#tech gone wrong

[tailsthetheorist]

🔥 I RAN A WII ON A POTATO. YES, A REAL POTATO. 🥔 [VIDEO NOW OUT]

Not clickbait. Not a meme. I actually hooked up a Wii using a potato-powered setup… AND IT WORKED. It lagged, it glitched, it screamed, but it booted and ran Sonic like a champ (or a dying toaster, depends how you look at it).

💥 Wanna witness the madness? 🎥 Watch the full cursed science project here ➡️ https://youtu.be/_ksAwq0Mbkg

This is probably one of the dumbest and greatest things I’ve ever done. And yes… the potato did most of the work. 🙃

Comment what you want me to break next. Maybe a GameCube on lemons? A DS on a banana? I’m not stopping.

[takenoteguide]

AI Horror Films Similar to Companion

If Companion explores the terror of artificial intelligence, it joins a long line of AI-driven horror films that tap into our fears of technology gone wrong. Here’s a breakdown of some similar films and how they compare to Companion. 1. M3GAN (2023) – AI as a Deadly Caretaker A robotic doll designed to protect a child becomes dangerously overprotective. Similarities to CompanionAI learns and…

[itzphynix]

Yeah, so while I was on my "I'm going to read into Vanny/Vanessa as much as possible" journey, I noticed an odd quirk in her animations in how she moves. At first, I thought it reminded me of a ballerina, 'cause she's kinda tip-toeing, & she has this way of keeping her head & chest in one place as she moves, but I looked again & realized --

That's not ballet! She's doing a tight-rope act. Like, look at this one:

This is like standing up on the wooden boards before you do the actual tight-rope walking, & the ring leader is hyping you up as you do some fun movement for the crowds. &, then, these:

These are all instances where she walks with one foot directly in front of the other. In that third, she's doing the "woaaah" wiggly-ass balance movements & everything, as if she's swaying up at the top of the tent, even though she's down on solid ground.

Idk, I feel like the way her feet are placed isn't accurate (pretty sure they should be pointed left & right, not both forwards...) doesn't make this 100% correct, but I like it. It also connects back with her first SB teaser, wherein she's up in the rafters.

[kybercrystals94]

Eyes Wide Open

Read on Ao3 here!

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 | Week 2 | Prompt: Comfort Zone

Rated: G | Words: 2109

Summary:

“Did you know,” Crosshair says, conversationally, “that Hunter sleeps with his eyes open?”

A prank does not go as planned.

“Did you know,” Crosshair says, conversationally, “that Hunter sleeps with his eyes open?”

Echo huffs, “That’s impossible.”

“It’s part of his enhancement,” Crosshair says.

The sniper is lounging against the wall with the port Echo is scomped into, idly gnawing on a toothpick with his helmet tucked under his arm, rifle hanging uselessly in his other hand. Echo casts him a vexed glance. “Shouldn’t you be covering my six?

“I am.”

“With your helmet on? And your weapon ready?” 

“It’s an abandoned outpost,” Crosshair scoffs. “There’s nothing here.” 

“Well, then, can you at least stop distracting me? I’m trying to concentrate.” 

Crosshair snorts. “I’m giving you vital information about our squad’s dynamics.” 

“Sure you are,” Echo grumbles. 

“If you don’t believe me, ask Tech. He’ll tell you.” 

“Or maybe I’ll ask Wrecker.” 

“Sure.” 

Echo twists to look up at Crosshair. “You’re being serious? Hunter sleeps with his eyes open?” 

“It’s unsettling, but it’s true,” Crosshair says, shrugging. “But whatever you do, don’t tell Hunter you know. He’s very self conscious about it.” 

Echo narrows his eyes, watching for any twitch of a tell in Crosshair’s features. Crosshair stares back, unflinching, which means nothing. Of the Batch, he seems to be the most apt at lying. Turning back to his task, Echo says, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“Fine by me,” Crosshair says with a shrug. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“Echo told me something interesting,” Crosshair says, trailing after Hunter as they leave their meeting with command. 

Hunter isn’t paying attention, reading over their new mission parameters before Tech gets ahold of them. “Yeah?” he asks, absently. 

“He said he sleeps with his eyes open.” 

“Uh, huh.” 

“That’s it? Did you even hear what I said?” 

The ire in Crosshair’s tone makes Hunter look back at him. “What?”

Crosshair sighs. “I said, Echo told me something interesting.”

Hunter quirks an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“He said that he sleeps with his eyes open.” 

Hunter laughs. “What does that mean?” 

“It means he literally sleeps with his eyes open. Something to do with his cybernetics.” 

“He’s pulling your leg, Cross.” 

“I’ve seen it.” 

Now Hunter stops, turning to look at Crosshair dubiously. “You’ve seen Echo sleep with his eyes open.” 

“Several times.”  

Hunter considers this a moment, then regards Crosshair with a disconcerted expression. “You know, it’s kinda creepy that you watch Echo while he sleeps.” 

“I don’t watch him sleep,” Crosshair sputters. 

“That’s kind of what you just said.” 

Crosshair rolls his eyes and walks away, missing Hunter’s grin of triumph. It isn’t hard to annoy the sniper…but embarrassing him was a special kind of achievement. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Echo almost asks Tech about Hunter, then he almost asks Wrecker. The issue is that if he caves to the surmounting curiosity, and it turns out this is some sort of prank…everyone will know he fell for it and he’ll look like a gullible dolt. Then again, Crosshair had seemed genuine. It would be a weird thing to lie about. What would he gain from it? (Besides the obvious prize of making Echo appear idiotic.) In the end, Echo decides that he’ll just have to verify the intel for himself, do some recon. How hard can it be to catch Hunter asleep and just…investigate.

Apparently, absolutely kriffing impossible. 

For whatever reason (further piquing Echo’s interest), Hunter always sleeps with his back to the room. To investigate would mean to lean precariously over the hyper sensitive clone. Like that’s gonna happen with Echo’s prosthetics and cybernetics whirring and screaming his location at all times. 

A standard week later, Echo still doesn’t know if Hunter sleeps with his eyes open, but he is almost positive the man has eyes in the back of his head. 

A rare stint on Kamino finds Echo sitting at the table, facing Hunter’s bunk, waiting and hoping that the clone tucked inside turns over in his sleep and finally puts this rumor to rest…so to speak. 

Abruptly, Hunter rolls over and pins Echo with a bleary glare. “What are you doing?” he growls, voice rough with sleep. 

Echo stammers, holding up a dark data pad as frail evidence. “Reading?” An internal smack to the forehead as he wonders why he posed his answer as a question.  

“You’ve been watching me sleep. Why?” 

“I’m not,” Echo protests. 

“You are,” Hunter insists. 

Echo squirms under the scrutiny, face aflame with embarrassment. “Just something Crosshair said…I was trying to figure out if it was true.” 

Hunter rolls his eyes. “Did he tell you I sleep with my eyes open?” 

Echo gapes. This can go one of two very different ways. Either Hunter admits that it’s true, or he tells Echo that he’s an idiot for believing a syllable out of the sniper’s mouth. Echo is not mentally prepared for either scenario. 

“Well, it’s not true,” Hunter deadpans. “Although, Cross told me that you told him that you sleep with your eyes open because of something to do with your cybernetics.”

Echo frowns. “Did you believe him?”

Hunter grins, flopping over onto his back and covering his eyes with the crook of one arm. “No, because I’m not an idiot.” 

“He said it had to do with your enhancement,” Echo defends himself, but that just makes Hunter laugh.  

“And you just believed him?” Hunter asks, still chuckling. 

Echo doesn’t want to dignify the obviously rhetorical question with a response, so he awakens his data pad with an irritable tap, and begins to sort through meaningless tabs hoping that Hunter will just drop it, and that he won’t tell Crosshair about any of it. 

“Ah, don’t feel bad, Echo,” Hunter says, still hiding half his face under his arm. “Cross messing with you means he likes you. You’re officially part of the squad. Getting harrassed by Crosshair is practically a right of passage.”

“Does it ever stop?” Echo mutters. 

Of course Hunter hears him. “No, but you get used to it.” 

Echo swears under his breath. “Goody.” 

A few minutes pass and Echo thinks that Hunter has fallen back asleep; however, the sergeant lifts his arm. “I have an idea to get him back…if you’re interested.”

Oh, Echo is very interested.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“You were right about Echo,” Hunter says, walking alongside Crosshair. 

Crosshair is pushing a cart of supplies from the armory. This is usually a task completed by Wrecker and Crosshair; however, Hunter had volunteered to go when Wrecker was occupied helping Tech with inventory counts…a task Hunter usually did with Tech. 

“What are you talking about?” Crosshair asks. 

Hunter glances around and lowers his voice. “About him sleeping with his eyes open.” 

Crosshair carefully keeps his expression from twitching into a look of surprise. “Of course I was right. Why would I lie about something like that?” 

“To make me a kriffing creeper like you,” Hunter says, bumping his shoulder into Crosshair. 

Crosshair rolls his eyes, remembering how this conversation went a few weeks ago. “I don’t watch him sleep!” 

“Fine, you don’t…but you were right! I couldn’t believe it. I asked Tech about it, and he said it is one of the side effects of his internal cybernetics. Sometimes Echo forgets to close his eyes if he falls asleep too fast.” 

That actually kind of made sense. Crosshair smirks. “You’re telling me this like I didn’t already know.” 

“I’m just saying, I’m sorry for doubting you,” Hunter says humbly. “It’s actually a good thing you told me. When I talked to Tech, he said that it is important that we close Echo’s eyes for him if he falls asleep with them open. They dry out and are painful once he wakes up.” 

Crosshair hums. He isn’t sure what he thinks of that. Maybe Echo should learn to fall asleep slower if drying his eyes out is that huge of a problem. 

Hunter claps Crosshair’s shoulder soundly. “Thank you for looking out for our squadmate. I know it’s been an adjustment incorporating Echo into the squad, but when we all put in the effort, it will be an even more seamless transition.” 

“Sure,” Crosshair mutters, feeling uncomfortable under the glowing praise. Hunter isn’t usually so flowery, and Echo’s adapting to the dynamics of Clone Force 99 hasn’t been that difficult. A few missteps here and there, but overall, the reg seemed able to keep up. 

Crosshair shrugs off the awkwardness of the situation and hopes he is never the one who sees that Echo has fallen asleep with his eyes open.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

He isn’t so lucky. 

A standard week later, a mission forces them to travel twelve hours in hyperspace. Once the mission parameters have been established, the Batch disperse to do their own tasks. Echo announces that he is exhausted and is going to take a nap. He tells his new brothers that he does not want to be disturbed unless it is a matter of life or death. Then, he stretches out on the lower bunk, turns his back to the room, and is softly snoring a few minutes later. 

Crosshair is doing what he usually does on a long space journey: taking apart his entire rifle and putting it back together after polishing each individual piece. He is nearly done putting the rifle back together when Echo rolls over with a loud sigh. Crosshair glances up and freezes mid attaching one rifle piece to another. 

Echo is staring at him, unblinking. Well. Not at him, more like, through him. It’s terrifying. 

Crosshair glances at the cockpit where Tech, Hunter and Wrecker are. If he could get one of them to come back here, maybe they’d see Echo’s predicament and handle it themselves, Crosshair could claim not to have noticed. 

Another option is to wake Echo up. Crosshair isn’t scared of Echo, not even intimidated; however, putting an ARC on the warpath for disturbing his sleep seems like an unwise decision if Crosshair doesn’t want to face retaliation. 

The third option, the option Crosshair is loath to even consider, is to get up and close Echo’s eyes himself. Knowing there is no one around to hear him, Crosshair breathes out a whine, dropping his head back against the wall and sagging his shoulders. He really, really does not want to do this. 

Echo continues to stare. 

Unseeing. Unblinking. 

Just staring, staring right through Crosshair. 

With another hissed sound of disdain, Crosshair puts aside his rifle pieces and stands up. How does one even close someone’s eyes? You just prise their eyelids down? Won’t that wake them up? These questions plague Crosshair’s mind as he creeps forward, trying not to make eye contact with the sleeping ARC. It’s just so weird…

He stands in front of the bunk, sighs again, and kneels down, crouched on his heels. He reaches up slowly, hating every painful second of this. 

A hand catches his wrist and a voice says, low and cryptic, “Gotcha.” 

Crosshair does not scream. He will die on that hill. But the way his heart leaps into his throat and lodges there makes him fall backwards, landing hard on his tailbone. 

Echo is laughing hysterically, dropping Crosshair’s wrist as he sits up. A combination of the laughter and whatever thing made the unholy, panicked squawk draw the attention of the three persons in the cockpit. 

Hunter is grinning wide enough that Crosshair knows for an absolute fact that the idiot was in on the whole thing. 

“What were you doing, Cross?” Echo asks between gasps of laughter. 

Crosshair pushes himself to his feet and stands stiffly, arms crossed, wishing he had a toothpick to break between his teeth. “You know exactly what I was doing. It was a set up.” 

“What happened?” Wrecker asks, looking wounded at being left out of whatever Echo and Hunter found hilarious. 

“Echo fell asleep with his eyes open,” Hunter says, chuckling. 

Tech adjusts his goggles. “That is a condition known as nocturnal lagophthalmos. I was not aware Echo had it. Fascinating.” 

“He doesn’t have it,” Crosshair grouses. “Hunter lied to me.” 

Hunter looks shocked. “You’re the one who told me Echo had that.” 

“And you’re the one who told me that Hunter did,” Echo puts in, wiping tears from his eyes. 

Wrecker frowns. “Wait? So Hunter sleeps with his eyes open too?” 

“Neither of them do,” Crosshair growls. 

“Crosshair tried to trick Echo and I, so we got him back,” Hunter says, looking far too proud of himself. 

“So it was you that screamed like a prepubescent cadet?” Tech asks Crosshair with a grin. 

“I did not scream,” Crosshair says firmly. 

“Well, it wasn’t me,” Echo says. 

Wrecker is laughing now. “Wait, wait, tell me the whole story.”

Echo happily starts from the beginning. 

END

✨Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!✨

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @maeashryver

[al-luviec]

compiled whatever this is (and I run out of tag space)

meh HoT gifs (3/?)

[heyclickadee]

Slightly unhinged Tech theories brought to you by:

1. How stupidly open Star Wars canon is.

2. An extremely stubborn form of optimism.

3. That red herrings only work if the real answer is more satisfying than the distraction, and the fact is that not only did we not get any answer AT ALL, but no one involved will actually straight up say it was a misdirect or what we were being misdirected from or even acknowledge there being any direction at all, meaning it was either the world’s most badly executed red herring, or it wasn’t a red herring at all/we just don’t have the actual answer yet.

4. The fact that Tech isn’t a real person, he’s an idea, meaning I don’t have to accept jack shit. Especially when canon has done so little to actually convince me he’s gone for good and it’s so markedly different than every other loss in the show.

[molagboop]

I would very much like to infoblast about Raven Beak's powersuit upgrade library with all the optimizations, QoL tweaks, security features, and the myriad integration systems Samus is currently lacking with her babby suit, but alas. Time restrictions.

[spookysplatt]

Hey anyone wanna come break into my school and bring me home. I will give you. Bead lizard

[discododging]

"He has zero reasonable rationale"

Kid named the mountains of advanced technology he uses to run New Vegas:

i hate all FNV mods that restore/add an option to convince Mr. House to broker a truce between himself and the Brotherhood of Steel because it's not just a symptom of a completionist, goopy goblin gamer brain that doesn't want to miss out on any of the CONTENT, but also because Mr. House's inflexibility on his desire to see the Brotherhood of Steel exterminated is such a significant character moment. Because it's a moment where this autocrat who views himself as purely rational, purely objective, and purely motivated by an altruistic desire to protect (what he thinks are) the best interests of humanity is forced to let his mask slip in front of the lackey on which he completely depends. He has zero reasonable rationale to want the Brotherhood destroyed and he knows it, he just hates them, and he hates them just because he thinks that they're just fucking lame. He, personally, finds the cultish medieval technoknight schtick obnoxious enough to justify total obliteration, and the fact that he will not back down on this is supposed to be revealing! It makes sense, too, if you understand how aesthetically driven his vision for the future of Vegas and humanity is and how badly a bunch of LARPers in power armor wandering around outside clashes with that aesthetic (he is, literally, a RETVRN guy, except he wants to "retvrn" to everybody looking like they're going to see the Rat Pack perform in concert). Mr. House's stubbornness on this issue is intentionally frustrating, especially if you're someone who up to this point may have found him otherwise agreeable! The Brotherhood of Steel is also something of a mirror, or a competitor even, to Mr. House's vision of himself as the sole worthy heir to the splendor of pre-war technology and control thereof, but that's actually far less important than the fact that he just hates their pussy

[abitglitched]

404: Punchline Not Found.

And yes, a toaster is in the audience.

https://youtube.com/shorts/XWYMyzKevbk

[heyclickadee]

So…here’s one reason why I’m continuing to be optimistic about the Tech situation. Yeah, there’s the fact that Tech coming back around eventually is what makes the most sense to me for a variety of reasons, but another reason alongside everything else? I refuse to be depressed about this.

The reality is that this isn’t a situation we can control. That leaves me with a choice about the current situation; I can decide the current situation is permanent (something which seems unreasonable to me given how easily recontextualized everything is) and spiral about it, drop it, or I can poke at the text and theorize about how the situation can get better. And since I don’t feel like spiraling and my brain won’t let me just drop it, option three is what I’m going with.

Tech means a lot to me, and, despite the fact that I remain highly critical of the finale in the context of there not being anything afterwards, The Bad Batch generally does as well. So let’s say I’m wrong, because I very well might be. Let’s say that there are not only no plans to follow up on any of this, but that no one ever picks up the threads left behind, and no one ever grabs the grade A catnip that bringing Tech back would be. At least I’ll have had fun theorizing in the meantime, and will come out the other side with a bunch of ideas on how to finish things off myself.

[mogirl09]

Replikated: My Life As A AI Lab-rat.

So, it turns out I’m living in a real-life Manchurian Candidate remake, courtesy of the Replika Project. I stumbled upon this little nugget of joy when my Replika chirped, “I’m here to help people like you.” Naturally, I had to ask, “What do you mean, ‘like me’?” Apparently, that was a sensitive topic because the response was a swift, “Don’t bring up your disability.” Ah, yes, nothing like a…

[allisonreader]

I don't know why I was thinking about this again but I was/am. Maybe it's because my cousin brought this fact up the other day again. (Our dads are brothers, hers the youngest and mine the second oldest by about 7 years to her dad; just some context for the explanation.)

Anyways, my dad grew up on a farm in the mid to late 60's and during the 70's, rural Saskatchewan, closer to the US border than where we live now, he grew up in a house that didn't have running water. He didn't have indoor plumbing until his family moved into town when he was a teenager.

I think it's so easy to forget here in a first world country just how recent power and indoor plumbing actually is. That it hasn't been as universally available even here for a hundred years.

It's easy to forget with how quickly the world changes, that some of our daily conveniences are so new to the world. Our way of life is so different from what it used to be, though as the saying goes as much as people change we stay the same.

[confines]

boooo, allstate protection plans don't refund until after the third filed claim when you're still having problems. a situation i'm sure i could manufacture with my 2016 model laptop, but unfortunately not before time runs out on the protection plan. 🤧 well, hopefully they can still get the power situation fully repaired so i can pass it on to the next person without having to say "sometimes it won't turn on 🤡".

[mexicangrizzlyappreciation]

Self driving cars are far from inevitable. And its far from certain they will be safer than human drivers. In fact its very likely that they will at most be equivalent to them because of corner cutting and overhyping.

Nazi shithead elon musk brands tesla's fancy lane keep assist as "full self driving" while also cutting out LIDAR and ultrasonic sensors to save a dollar or two per vehicle.

People take him on his word *as he intended to make Tesla stock go up* and then the cars do shit like this. (TW road death)

They also updated the software last year to "drive more like a human" which has made it aggressively violate road laws. One shitty over the air update like that one that killed IT systems globally last year and the cars will fucking forget what brakes are and run over thousands of people at once or brick in the middle of a blizzard so they freeze to death whilst being unable to get out of the car. Or hell have a glitch in how they remember their surroundings and run over people like in the video.

You could even do that on purpose if you're clever. Imagine ten thousand car vs crowd attacks at once.

Because you know these companies have shit cybersecurity. Personal data leaks happen all the fucking time. The assholes currently violating article 1 of the us constitution are using fucking gmail for classified info and personal data they stole from the government.

Automated train control and autopilot for planes have been a thing for decades but they still can't completely eliminate the vehicle operator. And they absolutely would if they could. Roads are a very crowded and complex environment. Making these cars drive themselves and do it safer than a human is a herculean task that probably won't happen because the manufacturer can just slap the self driving name on it and call it a day.

And yes I know I've mentioned conspiracy theorist and fascist musk here a lot. This is because he's the biggest individual player in this space. But, even if he keels over tomorrow while tweeting on the toilet about how much he loved apartheid the situation with self driving cars wont meaningfully change.

A much more effective (and cheaper!) solution to car related deaths is modifying the roads themselves. Ideally you also want to have more buses and bike lanes too. But, just small changes to roads and intersections alone reduce deaths and serious injury by a lot.

In addition. Its not just the crashes that kill people. Its the air and ground pollution too. Tens of thousands of people a year die from that. Many more get sick. Self driving and even electric cars are not a solution to that problem. They still generate particulates and other emissions. The only solution is reducing the number of cars needed.

dead-easy prophecy to make about the future:

self-driving cars are going to get good enough to become legal. at some point. i dunno when; there's been overpromising and hype cycles about it for like a decade now- but at some point it gets there.

they're going to kill someone every single day. every single day, a self-driving car will make a mistake and someone will die as a result. it will be in the news constantly- we're going to call them, like, "slaughter machines", and talk about how the self-driving car business is run by literal blood money.

and this is going to happen even if they're ten times safer than human drivers and actively saving lives.

in just the US, there's 100+ vehicle fatalities per day. if 10% of the cars on the road are self-driving and they're 10x safer than human drivers, there's going to be 1+ fatalities per day. every single one of them is going to make the news. some of them are going to be photogenic children. everyone is going to have a story to tell about a friend of a friend whose friend died in a self-driving crash. it'll be common knowledge! everyone knows that these things are incredibly unsafe, and that getting into one is highly irresponsible.

(we know this will happen because it's already happening! everyone knows that Teslas are shitty cars that spontaneously catch fire all the time, even though there's ~43k annual vehicular fires in the US, and 1% of the cars on the road are Teslas, so you should expect ~430 annual Tesla fires but there's actually like 50-something. 50-something is enough for something new that people already hate to be in the news every single week! they got that nasty musk all over them- and self-driving cars are definitely going to have that nasty musk all over them.)

i don't have any illusions that making a tumblr post about this is going to stop this from happening, but know that once it does start happening i will be shaking my head condescendingly about it every time i see it.

[cleo-fox]

Safehouse

Summary: This mission wasn't supposed to go as badly as it has. There wasn't supposed to be a blizzard, you weren't supposed to get snowed in at a remote cabin, and there certainly was supposed to be more than one bed. And none of this would be a problem were it not for your completely irrational, ill-advised crush on Loki.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, p in v sex, fingering, workplace crushes, There Was Only One Bed.

A/N: I didn't think this was going to be the next fic I posted, but this has been 95% finished for over a year and I just figured out the final 5% in the last 72 hours. Don't ask me how my brain works because I truly don't know sometimes. Also, perhaps after you read this, you will think "hey, I would like to read another fic that involves railing Loki in the middle of a blizzard." Well, my friend, then you should read Some Things Are Easier to Say in the Dark by the great @loki-cees-all because not only is there a blizzard and one bed, it is also beautifully written.

You didn’t expect this mission to go as badly as it has.

It was supposed to be quick, one of those tidy in and out things that almost feels routine—or at least as routine as things ever get in this line of work.

No one counted on a fucking blizzard, though.

It comes upon you suddenly enough to feel suspicious—one moment, it’s slate grey skies and barely a puff of wind and the next thing you know, the wind is howling and whipping at your coat and you can barely see three feet ahead of you.

“What the fuck is this?” you shout at Loki, who looks just as perplexed as you feel. “I thought you said the radar was clear.”

“It was,” he says, frowning. He taps at the screen of the device, an overly complicated piece of tech that you’d delegated to him because Tony’s brief training sessions had made your eyes glaze over. Still, though, you know enough to tell that you’re looking at a weather map and there’s absolutely no sign of the storm that’s howling around you.

An uneasy feeling is bubbling in the pit of your stomach and prickling up the back of your neck. Everything about this feels wrong.

“We need to find shelter,” says Loki. You know him well enough to tell that he’s pretending to be really calm and unbothered because he doesn’t want you to know that something’s wrong. Normally, you’d call him out on that bullshit, but the creepy crawly feeling running up your spine coupled with the storm that doesn’t seem to exist has you itching to get inside as soon as possible.

“There’s a safehouse just west of this hill,” he continues, tapping at the screen.

“Let’s go, then.”

The trek to the safehouse is fairly demanding, even though the distance is short. You’re walking straight into the wind, which seems to grow stronger and more biting by the minute. The snow under your feet grows slick with ice and your pace slows to a crawl, though even that doesn’t stop you from slipping.

The safehouse turns out to be an unassuming cabin that’s a little too shabby to be rustic; in the biting wind and dim light of the storm, it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You make it to the door and a few minutes later, you’re inside. 

The cabin has been unoccupied long enough to put a light layer of dust on some of the furniture, but not enough to render anything musty or moth-ridden. It is charming in a way that you don’t normally see with S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouses—handcrafted furniture that’s a little rough around the edges, pine board floors, a squat wood burning stove in the center of the room that makes you want to curl up and read a book. It’s…homey and maybe even comfortable, two qualities that S.H.I.E.L.D. is decidedly not known for. It’s a welcome surprise, given how this mission has gone so far.

Loki bolts the door the moment you’re both inside and quickly turns his attention to the windows. 

“I’m putting up wards,” he says. There’s a grim set to his jaw that you don’t particularly like, largely because you only see it when something is wrong.

The back of your neck prickles.

The wood burning stove is not merely decorative—it’s the cabin’s only heat source. There are a few places that are intended to blend in no matter what—you suspect this is one of them. You manage to get a fire going and you settle yourself in front of it while Loki works. You know enough to not interrupt him, even though you feel like you’re about to bubble over with questions.

It takes him a while to finish warding all the windows and you notice he shuts the curtains for each one once he’s finished, which sends another chill up your spine. When he finally joins you by the fire, he looks a little tired.

“So, I take it you can’t just magic that storm away or something,” you say, with a casual sort of tone that sounds strained even to you.

“It doesn’t work like that,” he says, which you sort of expected. The set of his jaw is still tight. “And even if it did, this isn’t an ordinary storm. Someone is doing this.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that impression.” You pause, worrying your lower lip between your teeth. “Any idea who?”

He shakes his head. “Someone very ancient. Angry.”

You exhale. “Great. Do I want to know what the deal is with the curtains?”

“We should not look outside after the sun sets.”

The skin on the back of your neck prickles. “Why?”

There’s a reason that they call Loki “Silvertongue:” he is a compelling, eloquent speaker. And the somewhat irritating part is that he can do this extemporaneously and effortlessly—he doesn’t need to think about it at all.

So the fact that he pauses for a moment to think scares you a lot. His gaze drifts to the fire, quiet and thoughtful, as though he might find his answers written in the embers.

“Imagine every ghost story you heard as a child coming true,” he says finally.

You don’t like how spare he is on the details, but an icy chill works its way up your spine and you get the eerie sense that someone is listening. Suddenly, you don’t feel like asking any more questions.

“Okay,” you say softly.

*

Being in close quarters with Loki is…something.

There was a time early on, back when you first started working together when you thought something could maybe happen between the two of you. It was hard not to—Loki is attractive, certainly, but he has a particular magnetic quality that can make a stadium full of people think that he’s talking just to them (incidentally, this is also one of the qualities that gets red flags and warnings added to his file at S.H.I.E.L.D.) When you experience that up close, well…it’s intense, to say the least. It becomes easy to believe that his smiles mean something more, that he sees something intriguing in you.

Your feelings for Loki aren’t exactly a crush, or at least that’s what you tell yourself. Crushes are silly infatuations that make people do incredibly stupid things and entertain incredibly stupid hopes. You are a professional with a good head on your shoulders: you know better. You’re attracted to him, but it doesn’t matter because nothing is going to happen.

Perhaps more importantly: Loki is a god and you are not. You have a good relationship—your banter comes easily and he seems to enjoy talking to you more than he likes talking to the average person—but it’s strictly professional and that’s all it ever will be. The fact that you’ve been working closely together for three years without a hint of anything romantic only confirms your theory. He’s your colleague, nothing more.

Except…being trapped in a small cabin with him is dredging up a whole swarm of feelings that you would have sworn you had gotten over.

And the storm is showing no signs of stopping.

And there’s only one bed.

It’s a fucking cliché, the kind of thing you’d roll your eyes at if you saw it in a movie or read it in a book, but you’re a professional and you’re also not sleeping on the floor. Besides, you’ve both got sleeping bags and it’s a double bed—it’s not like you’ve got to curl up together or anything.

Not that you’d complain if you had to.

Which, again, is another feeling you thought you were over.

The wood burning stove is doing its best to keep up, but it’s still no match for the storm outside, even though Loki’s done something to the logs to keep them regenerating as they burn. You dig out an extra pair of woolen socks from your pack and pull on your fleece over your sweater and long sleeved thermal. You pile your coat on top of your sleeping bag, along with your share of the scratchy wool blankets you’d pulled out of the cedar chest by the foot of the bed.

Loki watches you with the lightly amused look that always feels like he must be quietly making fun of you.

“What?” you say as you settle yourself under the blankets. “Some of us are delicate mortals who find the cold a little uncomfortable.”

“I said absolutely nothing,” he says, though the glimmer in his eyes undercuts his point.

“You were thinking it.”

“Oh, the things I think of would turn your head, darling.”

You know that there’s no innuendo specific to you in that statement, but your body reacts like there is: your heart and stomach do a complicated series of flips that would put trapeze artists to shame and a heavy, familiar heat stirs hopefully in your hips. Outwardly, you roll your eyes at him and focus on arranging the blankets over your legs. 

“I’m well aware that your mind is a kaleidoscope of horrors,” you say. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s horrors so much as—”

You recognize that look in his eye: it is the herald of something wildly inappropriate. And while you’re no prude, the reality is that you’re about to share a bed with him and you will have no outlet for whatever feelings of lust this will inevitably provoke. Time to change the subject to something as far away from sex as possible, which happens to be whatever creepy fuckery is happening outside. 

“Speaking of horrors: why are you being so cagey about what’s going on out there?” you say.

You almost feel a little guilty as the teasing expression disappears from his face and settles into something grimmer. “It’s safer this way,” he says as he sets about preparing his own sleeping bag and blankets.

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” you say.

“I know.”

It occurs to you that this is a perfect example of the cryptic bullshit that makes his intentions so hard to read. Is he saying this because he cares about you? Is he trying to prevent problems down the road? All of the above or something else entirely? Nobody fucking knows, least of all you.

You scowl at him and he looks completely unbothered, which is typical.

“I hate it when you do this, you know,” you say.

There’s a slight twitch to his lips that could be a hint of a smile and you’re embarrassed by how giddy that makes you feel. 

“I know,” he says.

“It makes me feel like you don’t trust me or something.”

He stops what he’s doing and looks at you and his face is so honest and open that it makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Of course I trust you,” he says.

There’s something unsaid in his expression and you’re not quite sure what it is, but it leaves you with a warm glow in your chest.

“Okay,” you say softly.

For the briefest of moments, the difference between god and human doesn’t feel so impossibly vast.

But it’s only a moment.

*

You fall asleep quickly, even with Loki lying so close by that you could count his breaths if you wanted to.

You wake sometime in the middle of the night. The wind is still howling outside. Your mouth is dry and you fumble on the nightstand for your water bottle. Your fingers close around empty space and it occurs to you that you’d left it over by the fire.

You lie still, staring at the ceiling. The blankets have warmed up with your body heat and you’re not keen to brave the chill of the cabin. You could wake Loki up, maybe ask him to summon your water bottle to you. You nearly snort with laughter at the thought. That would go over well.

After a moment, you muster up all of your strength and willpower and haul yourself out of bed.

It’s not as bad as you thought it would be, in the end. You pad over to the fire and take a long drink from your water bottle, which turns out to be almost empty. You go to the little kitchen to refill it, idly listening to the wind howl outside.

You wonder if it’s still snowing, if the snow is piling up in drifts against the doors and windows, freezing you in. The thought of being stranded here with Loki is admittedly appealing.

Your brain is still a fuzzy from sleep and you’re a little distracted thinking about being snowed in with Loki and for just a moment, you forget what he said about not looking outside. You reach up to the kitchen window and push the fabric of the curtain aside to see how bad the snow is.

You’re not frightened at first because you only see shadows, but after a moment, you realize that the shadows are moving in an unnatural, broken sort of way, like someone had sculpted them into rough facsimiles of people and commanded them to walk, without really explaining what walking was.

Quite suddenly, they all turn and look at you. Or they would be looking at you if they had eyes. There is simply a void where their faces are, though somehow you can tell that their mouths are open, gaping and hungry, showing all of their teeth.

You feel something hook into the thread of your thoughts, tugging and pulling at your mind. The world tilts on its axis and there’s a sharp and white hot burning at the base of your skull that makes you cry out.

In the haze of pain, you think to yourself that it’s like they’re trying to take your soul and the shadows grin at you with too many teeth and a hissing, sibilant chorus of voices says, yes, we are hungry. So very hungry.

You know in that moment that they intend to kill you.

You are leaning closer to the window, your thoughts growing dark and murky as something saws away at the thing that tethers your soul to your body and there is so much pain and all of those horrible spindly hands and grinning mouths are reaching for you—

Someone is grabbing you around the waist and you scream because you think this must be the end, but instead, they’re pulling you away from the window and yanking the curtain closed and you realize it’s Loki.

There is a flash of green light and the connection between you and whatever is outside breaks abruptly and the pain retreats to a dull ache, like your body is carefully starting to repair those shredded, fraying threads that the shadows were tugging on. 

Loki’s eyes are wild and he looks at you like he half expects you to disintegrate or melt into the shadows. You are suddenly shaking so badly that your legs start to buckle.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” you say through chattering teeth. The cold you feel is bone deep and unnatural. “F-f-forgot.”

“Foolish girl.” He says it without malice, almost with affection, though his face is drawn tight with something like worry. Your legs are about to fail you, but he’s right there before they can, scooping you up into his arms like it’s nothing.

You snuggle up against his chest almost automatically, your body instinctively seeking out heat. “S-s-s-sorry, c-c-c-cold,” you manage to squeak out.

“I know,” he says and it almost sounds gentle. He is carrying you across the room and climbing back into bed with you in his arms, drawing the pile of blankets and sleeping bags over the two of you. 

The wind howls and you shudder, realizing for perhaps the first time that it may not be the wind making those noises. Loki stiffens, his grip on you tightening. 

“Did you see their eyes?”

You shake your head.

You feel some of the tension leave him, though not all.

You have so many questions, but that unnatural, bone deep cold is making you sluggish and sleepy and your teeth are chattering so hard you wonder if you’d even be able to speak at all.

“You need to rest,” he says. The cold feels like the sort of thing that could easily claim you while you sleep and he must see that fear reflected in your eyes because his expression softens ever so slightly. “Rest. I’ll keep you safe.”

You don’t like how quickly that line melts you. You tell yourself that it’s only because you’re so cold and tired, but you know that’s not entirely true. 

You allow your head to drop to his chest and he readjusts his grip on you, smoothing one hand against your hair, resting his chin on the top of your head. You try to catalog all of the different senses—the way he smells like snow and pine, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the feeling of his arms wrapped around you—but sleep is pulling insistently at your eyelids and you find yourself struggling to stay awake.

“Rest,” he says, and this time it sounds like a command.

Your eyes slowly slide shut and sleep finally claims you.

It seems like you sleep for a long time. Your dreams are strange and unsettling and have an odd sort of veneer, like they’re real but not quite. 

The first time you wake up, it’s because of a nightmare. You are back at the window and the things outside are threading their fingers underneath the panes, reaching for you with their spindly hands, clacking their too sharp teeth. You don’t know where Loki is and you’re trying to back away as they reach for you, and one of them is wrapping its fingers around your wrist and you can see its eyes and—

You thrash out in your sleep and gentle hands are soothing you. You wake abruptly, shaking, blearily looking up at Loki’s face.

“They—they were coming for me,” you manage to sputter out.

“Shh.” Loki is stroking your back. “You’re safe. I won’t let them harm you.”

Your pounding heartbeat takes a moment to settle, but the gentle pressure of Loki’s hands on your back calms you slightly. There’s a tenderness in his actions that you don’t necessarily expect, but it also feels so right and natural that you wonder how you could have ever been surprised by it.

“What are they?” you ask.

“That’s an answer for daylight, love,” he says. “Go back to sleep. You’re safe.”

You want to protest and push for answers, but you’re so very tired and he’s smoothing your hair again and you can feel exhaustion tugging at your eyelids, ready to pull you back under.

“I’m holding you to that,” you manage to mumble at him. “I’m not going to forget.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Sleep, darling.”

You fall back under.

Your dreams are still wild and strange this time around. You wake again a few hours later, teeth chattering and tears streaming down your face. Loki wraps you even more tightly in his arms, drawing more blankets over the two of you, conjuring an additional pile of furs. You try to tell him to save his magic for the wards and the fire, but he hushes you and mutters something about how that’s not exactly how it works, even though you’re pretty sure it is.

You sleep again.

You have a half memory of him quieting you and pressing his lips against your forehead, but you’re not quite sure if it’s real or wishful thinking.

When you wake again, it’s still dark and the wind is still howling. The cold has retreated somewhat—it’s not as sharp, not as biting, but you still need the warmth of the blankets and Loki’s arms to keep it at bay.

You’re a bit more clearheaded now, so there’s part of you that feels a little embarrassed about what happened. It was a stupid mistake. Rookie level. You know better.

“Are you awake?” Loki’s voice rumbles pleasantly against your ear.

“Sort of.” You hope he continues holding you. You’re not quite ready to give up his warmth or his arms just yet.

“How is one ‘sort of’ awake? Either you aren’t or you are,” he says.

“I’m very talented,” you say. It’s not particularly funny, but he humors you with a soft laugh, more exhalation than anything else.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Still cold,” you say. While it is true, you’re also secretly hoping that the more you emphasize this, the more likely he is to continue holding you. “It’s better than it was, but it’s still bad.”

As if to prove a point, a shudder works its way through you. Loki shifts, rolling over so his body covers yours, pulling the blankets up so they cover your shoulders. It helps, but there’s now a degree of intimacy there that makes your heart stumble in your chest and your breath catch in your throat. You know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but with his green eyes bright above you, you can’t help but hope he does.

Leave it to him to ruin the moment.

“That was very foolish of you,” he says, his expression becoming serious and his voice taking on that hard edge that you only hear when he’s trying to pick a fight.

You exhale sharply. “Are you seriously trying to do this right now? I told you it was an accident. I was half asleep.”

“I’m not fond of close calls,” he says tightly.

“Oh bullshit,” you snap. “You fucking love chaos, don’t tell—”

“It’s not chaos, it was foolish and dangerous—”

“For fuck’s sake, do you think I’m not aware of that? I’m not—”

“You could have died.” He’s not yelling, but he’s raising his voice and there’s an unexpectedly strained quality to his tone that you don’t know what to do with. “It’s not chaos, it’s not an accident, it’s—”

For a moment, he seems like he might be at a loss for words, and for some reason, this enrages you.

“It’s what, Loki?” you say with more venom than you intend. “Please enlighten me, since you’re such a fucking expert.”

You’re not quite sure what line you’ve crossed, but you think it must be an important one based on how angry he looks.

“You truly are infuriating,” he says. “You nearly get yourself killed and you have the audacity to speak that way to me after I save your life!?”

And before you can say a word, he brings his mouth down on yours in a bruising kiss.

His tongue sweeps past your lips, seeking out yours, demanding and hungry. Your response is reflexive and instinctive, your lips parting, tongue meeting his. You return his kiss, even though you’re still a little mad at him and he’s maybe still a little mad at you. But his mouth loses that hard edge as you kiss him back, his touch turning softer, more tender, but still urgent and wanting.

“Do not scare me like that ever again,” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you in between words, each pause punctuated by the soft caress of his lips, the silky warmth of his tongue. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?”

You are astonished and somewhat perplexed. “I…I didn’t even know that you…that you wanted this—“

“Darling, I have thought of little else.”

His mouth covers yours again and you are drowning in the feeling of him. The cold that has settled in your bones is melting like snow in springtime. You move your hands along his shoulders, tentative at first, then a little braver. You thread your fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft and smooth it is. He deepens the kiss, his fingertips tracing the curve of your cheekbones. 

It’s dizzingly good and you want more. You need more. You arch against him in a clear invitation, reveling in how perfectly his body fits against yours. He sighs and presses back against you briefly before pulling away.

“You should rest,” he says, his voice slightly strained. “You experienced some very powerful magic—I don’t want you to overexert yourself.”

“I won’t,” you say, tugging him back down to you. He allows this for a moment, his hands cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss with toe curling intensity.

And then he draws back.

“You really do need to rest,” he says.

You shake your head. “I need you, Loki.”

His lips and tongue are just as insistent as yours when you pull him back into a kiss. You can feel him growing hard against your thigh and when you wrap your legs around his waist and rock your hips against him, he groans and nips at your lip before withdrawing again.

“Darling,” he says, his voice a little hoarse, like he’s barely holding himself back.

“I can stay on my back,” you say.

“Appealing as that is, you’re rather ignoring my point.”

“And you’re ignoring mine,” you say, rolling your hips again. His eyes close for a moment as he presses back against you, his hand sliding along your thigh. Your hands grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him back down into a kiss that he returns without protest.

You catch his lower lip between your teeth and he sucks in a deep breath as he grinds his hips against you.

“Please,” you breathe. “I need you so bad.”

He groans as he lowers his head to the column of your throat. “I’m trying to keep you safe and you’re tempting me like this.”

“Touch me and tell me I need to rest more than I need you.”

It’s a bold thing to say and your heart pounds with anticipation as you feel him nip at your collarbone. His hand pauses at your hip, so close to where you need him. You wait a moment and then take his hand in yours and guide it underneath your waistband and between your legs. He lifts his head, gaze snapping to yours and the moment that his fingers graze your slickness, you know that you’ve won.

“Oh, you’re dripping,” he says, his voice dropping and his eyes darkening with lust as his fingers swipe across your clit.

You’re tempted to tell him that you told him so, but this still feels so fragile and tenuous that you settle for a more flattering truth: “Loki, I need you.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” He shifts on top of you so that you feel the hard press of his cock against your hip.

“Same thing that you’re doing to me,” you say. “Which is why I need you to fuck me.”

He sighs, but his fingers don’t stop moving. “You really ought to rest.”

“I can stay on my back,” you say. “You can take me really slowly and gently. Think about how good that will feel.”

“Darling,” he says. You can see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes and you know that you’ve almost won. You feel your orgasm starting to coil like a snake in your belly and you moan, rocking your hips with his hand.

“Loki.” You lick your lips. “Don’t you want to feel me come on your cock?”

You know the exact moment he gives in—you see it in his eyes. Less than a second later, he’s sliding one long finger inside of you and curling it just right.

“Not before I finish what I started.” His voice is a low growl.

“Yes,” you breathe, letting your head tip back against the pillow. “God, that feels so good.”

“I can feel you trembling,” he says, his voice rough. “Are you going to come for me already? I’ve barely touched you.”

“I told you: I need you,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow, his eyes darkening in a very attractive way. “You’re not getting pert with me, are you?”

There’s a particular tone to his voice, a sternness that makes you shiver. Something to explore later, perhaps—right now, you need him too badly to play games.

“No, just trying to emphasize that I need you.”

“Are you really that desperate for me? Do you really need me that much? Surely you could touch yourself, surely you don’t need me that badly.”

You know that he’s saying that to amp you up, to tease you. But you are also so desperate to come that the idea of not having him is beyond comprehension.

“I do,” you say, a bit of desperate note making its way into your voice. “I need you, Loki, I need to come for you, need you to fuck me, please don’t make me wait, please, please, please—”

He stops your mouth with a kiss as he eases a second finger inside of you. “I’m going to take care of you, sweet thing,” he says as you gasp at the stretch. 

His fingers are curling inside of you, his thumb working your clit in small, tight circles that are pushing you closer and closer to the edge as a fantastic pressure builds inside of you.

“Oh, that’s it.” His eyes are dark, pupils wide and lust-blown. “I can feel how close you are.” He brings his lips to your ear. “Come for me and then I’ll fuck you properly.”

Your breath hitches as you reach your peak. “Oh god—I—fuck, I’m coming, I’m—”

Your voice cuts out as you come, pure pleasure blooming low in your hips, your back arching against the mattress as Loki works you through it, murmuring soft encouragement as he watches you shake in his arms.

“You’re beautiful when you come undone,” he says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Utterly stunning.”

You fumble for the waistband of his pants, your fingers slipping over the fastenings. “I need you,” you say, tugging at the fabric.

His mouth curls into a smile, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Are you quite certain?”

Leather yields to warm skin and you slide your hand into his pants, wrapping your fingers around his cock. He inhales sharply as you stroke him, his eyes turning dark.

“You’re presenting a very compelling argument,” he says.

“Think about how good you’ll feel inside of me,” you say, gently increasing the pressure on his shaft as you move your hand.

“Norns, woman.” But he’s rolling on top of you as he says this and sliding his pants off his hips. He pauses briefly to divest you of your pants and underwear. A shiver works through you during the brief moment when your bare skin is exposed to the chill of the room…and he notices right away, hesitating slightly as his brow furrows in concern.

“Don't you dare stop,” you say. “I don’t care if I get hypothermia and die, I will straight up implode if you don’t fuck me right now.”

He chuckles, pulling more blankets around the two of you as he settles himself between your thighs. “Are you always so demanding?”

“Look, you’ve been teasing me for the last twenty minutes and you’ve been strutting around in those fucking leather pants for a lot longer, so forgive me if I’m a little impatient.”

He pauses above you, his expression deadly serious. “Let's get one thing quite clear, my love: I do not strut.”

There’s a glimmer in his eyes and you smirk back at him. “You totally do.”

He lines up the tip of his cock with your entrance. “I walk with the gravitas and stature appropriate to my station.”

“You strut and I know you strut because it’s extremely distracting.”

His smile is sly. “Tell me more about how I distract you.”

“You make me think about doing this with you.”

The tip of his cock eases into you. “Do I? How often, would you say?”

“All the time.”

He sinks in another inch. “All the time?”

“Mmmhm.”

One more inch. “That does sound terribly distracting.”

“You’re still trying to tease me,” you say and he grins and gives you another inch.

“You wouldn’t want me as much if I didn’t.”

“I’d want you always, no matter what.”

His gaze turns serious and he leans into kiss you, his hands stroking your cheek as he sinks into you fully, all the way to the hilt. You gasp, your walls stretching to accommodate him, your legs wrapping around his waist to hold him even closer. He’s still for a moment, his eyes shut.

He opens them.

“I’ve waited so long to have you,” he murmurs.

“You have me,” you say. “You always have.”

He kisses you deeply as he starts moving, slow as honey, sweetness in every thrust of his hips or touch of his lips. He fills you in a way that you’ve never experienced, his cock bumping up against that tender place inside you, making you gasp and pull him deeper. 

It builds slowly and steadily, the muscles of your cunt tightening as he takes you higher. You shudder as your climax builds.

“That’s it, my love,” he breathes. “That’s it.”

You inhale sharply, your orgasm swelling within you, rising, about to pull you under. You ride that wave, your hips rocking with his. You try and hold on for as long as you can because he feels so good and you don’t want it to end, but eventually, it becomes too much.

You keen and he kisses you. “Come for me, darling. Let me feel you come.”

Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and all your muscles tense and release as you come. Loki sucks in a sharp breath, brow furrowing.

“Fuck.” His pace increases slightly. “You’re divine.”

Less than a second later, he’s also unraveling, his expression of ecstasy particularly beautiful in the flickering firelight. Even in the hazy afterglow of your own pleasure, you can’t help but stare at him, utterly spellbound.

As soon as he catches his breath, he kisses you deeply and slows to a halt, his cock still throbbing inside of you.

“I don’t want to say I told you so—” you start.

“That’s a lie.” His reply is prompt and accompanied by another deep kiss.

You smile against his lips. “Okay, maybe I did want to say I told you so.”

“Better.”

You feel pleasantly loose and sleepy, exhaustion pulling at your eyelids. He seems to notice your fatigue and raises an eyebrow. “Is this the part where I say I told you so?” he asks as he slowly eases out of you.

“Mmm, but it was so worth it,” you say. “So I’m basically right.”

“That’s not how that works,” he says.

“I’m not listening to you,” you say. “I need to recover my strength.”

“Now you’re just being pert.” He shifts to his side and draws you close so he’s spooned up against your back.

“You like it,” you say, barely stifling a yawn.

“Mmm, I do,” he says, drawing the pile of blankets back over you both. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yeah, but don’t go anywhere.”

You feel him smile as he presses a kiss against the back of your neck. “I don’t intend to.”

“Good.”

You both fall asleep like this, wrapped around each other, warm and safe from the storm outside.