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monstersandmaw · 1 year

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Male fox spirit x female reader (nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

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Commission #4 in the list of 5! Thank you for trusting me with your prompt: female reader saves a dying fox on her way home from work, who turns out to be a fox spirit. I hope you like it!

Contents: Fox suffers a spinal injury when hit by a car (not the reader’s); there’s some magic; some domestic fluff; oral sex, fingering, him coming on her; and a sweet, fluffy ending.

Wordcount: 4400

Driving rain greeted you full in the face as you shoved open the main doors of the building and burrowed down into your coat, drawing the hood tight around your head in a vain attempt to keep the weather out. Nights like this — cold, damp, and at the tail end of winter before Spring took a proper hold on the land — were truly miserable.

Your fingers were half frozen by the time you had fumbled the keys out of your pocket and clambered into your car, and you fired the old thing up with a hopeful grimace that it would start. It coughed to life and you uttered a little prayer of thanks to whichever gods or spirits out there might be listening. “Now if only you could do something about my pathetic love life as well,” you said to yourself as you reversed out of the parking space and headed towards the main road. “Wouldn’t that be perfect?”

Half an hour outside of town, your headlights flashed over something lying on the side of the road, sprawled halfway across the white line, and you swerved instinctively to avoid it. Mercifully there was nothing coming in the other direction, or you’d have caused a serious accident. Adrenaline spiked through you and you slammed on the brakes.

The flash of golden-red you’d glimpsed had told you it was a fox, but it had had its head raised and it had been looking at you with its eyes flaring yellow in the headlights, but the expression on its face had struck you to the core. It had looked… resigned. Like it knew you were going to hit it. Like it knew it was going to die.

“No,” you said through gritted teeth.

You had some old work gloves in the back of the car from when you’d taken a load of stuff from the garden to the dump a week before, so you put your hazards on and slid out of the driver’s side door and into the worsening storm. You cursed softly, squinting amid the stinging rain as it struck your face like little iron nails in the gusty night. You cleared a space in the trunk for the fox, spreading an old picnic blanket out and grabbing those thick leather gloves. No need to get rabies if the thing bit you before you could get it to an animal clinic in the morning.

You knew it was a stupid thing to do, that cars hit wildlife all the time, and you really weren’t equipped to deal with it, but you couldn’t just leave it there when it had looked so sad; black ears drooping, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

Making your way along the edge of the deserted road with only your phone torch to light the way, you found the spot where the fox was still lying on the asphalt, and crooned softly to it. “Hey there,” you said, feeling a bit silly. “It’s ok. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s alright. Let me help you out… Let me take you home and see if I can take you to a vet in the morning…”

When your light found its back legs though, your heart sank. They lay limp and slightly twisted to one side. Its back had been broken by the impact with a vehicle.

“Oh baby,” you said, fighting sudden tears. “It’s going to be ok…” you lied.

Was it like with humans? Should it not be moved with a spinal injury? It would probably die anyway, or they’d recommend putting it down. You could at least take it in and keep it warm for its last few hours. When you knelt nearby, it just laid its cheek down on the cold tarmac, defeated, and let out a long, broken whimper.

“I’m going to pick you up, ok? Please don’t bite me. God, this is such a stupid thing to do…”

The fox licked its shiny black nose and just blinked slowly at you.

When it made no move to attack you or snap at you when you got nearer, you scooped it up and marvelled at how light it felt in your arms, its lovely, russet fur damp and matted.

“There,” you said, cradling it in your arms as you carried it back to your car. ‘Him’, not ‘it’, you saw when you set him down on the blanket and stroked his head and neck. He murmured softly, the sound almost a purr, and you swallowed thickly. He was so weak, you wondered if he’d even survive the journey home.

Five cars overtook you as you drove on after that, all beeping and honking their horns and flashing their lights to get you to go faster, but you absolutely would not be bullied into making this last car ride hell for the little, injured fox.

It didn’t take very long to set up a cosy den of blankets and towels in the kitchen by the radiator, and when you were satisfied that it was as comfortable as you could make it — and that any mess would be contained in an area with tile floors — you went back for him. He was still lying on his side, exactly as you’d left him, but his eyes seemed brighter and more focused, and his ears pricked up when you opened the trunk up and gazed down at him.

“Alright?” you asked and he gave a soft snuffle that was half-sneeze and half-chuckle. “You’re awfully perky for someone who’s just gone head-to-head with fast-moving traffic, buddy,” you smiled. “Maybe you will be alright. Ready to go inside?”

You had your gloves on but it didn’t feel like you really needed them, and when you settled him down on the veritable blanket fort inside, he heaved a great sigh and nuzzled his cheek against the fabric with a rumbling moan of contentment.

“You hungry?” you asked. “I don’t have much that’s fox-friendly, but I think there’s some ham in the fridge. Let me check.”

You offered him a saucer of water first, holding his delicate head up as he lapped steadily at it until he’d had his fill, and then you fed him little slivers of cooked ham which he took from your fingers like an absolute gentleman. “Aren't you dainty,” you chuckled as his small, sharp teeth pulled the next piece carefully free of your gloved hand.

He fixed you with such a flat, patronising look that you had to laugh.

The fox flicked an ear and looked away.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you said in a baby voice. “Don’t be grumpy with me, you precious thing… Here, have some more…”

He sneezed, then looked back at you and opened his mouth, head tipped back like a baby bird awaiting a worm.

“You’re not going to take it? You want me to feed you?”

He just stared at you without moving.

“Fine, your highness,” you said. “Anything for you.”

You let the piece drop into his tilted jaws, and then chucked him affectionately under the chin with your finger after he’d chewed and swallowed it.

He caught the leather of the glove’s fingertip in his teeth in a move that was so fast you didn’t even see it, but then tugged gently, insistently.

“I’m not taking this off,” you frowned. “You could have rabies for all I know.”

A tiny, rattling growl, like the world’s tiniest chainsaw, rumbled out of him and he folded his ears back indignantly before pulling on the glove again. Then he let go, his ears pricked about as far forward as he could get them, and he stared expectantly at you.

“No way, friend,” you said, and stood to put the empty ham packet in the rubbish bin.

With your back to the kitchen window, a golden light flooded the room, and for a wild moment, you thought someone was driving straight at the house, headlights blazing. When you whipped around though, you froze. The light was coming from… from the fox.

“The fuck…?”

Your heartbeat started to race, and you weren’t sure if the ringing sound was coming from your own blood pounding in your ears or from something else in the room. The brightness reached such an intense crescendo that you had to look away, shielding your eyes with the crook of your arm until the chiming noise stopped and you lowered it cautiously back down, blinking.

There, standing in the centre of the room, was a man.

You took a step back, fear crashing in on your senses.

You looked around for something you could use as a weapon, but a warm, gentle voice said, “Wait, I won’t hurt you. I swear it.”

Again, you went still, and after taking a steadying breath, you turned to face him again, wide eyed and shaking. “What the hell?”

“Not hell,” he smiled, and you saw that he had warm, tan skin and dark, golden eyes. His hair was a russet colour, and it fell in soft waves around his ears to the nape of his neck. He was slender, not especially tall, and he was quite possibly the most beautiful human being you’d ever laid eyes on. Except… there was still a kind of glow around him, like an aura, and his clothes looked like they belonged at a Ren Faire or something, though the dark green, belted and embroidered tunic was finely tailored and his dark brown boots looked soft and well worn. Tiny points of light, like fireflies, twisted slowly through the air surrounding him before vanishing into a miniature, glittering starburst.

“You’re not human,” you said, despite how crazy it sounded.

“No,” the man replied with a smile. “No, I’m not. But you didn’t know that when you took in an injured fox and cared for him.”

“You’re the fox,” you blurted without thinking.

“I am. Sort of,” he smiled, and you saw that he had perfect, white teeth, with slightly more pointed canines than humans usually did. “I’m a fox spirit. There are all sorts of us, and we’re known by many names all over the world, but the most famous is probably the ‘kitsune’ thanks to modern media.”

“Oh,” you said, only half aware that your vision was darkening around the edges until it was too late. The blood roared again in your ears and your knees went out from under you. The last thing you saw was a flicker of a frown on the man’s — kitsune’s — face before he lunged towards you with hands outstretched, and the world went black.

You stirred and found yourself lying on the sofa in your sitting room, with your feet raised about a foot or so off the seat cushion, and a stranger in green standing over you, holding your legs up by the ankle. The kitsune. The fox spirit.

“Got to say, that’s the first time someone’s actually fainted because of me,” he said with a smile, lowering your legs back down and stepping back. “Are you alright?”

“I fainted?” you asked stupidly, pushing yourself upright and swinging your legs slowly off the sofa and onto the ground. You swayed a little, but didn’t pass out again.

The fox spirit nodded, his lovely hair shining with strands of bronze and copper in the low light of the room, gold eyes glowing as if back-lit. “Thank you for saving me,” he said in a quiet, earnest baritone.

“Did I, though?” you asked, staring openly at him. “I mean… you’re… magic, right? I saw the way your legs were just… Your back was broken…”

“If you’d hit me with your car, or simply left me there for the next driver to do the same, then I wouldn’t have survived. We’re tough, and our magic can heal most things, but not that.”

“Oh.” And then your cheeks went hot and you looked at the carpet, “I’m sorry I baby-talked you like you were an actual animal.”

He laughed; a beautiful, bright sound like dry autumn leaves in clear sunlight. His head tipped a little way back and he looked truly delighted. “You weren’t to know,” he said, still chuckling. “And you’re not the first.”

“Oh,” you said, like a broken record.

From where he stood nearby, the fox spirit smiled at you and then inhaled deeply. “I… should go,” he said, his golden eyes turning a little sad. “Let you return to your life…”

“Wait,” you called from the sofa as he turned away. “What’s your name?”

He cast you a look over his shoulder and the smile he gave you was wry and amused. “You may call me Rowe.”

There was a nuance there that you weren’t understanding, but you told him your name in return, and he inhaled suddenly as if you’d struck him.

“You would part with your name so carelessly?” he whispered, brows pulling together into a frown of utter confusion. “You…” and then his expression cleared and his shoulders dropped. “You have never had dealings with the fae, have you?”

“The… fae?” you stuttered. “Like… fairies?”

The smile that replaced the frown was patient and amused in equal parts, and he sighed and shook his head. “Well, here’s your first lesson. Never tell your true name to a fae.”

Again, all the sound that escaped you was a dull, “Oh.”

He exhaled and approached you, and you tried not to lean back, to lean away from him. This whole night had gone from bad to utterly bizarre in the blink of an eye and you felt a little sick from the whiplash.

To make matters all the more confusing, the strange man knelt before you, sweeping his long, otherworldly tunic out of the way as he sank down onto one knee like he was going to propose or something, and he bowed his auburn head. “You saved my life without thought of debt or repayment, and in recognition of the gift, I give one of my own. I bind your True Name to my heart and hold it there in silence. I may never speak your True Name aloud unless you give me leave so to do. This I swear upon my spirit and my magic and my own True Name.”

The air in the room prickled like static and you had to fight the urge to see if your hair was standing on end. Goosebumps flickered along your arms and legs, and you drew in a shallow breath. “Anything else I should know about?” you asked faintly.

He looked up at you and shrugged. “We’re allergic to iron,” he suggested. “And we’re overly fond of cream and sweet cakes…”

“Sweet cakes,” you repeated thoughtfully, eyes drifting towards the kitchen where you’d bought a strawberry sponge cake just the day before, and an idea half-formed in your head.

Rowe smiled and your heart slipped sideways in your chest for a moment. He was so beautiful it was almost hard to believe he was really there and really standing in front of you. Well, technically he was kneeling like a knight in a fairytale. Fairytale indeed, you thought.

“You don’t have to go,” you whispered.

You were afraid of sounding childish, that if you spoke too loudly, he would think you desperate and would laugh at you, but all he did was tilt his head to the side the way he had done as a fox, and he nodded once. “Alright,” he said.

“I mean, don’t feel like you have to stay either,” you babbled, making a rather pathetic, flapping gesture in front of you with your hands. “I just meant… you’re welcome to stay if you want to. I was going to cook some dinner and watch a movie… eat cake for dessert. I thought… I thought since you’ve had kind of a rough day, you might like to just… chill out with me for a while.”

“May I help you cook?”

“If you… If you’d like to?” you said, standing carefully and holding your hand out to him to encourage him up off the floor.

He slid his warm fingers into your palm, and got to his feet with the grace of a prince, and offered you another smile. “I’d like that very much.”

Rowe stayed with you for a week. You explained that you had to go to work or you’d get fired, and when you came back on the first day, you expected him to have gone, leaving you wondering if the whole thing hadn’t been a hallucination brought on by the combination of a stressful week of work and the awful weather. But no, Rowe was there that evening, curled up as a fox on the impromptu bed you’d made by the radiator while the rain hurled itself at the window pane above him.

“Rowe, you don’t have to sleep on that!” you gasped, dropping your bag by the door and making him startle awake, ears pricked, tail fluffed up in rather adorable alarm.

In a flash of gold light, he was human again, standing beside the bed and smiling at you. “I don’t mind,” he chuckled. “It’s comfortable, and when I’m a fox, I don’t think in quite the same way as I do when I’m in this form. That’s how I got hit by the car in the first place… Please, don’t fret.”

You scowled at him, but relented, and asked him about his day. It seemed he’d spent most of it in his fox form, either out and about in the woods near your house, or sleeping by the warmth of the radiator.

“Didn’t you get bored here?” you asked.

“I could have done the housework for you,” he smirked. “But I thought that might have been an intrusion on your privacy.”

You laughed. “Thanks?”

After three days of sharing your space with him — he sleeping contentedly as a fox on the pile of blankets and you upstairs in your bedroom — you cleared your throat that evening as you sat together on the sofa like old friends, and said, “You know… uh… I… I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to come upstairs with me… I don’t want you to feel like you have to sleep down here like you’re a…” you trailed off, flushing hot with awkward embarrassment.

One russet-brown eyebrow climbed a little higher than the other. “… a what?”

“Like you’re some kind of pet… you know…”

Rowe laughed and, as it always did, your heart skipped a beat. His cheeks dimpled and Adam’s apple danced in his exposed throat and you ached. It felt like a long time since someone had touched you; since you’d been held, let alone kissed. He had a beautiful mouth, like he’d been made just to tempt you.

Some of your thoughts must have shown on your face because the laughter died in his throat and he fixed you with a look that was all concern. He murmured the name you’d given him permission to use when it was just the two of you and asked, “What’s wrong? I’m not upset about the animal comment,” he said, reaching for your forearm and trying to reassure you, but you shook your head. “Then what?”

Tears came unbidden to your eyes and you turned away. His hand felt hot through the fabric of your hoodie, but his grip was feather light. It would take nothing at all to pull yourself free, but the thought of it seemed overwhelming. “It’s nothing,” you choked, pressing your lips together and hoping he’d let the matter drop.

He didn’t. His eyes flared bright gold and he scowled at you when you risked a glance at him. “The fae can always taste a lie,” he said with the slightest growl to his voice. “And I can tell you’re hurting. We were laughing, and then… you weren’t. What changed?”

“It’s —”

A short, animal growl echoed in his throat but he bit it back, shut his mouth with a click of teeth, and glared at you.

“Ugh, fine,” you huffed, standing up and pacing across the room. “It’s been a long time since it’s been this easy around someone, ok? And it’s not every day that a handsome, cute guy with a great sense of humour shows genuine interest in me. I just wished, for like half a second, that you might be interested in me, but I get it. You’re not even human. I was nice to you. You probably feel obliged to stay here. You… You should probably go soon anyway.”

His expression turned from concerned to carefully neutral, and he stood. “If that’s the way you feel,” he said, “Then I can leave. But you should know that I’ve had a wonderful time with you, and…” he swallowed and took a breath, “I think you’re beautiful, through and through.”

“Please,” you scoffed. “Don’t bother trying to spare my feelings.”

“We can taste a lie, but we cannot tell one,” he said evenly. “I could not tell you that your clothes are yellow when they are not, nor that the sky is green, nor that you are not beautiful.”

You turned slowly around to look at him, and found him glowing gold again, those points of light spiralling lazily in the air around him. The slight shape of fox ears seemed to be picked out in two, brighter lines above his copper hair and behind him you saw a golden tail swaying back and forth. His eyes blazed bright like burnished bronze, and he was staring directly at you as he spoke.

“Oh.”

“I would very much like to stay with you, and share your bed, and, if you would let me, I would bring you pleasure too.”

Your breath hitched and you licked your lips. He even spoke like he was out of a fairytale. “You mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Ok,” you smiled.

Together, you tidied up the sitting room, and he followed you upstairs, still glowing softly, as if he were utterly contented and couldn’t help it.

Rowe undressed with you in your bedroom, baring a body like polished bronze; all lean lines and languid muscle, and you almost couldn’t look away. He asked if he could shower with you, and gently washed you and touched you, cupping your breasts and trailing his hands down your sides with reverent care. He passed his thumbs over your hardened nipples and kneaded your breasts until you gasped and tipped your head back, eyes closed. He teased between your legs with his fingertips, and then when you turned the shower off, he kissed your forehead. In a rush of magic, both your bodies were completely dry and your skin glowed softly with a thousand, dewy, golden sparkles. You beamed up at him, and he kissed you.

When he drew back, he led you by the hand into the bedroom and you lay down on the bed, heart racing. He knelt between your parted knees and you stared openly at his beautiful body. He looked like a statue come to life, and his cock had been more than half-hard ever since the shower, even as he turned his attention wholly on you and skimmed his palms up your thighs. You parted your legs a little wider for him and he bowed forward to kiss along your inner thigh until you shivered and lay back on the pillow behind you with a gasp.

He kissed you and tasted you, moaning softly before letting his tongue sweep up over you. He took your sensitive clit between his lips and kissed you there as well, and then he slid his arms under your thighs, lay down on his front, and you lost yourself to the pleasure of his mouth.

You lost count of how many times he made you come that night, with his tongue and with his fingers, but he never asked for more than you were ready to give.

“Come on me,” you murmured. You had no idea how well your current contraception would withstand a magical fae, but you were pretty sure you were safe with that, and when you asked, he nodded.

His fingers were slick from where he’d made you come, again, and he closed his hand around his cock with a low groan that dissolved into a gasp as he brought himself to the brink. He glowed gold again and you saw those ears made of light and the tail gleaming vividly behind him just as he spilled over your stomach with a muted grunt and another beautiful moan.

The golden light suffused the room, and you watched his expression as he came — open and vulnerable and achingly beautiful — and wished more than anything that he would stay.

When you woke in the morning, you expected to wake alone, but the warm pressure of Rowe’s body pressed against your back and the weight of his arm across your waist drew a little inhale of surprise from you. Apparently that was enough to wake him, because he kissed the back of your head and mumbled a sleepy good morning into your hair.

He was hard too, you realised, and you deliberately rocked your hips back against him.

Rowe let out a grunt and his hand shifted to your hips, drawing himself closer to you with a languid, answering roll of his hips.

“I don’t know if the fae have weekends,” you said, “But today is Saturday. I don’t have to go in to work…”

“Good,” he said. “I’m not sure I could let you go anywhere today after last night.” He said it with a laugh that told you he would let you do anything you liked, and you rolled over to face him. The softness in his smile brought one of your own to your lips, and he slid his hand down over your breast and then down between your legs.

Your eyes fluttered closed as he slipped his fingers easily inside you, and you rolled onto your back as he started a rhythm that would end in the kind of pleasure you had only ever dreamed of before him.

He smiled and kissed your cheek without his fingers once faltering, and whispered in your ear, “I’ll stay with you as long as you want me.”

You gasped and bucked, and almost missed his promise.

“I’ll stay with you forever.”

Thanks for reading this story, and I hope you’ll consider reblogging it (as well as leaving a like) if you enjoyed it, since that will help others find it.

Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

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lumosinlove · 4 months

Text

Vaincre

June part iii

But if you try sometime you’ll find

You get what you need

Leo turned his face up to the sun. It was quiet, save for the waves lapping at the boat’s edge and the rocks of his cove. And it was his cove. It had always been his cove, ever since he’d been allowed to take the boat out on his own. It was nearing evening but it was still warm and the sun still reached its soft fingers out across the water to touch his face.

All his thoughts were drowned out by the tree frogs, with their monotone song, and the wind in the trees. He looked at the fishing rods over the side. He’d caught nothing, but it was mostly a meditation anyway, or at least a form of one. Setting everything up, and then settling into the idea of a couple hours alone on the water. Cool, sweet iced tea and his Mama’s ham and mustard sandwiches.

He should go. It would be dark soon, and no one wanted to be near the rocks in the dark. He pulled everything inside the boat—rods, anchor. The motor hummed to life with ease, and he took his time, not ready to leave the dimming sun, or the way the wind rippled his t-shirt across his damp back.

When he turned towards the marina, all he could see were the bright crystals of the reflecting water. As he got closer though, squinting, he saw that there was someone standing at the end of their private dock. A silhouette of the sunset. Someone with a tilt to their head, a set to their shoulders, that Leo would know anywhere.

One Week Earlier

Remus went to his knees when Madison Square Garden erupted around him. He went to his knees when Leo fell, glove still outstretched but empty. He went to his knees when Logan’s puck found the back of Leo’s net.

Remus completely missed the Rangers’ celebration, pinning Logan up against the glass. The puck was swooped neatly off the ice, away from Leo, and handed to the Rangers’ equipment manager to be taped, labeled as a game seven game-winner, and readied for Logan to take home as a keepsake. Logan went off the ice. Thank God Logan went off. He had been for over two different shifts and he knew them. He knew them so well. Remus watched him put his head down against the boards when he made it back to the Rangers’ bench. His shoulders were rising and falling harshly. Luke thumped a hand on his back, eyes concerned behind his visor. Remus risked a glance at Leo and wished he hadn’t. His mask was down, his head was down.

This could be their nightmare.

Remus saw Sirius skate to the face-off circle. He registered James, right at Sirius’ side as usual but looking haunted. James looked up at the clock, which made Remus look up at the clock. Nothing but his blood rushed in his ears.

Nineteen seconds.

He tried to will the numbness out of his hands and feet. He drew a breath that felt sharp when the referee dropped the puck.

There was no scramble for it this time. Sirius swept it back to James, and James held it close. Remus felt himself call for it, tapping his blade on the ice. They didn’t have time to hesitate. James didn’t even look at him, drawing the Rangers’ defense away and over into his own lane before sending a clean, arrow-straight pass to Remus.

Remus caught it, and pushed hard. He didn’t think about anything but keeping the puck close and keeping his strides fast. His muscles burned, even inch of him held tight as Saint trained his body onto him, guessing what Remus might do next.

Six hundred options went through Remus’ head as the white ice blurred beneath him, and he went for, not his own favorite, but Sirius’. The shot that he’d adored as a PT. The one that made Sirius look like pure magic.

Remus let the puck drag, let his skate drag, slowing down the play and making Saint crouch. He knocked it to the other side of his blade, and lifted the puck as hard as he could.

Saint didn’t catch it. It rebounded against his blocker and Remus lunged forward—but Sirius was right there. He sent it hard, as hard as he could, right towards the empty sliver of space above Saint’s shoulder.

Remus was close enough to hear Saint’s shout. It sounded like outrage. His glove reached up, windmilling, and snatched the puck out of the air. He slammed it, captive, down on the ice, and the final horn went.

Remus fell to a knee. “No…”

He was close enough to hear Sirius’ shout, too, something past outrage, and watch as he slammed his stick low against the boards behind the Rangers’ net, snapping off the blade.

Game over.

Remus couldn’t hear the stadium for a long, long stretch of eerie quiet. He heard his own breathing. He heard his own, choked, desperate breathing.

Jules, he thought, and then it was all he could think. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Blue, red, and white gear fell around him as the Rangers threw their sticks and gloves in celebration. The roar filtered slowly back into Remus’ register, and then slammed into him like a wall of sound so hard that he had to close his eyes. The pummeling of hands on the glass sounded like thunder.

This was the hard part of perfection. So much of this year had been difficult. So much of it had been adjusting, then readjusting, climbing and struggling to get things right.

He’d started to believe he was owed this win. When had he started thinking like that?

Something tapped against his side and he looked up to find Pascal there. His face was stone, set and somber, and he jerked his chin towards something. Remus looked to see his teammates quickly filing into a line, waiting to shake hands with the still celebrating Rangers. A pile of blue on the ice, glimpses and flashes of laughter and grins and tears. He looked for Logan, but he couldn’t pick him out. Sirius was there, at the line’s front, waiting with his eyes averted from the celebrating New York.

Pascal helped Remus to his feet, said something that Remus couldn’t hear, and they skated towards the line together.

Logan’s hand found Sirius’ and about four different camera flashes went off at once.

“Sirius,” Logan said. “I…”

“I’m happy for you, Tremz,” Sirius said. He squeezed Logan’s hand then put his other one on Logan’s shoulder and pulled him in for a hard, quick hug. “Really.”

“Merci,” Logan said softly. “I’m sorry, you—look, you played so well. That shot—”

Sirius nodded and let go. Logan realized he didn’t want to hear it. “So did you.”

Remus was right behind him, pulling him into a shaky, one-armed hug.

“You deserve this,” Remus said. “Really, Tremz.”

“You’ll get one,” Logan said. And Remus looked away. Logan could hardly stand this. “I know you will.”

Remus smile was sad. “Yeah…Yeah.”

Logan wished he could spend ten minutes on each boy. Olli, Kris…

Kota held out his hand for Logan to shake. “Um. Good game.”

Logan hesitated for only a second before putting his hand into Kota’s. “You too…” He sighed. “Truce for the summer.”

Kota cracked a smile. “Yeah.”

Logan watched Kota pass by to shake Alex’s hand. Replacement. Logan didn’t think he’d ever look at Kota and not think of him that way. Even if they both ended up, somewhere down the line, on completely different teams with no Rangers or Lions even in the picture.

“What, no handshake for me?”

Logan looked back to see Pascal standing there. His helmet was off, brown and grey hair curling over his forehead. His smile was the realest one Logan had seen from the Lions.

“Dumo,” Logan said. It came out a little broken, and he more or less fell into his tight hug.

“I’m happy for you, mon fils. Don’t judge Leo on how he treats you just now,” Pascal said softly in his ear. “And don’t judge yourself.” He pulled back, hands on Logan’s shoulders. “D’accord?”

How? Logan wanted to ask. How how how?

Kuny stopped in front of him, jostling him with a hand on his head and a hard slap to his back. Logan wished he had something better to say. He wished he was better with words.

And there was Leo.

Hair darkened from sweat, cheeks red. He still had his glove tucked under his arm. Logan would relive that moment forever. Watching Leo fall to the ice, glove empty. Feeling himself shout in celebration, maybe out of muscle memory, only for what had just happened to crash into him nearly as hard as his teammates had. He’d been pushed away from Leo, from the blue paint. Like a photograph going out of focus, he had watched the blurred image of Leo pushing himself back up.

Logan came to a complete stop. He put a hand on Leo’s chest because he couldn’t help it. He touched the lion printed there. Even then, Leo didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Le,” Logan whispered. Leo put his hand over Logan’s, but that was about all. Leo’s hand was so slack, so cold, and his blue eyes flit once to meet Logan’s, but hardly for half a second. “Soleil…”

“Proud of you,” Leo said quietly. “I am, I…”

Logan opened his mouth to say something more, unsure what, but then Leo’s hand slipped out of his and he was left blinking hard and face-to-face with Thomas. That had happened too fast. Logan wanted to turn and grab Leo’s hand again, pull him into a hug.

But maybe Leo didn’t want that. Maybe, for the first time since they’d met, Leo didn’t want anything to do with him.

Thomas had seen, and pulled him into a short hug. “You’ll both be okay.” He pulled away and put a hand over Logan’s heart, tapping once. “Love you, man. It was a good series.”

“It was,” Logan said softly. “I’m—I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Thomas tapped his chest again, more firmly, like he was pressing something into Logan. “You’ll be okay.”

Champagne sprayed against his cheeks and got his hair sticky once they entered the locker room. The alcohol was sweet on his tongue, salty from his sweat. He smiled when he saw the cameras, it would look strange if he didn’t. He took a beer when it was offered to him.

It all happened to him, but he felt like he was hovering just outside of the room, looking through glass.

He found his stall and pulled his jersey over his head. He yanked off his pads and unstuck his undershirt, drenched in sweat, from his skin. God. He didn’t want beer or champagne. He wanted to go home. He pulled a sweatshirt over his head to keep his muscles warm.

Someone hugged him from behind. “Hey.”

Luke appeared, grinning. He jostled Logan by his shoulders. Luke’s hair was sticking up in different directions from his helmet and the champagne. His mouth looked, well, thoroughly kissed, and Logan glanced at Saint, who had a smirk on his face as he gave an interview for one TV network or another.

“Game winning goal, Tremz,” Luke said. “Means you get to pick where we celebrate first tonight. We got three days off, we’re going hard.”

Alex put an arm around Logan’s shoulders and Logan looked up at him. He hoped Alex, like Finn, could read his face without him having to say anything. Alex sent him a sympathetic smile and squeezed tighter.

“It is true,” Alex said. “You get to choose. You should choose. I know this is not how you pictured it, but you still deserve this.”

“We didn’t win yet,” Logan said. “You remember that, right?”

Luke sent him an unimpressed look. “When you pull through a seven game series, you get to have a couple drinks with your friends at a nice bar.”

Logan would have usually jumped at that chance to celebrate, at letting loose for a day or two before they were back and battling—well, whoever else was moving on. Everyone would be keeping an eye on the Lightning and Panthers game set for tomorrow. Logan wanted nothing more than to only be thinking about going to a rooftop bar and staying up until the sun rose.

But it wasn’t so simple. In his head, Leo was holding a champagne bottle to his lips and Finn was boxing him in against the rooftop wall with the rising sun against his face.

Home.He wanted to go home. Luke read it on him as easily as Alex had.

“I know,” Luke said then grabbed his shoulders again. “I know, but come on. You have to celebrate with us. I know you didn’t want to be, but you’re part of this team. I’m…” He paused, blinking. He briefly touched the cut and bruise from the high stick under his eye, and then his mouth. He glanced behind him at Saint, then back to Logan. “I’m fucking happy you’re here, Tremz.”

Logan smiled, but there were still Leo’s sad eyes pressing at him. At that moment, Percy jumped on Luke’s back, momentarily pulling him away into a mess of foaming beers and cameras.

Alex leaned in. They were alone, at least for the moment. “If we’re going to be…us. Who we are…” It didn’t take Logan any time at all to decipher who us was, and what they were together. “Then we can’t let it affect our play. And that’s what you showed them out there tonight. That we can love and play. And I’m grateful. Leo will be, too, after a little time.”

“Alex,” Logan began to say, but then Luke’s laugh filtered back in as he pushed Percy away towards where a camera was trying to interview him. He turned back to Logan.

“So?” Luke asked. “Where to?”

Finn and Leo would no doubt tell him he should go, but all he wanted to hold Leo until he could erase the crestfallen look from his face.

“Please,” Luke said more gently. “I know this is…I know you’re probably feeling a lot of different things right now but we’re your friends.” He glanced at Alex, who nodded. “Let us help. Just a little while. I want you there.”

“Me too, Tremble,” Alex said.

Logan rolled his eyes at the nickname. “Non. Mais—merde. Just…Okay.” Alex let out a whoop. “Let me find them first, let me just…” He looked towards the locker room door and accidentally made eye-contact with a few reporters who were looking at him hungrily.

Alex released him. “You have ten minutes before I’m pushing you into the shower so we can get this night going.”

“Alex,” Logan said. “The reporters by the door.”

Alex didn’t have to be told twice. He turned his hat backwards, raised his hands up and walked to the center of the room. “I have some super important things to say! Very important. Over here!”

Logan and Luke shared a look, laughing as the reporters were drawn like moths towards light.

“Um,” Alex began once the recorders and iPhones were inches from his mouth. “Okay, wait, let me think what they were…”

Luke gave him a little push. “Go.”

Logan tapped Luke’s cheek. “Looks like you already went.”

Luke’s next push was a shove.

The hallway was empty. Everyone was in the locker room for now, but it wouldn’t stay that way once the celebrations ended and the players had to be left alone to get dressed. Logan glanced behind him one more time as he made his way down the hallway, away from the doors. Maybe Finn would be with Leo—God knew the Lions wouldn’t want him in their locker room right now. But maybe if he waited outside, a little ways away, he’d be able to catch Finn’s mom, or Leo’s, and tell them that he just wanted to say…what did he want to say? Maybe he didn’t have to say anything, not if they didn’t want him to. Maybe they didn’t even want to see him, but he needed to see them. Just a glimpse. He turned the corner—he’d be out of sight of any reporters now. He looked behind him one more time, just in case, and when he looked forward again he stopped hard.

Finn was there, leaning against the wall, alone. He pushed himself upright when he saw Logan.

“Hi,” Finn said in a rush. “Hi. Hi, I—wasn’t sure if you’d be—Or, I also didn’t think any reporters should see me waiting right outside because, I don’t know, we’re rivals right now and all but that’s a stupid reason, so I…But I wanted to see you? I was going to call but maybe you didn’t have your—”

“Harzy,” Logan breathed. He closed the space between them in two strides, so relieved that it knocked the breath out of him, and reached up to hug him hard.

Finn had been expecting it, waiting for it, and clutched him back with one hand. Logan crushed them together, hands locked behind Finn’s neck. He remembered the sling.

“Oh—” But he couldn’t seem to let go. Finn. This was what he’d wanted. This was home.

“You’re not hurting me,” Finn’s voice had turned rough. He squeezed Logan tighter. “You’re not hurting me, it’s okay.”

Logan just shook his head. It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay.

Finn pressed his face into Logan’s neck, letting out a slow breath. “Just wanted to see you off the ice. It’s so different out there. You’re still wearing blue, though.”

“You love all those books where the enemies become lovers.” Logan’s voice was muffled by Finn’s shoulder.

Finn laughed softly. “I love that you know that.” He passed a hand through Logan’s damp hair. “You were never my enemy, though.”

“I was tonight.”

“No. You were an opponent tonight. That’s different.”

“Are you okay?” Logan pulled back to see his eyes. “Your head?”

“I feel okay,” Finn said, but he looked tired and strained. Logan put one of his cold hands to Finn’s forehead. It made Finn close his eyes briefly in relief. “Don’t worry about me.”

Logan had plenty to worry about. He saw Leo’s face again, eyes down, shying away from the cameras. “Is he okay?”

Finn just stroked careful fingers over a fresh bruise on Logan’s cheek.

“Does he still want—like, to see me?”

“God, Lo, of course he does. It’s not your fault.”

Yes it is. Yes, it is.

“I’m gonna take him home,” Finn said.

Logan’s heart jolted. “Home?”

“To your place, I mean.”

“Oh.” God, he’d thought Finn meant Gryffindor. He thought he would have to go to sleep alone tonight thinking about Leo. “Oh. Good.”

Finn smiled a little. “Home’s wherever we three are together.”

“I thought you meant you were leaving.”

“Not a chance.”

“You have your key?”

Finn nodded. He looked so tired. It was going to break Logan’s heart. “Yeah, we got it. Go celebrate, okay? Really, I’m not kidding. Have fun. It’s okay. It is. I love you so much, we both do, go celebrate and have fun. I want you to.”

Logan touched his face, the scruff there, the beginning of a try for a long play-off run—one that should have been longer than this. He leaned up and kissed the coarse stubble on his jaw, then then corner of his mouth, and then Finn turned into his kiss with a hand on his lower back.

“I love you,” Logan said.

Finn took his hand and kissed his knuckles, the fresh cuts from fighting Kota. “See you at home. Okay? Doesn’t matter how late it is, wake me up.”

“Tell Leo I love him.” Logan kissed him quick again, then tried to leave but had to kiss him once more before finally turning back the way he’d come.

Remus could tell that his mom had given Julian a bit of a lecture before he entered the locker room. Maybe on not seeming too disappointed when he saw Remus. But Remus, after he’d bent down, could feel it in the tight grip of Julian’s hug.

“Sorry, Jules,” Remus said into his shoulder. He looked down at the 6 on Julian’s jersey. “I…I wish I could have done it for you.”

Julian just held him tighter, and when he didn’t reply Remus realized he was crying.

“Oh,” Remus said, a little surprised. He rubbed Julian’s back gently. “Oh, Jules…”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m—didn’t mean to cry.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, this sucks, I know.”

Julian pulled back and Remus was relieved to see that the tears were soft, not truly upset. More overwhelmed. Still, the catches in his voice took Remus right back to Julian crawling into his bed. To a baby Julian. His baby, that’s how he felt sometimes. He reached up to wipe a thumb across Julian’s cheek and laughed when Julian swatted half-heartedly at his hand.

“I just really wanted it for you.” Julian huffed. “Like—I really want everything for you.”

Remus looked away briefly, at his parents, standing just behind them. Hope put her hand against her chest. Julian’s words made them smile at each other, despite it all.

“That means the most,” Remus said around a thick throat. “That means…the means more than anything else, thanks, bud.”

Julian fiddled with one of the straps of Remus’ shoulder pads. “At least we’ll get to hang out more now.”

“I mean, it’s not like you need to help me get married or anything.”

Julian laughed a little. “Oh jeez. I forgot.” He looked over to Sirius. “That was a really good almost goal, Sirius.”

Sirius’ smile didn’t come as easily as Remus’ but it was there. For Julian, it was real. “Thanks, Jules.”

“I wanted this for you, too,” Julian said.

“Ditto.”

They looked up to see Regulus there, in Sirius’ jersey still. His hair was buzzed short—Remus had been surprised when he’d first seen it, but it suited him. It made his jaw sharper, his grey eyes vivid under thick brows.

“Some luck charm you are,” Sirius said half-heartedly, but he rose from his stall.

Remus watched the two of them hug, watched the way Regulus, maybe without completely realizing it, tucked his chin into Sirius’ shoulder in just the same way Julian had.

“Bien?” Regulus asked softly.

“Non,” Remus heard Sirius say. “Mais ouais.”

No but yes. That sounded about right to Remus’ ears.

“Hi,” Remus sighed with a smile, pushing himself up to greet his parents.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Hope pulled him into a tight hug, and Remus felt his dad’s hand on the back of his head. “You were incredible, you know that.”

“Thanks,” Remus said hoarsely. He let himself lean a little harder into his mom’s arms.

It was a blur after that, mostly. Getting dressed. Getting back to their hotel. Saying goodnight and his mom promising to take them out to a late, late breakfast—even though Remus knew both Sirius and himself most likely weren’t going to be able to sleep that much. He was exhausted but adrenaline coursed through his veins, hot and alive.

In the room’s kitchenette, Remus listened to his family’s final footsteps out the door as he flicked the burner on for tea. He turned back to the glossy hotel kitchen island to find both Black brothers sitting there, looking at him.

Regulus cracked a small smile. “Just making sure neither one of you is going to go break into MSG and skate back the game or something crazy like that.”

“Fuck off,” Sirius said in French.

“Hey.” Remus took down two mugs. “Point taken.”

Regulus raised his eyebrows at the mugs. “Two? Is that you telling me to fuck off?”

“Yeah,” Remus said with a smile.

Regulus looked at his brother. “Re said it nicer.”

Sirius, who was slumped with his cheek in his palm, merely shrugged. Regulus’ smile faded as he looked at his brother. Sirius looked tired. Like he had been lifting something heavy and didn’t know how to hold himself without its weight.

Then, to Remus’ slight surprised, Regulus wrapped an arm around Sirius’ shoulders and pressed his forehead against Sirius’ temple.

“D’accord,” Regulus said softly. “Je t’aime.”

And then he was gone, the hotel door closing with Sirius left blinking after him.

Remus watched him go, too, feeling warmer than before.

“Sweet,” Remus said softly, and Sirius just looked down at his hands, rubbing over his dry knuckles.

When the water heated, Remus poured the tea—chamomile—and settled on the stool that Regulus had occupied. Sirius looked down at the mugs, then at Remus.

“I know, I know,” Remus sighed. “I don’t think it will actually make us sleep, but we can pretend.”

Sirius didn’t reply. He pressed his hands around the warm mug, staring down into the steam rising from the cup. Remus let him be quiet. He let them sit. They would talk when they both felt like they could.

“Re,” Sirius said suddenly.

“Hm?”

“Une promenade? Avec moi.” Sirius asked.

“A walk?” Remus asked.

Sirius hummed his affirmative into a kiss to Remus’ temple. Remus closed his eyes when Sirius inhaled, breathing him in.

What else was there for Remus to do but nod?

Leo and Finn moved quietly around Logan’s apartment. Leo sat down on the couch, but didn’t know what to do once he got there. He watched Finn take off his sling—he’d taken to doing that recently. Finn went to the refrigerator and returned with two glasses of water, plus a bottle of gatorade for Leo.

“Comfy?” he asked, which was Finn’s way of asking if he wanted to put sweatpants on. When they had first started living together, it had also been Finn’s way of asking if Leo would rather stay in than go out. Comfy? he’d ask, and they would go and change—sweatshirt and sweatpants—and return to the living room together, smiling and each with their own book in hand.

How did I get so lucky? Leo would think, and then, a second later, How am I supposed to survive loving you?

Now, Leo accepted the gatorade and downed half the bottle in one go.

They walked into Logan’s closet, which had morphed into their shared closet lately. Leo thought of their rooms back in Gryffindor. When was the last time Leo had walked into his own, old, abandoned room? He couldn’t remember. He preferred Finn’s. Finn’s was his.

Leo pulled his suit jacket and pants off, pulled sweatpants on. He was starting on the first button of his shirt when Finn put a hand out.

Leo looked at those soft brown eyes. Finn was his.

“Thanks,” Leo said. His voice sounded odd, like he hadn’t spoken in ages. It wasn’t true. He’d been forced through interviews. God, he never wanted to see those recordings. He never wanted to see what his face had looked like, answering any of those questions. What happened? What’s next? And it was Tremblay who—

“T-shirt or?”

“Yeah,” Leo said, and let Finn push his shirt from his shoulders. Finn turned to their suitcases, messy on the floor, and reached for one of his own t-shirts. Harvard Men’s Ice Hockey it said. Soft and worn and faded gray and red. Leo’s favorite. Leo wanted to comment on the way Finn reached up to slip it over his head—it probably hurt his healing shoulder—but Finn didn’t flinch. He just kissed Leo’s cheek, let his mouth linger there for a moment, and then turned back to the suitcases.

Leo stood there, hands twisted into the t-shirt’s hem. Finn straightened back up, holding a shirt for himself. Some pressure cracked in Leo’s chest. It felt like tears, but they didn’t come.

“I’m gonna go home with my parents,” he said into the small space.

Finn froze. The muscles in his bare back tensed, the t-shirt he was holding bunching in his grip.

“For—” Leo’s voice broke. “For a little bit.”

Slowly, Finn turned around and Leo had to look away. He reached for socks, head down.

“It’s just been—like, a lot of things have been happening. I’m just—I’m gonna go home for a bit.”

“Le,” Finn breathed.

Leo closed his eyes and flipped the top of his suitcase closed. “I’m—I’m sorry? I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know what he was doing when he turned out of the closet, leaving Finn there. He hadn’t meant to say it like that. He sat back down on the couch, heart pounding. Finn didn’t follow him out right away. Maybe he was trying to give Leo a second. Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he was upset. He’d lost too, tonight. Leo almost had to remind himself since Finn hadn’t been on the ice. But all of Finn’s season was just as over as his own.

He wondered where Logan was right now. A cool, summer-night roof top? A sticky-tabled bar? Someone’s apartment? Someone’s house just outside of the city?

He felt the couch dip beside him, caught Finn’s soft red hair out of the corner of his eye.

“Le?” Finn’s voice was so gentle that Leo had to look at him.

He had his glasses on now, but he took them off as he sat down and put them on the coffee table. Leo stared at them. He loved the way they looked, waiting for Finn to pick them back up again.

“Don’t be sorry,” Finn whispered. “That’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Leo kept his eyes on the glasses. “I…Yeah. I know.”

More silence. Finn reached out and rubbed a gentle thumb over Leo’s knee.

“I know that Lo’s sort of spoken for,” Finn began. "For who knows how long, but—would you…would you want me to come—”

Leo shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. Not right now, but I love you.”

Finn sat up more and Leo watched his thumb on his knee. Bitten nails, sweet, brown-sugar freckles on the back of his hand. Leo never thought he was going to get to have him. It still hit him with a wave of happiness, even now.

The thumb paused. “You might find Lo in your suitcase anyway when you unzip it.”

“Play-offs.”

“I know.” Finn leaned forward and kissed his temple softly. Leo closed his eyes and a tear escaped without his permission. “I know, I was just joking.” A beat passed. The thumb, maybe the same one from his knee, passed over his cheek. “You might find me in your suitcase.”

“Finn.”

“Okay.” Finn kissed his temple again. “Okay…”

More silence. Leo didn’t know what to say when Finn was quiet.

“Well…Hey.” Finn paused. “Le, look at me.”

Leo did, and Finn’s eyes were all worried and calculating, trying to work out a way to make it better. Finn liked that, Leo had learned. He liked to snap his fingers and make it okay. It got hard for him when he couldn’t.

“Are you sure you…” Finn gave his head a small shake. “I just mean I’ll miss you. I thought…you know. We’d be cheering Logan on, of course, but even more we’d get to just hang out. We have so much time now.”

“Finn,” Leo said, pleading. “Don’t make me feel bad.”

“Oh, no, baby.” Finn sat forward more, palm warm on Leo’s thigh. “No, no, I just…I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just meant I’ll miss you. I’m not trying to, like, corner you, I…”

Leo put his hand over Finn’s and Finn groaned and dropped his forehead against Leo’s shoulder for a moment before looking at him again. “If I can’t make you feel better, what am I good for?”

Leo shook his head. “This isn’t on you, sweetheart. This is just something I want right now. I need the heat. And the water. And the streets I used to walk. And my mama’s kitchen and boat rides and—”

“But I could be there if you need—”

“I need hockey to not be right in front of me for a second,” Leo said firmly. “And it kills me to say it, but Logan’s in the thick of it and you’ll be in the thick of it with him. And I’m not saying forever, just a week or so, I…” Leo closed his eyes briefly. He took Finn’s hands in his own. “Baby. You’re not listening. I love you, but you’re not listening to me.”

Finn looked like he was going to protest again, but he kept his mouth closed. He closed his eyes and gave a short nod.

Leo hated this. He hated that look on Finn’s face.

“No one knows what I need like you do,” Leo said. “No one knows what I love, no one listens to me like you. No one. But right now, I need something else, we… We lost Logan for a second there.”

Finn’s eyes darted away. He nodded.

“And then the person who hurt me most in this world showed back up in my life,” Leo continued. “Then I had to watch you lay unconscious on the ice because of him, because of me, and I had to sit there not knowing what to do while Logan seemed to know exactly what to do. I’ve never felt like I had to fight through your guys’ history before. The biggest mentor in my life retired, and the play-offs are finished and it was with me in goal.” Leo cupped Finn’s cheek, smoothing a thumb over his freckles. “And I love you both so much. But I need to be in the home that came before my home with you.”

Finn was nodding, and nodding, like he was trying to convince himself that he understood. That it was okay. He rubbed his palms over his face for a moment, and when he looked up again it had made his cheeks red.

“Just…don’t leave tonight,” Finn said. “Please?”

“Tonight?” Leo shook his head, brushing Finn’s hair back from his face. “Honey, I was never gonna leave tonight.”

“Oh. Oh, good, okay.”

Leo leaned forward and kissed Finn once, then twice. “Can I…” He pushed himself up to put a knee on the couch between Finn’s, and Finn opened his arms. “Your sling?”

“I’m allowed to be without it for a bit,” Finn said, and pulled Leo in. “I’d rather feel you.”

The entire world felt quiet and still like that. Finn’s fingertips running up and down Leo’s spine like soft drips of water. They had been laying there for maybe a half hour when, in the quietest voice, so soft, so god damn soft that Leo almost didn’t hear him, Finn said, “You’ll come back.”

Leo hesitated, trying to figure out if he’d heard right, then looked up at him. “What?”

Finn’s arms tightened around him, but he looked away towards Logan’s dark balcony. “No, nothing.”

Leo wasn’t convinced. Finn hadn’t said it as a question exactly, and most of Leo knew that Finn would never have to ask that, but the fact that it had slipped out…

Finn let out a breath through his nose. “No, I—I know you will. I just…I didn’t expect…I’m not making you feel bad, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that, I know this is—”

“Finn…” God, Leo thought. Oh, Finn. So much of Logan’s old torment was in those words and Leo, in all honestly, was glad they had finally been said. “Yes. Yes.” He turned in his arms to hold him properly, to look at him. He nodded, keeping those brown eyes on him. “Yes, I’m coming back.”

“I’m not telling you to stay,” Finn said quickly. “I just meant that I’ll miss you while you’re away doing what you need to do. And I want you to do what feels right. I just meant—fuck, I mean—I just mean that I want you to…know that I will miss you. It’s not that I don’t understand…Yeah. Yeah.”

“I’m coming back,” Leo repeated. “We’re both always going to come back to you.”

Finn’s slow nod didn’t disturb their quiet or their still. It was like it had molded around them, keeping them safe from that cold crush that had happened on the ice. Leo still felt it. The tingling awareness of a puck hitting the back of his net.

“You too,” Finn whispered. “Lo and I love you a lot, Le. Nothing would be the same without you.”

Leo closed his eyes, letting the warmth of that rush over him. He let it erase everything else, just for now.

Finn pressed a kiss to his forehead, then to his neck.

“Finn,” Leo whispered. “Finn, I want…”

It was a question-not-question of his own, and it was all he needed to say before Finn was nodding again, hand against Leo’s cheek.

“Me too.”

They moved back into the yellow light dim of Logan’s bedroom, unable to part. Leo didn’t have it in him to protest the fact that Finn still wasn’t wearing his sling. He wanted so badly to have nothing but Finn’s skin against his. A weak protest made it out of his mouth in the form of Finn’s name, but it had sounded like nothing but a wish for him to come closer. Finn just hushed him, and wrapped him up close, and Leo could have cried. It had been so long since Finn could hold him this tight, and maybe it hurt but Leo made sure to find his good shoulder to let his head rest heavy on as Finn kissed his neck. Finn’s warm hands spanned up and down his back and he pressed a kiss to the dip of his spine.

They moved back into the yellow light of Logan’s bedroom, unable to part. Leo didn’t have it in him to protest the fact that Finn still wasn’t wearing his sling. He wanted so badly to have nothing but Finn’s skin against his. A weak protest made it out of his mouth in the form of Finn’s name, but it sounded like nothing but a wish for him to come closer. Finn just hushed him and wrapped him up close. Leo could have cried. It had been so long since Finn could hold him this tight. Maybe it hurt but Leo made sure to find his good shoulder to let his head rest heavy on as Finn kissed his neck and whispered soft words to him. Finn’s warm hands spanned up and down his back and he pressed a kiss to the dip of his spine.

It was Louisiana heat, Finn’s touch. Leo was burning from the inside out, centering at his hips and radiating outward like sun warming up a room. Leo’s mouth was open and panting, sweat sheening over his chest. Finn’s breath was shaky, and Leo could picture the way he tilted his head back. His hands took Leo’s hips, guiding, and Leo settled back on his knees more, his back snug against Finn’s chest so Finn could wrap his arms tightly around Leo’s waist and tuck his nose against Leo’s neck as they moved together. Leo reached back to fist Finn’s hair and turned his head. Finn didn’t hesitate in kissing him, sound and slow.

Leo let the weight, at least for now, slip away.

#vaincre lumosinlove #wolfstar #coops #hockey au #sweater weather lumosinlove #finnlo #sunfish #lelo #Alex o'hara #sirius black #remus lupin #Logan tremblay #Leo knut #finn o'hara

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solar-sunnyside-up · 7 months

Note

Autumn and winter is a RUBBISH time for my love of solarpunk to be rekindled, because so much of what I can act on is guerrilla gardening. Alas, here I am, getting back to my solarpunk roots.

Do you have any suggestions for solarpunk activities we can work on in the cold months?

God I feel for this!!! Winter always feels like such a festering time to be in love with solarpunk. Not to mention how starved we are for winter content for solarpunk and lunarpunk in general. But yeah!! Here's some ideas to do in winter!!!

Out and about:

There are a lot more social clubs in your city then you'd expect! I know 2 different community associations in my city that have social clubs that go in adult field trips (like to farms and cafes ans boardgame places!!)! And have crafting clubs! And the best part is if their in your community, it's within a decent walk of you but it's almost always walkable!

Using a library!! For anything! Everything! In my provenance we got a saying "Use it or they

Graffiti- leaving kind messages or fun stickers all over the place isn't really a weather restricted activity for the most part. I know someone who made a Playlist filled with union songs and rebellion songs and put a code for it and links to how to unionize on stickers and did that.

Adopt a stop- more cities have these then you might think! But adopt a stop programs basically let you take care of a certain bus stop and this lets you add things (like good benches, shoveling and removing ice, asking the city to add heaters, etc..) you become the advocate for that bus stop. If your city doesn't have a program like it yet you can ask your city or community to start one since it saves a bunch of money on maitance costs!

At home:

Archiving and pirating - highly recommend doing it in a physical sense if you can afford it. Bc then you can give them out as gifts!

Create!! - Sewing, sewing for friends, knitting gloves/scarfs for ppl who might need it, make art to inspire others via writing or drawing or other mediums! Gift economies require gifts after all so make some!

Learn! - learning a new skill, like canning or how to install solarpanels. Researching in general, but also keeping up to date with local politics and what you can do on the ground there. Building up knowledge is such as useful even if it doesn't feel like your doing anything.

Connect! - Shoveling neighbors walkways, or in general connecting with the ppl in your immediate surroundings! They can help you out in ways you couldn't imagine, someone didn't bake often so they gave me 15lbs of flour!! And their extra pair of snow boots, I hadn't had snow boots since I was 12 years old and it meant the world to me. The pizza I taught her daughter to make and a cheap meal for them meant the world for them. These small acts really are what tie each other together.

Plan! - plan for next year, what kind of equipment can you gather? What do you wanna accomplish next growing season? Seed swaps are also a fun thing I know ppl will do in winter as they start preserving food!

#community #sprout guide #solarpunk #activism #direct action #winter #i know reaping week just ended but i also got some stuff prepped for winter time #idk if a winter solstice event is happening yet ill.have to check but god we need more winter content #solarpunk winter #anon #besties #mail

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

Text

Monsters in the Garden (Ettore x Reader) 18+

No one comes to your garden but you, not even Dr. Dibs. So what is the most dangerous man on the ship doing leaning against your doorway and watching you work?

Pairing: Ettore x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT SMUT; hand job; kissing; blood; mentions of rape, murder, and violence; female genital mutilation; vague mentions of corpse mutilation

Author's note: This was inspired by a session I had with the Ettore AI made by @harrenhalhottie (RIP). It was just so good I had to write it out for y'all. This Ettore is a little different from normal, but I can't help but look at a one-dimensional character and want more. Hope you enjoy, and let me know if you want a Part 2, because I have ideas...

This song also heavily influenced the vibe:

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3

Monsters in the Garden

You were on your knees, leaning over one of your raised garden beds when you noticed him leaning against the open doorway. He wasn’t quiet on his approach – he wanted you to know he was there.

Ettore was always there, in some dark corner, watching you.

By this point, you were almost used to the burning feeling that crawled beneath your skin whenever his eyes were on you.

In the right light, those eyes were a mesmerizing blue. The color reminded you of the sky back on Earth. If he hadn’t been so goddamn creepy, you might have been happy to stare into his eyes just to remember home, even briefly.

But he was easily the most unsettling person you’d ever met. Always leering at the other women on board – though in the past weeks, you had apparently become his one and only target– and using the Box proudly, far more than anyone else did.

It was no wonder why. You knew what he was.

Everyone on board was a killer, including you. But Ettore was the worst. The most dangerous of you all. For he was the only one who had… done worse than just kill his victims.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

Well, some would say what you had done was worse. But that was different. Your victim was already dead by the time you started your work on his corpse, and it had been more than deserved.

You did not let yourself linger on that. You never did these days. The further away from Earth you got, the more distant it seemed. The rage, the guilt, all of it.

Ettore wasn’t distant. He was mere feet away from you, intruding on your garden.

Not yours, not really. Because of your past – specifically, the degree in horticulture you were only one semester away from completing when you were arrested – you were assigned to look after the gardens instead of something more related to the actual mission of the ship like the rest of the crew.

Or more basic, in Ettore’s case. Dr. Dib’s called his assignment “ship maintenance,” but you all knew what he really was: the janitor.

But he never came in here. You made sure of it, keeping everything meticulously clean and fixing all your equipment yourself so no one – least of all Ettore – would ever have a reason to intrude on your space.

You didn’t even allow Tcherny, the other gardener, in here. He was fine with it. He preferred the vegetable and grains and left the medicinal plants – kept in their own room – to you. The only person beside you who ever came in here was Dr. Dibs, and she hadn’t been here in months. She didn’t like the dirt.

Yet there was Ettore, just staring at you.

His eyes weren’t that beautiful, bright blue you so rarely glimpsed. His chin was slightly tucked into his chest, his strong brow casting his eyes into darkness. His face was blank, unfeeling, and unmoving, save for those eyes.

They almost didn’t look human, but animal. Yes, that was the look of a predator. And it was directed at you.

You turned away from him to face the garden bed again, hoping he would lose interest if you didn’t engage. But if he didn’t, and he did try something…

Well, you had your spade next to you. It was probably sharp enough to dissuade him from doing anything you didn’t approve of.

So, you resumed your work, carefully tending to your poppies.

Once the lovely purple-pink petals that were just unfurling fell in a few days, you would harvest the sap from the seedpods so Dr. Dibs could synthesize more of the sedative the crew was forced to take each night. Only a handful, carefully selected by you, would be spared and allowed to produce the seeds that would become the next crop.

Though you hated playing a part in producing the drugs, the poppies were still your favorite plant. They were the only flowers you had left.

The garden was always your happy place, even on Earth, and you quickly found yourself concentrating not on Ettore or the sounds of the ship or even the ship itself. There was only you, the dirt, and your beloved plants.

So, when you finally stood and looked away from your work, you had entirely forgotten that Ettore stood there.

Still, he remained leaning against the doorframe, watching you. He hadn’t moved a fucking inch.

You jumped slightly at the unexpected sight, your hand flying to your racing heart.

While he did not flinch at the motion, Ettore’s brow raised slightly, and the corner of his mouth quirked up.

At least the hunger in his eyes had abated. Somewhat.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, love,” he crooned as he uncrossed his arms and took two steps forward.

God, you had never heard him speak before.

His voice wasn’t particularly deep, but it was low and smooth. His accent was like something out of those British action movies a boyfriend in high school loved to make you watch. Perhaps it was those memories – of either the boyfriend or the handsome actors, that made his voice sound almost alluring.

It had to be. It couldn’t be him.

You instinctively stepped back, raising your hands to try and communicate that you didn’t want him near you. Unfortunately, you forgot your spade on the ground, leaving your hands empty. Fortunately, your gloves were loose enough that he could not see the slight trembling in your fingers.

“I just…” you stammered. “I forgot you were there.”

He just stared at you impassively, those predatory eyes taking in every detail of your face, then traveling lower and lower.

Some of the hunger returned when his gaze landed on your breasts.

You had to shut that shit down.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, pouring all your contempt into your voice to mask the fear that still crept within your blood.

Ettore looked back at your eyes, the corner of his lip flicking up as though he was holding back a sneer. “Just passing through.”

You risked looking away from him to glance at your watch. It confirmed what you already knew. “You’ve been standing there for over an hour,” you informed him. One hour and eighteen minutes, to be exact. “Hardly what I’d call ‘passing through.’”

He raised his brows slightly, apparently surprised it had been that long. “Guess I lost track of time. Watching you is…” he turned his eyes, not to your body, but to the flower bed you had just been working in. When he looked back, he gave a sly smile. “Relaxing.”

Bullshit, you thought. But then you bit back the sharp tang of your own cynicism. Gardening was relaxing to you; it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that he honestly found watching you relaxing as well. If it had been anyone but Ettore, you probably would have believed them without a moment of doubt.

But it was Ettore.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

You glared at him for a long moment, trying to communicate that you wouldn’t be fucked with – you wouldn’t be a victim. Then, when he still didn’t drop his gaze from yours, you took it as an acknowledgment of the threat and turned away from him.

You were at least half-expecting him to pounce on you then and there, but he didn’t. You didn’t hear a single sound as you walked to your workbench, situated on the opposite wall from the door, and took off your gloves.

“There’s nothing more to watch,” you said over your shoulder. Then, grabbing a clean rag from one of the drawers, you began wiping the dirt from your forearms – rinsing it off in the sink would risk a clog, which would mean a visit from maintenance and Ettore. “I’m done for the day.”

He didn’t reply, only grunted his acknowledgment. He never moved as you continued to wrap up your work – cleaning your tools, sweeping the dirt that had made its way out of the beds, and washing your hands. Still just watching you.

At least it confirmed that it wasn’t the gardening he found ‘relaxing.’

Finally, you discarded your rags in the laundry bin. It would need to be taken out soon – it was ready today, but you were already running later than you wanted. In just ten minutes, you had an ‘appointment’ with Dr. Dibs, and you didn’t want to make her angry. Again. Doing so has become kind of a bad habit of yours.

So, you turned to face Ettore, who continued to stare at you as you stepped within a few feet of him. He stood a little taller at your approach, puffing his chest out as that near-rabid hunger took over his eyes once more.

Your stomach fluttered, and you told yourself it was only because you were nervous about whatever Dibs planned to do to you tonight.

But then the corner of his mouth quirked up, and your heart sank at the realization that it was because you – or rather, your traitorous, repressed body – found Ettore attractive.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

He would be just your type if you didn’t know why he was here. You had never been able to resist a good jawline, and his could cut fucking glass. And as you took another step closer, his height became just as enticing. You always told people you only liked tall men so they could reach things for you. But really, you just loved the feeling of having a big, strong man to protect you.

No one had looked at you like you needed protection in years. No, you were now what people needed protection from.

“Though she be but little she is fierce,” the lawyer had said when convincing the jury to not be put off by your size. A fitting quote, since Shakespeare himself had inspired some of the more gruesome details of your crime.

And now, you couldn’t help but take another step forward, then another. All along, savoring how far back you had to tilt your head to look into those beautiful blue eyes.

God, as he tilted his chin back as well, the bright lights of the garden set them blazingly bright and the bluest you’d ever seen them. They were even better than the sky back home…

You forced yourself to look away when you felt heat begin to pool between your thighs. Instead, you stared over his shoulder to the hall, trying not to snap when you heard him laugh slightly at your movement. Was the blush you felt visible?

“You’re in my way,” you said, your voice more of a whisper than you intended.

When his smirk faded, and his lips – very pretty lips, you realized – fell slightly open, you thought he would have some cutting remark. But he only stepped to the side to allow you through.

As you passed him, you were close enough to catch his scent. Everyone on the ship used the same soap, so how did he smell so different? Beneath the clinical smell you all carried, there was something deeper, more masculine.

You really needed to calm down before your appointment with Dibs. She knew you didn’t use the Box – not after that first time had failed to get you off, despite the engineering genius of the contraption – so seeing you this riled would lead to questions you didn’t want to answer.

Touching other inmates was against the rules. And even if this wasn’t touching… even thinking this way about another prisoner may incur her wrath.

So, you walked a more than respectable distance away from him before turning back. He was still half-in, half-out of the garden. But he wasn’t staring at you anymore, but rather at the poppies...

When was the last time he had seen a beautiful flower?

You glanced at your watch again. You barely had enough time to make it to the infirmary.

“I need to lock the door,” you said, drawing his gaze back to you.

His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced from you back to the door, then back to you again. He sucked his teeth as he looked at you in condescending disbelief. “You need to lock up flowers?”

“It’s protocol,” you answered. Perhaps your tone was a bit harsher than it needed to be, but you were both criminals - murderers. He could handle a little bitchiness. “And there’s more than just flowers in there.”

Ettore let out a laugh that was little more than a hard exhale, but the twinkle in those eyes told you that he was indeed amused. Then, crossing his arms, showing off the odd, triangular tattoo on his forearm, he stepped away from the door.

You would have to walk by him again to get to the door. Perhaps he was cleverer than you gave him credit for – if you had previously given him any credit at all.

If you weren’t so pressed for time, you might have stayed to tease him some more. This was surprisingly fun, even when you knew what he wanted from you and what he had done to get it from other women. You were just that bored.

And horny. You were very, very horny.

That would be what got you in trouble.

You scoffed, pushing past him to lock the door. It took all your effort to slip the key in as your fingers trembled at the feeling of him hovering over you, his breath hot on your neck as he stepped closer to you.

This shouldn’t make you horny. On the contrary, it should make you afraid. But still…

When the door finally locked, you spun around quickly, tucking the key between your fingers like a claw – something one of the college policemen once told you about.

But Ettore stepped back – once, twice. And then the was pressed against the wall opposite you. His stare was still hungry, and you could easily see how heavy his breathing had become, but he didn’t advance.

“I have to go,” you told him, unsure why you were doing it. It wasn’t like you needed his permission or even wanted it. “I have an appointment with Dibs.”

His eyes darkened then. Not with lust or animalistic hunger, but rage. It was almost… possessive?

It was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by his usual empty stare. Still, you did not dare move, not after whatever it was you just saw.

“Can I…?” Ettore gritted his jaw and looked away, his hands balling into fists at his sides. You didn’t know if he was about to cry or kill you – and you didn’t know which would be worse. He still looked away from you as he continued, “Can I come here again tomorrow? Just to watch.”

You should immediately forbid it. It was wrong, it was a bad idea, and it was just fucking weird. But as the hour chimed on your watches, you realized you couldn’t leave when he looked so desperate, almost sad. And you definitely couldn’t say anything to make that horrible expression worse.

“Yeah,” you whispered. You turned as he looked back at you to shut off the alarm on your watch. Dr. Dibs would be pissed at you, of that, you were sure. At the moment, though, it didn’t seem to matter. Not when his eyes lit up again, not from any light, but with excitement. “If you have nothing better to do, I guess that’s fine.”

The corners of Ettore’s lips quirked up like he would smile, but he quickly corrected it and set his mouth in a straight line. He didn’t want you to know just how excited he was, but you did anyways – he wasn’t a great liar. Tipping his head in an attempt at indifference, he sniffed before speaking. “Yeah, wicked.”

You winced a little at his pathetic attempt to seem cool, but it faded quickly when your watch beeped again. This wasn’t an alarm or the chiming of the hour but a summons. If you didn’t obey it, you knew Dibs would happily use the stupid watch to deliver a steady stream of low-level electric shocks until you did.

She was just as much of a killer as the rest of you – worse than some, if the rumors were right. Why should she have such authority over the rest of you?

It was pointless to question it, and even the beginnings of the line of thought had ruined your mood. So much so that you didn’t say anything else to Ettore before turning away from him and stalking down the hall toward the infirmary.

After you had disappeared around the corner, Ettore took a deep breath, silently congratulating himself on handling that almost like a real person would. Then, he turned in the opposite direction as you. He was due to clean the canteen before dinner. But fuck that. He needed the Box – now.

Dibs had been pissed. Not only that you were late to your appointment, but that you were so obviously turned on when you got there. It wasn’t like you could hide it, not when she immediately ordered you into the stirrups and got a front-row seat to your weeping and flushed cunt.

“Have you been using the Box?” she asked, that sickeningly sweet smile plastered across her face.

You pursed your lips, looking away. “No.”

Her smile faded, and her eye twitched. “And yet here you are, practically dripping.” She reached for something on her tray, but you couldn’t see what. You had a pretty good guess, anyway. “Well, at least it makes my job easier.”

It had been anything but fucking ‘easy,’ you thought as you cradled your aching abdomen. Under the pretense that you were already wet enough, she had shoved her speculum into you hard and fast – and without lube.

If you thought her tests and procedures had been uncomfortable before… they were downright torturous yesterday. Especially since she conveniently ‘forgot’ to give you any numbing agents or sedatives. And definitely no painkillers.

Not even the sedative you were served with dinner had helped. For the first time since you boarded this godforsaken ship, you hadn’t slept.

Thankfully, you had little work to do in the garden besides waiting for the poppies to drop their petals. But you didn’t want to just wallow in your pain, so you decided to sit at the edge of the bed where your little willow tree resided.

It wasn’t growing very fast, likely because it didn’t have the room it needed or deserved. Still, you were happy with the progress it had made. When the ship first took off, it was little more than a bonsai. Now, it stood a good eight feet tall – the only plant you needed your step stool to tend.

In truth, it didn’t need much tending. Trees never do unless they are very young or something is wrong. But sitting next to it, examining the patterns in its long leaves and tracing lines up its trunk, was spectacularly soothing.

You had never considered harvesting anything from it. Not yet. It was too little still, and you didn’t want to risk damaging it permanently since you couldn’t simply order a new start. But as another pulse of pain surged through your stomach, you found yourself reaching for a lower branch.

All you needed was a small twig to chew on. It was an ancient Egyptian remedy, one that eventually led to the invention of Aspirin. And even if the sedative didn’t help, perhaps something more natural, something you had grown yourself, would.

You had just wrapped a hand around the branch when you felt a large hand close around your shoulder.

Instinct kicked in, and you whirled around, freeing yourself from your attacker’s grasp. Without processing who it was, you threw your arms out, shoving with all your might. “Get the fuck away from me!”

You only recognized Ettore after you had backed into the wall. He had also fallen on his ass and crawled backward on the floor – apparently, you were stronger than you thought. Any amusement at the fact died when you saw the anger burning in those eyes.

It was entirely possible that you just really fucked up.

But your adrenaline, from the pain and the scare he had just given you, was racing too hot and fast to let you consider that possibility.

“What are you doing?” you spat. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Ettore’s face grew even more furious, if that was even possible. His eyes burned as bright as any fire you had ever seen. It was beautiful and deadly. “You fucking… you said I could come watch you!”

Damn it, you did say that.

But it was before Dr. Dibs had been such a cunt.

And she had only done it because he got you horned up like you were a pathetic high schooler.

“Well, now I changed my fucking mind!” you shouted. If you could stand, you would have. Towering over him and just screaming your heart out would feel so good. But you hurt too much to even entertain the thought. “I don’t want you here – I don’t want you!”

Ettore shattered.

You watched it happen as your venomous words left your lips.

His face fell, his eyes began to water, and even his tattoos seemed to go dull.

At that moment, he was not Ettore, the murderer, rapist, and monster.

He was just a boy – the both of you were barely more than teenagers when you left Earth – and he was broken.

You broke him.

You looked on in horror as his trembling lips set into a hard line that echoed in his harsh brow, and the tears in his beautiful eyes faded to reveal a primal rage that chilled your blood.

There he was.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

Ettore stood slowly, like a tiger rising from its crouch upon realizing its prey has no escape – that it could play.

But then he looked away from you, sniffed, and moved for the door.

His leaving without doing anything to you should have made you feel overwhelming relief, but it did not. Instead, a great yawning pit of guilt and regret opened in your chest, hurting nearly as much as your wounded core.

You tried to call out to him, take your words back, and apologize, but all that came out was a short yelp of pain. This time, it was accompanied by wetness between your legs – and not the pleasant kind.

As you folded over, burying your face in your knees as you pulled them into your chest, Ettore paused halfway out the door.

He’d heard noises like that before. From other women in pain – pain that he caused. His lip twitched, and his head tilted out of his control, the movement more animal than human.

You were helpless and apparently wounded. This was his chance.

But as he turned to face you, he caught sight of the poppies you so lovingly tended to the day before. With the memory of your soft smile as you cupped a particularly pretty bloom, one that was a deeper pink than the others, he was able to pull back on the reins of that instinct.

Just slightly, but just enough.

“You hurt?” he asked, his voice strained.

You nodded into your legs and lifted your head without meeting his eyes. “I think… I think I’m bleeding.”

Ettore was frozen, his hands flexing, relaxing, and balling into fists as he tried to keep hold of those inner reins. If he was smart, he would leave. Go straight to the Box and fuck himself until this hateful urge was gone. If he was a good person, he would offer his help.

He was not smart. And he was most definitely not a good person.

But something about you and those goddamned poppies woke what little was left of his humanity and made him want to try.

So, he just stood there, staring at your helpless form as he fought a vicious war inside himself.

You watched him. Watched as his eyes flicked over every inch of your body with dizzying speed, as various parts of his body twitched and flexed. You’d never seen anything like it before, except…

The vague memory of a play you went to on a middle school field trip reemerges. Your whole grade was reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and it just happened to coincide with the local community theater’s production of the play.

It wasn’t a good play. Even at twelve, you could tell it was objectively bad. But the man who played Jekyll and Hyde was decent (one of your classmates told you he was their pediatrician), mainly when he performed the ‘transformation.’ You hadn’t been able to look away as he contorted; every movement was desperate, halting, and frantic.

Not unlike how Ettore moved as he watched you.

When he came out of the fog that had settled over his eyes, which Ettore would you get? Did he even have a Jekyll to his Hyde?

You knew you should take the opportunity of his distraction to run. The infirmary would be best, but it would mean seeing Dr. Dibs again. You had no desire to admit that you needed her help. The showers were also an option, but it would allow others to see you in a weakened state. You didn’t want to admit weakness. Besides, Dibs would hear about that as well.

So, even though you knew it was stupid, you decided to take the biggest risk of them all.

“Ettore…?” You called his name softly, unsure of the pronunciation. Whether it was right or wrong, he didn’t seem to mind. He locked eyes with you, and his nostril flared as though he really was a predator and could smell the blood you were now confident was leaking from you. “I need your help.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he looked like he would run from you. But beyond another twitch of his head, he did not move.

“Please?” you begged. You felt pathetic, but you kind of were, so you tried not to let it bother you too much. “I don’t think I can stand on my own.”

Ettore’s brows furrowed at that, and his lips went from a near-sneer to a determined frown. Then, with a lumbering gait, he approached you in only a few steps, holding a hand out in front of him for you to take.

You stared at his hand for a moment, admiring the elegant length of his fingers. And then you realized: he was shaking.

It was subtle, but it was there.

Tilting your head, you looked up at his face. Apart from the slight widening of his eyes, it was again set in passivity. But what was more peculiar than his trembling or his expression was the fact that he was steadfastly refusing to look at you.

Indeed, those blue eyes were set on the softly swaying leaves of your willow, tracking their movement like the tree would attack him if he looked away.

You were so used to his eyes on you. Was it wrong that you wanted it back?

Before you could ponder the answer, you raised an arm to take his hand. He squeezed your fingers painfully as he helped you onto your feet.

The pain surged again as you stood, causing your knees to buckle the second Ettore let go of your hand. You stumbled, falling against his chest.

It was no more than instinct that had him wrapping his long arms around your shoulders and waist to catch you. An instinct that his brain was yelling at him to abandon you and let you fall.

It was too dangerous to touch you, to feel your soft skin as his hand accidentally slipped into the side of your overalls – why the fuck were the sides so low when your shirt was so short?

At the sensation of your hot breath against the sensitive skin of his neck, he let out an involuntary groan as he tightened his grip on you.

He had to get away. Now. As fast as possible. He didn’t want to hurt you. He really didn’t. But his blood was singing with desire, more intoxicating than any liquor or drug. Keeping his fingers from digging into your flesh possessively was almost painful, and he was so, so hard.

The reins were slipping…

You felt it, his hard length pressed into your stomach as you brought your hands to his chest to steady yourself.

You should push him away again. Slap him. Yell at him. Kick him as hard as you could right on that hard, impressively long length.

But you did none of it.

“I need to get to my worktable,” you whispered, “there’s a medkit there. And…”

You looked into his eyes, watching them dilate even further as you finished your request. “I’ll need help getting out of my overalls.”

That blue you were so entranced by was all but gone. Ettore looked like a man possessed, his breathing heavy and heaving as he lowered his chin to look into your eyes.

There was no way he heard you correctly. You knew what he was, what he had done. And you were smart, so much smarter than him. Far too smart to ever ask someone like him to take off your clothes. Even if it were to help you with an injury – an injury he still couldn’t see.

But then your eyes squeezed shut, and you fell forward to bury your face in his shoulder as you moaned in pain.

And then…

Then your right hand moved up his chest to wrap around his neck. Not to choke or hurt, but just to hold.

He expected your hands to be rough from working in the garden all day, but they weren’t. No, your fingers were unfairly, unbearably soft as they swept across his bare skin, coming to rest against the tattoo on the side of his neck.

When was the last time anyone touched him like this – tenderly and without fear? It had been years, even before he was put on this doomed ship.

Ettore almost came just from that simple touch.

More intense than even the extraordinary pleasure was the feeling of near calm that washed over him. It soothed the pain he felt in every muscle and quieted the violent, primal urges roaring within his chest. They weren’t gone, but they were further away.

It made it easier to take the reins.

“The worktable…” he breathed as his grip on you relaxed slightly. He still held you firm enough to keep you standing, but you no longer worried you would bruise.

You pulled away slightly, noting the way he whimpered and winced like a scolded puppy as you slowly removed your hand from around his neck. “Yes.”

He nodded frantically, sniffing and taking a few deep breaths. As if he needed to prepare himself for the short walk to the table. Then, moving with a slowness that suggested the motion took all his concentration, he lowered his arm from your shoulders.

When Ettore turned to the worktable, even with his other arm still around your waist, you felt a rush of unwelcome cold. Even when you were still clothed and the garden was kept at a balmy temperature.

He walked slowly. Perhaps you would have thought it was out of concern for you and your pain, but you knew by now that this was hard for him.

Indeed, when he pulled away after you were leaned against the table, a faint sheen of sweat had broken out across his brow. His breathing was still rapid, and his eyes were glassy, as if he were several shots in.

“Ettore?” When he met your eyes again, you looked down at the buttons on your shoulders holding your overalls up. He followed your gaze and made a choking sound when he realized what you meant. “If I let go of the table, I think I’ll fall.”

It wasn’t just his hands shaking now, but all of him. So much so that you couldn’t tell whether he was nodding or just shaking that badly.

Either way, he reached for the first button on your left shoulder. It took him a few tries, but he got it done. The strap fell, and one side of the overalls slumped, revealing the tight white shirt beneath that left very little to the imagination.

Ettore growled.

What the fuck? Humans don’t growl. At least, you had never heard it.

And yet he did.

A flicker of fear started in your chest, and you chose to focus on that rather than the bloom of something else lower within you.

He began to reach a hand, tense and shaking, towards your breast. But inches away, you caught his wrist. You had to lean further against the table not to fall, but you weren’t letting go.

“The other button, please.” Though you spoke quietly, the command was clear.

You only released his arm when he looked into your eyes and confirmed with a twitch of his lip that he heard you. He clenched and unclenched his fist several times before finally going for the other button.

It took him even longer to get this one undone. But at least he didn’t growl again when the other half of the overall’s torso fell limp around your waist. His eyes did linger on your breasts, but you let it happen.

You had great tits. And he deserved a little reward for helping you, didn’t he?

So, you let him have a few seconds to just stare. As long as he didn’t try to touch again. Because you didn’t want that, right?

Ettore’s gaze fell further, to where the overalls were just barely hanging onto your waist. You said you were bleeding, but he still hadn’t seen it. So just where was your injury?

His cock twitched, and he was sure you could see it through the thin scrub pants he was forced to wear as he realized what would happen next. “You need ‘em all the way off, eh?” He hated how weak and shaky his voice sounded, but he supposed it was better than growling. You hadn’t reacted well to that. “Do you need me to…?”

“Yeah,” you affirmed. Of course, you knew you should say something about burying your spade in his chest if he tried anything. But the fact that he was asking, rather than just ripping the garment off, made you feel almost safe in having him do this. Almost.

You would feel even better about it if you couldn’t see his dick straining against his pants and twitching almost as much as he was.

C'est la vie, you supposed. Though that probably applied more to something trivial, like your school’s football team losing a game they should have won, than you being forced to ask a serial rapist and murderer to take off your pants. But close enough.

You shivered when he lowered his hands to your waist, causing him to pull back slightly. “It’s fine,” you assured him. “Keep going. I’m fine.”

Ettore nodded and fixed his eyes on the bottom drawer of the table as he took the thin fabric of the overalls between his fingers and started pulling them down. Really, he could have just nudged them, and they would have fallen to the floor. But he kept them in his grip as he lowered himself into a kneeling position.

He never once looked at you. Not at your ankles, or your legs, or the apex of your thighs – which were covered with more blood than you expected.

Damn it.

You considered what to do next as Ettore remained on the floor, carefully slipping the overalls over your feet. A difficult task when he refused to look at what he was doing.

By the time he finished, and you felt very much like Donald Duck – shirt, shoes, but no pants – you knew what you had to ask.

It was the stupidest thing you’d ever done.

“As long as you’re down there,” you said, your joking tone flatter than you intended, “the medkit’s in the drawer just to your left. Can you grab it and… and help me onto the table?”

Ettore didn’t reply but yanked the drawer open and grabbed the medkit. After tossing it on the table, he rose. Then, still not looking at you, he wrapped his arms around you again – one around your waist, the other around your upper thighs – and lifted you onto the table.

God, you felt so good in his arms. You were the perfect size, like you were made for him to hold. Warm and soft and… wet?

His eyes shot to the arm that had been wrapped around your legs. And both of you looked on in horror as you realized it was now covered in blood – your blood.

For the first time, you saw a look of disgust come over Ettore’s face.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, voice breaking as tears of embarrassment began to fall. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry!”

But he didn’t say anything. Instead, Ettore simply stalked over to the utility sink a few feet from the worktable and slammed the faucet on. He didn’t wait for the water to heat before shoving his arm under it.

You watched in humiliation, fumbling to lower your panties as he grabbed the soap and began to scrub. “I’m so sorry,” you said again, ripping open the medkit to find a packet of gauze you could press between your legs. “Ettore, I’m so sorry!”

He shook his head as he scrubbed harder and harder, until his skin burned from more than the searingly hot water. You were bleeding, you were hurt, and all he had been thinking about was how much he’d like to fuck you.

It had never stopped him before, not with any of the other girls. He had never minded having their blood on him. He savored it, actually. But it had been him who made them bleed. You…

“Who?” he growled, stilling his scrubbing but keeping the arm under the water. The burning distracted him from the desire to find someone to hurt. Because he needed to hurt someone. Badly. Preferably whoever did this to you, but he wasn’t picky.

You didn’t want to tell him, not when you recognized that look in his eyes. It meant violence – retribution. You had seen that same look in your eyes when you watched the recap of your trial from your cell, and your lawyer was telling the jury, in excruciating detail, why you had killed your victim.

For a moment, you thought about trying to pass it off as you just being on your period. But he wouldn’t buy it. Not after what you’d already told him. Besides, all the women on the ship were synced, and your periods were still two weeks away.

Finally fed up with your silence, Ettore shut off the water and turned back to you, not bothering to dry his arms. He just prowled back to you, standing between your spread legs as he stared deep into your eyes without a glance at your mostly exposed cunt. You turned away, not wanting to face the darkness in his eyes, but he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him.

“Who?”

You bit your lip and fought to get free of his grip, but to no avail. Knowing then that it was hopeless, you locked eyes with him again as you said simply, “Dibs.”

He growled again, not with hunger, but with rage.

And then he turned away.

He would hurt her, you realized. He would kill her.

You weren’t opposed to the idea, but you were opposed to what would come next. What the other prisoners would do to Ettore afterward. And perhaps you as well, since he would do it for you.

Before you knew it, your hand had shot out to grab his shirt, and he froze.

“Don’t,” you pled. When you tugged on his shirt to draw him back to you, he only resisted for a moment before coming back toward you. “It was just her punishment. I’ll be fine. She wouldn’t… damage me permanently. She needs me intact for her experiments. I promise, she was just being a cunt.”

Ettore cocked his head and pursed his lips like he would argue, but you couldn’t have that. So, you lifted the gauze from between your legs to show him how the blood flow had already stemmed somewhat.

“See? It’s already getting better.” But your weak, reassuring smile fell when you realized what you had just done.

He realized at the same time, and he could not stop his eyes from dropping to what you just made visible to him.

His erection had begun to flag while he cleaned your blood from his arm, but there was no stopping it now. Not when he had a full view of what he had been dreaming of for weeks.

Just like the rest of you, your pussy was so pretty. He wanted to kiss it, stroke it, fuck it. His blood hummed with the desire, and he barely stopped himself from diving forward. He closed his fingers around yours where they bunched the front of his shirt. The feeling of your skin against his was his salvation, an anchor to his humanity.

Not you, he told himself.

Not you, who didn’t look at him in fear or disgust. At least, not entirely.

Not you, the only person since his mother died to touch him with anything other than aggression.

Not you, who had trusted him, even knowing what he was.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

“Please.” His plea was hardly more than a breath. Pathetic. “Please, let me go.”

For even with your touch, he was losing his grip on the reins. If he stayed here one second longer, he would do something he really didn’t want to do. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

You could see how much danger you were in, but you did not let go. No, you tightened your grip on his shirt, pulling him closer and closer until your forehead rested against his.

Finally, you could look into those eyes and remember the sky back home as you had wanted to for so long.

But the sky wasn’t enough.

You wanted him.

You knew you couldn’t have him fully, couldn’t do what you really wanted. Not when you were injured like this.

Still, you brought your other hand to his chest, feeling him shiver as your fingers traveled lower and lower. Finally, you rest your palm against his length through his scrubs, feeling a sense of satisfaction when his hips cant slightly forward into your grip.

He didn’t have to say anything for you to know he wanted this as much as you do. But, of course, he did. When was the last time a woman touched him there, let alone willingly? The thought should have disgusted you, but it didn’t.

Perhaps you were just as much of a monster as he was,

“Dibs will punish us if she finds out we did this,” you whispered, your lips mere inches away from his. “But I don’t really care, do you?”

Ettore shook his head, his eyes burning like the fires of hell, where you both belonged. He was so close to breaking, losing himself, losing control. He was little more than an animal following the primal instinct to mate.

But letting you take control – and you were undoubtedly in control now – made it easier. For once, it wasn’t him who had to pull back on the reins. Not when he gave them to you.

He nodded vigorously. He wanted you. He didn’t care that he didn’t deserve it. And he didn’t care that you were probably just as monstrous as he was. He just wanted you.

You smiled, pressing a single kiss to the corner of his lips before sliding your hand past the waistbands of his scrubs and boxers and taking hold of him.

He immediately let out a pitiful cry as his stomach tightened, and he had to concentrate so hard not to come before you had even begun to move your hand. It was only made worse when you giggled at his struggle. The sound was sweet and light and utterly infuriating.

Needing to shut you up, Ettore brought his hands back around your waist as he tugged you to the table’s edge. He leaned forward to kiss you, but you pushed against him, holding him back. Then, tensing, he grunted, a low, throaty sound and a begging.

“I know,” you whispered, mock sympathy barely disguising your amusement. “I know what you want. Believe me, I want it to.” You laughed again as you began to pump him slowly, collecting the precum on his tip with every stroke to ease your movements. “You can kiss me another time. Right now, I just want to look at you. Is that okay?”

His hands tensed around your waist, and for a few seconds, he looked like he would let that animal loose and lunge at you. Like he would kiss you with all the pent-up frustrations of an entire life spent unwanted.

But he stopped, looking from where your hand disappeared below his pants to your eyes. And he nodded. Not a small, weak movement, but a firm, final motion.

He would allow it.

He would allow you to do whatever you wanted.

You smiled broadly, and again, he had to hold back his release. He wanted this to last forever.

At last, you released Ettore’s shirt from where you had bunched it with your offhand, raising it to his neck. You traced each line of his maze-like tattoo as you sped your movements, savoring each wince and whine he let out. Cataloging each reaction to figure out, without him having to say a word, exactly what he liked best.

And what you liked best. You were particularly fond of how his eyes would squeeze shut, and his mouth would fall open each time you grazed your thumb over his leaking head, following a short trail up and down his slit.

It was such a mesmerizing sight that you brought your hand up from his neck to touch his face. Every movement of one hand was echoed by the other as you explored each feature.

The severe line of his jaw. His large chin. The sharp cheekbones and flat brow. His long, elegant nose. The pink plush of his lips, from which he let out such tantalizing moans and whimpers.

Once you had taken in every inch of his face, you cupped his jaw in your left hand to feel it work as you sped the ministrations of your right hand. His eyes squeezed even further shut, and he grunted like an animal. But you didn’t stop. You only went faster and faster.

“Are you nearly finished?” you asked teasingly.

Ettore cracked open his eyes, looking from your taunting smile to your hand, working him so skillfully, then back to you. He moaned almost inaudibly, and that animalistic hunger returned to his eyes. He had been locked in a cage for too long, and now you had set him free.

“Yes,” he moaned, almost too quiet to hear.

You brought your thumb to rest against his lower lip, smiling at the feeling of his increasingly frantic breath against her.

For so long, you had feared this man. And now he was reduced to putty in your hands.

With a mischievous twinkle in your eyes, you pressed your thumb further into his lip and let your other hand slow, ignoring his protestations. “Before I let you finish,” you said, your voice tauntingly innocent, “I need you to answer a question for me. Can you do that?”

Ettore’s body jerked wildly as he desperately tried to regain some of the friction you had just deprived him of, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.

He knew he would do anything you asked him to then.

If you asked him to jump? He’d ask how high.

If you demanded he get down on his knees and beg? He’d do so happily.

If you told him to throw himself out of the airlock? He wouldn’t hesitate.

Compared to what he would do, what you actually asked of him seemed so simple.

“Fine…” he gasps, tightening his grip on your waist as though you would pull away. “What is it?”

You smirked, savoring that dark look in his eyes. How could you ever have been scared of it?

Then you squeezed his pulsing cock, just past the point of pleasure, to emphasize the power you held over him.

And, of course, he loved it. Groaning as his head toppled over into your shoulder. You carded your hand through his short hair as you whispered in his ear, “What feels better, my hand or the Box?”

Any pain, any embarrassment at being so pathetically at your beck and call, or any emotion other than his desire for you faded at the question. All that mattered was you and your perfect touch.

It felt wonderful even when you tugged on his hair quite hard to make him face you again. The answer was written on his face, in every piece of the complete, utter joy he felt in every inch of him, but especially where your skin met his.

“You,” he said, the word like a prayer. “You.”

Your responding smile was wicked, and you almost went back on your promise not to kiss him. But you resisted and began pumping his cock at a breakneck pace, brushing each sweet spot with every stroke and letting your pinky graze against his balls each time you came to his base.

It takes every ounce of what little restraint Ettore had to not scream at the overwhelming bliss. It was so much, too much. It was everything.

But what finally pushed him over the edge was you leaning in again to whisper against his cheek, “Just wait until you feel my cunt, Ettore.”

There was a sharp gasp, a guttural cry, a whimper, and a grunt, and then he was spent. Thank God his boxers were thick, or there would have been a very obvious stain at the front of his scrubs.

Ettore whimpered again as he looked into your eyes again, unsure what this meant or what would happen next. He was so drunk on his release that words failed him, or else he no doubt would have said something stupid and ruined his chances of actually getting to experience what you had promised just before he came.

You removed your right hand from his pants, wrapping it around his neck like the left, soothingly stroking the peach fuzz at the base of his skull as he came down from his high.

There was a new look in those blue eyes. Not hungry, not animalistic. Not angry or predatory. No, it was almost reverent.

Who would have ever thought that Ettore, the murderer, rapist, and monster, was capable of a look like that?

You parted your lips and leaned ever so slightly into him. “Thank you,” you whispered against his lips. “For letting me just watch. I think… after giving me that, you deserve a treat, don’t you?”

Ettore didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He could only stare at you as pleading vulnerability crept over his face. The look of a puppy begging for a treat.

Then, he nodded, his only pleading answer.

You ran a hand through his hair again, making him wait just a moment more. “Kiss me, Ettore.” His eyes went wide at the command. “Kiss me the way you really want to.”

His throat bobbed, and he nodded again, still holding your gaze. Then, before you could even take a breath, he pounced.

Ettore’s lips were hot on yours as he kissed you deeper and more passionately than you’d ever been kissed before. It took only a moment before it felt like your souls were melding together for how close he held you. He did not relent until you were both struggling for breath.

Even then, he kept his lips pressed against yours as though he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

“Thank you,” he said softly, the sound sending tingles up your spine.

You just sat there, smiling against him for a moment, wishing you could have taken him inside you. Perhaps you were fine now, and if he could get hard again, you could…

But then your watches both beeped the hour. He’d been there an hour. Someone was bound to notice he wasn’t scrubbing the halls soon.

So, you reluctantly pushed him away, heart clenching as he weakly fought to hang on to you. “I want to come back,” he whined.

You didn’t reply as you dressed again, your pain mostly gone, and pulled a clean rag out of another worktable drawer for him to clean himself. As you went to shut the drawer, an idea sparked in your mind. You grabbed another rag and ran to the sink, bunching the cloth as you moved.

Ettore looked on in confusion as you shoved the rag down and down into the drain until you couldn’t reach it anymore. But then realization set in, and he grinned wickedly.

You turned to him and returned the smile. “I think I may need to call maintenance tomorrow.”

#monsters in the garden #ettore #ettore x reader #ettore x you #ettore imagine #ettore smut #ettore fanfic #ettore fanfiction #ettore fic #high life #high life fanfic #high life ettore #ewan mitchell #Spotify

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aziraphales-library · 3 months

Note

Hi! Your account is so great and I really appreciate what you guys do here.

Im not sure if there are many of these out yet, but I’m looking for good fics of what season 3 could look like. Like the events of 1 and 2 are the same but then we get to see them dealing with that ending.

Thanks so much!

Hello! Here are some series three speculation fics...

Armageddon Part 2: The Second Coming by Halfling (M)

Takes place immediately following the end of season 2 of the show. Crowley just wants to be left alone but he keeps getting interrupted. Heaven is MIA, Hell is up in arms, and no one can get a moment's peace.

what we could have been (and what we one day shall be) by meetmeatthecoda (E)

The next time Crowley sees Aziraphale after the day he broke his heart, entered a blinding white lift, and left him behind, it’s in almost the exact same place. Three interminable months later. That awful day, driving aimless and slow in a silent Bentley, Crowley wasn’t sure if he would ever see Aziraphale again, let alone so soon, considering the way they left things. He tried to tell himself that he didn’t care if he ever clapped eyes on his white blonde curls, steel gray eyes, and ridiculous tartan bow tie ever again, but the tears threatening to spill out from behind his sunglasses betrayed his true feelings. (Not to mention the random but persistent spots of bright yellow paint on his car’s otherwise pure black sheen, ruthlessly rubbed out with an index finger the temperature of an open flame.)

Bad Omen by lavender_mo0n (T)

There is a common misconception that owls are a bad omen, a warning sign for death and destruction that is to come. On the contrary, a better way to describe it is to say that they are a symbol of change. That change may come in the form of death, but perhaps that is more in reference to the death of life as we know it. And perhaps a certain angel is about to experience a ~very~ big change.

On the Side of the World by profdanglais (M)

The demon Crowley has gone rogue. Precisely what “rogue” looks like on a demon who was never anyone’s idea of “manageable” is something neither Heaven nor Hell is currently equipped to deal with. Hell is rebuilding and Heaven, under the auspices of the Supreme Archangel Aziraphale, is focused on spreading the Word of their prophet, known as the Second Coming--of what, exactly, remains unspecified. Neither side seems to remember who Crowley used to be, nor have they bothered to change the passwords. The Metatron has no interest in demons, rogue or otherwise. His Plan is going swimmingly and he couldn't be more pleased. Now if only he could figure out who’s responsible for all these unauthorised miracles that just keep happening, far and wide, on planet Earth.

Of Gardens and the Second Coming by Serenity_Black (E)

Starting moments after S2E6... The new Supreme Archangel Aziraphale is in Heaven, juggling the Second Coming at The Metatron's behest. Crowley is wrestling with his romantic realizations, and losing. What is it going to take to get our lovestruck beings back on track so that they can save our favorite Libra and all its inhabitants? And where are God and Satan in all of this? There’s a lot of ground to cover before this ends, as it was always going to, in a garden.

The Better Book: A Brand New Testament for the End of Days by HollyGhostLightly (T)

The Second Coming is underway and it turns out there are competing plans to determine the fate of the world! An unofficial/unauthorized Season 3 of Good Omens… to stop the bleeding. 💔 Excerpt: Aziraphale frowned as his intelligence was insulted once again, “How can you expect us to put our faith in something that lacks any detail whatsoever?!” “Let’s try to remember the plan is still technically ineffable. I’m doing my best to make it effable for you guys but some things are obviously outside of my abilities.” The angel growled, “Oh, the plan is effable alright! If you ask me, it’s completely fucked!!” “Real nice language, coming from an angel! You’re putting money in that thwart jar!”

- Mod D

#good omens #good omens s2 #ineffable husbands #fix it #good omens s3 speculation #mod d

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biteofcherry · 2 years

Note

Bucky and reader plus sex pollen and stuck in a cabin in the woods?

Petals

Bucky Barnes x female reader

warnings: sex pollen; slight dub-con due to sex pollen (but otherwise consented); unprotected sex; fingering;

~ * ~

“There’s not a single pill in this goddamn cabin!” You yell, slamming the cabinet door shut.

The heat unfurling in your belly, spreading its burning tentacles through your whole body, clenching around each limb and squirming in your insides, makes you impatient and angry.

Fear of what the unknown adds oil to this fire.

You went through every nook in this house and found nothing useful to help your state. For a place that belonged to a scientist it sure is poorly equipped in medicine.

It was supposed to be so simple. A boring reckon mission. Just to check the cabin and secure any samples of the ongoing experiments the former Hydra doctor ran in this place. They weren’t even that groundbreaking, it seemed at first glance.

He focused on plants and their genetics. No human experiments so far, no especially suspicious or dangerous ingredients. Just various plants, basic chemical reagents, stacks of Petri dishes.

As a member of doctor Banner’s scientific unit you were tasked with gathering all the potentially dangerous or simply unusual items. Bucky was your security. A one person army to save your civil ass if you got in trouble.

You made sure to take the highest precautions. With masks and gloves on, you carefully placed each item in a container which you later locked in special cases.

You tried not to show any reaction to seeing Bucky in a mask. The blue of eyes striking a more vibrant color in contrast to it. They seemed more piercing, too.

You saw Winter Soldier only on footage, with his black muzzle covering half of his face. Bucky was always Bucky to you, since the day you were introduced. But you couldn’t help the jolt of adrenaline as his attentive gaze observed your every move.

Once done with the inside of the cabin, you took the masks and gloves off and checked the garden behind the cabin. It was filled with completely normal herbs and vegetables, nothing out of the ordinary.

You admired the few flowers that grew along the fence, swaying gently on the breeze.

“I haven’t seen those in a while,” Bucky said then as he stepped right next to you, his eyes focused on the tall stem and deep red flowers cascading from it.

“They’re not very popular,” you nodded. “Some people have them in their rustic gardens, but it’s not a flower shop's desired item. Which is a shame.”

You traced one of the crimson flowers with your fingertip, gasping in surprise when the petals shivered and fell off at the mere touch.

One petal after the other, like ruby domino pieces that swung on the wind before dropping to the ground.

A puff of pink pollen gushed from bared stigmas, dispersing in the air.

It got into your airways quickly, itching the back of your throat then transforming into a very sweet aftertaste that dried out your mouth and made you thirsty.

Not more than ten minutes later, sweat broke out on your skin. A weird type of itching prickled your skin, making it oh so sensitive that a single brush of Bucky’s shoulder against you, as the two of you barged into the cabin, caused your whole body to tremble.

When it became clear he was experiencing some effects of the pollen too, you were instantly worried.

You were just a human, but if a super soldier reacted to a substance it meant serious trouble. Even if he was less affected compared to you.

Bucky stayed composed, only revealed his temperature starts rising and his muscles tensed.

When you ordered an immediate cleanse, Bucky simply walked out of the cabin to dive into the lake in front of it. You locked yourself in the shower, scrubbing your body over and over again. You had to switch the water to cold when your body started heating up.

Cold shower didn’t help much, sweat dampened your skin a few minutes after you stepped out of the bathroom.

Your first aid kit consists of dire needs medicine, there are epinephrine shots but no simple antihistamine pills. And your current state doesn’t call for pumping yourself with adrenaline.

Your body is producing enough of it.

“No pill would help anyway.”

Bucky’s low grunt startles you. In your frenzy you didn’t notice him coming back, but now that you turned to him you can’t help but notice everything about him.

He’s still wet from his swim. Drops of water shimmer on his skin, his brown hair seemingly ink black, heavy with water. He’s got only his pants on, not even fully zipped.

He’s standing by the kitchen counter, leaning over it, head bowed, arms strained as he grips the edge. Wood dents beneath his metal fingers.

“What do you mean?” You wipe the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Skin on skin contact, though it’s only yours, makes you shiver.

“That heat-” your breath hitches when Bucky looks up at you, his eyes so intense.

Your thin tank top and flimsy bottoms that cling to your damp skin feel nonexistent with how he takes in your body.

He straightens and slowly walks over to you. Your heart rate seems to increase with each step that he takes. He backs you up against the cabinets. Towers over you, his massive form filling your vision and limiting the world for you to his body alone.

“That itching-” he trails his fingers down your arm, eliciting goosebumps along their way.

He slips his flesh arm around your waist and hooks his metal fingers under the strap of your tank top.

“There’s only one way to fill this hunger.” Bucky yanks on the strap, ripping your top off of you easily.

He captures your surprised yelp on his mouth; lips and tongue battling your resistance.

Bucky’s touch sets your body ablaze. The kiss both satiates a growing need, as well worsens it.

But he’s right - the itching beneath your skin melts into a pleasant hum, restoring energy in your body and making it shake with an urge to take more. Blood rushes through your veins, throbbing in your erect nipples and swelling clit.

“N-no.” You pant when Bucky’s kisses move from your mouth to trail along your jaw and down your neck.

Your hands fly to his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh, but you don’t exactly put any strength into pushing him away. Your protest, too, is more against the meaning behind Bucky’s words not against the pleasure he strums your body with.

“No, it can’t be.” Your eyes close, body jerking in a jolt of sensation as metal fingers squeeze your breast. Smooth, cool metal grazes your stiffened peak.

“It was just-” a whimper escapes your lips when Bucky pinches your nipple, his other hand pulling down your bottoms. “Just petals. Just flower petals.”

Bucky kicks your legs wider apart as he slips his fingers between your folds.

“It made your petals weep for me,” he groans, stroking you and smearing your wetness around.

His intimate caress stirs up the flames of need, deepening the craving. It becomes painful, how each cell in your body seems to scream in need. Heat grows, trickling sweat down your back.

“Make me come!” You beg, fisting Bucky’s hair. “Just please, make me come!”

“It won’t help much.” He warns as he eases a finger inside you. “The pollen made your body receptive. It craves its counterpart.”

Your brain feels scrambled, unable to fully understand what Bucky means. Or maybe you don’t want to understand it, just want to feel more of him, take more of him. A second finger slips along the first, stretching your walls, and you moan.

“You need seed to fill you.” Bucky growls, pushing his fingers knuckles deep and pressing the heel of his palm against your clit.

You gush all over his hand, your pussy soaking at the mere mention of being full of him.

“You like that idea, Petal?” Bucky’s new nickname for you and the way he groans his question right next to your ear, make you shiver. “Want me to fill your sweet pussy?”

“Please, please,” you start mumbling, lips pressed to Bucky’s bare shoulder, lavishing it with your tongue.

His fingers feel good inside you, but it’s not enough. Like a burning after a really spicy pepper that no water can cool, the only saving is to dip your tongue in milk so the casein can break down capsaicin. How fitting that you need milky semen to wash out the burning in your womb.

“I need you to come for me first.” Bucky starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you, his pace gradually increasing. “Have to loosen your tight cunt, or I’ll hurt you.”

“It hurts more without you.” You whine, hips rocking back against his hand.

“So needy,” he mocks you.

Bucky curls his fingers inside you, flicking them in a come-hither move as he presses his palm against your sensitive nub. He commands all of your tension to draw into that spongy spot he’s tormenting, clenching your walls and stealing your breath.

Until the coil snaps and you come with a wail.

You sink your teeth into Bucky’s shoulder when he keeps rubbing you raw, prolonging the tremors. When he pulls out it’s with an embarrassing squelch. He pushes his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free.

Your legs are shaky, knees almost give out, but it stops being a problem the moment Bucky hoists you up. You cling to him, hands pressed against his back. Bucky hooks your legs over his elbows and slams you against the cabinets.

His dick rests against your pussy; red, leaking head of him bumping into your oversensitive clit.

You often heard your friends at work giggle as they made dirty speculations if super soldiers were also super endowed, but you never considered you’ll have a chance to find out how close to the truth they were.

Bucky might be even bigger than they imagined.

“Guide me inside you, Petal.” He grunts, licking the shell of your ear.

He rocks against you, his cock sliding up and down between your swollen folds. You slide your quivering fingers down across his chest and over his abdomen. You can feel his muscles flexing under your touch, your effect on him as strong as he has on you.

A needy sound escapes your mouth when his cock throbs as you trace up the length of him. When you close your hand over him, the tips of your fingers don’t even meet because he’s so thick.

You guide him to your entrance, gasping and throwing your head back as his tip stretches your opening.

Bucky stays still for a moment, his head tilting until he catches your gaze. Steel blue of his irises flashes something lethal and then he’s slamming into you in one stroke.

You scream, your fingernails needling the skin on Bucky’s back.

A prickle of pain seems to spur him on, his sounds low and gruttual as you slash his back in desperate attempt to ride out the mixture of pleasure and ache his rough fucking causes.

He presses against you harder, plowing into you with fast, deep strokes. He’s chasing to sate the hunger gnawing at his own bones, his care for you yielding to his own need. And in a twisted way it turns you on more.

Your back starts to hurt, the cabinets creaking louder and louder with your each move. When something behind you creaks and splinters, you let out a yip.

“Fuck!” Bucky curses, stopping for a moment.

A second later the world twirls in front of your eyes.

Bucky drops you both to the floor, taking the impact on his back first then swiftly rolling on top of you.

Your arms fall next to your head, cushioned on the wild fan of your hair. Cold tiles beneath you make you hiss at the contact, but don’t ease the heat that still licks your body with flames.

Bucky pulls your legs up against his chest, your ankles resting on his shoulders. When he thrusts back inside you his cock pushes deeper, nudging your cervix.

He falls forward, bending you in half as he reaches for your hands and intertwines your fingers.

His hips slam against your ass, snaps of slapping skin echoing through the kitchen. Your slick trickles out of you, sticky cobwebs stretching between your buttocks and Bucky’s balls each time he withdraws.

You’re almost nose to nose, Bucky’s gaze catching every flinch on your face, every twitch of pleasure.

“Beg for my cum,” he rasps out, feeling your cunt pulsing around him.

And you do. With eyes closed, head tilted back, you splutter pleadings and prayers as if Bucky was your god and you begged for a drop of water while stranded in the desert.

Each broken sentence urges Bucky on. Every cry and sound of his name falling from your lips makes him fuck into you harder, faster.

You truly cry, tears streaming from the corners of your eyes and down your temples, when he rips another orgasm out of you. Your whole body writhes beneath him, Bucky’s weight pinning you down so you don’t slip away as he pounds into you relentlessly.

Your pussy tightens around him like a vice, yet he keeps pushing and pushing, rawing your walls.

When Bucky finishes with a loud roar, his cum spilling inside you in hot, thick spurts, your senses seem to overload. Everything turns blank, your head filled with the buzzing noise of your blood rushing through you and Bucky’s groans of pleasure as his dick twitches inside you, filling you more and more.

You don’t know how long you’re out of it. When your consciousness reconnects with reality and your eyes flutter open, Bucky’s peppering soft kisses over your chest and face.

He’s still holding your hands. And he’s still inside you. Half-hard.

“Can you get off?” Your voice is hoarse and weak.

Bucky’s weight on top of you feels amazing. And that’s why you want him off, so it doesn’t become apparent you react to him even out of the pollen-induced haze.

“It’s not that easy, Petal.” Bucky looks down at you, then lowers his face so he can nibble on your bottom lip.

“You think it’s all over now?” He asks with a chuckle. “That one round is enough?”

You’re not sure if it’s the lingering effects of pollen, or just Bucky’s proximity and words, but your body tingles anew. Warmth blooms in your belly, like an opening flower stretching its petals to touch every part of you.

“Sorry, doll, but it’s not. It’ll take hours before it starts wearing off.” Bucky releases your hands and pulls himself up on his arms until he’s kneeling back.

He wraps his fingers around your ankles, gives each a kiss before sliding your legs down. He spreads you wide, throwing your thighs over his hips.

“It can be hours of suffering,” he says as he kneels up, hands firmly holding your hips raise them along.

“Or-” he rolls his hips into you, his cock twitching and hardening inside you.

Bucky spits down on your swollen clit and you cover your face with your hands to mask the flash of depraved pleasure it caused. But your body betrays you anyway, your pussy fluttering around his length.

“So, what will it be?” He asks, holding your hips up with ease.

“Fuck me!” You blurt out when a jolt of needy current sizzles down your spine.

“As you wish, Petal.” Bucky withdraws slightly then slams your hips back onto him, moving your body like a rag doll.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #sex pollen #petals

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jinkieswouldyoulookatthis · 24 days

Text

Growing

Just a little piece of gen domestichesters fluff about Sam taking up gardening and Dean adopting another dog. Set in season 15 during that unknown period of time between episodes 19 & 20, or maybe it's canon divergent and episode 20 never happened (whichever makes you happiest).

No pairing, no ship, just fluff.

Words: 2746

Read it on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So I was looking into the history of the power plant.”

“Of course you were.” Dean deadpanned.

“And, turns out that it was never actually abandoned like we’d thought because it was never actually in use as a real power plant. As far as I can tell, it was built to cover up the mechanical equipment that runs the bunker and isn’t even hooked into the local grid.”

“Fascinating.” Dean said, with sarcasm so dry Sam completely missed it.

“That’s what I thought. So I came up to check it out, you know, see how the systems were set up, just in case something ever goes wrong… again. But what I found was,” Sam opened the double doors that creaked loudly in the cavernous space that they step into.

It was like a cathedral, vast and empty with a vaulted ceiling thirty feet high. It was saved from being gloomy, all that grey stone and dark ironwork rafters, by two of the walls which were striped with four sets of floor to ceiling windows and there were large skylights above. Most surprising to Dean was the fact that they were all, miraculously, unbroken. The rest of the space was mostly empty, with just a few bulky pieces of equipment that looked like they were part of the bunker’s various mechanical systems. That looked like all that had been there, at least that was all before Sam had gotten to the space. Now, there were two rows of what looked to Dean like black, plastic bathtubs standing near the south side of the room. And there were long fluorescent tube light fixtures suspended above them.

“That doesn’t look like mechanical equipment.”

Sam laughed. “It’s not. But the space was completely empty when I found it. But it had electricity and a sprinkler system and I think it’s actually heated. Or, at least, there’s ductwork that seems to come up from below.”

They had been wandering closer to the tubs as Sam talked. As they got up to them, Dean could see that they were each filled with rich, dark soil. There was also a network of PVC pipes that ran along over the top of the tubs, with red, shut off valves and nozzles every so often.

Dean sneezed. It had come up so suddenly he hadn’t even had time to cover his mouth, just turned to the side. The noise echoing back to him from every corner.

“I’ve swept up, but it’s still pretty dusty, I guess.”

Dean sniffled and asked, “Did you do all this?”

“Yeah. I’ve been working on it for the last couple months. The tubs are 150 gallon stock tanks that I got from the Tractor Supply over in Smith Center. But I scrounged most of the rest of the supplies. I set up the lights because, even with all the windows, I just don’t know if the plants will get enough sunlight. And I flushed the irrigation system throughly and tested it for lead, since, you know the building was built back in the 30’s. But everything is clear and yeah.” Sam looked at Dean. “What do you think?”

“You gonna be growing pot in here or something?”

Sam laughed again and shook his head. “I was thinking more, vegetables and herbs.”

“Oh.”

“Try not to sound so disappointed.”

“Well, I’m not going to lie, I’d be more excited about pot. But this is impressive, Sammy.” “You think?”

“Yeah. You put a lot of work into this. Why didn’t you ask for help?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. I just started working on it and then it was just… something to do. Plus I didn’t want you trying to claim it and fill it up with cars or something.”

Dean looked into the tubs. “You plant anything yet?”

“No, I actually need to go pick up the plants and thought you might want to ride over with me? We can get lunch at Pete’s and then swing by the nursery?”

“Yeah, okay. Barbecue sounds great.”

They were almost out the door when Dean sneezed again. “Damn. I think you need to sweep again.”

Down in the garage, they both got into the Impala, doors squeaking and banging shut in unison. Dean had the key in the ignition and was just about to start her up when he stopped and looked at Sam.

“How many plants are you planning on getting?”

Sam narrowed his eyes, Dean could practically see him going through his mental list. They both turned and looked in the backseat at the same time.

“Uh…” Sam started.

“Why don’t we take the truck instead?”

“Yeah, probably a good idea.”

So they took the old pick-up truck. It was a 1946 Chevrolet 3100 in Morat Green. Sam thought the name sounded made up, but he knew better than to argue about classic vehicles with his brother.

It was an easy fifteen minute drive from Lebanon to Smith Center. By the time they got to Pete’s and parked, Sam had not only run through his list of plants he wanted to get, but had gone on a bit too long (in Dean’s opinion) about the merits of various varieties of tomato and lettuce. He’d also mentioned several herbs that Dean was about ninety percent certain weren’t used for cooking.

“Some of them are medicinal but the other have more…” Sam lowered his voice as the stepped into the restaurant, “esoteric uses.”

Dean gave him a look.

“We’ve depleted most of our supply of components. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there aren’t many suppliers of those things that are still willing to sell to us. So it would be a lot easier if I could just grow what we needed.”

“Okay, settle down. This is your project, you can get whatever plants you want.”

They changed the topic of conversation as they sat down, deciding without needing to discuss it, that they’d rather debate who would win in a fight between themselves and various comic book superheroes and villains. The lapsed mostly into silence when their food arrived, with only the occasional obscene groan from Dean around a mouthful of double bacon cheeseburger.

“Dude.”

“What? It’s good.” Dean asked still chewing.

“So is my salad, but you don’t hear me moaning like Meg Ryan.” “Yeah, ‘cause no one gets orgasmic over a salad, Sam.”

“Just, try not to get the cops called on us. And don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Fine, Mom.”

Shaking his head, Sam rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t quite stop the corners of his mouth from pulling up into a smile as they finished off their lunch.

It was a short drive across town to the greenhouse. To be fair, everything in Smith Center was a short drive, it wasn’t a big town. When they pulled into the parking lot there was a banner string up on one side of the entrance to the greenhouse. Several families with kids were gathered by it.

“Adopt-a-Pet?”

“Go, check it out, play with some puppies or something. I’ll just be a few minutes anyway.” Sam said as he wandered inside.

Dean made his way over and was having just as much fun watching the kids coo and squeal and beg their parents for a puppy or a kitten as he was looking at the baby animals.

There were older animals too, a bunch of cats and a few dogs. One of the dogs was laying down in its crate, and while its ears perked up at every loud sound, it wasn’t watching the chaos around it as much as the other dogs. Dean crouched down and peered at it through the bars of the crate. It was black and white with longish fur.

“Interested in adopting a pet?” a woman asked him when she was done handing a clipboard of paperwork to one of the families.

“I’ve already got a dog. I just thought I look while my brother’s getting stuff for his garden.”

“Well, each animal has a tag on their crate with information like breed, sex, age, and if they’re good with kids or other animals.”

Dean looked and saw the tag on the crate in front of him. “Otis, huh?”

The dog’s head perked up immediately.

“Guess that’s you.” Dean said. He read the tag and looked at the dog and then read the tag again.

It had taken Sam a lot longer than he’d anticipated in the greenhouse because they didn’t have a couple of the varieties that he’d really wanted, so he had to decide on what to get instead. But once he checked out, he had several packets of seeds tucked into his pocket and two long flats of young plants, and was feeling pretty good about his choices. Dean was nowhere to be seen when he carried the first group of plants out and slid them into the back of the truck, but when he came out with the rest of them, he could see Dean’s head through the back window of the truck. Plants safely stowed, he closed the tailgate and walked around to the passenger door.

A loud bark when he opened the door made him jump. Sitting on the bench seat next to his brother was a border collie.

“Dean?”

“Sam.”

“There’s a dog in the truck.”

“You always were observant.”

“Dean, why is there a dog in the truck?”

“His name is Otis. Otis, say hello to Sam.”

Otis chuffed.

“Okay.” Sam looked at the dog and then at his brother. “Did, did you adopt a dog?”

Dean just smiled at him and ruffled the fur on Otis’ head as he started the truck up. “Yes I did. Come on, let’s get him home and introduce him to Miracle.”

There was much barking and vigorous wagging of tails and lots of butt sniffing. After a few minutes, Dean declared the introduction a success and went to help Sam carry the plants up to the power plant.

“I can’t believe you got another dog.”

“Sam, he’s blind and had been at the shelter for over a year. I couldn’t leave him there. Plus, look how happy Miracle is. Now he won’t be completely alone when we have to go out. He’s got a buddy.”

“Yeah, no, I get that, I–I do. But, I just… I just think this is the sort of thing that we should have talked about first.”

“Hey, I didn’t hear you asking me about turn the upstairs into a conservatory, but I’m okay with it. I think it’s great that you’ve got a new hobby.” He sat the flat of seedlings down next to the planters and sneezed. “Shit. Man, are there cats up here or something?”

Sam looked around and shrugged.

Dean sneezed again.

“There is definitely something up here that’s not agreeing with you. Go on downstairs, I’ve got this.”

“Yeah,” Dean sniffled. “I’m gonna go take the dogs for a walk before dinner. Don’t stay up here too late, There’s still, like, half a lasagna in the fridge and I think there’s even some salad left over from last night.”

He sneezed again before he got to the door.

Sam pulled the seed packets out of his pocket and flipped through them. There was yarrow, angelica, burdock, belladonna, chamomile, and catnip. He looked back at the door before glancing over to where there was a large cardboard box tucked between two pieces of equipment that Sam was about 80% certain were part of the air handling system. After a moment he started spreading the plants and seed packets around in the various tubs of dirt, plotting out what to grow where.

The next few weeks passed quickly. Miracle adopted Otis faster than Dean had, and it was rare to ever see one without the other. Sam took them out running in the mornings and Dean took them for rides into town or out to some field or another where they went on long meandering walks in the afternoons while Sam tended to his growing garden. He took careful notes and photos, and adjusted the timing of the lights and the sprinkler system. Dean, who still sneezed at least once every time he went up there, kept his visits short and mostly left Sam to his gardening. Meal times were when he was most likely to come up, looking to make sure that his brother was eating.

“Hey, Sammy. Lunchtime, come and get it! Wow! It’s looking lush up here. Got anything edible yet?”

“Uh yeah, there’s some lettuce over there but I just want to get this set… Shit!” He swore as the sprayer nozzle he’s been adjusting snapped off in his hand. Water started to gush out of the pipe even as he clamped his hands down tight over the opening. “Ah! Get the, uh, the thing... turn it off!”

Dean rushed over and followed Sam’s gaze to a red shut off valve a little ways down the line. “Yep! Hang on. Got it.” He cranked the valve down tight and the water pressure died.

Sam shook his hands, flinging drops of water into the planter. “Thanks.”

A tiny, high pitched, squeaky sort of noise came from between the tub where Sam was working and the one behind it.

“What…” Dean began as he leaned over to look between the tubs.

“Well, no point in trying to fix this on an empty stomach. Let’s go eat!” Sam said loudly as he wiped his hands on his jeans and then all but herded Dean towards the door.

“Wait, what was that?”

“It was just the pipes, you know how pipes are. What’s for lunch?”

“Stop pushing me!”

Sam stopped but stayed between Dean and his garden. There was another squeak.

“Sam?” Dean said, glaring at his brother. Before either of them could say anything else Dean’s attention was drawn to a tiny little ball of grey and black striped fluff that toddled out from around the tub that Sam had been working on.

“I knew it.”

Another tiny mewl came from the other end of the garden and Sam’s eyes went wide.

“Dude, how many kittens are in here?”

Sam deflated with a sigh, “Five.”

“Five?!”

“And the mom cat.”

“Were you seriously just going to keep pretending like you didn’t know what was making me sneeze?”

“No! No. I was just waiting until the kittens were old enough to find them homes.”

“But why not just tell me?”

“I didn’t want it to be a big deal, I figured you’re not up here much anyway and it’s a quiet, safe place for them and, well, they’re cute.”

“But I still don’t get why you were lying to me.”

“I didn’t really lie… yeah, okay, I lied. I’m sorry. I guess I was afraid that you’d want them gone.”

Dean looked offended. “I’m not a monster, Sam.”

“I know! But I also know how much you hate cats, so…”

“I don’t hate cats.”

“Yes, you do. You say it all the time.”

“I don’t actually mean it.”

Sam just looked at him, exasperated and at a loss. A squeaky mewl, louder and more demanding than before, sounded from their feet. The first kitten had reached Sam’s foot and was starting to climb up his pants leg.

Dean leaned down and carefully unhooked it’s claws from Sam’s jeans before standing up, holding it gently in his hands.

He looked at it.

It looked at him.

It cried loudly.

“Have you named them?”

“Pfft, no.”

“Cool, so I can name them.”

Sam sighed and looked closer at the kitten. “That one’s Doc.”

Dean scrunched up his nose and looked at him. “Like the dwarf?”

“No. It’s short for Burdock. It’s a plant.” He looked over to where the other kitten was sitting, still next to the tubs. “That one is Cam, short for Chamomile. And the others are Yarrow, Catnip or Nip, and Belladonna, like the plant, not the pornstar.” He added quickly at the hopeful arching of Dean’s eyebrow. “The mom is Angelica.”

“Uh huh. You big softy.” Dean smiled at him.

“Shut up.”

Dean chuckled as he handed the kitten, who had started to squirm, over to Sam. “They can stay, just, uh, up here, okay? Now, I’m going to go wash my hands and eat. Come on.”

Sam placed a quick kiss on Doc’s head before setting him gently down on the ground and following after his brother.

#dean winchester #sam winchester #spn fanfic #spn fan fiction #fluff

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callsignfangs · 5 months

Text

141 boys as gamers. Yep.

Price:

• Totally the rager.

• Insists the games are stupid and he couldn’t care less about them, he had important work, afterall

• Has to get a new controller/keyboard every few weeks and has multiple controller-sized holes in his walls. Probably even broken a couple mics unintentionally.

• Still plays almost exclusively competitive multiplayer games, tho. Might occasionally dip his toes into horror, challenge, and even collection-based games.

• Unleashes every foul word in his nasty vocab on anyone he dislikes in a game (probably had his mic taken away /j)

Ghost:

• Patience of a saint.

• Tells everyone he doesn’t care about gaming, and tbf he probably cares the least out of the four

• Probably played getting over it with a straight face for funsies

• Also needs to get new equipment often, but just because this dude manhandles it to hell.

• Picks games at random. Probably by the steam homepage. Maybe by requests/recommendations. Does tend to prefer open-world and sci-fi games, though. Also has a very intricate minecraft world he’s spent hundreds of hours on.

Gaz:

• Chaotic as shit

• Always looking for secrets and manages to practically destroy half his game files. He goes looking for an extra coin he missed in a hard to reach cubby two stages back and ends up glitching through the floor twice, skipping three bosses and deletes the save file all in the span of maybe five minutes

• Mans will absolutely feast on any game with decent lore, but actually prefers cosier games like unpacking, minecraft, stardew valley (heavy on stardew). Will happily explore adventure/exploration type games, as well.

• Sits in the weirdest positions when gaming. Mate has both legs straddling the monitor and has folded himself in half like a fleshy garden chair, managing to somehow play the game upside down with maybe a sliver of screen /j

Soap:

• Can’t take shite seriously. Imagine like. A stream with markiplier, wade and ethan as one person. (Gaz is his bob /j)

• Mostly horror games, probably.

• Has gotten banned from multiple platforms bc of this mans OUTRAGEOUS swearing. He pulls out multiple languages, from Scottish to, like, Arabic (ty Farah 😇)

• Speaking of, I think he’s learning a couple of languages. This was bc he accidentally came across a game he really wanted to play that hadn’t been translated to English, so he started learning bits to play it, then he realised he actually really enjoyed learning languages and opening up new opportunities to interact with both games and fans :]

• Most in tune (besides maybe Gaz) with the slang and references his fans make. I like to imagine him saying ‘the girls are fighting’ whenever there’s any fights in a game giggle.

• Has fallen asleep on stream multiple times. Like, he decides to do a gaming marathon and straight up falls asleep in the middle of it. Also if this man doesn’t go to bed at, like, exactly 8pm he will fall asleep right then and there. He’s an old man at heart.

• Makes the stupidest faces. A plot twist had his jaw absolutely snapping to the floor, eyebrows peeking over the clouds and hands on his head. I bet he’s done it so much his jaw clicks.

—

Sosoooo, hey. Im alive 😇😇 Sorry for randomly vanishing, ive had a bunch of personal stuff to deal with and honestly my motivation died a little. I pinky promise im working on asks n stuff 😚 I might stick to more hc-y posts for a bit just to like. get accustomed to everything again. So yaya 😚

#call of duty #cod #cod mw3 #cod fandom #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #captain price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #headcanon #hcs #gaming #cod mwii #cod mwiii #task force 141 #tf 141 #cod fic #fangs drabbles

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rpgsandbox · 5 months

Text

kickstarter

Crafting & Alchemy — two brand new 5th edition supplements to make your mark on the world! Forge legendary weapons and armour using Hammer & Anvil, and brew fantastical and deadly potions and poisons with Mortar & Pestle!

From the award-winning team that brought you Adventures in Middle-earth, Broken Weave, A Life Well Lived, Uncharted Journeys, and Doctors and Daleks!

Legends speak of incredible magic items — dragon-slaying spears, unbreakable silver armour, elixirs that bring the dead back to life, and more.

Songs are sung of these legendary artefacts. What of those who spent hours sweating by the forge, or over a cauldron of volatile ingredients?

Crafting & Alchemy, make your mark on the world and create powerful magic items that will be spoken of until the end of time.

It’s time to give your character the equipment they deserve.

Forge your weapon to slay the monster plaguing your hometown, or brew a powerful elixir to save the life of someone you love. Design and experiment, using magic and ingenuity to create something truly unique. Hammer & Anvil and Mortar & Pestle give you the freedom to create anything you can imagine and bring it into your 5e games.

Hammer & Anvil

Forge unique weapons and armour unlike anything the world has ever seen. Your great work may start as a humble longsword, but with the right equipment and materials, you will be able to craft a legendary blade capable of cleaving reality in two and summoning an ethereal being to serve by your side.

Forge custom weapons and become a legendary weaponsmith with Cubicle 7’s new Weapon Forging system.

Craft new armour for you and your party with our Armour Forging rules. Your tailoring and modifications will ensure a perfect fit for you and your allies!

Turn mundane gear into artefacts of legend with our Magic Item Enchanting rules! Use your arcane talents to enhance the weapons and armour you craft, or team up with a powerful spellcaster to create potent magical effects.

Mortar & Pestle

Brew poisons, potions, and elixirs for every occasion. Plant your own magical garden to grow the priceless herbs you need, or gather your party to hunt down terrifying monsters and harvest rare components.

Our Alchemy system allows you to concoct a brand new range of bizarre potions. Mix reagents and refine alchemical components to create invigorating potions to bolster your allies.

For more sinister adventurers, our new Poisons will give you a lethal edge. Prepare toxic venoms to make every strike a deadly one and leave your foes debilitated.

Hunt monsters and harvest rare magical components to use in your concoctions.

Tend your own garden! Plant the seeds and watch them grow as you cultivate a range of vibrant and bizarre flora to use in your brews.

==================================

Kickstarter campaign ends: Wed, February 14 2024 2:00 PM UTC +00:00

Website: [Cubicle 7] [facebook] [twitter] [instagram]

#RPG #kickstarter #Dungeons and Dragons

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strawheart-pirate · 10 months

Text

Antiquity

Vampire!Sabo x gn!Reader

Words: 2000 CW: SFW / Modern World AU / Books / Talks / Fangs / No Snacks Please

You were in the library to exchange books. As you looked over the massive choices you had, your appearance caught the interest of a blond gentleman.

The little bell above the door chimed as you entered the library with three books in your arms. As you placed them on the counter to give them back, the librarian came running to you.

“Finally, I didn’t think you would make it today. Welcome!” she said as she started scanning your books with a smile on her face.

“Hey Koala! My lecturer asked me to help him with some stuff and since that took a solid 60 minutes, I was caught in the Rush Hour afterwards. I really hate the traffic in this city!” you sighed as you hang your coat by the door.

“I’m glad you made it. Some new books arrived this week and I already reserved two of them for you. I’m sure you’ll like them.”

You thanked her and made your way towards your favorite section. You’ve already read 90% of the books they have, but you always check if one of the other 10% is available. Most of the time, you were lucky.

As you walked slowly through the aisles, your fingers glided slowly over the backs of the books. The library was your retreat after a stressful week at the campus. You loved the smell of old paper and parchment, of ink and antique leather. Aisles full of books from floor to ceiling, so that you need these movable mounted ladders to grab books from the top shelves. Moreover, you especially liked this library, since Koala pours her heart and soul into it. She has a good eye for decorations, arranged some cozy reading nooks all over the place and added a well-equipped workspace in the middle. And if you crave for a certain book which is not added to the library’s collection yet, just ask her. She will go out of her way to get you the missing piece. There is no better library in the whole world, which is more alluring to you, than this one.

A rather old looking book picked your interest and you took it from the shelf. As you read over the worn-out leather cover, you see that it’s from 1887. Impressive. You read the blurb and the story seemed really appealing so you decided to give it a try and stored it in your arms as you searched the massive collection for more germs. Half an hour later you had a total of five books with you, as you went over to your favorite reading nook. On the upper level was a round window seat right next to a beautiful monstera. The view was breathtaking and it never failed to calm your mind. You can overview the colorful garden and the mighty fountain in the middle of the small lake. The golden glow of the setting sun was working magic on the already autumn-colored leaves and you couldn’t take your eyes of this bewitching sight.

You managed to break to spell of the view, when Koala handed you the two books she saved you and you finally started reading. You were really sucked into another world that you didn’t notice the man across from you. He was at a table across the room and flipped randomly through the pages of the few books on his table. It was clear to see that he was just acting busy, since all he really does was to sneak glances of you. You tried to ignore him and just keep reading, but it was no use. His gaze was shamelessly fixed on you and sent small shivers down your spine everytime you looked back at him over your book. Annoyed, you closed the book and go on the counterattack. It must be possible for him to stop staring at you somehow. You decide to withstand his gaze until he finally looks away. Big mistake. He seamed pleased that you noticed him and smiled. You were disarmed. His smile hit you unprepared and your cheeks grew hot and red and this most beautiful smile on his pretty face radiated at you. You hid yourself behind your book to escape the embarrassing situation but your plan failed as soon as you heard footsteps approaching you.

“Good choice.” The blonde said as he came to a halt just an armlength away and you slowly lifted your head to look at him. He had blonde, wavy hair which covered half of his face, no facial hair and a pair of eyes which were a deep shade of blue. He was really handsome and obviously waiting for a response. You cleared your throat and answered him in you best confident demeanour.

“We'll see. I just started with it, but someone kept distracting me.”

“I never meant to interrupt you, I'm sorry. Let me tell you something. If you really want to know, if the book is to your liking, then I recommend taking a glimpse on page 10. There the action starts.”

You gave him a scrutinizing look but did as he told you. Just three sentences were enough for you to like the book. You sighed and admitted defeat.

“Okay, yeah you we’re right. I like that book. Did you read the book too?”

“Yes, but it gets even better. I met the author in person, he was hilarious.”

As you were about to ask him, what he meant, Koala called from the ground level. “Sabo!”

“If you would excuse me, please. I‘ll take my leave for now.”

He bowed and your eyes followed his figure. He surely was muscular and the tailored fit of his jacket suited him. The way he walked was like royalty, the grace and confidence that evaporated off him with every step left you speechless. You just realized you were gawking at him with your mouth hung open when he was out of sight. A slight blush crept onto your face and you closed your eyes to collect yourself. This man was something special. Like a good book he caught you with his cover and left you wanting more with the blurb. He said he knew the author in person… Even though he was not joking, you just didn’t know how. You decided to ask him about that later. And if he had already left by then, you were sure to see him another time or ask Koala for his information, since she seemed to know him. You sighed as you grabbed another book from your stack and continued your reading session.

Night fell and as you were done with the books you decided to take the one Sabo recommended and one of Koala’s suggestions with you and save the other ones for later. You were back down between the endless aisles putting the other books away, when Sabo approached you again. He appeared right behind you as you were struggling with putting a book back on the higher shelf, his fingers pushing it effortlessly into the right position. You were surprised and nearly crashed into his chest as you turned around. He eyed you with a smirk, trapping you between the shelf and his self. As your eyes met his you were captivated. Those round eyes, accentuated by a scar which you didn’t notice before, enchanting you with these big blue orbs. Your lips parted involuntarily and Sabo lifted your chin with his gloved hand. You were frozen with anticipation what will happen next. His lips parted... Wait? Are these fangs? A shiver went down your spine, but you weren’t afraid. You wondered what other mysteries you might unfold about this man and how good these fangs would feel on your skin. His lips were just an inch away, when…

BONK!

“Sabo! I told you just how many times?! No snacks in the library!” Koala scolded the now whining man, holding his head.

You shook your head as your cheeks got beet red. Never in your whole life were you that carried away. You lowered your head deeply embarrassed about what just happened. If a hole would swallow you right now, that would be too good to be true. But you weren’t that lucky.

“Ah, I’m sorry Koala!” Sabo said, but Koala glared at him with an evil expression.

“(Y/N) is my friend! Don’t you dare use them for your filthy blood lust.”

“But take a look at those eyes! They are gorgeous!” Sabo said in his defense and a massive blush crept onto his face as they both realized that you were still right beside them. “I’m sorry. It’s really out of character for me to neither introduce myself properly, not take you onto a date first. Please forgive me my rudeness.”

You were blinking fast, your blush darked as Sabo bowed his head and Koala giggled.

“(Y/N)? Are you alright? It was never my intention to scare you or cross boundaries.” Sabo investigated you with concern as he lightly touched your arm.

All kind of thought kept spiraling in your head. Did he say date? And had Koala just mentioned blood lust? Is it April the 1st and you just seemed to miss it all day? You were highly confused until Sabo’s gloved hand touched your arm and though the thick leather of the glove and the thin fabric of your longsleeve separated your skin from his, you could feel warmth seep into you and the hurricane of thoughts came to a stop. You shook off your trance. “No! I mean yes! I…” you took a deep breath and sorted your thoughts before you spoke. “It’s alright. I’m fine.”

“I’m relieved you are.” Sabo gently took your one hand, which wasn’t holding on tight onto your books, in his. “As I said, I never introduced myself properly. My name is Sabo and I’m a 376 year old vampire. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He said and pressed a tender kiss to the back of your palm.

You were touched by the kiss, but one word really hit you hard. “Vampire?!”

“Yes, I…” Sabo looked down shyly. Was he afraid?

“Wow! So those fangs are not just a kind of costume?” you were amazed but still you had doubts. Just mere minutes ago all this was just a fantasy to you, but Sabo told you so and Koala seems to know about him. So, he must be telling the truth.

“I’m afraid they are real. Do they…” Sabo admitted and a hint of worry crossed his face until he heard your answer.

“So cool!” you interrupted him and your eyes twinkled in amazement. Sabo blushed and looked at the floor sheepishly.

“So, I was about to close for today…” Koala tossed in from the back and headed towards the upper floor to tidy up and close the doors and windows.

“Yeah, well. (Y/N), would you like to go on a date with me?” Sabo asked insecure.

“Yeah, I would love to.” You said and smiled. Sabo’s whole face lit up at your words and he looked a little bit like a puppy who just got treated.

“I know a nice restaurant just two streets away or we can pick another time and place, if your day was exhausting enough.” He offered like the true gentleman he was.

“First you give me your blurb and now you offer me a cliff hanger! No, thank you. I’d like to take your offer for today.” You said as you shouldered your bag and walked to the counter to check out your books yourself.

Sabo chuckled and hooked your arm with his as you were ready.

“Have fun you two!” Koala waved from the stairs. “And no biting until the second date Sabo!”

“Will do, thanks Koala.” Sabo said and opened the door for you.

“Have a good night, Koala!” you said and as you looked over to her, she made a gesture, that you should call her. You winked and left the bookstore with a smile.

Who would have thought that you would leave the library today with not just two books, but a walking, priceless antiquity today.

All content unless otherwise stated belongs to: ©Strawheart-pirate. Please do not copy / modify / translate / repost my writing, banners or art on other platforms. Comments, reblogs or likes are highly appreciated!

#one piece sabo #sabo #sabo x reader #sabo x you #sabo x y/n #gn reader #one piece fanfiction #one piece oneshots #sfw #strawheart-pirate.writing

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homestuckreplay · 2 days

Text

"apply loking thign" [sic]

(page 242-245)

TT: I've found no evidence that anyone has successfully created the item.

WELL, THEY DID IT. THEY MADE A WHOLE APPLE. They are definitely not equipped to do this, it feels like they backdoored their way into succeeding through luck, risky storm behavior and narrative convenience, and it feels REALLY good. Obviously the threat isn't over yet, but I love to see John get a win, even when it's small.

When the alchemiter made blocks, they were just blocks. When it makes an apple, it shows us the full life cycle of the apple - sprouting the tree it grows from, then the fruit itself, then dropping the fruit and dying. This has fascinating implications for punch card alchemy. That pre-punched card didn't just store data about the apple at a given moment in time, it stores the apple's entire past leading up to the moment it takes this form. This could be connected to the elixir of life, which has historically been one of the things alchemists have tried to discover.

I really want to know if the items on the pre-punched card are random per game session, or if not, what determines them and what possibilities there are. We only know the apple and the eggy loking thign, both of which are living things, so could that be the link? Also, is this a real, actual apple that is/was alive and provides sustenance and nutrients (and was the egg a real egg that could hatch a bird/snake/dinosaur etc?) That's an insane amount of power for a video game to have, and it feels like every time we learn something else about what Sburb can do it only increases its world-altering potential, and its possibilities to go horrifically wrong.

Of course, the tree and the apple are also reminiscent of the tree of knowledge - the religious themes have been here throughout the comic, and I've made the Garden of Eden link with gardenGnostic as well. In Christianity, Eve giving into temptation and eating the fruit is the original sin and leads to exile, while in Gnosticism, eating the fruit is necessary and the only way to save humanity, seeing through the bullshit of people who tried to hold Eve back from achieving her potential.

Assuming that John will eat it - because what else is he gonna do, throw it at the meteor? - I don't know which of these outcomes will turn out to be true, or if they can coexist, or what kind of knowledge John will gain. The original sin, defying a god and seeking power theme fits really well with Rose's character as somebody seeking control and with Sburb as a game giving godlike powers to regular people. The Gnostic interpretation of saving humanity works with stopping a meteor strike, John having the ability to save himself, and possibly links to the conflict of TG being somewhat against Sburb. One big factor in which interpretation is more true is the ethics and intent behind Sburb itself - is the knowledge and power it can give somebody really something that a human should have?

Finally, an unrelated design note - I'm glad that on p.244-245, we see the sprite as a stamp in the corner of the page, not the obnoxious and jittery flashing. I like the idea of it flashing and it makes sense in-game (it wants something from the players and is trying to get their attention), but it's definitely bad to look at and becomes the main focus of any page. On p.245, it almost looks like a wax seal, which is so much better aesthetically.

#homestuck #reaction #no update today :(((( but i stay silly

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lixxen · 4 months

Note

can you tell us more about Grayer and their relationship with JD?

Of course!! I love talking about my boys :)

I'm gonna do this in bullet points so I can easily edit it as I go lol. These details pertain to both my Feral Branch AU, mentions of my my troll reproduction PowerPoint world building, and it's just his character in general :)

My playlist for them

Rest of the post is UTC to save everyone from chunky TL

To start off, some background about Grayer: he is alt rock/pop rock. His father is a rock troll and his mother is a pop troll who is one of many to escape the troll tree about ten years before the beginning of Trolls 1 (I can do a whole thing on them). The two fell in love, got married, and ran off to the Never Glade Trail to have Grayer. His dad carried him, so he's more like his dad (Granite and Flora are their names)

Grayer is the same age as Bruce, so a few years younger than JD. He grew up on the trail and takes care of the family's garden (which is basically a mini farm). He and his parents are big survivalists, so he knows how to survive pretty much on his own with just a backpack on his back full of a few items. He's rather quiet with patience, but with a quick ignition to fight at things he's passionate about; being raised by a very passive rock troll who is peace and love then pretty much the most metal head pop troll you'll ever meet. His mom's a spitfire with the heat of a thousand suns. But she's very sweet <3

Back then, he actually dressed in alt style; wearing a ton of baggy ripped black cargo pants, t-shirts of rock groups his dad gave him, some crop tops with fistnet tops underneath, the whole works. Eyeliner. Black stuffed bracelets and a choker. Troll's version of Docs (but the older, better quality ones y'know?). Now days, he's just plain Jane because he's older and doesn't have as much energy to keep up with it

Within John Dory's first few years, he struggled a lot. He traveled through Trolltopia and met a ton of people. They weren't the kindest, but understood the situation with Pop. So they would help and send him on his way towards Never Glade.

When he finally got there, he basically fell face first down. He lost half of his equipment and got horribly lost. He was optimistic and trying to act brave about being lost with not as many supplies. He realized he was way in over his head; he was some boy band dude who had a dream without much training. Dude is doomed by the narrative

Grayer, while out, found John Dory. He saw JD's fire in the distance and went to investigate it. He saw JD, who was different than the other trolls who would stop by his family's home. Normally he saw various Rock, Country, or random sub genre trolls come through either for the underground cross genre clubs or for hiking.

He actually watched JD for a bit. He was nervous to approach him at first. But after watching JD fail miserably to do a ton of very basic survival things, he decided to step in. He faked them running into each other and was like "you don't look too good! Let me help you :)"

JD automatically accepted it. This dude was doing BAD. The dude was debating on finding his way back to the Troll Tree. It was that bad. He'd rather be eaten by a Bergen than die out there where nobody would know what happened to him.

He also was amazed by some random troll about his age living out here.

So Grayer taught JD how to survive out there. JD learned how to properly get drinking water, patch wounds, make basic things, garden and gather food. The works! Literally he gave him survival classes-

JD was welcomed into the home by the parents. Grayer's mom was shocked to see another pop troll and she let him stay. She couldn't let the poor kid die out there or go back. She knew what that meant

Grayer and JD slowly grew close; bonding over music. JD would perform BroZone songs for him, to which Grayer would watch with the biggest dopey grin on his face

During this time, Grayer got into a nasty fight with one of the spider things. His hair got caught and he had to cut it off. He spends nights crying about his hair, but then styles it down. That's why it's short and looks like that. He keeps it short due to him living like that for so long.

Eventually, Grayer started to bring JD to the underground clubs that existed on the Trail. They were ran by outcasts and trolls who basically got ran out of their respected kingdoms for different reasons. Some where rebellious trolls looking for fun; or they just liked the scene. The two became prominent on the scene as "the love birds". Everyone knew them and some recognized JD from BroZone

Grayer's parents actually helped establish these clubs and underground community. They make clubs out of old hollow dead trees and then undergrown tunnel systems. They helped make the first few, since Grayer's dad was in construction. He doesn't run any of them. He just did the manual labor and helped perform multiple times. Grayer's family is just respected in the scene. There's about five families they're in kahoots with (I can expand on this if anyone wants).

Plus, they help trolls in need on the trail so people tend to know about the random trolls who help save people from death in the wild

Eventually, they ran into Floyd. Floyd was running with the alt/emo/grunge trolls. Some metalheads also. He was also running with a young Riff, who was only two years younger than Floyd. Floyd also has an underground career by now and has a mini indie grunge rock band suprisingly. (Riff's parents run one of the clubs and Riff lives with his grandad and little sister in the Rock Kingdom. Riff is Floyd's drummer and companion. They met in a grunge club in the Rock Kingdom. Floyd was gray for a while and passed as Rock). Floyd is excited to see his brother and he bonds with Grayer automatically

Floyd and Grayer have a heart to heart; talking about how Grayer is in love with JD. Floyd said that if Spruce and Grandma was there, they'd give their blessing. But since they're not and he is, he gave him his blessing.

Floyd 🤝 Grayer: being in love with their companion (past Riff/Floyd moment. They're just besties now y'know??)

JD and Grayer party a LOT during these years

Queue up JD punching some jerk for trying to come onto Grayer and then getting into a brawl outside of a club with the dude. Riff pulls strings to get them not banned from every club on the trail. Part of it is Grayer's parents being staples for making a safe underground scene on the Trail, but Grayer gives Riff the credit.

Around the eight year mark, Grayer finds baby Rhonda. She was abandoned by her mom so Grayer took her in. He gave her to JD as a birthday gift! That's how they know Rhonda so well. She's basically their baby :)

Grayer, at the ten year mark, confesses his love to JD. JD looks flabbergasted before saying he wanted to ask Grayer that. He was waiting for the right moment to ask Grayer if they could commit to one another. They were practically dating

So, they get married :)

JD braids Grayer's hair into the back of his hair, just in case one day he goes back to BroZone; so from the front you can't see it but the back you can. Grayer braids JD's hair more visibly in the front and wears it with pride.

The two are a grumpy old couple. They're very sarcastic but loving to each other, especially after marriage.

Did I mention that earlier? The two are a sarcastic and sassy power couple. They don't take shit and behind the scenes are very loving.

As the years go on, they don't have any eggs surprisingly. Everyone is shocked, but the two are perfectly fine with it. It happens sometimes; not every troll produces the viable eggs.

Grayer's parents die by the fifteen year mark, and they leave everything to Grayer and JD. They are pretty much set for life. So they're pretty much domestic besides when JD wants to go on adventures.

Speaking of which; JD goes on adventures sometimes, which leaves Grayer alone for a few weeks at most. The two are fine with it as long as JD tells Grayer about it. Normally it'll be in the form of the little bat dudes, like Queen Barb's bat Debbie. They have a flock of them that live around them. They feed them, so three or four will follow John Dory sometimes when he goes on adventures. They will basically bring communication back and forth

So, to the Trolls 3 plot

Riff comes back after World Tour to tell them about Branch!! He's alive and saved everyone!! Plus the pop trolls are free :)

JD sends a letter out to Floyd, who doesn't respond. He gets worried and decides to go try the Troll Tree, thinking that's where Floyd went. He tells Grayer he'll be back in a week and Grayer kisses him bye

That week turns into a month.

Grayer is worried sick and he can tell a ton of things are happening (because of the marriage stuff. If you don't read the PowerPoint then ignore this detail). JD doesn't respond to any of his messages, as they never get to him

Like, he's convinced JD is either dying or something bad has happened. He's hoping that JD isn't abandoning him.

He goes from being worried sick to being pissed because what the fuck his husband up and left and is clearly okay and alive!!! HE CAN TELL! JD CAN FEEL HIS DISTRESS!!

Grayer gets pissed, especially when Riff comes back to tell him about BroZone. He was happy for JD, but SEND YOUR HUSBAND A LETTER TO TELL HIM YOURE ALIVE!!!

So what does he do?

He throws JD's clothing out of the window in a fit of rage. Like. The dude is PISSED. He is what, in his 30's and his husband disappeared and could have been dead! He's having a moment. Let him be angry for the first time towards his husband

JD comes home during this.

JD stares in horror at the sight of his clothing being tossed out the window and he starts to scramble to grab them and get into the pod

Grayer sobs his little heart out to JD, who holds him and apologizes. JD explains everything. Grayer feels kinda dumb but vocalizes his feelings. The two come to an understanding

And eventually, he would meet BroZone and they'd enjoy him :)

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #john dory #trolls john dory #john dory trolls #trollsona #trolls oc #john dory x oc #anon ask #ask #feral branch au #feral au

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spookyspecterino · 7 months

Text

Lost in the Stars

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Sam Coe x Old Earth! GN! Reader

(Warnings are chapter based) Foul language, fear, anxiety

It's hereeeee! I said I would release last week, but work and life in general said no. Anyway, hope you enjoy! This was requested by @wuzpoppinrose and, as usual, I took the prompt and ran away with it.

When you get transported to a strange new city where nothing looks like home, or even Earth, one or two people are more than a little curious about your arrival.

---BREAKING---EARTH’S ATMOSPHERE GONE BY 2203---HOAX OR THE END OF HUMANITY---NEW DEVICE COULD SAVE US---

They’re really trying to start a riot.

The bright, flashing red on your phone screen blinks out as you lock it and slip it into a pocket. Yet the blaring words of the news leaves spots in your vision. Imprinting itself not only in your mind but your literal eyes as well.

That was definitely an intentional design choice.

Hard to believe that humanity has found another avenue to their destruction, adding to the seemingly endless mix already out there. Maybe that’s why it wasn’t really clicking in your mind. Just a news headline, for now at least, to be replaced by another—something just as urgent—tomorrow.

With a heavy sigh you look at the clock.

1:13 AM

Damn.

While the idea of going to bed isn’t the most exciting thing, a gentle wind blowing through your open window calls and beckons to one of your favorite activities.

Star gazing.

As a child you would look through your amateur telescope every night, like a ritual of sorts. Now…well, you didn’t have a telescope, but you did have a backyard with a clear view. On a warm night like tonight, you could stare up for hours. Getting lost in that black, star speckled blanket.

The temptation is too great, and without meaning to your feet carry you to the double doors leading out into your backyard. Crickets chirp. The wind rustles the grass and leaves. A peaceful and much needed change. To enhance the feeling, you slip off your shoes and revel in the way the grass sticks up between your toes and the feeling of dirt underfoot. It was hard to image a great calamity when here and now there was only the feeling of calm tranquility.

Yet, curiosity creeps into your mind. Your hands itched to pull up your phone again, to find out more about the “Atmosphere issue” as some news channels were calling it.

Which feelings are stronger? Fear and anxiety? Or is it the overwhelming exhaustion from another story about how Earh (and everyone on it) is going to die?

Not for the first time, your sad stare turns skyward. How many of your ancestors had done the same? Stared up into the great unknown and wondered just what is out there?

Humanity’s salvation?

Or maybe just a cold death.

For some unknown reason, you close your eyes, imagining yourself flying through the stars. Even though you’re standing, your mind begins to drift, you feel your body pulled into sleep. And you fall into the welcoming black.

. . .

“Oh man…uh—hey Sarah! Sarah!”

“Yes Noel, what is it?”

“We just got a huge spike in anomalous activity readings. It might be a glitch, but I wanted to you to look at it.”

“What makes you say it’s a glitch?” Sarah walks up to Noel, holding a steaming coffee mug.

“The reading came from here in New Atlantis.”

“Let me see.” Sarah trades the small tablet for her coffee, placing it down on the table. Her brows furrow deep as she starts to read. “That is…very odd. We’ve never seen a reading pop up here before.”

“And so suddenly.” Noel agrees.

“When did you—oh, it’s gone!”

“The anomaly?” Noel asks, huddling in close to get a look at the screen.

“It just disappeared. Like a blip.”

“So…maybe it is a glitch? Malfunctioning equipment? The idea of an anomaly appearing and then disappearing here in New Atlantis, practically outside our doorstep, is absurd.” She pauses after Sarah doesn’t react. “Right?”

“I don’t know, but I intend on figuring it out.” She turns to the garden doors. “Sam?”

“Yeah?” He calls back a moment later. He sounds like he might have food in his mouth.

“Would you mind coming with me? There’s an anomaly reading from here in New Atlantis, but it’s disappeared. I want to check it out.”

“An anomaly? Here?” Sam’s head appears through one of the doors as he leans inside. There’s a half-eaten bagel in one of his hands. “That has to be a glitch.”

“That’s what I said.” Noel commented, moving Sarah’s coffee off the table so she could run some diagnostics.

Sarah focuses on Sam. “I’d like to make sure. We have no idea what we’re dealing with or what these artifacts are capable of.”

He shrugs, tossing the rest of his bagel to the side. “Alright, don’t see why not.”

“Good. Noel, we’ll be back soon.”

“Got it. I’ll keep running some system tests.”

Sarah, in all her confidence and ease as leader, strides toward the double doors of the Lodge. Sam is right behind her, adjusting his hat, only slightly torn about his breakfast being interrupted.

“At least today has started off interesting, I was about ready to—"

“Wait.” Sarah halts, one hand resting on the ornate door handle. “Do you hear that?”

“Hm? Hear what?” Sam freezes, tilting his head around.

“It sounds like…” Sarah looks back to the door, as if she can see through it. “It sounds like shouting.”

. . .

Fresh air.

A slight breeze.

The feeling of grass.

Shifting around, your body aches—in dire need of a stretch. Limbs refuse to obey, heavy and stiff. It must be early, your eyes refuse to open, still tired and fighting the feeling of being yanked from comfortable darkness. Moving a little, the grass and leaves under you tickle and scratch lightly at your exposed skin.

When’s the last time you fell asleep outside? It must be a few years at least. Strange. You don’t remember laying down or falling asleep.

People’s voices draw your attention. That’s also strange. Your backyard isn’t anywhere near where other people would gather. Are the neighbors doing something?

And why do the birds sound so weird?

The sunlight is suddenly harsh as you crack your eyes open just a hair’s fraction. Placing a hand to block the sun, alarms in the back of your mind go off. Something feels uncomfortable in this. You turn over, using your elbow as leverage to prop yourself up. The fog is lifting as you try to get your bearings. Leaves and grass cling to your clothes.

As your eyes open up more, adjusting to the light, you stare at the strange root formations in the ground. They don’t seem right. And the trees…

You’ve never seen these trees or anything like them before.

You’re not in your backyard.

“What the fuck?” You can’t help it. The words come out as a whisper.

As your eyes travel the alien landscape you’re no longer whispering.

“What the fuck?!”

Tall, silver buildings, twisting and jutting into the sky. Planes—at least you think they are—roar overhead. You try looking for them but aren’t able to catch one. They sound so close. Are you at an airport?

How the fuck did you wind up at an airport? And what airport is this?

“Ok, weird trees. Weird city. Airport? What the hell is going on?”

Looking out through the bushes, you think you can see people walking around, milling about, talking with others.

Getting to your feet is a panicked scramble as you fight to calm your mind and racing heart. Possibilities and scenarios of the worst-case scream at you.

You don’t feel any kind of pain, a quick check around your abdomen and you confirm that you still have your kidneys.

“People. Talk to people.” The plan is set. Maybe someone can help you.

But as you move closer, they become clearer. And they look…like people…but their clothing is different. Styled in a way you’ve never seen.

Suddenly talking to them doesn’t seem appealing. You shy back, closer to the trees, almost fumbling over a tree root. You reach out for anything that can break your fall and scratch your hand on some bushes, it rustles loudly as the sticks crunch and snap. If you had any fantasies that you might be dreaming, they’re cut short when your hand stings.

You look back out into the street; you’ve caught the attention of a few people. They stare as if you’re the weird one.

Maybe it’s time to go…somewhere. The bulky weight of your phone in your pocket is reassuring. As you reach for it, fishing it out, a gruff voice startles you enough you almost drop it.

“You need to take your roleplaying elsewhere.”

It’s a man in a heavy-duty uniform. A visor covers half his face. The colors are different and foreign. Across his chest the word SECURITY is printed in bold lettering.

A cop? Private security? Maybe you’re in a resort or something.

You lean forward, as if you didn’t hear him. “Excuse me?”

“I said, you need to take your Earth roleplaying elsewhere. We don’t tolerate destruction of the gardens.”

“Earth role—I—I’m not roleplaying! Do you know where I am?”

“Oh, sure. That’s what all you freaks say when you get caught. Move along, or you’ll be spending the night in a UC security cell.”

“I don’t what the fuck a ‘UC’ is!”

“Get out of the garden! Right now!”

“Ok…Jesus.” You step out, noticeably aware that you’re still barefoot. “Please just tell me where I am.”

The guard sounds more pissed off with each word you say. “I don’t have the patience for this. Don’t you have somewhere else you can do this shit?”

“I—don’t—know—where—I—am!” You feel like clapping your hands along as you speak to try and make it clearer for him, but he already seems like he wants to kill you.

“This is your last chance to move along!”

A woman, blonde haired and tall, in a red jacket and a man in a cowboy hat, leather jacket, and jeans round the corner a little ways down the street. You hardly notice, only your subconscious registers them as more people to join those already staring.

For the sake of not causing too much of a scene, you intentionally lower your voice. “Please, help me. I have no idea how I got here. I just want to go home!”

“Uh huh, and where’s your home? Earth?” He sneers.

You’re so frustrated you feel tears spring up in the corner of your eyes. “No shit!”

“Your acting is pretty good.” The guard laughs, it sounds sharp enough to cut you. “Maybe I can arrange for someone to drop you off—without a spacesuit.”

“Drop me off—what the hell are you talking about?”

Spacesuit? Is he trying to make a joke?

“You know what, I’ve had enough, you’re coming with me.”

The blonde woman interrupts, jogging closer to stop the man. “Excuse me, hang on a moment, please.” She has a slight accent. At this point you’re just glad everyone is speaking your own language.

He’s not too happy to see her either. “And what do you want?”

“What are you doing with them, they’re obviously in distress and you’re not helping at all.” She points to you. Her companion, the cowboy, waits back. Watching curiously.

The guard snorts. “This isn’t any of your business. Just got someone here who’s taking the joke way too far.”

She looks between you and the guard. “Joke, what joke? What’s he talking about?”

You’re close to a mental breakdown. “I have no idea! Please help me!”

The guard raises his arm between you and the woman. “Don’t fall for it. I’ve dealt with these weirdos before. They love acting like they’ve got no idea what’s going on, or that they’re scared and confused, or whatever. Once they’re faced with actual consequences, they drop it.” He faces you. The blue tint of his helmet gives him an otherworldly appearance. “Isn’t that right?”

Wherever this is, it sucks. You grip your phone so tightly in your hand you might actually crack it.

Blondie turns to you. Her eyes are a gentle green. “Are you actually a role-player?”

Since she’s being kind, and asking honestly, your tone lowers. “I don’t know what that means…roleplaying what?”

“I told you, this one’s really into it.”

She holds up a hand. “Just one moment.” She points to your clothes. “Where did you get those?”

Blinking, you’re not sure if she’s serious. “My clothes?”

“Yes, where’d you get them from?”

“I bought them at the store…”

“What store?”

“H&M.”

This makes her pause. “H&M? What does that stand for?”

“I... I don’t really know—look, I’ll just show you where I live—” You hold up your phone, still in a death grip. It only takes two tries to unlock it as your hands shake. Your GPS is easy to find, but it doesn’t load. Something sinks in your stomach. The bars in the top corner of your phone screen flash with an ‘X’ through them.

“Well, isn’t that interesting.” The woman murmurs, leaning over to get a better look at it in your trembling hands.

The guard grumbles, crossing his arms. “So, they got ahold of some relics, big whoop. How many credits did you pay for that? 20K?”

You can’t seem to catch your breath. The world starts to blur. You must be stuck in a fever dream. “Credits? You mean like currency? Money?”

As you look between the guard and the woman, she’s looking at you peculiarly, as if you’re some kind of specimen under a microscope. The guard, half his expression hidden, twists his mouth in disdain.

She looks like she’s about to say something, even her hand comes out in invitation, but the guard is hellbent on ending this unpleasant distraction.

“You’re not gonna get anything useful out of this freak.” He grumbles as he swats your phone out of your hands.

Your whole body freezes up in shock at the personal affront. Your eyes track it as it falls to the ground.

The woman scoffs. “Was that really necessary?” To her credit, she seems genuinely angry on your behalf.

Your phone clatters with a sickening sound. It lands, screen facing up, and you can see it’s cracked, the background image flickers on and off.

As if it’s just another day in the office, the guard is unphased. “They need to learn the hard way—”

Even if you weren’t in a foreign land, you couldn’t—wouldn’t—let someone get away with such disrespect. Even if it was a glorified cop.

His boot is tougher than your bare foot, but you slam your heel down hard enough, with all your weight, that he feels it. You want it to hurt. You want him to feel just a modicum of the pain and anger that hums through your veins. Every ounce of frustration you feel is poured into the action.

He makes a noise close to surprise and stumbles back a few steps. Reeling and clawing at the air for purchase. Seeing your chance and wanting nothing to do with this place any longer, you dash to pick up your phone—holding it close—and nearly skid on the concrete trying to turn and beeline it for the garden.

Your bare feet sting, but the wind against your face and the small amount of triumph drowns it out. What’s a small bit of pain in the face of one-upping an asshole? Your body thrums with the force to go, go, go!

There are shouts behind you.

You distinguish the woman’s accent. “No! Stop!” It doesn’t sound directed to you.

Leaves brushing and tugging at your skin is the last thing you feel before something painful, like a powerful shock, hits you square in the back. Your body goes completely numb in an instant. You lose control of your legs, and you fall forward. Your arms are useless at breaking the impact. At least the grass and dirt are soft—cushioning and cradling you. The last thing you see are thin, green blades of grass and a twisting tree trunk before the world tilts and fades out.

#sam coe x reader #sam coe #starfield #gn reader

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p-muffin · 1 year

Text

Death is at Our Door Pt. 1

Pairing : Joel Miller x Reader

Next Part

Warnings : Death of a loved one.

WC:2.2k

Summary :

Fort Vancouver, a happy and peaceful community in the north west. Y/n a kind, strong, and fierce woman. The world is peaceful for her and the people in her small town. Although when an unknown man and immune young girl are brought in from a clicker infested library, the pair bring unwanted visitors to the Forts front gates.

The fort of Vancouver Washington started as a settlement for the colonies when they came north and became a large trading post for the Hudson’s Bay Company. As the years went on and Vancouver grew, the fort became a well-known historic site. The great 20-foot walls ideal for the world ending. Just about five buildings were saved throughout history. As the fort became a settlement once again in 2004, the survivors added well over twenty new buildings/homes inside the walls.

Washington was known for its large and bruting Evergreen trees, the thick and sturdy wood perfect for building. The people were proactive in getting homes built for the remaining survivors. Carpenters, electricians - the old and young helped structure the cabins, drawing energy from the old Bonneville Dam. The homes were lit up with old grandmother lamps and string lights. A crisp woodsy smell filling each home beautifully. If the people needed paradise, this was it. Besides Jackson this was the most comfortable it got.

The leader, Vance Kelly – a humble but strong man, encouraged the people to build a log wall around the garden that laid outside the main gates. The fort had a well-functioning garden for decades before the world went to shit. Involved heavily with the public, it was basically a self-sufficient town. As Jackson Wyoming was flourishing, so was the northwestern community. One key difference being the lack of security from Clickers.

The hunting party was successful ninety nine percent of the time, getting most clickers and using whatever explosives they could find to dial down the infected rates. Vancouver was a large city before this. Almost one hundred and fifty thousand residents. Not including Portland’s large numbers. Vance was very forward about how things outside the community would go, the infected would be slaughtered – fully infected or not. No risks to be taken when it came to the town’s safety.

But, year after year the people of Fort Vancouver became strong and well equipped. Gathering supplies to feed and warm the group of one hundred-something people. Life was peaceful.

The autumn leaves spun in adolescent circles as they fell softly to the grassy ground, crisp air biting at y/n’s skin. A soft chuckle escaping her chilled lips as she walked down her rocky street. Pebbles popping under her worn boots. The woman clutched her thick Carhartt coat to her chest as the air nipped a little too much at her spine. Sun catching in her eyes, she kept her steady pace down to the gardens. People of the community waving as she passed by, gifting small smiles and nods as she continued.

Fort Vancouver was beautiful, only about three miles from her pre-outbreak home. The community members were hard working and skilled in protecting the haven. They had everything they needed to keep life peaceful. They did thorough checks when someone would go on a run and so there were never any cases inside the walls. Y/n was considered a lucky one, most of her family making it. Only her youngest sister perishing a month after everything went bad. Lost her to the nasty fungus.

The large garden came into her view. Birds sung in the trees above her, singing hopeful songs. Head falling back to gaze up, a shy grin grew on her cheeks. A quiet whistle leaving her cranked throat to sing back. Chuckling, she walked down to the potatoes. Gripping the plant tightly in her palms, she ripped up with little force. Dirt covered potatoes filled in her little woven bag y/n carried on her forearm. Turning swiftly on her heels, her feet led her to George – the garden trader.

“Good afternoon Ms. Kelly.” He smiled; hands folded in front of his old body. “Just the potatoes?”

Gazing down, she counted out loud. “I’ve got three potatoes and have three OPDIVO’s for Cheryl.” Y/n pulled a small plastic bag from her back pocket. Three little pills hanging loosely.

George’s eyes grew wide, the heavy stress falling from his shoulders. His wife now not having to worry as much about if she is going to pass from the cancer. “Thank you, y/n. Really.” He kindly smiled at the woman. Hands squeezing her own. He needed them.

Nodding politely, y/n walked off with her groceries.

Y/n was sweet, kind, and welcoming. When The neighbor lady had gotten too old, y/n took her in. Housing her within her family’s quarters. Now this old lady – Linda. Was of Irish descent and would beg for a colcannon potato, so as the oldest daughter of her family – Y/n would cook for Linda. Creating her own recipe and holding it quite dearly in her heart. The long afternoons when her and Linda would sit on y/n’s porch and laugh about stories they had come to write.

Her feet carried her to the steps of her cabin. Cabin number one, the largest home for the first family to arrive. The Kelly’s. The door swung open, hitting the logs softly as she scrapped the mud off her brown boots. Peering around, the house was quiet. Too quiet. Soft eyes gazing through the house, she didn’t notice anything out of place. They must be working, she thought to herself. Shrugging it off, y/n set the bag down on the wooden table.

Peeling off her layers – a scarf, her Carhartt jacket, and beanie. She smiled seeing her dads name written lazily on the tag. Vance. Her father was always up her ass about her layering, Vancouver was cold for about seventy-five percent of the year. Only summers giving warmth. The rest of the year gloomy and chilly. He had given her the beloved coat a year ago, when she had come back from gathering some seeds from a nearby abandoned nursey. The coat she adorned torn to shreds, blood staining it from the nasty rose bush she had admired.

Unfortunately, she didn’t gain a cool story from her trek. Just a sob story about how a rose bush jumped out and attacked her favorite coat.

The front door opened with a sharp squeak, the sound piercing y/n’s ears. Turning from the coat rack, her brothers wide frame stood in the doorway. Body stiff and eyes gazing off like a deer in head lights. Jacob, the warrior of the family. Never seemingly scared, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

Y/n’s hands reached out for him, her feet gliding her body to his. “J-Jacob?” Her voice almost at a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes flickered to her; head hung low. Breathing shot and slow. “Cory.” He paused, licking his bloody lip. “They got Cory.” Chokes of tears belted out, tears starting to pour down his beaten face as he came to terms with the death.

Cory was Jacobs best friend, brother if you will. Y/n had known him since her father welcomed his family in. “Oh Jacob, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes searched his face for a moment. “Are you bit?” Words like stone, y/n needed to be sure.

His lips folded together, disappearing as he sobbed. A small shake of his head soothed her.

Thank God.

Jacob tripped into y/n’s open arms; body heavy as he cried out. He hadn’t cried in what felt like ages, but y/n knew he needed to. Otherwise, he would bottle it up just like when their younger sister Opal died. He sat locked up in a hotel room for days, unable to come out and face the cruel world. That’s when he came to fight for his family, stuffing Opals passing away in the back of his mind. He decided he needed to be the savior of his family, he needed to fill what he had lost.

A loud sigh left y/n’s lips as she guided him to the couch, plopping him down besides her own body. His whimpers filled the air. She hadn’t seen him this bent out before, honestly, she was surprised he went to her and not his girlfriend.

He grew quiet for a moment. “Do you think Ella is wondering where you’re at?” Y/n mumbled.

Sighing he sat up from her shoulder. “Probably. Thank you, bug.” Jacob croaked. Standing, he ruffled at his younger sister’s hair.

The next morning was colder than the one before, temperatures dropping quickly for the coming winter. Beautiful morning songs unsung, the birds flying south to warmer weather. Drapes feathered at y/n’s face as she slept like a milk-drunk kitten. Arm thrown over her head, she was the most comfortable she’d been since, well ever.

A crisp morning wind shot under her blanket, shooting herself awake with a deep shiver. Teeth grinding as her eyes stretched open. Room dimly lit by the morning sunrise; her body rose from her laying position like an infected. Fingers rubbing the sleep away, y/n stretched her long legs out. Toes tapping the end of the vintage bedframe. Beautiful morning.

“Vance!” A deep voice called, snapping y/n from her morning thoughts.

Peering out the second story window, she saw Bobby shouting up at the window besides hers. Weird, he never was so intrusive. Y/n’s eyes furrowed as she leaned out of her window.

Raspy still, she spoke out. “What’s up Bobby, I think dads showering.”

His eyes were heavy, the look of alert written all over his aged face. “A man and a girl were found about 500 yards out; we need your dad’s permission on something.” Lies. Y/n thought.

“If they’re not infected, they are not to be killed.” Her voice dripped with anger, Bobby was known to make rash decisions and the fact that he was here asking to murder two people was shocking.

A scoff left his lips, head shaking in humor. “Why don’t you come with Vance, you should see this too.” Hands on his hips he gazed one more time at her father’s bedroom window. “Tell him to hurry his old ass up.” With that Bobby was vanished.

The woman jumped out of bed with anticipation. The plaid boxer shorts hugging her waist as she raced to the bathroom down the long hall. Water splashing loud and pools of steam pouring out from the door’s cracks. Her fists pounded on the wooden door; eyeballs shut tight.

“Dad there’s an emergency at the gates!” Y/n’s voice rang high, the shower squealed off. “Bobby said two people showed up, wants us both down there.” She continued, running back down to her bedroom.

Y/n threw a grey hoodie, green flannel, and her carpenter pants onto her muscular body. Strapping her custom knife holster onto one of her thighs and her leather Smith and Wesson Pistol holder to the opposite thigh. Slinging her thick boot socks over her feet, y/n’s favorite pair of old doc martens covered the layer. Bent over, her hair fell to the front of her face – blowing it from her eyes.

Standing upright, she placed the gun into its holster. The wind creeping in once more as she turned to walk out of the cozy room. Vance doing the same, the pair in sync shuffled down the stairs. Feet clamoring the wooden steps, the two trudged down the streets to the front gates.

People gathered around the medic building, just next to the main posts. Vance softly made his way through the crowd, y/n following behind her father. The building was small, only three rooms inside. They made their way in, past the small waiting room. Bobby stood in front of the far-left room; arms crossed over his broad chest. Bobby’s rifle strapped tightly to his front.

Vance looked around before he spoke up. “What’s going on, Bobby?”

Bobby gazed down at y/n, licking his lips as he started. “A man probably early to mid-fifties.” He moved from in front the window, a man gruff and grey laying on the bed. Y/n’s eyes stared down at him, intrigued by the man. “He has a concussion and a stab wound on his left thigh” Bobby scratched his beard. “He’s not the special one though.” The group shifted their focus to the young girl strapped down to the bed across from the man. Soft chocolate brown hair surrounding her little body, pale skin freckled innocently. “When we tested them, they both came up not infected. When we checked for injuries, she had a bite that looks like it’s been healed for a while.”

Y/n’s father peered over at Bobby, eyes wide and worried. “Bobby, what if it was a false test?!” His voice not raising a whisper.

Bobby sighed, rubbing his forehead. “We did blood tests and the scan.” He paused. “Shes immune.”

The Inspiration board for this story

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine

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