#I almost plucked it roughly or rinsed it off since i thought it was a twig but then i saw the baby legs. tossed both hitchhikers out window.

[cavalierious-whim]

A Flexible Approach [FE3H]

Sylvix | Canon-Compliant | War Phase | Explicit

Their shared tent is very small and Sylvain learns just how flexible Felix is.

A/N: Oh my God, I can't believe I wrote this (actually I can, and it's all because of some random prompt I saw on tumblr, whoops). As always, it's Sato's fault, but I think by now I've just accepted this as part of my daily life. Read here on A03 for better formatting and follow me here on Twitter!

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Sylvain’s irksome at his best moments and downright infuriating at his worst.

Felix just wants to get off. They’ve been too busy with war; slogging it through marshy battlefields, days on end in tents, and no privacy. Barely enough time to wash up with dirt-tinged water and pass out before being up at dawn to march off again.

And it isn’t that he wants to hurry. No, no, he wants to enjoy this, as he should. As they both should. There’s been little more than a few quick jerk-offs when no one was looking.

Sylvain won’t shut up, though, and it’s not in the good kind of way where he croons praise close to Felix’s ear, breath ghosting the shell of it and warming the skin there.

The tent is cramped, not really meant for two people. Byleth was mildly amused when Felix proclaimed he’d be sharing one with Sylvain, one of the few cracks of genuine emotion they’ve ever seen from him. And no one’s ever said anything even though Felix knows that they want to.

They aren’t exactly subtle or quiet for that matter. Try as they might.

Tonight’s one of those nights when they’re feeling extra frisky, blood pumping where it’s probably the worst. Straight into the gut and below. Felix wanted to sleep but then Sylvain slotted behind him, grinding their hips together, and-- well, he’s a simple man in the end.

Still, they don’t usually indulge to this point while out on the field. For a lot of reasons. It’s hot and sticky. It’s dirty and muddy. They’re covered in who knows what even after a quick rinse. Their tent is directly in the middle of the camp, strategically placed by their dear Professor because the more people they’re around, the less likely it is that he and Sylvain will be up to no good.

It’s turning out to be more work than anticipated, though, and part of Felix wishes that they’d just committed to the quick handjobs that they usually manage. The other part of him just wants to get railed. Preferably sooner than later.

“You’re a lot more flexible than I thought,” says Sylvain, a hand on the back of Felix’s thigh as he pushes at it.

“Shut up,” says Felix, annoyed.

“I’m just saying,” says Sylvain, fingers hooking underneath Felix’s knee and lifting it slightly.

“Ugh, this is too awkward--”

“Are you saying that you want to stop?”

“No!” Felix says it a little too quickly and a little too loudly, something that greatly amuses Sylvain.

He reaches out with his other hand to cover Felix’s mouth. Then he leans over, smirking. “Quiet, Felix. Weren’t you the one who said we’d have to keep it down?”

“You’re one to talk,” says Felix, quieter than before, barely above a hiss.

“Okay, okay.” Sylvain’s quiet for a touch too long, just looking at him. “Would you say that you’re Felixable?”

“That’s it,” says Felix immediately. He still has his own tent. It’s rolled up and tied up tight, hanging off his camping pack. “I’ll just handle this on my own-”

Felix’s words dissolve into an embarrassing squawk as Sylvain rubs the palm of his hand over his crotch, squeezing at his half-hard cock through the rough fabric of his smalls. It annoys him, how easily he turns to mush under such a simple touch. How little it takes for him to crumble at the behest of Sylvain.

“Bastard,” hisses Felix.

Sylvain laughs at Felix’s ornery temperament, and how his hips chase after when Sylvain pulls away, desperate for more friction, for a longer touch. “But I’m your bastard,” says Sylvain affectionately, leaning over to plant a sloppy kiss against Felix’s face. “And you love it.”

Felix pushes Sylvain’s face away roughly. Then presses his hips closer, trying to get as much friction as possible, vexed at how desperate he’s become. His cock was already burning with need; Sylvain’s hot-handed touch only made it worse.

And Sylvain knows it, evident in the devious smirk that’s plastered across his face. Sylvain can read Felix like that well-worn copy of war tactics Byleth’s passed around to them all, so there isn’t a point in trying to hide it. Felix doesn’t. Sylvain’s hand still rests on the back of his thigh, thumbing across the smooth skin there.

“Lazy,” says Felix. “Are you going to just sit there or are you going to fuck me?”

Sylvain hums at that, amused. “Impatient,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to the inside of Felix’s knee, his lips lingering there. Felix groans in aggravation. “It’s been a while so I want to enjoy this.”

“There isn’t time,” says Felix. Never enough time, he thinks like always. Sylvain’s right, though; it’s been too long since they’ve indulged in anything other than brief touches that are barely satisfying.

“There’s enough,” says Sylvain. “Certainly enough to enjoy ourselves.”

Handjobs are enjoyable, thinks Felix. Even their quick fucks in the dark, down and dirty when they’re too exhausted to do much more than pull their pants half-down. Felix understands what Sylvain means because even he misses those long nights where they pull apart each other slowly, fucking lazily as they burrow into the bedsheets. Sweet touches that Felix would never admit to and the soft kiss marks that he leaves behind to stake his claim.

It’s been too long.

Still, they’re in the middle of the camp and there are prying ears. “Sylvain,” hisses Felix lowly. “I just want to--”

“I know what you want,” says Sylvain, his hand finding Felix’s side, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“Doubtful,” says Felix even though it’s a lie. Sylvain can play him like a lyre, plucking the perfect chords that will melt him right into a puddle.

Sylvain chuckles against Felix’s skin as he leans over, pressing his nose into the side of his neck. Their positioning was already awkward but it only gets worse as Sylvain dips lower, fingers ghosting along Felix’s ribcage. Felix doesn’t fight him when he tugs his shirt higher to suck a soft little bruise into his sternum.

“Never,” says Sylvain, insufferably confident.

Felix is about to retort when Sylvain’s mouth finds his nipple, tongue swirling around it before flicking the little nub there. Felix moans softly instead, arching into the touch, biting at his lip as Sylvain lavishes him with attention.

Damn him, thinks Felix. Damn this stupid dolt and his perfect mouth.

Sylvain thumbs over his other nipple, rolling it between his fingers gently. “So easy,” he murmurs against Felix’s skin, his breath ghosting his other nipple before tonguing it again.

“Fuck off,” says Felix.

“Fuck you,” says Sylvain, pulling back to look at Felix. He runs a hand down his chest, fingers trailing along well-honed abs before stopping right at the edge of Felix’s smalls. Waiting with infuriating patience. This is where Sylvain always has the upper hand-- he’s someone who can wait. Forever if need be.

Felix can’t. “Get to it, then,” he says, impatient as he ruts against Sylvain the best that he can, legs wrapped tightly around Sylvain’s hips. The tight space of their tent makes it damn near impossible and the lack of relief is making him irate.

“Alright, alright.” Sylvain tugs at Felix’s underthings, and after a series of awkward movements they’re off, Felix bared to the world. His cock is hard, already wet at the tip and dripping. Waiting for the good shit to start happening, to finally be sated.

“What if I’m on top?” asks Felix. He’s already moving when Sylvain grabs him by the legs and holds him there. And, he’s still mostly dressed, only the collar of his shirt undone. Felix can barely see his collarbone, just a peek of skin there.

Insufferable.

“No,” says Sylvain, his hands warm against the backs of his thighs. “Like earlier,” he continues, pushing Felix’s legs upwards, expecting resistance. There is none and Felix’s knees wind up near his ears, almost pressed into the thin mattress. “Shit.” It’s a soft little swear into the night, and Sylvain looks at Felix like he’s seeing him anew, far too delighted in this revelation.

Felix forgets entirely about his discomfort the moment he sees the unbridled lust that’s bloomed across Sylvain’s face. “You’re too slow,” he says, keeping up the annoyed facade he’s spent years perfecting.

Sylvain’s still dressed when he dips lower. Felix knows it isn’t comfortable for him either, it’s hell on his knees and there’s a high possibility that Sylvain’s feet are probably sticking right out the tent flap because he’s got absurdly long legs.

The moment that Sylvain presses a thumb against the skin just under his balls, Felix stops giving a shit about the embarrassment of getting caught. Fucking isn’t against the rules and everyone knows that they don’t share a tent because they’re close friends.

Sylvain’s touch is soft and sweet, far too slow for Felix’s liking, of course. He cants his hips up, trying to get his point across, trying to remind Sylvain that there’s a reason to all of this. “Hurry up,” says Felix, nodding to his pack. “There’s oil in there.”

Because of course there is. He’s learned to always be prepared.

Sylvain, the obstinate bastard, has other plans. He leans close to press a kiss to the tip of Felix’s cock instead. Felix groans in frustration, moans in pleasure, and nearly smacks him upside the head. And then Sylvain dips lower, tongue trailing across his balls, over the soft, sensitive skin there and--

Felix damn near kicks down one side of their tent when Sylvain licks right across his hole. The sound that Felix looses is unholy, a breathy little moan punctuated by a whine that he tries his damndest to hide. He fails miserably.

“Too loud,” murmurs Sylvain against him. But he doesn’t stop, tongue swirling around Felix’s entrance slowly, sinfully, and with perfected intent.

They don’t often do this; it’s always the wrong time and place. The goal is always to get off quickly and enjoy what they can when they can. Sylvain seems to want to indulge despite where they are, despite their early call time, even though he knows this kind of thing turns Felix into a mewling mess and that there are prying ears all around.

Sylvain’s thumbs at his ass cheeks, spreading them wide, tongue soft and warm as he licks across the entirety of his hole.

“Fuck,” says Felix, unable to stop himself.

“Not yet,” says Sylvain, cheeky in that insufferable way of his.

“Shut up--” Felix’s voice pitches high when Sylvain presses his tongue inside, just enough to get a taste of what he truly wants. He can feel the way that Sylvain smiles against him, tongue writhing as he licks into him, everything so very precise.

Sylvain’s perfection in bed. Even Felix can recognize it. Eager to please, patient in return, willing to change things up and do the unexpected; a winning combination as far as Felix is concerned.

A finger traces Felix’s rim, already slicked and ready to go. Sylvain hesitates, pressing in only with his tongue, and Felix sighs in frustration. He drops a hand to his groin to curl a hand around his straining cock, but Sylvain grabs his wrist. And holds him there with surprising strength.

“Not yet,” he says against Felix’s ass, tracing after the words with the tip of his tongue.

Felix’s head drops back into the shitty camping pillow, eyes closing tight with a crabbed grunt. Normally, he’d tell Sylvain to fuck off. Normally, he’d push his hand off, flip them around and take whatever he wants.

And Sylvain likes it when he does that, when Felix takes control. Felix also likes it like this, where Sylvain pulls him apart and puts him right back together, boneless and satiated.

Even if he has to bite at his lip to keep the edge off.

Sylvain pauses and looks at him, waiting patiently.

“Dolt,” says Felix, wiggling his hips. Ignoring the dark, sultry look that covers Sylvain’s face, and the way that his lips are slick with spit, glistening in the low light of the small oil lamp. “Back to work, you imbecile.”

To anyone else, it’d be an insult, but with Sylvain, it’s an endearment. He soaks it up heartily with a wide smile, pressing a kiss to the swell of his ass before swooping lower once more. This time, Sylvain slips a finger in next to his tongue, a slick and neat maneuver all at once. Just the way that Felix likes it.

Felix bites his moan off just in time and cants his hips down, pressing closer to Sylvain’s hand. Sylvain makes good use of his finger alongside his mouth. His tongue is wet and warm as it licks into him. His finger is insistent as he presses against his walls, avoiding exactly where Felix wants it.

Utterly infuriating. He feels the slow burn in his gut, the way that his pleasure coils just barely. Sylvain’s playing hard to get, trying to drag out his pleasure and make him beg. Felix won’t give in, refuses to.

“Useless,” murmurs Felix. “Good for nothing. I barely feel a thing.”

Sylvain hums at that as he adds a second finger, knowing that Felix is goading him. Sylvain plays right into his hand.

The burning stretch is exquisite, despite the generous amount of oil. Sylvain is always careful, always dutiful in his care. He also knows that Felix likes it fast and rough, the pull and tug at his rim. The way that he can feel it all in the aftermath, a reminder of what Sylvain’s done.

He’s only talked about it once and Sylvain’s never forgotten. He’s always been dutiful in his attentions after that, with touches that just barely sting in the best kind of way. Felix grinds his hips against his hand, his face.

Sylvain’s no longer tonguing at him, he’s watching, eyes blissed out as his fingers gently scissor in and out, pulling at Felix’s rim in a delicious stretch. Staring, entirely engrossed, pupils blown wide as his hand moves, thumb tucked against the skin just underneath his balls. He licks his lips, wanting to taste again.

Felix is too impatient for that.

“Enough of that,” he says with a huff.

“Never enough of that,” says Sylvain.

“For tonight it is,” says Felix.

Sylvain pauses and their gazes meet once more. Sylvain sweeps the length of Felix’s body, taking in the way that he’s curled tightly into himself, knees near his ears. The ruddy pink of his face, the red strain of his hard cock against his belly. The annoyed look on Felix’s face as he waits for him to just get to the point.

“Fuck,” says Sylvain, completely enamored.

“About time,” says Felix obstinately. “Been waiting too long.” Sylvain doesn’t answer, only sits up between Felix’s legs. Then Felix shifts, a hand dropping to Sylvain’s crotch, squeezing. Sylvain punches out a long breath, eyes slipping closed as he tries to keep his composure.

Sylvain’s easy to please, getting off on doing all the hard work. Felix rewards him by running his fingers over his still-clothed cock, gripping him tightly. The resulting whine is worth ten thousand wars.

“Good boy,” whispers Felix into the quiet of their tent. Sylvain’s cock twitches at the praise.

It’s too hard to pull his pants entirely off, so Sylvain settles on yanking them half-down around his knees. Felix looks, taking in the peek of his collarbone where it meets his shirt, and then the cut of his hips, then the swell of his well-honed thighs and ass from years of riding.

And then there’s his cock, hard and waiting, perfectly formed. It always sits well in Felix’s hand or throat, and there isn’t a thing better to fill him.

Sylvain lifts Felix’s legs, pulling Felix’s ass to his groin. Felix groans when Sylvain teases his hole with the tip of his cock, just barely pressing in. Already flushed and wanting, itching to fill that void left behind by his fingers. Then Felix curses as Sylvain presses in and slides straight home.

Annoying, how easily Felix loses himself in the feel of it; the stinging burn and pressure of Sylvain’s cock, how perfect he feels. Nothing else can compare. Not Felix’s fingers on lonely nights, or well-crafted toys bought from the coy Anna, each to the burning memory of Sylvain’s touch.

The answer is always Sylvain. Felix always runs right back to him, even when it’s against his better judgment, like now. Sylvain insists on leaning back as much as possible despite the cramped space. Insists on looking between them, to see where they’re connected, even in the low lamplight.

Felix knows they’ve made too much noise, that the entire camp is privy to what they’re up to.

Sylvain groans at the sight, hand slipping between them, thumbing over where Felix is stretched tight around him. “Perfect,” says Sylvain, pressing in again, far slower than Felix would like. And Sylvain knows it, that Felix is impatient and wants it dirty and fast and rough.

“Dolt,” says Felix in a hush, the word pinched as Sylvain executes a perfect grind. An expletive shortly follows as Felix’s head falls back against the shitty cot pillow.

Sylvain laughs and leans over again, pressing his nose into Felix’s neck. “So pliable,” he says, tongue sneaking out from his lips to lap at Felix’s sweaty skin. “Supple, malleable--”

“Intolerable,” cuts in Felix, earning just a bit of his bite back. He clenches tight around Sylvain who moans in response, biting at his lip to keep from calling out. Felix can’t help the smirk, desperate to gain the upper hand band.

But then Sylvain changes the angle, raising his hips slightly and plunging back in, relentless. A perfect assault against his prostate, a smooth and calculated motion that hits the target every time. Felix’s voice hitches and he curses again, nearly going slack. His legs tighten as they settle around Sylvain’s waist as he tries to move against him, tries to meet the thrusts.

“Supine,” says Sylvain, his breath ghosting his skin before biting at it. He sucks a bruise that’ll last for days. Everyone will see and Felix won’t care.

Supine indeed, thinks Felix. Lost in the feel of it, craving more. Gone is his decorum and carefully controlled demeanor in favor of sinking into the feel of Sylvain’s body heat, and the filthy glide of his cock.

Felix wouldn’t trade Sylvain for anyone else, not that he’d ever voice it aloud. Sylvain knows; he sees it in the moments like this even if Felix isn’t vocal about it. War is difficult, impossible even, but this one small thing they share is enough to keep them hanging on, if only for another day.

That, and Sylvain’s cock is utter perfection, snug within him, hitting all the right spots.

“About time,” says Felix, ever contrary even when he’s given in.

“Never enough, for you,” says Sylvain in a soft murmur, his hips pumping against Felix in a steady rhythm.

“No,” agrees Felix unapologetically. “More,” he says.

Sylvain grunts but pauses, pushing at Felix’s legs again, unwrapping them from where they rest around his waist. His hands find the back of Felix’s pale thighs and he says, “Hold them.”

Felix blinks and then smirks, lips crooked towards one side. “Oh, like that do you? That I’m flexible?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s obvious,” says Sylvain, looking between them as he slides in and out, pulling at Felix’s rim. Felix knows that he must look like a ruined mess; face flushed, hair mussed, his ass slick and stretched.

Sylvain loves it, loves him, so it’s the least he can do when he grabs the backs of his thighs and pulls them towards his chest.

“Fuck,” says Sylvain.

“You could fuck me more,” says Felix.

They both know that he can’t. The cadence of Sylvain’s hips is already losing its steady rhythm. Nearing his end, and Felix is too. He can feel the pressure mounting in his gut, that slow-stoking fire starting to set ablaze.

Sylvain’s gaze is glued to him, sliding over his form from Felix’s legs, to where he holds them, to where Sylvain’s thrusting home. Sylvain bites at his lip, worrying it between his teeth as he tries not to make too much noise.

They’re already too loud. There isn’t a chance in Ailell that the rest of the camp can’t hear the wet slap of slickened skin against slicker skin. The way that Sylvain pounds Felix into the mattress within an inch of his life.

Or so it feels.

“Good boy,” says Felix quietly, and Sylvain whimpers, eyes slipping closed like he can’t bear to look at him. Like he’ll come right then and there if he does. “Always good for me, always giving me what I want,” continues Felix, goading him further.

“What you need,” says Sylvain. He drops a hand to Felix’s stomach where it hesitates. “What else do you need?” His fingers twitch just above Felix’s aching cock where it’s hard and straining against his belly, bouncing slightly with every thrust Sylvain gives him.

“Not that,” says Felix. Sylvain’s eyes snap open, looking back at him. They meet gazes and Felix can practically feel the heat that rolls off him. Sylvain’s nails dig into his stomach, just barely, trying to ground himself.

“I want to come with only your cock,” says Felix, a dirty little whisper that fills the tent. “I bet that I could. You always do so well, know exactly how to push my buttons.”

Sylvain moans at the praise. He grabs Felix by the hips, anchoring him there. Felix still holds his legs up, still folded into himself, muscles burning with the strain. It’s worth the look on Sylvain’s face as he watches Felix like a starving man who’s finally getting a meal.

Sylvain’s a simple man and loves to be praised, so Felix keeps at it, murmuring compliments to his ego that he knows will drop straight to Sylvain’s gut. His hips stutter slightly as he loses his grip and the steady slide. It’s good, it’s so good; Felix can feel his body coiling tighter and tighter.

Felix comes first, a rarity in most cases. It’s usually Sylvain to fall with Felix shortly after, but this time his cock hits the right spot at the right time. Everything within him snaps-- his stress, his thoughts of the war, the idea of sleepless nights ahead.

All he can think, hear, see and smell is Sylvain and the way that they’re connected. Felix tightens around him, bucking slightly as he lets go of a leg. Sylvain’s cock pulls so deliciously as he fucks him through his orgasm.

“Sylvain,” says Felix, a scarce show of affection that he knows Sylvain will tuck away and keep the memory of as he often does.

“Fuck,” Sylvain says, still rutting into him. One second and then another, and then he’s tumbling after, chasing that high as he comes deep inside Felix.

“Shit,” murmurs Felix, “Sylvain, fuck.” His curse echoes Sylvain’s as he drops his legs. When Sylvain moves to pull away, Felix makes a pathetic little whine before squeezing his legs tight around him. “No.”

A gentle command that Sylvain ignores entirely. He smiles into Felix’s sweaty neck, pressing a soft little kiss there before untangling themselves. Felix doesn’t protest when Sylvain looks at his ass, thumb sweeping through his come and pulling lightly at his rim.

“Sylvain,” he says, warningly.

But Sylvain, the handsome devil, only smiles in return before bending Felix back again and dropping to lap at his hole. It’s a rare indulgence. When Sylvain partakes, he does so enthusiastically.

Felix is too sensitive, still thrumming from his orgasm. Still coming down from that high. The feel of Sylvain’s tongue, wet and probing as he licks up the mess that he made nearly sends Felix right back up.

“I wanted to enjoy this,” says Sylvain against him, “I said as much earlier.” A finger finds Felix’s hole, and then two, pressing in with more care than not. Teasing his walls as Sylvain laps at him.

Felix moans, falling back into the cot. His cock is filling out again; from the feel of it, from the intimacy of it, at the behest of Sylvain’s overt eagerness to eat him out.

Sylvain directs Felix to hold his legs again. “Just once more, darling,” he says, “Just for a moment.” Felix complies wordlessly.

Then, Sylvain spreads his asscheeks and dives right back in. Felix keens, not bothering to bite his lip, not bothering to hide it this time. Fuck the camp, he thinks, as Sylvain works his magic, doing his best to pull Felix right back apart a second time.

His tongue swirls around his rim and his fingers spread wide before pushing back in and hooking against that perfect spot. Sylvain raises a hand, hovering it over Felix’s cock. Felix huffs in annoyance, knowing what it is that Sylvain wants to hear.

“Please,” says Felix, “Again.”

Sylvain’s grip around his length is warm and tight as he jerks him expertly, perfectly timed with the thrust of his fingers against his ass. Felix can’t hold back the moan that escapes him, can’t help the way that he ruts against Sylvain’s face.

The fiery pressure in his gut is wearing thin again, tightening more and more. Sylvain’s fingers curl around the head of his cock, smearing the come that’s already there, using it to ease the glide of his hand.

The sounds are sinful, the way that Sylvain moans against him. Sylvain’s debauched, his face pressed against Felix’s ass like he won’t survive unless he laps up every last drop of his spend. Licking up to suck at his balls, before dropping right back to his prize. His fingers pump into him with a steady and gentle press, milking Felix’s prostate for all that it’s worth.

Were this a different night, Felix might test his limits, might see just how long Sylvain can keep him going before pulling away.

It’s already too late though, he’s already slipping over the edge again. The line of pleasure within him snaps and Felix is coming again, all over Sylvain’s hand, hips rising and falling with his overstimulation. Sylvain, mercifully, stops moving his hand, only cupping his cock.

He pulls back and presses a kiss against the meat of Felix’s inner thigh. He’s red in the face, eyes hazed with pleasure, mouth and chin slick with come. His come. Felix etches the sight into his memory for lonely nights to come.

The cleanup is clinical, perfunctory even. They wipe themselves off silently and manage to pull on their pants, at least. They’ve been caught with them down, even in bed, a few too many times.

When they lay in the cot once more, Felix is the one to spoon Sylvain, his preferred position. Wrapped around him like a clingy brat, nose pressed to the nape of Sylvain’s neck, smelling the sweat of their lovemaking.

Remembering their lovemaking. The best thing to go to sleep to.

“Tired,” says Sylvain quietly. He hasn’t blown out their tiny little oil lamp yet and his face is lit with a dingy orange glow. “But I bet the others will be too.”

“You are insufferably loud when you want to be,” says Felix, teasing. They both know that he was far louder. They also know that they won’t hear the end of it the next day.

“And you are divine,” says Sylvain. “Truly. I didn’t know that you could bend that way.”

“What do you think that I do when I train?”

There’s a brief silence and then Sylvain says, “Run things through with swords? Pointy-end goes that way, and all that?”

“I also stretch,” says Felix, scoffing. Sylvain’s thinking again, Felix can tell. Probably terribly dirty things like how and what he can bend Felix over. “Want to help me stretch next time?”

A question tinged with innuendo, something usually brought forth by Sylvain, not Felix.

“Depends. Will there be an audience?”

“That can be arranged, though I’d much prefer to have you all to myself. Perhaps late one night when the training pit is empty. The stars out and all that.” It’s about as romantic as Felix will ever get.

Sylvain only laughs before he leans over and blows out the candle.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Get Together

Part 6 in Getaway Series

Warnings: noncon sex (oral, vaginal and anal intercourse, menstruation, violence), angst, rude words from a rude dude. This is dark!(nomad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. I mean it, I’m not gonna tell you again.

Summary: Steve makes his appearance at the reader’s family barbeque.

Note: This is fucking rough. No exaggeration. I can actually not express her how fucking brutal this chapter turned out so please read the warning, re-read them, then read a third time. I mean it. This is some dark ass shit and I’m almost questioning myself at the moment.

Anyways, hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think as always. Love ya <3

...

You'd always dreaded your mother's barbeques. They were crowded, noisy, and hectic. Not only with stuffy family members you avoided but strangers your mother knew from work or even just met in passing. She had a habit of seeking friendship in any who looked her way.

Your mother was at the top of your list of those to avoid. Since your break-up with Ethan, you had done your best to change the subject whenever it came up between you. You were sure Gia was also feeding her curiosity.

You didn't have the energy to lie anymore and you certainly wouldn't tell the truth. You prayed that Steve forgot your sister's invitation. That you could show up, say hi, and scurry back home.

You woke up early that Sunday. Your mom texted you until you got up and assured her that you would be there. You needed to powder the lemon squares anyway. Those were your specialty; your mother insisted on them for every gathering.

You went to the kitchen in your long tee and pulled out the powdered sugar. You filled the sifter and began to shake it over the pan of squares you made the night before. You yawned and grabbed your lower back.

You had been relegated to sleeping on the thin mattress without its frame. It didn't stop Steve. He returned in the days since its breakdown to terrorize you. You suspected he enjoyed the thought of you on the floor.

The door clicked and you glanced over as the lock slid open. You sighed as Steve entered. So much for hoping. You carried on your work as you covered the desert in sweet snow. The door closed behind him and he strode into the kitchen.

"You know, you do strike me as the baking type," He remarked as he came up beside you. "Cute."

You ignored him and kept your eyes on the pan. You were really not looking forward to going now. How would you explain him to your mother? Hell, you weren't quite sure how Gia hadn't seen past his poor disguise. You had but you'd also found him in his uniform. She had only seem the casual, easy-going Nick.

"Doesn't start til noon," You grumbled.

"Lots of time then," His fingertips tickled your thigh just beneath the hem of the shirt.

"I'm on my rag," You didn't look at him as you set the sifter in the sink and tucked the sugar away in the cupboard.

"Hmmp. Explains the attitude but I don't see how it's relevant." He leaned against the counter as you crossed your arms at him. "Do you think a little blood will stop me?"

You tilted your head. He wore a button up and pressed slacks. Polished leather shoes and a matching belt. He had dressed up for your mother's little shindig.

"Nothing will." You resigned.

"You're right." He pushed himself away from the counter and headed back through the door. "So, let's make the most of our time."

You rubbed your forehead and rinsed your hands. Keep him happy and he might not humiliate you entirely at the barbeque. You followed him as he carefully undressed in your living room. He draped his shirt over the chair, his slacks too, his socks tucked neatly into his shoes beneath. He was deliberate; basking in your obvious agitation.

"On your stomach," He pointed to the couch.

You frowned as he pulled his briefs down. You huffed and tried to pass him. He caught you as he dropped his underwear on the chair.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting a towel," You snapped. "You've ruined enough already."

"Hurry up." He let go and paced towards the couch.

You grabbed the towel you used the night before and whisked back into the room. As you neared him, he turned to rip it from your grasp. He spread it across the couch and stood back. He was hard and judging by the twitch in his jaw, impatient.

You lowered yourself onto the couch. You stretched out on your stomach, content to hide your face in your arms. Your head shot up as he slapped your ass.

He pulled your shirt up and yanked your panties down your legs. He flung them away from him, the pad still clung to the crotch. He climbed over you, his legs on either side of yours.

He pushed his cock down past your ass and to your entrance. He prodded at your pussy but didn't go further. He ran his fingers along your back and you shivered.

He grabbed your arms just above your elbows and pushed inside. You exhaled into the cushion as he thrust slowly. His cock added to the fullness which had settled in your pelvis. Your hips ached as he moved against you.

He grunted as he fucked you. Usually he was more talkative. He forced your back to arch painfully and you groaned. The room was filled with the sounds of his flesh against yours. He got faster and faster. His pelvis crashed against yours and sent ripples up your spine.

He let go of your right arm and slapped your ass as he sped up again. He kneaded the flesh as his hips stuttered and you held yourself up on one elbow. “Dont--” You choked on your voice was he came. Fuck. You were already a mess, you didn’t need more of one.

“What?” He eased himself to a stop and grabbed the back of your head. He shoved it into the cushion and pusher deeper until you whined. “Were you trying to say something?”

“N-no,” You rasped. “Nothing...”

He released you and pulled out of you roughly. He tugged free a corner of the towel from beneath you and wiped himself off. You sat up and felt the flow of semen and blood spill onto the towel. “You should get cleaned up,” He turned away and wandered casually towards your bathroom. “You do like to play the innocent, don’t you?”

You heard the smirk in his voice. You grabbed the towel and stood. You followed reluctantly. The shower trembled and burst into life. You tossed the towel in the hamper and grabbed a fresh one. Another for him.

You sighed. You should let him air dry. You plopped the towels on the closed toilet and looked up at the shower curtain. Steve’s broad figure was just visible through the foggy plastic.

You pulled your tee over your head and tossed it on the floor. You stepped into the shower behind him, the smell of your lavender body soap tickled your nose. Great, hopefully nobody noticed his flowery scent.

He scrubbed his hair with your shampoo and you did your best to catch some of the stream. You tried to wash him away but somehow, you could never quite remove the taint of his touch. He switched with you wordlessly as you lathered soap on your skin. His hands trailed through the bubbles on your back and he poked you with his erection. He never took long.

You wetted your hair as his fingers crawled along your hips. He hummed as his cock slid along your ass. You froze and closed your eyes. Waiting. He drew his hands away and the shower curtain chimed as he pulled it back.

“Later,” He promised. “Get cleaned up.” He closed the curtain behind him. “I can’t wait to meet the family.”

Your heart stopped. At least it felt like it did. Fuck. It was bad enough that he had endeared himself to Gia, she was an easy mark, but you couldn’t imagine what your mom would think when you showed up with a new man. Well, you hadn’t invited him. You’d make that very clear.

You gulped and squirted some shampoo into your hand. Distract her with the lemon squares, she might not even notice the bearded goon following you like a shadow.

-

You were quiet as Steve drove. You should’ve figured he had a car but you really hadn’t put too much thought to his activities outside of hounding you. You balanced the lemon squares on your lap and stared out the window. You gave him directions when needed but your mind was already at your destination.

Your mom’s street was lined with cards. You walked half a block between the car and her house. You could hear the buzz of voices in the backyard. You led Steve around the side as he looked over the house. The gate was unlocked to welcome guests and your dad was already warming up the barbeque.

Your mother appeared at the back door and sighted you from across the yard. She smiled and came down the steps. As she wove through the other guests, her eyes landed on Steve and her brows shot up. She greeted you with a one armed hug as you avoided smushing the pan against her middle. She took the lemon squares from you as she let go.

“Honey!” She preened, “You’re here. A little late, but here.” She peeked at Steve, “And who is this?”

“Nick,” Steve offered his hand. You looked over your mom’s shoulder as Gia made her way towards you. Shit.

“A friend,” You filled in grimly. “Gia invited him.”

You sister appeared at the mention of her name. She was pressed and plucked perfectly. She smiled at Steve and trilled her hello.

“I gather your guy is here,” You commented on her flowery dress. “So…”

“He’s in the bathroom,” She returned. “And you actually brought a friend.”

“I didn’t exactly ask him along,” You mumbled.

“Sorry, Nick, I promise our family is not usually this hostile,” Your mother chimed before she looked to you and Gia. “Girls.”

“Siblings,” He chuckled coolly. “I don’t mind.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I steal my daughter for a moment,” Your mom replied. “I promise I’ll have her back quickly.”

“Not at all,” He shrugged. “It looks like a lively party. I’m sure I can manage.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Gia assured, “Ben should be back soon.” She turned to Steve and batted her lashes. “You two will get along.”

You sighed quietly and reluctantly let your mother lead you away from them. You hated how easily your sister got on with him. How smoothly he put his mask on and fooled others. Your mother took you inside and set down the pan on the counter. She turned back to you, still smiling.

“I figured you could cut the squares,” She said, “And tell me about this Nick.”

“Mom,” You brushed by her and took a knife from the block. You removed the lid from the squares and set to carving lines through them. “He just lives down the hall. That’s all.”

“He’s cute…” She sang, “And after Ethan and you split so suddenly--”

“I’m not looking for a boyfriend,” You interrupted her. “Nick is just...someone I know. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Gia’s big mouth.”

“So, when do I get to see this new place of yours,” Your mother smoothly deflected your irritation.

“Whenever you want, mom,” You shrugged. “Not much to see. A lot smaller than our--my old one.”

“Gia did say that. Honey, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” You assured her. “I’m sorry, it’s just...if everyone could stop bringing up Ethan I’d be a lot better. It’s bad enough that I’m here with--”

The look on your mother’s face was frightening. Her smile was gone and her eyes were wide. Your ears tingled and you sensed a shift in the air. A familiar voice rose and drifted through the window. The sound of gasps and ‘oohs’ were soon to follow.

“Oh, mom, you didn’t,” You dropped the knife and headed for the door.

“Gia didn’t say you were bringing this Nick guy, I thought you two could talk…”

She followed as you swept through the backdoor to find the two men standing chest to chest in the midst of the crowd. Steve had a few inches on Ethan and was almost twice as wide. Gia was holding back your ex as the super soldier grinned with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You son of a bitch,” Ethan snarled as Gia fought against him. “What is he doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” You stormed down the steps towards him. “You said you didn’t want to talk.”

“I didn’t, but I thought--” His eyes flashed as you neared. “I didn’t think you’d be bringing him along.”

“Ethan, why did you come?” You kept your voice low. “It’s over.”

“Sure as fuck it’s over.” He pushed Gia away and Steve laughed. You stepped between them before Ethan could raise his fist. “I just thought maybe we didn’t have to leave this the way it is.” He looked around and gritted his jaw. “You’re a fucking slut.” He backed away slowly and looked to your mother. “You hear that? You’re daughter is a cheating bitch.”

“Son,” Your dad appeared, spatula in hand at Ethan’s side. “I think it’s time you go.”

Ethan glared at your dad and Steve dropped his arms. He squared his shoulders as he came up beside you. Ethan sputtered and looked around at his audience. “Fuck all of you.” He turned and stomped out the gate as you watched. Your eyes stung and you sniffed back the tears that threatened.

You glanced around at the guests who were still in shock over the scene. You turned and marched past your mom and back up the steps. She trailed you into the kitchen and you picked your knife up and continued to cut the squares. Silently.

“Honey…” Her voice was pitiful.

“I didn’t--” You shook your head and swallowed your words. You finished with the lemon squares and pulled out a plate to serve them on. The screen door flapped opened and closed and you looked up as Gia entered.

“So…” She came up on the other side of the counter. “What was that about?”

“Leave it, Gia,” You grumbled as you focused on the dessert.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the island. She chewed her lip as she watched you. “Did you…?”

You looked up at her and your lip trembled. “Please, don’t even ask me that.”

“Well, that was...intense. What am I supposed to say?”

“Ethan’s bitter. That’s all.”

“And you and Nick? You never…” Her voice trailed off as you dusted off your hands and rinsed them. You couldn’t look at her. That was all the answer she needed. “When you were still with Ethan?”

“I fucked everything up, okay?” You turned and barked at her. Your mother watched in stunned silence. Her face painted with judgment. The same revulsion you felt for yourself. “I did it. I made my own fucking mistakes and they are none of your business.” You huffed. “Leave Nick alone. Leave me alone. It’s better off you don’t get yourself involved.”

You turned and headed for the door. Your mom was quick to block you, her arm across the screen. “Honey, you can’t just run away?”

“I know I can’t run,” You said. “But I can’t stay here. Not after that.” You looked over your shoulder as you grabbed the screen door. “I told you not to invite him.”

You pushed past your mom and tramped down the steps. Steve was stood with some man you’d never seen. Dark hair, graying dark suit; it must’ve been Ben. You came up beside Steve and touched his elbow. He looked down at you and smirked.

“We’re leaving,” You said.

“What?” He blinked. His blue eyes narrowed at your order.

“My mom wants us gone,” You lied. “I think we’ve caused enough drama. Drawn enough attention.”

He thought and nodded. “Suppose you’re right,” He turned to Ben and excused himself. “Nice to meet ya.” He grabbed your elbow and cleared his throat. He ushered you to the gate and you were thankful at least to be leaving. “It’s a shame. I was really looking forward to trying one of those squares.”

You kept quiet as he squeezed your arm and dragged you down the street.

“It was nice seeing Ethan again, wasn’t it?” He boasted. “Should’ve broke that jaw of his and maybe he’d have shut the fuck up.”

“Steve,” You croaked. “Please.”

“Fuck,” He shoved you into the side of the car and you stumbled. You turned and he was on you in an instant. His body held you flush against the hot metal. “You’re still in love with him?”

“Of course I am,” You spat. “You--you ruined everything. I was happy.”

You shook as you glared up at him.

“You were complacent. You had a boring life before me. Nothing before me.”

“I hate you,” You sneered.

The crack stunned you. Almost as much as it stunned him. Your hand flew up across his cheek before you could stop it. His head moved just a little and he grabbed your wrist before you could lower it. His blue eyes were fiery.

“Oh-ho-ho,” He smiled; a dangerous smile. “There we go. I’ve been waiting for that.” His other hand came up around your neck as he bent down. “Get in the fucking car,” He whispered and squeezed. “Now.”

He let go and backed away. You gulped as you stared up at him. Your heart raced and your entire body was on fire. You trembled as you pushed yourself away from the car and stumbled around to the other side. His door slammed as he got in and you shut yours softly. You gripped your knees as he turned the engine.

“You’re in it now, bitch,” He growled as he pulled out.

The locks clicked and you watched the houses pass in a blur. Shit.

-

Steve drove up to your building. He stopped in front and before he could kill the engine, you had your seatbelt undone and the door unlocked. You shoved the door open and bolted out. You fled done the sidewalk without an endpoint in sight. You just wanted to be away.

You heard him behind you. The slam of his door and his shoes keeping time with yours. You were out of breath before you reached the corner and he kicked your legs out from under you. You flew forward and scraped your palms and arms on the pavement with a yelp.

He planted his feet on either side of you and pulled you with a hand on your neck and the other on your arm. He lifted you as if you weighed nothing. To him, you were nothing.

“I’ll scream,” You tried to pull away from him as he turned you back down the street.

“Then scream,” He kept his hand on your arm as he walked you beside him. “I don’t give a fuck.” He marched you along the walk and kicked closed the car door as he passed. He dragged you up to the door of your building, your shoes slid across the pavement helplessly. “I should’ve showed everyone what a whore you were back at your parents, eh? You’d be begging for it just like you did in front of Ethan.”

“Stop!” You twisted and he slammed your back into the door. The force knocked the wind from you as he glared down at you.

“You know why I won’t leave you alone?” He pinned you against the door. “Because every time I come, you’re that much closer to breaking and when you do, I’m gonna love every second of it.”

You blanched. You tried to shove him away and he easily caught your arms. He turned you around and reached into your pocket. He took your keys and shoved them in the slot. He wrenched the door open and pushed you through. You stumbled as he slapped your ass and barked for you to go.

You fought him as you ascended the stairs. You hit every wall as he forced you up. If any stumbled upon the struggle, you suspected he’d be no less brutish with them. When you reached your floor, you planted your feet and he kicked your rear. You fell to your knees and he grabbed the back of your blouse. 

He dragged you down the worn carpet and to your door. He swiftly opened your door and tossed you inside. You hit the wall just next to the kitchen doorway and slid back down to your knees. The lock slid into place as his breaths grew louder in his anger.

A subtle jingle sounded from behind you and he grabbed your shoulder as you tried to stand. He forced you down onto your stomach and straddled you between his thick legs. He held your wrists behind you as he tore loose his belt. He wrapped the leather around your wrists and pulled it so tight, your fingers throbbed.

He smacked the back of your head as he stood. He toed your side and paced around you in the small space and lifted you to your feet. You tried to kick out and he deflected your leg with his. He grabbed your neck and held you against the wall.

“You wanna play that game?” He slapped your cheek with his other hand. The sting burned your cheek and he did it again. Harder. You clenched your jaw as he hit you over and over, every strike meaner than the last. “Let’s play.”

He ripped you away from the wall and shoved you ahead of him. You dug your heels into the floor and he sighed. He smacked your ass so hard you stumbled and he caught the back of your pants before you could topple. He dragged you into the bedroom and pushed you so that you fell face first onto the mattress.

“Stay,” He rested his shoe between your shoulder blades and pushed until you could breath.

“Fuck you!” You lifted your head and looked back at him. “I fucking hate you.”

“I know you do,” He removed his foot and slid his phone out of his pocket. “But it won’t look that way, will it?” He moved his thumb around his screen and set the phone sideways on your bookcase. “I send this little video to Ethan and he might just be stupid enough to share it.”

You dropped your head against the mattress and grunted as you pulled against the belt. You heard him moving around, the floor creaked beneath his weight, and you swore into the blanket. He was going to take everything from you, even your family. No, he wouldn’t get that. Never.

Your whole body jolted as he tore your pants down in one motion. Your panties and flats were swept away with the pressed fabric. You were left bare and face down. He knelt on the mattress next to you and flipped your over. He ripped your blouse down the middle and snapped your bra. He tweaked your nipples painfully as you tried to roll away.

He slapped your cheek again, this time with the back of his hand. His knuckles left your cheekbone tender. You tried to sit up and he pushed you back down easily. He was completely naked. He climbed over you so that his thighs were around your head and pressed his cock against your lips.

“Open up,” He squeezed your chin. “Come on. Don’t make me break that pretty little face of yours.”

You opened your mouth and he was quick to slip inside. You gagged and spasmed as he invaded your throat. You couldn’t breath as he sank his entire length into you. He leaned on his knees and began to thrust. He grasped your hair between his fingers as he fucked your face.

“He was fucking right. You are a slut,” He panted as he sped up. Faster and faster until stars spotted your vision. “You’re probably wet already.”

His grunts filled your head as your eyes rolled back. He never wavered, even as you were certain you would pass out. He bent over you and pushed his cock as deep as it could go and you felt the sickly heat burst in your throat. He snarled as he came and you were forced to swallow or choke.

You coughed as he pulled out of your mouth. Your head lolled and he slapped you again. Three times before your eyes opened. “We’re not even close to done,” He turned you over again and struck your ass. You whined and he spanked you until your ass was raw.

“Fucking dirty,” He said as he shoved his hand between your legs.

You could feel the blood and your unwilling arousal spread along his fingers. He pushed your legs apart and grabbed the back of your neck. He lined himself up and entered you smoothly. You groaned against the mattress and he plunged to his limit.

His hand slipped down to the belt and he pulled on your wrists as he began to move. His hips slammed against your ass. You rasped into the blanket as your body racked beneath his. Each thrust was painful. A reminder that he was in control. That every fight would end this way.

He kneaded your ass with his other hand as he crushed you into the bed. You could feel the floor through the thin cushion. His thumb slipped down and he circled around your asshole. You shook your head but before you could protest, he forced his finger inside.

You whimpered at the strain in your ass he pulled his thumb in and out roughly in time with his cock. It sent a peculiar ripple through your body; added to the strokes of his cock against your walls. You trembled at the sudden flurry of nerves in your pelvis.

“See, you fucking like it,” He hissed. “You can fight me all you want, but you’ll never win.” His words were punctuated by harsh breaths and you body spasmed suddenly. “Uh-uh-uh, look at you. You’re cumming already.” He pounded into harder and kept his thumb inside you. “You like it in the ass, don’t you?”

He removed his thumb and bent over you. He thrust you into the mattress and turned your head. He held your chin in place as his hot breath singed your cheek, his lips pressed to your skin.

“Hmm? You want me dick in your ass?” He growled.

“N-n-”

His palm smothered your protest and he pulled out of you. He slid his cock back along your ass and you wiggled beneath him. You tried to bite his hand but he merely pressed it tighter. He reached down to pushed himself against your tight hole and you cried out into his hand.

Your eyes went wide as he shoved himself inside. He groaned in delight as he entered you slowly. Tears rose in your vision and your entire body buzzed with pain as he forced his way in. You kicked your legs against his as he impaled you completely.

He moved carefully. Savoured the stretch of you around him. You went limp as the pain was too much. He uncovered your mouth and rested his forehead against your temple. He shoved his hand beneath you and squeezed your tit as his hips rocked against you.

“You’re a fucking mess,” He whispered. “I can feel your blood all over me.”

His pace picked up a little at a time. You closed your eyes in shame. You bit down as the agony tore through you. Your voice rose as his hips jerked into you harder and harder. You whined in pain as he fucked your ass without restraint.

He pushed himself up, his hand on your shoulders as he chased his climax. His grunts were sultry and hypnotic against the shrill anguish of your own. He grabbed the back of your head and shoved it into the mattress as his thrusts grew uneven. He roared as he came and rode out his high.

You were left shaking beneath him as he sat back on his knees. He stayed inside of you and his cock twitched. You tried to wriggle away but it only added to the strain. His fingers wrapped around your waist and he began to move again.

You bit your lip and held your breath as it started again. The shock, the pain, the humiliation. You would not break. Not for him. He would not win. You wouldn’t let him. The great Captain America had lost before and he could again.

[luescris]

A Loth-Rat’s Birthday (One-shot)

Okay so, this is my first time writing something for Star Wars, so if anyone has any tips or anything on how to make it seem more Star Wars-ish, I would greatly appreciate it! This story takes place about a year before Ezra meets the Ghost Crew, hope y’all enjoy!!

Ezra Bridger wouldn’t really say he had all that exciting of a life. Sure, he stole things from time to time, went into hiding whenever he was caught doing the act, but it all just felt like a routine to him. Wake up, find a way to survive, rinse, repeat. As sad as the thought was, that was his way of life. Had been since he was young. 

But there was that one day that would give him some semblance of difference. Empire Day. AKA the day his parents were taken from him.

Also AKA, his birthday.

This day happened to be the one thing he most despised in the world. Well, besides the Empire. It was the reason why he now stood in front of the doors of his “home”, glaring at the city only just a few miles away, separated by a vast field of long, dead grass. His bright blue eyes had been set on Lothal’s capital from the moment he had woken, burning with fire. One shouldn’t have to hate the day they were born, and yet, here Ezra was. Hating more than just his feeble excuse of existence.

Normally he would avoid going out into the city for at least the whole week. Walking by happy families and groups of people celebrating some sort of special occasion both physically and emotionally hurt him. But unfortunately, he had almost no food, had been out of it for the better part of the week, and the grumbling of his stomach meant he had no other choice but to go out and get some. So, with a reluctant sigh, Ezra pushed himself off of the railing and headed down to the ground below.

Mine as well get it done now. He thought glumly, grasping his hands onto the straps of his backpack as he began his journey through the thick field before him. The sooner this is over, the better.

It took Ezra about ten minutes to reach the outskirts, and he weaved through the bustling people and busy shopping centers, making himself blend in with all the others. Most moved out of his way, some he "accidentally" stumbled into (In those cases he would have snatched at least a few small credits from the unsuspecting), and some would stumble into him. A few of those people would snarl at him, or give him a dirty look and mutter "dirty Loth-rat" underneath their breaths as they walked away. Normally, he would be used to the name calling, having been dealing with it ever since he was little, but today it made his frown turn to a scowl and his shoulders move up to his ears.

When he had finally managed to reach the cheapest shop in that part of town, Ezra was in no mood for any chatting, so he dug out a small handful of his stolen money and plopped it onto the counter of the salesman, whose back was currently turned away from him.

"How much produce would this get me?" Ezra asked without waiting for the alien to turn, doing his best to keep the edge out of his voice.

The alien turned around to him with a frown on it's wide mouth, two beady-eyes blinking down at him as it's four arms crossed together. "Geeze, couldn't even give me two seconds could yeh, kid?" It gurggled.

"Sorry, but I'm running short on time." Ezra replied half-heartedly without looking up at the other. "Got stuff to do."

The salesman gave a grunt, but took up the money Ezra had pulled out of his pocket and examined it for a moment. "... This'll cover at least three small bags of fruit."

Ezra whipped his head up to look at the alien, bewilderment in his eyes. "What?! But that's like 20 credits! That should get me at least two more bags!"

The alien gave a shrug, mouth rising into what the boy could only guess was an evil smirk, showing off his fangs and unarranged, ugly teeth. "Well it normally would. But ya weren't really nice when yeh came up to me like that. I just so happened to raise the sales prices."

"That's totally unfair! You're ripping me off!"

"Life ain't fair, kid. Get used to it." The alien chuckled. "Now, I could get you those two other bags if you gave me at least five more credits, just to pay off for the trouble you've caused me and my customers. There's a line waitin' you know."

He pointed and Ezra turned himself around. Sure enough there were at least five other people waiting in line, glaring at him with impatience. Gritting his teeth, he turned back around and shoved his hand into his pocket. "Fine."

Once the payment was in it's hand, the salesman nodded satisfactorily, his grin widening as he stashed the money into the pocket of his apron. "Pleasure doing business with yeh!"

Ezra was now officially seething with anger as he watched the fruits go into the bags, and once it was all said and done he snatched all five bags up and went on his way, shoving them into his bag roughly. He began to storm away, muttering under his breath as his eyes burned a path before him with daggers, but then he stopped. His head turned to the box of meats sitting next to the side of the salesman's booth, and for a moment he stared. Then a smirk of his own appeared on his face and he turned to walk into the crowd, an idea in his head.

"We'll see who's laughing now." He muttered under his breath.

Ezra walked a few steps from the shop, far enough out of eyesight of the alien, and hid behind a building a block away. He watched the booth for a good while, back pressed against the side, waiting for the right moment. Once all the customers were out of the way, and the salesman put up a sign and left the booth, it was time for him to strike. Quickly, he moved from the wall, looking around as he neared the shop again in case anyone was watching and quickly hid behind the back of the shop. He was just small enough to squish himself in between the building and wood, which was a relief.

He peeked over the top of the counter slowly, and instantly spotted the bags that were used to gather up all the requested things. It wasn't too far out of arm's reach, and so with another look around Ezra easily plucked two bags from where they sat and hid himself again. He then began to slowly fill the bags up with the meat sitting next to him, grabbing whatever he figured could fit. By the time the first bag was almost full, he had lost all cautiousness, and therefore was his downfall.

"Hey!! Get outta my meat!!"

Startled, Ezra shot up from his squating position, looking around until he found the alien only a few feet away, lumbering towards him with angry intent. He didn't waste a second, jumping over the counter and running the other direction after throwing a cocky two-fingered salute and wink at the alien.

"Pleasure doin' business with you!" He called behind him with a laugh.

Though the laugh instantly died in his throat when he heard it shout, "Stormtroopers, someone, help!! I'm being robbed!"

He turned his head to see three Stormtroopers running after him, and his good mood turned sour again as he looked back in front of him.

"Hey, you, stop!" One of them called.

Oh great. Now I actually have to try to run away. Ezra thought grumpily. This day is turning out to be so great.

He turned the corner, and then jumped onto the top of a roof, scrambling to his feet as a laser shot passed his head. He had forgotten that the security had been doubled since there was going to be a parade celebrating the Empire today, and as he jumped a gap between houses he almost considered dropping the bag of meat clutched tightly in his hands. But then he reminded himself that the effort would be more than worth it later, and he let the idea die.

I'm not giving this one up. Not on today.

Ezra looked down at the street beside him just as the Stormtroopers aimed their blasters up at him, and he quickly aimed his own weapon and fired away, dodging the lasers as best as he could while also keeping himself up on the rooftops. He got in a lucky shot, hitting one square in the chest before focusing his attention back to his escape route. He wasn't all too far from the fields, and a smirk returned to his face when he spotted them. Though it was lost the next second, a blast hitting the corner of the roof he had almost jumped off of, causing him to yelp and tumble down to the ground below. His shoulder hit pavement, and though it throbbed with pain Ezra gritted his teeth and pushed himself upright, quickly gaining his bearings and keeping a good distance from the troopers.

"Surrender yourself now or we won't hesitate to bring you down!!" One of them shouted, to which Ezra snorted at.

"You're not going to catch me!" He called back with a snarky grin. "You guys never do!!"

Another laser shot passed his foot, and just before he turned a corner he shot a few rounds at them in response, quickly heading into the bustling crowds. He ran a few steps in, stopping to try regaining his breath, which came short and quick. Ezra continued forward when he spotted one behind him, and briefly wondered if he had hit the other one in his frantic shots. Though his heart dropped slightly when he saw at least four other Stormtroopers follow behind the other one, and he willed his feet to move faster.

"He called reinforcements…" He panted as he passed by a startled woman. "Of course he did…"

It wasn't long before he had hit the grassy land, and took a few more strides into it before flopping himself on his stomach, turning to face the direction of the city and watching. All five troopers had entered the field, stopping to look around. Despite being out of breath, Ezra held it, waiting.

"Where'd that Loth-rat go?"

"Not sure. Don't think it's even worth it though. We have more important things to worry about."

"Agreed. We'll keep a lookout for him after Empire Day."

The Stormtroopers turned and walked back into the city, and Ezra didn't let himself relax until they were entirely out of sight. He let his breath go, falling backwards into the grass with a sigh, panting heavily and watching the sky.

Well. Guess I can't go into the city for a good week or two. He thought, and winced when he moved his shoulder, which continued to throb with pain again. Probably shouldn't have shot at them. Ugh.

Once he had regained his breathing, he rose from the ground, gripping his shoulder with one hand and the bag of meat with the other. With one last look at the city behind him, he trudged his way back home, towards the tower in the distance.

§¬§¬§¬§¬§¬§¬§

Ezra sat at the table in the middle of the room, staring at the black trooper helmet he had snagged from an Imperial not too long ago. His chin rested on the table, his arm outstretched as he studied the helmet silently. Small clicks and creaks of the building were the only sounds that were made in the otherwise still night, the sun having set only a few hours ago. A sudden flash of light bursted through the open door, illuminating the room, and Ezra rose his head to stare out as another burst of color followed behind a loud clap.

Fireworks.

He rose, walking out to the balcony as color after color danced, over the buildings in the distance. Below Loth-Cats played in the grass, mewing and chirping at each other happily. A simple family of three. Ezra watched them tumble and wrestle until they had disappeared again, a heavy weight in his chest as they left him alone with his thoughts. With his feelings. Imperial lettering filled the night sky when he looked back up to it again, lettering that read "Happy Empire Day".

"Those fireworks would say 'Happy Birthday Ezra' if we let it," He remembered his mother saying to him once, smiling down at him fondly.

Ezra found it funny that the Loth-Cats had families. He found it funny that in the walls of Lothal's city almost everyone had someone they knew. Even the moon had a twin.

And here he was. A fourteen-year old boy. Alone, on his own.

"Happy birthday to me…" Ezra whispered past a lump in his throat, tears threatening to spill.

The fireworks went on without him.

[skywillsometimeswrite]

Don’t Talk About It

Read it on AO3

Grif and Simmons went through a lot together. Some of that, you just didn't talk about. Even when there was nothing else you could do.

Season 15 Alternate Ending

It felt like Simmons has dreaming. Dammit, he hoped he was dreaming. There was a dizzying feeling in his head and if it weren’t made of cybernetic material he was sure his heart would have been rapidly beating from sheer panic. Grif was gone. He was… actually gone. For real this time. No second chances, no movie cliches where they were just hanging off the edge. He was gone. K.I.A. Dead .

Bile was crawling up his throat as he stared down at the blood oozing from the orange helmet, the visor destroyed from the bullet that had sliced through it easily at a point-blank range. Simmons would kill Temple. He would kill him for taking his best friend away from him right when he got him back. He would kill him for him away before he ever got the chance to even tell him how he felt.

“Grif? Come, come on! Grif!” He was shaking the body hopelessly. He wanted to wake up. Or wake Grif up. He knew it was impossible but he was too angry and heartbroken and in shock to even comprehend what had completely happened yet. At least, that’s what he was telling himself. Even though he knew. He just didn’t want to believe it. “Dex?” Hope was draining. Emotion rising.

He didn’t try to hold back the tears as they came or try to hide the rising sobs in his throat. He wasn’t frozen like the rest of his team and he wasn’t even bothering to help them but god dammit Grif was dead and here he was being useless and it was probably all his fault-

He heard another gunshot behind him, barely able to glance away from Grif to see another body laying, bleeding out on the ground. Blue. Caboose? No. There was another blue figure right next to it, and that shine of blue visor confirmed it. That was Loco. This cocksucker had shot his own teammate. Simmons was furious for multiple reasons now.

“Simmons! Get out of the way!” Tucker yelled right after he heard the click of a pistol getting prepared to shoot again. His head swiveled to look at Temple again, looking down directly at the barrel of his gun.

“I’ll give you the same offer. Join the circle, or suffer the same fate as your idiot friend.” His voice was shaking.

Simmons felt something like a flame rush through his veins, his hands clenched into fists. He knew the psychopath couldn’t see him, but he felt like he could glare a hole right through the gun and into his very head. He shouted, jumping up and tackling Temple to the ground. The pistol and the remote for the armor lock slid across the ground. Andrews scooped it up quickly and unfroze everyone. Feet clunk around the room, several finding their way behind him.

Simmons didn’t pay attention to any of them. He was seeing red, which he imagined his commander officer saw on a daily basis. His body was taking over his mind, even the cyborg part. He was pinning Temple against the ground, punching his visor mercilessly.

“What do you want Grif? We have to get back or else Sarge will-” Simmons was frozen at what he was seeing. In front of him was an entire old school movie theater set up in front of him complete with a projector.  “What… the hell…”

“What do you think? Took me ages to find all the parts for the projector, and don’t even get me started on the speakers. But hey, at least we finally got a kick-ass man cave we can hang out now. And we can restart  our sci-fi movie watching routine.”

“You… set this all up? For us?” Simmons was speechless. Why would Grif-? Did he really care this much? Or was he just trying to get out of work again? Either way, with a nod and the brightest grin he had possibly ever seen from Grif, he walked in slowly. It was a normal cave with two old, beat up couches on either side of a small half-decayed wooden end table refurbished to the best of the lazy soldier's ability and the projector that didn’t look half bad on top of it. In front of it was a cooler with a few beers sticking out, and on either side of the other cave wall, two black speakers faced the small set up. Simmons couldn’t help but pick up the projector in awe, turning over in his hands. “You fixed these?”

“Eh, maybe.” Grif shrugged, but by the obvious pride in his voice and expression, it was clear he did. “Had to bug Lopez for the parts but otherwise it was pretty straight forward.”

“I never took you for the tinkering type.”

“I guess I’m full of surprises today.”

He never asked him about why he set it up, simply enjoyed the company. It wasn’t something that they needed to talk about.

Cracks were visible now on the blue visor, spider webbing. Simmons had no idea if Temple was even still conscious anymore.  There was yelling behind his ringing ears, his sobs clouding his vision. Some blood was stained on the helmet, filling the cracks. He could see his helmet in the reflection. Just like a mirror.

“Simmons?”

He was curled up on the bathroom floor, holding his organic hand with his metal one, tears and blood dripping on the floor. He barely recognized Grif’s voice and he looked up to see the orange soldier in the doorway, his expression shocked and… was that concern? In front of him was shattered glass and blood littered on the floor, wall, and sink.

“G-Grif? I-I-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Grif said sternly, now on the ground next to him. He had moved swiftly, grabbing the bandages from the medicine cabinet that was now clearly visible behind broken glass. He was plucking out the shards from Simmons’ knuckles and rinsing them off with a wet rag that had once been hanging up on the wall. Simmons was silent the entire time, watching Grif  bandage his self-inflicted injury. When he was done he just sat there, cradling Simmons’ hand and staring at it. It was silent for what felt like way too long.

“I’m sorry-”

“I said shut the fuck up.” Grif repeated to Simmons’ strained apology.

So he did. And they sat there. Silent. Grif never asked him why Simmons did it. Simmons never told. A few similar situations happened afterwards but they never talked about. You don’t talk about it.

“Simmons.” His blind rage was stopped by a strong teal hand. “He’s already out.”

Tucker’s somber voice was more than unnerving. Simmons stared down at the helmet, cracked, blood staining it the blue tinted visor. Simmons didn’t even realize he was shaking until Tucker pulled him away and let him fall on the floor behind Temple and looked down at his hands. There was still a layer of drying blood barely visible on the black gloves and Simmons suddenly felt like he was suffocating. He fumbled with his helmet, attempting to shove it off his head unsuccessfully.

Simmons was thrashing in the water. He should have known that swimming on a fucking moon would have extremely strong currents. He had never been a strong swimmer, and his armor felt like it was weighing him down. And apparently this incredibly heavy armor didn’t keep out all the water because he felt a splash against his face from the bottom of his helmet. The helmet clasps must be failing. Which meant his helmet would come off. Simmons was going to drown if he didn’t short circuit first. Panic only grew and he was trying to tread water even more frantically.

Why had he let Griif have to go swimming today? Why did he have to be such a weak swimmer? Why did he have to care so much about his fucking useless teammate? Why did he --

His thoughts were cut off as his back hit something hard in the water, presumably a large boulder. The air left his artificial lungs and he swear he heard a wire snap as he lost his ability  to keep thrashing. He let the waves carry him, letting the water slosh around in his helmet, feeling it loose on his neck. It was quiet. Almost peaceful. Maybe if he fell asleep he wouldn’t even register drowning?

Something caught his attention though, something strong wrapping around his waist as he was now dragged in the water with a sort of purpose. His HUD light had long since broke and he was staring into darkness, but he could sense that it was another person dragging him to shore. He didn’t think moons had lifeguards.

Before long Simmons felt something more solid brush against the lower half of his body, and he could almost make out the sounds of the waves again. Waves getting farther away. He wasn’t in the middle of them anymore. He was dropped roughly on the ground and he was too out of it to even bother trying to move. He still wasn’t sure he could. He could make out the faint sounds of someone yelling at him and he tried to strain the stronger side of his hearing to listen, but alas he couldn’t even make out whose voice it was.

Suddenly, there was bright light right down at him. His helmet was off of him now, and he was blurrily staring up at the blue sky. Except, the sun looked a lot closer than what he was used to. He felt a pressure on his chest and before he knew it water was coming up his throat. He didn’t even realize he had swallowed any -- that couldn’t be good for cyborg insides. He forced his organic arm to move, pushing him over so he didn’t swallow his own vomit and let it fall onto the sand instead. His red hair flopped down into his eyes and he shook under his own weight trying to push himself up. He coughed up whatever water was left in his system before shakily sitting up, trying to decipher what had just happened.

And the first thing he saw was Grif. Half-naked with only swim trunks to cover himself, his curly black hair wet and framing his head in an almost majestic way, drop of water reflecting the last bits of the sun’s rays on the tan side of his skin, sparkling on the pale side. His expression betrayed how worried he was for his friend, his hands hovering over the cyborg as if he would collapse at any moment. And, honestly, Simmons wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t.

His helmet was off to the side along with his chestplate. Slowly, the pieces clicked together. Simmons was drowning and because Grif was a strong swimmer and pulled him to shore then gave him CPR which managed to work despite his insides being metal. Grif must be really good at CPR if he can save two people with it when it should be impossible. Maybe he should consider being a medic. Simmons would have to remember to mention that when he woke up -- along with a thanks -- because right now Simmons was face planting into the sand hearing nothing but a distressed “Simmons!” before darkness engulfed him. They never talked about it.

He finally got a grip and ripped his helmet off along with his chestplate, trying to get his breathing to return to normal. Maybe that wire had never been fixed because his artificial lungs shouldn’t be malfunctioning like this. He held his head in his hands for two seconds before remembering the blood and pulling away with a yelp, backpedalling until he was against the wall as if he could run away from the suit he was wearing. He scanned the room desperately, looking for an exit of some sort so he could breathe because he still felt like he was suffocating and the room felt far too small.

And then he spotted Grif again.

Doc by his side.

His helmet off.

Blood dripping.

Dark hole in his forehead.

Broken glass.

Glazed over eyes.

Staring right at Simmons.

A choked sound escaped Simmons and his body lurched forward, and before he knew it a new tidal wave of tears were streaming from his remaining eye. The eye that matched Grif’s. The eye that was just staring back him so lifeless.

“Grif, Grif, Grif no -- I, Grif -- Please you can’t -- Please! I just, I just got, no, no, no, no…” He dissolved into a ball right there, sobbing loudly as the realization finally settled on him.

There were shaking breaths from both of them, them visible in the air in front of them. The were both silent as they just watched the snowflakes fall. Simmons was surprised that the Hawaiian even decided to take his helmet off, considering he hasn’t been able to stop bitching about the cold since they got to sidewinder. But perhaps the adrenaline was still swimming around in his system. Maybe that’s why he was shaking. Simmons knew that’s why he was.

Almost falling off a cliff could do that to a person.

Grif pulled out a cigarette and struggled to light it for a few seconds before he visibly seemed to relax with the first drag. Simmons didn’t argue and Grif seemed to notice by the way he glanced over at the cyborg.

“You feeling okay, Simmons? I’m ruining your lungs right in front of you and you haven’t so much as sent a disapproving look.” He asked after blowing another puff of smoke into the air, it nicely contradicting the white overlay the rest of the place had.

“I, well,” Simmons struggled to find the words. Grif had nearly died right in front of him. And if he hadn’t grabbed the brute shot from the Meta then he would have followed right over the edge and it would be all his fault because he had decided to try to grab him with his right-fucking-arm. “I just think you deserve it. It’s been a long day.”

“...yeah. Yeah it has.” Grif left it at that, taking another long drag and leaning his head back to blow up the smoke. They let the silence wash over them. They didn’t need the words to know that they didn’t need to talk about it.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. They had survived so much together. So much. A tank, the surgery, a bomb, freelancers, the Meta, a cliff, a civil war, mercenaries, Carolina, Chruch, Sarge for crying out loud! Simmons never thought a bullet -- a fucking bullet of all things -- split them up for good. It had always been Grif and Simmons. Simmons and Grif. They were a team. They were partners. They were… them . Simmons had gotten used that. That was how things were, you didn’t mess with the fucking status quo . But Temple just had to fuck with everything, didn’t he? If Grif had just stayed on that stupid fucking moon then, then…

They had been together for so long. Been through so much. How could it end just like that?

It all felt like a nightmare even as he was dragged out of the lair and into the transport ship to take them all home. He slightly registered Sister’s voice, her screams and others following after her. His team tried to ask if he was okay but gave up when he didn’t answer.

Simmons wasn’t okay. He had a feeling he might never be okay. But as the ship landed, the story was published, the funeral was held, and they retired for good this time, no one mentioned the name. Especially not around Simmons.

There were somethings you just didn’t talk about.