A Fairly Reasonable Crashout (RWBY Adam SI)

+++

"Adam! It's time!"

The voice rang out, cutting through the thin walls of our shack like an unwelcome alarm. Not that I needed one. I was already awake, staring at the ceiling as I had been for hours—a habit carried over from my last life.

Imagine that: born a wageslave, died a wageslave, only to reincarnate as one. And not just any wageslave, but a faunus wageslave, working for a company that takes its inspiration from the worst chapters of Gilded Age America. 

"Adam! Come on!"

"I'm coming!" I shouted back, throwing off the thin, scratchy blanket that had done little to keep the cold away. My eyes lingered on the corner of the blanket, where the Schnee Snowflake was boldly stitched in bright blue thread. It wasn't just the blanket. Everywhere I looked, the symbol was there. Stamped on the walls, etched on the furniture, printed on our meager rations. You couldn't escape it. The Schnee Dust Company owned everything—and everyone.

I took a deep breath, trying to shake the familiar weight of hopelessness. Right. Where was I? Oh, yes.

My name is Adam Taurus. In the future that will not be happening, I'll would have been a terrorist, a symbol of resistance, a cautionary tale but right now? I'm just another cog in the Schnee machine, living with my family in a crumbling shack generously "provided" by the company. The same company that owned the lights we flicked on, the water we drank, the tools we worked with. And for all of it, they charged us—every drop, every spark, every breath. And you best believe that if they could charge the air, they would.

Before you think that sounds ridiculous, believe me, I have the receipts.

This was a life of constant debt. You worked for the company to pay the company. And no matter how hard you worked, you never got ahead. The rules were designed that way. Their rules.

I wasn't blind to it. In my last life, I'd been too busy surviving to think about the system that kept me down. I wasn't a protester or a revolutionary. I wasn't the guy holding a sign in the streets, shouting about unfair wages. I was just trying to make ends meet. It sucked for most people but it was comfy enough that I didn't feel the need to be a card carrying revolutionary.

But growing up faunus in this life?

Well...you'll see.

"Adam!" The voice came again, more impatient this time.

I stood, the creak of the floorboards loud in the silence. My eyes caught on the small window by my cot, the glass so caked with grime that the outside world was little more than a blurry smudge of grey. The north of Atlas was cold and tended to snow but sometimes, you could see it. The shining beacon on the hill, the example that we all should look forward and aspire to be.

Atlas.

I bit back the frown on my lips.

That sounded grand, as Ozpin intended. But considering what the ground was actually like, it just felt tone-deaf.

Thanks, Ozpin.

"Adam!" Father screamed. "Get down here or I will drag you here myself!"

I took in a breath.

Time to be a miner.

+++

I pulled my jacket tighter against the biting wind as I stepped out into the street. The town was beginning to stir, the cold air filled with the sounds of creaking doors, muffled conversations, and the occasional cough that echoed through the narrow, uneven alleys. Nicolasburg. A fine name for a town, I thought bitterly, though there wasn't much "fine" about it.

The only buildings here that could be called decent were the pre-fabricated ones. The company store, where you could buy everything from food to pots and pans—at prices that always seemed just a bit higher than they should've been. The clinic, which was little more than a place to patch you up just well enough to get you back to work. And, of course, the overseer's house. A brick monstrosity with a proper roof, glass windows, and even a chimney that puffed out lazy trails of smoke. It stood in stark contrast to the rest of the town, a constant reminder of just how little we had.

The rest of Nicolasburg was a patchwork of shacks, cobbled together from scraps and whatever materials people could scrounge. Some homes were built on top of older, half-collapsed structures, their foundations so uneven you could feel the tilt just walking through the door. My family was lucky, though. At least we had a place to ourselves, thanks to my father's years of hard work. His seniority won him that right. Most families had to share their homes with others, crammed together like sardines in spaces barely big enough for one.

"Adam!" A familiar hand clamped down on my shoulder. I turned to see my father, Ercole Taurus, grinning down at me.

"Father," I greeted him with a small smile.

He shook his head, his grin widening. "Will it kill you to call me Dad for once?"

He was taller than me—broader, too. His age showed in the lines on his face and the streaks of silver in his long hair, which he kept tied in a neat bun. But his presence was warm and steady, a stark contrast to the bleakness that surrounded us.

"I'm not six anymore, Father," I said, emphasizing the word just to annoy him.

He snorted. "Calling me 'Father' like you're some character out of a novel." He shook his head, mock exasperation on his face. "Alright then, my lord. Shall we go earn our keep?"

"Sarcastic ass," I muttered under my breath.

"Your mother married me for that, eh?" he shot back with a wink as we started walking, our boots crunching on the frost-covered dirt road.

The town was alive now, if you could call it that. People moved through the streets with weary expressions, their shoulders hunched against the cold. Most were faunus like us, though a few humans could be seen here and there, usually the ones running errands for the overseer or the company. The humans didn't live here. They had homes in proper towns, far away from the grime and misery of Nicolasburg. They only came here to manage us, to make sure the work got done.

We passed the company store, its windows lined with rows of overpriced goods. A loaf of bread. A sack of flour. My gaze caught on a thick slab of ham, its pale pink surface glistening under the dull light. My stomach twisted, half from hunger, half from knowing how much I'd have to sweat in the mines just to afford it.

I frowned. Would eating pork or even beef be cannibalism now that I was faunus? The thought clung to the back of my mind, absurd but persistent.

"You've got your eye on that ham, don't you, boy?" Ercole said, his deep voice cutting through my thoughts.

I glanced at him, then back at the ham. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, memories of its salty, smoky taste surfacing from a life that felt like it belonged to someone else. I shook my head, forcing myself to look away.

"Maybe when there's something worth celebrating," I muttered.

Father snorted, his horns catching the faint glow of the streetlamp.

"We're alive and not coughing up blood," Ercole said, clapping me on the back. "That's worth celebrating, isn't it?"

"Sure, old man," I said, shrugging his hand off. "But you know what I mean."

Father chuckled, his rumbling laughter low and knowing. The ham stayed in the window, a luxury for someone else, as we walked on.

+++

We gathered around in a loose, shivering crowd, the frosty morning air biting at our fingers and toes. The sky was still gray, refusing to give us the warmth of the sun. I stuffed my hands deep into my jacket pockets, watching in silence as the foreman climbed onto a stack of crates. His boots scuffed against the wood, the sound sharp and grating in the stillness.

He tapped the side of his megaphone, the crackle of static breaking the quiet. Satisfied it was working, he raised it to his mouth and began.

"Good morning, everyone!"

The greeting hung in the air, met with nothing but a faint shuffle of feet and quiet murmurs. No one here had the energy—or the will—to return it. The foreman either didn't notice or didn't care.

"It's another fine day here in Nicolasburg!" he continued, his voice far too cheerful for a man addressing a crowd of exhausted workers. "And I want to start by reminding you all just how lucky you are to be here."

I felt my jaw tighten. Lucky, he said. Like this place was a gift.

"You see," he went on, pacing atop the crates like he was delivering some grand speech to an adoring audience, "it's no secret that times are tough out there. Jobs are hard to come by, especially for... well, for folks like you." His eyes swept over the crowd, lingering just a little too long on the faunus workers. I wasn't sure if he was trying to be subtle or if he thought we were too stupid to notice.

"But here at the Schnee Dust Company," he continued, puffing out his chest like he was proud of what he was about to say, "we believe in giving everyone a chance. Human or faunus, it doesn't matter to us. We're the only company willing to hire faunus workers at competitive wages."

I heard a bitter snort from someone behind me. Competitive wages? What a joke. The pay barely covered the cost of the food and supplies we were forced to buy from the company store. And let's not forget the rent they charged us for the privilege of living in their dilapidated shacks.

"Now," the foreman said, raising a hand like he was delivering some divine proclamation, "I know some of you might feel like you're being worked hard. But let me remind you—this is important work we're doing here. The Dust you mine keeps the world running. It powers the cities, the industry, the future! Without your hard work, none of that would be possible. You're not just laborers—you're the backbone of progress!"

I clenched my fists in my pockets, my nails digging into my palms. Progress for who? The overseers in their brick houses? The executives in their mansions? It sure as hell wasn't for us. We were nothing more than tools to them, worked to the bone and discarded when we broke.

"And let's not forget," the foreman added, his tone taking on a patronizing edge, "that the Schnee Dust Company has been very generous to you all. You've got jobs, homes, access to a clinic. Everything you need to live comfortably right here in Nicolasburg. So when you go into the mines today, I want you to remember that. I want you to remember who's putting food on your tables and clothes on your backs."

I glanced down at my jacket, noticing for the hundredth time the faint outline of the Schnee Snowflake stitched into the fabric. It was on everything we owned—our clothes, our tools, even the damn blankets we slept under. A constant reminder that nothing here was truly ours.

The foreman spread his arms wide, as if expecting applause. "So let's get out there and make today a productive one! And remember: hard work pays off!"

With that, he stepped down from the crates, handing the megaphone off to one of his assistants. The crowd began to disperse, people shuffling off in silence toward the mines. No one said a word, but the resentment in the air was palpable.

I turned to my father, who had been standing beside me the whole time, his face unreadable. "Does he really think we believe any of that?" I muttered.

My father let out a low sigh. "It doesn't matter what we believe. As long as we do the work, they don't care."

He was right, of course. The foreman's speech wasn't meant to inspire us. It was meant to remind us that we were trapped. That no matter how hard we worked, we'd never have anything they didn't give us—and they could take it all away just as easily.

I turned to walk away, but the sharp click of a tongue froze me in my tracks.

I glanced back to see my father, his arms crossed, his brow raised in that expectant way that needed no words.

"Sorry," I muttered, clasping my hands together, the familiar gesture automatic by now.

Father nodded, his expression softening as he began. His voice was low, steady, and reverent.

"Each day I descend into the hole," he intoned.

"To earn my living digging Dust," I followed, the words leaving my mouth like muscle memory.

"I pray to the Brothers above," he murmured, his gaze briefly lifting toward the low ceiling, as if the heavens could hear us even here.

"That I may return to those I love," I continued, my voice quieter now, the familiar ache in my chest rising with each word.

"If somehow death I should meet," he said, his tone growing softer, almost a whisper.

"I want to wake at Their feet," I added, my words faltering slightly.

"I want my loved ones to be sure," he said with a quiet finality, his eyes meeting mine.

"That in Their arms I am secure," I finished, my voice barely audible.

+++

We stepped into the elevator, its metal cage rattling as the worn gears groaned to life. The sound echoed down the shaft, a metallic symphony that set my teeth on edge. My father nodded to the nearest worker, a tired-looking faunus with soot-streaked fur who gave a curt nod in return before turning back to his task. Everyone here was the same: tired, quiet, and resigned. The mines had a way of beating the fight out of you.

The elevator shuddered as it descended, the last slivers of daylight vanishing above us. The air grew colder, damper, as the faint smell of earth and metal filled my nose. Then came the darkness.

Ah yes, the darkness.

Why?

Because faunus could mine in the dark. Most of us had night vision, an "advantage" the company was all too happy to exploit. Why waste money on proper lighting when you could just work your faunus employees into the ground instead?

"Alright," I muttered, letting out a long breath as the lift came to a halt. The gates screeched open, revealing the mine's yawning tunnels. "Time to wageslave."

"You're so negative," my father replied, shaking his head with a small snort.

"Allow me to be bitter in peace," I shot back, clicking my tongue as we stepped out of the lift.

The tunnels stretched out before us, twisting and branching like the roots of some ancient, dying tree. It wasn't entirely dark, though. Here and there, pockets of light glimmered faintly, emanating from the Dust crystals embedded in the rock walls. Their soft, eerie glow painted the cavern in hues of blue, red, and yellow, casting flickering shadows that danced like ghosts.

The crystals were beautiful, blooming in the darkness like flowers made of ice and fire. But they were also deadly. One wrong move—a dropped pickaxe, a careless strike too close to an unstable vein—and the whole tunnel could go up in an instant, taking everyone with it. Dust was volatile, unpredictable. It didn't care if you were careful or careless. It just waited for the right spark.

I glanced to my left as we walked. A group of miners was working on a small vein of fire Dust, their movements slow and deliberate. One of them, a young wolf faunus with ash-coated ears, stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow. His hands were trembling. Fear, exhaustion, or both—it didn't matter. In this line of work, a single tremor could be the difference between life and death.

"Keep moving," my father said, his voice low but firm. He knew what I was thinking. Knew how easy it was to get distracted down here. "Focus on the task, Adam."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat, and followed him deeper into the tunnels. The air grew heavier with each step, the weight of the earth above pressing down on us like a physical force. Every now and then, we passed a collapsed section of tunnel, the jagged edges of broken beams sticking out like splintered bones. Some of these collapses were recent. Others were old, the wood rotted and crumbling, the rubble long since abandoned.

It was a reminder of what could happen. Of what did happen, more often than the company would ever admit.

We reached our assigned section, a narrow tunnel with a faint vein of ice Dust running through the rock. My father handed me a pickaxe, his expression calm but serious.

"Remember," he said, his voice low. "Small strikes. Controlled. Watch for fractures."

"I know," I replied, gripping the pickaxe tightly. My hands felt clammy inside my gloves.

"Do you?" he asked, his gaze piercing. "Because if you don't, we're not leaving this tunnel alive."

I didn't answer. I didn't need to. The weight of his words was enough.

I raised the pickaxe and brought it down against the rock, careful to avoid the glowing vein of Dust. The impact sent a dull vibration up my arms, and a small chunk of stone broke free, clattering to the ground. My father worked beside me, his movements practiced and precise. Together, we chipped away at the rock, inching closer to the vein without disturbing it.

The work was slow, monotonous, and nerve-wracking. Every sound—the crack of the pickaxe, the crumble of stone, even the faint whispers of other miners farther down the tunnel—felt like a warning. Like the mine was alive, watching, waiting for someone to make a mistake.

Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the tunnel. I froze, my heart lurching into my throat. My father stopped too, his ears swiveling toward the sound.

"Hold still," he whispered.

We stood there, motionless, listening. The crack came again, followed by the faint, unsettling groan of shifting rock. Somewhere, a support beam had weakened. The mine was warning us.

"Let's wrap this up," my father said, his voice tight. "Carefully."

I nodded, my hands trembling as I raised the pickaxe again. The rest of the shift passed in tense silence, every moment stretched taut with the fear of what could happen. By the time we filled our cart with the crystals, my arms ached and my nerves were frayed.

As we made our way back to the lift, I couldn't help but glance over my shoulder at the tunnels behind us. The Dust crystals still glimmered softly in the darkness, beautiful and deadly.

+++

For all the hell we endured, break time was the one moment we could breathe. Even the Schnee Dust Company, with all its ruthlessness, wouldn't dare strip that from us. My father and I stood in a long, snaking line, metal containers in hand, as the warm, savory aroma of food cut through the cold, sterile air.

No one survived alone here. In a mining town north of Atlas, you either pulled through together or you didn't pull through at all.

"Alright!" A cheerful voice broke through the murmurs. "Next!"

My father nudged me with his elbow, snapping me out of my haze. I shot him a glare, which only made him smirk. We shuffled forward, and I held out my pan without thinking.

Then, her fingers brushed mine.

The heat from that touch spread faster than fire in a dry field.

"Potato soup with onions and bacon bits!" Pasiphae Sol announced with a radiant smile. She was my age, though her presence made her seem larger than life. Her golden hair framed her face like sunlight breaking through clouds, her emerald-green eyes bright and warm. Her dog-like ears twitched atop her head, fluffy and soft, a giveaway of her faunus heritage.

"Th-thank you," I stammered, clearing my throat as her ladle hovered over my pan, pouring in more than the usual portion.

Her smile widened. "Anything for the strong boys and girls working so hard."

A ripple of knowing glances and grins passed through the line behind me, but I barely noticed. Her eyes lingered on mine, and I felt the weight of her gaze like a secret only we shared.

"Next!" she called out, breaking the spell.

Still, I walked away with purpose, clutching my pan, fully aware of how red my cheeks had turned. The stares from the others were impossible to ignore, but I didn't care. I slipped away, weaving through the vehicles parked nearby, and found my usual spot behind some crates. Hidden from sight, I sat down and ate in silence.

Pasiphae was the daughter of the Sols, faunus migrants from Mistral who had come to Atlas seeking better work. I'd met her a few months ago when she first arrived, lost and unsure. I helped her find her footing, and since then...

"You really ran off like your life depended on it."

Her voice startled me.

I glanced up to see her standing there, smiling, a metal pan in hand, her thick dress swaying slightly in the breeze.

"Didn't want to hold up the line," I muttered.

She laughed softly and sat down beside me without waiting for an invitation. "Good thing Mrs. Fitch let me off early, then."

I shook my head, smirking. "And now you're here to invade my peace."

"Don't see you telling me to leave," she teased, her emerald eyes glinting.

"Unbelievable," I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Let's just eat."

For a while, we did, sharing the meal in quiet companionship.

"How was work today?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"The usual," I said, my voice flat. "Backbreaking, dangerous. Almost had a ceiling collapse on me."

Her spoon froze mid-air. "You're joking."

I stared at her.

"You're not joking," she muttered, her voice low.

"Sadly, no." I shook my head. "Some parts of the mine are ancient. It's a miracle they haven't come down on all of us yet."

Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her dress. "Why don't they fix it?"

"Because hiring more faunus workers is cheaper than repairing the mine," I said, my tone bitter.

Her jaw clenched. "That bastard foreman..."

"It's not just him," I said. "Atlas doesn't care how the Dust gets mined, as long as it keeps flowing."

She set her pan aside, fists clenched in her lap. "I wish my parents had taken us to Vale instead of here. Atlas... it pays well, but it's a nightmare to live through."

I couldn't help the dry laugh that escaped me. "Funny. Vale was the last kingdom to abolish faunus slavery, but somehow, it's still better than this."

"Pay there's garbage, though," I added. "My aunt worked there for years. Faunus wages are even lower than here."

Pasiphae sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Sometimes, I wish I wasn't born faunus."

I paused, looking at her. "What can you do about it? It's not like we get to respawn and try again until we're born rich and human."

She laughed—a soft, bitter sound. "If I was born rich, I'd make sure my workers had dignity. Not this."

"Pasiphae Sol, Industrial Tycoon," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Has a certain ring to it."

"Pasiphae Taurus, you mean." She winked.

I sighed as she shifted closer, her shoulder brushing mine.

"I'm covered in dust," I warned her.

"And?" she asked, her tone defiant.

"You're impossible," I muttered, but I didn't stop her when she leaned against me. Her head rested lightly on my shoulder, and for a moment, the world around us faded.

"I've been saving up," I whispered after a while. "Enough to get us out of here soon."

She didn't move, but her voice was soft. "You're still set on going to your aunt?"

I nodded. "I'd rather work a field than risk my life in a mine."

She held me, as if I was her lifeline. "Then back to Mistral I go, I suppose." 

I turned to her, and she reached up to cup my cheek, her smile warm and unwavering. "You are truly determined," I sighed.

"I've told you before," she said, her voice steady. "As long as I'm with you, I don't care where we are."

And then, she kissed me.

The world around us disappeared as her lips met mine, slow and deliberate. My heart pounded as her fingers curled into my hair, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered.

She pulled back, her eyes half-lidded, her lips curling into a sly smile.

Her gaze dropped, and she giggled softly. "Oh?"

I snorted, unashamed. "I am a bull faunus, you know."

Her laughter was quiet, mischievous. "I know."

"Still," I said, my voice low, "I'm dirty and smelly."

She raised a brow, her smile teasing. "And?"

A glance around. The mine was still alive, but here, tucked behind old machinery, we were unseen. I gave a single nod.

Her grin widened as she reached down. Unzipped. Warm fingers curled around thick, aching flesh. Her cheeks burned as she took a slow, deep inhale. Then—

Soft lips parted. Heat. Pressure. A swirl of tongue.

I leaned back, exhaling sharp as her head dipped lower.

Her tongue pressed firm against the head, tracing the ridge before dragging down the length with slow, deliberate strokes. Heat pooled low in my gut, sharp and insistent, my breath coming faster as her lips wrapped around me, soft and wet.

She took me in inch by inch, her mouth stretching around my girth, eyes flicking up to meet mine—mischievous, green, glittering. The sight sent a jolt through me. I gritted my teeth, watching as she worked her way down, her hands gripping my thighs for balance.

"Pasiphae—"

She hummed, the vibration shooting through me, her fingers tightening as she bobbed her head in a slow, teasing rhythm. Warmth, suction, the wet glide of her tongue along sensitive flesh—it was almost too much, almost unbearable in the best way.

The cold air bit at my exposed skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of her mouth. I reached down, tangling my fingers into her thick golden hair, guiding her, though she hardly needed it. She was already setting a pace, hollowing her cheeks as she took me deeper, swallowing me down with a quiet, obscene sound.

I sucked in a breath, hips jerking despite myself. She took it, her throat flexing around me, nails digging into my legs. She pulled back slowly, tongue dragging along the underside before she released me with a slick pop, her lips red and shining.

"You taste…" she murmured, voice husky, breath misting in the cold air. She grinned, licking her lips. "Strong."

"Yeah?" I exhaled, pulse pounding.

She wrapped a hand around me, stroking slowly, deliberately. "Mhm." She kissed the tip, her thumb circling the head, teasing, tormenting. "Want me to keep going?"

A sharp exhale. A nod.

Her grin widened. Then she dove back down, taking me deeper than before, until her nose nearly brushed my stomach. My jaw tightened, breath hissing through my teeth as she swallowed around me, her tongue pressing firm.

Fuck.

I tilted my head back, eyes shut tight, as she worked me over, relentless, eager, every movement sending another spike of pleasure racing through me. The sounds—the slickness, the quiet moans, the way she hummed in satisfaction as I twitched in her mouth—drove me closer, faster.

"Pasiphae," I warned, voice rough.

She didn't stop. If anything, she went faster.

I groaned, fingers tightening in her hair, my entire body going taut as I hit the edge—then crashed over it.

Heat, pressure, release. She took it all, swallowing greedily, her throat flexing as she drank me down, not spilling a drop. Even as I sagged back, breathless, spent, she licked her lips, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, smirking up at me.

"Still dirty and smelly?" she teased.

"You're impossible."

She grinned, eyes twinkling, before she tucked herself into my side, resting her head against my shoulder. The cold wind bit at us, the distant sound of machinery a reminder that the world hadn't stopped for us—but in that moment, nothing else mattered.

"We'll get out of here," I murmured.

She sighed softly, nuzzling closer. "I know."

Pasiphae was still pressed against me, her breath warm against my skin, her fingers tracing slow, idle circles along my thigh. The wind bit at my exposed skin, but I barely felt it. Not with the heat still curling low in my gut, not with the way she looked up at me, lips swollen, eyes dark with something unspoken but undeniable.

Her hand drifted, fingertips grazing over my stomach, lower, teasing. My body tensed at the featherlight touch.

"You're insatiable," I muttered, voice rough.

She hummed, tilting her head. "You love it."

She wasn't wrong.

My fingers curled around her chin, tilting her face up to mine. Her breath hitched, eyes flicking between mine. She licked her lips, then parted them slightly as if waiting, expecting.

I didn't make her wait long.

The kiss was bruising, all hunger and heat, no hesitation. My hand tangled in her golden hair, pulling her against me as she melted into the kiss, her body pliant, eager. She made a small sound against my lips, something between a sigh and a whimper, her fingers clutching at my shirt, at my arms, pulling me closer like she couldn't stand the space between us.

"Adam—"

Her voice was breathless as I shifted, pinning her beneath me against the crate, my knee slipping between her legs. Her dress bunched around her thighs, and I could feel the heat radiating from her, could hear the sharp inhale as I pressed against her.

"Say you want this," I rasped, my lips brushing against her jaw, against the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

She gasped as I rocked against her, her body arching into mine, seeking friction, seeking anything. "You know I do," she breathed.

"Say it."

Her fingers dug into my back, her breath ragged. "I want you."

I didn't wait. There was no patience left, no room for slow, careful movements. This was hunger, raw and unfiltered, born from months of stolen glances, fleeting touches, whispered words in the dark.

My hands were on her thighs, rough palms sliding over soft skin, pushing fabric higher, feeling the way she trembled beneath me. Her breath hitched as I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her undergarments, as I dragged them down, as I pressed against her and felt just how ready she was.

"Adam—please—"

A low growl rumbled in my throat as I captured her lips again, swallowing her pleas, feeling her body tense—then yield.

She clung to me as I pushed forward, as I filled her, as she gasped into my mouth, nails raking down my back. It was all heat, all pressure, all desperation. She met every movement, hips lifting to meet mine, breath breaking into soft, desperate noises as I set a relentless pace.

"Fuck—" I ground out, my forehead pressing against hers, our breath mingling, ragged and uneven.

Her hands clutched at me, pulling me closer, deeper, like she wanted to lose herself in me completely. Her body trembled beneath mine, and I could feel it building in her, feel the way she tightened, the way her breath hitched, the way she was right there on the edge.

"Adam—" My name was a plea, a gasp, a broken whisper.

I didn't let up. I couldn't let up. Not when she was falling apart beneath me, not when I could feel my own control slipping, my own body coiling tight with need.

One more movement. One more deep, claiming thrust. And then—

She shattered.

A sharp cry, her body arching, tightening, gripping. The feeling sent me crashing after her, pleasure slamming through me like a live wire, leaving me breathless, shaking, utterly spent.

For a moment, neither of us moved, the only sound our ragged breathing, the distant hum of machinery reminding us the world still existed beyond this stolen moment.

Pasiphae exhaled a shaky breath, her fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles along my back. "So much for break time being relaxing," she murmured, voice hoarse.

I let out a breathless laugh, pressing my forehead to hers. "Worth it."

We stayed in silence, enjoying each other's company, before finally, a bell rang. 

Back to work.

"We should clean up," I exhaled, pressing one last kiss against her temple before pulling away. She let out a small noise—half-protest, half-contentment—but shifted, legs untangling from mine, her dress slipping back down over her thighs. Her retriever ears twitched as she shivered, still flushed, still warm.

"Mhm," she hummed, stretching her arms over her head before smirking. "You first."

I rolled my eyes but reached for my belt, securing my pants before standing. The ground crunched beneath my boots as I took a few steps toward a half-rusted water drum nearby, rainwater pooled inside. It wasn't much, but it would do.

I scooped some into my hands, rubbing at my face, my neck, feeling the grime mix with sweat before dripping away. The water was ice-cold, shocking me back to full awareness. Behind me, Pasiphae shuffled, adjusting her dress, tying her hair back with a loose ribbon.

"Not even gonna offer to help me clean up?" she teased.

I shot her a look over my shoulder. "I think you had your fun already."

She laughed softly, stepping up beside me. The dim floodlights caught her face, her eyes still dark with the remnants of pleasure, her lips pink and swollen from kisses. She dipped her fingers into the water, splashing some onto her face, rubbing at her throat where my mouth had left faint marks.

"You didn't hold back at all," she mused, tilting her head.

"You didn't want me to."

She grinned. "True."

I grabbed a worn-out cloth from my pocket, handing it to her. She dabbed at her skin, cleaning the last traces of what we'd done, though nothing could erase the way her body still hummed with satisfaction.

She caught me watching, smirking as she wiped at her chest, slower than necessary.

"You're insufferable," I muttered.

"And yet, you love it."

I snorted, tossing the rag back toward the drum. Around us, the distant clatter of work still carried through the air, the murmur of exhausted voices preparing to return to their shifts. Pasiphae ran her fingers through her hair one last time before sighing.

"Back to reality?"

"For now," I said. Then I paused. "We should just get married."

She stopped mid-step.

For a moment, the distant clatter of machinery, the murmur of tired workers, the hum of Atlas-made engines all faded into nothing.

Then she turned.

Pasiphae looked at me, her green eyes flickering with something I couldn't quite name—shock, amusement, curiosity, something deeper just beneath the surface. Her retriever ears twitched once.

"You're serious."

"Yeah." I met her gaze without hesitation. "Why wait? We already know what we want."

She blinked, then let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "Adam Taurus, are you actually proposing to me while we're standing next to a rusted water drum, covered in sweat and dust?"

I crossed my arms. "Do you want me to get down on one knee?"

That made her laugh again—full, warm, something real. But then it softened. She stepped back toward me, tilting her head, searching my face.

"You really mean it."

"I do." I reached out, catching her hand, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. "We're gonna leave this place anyway. We'll have nothing but each other out there. Why not make it real?"

Her fingers curled around mine.

"No ring," she teased, but her voice was quiet, thoughtful.

"I'll get you one. The best damn ring out there, with glitter too."

She huffed, but I could see the way her cheeks darkened, the way she chewed her lip. "You're really something, you know that?"

"So?" I squeezed her hand. "Yes or no?"

She exhaled sharply, glancing away for half a second before turning back to me, her grip tightening.

"Yes," she whispered.

The word settled deep in my chest, solid and certain. I pulled her close, one hand resting against the small of her back, the other cupping her jaw as I pressed my forehead against hers.

"Then it's done," I murmured.

Her breath hitched, her fingers digging into my arms, clinging to me. For a moment, we just stood there, caught in something bigger than either of us.

"We're really doing this," she said, almost in disbelief.

"Yeah." I smirked. "Hope you're ready to be Pasiphae Taurus."

She laughed again, breathless. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you love it."

Her lips brushed against mine, soft but certain. "I do."

+++

That night, freshly bathed but bone-tired, I sank into the creaking wooden chair in the dim glow of our family home. The single bulb above us buzzed faintly, casting weak, uneven light that flickered with the hum of the generator outside. The air hung thick with the mingling scents of soap, damp earth, and the faint metallic tang of the mines that clung to everything, no matter how hard you scrubbed.

My father sat across from me, his weathered hands wrapped around a dented tin cup. Whatever he was drinking was strong enough to make his nose twitch, but not enough to soften the sharp focus in his eyes. He hadn't said much since we'd gotten home, his silence as much a part of the routine as the aching muscles and the dirt-stained walls.

I leaned back, the chair groaning under my weight, and cleared my throat.

"I married Pasiphae."

The words hung there, heavy and bare, like the first strike of a pickaxe against stone.

My father's hand paused mid-motion, the cup hovering just below his lips. His sharp eyes flicked up to meet mine, narrowing slightly. He set the cup down with a deliberate clink, the sound cutting through the quiet like a blade.

"You what?"

"I married her," I repeated, my voice steady but my heart pounding. "This morning. We talked about it and we just decided. No ceremony, no papers. Just us. It felt right."

He leaned back, his chair scraping against the floor as he studied me. For a moment, I thought he might laugh or yell—or worse, say nothing at all. But instead, he just stared, his expression unreadable.

"Does she know what she's gotten herself into?" he asked finally, his voice low and gravelly.

I frowned. "We aren't kids, Dad. We know what we're doing."

His lips twitched, but it wasn't quite a smile. "Knowing and doing don't always line up, boy."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "We're not asking for your blessing. I'm just telling you. Pasiphae and I... we're in this together. And I'll make it work."

For a moment, he didn't respond, his eyes locked on mine like he was weighing something I couldn't see. Then, with a sigh, he reached for his cup and took a long drink, the liquid sloshing faintly.

"Pasiphae's a good girl," he said finally, his voice softer now. "Better than you deserve, probably. But if you're serious, you'd better make damn sure you keep her safe. This world... it's not kind to people like us."

I nodded, my throat tightening. "I know."

"We've got to celebrate, then," Father snorted, a wry grin tugging at his lips. "What about that ham, huh?

​"I don't have enough savings for that," I warned him. "And Pasiphae doesn't exactly mind t-"

"Hush, and allow us to enjoy this too. Everyone knows about how sweet you two are. It's like watching a cute soap opera," he laughed. "I'll pool in my savings. And maybe I can talk to her parents about pitching in."

​I raised an eyebrow. "You serious?" 

"I am," he nodded. "And besides, it's not as if anything else is going to happen at the moment."

+++

A/N: Do keep in mind the title of this is A Fairly Reasonable Crashout. 

I am sure you know where this is going.