each other's gaze, arms still around each other, Ed's right hand brushing Stede's cheek and Stede's buried in the back of Ed's hair. Ed smirks flirtatiously, eyes hooded, and says, "You know... I hear there's a traditional engagement sex sabbatical, too." Stede matches his expression, left hand sliding down Ed's shoulder to press against his lower back. Stede replies playfully, "Oh, is there? I suppose I can plan that part, then." 6b. Repeat. Ed brings his left hand up to mirror his right, cupping both of Stede's cheeks, and arches up on his toes to lean over Stede with a teasing grin. His movement forces Stede to arch his back in the first motions of a dip, hands briefly flying free of their grip on his future fiance to try to catch his balance. Their lips a centimeter apart, Ed hums, "Mmm, gimme a rehearsal, first." Stede tosses his head back with a giggle in response, eyes closed, cheeks pink. Hearts float above their heads. 6c. Shot at the bottom of the hill Stede and Ed are stationed on, the packed-dirt path to the house curving upward in the background, the stones and shells now more conservatively scattered. Amidst the tall grass and tropical plants lining the way are handmade wooden signs shaped like arrows pointing the way to the inn. Words carved into them say "this way!" and "best inn!" Pete and Lucius are in the foreground, walking down the hill towards the viewer, Pete's right arm still looped around his husband's shoulders. They still look very tired with dark circles beneath their eyes - Pete still hasn't opened his. Lucius has, barely, and is scowling his way forward with a furrowed brow, declaring, "We are leaving them the worst review." Pete nods solemnly. Text nearby points to them and says 'kept up all night by noises'. Pink hearts and exclamation points spill out behind them from the bend in the path, echoing the lovey-dovey noises from above that must have made their stay so insufferable. /end ID

[irreverent-saints]

PREVIOUS NEXT FIRST

Unwanted Visitors

Idun had salt in her nostrils and a breeze through her hair. There were no clouds upon the sky, no whitecaps in the sea, and no buildings for miles. She snuck into a dense patch of growth and hauled out a narrow boat. To even call this vessel that was generous. Worms had left intricate patterns as they burrowed into it. The planks had warped apart, held together by straw, tar and faith. Were it not waterlogged, it could have made for decent firewood. Not much else. Idun looked over her shoulder. She dragged the boat over the most sandy part of the bay and mounted a makeshift trolling line with a bright red bobber. Then she pushed herself out. She did a test run in the shallows, making sure no holes were leaking. After gathering confidence she rowed out at sea.

She ventured further, a long stretch of bright white sand. Then she passed an underwater cliff, and there was nothing under her but black sea. She swallowed, staring back at her line. She rowed carefully, testing the give against waves. The sea remained calm. She held her hand against tar. Dry. For now. Idun moved slowly for about half an hour. The red dot ebbed. She leaned over, wrapping the line around a sturdy stick. The boat kept jerking. She pressed her thighs against the edges and lowered her torso, intent on reeling in her catch. With each wrap around the stick, the fight grew heavier. The first glimmering fish emerged near the surface. A sizeable cod. Two more. She grinned, strands of hair sticking to her face and briny grime up to her elbow. She lugged them in and bled them. Then she rowed back to shore. She hid her boat near the roots of a tree, covered with twigs and straw. Then she put her catch into a waxed cotton sack, tucked her flyaways to the side and softened her face. She walked up to the road when she gleaned a figure near the shore. She adjusted her coat and straightened her back. The man approached. Idun tensed up.

“Good day, nice place to go for a walk, isn’t it?” Paal said. Idun nodded.

“Fresh air is good for you.” she said.

“Are you sure thieving from the ocean is a good idea,” he asked bluntly. Idun froze.

“What. Why?”

“I saw you. Don’t do that again. At best you could drown, at worst the curse could spread to our seas,”

Iduns heart pounded as she stared at the man. He stood in the middle of the road. A stern look on his face as he carried himself with the understated discipline of a soldier.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said, continuing to slowly walk. He stepped in front of her.

“These waves have pulled so many good men under, I would hate to see you go as well,” he said. Idun took a deep breath.

“Would you?” She sneered. “I’d be shocked if anyone at all cared what happened to this hag,”

He smirked.

“They are scared of your curse, not you,” he said, bringing out a small notebook. He scribbled something down. “in fact, I’m sure they would love to be able to talk to you under less… tense circumstances,”

He handed her a small piece of paper.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Summer festivities. I will help host it. Give yourself a break from all this suffering and have some fun for once,”

Idun looked at him stunned. He kept that same sly grin.

“I’ll… see if I can fit it into my schedule.” She said, tucking it away.

They parted ways, and she hurried home. She glanced at the paper one last time before settling in to prepare the fish. She put them in a smoke chamber and bundled up in her chair. There she grabbed hold of a large cape. One side was pale and dusty, the other a deep, varied green with hundreds of scraps poking out. She sewed bits of dry moss, old rags and whatever she could find onto it until it moreso resembled peat than an outfit. If nothing else it meant she could spend her evening stabbing something a few thousand times. By dusk she looked over her piece, satisfied with her progress.

And by early morning Idun was back in the birch forest. The trees grew sparse, rarely taller than her head, She held a long spike in her hand, making her way to the Deep Woods. Her steps were silent, always aware of her intrusion. She reversed her cape to the beige side and put up the hood. The cloth limited her vision. Small price to pay. She picked up speed. On the way she looked out for lichen, birchbark and the odd spire. Those giant trees loomed in the distance, shrouded by mist.

She trudged her way through a dense patch of birches. As she emerged from the foliage, a large shadow shifted. She jumped, tripping over herself. There, so deceptively quiet, a Jotun walked across the terrain. The fog softened his outline, and it was as if every sound had been wrapped in cotton. A gentle wind howled throughout the landscape. She froze in place, ever so slowly moving closer to the ground. He was in no hurry. Each step gingerly placed ahead until he was close enough to reach out and grab her. Idun cowered. He sauntered in her direction. She tried to shuffle backwards as his paw landed a few meters from her. The faintest sound of gravel shifting, and a wash of displaced air. Were she to close her eyes, nothing more would indicate his presence. Another step. Closer. She could barely think as his massive shadow fell over her. A few hairs from the tip of his tail grazed her, and with that he had passed through. Idun felt as if her chest was going to burst. The Jotun looked to the side, assessing his surroundings with curiosity. He glanced down. His whole body seized. His tail flung and he slammed his foot down, quaking the earth. Idun ran towards the trees. He stood still. They both stared at each other.His shoulders slowly sank, and the quills that had stood out in all directions soon laid neat against his skin. He nodded slightly, lowering his ears.

“morning. I didn’t see you there,” he said. Idun laid there dumbstruck.

“G-good morning...” she stuttered.

“You look familiar,” he said, taking a step closer, she hid behind a birch, it failed to provide cover, “you’re the one that didn’t attack,”

“Oh no, I would never,” she said.

“How interesting. What are you doing here?” He asked, Idun shrank.

“Oh the usual, enjoying this wonderful nature we have all been blessed with,” she bluffed, doing her best to project her voice.

He squinted.

“And what does that entail?”

“Observing the birds, getting some fresh air in my lungs, exercising my body,”

The Jotun nodded.

“What great activities. Have fun with that, and don’t go further into the woods,” he said with a grin. Then he stood up, looking over his shoulder with narrow eyes, “also. I don’t recommend wearing those colours out here, I can barely distinguish you from the ground,”

“Thanks for the advice!” she said, clenching her jaw. He reached into a satchel strapped to his waist, retrieving a bright red leaf. The giant knelt down before her, in doing so his thighs encased her like walls. Any and all escape routes cut off. He stretched his hand out, leaf pinched between two claws that somehow failed to even bruise it.

“Here, carry this. Lets not startle each other again,” he said. She reluctantly grabbed hold of the leaf, big as parasol above her head.

“How nice of you,” she said. With no further courtesies the Jotun left.

Idun stared, puzzled and amazed. The Jotun disappeared into the Deep Woods. She didn’t follow.

Idun then spent a few days eating cod and pondering her life.

Then more time passed, the Jotun’s word had fallen on deaf ears, and she was halfway up an almond tree. She had arrived by vine, and from there it grew so tall that she could more or less walk upright along the branches. She inched toward the drupe when the ground shook. She froze in place. The huge wooden doors opened, as if the very mountain pried apart. In between foliage she gleaned the Jotun as he stretched and looked around. He hunched slightly over, letting out a deep rattle, almost a yammer. She draped her camouflage over herself and flattened against the tree. One gruelling pull forwards, one glance over her shoulder. Repeat.

The jotun scratched his chin. He proceeded to move in a casual, yet deliberate fashion, scanning the ground. A lean on caught his eye. He furrowed his brows, gently poking at it with his paw. Idun stared, praying that no human remained inside. He paused, ripping a part of the wall off before studying the makeshift shelter further. Satisfied with his assessment he kicked it apart as if it were made from tissues and matchsticks. She heaved. He made his round. When he was on the very opposite side of his garden she crawled further out on the branch. One almond of this size could make for several meals. The best way to go about it was to cut the stalk, and hopefully not go tumbling along with her catch. She could then collect them on her way back. She wrapped her legs tightly, retrieving a machete as she began to hack off a pod. As each fell down, the branches shook. She clutched against the branch, palms sweaty and a heartbeat in the hundreds. Four down, and she didn’t die on the way. One would have to consider that a victory.

She inched backwards, always aware of the fifty feet drop. She made her way down one branch, and from there she could climb the vine she had come from.

A huge shadow moved between the leaves. She seized. Then she flattened against the branch, barely gleaning a huge torso. She put up her hood and ruffled her cape, making sure every single piece of her was covered up. The Jotun browsed the shrub. He snapped an almond off of the branch. Idun clutched, knuckles white. He popped the whole thing, pod and all, into his mouth. A sickening crunch rang out. She laid there frozen as he helped himself to more. His wrist went past her, barely avoiding her cape. The spurs on is arm flew over her head. His chest hummed subtly, rapid, deep clicks.

He froze in place. Idun held her breath. His hand hovered just over her, radiating heat. He turned his head to the side. His eye flashed, a strange, crescent pupil. His ear flicked. Iduns arms began to tingle, numb from holding onto the branch with all her strength. This being was infathomable in scale. Not just in mass, but in the way he seemed tuned into the most subtle of movements. As if his very senses moved through the land in fractals, any and all intrusion accounted for. She felt as if a single stray hair, or a little too sharp an inhale would betray her location. She had his breath on her neck. Warm, slightly damp air washed over her. She clenched her jaw, moving only her eyeballs to gaze up at him. The side of his face took up most of her view as he slowly continued to chew the almond. She stood still. His pupil moved. He stared directly at her. A single, yellow eye through thick foliage. His pupil narrowed. Neither of them moved an inch.

A loud crackle. Singed fur. She grappled the twig, breathing in sharply. The jotun twitched. He stumbled backwards, holding his hand up to under his armpit. She gleaned a bright red stain. He heaved. Her ears rang. The jotun rubbed his wound. He glanced back at the tree before stepping away, slumped back and ears hanging low. He moved sluggishly, massaging the bloody spot as he slowly retreated to his cave.

Idun hurried down, collecting her catch. She rushed away from his garden. On the way she passed three bright red puddles in the soil. If not him, me, she thought, looking away.

[lovebvni]

mindset of manifestation & how i manifest

like melanie martínez, i am back from the dead.

i apologize for being gone so long, but i needed a break from tumblr. i saw toxicity swirling in the community, my life got busy, and i decided it was just time for a break. when i was planking to come back, i just saw how things got terrible and i got upset and decided not to come back.

so, im back now and with a little tutorial on how i manifest!!! <3 i hope this can help some of you out.

let’s start with background.

manifesting is kind of like predicting the future. you have something you want to happen, then it happens soon after. i feel like this is the easiest way to get into the manifestation mindset. you cannot change what you’re getting if you want it. could you change your mind later and return it like a package? yes! but before it arrives, you know it’s arrival is coming.

sure, there can be delays, but it all is going to turn out YOUR way in the end.

nile and i have been working on our mindset and this is something they wrote that i think can be really helpful — as it was to me.

from the past two years we have been actively manifesting, we learned that we often saw things as “crazy”. but manifesting isn’t crazy, it’s quite normal.

every time you get dressed in the morning, it’s an act of manifestation. you’re showing up with what you want.

manifestation is a mondane activity!! stop treating it like it was a kiss from an angel!

by reading this, you’re manifesting your eyes working, you’ve used your hands to open an app, and you have believed you can read and get through this blog! without manifesting that, you would not be here.

the first step to manifestation is believing you can do it, believing you have done it, and believing you will continue to do it. period.

there are many MANY different ways to manifest, but i manifest in 3 ways (sometimes i use all three, sometimes i use just 1 or 2.)

!! I ALMOSR FORGOT TO PUT THIS AND IM ADDING IT BEFORE I GET TO NUMBER 2 OMG!!

STOP! BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE I WANT YOU TO GET A NOTEBOOK, A SHEET OF PAPER, OR MAKE A CHECKLIST ON YOUR PHONE IN YOUR NOTES APP!!!

now i want you to write down everything you want right now down and leave the boxes blank if you haven’t gotten them yet.

once you get through that, i want you to randomly click between some of the items you want and write down things you wanted that you did get! they can be some simple and things from years ago, what matters is you have them down. throw in some things that you may have to do for school or work while you’re at it.

here’s an example! (left is before checking off, right is after)

as you can see, i added a note to the side because i got what i wanted and more abundantly! i had been manifesting a dog since i was a young child, and in 2021, i got 2!!!! (one is laying at my feet right now <3)

continue to do this daily, weekly, or whatever you have time for. i personally do this on notion and i try to add something new daily (im adding the heartstopper thing rn!!)

but yeah!! write everything u want down, and continue to add to it, just so u can see progress DOES happen and your work and effort DOES pay off!

affirming and persisting

this id the first way i learned to manifest, and the most self-explanatory.

you simply repeat what you want over and over until you get it! but not in the future tense, in the current or past tense.

ex; “i passed my maths final!”, “im so happy my boyfriend gave me those roses for valentine’s day, he’s so sweet!”, “i finished the essay for english like a week before it was due!” “i got the lead role in my play! im so excited!” etc.

now, the common factor between all of these is having a positive mindset about them. i cannot tell you HOW many times i manifested something would go well, and right before they happened, i got in a shitty mind space and wondered if it would ever happen.

but, nonetheless, i persisted through and i got what i wanted.

the pain have have been feeling cant compare to the joy that is coming. Romans 8:18

persisting is basically pushing through. think about the time you didn’t think you would make it through an injury, a school year, a trial, yet you still walked through it — even if it was slow.

like when work days are long and you want to go home, but you can’t, so you persist.

i try to think of my manifestations as an ultimatum. it’s going to happen, and that’s final. the only thing you have to do to get it is stay conscious.

and staying conscious, walking through those days, is how you get to the end!

i use affirming and persisting with pretty much everything, which is why it was first.

2. listening to subs.

it’s that simple — listen to an audible subliminal that has the results you want over and over!! that’s all i do u guys. here’s my playlist if u want it (IF I DELETE IT CHECK MY PINNED POST!! I UPDATE IT OFTEN)

i often use @stilljuststardust’s subs, slade’s subs, enchanted workshops’ subs and i want it, i got it’s subs!

all of them are trusted and credible. i cannot promise you that all the subs in my playlist will work for you, as they are (sometimes) linked to my personal desires.

3. pinterest manifestation!!

i recommend having either a whole pinterest account or a board set aside for this way of manifestation.

you simply make boards (or sections) for things you want. i would say this is best for physical items, people, looks, makeup, etc. things that re physically tangible, rather than something like reality shifting (although i do have a reality shifting board! it has been working pretty well <3)

i also have one for my mindset, my religion, so on and so forth (link btw)

i think this is pretty self explanatory. just save picture of things you want and quotes/affirmations and DONE!

i also use this sub with it :p it’s worked WONDERSSS!

if you have any other questions i will be happy to answer them!! i love you all!! go manifest!!

[knight-hiccup]

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐌 | Hiccup x Fem!Reader ₆

This is Chapter 6 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Pairing: Hiccup x fem!reader Genre: romance, fantasy, suspense, drama, angst, dark, vioIence, friends to lovers, dark themes, heavy Viking lore, Norse mythology, canon divergence, slow burn Word count: 13.3k Warnings: This will have the lore of the films + shows but with much darker themes. Gore/blood, mentions of death, Norse mythology, some realistic dragon themes, more realistic scenarios, and mature themes starting at the point httyd 2 ark comes in, so, ofc NSFW. Any other warnings will be properly tagged upon story progression. A/N: Reader description not described besides clothing true to Viking/httyd fashion from time to time.

CHAPTER 6

The lookout tower stood like a sentinel above Berk, its weathered silhouette rising stark against the bruised purple of the evening sky. The village homes sprawled below, their dark outlines softened by the fading light, while the tower's rough-hewn stair planks groaned and creaked under your boots as you climbed.

Gobber was ahead, his heavy steps thudding with purpose, his hammer-hand swinging at his side. At the top, Hiccup's lanky frame was already sprawled beside the fire pit, one leg stretched out lazily as he poked at the glowing embers with a stick. The flames caught in his auburn hair, casting a warm, flickering glow across his sharp features as he glanced up, a spark of curiosity in his green eyes.

The wind up here was a soft howl, curling around the tower and tugging at the edges of your tunic with invisible fingers. It carried the faint, briny tang of the sea, mingling with the sharp snap of the fire as its heat reached out to lick at your chilled hands. You dropped onto a log beside Gobber, the wood rough against your legs, and the three of you settled into a loose circle.

Below, Berk glittered in the dusk, its torchlights flickering like stars swallowed by the encroaching night. The warmth of the fire seeped into your bones, chasing away the day's lingering aches, and for a moment, the world felt still—save for the crackle of the flames and the distant murmur of the village winding down.

Hiccup broke the quiet first, his grin flashing quick and bright as he leaned forward, elbows digging into his knees. His eyes darted between you and Gobber, still buzzing with the restless energy of the day's Gronckle chaos.

"Alright, I missed her trial—spill it, what happened? She won't give me details," he demanded, his voice edged with impatience as he jerked his chin toward you.

You shifted on the log, feeling the faint itch of the still healing Nadder scar beneath your sleeve, a quiet reminder of the morning's madness. Gobber barked a laugh, the sound rough and booming, his stump thudding against the log as he adjusted his bulk. His weathered face split into a proud, toothy grin, the firelight dancing across the deep lines etched there.

"Aye, ye should've seen it, lad—she kept rollin' and dodgin' that beast till it wheezed and finally flopped over, belly up like a bloated fish!" he roared, his hammer-hand slashing through the air in broad, dramatic arcs as he mimed your every duck and weave.

His voice thickened with relish, savoring the retelling, and you couldn't help the small, tight smile that tugged at your lips. You shrugged it off, brushing your hands together as if to shake away the attention.

"It's nothing, though—" you started, redirecting the focus with a quick nod toward Hiccup.

"Hiccup took it out in seconds. That was incredible." Your tone stayed steady, but there was a quiet pride laced beneath it, one you couldn't quite bury. 

Hiccup ducked his head, a flush creeping up his neck as the firelight caught the faint pink in his cheeks. Gobber wasn't letting it go, though—his laugh rumbled deeper, a gravelly quake as he clapped Hiccup's shoulder hard enough to jostle him forward. 

"Aye, I've never seen that in me life! Dropped that Gronckle like a sack o' spuds!" he crowed, then turned to you, his eyes softening, the edges crinkling with something warm.

"Both o' ye made me real proud today—I couldn't be prouder o' how far ye've come, ye scrappy wee double-team misfits." The words hit like a weight, sinking into the cracks the day had carved out, and you caught Hiccup's gaze across the fire. 

His grin softened too, a flicker of shared history passing between you—late nights in the forge, the secrets behind his wild tactics—all unspoken but thrumming in the quiet space you shared.

Gobber tossed another log onto the pile, sending a burst of sparks spiraling into the night as he launched into a dozen new tales from his own trial days. "Took a Monstrous Nightmare's tail to the face, I did, and still swung me axe!" he bellowed, his voice a gravelly roar that rolled over the wind. 

You doubled over, laughter tearing from your chest, hands clutching your ribs as the absurd image took root in your mind.

Hiccup snorted dryly, leaning close to mutter, "More like the Nightmare thought it was shooing a gnat." His words were quick and low, barely cutting through the fire's snap, but Gobber caught them. 

His good hand swung out, clipping Hiccup's shoulder in a mock cuff, his weathered face creasing with a wide, unrepentant grin. The night stretched on like that—stories piling atop one another, each more outrageous than the last. Hiccup threw himself into his recounting, arms and shoulders carving the air in exaggerated sweeps as he spun his version of the day's chaos, peppered with embellishments you could spot from a mile off. 

When asked, you cut in, voice calm but firm, detailing the Gronckle's lava blast—the heat licking so close it left a faint char on your boot leather. Gobber's cackle wove through it all, a deep, jagged sound that echoed into the air, his broad chest swelling with pride as he watched you and Hiccup trade barbs and memories, the firelight painting long shadows across his gleaming, weathered face and smiling eyes.

The next morning came swiftly, the taste of fresh fruits—sweet and sharp—still clinging to your tongue as you finished breakfast. You joined the others, your boots scuffing the dirt as you trudged toward the arena for another Nadder trial. The early light spilled across Berk's uneven sprawl, casting long, familiar, jagged shadows that stretched over the rocky ground. 

The air buzzed with a restless energy as you reached the arena, the clash erupting almost the moment you were all in position. Gobber's voice rang out, sharp and commanding—strike hard, stay sharp, don't falter—and you felt your grip tighten around the leather strap of your shield as the gate rattled open with a groan. 

The Nadder exploded into view, a vivid blaze of color against the drab stone walls. Its scales shimmered in sharp blues and golds, catching the morning sun as it lunged forward, spines bristling. Astrid was on it in a heartbeat, her movements a honed blur as she charged with lethal precision. 

Her axe arced high, glinting as it poised to cleave through the thick muscle of the dragon's neck, the air thrumming with the force of her intent. The Nadder reared to meet her, its talons gouging the stone—until Hiccup outpaced her. He stood unmoving—gently dropping his chosen weapon to the ground as the beast charged at him head on. 

With a trick he'd honed with Toothless the day before, he scratched the dragon under its chin, out of sight from the others. The Nadder froze, then slumped into a sudden stupor, its vivid frame collapsing before it could lash out again. It hit the ground at Hiccup's feet, limbs loose, breath shallow—almost relaxed—its fall so perfectly timed that Astrid's blade halted just shy of its scaled throat, the air still vibrating from her swing. 

You were right there near him when it happened, the two of you locking eyes as identical wide grins split your faces. The thrill of it surged through you, electric and wild, and you tilted your head toward him, nodding in pure, unrestrained delight. The arena pulsed with anticipation, the crowd's cheers swelling until the gates creaked open once more. 

A flood of people poured through—children scrambling forward, warriors clapping, onlookers shouting—their voices rising in a chaotic roar. They swarmed Hiccup, encircling him, their hands slapping his shoulders, their words tumbling over one another in a frantic bid to be heard, all woven with admiration for his feat. You hung back at the crowd's edge, watching, their praise a living thing that drowned out the quieter sounds of the morning.

The day rolled on, the scene shifting in your mind as the sun climbed higher. After the arena's chaos faded, you found yourself wandering Berk's winding paths, the salty breeze tugging at your hair and cooling the sweat on your skin. You'd caught Hiccup's eye earlier, a silent pact passing between you—no words, just a flicker of understanding in his glance.

Later, when the village settled into its usual clamor of Hooligan life—shouts, clanging hammers, the distant bellow of dragons—you became his conspirator. With a quick check over your shoulder to ensure no one was watching, you helped him slip away from Berk's prying eyes. Together, you wove through the familiar maze of wooden houses and rocky outcrops, your footsteps soft against the earth as you guided him toward the forest's edge. 

The trees loomed as you reached the outskirts, their gnarled branches tangling overhead to form a canopy that dappled the ground with shifting light. You paused there, shooting him a knowing look before stepping back to stand guard. He vanished into the undergrowth, his lanky frame swallowed by the green as he headed for the secluded spot where Toothless waited, the wilderness low croon drifting faintly through the leaves. 

You lingered behind, leaning against a tree trunk, your senses sharp for any rustle or shout from approaching villagers. You'd promised to cover for him, to give him a break from the constant eyes and expectations, and you were ready—armed with a quick lie about an errand or a chore if anyone asked. 

The forest stretched out before you, alive with the chirps of birds and the snap of twigs, and as Hiccup disappeared to train with Toothless in peace, you turned back toward home, the weight of the day settling into something steady and sure. 

The Great Hall was alive with its usual clamor in the night, a sprawling cavern of noise and warmth carved out of Berk's heart. The grand tables stretched long and wide beneath the vaulted stone ceiling, their scarred wooden surfaces gleaming faintly under the flickering light of the iron chandeliers overhead and the surrounding hearths.

The air thrummed with the low roar of voices—Vikings swapping tales, clinking mugs, and barking laughter that echoed off the stone walls. You sat alone at one of the tables near the center, your usual spot, legs dangling off the bench as you traced a finger along a groove in the wood. 

The seat beside you was empty, saved as always for Hiccup—another quiet ritual between you, unspoken but understood. Your eyes flicked toward the heavy doors every so often, waiting for that familiar lanky figure to slip through. 

The doors creaked open at last, and there he was—Hiccup, his auburn hair a little wild from the wind, his green eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. A quick grin tugged at his lips, and he wove through the chaos, dodging a burly Viking hefting a tray of roast and sidestepping a spilled mug of mead. 

You shifted slightly, making room as he reached the table and dropped onto the bench beside you with a small, relieved huff. "Saved me a spot again, huh?" he said, his voice light but carrying that dry edge you knew so well. You smirked, nudging him with your elbow.

"Someone's gotta keep you from standing in a corner all night." 

Before he could fire back, the air shifted—boots scuffed the floor, and a shadow loomed as Snotlout plopped down on Hiccup's other side with a loud thud, his broad frame jostling the table. 

"Well, well, if it ain't the dragon tamer himself!" he crowed, clapping Hiccup's shoulder hard enough to make him wince. 

You barely had time to laugh before the others descended like a storm. Fishlegs shuffled in, his round face flushed with excitement as he clutched a battered notebook, already rambling about Hiccups arena achievements. Tuffnut and Ruffnut barreled over next, shoving each other with Tuffnut simply running across his own table as they claimed spots across from Hiccup, their elbows—and feet—knocking mugs aside. 

A handful of other teens—some you knew, some you didn't—swarmed in too, along with a few older Vikings, their voices rising in a chaotic tangle of questions and boasts about Hiccup's latest stunt.

You leaned back, watching the tide roll in, when one of the teens—a wiry kid with a mop of blond hair—pushed forward, her shoulder slamming into yours without a glance. The force sent you sliding off the bench, your hands shooting out behind you to catch yourself. Your palms hit the cold stone floor, keeping your head from smacking the edge of the table as you landed with a muffled grunt. 

The kid didn't notice, already scrambling into your spot beside Hiccup, her voice loud and eager as she jabbered about dragon training in a flirtatious way. The crowd tightened around Hiccup, a wall of bodies and noise, their hands clapping his back, their words tripping over each other in a frenzy of admiration. 

You sat there for a beat, palms pressed to the floor, legs splayed out as you blinked up at the mess. Hiccup's head poked out from the throng, his eyes wide and darting toward you, a flicker of panic crossing his face as he mouthed something—maybe an apology, maybe your name—but it was swallowed by the din. 

You didn't wait to figure it out. Crawling backward, you slid out from under the tangle of boots and elbows, the rough stone scraping your knees as you pulled yourself free of the chaos. The crowd didn't part, didn't even notice, too busy pressing in around a very overwhelmed Hiccup, whose hands flailed faintly as he tried to answer three questions at once. 

But you weren't mad—no heat flared in your chest; no scowl twisted your face. Instead, a snort bubbled up, sharp and involuntary, and you clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle it as you rose to your feet. Brushing the dust off your tunic, you glanced back at Hiccup—his lanky frame half-buried under the mob, his expression a mix of nerves and resignation—and another laugh slipped out, muffled against your palm. 

Shaking your head, you turned toward the far end of the hall, weaving through the scattered Vikings and trays of half-eaten food. The kitchen loomed ahead, its wide archway spilling out the warm scent of bread and stew, and you slipped inside without a backward glance. 

The noise of the hall dulled as the kitchen's heat wrapped around you, the clatter of pots and the low hum of the cooks taking over. You snagged a wooden spoon from a rack and stepped toward the hearth, where a pot of something savory bubbled away. 

Hiccup would survive out there—he always did, even if he'd be a jittery mess by the end of it. For now, you'd leave him to his admirers, a faint smirk tugging at your lips as you stirred the stew, the steam rising to meet you. Let them fawn over him; you'd catch up later. 

The night had deepened over Berk after you had gone home. The sky a thick quilt of stars pricked against the black that shown the unknown—almost as if Asgard was in reach. You were sprawled by the hearth in your small home, the fire's glow painting the rough wooden walls in soft oranges and golds. 

The warmth seeped into the floorboards beneath you, chasing off the evening chill as you poked at the embers with a stick, coaxing a few more sparks to life. The village outside had quieted, the distant clatter of the Great Hall fading into a low hum, when a soft knock rattled your back door. You tilted your head, brow furrowing, and hauled yourself up, brushing soot off your hands as you crossed the room. 

Peeking through the crack, you spotted Hiccup—his lanky frame hunched slightly, hands stuffed into his gilet like he wasn't sure what to do with them. His auburn hair was a mess, windswept from who-knows-what, and his green eyes flicked up to meet yours as you swung the door wide. 

"Hey," he started, voice a little sheepish, "I, uh—just wanted to say sorry. For earlier. You know, the whole. . .table thing." He gestured vaguely, like he could mime the chaos of the Great Hall into existence. 

You snorted, leaning against the door frame with a lopsided grin, waving him off before he could ramble himself into a knot. "Forget it, Hiccup. I'm fine—floor's not so bad once you get used to it." 

You stepped back, jerking your head toward the hearth. "Come in already, it's freezing. How'd the flight test go with Toothless? You've got that look—like you either crashed into something or figured out how to fly upside down." 

He ducked inside, a small laugh slipping out as he trailed you to the fire. "No crashes this time, promise. Went better than I thought, actually." 

He dropped onto the floor beside you, stretching his legs out as the warmth curled around you both. "We tweaked the tail fin again—got a smoother turn out of it. He's fast, too. Like, really fast. I think he's showing off half the time." 

His eyes lit up, hands gesturing in quick, excited arcs as he talked, and you couldn't help but smile at the way he came alive, the nervous edge melting off him. 

"Showing off, huh? Sounds like someone else I know," you say, nudging his boot with yours. He shot you a mock glare, but the corner of his mouth twitched up, betraying him. "Yeah, well, he's got the wings for it. I'm just along for the ride." 

He leaned back on his hands, the firelight catching the faint freckles dusting his cheeks. "You should've seen him—he's learning quick. Few mistakes were made so I need to add a few more things to the straps. Nearly lost my stomach a few times, but it was. . .I dunno, amazing."

"Amazing," you echoed, softer, resting your chin on your knees as you watched him. "You're getting good at this, Hiccup. Toothless is lucky to have you." He blinked at you, caught off guard, and a flush crept up his neck, pink against the glow. 

"I—uh, thanks," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head. "He's the real star, though."

The conversation drifted from there, easy and quiet—bits about the wind, the way Toothless warbled when he was pleased, a dumb joke about Tuffnut tripping over his own spear earlier. The fire crackled lower, its warmth pulling at your eyelids, and you didn't notice when your words started to slur, or when Hiccup's voice softened into a hum. 

Your shoulder brushed his as you both sank lower, the floorboards cradling you like an old friend. Before long, the steady rhythm of the hearth lulled you both under, your breathing syncing as you drifted offside by side. 

Hiccup stirred first, the faint gray of pre-dawn creeping through the window cracks. His eyes fluttered open, groggy, and he froze as the world came into focus. You were close—really close—your head tilted toward him, one arm tucked under your cheek, the other resting near his hand. Your face was soft in sleep, lips parted slightly, and a strand of hair had fallen across your cheek to your nose, fluttering with each breath. The fire had dulled to embers, but the warmth still lingered, wrapping you both in its fading embrace. 

His heart did a hard flip, heat rushing to his face so fast he was sure it'd wake you up. Red crept from his ears to his cheeks, a blazing flush he couldn't stop, and he swallowed hard, barely daring to move. You looked. . .peaceful. Too peaceful to disturb. 

His gaze darted around, landing on the bear skin draped over a nearby stool—thick and shaggy, one of Gobber's old hunting trophies. Careful not to jostle you, he reached for it, his fingers fumbling as he tugged it free. He draped it over you, tucking it gently around your shoulders, the fur swallowing you in a cozy heap. You shifted slightly, a small hum escaping, but didn't wake, and Hiccup let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. 

He sat there a moment longer, knees pulled up, watching the way the dawn light brushed your face. A dumb, lopsided smile tugged at his lips—soft and unguarded, the kind he'd never let anyone catch. Then, with a quiet creak, he pushed himself up, brushing off his tunic. 

Toothless was waiting at the cove, and the next match against the Terrible Terror loomed just hours away. He slipped out the door, casting one last glance back at you—curled up under the bear skin, warm and safe—and his grin widened just a little before he headed into the cool morning air, already itching to take to the sky again. 

A few hours had passed since the quiet warmth of your hearth, and now you stood near the center of the training grounds, the caked dirt beneath your boots packed hard from countless scuffles. Gobber was beside you, his broad frame leaning on his hammer-hand as he grumbled under his breath, his eye narrowed at something in the distance.

The others—Astrid, Snotlout, Fishlegs, Tuffnut, and Ruffnut—were scattered around the arena, half-dazed from the early hour. Astrid was sharpening her axe with slow, methodical strokes, focused. Snotlout sprawled against a barrel, snoring faintly, while Fishlegs mumbled dragon facts in a doze nodding off, his notebook slipping from his lap. The twins were off in a corner, lazily tossing a rock back and forth, their laughter muted and sluggish. 

You crossed your arms, eyebrow quirked as you nudged Gobber with your elbow. "Alright, out with it—what's got you muttering like a cranky old goat? You've been pacing around for ten minutes making us wait." 

He huffed, his long mustache bristling as he shot you a sidelong glare, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth that betrayed him. "Oi, watch it, lass—I've fought dragons bigger'n yer head with less lip," he shot back, his voice a low growl. 

You grinned wider, undeterred. "Yeah, and I've dodged Nadders faster than you can swing that thing. Come on, Gobber, spit it out already." 

He shifted his weight, the stump of his leg thudding against the ground as he glanced around, making sure the others were too out of it to eavesdrop. "Yer gonna make me say it, aren't ye?" he muttered, rubbing his good hand over his face. 

You leaned in, eyes glinting with mischief. "Yep. You're squirming like a worm on a hook—just tell me." 

He groaned, then finally bent closer, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "One o' the Terrible Terrors—it's gone. Slipped right outta the cage somehow. Thing's probably scamperin' around the Berk right now, and I'm supposed to be runnin' this blasted match!"

His tone was thick with exasperation, his brow creasing deep as he waved his hammer-hand toward the rows of locked pens. 

You blinked, then bit back a laugh, straightening up as the weight of it sank in. "What, seriously? One of those little menaces got loose?" 

Gobber's scowl deepened, his good hand jabbing the air. "Aye, and don't ye dare laugh, ye wee troublemaker—it's upsettin' me whole plan!" Before you could tease him further, a breathless huff cut through the air, and Hiccup stumbled into view, panting as he skidded to a stop beside Gobber. 

His hair was a wild tangle, his cheeks flushed from running, and he bent over, hands on his knees, gulping air. "Sorry—sorry. Sorry. I'm late. Too—I—I. . .too-k a detour. . .over the cliffs—," he managed between breaths, shooting you a quick, sheepish grin with wide eyes as he almost said Toothless aloud. 

You snorted, shaking your head, then turned back to Gobber, resting a hand on his arm. "Hey, it's fine, alright? The three of us'll handle it later—me, Hiccup, and you. We'll track down that sneaky little Terror before it chews through half the village." 

You kept your tone light, reassuring, and Gobber's shoulders slumped slightly, though his grumble didn't quite fade. "Aye, ye'd better. I'm not explainin' this to Stoick if it sets fire to somethin'." 

Hiccup straightened, catching his breath, and quirked a brow at you. "Wait, what'd I miss? What's loose?" You smirked, leaning closer to him. "One of the Terrors pulled a jailbreak. Gobber's having a meltdown about it." 

Hiccup's eyes widened, then a laugh bubbled out of him, short and bright. "Oh, great. That's. . .that's perfect timing." Gobber swatted at him with his good hand, missing by a hair. 

"Oi, none o' that cheek, lad—ye're helpin' fix this mess!" Hiccup dodged, still grinning, and you couldn't help but join in, the three of you forming a little knot of conspiratorial energy amidst the sleepy arena. 

But the moment didn't last long. A horn blared from the edge of the grounds, sharp and insistent, signaling the start of the challenge. The others jolted awake—or at least tried to—Snotlout snorting himself upright, Astrid snapping her axe to her side, and the twins stumbling to their feet with bleary curses. 

Gobber straightened, his grumpiness shifting to focus as he barked, "Right, ye lot—up and at 'em! Terrible Terror match starts now, and don't ye dare slack!

You shot Hiccup a quick look, your grin turning sly. "Guess the hunt's on hold. Let's survive this first." He nodded, still catching his breath, and the challenge kicked off—minus one sneaky Terror still unaccounted for. 

The arena buzzed with a restless energy then as you all gathered in a loose semicircle before the large cage, its iron bars scratched and dented from years of dragon-wrangling. A tiny door, no bigger than a breadbox, was set into the base—just the right size for the smallest beast in the lineup. 

The others shuffled into place beside you, still shaking off the morning haze. Astrid gripped her axe with a sleepy scowl, Snotlout flexed his shoulders like he was about to wrestle the thing barehanded, and Fishlegs clutched his notebook—hiding behind it as his eyes looked over, muttering to himself. Tuffnut and Ruffnut jostled each other, snickering as they craned their necks to peek inside. 

"Meet the Terrible Terror!" Gobber bellowed, his voice cutting through the chatter like a war horn as he pushed a bar down. 

He thumped his hammer-hand against the cage for emphasis, the clang echoing off the timber walls. You and Hiccup turned toward the pens just as the tiny door rattled open with a squeak, revealing a flash of scales and a pair of glinting eyes. The little dragon shot out like an arrow, all sharp claws and flapping wings, smaller than a housecat but twice as feral. 

"Ha! It's like the size of my—!" Tuffnut started, his grin wide and cocky, but before he could finish, the Terror launched itself at his face. 

It latched onto his nose with a snarl, tiny teeth sinking in as Tuffnut flailed, his shouts bouncing around the arena. "Get it off! Get it off!" 

The crowd erupted—Ruffnut doubled over cackling, Snotlout barked a laugh, and even Astrid's lips twitched as Tuffnut stumbled in circles, swatting at the dragon like it was a persistent fly. You bit back a grin, glancing at Hiccup, who was already moving. In one smooth, practiced motion, he hefted his shield, angling it just so to catch the sun's glare. 

A bright dot of light flickered to life on the stone floor, darting and dancing as he tilted the shield with steady hands. The Terror froze mid-gnaw, its head snapping toward the speck like a cat spotting a moth. Tuffnut yelped as it released his nose and took off, wings delighted, claws prancing as it chased the elusive glow in frantic loops around the ground.

"Wow—he's better than you ever were!" Tuffnut said to a glaring Astrid.

Hiccup kept his cool, stepping lightly as he guided the little beast in a winding path, the light dot skittering across the ground. You watched, half-amazed, half-amused, as he led it back toward the cage, calm as if he were herding a stray lamb. The Terror darted through the tiny door with a final triumphant snap of its jaws, and Hiccup dropped his foot onto the hatch, pinning it shut with a soft thud. 

The dragon scrabbled inside, letting out a muffled squawk, but the door held firm. He held his shield close, then turned to face you, his lips curling into a lopsided smile that lit up his whole face—proud, a little shy, and aimed right at you. 

You couldn't help it; a laugh slipped out, bright and warm, and you shook your head as you met his gaze. "Nice trick," you called over the lingering chaos, Tuffnut still rubbing his nose and muttering curses behind you. 

Hiccup shrugged, his grin widening as he stepped closer, the shield dangling at his side. "Figured it'd work. I'll explain later," His eyes sparkled with that quiet mischief you knew so well.

The next day dawned quieter than most, a rare break before the trial that would whittle the trainees down to the final two—those who'd face the last challenge and earn the right to kill a dragon. The weight of it hung in the air, but for now, you let it slip away, your boots crunching over the mossy stones as you descended into the cove alone. 

Toothless was already there of course, sprawled out on a slab of sun-warmed rock, his black scales glinting faintly in the dappled light filtering through the trees. His tail flicked lazily—happily as you approached.

You sank down beside him, resting a hand on his broad, smooth head. "Hey, you big beauty," you murmured, your fingers tracing the ridges above his nose. Toothless let out a low, rumbling purr, his lids drifting shut as he leaned into your touch. 

It was his favorite—something about the slow, steady strokes always melted him into a puddle of contentment, and you couldn't help but smile as his breathing deepened, the sound vibrating through your palm. You shifted closer, sitting cross-legged as you kept up the rhythm, the cove's stillness wrapping around you both like a blanket.

"Just you and me for a bit, huh?" you said softly, and he huffed a warm breath, nuzzling your hand.

You'd been there a while—longer than usual, lost in the quiet—when a rustle broke through the trees. Toothless's ears perked, his eyes snapping open, and you turned just as Hiccup stumbled into the clearing, panting hard. 

His chest heaved, his hair a sweaty mess plastered to his forehead, and he kept throwing quick, jittery glances over his shoulder like something might burst out of the forest behind him. Toothless leapt up, bounding over with a startled warble, his head tilting as he sniffed at Hiccup's tunic. 

You stood, brushing off your knees, your brow furrowing. "Hiccup, what's wrong? You look like you just outran a swarm of Terrors."

He waved a hand, still catching his breath as he dropped the bundle of gear he'd been clutching under one arm. "It's—whew—nothing, really. Just. . .Astrid." He straightened, wiping his brow with his sleeve. 

"I was walking through the woods, heading here like we planned, and she was out there training—chopping logs with that axe like they owed her gold. She spotted me, and I—I didn't know if she'd follow, so I took the long way around. You know, through the ravine, past the old oak? No one's behind me, though—I checked." 

Toothless snorted, nudging Hiccup's side with his snout, and you laughed, the tension easing out of your shoulders. "You're paranoid. She's probably still terrorizing that poor stump."

Hiccup grinned, sheepish but relieved, and plopped down onto the grass beside the gear—a tangle of leather straps, ropes and metal fittings for Toothless's saddle and tail. 

"Yeah, well, better safe than interrogated. She's got a way of staring right through you." He patted Toothless's flank as the dragon flopped back down, already nosing at the pile of equipment. 

You settled next to them, picking up a strap to untangle it. "So, what's the plan? Finish the tail rig today?" 

Hiccup nodded, his energy shifting as he launched into it. "Yep—got the new counterweight figured out. Should make the turns sharper without throwing him off balance. Oh, and I tweaked the saddle straps—less chafing for him, more grip for me."

The day slipped by like that, the two of you hunched over the gear in the cove's soft light. You handed him tools, held pieces in place while he tinkered, and listened as he rambled about drag coefficients and wind resistance—his excitement kept you hooked. 

Toothless sprawled nearby, occasionally nudging the saddle with a curious grunt as Hiccup tested fittings on him. By afternoon, it was ready, and Hiccup took him up for flight tests—short loops at first, then longer swoops over the cove's cliffs. You sat on the rock, shielding your eyes against the sun as they soared, Toothless's wings cutting the air with a grace that made your chest ache. 

"Looking good!" you shouted as they landed, Hiccup sliding off with a triumphant grin, his hair even wilder than before.

Twilight crept in as you finally packed up, the sky bruising purple and gold over the treetops. You and Hiccup climbed out of the cove together, gear slung over his shoulder, Toothless bounding off toward his own hideout. At the fork in the path, you paused, turning to him. 

"See you tomorrow, dragon boy. Don't let Astrid catch you sneaking around again." He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"No promises. Night." You waved, heading your separate ways—him toward the village center, you toward your small house near the forge. 

The familiar outline of your home came into view, but something tugged at your gut as you neared—the door was ajar, half-open against the frame. Your steps slowed, a prickle of unease crawling up your spine. You'd shut it tight that morning, hadn't you? Hand hovering to grab a rock on the ground, you nudged the door wider with your foot, peering into the dim interior. 

The hearth glowed low, casting long shadows across the floor, and the faint bubble of your fish stew pot hummed from the fire—just as you'd left it, simmering slow and steady. No one was there. No boot prints, no overturned chairs—just the quiet creak of the house settling. You let out a breath, shaking your head at yourself as you stepped inside and latched the door firm. 

"Getting jumpy over nothing," you muttered, stirring the stew with a faint smile, the warmth of the day still lingering in your bones. 

You reached for a wooden bowl from the stack by the hearth, the rough grain familiar under your fingertips, and ladled a steaming portion of fish stew from the pot. The rich, salty aroma curled up with the heat as you carried it to the table, setting it down with a soft clunk. 

The day's fatigue tugged at you, a dull ache in your shoulders from training and tinkering with Hiccup, so you turned back toward the pantry nook. "Bread and ale," you mumbled to yourself, rubbing your eyes as you shuffled off to fetch them, the floorboards creaking under your boots.

The small shelf in the corner held a loaf of crusty, soft bread and a clay jug of ale, and you grabbed them both, balancing the loaf under your arm as you headed back. But when you stepped up to the table, your brows knit together. The bowl sat there, empty—licked clean, not a drop of stew left clinging to the sides. 

You blinked, tilting your head. "Didn't I—?" you started, then shook it off with a huff, a tired laugh slipping out. "Gods, I'm losing it. Must be more beat than I thought." 

Shrugging, you turned back to the pot, snagging another bowl from the stack. You scooped up a fresh serving, the ladle scraping the bottom as you muttered, "No more stew gremlins tonight." You yawned.

You set the new bowl on the table, careful this time, but as you shifted to grab the bread, your wooden spoon slipped from your fingers. It clattered to the floor, and you sighed, bending down to snatch it up. Your knees creaked as you straightened, brushing the spoon against your tunic—and then you froze.

A pair of huge, bright yellow eyes stared back at you from across the table, glowing like twin lanterns in the dim light. They were wide and unblinking, set in a small, scaly face smeared with fish stew, the mess dripping from its jaws. 

Your breath caught, heart lurching as you locked eyes with the creature. It was a Terrible Terror—the one that'd slipped the arena cages, no doubt. Its scales shimmered a deep, mottled gray and orange, and its left wing hung limp at an odd angle, the membrane torn and bruised from its escape. 

For a long minute, you just stared at each other, the silence thick between you. The dragon didn't flinch, her tongue flicking out to lick around her stew-smeared mouth, then darting up to swipe across one eye like a lizard. With a sudden twitch, she skittered back, hopping off the table and retreating a few steps, her tail flicking nervously. 

"Whoa, whoa, hey," you whispered, keeping your voice low and soft as you raised a hand. "It's okay, little buddy. I won't hurt you. Here—look." 

Moving slow, you edged toward the pot, fishing out a small chunk of fish from the stew with your fingers with a hiss from the heat. The scent wafted up, sharp and briny, and you held it out, arm steady despite the quick thump of your pulse. She froze, her yellow eyes narrowing as she tracked the offering. She crept forward, claws clicking faintly on the floor, her broken wing dragging slightly—cautious, just like Toothless had been with you that first time. 

Then, in a flash, she lunged, snatching the fish from your hand with a snap of her jaws. You flinched, jerking back as her teeth grazed your fingertips—not hard, but enough to startle you. 

"Easy!" you yelped, shaking out your hand, but the little thing just sat there, chewing her prize with quick, jerky bites. Her gaze flicked up to meet yours, and her tail gave a slow, tentative wag, the tip brushing the floor like a shy apology. 

You exhaled, a grin tugging at your lips as the tension melted away. "Well, you're a bold little menace, aren't you?" 

She tilted her head, licking her chops clean, and something warm bloomed in your chest. Those big, unblinking eyes, that little wag—she was a scrappy thing, fierce despite her smaller than normal Terrible Terror size and her busted wing. 

You sank down to sit cross-legged on the floor, resting your chin in your hand as you watched her. "Guess you're staying for dinner, huh, little one?" you murmured, and she chirped—a small, raspy sound—before inching closer, her tail wagging a bit faster. 

You were hooked, plain and simple, already smitten with the tiny terror who'd broken into your house and stolen your stew. 

You stayed there on the floor, the warmth of the hearth seeping through the wood and into your legs as the dragon finished another piece of fish, her tiny tongue darting out to swipe the last bits from her scaly snout. She gave a small, satisfied huff, her bright yellow eyes blinking slowly as she studied you.

You held still, barely breathing, not wanting to spook her off. Then, to your surprise, she shuffled closer, her claws tapping a faint rhythm on the floorboards. Her broken wing dragged a little, but she didn't seem to mind, her focus locked on you with that unblinking stare.

Before you could react, she hopped up, her small body surprisingly light as she clambered into your lap. She circled thrice, like a cat picking its spot, then flopped down with a soft thud, tucking her good wing against her side. Her head settled against your knee, and a low, rumbling purr vibrated through her, the sound so deep for something so small it made you laugh under your breath. 

"Oh, you're making yourself at home now, huh?" you murmured, resting a tentative hand on her back. Her scales were smooth and warm under your palm, and she didn't flinch—just leaned into the touch, her tail curling lazily around your wrist like a little bracelet. 

You sat there for a while, stroking her gently as her purring deepened, her eyes drifting shut. The firelight danced across her scales, picking out flecks of red and orange you hadn't noticed before, and that busted wing twitched faintly as she relaxed. She was a mess—stew still smeared on her snout, one wing drooping—but there was something about her, fierce and fragile all at once, that tugged at you hard. 

"You're a tough little thing, aren't you, little Menace?" you whispered, your fingers tracing the ridge of her spine. She let out a sleepy chirp, nuzzling closer, and your heart did a soft, helpless flip.

But as the quiet stretched on, a thought sparked in your mind, sharp and insistent. Hiccup. You needed to tell him—right now. He'd know what to do about that wing, how to help her, and besides, he'd lose his mind over this. A Terrible Terror sneaking into your house?

Escaping the arena and picking you to crash with? He'd be halfway between thrilled and jealous, probably already sketching out a splint in his head. You glanced down at Menace—the name you thought fitting in the moment—still curled up in your lap, her breathing slow and steady, and bit your lip. 

"Guess I can't just leave you here," you muttered, half to her, half to yourself. 

Careful not to jostle her too much, you slid your hands beneath her small frame, lifting her as you stood. She stirred, cracking one eye open with a grumbly warble, but didn't fight it—just nestled deeper into your arms, her tail flicking once before going still. You grabbed your cloak from the hook by the door, draping it over your shoulders with one hand, and stepped out into the cool air, Menace cradled against your chest. 

The village was hushed, the last streaks of daylight fading over the rooftops, and you set off toward Hiccup's place, your mind racing with how you'd break the news. "Wait till he sees you, little troublemaker," you said softly, grinning as Menace purred against you, oblivious to the excitement she'd just sparked. 

The twilight had deepened as you slipped through Berk's winding paths, the sky now a bruised purple streaked with fading gold turning night. Menace stayed nestled in your arms, her small, warm weight pressed against your chest beneath the cloak you'd draped over her. Her purring had softened to a faint hum, her broken wing tucked awkwardly against her side as she dozed. 

You kept your steps light, boots barely scuffing the dirt as you wove between the shadowed outlines of houses. The village was mostly quiet, but the occasional clatter of a shutting door or the low murmur of a lookout's voice kept you on edge. You ducked behind a stack of barrels as a burly Viking trudged by, his torch blazing, then darted across an open stretch when the coast was clear, sticking to the darker edges where the torchlight didn't reach. 

Hiccup's giant house loomed ahead, its slanted roof and cluttered forge annex unmistakable even in the dim. You crept up to the door, glancing over your shoulder one last time—no one in sight, no footsteps trailing you. Adjusting Menace carefully, you rapped your knuckles against the wood, a quick, sharp knock that cut through the stillness. 

The sound barely faded before the door creaked open, and Hiccup stood there, blinking at you in the faint glow spilling from inside. He wasn't asleep—his hair was tousled, sure, but his eyes were bright, and he held a half-whittled stick in one hand, a knife in the other, like he'd been fidgeting by the fire sharpening his pencils. 

"Hey, what're you—?" he started, but you didn't wait for him to finish. 

You brushed past him, Menace still hidden under your cloak, and muttered, "Shut the door," as you stepped into the warmth of his home. 

He froze for a second, brow furrowing in confusion, but obeyed, pushing the door closed with a soft thud. "Uh, okay, sure—but what's going on? What're you doing here?" he asked, setting the stick and knife on a nearby table as he turned to you, his voice a mix of curiosity and mild alarm. 

You didn't answer right away. Instead, you shifted your cloak aside with a flourish, revealing Menace cradled in your arms. Her yellow eyes cracked open at the movement, glinting in the firelight, and a smear of fish stew still clung to her snout. Hiccup's jaw dropped, his eyes widening as he took a step closer, his voice dropping to a hushed, incredulous whisper.

"No way—is that—? A Terrible Terror? What are doing with it?" He leaned in, hands hovering like he wasn't sure where to start, his astonishment spilling out in a rush. "Where did—? How did—? Is that the one from the arena?" 

You grinned, nodding as you adjusted Menace so he could see her better. "Yep. This little Menace snuck in, licked my stew bowl clean before I even noticed her—ate most my stew. Think she's the escapee Gobber was losing his mind over." 

Hiccup let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, his gaze flicking between you and the dragon. "Unbelievable. She just happened to choose your house. Guessing it must've been the fish then. That's—wow." 

He reached out tentatively, fingers brushing the air near her head. Menace tilted her chin up, eyeing him warily, then flicked her tongue out to lick her stew-smeared jaw, unimpressed. 

"Careful, she's quick," you warned, smirking as you shifted her weight. 

Hiccup tried again, slower this time, his hand inching closer until he grazed the top of her head. She didn't snap—just huffed a tiny, raspy chirp and leaned into it, her eyes half-closing as that low purr rumbled up again.

Hiccup's face lit up, a grin spreading wide as he whispered, "Oh, she likes that. Look at her—little Menace, huh?" He glanced at you, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Her wing's busted, though—see that bend? We could fix it. Some leather, maybe a light splint. . ." 

You nodded, easing down onto a bench by the hearth, Menace still purring in your lap. "Hoped you'd say that. Couldn't just leave her there—and I knew you'd want in on this."

Hiccup crouched beside you, already reaching for a scrap of parchment on the table, his mind clearly racing. "Oh, I'm in. This is—gods, this is incredible. She's so tiny—look at her!"

His hushed whispers bubbled with awe as he scratched gently under her chin, earning another pleased warble from Menace. You couldn't help but laugh softly, the two of you huddled there in the flickering light, plotting over your unexpected new friend like kids with a secret treasure. 

Hiding Menace turned into a daily test of stealth and patience, one you hadn't quite bargained for when you'd taken her in. Leaving her in your house wasn't an option—not with Gobber's complete disregard for privacy. The man had a habit of barging in at dawn, bucket of ice water in hand, ready to douse you awake like he'd done since you were old enough to stumble over your own feet. 

"Keeps ye sharp!" he'd bellow, grinning as you sputtered and cursed. 

So, after a hushed debate by Hiccup's hearth, you and he decided the cove was the safest bet—Toothless's domain, tucked away from prying eyes. You bundled Menace in your cloak again, her little body squirming as you carried her through the village outskirts, Hiccup leading the way with a lantern he invented dimmed low to dodge any late-night lookouts.

The first meeting between Toothless and Menace was. . .tense. Toothless had eyed her with a wary growl, his ears flat as she skittered out of your arms onto the cove's mossy floor. Menace, fearless despite her size, puffed up and hissed right back, her broken wing twitching—her tiny roar fearsome. 

You and Hiccup hovered nearby, ready to intervene, but after a few sniffs and a tentative nudge from Toothless's snout, they settled. Soon, they were sprawled out together—though not without Menace trying to swipe Toothless's fish portions every chance she got. Her tiny jaws snapped at his pile, and he'd grumble, nudging her away with a paw until you started bringing extra, piling her own little stash to keep the peace. 

"She's a thief," Hiccup laughed one day, tossing her another fish, "but she's our thief." 

Days blurred into a rhythm after that—Hiccup running flight tests with Toothless, tweaking the saddle and tail fin while you slipped off to the woods alone, hurling daggers at makeshift targets carved into trees. The blades thunked into the bark with satisfying precision, though you'd never turn them on a dragon—not after Menace, not after Toothless. 

You kept up appearances in the arena too, training under Gobber's watchful eye with the others, all to mask the secret growing in the cove. But the final trial loomed closer, the one that'd cut the trainees down to two, and the air in Berk thickened with anticipation for it and excitement for Stoick and the rest of Berk's return.

The day arrived sharp and cold; the arena packed with villagers craning to see the last stand. You stood in the center with Ruffnut and Tuffnut, the three of you ringed by towering wooden walls as Gobber's voice boomed overhead. 

"Last trial, ye lot! Two stand, the rest falls—don't muck it up!" 

The gate rattled open, and a thick, acrid smoke poured in, curling around your boots as the Hideous Zippleback slithered free. Its two heads hissed in unison—one spitting green gas, the other sparking flame—and the crowd roared as the chaos erupted.

You darted left, shield up, as a jet of fire scorched the area where you'd stood. Ruffnut charged right, howling a battle cry, her mace swinging wild as she aimed for the gas head.

"I've got this ugly one!" she shouted, but the Zippleback was faster—its sparking head whipped around, igniting the gas in a blinding flare. 

She dove, rolling under the blast, but came up too close. The gas head lunged, snapping at her heels, and she tripped, sprawling forward with a curse as it stole her boot. 

"Ruffnut's out!" Gobber bellowed as a pair of Vikings hauled her off, her protests echoing through the smoke.

It was just you and Tuffnut now, back-to-back as the Zippleback circled, its twin heads weaving through the haze. 

"This is awesome!" Tuffnut yelled, grinning like a lunatic as he hefted his spear. "Let's ram it!" He charged, spear-first, aiming for the sparking head, but the gas head reared up, blasting a cloud that choked the air. You coughed, ducking low as sparks flew, and saw the flame head twist toward Tuffnut. 

"Move, Tuffnut!" you shouted, sprinting forward. He didn't see it—the fire licked out, a blazing arc as the dragons claws thrashed out, and you threw yourself at him, slamming into his side. You both hit the ground hard, rolling as the flames roared overhead, singeing the edge of your tunic.

Tuffnut blinked up at you, sprawled in the ground, his jaw slack. "You. . .saved me?" he managed, voice cracking with shock. 

You shoved off him, grimacing as a sharp sting flared in your arm—the old Nadder scar, reopened, blood seeping through your sleeve where the beast clawed you. 

"Don't get used to it," you muttered, clutching the wound as you staggered up. But the Zippleback wasn't done—its heads swung toward you, gas hissing, and you stumbled, vision blurring from the smoke and pain. 

"Enough!" Gobber's roar cut through, and the gatekeepers rushed in, chains clanking as they wrangled the dragon back. 

"She's out—get her to Gothi!" Hands grabbed you, pulling you from the arena as the crowd murmured, and you gritted your teeth in anger, blood dripping down your arm.

The next thing you knew, you were propped on a bench outside a little way from the arena, Gothi's gnarled hands working fast—smearing a pungent salve over the gash, her staff tapping your shoulder to hold still. Hiccup was there in an instant, shoving through the onlookers, his face pale and pinched with worry. 

"Hey—hey, you okay?" he asked, dropping to his knees beside you, his hand finding yours without hesitation. 

His fingers curled tight around yours, warm despite the chill, and you felt your cheeks heat even through the sting of Gothi's stitching. "I'm fine, Hiccup," you said, voice rough but steady, though your own flush crept up your neck at how close he was—how he didn't let go. 

He blushed too, pink spreading across his freckles, but his grip stayed firm, his thumb brushing your knuckles absently. "You scared me out there," he muttered, eyes darting to your arm as Gothi wrapped it in cloth. "That was—gods, you didn't have to jump in like that." 

You smirked, wincing as Gothi tugged the bandage tight. "Had to. Tuffnut's too dumb to save himself."

Hiccup laughed, short and shaky, and squeezed your hand again, his worry melting into something softer as he stayed right there, blushing and steadfast, until Gothi shooed him back with a grunt. 

The trials were finally over—at least for you, the arena settling into a tense hush as the dust and smoke long cleared. You stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the other trainees—Snotlout, Fishlegs, Tuffnut, Ruffnut, Astrid, and Hiccup—your arm still throbbing under Gothi's fresh bandages, the ache a dull reminder of the Zippleback—and the Nadders' chaos.

The crowd ringed the edges, their murmurs buzzing like flies as Gobber limped forward, his hammer-hand raised to quiet them. His weathered face split into a grin, his voice booming over the grounds. 

"Right, ye scrappy lot—time to name the final two!" He said and wasted no time, "Hiccup and Astrid, ye've earned it. Next challenge: the Nadder. Winner gets the honor o' slayin' the Monstrous Nightmare!"

A roar erupted from the villagers, cheers and stomps shaking the timber walls. Astrid's jaw tightened, her eyes glinting with determination, while Hiccup shifted beside you, his expression a mix of nerves and something unreadable. You nudged him with your good elbow, smiling. 

"Told you you'd make it." He shot you a quick, lopsided grin, but before he could reply, the crowd started to disperse, and you both turned to slip away, eager to dodge the inevitable swarm of Hiccups new attention.

You'd barely taken two steps when Tuffnut and Ruffnut loomed into your path, their broad frames blocking the way out. The air went awkward fast—silence stretching as Tuffnut shuffled his feet, staring at the ground like it might swallow him. Ruffnut crossed her arms, smirking faintly, but said nothing. 

You and Hiccup exchanged a glance, unsure what was coming, until Tuffnut finally mumbled, "Uh. . .thanks. Y'know, for. . .pushin' me outta the way back there." 

He jerked his chin toward your bandaged arm, his voice dropping lower. "Would've got my face slashed. So. . .yeah," He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes, while Ruffnut gave you a quick, sharp nod—her version of approval—before nudging her brother.

"C'mon, dummy," she muttered, and they trudged off, leaving you and Hiccup blinking after them. 

You pressed your lips together, a snort threatening to break free as Hiccup's shoulders shook beside you. "Did Tuffnut just. . .thank me?" you whispered, and Hiccup choked out a laugh, covering his mouth. "I think he did. Mark the day." 

The two of you stood there, giggling under your breath, the absurdity cutting through the tension. Somehow, you managed to weave through the arena's edge without Hiccup's growing pack of admirers swallowing him whole—Snotlout was busy flexing for a gaggle of kids, and Fishlegs was rambling to anyone who'd listen, giving you a clear shot to the exit.

But before you could get far, Gothi's small, hunched figure stepped into your path, her staff tapping the ground with purpose. Gobber lumbered up behind her, scratching his beard as he translated her flurry of gestures. 

"She says ye've gotta rest that arm, lass. No arguin'—or else." Gothi's milky eyes narrowed at you, her gnarled hand jabbing the air for emphasis, and you sighed, shoulders slumping.

"Fine," you muttered, disappointed but too tired to fight it. Hiccup frowned beside you, his brow creasing, but nodded. 

"Guess I'll head alone, then. Check on Toothless and Menace." His voice was light when you both were out of sight, but something flickered in his eyes—worry, maybe, or frustration.

You started toward your house, Hiccup falling into step beside you until you reached the shadowed patch near your door. He stopped suddenly, his frown deepening, and before you could ask what was wrong, he pulled you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you hard, his face burying into your shoulder as his breath hitched against your tunic. 

"You've gotta be more careful," he mumbled, his voice low and rough, edged with an anger that caught you off guard. "I mean it—stop throwing yourself into stuff like that." He squeezed you tighter, hiding his face, and you felt your own cheeks flush, your hands hovering before settling awkwardly on his back. 

"Hiccup, I'm—" you started, but he pulled away just as fast, stepping back with his head ducked low. You caught a glimpse of red creeping up his ears before he turned, muttering a quick, "See you later," and bolted off toward the woods, his lanky frame disappearing into the dusk. 

You stood there, heart thumping, a slow grin tugging at your lips as you shook your head and pushed your door open. The house was quiet, the new pot of stew still simmering faintly, and you sank onto a stool, replaying that hug—his sudden, fierce worry, the way he'd hidden his blush—with a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the hearth. 

That same day turn night, the village hushed under a blanket of stars and the occasional creak of settling timber. You were half-dozing by the hearth, the embers casting a faint glow across the room, when a sharp knock jolted you upright. It came from the back door—and at this point you knew it was Hiccup since this became a ritual between you both now.

His knock anyways was quick, insistent, not the casual rap of a neighbor. You crept over, peering through the opened door. Your heart lurched as Hiccup's familiar silhouette filled the gap, but then your eyes widened—Toothless loomed behind him, his massive black shape barely squeezed into the narrow alley, eyes glinting in the dark. 

You yanked the door open, hissing, "Hiccup, what the hell? Why'd you bring him?" 

Your voice was a harsh whisper, darting a glance around to make sure no one was lurking. Hiccup stumbled in, Toothless nudging past the frame with a low grumble, his tail flicking dangerously close to your stew pot as he could barely fit in the home. 

"I didn't have a choice!" Hiccup shot back, equally quiet but flustered, his hands flailing as he pointed to the saddle strapped across Toothless's back. "Look—the hook's jammed. I can't get it off without a tool, and I couldn't just leave him in the cove like this!" 

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose as you shut the door behind them, careful not to let it slam. "Great. So you thought dragging a dragon through the village at midnight was the smart move? He can't stay in my house." 

He scowled, crossing his arms. "Oh, like you'd have a better plan. I tried prying it loose—nearly took my finger off!" Toothless huffed, shifting impatiently, and you waved a hand at him. 

"Fine, fine—forge it is. Try to keep him quiet." Hiccup nodded, grabbing the rope that bind him to the dragon in the first place as you led the way out the back, the three of you slipping into the shadows toward the forge. 

Your house sits mere steps from the forge, its squat frame dwarfed by the sprawling workshop where you and Hiccup now steer—a space that offers the Night Fury more room to stretch, though its open sprawl conceals him far less than the tight walls of your home ever could. 

You slip inside, the air sharp with the tang of wood dust, and it's only as you cross the threshold that Toothless spots a battered bucket perched beside tools, its dull gleam promising fish. He lunges, snatching it on his snout before hurling it aside—it strikes the dirt floor and into tools with a jarring clang that echoes off the rafters, splintering the quiet. 

You stiffen, breath catching, as Hiccup's eyes flare wide; he grabs the dragon's head, pulling it low with a sharp tug. "Toothless!" he snaps under his breath, voice a strained rasp, but the damage is done—sound hangs heavy in the air, a signal neither of you can call back but Hiccup makes quick on his actions to try and pry the metal apart on the rope anyways.

"Hiccup? Are you in there?" Astrid's voice cut through the night, sharp and suspicious, her boots crunching closer from the shadows. 

You cursed under your breath, holding Toothless as still as possible as Hiccup panicked. Before you could stop him—or even think—he bolted for the window-door, slamming it shut behind him to block Astrid's view, leaving you and Toothless crouched in the dark. 

"Astrid! Hey! Hi, Astrid. Hi! Astrid! Hi—Astrid," he stammered, his voice pitching higher with every word as he leaned against the frame, trying to look casual. 

You rolled your eyes, pressing a hand to Toothless's snout as he rumbled, but the dragon stilled, sensing the tension, his big eyes blinking at you obediently before he peered around to spot a sheep. 

"Idiot—you should've let me talk," you muttered, facepalming as you peeked through a crack in the wall. 

Outside, Astrid stood with her arms crossed, staring at Hiccup like he'd grown a second head. 

"I normally don't care what people do, but you're acting weird," she said, her tone flat but her eyes narrowing. 

Toothless shifted beside you, tugging the jammed strap, and Hiccup jolted backward with a loud "OH!" as the hook yanked him off-balance. Astrid's brow furrowed deeper. 

"Well. . .weirder," she added, studying him like he was some village dork about to confess a prank. 

Hiccup flashed a strained grin, hands clasped tight around his frame as Toothless tugged again—and again—each pull jerking him harder—higher. You held your breath, keeping Toothless's head low, until the dragon gave one final, impatient yank. The strap snapped free, and Hiccup flew backward into the forge, the doors banging shut as he crashed into a pile of scrap metal with a muffled yelp. 

He and Toothless immediately hopped out of there and out of sight as you winced, scrambling to your feet. Outside, Astrid blinked, then marched forward, ripping the wooden panel windows wide open. You stood there, caught mid-step, and waved awkwardly as her sharp gaze landed on you.

"Hey. . .What's up? Astrid," you said, forcing a grin. 

She didn't smile back, her hands on her hips. "Where'd he go? Did you just yank him up?" she demanded, glancing around the forge's shadowed corners. 

You scrambled, the lie tumbling out fast. "Did I?—Yes. Sometimes when he—just pisses me off I. . .Just have to give him a mighty wedgie! Ya'know? What can I say?" You shrugged, leaning casually against the workbench like it was no big deal, even as your pulse hammered. 

Astrid raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Where is he?" 

You waved a hand vaguely toward the back. "Went off holding his backside. Probably sulking somewhere. Mayhaps. . ." You answer, just as you witnessed the dragon, and his boy fly off right in front of you across the yard. 

She stared at you a beat longer, then huffed. "Aren't you supposed to be resting?" she asked, nodding at your bandaged arm. 

You grinned wider, deflecting. "Oh, you know me—can't sit still. Just. . .checking on some tools." 

She rolled her eyes, muttering something about "weirdos" under her breath, then turned on her heel and stalked off into the night. You let out a shaky breath, slumping against the bench. Trying your best to calm your heart.

The next day the cove was quiet that afternoon, the air thick with the scent of pine and dirt as you and Hiccup lingered by the rocks. Berk buzzed with life beyond the trees—the rest of the village had returned from their hundredth attempt at finding the dragons nest unsuccessfully—but Hiccup's shoulders had tensed at the thought of facing them. 

Especially his father. You caught the way his jaw had tightened, his fingers fidgeting with his journal back in Berk, and before he even said it, you knew what was coming. 

"Hey," he murmured, glancing at you with those green eyes, half-pleading, half-mischievous. "Wanna sneak off with me? Just. . .avoid all that for a bit?" 

You nodded your head in agreement. You couldn't say no—not to that look, not to the chance to dodge the chaos of Berk together. So you did. Slipping through the woods, you kept to the shadows until you reached the cove's edge.

The afternoon sun slanting through the trees and painting the mossy rocks in warm gold. Toothless sprawled nearby, gnawing lazily on a fish while Menace perched on a boulder, her good wing fluttering as she watched him with greedy eyes even though she had three large ones at her side.

You leaned against a rock, arms crossed, as you had brought up what ypu said to Astrid—to try to get his mind off of his dad. Grinning as Hiccup paced in front of you, now stewing over last night's fiasco. 

"A wedgie?" he asked, his face flushing red with embarrassment as he shot you a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. 

"That was the best excuse you could come up with in front of her?" He sighed, brushing imaginary scrap off his tunic like he could still feel the forge's chaos clinging to him.

You smirked, nudging Toothless as the dragon warbled softly, lifting his head to nuzzle your leg. "Worked, didn't it? You're welcome," you said, your tone smug as you tilted your head at him. 

"Astrid bought it—or at least didn't care enough to keep poking. I'd call that a win." 

Hiccup groaned, dragging a hand down his face, but a laugh slipped out despite himself, bright and unguarded. "Yeah, a win where I look like a total dork who can't walk straight," he muttered, though his grin betrayed how little he actually minded. 

He shook his head, the embarrassment fading as he turned to Toothless, who'd finished his fish and was now stretching his wings with an eager rumble. "Alright, enough about my imaginary backside trauma," Hiccup said, clapping his hands together. "We've got bigger things today." 

He swung a leg over Toothless's saddle, settling into place as he checked the straps—newly fixed after last night's jam. "Biggest flight test yet. New tail fin angle, tighter turns—gonna see how far we can push it." His eyes sparkled with that familiar mix of nerves and excitement, his hands already adjusting the reins. 

You stepped closer, resting a hand on Toothless's flank as the dragon huffed, ready to go. "You sure it's all set? What if it goes wrong?" your voice softened as you watched him double-check the gear. "I mean—what if your backside can't handle it and you fall off?"

He shot you a mock glare over his shoulder. "Very funny. Yes, it's set—thanks to you not wedgie-ing me into next week." 

You laughed, stepping back as Toothless shifted, his wings flexing in anticipation. "Go knock the sky out, then. I'll keep Menace from staging a fish heist down here." 

And before he could leave you place a hand on his, "Be careful Hiccup. Please,"

Hiccup nodded, his smile widening as he clicked his tongue. "Hold on tight, bud," he murmured, and Toothless launched upward with a powerful beat of his wings, kicking up a gust that ruffled your hair. 

You shielded your eyes, watching as they soared higher, Hiccup leaning into the wind as Toothless banked sharply, testing the new rig. Their silhouettes shrank against the vast blue, disappearing and you couldn't help the swell of pride in your chest—mixed with a little ache, knowing he was heading into something big, something you couldn't follow. For now, though, you turned back to Menace, who chirped indignantly at Toothless's empty fish pile, and you tossed her a spare chunk with a laugh, settling in to wait. 

When he returned, the sun was dipping rather low, casting long shadows across the cove. Toothless landed with a triumphant thud, his tongue lolling out like a pleased pup, and Hiccup slid off the saddle, grinning wider than you'd seen in days. They both radiated a quiet, buzzing joy, but you squinted as he stepped closer—his hair was a mess, singed at the edges, and faint smudges of soot streaked his face and tunic. 

"Do. . .I want to know what happened?" you asked, arching a brow as you crossed your arms. 

Hiccup chuckled, shaking his head as he brushed a hand through his charred bangs, dislodging a few blackened strands. "Lost my cheat-sheet," he said, his tone light but edged with a sheepish pride. 

You blinked, startled. "What?! Oh no, now you're going to have to redo it all?" 

He waved a hand, still grinning as he leaned against Toothless, who huffed a warm breath. "Nope. Toothless and I no longer need it. We mastered it all—every turn, every dive. Just us now." 

You stared, caught between disbelief and awe. "Wait, seriously? You just. . .figured it out up there? No notes, no nothing?" 

He nodded, his smile turning smug as he patted Toothless's snout. "Yep. Took a few close calls—but we mastered it and got too excited—hence the, uh, singeing—but we've got it down. Perfect sync. Had to take a break after though, eat some grub. Met a few Terrors along the way." 

Toothless crooned, nuzzling Hiccup's hand, and you laughed, shaking your head. "You're insane, you know that? Both of you." 

"Maybe," Hiccup said, his eyes glinting as he glanced at Toothless. 

The dragon's ears perked, and they exchanged a look—a quick, knowing flicker that you almost missed. "But it's worth it. Flying like that. . .It's freedom. Nothing else comes close."

You opened your mouth to reply, distracted by the way he lit up talking about it, when Toothless shifted behind you. You didn't notice at first—Hiccup kept talking, his voice animated. "We hit this one gust, right? Thought it'd throw us off, but Toothless adjusted mid-air, and—" 

Before you could process it, Toothless swooped low, his sleek body sliding under you in one fluid motion. Your feet left the ground, and suddenly you were perched on the saddle—your first time ever on Toothless, or any dragon. You froze, hands flailing as you registered the warm scales beneath you, the faint creak of the leather. 

"Hiccup, what—?!" you yelped, but he was already there, swinging up behind you in a heartbeat. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you tight against him so you couldn't squirm free, and your face flared red, heat rushing to your cheeks as his chest pressed to your back. 

"Since we mastered it," he teased, his voice low and warm right by your ear, "we think it's time you finally get to know what it's like to fly." 

You twisted to glare at him, "Barely!" but he couldn't see your blush—not with how he held you, his chin tucked over your shoulder. "Hiccup, no!" you protested, gripping the saddle's edged grip he made as panic spiked through you. 

Too late. Toothless launched into the air with a powerful beat of his wings, the ground dropping away as you screamed—a sharp, startled sound that ripped through the cove. Hiccup's laugh rang out behind you, bright and unrestrained, while Toothless soared higher, his tongue flapping out like a gleeful dog's. 

The wind roared past, tugging at your hair, your tunic, your everything, and you clung to the saddle, heart hammering as the world tilted wildly below. Hiccup's arms tightened around you, steadying you, and despite your protests, a shaky laugh bubbled up, caught somewhere between terror and exhilaration. 

"You're dead for this!" you shouted over the rush, but his answering grin—unseen but felt—told you he knew you didn't mean it. 

The initial shock of Toothless's takeoff faded into a wild, rushing blur as the dragon climbed higher above the clouds, his wings slicing through the air with a steady, powerful rhythm. Your scream tapered off, dissolving into a breathless gasp as you gripped the saddle's hand grip, knuckles white against the leather. 

Hiccup's arms stayed locked around your waist, his hold firm but gentle, anchoring you against the dizzying ascent. His chest pressed warm and solid against your back, and though your face still burned red from the sudden closeness, you couldn't turn to see his expression—not that you'd dare with the world spinning below you. 

The wind whipped past, as they took you, tugging at your hair and stinging your eyes, but Hiccup's voice cut through it, low and teasing near your ear. "See? Not so bad, right?" 

You wanted to snap something back—some sharp retort about how you'd strangle him later—but the words caught in your throat as Toothless leveled out, gliding smoothly into the open sky. The cove shrank to a speck beneath you, Berk's jagged cliffs blurring into the horizon as the sun dipped low, spilling molten rose gold across the sea. 

You felt Hiccup's breath hitch slightly, his grip tightening just a fraction, and then he went quiet—no more teasing, no more quips. Just the two of you, wrapped in the vast silence of the sky, the only sounds the soft whoosh of Toothless's wings and the distant crash of waves far below. 

He guided Toothless higher still, the dragon's sleek body weaving through wisps of cloud that brushed cool and damp against your skin. You reached out instinctively, fingers grazing the mist, and a small, awed laugh escaped you as the clouds parted around your hand like smoke. Hiccup's arms shifted, one hand reaching to touch the clouds with you and the other sliding down to rest over yours on the saddle, his calloused fingers brushing yours in a way that sent a shiver up your spine—though you blamed it on the altitude. 

"Told you it's like nothing else," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost reverent, as if he didn't want to break the spell of the moment. You nodded, too caught up to speak, your eyes fixed on the endless stretch of sky ahead. 

The sun sank lower, its last rays igniting the clouds in a blaze of pink and orange, and then it slipped away entirely, leaving the world bathed in the deep indigo of twilight. Toothless tilted upward, climbing until you broke through the final layer of clouds, and there it was—the aurora. 

Ribbons of green and violet shimmered across the night sky, curling and dancing like living light, their glow reflecting faintly in Toothless's wide eyes. Your breath caught, and you felt Hiccup's chin rest lightly on your shoulder, his warmth seeping through your tunic as he took it in too.

"Hiccup. . ." you whispered, barely audible, and he hummed in quiet agreement, his voice a low rumble against your back. 

Neither of you spoke for a long stretch, the silence between you heavy but not awkward—something deeper, something unspoken weaving itself into the space. His hand stayed over yours, thumb brushing absently against your knuckles, and his other arm tightened around your waist as Toothless dipped slightly, skimming the edge of a cloud. 

The sudden drop made your stomach lurch, and you yelped, clutching the saddle harder. Hiccup laughed softly, his breath warm against your neck, and you felt his heartbeat quicken against your spine—or maybe it was yours, thudding loud in your ears. 

"Got you," he said, his tone gentle, steadying, and you relaxed into him despite yourself, the fear melting into a strange, quiet trust. 

Up here, with the aurora painting the sky and the clouds drifting like a sea of light below, it was just you and him—no Berk, no trials, no expectations. Toothless banked gently, his wings catching the wind as he soared along the aurora's edge, and Hiccup's hold never wavered. 

His cheek brushed yours briefly as he leaned forward to adjust the reins, and your face flared again, though the darkness hid it. You wondered if he felt it too—this stillness, this closeness—but he didn't say anything, just kept you tucked against him as the night deepened around you. 

For Hiccup, something shifted in that quiet. His heart skipped, a sharp, sudden jolt as Toothless swooped low again, the drop tugging at his chest. He chalked it up to the thrill—the rush of the dive, the way the wind roared past—but it lingered, warm and unfamiliar, as he pressed himself closer to you. 

He didn’t recognize it for what it was, not yet—didn’t connect the way his pulse raced to the feel of you in his arms, the soft sound of your laugh still echoing in his mind. He just knew he didn’t want to let go, not yet, not when the sky felt infinite, and you were right there with him. 

Toothless eventually descended, the flight easing into a slow glide as he circled back toward the cove. The aurora still shimmered faintly above as you touched down but not nearly as magnificent from being so close moments ago. Hiccup finally loosened his hold. He slid off first, offering you a hand with a grin—less teasing now, more genuine, his eyes bright in the dim light. You took it, your legs shaky as you dismounted, the grass cool and damp beneath your boots and for a second, your fingers lingered in his, neither of you pulling away.

“So. . .worth it?” he asked, his voice quiet but hopeful, like he needed to hear it. 

You laughed, breathless, brushing hair from your face as you nodded. “Yeah. Definitely worth it.”

Toothless flopped down nearby, rolling onto his back with a contented warble, and you both turned to him, breaking the moment with soft chuckles.

“Guess we’re not the only ones who had fun,” you said, and Hiccup smiled, nudging your shoulder lightly. 

“Told you he’s a show-off.” The night settled around you, calm and good, the memory of the flight—of that quiet, unspoken closeness—tucked away like a secret neither of you was ready to name, but both of you felt all the same. 

This is Chapter 6 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Gifs/edits, dividers + template credit to #uservampyr my co-writer + beta reader ♡

Lovely tag list ~ @kikikittykis

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood: Polarity

Chapter 1: Sanctuary.

Title By: @oogaboogaspookyman

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“Uugh…”

A drones hand, the palm scared with burns and the wear of nicks and cuts fumbles blindly toward the refurbished alarm on their nightstand, slapping the faded wood first before slaming the the alarm with their fist aggressively enough for the device to rattle.

The arm flops over the side of the bed with a deep purple cover, the soft purple LED on the back of their hand scraping against the hardwood floor as the being it was attached to attempted to go back to sleep now that the harsh digital beeping had stopped.

The bedroom was adorned with band posters, AC-DC, Metallica, Lamb of God, and Thousand Foot Krutch all haphazardly pasted onto the smooth wooden planks that made up walls. Two Guitars hung up on the walls, a purple hued electric one and a simple accostic one just below it.

On the desk, just in front of the bed, was a homebrewed laptop, thick and bulky, the top being stickerbombed with skulls, bats, and stars. Currently, there was a progress bar displayed for pirating music.

The grey office chair in front of the desk was old and slightly damaged, long scratches that had been patched and patched again throughout the years.

Along the three shelves that dotted the room, there were animal skulls, one with antlers, another with goat horns and sharp teeth, and yet another with a long snout and six eyes, paired with those were small trinkets, a lava lamp, a never-solved rubric’s cube, and a well worn, well loved little bat plush.

A lavender colored bean bag sat against the wall, squished from being used over and over and over again.

Filtered sunlight peered through the window, and a symphony of exotic bird sounds could barely be heard through the thick pane of glass that made up the window.

Light snoring filled the room as the drone fell asleep again, the blankets shuffling as they adjusted.

The door flung open.

“Tera! You're gonna be late for school again!” Came an older, yet familiar voice, her hand on her hip. Purple hair now tied in a long braid that went over her shoulder and signature beanie absent. She wore a dark purple sweater under a lack leather studded jacket.

Uzi Doorman sighed as the only response she got from her daughter was a deeper snore.

She raised her hand; a purple solver symbol appearing in her hand and around the blanket edge, pulling it off and exposing her 17 year old daughter. Long, black, messy hair, a tank top, and many scars covering her body, a darker grey standing out against the white of her chassis.

“Ter. Ter!”

“Huwah?” Tera grumbled, Sleep Mode message switching to a very sleepy display of closed eyelights, her hands come up to cover her visor. “Ugh. Mooom… Five more minutes…?”

“Uh-huh… and five more minutes turns into twenty and then an hour… Been there Jellybean. Get up, school time.” Uzi replied as Tera sat up, rubbing her visor and yawning, showing off a fearsome display of fangs.

“Schools stupid… Didn't you drop out?” Tera asked, waiting until her optics calibrated and everything wasn't a blurry mess.

“To raise you. And you know… I wasn't getting straight C's in all my classes like you.”

“It's great parenting to call your kid dumb Mom.” Tera sassed back. “And I get A's in Athletics and Biology!”

“I'm not calling you dumb, technically I'm calling you average.” Uzi smiled. Leaning against the doorframe. “Athletics is a gimme. I'll give a point in Biology though.”

“You try sitting still and listening to Mr. Riker drone on and on about math. Which. By the way, we're computers. We do that automatically. Why do we have a class for it?” Tera stretched, her back and shoulder joints making a grinding noise as she very subtlety winced, so subtlety her mother didn't notice.

“Same reason why you have a C in it.” Uzi chuckled. “Though arguing with you feels too much like arguing with myself, so I won't egg you on.”

“Gracías…” Tera replied, standing up and stretching out her long tail with a purple head on the end, the tail yawned too, blinking sleepily. Tera opened her inset closet and pulled out a red flannel shirt, which she slipped over her tank top.

“Still gotta go though.” Uzi said as she walked down the hall and down the stairs, her boots making them creak.

“…Bite me.” Tera grumbled, her tail twitching in irritation.

“Hah!” Came floating up the stairs, making the teenager roll her eyes.

She grunted as she bent down to grab her bag sitting next to her desk, a simple black duffle bag that had already been packed the day before. Her joints groaned and creaked, stiff from sleeping.

She pulled the bag up over her shoulder, and used the head of her tail to shut the door behind her.

The door directly in front of her in the upstairs hall was labeled Bishop, the shiny silver metal his name was ingraved on being well polished, compared to hers, which was dull and rather neglected.

Further down the hall, at the very end, there were her parents room, ingraved in the same way.

The only other door wasn't ingraved yet, but that belonged to-

“Sissy! Big Sis!” A pair of twins, currently both sitting at the kitchen table right next to each other, four years old and only te minutes apart, though if you asked the eldest, Bolt, it was twenty.

Bolt looked more like N, yellow eyelights and silvery-blonde hair, in a tiny, toddler sized worker body, smiling like a maniac at quite literally everything.

And then there was A.K, he shared the hair color of his brother but inherited his mother's purple eyelights, he was slightly quieter, instead holding dearly onto a dragon plushie as he awaited breakfast.

Speaking of breakfast…

N hummed as he wore a brightly colored pink apron that said ‘Kiss the Cook' Taking a tray of heavenly smelling oil cakes; a small pastry with oil filling, out of the wood-oven and setting it aside.

The Kitchen was decorated with pictures of family, Tera on her first day of school, the twins on the day they were born, N and Uzi on their wedding day…

And the largest, most center picture of the whole family, one twin each being held in N and Uzi's arms, with Tera standing in the middle and a Dissasembly Drone with thick, round glasses and a long, brown flowing duster that nearly touched the ground, his expression was deadpan, and attached to the duster was a thick leather book.

“Morning B! Ter!” N called in Tera's direction, making the teen turn around to lock into the white eyelights of her younger brother, 16 year old Bishop Doorman, with thick round glasses and long brown leather duster he used as a labcoat.

“Good Morning.” Bishop hummed back politely, face stuck into an engineering book the moment his greeting was complete. His tail, a white vial complete with a stinger tapped against the floor. “Oh, Tera's actually going to school today?” He sassed in a near monotone inflection.

“Put a sock in it, nerd.” Tera hummed back casually, sitting at the table and flopping her bag at her feet.

He rolls his eyes and ignores her, though both of thier tails are wagging afterwards.

N put a plate of oil cakes in front of them, giggling when Uzi thanks him with a kiss on the cheek.

“Ewwwwww.” The twins whine.

“Gross.” Tera agrees, popping the cake in her mouth and snapping her jaw, making it explode warm sweet oil into her mouth.

Bishop doesn't notice, his head is still buried in his book, though he does stab a cake with his tail and then put it in his mouth.

Uzi pulls N down to genuinely kiss him, exaggerating the wet and content sounds to spite and embarass her children.

Tera groans and looks away out the kitchen window, finishing her breakfast without looking at them, the twins cover each other's eyes.

“You should be happy your parents are still in love!” N said as soon as he regained air in his lungs, looking happy and content as his tail wagged behind him.

“I am. I just don't wanna watch my parents suck face.” Tera replied, her voice dripping with attitude as her tail picks up her bag for her, she drops her plate in the sink and waves her family goodbye without actually looking at them.

“See you after hells over.” She says as she opens the front door. Only for her mother to protest. “Not in front of the twins!”

The door shuts behind her.

She leans on the railed walkway that lead up to the Doorman residence, looking down on the town below…

Nestled in a clearing of giant, towering trees, though not enough of a clearing to endanger the solver drones down below, a repaired and functioning pumpjack was working away at the center of the walled town, houses stacked on top of each other to fit inside the circular shape, it was early enough that there were very few drones out and about yet, aside from those on thier way to the school building, through a small street that lead away from the open courtyard.

The Doorman residence was the tallest building, the second being the town hall located just across the pumpjack, and it was almost a labyrinth of walkways and stairwells to make it up to it.

Partly because walking to it had been an afterthought.

Tera shook off the last vestiges of sleep as her bat-like wings unfurled from her back, the hands on the ends flexing and the organic joints inside popping before she took off into the air, sending leaves and misplaced refuse blowing out around her.

The small settlement of Sanctuary (N's name when they first started building and it stuck.) Consisted of about 500 drones, the surviors of the now extinguished planet of Copper-9, and their decendants.

The houses wrapped around the pumpjack, two floors stacked on top of each other to accommodate every family who lived there. Though that wasn't the whole of Sanctuary.

There was a gate that led to the outside, defended on either side by manned watchtowers. A barracks that sat next to the town hall where gaurds were trained with the weapons they could make without advanced machinery.

Swords, spears, axes and bows, the medieval weaponry of old human civilization coming back to aid their spiritual successor in a new, alien environment.

A medbay and nursey sat next to that, for every gaurd that got mauled by the wildlife, or every pump worker that got their fingers stuck in the gears.

Past the medbay was a wooden paved street that lead deeper into Sanctuary, and just inside this is where Tera landed, spooking some students lingering outside the school building.

Her wings folded back into her body as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder and began to climb up the few stairs to it's double doored entrance, sighing heavily before she pushed open the door… and walked inside.

Today was just another day.

[chrysalis-the-butterfly]

What I Mean When I Say, "I Ship Huskerdust"

When I say, "I ship Huskerdust," I don't mean that I think it would be a perfect example of a healthy relationship. Because it wouldn't be.

They've both got issues that they would need to work through if they wanted their relationship to succeed.

On Angel's side, there's the fact that his prior interactions with Husk basically consisted of him flirting with Husk, and Husk making it clear that he wasn't interested, and Angel ignoring that and doing it again. That's harassment.

Yes, Angel stops doing it after Episode 4, but he never explicitly apologises for it. That was a missed opportunity, in my opinion. It was a change for the show to say loudly and clearly, "Hey, trauma sucks, we get that, but it's not an excuse to treat people badly yourself. You grow by owning up to your mistakes and trying to be better than the person who hurt you."

Speaking of trauma...

Angel is being abused by Valentino and exploited in the porn industry. That's not a personal failing. It's not Angel's fault. But it has affected him deeply, and it's something that he and Husk would need to work through.

It's not going to be all sunshine and rainbows. Angel will cry, Angel will get angry, Angel will lash out. He will behave inappropriately, and he will keep being hypersexual because he knows how to do it and sometimes it feels like the safest option. And he will have no idea how to just rest with a loved one and trust them. So Husk will need to be the bigger person and take all the ups and downs and keep loving Angel through the dark days.

But I don't know if Husk has what it takes to do that.

That leads me nicely onto the issues on Husk's side. For starters, there's his judgemental attitude. He's a gambler, and therefore believes he can read people and know everything about them. Angel's "It's not an act!" outburst shakes Husk and makes him realise that he didn't really know what was going on.

But even after that, Husk is still judging Angel. It happens in Episode 6, when Angel is offered drugs by Cherri Bomb and Husk says, "Look, you wanna fuck up all your progress, be my guest. I just ... I just thought you were better than that."

Addicts can relapse if they go back to their old environments and old relationships. It happens. And it's probably not a good idea to be so condemnatory about it.

Can you imagine what Husk's reaction would be if Angel really did relapse? Would Angel feel safe opening up to Husk again if he knew how badly Husk could take it?

Sometimes, it seems as though Husk puts Angel on a pedestal. In Episode 8, when he tells Angel, "I guess you have changed," Angel doesn't look convinced, instead changing the subject. Husk sees Angel as better than Angel thinks he is.

And that goes hand-in-hand with when he was judging Angel more harshly in earlier episodes. Husk applies higher standards to Angel.

I think part of the reason why Husk is so hard on Angel is because Husk sees something in Angel that he doesn't see in himself - youth and potential. Husk has made it clear that he isn't trying to get into Heaven. He probably doesn't think he deserves it. That's why he told Angel not to look for answers to problems at the bottom of a bottle, but continued to drink himself.

My theory is that Husk is working on Angel because he finds it easier than working on himself.

It's much easier to judge and boss around others than to acknowledge and rectify your own flaws. To borrow a metaphor from Jesus Christ himself, Husk is trying to take specks of sawdust out of Angel's eye while he's still got plenty of planks in his own eye.

One of those planks being his complicity in the Overlord system.

Yes, I should probably mention that Husk used to be an Overlord. He used to participate in the very system that is now trapping and torturing Angel.

And he gambled with the souls that he owned! He put their afterlives at stake! Can you imagine being owned by Husk, thinking you knew where you stood, and then waking up one day to be told that you were now owned by someone else? Potentially someone as bad as Valentino?

(Now, I don't think Husk ever actually played a game with Valentino, given that he can't seem to remember Val's name in Episode 6, but still, the implications are horrifying.)

Angel didn't have too big a reaction when Husk opened up about his past. But that's probably because he was still reeling a bit from his own outburst. Once it had sunk in, how did he feel?

How can Angel feel safe and loved around someone who used to own souls and gamble with them carelessly? Someone who apparently still has his Overlord powers? Someone who could turn into yet another Valentino in the wrong circumstances?

How can a romance work?

Can a romance work?

Despite all of that?!

No, when I say, "I ship Huskerdust," I don't mean, "I think they're fluffy and adorable and 100% unproblematic." I mean, "Huskerdust contains interesting dynamics that are fun to explore." There's something about their interactions that I enjoy.

And Huskerdust could be a good way for the cartoon to dive into its themes of redemption and second changes.

Husk could change Angel for the better. We can see that, after Episode 4, Angel is willing to be more honest about what he's going through. He actually tells Niffty about the gruelling 16-hour shift Valentino put him through, instead of trying to pretend he's been all right.

If they became an official couple, Husk could show Angel what it's like to have someone genuinely care for him and his wellbeing, not just use him for money-making or self-gratification. Since Husk isn't interested in Angel's hypersexual porn star persona, it would be a chance for Angel to take the time to figure out who he (Anthony?) really is.

Angel could change Husk for the better, too. Other Tumblr bloggers have pointed out that Husk seemed to be drinking a little less after Episode 4. Perhaps watching Angel attempting self-improvement encouraged Husk to give it a go as well, albeit in a more low-key way.

And if Husk was the one who got Angel out of his contract with Valentino, that would be a great culmination of his character arc. It would be his own personal redemption for participating in the cruel Overlord system, because he'd be freeing someone from an Overlord's control. He'd be correcting his past mistakes. I for one would love to see that in a future season.

That is what I mean when I say "I ship Huskerdust."

TL;DR Angel and Husk are not perfect people, not by a long shot - but they could be perfect for each other.

[listentothelittlebird]

so I have been avidly following the lovely dbhc au that @shepscapades has made and I have made a little drabble fanfic of Doc and Xisuma because I feel very normal about them :)

setting: hermitcraft season 10, while Doc is in skyblock jail

word count: 1361

-

Doc is grumbling to himself, ramming his fist into the newly-sprouted tree with not an insignificant amount of prejudice, when he hears the distinct whistling of fireworks crescendoing towards him.

“Have you come to watch me punch wood like an imbecile?” Doc snarks, expecting to hear Scar’s fumbling denials, or Cleo’s cackling assent.

“That wasn’t the plan, no.” The quietly amused voice is far from his first prediction. An oversight on his part, really.

[Vocal Recognition: Xisumavoid.]

“Xisuma!” Doc’s next punch misses the trunk of the cherry blossom tree, glancing off the side and chipping off the bark instead. He blinks away the vocal recognition pop-up, glancing behind him just to check it really is him and not Tango with a goat horn. “Hey, man!”

“Hey! You’ve been busy.” Xisuma’s boots scuff against the cobblestone as he inspects the progress of his miserable sky island. A shulker box thunks onto the stone, freeing his hands up to brush against the cherry wood planks.

“Hardly anything else to do besides work.” Doc throws the words over his shoulder as he continues to gather his cherry wood, not one to leave a project half-done. 

His visitor is content to hum and haw at whatever he finds as Doc works away. It has only been a few days, but the one-sided commentary is surprisingly comforting. After all, no touching the ground means no redstone, which also means no time in the lab. The thought has Doc speaking up, slipping between Xisuma’s quips.

“It’s not been too busy, yeah?” Doc clambers onto the tree as he plucks off the highest branches. He pauses to flick open a calendar overlay, skimming the dates. “Nobody’s scheduled for maintenance checks until next month.” 

“It’s been alright.” The fuzzy wolf-shaped wool mask pops into view as Xisuma emerges from Doc’s pink abode. “Been a bit too quiet, even. It’s weird not having you around.”

Doc snorts to hide the way his thirium pump hiccups at the words. Logically, he knows the sound is far too soft for Xisuma to hear. Having emotions, Doc has found, is hardly ever logical.

“So you came over ‘cause you missed me?” The words are out before Doc can even try to edit the response. It instills in him the same kind of floundering exasperation he feels when trying to recall a comms message already seen by everyone.

“Well.” When Xisuma ducks his head, one ear of the knitted wolf flops to the side. “I mean. I suppose so.”

[Emotion Identified: Shyness.]

“But I did come with an agenda!” Xisuma reaches for the shulker behind him, pulling out a mobile scanner from the lab.

“You’re right about having no maintenance checks on the schedule,” Xisuma says, waving around the scanner. “With you out here roughing it out, though, I figured I should check on you.”

“Ah.” Doc chuckles, ignores his cooling vents spinning faster. “I see.”

“Well, don’t keep me waiting! You look about done with your tree.” 

“I am, I think.” Doc squints through the already-thinning leaves, nodding when he finds no branches left. “Alright, one moment.”

Dismantling the remains of the trunk takes only a few seconds. Doc gathers the wood and plonks them into the chest in his shabby house, with Xisuma trailing behind. 

With two people inside, it only reminds Doc how small the shelter is. Turning around after closing his chest puts him directly in Xisuma’s space.

“So, uh.” Doc shifts back, as much as he can. He ends up plopping down on the edge of his bed, which, well. “Go ahead, then.” 

A check-up does not require much space, really. Doc has done maintenance with the hermits in caves, in redstone farms, in underwater bases and nether bases. This is just the first time Doc himself has been examined outside of the yawning expanse of their labs. The change in routine leaves him uncertain, like recalibrating on angled terrain. 

The ease that Xisuma slips into the motions does well to settle Doc’s stress, however mild. The mobile scanner takes a while to gather results, so Doc answers Xisuma’s laundry list of questions. The list of questions is one curated by both Doc and Xisuma. Most of it is data, which Doc rattles off easily from the numbers that he pulls up in the corner of his vision.

The mobile scanner beeps cheerfully just as they reach the end of the lengthy questionnaire.

“Clean bill of health.” Xisuma shows Doc the display, which focuses less on internal processes and more on external damage or abnormalities. “Although, your average temperature is a bit lower than your usual.”

Doc shrugs. “It’s the altitude, man. Going from spending significant amounts of my time in the deserts and swamps to this is quite the change. Not to mention the wind chill.” 

As if to prove his point, a gust hits the shelter hard enough to make the planks rattle and creak. With no door, the icy breeze rushes in quickly. He tucks his metal arm into his lab coat with a sigh, the exposed components always prone to freezing the fastest.

“It’s not that bad,” Doc states flippantly, knowing without looking that Xisuma is taking in his every move. “I’m working most of the time, which keeps me warm. Plus I have my lava pool to sit beside when I need to warm up.”

“If you say so.” Xisuma shifts, leaning against his crafting bench. “The moment you start to experience temperature glitches, though, call this off. The rest will understand.”

“I know, I know.” This is all in good fun, when it comes down to it. He plays along for his own amusement. “I’ll be fine, Xisuma. I know how to take care of myself.”

“That you do.” Xisuma nods, then, with an “ah” of realisation, pulls his wolf mask off his helmet. 

“Here!” It only takes a step for Xisuma to be back in Doc’s space, pulling the wool over Doc’s head before he can react. 

“Uhm.” The mask is large enough that it goes over his horns easily, fitting loosely around his face. He has to lift and adjust it slightly to get his eyes back through the openings. “What?”

“To keep you warm!” Xisuma draws back again, settling against the crafting bench and tapping his heel against its side. “I mean, even over my helmet, it sure retains the heat. I know it doesn’t quite help with your metal arm, but it’ll at least warm up your horns and face.”

Doc does feel warmer, in fact. Though that is not necessarily correlated with the wool mask itself, and more the action of gifting it to him.

“But it’s your mask,” Doc replies, a flimsy rebuttal. “For your Woolves of Wool Street.”

“I have spares,” Xisuma chimes, eyes squinting happily through his helmet. “I’m sure the others won’t mind if you’re wearing it. Take it as a souvenir, of sorts.”

“Right.” Doc reaches a hand up to the wool. The material is soft, slightly worn from use. It smells a bit like Xisuma’s armour, the polish that he uses to clean it at the end of the day. “Thanks.”

“No problem, Doc.” 

Xisuma’s communicator chimes. A quick look has Xisuma turning back to Doc with an apologetic sigh. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ll come back soon, though, if you don’t mind?”

“Come back anytime,” Doc replies. He tries to reel it towards comedy with a gesture to his surroundings, his meager belongings. “You won’t be interrupting anything.”

The dry quip draws out a laugh from Xisuma, even as he gathers his shulker and activates his elytra.

“See you, Doc!” Xisuma waves from the edge of the cobblestone, then nosedives away, a rocket propelling him rapidly out of sight. 

Doc takes a moment to watch the clouds, then laughs at himself. Did he not poke fun at Tango last season, when he stared longingly at the portal Jimmy left the server with? Now look at him.  

He draws a hand up to the wolf mask, rubbing the soft knitting between his fingers, and decides that Tango absolutely cannot see him wearing this.

He can keep it on for now, though.

[sinnabarmoth]

Worthy of Devotion (7/9)

Pairing: Sea God|Rafayel x Worshipper|Reader (fem)

Summary: The temple is finally restored and Reader's time on the island is at its end. She wants to leave nothing unsaid this final night with Rafayel.

Content Warnings: Adult language. Loss of virginity. Fingering. Handjob. Cunnilingus. P in V.

Length: 6k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (8) (9)

Read on AO3

You finally found your way onto the roof. You ended up having to build a really tall ladder to get up there but it worked. You got yourself some rope and tied it around the supplies you needed and pulled it up after you. You figured that Rafayel would not be happy with you for this, he had thought the idea of you going on the roof at all was a bad idea. So you waited until one morning he wasn’t around to execute your plan. It was early in the morning and the sun was just starting to rise over the sea.

From the top of the temple it was a breathtaking view. No time to admire it though, you had work to do. So you went back to work and started lining up planks of wood to cover the holes in the roof. Hopefully when you returned to the mainland you could get some people who actually knew how to do this kind of work to make this something more elegant.

The repairs didn’t actually take that long. By the time the sun was directly overhead you were pretty much done. There were just a few smaller holes that you could fill in with spackle. Which meant one more trip on the ladder. You dusted yourself off and went to the side of the roof where you had left the ladder.

“Huh,” you looked around, “I’m pretty sure I set it against this wall. Where did it--oh shit.” your ladder had fallen over and you were now trapped on the roof. “He’s gonna kill me.”

“Right you are, clownfish.” Down on the ground standing under the shade of one of the trees was Rafayel. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Hello,” you waved, “I was just doing some repairs. No big deal.”

“Didn’t I say I didn’t want you climbing up there? You could hurt yourself.”

“It’s fine. Nothing went wrong.”

“Except for this.” he picked up the ladder. “What if I wasn’t around? How were you planning on getting back down?”

“I was thinking of using this rope to repel down if it got desperate enough.”

He sighed and put the ladder back up. “Get down please.”

“I’m coming.” you climbed back down. “So, how is your morning going?”

“Was going well until I found my follower somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.” he flicked your forehead. “You don’t like doing as you’re told, do you?”

“Whatever could you mean? I have never once disobeyed you.”

“Remember when you first came to this island? You were so proper and obedient and sweet, what happened to her?”

“She got trapped here for months with only you to talk to. I think it drove her insane.” you smiled, flicking him back.

He sighed, shaking his head. “And how is your progress on the roof?”

“Almost done. I need to fill in some cracks and smaller holes but this should be it. The temple is restored.”

“I see. What about the windows? They’re still missing their glass.”

“Well, I have no way to make glass so I guess I’m just going to have to board them up for now. When the time comes that I can send other followers here I’ll send them with supplies to properly fix everything I could only patch.” You sat back on the grass and stared up at the temple. Months of work finally at fruition. No longer a ruin but a temple worthy of its god.

Rafayel sat next to you. “This means that you’ll need to return home soon.”

“Not quite yet.” you shrugged. “I have to build a boat to take me back to the mainland and considering I’ve never made a boat before that is going to take a while.”

“Do you miss it? The mainland?”

“Some things, yes.” you couldn’t lie about this. “I had friends there that I miss terribly. I miss the festivals and the foods and the music. I miss the temple I grew up in and even though they were liars I miss the elders who raised me. It’s hard to believe that I’ve been away for so long and yet the days went by so quickly.

“I’m going to miss this place when I leave and…” you glanced at Rafayel. Things you wanted to say but couldn’t get past your lips stayed trapped on your tongue. “...and I’m definitely going to miss that bed and that tub. Going back to my simple cot and having to warm my own baths is going to take some getting used to again.”

“You’re going to be returning as the woman who single handedly returned the temple to its former glory and with a brand new text straight from the mouth of a god. I think that is more than high priestess worthy, and thus you can request a better bed and for someone else to draw you baths.”

“We’ll see. I can imagine I’m going to have a lot of pushback from the elders. There may be some who try to denounce everything I say to keep with the old traditions.”

“If they do, pray to me and I’ll send a storm in to set them straight.”

“Good to know.”

“One more thing.” he reached behind the tree you were sitting under and pulled out a wooden chest. He handed it to you. “Open it.”

“What is this?” You lifted the lid and nestled inside was a pile of cloth.

“Think of it as your regalia as high priestess.” Unlike the clothes Rafayel had brought you before that were nice but clearly meant for everyday toil and work this was truly something regal. The stark white material was light and soft, accented with deep blue and stitched with gold embroidery. It was beautiful but it also looked familiar. It was at that moment you realized that it was patterned after what you saw Rafayel normally wear, with matching golden jewelry and shoes as well.

“It’s wonderful.” your voice caught as you hugged the clothes to your chest. “Raf, I…I don’t know what to say. This is too much.”

“After everything you’ve done for the temple and what you’ll do when you return, it is not nearly enough.” There looked like there was something else he wanted to say but he turned away. “Come on, I doubt you had anything to eat yet today.”

“Coming.” The day passed normally from there but you could tell that you both were avoiding talking about something important. Something that could very well determine your future.

The next couple of days you finished fixing the roof, this time with Rafayel’s supervision so you didn’t up trapped up there again. You were in the middle of going from room to room making sure you had fixed everything you could when Rafayel came in and told you he had something for you outside.

“What could you possibly have brought that you couldn’t bring it inside?” you laughed as you followed him out. You walked down the beach and you heart sunk into your feet when you saw what was on the shore.

“A boat?” you turned to Rafayel but he continued to stare straight ahead. “But where did it come from?”

“I commissioned some of my people to make it for you. You said you didn’t know how to build one and if you are going to go back to the mainland I’d prefer it that you didn’t set off on a badly built raft.” Rafayel explained.

“I can go back?”

Rafayel continued to stare at the boat, his expression unreadable. “Yes.”

It was happening. The temple was restored and you had a boat. You would need to leave soon.

“Raf, I…” There were too many emotions swirling inside you to pick just one.

“Don’t think you’re getting away so easily though.” he said, turning back to you with a bright smile. “We are celebrating your last day on the island tonight. You can scamper off back to the mainland in the morning.”

There was something about the way he spoke that felt too chipper and you wondered how sincere his happiness was. This was what you had been working towards for months. In the morning you would be leaving for the mainland and start the process of restoring your religion to what Rafayel wanted it to be. In the morning you would leave as his high priestess and your time as friends would be at an end.

The day sped by far too fast as you started gathering your things and setting them in the boat so you could leave early in the morning. You had accumulated many trinkets during your time here so it took longer than you thought. All the clothes Rafayel had brought you, the board for Jumping Shrimp you’d always play, small paintings and sketches Rafayel made for you, seashells you had collected, a piece of one of the shattered stain glass windows, and other small odds and ends that held little memories of your time here.

As evening fell you and Rafayel walked along the beach, the bright light of the full moon illuminated the island. There was a quiet peace that neither of you wanted to disturb. But as his hand interlaced with yours you felt all the things you had wanted to say for weeks bubbling up again. You knew if you left in the morning without saying anything you’d regret it the rest of your life.

“Rafayel?” your voice wavered as you spoke.

He stopped, sensing the hesitation in your voice. “Yes?”

It was unfair how beautiful he was. Those mesmerizing blue eyes and way the moonlight shined off his hair. You believed with every fiber of your being that he was a god. Maybe if he looked half as handsome it’d be easier to say all this. Maybe if he was just a man and not your deity you wouldn’t feel like such a hopeful fool.

“I um…” you swallowed past the lump in your throat, “I don’t know how to say this. I don’t even know if I should. I am terrified that I will have ruined everything we’ve built but I need you to know that I…I…”

I love you. You finished in your head, unable to get the words out. They were too real, too honest. I love everything about you. I love how serene you are when you’re painting but so focused and serious when playing games. I love the way you play with me, even when you’re trying to annoy me. I love the way you hold me when we sleep. I love how passionate you are and funny and kind. I love you so much it breaks my own heart cause loving you is literally like trying to love the ocean. You’re far too vast for me to hold, but I would still drown trying to. I love you, Rafayel.

The world came to a still. There was no breeze. The ocean itself had smoothed into glass.

Rafayel cupped your cheek and tilted your face up to his, wiping your tears away. “Your prayer has been heard.” he whispered before he claimed your lips in a kiss as deep as the ocean itself.

You swayed, falling further into him as you kissed him back. You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. His tongue pressed gently against your lips and you parted them for him. You were glad you were already holding onto him as his tongue swept tentatively into your mouth, tasting you deeper. When all the air had been taken from your lungs he pulled back slightly to let you breathe.

“Cor meum,” he murmured against your lips, “Don’t leave.”

You blinked, coming out of the daze the kiss had left you in. “What?”

“I don’t want you to leave.” he kissed the corner of your mouth. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

“Raf, I…” your heart split in two, caught between desire and duty. “It won’t be goodbye. I will still pray to you every night. You’re my god. We’ll never be far apart from each other.”

“Why do we have to be apart at all?” tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. “Was it not you who said you weren’t even sure if you wanted to return to the mainland because the other priests had been lying? Why return to that?”

“And let everyone keep worshiping you the way you don’t want to be? I need to go back. To make things right. It’s what we’ve been working towards all this time.” you held tightly to him, scared that he’d slip from you if you let go for even a moment. “If I don’t then this temple will be abandoned again.”

You could tell he was fighting for some counterpoint. Something that could make you change your mind.

“You want me to be your high priestess.” you said. “I can make real change as that. I can be a wonderful priestess to you. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I want you.” he took in a shaky breath. “Please. Stay.”

“It would be selfish if I did.” These words were breaking your heart but you knew you couldn’t escape your duty. You had promised that you would correct things, change the narrative that the charlatan priests had been spreading for centuries. You loved him, but because you loved him you knew you needed to do this. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry we can’t have both.”

“You…you won’t be moved, will you?”

You shook your head.

He kissed your forehead, breathing you in as he thought. “If this is what will happen then I want you to be mine and mine alone. My priestess, cor meum, belong to me, body and soul.”

“Don’t I already?”

“Then let me be yours as well. I want none to have me the way you do.” He swallowed nervously, “Lemuria and the mainland are too far apart. It may well be that we may not see each other again and if that is our fate then I want to spend this final night with you.”

Your heart flipped in your chest. “What do you mean?”

“I want to move with you, like the tide lapping the shore.” he pressed you closer, “I want to make love to you, cor meum.”

The air around you suddenly choked you with heat. “Aren’t priests and priestesses supposed to remain celibate?” your voice could just barely be heard over the wind.

“Because they are devoted to me. Does celibacy mean anything if the person you are sleeping with is your god?” he asked.

“I suppose you have a point there.” you wished your heart would stop beating so fast, you could hardly catch your breath. “So yes.”

“Yes, what?” he prompted, a playful smile on his face.

“Yes, I want to belong to you in a way no others who become your followers can. I want you to be mine in a way no one else will be able to replicate. I want you to make love to me, Rafayel.”

His breath stuttered as he pulled you up off your feet and began to walk back to the temple. The closer you got the more nervous you became. You had come to terms long ago that because of your lot in life you would never be allowed to fall in love, much less have sex. Being a priestess meant that your life began and ended with your god, no one could have any other part of you. Because of that you had never worried about it before now and it was becoming alarmingly clear how out of your depth you were.

“Um, Rafayel,” you squeaked out, “Is this going to hurt? I’ve heard stories about how women hurt the first time they have relations with a man.”

“I wouldn’t know.” he said. You could see the tips of his ears burning bright red. “I haven’t exactly done this before.”

“Had sex with a human?”

The red spread to his face. “Actually…” he cleared his throat, “Something I never mentioned when we were writing the history of the Sea Gods is that they are um…bonding creatures. Whoever they partner with is the only person they will ever be with.”

“Oh.” your face heated as well. “So you’ve never done this at all either?”

“Yes.”

“And if we do this, what does that mean for you?”

“It means exactly what I said on the beach.” you were up the steps and in front of the door to the bedroom. “I want none to have me the way you do. It will only ever be you, cor meum.”

“But--”

“Shh,” he nudged the door open with his foot and carried you inside. “This is what I want. I will have only you for as long as I live. It does not matter if it is ten, twenty, a hundred years from now. I will always be waiting for you to come back to me, if you ever wish to.”

“Are you saying all this to get me to stay?”

“Partly.” he set you back on your feet. “But I know that you’re stubborn and you will do whatever you wish. I just hope one day you’ll wish to come back to me.”

You pushed yourself to your toes to kiss him again. He returned it with fervor, pulling you close so your body was pressed flush against him.

“Care to help me get this off?” you asked, glancing down at the tunic he was bunching in his hands.

“I can do that.” he stepped back slightly, finding the hem of your tunic and slowly pulling it up and over your head. Your arms automatically went to cover yourself. “Nothing to be shy about, cor meum. It isn’t anything I haven’t seen from you before. But I would love the chance to admire it in full.”

You lowered your arms again, forcing them to remain at your side. He studied you much in the same way he admired the frescoes in the temple, with reverence and awe. With a deep breath you slid the loose pants off your hips so they pooled around your legs, leaving you completely bare before him. His nostrils flared and that little spark of light was once again lit in his eyes.

“Your turn.” you said. You were shaking and couldn’t tell if it was nerves or the wind blowing in through the open windows.

“Right.” he cleared his throat and began removing the pieces of jewelry from his person one by one. He let them clatter on the ground, his eyes never leaving you as he was stripped of his adornments. Finally he reached for the golden pin that helped keep the sarong he always wore in place and took it out. The material fell to the floor and heat pooled between your legs as you stared at his dick. Anatomy lessons and statues really did not prepare you for being faced with the real thing.

“Let’s get on the bed.”

You nodded and sat yourself down in the center of the bed. He followed after you, sitting down next to you. “Let’s just take it slow.” he said.

“Good idea.”

He kissed your forehead, your left eyelid followed by your right, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Each gentle kiss a moment to be savored. “You’re so beautiful, cor meum.” he whispered before claiming your lips again.

You pressed your hands against his chest, feeling the way his heart pounded under your palm as you kissed. He touched you gently, experimentally, his hands caressing your arms and running down the length of your spine. Each touch felt like he left a trail of fire in his wake. More of that heat was building between your legs and you pressed them tightly together to stave off the feeling.

You shifted slightly as you were rolled to your back. Your arms wove around his neck as he pressed his naked torso to yours. His skin against yours was an intoxicating intimacy you had only glanced in stolen moments when you swam together, when your clothes were plastered to your skin making you feel as if you wore none at all. But now there was nothing in the way between you and it made your head swim.

You pulled back from the kiss and dragged your lips down to the column of his throat. A deep sigh exhaled from him as you kissed along his neck. “Cor meum…” he breathed out.

“You going to tell me what that means now?” you muttered against his skin. You found the spot where his pulse thundered and you gave a small bite.

“My heart.” he moaned, “It means you are my heart.”

“Cor meum,” you tested the foreign word, the unfamiliar syllables tumbling past your lips. “Did I say it right?”

“Lemurian sounds beautiful on your tongue, my heart.” he pulled your face back to his, kissing you quick. “I want to hear how you say other things, starting with my name.”

“Does your name sound different in Lemurian?”

“I didn’t mean in Lemurian.” he gave you a rakish smile. His hands moved again, resting on your hips and moved slowly up your torso towards your chest but not further than that. He seemed to be seeking permission. You took one of his hands and moved it to you cup your breast.

“You are a wonder,” he kissed the underside of your jaw, “Say my name, please.”

“Rafayel,” you said.

He ran a thumb over your nipple, teasing it into a hard peak. A whine built in your throat. “Again.” he said, watching the way your lip quivered as small waves of arousal coursed through your body.

“Rafayel.” His name came out breathless and needy. “Rafayel, my Rafayel. Please.”

“What do you want me to do?” he swallowed, staring hard at your face. “I want to make you feel good.”

“Here,” you took his hand and guided it back down to your body where you most wanted to be touched.

Growing up you had been taught that if your goal was to be a priestess you could not indulge in any carnal pleasure. It went against dedicating yourself to your god. But as a teenager you had been curious as to what was so bad about it and decided to indulge, purely out of scientific curiosity. At least that was what you told yourself. It was strange but it also felt good and you wondered why such a thing was forbidden for the higher ups in the clergy. Your pleasure was a secret that caused bliss and guilt, because despite how nice it had felt you thought you were doing something blasphemous.

Now, it all felt so ridiculous. You were with your god, leading his hand to your core, showing him how to touch you and none of it felt wrong.

Short gasps and moans of pleasure punctuated the air as his fingers moved with yours along your slit and over your clit. Rafayel was attentive and watched what motions and which places made you writhe and moan the most. A single slender finger pushed into your cunt and you immediately clamped down around it.

He slid it in and out, curling it just so like you told him until he got the motion and added another finger to fill you and stretch you out more.

“Raf--” you bit your lip, fighting for some form of control to get the words out, “Raf, show me. Please.”

“What?” he tore his attention away from watching his hand between your legs. “What do you need?”

“I want to touch you too.” you said, “Show me.”

“Oh,” he said, eyes darting down to his dick which stood between you hard and flushed as red as his face. “I’m scared if you touch me there I might explode.”

“We have all night.” you reminded him. “I want you to feel good too.”

“Alright, give me your hand.” You gave him your hand and he brought it to his cock. A guttural groan left his lips upon your touch and you squeaked a little when his cock seemed to twitch in your hand. “Sorry,” he said. “Like I said, I’m very close to coming already. Just, grasp it like this and move up and down, firmly but not too tight.”

Your hand began to move and his head dropped forward as his breathing got more ragged. He left you to it, his attention going back to stroking your cunt. You could tell you were both nervous, both eager to please, and both trying to fight the pleasure inside you so you could go on pleasing each other. It was like a game of push and pull, and whoever came first was the loser. Unfortunately for Rafayel he was right about how close he had been. As your hand got quicker his sanity slipped faster until he was panting and thrusting into your fist.

He cursed something in Lemurian as he came, the thick and sticky white substance of his seed coated your hand and a bit had also splattered on your abdomen. His dick became soft again and he laid back breathing hard as he tried to catch his breath.

“You made a bit of a mess,” you giggled, wiping the drops off with a corner of the bedsheets.

“Your fault.” he sighed, “I told you what was gonna happen and you still insisted.”

“Of course. Do you have any idea how beautiful you look when you come? It was well worth it.”

“You still need yours.” Rafayel raked his eyes up and down your body. “And this time, you aren’t going to distract me.”

“What do you mean--” your words died in your throat as he brought the fingers that had been in your cunt to his mouth and sucked the juices off them one at a time.

“So sweet, I want to taste more.” he slid down your body. You automatically closed your legs, embarrassed that he was looking so closely at your cunt. He rested his chin on your knees. “If you don’t want me to I won’t but I’d really like to taste you. May I?”

“I uh…” he ran his hands up and down your thighs, easing you and grounding you in the moment. You took in a deep breath and let it out slowly then gradually parted your legs once more. “Alright.”

He kissed your knee. “It’s alright, my heart. I’ll do my best to make you feel good.”

His eyes drifted down and hungrily took in the sight of your cunt spread before him, already plenty wet from his fingering earlier. He slotted himself between your legs, pressing kisses along your thighs. He shot you a mischievous little smile before biting the supple flesh. A sharp squeak escaped you when he did and more arousal pooled at your core. He noticed the way your muscles flexed and he did it again, a little harder. He lathed his tongue over the bite mark before setting his sights back on your cunt.

You could tell he was being careful, the touch of his lips against your cunt was gentle and explorative. You fisted your hands in the sheets of the bed, soft moans echoing in the room as he figured out what spots and motions made you see stars. When he finally parted your folds to slide his tongue against you, burying his face into your cunt so he could lap up the arousal leaking out of you is when your composure really started to go.

You fisted a hand in his hair, unsure if you were trying to keep him there or trying to pull him off. His eyes were closed as he devoured you. You could tell you were reaching a climax but unlike the secret pleasures you had stolen back on the mainland it wasn’t a point of release followed by relaxation. Your legs were shaking, your moans growing louder than they had ever been before, and it felt as if a tidal wave was rushing towards you about to pull you out to sea.

“Raf--Raf--” your grip on his hair got stronger. “Fuck! Please! Please Raf! Please!”

You weren’t even sure what you were begging for. Was it release? Was it for him to stop? Everything was far too much. You were racing forward faster than you could comprehend and he was showing no sign of slowing. In fact, when you started repeating his name he got even faster, holding your hips down with one arm while his free hand rubbed circles over your clit.

Too much! Too much! Too much!

“Raf--” your body seized as a pleasure far more fervid and immense than what you had known before tore through you and left you panting and gasping for breath.

He pulled back almost immediately, watching the way your body twitched and rode out the intense orgasm. “Are you alright?”

“I think so…” you were still trying to get your bearings. “I didn’t realize that the climax could feel so…strong. Are you sure you’ve never done this with someone else before?”

“Positive.” he climbed back up, wiping the shine of your arousal from his mouth. “But I like to think I’m very observant, so we can thank that for what just happened.”

A giggle gathered in your throat and you tried to suppress it. “What?” Rafayel asked. “What are you laughing about?”

“Sorry, I just um…I don’t want to say it.”

“Oh no, please, what were you going to say?”

“I just thought it was funny that you said you’re very observant but apparently not observant enough to realize when you were walking into a trap when we played Jumping Shrimp.”

“And again with Jumping Shrimp! It always comes back to that with you, doesn’t it?” Rafayel pulled you close, tickling your sides as he nuzzled his face in your neck.

“I’m sorry! This is why I didn’t want to say it. I knew you were gonna get pouty on me.”

“I’m not pouting.” he bit your neck. “How could I when have you spread out like this?”

“Raf!” your face burned anew. “You can’t just say that!”

“Why not? No one else is here to hear us.” he pulled your hands away from your face and kissed you. There was something intoxicating about tasting yourself on his tongue. It made you wish that you hadn’t wiped his seed off your hand. Maybe he would have enjoyed the sensation too.

“And I’m grateful there’s no one else here,” he murmured, “I want these precious sounds you make to belong to only me.”

“Always.” you brushed some of his hair out of his eyes, “I want you to make love to me now, Rafayel. I’m ready if you are.”

“I love you.” he said, “I will only love you for the rest of my days.”

He settled between your legs, hands braced on your hips as he notched his cock at the entrance of your cunt. You had decided to fist the sheets again as means to keep you tethered to sanity as he gave you one final loving look before slowly pushing inside. A whine of discomfort burned your throat and he stopped.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, concern etched across his face.

“A bit.” you tried to relax. “I’m good. Keep going, please.”

“We don’t have to rush. We have all night.” he assured you. He pulled back just a bit before sinking in again, pushing a little deeper as your body relaxed and stretched bit by bit to accommodate him.

It still hurt but not nearly as bad as what you had expected. After what felt like forever of slowly rocking together he was fully sheathed inside you. No matter what happened now, you were bonded…forever. No one could have this and no one could take it away.

“Rafayel,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss you. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” his voice was deep and strained. You could feel him throbbing inside you, desperate to move. “I love you so much.”

And just like how the waves swayed your body as you laid on the surface of its endless tide, you moved with Rafayel as only lovers could. He started shallow and slow until the pain and uncomfortableness of your joining began to ebb away. You could feel pinpricks of pleasure building behind the uncertainty of your movements.

“You’re so beautiful.” he said. “Need to sear this image into my memory.”

Your body glistened with buds of sweat blossoming over your skin. Back and forth you pushed and pulled with him. Your nails dug into his back as the pleasure started to overtake the pain. The drag of his cock along your walls felt euphoric. You fit so well together, as if you had been made to slot together perfectly for one another. Maybe you had been.

Almost all your life you had been told you were blessed by the ocean. Maybe that had been for a reason. Maybe this was where you were always meant to end up. Locked together with the sea itself in a dance as old as time.

“Cor meum…” Rafayel said through gritted teeth, “You feel divine. I don’t know how long I can keep this up though. From the moment I felt you around me all I’ve wanted was to rut against you like an animal. It feels so good. Too good. But I still want you to come with me.”

“Alright.” you wanted that too. “Go a little faster,” you told him. Your hand slid down your stomach and teased your clit, “And kiss me.”

His mouth crashed to yours as he picked up the pace, his slow measured thrusts getting faster and more out of rhythm as he began chasing his own pleasure. Your legs kicked and squirmed as all the sensations came together. With the additional pressure on your clit you felt another orgasm drawing closer.

Rafayel’s mouth slanted across yours, his moans being swallowed by you as he got closer and closer. You could hardly breathe at all. Your body desperate for release moved to meet his thrusts. He took charge, grabbing your hips and moving them in sync with him so it felt even better.

He repeated your name over and over, his voice getting more desperate the closer he got. “Come with me.” he pleaded. “I need you to come with me, cor meum. Please!”

“Want to! I want to come with you!” You were just at a tipping point. So close! “Rafayel!”

His hips snapped against yours twice, maybe three more times and then he stilled as he came and the sensation was that final push you needed to come as well. Your cunt clamped down around him and you could feel the warmth of his fill and coat your insides. The feel of it sent a shiver up your spine.

You both slumped, his body pressed atop yours as you tried to catch your breath after the incredible high. His softening cock was still wedged in you but you didn’t dare move him. You wanted to burn this feeling into your brain. If could capture this moment in a bottle and keep it with you forever you would.

“How do you feel?” Rafayel was the first to speak, his words mumbled into your ear.

“Incredible.” you turned your head to kiss his cheek. “Exhausted, but incredible.”

“Same.” he gently pulled out of you. You whined a bit at the motion. Suddenly you felt far too empty. Your cunt would forever be molded by the shape of him and only him. “One moment.” he started to move away from you. You instinctively grabbed his arm.

“It’s alright, I’m not going far.” he said with a smile and brushed a feather soft kiss to your face. You noticed with some pride that he was walking awkwardly towards the bathing room. You may not have had the energy to walk but you were glad that you had thoroughly winded him too.

He came back from the bathing room with a wet rag in hand and wiped clean the mess of fluids that had accumulated between your legs. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep with all of that sticking to you.” After he was done he tossed the rag away and joined you back in bed.

“Thanks.” you immediately nestled right against him.

For a while you didn’t say anything. You simply laid together and breathed, basking in the post coital bliss. Maybe this night could stretch on forever.

“We are bonded.” Rafayel said, drawing your attention back to him. “Cor meum, my heart, I vow to you this, should you ever call me, I will always answer. No matter where we are, what I am doing, you will know I am always listening to you. And if one day you say you want to come home, I will bring you home.”

“I will.” you said, tears gathering in your eyes again. “One day, I don’t know when. I don’t know how long rebuilding a religion will take but I will come home to you. I promise.”

“Don’t take too long.” he whispered, holding you close. “I love you, more than anything in this world.”

“I love you, Rafayel. I always have, I always will.”

You repeated the words over and over as the day began to wear down on you and for the final night for a long time, you fell asleep in the arms of your god.

[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Return (part two)

AO3

PART ONE

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 8.0k

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Chapter Summary: While Mando takes a trip to the market and gets what he needs, he ponders your relationship and what it means to him.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Switching POVs, post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of Grogu, soft!Mando, insecure!Mando (a smidge), helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, sad!reader for a little, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

A/N: Thank you all so much for the responses on the first part! This is my first fic that I've ever shared and it makes me so happy that other people enjoy my writing! Enjoy!

Mando handed his scope off to you in the worn down store. Wallpaper peeled from the ancient wooden planks of the walls. Cobwebs littered the untouched areas of the store. The work stations in the back, visible from the pick up counter at the front, were in complete disarray. Several projects started, but not finished. Several projects finished, but not retrieved.

You took the scope in your hand and twisted it in your hands until your gaze landed on the name of the manufacturer and the serial number. Your eyebrows shot up once the brand of the scope was revealed, it twisted in your hands once more. Hands raising the metal tube so it was level with your eyes, you looked into the scope. 

“Ah! I know what it is!”

Mando watched in confusion as you ran to a workstation and grabbed a singular tool. How did you know what was wrong so quickly? He sat in the hull of the Crest for hours attempting to fix the scope. The motions of taking the scope apart and putting it back together were etched into his brain from the number of times he did so. 

You returned to the front of the store with the tool in hand. “This manufacturer has been having these issues lately. They built their magnification system like no one else, but they didn’t seem to account for the need to recalibrate the scope every once in a while. Recalibrating too often causes the lenses to misalign.” 

Mando calibrated his every day. He had to. It was part of his job. A miscalibration could be the difference between a two hour hunt and a twelve hour hunt.

Your face twisted in concentration as you inserted the tool into the side of the scope. Jostling the metal, it popped open and allowed access to the inside. “For some reason they put these weird pins in…” You trailed off while you removed a total of three thin metal pins. Once the pins were removed, you clicked the top of the scope back into place and handed it to Mando.

Mando previously took the scope apart countless times. He never noticed any pins.

“Twenty credits, please.” You said with a smile. Your gaze met his–you somehow found it through his black visor–and you maintained eye contact.

The display on the inside of Mando’s helmet only progressed seven minutes after he entered the store. Inside of his helmet his eyebrows shot up. He was impressed. Not only with your efficiency, but with the reasonable price as well.

“I’m impressed.” He stated. Nodding at you, he retrieved a few credits from his utility belt and set them on the paint chipped counter. He turned and walked a few paces and then stopped in front of the door.

He’s been looking for a crew mate for weeks. The potential candidates he’s stumbled across were either annoying, rude, or incompetent. Throughout his time as a bounty hunter he’s been to countless repair shops. The service was always lack-luster, prices were too high, repair time much too long. 

Sure, he just met you eight minutes ago, but you had potential. He turned on his heel and faced you. Armor glinted in the low lighting of the run down shop. 

“Are you in the market for a new job?”

–

Walking to the market, he’d been reflecting on his decision to bring you onto the Crest as a crew partner.

It was the best decision he ever made, besides saving Grogu from the Empire.

You were intelligent. Friendly. Resourceful. Efficient. Brave.

You stared a Mandalorian straight in the eyes–well, visor–and didn’t even flinch. You didn’t even break eye contact, unlike everyone else. People would turn to whoever they’re with to avoid his gaze. They spoke like he wasn’t a meter or two away–and like he couldn’t amplify their voices with his helmet.

His tall, broad stance usually set everyone on edge. The heavy weight of beskar armor, a reminder of his skillset, didn’t aid in calming the nerves of anyone either. He was typically soft spoken around others, as he noticed people’s reactions when he spoke–eyes wide, speech stuttering, shaking hands–scared. 

Everyone was afraid of him.

Except you.

When you first boarded the Razor Crest, Mando was extremely careful in making sure you were comfortable. The majority of his days not hunting were spent in the cockpit or in his bunk. Whenever you crossed paths in the hull you offered him a small smile and quickly looked away. Did your bravery fade away?

He came back from a hunt one day, quarry in tow, and he was relieved to hear, “How was your day?” Fall from your lips once the bounty was in carbonite.

Still cautious–mindful of how the modulator made his voice sound–he kept his answers short and to the point.

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Hearing the four words you said after each return from a hunt, and being able to give you a response without you slinking away, made the hunts worth it.

One night always stood out in his mind. It was just like any other return from one of his hunts. Mando dragged the quarry up the Crest’s ramp by a cord tied around their ankles. He lifted the man to stand up, doing so effortlessly with a few grunts to spare. 

Your living space was in the hull, so he always tried to make the ends of his hunts fast. You didn’t have any choice but to watch. Mando didn’t want to make you watch for too long. Maker, he didn’t want you to watch at all.

His fist slammed the button to begin the freezing process. Breathing heavily, he stood and watched the bounty as they froze into the carbonite cell. A blanket of silence covered the hull once the hissing of the freezing mechanisms came to a stop.

“How was your day?”

There it is. His favorite part after the hunt. Knowing you were there, safe within the hull, and that you wanted to be friendly with him–even after witnessing him freeze a person he tracked down for several hours.

“Nothing you want to hear about,” he replied, his voice tinged with tiredness. The helmet’s modulator most likely didn’t register the sleep in his voice. Truly, he didn’t think that you would want to hear about it. The Mandalorian was afraid that hearing about his hunts would put you on edge. You already extended a branch of friendliness to him twice a day. He didn’t want to give that up by talking about the bounties he tracks down.

“Try me.”

Those words.

Those words have only ever been spoken to him by enemies. It always caused annoyance to wash over him, head to toe. He’s a Mandalorian. Confident of his skills in combat. No matter the odds, Mando knew he would like them.

But when those words tumbled from your lips, it was different. When his enemies weren’t scared of him, it was annoying. When you weren’t scared of him, adoration filled his body. And not adoration in a patronizing way, but adoration as a form of respect. 

It made him want you that much more.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Mando realized the crotch of his pants were tight. Nonchalantly, he clasped his hands together and rested them below his belt.

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out. Again, he was conscious of how the modulator warped his voice. “Not too fun,” he added in an attempt to make the conversation more casual.

You were silent. He whispered a curse to himself under his helmet, one that he was certain wouldn’t be picked up by his modulator. Was his answer too much? Mando quickly became nervous and started to shift his weight from one foot to the other. The silence you left in the air made him a bit anxious.

The T shape of his visor peered over to you. You stood still in shock, reminiscent of the people that saw him in public. Before his thoughts could spiral too much, you replied, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Dank farrik. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to comfort him. “You don’t have to be sorry,” his chest brushed against your shoulder as he swiftly hopped onto the first rung of the ladder up to the cockpit. “It’s my job.”

“That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” you said. He smiled underneath his helmet at your consideration. Your eyes widened and your mouth opened and closed as you realized what you said, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks.”

You weren’t wrong. Making his way through tough terrain, relying on a blinking red light on a piece of metal to guide him. Finding them was a task in itself, but dragging them back to the Crest was the other half of his job that sucked. Mando looked over his shoulder at you and replied matter-of-factly, “My job does suck.”

A giggle bubbled out from your chest. Every once in a while you would be reading a funny article on your Holopad and your laughs would echo through the hull of the Crest, making their way up into the cockpit. He needed more of them. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

If you were comfortable enough to stand up to him, and laugh at his awful attempts at jokes–after he just hauled a bounty onto the ship–Mando realized he was safe.

Not only were you safe with him. He felt safe with you, in more ways than one.

Kriff it. You extended a friendly attitude towards him–a faceless warrior covered in impenetrable armor–then he could extend a friendly attitude towards you as well.

You asked him about this day, both in the mornings and the evenings. He learned about what you like and didn’t like. One item stood out to him. Caf. He always entered into a cloud of caf scent when he sauntered into the hull in the mornings. Mando was usually up before you, so he figured he would start making you a cup every morning. Confident enough in knowing which kinds of caf you preferred, he would stock up on caf every supply run.

The Mandalorian got closer to you, both physically and emotionally. Sometimes he would catch his hands landing on your waist or your lower back when he passed you on the ship. You’d shoot him a small smile in response. The distance he kept from you only decreased. He wanted to see your smile more and more. 

One thing he didn’t see coming was your interest in Mando’a. He would mumble to himself in the ship while completing various tasks.

“What’s that word mean?” You’d occasionally ask. The Mandalorian would explain their meanings, sometimes struggling to translate the word to Basic.

He must have taught you at least two dozen words in Mando’a by now. Each time you asked you would give him your full attention. 

At night, if he amplified the sound with his helmet enough, he could hear you practicing the words and recalling their meanings. It motivated him to share more words with you.

–

All of these experiences have led to this day. He’s been planning it for a month or two now. 

He wants to ask you on a date. Nerves bubbled up from his stomach and throughout his body. They suddenly came to a halt. 

Not now. First, he needs to collect information on a quarry.

Lost in his thoughts, he looked up and the market filled his vision with you in his peripheral. It wasn’t too busy, part of the reason why he was comfortable enough for you to shop on your own. He clarified the meet up point to you and watched as you took off. You had a bounce in your step, probably due to your excitement at shopping alone. 

Once he meandered further into the market he began to collect information. This market was the bounty’s last location. Mando’s guess was that he either simply wanted to be in a small city, gambled their life savings away, or they paid for visit after visit with the workers at the brothel until they ran out of credits.

Only one way to find out. The gambling and brothels didn’t start up until later in the afternoon. To kill the time, and to possibly find the quarry, Mando wandered throughout the different sections of the market. 

He asked a few vendors about the bounty. Mando described the man to many market sellers and only got a slight lead from one woman donned in patterned fabrics. 

“I think he went that way,” the woman gestured with one of her hands towards an intersection, “Take the left path. I don’t know anything else beyond that.”

Mando dropped a few credits into her hand and gave her a polite nod, “Thank you.” He continued on and curved his gait to take the left path. From the signs and general merchandise displayed on each stall, he knew he was entering the clothing section of the market.

The helmet covering his head swiveled from left to right and right to left. No one matched the description of his quarry. Repeating his previous process, he made his way down the stall-lined alley and asked a couple different vendors.

Once the last vendor finished talking, and provided him with another lead, he dug his hand into his pocket and slid the credits on the stall’s counter towards them. Turning his back towards the vendor, his feet carried him two steps back into the market.

Then he saw you.

You stood hunched over a table of colorful bracelets. Tapping his fingers to the temple of his helmet, Mando zoomed in and the helmet displayed your face to him, deep in thought. Looking down, you were hovering your hands over a grid of various green bracelets. 

You stopped on one. Mostly brown, almost too much to be in the green section, Mando thought. Nonetheless, the green and silver streaks peeked in and out of the thick threads of brown that made up the bracelet. Your fingers sorted through the sizes of the bracelet and selected one that looked close to your size. 

Clutching it in one hand, the other hand searched for another of the same bracelet. It was larger than the previous size. You set the smaller bracelet down and tested the strings. The bracelet was adjustable, and you smiled at the discovery.

You transferred the bracelets onto the table of the stall and used one hand to dig into your pockets. Palm held out flat, Mando guessed that about twenty credits sat in your palm. He followed your gaze to the sign listing the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

Shoulders falling, you dropped the credits back into your pocket and returned the bracelets to their original spot in the grid of green. Ground crunched beneath your shoes as you turned and continued wandering through the market.

Mando noted it was the third stall to the left of the bright green stall on the left side of the alley.

Not wanting you to realize he saw you, the Mandalorian walked in the opposite direction you took. After twenty minutes he noticed that the stalls became much more strange than the stalls in the clothing section of the market. Peering at the different products for sale, he saw a potions shop offering “super strength elixir” and a vendor selling various pet-like creatures. A few more vendors passed his peripheral vision as he continued his strides. They came to a stop once a building larger than the surrounding stalls came into view.

His helmet tilted upwards to read the sign displayed front and center on the large building: BROTHEL.

Tapping the side of his helmet, the time on the helmet’s display indicated that the brothel and gambling scenes had just begun. Mando tapped the temple of his helmet once again and the warm bodies within the building lit up, like he had x-ray vision. He counted a dozen in total. One body stood in the same spot inside near an entryway–the bouncer, Mando thought.

The bouncer was the individual that allowed access in and out of the building. If their memory was decent, they would be like a living guest book. Mando figured he could bribe them to reveal information, which was his usual plan with most of the beings he spoke with.

He sauntered over to the side of the building the bouncer was standing at. A singular light flickered over the side door, the sun was still out, so Mando was confused why it was on. The beskar helmet observed the side door.

Metal. Double deadbolts. Keypad on the left side. Small slit at eye level–neck level for the Mandalorian.

As soon as he crouched down to look near the slit, it slid open and revealed a thick pair of black eyebrows. Black eyes bore into the brow of Mando’s helmet, as the bouncer couldn’t seem to find his eyes. 

“Do you have an appointment?” The bouncer asked. The voice behind the door was gruff, as if the words had to crawl from the depths of his throat. 

“No,” Mando responded.

Black eyes blinked and then disappeared when the bouncer closed the metal slit. 

Mando was taken aback and furrowed his brow. His fist pounded on the door. He just wanted this hunt to be over with. He wanted to get back to you.

The slit in the door revealed two black eyes once more.

“I have credits and will pay you if you give me information on a client your establishment may have served.” Mando’s modulator gritted out loudly. Straight and to the point. All business. 

Eyes disappeared again, but were then accompanied with the sounds of the deadbolts unlocking. The metal door swung open to reveal a man dressed in all black with a silver name tag. Black hair matched the rest of his ensemble. 

Still holding the door, the bouncer asked, “What’s the bounty look like?”

An eyebrow raised inside Mando’s helmet, but he figured the bouncer knew the drill by now. Even other bounty hunters knew that brothels were what many bounties visited. A gloved hand unbuttoned a pocket on his belt and retrieved a bounty puck. Clicking the side of it, the puck displayed the quarry. 

The man stepped out of the doorway and onto the pavement, pulling the door closed behind him. His black eyes slightly squinted when his gaze trailed up and down the hologram.

“Ah yeah, I’ve seen this guy. He has a type, always goes for the blondes.” 

“Does he have any upcoming appointments?” Mando questioned.

The bouncer sighed in thought and pulled a small notepad from his pocket. Mando mirrored the man’s motion and produced a pen and notepad from his pocket. 

“The guy has an appointment in two days. He just asked to see a blonde. Figures.” The man shrugged and opened his notepad. Mando noticed it was a planner, and the bouncer flipped to the pages for the appointments two days from today.

“Which workers would take him as a client?” Mando’s modulator churned the words. His pen clicked as he readied himself to write.

The man donned in black made a fist with one hand and raised a finger with each name, “Ari. Taima. And Nomi. They would be in rooms one, five, or seven.”

Wow, Mando thought, this guy really knew the drill. He quickly finished up writing down the names and room numbers of each worker. The pen scratched feverishly against the cream colored paper, leaving behind black strokes to form letters and numbers. Notepad folding closed and the pen clicking, signifying the end of his notes, Mando returned the pen and paper to their place in his pocket. His opposing hand reached into a different pocket and produced a sizable amount of credits. Feeling generous, thankful that this hunt was going to be quick, he compensated the bouncer handsomely.

First task done. Second task on the horizon.

Creaking produced from the hinges of the metal door as the bouncer disappeared behind it once more. Flickering light gleamed off the beskar armor that protected the Mandalorian in combat. Although he wasn’t going into combat, because he wouldn’t be nervous if he was. 

Mando trained most of his life with the greatest warriors in the galaxy. Combat flowed through his blood easily. It was a part of him. 

But he was never trained on how to ask people out on dates.

On top of that, he was never trained on how to ask you out on a date.

He didn’t want to misread the situation. You could just be friendly. Who would want to date a man and not know what he looks like? Who would want to constantly live on a ship, without a permanent home? 

Being Mando, he prepared for the worst. If you said no, he figured that you would be uncomfortable living with the man who asked you out on a date. Knowing that he’s attracted to you. He would fly wherever you wanted and give you some credits to get started. Kriff, he’d send credits for however long it takes for you to get on your feet. Then he’d leave you alone. 

Admittedly, the Mandalorian would probably keep an eye on you to make sure you were safe. You just wouldn’t know he’s there.

But if you said yes.

Mando’s chest bloomed with anticipation. Firework-like tingles trailed up and down his limbs at the thought. He bit his lip within the confines of his helmet when he realized his pants had gotten tighter. Thankfully he was a Mandalorian, because heat washed over his face, half due to arousal and the other half in embarrassment.

The brown eyes underneath the helmet widened. If he wanted to do more with you and you agreed, he didn’t have protection.

Turning on his heel, cape whipping behind him, he made a quick pace back to the brothel.

Once he arrived at the gray building, the light at the side of the building having more of a purpose, Mando glided towards the same door as before. Bringing a fist up to the metal, he knocked three times.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Clink. Shhhkt.

“Do you sell condoms?” the modulator quickly blurted.

All business.

—

He arrived at the meet up point before you. Leaning against a nearby tree, Mando checked the time constantly, as if he was devoted to the action more than his Creed. If you were late, he always went looking. 

Thankfully, you trudged up to the food stall on time with a hefty bag full of purchases. Fine, brown gravel grinded against the soles of Mando’s shoes as he made his way over to you. His gloved hand slipped the bag from your grasp and the pair of you began walking back to the Crest.

Both of you carried on with your normal post-supply run routines. You and Mando, but this time just Mando, piled the purchases from the market onto the hull’s floor. From there, the items could be sorted through and put in their respective places around the Crest.

As Mando finished unloading the large bag of purchases, he quickly dug around for the receipts. He knew how much you liked to review the shopping haul each time a supply run was completed. Mando enjoyed seeing the satisfaction wash over your face after you read over the receipts.

But this time was different. You froze once you got to the last receipt.

Mando’s helmet tilted in confusion. He took a few steps closer towards you, “What’s wrong? Did we forget something?”

You remained still while your eyes darted over the lines on the receipt. With your back turned to him, Mando found the opportunity to zoom in on the ink printed on the flimsy paper.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

Oh. Fuck. FUCK.

He hasn’t even asked you on a date yet and now you probably already think he’s a perv. Nerves took over his body as you continued to stand still.

Your hand quickly crushed the receipts and threw them in the trash, “Nope! The last receipt didn’t look familiar but,” you trailed off slightly but recovered, “I remembered what I bought from the place.” A nervous laugh–obviously fake, Mando knew what your real one sounded like–escaped from your lips.

He fucked it up. You knew he was interested in you like that. And you didn’t feel the same. He hasn’t even asked you on the date yet. It’s all screwed up now.

But he also felt like he didn’t have enough evidence. What if you did like him but the idea of…needing to use the condoms…made you nervous.

Mando had to at least try. The least he had to do was ask you.

He cleared his throat and grabbed the bag off of the floor. You stood away from him, biting the inside of your cheek, nervously watching his movements. 

“I’m going to go to the night market,” he informed you, “I have some business with a bounty I need to take care of.” 

The bounty wouldn’t be captured until two days from now. In reality, he was really going to go and purchase snacks, takeout, and a pair of those bracelets you admired. It would have been suspicious if he met you back at the meet up point with bags full of snacks. The beskar man figured it would be best to hold off on buying them until later, and tell you he was getting a bounty, so you wouldn’t catch on.

He should’ve waited for this second trip to buy the condoms, he thought.

–

Mando left to, “Go to the night market,” he said. You saw the condom listed on the market receipts, you knew where he went tonight. What he’s going to do. 

The brothels.

Yeah, sure, he’s paying a worker to give him a service. No feelings attached. But you didn’t want him to be with anyone else. Was Mando necessarily yours? No. Have you ever had sex with him? Also no.

That didn’t stop you from getting jealous.

And it wasn’t just jealousy. It was fear. What if he fell in love with one of them? Or what if he was going on dates? He could have a romantic interest you don’t even know about. Next thing you know, they’re going steady and you’re kicked off the ship. Or worse, you have to watch him love someone that isn’t you.

No more silence with him in the cockpit, watching as the hyperspace lights soar past the windshield. Feet tapping down the ladder as you both began your nighttime routines. He’d wait in the hull near the door of the fresher in just his helmet, undershirt, sleep pants, and socks. As he lifted off the wall from his leaning stance he’d ask you, “Are you done?” Holding his own hands in front of him, trying to seem relaxed, as if he was trying to look less intimidating. “Yeah,” you’d quickly respond, leaving the fresher and brushing past him. Sometimes his hand found your waist as he passed, or the small of your back. “Thank you,” he’d grunt gently as he closed the fresher door. 

No more of Mando letting out a small, “Good night,” before lingering on your closing eyes and watching as your lips smiled, forming your response, “Good night.” 

Falling asleep, you knew you’d wake up to him. He would be up before you on most days, leaving you a fresh cup of caf and your favorite ration pack (when he had them). The short chatter between you two, going over the logistics of the next hunt, telling stories from your past, or just thinking out loud to each other. Gone.

You would be banished from home.

The fear struck your chest. Heat searing through your ribcage and meeting your spine, the visions repeated over and over in your head. Tears fell like waterfalls from your eyes. Most streams connected underneath your chin and trailed down your neck. Your back met the hull’s wall as you sank down onto the floor. Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Your head was heavy and numb.

Just breathe. You knew you weren’t going to die. Go through some heartbreak? Maybe, but you knew you’d be alive. It helped. Your breath slowed and the fear dissipated into the air around you. That didn’t stop the flow of tears down your cheeks as your eyes were fixed on the closed ramp.

–

Mando’s footsteps set a steady pace back to the market.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

He displayed a map of the marketplace as an overlay on the display of his helmet. Mando usually reserved this practice for combat to aid in determining exit strategies and the best plan of attack.

But now he was using it to calculate the most efficient route throughout the marketplace in order to see you again sooner. 

Closing the overlay from the helmet’s display, he was met with the sight of the market. Long strings of lights decorated the different stalls. Many vendors took advantage of the dark and used different, bright combinations to reel in customers. Some lights were multicolored. Some flashing. Some huge and some small. He thought of the “ooh”s, and, “ahh”s that you would let out at the brilliant display.

The Mandalorian started in the food section of the market. Carefully examining which vendors carried your favorite snacks, he made purchase after purchase in quick succession. His helmet remained on a swivel, scanning the stalls from right to left and left to right. 

A stall offering your favorite kind of takeout came into view.

Once Mando arrived at the stall he ordered two takeout meals. The vendor looked startled and confused as he ordered. They shakily accepted the credits for the two meals. Gazes drifted away from Mando and quickly returned as he stood waiting for the meals to be prepared. A bell rang and he retrieved two warm containers, placing them in his bag alongside the snacks.

One last stop. The bracelets.

Marching through the food district, he came upon an intersection at which the left path led him to the clothing district. Yet again, his helmet pivoted on his neck from one side to another. 

The third stall to the left of the bright green stall on the left side of the alley.

Mando continued his steady pace until the bright green stall came into view. The brightness of the exterior paint was exaggerated by the warm light emitted by lanterns, which decorated the outside of the shop. He didn’t notice before but the store sold children’s clothes. Onesies. Small shoes. Tiny hats.

A small tunic. Small enough for a human child younger than one year old. The tunic reminded him of Grogu’s. Mando’s bare hands brushed against the material countless times as he cradled The Child in his arms.

The last time he spoke about Grogu was with you. You listened and offered support. He’s never had anyone do that for him.

His visor turned to his left. The soft fairy lights of the stall reflected off of the beskar helmet on his head. As if the beskar reflected a dark sky decorated with bright stars. Various fabrics hung from the side of the vendor’s stall to cover the old wooden planks. Little accessories were placed throughout the shop on different tables and displays. 

Mando wasn’t focused on those items, he was focused on the long table of bracelets organized by color. His feet carried him to the green section. The helmet turned downwards to allow him to observe the selection. 

Shit.

There were so many bracelets similar to the pair you held, just all in different combinations of green, silver, and brown. Was it the bracelet with the large green cord and the small silver and brown threads? Or the one with the large silver cord and green and brown threads? Or thick brown cord with streaks of green and silver? His hands hovered over the options, doing his best to recall the details from earlier in the day.

“It’s this one,” a woman’s voice said.

A bit startled, the Mandalorian looked up and found a woman standing on the other side of the table. She wore long robes with intricate patterns. Jewelry decorated every limb and part of her body, like jewels were dripping down from her skin from a storm of gemstones. Hair cascaded around her shoulders and down her back. Her smile was kind and her gaze met Mando at his eyebrow.

A good try, he thought.

“I’m sorry?” He replies. She couldn’t possibly know which bracelet he was trying to find.

“You were watching them earlier. From across the street,” she let out faint exhales as she let out a short laugh, “Maybe you should hide a little better next time.” 

She reached out and picked two bracelets out of the display grid. “I remember the sizes too,” she said, “The person you watched held onto them for so long, they seemed pretty attached to them. I kept track of which bracelets they were just in case.” The robed woman shot him a friendly wink.

“In case of what?” Mando questioned. He was still in shock that the woman noticed him staring at you from across the street. 

The woman glanced up at him like that was a dumb question, “In case you came back to get them, Mandalorian. This isn’t my first day on the job.”

It saved him the time and stress of trying to remember which one it was, so he shrugged and watched the woman’s jewelry dangle as she typed onto the register. 

Beep. Beep. Beep beep. Ching.

“Okay sir, twenty credits please!” The woman extended her hand out and waited for Mando to place credits into her palm. She was met with the tilting of the black T shape on Mando’s beskar helmet. 

“I thought the price was thirty,” he stated as he began to reach into his pockets to retrieve his credits.

The woman let out another small laugh, “Oh, I suppose I should have made the sign larger,” her decorated fingers pointed to a small sign above the one that displays the bracelet prices.

$10 OFF WHEN YOU BUY TWO OR MORE

Mando’s shoulders dip in realization that you could’ve bought the bracelets in the first place. A sigh escapes his modulator and he hands the credits over to the intricately robed vendor. The credits clink into her palm, and then into the register.

He waits silently for her to package them up in a small bag. 

“They like you, you know,” the woman mentions, “No one like them would be deciding on which bracelets to buy for that long if they didn’t.” She paused as she was about to place the larger of the two into the small bag, “And look at the size of this one! It’s definitely for you.” 

The Mandalorian nods, “I appreciate that,” he pauses before turning away, “let’s hope they do.”

–

Mando sets a faster pace back to the Crest than the one he took from the Crest to the market. He’s impatient, he can’t wait to walk up the ramp and see your body curled up, comfortable and safe, while you sleep soundly in your bed–if you can even call it that, he thought. You usually went to bed early when he went on hunts, otherwise you would be awake talking to him.

Slipping the bag from his shoulder, an ungloved hand rummaged through the contents searching for a small bag. His fingers found the familiar texture and he pulled it out from between the snacks and the takeout. 

Mando slung the bag back over his shoulder, pulled the larger of the two bracelets out of the small bag, and slipped his hand through the ring of brown, silver, and green. Grabbing one of the ends with his fingers and pinning it to his palm, the other hand tightened the bracelet to a comfortable size around his wrist.

Once the small bag was returned to its place inside of the larger one, Mando peered around him to get a good look of his surroundings. 

The sun was about to set, leaving only a sliver of light available to provide dim light to the landscape. Rocks littered the ground. Shadows from each one making them appear larger in the light of the impending dusk. He reached up and tapped a finger to the temple of his helmet. No living thing was around him.

He paused and set the bag on the ground. Doing one last scan of the area, one of his hands gripped the chin of his helmet and lifted the beskar from his head. The hand held the helmet at his side while he marveled at his wrist.

He caught a good patch of remaining light and watched as the green and silver threads gleamed against the thick brown ones. The bracelet was beautiful. Not only because of the design, but because you picked it out. And it was for him.

Becoming paranoid, the Mandalorian quickly slipped his helmet back onto his head. He waited for the seal of the helmet to engage before continuing back towards the Crest. This time, at an even faster pace.

–

You sat there until you heard heavy footsteps approaching from outside, the hydraulics of the ramp coming to life. Thinking fast, you stood up and made your way towards the fresher to start your nighttime routine.

“Why are you still awake?” Mando’s voice was confused. He stood in front at the top of the ramp with his helmet tilted, hands resting on his hips, but his shoulders were slumped, a bag slung around one. He looked…worried.

Mando was right. Usually when he went on hunts you went to bed early. Nowadays the only thing that kept you awake was him. Talking with him was how you spent most evenings on the Crest, your voices echoed and bounced back to each other in the hull.

He’s used to seeing you curled up on the sleeping pad covered in blankets. Soft breaths came from your body and radiated throughout the Crest. Just like a minute ago, his footsteps would come up the ramp with his bounty in tow. Soft grunts could be heard kitty-corner from your spot in the hull. A hiss of mechanisms as they froze the bounty in carbonite. Then a bit of silence. 

The absence of the carbonite freezing stood out in your mind. No bounty, even when he said he was going to go and find one. Your eyes teared up slightly again as the realization truly set in. Mando really did go to the brothel.

You just wanted this night to be like any other night he came back to the Crest with a bounty.

After the bounty was frozen, heavy footsteps made their way across the floor of the hull. But they always stopped a few paces away from your bed, halting for a moment. Mando would complete his nightly routine. Setting the Crest’s coordinates for the next planet and showering in the fresher if he needed to–he usually did.

No matter what the events of his nightly routine were, it always ended with him standing in the doorway of his bunk–the sound of his footsteps always stopped partially inside.

“Good night, cyar'ika.”

You didn’t know what the Mando’a meant, since Mando never used that word around you, but you knew that the, “good night,” was all you needed to finally fall asleep.

You always waited up for him, only until reasonable hours of the night, of course, but he didn’t know it.

The sound of his footsteps in the present snapped you out of your hazy state. Crying really does a number on your brain.

“Just…couldn’t fall asleep,” you offered him a small smile as you pulled some products out of the tiny fresher cabinet. You wet your face and applied a small amount onto your fingertips, tapping them together for both hands to have the product. As you lifted your face and your hands to the mirror to begin washing your face, you were met with swollen lips, puffy eyes, and slight tear trails dried onto your face, despite the water you just splashed onto it. You froze.

There goes any of your chances to get away with how you spent your night. Staying up late staring at the Crest’s ramp. Waiting for Mando to come home. At least what you thought was home.

“What’s wrong?” Mando’s voice got clearer as he approached the fresher door. His strides long, footsteps clunking, as he removed his leather gloves and tucked the pair into his utility belt.

You went to turn away from him but he got there faster than you could. His ungloved hand rested on your shoulder, grip slow yet firm as he turned you to face him. He rubbed tiny circles onto your skin with his thumb once his eyes beneath the helmet noticed yours.

Your reflection on the silver beskar of his helmet stared back at you. Could you even get away with a lie at this point? What else would have made you cry? It’s not exactly like you could have said the truth either.

Oh yeah, I was sitting here having a panic attack as you participated in a perfectly normal service that is offered on this planet. Then I spiraled and thought about how you might not even want me to be here, that you’ll find another partner to be on this ship with you, and toss me away like none of this meant anything to you.

Mando’s hand waved in front of your face and it brought you back into the present moment. “Did someone come onto the ship while I was gone?” His voice gritted out from the helmet’s modulator. 

“Maker, no,” you huffed and tried to look less suspicious, hoping he’ll just drop the topic.

“Then what is it?” He murmured, his modulator barely picking up his syllables. His wide shoulders took up most of the fresher’s door frame. The grip on your shoulder tightened slightly.

“It’s…I don’t think you’ll want to hear it.” You shrugged and repressed the heat of anxiety creeping down the back of your head. Turning to wash and dry your hands, you let out a sigh and started to walk towards the main open space of the hull. Your shoulder gently bumped him as you slid past his large frame in the doorway. 

Suddenly your hips were being snapped backwards and dragged back towards the fresher. His damn finger was in your belt loop again. 

He pulled you close to him, feeling the heat from his knuckle dig into your hip and spread throughout the rest of your body. His helmet leaned down to look you in the eye and tilted once again.

“Try me,” he paused. He brought his hand up to grip onto the valley where your neck meets your shoulder, slowly enough so you could back away if you so desired. His large palm and thick fingers were calloused and warm. The grip he had on you was still gentle, slightly squeezing. “You know you can tell me, right?”

You let a deep inhale permeate through your lungs. The words flowed through your individual cells. Thoughts of lying escaped your body with each breath. The debate inside your head would end. Whether he had those feelings for you or not.

“I got upset because you went to the brothel.” You told him. Lips trembling and eyes squinted open in an attempt to meet his gaze.

“The brothel?” He held both of your shoulders and brought his visor closer to your face. Thumbs rubbed your shoulders yet again. He sighed as your name left his lips and traveled through his helmet, “I didn’t go to a brothel tonight.” A titled T-shaped gaze met yours. You knew he was looking you in the eyes, and yours into his.

Brows furrowed, you sniffled slightly, “I-, I saw that condoms were on the market receipts.” The thumbs on your shoulders stopped, his chest didn’t rise and fall. He froze. You made Mando freeze. 

“Look I know I’m just being dramatic and paying for that kind of thing is completely normal. I just,” you trailed off and thought of a quick replacement for your worry, “I was worried you would get hurt there.”

Mando’s shoulders fell and his helmet cocked to the side. “What?” He questioned. “How would I get hurt? None of the workers there had weapons.”

“How would you know that if you didn’t go?” You whispered to him. Your gaze left his and it dropped to the shape in the center of his chestplate. The crystal shape rose up and down slowly.

“I got information on a bounty there earlier,” he sounded like he was talking to a hurt animal. Gentle. Slow. Calm. “What's the actual reason you’re upset?” 

Kriff it.

“I had a panic attack because I thought you went to the brothel. Maybe you would like the worker there more than you like me, I spiraled and thought about how you might not even want me to be here, that you’ll find another partner to be on this ship with you,” your chest heaved and as you listed off your previous thoughts of worry. Your hands shook as they landed on top of Mando’s, and you took a deep breath, eyes meeting his gaze like before, “and toss me away like none of this meant anything to you.”

Mando is quick. He flipped his hands to grab one of yours and tugged you into the hull. Kneeling, he opened a cloth bag, one from the market, and dug into it to search for something. 

He actually went to the night market. You thought, now you look so clingy. So needy. He was just going to show you what he got to prove he went.

He turned and held his hand out. Sitting on top of the golden skin on his palm was a bracelet.

The bracelet from the market.

“I saw you looking at these, you looked for a long time and then put them down,” He stood up and set his gait to slow steps as he made his way over to you.

You laughed nervously, accompanied by a small sniffle, “Sorry yeah, I know I just should have been getting the stuff we needed. You didn’t have to go back and get it for-.” Mando raised a finger to halt your speech and continued what he was saying previously, “you put them down. You had two bracelets.”

“They had lots of them that I liked…I had two that were a tie and I just decided to get neither-.” Mando cut you off again.

“You were holding one bracelet consistently and then picked another in a bigger size,” you froze at his words. Dank farrik. Now he was going to think you’re super clingy. 

“I wasn't completely sure who you wanted to wear the bracelet, but I took a guess.” He pulled his long sleeve past his elbow and revealed his bare forearm. Strong. Capable. Solid. And a matching bracelet was donned on his wrist.

Your cheeks radiated with heat as he took your wrist and put your bracelet on you. His warm fingertips brushed the soft skin of your wrist, sending chills throughout your body at the meticulous skin-on-skin contact. 

Once the bracelet was secure around your wrist, Mando dipped his head and looked down at the floor. One of his hands gripped the underside of his helmet, and the other held onto your wrist. Your breath caught in your throat at the gesture. He quickly lifted his helmet to release his mouth, and he pressed three kisses on your wrist where the bracelet was. Mando’s lips were soft and timid, his hand caressing the skin on yours. Silver from his beskar helmet blocked your view, but Mando sealed his helmet and brought his eyes underneath the visor to look into yours.

“This means everything to me.”

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

[fillingthescrapbook]

Let's Talk About: A Change of Plan

Not episode-related but… is anyone else seeing the yellow oval shape on the bottom right corner of their screen when they watch anything on Dropout's website?

That out of the way--

Brennan making Evan a long-backer was not on my bingo card… but it makes sense. Regardless of how Erika, Danielle, and Aabria feel about it. Evan's energy from the very beginning was giving plank-body.

And since we're on the subject of Evan-- I am definitely vibing more with this aggressive and allowed-to-be-angry side of Evan more than the poor little meow meow we used to get before. Like, sure, I get that he wasn't sad all the time during the first season, but the energy was there. He was a sad boy. And I am learning now that I really really do not like sad boys.

Last episode, I mentioned Erika as being exceptionally great at shrinking. I did say that Lou and Danielle were doing amazing jobs as well (although not with those words exactly), but this week's MVP is Danielle Radford. Those lines of improvised dialogue that were a mile-a-minute long were simply incredible. Impeccable. And that's not to mention how she had Sam react to Evan freaking out about the discovery of how he died. "Together. Alone. Not us." Indeed.

Oh and that small reveal about Sam's family life? I want to hug Sam (to)B(decided).

And then we get to Cocaine Sam. And having her be the one to greet Boudy-boots. Amazing. Exceptional. No notes. (Also: Cocaine has to be an integral part of the Never Stop system mechanics now, right?)

Now, I'm not gonna go through everything that happened one by one. I never do. But here are the things that really stood out to me this episode, and why Misfits and Magic Season 2 is winning me over from my…lack of enthusiasm for the first season.

Number one: The breaking of wands. Erika's was sort of an accident. As explained in the Adventuring Academy, Erika saw that a tiny score was made on her wand. To allow it to break more easily. This discovery helped inform her decision to break it "accidentally" in the previous episode. The other players then realized that all their wands had been scored. And that a mechanic has been put in place for when said wands were broken. A mechanic that has now been fully explained in this episode.

I love this mechanic. I love that it--whether intentional or not--is a symbol for breaking Misfits and Magic off from "the franchise." Because the wands have become so intrinsically linked to said franchise. Although, I must admit--from a sentimental point of view--it hurts to see them break the wand. Although, at the same time, I guess that's why it's so powerful. It's their link to the magical world. It's one of the first things that showed them their potential. Much like the franchise was for many of us. And it's become very important for us to break off that connection to see that there's more magic to explore. That we are not limited to the wands. And the brooms. And the familiars.

And oof. The familiars. Aabria caught me off guard with that reveal. Like the road we were walking on were paved with figurative bones but the confirmation still took me aback. Because funny season, ha ha! We killed a player's character. We killed a major NPC. And we're killing familiars. Funny!

That's not a dig at Aabria. I love what she did. One of the most affecting episodes of television I've seen in recent memory is from How I Met Your Mother. It had a visual gag of a countdown. And the whole episode was filled with mishaps that were propelled by humor and love. And then when the countdown reaches 1--it punches you in the gut. And you were warned. But you still didn't expect it. And it feels so bad--but it's done so well. That's what Aabria did.

And that brings me to my second reason why Misfits and Magic is beginning to win me over.

Aabria is handing us character progression that is steeped in gray morality. Characters who rubbed us the wrong way are learning to be better people, while still being their snotty selves. Characters we liked have found themselves getting lost not because they're inherently evil but because of inaction, because of self-preservation coupled with their avoidance to step out of their comfort zone. There's grace in the way Aabria shows the players how their friends have fallen. And I think it's beautiful.

So, yeah, I am coming around to Misfits and Magic. Will it beat both Burrow's End or A Court of Fey and Flowers as a better Aabria season? I don't know. ACoFaF is one of my favorite Dimension 20 seasons ever and Burrow's End is also pretty high up. So probably not. But will I look back on Season 1 more kindly now? Definitely yes.

Last two things I wanted to mention:

First, the sudden volume drop when Evan stopped yelling-- I can't imagine what the poor sound guy who got the full burst of Brennan's highest vocal had gone through. Thankfully, Sam Reich takes care of the Dropout crew well.

And last, when K responds with "maybe the Tumblr users are gonna help?" to Evan's diatribe? Oh, K. Most of us are already struggling with one thing or another and are paralyzed by bigger things. If we had wonky magic to deal with on top of that? Oh ho ho, K. Oh ho ho.

[angelaness]

april’s vibe: hyperfixation as a lifestyle choice

okay, so. i’ve decided april is the month i weaponize my obsessive tendencies. we’re structuring this like a villain origin story meets a Pinterest vision board. no chill, just results. here’s the plan:

DAILY NON-NEGOTIABLES (because autopilot is for airplanes)

-

Mornings: Alarm goes off at 6:30 AM. no snooze, no TikTok rabbit holes. i splash cold water on my face like i’m in a montage. breakfast is ✨liquid✨—black tea, hibiscus, whatever. fasting till 3 PM because hunger is just capitalism’s way of distracting me.

-Workouts: Leg day? Arm day? Every day Squats, lunges, push-ups, planks—yes, even the thigh gap sculpt stuff. ugh. cardio is me speedwalking away from my own intrusive thoughts.

-Afternoons: Hyperfocus mode. coding lessons, Neocities updates (my 2003-core html shrine), job applications (two a day, minimum), and drawing my OCs like they’re my emotional support imaginary friends.

-Evenings: Pretend i’m a mysterious artist. video diaries no one will ever see. practicing model poses in the mirror like i’m about to walk NYFW. reading UX/UI textbooks in Italian? Sure. Phone off by 9 PM to avoid doomscrolling into the abyss.

WEEKLY MISSIONS(to avoid becoming a goblin)

-

Week 1: Reset. Clean my room, delete 1,000 screenshots, make a moodboard that’s 70% anime OCs and 30% “hire me” energy.

- Week 2: Delulu escalation. Apply to jobs while listening to “I Am the Best” by 2NE1. Code a webpage that’s just a PNG of a frog. Detox Sunday: no internet, just me and my sketchbook.

- Week 3: Break the comfort zone. Post a cringe video diary. Walk like i’m in Black Swan but make it fashion.

- Week 4: Final boss mode. Five job apps in a day. Code a feature that’s definitely overkill. Compare progress pics and pretend i don’t scream internally.

WHY? Because by May, i want to look in the mirror and see someone who’s 10% hotter, 50% more employable, and 100% more feral about their dreams. The kind of glow-up that makes people side-eye me in the grocery store. Skinny toned legend who. Me. Exactly.

[aether-wasteland-s]

The shadows of Neverland

Chapter 2 — face your demons, or fight them

James is desperate to figure out just what the hell is happening to him, and why it seems that nothing makes sense. The shadow from the cave has other ideas, and much more interesting tricks up its sleeves.

FROM THE BEGINNING || PREVIOUS || NEXT

James stared at the ship. For all he was disillusioned when he awoke, he swore on his own life that there was not a ship present on the cove when he left it behind.

There it stood, whether he wanted to believe it or not. Strong and sturdy, weathered by years at sea and very clearly… Present. He blinked, incredulous, and either tried to scrub it from the atmosphere or solidify that he wasn’t losing his mind.

The ship remained. To really sell the point of how real it was, it swayed a little in the wind. Creaked. Made James want to denounce it’s presence himself in a flurry of desperation. He got the point. It was real. If it would kindly stop rubbing it in...

The demon had disappeared. He was the only one who had emerged at the end of the cave tunnel. Seemingly, that meant he had a little time to prepare before that fight he was promised. The demon was baiting him, waiting for him to make his move.

This wasn’t a fight at all, it was a game of chess, and he was losing at the strategy. Unless he wanted to be dethroned, he had to protect what he had… Even if that was a ship that came out of nowhere.

Pan had, after all, left him with that which he was most familiar. He knew that couldn’t have meant nothing, though the actual intentions had been completely lost on him.

What was it playing at?

For the moment, he didn’t care. He practically knew a ship inside out, and to him, that meant that he could at least get a little more comfortable before whatever game this was really got into motion.

With an upheave of breath trying to boost his confidence, he wandered the length of the cove and stepped onto the awaiting gangplank without hesitation, It felt so natural; his hand ran over the railing as he ascended, and he felt genuinely contented with the rough hew of the craftsmanship underneath his fingers.

Such learned confidence with the nautical affairs meant he knew where everything was. If he was that comfortable, then he also knew his own plan of action from there. He didn’t know how much time he had to himself, but before that demon could return, he decided to equip himself with a weapon better than the torch he’d left the cave with.

He ducked below deck and started scanning the inventory for any kind of weapon. The torch illuminated the planks below his feet— slightly sodden for all it seemed this ship had actually been on the water— and the barrels containing swords held up like they were in an umbrella stand. He rifled through the contents, unable to ignore the fact that these weapons looked like they may well have been custom made for a crew full of people. Some were shorter, some heavier…

There was one in the pack that looked as if it was designed for use with the left hand. The guard was on the wrong side compared to the others, and curiosity had him pick it up, only to discover that it was weighted perfectly for a left handed draw. That one really had him contemplating.

He was left handed.

That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

With a pre-emptive glance around the room, he slipped it into the space in his belt and pressed on with his little exploration. At least he had the advantage of the area; it meant that he didn’t have to play the long game and hone in on his less than stellar proficiency with his other hand.

The torch was extinguished and abandoned in a post. James re-emerged into the open air, and decided that the best course of progression came from figuring out what else this island had in store. Scaling the rigging not only offered him a little freedom over the situation and the open ocean, but gave him access to the crow’s nest. The moment he found his feet— rather past being able to ignore how easily he was able to get back into all of this— he stared out at the island and tried to get himself a better perspective.

Beyond the cove, there was a vast expanse of forest stretching on for miles. That was a number of days worth of exploration on its own, and if he could find the time, that would be one thing he’d find himself extremely willing to do.

After all, discounting the strange presence that had essentially laid a threat on him and the fact that he may well be stranded without means of escape, it seemed a perfectly fine place.

He contented himself with leaning against the nest’s sturdy support and trying to make out anything he could. It was almost enough to distract him from the inevitable, to make him forget that—

“Enjoying the view?”

“Oh, for—“

He never could have anything nice, could he?

With a heavy sigh, he turned around, expecting to once again meet the form of that shadow. Instead, he came face to face with a boy, no older than fifteen, with a head of fiery curls and a strange, undead look residing within silver eyes.

The boy’s voice was that of the shadow, and such couldn’t be denied even if James could think of an alternative. That which had taken form from the very darkness in the middle of the cave. There was no way it now inhabited physical form, and yet…

“Pan?”

The boy laughed. “Wow… You are clever! Here I thought you wouldn’t recognise me. Do you like that you see?”

“The view? Yes, rather a nice place. You, I don’t understand.”

“What’s there not to understand?”

“You’re a shadow.”

There was no mistaking the way it grinned after that. It lit up the boy’s entire face, and seemed to border that delicate balance between the grin of a child, and something entirely other. “Maybe that is true, but think about it better. You’re a clever man, James Callaghan… You should know how shadows work.”

He felt as if he was being played for a fool, but there was an answer to the question. It was the logical one, the one that followed a base principle he was used to, that everyone knew about. “Shadows don’t… work,” he managed, staring at the boy as if still trying to figure out what was true. “They’re instances of blocked light. It’s— it’s an absence.”

“And those rules apply to me too!” Pan answered, leaning against the nest from the outside. “An absence needs something to fill it, and this? Well, this is just that!”

A dawning realisation struck, and in a moment, James knew exactly what the shadow was talking about. Pan saw it on his face, vibrant and conclusive, and it raised an eyebrow. “I knew you’d understand eventually!”

“You didn’t come back here to make me understand you.” James pointed out.

Pan immediately vanished. Before James could think to question it, he heard a voice from the main deck, and had to look down so fast it almost made him black out.

“Of course!” It hummed, waving at him. “Come on, then, captain! If it’s a fight you want…”

James clambered down the rigging, waiting on his feet to feel the familiar shift of solid wood before he truly let himself register what Pan had said. To it, he shook his head with about as much confidence as he could muster. “I am no man’s captain.”

“There’s nobody else on this ship… That makes you its captain, no?”

“I am not— nor can I be— her captain. Nobody remains to be commander over an empty vessel.”

“Patience, James… All of it will come, in time. For now, it’s just you and me!”

“Well, let’s settle this score, demon.”

He was quick to brandish the blade he’d found among those tailored for ghosts. This was his fight, the only thing he had found true purpose in since losing himself to the storm, and he had always hated purposelessness with a certain fervour.

As fast as he managed to draw, Pan countered his move with a blade of its own creation. It was long, and dark as night. James managed to evade it the moment it was created, because Pan lashed out in a wide arc, hoping to strike true against something.

James’ own first strike ended in the shriek of metal-on-metal, and he backed off half a pace to keep himself balanced. There was no tide to keep him right, no rising and falling of a ship’s natural motion, only solid ground underfoot, and he wasn’t quite sure how to rely on his instincts to keep himself right.

He saw the boy image of Pan frown. “You think too loud. It’s distracting.”

“Then why do you listen?”

Even still, he tried to clear his mind. The next steps came easier after that. A slight turn. A counter break. A swing.

Blood.

James found the strength for a triumphant smile buried deep in the fire of his adrenaline. So it was capable of bleeding…

Whatever happened after that was too fast for him to comprehend. It lunged at him with a blazing fury, and managed a series of attacks with the end of the shadow blade. The first missed, misjudged by a sudden change in perception. The second left in its wake an angry crimson line slashed across his chest. The third barely grazed his shoulder with the way he stumbled back, but was still good enough to make an impact.

He could feel the hot flash at his chest, the blood pouring from the wound. His free hand now shot to his aid, and he tried to hold himself up as he fought through the pain to stabilise.

Exerting all the strength he could find, he charged to Pan, who disappeared as soon as he got close. He vastly misjudged his own speed, and a light shove from behind was all it took to lodge his blade in the railing and almost send him over the side.

Pan’s hand landed on his shoulder before he could think to retrieve his blade and continue the fight, all but pinning him to the spot.

“So brave…” it mused, edging in closer to him. Out of the corner of his eye, James could see the blade. It caught no sunlight, and barely resembled more than the shadow of a tree branch, even when held aloft. If he couldn’t feel the blood pooling under his hand, he’d be under the fair assumption that this felt a little more like a child’s game, something played between friends with no stakes and no real blood.

This, though, was no game. This was as real as it got.

“But so… Foolish.”

The boy’s hand danced through the air with a certain professionalism, carving a single, elegant arc that James couldn’t help but to follow. The sword drew up, and followed that theatric curve…

Straight into the base of James’ wrist.

An immediate, white hot pain seared through his wrist, burning through the nerves in his arm, up towards his elbow… Climbing and climbing…

He couldn’t ignore the urge to scream. Blood pooled in his periphery as a heated black edge rimmed his vision. The railing was soaked red in moments. James started seeing stars. In this muted state of being— facing the world with little sight and in unbearable pain— he swore one of the light patches in his vision moved towards Pan in a way that almost suggested it wasn’t an accident.

His next breath heaved. The one after that halted. For a moment, he felt the boy’s hand leave him, and then stopped being able to tell if there was anything there at all.

He shook his head, sparing himself but a moment of clarity, and barely caught the sound of something hitting the water. The boy was looking out towards it, and he leaned over the side of the railing to get a better view. Fighting through the haze, he just about managed to see a darker patch begin to spread its way through the waves. Blood, he reckoned, though from which one of them if had come from was beyond his current scope.

"Would you look at that…" Pan hummed, gazing intently towards the water and eagerly watching every one of the shifts as the drops of blood rolled with the waves and started to spread. "You're going to make it hunger."

Before he had the chance to question just what was going to be getting so hungry, the haze behind his eyes revealed some kind of shape taking form where the blood had landed. It was almost black in colour, and kept growing and growing, until it took the shape of some manner of beast. With the little energy he had left, he stumbled back, and dared not to look towards the water again. "What the hell is that thing—?" he breathed, as his back slammed into one of the masts.

"Oh, you needn't worry about that. It's a friend! And it's been here far longer than you have."

He could hear it making a pass just beyond the side of the ship. The water stirred uneasily, harbouring this slow moving beast as it sought out prey.

James had never before felt more like he was being hunted.

There was a dangerous splash way too close to the ship, and he flinched without meaning to. Pan on the other hand— once he'd found the strength enough to actually look away from the point on deck he'd been staring at— looked fascinated. The boy's dead eyes were fixed on the beast's movements, turning ever so slightly as it weaved.

"You should get acquainted! It would do you no harm!" It grinned. James swallowed back the heavy feeling of dread, and tried to ignore that suggestion for what it was worth. He was about convinced that it was going to make sure he was acquainted with whatever was in the ocean, but as he thought to protest, the boy seemingly vanished into thin air with a gleeful chuckle, and he was left alone with the ominous sound of something drawing closer.

As the laughter faded out, James swore he heard something cracking the hull near where he was standing. He stiffened, and practically pried himself from the mast to take a second glance. This time he saw nothing, and just about when he'd managed to convince himself that he'd been both seeing and hearing things, the dark mass dove out of the water and straight towards him.

He scrambled back as fast as he could think to, his head growing heavier and his vision growing more and more blurred.

The world faded out.

After the initial shock wore off, James came back to his senses to discover that he was completely alone. Not a lot of time had passed— the sun still blazed in the afternoon sky— but there was no sign of his opponent.

Right now, the only thing on his mind was that he was still bleeding.

He hauled himself to his feet and tried to dispel the feeling of light-headedness that washed over him as soon as he tried to stand. His head felt heavy, and he was barely able to control his aching limbs through the fire that ate at his chest and the end of his left arm.

If he was still bleeding, that meant it was only a matter of time before he lost himself to the deep throws of unconsciousness, so he had to work fast.

Instinct told him to start with his arm, so he removed his shirt, bundled it around the hot, bleeding end of his arm and desperately tried to use the sleeves like a tourniquet. The moment his chest was exposed to the elements, he realised just how bad the slash left by the shadow’s blade was.

He had tried to sturdy himself against the wall before he could even think of making it below deck, It was a slow process, but aided by a single track mind and tunnel vision keeping him very much in line. If there were weapons down there, he could only hope that there was something useful enough to help.

Much to the relief of his aching body, he found loose strips of linen tucked away in an open-ended box. Trying to secure them was difficult enough when he was slowly losing consciousness, but he only had one hand, just to really make things difficult.

Somehow— however haphazardly— he managed. His chest was no longer exposed to the biting sea air, and was at least protected from anything else.

He wasn’t making it any further, though. He’d barely managed to secure his makeshift bandages, but now he could no longer see straight.

The darkness claimed James Callaghan once again.

He was thoroughly out for the count, consumed by pain and dizziness that was not going to leave him any time soon. What he didn’t, and potentially wouldn’t, know was that he was right about that one star in his vision dotted with lights.

One of them had moved.

She had seen the entire fight, and had once been content in her alliance with the shadows out of simple curiosity for it’s whims. They had never bargained, never struck any kind of deal other than mutual tolerance, but she believed herself to have little option in the way of allies that had at least some of her interests in mind.

But she had witnessed the fight. Saw her favoured ally raise hell against a man washed up on their shore. He was a curious sort, and there was little wrong with that, no matter what the shadow thought. This was a fight entirely undeserving of its ending.

She regarded the ship in its every detail, taking in the deep crimson stains on the railing and the main deck. Pan was building something here, but this man’s blood had stained the deck, and there was something telling her that the shadow would revel in that information.

That man didn’t deserve this.

Avoiding the splashes of red, she retreated below deck through a tiny gap in the woodwork, and went looking for the man. He wasn’t particularly hard to find, but by the time she found him, his pain had gotten the better of him. She knew that this place would endeavour to be kind to him, even if it’s forces were not.

All she had to do now was wait.