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topguncortez · 1 year

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Older, Wiser, More Experienced

Spring Break Kickback | Masterlist

synopsis: Bradley knew you were innocent, but he wasn't just sure how innocent you were.

prompt: “There is no way anyone is that innocent.”

word count: 3.1k

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, Bradley is 35), oral sex (f receiving), mentions of phone sex, blink and you miss it corruption kink, a dash of daddy kink.

Bradley wasn’t quite sure what he was getting himself into when he first walked up and asked for your number. The aura you gave off was a sophisticated one. You handled yourself with such poise and control that he surely thought you were near the same age as him. But then he watched as the bartender asked for your ID, and got a glimpse of the last digits of your birth year and nearly had a heart attack. You asked him if the twelve year age gap was an issue for him, and he just shook his head and smiled.

You were twenty-three, but very mature for your age. You graduated college two years prior, and landed a good job with a well known law firm in LA, handling some high profile clients. You told Bradley that you had to grow up quick, your childhood anything but glamorous. You spent your high school and college years with your nose in your textbooks, determined to get into your dream school and become a lawyer. He admired your charisma and spunk that you had. He liked girls who had goals and followed through with them.

However, those years of spending time alone in your dorm and apartment set you vastly against the rest of your peers. You didn’t know how to tell him, slightly frightened of how he would take it. You had only had one “boyfriend” if you’d even call it that, and he dumped you the second you said you were a virgin. But Bradley was different from college frat boys, but alas he was still a man. And you. . . well you hardly knew the first thing about sex. So, just like how you did in college, you began researching. And man, were you both terrified and intrigued.

Bradley never pressured you with the sex stuff. He was a proper gentleman, and decided to take your cues on everything, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable. Hell for the first six weeks of being together, he didn’t do more than hold your hand. It was a constant battle to not just lean in and kiss your plump lips, but he knew that his mother would smack him if he did without your permission. But then one day you turned to him during the middle of the Lion King and asked him to kiss you.

He had been caught off guard, and it took him a second for his mind to catch up, but he obliged by your request and kissed you. And since that night, nearly two weeks ago, it was like a beast had been unleashed and was clawing its way out of you. You didn’t know that even the simplest kiss could send that shiver down your spine and in between your legs like those smut novels you read could. For the past couple weeks, that’s all the two of you have done, shared quick kisses here and there. But now you laid your head on his chest, you wanted more. His brown eyes were trained on the TV screen in front of him, and you looked over his features.

“Just take a picture, sweetheart,” Bradley looked down at you and you quickly looked away, a blush on your face. You were silent for a moment, before looking back up at him and he looked back at you, “What’s up, darlin?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but suddenly words failed you. The only thing that came to mind was to kiss him and that’s what you did. Bradley reacted within a split second and kissed you back, but as he went to pull away, you put your hand on the back of his neck and deepened the kiss. He was surprised, but didn’t show it. His hand went and rested on the thigh of the leg you had draped over his. His rough palm sends shivers up your body as he moves his hand up and down your skin. You pulled away breathlessly, but pulled his head down to place kisses on your neck.

“More,” You pleaded and Bradley nodded, the hairs of his mustache tickling your skin as he kissed your neck. You closed your eyes tightly as you felt that familiar pulsing in between your legs. That oh so delightful feeling that you had never indulged in, but loved so much. Bradley had been the only real guy to bring out that feeling, and you wanted more of it. As if he could read your mind, he pulled away from your neck and kissed your lips again, shifting your body so he could set you on his lap, straddling him. His hands ghosted down the sides of your body before resting on your hips, pulling you down even more. You gasped as you felt something hard against your thigh, and you pulled back from him.

“What? Too much? I’m sor-” Bradley began to speak but you shook your head, “Talk to me, sweetheart, please.” He gently cupped your cheek and ran his thumb over the supple part of it. You loved when he did that, and nuzzled into the warmth of his hand.

“Bradley, I. . . I’ve never done. . . You’re the first guy I’ve ever kissed,” You admitted and Bradley slowly looked up at you.

“What?”

You wanted to hide, but you knew it was now or never. That if Bradley wasn’t the man you thought he was, it would be better to get the heartbreak over and done with now, than let this go on any longer. You were trying to conjure up in your head what you were going to say next on how you would explain your lack of experience without sounding totally pathetic. That’s how guys your age saw you. Pathetic. What twenty some year old had never had her first kiss? But something deep down, told you that Bradley was different.

“There is no way anyone is that innocent,” Bradley said.

Well, not anymore.

You snapped your head up at him, tears welling in your eyes and he quickly regretted every word that just came out of his mouth. He didn’t mean for it to sound bad. It was that he was utterly shocked. He knew that you wanted to take things slow, and so did he. He was in no rush to just get down and dirty. He genuinely cared about you, and wanted this to be more than a friends with benefits thing. But he didn’t know that your apprehensiveness was due to inexperience. Which now the way you looked at him, made him feel like the biggest asshole on the planet.

“No, baby, it’s not like that,” Bradley said and rested both of his hands on your back.

“Then what is it like, Bradley?” You spat.

“I mean it as. . . You’re a virgin.”

You nodded and crossed your arms over your chest, “I am. But I’m not some bible prude.” You turned your nose up and Bradley couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, “I just haven’t found anyone that makes me. . . get. . . mushy?”

“Mushy?”

“That’s how they describe it in the books.”

“Books?”

“Yeah you know like. . . spicy books,” You mumbled. You knew that if you held a tomato up to you right now, you would not be able to spot a difference.

You watched as that boyish grin spread across his face, “You read porn?”

“It’s not porn!” You slap his chest and Bradley chuckles. He wraps his arms around you and brings you in close, so your head is resting on his chest. You suddenly realize that you really like this position and you think that Bradley can tell too.

“I’m following your lead here sweetheart. You tell me what you want to do. I’ll do whatever you are comfortable with,” Bradley said, running his hands up and down your back. You nodded and placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. You gently moved so you were laying on the side of him, your head still on his chest and his arms around. He hummed in satisfaction and squeezed you a bit tighter.

— — —

True to Bradley’s word, he had followed your lead completely when it came to sexual things. You hadn’t done anything more than just some making out and on top of the clothes touching, but you knew he was dying to do more. And he knew you were too. It almost caused you pain to push him away, put you were scared of that feeling in your body as you’d grind against Bradley’s lap. Bradley was doing what he could to help you, letting you know that the “mushy” feeling you were feeling was normal and encouraging you to touch yourself when you were alone.

You didn’t know the first thing about masturbating, but luckily Bradley knew a thing or two about female pleasure. He had called you one night, and walked you through the steps. On what to rub, what to touch, how it should feel. You were almost one hundred percent sure that you stopped before you could actually orgasm. The shaking of your legs and that tight feeling in your stomach was too much. Bradley promised that once you actually did it, it would be the most euphoric feeling you ever felt.

“Bradley,” You whined out as his hands skimmed up under the sweatshirt you were wearing. The two of you were having yet another movie night at his place. You were slowly making your way through the Harry Potter series, the fifth installment acting more as background noise than entertainment. Your wear leaning against the arm of the couch, with Bradley nearly on top of you, both of your legs crossed over his lap as you two made out.

“That’s my name, honey,” He said against your skin. He pulled away from you, so you could see his face, his hand grabbing yours and intertwining your fingers with his, “How can I be of service?”

You had been practicing how you were going to say this all week. It wasn’t something that he had even brought up yet, but during one of your research dives you had come across a rather interesting video. And of course that video led you on a deep dive into other videos, but they were all the same, with all the same outcome.

“Do you. . . do you like, uh, oral sex?” You asked him.

It was silent for a moment as Bradley had to restart the computer that was his brain. He wasn’t sure how such a simple, innocent question, turned him on so much.

“Uh, yeah, yeah. Yes, I do like oral sex,” Bradley said. All guys liked a good blowjob every once in a while. Bradley would be lying if he said he hadn’t dreamed of the day you’d get on your knees and put his mouth on him.

“Do you like. . . giving it?”

No one had ever asked Bradley that question before and it had taken him aback. But he nodded and said, “Yeah. I do like giving oral sex. Why do you ask, sweetheart?”

He watched as you fiddled with your intertwined fingers, and as the blush creeped up your neck. You smiled softly as you looked up at him, eyes blown wide with lust and wonder.

“Could you. . . Could you give it to me? Oral sex, I mean.”

Bradley could not think of a single sensible word in his head, so all he did was lean forward and kiss you until his mind could catch up. No girl had ever asked him to give them head, and not that he expected them to. He’d always ask the girl if she was okay with it before he settled between their legs, but he had never flat out been asked like this. And it made him want you all that much more. Bradley pulled back from the kiss and nodded, pecking your forehead.

“Yes. Yes, I can give you that,” Bradley said and you nodded like an eager child on Christmas, “Get comfy, baby. Do you want to stay here or go to my room?”

“Here, please,” You answered quickly. You hadn’t ever seen Bradley’s room before and for some reason, going to his room felt too. . . intimate. You weren’t ready for that step yet, so you let Bradley help you sit up so your back was resting against the back of the couch, and he could kneel in between your legs on the floor.

Bradley kissed you passionately, one of his hands tangling in your hair, while the other rested on your hip. You placed your hands on his shoulders and pulled him as close as he could get with the couch in the way. His hand on your hip slowly crept its way towards the front of your yoga pants. You knew that he could probably feel how wet you were through the thin material, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You needed him. You needed him in a way you never needed a man before.

“You can stop me at any time,” Bradley murmured against your skin, as he pressed hot kisses to your neck, “Just pull my head back and I’ll stop.”

“What if I don’t want you to?” You asked and Bradley smirked.

“Then pull me in closer,” He whispered against your lips. A shiver ran down your spine as Bradley sat back on his heels, his fingers hooked into the top of your pants and pulled them down your legs. You knew that green was his favorite color, and you went out to buy a dark green pair of lace panties for the occasion, “Too good for me,” Bradley’s voice had an extra rasp to it, as his finger traced over the lace pattern covering your cunt, “All so cute and untouched. . . just for me.”

“Just for you. . .” He smirked as he could hear in your voice that you were holding back one small little word, but he’d let it go for now. You’d say it when you were comfortable enough to. And Bradley was dead set on getting you to say it.

Bradley leaned forward, so his head was resting between your parted thighs and placed a kiss on the wet spot on your panties. Having him so close to where you had dreamt about him being was like a headrush, and your hand went to his hair for support. Bradley chuckled as he placed another feather light kiss in the same spot, and nuzzled his nose against your cloth covered clit.

“Haven��t even gotten to the good part and you’re already gripping on for dear life,” He said and you felt your ears turn red, “It’s okay, sweet girl. I got you. I’m gonna take these off now, okay?”

“Okay, Bradley,” The sound of your voice was so innocent, and trusting. It filled Bradley with a sense of pride that you trusted him so much to be your first. He sore that it made him fall in love with you even more.

Ever so carefully he pulled the panties from your body, setting them gently next to your pants. He grabbed one of your ankles, placing a kiss on it before putting it over his shoulder. He leaned in closer to you again, grabbing your other leg and putting it on his shoulder. You looked up at the ceiling and gulped, then you felt his tongue on you. Your jaw dropped, a silent gasp leaving your mouth as your eyes fluttered shut, your hands in his hair. He licked a stripe from your opening to your clit, getting the taste of you on his tongue. He swirled his tongue around your opening several times, before finding your clit.

“Oh!” You moaned, as he sucked your clit into his mouth and then swirled his tongue around it. This felt better than you could’ve ever imagined it.

“Can I touch you?” Bradley asked, and you had to open your eyes and look down at him to focus on what he was talking about. Then you felt it, his finger gently rubbing against your folds, “It’s up to you. I can just use my-”

“Yes. . . Touch me,” You answered and Bradley nodded.

He briefly pulled his hands away from his core to stick his middle and ring fingers in his mouth to wet them, before he was placing his middle finger back on you.

“This might hurt, tell me if it’s too much,” You grabbed Bradley’s free hand and squeezed it, letting him know you understood.

His mouth was back on you, his tongue lapping at your clit, and you felt the feeling of his finger sliding into you. His finger was much larger than yours, and you felt a slight stretch but then it went away and pleasure filled your body. Now you were moaning, not trying to hide the sounds you were making as Bradley ate you out. Between the movement in and out of your core to the way his tongue sucked and swirled around your clit, you were in total bliss. Bradley was right, this was the most euphoric feeling ever.

“Christ! Bradley, I. . . Oh my god!” Your back arched as you felt that familiar feeling in your belly. The one that would always make you stop immediately and lay panting on your bed. Your legs began to shake as your stomach contracted, “Bradley, I-”

“It’s okay,” Bradley said, and kissed your thigh, “Feels good, doesn’t it?” You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes from the beautiful feeling, “Then let it happen. Just let me make you feel good. Just close your eyes and let it happen.”

You nodded and your eyes fluttered shut as he put his tongue back on you. You screwed your eyes shut tightly, and Bradley grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers. He looked up at you right as the dam broke; your back arched off the couch, your mouth wide open in a silent moan, your legs shaking, nipples hard. It was an absolutely beautiful sight. He believed that you were painted by angels. He kept fingering you and lapping at your cunt as you rode out your high, hearing as the breath entered your lungs again. You very weakly pushed his head away, and Bradley sat back on his heels, his mouth glistening with your cum.

“I. . . I never let that happen,” You were still seeing spots in your vision, but it slowly started to feel like you were coming back down to the planet earth, “I always stop when I start to feel that. . . uh-”

“Orgasm?” Bradley asked, his hand was rubbing your bare thigh and you nodded, “Poor girl, you’ve been edging yourself for weeks. No wonder you came so hard.”

“Edging?”

Bradley chuckled and shook his head. He leaned up and placed a kiss on your lips, “My sweet girl. . . I have so much to teach you.”

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vivid-ink · 9 months

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'The Love Shack'

Part IV - Haunted by You

Relationship: Neteyam(23) x fem!Omatikaya reader(21) x Lo'ak(22)

Part IV Summary:

It seemed like such a simple plan to execute: Stay away from Neteyam, distract yourself with other males and move on… But your body seems determined to fight you every step of the way, longing for the touch of a man you are desperate to forget… Your mind is haunted with memories of him, and the only place you seem able to find your pleasure is when you’re alone, drowning in your fantasies and pretending your touch is his…

Read Part I, II and III in my Masterlist HERE

Warnings: Adult content 18+ MDNI

Word count: 15k

Content: Mentions of group sex, MMF threesome smut, sex toy play, squirting, double penetration, anal sex

Author's Note:

This chapter really ran away with me. It was a struggle to write, at points, so I'm not sure how I've managed to churn out 15k words. 🥲 Now that I've written this part, I can confirm there will also be a final Part 5 to this series after this.

Without further ago, enjoy Part IV, my lovelies!

***~~~***

The sound was muted, hushed. It was a soft keen, so quiet he barely heard it.

Perhaps if Neteyam hadn’t recognised it, hadn’t replayed the sound so many times in his head, he would’ve thought nothing of it and kept walking. But his ears pricked upright in keen attention, swivelling instinctively in the direction of the noise. The turn of his head followed and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lo’ak slow in his steps and do the same, both of them, two brothers standing still with their heads turned in a perfect parallel of each other.

They were on their way home from a late-night run through the bush to calm their nerves as they’d both ended their work day tense after a disastrous day of hunting.

A miscommunication between the two hunting parties had lost them a valuable opportunity to bring down a small herd of yerik (hexapedes). Yerik were a prime resource for the clan; their meat was a staple food source and their hides and innards were useful for many things like clothing, weapons and other instruments. The lost opportunity had culminated in a series of heated arguments between the hunters and harsh words of blame had been exchanged.

Distracted now from their homebound journey, the two brothers stole through the brush like predators locked onto the sound of prey. The forest of the Great Mother was luminous around them and alive with the vibrancy of night. Years of warrior training and countless hunts meant that stealth was an ingrained habit of theirs. Even outside of their work hours they crept intuitively through the thick undergrowth of the woodlands on nimble feet and with soundless breaths.

Locating the source of the noise, Neteyam felt his mood curdle at the sight that greeted him through the loreyu (helicoradians) and eyaye ferns.

Lying sprawled on your back in the glade, thighs parted and beneath another eagerly rutting male, was you.

Your moans and whimpers had been unmistakeable, sounds that both he and Lo’ak would recognise anywhere after their many nights with you at the shack. Whatever tension Neteyam thought he’d rid himself off during his run returned to him in an instant, hot ire bubbling in his veins and seizing his muscles.

Everything had changed after his one night alone with you at the hot spring… You’d begun putting walls up after that night…

The memory of your reaction to his affection, of how you’d used your safeword during the tender intimacy you’d shared post-sex, stung bitterly in his chest. It was a painful reminder to Neteyam that whatever pleasure you chose to share with him was purely that; physical and nothing more.

An unimpressed groan left Lo’ak and he turned bothered eyes at his brother, his tail swishing low behind him, “At least now we know why she’s not coming to the shack anymore. She’s playing elsewhere.”

Lo’ak’s voice had been a low murmur, but Neteyam’s gaze flicked anxiously toward the coupling pair in the glade. Neither you nor your playmate appeared to have heard though. He rolled exasperated eyes at Lo’ak and shook his head slowly, scowling in upset. Begrudgingly, he glanced at you once more before he looked away, his eyes finding his feet.

A grumbling curse left Neteyam under his breath and he grouched sourly, “Well, let’s hope she’s satisfied.”

Lo’ak could see the thunderstorm of agitation brewing in his brother and he tugged on Neteyam’s elbow, urging him to move onward. Neteyam acquiesced, but not before he saw your back arch beneath your playmate and he heard you let out a higher-pitched moan. He frowned, cocking his head curiously.

The sound was all wrong… He knew what you sounded like when you came, when your passion finally consumed you. This moan was too controlled… It lacked the breathless quality and note of wild abandon that usually accompanied your cries of bliss.

Neteyam felt Lo’ak tug on his elbow again and he set his feet moving, following along behind his brother.

It appeared Lo’ak shared the same previous thought, however, and he scoffed a little louder as they shifted out of earshot, “She doesn’t sound very satisfied; rather contrived if you ask me.”

Neteyam gave a snort, “If it’s Kai she wants, then so be it.” He recognised the male you were with; tall, broad shoulders, with a head of long and thick dreadlocks.

Kai was the commander of the clan’s fisherfolk. The young man was the same age as Neteyam and had completed his rites of passage alongside him growing up. Kai had done well in archery and hand-to-hand combat, but he had excelled particularly with a fishing spear. He’d chosen to join the river platoon, hunting and gathering in the rivers, but he could easily have joined the warriors if he wanted to. Neteyam wasn’t close with Kai, but they were friendly enough.

Although that had changed in recent weeks…

Neteyam gritted his teeth until his jaw muscles ached. His breath whistled from his flaring nostrils as he walked and his steps weren’t so much stealthy now as they were stompy. He’d suspected for a while now that Kai was trying to woo you. The river huntsman had been lingering in your vicinity at mealtimes and he’d even started wishing you well in the mornings, seeing you off on your work days.

As Neteyam’s suspicions had grown, his greetings in passing with Kai had grown brisk. The easy smile he usually graced his fellow clan members with no longer made an appearance when he regarded the other man. And the more Kai loitered around and flirted with you, the more intense Neteyam’s glowers became whenever he was in Kai’s presence.

The tangle he and Lo’ak had found you and Kai in tonight was simple confirmation of what Neteyam already knew, and suddenly, Kai was a rival.

“You know, I don’t think that’s it.” Lo’ak’s voice came out of the blue after a while.

“What?”

Lo’ak looked back at his perturbed brother, “I don’t think Neyomi wants Kai.”

Neteyam’s expression was one of impatient displeasure. Did Lo’ak not just witness the same thing he did?...

His ears flattened in annoyance and his response was a bitter hiss, “She hasn’t come to the shack for three weeks straight and now we walk in on her fucking Kai. It’s pretty clear cut, bro.”

“She might be fucking him, but it’s you she really wants.”

Tetchily swatting a low-hanging shrub out of his eyeline, Neteyam’s laugh was incredulous, “Have you had your head in the clouds these last couple of moons, Lo’ak? She’s been distancing herself for weeks now. Her reaction after the one night I had with her made it quite clear that she doesn’t want anything deeper than body play.”

Neteyam felt his face contort into a crabby pout as he recalled the events that had followed. You’d barely been able to look at him the next day. It didn’t help that every time you spoke to him or answered him during your work days, you used your formal address of him as ‘sir’. What had been a playful and titillating game of rank that night had now become an awkward aide-memoire of your dismissal of his affection. And things had only worsened from there.

Your next visit to the shack had seen you impose a new boundary: No kissing. It wasn’t something you’d discussed with him and Lo’ak out loud, but it became clear after the first few rebuffs. It’d been obvious in the way you’d subtly twist your head so their seeking lips would meet your cheek instead, or how you’d deliberately keep your face tilted downward, buried in their necks or against their chests.

It hadn’t stopped Neteyam trying at first, but each unspoken denial hurt him more than the last, and when his attempts appeared to aggravate you, he gave up altogether. He’d already spooked you with his behaviour that one night and his fear of driving you away entirely made him play along with your new rules.

As if that wasn’t bad enough though, your weekly visits to the shack then began to dwindle. It had started with excuses: Your parents needed you for something; you weren’t feeling up to it; or something had cropped up. Eventually the excuses stopped, but so did your visits. You gave no reason to him or Lo’ak, but there was a tense and tacit understanding that lingered between the three of you whenever your work put you near each other, that your arrangement with them had reached a conclusion.

Lo’ak chewed on his bottom lip. Unlike Neteyam, he wasn’t convinced that you didn’t have feelings for his brother, “You need to talk to her, bro.”

“She’s avoiding me. She keeps things professional during work times and she’s near impossible to get hold of in the evenings. It’s a clear message. There’s nothing to discuss.”

Lo’ak frowned, his eyebrows pulling into a deep knit as he pondered his thoughts. He’d teased you about your crush on Neteyam many times. Tula had even confirmed to him that you had a soft spot for Neteyam, that you liked him. Great Mother, Lo’ak had seen the evidence of your growing emotional attachment to Neteyam for himself during the nights you’d spent with them at the shack.

He’d seen it in the way you responded to Neteyam: The way your hands had always reached instinctively for his brother; the way you’d kissed Neteyam so deeply and so keenly; the way in which you came so utterly undone in your pleasure only when it was his brother who fucked you; and the way it had always been Neteyam you curled up against if you fell asleep after their playtimes. Ordinarily, Lo’ak would’ve been incredibly envious, but he knew of the tender feelings Neteyam harboured quietly for you and he was happy for his brother that you appeared to reciprocate them.

But then something changed after the night you’d spent alone with Neteyam. Your behaviour flipped, almost becoming a direct contrast to what Lo’ak had initially seen. Something had spooked you that night, but Lo’ak didn’t believe for one moment that it was because your feelings for Neteyam had changed.

“You’re the olo’eyktan in waiting, successor to the clan.” Lo’ak reminded his brother matter-of-factly, swivelling around to face Neteyam, “If you need to speak to her, you have ways of ensuring a meeting.”

Tail lashing behind him, the affront was clear in Neteyam’s stance and in his outraged expression, “I won’t use a formal summons to get her to talk to me! What kind of man would I be, cornering her like that?”

“A man who fights for what he wants!”

Neteyam snarled heatedly, shouldering past Lo’ak to walk onward, “Enough! This conversation ends here, bro.”

Growing up as the annoying little brother had its perks. Lo’ak was used to weathering Neteyam’s admonishments and he wasn’t letting this argument go. It seemed so simple in his mind. Neteyam had feelings for you and Lo’ak was quite sure you felt the same. All that stood in the way appeared to be mixed signals that stemmed from a lack of communication and badly wounded pride on his brother’s part.

Deciding to change tact, Lo’ak broached a related subject, “Didn’t Grandmother agree to what you and Dad proposed to her?”

“Yes.” Neteyam’s patience was wearing thin.

“So what’s stopping you opening up to Neyomi? There’s literally nothing standing in your way now. Didn’t you initiate the arrangement because of her?”

“Actually, the arrangement was Mum and Dad’s idea because of Kiri and her talents.”

Lo’ak rolled his eyes and waved a hand in the air, “Whatever! But you backed the proposed arrangement because of Neyomi. It gave you the opportunity you wanted and now that you’ve got the tsahìk’s approval, and Kiri’s acceptance, you’re just going to throw it all away and let things slide?”

Neteyam whirled around to face Lo’ak and though his volume was a careful hiss, his words dripped with acrimony and his fists were clenched tight, “She doesn’t want me, Lo’ak! You weren’t there that night! We were done playing, just winding down. I had her in my arms and she used her safeword! She was uncomfortable!”

“That’s such bullshit, bro. She used to let you clean her up, let you take care of her and coddle her. She was happy for me to join in, but it certainly wasn’t my arms she used to fall asleep in.” Lo’ak countered, shooting his brother a shrewd stare, “Look, I don’t know what’s happening with her. All I know is that something spooked her that night, but it sure as hell isn’t because she suddenly decided to go off you.”

“It is what it is.”

Lo’ak looked on silently at Neteyam’s retreating back as his brother strode away from him. With a long-suffering sigh, Lo’ak dragged a hand down his face. Neteyam was level-headed and wise when it came to matters of leadership and strategy. He was adept in his navigation of clan politics and his interpersonal skills were strong, but if there was an area of life that wasn’t Neteyam’s strong suit, it was women.

Women fawned over him and he enjoyed them easily enough, but Neteyam didn’t know women like Lo’ak did. And Lo’ak knew that when it came to a woman’s behaviour, things were never as straightforward as they seemed.

***~~~***

“Thanks for walking me home.” You pushed onto the balls of your feet to brush a kiss of gratitude against Kai’s cheek.

“Don’t mention it. Goodnight Neyomi, sleep well.” Dissatisfied though with your chaste farewell, one of Kai’s hands caught your elbow and he pulled you towards him to claim a proper kiss against your lips.

They were smooth and warm, comforting, but also entirely wrong…

Kai’s kisses didn’t spark passion within you, they didn’t make your heart skip a beat or make your stomach flutter with need. His kisses were too soft, almost tentative at times as if he didn’t want to scare you. It wasn’t what you craved. You craved confidence, sure hands and sure lips that consumed you entirely as they set your body ablaze with desire.

You forced as genuine a smile as you could at Kai as you pulled away to disappear into your family’s shelter, “Goodnight, same to you.”

Your parents would be asleep by now, but you still skulked through your home on silent feet towards the little alcove that was your own private space in the shelter. You were the youngest of three siblings and your two older brothers had left home several years ago after getting mated. It made home seem less lively than you remembered as a child, but you were thankful for the lack of people about now.

Less people at home meant less chance of someone overhearing what you were about to do. You hadn’t found satisfaction with Kai tonight and your body still burned with the need to be satiated.

You liked Kai, you really did. He was warm-hearted, thoughtful and incredibly sweet. He was strongly built and also good-looking. In fact, his build was very similar to Neteyam’s, tall and brawny in all the places a woman appreciated. Guiltily, you acknowledged within yourself that it had been the similarities in his physique that had drawn you to him in the first place. However, apart from his height and muscular build, that was where the similarities ended.

Hidden now in the privacy of your alcove, you double-checked that the thick cloths that hung from its entryway were tied and fastened to keep them closed and you lit the small oil lamp that hung in the corner. Little needles of shame pricked in your gut as you unfastened the ties at your hips and behind your back, letting your loincloth fall while you shimmied out of your chest piece.

You weren’t ashamed of touching yourself, that part was natural. It was the shame of the entire conundrum you found yourself in that made your face flame. You’d been seeing Kai casually for just over a moon now and while your encounters with him were pleasant, and his touch felt good, your traitorous mind refused to forget the other man who your heart yearned for. Your body refused to submit to Kai’s touch and it denied you the height of pleasure with him as a result.

Kai tried, truly. It wasn’t lack of enthusiasm or skill on his part. It just didn’t feel the same. He simply wasn’t Neteyam. So, to avoid the certainty of awkward conversations and to save Kai’s pride, you’d faked your pleasure with him from the beginning. How low you had sunk…

It had been Tula’s suggestion to distance yourself and try to connect with other males. Near distraught at the doom you felt after the night you’d shared with Neteyam, you’d spilled the entire truth to your best friend the next evening. Tula had looked on with a myriad of emotions and reactions as you relayed your story from start to finish; of your secret arrangement with the brothers, of the unadulterated bliss you found with them, and the subsequent crash and burn of your emotions for Neteyam at the end. You’d thought you could keep things simple, keep the lines clearly drawn between pleasure and emotion, but you’d failed ultimately.

Beautiful soul that she was, Tula hadn’t judged you, only comforted and consoled you before advising you of what you already knew you had to do. Put space between you and Neteyam, end the arrangement with him and Lo’ak, and try to move on. But alas it wasn’t working…

Sinking down to sit on your heels with your knees splayed, one of your hands snaked downward to its destination between your parted thighs. Licking your lips, you let your head loll backwards, eyelids sliding shut as your fingers smoothed through your still soaked folds. Your pussy throbbed, appreciating the repeated stroke of your fingers delving into its slick depths, alternating with a sensual massage over the swollen nub of your clit. You were helpless to stop the torrent of images and memories of Neteyam that swamped your mind; the feel of him suckling at your nipples; the feel of his longer, thicker fingers stroking in and out of your pussy; the ravenous look in his amber eyes as he looked at you while his tongue and lips wrought pleasurable havoc at your core.

Rolling a nipple between the fingers of your free hand, the dual stimulation made your pussy squeeze and pulse desperately for something to fill it. The three fingers you had buried to your last knuckle inside you weren’t cutting it and you needed something bigger. Your eyes travelled to the neatly piled heap of your belongings on your right where a cloth-covered satchel sat.

Pausing in your pleasure, you reached for the satchel and undid the fastening at its front to flip it open. Rummaging through it, it didn’t take long for your hand to grasp hold of what you were looking for.

Long, girthy and weighty in your palm, the blue toy was a striking replica of a Na’vi cock. It was called a dildo apparently and its use was obvious to you from the first time you’d laid eyes on it. You’d filched the toy from the toy box at the shack many weeks ago when the brothers hadn’t been looking. If they had noticed its absence since, they hadn’t remarked on it.

Heat pooled between your legs and you could feel your slick dripping from you in anticipation as you turned the dildo over in your hands. It wasn’t as smooth or as seamlessly designed as the other toys you’d been introduced to, and it didn’t hum, but by Eywa did it feel fucking good with its bulbous head and its ridged shaft. The dildo had a flanged base where it could suction to a flat surface and you reached towards your pile of belongings again for its accompanying aid.

Gingerly, so you didn’t make a sound, you extracted a long and shallow wooden serving platter from the pile. You turned it upside down so the smooth wood of its polished base was turned upwards towards you and placed it between your thighs. A wave of embarrassment washed over you again as you positioned the dildo on the platter so you could mount it.

Great Mother, your mother would kill you if she knew what you were doing with her serveware…

Lifting your hips and shuffling forward on your knees, you let the head of the dildo smooth past your folds, lubricating it. You were so wet that you knew the impressive size of the toy would be no issue upon entry. Aligning it with one hand, you let your weight bear down on it and your other hand flew to your mouth to stifle a muted cry as it breached you.

The stretch of it entering you was rapturous and your aching pussy eagerly swallowed its length whole, your inner walls squeezing appreciatively around its fulfilling girth until you bottomed out. It wasn’t warm with body heat and it wasn’t attached to your man of choice, but it was a close second. You undulated your hips, testing the feel of things, and when unfettered ripples of pleasure shot through your core at the movement you instinctively began a rhythm of gyrating hip thrusts.

Your fingers circled at your clit while you moved, your body rippling back and forth in time with the slight up and down of your hips. Your thighs burned with the exertion, but your pussy burned even more torturously as your climax came hurtling towards you. An unbidden fantasy of Neteyam groaning beneath you plastered itself to the back of your closed eyelids. You rode him wildly, imagined the feel of his fingers digging into your hips while you worked his hard cock in and out of you. You could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the shine of it over his flexing abdominals as he panted and strained with you. And then you felt the familiar burn of urgent pressure low in your pelvis.

It was like an old friend that had come by to visit. The urgent pressure mingled with the pulsating of your pussy and it thrilled you because you knew what it signalled, what was coming. You hadn’t felt this sensation in weeks, not since your last session at the shack when Neteyam had pinned you beneath him and drilled into you from behind with your face pushed into the plush bedding. Your encounters with Kai hadn’t even come close to the mounting bliss you were feeling now.

Caressing one of your breasts and stroking over the nipple one last time, you flew over the edge of ecstasy into freefall. Your face scrunched tight and you fought to remain quiet while your core clenched and pulsed with orgasm. Your inner walls had a crushing hold on the dildo, gripping it within you and your pussy gave a cathartic little squirt of pleasure. Chest heaving with panting breaths, your vision cleared as you opened your eyes, the last image your mind supplied was one of Neteyam smiling sleepily up at you.

The furnishings of the alcove swirled around you, the flickering flame in the oil lamp casting warm shadows about the place. You were alone in your alcove and you’d once again touched yourself to imaginings of a man you were supposed to be trying to forget. A juddery sigh of defeat left you and you flopped over onto your side, rolling onto your back so you could press your fingers firmly against your eye sockets.

The futility of the situation began to overwhelm you and you felt hot tears sting behind your closed eyes. Try as hard as you might, your little plan of ‘move on and forget’ wasn’t working. Kai was a wonderful man, skilled, respected and honourable. You enjoyed his company and everything about him showed real promise that he could be a good mate for you. But the heart wanted what it wanted, and it was Neteyam that your heart soared and longed for.

You hiccupped as sobs began to wrack your frame then. Your hands were pressed tight over your face and your palms grew wet from the streams of your tears. A smothered snuffle snuck its way out from behind the cage of your fingers and you fought to keep any more from escaping. The lump in your throat hurt and you swallowed it down stickily.

It said a lot that you found your sobs harder to stifle than your moans of bliss.

If only you’d kept your distance from the beginning. In hindsight, it would’ve been easier for you to have never known Neteyam like you now did, and to just have watched, daydreaming from afar. But too late now. You’d made your bed and now you had to lie in it.

***~~~***

Your emotions had gotten the better of you last night and you’d awoken far later than you were supposed to this morning. You’d hauled yourself from the floor onto your bed at some point and proceeded to cry yourself to sleep. Your mother’s concerned voice had roused you in the morning as she’d jostled the hanging cloths at your alcove entrance with a query about why you weren’t up yet. You’d shot a panicked glance at the floor then, before relief washed over you when you found that you’d at least had the sense to remove the evidence of your late-night activities before bedding down.

Your pa’li whickered softly and you treated her to a sweet tuber while you continued to secure your hunting gear to her leathery back. Blinking scratchy eyes, your stomach rumbled with hunger. You’d woken so late this morning that you’d missed communal breakfast, so a lone yovo fruit from your family’s fruit bowl had been your only breakfast sustenance so far. Today would be a gruelling day again. The hunting platoons were going to make a second attempt at felling the small herd of yerik that was passing through the clan’s territory.

Neteyam was in a particularly disagreeable mood this morning.

He’d been very terse during his briefing of the hunters, making sure to reiterate and clarify the plan several times before sending them all to their departure positions. It was fair to say that he was likely still upset about yesterday’s failure, but the botch-up had been as much his fault as it was yours. The miscommunication between his platoon and yours had occurred because his orders hadn’t been clear, but you’d also been too proud to clarify, so you’d assumed and assumed wrongly. All because you were avoiding as much interaction with him as much as possible.

Stupid.

“Good morning, sevin (pretty).”

You heard Kai before you saw him and you couldn’t help but smile at his smooth voice. He really was very sweet. Turning to face him, you greeted him with a kiss to his cheek and he extended his greeting by placing a warm kiss against your temple as well.

“Look at you in your warrior garb. So fierce and ready to take on whatever danger the day brings.” Kai teased with a toothy grin.

He was dressed for his work day too in a simple loincloth, fishing spear in hand and his long dreads bundled atop his head in a messy topknot. The fisherfolk spent much of their day in the rivers wading and swimming, so the lack of any other accessories, like arm bands, limb guards or necklaces, all served to reduce friction while they swam. Even without all the embellishment, you had to admit Kai looked good.

Tutting your tongue you cocked your head at him and shrugged, “Well, you could’ve been a warrior too, Kai. I remember you did well in training.”

“Nah, the rivers have always called to me.” Kai answered assuredly. He held up a small parcel in his free hand, “Here, I noticed you missed breakfast so I brought you a niktsyey (food wrap) to take with you. You’ll need your energy.”

“Thank you.” You accepted the parcel gratefully, its delicious scent drawing another audible rumble from your stomach and you both laughed. Grinning at Kai, you placed a hand on his muscular chest and wished him well, “Eywa be with you, have a good day.”

Kai nodded, one of his large hands covering yours where it rested against him, “You too. I’ll see you tonight-”

“Neyomi!” A booming call of your name sounded in the near distance before you could utter your response. Neteyam.

Kai’s eyeline flicked over your shoulder and his ears pinned flat, his jaw clenching tightly. He squeezed your hand before taking a few steps back from you, letting it drop to your side again as Neteyam came striding up to the pair of you.

“Neteyam,” Kai greeted coolly, acknowledging the other male.

“Kai,” Neteyam’s acknowledgement was equally frigid.

Neteyam turned to regard you and you were momentarily struck by his arresting presence. Neteyam always looked striking, especially so when he was in full regalia with his arm bands, leather limb guards, cummerbund hugging his waist and dagger strapped across his chest. The glower on his face today was new, but the addition only seemed to add to the appeal.

“We’re already running behind time.” Neteyam’s gaze then shifted back to Kai, “I’m sure as commander of the fisherfolk you can appreciate the importance of timeliness where orders have been given to move out.” His words were a deliberate jab at Kai and the implication that he was holding you up was clear.

“I was just giving Neyomi some food to take with her.” Kai’s icy response was delivered with a scowl that rivalled Neteyam’s.

“The warriors have packed plenty of food for our journey. We’re more than prepared.” Neteyam hissed.

“Yes, but she missed breakfast this morning.” Kai countered, his posture and his glare throwing Neteyam an unspoken challenge, “Now, as future olo’eyktan, I’m sure you can appreciate the importance of looking after those in your command and ensuring they have what they need, the most basic of which is keeping them fed.”

The challenge was not well-received by Neteyam and the ferocious snarl that left him shocked you. Kai took a step back but returned a snarl of his own, both males baring their teeth with pinned ears and whipping tails.

“Enough! What the fuck is wrong with both of you?” You growled, maddened by their ridiculous behaviour, “If you’re done comparing cocks, then let’s all get to work, shall we? Since we’re so late.” Your last sentence was thrown at Neteyam with a glare, and you shoved past him to mount your pa’li.

Kai shot you an apologetic glance as you cantered past him towards your waiting platoon.

Flustered by the testosterone-fuelled interaction you’d just witnessed, you hastily unwrapped the niktsyey and took a big bite out of the savoury wrap. You paused. You couldn’t smell your food.

Kai’s and Neteyam’s scents had spiked during their spat, their bodies emitting a pungent surge of pheromones that now clogged your nostrils, both alluring and both very male. But only one of those scents lingered heavier and for longer than the other, tantalising you, causing your nipples to stiffen and sending liquid heat pooling between your thighs.

You sighed.

No prizes were being awarded for guessing whose scent was responsible for your body’s reaction…

***~~~***

You jolted awake with a start, the peaceful serenity of the surrounding woodland glade quickly coming back to you as Kai’s shoulder shifted a little beneath your cheek. Instantly, you felt remorse as you realised you’d done it yet again, fallen asleep on one of your date nights with Kai. The patch of young grass you were both lying on was soft beneath your elbow as you moved to prop yourself up into a sitting position. You turned contrite eyes at Kai who gave you a weak smile.

“Sorry, I fell asleep again.” You apologised shamefacedly, “You’re not boring, I swear. I think I’m just really tired tonight.”

“It’s alright,” Kai answered, his strong abdominals contracting as he pulled himself upright into a sitting position without using his arms. He reached out to pat at your hair on the side of your head that you’d fallen asleep on, smoothing down the fly-aways that had freed themselves from your braided locks. “I’ve had a lot on my mind, so it gave me some time to think.”

His kind face was vexed and a furrow creased his forehead. His thick mane of dreads was loose and they framed his head and shoulders quite impressively. It made him look very imposing, but you knew Kai was gentle-natured. It was one of the reasons he chose not to pursue a warrior’s path despite excelling in all his physical training tests. He preferred more temperate work as opposed to the potentially dangerous and adrenalin-filled rush of hunting and patrolling.

Feeling a renewed rush of penance as you took in his troubled mien, you took one of his hands in yours, “I feel bad. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. It’s a day of rest tomorrow so we can head out during the day, maybe take our ikran out for a flight and stop somewhere? Then you can tell me what’s bothering you, if you want to share.”

Kai was also easy-going and he usually leapt at any opportunity to spend time with you, but he seemed unsure today. He began worrying his lower lip between his teeth, appearing to be seriously deliberating your suggestion.

Growing apprehensive at the uncharacteristic and uncomfortable silence, you filled it, “Or not. We don’t have to if you’ve got other plans. I really am sorry for falling asleep. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

He chuckled and scratched uneasily at his jaw, “I’m not upset that you fell asleep, it’s OK really.”

“But?” You could sense there was something else weighing on him, something that was on the tip of his tongue that he was wavering over.

“I don’t think we should see each other like this anymore.”

Kai’s words were unexpected and they hit you like an unwelcome splash of cold water. Confusion flushed through you and you felt your own brows pull into a frown as you spluttered, “What? Why?”

“There are things going on in the background that need to be resolved and they’re outside my circle of control.”

There was something in the inflection of his voice, an unspoken implication that pointed at these unresolved issues being your responsibility to settle. He wasn’t being direct about his meaning though and your annoyance flared, “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Look, I may have respectable standing in the hierarchy of this clan as commander of the fisherfolk, but even I have enough self-preservation to know better than to challenge the future olo’eyktan.”

An incredulous scoff left you and you blinked in disbelief, “Wait, is this about what happened with Neteyam last week? Before we left on that yerik hunt?”

Kai’s silence was all the confirmation you required.

“No, Kai, come on. He was in a really bad mood that day. He’s not normally like that.”

Kai’s answering laugh was bitter and he shook his head, “Neteyam has been glaring daggers at me for weeks now. He’s territorial over you and he’s made his claim clear to me.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. It was ridiculous what you were hearing and indignance swelled within you, “That’s bullshit! He has no such claim on me whatsoever and if he’s told you so then he’s lying!”

“He’s not said anything, but it’s been clear in his behaviour.” Kai clarified.

“So what?” You exclaimed, your exasperation clear in the way you threw your hands into the air, “Don’t I get a say in this? You’re just going to tuck tail and run?”

“It’s not just that-”

But you weren’t listening. Your skin prickled with anger, outraged that Neteyam appeared to be consciously sabotaging your budding relationship with Kai. As if he hadn’t caused enough emotional turmoil in your life already… You were trying so hard to move on and for some reason unknown to you, Neteyam had decided to act up. The man had barely spoken three sentences to you in the last moon!

“I’ll talk to him.” You declared to Kai firmly, “I’ll set him straight!”

“Neyomi, stop. Listen.” Kai implored, clasping your hands in his to stop your heated gesticulations. The points of his ears lay flat, not angry, more defeated and unhappy. He held your gaze and his eyes were cheerless as he continued, “I know that you have history with Neteyam. I don’t know the exact details, nor do I want to. But whatever it is going on between you, I can’t continue seeing you like this until it’s resolved.”

“There’s nothing going on between me and Neteyam.” You spat. Ain’t that the truth…

Kai let go of your hands, letting his own slide gently from yours before returning them to his lap. His voice when he spoke was a murmur, but his words were incriminating, “You talk in your sleep.”

You froze and dread seized hold of your heart at what you might have muttered unknowingly.

Consciously making every effort to appear unaffected by his words, you queried, “What did I say?”

“Just his name.”

You attempted to brush it off with a scoff, “What? Just now? I don’t remember what I was dreaming about, but I might’ve been having a work argument with him for goodness sake.”

Kai exhaled and he asserted more firmly. “No, you sighed his name. And it’s happened on more than once occasion.”

The gravity of the situation was plain and you were scrambling to formulate an answer, anything at all that would refute the impression that Kai had formed. You decided to stick to the facts.

“There isn’t anything and will never be anything between Neteyam and me. He’ll choose a woman fit to be our next tsahìk. That won’t be me.”

“So you don’t deny your feelings then?”

“W-What?” You stammered, taken aback by the directness of the question, “Neteyam can’t claim me, Kai! It’s not possible!”

With an exasperated growl that surprised even you, Kai slammed his palm down onto the lush grass beside him, “I’m not talking about him right now, I’m talking about you!”

It was surreal what was happening and an odd, foggy feeling was consuming you. Part of you was reeling in disbelief and another other part of you was simmering with ire.

Your answered in a quiet voice, “I want this to work.”

Kai’s sigh was heavy and when his gaze met yours again, you perceived firm resolution in them. He replied, “So do I, but it won’t work if your heart’s not in it.” He rested one hand on your knee, “Look, when all this has blown over, and if and when you’re ready to open up fully, you know where to find me. But I don’t want to be second-best and I don’t want to be settled for. I’ll see you round, sevin.”

With a sad smile, Kai squeezed your knee before rising to his feet. He threw you one last parting glance and departed, leaving you flummoxed in the glade. Your brain made a frantic attempt to sort through the whirlpool of your emotions; shock, woe, confusion… But the dominant emotion was anger. Beneath the surprise on the surface, you were frothing with rage, not at Kai, but at Neteyam.

There’d been inklings of something good with Kai, something you could grow into and learn to cherish. Sure, your body seemed slow on the uptake, but perhaps that would change as time passed and as the memories of your mistakes began to dull. However, Kai had snuffed that little flame of possibility out tonight.

You pressed your lips together in mounting irritation as your breaths began to heave louder and louder. You counted the days of the week and realised it was the fifth night, which was when you’d normally have gone to meet the brothers. Shack night. Perfect.

Hopefully the object of your ire would be where you expected him to be, because you had a mighty big bone to pick with him.

***~~~***

Neteyam swilled the pulpy residue of his rumautpxir (fermented cannonball fruit beer) that was left in the wooden vessel he held. The alcoholic odour of it burned his nose a little and it certainly burned going down his throat too, but the drink was a welcome indulgence on nights like these. He was reclined in a hammock strung inside the old shack and it swayed gently with his movements. The oil lamps about the place flickered, bathing the shack in a lambent glow.

He expected your no-show tonight, to be fair. You hadn’t come to the shack for the last three weeks and tonight was the fourth in a row. Neteyam’s heart twisted sorely in his chest and his mind gave a mental eye-roll at the expected result. Licking his lips, he downed the bitter remnants of beer and swung his legs out of the hammock to get a refill.

The quiet chafing of a blade against wood filled the background while Lo’ak busied himself with carving a new wooden charm that he intended to affix to a choker necklace. Ordinarily he’d be yammering away to Neteyam whilst he worked, but his brother wasn’t in a talking mood tonight. Lo’ak had all but given up trying to convince him to speak to you. Sulky wasn’t a description Lo’ak would ever have used to describe Neteyam in the past, but the last four weeks had changed that.

Neteyam had always been quick to learn, quick to bounce back from setbacks, but you’d clearly wounded him acutely with your dismissal of his affections and his pride hadn’t recovered. This only served to exemplify to Lo’ak the depth of what his older brother felt for you, but Neteyam was convinced you didn’t feel the same and that talking to you would only wound him further.

“Want a refill, bro?” Neteyam asked, holding his hand out to receive Lo’ak’s empty vessel.

“Nah, thanks. I’m good. I’ve already had four tonight, which is plenty.” Lo’ak eyed the refilled vessel that Neteyam was nursing. This was easily his fifth or sixth of the night and his inebriation was clear in the slightly glazed look of his eyes. Thank Eywa that tomorrow was a day of rest for the clan…

The familiar swish and rustle of foliage outside the shack made Lo’ak’s ears twitch in keen attention. He set down his craftwork, eyeline instantly trained on the shack’s entrance. He saw Neteyam had turned to do the same. Someone was approaching and judging by the rapidly thumping crunch of leaves under their feet, they were approaching quickly.

In a flash, the heavy draping cloths at the shack’s entrance flew aside to admit you as you stormed through the entryway. Your breaths were audible and you were sporting a deep scowl. If he wasn’t a warrior, Lo’ak would’ve jumped at the ferocity of your entrance. However, the only thought that crossed his mind as he took in your outraged state was that you reminded him very much of their mother Neytiri in that instant, all fearsome grace and incredible beauty.

“You!” You snarled, catching sight of Neteyam and closing the distance between you in several big strides. You aimed a forceful shove against his chest with both arms, causing him to take a step back.

The sight of your figure storming into the shack was a shock to Neteyam, but he only had seconds to ponder if it was a drunken hallucination before your violent shove knocked him backward. He hissed a curse as his drink slopped messily over his hand and wrist from the force.

Neteyam hissed caustically, fixing you with narrowed eyes, “Didn’t your parents ever teach you that shoving someone while they’re holding a drink is rude?”

“Well, let me solve that problem for you then.” You snatched the vessel from his hand and brought it to your lips. Tipping your head back, you downed the contents in three large gulps. The alcohol scorched its way down your throat and you grimaced, its bitter fumes stinging your nose and making your eyes water.

“Whoa, easy sweet thing. You’re supposed to drink that stuff slowly.” Lo’ak remarked, carefully setting aside his work and dusting his hands off to get to his feet. He moved closer to Neteyam, but stopped short of standing beside him, opting to stand a few feet away instead. He sensed that things were going to turn heated between you and his brother.

Recovering quickly from the alcohol’s physical assault on your senses, you slammed your hands against Neteyam’s shoulders again in another shunt, “You need to leave Kai alone! Mind your own business and stay out of my shit!”

Neteyam was quick to catch you by your elbows though and his firm grip encircled your upper arms. He emitted a hoarse chortle and he smirked at you, “Kai sending you to fight his battles for him, is he?”

You could tell Neteyam was drunk, the sweet odour of the beer lingering on his breath and seeping from his pores to mingle with his scent. You squirmed, fighting his hold but failed to break free. You carried on your tirade nonetheless, “How dare you intimidate him! You’ve got no right. You’ve got no claim over me whatsoever and you never will!”

Your last words were a shriek and even Lo’ak felt their impact. He snuck a cautious glance at Neteyam and saw the effect they had on him. His brother’s jaw was clenched, his upper lip curled in a slight snarl. Lo’ak sighed internally. Eywa, your words were just another blow to his brother’s pride…

Neteyam fought to hide the injury your words caused him. It was yet another painful reminder that you didn’t return his affections. He still had a hold of you and your chin was tilted up defiantly as you stared up at him in challenge.

He growled, “If Kai has a problem with me then perhaps he needs to grow a pair and bring it up with me himself.”

Your mouth snapped shut then and you couldn’t find any appropriate response to Neteyam’s retort without having to admit that Kai had ended things with you tonight. All you could do was glare at him. You realised in that moment that while Kai’s decision to break up with you was upsetting, you weren’t hurt by it. You were disappointed, maybe? But the root cause of your current bitterness was really Neteyam’s audacious interference.

Neteyam watched you, his amber orbs piercing your own gaze as he waited for your answer. Your response never came and that in itself was telling. He understood then what had happened and he snorted, “He didn’t fight for you, did he? Typical.”

Lo’ak pursed his lips at the hypocrisy of Neteyam’s remark and he couldn’t help the smartass comment that left him in a mutter, “Bit rich coming from you, bro.” His brother’s reaction was instant and a snarl of warning was thrown his way.

Much to Lo’ak’s disappointment, you didn’t catch on to his meaning and you continued to twist in Neteyam’s hold. You shrieked, “Only because you’re throwing your weight around where you have no business doing so! Let me go, kurkung (asshole)!”

Your struggling only seemed to spur Neteyam on further and he looped a muscled arm around your waist, clutching you to him. Trapped against his torso now, you cursed your traitorous body as it took note of how hot his body was, and how the heady musk of his scent filled your nose. You’d missed this, missed him… You were angry still, but the heat of your ire was quickly waning. Being in his arms felt so disastrously right…

Neteyam crushed your slighter frame to his, scenting the skin of your neck in small puffing sniffs. He could smell you so clearly at this proximity and he hated that he could smell Kai on you. It’d been weeks since he’d held you against him and the addition of his alcohol-induced confidence made him daring with his words, “You stink of him, paskalin.”

“Don’t call me that. Let me go and you won’t have to smell it anymore.” You hissed, but it sounded half-hearted even to your own ears as the words left you.

“No.” Neteyam’s voice was a rumbling purr and he rubbed his cheeks against yours while his hands roamed the expanse of your slender back.

You knew what he was doing. He was marking you with his scent. Your body warred with the logic in your mind. Your conscience told you to finish saying your piece and leave, but your body wanted to indulge in this gorgeous male it had been denied the pleasure of for weeks. Your neck prickled when the heat of another warm body closed in on you from behind. Lo’ak.

“Forget about Kai. He doesn’t deserve you if he won’t fight for you.” Lo’ak murmured matter-of-factly, settling his hands on your hips and caressing your skin. His eyes locked with Neteyam’s behind your back then and he gave his older brother a sharp and pointed look, “The right man will.”

“I’m not staying. I didn’t come here for this.” Your tone was more breathless than you’d anticipated and you could feel the alcohol you’d foolishly guzzled earlier settling in a haze over you, clouding your inhibitions. Your head was craned to the side, your jaw cradled in one of Neteyam’s hands while his lips worshipped the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You don’t sound very convinced, sweet thing.” Lo’ak chuckled hoarsely. His hands stroked in a bold path from your hips to your bottom, squeezing the pert flesh of your derriere, “We’ve missed you since you’ve been away spending time with that skxawng.”

“Leave Kai alone. What’s your problem with him?”

Never one to pass on an opportunity to crack a joke, Lo’ak snickered and crowed, “Nothing. There’s just something fishy about him.”

It was a corny attempt at a joke, but it elicited an amused chortle from Neteyam nonetheless and even you had to fight a grin.

However, the moment of light-heartedness was short-lived and you reminded yourself of why you’d even come to the shack in the first place. You fortified your defences, squirming away from Neteyam only to find your back wedged against Lo’ak’s front. You were thoroughly sandwiched between them.

You pressed your point insistently again, “Stop it, both of you. I came here to make a point, now let me go.”

“Aww come on, sweet thing. You might as well stay and play now that you’re here.” Lo’ak cooed, tracing the fingers of one hand up the seam of your buttocks to grasp the base of your tail. He twisted it in his palm and the feeling sent a sensual shudder through you. “You didn’t even say goodbye the last time.”

Lo’ak’s lips began their own assault on the free side of your neck that Neteyam wasn’t attending to, and you fought the urge to whimper. Their hot hands were everywhere; gripping your hips, tickling your ribs and caressing your tail. There was so much of them against you, hot and masculine and Great Mother did they smell good. Their scents were familiar, strangely comforting yet also tantalising in the promise of the pleasure you knew the brothers could bring you.

And by Eywa, you had missed the pleasure… Your body ached for it… The urge to just give in was so strong. In your mind, it was as if you stood on the edge of an abyss within which raged a churning whirlpool that would swallow you whole if you stepped off the ledge.

Neteyam’s lips wandered from your neck, pressing kisses along your jaw and up to the corner of your lips. You stiffened. You wanted his kiss, craved the sweet, searing heat of it… But no, you’d be taking five steps backward if you were stupid tonight…You turned your face from his.

Neteyam’s jaw tightened at your refusal. Fine, still no kissing… But he was desperate and he would take what he could get from you. He uttered his request, “Alright, you’ve made your point. I’ll back off Kai, but only if you stay tonight. One last time, paskalin.”

Lo’ak chimed in with a filthy promise by your other ear, “You know you won’t regret it. You never do.”

Your knees almost buckled and you knew your mind had lost the fight against your body when you felt your inner walls clench and flutter involuntarily.

Fuck it. Fuck logic, fuck your conscience.

You’d spent the better part of the last several weeks trying to pick up the pieces of your dignity, only to find yourself right back where you started every time you’d faked an orgasm with Kai and then touched yourself to thoughts of Neteyam after. You just wanted to feel good now, wanted to feel your body detonate with mindless ecstasy. Fuck it all. You’d deal with your regression later. That was a tomorrow problem.

Their breaths were hot around you and you could smell the alcohol they’d both imbibed. Their loincloths didn’t do much to disguise their erections. Their hard arousals dug into your flesh, one poking insistently into one round of your bottom while another was nestled against your lower belly.

Resigning yourself to your fate, you hissed an impertinent taunt, “You’re both steaming drunk. How long can you keep those cocks hard for?”

Their dark chuckles resonated in the shack as the brothers smirked triumphantly at each other. Lo’ak’s fingers were already flying to untie your loincloth while Neteyam dropped to his knees and pushed your breasts free of their covering, opting to indulge himself with a taste of your nipples while his fingers dealt with discarding the covering there.

“You let us worry about our cocks and just focus on yourself. Rest assured we’ll stay hard long enough to do more than satisfy you.” Lo’ak guaranteed, and without any verbal warning, he hauled your now nude form into his arms and carried you to the main play area at the back of the shack.

He settled you on your feet before the large mirror in the space to divest himself of his own clothing. When he straightened to full height again, just as bare now as you were, you reached out to give his proud cock a stroke. Lo’ak sucked a breath in through his teeth and his hips jolted forward into your grasp, “Oh, he’s missed you alright. Tonight’s not about us boys though. It’s all you, sweet thing.”

Neteyam wasn’t far behind and he returned to join you and Lo’ak. He’d clearly paid a visit to the toy box and he deposited a few of your favourite toys onto the bed behind you. He strode up to you, but before you could greet his naked body in the same manner you’d greeted Lo’ak’s, he clasped your chin in a firm but not ungentle hold. Tilting your face up to his, he eyed the outline of your plush lips.

For a moment, you thought Neteyam was going to infringe on the boundary you’d set as his face neared yours. His lips grazed yours, but it was the lightest of touches and not quite a kiss. You both felt and heard him as he murmured against your lips, “Since you won’t let me kiss these, I’ll have to content myself with kissing you everywhere else. Any other boundaries tonight?”

Freeing both of your hands, you ran your palms down his front, enjoying the ridges and planes of his muscled chest and defined abdominals beneath your fingers. Finally reaching him where he strained the hardest, you gripped his cock and pumped your fist several times, spreading the already beading pre-cum over the rigid length of him. Neteyam flinched at the contact and his eyes slid shut in pleasure.

“No, no other boundaries. Just the usual. Same safeword.”

A low purr of approval sounded from Lo’ak behind you and he reached around you to cup your breasts, thumbs flicking repeatedly over the peaked buds of your lilac-coloured nipples. You moaned wantonly and pushed your bosom out towards his touch, the pleasure pulses zinging in a direct line from your nipples to your pussy. Neteyam swiped two fingers between the apex of your thighs and, even without looking, you could tell you were embarrassingly wet already just by how easily his fingers moved through your folds.

Neteyam brought his fingers to his mouth and cleaned them off in a slow, smacking suck. He groaned quietly and nodded his head at his brother.

It was a signal that Lo’ak understood without words. Standing behind you, he crouched to slide his hands down your thighs, before gripping you behind both knees and suddenly lifting you, folding you in half with your thighs splayed wide. He sat down on the edge of the bed then and hooked each of your knees over his, leaving your bottom dangling down between his shins.

You gave a startled cry at the change in position. It was a new position to you too. You were facing your reflection in the mirror and the wanton young woman who stared back at you tonight was a far cry from the sobbing mess you’d been most nights in the last while. Your folded body was hanging in what could only be described as a deep squat, your arms and knees hooked over Lo’ak’s splayed thighs to keep you suspended just above the floor. You were nimble though and the position was oddly comfortable despite how it looked.

The position left you helpless and completely exposed, but judging by the hungry expression that both brothers were sporting, it was exactly what they wanted.

Neteyam situated himself in front of you, stretching out on his front and balancing the weight of his upper body on his elbows. His face was parallel with where he wanted to ravish you, but before he indulged, his gaze flicked up to meet yours and he checked in with you gently, “You comfortable there?”

You nodded and your answer was quiet, “Yeah, I’m good.”

This was the sweet side of him, you mused. It was the side of him that you loved most, and it was the side that you hadn’t seen in a while. Your interactions since the night at the hot spring had been awkward and then they’d dwindled to become few and far between as you both avoided each other. Your work day conversations were kept to a minimum and whenever you had spoken, he’d been clipped and guarded. You’d missed seeing this sweet side of Neteyam…

Although, it was also this tender side of him that had made you run in the first place…

The corner of Neteyam’s lips quirked upward in a small smile and he scooted forward to cup your bottom, helping to support your weight as he lowered his lips to your waiting core. He kissed your folds then, languidly, his lips and tongue stroking and sweeping over your flesh as if he was kissing you on your mouth instead. Your breath stuttered and the muscles in your thighs tightened at the delicious sensation.

Your reflection was a sensually gratuitous picture. Your eyes were hooded and your cheeks and chest were flushed a deeper hue of violet. Neteyam’s head bobbed and shifted between your thighs where he pleasured you, and you could see that Lo’ak was enjoying the show. He had his cock in hand and the slippery length of it was disappearing in and out of his tight grasp whilst he stroked himself.

You were entirely at Neteyam’s mercy in this position. You couldn’t move or grind your hips against him. He had complete control of the situation and all you could do was squirm and whine his name while he worked. He was suckling intently at your clit now, your pussy throbbing with the rhythm of your pleasure.

“Fuck, you look so beautiful like that.” Lo’ak groaned, watching you through the mirror, “You want to cum so bad, don’t you?”

Neteyam’s fingers were digging into your hips where he held you and you canted your hips as much as you could against his face, “Y-Yes, but I need more-”

With a small pop, Neteyam released his hold on you and you gasped at the sudden lack of stimulation. His grin was a dirty one and he clucked at you as he shifted to sit upright, “So impatient. We’re going to take our time with you tonight.”

Lo’ak chortled in agreement and he reached over to pass two toys over to his brother, “One last hurrah, right? Gotta savour it.”

“You taste like nectar, paskalin. So sweet and so soft.” Neteyam crooned, toying with something in his right hand.

You glanced downward and you recognised the glass butt plug he was holding. They’d used it on you in the past. It was good size, neither too big nor too small. It was just big enough to give you a feeling of fullness in a place you’d never explored in this way before the brothers, and you certainly never expected it to feel as good as it had.

Neteyam ran the cool surface of the plug against your pussy, lubricating it with your copious moisture. He teased you deliberately, letting the glass bulb of it slip into your pussy a few times, causing a mix of curses to tumble from your lips. He smoothed his thumb over your butthole with his other hand, slowly letting the digit work its way past the tightness of the outer ring of muscle at its entrance. You were chanting his name under your breath like a prayer now, eager for him to insert the plug.

Lo’ak’s own breathing was laboured and he stifled a few curses of his own, slowing down his palming of his cock, “Shit Neteyam, just give it to her already.”

“Losing your control?” Neteyam goaded with a sneer, “It’s alright. You can blow your load. You don’t need to fuck her tonight. I’m happy to do all the honours.”

“Not a chance, bro. I’m not missing out.”

Your pussy squeezed hard at Neteyam’s display of possessiveness. It was so fucked up, especially given the circumstances, how your body thrilled to know that he wanted you for himself. It was so fucked up also on another count that you were excited by the idea of his sexual possession, but his emotional possession had sent you running for the hills. But you knew it was only because you’d end up hurt, you both would… If there was a way that you could have him as more than a playmate, perhaps as a potential mate for life, you’d have drowned happily in his tender affections.

The sore turn of your thoughts was halted when you felt Neteyam press the glass bulb of the plug against your butthole. The feeling of the pressing stretch as he worked it into you cleared your mind and you were forced to breathe through the slightly uncomfortable sensation.

“Relax for me, good girl.” Neteyam murmured, his free hand rubbing gentle circles over your clit.

With a quick slip and clench, your body accepted the plug, seating it into its intended position inside your rear. The discomfort of its initial entry faded and was replaced by a gratifying sense of fullness. The plug was weighted and the slight heaviness of it was a wonderful addition. You closed your eyes, relishing the feeling and you heard the familiar click and whirr of another toy coming to life in Neteyam’s hands.

“You take that plug so well, sweet thing.” Lo’ak praised, leaning down to pepper the side of your face with a few kisses, “I love watching it pulse as you enjoy your pleasure. You going to put on a show for us tonight?”

Your response was a skreich of pleasure when Neteyam parted your folds to settle the clit sucker over your little nub. Your clit was already so sensitive and swollen from his earlier suckling. The toy’s intense and pulsing suction formed a seal around it immediately, throwing you straight onto the racetrack towards a powerful orgasm. Your pelvic muscles quickly settled into a thumping tempo, your inner walls contracting and releasing with bliss, making the glass plug physically jump where it was seated in your ass.

Cracking open your eyes you spied yourself in the mirror, splayed open as you were before with a clit sucker held against you while your pussy and ass visibly pulsated. Your slick was trickling out of you and down your rear with each squeeze of your core. It was a horribly obscene yet incredibly arousing image that you were sure would make any heterosexual man salivate. Your mouth was slack as you mewled and cried out, and sure enough, you discovered both brothers were furiously working their cocks while they watched; Lo’ak seated on the bed above you and Neteyam sitting on his heels beside you.

With another audible click, you felt it when Neteyam turned the intensity of the clit sucker up a couple of levels and within moments your first orgasm crashed into you. A hoarse cry left you as your torso and thigh muscles went rigid, your entire core bursting with bliss. There were mutual groans coming from both Neteyam and Lo’ak too, but in the height of your pleasure, the noise sounded muffled and far away.

“Fuck, Neyomi. I need you right now.” Lo’ak ground out through gritted teeth, “I want to feel your pussy squeeze around me like that when you cum.”

There was commotion as Lo’ak pulled you upward from where you dangled between his legs. He settled you on your side on the plush bedding. Your legs tingled numbly and they felt like they were no longer solid.

“Do you think you can get onto your hands and knees for me, sweet thing?” Lo’ak urged, steadying you as you made an attempt to roll onto your knees. He caught sight of the thunder on his older brother’s face then and he rolled his eyes, peeved, “Sharing is caring, bro. I can’t fucking wait anymore.”

“Don’t be too long. And don’t-”

“Yes, yes I know! Don’t cum inside her.” Lo’ak waved Neteyam off irascibly, “I know the drill.”

Manoeuvring onto all fours, you found, to your relief, that your limbs were fairly stable. Your legs were still tingling, but the numbness had disappeared now and you could hold yourself up just fine. You felt Lo’ak mount you from behind and he gave the butt plug a teasing tug while he lined his cock up with your entrance. Eager to be penetrated, you lowered yourself onto your elbows with your rump high in the air.

Lo’ak didn’t waste a moment more. He ran the head of his cock over your folds once and then plunged into your wet heat with a brutal thrust of his hips. His cock easily slid to its hilt with how slick you were and a harsh groan was his reaction to the feel of your walls enveloping his length. Gripping your hips, he drew his hips back and thrust in again, earning him a guttural cry from you.

Neteyam leaned against the wall on the adjacent side, facing you so he could watch your face dance with your many expressions of pleasure. Lo’ak was less patient than he was and Neteyam wanted to be the last to have you so he could take his time. He tried his best to focus on you instead of the fact that his brother was fucking you. It was an exercise he was used to by now, given that this was always the order of things when you’d visited the shack. Not that sharing you had become any easier the more you’d visited the shack…

Neteyam was impatient tonight though. He hadn’t had you in weeks and things had been strained. Though he hoped otherwise, tonight was quite possibly the last time he’d ever have you. Especially if you were going to try and work things out with Kai… He had promised you earlier that he would back off. If Kai was truly who you wanted, then Neteyam wouldn’t stand in the way. His heart thumped painfully in his chest at the thought.

If tonight was to be the last time he could have you like this, then he was going to make the most of it. He was going to try to steal a kiss from you tonight by hook or by crook.

Through the jarring smack of Lo’ak’s hips against yours, you saw Neteyam watching moodily from against the wall. He had his arms crossed over his chest, but his cock was still hard and standing at attention, jutting out from his narrow hips. A thin string of pre-cum was dangling from its thick head and your mouth watered, wanting to lick it away and taste it. Lo’ak had set a steady pace and one of his hands was skilfully working at your clit while he thrusted. You could feel your second orgasm building gradually, but you were still distracted by the sight of Neteyam’s cock.

Unable to speak because your breath was being forcefully pushed from you with each of Lo’ak’s thrusts, you caught Neteyam’s eye and extended a hand out towards him. You curled your fingers, wordlessly beckoning him to come towards you where you were positioned on your hands and knees at the edge of the bed. He seemed to catch your drift and he pushed off the wall to stalk towards you.

Once he was within reach, your encircled his erection with one hand and tugged him closer until his knees were flush against the bed. A particularly hard thrust caused you to lose your balance and you let go of him, palm slamming flat against to the bedding again to steady yourself. Your mouth had been open though and your intention had been clear enough to Neteyam. He grinned and guided his cock to your lips, which parted again to receive him.

“Oh paskalin,” Neteyam’s breath rushed from him as your mouth engulfed him with moist, tight suction.

You couldn’t take him all the way in your position without the risk of choking and hurting yourself due to Lo’ak’s thrusting, but you could take him half way. You sucked in your cheeks and swirled your tongue over the tip of him, enjoying the salty-sweet taste of his pre-cum. You didn’t even need to bob your head, courtesy of Lo’aks jolting thrusts.

The sight of you spit-roasted on two cocks between him and his brother was enough to almost make Neteyam lose his control. He closed his eyes, willing his throbbing cock to just teeter on the edge of bliss without spilling. He burned the image of you into his memories; the way your lips stretched over his thick girth; the way you whimpered as your body jerked while you were being railed; the way your eyes watered a little every time a hard thrust made his cock head hit the back of your throat.

Lo’ak’s intermittent groans were becoming more frequent now and his pants were getting harsher. You knew you were close too with how your pussy seemed to be trying to swallow more of him with each pulsating throb. The consistent rub of his fingers over your swollen nub made your core burn with impending ecstasy, your climax so close yet not quite within reach. But you knew what would send you over the edge, you knew whose eyes you wanted to lose yourself in as you came.

Neteyam’s thumbs stroked at your cheeks encouragingly and you pulled your head back as far as you could so you could catch his eyes. A pleasure-filled frown was twisting his handsome face and the moment his piercing golden orbs locked with your green irises, your second climax shattered you. Your pussy clenched down hard and you heard Lo’ak emit a gravelly shout.

Lo’ak had never felt anything as intense. He was supposed to withdraw and spill outside you, but your orgasm triggered his own like a sudden and hot strike of lightning at the base of his spine. Your inner muscles had clamped down on his cock, his own climax merciless as he felt himself ejaculate. He hadn’t had time and he couldn’t help it. Instead of pulling out, his primal instincts overwhelmed him and forced his hips to stay pressed against your rump while he spilled.

An unrestrained string of curse words left Lo’ak as he withdrew afterward, collapsing onto his side in a heap of heaving breaths. Neteyam’s displeasure was immediate and a harsh growl filled the air. He pulled his cock free of your mouth and he would’ve rounded on his younger brother if not for your hand, which had caught him around one wrist.

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t stop it!” Lo’ak exclaimed, dragging a hand down his face and pawing at his eyes, “I lost control, alright? I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“It’s OK.” You placated, tugging on Neteyam’s wrist. His expression was still marred by a snarl and you gingerly rose onto your knees to smooth a soothing palm over his chest, “Calm down. It’s my body and I’m OK with it.”

Neteyam wanted to tell you that he didn’t care that you were alright with it. He wasn’t alright with it. He wanted to be the only brother in that space to have you that way, and Lo’ak knew that. His brother was more than aware of what it meant to him to be the sole bearer of that privilege.

“I swear it was an accident, bro.” Lo’ak mumbled tamely.

You saw Neteyam shoot an unimpressed glower at his brother and you caressed his cheek, drawing his attention back to you, “Come on, put your hands on me. How do you want me? Facing you or from behind?” You took his hands and placed them over your breasts, loving the feel of his rough palms against your nipples.

A peculiar sense of déjà vu washed over Neteyam at your question and he realised it was the same question he’d asked you on your very first visit to the shack: Do you want me to take you from behind or do you want me to face you?...

It was a poignant moment for him and he echoed your original answer from that first night back to you, never feeling the truth of them more than he did in that instant, “I want to kiss you.”

Your eyes softened and he saw sadness cloud your irises. You remembered too.

Your soft fingers stroked Neteyam’s jaw and you murmured despondently, “You can kiss me everywhere. Anywhere but here.” The fingers of your free hand touched your own lips and you kissed them, before pressing those fingers to his lips.

Neteyam’s eyes were aggrieved, but he toppled you onto the bed anyway and covered your body with his. It seemed he’d taken your answer seriously as he began to leave a trail of hot open-mouthed kisses down your body: from your cheeks, down your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, your navel and lower. Your skin prickled in heated anticipation; your arousal still high despite your first two climaxes. Neteyam seemed to have that effect on you. Your body would always respond to his and it could keep going.

Neteyam reached for the last toy that they hadn’t yet used tonight. The wand vibrator.

Parting your azure thighs, he found the butt plug still nestled neatly in your rear and your core glistened with your slick and the pearlescent remains of his brother’s cum. The reminder of Lo’ak’s mistake annoyed him, but he had to admit that the vision of the sticky mess smeared over your pussy was very arousing.

The wand came to life with a low whirr and he ran it gently over your luscious folds. You jumped with a moan, the intense and rumbling vibrations of the toy stimulating every last nerve ending between your thighs. Your pussy pulsed and the butt plug jumped with the flex and lax of your pelvic muscles. Lo’ak had recovered from his earlier orgasm and had quietly rejoined to play. He busied himself with your breasts, letting his tongue rasp over their sensitive peaks while his fingers fondled and squeezed.

“Come on, paskalin, you know what the aim of the game is.” Neteyam purred, focusing the head of the wand on your clit while two of his fingers curled inside your pussy to find your g-spot.

“Ohhh Eywa!” You squealed, thighs quaking and tail curling under as Neteyam’s fingers found their target swiftly and efficiently.

All it took was for him to apply pressure with his curling strokes and your body skyrocketed to the precipice again. The pleasure was so intense with the wand that chills raced their way across the expanse of your skin. The burning pressure built and built in your lower belly. Your clit throbbed under the wand’s unforgiving assault, and combined with the full feeling of the plug still in your bottom, you hurtled over the precipice for a third time with a scream. Your entire frame seized and you pushed through the euphoric blow of your orgasm, releasing the pressure with a wet squirt that you knew was inevitable the moment Neteyam had laid his hands on you.

You began to writhe in discomfort, your body oversensitive now and uncomfortable. Neteyam’s fingers left you, but the wand remained over your swollen and stinging clit. You tried to squirm away from it, reaching down with your hands, only for Lo’ak to stop you, “Nuh uh, we’re not done, sweet thing. Use your safeword if you need it. Otherwise, you’re going to have to ride the overstimulation out.”

“W-Wait, no!” You wriggled and twisted, the stimulation almost too much and yet it was still so incredibly good.

“Use your safeword, Neyomi.” Lo’ak reminded.

When your safeword didn’t leave your lips, Neteyam positioned his hips at your parted thighs, still holding the wand in place with one hand. He added, “One last hurrah, and we’re going to make it worth your while.” Aligning himself with your pussy, he pushed his thick cock inside you.

The speed of his penetration had been slow and steady, but you felt every single bit of him; from the swollen head of his cock to each raised ridge on his shaft. You felt as if you were melting around him, as if your body was moulding itself perfectly to his. It was absolute paradise.

The triple stimulation you were experiencing was devastatingly good. You could feel the girth of his cock grinding against the butt plug through your inner walls as he thrusted with each roll of his hips. Your mind was blissfully clear as your pleasure heightened again another notch, every single cell of your being focused on the never-ending rapture that appeared to have consumed you whole. You didn’t even know if you were climaxing or not because it just seemed to carry on.

When another pulsing squirt gushed from you, Neteyam abandoned the wand and pinned you beneath him in full missionary position. There was only a moment’s reprieve from the assault of pleasure while Neteyam repositioned himself before he hips began their relentless onslaught again. You clung on for dear life, your ankles crossed behind his back, your arms looped about his ribs, nails raking his skin.

Burying his face against the side of yours, Neteyam ground out his assertions, “This might be your last night here, paskalin, but you’ll never forget this. You’ll never forget us and how we made you feel.”

“Y-Yes…” Your answer was a shaky whisper.

“We’re going to have all of you tonight, you hear me?” Neteyam continued, and it was testament to his athletic strength and stamina that he could keep up whisper to you while maintaining the speedy canting of his hips, “I’m going to cum so deep inside you and when I’m done, my brother and I are both going to take you at the same time.”

Beads of wetness seeped from the corners of your eyes to run into your braided hair and you realised you were crying. Whether from overstimulation, from the filthy promise of Neteyam’s words, or from the looming reminder that you were going to be an emotional wreck tomorrow, you weren’t sure.

You hiccupped softly and Neteyam pressed a kiss to your wet cheek. He couldn’t hide the tinge of concern in his tone, “Those better be tears of joy. You know what to do if it gets too much.”

You shook your head, clutching on even tighter to him as what felt like another tidal wave of pleasure began cresting towards you. Your body tightened around his, your core squeezing around his cock in preparation to milk him dry. The tidal wave curled and crashed in the next moment and you screamed his name, your pussy squeezing and squirting so hard that the butt plug was ejected from your bottom by your pelvic muscles.

Neteyam roared his climax into the plush bedding by your head. Your pussy contracted and pulsed in time with the spurting of his cock, and he could feel the warm heat of his cum filling you. Great Mother, he never wanted to be without you like this… Everything about you was good and right… Instinctively, not wanting to suffocate you with his dead weight, he rolled off you to rest on his side.

Your hitching breaths were a staccato harmony to his ragged breathing. Everything on your body was buzzing with oversensitivity. Your nipples tingled uncomfortably and you felt feverishly hot between your legs. Your skin felt too tight all over you and your nose was a little stuffy from mucus. However, if you thought you were going to be able to lie there for a bit, you were wrong.

Neteyam called out to Lo’ak, who was reclined on your other side, “Roll her over onto you, bro, gently.”

You blinked teary eyes at Lo’ak as he scooted closer to you. He stroked your forehead and your cheeks, wiping away the sticky tears that rolled down your face, “Shh, one last thing ok, sweet thing? One last thing and then we’ll take care of you and you can sleep.”

Taking your upper arm, Lo’ak pulled your upper body over his, before hooking his palm behind your knee to haul the rest of you over him. You were lying front to front with him and he settled your cheek against his shoulder and collarbone. You instinctively curled against him, tucking your arms against his ribs and tucking your knees up under you by his hips. Unbeknownst to you, it was exactly the position they wanted you in.

You’d heard other women speak of the term ‘fucked dumb’ before, and you’d merely thought they were joking or exaggerating. But you understood it now. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess and coherent words were far from your lips.

“No one will ever make you feel this way again,” Lo’ak murmured to you, and you felt him shift your bottom over his pelvis. It didn’t surprise you anymore that his cock was erect again. Both brothers appeared to be at the height of their virility currently. Two rounds was no issue, some nights even three.

You felt like putty and allowed Lo’ak to guide himself into your silky heat once more. In your position, your body sank onto his cock easily and you whimpered again at the girthy stretch of him. Lo’ak chuckled, “Now for the good part.”

The bedding dipped a little on either side of you and Lo’ak when Neteyam came to position himself behind you. He was straddling your hips in a crouch and you felt him bring your tail over one of his shoulders. His earlier words rang in your ears and you understood what he was about to do… My brother and I are both going to take you at the same time…

Neteyam ran his thumb over your puckered butthole. Between your slick and his cum, there was plenty of lubrication available for what he intended. He caressed one round of your pert bottom and pulled the flesh aside a little, “I said I wanted to have all of you, Neyomi.”

An audible gasp left you as the blunt head of Neteyam’s cock pressed at your rear entrance. He said nothing to reassure you, but his touch was gentle and cautious. He pushed further and you felt your body resist the girth of him. You breathed deeply, fighting to relax the muscles like they’d taught you when you’d first been introduced to the butt plugs. Slowly but surely, your body accepted him and he slid into your bottom with a tight groan that was echoed by both yourself as well as Lo’ak.

The fullness was exquisite. The three of you remained still, just getting used to the sensation and enjoying the initial wonder of something new.

Balancing on the balls of his feet while he straddled you, Neteyam’s voice was an indulgent purr, “You feel fucking amazing.”

Lo’ak began to move first, just a slow and shallow rock of his hips and it amazed you that Neteyam synced in with him almost immediately in the opposite direction. When one brother pulled outward, the other pushed inward, their cocks slipping in and out of you in coordinated tandem.

The dual stimulation was definitely overwhelming. You were quite literally stuffed full of them both and it was an incredibly intimate position. Neither of them were thrusting particularly deeply, both just rocking their hips with you sandwiched between their bodies. It was slow and sweet, and it felt strangely like making tender love with two people at once.

It was the most tender that either of them had been with you all night. There was just one thing missing that would make things perfect; one crucial thing that would see you violate the very boundary that you had set for yourself if you did it. A kiss.

Tonight was your last night with Neteyam and Lo’ak, it had to be. From tomorrow, you’d have to put all of this behind you, keep it locked away in the deepest recesses of your mind. Forget about Lo’ak. Forget about Neteyam. Try to work things out with Kai and move on with your life.

The reckless part of you offered up the idea of crossing your boundary again. It was your last night here and look at all you’d done with them tonight already. Surely crossing that line couldn’t hurt that much more, right? What was one last kiss in light of everything you’d done tonight?

Your heart trilled with contentment at the thought. You would remember their bodies and remember the touch of their hands; remember their scents and remember their voices as they teased you and praised you. You resolved to share one last kiss with each of them, so you would also remember the feel of their lips against yours too.

You raised your chin to look at the brother closest to you. Lo’ak raised a brow at you and a corner of his lips quirked upward in a small smile. With shaky breaths you eyed the cupid’s bow of his upper lip. One last kiss from each of them Neyomi, and then tomorrow it’s back to reality… Carefully, you leaned downward and gently slanted your lips over his.

Abruptly, the tender and serene mood was splintered by an ireful hiss from Neteyam. You jumped, pulling back from Lo’ak to see him regarding you with a confused expression, the furrow between his brows knitting deeper with every passing moment. The gentle rocking of your bodies ceased and you cried out as Neteyam swiftly withdrew himself from your body in a jarring tug.

Everything happened so quickly and the last thing you perceived, as you craned your head backward, was Neteyam’s frame storming angrily from the shack.

Lo’ak moved beneath you, taking you by your hips to roll you gently onto your side again. You could see your own confusion mirrored back at you through his amber irises. Your body buzzed still from the aftermath of your pleasure and your brain was a foggy muddle.

“What just happened?” You asked meekly.

Lo’ak scoffed and shook his head at you, appearing equally bewildered and upset, “I could ask you the same thing. What the fuck are you playing at?”

***~~~*** Part V - The Fault Is Ours now HERE

Author's Note:

Gaaaah another cliffhanger!! 🫣 Spill your thoughts and all your messy emotions to me, my bebes! Neteyam is such a stubborn ass, right? And oh that unwitting mistake that Neyomi made at the end... 🥲

I hope this made your heart squeeze as well as other places... Thanks for reading. I love each and everyone of you that supports me. Comments, reblogs and likes are all very much appreciated! 😘

Taglist note: There are so many of you who've asked to be tagged that I've exceed the tag limit. So if you haven't been tagged in the body of this post, I haven't forgotten you! I've probably tagged you in another post that links you back to this one. 💖

Taglist:

@teymars @eyweveng @leaveitbythewave @luvteyams @akiras-key @bajbr @qcswrites @reggiesslut @neteluvr @savvysscandles @dasaniix @emery-333 @vintaqestar @live-laugh-neteyam @itssomeonereading @strawberry-vamp0 @delacruzyari @bluecooki3 @frustrated-kitten @innercreationflower @wheneclipsefalls @iameatingmyhair @ele-sme @investedreader @oasiswithmyg @daeneeryss @pandorxxx @anonka01 @hunbomb @pandoraslxna @adrianarose7 @sunghoonmyluv @notnat02 @getthisoverwith33 @simp4myself @spicymayyo @animehoe1-800 @daddysmurfslefttoenail @iman-lu @creepytoes88 @flyingspacewhale @neteyamswifesworld @lostress101 @nilsavatar @itsjazzsworld @solemnlover @asweetblueberry2 @blue-slxt

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tallulah477 · 8 months

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Won't Let Anyone Take You From Me

Kinktober Day 23: Biting

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, P in V, Biting with the intention of leaving marks or bruises, Angst, Possessive language/behavior, Desperate ‘you can’t die, I won’t allow it’ sex, Dom reader, Slightly submissive Neteyam, Neteyam gets shot but he’s okay, Mentions of blood, Mentions of reader going on a killing spree, Mentions of war, Mentions of death (not main characters - a person directly next to the reader gets killed), Creampie

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: Neteyam gets hurt during a raid and you’re having a hard time handling it. You remind him that he’s yours and that nothing, not even death, is allowed to take him from you.

Neteyam won’t look at you. But you can’t take your eyes off him.

He wades through the water, just a little ways away from you, letting it ripple around him and lap at his skin. You watch as he cups some water in his hands and uses it to scrub at the blood and grime still on his upper body. You hear him grunt quietly in pain as the movement stretches the wound on his arm and your heart hurts to hear it, but you still don’t move.

He continues like this for a few more minutes, trying to clean himself of the battle’s reminders. Reminders of the things he’s had to do, the lives he’s had to take to protect his people, the people he’s lost - the memories and fears he keeps that find their way back to him at night as he sleeps.

You know him too well. You can practically hear his thoughts before he even thinks them. And he knows that, so he doesn’t have to say anything - and neither do you.

But your eyes don’t stray from him. They stay firmly on his back, watching as his muscles move underneath his skin. Watching as his tail hangs low underneath the water, and how his braids fall across his shoulders, still neat and held together just like you braided them this morning despite the rough action of battle.

You know he can feel your eyes on him, and he gives up on pretending he doesn’t with a deep sigh.

“Just say what you have to say,” he demands, not even turning around.

The silence stretches on, the only sound coming from the small nearby waterfall as it trickles into the bathing spring. With a heavy breath, you move forward, wading through the water until you're right behind him. Your hand finds a place at the area between his neck and shoulder, gripping it carefully but firmly as you press along his back. Your other hand cups the water and uses it to wash away the dust and dried blood on his back. You try to be gentle, to be considerate at the fact that he’s hurt. That he’s your mate and it’s not his fault. But the anger and frustration that flow through you is hard to ignore, and you find yourself having to stop and calm yourself down multiple times when your cleaning and rinsing turns into scrubbing, as if you could scrub away the harsh reality of your lives from his very skin.

“Y/n,” he tries again, but you cut him off.

“Don’t speak,” You say through gritted teeth. Despite him not looking at you, you know he can hear the way your voice trembles. “Please, Neteyam. Just...just don’t say anything,”

The raids are getting harder and harder to come out of with no casualties.

The RDA is, unfortunately, a formidable enemy and they learn quickly from their mistakes, taking their losses in stride and coming back each time, worse and more of a pain to take out. Like cockroaches, Jake says - whatever that means.

The Omatikaya take losses now, more and more each battle, and there’s barely time to mourn for the dead before the War Party needs to be sent out again in hopes of preventing the Sky Demons from getting more of their supplies and getting stronger.

Just this morning, another train was sent to Bridgehead, filled with enough ammunition and explosives to destroy half of Pandora. The War Party was ready, descending on the train with military precision. Jake Sully is nothing if not a Great War leader and battle strategist.

But the Sky Demons were also ready, metal ikrans guarding the train as it flew through the jungle, and they were quick to attack at the first sight of an Omatikayan warrior dressed in war paint.

Your ikran’s large heart pounded in time with yours as you soared over the battle ground. Her wings hugged close to her body as you dove down, one of the enemy's metal machines in your sights as you notched and pulled an arrow tight. It cut through the air with precision, bursting through the protective glass shield and hitting the human directly in the chest before he could even register you coming at him. The human’s body slumped in his seat, the machine dropping towards the ground without the Sky Demon to fly it, and smashed against the forest floor in an explosion of fire and debris.

You drop more humans than you can count. Each raid only increases the number of lives you’ve taken although you’ll never know for sure what that number is anymore.

But it seems like for every one that you kill, one of your own is plummeting to their death, bodies littered with demon made bullets that shouldn’t even exist on your planet.

The warrior flying next to you was another victim. The bullets fly at top speed, multiple rounds tearing into both him and his ikran in seconds, and they were both gone and with Eywa before they even start to fall. You were quick to avenge them with a sharp war cry and a well aimed arrow.

And then, as if that wasn’t scarring enough to witness, you saw it happen with your own eyes. Neteyam, your Neteyam, getting hit with a bullet and you swear, in that moment, you watched it go directly through his chest.

The sob that rips out of your throat is so uncharacteristic for you that Neteyam freezes. You feel him tense under your hold and you know he doesn’t know what to do when you press your face against his back and completely break down.

In all the years you’ve known each other, you’ve always been his rock. When he was struggling with trying to corral his siblings and taking the blame for their mess ups, you were there to be his ear for his rants. When he felt undeserving of the future Olo’eyktan title, feeling like he would only disappoint his father and the rest of the clan, you were there to knock some sense into him. When he finally confessed his feelings for you, voice shaking and nervous to tell you he wanted to be more than friends but determined to do it anyway, he told you the only thing that gave him the confidence to say the words was you - that you were his safe place and that he would be honored to live out the rest of his life with you by his side.

You weren’t the type to let your emotions take a hold of you. You felt them and processed them but it was always with the knowledge that you knew yourself and would always do what was best for you. You always had a plan, always thought logically. You were a fixer.

But you don’t know how to fix this.

Neteyam turns around and cups your cheek with his good hand, mindful to not move his injured arm too much.

“I’m okay,” he says, catching your eyes and gently brushing away your tears with his thumb. “Do you hear me, y/n? I’m okay,”

He’s staring at you with those gorgeous eyes, eyes that you might have never been able to see again had the bullet actually hit him in the chest instead of his bicep. Just a few more inches to the left and it would have been game over for him, and you both know it.

You reach up and cradle his face with both of your hands, leaning your forehead against his, needing to be closer, needing to breathe his air. Anything to help remind yourself that he’s still here.

“I’m alive,” he whispers. He knows how badly you need to hear him say it. “I’m here. Here with you. Always.”

“You better be,” You whisper back, and press your lips to his.

Your lips move together carefully at first, just a slow glide against each other as you both try to calm the nervous energy still running through your veins. He’s here, you try to remind yourself. Here, alive, and with you right now. His mouth against your own is real, the taste of him on your tongue as you run it along his bottom lip isn’t something your brain can replicate this perfect. The feeling of his hand clutching the back of your neck and keeping you close to him is supposed to be grounding - but it’s not. It's not close enough. And it only serves to make you more desperate.

You press your mouth harder against his, hands leaving his cheeks so your arms can wind around his neck, holding him against you. He grunts appreciatively, hands gripping at your waist and sliding down to cup the curves of your ass. You press your body against his tightly, one of your legs lifting up to curl around his calf. Heat courses through your body the more he touches you, his hardening cock pressing between both of your bodies and you need him inside of you, need him so bad, need to be as close to him as you can possibly be.

He seems to agree, kissing you passionately as he palms at your ass and thighs. He adjusts his grip on you, panting into your mouth as his hands splay on the backs of your thighs. He tries to lift you up and your legs just barely make it around his waist before he’s dropping you back down with a pained grunt.

The sound cuts through your desirous haze and you immediately back up to inspect the damage. The thick bandage wrapped around his arm is still white, no signs of blood seeping through which means he didn’t rip open his stitches.

“I’m fine--”

“Damn it, Teyam!” You hiss angrily, smacking his good shoulder. “Why did you have to go and get hurt?”

He knows you're not saying that just for his wound unintentionally cockblocking you. He’s your mate, your person - neither of you ever want to see the other hurt. He knows how stressed you are, how terrified you were today for him. Which is probably why he chooses that moment to make the world's most unhelpful joke.

“I mean, the most important part of me isn’t hurt?”

You scoff and cross your arms across your chest, looking away from him. Then you immediately look back.

...Okay, maybe it helped a little.

“Get on the bank, Neteyam,”

Neteyam grins at you, goofy and smug, like he knows he’s getting something that he shouldn’t. “Yes, ma’am,”

He steps out onto the shore and settles down there, body mostly out of the water with only the gentle ripples lapping at his legs. He lounges there like a cat, stretched out along the bank, good arm raised above his head showing off his toned and muscled body as if he were trying to tempt you into touching him.

He doesn’t have to work very hard to do it, and you’re on him in a second, straddling his waist and kissing him until you're both breathless. His cock slides between your wet folds and you rock against it, letting the thick mushroom tip of it rub against your clit with each pass. His hands reach up to grip your hips, helping guide your movements. Hands, as in both of them, and you growl against his lips, grabbing the wrist of his injured arm and pressing it into the ground next to you.

“Your arm doesn’t move,” You demand. “Got it?”

Neteyam whines, pupils wide with desire. “Yes. I got it. Y/n, please,”

His cock throbs against you as you lift yourself up, angling your hips so the head nudges against your entrance before lowering yourself onto him roughly. You intended to go slow, but you can’t. Your body and mind are screaming at you to take him, claim him as hard and fast as you can because it’s by the sheer grace of Eywa that he’s even still here right now. The stretch is glorious, the dull pain a perfect reminder that it's him stretching you open. No one else could ever fill you up as good as he can.

He curses as your tight heat envelopes his length, good hand clenching tightly at your hip to keep himself from moving. You’re both too worked up, minds too filled up with intense want and the horrible feeling of desperation. You both aren’t going to last very long.

So you ride him, hard.

Your hand grips under his jaw, tilting his head up and nibbling on his neck as he groans underneath you. Your hips set a rough pace, bouncing in his lap relentlessly and feeling as he tries to match you, hips snapping into you with reckless abandon.

Your lips find the space between his neck and shoulder. You tongue the spot, loving the way his taste explodes on your tastebuds, before biting down, canines bearing down on the skin and leaving twin drops of blood in their wake. If you were going to have to see blood on him, you were going to be the one who put it there.

“F-fuck! Y/n,” he whimpers, but his head falls back to give you more space.

When you're satisfied with your mark, your lips trail over his collarbone and down his chest before your teeth bite down again onto the skin just next to his nipple.

He groans, arching into your teeth, and this time when you let go, leaving behind a bright purple mark, his eyes are dazed and just a bit teary.

And the look makes you so desperate.

“You’re fucking mine,” You growl, lips brushing against his. “All mine. No one else gets to lay a hand on you, sexual or not. Got it?” Your fingers gently graze the bandage covering his bullet wound. “No one else gets to leave marks on you but me.”

Your words send a flash of heat through both of you, making your movements even more frantic. The possessiveness is hot, it always has been - you both have always made it clear that you belong to each other and no one else. But this time it’s also so so so real.

Your desperation at almost seeing him die today is real.

Your horrified screech at seeing him get hit and then his ikran taking a nosedive immediately after was real.

Your loud war cry and the renewed need to kill, maime, absolutely fucking obliterate every single enemy from the RDA who set foot on your planet after you watched him get control and level out his flight was real.

And he’s real. Still right here in front of you, panting and moaning and groaning out your name as you clench around his cock. He’s alive.

“You’re mine. You’re fucking mine,” You say again, just to make sure he completely understands. “You’re not allowed to die. Ever. You hear me?”

“Yes,” he grunts, eyes wild. His injured arm shifts as he tries to grip your waist, but you grab it again, holding it against the ground.

“Yes, what, Neteyam?”

“Yes, I fucking hear you!” He says through gritted teeth.

Your head drops again, teeth scraping along his chest and down his ribs, biting mark after possessive mark all over his body. Neteyam leans into the pain, pleasure coursing through him at the thought of your marks and how they’re going to adorn his body for weeks. How they’re going to hurt so good when his cummerbund presses into the bruises, reminding him of you and your love for him. He’ll display your work for all to see and wear your marks proudly.

His good arm reaches out, fingers carding through your wet hair before grabbing a fist full of your braids and pulling you off of your most recent mark on his sternum. His hips continue to snap up into you and your clit drags along his pubic bone with each thrust. Your stomach tightens as he pulls you close, the coil in your belly threatening to snap as he rubs his cheek against yours, spreading his scent on you and marking you as his.

“I fucking love you,” he moans, lips brushing the curve of your ear. “Love you so much.”

The words are what do it for you, and you cum around Neteyam’s cock, hole clenching and spasming around his thick length as you cry out into his neck. You can feel him pulse inside of you a moment before you feel him cum too, burying his face in your hair as he shoots his release inside of you, coating your walls in white.

You collapse against each other, both physically and emotionally exhausted. He’s still inside you as you lay there, cuddling up against each other and trying to catch your breath.

“I love you,” You whisper, nudging your nose gently against his.

Your hand spreads out over his heart, the stabilizing heartbeat grounding you and finally allowing you to feel some peace.

The silence stretches on until you’ve both caught your breath and you’re trying to think of something to say, anything that will make things feel like they can go back to before Neteyam got hurt. Neteyam beats you to it.

“Same goes for you, too, you know,” He says, voice low. “You can’t die either. I can’t live without you. There’d be no point to a life without you in it.”

You want to tell him not to talk like that. That should anything ever happen to you, he should go on and live a happy life surrounded by the people that care about him. But you can’t, it wouldn’t be fair. Not when you’re in the same exact position as him.

Because what’s the point of doing anything anymore if you can’t come home to Neteyam’s stupid adorable grin every evening.

You look up at him, amber eyes meeting in the slowly darkening Pandora forest.

“Then we’re both just gonna have to not die then,”

**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee

#lunaskinktober2023 #neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x female reader #taliewrites

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morgansyorkie · 1 year

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That double play by Cavan Biggio 🥵🥵🙌🏻🙌🏻

#cavan biggio #Toronto blue jays #blue jays baseball #jays lb #spring training 23

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ellieslaces · 3 months

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CAN’T CATCH ME NOW. one

presenting: Umbrella’s Hunger Games

featuring: leon kennedy x fem!reader

synopsis: the Hunger Games, an annual show of brutal control the Capitol has over each of the twelve Districts. the Games’ number one sponsor: Umbrella Corporation, the creator of the Games’ most horrific torture strategies and nightmare inducing deaths. these games have always been cautionary, always a far away but constant threat — until you find yourself Reaped and thrown into an area full of your worst fears with 23 other Tributes, all out for blood.

content warnings: harsh language; violence; gore; class discrimination; usual hunger games/resident evil warnings

notes: please note this series will contain heavy themes of violence, gore, class discrimination, and torture. if these subjects trigger you, skip this series or proceed with caution; all the chapters will be super long, just be prepared

word count: 4.26k

now playing: enemy ; imagine dragons with JID

can’t catch me now playlist

the districts ; prologue

Spring had a poetic, two sided story. One of beauty and rebirth, flowers blooming in meadows, rain showers that brought rainbows to the end of a long day. But one also of death and destruction. Spring may as well be a double edged sword, one edge cutting away the dead to make room for the new. The other side a dangerous weapon to cut down upon that year’s newest crop of children unlucky enough to be Reaped.

Spring was a cautionary season, tales and preparations were made during the final months of long winter. Mothers being sure to hold their child close, fathers staying home from whatever jobs they were mandated a little longer in the mornings to get a glimpse at their children’s face before they went away for the day.

Though nothing could ever really prepare anyone for the possibility of their child’s name being called in the Reaping. No soothing words of how much they were loved and how strong they were would ever calm a child scared in their bones of dying — of killing. This was the reality of the Reaping Ceremony. A reality you’d been prepared for, thoroughly.

Since you were able to understand what the Hunger Games were, you’d been trained to survive them. Chris Redfield instructed you to hone your skills in combat, in knife throwing, in handheld weapons, in archery. You were skilled in just about every form of combat, of nearly any possibly thrown your way.

His sister, Claire, trained you to be smart. Not to fall for the similarity of berries, of mixing up plants, of mistaking the signs of infection, to fall into another Tribute’s trap. You were as prepared to survive any surrounding territory as you were to fight someone to the death.

Despite not really being allowed to train you as you weren’t a Tribute, the siblings did it anyway. They had no family save for each other. No parents, no other siblings. Just each other — and you.

Your crumbled, soaked form had been found by the pair when you were a mere eight. A ruthless school bully had taken your pack, jacket, and shoes. Leaving you in the rain on your way home from school.

They’d taken you home, cleaned you up and sent you on your way. It wasn’t until a few days later they realized you had no home. Not really, you were an orphan too, living in the local orphanage. So, they took you in. Despite not really being allowed to, they did. They loved you as their own family. And one of the ways they showed their love, was by teaching you how to survive.

Today was your final Reaping ceremony. Eight years of terror, eight years of worry for your life every time Spring rolled around. This was the final time you had to worry — if you were lucky. If you were lucky, you’d make it out alive, without being subjected to the horrors of the Games that the Umbrella Corporation were so proud of.

You’d heard the tales of what people witnessed — of what Claire and Chris had witnessed. Though they didn’t outright speak of their times in the arena, you’d watched clips of their Games. You’d heard rumors from the people who had seen their Games on broadcast.

The Mutts Chris had to take down by hand and sword to survive and become Victor. The horrors that chased Claire through the woods to push her and the final three Tributes into a cutthroat fight.

These were things you hadn’t experienced yourself, things you hoped you’d never have to experience. Things Chris and Claire prepared you for nonetheless. But even they knew — no amount of preparation could save you from the lingering fear of what you could see. The nightmares you’d have for the remainder of your life. The fact that every year, you’d be dragged out and forced to relive the past for the Capitol’s entertainment. And today was the final day they could ever even try to prepare you.

Your morning was spent as it usually was — an early breakfast and training. Chris had worked with you on your hand to hand combat, while Claire worked with you on your survival skills. Once training had come to a close, you were taken home to be prepared for your final Reaping.

There was no need for Tessarae, you didn’t need to put your name in more than the eight times it would be in the bowl. Chris and Claire provided for you, they never let you starve, never let you go without the things you needed. And it seemed comfort was one of those things.

“Don’t worry, your chances are low.” Claire soothed you as she and Chris walked you toward the square in District One. “And even if you are Reaped, you’re prepared.”

“I know,” you mumbled, nodding. This was the eighth time you’d heard this pre-Reaping speech from Claire. She said this every year.

“You’re strong, you’ll be fine.” And Chris said that every year too.

You appreciated their support, really. It was just hard to think about anything other than the possibility your life could come to a quick and brutal end in a matter of weeks if things took a turn for the worse today.

“I know.” You mumbled, again. And you did know. You were prepared, you were strong. You were all the things the Redfield siblings proclaimed you to be. Despite being the mere age of nineteen, you were a ruthless person, you had a human understanding of mercy, yes. But you also knew how to survive, no matter the circumstances. And anyone would be stupid to forget that.

Although you weren’t the only person who was given the opportunity to prepare for the Games longer before they were even Reaped. It was common in Districts One and Two for the children to be familiar with combat, with survival skills. Most Tributes ended up volunteering for the ability to compete in the Games. Many a sour face had come from the stage over the years a someone stole the Reaped’s chance to fight.

You’d decided long ago that if someone wanted to take your place and volunteer, you’d be happy to let them have your spot. Anything, anything to stay away from the Capitol. Or as far as you could, being from District One. But, being a part of the Redfield family — even if it was unofficial — you weren’t too far out of the Capitol’s reach. It would be the Games or your connection to the Redfield’s that would catch their attention eventually.

“We’ll see you after?” Claire’s voice brought you back to the present, her ever soothing tone causing you to look up at her. She smiled at you, patting your arms with gentle affection. “You’ll be fine.”

You nodded as Chris gave your bicep a small punch before brushing his knuckles along your cheek with playful affection. “We’ll break out that apple crumble tonight, yeah?”

His suggestion made you smile — even though you had luxuries being the family of District One Victors, they still tried to teach you some humility. They taught you to be human, to have compassion and sense and a heart.

“Okay,” you nodded, smiling a little as the pair left you in the lines to sign in for the Reaping. You watched them walk to the stage, greeting the representative from the Capitol who was sent to preform the Reaping — a short man with half shaved hair that was dyed a shocking orange.

The line moved quickly, it always did. The woman at the table pricked your finger, taking blood and registering your name to be entered eight times. Probably one of the least amount of times in the group of children here. You were ushered by the crowd to the section of fellow nineteen year olds, craning your neck for so much as a glimpse of Chris or Claire to soothe your nerves.

You were much different than many of the other around you. Some thrummed with energy, for the chance to swoop in and volunteer if they weren’t lucky enough to be Reaped. You didn’t want to be like them. You didn’t want to be a killer. You didn’t want to be another one of the Capitol’s playthings.

The video of Panem history began to play on the screens flanking the stage, the anthem ringing through the speakers. The sound of President Spencer’s voice echoed through the square with his grand speech of the relationship between the Capitol and the Districts. Peace, he called it. Compliance, he called it. No, it was control. But really, what was the difference at this point?

Once the film came to a close, the Capitol representative stepped forward toward the mic, his smile startlingly white and far too wide to be genuine. He tapped the microphone few times before clearing his throat and speaking.

“Good afternoon, District One, and happy 98th Hunger Games!” His voice matched his face — eccentric, high pitched, grating on the ears.

“Before you all claw up the stage to get your chance, I’ll start with the gentlemen’s names.” The man — whom you remembered was named Allium Copperhead — giggled at his own stupid joke before removing the mic from its stand as he shuffled over toward the bowl containing the boys’ names.

All you could think was how dumb Allium Copperhead looked trotting over toward the bowl. This was another example of the difference between the lesser Districts versus the Careers. Girls always went first, except in the richer Districts. Possibly an advantage, but not really. Boys were the most likely to try to volunteer, most likely to start a fight in the square to get their chance of glory and fame.

This particular part didn’t concern you — your name wasn’t in the boys’ bowl. And it wasn’t as if you had anyone to worry over. Allium reached his hand into the large glass bowl, his citrus orange nails grazing over the slips of paper before plucking one out and shuffling over to the mic stand once more.

“Our District One male Tribute is,” he purposely drew out the suspense, the square collectively holding its breath. This was his thing, suspense. Attention grabber — that’s what Claire called him. “Piers Nivans.”

A collective groan fell from each older boy’s lips as Allium announced who was the male Tribute. Piers Nivans was a bit of a prodigy amongst the District One boys. He was strong and level headed and ruthless as he was kind. Chris had trained him alongside you.

Piers didn’t seem all too happy though as he walked toward the stage. Chris’ eyes followed the boy, face set in an unreadable expression. But you could tell — he wasn’t ecstatic about this. No one dared to volunteer. Not because Piers wanted to be in the games. But because they knew Piers stood a better chance the any of them.

Once Piers had reached the stage and Allium shook his hand a little too excitedly, he took his stand on the right side of the stage, his eyes scanning the crowd. As if he were waiting for someone — anyone — to volunteer. To save him from this fresh new hell. No luck.

“Now, for the ladies.” Allium announced in the microphone with a giggled smile, practically skipping over to the girls’ bowl. If you hadn’t been so worried about your fate, you would have rolled your eyes at how childish this grown-ass man was.

But you couldn’t focus on anything other than the thousands of slips of paper in the bowl as he reached in and snatched one up. The square was dead quiet. You heard a girl to your right let out a sigh of anticipation.

The air was thick, the energy unbearable. Your heart raced in your ears, blood thrumming through your veins as Allium stood in front of the mic once more, unfolding the paper.

You almost didn’t hear him call out your name. Almost thought you were hallucinating. It wasn’t until he called out your name once more, all the people in the square turning to your direction that you realized you hadn’t dreamt it. You wanted to cry, throw up, beat up Allium Copperhead and claw the ridiculous make up from his face.

But you did none of those things as you braced yourself, walking up toward the stage. An entire desert ecosystem was born in your mouth as you walked up the steps to the stage. Claire and Chris’ sad gazes caught your eye. God, why’d they have to look at you like that?

You waited, prayed as Allium shook your hand — the feeling of his clammy hands against your own made you even more nauseated than before — for someone to volunteer. No one did. Not even that girl you’d seen before who seemed so eager for her name to be drawn.

No one would volunteer. Because while Piers was the boy prodigy of the District, you were his counterpart. You were the strongest girl in the District, the most capable of winning. Maybe even over Piers. No one dared to take the chance of winning the Games away from the Redfield’s top student.

You stood on the left side of the stage, looking out upon the crowd of children — some relieved not to be Reaped, others irked. How you wished you were able to go home, to not be sent away to the Capitol to kill and possibly die. Maybe, you wouldn’t even try. But you had to, you couldn’t leave Chris and Claire.

“Our District One Tributes, ladies and gentlemen!” Allium announced with a sickeningly cheerful smile. He waved a dramatic hand toward where you and Piers stood at opposite ends of the stage. “Oh, go on now! Shake hands.”

You turned toward Piers, ignoring the way Allium bounced on his heels — you wanted to rip his fucking vocal cords out so you’d never have to hear his agitating voice again. Piers held out his hand, and you took it. Being a good sport you offered a small, sympathetic yet understanding smile.

The irony, two of the strongest and most capable possible Tributes in the District didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to kill and hurt and fight to survive. Despite being molded to do just that. Despite being the only ones with a fighting chance.

You let go of Piers’ hand, turning back toward the crowd as Allium Copperhead made his final goodbyes. Thank God, he would finally leave you the fuck alone. Maybe dying in the arena wouldn’t be so bad if it meant never having to see this crack job ever again. The orange-headed man placed the mic back on its stand before gently guiding you and Piers toward the back of the stage.

Peacekeepers took you from there, offering you a chance to say goodbye to anyone you wished to see one last time. But you had no one, other than Chris and Claire who were coming with you. So, you denied the opportunity, saying you just wanted to go to the train.

Piers took his chance, bidding a sad goodbye to his family. They were proud of him to taking it in such stride, you could see that. And you could also see how they knew that this wasn’t something to be cheering for. These Games were ruthless and they knew that their son would either return a murderer or not return at all.

Peacekeepers guided you and Piers toward the train, standing at the doors as you both walked in one after the other. The train shook as it started up, before lurching forward smoothly. You wandered into one of the cars and took in your surroundings.

Yes, you’d been raised with a certain modem of luxury. But it was District level luxury. This was true richness. Velvet chairs, patterned textured wallpapers, smooth carpet, rich wood furniture. God, it was like they were flaunting it in your face. Which they were.

“Oh my God,” you heard Claire’s voice echo through the train car and before you could even look over your shoulder, she was rushing toward you and enveloping you into a hug. “I’m so sorry,” her voice was muffled by her face pressed into your hair.

“Jesus kid, you got the Redfield bad luck, huh?” Chris grumbled as he walked in, shaking his head.

Piers’ eyes ticked between you and the Redfield sister that held you, and Chris with recognition. It seemed he hadn’t recognized you until just now.

“Chris,” Claire frowned, scolding her brother as she loosened her grip on you to hold you at arms length. Her attention turned back on you, hands smoothing down the fabric of your blouse. “You’ll be fine, we’re going to do our best to prepare you. Both of you.”

“I know you will,” you nodded, offering your best attempt at a smile. Like you even felt like smiling right now. You looked over to Piers. “At least we’ve got the best of the best.”

“Maybe we’ll have an actual chance.” Piers mumbled as Chris walked over to him, clapping the boy on the shoulder roughly.

“We’ll make sure you have a chance. Both of you.” Chris nodded as he crossed his large arms over his chest. He gave an eye roll as a cheery voice was heard distantly from behind one of the close train doors. He let out a grumble. “Brace yourselves, here comes traffic cone.”

“Chris,” Claire scolded as she narrowed her eyes toward her brother. But before he could even think of defending himself, the automatic train door opened and Allium Copperhead skipped into the train car.

“My tributes!” The man cried with a grin, clapping his hands beneath his chin — which you just noticed had a patch of bright orange hair to match the half curtain of hair on his head — and paced over to you and Piers. “I am so proud of you two!”

You wanted to move away, but the man was deceptively quick as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and his other around Piers’ shoulders. He hugged you close, and you could see Piers physically cringe out of the corner of your eye. “I am going to be sure that your time in the Capitol is as enjoyable as it is productive!”

“All right, Allium, they’re overwhelmed right now,” Claire said with a gentle tone that held a bit of authority behind it as she raised her brows.

“Right, right! Of course,” Allium agreed cheerfully as he let go of the both of you. Which lead to you and Piers to let out a simultaneous exhale of relief. You watched the man’s eyes land on a television and he walked towards it. “We should watch the Reaping broadcast! It should be all uploaded by now.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at Claire and Chris, silently begging for them to put a stop to it. The last thing you wanted was to watch your own Reaping ceremony. Chris gave an apologetic grimace as Allium flicked on the television with a small remote. It seemed to be preset to the Capitol broadcast channels.

“Come here, come here. Get comfortable. I’ll have some food sent in, you two must be famished.” Allium waved you and Piers over with a cheek splittingly wide grin.

Of course, you much be absolutely famished because you lived in one of the Districts. He had no tactfulness. But with Claire’s nod of approval, you slowly paced over toward the small semi-circle of armchairs and a sofa that proved betrayingly comfortable. You took a seat on the sofa, Piers beside you. And much to your disgust and discomfort, Allium took his seat on your other side.

Chris and Claire sat on the armchairs on either side of the sofa. “I know you don’t really want to watch this, but it’ll be a good way to get an idea of who you’ll be up against in the arena.”

Chris was already in mentor mode. He was leaning forward, his elbows propped on his knees as the Capitol anthem played and the Umbrella Corporation logo flashed across the screen. The Reaping ceremony of District One played first, your own Reaping.

God, did you really look like that? Like a deer in headlights on that stage? Piers on the other hand looked great. Strong and intimidating. But you looked weak, like you were about to throw up and pass out. Which you’d almost done both.

As your Reaping came to a close, Allium gave a swift — and what was supposed to be an affectionate — pat on your knee. He grinned at you, nodding as you gave a weary smile back and looked back at the huge television.

District Two’s Reaping played next, a girl with long blonde hair and bangs that covered one eye stood on the stage as she was Reaped — Rachel Foley, that was her name. She was eighteen and had a menacing look on her face. The boy that was called up was Brad Vickers, a nineteen year old with a stocky build who looked a bit too relaxed on the stage.

Chris had previously informed you of the Victor for District Two, Jill Valentine. He had warned you not to underestimate her as most people did. And despite having won her games years ago and fought to prove herself in the Capitol, people believed she was weak for the way she’d won her games. However, with the glimpse you saw of her on the screen during her District’s Reaping, you decided maybe it was best to heed Chris’s warning.

District Three’s Reaping was as equally uneventful as the previous two. Though you suspected the girl tribute — Cindy Lennox — to be an immediate target for violence. She seemed too soft, too sweet to be on that stage. The male Tribute, however, looked up to the task. Steve Burnside was tall and seemed confident enough to be able to get through the arena alive.

Their mentor and Three’s most recent Victor was Ada Wong, someone that you didn’t want to mess with, as Claire warned you. She was ruthless and clever and cutthroat as she was deceiving and alluring. There were rumors around the Capitol she had ways of getting information, secrets. It wasn’t ever clear if those methods were ones of violence or sexual advances. Though no one ever questioned much. She was too beautiful to want to question.

All you could think as you watched the District Four Reaping was how fucking unlucky these Tributes were. Ashely Graham was what was called a ‘sympathy win’ in the Capitol. Meaning someone had the means to send her enough sponsor gifts that she managed to outlive the other Tributes in her games. Though her two — Jessica Sherawat and Kevin Ryman — seemed strong enough to handle themselves, so maybe they had a chance. No matter how small. Because if Chris and Claire taught you one thing, it was never to underestimate anyone.

District Five was where things got a bit dramatic. There was a volunteer for the girl tribute, Caroline Floyd taking the place of a girl who seemed to be blind. Which, in your mind, was a brave and selfless thing to do. Until you remembered there was so such thing as selflessness in the games. Her male counterpart was Billy Coen, whom Claire later told you was suspected to be close to his now mentor, Rebecca Chambers.

District Six was boring, as usual. Tyrell Patrick — a tall man with kind eyes — towered over the female Tribute, Christine Yamata who seemed entirely unemotional. Their Mentor was praised to be somewhat of a genius, despite Chris promising he wasn’t. Carlos Olivera was as cocky and unthinking as the next Yribute who wanted to stay alive.

Things were quiet in Seven, Josh Stone and Sienna Fowler being the Tributes. Chris praised their Mentor though. Sheva Alomar, he said, was trustworthy and dependable. He liked her, you could tell. Other than Jill, she seemed to be the only one he favored.

District Eight produced the Tributes nineteen year old Karen LesProux — who was rumored to have married extremely young at seventeen and then killed her husband after he’d hit one of their children, but those rumors were quickly shut down — and sixteen year old Richard Aiken who looked to be young, but strong enough to hopefully carry his own.

Their Mentors — Sherry Birkin and Jake Muller — were rumored to be cutthroat and did whatever it took to make their Tributes survive. Despite knowing that Claire had an obvious soft spot for Sherry when she’d made a connection with her a few years ago, Chris warned you it was wise not to trust the Tributes from Eight. And something about the way they looked made you believe him.

District Nine’s Reaping was quiet and uneventful as Moira Burton — a fifteen year old girl who was scrawny as she was fearful — and nineteen year old David King — who refused to speak at all — were chosen. Their Mentors, however, were the topic of conversation. Ethan and Mia Winters. Many rumors circulated around the Capitol concerning the now-married couple. Apparently, Ethan Winters had pulled many strings to get Mia — previously Mia Jensen — out of her games alive. Most of the other Mentors had been bitter and they weren’t the most popular amongst the current pool of Victors. Except for Chris, who had a soft spot for the pair.

The Tributes for District Ten were named Bruce McGivern — a charismatic looking seventeen year old boy — and Fong Ling, who looked extremely intimidating for a fifteen year old girl. Their Mentor was somewhat of a flirt around the Capitol, Luis Serra. He was rumored to be similar to Ada Wong in terms of how he survived his life in the spotlight as a Victor. Sexual favors and the payment of secrets. He wasn’t bad to look at, you had to give him that.

The Reaping broadcast was close to an end as District Eleven brought forth an increasingly devastating Tribute. Twelve year old Natalia Korda was picked from the bowl and stood on the stage, trying her hardest not to cry. She seemed to have at least some last sliver of hope though as her male counterpart, Parker Luciani, seemed to want to try and take care of her.

Their Mentors were a mix, that’s for sure. Zoe Baker who seemed determined to get Natalia out alive, and Lucas Baker who was rumored to have lost his mind after his games. Another batch of siblings — God, the Capitol loved that.

Finally — and much to your relief — the District Twelve Reaping began. Chris and Claire had told you before of the Victor for Twelve. Jack Krauser. He was cutthroat and viscous and had a bad run in his games. He’d been chased through the jungle by Mutts, Mutts that no one knew looked like but were rumored to resemble his fellow deceased Tribute. So, ever since then, he’d been hellbent on making live a living hell for all of his Tributes. Somehow a twisted revenge on the Capitol.

His Tributes, however, caught your eye. Helena Harper, seventeen years old and volunteered for her younger sister. Noble, very noble of her. But it wasn’t Helena who caught your interest. Rather, it was the male Tribute.

Leon Kennedy — nineteen years old with golden hair and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. He looked mortified as his name was called, like he was wanted to drop dead then and there. You couldn’t blame him. Twelve had the least advantage. There were only around five Victors to come from Twelve in the history of the Games.

But there was something about him. Some innocent yet driven nature he had that made you lean forward in your seat, eyes glued to the screen. This did not go unnoticed by anyone in the room. Chris and Claire exchanged a look, Allium thought close to nothing of it. But Piers, he knew what it was. Fascination, the way your eyes widened and your focus never unwavering from the boy your age on the screen. The way he composed himself and took his fate with stride.

Something in you — all the survival instincts that Chris and Claire had put into you — it all vanished. And it was replaced by a lingering sense of fascination for this boy. And the need to make sure he made it out alive.

Even as the screen shut off and Allium mentioned something about having dinner served, you didn’t move. Not as Piers started up a conversation with Chris about what the arena may be this year. Not as Claire decided to come and sit beside you. You knew what was coming.

“What’re you thinking about?” She asked, looking at you as you sat on the sofa, eyes still trained on the blank television screen. She knew full well what you were thinking about. She wasn’t born yesterday. She just needed you to say it.

You sat in silence for a moment, pictures of Leon Kennedy running through your mind. He was from Twelve, you were from One. You weren’t supposed to mix. It was like oil and water. But, something about that boy drew you in. Maybe the kindness in his eyes that made it so obvious he wasn’t cut out for this. Maybe the way he’d quickly recovered and took his Reaping with stride. But no, there was just something about him. He wasn’t supposed to be subjected to this.

With this on your mind, you turned your head, looking at Claire as she awaited your answer. You knew this confession would damn you, you knew it could be the reason you may die in that arena. But consequences be damned. You knew that you had to do it.

“I’m thinking about how I can get that boy out alive.”

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chronically-ghosted · 1 month

Text

bloody kisses — part three: cinnamon girl boy

pairing: shane morrissey/tim rockford rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 10K content: vaguely takes place in the 00s, age gap (shane is 23, tim is 40), internalized homophobia, self-doubt, shame, worries about aging, heavy petting, oral (male receiving), first time giving head, gag reflex training, assplay, doggy style, protected p in a, discussions of dom/sub and top/bottom, bad family dynamics, hints of poverty, discussions around divorce, tim's internal battles, dominant!tim, bratty!shane, nasty dirty talk (anyone who identifies my favorite line gets a gold star), lmk if anything has been missed! dividers: @saradika-graphics a/n: i wanna cry @perotovar let me play with their beautiful blorbos and i had so much fun. i've never written m/m before so they took a HUGE risk on me - thank you so much for trusting me to treat them well!

series summary: shane has been in denial about himself for a while. newly single and with the help of one of his favorite singers, he opens his eyes to a new venture he could possibly take: the cop he sees on a semi-regular basis, detective tim rockford.

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(from @chronically-ghosted: if you liked my humble take on this, you can find my masterlist here!) ♥♥

Russet streaks of late afternoon light filter in through the vinyl slats over the grungy carpet when Shane opens the apartment door. He shuts it with a sigh, locking it behind his back, before tipping his head against the frame, closing his eyes, and taking a long inhale. On the exhale verging on a sigh, he tosses his keys onto the ripped and faded black couch to his right before trudging into the linoleum kitchen.

There’s a note on the counter:

Gone to visit Barry’s kids in New Jersey. Be back on the 10th. Money for food is on the fridge.

Shane’s dark eyes flit to the M magnet that Samantha left here the last time she visited from Maine. Even their father came that time.

He snorts resentfully when he sees it: twenty bucks to last him two weeks – thanks Mom.

Chances that she left him anything in the freezer are lower than the chance he’ll be able to stretch this twenty till Friday.

Shane slips off his leather duster and tosses it over one of the precarious bar stools. He snatches up the half empty packet of cigarettes from the scuffed living room table, takes one out, and lights it. He flops into the cracked leather, stuffing fluttering out of the cushions on impact, one of the metal springs stabbing him in his flat ass. Head against the ridge of the couch, Shane lazily puffs out smoke rings, his lips pursed, up to the ceiling.

There’s about a dozen – maybe even twice as many – feelings in his chest right now, all bubbling and curling and spitting and scratching at his insides. Some of them are good – most of them are great, actually (god he can’t remember when he last felt this fucking ecstatic about anything) but some of them . . . some of them scare him so much he can barely breathe.

Call, Tim had said, in his soft, low voice, the smell of sweet syrup still in the air, the plates with pancake crumbs sitting in the sink behind him. Call, if you need anything.

The detective’s card sits in the left pocket of his duster.

Shane shakes his head, a grim smile on his face. Can I call if I’m just fucking lonely without you?

He sips at the cigarette a bit, following the hazy trail of smoke as it wafts around the room. His eyes fall on the cracks of his life, this apartment he shares with his mother and her boyfriend. Stacks of newspapers by the bookcase that’s missing a few shelves. A cereal bowl he left by the window two days ago when a few friends invited him out to go check out Maxxx’s new stereo system. Takeout boxes and beer cans. Unfolded laundry in a plastic bin, the edges cracked and torn off. A few pictures when he was a wiry kid, then a wiry teen. He has a few good memories with Samantha, when he was fourteen and she was seven. That was the only time in his life when anything ever made any sense.

When she’d ask if he’d play her a s–

Shane’s eyes narrow at his bedroom door. Without looking, he snuffs the cigarette out in the nearest ashtray and stands up. Barry knows what would happen if he went into Shane’s room without Shane’s express permission – mother’s boyfriend or not – but Shane locks up every time. He keys open his bedroom door and finds everything as he left it. But that’s not what has him moving down onto his hands and knees, laying flat on his stomach to get a long arm under his bed. With a bit of searching, Shane’s face breaks open wide in surprise as he fingers curl around the long wooden neck. Slowly, Shane crawls back and with him comes his old acoustic guitar.

By the line of dust on it, it really had been several years since he played this thing, but turning it over, the rightness of it settles into his hands, his hips, his bones. This is where it was always meant to be.

Seems like I’m finding all kinds of rightness out of nowhere.

He strums once. The strings are horrifically out of tune, but the thoughts swirling around in his brain make him smile. Fist under his chin, he props his head up on the guitar’s body, contemplating.

He can still smell the sugar from breakfast and Tim’s aftershave from after breakfast. His heart squeezes without his control . . . and his ass twinges. Heat roars up his entire chest and he has to curl in on himself, rolling onto his back, to keep from exploding, a big stupid grin all over his face. The last twelve hours flit across his memory, each moment better than the next.

Call, if you need anything, Tim had said.

I need you to tell me what to do now. Am I the same person? Do I want to be? If I left all of this and everyone behind, who would I be tomorrow? Would you keep me around then?

Do you even really like me now?

He takes his hands down from his eyes, sighing and staring up at his popcorn ceiling, not unlike Tim’s.

Beneath his right hand, his metal bracelets clatter with the wood of the guitar.

Samantha.

Samantha likes him, or at least used to. She loved some version of him. Little sisters are always supposed to love you, but maybe he could find that version again. If it’s still there.

Shane sits up and begins to clean his room.

Night comes and the light from the Morrissey apartment stays on a young man gathering trash and throwing it away.

Tim hasn’t been this on edge since the four or five times he’s tried to quit smoking. He sits in his car, rain pouring down, heating set on low for an early November evening, and he thinks about all the ways this can go wrong. He stares up at the second floor of the tenement apartment, his fingers flexing around the steering wheel.

Like file folders, he sorts his worries from least to most earth-shattering.

Shane is vulnerable right now. There is no one else in his life he can turn to with questions, and he had been left to fend for himself on and off since he was fifteen (Tim has pulled up his file only half a dozen times for follow up work on the shooting and Shane’s rap sheet often catches his eye). Of course, he wants nothing more than to be the person who Shane comes to with questions or concerns, or fuck, even just an ear to listen to. But, at his age, Tim is all too aware of what a situation like that could do to him.

He’s already in too deep and he fucking knows it.

Earth-shattering worry number two: he is a cop and he has booked this kid more times than he can count. Just for petty stuff and he was never the one to press charges – always the DA looking for an easy numbers game to boost his image before the elections. Tim fucking agonized over that and not just in Shane’s case – these kids weren’t in need of help, the attorney’s office said, they were problems that needed to be put down. So how fast would the DA’s head spin around and explode if he showed up to the policeman’s ball with the “Satanic Temple” on his arm, nevermind just another man? While that would be a sight Tim would cherish until he died, he can’t ask anyone – especially someone as new to all of this as Shane – to handle something like that.

Which brings him to his final worry, the big concern that has him nearly start up his car and drive off, to call Shane on a payphone and apologize for not being able to ever see him again. Tim’s old. He’s fucking old and Shane shouldn’t have to carry decades worth of baggage when the kid’s got a fucking trunk of it himself. He’s old and a has-been and Shane has the rest of his life ahead of him.

Of course, this is all assuming Shane would ever want something more with him and this isn’t just sex for him. But maybe that’s all it should be. Both of them dirty little secrets to each other that can fuel Tim’s fantasies until his cock finally stops working (which is probably pretty fucking imminent), and something that Shane can laugh about with his partner some day.

With a sigh, Tim watches a figure move around behind dirty windows on the second floor.

The only way Tim would walk away now is if Shane told him to take a fucking hike. And that’s a really big problem.

He turns off the car, grabs his tan raincoat, and heads towards the apartment building.

When Shane opens the door, Tim wonders if he had a stroke and is seeing things that aren’t really there. Shane still has all his earrings, his rings with his unusually jet-black hair, but the duster is gone. Shane has answered the door in a black sleeveless shirt, with faded but roughly-intact jeans, and bare feet. He looks –

“Laundry day.” Tim’s eyes snap up and Shane frowns petulantly. “‘S laundry day . . . n’ this is all I had.” His fingers around the doorframe tighten. “You gonna come in or just stand there and make me look like a fuckin’ rat?”

Tim is very much aware of how much he looks like a cop even in plain clothes, and the tie with slacks isn’t helping. But he can understand why it might make things difficult for Shane to be seen with him.

But, fuck, if he only knew . . .

“Sorry.”

He steps across the threshold and Shane shuts the door behind him, sticking very close to the wood to give as much space between the two of them as possible. The rain patters in the silence as Tim tries not to stare too much, but that pattern-picking part of his brain can’t help but lurch into overdrive.

The apartment is empty. That’s the first thing he clocks. The second are several black garbage bags by the front door and the distinct smell of Pinesol in the air, sitting only faintly above the stench of cigarettes. Tim’s eyes fall to the cracked patio door, then the ashtray that has three very freshly stamped-out cigarettes in the bowl. Either two of Shane’s friends just left or –

“You want, um, something to drink?”

Shane moves swiftly from behind him to the kitchen and Tim’s gaze latches to his back. His ears are by his shoulders and Tim gets a brief flash of the borderline fear in those dark eyes before he disappears behind the wall.

“No, uh –,” Tim clears his throat and takes off his coat, then his holster, laying both flat on the counter that separates the living room from the kitchen. “I’m good. Mind if I smoke though?”

Shane returns, a beer can in his hand and slides into the plastic chair on the left side of the chipped table beneath a sickly, hanging fluorescent light. He cracks it and takes two long pulls before putting it on the table with a thud. He picks up his own packet and Tim thinks he might see a tremble in his hand.

He’s not sure if he feels vindicated, even elated, that Shane might be as nervous as he is, or just terribly awkward.

“Make yourself at home.” Shane indicates the chair across from him with a jerk of his head before he lights up. The chair squeaks on the linoleum as Tim pulls it back and gingerly sits down. He stabilizes his elbows on the table to keep his hands steady as he takes out a cigarette from his own packet and lights it against his mouth.

The heady rush of smoke combined with the fresh scent of rain soothes something and he forcibly tugs at his own courage.

“So, um, how’ve you been?” Fantastic start, Rockford.

Shane lifts those thin shoulders, eyes skirting the edge of the table. “Good. Went, uh, to see X the other day. He’s getting better. Says the hospital should let him out soon.”

“Good. That’s good.”

The room is so quiet, he can hear the paper burn and curl from the smoldering end of the cigarette between his fingers.

“And you? You've been – um?”

“Yeah, I’ve been good. Xavier – sorry – X’s testimony was really useful for identifying the shooter and establishing a timeline. Should be a pretty open and shut case.”

At that, a wry smirk curls across Shane’s face. He looks at Tim with something that might be described as a teasing grin as he knocks loose a line of ash. “Probably the last and only time X is gonna be helpful to the police.”

Tim responds with his own grin. “Wouldn’t expect anything different. Where’s the fun in easy cases?”

They both chuckle, eyes on anywhere but each other. And yet the tension has cracked, just a bit. Enough to let Tim lean back in his chair and breathe out a long, relaxed plume of smoke.

“But, uh, you called because you wanted to ask me something?”

Shane’s ink-wet eyes glance up at him and Tim feels the knot beneath his chest bone throb.

“Oh – yeah, right. Um, I was thinking about something you said over breakfast the other day . . .” Tim’s heart swells; he thinks about that morning all the fucking time too. Soft golden light and harsh black hair, spread across his chest. “And I was wondering if you still talk to your old friend in the NYU music department.”

That is not the question Tim had been expecting.

“John? Who works at the guitar shop on 7th?”

“I’m not thinking of going to school,” Shane adds quickly, the tips of his ears going red and Tim has to make an effort to keep his eyes on Shane’s face. “I still think school is a fuckin’ racket made for rich people to make themselves richer and maintain authority over –,”

“Yes, I still talk to John from time to time. Why?”

At this, Shane shifts in his seat, eyes low, shoulders rigid with tension. He taps his thumb on his knee uncomfortably.

“Iwanajob . . .”

“Sorry?”

Shane scrunches his nose (the band around Tim’s chest tightens – god, he’s so fucking cute) and huffs.

“I want . . . a job. At the guitar shop . . . and I was hoping . . . you could introduce me to your friend. John, or whatever.” He adds sullenly as if Tim hadn’t just said his name twice.

The buzzing awareness that is always present at the back of Tim’s mind suddenly clicks on. Like a camera taking film, he looks around the room. The trash bags. The tidy apartment. Fucking laundry day.

“Oh,” he says flatly. “Why, uh – why that place?”

Shane stiffens imperceptibly again. He’s got that “caught-in-a-trap” look about him – the kind his suspects get when they’re about to confess something, willingly or otherwise. Shane’s wide eyes glance over Tim’s shoulder as if he had pointed a finger. Tim turns and is rail-roaded again for the second time since coming here.

“Is that yours?” Tim stands, leaving the cigarette in the ash tray, and crosses the room, careful not to touch the shining guitar on its holder but getting as close as possible to examine it. It is a beautiful guitar, the body waxed and the silver of the tuning pegs bright in the low light. It takes Shane a second to answer.

“Yeah.” The admission is breathy, a release from a too-long-held inhale. Tim thinks his voice wobbles a bit but he dare not turn around to see what’s on Shane’s face. “I used to play a lot. I loved music as a kid, thought I was pretty good. Samantha loved it when I wrote songs for her. When we got older, she’d sing along with me.”

Tim clocked a white note stuck on the counter when he walked in, but he was too far away to read it. The way Shane said her name, Tim gathers that she’s not an ex, but someone closer. However, his file never mentioned any Samantha, so she must not live nearby or be someone he sees frequently.

When we got older . . .

Tim straightens up and looks at Shane. “Is Samantha your sister?”

Shane stares at him wide-eyed for a minute before shaking his head, smiling faintly.

“I hate it when you fucking do that.”

Tim’s stomach knots. “Do what?”

“Figure me out as soon as you look at me. Yeah, dude, Samantha is my sister. Half-sister anyway. Mom and Dad tried to do the whole divorced parents who get along thing for a while, but it didn’t last. Now I don’t see her unless she can get the car for the weekend. But she says she won’t come if she’s not invited and I . . . it’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”

Tim nods, the sick knot in his stomach melting into butterflies.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. Just . . . curious, I guess.”

Shane watches him silently as he rejoins the table. The chair squeaks again. Tim lights another cigarette when he knows he shouldn’t but Shane’s smile has him trembling.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?”

Tim swallows. “Can’t help myself do what?”

“Be curious,” Shane says softly, something unreadable and expansive in his gaze. For a second, he looks a decade older and a millennia wiser. He lifts his voice, louder, deeper when he continues. “Guess that’s part of being a cop.”

“You know, technically, I’m a detective, right? Not on patrol, only handling specialized cases.”

Shane sucks the last bit of his cigarette, his eyes bright with mischief. “A-Cab, Rockford. I don’t make exceptions.”

Tim wants to kiss that smirk right off him. He squeezes his own knee briefly before leaning into Shane’s space, the corner of the table separating them, to tap out his ash. He relishes in the way Shane’s eyes skitter up his forearm to his shoulder. He’s not the first to be intimidated by Tim’s size, but he is the first that Tim would gladly overwhelm with it.

“Seems like you did the other night,” he replies, his voice throaty and scratched. It’s not entirely intentional – Tim’s mouth has gone shockingly dry.

This time, Shane’s entire face flushes pink and Tim grins. Old dog still got some tricks, don’t he?

“I’m just fucking with you, kid.” He chuckles. “Relax. Your secret is safe with me.”

He hears how that last part sounds and bites his tongue in regret. Of all the things Tim wants Shane to know, assuming he thought their time together was a mistake is definitely not one of them. He does not want Shane to think he is something that Tim wants to keep a secret.

But by Shane’s unabashed intake of Tim’s forearms, chest, and curls on his hairline, he probably didn’t need to worry too much.

It’s been years since he was so shamelessly checked out and it makes his heart pound. He wouldn’t dare return the ogling but, fuck he wants to. Last time, it had been all about Shane and making Shane feel good, which he would do without question again and again and again. But he is desperate for an exploration of Shane’s body as much as he knows it needs to be an exploration for the both of them.

Or it would be, if he could get a goddamn grip. Last time - probably only fucking time, you sleeze.

“I k-know–,” Shane’s voice cracks and the blush flares again, only briefly this time. He clears his throat and sits up a bit in the chair. “I know that. I know. It’s just . . .” Shane sucks on his cigarette nervously, his cheeks hollowing, like he’s warming up to something. Something sour rolls down the back of Tim’s throat, his stomach clenched, but years of training keeps his face as smooth as stone. Those dark brown eyes, as gentle and fluid as mercury, stare up at him and Tim knows he’s such a fucking goner.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Tim nods. Rolling his bottom lip into his mouth, Shane leans forward, drumming out another line of ash into the glass tray. He straightens against the back of the chair as he tugs one knee to his chest, expression wary, and wraps a skinny arm around his shin.

At the last second, Shane drops his gaze and instead decides to interrogate a dirty spot on the table.

“When I first met you,” he began slowly, “you wore a wedding ring. But now . . .”

His eyes flicker to Tim’s left hand, third finger, absent of any jewelry, sitting on his thigh.

Tim thinks of the first time he saw that irate seventeen year old punk in the station. He had a ripe black eye and an annoyingly smug smirk on when the officer on duty chucked him roughly into a holding cell.

“That’s perceptive of you.” He flexed his hand into a fist, once, then twice, then met Shane’s stare ahead on. Tim has to hastily swallow a deep lungful of smoke to smother the sudden uptick of his heartbeat. “You’re right,” he says, stiff, on a throaty inhale. “I was married until about five years ago.”

A large knot visibly slips down Shane’s throat, his cigarette tilting dangerously between his fingers, ash hovering over the carpet.

“Hm, and to a . . .”

The way his eyes go wide, Tim wants to bury a kiss into that agitated pulse on Shane’s throat, but instead, he just nods slowly, avoiding sudden movement that might startle the wild animal ready to bolt across from him.

“Yeah, Shane, to a woman.”

Shane continues to tear into his own lip. He retreats before Tim’s eyes – crosses his arms on top of his knees and leans his head back. He stares into the rain outside, the beer at his elbow long forgotten. This isn’t the answer he was hoping for.

“Oh,” he says.

Tim leans forward onto his elbows, entering into his space again, but this time more hesitantly. Shane’s bare foot is inches from Tim’s fingers.

“Shane.”

“Hm?”

“Look at me.”

With a steady hand, Shane flicks the end of his cigarette with his black thumbnail, ash falling, and with a very level gaze, he returns Tim’s watchful eye. His face is so blank he barely has any features.

“What?”

“I’ve fallen in love with women and men.”

The impenetrable ice in his eyes melts and Shane frowns. “You can do that?”

Again, Tim nods, this time a faint smile on his face. How easily he forget how fucking clueless this kid is and how fucking cute his obliviousness makes him.

“But I’ve only slept with women before, am I–,”

“It’s not about who you’ve slept with, to a certain degree. It’s who you are attracted to.”

“So there’s more than just being gay?”

He wants so badly to reach across the edge of the table and take Shane’s hand. Soothe him. Feel those rough calluses against his skin again. He can feel the heat of his own cigarette coming painfully close to the backs of his fingers so he tamps out the cigarette in the glass bowl, Shane’s eyes watching him the whole time.

“There’s a lot of things, sweetheart,” Tim says softly, the nickname slipping out as it had before, in his own apartment with Shane in his lap. He hopes that sweetheart sounded casual, a nickname more than a reflection of the hot knot tightening in his groin. “But at the end of the day, it comes down to what feels right to you. How you see yourself. You might have to spend some time figuring it out, asking yourself some hard questions, but you’ll get there.”

Shane nods, again swallowing the words that are so clearly caught in his throat. He switches the cigarette to his other hand and stares out the window at the rain. Tim’s mouth dries up at the sight of his long, exposed throat.

“Is that why it didn’t work out between you and your . . . wife?” Shane asks quietly.

Tim runs his gaze over the piercings in Shane’s earlobe, the delicate bones within the cartilage, then to his set jaw and, finally, over his plush, pouty lips.

“No.” He can hear how hoarse he sounds, how wrecked, but having Shane in front of him again, all those feelings, all those basic urges he denied for the past few weeks come roaring to the front again. He of all people should have known suppression and repression never, ever work. “We were just different people. It had nothing to do with the fact that I also fuck men.”

He watches Shane tremble, the skin on his bare arms suddenly electrified. Slowly, with a shaking breath, Shane twists out his own cigarette, pushing it down roughly with two fingers.

The thing that has been circling Tim’s mind – like a rabid dog tearing out chunks of his ability to think straight – slides out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“What have your other partners told you?”

Call it twenty years on the force.

Call it a finely tuned bullshit detector.

Call it whatever you want, but in that moment before Shane opens his mouth, Tim knows he just considered lying to him and Tim’s heart plunges into his gut. He loathes the idea that Shane might lie to him, lie to him about being queer or an aspect of himself he still has questions about. Having someone older and more experienced than him in life alone at Shane’s age would have made all the difference to him as a young man and more than anything, more than his stupid cock, that’s all he really wants. He wants to be there for Shane because no one, not even his own family, has ever told him he means a damn.

And you mean so much to me already.

Then Shane lets out a shaky breath, the crease in his brown carved deep, but one glance at Tim and it melts away. Without warning, he stands up right and for a split, wonderful second Tim thinks he’s going to crawl into his lap again.

But Tim realizes he’s waiting for something.

With a voice that comes from a very small place, Shane mutters, “there hasn’t been anyone since you.”

He blinks up at Shane for one second, and then two, and his words register, click in, and everything else fades away. Tim’s on his feet with his finger snagged through one of Shane’s belt loops before common sense or patience can catch up with him.

“Is that right?” Tim purrs as he takes the curve of Shane’s neck in his massive palm, the other going to waist, and Shane instantly gasps at the touch. But that initial elation hardens and he glares at him. Tim is distinctly reminded of an annoyed puppy.

“Don’t sound so fucking pleased,” Shane snarls through bared teeth. His black nails dig into Tim’s forearm, a warning and a plea. “It’s not like I think about you all the time or anything.”

His eyelids droop when Tim squeezes the back of his neck and Shane lets out a low moan. Tim drops his head against the other man’s forehead. The boy smells like cloves and cinnamon and definitely pot and it’s going to haunt Tim’s memories forever. He closes his eyes and resists the urge to nuzzle that bare cheek.

“You’re all I think about. Every minute, every day,” Tim hums, “I can’t stop thinking about you and all those little sounds you made when I fucked your ass.”

Another sound, a better one, squeaks out of him – one of protest and desperation and carnal need – and Tim’s control snaps in his hands.

The hand on Shane slides to the back of his head and Tim all but shoves those pouty lips into his mouth.

It’s just as fucking fantastic as he remembered.

Frantic. Needy. Tim kisses him like it’s his job to lick clean the cigarette smoke embedded on Shane’s tongue, on the inside of his mouth, the split cracks in his dry lips. His fingers tangle into that starkly black hair, the strands faintly damp, and his other hand slips to his low back. At that, the boy pulls back enough to let a whine escape from his open mouth before Tim yanks him against his chest. He feels Shane grow hard against his thigh and all the blood rushes out of his brain.

Briefly dizzy, Tim stumbles forward, his hands catching the table behind Shane’s hips, pinning the younger man between him. He nips at Shane’s neck, trying to get the world to stop spinning.

“Fuck me, baby. You’re going to give this old man a heart attack.”

Shane guides him into his mouth, his fingers clawing gently at the scruff of his beard, a slower, softer repeat of how Tim had initiated. Warm air puffs across Tim’s beard when Shane retreats, eyes searching for something he needs to find on Tim’s face.

“Actually,” he breathes softly, “I really do think about you all the time too.”

Tim has never been more grateful for the rough grip on his cheeks because that’s all that’s keeping him from sinking to the ground on wobbly knees. Shane takes another kiss before his hand slips into Tim’s meaty paw and tugs him into the living room. He guides him back to the couch and, with a not-too-gentle push, shoves Tim down against the cushions. The detective goes without resistance.

The pale light from the rain beyond the window and the fluorescent glow behind him etches Shane in a soft halo. Brightness in Shane’s eyes tells him that the man is running on instinct alone – and that’s perfectly fucking fine. Whatever – anything – Shane wants, Tim will gladly offer it up.

But when his hands drop to Tim’s belt buckle, the rush of heat up his body leaves him almost catatonic.

“Mhmm, f-fuck, sweetheart, wait a second – d-don’t wanna rush things if you’re not –,”

The sound of his zipper tearing open is like a gunshot and there’s no denying the raw hunger that smears the edges of Shane’s eyes to a dangerous black.

“You have to walk me through it.” He sounds awe-struck.

He sinks to his knees and Tim considers he might actually die on this fucking couch. The heat radiating from those black-tipped hands that run up his thighs has Tim moaning in the back of his throat. He wants to curl that beautiful hair around Shane’s elegant ear – what would he say if Tim told him he has an elegant ear – but he’s using all of his energy to not immediately come when Shane tugs his pants down his hips, just enough to palm him through his boxers.

As if the sensation of a half-hard cock surprises him, Shane’s lips split apart, eyes locked onto the wet spot beneath his hand. Tim swipes his bottom lip with his tongue, knuckles white as he grips the cushions, watching with aborted breath Shane stroke him gently. He grits his teeth.

“Tell me you want this.” Tell me I’m not forcing you into anything too fast because I’m fucking obsessed with you.

“I want this.” Shane shuffles closer, his hand dipping down to cup his balls, the scent of his cloves hitting Tim again, and Shane quietly gasps as the cock beneath his hand hardens more and more. “I wanna s-suck your cock.”

Tim grunts, his legs opening wider, sliding low into the cushions and now Shane hovers over him. Here is where with other partners in recent years, Tim would lock up. There’s gray in the curls at the base of his cock and his tummy hangs out a bit more, no matter how much he runs. But Shane doesn’t seem to register any of that. His mouth is still open in raw fascination, as if showing off how fucking deep he’s going to take the cock inches from his face. The sight splits heat between his groin and his heart. Tim is not going to fucking rush this. He’ll let Shane touch whatever he wants for as long as he wants even if it makes him come like an overeager teenager.

Suppressing that peak of heat at Shane’s touch, Tim digs his fingers into Shane’s mop of hair like he’d been wanting to since the kid first offered that drink. At his immediate touch, Shane’s eyes roll back in his head and Tim takes that as an opportunity to scratch at his scalp, with a slight tug at the end.

“Oh, fuck, please lemme me suck your cock.”

Shane’s breathing hitches when Tim loosens the grip on his hair, runs his thumb down his temple, scuffs his cheek, and then drags that puffy bottom lip down. He looks absolutely ruined, eyes misty and shoulders slumped forward, and Tim has barely touched him.

“Take me out, baby,” Tim murmurs, “and I’ll tell you what to do.”

Wide eyes never losing their nervous light, Shane dips his hand below the elastic waistband (why didn’t he put on better underwear?) and cups him, slowly dragging his shorts lower as he pulls Tim’s cock into the light.

Tim has to remember to breathe. Fuck, it’s so hot in this fucking room. With trembling fingers, he tugs the knot of his tie away from his throat and unbuttons his shirt down to his ribs, as Shane runs an experimental grip up and down the length of his cock. Tim hisses as heat flares brightly and a little too fast.

Shane’s eyes flick up to his face. “Sorry, too dry?”

Without waiting for a response, Shane cups his hand beneath his mouth and spits, a giant, slick glob. It might be the hottest thing Tim has ever witnessed with his two eyes. Shane’s hand returns and Tim’s eyes flutter shut as he groans.

“S-s-shit, baby, that’s really good.”

Tim wants to open his eyes, to see Shane’s face, to get a glimpse of what is going on in that beautiful head, but he can’t drag himself out of the lusty haze long enough.

And then, after several slow, long pumps that have him harder than he can ever remember being, Tim feels Shane’s palm twist just as his thumb swirls the head and swipes the leaking tip. Pleasure roars up his spine and his hips jerk off the couch. His eyes snap open and find Shane not proud, but surprised. His mouth opens again in glee.

“I fucking love that too,” he murmurs, his hand moving a bit faster now. “Love it when they play with the tip.”

“Mhmm, hmm.”

As Shane finds a slightly hurried rhythm with his strokes, Tim is greedily storing away images and sensations in lockbox after lockbox in his memory. Has Shane’s hands always looked so thick?

“You can try whatever you want.” Tim murmurs, his gaze jumping between the hand around his cock, Shane’s mouth, and that hand with the black nails against his thigh. “If you like something, I’ll probably like it too.”

Shane wets his lip, his eyes darting to Tim’s face as if looking for permission. Tim nods, his heart pounding in a completely different way than from exertion, and has to breathe into his stomach as Shane parts his lips and lowers his mouth to his cock. Inch by inch, he takes him deeper and deeper, his hand falling away to Tim’s other thigh, as he sinks closer to those gray-streaked curls.

Tim is genuinely caught on the knife-edge of pleasure and pain. Exquisite pleasure saps his entire body of energy, every grunt and sigh bursts of tiny releases, but with every inch into Shane’s warm, wet mouth, his tongue a rough glide on the underside of his cock, it becomes harder and harder to not buck his hips and god, does he fucking want to. He wants to grab Shane by the back of the head, hold him steady, and fuck that mouth like it’s the last fuck of his life. But he won’t, he can’t – Shane isn’t ready for that and quite honestly, neither is he, despite how the arousal of that mental image floods him with hot satisfaction. He’s going to tear apart this couch with his bare hands, though.

Shane gets about halfway and then chokes and Tim is yanked out of the dream in a panic.

“B-baby, are you okay?”

Shane splutters and nods, the back of his hand coming to his lips, as if trying to hide his smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he croaks. “My gag reflex is shit though.”

Tim sighs with relief and a strangled orgasm. He’s so hard it hurts but he doesn’t give a fuck. “You’re doing fine, sweetheart. Better than fine, actually.”

Tim meets his eyes as they go dark and hungry with a flash of that spitfire that Tim only ever saw on the other side of a metal interview table before.

“Guess you’ll have to train up my reflex, then.”

“Yeah?” This kid has no idea what he’s playing with. Shane kneels between his spread legs, hands gently rubbing the meat of his thighs, those dark eyes swirling almost maliciously. Tim pinches Shane’s chin between his thumb and curled forefinger, thrusting that belligerent mouth up. “You gonna listen to an authority figure for once in your goddamn life?”

“I’ll try my best,” he pouts, his neck arched back.

“Blow on it.” Tim commands. “Start from the bottom and go to the top.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tim’s cock visibly throbs and Shane hasn’t even opened his mouth. But then he does, leaning forward when Tim releases his chin. He blows a quick burst of air around Tim’s curls, before opening his mouth wide and breathing heavily, wetly, warmly around the base of the cock in front of him. Then, as he was told, he lifts up and to the very top of that leaking head.

“Take the tip – just the tip – and suck on it, gently at first.”

Shane does as he is instructed, his eyes never leaving Tim’s face or losing that maniacal glint, and he sucks, making a similar face (Tim assumes) as when he’s slurping up ice cream. Shane sucks harder and a loud, lewd moan rips out of Tim’s throat.

“Now take it all in, as much as you can. Then swallow.”

Shane dips his head, mouth gliding down his veiny shaft, spit slipping out of the corner of his mouth, going down and down and down until he breathes sharply through his nose. Tim, clutching at sanity as it sprinkles through his fingers, watches the sharp planes of Shane’s shoulders and back churn and roll as he lifts his head up and down. He wants to loop his fingers through those black curls so badly.

“I’m gonna touch you now, okay?” Shane grunts his approval, the blush of air against his groin sending a bolt of pleasure up Tim’s spine, and he soothes his own tattered nerves by digging into Shane’s hair, scratching a bit like he had before. But then he loosens and just lets his hand rest contentedly on the back of his head.

The drumming beat of rain and Shane’s wet mouth is a narcotic. The sight and sounds and smells of it all makes his brain melt, deep desires usually chained down by his restraint snapping and popping free like fireworks.

What’s he going to feel like when Shane can take all of him?

How long and how often does he have to do this to train him up?

Could he come home after working a twelve hour shift to Shane crawling onto his knees and sucking him off, just like this? Like this, in perfect domestic bliss –

Out of nowhere, Shane swallows and Tim has to claw into his own thigh to keep from coming right then and there.

“Oh, fucking Christ –,” he yelps. As if encouraged, Shane tries to go a little deeper, swallow a little harder, but he gags again. When he lifts his head, his eyes are wet and Tim wonders if it's possible to black out from being so aroused.

“Sorry,” Shane mutters, wiping his mouth again. “Your cock is so fucking big. It felt big in my ass but this –,”

Tim’s eyes slip closed. “Shut the fuck up. You can’t – can’t say those things.”

He breathes heavily, the pounding in his heart only slightly stronger than the blood pounding in his cock. But Shane is suspiciously quiet.

Tim opens his eyes and finds a curious expression on Shane’s face as he stares at Tim’s cock. No, not his cock, a bit below –

Shane turns and tugs the low, tattered table behind him closer. He puts Tim’s foot against the edge, and then does the same with the other. The haze in Tim’s brain won’t let him piece it together until Shane dips his head, tongue already out.

“Whoa, whoa, baby–,” he grasps Shane’s shoulder and he stops. “I can’t ask you to do that. I don’t want to push you too far tonight.”

Shane rolls his eyes, flatly annoyed. “I’ve eaten ass before, Tim. I’m not a blushing fucking virgin.”

Tim can actually feel the second that sweat breaks out across his hairline. “A-are you sure?”

“Yeah, I actually know what I’m doing there. I mean, an asshole is an asshole, right?”

He isn’t sure if he likes how fast Shane has grown in confidence, or if it’s the sexist thing he’s ever seen. Maybe he’s the one not entirely ready.

“Y-yeah. Alright. Fire away, then.”

And with that first kitten lick, Tim finally comprehends just how fucked he is. He knew he was, but it’s not until Shane masterfully rims the edge of that ringed muscle does he know, with clear certainty, this kid is going to ruin him.

Shane’s hand curls around Tim’s shaft, his tongue prodding his asshole, and Tim makes a loud, open-mouthed moan that hits the quiet air of the apartment and shatters.

Within seconds, he’s hurling towards a release so violent, his thighs shake. Shane pumps him slowly, his mouth making everything wet and drippy, his eyes eagerly catching every twitch and moan Tim makes.

When Tim feels his balls draw up, dangling over the precipice, he snatches Shane by the hair and yanks him back. Again, Shane makes a sound like an irritated cat.

“C’mon,” he huffs, his face red as if he had mitigated his breathing. “Lemme do this.”

Tim swallows everything – his tongue, his orgasm, the desire to lick the brat right out of Shane’s pouty mouth – and shoves it all down as far as it will go. He’s left sweaty and panting, holding Shane by the flat of his hair at arm’s length. He swallows again and sits up, that airless high settling. Shane scowls petulantly

“You still want me to fuck that ass, right?”

His glare cracks in half. Those swollen lips part and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Then you fucking listen to me when I tell you to stop sucking cock. Got it?”

Shane nods more insistently, tongue swiping fast against his bottom lip. “Y-yeah.”

Tim lets go and resists the urge to correct him to how he addressed him before, but fucking Christ, one thing at time.

“Which one is yours?” Tim nods towards the two closed doors across from him. Wordlessly, Shane points to the one farthest from the living room. “Show me.”

Tim barely grunts as he stands up, his knees dangerously unsteady, his back twinging from the low position on the couch and the fact that there’s more padding on a highway road than inside of those cushions.

Again, just as he thinks he might tip over, Shane takes his hand, intertwining their fingers, and leads him through the door.

The sun had set on an already dark day, so in the burgeoning twilight, Shane’s room is a collection of shadows and blue outlines. Beyond the vinyl window slats, the rain pours harder than ever, muffling the sounds of cars on the street and the blunders of other people in the building. With the door closed, the air is warm, but not uncomfortably so, more like a soothing hand against his sweaty neck. The pleasant scent of incense is unmistakable, a far cry from any other smell in the apartment.

The effect of it all, standing in Shane’s room, alone, is . . . isolating.

“It’s not much,” Shane murmurs, as if he worried Tim would find something about his space distasteful. “But I did clean up.” His eyes grow wide as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Not that I thought, or even expected that this – that you’d –”

Tim brings their locked hands to Shane’s cheek and gently, sweetly kisses him on the mouth. For a man so confident in his ability to drive his partner insane with his tongue up their ass, the boy quivers beneath a soft touch. Tim pulls back and finds blurry, unfocused eyes.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Tim hums and strokes an errant curl back from Shane’s cheek.

“This.” Shane says immediately. “This feels so fucking good.”

“Where do you sleep?” Tim asks, quietly, letting the words slow to a rumble, his free hand gently cupping the boy’s neck. The bed is unmissable, but he wants to give Shane as much control as he needs. Beneath his hands, Shane’s breathing stutters for a moment, before biting down on his bottom lip and leading Tim to the haphazardly made-up bed. He sits, big eyes staring up at him, at their bound hands, before releasing his grip and lying back on the bed. He scoots up, nestling that all black hair against his gray pillow.

“Here.” His voice is strangled, choked, his fingers twisting together as he picks at his nails. “Right h-here.”

“Is that why you look so good right here, baby?” Tim slides the tail end of his tie out of the knot and off his neck. Shane licks his lips, transfixed, as Tim continues to unbutton his wrinkled shirt. The bit of clothing falls to the floor and Tim nearly matches Shane in a white sleeveless shirt. Black and white, punk and cop. There’s poetry in there somewhere.

Tim continues to undress; shoes first, then socks, and finally his slacks. Shane gets a little jumpy as he crawls up the bed.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.” Tim raises an eyebrow at the jeans confining his hard cock. “No, sorry, n-no – I’ll take them off.”

Tim gives him enough space to unbutton his pants, then sloppily jerk them off. He flings them over by Tim’s and Tim grins. He settles back down with Shane nearly underneath him and gently strokes his cheek. Everywhere he touches on the boy, it’s warm. Women aren’t like that, usually, and in turn, it satisfies something deep inside of him. Tim thinks of the tender warmth of the heated skin of a deer after it’s run a long distance.

“You still want it, baby?” This he asks honestly and without the grungy purr to his voice.

Again, without hesitation, Shane nods, but then stops. His chest swells like the words he wants to say are caught on the back of his throat, his nails gently biting into Tim’s chest, so Tim presses thoughtfully into the arch of Shane’s jaw, encouraging him. His doe eyes darting across Tim’s face, tension coiling up in his thighs, Shane says,

“I want it from the back this time.”

Oh, fuck.

With half of a groan and half of a laugh, Tim dips forward and loosely bites Shane on his ear. “You really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Shane giggles as Tim’s nips slowly turn to open-mouthed kisses. He sucks sharply on the thrumming pulse of his neck, and Shane groans, his whole body writhing to be closer to Tim’s mouth, his skinny arms going around Tim’s broad shoulders.

“Do you mind?” Shane asks, breaking apart for a moment, his lips brushing Tim’s mustache. “I know you did it last time and if you wanna, um, I mean I can try but –”

Tim grins through the smile pressed onto a corner of that sweet mouth as he sits up on his knees. He smooths a hand up through the faint trail of hair just above Shane’s waistband, then up his ribs, stopping to thumb a hard, pink nipple, before kissing both of his cheeks.

“No, I don’t mind. I will never, ever mind when you ask so nicely.”

“But one day – you w-want me too, right?”

Ribbons of meaning hang over that question, their soft tassels hard to grab before slipping through Tim’s grasp. His brow furrows, his hand resting on Shane’s hip. The boy stares up at him like he hangs the moon in the sky.

Those ribbons drag forward new questions of their own, questions he can’t ask himself, much less out loud. They all clatter and fall into one big heap in his mouth and he can’t untangle them right now, not while he has Shane looking like that, but one slips through before he can stop it.

“You wanna do this again, with me?” The question lingers in the air like smoke, as gentle and insistent as the rain outside.

Shane’s fingers curl around Tim’s wrists. He smiles. “Yeah, of course. I . . . like you.” Blush trickles up his neck and into his ears, but he keeps his grip. “If you wanna keep me around, I mean.”

His voice goes small, from somewhere he never lets anyone see. Just as Shane’s eyes jerk off him, shame hot in his gaze, his body going rigid, Tim leans down and kisses him, the softest kiss they’d ever shared. The scent of cloves comes again as Shane offers his tongue and Tim takes it.

They kiss in the cover of the rain, in the shelter of the space that is entirely theirs, for one eternity and a half. When Tim opens his eyes, he is someone new, someone changed. Someone he doesn’t recognize and that’s a wonderful thing.

“I’ll take you like you want,” he says softly. Beneath his chest, skin to skin, he can feel Shane’s heart pounding. He hopes Shane can feel his. “But I wanna see your face for a bit. Is that okay?”

Shane nods and kisses him as he tries to pull away. Tim smirks and rubs Shane’s hip bone with his thumb.

“Remember what I said about preparing? Have you been doing that?”

Shane bites his lip as if caught doing something particularly filthy. “Yeah, I’m up to three fingers now.”

Fucking hell. Be cool about this.

“Good, baby. Do you have lube?”

Shane rolls his eyes, that blush now blotchy on his throat. “Duuuh. I don’t know why you think I’m some bl–”

“– ushing fucking virgin. I heard you the first time.” Shane narrows his eyes playfully and Tim cannot wait to spank that smirk right off him. “Then go get it.”

Shane wiggles out from between Tim’s legs and crawls over to the bedside table. He digs around a bit before pulling out a box of condoms and a blue bottle. He tosses them at Tim like he’s throwing laundry detergent, before hovering for a moment. Lips between his teeth, he stiffly slips his underwear off and down the floor. His bracelets clink as he moves and Tim can tell it sounds like an air raid siren to him. Naked, he crawls back to bed and settles beneath Tim flat on his back.

“For someone who is so bothered by authority,” Tim begins and just as Shane frowns, wrenching his mouth open to argue, Tim sits back between his thighs and folds his knees up, spreading him wide. Whatever retort Shane had dies on his throat and the only thing left is a soft whine. “You are such a good boy. I didn’t even have to ask you to get naked for me.”

Shane’s cock, exposed for the first time all night, twitches on his stomach. He squirms as Tim picks up the bottle and clicks up the lid with his thumb, his other hand resting briefly on the arch of Shane’s foot.

“I’m gonna start with one again, but move faster into two this time, okay? Then we’ll see if you’re lying to me or not.” Resistance flashes in Shane’s eyes at Tim’s smirk, but the boy stays silent.

But that defiant look melts away to aching bliss when Tim drizzles the lube between his cheeks, and then Tim’s own fingers. His other hand curls around Shane’s knee and squeezes, grounding them both.

“Probably should have gotten a towel,” Tim mutters and the sound Shane was going to use to reply fractures and crumbles, oozing into a throaty moan when his asshole spreads apart around a single finger.

Maybe it’s his age, or maybe he’s never had his asshole played with in a way he likes, but Shane is so fucking sensitive. He’s twitching and gasping after a few strokes, black nails curling into the bedsheets. His eyes are squeezed shut, not from pain or discomfort, but from trying desperately not to come. Tim recognizes that look; he wore it himself fifteen minutes ago.

Shane’s cock is trickling all over his stomach by the time Tim adds a second finger. And true to his word, it goes in without much resistance, much to Tim’s delight. This means there can be a bit more fun than just aimlessly prodding. Shane lets out a high moan when Tim’s fingers change angles.

“What the fuck are you doing down there?” Shane pants, sweat peaking at his hairline. He moans again before Tim can answer, his back arching off the bed.

“Searching.”

“For fucking what? I–,” Shane’s eyes snap open, horror and heat etched in the dark rims. “You can’t touch that, it’s not fair. You’ll make me come.”

Tim kisses his knee as he adds a third finger, grinning when Shane’s head thumps back against the pillow. “I think that’s the whole point of this, sweetheart.”

Shane whines his answer; Tim speeds up his thrusting, giving up for now.

“You’re doing so well, darling, so well. You did so good to prepare for my cock.”

Shane fists the bedsheets, his thigh muscles tightening. Tim thinks he can’t actually comprehend his words, until he wrenches his jaw apart. “Just your cock. I did it for your cock, Rockford, no one else’s. Don’t - don’t want anyone’s cock but yours in me.”

This is just cock-drunk babble, tongue loose with whatever nonsense fills his mouth, his brain no longer in control.

Right?

Either way, Tim slips his fingers out with practiced precision, easing on the condom, then squirting his cock and Shane’s exposed hole with lube in one go. If Shane has noticed anything, his blissed out expression doesn’t change . . . until he feels the tip of Tim’s thick head expand his asshole.

His stare locked onto Shane’s blissed out face, Tim pushes forward, using Shane’s knees as leverage.

The boy honest to god chokes. His cock spits up his chest.

“Ohmy god . . .”

Tim goes slow enough he knows it won’t hurt, his fingers opened him enough that the lube only adds to the pleasure, but he’s not entirely worried about that right now. He wants him stupid and babbling again.

“This cock, sweetheart? This is the cock you’ve been making room for?”

Shane whines, lips white between his teeth, nodding vigorously. Tim rubs his hip soothingly and Shane’s face breaks open with a loud gasp. His eyes snap down to where he swallows Tim inch after inch.

“You’re so much bigger than my fingers. Holy fucking shit. I forgot how big you are.”

“But you like that, right?” There’s a collective sigh of relief as Tim finally is flushed against him. Huffing like a wounded animal, Tim pushes the mop of hair back from Shane’s sweaty forehead. “You like how I fuck you, don’t you?”

Shane nods again, as Tim grips his waist and he wraps his fingers around Shane’s forearms, his bracelets tinkling softly, as he settles in for what he can’t even possibly imagine.

“You’re damn fucking right I like how you fuck me.” Shane rasps out. “Wouldn’t let you do it if it didn’t rock my fucking world.”

“I’m gonna go a bit faster than I did last time. You say stop if it gets to be too much.”

“I know what a safeword is, Rockford, I’m not –,”

Tim rolls his hips forward, knocking a surprised breath from Shane. He stabilizes a bit better with his knees and then picks up a rhythm, slow but deep.

“If you say blushing fucking virgin one more time, I’m putting you over my knee and spanking you.”

But words fail him.

They fail Tim too, eventually, when rings of heat stack, one upon the other, up his spine. Every time Shane’s asshole clenches around him, those rings drop lower, closer to his groin.

It feels too fucking good.

The rhythmic chime of Shane’s metal bracelets clinking together can barely be heard over the rain outside, and the peaks and valleys of the heavy moans piling up in the room.

Shane’s flattened hand against his head board, he grinds his hips down, forcing even more resistance than just his tight hole.

“Fuck,” he whines high and loud, Tim tightening his grip on his waist as he all but bounces Shane on his cock. “Oh god, I can’t – I can’t –,”

Tim’s skin is so hot he wonders if he’s giving off steam. He’s sweating from his forehead, his neck, the backs of his knees, a slick wetness spreading across his groin every time he slams that cute little ass back against him. Not another single word of derision has passed Shane’s lips in what feels like forever, his mouth switching rapidly between grinding his teeth and dropping open when Tim brushes up against something nuclear.

If Tim is steaming, Shane is melting. Every muscle in his body is weak, knees around Tim’s hips to give him better access. Cum rolls in white streaks off his stomach and onto the rapidly shifting sheets.

Tim knows if he just breaths on the that pink cock, it’s all fucking over – so he slows, and pulls back out of him.

A Shane with a functioning brain would have demanded an explanation but the gooey mess of a boy in the bed only lifts his gaze.

“Turn around,” Tim pants.

“What?”

“You wanted me too . . .” Tim spins his finger, squeezing the base of his cock with his other hand. “Turn over.”

“Oh, right.” Despite that almost sleepy murmur, Tim can hear the disappointment. At the head of the bed, a shaking hand swipes away one pillow then the other and Shane buries his face in the mattress.

His ass is already pink as Tim spreads his thighs, his knee nudging his right leg to bend, and lines up. But Shane is murmuring something into the sheets.

“… stop.”

Tim freezes, one hand around his cock the other flat against the bed by Shane’s hips.

“You want me to stop?”

Shane lifts his head enough to look back and whine. “Don’t — don’t stop.” Crackling with unspent energy, Shane rubs his face against the sheets like a cat. “Please.”

Tim grins as he lines himself up again, his free hand coming to Shane’s thigh when the cockhead spreads his cheeks.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’m not gonna –,”

Tim stops moving. It’s long enough and unusually fraught enough for Shane to lift his head in confusion, Tim’s cock barely in.

“What happened?”

Tim is staring, struck dumb and mindless at the sight of Shane’s lower back.

“You’ve got two dimples here,” he murmurs, the growl in his voice thick and rough.

“Yeah? So?”

Without warning, Tim yanks Shane onto his hands and knees by his waist. The sudden movement is rough for his loose muscles and he yelps.

“Fuck – what’s got you all fucking twisted up now?”

Tim is no longer entirely himself. His shoulders seem broader, nose sharper, mouth firmer. His eyes have been eclipsed by black as one by one, he puts his hands on Shane’s hips, and then twists his thumbs to fit into the divots of his dimples as he, achingly slow, pushes back into Shane’s abused hole.

“You’ve got fucking handles built in, baby.” Tim murmurs and heat radiates from where they are connected, Shane’s skin flushed with red and goosebumps. The sensation jams the signal to Shane’s brain.

Behind him, Tim kisses his back almost lovingly.

“I’m definitely gonna wreck your shit now.”

On the first tug, the one that snugs Tim’s groin right up against his ass, Tim knows he only has seconds left in him.

These strokes are brutal, fast, and short. Whatever sounds tears itself from Shane’s throat is the prettiest thing Tim has ever heard. His mouth goes wet as he watches Shane’s shoulders and back go loose again and on another day, he’s going to clench his fist around that mop of hair and pull until Shane begs him to stop.

Another day. But not today.

Tim focuses on the things he can control to elongate that enormous orgasm that rattles his teeth. His thumbs in the perfect little divots of Shane’s back; he pushes down, increasing the pressure higher up, and actually hears the cum squirt out onto the bed, followed by a groan that shakes Shane from head to toe. He focuses on his breathing, the short huffs out his nose, mouth closed shut but tiny mhm mhm mhm’s escape anyway. He tries to focus on the glint around his pelvis but that makes things worse.

He focuses on – fuck, what can he focus on? – Shane hasn’t made a noise in –

“Shane, baby, are you okay?”

He gasps out as though electrified. “I’m trying so hard not to come, I don’t want it to fucking stop, but you hit my g-spot three thrusts ago and I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Tim can’t help but chuckle. He rubs a warm palm up Shane’s spine, then gives his neck a reassuring squeeze, before leaning forward and draping himself over Shane’s trembling frame, never slowing those fast, rough thrusts. He noses his ear as his hand slips around the cock leaking profusely onto the sheets.

“You can come, but it has to be loud and messy.”

Just half a stroke down and Shane comes with a cry that paints the inside of Tim’s brain permanently. And he keeps coming, gasping, wet and whining. Over his shoulder, Tim feels a dribble against his knee and that, combined with all of Shane’s delicious fucking sounds, knocks free Tim’s own release, the swell and burst far away from his control. Shane’s elbows are trembling by the time he slumps to the side, trying and mostly failing to avoid his own cumstain. Tim drops behind him in a haze.

He’s already sore, every muscle tightened then released over and over and over again. He can’t inhale properly and he’s got a stitch in his side. There’s a pulsing all over his body and he isn’t sure if that’s from coming so hard he nearly shot off the condom, or his heart pounding like it’s about to explode. His skin is wet and sticky and he’s hungry but exhausted and he would hate all of this if he was alone, but . . .

Weary down to his bones, the breath settling in his chest and the fog lifting slightly, Tim puts a hand on the narrow waist in front of him. Fingers join his, wrapping together, as the frenetic energy of the room slows to a crawl, each moment plodding along in front of the next like fat water droplets.

“. . . good, that was good,” Tim slurs to no one in particular, his eyelids flickering open and shut. “You’re . . . s’good.” He knows they should talk, but he’s past speech, or rather anything coherent, his consciousness slipping beneath the churning dark waves of sleep.

The smooth back in front of him, shiny with drying sweat, shakes in a dizzy, silent chuckle.

“Go to sleep, old man.”

Tim knows he should be offended, or he thinks he should, if he could comprehend language right now, so instead he settles into the warmth and the darkness. Soon the only sound he can hear is the rain pattering against the window and Shane softly snoring before reality winks out.

#shane dio morrissey #dio morrissey #shane morrissey #dio morrissey fanfiction #dio morrissey fic #dio morrissey au #tim rockford #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford au #tim rockford smut #tim rockford fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #oaksfics #any of yall see the word count? no you fucking didn't

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the-californicationist · 4 months

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Good Fences (Fluffuary #23)

FEB23: Established Love

John had been on tour through the spring and summer, and you’d spent the warm months alone. For part of it, he could talk to you freely, but near the end of his duty, he had warned you that he’d need to “go dark” for a while. Days had turned into weeks, and weeks had become months. The fiery sun had shifted across the sky, and what was once a humid morning now had a cold nip in the air.

Then, as if he had come in on the change in the winds, he was back. Or, a version of him was, anyway.

He had been home for a few days, and while he had told you that “it” was “over”, he had been changed by whatever it was, and he hadn’t told you much else. You noticed he was sleeping for only a few hours at a time. Sometimes, he would wake you up in the mornings with a ravenous, animalistic need, and other times you would find him on the balcony, drinking coffee, enjoying the sunrise. Sometimes he would go out in the middle of the night for a cigar, and some nights he would be at your neck and your breasts and your hips with his lips and his teeth. You never knew which John you were going to get.

But, he also seemed relieved. It was as if he had been running, sprinting full out, and had finally reached his destination.

One morning, while you were showering together, he was soaping your body as well as his own, and he made a suggestion,

“We should go to the Smithsonian today. They have the Klimt exhibit you were talking about. I looked it up last night, and it’s there this week.”

It wasn’t out of character for John to suggest a day trip, but he hated D.C., and you had only mentioned the Klimt exhibition off-handedly back in January, so it was a bit of a shock.

“Yeah, John,” you rubbed his body with the lather, marveling at how toned and thick his muscles had become, “That sounds nice. We can take the train.”

You admired his body as you washed him, but you also felt the shade of contempt rising like bile in your throat. He was hardened by whatever had happened to him, by whatever hell they had put him through. He was only made to look like this broad, cut Adonis because they (whoever they were) had used him like a hammer to a nail. And you resented them for it.

As much as his heavy form stirred your core and made you crave that strength to be used on you, you wanted to rinse it away. You wanted your soft bear back. You wanted him to be chubby and happy and filled with cheesecakes and champagne and bagels in the morning. You didn’t want him to be a hammer. You wanted him to be your lover, and you thought, selfishly, that it should be his only responsibility. The world, you decided, could save itself. He deserved peace.

But, that wasn’t up to you. He was his own man. You tried to put those thoughts out of your mind, but you had to admit that this last tour had been hard on both of you.

The train ride was quiet, as was the stroll down to the museum. John held your hand as you walked through the exhibits, and when you came to the hall that housed the visiting Klimt pieces, you gasped.

There, in all of its golden glory, was The Kiss.

You stepped toward it, marveling at the gold and watching the light dance across it. The Lovers were there, locked in their perpetual embrace, and she was at his mercy, literally on her knees for him, held tightly in his hands.

John’s voice rumbled in his chest, and he said,

“That’s how I feel about you. I feel as if I’ve never loved anyone until now. I’ve never been loved, and I’ll never be loved again. Not like this.”

You turned away from the masterpiece you’d been admiring to face your very own lover, looking up at him and letting his words sink into your bones, wrapping around them like golden threads, never to be taken back.

Then, it was his turn to be on his knees. You watched him fall to the floor, confused at first and then —

“Marry me, love. I can’t live without you by my side. Please.”

He offered you the ring, a huge, round pearl surrounded by diamonds. It looked like it cost as much as the painting. You felt hot, heavy tears flowing down your face, and you didn’t even realize you’d been crying.

But, you managed to nod and whisper,

“Yes. God, yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

The ring fit like it had been made just for you, and he rose from the ground and clutched you to his chest. All at once, you knew how the girl in the painting felt. You kissed John, and in doing so, you knew how she had kissed her robed man. You could imagine how the blood had rushed through her body, flushing her cheeks and pooling in her belly, responding to her love’s embrace. John was him, and you were her, and you were one.

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dem-obscure-imagines · 11 months

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The Way it Was Before

Bernard the Elf x Reader

Fandom: The Santa Clause

Summary: Something is VERY wrong this Christmas, and it seems you’re the only person in the world who remembers the way things were before. Well, almost the only person. It’s up to you and the Head Elf to save the day before Jack’s wish becomes irreversible.

Note: I was literally possessed by the spirit of Christmas to write this. I still don’t understand how I whipped this up so fast. Also I have a few ideas kicking around for a sequel, so let me know if that’s something you’re interested in! Additionally, I will be uploading this to Ao3, so if you see it on there too, don't worry hahaha

Warnings: Language, a lil violence as a treat (nothing major just literally a few punches lol), a lil angst but a very happy ending <3

Word Count: 14k

Reader is: Female, 23

Well, that was it, then. It was over. You couldn’t help but feel a little torn up about it. You just weren’t cut out for the job, or maybe you didn’t have the magic for it. Whatever the reason, Mother Nature had made it clear. You were not the Spring Enchantress, and this would be your last foray into the Magical Realm for a very long time, if you ever set foot in it again.

Mother Nature had to visit Santa at the North Pole. You weren’t sure why, she didn’t tell you what she was there to pick up, but she did give you some time on your own to explore the Workshop for the last time.

Wanting to get away from the wandering eyes, you found a secluded nook and sat down, resting your head in your hands. You loved the Pole. It was so intricate and beautiful and whimsical and you would never see it again. You’d never step foot in Mother Nature’s Grotto or the Summer Isles, or even Halloweentown.

It hit you all at once and the tears came flowing before you could stop them. You just hoped none of the elves were around to find you. You didn’t want to worry them when they were already so busy.

“(Y/N), right?” a voice asked, drawing your attention to the doorway where he was standing. Bernard, the Head Elf. Your eyes wandered over his shoulder to the sign on the door. Of course, your crying spot had to be directly outside his office. Figured.

“Right. Yeah. Sorry.” You wiped at the tears, trying to compose yourself. You motioned to the door. “I didn’t realize…”

He shook his head. “That’s alright. Is something wrong?”

“I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m sorry, I can—”

“No, you’re no bother at all. Come on in. My couch is a lot comfier than that bench there.” He motioned you forward and you hesitated, but got up and walked into his office, a large, cozy room with forest green walls, hardwood floors, a small fireplace, a cozy couch, and a desk facing it. There was a shelf of snow globes on one wall, a shelf of old leather books on another.

Bernard motioned to the couch and you took a seat while he perched himself on the edge of his desk. He plucked a tissue out of the box and handed it to you, empathy etched in his brown eyes.

“What’s going on?”

“It um…Mother Nature…” You spoke slowly, composing your words. “She said I’m not the Spring Enchantress like she thought. So um…I’m getting my memory wiped and heading back to the Mortal Realm. Tomorrow, I think.”

“Wiped? Like entirely?” Bernard said, horror in his voice.

“I mean, I’ll still know who I was before I started training under her, but…all of the magic stuff, all of this…” You shook your head. “I knew it was all too good to be true.”

“I am so sorry this is happening to you.” He shook his head. “It’s not fair.”

“Yeah…” You nodded, wiping your tears on the tissue he’d given you. “I’m just glad she brought me here one last time. It’s so beautiful here.”

Bernard smiled softly. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small snow globe, waving a hand over it before handing it to you. “Even if you won’t remember this place…I’d like you to take a piece of it with you.”

You took a shaking breath, more tears flowing at his words, at the sincerity on his face, at the beautiful snow globe he’d given you. You stood to accept it and found yourself hugging him instead, seeking comfort from the most powerful elf in the Pole. His arms wrapped tight around you, comforting you at your most vulnerable.

“Thank you. So much. Even if I don’t remember it, I…I think I’ll still know. That it’s real. That all of this is.”

“Believing is Seeing.” Bernard said, meeting your eyes. “Someday, you’ll remember that.”

You hoped he was right…

THREE YEARS LATER

Leaving your Irish Folklore class, you were absolutely buzzing with ideas. It had been an amazing lesson. Your professor was very knowledgeable on all sorts of legends and fantasy creatures, where they’d come from, how stories about them had started. You, as a writer, were planning on using this knowledge to write an epic fantasy romance. You weren’t sure what exactly it would be about; you were still waiting for it to click, but you were sure it would eventually.

You walked to your favorite coffee shop, a little ways from your apartment, and grabbed a hot cocoa with extra whipped cream, your favorite around this time of year, sitting down with your work at your favorite table in the corner of the shop.

You took out your notebooks, comparing the notes you’d taken in class to the ones you had left over from…before. The inklings, few though they were, that had lingered in your mind, even after Mother Nature, yes, that Mother Nature, had supposedly wiped them all from existence. Granted, there wasn’t very much left from your time with her, just a few things: the Northern Lights dancing across the sky as you…as you…no, see, there it was. Nothing.

That was all that was left, pieces. And the snow globe on your shelf that you knew was more than just a snow globe, but you couldn’t remember why. Or who’d given it to you.

Sometimes you felt crazy, pushing against the walls of your memory, begging it for just one more detail, but that was how it had been for the last three years. You knew you weren’t making it up, that it was more than just fantasy, but you couldn’t tell anyone. Not even your therapist. The looks wouldn’t be worth it.

So you kept these things to yourself, jotting them down to get them out of your head. Or, rather, keeping them safe in case someday Mother Nature came to finish what she started, wiping it all away for good.

You worked on an outline for a short story for your creative writing class, but you didn’t feel all that confident in it. You sipped your cocoa some more, which had cooled to perfection, and opened an article you were supposed to read for your Folklore class. Something about elves. Festive, you thought with a chuckle. It was indeed the season for that, especially since that had been your last class before Christmas. A perfect send-off for the end of the semester.

Once you’d gotten a decent amount of work done, you packed up your stuff and headed back to your apartment, setting your bag in your room. You checked a few things off of your To Do List.

Gleaming on the shelf, your snow globe caught your eye. “Believing is Seeing.” You whispered to yourself, eyebrows knitting together when you did. It sounded familiar, but…you weren’t sure why. Or what it meant.

Down in the living room, your roommates were watching Christmas movies. In a few days, they’d both be headed home for the holidays and you’d be left on your own for a few weeks. You didn’t mind all that much. You did well on your own, in the quiet. You were kind of sad about spending the holidays alone, though.

Maybe you could find a community event to attend. A holiday party or something. Maybe your college would be doing something for the students who were staying. You hoped they’d let you attend even though you were a grad student.

On the TV, a cheesy Hallmark movie played out, the city girl deciding the small town she’d stumbled into was actually the perfect place for her and the handsome lumberjack that worked at the Christmas Tree Farm at the edge of town was actually her soulmate. You chuckled. You didn’t believe in soulmates. Not like that, at least.

“Hey, we’re going to a party tonight. Down at the Kappa House. You want to come?” Your roommate, Cindy, asked.

“Oh! Thank you. I’m alright, though. I’ll order some takeout or something.”

“Alright.” Megan, your other roommate, nodded. “How was your class?”

“Good! Yeah, I’ve just gotta finish this essay and then I’ll be good for the semester.”

“That’s good.” She grinned, sitting cross-legged on the couch.

You sat with the two of them until they got ready to leave, dressed in short red dresses, fishnets, and Santa hats. “Call me if you need a DD.”

“Oh we will.” They giggled, stumbling out the door, each armed with a bottle of cheap wine, leaving you on your own in the apartment. You did as you’d said and ordered some takeout, cranking out the rest of your paper and turning on some Christmas movies. Elf, Home Alone, all of the classics were on.

You felt something in the back of your mind, a little tingle. You froze, staring at the screen. You expected another little piece, a sliver, anything, but the feeling faded as quickly as it came. You sighed, setting your container of Lo Mein on the coffee table. Suddenly, you were tired. Maybe some sleep would help. So, after putting your things away and cleaning up after yourself, you changed into your pajamas and headed to bed.

You stared at the ceiling for a while, trying desperately to jog your memory for the little inkling that was about to emerge earlier, but to no avail. You shook your head and turned onto your side.

Believing is Seeing…

***

The next morning, you felt groggy and decidedly weird. You jotted down the dreams you remembered in your journal and went downstairs to get some breakfast to appease your growling stomach. You poured yourself a bowl of cereal with milk and plopped down in front of the TV, all but dropping it in your lap when you saw what was on the screen.

“Come on up to the North Pole, folks! Christmas Wonderland right at your fingertips! This year, we’re opening our Winter Wonderland Water Park, Hotel, and Resort! Pet the reindeer! Take a photo with an elf! And don’t forget to meet Santa!”

“What the Fuck.”

“Oh! See! I told you! We should go! They have a two for one on the Mistletoe Cruise!” Cindy grinned, hopping over the back of the couch. “Rewind it!”

You did as she said, pausing when the prices were on the screen. It just so happened to be when this so-called Santa was also on screen. Taking one look at him, you could tell something was wrong. His height, his voice, but most of all, his hair, which was frosted and spiked up. He may have been wearing the suit, but that was no Santa.

Chills ran up your arm at the sight of him. No, that was no Santa. That was Jack Frost.

It was coming back to you a little now.

“What…the North Pole…?” You murmured, confused.

“Obviously. What, did your parents never take you as a kid?” Megan asked. “We went all the time when I was growing up.”

“I can’t say they did, no…” You shook your head. No, this was bad. Something was very wrong here. Your stomach sank, veins on fire and chills unending.

You got changed at the speed of light and headed out to town, stopping in the book store next to your favorite coffee shop, where on the front rack was this new Santa’s memoir. It was titled, “Becoming Santa” and you doubted anything in it was anywhere near the truth.

You scooped up a copy of it as well as a book on the history of the Pole. There had to be something in there, some hint, some…someone you could contact. You checked out at the counter and headed next door to the coffee shop, spreading out your books and notes. You grabbed a cocoa with extra whipped cream and a shot of espresso. You knew you’d need the caffeine for whatever lied ahead.

You combed the books extensively, rolling your eyes every paragraph as you waded through Jack’s stuffy memoir. It was…impossible. You couldn’t believe this had all happened overnight. Unless there was magic involved. You cracked open the history of the Pole book, which had pictures, thankfully. You were able to look through and see if there was anyone you recognized. The longer you stared at the pictures, the more it confirmed your suspicions. You had been to the Pole before, but not in the capacity your roommates were discussing. It hadn’t been a theme park, a tacky tourist destination loaded to the brim with money-grabs. No, you had been there when it was a gorgeous, beautiful workshop, full of joy and love and…for lack of better word, Christmas cheer.

A single tear slipped down your cheek and you sat back in your chair, taking it all in. You remembered. Most of it, anyway. There were still bits and pieces that wouldn’t click into place just yet.

“This seat taken?” Someone asked.

You looked up, staring for a long moment as his features came into focus, his kind brown eyes, dark curls, a pointed ear sticking out from under his hat. He was the exact same as the last day you’d seen him, right down to the red tunic embroidered in golden symbols, the tassel necklace around his neck.

You gasped softly. “Bernard?”

Click.

His face split into a grin and a wave of relief swept over him as he all but collapsed into the seat across from you. “Thank the stars. I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

“How could I forget?” You asked, mostly to yourself. You had forgotten him. Well, until now. But it was all coming together. Something about seeing him made everything else, all those loose, scattered pieces, finally come together.

“So far, you’re the only one who remembers.”

“Remembers you?”

“No, remembers…the way things were yesterday.” He lowered his voice and you nodded, eyes wide.

“Okay cool, I’m not crazy. Always nice to know.” You sighed, closing the book and sliding it over to him. “I’ve been looking for…I don’t even know what, to be honest, but I knew it wasn’t right.”

“That’s…yeah.” He nodded, flipping through the book before closing it again.

“So what’s going on?”

“No idea. I was on my way out of the Pole when it hit, which is probably why I was spared. All of the elves…” He shook his head, arms crossed. “I don’t have any magic. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Why me?” You asked softly, voice breaking at the edges. “How did you find me?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you since everything happened. I’m really sorry. What happened to you isn’t fair and I understand if you want to stay out of it, but I need your help. You’re the only person I have left.”

“I was on your team the second you sat down.” You told him, earning a tired smile. “So I did find…something. Um…Santa. Our Santa, I mean. When did he…?”

“He put on the coat in 1994.” Bernard replied with certainty.

“Okay that’s not good.” You opened Jack’s memoir to his origin story, in which he claimed to have become aware of his Santa Powers in the same year on the same night. “That never happened. Jack…he must have gone back in time and overwritten things.”

“How would he even have done something like that?” Bernard asked, taking the book from you and reading through the section you’d underlined.

“Father Time,” you mumbled. “Maybe he did something to Father Time.”

“Maybe.” Bernard nodded. “He’s in London. Big Ben. We can head there. But first, we need to find our Santa and pray that he remembers too. If not, our goose may already be cooked.”

***

Bernard ordered a drink for himself and the two of you left the shop, sticking a nice tip in the jar on the way out. You led Bernard to your apartment. Your roommates were still there, buzzing about their impending trip to the North Pole.

“I thought you guys were going home to see your families for the holidays.” You said, prying to see just how much they had changed in this new reality.

“Oh right, right, we were, but this deal is just too good to pass up, you know? My parents will understand. We’ll just celebrate…over spring break or something.”

“Yeah, yeah same. It’ll be fine, I’ll just mail them their presents.” Megan agreed, going right back to vacation planning with Cindy.

You gave Bernard a look that he returned before the two of you went up to your room. You pulled open your laptop and sat on the floor, Bernard looking around your room, eyes careful, admiring every detail until he found it, the snow globe he’d given you still sitting on the shelf.

He smiled softly, picking it up and giving it a shake before setting it back. “You still have it.”

“Of course I do. I’ve had it in all of my apartments. I don’t move anywhere without it.” You smiled and paused, thinking. “Did you…use your magic on it when you gave it to me? Maybe that’s what’s bringing my memory back.”

“No, I only used my magic to inscribe the plaque.” He explained, pointing to where the words were inscribed in curling cursive words, Believing is Seeing. “Something else is protecting your memory, even now.”

“Mother Nature?” You wondered quietly. Then again, if she wanted to protect your memories, why would she have wiped them in the first place? It didn’t make sense, so instead, you turned your attention to Google. “Alright, what’s Santa’s government name? As long as Jack didn’t kill him, we should be able to find him.”

“Scott. Scott Calvin.” Bernard replied, sitting on the carpet beside you, leg brushing against yours. “When we found him, he was living in Illinois. He might still be close to there now.”

“Scott Calvin…” You said quietly, typing his name in the search bar along with Illinois to attempt to narrow down the search results. It was common name, but hopefully not too common. You scrolled through hits from Facebook, showing Bernard the profile pictures to see if there was one he recognized. After all, you never saw Santa when he was still human, only as the Big Man himself.

“There! There, that’s him!” Bernard pointed to one of the Scotts. You clicked on his profile and started scrolling.

Marriage Status: Divorced

Employment: Frost Toys, Illinois

“Frost Toys.” You read, sounding deflated. “Even he’s working for Frost.”

“Can you get a phone number? His business phone maybe?”

“Can do.” You hopped onto his LinkedIn and found his contact, punching in the number and handing your phone to Bernard.

He waited while it rang, shaking his head when it booted him to voicemail. There was a long beep and Bernard said, exasperated, “Hey Scott, this is Bernard. If you remember me, remember anything, please call back. We’re going to fix all of this.”

He hung up and handed the phone back to you, looking disappointed.

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be fine.”

“Having trouble believing that at the moment.” He exhaled, frustrated. “This is bad.”

“On a scale of zero to plastic Santa…?”

He chuckled, mood lightening the tiniest bit. “You heard about that?”

“It was the talk of the meeting that month.” You laughed, remembering. Your smile faded when you remembered who else had been at that meeting. Maybe that was where Jack had gotten his messed up little idea of world domination.

“I’d take three of that guy before this.” Bernard shook his head. “What now?”

You thought before shrugging. “I guess we’re going to Illinois.”

“You’re serious? You’re coming with me to get Scott?”

“Or what, let you do this on your own? No way. Help me get some stuff together. I just put gas in my car so we should be good for a while.”

He smiled, getting to his feet and pulling you up after him. “Alright, what do you need?”

As quickly as you could, you gathered up the absolute basics: a pair of pajamas, an extra set of clothes, your toothbrush and toothpaste, your hairbrush, extra fuzzy socks, and a phone charger. Once the two of you were done, you stopped in the kitchen to load up on snacks and drinks for the long car ride, garnering looks from your roommates.

“Hey, who’s the guy?” Cindy asked, having missed him on his way in, apparently.

“I’m Bernard, a friend of (Y/N)’s. We have, uh, History together. History class, that is.” He offered his hand, but neither of them shook it, still too wrapped up in their phones and the cruise tickets they were busy booking.

“Ohhhh, right, I think I remember her mentioning you.” Megan nodded, agreeing. “You two going somewhere?”

“Illinois.”

“Why?” Cindy asked. “What’s in Illinois?”

“We’re going to see The Bean. I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of year.” You shrugged. “Probably cheaper than a North Pole trip, too.”

“The Bean…” Bernard chuckled, shaking his head as he shoved a box of Rice Krispy Treats in the snack bag along with some Hershey Kisses and a bag of Twizzlers.

“Okay, Mr. Sweet Tooth, pack some salty stuff for me,” you muttered, elbowing him.

“Heh, right. Sorry.” He smiled sheepishly, packing a few saltier options that would appeal to your human taste buds.

“We probably won’t be back by the time you two leave, so…lock up good, alright?” You asked, meeting each of their eyes.

You loved your roommates. You knew they weren’t usually like this, dropping literally everything for a vacation. It was something about this timeline. Christmas wasn’t…happy like it was supposed to be. It was a bitter, greedy thing that was pushing these girls, who loved their families very much, away from their loved ones during the holidays. It made you sick.

“You alright?” Bernard asked, noticing the moment you began to space out. The last thing he needed was to lose you, too.

“I’m good, yeah. Let’s go.”

***

Hauling your little suitcase and your bag full of snacks, the two of you walked out of the apartment to where you’d parked your car. Thankfully, it was still there, one of the things the new timeline seemed to have no effect on. You slid your suitcase onto the back seat and Bernard set the bag of snacks on the floor in front of the passenger seat.

You settled into the driver’s seat, turning on the car and adjusting the temperature and the mirrors. Bernard fiddled with the radio, looking for Christmas tunes and finding them, catching the end of White Christmas just in time for an announcement from the radio host.

“We’re playing your favorite Christmas Hits all day, 24/7. That was White Christmas by Michael Bublé, up next, Santa’s new hit single, Come Meet Santa.”

“You’re kidding me.” You groaned as an insufferable song started blaring from the speakers, Jack singing about his fancy new resort at the Pole.

“He’s got the reindeer in a petting zoo?” Bernard asked, disheartened as he listened to the lyrics.

“Oh my god…” You shook your head. “We’ve gotta find Scott.”

You connected your own Christmas playlist to the aux cord, doing away with Jack’s twisted idea of Christmas and set up navigation to the Frost Toys office building in Chicago. You figured even if it wasn’t exact, it would get you close enough to Scott by the time he called you back. Well, you hoped he would. Hope was kind of all the two of you had.

You drove out the front gates of your college campus and started heading towards the highway. “Let me know if you need a bathroom break or anything.”

“Alright.” Bernard nodded, still looking tense.

“Did you…try to call the Pole? I don’t know if there’s a special number for that or…?”

“I did. Customer Service put me on hold.”

You blinked. “Customer Service?”

“Yeah we didn’t have that department yesterday.” Bernard crossed his arms and leaned back against the seat, eyes squeezed shut in what you were sure was the immense stress of the situation. “Sounds like Curtis is in charge up there now, though. It’s like I never existed.”

“Oh.” You said, turning on your blinker to get in the faster lane. “I’m really sorry, Bernard.”

“Yeah, it’s…we’re gonna fix it.” He insisted, repeating your sentiment from earlier. “We have to.”

“We will.” You assured him.

He chuckled darkly. “This whole time, all I’ve been able to think about is how…this…what I’m going through now is what you’ve been going through for the past three years.”

“If it makes you feel better, I didn’t really know what I was missing out on until today.”

“How do you mean?”

“Something about you showing up jogged my memory. Before that, it was just little tiny bits and pieces. If it weren’t for your snow globe, I definitely would have thought I was losing my mind. I remembered Mother Nature and the…role she played in this, I guess, but I could not have told you what she looks like. All I’ve had is the idea of her.”

“And now?”

“Now I remember. Pretty much everything, I think. Santa, the Pole, you, all of it.”

“Well that’s good for us.” Bernard chuckled.

“And when it’s over, I’m sure she’ll just…wipe me all over again.”

“I will see to it myself that that does not happen.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe she ever did that to you to begin with. Lead you on like that just to drop you like nothing happened.”

“Yeah.” You shrugged, letting out a sigh. “I don’t know, I just…like I said to you that day in your office—I think, it’s still a little fuzzy—I always knew it was a little too good to be true. I always felt like I just…I was the puzzle piece that didn’t fit. That there was this big, beautiful, magical world out there, but I wasn’t meant to…be part of it, I guess.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Bernard shook his head. “I’m 1600 years old and I’ve never met someone who doesn’t have a place. And having met you, I can guarantee you do belong. If Mother Nature can’t see that, then that’s her loss.”

You smiled softly. “Thanks.”

“You know, we can always use a hand in the ornament department.”

“I’d work anywhere you stuck me just to be able to hang out at the Pole again.”

“See, that’s the spirit.” He laughed.

The two of you drove for a handful of hours and you did decide to stop for gas, just to be safe. That, and you were really craving a gas station slushee. So, you filled the tank while Bernard grabbed the two of you some slushees for the rest of the drive down.

While he was standing there, there was a weird, floaty feeling about him. For a moment, his hands began to fade, sparkles taking their place, but as soon as you walked through the doors, the bell jingling above your head, the feeling went away and he exhaled a sigh of relief, feeling solid again.

“You alright?” You asked, voice hushed.

He squeezed his eyes shut, nodding before daring to meet your gaze. Never in his millennia and a half had he ever felt so weak.

“Bernard?”

“I’m fine!” He insisted, raising his voice slightly, but softening when he met your eyes again. “Sorry, I’m…fine.”

“Hang in there.” You whispered, standing closer to him. “I can’t lose you, too.”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything. The two of you went back out to the car, sipping your slushees and turning the Christmas music back on when it was interrupted suddenly by an incoming call.

You looked at Bernard and he reached over, putting the call on speaker. “Hello?”

“Bernard? Is that you?” Santa’s voice came out of the speakers and you sighed in relief.

“Santa? Oh thank the stars.” Bernard closed his eyes, a long breath working out of his lungs.

“What the hell is going on? Where are you?”

“We’re about an hour from Frost Toys. We did some research and found this, uh, new job of yours.”

“Don’t get me started.” He chuckled. “I’ll send my apartment address. Does this number work? Whose phone is this, I didn’t know you had a cell phone.”

“I don’t. It’s a long story, but I’m with a friend and we’re on the way.”

“Good. Well then, I’ll see you two soon. The sooner the better.” Scott sounded very relieved. He hung up and texted over your new destination, which was just a little ways further than the building you were already heading towards.

With new fervor, you pulled out of the gas station and got back on the highway, reaching Scott’s apartment with speeds even Bernard was impressed by. You pulled into the parking garage, got your little orange slip to put on the dash, and took the elevator into the building. Scott buzzed you upstairs and you met him outside the door of the snazzy, modern downtown apartment. At the very least, this timeline had given him a cushy job. He ushered the two of you inside.

“Bernard.” Scott greeted, hugging his Head Elf briefly before the two turned back to you. “I’ve never been so relieved to see you.”

“Likewise.” Bernard sighed.

“And you are…?”

“(Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N).” You introduced, offering your hand. “I don’t expect you to—”

“Oh! You were Mother Nature’s apprentice for a bit, weren’t you?” He asked, remembering.

“Yeah. That was me.” You nodded, deciding to spare him the gritty details. “I’m here to help save Christmas.”

“That might be easier said than done…”

“(Y/N) thinks Jack might have used time travel to do this. We were planning on going to see Father Time to see if any of this is something he can fix, or…or if Jack did something to him and that’s how he accomplished all of this.”

“It wasn’t Father Time.” Scott shook his head. “Jack tricked me with a wishing snow globe. Made me wish I had never been Santa and…took the coat for himself.”

“Oh.” Bernard murmured, nodding. “The Escape Clause. Well that would do it, then.”

“There’s gotta be some way to undo this.” Scott said. “It can’t just be over. This can’t be it. Carol…she doesn’t even know who I am.”

“Mrs. Claus?” You asked softly and he nodded solemnly.

You’d met her on a few occasions and she had always been so nice to you, relieved to have another human-ish woman at the Pole, as she said, which always earned a laugh from you. And now, she was a school principal again at a public school who didn’t believe in Christmas anymore. Even Mrs. Claus wasn’t safe from Jack’s trickery.

“Okay, so…we go to the Pole, then. Get…plane tickets, I guess. My roommates were planning their vacation there when we left, so if they can do it, I’m sure we can.”

“Definitely.” Scott nodded, searching for tickets on his phone.

“We go there, find that snow globe, and undo all of this, set it right, the way it’s supposed to be.” You said, determined.

“You think it’ll work?” Scott asked Bernard and he thought over it for a long time before nodding.

“It has to.”

***

Scott booked three tickets for the earliest flight in the morning, at five. You changed into pajamas so you could attempt to get some sleep, and Bernard put something on the TV. You emerged from Scott’s guest bedroom, face wiped clean of makeup, hair freshly brushed, and cute little penguins on your pajama pants. Bernard grinned.

“What?”

“Penguins?”

“I thought they were cute.” You defended, shrugging as you plopped down on the couch next to him.

“I never said they weren’t.” He shrugged, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“Hey, pizza sound good, you two?” Scott called from the kitchen.

“Sounds perfect.” You replied.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Bernard agreed, flipping channels until he found what he was looking for. Ah yes, the Christmas movies. Specifically, the stop-motion Rankin/Bass movies you’d watched during your childhood. Absolute classics.

You gasped, childlike wonder filling your features. “Oh, I love this one.”

“You like these movies?”

“I’ve seen just about all of them, I think. We always used to watch them when I was a kid. These were my childhood. I like them a lot more than the Hallmark movies my roommates are always watching.”

“Rightfully so.” Bernard agreed. “These guys just…got it.”

“Better than anyone else.” You sat criss-cross on the couch. “Riddle me this, Mr. Head Elf, is Rudolph real?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, (Y/N), but no, he is not.”

“No! What? You’re lying!” You covered your face with your hands. “My life is a lie.”

“I wouldn’t lie about something like that.” He laughed. “Rudolph is not one of our reindeer. The rest all are, though. Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen.”

“Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen?” You asked.

Bernard smiled, proud. “Precisely.”

“Hey,” Scott held the phone away from his face for a second, covering the microphone with his hand, “pepperoni good? Thin crust?”

“Sounds good to me, Santa.” Bernard gave a thumbs-up. He could not, for the life of him, remember the last time he’d even had pizza.

“Yeah, I love thin crust.” You agreed.

“Great.” He nodded and walked back towards the kitchen again, finalizing the pizza order.

The commercial break hit with, of course, an ad for the North Pole Waterpark and Resort. There were clips of miserable elves playing games in the arcade, forced to work as lifeguards in the waterpark, facilitating the reindeer petting zoo.

You frowned, that familiar feeling of dread settling into your stomach again. This was awful.

“That’s Betty, there, in the green. Third in command. Second, now, I guess. She looks…”

“Miserable.” You finished.

“Yeah.” Bernard nodded. He let out a frustrated shout. “I can’t believe this is happening! Look at them! Look at what he’s done to the Pole!”

Bernard took a shaking breath and slumped back against the couch, his lack of magic hitting him once again and that floaty, sparkly feeling returning.

“Bernard?” You asked, voice rising in concern.

“It’s my magic. The magic of the Pole, of Christmas, everything. Elves are…well, we’re basically made of magic, so if we don’t fix this, and soon…” He shook his head, words trailing off into hopelessness.

“Take some of mine.” You said, quiet, but certain.

He stared at you for a long moment. “What?”

“Take some of my magic.” You told him, more confident this time.

“You still have magic?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“And no idea how to use it, but you do. You need it more than I do right now.”

“O-okay.” He nodded, sitting up a little straighter.

You unfurled your legs, turning to face him. You turned his hands so they were in a receiving position and placed your palms on his, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes to focus yourself, tuning into the fragments of magic still inside of you and then pushing them towards him, through his hands, up his arms, into his chest.

He flinched a little at the feeling, the sharp, cold tingle, but his eyes widened when he saw it, your magic, flowing into him. It was iridescent, teal and purple and pink and blue, waves ebbing and flowing, its gentle glow lighting up your features in the dim room, your hair blowing around softly in the gentle breeze it created.

It looked like the Northern Lights.

He pulled away after a few long moments, stopping the flow. You opened your eyes to look at him.

“Do you feel better?” You asked, concern etched deep in your gaze, pulling at his heart strings in a way he hadn’t felt in centuries.

“A lot better. Thank you,” he said. “But save some for yourself. That might be what’s protecting your memories.”

“Right.” You nodded, thinking. “That makes sense.”

It was quiet, the murmur of the TV the only sound other than Scott in the kitchen, getting dishes out in anticipation of the pizzas arriving, their ceramic clattering against the fancy marble counters you’d spotted on your way in.

You looked at Bernard, really looked at him for the first time. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been crushing on him a little bit, back when you were acquaintances, when he was the knowledgeable, responsible, somewhat stern Head Elf with a heart of gold and you were Mother Nature’s apprentice, vying for a destiny you would not receive.

You remembered the way your heart would lurch when he peeked into the meetings you sat in on, with the rest of the Legendary Figures, and occasionally, the Guardians of the Seasons, if their presence was necessary.

One of the other elves, you were pretty sure her name was Abby, had given you a tour the first time you were there, she’d introduced you to him, and she’d also called to attention the way your cheeks went rosy the moment you walked away from him.

You wondered if he thought of you, if he had those memories too, tucked away someplace special, or if you were just another passerby in his long, long life. Sometimes you almost forgot he was hiding a thousand years behind that youthful face.

Sitting there, you weren’t sure if it was him who started leaning in or you, but it stopped as soon as Scott called for you from the other room, like a scratched record in the middle of a sweet, slow Christmas ballad, pulling you both back down to reality.

“Pizza.” You chuckled, standing up from the couch. Maybe it was the lighting, but you swore Bernard’s cheeks were rosier than they had been before.

“Right. Pizza.”

The two of you walked out to the kitchen together and sat on the barstools pulled up to the counter, grabbing slices of the thin-crust pepperoni.

“So, I booked the North Pole tickets. I also booked us tickets from there to London…Just in case.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Bernard chuckled.

“Hey, you look better.” Scott noted.

“I’m feeling a lot better, too.” Bernard motioned to you. “(Y/N) here still has a few tricks up her sleeve.”

“Good. We’re gonna need all the magic we can get.”

***

You didn’t get very much sleep before your alarm went off. It had been about what you were expecting. You never slept well when you were stressed.

You did, however, have a dream.

You were sitting in a meeting with Mother Nature and the Guardians, the two of them that were left after the Spring Enchantress’ retirement. Of course, you were training up to fill the position, so it wouldn’t remain empty for long.

Mother Nature led the meeting, held in the giant tree at the center of her Grotto, glancing at her watch every few minutes until finally, he showed up. Jack Frost. Even then, chills ran up your spine, though, at the time, you were convinced it was a side effect of his existence in general.

“Sorry I’m late, ladies. Had quite the hold up in Toronto.” He shrugged, sliding into the fifth seat at the round table, a snowflake embedded in the crystalline mosaic on the table’s surface. “What are we talking about?”

“You, actually.” Mother Nature stated, sitting up straighter. “We were wondering how the search for the Aurora was going, since you’ve elected to take on the task yourself.”

“Ah, yes, well, it’s certainly not easy. Winter Guardians don’t just fall from the sky, you know. But I’ve searched all of the places she used to pop up. Hence my overlay in Canada.” Jack shrugged. “And besides, it’s been five centuries since we’ve had one, I think we’re doing just fine without her.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” The Autumn Witch, a gorgeous young woman named Amber Sanderson, interjected, meeting him with her sharp gaze. Her long, curly orange hair was as beautiful as the autumn leaves, brown skin smooth and ageless, even after her thirty or so years on the council. She didn’t look a day over twenty-five.

“Then what would you say, Ms. Sanderson?” Jack countered, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “If you have a problem with the way I’m running things, I’d prefer if you were forward about it.”

“We have been.” Evangeline Cho agreed, the Summer Sorceress. As her season had just started, she was glowing even more brilliantly than she usually did. “Every year, winter creeps further and further into autumn and spring. And it seems you haven’t done anything to stop it.”

“What, I can’t control that! I’m getting more powerful! It’s merely a side effect.”

“Which is precisely why we need someone on this council who can control their abilities. Such as an Aurora, which you were tasked with finding nearly a century ago, Frost.” Mother Nature stated, her voice cool and even. “If you’d like one of us to find her instead—”

“Oh no, no, that won’t be necessary. I promise you, by next winter, we will have an Aurora again and I’ll go back to managing snow days and frosting window panes.” He drew an X over his heart. “Cross my heart.”

“Excellent.” Mother Nature nodded. “Meeting adjourned.”

You blinked awake in time with Mother Nature’s gavel, staring at the ceiling of Scott’s guest room. That wasn’t a dream. You were certain. It was a memory. You’d have to tell the others.

***

Once your alarm went off, you got dressed and met Scott and Bernard in the entryway of the apartment. Bernard, who hadn’t changed his clothes, had one pointed ear sticking out the brim of his hat, a dead giveaway if there ever was one. You rummaged through your carry on and produced a knitted hat you’d made a few years back, motioning to his ear.

“Oh. Right. Thanks.” He nodded, swapping his usual headwear for the hat you gave him, slipping it on with ease. “Where’d you get this?”

“I made it. I knit.”

He chuckled, checking his reflection to make sure he was covered well. “Well aren’t you just full of surprises?”

“As we’re both learning.”

Scott drove the three of you to the airport and you arrived early, hoping your plane would be a little ahead of schedule, but when you found it was actually delayed an hour, it gave you time to grab drinks at the coffee shop.

“Hot cocoa, shot of espresso, extra whipped cream, please.” You ordered, Bernard just behind you.

“I’ll have the same, but make it a double shot.”

“Coming right up,” the barista nodded, setting to work.

Outside, the sun was just beginning to rise, filling the sky with orange and pink, sunlight glistening on the icicles hanging from the windows. You smiled, appreciating the quiet moment despite the dread looming overhead.

Once your drinks were ready, you joined Scott on a chair near the windows.

“So um, I had a dream last night. I think it was a memory from before.” You said, not sure how else to bring it up.

“What was it about?” Scott asked, curious.

“I was at a meeting with Mother Nature and the Guardians. Jack was there, sitting in for…the Aurora, I guess.”

“The Winter Aurora.” Bernard replied, nodding.

“What is that?” Scott asked, unfamiliar with the term.

“Well, there’s a Guardian for each season, often a woman, gifted with the powers of that specific time of year. They work with their Legendary Figures to oversee the flow of time and ensure everything is on schedule. The Spring Enchantress, the Summer Sorceress, the Autumn Witch, and the Winter Aurora.” Bernard explained. “We haven’t had an Aurora at the Pole in 500 years…”

“Well that would explain why I’ve never heard of her.” Scott nodded, thinking. “So Jack took her job?”

“Yeah, they were talking about his…powers increasing, I’m assuming because he was getting buffed by her powers in addition to his. And how winter is creeping into autumn and spring because of it.”

“That’s not good.” Bernard shook his head. “The seasons have to be balanced. Jack’s hunger for power is messing up the eco system.”

“Mother Nature said he was supposed to be looking for her, and I don’t know…maybe he just…wasn’t looking.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Bernard took a long sip of his cocoa. “I’ll add that to the top of my list as soon as we get everything else back to normal.”

As soon as you finished your drinks, the plane started boarding, so you followed after Scott and onto the plane. Through the windows in the walkway, you could see the plane, giant, winter blue, and emblazoned with a giant picture of Jack Frost’s Santa impression, giving a thumbs-up.

“I’m gonna puke.” You rolled your eyes.

“Ditto.”

The three of you boarded and settled into your seats, all in a row. Scott had brought his laptop along to do some research on the flight. He figured it was better to go in with something of a plan than be blindsided by whatever you found on the other side. You had a feeling the Pole would look a lot different than last you’d seen it.

You settled into the window seat and got as comfortable as you could. For a supposedly luxury flight, the seats were surprisingly stiff. Knowing Jack, you should have expected him to cut corners, even in his power fantasy brought to life.

“How are you feeling about all of this?” Bernard asked, voice soft.

“As well as I can, I guess.” You shrugged. “I’m glad I’m not doing this alone.”

He nodded, eyes meeting yours, soft and serious. “I am, too.”

A lady in a flowery dress walked past, her perfume so strong, you caught a whiff of it from the window seat, its floral scent immediately tickling your nose. You tried your best to suppress the sneeze, but to no avail. You sneezed two times, waiting for a third, but it never came.

“Jeez.” You shook your head, reaching for the Benedryl in your bag.

“What’s that for?”

“My allergies. That lady’s perfume was pretty strong.” You chuckled.

“You have allergies?” Bernard asked, eyes narrowing. “Spring allergies.”

“…Yeah?”

“You have spring allergies and Mother Nature thought you were the new Spring Enchantress?” Bernard asked, looking skeptical. He knew Mother Nature. She was an intelligent, almost all-knowing being. He knew she wouldn’t make a mistake that obvious.

“That part never made sense to me either.” You shrugged.

“She thought you were a Spring, but…you’re obviously more of a Winter. I might be a bit biased, though.” He smirked.

Your heart raced when he said it, the realization hitting you that he was flirting. You were getting hit on by Santa’s Head Elf. That was something not everyone could say.

“I mean, I was born in December. The 21st.”

Suddenly, his flirting demeanor was gone, replaced instead by a look of realization, like you had just given him the last piece of the puzzle he’d been trying to solve since the day you left the Pole. “The Winter Solstice…”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Let me see that, Santa.” Bernard took the laptop from Scott’s lap desk, clumsily navigating with the mousepad and punching something into the search bar. “Where was it your parents are from, (Y/N)?”

“I grew up in South Carolina. We were supposed to live in Michigan, but Dad got a job opportunity at the last minute, so we moved right after I was born.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Traverse City.”

“Hmm…” Bernard clicked through articles a bit before finding a story that made your heart race. “Is…Is this the house?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s…Oh my god.” You covered your mouth, reading through the article. Three months after your family had moved out, there had been a freak snow storm that took out half the houses in the neighborhood. And your house had been hit the worst, the roof over what would have been your nursery was caved in completely.

“Jack hasn’t been not looking for the Aurora. He’s been killing her every time she’s popped up.” Bernard concluded, a horrified look on his face.

“Wait. So you’re saying…” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m…”

“Mother Nature appointed you Spring Enchantress to throw him off of your scent.” He said. “That has to be it. It’s the only explanation.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, fingers shaking as you wiped your sweaty palms on your pants. “I…I mean, wouldn’t I know? I’m not…special. Not like that…”

“Are you kidding me?” Bernard asked, incredulous. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. (Y/N), I’ve seen your magic. It’s the only think keeping me alive right now. It…” He reached for your hand, positioning your palm so it was facing upwards and as soon as he did, a wave of stunning Northern Lights glowed between your fingers. “Do you see that? I’ve seen Aurora magic. This is that. I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner…”

“Woah.” Scott muttered, eyes falling on the scene unfolding between the two of you.

You curled your fingers, pulling the magic back into yourself and extinguishing the light. You sat with it for a moment and met Bernard’s gaze. “He tried to kill me.” You murmured, tears brimming in your eyes. “He tried to kill me for…for power? For a title?”

“We’re not going to let him get away with it.” Scott stated, fire in his gaze. “We’re not going to let him get away with any of it.”

You felt a tingling on your head and watched as white trickled from your scalp down to the ends of the piece of hair at the front of your face. Your heart raced and you touched the hair with shaking fingers.

It was real now. You were the Winter Aurora. And you had a feeling the closer you got to the Pole, the more evident that would become…

***

By the time the plane landed, the three of you were settled on a plan. Scott, Jack’s biggest priority, would cause a distraction, buying time for you two. Bernard would find the elves and try to snap them out of it. You, as the only one Jack wouldn’t fully recognize, would go find the snow globe and get it to Scott so he could undo his wish and fix everything.

Was it a perfect plan? No. But it was all you had, so it would have to be enough.

You walked off of the plane together, hoping the streak of white in your hair wouldn’t draw too much attention. Once you were inside the gates, the three of you huddled, finalizing your plan.

“You’re going to be fine on your own? Do you know how to get to the snow globe room?” Scott checked.

“I’m…being here…yeah, I’m definitely gonna be able to find it.” You nodded, still completely blown away by the powerful waves of magic, hitting you all at once for the first time. “It’s all coming back to me.”

Bernard grinned, hopeful. “Good. Good luck.”

“You too. Stay safe. I…I really don’t trust him. What he’s capable of…” You said warily.

The Head Elf shook his head, confident. “Is nothing compared to what you are.”

“Let’s save Christmas.” Scott announced.

The three of you split off. You watched as Bernard and Scott walked away together, Scott playfully nudging Bernard. About what, you couldn’t be certain, but you had a pretty good feeling it had something to do with you.

Cheeks flushed for more reason than one, you took off, following the swirling feeling around your heart, dodging past security elves with a stealth and speed you didn’t know you possessed. It was like muscle memory, suppressed very deep in the core of your being. A power you had never tapped into, but one that was quick to embrace you. You felt it in your soul, the Pole wanted you there, and it was very glad you’d returned.

Following the instructions Scott and Bernard had given you, you walked briskly down the corridors, slinking past bakery elves on their way to one of the many tourist eating spots. The workshop itself sat big and empty, barely an elf in sight. The few that were there looked tired, sad, working on tacky Santa Claus bobble heads and cheap gift shop pens. It broke your heart.

Distant voices echoed against the cavernous halls. In your mind, you heard echoes, too. Laughter and love and light, elves building toys, creating things together, working to make the kids of the world happy, no matter what it took. The workshop had been wrapped in pine trim and string lights, warm and bright.

Now, it sat dark and empty.

You wiped a tear from your cheek and continued down the hall, to where the entrance to the Hall of Snowglobes was. And at its entrance, was Betty, who stared at you for a long moment as though trying to place where she recognized you from, but quickly shook it off.

“You can’t be back here. No visitors allowed. I can escort you back to the main area, though.” She offered, smiling.

“Your name is Betty, right?”

She hesitated. “How did you…? Nevermind that, you’re still not allowed back here.”

“I have to be back here.” You told her. “It’s important. The fate of Christmas depends on it.”

“Well, the fate of Christmas depends on me doing my job, so if you’ll follow me this way.”

“I can’t do that, Betty.” You shook your head. “And I know you don’t want to either. Don’t you see that all of this is wrong? That what Jack’s done to the Pole, the capitalism, the resort, the gift shops, the reindeer in the petting zoo, this is not what Christmas is supposed to be. You know that. I know you know that.”

Betty’s features saddened and for a moment, you thought you’d won her over until she reached for a walkie talkie. “Security, we’ve got a tourist that needs to be removed from the Workshop.”

“Great.” You huffed, summoning your power to your hand, just as Bernard had shown you. But instead of sending a blast of energy at her, you let it slowly waft over, rainbow colors and dancing lights slowly enveloping her. As the magic hit her face, she blinked through it, eyes awash in the pinks and teals and purples. Yet another streak of white flowed through your hair.

She dropped to her knees and stared up at you, tears in her eyes as it all came flooding back. Her voice fell to a whisper. “You’re our Aurora.”

“I am.” You nodded, feeling confident in your title for the first time. “And I need your help. We don’t have much time.”

“Bernard, he’s gone! He—”

“He came here with me. We have to hurry. We need that snow globe.” You told her and she nodded.

You helped Betty to her feet and she ushered you into the Hall of Snowglobes, carefully plucking the little glass orb that had started all of this off of its pedestal and handing it to you. You held it with careful hands, admiring it. It was beautiful, if not absolutely dangerous.

“We’ve gotta get this to Santa.” You told her.

She nodded, following you out of the Workshop and into the bustling center of town, an absolute sensory overload if there ever was one. Tourists packed the streets, vendors were shouting over the noise, and above it all, speakers were blaring Jack’s Christmas Album, each new song worst than the one before it.

There was a massive stage, covered in fake ice and bright lights, and on said stage, was him, Jack Frost in all of his faux Santa glory, his red suit iced at the ends, hair spiked and ridiculous, like icicles. Behind him, was a row of toy soldiers and in their grasp was none other than Bernard, eyes wide in fear as Jack manifested a blast of snow in his hand.

“(Y/N)!” Scott shouted over the crowd, waving wildly to get your attention.

“Get this to Scott.” You handed the snow globe to Betty, urgency in your voice and your eyes. “I’ve gotta get Bernard.”

“On it.” She took the globe from you and weaved through the crowd expertly. You ran towards the stage as though everything was moving in slow motion.

“This guy isn’t Santa! He’s trying to ruin Christmas!” Bernard shouted, voice cracking as he did.

Jack laughed loudly, and the crowd assembled did the same. “Do you hear him? I am Santa! Without me, there would be no Christmas! What gives you the right to say any of this?”

“I’m the Head Elf!” Bernard insisted, struggling against the toy soldiers. “I’ve seen a thousand Christmases and dozens of Santas! You are nothing compared to any of them!”

“Alright, tough guy, you think I’m not Santa? How about I show you what a real Santa is capable of?” Jack threatened, ice in his voice. He raised his hand to freeze Bernard and you dove onto the stage, tackling Jack to the ground, earning a loud gasp and several concerned voices from the crowd.

“Don’t you dare touch him, you fucking narcissistic popsicle!” You shouted, getting a good punch in before retreating to Bernard’s side, kicking the toy soldier behind him and pulling apart the large ribbon bow binding his wrists. Parents covered their children’s ears, shielding them from the harsh language. Some of the crowd cleared out, retreating to a safer distance, while others pulled out their phones, desperate to go viral on YouTube.

“Come on.” You grabbed Bernard’s hand and he squeezed yours, following you off of the stage and through the crowd to where Scott stood with the snow globe. He shook it and made a wish, but nothing happened.

“What?” Scott asked, trying again. “It won’t work.”

“It’s the Escape Clause.” Bernard closed his eyes, remembering the rules. “Jack made this wish. He’s…he’s Santa now; he’s the only one who can undo this.”

“Oh my god.” A wave of dread flowed over you.

“And those, my dears, are the words I will never utter.” Jack said, dusting himself off and sauntering over to the four of you, his security not far behind, ready to apprehend all of you. “It was a nice try, though. Really valiant effort, all four of you. Scott, Bernard, Betty…and you. I can’t say I recognize you.”

“Maybe if you had half a braincell, you would.”

He scoffed, offended. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. They’ll figure that much out when they get you to jail, I suppose.” He shrugged and the security officers seized the four of you, taking the snow globe and giving it back to Jack. He tossed it in the air cockily a few times before chuckling. “You know, I don’t need this thing. I’m never going to wish all of this away.”

Frost tendrils crept up the glass dome and in a great burst of light, it shattered. You gasped, feeling the magic settle. This was it. This was reality now. There was no way to undo it.

“O-oh.” Bernard took a stuttered breath, faltering. He collapsed to the ground and you pushed away from security, rushing to his side and collecting him in your arms.

“Bernard?”

He shook his head. You raised a hand to give him more of your magic, but he lowered it with his own. “You have to finish this, Aurora.” He said, eyes serious, glimmering despite the pain you could tell he was in. “You’re the only one who can.”

He leaned forward, a hand brushing the hair away from your face, capturing your lips with his own, his kiss soft and tender, tasting faintly of peppermint, and then he disappeared in a burst of sparkles, his silver and gold magic drifting forward into your chest.

You gasped, tears rolling down your cheeks, arms empty and heart emptier. “No! NO! What did you do to him?” You turned, facing Jack.

“The only thing I could. Protecting Christmas from the likes of you.” He shrugged. “What was it he called you? Autumn? Is that your name? Autumn?”

“No.” You told him, rising to your feet, pure magic lifting you from the ground and setting you on your feet.

His eyes widened and he took a step back.

“I’m the Aurora.” You rose into the air, teals and purples and pinks swirling around you in a rush of power. You raised your hand, manifesting the snow globe within it, its broken shards reforming in your grasp, effortless and precise. Once it was whole again, you shook it, magic swirling within its waters, overriding the rules of the Escape Clause with rules of your own.

A voice came out of you then that you weren’t sure was your own. It came deep from your chest, echoing across the pole, accompanied by a wave of power, the same magic you’d used on Betty, but tenfold, fierce and fiery, prickling like static all down your arms as it left you.

“May Everything Return to the Way it Was Before, to the Way it was Always Meant to Be.”

And with one final rush of magic, everything went white.

***

It took a while for the picture to form in front of you, your hearing distorted, the colors slowly coming back one by one.

You were kneeling there in the center of the Workshop, which was full of elves, their work paused as they watched the scene unfolding. Scott was Santa once more, wearing his red undershirt and suspenders, looking jollier than you’d ever seen him. Carol stood beside him, looking confused.

Mother Nature was there, as was Tooth, and, of course, Jack Frost, wearing his signature blue suit as opposed to the red one he’d been wearing moments earlier.

You got to your feet, looking for Bernard in the crowd, but not finding him. Your heart lurched, your search brought to a halt by Jack’s nasally voice.

“Aw, come on now, kid, no hard feelings, right?”

Rather than replying, you wound up and punched him square in the jaw with more force than you were used to possessing.

“OOOOOOOH…” The elves murmured, wincing as Jack fell to the ground, gripping his face.

“I’m going to ask you one last time and you are going to answer me. What. Did you do to him.” You demanded, a fierce power zinging through you.

“I didn’t do anything to him! This is all a big misunderstanding! Right, Santa? Tooth? Back me up on this!” Jack groveled, shielding his face with both hands, cowering in fear.

“Can’t do that, Jack.” Scott shook his head. “You have to answer to her.”

“Where is Bernard?”

“I feel like there are more pressing issues at hand—” Jack deflected, shrinking further away from you.

“What’s that?” One of the elves asked, pointing to a column of sparkles manifesting beside you.

You turned to look, staring at it until it clicked. Reaching into yourself, you let the last pieces of Bernard’s magic flow out of your chest, where it had retreated for safekeeping. Silver and gold glitter rushed out of you, swirling from the ground up until he was standing there again, solid and real.

He all but collapsed into your arms, holding onto you tightly while he found his balance again.

“Bernard,” you sobbed, holding him close, your arms desperate to prove he was real again, that he was solid and wasn’t going anywhere.

“Hey, no need for tears, Aurora. I’m alright.” He grinned, meeting your gaze. His hand rose to your cheek and he wiped your tears away as he took you in for all that you were. “Thanks to you, I am.”

“(Y/N)?” Mother Nature asked, voice soft and warm.

“I…I can explain.” You insisted, turning to face her.

“No need, dear one. I know why you’re here. I’ve always known.” She smiled, bowing her head. “And now that you’re here, we can finish this.”

You looked to Bernard and he nodded, letting go of you to give you a gentle push forward, his eyes proud and supportive.

“Kneel.” She instructed, and you did, dropping to one knee in front of her.

The elves fell silent, desperate to witness what was unfolding for the first time in centuries.

“(Y/N) (L/N), through your bravery and selflessness, you have proven what I’ve known all along. You are the Aurora Borealis, the Winter Guardian, and Protector of the North Pole and all her Magic. For the first time in five centuries, the North Pole has an Aurora, which means…” She looked to Jack, who shook his head desperately.

“No. No way. I am not giving an ounce of my power to that…that…she punched me! Twice! Did none of you see that? She’s violent!”

“After everything you did to the Auroras before her, you’re lucky all she did was punch you!” Bernard snapped, arms crossed. “Not to mention the fact you destroyed her house in an attempt to kill her.”

Jack gasped in faux shock. “What, me? I…I would never—!”

“Jack.” Mother Nature reprimanded sharply. “You don’t have to give her the power. It was never yours to begin with.”

She outstretched a hand and, as easily as turning on a faucet, the power he’d been given, the magical, dancing light, was siphoned out of him and floated straight into you. Your feet lifted from the ground, head tilting back as your body slowly rose from the floor, power greater than you’d ever seen or felt ebbing and flowing around you, changing you into the thing you were always meant to become: the Aurora Borealis.

Your hair fully turned white, glimmering like fallen snow, a few stray streaks of pink and purple and teal scattered throughout. Your skin took on a subtle sparkle, every part of you becoming stronger, right down to your fingernails. Your clothes were replaced with a simple, glittering dress, the color of the night sky.

Gently, you touched down again, fully reborn.

The elves murmured and whispered in awe and you looked around to find a row of proud faces.

Mother Nature stepped forward and took both of your hands in hers, meeting you face to face for the first time in three years. “Dear one, I am so sorry for everything you’ve been through. I should have warned you, I should have done more to ready you, but I didn’t and…I let you feel alone.”

“I am alive because of you. Because you misled him. Everything you did was to protect me. I understand that now.” You told her, voice smooth and confident.

She touched her forehead to yours for a moment before pulling away to meet your gaze again. “Then, dear one, I have one last question for you.”

“I’m ready.”

“Hereby and Forevermore, your duty as the Winter Aurora is to the North Pole. You are tasked with its safety and secrets, to protect all of its residents and the magic they hold. Do you accept the Title of Winter Guardian and all of the responsibilities it holds?”

“I do.” You nodded, meeting Bernard’s eyes for a brief moment, only to find the warmest, proudest smile on his face.

“Then this belongs to you.” In her hand, Mother Nature manifested a small, elegant silver tiara, embellished with glittering snowflakes. She set it gently in your hair, completing your transformation once and for all.

Jack started sneaking towards the door, but you lifted your hand, a wave of power rushing around him, turning him back towards the rest of you and giving him a push back towards the rest of you. He stumbled forward, looking around the group nervously.

“You’re—you’re not gonna kill me, right?” He asked. “You still need me! I’m the one who oversees the snow days and-and the snowmen! Think of the snowmen!”

“We do need a Jack Frost.” Mother Nature said. “Which is why while you were here terrorizing Santa, I was locating your successor. Jack, come on in.”

The doors of the Workshop opened and in walked a much younger man with shaggy white hair. Your best guess put him in his early twenties, and his wardrobe was much more modern than the other Jack’s as well, a blue hoodie adorned with silver swirls. He carried a large stick with a curve at the end of it, somewhat resembling a scythe.

“Nice to meet you.” He waved casually, leaning against his stick.

“My successor?” Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re firing me?!”

“Oh, we’re doing more than firing you.” Tooth chuckled. He looked to you. “Aurora, what do you think we should do with him?”

“He needs to be put…somewhere he can’t hurt anyone else.” You decided. You turned to the Head Elf and he perked up, interested to hear your suggestion. “Do you have a snow globe I could borrow?”

He grinned and reached into his satchel, pulling out a fresh one. “I like the way you think.”

“What? No! You can’t just—” Jack shook his head, looking to Santa, to Mother Nature, to even Mrs. Claus for some other solution.

“This is for all of the Auroras before me, for the elves you brainwashed and the reindeer you stuck in a petting zoo. You’ll have lots of time to think about what you’ve done. And maybe someday, in five hundred years or so, I’ll let you go live a boring human life.” You told him, taking the snow globe from Bernard and focusing.

There was a bright flash of sparkles and then it was done, Jack was trapped in the confines of the little snow globe in your hands and he looked very angry about it, but his complaints were too muffled to make them out clearly. Santa reached for the snow globe, so you handed it to him and he gave it an amused swirl.

“Well done, (Y/N).” He complimented, passing the snow globe to Curtis. “See to it that this gets locked away properly.”

“Will do, Santa.” Curtis nodded and headed off.

“Now, (Y/N), if you are going to be staying here, I suppose someone will have to show you around the place.” Santa smiled knowingly.

Bernard cleared his throat. “I believe that would be my responsibility as Head Elf, Santa.”

“Yes, I believe it would.”

The Head Elf offered you his arm and you gladly took it, letting him escort you up the stairs of the workshop and down the hall so the two of you could have a private moment. As soon as you were out of sight, he turned to face you, his hands cupping your cheeks, nose brushing against yours.

“See, I knew you were more of a Winter.”

“Do I look okay?”

“You’ve never looked better.” He murmured, closing the distance between you and pressing his lips to yours passionately. In your Mortal life, you’d had your fair share of kisses, but kissing Bernard was something else entirely. He was experienced, that was for sure.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. “Now, where would you like to explore first?”

***

Bernard took you around the Workshop, showing you all of the departments, which were full of elves, all of them working hard to ensure Santa was on schedule to leave that night. Bernard checked in with each of them as he did, making sure everything was going according to plan. Tooth and Mother Nature had stuck around to help out, and some of the other Legendary Figures had arrived as well, introducing themselves to you when you came around.

Finally, as the end of your tour, Bernard led you to an ornate set of stained glass double doors. As if by magic, they swung open when you approached, giving way to a beautiful bedroom, tall, arched ceilings, dancing Northern Lights projected across them. Stained glass windows, a large, wooden desk, hardwood floors and shelves and shelves of books. There was a carved armoire in the corner of the room, and against the leftmost wall, on a platform, was a giant canopy bed.

“This is the Aurora’s suite. You can decorate however you’d like. I had some elves from the interior design department get it fixed up for you.” Bernard explained, your arm looped through his, hand resting on his bicep. “If you’ll turn your attention right over here…”

He led you to the desk, dropping your arm and plucking something off of the desk. Your snow globe! The one he had given you three years before, still inscribed with those famous words that had started your entire adventure to begin with, the last remnant you had from this life before it was ripped away from you.

“My snow globe! How did you get it here?”

He shrugged, handing it to you. “My magic came back. Which means I can give this back to you.”

Bernard lifted his hand and you pressed yours against it, palm to palm. Gently, your power flowed from him back into you, a light breeze blowing through the room. He brushed your hair away from your face and pressed a long kiss to your cheek.

“There’s still a lot to do, but…I think we’re going to be able to pull everything together by tonight.”

“Well then you better get out there, Mr. Head Elf.” You smirked, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips.

He met your eyes, “You’ll be okay?”

“I’m going to be just fine.” You assured him, setting the snow globe back on the desk so you could rest your arms on his shoulders, his hands resting on your waist. “And after, you and I will have all the time in the world to figure this out.”

“Oh! I didn’t mean to interrupt…” Curtis muttered, standing in the doorway.

“Curtis!” Bernard exclaimed, his voice cracking.

You giggled when he abruptly pulled away to face his number two.

“The tree topper department needs an extra set of hands.” Curtis said, motioning back towards the workshop.

“Can I help?” You asked.

“Oh, Aurora, you don’t have to—” Curtis shook his head.

“Yeah, but…can I?” You asked, eyes curious.

Curtis grinned. “Yeah, of course.” He made eye contact with Bernard. “I like her already.”

Bernard gave you a nudge. “I do too.”

***

At Santa’s request, you met him and Bernard at the stable gates to see him off for your very first Christmas as the North Pole’s Guardian. Your heart was racing. You didn’t know what was expected of you or what you’d have to do, but Bernard was there, his smile ever so reassuring.

Some of the elves that worked with the reindeer helped get them all properly harnessed and ready for the flight, carefully attaching their reins to the sleigh. Bernard walked you through what you’d have to do. As one of the oldest elves in the Pole, he remembered the process well.

“It’s easy. All you’ll have to do is raise your hand.” He was standing right behind you and raised your hand with his own, positioning it just so. “And lower the barrier so Santa can leave. And if you can’t, we have controls for that now. It’s…mostly ceremonial at this point.”

“Well that does make me feel a little better.” You smiled, turning towards him.

“And, um, after, I think you should…check the armoire in your room. I left something for you.”

“Oh you did, did you?”

“Something for the party. You don’t have to wear it, though.” He shrugged awkwardly, cheeks extra rosy.

“And the party starts…?”

“The minute Santa gets back.” Bernard explained. “And then we get three months off and pick back up in March.”

“Alright.” You nodded, smiling. “Plenty of time for you to show me the ropes.”

“I was thinking exactly the same thing.” He smiled, looking both ways, but not risking a kiss, not with all of the elves assembled to send Santa off.

“Everything ready?” Scott checked, donning his famed coat and hat for the flight just as a few elves loaded the famous gift bag, filled to the brim and then some, onto the back of the sleigh.

“All set, Santa.” Bernard nodded.

Scott put a hand on your shoulder, the other on Bernard’s. “We owe this Christmas to you two. Wouldn’t be standing here without either of you.”

“All in a day’s work, Santa.” You smiled.

“I’ll see you when I get back. And then the real fun begins.”

“I’ll see to it that we have enough eggnog at the ready.” Bernard replied with a wink, which Santa laughed at.

“Excellent.” He climbed into the sleigh and gave you the signal.

Just as you’d practiced, you lifted a hand and focused on the barrier protecting the Pole, made of the same magic that flowed through your veins. Effortlessly, the veil parted, making way for Santa’s sleigh and the elves erupted into cheers as Scott flew off into the sky. Bernard cheered loudly, turning to you and scooping you up in his arms, spinning you around in his excitement. You squealed with laughter.

Once your feet were on the ground again, you met his eyes briefly before pressing the quickest of kisses to his cheek and walking over to Carol, who was smiling a proud, maternal smile.

“Let’s get you ready for that party, huh?” She asked, looping her arm around yours. “You’ll have to fill me in on everything you’ve been up to! It’s nice to have a human-ish woman around here again.”

“I missed you, Carol.”

“I missed you too, hon.”

***

The deliveries went on without a hitch and Scott was back at the Pole faster than you could sing the Twelve Days of Christmas. Carol, you, and Betty had gone into your room to prepare. Carol did your hair, perching your snowflake tiara perfectly atop your head. You felt like a princess.

Betty helped zip up the dress Bernard had left for you, an elegant silver gown with a layered skirt, a tasteful slit up the leg, and off the shoulder sleeves, a layer of tule on top that was embellished with silver stars.

“You look stunning.” Carol complimented, resting her chin on your shoulder as the two of you admired your reflection.

“Thanks to you.” You tilted your head. “I’m still getting used to the hair, but…I think it looks nice like this.”

“Makes you look like a superhero.”

“I kinda feel like one, too.”

“Well you should. Scott told me everything that happened. I’m glad you were there to help.”

“I’m glad I was, too.” You said, pausing before asking, “So…theoretically speaking of course, is there a rule prohibiting the Aurora from…dating?”

Betty gasped, smiling. “I knew it! You and Bernard—”

“You and Bernard?” Carol asked, interested. “I never would have guessed.”

“Never?”

“Well, maybe a little.” She admitted, pinching her fingers together. “Saving the world together is a very romantic first date.”

“So…I am allowed to…date him?” You asked, earning a giggle from Betty.

“There is nothing, to my knowledge, prohibiting either the Aurora or the Head Elf from falling in love,” she reported. “But I can check the handbook if you want me too.”

“That is good to know.” You tapped your temple, laughing a bit.

Downstairs, you could hear the music pick up and the three of you took that as your cue to join the festivities.

Soon, you were standing at the rail overlooking the Workshop floor, where Bernard was standing, chatting with Curtis, Santa, and some of the other elves. As soon as he caught sight of you, he froze, his glass of eggnog halfway to his mouth and eyes locked on you.

You smiled coyly and lifted the skirt of the gown, carefully navigating down the stairs. He ditched his glass on a cluttered table and met you at the foot of the stairs, taking your arm.

He swallowed thickly, admiring you for a long moment before murmuring, “You look beautiful, Aurora.”

“Thank you, Bernard.” You smiled, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You picked a great dress.”

“Would you like to dance?”

“I’d love to.” You nodded, letting him lead you over to where the rest of the elves were paired up, swaying to a slow song. Your arms settled around his neck as he tugged you closer, a hand on your waist, the other finding your free hand.

It was clear in seconds that he knew how to dance, as he expertly spun you out and then back into him with ease, his chest flush against yours, mouth right against your ear. It was one of those moments you were forced to remember he’d lived a hundred lifetimes. He carried them well; he always had.

When the music picked back up, he said, “Let’s go get some air.”

You nodded, letting him lead you back up the stairs to the railing, where a few stray elves were also hanging out, getting some space from the heat of the party. The two of you leaned against the metal, looking down over your new home.

You were quiet for a long while before finally asking the question that had been on your mind since early that morning, in an airplane in another timeline. “Did you know her? The other Aurora?”

He nodded, face serious. “I knew her, yeah. I wasn’t Head Elf at the time, only second in command. She and I were acquaintances, but she was nice.”

“Mmm.” You hummed.

Bernard reached over and touched your hand. “I much prefer what you and I have this time around.”

“And what is it you and I have?” You asked.

“I’m…not sure yet.” Bernard shook his head, tugging you ever so closer, a gentle hand on your waist. “But I do know that in all of my 1600 years, I’ve never felt like this before. Even before, when you left, when I thought I’d never see you again, I was waiting for the day our paths would cross. I wish it had been under better circumstances, but…”

“But, I’m glad you found me.” You interjected, taking another step forward and resting your head on his shoulder.

Bernard leaned in to kiss you, but stopped, noticing all the elves watching. However, when you pointed straight up at a bundle of glowing mistletoe, he knew there was only one thing he could do…

THREE MONTHS LATER

“Ladies, thank you so much for agreeing to meet here at the Pole.” Mother Nature smiled at each of you, seated at the large round table in your office, which was, coincidentally, right down the hall from Bernard’s office.

Around the table were yourself, Mother Nature, and the three other Guardian Spirits, Briar Flores, Amber Sanderson, and Evangeline Cho, each of you dressed for your respective season, but Briar was absolutely glowing, as though a halo of light was positioned just behind her head at all times.

“Thank you for having us, (Y/N).” Briar thanked, bowing her head. “My place is absolutely a mess at the moment. Bunny has paint on just about every surface in the building.”

“Any time, Briar. This place has been quiet since the elves started their break. Things should be getting started up again soon, though.”

“If you need any help saving Christmas this year, you let us know.” Amber chuckled.

“Knock on wood Christmas doesn’t need saving this year.” You laughed, knocking on the table.

“I am serious, though, as soon as Easter is over, we all need to get mimosas and brunch. There is this lovely little island that is just so flowery and perfect this time of year, you’d all love it.” Briar beamed.

The rest of you murmured and nodded in agreement, stopping only when Evangeline looked up at the doorway, biting back a grin.

You looked up to see Bernard standing there, a bouquet of snowdrops in his hand.

“Hello, Bernard. How can I help you?”

“Oh, Aurora, I didn’t mean to interrupt. The guys in foliage need a second opinion when you have a minute.”

“Right, of course.” You nodded, looking to Mother Nature.

“Meeting adjourned. I’ll see you all next month for a progress report.” She smiled, straightening up her papers. The rest of you all stood up from the table and began to exit the office.

Mother Nature rested a hand on your shoulder, glancing back at Bernard. “You look really happy here, (Y/N).”

“I am really happy here.”

“Good, I’m glad.” She gave your shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll see you next month.”

Once the others had scattered to the winds, Bernard walked into the office, closing the door behind him.

You quirked an eyebrow. “The guys in foliage, huh?”

“Partially. Partially just the Head Elf wanting to make sure his Aurora had something pretty to look at.” He whispered, an arm drawing you closer for a kiss that you gladly reciprocated.

“Your Aurora already has something pretty to look at.” You replied, a finger booping the end of his nose.

He shook his head, grinning. “Does the flirting never cease?” “Check in with me in a few hundred years.” You replied, setting the snowdrops in your vase before lacing your fingers through his, your other hand rising to rest on his arm as you walked out of the office and towards the large room you’d been using to train your powers. “Now, where were we with those lessons…?”

Tagged: @madameggroll, @capamericant, @midnightmisses, @five-hargreeves-apologist

#bernard the elf x reader #bernard imagine #bernard x reader #bernard headcanons #bernard #christmas #the santa clause

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