Bad Things Happen Bingo

The weather was nearly always fair on sky islands. In his life, Kamakiri had only seen rain a handful of times, storms twice, and never snow. Cold, even at night time, was almost unheard of.

Still, he felt a shiver creep up his back, all the way to the crease at the base of his skull.

Fear, he thought. Corrected himself. Abject terror, more like.

It wasn’t that the feeling was unfamiliar – as a warrior of Shandia, fear and grief were among the most prevalent emotions in his life. Both signs that he lived, both precious guides to ensure he would live still when tomorrow came. He knew when to follow their advice and when to reject them. Recognized battles to be fought, and ones to be avoided.

He should have fled a long time ago.

The woman who had guided him since his arrival announced their presence to a closed door, gesturing for him to enter once the answer came.

Enel lounged on his side on some sort of couch, head resting on his fist, a table filled with enough food to make a meal for Kamakiri’s entire people in front of him.

He had introduced Kamakiri as a guest to treat with respect to the small army of people Kamakiri could only assume were his servants – all the while, his hand had rested on Kamakiri’s back, right between his wings, fingers brushing against the short humeral feathers almost teasingly, like a playful threat to pluck them one by one should Enel ever feel like it. Kamakiri had then been hurried away to bathe and change, Enel’s “see you at dinner !” grating in his ears.

The pretence at normalcy made him sick. There was no point to it, not when just a few hours ago Kamakiri had tried everything, from his knives to Raki’s dropped rifle, all of which only passed through and left no trace or injury (but his lance, fuck, his lance that Enel had taken from his hands like it was nothing, before-) in a desperate attempt to kill that false god. He would still be at it, too, or perhaps dead, if his sunglasses hadn’t been torn from his face in a dismissive, backhanded hit, and Enel hadn’t noticed then the blue of Kamakiri’s eyes.

He had let go of Raki (Raki, her hands covered in blood, the lance still-) to instead grab Kamakiri’s head, raising his chin so high that even his throat strained under the effort – and Kamakiri was tall, taller than all of Shandia’s people, and yet Enel had towered above him and forced him to look up up up to see the same blue he had only seen in himself reflected back at him.

The familiar colour looked colder in Enel’s gaze, somehow.

Enel patted the fabric of the couch, inviting Kamakiri to sit with him – although as he still lay on his side with his legs bent, Kamakiri was forced into what little space was left on the seat, between Enel’s chest and his legs.

Feeling Enel’s thigh brushing against his hip as he shifted slightly, Enel’s stomach pressing to his lower back with each inhale, Kamakiri had no doubt this was on purpose.

“Are you hungry ?” Kamakiri was not. Rather, he felt that his throat had twisted into a tight knot. “I am famished !”

Kamakiri almost told Enel to just eat, then, but the cold eyes resting on him and the shiver climbing up his spine made him pause just in time. He looked at the mountains of food in front of him. Swallowed, his throat too dry.

“What,” he croaked, “would you like ?”

Enel’s playful smile broadened to a full-toothed grin, yet this only made Kamakiri’s fear grow.

Keeping him happy was the right play, Kamakiri tried to reason as he picked from the meals Enel instructed and brought bite-sized samples to Enel’s mouth. There was no reasoning with the kind of fear gripping his insides, though. It had only kept on growing with each knife passing through Enel’s body with but a flash of bright white, with each bullet fired into that same blinding light, with Raki’s strangled cry of pain and Enel’s sudden interest.

Eyes are a mirror to the soul, Kamakiri had heard someone say long ago. It had made him and Braham laugh bitterly at the time, his blue and Braham’s green only being a hindrance, sensitive and fragile as they were to the bright environment of sky island. The ever-clear skies and white clouds reflecting the light from above only brought sharp pain, headaches, and probable blindness in the future. What this said about his soul, he would rather not know.

Of course, having now grown up, he understood that the saying referred to how expressive eyes were, although he suspected whoever came up with it hadn’t ever met Wyper. And yet –

And yet, when Enel had forced his gaze up to the very same blue that had plagued him since birth, Kamakiri’s first thought had been that he didn’t want his soul to be the same as that monster’s.

“Rejoice,” Enel had said in a low voice, “for you have been chosen by fate.” The full-body shiver that had gripped Kamakiri at that time had almost sent him running like a coward (like a man who lived to see another day, this fight could not be won, not by him and not by anyone else, look at Raki-) but he had held strong. When Enel had let go of his head, he hadn’t run.

“Oh, you just have to try this one !” To save his own life, Kamakiri couldn’t remember what he’d just fed the man. “You haven’t even eaten anything yet. Have a bite, come on !”

Enel’s thumb on his spine nearly made Kamakiri’s flinch. It rose, sliding upwards, the rest of Enel’s hand brushing against his side, until the thumb reached the space between Kamakiri’s wings and brought its companions to rest on a shoulder blade. The back of Enel’s hand brushed against the inner side of Kamakiri’s wing, his thumb now rubbing the base of the hollow bone, where the first feathers emerged from the skin.

Like this, with the same strength it had taken to tear away the lance from Kamakiri’s hands, it would be so easy for Enel to simply, gently, take hold of Kamakiri’s wing, and pull.

“Eat.”

Kamakiri swallowed. Faked a smile.

“Which one did you say again ?”

He ate slowly, small bites at a time, afraid to strain the knots of his insides too much and waste Enel’s hospitality this way, and expecting Enel to grow tired of playing and tell Kamakiri to stop at any time.

He could feel it coming soon, Enel’s restless energy building, his hand coming down from Kamakiri’s back to his waist, then sliding to press against his lower stomach, fingers splayed across his skin, their tips barely breaching the waistband of the pants Kamakiri had been given after his bath – no one had answered him when he asked what was done with his own clothes, not even the belt his mother had painstakingly embroidered to celebrate his coming-of-age, or the coat he had made himself out of a particularly colourful hunt. Kamakiri refused to think about it, not with Enel’s hand on him.

Would Enel keep going, even if Kamakiri never stopped eating ? The thought filled Kamakiri with an unease he couldn’t put into words, and he dared steal a glance at Enel’s face to try and gauge his intentions.

He could only think it was the wrong thing to do when his gaze was mirrored, and Enel pushed himself up on his resting arm, using the hand that had been until then touching Kamakiri’s skin with faked gentleness to grab his neck, sliding up just so, and forcing Kamakiri to look up with a strangled gasp.

Enel’s mouth pressed against his with hunger, tongue pushing through Kamakiri’s open lips stronger than necessary, licking at the inside of his mouth, his teeth, his gums, the underside of his tongue, the angle awkward and slightly painful and yet Kamakiri felt the moans being pulled out from deep inside his throat and could do nothing to stop them.

This didn’t feel like a kiss. In a way, Kamakiri didn’t want it to count as one, because it would be a stain onto the memories of tentative bravery in the face of Raki (on her knees her hands red with her own blood-) taking his hand in hers and refusing to meet his eyes, and the times after, rare instants stolen to the fear and grief that kept them alive and crushed them all at once.

He didn’t want Enel anywhere near these warm, precious memories, and so it was almost a relief to be pushed face down where Enel was lying only moments ago, if only so their mouths were nowhere near one another anymore. This fragile relief didn’t last long, soon replaced by the same familiar shiver of terror as Enel greedily bit into Kamakiri’s neck, his hand once more reaching for a wing, this time decidedly, painfully pulling on a few feathers.

Kamakiri couldn’t help the sound that escaped him, somewhere between a whine and a moan. Enel chuckled, his breath warm against Kamakiri’s jaw.

“I knew it.” He pulled harder, on what Kamakiri could only assume was a newer feather for the way it refused to yield and just get plucked, and the resulting sharp pain that made Kamakiri’s entire body tense. “You like when it hurts, don’t you ?”

Denial would have been made easier if not for the whine that left his lips when Enel dragged his fingernails deep into Kamakiri’s side, or the anticipation that built and had Kamakiri hold his breath every time Enel brushed against his feathers without pulling. It would have been easier if not for the fire burning under his skin, in his face, in his stomach, and everywhere Enel touched.

It was humiliating.

That shame might have brought him to tears if he weren’t already experienced in hiding feelings of weakness during combat. For all intents and purposes, this was a fight – against Enel’s twisted pleasure, against his own body, against the fear that still gripped him in the middle of these confused, conflicting feelings, and made him want to run far enough that Enel would never find him again.

Something warm pressed against his lower back. Not Enel’s hands, one was busy teasing – torturing – Kamakiri’s wings, while the other kept on abusing his skin, scratching and pinching and digging into it with fingers that felt almost sharp for how much they hurt. Not his mouth either, Kamakiri could hear it laugh at him from above, could see one of Enel’s absurd earlobes dragging on the couch with each slight shift. Then – the warm something grinded against him, rubbing between the cheeks of his ass and against his lower spine all at once, and Kamakiri froze.

He had known what he was getting into, had known to quiet his deep-seated terror for the sake of his goal (weapons passing through in a flash of light, Raki with her hands all red, god’s judgement falling even as far from God’s Shrine as Angel Island-) and to go along with Enel’s whims. He had known. And yet he hadn’t quite understood the sheer enormity of the mission he had given himself, not until Enel grinded the length of his dick against him and Kamakiri realized he was going to be broken, completely, from the inside out. Not just physically, if this monster ever went fully inside of him, but emotionally, whim by whim, feather by feather.

Enel would break him, and then, if he felt merciful, he might decide to rebuild him to his pleasing.

“No.”

The word came before Kamakiri could stop it.

Enel went still. This was not a good thing, Kamakiri knew.

“No ?”

His voice was low, barely above a whisper, and yet Kamakiri could hear it as loud as if it were thunder.

When Enel had called him chosen, and had let go of his head, Kamakiri hadn’t run. He’d wanted to, too aware of his own weakness, of Enel’s strength, not to feel his heart turn into something brittle and heavy.

But Raki had been there, alive still, the lance Enel had so cruelly turned against her after taking it from Kamakiri’s own hands still in her stomach, acting as a feeble plug. She still held on to it, still kept it in place even with her hands covered in her own blood, still fought to keep herself alive.

If Kamakiri had run, Enel might have finished her. Worse yet, Kamakiri had realized at this instant, remembering the times he observed the so-called god’s judgement fall down onto Angel Island from afar, the only reason they had not all been struck down during a raid years ago was a simple whim.

Would Enel hold all of Shandia accountable for Kamakiri refusing to follow his supposed fate ?

So long as Raki lived, so long as she met up with the other warriors, they could all be warned of Enel’s true danger. And from up close, Kamakiri might learn of a weakness, might be able to keep his focus away from Shandia.

When Enel had let go of his head, Kamakiri hadn’t run. He had gone down on his knees and begged for their lives in exchange for his. He would come willingly, would serve without resistance, if only they were spared. God’s mercy, he had phrased it, hoping the stroke to his ego would make Enel more inclined to agree.

Kamakiri had no way of knowing why Enel had gone along with his request. What he did know was that as long as Enel lived, he would hold power over all of Skypiea, as if it were sitting right inside the palm of his hand.

There was no way Kamakiri could let himself put everyone’s lives in danger. No matter the cost.

He tried not to think of the hand on his wing as he spoke without a clue as to what he was saying.

“I mean,” (I don’t want this) “this room is for eating, right ?” (I want to leave) “It’s just,” (I’m scared) “doing this here feels kind of…” (I’m scared I’m scared I’m so fucking scared-)

Enel let out an unconvinced “really ?” but neither resumed his touching nor turned Kamakiri to ashes, so maybe he considered whatever insanity had just come out of Kamakiri’s mouth as a somewhat reasonable objection.

So long as he didn’t think Kamakiri was resisting him, the specifics didn’t matter. What Kamakiri wanted or felt didn’t matter either.

A sigh, and the jingle of gold earrings – Enel tilting his head to think, maybe.

“Ah, but you probably won’t be able to move after I fuck you… So then I’ll have to carry you… or call a servant to carry you I guess… That’s kind of annoying…”

That he didn’t seem to be considering leaving Kamakiri passed out on the couch on his own as an option was probably good news, in a way. He had decided that their twin blues meant Kamakiri was chosen, and so he would treat him as such.

It also meant he likely wouldn’t tire of playing anytime soon.

“Alright.”

Enel’s weight lifted from Kamakiri as he rose to his feet.

“Come on now !”

He waited for Kamakiri to sit back up, rolling a painful shoulder with something like shame lingering on the irritated skin of his wings.

“I’ve decided to give you a proper wedding night,” Enel said, tone light and almost mocking. “Feel honoured !”

Kamakiri felt sick.

The walk to Enel’s chambers was quiet, Enel mercifully uninterested in keeping up his young married couple act for longer than a passing joke, and instead guiding Kamakiri with the now familiar touch of his hand in the space between Kamakiri’s wings. It made Kamakiri’s skin crawl, although he was unsure if it was out of disgust, or – or maybe the sting of his skin where Enel had scratched and pulled almost to the blood itched for more.

He’d been aware of his own tendencies, or course. As a curious young teen, he would sometimes spend the early part of the night hidden under his blanket, pressing on bruises he got during sparring until he couldn’t think straight anymore, the pain nesting itself into the back of his head and turning his brain to mush. Climax barely mattered at all when compared to the inebriating burn of pleasure clawing its way through his flesh, in a way that jacking off could simply never match.

As spars had lessened and real fights had grown in number and intensity, he had let go of the habit. When a wound healing slower than it should made the difference between life and death, pulling at scabs was nothing less than a betrayal.

He had never shared those inclinations of his with anyone. There was simply no point in doing so.

Enel knowing, and seemingly taking great joy in making Kamakiri submit to the weakness of his own body, was probably the worst outcome possible. Thinking of how this information would be used against him made Kamakiri shiver.

More than that, though, it made him disgusted at himself. He did not want to be here, only pretended not to mind so that Shandia would be safe. Pleasure was a betrayal from his own flesh, against Kamakiri’s self, his will, and all the people he loved.

Once they arrived to Enel’s chambers, Enel let go of Kamakiri’s back and sat alone on the bed, leaning back on his arms, looking at Kamakiri with fake consideration.

“You are here to serve your God, aren’t you ? Willingly ?”

Kamakiri couldn’t breathe. He nodded, cold climbing up his spine.

“Then show a little devotion.” He spread his legs, vulgar and demanding, and nothing at all like Kamakiri hoped real gods were, if they even existed. “Pray, and maybe God will show you his mercy.”

Kamakiri kneeled, his head level with Enel’s erection. He imagined it had gone down a little during their short walk from the dining room, but the bulge hidden under the loose fabric of Enel’s pants still looked as large and monstrous as the Master of the Sky in Kamakiri’s eyes.

He knew, he understood, what he had to do. He did not know how. Could only hope – could only pray that Enel would forgive his inexperience and any mistake it brought about.

The consequences (Raki’s hands all red, white blinding light leaving nothing in its wake-) rested heavy in Kamakiri’s mind, as he could only steel himself and untie the cloth belt before pulling down the waistband of Enel’s pants just enough to set his dick free.

From the outset, he could not picture any way to take the whole thing in his mouth. The length was an obvious issue, but more than that, Enel’s dick was thick. The way Enel towered so high above Kamakiri, maybe the size wasn’t that surprising – but it remained terrifying.

Kamakiri shivered. Swallowed.

He raised hesitant hands, tentatively wrapped his hands around the base. Slowly dragged his thumbs along the underside, wondering as he did so whether the gold spheres pierced throughout the length of Enel’s dick, up to and including the head, felt any good when rubbed, or if he should avoid touching them and focus on the flesh instead.

He wondered how much getting them had hurt, too, and felt a sharp pang of guilt as the thought made his own member twitch.

To forget about the weakness of his own body, and to avoid making Enel wait too long for what he was clearly demanding, Kamakiri forced himself to kiss the head of Enel’s dick. He licked alongside the frenulum, feeling the gold piercings drag against his tongue in a way that was, disturbingly, not unpleasant.

He even dared, after taking a shaky breath to settle himself and not let disgust show on his face, to press his lips against the very tip, suckling on it and licking the slit while his hands kept on clumsily rubbing Enel’s length.

A grating laugh made him flinch, his mouth leaving its difficult task as Kamakiri looked up to see Enel smiling ironically, seemingly totally unaffected by Kamakiri’s efforts, however reluctant and unskilled.

“You’ve never worshipped anyone this way, huh ?”

Asshole.

Enel’s hand grabbed Kamakiri’s jaw in fake affection, making his neck strain as he had no choice but to look straight into the sickeningly familiar blue of their eyes. The shiver returned at the hunger he saw there.

“Good.” Enel’s voice reminded Kamakiri of the faraway rumblings of thunder, and the false safety that distance created. He knew better. “You have no other God than me.”

Enel pushed his thumb into Kamakiri’s mouth, forcing it open, fingers digging into the side of his jaw, into his tongue, purposefully, painfully. Kamakiri moaned, the muscles of his legs tensing even as he was still kneeling, the fire in his belly returning with a vengeance. His head was still tilted upwards to the point the back of his neck hurt, the pain carving a direct path to his brain and his moans becoming more ragged as Enel kept up his assault – he went back to grabbing Kamakiri’s jaw with his whole hand, used the index and middle fingers of his other hand to invade Kamakiri’s mouth, digging into his tongue with so much strength that Kamakiri vaguely wondered if this part of his body could bruise, pressing against the hard palate and going farther, knuckles rubbing against the soft tissue at the back of Kamakiri’s mouth.

He choked, instinctively puling back, but the strength of Enel’s grip did not let him. His hands clung to the fabric of Enel’s pants, desperate for some sort of anchor as Enel help up his body by the head and did not let him rest, barely even let him breathe. Enel’s fingers dug deeper inside his mouth, one of them sticking to the bottom, the other pressing against the flesh up top, both merciless even as Kamakiri choked again and felt his eyes water.

The hand holding his jaw came down to grab his neck when Enel’s fingers reached the back of Kamakiri’s throat.

Kamakiri heaved – no, his body tried to, but the tight grip around his neck rendered the clenching of his stomach meaningless, and only dragged a pathetic wheeze out of him at each press of Enel’s fingers.

Only then did Enel pull out, letting Kamakiri’s head drop on his thigh while he tried to catch his breath and stop shaking.

He felt a wet spot between his legs where his own dick was now leaking precum, and could only manage to feel bad about it by summoning back the image of Raki with his lance in her stomach.

He was doing this for her sake, and for the sake of all of Shandia. He shouldn’t be feeling good.

And yet, there was no denying that the tremors racking his body weren’t due to fear in this moment. He felt so weak, his brain barely aware through the fog of pleasure and pain. The strain of his jaw remained, each jolt of discomfort earning small, involuntary moans from Kamakiri, in turn making his throat sting, dragging gasps out of him as he pressed his forehead against Enel’s thigh to support himself.

Fuck.

Enel rubbed circles in Kamakiri’s scalp with his thumb, waiting until Kamakiri finally managed to raise his head again to speak.

“Keep your tongue flat, and watch your teeth.”

There was no point in questioning the demand. Kamakiri steadied himself the best he could, weak as his body and mind still felt, and opened his mouth once more. He let the head of Enel’s dick weigh heavy on his tongue, took it in some more until the tip pressed against the roof of his mouth like Enel’s fingers had, whimpering as the piercings of the underside rubbed against his sensitive tongue.

Adjusting his head and taking hold of the length of Enel’s dick with his fingers to better guide it in, Kamakiri kept going. The soreness in his jaw grew more as he struggled to keep his teeth away from the flesh, the way Enel had told him, all while guiding the thick member inside his mouth, feeling the head drag against his palate throughout, feeling the gold rubbing against his tongue, feeling the burn of his straining jaw as he forced it open.

His eyes closed without thinking, a moan clawing its way up his throat as Enel’s dick kept pushing onto Kamakiri’s already tender flesh. As Kamakiri kept on taking him deeper.

Vaguely, he was aware of the warmth of Enel’s hand on his head, but its weight was barely present in Kamakiri’s mind – really, thanks to the pain purring warm in the back of his brain and taking up the space there, there wasn’t much at all he was able to focus on at the moment. Especially when the head of Enel’s dick reached the back of Kamakiri’s throat and his whole body seized up.

He pulled back a little, a weak whine escaping him when he felt the beads pierced in the head of Enel’s dick scraping against the sides of his own throat, where the inside muscles of his jaw clenched to keep it properly open.

Enel’s fingers twitched.

Kamakiri brought his hands down, wrapping them around his neck like Enel had done earlier. Then he moved his head forward once more, struggling a little with keeping his teeth away now that his hands couldn’t guide Enel’s thick length. He whimpered as the head pushed through the muscles of his jaw once more, and when he felt himself gag again, he tightened his grip around his own throat.

The pressure, from inside and out, made his head spin. He could feel his entire body protest – against the intrusion, against the sudden lack of air, against the knowledge of what he was doing, and with whom. Still, he refused to back down again.

Or maybe it was more that he could not, not with Enel’s hand now pressing lightly against his skull, just enough to let Kamakiri know he would not be allowed to retreat once more.

He could not, not with the knowledge of what consequences awaited all the people he cared about, were he to displease the false god of this land.

He pushed forward, feeling the skin under his fingers distend as Enel’s dick moved deeper into his throat, so deep it even kept Kamakiri’s moans from spilling out. When his nose reached the neatly trimmed pale hair of Enel’s pubis, only then did Kamakiri notice he was crying. It was not sadness, or fear, or even self-pity – simply, the sensations were all so intense, the pain so deep and horribly, deliciously new, that he had lost control of his body.

“Good boy,” he heard from above.

Kamakiri didn’t react when Enel’s thumb brushed against his brow, or when Enel brought both his hands around his head. By this point, his reflexive fight for air had been crushed by the fresh burn in his lungs, and by the way each instinctive jolt of his body only resulted in more pressure against his too-tender flesh. The pain – the pleasure – and the contradictory survival instincts fighting between each other paralyzed him just as effectively as if he had been tied up.

Lost in the throes of oxygen deprivation, he felt – content.

And then Enel grabbed his skull and pulled him back.

The rush of air suddenly entering Kamakiri’s lungs combined with the burn of Enel’s dick inside his throat almost made him moan, but that was soon muffled by Enel pushing himself fully inside once more – or rather, pulling Kamakiri back to him seemingly effortlessly. This repeated, over and over, Enel fucking into Kamakiri’s mouth at a pace that left Kamakiri unable to ever truly catch his breath, or to even grasp the sensations – pain, pleasure, the sting of his throat and the strain of his jaw, the drag of Enel’s dick against his tongue, the burn of his lungs, the heat between his own legs – that were assaulting him with no respite.

Powerless, Kamakiri simply let himself be used.

When Enel finally pulled him back fully, Kamakiri barely noticed it at first. Phantom flesh still filled his mouth, his jaw so strained it wouldn’t even close, his throat still prickling in pain. Kamakiri felt so weak, almost like all the bones of his body had been stolen away while he was distracted with, with –

If not for Enel’s powerful hands still wrapped around his head, there was no doubt Kamakiri would have fallen over with no way to catch himself.

“You should see yourself,” Enel laughed. One of his thumbs wiped a tear from Kamakiri’s eye. “You’re serving me well, fated one. God will reward you now.”

He moved a hand to cradle the back of Kamakiri’s head, which rested limply in the crease of his palm, and put his other arm around Kamakiri’s back, under his wings, like a parody of a lover’s tender embrace.

Kamakiri shivered – at the touch, at the words that had finally made their way through the fog of his mind.

Enel raised him up as effortlessly as if he were lifting a feather off the ground, and even if Kamakiri had allowed himself to resist, he would not have been able to, when Enel threw him on the bed with no regards for the way Kamakiri’s wings were caught under the weight of his body. Kamakiri flinched, in pain, and worried that the hollow bones might have been damaged, or feathers bent, or –

His train of thought, disorganized as it was, got interrupted when he felt Enel pull down his pants just as carelessly and brusquely as he had just thrown Kamakiri, and the air suddenly hitting Kamakiri’s erection dragged a breathless groan out of him. The sound echoed in his strained lungs and inside his abused throat, and he whined at the burn, then gasped at the sting that came from that sound in turn.

He raised a weak hand against his mouth in some sort of meaningless hope that doing so would stop this cycle of whimpers and delicious pain, but all this did was make Enel grab his wrist and pull it away, pinning it to the mattress with an order not to hide himself.

“You were born for my sake, to devote yourself whole to me. Isn’t that the truth ?”

Perhaps it was a blessing that made Kamakiri physically unable to answer at this moment, when all he could produce were inarticulate whines. It saved him the indignity. The wound, really, too deep for his already fragilized ego to bear.

This time, in his mercy, Enel judged a vague nod sufficient.

Kamakiri held no doubt that this mercy wouldn’t last. One day, entirely too soon, he would have to deny the reason for his existence as a warrior of Shandia, lest Enel’s ire be redirected onto all he loved.

The prospect alone filled him with unfathomable dread. It was enough that, for the first time, he felt almost glad for Enel’s touch distracting him from his own thoughts.

The relief barely lasted, however.

Enel’s fingers, which he’d coated in oil outside of Kamakiri’s notice, prodded at his asshole with purpose, while his other hand kept Kamakiri’s thighs open, its grip tight enough to bruise. Two fingers breached the entrance at once, the combined pressure and burn making Kamakiri arch up as a pained rasp escaped him.

Enel did not stop or slow down. He assaulted Kamakiri’s insides in the same methodical way he had his mouth, with what felt like the same brutal, barely restrained strength. The hand on Kamakiri’s thigh moved to his lower stomach as the fingers ventured ever deeper, pressing into him from both sides in a way that left Kamakiri unable to breathe. The feeling was entirely foreign, more so even than when he had taken Enel into his mouth, and yet the discomfort combined with the remnants of that ache that had left his head spinning, with the needy pangs from his neglected dick, with the heat in his stomach and the burn of his unprepared hole, and –

To his great shame, Kamakiri found himself gripping the sheets as his eyes closed in pleasure. Enel chuckled at his moans, added a third finger that had Kamakiri writhing, his head thrown back as more breathless sounds escaped his mouth. He felt Enel’s hand leave his stomach, but did not have the time to wonder why as it soon grabbed his jaw, Enel’s fingers digging into the bone like they aimed to break it, and pulled it down to force Kamakiri’s head to be level again. The weight of that hand on his jaw, with the skin between thumb and index biting into his teeth and gums, was enough to press Kamakiri’s upper body into the mattress, making the base of his wings sting in turn.

“Do not look away.”

Kamakiri opened his eyes, meeting Enel’s very own – he was too close, Kamakiri thought, their noses almost touching, their breaths intermingling.

Again, he wanted nothing more than to run away. Again, he had no choice but to look straight into the blue he had been cursed with since the moment he was born.

The fingers inside of him curled, and Kamakiri gasped. The spot they prodded with insistence felt – different, somehow. Not any more pleasant or painful, but it made Kamakiri’s body tense unthinkingly, even more so when Enel lowered his hand from Kamakiri’s jaw to his neck and used his palm to press down on the cartilage, not to strangle – his fingers didn’t bother circling Kamakiri’s neck properly – but to inflict pain. The pressure only amplified the strain on Kamakiri’s wings, pinned as they were under his weight.

Kamakiri’s moans turned raspier. He struggled to keep his eyes open, to keep his hands from hiding his mouth or his face, or worse, from reaching out for Enel’s body, clutching at his shoulders, desperately grasping for some sort of support from the only other person in the room. It didn’t matter to his body that said person was also the one taking everything from him, feather by feather, whim by whim.

He made himself sick.

When Enel kissed him, as hungry and savage as the first time, Kamakiri felt himself surrender fully. He tried to think of Raki, of Shandia. The guilt was still there, nested in his stomach along with the terror Enel crushed him with. And yet, and yet, Kamakiri’s flesh was weak, and Enel’s touch was strong.

He gasped, breathless, yielding to the throbbing pain deep in his throat, to the hollow ache in his wings, to the burn of his lungs as Enel refused to let him catch his breath. Yielding to the warmth in his insides and the relentless prodding of Enel’s fingers.

Kamakiri came with a strangled whine, or perhaps a sob, and still Enel didn’t stop his assault. Even then Kamakiri’s body instinctively tried to move away from the overstimulation inflicted upon it, Enel didn’t stop.

Only once Kamakiri could do nothing but lie limply, boneless, unable to resist or flee anymore, only then did Enel finally let up, pulling his hands out and away, licking his lips as he rose to finally allow Kamakiri to breathe freely. It was not mercy, however, Kamakiri realized as Enel flipped him over.

There was nothing said – nothing to say, really, the few protests Kamakiri could allow himself to voice already thoroughly fucked out of him, Enel too impatient to taunt him any more. Enel’s hands grabbed his hips, his thumbs spreading Kamakiri’s ass to allow his massive dick to go in easier.

He pushed himself inside fully in a single move.

A strangled cry escaped Kamakiri’s lips, the most he could manage with his body so weak and all the air knocked out of him. He could feel the bumps of Enel’s piercings rubbing against his sensitive insides, could feel – gods, he could feel the head of Enel’s dick hitting his stomach, distending Kamakiri’s belly with its full length and pressing it into the mattress with each slam of Enel’s hips into him, like he was trying to mould Kamakiri’s insides in his image.

It didn’t feel real. Didn’t feel like something people were able to do, able to survive.

Enel’s hand on his nape kept Kamakiri from moving as Enel fucked into him, used him with somehow even less regard than before, when he at least restrained himself enough to let Kamakiri breathe at times, if only to keep him conscious. Now he gave Kamakiri no respite at all and followed only his own pleasure.

Kamakiri had the vague thought that it didn’t matter anymore who he was, that anyone would do for Enel. That he didn’t have to offer himself the way he did, that Enel wouldn’t have cared.

Then Enel pounded into him hard enough to hurt the part of Kamakiri’s stomach that was trapped between his dick and the mattress, and Kamakiri saw Raki, her stomach pierced with his own lance, her hands covered in her own blood, Enel’s cold blue eyes above him.

He wanted to throw up. Felt too weak to do even that, reduced to nothing but a body to be used by Enel in any way he wished.

Enel came inside, and Kamakiri didn’t even shiver at the sickening warmth that filled him up then. He did, however, feel the familiar quiver of terror climb up his spine as Enel embraced him almost tenderly, his chest pressed up against Kamakiri’s wings, making them flutter in a mix of expectation and discomfort. His lips brushed against Kamakiri’s ear.

“You were truly born just to serve me.” His hand pressed on the bruise that was slowly forming on Kamakiri’s lower stomach. He chuckled at the whine that escaped Kamakiri. “I think I’ll be taking you with me to God’s promised land.”

What he meant by that last phrase, Kamakiri didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Kamakiri would do as Enel told him, anyway.

It’s not like he ever had a choice. Not since Enel saw his eyes.

Doesn't Realize They've Been Injured (@badthingshappenbingo)

Words Are Harsh, Actions Are Tender (Fandom Bingo - Kisses, Chaos & Catastrophe)

Showing they care without using words (Bloody Hearts Bingo)

Marcus tried not to notice the arm. He did. He tried to tune out the distinct, gaping lack on the edge of his awareness as Jake led him to the shower, tried to only notice how the arm moved and obeyed every tiny movement he decided to make with it – instead of how he could only feel the firmest touches, with everything else remaining a fuzzy blank. He tried not to notice how his fingers could accomplish the small movements needed to cover the splint on Jake’s forearm – but only if he was watching, because he couldn’t feel the plastic bag, or the rubber band, or Jake’s fragile body beneath it. Once in the shower, he tried to ignore how the warm water jetted over his skin, but might as well have disappeared into fucking nowhere the second it washed over his metal arm for all the sensation he felt. And, he tried it ignore how he couldn’t feel Jake’s gentle touch as he trailed his fingers over the carbon fiber, metal, and clear exoskeleton of the arm as he pulled him close for a kiss.

Marcus closed his eyes and kissed Jake back instead, the arm dangling at his side rather than holding Jake close. He wasn’t sure if he would feel Jake’s body buckle and rupture if he held him too tight. He touched him with just his left hand, fingers cradling his face, until he braced his metal hand against the wall of the shower. The shower washed all the evidence of their sex away as they kissed. After several long moments, Jake broke the kiss and leaned back into the spray to wet his hair.

Marcus reached over and grabbed the bottle of shampoo Jake used. It was specially made for hair like his – sulphate free or something like that – and it felt like silk in his hand. He brought his hand to Jake’s scalp and began to work in the lather. Jake sighed under the touch.

Marcus couldn’t explain what he felt, seeing Jake use a special shampoo. On the base, they’d both used the same standard issue shit that AMTEC ordered in bulk: a thin, white-gray, all-purpose concoction that they’d been told to use for their shampoo, soap, and during field missions, toothpaste. It tasted like shit and left their skin feeling tight and scraped clean. But that was the operative word: clean. The soap was indicative of everything AMTEC did – cheap, reasonably effective, and not concerned about any ill effects. For all Marcus knew, it wasn’t even cleared for use on human skin, but was intended for something like cleaning bathrooms or something. A Lev was close enough to a flat, non-porous surface after all.

After Jake’s shampoo, Marcus washed his own hair with the cheaper shit he’d asked Lars to buy. He poured a bit of body wash into Jake’s good hand, and they washed their own bodies. Then the rinse. Marcus helped Jake get all the shampoo out.

Once they were done, Marcus wrapped Jake in a towel, then grabbed his own. He took the plastic bag off Jake’s arm. Then – this was new to him, too, and the care it required made his stomach feel so strange – he poured a drop of oil onto his fingertips and worked it into Jake’s hair. Jake sighed under the touch.

Marcus wet his lips. “AMTEC wouldn’t… let you do this,” he ventured. “Even if you asked.”

Jake huffed. “No.”

As Marcus washed his hands in the sink, Jake ran his fingers through his hair, carefully sculpting the tight coils in the mirror until his lips tugged up at the corners.

He looked happy. It was so, so good to see him happy.

As Marcus watched, though, Jake’s smile faded. He stared at himself in the mirror.

“Haven’t been able to do this for my hair in a while,” Jake said softly.

“Yeah,” Marcus said, his fingers tracing along the back of Jake’s hand. “AMTEC is… a piece of shit.”

Jake shook his head. “They don’t give you the shit you need in prison, either,” he said. “And before that… fuck, you get clean however you can; dish soap, stolen bleach, ashes… and before that…”

Jake’s lip wobbled. Marcus wrapped his arms around his waist and held him gently.

“My dad taught me how to do my hair,” Jake rasped. “He always had… these amazing plaits. He went somewhere to have them done, but in between, he kept them so neat. My mom loved them, too. And then…” He blinked. Tears coursed down his cheeks.

“What happened to him?” Marcus whispered.

“Accident,” Jake answered immediately, voice blank, like he’d said it a million times before. Then, as if the sound was a surprise even to him, a bitter laugh. “An accident. Turns out if you build a fucking AI data center without the proper building codes and all that shit, and one of their batteries catches fire…” Another laugh. It seemed to rip a piece of Jake with it on the way out. “Three people died. An intern on his second day. A single mom with four kids. And… and my dad. My dad died.”

“I’m sorry,” Marcus croaked. “I’m so, so sorry.” He pressed a kiss into Jake’s hair. It was getting longer now, he realized – longer than he’d ever seen it. Longer than AMTEC allowed, definitely.

Jake shook his head, still staring at himself in the mirror. On the counter, his hand curled into a fist. His lip still trembled, but it was pulled tight over his teeth, bared in a snarl of rage and pain. His body shivered in Marcus’s arms.

“And John,” Jake hissed, “hated that I looked like my dad.” His fist drifted up to his hair. As if it caused him pain, his fingers released, and he trailed them through his hair.

Marcus wondered, once again, if Jake could be convinced to tell him where John lived.

“I hate him,” Jake breathed, shaking hard.

Marcus wet his lips. “I—”

Jake slammed his fist against the counter. “I hate him.”

“I know.”

Jake slammed his fist again.

Marcus stepped away from him, pulling his towel from around himself and folding it into a square. “Jake,” he said, voice low and steady. “Don’t. You’ll hurt your hand.” He held the folded towel over his chest. “Here. Hit here, okay? Imagine his face. Fucking break his teeth in. But not the counter. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Jake stared at Marcus in the mirror, his own towel still held tight around his shoulders. Years of anguish tugged at his mouth; his eyes looked so fucking hollow, where they’d been so full of relief, of want, of joy not half an hour ago. More tears spilled. He just looked exhausted.

“No,” he murmured. “Not… gonna hurt you.”

Marcus clenched his jaw. He moved the towel until it rested over his metal arm.

“Here,” he said. “I won’t feel it, and you won’t break it. Fucking hit him until you can’t anymore.”

Jake turned and looked at him with that expression of unfathomable sadness. Then, the rage flickered again. For a moment, Marcus felt like he was looking in a mirror. Jake lunged forward and smashed his fit directly over the folded towel. Marcus grunted at the impact, but felt no pain. Jake wound up and hit again, and again, and again. The towel fell from his shoulders, and Marcus stared at the whip marks on his chest that had healed mostly to scars.

More tears streamed down his face as he punched, his splinted arm hanging at his side as the flailing blows landed one right after the other. These were not the precise attacks of a Levy. These were the desperate, angry blows of a child fighting off a monster it has no hope of beating.

At long last, Jake dissolved into broken sobs. Marcus wrapped him into a hug. Jake pressed his face into Marcus’s neck, tears smearing his skin, breath hot and rough.

“I’m sorry,” was all Marcus could think to say. “I’m sorry.”

Jake shook his head and cried.

Marcus swayed with him, back and forth, back and forth. Maybe Jake didn’t need to hear anything at all. Maybe he just needed Marcus to be there.

And Marcus could do that. Of all things, he could at least do that.

Jake slowly quieted. His arms crept around Marcus’s waist. He swallowed hard and heaved a long, shuddery sigh.

“I got you,” Marcus whispered against his temple. “You’re out, and you’re safe, and… all those people will never be able to hurt you again. You made it, Jake. And now you can have everything.”

A whimper.

“Okay.” Marcus ran careful hands over Jake’s shoulders. “Let’s get you dressed. Well. Us both dressed. Then breakfast? That sound okay?”

Jake nodded. “Yeah, Marcus,” he whispered.

Marcus led him to their room and carefully helped him dress. Then, once the towels were hung up, he helped Jake with the toast with butter and jam that Jake seemed so partial to. Marcus made himself four eggs.

Lars came home in the afternoon, while Jake was napping.

Marcus cut them off in the middle of their sentence while they were grumbling about the HRT clinic getting tagged again. “I need to see Todd,” Marcus told them without preamble. “I need some shit adjusted with this arm.”

If you want to be on the taglist (including for the spicy chapters,) let me know! I only tag people in 18+ chapters if I know they are adults through conversations or if their age/age range is in their bio.

Elenya was in Abandoned Ruin #2. She'd run out of iron ore again. Even after a year and a half in Portia, it was still a mystery to her how she always managed to burn through it so quickly.

Still, there was nothing she could do about it. Besides, she didn't really mind today. Summer was in full swing, and this year it seemed determined to make Portia as unbearably hot as possible. Outside, the heat was almost as intense as what she'd grown up with in Barnarock, making the cool air inside the ruins a welcome relief.

Drill in hand, she worked her way through sand and stone until she finally uncovered a large vein of iron ore. Slipping into her usual rhythm, she began mining her way around it in a wide circle while mentally going over the commissions still waiting for her.

If she spent half the day gathering iron ore, she should have enough to last the next couple of weeks. That would still leave plenty of time to finish Arlo's commission.

She could have accepted one that paid far better this morning, but she'd been unable to resist taking his instead. Not because she still had anything to prove — they'd been together for more than six months by now.

She simply loved seeing the smile on his face whenever she delivered something he'd asked for. And Arlo deserved the very best. The only way she could be sure of that was to make it herself.

This time he needed two waist packs — his own had probably fallen apart again—and she was wondering whether she should embroider a little surprise onto one of them when a loud crack echoed behind her.

Startled, Elenya spun around, only to freeze as part of the ceiling gave way, crashing into the chamber she'd carved out around herself. Pebbles and dust rained down, leaving small scratches across her arms, but she couldn't make herself move.

Suddenly, she was no longer in Portia, but far, far away. In another time. In an even hotter place.

Panic squeezed the air from her lungs. The world around her blurred. Her heart hammered against her ribs, while a rhythmic "clang" rang in her ears.

Clang

Clang

Clang

Then, without warning, the sound changed. It became a crash.

The noise snapped her out of it.

Her drill lay on the ground at her feet.

Confused, she stared at her trembling hands. Black spots danced across her vision, and only then did she realize she'd stopped breathing. She dragged in a shaky breath, desperately trying to fill her lungs, but the rush of oxygen only made the dizziness worse.

She stumbled backwards until her back hit the wall, then slowly slid down to the ground.

She had to do something.

She had to find another way out of the ruins.

But her body refused to obey.

She couldn't move.

Only when a voice suddenly reached her did the invisible grip around her begin to loosen.

"Is anyone there?"

Remington. That was Remi’s voice.

"Remi! I’m here!" Elenya startled at the hoarse sound of her own voice, but Remi seemed to have heard her.

"Elenya! Is everything all right?" Even through the layer of rock separating them, she could hear the concern in his voice.

"Y-Yeah! I'm okay!"

"Thank goodness! Hang on, I'll be there in just a second."

Once again, a rhythmic "clang" rang out, but this time it wasn’t just in her head. Nevertheless, she felt herself on the verge of sinking back into panic and clung desperately to the thought that the sound came from Remi.

Remi, who was on his way to get her out of here.

Moments later, a small hole broke through the rock beside her. Two swings later, Remi climbed into the partially collapsed chamber. His worried gaze flicked from her to the pile of rubble before settling back on her.

"Are you really all right? I was just checking the ruins for hazards when I heard the crash. What happened?"

"I... I don't really know." She swallowed hard. "I..."

The words refused to come.

Panic still gripped her chest, threatening to drag her back into the past.

"Elenya?" A warm hand rested on her upper arm and, startled, she looked up into Remi’s dark, concerned eyes.

"Sorry..." She grimaced at the tremor in her voice. "I'm okay."

Remi frowned, clearly unconvinced, but thankfully he didn't press the issue.

"Come on. Let's get you out of here first."

Elenya nodded, pushed herself to her feet, picked up her fallen drill and slipped it back into her bag. She walked ahead of him through the passage he'd carved into the rock, grateful for the reassuring hand resting on her shoulder. It gave her something solid to focus on.

The blazing midday sun greeted them the moment they stepped outside.

Heat shimmered above the ground, making the world sway for just a second. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she stumbled sideways before Remi caught her by the arm.

"Whoa, easy there." His grip tightened instinctively. "Are you sure you're okay? Maybe you hit your head?"

His eyes swept over her once more. In the bright sunlight, the countless tiny scratches covering her arms stood out far more clearly.

Elenya forced a small smile.

"I'll be fine. They're only scratches." She took a slow breath. "I think... I'm just still a little shaken."

She couldn't hold his gaze for long. Her eyes drifted to her hands, which were still trembling ever so slightly.

Remi saw it too. The worry on his face softened into understanding.

"I can’t blame you. I’m glad I was nearby and that you’re all right." He took his helmet off and ran a hand through his green hair. "Would you like me to send Arlo over to you when I see him?"

Her heart gave a little leap at the sound of his name.

More than anything, she wanted to bury herself in his strong arms. Somehow, she was sure he'd be able to chase the dreadful memory away.

But she knew he was at Ingall’s Mine and wouldn’t be back until this evening.

"No, it's okay. I'll be fine."

"If you're sure." He offered her a small smile. "Just make sure you clean those cuts when you get home. They may be small, but they can still get infected."

"I will."

She handed him her helmet and jetpack, grateful she didn't have to return to the ruins, then made her way back to her workshop.

~~~~~~

Unfortunately, the rest of the day didn't go well for Elenya either. She had taken a shower and disinfected her arms, but she simply couldn’t shake off her anxiety.

She tried to distract herself with work, but she could hardly concentrate.

The heat was suffocating, threatening to pull her mind back to her homeland.

She tried to make the two waist packs for Arlo, but she couldn’t even manage to thread the needle. The trembling in her hands simply wouldn’t go away.

At least she now knew why the collapse had affected her so deeply. A glance at the calendar on her workbench revealed tomorrow’s date.

Tomorrow marks the 16th anniversary of that terrible, fateful day.

Elenya shook her head vigorously, trying to stop herself from getting lost in her memories again. Frustrated, she dropped the needle and thread onto her workbench, accidentally knocking her hammer in the process. It promptly fell over the edge, straight onto her foot.

Cursing, she hopped about on one leg as a dull ache throbbed through her foot.

Could her day get any worse?

Apparently so.

Accepting that she wouldn't be able to make any progress with Arlo’s commission, she turned her attention to her other major project: a boat for Starlight Island. And she was actually making progress, until she started painting the outside.

Fully focused on her brushstrokes, she took a step to the side and promptly bumped into the small table holding the paint bucket. As if in slow motion, the bucket tipped over and, before she could react, a flood of red paint poured across the floor of her workstation and all over her.

A loud curse escaped her lips.

Frustrated, she chased the rolling paint bucket to stop it from rolling onto the grass, but she lost her footing. The paint had turned the floor beneath her into a slippery mess.

She had no time to react as her legs gave way beneath her.

But instead of hitting the floor, two strong arms suddenly caught her, holding her securely.

Startled by her sudden fall and the appearance of another person, she looked up, her eyes wide, and met a pair of equally startled blue ones.

"Whoa, hey! Careful. I’ve got you." Arlo helped her back onto her feet with a steady grip and led her over to a spot where there was no paint on the floor.

He didn’t let go of her until he was sure she had regained her footing. His gaze swept over the red paint splashes on her clothes and the small scrapes on her arms. The concern in his eyes made her heart ache.

"Remi told me about the collapse," he said quietly. "I came straight here. And from the looks of it, with perfect timing." A small smile played on his lips, and Elenya felt colour rise to her cheeks.

"You always manage to get yourself into all sorts of situations." The tender tone of his voice couldn't prevent the rising sense of shame. She looked away. But a large, warm hand cupped her cheek and gently lifted her chin back up.

She realised that she hadn’t said a word to him yet, but a wave of emotion was choking her. Uncertain, she looked up at him. His gaze, full of love and concern, held hers captive, and, to her horror, tears welled up in her eyes.

Without hesitating, Arlo pulled her tightly against his strong chest. She instantly wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder. His soothing scent mingled with the musty odour of Ingall’s Mine, and yet Elenya felt something inside her relax.

For a moment, she simply allowed herself to stand there. Arlo’s heart beat calming against her cheek and his thumb stroked her back in slow, soothing movements. The trembling in her hands finally subsided a little.

"Hey," he murmured gently after a while, and Elenya shifted slightly away from him to look up at him.

"Hey," she whispered back. His lips pressed warmly against hers, and a soft sigh escaped her.

"I can see you’ve had a really rough day."

"Mmh..." Elenya couldn’t help herself; she snuggled back against his chest.

A whirlwind of emotions was still churning within her. Anger, frustration, fear, and the sense of dread that she had found so hard to ignore ever since the collapse. Arlo’s reassuring embrace helped her push some of it aside for a moment.

But no sooner had her breathing steadied than something in her chest tightened again. The heat of the day suddenly seemed to settle on her skin once more and, somewhere in her mind, the sound of that terrible crash still echoed.

She realised that she didn’t want to be alone today.

Once more, she pulled away from Arlo just enough to look at him. "Can you stay with me tonight? Or do you still have to work?"

Arlo’s eyebrows knitted together in concern as he heard her slightly quivering question. But, to her relief, he didn’t press her for details. "I'm done for the day, but I need to pop into headquarters for a moment. I'll grab a few things for the night and I could really use a shower. Don't want to stink up your bed."

With a soft laugh, he brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and she leaned into his palm. Arlo’s gaze softened. "How about I pick up some dinner from Django’s on the way back? Then we can make ourselves comfortable on your sofa."

"That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Arlo."

"Don’t mention it. I can’t imagine anything better than spending the evening with you."

Arlo wanted to help her tidy up and clean, but she managed to convince him that it would be more efficient if he went ahead and got started. Then they could eat as soon as she’d finished.

She didn’t want to be alone, but she also needed some time to herself to unwind. She didn’t want to burden Arlo with her problems.

~~~~~~

It was about an hour later when Elenya and Arlo were sitting together on her couch, enjoying their dinner. The mess at her workstation had been cleaned up, her ruined pants were soaking, and Arlo smelled wonderful after his apple shampoo.

Without asking, he’d brought her favourite dish — Pumpkin Steamed Rice — and even a slice of Black Forest cake. He just knew how to make her happy.

After dinner, Elenya snuggled up next to Arlo, his strong arm draped around her shoulders. Her stomach was full, and she felt wonderfully warm. Thanks to the air conditioning she’d had installed in her house — after building the harbour — it wasn’t too hot inside, and she could fully enjoy Arlo’s body heat.

For a moment, they savoured the pleasant silence, until Arlo finally asked the question she’d been expecting all along. "How are you?" A gentle kiss on the top of her head accompanied his soft words, and Elenya snuggled even closer to him.

"Better, now that you’re here." And that was the truth. Right now, she simply felt safe and secure. Arlo always had that effect on her.

"I’m glad to hear that. If only all problems were that easy to solve." The second part was just a soft mumble, but Elenya heard it anyway.

She craned her neck questioningly to look at him. "Is everything okay?"

"Don’t worry. It’s just Higgins again, wanting an impossible amount of materials from Ingall’s Mine. I couldn’t even get half of it together today." An exasperated sigh escaped him, and Elenya pressed a warm kiss to his cheek.

"I’m sorry you have to work so hard for him. I’m sure you have plenty of other things to do, too."

"Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad he gives us the job instead of putting himself in danger, but this time he’s really asking for a lot."

Elenya’s heart swelled with love for the man by her side. She admired his tireless dedication to the people of Portia and their safety. His protective nature knew no bounds — not even when it came to Higgins.

Driven by the need to express her feelings, she pulled away from his arms to draw him into a proper kiss. Somewhat surprised, Arlo took a moment before returning it, but then they lost themselves in the tender movements of their lips.

When they pulled apart, Arlo gently pressed his forehead against hers.

"What did I do to deserve that?"

"I love you."

Arlo’s eyes began to shine, and he pressed another quick kiss to her lips. "I love you, too."

Happy, Elenya snuggled back into his arms. Arlo began telling her about his commission and how his day at the mine had gone. His warm voice rumbled soothingly deep in his chest, and she felt herself unconsciously drifting into a light sleep.

A soft, warm laugh gently pulled her back from the brink of sleep. "I think it’s time we get you into bed."

An unintelligible murmur escaped her lips. She didn’t even know what she was trying to say.

The arms around her shifted. One slid under her knees and the other wrapped securely around her shoulders. Then she was lifted into the air, and with a soft sigh, she buried her face in the crook of Arlo’s neck.

With steady steps, he carried her across to the bedroom and gently laid her down on the bed. A large hand ran through her hair, and with a soft "I’ll be right back," Arlo stepped away from her side.

She was already drifting off again when the bed next to her dipped. Moments later, strong arms pulled her against a warm chest, and her head settled on Arlo’s shoulder.

"Sleep well, sweetheart."

She tried to respond to his words, but sleep claimed her before she could.

~~~~~~

It was hot.

Unbearably hot.

The sun beat down on the residents of Barnarock.

A rhythmic "clang" echoed through the air.

Clang

Clang

Clang

Pickaxes struck stone.

Blurred faces danced around Elenya. Only one face stood out from the crowd.

A beautiful face. Friendly, framed by black hair and green eyes that were full of life.

A face that looked so much like hers.

The "clang" still echoed all around her. Elenya sat on an old wooden crate, swinging her little legs back and forth as she played with a gear she’d found on the ground.

Her mother had taken her to work since no one could watch her, but that didn’t bother Elenya. She loved watching her mother work.

How rhythmically she struck the stones, the quarry around them bustling with activity.

Then the "clang" suddenly vanished.

Instead, a deafening crack echoed through the valley.

Startled, Elenya looked up from her gear wheel, and suddenly she was no longer sitting on her crate, nor was she five years old anymore. She was standing just a few steps away from her mother, everything around her shrouded in menacing shadows.

Only the scene before her was crystal clear. The huge boulder falling from above. The faceless worker standing directly beneath it.

And her mother.

Her mother, who, without a moment’s hesitation, lunged forward and shoved the worker out of the way.

A blood-curdling scream tore from Elenya’s throat. She tried to run, to move, to do something—but she was rooted to the spot.

Not a single muscle would budge.

In utter despair, she had to watch as her mother was struck by the boulder. As she lay motionless on the ground. As blood spread around her.

The shadows around her grew larger, more threatening, while desperate cries escaped her lips.

Then, suddenly, her mother’s body began to change. Her black hair grew shorter. Turned red. Her body grew larger. And suddenly it was Arlo lying on the ground.

Another scream escaped her lips. She still couldn’t move, forced to watch as blood flowed from his body.

The images blurred together. Her mother, lying lifeless in that white quarry. Arlo, buried beneath the red stones of the Eufaula Tunnel.

Then she was finally able to move. Hasty, stumbling, her vision blurred by tears, she fell to the ground beside the two bodies.

Cloudy, lifeless eyes stared back at her, and her world shattered in two.

With another scream, she slumped to the ground, her shoulders shaking with violent sobs.

"No, no, no... Arlo... Mom... I’m so sorry. I was too slow... I’m so sorry."

~*~*~*~*~*~

A faint sound reached Arlo’s ears. He would recognise that sound even in his sleep.

Someone was in distress.

Before he was fully awake, he was already sitting upright in bed. Confused, he looked around the dark room.

What had woken him?

Then he heard it again. A faint whimper.

His gaze darted to the left, toward Elenya, who was lying next to him. But instead of finding her sleeping peacefully, she was tossing her head back and forth in despair, and anguished sounds escaped her lips.

A desperate "No" escaped her, and Arlo finally snapped out of his stupor. He quickly turned on the bedside lamp next to him and leaned over Elenya.

"Elenya, sweetheart, wake up." But she didn’t respond.

He was afraid to touch her — he didn’t want to startle her.

But her breathing was growing more and more frantic, and tears were streaming from her closed eyes. He absolutely had to wake her up.

He tried by gently shaking her shoulder, but again she showed no reaction.

"Elenya, come on, you have to wake up. It’s just a dream." A desperate whimper broke Arlo’s heart in two.

He had never seen her so frightened.

"Come on, sweetheart." He pressed his forehead against hers and cupped her cheek. Gently, he wiped away the tears that flowed ceaselessly from her eyes and spoke soothingly to her.

"Come on, you can do this. Wake up. It’s just a dream."

"Arlo... Mom... I’m so sorry." A heart-wrenching sob followed her whispered words, and Arlo felt tears welling up in his own eyes.

He felt completely helpless. He couldn’t protect her in her dreams.

Then her eyes suddenly flew open. Breathing heavily, she stared at him without really seeing him. He quickly leaned back so as not to overwhelm her.

Her eyes darted across the dimly lit ceiling in a panic, and then she finally spotted him beside her. A new wave of tears found their way down her cheeks.

"Arlo..." Another heart-wrenching sob escaped her and Arlo hurried to pull her into his arms.

"Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. It was just a dream. Just a dream." He gently rocked her back and forth, trying to prop his pillow and blanket against the headboard with one hand. Once he had managed, he slid back far enough to lean against them.

He pulled Elenya sideways onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. He wrapped one arm tightly around her waist while gently pressing her head against his chest.

Every broken sound that escaped her lips pierced his heart.

"It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m here." The words flowed from his lips like a mantra as he gently rocked her back and forth. Her tears soaked through his shirt, but he didn’t mind.

He would do anything for Elenya.

It took a very long time for her to calm down even a little. Her sobs grew quieter, and her hand, which had been clenched tightly around his shirt, relaxed. Exhausted, she slumped against him, and he tightened his grip around her waist just a little more.

"I’ve got you. It was just a dream. You’re safe." He pressed his lips firmly against her hair, unconsciously breathing in her wonderful scent and allowing himself to relax a little as well.

But what followed made him freeze.

"No... it wasn’t." Elenya’s voice reached his ears, hoarse and barely audible. Both the sound and the words themselves sent a new pang through his heart.

Not a dream? A memory then?

"Oh, sweetheart..." He pulled his hand away from her hair and cupped her cheek. Gently, he lifted her face away from his chest so he could look at her.

Red, swollen eyes met his gaze, and he gently wiped away the last tear that slipped from the corner of her eye. Exhausted, her eyes closed, and she leaned into the palm of his hand.

A mixture of love and concern washed over him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Elenya hesitated. She looked at him uncertainly, the deep green of her eyes clouded by fear and sorrow.

What on earth had she been through?

A shiver ran through her body and Arlo could see the goosebumps spreading across her arms. Seeking warmth, she snuggled closer to him. He made up his mind.

While she was deciding whether to tell him, he would do everything he could to make her feel more comfortable.

"How about I make us some tea and we snuggle up on the couch?" He looked down at her questioningly and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face.

Elenya nodded but made no move to pull away from his embrace. So he adjusted his hold around her and slid with her to the edge of the bed. With one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, he stood up and carried her over to the living room.

She rested her head on his shoulder with an exhausted sigh, gently brushing a kiss against his neck. A soft smile crept onto his lips and he returned the gesture with a kiss on her forehead.

After fumbling to turn on the light, he gently lowered her onto the sofa and wrapped her in the warm blanket draped over the back. With another kiss on her forehead and a soft "I'll be right back", he headed into the kitchen.

While the tea was steeping, he thought about the bag he’d brought with him and its contents. He hadn’t known why earlier, but something inside him had told him to bring his grey sweater.

Elenya loved it, and Arlo loved seeing her wear it. It was far too warm for a sweater, but he’d packed it anyway. And right now, he was very glad he had.

He quickly darted into the bedroom and took the sweater out of his bag. He then returned to Elenya, who looked at him with tired, confused eyes. But when she saw the sweater, her expression brightened slightly.

Without a word, she raised her arms, and with a soft laugh, he pulled the sweater over her head. With a happy sigh, she snuggled into the soft fabric, and, satisfied, he went back to the kitchen.

As soon as the tea was ready, Arlo took it into the living room. He didn’t find Elenya how he had left her. She was sitting there completely stiff; her gaze fixed on her knees. Her face was etched with anguish, and she looked as though she was about to start crying again.

He quickly crossed the last few steps and held out a cup to her.

With a small, grateful smile, she took it from him, and he sat down with his own cup right next to her. She instantly rested her head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her back.

For a while, they just sat in silence, drinking their tea. Arlo gave her all the time she needed. And if she didn’t want to tell him about her dream, that was okay, too.

"It... it was about my mom..." Startled that Elenya had suddenly broken the silence, Arlo looked down at her.

He decided not to say anything. Instead, he put their two empty cups on the coffee table and pulled her back onto his lap. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and held her close as she began to speak hesitantly.

"You... you know that I lived with my aunt before I came here."

Arlo nodded.

"Mom... she had... There aren’t many opportunities in Barnarock. She used to work in a quarry. I think she actually enjoyed it, but it was dangerous..." A shiver ran through her body, and he pulled her a little closer to him.

A faint sense of foreboding crept over him.

"I used to go with her sometimes. That day was no exception..." Elenya seemed lost in her memories; she fell silent for a moment. Arlo pressed a long kiss to the top of her head to show her that he was there.

With a deep sigh, she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her words were muffled against his skin, but he understood every word nonetheless. "It was just a day like any other. Everyone was chipping away at the stones when suddenly a loud crack echoed through the valley..."

"A huge chunk had broken loose from the wall. One of the workers was standing right underneath it, and my mother..." Arlo felt individual tears wet his skin. "She had pushed him out of the way..."

Everything inside him tightened. A mixture of grief and pain overwhelmed him, and he had to force himself to keep his voice steady. "How old were you then?"

"I was five. That was exactly sixteen years ago."

Arlo didn’t know what to think. It was difficult for him to process the idea that a sweet, little Elenya had to witness her own mother get crushed by a rock.

He'd been through a lot himself as a child—after all, their world has always been dangerous—but until now, he'd always hoped that Elenya had been spared something like this. She had such a big, pure heart and a gentle soul, and she always had a smile for everyone.

She didn’t deserve something like that.

"Oh, sweetheart..." He was at a loss for words. Instinctively, he wrapped his body even more tightly around her, trying to shield her from all the evil in this world.

But he quickly realized that he needed her closeness just as much. The image of a woman who looked like Elenya, buried beneath a rock, took root in his mind. Along with it came the image of a little girl with long black hair and green eyes desperately calling out for her mother.

The image threatened to overwhelm him.

Then something else suddenly occurred to him. Elenya had also called out his name in her sleep, and he remembered the night last year when she had come to him at headquarters, completely distraught. Back then, she’d had a panic attack because her mind had convinced her that he was buried under the rocks in the Eufaula Tunnel.

Suddenly, everything made so much more sense. Even her fear of thunderstorms. Was she aware of this herself?

The small collapse in the ruins took on a different meaning, too. It hadn't just triggered a bad day; it had touched something Elenya had carried with her all these years.

Elena's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Pa... he went off after that. Off on his adventures." A small, bitter laugh escaped her. "I don't think he knew how to deal with everything."

A new emotion mingled with the rest of his emotional turmoil: anger. He was angry at a man he knew only from the stories of the other residents, from back when he still lived in Portia.

How could anyone abandon a five-year-old child who had just tragically lost their mother?

"I was angry at him for a long time. But now... I don’t know." Elenya gently pulled away from his embrace, and he reluctantly loosened his grip around her. "In a way, I’m almost grateful to him. Thanks to him, I ended up here. In Portia. And with you." Her eyes, still swollen, met his gaze warmly, and some of his anger melted away.

"If I ever run into him, he's going to get an earful from me. But I’m also very glad you’re here. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me." Gently, he cupped her cheek and pressed his lips to hers. With a soft sigh, she leaned into the kiss, and they lost themselves in the tender touch.

Only when a shiver ran through Elenya’s body did Arlo pull away. A small, reluctant whine escaped her lips, and he couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

"You’re exhausted, sweetheart. We can always continue tomorrow."

A soft pout greeted him when he looked down at her, prompting him to give her one more quick kiss.

But then he grew serious. "Do you think you can get some more sleep? Or should I stay awake with you?"

Elenya thought for a moment, her fingers playing with a loose thread on the blanket.

"I... I don't know if I can fall asleep again. But I’d like to try." She paused briefly, and an endearing blush appeared on her cheeks. She looked up at him shyly. "Could you maybe read something to me? Or tell me a story? Your voice always calms me down so much."

A warm feeling washed over Arlo. Knowing she felt so safe with him filled him with pride.

"Of course. Come on. Let's go back to bed, and I'll tell you about the paperwork I have to fill out tomorrow. That’ll put you to sleep in no time." Just as he’d hoped, she giggled softly in response, and he couldn’t help but kiss her again.

Without breaking the kiss, he adjusted his arm around her and lifted her up into his arms. He carried her back to bed, quickly turned off the living room light, and lay down beside her.

She immediately snuggled back into his arms, and Arlo was more than happy to pull her close. Her head rested right over his heart, and her left leg intertwined with his. He gently traced small circles on her back and began to talk.

He kept his voice soft and soothing, and Elenya let out a quiet, relaxed sigh. It didn't take long before she drifted back to sleep. Arlo watched her for a while longer, until he was sure that no more nightmares were lurking.

After giving her one last warm kiss on the top of her head, he joined her in the land of dreams.

You've now reached the end of this series.

First of all, I’d like to thank everyone who joined me on this journey—whether from the very beginning or partway through. Your comments have brightened my day time and time again, and I’ve been thrilled by every “kudo.”

As for my next plans: I probably can’t let Arlo and Elenya go just yet. I already have a rough outline for a longer story, as well as ideas for other oneshots and short stories. One of them is even a crossover with Sandrock. For that, though, I think I’d have to play Sandrock again to really get a feel for the characters.

I don’t know exactly when I’ll write which story yet. For the long story, though, I’d definitely write at least half (if not all) of it before publishing it. I don’t want to let you down in case I never get around to finishing it.

She shook her head and rolled her shoulders as she finally made it up to the fifth floor. Fourth door down to the right. After a moment of fumbling with her keys, she unlocked their apartment door. Seeing the kitchen light on, her shoulders relaxed.

"Dad? I'm home." she called out as she kicked off her shoes and set her bag down.

Goosebumps raised on her arms when she didn't get a joyful cry of "welcome home!" Instead she heard hushed voices, noteably the deep rumble of a man's voice she didn't know. They spoke so low, she couldn’t make out their words.

"Dad?" she tried again, padding slowly over to the kitchen in her socks.

When she turned the corner into the kitchen, Anna stopped cold.

Three strange men accompanied her father there. Two of them stood behind the one sitting across from him, like bouncers or... bodyguards.

Her blood went icy as she suddenly recognized the man who turned to level his gaze on her.

Alvaro Bove. Right hand man to Ludovico Orsini, the local mafia boss.

"Dad... what's going on?"

Her father didn't meet her eyes when she turned to look at him. He finished signing the papers in front of him before handing them over to Mr Bove.

"I'm sorry, pumpkin."

"What do you-"

"Everything is in order. Take the girl."

Before she could react, something went over her head, drawn tight around her neck. A bag?

Her yelp was cut off by the cord tightening over her throat. Where there more people? There felt like more people. She couldn't tell. Her arms were being bound behind her back as they shoved her against the wall.

Everything was muffled by the bag and her own heavy breathing. Her struggles were met with a harder grip and a few hits to her ribs. Then her stomach.

She could do nothing but wheeze and gasp as someone tossed her over their shoulder and carried her away.

Owning Her Future taglist:

@galactic-worm, @koleopteros

fun fact this was for @badthingshappenbingo square "please don't leave me."

Thank you @guessinggames-deactivated-2026-0 for poking me to do that prompt.

x

“You want a divorce?” you ask as tears fill your eyes.

For the first few seconds, Dean can’t speak. He can’t find the words to say that might make this situation better for either of you. He takes a step cautiously toward you, but stops when he sees the tears roll down your cheeks.

“No, I don’t—”

“Then why would you have this?”

“No…” Dean stutters over his words as he tries to find the right words. “Sweetheart…”

“Do you not love me anymore?”

Whatever is left of Dean’s heart shatters. He can’t hate himself more than he does at this moment. He should have gotten rid of the damn papers when he had a chance. Now, you’re in tears because of him.

“It’s not like that.” Dean moves closer to you, but you quickly duck out of the way. “Y/N, please. You don’t understand. Let me explain…”

You clutch the papers tightly in your hand as you say, “When did you get these?”

Dean freezes at your words. He could lie to you, but he knows if he wants to make this work between you two, he has to be honest about everything.

I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know this will hurt. “A few months ago.”

You toss the papers onto the bed and walk into the closet. Dean’s eyes widen when he sees a duffel bag in your hands. You immediately start throwing clothes and other shit you might need into it.

“Y/N, please, just let me explain. Please don’t go.”

“I’ve heard enough, Dean.” You don’t even know what you’re throwing into the bag; all you know is you have to get out of here. You try to walk away, but Dean grabs your arm gently. “Don’t touch me.” He immediately takes his hand away as if you burned him. “I'm not leaving you. I just… I need some space. Please give that to me.”

Dean hates seeing how sad you look right now. He can’t do anything but watch as you leave him standing alone in the bedroom with the crumpled divorce papers on the bed. Dean hears your car start before it drives off, and that’s when his resolve snaps.

He grabs the nearest item and throws it against the wall in anger. The lamp shatters into pieces, and he can’t help but compare it to the state his heart is in. He has to get out of here. If you’re not going to be here, then he needs to make himself busy to prevent himself from going after you.

He quickly cleans up the mess before grabbing the papers and leaving the house. He doesn’t know what to do, but he knows he has to distract himself. Sam and Cas told Dean where they were going for their hunt, so he puts the address into his GPS and drives straight to where they are.

San and Cas have only just arrived, so they’re still doing research on not only the locals but also the monster they think they’re hunting. They’re sitting at the small table when they hear a knock on their door.

No one should be at their door, so Sam cautiously moves toward the front door. When he looks through the peephole, he opens the door without care.

“Dean? What are you doing here?”

Dean walks into the room. “You guys need help, right?”

“Why are you here? What happened to Y/N?”

Dean doesn’t answer that question. He grabs the books in front of Cas before reading them. Sam and Cas look at each other, but neither of them says anything. Whatever happened between you and Dean is clearly a sore subject,  a subject Dean clearly refuses to talk about.

Dean has a book open in front of him, but he’s not paying attention to the words. All he can see is the broken look in your eyes and your sad tears. It’s his fault. Everything is his fault.

You’re trying really hard not to cry right now. Serena, the pregnant horse, is with her baby as you watch them. Your back is against the barn wall, and you’re sitting on the muddy ground. Jewel, the baby, prances around and plays with the various small animals running around, while Serena walks over to you. She sits down next to you and lays her head on your lap, and that’s when the dam breaks.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You run your hand down the slope of her nose, trying your best to stop crying. “I think my husband wants a divorce. I found the papers. He says he doesn’t, but then why would he have them? He got them months ago… I thought he loved me…”

Serena makes a noise at the back of her throat while nuzzling closer to you. “I love him so much, but I guess I wasn’t enough for him. Maybe it’s me. I’m the broken one. I can’t have kids, and maybe he realizes he wants them.”

Logic tells you that it makes no sense because he drafted the papers before knowing about your ability to have kids, but you’re not thinking logically right now.

“Tell me what to do,” you cry, “because I’m lost. I love him so much. I don’t want to lose him.” Serena makes a noise, and you nod sadly. “I know. If he’s not happy, I’ll let him go.”

It’ll break your heart, but you'll do that if it makes him happy. That’s all you ever wanted him to be.

You called off this entire week from work because you thought you were going to spend all of it with Dean. So, you don’t have to be here, but you don’t have anywhere else to go. Serena and Jewel can only hang out for so long before they need to go back inside their stables for rest.

The entire drive home is spent in silence as you think of what you’ll say when you see Dean at home. You don’t want to be here, but you have nowhere else to go. The impala isn’t in the driveway when you get home, but that doesn’t mean it’s not in the garage. You spent five minutes drying your cheeks before heading inside the house.

The house is dark and silent. You don’t bother turning the lights on. You walk up the stairs slowly and shuffle into the bedroom. It’s also dark and silent. Dean isn’t here. You sink into the bed and let the silent tears roll down. You’re all alone. Maybe Dean realized he wanted nothing to do with you and left to make it easier.

You curl up on the bed and cry yourself into a dreamless sleep.

Sleep doesn’t come that easily for Dean. He might have gotten an hour before a nightmare settled in. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed with the divorce papers in his hands. He takes out his phone and looks over the many messages he’s sent to you that you have left unanswered. He clicks on your name and calls you, but you don’t answer.

In a fit of anger, he rips the divorce papers into pieces and flings them into the small trash can. 

“You want to talk about it?”

Dean jumps at the sound of his brother’s voice, and he sighs. “She found the papers.”

Sam sits up in bed. “I figured. What did you say?”

“Nothing. She packed a bag and left.”

“You let her?”

Dean looks at his brother with sad eyes. “You didn’t see her face, Sam. It broke my heart. What do I do?”

“Not be on this hunt, for one. What are you doing here? Go back to her.”

“She hates me. She doesn’t want to see me.”

Sam flops down on the bed. “Don’t make me smack you.”

Dean chuckles and looks back at his phone. “She’s not answering the phone.”

“Yeah, because it’s the middle of the fucking night. Either leave now or in the morning, but go back to her.”

Sam’s right. Dean crawls into bed and decides to go to you in the morning. He can’t lose you.

In the morning, you rush to get ready before heading off to work. Chase, one of the stronger horses, hurt his leg a few weeks ago. Now he has to go on walks on the trails as a way to regain normal function. Since you don’t feel like walking, and you need something to do, you ride Serena while you have Chase walking next to her. Both horses are saddled up, even though no one is riding Chase.

“He didn’t come home last night,” you say to Serena. “I had to sleep alone, and I hate sleeping alone.”

You take out your phone and try calling Dean, but he doesn’t pick up. What the fuck are you going to do?

“I love him, but I have no right to keep someone who doesn’t want to keep me.”

If Dean will just come home, then you two can talk about this. The past two days have been hell without him. You want nothing more than to be with him, but how can you be with someone who doesn’t love you anymore?

As you walk, your mind goes through all of the ways that this could go, and none of them are good.

Suddenly, your phone rings, disrupting the tense silence. For a second, you think it’s Dean, until you see Sam’s name. You two are cool, but he never calls you. Something must be wrong.

“Hey, Sam,” you answer.

“Hey, Y/N.” He sounds like he’s in pain with the way he’s wincing and heavily breathing. “I need help.”

“What?”

“I need you to come to me. Dean and Ca sare here—”

“I don’t know, Sam,” you cut him off. “Dean, he…”

“No, it’s not about the divorce.” He groans in pain and curses to himself.

“You know about it?” You don’t know why, but that hurts you. You know Sam and Dean are close, but did he really have to tell him? “Does everyone but he know?”

“Y/N, listen to me.” His pants become heavier. “That’s not why I’m calling. Listen, Dean is hurt.”

Your entire body is on alert. “What do you mean he’s hurt?”

“We’re on a hunt, and Dean became careless and got hurt. I’m not with him. We had to split up. I thought Cas and I could handle this hunt so he could go home to you, but he ended up getting caught in the crossfire. I need you to come here.”

“What about Cas? Isn’t he an angel?”

“He was sent away. Please.”

You stutter as you try to come up with the right words. “I don’t know, Sam…”

Sam rattles off his location. “I can’t take care of him and kill the monster, so you need to come and get him.”

The call cuts in and out due to spotty service, but you do hear the desperation in his voice and the address clearly. Just then, the call cuts out, and you frown at it.

“Sam!”

It’s no use. He’s not there anymore. Sam wouldn’t have called you unless he absolutely needed you. You pull up your GPS and plug in the address. The place is closer to you now than to where your car is. It’ll take longer if you were to turn back and get your car. You have two horses with you that are saddled up. You chew on your bottom lip as you think about what you want to do.

“Dean’s hurt, Serena. You up for a bit of an adventure?”

She raises and lowers her head as if she’s nodding. Chase does the same. You have your answer. You grab the reins and urge Serena into a run.

“Let’s go get him.”

Chase keeps up with Serena easily as she runs through the well-marked trail through the woods, the trees and branches whipping past you. The further you travel, the more your internet goes out. Soon, you don’t have GPS to guide you, but you know you’re close. Shortly, you come across a clearing with a cabin in the middle of it. This has to be it.

Why does this place give you the heebie jeebies?

You pull the reins back until Serena and Chase stop, and you slide off her back.

“Wait here, okay?” You leave the horses and walk up the wooden steps. “Sam? Dean!”

You push open the door and gasp at the state the cabin is in. It’s dirty and messy. You don’t think Sam and Dean did this; it’s probably from years of neglect. The place is one story, and from what you can tell, it’s empty. You leave the front door open and walk back down the cabin steps. You walk toward the back of the cabin, looking around for any signs of Sam or Dean.

“Dean! Sam!” You notice something in the distance, and when you get closer, you see it’s Dean. He’s sitting on the ground with his back against a tree, and he looks gaunt. He is clutching his side, which is slowly turning dark red. He’s bleeding. “Dean!”

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, and his eyes widen when you start running over to him. “What are you doing here?”

“What’s going on?”

“You gotta get out of here.”

“No. Sam asked me to come. Look, I realize you might hate me, but I don’t hate you, so I’m here.”

“No, you don’t understand.” He wheezes in pain as he tries shifting. “Get out of here. Please.” Dean looks at something from over your shoulder and freezes. “Don’t move.”

You also freeze not only because of what could be behind you, but because of the fear on Dean’s face. “Dean…”

“Don’t turn around. Just look at me.”

Don’t do it. Listen to him. You ignore the voice in your head and slowly turn to see what could be behind you. A tall, easily ten feet, bone-thin creature with nearly sickly white skin stands in the treeline. The face is the worst. Eyes sunken in so far that you can only see the yellow irises. Teeth so sharp, you know they’d tear through skin like it’s butter.

The creature roars and breaks out into a run faster than you can react. You scream as it flings you off to the side, and Dean struggles to get up.

“Y/N!” Dean curses when more blood gushes from his wound. He can see his blood drop from the wendigo’s claws from here. “Fuck! Sweetheart! SAM!”

You scramble away from the wendigo as fast as you can, but it easily catches up to you. It slams its claws into the ground where you are, but you roll out of the way right before it can penetrate you. Fuck, you have no clue how to fight this thing or what weapons might work. You hate guns; you don’t even own one.

“Dean, what do I do?”

“Fire is the only way to kill these things. Shit. SAMMY!”

The wendigo stalks closer to you, knowing you won’t do shit to it. It is about to attack again when you hear the unmistakable sound of hooves galloping closer to you. A large Shire horse stands on its hind legs and barrels into the wendigo, knocking it backward. The creature wails before slithering back into the shadows.

Your heart races in a panic as Chase trots over to you. He lowers his head to check if you’re okay, and you rub his nose to communicate that you are. You get up and jog over to Dean, who looks even more pale than before.

“I’m so sorry.” His face is wet with tears. “I never meant for this to happen. I never meant to drag you out here.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” You move his hair back and wipe his tears away. “Where’s Sam?”

“I don’t know. Y/N, sweetheart, please know that I love you so much.”

Pain laces your body and makes its way into your eyes. “We’ll talk about it later. Can you stand?” With your help, Dean is able to stand. He can’t walk, but he can use the tree as support. “I brought Chase so you can ride him back.”

“I can barely walk, sweetheart. I can’t lift myself onto him. Just go. I’ll be fine.”

“No, Dean, I am not leaving you.”

Dean is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is a whisper. “I’m not leaving you.”

Tears well in your eyes when you realize he’s not talking about right now. “Why did you have them, Dean?”

Dean sighs and leans his head on the tree bark. “Because I’m a fucking idiot.”

“I need a better answer than that. My husband, after thirteen years of marriage, wants a divorce, and the best thing you can say is that you’re an idiot? I could have told you that.” You bite your lower lip in thought. “Is it because I can’t have children?”

Before Dean can answer, the wendigo comes back. It roars in anger and uses its claws to slash you and Dean. Dean ducks in time, but the claws slide open your leg in the process. You’re thrown back from the impact, and you land on the ground with a cry of pain.

“Y/N!” Dean shouts.

“DEAN!” Sam comes running out of the treeline into the clearing. He is carrying a homemade flamethrower. He sees you on the ground, bleeding from your leg, and Dean sitting on the forest ground, bleeding from his side. “Dean!!”

“Sammy! Kill it!”

The wendigo moves toward you, but Chase powerfully kicks the creature backwards. As soon as it falls onto the ground, Sam aims the flamethrower at it and pulls the trigger. In an instant, the wendigo goes up in flames, and it roars out in pain. Once fire catches onto its skin, it’s hard to put out.

The wendigo struggles to move as if it can outrun the fire, and it falls limp.

“What the hell was that?” you pant.

“A wendigo. It chased us from its hiding spot when we stole its food source,” Sam replies.

“Oh, cool.” You get up on shaky legs and walk over to Chase. “You’re a good boy. You deserve all the treats in the world for this.” Chase lowers his head as if he’s giving you a hug, and you hug him back. “Yes, I love you, too. Come on, let’s bring you back to Serena.” You look at Dean, who is slung over Sam’s body. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I got him,” Sam answers.

You walk Chase back over to Serena, who is waiting patiently where you left her. Sam checks Dean’s wound and patches him up enough that when Dean walks, he’s not gushing blood everywhere. Dean hobbles over to you, wincing in pain when he puts pressure on the side of his injury.

“Are you okay?”

“Are you?”

You look down at your leg that’s covered in blood. “It’s just a scratch. It stopped bleeding. I’m more worried about you. You should get that checked out.”

“Y/N, I don’t want a divorce. Please believe me.”

“Then why did you have divorce papers? The truth this time, or I will leave.”

“Because of what just happened. I can’t live with myself if I got involved in something that hurt you or worse. I try my best to be home every night, but I can’t. You deserve a husband who will put you first before anyone else. I want to be that man, but hunting is my life. I can’t ignore this.”

“I never resented you for going on hunts and saving people. I love that you do.” You smooth back Chase’s mane before sighing. “You’re wrong, Dean. You do put me first. When you can, you do. I wake up to kisses and flowers and breakfast in bed on my birthday. Every night that you’re away, you call me to tell me goodnight. When we’re out, you always walk on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street. You open all of my doors. Some women barely get that treatment, but you give it to me every day.

“I never once felt like you were ever putting me second. You make me feel special, Dean. I never expect anything more from you than what you do now. You’re enough for me.” You take a pause. “Am I enough for you?”

Dean limps over to you and cups your cheeks with his warm hands. “You’re the light to my darkness. You are the reason I get up in the morning. I just want to protect you from me.”

“That’s not your call to make,” you whisper. Dean leans down so his forehead rests against yours. A moment passes before he winces in pain. “I have to get you some help.”

“The hospital is an hour away,” Sam says from the Impala.

“My work is thirty minutes by horse, forty-five minutes by car.”

For a second, no one says anything until Sam speaks. “Dean?”

“I’m going with Y/N.” Sam nods. “I’ll meet you at her work.”

Sam climbs into the Impala just as you approach Serena. “Can you even ride?”

“I’ll be okay. We still have a lot to talk about.” You sling yourself onto Serena with little issue, and Dean looks at Chase with uncertainty. “I still can’t climb onto him.”

Chase, as if he understands what Dean is saying, lowers himself to the ground so that Dean can easily climb on. Dean uses his good leg to swing it over Chase, and he grabs onto the front of the saddle tightly, holding him in place as Chase stands as carefully as he can. Chase tries to walk steadily, but there will be times when Dean is jerked to the side. He hisses in pain whenever that happens, but at least Sam got the bleeding to stop.

You’re not taking a stroll, but it’s not at a gallop, either.

“Dean, we can talk more tonight when you come home, okay?” He nods and clenches his teeth in pain. “Oh, and Dean?” You wait for him to look at you to continue. “The next time you draft divorce papers, I won’t hesitate to sign them.”

Dean knows this isn’t you forgiving him, but he also knows this is his sign that you’re willing to move past it. You still have a lot to talk about, though.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I'm never letting you go.”

He beams with joy when he sees the smile you’re fighting to show.

x

In unison the other three of his batch sighed in varying degrees of annoyance, turning back to him.

Hunter pulled off his bucket, his hair was matted in awkward clumps to his face, “Are we really doing this?” His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were squinted: headache probably.

“Yeah- it's too hot Cross.” Wrecker's whine was loud even through his modulator.

Tech turned away, flipping his hand palm down so his holomap activated, “We are approximately 75% of the way to our destination.”

“Awgh why couldn't we just take the ship!” Wrecker's voice was a low whimper, he even stomped his foot for effect.

“You know why Wrecker, the flora is too compact, even I could not fly through it.” Tech explained.

Crosshair popped the seal of his helmet and reached for his canteen and blinked, “Does this planet make things more…vibrant?” Everything in his view felt like it was oversaturated, the color dialed up a touch too high. The green of the vines and roots, to even the fading auburn strains of Tech's hair.

Tech pushed past Hunter to him, movement suddenly more animated, “ Your enhanced sight may be affected by something in the environment. That is facasn-” Hunter cut him off, gripping the top of his chest armor and pulled him to stop.

“Nope, no time for that. We have to make it to the mission point so we can broadcast the signal.”

Tech pouted, “I have left us plenty of time to reach it...”

Hunter looked amused before he pulled his bucket back down over his head, and said, “Well they also have a shower and a bed so the faster we get there-”

“Say no more Sarge!” Wrecker boomed and took off into the vines.

Crosshair sighed, replaced his bucket and followed.

+++++

The heat was unbearable. Crosshair usually took up their six but he was lagging behind now. Each step felt…heavy. And he was unsteady. He tripped again as his boot hit yet another root and he grunted, pausing. He leaned against a very mossy tree, exhaling. Suddenly, as if he just now noticed, even breathing was hard. He quickly scrambled to pull off his bucket, it clattered loudly as he dropped it, inhaling sharply.

“Crosshair?” Hunter's voice sounded fuzzy, like Crosshair was underwater. He shook his head before he stopped, feeling dizzy.

“-osshair?” Crosshair blinked, and even that was hard now.

“-hat is wrong.” Fingers pressed to his neck and he hissed.

“breathing seems fine... overheating.” Hands tilted his face upwards but he fought it, too bright.

Too much.

Too much.

“...Moving.”

He was weightless then but even limb felt heavy. Someone was talking again.

“Faster.”

The rest was a jumbled mess of sounds until-

Cold -

a spray of water to his exposed chest had him gasping, curling away from it, hitting a wall of skin as he backed up.

“Crosshair it is alright, you have a fever, the water will help.” Tech’s voice drifted above him.

A firm hand pressed, open-palmed, to his bare chest, and Crosshair groaned at the touch. It felt-

Perfect.

All parts of him suddenly were laser focused to that point of contact. It was grounding and freeing all at once. Crosshair clawed into the wrist, pressing the palm harder into the skin of his chest.

“Uh-Tech?” Hunter's voice by his ear had him whimpering. The sound of it making his toes curl against the tiles.

“.... plant. Inject..”

“.... procreate.”

Crosshair whimpered again, thrusting upwards. His cock was hard in his soaked blacks now. He needed-

A large hand reached into them and wrapped around his cock then and he cried out- buckling up sharply.

“It's okay Cross.” Wrecker -

He keened as a rough palm and rougher fingers dragged upwards over the hard shape of him. Thighs barracked him in. His cock was leaking everywhere, he had never been so wet. A big thumb rubbed over his dripping slit and Crosshair wanted to cry.

Maybe he was already.

A voice shushed him gently, jerking him slowly but firm. His free hand was pulled up and his fingers plunged into a wet heat, his eyes flying open at the feeling. Hunter smiled around the two fingers between his lips, before kissing Crosshair's damp palm.

“We got you Crosshair.”

Hunter slid between Crosshair's open legs as he sat opposite him, Wrecker's big thighs bracketing them both.

“Hunter - ” Crosshair's voice was a whine and Hunter silenced him with a kiss, one hand pulling at his nipple roughly. Crosshair closed his eyes as another desperate sound left his throat, Wrecker's strokes on his cock harsher now. The head of it was bumping into Hunter's hard stomach, the heat of the skin there was hot and sticky.

A firm tug on his balls had Crosshair breaking free to gasp, his stomach tensing sharply before he was coming. He pressed his face head into Hunter's neck with a sob, knees pressing sharply into Hunter's sides. His cum splashed between their bellies, almost too much. He shook as his stomach muscles continued to squeeze, Hunter's lips pressed to his temple, fingers sprayed out over Crosshair's lower stomach.

Finally when it ended Crosshair sagged back into Wrecker chest to exhale, Hunter pulling away slightly, nails gently scratching at the silver hair by his cock, Wrecker's hand loosely gripping him still, his other hand patting Crosshair flank like one would a startled colt.

Crosshair panted, legs letting go of their grip and said,

“What. The fuck. Was that ?”

Tech's voice came from above them, his head poking out from the second level of the small tower, “I believe it was a toxin produced from the roots of the trees in the area.”

He climbed down a ladder nearby, adjusting his goggles as he looked the three of them over, “It is used to procreate. The small thorns have a toxin that entices creatures so they rub the pollen from the roots and carry it to nearby trees, since this planet does not carry many of the usual pollinators.”

Wrecker laughed, “Oh we rubbed out something alright.” and wiggled Crosshair's limp cock.

Crosshair grunted, slapping at his hand but made no move to cover himself up. He was exhausted. His eyes felt heavy.

“So Crosshair will be fine?” Hunter asked. Crosshair heard Tech hum.

“I believe so, he seems more aware and his temperature has mostly returned to normal.”

A hand patted his cheek lightly, “Do you still feel arousal? A strong urge to touch?”

Crosshair wanted to sleep so he struggled but eventually sighed, “No.”

“Then you are fine. I will monitor you until we leave tomorrow, just to be safe.”

Crosshair grunted, jumping when something warm ran over his stomach.

Hunter eyed him with an amused grin, running the towel over himself after he was done with Crosshair's chest.

Crosshair sat up suddenly, “The signal-”

“Tech sent it.”

Tech sniffed, “I expect to be compensated for missing Crosshair's interesting reaction. I would have liked a recording to review.”

Hunter grabbed Tech’s chin, kissing him, “Later. But you did good. ” He praised.

A rare blush spread over Tech's cheeks.

Wrecker gasped, “I want a kiss.”

Hunter leaned over Crosshair and obliged him.

Crosshair made a weak sound as Hunter pressed into him to do so, his cock twitching.

Everyone paused.

"Fuck." While Thunderwind had been trying to keep the fear to herself, Rook had caught the way her breath hitched. Everyone else started catching on as the ship cut the ocean towards them. Thunderwind sighedm barely managing to keep her composure, and immediately started spreading out the crew as much as possible. "Alright, lads, eyes to the skies! We've pirates on our six, and there ain't no outrunning 'em, so we've gotta prepare ourselves for a fight! Costa, Sereviah, make sure the powder's set. Jodakai, rally everyone below deck. Virati, get yourself armed in case they decide to board!"

The ship descended into chaos immediately. Rook slipped down the rigging and touched base on the deck. As soon as his feet were on solid ground, he started running, barrelling towards the stairs and absently checking his six for the sign of the powder men. He heard footsteps behind him, and turned his head to find them both running after him with just as much haste. The three of them ducked below deck and took just a moment to catch their breath.

"Gracious Nasture, why the hell'd it have to be pirates?" Costa straightened and sighed, pressing his hand into the table.

"And the red flag, too?" Rook could feel the pounding of their heart in their chest, at even the thought of the blood coloured flag. "straight away?"

"What?!"

"They raised the red flag at sight of us."

"Must know the ship," Seriviah reasoned solemnly. "Fuck knows how, Thunderwind has owned this thing forever."

A loud rumble shook them out of their thoughts, and an insane force knocked the three of them off balance and almost slammed them into the wall. Rook pulled himself to his feet, then extended a hand to Sereviah.

"Shit. Go, lads. They're closer than we thought."

The three of them separated as soon as Costa managed to find his footing. Rook ran to the armaments, knowing full well that he'd need to arm himself with some haste if he wanted a fighting chance. It was standard practice on Thunderwind's vessel, but if he had a sword at his side, scaling the rigging would be a far harder and far messier job.

They grabbed a blade just as another rumble shook the hull. This time, something flew past them a few meters ahead, and smashed through the wall on the other side. They instinctively ducked, slamming their hands over their ears.

"Holy shit—!"

The only thing he could count himself lucky for was the fact that the splinters left with the cannonball, extending out beyond the ship and into the sea. Because that had come desperately close to hitting him, and if he was in any way inclined towards it, he'd have started praying.

Instead, they scrambled out back to the top deck and watched the galleon pull up to the side of Thunderwind's ship.

"Brace yourselves!"

Thunderwind's voice rang out clear, and everyone scrambled for purchase as the first of the harpoons clawed into the taffrail.

Rook was tossed to the ground and had to roll to soften the blow. He dug his hand into the planks, trying to stabilise himself. He heard the sound of someone gearing up to cross the gap— the familiar creak of wax-treated rope from a distance— and perked. "Captain!"

Heavy boots thudded against the deck.

Thunderwind looked up, and blanched.

It was too late.

The proud man Rook assumed to be the captain of the galleon strode forth, accompanied by no less than two score of his crew, rugged and vicious-looking. He found Thunderwind quickly, and glanced down towards her from under his brow. "Ah, you must be the esteemed Vellor Thunderwind. Your name certainly preceedes the legends it was wrought in…"

"What do you want?"

"And stalwart, too…" he shook his head. "You have something I want. You know of what I speak, don't you?"

Her silent resignation spoke volumes. She knew exactly what he was talking about, and judging by the weight of the silence, Rook did too.

Their heart bottomed out into their stomach.

The captain smirked. "Here is my proposal. You hand over the contents of your knowledge— in whichever form that may take— and we reconsider what we're about to do to your crew."

Thunderwind narrowed her eyes. "You don't get to board my vessel and lay your claim to something you don't understand."

"You think me ill-informed?"

"I think you a fucking fool."

He laughed— actually laughed— and rested one hand on his sword. "Very well. Tarrance, turn the whole ship upside down if you must."

Thunderwind glanced back and caught Rook's eye.

Run.

The pirates didn't waste a moment, drawing weapons and spreading out. Rook's eyes widened. He understood perfectly what she'd said, but couldn't reason why he would get to escape this if she didn't.

What?

She sighed, desperation laced in her expression. Go! Fucking run!

They scrambled to their feet as someone rounded on them. Hastened as they were to try and fight the order, they knew where it was going to end. So, they pushed themselves into a sprint and made an attempt to outrun the pirates.

Running was what he was good at. A feat of dexterity he'd honed over years, and the fight or flight response deeply imbued into him that seemed to always choose the latter were all he'd brought with him when he'd boarded, and still, he'd intended to put them to good use.

So, they tried. They ducked below one deck, then sprinted through the storage in the hopes of losing their pursuer before they got back to the top. They broke the surface once again, and was met with an onslaught of a number of brigands seemingly waiting for them. They went to turn around, but their pursuer blocked their path.

"Hell you runnin' for, little elf?"

His breath shorted as his pursuers closed in on him. One of the other pirates scoffed, turning to someone else on the deck.

"I think he knows somethin'…"

Their pursuer grabbed them by the shoulders and forced them up the stairs. Thunderwind caught sight of it as soon as the small crowd dissipated and revealed them. They were brought before the pirate captain, fighting though they were, and the pursuer shoved them down onto the deck in front of him.

"This one tried to do a runner. Might know somethin' 'bout Mariana."

Rook's hair fell in front of his eyes, an attempt to hide the knowing look in his eyes that might've given the whole game away. His knees ached with the sudden sting of the planks, and he could see the shadow of the captain looming over him, and had separately acknowledged how afraid that made him, but he was tryin to fight for once instead of choosing the latter option.

"Is that so? Your captain is willing to divulge, after all, it would seem."

Rook refused to say anything. They heard Thunderwind inhale a sharp breath off to the side. What were they doing to her?

Before he could steal a glance in her direction, he felt a barrel pressed to the back of his head, and his own breath hitched.

"I don't ask twice, lad," the pirate growled. "What the fuck do you know?"

Finally, Rook looked up, guided by the barrel of the gun, and dared themself to spare a glance at Thunderwind. She was defiant as ever, but she looked a little hurt, moreso that they'd been caught.

"Ain't shit worth knowing…" Rook muttered in spite of himself. The pistol lifted from his head, and he felt the threat of it about to crack down. He flinched without meaning to, hearing them flip the pistol around.

But nothing happened.

They glanced at the captain, who had raised a hand to stop the action altogether. He crouched, then, meeting their eye and somehow making his intimidating stature even worse. "You needn't compensate. I imagine you're normally hard to find, that's why your dear captain had the good sense to tell you what you know… But you're not incredibly hard to catch. So, do her a favour before you damn more than just yourself."

Thunderwind— when she had told him this in confidence— had him promise not to tell anyone no matter the cost. This was a secret worth his life, and he had vowed to protect it with the same fervour.

As such, he remained silent.

A certain look crossed the captain's face. Rook felt themselves blanche. They knew that look, that was the face of someone who had a plan and was not afraid to have it known.

"Take him. He is of no use to us when they're both together. And while we break her for the plans, I'm sure the lad will confess sooner or later."

He was forced up, staggering to his feet. Thunderwind called out to him, but the pirates on either side of him were far too strong for him to even think of escaping.