#we just. stack em. downwards.

[sobredunia]

Wait okay question to the Americans who are on this blog. Do you guys not have underground parking? Cause like I've seen a bunch of American parkings and they're either on the ground taking up a needlessly huge amount of space or they're on buildings that?? Go up???? Is it illegal for y'all to dig or what

[vyzz-undercover]

the voices have made this happen

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(5,900ish words) (OUUGHHHHH)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon

•hints of size kink [obligatory]

•vaginal fingering

•oral [f receiving]

•mild possessive behaviour

•the consequences of ignoring important medical devices

•mentions of (hypothetical) torture

•tumblrs recurringly cancerous formatting

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im back on my bullshit after having to do overnights so as payment to the dark gods of whoring and degeneracy i humbly offer this taglist of sweet darling who've indulged my insanity: @the-raven-lady, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @bispecsual, @lemon-russ, @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @egrets-not-regrets, @moodymisty, @sinistermojo, @justeverythingnothingelse, @pluvio-tea, @thevoidscreams, @beckyninja, @yestheantichrist!!! if you wanna be tagged (or not) in the next let me know!!! also it may take me longer to do a part four to this namely because ive got more wageslaving ahead of me soon but alas i'll definitely have rowboat girlyman catch em. also maybe give cato some top. myehehehehe,,, AND THANK YOU FOR READING AS USUAL ILY ALL!!! :3

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Cato is just about leaving.

After having spent the better part of an hour discussing the predicted destruction pathway of a hive-fleet on the system's rim with his Father; it sends his balls into his throat when you nearly run into him in the chamber's huge archway.

It only takes a fraction of a second to catalogue your presence.

You're wearing the same utilitarian blue robe as you had been last week again.

Last week, when he'd been pounding you insensible on a lounge in the library—Cato promptly quashes the insidious memory, smothering down any sort of reaction. But there is a change in comparison to the dizzying reminder: there's a new addition to the reoccurring outfit.

You've brought a navy, high-collared turtleneck into the mix, layered below your lapels.

So, the efforts of his mouth hadn't gone unheeded, then.

Throne, if he's not smug, he's got no bloody clue what he is.

Cato steps aside and turns to allow you entrance first before his exit.

"Commander Sicarius," you lilt with a soft voice and a small downward tip of your chin, all while holding his gaze.

He's transfixed periodically at the honeyed sort of warmth in your eyes.

Despite himself, he lingers and greets you with a slow, "Lady Ambassador."

The left side of his mouth twitches upward in a half-aborted smirk that he quickly tries to mask as a stern, frown-nod combination.

You break the staring match and Cato's confident he's salvaged his slip-up without detection.

Or not—because oh, fuck—if he doesn't feel the burning focus of a Primarch's eyes boring a hole into the side of his head like a brand.

It only lasts an instant, but the second is an eternity to him.

Of course, you're oblivious to this subtle exchange—and promptly trot past him to his Father's vast desk.

"My Lord Primarch," you say with a curt little bow; and then Guilliman's attention is solely on you, his favourite little pet project. "I read the data-drives you instructed from the preceding article logging. I've arranged them back to the most recent mark counts."

You're looking for an empty spot to lay them on his table, but with all the meticulously arranged stacks, it's none too easy to find one.

"Perfect," the Primarch breaths, "Just on the side there is fine, don't worry."

Obligingly, you lay them atop a small mountain of paperwork.

"Do you need anything else of me, my Lord?" You chirp brightly, the tone of your voice so very painfully sweet—Cato is nearly overwhelmed fighting a pitched battle against the urge to run over, pick you up and shake you around suddenly.

Guilliman chuckles, waving one massive hand about vaguely, "You've done more than enough for me today, why don't we leave it at that for now, hm? Go on."

"Of course; thank you, and have a good evening, my Lord," You say, bow once more, and turn on your heel from the Primarch, and—and smile at Cato as you walk back towards the exit. That's—that's the first time you've smiled at him. His twin hearts lurch, slamming forward against the inside of his fused chest cavity. It's perfect abominable. You rotten temptress, he's—he's going to rectify that audacity later. Or now, if you're... possibly heading the same direction he is. Which is whatever direction you're going, purely by chance.

It's merely coincidence, he swears.

He's certainly not planning on hounding after you like a dog tailing a bitch in heat.

He's certainly not going to drag you into a side room the second he's sure no-one with a credible opinion's around.

He's certainly not going to indulge in anything heretical, like bending you bare over his knee for daring to taunt him.

Cato makes as if to fall in step behind you as you pass the threshold before him, but is quickly halted by his Father's curt, "I do not believe you have been dismissed, Cato."

He's never been subjected to such sinking dread quite so nonchalantly.

"Approach."

Cato complies stuffily, sparing a glance at your figure disappearing down the corridor before acquiescing. He's practically dragging his ceramite boots across the intricate rugs as he nears the Primarch's seated but colossal form.

Guilliman isn't looking at him, having had returned to notating a miscellaneous form.

The scritch-scratch of his gene-sire's preferred, yet archaic method of manually writing on the parchment is like someone grating a plate with a fork to his ears right now.

"You've gotten over your petty grievances regarding the Ambassador at last, I take it?" Guilliman asks, without looking up.

It is not Cato's duty to like or dislike. Nor is it to be biased without reason—his opinions are to be intellectual, not emotional. His duty is to assess, analyse and provide feedback, so that his Primarch can take it into account when making rulings and decisions.

Cato swallows around the proverbial hunk of drywall lodged in his throat and answers, "She has proven herself... useful, yes, sire."

Guilliman finally meets his eyes but says nothing for a short while. There's dark bags under his Primarch's eyes, and the deep, stern crease permanently between his dark blonde brows is a slight bit harsher, but the only thing Cato can parse out of the expression's intent is a vague sense of knowing. Because, insofar, he's thought himself quite adept at reading his Primarch; and rather well versed in deciphering the intricacies of his moods.

And right now, he feels like he's being read like an open manuscript.

The daunting prospect Cato's caught sinks it's teeth in his gullet. It's impossible, he's not left any room for suspicion, he's covered his tracks—there's no logical reason why he should be getting raked with such a look.

His gene-sire isn't a psyker nor omniscient, just impossibly intelligent—and so absurdly good at the mathematics of plotting and planning that it only appears superficially as if he is all-seeing. He can't possibly know what Cato has been doing—or rather, who he's been doing.

"It's about time," his Father hums abruptly, suddenly disinterested. "Now you're dismissed."

Cato nods, turns on his boot heel, and nigh bolts marches out the room. His proverbial tail definitely not between his legs.

The hall outside Guilliman's apartments is a central domed area that functions as a meeting area, where people go to one of six looming hallways. It's the bottom of a series of levels; and above, three echelons encircled by arcades and balustrades, framed on the exterior by engaged columns.

But the structure itself is immense and ancient, even by Imperial standards. One of the few still-original, unaltered parts of the great Gloriana-class warship's innards. It is doused in long swathes of red carpet and great standards of Magcraggian note, alongside glorious, heroic frescoes depicting Legiones Astartes in their thousands, crusading across the heavens with the Emperor their head.

Cato keeps his head down as he passes them, uneasy with guilt. Feeling as if their lenses are following him—intent on venturing into the lower layers to brood.

Several Astartes are hovering about amongst the personnel and serfs. The baselines look up at him in awe, and his Brothers nod in respect, but he pays them all no mind.

The furthest corridor beckons him, and so he goes; down the complex system of broad walks with high, barrel vault ceilings, mazing through the vessel's higher clearance reaches like arteries through a body.

Cato is seething, and self-admittedly itching to take a howler of a swing at the next thing that speaks to him.

He cuts down the southern channel and sees one of his subordinate Victrix Guard lingering in the middle of a groin vault intersection.

The younger Astartes is about to continue straight, yet he pauses.

Brother Marcellus meets Cato's eyes for a second, clearly notes his Commander's absolutely stinking mood from a hundred meters off; nods, swallows, takes a step backward—and changes direction to go left rather than pass him.

Cato's too pissed to even linger on the strangeness of the action.

Still, he doesn't rightly blame him.

Cato strides on, back straight, chin up—the red shawl pinned beneath his pauldrons swirling behind him.

His thoughts are eating at him the whole while.

He's sure his Primarch is just trying to innocently divine his sudden change of mind regarding you. There's no way his Father's aware of why. And yet, guilt is a big black wolf nipping at his ankles, making him hasten; and unease clouds about his heart. He's mortified, for lack of a better word.

The full implications of the situation are too enormous to be faced all at once; so he picks the smallest, most banal facet he can think of.

That being, you.

You, who he'll never see again if his Primarch finds out.

You, who's practically damned him without knowing it.

You, who he's now valiantly trying not to imagine in a hundred different circumstances where he gets away with it all. Each one more heretical than the last—it's like it was before he'd managed a hand on you: his body giving in to suffocating delusions, sleepless in his cot; lapping at whatever scant, lust-soaked morsels his mind offers up.

One of his favourites remains you scantily clad beneath a moonlit night sky, on the parapet of his ancestral fortress on the coastal edge of Perusia.

He likes to fantasise you like it there.

He suspects you would.

He knows just about all there is to know about you on paper, and wonders if you know much of Talassar. Or if you've read about Castra Tanagra. He assumes Guilliman would share the tale of that famed old battle with you as a part of your readings.

Each impossible reverie is a new shiny nail in his coffin, or dreadnaut—it depends where and how he dies, and if there's anything scrape up of him when he eventually goes down in a blaze of glory and duty, and honour.

If his Primarch catches him, there's going to be none of that.

He'll be struck from living record, like Titus had been. Cato would be lucky to get a little plaque in the deepest pits of the Fortress of Hera. Reduced to a whispered memory of his achievements passed solemnly between Captains, followed up with words of disappointment. Of waste. Until his memory dies with them and his deeds fade into obscurity, lost to any new brothers.

The fate that awaits you would somehow be worse. Cato was always going to die in war, as was his right—but you—you were not fashioned for such things. Yes, Guilliman enjoys you, but that fact won't save you. Just like it won't save Cato for all his usefulness. You'd be tried as a heretic, as a source of corruption upon the Legiones, and you'd be made to suffer; because torture ever comes before execution. You're so very soft weak in so very many ways. Your life lived in a gilded cage, without pain nor discomfort that extends further than grating professional grievances—he doesn't want to imagine the sound of you screaming, but he does.

He cannot stand the thought.

The sudden urge to barricade you in his chambers for permanent safe keeping is all-consuming.

It's suddenly all he can think about.

He has to find you.

The amount of serfs passing and parting to allow his passage thin out to nothing.

Even from the sterile confines of one of the many winding hallways, Cato abruptly swears he can hear the echoed rush of sandals—your sandals—reverberating off the floor.

He hadn't notice you following behind immediately because, damn it, he's spiralling thinking.

He chances a confrontation, and rounds about-face.

You stand there in the middle of the empty hallway like you've got a bolter aimed at you, frozen.

"Come here," he says, clipped.

You do not.

"Come here."

Again, no compliance.

"Do you pride yourself on being a idiot?" His voice is scathing now, taking a heavy step into your space and being met by you staying stock stiff, still. "Do you have any idea what that stunt of yours earlier might incur?"

"What?" You blink, finally animating. "I didn't do anything—"

"You know what you did," he hisses, accusatory. "You're hollow between the ears, but you're not blind."

Lips pursing tightly in mental deliberation, you make a fey noise of annoyance as a little frown graces your features, apparently not deigning to offer a comment back.

"Do you not understand that... this," he gesticulates between you both and his voice falls to a whisper. "This... is not common allowance?"

"It's not?"

Are you being intentionally dense at this point, or is it just second nature?

Cato raises a hand to knead the crease between his brows, "No."

"That explains a lot, actually," you say, seemingly without any real comprehension on the gravity of the matter. "I couldn't find any notes or references on it."

He's genuinely stunned, "Is that what you were doing when—"

"When I was rudely interrupted," you cut in, the comment is nigh a spat insult.

Cato isn't sure what to say to that sudden display of spine, and grumbles.

He surmises the optimal action is complete disregard.

Therefore, he has no problem turning on the heel of his sabatons and starting his pace on again.

"So... this isn't normal by Astartes standards?"

He's taken aback at your abrupt want for conversation after all that. Namely because it's atypical. You never attempted small talk with him. You never do anything but scurry off when he's accosted you for you flagrant overstepping—wait.

He feels as if the paradigm between you both has shifted again since the last time for some reason. More than last time, actually. More than you just simply having the audacity to backtalk him.

It's like some symptom of a deeper sickness rising to the surface.

It makes him unreasonably curious suspicious.

He wants to see just how much ground you'll give, so he plays along and answers, "Not as far as I am aware, no."

You hum, and immediately are at it again, posturing, "Surely you have heard of cases of it happening?"

"I have not," Cato says, and you hum in consideration.

You're satisfied at that information for a brief while, but then he remembers you cannot shut your mouth for more than five minutes, and purses his lips. He's already tiring of your incessant questioning.

"But you'd done it before?"

And that's just great.

You've expertly found an exposed nerve.

More kindling on the bonfire of him having an aneurysm before the cycle's end.

Cato can feel the hint of pressure behind his eyes as he begins increasing his walking speed. "I don't think that is a relevant question."

You haste to stay in step, "It definitely is."

"You ought to learn a civil fucking tongue when you're addressing me, woman," he bites out, nose crinkling into a sneer.

Unperturbed by his short-tempered comment, another thoughtful little 'hmm' slips out of you.

"So, to conclude... you were as inexperienced as I was at the start, and all those gloating insults back then were just projection?" You suddenly blurt out at rather impressive speed, like a politician possessed—before finishing with, "Sorry, 'all those gloating insults back then were just projection,' Commander Sicarius."

Cato grits his teeth and feels his eye twitch.

He stops, turns to look over his pauldron, and stares bloody murder.

He can't even imagine the idiocy in your brain that gave you the imprimatur to say that aloud.

But Throne, the sly little glint in your pretty eyes suddenly has his face thudding with heat.

Then you smile at him for the second time ever.

Cato bites back the urge to ogle you dumbly, and actually feels himself thicken in his body-glove in real time, because oh, fuck—his hind brain practically pelts him across the jaw with the mental pict of that sweet mouth lathing up the side of his cock.

Mentally unseated for a moment, his brows furrow; and he quickly turns away, applying himself entirely to the task of trudging down the stagings.

The silence is a breath of fresh air.

Even if he can still hear your laboured breathing a few steps back him from him. You're straining to keep up with his pace, and it's an excellent punishment for you. His heavy sabatons clank-clank-clank on the steel decking, and your little shoes practically pitter-patter in contrast. It's a syncopated rhythm that he's absentmindedly trying to match—and when he lingers for a step he manages to even the beat out.

He hangs a left, and scales the wide stairs to the open intersection platform above two at a time; trying not to snort amusedly at the little groan you let out as you hurry up them behind him, heaving.

Cato realises abruptly that you're actually, really, seriously following him—and pretending you're not.

He makes a right at the top and then waits for you to fall in step.

And, pointedly, he then turns and doubles back around.

You stand there stupefied for a moment, before grumbling softly and continuing down the thoroughfare without him.

If his observation skills hold any weight, he heads straight into the nearest open room and waits for you to follow.

He doesn't activate the locking mechanism on the other side on purpose when he strides in, and lets the sliding door close behind him.

This particular room is forgettable in its ubiquitousness, though unusual. He has no idea of it's actual intended purpose. It's fitted with screens and database terminals as if it's for debriefing purposes, but he has no real way of confirming. What he can catalogue is that there's wraparound surfaces littered with candles. A few strips of harsh lighting and scant furniture—a tallish counter and a few long benches. They're thankfully Astartes sized.

Which means he can sit down and pray for you to walk right into the metaphorical snare he's just laid.

Not a minute later, the door's sliding mechanism triggers and you scurry through—only to promptly go stiff.

You stare at him like a rat he's just found by lifting a crate.

The mechanism shuts automatically behind you and it apparently spooks you enough to jump a little.

"You're disgustingly predictable," he harrumphs, unimpressed.

A flush rises to your face as you scowl, "You're disgustingly predictable," you shoot back, echoing his words.

Of course, that audacity of yours leads to a short stalemate.

He huffs out a sigh as he concedes out of sheer frustration and says, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one."

You blink dumbly at him, "...what?"

"It's my locking code," he growls, and Throne, you must be acting stupid just to grate him; because there's no way your brain is so smooth as to not connect the dots. "It's for the door, moron."

A soft 'ohh' leaves you as you turn and step aside to the key pad fixed into the frame.

"Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," he's agonisingly forced to say once again.

"Three-nine-five-eight-eight-two-seven-one..." you mumble to yourself.

Cato hears an angry beep and suddenly wants to smash his head into a wall repeatedly.

Grinding his molars, he snarls, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," and then adds, "If I have to repeat that one more time, I'm going to throw you out of the nearest airlock."

And it seems the threat of violence works wonders, because you don't bungle the input this time.

Cato sighs, exasperated, and leans back against the lip of the table behind the bench.

He ought to start carrying around a correctional stun rod. Just for whenever you annoy him. If it's good enough for a Neophyte to suffer, it's good enough for you, he supposes.

Or it'll send you into a seizing fit.

He's not to sure of the maximum voltage a baseline can take without their singular, puny little heart giving out.

One disciplinary option scratched out, then.

But he can think of many, many more to make a model Ambassador out of you. The wonders of carefully applied violence are plentiful. A little roughing up never hurts, or at least, not for long. And fuck, do you need some lessons on proper manners. He could have you smacked into shape like a show pony in no time—even if it'd be more like teaching a grox to trot lateral movements. Then again, he also believes if he stuck a frag far enough up a Carnifex's ass, he could probably get it to play Regicide.

And then pointedly, he starts thinking about your ass.

Cato is so utterly lost on the tangent of hypotheticals that he's flabbergasted when a small mouth lands on his own.

He hadn't even been paying attention.

He hadn't even noticed you'd neared.

It feels like the breath has been knocked out him at the sheer unexpectedness of it.

The kiss is hasty, your eyes scrunched shut and cheeks flushed, scowling with focus.

All the while, his mind reels because Throne, the contact of his lips to yours doesn't really feel particularly profound aside from how soft your skin is—but the intention of it is the real reward.

Cato's genuinely infuriated when you pull away.

You blink owlishly at him, giving him a cautious look like you're trying to gauge his reaction.

There are a thousand things he wants to ask, to say, but the foremost among them is but one.

"Again," he huffs, lessening the distance between you just enough to invite you back.

And he thinks that perhaps he’s abusing his station over you, but when you tentatively find a hold on his gorget to steady yourself to give him another kiss—those thoughts are all but erased from his mind. It's a curious weight off his shoulders to have you initiate and to show you want him in return, especially since it's as new to you as it is for him.

Nonetheless, he can't even imagine finding a reason to stop you, so he starts blindly mouthing; trying to coordinate around the fact he's so much larger than you.

The angle is difficult, but he's willing to follow your lead. Your body is even more fragile when he's in full armour. The risk of actually hurting you is realer than ever, but he can't help the desire to wrap an gauntlet around your waist and pull you closer to him. Thankfully, you let him when he urges you to, trembling hands flitting across his chestplate like you're unsure of what, exactly, you should be holding—and he catches the tiny line between your brows smoothing out as you risk a peek. Only for you to yelp, nervously wrenching yourself back in flustered surprise upon meeting his unwavering stare.

It's as if you expected something else.

He senses he's made a mistake of some kind.

Then he remembers from the motion-picts he's not supposed to keep glaring at you when kissing.

Regardless, he studies your face, memorising the lingering want still clearly there like his life depends on it.

He pulls you in and kisses you again, just because he can, this time brief and chaste. And then he goes for a third, fourth—fifth, each time slightly longer, until finally he rears back; and when he does you push up on your toes just a little, trying to chase him, but lose the nerve; although to Cato the reason for your faltering is, frankly, irrelevant. Because just like him, you lack the practical capacity to really know what next step you should take. Still, you look down at his armour, as if there's a latch to pull that magically undoes all his wargear.

He knows he's not going to get himself out of his armour in any reasonable way or amount of time.

There's no way he's getting the satisfaction of having you on him right now—but he still wants to keep you near.

He thinks he hears you ask for something, but he's too distracted to catch it in time.

"What?" Cato scowls, "What do you want now?"

It's clear you've been struck by your own embarrassment, strung up somewhere between shy and wanton, "I.. uh..."

"Spit it out," he rumbles.

You wince, hesitant as you mumble, "You, uh... i-in me."

Cato's brain skids to a halt. And it's the gall of that request alone that has him sweeping you up off the ground and spinning you around to sit in his lap.

It's obvious you're overwhelmed at being held to the formidably larger size of himself in full-plate. But as usual, you're yet to actively complain. Using his vambrace as a leg-bar to scoop under your thighs, he folds you in his grasp—your knees pressed to your chest as you're tucked back against his pauldron and chestplate.

The angle forces the hems of your robe aside, and he can see the underside curve of your ass; along with the plump mound of your vulva under the white of your small-clothes.

Cato's suddenly offended by their existence. You didn't wear any last time, so why now? The irritation of there being one more thing between you and him is enough justification to yank at them, tearing them loose—before throwing them aside.

You grumble sourly, which he chooses to ignore.

The palm of his gauntlet smooths across your hip, and you make a small huff as you shiver, goose-bumps suddenly covering your exposed flesh.

Cato lets the pads graze closer and closer to your sex, content to watch you impatiently glare at his armoured fingers from between the gap of your thighs.

With little preamble, he's stuffing his middle in. You're already so wet it's practically a cake-walk. Your cunt swallows down each articulating segment of his armoured finger down to the knuckle. The fact he's going to have to personally scrub your slick out from between the joints, instead of a lowly serf, is infinitely worth the shrill whine he receives as tribute.

"Would that my wargear had a zipper," he breathes, and fuck, he grins behind the obscurity of his gorget at the mournful mewl that remark earns. "I'd have you on your knees sucking for all the cunted trouble you've caused me."

You're making a warp-awful attempt at keeping yourself together, high-strung as you evidently are. Little more than a minute of him pumping his finger in and out of you has you red-faced and panting. All it takes to get those heavy breaths of yours to change into proper whines is his large thumb-pad adjusting to rest on your clit, applying pressure. You jerk, reflexively trying to buck into every motion. Fighting and failing to withhold the stuffy little moans escaping you—trying to stave off the inevitable by scrambling at the thigh plating of his power armour with one hand and tugging at his couter with the other.

Some part of Cato wants to stop solely out of spite for you being so grating earlier, or some other stupid mercurial justification of his; but instead, he simply continues, letting you squirm on his fingers.

And squirm you do.

It's clear to him the tide of it all is becoming too much for you to resist. Your sandal'd feet kick out where he's got your legs secured, joining in on the struggling as it begins anew when his thumb starts circling. It's a good sign, so he adds his pointer into you to bolster the stretch, curling in; before letting his fingers fan out inside you, stretching rather than stabbing. Your hips try to stutter forward in time with the quick thrusting of his digits, broken whimpers resonating off the room's walls. He promptly stuffs down to the knuckle and curls them again—and you all but bleat his surname as you're dragged into a fast and apparently exhausting orgasm. Just knowing he's you got you beat has his erection ache where it's trapped under the suiting and plating of his navel.

Cato can't feel you clenching through all the layers separating his skin from yours, but he knows from experience that you're seizing in fits internally—tight little cunt trying to milk a load out of an Astartes cock that should've been stuffed in you.

Just to allow himself one last bit of smugness, he scissors his fingers; giving a final swirl for good measure.

The shivered sob is worth every possible future disciplinary action he'll receive.

He pulls his gauntlet away slowly, and the wet shlick of it leaving you is almost amusingly alike pulling a blade from sinew. It's a degenerate comparison, he knows, but it's true.

Nonetheless, he splays out his hand and swallows dryly, eyeing the sticky, clear liquid webbing out and thinning between each ridge of his gauntlet'd digits.

Suddenly focused entirely on the fluid on his fingers, he pulls his vambrace barring under your knees up away. Now limp, and without the support, you slide off his lap and onto the floor in a slow slump.

"Nn-ngh," You groan weakly, face-down, legs still juddering a little.

Seeing as you're preoccupied, Cato doesn't even dignify the concept of hesitation, and promptly jams his fingers in his mouth—lathing the aftermath of your orgasm from them. And Throne, the taste of your hormones make him groan. He's absolutely stunned, unsure of how to act. He's so fucking stupid, why didn't he do this earlier? He's practically drugged by the omophagic aftereffect—getting off on your second hand bliss. Some sort of fey feedback loop in his brain catalysing his next decision solely on instinct.

He clambers to the floor and gets to his knees guards, securing a mitt on your bared thigh to roll you onto your back.

Apparently boneless with afterglow, you're easy to manhandle.

You barely have the strength to do much more than crane your head up at him and whine as he arranges your thighs apart, settling on his front between them with a warp-awful clank; before lifting your legs up to rest onto either lip of his gorget.

You try to scud back on your ass suddenly, but are quickly halted when he holds you fast by the hip.

He raises a confused brow.

"I-Isn't—" you start, still gathering the scraps of your brain together so soon post-orgasm, "Isn't y-your saliva acid?"

Cato suddenly wants to cuff you on the ear, "Who the hell told you that?"

"M-Master Calgar," you mumble.

Oh, of course, the gossiping hen.

He's going to have words with the Lord Defender of Greater Ultramar the next time they meet—words like 'for fuck sakes, stop scaring the woman he's trying to eat out with talk of Betcher's gland, Marneus,' come to mind, but then Cato realises that doesn't sound like he's not fucking you, so he quickly settles on: 'stop dignifying the Ambassador's hundred-and-one insane questions.'

"Not Ultramarines," Cato manages not to snarl, "It's a vestigial organ in most of us."

Your voice is shaky as you parrot, "Most of us?"

"Yes," He grunts, and promptly buries his face in your cunt.

The disproportion in size is painfully apparent when he realises his whole damned tongue is able to drag a stripe up the entire splay of you with minimal effort.

The pitched gasp he wins out of you is pure sin, and he's on the brink of swooning; but then you're running your trap again.

"Please, d-don't tell me you're one that can spit acid—" you manage to warble, seemingly still stuck on the topic.

Cato sighs as he's forced to pull away from your vulva, "I think you're forgetting I had my tongue on your tonsils in the library."

"Th-that's different," you stammer. "That's not as sensitive."

A long, unimpressed deadpan paints itself on his face.

"So," he starts with a bated hiss, "And let me be perfectly clear in this—you believe your vagina is more susceptible to burns than your mouth?"

Your face transforms into a strange mix of embarrassed and angry.

"I didn't say that—"

"Yes, you did," Cato grumbles.

"Did not," you huff.

"You—you just fucking did," he snaps, frustrated enough that he can feel one of the veins at his temple bulge. "The implication is obvious, you insufferable little whore."

You snort, but stay silent.

The argument appears, for all intents and purposes, to be finished.

"Did not," you say abruptly once more, pouting.

Cato's eyes roll back in his skull as he grits his teeth.

"Throne of Terra, if you don't drop the subject, acid in your cunt will be the least of your worries," he all but snarls, and that apparently quietens you enough that he can get back to lapping at you—the flat of his tongue running over your clit and earning a jolt.

He wraps his lips around the pink little nub and sucks. And that's all it apparently takes to make up for his amateur career in the practice.

You siphon down a sharp breath and let out a garbled cry, hips canting forward into his mouth—to which he obligingly stuffs his tongue into your slick entrance.

There's a satisfaction well beyond simple pleasure that swamps him at the way your thighs shake either side of his head. His own breath is hot about him, stuffy and dizzying; and the skin pressed against his cheeks is warm and smooth.

You're panting when he goes back to lapping over your clit, perching yourself up on a bent elbow and reaching out a hand.

Your fingers card through the messed brown hair atop his head. And he stiffens without realising—but he realises something: like this, the touch is ecstasy—pure, golden ecstasy. Every bit of higher thought in his head evaporates when you stroke him again.

A long, rumbling subvocal moan tears from him.

The infrasound vibration makes you buck weakly into his mouth again, teary eyed afore him as he adjusts his grip on you and crawls closer.

He's suddenly acutely aware that in this new, much more prone position, he's able to grind his body armour into his groin guard pressed on the floor. And as soon as the action bears results—namely a scorching burr of pleasure racing up his spine—he's deadset on rutting against the ground like a slavering beast.

He's frotting himself at a pace so rabid it'd be cruel to subject your cunt to. It's brutal, and the harsh scraping sound of plasteel on steel only further proves that. It's just frantic lust—he's desperate.

It's complete insanity how close to finishing he is so quickly.

Not as close as you, though.

He can feel how your legs jump with each pass of his tongue; and then you're unraveling in front of his very eyes.

"I-I can't—I can't, S-Sicarius, I-I—" You ramble, dazed, trying to get away as he works you right through it, sobbing and oversensitive while he's rutting himself closer and closer to his own end.

It all comes to a head when your fingers dig into his hair, tugging—and his brain is overrun with static. A drawn out groan scathes from his maw as any sense of rhythm scatters like light through a prism. For a fraction of a second, the pleasure is serene.

Then it's abject agony, he feels—he feels like Roboute Guilliman himself has just taken a running start and kicked him in the balls.

"F-Fuck–ing—gh—" he chokes, vision swimming, straining against the tide of the torment. His back arches up, and he curls inward on himself; white-hot pain clocking his nervous system into overdrive. Every muscle in his abdomen is doused in acid. He's tolerated being shot, stabbed, burnt without so much as blinking—but this is an entirely new and entirely different sort of wound. It's like he's pissing promethium. It's—it's the catheter, he realises. He'd forgotten about the bloody catheter jammed up his cock.

Through the searing ordeal, he manages to force his armour's facilities to finally abide his impulses and dose him with a pain dampener.

And then everything's fine.

He opens eyes he wasn't aware he'd closed and finds your face has suddenly gotten far closer to his.

"S-Sicarius?" You stammer, and there's an honest panic in your voice. "Sicarius, p-please, please—a-are you okay?"

He realises he's on his back, and you're sitting beside him, half draped on his chestplate, frantically trying to figure out what's wrong with him to no avail.

You've leaned in so close he can feel your rushed breathing.

"I'm fine," Cato groans, and you sputter out a sigh.

"I-I don't know what happened, I-I—" you're still wildly confused and raving, and he inhales deeply; only to be greeted by the sour animal stink of fear practically dripping from you.

Cato rolls his tongue around inside his mouth and cringes knowingly at the foaming side-effect of the chem he'd self-administered, the acrid taste mixed with your slick is certainly not an ideal cocktail.

The sincerity of concern behind your reaction is baffling. He's not made of glass, for fuck sakes—and he's a bit pissy about the fact you'd actually fallen victim to the idea of him suffering some grievous injury so easily. But he supposes where there's a will of baseline overreaction, there's a way.

"You're acting like a child, woman. Pull yourself together," he sighs hoarsely, hoping the comment jars you out of your hysteria—or at the very least scares you off.

It does exactly neither, and you sidle in closer and rest your cheek on his jaw.

It’s an action so overwhelmingly horribly affectionate that it would’ve been a crime to not press into it with a lean of his head. Or, at least, that's the half-assed justification he tells himself.

Because he's loving enduring your attention, not seeking it; and therefore only humouring you when he lifts a hand and settles the wide splay of it on your flank as a comfort.

He shouldn't be, but he is.

[wreckedandpolemic]

white gold pregnancy scare blurb? 😍

your first pregnancy scare (i say first because let’s be real the two of you fuck raw and like rabbits) happens when you’ve been together about a year, not living together per se, but something close to it. you’re up to your neck in final deadlines for uni, and the last thing you need is your parents breathing down your neck for an entire month.

when your period is late, you aren’t that worried about it at first; you’re stressed, not sleeping super well, it happens. but then it gets to two weeks, and you start to panic, and random, freak sickness throws your world completely off-kilter. matty wakes to find you crying on the bathroom floor, in a total, uncontrolled downward spiral.

“oh, darling,” he murmurs, approaching you cautiously. “what is it? what’s wrong?”

you choke on a sob. “i think i might be pregnant,” you say quietly, deliberately staring at the floor and avoiding matty’s eyes as he wraps an arm around your trembling shoulders.

“okay,” he says after a beat. “are you sure?”

you shake your head. “no. i can’t— i don’t— i can’t be a mum. not right now, anyway. but i— i know you want kids, and it’s,” you pause, biting your lip even as you press into the soothing heat of his body. “i don’t want you to think i’m scared because of you.”

he kisses the side of your head. “we’re in this together, love. you and me, yeah? whatever you want to do, i’m right there with you, okay?” you nod tearfully, overwhelmed in gratitude for his calm, soothing presence. he coaxes you back into the bedroom, lays you down on the bed and holds you, soothes you softly. the pair of you lie in quiet, resting against his chest and clinging to his arms until your cheeks have dried and your breathing evens out. “you gonna be alright if i run out and get you a test, darling?”

you try not to spiral while he’s gone. it’s not like you’ve never thought about having kids with him; most days the thought of him cradling a sweet, squishy little baby is enough to have you in floods of tears. but in those visions you aren’t twenty-two with a dissertation due in two weeks, and it all feels too fucking real.

matty’s back shockingly fast, though. he must’ve driven at least the speed limit to have been there and back in this time. especially because he’s carrying more than just a pregnancy test, arms laden with flowers and chocolates, bubble bath and face masks. he smiles, the simple action infinitely reassuring. “called off work on the way there. whatever it says, i wanna be here for my girl.” you just melt. god, you’re so fucking lucky. “wasn’t sure which one to get, so i just got ‘em all,” he says sheepishly, producing a comically large stack of pregnancy tests, the sight shocking a giggle out of you. he looks relieved, the first time you’ve laughed all morning.

you end up taking three, leaving them face down on the counter while you wait, unable to bear the tension. matty holds your hand the whole time, kisses you, murmurs reassurances against your skin. when your timer goes off, you bury your face in his shoulder. “you look. i can’t do it,” you mumble.

you watch his face as he turns over each test one by one. he’s smiling, but that doesn’t tell you anything, because he’s infuriatingly calm in situations like this. “you’re not pregnant, darling,” he says, and you crumple in relief.

“thank fucking god,” you gasp, unable to stop yourself, and he chuckles.

“alright, angel. you can stop stressin’ so much, now. i’m gonna take care of you.”

matty runs you a bath, the water silky and scented like roses, massaging the tension out of your shoulders. “you know, i do wanna have kids. with you. one day,” you add hastily.

he smiles into the skin of your neck. “gonna be the best mum, darling. when you’re ready.”

“how about we just practice making them for now?” you tease, tipping your head back so you can look in his eyes, wide with adoration.

“i like the sound of that.”

[palestaticexchange]

THE MAN AT THE GATE

You sit on the railing overlooking the lorries.

There's the occasional beep from the malcontented men taking refuge from fluttering snow in their cabins. The lady driver fled this morning- driven away by some cop clearly *compensating* for something. This you know. You just about heard the bang of that cabin door echoing over the waterlock, as he screeched sideways onto the plaza.

One driver beeps again. Some long, drawn-out honk in place of a frustrated scream. You smile. As if one more noise would make a difference.

"Hey, Beret!" Drawls a nasally voice up and to your left.

When you turn your head you spot the young woman. She has her arms crossed on the railing, and smacks gum down at you with a smirk. Well *this* was interesting.

You bring a finger to your beret and tip it in her direction. "Evenin'," you give her your brightest flash of teeth. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She must like your mock chivalry because her smirk becomes a smile. Between that and her pause in chewing you realise just how young she actually looks.

A damn shame then that she spends all day on the catwalk clinging to some brainless goliath like a fly on shit.

"Wanted ta talk to ya!" She replies, resuming her chewing.

"Oh? Where's the big man?"

The girl looks over her shoulder, still smacking away. "Pissin' over the side of some railing." When her head returns to you her expression takes on an element of cheek. "I teased him about the *effects of the cold* and Jean-Luc got *shy*."

You throw your head back and laugh.

Of course she did. Of course *he* did. The brick-shithouse was an eight-foot stack of walking contradictions. Despite his supposed 'superiority' a little little-dick joke from one of his *babes* was enough to send him off, tail between his legs. Of course.

Evrart wouldn't like it, but he didn't *have* to see everything. None of the scabs had noticed Measurehead's absence. You can also hear the drunk retching from behind the Whirling, new handler likely in-tow. Everything was under control.

"What's ya name?" Ah. The girl. *That* is why she's talking to you.

"Call me Mañana."

She rolls her eyes. "What's ya *real* name?"

You chuckle. "Who are we to decide what is and is not real, chica?"

She groans and pushes back off the railing, arching her back and shouting to the sky. "All you artsy types is the same!" Whatever she was *going* to say next is cut off by her new posture providing the perfect chute for that overworked piece of gum to slip into.

She draws breath with a pop and her eyes widen. Then she's keeling over the railing and pounding a fist against her diaphram, hacking until a little pink blob flies from her mouth surrounded by spittle. You follow it's trajectory downwards.

There's a glorious, *terrifying*, moment of excitement where you think it's gonna land right on the main scab's head. Then it hits the ground with no ceremony, noticed only by you.

Your eyes return to the girl. No chewing, no smirk, no heckling. Only white knuckles wrapped around the railing and tears in her eyes from the choking. She's distant. You wonder then how old she actually is, what happened that made her content with spending too long days, in too little clothing, in this dreadful cold, with that dreadful man.

Why does she cling to a racist, content with being viewed as an asset?

You do not pity her. She chose this lot in life. But... For a moment you *see* her. Then, she draws another stick of gum from her pocket and chews it quietly.

"Tomorrow." You call out to her.

"Huh?" Her gaze returns to you. She blinks and cocks her head, chewing slower now.

"It means *call me tomorrow*. It's from a song- If folks don't know that, I usually don't tell 'em," you smile. "Consider it my *gift* to you."

Her eyes widen slightly. At that moment there's a creak of metal and you see the heavily tattooed man return to the catwalk from the harbour.

"I HAVE RETURNED, BABE." His voice booms across the plaza and you watch with glee as the bulky scab's head whips to the catwalk in obvious rage at missing his golden opportunity. "BABE." He repeats.

You're surprised to find the girl's still looking at you, ignoring Measurehead for a moment. Unthinkable! She's smiling that *genuine* smile again as she turns. "Thanks, Tomorrow," she mouths at you in silence.

[bcdrawsandwrites]

[ID: A Psychonauts fanfic cover. On a reddish-black background we see a stark white version of the Motherlobe, the carved eye in the center of its brain appearing alive--the swirl representing its pupil is turned downward and glowing yellow, and its sclera is black. At the bottom and in front of the Motherlobe is a silhouette of a somewhat younger Ford Cruller (during the time when he was still running the Psychonauts). The Motherlobe's eye is casting a faint yellow beam over Ford's silhouette. Above the Motherlobe is the fic's title in glowing yellow lettering, reading "Like an Unwanted Astral Projection." /end ID]

Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: K+

Genre: Angst

Characters: Ford Cruller and Morceau Oleander

Warnings: PTSD, dissociation, mentions of canon character death

Description: It was hard enough for Ford to remember who or where he was half the time, let alone run an entire organization. He could hardly rely on his own mind these days… but that didn't stop others from relying on him.

Beta Readers: @jaywings and Pinky G. Rocket

Notes: Takes place pre-canon during the time Ford was Grand Head of the Psychonauts. This one is heavy on the angst, but at least we have the knowledge that things got better for everyone.

---~~~---

It was not one of his better days.

Ford blinked, finding himself standing in the corner of his office with a broom in one hand and a dustpan in the other. He let out a cry of disgust and threw both items to the floor.

"Get it together," he growled, pressing his palms onto his forehead. "You still got a successor to train. You got an organization to run. Keep it together."

Shaking his head, he stepped up to his desk and stared down at it. Focus, focus, focus. What was he supposed to do today? ...What day was it? Was it Tuesday? Tues... no, Thursday. He had to finish reading the report on Truman's latest mission by Friday. Where was it?

Ford squinted down at the desk and hummed in disapproval. Dream fluff wrappers were scattered over cluttered stacks of papers, some of them stacked or paperclipped together, but two different reports were mixed together. Not to mention there were four different pens—at least one of which was out of ink, and he couldn't remember which one, and he kept forgetting to throw it away—a notebook he couldn't remember the contents of, a dishrag—why was there a dishrag, why was it still wet, what was it doing here when the café was on the first floor—

Dishes need washin'. Can't let 'em pile up. Gotta break out the dish soap—don't forget the gloves, you nincompoops, you wanna get your hands peelin'? Should get some a' those fancy dishwashing pods—

Ford blinked again, finding himself elbows-deep in the sink, with some of the café staff eyeing him. Gritting his teeth, he drew his hands out of the water, peeled the rubber gloves off of his normal gloves, and turned to face the workers. "Right. Just thought you needed a hand. Gettin' busy out there with the..." He glanced out into the dining room, frowning at the lone couple milling about. "...brunch rush. Anyway, I'll let you get back to it."

Another blink, and he was back in his office, glaring down at the desk, hands pressed against the wood and fingertips digging into the sides. Focus, focus, focus. Keep it together. Read the report. Not hard. Just have to... have to...

Who left this place such a mess?! Back in his day he'd never allow for somethin' like this to happen! He'd been a janitor for twenty years now, dagnabbit! He knew how to clean a—clean a...

Once again he found himself holding the broom, and in a blast of green light it was on the other side of the room and smoldering.

Ford’s breath came in slow, labored gasps, his bones trembling as his chest burned and his mind stretched thin.

Air. He needed some fresh air.

And immediately he was outside, staring out at the flooded quarry. He stood off to the side of the main entrance, past the deck, hiding under the shadow of the Motherlobe’s great pillars as he watched other agents arrive. He was not in the mood to deal with starry-eyed junior recruits stuttering over him in awe, or the older members who knew, trying to stare at him out of the corner of their eyes as though he were an unwanted hobo lingering on their property.

Ducks honked off in the distance, and a goat trotted lazily across the deck, chewing on a discarded sock. The natural sounds were interrupted by the hushed chatter of gossiping agents as they headed to their shifts. Ford turned away from them, trying to focus on everything else—anything else other than this organization that he was somehow expected to run. The squirrels chattering in a nest below, the trees rustling above the quarry, the gentle breeze causing the water to lap against the—

Freezing water lapped at his ankles, grabbed him by the wrists.

With a strangled gasp he stumbled back, one hand forward and the other at his temple, his chest heaving as he fought to breathe in the chilled air that wasn't actually chilled because he wasn't there but his lungs were burning anyway and his skin burned and his eyes burned and please, please, he didn't want to go through this again, not again.

"Ford...?"

The voice wasn't one from that time, and it was enough to shock him out of the memory. Blinking wearily, he turned to find a squat figure staring at him from the deck. His arms dropped to his sides, and he stepped back, resting his drooping shoulders against the pillar behind him.

"Morry," he acknowledged without a nod. He was afraid if he attempted it, he wouldn't be able to raise his head again for a while.

For a moment he stared back out at the quarry and waited to hear what Morry had to say. The kid had finished his training some years ago, but usually came to him to talk about missions, or ask for advice, or even just to chat. Yet now, he was silent, and when Ford glanced at him again, he found he'd barely moved.

In a rare moment Ford’s mind pulled into focus, and he straightened himself, brow furrowing. "You okay, son?" he asked, trying to take a better look at him in the shadows of the Motherlobe.

Morceau was rooted in place and faintly shaking. He held a sheet of paper in one hand, and his good eye didn't seem to be focused on anything.

Frowning, Ford stepped closer to the young agent, snapping his fingers in his face, which seemed paler than usual. "Morry? Talk to me."

Though Morceau jumped at the sound, he fell out of focus, as though falling into a trance. It wasn't a look Ford was unfamiliar with. "I... I..."

"...Your mind ain't there, is it."

Morceau swallowed, and waved his free hand over his head.

"Mmm-hmm." For certain Morry wasn't astral projecting—the body didn’t tend to wander unless the brain was entirely absent—but Ford knew the sensation. Like you were astral projecting, but with nowhere to go, leaving yourself hovering above your own body.

It also didn't happen for no reason.

Ford's eyes darted down to the paper in Morceau's hand, and he snatched it from him, looking it over. It appeared to be a letter—was it mail he'd received? How late was it now? Had the mail already come in? How did he—

Don't you know stealin' mail's a federal offense? Kids these days! Think they can go about stealin' from mailboxes—little hoodlums! Now he'd have to go out and figure out who this was supposed to go to. Who turned off the lights in this blasted place?! Well, they're workin' up here, so let's see now…

He gazed down at the cursive handwriting written in a shaking hand:

My dearest little Morry,

I'm so sorry. I would've called, but I don't know if I can speak.

Your father—

The writing blurred and twisted and spiraled.

Lucy is dead. She is never coming back.

Ford stumbled, staggering back into the shadows as his mind reeled, the icy wave of grief hitting him all over again. Foggy memories of a battle over a frozen lake—over the body of a slain friend—flooded his mind, followed by even foggier memories of the smell of wet dirt and the weight of a shovel in his hands. He came to a stop at the same pillar he'd been resting against earlier, and slid down into a sitting position, his legs failing to support him.

He wasn't sure how much later it was, but someone else—Morry—sat next to him, silently taking the paper out of his hand. It was a moment before he recalled the message that he had read on the letter—the message that had brought back his terrible memories.

Said awful memories were not done. When he looked to the side, he did not see his former mentee. Instead he saw the tear-streaked, reddened face of Bob Zanotto, expression slowly shifting from fury, to wild, soul-wracking grief. He felt the younger man grip his arms, alternatively sobbing and screaming into his chest.

Morry didn't do that. He remained still, staring out at nothing, his mind likely floating a foot or two above his own body.

Ford remembered the sensation, having felt it as he stood in Green Needle Gulch, alone, still feeling the phantom dirt and blood on his hands while not feeling as though his body were a part of him at all.

He hadn't known what to do then. He hadn't known what to tell the still-grieving Bob.

He didn't know what to tell Morry.

But, recalling what little he had done for Bob, he reached out, wrapping an arm around Morry's shoulders.

Morry gave a start, and his good eye began to focus. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he dropped the letter, covering his face, alternatively sobbing and snarling into his hands, sounding almost like a wild animal.

Ford sighed, leaning closer to the young man as his mind dragged in exhaustion. He hoped Morry wasn't expecting any words of comfort, because he had none to give.

How could he, when he himself was still grieving so many years later?

Past the shelter of the Motherlobe's upper deck, the sky seemed to be growing darker. Whether it was because it was getting cloudy or late, he wasn't sure. Either way, Truman's report would have to wait.

But it couldn't wait forever, and neither could the rest of the Psychonauts.

The sky grew darker overhead, and the shadow of the Motherlobe engulfed them.

[kaminobiwan]

inhibition

pairing: obi-wan kenobi  x  jedi!reader

summary: Fluff. Sap. Domesticity with a little bit of plot sprinkled in. Dash of sa(n)d, but that's to be expected at this point. It’s Tatooine, y’all.

a/n: Having not read Kenobi yet I actually have no idea how Obi-Wan’s demeanor is towards young Luke, but it’s fic so who cares. They get FAMILY VIBES

This one got away from me. Positively wrenched out of my grip and flew away, leading to the longest fic I’ve ever written, but I think the end result is so worth it. Requested by @snips-n-skyguy0501 and an anon that wanted breakfast in bed and forehead kisses — I hope your foot feels better, Sam! (Taglist)

In the slick of the heat of Tatooine, there isn’t much you could really do but sleep it off.

Even with tiny windows, the determined rays of the planet’s twin suns never failed to make their way into the small compound that had served as your sanctuary for the better part of the past half decade. You can feel the warmth of the dawn seeping in, lingering on your features, but you’re not ready to come back to the living just yet.

It’s not usually that you lay in bed for more than a couple hours past sunrise, but given the past few days, you definitely deserved it — repeated visits to the Lars homestead had acquainted you with some of their regular customers, other families that lived in the Great Chott. With Obi-Wan being the least inclined out of the pair of you to interact with anyone not in immediate danger (“saving his sociability for you,” as he called it), you’d been the one to volunteer some of your talents when you could in exchange for food or parts. This week had seen a favor to one of the couples that bought water from Owen and Beru, with you helping to repair a lower-end vaporizer that had seen shinier days.

The trips across the salt flat had inflicted more of a beating on your feet than normal, and your shoes hadn’t been enough to protect you from the coarse desert floor. You’d come home the night before looking worse for wear, left hand rubbed raw from tinkering and right foot split open by an unforgiving blister, but Obi-Wan had patched you up without hesitation and insisted that you let him wrestle your weary bones to bed.

Now, your lover lays ever-present at your back, but judging by the heavy unmoving arm strewn across you, he’s not fully up either.

Without raising your eyelids, you turn in his grasp, the weight upon you comforting despite the swelter. You hear Obi-Wan mutter something incoherent, but you pay it no mind as you crane your neck slightly in search of his face. Lips meet a bearded chin first, and a hum escapes him, louder now. Still determined in reaching your goal, you stretch, limbs awakening, but mind lagging as it tries to shake free of the clutches of slumber.

It’s a race to consciousness as Obi-Wan starts to stir as well, evidently joining you in your quest for a kiss, and finally, after a few minutes more of half-asleep fumbling, it happens — mouths moulding together blissfully, weak and sweaty from the blazing heat, but your heart flutters at the taste of him.

When you open your eyes, a blue gaze is waiting. Obi-Wan smiles at the way your noses touch, unwilling to separate much from your embrace.

“Good morning.”

You yawn before responding, jerking as Obi-Wan juts an evil finger in your side midway. You’re not sentient enough to shoot him a half-hearted glare, so instead, you mumble it back and accidentally smack him in the face as you move to rise. 

He stops you before you can, chin hooking onto your nearest shoulder and tugging down, and you slump back to the sheets with a subdued giggle. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” you reply, and he nods, obviously pleased. “I have you to thank for that.”

He mouths at the skin behind your ear, only half-listening, but still fully fixated on you. You wonder if you’ll ever completely get used to his unbridled affection, even after more than five years living together in isolation, free to feel and show your love blatantly and unapologetically.

Not without a price that had been paid, but it was soul-healing love regardless.

“The Marstraps and their garden are doing well,” you comment absently, more to fill the silence as he lavishes you in physical worship than anything. “Maybe we should get into hydroponics.”

A sound of indifference.

“Did you know they have a daughter?” At that, Obi-Wan stills, face buried in your hair. You think his hand twitches at your abdomen, but in your groggy state, you can’t be completely sure. He never seems to know what to say when you talk of such things. Not then, not now. 

It’s not like you mean to imply anything by bringing it up, really. It’s more of...a gauge, of sorts. You’re probing. You’re not even sure why.

“Her name is Camie. She’s very sweet.”

Obi-Wan lifts his head lethargically, looking like he wants to utter a thousand words and nothing all at once. This time, he really does grip your hip, thumb grazing your ribcage thoughtfully, but you take it upon yourself to change the subject before things get too complicated.

“What time is it?”

“Still early,” he rumbles, and the gravelly tone sends satisfying vibrations to where your torsos are pressed against each other. “You’ll be able to get a couple more hours of rest.”

“Hmm.” His words trigger your body to succumb to the drowsiness you hadn’t quite gotten rid of, and your eyes droop contentedly again. “Will you be joining me?” 

Obi-Wan slips his other arm from underneath your neck, languidly sweeping over your form and nudging your temple fondly with his nose. “Unfortunately, no,” he murmurs into your hair, “but I think you’ll appreciate why.”

Your eyebrow lifts at the cryptic line, but you’re already falling back asleep as he lifts himself fully from you, and you give into the tiredness as his footsteps fade from your hearing.

———

Moments later — you’re not sure if he’s made good on his promise of extra hours — you feel the pressure of puckered lips against your eyelids, the scratch of his beard poking the thin skin around your eyes as you arise for the second time. This time, however, the enticing smell of food invades your senses, and you realize with a start that it’s not the boiled mealgrain that you usually have in the morning.

“Is that — ?” You shift in bed, reclining upon the headrest, but not yet sitting upright. You’re wide awake now, blinking alertly to find the source of the delectable aroma.

“Iktotch toast,” Obi-Wan announces proudly, setting a tray stacked with plates of steaming food on the table beside your shared bed. “And my attempt at a gartro omelet. Though, I couldn’t get all the necessary ingredients.” He sits on the edge, hand finding your blanketed shin and caressing it like second nature. “Just a fair warning.”

The thin sheet falls to your stomach as you twist to get a good look at his cooking, and you’re rewarded with the sight of brightly colored eggs and buttered bread topped with carbosyrup. Compared to the monochromatic meals you’ve come to expect day to day, it’s a welcome change.

In your excitement, you forget about the abrasions from yesterday, the still-raw skin of your palm screaming out in protest when you try to prop yourself up. Obi-Wan spots the small wince, and reaches for you as you cradle your stinging hand to your chest. “Better doesn’t mean good, apparently.” There’s a teasing to his locution, if only because he knows you too well. You don’t want to make a fuss out of it. You’re bested, anyhow, when he squeezes the blistered foot and you yelp. “Here, too. It still hurts? Shall I redress the wounds?”

A shake of your head precedes your response, as you assure him, “No, there’s no need. Truly.” Still, he’s adamant on being of more assistance, and it seems today is a good day. He’s happy, playful, even — it’s instants like these where you catch a glimpse of a different man, the echo of an old friend.

“Anything I can do to ease the pain?” Obi-Wan smirks, but it’s free of sarcasm as he leans above you, his hair falling in his eyes. It’s grown longer now, not quite the lion’s mane of a mullet he’d sported so many years ago, but unrulier than the clean-cropped cut that he’d had during his last years on Coruscant.

Another life. 

Though, you suppose, the rugged desert look is growing on you.

“A kiss on the bandage, maybe,” you quip, just as light-hearted, basking in the mood — what a rarity, nowadays, but always because of each other. “Perhaps it’ll help it heal faster.”

Obi-Wan scoots downwards, ruffling the sheets and uncovering more of your pajama-clad figure to the world, and grabs for your toes —

“Not there! I meant the hand,” you cry, just short of a laugh. “Were you really about to kiss the bottom of my foot?”

He joins in your amusement, chuckling as he traces his way back up to you with light kisses that begin at your legs. One on the knee, then on your navel, and right under your breast — the tease. His hands follow hotly along the trail his mouth leaves, yet it’s a heat you’re all too willing to endure. “Darling, you’d know I’d kiss you anywhere,” he says, grin honest and eager, and you smile suggestively at him from your place upon the pillows.

The moment turns soft, though, when he takes your injured hand, touching his lips to the pads of your fingers, completely avoiding the wrappings. Instead, he marks the exposed skin peeking from the bandages, leaving warm touches where he can reach. You let him make his way up your arm, relaxing the muscle and leaving it pliant in his hold, and these kisses are tender, sincere, adoring.

His lips brush the inside of your elbow, and you catch his gaze then, eyes serious and lacking the mirth of before. He beams, nevertheless, and it takes another four pecks up your shoulder, collarbone, and neck until he finally reaches your mouth. Your lips connect in a quiet climax, tension releasing and hushed sighs escaping the both of you as hands find cheeks and jaws to hold. His beard is longer, too, and a subtle drag of your fingers along his scruff doesn’t go unnoticed as he groans into the kiss.

Sluggishly, as if he’s struggling against the pull of quicksand, Obi-Wan pulls away, your digits still tangled in his auburn locks. “Eat,” he murmurs, placing one last kiss on your bare palm. As he places the tray in your lap, you sit up properly, kicking the last of the covers aside. “Company is coming.”

———

Company was actually more of a child-sitting gig, with the Lars traveling to Anchorhead and reluctant to let their nephew tag along just yet. The four of you had all agreed it was best to shelter the boy until you and Obi-Wan had gotten better at shielding the signatures of three Force-sensitives, and while you were quickly growing used to the strain of the constant use of the Force, there wasn’t a need for unnecessary ventures outside of the community when Luke could just stay with you and Obi-Wan.

On the other hand, if you asked Obi-Wan, he didn’t see why a trip to Tosche Station couldn’t wait until next week, seeing as how you couldn’t walk much without pain. Luke would undoubtedly aggravate the blister when he begged you to play.

But you hadn’t asked Obi-Wan, you dutifully reminded him throughout his musings over the food, unconcerned at the prospect. Breakfast had been as delicious as it had smelled — your taste buds had been assaulted with the flavor, but it had been a gratuitous ordeal that had reminded you of a bustling diner and the toothy grin of a Besalisk. “Just missing the powdered Christophsian sugar,” you’d praised, and he’d barely hidden his glowing simper as he cleared the dishes. You know his apprehension at looking after Luke today is more out of concern for you, rather than lack of willingness.

Just as there were good and bad days of disposition, Obi-Wan’s interactions with his old student’s son were varying. Some visits were joy-filled and vibrant with childish merriment, at the mercy of Luke’s wild imagination, but it wasn’t uncommon for Obi-Wan to retreat to your bed, floored by the striking resemblance the boy had to his father, the memories he tried so hard to forget rushing back in a dark cloud of resignation. Luke was under the impression that his favorite playmate suffered from intermittent cases of sand-fever, trusting enough to believe the excuse. Though he loved you just as much, it was Obi-Wan that Luke idolized the most, and you couldn’t at all blame him for feeling disappointed when Obi-Wan was too unsteady to come out and say hello.

But today, the promise of a happy afternoon rang throughout the air, and you allowed yourself the indulgence of looking forward to the rest of the day. At five years old, Luke was an adoring child, innocent in ways you’d never been able to see, not even with Anakin. He reminded you of a fresh snowbank, ironic as it was, pristine and untouched by the world. Your heart ached to keep it that way.

Luke launches himself at you as expected when he arrives, Owen being kind enough to deliver him instead of letting Obi-Wan make the ride over. Just as well, too — after the doting attentiveness of the morning, you didn’t want to stray too far from Obi-Wan’s side. The former Jedi catches the boy in midair, strong arms wrapping around his tiny frame and swinging him away from you to save you from exacerbating your wounds, and Luke screeches in hysterics as he’s tossed in a wide circle. He attacks Obi-Wan with energetic pokes when he’s finally set down, the older man letting out a surprised oof when he’s headbutted rather hard in the stomach. You muffle a guffaw in your elbow as Obi-Wan shoots you an accusatory scowl, massaging his middle as he assures Owen he’ll return his nephew in one piece. The farmer thanks you both, leaving without a second glance, and Obi-Wan is whisked away by the young Skywalker to entertain his latest fascination with womp rats.

———

They return before dusk, smelling like sweat and death, acrid scents practically steaming off of their robes. You cover your nose as Obi-Wan staggers in through the side door, steadying a chittering Luke as he trips over the trapdoor to the cellar. “Target practice,” Obi-Wan explains, somewhat apologetically. “His aim needs some work.”

“I blew a rat’s head off!” Luke declares boastfully, and cackles while running a victory circle around the kitchen. “It just exploded!”

You turn aghast to Obi-Wan, who ushers the boy into the refresher and instructs him to wash up. As Luke rinses off the trace of the outdoors, you stop Obi-Wan before he can come any closer. You can almost taste the sour aroma that wafts off of your husband. “Don’t tell me he means an actual womp rat. They’re twice his size. If you’re letting him near those predators, Obi-Wan, I’m going to —”

“Relax!” Obi-Wan exclaims defensively, palms raised as if to shield him from your wrath. “It was just a profogg. And we weren’t hunting in the beginning, just setting stink capsules near the hut. Poor thing got too close when we set it off and its friends decided they wanted revenge.”

The clarification does little to placate you, the knowledge that it’s most likely rodent guts contributing to the fumes only further motivating you to stay at a distance. But Obi-Wan has other plans, and a mischievous expression takes over his features as he runs at you, grabbing for your face as you squeal. “Disgusting! Obi-Wan!”

“Not even a peck for your one true love?” He asks, and you bat his hands away. “I was willing to kiss your foot this morning.”

“But you didn’t,” you remark impishly, holding in bubbling laughter. “I’m not kissing you while you smell like an eopie’s ass.”

“Language.” He seizes your wrists as you squirm, though your spirits are still high. You arch backwards, grappling to escape. “Luke might be listening.”

You catch your breath without inhaling in his direction, but it fails when you descend into snickering when a small voice protests, “No I’m not!”

“Go.” While he’s distracted, you push Obi-Wan towards Luke in the refresher, hard. “It’s time for a trim. I think you have profogg gunk in your beard.”

He stumbles back, too late to stop your words from being heard, and Luke yells, “You told me it was a womp rat!”

Another bout of laughter arises in your throat, and Obi-Wan fixes you with a withering glare you’re too perceptive to fall for. “Thanks,” he grumbles, none too grateful, and disappears into the sink.

———

“Careful of your fingers — you don’t want to cut yourself.”

After the bits of wildlife had been safely discarded down the drain and the boys had changed into fresh clothes, you watch as Obi-Wan guides Luke’s wobbly hands down his own stubbled throat. The sight of the shaving cream that covers most of Obi-Wan’s face is priceless, but you opt for appreciation rather than humour as the touching moment transpires.

“Better to cut me than you, but let’s aim for no one, alright?” Luke nods, tongue poking out in concentration as he shucks off more hair from Obi-Wan’s chin. He’s holding the razor with both hands, standing on a stool while Obi-Wan kneels to stay within reach. “Firmly, but with precision. Very graceful.”

Luke’s hyperactivity is nowhere to be found, and you admire his focus. Maybe you should have him shave your husband more often. Both the Lars and you would certainly benefit from the resulting tranquility.

But, no — you’d miss the beard too much.

“Done!” Luke leans back and throws his fists up in delight. Obi-Wan is quick to snatch up the tool to avoid any accidents, and places it back in its compartment as he turns to the boy overflowing with pride.

“Let’s check, shall we?” He rises from his knees with a low grunt and the pop of his joints — one you don’t miss, but refrain from pointing out. For a second, all you see is the back of Obi-Wan’s head as he washes away the lather, then it’s the dismayed twist of his mouth as the uneven patches of missed hair gleam in the mirror.

Luke bounces up and down, making an effort in vain to assess his work. Obi-Wan quickly readjusts his features as you hide your face, silently shaking with amusement. “Did I do okay?”

Obi-Wan squints down at him warmly, brushing the boy’s bangs out of the way. “Yes, An — Luke, you did.” Luke cheers underneath the large hand on his crown. “You did splendidly.”

In a flurry of shouts and whoops, Luke ducks out of Obi-Wan’s arm and exits the refresher, unaware of the almost-slip, but you freeze, more shocked than you have been in months. Years. Obi-Wan’s never done that before.

He meets your wide eyed stare in the mirror, all remains of Luke’s comical shaving job gone, neither of you able to verbalize exactly what you’re feeling.

But eventually, the impact of his blunder fades, and you break free from the fog of your stupefaction.

Your bandaged hand finds his shoulder, soaking up the droplets from his shower, and rubs consolingly, back and forth. You hope it conveys all that words can’t say. A pang strikes you as Obi-Wan lets out a trembling exhale, the unfinished name falling away to the empty room, and you resist the impulse to crush him into a hug.

He needs space.

The watery eyes you expect to see are dry in seconds, and all is well again.

———

You look on as Obi-Wan props Luke’s tuckered form into Beru’s waiting arms, meeting her gaze with a gentle understanding. She secures him into the passenger seat as she mounts the landspeeder slowly, seemingly sensing the hesitance radiating from two of you, uready to let the day end. When they finally depart, Obi-Wan watches them leave from the entrance of the dwelling.

“It’s alright to love him, you know.” You approach him once Beru and Luke are barely a speck on the horizon. You come up to latch around his chest, tiptoeing to kiss his back. “It’s okay to be attached.”

He shifts, rotating so that his back is to the wall after he’s sealed off the door. His own arms raise to encircle you, and you lean your cheek against his bicep before he plants a kiss to your forehead. It spells devotion as you sink further into him, muted ardor enveloping you both. “I know.”

“Do you?” Your voice is quiet to preserve the shroud of calm. “I worry you’re holding back, and you don’t have to. Not here.” Another kiss to his skin. “Not anymore.”

You feel the deep inhale more than you hear it, and his breathing soothes you more than you ever thought possible. It’s proof he’s here, real in your grip. You have each other. “I’m not,” he promises, lips stuck to your hairline. “Though you should know, my heart is reserved for you.”

That brings a laugh out of you, tinkling and bright. You clutch him tighter, warmth swelling inside you in spite of the cooling air of the evening. “You have room for Luke in there.”

Obi-Wan examines you closely, pausing only for a second before he speaks again. “Perhaps more than just him.”

And there it is, the admission you’ve always been curious for yet never wanted to ask. Your breath hitches — only a tad, but you know he picks up on it, and you peer at him cautiously. It’s a conversation you’ve avoided so many times before. 

Admittedly, today was the perfect day as any to prime the subject. You’ve never been sure whether Luke has assured Obi-Wan that he wants nothing to do with parenthood or if it inspires a desire to have a son of his own.

It’s not revisited until you’re crawling back into bed, back to his bare chest, and the ghosting touch of his hand smoothing down your front draws your attention away from the sensation of his body enfolding around yours. He’s trying to be discreet, you can tell.

“Practicing?” You whisper, with only a hint of knowing so as not to scare him off. There’s no need, you realize, when you feel his mouth twist into a lopsided smile against your nape and his fingers spread unabashedly across your stomach.

“Perhaps,” he repeats, and it’s enough.

[olivemac]

1300 miles | chapter four | b.b.

Summary | Bucky Barnes is adjusting to civilian life, living in Brooklyn, visiting Sam in Delacroix when he can, and trying to figure out what he wants. When he meets Jo Landry, the tattooed lead singer of a New Orleans-based band, he thinks he might have found the answer. Too bad they live 1300 miles apart.

Time Frame | post-TFATWS

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc

Rating | explicit

Warnings | mentions of combat-related injuries, alcohol use, tattoos/body piercings, coarse language, gay male character, bisexual female character, recreational/medicinal drug use (weed), pet names (doll, pretty girl, Sarge), smut [f/m, mutual masturbation, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), PIV, slight dom!Bucky, praise kink, very slight somnophilia], minor angst, and all the romance tropes/fluff because I'm a sucker for it; more warnings to come; 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

Tags | @mrs--barnes

Citation | Vernon, Justin, Dessner, Aaron, Mitchell, Anaïs. “Latter Days.” How Long Do You Think It’s Gonna Last? Jagjaguwar/37do3d, 2021.

A/N | This only took 800 years to finish. Sorry for the wait. Hope it’s worth it. Xoxo

A/N, pt. 2 | Made some very minor edits to the previous chapters – nothing that changes storyline, etc.

series master list | AO3 link | full master list

🎶 1300 miles playlist 🎶

_____

previous chapter

_____

After breakfast, Bucky returns the borrowed motorcycle to Sam and grabs his backpack from Sarah's house. Sam only badgers him about if for a few minutes.

"So, you're abandoning us for Jo?" he asks Bucky teasingly.

Bucky grunts in reply. "It's not like that," he says.

“I get it,” Sam shrugs. “After eighty years, you’re finally getting some.” Bucky glares at him. “Just remember, bros before hoes,” Sam concludes, laughing and clapping Bucky on the back. Then he adds, "Don't tell Jo I said that."

Bucky's been debating how much he should reveal when he finally says, "I really like her, Sam."

Sam smiles. "Good," he says. "You deserve someone who makes you happy."

Bucky returns the smile.

"Come on," Sam says, "I've got errands to run in town. I'll drop you back at Jo's place." Bucky tosses his backpack into the bed of Sam's truck as Sam tells him, "Just remember, we promised AJ and Cass we'd take 'em out on the boat on Saturday morning."

"I'll be there," Bucky says.

_____

Bucky stays with Jo for the next two days, wearing sweats during the day while he lounges in her apartment – something he isn't used to, just lounging – and sitting alone at the end of the bar at night, watching her serve drinks with Danny.

They're inseparable for those 48 hours. There's an impending deadline – a sense that they need to fit everything they can into the next few days before Bucky returns to New York.

He slips out of her bedroom Thursday morning, still smiling from the night before, to find her practicing yoga in her living room. Bucky stops and leans against the wall to watch Jo move from one pose to the next, his eyes lingering on her hips and backside. When she moves into downward dog, she spots him from between her legs.

“Morning,” Jo says, sinking deeper into the pose and working to keep her feet flat against the mat. She notices the smirk on Bucky’s face. “Enjoying the view?” she asks.

His smirk only grows. "I am."

She walks her hands across the mat to meet her feet and stands. Before she can turn around, Bucky is behind her, his front pressed against her back and his hands on her hips.

"Best part of the twenty-first century," he says, "is skimpier clothing." His thumbs rub upward across the soft skin of her exposed belly until they're moving beneath the band of her sports bra.

Jo laughs and turns in his arms. "Not the medical or technological advancements?"

"Nope," Bucky says, "definitely this." He pops the band of her sports bra with his thumbs, then pulls her even closer, one hand sliding down her back.

"Breakfast?" she asks.

Bucky hums. "I'd rather eat something else," he says with a smirk, leaning down to press a kiss against her neck.

Jo laughs loudly. "No," she exclaims, "you can't expect sex after you say something so cringeworthy."

Regardless, she lets Bucky lower her to her yoga mat and hover over her prone body.

"You were saying?" he smirks against her lips before kissing her.

Jo hums and snakes her arms around Bucky's neck, pulling him closer. His lips move across her jaw and collarbone down to the tops of her breasts. Bucky pushes her sports bra up carefully to reveal her breasts before taking a nipple between his teeth. Jo scratches her short nails across his scalp and holds him to her chest. He worries his tongue over the hard peak and around the barbell ends on each side of her nipple.

“Bucky,” Jo sighs, arching her back.

Bucky smiles against the skin of her stomach as he kisses lower. He likes hearing his name on her lips. After not having control of himself for so long, he likes that he has this small amount of power over someone else, this ability to make Jo fall apart so easily.

He peels her leggings and underwear down and off before lowering his face between her thighs. He blows warm air across her cunt, making her tremble.

"Open your legs a little more," Bucky says, pressing his large hands against the inside of her thighs. "Good girl," he praises as her legs fall further apart. Jo sighs again as Bucky looks up at her. "You're beautiful like this, doll," he says. Then he licks a thick stripe across her folds.

Jo keens and her back arches off the mat. His tongue meets her clit as his hands grip her thighs, holding her open. Jo reaches down and cords her fingers through his thick hair, pulling slightly. Bucky moans against her cunt and continues to circle his tongue across her clit before sucking it between his lips. Jo rocks her hips against Bucky's face, and he reaches up to take her hips in his hands and guide her movements. She pulls his hair again, harder this time, and Bucky grunts. He alternates his movements against her clit until she's coming hard against his face.

"Bucky," Jo moans, her mouth falling open.

Bucky pulls back and slides up her body. When he kisses her, she can taste herself on his lips. She snakes her hand into his hair and holds him close against her mouth, kissing him deeper.

"Favorite meal," Bucky smirks when they finally break apart.

"That's it," Jo says, laughing and pushing at his shoulders, "leave. Get out. Go." She points to the door.

Bucky laughs. "You wouldn't," he says, with mock hurt in his voice, as his fingers tickle against her sides.

Jo squeals and squirms against his onslaught. "Fine, fine," she shrieks, laughing, "you can stay! But no more of that!"

"What? No more of this?" Bucky laughs. He rolls onto his back, pulling Jo on top of him to straddle his face, and rips another two orgasms from her before he finally releases her, helps her redress, and follows her to the kitchen to start breakfast.

_____

In the late afternoon, before the bar is set to open, Jo takes her guitar out onto the balcony to practice. After a while, Bucky sets down the book he was reading and joins her. He watches cars and pedestrians pass below them on the street while Jo plays a song with a sleepy pace and melancholy lyrics on lost innocence. Bucky thinks it sounds pretty in Jo's soft tone.

Stacked yourself against the odds

Talking back to an act of God

You and your clever mouth

You were laughing when the lights went out

When Jo finishes and sets her guitar aside, Bucky pulls her chair closer to his and leans in to kiss her, cupping both her cheeks softly in his hands.

"What was that for?" she asks, smiling.

Bucky shakes his head, then says, "Sam said you had a record deal."

"So, you and Sam were talking about me, were you?" she teases.

Bucky looks sheepish, but Jo just smiles.

“Yeah, I had a record deal. Years ago. In Nashville. Then Danny got hurt, and we didn’t know for a while if he was going to make it or have long-term complications or what. So, I came home. He got better. We bought the bar. I still get to do what I love, and I get to be with the people I love,” she shrugs.

Bucky can sense a "but" coming.

“But…Danny blames himself for me not following my dreams. When the truth is, even if he hadn’t gotten hurt, I would have come home. I had an ex tell me once that I'm only happy when I'm failing." She rolls her eyes.

"And now?" Bucky asks.

“I’m just waiting to fuck this up,” she whispers.

Bucky snorts. "If anyone is going to fuck this up, it'll be me, doll," he replies. "I'm a 107-year-old ex-assassin who can barely use a smart phone and hasn't dated in eighty years."

Jo cocks her head to the side and says, "We could fuck this up to together?"

Bucky smiles. "Deal." Then he kisses her, his hand cupping the back of her head and his tongue sweeping into her mouth.

_____

When things are slow at the bar on Thursday night, Jo grabs her guitar and plays an acoustic set for the small crowd of regulars. Bucky watches from his seat at the end of the bar top, nursing his beer. The thought that this is somehow all too good to be true, that he doesn't deserve Jo or any of this, creeps back into his mind. He takes another sip of beer and clenches his vibranium fist, willing the thought away. By the time Jo's eyes sweep the bar to meet his, the thought is gone.

He follows her up to her apartment after closing time, and when the door is locked behind them, he pushes her up against it, his arms on either side of her head, caging her in. He takes a moment to admire her, her green eyes shining with a mixture of amusement and lust. He leans down and nudges his nose against hers, his breath soft against her lips.

“You gonna be good for me, doll?” he whispers.

Jo nods.

“Say it,” Bucky says, his voice dark.

“Gonna be so good for you, Buck,” Jo whispers.

Bucky smashes his lips against hers, rough and demanding. Jo moans into Bucky's mouth. His kiss is all teeth and tongue, and his hands wander to her hips and down to her thighs to lift her into his arms. He doesn't stop kissing her until he has her on her bed.

Bucky presses hot kisses against Jo's neck, then tugs her faded Nirvana t-shirt up and over her head. The rest of their clothes follow quicky until they're both naked. Bucky kisses between the valley of her breasts and licks at the tattoo beneath her sternum before taking one nipple into his mouth. His flesh hand comes up to pluck at the other nipple, and Jo cries out. Bucky pulls his mouth from her breast with an obscene pop and scratches the stubble of his cheek across her tender flesh.

Jo's hands thread through Bucky's hair, and she tugs him back up to her mouth for a kiss.

"Thought you were gonna be good," Bucky mumbles against her mouth. Jo whines. She can feel him smirking.

His hand comes up to graze against her cheek, and he kisses her softly, taking his time now. He's demanding, but gentle, and Jo feels as if every inch of her heated skin is on fire. But she wants more.

"You can be rough with me, Sarge," she whispers.

"Yeah? You like it rough?" Bucky flips Jo over onto her stomach. "On your knees," he growls, pulling her hips up.

When she's on her knees in front of him, he uses his flesh hand to push her chest further into the mattress. His vibranium hand holds her hips in place as he slides into her without warning. Jo gasps and shudders.

“You look so good taking my cock like this,” Bucky praises. His grip on her hip tightens as he guides her back and forth over his cock before holding her still and slamming into her, setting a swift pace. Jo keens and her walls flutter around him.

"Harder," she gasps.

"What do you say?" Bucky warns through gritted teeth. His right hand moves upward to tangle into her hair, wrenching her head backwards.

Jo whines, "Please."

When he pulls himself almost completely from her body, then slams back in, Jo's eyes roll to the back of her head, and she sobs. She's consumed by the feel of him.

Bucky leans across Jo's back and whispers in her ear, “You’re doing so good, pretty girl.” His right hand slips down beneath her body to toy with her clit. "Fuck, you're so wet."

Jo cries out, and her body shakes. Bucky feels the way she tightens around him.

“I got you," he whispers against her ear, "I got you.” His soft tone clashes with his rough movements and makes Jo’s head spin.

Jo comes with a cry of his name, and it sends Bucky over the edge. His vibranium hand whirs as it clenches her hip, holding her still as he spills inside her with a low groan. He falls onto his side, pulling Jo with him and holding her tightly.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks, his voice soft.

“Not at all,” Jo replies, squeezing his hand.

He presses gentle kisses against her shoulder until she slides from the bed to clean up. Then he slips into a dreamless sleep.

_____

Jo wakes Bucky up Friday morning with soft kisses across his jaw.

"Hmph," Bucky grunts, not ready to open his eyes.

"Danny and I are going for a run," Jo says. "Do you want to join us?"

Bucky cracks one eye open to look at her. "Why?"

"Because I like you, and I like spending time with you," she says, rolling her eyes.

The corner of Bucky's lip pulls up and he opens his other eye. "No," he says, "why are you going for a run?"

"Not everyone has the metabolism and stamina of a super soldier, Sarge," she says, poking him in the ribs. “Some of us need the exercise.”

"What's in it for me?" he asks.

Jo rolls her eyes again before answering. "You can run behind me and stare at my ass in tight leggings."

Bucky hums and slides his vibranium hand down Jo's back to cup her left buttock.

“How long do we have until this run?” he asks, letting his other hand trail up and down Jo’s right side.

“Half an hour,” she answers.

“Good,” Bucky says, rolling her onto her back and hovering over her as Jo laughs.

They end up being a few minutes late to meet Danny.

When they finally emerge from Jo’s apartment, Danny is standing at the bottom of the stairs with Greta. Jo reaches out and scratches the dog behind the ears.

“Morning,” Jo greets Danny.

Danny yawns before responding, “It is indeed.”

“Late night?” Jo asks.

Bucky doesn’t hear Danny’s response. He’s too caught up watching Greta sniff his vibranium hand. When she seems satisfied with her inspection, Bucky strokes the top of her head. There was a dog at the small farm where he stayed in Wakanda, and it was nice to have the company at night when his brain wouldn’t shut off and he kept reliving everything he had done as the Winter Soldier. He wonders if maybe he should get a dog. Or maybe a cat.

“Hey,” he hears Jo say from beside him.

He turns his head to find her watching him curiously.

“Where’d you go?” she asks. “Looked like you were stuck in your head.”

Bucky shakes his head and give her a reassuring smile. “I’m here,” he replies.

“Good,” Danny says, turning toward the door, “Because we’re not gonna take it easy on you on this run, Barnes.”

Bucky sees Jo roll her eyes and smirk behind Danny’s back.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky says. “How far are we running?”

Danny’s smirk mirrors Jo’s. “On Fridays, we run until we're hungry, and then we stop for beignets,” he says.

And that’s just what they do. They run three miles in the park before heading to a local cafe. Jo grabs a table for them on the patio while Danny pops inside to order after insisting on paying; Bucky joins him to help him carry their orders. Outside, Greta laps water from the cafe’s outdoor dog bowl, then curls up at Jo’s feet and waits for Danny to come back.

When Bucky and Danny join Jo at the table, their arms laden with plates of beignets and fruit and coffees in to-go cups, Bucky sits as close to Jo as he can. She's wearing an olive-colored sports bra and matching leggings, and she shivers in the cool early morning air. Bucky hesitates before shrugging out of his hoodie and handing it to her. Jo's smile and the sight of her dwarfed by his sweatshirt is worth exposing his arm in public.

Bucky's phone vibrates from the pocket of the hoodie Jo is now wearing. She pulls it out and hands it to him. It's a text from Sam: "Don't forget about Saturday morning."

Bucky responds, assuring Sam he'll be there, and sets his phone on the table next to his plate. Jo glances down and snorts.

"Why is Sam your phone background?" she laughs.

Bucky purses his lips. "He thought it was funny. And I haven't gotten around to changing it. I'm good with tech when it comes to covert missions, not," he holds the phone up, "this."

Jo laughs again and takes the phone from his hand. She holds it in front of his face to activate the facial recognition, and then opens the camera app and takes a picture of the two of them.

Danny reaches across the table for the phone. "Here," he says, and their breakfast shifts into a photoshoot that leaves them all in stitches from laughing so hard at their own antics. Even Greta gets pulled into some photos. At one point, Jo pulls a piece of hair from her ponytail across her upper lip like a mustache, and, for some unknown reason, Bucky suddenly thinks it's the funniest thing he's ever seen.

He probably has a hundred photos on his phone now, just from breakfast. He watches as Jo scrolls through them, and when he sees one of her laughing with her head thrown back, he says, "That one." Jo smiles and shows him how to set it as his background. Bucky takes his phone from her and looks at the picture again. It's perfect.

They're almost done with breakfast, and Bucky has forgotten about his bare arm when a teenage boy approaches their table.

"Hey man," the boy says to Bucky, "You're Sergeant Barnes, right? You work with Captain America? That's so cool, man," he says, barely taking a breath. His excited energy reminds Bucky of Peter Parker. "That shit with the Flag Smashers in New York," the kid continues, "that was crazy. You're, like, a real hero, man."

He moves closer to Bucky to snap a selfie, then holds his fist out, and Bucky knocks his own fist against it, hesitantly.

"Thanks," Bucky mumbles, not used to the praise.

"Tell Captain America it's cool he looks like me," the boy says, pointing to his skin, before heading inside the cafe.

Jo just smiles at Bucky, watching the blush creep down his neck, but Danny says, "You should start charging for pictures." Jo rolls her eyes, and Danny laughs. Bucky can see the similarities between the two of them, and for a moment, he misses his own sister.

"Ready to head out?" Danny asks, breaking Bucky from his thoughts.

"Yeah," Bucky says, standing, "yeah."

When they're two blocks from the bar, Jo slows down.

“My legs are sore. Carry me?” she pleads jokingly, and before she can argue that she was only kidding, Bucky's bending down in front of her and pulling her onto his back, guiding her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Jo laughs.

"You're going to spoil her," Danny says, but Bucky just smiles.

Inside her apartment, Jo pulls off Bucky's hoodie and returns it to him.

"Looked better on you," he says and kisses her gently. "I need to head back to Sarah's," Bucky continues. "Sam and I promised AJ and Cass we'd take them out on the boat tomorrow morning, bright and early."

"I'll drive you," Jo responds, and she's grabbing her keys before he can protest.

_____

Bucky returns to the bar on Saturday night with Sam in tow. Jo's band is playing, and the smile she gives him from the stage when he enters the bar makes up for Sam's constant teasing throughout the day. He likes watching her like this. She’s free, uninhibited, beautiful. Too good for me, he thinks. The thought has been creeping in more and more lately.

Later that night, after Sam has left and the bar has closed, Bucky lets Jo lead him up the stairs to her apartment and into her bedroom.

"Let me take care of you," she whispers, running her fingers beneath his t-shirt. Bucky nods and allows her to strip his clothes off before he helps her out of her own. Jo maps each scar on his body with her fingers and her mouth, and Bucky's heart swells at her tenderness.

She pushes him backward onto the bed and tries to take his cock in her mouth, but Bucky stops her. He's not ready to give up that control just yet, worried he won't be able to stop himself from being too rough with her. When she straddles his hips and sinks down on his cock, he holds her hips with his hands and guides her movements. He guides her own fingers to her clit and watches as she falls apart above him before flipping her onto her back and driving back into her. When he comes, it's with a shout of Jo's name, and he drops his head against her shoulder, panting.

As he holds her while she sleeps, the thought he's been having – that he doesn't deserve this – returns, and Bucky lays awake brooding.

When Jo wakes on Sunday morning, Bucky is gone.

_____

next chapter - coming soon

[paisley-print]

10:00am : Five More Minutes

About: A morning spent in bed. 

Rating: 18+

Word count: 1696

Characters: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Warnings:  Smut (Oral Fem receiving, fingering, mentions of sexual fantasies) Pregnancy, family drama

Series Master-List

-

Tag List: @sherala007​ (I remembered to tag you this time! Sorry for the mix up! :) ​

Notes: *sigh* a calm before the storm. Enjoy a nice moment.

“Close your eyes”

“How did you -”

Jack cut you off, sighing and shifting closer to you in bed. “Because I can feel you starin’, you’ll do fine.” He flipped onto his stomach, moving a hand up under your t-shirt to place his palm flat on your belly.

Daylight was spilling through the curtains, but you just wanted to stay in bed with him. The soft opening of the bakery was tonight for the members of the city counsel. It was a tradition in the town. You couldn’t tell if the nausea you felt was from the pregnancy or your nerves.

What made it worse was that most of the food there had been made by your staff. They were your recipes, but somehow it still felt like cheating.

“Jack?” You whispered, moving your hand to thread through strands of his coffee-colored hair. He shifted closer and kissed your cheek - his eyes still closed. You took this as a sign to continue, “you’re gonna make it, right?”

His voice was deep and husky from sleep. “Course I already spoke to the boss about it. He said it was fine. I wouldn’t miss this for the world darlin’.”

“Has your family said anything about tomorrow?”

“No, but I’ll ask em’ again.”

“...do you think they like me?”

Jack groaned “we’ve had this talk a million times sugar, of course they like you. They just have a funny way of showin’ it is all.”

You listened to the birds singing from the oak tree outside. Normally you two didn’t stay in bed this long unless it was a weekend, but Jack called in late today. You rubbed his arm idly under the sheets. 

“Have you thought of any names yet?”

“We only found out it was a girl yesterday.”

“I’m watching this show and the main character’s name was Houston…. I thought that was pretty cute.”

He was quick to shoot you down, “no.”

“Why?”

“I refuse to name my daughter after the enemy.”

“Unpack that for me.”

“The Tennessee Titans formerly known as the Houston Oilers have had a rivalry with the Houston Texans since the team was founded in 1999.”

“Jesus Christ Jack Football?”

“If my daughter is gonna be a winner then she’ll need to have a winner’s name.”

You reached over onto the bed stand and unplugged your phone. You opened the web search app and started typing. “It says here that the Tennessee Titans have never one a Superbowl.”

“At least they’ve been there darlin’.”

You scrolled “yeah once twenty years ago. Says they lost to the St Louis Ra-”

He snatched your phone from your hand and placed it under his pillow. “They’ll get em’ this year darlin’ - don’t you worry.”

You snorted with laughter. 

“Just for that her first birthday will be Titans themed.”

You smiled and settled in closer to your husband as the sweet scent of lavender filled your senses. “Do you think she can hear us in there?’

“I dunno.” he raised his voice a little. “Baby girl - if you can hear this, tell your mamma to get her cold feet off my leg.”

You kicked him playfully. “Tell your daddy to stop hogging all the covers and I won’t have to put my feet on his leg.”

“Tell your mamma that I need the blankets as my shield for when she decides to flail about in the night.”

You cackled. “I do not flail about.”

“Uh, trust me darlin’ you do - I gotta be ready at any moment for an elbow coming at my face.”

You giggled “that was one time.”

“It hurt like hell.”

“I was asleep! Besides, I said I was sorry.”

He shuttered dramatically. “You're worse than-” he cleared his throat, saving himself quickly. “Maybe I’ll call out today.”

“You don’t have any more vacation days,” you remind him. 

“They can’t fire me.”

“Why?”

“Cuz’ then they’d have to kill me …..and you.”

Your eyes went wide. You lifted yourself up a little to look at him, only to notice the smile on his face.

“I’m only jokin’ hon. They would torture us both before they killed us.”

You rolled your eyes.  

He snuggled closer to you. “Don’t worry darlin’ I won’t let that happen.”

“Oh, you won’t?” you asked, teasing.

“Nope.” 

“What are you gonna do? Tie em’ up and bore them with football facts?”

He hummed, pretending to be annoyed - but you knew he was only playing.  There was silence for a few moments before he spoke again. “I can still feel you staring-”

“I’m not tired I can’t just fall back asleep-” a gasp escaped your lips as Jack moved his hand from your stomach to brush against your panties. He traced the hemline of the fabric before moving his hand underneath.

His index finger stroked over your center with a feather light touch. You twitched and reached out to halt his hand. “If you're still tired you don’t have to-”

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes but-”

“Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes.”

“So close your eyes and let me do it.”

You nodded and relaxed into the mattress. Jack shifted upwards, so he was holding himself on one arm. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and started to rub tight circles around your clit. 

You flinched uncomfortably; he knew what it meant without you even having to verbalize it. Reading your body was something he had become excellent at these last few years. He had learned your patterns and made a mental note each time something worked and something didn't. 

The sheets ruffled against each other as his body weight moved lower on the bed. You didn’t realize what he was doing until his lips brushed against your upper thigh. 

“I can do you next,” you told him quickly, not wanting to seem selfish. 

He shushed you and hooked his fingers around your panties to pull them off. You lifted your hips and felt the fabric glide down your legs and off your feet. A shiver shot through your spine as his facial hair brushed against the inner part of your leg. He smiled and trailed kisses all the way down to the apex of your thigh, pausing a moment before starting to suck a mark into your soft skin. 

You felt yourself buck already. He laughed at how eager you were and laid a hand flat on your hips, stopping your squirming so he could finish making a little bruise with his mouth. One of his favorite things to do was paint you with a hickey or two.

Especially in places that are visible to others, it served as a reminder to everybody that you were his. He got high off of it. Watching that spark of jealousy cross over peoples faces as soon as you flipped your hair or removed your jacket and unwittingly displayed for them the purple mark that he had kissed into your skin not hours before…..yeah he would never get tired of it.

He loved watching other people lust for you and often found himself wondering just what they were imagining. Was it the way your nipples perked up whenever he ghosted a hand over your chest? Or perhaps the sound of your breathless moans beneath him as he pumped into you and you submitted to him entirely? Sometimes when he was fucking you, he imagined someone watching or listening from outside the door. 

The daydream that came most often was bending you over his desk and work and looking down at you. Your face pressed against a stack of files, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut. In the dream he wouldn't try to silence your cries of pleasure as they echoed through the long corridors. He would make certain that you were heard clearly by every single coworker walking by the office.  It was his dirty little secret that he never planned to confess because it made him feel guilty.

A large hand gripped your leg and nudged it apart, you could feel his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin as he lingered there, teasing you. You whined, grasping a fistful of the sheets in your hand and rolling your head against the pillow. 

You bucked again and thankfully he was merciful this time. He swiped his tongue upwards through your folds slowly, and your hips followed. Your hands released the fabric and found their way to his curls. His hair was mused and knotted from sleep. 

“Fuck, I love you” you sighed.

His fingers spread you apart while his tongue started to swirl gently on your sensitive bundle of nerves. You arched your back and moaned something unintelligible.

Jack loved hearing you sing for him. When he first met you, he had noticed how much you held back. After that, each time he took you, he made it a game to pull as many trembling cries or melodical notes from your lips as he could. It worked too, because god did you sing. 

His beautiful little instrument, carved by the gods themselves. 

He moved his arms around your thighs, keeping them open as you squirmed from pleasure. He kissed you harder, losing himself entirely in the sensation of your wet sex against his lips. The tug on his hair made him smirk and dip his tongue inside of you. Hot waves of pleasure shot straight into your stomach. 

The feeling of absolute bliss made you dizzy. “Jack,” you whimpered, voice cracking a little. 

When you started to lift your hips into his touch, he knew that you were close. 

You always squirmed a little more as you approached the edge. Pulling away and then moving right back,  as if your body couldn’t decide if the pleasure was too much or not enough all at the same time. He withdrew his tongue and pulled you downward on the bed a little, positioning himself over you more. 

“Please,” you begged, needing to feel him again. 

He was quick to respond, clamping his mouth over your clit and flicking quickly with his tongue. The knot in your stomach tightened ever more, and you felt yourself moving your hips against his mouth. 

He urged your legs to open an inch wider and that extra burst of sensation was all you needed to slip over the edge. Your eyebrows knit together and your mouth fell open in pleasure. You didn’t even hear yourself finish, but Jack sure did. 

‘That's it, just like that darlin’,’ he thought triumphantly. He continued to kiss you, your walls fluttering at his touch until your hand came up to bat weakly at his shoulder. A signal for him to stop. He pressed one more kiss to the inside of your thigh before moving back upwards and settling on the pillow again.

He laughed when he saw you laying there, momentarily immobilized from ecstasy. The smirking cowboy snuggled closer to you again, forearm draping over your heaving chest as you tried to catch your breath. 

“Yeah,” you panted “I can do five more minutes.”

[voreconnoisseur]

Ok but I need more Obey me vore- could you do some protective/possessive vore with the brothers? (And if you want the undate-ables to)

Yeeeeah babey this ones protective AND possessive! But for some of these asks I’m gonna be doing one bro per ask, with a long post, so hope you enjoy Mammon!

Getting in Trouble - High Stakes!

“Alright, listen up, human, ‘cause I’m only gonna tell you this once. If you’re gonna come with me, you have to stay hidden.”

As soon as you’d found out about the underground casino, you knew Mammon had to know about it. It practically had his name written all over it. And ever since, you’d been begging him to take you with you. He’d refused, initially, saying that it was dangerous... until your ordered him to take you with him. And then, of course, he’d reluctantly agreed.

“If any of them see you, it’s gonna be a mess. They’ll be all over me trying to get their hands on ya. And let me tell you, it is a TOUGH crowd there.”

You nodded enthusiastically. The main reason you wanted to go was because you knew you’d see Mammon at his peak. He was good at this sort of thing, despite what one might think with his tendency to overspend. You wanted to see how he played when the stakes were high!

And oh boy, were stakes going to get high.

***

Mammon had headed straight for the blackjack table. Peering from the pocket of his jacket, you couldn’t quite see the cards he’d been dealt. You could only hear and feel his reactions as he played. And from the sound of it, things weren’t going so well for him.

“Stand,” you heard him say, hesitantly. You saw the dealer flip his cards over... he had 21.

“...Dealer wins.”

“Shit.”

Mammon heaved a sigh, knocking you over inside his pocket in the process.

“Guess I’m out. I don’t have anything else to bet.”

The dealer spoke again, and the words that came out of his mouth sent a chill down your spine.

“The human in your pocket. I’ll bet everything you lost tonight if you put the human on the line, too.”

You could feel Mammon freeze.

“Eh—what’d you say?”

“The human. In. Your pocket. Why’d you bring it if not as a bargaining chip?”

There was a worrying silence. Surely, he would never—

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

Of course. Of course he’d try to get his money back at any cost. Of course Mammon would do that. You could imagine the *ka-ching* in his eyes.

You squirmed against Mammon’s hand as he grabbed you roughly and pulled you out from your hiding place, setting you down on the blackjack table.

“Mammon, why—“

Mammon put a giant finger to your lips—then brought it to his own; the symbol for quiet. You suddenly remembered your pact with him. You could stop him at any point and he knew it. Perhaps he had something planned...

You sat on the table, hungry gazes of the dealer and a few other demons watching burning into you. Your heart pounded—if something did happen, could Mammon protect you?

Now, with the full table in view, you could watch everything that happened. Mammon had a determined look on his face—a confident one.

The intensity just kept building as they played. A push. ANOTHER push. And now, with low value cards, Mammon was taking hits again and again.

You looked up at Mammon, whose eyes had previously been on his cards. Now he was focused directly at you. You could see sweat beginning to bead on his face, and yours probably didn’t look too different. But for just a split second, Mammon winked at you.

You’d come up with a secret sign a while ago at the House of Lamentation. It meant “cause a distraction.” Usually to prevent the other brothers from noticing something that would otherwise cause... problems. Right now, he was trying to tell you to do the same here.

“Hit me.”

As soon as the dealer started to flip the next card, you began to kick up a fuss. You screamed, cried, hyperventilated—and it worked. A few other demons came over to investigate. Even the dealer’s eyes left the cards for a second.

“Shut up down there,” he said, glaring over at you.

And that’s when Mammon swapped the new card for one he’d hidden in his sleeve.

To your surprise and relief, (and unlike many of Mammon’s plans) it worked. He’d swapped the card with a card that would give him exactly 21, and he’d done so before the dealer had even had a good look at it.

The dealer was forced to take another card and ended up busting. Mammon grinned, sliding all of the stacks of Grimm back into his bag, and snatching you from the table.

“Welp, better luck next time! Thanks for the refund~”

As he headed toward the exit, you scolded him.

“Mammon! That was really risky! I could’ve been that guy’s lunch! And what if he saw you cheat??”

“Aww, relax, Y/N. I would’ve just grabbed you and ran if it came to it. But then I wouldn’t be allowed back. Besides, the guy was TOTALLY cheatin’ even worse than me. He had the deck stacked. Or something like that.”

“...”

“...Come on. Like I would ever let MY human get taken by this random asshole.”

“Okay. I forgive you. But can we get out of here?”

“I’m already on it.”

You could see from your spot that Mammon was heading to the door, but. Uh oh.

“Don’t look now, but that guy doesn’t look happy with you.”

A demon who looked like some kind of bouncer, or bodyguard, or... henchman was blocking Mammon from leaving. His arms were crossed, showing off his rather beefy biceps. You could hear, additionally, someone approaching Mammon from behind. He turned to look and you saw him: the dealer from before.

“Hand over the human, cheater.”

Mammon froze, and you could feel him gulp.

“Wh-what are ya talkin about? I won completely fair and square!”

“Oh yeah? Then what’s this?”

The demon held up a card.

“Found it under your chair. You should’ve lost that round, but you got rid of it, didn’t you? Now. Hand it over, and I’ll even let you keep the rest of your shit. Otherwise...”

He slowly slid his index finger across his throat.

With a lightning fast motion, Mammon turned away, snatched you from his pocket, slid you INTO HIS MOUTH—

And turned back. He spoke, and his somewhat muffled works vibrates around you as you sat in the pocket of his cheek, saliva pooling around you.

“About thaft—shorry, but tat human wash my lunch today, sho no can do!”

You squirmed, kicking Mammon in the teeth, and instinctively he put his hand to his face, pressing against you in your fleshy pocket.

“Yeah right. It’s in your mouth. Spit it out.”

With an abrupt motion, you were sucked back out from Mammon’s cheek, and brought back into his tongue. It ran over you a few times, almost hesitantly, before you felt his head tilt back and...

He swallowed.

You were pulled downward, legs first, into Mammon’s throat, which then squeezed and squashed you downward. As soon as the pressure let up, you gasped, splashing downward, hearing Mammon sigh in relief along with you. Where you were now—his stomach, was glowing a faint gold in some spots, giving you a good look at your surroundings. It was roomier than one might think, rippled and moving and alive...

You snapped back to reality as you heard him speak again.

“Like I said, no can do! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m outta here.”

“Yeah, no. Get him.”

Your world lurched as Mammon broke into a sprint. You weren’t too worried about his situation—Mammon’s true strength was his speed, so he’d be able to get the two himself out of this. You waited it out somewhat uncomfortably as you were tossed about (at least your surroundings were squishy) for what felt like hours but was probably more like a few minutes. Eventually, you stopped being tossed around and Mammon slowed to a jog, panting, before stopping.

“Phew. Think we lost ‘em.”

You could feel something poke you from the outside.

“Y/N? Ya doin’ alright in there?”

Now, to deal with the situation at hand.

“Mammon, why did you eat me?”

“Cause I sure as hell wasn’t gonna let those guys eat you! Listen, if anyone is gonna eat MY human, it’s gotta be me.”

The golden glow intensified around you. It must have something to do with his sin, you thought, based on how it glowed while he spoke.

“Mmhm. But if you were just going to run away anyway, you could’ve left me in your pocket, stupid.” You gave a playful kick to the spot you knew Mammon’s Hans was resting. You felt a rough jab in your general direction in response.

“Er, well—You know what? How about I just leave you there and digest you!? Yeah, that’ll show you. In fact, MAYBE that’s what I was gonna do all along!”

“Yeah, well, you keep forgetting I have a pact with you. So all I would have to do is tell you to spit me out.”

“Grr...”

“...but you know what? I’m pretty comfy. I think I don’t mind staying here for a little while while we get home.”

You could tell he was pleased, because the ripples of his stomach glowed warmly. You let yourself sink into the folds and sighed.

“Where are we, anyway? I can’t see anything in here...”

“That’s a great question.”

[sagasofazeria]

Old Wounds

Song of the Seven Suns, Part 5

Summary: The gang arrives in Koretion, and they find things look to be more personal than they’d seemed for a few members. They gather information on their foes and prepare to confront the slavers.

Taglist (just ask to be added/removed!): @hellishhin @talesfromaurea @thelaughingstag

content warnings: discussion of slavery, discussion of death, discussion of childhood trauma, swearing, violence, murder, death, blood

word count: ~ 4200

The clouds were gathering again that morning, a looming promise of storms to come. As the first light of dawn peeked through the gray sky, Faulkron was sitting next to the remains of the fire, staring into the ashes.

He was awake first, a benefit of being elvish and not having to sleep, even though he often preferred to. Along with his keen senses and the fact that he rarely had to drink water, since his body stored it in a special set of vein-like vessels (which he’d freaked out about finding at age 7), made him quite the efficient adventurer.

The fact that sometimes his eyes glowed in the dark, or his blood gave off a faint blue light, was sometimes less helpful.

He looked around the camp at his companions’ sleeping forms. As he scanned around, he remembered what Elikon had told him. “No one does this just for fun. We’ve all got our issues...”

Fuego, who, fiery and rambunctious as he was, seemed almost scared when they’d told him to be careful of his fire.

Jetra, who had approached Faulkron and 2 other random mercenaries out of the blue one day, then ‘found’ a job the very next.

Shakari, an arcane warrior from a desert across the continent. Why was she here, in this place? Why did she care?

Finally, he turned to Alejandro. They’d met, hit it off, had a wonderful night. Faulkron was scared to expect any more, but a guy could dream. Then suddenly, he decides to go with him on a week long journey for a bounty? Not to mention whatever was up with last night. Out of all of them, Alejandro had to be the most mysterious to Faulkron, and he could admit he liked it. Even now, as he was sleeping, Alejandro seemed tense, restless.

Faulkron had no idea what any of these people were here for, but he couldn’t help wanting to know.

He looked down at his sheathed blade, lying on the soft dirt next to him. Even he was here for a reason, wasn’t he? Who were these people to him? Allies? Stepping stones? He thought he was here for money, but there was no legacy to be had with heavy pockets and no glory. So was he here for glory? He thought so.

The truth, the truth Faulkron was too scared to acknowledge, was that he didn’t know why he was here.

He stared for a long while at that sword.

Eventually, the gray of the fading night turned to brilliant blue, as the morning’s light spread across the landscape.

As the rest of the group roused from sleep, Faulkron began to gather his things, sharpening his sword and donning his armor, still quiet in his thoughts.

That day, tensions were higher, and the morning more quiet. They were all wary of another attack, and thinking ahead to their arrival.

By midday, the clouds had grown thicker still, but the rain hadn’t come yet. The road had grown wider and looked better traveled, but it was oddly empty, considering how close they were to town.

Before long, Fuego called out from his scouting position on a tree branch a little ways ahead.

“Hey! We’re here!”

They all sped up their pace, following where Fuego was until they too could see the town of Koretion up ahead.

It was a smaller mining town, carved into the side of the large natural pit that served as its stone quarry. The hills rose up, looming and rocky, all around. The huts and houses were made of carved stone, and most of the inhabitants were busy at work, from what the group could see.

Something was off, however. Rows of sharpened wooden spikes were shoved in the ground near the borders of the forest where the terrain dipped downward into the rocky center of the quarry, and the road was blocked by a large wooden barricade.

As Faulkron peered through the gaps in the sloppily built barricade, he could see that behind it stood 4 terrified-looking people. Two dwarves and two humans, armed with crude spears and repurposed pickaxes.

“Hey! Stop there! Wh—“ the dwarf who had spoken up coughed loudly and suddenly, speckles of red blood dribbling into their curly black beard, as the group saw them clutch a bandaged wound on their side.

As the other two steadied the dwarf, the third guard stepped forward, brandishing her spear. “Who are you? Why’ve you come? You’re not with them, are you?”

The five companions shared a few looks as Faulkron raised his hands. “We come in peace. We heard about your problem, we’d like to help.”

“Ha! You think we haven’t heard that one before? I’d bet my best goat—“ the dwarf interjected again.

The other militia woman cut her off. “Indroma, enough. You’re still hurt, you should really see a healer. If they’re here to help they’re here to help. If they’re not... well... we’re fucked, I guess.”

Faulkron looked to the rest of the group and shrugged. He wasn’t sure what was going on but it wasn’t getting them anywhere.

Jetra walked up next to Faulkron, her lyre in hand. “I can help with your wound, Indroma, if you let us through.”

No voice responded.

“As a way to prove we’re not with the bandits?” Jetra continued.

There was a bit of hushed arguing, but the barricade’s door opened regardless.

As they made their way past, Jetra approached the dwarf. Indroma sat down against the wooden fortifications, breathing heavily, still clutching a deep and partially infected sword wound. Jetra kneeled next to her, slowly unwrapping the bloody bandages.

As she placed her hand against the wound, she slowly exhaled, closing her eyes and whispering soft words that lingered in the air, motes of magical energy dancing around the two for a brief moment before disappearing. As Jetra stood back, Indroma’s wound had a fading light around it, and was now just a faint scar.

Indroma stared at Jetra in shock. “I don’t know what to say... thank you.”

Jetra only smiled. “Least I could do. If you don’t mind my asking, where did you get this?”

“Killin’ some of those damn slavers. One of ‘em got me good, but I don’t die that easy. Thanks again for helping me fight another day.”

“My pleasure.”

Jetra stood back up and rejoined the group. Faulkron looked around at the rest of the guards. “Is that enough to prove we’re here to kill the bandits?”

The guards looked at each other for a moment, but they all nodded silently.

“Thank you.”

With that, the five began to traverse the rocky side of the quarry down into the town.

•••

As they walked down the path, Jetra could see the militia members eyeing them warily. She wouldn’t expect any less, but it would draw a lot of attention. She wouldn’t be surprised if these slavers had lookouts on the inside, and she was willing to bet they’d single out their group rather quickly.

“Okay guys, here’s the plan. Keep a low profile and find us a place to rest, I’ll go find my contact and get more information.”

The others nodded, pulling up what hoods they had. They all huddled together and tried to look inconspicuous, making their way through the town once again. As they walked away, Fuego gave a thumbs up and a grin before blending in and disappearing entirely. At least he’d be fine. She was more worried about the 6 foot elf and the shiny sapphire dragonborn.

Jetra looked on and sighed. It wasn’t doing much, but she supposed it would be fine for now. She just needed to meet up with the captain of the guard, her dad’s old friend, Horakes. Then they could go after those slavers and free this town.

She’d been here once before, as a kid. She remembered being fascinated with all the patterns within the rocks, and how she kept asking the rocks what their paintings were about. Her dad had just laughed. Jetra sighed. She missed that smile.

But now, Koretion was far drearier. The people shuffled about, hands worn and ribs showing from hard work and long weeks at the mercy of the bandits who haunted the hills.

Jetra shook her head. Now wasn’t the time for nostalgia. Clearing her head as the sky darkened, she continued on, and before long found a large stone structure near the top of the quarry’s side. On top, a single wooden ballista sat dormant next to stacks of metal bolts. As Jetra approached the building, she was stopped by 2 more militia members.

Before they spoke, she waved them aside. “Don’t bother, boys. I’m here to see Horakes about your slaver problem.”

The militia men looked at each other for a moment in confusion, but she was already past them into the building, pushing open the door.

Inside, she could see various weapons, mostly spears and modified mining tools, but a few more finely made daggers and shortswords were scattered amongst them. There were stairs that led up to the top of the building, where the ballista was, and various cots on which wounded and sleeping militia members and townsfolk lay. Beyond a doorway covered by a ragged curtain, she could see a large table and the boots of an armored warrior, who she could assume was Horakes.

After drawing her eyes away from the wounded people, she pushed aside the curtain into the next chamber. On the table was a map of the area, and leaning over it was a graying dwarf with weathered skin and broad shoulders.

Without looking up, he grunted and called out, “Who is it?”

Jetra only smiled and said, “A friend of a friend.”

Horakes’ brows raised in surprise, and he smiled, turning to her. “Ah, you’re here! It’s been a while, Jetra.”

“That it has, that it has,” she replied, kneeling to hug him.

She gave a quick squeeze, and then Horakes pulled away. “I got your message, your timing was extraordinary.”

“Well, I do my best. I brought some friends, by the way. I think we’re ready to do this.”

Horakes looked her over. “Are you sure? I mean, I hate to remind you, but... this is the woman that killed your father, from everything we know.”

“I understand that, Horakes. That’s the whole point. I’ve been waiting to take this bitch out for years. Like I said, I’m ready,” Jetra said, trying her best not to look terrified. Somehow, hearing Horakes, stern, confident, Horakes, ask if she was ready was scarier than just her suspicions.

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say, kid. Now, what do you need to know?”

•••

Meanwhile, Faulkron and the others managed to find rooms without drawing too much suspicion. The Bedrock & Breakfast was a small inn & tavern they’d found was near the bottom of the quarry, just off the main road into the town.The barkeep was a smiling dark-skinned human woman, with brightly colored tattoos all the way up her left arm. The stump of her right arm was wrapped in a silvery cloth. When they came in, she greeted them without asking questions, and no one gave them any second glances in the quiet lantern light. Once they had all settled in, they met in the central room to wait for Jetra.

As they all sat, Alejandro’s jaw was tense, and he was drumming his fingers on the table, practically staring holes through the wood. He barely ate what food they had purchased, and didn’t speak except for the occasional phrase.

Fuego, in contrast, was practically buzzing in his seat, and ate everything Alejandro didn’t and then some.

Before the clear clashing of mood could become too awkward, Jetra entered the inn. She quickly made her way over to the table, grabbing her map out of her pack and a cup of wine from the barkeep and setting them on the table.

“Alright, I talked to the captain of the guard, here’s what he knew. First things first, the slavers are a remnant group of the—”

“—Mortal Chains,” Alejandro interrupted.

Everyone paused, and Faulkron raised a curious eyebrow, not recognizing the name. “Who are the Mortal Chains?”

“They’re... a terrible group of slavers and marauders. I’ve had experiences with them before.”

Jetra looked a bit taken aback, but she nodded. “Yeah... yeah. They’re ruthless. They were scattered about a decade ago, but remnants remain, and this is obviously one of them.”

Fuego leaned back, stroking his chin in thought. “Okay, how do we get rid of them?”

“Well, they figure they’re somewhere up in these hills. Based on the scouts who have actually come back, they’re set up somewhere in this area, but since we don’t know the exact location we’ll have to search it all. We can assume they’ve set up defenses, considering how well they’ve hidden themselves. The woman leading this group is cunning and devious, and these people aren’t your average brigands,” Jetra said, a clear venom to her voice as she noted the area on the map.

Shakari looked at the map a moment, then tilted her head, one scaly brow raised with an easy curiosity that was betrayed by the intensity of her eyes. “Jetra, you spoke like you know this woman.”

Jetra looked back at Shakari for what seemed like a moment too long, before looking back to the table, expression guarded. “I know of her. She’s dangerous.”

“Who is she?”

“Her name is Dymea. She has a reputation for her willingness to use any means necessary for her own ends, regardless of how dishonorable or underhanded it may be. And, seeing as her ends are usually murder and slavery, she’s a pretty nasty deal.”

Shakari nodded in understanding, turning back to the others. “I see. Should we head there, then?”

“No. We wait until morning,” Faulkron interjected. “If we go now we’ll be caught in the storm, and they’ll have the cover of darkness. They’ll want to attack during the night, that’s when they have the advantage. If we attack at the break of dawn, they’ll likely mostly be asleep, and we can surprise them,” Faulkron explained.

Alejandro’s brow furrowed. “And what if they attack between now and then? Why stall and put all of these people in danger?”

Faulkron locked eyes with him. “If we wait, we have the best chance of victory.”

“This is a badly defended frontier town that is entirely on the low ground. Are you sure we have the advantage?” Alejandro pressed, voice low.

“If it eases your mind, Alejandro, let’s just say they didn’t have us before. We shredded those bandits on the road. We can join the militia on watch if you want, but I’m certain we should wait. Bandits don’t really do sieges. Why would they? They’re milking all the resources they need from the town as it is.”

Alejandro sighed and shook his head. “You do not know these people like I do, Faulkron. They haven’t only been stealing objects, remember?”

Clenching his fist, he begrudgingly continued, “But, I will admit, we stand a far better chance together than apart, regardless of when the fighting starts. We wait until dawn, then.”

With that, Alejandro finished his drink, and stood up. “Now if you excuse me, I’m going to get some air and see how I can help the militia until night. I’ll be back by dusk.” Alejandro looked once around the tavern, then walked out.

As Faulkron sat back and grabbed his drink again, Fuego took his leave as well, pulling up his hood and ducking out into the storm-darkened streets.

Shakari followed not long after, stepping out of the inn with a nod.

When they had left, Jetra sat down next to Faulkron with her own drink. They sat in silence for a while, but eventually Jetra took a long drink and grimaced before turning to Faulkron.

“Are you sure about this plan? Alejandro is right, the Mortal Chains are dangerous. And he said he speaks from experience, gods only know what that entails.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Jetra finished her wine. “Very well. Take some time, have a drink. I’m going to go help out in what ways I can, maybe play some music to cheer up the townsfolk, and see to those that need healing.”

“Hey, that magic you did was pretty cool, by the way.”

“Well, magic is amazing. There’s lots of things you can do with a bit of imagination,” she winked, and walked out as well.

He didn’t realize until a little later than he probably should’ve that he’d suddenly sprouted a blue illusory beard.

•••

Fuego found it pretty easy to lay low among the crowds of miners and townsfolk. A benefit he hadn’t expected when he left Zul’Zagan for the mainland was how easy it would be to hide among all the big people.

He had seen earlier a figure watching them from the corner of the inn, and suspected nothing of it. Probably just some person who was real quiet and thought they were weird. Honestly, he would’ve agreed. They were all pretty weird. All these people were very quiet. Except the bard. Fuego loved her, she was great.

However, when Alejandro left, he noticed the suspicious person follow, and decided he should tail them, just in case they were a plant of some sort.

Now, as the rain began to drizzle down from the clouds and the afternoon sun was fully obscured by a curtain of storm, he was sneaking along the rocky walls of the quarry, following the figure as they followed Alejandro.

As he was sneaking along, he leaped across to another stone roof, accidentally sending some loose stones tumbling off. When they splashed into the mud, the stalker stopped walking suddenly, and Fuego froze.

The stalker turned towards the roof, but saw nothing, and continued on.

Flattened as much as he could against the roof, Fuego let out a breath. He kept his focus on the spell, remembering the unnatural fog that constantly surrounded his home, and his magic hid him seamlessly against the backdrop of the roof.

Now invisible, Fuego’s eye was trained on the stalker, and he followed them until they reached the area houses furthest from the mines. The muddy paths here were empty of life, and Fuego felt the onset of an uneasiness, one that had his skin tingling and his hair raising, even hidden as he was.

Before he could begin to back out, however, he realized that he couldn’t see Alejandro anymore, and it appeared neither could the stalker. Fuego started scanning the area, but he couldn’t see any sign of his friend from the roof. He began to wonder if he’d been ambushed, and drew his sword, which steamed and hissed as the rain fell onto the heated blade.

Down below, the stalker began to cautiously walk forward, drawing a pair of curving serrated daggers from within their cloak. Fuego felt a small rush of excitement that he had been right, but quickly refocused.

He watched as they walked forward, and he began to think that they looked far too much like an insect waiting to be crushed for this to be an ambush.

Or at least, for it to be an ambush for Alejandro.

As he began to realize what had happened, he saw the cloaked person suddenly get yanked into a small muddy alley between two stone huts and disappear from view.

Adrenaline kicking in, Fuego leaped over a nearby hut and looked into the alley, sword and magic at the ready. As he looked on, he could see Alejandro with one of his swords at the stalker’s throat.

“Hola, motherfucker. Surprised?” he growled, pressing the blade closer.

The stalker, a tanned elven man with a shaved head, only grinned.

“It seems I underestimated you,” the man hummed.

“It’ll be the last mistake you make.”

As Alejandro finished his sentence, he hissed with pain, as one of the elf’s blades sank into his side. His grip loosened just enough that the stalker was able to knock away the sword and start sprinting back down the alley.

He only got a few steps before Alejandro’s greaves slammed against his shins, and his legs were swept from under him. He went tumbling into the mud, limbs sprawled.

The elf grabbed at his daggers, clumsily swinging towards Alejandro, who parried them away before brandishing his swords and bringing them down towards the man. Even as the stalker tried to roll away, the blades slashed across his back and sent him falling into the mud once again. The mud was soaked through with blood, and the man cried out in pain.

Rolling onto his back, he kicked Alejandro firmly in the chest, knocking him off balance. Scrambling back to his feet, he held his daggers aloft again, breathing heavy.

“You can’t stop us. Our chains have already wound around Koretion. There’s nothing you can do.”

Alejandro laughed through a grimace of pain.“Oh really? I can kill your sorry ass.”

At that, he leaped forward with his swords.

Their blades clashed, and Alejandro spun behind him, holding his blade once more to the man’s throat. He grunted, holding the man still.

“Déjà vu?”

The elf chuckled. “Not for me, it seems. For you. I saw your brand. You-”

Before he could continue, Alejandro slashed his blade across the man’s throat, and he collapsed to the ground in a pool of blood. As Alejandro stood over him, bloodied and breathing hard, the bandit slowly stopped moving, face still contorted in a half smile.

Alejandro stared down at the corpse and spit on it. “You will not steal any more people away from their lives.”

Fuego let the fog fade from his mind and dropped from the roofs into the alleyway. “What was that?”

Alejandro quickly put his blades up again at the sudden noise, but lowered them seeing Fuego.

“Oh. It’s you. It was nothing, just... he was following me. One of the slavers, sneaky bastard,” he said, kicking the corpse over to reveal all the extra daggers and chains beneath the cloak.

“I mean, I wouldn’t call that nothing. A lot happened there.”

“Wait. How much did you see?”

“The whole thing. I was following the guy since the inn, thought he was acting weird.”

“Ah.”

“Did you know him or something?”

“Not personally, until now. Like I said, I have experience with this group.”

There was a bit of a pause. “Now, I don’t know about you, I’d like to get this treated, so let’s go?” Alejandro said, putting a hand over his wound.

“Right, yes, you’ve been stabbed, we should get you to a healer. Good thing we know one...” Fuego quickly agreed, leading the way out of the alley.

•••

Shakari was meditating beneath a large tree, on top of one of the larger hills that surrounded the town. They’d climbed their way up here in the rain, claws slipping and scraping on the wet stone and muddy hillside.

Now, they were meditating. Their breathing was slow, and the rainwater flowed across and between their scales, trails of water weaving like a tapestry across their body.

There they sat for a while, taking in the view and the clean air, letting the water wash away the sense of uneasiness they carried, the weight they felt, even if only for a moment. After a deep breath, they began to speak out into the storm.

“Brothers, though I am not with you, I am not far. May the dry skies give way to rain and bring you peace, life, and plenty, even if only for a day. I miss you all...” She let the sentence trail off, finishing her prayer in her mind. Her tribe was far away, but she still felt the weight of her exile with every breath.

A few more minutes of meditation, and then she came back down the hill, reflection over and her current task at the forefront of her mind.

•••

That evening, they all gathered at the tavern, Alejandro’s wound now just another scar among many, thanks to Jetra. There was another quiet toast to kicking ass, and then they left the central room to get some early sleep.

Faulkron didn’t need the early sleep like his companions, and so for what time he had to himself, he patrolled the streets, hood up as he walked among the shadows.

What Alejandro had said earlier had sat at the back of his mind, simmering just under the surface. He felt a responsibility now, weighing on his shoulders, and that hadn’t gotten any better when Alejandro was stabbed. He was sure he wasn’t responsible, but there was still a small seed of doubt and guilt that had started to sprout in his mind.

So he walked the streets, eyes flicking over every corner and shadow, unable to rest until he could be satisfied that he hadn’t made a grievous mistake.

The pattering of the rain was the only sound, and the light of the moons and stars was obscured by the heavy clouds. It was almost peaceful, in the stillness of the night, but the threat of storm and slavers haunted the darkness like an ever-present ghost.

Part 4 | Part 6

[peaches-of-1]

Peachtober | Day 12: Haybale

Settlement | Reader x Ranch Hand!Namjoon

A/N: I did my best not to add pronouns/gender specifics refering to the reader, so lemme know if I did by accident or missed any.

"So, we'll split up new volunteers with the regulars." The chubby older man in a blue plaid shirt said and read the list on his clipboard through thick glasses.

You were bummed that your best friend Rosé had been put with a different leader than you, but at least the cowboy you had been assigned to was cute.

His thighs seemed to fight against the faded blue denim of his jeans which led to a well crafted torso. And his smile charmed you in a millisecond, a flash of canyon like dimples and dazzling teeth.

Namjoon was his name, and he gave you a firm handshake as a greeting, along with a kind, "Thanks for coming to help out, Y/N."

"No problem."

Because a lot of people hadn't shown up, and the work was too much for just 2 people, Yoongi's group joined as well making for a total of five. It was September 25, and so the local farm was starting to set up it's annual Autumn Festival. Rosé was the one who had suggested it, and you had nothing better to do.

"Our jobs are pretty easy. It'll take a while, though. We have to take all the hay bales from the barn and make it into a maze for kids. The maze is already planned, but it includes a lot of lifting. Not too hard, right, Namjoon?" The dark haired man asked the honey haired leader. "Namjoon-ah?"

As your head turned to face the usual volunteer, you caught a glimpse of dark brown eyes looking downwards...at you? No, but who else could he have been looking at?

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, it's enough cardio for a week." He smiled as you felt heat rush into your cheeks. "Let's all drive over to the barn, and go from there."

The two other newbie volunteers hopped into the back, and you were about to join them when Yoongi called your name.

"Ride in the front with Joon. I'll explain to my crew." He held the door open.

"Ah, ok." Came your quiet reply.

The idea seemed sudden and kind of startled  you, but you were glad not to be sat in the rough bed of the truck. As the engine growled to life, Namjoon reminded you to put on your seat belt. Then the wheels began to turn as you were driven forward.

"So, uh, how long have you been doing this?"

He smiled, grateful that you spoke first it seemed, "I actually work in the city, but one of my young friends, him and his family run the farm. They needed some extra help, so I started helping about 7 years now." Regret tinged his ears a red shade as he said, "Sorry. I tend to ramble."

"It's ok. I don't think you rambled too much." You gave him a genuine smile.

"Eyes on the road, Joon!" Yoongi called.

Once the first stack of hay bales were secured onto the truck, the darker haired man left with the other two. Namjoon and you were left alone to get the next stack ready for their return. His muscles rippled with every yank of heavy straw that you pushed towards him. No trace of the goofy and shy man you had rode with 15 minutes before.

"What made you join this year?" He drank a bottle of water he must've left here. "I recognized Rosé from last year. She looks good with pink hair."

You nodded and refused the bottle as you weren't thirsty...for water at least, "Yeah, I just wanted to do some work outside of my house and she signed me up for this."

"What's your usual job?"

"Oh, it's--OW" You pulled your leg back and saw a black spotted cat paw leading to your attacker.

"Wasabi! That's not how you treat guests!" He scolded the cat who now purred around his ankles. "She just had babies, so she's a bit protective. Sit."

You automatically dropped to sit on the block of hay you had let go. Namjoon went to a box on the wall with a red cross on it to get a small bag from it. He knelt in front of you.

"May I?"

You nodded and replied, "Mmhmm."

He lifted your foot to rest on his thigh and dabbed at the scratch with a wipe. You gave a sharp inhale, and he giggled.

"It's not even that deep."

"Still hurts." You pouted.

With a gentle rub, the too big bandaid covered the injury.

"I could sue you for this." You teased.

"If I kiss you, could we call it a proper settlement?" The question came out so smoothly you couldn't tell if he was serious.

Your eyes got wide. The sound of an approaching car pulled both of your attentions towards it. You quickly stepped back and Namjoon grinned at the ground.

"Sorry." He said before moving towards the door.

With a swift movement, he took up the straw you had dropped at Wasabi's scratch and you looked at the mama cat who meowed. It was if she was teasing you for not taking the chance. Yoongi came in to give her pets and asked where her babies were. She leapt down and took us to an old closet with a pile of discarded clothes inside on the floor.

"Awww, so cute! I want one~" The short red haired girl who was a part of Yoongi's group said, wanting to approach, but you put your arm in front of her as the mother hissed.

"We'll see." Yoongi replied and then spoke to Namjoon. "Just keep clear of them for now. We can make due with a few less bales."

"Gotcha. See you in a few."

The two quiet boys and the tiny red head left again.

"So, what do we do?"

"We'll kinda fence them in. Make sure no one else gets too close." He began to push a bale towards the area.

Following suit, a small barrier now separated Wasabi and crew from the rest of the barn. Looking around, most of the hay was on the second floor.

"You want me to go up there and toss 'em down?" You asked, spotting a ladder.

"Yeah. That's better than you catching 'em." He held the ladder sturdy, "Just be careful."

"If not, I'll just have to ask for more kisses." And up the ladder you went, not thinking too much of how cute his shocked expression was.

Several tons later, it was time for lunch. Namjoon helped you down off the ladder, letting his hands linger around your waist before blushing, "We should hurry before the corn gets cold."

Even though you had the option of leaving after the meal, you convinced your ride to stay until you were done with the maze. You went back to the barn, but volunteers had to leave at sunset. Namjoon didn't say much during the meal to you, but it was ok since you weren't a socialite anyways. Also, seeing how familiar he had been with the other regulars, the Farm family's son Tae, and his dog which now joined you, was nice.

"You really have been helping out for 7 years." The words left your lips before you could even think.

"Yeah. I know everyone pretty well. Enough to know that Tae's got a little crush on you." Namjoon wiped his forehead with the hem of his shirt, allowing you to see his glistening abs in the afternoon sun.

You couldn't help but bite your lip, "Is that so?"

"Yep." He met your gaze. "You interested?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you interested in being with the farmer's son?" The way he asked sounded like it was more than one question.

How many in total? You didn't know, but you did what you did best. Told the truth.

With a firm shake of your head, you sat on the edge of the loft, "No. I'm not interested in him. He's sweet and all, but I don't have eyes for him."

"...I see. Any hay left up there?"

You looked behind yourself, "None that's like all together. Hey, what's this?"

"What's what?" He looked up to see your ass filling out the overall shorts you had worn today.

"Come up here and take a look." You replied.

So Namjoon climbed up the ladder to come see what had caught your attention and was pulled forward to be on top of your own nervous but eager form.

"Now that we're here, are you gonna kiss me or not?"

"You're the one who got us here. Can't ya kiss me first?"

"I wanna make sure it's mutual. Anyways, I can only be so bold, Namjoon."

A cheeky chuckle left his lips as he settled on top of you, looking into your eyes as they closed and waited for the heat of his lips made contact with yours. There was no way either of you could stop now as you grabbed onto each other as if you'd disappear if you let go for even the slightest moment. His left hand was on your hip while his right snaked up to the latch of your overalls.

"Is it ok? Can I--"

"Go ahead." You replied breathlessly.

As shaking hands fumbled with each, you couldn't help but laugh and help him out. A grateful grin was given before making out ensued once more. Namjoon wanted this to last forever, but knew this time would have to be quick. Before Yoongi and the two volunteers came back. Still, he'd be remiss if he did not properly prepare you, so he slid two fingers inside of you. Without realizing, your hips rolled into his hand and a string of moans left your mouth. The grip you had on his forearm flexed.

He watched you through all of it, noticing your blushy reaction of looking away. However, Namjoon kissed your neck as the sweetest punishment. You squealed and bucked your hips as fingers spread your needy hole.

"Hurry." Came past your lips in a whine as the last thing you wanted was to be caught by the others in such a situation.

"Wait." Namjoon took his fingers out of you and reached into a spot in the corner.

There seemed to be a box that he looked through as you ground your hips onto nothing. Yet you needed to move just for any slight sensation. He mumbled to himself.

You pouted and called out his name, "Namjoooon~ Hurryyyyy~"

The large man turned around and revealed an unmistakable box of condoms and a small bottle of lube.

He smiled and then bit his lip at the sight of your disheveled form, "They're not expired."

"Then fuck me already!"

Namjoon's dick jumped at the desperate plea and quickly obliged, lubing you up and rolling the rubber on. You wanted it inside you so badly, but he waited.

"You look so pretty." Honest words reached your ears.

Your cheeks warmed even more at the compliment and you couldn't look at him, all the bravery from earlier all but gone.

Then he leaned over you, hands on either side of your head as he growled into your ear.

"You'd be prettier with my cock inside you, though." And thrust into you.

The scream of pleasure which came out of your throat surprised even you. And though you tried to cover your mouth, Namjoon pinned your hands down.

Between grunts, he uttered, "Don't. Don't hide from me. I wanna hear it all. Oh fuck. Please. Let me hear how badly you want this."

As his own moans trickled out, you looked at his furrowed brows and the new layer of sweat forming on both of you. You groaned and moaned out his name and loving words of support.

"You're so great, Namjoon. Oh, oh, oh my God. You're doing so well. Ahhhhh, more!"

"Yes! Yes! Oh Y/N. Oh fuck!" His curses were a whisper, contrasting how he screamed your name like a prayer.

"Namjoon, yes. Harder. Fuck, yes!" You felt him twitch inside of you and moved your hips upwards to meet his.

He whimpered and began to suck on your nipples, giving them tiny nibbles here and there. Namjoon's breathing became thick as he made love with you. He looked up at you, brown eyes dark and glittering in the golden hour of the world.

"Y/N, I can't--I'm gonna."

You held his face in your hands, "Cum for me."

He released as soon as the door opened, and you had to kiss him to muffle his scream of ecstasy.

"Namjoon? Y/N? Is this the last of it?" Yoongi asked.

Namjoon replied, "Yeah. If you can take it all on one go, that'd be great." in a voice that was clear for someone finishing up an orgasm and was still bucking inside of you.

You couldn't help but twitch, making him look down at you with your own hands muffling your own moans and eyes filled with tears. Right on the edge. You were right there, but you couldn't get there with the other man so close to catching on. The seconds passed by in the form of endless hours as Yoongi was quiet for no reason.

"So, you gonna go?" The thick chested man asked.

"Yeah. Alright, we'll start loading the truck. Wanna help out, Joonie?"

The man on top of you whispered, "Fuck." Before clearing his throat, "Nah. Kinda busy."

Yoongi's voice held a smile in it, "Oh, I see. I'll tell V you wanted to give the volunteer a tour." He then left.

You hid your face into Namjoon's shoulder. You wanted to cum so badly. The barn door closed and Namjoon began to pound into you after a sigh of relief. He was hard again. Did he like the idea of getting caught that much? It was a fleeting thought as the sound of a truck driving off allowed you to moan again. Your body convulsed as the ranch hand abused your g spot now that he found it. You gripped his arm, wrist, whatever you could hold onto as your orgasm finally reached its peak.

Heavy pants as Namjoon pulled out and lay next to you. He kissed your lips once more and you curled up into his side.

"That’s such a great settlement." You let an airy chuckle out.

Joon looked over at you, only able to laugh at your comment. The two of you decided to hurry and get dressed, and he walked you to the bus taking the last bit of city folk back. He called out your name before you went on, picking a piece of straw out of your hair and sticking it into his mouth.

“Come back soon.” He smiled so large that his dimples became a cavern.

[enderpurl]

“Dream SMP. The Meeting...” Partial Transcript

WilburSoot

DreamSMP. The Meeting…

00:27:15 - 00:37:12

Notes: this is my first ever transcript and i'm not sure how to format it so it might be kind of messy! this goes from just after wilbur realizes the tnt is missing up until bbh shows up in pogtopia, so it includes tommy and quackity yelling at wilbur and fundy’s spy reveal/diary!

[Wilbur is running towards Pogtopia while Tommy and Quackity are entering Pogtopia.]

Wilbur: Guys, check—check—guys, do not press any buttons in Pogtopia! Do not press any buttons in Pogtopia!

Tommy: Wait, are there many buttons—OH MY G—! Wait wait wait Big Q— [unintelligible]

Wilbur: Do not press anything.

Schlatt: [unintelligible] —pressure plates, too, guys!

Wilbur: Do not press anything.

Schlatt: [strange ghost sound effects]

Wilbur: I mean this, do not press anything. Guys, the TNT’s gone. 

Schlatt: Have fun!

Wilbur: The TNT from Manburg’s gone.

[all speaking at once]

Tommy: All of it?

Quackity: Where is it? Where the hell did you put it?

Schlatt: Bye-bye! Enjoy your day! [leaves the call]

Tommy: Big Q, come on come o—wait.

Wilbur: It’s gone. It’s gone.

Tommy: WHAT THE FUCK?

Wilbur: It’s gone, there’s just, it’s just stone. It’s just stone, behind the button. There’s no redst—’cause I had a redstone, uh, like a redstone repeaters [sic] connecti— [sigh]

Tommy: Wait, I remember there being some—from yesterday, there was some—there’s more, there’s more, there’s buttons in there? Wait, wait wait, come on—

Wilbur: No, there’s—I went to the—when you guys were arguing, when he was—when he was talking about your fat ass, I went to the—I went to the button room and I pressed the button and nothing hissed and I—

Tommy: Big Q? Big Q?

Quackity: You did WHAT, Wilbur?

Tommy: Wait, Big Q! Big Q, wait wait wait. Come with me.

Wilbur: It was the—

Quackity: You fucking did WHAT? 

Wilbur: It was the rule of Plan Bomb!

Tommy: You pressed the button, Wilbur! You pressed the button!

Wilbur: It was the rule of Plan Bomb! It was—

[Tommy and Quackity both see all of the buttons in Pogtopia.]

Tommy: [screaming]

Quackity: What the FUCK are THESE? What the hell is THIS?

Wilbur: Don’t—don’t press anything.

Tommy: Okay, it’s okay as long as it doesn’t get worse than this.

Wilbur: Don’t press anything. 

Tommy: [screaming through Wilbur’s next sentence]

Wilbur: I thought ev—my chat was saying Fundy put them there, but—

Quackity: WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK? Tommy: WHAT THE FU—

Quackity: WHAT IS THIS? Tommy: Stay close, stay close, stay close—

Wilbur: I don’t know who put them there. I’m coming, I’m coming.

Tommy: [heavy breathing]

Quackity: Wilbur, what is this?

Wilbur: I think, I don’t—they say Fundy put them there, but, I—Fundy’s with—Fundy’s like Schlatt’s last ally. 

Tommy: What the f—okay, wait, don’t—don’t press any of them. 

Quackity: Wilbur, what—

Tommy: ‘kay, wait, take them down, take the—. There’s too many to take down!

Quackity: Jesus Chr—Wilbur, did you fucking do this?

Tommy: Wilbur, this is our Pogtopia—

[static]

[all speaking at once]

Wilbur: What the fuck was th—

Quackity: What the fuck was that?

Tommy: What the fuck was—Big Q, stay close, stay close, stay close.

[Wilbur is at the entrance to Pogtopia.]

Wilbur: [whispering to himself] Where’s food?

Tommy: Okay, Big Q, axe out, we’re gonna have to—we’re gonna have to take down these buttons.

Quackity: Yeah yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah, yeah.

Tommy: There’s too many of them, there’s too many to take down! 

Quackity: There’s so fucking many—what if—

Tommy: [screeching] THERE’S MORE!

Quackity: WHAT THE FUCK?

Tommy: [unintelligible] One of—wait, he said that the TNT is in—the TNT is in Pogtopia?

Wilbur: I don’t—that’s what he said.

Tommy: [unintelligible]

Wilbur: That’s what he s—if—

Quackity: Tommy, Tommy, you realize, you realize that if we start taking these down we might press the one, we might press the one button.

Tommy: Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur, is the TNT still under Manburg or not?

Wilbur: Oh my God, I only dug two blocks into the wall, but all the redstone’s been disconnected. All the redstone’s been—

Tommy: [cackling]

Quackity: Wilbur, Wilbur, what the fuck is going on?

Wilbur: My chat said this was Fundy—I pressed a couple of them like this, like [sound effect as he presses a button], you know?

Quackity: What—stop, stop!

[Tommy and Quackity unintelligible as Wilbur laughs]

Quackity: Wilbur, stop.

Tommy: Destroy the ones around Wilbur, destroy the ones around Wilbur.

Wilbur: Hey, Big Q, hey Big Q, hey Big Q: [sound effect as he presses a button]! Oh?

Quackity: Stop, stop!

Tommy: Stop it, stop it.

Quackity: You know what, fucking Schlatt rigged this, too!

Wilbur: [clapping]

Tommy: [unintelligible]

Quackity: You can’t do this!

Wilbur: It’s—they said Fundy did these. I don’t know if it was Fundy, but—

Quackity: Don't even—don’t even touch ‘em, man. 

Tommy: Well, Fundy’s Schlatt’s fuckin’—

Quackity: Don’t even touch ‘em.

Wilbur: I mean our best bet would probably be to ask Fundy.

Tommy: Don’t—Don’t fucking touch them, Wil. Seriously.

Wilbur: This is wonderful. This is—I love this.

Quackity: No, no, it’s fucking not!

Tommy: Wilbur, this is your new home! Why would you want this blown up? Wilbur: Oh, I don’t have a home, let’s be honest. Look, it’s your diamond block, Tommy! Remember when you were—when you were putting diamond everywhere? [he places a button on the diamond block and presses it]

Tommy: Oh, I should—I should probably get—[laughing]

Wilbur: [laughing and clapping]

Quackity: Oh, my God! Jesus Christ!

Tommy: Oh, wait, I didn’t pick it up, wait—wait, who has my, wait—who has my diamond block? Oh.

Quackity: Chill—WIlbur, Wilbur, Wilbur, stop, stop, listen, you don’t know what Schlatt said. 

Wilbur: I’m just having a look around!

Quackity: Schlatt said he rigged bombs under Pogtopia. 

Wilbur: Oh.

Quackity: And he [crosstalk with Tommy, both unintelligible] fucking destruction.

Wilbur: I don’t think it will. Look, I—I—I can go and—

[Tommy and Quackity talking over each other, both unintelligible]

Wilbur: I can go and check, I can go back to Manburg, and—

Tommy: You said you did check.

Wilbur: No, I checked two blocks behind the button and I dug one down, because there was another bit of redstone ‘cause I remember, it went out and downwards, the redstone connection I did, and it’s just not there, it’s just stone. So, he could have disconnected the redstone and kept the TNT, I dunno, we can go check, either way I’ve got another few stacks from Dream we could use. It’s not the end of the world.

Quackity: No, no no no, no, no, listen, listen—

Tommy: Well, you don’t need to use any of them.

Wilbur: Well, no, but I—I will, though, that’s the—you know, it’s a Chekhov’s gun, we’ve spoken this, I ha—I—

Tommy: I don’t remember what that means. 

Quackity: Wilbur, listen to me, the meeting didn’t go to plan, but there’s—there’s things we can do.

Tommy: The only good I know you destroyed.

Quackity: There’s good things we can do. Listen, it’s not time yet. It’s lit—Wilbur, listen to me! It’s not time yet! It’s not fucking time yet, man!

Wilbur: I wanna—I wanna know if Fundy did this. 

Quackity: What are you doing?

Wilbur: I wanna know if Fundy did this. Can we—can we get—wait is that—oh! Oh! Oh! Look at that, right on time! Look! Look at who’s co—you see that little name, bobbing along? 

[Fundy’s name tag can be seen through the walls of Pogtopia.]

Quackity: What the fu—oh, fuck.

Wilbur: I think it could—I think it cou—

Quackity: Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, get in position, get in position.

Wilbur: It could be my—It could be my—It could be my traitor son!

Quackity: Tommy, Tommy, get in position! Hey, hey!

Wilbur: [laughing] It’s my traitor son!

Tommy: [screaming] Sorry, I was—I was thinking about girls.

Quackity: Stay the fuck away! Stay the fuck away.

Fundy: Gentlemen!

Quackity: Stay the fuck away.

Fundy: Gentlemen.

Wilbur: [clapping] Yes! This is brilliant, this is brilliant.

Fundy: May I take a word [sic] for one minute.

Tommy: Okay, can you stand further away from all the buttons? Not that they, that they—they’re—they’re—they’re decoration.

Quackity: Right there. Right there. Right there on that block, over there.

Tommy: On the path, on the path, on the fucking path.

Fundy: Like this one? [he walks onto the wrong path]

Tommy: No, no, no! This wooden path, Fundy!

Quackity: On the PATH, Fundy!

Tommy: Fundy, this is Power V, bitch! [unintelligible]

Quackity: Oh my God, it’s a dead furry!

Tommy: Stand here, stand here!

Quackity: Stand over there, stand over there.

Wilbur: He’s a fox with nothing to lose, look at him! He’s—

Tommy: What do you—how did you even—? Oh, of course, yeah, ‘cause I took—

Fundy: Gentlemen!

Quackity: Oh, I’m sorry [unintelligible] Yeah?

Fundy: I would say, so far, this has been a really fine evening, right? I would say this has been a really, really great evening. And—what a fine evening for some good old double-crossing, huh? Now, let me just say, I haven’t been… completely vocal… about a lot of my actions. I haven’t—I haven’t really spoken to anyone about this, actually. But I must say, um, there’s no better time to speak than—than now. Wilbur, I… might have something for you that may lighten up the mood a little bit. [unintelligible]

Wilbur: Oh, don’t include me. Don’t—I’m just—I’m not gonna show.

Tommy: No, we’re okay, we’re okay. We’re okay, furboy.

Quackity: We’re fine, Fundy.

Wilbur: Wait, no, wait, no, wait wait.

Tommy: Yeah, traitor.

Wilbur: There’s it—wait, something that’s gonna help us? I thought you were just gonna give me something, I don’t want what you’ve gotta give me, I just wanna—what?

Fundy: I… have been documenting every single step, every single action, that Schlatt has taken, ever since he set his foul feet onto that goddamn podium, alright? Wilbur: [quietly, to himself] Foul feet?

Quackity: Are you trying to blackmail us? Fundy: Now if you wouldn’t mind!… to lend me your word for another minute… You see, I got information that just might help Pogtopia to victory without any major precautions [sic], alright? These buttons, we don’t need all of that. Schlatt—

Tommy: [seeing Wilbur pressing buttons] Please stop fucking—please! Jesus Christ.

Quackity: Oh, stop—stop it, man! Jesus, [unintelligible]

Tommy: This is your—you’re being a [unintelligible]

Wilbur: Sorry—Fundy, Fundy, Fundy! Fundy, sorry, before you carry on I have to know: did you put these buttons here? Was this you?

Fundy: ...Schlatt isn’t as powerful—

Wilbur: [laughing]

Tommy: Oh, okay, did you put these buttons here?

Fundy: ...Schlatt isn’t as powerful—

Tommy: [sputtering] Big Q, he put the—he put the buttons.

Quackity: He put the buttons, right? Is this a fucking joke? Is this a prank, asshole? You think it’s a funny prank, or something? Tommy: Hey, hey watch this Big Q…[traps Fundy in a box] ‘scuse me.

Fundy: You see, Schlatt…

Quackity: [laughing at Tommy pouring water on Fundy] He’s like a fucking broken record!

Fundy: ...isn’t as powerful as he portrays himself to be.

Wilbur: No, let—let him speak, I wanna hear the—I wanna hear the furboy talk, I wanna hear him talk.

Quackity: He’s like a broken record.

Tommy: Oh, he has his own bucket, ugh.

Quackity: He’s like a broken record, for Christ’s sake! What about Schlatt?

Wilbur: Let him talk, he’s got—let him say what he’s gonna say!

Tommy: He doesn’t have anything to say, he’s fuckin—

Quackity: What about Schlatt?

Fundy: Listen, listen—

Wilbur: Just let him speak, let him speak!

Fundy: Schlatt isn’t—

Tommy: Stay in the box! Fundy: —actually as powerful as he portrays himself to be. 

Wilbur: [laughing to himself] Furbox.

Fundy: Schlatt is actually the polar goddamn opposite.

Quackity: What?

Tommy: What does that mean? What does that mean?

Fundy: And I have proof, If these blocks weren’t in the way, you could see that in my hand—

Wilbur: [crosstalk, seeing an enderman] Ooh, a friend!

Tommy: [crosstalk] That’ll do.

Fundy: —I’ve got a nice little diary—[seeing the enderman] what the fuck?

[all making various groaning/screaming/laughing noises as they kill the enderman]

Quackity: Ah! It’s one of his hitmen!

[all laughing]

Tommy: How do you—how do you do this?

Fundy: Listen, listen, listen, listen. Oh my God, the enderman is goddamn loud. Wait—alright.

Tommy: Now there’s a fella up there. Jes-us.

Fundy: I’ve got a little diary—

Tommy: [to Wilbur, who is pressing buttons] Stop it, please.

[Fundy and Quackity talking over each other, unintelligible]

Fundy: —some fucking time, alright? Actually, Wilbur! Would you mind reading this for me? Quackity: Go ahead, Wilbur.

Wilbur: Alright. 

Tommy: What, you don’t have eyes, bro?

Fundy: I need you to read this from page 15 and on.

Tommy: How are your eyes?

Wilbur: Page 15? [reading the title page of Fundy’s diary] “A Spy—A Spy’s Diary. Written by an anonymous author—”there are 20 fucking pages of this! Hoooly—what?

Quackity: What does it say? What does it say, Wilbur?

Wilbur: It’s just—It’s just—Fundy, did you do this?

Fundy: I have. Listen to me. Read from page 15.

Wilbur: [reading Fundy’s diary] “The following is confidential information. If you are caught in possession of this diary, an immediate execution may result by authority. Schlatt has a severe addiction to alcohol and cigarettes to suppress his aching body.” What, is that for his gains? “He is unwilling to get it checked due to his pride. If the symptoms progress, he might suffer fatal consequences. Schlatt is incapable of swimming. After further inspection it seems to be a form of muscle atrophy. He uses protein supplements to regain a viable level of strength. He seems to get weaker by the day. Schlatt is surprisingly unaware of the concerns and state of Manburg. He is unaware of how in reality he stands alone. Schlatt has no power. His entire stand is a facade. In fact, he is at his weakest point as we speak.”

Quackity: I FUCKING KNEW IT, [muffled] OH MY GOD!

Tommy: What’s a—what’s a facade?

Wilbur: It’s like a—it’s like a—it’s like something you put on the front—It’s like a front.

Tommy: Sounds like a French [unintelligible] or something.

Wilbur: It’s a French—[laughing] It’s a front, it’s a front you put up to—

Tommy: What, is it French? You better not be French.

Quackity: Are you French, Fundy?

Fundy: I’m not Fr—[sighs]

Quackity: [laughing]

Tommy: Oh, no! Oh, fuck!

Fundy: Listen, listen!

Tommy: Oh, we can’t team with the French!

Quackity: Jesus Christ, Fundy!

[all laughing]

Quackity: You come in here with the—with the audacity of being French?

Fundy: That’s the outcome of this? That’s the outcome you pull out of a diary that I’ve written every single fucking set that—oh, okay.

Tommy: I’m sorry, I mean, that’s—

Quackity: [groaning] [to Wilbur, who is pressing buttons again] Stop. Wilbur, Jesus.

Tommy: I mean, everyone was thinking it, I’m the only one who had the balls to—sorry.

Quackity: [laughing] Anyway.

Tommy: Anyway. So…

Fundy: God fucking da—listen.

Quackity: What do you want from this? What do you want from this [unintelligible]? Wilbur: Wait, no, what do you mean what does he want from this? Big Q, could you not see?

Tommy: WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE—[screaming, laughing]

Quackity: What the hell?

Tommy: WHAT THE SHIT?

[BadBoyHalo is in Pogtopia.]

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Idea for a TV Show: Modern Dorothy Gale and Alice Liddell are a pair of fourteen year old cousins who meet up one summer. Alice is a bit loony from her stay in a mental asylum, Dorothy's heartbroken bc she's finally realized that Kansas isn't home anymore. Both try to find a way back to their worlds.

Wow, so, I got carried away with this, but man did I have some great fun with it!

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                            Down the Rabbit Hole to the Emerald City

Dorothy Gale, at a safe and firmfourteen-years-old, felt like her life in Kansas where she was safe and settledon her Aunt and Uncle’s farm was starting to make sense in a way that she couldspend the rest of her life living peacefully and comfortably; this was not tobe the case. A peaceful day getting ready for the summer months had come to anabrupt and heartbreaking end when her Aunt had called her into the kitchen andsat her down with the words, “We need to talk.”

Similar to every child who had ever come beforeher, Dorothy knew that those words would lead to nothing good. She had beenright.

“You’re sending me away!” The question was moreof a cry of outrage, Dorothy unable to contain her emotions at realizing thatshe was being moved out of her home. “This is my home!”

Aunt Em sighed and fretted and fluttered aroundthe kitchen, Dorothy’s Uncle Henry much calmer as he rumbled out a soft, “We’renot sending you away, Dorothy. You’re going to visit your cousin for thesummer, is all.”

“That’s months away,” Dorothy pointed outquickly, looking between her Aunt and Uncle and feeling a frantic need toconvince them to let her stay claw at her. “Shouldn’t I stay here to helparound the farm? Summer is an important time, isn’t it?”

“Oh, Dorothy, we’re not doing this to punishyou,” Aunt Em sighed, heavy and sharp as she shook her head in a similarmotion. “You’re a young lady, now, though, and you need to learn that you can’tspend your entire life running around a farm like a child.”

Before Dorothy could argue that she was not achild and that she knew that well thank you very much, her Uncle wasspeaking up again. He was the unmovable mountain in contrast to her Aunt’ssharp, fiery nature. The slow and steady tone of his words had Dorothy calmingbefore she could stop herself.

“This isn’t us trying to punish you or force youto grow up, Dorothy, but instead it’s us trusting you,” Uncle Henry said, asmall smile hidden on his weathered face as if he knew his words would calm herlong enough to interest her. She hated that he was right.

Dorothy crossed her arms and tapped her foot,finally moving to sit in the kitchen chair across from her Uncle, Aunt Em stillbustling around the kitchen and looking to be starting on lunch. The familiarscene of the three of them in the kitchen had Dorothy relaxing and falling out ofher rage.

Gathering her thoughts, she finally asked asoft, “What do you mean trusting me?” Because she didn’t see how being sent offto live with a cousin she had never heard of was trusting her.

“Your cousin is your age and she’s been sick,”Uncle Henry explained, weight seeming to slide off his shoulders now thatDorothy was sitting. “She’s only just been released from a hospital where theywere helping her with night terrors that she’s had the last few years. We thinkhaving someone there that’s her age will help.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, Dorothy thought theinformation over. The reassurance that she wasn’t being sent away from her homewas reassuring, but the idea of spending months with a cousin she had nevereven heard about was… It wasn’t upsetting, but it wasn’t something she wasfully comfortable with. 

She liked her home in Kansas, after all. Sheloved running around empty fields that stretched on for days and she enjoyedrelaxing in the sun only to trudge back into a loving, dust-covered house thatwas full of warmth, good food, and wonderful company. She didn’t want to leavethe only home-like place she had left, not after leaving her true home,but…

This seemed important, and Dorothy knew thatonce she had a task, she didn’t stop until she completed it. Kansas may nothave been her true home, anymore, but she would still miss it dearly.

“You said her name was Alice?” Dorothy finallyasked, deciding that it might have been worth all the trouble just to see herAunt and Uncle light up at her decision.

“Alice Liddell,” Aunt Em confirmed quickly,tapping her ladle against a pot of boiling pasta with a cheerful hum. “She’syour age exactly.”

“I suppose that’s good,” Dorothy said weakly.Her heart hurt as she realized she wouldn’t see her house for months, but thewarm, proud smiles made it tolerable, at the very least. “Right. When do Ileave?”

Maybe a summer away from Kansas could be goodfor her. It would be nice to look behind her without scanning the sky, as ifjust waiting for the day she would once more seeing the towering buildings ofthe Emerald City that she could never forget.

It was possible her Aunt and Uncle were right,too. Alice could be good for her, former night terrors or not. Nightmares,after all, were something that Dorothy could understand.

That was what she thought, at least, butsomehow, Dorothy realized that nothing could have ever prepared her for meetingthe girl she was meant to spend an entire summer with.

Cousin Alice and her family lived in a beautifulcountryside that was full of thriving greenery, trees towering high andimmaculate gardens around every corner. It reminded her too much of the placethat had captured her heart, and Dorothy promised herself to spend as much timeinside as possible, already missing the familiar dusty plains of her home andher beloved Toto who hadn’t been allowed to travel with her.

Dorothy had smiled and greeted her extendedfamily that she was only just hearing about, though, putting on her bestbehavior. When she had been introduced to her cousin, however, Dorothy hadfound herself caught off guard.

She had expected someone like her, almost. Afourteen-year-old girl who liked dresses well enough, enjoyed wearing pants andloose clothing where possible, and curious about new things when given theopportunity to explore and learn.

Dorothy had not been expected a quiet, dourlittle girl who looked years younger than Dorothy herself, and yet had eyesthat were years older than Dorothy herself. She had not been expectingCousin Alice to have features like that of a porcelain doll who had not beenproperly cared for, features smooth and round, but just a touch too gaunt, asif haunted by things she could never say.

Dorothy had not been expecting rabbit-quickfeet, mouse-quiet movements, or cat-like smiles that were unnerving, but onlyappeared half-seen, covered by hair and the downward tilt of her head.

All attempts at conversation were met withquiet, searching looks, or quick, short responses that made little to no sense.Dorothy was not sure what hospital Cousin Alice had been admitted to, but shehad a feeling it hadn’t been a good one for her, overall. 

Breakfast had ended when Dorothy had asked ifCousin Alice liked tea and the girl had looked ready to cry before giving asharp smile and a quick retort of, “One is never late for tea unless, ofcourse, Time is late himself.”

Lunch had gone a similar way when Dorothy hadasked her cousin if she enjoyed a certain kind of food in particular, only toget the odd response of, “I’m not sure, but I quite miss the tarts the RedQueen would give out upon occasion.”

In the hours before dinner, Dorothy had been exploringthe rather large estate when she found Cousin Alice sitting on a table in thelibrary with a stack of books around her. Dorothy hadn’t even been able to aska question before the girl was looking up at her with clear, clever eyes,asking a simple, “Do you know why a raven is like a writing desk?”

It had taken only a day, but Dorothy realizedthat she was not ready to know someone like Alice Liddell.

                                                       εїз εїз  εїз

Alice Liddell, at a terrifying and nebulousfourteen-years-old, felt like her life in her family home where she wasconstantly on edge and wary made little to no sense at all in a way that shecould spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder for the next wallmeant to come crumbling down; this was not to be the case. A stressful day ofgetting ready for the summer months had come to a startling and hopeful endwhen her mother had called her into the sitting room and sat her down with thewords, “We need to discuss something.”

A week later and a cousin her age who she had neverbefore met was now staying with them for the summer. Alice hadn’t quite been asexcited for this meant another person she would have to talk to and pretend shewas ‘okay’ around, but Dorothy Gale was, apparently, not someone she had beenready to know.

When Alice had been watching from her bedroomwindow as Dorothy first arrived, she noticed the girl had looked around thecountryside with a look that Alice could only call nostalgic sorrow for a homelong since snatched away from her. It was a look Alice knew well, and it was alook that she needed to understand more about - although she hadn’t expectedDorothy to be like she was, even after seeing that look.

Alice had expected someone like her sister,perhaps, only younger in age. A fourteen-year-old girl who liked to weardresses and act older than she was, ignoring the Truth that was sittingright in front of her that she wouldn’t see even if it were to be shoved in herface.

She had not expected a curious, calm young ladywho looked years older than Alice herself, and yet had eyes that burned with achild’s a curiosity. Alice had not been expecting Dorothy to have the look andgait of someone who had seen so much, and yet had learned to let it fallbetween the cracks before it drove her mad.

She had not been expecting a lion’s courage, asteel heart that was warm, a guileless intelligence, and the steady shouldersof a leader that only appeared half-seen, covered by quick smiles and evenquicker movements.

Alice knew that there was more to Dorothy thancould be seen, and their brief conversations together only proved so, Alicetesting Dorothy and getting puzzles pieces each and every time. Alice was notsure what part of Kansas Dorothy had come from, but she knew she had seen morethan where she had been.

Breakfast had been promising when Dorothy hadasked her about tea and Alice had promptly responded like the Hatter would haveexpected of her, Dorothy nodding her head and replying with, “Curious that Timecould ever be late when time never existed, don’t you think?”

Lunch had been even more promising when they hadbeen speaking of favorite foods, Dorothy admitting a quiet, almost unheard, “Imiss the food of the Munchkins. They were amazing cooks, you know.”

Hours before dinner, Dorothy had stumbled acrossher in the library, and when Alice had asked her the question that had alwaysbeen on the tip of her tongue, Dorothy had replied with a simple, “Because itcan produce a few notes, I’d expect.”

It was obvious that Dorothy was not just anothergirl who smiled and laughed and thought Alice was crazy. If anything, Alice hada feeling that some would think Dorothy crazy if she ever shared why shelooked so sad staring at the green hills and was so quiet when stories aboutlions and witches and fairies were brought up.

“I know that she’s seen something, too,” Alicesaid quietly, curled up in her favorite window seat with a blue butterflyresting on her finger, wings too brilliant a blue to ever be from her world.“Perhaps not my home, but she’s found one of her own, don’t you think?”

The wings flapped slowly and lazily without acare in the world, Alice humming and returning her stare to the moon that wasfull and heavy in the sky, lighting the world in a way that reminded her ofWonderland. It had been too long since she had been home.

“We need to go home, Absolem,” Alice saidsoftly, words near lost in the night. They would have been, had there not beenthe creak of footsteps only a few feet away.

“Alice? Who are you talking to?” There, in thedoorway, stood her cousin Dorothy, a light blue nightgown hanging loosely offher as she looked sleepily confused. “It’s the middle of the night.”

Looking down to the butterfly on her finger,Alice listened to the whispered words that floated up to her, soft and quietand so obvious.

“Yes, I suppose that’s all that’s left to do,”Alice said simply, letting Absolem fly up to rest on her shoulder before shewas standing and moving to meet Dorothy at the door. Her cousin looked worriedand cautious, something about her stance only solidifying Alice’s resolve andher assumptions. “What world did you visit?”

Dorothy startled, looking completely surprisedand caught off guard. Surprised, but not confused. That, more than anything,said it all. “I- I’m afraid I don’t know what you-”

“Mine was called Wonderland,” Alice said simply,meeting Dorothy’s gaze and refusing to look away. “My home is calledWonderland. It’s been two years since I left, and it’s been two years sinceI’ve been trying to get back. So, where was your home?”

Dorothy was silent for a long enough time thatAlice begun to fear that she had gotten it wrong. Instead, though, after aneternity, Dorothy breathed out a soft, incredulous, “Oz.” She sounded like shewas recalling a dream that she had forgotten. “My home is called Oz.”

Alice had been right, then. Taking Dorothy’shand after a moment of thought, Alice pulled the girl into her bedroom, closingthe door against wandering ears. Dorothy hardly seemed to notice, insteadlooking as if she had finally woken up.

“You… I’m not crazy, then?” Dorothy asked, voicehesitant and young before she was laughing, hands moving to cover hermouth for a moment before she was looking at Alice, overwhelmed. “Have I gonemad?”

The question had barely finished before Alicepulled her cousin into a tight hug, holding her close and patting at her backas she responded with, “I’m afraid so. You’re entirely bonkers.”

A startled laugh tore its way out of Dorothy’sthroat, Alice continuing the words that she had been told a lifetime ago, wordsthat sounded cruel, but were told like… “But I’ll tell you a secret,” Alicealmost whispered, tightening her hug on Dorothy. “All the best peopleare.”

Alice wasn’t sure how long the two of them stoodthere in her room hugging, both clinging on to the only person who would everunderstand the truth that they had seen, but eventually Alice felt Dorothystart to pull back.

“You really found another world like mine?”Dorothy asked, tone wavering as if afraid asking would make it no longer true

Alice made sure to smile extra wide, just likethe Cheshire Cat taught her, before answering with a quick, “Of course! And ifI’m right, we may be able to help each other find our way home.”

Heartbeats passed and Alice saw the hope and needbloom to life in Dorothy’s eyes. Alice knew what that hope felt like, andshe was determined to not let it be lost like hers almost had been.

The two stood there, looking into eyes that hadseen worlds others knew nothing off, and Alice blinked bemusedly as Dorothytook a few steps away and then stuck out her hand, smiling softly as she spoke.

“Hello, Alice. My name is Dorothy Gale. My bestfriends are a lion who is more courageous than he knows, a tinman who has aheart of gold, a scarecrow who is clever as can be, and a man who’s not aslonely as he used to think. My home is the Emerald City in a land called Oz.It’s nice to meet you.”

Alice felt like she could cry from joy forthe first time in a long time, Absolem’s wing brushing against her cheeksoftly. “Hello, Dorothy,” Alice whispered. “My name is Alice Liddell. My bestfriends are a brave mouse, an anxious rabbit, a clever cat, a man who isabsolutely mad about tea, and a cantankerous old butterfly. My home is in aworld called Wonderland. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Dorothy’s hands held hers tightly, beautifulsecrets shining in her eyes, and Alice knew, without a doubt, that they wereboth going to be alright.

They were both going to find their way backhome.

[maikatc]

black sun tale | jackson

i want more jackson love so i shall share jackson love. also this is from the 3rd draft of bst too and most of it is still in the current canon, just a good amount of changes here or there (like the ending-)

-

Since the sun wanted to kill his skin like usual, Jackson stayed inside with his companion

Despite her constant rambling, he stared at his computer screen in focus. He checked left and right from every forum he travelled to, reading all of the comments and theories that left in each and every one.

“Do you think we should get Finn over? Since he’s basically the same as you and never bothers to listen. Well, actually he’s pretty good at multitasking so it’s mainly just you.”

There was a sour tone in her voice, which her minor complaints caused him to look at her directly rather than his screen. “Mirana, I can still hear everything you say while I read.”

She crossed her arms, “That’s impossible,” she scoffed.

“Have you ever seen some foreign movie with subtitles?”

Mirana looked at him deadpanned. “I was forced to, yes.”

Jackson sighed, he figured that socializing during the summer was probably a good thing. “Just call Finn over.”

“Okay! I’ll go on speaker.” Mirana grabbed her phone as Jackson comforted himself back to his laptop, muttering.

“Why am I even friends with you guys again?”

“Because childhood friends are bitches like that.”

“Right.” He cringed at his own lack of silence.

“I’m guessing Jackson’s being a prick again?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“That’s the reason you always invite Finn over here,” Jackson entered the conversation as Finn entered through the doorway.

Mirana crossed her arms. “I always tell you guys to go out but no,” she spited.

Jackson rolled his eyes, “You haven’t seen the news lately, haven’t you?”

Finn replied, “You mean the area deaths?”

“Mirana, do you really think anyone would go out with that situation at hand.” Jackson eyed her as she played with her red hair.

Mirana looked down, muttering words Jackson couldn’t hear. She looked back at both of them, “Well, we can always just go somewhere indoors. You guys just stay in your houses all the time.”

“I’m researching about the area deaths.”

“I’m trying to hack online friends for a prank.”

Jackson and Finn replied to her simultaneously.

The girl sighed and pointed at Jackson, “Okay that’s too depressing to spend days on,” she shifted her hand towards Finn, “And that just means you need more of a life.”

Finn chuckled, “They hacked me a few days ago, gotta get em back.”

Mirana shriveled downwards, “Y’all need more vitamin D, goddamnit.”

Jackson opened his computer again, “That’s why they made pills for it.”

“Don’t forget the flavored gummies.” Finn added, going on his phone in the process.

Mirana stared at them deadpanned. “… You guys suck.”

As Jackson’s focus drifted back to forums, a hand suddenly closed his laptop, causing him to jump. He saw Mirana take Finn’s phone as well.

“What the hell?” Finn his arms up as his phone was gone.

She swiftly grabbed both of their arms, her strength being able to pull them up. “I’m dragging you guys out. We’re going to the diabetes shop.”

Jackson’s eyes lowered at her. “Fucking hell.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you guys candy in return.”

Jackson pulled himself out of the girl’s grasp. “Let me at least get ready to go.” He looked at himself, still just in a white t-shirt and black boxers.

He walked to his drawer of clothing, taking off his shirt in the process.

“Don’t you ever think that’s too forward?” Finn commented.

Jackson opened a drawer full of shirts, “It’s not like I’m trying to get you guys to sleep with me. Well, anybody anyways.”

“Yes, we’ve already gotten over this: You don’t like people.” Mirana stood by his bedroom doorway as she spoke. All the while, Finn was on his phone he had gotten back from the girl. “Besides, out of anybody, Finn would be the one distracted by you right now.”

Finn turned away from his phone immediately. “Middle school means nothing.”

“And nothing came out of it, so now we’re just chill.” Jackson grabbed a grey t-shirt he’d gotten from concert Mirana brought him to around a year back. He put it on without much thought and then wore a red unbuttoned flannel over it.

As Mirana and Finn talked to each other, returning regrettable middle school memories, Jackson added a simple pair of jeans and a belt to complete his outfit. He tucked his shirt in as he walked towards the mirror. He fixed up his tuff of brown hair lying on top of his coffee-colored skin. Adding his grey newsie cap on his head, he turned towards the others.

“You definitely go on the internet too much.” Finn eyed his outfit.

Mirana laughed, “I still don’t get why you where that hat, I gave it to you as a joke.”

Jackson shrugged. “Well, I like it.”

“It makes you look like an old man.” Mira smiled.

“Let’s just go,” Jackson grinned at their common talk.

 ***

 “I still hate the sun.” Jackson complained.

“Take off your flannel then,” Mira told him, rolling her eyes.

Finn said, “Hey Jackson, there’s this one video I’ve been meaning to show you too.”

“Finn, another video and I’ll take your phone again.” Mira remarked, causing Finn to place his mobile in his pocket yet again.

“Oh yeah, you heard of the Katzmann death, right?” Jackson asked Finn.

Finn nodded. “We’re screwed.”

“I still don’t get why you used the excuse of the area deaths when you still die indoors now.” Mira grumbled to herself.

“It’s more common outside though, the Katsmann kid was the first time a death was inside. And that happened like two days ago.” Finn spoke in defense.

“I still want to know why this is happening. It’s just getting weirder…” Jackson furrowed his eyebrows, his sight on the ground as he walked in the streets. His curiosity had peaked as always.

“Leave that to the government.” Mira’s hand made a brushing motion.

“It’s easier like that but people should try to figure it out so they’d know what to make best in the situation.”

“Yeah, yeah, but your ideas are too out of proportions.” Mira retorted.

“Don’t go into one of your journalism talks again please, Jackson.” Finn commented.

Jackson sighed and let go of the conversation.

The traffic was busy as always, creating the city noise he’s listened to for almost five years. Turning his newsie cap backwards, he observed the tall buildings engraved in his mind as his friends talked to each other about whatever gossip Mira had. Their snickers mixed with nostalgic sounds eased him slightly.

However, there were ideas peeking through his mind again, area deaths being the topic of course. The number of clues for the cause is nothing to discuss. There was no reason for many of them to just die so suddenly. Everybody would just fall from system failure. No way it couldn’t been a shooting, no injuries. How could a virus appear out of nowhere and kill others instantly without any other contact? How would the virus just disappear suddenly after mere seconds of so many dying? How could no one else around the area be affected if it were to spread so quickly? Why-

He bumped into somebody, someone shorter than him for sure. He looked down from his height to see a boy around his early teens down on the ground from lack of attention. Mira and Finn stopped with him.

The boy had white hair, likely dyed, covering his eye and strangely pale skin. He bore a simple, yet untucked, buttoned shirt and tight black jeans. His visible eye stared at him dully, though it shone a pretty blue.

He got himself up after muttering something under his mouth.

“Sorry, ‘you alright?” Jackson asked looking down at him. He was definitely short, maybe less than five feet compared to himself being over six.

The boy observed him again, and with a small curve on his lip, he said, “Yeah, but you better pay more attention.” He walked off without any other comment.

“You should probably pay more attention too,” Finn fussed.

         They walked for about another minute until Mira noted, “Well this was a pretty short walk. Not much to complain about, right?”

“I’m still sweating like shit, Mira,” Jackson bickered, “Shut up.”

Mira ran to the store door, “There’s a thing called cold drinks, you know.”

Finn walked inside. “I’m just gonna have some sour candies and soda while I plan on what the hell to do with life after high school.”

Jackson sighed as he walked in himself. “Same though, I don’t want to think about the college applications in two years.”

“And I don’t want to think about that stuff since we just went through sophomore year and it’s summer, so be quiet.” Mirana entered, slamming the door.

The store was the same as always, an array of candies near the cashier and soda pop stacked upon each other in rows. Throughout the store held packs of what kids get nowadays: junk food. Though laid around were mediocre everyday items such as earbuds or chargers, which were simply begging to be bought with their cheap prices. Jackson and company mainly went however for the small table they held for customers who just wanted to relax. Though, behind the front counter was a man around their age, who they all knew well.

His name was Kasen, his parents were managers so it was the easiest job to get, from what Jackson heard. Whenever he’d visit the shop for a quick grab of snacks for a sleepover, he would chat with him whilst paying with the little cash he’d have at the moment.

His aloof attitude towards the job made the shop surprisingly more welcoming with his honest attitude. Which is its own downside since he makes the family more money from the teenage crowd, thus his parents force him to stay.

“Yo, Kasen,” Finn walked towards him immediately. “How’s today’s shift going for you?”

Kasen looked up from the article he was reading on his phone. “Boring as usual.” He wore his signature, busted nametag as well as a short-sleeved hoodie for the heat. All the while he placed iced coffee from the coffee shop down the street and a fan to keep him cool.

Jackson shrugged, “Well, at least you have company now.”

Mirana picked out three individual candies that each of them liked themselves and placed them all in front of Kasen as she grabbed her wallet. “I told you guys I’ll by candy for you,” she placed the exactly amount of money on the counter to pay, “So here you go.” 

“I still have to scan it.”

Mira paused. “Oh yeah.” She handed the treats back to him.

Kasen quickly put his long-cut blonde bangs behind his ear and scanned all of them to hand them back to her. “Okay, now you guys can have it.” He took a sip of his iced-coffee again as he took the cash to put in the system.

“Wait!” Finn suddenly said. “What about the drinks?”

After a quick moment of silence, Kasen sighed as the computer printed out the receipt. “Just get your soda already and pay me again.”

 “I still don’t get why you guys just have a table here…” Mirana sat back as she ate gummies.

Kasen leaned forward from his counter. “Well, it was my idea when I was younger, my parents bought it as a present so I wouldn’t be running around the store while they worked. Plus, I thought that people who wanted to stay shouldn’t be standing. Didn’t really noticed how weird it was until I got older.” He snickered pulling up his glasses.

Finn chugged some of his cold, orange pop and took a sighed as he swallowed. “Aren’t we the only people who actually sit here?”

Kasen shrugged, “Well, there are some who do, but they don’t bother talking to me. Mainly since they’re basic bitches, but they get annoying easily so I don’t really try at the same time.”

“Makes sense,” Jackson nodded, “You’re a good man, Kasen, a good man.”

“Yes,” Kasen chuckled, “A good man without an idea of what degree I even wanna get.” He took another sip of coffee.

“Isn’t that half the students though,” Mira questioned.

“I guess so. I mean, at least I’m pretty sure my parents will let me quit after graduating.”

Jackson indulged in his popping candy as the others talked. He already had a basic plan after graduating high school, though without older siblings like Finn had, he didn’t have anything to make reference of for himself.

“Damnit…” He muttered, taking a sip of his lemonade as the others laugh about some random new topic.

 ***

 Jackson had returned to his cozy apartment, lying beside his dining table and lightly chuckling from the thoughtless jokes of the media.

Mira and Finn had left hours ago, all the while his mother had arrived back from the hospital, cooking up dinner. Her bleached hair puffed up into a mess like always as her small eyes carried bags underneath.

Jackson turned towards her directing, eying that she wobbled as she walked.

Jackson stood up, closing his laptop as he slipped next to her and place his hand on her shoulder. “You’ve worked two nights shifts and a day shift to top it off, I’ll make dinner.”

The woman blinked at him slowly, only to place the cutting knife she held for vegetables and sighed “Fine.”

She stumbled towards the table and slumped down on a chair.

Jackson nodded to himself as she already fell to a slumber, and went on to cut the rest of the veggies to use for the last step.

The rice noodles were already being boiled and the chicken breast was already cut. All Jackson had to wait for was the rice noodles to be ready.

 His mother blinked her eyes open as Jackson stirred all of the ingredients together in a wok.

Jackson stirred repetitively for some time until the clattering of plates struck his ears. He turned to see his mother grabbing plates without precaution. Though, he shrugged and laid his eyes down upon the food. “The pancit is ready.” He said as he began serving food to the plate that had been passed to him.

“You’re starting to make better food than me, it took seventeen years.” Her mouth slurred as she spoke as Jackson passed the plate he held to her.

“I’ve been good, besides you passed out immediately once I offered help,” Jackson scoffed.

After gathering their food and utensils, the two sat on the dining table together.

“So how did your day go?”

The light shined above them dimly, and his mother’s voice was weaker than normal.

“Mira dragged me and Finn to the shop. She paid for treats though so I didn’t have to use any money.”

The woman sighed. “Well that’s good. But I’ll pass you some more money by the end of the month.”

Jackson dragged his food around silently. “You know that you don’t have to save for college money now…”

His mother looked down on her plate as she chewed up her meal slowly. As she swallowed, she replied, “I’m just trying to being precautious. My family budget got screwed over for my education around your age.”

“But you still managed.”

“But, I had to work my ass off while you were just a baby.”

Jackson scoffed, “I know, I know. But it isn’t like I’ll be in that situation.”

She sighed, placing her spoon down gently, “Look, I’ve been working enough extra shifts for the hospital to offer me a vacation week. Will that make you a bit happier?”

Jackson took a spoonful of his meal. “Yeah, just rest for the week though. I’ll take care of the house.”

“Thank you, Jackson.”

They continued to eat the meal until Jackson picked up both of the empty plates to wash. His mother meanwhile, sat at the table to have some herbal tea and bread. An array of clean dishes on the other side were waiting to be put back in place, however Jackson’s desire to was barely existent as he washed more things.  

“So, Mom, have there ever been survivors of area deaths that were in the hospital?”

“No, even the news says that no one in those places survived, you’d know that better than me.” Jackson could easily tell with her tone that she was confused.

He replied, “Yeah, but the news gets information wrong sometimes, so it’s always good to gain your own evidence.”

His mother took a sip of her tea. “That’s true. I’m guessing you’re making your own little conspiracy theories again?”

Jackson rolled his eyes with a grin. “No, this situation’s too vague to have a real solution here.” He said while placing a dish to the clean side of the sink.

“Are you going to keep trying to look for clues?”

Jackson groaned, “With how weird this all is, and the situation just getting stranger, I’m not even sure if anyone is gonna get a solid theory to this.”

His mother hummed thoughtlessly, “Well, even the absurd theories end up being true sometimes, so what do you got?” She took a bite of her bread in the process.

Jackson finished up the last dish and turned off the sink. He turned towards his mother with his hands holding the counter behind him. “The closest shot that I have is some artificial virus.”

She eyed him in a tired surprise while saying with bread in her mouth, “And what makes you say that?”

Jackson took a seat across from the woman, stretching his arms while looking at her straight. “Well, if you look at how the area-deaths go. They only happen in a specific location at the moment, and it kills everyone almost immediately. So, what if someone or some people had developed a virus they could activate and spread however they’d like. But at the same time if this were in a, most likely, terrorist perspective, it wouldn’t make sense to just attack specific people out of convenience when they can make mass destruction so easily with that type of destruction. Even more nonsensical that they would guess use this technology on singular people such as the children who’re kept and-… yeah.” He stopped himself from rambling too much.

“Hm, makes sense that this would be tricky. But maybe you should try and see other perspectives on who may have done this if there was someone in action.” His mother stirred her tea as she spoke, spreading the scent of plants and herbs across the room to Jackson’s dismay.

Jackson shrugged. “It’s hard to think of any. This tech would be impossible to create without tons of money or support.”

“With the world nowadays, anything can happen really.” She took another sip of her tea, tipping her head downwards only to get herself back up quickly.

Similar to past nights, Jackson got up to take away her tea and bread. “You’re going to work again tomorrow, right? Go to sleep.”

She blinked until she replied, “Okay, okay. But you’re drinking the rest of that tea for me.”

“That’s fine with me, mom.”

She got up with him as he walked with her to her bedroom.

“Oh yeah,” his mother said whilst slumping herself through the short hallway, “did you have fun with Mira and Finn?”

“Yeah, we talked with Kasen at the shop too, but I was still busy thinking so I spaced out for most of it.”

She softly chuckled, “Of course you did.”

They arrived at her room, all a mess with dirty clothing and mail, and she wobbled her way to fall on her bed. “Night, Jackson,” she said dozily.

“Night, Mom,” he replied as he closed the door with a soft creak.

Jackson walked back to the living room to go back to his laptop. All the while he was in the regular thoughts of a 34-year-old woman working herself exhaustingly for her almost already-independent child.

 ***

 Mirana sat quietly on the floor with her sketchbook while Jackson took notes on his bed for summer homework. As Jackson bored himself with science facts, he noticed Mirana had observed him with her pencil at hand.

He listened to her sketching on her paper as comfort, the pencil tip scratching ever so slightly against the sheets.

“So, what are you drawing now?”

Mirana placed the pencil eraser on her lip, focusing on his position yet again. “Trying to make a sketch of you, but this angle is tricky of course.”

“Why don’t you just move somewhere else to get an easier angle?” Jackson raised his brow, though her answer would most likely be predictable.

She shrugged, “The harder the angle, the more impressive it is to pull it off.”

Jackson typed up a quick fact that he’d forget later. “I still don’t get how people can draw.”

“Well, at least you can take pictures,” Mirana scoffed.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “You just don’t know how to take pictures of people.”

“Adding a filter like you do doesn’t work on everything.” Mirana whined quietly as Jackson turned to his notes again.

They continued doing their own work. And whilst Mirana seemed to have fun in her focus, Jackson began to grow a headache as per usual.

“Hey Mira, are you almost done with your sketch?” He asked.

“Oh, I actually just did. You still have those colored pencils I gave you, right?”

Jackson replied, “You told me to keep them in case you drew here so I left them to die in my closet. Go look there. I’m gonna get some pills.”

Mirana put her sketchbook and pencil, beginning to stand in the process. “’Kay, thanks”

Jackson pushed his laptop aside and got up from his bed. Muttering to himself about not sleep depriving himself before working.

He quickly walked to the living room cabinets, finding headache pills quickly from the last time he left it there. He grabbed the cup of water he’d abandoned from morning breakfast and took the pills with it, having a good chug of the rest of the cup for safe measures. Though as he drank the rest of the cup, thoughts raised through his head.

The quicker I get this work done, the more time I have to relax and… maybe get some money from a job. I’ll look after. It’s starting to get dark though-.  

His surroundings turned grey and silent as he felt a brush on his back in a flash. He choked on his water from flinching, though everything went back to normal the second he coughed it out.

Jackson gasped for air as he stumbled his hands towards the counter edges. He slowly breathed out, “What the hell…” as he stilled to calm down.

“Jackson, you okay?” He turned around to see Mirana by the end of the hallway.

Jackson let go of the counter and answered her. “I just choked on my water a little bit,” he sighed.

The woman crossed her arms and lowered her eyes. “I could hear from the other room. Your walls were thin enough.”

“Of course,” Jackson groaned as he straightened up his t-shirt.

“Have some more water. The pills won’t support your choking bit right there.”

“Sure, sure,” Jackson grumbled as his poured more water from the pitcher.

“So,” Mirana said as Jackson started drinking again, “what made you so startled anyways to that point.”

“It was an accident.”

“Yes, but choking that much by an accident isn’t really that believable.”

Jackson took another gulp of his water. “It was just random chills. I’ll look it up later or something.”

Mirana stayed quiet until she sighed, “Okay then, I’m just gonna go back to coloring.”

She walked back to where she disappeared in Jackson’s eyes. As he turned to look back at the window set on the living room wall. 

The streets were just as lively as ever. Kasen was probably taking a nap during his breakshift of the day, while Finn procrastinated to even read his english books in the first place most likely. Despite his rural beginnings, everything that brought out curiosity and naivety to him had faded into the mundane.  

His mind continued racing until he finished his drink, swifting the glass towards the sink to clean later and going back to his room. 

Though, Jackson opened the door to find his room floor covered in multiple dull colored pencils. He looked ahead to already see a blur of colors in Mirana’s sketchbook.

Carefully, Jackson dawdled to the other side of the room. “You don’t have to throw all the shitty pencils across the room,” he retorted.

Mirana scoffed, “They aren’t shitty. They just aren’t needed for the sketch.”

Jackson rolled his eyes from her ignorance as he sat next to her, getting a better sight of the sketch.

She managed to catch his appearance well, like usual. His light tan-skin was replicated using a simple mix of pencil shades. His eyes squinted smaller than they already were as he focused, which was a usual habit in his defense. Though Jackson noticed his hair was a brown mess, and he subconsciously fixed his hair with his hand as his eyes analyzed the piece some more.

“Goddamnit Mira, it’s good.”

“Thanks, I mainly just colored you but I think I’m gonna move on to an outfit sketch.” She spoke as she turned to the next page, catching some stuck pages out from seemed to be dirt.

“What kind of outfit are you thinking of?”

“Just a thin dress, for when I go out swimming, you know?” She started sketching out lines of the model’s head.

Jackson’s mind swirled about what type of design it’d be, though another question came to mind.

“With how many outfits you made, did you ever consider being a designer or something?”

Mirana scrunched up, tapping her pencil slowly as she slightly hummed. “I’m not really sure yet. I like doing art in general, outfits are kinda just another hobby but I don’t know shit about actual fabric stuff.”

Jackson shrugged as she kept sketching slowly. “Yeah, but you can always learn, that’s what half the internet was made for.”

Mirana chuckled. “Yeah, but I prefer using the other half,” she clicked.

Jackson scrunched his eyes. “If you’re implying what I think you’re implying, get out.”

She snickered as he groaned back onto his own workspace.

“So, Jackson, what are you gonna do when I’m gone for the next two weeks?”

Jackson opened an online textbook, “Oh- Wait, shouldn’t you be packing right now?”

Mirana said, “I already did all of that last night. It was pretty easy.”

“You just stuffed everything you had other than your sketchbook and materials into your luggage without a thought, didn’t you?”

She grinned. “Pretty much.”

Jackson shook his head, “Your car trip’s gonna be around 2 days long…”

“Yeah, but out of anything, all I really need for survival is my sketchbook. Same goes for my music but I always have that so no need to worry.”

Jackson sighed, “Don’t come complaining to me when you don’t know where your swim-suit is.”

Mirana looked up from her sketchbook, “What? I got too focused on something.”

Of course, he thought. His screen became his sight again as he said, “Just don’t die in Massachusetts.”

“You’d probably like it more than me really, colder than here in New York City.”

Jackson smiled. “Trust me, I don’t like anything considering the weather.”

 ***

 “It’s been two weeks. More kids died in their apartments. News is saying that people are starting to move. And at the same time, we still have no idea why this is happening in the first place.”

Finn commented, “There haven’t been anything else like this outside of NYC, so it could be worse.”

Jackson snapped back, “But what if it does get worse?” He slammed down his laptop from the kitchen table, walking off to refill his glass of water from minutes prior.

“Jackson?”

He chugged his cup full down with a vitamin D pill quickly, coughing and wiping his mouth with a sigh as he finished. “What,” he gasped.

 “You’re getting stressed again. Calm down.��

Jackson huffed. “I don’t understand what’s going on anymore. The press would’ve released something weeks ago explaining, but all I get is shitty blogposts.”

He sat at his table again, arms over his head and kicking his long legs back and forth from the stool. “If we keep this up, we’re all gonna die soon enough.”

Finn stood silently, then sat on another stool on the side. He clapped his hands together while taking a breath. “Okay. Jackson, we aren’t gonna die. Out of anything if we see people die, just turn for it until you’re out of the area completely. Maybe try not to breathe, I don’t know.”

“But we still don’t know the main cause, we’re fucked.”

“Jackson, you have to calm down,” he patted Jackson’s back.

Jackson said blankly, “What’ll happen if my mom gets involved?”

“Jackson!” Hands stuck his arms tightly, turning him to face Finn again, who was stricken with concern in his eyes. “You need to stop worrying about this stuff. You should know out of everybody that it’s not good for you.”

Jackson blinked, then replied slowly, “If we stop doing anything, we’ll get nowhere. If we don’t know anything, we’ll get nowhere… We need this.”

Finn sighed, letting him go steadily. He glared at him softly, “Just don’t stress yourself out like that anymore.”

“Don’t worry. I think I’m fine now, I’ll just take some relax pills.” Jackson stood and turned to the cabinet of pills, grabbing a bottle of valerian root pills. He refilled his cup again to take it in.

He finished the cup silently as Finn attempting to make conversation after their talk.

“Huh, that’s a first.”

Finn cocked a brow. “What?”

Jackson said, “I’ve been having these weird chills lately at random, and over half the time it was when I was drinking water. And for the first time in two weeks,” he raised his cup, “I was able to drink an entire cup without getting any.”

“Wait,” Finn asked, “Is that why you’ve been drinking tons of water and choking?”

Jackson nodded, “Yeah, didn’t really like it but I wanted to see how long it’d last. Besides I stay inside so much that I might as well get a lot of hygiene to compensate.”

“Understandable.” Finn went back to his phone. “So, you said that you were hanging out with Mira tomorrow when she comes back, right?”

“Yeah, down at the Amersford park at 2:30.”

“Do you think I can join a bit after? I’ll be like an hour late since I’m gonna hang out with some of the basketball guys.”

Jackson shrugged, “Yeah sure, she’s pretty much just hanging out with us as a way of getting out of unpacking for a bit so the more the merrier.”

Finn chuckled, “Her room’s gonna be a disaster either way so it’s fine.”

“I’ll text her later. But for right now, you’ll go do my math work for me.”

 ***

 Jackson’s phone buzzed while he looked at pop culture news. He picked it up to see Mirana’s name plastered on the phone.

He clicked the green button and answered, “Are you almost here? It’s almost two.”

“We got here earlier than expected, so do you think you can come over now?”

Jackson looked at himself, dressed in a random t-shirt and a pair of boxers yet again. “I can, but I need some time to get ready first.”

“You’re in your boxers again, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

“Okay I’m just gonna wait with YouTube. See ya soon.”

She hung up right afterwards.

Jackson groaned from his own lack of sleep and got up regretfully. After taking deep breath, he dashed to his drawer and quickly dressed himself. He immediately brushed his teeth in the bathroom, washed up his face, and fixed up his hair. He snatched his newsie-cap and phone to be completely ready to go in the record-time speed of five minutes.

He quietly said goodbye to his resting mother before going off.

Jackson called her again as he started walking to the park.

“Are you out of your house yet?”

“Yeah, I’m on my way.”

“Good, you’re being productive.”

“Unlike you.”

“Shut up”

“Okay, I’ll see you then.”

“Oh, bye then.”

Jackson hung up the phone as he started to take his ten-minute walk of the week.

 ***

 Just a block away from Amersfort park, and Jackson only struck silence in his ears. He cocked his head to say the least once he noticed.

He walked to the entrance steadily. He found a scent wasn’t of the city’s smoke, which was utmost peculiar causing him to walk quicker.

A thick atmosphere comforted around him as he got closer, and his hand suddenly began to burn but he ignored it during the flashes of monochrome that appeared in his sights, with chills going down his spine continuously.

He got to the entrance, and slowly turned to see what exactly was going on.

His eyes widened to the point where it hurt. His blood ran colder than it had ever been before as his heartbeat sped up faster and faster. His eyes slowly began having forming thick, wet tears that burned against his cold figure.

He couldn’t stop staring at all of messy, bloody bodies that laid before him. The eyes of pain they’d left only made sense with the giant puncture on their bodies.

And what laid across the entrance of the park was dyed-red hair that he could always remember.

Mirana ended up dead in New York City.

Though, as Jackson stood in shock, his eyes caught a black figure standing. It was ginormous, skin wrinkled up to its spine and a black aura surrounding them as well. However, its paws held thick claws that were stained red.

This isn’t real.

The monster turned and saw Jackson.

This isn’t real.

It took a single step towards him.

He could barely think.

He could barely tell reality anymore

However, one single thought formed completely.

Run.

[aspected-benefic]

Prompt #10: Foster

and we open up with a shot of the house just like a sitcom

wc: 2,825 (putting word count total here as a warning)

((This is a headcanon I had way back during the great server shuffle. Though my main characters are currently on Sargatanas, I also consider Faerie my second home. I have a private free company there (thanks to @abeat who signed the petition for me :D~) and a cottage in Mist. At some point, long before server merges were announced, I had the idea to make an alt on Siren to take advantage of the Road to 60 buff, level said alt's crafters, then move said alt to Faerie. The first one was Apple, but for various reasons, I stayed off of Apple for a month and missed the Road to 60 buff window to level all the crafters. D'oh! Sometime later, I made Yet Another Alt - Azrael - to accomplish the same thing. Thanks to @abeat again (she is such a sweetie, I swear...) I created another FC to pass items between Apple and Az. Apple created levekit items, Az leveled very quickly, especially thanks to Road to 60, and he succeeded to get all his crafters to 60.

That's the IRL backstory. This is the headcanon I had in regards to moving the Siren characters to Faerie, the novelty of the One Lone Boy, and said One Lone Boy's social anxiety.))

[1]

The xaela, Xiaoning Shou, drummed her large stack of papers on the table until they stacked together evenly. "That about covers this meeting's topics--oh! No, wait. One more thing!"

A green-haired viera, Alto Aria, and a pink-haired lalafell, Princess Kneesaa, tilted their heads to the side in perfect synch.

"Concerning the upcoming, ah, move incentives, and the subsequent pending of three new members to our tiny free company, Vermilion Forest, I have some good news, some bad news, and some interesting news. Which news did you all want to hear first?"

Alto took a long sip of her tea. "Bad news? Oh dear. Let me finish this cup first."

Kneesaa folded her hands together on the table as a princess would when bracing herself for unpleasant news. "Please to tell us all the bad news firstly. Get it out of our way."

"Well, I got ahold of Apple Gardenia, our contact in the, um, other realm, and she said she couldn't get the amount of skill level required for the free company recruit message. Which, as a reminder, was to get all of her disciples of hand to a high enough standard." Xiaoning held up her hand to the other two before they had anything to add. "However! She raised an apprentice who can make us guildleve kits! And has mastered every disciple of the hand to a high enough level! Even beyond what we asked for! That's the good news. Now here comes the interesting news."

Alto and Kneesaa leaned in.

"It's..."

Alto and Kneesaa leaned in further.

"... a boy."

Alto and Kneesaa fell over.

"A boy?!" Alto clenched her hands together.

"In our all-girl free company?" Kneesaa chimed in.

"Vermilion Forest just happened to be all-girl by coincidence..." Xiaoning started but was promptly cut off as Alto and Kneesaa stood to their full heights and slammed their hands on the table.

"Oh gods, do we have to allot a separate bathroom for him?" Alto asked.

"Our bathrooms are gender neutral, just like my inn--"

"What's his name?" Kneesaa asked.

"Azrael Megid, I think--"

"Race?"

"Au Ra Xaela, like me--"

"Personality?"

"Quiet? Apple says he's very shy, but a hard worker and a good person overall." Xiaoning pressed on before the other two had anything else to add. "And you know the other best part of this good news is?"

"What's that?" the other two asked in unison.

"He's a PALADIN!"

Alto and Kneesaa clasped their hands together as their starry eyes envisioned a tall au ra man clad in head-to-toe armor. "Ooohhh...!"

The last point in case was the last push their excitement meter needed. For Xiaoning and Alto, a Red Mage and Composer respectively, a tank could escort them into dangerous areas quickly. For Kneesaa, a White Mage or Scholar depending on her mood, she could have a reliable escort into dangerous areas. This proposition seemed full of win.

Soon, any pretenses of formality melted in a gaggle of flails and squeals.

"Still! A boy in the free company! A boy! So exciting!"

"Imagine, having a boy around! a boy in the house! In chat!"

Outside the free company house, the squeals of excited girls rang throughout the entire ward.

-

Meanwhile, on the aforementioned realm, smoke billowed out the chimney of a small blacksmith forge. Inside, among other things, a rack of impeccably crafted greatswords laid on the wall. Untouched. Unmoving.

Until one hinge at the far end unceremoniously snapped.

In the blink of an eye, the sword barely began its descent downwards when a blur skidded into the vicinity and caught the blade in his hands. Once stopped, the blur revealed itself to be a red-haired au ra in a crouched position.

"Phew."

The au ra, Azrael Megid, stared at his works. He looked up to see the broken hinge in question. He had just built that rack himself. There was no way that anything short of bad luck could have broken it.

Unless... it was a bad omen.

Azrael furrowed his brow. "Somehow, I have a bad feeling..."

-

[2]

Since Apple first taught him the ropes of crafting, she had warned him that eventually they would move to a new free company. That he was getting recruited for the specific task of making guildleve items. No big deal. Azrael liked to help out. Before he came to Eorzea, he had been a blacksmith by trade in the first place, both as a cover story and an actual trade. He loved creating more than destroying. Points for that. He'll have a place to stay, revenue, and a cover story. Check.

The problem? Imminent social interaction.

Even though he could speak to his free company mates Apple Gardenia and Haruka Kinome now, before he found himself at a loss for words.

What do I say? What do I say...?

That night, Azrael tossed and turned in his sleep. His thoughts of carrying a conversation - a regular old fashioned oh yes let's talk about harmless topics for hours and this and that - continued to haunt his dreams.

Eight pairs of hands raised in front of him. "Make us all the things, Azrael!"

Azrael in his dream tried to speak but nothing came out except for a few awkward noises.

Those same eight pairs of hands raised in front of him again. "Escort us through the dungeons, Azrael!" chirped the plethora of DPS and healers.

And him as the only tank in the entire free company.

"A-all at once? Today?" Azrael stuttered in his nightmare.

Azrael woke up in a cold sweat. He shot up and pressed a hand to his chest. Perhaps one day he would warm up to the idea of saying hello. That day wouldn't be moving day.

-

[3]

The fated moving day. According to a letter from Apple, the transfer papers went through without any problems and the trio were on their way. While Xiaoning could have just invited all three to the free company and day over; go home, what fun was that? Instead, Xiaoning also decided to host a small welcoming party.

A large banner saying Welcome, Sirenites! hung on the overhead partition facing the front door. On the counters laid various baked goods and other snacks and tidbits. Xiaoning, Kneessaa and Alto positioned themselves to be immediately visible as soon as the new people walked through the door. All three girls hopped in place and looked at each other with anxious, bright smiles. Neither of them could wait to see the new people!

The doorknob rattled. The trio perked up. "Here they come. Here they come!"

The door burst open. In strode a miqo'te like she had just returned home from a long day's work at the farm. Her brown, braided pigtails fell on both sides of her muscular shoulders and her face was covered in freckles. She wasn't particularly pretty, but her broad smile made everyone feel warm and welcome in her presence.

"Hey, y'all! We finally made it! Nice t'finally meet'cha'll in person!" Apple said in her unique Lominsan drawl.

"Apple! So glad you could make it! I'm so happy to see you!"

Xiaoning bounded over to Apple and wrapped her arms around the miqo'te in a giant hug. Apple returned the hug with equal force. Apple lifted Xiaoning up. Xiaoning lifted Apple up. Alto and Kneesaa came over to share the hug as well.

"Hey, everyone, this is Apple Gardenia." Xiaoning gestured to the brown-haired miqo'te. "We've maintained contact ever since she first sent her recruitment letter. She's really friendly!"

Apple laughed. "As they say back at the farm, ya wanna keep everyone happy, ya gotta feed 'em, and kindness and love are nourishment for the soul. But ya ain't gotta tell me twice to be nice. I love people! Gimme another hug!"

More group hugs. More group lifting. Except in Kneesaa's case where she gently petted everyone's knees.

A knock on the door momentarily stopped the joyous union. Unlike before, where Apple most likely rattled the door knob just to see if she had to kick a locked door down or not, this knock came as polite, yet firm. Deliberate. Like someone polite but of authority.

Xiaoning popped her head from out of the crowd. "The door's open!"

"Excuse me," said a female voice in the same gentle, yet firm manner.

The door closed behind her. There stood a beautiful female hyur with reddish-pink hair that fell into curls on her shoulders. She held her hands in front of her white attire - a garment that could only be politely called a dress, and truthfully called lingerie.

"My true name is Princess Weyll, but you, like, know me on the register as Haruka Kinome. Like, a pleasure to meet you all." The hyur known as Haruka curtsied.

The trio of Vermilion Forest stared at Haruka in awe. "Oh wow, she's so beautiful." "She looks just like a real princess!" "Look at that flawless skin!"

Xiaoning returned the bow. "A pleasure to meet you."

Kneesaa looked up in awe. "Another princess! Kneesaa had yet to meet another like her! Princesses must have pink hair!"

Haruka held a hand to her mouth in a dainty laugh. She curtsied to Kneesaa and smiled. "Yes. Like, a pleasure to make your acquaintance!"

The house quickly filled up with chatter and laughter. So excited the Vermillion Forest trio were to have new members into their small free company - and meet two new people in general - that they had completely forgotten their other point of anticipation and excitement. That was, until Kneesaa spoke up.

"Was there not one more to walk through the door?" the lalafell asked.

Apple and Haruka looked at each other. Both raised their eyebrows and smiled a combination of sheepish and awkward before turning to the trio with the same expressions.

"Y'all mean Azrael?" Apple asked. "He, uh, well..."

Haruka giggled again. "He's very shy. You could say he's not, like, properly acclimated to people."

"No kiddin'. On the battlefield, the kid fights like a primal incarnate, but anywhere else, you say anything more than hi to him and he folds over like a shrinkin' violet. Knowin' him, he'll show up long after everyone's gone to bed. Dun worry. Just do what I did when I first met 'im and leave some notes."

Xiaoning nodded. "I guess that will have to do for now."

Kneesaa bowed her head. "While it would have been nice to see our imminent one body come to the free company, we shall respect these wishes."

Alto smiled and raised her conductor's baton. "For now, though, how about a little music to kick off this celebration? We have food! Help yourself!"

Apple clasped her hands together. "Oh boy! Food! Man, I'm sure starvin'! All that hikin' from one land to another's gotten me beat!"

"Well, like, don't mind if I do. Thank you for setting this all up!" Without hesitation, Haruka took a cookie.

The joyous festivities lasted well into the night. The music and chatter could be heard deep into the ward. Only after the sun began to rise in the horizon did the lights finally go out.

-

[4]

Another day, another morning. An hour after everyone had cleared out of the free company house, the door opened with a decisive turn of the knob and a pushing of the door. Azrael peered into the building through the top of the door. Inside looked like a bazaar - yes, this was definitely the correct house. A little cramped for someone of his height, but well spaced for someone shorter. Not one was there to greet him, not even a mender or a vendor often employed in housing wards. So far so good. He closed the door behind him. Time to check out the place.

Immediately, one item caught his eye: a piece of paper with his name on it pinned to the wall. He bent over bring his face eye level to the parchment.

To Azrael,

Hello and welcome to Vermilion Forest! On behalf of everyone here, I hope you enjoy your stay. Thank you for answering our recruitment call for a levekit crafter. If it's not too much trouble, do you mind getting started as soon as you can? Here are a list of things to make. Please place the items in the third slot of the free company chest. Speaking of which, you are free to use any mats in there to help you out. But don't take everything and run! We know who you are and where you live! Anyway, thank you very much! -Xiaoning.

Xiaoning's warning made Azrael chuckle. Such honesty. And on top of that, someone - most likely Apple - must have told Xiaoning to leave a note for him, rather than scold him to become more sociable. He appreciated that.

The items Xiaoning listed were guildleve items. Azrael rolled up his sleeve. Time to get to work.

-

[5]

Xiaoning didn't awake until well into the afternoon. She yawned and smoothed down her long, black hair as she entered the free company home. "Good morning, everyone..." she mumbled into the special linkpearl created for the free company.

"Good morning, Xiaoning.." muttered a few equally tired voices.

A quick glance to the wall showed that the note Xiaoning had pinned there earlier that morning had gone. Did someone move it? Was Xiaoning just dreaming in thinking she had made a note?

Or did the one lone boy come to the free company after all?

Xiaoning looked at the free company roster. No, his name was there, just like the other newcomers. Azrael Megid.

Did that mean he had seen the note? Curiously, Xiaoning peered into the free company chest, slot three.

All of the items Xiaoning had asked for laid neatly in each compartment.

Xiaoning removed one of said items: an Iron Celata. She held the helmet in front of her head, turning it every which way to inspect in the light. Just as Apple had said, Azrael's craftsmanship was careful, precise and impeccable. Exactly what Xiaoning was recruiting for.

Tucked into the helm was parchment. Seemed too deliberately placed to have been Xiaoning's old note rolled up and put away. Sure enough, the note had been addressed to her. Or whoever saw it in general.

Thank you for having me. I'll do my best. -Az.

Xiaoning smiled and tucked the parchment away in her personal satchel. She had a feeling that the one lone boy would get along in the free company just fine.

-

[Epilogue]

"Everyone, quick! Come to the inn." Xiaoning whispered into the free company chat. "A visitor named Azrael Megid had checked himself in earlier this evening. It could be the very same one lone boy of our free company!"

Soon, the stairwell of the Ruby Phoenix Inn leading downstairs to the actual in area became crowded. Alto and Kneesaa arrived first, dying of curiosity. Apple and Haruka also arrived, though more curious than anything to see how this event played out.

Lead by Xiaoning, the group tip-toed downstairs into the inn area. The inn rooms themselves had no doors, but carefully placed partitions so people couldn't immediately see who or what was inside. Which meant they couldn't catch a glimpse of this mysterious lone boy of the free company beforehand. Although certainly a male presence had made its way here - the further along the group moved, the louder the breathing noises became. At the end of the hall, Xiaoning gestured to the group. With Alto's head on the top, Xiaoning's in the middle and Kneesaa's on the bottom, the trio peered in the room.

Lying on his back too deep in sleep to notice anything but his own slumber, was Azrael Megid, the fabled lone boy of the free company.

"Oh, there he is. So that's what he looks like." said Alto. "Au ra standards must be different, but to me, he looks so young."

"He is young. The less scales they have, the younger they are." Xiaoning whispered. "He's a xaela, just like me."

"He is so tall!" Kneesaa cooed in a whisper. "He is also very muscular. They look even bigger than yours, Xiaoning."

"What? Really? ... well what do you know..."

Azrael, completely asleep and unaware of his visitors, stirred in his sleep. His soft moan acted like a needle to burst Xiaoning, Kneesaa and Alto's collective contained excitement. The novelty! The difference! Squealing like a bunch of schoolgirls, they ran up the stairs. Apple and Haruka moved out of the way to let them pass, then smiled and shrugged to each other.

"Such a lively group." said Haruka.

"You could say that again." chuckled Apple.

[mamabearcat]

Fairytail Cafe - Third Course

So sorry for the delay in this chapter! Still school holidays here in Oz, so I’m looking after little people that need my attention, and it’s been so hot, my brain has been totally non-cooperative on the writing front. But, here it is. Only dessert left after this one. 

Here are the links to the Entree and Second Course, or if you prefer, here’s the whole meal all at once on my AO3! Bon appetit!

Lucy took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as she walked into the café, quenching her desire to turn around and run the other way. She could do this. She pushed her chin out defiantly and walked forward, forcing herself to concentrate on the members of her team already seated in a booth near the kitchen, with Lisanna patiently waiting to take their order. Happy was flirting with a scowling Charle, badly, while Wendy giggled at his efforts. Erza was perusing the desserts menu with a fanatical gleam in her eye. Gray turned his exasperated gaze from Erza to Lucy, smiling at her as she approached, and she did her best to return it, not her best effort, but an effort, nonetheless.

All morning, her mind had been seesawing. She would try to convince herself that what had happened wasn’t so bad - she wasn’t even really injured comparative to other jobs she’d been on with her team, so she should just shrug it off, finish the mission. Then the feeling of sheer panic and revulsion she had felt when she had been groped so intimately would roll over her, and the cyclical thoughts would begin again. She was filled with grief that he had been the first that had touched her that way, had left bruises as marks of passion unasked for on her skin.

She had been brought up to believe that her allowing that sort of touch for the first time was a gift to give someone that she truly loved and desired, and to have that choice taken away by a man without her consent… there could never be another first time. She felt tainted, broken… her stomach roiled again in protest.

The only bright spot in the darkness of her thoughts was Natsu. His warmth, his caring. She was starting to dare dream that maybe he liked her more than as just a friend. They were best friends, yes, were as close as any two people could be, but the romantic love she carried for him, hidden and squashed into the recesses of her heart, was beginning to unfurl tiny tendrils of hope. She recalled with joy the way he held her last night, the way his rumbling purr had surrounded her and kept the dark thoughts away. It had almost felt like she belonged in his arms, and she’d felt a sense of calm and completeness that she couldn’t ever remember feeling before.

She tensed suddenly when loud male laughter erupted at a table nearby, then felt the heat of Natsu’s comforting hand on her shoulder.

“It’s not them”, he said quietly. “Nothin’ bad’s gonna happen Luce, I promise.”

She swallowed and nodded. “Okay.” They both slid into the booth seat, Natsu’s warm thigh solid against hers. Gray was staring irritably at Erza as she continued looking at the different dessert options while Lisanna waited, pen and notebook at the ready.

“I don’t see why you’ve got to even look at the menu Erza. You know exactly what’s on it, you’ve been taking orders all week! Just hurry up and make a decision.” He huffed under his breath, “We all know you’re gonna choose the strawberry one anyway.”

Erza targeted him with a steely eye, the other hidden behind her long scarlet fringe. “I will not be rushed Gray”, she stated, enunciating her words carefully. She returned her gaze to the menu, and Gray sighed, throwing his hands up in the air to signify his exasperated surrender, as Wendy giggled at the pair’s antics.

Lisanna grinned cheerfully, not bothered by the delay. “Do the rest of you know what you want, while Erza’s still choosing?

“Fish!” chirped Happy. Charle glared at him.

Lisanna laughed. “I’ll do my best Happy. Natsu?”

Natsu grinned. “The Natsu special of course!” Erza looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

“You do realise that we’re starting work soon Natsu. That’s a large amount of… never mind”, she shrugged, as if suddenly remembering Natsu’s capacity for eating.

“Lucy?” inquired Lisanna, looking at her expectantly, her pen poised over the order pad.

“Um, just green tea please”, she said. Her stomach was tied up in knots, there was no way she was going to be able to eat anything. Erza looked at her over the top of her menu and opened her mouth as if she were about to comment, but then shut it again. Lisanna turned to Erza.

“I believe I’ll have the ‘Titania’s Delight’, she said, pointing to the strawberry themed dessert on the menu.

“Big surprise”, Natsu and Gray muttered at the same moment, and then glared at each other, both making an annoyed ‘tch’ noise and turning their heads.

Lisanna rattled off their orders. “So that’s the Peaches and Cream sundae for Wendy and Charle to share, an Ice Make Sorbet and black coffee for Gray, a Natsu Special for Natsu, a green tea for Lucy, and a Titania’s Delight for Erza. I’ll see what I can do about the fish, Happy, but no promises, okay? Be back soon.”

Lucy looked around the café furtively. There seemed to be different groups of people today, teenagers hanging out together, couples gazing at each other lovingly, a couple of families with small children. No businessmen. No suits. Her fists unclenched a little in her lap. It was going to be okay, just like Natsu said. Nothing bad was going to happen. Just a nice, normal day.

A loud crash of plates near them had Lucy twisting in her seat defensively, clutching her keys, then sighing in relief as she realised it was just Elfman stacking dirtied plates on his trolley a little forcefully. For a second, the sound had dropped her back in that moment when she had been pushed to the floor, cups shattering around her, right after he had… she dropped her head down so her face was hidden by her long fringe and shut her eyes tightly, desperately pushing the image out of her mind.

A warm hand found hers under the table, and she grabbed on to it like a lifeline.

‘Nothing bad’s going to happen, nothing bad’s going to happen’ she chanted to herself like a mantra, willing her heart to calm, her breathing to slow down. Natsu’s fingers entwined with hers, and his thumb rubbed small warm circles on her wrist. She breathed out and raised her head, feeling calmer. Happy was looking at her quizzically.

“Are you okay Lushee?” His question turned the gaze of everyone else at the table towards her, and she quickly plastered a smile on her face.

“Sure Happy”, she said in a bright voice. “Just a little tired.” She mimed a yawn, covering her mouth with her other hand.

“Did Natsu’s snoring keep you awake? He’s so loud sometimes that it makes our windows rattle”, teased Happy.

“Oi”, began Natsu belligerently, but then paused as he heard Lucy’s small giggle. Happy gave him a quick wink and Natsu grinned his thanks back at him.

Lucy did her best to relax, leaning back into the pale blue leather of the seat behind her, listening to her team banter back and forth, and the gentle murmur of the café noise behind them. Natsu’s hand was warm in hers, the comforting heat calming her, giving her something to concentrate on other than her spiralling thoughts. He only let go of her hand when Lisanna arrived with the food, giving her fingers one final squeeze before pulling away.

Lisanna placed all the food in front of them with a ready smile, then headed off to look after her other tables.

Lucy wrapped her fingers around her cup of hot tea, relishing the warmth after having to let go of Natsu’s hand, taking a sip, the bittersweet aftertaste suiting her mood.

“Hey Luce, I know you said you’re not hungry, but you’re welcome to have some of my food if you like”, said Natsu, pushing his plate a little closer to her and beginning to tuck into the veritable mountain of food in front of him. The entire table turned their heads to him, mouths open wide in surprise.

“Wha?” he said indistinctly, his mouth full of burger, red hot sauce running down his chin.

“The last time I tried to take food off your plate you punched me in the mouth” snorted Gray.

Natsu swallowed. “Yeah, take being the operative word, icicle dick. I didn’t offer you any a my food. I offered it to Lucy. If she wants some, she can have some. It’s no big deal.” He shrugged and went back to shovelling food into his mouth. Gray rolled his eyes and dug his spoon back into his blue sorbet.

“Thank you Natsu”, smiled Lucy, genuinely touched.

It was true though, he never shared food. Happy was probably the only one able to get away with stealing food off his plate, and he would still grumble about it. Because it was such a heartfelt gesture coming from Natsu, she forced herself to take a couple of potato wedges, finally finding two off to one side that weren’t covered in jalapeno sauce and chilli flakes. She munched on one, taking small bites until she finished it, and Natsu smiled and nodded approvingly, before going back to stuffing his face.

Lisanna walked past, her tray full of drinks. “Hey Lucy”, she said “Master’s out in the storeroom. He asked if you could come talk to him before you start your shift.”

Suddenly the second fried potato wedge tasted like ash in Lucy’s mouth, and she put it down on the saucer next to her half-finished cup of tea. She stood slowly, her gaze directed downwards.

“I’d better go, don’t want to keep Master waiting”, she said in a quiet voice. She was surprised by a soft touch on her hand.

“Do you want me to come with you Lucy?” asked Natsu quietly.

“Natsu, you’re still eating. You don’t have to…”, began Lucy.

“Do you want me to come with you?” repeated Natsu. When she nodded, a tiny, barely audible “yes” passing her lips, he scrubbed at his mouth with his napkin and stood up.

“Don’t let ‘em chuck out any of my food, numb nuts”, he directed at Gray, before following Lucy out towards the storeroom.

Gray watched them leave a little apprehensively, helping himself to a wedge from Natsu’s plate.

“Erza, do you think you should have gone with Lucy instead?” he said quietly. “I know Natsu loves her, but let’s face it, he’s an oblivious idiot. Maybe Lucy needs a female friend with her at the moment after what happened yesterday?” He crunched down the potato wedge, then helped himself to another one.

Erza had her eyes closed, savouring her final mouthful of cheesecake. “I believe Lucy would have asked me had she wanted me to go instead of Natsu”, she said. “He is doing splendidly, much better than I would have expected.” She sighed. “Even though yesterday’s events were traumatising for Lucy and Natsu, I believe this will finally open their eyes to how each feels about the other.”

Gray sighed but nodded in agreement, coughing a little as he crunched on a wedge with too much chilli.

“It’s about time”, added Happy. “It’s not like I haven’t been letting them know they liked each other right from the very beginning.” He munched contentedly on the pile of crumbed fish fingers that Lisanna had brought him from the children’s menu. It wasn’t quite what he was hoping for, but in a pinch, it would do.

Wendy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Erza had come by early this morning to let her and Charle know what had happened to Lucy, and it had horrified her. “I wish I could help heal her, make her feel better”, she whispered to Charle. Charle patted her arm sympathetically.

“I know you do child, but there are some wounds that can only be healed with time. Time and love.”

________________________________________________________________

Lucy hesitated before knocking on the door of the storeroom, Natsu right behind her.

“It’ll be okay Luce”, he murmured comfortingly. “It’s just Gramps.”

“I know, but he probably wants to talk about yesterday”, she said nervously, rubbing her upper arm with her opposite hand.

“Gramps won’t push you”, said Natsu. “He probably just wants to make sure you’re okay.”

Lucy sighed and knocked on the door, before opening it. “Let’s get this over with.”

Makarov was sitting down, perched on a pile of boxes at the back of the room, lit by a single naked lightbulb overhead. Stacked around him were various boxes of supplies for the café, and hooks holding bags and jackets belonging to café employees covered the wall behind him. But he wasn’t the only one in the room.

Off to one side, slightly behind Makarov stood a tall woman, blonde hair pulled up into a high ponytail, garbed in the white jacket and pants worn by members of Magic Council’s Custody Enforcement Unit. Natsu was immediately on the defensive, stepping in front of Lucy and shielding her from the council woman’s gaze.

“What are ya playin’ at Gramps! Lucy ain’t done anything wrong, none of us have!”

Makarov looked at Natsu with a grave expression. “I’m not suggesting anything of the sort Natsu. And I don’t remember asking for your prescence.”

Lucy stepped forward and laced her fingers into Natsu’s. “Master, I asked him to come with me. I… I want him to be here.”

Makarov turned his gaze to Lucy, gazing with surprise at their tightly clasped hands, and smiled for a moment. Then he sighed. “Lucy my child, I am so very sorry. Loke came to me and explained what happened yesterday.”

Lucy bit her lip and dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry too”, she said. As Natsu began to sputter beside her, she said softly, “Natsu, he and his friends made me feel uncomfortable all week, but I decided to ignore it, even when you advised me to talk to Gramps about it. It was my decision to let their behaviour slide. Maybe if I had been more forceful in the beginning…”

The woman sitting in the corner spoke. “Ms Heartfilia, it’s not your job to police the good behaviour of others. You were completing your assigned job more than adequately from what I hear. The fault was entirely that of the customer who touched you inappropriately. A person is never, under any circumstances, responsible for somebody choosing to assault them.”

Makarov gestured to the council woman. “This is Astrid Ferguson, a long-time friend of mine, and a member of the Custody Enforcement Unit. She’s off duty, here in a non-official capacity today, but I wanted her to speak with you Lucy, about whether you wanted to press charges.”

“Press charges?” repeated Lucy hesitantly.

Astrid nodded. “From what I understand, that man committed a sexual assault. You have the right to press charges against him, and if you choose to do so, he will be charged and tried by the Magic Council.”

“I’m pretty sure he wasn’t a mage”, interrupted Natsu.

“That is true. But he committed an offence against a mage. We therefore have the right to charge him, and if he’s found guilty, he will be turned over to the crown for sentencing.”

“What would happen, if I decided to do it?”, asked Lucy softly.

“You would need to come to the Magic Council branch office here in Magnolia, and you would be assigned an investigator, female if you prefer, who would be involved in the whole process, all the way up to court proceedings” explained Astrid in a calm steady voice. “You would need to make a statement, remembering and recounting as best possible, all the details of the assault.” Lucy began trembling, and Natsu stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and folding his body around hers as much as possible, tucking her head under his chin.

“You can have a support person with you, but they cannot assist with the interview itself, and they should also not be a potential witness or otherwise involved in the investigation”, continued Astrid. “We would also request that a forensic medical examination be undertaken, which may involve swabs and other physical evidence being collected.” Lucy shuddered, but nodded, showing she understood. “Family and friends may also be interviewed and asked to give evidence if they are aware of what occurred.”

Lucy swallowed, closing her eyes. “I just want to forget that it ever happened”, she said, trying to take comfort from Natsu’s warmth behind her. “But I also don’t want what he did to happen to anyone else.”

She opened her eyes, looking directly at Makarov. “Master, I don’t know his name, but from the way he was dressed, and the rings he was wearing, I’m assuming that he is wealthy and powerful, or works for someone wealthy and powerful.” She swallowed again. “He reminds me of colleagues of my late father. You remember as well as I do what happened with Phantom Lord. I don’t want to make things difficult for the guild. What if he decided to retaliate, if I pressed charges? What if he threatened other members of the guild?”

Makarov sighed. “Lucy, I already know who he is. He’s a nasty piece of work, as corrupt as they come, and I don’t doubt there will be some sort of backlash from this.” He jumped down from the box, walking over to her and taking her hand in his, looking imposing despite his diminutive height as his gaze held hers. “But, my dear, that is not your concern. If you want to press charges, you will have the full backing of Fairytail.”

“What if he comes after Lucy Gramps”, Natsu rumbled, hugging Lucy tighter. His hunter green eyes flashed angrily. “I ain’t gonna let anyone touch her again, not after yesterday.”

Astrid replied to Natsu’s question before Makarov had even a chance to open his mouth. “Natsu Dragneel, as a mage you are allowed to use reasonable force to restrain someone that has intent to inflict bodily harm against another”, she said sternly. “But, should you use unnecessary violence, he would be able to bring charges against you.”

Her tone softened as she regarded the way he had his arms wrapped around Lucy, and the way Lucy had turned her face, so her cheek rested over his heart. “If you were charged and imprisoned, who would protect Lucy then?”

“Wait, how do you know who I am?”, asked Natsu, startled. Astrid rolled her eyes.

“Everyone at the council knows who you are Mr. Dragneel.”

Natsu grinned a toothy grin, as Makarov sighed, dragging one hand down his face wearily, and Lucy elbowed him in the ribs.

“I don’t think she meant it in a good way Natsu”, she whispered with a slight smile.

“I know”, he cackled. “That’s what makes it so good.”

Lucy turned in Natsu’s arms to face Astrid. “Would it be alright if I spoke to our team about this first? If there’s a possibility they might be questioned, I want to discuss it with them.”

Astrid nodded. “There’s no time limit on reporting an assault. But remember, the longer you leave it, the less physical evidence we will be able to gather. The more evidence we have, the stronger your case.” Lucy nodded.

“Well, my shift at the garrison begins soon, so I need to go”, said Astrid, swatting the dust off the back of her white pants where she had been leaning on the boxes. “Just one last thing Lucy. I can see that this has affected you deeply. I’ve worked on cases with many mages, both women and men who have been sexually assaulted, and most have said that reporting the event and going through with the charges has given them back a feeling of control against the person who hurt them.”

She smiled at Lucy and nodded at Makarov and Natsu before walking out the door, closing it quietly behind her.

Makarov squeezed Lucy’s hand. “Are you sure you feel up to working today my dear?”

“Yes”, said Lucy firmly. “I want to be busy.”

“Very well”, sighed Makarov, letting go of her hand. “Natsu, I hope you took note of what Astrid said.”

Natsu growled. “I still think if I went and broke his legs, he wouldn’t be able to come after Lucy at all.”

“Idiot”, yelled Makarov, increasing his hand size to swat Natsu on the back of the head. “He’s not a mage. You can’t go around injuring civilians, just because it would make you feel better and you think it’s justifiable. He’d just get you put behind bars and send someone else.”

Natsu scowled, removing one hand from around Lucy’s waist to rub the back of his head.

“You can’t settle it with your fists this time, brat”, continued Makarov in a more gentle tone. “I know you feel like you need to avenge Lucy, but you need to learn some self-control. You are allowed to protect Lucy, make sure she comes to no harm, but you are not allowed to go looking for trouble. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yeah”, muttered Natsu.

“Do I make myself clear?” repeated Makarov, his amplified voice echoing around the small room.

“Aye Sir!” snapped Natsu, his face mutinous.

“All right, it’s nearly time for you two to begin work, so I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything at all, you know where to find me Lucy. My door is always open”, said Makarov, waving a hand at them and stepping out the door.

Natsu slid his arms away from Lucy’s waist. “I guess we better get going too, huh Luce?” He turned towards the door, but Lucy’s featherlight touch on his wrist made him pause. Suddenly her arms were wrapped around his neck, squeezing him tightly, her face burrowed into his chest.

“Wha?” said Natsu, taking a step back, his arms out to his sides, quickly regaining his balance after the force of Lucy’s unexpected embrace.

“Thank you Natsu”, said Lucy, her voice muffled against his chest. “I couldn’t get through this without you.”

“Idiot”, said Natsu, returning the hug gently, his arms squeezing across the middle of her back, “I told you last night, you’re stronger than you think ya are. But you don’t have ta do things alone. I’ll always be there for ya Lucy.”

“Always?” whispered Lucy, looking up into his dark eyes, her fingers twisting into the soft pink hair on the back of Natsu’s neck, tugging gently.

“Always”, replied Natsu huskily.

Lucy trailed her fingers lightly down his neck and over his shoulders and chest until they both rested on the soft fabric of his white shirt, over his heart. She felt Natsu shiver at her touch, his eyes closing, mouth slightly open as he exhaled a shaky breath. The soft expression on his face and the rapid pulse of his heart under her fingertips gave her the courage she needed to continue.

“Natsu”, she said softly, “there’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time now, but I’ve always been too afraid. I don’t think I’m afraid anymore.” She stood up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his in a tentative kiss.

She watched Natsu’s eyes open in surprise as she pulled back, her expression anxious. He leaned forward, chasing her retreating lips with his own, his arms moving upwards to cup her jaw gently in his hands, tilting her head. His lips touched hers softly, pursing gently. Her eyes drifted closed and she sighed in relief. She felt Natsu smile against her lips, the corners of his mouth quirking up against hers.

“Lucy”, he sighed pulling back, his eyes locked on hers, his thumb rubbing gently against the soft skin of her cheek, “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, but I just wasn’t sure…”

He dipped his head and kissed her again, his surprisingly soft lips slanting across hers. His lips were warm, and the soft noises their lips made against one another as they kissed each other gently had Lucy’s pulse racing. She’d dreamt of this for so long, she couldn’t help her soft breathy moans as the kiss became a little more heated. The rough rumbling noise Natsu was making in the back of his throat as he kissed her made her heart pound. With a sigh, he pulled his lips away, leaning his forehead against hers.

“We gotta stop”, he said, panting a little. Lucy pulled back uncertainly.

“You weren’t enjoying that?” she questioned hesitantly. Her cheeks heated. Maybe she had this whole situation wrong. Maybe she was seeing things that weren’t really there. She started to step backwards, but Natsu pulled her to him tightly, his hot breath ghosting her ear.

“Luce, I was startin’ to enjoy it a little too much”, he chuckled. “I gotta settle things down before I go out there in front of other people.”

“Oh”, said Lucy, her face flushing. She buried her hot cheeks in Natsu’s chest, rubbing her face backwards and forwards trying to hide her mixture of desire and embarrassment. Natsu growled.

“Lucy, that ain’t exactly helpin’.”

Lucy pulled back a little so she could look up into his face. “You like it when I do that?”

“Fuck yeah”, said Natsu, his dark eyes glittering. “You’re rubbing your scent all over me. Shit, now I’m gonna have a boner for this whole goddamned shift.”

Lucy stepped away from him, her cheeks still pink, twisting her fingers behind her back shyly. “I like the way you smell too”, she said. “It’s sort of dark and smoky. It’s comforting, but at the same time…” she blushed even more, “it makes me feel a little fired up if you know what I mean.”

“Gods Luce, helpin’ even less”, growled Natsu, rubbing his face with both hands. He unwound his scarf and gently arranged it around her neck, tucking the ends so they draped down her back. He grinned at her, a teasing glint in his eye. “Now we’re even. If I’ve gotta smell you all day, you gotta smell me.”

Lucy pushed the soft scaled scarf against her nose, closing her eyes and breathing in. Not surprisingly, his scarf smelt so much like him, because he rarely took it off. It was calming, and with his smell close to her she felt safe, protected.

Natsu cupped her cheek and she leaned into his touch. “My Lucy”, he breathed, and then looked at her hesitantly. “Are you my Lucy?”

Lucy looked back at him, her eyes full of happy tears. “If you want me to be”, she said tremulously.

“Oh, I want”, said Natsu, his voice shaking with emotion. “I want you to be mine, just like I want to be yours Luce.” He kissed her forehead tenderly. “My Luce, my star, shinin’ so bright she puts the real stars to shame.”

A gentle tap on the door had them both turning in surprise.

“Uh, guys?”, Wendy squeaked on the other side. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but we’re starting our shift in five minutes, and Erza told me to come get you.” Lucy could hear the embarrassment practically dripping from the young teen’s voice.

“Thanks Wendy”, hollered Natsu, “We’ll be there in a moment, okay?” He sighed, dropping his forehead to hers and resting it there for a moment, and Lucy understood. She wanted this moment to go on forever too.

“Are ya ready Luce?”, he asked, pulling away with a grin and holding out his hand to her.

“Ready my dragon”, she smiled, taking his hand and entwining their fingers. She giggled at the heated look that Natsu gave her.

“Fuck Lucy, if ya want me to self-combust, you’re goin’ the right way about it”, he muttered, squeezing her fingers. “C’mon, lets get this over with.”

Lucy steeled herself, expecting the rest of the team to tease them as they emerged from the storeroom, her fingers entwined with Natsu’s, her wearing his scarf, their cheeks blazing a matching shade of pink. Like always, their team handled things in their own way.

Erza, Wendy and Charle offered gentle smiles and murmurs of congratulations, Erza’s cheeks almost as pink as theirs.

Grey gave her a furtive thumbs up when Natsu’s back was turned for a moment, and then punched him on the arm.

“What was that for, ice freak”, grumbled Natsu.

“For taking so long to tell her how you felt”, said Gray calmly. Happy giggled behind his paws.

“Yeah Natsu, I’ve been telling you that she liked you for years. It takes you forever to take a hint”, he teased. Natsu muttered under his breath but didn’t contradict Happy.

Erza clapped her hands together. “Okay team, time to get to work!” With one last squeeze, Natsu let go of Lucy’s hand, and she smiled at him and picked up her order pad and pen, ready to begin.

________________________________________________________________

Natsu’s leg jiggled in frustration as he and Erza sat on the hard chairs outside the interview room, waiting for Lucy to finish giving her statement. They’d come straight after their shift at work, the team fully supportive of Lucy’s decision to press charges. She’d been in there for nearly an hour already, and he was almost at his limit. He’d wanted to be in there with her, but Lucy had reminded him that as a witness, he needed to give his own statement.

“Natsu, your leg movement is a little annoying”, said Erza calmly. Suddenly his leg stopped bouncing and Erza sighed in relief, but then took in his sudden rigid posture, and the low growl rumbling from his chest.

“She’s cryin’ Erza”, he said brusquely, his white knuckled fists resting on his thighs.

“How do you know?” Erza said, believing him, but surprised, nonetheless. “There’s meant to be a magic barrier around that room that stops all sound escaping.”

“Doesn’t stop smell escaping”, rejoindered Natsu bitterly. “I can smell her tears. And I can smell her sweat. She’s freaking out Erza. Fuck, I hate this!” He stood up and began pacing backwards and forwards in front of Erza, fists clenched, heat haze shimmering around his body. Every instinct was telling him to break down that door and save her. He knew she wasn’t in any physical danger, but his heart ached at the thought of her in there by herself with no one to comfort her when she was frightened.

“Natsu, I know you’re upset”, cautioned Erza, “but you’re going to have to lower your body temperature. You don’t want to accidentally set off the sprinkler system.”

“She should have someone in there with her she trusts Erza, not two strangers”, he muttered, continuing to pace.

“I was a little surprised she didn’t ask Levy to come”, agreed Erza.

“I suggested that. She didn’t want Levy to get upset”, growled Natsu. He slumped back down on the seat next to Erza. “Levy would’na cared, she would’ a been glad to be here for her. But you know Luce, she’s always worryin’ about how other people feel. And I think…”

“You think?” asked Erza gently.

He swallowed. “I think she still feels ashamed Erza. I think she didn’t want Levy to hear exactly what happened because a part of her thinks she’s to blame. Even though I told her that she didn’t do anything wrong, I don’t think she really believes it.”

“Then keep telling her”, replied Erza. “We’ll all keep telling her, until she does believe it.”

She hesitated, as if trying to decide something, colour in her cheeks rising, then said, “Natsu, I know you and Lucy have only just become a couple, and this probably isn’t my place to say, but I think that until Lucy is stronger, perhaps you should…”

“We’ve just kissed Erza”, Natsu growled. “Just kissed, and that’s all that’s gonna happen until Lucy tells me otherwise.”

“Right. Good. I’m glad”, said Erza quickly, looking away from Natsu and up to the ceiling as her cheeks blazed. After a minute, she lowered her gaze back to him. “Can I just say though, I’m very proud of the way you are looking after Lucy at the moment. It’s a very pleasing thing to see.”

Natsu rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “I just… I wanna be near her. I wanna look after her. I wanna do things for her, keep her safe.”

“Sounds like love to me”, smiled Erza. “I’m happy for you both Natsu, I truly am.”

The door to the interview room opened and Lucy emerged. Her face was red, eyes swollen from crying, and Natsu’s heart nearly broke at the sight of her. In two strides he was at her side, his arms wrapped around her, stroking her hair, his chest rumbling with calming purrs as she sobbed into his shoulder.

Erza’s usual strong expression had fallen at seeing Lucy so upset, but she smiled, blinking away tears at seeing Natsu so attentive. She silently stood and walked towards the interview room as Astrid and another female officer stepped aside to let her in.

Natsu walked Lucy over to the chairs and pulled her onto his lap as he sat down, rocking her gently, continuing to stroke her hair. After a few minutes Lucy calmed, wiping her eyes on the back of her hands. Natsu kissed the remainder of the tears away.

“I was doing pretty well at first” said Lucy shakily. “I told them how he had been looking at me all week, and all the things he said, and what… what happened. I answered all their questions. And then I had to strip down for them to take photos. I didn’t l-like that much, but it was still okay. And… and then they had to take the swab and I… I panicked Natsu.”

“I know”, he said grimly, still stroking her hair. “I was so close to busting down that door. If Erza hadn’t been here, I’m pretty sure I would have.”

“I still let them do it, but I was so frightened.” Fat tears ran down her cheeks. “Natsu, I…” She took a deep breath. “I want us to have a real relationship. When you kissed me today, it felt so good, and I want more than that. I want that so much. But what if I…”, she bit her bottom lip hard, teeth bruising the tender flesh.

Natsu placed his thumb against her bottom lip, gently pulling it away from her teeth. “I want that too”, he said, rubbing his thumb gently against her chin. “But right now Luce, whatever you’re able to give me is more than enough”.

Tears still rolled down Lucy’s cheeks. “But what if you get tired of waiting?” she hiccupped.

Natsu smiled at her as he swiped the tears away with his thumbs. “Don’t be stupid. I would wait forever for you, baby girl. I hope I don’t have to”, he teased with a grin, “but I would.” He pushed her fringe away from her forehead and kissed it tenderly. “Just let me look after you and show you how much I love you. For now, that’s enough.”

“You love me?” squeaked Lucy.

“I love you, Lucy Heartfilia”, grinned Natsu. Lucy threw her arms around his neck.

“Natsu, I love you too!” she sobbed.

“You don’t sound very happy about it”, teased Natsu, trying to ease her back so he could look at her face, but she resisted, burying her face in his neck, so he resigned himself to stroking her hair again and purring his contentment.

He felt like his heart would burst with joy. Lucy loved him. She loved him. They just had to get this stupid court case over with, and then their lives could go back to normal. Better than normal. He breathed in her smell, letting the scent of her cherry blossom shampoo and conditioner chase away the acrid smell of her tears. So much better than normal, with his Lucy by his side.