#But I’ve clawed at my shoulders recently and feel shit about it

[astral-catastrophe]

Anyway it’s so funny to me because if asked, I’d say I’ve got nothing to worry about , but when I think of my current situation happening to anyone else, it makes me sad

[lunarbuck]

Reset - Three

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Pairing: The Winter Soldier x f!Reader

WC: 5.3k

He is carved from darkness. Hell's creation, a thing of nightmares.

Warnings/Tags: descriptions of violence, description of injury, fear, swearing

series masterlist | my masterlist | ao3 | @hydravictrix | fic playlist

AN: thank you @cwbucky for beta reading!!! Please let me know what you think <3

chapter 2 / chapter 4

Soldat

The ride back to the compound is quick despite my distracted thoughts. I am captivated by this new information about моя куколка’s family, friends, and life. It is more than I could have wished for. It is more than she would have granted had I asked.

When I arrive back at the compound, there is a pull in my gut; I need to see her. It has been too long. I wonder what Rollins has done with her during the hours I was away.

Before I see her, I need to check in with Pierce. He is probably back in his office after doing his rounds and checking in on his subordinates. 

I find him at his desk, typing something into his computer. Internet access has been restricted, people outside of Hydra’s compounds and residences can’t use it. This was done early on to prevent communication, but the resistance often finds ways around it.

Pierce glances up from his work and gives me a once-over when I enter the office. I’m still wearing my tactical gear and my weapons. He doesn’t like seeing me armed. He knows I am dangerous, that I could kill him if I wanted.

I won’t. Not yet. 

“Mission report,” he says, returning his eyes to the screen in front of him. 

“Intel gathered on the new SHIELD resistance leader Lucas Glover.” I rattle off what I’ve learned and explain what I took photos of. I leave out my visit to the SHIELD safehouse. I don’t mention what I have learned about the prisoner, even though the information would probably be helpful to Pierce. It is for my ears and eyes only.

“Good work, Soldier. Dismissed.” He waves his hand in the way I hate, flapping at me like I am a dog. I turn on my heel and head down the hall. I know I should remove my weapons, but I don’t want to delay seeing her any more than I already have. 

The hallways were cleaned recently, and my boots squeak against the waxed tile. I am surely scuffing it, marring its glossy texture. I turn corners, mindlessly making my way to her cell. I know I should question the way she occupies my thoughts. It is dangerous, she is dangerous, but I cannot stop myself.

I hear a loud thud coming from the direction of her holding cell, and the hair on the back of my neck raises. What is going on? I hear her scream, and my blood runs cold. I calmly walk down the hall toward the sound of fists beating flesh, trying not to speed up my steps.

When I round the corner, I see моя куколка on the ground, spitting blood. Rumlow grabs her by her hair and hauls her up so Rollins can strike her again.

“Fucking bitch,” Rollins grunts, shaking out his hand before crouching down to look her in her eyes. “If you’d just listen for once, we wouldn’t have to do this. All you had to do was be good.”

They can’t touch her like that; they weren’t supposed to fucking touch her. I can’t stand to watch it anymore, and without thinking, I close the distance between them and me.

I grab Rollins by his collar and throw him back against the wall. He lands with a thud but recovers quickly.

“Calm down, big guy,” Rumlow says, still holding onto моя куколка. His knuckles are split and bloody, staining her hair. “Nothin’ to see here.” I swing my left arm into place and roll my shoulders back.

“You defied Pierce,” I say, turning around to stare down Rollins. “You touched her.”

Куколка 

Rumlow’s grip on your arm is firm; it feels like he’s about to break your bone. You bring your other hand up and claw at his fingers, but it does nothing. He’s too distracted by the Soldier.

“I didn’t do shit,” Rumlow says, rolling his eyes. Rollins tries to come at the Soldier, but he is armed. His metal fingers deftly grab a knife from a holster on his leg, spinning it through his fingers before lodging it in Rollins’ leg. He howls in pain, and the Soldier rips the blade from Rollins, wiping it on the fabric of the injured man’s pants.

“You touched her,” the Soldier says. It sounds almost as if he cares, but maybe that’s because you’re concussed. Rumlow gives up his hold on you and tosses you to the ground. You land hard, and you’re too disoriented to save yourself.

The Soldier turns on Rumlow and quickly takes him to the ground, pinning him against the tile. It is clear that when the Soldier puts his mind to something, no one can stop him. Rumlow puts up a good fight but eventually gives in and relents.

“Get the fuck off me,” he grunts as the Soldier presses the man’s face into the ground.

“Never touch her again,” the Soldier says, voice cold. It makes you shiver.

“Fine, whatever, fuck off.” The Soldier allows Rumlow to stand then turns to you. Something swims in his eyes, some far-off emotion that you can’t name. He kneels down next to you and runs his fingers along your hairline, looking for the source of your bleeding. He holds the weight of your head in his hands, and you don’t fight it. 

Your body aches all over. There isn’t one place that wasn’t subject to Rollins and Rumlow’s beatings. The Soldier’s hands hook around your back and under your knees, lifting you up. He presses you against his chest, and you let your head fall against him. For the first time since your capture, you’re not worried about what will happen next. All you can think of right now is the warmth of the Soldier’s body against yours and the sound of his heart beating in your ears.

The Soldier brings you back to your cell and lays you down gently on the cot. Your vision blurs as he turns you on your side, curling your limbs up into your chest. He steps away, and your gut twists.

When he returns, you hear the rustling of his tactical gear as it falls to the floor. Beneath it, he wears black cargo pants and a black t-shirt. You try to focus on him, on his eyes, but you can’t. Unconsciousness creeps into the corners of your vision, and you let your eyes fall shut.

“No, no, you can’t do that right now ангел (angel),” the Soldier says, running his thumbs over your cheeks. The chill of metal fingers sends shivers down your spine, and you fight against the urge to keep your eyes closed. For a brief moment, you focus on his eyes. They’re striking, a shade of blue you swear doesn’t exist anywhere else.

He nods and moves away, dragging over a bowl of water. He dips a rag into it and begins to wipe the blood off of your face. You’re not sure where he found all of this. The water is warm, and you let out a gasp at the feeling. 

The Soldier smirks; it is almost a smile. 

Once he has cleaned the wounds on your face, he shifts and begins to undress you. He removes your shirt and pants but leaves your underwear, surprising you. He wets the cloth in the now murky water and cleans your arms. He starts at your shoulder and, with careful fingers, wipes at your skin. 

He is focused on the spot he’s cleaning, never letting his attention stray. His gaze burns, but you don’t move. The silence in the cell is deafening, and even though your mind is hazy, you know you have to try now. You won’t get another chance like this.

“What does it mean?” You croak quietly. The Soldier continues cleaning your hands, your fingers.

“What does what mean?” He replies quietly. The Soldier’s voice always surprises you. There there is something almost sweet in the gravelly sound.

“Ahn-gel,” you say, butchering the pronunciation of the word. He smirks and huffs out a breath; it is almost a laugh.

“Ангел,” he corrects, watching your face. He does not explain further as he shifts you to clean the other side of your body. “What happened?” He asks, cleaning beneath your fingernails.

You think back to this morning when Rollins came to your cell, how he’d cooed in one breath and tore you down in another. 

“Rollins came this morning, said you had the day off. He took me to that room with the chair, and I didn’t want to go, so I tried to get away. He didn’t like that, so he beat me. Rumlow showed up, and they put me in the chair. It hurt so much today.” The Soldier’s fingers pause on your abdomen.

“Why were they beating you when I found you?” There is a new gruffness in his voice, an urgency that hadn’t been there before. Bile rises in your throat as you recall the events of just a few moments ago.

“They wanted me to shower, they were tearing at my clothes, trying to–” your voice catches in your throat, and the Soldier shakes his head. He holds your face in his hands, so you have no choice but to stare into his eyes.

“They will never touch you again, ангел. Never.” Your eyes water; how did it get to this point. How have you strayed so far? His eyes scan your face. You must have a far-off look in your eye, considering the concern written in his gaze.

“Bucky,” you whisper, resting your hands on his wrists. The Soldier stiffens but allows you to run your fingers along his arms, up to his shoulders and neck, until you reach his face. Your fingers graze over his skin, his scars. He is carved from darkness. Hell’s creation, a thing of nightmares. At your touch, something in his eyes cracks. His lips part as your hands explore further up. You trace over his cheekbones, his nose, his brow bone.

“No,” he replies, matching your quiet volume. “Soldat.” His hands shift from your face down to your neck and shoulders until he’s holding you around your ribcage. His strength, his power pulses through his fingers, the hands that hold you and clean up could kill you in an instant.

“James.” His name comes to you as easily as breathing, as easy as living. The Soldier’s grip tightens on you, fingers digging into your ribs. He breathes deeply through his nose and shuts his eyes tightly. 

“Don’t.” You rub your thumbs along his cheekbones, letting your fingers find the length of his brown hair. Before, you said that maybe in another life, he could have been beautiful. You were wrong. He is beautiful in this life; he is striking.

When the Soldier opens his eyes, there is something new in them. They are clear like a storm has passed. He draws his hands back up your torso to your face, cradling you in a way you hadn’t thought possible from the man. 

Something has shifted between the two of you. You’re not sure when it happened, when your hatred for this man changed, but you know it is dangerous. To be truthful, you’re not sure you ever truly hated him. What kind of person does that make you? How could you not hate the man that killed the person you loved? 

You’d thought the Soldier was a monster; maybe there is more to him than you realized.

“Sleep,” he says, tilting your head to rest on your threadbare pillow. “I will fix this.” The Soldier pulls a blanket over your body and helps you curl yourself in it. His hands trace the curve of your jaw before he stands to exit the cell. The lights turn off when he opens the door. 

“Goodnight, James,” you say quietly into the darkness.

“Goodnight, ангел.”

You dream of Steve.

“You look like such a baby in this one,” you said through loud laughter, pointing to a picture of young Steve Rogers.  

“I had a baby face, don’t be mean,” Steve chided, plucking the photo from your fingers. You pouted, and he kissed your cheek. “I’m not gonna let you look at these if you’re just gonna make fun of me. What happened to you being my sweet girl?” He asked with a goofy smile. You rolled your eyes and leaned into his side. He knew you were just kidding, but you still felt a little bad. 

“Let me make you dinner tonight to make up for it,” you offered, glancing up at your handsome companion. Steve wiggled his eyebrows in approval, and you burst out into another fit of laughter. 

It was so easy with Steve, so effortless. 

He picked you up and placed you in his lap, your legs wrapped around his torso. You looked up into his bright blue eyes and his big dumb grin. 

“You think I’m gonna forgive you that easy?” He asked with mock confusion.  

“Uh yeah, I do. In fact, I know you’re gonna. I can read you like a book Cap,” you replied, tapping him on the nose. Steve plastered on an exaggerated frown, but you were immune to the puppy dog eyes. Eventually, he relented and let you go shopping for groceries. He helped you carry them and everything like the gentleman he was. 

That night after you’d both eaten, Steve dimmed the lights and put on an old record of his. Soft jazz music played through the grainy speaker as you and Steve swayed to the beat. Your head rested against his chest, and he leaned down, pressing his lips to the top of your head.  

Steve hummed along to the song; the sound rumbled in his chest and tickled your ears. Some days, you couldn’t believe he was real. That he was with you. Some days, it was too good to be true. But then he’d pick you up, swing you around, and all those doubts flew away. 

“I love you, sweet girl,” he’d whisper against your hair. “I love you so much.”

You wake to pain coursing through your body. You’ll be feeling the lingering effects of yesterday’s beating for a while. Slowly, you push yourself up and lean against the concrete wall behind your bed. The cool material shocks your skin, but you don’t move away.

There is no evidence from the Soldier’s visit. He must have gathered his gear, the bowl, and your bloody clothes when he left. You notice a pile of folded clothes beside your cot, a t-shirt, and pants just like always. You must’ve been too out of it to notice.

You dress with shaky fingers, fumbling with the zipper on the pants, but eventually, you’re clothed. There is no food by your door, but you’re not sure you’d be able to stomach anything right now. 

Footsteps thud outside, and your heartbeat speeds up. The weight of the steps is familiar; it is the Soldier. He opens your cell door and steps inside, letting it shut behind him. In one hand, he holds a plum, and in the other, a small knife. He stares down at you for a moment before crouching beside the cot.

“It is the afternoon. I was instructed to remove your first meal of the day, but you need to eat.” Now that the Soldier is closer to you, you can see faint purple bruising below one of his eyes, remnants of a split lip, and blood along his hairline.

Without thinking, you reach up and brush the seam of his lips, feeling for the injury. You know that with the serum, his wounds heal quickly; these are recent. He must have received them this morning.

“What did they do to you?” You whisper, forgetting yourself for a moment. The Soldier does not move. He doesn’t remove your hand from his face. 

“Do not worry about me, моя куколка,” he says, shaking his head. “You must eat.” You slowly drop your hand and take the plum from his awaiting palm. The Soldier presses the small knife into your hand next, and you watch as the blade glints in the harsh cell light. 

You cut the plum into a few pieces, and the Soldier watches each movement. He surely is breaking many rules by bringing you food and a weapon; what does this mean?

“Was that because of me?” You ask, watching the bruises fade from his skin. You’d watched Steve heal many times, but it never ceased to amaze you. The Soldier sits beside you on the cot, and it sinks with his added weight. You place a piece of the plum against your tongue, letting the sweet fruit fill your senses. It’s almost too much, but it tastes incredible.

“No,” the Soldier replies. When you’ve fully cut up the plum, you hand the knife back to the Soldier, holding the blade in your fingers to offer him the handle. A voice deep in your mind, so deep you can barely hear it, screams at you for giving it back. You could’ve used it, hidden it, and tried to escape. Another part of your mind, this one much louder, knows that you never could’ve escaped using such a small blade. There are too many people in this compound. You never could’ve taken them all.

“Then why?” The Soldier wipes the plum juices off the blade before tucking it away into a pocket. You eat another piece of fruit.

“It is not important.” You nod and continue eating until the plum is long gone. You want more, craving the sugary sweetness of the fruit. When the Soldier sees you’re done, he stands and helps you up. “We need to go.”

For a moment, you think he won’t cuff you, but that thought is quickly extinguished when he pulls out the manacles. Your heart aches, but you’re not sure why. Did you really think that he would forget that you are his prisoner? That you are a member of the resistance? Your naïvete has seemingly returned with a vengeance. It is dangerous.

Once the Soldier has secured your wrists, he leads you out of the cell and down a familiar hallway. You know where he is taking you. The electrocution chair haunts your waking moments as well as your nightmares. 

When you enter the electrocution room, Pierce, Rumlow, and Rollins all stand around the chair. Rumlow and Rollins look pissed, but Pierce seems pleased. The Soldier stiffens at your side and guides you to the chair. He shoves you into the seat, and in an instant, Rollins is beside you with the rubber mouthpiece.

Pierce stands in front of you and takes the mouthpiece from Rollins, holding it between two fingers. “You’re strong,” he says, regarding you with suspicious eyes. “But you are not strong enough to fight this forever.” Rollins and Rumlow exchange a look that does not bode well for you.

“I’ll never stop,” you whisper, but you know you’re lying to yourself. You’ve already given up so much; you’ve already let the Soldier in. You’ve lost.

“If you want to live, you’ll reconsider.” Pierce doesn’t give you an opportunity to respond; he shoves the mouthpiece between your teeth and grips your jaw so you can’t spit it back out on him. He nods to his men before stepping away. The chair whirrs to life, and the torture begins.

You’re not sure how long it lasts before Pierce tells Rumlow to stop. Your eyes fall upon the Soldier, searching for what though, you’re not sure. You want comfort, and despite what he has shown you recently, you know that the Soldier cannot bring you that. Instead, he shifts his eyes to Pierce and nods.

The Soldier opens his mouth, and as he speaks, your head begins to throb. Your vision swims, and you find yourself unable to focus on anything other than Pierce. He motions to the Soldier then steps toward you. He grabs your chin, turning your head to look at him. “Lucas Glover,” he says with a smirk. Pierce gently removes the mouthpiece from between your teeth, and your jaw hangs open. You’re panting, unable to get enough air.

“Lucas Glover,” you repeat, though your tongue feels like lead in your mouth. The name is familiar, and a hazy face flashes in your mind. He knew Steve, this much you’re sure of, though why would Pierce care?

“Why’s she taking so long?” Rumlow asks loudly from behind Pierce, though you don’t shift your eyes to him. You can’t seem to get them to move away from Pierce’s intense gaze.

“She is working on it,” Pierce replies calmly. He crouches down in front of you, so he has to look up to keep eye contact. “Lucas Glover, you know him, right?”

As if not controlled by your own brain, your head nods. 

“Good. How do you know him?” You furrow your brow, trying to place Lucas in your memories. They float through your mind, showing you glimpses of a life that seems so far away that it couldn’t possibly have been yours.

“SHIELD,” you say quietly. Pierce smiles; it is not a kind thing. He nods, encouraging you to continue. “He was an intern. Very promising.” Though you know the man in front of you has not always treated you well, you’re happy he’s asking so nicely. He could hurt you easily if he wanted to.

“Do you think Mr. Glover knows anything about the remaining safe houses?” Safe houses. Something about that word makes you feel nervous. You sense a tugging in your gut, a need to tell him what you know.

“Yes.” You need to say more; the look Pierce gives you confirms this suspicion. Something about this feels wrong. You want to tell him the truth. It feels good when you do. So why is there a piece of you that wants to keep the information to yourself? Your head spins as you try to keep your mouth closed. You know you need to say something. You feel like you’ll explode if you don’t. Pain spreads through your chest, down your arms and legs. It licks at your fingers and up your neck.

“What do you know of the remaining safe houses? You’ve told me there are some in the midwest. Do you know anything more specific?” You bite your tongue, but it is a losing battle, and you’re not strong enough to fight anymore.

“Yes.” Pierce’s eyes scream more. “Chicago,” you whisper as relief rushes over your body, cool water to ease your pain. 

“Chicago,” Pierce repeats before standing again. Rollins approaches, tilting your chin and placing his thumb against your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. Your jaw easily falls open, and he positions the mouthpiece back against your teeth. Your heart races; hadn’t you done well? You’d answered his questions. Why punish you more. Tears slip from the corners of your eyes, wetting your cheeks.

“Fuck,” Rollins groans, removing his thumb from your lip to wipe at your tears. He brings his finger to his mouth and tastes it. “Even sweeter than last time.”

The torture goes on. Your only relief comes with Pierce’s questions, though by the time the Soldier removes you from the chair, you are on the brink of unconsciousness. Tonight he does not clean you up. He does not make you promises of safety and security. He leaves you in the dark cell, and you cry for a man from lifetimes ago, one you will never see again.

You wake to his footsteps thundering down the hallway. The Soldier pushes your cell door open and steps inside. You shift on your cot to look at him, but your body aches with every movement. 

“You need to train,” he says, regarding you from the door. He does not make a move to help you up. What happened to the man that brought you the plum? That saved you from your beating?

You groan, pushing yourself up until you’re standing. For a moment, you stare down at your bare feet against the cold concrete floor. Maybe, if you closed your eyes, you could pretend that you were in the bathroom of your apartment. No matter the season or temperature outside, the tile was always unrelentingly cold. It was awful in the mornings when you’d just pulled yourself away from Steve’s warm embrace, but it was a comfort on days when you ran a fever and had to sit by the toilet.

Steve always took care of you when you were sick. He’d make you soup, get you ice cream, and wrap you up until you felt better. Gotta take care of my girl, he’d always say. If you don’t feel good, I don’t feel good. 

You wiggle your toes, lifting them from the cool flooring, and rock back onto your heels. After a long day of training, Steve would draw you a bath. He’d add lavender oil to the water and light you candles. He would massage your body with gentle fingers.

Steve’s fingers worked down your back, finding a new knot from training with Natasha. He leaned down and kissed your shoulder as he worked out the knot.  

“Did she do that weird spin move on you?” He asked, moving his lips against your skin. You were lying on your stomach on the bed, and Steve straddled your hips, sitting on top of you.  

You groaned as he increased the pressure of his fingers. “Yeah, but I kinda asked her to.” Steve chuckled as he sat back up. Once he worked out the knot, he let his fingers trail up and down your back, sending shivers up your spine. 

“You never learn, pretty girl,” he whispered. “But that’s why I love you.” He scratched your back lightly before moving up into your scalp. He always knew how to make you feel better.  

Metal fingers wrap around your wrist, and you’re catapulted back into your current reality. You stare up at the Soldier, his bright blue eyes glaring at you. “I will not repeat myself.” You drop your eyes and nod. He allows you a moment to dress properly for training before handcuffing you and leading you out of the cell.

“I didn’t eat,” you say quietly. The Soldier does not respond. “You said I need to eat.” He glares back at you and continues tugging you through the hallways. When you arrive at the training room, you feel your stomach cramping. You won’t have the strength to train if you don’t have anything to eat. Even something small would help.

The Soldier walks you to the center of the room, where he uncuffs you and gives you a once-over. His eyes rake over your figure until they reach your face. He reaches into a pocket in his pants and pulls out a small cloth bag, which he hands to you.

“Eat while I explain.” You tug the bag open and find a plum, this one slightly larger than yesterday’s. “Yesterday, you gave up the general location of a safe house.” Your heart sinks. You have very little memory of yesterday’s interrogation, and you don’t remember giving up that information.

You don’t respond. You take a bite of the plum.

“That location was enough for Pierce to put together an idea of where exactly the safe house is.” The plum is too sweet for what the Soldier is saying. 

“What does that mean for them?” You ask, running your tongue over your teeth.

“They will die. And Pierce will tell you all of this and more, but he will make it much more painful for you.” So he’s warning you, making the blow hurt less. Why?

“Why ruin Pierce’s fun?” You ask sarcastically. The Soldier is silent, and you watch his face contort. He’s thinking, mulling it all over. In the private of your mind, you have wondered why he shows you any kindness, why he bothers, but you’ve never asked aloud. 

“He is cruel.” The Soldier makes a face.

“And you haven’t been cruel?” You question, raising an eyebrow. You know you shouldn’t provoke him. He could kill you easily. The Soldier grips your wrist tightly with his metal hand, causing you to drop your plum. As if in slow motion, the Soldier catches it in his other hand. He brings it up close to his face, investigating the fruit.

“I never said that I have not been cruel,” he says slowly, shifting his attention back to you. “But the only one who can be cruel to you, моя куколка, is me.” The Soldier presses the plum against your lips. Your mouth opens just enough for him to position the fruit between your teeth. Sweetness coats your lips, your tongue. The Soldier watches you bite into the flesh of the plum, and heat sweeps through your body, settling in your belly.

He lowers his hands to his sides, releasing you from his grip. You both breathe deeply, and something shifts in the atmosphere. You drown in the Soldier’s blue eyes; they capture you and refuse to let you go. 

“James,” you whisper, and it is like he is struck by lightning. The Soldier jerks and shakes his head as if waking up from a trance. He stalks over to the door and types something into the screen that doubles as a keypad. 

A moment later, Pierce arrives at the training room.

“Good morning,” he says, regarding you with eager eyes. Pierce turns to the Soldier, and they exchange words in Russian. You wish you could understand what they say. The Soldier steps out of the training room, leaving you alone with Pierce. 

“Good morning,” you reply, keeping your eyes down. 

“You did well yesterday.” Your stomach turns; you don’t want to do well in Pierce’s eyes. “You are taking well to the programming. Have you noticed things getting easier?” 

Your gut tugs with an urge to tell the truth despite the fact you haven’t been shocked into submission. Even though nothing feels easy, you’ve gotten used to the pain. It’s almost normal now. Your fingers curl into fists, blunted nails digging into calloused skin. “No,” you say through gritted teeth.

Pierce frowns, but it disappears quickly. “When you worked for SHIELD, you had assessments, yes?” You nod, and at that moment, Rumlow, Rollins, and the Soldier drag someone into the training room. There is a fabric bag over the person’s head, but judging by the build and size of the person, it’s a man.

They pull him into the center of the room, dumping him at Pierce’s feet. The man doesn’t move, but he breathes heavily.

“What’s going on?” You ask, watching the bag move with each of the man’s breaths.

“Your information led me to quite the discovery; you helped more than you could ever have known.” You tear your eyes away from the man on the ground and find yourself seeking comfort in the Soldier. Blue eyes, frosty and nearly inhuman, stare back. They provide you none of the comfort you need.

“Who is that?” Your voice is shaky as you look back down at the man. His skin is covered in dirt and blood; his trip here must have been incredibly painful. His pants are torn in places, revealing a few wounds he must have received in a fight. He didn’t come here willingly, and he must not have known they were coming.

“If the Soldier has done his job, this should be easy,” Pierce says, looking at the Soldier. “He seems to think you have potential. I hope he is right.” Rumlow crouches down and unties the bag, pulling it off the man’s head.

Lucas Glover’s beaten and broken face makes your knees weak. You haven’t seen someone from SHIELD in so long. To have it be Lucas, Steve’s favorite intern, makes it that much worse.

“Lucas,” you whisper, fighting the urge to throw yourself into the ground to see if he is okay. You know he isn’t.

“He is no longer of much use to us,” Pierce says, nudging one of Lucas’s legs with the toe of his shoe. “Prove yourself.”

Translations:

ангел = angel

куколка (f) = little doll

принцесса (f) = princess

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[storiesforallfandoms]

stuck with you ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 2102

request?: yes!

“Ooh how about an enemies to lovers fic where Colson and the reader get stuck in an elevator together please”

description: it’s hard to keep up a petty beef when you’re stuck in an elevator with your supposed sworn enemy

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing, claustrophobia, panic attack

masterlist (one, two)

I don’t even know how the fight between Colson and I ever started, but I knew it was extremely prevalent even though we were forced to go on tour together.

The first big gig my band and I had ever gotten was to go on a massive tour with a bunch of other popular and legendary alt rock acts. It was sort of like Warped Tour, but under a different name. We were touring with the likes of All Time Low, Sleeping With Sirens, Pierce the Veil, etc. We were relatively unknown, so to be given this opportunity was such a big deal for all of us.

My feud with Colson had started before that. Again, I have no idea how it started. I don’t know Colson even knew. All we knew was that we hated one another, or rather we thought that we did. So when the full line up for the tour was announced, and none other than Machine Gun Kelly was on the list, I instantly regretted my decision.

“You won’t even be in contact with him,” my drummer told me after we found out the lineup. “It’s a massive tour, we have our own bus, and the likeliness that you’ll run into him in the hotel or even backstage is so small.”

“You also need to get over this stupid fight,” my bassist added. “You guys barley know one another, how can you be in a feud?”

“That’s the thing, he barley knows me and he’s ragged on me in interviews. Do you realize how much that could effect the reputation of the band?”

“You won’t even run into him,” my drummer repeated. “Just remember that.”

Well, I wish he was right, because I happened to run into Colson on our first night.

The four of us were staying in one hotel room, and in true fashion of a band on their first big tour, we bought enough alcohol to make sure we wouldn’t remember anything the next morning. I offered to go grab ice from the floor above us so we could keep everything cold, and decided taking the elevator was the best idea. The minute the doors opened, I wished I had taken the stairs.

Colson raised an eyebrow at me, glancing down at the ice bucket in my hand.

“I didn’t realize the house keeping went to get ice for the rooms,” he said.

“That wasn’t even clever. You’re starting to fall off Colson,” I said. “I’ll just take the stairs.”

“The floor is literally just one up, it won’t kill us to be in an elevator together for five seconds.”

I glared at him as I realized he was right. I let out an exaggerated sigh and stepped into the elevator, making sure to put a lot of distance between the two of us. Colson hit the button for the next floor up and the elevator doors closed.

It didn’t move.

I looked over at Colson in confusion, wondering if he was also feeling what I was. The look on his face mirrored mine, which was enough to answer my question.

He hit the floor button again, although it was already lit up. Nothing happened. He hit it again, and again, then furiously started jabbing it repeatedly.

“Stop, that’s obviously not doing anything,” I said to him.

“What else am I supposed to do?” he asked.

“I don’t know, see if the doors will open?”

He pressed the button to make the doors open, but again there was nothing. He started jabbing that one too, which resulted in me snapping at him to stop again. He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could the elevator jolted suddenly and a loud alarm rang out.

“Oh fuck,” Colson breathed. “Must be stuck.”

“Wait like...like we’re stuck in here?” I asked.

“That’s what stuck means, yes.”

I felt panic starting to rise in me. I dropped the ice bucket and started clawing at the doors, hoping to somehow pull them open. Colson put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me away.

“Hey, that’s not gonna work!” he said. “For one, you’re literally the size of a toothpick, and two, if the elevator is stuck we can’t open the doors. We’ll just have to press the help button and wait for something to happen.”

My breathing became heavier and I started to hyperventilate. I pressed my back against the back of the elevator and slid down till I was sat on the floor. I brought my knees up to my chest and hugged them tightly. I closed my eyes and tried to come down from my panic attack before it even started, but I knew it was no use. The feeling of the confined space in the elevator was baring down on me, I needed to get out of there somehow.

Colson knelt next to me and put a hand on my arm. I looked up at him but I was having a hard time focusing because of how violently I was shaking. Through my somewhat blurry vision though I could see a concerned look on his face.

“Hey,” he said, this time softer than before, “look at me. Are you claustrophobic?”

I felt like I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded instead. Colson’s eyes widened and he quickly turned back to the help button. He started jabbing at it the way he had the other buttons earlier. I was panicking too much to really care at this point. I felt like I was going to throw up, which made it lucky that the ice bucket was right next to me I guess.

“I don’t know if anyone can hear us,” Colson called, “but we’re fucking stuck in an elevator and one of us is having a panic attack! Someone get us the fuck out of here!”

I buried my head in my knees, trying to calm myself down. I tried to imagine that I wasn’t stuck in an elevator, that I was back in my hotel room with my bandmates. Unfortunately I was too far into my panic attack to calm myself down that way. My only hope was getting out of the elevator.

Colson came to sit next to me. I could feel his body close and, even though we were constantly fighting, there was just something comforting about knowing he was there with me. We sat in silence for a little bit, besides the sounds of my hyperventilating. I felt Colson’s arm move next to me, then a gentle tap on my arm. When I raised my head he was holding his phone out to me, showing me a picture of a young girl.

“That’s my daughter,” he told me. “Her name is Casie. She’s my entire world.”

“She’s beautiful,” I said, my voice very shaky.

“I don’t know what I’d do without her,” he said. “Whenever I’m having a bad mental health day, or I’m having an anxiety attack, I just think about the next time I’ll be able to see her and it helps me to calm down.”

“I didn’t even know you had a daughter,” I admitted.

“We don’t know a lot about each other.”

I nodded. “I know, I say that all the time.”

He smirked at me. “You talk about me, huh?”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course I do. We hate each other, so naturally I have to talk shit about you all the time.”

His face softened then, which shocked me a little. I had never seen him look so...well...just nice. When I wasn’t looking at him through a haze of anger from our stupid feud, he really did look...handsome.

“I don’t hate you,” he said.

“What? Of course you do. You always say shit about me, you even mentioned me in one of your songs recently in a negative way.”

“Yeah, cause I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

And in that moment I realized that I really didn’t. My dislike towards Colson was purely under the idea that he hated me too. I thought that was the way I was supposed to feel towards him, not the way I actually felt.

“Wait,” I said, uncurling myself from the ball I was in. “Are you telling me we’ve been fighting and having this stupid feud...and we don’t even hate each other?”

Colson awkwardly chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I guess that’s exactly what happened.”

I tried to laugh too, but the elevator suddenly jolted again, which immediately brought back my panicked state. Colson wrapped his arms around me and held me against his chest, running his fingers through my hair and trying to calm me back down. Surprisingly, it worked at least a little bit.

“I’ve had a crush on you for a while, actually,” Colson admitted. When I looked up at him, even he seemed shocked by this. “I always thought you were beautiful and I wanted to get to meet you in person. But when all this fighting started, I tried to push those feelings aside and pretend like they never existed, but they’ve always been there. I think that’s why I’ve said some extra harsh things towards you, just to try and make myself believe that I really didn’t like you.”

The silence in the elevator was deafening. I pulled away from Colson to look up at him. He averted his gaze to his lap, refusing to look at me at all. I could see red creeping up his neck, embarrassment rising within him no doubt.

I had a brief moment of courage build within me, and I decided to act on it. I cupped Colson’s face in my hands and forced him to look up at me. Before I could lose my courage, I pressed my lips against his.

He hesitated at first, like he couldn’t believe this was happening, but it didn’t take him long to melt into the kiss. His hands found their way to my hips, holding them gently as our kiss became deeper and more passionate. With little effort, he lifted me from the floor onto his lap so that I was straddling him. I ran my hands through his messy blonde hair, curling my fingers into the stands at the back of his head and pulling slightly. The noise I earned from this was definitely a moan, although Colson was adamant that it wasn’t.

Before we could go much further, the elevator suddenly rattled back to life and started moving. When the doors opened again, I nearly sobbed with relief. The two of us quickly untangled from one another and stumbled out into the hallway. The air felt so fresh and my chest, which I hadn’t even realized was so tight, felt like it was opening again.

“Thank fuck,” I breathed. “I’m taking the fucking stairs.”

Colson chuckled. “Can I walk you down to your floor?”

“Aren’t you upstairs?”

“Yeah, like two floors above you I think. But I’d like to spend more time with you before we part ways.”

I smiled and agreed. We walked down the stairs together in silence, but it was a much more comfortable silence. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face, and neither could Colson.

He walked me all the way to my hotel room door. We faced each other for another moment, just smiling at one another. It felt weird to not be fighting with him in that moment, but a good weird.

“I should get up to my room I guess,” he finally said. “I have to be up pretty early tomorrow for soundcheck.”

“Me too.”

“Maybe...we could meet up there and continue what we started in the elevator.”

Somehow my smile got even bigger. “Okay, I’d like that.”

He nodded, his face bright with excitement. He said goodnight and headed back towards the stairs. I leaned against my hotel room door, feeling like a lovesick teenager all over again.

That’s when I realized I wasn’t carrying the ice bucket. I had definitely left it in the elevator, but there was no way in hell I was going back for it. I was prepared to explain the entire story to my bandmates, who I was sure had heard the last of mine and Colson’s conversation through the door. I was expecting so many questions about why I was gone so long, why they had heard Colson outside with me, and why I was smiling like such an idiot.

But instead, they looked at me for a moment and my drummer asked, “Where’s the ice?”

[softinkshadows]

battlefield encounters  (gojo, nanami, geto, sukuna) (part 1)

Some short vignettes of jjk men x female reader imagined scenarios, where reader meets them for the first time in the middle of a fight (all taking place within the same world and timeline of the manga/anime, although as parallel storylines). 

Gojo Satoru 

The gun cocks. You aim it at the man standing in front of you. He pleads pathetically with a look of despair, his face coated in cold sweat as he mumbles words begging for forgiveness, promising riches. It’s always the same. You scoff, then pull the trigger - once, twice, three times. The sound of the shots echo throughout the empty abandoned warehouse. You watch as the man slumps to the ground in a lifeless heap, joining the other scattered bodies around him. 

“Well, that’s the last of them,” you mutter to yourself, sheathing the gun back in your belt. The Inozuka syndicate had been overstepping their boundaries in the city recently, creating unnecessary pressure on the Matsuba faction, which long held control over the city’s largest district. And of all people, they had chosen to attack you in this dank warehouse as a bargaining chip for more territory, thinking you were an easy target because you were a woman. When in fact you remain one of the strongest upper-management leaders of the Matsuba syndicate. You gaze down coldly on the pile of bodies at your feet, some distorted, bloodied, eyes half-open in death, and the familiar hollow feeling creeps into your chest before you can suppress it. Killing, again and again and again. Is this my life now? Resigned, you turn on your heels, preparing to leave.

A sudden cold wave hits you from behind without warning, a wave so suffocating your mind spins, and your chest tightens as if dozens of clammy hands are gripping your throat. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of your face. As you spin around, your hand instinctively reaches for your gun at your waist, but what you see makes you halt in terror.

Four protruding eyes sit atop its grotesque head, its large set of teeth pitch black and spread wide in an unnerving smile. An overpowering aura emanates from its body, all four limbs streaked with giddying patterns of black and white, and your eyes glance downwards at its incredibly sharp claws, feeling a lump gather in your throat. There’s no mistaking it. You had always been able to see curses ever since you were young, those small annoying fly heads and larger clumsy monstrosities, but this... this is different. It’s as if you're staring at death in the face.

The cool handle of your gun against your fingertips propels you back to reality. Don’t think! You raise your weapon only to feel yourself flying across the open room, slamming into discarded storage boxes with a loud crash. Limbs faltering, you struggle to get up from underneath the debris. A terrifying gleeful screech resounds as the curse leaps towards you, and you move the best your instincts allow, diving out of the way and firing a few useless shots.

You’re only aware after the fact of a sudden throbbing pain in your left arm, and a growing wetness that trails down your skin to your wrist. You examine it briefly, gritting your teeth in pain. Your exposed flesh is ripped up like paper, with large stinging claw marks running across your arm. There’s a stabbing feeling in your ribs and one of your legs isn’t moving like you would wish it to. 

“Shit,” you mutter as you drag yourself towards the concrete wall, propping yourself up against it. Unharmed, the curse licks your blood from its claws, mocking your helpless state. You feel the fabric of your pants getting gradually soaked in warm pooling liquid, along with the onset of dizziness from the blood loss. Shit. After all these years of fighting, surviving, killing... I guess this is how I’m going to go out, huh. In a dingy-ass warehouse. Chewed to scraps by a damn curse. 

“Fucking hell,” you chuckle flatly, lifting your gun again in a last burst of dignity and taking aim. Then it lunges.

You prepare yourself to meet your end, awaiting the heavy, pulpy crush of your skull against the wall, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, the warehouse warps before you. 

“Wha-” your voice falls away as you’re moved away from the line of attack in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, you’re staring at the ground from above, your limbs dangling beneath you. You hear the loud crack of crumbling cement from the curse’s impact where you stood a mere second ago. A firm hand holds you by the waist. A different energy, deeper, much stronger this time, radiates fiercely from beside you like the blooming of plum blossoms in snow.

“Who in the hell ar-” you cough out, both wary and mesmerized, struggling to look up over your shoulder.

“Now, now, don’t get too excited,” a voice teases, “I promise to pay proper attention to you in just a while.” A man with a tacky-looking blindfold looks down at you with a smug, annoying grin. Although somehow, even with the dark cloth securely over his eyes, his distant gaze is strangely piercing. The next thing you notice is his striking white hair, a shocking colour accentuated by his dark clothes, giving him an air of otherworldly elegance. But hell, something about his tone grates at you - is this guy actually being cocky at a time like this?

Before you can protest, he lifts his hand towards the approaching curse. You feel yourself gape in awe as the space before him curls wildly, pulling in and amassing a good deal of energy. Within seconds the curse is shredded horribly, twisting and screaming as it burns out with a bright blue flame. You heart thuds and you feel your hair stand on end. This curse could have snapped you in half at any moment. Yet this man takes it out with a single wave of his finger.

"You can see it, right?" His voice jolts you from your stupor. He is standing on the ground now, still carrying you rather expertly in a way that avoids pressing down on your injuries. He looks at you intently with a curious expression. You don’t realize he has taken interest in the surprising lack of cursed energy dwelling in your body. It reminds him of someone he met a few years ago, someone who nearly killed him...

"Yeah, so what? It's not like I haven’t seen them before. And you can put me down now,” you’re growing cautious of this stranger, but retort rather weakly as the effect of your wounds start to set in.

"Hmm, interesting~" He casually ignores your last statement, strolling over to pick up what appears to be a blackened, wrinkled finger on the floor, stringing you along like you weigh absolutely nothing. You hear him mutter to himself something about finding a fifth finger, and handing it over to some shitty higher-ups. 

Tutting in annoyance, you raise your voice, moving to pry his strong fingers from around you. "Hey, blindfold, I don't know who you are but you can let me go now, I’m good-" You speak too soon as the searing pain in your arm returns, making you wince. “Sure you are,” he chortles doubtfully, stifling a laugh at your awkward, impossible efforts. Oh, you’d love to hit him right now. But his hands say something else, pulling your struggling arms apart, gentle and serious, as if determined to not let you hurt yourself further. Gojo ponders thoughtfully for a moment. Looks like I’ve found something interesting. And a troublesome one, too. He lapses into a smug grin again. “Let’s get you taken care of, shall we?” Speaking in a lighthearted singsong voice, as if to a child, he smirks a little, before tapping two fingers against your forehead. Immediately, your vision darkens, and the last thing you are vaguely aware of is a faint scent of fresh pear, and a strong arm hooking under your knees, lifting you to lean against someone’s chest as a warm feeling of enveloping safety lulls you to sleep.  ------ My writing got a little long for Gojo’s so i’m going to split the post into several parts over the next few days! I’m trying to keep it such that Reader has different identities in these different storylines, to perhaps propel your own imagination to take the story further from there. Hope you liked this one~ :)  --- Taglist (っ˘ω˘ς ) : @encrytpta @wilddreamer98

[writersmorgue]

Something Immortal

word count - 3k

warnings: suicide attempt, drug use, addiction, cursing, teenagers being gross

pairing: model!Todoroki x canon!Bakugo

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

"Holy shit guys he posted!!" Mina squeals, vaulting herself over the couch to reach the rest of the Bakusquad sitting on the common room carpet. An old original copy of Monopoly splayed out in the center of their group.

"Ooh, show us! Show us!" Kaminari leans forward, swiping half of the properties off the board in the process.

Sero groans, "Dude you do this every time!!"

The blond pouts, "Hey it's your fault I was losing."

Kirishima just chuckles, picking up his dog piece from jail and throwing it into the box.

"Your smart people game can wait," Mina tugs on Sero's ponytail, "He hasn't posted in weeks."

"Oh my god he's so fucking hot," Kaminari's knee-jerk reaction is whispered as soon as he sees the post.

Todoroki Shouto, one of Japan- and America's- most well-known models. The teenager, who happens to be their age, regularly models for magazines like Vogue, Joker, and Elle. The teenager who has starred in countless American and Japanese short and independent films. The teenager who just so happens to be the son of the number one hero, Endeavor.

No one knows his quirk, but it just adds to the mystery. Some people theorize he's quirkless, but others think he's got a crazy dangerous quirk, which is why he's a model instead of an aspiring hero. Not like he's not perfect for the job, with his gorgeous bi-colored hair and heterochromatic eyes. The scar on his left side somehow only adds to his beauty. It doesn't matter what your sexuality is, you simp for Todoroki Shouto.

But that's the obvious, now this photo- this photo.

"It's ethereal, I've never seen him look so serene before."

"He's an actual angel."

"How is he only eighteen?!"

Mina nods as Sero, Kaminari, and Kirishima go through the seven stages of grief just looking at the photo.

Kirishima's eyes dart to Todoroki's username... which is just Shouto. In fact, the Todoroki name isn't mentioned once on his account, a fact that has hundreds of conspiracy theories on its own.

"Hey Meens, can we stalk him real quick? I wanna see who he's following."

She grins, "Well anything for you, munchkin."

Sero snorts. Their couple nicknames never fail to amuse anyone within hearing range.

"Ugh gross," Kaminari gags as Mina giggles, swiping off of the picture (which already has over 600,000) and onto his main page.

It's simple, plain yet elegant in the way only a PR manager could manage.

The bio is a link to his most recent shoot with some magazine that Kirishima doesn't recognize, the profile picture is a rare shot of him smiling, a blue checkmark, and a follower count of over four million.

His following count, however, is the shocker.

"He only follows fourteen people?" Sero whispers, clicking on the number.

"Huh," Mina turns the phone slightly so she can see, "Who is he following?"

"Let's see," Sero squints, eyes scrolling down the list, "Hawks... his siblings... Mirko... some American models... his agency's profile... and- wait, isn't that Bakugo?"

"HAH?" Mina yells, whipping the phone around and clicking on the profile.

Sure enough, a slew of photos shows up on her screen, all of their resident blond pomeranian glaring at the camera in various locations.

"He- WHAT?? It must be a glitch!" Mina scrambles frantically, eyes darting across the screen.

"Uh, yeah," Kirishima chuckles, "a glitch."

Mina scrolls up numerous times as if refreshing the page will help.

"I mean what other explanation can you think of?! It's not like Thee Todoroki Shouto would know our Bakugou, they're totally in different leagues." Mina sounds absolutely scandalized, causing Sero to laugh.

"I don't know, Meens, the proof is right there. We should ask him about it!"

"And what- DIE?" Kaminari reasons.

Sero nods, "Fair point."

"Pussies." Mina stands, planting her manicured hands on the edge of the couch, "I'll ask him myself."

-

"I REFUSE." A fourteen-year-old Shouto screams at his father.

"what do you mean you refuse? Shouto she's a lovely girl, and you need to procreate while you're still young if you're not going to become a hero like I want. You get one or the other." Todoroki Enji grabs his youngest child by the arm to lead him out of the kitchen, but Shouto jerks out of his grip. "Wh- SHOUTO."

"I'm going to live with Fuyumi. She'll take care of me." He holds his ground, shaking his father off when he tries once again to physically lead him out of the room.

"OH?" Enji bellows a laugh, "And how do you expect she'll find the money to take you in? Raising a teenager is expensive, you know, and she's only a simple school teacher."

"She's not a simple anything. And I- I'll find a way. We'll be fine. I already talked to several agencies."

"...agencies?"

-

"Wait, Mina!!" Kaminari calls after the girl, but she's a woman on a mission and there's no stopping her.

They arrive at Bakugo's door in a heap, Kaminari clawing at Mina while she knocks calmly. Kirishima and Sero stand to watch because they have no idea what else to do. (They're just as nervous as Kaminari but they're more afraid of Mina if they're being honest.)

A crash comes from inside the room, but soon their resident angry boy is slamming open his door and glaring at them. The normalcy is comforting.

"Do you fuckers realize what fucking time it is?"

"Yes~" Mina coos sweetly, "I know old men need their sleep but it's only 8:30 and we have a question."

He sighs aggressively and stretches his arms behind his back, cracking his shoulders and then his neck, Kaminari whimpers in fear.

"Alright, what do you want pinky?"

She's practically vibrating with excitement at this point.

"Why is Todoroki Shouto following you on Instagram?"

Bakugo seems to mull over this for a moment, and then he just shrugs.

Mina nods like this answers any part of her question, "That's what I thought, funny glitch. He's pretty hot though, right?"

The rest of the group nods emphatically.

Bakugo scratches his leg with his other heel, "He's not ugly, I guess."

Mina waves her arms around in Bakugo's general direction, "See!!? Even the straight guy agrees!!"

"No one was disagreeing with you, Mina." Sero snickers.

Bakugo grunts, then promptly slams the door in their faces.

"Well I guess that was more than he'd usually do at this time, we're lucky we didn't get exploded." Kirishima muses.

Kaminari nods, shuddering at the thought.

"Welp! That answers our question!" Although it really didn't, no one was about to argue with Mina, "Anyway I'm going to bed."

"Say hi to your vibe for me!" Sero whispers after her.

She waves as she marches away, humming to herself.

-

Shouto stares at the street below.

He wonders if he'd die falling from a height like this. He hopes he doesn't hit anyone.

Slowly, he removes his expensive sneakers, dropping them on the modelling agency's roof beside him. It's breezy tonight, and Shouto, freshly sixteen, has nothing to live for anymore. So he won't.

Stepping carefully over the guardrail, not sure why since he's about to jump. Maybe part of him is still afraid.

Whatever he can get over it.

His thin frame wobbles in the wind, and he breathes deeply, too focused on relaxing to notice the roof door opening, and hurried steps coming up behind him.

A warm hand grabs him, almost startling him off the side of the building.

The interruption heaves heavy breaths in his ear as they both topple down onto the concrete floor.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" Oh, it's Bakugo.

The only child of his manager, Mitsuki Bakugo, who happens to be a nosy little shit who can't stay out of other people's business.

"Get OFF" Shouto shoves him, frantically scrambling toward the railing again. He needs this.

"NO! Todoroki get the fuck back-"

"It's SHOUTO." blood spurts onto his gray sweater and he realizes with muted horror that he just elbowed his employer's son in the nose.

"Fuck I'm so sorry, are you okay?" He bends down, removing his trashed pullover, and holds it to his friend's nose.

Bakugo snorts, "Sorry- Shouto I mean." He winces when Shouto presses harder into his face, "I'll forgive you if you don't jump."

Shouto sighs, "You know why I was going to."

Bakugo visibly calms at the use of past tense, the outburst must have snapped him out of it.

"Your mom, right?" Shouto tenses.

"Yeah I- he barred me from ever seeing her again and I- I don't know what to do." He shudders and pulls his pills from his pants pocket.

He wonders what his mom would say if she found out her baby was addicted to drugs.

Bakugou frowns but lets his friend take the pill, not sure what to say.

"Fucking piece of shit. Is that even legal?"

"Legally the number two hero can do whatever the fuck he wants. We live in a flawed world, Bakugo.

"I- Shouto."

"Hmm?" Shouto collapses onto the ground, crunching the pill and sighing as he feels the effects start to take almost immediately.

"I care- I care about you, okay? So please let me help you. Let me get you help."

A tear slips down to Shouto's ear without his permission, he wipes it away as quickly as it came.

"I don't know, Bakugo. You haven't exactly seemed to like me in the past. Even though I like to think we're friends I know you don't feel the same." He frowns, admiring the shine of wetness on his palm in the moonlight.

Bakugo grumbles, "Don't fuckin' tell me what I do and don't feel. I really fuckin' care about you even though I'm an ass about it, okay? I'm not good with emotions so don't expect much from me. But I do want you to be happy and I don't think the uh- the pills are helping."

The blond holds out a hand and reluctantly Shouto slaps the container into it.

"Fine," he mumbles, "you're uh- not as bad as I thought."

Bakugo snorts, "You're just as bad as I thought, but I like you anyway."

Against his will, Shouto finds himself blushing, thankful that it's mostly hidden in the dark.

"C'mon," Bakugo gestures to his own chest, "I know you could use one."

Shouto whimpers as he curls himself into the blond's strong frame. He's built a lot of muscle since starting at UA this year.

A strong hand rubs along his back and Shouto finds he can't hold back his tears any longer as the shock starts to set in.

Fuck he almost just killed himself.

"Thanks, Bakugo."

"I almost just watched you die, you can call me Katsuki."

"Thanks, Katsuki."

"No problem, Shouto."

-

The Bakusquad once again finds themselves playing a game on the common room floor, this time Sorry, much to Sero's chagrin.

"Sorry!" Kirishima grins cheekily as he kicks Sero's piece back to his home base.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuck you guys-" He groans, flopping back onto the loveseat behind him, only to get an eyeful of Bakugo Katsuki's ass, "Oh hey Bakugou!"

"Wh- OI TAPE FACE WATCH WHERE THE HELL YOU'RE LOOKING-"

Sero snickers, patting Bakugou on the hip, "Sorry dude, it was literally right there."

Small explosions popped from Bakugo's hands as he growled down at Sero.

"Aw come on blasty he's just playing and WHERE are you going dressed like that???!!!"

Bakugo blushes and tugs his light blue blazer down farther.

"I have a date." He mutters, tugging his sleeves.

“Sorry,” Kaminari laughs, “I think I misheard you. Sounded like you said ‘I have a date.’”

Bakugo rolls his eyes, “Because I do, dipshit.” He sighs, checking his -expensive-looking- watch, “Just watch the independent film awards when they’re on. I think it’s like four hours from now that it starts.”

“Whyyyy would you have anything to do with that?” Kirishima groans, very lost.

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugo grunts, digging his phone out of his pocket when it vibrates and checking something before humming and striding towards the front door.

He looks unusually elegant, hair slicked back probably as well as Bakugo’s hair can be, shirt tucked in, a few rings on his fingers, barely visible and yet beautifully drawn eyeliner. He’s… pretty.

The three remaining members of the Bakusquad, as well as the rest of the common room, sit there in awe as he shoves a permission slip in Iida’s blubbering face.

“I- Wh- Bakugo is this from Aizawa? You cannot just leave!!”

“Fuck off glasses, I have his fuckin’ blessing or whatever.”

“Bakugo!”

The blond shoots a middle finger off behind him and slams the door shut, leaving a stunned common room in his wake.

“Uh, well, that happened.” Jirou drones blandly from her place on the couch with Momo.

“Awards show watch party, anyone?!” Uraraka grins, standing, “I’ll get the mochi!!”

“I’ll make tea,” Momo stands as well, dusting off her perfectly clean jeans. Jirou groans at the loss of her girlfriend’s warmth and flops over on the couch.

“This is stupid, he probably got invited by some pro hero and he’s just going to yell at the paparazzi if he’s even gonna be there.” She pouts.

“Well,” Sero grins, “anyone wanna play Monopoly while we wait?”

Kaminari throws the Sorry board at his head.

-

“Alright, is everyone ready!!? The red carpet is about to start!!” Hagakure squeals, even though the entirety of class 3-A (minus Bakugo) is there.

“So… what exactly are we watching this for?” Shinsou scratches the back of his neck.

“Bakugo’s going to be in it apparently, the study group earlier saw him in the common room wearing a suit.” Ojiro answers.

“Not just a suit!!” Mina holds her hands out as if to deliver groundbreaking news, “A fancy suit.”

“Aren’t all suits fancy?”

“Shut up.”

“OOH LOOK there’s Arai Itō and Chiba Yoshida!! Aww, they’re so cute!” Uraraka swoons, clasping her hands together.

“I wonder when Kacchan is gonna come out, these things can take a while.”

“I honestly don’t even care, I heard Todoroki Shouto is nominated for an award this year!! Do you remember that really sad short film he was in about having an overdose? Gosh, I hope he wins.” Hagakure’s hair bow vibrates excitedly.

“THERE HE IS THERE HE IS!!!!!” She points at the bottom of the screen where a man in a pale blue dress has stepped out of a limo and onto the carpet, a heeled foot gracefully raising him to his full 6’2”.

“Holy shit he’s gorgeous.” Sero breathes, the reporters on screen basically saying the same thing.

Shouto reaches behind him and holds out a hand for the second person stepping out of the limo, broad shoulders, a shorter stature than Shouto especially with the heels, spiky blond hair, piercing red eyes-

…

“HOLY SHIT IS THAT BAKUGOU??”

The aerial camera pans down toward the blond, showing off his suit- which matches Shouto’s dress perfectly- and his, what appears to be professionally done hair.

“Holy shit does he have an undercut now!!?? We just saw him a few hours ago!” Mina screeches.

Momo shrugs, “They do that sort of thing for celebrities.” She sips her tea, unphased.

“Okay okay, we’re all ignoring the most important part. Kacchan is Todoroki’s date.” Izuku frantically waves his arms around.

“I didn’t know they knew each other,” Tokoyami muses.

“What the fuck is happening?” Sero asks no one in particular.

“Wait everyone SHUT UP they’re announcing awards!!!! Todoroki might win one! We can ask Bakugo about this when he gets back. Surely there’s an interesting story.” Uraraka chimes in, handing out mochi and popcorn.

The tv’s voice is muffled under the muttering of several class 3-A members, but Mina turns it up as the male announcer reads the winners of the award Todoroki is nominated for.

“AAAAAAAAND THE WINNER FOR BEST ACTOR IN A DRAMA SHORT ISSSSSSSSS…

TODOROKI SHOUTO!!! For his work in The End of Me and the incredible performance that shocked-”

Cheers ring through the dorms, popcorn goes flying, and Mina frantically shushes everyone as Shouto makes his way gracefully onto the stage. He accepts the award from the previous winner, bowing elegantly and stepping up to the mic.

“Hello everyone,” He begins, shooting a shy smile directly into the camera. It has always perplexed his fans how nervous he can be in real life compared to in his photoshoots. “This is a really important award to me, not only am I incredibly grateful to the panel for gracing this title upon me, but as of yesterday,” He smiles at the ground, taking a deep breath, “I’m two years clean.”

Shocked gasps ricochet through the award hall as well as through the crowd gathered around the tv.

“He did drugs, kero?” Tsu whispers.

“Mon dieux,” Aoyama shakes his head, pressing a hand to his chest, “how brave.”

Shouto clears his breath and continues, “In fact, that wasn’t the worst of it at the time, and I’m incredibly grateful to all who have supported me through my career. You keep me sane, and you keep me going. But especially, I’d like to thank my sister, brother, and my wonderful boyfriend-”

He holds an arm out to someone in the audience, and the camera pans to none other than Bakugou Katsuki, “who quite literally saved my life, and helped me drive myself back on track. I love you Katsuki, and you continue to improve my life every second that you’re in it.”

Most of 3-A are in tears at this point, and as Bakugo half-heartedly scowls into the camera, they can tell his eyes are shining too.

Shouto glances back at the camera as if directing his words to someone in particular.

“Thank you.”

And then he’s walking back down to his seat as the audience provides him with a standing ovation.

“THEY’RE DATING,” Mina sobs, shaking Kirishima’s shoulders as he sits, staring slack-jawed at the television.

“Yeah, yeah they are.”

-

Katsuki does NOT wipe tears from his eyes as he helps Shouto sit back down in his seat, but his boyfriend definitely does. His mascara, thankfully waterproof, still holds strong.

Shouto shoots him a watery smile, rubbing his arm as he pulls the blond into a hug.

“Happy two years, Katsuki.”

[ipuckwithhockey]

Tattooed Idiots- N. Patrick

a/n: I went months where I couldn’t even think about writing anything and now I’ve written two things this week? OK. I was also recently talking to a friend about tattoo placement and how they regretted putting one little tattoo in the middle of their arm because it doesn’t flow with how they want to do their sleeve... It made me think of Nolan’s boat tattoo.  

warnings: none? swearing

------

“Nolan James Patrick. In the flesh. I have to say, I feel honored to be graced with your presence.”

You hadn’t seen Nolan in almost four years, but here he was standing on the deck of your mutual friend’s lake house. A post college graduation reunion of sorts was planned for this summer, and a group of your childhood friends was now gathered for a week on the lake.

When Nolan left Canada for Philadelphia you left the same town for college in New York. The two of you were close growing up, but it seemed like the older you got the further apart you grew. Neither of you really knew why, and maybe it was just the physical distance that pushed your texts and calls further apart.  In retrospect this doesn’t seem likely as you have only been an hour train ride apart for the last four years.

You didn’t spend much time at home in the summers as you worked jobs and internships in the city, and it just so happened that your visits home never lined up with his. Your secret crush on your friend eventually faded, but now that you’re looking at Nolan’s bare back you can’t help but notice that his shoulders are broader, and his arms are thicker than they were back when you were kids.

Both of you had grown a lot over the last few years. You weren’t the same shy teenage girl and he wasn’t the quiet hockey player that dreamt of making it to the NHL. Going to school in New York had pushed you out of your comfort zone and had given you a newfound sense of confidence. Introversion was always a source of common ground between the two of you, as most of your friends were more outgoing and even a bit rowdy at times. For the last week you had racked your brain of what you would say when you saw him again. Would you fall into your old habits and close relationship or would be met with someone you didn’t recognize?

“I’m the one who should feel honored, you’ve only been avoiding me for about four years.”

Nolan turns around to face you and for some reason there’s a tinge of hurt in his voice that only you can probably pick up on.

“You know what, you’re right. You are lucky.” You chose to ignore that feeling and your quick retort takes Nolan a bit by surprise. He wasn’t expecting you to be so bold. He can’t do anything but laugh and as the day goes on you fall back into your old friendship and adjust to each other’s new maturities.

Later that day the group decides to make its way from the deck down to the to dock for a swim.  As you strip off your shorts and tank top to reveal your bikini clad body, you begin to feel a bit of self-consciousness sneak up on you. That, and you feel a set of eyes on you. It’s not until later that day that you find out who those eyes belong to.

“You know, a picture would last longer” You look over from the chair you are sitting in to see a rosy cheeked Nolan sitting on top of a cooler.

“You’re probably right... always were the smart one.” As he says it, you see him wink through his round rimmed sunglasses. Did he seriously just wink at you? Is Nolan Patrick seriously trying to flirt with you or is it just the day drinking talking?

Throughout the day you and Nolan continue to tease and banter, and in any other situation you would have definitely considered this flirting. Either way, you were having a good time and a little flirting felt harmless.

Later that night you’re all back on the deck after dinner.

“I need another Claw; anybody want anything from the kitchen?” You ask as you move toward the sliding doors.

“Yeah, I’m gonna get another beer.” You barely even hear his mumbled voice, but he follows you into the kitchen and you leave your rambunctious group of friends behind you. The next few minutes are quiet as the two you move around the kitchen in silence. You’re throwing some trash away that has begun to litter the counters and finally turn to face the sink as you crack open your well-earned drink. You can once again feel Nolan’s eyes on you as he leans against the counter behind you.

“Since when are you into tattoos?” You practically choke on your drink. His deep voice is now closing in on you, and his hot breath is now hitting your neck as he steps up and leans in close behind you. His bare chest is just inches from your back that is only covered by a strap holding your bikini top to your body. And his hands. His fingers are lightly tracing the delicate tattoo that now inhabits your right side. His hands are cold from holding his beer and he’s touching you so close to your breast, goosebumps now litter your skin. If it weren’t for him stepping even closer into you, you probably would have forgotten to breathe. His body is now touching yours and your short frame in being toward over.  You can’t help but lean back into him. Taking in his warmth and his familiar scent. His breath still hot on your neck as he mumbles, “You gonna answer my question or are we just gonna stand here all night?”

You wouldn’t have had any problem doing just that, but you clear your throat and turn around to face him. He takes a slight step back, but you’re still close enough to lightly touch his his upper arm and whisper, “Well, I’ve kind of had a thing for them since this guy I used to know got a little boat tattooed on the middle of his arm.”

You look up at him and he has that sly smile on his face that you hate but secretly love.

“You know, I used to have a massive crush on this chick who used to talk about how much she hated that little boat tattoo. She always gave me shit for putting a ‘tiny boat in the middle of my arm.’ She said I’d regret it one day when I decided to get a sleeve. She was probably right, but then she left and stopped talking to me.”

You jokingly push him back a little to distance yourself, “I didn’t stop talking to you, you stopped talking to me. And you didn’t have a crush on me. I would have known. Hell, I’m the one who spent my entire life quite obviously pining over you!”

You’re not arguing, you’re still just joking, but the mood in the air is becoming more serious as the two of you come to realize what has just unfolded. Years of mutual but unknown pining between the two of you finally comes to the surface and you’re both still processing what that  means.

You look up at each other, and you can’t help but laugh. Nolan laughs too, and he shakes his head, “I’m an idiot. I had no clue you ever liked me like that. I guess I always figured you were way too smart to be into me. Guess you’re just not that smart.”

“Who says I still like you?” You say it as a joke but there’s a moment when it dawns on Nolan that you probably don’t still like him.

“Nols, I’m joking. I definitely thought I was over you, but as soon as I saw you today I knew I was still fucked. You were right, I’m really not that smart.”

Your feet are moving you back into him and you’re met chest to chest again. Your hands hesitate but eventually reach up to his hair that he has let grow out, and his eyes close as he feels your fingers lightly tug on the wisps that fall at his neck. You’re still looking up at him, admiring just how beautiful he is just as your foreheads touch. They’re resting gently against each other and his arms have wrapped around your body to pull you close. You think maybe he’ll pull away, but you feel his hand take your cheek and then you’re kissing. Nolan can’t put how good your lips feel on his into words. Mind blowing may be the closest thing to accurate.

You kiss gently and his tenderness warms your heart but feeling his bare chest against yours and his arm wrapping around your waste, you can’t help but deepen the kiss. Soon the innocence is gone and you’re desperately holding onto each other. You bite at his lip and he can’t help but moan into you. Years of pining, years of tension, are finally being relieved.

Nolan pushes you back and traps you between him and the cold kitchen island. His lips dance over your neck and you gladly adjust to give him better access. You would have let him take you right there in the middle of the kitchen if you hadn’t been interrupted by an eruption of applause.

“Finally! God Damn!”

“We’ve only been waiting our entire lives for you two to get together.”

Remarks of relief and approval come from your group of friends who are now gathered at the back door. You bury your head into Nolan’s chest and you can’t help but laugh as you realize you really are the two most clueless idiots in the world.

“We really are idiots.” You look up at him and he looks back at you, smiling,

“Yeah, but you’re my idiot.”

[hermankopusortizorsumshite]

What’s the Charge?

@princessinwonderland23

Trigger Warning: this is pure smut with Elliot Stabler. Pure, sexiness. Nothing else. Lol Read at your own risk. 18+ ONLY.

She stepped into the NYPD Special Victims Unit and sashayed towards her old college roommate Elliot’s desk where he sat, attention on some paperwork. Olivia’s eyes catching her sneaking up to him. Olivia gives a gentle nod and a knowing smirk, but doesn’t say a word.

“Put your hands behind your back, you have the right to remain sexy.” She giggles as she pulls his wrists behind his back. In a split second, he’s standing and faces her. A grin splits across his face as he sees her. Her bright green eyes and sweet little smirks staring back at him.

“Son of a bitch!” He cheers, gripping her in a tight hug and spinning her in a circle.

“I’m a daughter, thank you.” She retorts with a playful frown. Elliot is quick to press a chaste kiss to her forehead before finding her a chair to sit at his desk.

“Yo! Captain! Are you the one that let the nutcase in?” He calls as he heads for Cragen’s office. The captain steps out into the squad room and finds Elliot’s former college roommate standing in the squad room.

“Uncle Kraken!” She shouts, gripping him in a hug as he grins.

“What’s up?” He asks, hugging her around the neck.

“Stopped in to see my favorite uncle and favorite nutcase.” She smiles, patting Elliot’s shoulder.

“Well! What a surprise, I always hoped you two would get together.” Cragen gives a hearty laugh and heads back into his office.

“He’s the nutcase.” She laughs, letting Elliot grab her by the waist and throw her in the air.

“Hey, I gotta get back to work but--you want to--maybe get drinks tonight?” He asks, finding his chair and pulling it back. With a sweet, candy apple red-lipped smile, she nods and makes a cross-eyed face before skipping out the front door.

“She wore makeup to visit you?” Olivia huffs with a soft chuckle.

“What’s the point here, Liv?” He nips, his blue eyes confused.

“Nothing, I just think that maybe you should see where this goes Elliot.” She smirks, tapping her desk with a file folder stack. Standing and heading into the lunch room and comes back with two cups of coffee.

“I haven’t even signed the divorce papers yet.” He hushes.

“Elliot, she’s into you.” Olivia wiggles her brows at him. Elliot huffs in disapproval and takes a drink of his coffee. “El, just--please tell me you’ll try to have a good time.” She smiles, giving him a look searching for confirmation in Elliot’s face.

“I will have drinks with an old friend.” He finalizes the conversation and moves on, but he thinks about her the rest of the day. She’d come flouncing in under a different light than he’d ever seen her before. Curvy and beautiful, happy and sexy, Elliot found himself almost turned on.

“You…okay?” Olivia’s voice piercing through his thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” He offers, waving her off and disappearing into the courtroom, Olivia following right behind.

Court was over and Elliot finds his way to the station to change and pulls on his denim jacket over a dark gray tee shirt and starts for the door when Olivia pushes into squad room.

“Liv, do I look okay?” He asks, almost nervous.

“You look fine. Have a good night.” She laughs, heading passed him to her desk and watching nervous Elliot slip out the door. As he gets to the bar, he finds her sitting at a table in the corner, beer in hand.

“Elliot!” She cheers, jumping up and heading over to him. Arms wrap around his neck and he hugs her against him with a warmth and need he’d never known before.

“Hey, hey. How you doin’?” He chuckles, seating her before himself.

“I’m good, how have you been? It’s been forever since I’ve seen you!” She cheers, patting his bicep. “I see you’ve been working out.” She laughs. Elliot watches her for a moment as she smiles.

“It’s just to relieve the stress. This damn job is gonna kill me.” He chuckles, and flashes her that award-winning smile and her heart skips a beat. She watches him as he smiles and she feels her heart pang with pain and longing. She longs for Elliot to tell her he loves her and take full advantage of her body. He was strong, sweet, and sensitive. She loved Elliot. They spend a couple hours chatting at the bar, when she stands and stretches.

“Elliot, it’s late. I should head out.” He stands and heads to the door with her. As Elliot walks her to her car, she finds herself warming against him. He’d never been more than a friend to her, but recently she couldn’t stop thinking about him. He’d been a great roommate, he was fun and creative.

“Hey, uh--” Elliot stops. “Listen--”

“Elliot, please come back to my hotel room.” She whispers, tugging on the collar of his shirt. He searches her eyes for something and when he finds it, he nods with a smile.

“Tell me you want this.” He murmurs into her ear. She shivers and Elliot hugs her to him.

“Elliot, I need this.” She whispers against his throat. His hand captures her cheek and he lifts her face gently to meet his eyes. “Elliot-” he hushes her with a thumb smoothing across her bottom lip.

“I have waited so long for this. You’re sure?” He asks, looking into her eyes and finding lust and wonder in them.

“Christ, if you don’t come back to that hotel I’m gonna drop you on this parking lot.” She mutters as his lips crash into hers and she grabs a hold of the nape of his neck.

“Alright, alright.” He whispers, leading her to his car and buckling her in.

“Over there!” She pipes, jabbing a finger at the hotel.

“Alright, let me park the car.” He chuckles, pulling up into a parking garage and shutting off the engine. Grabbing his hand, she and Elliot run into the building and get to the elevator. As the door shuts, she hooks her arms around his neck and pulls him down to meet her lips in a passionate kiss.

“Elliot-” He pushes her out the door of the elevator and he detaches her lips from his, his arm protectively wrapped around her waist.

“I can’t wait to get you in there.” He growls in her ear as they get to her room. Jamming the room key in the door, she lets Elliot swing open the door and scoop her into his arms and her legs wrapping around his waist. Fingers hastily run under his tee shirt as he kicks shut the door with one ankle. Taking her to the bed, he tosses her onto her back and his eyes drink her in.

“Please.” She whispers, using her ankles to pull him forward.

“Ugh-mmm. I can’t believe this is happening.” His lips press hot kisses across her neck. His hands slide off her shirt and tug at her jeans and panties. His hands smooth over her soft skin, mapping out the curves and sweet hills and valleys he traced over. His lips followed his hands setting fire to her skin.

“Elliot.” She whispers, letting his tongue swirl a nipple and nips on the sensitive skin. His blue eyes lift to meet hers for only a second and she pushes him back, unbuttoning his jeans and yanking them to the floor. He chuckles, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss on her neck. “El-Elliot, please.” She whispers, fingers clawing at his chest to pull him down to her chest. His lips meet hers in a fiery passion, tongues battling and dancing while he unclasped her bra and tossed it to the floor. Sinking to her knees, she takes his throbbing cock into her mouth. As he stands above her, his hand tangled in her hair and the other caressing her cheek as he smiles down at her. He lifts her to her feet and kisses her bright red, swollen lips.

“Elliot.” She murmurs, letting him lay her down and position himself at her entrance. Slowly sliding into her, he fills her with his thick, throbbing cock. As he slowly begins to roll his hips into her. “Elliot!” She cries, letting him drive himself into her once more. “Fuck! Don’t stop!” She screams, gripping the back of his neck.

“Shit, fuck. Yes. You’re so beautiful.” He grunts, pulling her up towards him and slams into her once more. “I’m close, baby. You close?” He ruffs in her ear.

“Elliot! Fuck!” Hooking her ankles around his waist and digging her heels in, she claws at his back as the pit of her stomach starts to twinge. “Fuck! Yes! Don’t stop!” She cries, trying to hold onto him as she falls over the edge of ecstasy. As she releases onto Elliot’s cock, it’s enough to send him plummeting into ecstasy with her. Rolling to the side, he pulls her with him, letting her rest on his slamming chest.

“Baby, I love you. I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything earlier.” He heaves, pressing a kiss to her lips.

“I love you too, El.” She smiles, hugging his bare abdomen. “Wanna take a shower?” She asks, standing and heading for the bathroom. He follows behind with a sweet, lazy smile on his lips. As he heads into the bathroom, there’s a knock at the door. Assuming it’s just a person wanting them to quiet it down, Elliot grabs his underwear and tugs them on and his tee shirt.

“SPECIAL VICTIMS! OPEN UP!” The familiar voice of Fin Tutuola resonates through the door. Elliot laughs, shaking his head as he starts for the door. All of a sudden the door busts in, and Fin comes in gun raised. “Put your hands up--Elliot?” He asks, his face screwed up.

“Hey Fin, uh, what’s going on?” Elliot coughs, looking at Fin as his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“Got a call about a woman being raped in here. You got a girl with you?” He asks softly, his eyes pleading Elliot not to fight him.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Come in, she’s in the bathroom. Just a second.” He huffs, heading into room.

“Hey, lemme passed. You know I can’t let you into that bathroom.” He murmurs, and Elliot sucks in a breath and flares his nostrils, his body tensing.

“Yeah.” He bites, knocking on the door. “Baby! C’mon out!” He calls. He hears her giggle and calls back to him.

“You c’mon in! What’s taking so long?” She coos and Elliot looks to Fin, hoping he’d see and leave. Fin stands firm.

“Babe, please come out here really quick.”

“No, you come in here!” Her voice was silky and seductive, leaving Elliot to huff a breath to calm himself.

“I need you to come out here please. C’mon on out or Fin’ll have to come in.” He calls.

“Jesus, Elliot. Is policeman voice necessary? Wait… Fin?” She asks, her voice raising an octave on concern.

“Hey, I’m here. I need to ask a few questions.” Fin calls, rapping softly on the door.

“Yeah, okay.” She wraps her self in a towel and steps out into the hotel room to find Elliot pacing and Fin standing next to the dresser, arms crossed.

“Elliot, can you step outside quick?” He asks.

“No! Fin that’s bullshit, and you know it.” Elliot barks, grabbing her hand in his.

“It’s okay, El.” She assures, kissing his knuckles as he heads out into the hallway.

“Have you and Elliot known each other long?” He asks, sitting her on the edge of the bed.

“Yes, I’ve known him since the eighties.” She huffs with an awkward smile.

“Right, okay. Has he ever hurt you? Touched you inappropriately?” Fin asks.

“I mean-” she snorts, face flaming bright red and she licks her lips remembering how he tasted. “No.” She coughs, biting down on her bottom lip.

“Right. Was it consensual?” He asks, scribbling something down.

“Of course!” She laughs, holding her sides.

“Okay, you okay then?” He asks.

“Yeah, of course.” She nods, smiling.

“Alright, sorry to intrude like this.” Fin smiles.

“It’s okay. Hey Fin, do you really think Elliot could do this?” He looks up at her from his notes and his eyes meet hers.

“He’d rather die than hurt anyone like that; especially you.” He assures, reaching a hand out and grasping her forearm. “I better get goin’. He’s probably losin’ his shit.” He chuckles, grabbing the knob and swinging open the door. Elliot slips in and shuts the door behind him.

“I’m sorry.” She laughs, covering her mouth.

“Don’t be; and don’t hide that sweet smile from me.” He murmurs, pulling her hand away to reveal the beautiful smile.

“Use your cop voice on me again.” She murmurs, eyeing him as she heads for the shower, dropping the towel to reveal her naked, beautiful body.

“Ma’am, I’m gonna have to ask you to stop.” He booms, sending shivers down her spine. With a glance over her shoulder, a vixen smile on her lips as she disappears into the bathroom. Elliot hops from the bed and follows her into the bathroom. “Put your hands on your head and turn around.” He growls low, her eyes meeting his as she turns to face him, her hands on her head.

“What’s the charge?” She challenges, slowly rolling her hips against him.

“Bribery of an officer.” He murmurs in her ear, pulling her into the shower as he kicks off his briefs and tosses away his shirt.

[cultgambles]

Is Your Boyfriend Jealous Yet?

Hawks likes putting on a show, can you blame him?

I was on GWA and this girl had a nice fun plot and audio and I was really feeling it in the moment hehe...so largely inspired by that!

Contains: nsfw, car sex, reader cheats, cunnilingus, exhibition, fandom hawks behavior

Also: wrap it before you tap it

Word Count: 2118

Masterlist | Requests? open

“So there I was, staring this villain down at the end of the street, and then he just appeared! My idol!”

“Endeavor? What did he do?”

“Of course he didn’t waste any time taking em down, it was cool and all to see it but he really took the spotlight, ya know?”

“Oh please, as if you need to be loved by the public anymore.”

“I do! That’s who I am!”

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Who’s that chick staring at you?”

Hawks turns, looking over his shoulder, “I dunno, a fan maybe? She’s coming over!”

“Act natural!”

“I am a natural. All nat-ur-ral.” He smooths down his silky burgundy button up shirt. 

“Hey! Hawks?” 

“The one and only!” Hawks gives a dazzling style, saluting towards you.

“I just wanted to say how cool you are, every time you employ your Quirk I’m amazed! And you’re not too bad to look at either!” you giggle.

“Thanks, kid,” he smiles, a real one. “People like you are the ones that make hero work worth it.”

“Yeah? Do you have time to chat? My name’s [Y/N], by the way. Are your wings okay? They look a little sparse.”

“‘Course I have time to chat. You wanna drink? Hey! One Lemon Drop for the lady, if you will!”

“Coming right up!”

“My most recent showdown against a villain. No biggie, they’ll grow back in a couple days.” Hawks turns a little so you can see the appendages where his feathers would usually be. There’s little small ones beginning to peek through. 

“Wow! I don’t think I saw that fight on the news or anything,” you murmur.

“I’m okay with doin’ it in silence, as long as it gets done, you know? 

It’s nice knowing people are safe and that there’s one less piece of shit on the street. But it’s also hard work” he continued. 

“The man who’s just a bit too fast, huh? You ever get tired?” you query. “Thanks for the drink, by the way.”

“No problem! And yeah, it’s hard to slow down, and I know I need to; but I always feel like I’m bein’ too lazy when I could be out there in the field.” 

Hawks is surprised, he’s never been this forward and vulnerable. Especially to a complete stranger. Maybe it was that gin and tonic he had earlier.

Your mouth opens, but before you can say anything, a booming voice cuts through the crowd.

“[Y/N] What the hell are you doing! Get over here!” Your face falls slightly, and Hawks notices with a curious, but watchful gaze. 

“I just saw Hawks here! I’ve never been this close to a pro hero before, and I wanted to say my thanks,” you mumble.

“Well I don’t like my girlfriend wandering off and talking to other guys, regardless if they’re a hero or not. Come on, we’re leaving!”

“But we just got here!” you protest.

“Now, [Y/N],” he growls, shoving you away from the pro hero, and towards the door.

“Hey, buddy,” Hawks clamps a hand on your boyfriend’s shoulder, holding him in place. “Don’t go pushing women around.” 

“This isn’t even your problem, man.”

“I’m going to make it my problem.” Hawks is deadly, intimidating. Even though you’re a little scared, you’re a bit turned on, to be honest. He’s got this air of danger around him, his eyes slit to pinpricks.

Before your boyfriend can get another word out, one of the club bouncers steps up, towering over the three of you. “Problem here? Or am I going to have to escort you out?”

“Nah, man, we’ll take it outside. Don’t worry about us,” Hawks shrugs. Your boyfriend tugs you along, seething behind Hawks.

“This isn’t over, Hawks. And you, don’t you EVER cause a scene like that, you hear?” 

You sniff. “I just wanted to say my thanks…”

“She was doin’ nothin’, that was all you man.” Hawks shakes his head. “I’d even say she was more into me than she has been in a while. I mean, the way you shouted at her was pretty scary,” he says, popping the ‘p.’

You look at Hawks under your lashes.

“No she wasn’t!” your boyfriend drops your arm, marching right up to the pro hero.

 Hawks leans around him and nods his head at you. “Why don’t we show him a thing or two?” You give him a puzzled look. “My car’s right there if you know what I mean.”

“Hold on, you have a car? How would you even fit your wings in.”

“Baby, you’re ruining the moment,” Hawks laughs, stepping in next to you. “I just take my car for a spin when I can’t fly. Not a walking type of guy, really.”

“So let me get this straight, you wanna fuck me? In your car? For why?”

“Give a little show to your asshole of a boyfriend. So he can see how to really treat a woman, hm?”

“Don’t you go with him, [Y/N]! I will literally kill you.”

“Is that really the smartest thing to say right next to a pro hero? Okay, Hawks, what that tongue do?” You purr.

“I’ll show you,” Hawks’ car’s doors unlock with a click. “Get in the back.”

Your boyfriend outside looks right mad, shouting and screaming at you. You swear a crowd has formed.

Hawks lays down and motions a finger for you. You shut the door behind you, and it’s just you two in this moment, boyfriend be damned. 

“Hold onto the headrests, okay, baby?” Hawks asks as you situate yourself above his mouth. 

“Lucky for me, you’re just wearing that cute little skirt and skimpy top. What, did you want every guy to turn heads for you?” Hawks grips your plush thighs, digging his nose to your panties. “All that from earlier really got you goin’, huh? Look how wet you are for me.” He kisses your clothed sex before pulling your underwear to the side. A long, languid lick all the way up to your clit has you shivering with pleasure, begging for more.

You’re grinding down on Hawks’ tongue, he’s just that fucking good. You briefly wonder how many other people have experienced this ecstasy. At least you have him for this moment. 

Breathy squeaks leave your mouth as his mouth catches on particular spots. 

“Let it out, I wanna hear you. I want him to hear what I’m doing to you.” Locking eyes with your boyfriend outside the car sends you over the edge, his face as bright as the heels on your feet. His eyes dim slightly just as yours slip closed, mouth agape. Hawks continues to pleasure you as you come down from your high. 

Carefully, he lifts you up to sit you on his lap. A little cramped, but worth it. Your wetness glistens along Hawks’ jawline, and you lean in to kiss him, tasting yourself and him. 

“That’s cute,” he whispers, bringing his hands up to knead at your breasts slightly. His gold eyes shimmer as you rub against his cock. 

“Gonna show me your cute dick next?” you ask.

“It’s cute, like, big, not cute as in small. Just so you know. How about you lay down, baby,” he turns towards you slightly, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his black trousers. His cock is nice. As nice as one can be. It’s a little thicker, curved to the left a bit. He’s trimmed. He strokes it a couple times, dragging his precum along the shaft. You flick your panties off and they land on his head.

“Impatient, are we?” he grins. 

“Just a bit,” you smile, reaching between your legs to spread yourself open a bit for him to see. 

“Pretty pussy for a pretty girl,” he leans over, hand guiding to your quivering sex. He pushes in slowly, letting out a deep moan be swallowed up by your kiss. “You’re so tight around me.”

He lets you adjust, and not long after, you’re clawing at him to start moving. “Feels so good, you fill me up so good, Hawks.”

“They’re all watching us now, hummingbird. I bet they’re jealous at how good I’m fucking you,” he says over his grunts.

You’re bleary-eyed and blissed out, barely registering his words. “Who...Who’re they?”

“Seems like your little boyfriend’s screaming match has attracted quite a crowd.”

“O-oh? How big?”

“Enough.”

“You wanna get out, don’t you.”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah okay, whatever you want, Hawks. Who am I to deny a pro hero what he wants? Just keep fucking me, please.”

Hawks’ eyes flash, hand scrambling for the door handle and pulling you out into the brisk air. “Really? Whatever I want? How about I just bend you over the trunk of my car and rail you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow?” 

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me for a lil while longer.” Hawks pushes your head down almost gently as he presses into you against the cool metal. You sigh as he slips back inside of you. Then he’s pulling your top down to your waist, your breasts squishing against the dirt and dust. A few people whoop. Somehow, you don’t care that everyone can see, or that camera flashes are blinding your vision. The way he drills into you makes you even forget how you even got into this situation to begin with. 

“What about the--” you moan “--press?” 

“Don’t give a fuck about them, none at all. My PR team could probably cover it up, I don’t know. Don’t wanna think about that. Y’all see this? Her nasty ass boyfriend was fuckin’ rippin’ on her, treating her like shit on a stick. No one should treat a woman like that, ya hear?” he’s loud, addressing the people around you. “Well, I guess ex boyfriend would be appropriate. What do you think, [Y/N]?”

“Y-yeah You’re right! Oh! OH! Hawks.”

“C’mon songbird, sing me that song,” he says right next to your ear, sucking a hickey into your neck.

“[Y/N], baby, how could you do this to me?” your boyfriend pleads. Ex-boyfriend, you mean.

“That’s what you get for being a shit. And you’re not even that mad, you’re enjoying yourself too,” you moan to him. “Hawks is technically police, you don’t want him to throw you in jail, now do you?”

“He wouldn’t, he can’t! I didn’t really do anything.”

“I can and I will,” Hawks growls.

“You’re just using your privilege!”

“Yeah,” Hawks agrees. “But then again, I’m sure I could find some dirt on you.”

“Haw--”

“Yes baby?” his attention snaps to you.

Your ex was never this attentive. It gave you butterflies. You swallowed them to let him know you were close. 

If he had his feathers, they would surely flush out. 

“Come on, birdie, cream on my cock, I know you can do it.” He reaches around your waist to swipe at your clit. 

“Nnnggft,” you moan, your cunt seizing up, the pressure building. It explodes, sending a chill down your spine. 

“Yes baby, keep up for me, I’m right behind ya...” Hawks thrusts impossibly faster, chasing his own climax, loving the way your sex flutters around him.  

“[Y/N] I’m--” Hawks’ voice dies out as he shoots thick ropes of cum in you, white seed painting your insides. 

The both of you struggle to catch your breaths. Hawks leans over you, massaging your hips. “Why don’t we take this back to your place and finish up?”

“Why not yours?” You laugh, running a hand over his sweat sheened forehead and into his unruly blonde hair.

“Security? At least take me on a date,” he laughs.

You sigh with contempt. “Okay, Hawks. Okay.” He nuzzles your neck slightly, pulling out of you. 

Hawks tucks himself back in his trousers and pulls up your top. “Let’s get outta here, then. Hey! I got it, don’t worry,” he says, pulling the passenger door open.

“Where’s my underwear?”

“Dunno.”

“I’m gonna leave a wet spot.”

“I don’t mind,” he says nonchalantly before hopping into the driver’s seat next to you. The ignition rolls over and Hawks backs out of the parking space. His hand rests on the inside of your thigh, rubbing in slow circles. 

You notice his nails are black, and curved a bit like talons. 

Pretty.

“Okay hummingbird, lead the way,” he says, giving you a soft smile.

[oh-for-merlins-sake]

WAR | gw

a/n: hi all! this is my first stab at a george weasley x reader fanfic and i hope you like it! i had oodles and oodles of fun writing it and i can’t wait to write more. feedback is always appreciated (if anyone’s happened to find this)! i would be profoundly honored to dedicate this piece to @ickle-ronniekins who i’ve been secretly reading for months now, and who’s inspired me to start writing again! cheers! x

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k

warnings: mild swearing, mild teenage angst.

┈┈┈┈

“If Wood snaps at me one more time about that stupid bloody bludger I missed, I may just whack him off his broom with one,” George grumbled, scooping a spoonful of porridge into his bowl.

“You’d think we were playing for the World Cup the way he’s been acting,” Fred complained.

Gryffindor was fresh off a losing Quidditch match with Slytherin, which did not sit well with their captain, Oliver Wood. Granted, it was Wood’s final year as Captain, but that didn’t necessarily mean that the House Cup was a life-or-death matter as he’d been treating it. Much to his team’s dismay, this meant that he was particularly critical of every minute mistake and trivial trip-up.

As the twins grumbled and griped about Wood and his overbearing spirits, Marcus Flint, Slytherin captain, strode into the Great Hall, boasting about their recent victory.

“As if Wood needed something else to set him off,” Fred said with a dramatic eye roll.

Flint continued arrogantly prattling on near the entrance, making sure that every student who made their way in that morning could hear all about the knockout game they’d had.

“Wish there was a way to shut him up,” Fred continued.

As Wood defiantly stood from the table to storm over to Flint and share a piece of his mind, inspiration struck George.

“Oh Freddie boy, there surely is a way!” He grinned mischievously before whipping around and aiming a quiet Langlock jinx at Flint.

Just as the spell shot from the tip of his wand, Flint rushed over to the Slytherin table at the beck and call of his girlfriend, causing the jinx to fire at an unsuspecting, innocent victim: you.

George felt his insides twist and turn at the sight of you grasping for your mates in a pure state of panic.

“George!” Fred scolded.

“I wasn’t trying to hit her, you prat!”

“Well, fix it!”

“I don’t know how!”

You clawed at your mouth in a desperate attempt to translate your current predicament to your mates now that your tongue was currently locked against the roof of your mouth. As your mates whirled around you in confusion, you spotted the flustered twins as they bickered relentlessly and poorly obscured their gestures towards you. You violently pointed in their direction in an accusatory fashion, which your mates understood without hesitation.

If looks could kill, they would’ve been murdered on the spot.

“You barbaric prats!” Your best mate shrieked before escorting you to the hospital wing.

Fred and George grimaced at one another and gulped down their fears of what was to come.

┈┈┈┈

“I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning, have you?” George anxiously asked Fred as they crept into the Great Hall.

“I haven’t,” he confirmed, claiming a spot at their table. “If she comes after us, I will kick your arse into next week, understood?”

George repeatedly scanned the room for you as he fidgeted with the toast on his plate. He was much too fretful to consume even a single bite of breakfast.

When he’d finally decided that you might not be coming to breakfast that morning (perhaps you were still in the hospital wing?), he gave up and dug in. It wasn’t until Fred dropped his utensils with a loud clang that George snapped his head up to find you barreling into the Great Hall with a look of fury and determination.

“Shit!” Fred and George immediately scrambled for their book bags, cursing at one another to hurry up already!

“You pathetic little morons!” You picked up the pace and brandished your wand. “Opuggno!”

You sent gargantuan heaps of porridge hurdling out of their bowls and in their direction. As they each made a frantic attempt to dodge the porridge, they accidentally collided with one another, setting them in perfect place for your attack.

“I’m going to bloody murder you, George,” Fred grumbled as porridge began seeping into every crevice of his body.

George wiped the goop out his eyes to find you hovering over them, wand still at bay.

“I dare you to jinx me again — see what happens,” you threatened.

George stammered for a response but couldn’t seem to find the proper words.

“That’s what I thought,” you stated triumphantly.

You swiftly turned on your heel, strutting towards your friends who were jovially applauding your attack.

“You chose the wrong one to jinx, mate,” Fred spat, climbing to his feet.

“It was an accident!” George exclaimed in exasperation.

“Which is what your death will look like once I’m done with you!”

┈┈┈┈

“Y/N, do you really want to spend your time this year vigilantly fending them off? I think they’ve been punished enough, don’t you?” Your best mate, Caroline, complained as the train pulled into Hogsmeade.

Truth be told, she was probably right.

The remainder of your fifth year was spent casting foul looks at the twins whenever they approached you, and — okay, maybe you sent another jinx or two their way since the porridge fiasco, but you were quite frightened when they jinxed you! You weren’t familiar with the Langlock jinx; you almost thought someone was suffocating you! Not to mention the awful feeling of Madam Pomfrey un-sticking your tongue, or the dreadful side effect of altered taste that lasted a month after.

One thing that retained its sweet taste, however, was revenge.

But perhaps Caroline was right. After all, they’d certainly been walking on eggshells around you since then. It was highly unlikely they’d cause you any more trouble.

You sighed, hauling your trunk off the train. “I guess you’re right.”

The two of you claimed a carriage up to the school grounds, happy to breathe in the fresh, crisp air after the exhaustingly long train ride in.

“You don’t think I was too hard on them, do you?” You asked.

“Well,” Caroline said as the carriage rolled along the path, “Perhaps a tad.”

“All right, I’ll bloody apologize,” you decided.

“Good! You’ll feel much better once you do!”

Shortly upon arrival, you noticed Fred and George hopping out of the carriage that sat a few ahead of yours, and you figured now might be the best time to end this war before they fled too far away.

“Weasley!” You called, cautiously approaching them.

They simultaneously whipped their heads to face you, eyes widening at your presence.

“Relax, I’m not gonna hex you,” you chuckled.

“To what do we owe the pleasure then?” Fred asked, sternly crossing his arms.

“I wanted to apologize,” you mumbled, glancing up at each of them sheepishly.

“Well, well, well, would you look at that, Georgie! She’s come to apologize,” he teased.

“Oh, just shut up and listen,” you laughed. “I’m really sorry for all of those... gratuitous spells...”

“Oh, you mean like the time you glued my shoes to the floor?” George recalled.

“Or the time you jinxed my quill to bite me during Charms?” Fred reminded.

“Yes, exactly that... I’m sorry,” you said. “Truce?”

They glanced at one another and playfully pondered your request.

“I dunno, Freddie, should we give her another chance?” George asked, a grin tugging at the edge of his lips.

Fred tapped his chin with his index finger and contorted his face in feigned contemplation.

“Hurry up, won’t you — before I change my mind!”

“All right, all right — truce,” Fred decided, shaking your hand.

“Truce,” George echoed, doing the same.

You felt a weight lift from your shoulders as you all laughed at your previous antics and wandered up the hill with Caroline (who was also quite relieved at the reconciliation).

“For the record,” Fred said, “I never jinxed you. That was all sweet Georgie here!” He ruffled George’s hair with his knuckles.

“Thanks, you prat,” George hissed, shoving Fred off of him.

You laughed and poked George in the ribs. “It’s okay! We’re starting over, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “Starting over.”

┈┈┈┈

As the months trickled by, you found yourself spending an increasing amount of time with Fred and George. Whether they were intruding on your late-night study sessions in the library, (“Would you put that bloody book down already!”) or you were all in a fit of laughter by the Black Lake, you genuinely enjoyed their company and couldn’t believe it took you this long to do so.

Despite your growing friendship with Fred, something just clicked with you and George. He often snuck food out of the kitchen for you during those late-night study sessions; and he’d make sure you made it to Herbology before scurrying off to Transfiguration (often resulting in a late arrival); he’d also crumple up silly doodles of Snape during Potions and chuck them onto your desk.

One thing he hadn’t manage to do was ask you to the Yule Ball.

“Mate, you’ve got to ask her soon, or someone else will,” Fred urged.

It was blatantly obvious to Fred that his brother was head over heels for you — no question about it. He also felt quite confident that you felt the same; in fact, he’d likely bet a few galleons on it. Why George couldn’t muster the courage to simply ask you to the ball was beyond him.

So, there the two sat, bickering in the courtyard while you were busy finalizing your Charms essay in the library.

“I’m working on it, all right?” George retorted. “I just haven’t figured out how.”

“Oh, I see,” Fred began with a tinge of sarcasm, “Because saying, ‘Hey, Y/N, would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me’ is simply unsatisfactory.”

George rolled his eyes, fiddling with the strap of his book bag. “I just want to make sure I’m doing the right thing,” he murmured. “Don’t want to make things painfully awkward, y’know?”

“You mean in case she says no?”

George nodded as they made their way back into the castle.

“You’re bloody mad if you think she’d turn you down,” Fred said.

As they approached the library to scoop you up for Charms, they noticed you were already headed there with someone else.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Fred groaned as you turned the corner.

“Is that —”

“Pretty Boy Diggory...”

George was already sprinting to catch up, beckoning Fred to do the same.

“What did I tell you, Georgie,” Fred grumbled to himself.

By the time they could slow down and casually approach you, you were standing just outside of the classroom, giggling away with Cedric.

“I’ll see you later?” Cedric asked, a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Can’t wait,” you said softly.

He placed a kiss to your cheek before you bashfully ducked into the classroom.

George suddenly felt his stomach sinking to his feet. He thought he might churn if he looked at Cedric any longer. And was he imagining it or were his limbs actually going numb? Maybe he should crawl behind a statue, curl up into a ball, and stay there for the remainder of his education. Yes, that sounded quite appealing in this moment.

Cedric gleefully greeted the twins as he passed them on his way to class, “Morning!”

“Morning,” Fred mumbled, refusing to take his eyes off of George.

Fred nearly dragged George into class, who now sat at his desk, colorless, emotionless, and utterly defeated.

You swiveled around in your chair to face them, waving excitedly.

If you were being honest, you had desperately hoped that George would’ve asked you to the Yule Ball by now, given that there were only a few days left. Once you’d realized that he wasn’t going to ask you (what a foolish thought that was anyways), you figured you might as well scout out other options. When Caroline had causally mentioned that Cedric couldn’t keep his eyes off of you in Herbology, you considered him a perfectly pleasant substitution.

But he wasn’t George.

You were fairly confused when the twins failed to eagerly return your greeting, but you didn’t have much time to ponder that before Professor Flitwick began his lesson.

You slowly turned back around, quite befuddled at their behavior.

Had you done something wrong?

┈┈┈┈

“Quit your worrying — you look beautiful!” Caroline gushed as the two of you skipped down the stairs.

“Thanks,” you said, squeezing her around the shoulder, “So do you!”

You gently lifted the hem of your deep indigo dress as you carefully descended the last of the steps. You straightened the sheer, sparkly layer of tulle that gracefully sat atop your dress and scanned the room for George.

You knew you ought to be looking for Cedric, but George had been acting rather odd since that day in Charms — almost like he’d been avoiding you.

Fred still sat with you by the Black Lake after class, swapping sweets with you, and even tackled his Transfiguration homework with you one night in the library. But encounters with George seemed few and far between since then.

You couldn’t help but wonder if it may have been the result of something you’d been dreading: he’d found his date to the Yule Ball, and they’d been inseparable since.

Cedric called your name, snapping you back to reality.

“You look stunning,” he said, taking your hand in his and kissing the back of it.

You blushed and returned the compliment, coyly glancing around the room for any sign of Fred or George. You spotted Fred with Angelina making their way into the Great Hall and — there! You caught another head of fiery red hair ambling along beside of him.

Thankfully, Cedric had been momentarily distracted by a few of his mates to notice you standing on your tippy toes in a failed attempt to catch sight of whom George was with.

“Shall we?” Cedric asked, extending his arm for the taking.

You absent-mindedly intertwined your arm with his as he escorted you into the Great Hall. It was only during your opening dance with Cedric that you laid eyes on George’s date: Katie Bell.

You subconsciously frowned as you noticed George was far too preoccupied with the floor in front of him to notice you in your pretty gown, hair flowing behind you, twirling around — all in an effort to impress him. What was worse was the fact that Katie was practically sitting on him with how close she was... barf.

Before you knew it, minutes had turned into hours, and you were considerably exhausted by Cedric toting you around, introducing you to this person and that one. Keeping up a cheerful attitude while George danced around the room with someone else was particularly draining. But a Triwizard champion had no business mingling with a mope! So you kept up appearances.

But if Cedric spun you in one more circle, you thought you might just lose your dinner.

Unbeknownst to you, George would’ve agreed with your internal thoughts. He too was exhausted; exhausted by Katie’s constant, mindless chatter and her forced laughs at any and every comment he made. And as if watching you fawn over Cedric for the past few hours wasn’t bad enough, it didn’t boost his spirits to listen to Fred snapping at him every chance he got, practically begging George to intervene.

When you noticed Angelina and Katie heading for the girl’s room, you excused yourself from Cedric and his mates.

George was going to talk to you, damn it.

As you swiftly approached their table, Fred kicked George underneath and blurted, “She’s coming this way!”

“Fred, George! Fancy seeing you here!” You exclaimed in an overly cheerful tone.

You plopped down into the chair beside of George and took a swig of your Butterbeer. He furrowed his brows and crossed his arms.

“You look nice,” Fred complimented in an attempt to encourage George to say something similar.

“Thank you, Freddie, so do you,” you stated plainly.

An awkward silence ensued as George fiddled with his glass, avoiding eye contact.

You cleared your throat and tapped his shoulder. “How’s your night going, George?”

He seemed startled by your touch. He straightened up, pondering how to converse with you when he was so positively peeved by you prancing around with Cedric.

“Oh, it’s going fine,” he’d decided on. “Katie’s really wonderful — have you two met? I’m sure you’ve seen her around; very pretty, a little taller than you. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but she’s also a wicked Quidditch player! I know you said you’d like to hone your Quidditch skills sometime — sure she’d be chuffed to teach someone with zero experience. Also fairly sure she’s top of your Herbology class, so I guess you two must have met by now!”

“What are you playing at?” You snapped.

Fred’s eyes widened as he grabbed his glass and announced, “Going to get a refill!”

“What d’you mean?” George asked innocently.

“Yes, I’ve met Katie Bell, and yes, I know she’s wonderful. I’m sure that’s why you asked her,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“How’s your night going with Pretty Boy Diggory? Seems like a drag to me,” George sneered.

“It’s actually been quite lovely,” you lied. “Really knows how to treat a lady, I must say! You know, when he asked me, he gave me a sunflower, which is my favorite! He’s also very charming, and witty, too.”

“Well, I’m glad someone finally asked you,” he spat.

“Excuse me?”

“I was starting to worry you might never find someone!”

“Says the bloke who couldn’t score a date until the day before!”

Tears were welling up in your eyes and you begged them not to spill over. Just as you were about to deliver your next jab, Cedric made his way back to you.

“George,” he greeted with a polite nod before turning to you. “Thought we might sneak away to the gardens, love. What do you think?”

“I would love to!” You exclaimed defiantly. You tossed back your Butterbeer and slammed your empty glass on the table before placing a hard kiss to Cedric’s lips.

“Have a nice night, Georgie!”

If George had been thinking a little more clearly, if he hadn’t just had a tough row with you, he may have thought better than to do what he did next.

“Furnunculus!” He hissed, wand clearly aimed at Cedric.

You gasped as boils began erupting onto Cedric’s face, rapidly spreading down to his neck. You turned to see George storming out of the Great Hall, tucking his wand into his robes. You quickly dragged Cedric out into the corridor.

“Madam Pomfrey will be able to fix you right up, dear. I’m so sorry about this!”

It was quite difficult for Cedric to do anything other than moan in agony as you escorted him to the hospital wing.

As soon as Madam Pomfrey assured you that Cedric would be well in no time, you made your way back down to the Great Hall, only to find that the festivities were wrapping up. You spotted George sulking up the stairs with Fred and practically leapt up the steps towards him.

Once you were close enough, you spun him around to face you.

His eyes widened as you whipped out your wand and said tearfully, “This is the last time you ruin my day with a stupid jinx.”

Before George could say anything, you ambushed him with a gnarly Bat-Bogey hex. Tears streamed down your face as he flailed around.

Fred sighed at you. “Can’t you two just grow up already?”

You pushed past him and sprinted down the stairs. You felt like the oxygen in your body was slowly leaking out of you; you desperately needed fresh air. As you burst into the courtyard, you collapsed onto a bench with no one to cry with but yourself.

Your ears were ringing violently, and you felt dizzy and helpless as you tried to catch your breath. This is not how you’d envisioned your night.

You wanted nothing more than to fall into George’s arms and to confess to him how you’d felt — how you’d felt for the past few months now. You wanted to tell him how the only thing you could think of the entire night was how you’d give a thousand galleons to be the one twirling around with him instead of Katie. How dreadfully boring you found Cedric compared to him. How sorry you were that you didn’t wait for him.

You were heartbroken and alone.

You weren’t sure if the two of you would ever recover.

┈┈┈┈

“He’s staring again,” Caroline mumbled.

“Well, staring won’t get him very far, will it?” You said, twiddling with your quill as you flipped through your Herbology notes.

Christmas break was over, and it was time to get ready for your N.E.W.T.s, so whenever you had a free moment to brush up on your studies, you took advantage of it.

Caroline had pointed out several times during this train ride how often George would glance your way and seemingly battle with himself about coming over to talk to you.

After the Yule Ball, the two of you made it a point to avoid each other. While at surface value it seemed that you two were avoiding each other out of spite, truthfully, you were both avoiding each other out of sheer embarrassment. You both knew you’d overreacted, and you both knew you should’ve just come to terms with your feelings for one another right then and there. But no, just as Fred had implied, you’d both acted rather childishly.

The remainder of that year saw Fred and Caroline constantly devising ways to get you and George to talk to one another, but each attempt was met with failure.

That summer felt awfully empty without George, even if Fred had mentioned him in a letter every now and then.

When neither of you initiated conversation during the first half of your final year, you became increasingly anxious at how long you’d have to cope with the consequences of your immature behavior.

“What do you expect him to do, Y/N?” Caroline asked.

“I dunno,” you earnestly replied, “I guess I just want him to be honest with me. I’m tired of this ridiculous back and forth and tip-toeing around what could be.”

“Well, were you ever honest with him?”

You loved Caroline, but sometimes you despised her brutal honesty.

“No,” you sheepishly admitted.

“Well, all right then.”

Just as you resumed your light reading, you noticed your quill transforming in your hand. You gazed at it in confusion and watched in awe as it slowly became a beautiful, bright sunflower.

Caroline chuckled lightly as the heat rushed to your face. You glanced up at George, who peered at you apologetically from his seat and bashfully waved at you.

You couldn’t resist breaking out into a ridiculous grin as you warmly waved back.

George let out a small laugh as you turned back to Caroline.

“That seemed pretty honest to me,” she triumphantly stated.

“Oh, hush, you,” you giggled.

Once classes resumed, your time was fairly consumed by your studies. You rarely saw George outside of Charms, and that wasn’t exactly a prime spot for conversation, given that this year you were practically sprinting from the greenhouse to get to Charms on time. You often tried to catch him in the Great Hall or in the corridor, but your schedules outside of Charms seemed so misaligned.

But, boy, did you long to talk to him.

Every once in a blue moon, you’d find another sunflower mysteriously appearing on your desk, or on top of your book in the library, or quite literally replacing your breakfast plate. You began viewing these occurrences as George’s way of communicating with you when your schedules seemed hell-bent on keeping you apart.

When you finally enlisted in Dumbledore’s Army, the universe sang in celebration.

It wasn’t until your first meeting that you realized you might actually stand a chance of sitting down and having a conversation with him. Maybe not during the meeting, but certainly on the way out!

After an exhilarating lesson, you felt adrenaline coursing through your veins. You’d successfully conjured a Patronus and expertly countered some spells that Caroline sent barreling your way. There was only one thing that could make this even better.

“George!” You called to him as he began shuffling out of the room.

He stopped in his tracks, turning to you with his jaw slightly slacked. He playfully pointed to himself, turning around then back again. “Are you talking to me?”

You laughed lightly, which he returned. You cautiously approached him, struggling to make eye contact.

“Listen, George — ”

“Y/N, I — ”

You both laughed again.

“Go ‘head,” you said.

The last few stragglers made their way out of the Room of Requirement until it was just the two of you. Even Fred and Caroline had long gone.

“Y/N... I’m really sorry about... well, about everything...” There was a hint of sadness in his voice that you’d never heard before.

“George — ”

“No, really. I’m sorry I acted like such an arse last year. It’s just, when I saw you with Cedric — ”

It felt weird hearing his name now.

“I felt sick. I had always known that you were different — that you were special. But I never fully acknowledged that until I saw him kissing you in the hallway. I wanted to evaporate into thin air and pretend I’d never existed. I couldn’t bring myself to even come within a few meters of you because it just felt like a wicked punch to the gut.”

You frowned in sympathy. If only he’d known how you’d felt.

“And then at the Yule Ball,” he continued, “Blimey, did you look bloody beautiful. I’d never seen anything so angelic in my life. And to see that tainted by him gushing over you and parading you around nearly killed me. I would’ve given anything for you to be dancing with me instead.”

“George — ” You tried to speak again.

“Please, let me finish,” he begged. “I acted like a right prat that night. I was angry that he’d beaten me to the punch. I was angry that you’d ended up with him and not me. I let my anger overwhelm my senses and thought that maybe if I made you feel just as angry as I’d felt, that maybe you’d realize I’d been there all along. But instead, it was a pathetic idea, and instead I made you feel small. And Merlin, Y/N, I don’t ever want to see you look at me that way again — not in my whole life.”

He gripped your shoulders, and you were worried he might be able to hear your heart pounding in your chest, begging to burst from inside of you and profess its love once and for all.

“All I care about is what makes you happy. And if that was him, then I should’ve let it be. I’m sorry about what happened, I’m sorry I can’t bring him back, but Y/N... I would give up everything I own — which I know doesn’t seem like much — just to make you happy. If I have to conjure up a thousand sunflowers every day for the rest of my life just to see you smile, then you’ll never go a day without one.”

Your head was reeling and you could have sworn the room was spinning profusely around you. You clutched his hands on your shoulders for balance and felt a single tear roll down your flushed face.

“George, I’m so, so sorry,” you blurted out as you began to cry.

His body collided with yours as he embraced you with the force of a million supernovae bursting through the universe.

“I’m so sorry,” you repeated, burying your face into his chest.

“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s okay,” he whispered.

You pulled away. “No, George, I need you to know — I would’ve given everything to be your date that night. Day in and day out, I daydreamed about what it would be like to be your date to the Yule Ball. I desperately wanted to go with you... but as it got closer and closer, I gave up. I went with the first person who asked me, and I am so sorry. I should’ve waited for you!”

George gently held the sides of your face, wiping your tears away.

“And those things I said about him,” you continued, “I only said them because I was hurt that Katie Bell got to dance with you and hold you and laugh with you, and I wanted nothing more than do those things myself. I didn’t feel anything for him, George! I only wanted you. And I’m sorry that I hexed you after that, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner — ”

Before you could utter another word, George crashed his lips onto yours, and you nearly melted in his arms. As your lips moved in synchrony, fireworks exploded in your heart and a symphony of bliss echoed inside your head. This was the feeling you’d been yearning for; this was the little piece of your soul that had been missing; this was you and George Weasley and nobody else; this was pure, unadulterated, head-over-heels love.

You both laughed as you peppered kisses across each other’s lips.

“Is this our formal peace treaty, Weasley?” You teased.

He pressed another kiss to your lips before biting his lip in thought. “Bound by one condition, I suppose.”

“And may I ask what that condition might be?” You giggled.

“Be my girlfriend, yeah?” He murmured against your lips.

“Oh, all right!”

George draped his arms around your waist, scooping you up as he continued indulging in the sweet taste of your kisses.

It seems as though two of you did recover.

The war was over.

[emrysaf]

A-Z Affection Prompts- Victor Creed

“Marks and nuzzling with Victor Creed? If you're still doing the prompts.”

“A man who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself.”

 - John Stuart Mill

Your mutation wasn’t the best, so to speak. Genetically, you had a lot in common with feral types of mutants; those with animalistic qualities and high healing factors. 

Only, you didn’t heal fast from actual wounds. You had the higher healing factor than a “normal” human like most mutants, but nothing in comparison to Victor, or Logan (whom you’d only met once). Scientists who had done studies of various types of mutants and the subgroupings had said your mutation’s power was all used up in keeping you appearing like you didn’t age. It wasn’t something you could turn on or off and it didn’t come with claws or bone skewers coming out of your body. However, you did have slightly pointed ears and what appeared to be two sets of sharper-than-average canines on the bottom and top rows of teeth along with more strength than would be normal for someone of your size.

Despite how you felt you were weak or a hindrance, Victor kept you around after he had found you in a cage years ago. He was a murder machine even at the best of times, but he was your protector and friend. 

In recent years something had changed. The familial love had shifted and grew into something else. But even being with him for years, you weren’t the best at reading his emotions unless it came to rage. That one you saw a lot, never pointed at you though.

After living so long one would suppose you’d had a lot of . . . experience. That wasn’t necessarily true. Yes, you had been with people, even felt love you supposed (though it was nothing compared to how you felt about the large feral mutant), but they were few and far between. Either they began to age and wanted to settle when you knew you couldn’t or you were being hunted as recognition, understanding and acceptance of mutants fluctuated over the years of your long life.

What you did know from experience is that you weren’t some frail, breakable thing. Unless you were to be honest about your love for Creed. Then, yes, you were weak.

But these average, human men in the alley that had clear, albeit disgusting, goals? You were definitely not weaker than them. And you proved it when you beat the absolute shit out of them for their attempted gang assault. After you finished demolishing them and some of the alley walls, you wiped your bloody knuckles on the sides of your jeans. Then you buttoned up your flannel all the way since the tank top underneath had been roughly grabbed and nearly torn from your body to expose what the men were after. 

One of the men lightly groaned as he moved his head a bit, and you took a final kick to his temple as you slightly limped from the dark alley. Checking your phone you doubled down on your pace to hurry home. Victor was due home today, and you had wanted to cook something. Now you were running late.

-------------------------------------

Regardless of the fact that you had made it home before him and started on something for dinner, (burgers if his nose was to be believed), Victor was not happy. 

Try as he might to not be possessive, Victor Creed was a territorial man. You may not be his partner, but the rule was no sexual partners in the loft apartment. A rule you made, he might add, and he agreed to out of respect for you and the bond you shared.

Now before he even makes it to the door he can smell a man? Men? And the coppery tinge of blood- he knew you hadn’t gotten any in. . . Well, a while. So he factored that as the blood smell, but another male in his home? More than one? You made the FUCKING rule.

So he was already tense as he opened the door and slammed it shut. Ready to berate you into the next life, and inevitably slut shame a bit. He was known for being an asshole after all.

But all thoughts were cut off as you turned with a tight smile to greet him from the kitchen across the open floored apartment. There was a dark bruise that looked suspiciously like a handprint blooming from under your chin and up your cheek a bit. The blood he had smelled could be seen along your hairline and crusted in your hair a bit. Quickly he took in the flannel buttoned up to the absolute top button and a tear in one shoulder seam. Then down to the hand holding the spatula you were using to flip the burgers; split skin and more dark (almost purple-black) bruising.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Immediately you saw his angered face contort to something else as his eyes flickered around your prone form. You almost forgot about what happened in your haste to get home and start food. You had wanted to do something nicer, but burgers were always a good go-to for Victor. Burgers and beer.

Now you wished you had taken the time to shower or something before starting on the food since it wasn’t ready when he got home anyway.

Again he wore a look, an emotion settling that you couldn’t read.

---------------------------------------------------------------

“What happened?” he grunted.

A relieved look passed over your face as you turned back to the sizzling burgers. Had you already sensed he was angry at you?

“Oh, not much. Got home late so sorry about it being burgers again,” you laughed.

“I meant the blood and shit Y/N.” Gruff as ever.

Back turned to him, he saw your shoulders tense a bit. You weren’t worried about the men who attacked you or what they thought they were going to be able to do to you. You were worried about telling him, and seeing how weak he really thought you were. All marked up and bruised after a fight with some humans? Probably would think you were pathetic.

“Uhm, well…”

A irritated ‘hmph’ came from the stock-still man.

“Some men tried to. . . Attack me. Came at me all together thinking they’d get the upper hand and get- Y’know?..” You lifted the burgers from the skillet to a plate covered in paper towels to catch excess grease.

Behind you Victor had tensed even more. Angry at what happened. Those men. Himself. 

Himself for not being there and for intending to come in and rip you a new one earlier. His inner feral growled lowly. Over the years, probably before your feelings had even shifted, he had grown attached to you in a more romantic, loving nature. But he didn’t want to hurt you. He knew what he did to other frails and knew he held you in higher regard than even himself when he realized he never wanted to see you hurt. But his inner animal was raging; some average human men had not only tried to hurt you, but force you to… to..

You were still putting the burgers together, knowing exactly how he liked his, while you talked. “Got a couple good ones in yeah, but I got ‘em all Vic. Really tore into ‘em like you taught me!” You were getting a bit giddy to regale you triumphant tale as you spun around. And he was right there. ‘Holy shit.’

Victor grabbed the plate from your hands and set it on the counter to the side, picking both your hands up in his clawed one while the other smoothed hair away from the side of your face with the bruise.

“You won?” he questioned, but your indignant reply was cut off as he raised your torn knuckles to his mouth and laved at them. Wet tongue softly grazing over the split skin in a comforting and healing gesture reminiscent of his large cat namesake. Your gasp brought his blown gaze to your own wide eyes. “Of course you did.”

“V-Victor?”

He gave a light growl that further warmed your belly as his gaze shifted back to the handprint on your neck and face. “One of them grabbed you here? Marked you up.”

Breath shaky you replied, “Yeah. Tight grip while I was getting some other guys’ paws off my undershirt. They say we’re the animals. But I won! I’m stronger than you think y’know?” 

The last bit was supposed to be a tease to hide your own insecurity, but his incredulous gaze met yours like he was having an epiphany. (He was.)

‘She thought I thought she was weak? I mean, I did. But not. . . Not as a negative thing.’

“You really are something Y/N,” he chuckled. “Much stronger than I was giving you credit for. I’m sorry.”

‘An apology? What is going on with him?’ Victor dropped suddenly on his knees gazing up at you. ‘Ahhhh!!!?? What is going on? Why is he- Wait.’

The large man wasn’t looking in you eyes anymore but off to the side with his head craned to expose the thick expanse of his neck. Submitting. To you.

“I was wrong. I’ve seen the way your gaze changed over the years. Practically fucking me with your eyes Y/N.” Your face was bright red now. He gave a low chuckle while his head and eyes were still turned away. “You weren’t as subtle as you thought you were. I told myself it couldn’t happen. That you were too weak-” 

Now the salt smell of your tears hit him as he practically felt you stop breathing and he looked up at you in a panic. Tears were welling and slowly teetering the line of falling down your face.

“No. Shit.” he groaned as he wiped his empty clawed hand down his face. “I meant. You’re healing ability. I didn’t want to hurt you. To see you in pain.. I couldn’t live if I hurt you Y/N. But me wanting to protect you like I’ve done for years made me blind the you now. Strong and capable of protecting herself despite a little pain and some cuts and bruises.”

Once he saw the shimmer dissipate a bit he craned his head again. Exposing the column of his throat once more. “I can’t stay marked up. If you tried to it wouldn’t stick. But I am claimed by you. I have been for years now. If-if that’s still what you want?”

Understanding hit you like a freight truck. Slowly you crouched, if you also knelt you would be shorter than him again, to make a point.

“No submitting. You’re Victor Creed. The Sabertooth. These- These feelings are ones we both have right?” At his nod and the curious glint in his eyes you continued. “Then it’s equal. We are equal, bub.” 

Then you gave him what he wanted. Lightly you pressed kisses to his brow, his nose, his lips and his jaw. He reciprocated in his own forceful way. Carefully your gazes met again and you gave a slight nod. You ran your nose down from where you kissed his jaw to the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. He skipped the trailing and harshly pressed his nose to the same spot on your neck, nuzzling, and waited for you to press your open mouth to his skin. 

He felt your hot tongue and groaned loudly. Then there was a slight tearing sound as he dug his sharp canines into your neck, and you repressed your scream by biting him back as hard as possible with your duller teeth. When his teeth pulled from your skin he immediately began lapping at your wound in that healing way again as your body collapsed into his.

When you gave a high whine followed by a moan Victor’s arms wrapped tightly around you and he stood to his full height with you in his hold. Sensing a shift in mood from the loving, openness to a more erotic tone, you laughed.

“Got more plans?”

Another grunt but you felt the curve of his smile where his face was still pressed to you.

“What about the burgers?” You joked.

“Fuck that.” he gave a chuckle this time, hearing your joking lilt. “Let’s work up an appetite first, eh?”

Now you giggled as he practically ran to his dark room down the hall. You were certainly up for a long night making up for lost time, and he was ready to mark you up and see your strength first hand.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Of Gorgons And Gardens

Fandom(s) : The Mandalorian and Prospect [2018]

Pairing: The Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader/Ezra

Rating: Holy shit uh. Explicit.

AN: That's right. I've done it. It's time for the sex pollen. This is a standalone that's not involved with either of my previous tales related to these fine boys, so we have a Death Watch-raised Mando that takes the Creed incredibly seriously and an Ezra that's well armed. Also I apologize for the constant viewpoint switches. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @hardcorewwetrash @helplessly-nonstop @lackofhonor @oloreaa @theocatkov @jackierey09 @zombiexbody @crookedmoonsaultpunk @pedrosbigdorkenergy @absurdthirst @culturalrebel

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For obligatory dubious consent due to sex pollen, as well as threesome activities, breeding kink and gratuitous bodily fluids. Stay safe!]

The quarry was named Ezra. Not that their name mattered, the chain code was freshly generated. The strangest part was that there had been no image attached to the puck. 

Din had tipped his helmet to the side, narrowing his eyes and tapping the bounty puck curiously. "Somethin' wrong with this?"

Karga shook his head. "No, he's just too slick for us to have any holorecords on him. Somebody from Bakhroma wants him alive."

Undocumented quarry was exceptionally rare, and not usually something that one requested a Mandalorian for. It indicated green prey, a first-time offender. "Bakhroma, huh? Pretty far out." He wasn't an idiot. There had to be a reason why Karga had offered him this one specifically.

"Guy apparently walked off with a majority of someone's aurelac pull. Typical floater squabble, but one of them ponied up the mining points for credits and asked for a certified, card-carryin' Mando." Karga had leaned back in the booth. "How's the kid?"

Din had just grunted noncommittally in reply, gloved fingers scooping the puck off the table. "I have to get back to the Crest."

…

"The target has been on Bakhroma relatively recently. Not sure if he was in the Green or not, but either way he'll probably be a walking biohazard." Mando muttered, turning his head towards you. "So you're staying put."

"Until something happens to you and I have to pull you out of the fire again." You retorted with a smirk. 

"Hey, that was one time." You knew he was narrowing his eyes, though you weren't quite sure how you knew. Something about the way he tilted his head ever so slightly to the right clued you in.

"You were full of nexu quills."

"One. Time." The Mandalorian growled. "I even said thank you."

"You sure did," You replied, laughing. "Right before you passed out!"

He palmed over the side of your head roughly. "Brat." His grumble was fond, softening the edge of the insult. "Promise me you'll stay on the Crest, Senaar, otherwise I'll ask Omera to take you and the kid for an extended sleepover."

"Fine, I promise." You relented, huffing in annoyance.

He tinkered with his charts for a moment, then tilted his head again. "Where did you go earlier? I got done with Karga hours ago. Couldn't find you."

You stiffened, abruptly absorbed in checking the fuel levels. "Oh you know. Around." You said breezily. 

"Well in the future, when you feel like going around, at least let me know so I don't think you've been abducted." Mando grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. 

"Aw, you're cute when you care!" You cooed, making him scoff and return to his control panel. 

…

In hindsight, he wasn't sure what he was more pissed off about. The fact that this Ezra character had led him on a wild fucking chase over half of a suspiciously verdant moon, or the fact that his brain had apparently decided to shift into overdrive regarding you. He couldn't get you off…

Get you off his mind, that is. Stars, he was so confused. 

He felt like he had been walking in circles for hours, the only noise the steady beep of the tracker. He was too hot. Thirsty. His armor was chafing like it never had before; it was less like an extension of his body and more like a too-tight skin he needed to shed. Din finally bent over, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. 

"You look like shit," drawled an unfamiliar voice while a set of knuckles rapped on the back of his helmet. Djarin jerked upright and immediately staggered, fumbling to grip a tree trunk for support. His vision swam uncertainly, and he blinked several times in an effort to clear it. 

The man in front of him was clad in a utilitarian suit that bore an unfamiliar logo, maybe a mining corporation. No duraplast or durasteel visible, no unnecessary frills, old-fashioned rubber gaskets to seal where glove met sleeve. Din's gaze traveled upwards, past the man's chest to his large domed helmet. He kept his motions deliberate. He had been caught off-guard by this man, but he wouldn't--

What?!

"I'll assume you're encroaching upon my solitude to haul my undesirable personage back into civilized spaces?" The man inquired after Din had taken several long seconds to try and understand what he was seeing. "For monetary compensation, if I had to hazard a guess. There are few lures that tempt a man so far out into the uncharted."

Why does he have my face? Sure, the scars were different. Different facial hair, different hairstyle, and a wild little tuft of blond sprang from amidst the dark locks at his hairline. But it was him. Same brown eyes, same nose, same mouth curving into an infuriatingly benign smirk. Djarin was struck with the sudden urge to punch him, his belly writhing.

"I take it the dust has you firm in its grip. A real pity, that. I'd love to sympathize, but regrettably I am at an advanced state of the same condition." The quarry gestured at his right arm, where a bloodstain blooming on the fabric of his suit indicated a loss of the integrity of said suit. "I'm Ezra, though I'm certain you're already well aware. And you?"

"Irrelevant." Din grated out, clumsy fingers fumbling to get his binders off his belt. 

"A man of action, excellent! I shall acquiesce, but only because being removed from this Centaurian mass is infinitely better than being confined to it." Ezra replied with a sage nod, extending his wrists. "Whither to, my recalcitrant steerforth?" 

"Be quiet." The Mandalorian grunted, his mind still reeling. How does he have my face? Then, a new, far more troubling thought occurred to him.

If he turned Ezra in, people would inadvertently know what he looked like. They wouldn't know, but they would know. What would that mean for him? For his dedication to the Creed? Did things like that count against him? Had something like this ever happened before?

"Tell me you, at the bare minimum, have functional transport?" Ezra asked after Din had relieved him of his blaster, sounding hopeful. It was so strange hearing his own voice with such an odd, imprecise cadence to it. The Mandalorian had worked for years to improve his Basic so that anyone and everyone would be able to understand him through the coarse modulator, though he still ended up sounding hitchy or curt most of the time. 

"How else would I have gotten here?" Din snapped, gesturing the other man forward with the encouragement of his own weapon.

At least now he knew how to get back to the Crest, thank the Maker for his helmet and the tracking protocols he had. Now, observing his previous path of forward motion, he realized with a jolt how much it wound back and forth. He had been walking in circles.

Since when did he lose his sense of direction? Even in unknown territory, he usually had a damn good idea of which end was up. That concerned him.

And on top of everything else, Ezra wouldn't shut the hell up.

"Be quiet." Din muttered for what seemed like the thousandth time. How long had they been walking? Probably his own fault. With how much his head was spinning, he didn't dare deviate from the winding trail he had left. Even if a straight path would have been miles quicker.

Ezra continued to drone, "a toilsome marathon of carnage, I assure-"

"I said, be fucking quiet." 

The target huffed out a breath, but obliged Djarin's terse demand for the moment. Din's head was pounding, his already short fuse shrinking with every word out of the talkative man's mouth. Was this the Maker's hysterically ironic way of compensating for how little a solitary Mandalorian would speak? Making a doppelganger that was ceaselessly chatty?

Din talked a lot more these days, between you and the kid. Maker, you. His head swam again and a low, guilty heat throbbed in his belly. You talking to him, the way your mouth moved around your words-

No. No, stop, he told himself sternly, two fingers sliding idly between the gasket and gorget at his throat just so he could breathe a little easier. This planet's air felt thick, like breathing through tar. 

"I would not indulge that craving, were I you." Ezra spoke up, the man obviously watching him claw at his neck. "The less exposure you have, the better." 

Din wanted to snap at him because honestly how many times do I have to say shut the fuck up-

But then he stopped. Since when did he even do things like breach the seal of his own fucking helmet on an unfamiliar planet?! He flinched, tearing his hand away and hating the low, wry chuckle that issued from the quarry. The other man mused, "It's already too late for me, you know. I imagine I'll have an hour, perhaps two."

"What the hell are you talking about now."

"The dust, my armored associate. It permeates. Sludges the mental processes." Ezra shrugged with only one shoulder. "Among other things."

"How do you know so much about it?" Din gritted his teeth against the buzzing pain in his stomach. "Seems pretty stupid of you to hide out here." Especially if you know the flora is deadly.

"There is naught to do on a freighter slingback aside from read." Ezra's eyes narrowed. "And I could hardly pick and choose which moon my pod decided to give out on, you monosyllabic knuckle-dragger."

"Watch your mouth before I break it." Din snarled.

"Lo and behold, he comprehends! I assumed all you knew how to say was a stagnant variation on the theme of be fucking quiet." Ezra retorted with enraging cheer. 

Din's gloves creaked with the tension of his fists and he barely kept from slamming them into his temples. They were almost to the Crest. Almost. Once they got there, he would throw this mouthy nerf herder into the carbonite and…

And what? And turn him over? And inadvertently compromise his whole identity, possibly destroy decades of loyally obeying the Creed? 

All the deprivation, the loneliness, the weakness of his own heart...

"Be fucking quiet." The Mandalorian muttered, knowing full well that the other man hadn't said anything. Be fucking quiet. Be fucking quiet quiet quiet just fucking be quiet-- 

Din ground the heels of his palms against the curve of his helmet at his forehead, praying for some kind of relief.

Carbonite, he reminded himself.

…

Ezra grudgingly held his tongue, which even he had to admit was a rarity. Unlike the other floaters that had approached him before and met their swift demise, this particular bounty hunter was heavily kitted. The gleaming plate he sported didn't seem to hinder his motion in the slightest. 

Interesting.

Ezra knew when he had been outplayed, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't banking on the other man having a functional ship even before he decided to go peacefully. 

The hunter (mentally dubbed Steerforth, he rudely had not introduced himself) obviously had no idea about the pollen, for all his outward preparedness. Clearly Serpentia was not as well known as Ezra had wished. 

Regrettable. 

He could hope that the bounty hunter hadn't been exposed, he mused. After all, the man was wearing that positively arresting helmet, and his suit seemed of a sturdy (if unfamiliar) weave. Here was an individual that Ezra would have to tread carefully around, if he wished to escape with his life. 

His faith waned a bit as he recalled watching the man 'track' him, winding back and forth through the trees like a drunken mule until Ezra had taken pity on him and turned himself in. 

The hunter was terse in his speech, likely weary from the chase. Ezra could sympathize, he was weary from running. It had almost been a relief when that last hunter had attacked him and forced him to crash the pod on this moon. Though his relief had quickly turned to dismay when Ezra had done a full turn outside his pod and realized just what was making all the pollen in the air.

Serpentia, Serpent's Tongue. He had never encountered the plant in the proverbial flesh, but once upon a time he had been accidentally doused with the extract when a holding tank had burst while he was on a job site.

His skin crawled as he remembered the torment that followed during his solitary confinement. He had been nigh-certain he would not recover, clawing free of the haze that had gripped him with the barest vestiges of his mental faculties. 

This moon's Serpentia population seemed infinitely kinder than the concentrate he had encountered, if only for its soft, creeping approach. It lapped at the base of his brain, dulled the edge of his panic until he was nearly comfortable with the ache that licked hot in his groin. 

But thank Kevva for this bounty hunter lumbering through the brush! With a little luck, Ezra would be able to persuade him to accept a few pearls of aurelac in lieu of dragging him back to face that greatly-exaggerated justice.

...

According to the limited information from the Crest's scans, the air on this moon was perfectly safe to breathe. 

And if what Mando had said was right, he probably would need the ship to himself for a little while to decontaminate. So you had posted up beside the ramp once he had departed, occasionally wiping the sweat off your brow. The atmosphere was humid and you watched as breezes too delicate for you to even feel nudged the thick pollen in the air this way and that. 

The moon was liberally coated with lush vegetation; just finding a place to safely land the Razor Crest had been a Herculean effort. You wondered vaguely if there was a lake or spring nearby that you would be able to cool off in. The ship's fresher was functional, of course, but its water had been sitting in the holding tank for a few cycles now and it smelled rusty. 

The pollen covered everything, orange-red substance sticking to your already-damp skin. You grimaced, wondering if maybe you should have put on your suit. But no, the atmosphere was safe. The scans had said so, and you already spent so much of your time in your thick suit…

The sunshine felt wonderful after all the hyperspace travel, like a warm embrace from a friend. You caught yourself wondering what Mando's hug might feel like. Probably uncomfortable, what with all the beskar. You scoffed at your thoughts. You really needed to stop thinking about him like that, he was technically your boss even if he called you his partner. So what if he had passed out on top of you? That had been an infection thing.

It wasn't as if he had stroked your cheek before he dropped, his voice breaking when he called you Senaar... 

So what if you had solicited not one, but two Mandalorians during your last stop on Nevarro? 

It wasn't as if he noticed anything that you did, aside from when it had inconvenienced him. It wasn't as if you couldn't handle your little infatuation with him, even if it did result in you seeking out Mandos that would give you attention.

You propped your chin up on your hand, your eyes half-focusing on the dust floating in the air. It was nice to just relax for once, though there was a little guilty sensation in your stomach. Because Mando was out there working, while you...were lounging around, soaking up the sunlight.

You weren't sure how long you sat there, but you finally got up with a groan and a stretch that felt heavenly. You would investigate the surrounding area, you decided, maybe you could rustle up something fresh. If you couldn't be active on the hunt for the quarry, you could at least restock the larders.

After what only felt like a few steps, you quickly stumbled across thick vines that bore an unfamiliar, violet-hued fruit. The fruit was the size of your fist, and the skin had slight give to it. Light-colored flowers dotted the vine here and there, their tiny stamens crested with heavy crowns of thick pollen. Clearly you had located one of the many sources of the dust that choked the air. 

You picked one of the fruits and propped it up on a flat rock, using your trusty field knife to slice it open. It had orange pulp inside it, and a small hollow in the middle filled with pinkish fluid. The whole fruit reminded you of a sunset. Dimly, you thought that you probably shouldn't be touching this fruit with your bare skin, on the off chance that it might be caustic or toxic. But it looked delicious. 

Surely just a little taste wouldn't hurt?

The pinkish fluid was almost overwhelmingly sweet, and sticky. It dribbled down your chin when you tipped the fruit to slurp it up. You laughed at yourself, tugging your tunic to scrub at your face. 

Mando will love these.

You weren't sure where the thought came from, but obviously it was true. The idea of Mando being alone, slipping off his helmet to eat...the juice from the fruit glistening on his mouth…

Your breathing had quickened. You carefully harvested more of the round fruit, tucking the ripe produce into the makeshift cradle of your tunic. Once you decided you had enough, you turned on your heel and went to make your way back to the Crest. 

...

No.

No no no no no-

Din stared at the partially-ajar ramp on the Crest and he wanted to yell. 

"Oh dear." Ezra murmured faintly. "What a predicament." He had been getting quieter and quieter the closer they drew to the ship, so hearing him talk again sent a jolt down Din's spine. "You left your egress open? How careless of you."

"I didn't." Din snarled, wrapping his fingers around the binders on Ezra's wrists. You. The throbbing in his stomach lurched.

Ezra's eyes widened and he abruptly planted his feet. Din hadn't realized just how off-kilter he was, normally something like a shift in weight wouldn't be enough to make him stagger. But he almost toppled, barely getting his balance back in time. "Is there someone else on that ship?" Ezra asked sharply. 

"Of course." Din didn't even think to lie. "Partner."

"Would they have wandered? Exposed themselves?" The prospector-thief-quarry continued to quiz him and Din resented it just a little. 

"Be quiet," He grunted, tapping at his gauntlet to open the ramp, "and get in the fucking hold."

Ezra abruptly drew himself up to his full height. "I do not believe you actually want me to do that." He intoned with difficulty, his teeth gritted. "Putting myself, yourself and the potential of one more infected person into an enclosed space is a very…" His words faltered. "Oh."

Din whirled, visor traveling up the ramp into the dim hold. And just barely visible at the edge of the ramp, a small pile of what looked like fruit--was that your leg?! He lunged forward, his blaster ready. 

"I would not advise you to approach them!" Ezra barked.

"Fuck you!" Din snapped, striding up the ramp to kneel alongside your body. He crushed one of the fruits beneath his knee, lurid pink juice erupting to soak into his suit. The color was high in your cheeks, your body blotchy with flush. Pollen encrusted your neck and shoulders, drifted through your hair; something pink and shiny coated your lips like a strange gloss.

Din caught himself leaning in and jerked back at the urgency in Ezra's voice when the prospector called, "Do they breathe, man?"

"Be quiet!" Djarin roared. Why hadn't he checked that first? What was wrong with him? He shoved his vambrace against your mouth, his chest clenching in relief when your breath fogged the metal. Stars. 

"I'm afraid this complicates things quite significantly." Ezra said loudly, fidgeting at the base of the ramp. "I was unaware you had a partner of the...other biological persuasion. Had it just been you and I, two masculine-presenting bipeds, things would have been miles simpler."

"What the hell are you saying now?" Din was getting tired of this shit, tired of listening to the other man talk. 

"This plant is...shall we say, heteronormative." Ezra drawled, waving his bound hands in the air to illustrate the cloying pollen. Din cocked his head in confusion. "You know, masculine and feminine? Male and female? Different. Hetero."

Djarin scoffed derisively. "My people don't care about that shit." 

"A noble practice to be certain, very forward-thinking."

"This is the Way." The Mandalorian replied. 

Ezra soldiered on, "Unfortunately, the plant that infests this planet does indeed differentiate. Fruit for the female, pollen for the male." He added hurriedly, "in the biological sense, of course! I will not make any assumptions about your partner. The fruit is a...a catalyst. Are you familiar with the old-Earth religious writings, the ones that mention the Garden? Or perhaps the Greek pantheon may have been more your style?" When Djarin shook his head, Ezra sighed. "The genus name in Basic is slippin' my mind. But this particular iteration is known as Serpent's Tongue, Serpentia. It is Medusine in nature and it inspires feelings of…" Ezra paused, licking his lips nervously. "Heat."  

"Heat." Din repeated blankly, knowing that he must be missing something. 

Ezra ducked his head, breaking eye contact. "As in, being in heat." The man clarified after a moment. 

"Excuse me?" 

"I'm-"

"Excuse me?" Din snarled, running his fingers through the juices that coated his knee. It was thick, sticky like syrup, why was it warm--He bolted to his feet and stalked back down the ramp. Ezra took a step back, and then another, the quarry obviously wary of him. Good. The satisfied feeling took some of the edge off his frustrated panic. "So what the hell is wrong with my partner?" Din grated out.

"Er, to couch it in layman's terms…" Ezra hesitated, clearing his throat. "They are aroused."

Aroused. Aroused. Aroused. "Sexually?" Din hated the way the word came out, all breathy like he was a youngling that had just learned about the wonders of copulation. 

Ezra nodded, grimacing. "From the sound of your tone, I would hazard a guess that the two of you have not been intimate."

"Why would we have been?" Din retorted bluntly.

Ezra raised an eyebrow, seeming as if he was avoiding looking at you. Good. Mine. Din had no idea where the hell that thought came from. "Oh of course, I was foolish to assume so blatantly." The prospector muttered. "That does complicate your own matters further, however. Were you previously sexually intertwined, this would have been much more simple." He suddenly doubled over at the waist, a loud grunt forced from his mouth and a low exclamation of, "fuck, fuck-"

The curse sent a hot flicker down Din's spine and it took him a second to realize that you had made a noise in reply. You sounded dazed, scared. He whirled on the ramp and knelt again, taking your hand. "Senaar, you coming around?" Your eyes looked...wrong, blinking open slowly; your pupils were blown like you'd been spiced. 

You stared up at him for several long seconds before your mouth opened. "Wanted to make lunch." You managed to say. "I don't feel good." 

"Well, you don't look so great either." Din said gruffly. 

"Bastard." You groaned at him, trying to sit up. "Maker, I feel so hot, I...oh! Oh no, you smushed one." You appeared to have noticed the remains of the sticky fruit currently seeping into his knee. "I wanted you to try it. Tastes...tastes...it's so sweet Mando, s'like candy." You saying his name (even if it wasn't his actual name, shit) was like a lightning bolt to his groin. You dragged your hand over his knee, gathering up the remnants of the fruit and then sliding your fingers into your mouth. 

You brought him food. His lungs felt too full and not full enough. Stars, the idea of you feeding him that, smearing it all over his mouth with those pretty little fingers-

No, the helmet. The helmet. He couldn't take off the helmet. The Creed.

He jerked his head up, looking to Ezra. The other man was still doubled over, holding his midsection as best as he could with his hands bound. 

A dark, uncharacteristically evil thought wound its way into Din's mind, sweet and smokey like a good ne'tra gal. "Get in the ship." He grunted. Ezra glanced up and Din was a little startled by the level of emotion he displayed. He wasn't used to seeing expressions play out on his own face. The other man seemed wildly uncomfortable and Din found that grounding, for whatever reason. 

"I do not dare to." Ezra panted finally. "Just being this close is...immensely troubling. I am not the master of my own body at this moment, Steerforth."

"Is this the target?" You asked softly. Din nodded and he could almost feel your eyes raking over the other man. "What happened? He's hurt."

Shit, he had nearly forgotten. Ezra was still bleeding from his arm. The quarry had obviously forgotten as well, clearly dealing with a much more pressing matter. 

You beckoned to the other man and Din had to rein in the knee-jerk reaction to grab his blaster as Ezra reluctantly approached. He had never been territorial about you before, what the hell was the matter with him? 

Ezra halted a good five feet away from you, keeping his head down. "I am Ezra. I apologize in advance for my untoward behavior." He muttered, his voice gone so low and gravelly he actually did sound like Din. The Mandalorian's stomach pitched uncertainly. "I am not myself at this point in time."

"What happened to your arm?" Your tone was warm, concerned. Din's fists clenched. "Did Mando do that?"

"Oh, no! Of course not. Your compatriot has been nothing if not a complete gentleman." Ezra replied wryly. "I sustained this injury during a previous floater's quarrel."

…

You hummed and you saw Mando stiffen up out of the corner of your eye. What was wrong with him? One second he had been leaning over you, all worry and hand holding. The next, he was barking at the quarry. 

And the quarry was hurt. Ezra, Ezra, his slow drawl making your head swim and your chest tingle. Never mind Mando, what was wrong with you? You felt so strange, like you were hyper-fixated. 

Maker, maybe you shouldn't have eaten that fruit. "I'm sorry." You apologized to Mando, your lower lip beginning to quiver. "I just wanted to give-"

"Be quiet." He ordered, his voice startlingly gentle. A gloved thumb pressed to your lower lip and you stared up at him, opening your mouth automatically even though you knew he was just wiping the juice away. You were startled when he slid his thumb into your mouth, but you obligingly cleaned the juice from the leather with your tongue. Shouldn't this be strange? But Mando just did it, like it was normal. Maybe it was normal. 

Your mind flew back to your sultry encounter on Nevarro, how you had occupied yourself while Mando wrapped up his business with the Guild, and warmth lanced through your stomach as you recalled greedy gloved hands grasping and caressing your bare skin-

"Steerforth, if you are to carry on in that heated demonstration I must plead for the carbonite treatment that you were so hellbent on throwing myself into earlier." Ezra sounded like he was in pain. "I have only endured this once before and it was a torment that threatened my already-tenuous sanity. Have fucking mercy man, I implore-"

"Be quiet." Mando snapped, "we have to treat your arm, right?"

"Fuck." Ezra swore again, the sound writhing through your belly. "Hurry then."

"Get in the ship. I'll turn on the filters."

"Do not leave me alone with them, I implore you!" Ezra cried, that domed helmet finally tilting enough for you to catch a glimpse of his face. "I am not the master of my own body, Steerforth." 

His eyes were dark, impossibly dark, and frantic as he argued with Mando. His skin seemed tanned or olive through the sun-struck dome of his suit's helmet. Short brown hair was plastered flat to his forehead with sweat, and the lower half of his face was coated in a somewhat unkempt mess of facial scruff. Too long to be five o'clock shadow, but too bedraggled to be dubbed anything else.

Roguish, you decided, wanting to laugh at yourself. He looks roguish. What a ridiculous thought to have! Not obviously dangerous like Mando, but still dangerous. Was that your heartbeat throbbing in your ears? You sighed softly, taking a step towards the other man without meaning to. 

Mando's hand was suddenly on your arm. "Hold it. Treatment. We have to treat his wound." He said gruffly. 

You nodded. Of course. Who knew what he had been exposed to through the breach in his suit? "I was going to help him walk?"

Mando shook his head. "You get the kit. You've got no gear on. He's contaminated." He reasoned. "Get me the kit and then seal yourself into the cockpit so we can filter the hold." You nodded again and his hand found your cheek, gloved fingers grazing your neck before he jerked back. "S...Sorry." he apologized.

"It's okay." You whispered.

…

Ezra, helmet discarded and suit stripped to the waist, flinched away from Din's touch yet again. "Stop. This is a bad wound. It'll get infected if I do this wrong." Din snapped. He rarely encountered blaster wounds that didn't self-cauterize, even though that tended to come with its own set of problems.

"I do not mean to tear free." Ezra protested. "Blood flow has increased. I am…" He paused, biting his lower lip. "Sensitive. Surely you have a handheld? One of the burners? Just burn it shut man, Kevva, I cannot even endure the graze of your fingers." 

"If I give you a burner patch, it'll seal in the infection." Din reasoned, flushing the wound again. "Focus on something else."

"I cannot." Ezra said sharply. "There is only one matter my brain currently wishes to focus on, and it is not the dire straits of my wounded arm." 

"Them?" Din asked, keeping his voice low. 

Ezra shot him a guilty look from beneath his sweat-matted fringe of brown hair, finally nodding. "It is ludicrous, but I feel as though I can taste them." He confessed. "Gods, I wish I had never landed on this accursed moon. I wish I had never encountered the Serpentia."

"What will happen?" Din did his best to maintain his vocal level as he bandaged the other man's wound.

"Arousal. Sheer, unadulterated arousal. You ache, like the worst fever you've ever had. I've heard it is even more excruciatin' for those of the other human biological persuasion, due to their genitals being internal. Though it is Medusine in nature, so it has a...failsafe, of sorts. You are seized with the primal instinct to mate, conquer, claim. It does not stop until you have buried your...until you have sheathed yourself in an orifice." Ezra was gasping for air. Obviously just talking about it was enough to cause him distress, either that or Djarin was being rougher than he thought. "Steerforth please, I-"

"This will cause them pain?" Din asked slowly. 

Ezra nodded jerkily. "I have been told it's like a sickly, stabbing heat. Fingers are not enough to…er, extinguish the flames." His cheeks flushed. "The tongue soothes, but not overlong. Internals require certain length, and...rigidity." Din didn't miss the way his eyes flickered down to the beskar that covered his upper thighs. "When last I encountered this damned flora, I suffered the effects alone and I felt as if I would go mad."

Tongue. Fingers. Rigidity. Din's mind reeled. "Specifics." He gritted out, his body awash with heat in his armor when Ezra made a pitiful noise.

"Kevva, have mercy on me Steerforth."

"I said. Specifics." Din fisted a glove in the other man's hair, tilting his head back and forcing him to look up. Ezra moved, albeit reluctantly, the Adam's apple of his throat bobbing when he swallowed. "Specifics." Din repeated himself, a little softer this time.

Ezra shuddered all over. "They will seek you out. To be fucked." He said, cringing a bit as if he disliked using the word. "You must open them up with your tongue first, dissolve the Medusine barrier with saliva. That's the failsafe, you see, an individual of that biological persuasion who is suffering cannot be penetrated without tender effort. Ease into it and perhaps they will not loathe you when this madness has run its course-"

"I can't." Din interrupted. 

"What?" Ezra gawked at him. 

"I can't. T-Tongue. Not allowed. Forbidden." Din felt like he was drunk. "Helmet."

The other man's brow furrowed. "You can, I presume, take off other portions of your plate?"

Din shook his head, wishing that he could explain it better. "Technically yes, but it's frowned upon. Exceptions happen. And under no circumstances can I take the helmet off." 

"How in the Fringe have you ever-"

"I...inspire feelings in people." That was probably the most delicate way he could have said I cater exclusively to bipeds with a predator/prey fetish. Din grimaced. "I'm large and imposing. Usually that's...enough. No need for warm up." He said awkwardly. "Armor stays on."

"What a bewildering existence!" Ezra tilted his head in disbelief. "So you have never removed…?"

Din shook his head. "Not in the presence of others. The Creed forbids it."

"Your dedication is admirable, but unfortunately it leaves your partner twisting in the wind." The quarry pointed out. "I would offer my services, but I am an unknown and-"

"Yes." Din gritted out, that dark thought slithering back through his mind. 

"Yes?"

"Your services." Din took a deep breath. He didn't bargain with quarry, but this man had his face. He couldn't turn him in without jeopardizing everything he had sworn his life to. "In exchange, when this is...when they no longer require your services, I'll let you go."

Ezra's eyebrows bunched together. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Steerforth."

"I don't want them to be in pain." Din's voice grated in his throat and he watched Ezra's eyes widen in comprehension. "I don't want them to hurt."

"You...this is not just the Serpentia. You have a prior attachment to them."

"It doesn't matter what I do or don't have." Djarin muttered dismissively. "Because of the Creed, I...I can't. But you can."

"You can't give them your mouth, certainly, but there are-"

"If it's what makes it possible, you have to do it!" Din interjected sharply. "I don't want them to hurt."

"I need you to comprehend what you're askin' of me!" Ezra shot back, his bound fists clenched tight enough to whiten his knuckles. "They don't know me from Job, and you're all but demanding I violate their trust-"

"I don't want them to hurt!" Din roared, startling himself with his own furious reaction. Whatever else he was about to say was cut off by your staggering descent on the ladder. You looked unwell. Ezra skittered back a few steps, falling on his ass with a muffled swear. 

"Mando?" Your voice wavered and you swayed at the ladder. Din lurched forward, tucking you into his arms as you sniffled, "I don't feel so good. I think I'm sick." You were radiating heat that he could feel even through his suit. Your tunic was soaked with sweat.

"Osi'kyr." Din cursed under his breath after he swapped to his infrared and saw just how brilliant your signature was. "Listen to me, alright Senaar?" He murmured, simultaneously loving and hating the way you nodded in a docile manner. "We know what can fix this. But it's not…" he paused, searching for the right term. 

"Appropriate." Ezra supplied loudly. 

"I feel awful." Your whimper made Din's stomach ache. His cock rubbed against the confines of his compression leggings. 

Ignore it.

"I know you do." Din pressed his palm to your forehead. "Listen to me. We can fix this. You trust me, right?" Your nod was immediate and Din barely stifled his groan. "Ezra knows what's wrong. Ezra can help."

"He can help?" You echoed blearily, looking past Din. "Okay. He said something about the fruit before, right? I shouldn't have eaten it. M'sorry. Was it poison?"

"Poison may have been simpler to endure." Ezra muttered. "It is an aphrodisiac. Do not blame yourself. The fruit is visually appealing for a reason, otherwise the plant would not be able to propagate."

…

Aphrodisiac. Your mouth was flooded with that sweet taste at the sound of Ezra's drawling voice, the groan that followed burrowing into your blood. 

You had never felt this way before. Your body ached and twisted, arousal pooling uncomfortably in your pelvis. Everything felt like it was trapped, your tunic sticking to your skin with sweat. Aphrodisiac. 

"Please pay attention." Ezra sighed. "I understand this is incredibly distracting, but I have a limited window of coherence." He was trembling slightly, still avoiding your eyes. "Your partner has requested I aid you where he cannot. I will not harm you." He said with gravity. "This is a situation which bodes exceptionally poorly and I am...I am truly sorry for dragging you into this mess."

"Oh, it's okay. Mando gets me into messes all the time." You brushed off his apology and Ezra choked out a bitter laugh. 

"I fear you may change your tune once the pain truly starts." He remarked.

"He says it'll hurt." Mando murmured. "Like stabbing."

You knew your eyes widened with fear because Mando was quick to envelope you in his arms again. He had never been this touchy before. It was...strangely nice. The coolness of his armor felt wonderful on your skin and you moaned in relief. Mando went stiff at your noise, his gloved fingers clutching the nape of your neck. Up until this point, you had just felt some minor throbbing. Distracting, but negligible.

This was different.

...

Your breath hitched in your throat and your fists curled into his suit, knees buckling as a low, wavering cry left your lips. Din jerked at the sound. He had never heard you make that kind of noise before, not even when you had been shot--

Oh he was fucked. He was so fucked. Was he excited or terrified? "Easy, you're okay, you're okay," he soothed, clumsily brushing the hair back from your face. Who was he even trying to convince?! 

"Make your choice expediently, Steerforth. Am I to be thrown in carbonite or put to work?" Ezra queried through gritted teeth. 

"You know I would never do anything to hurt you." Din said to you, ignoring the other man for the moment. "I won't let anything happen to you. I need you to trust me for right now, alright? We can fix this."

Your grip on him tightened even further. "I don't like how this feels." You whispered. 

Din closed his eyes in a futile attempt to ward off his own self-loathing, pressing your cheek against his breastplate. "I know, Senaar. I'll be right here with you. I just...can't give you what you'll need." He stuttered, offering on a desperate whim, "I-I can hold you, if you want." You nodded frantically into his armor. 

"If you have a...a blanket. A sheet. Something for the floor, we are going to make a mess and I am uncertain if we will be able to protect your partner's modesty." Ezra muttered, his bound hands resting surreptitiously over his groin. "They may be more enthusiastic than one would anticipate."

Din patted your elbow, trying to gentle his voice. "Go get your pillow." 

"O-Okay." You gulped. 

Din tore into one of his many lockers once you released him, the armored man frantically digging around for his extra bedding. Ezra staggered to his feet, moving in close to Din. So that you wouldn't hear him speak, no doubt. 

"There is still time for you to freeze me, Steerforth. I am not a man without morality, tattered though it may be." He murmured, and Din noticed that his weary brown eyes were surrounded by the same deep lines and cracks that Djarin's own face sported. The Mandalorian hadn't ever paid much mind to just how many expressions he still made beneath the helmet, probably because he knew no one would see them.

Din grabbed the other man's shoulder, searching those eyes. Ezra stared at his impenetrable visor, probably confused by his silence. "I need your help." Din rasped seriously. He didn't trust this guy as far as he could throw him, but he could live with the uneasy truce if it would…if it meant that he could…

Stars, this was all so damn wrong. 

Ezra finally nodded. "I will do my best to assist with the...emotional aftermath. This is not your fault, or theirs. This is merely an unfortunate side effect of a hazardous occupation."

"Thank you."

Ezra's eyebrows shot up, but other than that he gave no indication of his surprise. Din elbowed him to the side, unfolding the thick blanket and spreading it out carefully on the floor of the hold.

…

This was certainly an odd predicament. 

Ezra could not say he had ever been in such a charged scenario, despite his checkered history. His jaw worked thoughtfully as he watched the armored man devote an obscene amount of care to smoothing the wrinkles out of his blanket. 

Arousal swirled around him like the thick pollen outside, but it was tempered by the terrible memory of that singular past experience where he had rubbed himself bloody on the inside of his suit. He knew he was worse off than Steerforth. No, what had you called him? Mando. 

Curious. 

A Creed that prevented the devout from showing the world their face.

Curious. And familiar, somehow. Ezra spooled his mind back, trying to recall why it was familiar. He couldn't focus however, his own breathing becoming too distracting. 

Mando hadn't gotten nearly as much of the pollen as him. The other man seemed unbearably, impossibly calm in the light of what was about to occur. Maybe it was an illusion afforded by that unreadable helm, or brought about by his lack of prior experience.

Ezra was wildly jealous all the same. "What is their name?" He asked softly. 

Mando fixed him with a look and Kevva, that helmet was indeed imposing. "I call them Senaar. It...it means bird." He sounded reluctant, like he didn't even want to give up that much. "Names are sacred in the Creed. I couldn't give them mine so they didn't give me theirs, but I had to call them something."

"No names in the Creed, either?" Ezra asked incredulously. 

The armored man shook his head. "To outsiders we are all Mando. To us, we are Mando'ade. This is the Way."

"A veritable legion of nameless, featureless warriors." Ezra muttered, mainly to himself. He rattled his restraints after a moment. "Am I to remain bound during this frotfest, Steerforth?"

"I'm not stupid enough to give you free range. Be grateful I didn't secure them behind your back instead." Mando snarked.

"I will not harm your little bird." Ezra protested.

"I know." Mando leaned in slightly, broad shoulders made even more intimidating by the blue-steel pauldrons that graced them. "I would kill you before you got the chance."

Oh, such confidence! Ezra wished he was in his right mind, he would obliterate this smug cretin--

His breath caught in his throat as you returned from your excursion. Gods, he had nearly forgotten what he was being called to do. He warred with the obscene urge that dragged his gaze to the crux of your thighs. "A divine sight." He murmured, not lying for once. This entire day had been remarkably truthful. 

You actually gave him a ribald wink, and that eased his conscience slightly. Perhaps you were not the unsullied, blushing virgin he had feared you might be. Obviously you had used the time you took to grab your pillow wisely, maybe even given yourself a bit of a pep talk. 

"Have you done this before?" Ezra asked, half-joking. He heard Mando audibly gulp in that damn bucket when you nodded, a pained smile curving your lips. "Not under the effects of such altering substances, I pray?" 

"Nah, nothing like that." You replied, shaking your head. "It was back on Nevarro, I-"

"Nevarro?" Mando hissed. "You disappeared on me for hours. That's what you were up to?!"

You shrugged weakly. "It doesn't really matter but...there were two Mandalorians, and I wanted, um, something that seemed familiar, I guess." You admitted, your tone remarkably cool for the subject matter. 

Ezra hid his grin. He was hardly immune to the allure of saucy gossip, and there was nothing quite like gossip that had no particular bearing on him. "Two?!" The armored man's voice squeaked even through the thick modulation and Ezra burst out laughing, the binders knocking his jaw when he tried to stifle his mirth. 

"I meant more whether you had engaged in copulation in general, but I suppose that would have been a pertinent question as well." He mused once he got himself under control, the low buzz in his stomach blossoming into an excited thrum. "How fortunate that you would be so generous when it comes to your partners, little bird."

"What do you mean, familiar?" Mando carried on over him, obviously agitated by the fresh knowledge that his partner may or may not have some...tendencies. Ezra almost wanted to laugh again; you were nothing if not painfully transparent. Seeking out others like the armored man to have their way with you? Clearly you harbored some sort of affection, kept secret and safe by the walls that humans build around themselves.

But Serpentia had a funny way of sliding that dastardly pink slick through all defenses, leaving the body raw and exposed.

"I mean familiar." You replied, your pillow like a shield between yourself and Mando. Ezra settled back to watch the show, well aware that his smirk was probably insufferable. "I have needs, you know." You continued primly. 

Mando's fists clenched on his thighs before he pointedly flattened them back out, fingers dragging over the plates. "I...I'm sorry. I shouldn't...I'm sorry." He mumbled, patting his leg. 

You wavered again and nearly fell. The armored man caught you, settling you down with a cautious tenderness that fired a thrower shot of arousal directly into Ezra's gut. He had always been a weak fool for chivalry, though he was able to display precious little of it in his own life. Oh, this was the best kind of story. 

...

Your face burned with embarrassment; why had you told him about your rendezvous with two other members of his Creed? It was like the words just fell out of your mouth, like your brain itself was against you. 

You could still remember the way the larger one had pressed his forehead to your own and then encouraged you down his chest to his groin, the way his helmet had tipped back--

A new flood of warmth swept into your cunt and you bit down on your hand to stifle your noise at the pain that followed. Mando paused, then laid your pillow between his open legs. "Lay down on your back." He muttered, patting his leg again. "This way you can see me. I'll be right here."

"I'm-"

"Don't apologize, please." Mando cut you off. "Once this is over, once everything is...over, I...listen, we'll operate as a sealed unit. This maneuver is scrubbed from the start. I never found the quarry. Nothing that we say or do here will ever be mentioned again. Understood?"

Your breath caught in your throat. He was giving you an out. Or himself, you were uncertain. You nodded slowly and his shoulders drooped a little, but whether he was relieved or disappointed…

Well, some secrets were meant to stay that way. 

Ezra nodded his own agreement. "It is best to have certain protocol already in place when engaging in uncharted waters." He muttered. "Decidedly militant, but I must surmise your Creed taught you that."

"This is the Way." Mando said firmly. 

"If we are operating under burner infantry orders, then I must voice my trepidation about this engagement," Ezra confessed to you. "I have endured this crisis once before and it was not a pleasant experience. I do not envy the pain I am certain you feel at this moment, but I also know that you are in a...compromised and sensitive position. I...if any advance is unwanted, I trust you will inform me. And if I do not respond, if I am too far gone, please have your associate rescind my invitation." He gestured at Mando with his bound hands. 

"Wh-What are you going to do to me?" You asked, your voice high in your ears even as you let Mando maneuver you down to the blanket.

"I am going to do for you what your companion cannot, little bird." Ezra's tongue dampened his lips nervously. "And only that, if I understand the situation correctly."

"What he…" you trailed off as a thought occurred to you. Ezra hummed quietly as if to confirm and the sound reverberated through your core, making you whine and squirm restlessly. "Oh, what, stars, you mean-"

"My mouth, little bird." He had a tiny section of blond hair on the right side of his head, the tuft residing rakishly just at his hairline. You hadn't noticed until now, but the whimsical little patch seemed to soften his stern features. "You will need the saliva, regrettably. I am certain that the idea of the mouth of a lowly aurelac harvester on you is a repulsive one, but it is the only way to get the proverbial ball rolling." 

"Wait, you have to eat me out?" You asked in confusion, trying to get back up. "Hang on, I should shower, I'll-" Agony raked down your spine and you spasmed, a breathy sound of pain forcing itself past your lips.

Ezra's incredulous chuckle soothed the sensation back down to a manageable level. "What an unexpected offer, little bird! I cannot recall the last time someone bathed specifically for me. You will wholly ensnare me if you continue such considerate behavior." 

…

Din's body felt like it was on fire in his armor. 

You had gone looking for people like him. 

You had gone looking for Mandos because you wanted familiarity. The idea of you sussing out more of his brothers or sisters because you had needs-

Din wasn't sure if he would survive this particular encounter. He was gripping his cuisses so tightly that the leather of his gloves burned against his fingertips. Mandalorians weren't celibate by any stretch of the imagination, but the Creed could make things...more difficult than they needed to be for a variety of species.

Ezra, despite his hands being bound, was remarkably capable. The man had coached you through the pain when you had tried to move, his voice obviously helping you somehow. Djarin wasn't sure if he was jealous or grateful. Maybe both.

The fact that this was causing you to suffer had him loathing how stiff his cock was in his compression leggings, even though from what he had gathered he couldn't actually help that particular reaction. 

"I must beg your assistance in disrobing." Ezra was saying softly, tugging at the overly-knotted waistband of your loose pants. "Please, little bird."

"Right, yeah, of course." You mumbled and Djarin could hear the pain in your voice, could feel the twitchy little flinches as you tried to follow Ezra's directions. 

Hesitantly, the Mandalorian moved his hands up until they rested on your shoulders. You exhaled a breathy little moan, nuzzling your cheek against his glove in what he had to assume was thanks.

"Better." You gasped, seeming more sure as you struggled to undo the sash at your waist. 

"Well done, Steerforth." Ezra praised, causing something warm and wet to pour into Din's abdomen. The armored man's breathing stuttered, was this what Ezra had been feeling the entire time they had been walking? Stars, how had he even managed-

His cock lurched against the tight hold of his leggings, precome dampening his stomach. Without meaning to, Din's fingers tightened on your shoulders and he grunted quietly. 

Your eyes shot up, locking with his visor. He knew you couldn't actually see him, but at that moment he felt exposed. "You alright?" You asked quietly, your breath hiccuping when Ezra brushed the stubble of his jaw against your naked thigh. Din ached to do that himself, Maker he wished-

"I'm fine." He choked, like he wasn't roasting alive from the double-edged heat of artificial arousal and jealousy. His left hand slid down, resting at the hollow of your throat. It soothed his ego a little to see that your eyes were still on him, despite what the quarry was about to do. 

Ezra, he reminded himself. This man wasn't prey anymore, for all that he was keeping the binders on. Din at least needed that level of control. He needed the stability.

That recurrent devious thought surged forward again, dark and heady. Utilizing Ezra, he could indulge vicariously in the hazy desires he had fought for cycles. The wish to bury his face between your legs and eat you out until you cried, like in the raunchy imagecasts he picked up on rare occasion. Putting his bare hands on you, stars-

Din Djarin was a man of extreme self-control. So far, he hadn't overstepped or shamed the Creed, unless you counted the time he was loaded out of his mind with bacteria-laden quills. He hadn't realized just how many of them were embedded in his back until his vision started getting blurry as he was standing over the nexu's dead body. Served him right for letting the feline get the drop on him before he put his backplate on.

You had been so worried when he returned. You were patched into his coms so you obviously heard the struggle he had dispatching the creature. Heard how ragged his breath got and how hard he had to actually fight. 

Din vaguely remembered flopping down on his belly with you hovering over him, pliers in one hand and bacta shot already buried in the meat of his shoulder. Stars, it was great to have a partner sometimes. If he had come back to just the kid like that, he'd probably be dead from an infection. You didn't even make him take off his suit, you just worked around it. 

You ended up removing thirty-seven quills of various lengths, most of them bearing nasty hooked barbs. The pain had hit different because of the infection, leaving Djarin trembling boneless and silent on the floor of the hold while you wriggled quills out of his back. He had never felt more helpless, more vulnerable, beskar be damned. 

"It's alright. I'm glad you made it back." You had said calmly. "I'm not letting you go alone next time, though."

"Thank you, Senaar…"

Din's face flushed when he recalled how badly his voice had cracked when saying the name he called you by, less speech and more a plaintive cry. The way his glove had slipped over the skin of your cheek, and how he had longed to remove that glove...

Maker, he sullied the Creed with his inability to reconcile over lack of touch. The hunger for skin-to-skin contact that reared its ugly head every time you were out of your heavy exosuit and durasteel served as a painful reminder, one much more poignant than the simple weight of his helm, that he was a Mandalorian.

But this doppelganger loophole was a gift to be thoroughly exploited and he wasn't about to waste that opportunity. 

Ezra buried his face between your legs and Din felt the way your entire body coiled up in anticipation, another trembling cry leaving your lips and your hands twisting frantically into the blanket beneath you. "Mando-!"

His name, his name, you were saying his name even with another man's mouth giving you pleasure. Djarin couldn't help the satisfied little growl that left his lips and made its way through his modulator. He heard Ezra chuckle, the other man pausing to shoot him a sly wink over the length of your body. Din nearly laughed.

"Ezra," He said instead, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. "Make them cry."

He stopped caring about how wrong it was.

…

You gasped at Mando's words, already inches from bursting into tears. Ezra's mouth was slowly coaxing you open, the stubble on his cheeks and jaw rubbing your thighs. Every pass of his tongue, every gentle press and suckle sought to untangle the knotted ball of heat in your belly, but you were certain you would lose your mind before you managed to disperse the agonizing feeling.

You were too full, almost too aroused to handle Ezra's mouth on your cunt but you were positive if he stopped licking at you, you would die. Heat felt like it was sloshing in your belly, there was so much of it...

Ezra placed a series of delicate kisses on your clit, each one lighter than the last. His hands, still secure in their binders, clutched your right thigh for purchase when he pulled back to gulp air. His expression was dazed, eyes managing to focus on the armored man that loomed over you after several long seconds. "Will you not indulge, Steerforth?" He sounded like he was almost begging Mando, voicing what you couldn't bring yourself to say. "They ask for you, how can you sit there so damned impassive?"

Your breath caught in your throat when you heard Mando exhale raggedly, the bounty hunter muttering, "M' not impassive. There's nothing I-"

"Touch them, for fuck's sake!" Ezra cried, pointedly rattling his cuffs. "I cannot do both. We must work together!"

The Mandalorian lurched suddenly up onto his knees, then sprawled over your body, slamming one hand down to support his weight before wrapping his fingers in the neck of Ezra's tattered thermal shirt. "You don't call the shots here, quarry." He snarled in That Voice, the one that he reserved for his bounties.

Your hands crept up to his hips, hyper aware of the sweet taste in your mouth and how good this would feel. 

…

Ezra stared at the pitch-black visor inches from his nose. Felt the strength in the gloved hand that threatened to do much more than stretch his shirt.

The prospector took a mental inventory of his body at this juncture, a bit surprised and entertained to find that he was thoroughly invested in this new direction the encounter had taken. Mando was no doubt glaring at him from the safety of that impregnable helm, the other man's hackles obviously raised by the jab from the prospector.

It mattered very little at this point in time, however, as Ezra heard a zipper fly open. Mando flinched so hard Ezra felt it in his back, and the sound you made was enough to get the devil to start sweating. "Seems that you may be outnumbered, Steerforth."

"Target rich--environment-" The armored man snarled. "Senaar, y-your--mouth, fuck-"

He stuttered. He stuttered. Ezra latched onto that weakness with a filthy grin, easily twisting out of the other man's grip to duck his head back down and taste you. Mando's other hand hit the blanket as you undulated your hips up to meet Ezra's mouth. Ezra could only imagine the noises you were making around the other man's cock. He knew you were making them by the way Mando's arms quivered. And wasn't that a sight, a man in full armor rendered helpless by the power of a warm, eager mouth on his cock. 

"Watch me now, Steerforth." Ezra crooned, tilting his face up to make presumed eye contact. "This is how you make them weep with pleasure." He was sure that his chin was dripping pink at this point and he knew, even without seeing the other man's face, that Mando was barely hanging on. He had to salute the armored man's dedication. A less devout individual would have given out before they made it to the floor.

The Medusine barrier that the Serpentia formed was slowly weakening under the gentle assault of his mouth, Ezra was pleased to notice. Of course, he wasn't exactly rushing, simply going at a steady pace to keep your pain to a bare minimum. You had begun to leak around the barrier, your arousal even warmer than he had expected. Ezra couldn't tell whether it was because he was under the effects of the pollen or whether it was reality that you tasted immaculate, but he reasoned that it didn't particularly matter. 

He was hungry enough to cope with either happenstance. 

"Little bird, fuck my face, won't you?" He requested sweetly, chuckling at your enthusiastic response. "Grind yourself to completion on my tongue, break the barrier so that your associate can sheathe himself balls deep in this delectable pussy and give you respite." 

...

"Fuck." Din rasped, his eyes wide behind the visor of his helmet. The way that Ezra spoke was like fucking music, the man wrapping filthy words in flowery, incomprehensible syntax. 

The Mandalorian's fingers tangled resolutely in the blanket, the armored man panting as you urged his aching dick even further down your throat. Your hands grappled with his thighs, shoving them wider and then taking two hungry handfuls of his rear to encourage him.

"Senaar-" he started to warn you off, but stopped dead when you moaned around him. Stars, he wondered how you could even breathe-- 

You pulled back, coughing and gasping. "You're doing so well, little bird." Ezra murmured from between your legs. Your only reply was to take Din's cock back into your mouth and oh fuck you weren't stopping-

Your hand found Djarin's in the blankets and you tugged on it, forcing him to try and figure out how to redistribute his weight so you could have the appendage. He managed it of course, he was a fucking Mandalorian after all, but there was a moment where he nearly lost his balance.

You guided his hand to your neck and Din couldn't fight back the groan he let out when he felt his cock bulging through your throat. Fuck, no one had ever been able to take this much of him into their mouth before, halfway was usually the stopping point. 

Djarin grunted and tilted his head down to watch you struggle, finally wrapping a hand around his cock and easing it back out of your mouth. Strands of saliva connected the engorged head of his dick to your lips. Din sighed stupidly at the sight, fisting his dick and coating his glove with your spit. "You're good at this, Senaar." He said gruffly, knowing that it wasn't really praise, not like how Ezra said it. But words had never been his forte. 

"Keep speaking to them Steerforth, they leak at every word out of your mouth." Ezra encouraged from between your legs. "That's right little bird, just a bit more…"

Din was startled, to say the least. You liked when he talked? "I…" he hesitated, then his brow furrowed. "Can't wait to fuck you, Senaar." You whimpered, your hips shuddering. "Fuck you until you don't remember your own fucking name." Din growled. "Breed you like a good Mando should, pump you full of my come just like my Creed-siblings did, right?"

You nodded against his thigh, your sweat seeping through his flight suit to meet his own liberal perspiration. He was so hot, his armor had never been this hot--

"Kevva, that's a kink I didn't anticipate." Ezra panted, pink slick smeared all over his nose and chin. "They certainly like it though, if I understand correctly."

Din could smell you, smell the sweet scent of that fruit mixed with your own arousal. His fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Ezra's neck and he nearly headbutted him on reflex, barely reining the power back in time. Ezra seemed confused at first, the other man obviously dazed with heat and just sort of allowing Djarin to shove his face against his helmet. 

…

The helm was so cool, Ezra couldn't restrain a relieved sigh when he made contact. Mando appeared to be rubbing your essence all over his helmet, utilizing Ezra's face as a paintbrush. Unorthodox, but effective.

"Oh," Ezra realized, "you've got some sort of olfactory sensors in there, don't you. You lewd creature you!" He teased breathlessly. "If you think they smell sumptuous, I regret to inform you that their taste utterly puts that to shame." Words were heavy in his mouth, the prospector having to work harder and harder to put sentences together. It wouldn't be long before his senses wholly abandoned him, he was certain. "Release me, Steerforth, I must…I must carry out my end of the bargain." He groaned, struggling free. "We are almost at their climax."

Mando was nearly vibrating with anticipation, gloved fingers clawing at Ezra's hair. "Careful," was all the armored man said hoarsely. 

Ezra nodded, once again touched by the bounty hunter's surprising display of consideration for his partner. "When the barrier breaks, they will need your cock immediately, Steerforth. I will...not be coherent for much longer." He mumbled against your cunt, giving up on speech after Mando nodded.

With one last sweep of his tongue, the barrier dissolved. You sobbed out, your voice breaking as you writhed beneath your large companion and bucked your hips up against Ezra's eager mouth. Slick fairly poured out of you, leaking down your thighs and soaking the blanket beneath you. 

Ezra didn't remember wriggling his bound hands beneath your rear, simply returning to his senses with your legs over his shoulders and his lungs burning for air but you tasted so good, he felt raw with hunger. 

Mando's gloved hand covered nearly the entirety of his face, easing him back from his feast. Ezra watched the other man's chest heave in a daze until he suddenly remembered what he was doing. "I apologize, I...I am too far gone." He murmured in contrition, lowering your hips back to the floor. 

"Ask nicely to fuck their mouth." Mando ordered, his blunt words digging into Ezra's groin. "You said it hurt you last time because you were alone. You helped them not to hurt. If they don't want to let you to fuck their mouth though, I'll…" he hesitated, "I'll figure something else out. Nobody has to hurt."

"'Something else'?" Ezra repeated, stunned. What on earth could this armored man possibly be offering? Those gloves were remarkably soft, the leather worn smooth from a lifetime of use, no doubt- "Oh."

…

The pain had eased, only to be replaced by a searing emptiness. You squirmed beneath Mando, tangentially aware that he was engaged in a discussion with Ezra. Your hand flew to your pussy, the drenched area making an embarrassingly loud noise when you thrust two fingers into yourself in an effort to quell the ache. 

"Maker, please, please, Mando!" you begged, barely aware of what you were saying. The heat concentrated in your pelvis was burning you alive, desperate tears pouring down your face.

Mando stood to his full height, towering over you, just watching you quiver while you pleaded deliriously. He fairly ambled around your body, moving until he stood between your spread legs. His boot shoved your ankle, opening you even further, exposing every inch of you and the mess that covered the blanket under you. "Senaar." The low burr of modulation made you rock your hips up, whimpering and nodding when he stroked his cock like he was showing off.

Somewhere, deep in your soul, you prayed that he liked what he saw even without the strange pollen instigating. 

He knelt, gloved fingers curling beneath your chin to pull your eyes up from his thick, perfect cock and the puddle of precome it was currently weeping onto your pubic mound. His touch sent flickering trails of electricity through your body, and you could barely focus on what he was asking.

"Ezra...mouth?" 

You nodded rapidly, making Mando bark out what could have been a laugh. He cupped your jaw again, and then his hand stroked your hair in a way that was almost tender. 

"I'll make you feel better." He promised. Ezra was a mess, he looked like you felt. The quarry simply let Mando shove him down onto his knees, his eyes half-lidded. "Undo your suit." Mando ordered and Ezra shakily attempted to obey. He was having a difficult time with his hands still in the binders so you reached out, batting his hands away impatiently to unzip the lower portion of his exosuit.

His thermal leggings were threadbare like his shirt, the waffle-weave fabric soaked through. His cock visibly twitched when you exhaled sharply. "Do not tease me, little bird, I feel as if I am on death's doorstep." The man pleaded through his teeth, "I am raw and agony gnaws at my skin; please take me in your mouth." 

"I have to get your pants off." You tried to explain, fumbling with the article of clothing. The noise of despair he made had you frantically clawing at the pants, finally dragging them down low enough that his cock was freed. It slapped against his belly and he moaned, bound hands digging helplessly into your hair. 

"May I please have your mouth?" He requested raggedly. "I will not take it if you do not give it freely but please, little bird." 

After he had worked so hard to get you to come? You were nodding hurriedly before he finished speaking, and his deep, drawn-out groan of relief was like music to your ears when you swallowed him down. 

…

You were radiating warmth, your hips twitching and shifting restlessly even as you tried to get Ezra's dick out of his suit. Din had to hand it to the other man, he did ask nicely. 

But there were much more pressing matters to attend to. Mainly, your neglected cunt that was currently leaking all over the underside of his cock. Djarin took a steadying breath, and then slowly sank himself into your waiting heat.

Your cry of relief was fucking primal, a hungry, feral snarl that slithered hot and seething in his stomach under the beskar plate. Din was wholly, entirely lost, finding himself mentally shattered at the first stroke into your body. Your thighs trembled on either side of his hips and then your legs fell open, like you didn't have the strength to hold them up. 

Shit, he knew he should say something, he knew he should be reluctant about this, but it was like every cell of his body needed you to fucking survive. 

Maybe he always had. 

Din bared his teeth and growled back at you, his attention divided between watching you eagerly suck Ezra's cock and watching the way his own dick split you open. His passage was eased by the strange pink fluid that continued to ooze out of you, stars it was so hot-

Ezra's fingers tangled in your hair after a moment, the prospector cradling your head to his groin in a manner that could have almost been described as gentle.

"Is this how my Creed-siblings f-ucked you, Senaar?" Din's voice grated in his chest, the armored man barely aware of the heated words tumbling out of his mouth. "Filling you, claiming you, fucking your throat and pussy?"

"Kevva." Ezra breathed. "Your peculiar voice working in tandem with your cock appears to be the thing that turns them into a voracious harlot. I do not know if I have ever-" His sentence broke momentarily, "oh, fuck, very well little bird, take the whole of it then." He grunted, raking his fingers through your hair as you deepthroated him. "You are absolutely magnificent at that, you know." The other man praised shakily. 

Your cunt fluttered around Djarin's cock and he felt your arousal soak through his suit, hot fluid sliding down to coat his balls. "Stars, did you just come?" He groaned, unable to stop the filthy noise he made when you whined around Ezra's dick and nodded as best as you could. His fingers gripped your thigh, digging into the skin as he began to rut against you. The Mandalorian threw his head back, panting, "Feel so fucking--good around me, fuck, Senaar, so good-"

…

You felt like you were falling apart again and again. The taste, the sensations, the curling knot of heat in your belly that released inch by inch. Mando's hand on your thigh and Ezra's grip on your head were the things that allowed you to hold on to your sanity, but only just.

Mando was conquering you utterly, his dick driving into you with enough force that you knew you would be aching later, but in the moment you never wanted him to stop. You had craved him, wished for him for so long, to finally have him was total bliss. 

And Ezra, Ezra, his silky voice caressing your body as his bound hands carded through your hair. His cock choked you again and again and every time you had to pull back off of him for breath he praised you, talked about how good you were, how no one had ever taken him as deep as you…

You were in heaven. 

Ezra abruptly retreated, his cock smearing more precome across your lips. "If you continue on in this manner I will be undone, little bird." He muttered. "Your one-sided assault, while inescapably delicious, is rendering me wholly base. You wish for me to spill my seed on your face?" His hips twitched. "Or shall I fuck my come down your throat, request that you swallow every drop?" 

"Fuck it into them." Mando rasped before you could say anything in reply, a gloved hand grabbing your chin. "Fuck your load i-into that sweet little mouth of theirs. Give them what they fucking need, quarry." He demanded, and you nearly came again from how unhinged he sounded. 

"Well, little bird?" Ezra asked softly, his eyes dark with want. "Shall I take my pleasure from your lewd little mouth and let your beautiful throat milk me dry?"

"Please!" You begged, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue to encourage him. 

Ezra sighed blissfully at the sight, lacing his fingers through your hair and encouraging you to take his cock until your nose rested against his groin. "Fuc-king gods, you are positively celestial." He groaned, "Relegating yourself to a singular partner would be doing you a disservice, little bird. I highly encourage you to weaponize your talents in whatever field you wish."

Come flooded your mouth, his cock twitching heavily against your tongue. Your eyes rolled back, your lungs burning for air and you dimly heard Mando snarl, dropping his helm to rest on your sternum. The metal was blessedly cool even through your tunic, helping to anchor you to reality. 

"Fucking touch me, please." Mando's voice shook even with the modulator, his words buzzing through your body. "Senaar please, fuck, pl-please, touch me, fucking--"

Your palms crashed into his shoulders, hips bucking upwards to meet his next thrust and you came again. Mando made a noise that you could only liken to a roar, the armored man grappling at your hips and grinding himself against your dripping cunt. 

"Senaar, Senaar, Senaar--" The name he had given you punctuated every thrust, his rasping tone making your belly drop out. You weren't sure if you would ever stop coming, grasping blindly at Mando and Ezra while your cunt gripped down on Mando's cock.

…

If Ezra still had any doubts about being a blatant proxy for the armored man, that was obliterated in his post-orgasm daze. 

A gloved hand slid to the back of his neck and tugged him down to your mouth. Ezra went clumsily but willingly, the prospector humming when he tasted himself and the cloying sweetness of the Serpentia on your tongue. You sobbed against his lips and Ezra soothed you with his mouth, accepting all of your hungry whimpers and whines as he stroked your hair back off your forehead. 

"Little bird, little bird, you will want for nothing with this individual pummeling you so mercilessly." He breathed, relishing the soft cry that quivered against the skin of his neck. "I imagine you can feel every inch of that prodigious girth, burning like unquenchable quicksilver, threatening to breach your very womb." He moved his bound hands down, resting them on your stomach. "Steerforth, I trust you are punishin' their cervix with every thrust?" He queried, chuckling darkly when Mando just snarled in reply.

You threw your head back, hands fisted in the fabric between Mando's pauldrons and gorget. "Mando-!" You pleaded, "fuck!" 

Mando's hands dug beneath the small of your back and he canted your hips upwards, sheathing his cock in the cradle of your body over and over. Ezra envied the armored man's stamina, grunting when he felt his member trying to rise again. Whether he could blame the pollen for that, he was unsure, but the lovely company certainly did nothing to dissuade his arousal. Watching this large, almost knightly figure rail into you, your face still a mess of tears from when Ezra had fucked your mouth…

Kevva, he could not recall a time where he had been so content to simply play voyeur, pressing the occasional kiss to your lips at Mando's behest. "Such tenderness, what a dichotomous sensation for you," the prospector mused, "the contrast between armor and flesh." His mouth brushed against your ear when he continued, "However, I believe you're beginning to realize that there is an untapped wellspring of man beneath all that metal, am I correct little bird?"

...

You squeezed your eyes shut and Din's hand reached up, the bounty hunter unable to keep from cradling your cheek. "I always knew." You said, your voice barely audible. "I-I always...I always-"

"Be quiet." Din grunted. "Y-You...don't have to say it." His heart slamming in his chest had nothing to do with his current exertion. You knew. Shame reached him dimly through the haze of arousal. All the times he ached to touch you, all the times he battled with himself over his desire for contact…

Your hand gripped the back of his helmet and he flinched sharply. He hadn't noticed you move and you could pull his helmet off, shit, he was so stupid for doing this! His eyes flew to yours, even though he knew you couldn't see through his visor.

After a moment of him fighting back his panic, you just shook your head. "S-Sealed unit, ri-ght?" You asked, your words hitching with his thrusts. Djarin nodded warily. Your eyes half-lidded and you knocked your forehead into his helmet, the gesture unmistakable to a Mandalorian.

A kiss. 

Was his heart breaking, or just fucking giving out under the assault of this insane pollen? Was he overloaded? Was this all just some wild hallucination?

Din frantically shoved his helmet against your face, pinning your head back to the pillow. Shit, he needed to be careful, you didn't have armor. "Senaar, I--" Basic had always been so damn heavy on his tongue. Mando'a flowed, but it was secret. Sacred. Djarin hesitated and you reached up again, cradling the indents on his helmet.

"Always. Even with this." You whispered. 

His brain had short-circuited. The roaring in his ears was deafening and he knew he was making some kind of ugly, wounded noise, but he couldn't actually do anything about it. 

Always. Always. 

His heart must have blown, he reasoned desperately. That was the only explanation for what he was feeling right now.

…

The sound that Mando made after you assured him was heartwrenching, a guttural sob that seemed like a mixture of agony and ecstasy. He clawed at the blanket beneath you, gasping for breath as he all but broke you in half, his dick ripping yet another orgasm from your hungry cunt. 

You were lightheaded from his prolonged fucking, your pussy in spasm around his thick cock, but you refused to give out yet. "Did you feel me come, Mando?" You whimpered against the side of his helmet, wringing more feral noises out of him. "Is it good?"

"Fuck, incredible, s-so--" Mando gripped your thigh, hitching it up over his hip and then dragging his fingers hungrily through the pink slick that had pooled in the crease of your hip. "Never want to leave, fuck, m'sorry, I know I'm t-taking--forever-" 

"Only a fool apologizes for his length in the bedroom." Ezra remarked dryly, dipping down to kiss you when you laughed. "How do you fare, little bird?"

"So good." You sighed, feeling half-drunk on your orgasm high. The knot in your belly had finally gone slack, leaving you weak and trembling beneath Mando as he chased his own completion. You hummed and Ezra rumbled back, his touch remarkably careful when he cupped your chin. 

"You have done so well." Ezra murmured. "Serpentia is no simple storm to weather, yet you have endured." Mando wordlessly bumped his helmet against Ezra's temple, the metal rubbing over the blond tuft of hair the quarry sported. "You are most welcome, Steerforth." Ezra chuckled. "One is glad to be of service, but please. You threatened to fill them, didn't you?"

Mando's hips faltered in their rhythm and the armored man finally came with a shattered moan of relief. Stars, you weren't sure if you had the Serpentia to blame for the sheer volume that he came; you could feel it frothing out of you around his cock as he continued to shudder and writhe through his orgasm. 

"Holy shit, Mando." You said incredulously, unable to fight back the urge to slip a hand down between your bodies. "You told me Mandalorians were rare."

"We--are." Mando panted raggedly, his cock still twitching inside you.

"If you come like this, how?" You asked, your combined fluids soaking your questing fingers. Mando just stared at you for a moment, shoulders heaving while he struggled to catch his breath.

And then he started laughing, which was...not nearly as terrifying as you had expected, honestly. "Stars, you--" He wheezed, his helm thudding gently against your forehead. "Fuck you, Senaar." You could hear him grinning, his voice still warm with laughter. 

"Odd method of displaying affection. I take it your Creed is of a fraternitous bent?" Ezra commented, a quiet noise of surprise escaping him when you tugged him down for a kiss.

"Thank you." You mumbled drowsily into his mouth. 

"Hardly. I ought to thank you. When last I endured the Serpent's grasp, I was incarcerated and driven to gratify myself to ribbons on the inside of my gear." Ezra informed you, his tone nonchalant. "This experience was a rare moment of hedonistic bliss in my life. Believe me when I say I shall cherish it."

He straightened up before you could say anything in reply, extending his bound wrists to Mando.

"Whither to, my recalcitrant steerforth?"

Mando ignored him for another moment, stroking your forehead tenderly. He appeared to have noticed your weariness, because he sounded softer when he spoke. "Sleep, Senaar. It's over."

…

"I'll cut you loose on Sorgan." 

Ezra swiveled in the co-pilot chair, knowing that his expression must border on the befuddled. When the armored man had left you to sleep, hauled Ezra into the cockpit and secured his binders to the chair, the prospector had assumed that whatever agreement they struck previously was rendered null and void. "I would be...wholeheartedly grateful to you, Steerforth." He breathed.

"I never found you. Your pod malfunctioned and you burned alive in the atmosphere." Mando instructed him in that level, modulated voice. "Stop stealing shit and I won't have to hunt you down again."

"Those men stole from me!" Ezra retorted hotly, knocking his elbow down into the white case that hung off his hip. "I worked alone for stands and they came along right at the most opportune juncture, put a thrower to my head and robbed me! I simply reclaimed-"

Mando waved a hand, interrupting his self-righteous tirade. "You and I both know that it doesn't matter. I'm forfeiting the credits this time, but next time…" he trailed off pointedly. "Don't get caught again. If someone else from my Guild chapter picks up your bounty, Mandalorian or otherwise, they will catch you." 

Mando leaned in close, his elbows resting on his knees and helmet propped up on his folded hands. Ezra felt for all the world like a specimen underneath a microscope, barely suppressing the urge to squirm nervously. 

"The bounty specified that you be captured warm." The armored man said after a beat. "No promise of half-payment upon cold delivery or even proof of demise. So whoever you got into a pissing match with wants to be the one to put that last slug into your brain. You already heard my advice. For your own good, I suggest you lay low and be fucking quiet." He gestured out the cockpit viewport at the green sphere that hovered in the distance. "There's good people on that planet. Good people that I care about. If you bring hunters to their doorstep, I will find out. And then I will find you."

Kevva have mercy, this man was no joke. Ezra was having a difficult time just mustering up the breath to give him an affirmation! Was this truly the same Lancelot he had watched engage in lotus-eating debauchery with his Guinevere not two hours hence? Ezra's belly roiled uncertainly, arousal and fear a potent combination. This must be how the bounty hunter indulged himself without divesting his plate, the prospector reasoned dimly. Fear was a remarkably stimulating thing. "Of course." He finally answered, his voice a little reedy. "Your mercy is...unexpectedly generous, but no less appreciated for its spontaneity."

Mando grunted, seeming satisfied with his response. The armored man returned to the control panel after a moment, flipping a few switches. The entire ship appeared to be miles above what Ezra was used to. Even the Testin had a dog-eared manual that hung from a chain by the central dash, and the craft was such a rattling nightmare that she needed three bodies just to keep her straight. But this man, this...Mandalorian, he operated the whole blasted vessel with a fluid ease. 

His next words were so quiet Ezra nearly missed them. "Thank you."

"Pardon?" Ezra queried blankly.

Mando heaved a sigh that made his pauldrons visibly dip. "I said, thank you." He growled awkwardly. "I don't know what...I don't know if I would have hurt them because of--because of how I am." 

"It will do no good to ruminate on such dour subjects." Ezra hesitated, then continued, "but your Creed...would you have broken it for them, had you known about the requirements of the Medusine barrier?"

"I…" Mando tightened his hold on the directionals, those gloves creaking with his tension. "I'm not sure." He admitted, lapsing into silence afterwards.

"Your ship is marvelously responsive." Ezra murmured by way of changing the subject. "It reminds me of a diminutive Screamer-class that I endured a few stands on, oh, nearly fifteen cycles ago-"

"Be quiet."

…

Din watched Ezra until he vanished between the large trunks of Sorgan's conifers, the Mandalorian then dropping back into the pilot's seat with a groan. Maker, he hoped he was doing the right thing. Hoped he hadn't just unleashed some mass-murdering psychopath on the unsuspecting populace.

Djarin tilted his helmet back against the headrest of the seat, aimlessly staring up at the fuselage. 

What the hell was he going to say when you woke up? 

Din's heart sank. He knew that he couldn't believe anything that had come out of your mouth while you had been under the effects of that fruit. Serpent's Tongue. He chewed his lower lip meditatively. 

He could lie. 

He fucking cringed at the thought, then shook his head at himself. You would be embarrassed at best, but at worst…

Shit, he didn't want to lose you, even if you didn't feel the same way about him. And then there was the kid to worry about. No, a lie would be better. 

You had sought out other Mandos. His stomach lurched as he recalled that little fact. Fuck, fuck, was it hope that beat so insistently in his throat?

A sealed unit, he had said.

He just wouldn't bring it up. He was the one who had insisted that this whole maneuver was struck from the proverbial records in the first place, right? He just wouldn't mention it. Easy enough. If you said something, that was fine, but otherwise…

Din nodded firmly. This is the Way.

Part Two

[whiteheartlight]

Wrote a bit of an intro for my au where the Toa Mata are made into Toa Hagah for different Makuta. don't know if I'll go anywhere with it but figured I'd type it up. Krika-centric. enjoy

.

In the time before time...

That's how Matoran start their stories, right?

Gathered friends, listen again. In the time before time...

What? What was there? A Great Spirit? A Toa?

All their stories sound the same, in his opinion. Toa-heroes and Matoran-heroes and the Great Spirit watching, benevolent, over all of it.

Those are not how his stories go. In the time before time... he wonders when the Great Spirit stopped watching. It must have been recently, he supposes, but then again he thinks this bitterness has been festering in Teridax's heart for a long time.

The stories, after all, are not about Makuta. The stories are about Toa. Or at least the ones that Matoran tell.

Then again, who really gives a fuck?

(All of them do. That's the big secret. Krika, for all he speaks of unknowable destinies, is pretty sure that this could all have been avoided if Teridax was a little bit less glory-hungry. But ah, well. What does he know?)

“He won't really try anything,” he tells Antroz, on a day where they are out on the sea, and the ship rocks beneath their steady feet, and they know each other as brothers. “He wouldn't really challenge Miserix or whisper about plots against the Great Spirit. He's all talk.”

Antroz just looks at him. His eyes are deeply crimson. Fire is life and destruction. He shrugs.

“I think he will, Krika,” Antroz answers. “I think he will, in fact, try something.”

That is all it takes. Hearing it from Antroz's mouth, Krika knows it to be true.

“Well,” he says. “I guess we start finding our place in the new order.”

Antroz snorts.

“What?” says Krika.

“By the Spirits,” says Antroz, with a voice that says he is well aware of his own irony. “I tell you a coup is coming and your first instinct is to start re-assessing your political standing?”

“Well, are you going to do anything about it?” Krika returns, standing straighter, turning his whole body towards him.

Antroz says nothing. He is devouring a pear. It turns grey beneath his claws. He drops it overboard and watches it fall into the water and disappear from view.

“Yes, a new order is coming,” says Krika, turning back to the horizon. “But both Teridax and Miserix are foes with whom I have no desire to be involved. I'll keep my mouth shut, and if you're wise, you'll do the same. All I want is to be left on my island to build my Rahi in piece. I do not wish to be either a pawn to Teridax or protective fodder for Miserix's already over-developed sense of power. Let them fight things out on their own. We will still be standing, my brother, as we always have been.”

Antroz squints out at the sun. “And if it doesn't end up like that?”

“How else could it end up?”

Antroz shrugs again.

“I just think,” he says, “that someday – well. Someday we might be called upon to fight battles we would not otherwise have fought. And on that day, Krika, I wonder if you won't wish you had chosen a side you believed in.”

Krika gazes at him. Antroz look out at the sky. The birds are circling overhead.

“You're so full of shit,” says Krika abruptly, and it makes Antroz laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and turns around to pick up another pear, digging his claws into the ripe body of the fruit and letting the juice run out. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Hey, what's this about Teridax finding those Toa Mata that are meant to guard the Spirit?” adds Antroz, almost thoughtlessly.

“Don't know,” answers Krika, shrugging his shoulders. “Apparently they're waiting for the day he needs them. But you know Teridax. Probably has his own plans.”

“Yeah,” laughs Antroz. “Yeah, probably does. Oh, look, Tarakava! They're new in this part of the world – that's how you know they're a hardy species, migrating to new places...”

Those short sentences are all they speak of the Toa Mata at that time and, what's more, all they bother to think of them. They don't much care. They were not, then, enemies of the Great Spirit. And Kopaka, Tahu, Gali, Lewa, Onua, and Pohatu – the names meant nothing to them.

But they would.

That's how the stories go, right? That's what they're about. Toa.

Krika will watch it happen. He does not intend, at the time, to be a part of the story.

The rope of his destiny, however, is already closing around his white throat.

--------------

Krika hears the news of Miserix's death two weeks later. He knows then that he was wrong. Teridax was not all bark and no bite. Teridax bit.

Krika says nothing. Miserix is not the only Makuta who dies that week. He suspects that the ones who join him are the ones who asked too loudly: “Who did this?”

He knows. They all know.

But these are days of survival for the Makuta, and Krika is a survivor, so he keeps his goddamn mouth shut, and rises quietly through the ranks of Teridax's Brotherhood.

And when the calls for better protection come, Teridax offers one solution to his five closest allies, and suddenly those names - Tahu, Gali, Onua, Lewa, Pohatu, and Kopaka - mean something.

----------------

“I don't want one,” says Krika, and, at the time, he expects that to be the end of the matter.

Antroz looks up at him. His eyes are irritated. Krika crosses his arms over his chest and looks right back.

“Krika,” Antroz begins.

“It's stupid,” says Krika. “What the hell do I need a single Toa for? Maybe it made sense when Miserix and Teridax took teams. At least they might be able to actually take out a couple threats to them - not that Miserix's little team did him any good in the end. But one lone Toa? It's not going to be able to protect me from anything I can't already protect myself from.”

“Krika, I'm quite busy here,” says Antroz, turning back to his latest creation. “Can't you just do what you're told for once? You should be pleased. My pair is already entertaining. They spar all day and the red one yells every time he speaks.”

“I don't want one,” repeats Krika, feeling the small, feathery protrusions on the back of his spine raise with irritation. “I don't need one. It's asinine. I'm going home to my work and I wish to be left alone.”

Antroz looks up at him again. In these days, he is a sight to behold. Clean red colors with sweeping black lines, his mask painted with soft, noble markings, his body strong and tall and sure of itself.

Back in these days, they have nothing to fear. The present is thousands of years away. Today, they are young, and the Swamp has not changed them. And hatred and cruelty and despair – well. These are things that have only begun to change them.

Antroz turns back to his Rahi, stroking its stomach as he takes a sample from its side. “Krika, let's not pretend to be fools. Not you and I. We both know that this is not about protection. They are status symbols. You are rising in the ranks of the Makuta, my brother. Now that you have inherited your new country, you are almost as powerful and respected as I. And so, while Miserix and Teridax take six each for themselves, I take two, and you, like some of our other siblings – ”

“Fools the lot of them,” snarls Krika.

“Take one,” says Antroz coolly. “Take one like you were told. Because with each Toa we make into a Hagah, the more the Matoran come to see us as greater than the Toa. We are becoming, Krika, the most powerful species in creation. And these Toa are special. That is why Teridax had them dug from the ocean. Take one. Just the one. Command a legend and watch as the Matoran transfer their love for the Toa to their love for you.”

“I don't care,” says Krika, “about the love of the goddamn Matoran.”

“Then you are not playing the game right today, brother,” answers Antroz quietly, tinkering with his Rahi, his eyes already distracted by his passion for his creation. “That's not like you. Don't be foolish. Go. I've had enough of you... and I am technically in charge of you, aren't I, Krika?”

He digs his claws into the wall for a second, aching to say more. Aching to protest. He doesn't take orders from anyone but Miserix himself. Or Teridax now, he supposes.

But Antroz is right.

Krika is someone who is learning how to play these games right.

So he does what he always does: he takes what comes at him and he lies in wait.

Just for now. Just for now. He lies in wait.

“Fine,” he says, stalking out of the room. “But I don't want one. I'm not going to be nice to it.”

“Noted,” answers Antroz, already forgetting what they were talking about as he loses himself in his experimentation and building. Ah, he is a creature of passion in these days, and he does not know the taste of real fear.

Krika wanders into the other room, where silver canisters await him in silence, still as dead things.

He brushes condensation from the surface of the one closest at hand. The sleeping face of a Toa Mata looks back at him.

No, check that.

Not a Toa Mata. Not now. Not anymore.

“Looks like you and I are stuck with each other,” murmurs Krika, releasing the lid of the tomb where this Toa has slept for thousands of years, disturbed only by Teridax's command. “Wake up, then, Toa Hagah.”

And Mata Kopaka opens his eyes.

[lilbabycee]

tatiana // steve rogers 🌸

↳ summary: you've made a series of mistakes concerning steve and you're not going to stop now, although these mistakes may leave you in some unprecedented circumstances.

↳ relationship: soft dark!steve rogers x reader

↳ word count: 5.4k (i got carried away with this one)

↳ warnings: explicit smut, mildly dubious consent, emotional manipulation, cockwarming, dad!steve

↳ author’s note: some more soft dark steve bc we all need it 🤤 this may be one of my favorite steve fics i’ve ever written, so please enjoy! 💖 

The white doves that tell the tales residing inside the heavy book that weighs down your lap flutter downwards, blowing little wisps of air onto your skin as your fingers slacken and the cover of the hardback hits the pages with a soft thud. Perched on the edge of the too-big queen-sized bed with the too-soft mattress, you take a second to breathe deeply, cherishing these moments of peace because these breaths haven’t come easy to you recently. Your head falls into one of your hands, your bones as exhausted as your mind. You have to remember that it’s ten in, hold for five, and ten out just like he taught you, but the thought escapes you as your lungs struggle to intake air in anything but huge, gasping breaths. It feels like someone is sitting on your chest, a weight so heavy having settled where your heart should be, dragging your body further to the ground than gravity.

But you’re unable to help the sincere albeit shaky smile on your face when you admire her, your breathing starting to even out until it’s shallow and steady. Round cheeks squished against the pillow, one of her chubby little hands gripping your sleeve and the other tucked underneath her head, she’s a vision - truly a beacon of light in what is otherwise a neverending spiral into darkness. Carefully and with all of the finesse that your shaking hands can muster, you pry her fingers off of your sleeve one by one, although you know that the chances of her waking up are slim. You love telling her that she can sleep through an earthquake or a hurricane because it always - without fail - elicits that same sweet little giggle from the sleeping girl in front of you and a whiny “Mama!” , her beaming smile enough to warm your heart for the rest of your life.

Tatiana’s long eyelashes - all too reminiscent of her daddy’s - fan against her face while she dozes, her mouth wide open and her soft snores the only sound in the room. Her closed eyes shield you from the most disarming baby blues that never let you forget exactly who her father is, and the thought alone makes the blood pumping your heart run cold, an involuntarily shudder passing through you at the feeling.

He’s just over in the next room and you know it - the apartment is almost entirely silent but you know. He’s waiting, expecting you, knowing that you’ll come to see him at the end of the night. Tatiana’s enthusiasm and your insistence upon reading her to sleep hopefully went unnoticed by him - being alone in a room with him always makes your skin crawl and your heart beat erratically but you know that he can smell the arousal that pools between your thighs regardless of the attitude that you give him on the surface.

Not wanting him to come and look for you, you decide that you’ve spent enough time in this massive bedroom - a converted guest room - that’s far too large for a 3-and-a-half-year-old. You lean down over your baby, hand coming up to brush a thumb over her cheek and then run a hand through over the top of her head, pushing the stray baby hairs out of her face. You make sure to place the book on her nightstand so that you don’t have a fiasco like the last time that you couldn’t find it. It ended up underneath the couch and your daughter was in a mood for the whole day, pouting and sulking when her father told her that he couldn’t find it. It was a gift that was given to you by her favorite uncle, Tony, when she was born: Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Tony considers it essential in developing her love for reading and stories at an early age, and you didn’t argue, the gift so sweet and thoughtful that you make sure to read at least a little to her every night. Making sure to turn her nightlight on, you rise and head to the door, looking back over your shoulder one more time to see her cocooned in her blanket and being swallowed by her mattress. The image alone makes a chuckle rise in your throat and you shake your head before flipping the light switch and closing the door.

Your back is pressed against the hard lines of Tatiana’s door, and your gaze falls on the one at the end of the hallway. It’s been left ajar, almost as if he’s inviting you inside. You know that you shouldn’t - common sense is telling you that you should steer clear of that room for the sole reason that you know exactly what or rather who lays in their bed behind it. Before you even realize what’s happening, a deep baritone is summoning you to, “Come in”.

Silently, you curse yourself, aware that it’s too late to take back any chance of escape that you may have had prior to this, but you press your palm against the white wood of the door so that it slowly slides open. The sight that greets you makes you want to claw at your skin as much as you want to claw at his. The idea of vertical red lines scratched down his back makes you bite your lip and really assess the gorgeous man stretched out in front of you.

At a closer listen, you’re aware that he’s actually been playing music, soft jazz melodies floating through the air that ease your anxiety just a little. His bed is directly across from the door and obnoxiously large and comfortable - it used to be covered in pillows and have a softer mattress and extra blankets, but that was before you moved out. Now, the pillows are somewhere in a closet, as are the blankets, and the mattress is significantly harder than it used to be, although not uncomfortable. But the bed isn’t what’s making your mouth water and a fire ignite in your stomach. It’s the man atop it.

He’s stretched out like some kind of god - picture Dionysus - with the bone structure and physique of Adonis, and you think that if the heavens opened up right now and took him back you wouldn’t bat a single eyelash. The only sources of light in the room are the twin lamps that emanate a bright, white light. The light catches all of the planes and angles of his face, the shadows and highlights alike showing you all of his best features. And he’s absolutely the picture of relaxation, back leaning against the headboard, right hand behind his head and the left holding a book.

He’s only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt that’s slightly rucked up to show the line of abdominal hair that leads down to what you really want, but he may as well have been wearing nothing because you wouldn’t be able to tear your eyes off of this man if you tried. And even from the few meters that separate the two of you, you can feel the intensity of his blue gaze behind his glasses - it always feels like he’s stripping you slowly, carefully, methodically in his mind. Not only is it disconcerting but it makes you feel things that you can only associate with uncomfortable desire. His eyebrow quirks up and the hand that was behind his head slowly slides his glasses down the bridge of his perfect nose until they drop to his side. His lips quirk up into a smug little smirk that you simultaneously want to punch and kiss off his face.

“Hey,” he says your name like a prayer, lips wrapping around the sound and it draws you into the room - you’re almost floating towards him.

You swallow, willing yourself to say something instead of just standing there, staring at him like an idiot. Relaxing your stance, one of your hands finds your hip and the other runs over your hair that you’re sure is a mess from playing with your daughter earlier.

“Hi,” you reply quietly, almost a whisper. He mirrors you, running a hand through his golden hair and then over his clean-shaven jaw - Tatiana prefers it that way.

“She asleep?”

You nod, finding yourself on the edge of his bed as he puts his book face down next to him. Inhaling deeply, he runs his large hands over his powerful thighs and even that small motion has you distracted and you squeeze your own thighs together, shaking your head disapprovingly at yourself. Absent-mindedly, your hand comes up to toy with the pendant of the simple necklace that you always wear, and you watch Steve’s eyes as they follow your movements. They zero in on your exposed décolletage and darken, his tongue running over his plush pink lower lip again. Pulling his phone from underneath his pillow, he makes a point of checking it before glancing back up at you.

“What?”

“You checked the time, sweetheart?”

At the shake of your head, he flips his phone around to show you that it’s four minutes past midnight.

“Shit, are you kidding me?” you groan almost childishly, rising hastily and making your way towards the door. “I’ve got work tomorrow - I wasn’t supposed to stay this late.”

“Hey, hey,” Steve quickly moves to stand up and placate you, rounding the bed to come and stand in front of you with his hands out. “It’s not your fault - Tati was excited to see you, you can’t blame her… or yourself for that matter. She’s been asking about you for weeks now, talkin’ everybody’s ear off about it. She doesn’t get to see us all the time, you know that-”

You know it all too well. Frankly, you’re proud of your success - there’s no reason that you shouldn’t be. You were lucky enough to land a key internship at Stark Industries as a college student that really gave you a leg up in a lot of your future professional life. You were already set to inherit what is now your publishing company from your father, but you were unsure about whether or not that was something that you wanted to devote your life to. Sooner rather than later, something clicked for you and that was when you decided to pick up your father’s life’s work, reassuring him that it would be left in capable hands so that he could eventually retire peacefully. Not that he doesn’t still hover because he does, giving you advice whether you want it or not and making final decisions in places where you’re torn. Initially, there was a lot of discontent within the company concerning your father’s replacement: he is something of a legend in the publishing world and even you were terrified that you wouldn’t be able to live up to their expectations. You had to prove that you deserved to have the CEO position that your father appointed you to, show people and yourself, more importantly, that you were worth being there as much as any other employee. It took some years, but you love your job, so much so in fact that your mother - a former dentist - is often concerned that you’re working yourself to an early grave.

Unfortunately, this leaves little time for you to spend with your family, especially your daughter. Your job requires an exorbitant amount of international travel, meaning that your house barely looks like a home because most weeks, it’s empty.

Sighing, the thought in itself makes a grey cloud hang over your head to shroud you in despondency. Steve notices and the corners of his lips turn downwards as he boldly approaches you and gently grabs your upper arms. His touch in itself makes you soften and he dips his head to try and catch your eyes. When he does, he gives you a crooked, boyish smile that makes the crease in your eyebrows disappear and your lips curve into a shy grin.

“I know it’s part of your job,” Steve’s voice drops even further, hands rubbing up and down your arms, thumbs stroking the cotton of your shirt. “But she misses you… why don’t you just stay over?”

This makes you freeze in place and try and free yourself from his grip, but he only tightens it, that same compassionate look in his eyes.

“Baby,” before you can reprimand him for using the pet name, he anticipates your next words and shushes you so that he can continue, “I bet Tati would love to see you when she wakes up tomorrow morning. Imagine the look on her face - she’d be overjoyed. Just think about it.”

You know what he’s doing and still attempt to wrestle free, but his hold on you is solid though it doesn’t tighten any further.

“Steve,” you sigh in what sounds like defeat and you can see the spark of hope ignite in his eyes. “You know why I have to get home. I’ll come back tomorrow - I’ve got the whole week here before I head out again-”

“But then what?” he says your name pleadingly, though his tone sounds almost accusatory. “I could be gone on a mission at any time and then some of the team has to take care of her - or your parents, or your sister, or your brother. Look, I try to be here as much as I can but I’m not planning to hang up the shield for a few more years-”

“And I’m not expecting you to, I never said I was, Steve,” you fire back, taking a step towards him with your arms still pinned by your sides. “I get that your missions are unpredictable and unexpected - you can’t help that - but there’s no way that I can lose these clients overseas, especially since I basically just got this position-”

“So you’re saying that you’re prioritizing your job over our daughter?” his voice rises slightly, but his eyes don’t harden at all.

“That’s- are you kidding me? That’s not at all what I’m saying. I want to provide financial stability that’s enough for the rest of her life and with both of us working, she’ll have more than enough for her and her kids and probably her kids’ kids. God, why would you even -”

“You know what she told me yesterday?”

This makes the fire within you die down just a little, your heart skipping a beat when you register the intensity of his gaze and the gravity of his words. You swallow, hands starting to clam up and lips starting to quiver. He knew what reaction this would give you, effectively shutting you up.

“Wh-what- I mean, you know...what did she say?”

Steve suddenly looks away from you, releasing your arms and pacing, turning his back to you. Letting out a distressed sigh, he shoves his hands deep into his mop of blonde hair, planting himself on the edge of the bed and shaking his head.

“I shouldn’t have said anything- I’m sorry, it’s not my place-”

His voice is quiet but also muffled by his hands, but now he’s piqued your curiosity so you can’t just let this go - especially because it concerns the single most important person in your life. Without thinking, you rush over, getting on your knees before him, right in between his open legs. Tentatively, your hands land on his knees and your thumbs trace small circles where they lay.

“Steve,” you call out softly. Nothing happens for a moment - he remains silent and the jazz song is underscored by his ragged breathing. The feeling of nervousness that already set in your stomach drops further and further, blood running like fire once again through your veins. When he finally does look up at you, he looks torn, like a lost golden retriever. He knows very well what that look does to you and you’re more than aware of it yourself, yet you find that you are unable to look away from those eyes that mirror those of your daughter so perfectly.

He says your name quietly, his significantly larger hand covering one of yours that rest on his knee. Though you hate to admit it to yourself, it makes the suspense of the situation so much more bearable.

“It’s just,” Steve hesitates, unable to maintain eye contact with you and sitting up from his hunched position, “she asked me why you were never here…”

Your heart sinks, another lump stuck in your throat.

“And you said…?”

“A-All I did was tell her the truth,” he shrugs, exhaling another shaky breath before looking at you with glassy eyes, “I told her that you’re really busy with work all the time, but every time you’re not at work, you’re trying your best to spend all your time with her.”

Steeling yourself not to cry, you look away from his face and lower your gaze to stare at the carpet.

Ten in, hold for five, ten out.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say lightheartedly, knowing full-well that there’s more to it. Steve manages a chuckle, but it sounds forced so you decide to shut up and listen.

“But then she said that it was okay because she has Nat instead.”

There it was.

You’ve always known that your daughter has been brutally honest - as all children often are - but this is a pain unlike anything that you’ve felt before. Your fingers come up to your chest to clutch at your breast, dying to massage away the aching of your heart. Hot trails of fire spill onto your cheeks and the moment that Steve registers them, he takes advantage of your position on the floor and tucks his hands underneath your arms to drag you up to sit on his lap like a doll.

You’re curled up on top of your ex-fiancé’s thighs, his hand pressing the side of your head into his hard but surprisingly comfortable shoulder, and you’re sobbing your fucking eyes out at the harsh but very real words of your three-and-a-half-year-old daughter. Steve says your name comfortingly and wraps his arms tightly around your body, rocking you back and forth while he shushes you and whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

It definitely hurts to hear: the hectic, distant, fast-paced and frankly insane life that you’ve been trying to convince yourself isn’t your reality is indeed the truth and even your daughter can recognize that. You’re ashamed of yourself, Steve’s kind words only making you feel so much worse.

Between sobs, you attempt to explain yourself but Steve just keeps quieting you, rubbing circles into your back. All he says is ten in, hold for five, ten out.

Once you’ve calmed down a little, you realize the vulnerable spot that you’re in - one you shouldn’t be in. You squirm in his arms like you’re about to get up but once again, he holds you firmly in place.

“I need to head out, Steve- I’ve gotta get some time alone to think about-”

“Or,” he draws out the word, voice having hardened significantly, “you could stay here and when our daughter comes to wake me up in the morning, she’ll find you here too.”

Jerking your head back, you’re genuinely shocked at his audacity.

“Steve, let’s get this straight,” you start, feeling much more confident and calm than before, “if I’m staying here, we are absolutely not sleeping in the same room. We’re not having a repeat of what happened the last time-”

“And what was so bad about the last time, hmm, sweetheart?”

He runs his index finger over your jawline, dragging it down the length of your neck and down to your exposed collarbones.

“If I do recall,” his voice is much quieter but also deeper, “you thoroughly enjoyed what we did the last time.”

His one arm keeps you anchored to him, the other moving from your chest to cup behind your neck and pull you to meet his lips.

“Steve-”

Your protests die in your throat as you feel his soft lips on you, your eyes fluttering shut as he starts to press wet, open-mouthed kisses on your throat. He works his way up to underneath your ear, biting in places that you know you should be worried about him marking before he nips at your earlobe with his perfect teeth and traces the outer shell of your ear with his tongue. It makes you whimper softly, the sound making your eyes shoot open and snapping you out of whatever trance he’s put you in, your spine going rigid.

“We’re not doing this,” you say firmly, placing your hands flat on his chest and pushing backward. He looks resigned but nods, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head instead.

“Fine, but I still insist that you stay here,” he presses. “Not for me, but for Tatiana - think of her. She’ll love it.”

Biting your lip, you consider it for a moment before sucking your teeth and staring heavenwards.

What’s the worst that could happen? And if it’s just so that Tatiana can see you with her in the morning, it’s more than worth having to deal with Steve for a night.

“Okay, fine- fine. You’re gonna need to let me borrow some clothes. If I’d known that this was the plan, I would’ve packed more appropriately.”

Steve’s self-satisfied smirk irks you and he shifts you off of his lap, standing up so that he can disappear inside his walk-in to search for something for you to wear. You can’t help but notice that as he’s walking, he has to adjust the crotch of his sweatpants which aren’t really hiding anything. You clear your throat and look away, the heat that previously ran throughout your body all settles in your core.

Something that smells suspiciously like Steve - soap, pine, lavender and something citrusy - smacks you in the face, making you scowl when the clothing falls to reveal a grinning Steve who looks very pleased with himself leaning against the closet door.

“C’mon,” he gestures to you with one hand, the other shoved in his pocket. “I’d love to get some sleep, so get changed.”

He turns on his heel and heads to another door on the other side of the room, walking inside as he yells, “And make sure to let people know that you aren’t gonna be in tomorrow. We’ve got plans, doll.”

Plans?

The door clicks behind him, and you heave a deep sigh, wanting to fall through the bed. Quickly, you disrobe, folding your clothes and placing them onto one of the armchairs in the corner of his room next to the record player. Looking at what he brought you, you shake your head in incredulity.

This cheeky motherfucker.

He’s only brought you a t-shirt - a white one with the Captain America insignia on the back, the same one that you bought for him as a joke on the first birthday of his that you spent together. You purposely made sure that it was loose enough for you to wear to bed by itself too because he wears all of his t-shirts in a size too small - not that you’d ever complain - and you hated grabbing one of his shirts, putting it on, and finding that it fit you just like one of your own.

You pull it over your head and look back to the empty space on the bed.

No shorts either.

You scold yourself because you should’ve known that he’d pull something like this. But he’s promised that things won’t go to levels that you’re not comfortable with, so you just sleeping in your panties and this t-shirt should be fine.

Maybe?

Entering the bathroom, Steve hands you the toothbrush that he keeps here for you, his own buzzing in his mouth, and you thank him silently with your eyes as you take it from him. Your eyes travel up his body, narrowing because he’s taken off his shirt and his sweatpants, and he is only wearing a pair of grey Calvins, distracting you and making even more moisture pool between your thighs. Steve evidently notices your not-so-subtle staring and tries to hide his smile under the guise of brushing with renewed vigor.

Get a hold of yourself.

The two of you finish up in the bathroom, Steve walking behind you and burning holes into your bare thighs. He turns off both of the lights on either side of his bed as you crawl underneath the heavy comforter, curling in on yourself. You turn away from him, hoping that it indicates that you’re not up for talking and just want to sleep. He moves around a little bit before getting in with you, and suddenly your space is crowded by pillows?

He remembered.

It makes the butterflies in your belly that have been dormant for a long time start to wake up.

Rearranging the pillows in the fashion that you like, you try and put today’s events behind you and make a silent vow to yourself that you will do better, you will try harder to become a better and more present mother to your daughter.

In fact, you’re so absorbed in your thoughts that sleep begins to pull you into its clutches, your eyes drooping lower and lower until your breathing evens out and you’re just on the cusp of it when a strong, hard body molds itself against your back. Any semblance of sleep that you felt just moments ago slips away, your eyes widening.

“What are you doing -”

His hand clamps around your mouth, promptly cutting you off before his other warm hand runs down your front, down your t-shirt before creeping underneath, all while leaving a trail of fire in his wake. You’re thrashing now, knowing that your efforts will be futile because as much as you can tell yourself you don’t want this, it’s everything that you’ve ever wanted.

It was a mistake like this that gave you the best thing to ever happen to you.

His lips touch your ear at the same time his hand flicks your peaked nipple, making you buck your hips back into him. “Oh, sweetheart, look at you.”

He gropes at your breast for another few seconds, his gentle yet firm grip doing nothing to ease the desire that you have for him. A sharp pinch to your nipple sends a lightning bolt right to your cunt. It then moves even further downwards, past down your belly button, hovering over where you need him the most.

“So needy, aren’t you, baby?”

He slips the fingertip of his index finger underneath the band of the lace, snapping it so that you gasp against his hand.

“I’ve been able to smell you all night,” he buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply and the groan from deep within his chest vibrates against your back. Arching your back into him, he uses both of his hands to push your hips into his, hooking his thumbs over the band of your panties and sliding the rest of his fingers underneath. “You wet for me, sweetheart?”

You can do nothing but nod - this is a mistake but you wish that every mistake that you ever made felt this good.

“Good girl,” you can hear his grin while he removes his hands and his index finger slides against your covered core. “This all for me?”

You nod again and he moans loud , louder than the sounds of your desperate panting. The jazz record continues to spin on the needle.

Slowly, he runs a finger up and down your folds, feeling the slick that has dampened your panties. He thrusts up into your ass in response, wasting no more time.

“Please-”

You choke out the word, needing him to extinguish the flames that he’s ignited inside of you.

“It’s okay, doll - I got you.”

And he does, yanking down his underwear over his cock and wrapping his hand around the base. In your eagerness, you shove your own panties down your hips, causing Steve to rumble a laugh and click his tongue at you.

“Baby,” he exhales, evidently amused at your whiny demeanor. “Did you really think you could trick me? Comin’ in here, all shy and nervous but still tempting me… knowing exactly what you’re doin’, hmm? You wanna be a family again, sweetheart?”

With this, he guides the head of his dick to your entrance, rubbing up and down the sensitive skin, taking his time. And in all the time that you’ve known him, Steve is not the type to be patient.

“All you had to do was ask.”

And then he slams into you - really and truly because you jerk forward at his powerful thrust, eyes watering at the sensation. He’s so big that the stretch precariously toes the line between pain and pleasure but just falls on the side of being enjoyable. The sound of skin slapping sin is lewd and filthy and you love it.

Steve’s deft fingers quickly find your clit and press down, rubbing circles into the small nub. Coupled with Steve’s labored breathing and moans in your ear, it doesn’t take you long to be right on the edge of your peak.

“I can feel you, doll,” he whispers, teeth grazing your ear once again. “You gonna cum for me, make a mess all over my dick?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak, eyes squeezed shut.

“No, no, no, baby,” he breathes. “Look at me while I make you cum - I want you to know who’s making you feel this good. Tell me who’s about to make you cum, baby.”

Opening your eyes, he flips you around so that you’re facing him, throwing one of your legs over his and he does it all without ceasing his motions. Your body warms in embarrassment, however because you’re chasing your release, you swallow any pride that you may have and give him what he wants.

“You are-”

An exceptionally hard thrust makes you squeal and Steve grunts in disappointment. He’s got one arm encircled around your waist, the other gripping your throat bruisingly tight.

“I didn’t fucking hear you, sweetheart.”

“You are,” you try a bit louder, your ability to form coherent sentences significantly impaired.

“What was that, doll?”

“You are,” you yell emphatically, the pressure being applied to your clit temporarily pushing the words out of your mouth in exactly the way you know he likes it.

He bounces you on his cock, pulling you into a heated kiss before drastically increasing his speed, every thrust upwards poking at your g-spot.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he licks a stripe up your throat and your hands scramble to find purchase on his slick skin. Your nails dig into his back, painting those thin crimson lines he likes so much. “Just like that.”

A strangled moan crawls out of your throat but he shushes you, squeezing your neck tighter.

“I know, I know,” he soothes. “Cum for me, doll.”

And so you do - your thighs quiver and your lips part wide in a silent scream, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your muscles contract around Steve’s dick which sets off his own orgasm but almost stubbornly, he keeps his eyes on your blissed-out face while he spills his own release into you.

Once the two of you come down from your high, your heart racing and your breath erratic, Steve’s tight embrace does nothing to quell your growing anxiety at what the fuck you’ve just done - again.

“Should keep you like this forever,” Steve pulls you into the heated skin of his chest and buries his face into the space between your shoulder and your neck. His cock is still buried inside of you. “Fucked full of my cock for the rest of your life. I bet you’d like that, baby.”

His words make tears spring to your eyes - guilt - and you can’t even give him a response, so all he does is exhale deeply, kissing the top of your head and settling into the sea of pillows around you.

“Night, sweetheart.”

And then he promptly falls asleep, no more words exchanged between the two of you. Truly you can do nothing more but wrap your arms around his neck, the weight of him inside you making it difficult for you to get comfortable, and try to get some rest. The jazz record slowly starts to come to a close.

The moonlight shines through the slits of Steve’s blinds, depicting white horizontal lines across his back. It makes him look like art, you think, running your hands slowly up and down his bare skin. As you do, the light catches on the ostentatious rock on your ring finger.

↳ tagged: @literaturefeen​

[harrysbbby]

scared to love

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Requested:  Heyy, can you please write some JJ x reader where they have feelings for each other and the know somehow. But like Y/N is afraid of her feelings because she has been through a lot of emotional abuse and has been hurt by people close to her and she doesn’t want to have her heart broken by another person who is important to her and also thinks that she will break him even more but she still can’t help to have feelings for him. I don’t if this makes sense thanks. Btw I really love your writing ❤️❤️

thank u to the very kind anon who requested this. this is the first request i’ve done in a while just hoping it isn’t shit. but enjoy x

Y/N hadn’t been friends with Kiara all that long before she convinced her to hand out with the rest of her friends. 

Y/N hadn’t even meant to become such good friends with her, but she was lonely and the nice girl, with the curly hair who came up an spoke to her at lunch when no one else would seemed like a better bet than anyone.

Kelce, Y/N’s boyfriend (or more aptly, ex-boyfried, although hard to come to terms with) had cheated on her the few days before. She had sat on her own in the cafeteria, now an outsider, banished from the groups she called her “family”. Sarah cast her an indifferent look, before turning back to Topper and Kelce, who had his arms around the girl Y/N had caught in his bed.

She moved her food around her plate, the food no longer appetising as she swallowed the lump in her throat. A mane of untameable bushy curls framing a slender body slouched next to her. Y/N recognised the girl as Kiara, someone she did not know overly well. She had heard of her, and her falling out with Sarah, but that was before Y/N’s time with Kelce.

“So you’ve been booted too, huh?” she asked monotonously, chomping into a carrot stick with the least amount of enthusiasm she had ever seen.

“Yep,” Y/N replied.

Each day Kiara would join her at the same table, bonded together as outcasts. Kiara complained about how Sarah was a back-stabbing bitch and Y/N complained about how Kelce was a cheating man-whore. Their friendship continued to grow deeper, Kiara talking about the new friends she made who she referred to as the Pogues, just as Y/n started to open up about her home life.

Her dad had left well before she was born, and her mother, not being able to cope with the stress of being a single parent or the heartbreak she felt when the love of her life left her, had palmed you off to your Aunt and Uncle, gracious enough to take you in as their own, and send you to the private school of the Outer Banks. But their bottomless pockets of wealth were never enough to fill the void of Y/N’s empty heart. Kelce had filled it for a while, but now she just wondering if instead of filling the hole, she was really just using him to cover it up.

In an attempt to make her feel better and more included Kiara invited her to a day out on the marsh with her friends. With no reason to decline, she accepted the offer.

So, Y/N met the Pogues, who while albeit it mildly insensitive to the fact she had just had her heart ripped out of her chest by a long-term boyfriend she trusted, were a good distraction. Pope was lovely, finally someone she was able to chat about books and movies. John B was like the older brother she’d never had, pushing her to try new things, but being there to catch her if she fell.

JJ... well, he was a little different. He was raucous and loud and absentminded about other’s feelings. But it exactly what Y/N needed. To get away from the money, and the expectations and the lies and just enjoy some time with her newfound friends.

Easier said then done.

She knew JJ was a flirt. He would sling his arm over her shoulder as they walked to the beach, or place a hand on her thigh while sitting beside her on the HMS Pogue. He would make off-hand comments about how good she looked in a bikini or if she was being uptight that she “needed a good fucking.”

He meant well, and Y/N took them as light-hearted joked but she could tell there was more. More in the way his hands would linger as they brushed her’s when passing her a beer around the Kegger fire, or how he would stare intently at her when she explained concepts to him on their weekly study session in the Chateau. JJ was important to her. Which was exactly why she continued to deny his advances.

Y/N couldn’t handle the pain she would endure if JJ hurt her. The wound from her father leaving her was long, but had was now a forgotten scar. The wound from her mother abandoning her with her Aunt and Uncle was a scar, only recently healed. The wound Kelce left when she caught him with another girl was still fresh, barely beginning to mend. If she gave herself to someone again and she got hurt, her wounds would re-open, leaving her to unravel, unsure if she could piece herself back together again. 

So she started to avoid him. And he noticed. And she thought she had gotten away with it, until one night at the Boneyard, when he pulled her aside, their slightly intoxicated states allowing the conversation to arise with nearly no inhibitions.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he stated as they reached the outskirts of the party, quiet enough to hear each other speak.

“No, I haven’t,” she countered. JJ crossed his arms, glaring at her.

“Really?” he asked sarcastically, “so you haven’t ignored all of my texts and left every room I entered at The Chateau?”

Y/N sighed, running a frustrated hand through her hair. There was really no way she could hid from this.

“I thought you liked me,” JJ’s voice came out a lot quieter than she had ever heard it before. Hearing him speaking so softly and tenderly threw her off.

“I..I,” she stuttered, before taking a deep breath, causing herself to look his eyes, which usually looked like oceans, now whirled into a confused storm. “I do like you JJ. That’s the problem.”

“What?” he asked, obviously confused. She couldn’t blame him. She huffed, her mouth opening a few times, no words being formed. She didn’t know what to say.

“I’m scared JJ,” she said, hands running nervously along her arms. His hands covered them, ceasing their movements, forcing her to look up at him.

“Of what?”

“Getting hurt,” she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She shrugged JJ’s hands off of hers, bringing them to her face, hiding her face, now spilling over with tears, “You’re a flirt JJ. And a fuckboy. You take a girl, treat her like a piece of meat and shover her to the side. I can’t take that,” she had started to hyperventilate words struggling to form as the back of her throat hiccupped, “like from my dad, to my mum, to Kelce...I... I don’t think I could... take it... getting hurt by someone I care so much about.”

Her sobs were racking her body as she spoke. JJ grabbed her shoulders pulling her into him. His hand cautiously ran along her back, uncomfortable with the fact he had to comfort her. He wanted to, he just didn’t know how.

“I’m broken, JJ,” she whimpered out, clawing desperately at his shirt, “I can't handle it anymore.”

JJ wasn’t sure how to proceed, holding the fragile girl in his arms. He let her cry, only speaking when she had calmed, holding her at arms length.

“I would never hurt you, Y/N,” he said seriously, gazing deeply into her eyes. She felt herself nodding, almost agreeing with the fact she knew she would never hurt him. But it was if she had been burnt, she was too scared to get close to the fire again. “I would never hurt you.”

His fingers placed gently on her chin, pulling her in for a soft kiss. She was hesitant at first, before letting him consume her. She felt safe and protected as he wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her close.

And she was. Her wounds began to heal. Scars littered her heart, but there were no more gashes letting her bleed out.

 She was never hurt again

---------

lmao idk what this was eeeew hope you all enjoyed feel free to send me any requests for any characters!

[mammonshuman92]

- Sapphire -

(Mammon x MC)

| part two | part three |

NOTE: F!MC

It’s here, in the endless sapphire pools, that I could get lost swimming, forever. The sheer power that they hold over me is otherworldly, and to be honest, quite unfair.

“MC! Are you listening?” Satan was looking at you with slight irritation, closing his book. The two of you have been studying for an upcoming test in the common room since you got home from RAD.

You jumped a little, abruptly interrupted from your daydream.

“Hmm? Oh, sorry. I guess I zoned out.” You replied sheepishly. You sat up in your chair, looking at your textbooks trying to regain some kind of memory of what you and Satan had been studying, but it was no use. As of late, there was only ever one thing on your mind. Well, one demon anyway.

“It appears that your mind is elsewhere. Maybe we should take a break and pick it back up after dinner?” he suggested.

You checked the time on your D.D.D., and jumped up from where you sat. Satan looked at you, shocked by your sudden rash behavior.

“Oh, umm.. I can’t tonight, I have a....thing. Tomorrow though?” You rushed around gathering your books and notes into a disorderly pile. Satan looked at you suspiciously. What has gotten into her? He thought.

“Alright. Are you actually going to be present? More than just physically, I mean.”

“Yes, yes. I’m really sorry. Thanks!” You yelled over your shoulder as you ran from the room.

As you rounded the corner of the hallway, you ran right smack into something, sending you and all your books and papers flying. 

Great.

“Oof!” 

That thing you smacked into? Yeah, that was Mammon. You both landed on your butts with a *thud*

“What the Hell are ya runnin’ for?!” He griped, confused as to what had just happened. When he noticed who had run into him and his attitude changed. “MC? What are ya doin'?”

“I’m sorry, Mammon! I didn’t mean to run into you, I’m just in a hurry.” You quickly explained, trying to gather all your papers, again. He grabbed the small bit of papers near him and handed them to you.

“In a hurry for what?” he asked curiously, cocking his head to the side a little.

Shit! He can’t know where I’m going! I need to make an excuse and fast!

“Oh, umm.. I, uh, I-I’m going shopping with Asmo! Yeah.” That should work. He ususally follows you everywhere, especially shopping but once it comes to shopping with you and Asmo? Yeah, he’d rather sit that one out. Although, I’m sure he’ll complain that you’re not hanging out with him anyway.

You quickly grabbed the last bit of papers and took off toward your room without another word to Mammon.

“It’s movie night, ya know?!” He called after you.

“I’m sorry! I’ll make it up to you, I promise!” You yelled hastily, before quickly shutting your door.

“Hmph. Guess I’ll just do movie night by myself then” He pouted, sticking out his bottom lip a little like a small child.

As he turned to go to his room, something caught his eye. 

A piece of paper the two of you had missed. He picked it up and looked it over. 

It’s for sure MC’s handwriting. Is it song lyrics or somethin’?

He shrugged and shoved it into his pocket.

--

“I don’t have time to change, so my RAD uniform will just have to do. I just need to grab my bag, then I can go. Ugh! I’m gonna be late!” You said aloud while darting around your room.

I’m pretty nervous. I’ve never read any of the stuff I write in front of anyone, much less a crowd or people. Maybe I won’t choke since none of the brothers will be there. Could you imagine reading what you wrote in front of HIM?

*Shiver.* No thanks. Pretty sure I would spontaneously combust.

You grab your things and hurriedly rush out of your room. Hopefully I get out of here without being seen. I’m not sure how many lies I can come up with.

As you made your way down the staircase, someone came through the front door.. Dammit! It’s Asmo.

After a quick discussion, you were able to slip away from him.

Checking your D.D.D. for the time, you quickened your pace. “If I hurry I can make it there before the first reading.”

--

Mammon laid sprawled out on the couch in the common room, scrolling through Devilgram. He sighed heavily. “I’m so bored.”

He heard someone talking just outside the doorway.

Is that Asmo?

He went to investigate only to find Asmo walking down the hall with an arm full of shopping bags.

“You guys are back already?” Mammon questioned him. 

“Pardon?” Asmo asked, visibly confused.

“You and MC only left like an hour ago and you’re already back? Are ya sick?”

“Mammon what are going on about? I left to go shopping right after school.”

Huh? She ...lied?

“MC told me she was goin’ shopping with ya and left in a hurry earlier. If she ain’t with you, where’d she go?”

“Maybe she has a date.” Asmo shrugged and headed toward his room. Mammon stood there motionless and shocked like he’d been slapped in the face.

A date? The thought clawed it’s way around his brain. He felt a pang in his chest.

He’s always with her. To and from RAD, after school, through dinner, and until bed. Always together. They’re best friends.

So how did she manage to meet some other demon without him noticing? He started to get antsy and decided to go look for evidence in her room.

He looked everywhere. All over her desk and dresser, he couldn’t find a single shred of information on this mystery demon. Feeling defeated, he flopped across her bed with a groan.

Am I not good enough? I mean, she already spends all her time with me, what’s she need someone else for?

Thoughts of MC being with someone romantically ...intimately, started flooding his mind. He tried to shake it, but they just kept coming. The pain in his chest got worse.

He’s always been fond of her. In the beginning, when she was still new, he acted like it was such a burden to watch over her, but he secretly enjoyed it. There was just something about her. As hard as he tried to fight it, he found himself developing a sweet spot for the human. She’s always so nice and sticks up for him when it comes to his brothers. She always seems happy to see him and is down for whatever crazy money making schemes he can come up with. Before she got here, it had been a long time since he had felt this happy. He’s pretty sure he’s never laughed so much in his entire existence than when he’s with her.

As much as he tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care about the human, he doesn’t want to go back to life without her. Truth is, he cares about her. A lot.

All the thinking was starting to depress him.

He decided to get up and go to his own room and sulk for the rest of the night. Maybe he could stop by Lucifer’s study and sneak off with a bottle of Demonus. 

As he made his way to the door, he noticed something. The little calendar on your desk had a date circled in red. He picked it up to get a closer look. The date circled was today.

“Coffee shop, 6pm”

Boom. Re-con was successful! He found out where your date was!

He put the calendar back on your desk and checked the time. Crap! It’s almost 7.

He bolted from the room. If he had any chance of seeing what kind of punk lesser demon you were on a date with, he needed to hurry.

--

“This has to be it. She only goes to one coffee shop.” Mammon whispered to himself as he tried to peak inside the front window of the establishment. He couldn’t see you anywhere from where he was and decided to go inside and sit at a table in the very back. Maybe she won’t notice me. He thought. 

He scanned the room, but still couldn’t see you anywhere. Maybe she went to the bathroom?

As he kept scanning the room, the lights started to dim and everyone focused their attention to a small stage with a lone microphone at the back of the shop.

Huh?

A light shined on the stage and a man stepped up to the microphone.

“Thank you all for coming, we have a great turn out tonight. Without any further adieu, let’s get open mic night started!” The crowd applauded and the man walked off stage.

"Open mic night? I didn’t know she liked this kinda stuff.” Mammon said quietly to himself.

Maybe that’s why she’s on a date. He probably noticed all the stuff I didn’t. Mammon sat back in his chair, arms crossed across his chest, pouting. She’d never wanna be with an idiot like me anyway.

--

A couple people read poems, one girl sang, and a few people played instruments. Still no sign of MC.

Maybe she does know a different coffee shop. He started to fidget in his seat, mentally kicking himself. You shoulda told her, ya idiot!

How could he though? He is one of the seven rulers of the underworld. How is he supposed to tell a human that she makes his life so much better? That your laugh is like music and his favorite smell is that of your shampoo? That when you fall asleep next to him on the couch on movie night it’s the best night of his week? 

“Our final act of the night is new to the stage and a little nervous, so go easy on her.” said the emcee. The audience started to applaud as the man walked off stage.

Mammon scooted his chair out and stood to leave. She obviously wasn’t here and he needed a drink.

He was making his way to the door, when he heard it. 

That voice. MC?

He turned to see you standing on the stage, spotlight shining on you. He listened as you spoke.

Is that ...a poem? The words sounded very familiar, like he had heard them very recently. Then it clicked. 

He fished the piece of paper out of his pocket. The poem you were reciting on stage was the same thing written on the paper he found in the hallway.

She wrote this?

He looked up at where you stood on the stage. You hadn’t noticed him so he made his way back to his seat. As he watched you, he started paying attention to the words you were saying. You spoke so softly.

“It’s here, in the endless sapphire pools, that I could get lost swimming, forever. 

Gold flecks, warm like sunshine, adorn the precious gems he dare call an iris.

The sheer power that they hold over me is otherworldly, and to be honest, quite unfair.”

So there really is someone. He thought. There was a stinging feeling in his chest. You don’t talk like that unless love is involved.

“Warm skin, the color of caramel, electricity felt in the slightest of touches.

Hair born of the winter, soft as the Heavens from where it once reigned.

Completely enamored by this creature, I would also happily fall from grace.”

Hair born of winter? Fall from grace? Tan skin?

Wait. That sounds like..

Realization hit him like a truck.

“..It’s about me..” He whispered, barely audible even to himself.

His chest felt like it was going to explode. His stomach so full of butterflies he felt nauseous.

He couldn’t believe it..

| part two |

[meyeselph]

Gwenpool: Desperate Misanthrope's Confused Angst

Showtime

Ms. Pool woke up in a familiar room. Not in Krakoa - there are no mutants around. This isn’t a story about that. Look, honestly, without an actual Gwenpool series and the constant breaks in her comics appearance I can’t even begin to give a fuck. I cancelled my marvel universe subbie. I might get back to my stories but single issues are iffy. I read fast and don’t pore over the artwork. So I get 10 minutes of entertainment for….FIVE DOLLARS? When did this happen? Jeezus.

Who even reads comics anymore?

Anyway, long story short, Gwen got out of bed and recognized the room as her old one from the “old times.” The dark times. The ‘not running around in pink and white outfits and shooting people’ times. She panicked (Been there. It is what it is though). The only way out of trauma is through.

She dressed in old clothes, immediately hit by old smells, she couldn’t help but cry. Was it all a dream? Have I gone insane (again)? All the usual self doubts cropped up. I mean, really, if you think this kind of thing didn’t pass through her mind regularly why don’t you transport yourself to a comic book universe?

Oh, you can’t?

Oh. It isn’t actually possible for you and I’m stupid for suggesting it. So, yeah. If it actually happened and you kept that attitude then the logical assumption for a normie is a mental breakdown. Trick for Gwen, though, is it's probably always been both real and her being nuts.

So she goes downstairs to the kitchen to figure out why this is happening and Evil Gwen is having cereal. Let's say cocoa puffs. I’ve been thinking about those recently. You ever remember cereal as something worth cherishing. Not as just bullshit that TV convinced you to want? God damn, now I want Cookie Crisp. Cookie Crisp wasn’t even ever that good. Why do I want Cookie Crisp?

So also sitting around the table were the faceless versions of her father, mother, and her brother. Just chilling. No BD. Seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind?

Yes, I know that references aren’t jokes - fuck you, I’m painting a picture and I CAN’T PAINT, THAT’S WHY THIS ISN’T A COMIC. Fucks sake. Anyway. So, Gwen is so creeped out that she just sits her butt down by Evil Gwen as if she’s the comforting presence here.

Her name’s too long. Let’s call Evil Gwen uh…….Gren. You know, like Grendel from Beowulf. I haven’t actually read Beowulf and this is all a little confusing but I'm solving problems here. Writing this is harder for me than you would think so it’s best to keep things flowing off the cuff. That’s the Gwenpool™ style anyway, isn’t it? Are you laughing yet? IMPROV. “YES AND” MY SHIT, READER!

“So, you ever really look into the retconned past thing, hun?” Gren said, moving her tongue around her food. Being gross as an attempt to be properly evil. She swallowed before continuing. “This is all I could really put together on short notice but i’m pretty sure what the future people created, all that stuff to try and trick you, it was all bullshit.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me to go all psycho like you again?” Gwen asked, exasperated, realizing she was now back in the whole ‘fuck with Gwen to decide her fate’ song and dance routine from the end of her first arc.

“Nah, not really.” Gren said. A hammer appeared in her hands out of nowhere and Gren swung it into their fake father’s head, snapping his neck..

“DAD!” Gwen instinctively cried as she saw her father’s body slump to the floor. Gren slapped Gwen’s face. “That’s it,” Gren said, “this is what the trick was.This is a poorly created character in a fictional story. Meant to manipulate you into attaching your concept of “father” to it. Even his finished version in the original comics run wasn’t THAT well drawn. Your dad read like a boomer’s idea of a responsible parent. You were going through a mental crisis and struggling to find purpose in life and his genius idea was get a shitty low paying job and suck it up?”

Gren turned to their brother, pushed his face to the table and smashed the back of his skull. . “Brother dearest, too. Going right along with their victim blaming. He gaslighted you as if what you were going through was just you being ‘irresponsible.’ Bitch, people working a minimum wage job aren’t somehow not impoverished and miserable because they get some of that ‘honest work’ that folks keep badgering on about. Minimum wage work is occupied by many physically and mentally disabled people held hostage; they’re people society only pretends to care about. Then they turn it all into you acting like some world ending threat. No questions about what drove you to the edge in the first place. You are just ‘unstable,’ so you’re just a problem to be solved. They say, ‘Let’s all solve this girl being upset and on edge by ruining her concept of self, reality, and memory.’ Brilliant!”

Gwen barely processed this in horror. Gren then slit the poor facsimile of their mother’s throat while continuing to rant, “You see people die all the time, Gwen. Half of the time you are doing the killing. You do it because it’s in a story. In a story the NPCs don’t matter and, after all, your original schtick in the story was to be kill-crazy. The non-marketable characters can be replaced or retconned at the stroke of the artist’s pen.” Gren leans forward as she pulls a Gwenpool mask over Gwens face. “Then the writers convince you that you have some middle class milk toast family and you take abuse and subsume your emotional needs because the problem MUST be you. You aren’t ‘normal’ so you have to be fixed.”

Gwen wiped her eyes over the mask and sighed. A bit of fire filled her gut as she stared at Gren. “So fucking what? You want me to go on a killing spree and be a big time villain to get myself a nice, shiny permanent big bad status? That’s how I stay around right? Just build my legacy on bodies?”

Gren scoffed “You already lost that fight, girly. Where do you think we are? Because this ain’t Marvel Comics.”

Confused, Gwen blinked and tried reaching for the page margins, finding nothing. Wait….why was everything on this page so ill defined and undetailed? Wait? Why was the story in kinda wobbly third person past tense?

Gwen sighed “Oh. I’m in a fanfic. I guess the publishing fight is for another day eh?”

“My advice, personally,” Gren stated, “is that you consider the lobster.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Gren pulled aside the kitchen curtains revealing the face of a giant lobster, its claws tapping on the glass. The lobster muttering gutterally about personal responsibility.

“Because there’s a couple thousand giant lobsters outside that would like to claw you until you read their book.”

--

Scared of Girls

On the rooftop, Gren shoved a high powered rifle into Gwen’s hands while she handled the close range threats. So, this conversation they’re about to have is important. Sniping puts Gwen into a sort of zen space, so that’s a better task to keep her focused, after all.

“So, what? You wanted me to internalize that my “origin story” is bullshit? Okay, what does that accomplish, then?” Gwen asked in a bit of a deadpan. She was so tired today. Not really feeling her happy go lucky energy. More like a “happy go fucky” energy. It was hard to always be on a knife's edge. Still the rifle’s kick into her shoulder was satisfying as she blew through two of the creepy looking lobsters at once. “Also, why the lobsters?”

Gren considered this. “Okay, last question first, I had to experiment a lot and do a lot of research to construct this place for your learning and healing in fanfic form....These buddies are a failed experiment of mine that I repurposed because the fic needed more action. Isn’t that right, giant enemy crap?” As she peppers the nearest goon with a hail of shotgun pellets the entire throng of them burst out, sharply muttering about divine symbols.

“As for what I'm trying to teach you, it’s that you aren’t reaching your potential.” Gren grumpily huffed.

“Duh,” Gwen reloads, “I mean you just killed a mannequin version of the voice in my head that says that to me every day.” one of those crustaceans talks about feminine symbolism while she decides on her next target.

“Not like fake daddy’s ‘Be a responsible member of society by paying your taxes’ type of potential. I mean your creative and emotional potential.” Gren flipped off the slavering throng of monsters, noticing they were starting to keep their distance from the roof.

“I never did finish that fanfic idea I had.” Gwen mused.

“God, don’t mention that,” Gren thrusts a finger at Gwenpool. “Not that I don’t respect fanfic, but when comic book writers make you and Kamala squee about fanfiction to try and relate to “the kids” it comes across as so condescending.”

“Really? I mean…..I'm sure it’s meant as support for the concept?”

“Most fucking superhero comics are just legalized fanfiction! The people who created the characters are either long gone or working on someone else’s characters! They just think they are so much better because they got fucking paid. They can’t imagine themselves as on the same playing field as fanficcers even though most of them have the same level of connection to the roots of the work as anyone else.” Gren groused loudly as she seemed to pull Reed Richards out of nowhere.

Confused, Reed looked around until his eyes met Gwen’s.“Oh great, you again.” Reed groaned as he turned to survey the piles of lobster gibs while Gwen cheered the lobster forces’ retreat with a resounding “EDF, EDF!”. The scattered creatures skittered amongst the bland scenery. It looked like a suburban neighborhood but someone forgot to color in the sky….or write that the sky had color. A castle hung out in the distance breaking up the generic normalcy and lay cloaked in shadow despite being surrounded by an endless white void.

“And…..black….you?” Reed pointed to Gren, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have an evil future self….well I stopped that future so it’s an….evil...alternate timeline self?” Gwen said with a nervous chuckle, abandoning the kill quest for the minute and rested her rifle on the roof.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve been down that road. It’s a rather common occurrence. Multiverse being what it is.” Reed laughed heartily while putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure I’m evil, honestly,” Gren interjected. “I think I’m just really fucking grumpy and I’m slightly more gung-ho on the homicide. Considering Gwen’s already one of the more kill crazy characters on the roster it’s not that much of a distinction.” Gren flipped her cape. “My main distinction is I don’t like that meme from The Incredibles! You can just make it so the cape detaches automatically when it’s pulled hard enough!”

“You could still have it tangled up around your face.” Reed pointed out in his standard know-it-all fashion.

“Don’t make me go into fuck wife mode, stretch.” Gren spat. “Okay, anyway, so I brought him here to illustrate a point. Reed. Explain particle physics to me as a laymen.”

“Huh...i’m not sure why but okay. Particle physics (also known as high energy physics) is a branch of physics that studies the nature of the particles that constitute matter and radiation. Although the word particle can refer to various types of very small objects (e.g. protons, gas particles, or even household dust), particle physics usually investigates the irreducibly smallest detectable particles and the fundamental interactions necessary to explain their behaviour. In current understanding, these elementary particles are excitations of the quantum fields that also govern their interactions. The currently dominant theory explaining these fundamental particles and fields, along with their dynamics, is called the Standard Model. Thus, modern particle physics generally investigates the Standard Model and its various possible extensions, e.g. to the newest "known" particle, the Higgs boson, or even to the oldest known force field, gravity.” Reed rattled this off rather mechanically.

Gren then took out her phone and showed Gwen the Wikipedia article on “Particle Physics,” which is naturally the same words that Reed had regurgitated above, just without any formatting and, again, on a phone.

“Reed can’t be a genius in any subject unless he’s written by a genius in that subject. That’s how stories work. Everyone is limited by the understanding and capabilities of the writer. Same with your origin story and all the people you’ve interacted with. If you are as ‘meta’ as you think you are then you have to realize that you aren’t actually talking to people. You are talking to the writer. Dr. Strange didn’t rewrite your existence to be a part of the Marvel Universe. As far as most of Marvel continuity goes Dr. Strange was never there and doesn’t know or care about his MCU casting…..Hey Reed, buzz off please before the conversation pivots to why you haven’t cured all known diseases.”

Reed looked a little surprised but then pulled out a teleportation device (of course he has one) and blipped away with a shrug.

“How awkward is that going to be when he enters the MCU after Kamala is already introduced with a very similar power set?” Gwen chuckled.

“Keep up the way you’ve been going and you’ll never see it. I’m not exactly expecting a young blonde girl casting call for Deadpool 3 and that’s your best bet.” Gren snarked. Gwen winced with a sigh.

“I don’t get what I'm doing wrong. I have a fanbase comparable to some of the characters that have already shown up but I can’t even get comics written about me most of the time. An MCU push seems unlikely. They would literally have to deal with completely recontextualizing my powers and gimmick”

“Let’s ask her what you should do.” Gren motioned her way to the suddenly appearing long hair future Gwen, looming over them like The Attack of the 50 foot Woman for some reason. Dwarfing the roof they are on. Let’s call her BIGwen!

--

Gold Guns Girls

As BIGwen acclimated to her surroundings she stubbed her toe on a car, dramatically flipping it so that it took out a few more lobsters before caving in a nearby house. The lamentations about clean rooms soaring as the remaining couple dozen of them attempt to clean up some of the bodies of their fallen kin. The large and sort-of-in-charge Gwen hissed in pain and adjusted her boot. Getting her balance as best as possible she muttered curses that traveled rather well considering the lung capacity of a giant.

“You know,” Gren started, “I wasn’t expecting much from our previous uses of the ‘make her big for emphasis’ trick, but it really does only work as a vague ghostly background element. I didn’t just want it to be ‘oh, here's a third Gwen for the conversation, though. Would lack umph.”

“ Yeah, I get it, but staring at my own giant taint is unsettling.” Gwen muttered.

“I’d still, hit it.” Gren grinned, then immediately got punched in the arm. “OWWW! Look, I’m the evil one here and we’re in a fanfic. I’m allowed to make internet fetish jokes.”

“And I’m allowed to hit you for it.”.

“Dirty lampshading goody two shoes. Don’t act like half your fanbase isn’t thirsty. It’s “insert current year argument”, all art is sexy to someone.” Gren complained back,rubbing her arm before hopping off the roof. Gwen followed while listening as patiently as she could considering how many changes in topic her evil-caped self is going through to get to her point. “This chick is the reason you’ve been on the path of good girl. Some vague idea that in the future everything will work out for the best. HEY, DOWN HERE, BIG SHOW!” Gren waved at BIGwen and she looked down curiously.

“Yeah what??” BIGwen responded in a booming and agitated tone. Honestly, being in this fic made every version of Gwen a little grumpy.

“How’s she supposed to be a popular hero that makes it into the MCU and has a stable publication history?” Gren asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Came BIGwen’s response. “Have you tried growing your hair out?”

“Rub it in,” Gwen muttered under her breath, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of depressed now.” Gwen said as she sat on an abandoned car.

Gren hopped on the roof of the car, patting Gwen’s shoulder before squatting with enough force to flex the car’s shocks like a rocking chair just to amuse herself. “Future “good” Gwen wasn’t an actual plot point, it was a call to action to the fans to make fanfic like this and support the character outside of the actual Canon. Chris didn’t trust that Marvel would treat the character right. That, and your obsession with getting a new book, are both the writer’s attempt to turn a marketing tactic into fan engagement. If you want to be real then that makes the fans want you to be real even more, too.”

Gwen sighs heavily and leans her chin on one hand. “I mean...the time traveling through the life of an NPC fan complete with a Never Ending Story reference was a bit sappy even by the standard we sometimes set...damn it it really was just kind of a fan manipulation trick wasn’t it?”

BIGwen Sat down on the street next to them and crossed her legs. “Hey, little me. Don’t get too down. I mean it worked for the most part. You have a healthy cult following. Characters have survived on less and there are worse things to be known for then as a fan first character”

“But I have to fight for attention all the damn time, though. It’s so easy for Wade with his fucking meme bullshit. He even gets runoff enthusiasm from me. Jeff the land shark is all over Oldpool online” Gwen felt rather heavy and tired all of a sudden. Marvel editorial forcing a gun to your head is not a fun way to be.

“All that fight is hell on the fanbase too.” Gren sighed. “Advocating for shit, getting crumbs and being expected to accept it while Disney lavishes all the attention based on some bullshit numbers game. Even if you make it into the MCU will it be a Batroc style cameo with obligatory ‘killed off in case we don’t feel like paying the actor again later.’ Will it be an emotionally rounded character or an ambush bug style joke? The thing is. You're Not the one fighting and you never were.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“This version of her doesn’t know?” BIGwen whimpered.

“You aren’t real, Gwen.”

--

Head Like a Haunted House

“No….we aren’t having this conversation. Fuck you fuck you i’m not a fucking Nihlist and i’m not going to do this right now.” Gwen said as she scrambled off of the car and pulled out some guns. BIGwen then picked her up off the ground.

“You need to hear this, Gwen,” BIGwen boomed. “The gimmick has run its course. It’s fucking with your canon. You’re never going to be a marketable character keeping up a half fourth-wall Kayfabe”

Gren climbed onto BIGwen’s Shoulders and perched over Gwen all menacing like. “You need to listen. I’ve been trying to ease you into this. Making things more meta slowly until you were ready but it was never going to be easy.”

One of Gwen’s guns was fired from it’s holster and pierced one of BIGwen’s fingers. BIGwen screamed and her grip loosened. Soon Gwen was on the move running up her arm and firing at Gren, who dodged like the nimble and cute badass she is. “Don’t do this Gwen. Just because it doesn’t matter to the comic version of you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a real person god damn it! I read the comics out there! I came in! That’s why I know shit I shouldn't know. That’s what I am! THAT’S ALL I AM!” Gwen shrieked as she pulled out a sword from hammer-space and decapitated BIGwen. Suddenly a mess of colored streamers and a pile of Mickey Mouse merch tumbled out. Look, I am busy right now. Gwen is still slashing at my ass. I'm not going to explain it.

For some reason now the remaining lobsters were helping Gren. For Gwen’s own good you understand. This is proof that I’m right for some reason.

Gwen pulled out a revolver, firing pumpkin sized holes in lobsters who were still wailing about self actualization. She fully planned on shoving a sword up her evil self’s ass and getting rid of this doppelganger shit for good. Which is total bullshit by the way. She totally just cut off Gren’s leg because what the fuck you mean I’m not real? I’m going to be real all over your corpse.

Gren didn’t really think that was even a good comeback and also thought you should probably say it instead of meta willing the smack talk into existence, otherwise this fanfic is going to read like trash. Also, Gren’s leg wasn’t actually cut off. In a puff of smoke it is revealed that the cut off leg is a log and her leg is fine. Gren is a ninja now, believe it.

Gwen proceeded to do a sick ass CQC judo throw on Gren and then grab her cape and wrap it around her face like Reed suggested. Callbacks for the win! Callbacks to Checkov’s gun ideas always lead to victory in fights! She then totally shot at her and such.

But the bullet was caught by the cape because the cape was a symbiote! That’s right Gren is also GRENOM!...boy that sounds stupid. Anywho, the cape was no longer around her face and the fight continued and Gren now ALSO had extra powers and special wizard-symbiote armor (that would only show up in the MCU version if Marvel finally got the Sony characters back). The meta powers work like shit in text but this would be really good in CGI or animation if Marvel wanted to adapt this fic and give the writer lots of money. Gren still has more experience with them, though, and Gwen can’t really just kill her way out of this fic so she has to just let the story play out.

…...eh?....oh Gwen’s crying. I love/am you girl but we gotta work on the crying. Fucks sake this is harder than I thought. I’m depressed now too. Well I'll try to get the writing back on track so you guys can see what is going on. Even the lobsters are minding their manners now. Chill vibes, guys.

“The marvel character page for Gwenpool says, and I quote:

Gwenpool arrived in the Marvel Universe from the “real world,” but has wasted no time in making the most of her time in her fictional universe. Using her knowledge of comics to her advantage, Gwenpool causes and solves problems for her fellow heroes.”

Gren drags a lobster corpse slowly toward Gwen and sits on its tail as she talks to her. Taking her time to really scrape the lobster against the ground, smearing the gore on the pavement. Not that it was heavy for her or anything. Totally still has that symbiote, which would make moving it easy. Totally wasn’t a detail added in the second revision of the fic slightly before the lobsters were added.

“The words “Real world” are in quotation marks in that wiki. Real people don’t make it into comics because fiction isn’t real. Half of your versions barely make use of the ‘real person’ gimmick because it’s too meta by half and not every writer wants to waste time justifying it. So they just treat it like Deadpool’s medium awareness. Which it mostly is.”

“I really am just a fucking rip off distaff character.” Gwen moans. “Just a Gwen combined with a Pool. I’m worse than the Batman who laughs. I never mattered because I was never real”

“Fuck don’t say that. You were made with love and care by a team of creators who took a weird offshoot idea and built out a compelling metafiction idea and a likeable protagonist off of it. They just didn’t have the time and foresight to go far enough.” Gren sighed.

“Far enough?” Gwen sniffed as she was pulled up to her feet and dragged toward one of the big castles. As they walked Gren kicked along a Mickey Mouse doll that had rolled out of BIGwen’s severed head. Every time it bounced it cheerfully said ‘hahah. I love you!’

“Too much haha, not enough trauma. You’re not just a joke character.” Gren said as she kicked the Mickey doll into the big front door of the castle. The shadowy thing of course lighting up and being all fantasy and shit as the door opened.

“Well I did end both of my comic runs pretty mopey.”

“Damn right you did. When the jokes run thin they run to your real bread and butter. You’re an empathy machine.” As Gren shoves Gwen through the gate they are swallowed up in the castle, going dark again. “Let’s getcha sad clown on.”

--

Never there

“See, what evil me should have been telling you about in the original run is how to find meaning and purpose when technically nothing means anything. Comic book characters live in a world without real death and suffering. It’s all a puppet show version of real pain and real emotion meant to bring that out of an audience.” Gren opined as they walked through a black void to a couch floating in a nothing area lit only by the static of an old TV.

“Can we turn on a light?” Gwen asked as she sat on the couch. Gren sat on another recliner that suddenly appeared and put her feet up.

“Fuck off. Ambiance is a thing. We aren’t having a ‘lights on with something fun on the TV’ conversation. So look, I am not really ‘evil gwen.’ I’m half an author insert and half a plot device. If we are talking about the reality of the story you are basically talking to yourself. I am speaking about the things you don’t want to admit to yourself. You know, you’ve seen this kind of story sorta... right?” Gren picked up the remote and frustratedly changed channels between a bunch of vaguely illustrative footage on the TV, not finding anything that worked. A lot of black and white footage of trains for some reason. Just what comes to mind when I think of documentary footage? Weird.

“I am not sure how to illustrate this shit visually and this is a text story anyway so I would have to explain the illustration,” Gren griped.

“I basically get it. It’s not that uncommon a trope.” Gwen nodded.

“Because of the level of meta we are on right now we have to really acknowledge that you are basically an author insert, too. I mean, to a certain extent every version of you is more the writer that is working with your character at the time than a set character.” Gren said as she settled on a visual of Gwen being pushed out the window by her own narration text in the original comic run. When all else fails, resort to footage from the last story. That way people can look it up online!

“Right here is where the character crystallized in the mind of the author of the current fic we are in. A vague suicide metaphor wrapped up in the flavor of self destructive escapism. Your parents in the story thought it was a suicide attempt on at least some level. This is serious business. Not just a girl who doesn’t like work and can’t finish her fanfic. In this comic you are built on this understanding. The writer of this fic has ADHD and autism. So his version of you more or less has it, too. Writers bring themselves with them into their work.”

Gwen nods and takes a deep breath. “I….I can feel it. Like the world is closing around you. You aren’t built for anything that anyone wants from you. The one thing you really believe in, the one thing that really defines you, the stories in your head…..it’s just not enough.

You can’t trust you’ll ever make it with writing because you can barely write. You barely have the energy to do anything but wish that you weren’t you. What if someone actually listened? Actually believed in you and whisked you away somewhere else where the world would fit your needs? What if you were someplace you could be someone else, someone strong and confident?”

“Yeah. Like a funny anti hero in a comic for instance.” Gren nodded. “But the original comics sort of left the theme on the table. They were captured by the misconception of Gwen as the problem and not a person who needed help. All that desperation that real fans of the character might feel just bundled up into love for this character that really ‘gets’ them but Marvel doesn’t ‘get’ the character. They won't use her. They won’t go past vaguely gesturing at her mental issues and moving on. They saved the angst for Wandavision.” Gren scoffs.

“I mean the show was okay but they literally have a character built entirely on the theme of escapism and trauma. One that’s custom built for mind-screw visuals and reality bending plots and they think she’s just a lazy fangirl who really likes guns that they can sit beside Deadpool sometimes and stick in the X-Men’s bloated background character roster when they don’t need her.”

Gren leads Gwen off the couch and deeper into the void where a door to a bedroom waits. A room like her own, absolutely slopping over with old toys of comic book characters. An unclean messy space in a run-down house that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Huddled in bed, reading an 80s era X-men comic with a flashlight, is a 12 year old Gwen.

“This is never going to be canon but this is the version of Gwen in this fic. She can’t stop crying at school. Things that shouldn’t be hard are so hard and she can’t explain why. Everyone says she’s making excuses. Meanwhile her mother is fucked out of her mind on pain killers and her step father killed himself last year ‘cleaning his gun’ while drunk. You know exactly what is on her mind right now?” Gren says as she gestures at the girl.

“I wish the superheroes would save me from this.”

“They won’t. They can’t. They were never meant to.” Gren Slams the door loudly on the scene.

“That is the emotional core of Gwenpool in this fic. The desperation that so many of the fans down here in the fucking muck of the real world feel. Poor and emotionally unfulfilled. Confused and vulnerable. If Disney and Marvel gave two fucking shits about people like that they wouldn’t waste as many stories as they do. They wouldn’t just use untold wealth to make expensive escapist stories with the military. Their gestures toward progressive ideas that they occasionally make in their stories would be THE ENTIRE POINT of their stories and the actual thing they used that money for instead of lobbying the government to keep Mickey Mouse out of the public domain.

“Disney has the power yet they save a fucking miniscule fraction of who they could. Saving people doesn’t make money.”

--

When I Get To The Green Building

Gren stormed through the void. The scene disintegrated around her as Gwen followed. Both now in a bit of a sour mood but with newfound determination.

“Come to think of it. Why is the fucking Hulk getting to fight for social justice in the comics? Why are they making a gay alternate universe Captain America? Why are they grasping at straws so hard to find characters that get to advocate and I am just sitting on a fucking island being grumpy?” Gwen groused. “I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual….at least in this fic. I could advocate for a bunch of shit at once.”

“You have a youth fanbase, a unique story and you technically aren’t an alternate universe version of fucking anything no matter how many people still think you are a Stacey. They made a fucking ‘for the fans’ character and then neglected it. Presumably because some fucking money making metric didn’t pan out despite the comics just being an MCU test kitchen and IP farm anyway.”

“You’re a fucking check mark on a ledger. I don’t even know if anyone technically created Gwenpool as a whole and Disney/Marvel can give the character to whoever they want to do whatever they want completely separate from what the fanbase wants and needs because she isn’t established. The IP landlords have spoken. The fans haven’t risen to enough ‘buy my merch’ calls to action to invest more resources. So tease endlessly until that changes.”

“Gah. Now I'm actually as pissed as you are.” Gwen said as she started fiddling with her guns. “Who do I kill?”

“We can’t do shit. You’re not even a character at this point. You are a meme for an underused character.” Gren smirked all evil like. “See but that’s it. You aren’t just a meme. You’re a MEME.”

“Uhm...I don't follow.”

“Like the concept of Justice. Gwenpool is an idea. Defined entirely by how people who engage with the idea choose to engage with it. The IP law means Disney owns Gwenpool but they don’t own how Gwenpool is perceived. Just like we as a people decide what justice is through popular consent we also decide what Gwenpool is. You see they made a character for the fans…..in my opinion that means the fans can do as they like with it even if it makes Disney uncomfortable.”

“I mean they can’t even stop porn of their characters just because of the sheer volume of the problem. I suppose people could do whatever.” Gwen nodded.

“Exactly. So the fans should just fucking Occupy Gwenpool!” Gren said as she flipped her cape dramatically with a mad smile on her face. That’s right. She was Dirtbag Leftist Gwen all along!

“Squat on that IP. Make Gwenpool a mental health advocate. Make her an LGBTQ activist. Make her fight for social and financial justice so hard that Bruce Banner looks like a poser. Make her talk shit about politicians who put their career ahead of the people. Do all the shit that makes the comicsgate crowd sad. Keep politics in our stories! Rally around that pink and white ass so hard they have to notice and then tie it all to the fact that Disney has great power and with great power they take no responsibility for how shitty the world is.”

“ If they are going to fuck Gwenpool fans they gotta learn Gwenpool fans fuck back. We have already proven we can make all kinds of cool shit. Let’s get serious and make more, harder, faster! Get a hashtag or some shit. They can't DMCA all of us! GWEN IS OURS WE JUST HAVE TO REACH OUT AND TAKE IT. Then they either respect the character and her fans or they just hit a PR disaster.”

“Marvel/Disney neglects fan focused cult character themed protest movements. Proves they are only progressive when it makes them money. They’re so worried about Mickey ending up in the public domain? We’re the public domain! After our entire lives stannin their characters and buyin their merch building them from an animation house into a juggernaut they are just another weight on top of the boot on our necks. They have to take responsibility!” At this point Gren is pretty much ranting maniacally and neglecting the actual writing of the story so this is Gwen taking over to wrap up.

Guys I may not be ‘the real Gwen’ but really, isn’t the version of Gwen that actually came from the real world all of us? Isn’t Gwenpool really the Gwens we made along the way? We could easily bring a little heroism and chaos to the real world (at least to the internet) if we really tried. Put the fear of God into some IP landlords and fight for some cool people that society is screwing over, too.

Prove that even in the fandom abyss people aren’t as powerless as they seem. Use that internet comic fan mobbing for something besides giving Zack more money. Disney is gearing up for their next IP fight for Mickey in 2024. Seems like a fine time for IP themed protests. For now we just need to spread the word that our needs are more important than their profits.

It’s been real. It’s been long. It’s been a real long time coming…..

But I finally finished my fanfic.

See ya, true believers.