Asha’s Monsters

You chewed your lip, searching for the right words to express your unease. The idea of working out in Honeycomb, a neighborhood known for its devotion to Ishtar, sent a wave of anxiety through you. That was the only part of town where you had seen a community recreational center host "naked swim days" and let people post flyers advertising weekly orgies.

"It's just... Honeycomb is a bit... woo-woo, isn't it?" You finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Phoebe's laughter sparkled through the phone. "Oh, come on! It's not like everyone's walking around naked or anything."

You winced, wanting to say "they kind of are." Honeycomb's reputation for body positivity and sensuality was well-known throughout the city. The thought of your softer curves standing out amidst a sea of chiseled abs and defined muscles made your stomach churn.

"I don't know, Phoebe. I'm not exactly... Honeycomb material." Your fingers absently plucked at the hem of your shirt, suddenly hyper-aware of the way it clung to your midsection.

"What are you talking about? Everyone starts somewhere!" Phoebe's voice softened, a hint of concern creeping in. "Is this about the whole Ishtar thing?"

You sighed, sinking deeper into your couch. "Maybe? It's just... you know how people are there. All touchy-feely and confident. I'm not sure I'd fit in."

"Hey, that's not fair. Ishtar followers aren't all about perfect bodies, you know. It's about loving yourself as you are."

Your skepticism must have traveled through the phone because Phoebe quickly added, "Look, why don't you visit on the next Tuesday—Trial Tuesday, when newbies can try it out—and see how you feel? Just because people in Honeycomb look nice and act confident doesn't mean they're douchebags. They do follow the goddess of love, after all."

You let out a long sigh, your resolve crumbling under Phoebe's enthusiastic persuasion. "Alright, alright. I'll give it a try. But just one visit, okay?"

"Yes! You won't regret it, I promise." Phoebe's excitement bubbled through the phone. "Oh, and don't forget to mention my name at the front desk. They know me there."

Your stomach twisted. "Wait, you're not coming with me?"

"Ah, about that..." Phoebe's voice took on an apologetic tone. "I've got a work thing that day. But you'll be fine! The staff there are super friendly."

Great. Now you'd be venturing into unknown territory alone. "Some gym buddy you are," you grumbled.

"You've got this," Phoebe assured you. "Text me after and tell me how it goes!"

The day of your gym visit arrived all too quickly. You stood in front of your bedroom mirror, tugging at the hem of your new workout top. The fabric clung to your curves in a way that made you both self-conscious and oddly confident. Turns out, all it takes to look like a gym goer is to put on gym clothes.

Your eyes traveled over your reflection, taking in the sight of your body wrapped in still-returnable athletic wear. The leggings hugged your thighs, accentuating their shape. You turned to the side, observing how the high-waisted band looked painted on to your stomach.

There were a couple things going through your mind; anxiety gnawed at the edges of it, whispering doubts about how you'd measure up in a gym full of the Honeycomb crowd and Ishtar followers. But beneath that, a strange note of confidence too. The outfit, despite its snugness, was incredibly comfortable, and knowing you'd be dressed the same as everyone else helped a bit.

You took a deep breath, squaring your shoulders. "It's just one visit," you reminded yourself, meeting your own gaze in the mirror. "You can do this."

Grabbing your gym bag, you headed for the door. The drive to Honeycomb seemed both endless and far too short. As you pulled into the parking lot of Temple of the Body, your heart raced. The building loomed before you, its architecture fitting in with the Honeycomb aesthetic to a tee; a stone facade covered in elaborate geometric inlays, flowering vines and planters, and—of course—nude relief sculptures of Ishtar. She didn't look like you at all.

You sit in your car for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel. Part of you wants to turn around and drive home, but Phoebe's encouragement echoes in your mind, as does the potential nagging if you bail. With a final deep breath, you step out of the car.

The automatic doors slide open, unleashing a wave of cool air with a hint of lavender. You approach the front desk, where a smiling woman greets you; she definitely fits in with the Honeycomb crowd, her dyed blue hair and tattoos complementing her body, which definitely belonged in a gym.

"Welcome to Temple of the Body! How can I help you today?"

You swallow hard, willing your voice not to shake. "Hi, I'm here for a... a trial visit? My friend Phoebe recommended this place."

The woman's smile widens. "Oh, you're a friend of Phoebe's? Wonderful! Let me get you set up with a trial pass. Remember, there's no commitment and you can always come back next Trial Tuesday if you're still not sure."

You take a tentative step into the lobby, your eyes sweeping across the space. The interior of Temple of the Body is a far cry from the utilitarian gyms you've seen in your own part of town. Warm, earthy tones dominate the decor, with splashes of vibrant greens from potted plants scattered throughout the sandstone-like interior alongside more of those damn nude Ishtar statues.

As you peer into the main workout area, your breath catches in your throat. The first thing that strikes you is the sheer diversity of the clientele. Humans mingle with metahumans of all kinds—you spot a towering Minotaur spotting for a petite Naga on the bench press, while a group of Dryads lead a yoga class in a glass-walled room with poses that would kill you.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to the brawny. A human woman with abs you could grate cheese on effortlessly pulls herself up on a set of rings. Nearby, an Orc with biceps the size of your thighs curls a dumbbell that looks heavier than you.

But as you continue to scan the room, you spot a few bodies that look more like yours. A human man with a round, doughy build jogs on a treadmill, his face flushed but determined. In the free weights section, a literally thicker Dryad, her bark-like skin adorned with moss, performs squats with perfect form.

You watch as another group finishes up a class, laughing and chatting as they towel off and head to what is presumably the locker rooms. The camaraderie is palpable, with people of all shapes and sizes offering each other high-fives and chatting like old friends.

The receptionist gently touches your arm. "Would you like a quick tour before you start your trial session?"

You nod, still a bit conflicted. Everything you've seen so far is living up to Phoebe's promises, but the anxiety in your gut is far too resilient to be defeated this quickly.

"Great!" She looks around, eyes searching the gym floor, before finding her target and pointing at what you can only describe as a mountain of a Demon as he sits on a bench, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. "That's Zeke, one of our personal trainers. He'll tell you all about the gym and guide you through your workout today, if you'd like."

"Uh…" You stammer. Everything and everyone has been welcoming so far, but you'd be lying if you weren't a bit intimidated by Zeke. Much of his deep crimson skin is on display thanks to his scant tank top and tiny shorts, crowned by a pair of curling onyx horns.

The receptionist notices your hesitation and gives you a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Zeke may look intimidating, but he's a sweetheart. He's Phoebe’s trainer, and actually our most popular one for newcomers."

Before you can protest, she calls out, "Hey Zeke! Got a new member here who could use a tour."

The massive Demon's head snaps up at the sound of his name, and a broad grin spreads across his face as he spots you. He stands, his impressive height becoming even more apparent as he makes his way over.

"Hey there! I'm Zzikaerax, but you can just call me Zeke," he says, his voice a deep rumble that you can almost feel in your chest. "Welcome to Temple of the Body!"

You introduce yourself, your voice sounding small in comparison. Zeke's presence is overwhelming, not just because of his size, but because of the sheer energy he exudes. His crimson skin seems to radiate warmth, and his onyx horns gleam under the gym's lights.

"First time here, huh?" Zeke asks, leaning in close. You catch a whiff of something spicy and intoxicating. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of you."

The receptionist chimes in, "Zeke's a lust Demon, but don't let that worry you. He's all about helping people feel good about themselves and their bodies."

Zeke nods enthusiastically. "That's right! Nothing makes me happier than seeing someone fall in love with fitness and their own body. Sweat is just foreplay for success, as I always say."

As he speaks, Zeke places a large hand on your shoulder, guiding you towards the gym floor. His touch is warm, almost hot, and you're not sure if it's because of his demonic nature or if it's just your own nervousness causing you to fixate on the contact.

"So, what are your fitness goals?" Zeke asks, his face inches from yours as he leans down to hear your response. "Strength? Flexibility? Or maybe you just want to feel more confident?"

You stammer out a vague answer about generally just getting your heart rate up, acutely aware of how close Zeke is standing. Is this normal in Honeycomb? You know that followers of Ishtar tend to be more physically affectionate, but you can't help the way your body reacts.

As you walk through the gym, Zeke's hand remains on your shoulder, occasionally sliding down to the small of your back as he guides you around equipment. His touch is gentle but firm, and you find yourself unsure whether to lean into it or step away.

"And over here we have our cardio section," Zeke says, gesturing with his free hand, "the second best way to get your heart rate up." He winks at you, and you feel a flush creep up your neck.

As Zeke guides you onto the gym floor, your heart races, and not just from anticipation of the workout. His massive hand rests on the small of your back, warm and impossibly large against your skin.

"Let's start with some basic stretches," he rumbles, his voice low and intimate. "Gotta make sure you're nice and limber."

You nod, not trusting your voice. Zeke positions himself behind you, his presence looming large.

"Arms up, reach for the sky," he instructs. As you comply, his hands ghost along your sides, ostensibly to check your form. "Good, now bend forward, try to touch your toes."

You lean down, feeling exposed. Zeke's hands slide down your back, fingertips tracing your spine. "Breathe deep," he murmurs, so close you can feel his breath on your neck.

With each new stretch, Zeke's touch lingers longer, grows bolder. He guides your hips into position for a lunge, fingers splayed across your waist. When you rotate your torso, his palm presses flat against your stomach, steadying you.

"How's that feel?" he asks, voice husky.

"Good," you manage to squeak out, unsure if you're referring to the stretch or his touch.

Zeke moves to face you, demonstrating a shoulder roll. "Like this," he says, reaching out to manipulate your arms. His fingers trail down to your wrists, circling them gently before releasing.

You can't ignore the heat radiating from his skin, the way his eyes seem to drink you in. Is this normal for a trainer? For a lust Demon? For Honeycomb?

"Last one," Zeke announces, moving behind you once more. "We'll do a standing backbend. Don't worry, I've got you."

His massive hands span your ribcage as you lean back, trusting him to support your weight. You feel the solid wall of muscle against your back, his breath hot on your ear.

"That's it," he encourages, "just relax into it."

You hold the position, hyper-aware of every point of contact between your bodies. Zeke's thumbs rub small circles on your sides, a gesture that feels more intimate than instructional.

As he helps you straighten up, his hands linger, sliding around to your stomach. You stand there, pressed against him, breath coming quick and shallow.

"How do you feel now?" Zeke asks, his voice a low purr.

You swallow hard, mind reeling. The warmth of his touch, the spicy scent of his skin, the raw energy emanating from him – it's all too much, too intense. And yet, you can't bring yourself to step away. Probably because you're so dedicated to this workout, right?

"Um… good," you admit, though 'good' at best is a lie of omission.

"Good!" Zeke gently claps the small of your back, sending more shivers up your spine. "Stretching is important to do before any exercise, whether it's a session at the gym or something more impromptu."

Zeke steps back, giving you space to breathe, to think. His smile is warm, inviting, as he moves into an open area of the gym. "Let's start with some basic strength exercises," he says, beckoning you to follow.

You mirror his stance as he demonstrates a squat, feet planted firmly on the ground, shoulders back. His muscles shift beneath his tank top, a mesmerizing display of controlled power. You try to focus on his form, on the way his knees bend and his hips hinge, but your eyes are drawn to the expanse of crimson skin stretching over hard muscle, the way his shorts cling to his thighs, barely containing the thick outline of his cock.

"Like this," he encourages, dropping into a deep squat. You mimic him, feeling the burn in your thighs, the stretch in your glutes. His eyes are on you, watching, assessing. You flush under his gaze, a mix of exertion and something else, something hot pooling in your stomach.

"Good," he praises, standing up. "Now, lunges."

He demonstrates the movement, one leg stretched out behind him, the other bent at the knee. His shorts ride up, revealing more of his thigh, the curve of his ass. You swallow hard, tearing your eyes away to focus on your own form.

You lunge forward, wobbling slightly. Zeke's hands are there instantly, steadying you. His touch is hot, searing through the thin fabric of your leggings. "Easy," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "Take your time. It's not a race."

You nod, trying to ignore the heat of his hands, the way your heart is pounding in your chest. You lunge again, slower this time, more controlled. Zeke's hands follow you, guiding you, supporting you.

"That's it," he says, his voice like velvet. "You're doing great."

You can feel the sweat trickling down your spine, the flush in your cheeks. Zeke's eyes are on you, intense, focused. You can't look away, can't break the connection. There's something in his gaze, something hungry.

He steps closer, his hands still on your waist. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the spicy scent of his skin filling your nostrils. "You're strong," he says, his voice a low growl. "You just need to believe it."

You stand there, frozen, heart pounding. Zeke's hands slide around to your back, pulling you closer. You can feel the hard planes of his chest against yours, the thickness of his barely-contained cock pressed against your stomach.

"Zeke," you whisper, your voice barely audible. You're not sure if it's a protest or a plea.

He leans down, his breath hot on your ear. "Yes?"

Your hands are on his chest, his heart thudding under your palm. You can feel the power in him, the raw, untamed energy. It's frightening. Intoxicating. You're not sure what you want, what you're doing. But you're pretty sure you don't want him to stop.

"I...I don't know what I'm doing," you admit, your voice a whisper.

Zeke's lips curl into a smile, his eyes never leaving yours. "That's okay," he says, his voice a low purr. "I do."

His hands slide down to cup your ass, pulling you against him. You gasp, your eyes widening. He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. "Trust me," he says, his voice a soft growl.

And you do. You trust him, even though you barely know him. Even though he's a lust Demon, even though you're in the middle of a gym, even though this is all happening too fast. You trust him, because somehow, inexplicably, it feels right.

His lips brush against yours, a soft, gentle touch that sends sparks shooting through your veins. You melt into him, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, your fingers tangling in his horns. He groans, a low, hungry sound that sends a hot shiver coursing through you.

You're vaguely aware of the other people in the gym, of the clank of weights and the hum of conversation. But it all fades away, lost in the heat of Zeke's kiss, the feel of his hands on your body, the press of his cock against you.

He breaks the kiss, your breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes are like molten lava, hot and hungry. "You're doing amazing for a newbie," he growls, his voice a low rumble.

You can't speak, can't think. You look around, and nobody seems to be paying you any notice. All you can do is feel. Feel the heat of his body, the strength of his arms, the hardness of his cock. Is this sort of thing normal here? Is rutting your cock against someone the Honeycomb way of saying hello? Do the people around you just think Zeke is your boyfriend or something?

Zeke's hands slide under your top, his fingers tracing the curves of your body. You shiver, your breath hitching in your throat. His touch is like fire, burning away all your doubts, all your fears. Still, nobody is looking at you two. Not like you would be able to care right now, anyway.

"Zeke," you gasp, definitely a plea this time.

He smiles, a slow, wicked curve of his lips. "Yes?"

You can't answer, can't find the words. But you don't need to. Zeke knows what you want, what you need. And he's more than willing to give it to you.

His hands slide up, cupping your breasts through your sports bra. You arch into his touch, a moan escaping your lips. He chuckles, his thumbs circling your nipples, plucking a gasp from your lips.

"So…" he rumbles, lowering his hands and resting them on your hips, "we could stay out here, do some more core exercises… or we could take this somewhere else."

"Somewhere else?" You manage to get out. Zeke's eyes finally lose their lock on you, and you follow his gaze to a doorway towards the back of the gym.

You follow Zeke's gaze to the doorway at the back of the gym that you saw the class exit through earlier. He leads you towards it, his hand still resting on your hip, fingers tracing small circles that send shivers up your spine. The doorway is unassuming, blending into the wall, but as you step through, your breath catches. It leads to the locker room—just one.

The room is vast, tiled in shades of blue and green, with lockers lining one wall and showers along the other. Steam fills the air, and the scent of soap and something more primal hangs heavy. In the center, there are benches, mats, and towels scattered about. And people. Humans and metahumans in various states of undress, some showering, some intertwined with others, touching and moaning with satisfied pleasure.

Your eyes widen, taking it all in. Zeke's lips curl into a smirk as he watches your reaction. "Welcome to the real Temple of the Body," he rumbles, his voice echoing off the tiles. "This is why our members keep coming back."

He guides you further inside, his hand sliding from your hip to the small of your back. You can't help but stare. A Naga, her scales shimmering under the water, is entwined with a human in one of the shower stalls. On a mat, a Minotaur, his gold septum ring glinting, kneels behind a Dryad, his hands exploring her bark-like skin as his massive cock grows from soft and drooping to hard and leaking.

"Zeke, what..." you start, but his finger presses against your lips, silencing you.

"Shh, no judgments here," he says, his eyes never leaving yours. "This is a reward for working hard, for improving yourself every day."

He steers you to an empty bench, his hands on your shoulders, gentle but firm, pushing you down. You sit, the tile cold against your thighs. Zeke stands over you, his crimson skin a stark contrast to the pale blue of the locker room.

"You're curious," he says, his voice low, commanding. "I can see it in your eyes. You're shy but you want to be just like them."

You swallow hard, unsure how to defend yourself against an accusation so true. Zeke takes your silence as consent, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them apart, making room for him. Looking between his horns, the Minotaur from earlier has the Dryad speared on his cock, bouncing her on his lap as she cries out.

"Let's start slow," he growls, his eyes locked onto yours. His hands slide up your thighs, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your leggings. He tugs, and you lift your hips, allowing him to pull them off. The tepid, humid air hits your skin, sending goosebumps racing up your legs.

Zeke's hands roam, cupping your calves, kneading your thighs. His touch is firm, possessive. He leans in, his breath hot on your inner thigh. "You smell delicious," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your skin.

Your heart hammers in your chest as his hands move higher, gripping your hips, thumbs digging into your flesh. His eyes are fixed on your breasts, heaving with each ragged breath. He licks his lips, a hungry, primal gesture that sends a surge of heat through you.

"Look at you," he growls. "So soft." His hands move up, cupping your breasts through your sports bra. You gasp as his thumbs find your nipples, circling, teasing. The fabric is thin—too thin to even tell it’s there.

You squirm under his gaze, his touch. It's too much, too intense. But Zeke holds you firm, his hands demanding, his eyes commanding. "Don't move," he orders, his voice harsh. "Let me explore you."

His hands move to your back, unhooking your bra with a swift, practiced motion. He pulls it off, baring you to his gaze. You shiver, resisting the urge to cover yourself. Zeke's eyes drink you in, his pupils dilating.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he rasps, his hands cupping your breasts, lifting them, squeezing them. His touch is rough, just shy of painful, but it sends jolts of pleasure coursing through you.

He leans in, his tongue flicking out, teasing your nipple. You gasp, arching into the warmth of his licks. He chuckles, a low, throaty sound. "Sensitive, aren't you?" he murmurs, before taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.

You cry out, your hands finding their way to his horns, gripping them tightly. Zeke groans, the sound vibrating against your skin. He pulls back, his eyes meeting yours. "You like that?" he asks, his voice a low rumble. "You like it rough?"

You nod, breathless, unable to speak. Zeke's lips curl into a wicked smile. "Good," he says, his hands gripping your breasts, squeezing and kneading them. "Because I like it rough too."

His mouth finds your other nipple, biting, sucking, as his hands continue to explore your body. You're lost in a sea of sensation, drowning in the feel of his hands, his mouth, his body pressed against yours.

Zeke's hands slide down, gripping your hips, digging into your flesh. He pulls you to the edge of the bench, pressing his body between your thighs. You can feel the hard length of him, the heat of him, even through his shorts.

He grinds against you, his mouth finding yours, kissing you deeply. His tongue invades your mouth, claiming you. You moan into his kiss, your hands still gripping his horns, holding on for dear life.

Zeke pulls back, his breath ragged, his eyes wild. "Fuck, you're driving me crazy," he growls. "I want to taste you."

His hands move to your thighs, spreading them wider. You're exposed, vulnerable, but you trust him. You want this. You need this.

Zeke leans in, his breath hot on your core. You tremble, anticipating his touch. But he hesitates, his eyes meeting yours. "Is this okay?" he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle for a moment.

You nod, breathless. "Yes," you manage to gasp out. "Please."

The gentleness disappears. Zeke's hands grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. His breath is hot on your skin, sending shivers up your spine. You can feel his hunger, his desire, in every touch, every movement. His long, forked tongue flicks out, rough against your clit, and your legs shake in response. A gasp escapes your lips, your hands grasping at the bench, searching for something to ground you.

Zeke's tongue works magic on your flesh, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. You can't help but squirm under his touch, your hips bucking against his mouth. He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that vibrates against your skin. "Eager, aren't you?" he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with amusement and desire.

You flush, a mix of embarrassment and arousal heating your cheeks. Zeke's smirk widens, his tongue circling your clit with a teasing slowness. "Don't fight it," he growls, his hands sliding up to grip your hips, holding you firmly in place. "Let go. Submit to it."

Your breath hitches in your throat, your body tensing as his tongue flicks against you, relentless and demanding. The pressure builds, coiling and ready to snap. You can feel the eyes of the others on you, watching, waiting. It's overwhelming, intoxicating, pushing you closer to the edge.

Zeke senses your hesitation, your resistance. He pulls back, his eyes meeting yours, intense and commanding. "Look at them," he orders, his voice harsh. "They're all watching you, wanting you. They can see how much you need this, how much you want it."

You do as he says, your gaze flicking around the room. A Naga's eyes are locked onto you, her hand moving faster and faster over her slit, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The Minotaur has turned to watch you, his cock hard and dripping as it presses against the Dryad's ass. She looks at you too, her eyes eager as she takes a break from the Minotaur's pounding.

"See?" Zeke murmurs, his breath hot on your skin. "We're all the same, really. Even your Dryad friend loves bouncing on my cock after a run on the treadmill."

His words break down the last of your resistance. You let go, surrendering to the sensation, to the desire. Your body tenses, your muscles clenching tightly, and then you're falling, tumbling over the edge into a sea of pleasure.

Zeke's tongue never stops, never relents, drawing out your orgasm, wringing every last drop of pleasure from your body. You cry out, your voice echoing off the tiled walls, joining the rest of the searing hot orgasms around you. Your body shakes, your legs trembling, your hands gripping the bench so tightly your knuckles turn white.

As the waves of pleasure subside, you collapse back onto the bench, your body limp and sated. Zeke lifts his head, his lips glistening with your juices, a smug smile on his face. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Good girl," he praises, his voice a low purr. "You did so well."

You can't speak, can't form words. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest. Zeke stands, his body towering over you, his cock hard and straining against his shorts. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.

"But we're not done yet," he rumbles, his voice dark. "Not until I've had my fun with these."

Zeke's hands claim your breasts again, his fingers splayed possessively over their softness. He seems entranced, his gaze locked onto the generous curves, his thumbs tracing the delicate line of your collarbone before dipping down to circle your nipples. You can't ignore the raw hunger in his eyes, the unapologetic want that has him captivated.

"Fuck, I could get lost in these things,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that resonates through you. His hands are rough, kneading and squeezing, as if he can't get enough of the feel of you. You gasp as his fingers pinch your nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain coursing through you.

He releases you, only to hook his thumbs into the waistband of his tiny shorts. With a swift, confident motion, he pulls them down, revealing his cock. It springs free, thick and hard, the tip glistening with precum. You stare, your heart pounding in your chest. It's intimidating, the size of it, the thickness, the weight. Not to mention the heavy balls hanging beneath, full with his lust.

Zeke chuckles, a sound like distant thunder, as he sees your expression. "Don't worry," he says, his voice a soothing growl. "I'm don't feel like pussy right now." He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "I want to fuck these lovely, heavy breasts first. I want to slide my cock between them until I paint your face."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of relief and anticipation. You look up at him, your eyes wide, your lips slightly parted. Zeke smiles, a slow, wicked curve of his lips. He straddles the bench, his powerful thighs framing your body, his cock jutting out proudly.

"Come here," he orders, his voice gentle yet commanding. He guides your hands to your breasts, encouraging you to cup them, to lift them to meet him. You do as he says, your fingers sinking into the soft flesh, your heart racing. Zeke groans, his eyes darkening as he watches you. "Fuck, that's hot," he murmurs. "Always wanted to do this."

He shifts closer, his cock resting heavy and hot on your breasts. You look down at it, a bead of precum dripping onto your skin, marking you. Zeke's hands cover yours, squeezing, molding your breasts around his cock. He starts to move, a slow, steady thrust that sends his cock sliding through the valley of your breasts.

The sensation is strangely gratifying. The heat of him, the hardness, the wetness of his precum slicking the way. You look up at Zeke, his face a mask of concentration and pleasure, his horns casting dramatic shadows on the wall behind him. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his body tensing with each thrust.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he growls, his eyes locked onto yours. "Your skin, your softness... it's driving me crazy."

You can't look away, can't break the connection. You're entranced, caught up in the raw, primal rhythm of his body. Your hands surrender to his commands, squeezing your breasts tighter around him, creating more friction, more pleasure.

Zeke's thrusts become faster, more urgent. His breath hitches, his body tenses. He's close, you can feel it. You can see it in the wildness of his eyes, the strain of his muscles. His cock swells, the tip turning a deep, angry red.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he grunts, his voice barely more than a growl. His hands move to your face, cupping your cheeks, his thumbs tracing your lips. "I want to paint your face with my cum. Get ready!"

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. You're nervous, excited, aroused—too many things all at once. But you trust him. You want this. You want to feel him, to feel the heat of his seed on your skin.

Zeke's body goes rigid, a roar ripping through his throat. His cock pulses, hot streams of cum shooting out, painting your breasts, your chest, your face. It's dirty, it's raw, it's intimate. You gasp, your body trembling as you feel the heat of him, the possessiveness of his mark.

His breath slows, his body relaxing. He looks down at you, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Fuck, you look good like this," he murmurs, his thumb smearing a drop of cum across your cheek.

You can't speak, can't form words. Your body is still trembling, your mind still reeling. Zeke leans down, licking some of himself off you before his lips brush against yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

He pulls back, his eyes searching yours. "You okay?" he asks, his voice soft, the gentleness from earlier returning.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yes," you manage to whisper. "I'm okay."

Zeke smiles back, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. "Good," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Let's get you cleaned up, then."

Zeke stands, offering you his hand. You take it, your legs still shaky, and he leads you towards the showers. The room is filled with steam, the sound of water hitting tile echoing off the walls. You pass by a Succubus, her midnight blue skin glistening as she moves under the spray, her hands braced against the wall as a Satyr fucks her from behind. She hisses in pleasure, her spade-tipped tail coiling around his leg, pulling him deeper.

You look away, a blush heating your cheeks. Zeke chuckles, squeezing your hand. "Don't be shy, babe. Everyone's just enjoying themselves here."

He leads you to an empty showerhead, turning the knob until water cascades down. He tests the temperature, adjusting it until he's satisfied. Then he turns to you, his hands on your shoulders, guiding you under the spray.

The water is hot, soothing your muscles, washing away the sweat and cum from your skin. You close your eyes, tilting your head back, letting the water run over your face. Zeke's hands are gentle as he lathers soap onto a towel, washing you with careful, deliberate movements.

"You did good out there," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Pushed yourself. That's what this place is about. Pushing limits, finding boundaries."

You open your eyes, looking up at him. His horns are dark against the bright tile, his eyes intent on his task. He's being gentle, caring, but there's still that self-assured smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. It's like this was his plan from the beginning; while you were losing control, feverish and horny, this was just another day at work for him.

"It's weird," you admit, your voice soft. "Being here, doing... this. It's not what I expected."

Zeke laughs, a deep, throaty sound. "That's the point, babe. Expect the unexpected. That's where growth happens."

He runs the washrag over your breasts, your stomach, between your legs. His touch is clinical, but there's an intimacy to it that sends a warm flush through you. He's taking care of you, in his own way.

Next to you, the Succubus cries out, her body writhing as she comes. The Satyr grunts, his hands gripping her hips as he finds his own release. You watch, your breath hitching, as they slow, their bodies still joined.

Zeke follows your gaze, a small smile on his face. "See? Everyone's just here to feel good. Nothing to be embarrassed about."

He turns you around, washing your back, your ass. His hands are firm, confident. You can feel his cock, hard again, pressing against your hip. But he makes no move to take things further, content to just wash you, touch you.

"You're tense," he says, his thumbs digging into the muscles of your shoulders. "Relax. Cooling down is just as important as warming up."

You take a deep breath, trying to let the tension go. Zeke's hands move to your neck, your scalp, massaging gently. It feels good, too good. You can feel yourself melting under his touch, your body leaning into his.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice approving. "Just let go."

He turns you back around, rinsing the soap from your body. His eyes meet yours, his expression soft. "You're strong, you know that? Stronger than you think."

You shake your head, a small smile on your face. "I'm not strong. I'm... I'm just me."

Zeke's hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. "You can be both."

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It's gentle, chaste, a surprising contrast to his earlier roughness. You kiss him back, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

When he pulls back, his eyes are soft, warm. "Feel better?" he asks.

You nod, a sense of contentment washing over you. "Yes. Thank you."

He grins, his smugness returning. "Told you I'd take good care of you."

He turns off the water, grabbing a towel from a nearby shelf. He wraps it around you, his hands rubbing your arms, warming you. You step out of the shower, your eyes sweeping over the room.

The Minotaur and the Dryad are gone, their shower empty. The Naga and the Satyr are cleaning up, their bodies slick with soap, their movements languid, sated. You watch them, a sense of peace settling over you.

–––

You grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles still flushed from the shower's heat and Zeke's touch. The city lights blur past as you drive home, the rumble of the engine echoing your pulsing heart. With a trembling hand, you dial Phoebe.

"Phoebe," you say, voice tight, "you could've warned me about the gym. And Zeke. And the locker room… and everything else!"

A soft laugh echoes through the line. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I thought you'd find it exciting. A little adventure."

"Adventure?" You scoff, but your voice lacks real anger. "Phoebe, it was an orgy. And Zeke... he was..." You trail off, remembering his hands, his tongue, his commands.

"He was what?" Phoebe asks, her voice laced with amusement.

You sigh, admitting, "He was intense. And I... I bought a membership."

Phoebe laughs again, a sound like leaves rustling. "I knew you'd like it. Zeke has that effect on people."

"You could've told me," you grumble, but there's no heat in your words. You find yourself curious, eager even. "You know, told me anything at all."

Phoebe hesitates, then begins, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Told you what? That he loves fucking me after a run? That he says he loves how my body moves, how my vines pulse with magic when I come."

You swallow hard, your body already heating at the image. "Okay, first, TMI. Second… your vines… do they really do that?"

"Mm-hmm," Phoebe hums. "It's like every nerve ending is on fire. He likes to run his tongue along them, make me shake and shiver."

You shift in your seat, your body aching at the mental image. "Goodness." A small gasp escapes your lips.

"You okay?" Phoebe asks, concern in her voice.

"Fine," you breathe. "Just... remembering."

Phoebe laughs softly. "Good memories, I hope. Did he stick it in you on your first day?"

"No, and I'm glad he didn't, honestly," you chuckle, a nervous reaction to the heat rushing to your cheeks. "Um, Phoebe, I should go. I'm almost home."

"Alright, girl," she says, her voice warm. "But don't think you're getting off that easy. We're having coffee tomorrow, and you're telling me everything."

You laugh, a mix of embarrassment and excitement bubbling up. "Fine, fine. But you're buying."

"Deal," Phoebe agrees. "Get some rest, you'll need it for your next session."

Pulling into your parking spot, you kill the engine and sit for a moment. Your body aches in places you didn't know could ache, but there's a satisfaction underneath it all. A sense of accomplishment, of pushing your boundaries.

As Desmond leads you through the backyard into the rapidly darkening woods, you can't help but feel a slight sense of unease. You voice your concerns about potentially dangerous animals lurking within, but Desmond reassures you with a confident grin.

"Trust me, any dangerous critters will be scared away by the Lupines from town running through the forest. It's their exercise time, after all."

"Where are we going, though?" you ask, curiosity piqued.

"Ah, it wouldn't be a surprise if I told you now, would it?" He winks, his pearlescent chitin catching the light filtering through the trees. "But here's a hint: It's a popular hangout spot for people in town, me included."

"Sounds intriguing," you muse, feeling excitement build. "Lead the way, kind sir."

Soon enough, you reach your destination: an old mill. It's clearly a decrepit building, with parts of its skeletal beams exposed to the elements and moss creeping up one side of it. Instead of being a spooky haunt, though, it's warm and inviting: there are much newer looking couches and cushions set up everywhere, and fairy lights hanging here and there light a clear path into the building.

"Wow, this is cute," you breathe, feeling a sense of nostalgia for this place you'd never been to before. You can imagine Desmond as a younger Moth coming here with his school friends... and maybe his ex.

"Come on," Desmond says, taking your hand gently in his. He leads you up a slightly precarious set of wooden boards to a cozy seating area with an incredible view of the full moon. You both settle onto a plush couch, and Desmond takes you literally under his fuzzy, warm wing. Any unsavory thoughts about him with someone else are washed away by a wave of déjà vu; this feels like an upgraded version of your meeting on the trail. The moon is full, Desmond is keeping you warm, and despite feeling slightly lost, everything is okay.

"Desmond, this is lovely," you whisper, captivated by the moonlit scene before you.

"Isn't it?" he replies softly. "I always loved coming here to think or just escape from everything for a while. Might've come here as a wee Moth in high school, too."

As the night unfolds, you and Desmond open up about what drove you both to hike the Appalachian Trail, aside from your respective breakups. You share how you felt stuck in a rut, burdened by life's responsibilities, and how the breakup was the final straw that propelled you into leaving everything behind for a bit.

Desmond listens intently, nodding in understanding and resting his head against yours. "It was the same for me. I felt so trapped and stifled by my mom that once my ex and I parted, I really didn't have much keeping me in town. So once the hiking gear got delivered, I just kinda... left."

"It's hard to imagine you rebelling against your mom like that."

"Breakups make me impulsive, I guess," he sighs, shrugging. "Even though my mom is on my case because of it, I don't regret it one bit. It's how I met you, after all."

You open your mouth to say something, but instead decide to simply nestle yourself into his neck fuzz. It gets quieter... and warmer. You simply have to kiss him now. As you lean in, however, you misjudge the anatomy of his Mothperson mouth, and accidentally click your teeth against one of his mandibles. You pull back, mortified.

"Oops," you mutter, your cheeks burning. "Sorry about that."

Desmond chuckles softly, unfazed by your blunder. "It's okay. Let's just enjoy the rest of our night here, together." His wing wraps around you even tighter, and you lean into him, feeling a warmth and connection you haven't felt in ages. "How about a redo on that kiss?"

"Okay." Your heart races.

Desmond gently places his hand on your cheek, guiding you closer as he leans in. With deliberate care, he walks you step by step through an intimate, tender kiss, his proboscis and mandibles playing with your tongue. The sensation is completely new and unexpected, but it sends a surge of warmth through your body that pools in between your legs. Your mind wanders back to your one night stand on the trail—the passion, the heat, the connection—and you wish you could jump his bones right there at the mill.

As if sensing your thoughts, Desmond pulls away from the kiss just enough to whisper, "You know, I remember how beautiful you looked that night on the trail; naked, sweaty, and covered in marks from my claws." His voice is low and sultry, igniting a fire within you.

"Maybe... we should go back to your house?" you suggest, feeling bold, reckless... horny. "The walk back to Evangeline's might be a little... long." You find yourself fidgeting, your thighs rubbing against each other.

Desmond hesitates for a moment, and you can practically see the calculations sparkle in his eyes by the moonlight; risk versus reward. Finally, he nods. "Alright, let's do it. My mom's probably in the studio, but we still have to be quiet."

The two of you make your way back through the woods, holding hands and stealing glances at each other through the brisk darkness. As you approach Desmond's house, you can see the lights on inside, casting a warm glow through the windows. Desmond leads you around the side, finding a hidden path that takes you to the back door.

"Stay close and follow my lead," he whispers, his tone cautious. You nod silently, your heart pounding with excitement and trepidation as you sneak through the house, avoiding any creaky floorboards. Much to your relief, it's clear Samara is in the painting studio—she's even playing music. Faint, stringy classical tunes float through the darkness and make you feel like you're in a haunted house.

Finally, you make it to Desmond's room, your safe haven for the night. The door closes softly behind you, and you both let out a sigh of relief, knowing that you've managed to evade Samara—at least for now.

Desmond's room is a cozy, intimate space. Soft lighting emanates from a few scattered lamps, casting a warm glow on the bookshelves lining the walls and the plush, inviting bed in the center of the room. Posters of old movies adorn the walls, and you can't help but feel at home in this sanctuary.

You share a chuckle with Desmond at the absurdity of the situation. "I feel like a teenager in an 80s movie," you whisper.

"Aww, and I was just beginning to feel like an adult who has his shit together," Desmond returns a chuckle. "Are you ready to reminisce?" he asks, his voice soft and tender, a bit of concern tempering the desire in his eyes.

"I didn't sneak in here for nothing," you reply, your own voice just above a whisper. You step closer to him, running your fingers along his tall, thin build, feeling the smooth chitin beneath your fingertips, your fingernails gliding on the surface.

Desmond wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a passionate kiss as his wings flutter softly behind him. He carefully guides you onto the bed, his red eyes fixated on yours, filled with warmth and desire. Your heart beats wildly, knowing that you're about to get another taste of Desmond after months of being apart.

As you lie back on the plush bedding, Desmond begins to undress you slowly, getting in close, taking the time to appreciate every inch of your body. His proboscis traces delicate patterns across your skin, causing shivers to run down your spine. The sensation is strange and thrilling, unlike anything you've ever experienced before.

"Your turn," you say, reaching for the buttons on Desmond's shirt. As you look up at him and slide the fabric off his shoulders, you admire his unique body—his slender frame, the gentle curve of his wings, and the downy fuzz that covers his neck. He looks so thin and fragile, but you know from experience the strength he can muster when he's gripping your thighs for leverage.

As Desmond's clothes join yours on the floor, he hovers a bit, pulling away from your roaming hands until he's kneeled on the floor between your feet. His proboscis dips between your legs, teasing your sensitive flesh before sliding inside you ever so slowly, drawing a gasp from deep inside you.

"Desmond," you moan softly, your voice barely audible as you grip the sheets beneath you. He begins to move in slow, tantalizing circles around your clit, then exploring your insides with his proboscis while his mandibles graze your inner thighs. The sensation is overwhelming, his proboscis rough, yet slick, and a hundred times more flexible than your own fingers.

Desmond increases his pace, his proboscis moving faster inside you and around your sensitive areas. His "tongue" darts around in circles, sending waves of pleasure through your body as he slides it along your inner walls before returning to focus on your clit.

Your breathing grows ragged as the sensation intensifies, your heart pounding against your ribcage. You can feel Desmond's hands on your hips, holding you close as he continues to pleasure you without restraint. With every flick of his probing tongue, the pressure within your core builds until it feels like it will burst any second.

You fight the urge to cry out, letting out a strangled gasp of his name as he pushes you over the edge, shuddering uncontrollably in his arms. Your body shivers and shakes with pleasure until the wave passes and brings with it a soothing calmness. Desmond carefully withdraws his proboscis from within you and presses soft kisses along your thighs with clicking mandibles.

As you recover from your first orgasm, Desmond's cock emerges from its internal sheath. Long, smooth, and adorned with delicate ridges, he teases you by rubbing it against your wet folds, his eyes locked onto yours as if seeking approval, low chirrs escaping him as he holds his cock in his hands.

"Wait," you say, lifting a shaky hand to hold his forearm. He pauses, concerned.

"Are you okay?" He whispers, frozen completely.

"I'm great. But it's my turn, okay?" You sit up on the bed, him still standing before you; now, his pearly, slick cock is directly at your eye level. You place a gentle hand on his length and he shivers with pleasure, his wings fluttering.

"This is more than okay," he reclaims some control of himself and looks down at you, placing a claw on your cheek. "Do you know how many times I've dreamt of you doing this?"

"Doing what?" You tease, each warm breath of yours on his member making his wings twitch, like he's a puppet on your strings.

"Putting your pretty mouth on my cock," he rasps shakily, his nerves at odds with the lust in his voice.

"Whatever would make you think I'd do such a thing?" You feign innocence, slowly sliding your lips along his shaft. He hisses sharply and his grip on you tightens.

"Because you're amazing," he replies, his voice wavering. "And this is incredible."

You smile and continue to tease him, slowly taking his length into your mouth. He tastes different than you expected, almost sweet, like elderflowers or peach blossoms; this is good because you loved using your mouth to instantly make him give up on trying to sound cool, instead just making him enjoy the pleasure you were giving him.

"Gods," Desmond whispers, his tone laced with awe. "This is..."

The ridges along his cock are unlike anything you've felt before; they're soft to the touch and flex with his movement as you lick and suck. They feel almost like notches for your lips to rest in, pulling at your mouth and tongue as you slide his length deeper into your mouth.

When his cock rests squarely on your tongue, you stop and let him adjust to the pleasurable sensation. His grip on your shoulders tighten as his wings begin to stretch behind him. Desmond's claws dig into your shoulders, kneading them gently as you softly suckle his cock.

"You like that?" You ask, pulling away and giving yourself a breather.

"I love it," he replies, breathing hard. "But you're driving me insane. I'm going to cum too soon if you keep going."

"...and how is that a problem?" You grin, lazily jerking him off with one hand with his cock breathing distance from your mouth.

"Because I've been thinking about fucking you for the past four months," he replies. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed. "Come here."

You climb off the bed, standing in front of him, your gaze level with his. He brushes aside a tendril of your hair and traces his fingers down your cheek and neck before resting his palm on your waist.

He pulls you close, his body pressed against yours, your breasts touching his chest, your heart pounding against the hard chitin. He presses his mandibles to your lips, his kiss slow and deep.

"Please," he whispers against your lips, his breath warm. "I need to be inside you."

"Okay," you reply, your voice soft and shaky with emotion. You don't think you've ever wanted anyone as much as you wanted Desmond right now.

He lifts you onto his lap, his cock teasing you as it slides along your dripping folds. You wrap your arms around his neck, feeling his wings spread behind you, his claws resting on your hips. He slowly works his cock into you, your grip tightening on his neck as you feel yourself stretch to accommodate him.

"Gods," Desmond breathes, his voice shaky. "You feel amazing."

As he continues to ever-so-slowly fill you with his cock, the pleasure increases, almost to the point of overwhelming you. He stops before he's fully seated inside you, his forearms wrapped around your waist as he gazes into your eyes.

"Are you okay?" He whispers, his voice barely a breath.

"Keep going," you reply, your tone firm despite your unsteady breathing.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He pushes himself deeper into you and you gasp, your eyes widening as you feel his cock touch places you've never touched yourself. Desmond's hands rest on your hips as he slowly begins to thrust in and out of you. His wings are spread wide behind him, his grasp keeping you close to his chest as he helps lift you up and down on his lap in time with his thrusts. He kisses you gently as he continues to work himself into you, his cock hitting every sensitive spot inside you.

"Don't stop," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "Don't stop."

"I won't," he replies, his voice strained as he continues to move you up and down his slick cock.

He pushes you down onto the bed and is on top of you before you know it. You wind your legs around him, your heels in his back as you meet his thrusts with a forward roll of your hips.

Desmond throws caution to the wind, gripping your hips firmly and thrusting deeper, faster. As your bodies move together, powerful waves of pleasure overtake you both. You struggle to stay quiet, knowing that Samara is somewhere in the house, but the sensation is nearly impossible to contain.

The pleasure is intense and you can barely contain the moans that escape from your lips. Desmond adjusts his angle, finding the perfect spot that makes your body tremble with each thrust. His hands grip your hips tightly as his thrusts become more powerful, and you can feel him getting close.

Your hands roam over his chitinous features, feeling the downy fuzz on his neck and the softness of his wings. You wrap your arms around him and gasp as he goes deeper, pushing against places inside you that make you quiver with delight.

Desmond groans in pleasure as he reaches his climax, pushing into you one final time as he releases himself inside of you. His hips jostle you hard, making the bed squeak in protest beneath you both. You feel a warmth radiating from between your legs as his hot cum floods your insides.

Another orgasm strikes you; Desmond is quick to cover your mouth, leaving you moaning into his palm and breathing hard through your nose as you quiver on his cock. Once the aftershocks subside, he removes his hand and uses it to gently ease his cock out of you. You twitch as it pops out, leaving you feeling empty and wet with his cum. He breathes hard, then falls next to you on the bed with a satisfied sigh.

Panting heavily against your sweaty skin, he wraps one arm around your waist and holds you close to him while he catches his breath. You close your eyes and savor the afterglow of the moment, feeling... complete.

Eventually, Desmond stirs and rolls off of you to lay on his back beside you with a contented sigh. He stays there for a few moments before turning towards you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer.

"That was amazing," he says in a low whisper.

You can only manage a smile in response, still basking in the afterglow of what just happened.

Suddenly, a thought occurs to you - as pleasurable as it was, you're in his house. Samara's house. She's down the hall, painting and listening to spooky classical music. You turn to face Desmond and give him an questioning look with one eyebrow raised.

He smiles sheepishly and strokes your cheek tenderly before speaking again. "I'm sorry we had to be so... hasty." He pauses for a moment before continuing, his expression more serious now. "But it was worth it."

"Yes it was." You speak properly for the first time since getting lifted into this bed. A comfortable silence forms between you, nothing more than your heartbeat and his gentle chirring stretching on for what feels like forever. A comfortable forever, that is.

"You should get a booth at the Founding Festival." Desmond lies there, staring as if he said it to the ceiling, not you.

"What?" You reflexively reply. The idea wasn't crazy enough to snap you out of your post-orgasmic bliss... but it was close.

"Would that be something you'd be interested in?" he asks, his red eyes searching yours for any hesitation. "If I ask nicely enough I can make it happen."

You consider the idea, a mixture of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest. You can see why he floated the idea; Samara doesn't like you. But if her town likes you... then what kind of mayor would she be to keep giving you the cold shoulder? With Desmond at your side, how badly could it go?

"Sure," you reply tentatively, your voice quivering with a mix of excitement and anxiety. "It would be... cute. You and me in some booth. Doing... something also cute."

Desmond senses your nervousness as you speak, and he just wraps a wing around you, pulling you even closer. The soft, fuzzy warmth of his wing is incredibly comforting, and despite the nerves dancing in your stomach, you feel safe and strangely confident wrapped up in it.

"Then let's do it," Desmond whispers, kissing your forehead tenderly. "We'll figure something out. Something cute, like you said."

Feeling the weight of the day's events finally catching up with you, exhaustion settles in, and lulled by Desmond's gentle touch, you drift off to sleep.

***

The next morning, you and Desmond wake up tangled in each other's limbs, the risk of being caught by Samara suddenly looming over you and seriously killing the mood. You carefully slip out of Desmond's bed and hurriedly dress, trying to remain as quiet as possible.

"Stay here," Desmond whispers urgently. "I'll check if the coast is clear and then come back for you."

Nodding, you anxiously wait while Desmond slips out of the room. Your heart races in your chest, the fear of being discovered by Samara making every second feel like an eternity.

Silent footsteps approach, and your heart skips a beat. To your horror, Samara appears in the doorway, tired expression on her face and a cup of coffee in her hand. If she had eyebrows, she'd be raising one at your presence, clearly suspicious.

"Good morning," you stammer, struggling to come up with a reasonable explanation for your presence in Desmond's room. "We, uh, were just talking about the Founding Festival and... and the idea of having a booth there." Technically, not a lie.

Samara narrows her eyes, her suspicion still evident, but then she sighs and her expression softens ever so slightly. "I see," she says cautiously. "Well, if you're serious about it, I suppose there's no harm in giving it a try."

You're taken aback by her sudden change in tone, but relief washes over you as you realize that she's accepting the idea of you having a booth at the festival. Or... she's smirking at the idea of you making a fool of yourself. The Founding Festival was in only a couple of days, after all.

"Thank you," you say, trying to maintain your composure. "I really appreciate the chance to participate in the Founding Festival. It means a lot to me, even if I'm new in town."

"Very well," Samara replies, her voice still laced with skepticism. "Just remember that the festival is an important event for our town, so make sure whatever you present isn't half-baked."

"Of course," you assure her, completely rallied by false confidence. You'd like to accept an Oscar for the performance you just put up.

"Alright then," Samara says before taking a sip of her coffee that somehow feels judgmental. "Desmond is in the living room. Continue... discussing your plans."

"Thank you again, Samara," you say gratefully. She doesn't react, instead opting to just shuffle off with her coffee to some quiet corner of the house.

When you go to the living room, Desmond is on the couch with his head in his hands. Not a good sign.

"Is everything okay?" You ask, concerned.

"Logically? Yes, we're fine. Personally, I'm mortified." He doesn't even lift his head to look at you.

"What h—"

"She heard everything."

"...oh." Instead of saying anything more, you sit next to him and wrap an arm around his shoulder. It's not a fuzzy, warm wing, but it'll have to do.

"Look, it's fine. I'm just... you understand. My mom. Heard us. Fucking."

You nod and give his chitinous shoulder a gentle knead. You feel for him, truly. It would be just as embarrassing for you if the situation were flipped, but at the same time... Samara had to come to terms with your relationship at some point. There's something strangely empowering about basically saying "I fucked the daylights out of your son" to the woman that's perpetually cold to you. If you're being honest with yourself, you're on a bit of a high, only sullied by it being at Desmond's expense.

"Well, we can't undo it, right?"

"Right." He rubs his face before finally looking at you. "And I wouldn't, just to make that clear."

"Good." You smile. "So let's focus on figuring out this booth then, right? Take your mind off things?"

He nods, slowly. "Yeah. Figuring sounds good right now..." he trails off.

"But?" You lean in.

"But any more 'figuring' is happening at Evangeline's, not here. Deal?"

He's so deep into a novel that he hasn't noticed you walk in. There's a mug of steaming tea by his side and sunlight streaming down onto his wings and fuzz, revealing tiny pin-pricks of iridescence. You can see his big ruby eyes scan the text line by line, chin and mandible tips tucked into his neck fluff as he reads the book in his lap. At this moment in time, it appears to you he might be the most comfortable being in the universe.

So you go over and join him. You announce your presence by dramatically plopping yourself down into the chair opposite him and his book.

"Hey!" He jumps, clapping the book shut. "You snuck up on me."

"I guess that makes us even, then," you grin back. The smile re-forms on his face as he folds down a corner of his book and sets it closed on the table.

"Very even." He checks his watch. "No wonder you caught me by surprise, you're almost half an hour early!"

"Willow Grove isn't exactly bustling with activity," you jab, gently with a grin. "It was either this or waste all my film on photographing random street corners and cute dogs."

Desmond chuckles, his voice light and melodic in the echoey open space. "Well, as tempting as it is to capture the scenic beauty of my hometown, I'm glad you chose to come here early. Gives us more time together."

The barista finally comes over, a notepad in hand. "What can I get you two?"

You look at Desmond to buy time, who finishes his tea and offers back the empty mug. "I'll take a refill on this lemon chamomile tea, please."

"I'll have the same," You nod in agreement, not wanting to get stuck by indecision. You were thinking about a lot of things on the walk over here, and none of it was about what drink you felt like.

The barista jots it down and scurries off, leaving you and Desmond comfortably alone again.

"Chamomile tea? Won't that put you to sleep?" You ask, noting the time.

"Hopefully not," his mandibles click with humor. "In truth, I haven't been nocturnal much lately. Between my daytime shifts at the library and now you coming back, I sleep at the same time as the human folk."

"I hope it's not too much trouble for you. I don't want you to be uncomfortable just so you can fit my schedule—which is empty, by the way."

"No, not at all. Moths are nocturnal by default, but it really isn't a problem to wake during the daytime as long as you keep busy and maintain your bedtime. It's only a problem when you have to shift it on short notice," he sighs, a slight rasp of frustration rising from his throat. "That's why my mom is so grouchy right now. She had to switch to daytime waking a few days ago to help set up the Founding Festival."

"Ah, I see." You don't intend on pushing the subject any further, especially not the topic of Samara. "So, what's been keeping you busy these days?" you ask, genuinely curious to delve into the layers of Desmond's life. "Discover any hidden gems in the library archives?"

Just like that, Desmond's face lights up, his red eyes shimmering with sudden excitement. "You wouldn't believe the stuff I've found. It's like stepping back in time. I've been reading some amazing works by underappreciated authors, and the film archives are full of classics and indies that I've never even heard of. I feel like a kid in a candy store."

"Sounds like heaven for a Moth like you," you say, his enthusiasm infectious.

"It is, it really is," he agrees, leaning forward as if sharing a secret. "And the best part? Most of these gems are original editions, unedited, unabridged. They're just sitting there, waiting for someone to rediscover them the same way they always were. It's like opening a time capsule every time I pull something off the shelf."

Just then, your teas arrive. The smell of the lemon chamomile fills the room, the bright aroma and warmth calming you as you take a sip. You're in Desmond's hometown now, surrounded by the local culture and discovering Mothpeople for the first time. It feels different to have someone so willing to share their life with you. As you look into his eyes, you can't help but be amazed by how open he is being with you—especially so soon after reuniting. It doesn't feel at all like you met only once months ago. It feels like you've been friends for ages.

"So," you venture, setting your cup down, "you're basically the Indiana Jones of indie literature and obscure cinema?"

Desmond laughs heartily at the comparison. "Yes, that's exactly it! A modern-day archaeologist of the arts, dusting cobwebs of examples of neglected genius." His excitement seems to freeze in time for a bit as he looks down at his book; on the cover—a woman wearing tattered rags in the embrace of a ragged Lupine. "...and some examples of dumb fun, too."

As you both share a chuckle, the conversation naturally shifts to Desmond's living situation. He eagerly tells you all about the collection he has going and the home theater setup he plans to cobble together one day, but you can sense a slight hesitancy in his voice as he reveals that he shares a house with Samara. Seeing your curiosity piqued, Desmond cautiously offers, "She's... quite particular about her space and privacy."

"Ah, I see," you say thoughtfully. Feeling bold and not particularly threatened by the prospect of another encounter with Samara, you suggest, "How about we go to your house and check out your personal library and film collection? It sounds fascinating, and I'd love to see it."

Desmond hesitates for a moment, clearly weighing the pros and cons. Eventually, he agrees, albeit reluctantly, saying, "Alright, but let's tread carefully and try not to disturb her too much."

"Deal," you reply with a grin.

Upon arriving at Desmond's home, you're struck by its architectural grandeur and historic presence. The Victorian-style house stands tall, surrounded by lush gardens that seem to mirror the enchanting town of Willow Grove itself. As your excitement mounts at the sight of such a beautiful, inviting home, you can't help but feel an undercurrent of apprehension creeping in. The charm of the house is undeniable, yet the thought of facing Samara again casts a shadow over your enthusiasm.

"Don't... feel pressured to say anything you don't want to." Desmond looks to you with soft, yet concerned eyes. "Just be yourself. Don't rush things, even if she's grouchy, okay? Just let me handle the... 'relationship official-ness' stuff."

You nod, gulping. After a steady breath, you step through the front door hand in hand with Desmond.

"Desmond, is that you? Who is with you?" Samara's voice beckons from her painting studio as soon as you step inside. There's a certain authority in her tone, and rather than avoid her, Desmond acquiesces to her command. "Yes, Mother, I'm home. I brought a guest."

You feel hopeful. She didn't shoo you out despite having superhuman senses, so this must be a chance for a fresh start, right? As you walk through the house, it feels like walking through history itself—every room adorned with antique furniture and family photographs featuring Desmond, Samara, and presumably his father. You wisely decide now is not the time to ask why he's not around.

"Come in," Samara calls out when you reach the entrance to her studio. Before he opens the door, Desmond gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

The studio is filled with exquisite paintings, each one more breathtaking than the last. The walls are adorned with landscapes and portraits, all of which seem to have come alive thanks to Samara's brushstrokes. Despite the beauty surrounding you, her frosty demeanor casts a chill over the room.

"Your paintings are incredible, Samara," you say, trying to introduce yourself on a warmer tone. "I don't paint even close to this well, but as a photographer, you've really managed to paint some lifelike pieces."

"Ah, photography," Samara snubs your compliment. "The art of pressing a button." Her dismissive tone wipes the smile off your face.

"Actually, there's much more to it than that," you counter gently, trying to maintain the precarious balance in the room while not letting her just do this to you. "Composition, lighting, and timing all play crucial roles in capturing the perfect shot."

"Perhaps," she says noncommittally, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. It's clear that Samara doesn't view your talent as being on par with her own, but you refuse to be deterred by her icy demeanor. Your renewed confidence hasn't made you any better at figuring Samara out, but you're still willing to try.

"Your landscapes are particularly stunning," you continue, undaunted. "The way you capture the essence of Willow Grove is truly inspiring."

"Thank you," Samara replies, her voice guarded but not entirely cold. It seems your genuine admiration has managed to chip away at her frosty exterior, if only just a little.

Desmond, who had been standing silently beside you, finally speaks up. "Um, yeah, mother. Your paintings have always captured what makes our town special. Just like her photographs."

His voice trembles slightly, and you can see the internal struggle he faces as he attempts to mediate between two important people in his life. He glances between you and Samara, his big red eyes filled with uncertainty.

"Thank you, Desmond," Samara replies, her tone softening for a moment before she returns her icy gaze to you. The tension in the room continues to grow, forcing awkward silences and strained smiles.

You focus on maintaining your composure, biting back any instinctual retorts to Samara's coldness. You understand that Desmond is caught in a tight spot; he wants to please both you and his mother, but navigating this volatile situation is proving to be difficult.

"Would you like some tea?" Desmond asks, trying to break the silence. "I can make us all a pot."

"Tea sounds lovely," you say with a small smile, hoping that a shared cup might help thaw the atmosphere. "What do you think, Samara?"

"Fine," she mutters, clearly relenting more for her son's sake than for yours. "Tea it is."

As Desmond disappears into the kitchen to prepare the tea, you take advantage of the momentary break to steel yourself for the challenges ahead. It's clear that winning Samara over won't be easy, but your resolve only strengthens with every subtle jab and condescending over-the-shoulder glance.

"Desmond means a lot to me," you tell her quietly, making sure Desmond is out of earshot. "I don't know what else to say, but just remember I hiked all the way from Georgia to get here. I'm not messing with him or using him. I'm just here... for him."

Samara takes a breath but pauses; her eyes soften ever so slightly. "I certainly hope so." Then her eyes sharpen again. "For your sake."

Desmond returns with a tray carrying a steaming pot of tea and three cups. The delicate aroma of chamomile and lavender fills the room, offering a small but welcome respite from the tension. You watch as he carefully pours the tea, his movements precise and graceful despite his obvious nervousness. You need to shift the tone in the room away from the "Samara vs. You" showdown that almost just happened.

"Your paintings, Samara," you say, gesturing to the canvases adorning the walls as you accept your cup. "They're... breathtaking. The depth in each one is captivating. How did you find your style?"

Samara regards you warily for a moment before replying, her voice tinged with a hint of pride. "Years of practice, study, and dedication," she says, somewhat guardedly. "I've always been drawn to the power that art has to evoke emotion, to make people feel something deep within themselves."

"Something like that doesn't come easily, I imagine," you muse, sipping your tea. "I know from my own... um, craft, just how challenging it can be to capture the essence of a particular moment or feeling. Your work is truly inspiring."

"Yes, your... craft." Samara sounds nearly pained as she says the word, though you detect the slightest trace of curiosity. "An interesting pursuit, I suppose. But you must understand, faced with a body of work such as mine, that we belong to different worlds."

"Yeah," you mumble, deciding this point isn't worth arguing. "Different forms of art can be so different, but ultimately we're all just trying to get our ideas out there."

The conversation continues in this manner, punctuated by awkward silences and forced smiles. But despite the cloud of tension that looms over what could have been a perfect day with Desmond, you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. You may not have won Samara over completely, but at least you've made an effort to understand her perspective and find common ground.

As the visit draws to a close, you and Desmond step outside into the yard. The sun is low in the sky, casting warm golden rays through the leaves of the old oak tree that towers nearby. You both stand there, taking in the beauty of the moment, the quietude offering solace after the tense encounter with Samara.

"Thank you for inviting me over, Desmond," you say softly, your gaze lingering on the dappled sunlight playing across the ground. "I know it wasn't easy."

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "I'm sorry about my mother," he murmurs. "She's... protective. I wish things could be different, but I understand if this makes you want to keep your distance."

"Desmond," you reach out and gently touch his arm, seeking his gaze. "It's okay. I know we're both in a weird spot here, and I appreciate you being honest with me. We'll figure this out together, whatever 'this' turns out to be."

A small, relieved smile graces his lips as he looks down at you. His wings flutter slightly, betraying the turmoil you can see behind his eyes. "I'm glad to hear you say that," he admits, a soft gaze telling you he's feeling a bit better.

You offer him a reassuring smile, and your fingers intertwine with his three. It feels like a warm promise that no matter how complicated, rocky, or inconvenient this all gets, you'll both keep trying. It feels like home, even though you're basically on your own in a quiet corner of Maine.

The moment you step out of your cozy room, you're dragged by the nose downstairs towards the aroma of fresh croissants. As you step into the kitchen, Evangeline pulls a baking sheet with half a dozen of them out of the oven, her tail wagging with satisfaction.

"Good morning, dear," she greets you, moving with impressive speed to set out a plate and silverware for you in the breakfast nook. "How did you sleep?"

"Perfectly," you reply, playing hot potato with a fresh croissant as you sit at your plate. 

"I've forgotten how nice it is to sleep in a real bed. I seriously considered never getting up."

"Well that just wouldn't do!" She smiles warmly, baring her sharp canines. "Otherwise, who would I share breakfast with?" She turns her back on you for a moment to reach for jugs on the counter. "Coffee, orange juice, water?" She offers.

"Coffee, please," you ask. You heft your camera off your shoulder strap and onto the table, where it's joined by a mug of steaming coffee. You don't have to be a coffee snob to tell by smell alone that this is better than the freeze-dried stuff you had with you on the trail.

"You're a photographer, I take it?" Evangeline asks, eyeing your toaster-sized camera.

"I am," you say between bites of warm croissant. She smiles as you enjoy her delicious handiwork.

"Is that what brings you to Willow Grove?"

You think while you chew. Yes, you could tell her that you're here because you hiked five months to find a Moth you hooked up with in the woods, whose full name and contact info you don't even know, and you're sorta hoping to just bump into him in town and...

"Pretty much," you lie. "I took lots of photos on the trail, and I guess I didn't want to go straight back to the big city. Willow Grove is a very pretty town." That last part is honest.

"Well you are in for a treat." Evangeline leans in, elbows on the counter. She's proud of her town and her tail wagging is proof. "If you're looking for something to do today, I'd love to help you with some recommendations of mine."

"That would be lovely." Just like that, your croissant is nothing but crumbs, so you sip your coffee.

"Well, I think you should start at our library." Evangeline reads your mind and grabs you another warm croissant. "I'm sure you would find the archival photos there interesting. There are some from nearly a hundred years ago on the microfiche."

"Wow. That's pretty good archiving." You start working on the second croissant. You're drawn in by the chance to see this town in photos a century old. The town already feels so steeped in history; you'd love being able to see it for real.

"For a town this size it's unheard of. The library really is the centerpiece of the town. It's the only building with three stories and it's a beauty, too. It's all red brick and stained glass on the outside, with stained wood and brass fittings on the inside. It's pretty enough to photograph on its own, now that I think of it."

"I'll have to do that, then," you chew. "Thank you for the recommendation, Evangeline. I'd be lost without your help."

"Of course, dear. Don't hesitate come by and chat with me again."

You nod eagerly and thank her again. Between Evangeline's generosity and the small town charm, Willow Grove was growing on you. Once you finish your coffee and croissant, your camera finds itself slung on your shoulder once again and you set off, stepping out into the crisp Autumn air.

The walk to the library is a pleasant one, with the scent of fallen leaves and woodsmoke in the air. As you approach the building, you see what Evangeline meant when she said it was the town's centerpiece. The red brick exterior is adorned with intricate stained-glass windows depicting scenes of nature and the townspeople. Where the morning light shines on the exterior just right, you frame a shot and snap a photo.

Stepping inside, you're greeted by the rich, dark wood interior that oozes warmth and history. If you weren't drawn here by the lure of the archival photos (and didn't have a Mothman to find), you'd want nothing more than to curl up in a warm corner and finish a book in one sitting. Your eyes are drawn to the towering bookshelves that seem to reach for the heavens, each equipped with rolling ladders to access the highest volumes.

Following Evangeline's advice, you make your way to the microfiche room, eager to delve into the historical photographs she had mentioned. Upon entering, you find yourself alone under the dim lighting with only the sound of analogue machinery as various machines hum and click around you.

You take a seat at one of the microfiche machines, both eager and intimidated. You're no stranger to old tech, but you've never used one of these, and the machine's knobs and scroll wheels seem don't match anything you've used before. With determination, you begin to attempt operation, threading a nearby spool of delicate film through the machine and squinting at the projected images on the screen.

Despite your best efforts, the machine proves stubborn and uncooperative. The images refuse to focus properly, and the scroll wheel seems to have a mind of its own as it either moves too fast or not at all. Growing increasingly frustrated, you ball your hands into fists and fight the urge to smack the machine. You'd probably end up more damaged than the machine if you did.

"Ugh," you mutter under your breath, trying to channel your patience and remind yourself that it's just an old machine. "Why won't you cooperate?"

Taking a deep breath, you look around the dimly lit room, seeking solace in the quiet space. As your eyes adjust to the low light, you notice the intricate details of the machinery and the countless reels of microfiche waiting to be explored. Thinking about the long history of this town and the fact you're only one of many people determined to photograph it and record its charm calms you down a bit.

You refocus your attention on the stubborn machine, steeling yourself for another attempt at coaxing it into cooperation.

Just as you're about to touch the scroll wheel again, a gentle tap on your shoulder startles you. Your heart leaps into your throat as you spin around, only to find Desmond standing behind you with a warm smile on his face. 

"Hey there," he says softly, his big red eyes sparkling with amusement. "Need a hand?"

"Desmond!" you exclaim, unable to contain your joy at seeing him again. With a mix of delight and relief, you sweep him into a tight hug, lifting his featherlight frame off the ground for a moment. His fluffy wings flutter against your back, and you can't help but smile even wider.

"Wow, someone got pretty swole on the trail," Desmond jokes awkwardly as you set him back down, his chitinous features accentuating his shy grin. "I'm glad to see you too."

"Sorry, I just got carried away," you apologize, cheeks burning a little. "It's been so long since we last saw each other."

"Yeah, it really has," he agrees, rubbing the back of his neck. "How have things been for you since we... parted ways?"

"Tiring, but good," you reply, trying to focus on the positive aspects of hiking and living like a caveman. "I actually finished the trail just a few days ago. You weren't kidding when you said the town was right near the trail's end."

"Well, welcome back to civilization. I don't need to reintegrate you to society do I?" He teases.

"Shut up," you land a playful shove against his shoulder. "What are you doing in the library, anyway? You haven't been stalking me since I got into town, have you?" You tease back.

"Actually, I work here. It's what I did before I hiked the trail and it's good to be back."

Desmond the Librarian just seems too fitting for him. "How's life as a librarian?" You ask.

"Quiet, mostly," Desmond admits with a chuckle. "But I like it. It gives me time to read and watch old movies, which is nice. Plus, I get to help people find what they're looking for, whether it's a book or a piece of microfiche."

"Speaking of which," you say, gesturing toward the stubborn machine, "any tips on how to make this damn thing work?"

"Of course," Desmond says, stepping closer to the microfiche machine. With a few deft movements of his slender fingers, he adjusts the knobs and scroll wheels, and the image on the screen comes into focus.

"Thanks," you say with relief. "I was about to give up on this thing."

"Anytime," he replies with a warm smile. Then, he glances around for a moment before leaning in slightly, voice hushed as if by instinct in the quiet library. "Hey, do you want to see something really cool?"

"Sure, what is it?" you ask, your curiosity piqued.

"Come with me," Desmond says, leading you out of the dimly lit microfiche room and toward a staircase tucked away in the back corner of the library. "There's a private office upstairs with an amazing view of the town. I think you'll like it."

As you ascend the stairs, you notice the atmosphere shifting from the cozy bustle of the library to a serene, quieter space. The dark wood paneling continues upwards, and the scent of old books melds with the faintest hint of dust.

Desmond opens the door to the private office, revealing a room filled with antique furniture and more floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A large, arched window dominates one wall, offering a stunning view of Willow Grove below.

"Wow, this place is incredible," you breathe, taking in the beauty of the room and the town beyond. Townspeople below mill about, getting ready for a lazy morning. You can see the cafes on the main street starting to fill up and people driving their cars on the winding roads to the neighboring towns.

"I thought you might like it," Desmond says, a hint of pride in his voice. "It's one of my favorite spots in the library."

You both step closer to the window, absorbing the breathtaking view and enjoying each other's company in the peaceful atmosphere of the office.

"You know, um..." Desmond starts, fidgeting with his neck fluff, "I'm happy to see you again. I'm glad decided to find me again."

"Me too." You sidle up to him, enjoying the warmth of one of his wings. "I worried you'd think I was crazy, or you'd have gotten over me, or..."

Desmond stops you. "No, not at all. "I'll admit, this would have been much easier if I just gave you my number," he chuckles, "but it just didn't feel right back then, you know? But now that some time has passed and I've gotten to be on my own for a bit... this feels right, having you with me."

"Thank you," you reply, touched by his words. Your heart swells, and the knowledge that Desmond is just as happy as you are to be here has your face filling with warmth. If Evangeline's croissants were a feeling, they'd be closest to the sensation of Desmond wrapping a soft, warm, fuzzy wing around you as you both watch Willow Grove come to life.

Just as you're about to stand on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on him somewhere, the door behind you swings open.

"Desmond, I need to talk to you about..." The voice, strong and low like dark chocolate, trails off as the Mothwoman enters the room and spots you. Immediately, an aura of coldness and intimidation emanates from her, making the air heavy with tension. She's taller even than Desmond, and her black wings, spiderwebbed with streaks of white, wrap around her like a cloak.

"Who is this?" she demands, her gaze fixed on you. The warmth in the room dissipates like a snuffed out candle.

"Mom, this is my friend," Desmond says, trying to defuse the situation. "We met on the Appalachian Trail a while back."

"Friend?" Samara narrows her eyes, suspicious of your presence. Her overprotectiveness of Desmond is palpable, making you feel like an intruder in their world.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs... um..." You stammer, offering your hand in a polite gesture.

"Samara," she replies icily, ignoring your extended hand. She turns her attention back to Desmond. "You never mentioned any new friends from your trip."

"Ah, well, we just recently got back in touch," Desmond explains, his voice wavering slightly under his mother's scrutiny.

"Is that so?" Samara regards you with a steely gaze, her tone accusatory. She begins asking terse, probing questions, attempting to assess you as if you were a threat. "How did you meet? Why are you here in Willow Grove?"

"Um, we met by chance on the trail," you respond, feeling uneasy under her intense stare. "As for the rest, I'm just here to take some photographs. It's a hobby of mine." You try to remain polite, but can't help being taken aback by her coldness.

"Photographs," she repeats skeptically, looking you up and down. There's something unspoken in her expression, a hint of distrust that you can't quite decipher.

"Mom, please," Desmond interjects, coming to your defense. "It's really not a big deal. We're just catching up."

"Fine," Samara relents, her tone still chilly. "But don't plan on spending all day with her. You're needed at the circulation desk soon." With that, she gives you one last lingering glare before turning and leaving the room as abruptly as she had entered.

You stand there in the wake of her departure, heart pounding, as the atmosphere slowly begins to return to near-normal.

"Sorry about that," Desmond says with an apologetic grimace. "My mom can be a bit... overprotective."

"Is she always like this?" you ask, still reeling from the encounter.

"Unfortunately, yes," he admits. "Especially lately, with the town's Founding Festival coming up. She's been under a lot of stress." He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly before continuing, "I guess I should let you know she's the mayor of Willow Grove, so the responsibility of overseeing the whole event falls on her."

"Your mom is the mayor?" Your jaw goes a bit slack. Having his mom dislike you is one thing, but when she runs the whole town? You try to shake off the lingering unease, focusing instead on the warmth of Desmond's wing as he returns to your side and rests his hand on your shoulder.

"Yeah," he chuckles nervously. "She's a bit of a local celebrity around here. I'm really sorry for how she acted towards you. I promise, it's not personal."

"Thanks," you say, managing a small smile. "I appreciate you sticking up for me."

"Of course," Desmond replies, his gentle eyes meeting yours. "You're important to me, and I don't want my mom's behavior to drive you away."

The sincerity in his voice makes your heart flutter, but there's also a pang of disappointment. When he had introduced you as "just a friend" earlier, it had stung a little, even though you understood why he did it. You wonder if that's all you can be to him when Samara is around – just a friend.

Desmond seems to sense your uncertainty, and hesitantly reaches out to take your hand. "Hey," he says softly, "if you're up for it, I'd love to take you on a real date soon. Somewhere outside of this dusty old library."

"Really?" The hopefulness in your chest flares up at his words.

"Absolutely," he confirms, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I want to show you the town and get to know you even better."

"It's no place for sympathy," You had been briefed, "Many of these monsters would happily take the opportunity to tear you limb from limb."

You would recite those words in your head as you walked by the rows of containment units.

Yet as you look back now, that was the first mistake you ended up making.

Engaging.

Past the slithering forest of tendrils, gleaming eyes in shadowy corners, and aquatic creatures that floated suspended in the water, among them sat a humanoid shape at a simple table and chair. Something both strange yet familiar that sat out of place.

It was like looking at a Halloween decoration, an animatronic that sat amongst all the other oddities. It could have almost been laughable, back then. Like a prank someone had set up in the room and left for the other workers to stumble upon. The being was swathed in dark clothes, with black leather gloves, a victorian cloak, dark pants down to the knee-high boots with silver buckles. The outfit gave no hint at the skin underneath, even its face was adorned with a mask that obscured their visage. The mask itself resembles a plague doctor’s, with the long pointed beak, and dark glass where the eyes would be. The material was hard and better quality, than what you would find compared to the halloween costumes that mimicked the look. Black leather, with neat stitches that ran around the entirety of the mask. Metal rims inlaid around the round glass lenses.

You had stopped, to peer at the figure inside the room. It had sat so still, like a life sized doll. You were just about to move on, before one gloved hand raised up in a silent wave.

You had stood transfixed on the spot, eyebrows knitting together. You tilted your head, and the being on the other side of the glass mimicked you. The beaked mask resembled more and more like a wide glossy eyed bird. You shuddered, and backed away.

After that one day, whenever you traversed that corridor you could feel eyes watching you intently as you passed. Many times you couldn't help but to turn your head. Though you already knew who it was, typically they sat upon a chair. Hands clasped over a crossed knee. On one occasion you had jumped nearly out of your skin. Seeing the beaked figure inches away from the glass, a piece of paper pressed against the wall with its fingers.

"I have not seen you here before, are you new?" The letters scrawled in a spidery cursive. You felt chills creep up and down your spine, you looked around the deserted passageway, before giving a brief nod. With a flourish of their hand, they produced a fountain pen from their breast pocket. However, whatever spell that had kept you in place was dissolving. You had moved on while they had begun to write something. Taking nervous glances around you as you had sheepishly gone about your business.

The facility had many rules and regulations about the different creatures and anomalies that lay housed inside. After your shift you had sat cross-legged on your bed, flipping through the files you had the authorization to see. Chewing on your bottom lip as you ran your fingers through a thick stack of papers again and again.

Nothing.

There wasn’t any information on the so-called plague doctor. You could only guess that this particular being wasn’t one that was accessible for cleaning personnel. You unceremoniously dropped the stack of papers to the floor. Laying back in the small bed that took up half your living quarters.

You turned this way and that, laying with your hands clasped over your stomach, your eyes trained on the ceiling. This knowledge did very little to clear your conscience. While this being wasn’t one that you were briefed on, that didn’t indicate that they weren’t a threat. Your mind was an ocean of twisting thoughts, you had previously heard accounts of people spiraling into insanity just by hearing some of these strange creatures speak. Your knuckles balling into uneasy fists as you gripped your blanket.

Sleep was uneasy, with many rounds of jolting awake between dreaming. By morning you were exhausted, slumping forward out of bed to head out to the mess hall.

You were greeted by the sight of a bustling space. The clamorous cacophony of voices that were making small talk during breakfast making your head spin. It felt as though you were still dreaming. Grabbing a cup of coffee and a try, wading through the line until you found a seat.

“Unit 1779336 of the Janitorial department?”

You raised your head groggily, close to dozing only moments before, yet you stiffened to sit up straighter. Your eyes falling to the badges of a military uniform.

“Sir?”

“Hate to take you away from your breakfast so early in the morning, but you and I have some things that need to be discussed.”

You feel your chest tighten as you move to stand. The man in front of you stood with his hands clasped behind his back. A stocky man with a neat salt and pepper beard, and piercing green eyes.

You could feel curious gazes directed at you as you walked. You Hunched your shoulders defensively as you trailed behind the uniformed man. You were led down a series of corridors into a large circular office. The man’s wide shoulders slopped as he let out a heavy sigh. He settled down at his desk and tapped a folder on the polished table top.

“You’ve been requested for a promotion.” He said grimly. “This isn't a standard issue. . . but this is a special case.”

You nodded, as a weighty silence hung in the air. He took off his hat, running a hand through his slick backed hair.

“How much do you know about Caroigne?”

“P-pardon?” You inquired, the man’s expression turning stormy as his eyebrows wrinkled his brow.

“Caroigne, the so called “in-house doctor” as it likes to call itself,” He growls “That bastard seems to know an awful lot about you.”

“But I— Sir, I’ve never spoken to—“

His green eyes flashed, and your voice died in your throat. He pauses to take a tempering breath through his nose. Then he pushes the manilla folder towards you across the desk. You glance from him to the manilla, before nervously flipping it open.

In that same spidery hand, that you remember seeing on a scrap of paper, was written your full name. The one you had been sworn to relinquish while you were inside the facility, your age, your job, and a short synopsis of your medical records. There was a smaller footnote underneath the scrawl.

“This subject would be an ideal companion for me while I am enjoying my stay at your facilities.”

“Subject,” You mouth faintly, before staring up at the man, “Y-you’re j-joking. . . r-right?”

He crosses his arms, glowering at you, “Caroigne has refused to speak with all scientists and attendants. If they are willing to speak with you, then it’s a risk we’re willing to take. I will get you the necessary papers you need to have, and you will start in two days.”

Fragility hit you like a freight train, how easily replaceable you were if things were to go sour. The feeling of having the air punched from your lungs continued after you had taken your new briefing papers. The last words of wisdom he had threatened in a grave timber.

“Whatever you do, don’t talk about illnesses in front of it, don’t let it know there is anyone sick, or if you yourself feel ill. Not unless you want to be the new cadaver we have to drag from its room.”

You sat curled into a corner of your bedroom. Legs tucked into your chest as you stared numbly into space.

Those two days were days where you barely left your room. They were spent between reading over your assigned documents and sleeping. The times you did leave your dorm room, there were guards stationed outside of your door to discourage any plans of leaving. You had broken down and cried in the bathroom on that last night, the sleeve of your shirt between your teeth to muffle your sobs.

You stood between two soldiers carrying assault rifles. Your eyes blinked painfully from the tears you hadn’t been able to stop. Head pounding with an ache as you were led into an interrogation room. You entered alone, finding doctor Caroigne already sitting across the table.

“Well hello there~ How delightful that you and I finally get a chance to spea— Oh, oh dear you aren’t looking very well at all.”

You blink at the blurry figure in front of you. Compared to the other people you had encountered the past few days, this was a voice that was filled with what sounded like genuine worry. You swallowed hard, eyes turning to look at the papers in front of you, shuffling them nervously.

“I-I’m fine.” You breathed, “You are. . .”

“Doctor Caroigne dear, but you may just call me Caroigne. And I suppose you’ll want to know my pronouns, that is the new rage nowadays.” they chuckle benignly, “I don’t think I have ever had the pleasure of having any, many scientists in this facility call me a ‘he’ in any case. I truly don’t mind what you choose, but it’s best not to upset the other doctors in this facility. Between you and me, they are dreadfully foul tempered.”

A weak smile graces your lips before it disappears. “You seem to know your way around the staff.”

Caroigne folds their fingers together, tapping his thumbs against each other.

“You could consider me to be somewhat of a flexible individual. One does not simply settle into their surroundings without some difficulty. However, I am proud to say that I have managed quite well.”

You paused, frowning at the papers in your hands, you were going to have to be more direct with these questions. After a moment of hesitation you finally relented, “How. . . did you get my information?”

“Ah, I am assuming ‘they’ would like to know?”

Your eyes slowly moved from your papers to watch them.

Caroigne bobs their masked head in the direction of the dark one way viewing windows.

“I. . . I would also like to know.” You mused softly.

“Hm. . . “ A pause before they give a tsking noise, a tone between amusement and disappointment. “I can’t be giving away all my secrets.”

Your eyebrows furrow, “But,” He says, raising a finger, “I might be able to part with a few of them, for a small price, a token, if you will.”

“And that price would be. . .”

“Oh nothing taxing,” Caroigne huffs, “This,” He spreads his arms, “Is all that I require. It’s been so long since I have talked to someone. Truly talked to someone. Tis a breath of fresh air. As a beast of science myself, I do not mind the others, but all they want to do is batter me with questions, questions, questions. It is that, or I dare say isolation.”

You bobbed you head wordlessly, as the doctor took a breath and continued.

“Furthermore, I liked the look about you, curious, inquisitive, I like that.” They chuckle warmly, “I have a bit of a nose myself~” They joked as they tapped at the mask's beaked visage.

The first meeting was odd. The doctor was well mannered if not very chatty. They asked many questions about yourself, where you had grown up, your childhood. You spent a great deal of time stepping around its questions and asking ones of your own. It had felt stiff with politeness at first, but it had become more natural the longer you talked.

When you had been finally taken and led away, Caroigne impressed just how lovely it had been to chat. Wishing you well, and eager to speak again. Back in your room, you looked back at his case folder, picking up the single photo that was in your file. It was a picture of Caroigne hovering over a mutilated corpse and holding a pen and clipboard. Blood smattering the walls and floor, as the guard had tried to defend themselves. You shuddered, placing the photo back into the folder, the image facing down. It was proof to remember, that no matter how kindly this being seemed, they were dangerous.

You had to be careful.

And you were! For a time. It fell into a routine, a weekly dance the two of you had. You asked him questions and he asked you things as well. You talked about your work, and the folks you missed at home. Somewhere along the way, you could notice yourself changing, the way you talked to them. Less sterilely polite, and more heart. You would laugh at the jokes they had tossed your way, and you spoke more sincerity than you had expected.

Then one day, you messed up.

You hadn’t felt well that day. The beginning of a headache pulsed across your forehead. You settled down at the other side of the table. Cariogne had leaned forward, “And how are you my dear?”

It was just a simple slip up, an off-handed comment. One derived from familiarity and not caution.

“Oh, I’m doing alright, I just have a little bit of a headache.”

You could feel the room go deathly still, “A. . . headache you say?” The calm voice drifted behind the mask. The room fell into pin drop silence as you realized the mistake you just made. Then began a tapping, a sudden drumming of the doctors fingers against the table of the interrogation room. They sat unmoving except for those fingers. The rhythmic tone was the only thing that showed a sudden change in their mood. An almost strained kind of excitement, like a cat ready to pounce.

“What. . . kind of headache, tension? An oncoming migraine, perhaps?” Their voice was casual, off-handed even. But your eyes were transfixed on the four fingers of his right hand.

“T-tension,” You replied, flinching as your voice cracked. You could already feel your pulse begin to quicken as gooseflesh began to creep up your arms. With all the briefing you had done, and reading his file countless times. Going over the information just before you left for these visits, the simplest most easiest rule to remember.

“Ah.” His hand froze, before his hands steepled themselves together.

“I see,”

You nodded your head jerkily, looking away, your eyes scanned the sealed room.

“I see, I see,” He muses, his voice sounding much closer than before. “Our little visits must put a strain on you, I hadn’t realized that.”

You hadn’t seen him get up, and they had moved across the table to stand across from in a blink of an eye. You hadn’t even had a chance to pull away. He leaned down, almost hovering on top of you.

“I wish to impress this upon you, little fledgling, you truly have nothing to worry about.”

The gloved hand touches your chin, raising your head up to stare back at the mask.

You begin to blink back tears as you watch little dots of laser light blink all over his form.

He turns his head, not aware of the sudden change of atmosphere, examining your face until there is a bark from one of the guards behind you.

“Release them Carriogne, and we won’t have to use force,”

He turns his attention away from you finally, “. . . That is quite rude.” The doctor scoffed, “I had known there was someone listening in to our chats. Haven’t you chaps heard of privacy?” He retracts his hand and you can breathe again. Taking the distraction to push out your chair, hastily stepping backward until you reach the threshold. The guards in their heavily armored uniforms push past you to get a clearer aim.

“He’s out of his cuffs again,” One of the soldiers shouted back to the main guard.

“Well, of course I am,” The doctor quipped cheerfully, “I told you they don’t work. I don’t know why you keep trying to use them.”

“That’s enough humor for one day doctor,” Another of the security personnel grunted, tension coloring his voice, “Make a note that the silver handcuffs have no effect, we’ll have to try a different pair next time.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going, no need to cause a fuss.” The doctor huffs, his calm voice sounded only mildly harassed, due to the circumstances. He is jostled out of the interrogation room at gunpoint. He turns his head towards you, sounding apologetic.

“I’m so sorry my dear, for this abrupt change of plans. I also apologize for these men, the lot of them could do with a lesson in manners. . . I would see to it myself but I don’t suppose that would do me personally any favors. I shall see you anon, next week at the latest. If they allow me.”

You don’t respond, but rather watch him being led away. Your heart hammering in your throat, and only finding the energy to sob until you fell into a crumpled heap on your bed. You weren’t sure how close of a shave that could have been.

Due to the events of the last appointment, you were briefly taken off of doctor Caroigne’s appointed meetings. However, word leaked through the grapevine that the doctor hadn’t taken the news well. The whole right wing of the facility had gone on a code red lockdown as they had muscled his way past a squad of guards, sending one of them to the hospital with shattered ribs.

There were about three weeks of bated breath after the lockdown, when things were quiet and you hadn’t heard word of any one being reassigned to Caroigne. Then an envelope had been thrust into the small mail slot in your door, and your heart sank.

You had gone from being a nobody, happy to clean and do janitorial tasks. Avoiding high risk jobs, to now being an imperative piece in dealing with a high risk entity.

Bright lights beating down from above as you were acutely aware of your footsteps. Your breath sounded loud and unnatural in your ears. When the room came into view you saw Carroigne, no simple handcuffs with time, but a full body straight jacket, mingled with heavy metal chains that were also wrapped across their form.

“Y-y-you’ve been a bad birdie,” Your voice shook slightly as you whispered the words, sitting down at the table.

Caroigne’s chains shifted around them as they gave a bemused shrug, “Why, I would contest to this, but I fear, perhaps you are alright. Is the chap in the hospital doing alright? I could take a look at him,”

You shook your head, “He is alright, he is being looked after.”

“Hm.”

“. . . How can you be so calm about this?”

“Should I not be?” The strange masked face tilts, “Perhaps I also should not overlook the fact that I am held here against my will.”

You feel your expression falling. “I. . . I don’t think I can do this, I’m s-sorry.” You had begun to get up, signaling to the guards that you wanted to conclude the session.

“Wait— Mon cher-“

Caroigne must have moved too quickly for the guards' liking. As the door opened and two guards stepped inside the space weapons raised.

You glance back before your eyes go wide. An inhuman noise comes from behind you. You are roughly pushed behind the guards. You let out a strained noise as a clawed hand shoots forward, a wrenching of strained metal and tearing fabric. The hand itself was scaly and ribbed like a birds, past that the skin was dark with veiny irregular skin. Keloid bumps are peppered up the arm and a small smattering of feathers like a molting bird.

“Stop, stop, STOP!” You realize you were the one screaming, voice high and frantic trying to push past the guards. As they opened fire upon Carriogne, his stance hunkering down to shed the cloth to ribbons and toss it aside. The next moment you were alone, the two guards in the room and the others that were trying to rush inside, had been knocked over like a set of bowling pins. You reacted by freezing, covering your face with your hands as a shadow looms over you.

You could hear more inhuman noises above you, a clicking sound making your ears ring. You let out a shuddering breath of air, keeping your hands pressed tightly to your face. Like the mentality of a child afraid of what lurked in the dark, if I don’t look, it can’t see me or can’t hurt me.

The softness of a glove caressed your cheek. Your knees buckling as you are coaxed against a velvety form.

Worker Update

Worker ID Number: 1779336

Previous Position: Janitor

New Position as of September 8th 2021: Interrogatee of entity 275

Status: Employee Terminated

Reason: Unknown Disappearance

-

!: Emergency Update as of August 6th 2023

Disappearance of entity 275, site wide lock down initiated.

"Good morning, Willow Grove! It's your favorite voice, Martha, back again to brighten up your morning here on WG 98.5. What's the buzz around town, you ask? Well, let's dive in with the morning news!

Remember the Langston's garden gnome that mysteriously disappeared last week? Yes, that cherubic one with the red pointy hat. Well, it's been found! Our mayor's son, Desmond, found it perched on a pine tree during his nightly flight. Nothing like some harmless mischief to add a dash of excitement to our lives, isn't it?

Now, our Selkie friend, Bella, deserves some applause. She's just returned from a successful sardine run. Ah, to be blessed with such fresh catch for the upcoming town bake-off! Do drop by the dock to show some love. I'm sure she's got something delicious in the works.

On the Lupine side of things, have you seen the majestic new mural on the side of the grocer's? Talented painter and Lupine, Marla, has been adding the finishing touches under the moonlight. Don't miss it when you're in town for groceries, it's a true masterpiece.

Now, for the drumroll, folks! In just under two weeks, our favorite time of the year will be upon us. That's right, the annual Founding Festival is right around the corner! I can already taste the moon cakes and hear the shell flutes piping. Mothpeople, Selkies, Lupines, and Humans alike, let's get ready to celebrate the vibrant tapestry that makes Willow Grove our home. So, mark your calendars, folks!

That's all for the morning roundup, Willow Grove. Let's have a splendid day and remember - keep your smiles wide and your hearts open. Martha, signing off. Now, the music."

***

As you stand at the edge of Willow Grove, your heart swells with a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. The last leg of your hike along the Appalachian Trail has left you feeling haggard, your once-neat hiking outfit now with far too many holes, and the straps of your camera bag digging into your shoulders. But as you gaze upon the town, you can't help but feel that it was all worth it.

"Here goes nothing," you whisper to yourself, taking a deep breath and stepping onto the cobblestone streets.

The quaint charm of the town immediately envelopes you. The buildings are an eclectic mix of architectural styles – from Victorian cottages to modern storefronts, each adorned with colorful shutters and planter boxes overflowing with flowers. The scent of fresh-baked bread wafts through the air, tempting you to forget everything and eat your way into a carb coma.

"Wow," you murmur under your breath, already feeling your weary limbs lightening at the sight of this picturesque haven. It's unlike any place you've ever been before, and yet, it feels strangely like home.

You walk further into town, your eyes drinking in the lush, wooded surroundings. Leaves of every shade of green rustle gently above you, casting dappled sunlight onto the cobbled path. Birds flit between the branches, their cheerful melodies sounding suspiciously like a welcome. You can't resist snapping a few photos with your trusty film camera, capturing the beauty of this magical place. Maybe Desmond would like these shots; perhaps he'd be proud that you followed through on your promise to visit his hometown.

"Keep it together," you chide yourself, shaking off the butterflies threatening to take flight in your stomach. "You came here for a fresh start, remember?"

But even as you remind yourself of your initial intentions, there's no denying that the thought of possibly bumping into Desmond again sends a thrill down your spine. You went on this insane journey seeking solace in nature and photography after the breakup, but now that you're here, the possibility of rekindling things with Desmond is too close to ignore.

"Focus," you tell yourself firmly, snapping one last photo of a particularly charming ivy-covered house before making your way further into town. "You're here for you, not just for him."

With that in mind, you continue your exploration of Willow Grove, utterly enchanted by its beauty and magic. And as you wander the streets, camera in hand, you can't help but feel that maybe – just maybe – this place is exactly what you need.

"Excuse me," you approach a group of friendly-looking townsfolk, hoping they can point you in the direction of a place to stay. "I just arrived in town and was wondering if there's an inn or something nearby?"

"Of course!" one woman replies with a warm smile. "There's a lovely little bed and breakfast run by a Lupine named Evangeline. It's just down the road, on the left side."

"Thank you," you say gratefully, already feeling welcomed by their kindness.

"By the way," another person chimes in, "You're just in time for our Founding Festival! We're all getting ready for it, so there's a lot of excitement around town."

"Sounds like fun," you reply, imagining the celebrations and camaraderie that must come with a big event in a small town. "I'll definitely check it out."

With their directions in mind, you continue on your way, finding yourself in the town square not long after. A weathered, important-looking statue stands at its center, depicting a Mothman, a Selkie, and a Lupine, all standing tall and proud in unity. The plaque at its base is weathered to the point of being near-unreadable, but it's easy to gather that the town has been quite diverse ever since its founding hundreds of years ago.

Around the statue, townsfolk are busy setting up stalls and decorations, their laughter and cheerfulness filling the air. You can't help but feel a sense of belonging in this close-knit community, and the anticipation of the upcoming festival only fuels your excitement. You raise your camera to your eye, and unlike people in the big cities, the townsfolk don't mind that you're snapping a picture with them in it. If anything, you think they smile a little wider.

After taking in the scene, you make your way to the bed and breakfast, finding it as charming and inviting as described. The scent of fresh-baked bread wafts through the air as you enter, and a fire crackles in the hearth, welcoming you with its warmth. You can't help but smile as you approach the front desk, where a friendly Lupine woman greets you, her fur dark brown and shiny. She's slightly hunched over in a way that makes you think either the ceiling is low or she is huge.

"Welcome to my bed and breakfast," she says with a kind smile, tactfully baring only the faintest hint of her sharp teeth. "I'm Evangeline. How can I help you?"

"Hi, Evangeline," you reply, returning her smile. "I'd like to book a room for a couple of weeks, if that's possible."

"Of course! We have plenty of availability." She begins the check-in process by pulling out an actual paper and pen with her paws, and you feel a sense of relief knowing you've found a place to call home during your time in Willow Grove.

As you settle into your new lodgings, the excitement of the upcoming Founding Festival mingles with the possibility of seeing Desmond again. You remind yourself not to let that prospect overshadow the personal journey you're on, but there's no denying the allure of reconnecting with him. For now, though, you focus on the present — immersing yourself in the charm of Willow Grove, camera always at the ready for picture-perfect moments in this picture-perfect town.

The late afternoon sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the room as you close the door behind you. Your new temporary sanctuary is cozy, with a plush bed and antique wooden dresser, adorned with framed photos of Willow Grove's natural beauty. The anticipation of meeting Desmond again brings a fluttery sensation to your chest, like butterflies dancing between each heartbeat.

"Alright," you say to yourself, trying to shake off the nerves. "Get it together."

As you unpack your belongings, your thoughts drift back to the night you shared with Desmond on the trail. In the grand scheme of things, it was so brief and quick. But between the vulnerability you both had exposed to each other and the heartfelt conversation around the fire (and the mind-blowing sex), you couldn't help but feel drawn to him. So deeply drawn to him that you were here now.

"Wish I could've called ahead," you mutter, placing your camera on the dresser. "Would that have been less... weird?"

You pause, staring at your reflection in the mirror above the dresser. A tired but determined face gazes back, and you take a deep breath. You paid for two weeks in this room—there's no turning back now.

"Okay, let's think this through," you tell yourself, sitting on the bed. "If Desmond thinks I'm crazy for coming here, I'll just... deal with it. We're both adults. Right? Besides, I didn't come all this way just for him. I came for me too."

You shuck off your dirty windbreaker, shaking your head. You're too tired to think things through. You lay back on the bed, the soft mattress embracing you like a specific long lost lover. The tiredness you feel goes beyond the physical. You're mentally and physically exhausted from living like a cavewoman the past few months. But here, in this cozy little room, surrounded by the enchanting beauty of Willow Grove, you finally feel a sense of peace. The kind of peace that comes from being in a place that feels like home, even if it's your first time being here.

As you close your eyes, you think of Desmond, his chitinous features and piercing carnelian eyes. You can almost feel his touch again, his mandibles on your lips, his strong arms wrapped around your body, his proboscis... elsewhere. You let out a sigh, knowing that there's no point in kidding yourself. You came here for Desmond, and Desmond alone. You're not sure where things stand between the two of you, but you know that there's a connection between you that can't be ignored. Even if it makes you look a little crazy. Okay, a lot crazy.

“What can I say. You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You could still feel the fresh roll of heat creeping over your face as you had turned your head away, and crossed your arms.

“Oh ha, ha, very funny.”

“That was a joke yes, but it is true, I do enjoy your company,”

The statement lingered in the space between the two of you.

“. . .You’re yanking my chain.”

Castor’s faceplate had stayed dark, no trace of that irritating blue smile.

“I am quite serious. I enjoy your company very much, you make my time here enjoyable.”

“. . . . . . .”

They tilt their head, the camera’s on their face plate swiveling in and out.

“. . . Then. . . how about this. I shall prove it?” They raise a finger, “I will prove myself to you. One whole week, no trouble, no pranks, no hi-jacking of your data, or the communicators of others.”

You bounce on your heels, keeping your gaze steady and averted. Staring out the large bulkhead window and out into the sea of stars.

“And. . . what will that prove?”

Castor’s hand hovers over their chest. “That I will be a good partner to you, that I can, in fact, behave myself for something that is important to me.”

You scrunch up your nose, glancing at them from the corner of your eye.

“And what kind of partner. . . do you have in mind?”

There it was, the flash of blue that lit up their dark visor in an assemblance of a smile. A u shape quick to form over the glossy black faceplate.

“We can discuss that in a week’s time.”

A cheeky Castor you could deal with, an annoying joking AI with too many tricks up their sleeves was emotionally manageable. They kept surprising you with clever antics, yes, but that was something you could write off as infuriating on purpose and distance yourself from. This side of the AI wasn’t something you were prepared for, a sincere and quiet Castor. Who had seemed to honestly mean what they claimed. They had eluded that they had liked you for so long, it had felt like a joke. Now that that had given you their full attention with no ounce of tomfoolery, you began to feel antsy.

You groan out a sigh, you shouldn’t have agreed to it. Castor had been more than true to their word. For a whole week, the ship had been silent. The crew was relieved and curious about the sudden change of demeanor of the captain. Some even missed the shenanigans.

“No one got hurt by them,” A tall tendraled being admitted to you, “It certainly kept things lively on board.”

You had, you realized, agreed with them, but refused to admit it. Castor, despite their strange interests and ways they amused themselves did make living there. . . fun.

You make a face at the thought, stopping paces away from the automatic doors. Not quite in the range for them to recognize you and activate. You shake your head and square your shoulders. Striding forward to get this over with, whatever was waiting for you on the other side.

As the doors retract you see Castor, their attention enraptured by a holo-communication that was floating in front of the captain chamber’s large opulent window. It wasn’t what you expected. Which you were glad for, because your imagination had been wildly running away from you. However, it was a surprise to see Castor carrying on a conversation with what you assumed was the captain of another ship. Communications with others was a sparse occurrence. Typically it was only in the form of brief communique for docking privledges or unloading goods.

“Well, well,” A bulky robot on the other side of the holo-communications leered. The being on the hologram wasn’t what you expected a star ship captain to look like. For one, they were built like a tank. A long inhuman head, with only deep slates for their eyes. Giving them the appearance of some kind of mechanized knight. Their way of speaking was also less than friendly.

“It’s been a while since I have seen tech like you lying around.”

Despite the synthesized voice, it dripped with malice and jeering ill-intent. You carefully move past the two, trying not to nose into the conversation. Yet unable to help yourself from listening in. You keep your head down, busying yourself with going to the small side closet in the large room. Flashing your keycard to receive a broom to sweep the floor.

Castor turns their head slightly, looking in your direction before they turn back, “Has it?”

A digitized chuckle comes from the other, which has you glancing up from your work again. You didn’t like the look of the character on the hologram. The only in-organic folk that looked like that, were a type of warring beings. They were built to be high defense and attack, an impenetrable fortress on two legs. More likely to be in charge of an army than a star craft.

“Oh yes. . . I know all about you, renegade. Your parts will fetch a pretty price.”

“Oh. I’m not for sale.” Castor replies readily, “I don’t think you could afford me.”

There is an awkward pause, as the holo-communication screen flickers.

“You. . . don’t know who I am, do you? Cheeky bot. This isn’t some la-di-da chit chat. Let me put this in layman terms, then. If you want to stay in one piece, you are going to surrender your ship and your goods.”

“Hm. I don’t know.”

Castor raises a pinky to the side of their head, wrist pistons making their hand twist back and forth. It took you a moment to understand what they were doing. When realization finally dawns on you, you huff out a laugh despite yourself. Paying more attention to Castor’s gesture than the realization of what was going on.

It was a very human gesture. Castor was outright mimicking the look of someone twisting their finger in an ear. A sign of boredom at being threatened.

You look down as both bots turn to look at you, guilt flashing across your face.

“. . . As I was saying.” Castor turns back to the screen, continuing to talk in their monotone drawl.

“I don’t really care what you do to this ship honestly. I would say take what you like and shove off.”

Your mouth drops open in shock, your head raising. Wait—

“But the folks on board are a different story.” Castor continues gesturing vaguely in your direction. “And their safety is my priority.” They raise a hand and wave dismissively at the figure on the hologram. “So if you wouldn’t mind, find someone else to bully into giving you spare parts. I don’t have any to give. Good bye.”

There was a faint note of sing-songiness is Cas’ voice as they reach for their control panel. A whirr of gears hiss as their voice begins to crackle angrily from the speaker, “How dar—“ but Castor taps the button to end the transmission, and the hologram scrambles into nothingness. You look to your captain half in awe, half incredulous.

“Who was— what was—”

“Just give me a moment. . . we need to get out of here fast.” Castors fingers start flying over the control keys, “I wasn’t given any means to defend the ship since I was deemed to not be trusted.” They scoff hollowly, “Probably thought I would turn around and use it on them. All we have is standard issue shields and our escape pods. Which puts everyone in danger. The Fools.”

“Y-“ You feel a throbbing course up into your ears, “You mouthed off to some defunct bandits when we are VULNERABLE??”

An explosion rocks the side of the ship, causing you to stumble forward and grip onto the control panel, you scramble to the other side of the large window. Reading the data screens as panic gripped you, the whirring of graphs fluxuating to show that you had taken a direct hit from weapons.

“Castor!!” Your voice high, a mix between fear and anger.

“I need you to be calm,” They uttered as their fingers were a furious blurr upon the keys, “I will find a way for the crew to safely evacuate. They won’t come to harm, all they want is our tech and gear.

You flash Cas a look. “You ARE tech!” there is another explosion that you brace yourself from, with a forcefulness that shakes through your body, you slam a fist into the large emergency button. The lights inside the captain's chambers flicker to red and a steady whirr that makes your ears ring

“A-Attention crew!” Your voice gushes into the microphone as you flip the switch to activate the reception. “We are under attack— you need to evacuate into the escape pods, immediately!”

Your heart hammers in your chest, as the screens and charts flicker and shift.

“We’re already taking much damage—“ You choke, “I don’t think we can out maneuver them—“

You jerk your head as more beeping fills your ears, multiple warnings start flashing across the screens. The panicked signs of being invaded and showing a swarm of red dots, coming towards the ship.

“Must have targeted our propulsion from the start—“ Castor fingers finally slowing to a halt, they give an uneasy twitch upon the keys.

"How very thoughtful of them. . ."

“W-we don’t have much time t-then—“ You hurry over to them, “We have to get you unplugged!”

Your hands flutter to the back of their head. Eyes scanning the mess of cords and plugs of input that was waterfalled between two hinged plates. There was a lot here to contend with. Normally ships had their personalities programmed right into the bulkhead computer. Robot captains, were sprinkled across the galaxy, and it wasn’t impossible to find one heading a ship. What wasn't typical however, was for an AI to be so securely tethered to their craft. It had perplexed you when you first started working here, but in the middle of a dire situation like this, every second counted.

"There's not a way to unhook you from all of this at once i-is there?"

Castor's head shifts ever so slightly, a tiny camera on the back of their head clicks open and focuses on you.

“You need to escape. Don’t worry about me.”

“Wh-what?! How can you just—”

“I can’t leave,” Castor replies quietly, “You have to go without me. If you disable these cables, I will lose all power in my legs.”

You stare at them, in disbelief. “W-why would—“

“If I remove myself from these connections it will activate the bug that the Galactic Coalition had put in my system. It will make me lose power in my legs. It was a present they gave me on the off chance I decided to unhook myself from the ship.”

“We- well I am just going to have to carry you then!” You begin to pull at the wires fervently, hearing a whir from Castors cameras. The very slight sound of their surprise.

“Carry me?”

“Y-yes! If I have to!”

Pulling out a handful of cords, you squeak as Cas suddenly tips forward, grabbing them and hugging them from behind.

Castor’s head swivels, “It’s alright, you don’t have to do this. You can leave,”

You shake your head, burying your face against their dark blue jacket and taking a shaky breath. “No— I’m not giving up, c-can you prop yourself up on the control panel?”

Castor wordlessly follows instructions and you struggle with the cords, leaving a mess of cables in your wake. The back of Castors head snapping closed like the wings of a beetle as the last plug is pulled from the panel. With a bit of a struggle, you manage to grab the AI legs and heft them over your back. Castors hands, gripping onto your shoulder.

“You really don’t—“

A yellow light lighting up on the control panel, with red dots now spreading out along a cross-section of the ship.

Castor’s face plate turned towards the screens. “They’re already inside— then we must take evasive measures, would you be a dear and stop before you reach the door. . . there is something I need to retrieve.”

“Cas—“

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone harm you.”

You weren’t sure how to answer that. Already feeling yourself slowed down by the weight on your back. How were you going to get both of you to safety? You bit your lip and moved towards the door. Castor’s hands reach forward to type a security code into a wall panel beside the captains deck.

You jump as a hiss of sparks begin to emit through the door. Red smoldering bubbles and smears appearing through the metal as some burning tool makes large welts into the double doors. Your eyes flicker from the door, to the items Cas was withdrawing from the safe in the wall. Two long nosed sleek plasma pistols.

“On three. . .” Cas begins calmly, you nod shakily, still staring at the weapons held on either side of you.

“One—“

You wobble, giving yourself cover, beside the doorway.

“Two—“

Cas raises a pistol, aiming it at the sensor at the door.

There is a bolt of heat that whizzes past your face. The sensor on the door alighting into sparks as they double doors fly open and glitch. As the doors springs open, they knock a burning blade from an androids hands. The sound of plasma fire makes you squeeze your eyes shut. Your ears ring as you slowly re-open your eyes.

You were still in one piece, so was Cas. The intruding robots however were slumped onto the ground in a smoking heap. You had barely blinked and suddenly the hallway was clear. Smoke gently curls beside your face as Castor spins one of the plasma pistols in their hand. It settles effortless back into their palm.

“Oh good.” They rattle on calmly, “I still got it.”

“W-where- h-how??”

“ The governing bodies let me keep my pistols if it ever came to a last stand where I had to defend the ship. Wouldn’t let me leave if anything happened of course. That’s why they let me keep my arms intact if I was ever severed from the ship.”

You picture a flash of Castor, propped themselves up against a wall, arms raised with a pistol in each hand as lights flashed red. As a pang of unease hit you, for all the trouble Castor had caused, this image didn't settle well with you. Despite them being a frustrating being who thought “mental enrichment” was causing confusion amongst the crew, you didn’t think they deserved to be trapped in space without a means to escape. . . did they? Just how much trouble did they get into in their past?

“I have heard the ladies fancy a rogue.” The comment from the bot causes you to snort incredulously. Still finding time to make jokes in a seemingly inescapable outcome.

“You’re not a rogue,” You snark back, “You’re just a menance,”

“You can’t be both?”

You shift your stance to better keep Castor propped on your shoulders, shaking your head before you make your way around the blasted tech on the floor. Focusing on the door in front of you and dreading what you would find outside.

Both of you peeking around the corner, the whirr of parts above you as Castor swivels their head.

“Coast is clear, I can’t see as much as I used to, but I still have some ship schematics still running.”

You slunk towards a crisscross in the hallway, peeking around the corner but jerking back as a shot of burning plasma, pings right beside you head, and Castor snaps to attention, firing two shots. You shimmy backwards as more blasts are fired in your direction.

You hobble as quickly as you can, the excess weight feeling heavier and heavier with every step. Castor’s arms raised and tracked the figures that appeared from around corners. You yelp and jump as a blast throws sparks beside your foot.

“We’re going to take a little short cut, head to the elevators”

“Th-they’re probably d-disabled—“

“I re-enable them.”

It was the strangest and most nerve wracking thing you had ever done, Castor having one hand typing in a series of codes, while the other hand continued to fire shots and hit marks. How they were capable of doing so many tasks at once was beyond comprehension.

A light flickers on, as the doors began to open

“Go- go- go-“ You hiss as you all but throw yourself inside. Punching the button of the elevator with enough force that you half worried you were breaking your finger in the process. There was a roar, from the other side of the door. Both you and Castor look up to see a goliath of a mech in the hallway, as another surge of mechanized beings swarmed in after them.

You punch the button for the escape pod level a couple more times in rapid succession. Watching the doors close slowly, shutting off the chaos that was coming towards you.

And then.

Silence.

You and Cas look at eachother, in the small confined space, the only sounds where the whirring of the elevator as it rocketed down the levels. The glossy numbers changed until it rattled to a halt and settled into the housing levels for the escape pods.

“Well,” Cas quips in amusement, “They can’t be that clever because they haven’t jettisoned all the escape pods yet. Still a few in tact, thank goodness.”

Pulsing lights embedded into the floor around you as you stagger towards the closest pod. You glance back at the elevator, seeing its doors still open. The warm light spilling into the large dimly lit room. You had expected it to be called up immediately after your departure, yet seeing it their still had you worried.

You shrug your shoulders and wince. “L. . . let’s not say anything until we get settled in okay? I still feel like we are just scraping by, by the skin of our teeth.”

You fumbled for your own key card, swiping it against the reader and sucking in a shaky breath. As the door opens you can finally set your companion down and fall to your knees in relief. Reaching out to grab the small emergency lever, and typing in your own personal code that seals the hatch.

You feel your stomach raise into your chest as the little pod is launched into space.

You settle your companion back more against the circular cushioned seat that encompasses most of the escape pod and curl your knees towards your chest. Watching Castor type into a small screen that rested against the back of the pod.

“Well. That was exciting, wasn’t it.” Their voice cool and even, as if they were talking about a sudden downpour that happened on a nice sunny day.

“Exciting,” You echo, “That. . . might be an understatement.”

Cas closes the panel and props themselves up, “The good news is, we are safe, and we have time to relax until we find a close place to land.”

A small two man pod barrels through the starry infinity of space. It’s two occupants sitting facing one another. Behind them, a star cruiser slowly crumbling apart and deserted.

“I believe we have some things to talk about, don’t we?”

You took a breath and nodd, "I want to know who that was-- why did they attack us? We were in peaceful territory!"

Castor leans back against the seat, crossing their arms. "Bastion, is the name of the lovely being who had stormed our ship. They have been, in recent years recruiting followers by means of force, and have been over throwing spacers for supplies. I am not sure what their angle is yet, but it isn't good by any means."

“You know them then. . .”

A small flash of blue highlighting their face plate.

"Yes well. . . they have been getting a very inflated ego as of late, and I have heard they have quite the temper. I wanted to know more about them. All in curiousity, of course.

You huff, "So you being curious got our ship destroyed--"

"No, not quite. I was attempting to see if I could stall them enough to call the Coalition. . . Playing dumb, if you will, but when I tried to send out an s.o.s it fell on silent sensors.”

You’re eyebrows knit together, "If they are such a threat. . . how come I haven't heard about this Bastion?"

Castor tilts their head, looking down at their hands as they scuff at their knee with finger.

"Everything has been. . . hush, hush. Kept out of the eye of the intel net. I am guessing the Coalition feels it to be a bad look for a powerful and threatening image to arise in a golden age of peace. I myself have been trying to scrape together all the info I can find, though, I am not exactly happy with what I have found out.

I have a theory that our ship was used to bait Bastion out of hiding. Which a plan of that scale put all of us in jeopardy."

"That. . . can't be true--"

Castor shakes their head, their normally dull voice taking on a mollified tone.

"Even the Coalition has its dark underbelly. I was hoping I could hi-jack the ship itself or find a way to reroute it in time. But I wasn't quick enough. I was, more or less a figure head will little control."

You look down at your shoes, head spinning. Silence sinking into the little crafts wall for a while.

"I. . . don't know what to believe" You murmur at last.

“For now, we focus on surviving.” Castor reaches out a hand towards you, then thinks better of it. It falls to their side. Fingers drumming against the seat cushion.

“I can check on the life lines of the pods, make sure the others are alright, but I can’t stay and nosey around too long. Since I am. . . disconnected from the ship now, I need to keep a low profile. Can’t be as daring as I would like to be.”

They pause, a thumb and forefinger resting on their chin.

“Actually, that gives me a great idea. Have you ever heard of the intergalactic entertainment hub? If I remember correctly it may be close by. Lots of people there, and it outputs so much data it may be a good place to keep a low profile.”

You have heard of the Entertain hub, it was a humongous amphitheater that traveled the galaxy housing venues of some of the most famous musicians and entertainment. You had plans at one time to scrape together enough money to purchase a ticket. To go at least once was something that was recommended all over the intel net.

“There’s two problems with that,” You said wearily, “One, we have no money to afford something like that. . . and two you ah. . . can’t nessicarily walk around. I’m not going to carry you indefinately.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the expences, and as for the mobility issue, I know exactly how to fix it.”

The hint of cheerfulness in there voice has you frowning.

Uh oh.

You sat cross legged with Castor sitting on the floor in front of you. Your back hunched over their head. A set of tools resting beside your knee.

The back of their head opening like an insect's wings, revealing a the panel that had originally housed a multitude of plugs.

“What am I looking for again?”

A little chip, you are going to have to remove the plate they installed back there.”

You fumble with the screw driver in your hand, your expression wincing as you remove the plate, only to find a jumble of cords coming along with it.

It was like pulling out the ribbons of someone's brain, you make a face, and glance down at them.

“. . . Still doing okay?”

“Oh yes. Quite fine.” The bot's right hand patiently tapped against their knee. Unperturbed and having no idea what is going on behind them.

You grin nervously. “I can’t believe I am doing this—“

Your fingers gently move through the tangle, taking a flashlight and peering through the mass of cords.

“This is so weird,” You whisper to yourself, “Like doing surgery. . .”

“It’s a good thing I can’t feel anything~”

“Now is not the time to joke around.” You blink, and lean closer, “What’s. . . that. . .”

You hold your breath and reach in, grabbing an odd shaped something. Suddenly, Cas’s legs jump and you pull your hand back with surprise.

“Ah— perfect. I think you got it.”

Cas flexes their legs as you look down at your palm.

A softly glowing strange neon green thing nestled into your hand.

“When you mentioned a bug. . . I didn't think it would resemble one. . .”

A set of strange spindly legs slowly unhinge and begin to flail.

“Yikes!”

“What’s wrong—“

“Oh my gosh— it’s one of those moving nano bodies—“

Castor reaches a hand back towards you, “Give it here, I’ve been wanting to squash this little pest for months.”

You nervously set the glowing tech into Castors hand, jumping back as the small thing takes a flying leap from Cas’ hand. “W-watch it!!”

Castor lunges forward, hand flying to smash the chip into the pod’s cold floor. You could hear a peep and a glitchy sound as it crunches from the impact.

“Got it.”

You sigh in relief.

“Awful little thing. No wonder I couldn’t trace it.”

“I’ve seen that kind of high end tech in my tablet, but I never thought I’d see it in real life like that. Just what did you do?” You muse softly as you set about the task of carefully putting the long tendrils of wiring back into the AI’s head.

“That’s a good question. It’s a bit tricky to answer, but what I can say is, it is more about what I didn’t do, than what I did.”

You raise an eyebrow. “. . . That. . . doesn’t explain anything.”

Castor takes a moment to get to their feet, testing their legs before throwing the delicate green machinery into a recycle bin. You move to the other side of the cockpit, peering over Cas’ shoulder.

"I can't tell where we are. . .”

"There is a saying. . . that all stars look the same in space,"

"Until you get closer." You finish, your eyes rolling, "But what that saying leaves out is that you fry if you get too close."

"Haha, yes. Quite true."

You glance at the name tag and the bright red pin. Cirrus gives a polite nod and turns on their heel, grabbing a key from underneath the lines of ornate drinks. You take it with a smile and nod.

A dark cold metal with a little heart with horns that rested at the top of the key. The concubus hand lingers for a moment after you receive the key. Then they gesture to you.

“Three knocks, if you begin to feel light headed, someone will come to fetch you if you feel uncomfortable or if you change your mind.”

You ruffle with a pout, “I— I am pretty sure I’ll be fine— I’m just here to discuss designs!”

Cirrus doesn’t bat an eye, and continues to stare at you evenly. “. . .”

You lean back, raising your hands in defeat, “Okay, okay, I accept, three knocks.”

You huff at them over your shoulder, “But I ‘am’ just here for business!”

Your reassurance was half hearted, you had a notion that none of the workers here would believe you. It wasn’t your word that they didn’t believe, more so, you knew it was the reputation of the creature you were going to see. No one ever saw Mersion for just business, and if they did, there was a high risk things would escalate.

He was hard to dodge around, and had the irritating knack to bring out the most desperate longings in people. So far you have done a good job at staying one step ahead of his honey suckle words and your own feelings.

Nearing the door you already feel your heart begin to beat faster in a quick pulse. You pull a pale surgeon mask out of your pocket and fit it over your nose and mouth. It wasn’t going to help much, but it could buy you some time at least. Taking a deep breath and sliding the dark key into the door lock.

The knob turns easily, as the door swings open you slip quietly into the opening and disappear into a twilight corridor.

The lights were dimmer here, dreamy, lulling, but the ambiance seemed to have the reverse reaction. The closer you got to the door at the end of the hall, your heart was a jackhammer in your ears and your head began swimming in a haze.

A shaky breath, shaking your head and pressing the mask tighter around your face.

You reach out and knock at the huge door that towered above you.

“Come in~”

The dark tone of the voice causes you to shudder as the words curl their way into your inner ear. You shake your head, and you roll your eyes to reclaim your resolve.

You turn the door knob and pull it open.

“Why, it’s my favorite little artist! I was just thinking about what you’ve been up to.”

You squint in the dark, seeing a mountainous shadow looming up from a gigantic fainting couch. You can just make out the pearly white teeth that faintly glimmer in the dark.

Those are some mean looking chompers. The sassy part of your mind quipped, causing the faintest of smiles to cross your face.

“Come sit down, and tell me, what brings you here to my personal quarters~”

Your eyes linger on the silhouette of his hand, teasingly patting the space next to him on the couch.

“I’m good here, thanks.” You shake your head politely, oh no. You weren’t gonna play that game. You were quite fine over here, thank you very much.

Mersion gives an amused chuff.

“Besides,” You dove back into the conversation, like a fencer. Words drawn.

“Even if I was closer, I don’t think you could even see the designs I made. It’s too dark in here,”

“Oho?” A short pause as if he was tasting the air, “Does that mean you’ve finished them then?”

“Almost, I just wanted to check in with you, see if you approve of how they’re coming along so far.”

A dark chuckle makes you stand up straighter.

“Well, wasn't that sweet of you. I appreciate your dedication.”

Your eyes narrow, and squint at the shadowed face.

“You might be able to see them with a light on.” Side step. Parry.

You hear a soft drawn out sigh. “Oh, fine.”

The sudden brightness causes you to screw up your face and blink tensely.

Mersion rests a clawed hand on his chin, smirking down at you in amusement.

“Need a minute?”

You shuffle forward still squinting, before holding out the folder you have been carrying with you.

“Here.”

Mersion leans forward from his lounging position, a clawed hand taking the folder from you and opening in. His eyes flickering across the pages, occasionally you hear a rustle as he turns the page.

You rub your eyes to readjust your vision, taking a moment to glance at the figure on the other side of the room.

Mersion was. . . very pink. From his skin tone to his horns. The first time you saw him, you were taken aback by his palette. You had expected dark colors, or even purples.

His dark pink eyes flicker up to glance at you, and he smirks. You stiffen, as he leans back nonchalantly, flipping more pages.

“Not bad. Not bad. Everything’s coming along nicely, I am sure once they are finalized they’ll be perfect. I knew I made the right choice to ask for your help.”

“I’m not that good,”

He smirks again, “You just love to dodge around all my comments don’t you. Tell me, do you let other people praise you, or do ya push their words aside too?”

You take a breath, “Just you.”

He gives a cheerful bark of laughter. “Ohh! I am wounded!” He teases, lightly tosses the folder onto the coffee table that separates the two of you.

“I don’t have any changes to make. It looks good to me, but then, I am not an artist.”

You nod and stoop to grab your folder. Though the action of bending makes your head swim.

“Valentine’s Day is just around the corner,” He purrs, “Do you have any plans~?”

You put a hand to your head to steady yourself before you shrug. “Stay home? Order a pizza and watch movies? I should have these done by then.”

“That sounds boring~” He purrs, flashing you an evil grin.

You think about the comment, your mind starting to move a little slowly. You shrug again. “I guess a little. It’ll be nice to relax though. . .” You find yourself saying honestly, your tongue almost slipping, admitting to loneliness. Before you squint at him, “And you’ll probably be busy.”

He snickers, “Oh. . . I’m sure I could make some time. . .”

You feel a pulse, and your thighs tighten.

“. . . Sounds boring. May I go now?”

Mersion barks with more laughter, waving his hand and biting back a grin.

“Sure kiddo, thanks for sharing the progress. I’ll be waiting to see those finals.”

You feel your head bob up and down, “Have a good day.”

Uvor lifted you gently, as he always was, and you could just barely see above the trees. A column of steam as wide around as a neighborhood lazily rose into the overcast sky.

"Wow..." you couldn't contain your wonder. You had never seen anything like it before, yet Uvor apparently came here every day.

"You'll feel much better once you're in the warm water. I promise." He smiled faintly, still focusing on the safe navigation of the untamed forest.

A stray raindrop struck you in the face. "Warm water sounds amazing right now," you said, wiping it away with a wool mitten.

After a little more lurching travel, you arrived at the destination Uvor promised. Once he set you down on the forest floor, just on the edge of the clearing, all you could see were multitudes of steaming pools stacked atop one another like tiers on a wedding cake.

"Uvor, this place is beautiful," you gasped, surprised this hadn't already been turned into a tourist attraction. "You come here every day?"

"Indeed," he boomed, his voice always large enough to shake the ground you stood on, "It's the reason I don't smell. I'm very grateful." He smiled and squatted next to you.

"So I guess I should, uh..." you hesitated, the cold air biting your cheeks, "undress before I get in?"

"I could keep you warm on the way back," Uvor explained, "but it would be easier if your clothes were dry."

"Got it," you answered, still not entirely ready to disrobe. Sure, Uvor was as caring and gentle of a boyfriend you could ask for, but going au naturale in front of him was a new, yet not unexpected line to cross.

Uvor sensed your hesitation. You had been standing idly in the cold rain with steamy hot springs just before you, after all. "If you want to keep your underwear on, that's okay too," he added gently.

"No, I'm not going home with soggy underwear." You found the resolve to undress, starting with your coat. Uvor and you had talked at length about boundaries and comfort and such, and a slightly bolder version of you from the past agreed that this trip to the hot springs was meant to be a romantic—and nude—one.

Uvor offered a hand to you while you shucked your bulky autumn clothing off. One by one you tossed your coat, your sweater, your shirt, your pants, and so on into his waiting hand like it was a laundry basket at home. Once the last of it was safe in his grasp, you jogged across the cold clay ground into an eagerly awaiting hot spring. The warmth was divine.

"Oh, this is perfect," you sighed contentedly, vapor from your breath joining the steam as it rose towards the sky. Just as you rested your head against the earthen lip of the pool, the ground shook. Uvor had done away with his loincloth and gently sat down in a pool that was large enough to accommodate him just next to yours.

“Isn’t it?” Uvor sounded pleased with himself. He reached over, dipping his huge hand into the water beside you, offering it. You leaned against his wrist at first before deciding just to sit in his hand again. He held you perfectly under the balmy water.

"Thank you, Uvor," you leaned back and closed your eyes. Cool mist dotted your face. "I know I was hesitant to come out here with you, but..." you blushed. The warmth and steam had distracted you from the fact that you were now completely naked and sitting in your boyfriend's hand.

"But?" Uvor's middle finger curled, gently spreading your thighs apart as it nestled between them.

"But I'm glad I did." You tentatively accepted his advances. You parted your legs just a bit more, blushing, and allowed yourself to straddle his middle finger, his index and ring fingers holding your thighs in place like warm pillows.

"Mm," he grumbled, satisfied. "Me too." His finger curled further until all your weight rested on it. You gasped. His heartbeat pulsed in between your legs... and gradually got faster.

You leaned forward and grabbed his fingertip like you were riding a rocking horse.

"You seem eager." You could hear the smirk in his voice.

"So do you." You turned back and looked at him and returned a smirk of your own. There was still a kindness in his eyes, but backlit by desire. He was trembling at how delicate and soft you felt in his hands... and something else, too.

His finger curled. You gasped at the sudden movement and how it rubbed against you. Despite being a giant who spent most of his time in nature, the skin on his hands was soft. The grooves that gave you fingerprints instead gave him lovely, supple bumps that rubbed against your tender sex.

"Uvor," you said, your breath catching a bit, "that... that feels good." The admission made your face burn hotter than the springs.

"Mm," he rumbled, almost teasing. "Would you like me to move?"

"Um, a little," you answered, eyes closed as warmth built between your legs.

"As you wish, my little bloom." He uncurled his finger. It rose slightly, pressing against your pussy gently. When you gripped his fingertip and moved your hips, a moan escaped you. Pleasure surged through you. The spring felt hotter, the steam thicker. Your breath took a moment to catch up.

"Good?" He asked, feeling you melt in his hand.

"Y-yeah." You started to pant. Your trepidation before this outing was cleared away by the hot steam. More movement with your hips. Your knuckles went white as you clung to his fingertip. The steam in front of your face spun away from you in silky swirls with each hot breath.

Back and forth. Every nerve in your body lit up when your clit found purchase on his hot, soft skin. Your eyes scrunched shut.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Uvor rumbled. He reached across with his other hand to delicately cradle your face between his large thumb and forefinger. “Are you close?”

“Y-yeah...” you squeaked, your breath short and legs beginning to shake.

"Come for me." His heartbeat between your quaking legs was impossibly warm. "Come for me, little bloom."

Pleasure exploded within you as your clit rubbed against his tender skin. You gasped, shaking. Your knuckles went white, holding on to Uvor as you rode out your orgasm. It was hot—too hot—and after crying out to the overcast sky, you fell back and lied against his wrist. Your glassy eyes saw stars.

"Are you okay?"

You came so hard it felt like the wind was knocked out of you. Breaths came unevenly, and your voice was small. "I'm... yeah..." you tried to say, drowned out by the bubbling noises of the springs.

Immediately, as you gasped at his speed, Uvor lifted you from the water and sat up, holding you before him. He cradled you in both hands as cool air rushed around you and stray rain droplets peppered your skin. He wore an expression of concern, examining you.

"What was that for?" You asked, slightly put off by the cold that shocked you out of your post-orgasmic stupor.

"I was worried," his eyebrows softened, and he let out a breath he seemed to be holding. "I thought I... hurt you, or the springs gave you heat stroke, or..."

"I'm fine," you reassured him, standing in his palms and reaching out to touch his stubbly cheek. The moment your hand met his skin even more tension left his face and shoulders.

"I'm sorry for ruining the moment," he rumbled, his eyes no longer on you, downcast.

"You didn't ruin anything. I just..." you had cooled down, but heat returned to your cheeks as you prepared the words, "I just came really hard, thanks to you, big guy."

You could feel heat rise in his cheeks too. "I... uh... I'm glad." He couldn't find the words.

"Good talk." You chuckled, patting his cheek. He chuckled with you, flashing that goofy grin of his. "Why don't you set me down in the water again? It's cold up here."

You didn’t even think jackalope hybrids existed, thought they were an urban legend hunters told each other about. And yet there she was, panicked and crying and very much real. 

As you began to approach, her big ears perked up. They were nestled behind her antlers, her nose twitching as you moved through the foliage. 

Big, teary brown eyes met your own as you emerged from your hiding spot. As soon as she saw you she tugged urgently at her leg, which was wedged firmly between the teeth of the metal trap. The only thing she succeeded in was getting digging the metal further into her flesh as she desperately tried to pull away. 

You took a step back in an attempt to get her to stop moving. “Hey, I’m not here to hurt you but if you keep moving like that you’re going to hurt yourself even worse. 

She tried to thrash away from you, muttering no to herself as she was painfully rooted in place. 

“You need my help to open this kind of trap, just please stay still,” you pleaded with her. 

She listened, freezing in place, wet eyes looking expectantly at you as you edged closer. 

As soon as you were within reach you got to work compressing the springs on either side of the trap to free her. After a few substantial pushes the trap fell open and you quickly latched it that way before pushing it away from the both of you. 

The poor girl immediately tried to stand up and collapsed, her injured leg not allowing her to put any weight on it. You went down with her, pulling her arm over your shoulder to help her stand. “There you go, sweetheart, just lean on me. That’s it, there you go.”

She eagerly leaned into your side, putting almost all of her weight on you. There was no attempt to fling herself away this time and you weren’t sure if it was because you’d earned her trust or because she’d realized she had no other options. 

Either way, you needed to get her to safety, and fast. 

Your pace was slower than you would have liked. You’d have preferred to attempt to carry her but you got the distinct feeling that would spook her even further.

Luckily you weren’t too far from your cabin and you managed to make your way back without encountering anyone. 

You pulled her through the door, quickly shutting it behind you, closing her off from any prying eyes. If anyone saw her, you weren’t sure there was anything you could do to stop them. 

“You’re helping me?” She said it like she couldn't quite believe it, like she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. You had a feeling only time would take away that instinct. There wasn’t anything you could say to make it go away right now, it was too ingrained in her. 

The most you could do was help her with gentle hands and a soft voice. 

“Yup. Come on, up here.” You shifted her onto your bed, the blood from her injured leg seeping into the sheets. 

You cursed under your breath as you realized that all that was left of your first aid supplies was an old roll of gauze and a half empty box of bandaids. Certainly not enough to fix this. You grabbed some vodka and a clean rag, determined to do the best you could to sanitize it before wrapping it up, or at least to remove some of the grime it was currently covered in. 

The wound was barely visible, clots of blood and dirt streaked across her, spread everywhere from her writhing on the ground. 

“This is going to hurt,” you warned her as you soaked the cloth, hoping she understood that this had to be done. 

She drew back a little back a little before nodding and grabbing a handful of your sheets in preparation as you knelt by her injured leg. 

The little shriek she let out as the vodka soaked rag touched her wounds broke your heart. You were going to string those hunters up the second you got the chance. 

The more blood and dirt you pulled away, the better you could to see the gashes in her leg. They were even worse than you’d imagined. She’d clearly been trying to pull herself out for a while before you got there. 

“Really hurts,” she whimpered out.

“I know hun, but we have to get you cleaned up. I promise I’ll be quick, we’re almost done.”

You dabbed at her wounds as gingerly as you could, trying to distract her from the pain by talking while you cleaned her up.

“Your english is really good.”

She swayed back and forth a little, a proud smile crossing her face. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I know very little about your language, I’ve looked but it’s very hard to find anything about it.”

“Secret,” she said with a wince.

“Oh, is it? I had no idea.”

You’d left the worst part for last but you’d run out of opportunities to avoid it. 

Too nervous to get near it, you opted instead to empty what was left of the bottle onto her leg. As you did, she grabbed your unoccupied hand, squeezing it as hard as she could. 

The bottle ran empty and you looked up to see her with her eyes shut tight and her jaw clenched. 

You stood up to go get the gauze you had left and she tentatively opened one eye at the sound of your retreat. At the sight of her bloody leg she promptly shut it again. You couldn’t blame her, it was hard for you to look at and it wasn’t even your blood. 

You grabbed the old gauze from inside your half forgotten first aid kit and promised yourself that soon you’d go into town and gather more supplies so next time you needed it you’d be prepared. 

Your heart sank at the thought of there being a next time, at the idea that no matter how hard you tried, you could never stop this from happening. 

That there would always be some you couldn’t get to in time. 

You shook the thought out of your head. Worrying about them wouldn’t fix anything. All you could do was care for the one you’d managed to save. 

“Do you have a name?”

She nodded, her ears shifting as she did. “Posy.”

“Well, Posy, you should get some rest. I’ve gotta go out for a while but you’ll be safe in here.”

She glanced around the room nervously, eyes grazing over the furniture. She must have found her surroundings satisfactorily safe because after a few moments she fell backwards onto the bed, nestling into the blankets. 

Despite the fact that she seemed content, you were hesitant to leave her alone. The only thing that managed to send you out that door was the thought that she might not be the only one. 

Night was falling but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You knew these woods more than well enough to navigate in the dark and god knows you wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, you knew your mind wouldn’t stop racing long enough to allow you to rest. 

You set off the rest of the traps you could find before returning home, breaking and displacing all the ones that you could. They’d already done far more damage than you would have liked. 

Thankfully, every trap you came across was untripped. You already felt in over your head, you weren’t sure you could take care of any more injured creatures. 

You half expected her to be gone when you got back. 

Instead, she was out cold on the bed, curled up around a pillow she was hugging close to her chest.  She was lit up by the rays of the sunrise creeping through the gaps in your drawn curtains. 

She jerked awake at the sound of the door closing. She tried to bolt upright before being stopped by a painful reminder of why she was in your bed in the first place.

She pulled her legs up towards her, tucking them into herself and inspecting the bloody bandages she had wrapped around her calf. 

“How’re you feeling,” you asked, careful to keep your distance so you didn’t scare her even more. 

“Bad.”

You nodded solemnly. “Yeah, it’s going to be like that for a while, you hurt yourself pretty badly. But it’ll heal, I’ll make sure you’ll be okay, you don’t have to worry.”

Her head cocked to the side and she studied you from her position on the bed. 

“Do you want something to eat?” you asked as she surveyed you. 

She nodded hesitantly. 

Her big eyes watched you carefully as you put a pot on the stove, lighting the fire under it. She moved closer, hopping so as not to put weight on her injured leg and quickly settling in on the floor, positioning herself so she was eye level with the flame.

“Be careful, don’t burn yourself,” you called back as you grabbed a can of soup from the pantry, sticking to something with vegetables in it and hoping that jackalope hybrid’s diets weren’t too dissimilar from bunny hybrids. 

“I’m not stupid.” She pouted at you before returning to her fire watching. “How did you make fire so fast?”

She chose her words slowly and intentionally, working her way through the question while you busied yourself with heating up the soup for the two of you, letting her figure out the words in her own time. 

“Um, there’s gas in the stove and the knob makes a little spark that lights it.”

“Gas?”

“Mmhmm.”

“It’s warm in here all night.” It was more of a statement than an observation but you understood what she was asking. 

“Yeah, that’s because of a fire too, it’s a heating system. What do you guys normally do at night?”

“We stay close and sheltered.”

“Well, we’re sheltered here, and we’re pretty close.”

She shook her head. “No, closer.”

“Like cuddling?”

Posy nodded. 

“How do you speak English so well?”

“I learned. We all did.”

“Why?”

“To talk our way out of trouble. If you can’t escape, make them like you. Buys time.”

“You know you don’t have to do that with me, right? You can say or do whatever you want to, I’m going to take care of you either way.”

“Why?”

“It’s the decent thing to do. Unfortunately for you, decency is not a universal trait but I promise, no harm will come to you here. Be as much of a little shit as you want.”

She scrunched up her nose as she smiled. “Challenge accepted!”

“Not quite how I meant it.”

She ignored you in favor of staring at the stove as you worked around her. 

Eventually, you broke her little hypnotic spell as you announced, “Food’s done. Do you like tea?”

She shrugged. “What is it?”

“It’s good, you should try it.”

You couldn’t exactly ask her how she liked her tea so instead you opted to put some sugar in it and hope for the best. 

“Do you need help?” you asked as you looked down at her sitting on the floor. 

“With what?”

“With moving to the table. Come on, I’ll…”

“No. Stay here.”

You weren’t sure if she actually wanted to stay on the ground or if the thought of you helping her up wounded her pride. Either way, you weren’t going to fight her on it. 

“Alright. Is this seat taken?” you asked, gesturing at the floor next to her.

She shook her head with a giggle and you settled down next to her, setting two bowls of soup and two mugs of tea on the floor. 

She took a sip out of the mug and scrunched up her nose.

“Too hot.”

“Well, you have to let it cool down first. The soup should be better, I didn’t bring it to a full boil”

She picked up the bowl, ignoring the spoon in favor of sipping directly from it. 

“What is this?” she asked, giving it a curious look. 

“It’s just soup, I get it from the store when I go out.”

“Store?”

“Yeah, it’s where I go to get food.”

“You don’t make it. What do you do with all your forages?”

“Oh, I don’t forage.”

She seemed baffled by this revelation. “Why?”

“I don’t know, I guess I don’t really know how.”

“You live here? And you don’t know how?” she asked incredulously.

“Hey, I’m not stupid either, I just never needed to learn. We all have blind spots.”

“You should learn. This is disgusting.”

“Sorry, but I’m afraid you’re gonna be eating a lot of this stuff until I can get you back on your feet.”

She made no attempt to mask her pout and you couldn’t help but laugh as you added, “Just think of it as motivation to get better faster.”

She didn’t seem convinced by your arguments but was too hungry to care. She practically inhaled her food, despite her less than glowing review regarding its taste. 

The tea was more of a hit, her first sip not leaving her questioning your survival skills at the very least. 

After a few more tastes she announced, “This is fine.”

“I’m glad it’s to your liking.”

And honestly, you really were. You were incredibly happy to see her settling in, the jumpiness from before all but gone. 

She looked up from an empty bowl, clutching a still warm mug in her hands. “What now?”

“I don’t normally have guests, I don’t really know how all of this works. Do you want to watch a movie?” It felt like an absurdly pedestrian thing to ask someone who’d almost been hunted for sport the day before but you got the sense she’d appreciate the distraction. 

“What’s a movie?”

“I can show you, c’mon, they’re over here.”

You didn’t have any real service out here in the woods, but what you did have was an old tv and a box of vhs tapes. They were all grainy and in black and white but if she didn’t even know what a movie was, you couldn’t imagine Posy would be particularly picky about the quality. 

You picked something light and hit play. Her eyes widened the second the tv lit up with a picture, scrambling to get a closer look. 

“How does it do that?” she asked, her eyes unblinking as she stared at it. 

“I’m not really sure to be honest, it’s a bit above my paygrade.”

She scooted across the floor to the back of the tv, searching for the origin of the little moving image. 

You let her explore, settling down on the couch as she moved across the floor. Eventually, she settled down with her back against the couch, leaning her head against your leg. 

“Hi there,” you said, looking down at the girl and wondering whether or not you should join her on the floor. 

She tilted her head back, looking up at you with big eyes. “Hello.”

She didn’t seem partial to personal space, nuzzling into you as she watched. 

As the movie neared its close you weaseled away from her and got up from your seat to try and clean up while she was distracted. You didn’t want to remind her about some of the messier things that were still lying around. 

Despite her wonder at the movie, she stopped and turned to instead watch you. 

You went to make the bed, removing all the bloody blankets and replacing them with clean ones, tossing everything covered in blood into the trash. You had a feeling they wouldn’t be salvageable. 

“I can sleep on the floor tonight, you can take the bed,” you called over to her.

She looked at you like you’d lost your mind. “No, you won’t.”

“Please, you’re hurt, I can’t ask you to sleep down there.”

“I don’t want to sleep on that thing,” she said, eyeing your bed distastefully. 

You ceded the floor to her after it became clear she would not budge on her position. 

Later that night, you awoke from the feeling of something moving around you. As you gathered your bearings, you felt someone nestle into your chest and you realized that Posy had risen from her spot on the floor and had instead opted to wrap her arms around you.

She was looking for comfort. It didn’t take a genius to figure that much out. 

You never could have done this, been as brave as her, sought out comfort like this when you needed it. There was courage in the gesture you couldn’t help but admire, a distinct bravery in the vulnerability. 

You ran your fingers through her hair and her grip on you only got tighter, pleading you to stay with her. You’d just felt her get into the bed and wrap herself around you but she seemed to already be drifting off in your arms. 

“I’ve got you,” you muttered, positioning yourself to try and make sure you wouldn’t get whacked by her antlers in your sleep.

It didn’t take long for you to drift off. You hated to admit it but maybe the closeness didn’t just help her. 

You were just as close when you woke up the next morning, her head resting on your shoulder and her arms wrapped around you.

“I thought you said you preferred the floor,” you said with a chuckle as she shifted further beneath the blankets, still attached to your side.

“I do. I dont like sleeping alone.”

“No, I don’t think I do either. Well, you’re welcome to stay up here, I don’t mind.”

“Mkay,” she said, sounding like she was drifting off again. “This thing is more comfortable than it looks.”

Before she could succumb to the newfound wonders of your blankets and the mattress, you nudged her awake. 

“Come on, there’ll be time for that later, we need to get those bandages changed.”

She looked nervous about the proposition and you tried to cede ground and make the vulnerable position she was in feel a little less scary. “You can change them yourself if you want, I understand if you don’t want me near your injuries.” 

She looked up at you from her spot on the pillow, a timidness present now that certainly hadn’t been there moments before. Her ears were the telltale sign, rising from their relaxed position and stiffening back. “Can you help?” 

“Of course I can,” you reassured her. “Your wish is my command.”

“Be careful what you promise, who knows what I’ll ask for,” she said with a smile, her ears falling back into place at your words. 

“Aren’t you a little tyrant in the making? Come on then, let’s take care of that leg so you can get right to bossing me around.”

She pulled her leg up next to you, wincing a little as she did. You pretended not to notice. 

Your brain ran through contingencies as you bound her injuries. So many things could go wrong with her being here, you weren’t prepared for this. 

You barely had the supplies to tend to her injuries, let alone keep her safe and hidden. 

“Have you been through your mating season?” you asked, trying to figure out exactly where you stood. 

She nodded, ears bobbing up and down as she did. Her dark eyes shone with mischief. “Why are you asking?”

Realistically, it was because her going into heat in your cabin could cause a world of problems. The last thing you needed was to attract more attention to her presence here. Other hybrids might not hurt her but a congregation of them outside wouldn’t exactly be discreet. 

That didn’t feel like the right thing to say though, so instead you opted for a playful, “I can’t be curious?”

“Maybe. I could show you sometime, if you wanted.”

“Yeah?” you said with a laugh, her enthusiasm infectious. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer one of these days.”

Her cheeks flushed, despite her being the one to propose the idea and you got the distinct impression her teasing was not going to plan. “I thought humans were prudes.”

“Come on, am I anything like the humans they told you about?”

She sighed, knowing when she’d lost. “No.”

She was even cute when she was pouting, it wasn’t fair. 

“I’m gonna go out and make sure no one else got caught in those traps, okay? I hope that pretty smile of yours is back when I get back or else…”

“Or else?”

You hadn’t quite thought that far ahead. “Or else I’ll find out if you’re ticklish, how’s that sound?”

She giggled, her arms moving over her stomach defensively at the mere thought. “Anything but that,” she pleaded.

“There’s that smile again. See you in a few hours.” Before you could really think about your actions you pressed a quick kiss into her cheek. The second her arms dropped in surprise you poked her in the stomach, leaving the cabin as you heard cries of protest behind you.

She was sitting cross legged right inside the door when you got home, her ears perked up and at attention. The second you crossed through the doorway she sprung up, practically tackling you. 

She pressed kisses into both of your cheeks in what you could only describe as an attack. 

“I win.”

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. What was that for?”

“You poked me!”

“Only because you let your guard down.” You took another easy shot and poked her again 

“You’re doing better,” you noted. She was still significantly favoring her left leg, the right one almost hovering above the floor as she stood, but the fact that she was standing and moving at all was frankly incredible. “Healed enough for a sneak attack.”

“Healed enough for revenge,” she said with a smile and a nod.

There was no way that she had significantly healed in the few hours you were gone. You could see it in every movement, she was just as hurt as she’d been this morning. 

The change in her disposition seemed more tied to her growing comfort around you than anything. 

You wanted to keep that going, make sure she felt welcome here, felt at home. You swore you’d put even more effort into it and make sure she knew she was cared for. 

It was that promise to yourself that led you to making homemade cookies for your newfound roommate. 

You swatted her hand away from the bowl as she snuck another bite of cookie dough away from you.

“You’re going to make yourself sick, you shouldn’t eat that.”

She just giggled, intent on ignoring your protests.

“Well, when we don’t have enough cookies we’ll both know who to blame.”

That seemed to get through to her, her eyes widening as she surveiled the bowl. “You’ll make more for me, right?”

“I’m not your personal chef,” you protested. 

That didn’t stop you from caving and making her more cookies. You were certain even the strongest will couldn’t withstand those big, sad eyes. They were a powerful weapon and she knew it.

Eventually you managed to get a full batch of cookies into the oven, despite Posy making every attempt to stop you. 

While the cookies were baking, you hopped up on the counter and watched Posy on the floor, her preferred seat. 

You tilted your head, getting a better look at her as she stared down at her feet. Normally she stared up at you endlessly but now she seemed lost in thought.

“What’re you thinking about,” you prodded.

“Just wondering if anyone’s worried about me.”

“I’m sure people are. Do you have any family?”

She nodded.  “Yeah, a big one. I have five sisters, Rose, Violet, Poppy, Lily, and Daisy, she’s the only one younger than me. I was out with her right before I got caught, was getting her home, I had her run when there was trouble.”

“And they’re jackalopes like you?”

She nodded. “There aren’t many of us outside the family though.”

“Do you know what happened to the rest?”

“People happened to them. Not my family though. They’re very very safe, they never let me go out.”

“I’m sure they miss you, I’ll try and find them next time I go out, tell them you’re okay.”

She shrugged. “I go missing a lot, they always say I’m trouble. Everyone else is always home but I get restless, stuck in there.” She rubbed her injured leg as she spoke, the other one bouncing up and down nervously. 

“Well, we’ll make sure you can tell them you’re okay as soon as we can, when you get all healed up and are able to get back into trouble.”

“Do you get restless?”

“Not really, I like staying put. I do like rescuing you though. How about you keep getting into trouble and I’ll keep rescuing you, deal?”

You stuck out your hand, leaning towards the floor as much as you could so she could reach you. 

She stared at it like you were crazy, moving around it to see if you were secretly holding something.

“You shake it,” you whispered to her. “That’s how we humans make deals.”

She took it and gave it a violent shake. 

“Yeah, just like that,” you laughed. 

Your little timer went off and you hopped down from the counter to pull the cookies out. Per usual, Posy did not wait for the food to cool before trying them, scooping a collapsing cookie into her mouth.

“Are they to your liking, m’lady,” you teased her.

“Better than your soup.”

You scoffed and swatted at her as she leaned away, collapsing to the floor in a fit of giggles. 

“You’re lucky you’re so cute or that mouth of yours might get you into some real trouble.”

A blush began to bloom beneath her facefull of freckles. “I thought you said I wasn’t trouble?”

“I said I didn’t mind and that I’d rescue you, I never said you weren’t trouble. Even I wouldn’t go making claims like that, especially not after you stole my cookies.”

Your little attempts to make her feel welcome got more and more frequent, despite feeling less and less necessary. 

On one of your trips through the forest, you found some lavender, picking some for her without a second thought, leaving a little bouquet of them on the pillow next to her sleeping head. 

It wasn’t uncommon for you to be able to come and go without Posy ever waking. As her initial jumpiness faded, you found out that she was an incredibly deep sleeper. 

She was sleeping in bed with you every night, the cuddling never ending, even when you weren’t sleeping.

When the summer nights got too warm she kicked the blankets off the both of you, staying firmly attached to your side all the while. 

Without a concerted effort from you to get her to move, she’d stay nestled into the covers most of the time. 

There were, as there always are, exceptions to the rule. 

When you got back home, you found her sitting at the door with a sprig of lavender in her hair and the rest clutched in her hands. She was just as excited to see you as ever, already shouting out thank yous and springing up to give you a hug, being able to put a little more weight on her injured foot every time she jumped up to greet you. 

She was getting better and better at English as well, her already amazing English constantly improving. She was an incredibly fast learner. She could hear you use a word once or twice and pick up its meaning almost immediately. 

She’d started picking up curse words from you, which you found endlessly amusing. Her soft, sweet voice would let out an impatient “fuck” and you couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. 

The whole ordeal made her quite cross. She insisted she was just mimicking you and there wasn’t anything funny about it. You unconvincingly reassured her that of course it wasn’t, not funny at all, all spoken behind a smile. 

You, on the other hand, were a little slower with her langugae

She was willing to share but replicating her words was more difficult than you’d anticipated. It had sounds you were unfamiliar with, little clicks and shifts in tone you’d never had to make before.

You’d asked her about her family names, if they were translations or if they just happened to line up with english words

“I translated them. The meaning’s what’s important anyways.”

“What is your real name?”

“Posy is my real name.”

“But how would you say it?”

She made one of the noises you were becoming more and more familiar with. It was more subtle than any word you’d ever heard before, almost being mistakable for a sound of the trees rustling or the wind outside. 

You did your best to repeat back what she’d said and immediately knew you’d gotten it wrong based on her snickering. 

It took a few tries but eventually you got it right. 

“Call me Posy though.” she added. “The meaning is what matters.”

“Yeah okay, I will” 

As you sat there, mulling over the secret words she’d been gifting you, you blurted out a question you’d been unable to shake. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do! Did you really think I might not trust you?” She seemed more hurt by the question than anything. 

Did you? “Not really. I think I just wanted to hear you say it. 

She thought for a minute and then shot back a question of her own. “Why did you get me flowers?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I thought you might like them. Did you?”

“Mmhmm.” she nodded enthusiastically. “The thing is… I’ve just heard things about humans and giving people flowers.”

You felt your cheeks begin to warm and tried to play it off. “Have you? Good things or bad things?”

She shrugged. “Just things.”

You had an idea where she might have been getting these ideas from. 

Her obsession with movies was there from the start. She was endlessly fascinated by the moving images and your inability to explain to her how they worked only seemed to fuel her fascination. You were certain she was going to wear through your vhs tapes. 

Her fascination seemed to warp over time, however. You noticed the movies she’d keep watching, the fixation on romance movies growing steadily the more she consumed. 

For the fifth time this week alone you came home to her watching an old black and white romance, her nose practically touching the screen. 

“Is it true humans mate for life?” she asked as you settled in next to her. 

“Sometimes. Depends on the human.”

“Oh. What about you human?”

“Maybe. I suppose I’d just have to find the right person. Or the right bunny.”

Her face immediately lit up with no attempt to hide it

“I think I like human romance.”

“What, no one ever get you flowers before?”

“We get each other flowers. We just don’t have partners. It seems nice.”

“You could have a partner, nothing’s stopping you.”

“Nothing?”

You slid down from the couch next to her on the floor. “Nope, nothing. Which one’s your favorite?”

She rushed over to your collection of tapes. Her movement was practically normal now. She was still favoring her left side but it seemed more out of habit than from her injury, being fully capable of forgetting all about it and darting about when she got excited. 

She wasted no time before getting comfortable, clamoring up into your lap and nuzzling into you as the movie began. 

You should get more tapes for her, you thought offhandedly before realizing there might not be a point. She was practically healed and as much as you tried to forget it, she would eventually leave. 

You had no clue how to bring up the topic, how to suggest that maybe she could visit you despite knowing that everyone she knew and loved would want her to stay far away from you the second they got her back. 

Maybe you were being selfish by not talking about it, trying to keep her with you as long as possible. Frankly, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

She noticed your mind drifting and brought you back to reality with an elbow to the side. You let out an oof and shot an accusatory glance her way but she was staring at you with frantic eyes. 

“This is the best part,” she insisted. “You can’t miss it.”

You turned back to the screen just in time to catch the climax of the movie. The music swelled, the camera zoomed in, and the pair on your screen finally kissed. 

She must have this movie memorized by now but Posy still seemed utterly entranced by the scene in front of her. 

“I’ve kissed some people, but never like that,” she informed you, her eyes still glued to the screen. 

You wanted to kiss her like that. You wanted to kiss her every way she wanted to be kissed, to show her a romance to rival all of her little movies. 

But what if that wasn’t what she wanted? What if she was just a friend showing another friend a movie and you’d misread every signal. 

Posy put those doubts right out of your mind, staring at you with resolve as she clearly hinted, “If only someone would kiss me like that.”

You laughed out, “you dumbass,” before leaning in, slowly, carefully, intentionally, just like in her little movie, with all the love in the world in your eyes.

You shut them the moment before you made contact, her hands immediately coming up to cup your face, holding you close. 

You fell into the kiss immediately. It just felt right, you fit together perfectly. You were pressed up against each other but you kept trying to pull her closer, wanting more. 

The tip of her tongue teased at the seam of your mouth until you let her in, deepening the kiss.

Her legs fell to either side of your thigh and she slid herself forwards and back, letting out little whimpers into your mouth. 

You pushed your leg up into her grinding, encouraging her.  

You broke the kiss for a second, muttering out, “Do you want to…”

She nodded and cut you off as she pushed her lips back into yours.

You tried to lead the two of you back towards the bed while she refused to let you go, causing you to slightly misjudge how far away you were from it and go tumbling down onto the sheets, giggling into each other as you fell. 

You guided her onto her back, pulling your shirt off as she desperately pulled hers off, dragging you back down while your arms were still wrapped up in its sleeves. You struggled to pull it the rest of the way off and throw it to the floor while she trailed kisses down your neck. 

Your hand slipped under the waistband of her pants, and you gently slid your fingers inside her. She was so wet they slid inside with no resistance, her walls fluttering around your fingers. 

You kissed your way down her body, pulling her pants off as you went. As you did, you found something you hadn’t known existed. A little white tail sat right above her ass. 

“What’s this?” you asked as you shifted her onto her side to get a better look. 

She rolled back onto her back, hiding the tail from sight once more. “Don’t be mean,” she pouted. 

“I’m not! It’s cute.”

You leaned down to press kisses into her thigh as she tried to pull you up where she wanted you.

Eventually you gave in to her pleas, your fingers continuing to crook upwards inside of her as you pressed gentle kisses to her clit. She bucked into your face, wanting more.

You hooked your arms around her plush thighs to get her even closer to you, focusing more of your attention on her clit as she started to squirm, lapping and sucking at it. As she got closer to her climax her thighs squeezed around your head and you were convinced you might be in heaven. Your hips pushed down into the sheets as you worked her through her orgasm. 

Your hand slipped down to try and provide yourself with some friction but it wasn’t enough. You needed her, needed her to touch you. 

As if answering your prayers, Posy pulled you up and kissed you deeply, licking her own taste out of your mouth. 

She flipped you over, pinning you against the mattress, her bare chest warm and soft against yours as her fingers dove inside of you, her palm pressing down against your clit.  

You were embarassingly close already, her soft touches bringing you right up to the edge. 

Her fingers slipped out of you and circled your clit, swallowing all of your moans as she guided you towards your peak. You pulled away from the never-ending kiss and buried your face in her neck as you came, rolling your hips as waves of pleasure radiated out from your core. 

After you came down you collapsed, your head resting on her chest. Her hand was caressing your cheek as she smiled down fondly at you.

“Was the kiss just like you wanted?” you asked. 

“It was with you so yes, it was.”

“You big sap,” you said with a laugh. 

A wave of exhaustion hit you and you were glad you were already in bed, using Posy as your own personal pillow as you got some much needed rest. 

You woke up to the sound of pounding at your door. 

The first instinct from your half-asleep brain was to ignore it and go back to sleep, snuggled into Posy’s side. 

The sound of a fist slamming against the wood continued ceaselessly and you could make out the muffled noises of the person outside shouting. The second you heard the word traps you sprung up, throwing clothes on and ushering Posy out of sight.

She picked up on your panic immediately, glancing anxiously at the door as you tucked her away. 

“What the fuck do you want?” you hissed as you threw the door open. 

Your attitude towards the hunters wasn’t pleasant on a good day but now, after you’d been taking care of Posy for weeks, you’d never felt angrier. 

“I want you to stop messing with my shit, that’s what I fucking want,” he shot back. “Do you think we didn’t know it was you? You’ve become a real pain in my ass.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Not my fault if you can’t trap prey to save your life, maybe get better at hunting and stop blaming me for your shitty haul.”

“We found blood coming from one of our traps, you know. After a few feet, the trail went cold. Like someone covered it up.”

“Well, I suppose that’s the price you pay when you’re hunting intelligent creatures, sometimes they outsmart you and your shit-for-brains friends.”

He lurched towards you and you instinctively drew back towards the shut door of your cabin. 

As you did, you saw a familiar face peek through the curtain and panic shot through you, endlessly worried they’d spot her. You talked a big game but if it came down to a straight up fight you didn’t like your odds. 

“Listen,” you said, knowing you needed to end this as quickly as you could. “You’re not the only one with a hunting riffle. I advise you to stay away from here or that camouflage you’re wearing may end up being a defense of mine. Now please get the fuck off of my property.”

You were bluffing, you didn’t have a hunting riffle. But at the end of the day, you didn’t need one. All you needed was for him to believe you.

His wide eyes and nervous glance back at your home told you that he did. 

“Bitch,” he spat at you as he began his retreat.

As he drew out of sight, you slipped inside, careful not to open the door anymore than you needed to. 

You locked the door and immediately whipped around and looked for Posy. 

She was sitting on the floor with her back to the wall, her legs curled inwards and tears streaming down her face. She was visibly shaking and clutching her leg and you got the sense she’d collapsed from her spot at the window.  

You grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped her up, pulling her into you. Her breaths were coming fast and you just held her, pressing gentle kisses into her forehead and rubbing the base of her ears while whispering soft reassurances to her. 

You slowly pulled her leg out from under the blanket and gently unwound the bandages from the leg she was clutching, trying to show her what you’d been putting off mentioning for days, what you couldn’t help but notice every time you changed her bandages.

“Hey, you’re okay, you’re all healed up. Look,” you said as you revealed her leg, covered in scars but functionally healed. “You’re fine. They can’t get you in here, you’re okay. You’re all healed up and I’ll never let them touch you again, you’re gonna be just fine.”

Her shaky breaths got slower as she started to calm down, her hand tenuously reaching down to touch her old wounds. 

She slowly calmed down, her hand grasping a handful of your shirt as if she was afraid you’d leave her. You had no plans on doing so, keeping her as close as you could. 

You did your best to cheer her up, to show her that things really were getting better. “Hey, on the bright side, your legs all healed up. You should be able to leave soon, go back home.”

“What?”

“You’re fine now, you should be able to walk. We can get you back home.” You focused on keeping a pleasant smile on your face, on not showing her how distraught you were of thinking about her leaving, about this place being empty, about not having Posy to come home to.

“Oh. Okay.”

She didn’t speak much after that. You left her alone for days, wanting to give her space to recover, ignoring that nagging feeling in your gut screaming at you to just say something. You refused to push. You would wait for her to speak first, to make the first move. 

She never did. 

Against your better judgment, you left her alone again, setting off to undo as many traps as you could once more. 

When you got back she was gone. 

Panic immediately bloomed in your chest, convinced that someone had gotten to her, that she’d been taken. 

The pile of clean bandages wadded up and thrown in your trash indicated otherwise. 

Maybe you shouldn’t chase after her. Maybe this was what she wanted, to go home to her family and forget all of this. Maybe this was her way of saying she didn’t want to see you again.

You barely even had time to process any of those thoughts before you took off running. 

She hadn’t been careful. Her trail was easy to follow, much easier than it should have been. 

You were out of breath when you came upon her. You knelt in front of her sobbing form, making sure she wasn’t hurt before you spoke. 

“Hey, what… what’s going on? Why did you run, what’s happening?”

She sniffled, trying to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “You dont want me.”

“What?”

“You were just waiting for me to heal and now you want me to leave. I thought you really wanted me.”

“I do! I want you to stay, I thought you would want to leave.”

“Why would I want to leave?”

“To go back to your family, back home. You’re not like me, you have people to go back to.”

“You’re my people. Wait, so you’ll let me stay.”

“Let you? Posy, I want you to stay, I’ve been dreading you leaving ever since you showed up. Besides, with you gone who else would I sav-”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence, it being cut short as the wind was knocked out of you when she tacked you, knocking you on your back as her arms wrapped around you. You could feel her massive smile as she pressed her face into the crook of your neck, kissing you every time she managed to suppress her smile for a moment.

She sat up suddenly, her thighs on either side of your waist, keeping you trapped where you lay.  Her ears were perked up as she grinned down at you

She started talking a mile a minute, the excitement taking over her. “I can take you to meet everyone one of these days, when hunting season is over. I’ll get to show you off. Oh, and I can forage for you. Then you’ll find out how gross all your food is. ”

You snorted. “Posy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I get up please?”