#and that the Hulk says he remembers this place but can’t remember from where

[daydreamerdrew]

The Incredible Hulk (1968) #247

[imaginedanvrs]

a galaxy stands between us

part 2 l masterlist

summary: adjusting from one enclosure to another proves challenging when you're unsure who to trust

word count: 4.5k

warnings: mentions of past confinement, allusions to schizophrenia

“Thor’s basically an alien and he looks like a regular dude,” Tony stated as he tinkered with his newest helmet model, seemingly the most relaxed at what the team might be keeping in their med bay. “Carol Danvers is half alien and looks normal when she’s not glowing,” he continued. 

  “Neither of those things are true,” Natasha corrected, having talked to the younger captain about her human-kree dna ratio in the past. 

  “It doesn’t matter if she’s from this planet or not,” Steve said. “What matters is what she’s capable of. What if she has powers like Wanda or a hulk like Bruce that she can’t control?”

  “Her name is y/n,” Wanda input. “But you’re right,” she agreed, surprising everyone in the room to hear her say. “What then? Will you send her to S.H.I.E.L.D to lock her up? Will you put another collar on her? You know what happens when people try to control something because they’re afraid of it,” the Sokovian argued adamantly. Natasha couldn’t help but look at her partner with pride as they both stood in your corner. “You can wait for those test results, but I’m going to talk to y/n,” she declared to the room and left no room for anyone to stop her. 

  “Just let us try,” Natasha added, seeing the discontent on Steve’s face as he watched them both leave and turned his attention back to the records on screen. You had graduated high school five years prior and had been accepted into a university you had never gotten the chance to attend. There were legitimate files of you entering the foster system as a baby and the circumstances of which were unclear but it seemed you’d be abandoned. Natasha had been the one to point out that from Earth or not, you had spent enough time on the planet to at least have the rights of a human. 

  Meanwhile, you were adjusting to foreign feeling of being more conscious than you could recall being in a significantly long time. The world had a piercingly clear filter placed over it that you had once taken for granted. Still, it was entirely overwhelming when your attention was drawn to every minor aspect of your surroundings that you never would have taken any notice of before. You could have sworn you were able to count how many chemicals went into creating the overly sterile smell that was entrapped in the room with you. You could hear the faint hum of the lights hanging over you like a fly you couldn’t swat away and the brightness that came with it was even worse. What’s more, you could feel the cold breeze coming through the air conditioning that was making the hairs on your arms stand like tiny spikes. The only good thing that came from your reawakened senses was your ability to appreciate just how soft the sheets below you were. You hadn’t stopped bunching them up in your fists ever since you woke up. 

  It was strange, not being able to remember what it felt like to have full awareness of your surroundings. Unfortunately, the one aspect of your mind that remained was the part you wanted gone the most.

  “It’s an improvement,” your stubborn companion told you as he stalked around the edge of the room and inspected everything he laid his orange eyes on. “Just don’t trust them,” he said. You didn’t respond, all too aware of the camera blinking in the corner of the room. You didn’t know who these people were, but you were sure it wouldn’t be ideal if they saw you talking to someone who wasn’t there. You needed to keep that to yourself, at least until you knew what they wanted from you. “And don’t look weak,” he added as he spotted the two women venturing down the corridor towards your room that they stepped into with ease, making you suddenly very aware of how easy it would be to come and go from the room as you pleased. You rubbed your wrists subconsciously where your cuffs had turned them red. No chains either. 

  Neither of the women were dressed in the usual white coats or tunics you were used to seeing. They wore casual clothing, and carried a similar pair, as though they had invited you into their own home like an abandoned stray they found on the streets. Though neither was standing overly close to you, the subtle scent of oak and vanilla drifted across subtly and was a welcomed change from the smell of chemicals. Combined with the looks of sheer curiosity, they did little to intimidate you and you wondered if that was worth trusting. 

  “How are you feeling?” The first woman spoke. You couldn’t say for sure, but if you had to guess you would say the women before you were the ones that had taken you from your old room. You swallowed the dryness in your mouth that shifted to your throat and nodded, holding no faith in your inactive voice box to give them an audible response. The redhead seemed to notice and glanced at the full water jug on the table next to you. 

  “That water’s for you,” she offered, less smiley than the brunette though her sincerity was still present. You nodded again, not about to tell her that thirst was normal ever since you had started being peg fed. Surely they had seen the small tube across your stomach. “And so are the clothes,” she added as she placed them down on the edge of the bed. They looked to be a set of comfortable sweatpants and shirt.

  “I’m Wanda, by the way, and this is Natasha,” the brunette chipped in as she sat down in the chair next to your bed. Natasha lingered for a moment before taking the seat next to her. Wanda noticed your hesitancy as you regarded them both. “Don’t worry, she’s not as scary as she looks.” At this, the redhead cracked a smile towards the floor while the bear man grunted in acknowledgment, still wandering the perimeter. “We want to help you, y/n,” Wanda said with a sincerity you really hoped was genuine. You didn’t want to let yourself get too hopeful, nor would your embodied conscious let you, yet the pair brought an undeniably hint of calm upon you that wasn’t artificial for once. 

  “And to do that we need to know if you have any abilities we should know about,” Natasha added. 

  “Don’t,” the bear man warned and you had to resist the urge to look at him because you couldn’t answer that question with absolute certainty. You knew that you had done something all those years ago, something bad, but you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what. Of whatever had transpired, you could only remember the screams. 

  You shook your head but your lying skills were horribly out of practice. “They know,” the draped man said at once and you winced. 

  “Okay,” Natasha replied as the pair resisted exchanging a glance at your misinformation. They didn’t put it against you, betting they would both have done the same in your situation. Just because you had been taken away from one hell didn’t mean you hadn’t been placed into another. 

  “Try and get some sleep. We’ll talk again tomorrow,” Natasha continued as she stood up from the chair. Wanda did the same as you looked as though you wanted to say something. You chewed your gums, considering the request you wanted to make. “Is there anything else you need?” The redhead asked.

  “Han…handcuffs,” you croaked, barely recognising your own voice. 

  “What are you doing?” The bear man objected with a fierce glare. 

  “That’s not necessary,” Wanda insisted, noting how you rubbed your wrists and able to connect the dots. 

  “Okay,” Natasha said instead, reaching into the drawers kept by the door as her girlfriend shared the bear man’s displeasure. They both stared holes into the back of Natasha’s head as she slipped the cuffs around your left wrist loosely and attached it to the other bed rail and waited for you to offer your other wrist.

  “No, Nat-” Wanda frowned at the redhead’s actions, unable to determine where they had stemmed from.

  “I’m putting the key here, okay? If you want them taken off you can ask anyone that comes in,” Natasha informed you as she placed the key down on the bedside table just slightly out of your reach. 

  “Get them off!” The bear man hissed but you paid him no mind as you felt the weight of the cuffs. They were far lighter and looser than what you were used to and you had to tell yourself that it was a good thing. It wasn’t normal to sleep restrained, you knew that, but years of having the habit forced upon you was surprisingly alarming to break once you had the opportunity. Besides, it was going to be your first night sleeping without sedation or high security since… Well, you couldn’t risk the safety of the people that you may owe a great deal to. 

  “Than’ you,” you muttered, missing how Wanda’s features softened at your relief before following her partner out of the room in silence. 

  It wasn’t until they made it back to their own room that Natasha finally answered the unasked question that had followed them. “I needed them too after I left the red room,” she said simply. “We had to sleep in cuffs as well,” she added as Wanda listened intently and met her girlfriend’s soft eyes that only ever came out in that room. Wanda didn’t respond immediately, opting to close the distance between them by trailing her hands up Natasha’s arms until they snaked around her neck. “Being in a new place can be scary so sometimes you just need some familiarity.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” the brunette murmured gently. Natasha smiled back and brought her lips to Wanda’s in a tender kiss. “I know it’s not easy,” she added, brushing her nose against the Russian’s. “I’m glad you were there, I don’t know if I would have said yes to her,” she admitted. Natasha hummed.

  “You want to help her, so do I,” she stated. 

  “It might be easier said than done,” Wanda said as she considered the weight of what they had taken on. She didn’t regret any of it by any means, but they hadn’t anticipated finding anything like you at that base and weren’t sure how to adapt. Wanda thought she could understand how it felt to be in your place, but seemingly the spy once shared the same mentality you did.  

  “Undoubtedly, but we’ll figure it out,” Natasha assured as she rested her hands comfortably on Wanda’s waist. “We always do.” 

*

“Have you seen this?” Bruce asked as he picked up the glass slide that held several drops of your blood on before peering over at the small tube that contained the rest, alarmed to find it in the same state. 

  “Is that y/n’s blood?” Tony picked up the tube and gazed at the blue liquid inquisitively. They hadn’t even started looking at the results of the tests that had just come through before they spotted the bizarre substance. “I don’t remember it being blue when we took it.”

  “It wasn’t,” Bruce said with certainty as he ventured over to the computer screens in hopes of getting some answers. “But it’s certainly different.”

  “Radiation maybe?” Tony suggested. 

  “More like reptile,” the scientist said as he highlighted the most unique traits that the computer identified. “I thought this would give us some answers but now I just have a million more questions,” he huffed as he leant back to examine the screens from a distance. “And I still have no idea what kind of containment we need to prepare.”

  “Just don’t mention that around Romanoff and Maximoff,” Tony muttered as his phone chimed in his pocket. It was  a message from Steve, calling both of them to the conference room along with an invitation to join a call between the captain and FuturGenus. It took Tony a second to realise that must be where you had come from and swiftly accepted the call. 

  “Stark,” he answered as he beckoned Bruce to follow him. 

  “Mr Stark, I’m glad you could join us,” a corporate voice replied. 

  “They want y/n back,” Steve was quick to inform, evidently haven talked to the organisation long enough already. 

  “In the interest of everyone’s safety,” the spokesman added calmly. 

  “Except y/n’s, right?” Tony said, far past caring for any retributions that would come with being so blunt. 

  “Gentleman, I don’t think you understand what exactly you are keeping in your home.”

  “Then explain it to us,” Bruce interjected as he listened in. 

  “That’s confidential,” the voice said with a practised ease. “If you hand it- Ms l/n back then we can resume our assessment of-”

  “I think y/n can decide where she wants to stay,” Steve said at once. He may not have been the biggest fan of you staying in the base, but there was no way he would willingly hand you back to FuturGenus. 

  “Very well, you can’t say we never tried,” the spokesman threatened just as Tony and Bruce entered the conference room only for the phone to hang up. 

  “Please tell me you’ve found something,” the blonde sighed as he pinched the space between his eyes. The scientists looked at each other, only certain of one thing. 

  “She’s cold-blooded.”

~

You stared down at the plate on the table over your lap with some scepticism, unsure of what exactly the contents of the meal entailed. You could tell that whoever had prepared and plated the dish had done their best to make it look as appetising as possible, but that was no easy feat to accomplish with the three small piles. One of the doctors, you couldn’t remember her name, had told you she didn’t believe you needed a peg tube anymore as they had no intention of sedating you. That meant you could go back to eating the normal food you had missed but that you needed to ease your body back into it, starting with puree. Once you could show them you could handle it, they would take the tube out. 

  Fortunately, the food was at least warm, taking your mind momentarily off of the insistent air conditioning that was still giving your goosebumps. You picked up the spoon, stumbling for a few moments as you worked to reawaken your muscle memory and began eating. Maybe it was because it was the first thing that had touched your tastebuds except for blood in years, but it was really fucking good food. The small portion was gone in under a minute. 

  You hadn’t seen the bear man all morning, a promising sign that he wouldn’t always be by your side or lingering at the front of your mind. It was far more peaceful without him and allowed your attention to continuously be drawn to the window along the wall behind you. It was a panel piece of glass that wouldn’t open and it was only about three feet long but you didn’t mind, glad that it provided you a chance to see the sky outside. There were a few clouds that you had watched pass by gradually, but generally it was a clear day. You used to always make sure you went outside on a day like that, even for a little while, so that you wouldn’t feel too cooped up once the sun went down. 

  Noticing that the hallway outside of your room was deserted, you moved your covers back with uncertainty, waiting for someone to walk by and demand you get back into bed. Five minutes passed and no one came, so you dropped your bare feet onto the chilled floor and padded along to the window that was too high up for you to lean against but not so much that it was above your chin. 

  You had no idea where you were, but the building was surrounded by more luscious green than you had ever seen in your life. Just outside was a vast field that looked to be about the size of a football pitch and it was bordered by a dense forest that stretched on for as far as you could see from the third or fourth floor. It was incredible. Your muscles ache to explore everything that you lay your eyes on, while your mind warned of the dangers of leaving. Going out into the world was a luxury you no longer possessed, but it was nice to imagine for a second what it would be like to be out there, unaware of the faint smile that crept onto your lips as you enabled the fantasy.

 You were, somehow, a hazard. 

  However, not everyone shared that belief. 

  Natasha was pleased to see you out of bed as she strolled down the corridor to your temporary room. She paused once she reached the door, considering whether or not to leave you alone for a while before deciding that your circumstances didn’t really leave much room for that. The Russian knew that the team was getting angsty over the uncertainty of what you were capable of, even if she didn’t yet know how willing to defend you they were. 

  Once she turned the door handle, you spun around in a start to face Natasha with wide eyes. “It’s alright,” she assured at once and you visibly calmed upon recognising the redhead. “You can get out of bed. You can come out of the room too if you want,” she continued. “Even outside,” she said even though she knew she shouldn’t. You shook your head, unwilling to risk any harm that Natasha didn’t seem to think you were capable of inducing. She nodded respectfully. 

 “Mind if I sit?” She asked and it was then that you noticed the pack of playing cards in her hands. Intrigued, you shook your head again. “Wanda’s finishing paperwork from the other day and she’s kind of been kicking my ass at cards lately,” Natasha explained as she began to shuffle through the deck. “You up for a game?” She asked so nonchalantly that you didn’t need to think about it. You didn’t verbally respond, but you went back and perched on the bed with the table between you with clear interest. “Great, do you know Go Fish?”

  After Natasha reminded you of the rules of the game, you spent a while playing comfortably. It felt good to be playing a card game again. It felt normal and Natasha treated it as much. She won more than you, not feeling the need to take any pity on how out of practice you were by throwing any of the matches. You had no idea how much time had passed or how many games you had played before Natasha started making comments out of the game as you played. 

  “How are your wrists?” She asked as they were only a little scratched instead of raw and scabbing. 

  “Okay,” you said with that same scratchiness that didn’t seem to be going away. 

  “We should get you some throat soothers,” Natasha quipped when she noticed, earning her a small smile as you continued to look at the cards. 

  “Only…eating puree,” you told her. 

  “Cho said that’s just temporary,” she pointed out. You nodded and placed down a winning card. Natasha huffed and let you take all of the cards to reshuffle them. “Did the cuffs help you sleep?” You glanced at her, weighing the honesty in your mind.

  “Yes,” you hesitated. “The bed is…very soft,” you commented and lucky Natasha caught on to what you were implying. 

  “Too soft,” she finished for you. You nodded. “We can move you somewhere more comfortable.” You slowed the shuffling, considering what another move could mean. “If you don’t like the rooms, you don’t have to stay in them,” Natasha told you simply. You took a chance and looked the spy straight in the eye, hoping you would be able to detect any false promises. Deciding to believe her, you nodded and dealt the cards again. “But we need to know if there are any adaptations we should make.” You didn’t respond. “For any abilities,” she added. 

  “I don’t know what I can do,” you told her slowly but looked at her as you spoke, hoping that she would know you weren’t lying. “But I know it’s bad.” 

  “I don’t think so,” Natasha said simply. “I think you’ve just spent long enough being told that to believe it,” she continued, remembering how that felt and how long it could take to be convinced otherwise. 

  You really hoped she was right. 

  “Come on, let's find you somewhere better to stay,” Natasha invited as she stood up from the seat. You hesitated, peering down the corridor and considering your options before deciding that risks or not, you wanted to make the most of your compacted freedom. 

  Natasha concealed a smile of triumph when she saw you slide out of the bed, not wanting to make a big deal out of the small win, and led you down the corridor at a leisurely pace. The redhead pointed out the different rooms and sections of the base to you as you passed even though she knew it took a while to learn the base’s layout, occasionally comparing the building to the tower the team used to reside in. The Avengers had come together shortly after you were taken so you took her word for the comparisons blindly.

  You didn’t cross paths with anyone until you reached the rooms. All of the communal areas, kitchens and corridors that you crossed were deserted though Natasha didn’t mention why. You had questioned it as you ventured throughout the building, just never aloud. Truthfully, you had a few questions about the base but figured as they were purely down to curiosity it would be best to keep them to yourself. The main one being, who the hell were these people? 

  “And these are the rooms,” Natasha announced at the front of two corridors. “The boys are down there but they all have their own homes so they usually just use them for crashing in after missions,” she explained, only giving you more questions. “But me and Wanda stay here,” she said simply, offering no explanation as to why they didn’t feel the need to have a home away from their workplace. 

  As if she had heard her name being mentioned, Wanda came through the closest door and smiled upon noticing you and Natasha. “That’s our room,” the redhead informed. Oh? Five years in captivity had really thrown off your gaydar. 

  “Cool,” you muttered, glad you had at least something in common with the two women. 

  “You can take any of these rooms.” You peered down the corridor, counting five doors in total. Were they all the same? Were some of them safer than others? Maybe it would be best if you went to the end room in case anything happened.

  Wanda noted your silent anguish. “The one next to us has a pretty good view,” she told you as she opened up the door in question. You followed on without much convincing and took in the space before you. Judging by the rest of the building, you had half expected it to be much larger than it was but you were relieved to find that wasn’t the case. Similarly, there were no obnoxiously large windows across the walls and they were instead placed at head height and large enough to let a generous amount of natural light in while still giving you privacy. There was a made up double bed in the centre, a desk, ensuite, tv and what you presumed to be a closet. You had never had any of those possessions or amenities before. Now you were being offered them all and you still weren’t sure what it was you needed to do to make your keep or how long they wanted to put you up. Did they just want to keep running tests on you? Did they want to keep you away from the public? Were they hoping to benefit from your mystery abilities? These were questions you couldn’t keep pondering in silence because the anticipation of what was next was killing you.

  “What is this place?” You asked slowly as you faced the two women in the doorway. 

  “The Avenger’s base?” Natasha answered. 

  “What’s the Avengers?” You continued when neither showed signs of being irritated by your questioning. 

  “We’re a team that was brought together to do some good,” the redhead said. “That’s not to say that we all haven’t made mistakes. We’ve all messed up at one point or another, but now we’re trying to use our skills and abilities to fight where we need to and help where we can.” 

  “Abilities?” You frowned. Natasha glanced at Wanda who lifted her right hand and suddenly produced a small bloom of red flecks that swirled around her fingertips like some kind of lifeform. You didn’t say anything, but your awe was evident by your slightly parted lips and mesmerised gaze. Wanda smiled at your reaction and let the red disperse, planning on showing you more some other time when you might not be so overwhelmed. 

  “What else?” You asked at once, taking both of them by surprise. 

  “Steve and Bucky are strong, Sam can fly,” Wanda began to list. “Vision is a robot.”

  “Clint can shoot arrows but he claims to be retired,” Natasha added. “Then there are the ones that are more…part time,” she summarised. 

  “What about you?” You inquired. 

  “Spy,” she shrugged nonchalantly and you couldn't help but let a faint smile slip through at the sheer absurdity of it all. Yet you believed every word. There wasn’t much else to go on. 

  “Right,” you muttered. “And where do I fit into all this?”

  “That’s what we want to figure out,” Wanda replied, knowing that it was all a lot to take in. What if you can’t? You wanted to ask but decided against it once you realised you might get an answer you didn’t want. 

  “Okay,” you settled with, though your shaky exhale wasn’t missed. 

  “We’ll give you some space,” Wanda said. “But if you need anything you know where we’ll be,” she offered with a sincere smile. 

  “Thanks,” you said before they closed the door. You gave the room another glance over before heading to the bathroom where you found the compact walk-in shower that you had hoped to discover. Without a moment’s delay, you lay down on the hard plastic floor and tried to focus on the inclusion and faint coolness felt through your clothes. You curled your knees up to your chest and hugged them tight, hoping against all odds that you could provide the Avengers with whatever they were looking for. 

[amuromi]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 5.3k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! mamaguro!reader, tipsy/drunk sex, unprotected sex, established relationship (married), pet names (mama), oral (f!receiving), postpartum/baby weight insecurities, implied safe word (not used, just mentioned)

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ According to Gege, Mamaguro was what got Toji on the straight and narrow for a little while. I wanted to explore the thought a bit.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

The familiar beeping of the keypad cuts through the droning static of the night, trilling crickets and passing cars, as Toji punches in the passcode. The little light seems to hesitate before flickering green and blinking its acquiescence to his presence. With a dull click of the motion sensor the entryway blooms with a stark wash of fluorescence bright enough to make him squint, eyes stinging after wasting hours in the dimness of some club. His pockets are lighter and his head is fuzzier for it, the taste of alcohol still burning on his tongue as he kicks off his shoes and pads deeper into the apartment. The entryway goes dark without him to trigger the automatic light and the hall offers no light to replace it but he’s familiar enough between these walls to find his way towards where he needs to be, stumbling only once as a toy finds its way underfoot, squeaking as he kicks it away. 

The room is illuminated by the faintest light leaking through the slightly parted curtains. The thread of faded yellow light slants across the bed, finding shapes in the darkness. The parted lips of his wife and the fluttering lashes of his son. He’s a tiny thing even after all these months–still a wisp of a person–but bigger than the last time Toji saw him. His face has started falling into place, fledgling features beginning to take shape. So strange that this little thing could look so much like him. Familiar black hair falls across his forehead like streaks of ink and his face is screwed up into a scowl even as he sleeps, legs kicking and arms twitching. 

Toji’s shadow cuts through the beam of light as he stands over his son in his nest of pillows–“to keep him from rolling,” he vaguely remembers you saying. Toji’s hands are rough, calloused and scarred, but he can’t deny the urge to touch his son. He presses a dimple into the baby’s cheek, and his skin is plump and warm like a dumpling beneath the pad of his father’s fingertip as he begins to stir in earnest at the disturbance. He stretches like a cat, grape-sized fists reaching out above his head before his eyes blink open with a yawn. Twin pairs of deep blue eyes meet in the darkness. Toji expects the tears that ensue as his son’s sleepy gaze lands on the hulking silhouette standing over the bed. At first it’s only the whisper of a sound, short garbled whimpers that slowly work up to a volume loud enough to wake you. The reaction is immediate, platitudes ready on your tongue even as your voice slurs with exhaustion. 

“What’s wrong, Megumi?” The raspy drawl of your voice is enough to soothe the baby’s tears as you sit up to hold him. It takes you so long to acknowledge Toji that he has to wonder if you’re purposefully ignoring him as you fret over the crying baby. A curt “welcome home” is all you can muster towards him as you dote on your son, shushing and cooing until his little whimpers turn into snores. The nursery is at the end of the hall–the farthest room from the front door at your insistence–and you shoulder past Toji to take Megumi to his room. He lets you, stepping aside because you’d never actually be able to move him even if you used all your strength. He’s as movable as a brick wall even if there’s a bit of alcohol numbing his reflexes and you know it. Knocking into him is as effective as a dog growling at a wolf. 

While you’re gone, he tosses the extra pillows to the floor along with his shirt. It’s laced with the scent of cigarettes and folded pride after spending the day whittling away his earnings on what were supposed to be sure things. Easy money made by taking low stakes bets that all unraveled one after the other. The money is wasted now and maybe he needs a fight, some kind of outlet, to expel the lingering frustration. He’s waiting for you at the foot of the bed when you return from putting Megumi down. Like a moth to a flame you come fluttering over to him looking to get burned. You stand between his spread legs and Toji can’t find it in himself to keep his hands off you. 

The tank top you wore to sleep is already rucked up your waist from sleeping and his thumbs find the exposed skin of your stomach, kneading against the new softness of your waist. It’s waning with each day as your body slowly reknits its shape after having Megumi but Toji finds himself somewhat enthralled with the lingering baby weight. You’re always quick to catch an attitude the moment he starts clinging around your extra weight. Smacking at his hands and telling him to leave you be like he cares if you’ve gotten bigger from carrying around his kid for nine months. It shows in your hips and your breasts, makes you look real good even when you moan about how long it’s taking for your body to “snap back.” It’s not like you’re a stretched rubber band to be shrinking once the tension’s gone but he keeps the thought to himself. It’s been made abundantly clear you’re not trying to hear his reassurances anytime you get to berating the body he loves so much. As if you aren’t everything he wants and more. 

“Missed you.” The words sting worse than the alcohol. It isn’t in him for Toji to be saying things like that often. But both of you already know he hates being away from you, and now Megumi, too. His hands tighten around your waist as you try to pull away, pulling you closer even as your feet drag until he can rest his face against the lingering roundness of your stomach. He got you like this. Everything about you in this moment, the tired drawl of your voice and the added softness of your body is all his doing and he’s damn proud of himself. His pretty little wife that suffers his erratic presence and pitiful parenting with little more than patient sighs. Sometimes you’re upset and he always deserves it but even when your face is lined taut with anger he can’t help but marvel about how lucky he is. Makes him want to straighten up, be better. Makes him want to do right by you like a proper husband should. You’ve given him all your time and energy. Your name and everything. It’s the least you deserve but here he is, face smushed happily into the soft warmth of your tummy as you card through his hair, waiting for an explanation for his absence. After all, he said he’d be home two days ago. 

Toji has been gone for nearly a month, having fed you some lies about freelancing on a construction contract a few prefectures over. It’s something simple, easy to swallow. Because he can’t very well tell you about what it is he really does to keep a roof over your head. It’s selfish, lying to you the way he does, but Toji has never claimed to be a particularly altruistic man. He’s selfish and greedy. Doesn’t want anything bad coming near his girl, tainting the charitable image of him she has in her mind. If you wise up too much you might up and leave him and then where would he be? Nah, he’ll keep telling you he’s out doing grunt work, manual labor. The type of strenuous work that pays well because you don’t need to know what it is the hands he touches you and your son with are truly capable of. 

“You mad at me?” He asks when you take too long to answer him. It’s not meant to sound so teasing, so mocking, but Toji is sardonic by nature and his tongue is plied with too many shots. It makes him sound like he’s trying to rile you up. And maybe he is. Hadn’t that been his original intention before you came back to him all soft and sweet, looking so perfectly tired. He shouldn’t push you but he wants to. It’s clear you’re exhausted but he’s wide awake and pumped full of liquor and audacity. It curls around him like armor, makes him want to poke and prod until you stoop to his level and entertain his excess energy. He needs something to help him work through the high of coming home to you. His teeth find a soft spot to land above your navel and you yelp out a sharp quit it! before smacking the back of his head as his tongue tastes the place his teeth had been. 

“What do I have to be mad about?” Comes your pragmatic answer as your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging at the roots to get his mouth away from you. It doesn’t work. He’s stronger than you, won’t move unless he wants to and what reason would he ever have to leave the soft warmth of your body? You smell so good in a way you probably hate. There’s no trace of perfume on your skin. No lingering scent of soap or detergent. You smell wholly like yourself. Like sweat and something sweet and it makes him want to taste every inch of your skin. You squirm as Toji pushes your shirt higher until it’s tucked up under the swollen weight of your breasts heavy with milk. 

“Nothin’.” Toji decides even though he’s sure there’s a thousand things you could be mad at him for. He was gone two days longer than he said he’d be and wasted one of those days blowing his money on spoiled bets. He was late and still had the audacity to come home far past midnight, in those dark hours that linger just before sunrise, after you’ve been dealing with a newborn all day. Yeah, you should be mad, but he’s glad you’re not. When he looks up there’s the faintest hint of annoyance lingering on your face, pinched between your brows and weighing at the counters of your mouth. It’s a pretty look on you as his eyes begin to adjust to the muted darkness. Mussed hair, tired bruises under your eyes, and disheveled clothes. It’s a look only he gets to see because you’d never leave the house looking like you’ve just gotten into a fight. But fuck if you don’t make it look so good. 

It’s enough to make Toji smile. Something mean and wanting as he stands to get in your face. He can hear it in your voice, that aloof attitude that you get whenever he’s in one of his moods. You’re trying your hardest not to rise to his prodding and it’s almost annoying how fucking perfect you are. The kind of woman that only exists in movies. The kind of woman that deserves more than him. But Toji won’t let anyone else have you. He made that decision a while ago. Marriage and a baby. A ball and chain to tether you to him. He watches the realization dawn on your face as he presses in until you’re nose to nose, a nervous “not tonight, Toji” whispering over his lips as you try to pull away from him again. He wants it to be tonight. And every night after. How can you be so perfect and expect him not to be panting after you like a dog every second of the day?

“Let me do it,” he asks, voice toeing the line of begging as his hands find your waist again. “Let me have it, mama.” Toji loves the way you squirm and pout and look away from him whenever he calls you that, like you aren’t the mother of his child. He kisses the corner of your mouth, a habit he picked up from you always pressing sweet little kisses to his scar. You fluster and shake your head, trying to pull out of his arms. He lets you just to see what you’ll do, frowning when you tug your shirt down over your stomach and go to lay back down. He watches you settle on top of the sheets, curling up on yourself like he won’t be able to see you if you make yourself small enough. Your breath comes too quickly for you to be sleeping, body lined with too much tension as you wrap yourself around his pillow like he’s not standing right here for you. His fingers wrap around your ankle, pulling you loose from the ball you’ve curled yourself into. 

“The fuck are you hiding for?” Toji snaps as you try to fix your top after his pulling rolled it up your back again. He hears you whine his name, small and petulant like you have something to be embarrassed of. It takes a moment for the realization to click into place, for Toji to fully accept the idea that his pretty little wife might not be feeling so pretty after all. Toji isn’t big on manners, doesn’t wanna stoop to saying please and begging for what he wants but he just might with the way you’re acting. It’s clear you want it. He can tell by the way you’re rubbing your thighs together. You want it just as bad as he does and yet here you are, covering yourself with the sheets and murmuring about not yet. Toji’ll be the first to admit he hadn’t paid much attention to anything the doctors were going on about when you were laid up in the hospital, sweating and crying as you held Megumi for the first time, but he does vaguely remember being advised against sex for awhile. 

“Does it still hurt, mama?” He asks because he can’t be too sure you’ve fully healed from the ordeal of pushing a little person out of your body. When you shake your head and throw your arms over your eyes, Toji frowns. He’s been gone for three and a half weeks, hasn’t fucked you in just as many months, and yet here you are mumbling over excuses to keep your clothes on. Too tired, too late, Megumi might wake up again. As if he won’t do all the work to make you feel good. 

Toji can’t help but scoff. “What are you on about?” 

As if he hasn’t answered calls while he’s balls deep inside you. If his son wakes up he’ll go see what he needs and come back to finish what he started. You don’t even need to move. All you gotta do is lay back and spread your legs while he takes care of the rest. His fingers hook into the elastic of your waistband, keen on pulling those baggy pants off. He knows what to expect. Your thighs got thicker to match the new weight of your hips. He’s expecting the plushness as he wrestles the pants off your legs even as you weakly bat at his hands and whine about him waiting a minute. All it earns you is another bite to the softness of your thigh because why would he wait even a second more after he’s already waited this long. 

He’s nearly delirious with desire. There’s no more time for waiting and your pitiful little protests aren’t doing much to convince him that you actually want him to stop. You need this. Need your man to bully you out of your clothes and prove how much he’s missed seeing your body because clearly Toji’s words aren’t enough to get it through your thick skull just how gorgeous he thinks his wife is. But fuck do you look beautiful even in the darkness. He spares a second to turn on the bedside light, ignoring your feeble attempts at protest as the dim light washes over you. He watches you try to roll away, grasping at the sheets to cocoon yourself out of sight. 

“Stop fucking runnin’, mama. Lemme see my girl. Already said I missed you.” Toji groans as he grabs you by the waist, reveling in the way you squeak as he moves you where he wants. Little thing always thinking you can run from him like he won’t pull you back every time. He’s greedy, wants to keep you to himself. You’re his. His wife, mother of his son. His, his, his. And yet you’re acting like he’s exaggerating how desperately he wants you after so long. Maybe it’s the alcohol turning him mean, but he wants to prove himself beyond a shadow of a doubt in your mind. It’s all he ever wants. To prove himself worthy. He knows he not but it’s the least he can do to pretend that one day he might be. You just have to let him. 

He takes pity on you as you squirm, grasping for the edge of the sheets Toji’s already tossed out of reach. 

“S’okay, mama. I got you.” His hands pet over your hips, fingers playing at the edge of your panties. He wants them off of you, wants to get his mouth on your cunt ’cause he can clearly see the wet spot seeping between your legs. You’ve always loved how big he is, how easy it is for Toji to move you how he wants, and yet here you are trying to play at being bashful like you don’t want his head between your legs. 

“Don’t be gross,” you whine as he works you out of your panties and brings them up to his nose. Toji doesn’t miss the way you lift your hips to help. All this huffing and puffing when you want it just as bad. It makes him want to be nastier just to get under your skin, and just like he wants you to, you whine something about him being such a nasty weirdo as he tongues at the wet spot your pussy has left in your panties. The taste has his cock swelling in his pants, twitching to be inside you after months of only using his hand. It’s nearly painful the way his dick throbs at the sight of you spread underneath him. Wet and neglected as you try to tug your shirt down over your lap. Fuck, he’s glad he married you because Toji can’t stomach the thought of another man ever being in his place and getting to see you just like this. He hears the sound of your hand smacking his shoulder more than he feels it as you try to get him from between your legs. It doesn’t work, just makes him nip at your thigh again as he shoulders your legs apart and pushes your stretched shirt out of his way. 

Toji isn’t doing it for you when his tongue licks a broad stroke up your pussy but you sigh like he is before thinking better of it and going back to pulling at his hair, trying to get him from between your legs like anything could part him from your fat little cunt. The feeling prickles over his scalp and sings down his spine in a way that has his hips grinding against the bed. He’s not worried about you as he sucks your clit into his greedy mouth, tongue tracing the shape of his name over the sensitive bud. It’s his, you’re all his. 

He can barely hear you whining over the sound of how wet your cunt is in his mouth. “Toji, get up. M’gonna squish you, stop it!” You’re not saying anything important and he tightens your legs around his head, trying to drown in the warmth of your thighs smothering him. When you don’t get your way he feels the hand not gripping his hair pressing against his shoulder. Not trying to move him, but using his immovable nature to your advantage as you try to scoot up the bed. He doesn’t care until you get far enough that his mouth pops off your cunt. There’s a shining mess of spit and arousal strung between the two of you and he’s eager to make you even messier. An arm is tossed over your wiggling hips, heavy as a steel beam to keep you from running from his mouth again. 

“Stop movin’, lemme eat in peace.” He groans as his nose nuzzles against your clit while he tongues at your fluttering hole. His eyes watch you over the soft curve of your tummy. Your eyes are wet with tears as you whimper over the feeling of his hot tongue on your pussy. You’ve been suffering just as much as he has but you’re still acting like you don’t want him to fucking ruin you, like you don’t deserve it. You do. Of course, you do. Everything and more. He feels you relax into it, hand loosening to softer tugs in his hair as your lashes flutter and lips part. This is how he likes you, soft and happy. Quiet little moans filling the room as he makes a mess between your legs. He can feel you getting close as your pussy drools down his chin. Your thighs are tensing around his head, shaking in the way they always do when you’re close to cumming. It makes him laugh, and the deep sound sings through your pussy. It’s enough to push you over the edge. 

Finally, finally, you drop the shy act and pull his mouth closer, hips grinding against his face like you’re trying to mark him up with your wetness. He can feel it glossing over his cheeks and chin, smell it as he watches you ride his face. Two fingers find their way inside your fluttering walls, hooking against that sweet spot until you squeal and he gets to hush you like that’s not exactly what he wanted to hear. Because weren’t you the one worried about waking the baby? Now listen to you. This is what he wanted and you were being all stubborn acting like he couldn’t have it. It’s not until you’re running again that he eases up. He could keep going, keep eating you until you’re all out sobbing and shoving at him to get his greedy mouth and thick fingers away from your pussy, but he’ll be nice just this once. Toji sits back on his knees and watches you cringe at the sound his fingers make as they slip out of your soaked cunt. Webs of your arousal cling between his fingers and he makes a show of dragging his tongue between them like he’s still eating you out. 

“Felt good, huh?” He knows it did. You made such a big mess and you’re still dripping onto the sheets. Makes him eager to get you on his dick. It’s still straining in his pants, painfully hard from tasting you and hearing all your little noise. He gets up just long enough to strip off his pants, ignoring the mess he’s made just from getting his head between your legs. Toji eyes your shirt, still pulled defiantly low. 

“Take it off.” You grab at the hem, fiddling with nervous fingers. “Take it off or I’ll rip it off.” He amends. You mumble something that sounds like “don’t wanna” as you cling to the fabric like it’ll keep him off you. 

Toji scoffs, “You know what to say if you don’t want to.” He reminds you as he grabs at the collar of your shirt. It’s damp with sweat as is the rest of your body. You look shimmery in the low light, eyes glittering with tears as he works you out of that last piece of clothing with a quick jerk of his arms. The shirt doesn’t put up a fight, ripping like paper so he can shove it away from your chest. Your body comes spilling out without the tight fabric clinging to you. Tits swollen with milk and tummy still holding on to that last bit of baby weight. You look like a mother and it makes his balls tighten. His mama, his girl. He got you like this and fuck if he isn’t gonna enjoy it while it lasts. He’ll leave your tits alone only ’cause you’ve been complaining–and he’s happy to listen–about how sore breastfeeding is making you. You’ve gone up a couple cup sizes and your tits look gorgeous but he won’t bother them if it’ll hurt you. 

“Toji.” You’re pouting. He can hear it in your voice and see it in the way you’re squirming as he kneels over you, fisting his cock as he stares at your body. 

“What?” Right about now he doesn’t really care about what you’re whining about unless you’re gonna start begging for his cock. His free hand finds your waist again, kneading at the softness he finds there. So plush and warm. Fucking you like this is gonna feel like he’s fucking a cloud. He hears you muttering about being too big and tells you to shut up. 

“Don’t be fucking dumb. Acting like it’s the end of the world. Shut up and let me fuck you.” Usually he’d try to be more tactful with his words. It’s only right that you get to complain about how your body changed, but right now he really doesn’t want to hear it. You’re talking down on the body that’s driving him insane like you can’t see his cock twitching at the sight of you sprawled out beneath him. Toji tosses your thighs over his, pulling you up into the cradle of his lap, remembering only vaguely to shove a pillow under your back. You cover your face as he stares at your pussy, like he didn’t just get real up close and personal when he had her in his mouth. She’s still drooling real pretty for him as he ruts against you, wetting his dick with the mess you’re making. He feels your thighs jump every time the head of his cock catches against your clit. He pulls back the hood so he can really love on it, listening to the way you choke on your breath as he grinds over the sensitive little bud. 

“Gonna let me inside, mama?” Toji asks and you nod eagerly, hips bucking in his lap. Fuck. You’re cute when you stop worrying so damn much. Acting like he isn’t dying to get his dick inside you. He can feel you clenching as he presses in, pussy gripping him so good as he drags you down on his cock. You take it so well. Inch by inch you let him inside until you’ve swallowed him down to the base, already wetting his hips with your excitement. The clenching heat is enough to stun him and Toji has to hold you still with clenched teeth to keep you from milking him to the edge too soon. You’re already trying to ride him with little bucks of your hips, hiding a smile behind your hands as you lay back against the pillows and act like you weren’t just trying to keep him off you. 

“Not so shy now, huh?” Toji asks, squeezing at your thighs as he pulls back just to fill you up again with another deep stroke. You make a pretty little noise as he bottoms out, wet lips parting around a moan even as you try to catch it with your shaky hands. He’s got you good. You’re making enough noise for the both of you as Toji stirs up your insides, keeping you locked on his dick even when it starts to get too much for you. He can feel you trying to squirm away when he gets too deep inside you, hands grabbing at his wrists, trying to pry him off you. He’s mean about fucking you now, thumb rubbing quick circles on your clit as you wail about it being too much. 

“S’not enough if you don’t cum, mama. Lemme feel it.” You’re already clenching so tight around him, pussy milking his cock like you want another baby. He’s lucky you’re on the pill because the way your body is rippling with every thrust is getting him weak. There’s no way he’d be able to pull out even if he can barely handle the one kid he’s already got. It feels too good to stop even when you’re trying to get away from the feeling of him spreading you open. 

Toji can’t help but laugh between his panting. “This is your dick, mama, stop running from it.” 

“Yeah, it’s mine.” You agree, tongue getting loose the closer you get to cumming. “Want it. Want you.” He can feel you tightening up as you babble about him being yours. Your thighs start to shake again, trying to knock shut even with his legs keeping you nice and open for him. 

“Get me wet, mama. I know you want to.” You cum hard, clit twitching under his thumb as you cream on his dick, getting him all sticky with your cum. Selfish as he is, Toji keeps you on his dick for a little while longer. Milking himself dry inside you while he keeps a quick pace on your clit. You’re crying and wailing–real loud like you don’t have a kid and neighbors–by the time he eases up on you. Your pussy is flushed and swollen around his cock when he pulls out. His dick is shiny with wetness, dragging out a mess with his softening cock. You’re leaking his cum in a frothy mess onto the sheets, pussy hot and twitching from how hard he fucked you. Toji can’t help but thumb through the mess, smearing the mix of your releases over your puffy pussy and circling your clit just to hear you whine about it being too much. So fucking pretty and all his. 

His hands rub at your thighs as he lets you off his lap, trying to work the soreness from your muscles while you catch your breath. He watches you relax as the fatigue slowly creeps back in. He kept you up far longer than he should’ve but it was worth it for the way you seem so content to let him rub on you. An hour ago you would’ve been batting his hands off of you and cowering like you didn’t want him to see you. Now you’re content to stretch out across the bed and let him squeeze anywhere he pleases. This is what he prefers. It’s his body you were berating anyway. You belong to him. You’re not allowed to act shy and be mean like he won’t remind you just how much you’re worth. He thinks about getting his mouth on you again as he watches you cuddle back up to his pillow and decides you won’t mind too much. He can taste himself leaking out of your pussy as he drags his tongue through your folds. You whine and shift but the hand you slip into his hair is gentle, letting him have his fun as long as he goes slow. He only parts from you when a sharp cry crackles through the speaker of the baby monitor. 

“I got him.” Toji says easily. You’re barely awake and it’s the least he can do after being gone for so long. “Go pee.” He reminds you as he slips back into his pants. You mumble something that might be an “okay” as he goes to see what Megumi needs. The little spud is squirming in his crib, snotting and crying like he needs something but he quiets the second Toji picks him up. He doesn’t want his bottle, doesn’t need to be changed, he’s just making noise ’cause he woke up wanting attention. Toji is content to give it to him, walking around the nursery until Megumi falls asleep again. Toji holds him a little while longer, basking in the sweet scent that seems to cling to him. Like milk and lotion as he rests a hand on his son’s back. When he gets back to bed where you’ve already changed and fallen back to sleep, Toji considers a career change. 

[imtryingbuck]

Birdie

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: The team lose their friend (I’m bad at summaries sorry)

Word count: 1,532

Warnings: Angst. My terrible attempt at a fight scene. 

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

Her hand slowly came up to her face, removing the bottom half of her mask then the glasses.

They couldn’t believe it.

They didn’t want to believe it.

“Y/n?”

~~~

Bucky’s heart was in his throat, his eyebrows raised and pulled together.

It can’t be he repeated in his head, he watched her die, he watched as the Hulk picked up the rubble and threw them like they weighed nothing. He held her in his arms the whole way home trying to attack the people who took her cold lifeless body away from his arms.

Frozen in place in the middle of the road he didn’t want to believe it, it couldn’t have been her. Yes this woman standing in front of them all posture upright and ready to attack had their friends face, same colour eyes, the same scar on her lip from the time Y/n fell over whacking her face off the kitchen counter busting her lip wide open, the exact same scar that went across her eyebrow from where she was beaten many missions before her untimely demise - she had copied Steve’s words ‘I can do this all day’ which was accurately true, making everyone who heard her through her comms laugh.

The three things wrong with this woman who was standing in front of them was, one - her eyes were so dark, nothing like Y/n who’s eyes were always so bright and full of life, joy and wonder. Two - their friend, their crazy friend who always made everyone laugh, their friend who always had their best interests at heart would never ever let anyone hurt them, taking bullets and hits just for them, let alone try and attack them. And three, their friend was dead.

“Is…is that Y-Y/n?” Clint’s raspy voice sounded through their comms.

Bucky watched as her head tilted ever so slightly to the left, his whole body went rigid as he knew what that head tilt meant.

She was about to attack.

And sure enough six individual 10 inch claws came out of her knuckles.

“What do we do?” Nat questioned.

“We can’t hurt her!” Tony says.

“Wanda control her!” Orders Steve.

Bless the redheads heart, she was trying. And failing. “I-I’m trying!”

Little bird/Y/n’s eyes shifted from Bucky to Wanda and before any of them could do anything Wanda was thrown backwards.

Like idiots they took their eyes off of the woman all in black, when they turned around the panic they already felt amplified by a thousand.

She was no longer there.

“Clint you’ve got a visual?” Steve asks.

“No…”

They heard a high pitch screeching sound of metal against metal scraping together from behind them, they turn to face that way when they hear the sound again from their original position.

“She’s toying with us”

“I’ve got a visual” Clint speaks.

“Clear shot?” Steve asks.

“What? You can’t be serious!” Bucky all but shouts.

“We injure her and then we’ll grab-“

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you” The voice that they hadn’t heard in real time for 6 long painful years suddenly says just as she appears in front of them. 

“Y/n?” Whispered Bucky.

Her eyes flickered ever so slightly but they all catch it. “Buck say her name again” Steve says.

And he does, this time they all see a flash of recognition in her eyes “Metal man talk to her” Tony tells him.

Taking in a deep breath he slowly breaths out, “Y/n? I know you’re in there doll, I can see it. It’s okay I promise. Please come back to me-us, it’s oka-“

The look on her face of her remembering vanished, along with their hope. “You must take out the strongest first in order to succeed” Winking at them, she throws Steve into a car.

Thor was then thrown.

Then Nat.

Then Sam and Tony at the same time.

Then Bruce.

Keeping them all pinned along with Wanda she stared down Bucky then smirked. “You’re the strongest you know?”

“Why didn’t you throw me first then?”

“Because… you’re the one that makes me stronger. Always have. Always will.”

“Y/n you can come back from thi-“

“Like you once said Solider, it always ends in a fight. And that’s what we shall do”

Before he even had the chance to talk some sense into her or move position she launched herself at him, throwing punch after punch to his face and body causing him to grunt in pain.

“Fight. Back. Soldat” Each word ending with a hard blow to his face.

“No” Bucky rasped out. He doesn’t want to fight back, even when they use to train together he always went easy on her - not because he was scared to hurt her but because the thought of laying a hand on her in a violent way made him feel sick to his stomach.

“Fight or die”

For Bucky it was an easy choice. Didn’t even have to think about it. Didn’t even hesitate to go to his knees, he blanked out the shouting from behind him. “You’re going to have to kill me Y/n/n because I’m not going to fight you”

Her eyes squinted and one eyebrow raised up “Coward”. She spat out. 

“You’re the one hesitating now Y/n… what does that make you?” Bucky could tell that the woman he loves was still there and trying to break through, well he hoped he could see it and it wasn’t just his hopefulness playing tricks on him.

“If killing me brings you back to our friends then doll, do it. Please”

Her face hardened as she stared him down, her stance faltered. As she squared her shoulders she looked around at the people she had pinned down. “I-I don’t want to do this but you’re my mission. So fight back”

“Okay, okay I’ll do it” He gets up slowly, he hopes that what he’s about to do is all worth it.

He throws the first punch, then the next and the next. His stomach turns at his actions but he continues to fight the love of his life.

Spitting blood out of her mouth, with her left leg she kicks him in his stomach, making him fly backwards landing just a few inches away from Steve. She makes her way towards them as he jumps up onto his feet, they meet in the middle and continue to throw punches and kicks at each other.

The Avengers hearts were beating rapidly as they watch their friends try and kill one another.

Due to the super soldier serum coursing through their veins neither one backs down, neither one grows tired.

Her claws come out and he gulps, he tries to use his vibranium arm as protection against her adamantium claws knowing his arm is stronger.

Bucky had managed to dodge the umpteenth attack when her claws dug in and sliced him across his stomach causing him to scream out in agony, he dropped to his knee’s clutching his stomach with both hands. A lone tear drops from his bright blue eyes as he looked at her.

“It’s okay…”

Y/n dropped to the floor and scrambled backwards, her eyes bounced from Bucky’s to her claws - that were covered in his blood, looking at them in horror and disgust.

“It’s okay” He kept repeating to her, he could see that it was her and not the puppet Hydra had created.

“Bucky? Bucky I’m so sorry, oh my God, what have I done, I’m sorry” His heart broke for the last time at the pain in her voice.

The team were finally able to move, their invisible chains letting them go, they all made their way to Bucky’s aide.

“I’m so sor-sorry”

Tony slowly put one foot in front of the other towards the girl who he had unofficially adopted, whose whole body shook with sobs “Sweetheart, can I ask you a question?” Their friends looked puzzled at him.

“W-w-what?”

“What’s your nickname for Bucky?”

“Buckaroo”

Tony released a strangled noise, between a laugh and a sob. “It’s okay sweetheart, look at me, he’ll be okay I promise and so will you”

“No no no I hurt hi-him”

“He’s okay Y/n/n I promise” He got closer to her and dropped to his knees “Ca-can I hold you?” He sees the hesitation in her eyes before she nodded, he didn’t waste any time in pulling her into his arms. Holding her closer and tighter as he humanly could, he couldn’t help himself from crying. For 6 years he’s not been able to touch her, to give her a hug. He cries with her, softly telling her ‘everything will be okay’.

Despite the pain that Bucky feels in his stomach he doesn’t stop the smile from forming on his split lips or the tears from falling.

They all stand there watching Tony cling on to their friend who they thought they had lost 6 years prior.

None of them had a dry face. None of them knew that when they woke up this morning they were going to be reunited with their friend.

Their friend, a huge part of their blended and mismatched family was alive and back.

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Tags: @bethexo07 @doublebassallie @vicmc624 @cyberficlya @elijahssuit @learisa @unaxv @sapphirebarnes

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

[grogusmum]

Crash Into Me

alpha!DIN DJARIN X omega!F!READER

WORD COUNT 2100ish

WARNINGS: A/B/O Dynamics, omega reader in mild peril

A/N: The idea of Din discovering his alpha nature as an adult took hold of my brain and I couldn’t shake it, or write anything much else until I got it down, so here it is. I’ve never written a/b/o before and I don't read too much of it. So please be gentle with me. 

It starts out in third person, from Din’s pov and then switches to second person when the pov opens to both of you. 

It’s pretty fluffy (What? You say. Shocking, I know! Hazel replies.) and doesn’t contain smut. (I know, I know)

This here is a one-shot that could expand when and if inspiration strikes, if there is to be smut in its future, the Magic 8 Ball says “Reply hazy, try again”.

*** When reblogging or talking about Omegaverse, please remember that ‘a/b/o’ without the slash punctuation marks (/) is considered a slur for the Aboriginal people in Australia. 

Din enters the local cantina. The job’s complete, but the kid needs to eat before they bring the bounty back to the client. He gently lifts Grogu out of his satchel and places him in a booth. Grogu coos and tries to climb onto the table.

“Hey don't do that, pal.”

A friendly-looking server comes up just as he settles himself and Grogu on one side of the booth with a ready warm smile.

“Welcome, traveler,” the server greets. Upon seeing Din settling Grogu beside him on the inside of the booth, she corrects herself sweetly, “I’m sorry, welcome travelers! Are you interested in eating or just a- ”

“Yes, thank you,” Din interjects. “Um, just for this one here.”

“Very well, the special today is fried gorg over pashi noodles.” she reaches over to point out a few items. Reaching past Din, as Grogu is playing with the single-page menu.

“Unfortunately we are out of roasted craw-maw and the ladnek bisque.” 

Din stills when her arm crosses him, below his helmet. His helmet filters out much in standard mode, but he catches a scent he has never experienced. His head swims slightly, normally he would turn on the extra filtration, but something in him wants more.

“Oh, I apologize for my reach, sir,” she pulls back realizing she has invaded his space.

“Don’t worry about it,” Din's voice is low, lower than usual. He is taken by surprise, it’s his ‘bring you in warm or cold voice’, without any of the menace. He clears his throat. And his server does the same, he looks at her properly for the first time. Warm eyes and very cute, pretty, he decides. Her moment of fluster pleases him in a way he doesn't understand and he tries to keep from puffing out his chest. Din thanks the stars for his helmet.

“He will take the gorg and noodles,” he says. “Enthusiastically.”  

Grogu watches this exchange closely.

“Very good!” her laugh is warm and genuine. Still smiling as she goes to the kitchen. Din wonders what that was all about and thinks of putting the extra filtration on again.But doesn't.

A busser delivers the food, Din thanks them politely, but can’t help but look past them to see where his server has gotten to.

Grogu digs in, just as his dad anticipated, with enthusiasm. Din is just happy he is eating a cooked gorg.

Quickly, Grogu is down to his last noodle.

“You ready, kid?” 

Grogu looks up and nods, making a little mrapp sound. Seeming full and content as Din lifts him off the bench and he sinks comfortably back into the satchel. 

After Din goes to settle up, he tells himself he is not put out at all that he didn't get to pay the pretty sever with the sweet smile and twinkling eyes directly, as he heads out the back. It's just the quickest way to the Crest. It has nothing to do with passing the kitchens. 

The crash of trash bins behind him catches Din’s attention, and he rounds the corner to investigate. He pulls up short, seeing her against the cantina wall, a hulking human looming. The bin lids continue rolling, then reverberating like cymbals. Her look of fear sends a kick of adrenaline through Din's system, and there is a rush in his ears. His growl shocks him. He has more control than this.

When her attacker looks in Din’s direction, she tries valiantly to take advantage and kick him. He is thrown off balance, yes, but it's not enough, and he quickly has her by the arm.

“I’m only going to say this once, let her go.” Din’s hand moved to his blaster.

“I’m only going to tell you once, to mind your business.”

Grogu ducks as Din draws his blaster. 

“Wait!” She shouts. 

“See the omega wants to go with me.”

“I do not,” she says, pulling away, but he clamps his hand harder, causing her to wince. 

Din is torn between seeing red at the pained expression on her face and the curiosity of this new information- what did he call her? Is that your name? Din holsters his blaster, his hands come to his hips. 

“Fine. It seems to me, Omega doesn’t want to go with you.” Din makes himself take up as much space as he can, and drops his voice further. Surprising himself yet again today, he adds “she wants to come with me.”

Confused and again relieved to be under his helm, for after saying such a presumptuous thing, Din can't keep from wincing just a little. Regardless, he stays in Bounty Hunter mode. The woman pulls away again and walks over to Din. He almost forgets about her assailant, watching her progress. Coming to him. Almost-

“It is Omega’s grace and not mine that you are still standing. I see you again, you won’t be so lucky,” Din says only after he has stepped in front of her, completely shielded her from view. 

When the other man is completely out of view, he turns and looks down at her. She is very close to him, eyes large. He catches a hint of that smell again. His thoughts lose focus-

“Omega,” he almost whispers. 

She looks, he isn't sure, concerned? Disappointed?

Then she tells him her name.

“Oh,” Din chuckles, it’s just a misunderstanding. He is taken aback at how relieved he feels. “I'm sorry- he called you Omega, I just assumed it was your name.”

Now, it is her turn to look confused, but then she smiles. 

“Can I escort you to your home or…”

“I thought I was going with you?” She says, a little cheekily.

Din flusters, but he is so curious about her and his feelings, that he makes no further comment, he just places a hand on her lower back and guides her in the direction of the Razor Crest. 

Grogu starts to fuss, reaching for this virtual stranger.

She looks at the baby and smiles-

“Do you want a carry?” 

Grogu coos and babbles, reaching animatedly.

“I don’t mind, if you don't.”

“Alright,” Din says and brings the satchel around to his front, and she scoops Grogu out. Grogu immediately clings to her shirt, telling a thrilling tale that usually only he, himself understands.  But Din watches her close. She listens in wrapped attention and laughs at seemingly all the right places.

Din can see her looking at him with curiosity, a question on her lips. He has plenty of his own.

The assailant had called her omega, but it's not her name. It stirs memories. He hadn't really thought about Aq Vetina, or the lessons the Mandalorians had taught him about his unique biology in years. 

This woman is not called Omega, she may be and omega. She might have omega physiology, but that would mean he is not what he thought… 

After the battle droid siege that took his parent from him, Din was taken from his homeworld by the Mandalorians before puberty. They understood Aq Vetina was peopled by Alphas, Betas, and Omegas, and knew that even out of their society, Din would have to understand what it all means. They not only taught him about what it is to be any of those designations, but instilled discipline so he would be able to marshal control over the base instincts that can disrupt his ability to function in non-a/b/o society such as the Child of the Watch and much of the galaxy. But not being part of the unique group of people they of course, couldn't tell Din what it felt like.

From what Din understands about it, he has always assumed he must be a beta. But when he thinks about it, he has never knowingly been in the presence of an alpha or an omega, the two designations that would inspire the strongest reactions. 

Lost in thought Din arrives at the Crest before he knows it. The Mandalorian hits a few buttons on his vambrace, lifting the security protocols, and lowering the gangway. He again guides his guest with a light hand on her lower back.

Din knows he should say something… 'welcome' or 'make yourself at home' comes to mind and is nixed immediately. He goes with-

"Watch your step."

She looks around. Her curiosity spurs her on but he can see, no feel, a guardedness too.

He reaches for Grogu, and the baby reaches back, then squawks in indignation when he is placed in his hammock.

"Sorry, Grogu. I'll come get you soon," he says as he presses the button to close the door to the bunk.

When Din turns, she is more apprehensive than curious. It comes off her in waves. He knows he needs to explain, but… he doesn't know exactly what to say.

"I'm not going to hear the end of that for some time."

She gives a small smile.

"I- um…" Din starts and stops, her eyes are so… 

Din takes off his gloves. 

He tries again, taking her hand-

"Aq Vetina is my homeworld, but I was saved after my parents were kiled and taken in by the Mandalorians when I was very young."

Whether she is also from Aq Vetina or just knows of it, he doesn't know, but he can see some recognition. She looks down at his hand on hers, his thumb making circles on her wrist. Her eyes close, and she hums a contented sound. The sound causes fireworks to go off in him. Din breaks away to walk over to a control panel on the wall and shuts down the lights.

You are plunged into darkness. Has your curiosity gotten you into trouble? 

"As a Mandalorian, to protect my creed my face can not be seen by others," he explains from across the hold. "But I want to take off my helmet with you-" 

The dark is absolute, but you can tell where he is from the sound of his voice. Then a hiss and clunk, followed by a soft fwump, fabric maybe. There is a moment of silence, then right in front of you-

"Do you understand why?"

He sounds different, no longer speaking through the helmet. And his scent- you breathe it in. 

"I think so, Alph- you're an alpha," you didn’t plan to whisper.

Din is hit with your scent, now unencumbered by the basic filtration within the helmet. He takes your hand again, bringing your wrist to his nose, inhaling. You know he is restraining himself from going to the scent gland in your neck. But if you are honest with yourself, it's all you want.

Din doesn't know what he is doing, he feels untethered, almost floating. He has never felt this way, his thinking is not confused though, on the contrary it is very clear though it almost feels like someone else's thoughts.

You move closer, bringing your neck so close. Din lowers your hand-

"Can I?"

"Please, Al- Mando"

"Din, please call me Din."

You tip you head to the side, you trust he will only smell, you don't know how you know and that frightens you.

"Alright, Din."

A shiver runs through him, and very slowly, he brings his face to the juncture of your neck and shoulder and inhales deeply. He feels drunk. His training battling with instinct and training all but raises a flag of truce when your nose is buried in his now bare neck, and instinct rumbles its victory. Little does he know that that rumble escapes him until you moan in response. 

"Din," you sigh. His response is quick and desperate, a growl rumbling from his chest and arms wrap tightly around you, as he murmurs your name.

How you got to the large crate you are now sitting on, you aren’t sure. Your feet dangle, legs open with Din standing between them, but he is not pressing against you. His head is tucked against your shoulder as he noses against your scent gland. Your hands in his hair,it's soft and fine. He does nothing without express permission. You have never met an alpha like this. You remind yourself he wasn't raised in a/b/o society, where the hierarchy puts him at the top, so many taught that they can just take what they want, like the alpha behind the cantina. You also can tell he is holding back, keeping instinct in check. And you are torn between incredible respect and wanting him to let go. 

“I want to kiss you, may-”

“I want to kiss you too, Din.”

Din brings his mouth to yours with an urgency that scares him. He wants to live here, right here. He knows he has to marshal himself, take control. But your lips are soft and the sounds you make, he wishes he could see you- 

Suddenly, there is the swoosh of a door to your right and an affronted cry that is as cute as it is furious. You smile, your lips still against his.

“Time’s up, I guess,” Din sighs.

"For now."

THANK YOU FOR READING 💚

You can find more of my writing here, and if you are interested in being tagged for this or any of my other works, here is my taglist form.

[chubbyreaderchan]

Pinky Promises | Michael Myers x F!Reader | MDNI 18+

A/n: Michael and (Y/n) finally passionately hug each other and mush bathing suit areas but it is marked where it starts if you just wanna know what happens next without the spice. 

Warnings: Canon typical violence with probably too graphic a description, size kink, p in v, allusion to oral sex f receiving, Michael Myers is a virgin, Y/n is not but he’s a big boy, he does not give a fuck, and charges on through, unprotected sex, uhhh the mask stays on, Michael cums a lot cuz i’m gross. oh and his favorite cereal is Sugar Pops because the 60′s had sucky cereal.

1, 2, 3, 4 (Release unknown if at all, lemme know if you want a part 4?) 

With pinkies locked, (Y/n) felt like she did all those years ago with little Michael, her best friend. The one she had always wanted to be with. Here he was with her, blood coating her skin. His head cocked to the side and his breathing was shallow behind the latex. He was so close to her that she could smell the copper and the sweat that came off of the towering man. 

She moved her hand from his strong grip, rubbing the blood on the once pristine white towel around her body. Her mind was screaming at her that he was dangerous. That he would kill her. He was a monster covered in blood. 

But her heart still saw the eyes of the little boy she knew so long ago. (Y/n) still cared for Michael, perhaps she only cared for her precious memories. The words that fell from her lips felt foreign. They echoed as if someone else was saying them inside of her head. 

“Are… you going to kill me, Michael?” she said. 

He was a confused puppy as if he hadn’t heard those words uttered before. His head cocked to one side and then slowly to the other. He did not raise his knife to stab her, in fact, the voice in his head didn’t seem interested in killing her. 

Michael’s bloodied hand reached out and gripped her waist. His hand trailed up her body as if he was confused by the shape of it. Something in his mind snapped when his calloused fingers brushed the side of her breast. Something Michael hadn’t felt before, deep in his stomach, in his chest, and loins. 

“Michael, you can’t touch me there. I--” 

She grabbed his wrist and pushed him off of her torso. 

“I know I promised Michael, but I’m engaged,” 

(Y/n) swallowed, glancing at the knife in his hand. 

“Listen, why… don’t you clean up. I’ll get dressed and we can talk,” 

She expected him to stay in place when she moved forward but he sidestepped and gracefully slipped into the spot she was in. 

--

(Y/n)’s hands tremmored as she pulled night clothes from her suitcase. Adrenaline pumped in her body and she couldn’t decide if she should turn Michael in. Her soft nightgown cascaded over her body, and she could hear the water in the bathroom running. 

She was allowing him to wash off the evidence in her bathroom. (Y/n) fixed her hair for bed as it was needed before her heart seemed to race when she realized the water was no longer running. 

Her feet padded against the pea green carpet she both loathed and loved, out into the hallway. The bathroom door opened and steam fell out, clearly, he enjoyed the water unbelievably hot. His hulking figure stepped out softly, (Y/n)’s face burned at the sight. Only a white t-shirt and cheaply made tightly whiteys were on his body. A splotch of blood stained the collar and she had to admit he looked good from what she could see. He was raw muscle from head to foot. No matter her weight or size he seemed to engulf her like a solar eclipse. It was no doubt that he could pick her up and move her as if she weighed nothing. 

His hand clung to his knife, as a child would a favorite stuffed animal but in the other hand was something rectangular. 

“You remember that day?” she asked. 

He walked towards her, shame long forgotten in his years in a mental hospital. Or perhaps Michael wasn’t born with the feeling of shame. He held the picture frame up to her and she smiled a natural cheeky smile that made Michael’s chest hurt again. 

“We played knights! Remember?” she giggled. 

Gently she took the picture from his hands. “It’s the only picture of us I have anymore,” 

The frown on her face was something that made Michael feel the need to kill all over again. But not her. Never her. The shape wouldn’t touch her, not like that… at least not permanently. The same wetness he wiped from his own eyes days ago seemed to drip down her cheek. 

His thumb curiously rubbed the tear from her face and she flinched before leaning into his warm tanned hand. 

“I’m sorry Michael,” she said softly. “I just miss those days you know. Those are my best memories. But my fiance doesn’t want me to live in the past,” 

Michael was glad he killed him the moment he saw him. Michael didn’t know how to comfort her, but at least the source of her sad look was done. 

The Shape lifted the latex mask just enough to uncover his lips. His hand on her cheek lifted her chin and he bent down and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. It was small, childish, sweet, and similar to the one she gave him when they were children. The first and only kiss he ever had from anyone that wasn’t his mother. 

(Y/n) didn’t stop him. She leaned into him and enjoyed the warm chapped lips against her own. Then his tongue invaded her mouth like an aggressive intruder. Poking and prodding around her. Tasting every inch of her surprised mouth. Michael’s rough hand slid from her cheek to her throat, squeezing the pad of his thumb into the side of her neck. Firm but not choking. 

He pulls away and tugs the mask over his face quickly. Honey strands of saliva connected them for a moment before dribbling down her lip. Her face felt like it was on fire, and she knew it was awful but she wanted him to do it again to her. 

But she knew Michael. Perhaps she was the only one who knew Michael. He would do things only if he wanted to do them. Though, those things he was willing to do were often if she was there or if she was asking him to do them. 

“Michael, are you hungry? I didn’t have dinner,” she asked gently. 

-- 

It was hardly a dinner at all. It was a bowl of sugary cereal and milk. She had to dig around for the bowls and spoons and Michael watched her from the corner of the kitchen. 

“Do you still like Sugar Pops?” 

The only response she got was him sitting down at the small table. (Y/n) poured their bowls and sat down. 

It was fascinating watching Michael eat, he maneuvered around the mask as if he had it on his entire life. Not even a peak of his face could be seen as he downed bowl after bowl of cereal. (Y/n) only consumed the one, downing the milk and rubbing the milk mustache off with the back of her hand. She was enchanted with Michael. 

(Y/n) was always enchanted by Michael. 

The front door slammed open and shut again. (Y/n)’s back stiffened. 

“That must be Richie,” she stands up. “Stay here, Michael,” 

Michael’s hand went to his trusty blade that was set on the table. He watched her walk past him and leave beyond the kitchen. 

“Oh my god, Richie,” She said. 

He stood covered in blood and limping. 

“We need to get out of here, there’s a maniac out there,” he coughed. 

Crimson splattered from his lips and into the carpet.

“He tried to ki--” he froze. 

(Y/n) knew if she turned around at that moment she would see Michael’s looming figure. So she did. 

“Michael, please,” she said softly. “Go back into the kitchen,” 

“Michael?” Richie spat. “THIS IS THAT LITTLE BLONDE BASTARD I’VE BEEN COMPETING WITH ALL THESE YEARS,” 

(Y/n) flinches at the volume, and Michael takes several steps forward. Richie grabs (Y/n)’s arm and throws her to the ground. 

“Take the bitch, you bastard. Kill her, fuck her, I don’t fucking care. Just let me go,” he pleaded. 

Michael is frozen. Stuck between picking her up and stabbing him until he was sure he couldn’t get up again. But then she stands up, and the choice is made for him. A shadow in the night, he rushes Richie and stabs him in the chest. 

(Y/n) screams. 

“Michael!,” She calls, but she can’t seem to care. 

At least not about Richie. Her fiance’s bloodied hand reaches up and tries to gouge Michael in the eye. He fumbles, unable to find the socket through the latex of the mask. With a sickening crunch of skull and brain matter, Michael stabs Richie in the temple. Blood flies across the burnt orange carpet staining the shag forever. 

(Y/n) exhaled the breath she was holding. Relief seemed to flood her entire body, and endorphins caused her skin to produce goosebumps. The stress of an unhappy relationship was gone from her entire being and Michael was the one to do it. 

“What do we do now?” she asked softly. 

Her shaking hands returned. Michael as always, said nothing. He lumbered up the stairs and came back down them in his blue coveralls. He grabs Richie’s corpse by the ankles and begins to haul him off, somewhere she did not know. 

-- 

Hours passed and the night grew darker. (Y/n) worried he was caught. That somehow they’d track her down and they’d never see each other again. The stress bit at her skin with a swarm of mosquitoes that seemed to eat at her unless she was doing something else. 

The blood was cleaned from the carpet. Boxes moved and unpacked. Laundry was started in the basement and she put out some clean clothes, which were of course much too short for Michael, on the bed for him to sleep in. 

She suddenly felt like she was playing house with little Michael Myers all over again. Her final stop was the two empty cereal bowls that sat in the sink. She had no clue of the figure behind her until his large hands wrapped around her neck. (Y/n) gasped before she felt the large body behind her, soft latex pressed against her cheek. 

-SPICE STARTS HERE-

In the center of her spine, she could really feel him. Thick and hard, did murder excite him? His hips pushed forward pushing her into the sink, rubbing himself against her and against the fabric of his clothing. 

Her heart dropped into her warm loins and her eyes fluttered shut. The drag of rough cotton and clotted blood made her body tingle in such a strange way. (Y/n) wanted to turn, to see him but his grip on her neck wouldn’t allow her to move. 

“Michael,” she choked. “Bed. Please,” 

Michael pulled away, and for a beat, she thought she had upset him. Made him stop what he wanted, but then he lifted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His hand gripped the space where her buttcheek and thigh met, he couldn’t help but squeeze it as he did so. 

The Shape lumbered up the creaking stairs and into the master bedroom. He threw her down and she bounced slightly against the spring, the clothes on the bed flew off and Michael stared her down. The silky nightgown had dragged up her hips and revealed sweet cotton panties with growing dampness staining the front. 

He wanted to see more of her. Michael climbed into the bed on his knees, hovering above her body. Rough fingers dragged up her arms, covering her in fresh blood. His thumbs hooked over the thin straps of the dress and pulls them down until (Y/n)’s breasts were uncovered. 

Hot breath escaped the bottom of the mask, brushing against her skin. He stared, unmoving at the breasts that seemed to suit his wife so perfectly. 

Michael didn’t care for laws or technicalities. As far as he was concerned they had been married since the day she asked him. It only took time for him to finally be with her. 

His large hand finally moved from the place against her arm and down to her waist like he had before. Up her curves and squished anything he could before grabbing her breast in his hand. He ran a thumb over the hardened nipple and a soft hum of approval escaped (Y/n)’s soft lips. 

So he did it again. 

She hummed again. 

He pinched the nipple and she moaned. 

That moan sent a shiver down his spine and the fabric of his clothing felt suffocating. It was like she could read his mind, her fingers pulled the heavy zipper down his body. Warm hands traced his strained t-shirt and down into his underwear. Soft fingertips followed his long shaft to the tip and the way her eyes widened in fear caused a low grunt to leave Michael’s lips. 

His hips slammed up into her hand. The fingers wrapped around him and he grunted again and another animalistic hump into her palm followed. (Y/n) smiled at him, and her free hand ran up his chest and to his mask.

Michael grabs her wrist just before she could tug off the mask. 

“It’s okay Michael, you can leave it on,” she assured him. 

Her hand on his throbbing cock moved down his length, his pubic hair was soft against her fist. Up and down she pumped his shaft and Michael could hardly control his hips. But his own hands were now exploring her body as she touched him. 

He enjoyed the softness of her breasts but he soon found his way into the front of her panties. Blood leaving trails down her body and ruining her underwear. She hardly had time to care. Michael found her clit and touched roughly. A long moan escaped her pretty lips and he moved his fingers faster around the nub. Her hips lifted off the bed and she could feel an orgasm building quickly. 

“Wait,” she tried to slow him down and stop him but her body beat her to the punch. 

She came while being barely touched by him. Her scream was loud and he liked it. It was better than the screams of his victims. Much better than any music or cries for help. He didn’t even stop his fingers over her clit. Her hands were removed from his cock and now wrapped around his wrist. 

But he didn’t slow down the assault on her clit. He pushed her through a second orgasm and tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. 

“Slow down Michael,” she begged. 

He grunted at the tone. He licked his lips behind the mask, his fingers finally leaving the sensitive nub. Michael inserted two fingers, and she jumped in surprise at the intrusion. Thick and rough in the best ways. The grip on his wrist loosened and he began pumping in and out of her, his head cocking to the side as he watched her face contort. 

The digits were removed just before she could reach another euphoria. He looked at the glistening on his fingers before slipping them under his mask for a taste. Michael groaned at the flavor and knew he would become addicted to her. 

His hands hooked around her panties and he ripped them into two. Then his jumpsuit was around his hips and his cock was released from its irritating prison. (Y/n) leaned forward from her spot on the pillows. He was huge, of course, he was huge. This and long, curving just right. Pre-cum oozed from the tip and she licked her lips. 

“Michael, you have to be careful, you’re big--” 

Words caught in her throat as he flipped her onto her stomach. He squeezed and smacked the meat of her ass before pressing against her body. He was prodding at her wet entrance. 

“It’s too big, Michael,” 

He huffed and roughly pushed into her, a yelp of pain and surprise at the stretch caused him to twitch inside of her. Michael’s hands traced up her body again, stopping to grab her tits and then around the front to her throat for leverage. His dull nails bit into her skin but it was nothing compared to the pleasurable burn of Michael as he began to rock his hips. 

It didn’t take long for him to find a wild, yet consistent rhythm. He growled and grunted like a caged animal and the burn turned into pure pleasure as his cock brushed against the pressure point deep inside her walls. 

“Oh, fuck Michael,” she whined. 

He rammed into her hard at that and she moaned. His fingers tightened around her throat, (Y/n)’s vision began to get hazy as he pulled her against his pistoning hips. Just as she was about to fall into the darkness he let go and he felt her walls flutter around him. 

“Holy fuck,” She whined as she came around his cock. 

The tight sensation was too much. Michael couldn’t hold off anymore. He came. Hard and thick ropes of cum from years of isolation and lack of sexual interest. He kept cumming, more than anyone she had ever been with. 

His body slumped heavily against her back as it finally stopped. He grunted into her ear from beyond the mask and his huffing hot breath brushed against her shoulder. (Y/n) had no choice, she lay with his weight on top of her. His cock pulled from her body finally, rolling to the side flat on his back. 

(Y/n) turned over and sighed. 

“I love you, Michael. I know you probably won't or can’t understand that, but I always have and I always will,” she said softly. 

(Y/n) leaned up and kissed the soft cheek of his mask.

As she turns to pull from Michael, he grabs her arm again. He lifts the mask with his free hand just enough for his lips to show. The soft pink lips crashed into hers with all tongue and teeth invading her mouth again. She welcomed it and he pulled away again. Instead of pulling his mask down, however, he began kissing down her body. Licking and tasting her. 

“Again already?” 

She jumped in surprise when his tongue licked over her folds. 

[nikethestatue]

A Match Baked In Heaven

Summary

Part 1

Lonely Boy

London, England

Present Day

“Promise me that you will be normal.”

“I am always normal.”

“That is demonstratively untrue. You are never normal,”

“Well then what do you want from me? If I am not normal to begin with, how can I be normal in this instance?”

“Fake it. Pretend.”

“Why don’t you just drive? In silence.”

Cassian sighed a dramatic sight, and continued on driving, preferring not to push the issue any further. Lord knew it took him months, actual months to convince his stubborn ass of a brother to actually agree to try this. In all honesty, Cassian was feeling exhausted. Drained. Defeated. And he never felt defeated. But this whole…thing…was akin to that Greek myth, with the guy who kept pushing a huge rock up a mountain, only to reach the top, and for the rock to skid back down and for the climb to resume again. And again. And again. That’s how he felt with his wayward, unruly, scandalous brother Azriel.

Azriel was looking out the car window, a scowl on his face.

Cassian wasn’t going to engage. The last thing he needed for his brother to say ‘turn the car around, I am not going’. He wasn’t going to risk it.

“Where are we even?” Azriel muttered at last, his brow furrowing as he looked at the unfamiliar streets. “Is this bird posh?”

Cassian arched a brow at him and blew out a breath. You can take the boys out of a council estate, but you can’t take the council estate out of the boys. He and Azriel grew up in abject poverty, with their alcoholic father, his cunt of a wife, and their two abhorrent step-brothers. Decades later, sometimes it slipped–Azriel’s plain talk. 

“Who cares if she is posh?” Cassian shrugged instead of answering. “You are Azriel Night. She should be impressed,”

Azriel rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Posh birds don’t care about all that.”

Here he was: the shy, awkward boy that Cassian remembered. Azriel, with his scarred hands, his awful self-esteem, his sense of unworthiness and his head full of doubts. Despite the blustering bravado that he usually carried like a shield, when left stripped and bare, Azriel was a boy who made it big, who got lucky in life, but who thought little of himself. 

Azriel sighed and then pointed at the window.

“Look!  A pub. Let’s stop and have a pint instead.”

Tempting as it was, Cassian shook his head determinedly and said, “No. We have an appointment and we will keep it.”

He glanced at Azriel and added, “And don’t be pouting.”

“I am not pouting!”

“You are definitely pouting.”

A moment later.

“And rolling your eyes.”

“Fuck off.”

“How about,” Cassian chewed the inside of his cheek and then offered, “we’ll get a pint after.”

“After, I’ll need heroin!”

Cassian didn’t bother responding–it was all just bluster anyway. Azriel didn’t even drink because he was training. And considering how badly the training was going, there wasn’t going to be any drinking or any heroin if he wanted to continue playing, and not get benched for the rest of the season.

Azriel was looking out the window with a mixture of disdain and interest. 

They were driving down a busy street, hotels and restaurants on both sides. There was the Fitzroy, its facade indulgently opulent and so overwhelmed with Victorian decorations, it looked ridiculous. Next to it, was an absolutely disastrous looking cement building, which used to be a hotel, but now seemed abandoned. A fucking crematorium would look cheerier than this grey cement monstrosity. 

“What is this?” Azriel asked again.

“Russell Square,” Cassian explained at last, while making a turn alongside the green square.

It was quaint here. Quiet. 

Finally, Azriel recognised the hulking mass of the British Museum. It wasn’t a place where he visited willingly, though he sort of recalled a school trip here. Beyond that, it was a black hole. 

He was mostly a shit student, so it didn’t surprise him that he didn’t remember. He wished that he was better–at everything–but his childhood was so precarious, he never allowed himself to hope or wish for better days. So why bother with education or culture if that could always be snatched away from him at any point? So he didn’t. And now, he regretted it. He regretted not spending more time learning about things, about the world, but wasting entirely too much time on doubting and challenging it.

The SatNav told them that they had arrived and Cassian killed the engine.

“Come on,” he motioned at Azriel firmly, “don’t puss out on me now. Let’s go.”

Clenching his teeth so hard he risked cracking a tooth, Azriel climbed out of the Jaguar. 

The two of them stood in front of a cute - charming even - Georgian row home, with an attached carriage house. The house was mostly white, with a bit of red brick, and covered in red and purple…well, flowering plant. Azriel wasn’t an expert in plants. He knew ivy and wisteria and that’s as far as it went. So whatever this was, it was beautiful, but he has no idea what it was. Marigold Agency was all it said on an old-fashioned hanging sign that swayed gently over the one-story carriage house. Could be anything. At least it saved Azriel more embarrassment and indignity. He was entering, or ducking, to be precise, into a vaguely named business. It could be a flower shop. A cafe. An ice cream shop.

Not a matchmaking agency. Nothing like that.

The weather was blustery, the skies slate grey, not even a hint of sun or light. Sinking deeper into his leather jacket, he finally entered the foyer, followed by Cassian. A bell chimed upon their entry, announcing them.

They stood in a plush, cosy space, with a fancy marble fireplace, and entirely too many flower arrangements. The walls were covered with tastefully framed, but absolutely cheesy inspirational love quotes. As he looked around, Azriel read gems such as:

Darling, you are all I ever wanted love to be…

True love is a journey without an end

I told the stars about you…And they answered

I crave a love that drowns oceans

When we have each other, we have everything

“In the name of Saint George, what the hell is this?” Azriel muttered under his breath, glancing around.

Cassian meanwhile, made himself comfortable in a plush sofa, dwarfing it with his massive size. The fire in the fireplace was roaring and created a nice respite from London’s awful October weather. 

The next moment, a three-legged pug came trotting in, huffing and snorting. He was wearing a spiffy blue bow and stared the two visitors down with his big buggy pug eyes. Azriel squatted low and let the dog sniff him, as he stroked the short fur and the multitude of rolls.

“Piglet!” a melodious voice called out. “How did you get out? Off you go back to the office! Come on!”

The pug snorted in indignation, while Azriel followed the sound of the voice. His eyes skimmed up, finding slender ankles and feet clad in black patent leather pumps–elegant, with one of those ‘kitten heels’. Is that what they were called? And how did he know that?

The owner of the expensive shoes wore a pleated silk skirt of deep cobalt and as he looked up, Azriel noted a tiny waist and a pair of ample tits. The posh bird–and he assumed that’s who this was–had a body to kill for. Definitely a hot little body, though she was dressed like some movie star from the 50s. Totally old fashioned and proper. Those nice soft tits were hidden beneath a black silk blouse, with a huge bow on the side of her neck. Apparently she and her pug liked strutting about wearing large bows. But to add to her old-fashioned attire, she also wore PEARLS. Real, honest to god pearls–a 3-strand pearl necklace, and pearl earrings. 

“Your pug’s name is Piglet?” Azriel asked, perplexed, as he straightened to his considerable height.

“It is indeed,” the girl…woman…confirmed.

She was a stunner to be sure. Early-twenties, he assumed, and it wasn’t just her attire that seemed vintage–she was a throwback to a bygone era. A soft lovely face, reminding him of classic cartoon princesses–huge round eyes, brown and gorgeous, a small pretty nose, pink cheeks and a pair of rosy lips, all framed by waves of light golden-brown hair. 

“Piglet, come,” she ordered again, and the pug finally ambled away from Azriel, energetically hopping on his three legs.

“Mr. Singer-Night?” she asked, boldly extending her hand.

“Mr. Night is fine,” Azriel corrected, and took her hand in his. Hers was soft, with little firm calluses and a nice grip.

He found himself being intrigued by this oddity. Not exactly attracted, though she was incredibly attractive, but more like fascinated. She was so different from every single other woman he’s ever been around, he didn’t know what to make of her. Granted, he didn’t spend much time in high society, but he spent enough to know that even there, girls such as this one were a rarity. 

“Of course,” she nodded once and then looked at Cassian, who got up from the sofa.

“Also Mr. Night,” Cassian smiled, his handsome face splitting into an affable grin. She offered him a little smile too, and for some reason, that made Azriel unhappy. He wasn’t angry exactly, but she barely reacted to him, and here she was, offering sweet smiles to his brother. It wasn’t unexpected–Cassian was fun. Big, burly, handsome, with his black Fabio-long hair and an easy, loose-limbed walk.  

“Are you brothers, gentlemen?” she inquired, motioning for them to follow her. 

“We are,” Cassian confirmed.

“Yes, I can see the resemblance,” she said breezily, to which Cassian responded, “Of course I am the more handsome, well-adjusted brother!”

She smiled a polite smile, and Azriel blandly stretched his lips in a fake smile, wanting to punch Cassian in the bollocks.

Unbelievable that Cassian was starting to flirt with her within two minutes of being in her presence! Unbelievable or predictable?

Anyway, this was going terrible and he just wanted to get out of here.

“Would you like some tea, gentlemen?” she offered.

“Would love some,” Cassian agreed immediately, and Azriel clenched his fist until his nails dug into his fist painfully. Now they were having tea! They’d never fucking get out of this bizarre place in the middle of fucking Holborn or wherever the fuck they were. 

“You seem tense, Mr. Night,” she said quietly, and he was surprised to find her in front of him, her big brown eyes kind and understanding. “Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

Easier said than done, but Azriel followed her advice and plummeted into a comfortable armchair in front of a large, clean desk. Cassian sat in an identical chair next to him. Piglet the pug eased himself between them and sat down on the plush carpet, looking up at his new guests with interest. Cassian immediately attempted to play with the dog, extending his hand and asking to ‘give paw’, which Piglet did. 

The girl, whose name Azriel still didn’t know, returned with a tray laden with tea service. Actual tea pot and nice cups and saucers, platters with biscuits and pastries. She poured them tea, handed them the cups and only then did she sit down behind her impressive, polished walnut desk. 

“I am Elain Archeron,” she introduced herself at last.

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Archeron,” Cassian grinned, and Azriel nodded. The rain behind the window was getting worse, and Azriel felt that he was here for the long run. “This is a very nice office,” Cassian continued to pile on the compliments. “Business must be going well for you, to be able to afford a place like this. You do come very highly recommended and your services are highly regarded.”

She drummed a manicured finger on the desk and explained, “I inherited the building. The house is mine, and I use this carriage house for my office. My great-great-grandmother, also named Elain, was the lover of the Duke of Velaris,”

At that, Cassian gave her a salacious look, and Azriel sipped his tea in bland silence. It was good. Strong. And of course there is some high society sex story that was going to be attached to this girl–it was a given. She seemed like the type. Lovers, dukes, mistresses, inheritances, estates…Fucking ‘Downton Abbey’ is where he now was. A nightmare.

Elain continued, “She was very active in the suffragette movement at the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th century, and was good friends with Emmeline Pankhurst, who lived just down the road, in what is now the Fitzroy.”

Azriel’s brain was working slowly, because he was now warm and sleepy, but he recalled something about all of this from class–the name Emmeline Pankhurst sounded familiar. She was one of the first feminist ladies, if he recalled correctly. 

“The Duke of Velaris gifted the house, this house, to my gran, so that the women could hold their meetings here. It’s been passed down the line, to the females of our family. I am the lucky one who inherited it this time around…This carriage house is quite convenient to house my business,”

“So you are a Duchess?” Azriel interrupted. 

She smiled and said, “Well, not exactly, but enough about me.”

“I told you she was posh,” Azriel glanced at Cassian, nodding in her direction. 

She ignored the comment and asked at last, “So, what brings you to Marigold? And who is in need of my services?”

“My brother here,” Cassian offered easily, “is in need of a wife.”

She exhaled and murmured, “well then”, and clicked her laptop, reading whatever was on the screen. Azriel fumed silently.

“I am assuming you are Azriel?” she asked, without taking her eyes off the screen. 

“I am,” he managed. 

“It says you are a footballer?”

“I am,” he confirmed reluctantly. Usually, his profession was a flex. He played for Arsenal, been a professional footballer since he was 17, and was currently the team’s captain. But somehow, right now, it didn’t seem as impressive as it usually did. Not when he was sitting in front of a damn Duchess!

Was she really a Duchess? Did Granny Elain only shagged the Duke, or did they have children? Because if Granny Elain looked like this Elain, it was no wonder that the Duke dipped his wick into that honey pot. 

“Are these monosyllabic answers how you court the ladies?” Elain asked, a note of tartness on her tongue.

Azriel’s eyes flared and he stared at her. The cheek on her!

“Pardon?” 

She shrugged innocently and continued looking at the screen, reading.

“I am just wondering why you would need my services, Mr. Night? You are a successful sportsman, and a footballer no less, and I assume that you are financially stable. Unless you have a gambling problem of some kind?”

“I don’t have a gambling problem!”

“Well, then, since you are an athlete, I am guessing it’s not drugs or drink. So, what is it then? Personality or sexual dysfunction?”

At that, she looked up and stared straight at him.

Azriel’s eyes bugged out. To be fair, so did Cassian’s.

“Excuse me?!” Azriel thundered. “Who the hell are you to imply that I can’t get my dick hard? Are you even married yourself? And where do you get off treating your potential clients like this? Let’s go, Cassian. I am not sitting here, listening to this shite!”

Elain remain unflappable all through his tirade, and watched him attempt to get up from the armchair, splashing hot tea over his shirt in the process. He cursed, the tea cup clanging and wobbling precariously in his hands.

“Are you very well done?” Elain then asked dryly, rising up and leaving the office.

Cassian sighed deeply and unhappily.

“Well, that went well,” he groaned.

“She was taking the piss!” Azriel retorted angrily, though he was feeling kind of foolish now. He couldn’t believe that he lost his temper like that. He wasn’t even a temperamental man, but somehow, this stuck-up little floozy with her pearls and her judgemental tone set his teeth on edge. “I bet she isn’t even married herself! Who’d marry a cow like that? A bloke would have to be suicidal…She’d nag him to death…”

Suddenly, from behind them, Elain voice said calmly, 

“Glad to know that it’s not sexual issues, but just your horrible personality.”

Azriel felt his face flush. He’d assumed that she stormed out and left them to see themselves out, but apparently, she heard everything that he said to Cassian. He called her a ‘cow’. Shit.

She handed him a hand towel to blot out the tea from his shirt and then went back to her desk.

Piglet was growling angrily at Azriel, back to stand on his three legs, his crooked sharp little teeth bared and ready to sink into any part of Azriel in defence of Elain.

“Piglet, it’s okay,” Elain said softly, while Cassian attempted to pet him and almost lost a finger in the process, when Piglet snapped at him viciously.

“My apologies, Ms. Archeron,” Cassian muttered. “This didn’t go as planned. We won’t be wasting any more of your time and will be on our way.”

She sighed and waved her hand at him,

“I apologise for my shortness. But, you must understand, I also don't want to waste anyone’s time. Not yours, gentlemen, not my own. If Mr. Night isn’t interested in my services, then I understand and we won’t proceed any further.”

“No,” Cassian interrupted. “He is interested. Believe me. He is,” and he threw a murderous look in Azriel’s direction. 

Elain pursed her lips and said, “I find it hard to believe. But if you wish, let’s discuss your situation. I feel like there is more to the story that I am not understanding.”

She was now talking directly to Cassian, pretty much ignoring Azriel altogether, and that made his hackles rise. However, he didn’t feel that it was prudent to continue arguing with her. Let Cassian handle this however he wanted.

Elain refilled Azriel’s cup and handed it back to him. He was surprised at that. The biscuits looked good too, so he picked one up from the tray and bit into it. It was divine. Buttery, crispy, meltingly tender inside. He’d never eaten a biscuit like this before. 

“This is incredible,” he couldn't stop himself from complimenting it.

A small smile touched Elain’s lips and she said, “Well, thank you, Mr. Night. I baked them myself.”

“You bake too?” he blurted out stupidly.

“I do. It was my first passion. That and flowers.”

“Of course,” he snorted. “Don’t worry, Miss, I didn’t think it would’ve been cage fighting. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you are an escapee from the 50s,”

Sarcastically, she retorted, “no, how could I possibly take that the wrong way? Forgive me, sir, if I am well-mannered, and decorous, and like genuine relationships between people, which aren’t based on Instagram likes and follows.”

“I am a little surprised that you know what Instagram is,” Azriel added. “Seeing as you use words such as ‘decorous’...”

“Aright, okay,” Cassian clapped his huge hands together and rubbed them together. “That’s enough. Let’s move on, shall we?”

Elain sighed dramatically and said, “Fine. Tell me then why Mr. Night is in need of a wife then?”

“Gladly,” Cassian cried with fake excitement. “Azriel and I grew up in a…challenging environment,”

Elain didn’t say anything, but Azriel could see that that did not surprise her. 

“Our family situation wasn’t the best,” Cassian continued, “until we were adopted by our distant uncle. You might have heard of him, considering your background–Lord Darling, the construction magnate.”

She nodded, “I am familiar with Lord Darling. He has a son–Rhysand, I believe. You three are related then?”

“We are. Rhys is our cousin. We were adopted when we were teens, Azriel was almost fifteen, I was about thirteen. Az was already showing a lot of promise on the field, his talent raw and genuine,”

Azriel died inwardly from the praise. He was never comfortable with it, even when it was deserved.

“Signed at seventeen to Manchester City,” Elain said casually, like a spy recalling a dossier. “Then, at twenty-three, sold to Arsenal and has been there ever since. Captain for the past three years, if I am not mistaken?”

Cassian just stared at her, as did Azriel, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“He is a forward and his number is 14. Last year, he scored 34 goals, tied only with Haaland. Height–6”5, very tall for a footballer, and weight is 188 lbs.," with that, Elain leaned back, and looked at both of them. 

“I wouldn’t have taken you as a football aficionado,” Cassian confessed after a long pause.

“I am not,” Elain said easily. “And I wouldn’t expect you to. I am an escapee from the 1950s, after all.”

Azriel pushed his tongue into his cheek, but didn’t rise to the taunt.

He wasn’t sure why, but it felt weirdly satisfying to hear her rattle off his stats. To say that he was shocked was an understatement, but also, secretly pleased. Fuck yeah he was as good as Haaland! And Haaland was 5 years younger than him. So there was that.

“As our American cousins would say,” Elain threw a biscuit to Piglet, who lunged at it voraciously, “this isn’t my first rodeo, Cassian.”

Oh, so now Cassian was Cassian. But Azriel was still Mr. Night.

That was fine. It’s not like Azriel cared.

“And that means that I do my research. Very thoroughly,” Elain assured them. “Before I take on any client, be it male or female, I need to know what and who they are. Do I scour news outlets? Social media? Gossip sites? Oh, you bet I do. And then there is a full criminal background check as well once someone becomes a client. 

“Mr. Night is acceptable,”

“Oh, well! Thank goodness for that,” Azriel exclaimed sarcastically.

“There is no need for that, Mr. Night,” Elain stopped him, “your notoriety is known, but it’s at an acceptable level. No long term relationships, no sexual assaults, but penchant for…” she cleared her throat, but ploughed forth, “orgies and group sex. Attempts at discretion, but not always successful.”

Shit, well this was embarrassing.

Azriel wasn’t sure why he should feel embarrassed at all? He was a single man in the prime of his life, but when it came from the lips of this lovely doll-like creature who was draped in pearls, his sexual history sounded…seedy. 

She didn’t pause, but continued, “only one arrest. When Mr. Night was 18–for destruction of property,”

“He spray painted a wall,” Cassian interjected.

Azriel just loved sitting here and being discussed like he wasn’t present.

“Ahh, an artist as well?” Elain commented.

Gah. She really was the most annoying woman he’d ever met. Annoying and condescending and impossible. 

“So, a famous, successful footballer from the Premier League who enjoys orgies and hasn’t had a girlfriend…ever, wants to find a wife? That’s quite a leap. Please explain.”

“Lord Darling is a very wealthy man,” Cassian said, “and he’s been kind to treat us well, even though we aren’t his sons. We are in his will, and it’s not been kept secret from anyone. The will stipulates one condition for all of us: Rhys, Az and myself. In order to receive the inheritance, we have to be married by the age of 30. If we are not, the inheritance is null and void and we receive nothing. Azriel is the eldest–he will be turning 30 in March. I have another year and a half to go and Rhys is the youngest at 26.”

“Aren’t you wealthy in your own right?” Elain challenged, looking directly at Azriel.

“I am,” he said.

Muscling in, Cassian piped in, “You don’t understand, Ms. Archeron. The inheritance is very large,”

Seeing her expression, Cassian added,

“It’s 230 million. Each. It’s a lot of money to just let go.”

It finally dawned on her and she nodded with understanding. 

“It is a rather large sum,” she agreed with an exhale.

“It is,” Cassian nodded, swallowing two biscuits at once. “These are good!” he mumbled, before saying, “and since it is such a huge amount, and this is a serious, lifelong decision, we all got to be thoughtful about it. Can’t leave this to chance anymore. As you’d mentioned, Az doesn’t have a steady girlfriend, so anyone new has to be vetted. We can’t have some slag from “Love Island’ latching on to him.”

Elain’s eyes popped at the word ‘slag’ being casually thrown into the conversation, but she stopped herself from commenting. 

“Also, Az will be moving on sooner rather than later.”

“Not too soon,” Azriel argued, but Cassian ignored him.

“Coaching or broadcasting,” Cassian continued. “Within 3-5 years, Az will retire from playing, but will probably move on to coaching once he passes all his coaching courses and certification. He’ll have a reputation to uphold–he’ll have to be respectable. Married, with children,”

“God Cass, you make it sound like I am being sentenced to life of hard labour,” Azriel moaned.

Elain chuckled. 

“Well, at least now it makes sense.”

Elain got up and went to the window behind her desk. 

Rain lashed violently against the glass, but it was nice here–at least Azriel liked it. The girl was still kind of a bitch, but she smelled nice, of jasmine, with an undertone of honey, and she baked and she was pretty. And her arse was fine, even hidden behind her pleated skirt. All of her was fine, except for her personality and her sharp tongue.

“Mr. Night,” she said quietly, without turning from the window. Azriel knew that she was addressing him, because Cassian busied himself with fixing Piglet’s bow.

“Please confirm that you are the kind of man who’ll accept a woman with high energy and high ambitions,” Elain asked. 

“What?”

“The women that contact me–that’s what they are. They are busy with professional lives, they are usually very well financially off, they are confident and independent. Most either don't have time to look for a partner on their own or want to meet someone who’s been screened and who matches their needs and asks. 

“But I must inquire again–is that the type of woman you desire? Someone who would stand up for herself, and someone who might not give up her own career for yours? Someone who might be complicated, if you know what I mean. Educated, serious, elegant, demanding. Not someone who’d roll over for you or inflate her lips or bleach her hair.”

“I don’t really want anyone with bleached hair,”

“Well that’s good isn’t it? Because I’d present you with matches who will challenge and entice you. But you need to tell me that that’s something you are comfortable with and that’s something you want?”

“He wants it,” Cassian shot immediately, playing with Piglet and cooing at him, muttering ‘you are a pretty boy, aren’t you? Yes you are. Yes you are…”

Elain raised her hand and turned to face them.

“I must insist that Mr. Night answer this question, Cassian. This is the rest of his life we are talking about. I understand that you have his best interests at heart, but that’s not enough. Mr. Night must decide for himself.”

Azriel crossed his arms on his chest and chewed his lips, thinking.

He liked her straightforward manner. Her insistence. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost say that she was describing herself in these women that she’d be setting him up with. Only it wasn’t the case–Elain was delicate and classic. She was a matchmaker, for god’s sake, not some boardroom lioness. She had a pug who wore a satin bow. But she was dogged, and confident, and he didn’t mind it. He didn’t mind her self-assuredness at all. Other things…he kind of minded. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said at last. 

Elain cocked her brow at him, her expression a mixture of disdain and disbelief. 

“Well, ‘yeah, okay’ doesn’t exactly fill me with excitement, but I suppose we’ll go with that,” she concluded at last. 

Cassian chuckled. 

She clicked something on her laptop, and Azriel heard the sound of a printer. 

“This is the contract, gentlemen,” she told them, as she gathered a hefty bundle of pages and stuffed them into a folder. “Take a look at it and if you are going to pursue my services, I’d like for you to return it to me, signed, by tomorrow. Say one o’clock?”

Cassian snatched the folder and nodded, “Yes, we will.”

“I apologise for how quickly we are moving here, but we are under a tight timeline, it seems,” she reminded them. 

Suddenly losing his usual indifferent bravado, Azriel asked, his voice quiet,

“And what happens after? If we sign it,”

“You sign it,” Elain ordered brusquely. 

“Fine. I sign it. What happens after that?”

“We sit down, discuss your mating criteria, and take it from there,”

“I am sorry, what? What is a ‘mating criteria’?” 

“Basically, your requirements for your future mate. Blonde or brunette? Tall or short? Level of education? Hobbies? Interests? All of it.”

“Mating criteria is the least sexy term I’ve ever heard,” Azriel complained. 

“Well, I am sorry, Mr. Night–I'll leave the ‘sexy’ part to you. My job is to find you the woman for all your sexy needs and then some.”

Azriel got up, followed by Cassian.

“I mean, you can just marry me,” Azriel suddenly blurted.

Both Elain and Cassian paused and stared at him with evident shock on their faces.

“I am sorry?” 

Backtracking frantically, he tried to make light of it, internally berating himself and wondering what the hell possessed him to say something so stupid. He’d rather rip his nuts off than be married to her!

“I mean, it would save both of us some time. And in a year, we could be divorced. No harm, no foul. And I won’t even request any conjugal satisfactions from you,”

“Okay, okay,” Cassian muttered, grabbing Azriel’s upper arm and squeezing it until he stopped the blood flow. “I think we’ve said enough. We’ll see you later, Ms. Archeron,”

She, meanwhile, was fuming, her hands on her hips, as she snarled,

“You wouldn’t request conjugal satisfactions? You? Who said I’d ever even let you near me!?”

“I am sure he was just joking,” Cassian murmured through clenched teeth. “Nerves, you know. Nerves. Forgive him, Miss Elain. No conjugal anything between the two of you, of course. Hahaha. That’s funny. Let’s go. Let’s. Go.”

He half dragged Azriel alongside him.

“Consider it!” Azriel called out.

“No. Fucking. Thank. You.” She yelled after them.

“Shit, you said ‘fucking’!” Azriel grinned. “Miss Perfect is not so perfect after all.”

** credit to @deathsweetblossoms for suggesting the title for the story!

[sixhours]

Meteor

She remembers the space he’d carved around himself, and the moment she realized the distance was too great to cross.

Rating: PG Word count: 1k

Notes: X-Files revival era fic.

Originally posted at ao3 01/19/2016

~*~

She makes her way up the long drive, the old farmhouse looming like a specter from her past. There are no lights in the windows, just a cold, hulking shadow against a darkening sky; an apt metaphor if she thinks about it too much, which she won’t.

“Where are you, Mulder?” Scully whispers to herself. His car is parked next to the porch. It’s evening, too early for sleep.

The air is damp as she leaves the warmth of the car, carrying a folder of papers. Spring has turned the ground to mud beneath her feet, and she, in her most expensive pair of heels, frowns. Her good boots are at the bottom of a box at the back of her closet along with the rest of the things she never unpacked.

The porch creaks in the same places, the screen door still protests on its hinge. She knocks once before trying the handle, finding it open.

“Mulder?”

The house is dusty and silent. She curses under her breath, gooseflesh rising along the back of her neck, wishing she had her holster. Three months on the job after so long away and she’s still not used to carrying.

She’s debating whether to check upstairs or leave the file on the kitchen table when a voice calls her name from outside.

“Scully?”

She steps onto the porch, squinting into the darkness. “Mulder? Is that you?”

“I’m out back,” he calls. “Watch your step.”

She turns on her phone’s flashlight and makes her way to the back yard. A shadow sits on the frame of the old pickup they haven’t used in years.

“I’d have left the porch light on if I’d known you were coming,” it says.

She points the phone in that direction, eliciting a wince from her partner as the beam hits his eyes.

“Ow, Scully.”

“Sorry,” she mutters, shutting off the light. “What are you doing out here, Mulder?”

There’s the distinct sound of liquid sloshing, the kiss of a bottle at his lips.

“Just sittin’ and thinkin’.”

“In the dark? It’s chilly,” she says, rubbing her shoulders for emphasis.

His face resolves as her eyes slowly adjust. He’s sitting on the tailgate, legs dangling off the end, a beer nestled between his thighs.

“I thought you’d be working.”

“Guy can’t take a break once in a while?”

She smirks. “Who are you and what have you done with my partner?”

“Hah-hah, funny. Have a seat, Scully.”

She does after a pause, easing herself onto the tailgate to join him.

“This’ll warm you up,” he says, offering her a beer.

“How many of these have you had?” she asks, accepting the bottle with a raised eyebrow.

“Just the one, doc. Don’t worry,” he says. “It’s not that kind of party.”

The cap twists off; the taste of malt fizzes on her tongue, goes down smooth.

“I take it you’re here for business and not pleasure,” he says, nodding to the folder in her lap.

“Mm. It’s the autopsy results for Lisa Baylor. Scrapings from her fingernails revealed traces of skin; they’re processing the DNA and I asked the lab to run it through NICS. We’ll have the full results in the morning, but I thought you’d want to get an early start.”

“You ever heard of email, Scully?”

“You mean the thing that keeps you tethered to your computer at all hours? Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” she mutters.

He offers a wry smile. “You didn’t have to drive all the way out here for that.”

“Maybe I wanted to talk about the case in person.”

His voice grows soft. “You don’t need an excuse to visit, you know. You always have a place here.”

“I wasn’t looking for an excuse.”

“Checking up on me, huh?”

“Mulder,” she sighs. “Don’t start.”

A cricket chirps in the grass at their feet, filling the stillness that hovers like a black mist. She remembers the space he’d carved around himself, and the moment she realized the distance was too great to cross.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says finally, nudging her shoulder in apology. “Been a rough year. Sometimes I forget we’re on the same side now.”

“I’ve always been on your side, Mulder,” she murmurs, feeling their history like a lead weight in her chest. “I’ve only ever wanted what was best for you.”

“I know,” he nods, then holds out his bottle. “Truce?”

“Truce,” she agrees, letting the glass clink softly. For a moment, the silence is comfortable, familiar, and she closes her eyes.

When she opens them, she’s looking at his profile in the dusky light. With his beard shaved and his hair trimmed, she can almost see the man she met twenty odd years ago. Without thinking, she reaches out to touch his cheek, the stubble rough against her fingers.

He looks over, bemused, and she pulls her hand away, still feeling the ghost of his skin against her palm.

“You clean up good, G-man,” she says.

He chuckles, his gaze turned upward. “Hey, it’s starting.”

He points to the sky and her eyes follow, trying to see what he sees. A pinprick of light flicks across the sky, followed by another, and then another; the beginnings of a meteor shower.

Mulder reaches behind them and pulls out two rolled sleeping bags, settling back against one in the bed of the truck. She doesn’t ask why he brought two instead of one, for the same reason she knows the extra beer in her hand was never intended for him.

She pulls the rolled blanket behind her and lies back to watch the show. Her eyes flit from one corner of the heavens to the other as more of the blue-white streaks make their way across the night, and she marvels at how the stars can still stun her with their beauty, how the universe in all its endless mystery can be so breathtaking, even after bringing such grief.

His voice is rich and vulnerable, spoken to the open air. “It wasn’t all bad, was it, Scully?”

She doesn’t have to think. Her response is as immediate and as involuntary as a heartbeat. “No…it wasn’t.”

She finds his hand without trying and listens to the sound of their mingled breathing as the sky falls around them.

cc @today-in-fic

[strafepanzer]

fangs | g.jaegerjaquez

chapter one: shit | chapter two (tba) | chapter three (tba)

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: dark content, 18+! a/b/o stuff (pheromones, fangs, alpha-omega, animalistic tendencies), blood (a LOT), biting, drugs, gangs, fighting, (more to be added as chapters progress)

▸ ▸ ▸ wordcount: 3k+

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: this has been in the works for a while but i finally have a bit of energy to put into it, so that's fun! also ive taken parts of omegaverse lore and made it my own, so if things get confusing, feel free to ask questions! thanks for reading!! ♡

“Shit,” he hisses, tongue running over the split in his lower lip. His glare intensifies as he shoots it over his shoulder, landing on the little turd shaking in his boots, wooden baseball bat held tight in two white-knuckled fists.

“I didn’t even do that! Y-you bit your lip with those freakish fricken fangs!” The kid argues, blue eyes wide with terror, that distinct childish whine caught in his throat.

“Right, so you swinging that bat at me had no impact on the state of my face at all?” He turns his body towards the boy, cracks his neck as he rolls his shoulders. “Sounds like a crock a’ shit, squirt.”

“Uncle will be mad if you hit me!” He reasons, knees knocking together.

“Oh, but you can hit me?” Grimmjow raises his brows, wiping the blood with a knuckle as he stalks towards the kid.

“You’re the gang’s Mad Dog! You’re supposed to be too good for me to hit!” He frowns, stepping back as the predator steps forward.

Grimmjow grins then, his hulking canines pressing uncomfortably into his lower lip, the one on the left shining with blood. “Maybe I wanted a reason to discipline the young master.”

“Jaegerjaquez,” Tousen appears out of nowhere, like usual. “Boss has a job for you.” Is all he says before turning to the kid. “You know how your mother feels about you using that bat for violence, young master.”

The kid’s pouting, obviously happy to have been spared, but upset that he’s being scolded and losing his babysitter-slash-impromptu-martial-arts-instructor all in one fell swoop.

“Where’s he want me?” Grimmjow straightens, rubs the sweat from his hands down the thighs of his faded blue jeans, re-pops the collar of his barely buttoned Hawaiian shirt. Tousen regards him coldly through the lenses of ridiculously priced glasses, as usual, like Grimmjow is worse than the dirt beneath his stupid black leather loafers.

“The usual place.” Tousen turns his nose up at Grimmjow, and gestures back to the kid. “You need to stop sneaking out of the house when Starrk falls asleep; let’s go.” He orders, heading towards the winding forest path that leads back to the main house.

“We were training.” The kid argues back, pouting. “Everyone always talks about how strong the Mad Dog is, and I’m gonna be stronger.”

“Strength isn’t necessarily how hard you hit, or how many bones you break, Kaiden. Remember that.” Tousen sends Grimmjow one last look before the pair disappear behind the yellowing Japanese Maples, the young master waving frantically and promising to return.

This makes Grimmjow grin, smirk elongating as he heads back into his shack, imagining how Aizen’s prissy bitch of a left hand man has to listen to the kid praise him. What makes the young master’s idolisation of him that much sweeter is the fact that the little brat hasn’t presented yet; Tousen can’t blame the kid on being affected by Grimmjow’s Ridiculously Potent Dominant Alpha Pheromones, has to accept that he just likes the way he is. Thinks he’s fucking cool.

Betas, as a rule, tend to harbour a little bit of hatred towards alphas or omegas, especially in their line of work, but Tousen takes the goddamn cake.

With a spring in his step, Grimmjow packs a duffel. His little house— if you can call it that— is a bit of a mess, so finding what he needs is a pain in the ass, but he manages. Ten year old Motorola Razr (in ice blue), wallet, and switchblade are all on his bed, still there from being dumped out early this morning when he got home from a job. His first aid kit, pheromone patches, and inhibitors are all in the stall he calls a bathroom, and— he checks the package— he’s running low on patches. The last thing on his mental list— his knuckle dusters— are in the kitchen sink, still caked in dried blood, but he throws them in the bag anyway.

He leaves his leather jacket and just opts for his keys; the summer’s been long and hot, and he loves the way the air feels on his skin as he speeds the streets of Karakura.

+

Ichimaru’s Ikeman Fantasy is a front that even the blind can see, yet it’s been untouched by the law for years. Grimmjow parks his bike in its usual spot, holds the duffle by the handle and tosses it over his shoulder, before strolling past Yammy and the other bouncers, and in through the front door.

Smells like easy omega in here.

“Afternoon, Jaegerjaquez!” Nel hollers, tits bouncing as she waves from her spot behind the bar. They never used to get along, but the years of living and working in close proximity forced them into a friendship of sorts. Now they dye each other’s hair.

“Nel,” he nods, duffle landing on the bar with a thud. “Aizen here?”

“‘Course he is,” she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “He’s always here.”

“Like you.” He grins. “You’re part of the furniture, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she sighs, nodding back towards the kitchen. “Someone’s gotta keep Nnoitra in place. I do miss you being here, though.” Her nose scrunches up. “All the new boys are boring.” There’s a bit of bite behind her bark, and usually that’s what he looks for in a woman, but she’s never affected him. He can’t get hard for other alphas; all part and parcel of being a dominant himself. Omegas or nothing.

“Maybe if I was better at lip service.” He shrugs, tossing his feline stare over his shoulder to sus out the place.

“Or if you were worse at brawling,” she leans on the bar, those too big breasts pushing up and together in a way that makes them look like they might pop out of her shirt. “They’ve started calling you The Grim around here, you know? You come and go, then someone shows up dead.”

“That’s dramatic; I don’t kill people.” Always.

“Keep your secrets, Jaegerjaquez, I don’t want them.” Nel shakes her head, perks up a bit when someone else comes in.

It’s too early to open, and Grimmjow has no idea who this girl is. She’s cute, nervous-looking. Undoubtedly omega with her candy-apple scent.

“You’re getting girls in here now?” He asks when the candy apple omega is escorted through the lounge and into the back rooms.

“Yeah, Gin’s wanting to expand with the beauties.” She whispers, leaning close. “But you know Aizen: don't fix it if it ain’t broke.”

“Fox face wants to bring girls in here?” Grimmjow balks, a little too loud. “To work?” He questions, voice dropping.

“Yeah, for the back room stuff.” Nel looks undoubtedly uncomfortable. The main draw for the club is that it’s catered to women; less violent outbursts, less brawling, less police attention.

“Huh, never would’a picked it.” Grimmjow sighs, brows raising. “Matsumoto’s surely against it.”

“Yeah, so’s Ai—“

“You’re here,” Aizen’s voice isn’t loud, but it's commanding. There’s a quiet cruelty there that keeps people on their toes, a suppressed dominance that he’s master at concealing. “Come, Grimmjow, I have a task for you.” He’s across the lounge, standing in front of his office, the door right next to the one the candy apple omega disappeared behind.

“Sure thing,” he nods, suddenly professional. He gives Nel one last look before grabbing his duffel and slinking off towards his boss— The Boss.

+

Aizen’s office is the epitome of old European money; velvet chaise, dark filigree wallpaper, gold accents, cherry stained hardwood. Grimmjow feels like a stray dog attempting domestication each time he stalks into the room, can’t bear to sit lest he destroy or dirty something. The Boss doesn’t even offer him a seat anymore, just places a lowball of whiskey in his hand and starts on the task at hand.

“There’s a small motorcycle gang that’s started to sell on our turf,” he says, opening a beige folder and tossing its contents on his desk. “Need you to rough ‘em up a bit before they get too big for their boots.”

“Kids?” Grimmjow scowls, picking up the pile of photos and tossing them back to the desk as he looks at them. They’re in their late teens to early twenties, with their black leather jackets and little white baggies. “You’re sending me to deal with kids?”

Aizen sighs and sits down in his polished leather chair, taking a sip of his own whiskey. “You’re right.” He nods, leaning over the table and picking up one of the photos Grimmjow’s tossed down. “Normally, I’d send Yammy, or even Tousen— if I wanted to deal with it diplomatically— but this kid,” he holds up the picture of a blonde, his head tossed back in laughter, canine-like fangs protruding out of his mouth. “Is a dominant like you.”

He takes the photo from Aizen and looks it over, then goes through the ones he tossed and picks up a clearer one of his face. “He’s not even wearing patches,” Grimmjow shakes his head, glaring at the glossy photos. “Just swinging his dick around like he owns the place.”

“Exactly,” Aizen stands and gathers the photos, holds his hand out for the ones Grimmjow’s still scrutinising. “I’ll send the lot of them to your phone.”

“Boss, I can’t see shit on my phone,”

“I told you to buy a new one.”

“Why fix something if it ain’t broke? Besides, I got the little fucker’s face memorised, don’t sweat it.”

“They hang around by the train station at the end of the street most nights. Rough them up a bit, feel free to knock some teeth out.” Aizen smiles then, golden eyes shining as he shows his own fangs.

To the naked eye, he looks like a beta or omega with his average-sized canines, but Grimmjow knows better. Knows he’s had them filed down; that he does so on the regular.

Dangerous fucker he is.

+

After sticking around for a couple more drinks with Nel, he pockets a knuckleduster and leaves her with the rest of his shit. "I'll come get it when I'm done with the job." He drawls, tapping his scent blockers to test their saying power— excellent, considering he replaced them after Aizen dismissed him.

"Don't kill too many, Grim." She calls a little too loud, smiles a little too broadly. It draws attention from the other patrons, the few older women sitting at and around the bar suddenly interested in him.

"Don't lose my shit." He glares back, fang grinding on the still fresh wound from this morning when he tenses his jaw.

Undeterred, she waves him off with a smile, before undoubtedly weaving tales about his murderous escapades to the nosey hags asking too many questions. He doesn’t stick around long enough to confirm or deny his own suspicions.

The damp heat of early summer clings to Grimmjow like a second skin; seeing others unaffected— still dressing in light layers and boots, some with scarves and gloves— makes him feel a little claustrophobic, even outside in the streets. He knows it’s him who’s wrong, knows his medication has side effects and his second gender has drawbacks as well as perks, but still it’s enough to plaster that scowl to his face. At least it makes people avoid him, gives him a little bubble when it’s crowded, even in rush hour.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, that glare is set straight ahead. He’s on a mission, and it’s something he’s not too happy about. Sure, he’s used to cleaning up Aizen’s messes, used to brawling, bleeding, biting, and bitching; but dealing with pups never ends well. These kids probably think they’re kings, think that their blonde ringleader is gonna make them rich or famous, or both.

Probably both.

Flashing fangs like that around here, though… that’s gonna get you killed.

Grimmjow’s nothing if not morally grey, however, so seeing the little posse down an alley on the way to his destination brings a rush of excitement. The sooner he can get this over with, the better.

“Oi,” he calls, entering the alley. “Heard you’re selling.”

“Who’s askin’?” One steps away from the wall— not the blonde— and tilts his chin up at Grimmjow. It takes all the willpower in the world not to match that snarl with one of his own, but he just shrugs and tries to act innocent, keeps his shoulders hunched so he seems smaller than his six-four frame.

“Just some guy,” he drawls, keeping his fangs concealed. “Why, you discriminate?”

The kid snarls at him again, infuriated, “Discrimin—”

“Cool it, Tetsu,” the blonde finally steps forward, and his pheromones are no joke. It’s been a hot minute since Grimmjow’s come across a dominant who doesn’t conceal what he is, and he has to physically stop the warning growl that wants to vibrate up his throat. “This old man just needs a hit, don’tcha grandpa?” He grins, condescending lilt to his brow.

“Nah, you got me all wrong, kiddo,” Grimmjow stands tall— taller than the blonde by at least five inches— and cracks his knuckles, apathetic grin turned evil. “I just need to relay a message to you little fuckers about who’s turf you’re selling on.”

The blonde postures, baring his fangs as his pupils blow wide, “Bring it on, old man!” He yells, pheromones turning the alley sour and crippling his friends.

Grimmjow says nothing, just mirrors the young alpha, and roars.

His pals throw up, one passes out, and the blonde’s pupils revert before his fight or flight kicks in, and he launches himself at Grimmjow. He knows the fight would be over if he just removed his scent patches, but where’s the fun in that? What kind of Grim Reaper would he be if he let it end at that?

Blondie lands a hit to Grimmjow’s jaw, and he feels it crack his bone. Adrenaline and anger mask the pain, and in an instant he’s above the kid, landing blow after blow after blow to his face with his bare knuckles, colouring his face crimson in a matter of seconds.

“Old man?” Grimmjow grunts sarcastically, the adrenaline subsiding with each moment of non-resistance. “This old man better not see you on this side of the tracks with intent to sell again, or I’ll rip those useless canines straight outta your face, got it?” He finishes, holding the blonde up by the front of his bloodied leather jacket and glaring down at his swollen, weepy face. Blondie can only groan in pain before going limp in Grimmjow’s grasp.

He drops him to the cement and glances up at the rest of the gang. With both alphas done with their brawl, the pheromones in the air have thinned, and the rest of the kids are in the process of regaining their composure.

“I fucking mean it,” Grimmjow continues with his warning. “I know you think you’re fucking invinci—”

He’s frozen by a sharp stinging sensation in the side of his neck, and when he swipes at it, something small, cylindrical, and plastic hits the ground next to his knee and rolls away from him.

A syringe.

They’ve drugged him.

“Run!” Someone screams from behind him, lurching with speed and strength Grimmjow knows wouldn’t be possible from anyone other than another dominant alpha. He grabs for Blondie, tosses his limp body over his shoulder and takes off down the alley as the rest of the gang scatters.

Grimmjow stumbles as he attempts to give chase, his vision swimming and heart pounding. He stops and crouches there in the alley behind a dumpster, closing his eyes and trying his goddamn hardest to regulate himself, to pinpoint the problem. His limbs are fine, and there’s no numbness, so that’s a plus, but he’s dizzy as all hell, and—

Slap.

He opens his eyes to see one of his scent blockers— a shriveled-looking skin-toned bandaid— lying there on the cement like it’d been used more than a few times. But he knows that’s not the case, knows that was a brand new fucking blocker and that it should’ve lasted him until at least tomorrow morning even if he wanted to sleep with it on.

He reaches for the one at the other side of his neck, and that one, too, slides off, looking a little more than worse for wear.

His pheromones have sweat the patches off.

This hasn’t happened to Grimmjow since he was going through goddamn puberty and the doctors couldn’t find the right dosage of inhibitors for him. He’s early thirties now, has been on the same goddamn pills since, and has never missed a dose. If there’s one thing Grimmjow cannot fucking stand, it’s an alpha who can’t control his fucking ruts.

And now he’s one of them.

Those shifty little fuckers have thrown him into rut.

“Motherfuckers!” He roars, knuckles meeting cement out of pure frustration, the pain that’s supposed to come with maiming oneself simply not present.

Grimmjow gets up and braces himself against the wall, breathing heavily and glancing between the mouth of the alley and the direction in which those little shits ran off. It’d be absolutely insane for them to want to stick around and try jump him, especially considering Blondie wasn’t using blockers, so there’s no doubt the end of the alley isn’t a completely dead end. Heading towards the street would only end in mayhem, so he stumbles deeper into the alley, using the brick wall for support when the cramping takes over and he needs a moment to breathe.

Fuck, he’s forgotten how this felt; forgotten just how base he goes when his hormones are running rampant, forgot how primal he is. He’s hungry. For food, for sex, for a good fucking fight.

His cock aches.

Still, he fights it. He’s not completely gone yet, but he can feel it pulling at him, irritating him, can feel it tickling his brain like a loose thread; one tug of it, and he’ll be feral. He’s exhausted, fighting the urge to pull the string, finds himself panting as he clutches at the spray paint covered brick with a bloodied hand, sweat dripping into his eyes, plastering powder blue hair to his forehead.

He briefly wonders if Aizen knew that they had this little ace up their sleeve, before deciding— with a baleful chuckle he didn’t know he still had in him— that he doesn’t even wanna know.

The last thing he sees before the world goes black is his own reflection in a shiny metal baseball bat

[silverflamedqueen]

Stages of Regret( Chapter 3)

After a disastrous Christmas party. Nesta Archeron decided to leave behind her old life, to start anew. Now a year and a half later. Her past has come back to haunt her.

For the third time that day Nesta had checked her phone. Without a doubt, She gave off the appearance of someone who had been stood up. The couple sitting a few booths across seemed to notice. As she’d caught them staring more than a handful of times. Empathetic glances were exchanged between the two. The woman, a tall blonde, had started to get up. Only to be stopped by the ring of a bell. Alerting waitstaff that a new patron had entered. Every woman, the blonde included, stared at the hulking figure that just strode in. Better late than never.

Nesta took a sip of her coffee as Cassian took a seat in front of her. A slight sheen of sweat glistened on his brow, causing a few loose strands of hair to cling to his face. He gave her an apologetic look. “ Hey, sorry, I got caught up with inventory.”

“The waitress has already asked me where my better half was.” She mused, leveling her gaze on him. Cassian sighed  “ You agreed to meet here, didn’t you?” She did. She missed their food. But, regret now clawed at her. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

Before she could reply, the bubbly waitress from earlier had returned. Placing a cup of coffee in front of Cassian. “ There you are. Shame on you for making your girl wait.” She swatted his shoulder lightly. “ Been a while since I've seen you two. How have you been?”Cassian gave her a welcoming grin. “ Oh, just been busy. I upgraded the gym recently. And added a new ring to it. We have a new promotion going on too.” She looked to Nesta next. Her eyes gleamed. “ My new job requires me to work nights. It’s also not very close to here.”

“Well, that sucks. Either way, I'm glad you're both here now. Can I assume you guys want what you always ordered? I still remember.” She tapped her forehead. “Yes.” Nesta and Cassian both replied at the same time. Which elicited a giggle from the waitress. The food was delicious here. They made her favorite Strawberry crepes. She never could find another place that made them the same. She’d even tried making them at home to no avail. Cassian called them crack crepes. He’d always ask if she needed to get her fix. “I'll put in that order.” With a smile, she was off.

Without another word, the waitress bounced away. Cassian spoke again. Skipping any pleasantries, he went straight into why they were there. she was thankful. This was already awkward enough.  “I want to be involved in everything.” Determination and sincerity laced his tone.“ I also want to start providing for our daughter too.” Nesta’s heart skipped. As dread set in, or was it anger? Did he think she couldn’t provide? She must’ve started to make a face. As he immediately continued, his tone softening. “ I’m not saying you can’t. Despite that ramshackle apartment of yours. You've provided extremely well for her and yourself. I’m not judging you, I promise.” He put his hands on the table. “ I just want to help too. I don’t want to be my father.” Nesta felt the scowl that had started to form slip. Any anger dissipated, As his eyes met hers.“ You’ll never be your father, Cassian. If there's anything I know for certain, it's that.” Cassian’s father had always been a sore subject for him. It was something they had in common.

The man abandoned Cassian and his mother when he was five. His mother raised him the best she could, which was in borderline poverty. In the end, she focused so much on her son and cared too little for herself. Cassian was 12 when she passed. It had wrecked him. To this day, it still has.

Cassian would never be his father. The words she spoke rang true. The man had her number for a week. He then proceeded to text her daily, asking how Evie was doing and requesting pictures of her. Already a doting father. Nesta obliged his requests of course. She considered herself lucky. Most of the women she knew. Who were single parents. Would kill for the father to actively want to be in their child’s life. Most never were though. So they became hardened, determined to be both parents. Something she highly respected. It took a toll on them though, she saw it. Nesta herself had days where she wanted to just give up. 

“ Okay, um well, Evie’s Birthday is in a few days. I mentioned it a couple of days back. We’re going to have a party at my place. There's a dress code though. You have to wear Pink. It’s a Pink party.”  Cassian snorted, His eyes dancing with amusement. He knew her aversion to the color. “ Alright, I can do Pink. It's her favorite color I assume?” Nesta nodded.

“ I brought up wanting Evie to know her family. And I have an idea.” Cassian leaned forward. As if ready to pitch her a business idea. “ We introduce her one at a time, spaced out of course. What do you think?” Nesta’s stomach twisted. “ We?” She forced out. Fighting to keep her tone level. Determined not to let the fear bubble up.

“Yes, we, as in you and I.” He sighed. “ You can't avoid them. What did you think was going to happen? You avoid all contact forever, while Evie and I are part of their lives?” Yes, that had been her preferred plan. It seemed to be a fallacy now.

Nesta straightened her spine “ They are your family, as well as hers. They’ll never be mine though. I don't fit in with them. I've never disillusioned myself to believe I would either.” This seemed to annoy Cassian. His mouth opened, ready to respond.  But,

The sound of clinking plates drew both of their attention away. As their food was placed in front of them. The crepes that Nesta had been craving. Now made her queasy. Any appetite had been chased off. Cassian on the other hand seemed unbothered. As he began digging into his ruben. It didn't take long for him to notice that her plate hadn’t been touched though. He stopped eating and looked up.” You were starving earlier” he noted. “ And now I’m not.” she spat out. Concern danced in his eyes. “Think about it. I know you're worried. But, know. That I’ll be there with you.” He began to reach his hand out to hers. But, pulled it back.

Nesta scoffed a laugh “ You were there last time. And you did nothing. Listen,” She held up her hand.” I know what I am. I know I’m bitchy, and mean. I’m not likable. I know this. I accept this. But, the others don’t seem to know what they are. Morrigan is bitch, a possessive one at that. She’s marked you as her territory too. Amren is so stuck up on her high horse. I doubt she knows how to get down. And Rhysand, can’t look past his own damn faults. To see that he and I are uncomfortably similar. Or maybe he does see it. I don't know.”

Cassian's gaze softened. “For Evie’s sake. I am willing to try. But, it won't be easy for me. I’m telling you I am scared, Cassian. If you insist that I be in their happy little lives. I need you to really be there for me.” Those words silenced him. A flash of something crossed his face, realization maybe? “ Tell me that you will be there for me.” She needed to hear him say it.

Within seconds, he muttered, his tone somber.  “ I’ll be there for you.” Did he finally hear her? Only time would tell.

She nodded, hating that she let such vulnerability show. Her pleading tone made her even sicker to her stomach. She needed to change the subject. “ If you want to pick up the cakes, and food for the party you can. It’s Saturday at 3. Get there around 2:30.”

“Okay, is there anything else I can do? What can I get her?” Cassian didn’t question the change of subject. He simply continued eating. Stealing the occasional glance at her abandoned crepes. He always had been able to read her. Not push her unless it was needed.

“Anything colorful, she likes sounds too. Just don't get anything too loud with built-in batteries.” Cassian wiped his mouth.” Your neighbors complain or something?” 

“No” she responded, “If I have to live with the toys. I prefer something I can tolerate, or dismantle if it becomes a nuisance”

“ What if I kept some things of hers at my place?” The question was innocent enough. Nesta hadn’t thought about Evie spending time there yet. It made sense though. For him to bring it up. He had a right to have her at his place. It would eventually partly be her home too.“ I’m not against it. But, what if you get spotted with her? Or her things get spotted in your place? ” It was a genuine concern. How would he explain his way out of that situation?

“ Fine,” He conceded. “Let's just focus on slowly introducing her. We can discuss her being at my place more at a later time.”

Her plate was still untouched when she asked for her check. The waitress gave her a strange look. But, went back to normal as Cassian handed her his card. Stating that he was footing the bill.” Can we get a box for the crepes?” he asked. The waitress happily obliged. Returning a few minutes later with Cassian’s card, and a styrofoam box.

  Nesta tapped the table. How dare he speak for her. “ Why didn’t you let me pay?” she grumbled. “ I can pay for myself just fine.” He ran a hand over his face. “ I know you can. Just let this one slide, please?” There was no arguing with him when he was like this. 

 “Fine, I’ll text you the details about the party, and where to pick up the cakes. ” With that, she stood and walked out. Box of crepes in tow. Not daring to look back.

The club was busier than normal that night. A distraction, she welcomed.  It relaxed her to dance like this. It was freeing. A far cry from the stuffy proper dances she was taught as a child. The thought of her Mother, and Grandmother rolling in their graves, brought her joy. She hoped they saw her. The two women had controlled her. Molded her into what they wanted her to be. She’d forever resent them for that. 

She spotted many of her regulars in the crowd. One, in particular, sauntered his way over to her stage. He was hard to miss. Even upside down Eris Vanserra stood out. The red of his hair was vibrant in the bright lights. The cheshire grin he sported made her want to scratch it off. Once a month he made an appearance. Usually after a business trip. Early on he set his sights on Nesta. Many of the girls attempted to sway his affections away from her. But, all were snubbed indefinitely.

Slowly she slid down the pole to meet him. The bills littering her stage made her crawl a bit more difficult. But, she managed. “ Eris” she purred. Sliding onto her back legs. Positioning her breasts in front of his face. His eyes grew dark. “ Jade” His voice was that of a snake.“ I’m in a bit of a mood tonight. Are you going to help me cheer up?” He extended a hand.

“ Don’t I always?” Taking his hand he pulled her off. Leading her to a set of leather couches near the back of the room. She didn't miss the envious glances as they passed by. As he sat, he pulled out an envelope. Tossing it onto the small table next to her. “ Count it if you want, it should be $2,000. You know the drill. You're my arm candy for tonight.” Nesta counted it. True to his word it was all there. It always was. But, his attitude left much to be desired. 

Eris froze when Nesta set her knee between his legs. Making sure to ever so gently brush his leg. His gaze turned ravenous. Surely, Eris thought himself the predator. But, he didn't know how wrong he was.

Leaning forward, she braced both hands on the couch's back. Looking down at him she spoke. Her tone like ice. “You know better than to speak to me like that.” she leaned in closer. Lowering herself until her lips grazed the shell of his ear “ Say please, or I walk.” she whispered. Eris shuddered, his body going stiff. All the bravado from earlier now gone. He said nothing until Nesta slid the knee between his legs higher. He sucked in a breath. “ Please” he ground out. Nesta smirked “Please what?”. The man beneath her groaned. “Please be my arm candy tonight.” The men held no power in this club. Balthazar had instilled that ideology in all the women he employed. Made sure that they always knew they were in control.

Pleased with herself, Nesta took a seat on Eris’s lap. Draping an arm around his neck, and leaning in. “ Was that so hard?” The look he gave her, told her it killed him. Good, he needed to know his place.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Every hour or so, Eris would request a lap dance. Eventually, his buddies showed up. As they always did. It was routine for him. He was a creature of habit. As per her usual. she turned down his drunken invitation to go home with him. The only home she wanted to be at was hers. So when the time came. She took her money and left.

Gwyn had texted her earlier that day that she and Evie had moved to Nesta’s place. She expected Gwyn to be asleep on the couch. But, was surprised to find both her and Emerie watching tv. A bowl of popcorn placed between them. She smiled as she walked over to her sisters. “ What’re you watching?’ She asked, picking up the bowl. Earning a pout from Gwyn. Nesta chuckled “ Calm down, I’m just moving it”. Replacing it on her lap. She took the seat between them. “ Devil’s Kitchen. The mean chef is really funny.” Emerie responded mouth full. As she reached for another handful of popcorn. “ More Importantly though,” a whimsical voice spoke from her other side. “ How did today go? You know, with Cassian?” Gwyn always loved getting to the point. Is this why she was still up? Emerie paused the tv. And was now looking at Nesta expectantly. “ Well, we talked. He brought up being a part of Evie’s life more. Providing for her as well.” Nesta took a deep breath. “ He also mentioned introducing Evie to his family, slowly. Which I’m not opposed to. I just-” Nesta stopped. Taking in a breath she rested her head on Gwyn’s shoulder. “ I told him how scared I was, I think he finally got it though, hopefully.” Emerie rubbed small reassuring circles On her arm. “ I’m proud of you. We’re proud of you. I’m assuming Cassian is coming to Evie’s party?” Nesta nodded, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “ Yes, he sounded excited about it.” Emerie gave her a look. “ What?” Nesta asked. “Hear me out. What do you think about inviting, Azriel to Evie’s party?” Emerie asked, still rubbing circles along her arm. “ It would be a show of good faith. I know that it’s going to be hard. But, why not start out with one of them that never had an issue with you? Then you're safe for a while.” Emerie had a point. Azriel never spoke poorly to her. He’d even stood up for her before against Rhysand’s jabs. Doing this would give her time to figure things out. Bring herself to talk to the others. In a better mental state. Maybe even have another ally in all of this mess. Nesta sighed looking at Gwyn, she smiled, then nodded. Emerie and Gwyn watched as she typed a message to Cassian. One that would set in motion a terrible situation, or a positive one.  If you would like to bring Azriel to Evie’s party, you can. Her thumb lingered over the send button for a moment before finally descending. It was done, and Nesta was terrified.

Taglist

@sv0430 @melphss @champanheandluxxury @my-fan-side @wolfnesta

[pachel-2003]

The Wasteland part 2

We walked for a few minutes in silence, Clint’s hand still holding mine. I’ve heard different people deal with trauma; this might be one of those ways. With the little light we have I can study his face some. He’s got a small beard that’s a little grey, along with his hair that seems to have grown out. He also looks to be worn out. If I had been gone for 30 years he would have been in a deep depression.

“Do you want to know what happened? It’s ok if you don’t want to, it’s bad.” We looked towards each other, and I gave him a nod. I had to know. “30 years ago, avengers tower was attacked by Modoc. He got his grimy hands on the space stone and the time stone. We all gathered to where he was, and I looked to my side, and you weren’t there. You didn’t show up for the fight.”

“That must have been scary. I’m sorry.” I wanted to cry. That’s basically what happened before I was teleported here. The attack, my time disappearing, it must have been the time stone that sent me here. “Did you defeat him?”

“No, we didn’t. He defeated us. I was too busy focusing on you disappearing I couldn’t focus. The shot that would have got him, I ended up missing.” The tears started falling now. A person going missing affects people differently. I feel guilty for doing this to him. “We had to retreat, and once in a safe place Steve and Tony had an argument. Tony wanted to find you, Steve said you were gone, and we had to focus on Modoc. No one could decide on anything. We had one more fight against Modoc and that’s when Hulk lost it. His temper got the best of him, he killed Modoc and took both stones for himself.”

“How’s that possible? Wouldn’t Bruce break through and stop Hulk?”

“Bruce wasn’t strong enough; he’s been stuck as Hulk all this time. We’ve fought Hulk before, but we never wanted to stop him for good.” Clint stopped walking; he was shaking too. “When you disappeared, everything fell apart. I couldn’t handle being there without you, so I left. Hulk took over the world and only a few remaining survivors live in an underground city. But I’m so happy your ok, was Modoc the reason you disappeared?”

“He might be. What you described as your past was my present. I remember fighting him, and a big flash happened. It must have been the work as the time stone.” It all makes sense now. That means my team is living a present without me. “I need to get back to them, if I’m not there this future happens.”

“As much as I want to help you get back to your time, I don’t have the time stone. That belongs to Maestro.” Must be Hulks new name. “The resistance has tried for years to defeat him. But he’s too strong even with Asgardian magic on our side. What I can do is make sure you get your strength back up at the base. Now come on, it’s not safe here and we’ve got a long way to walk.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” I say with a smirk “You might be my Clint, but time can change people you know.” I know I should trust him, but I can’t help but be nervous as to where he’s leading me.

“You really think I’m capable of lying to the person I love. I would never lie to you, and you can never hide how you’re truly feeling with me. Don’t be nervous it’s going to be ok.” He holds his hand out to me and has a soft smile on his face. The same reassuring smile he gives me for when I get scared to go on a mission. I took his hand, and we started walking again.

We walk for what feels like forever. I start to see some light at the end of the tunnel. Clint puts away his flashlight the closer we get to it. We reach the end, and my eyes adjust to the lighting. The room is huge. It has an area where Clint makes his arrows. Right next to it is a shooting range, the targets worn out from the use over the years. Looking around the room some more there’s somewhat of a living space. It’s supposed to be cozy but with what’s happening outside I doubt you’d get a chance to relax here.

I walk to the bed and see a photo lying near the pillow. I remember this photo. We took it a couple months before Modoc appeared. It’s me and Clint, his arm wrapped around my shoulder, big smiles on both our faces. Clint told me he wanted a photo to remember me by. In case something ever happened to us. At the time I thought it was dumb, we always came back home to each other. Thinking about it now, it’s a great idea. If I ever get back home, I’ll apologize to him.

“I can’t believe you kept this.” I can feel tears in my eyes, feeling the guilt for disappearing for years.

“Of course I did. I wasn’t lying when I said I would keep it.” He said with a soft smile. We didn’t say anything, we just sat there. Tears in our eyes just taking in the moment.

“So, is this the resistance base?”

“Not really. If we keep walking past this door, we would reach the main base. I’m just the main line of defense.” He looks down and his tone changes to something sadder. “Kind of sad that the useless avenger was the one that survived, huh?” That’s what made me snap.

“What the hell, Clint?! Don’t you dare say bullshit like that, do you understand?” How could he say something like that? He was just as important to the team as the rest of us. That’s what made him special. “I’m glad you are the one to survive, even with what’s happened. That’s what makes you stronger than all of us. Even if I was really gone, I’d want you to keep fighting for me, for us, for the world.”

“But to me you were really gone.” I can tell he’s trying not to yell. He’s never yelled at me and at this point I don’t care; he needs to let this anger out. “For 30 years I thought you were dead. Then you show up and I can’t ignore that. I’m scared I’m going to lose you again just like what happened from the start.”

And there it is, all that built up anger is being let out. “I really am sorry I left. I didn’t mean to. But seeing you let out all this built-up anger makes me want to help you defeat Meastro. I don’t want you to suffer anymore.” I said gently. I stepped forward and took his hand in mine. “We’re going to do this together, and you’ll be free from this burden.”

He squeezes my hand and softly smiles. “Let’s do it then. But first lets get some rest then start planning. And trust me its going to take a lot of planning.” He leads me towards the other side of the tunnel, towards the resistance base.

[sanctum-stinker]

How about MCU wongstrange? What was your first impression of them? Any headcanons?

I want to to know more, of what you see. Because for me personally, I think I ship them after mom. And I wonder if I missed more than two moments or scenes that flew over me

Hello Hi!

You came to the right place. Because I jumped on the WongStrange Bandwagon before No Way Home I’ve had plenty of time to analyse past content and also pick out bits from recent films which I thought were fruity!

I’ve just compiled the images in my camera roll because I can’t be bothered screenshotting and looking up all the scenes, I hope that’ll suffice!

Doctor Strange 2016

If I’m being completely honest, Mordo and Stephen have a better dynamic in this movie, but Wong still has his moments! Obviously the iconic Beyoncé scene, the weirdly tense library interactions, Stephen reviving Wong and Wong trusting him without hesitation etc etc. 

This deleted scene as well. Rolling on the floor crying. This also sort of confirms they’re living together in the sanctum now, so that’s also a thing.

Multiverse of Madness 2022 This movie was kinda shit, but we got some pretty decent bits all things aside. Their overall banter and dynamics are fantastic at times, and whoever made their outfit colors so fucking complimentary deserves a wet sloppy kiss.

Why are there so many shots of them looking at each other.

Honestly I can’t even describe this one. Why is he looking at him like that.

Christine tells him to face his fears so he immediately opens up a little to Wong and trusts him. Okay. Cool. Okay.

And of course the bow scene. Peak symbolism regarding his respect towards Wong and his growth as a man. His eyes remain fixed on Wong when he does this and I think they were insane for this. I fucking love this scene.

Infinity War

Not much content in this because Wong peaces out like two seconds into appearing, but we get some good shit in that time.

Matching battle stances are so romantic, boys.

That’s the only stuff I’ve got, but honorable mentions is that this further confirms Wong and Stephen now live together in the sanctum. The money and tuna melt banter at the start, Wong saying that the Hulk Ice cream is ‘our favorite’ implying ice cream nights and a conversation where they have confirmed to each other that that flavor is their favorites. Marvel I just want to talk, please, I just want to talk about Sanctum Sanctorum ice cream night please.

Endgame

I also don’t have any images for Endgame, but the fact that Wong likely organised the majority of the portal scene makes me yell. Due to Stephen reappearing on Titan (as seen in his entrance scene) it implies that he had to have had communications with Wong previous to dusting. Because of his lack of presence he wouldn’t have been able to have actually put anything into action, thus Wong has to be responsible for the most iconic scene in the MCU!!!

The fact that they’re such a power duo offscreen and unknowingly carry the whole battle is insane to me and no one talks about it.

No Way Home

Banger film. Great WongStrange moments.

Marvel tell us what happened at the full moon party IMPOSSIBLE edition.

Stephen using puppy eyes to fucking win Wong over to let him use a dangerous reality warping spell. You know, just a casual Tuesday. AHHHHHH AHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHH.

Also introduces Sorcerer Supreme Wong which I shat my pants about. I adore that they let him be Sorcerer supreme but dearly wish they took him more seriously. But we’re not here to talk about that. Onto the next.

What If…? Doctor Strange lost his heart and not his hands.

God I remember the soul shattering experience this was when it came out. The WongStrange content was surprisingly nourishing though.

‘We’ve’ been through weirder.

Stephen putting aside his crippling heartache for Christine just to save Wong? Like not even considering the actual rest of the world that’s fading outside? Okay. Cool. Cool. Okay.

Wong also is the one to comfort Stephen about Christine and is a part of the pinnacle point in time determining wether Stephen uses the timestone and turns into Strange Supreme or not. 

Now the second two aren’t technically a part of the MCU, but they are related to it. I don’t know where they’re to be put in the MCU category but they exist so I’ll consider them canon.

This book is just silly and goofy. No comments just read it for yourself.

Infinity War Prelude 2

This comic is so overlooked, and I don’t know why. The Doctor Strange Prelude is as well. They kinda do Wong dirty with the art, but the content is pretty cool. Also gives us an insight into Ragnorok and just how the sorcerers operate.

Wong casually recounting Stephen’s whole journey for no reason.

I just like them in this panel tbh. Stephen is kinda scrumpled.

Stephen pulling a John Watson with the “stop being mysterious” thing. Implying Wong has been cryptic and mysterious enough for Stephen to recognize this as a character attribute.

That’s all I have, honestly I’m too tired to come up with a capping off statement, but I hope this pile of various moments is enough! The MCU is yet to really explore their dynamic, and let alone Wong as a character, so I’m excited (and a bit afraid after MoM) to see where it goes!

[reiverreturns]

us 🤝 gratuitously talking about our wips instead of actually working on them

i NEED to know about this ac/pacrim nonsense 👀

it's a hard life in the trenches (doing nothing productive whatsoever)

EHEHEHE okay so my nonsense file is basically all @alethiometry's fault and is more or less a dumping ground for assassin's creed PacRim AU stuff that i write odds and sods for when i don't feel like writing anything serious. it's mostly hytham/jacob frye where hytham is an ex-ranger who designs jaeger weaponry and jacob is an active ranger alongside evie. idk i think they'd have SUCH good chemistry and i know in my heart i'm right on that one. i have zero intention of ever making a real publishable story out of the stuff in there but i have lots and lots of little bits! it's very much ignoring quality, just having fun stuff.

anyway for context i've pulled a bit where jacob gets injured before the big mission to close the breach. furious and upset that he'll be sidelined, he ends up running his mouth to the press about how the world governments and their wall building plans are all stupid as hell and hytham sneaks him out into a hong kong hotel to screw some sense into him before marshal aya can find jacob and beat his ass six ways to sunday. i'm also dropping a cut in because it's a chonky bit!

send me a title from my wip list and i'll post a snippet and some thoughts

---

“Where will you go when this is all over?” Hytham asks.

Jacob turns, attention turns sharp, but Hytham isn't looking at him. He’s leaning against the edge of the window, arm resting across the top of the frame, eyes locked on a lonely hulking mass fuzzed in the heavy, sodden mist of the bay. A Jaeger on reconnaissance and repair. Odin’s Sight, if Jacob remembers the assignments. He can’t think of anything more pointless than checking the walls now.

You pilot a Jaeger for long enough, you come to understand that Rangers come in two flavours. The first are the sort who fight for an after. Eivor and Vili, with their dream of a patch of land and animals aplenty in the far flung reaches of Norway. Connor being reunited with his family back home. The second kind of Ranger fights against. ‘After’ isn’t exactly a worry when you're trying to wrestle a Kaiju’s lower mandible from the rest of its jaw. ‘After’ doesn’t mean anything if the chances are you’ll end up going down with your Jaeger. 

Before today Jacob had always considered himself firmly in camp two. Even now, with his Jaeger miles away, he can feel the mechanical click and whirr of the gears in his wrist as he sits up on the bed, pneumatic pressure falling when he adjusts his bad leg. It’s raining and the machinery aches. Evie's running through her tests with Henry. She's worried about him. His mind is hers and hers is his; no start and no end, a complex knot of flesh and metal that cannot be divorced. Jacob's future is a blue-tinged meld of past and present. It does not - can not - exist without Evie or Rook Empire in it.

But that had been then. Hytham turns, sighing, and the realisation hits Jacob like a bullet to the chest.

Jacob might die. He might live to see the whole world fall. He might be crushed beneath a warm body like he was half an hour ago, panting into Hytham's mouth, sweat-slick and needy for more time. But he also might live. There might be an ‘after’ after all.

More silence. Jacob wishes he had Hytham’s comfort in it. Maybe the roar of blood in his ears wouldn’t feel so intrusive.

“I hadn’t thought of it,” Jacob eventually says in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own, hands absently gripping the sheets, mind scrambling and overshot to somewhere far, far away. “I could go back to London, I suppose. Would be nice to go somewhere where I could pretend the world didn’t completely go to shit. But it’s…” He looks at the condensation on the windows, mouth dry. “I don’t think there will be a place for me when I go back.” 

Stupid thing to say. London’s a big fucking city. It still is, despite the attacks and riots and civil unrest that has destabilised its boroughs over the years. Hytham tilts his head thoughtfully.

“There will be no Rangers anymore,” he says, and Jacob nods.

[flownintothesun]

 ⋆ ✰ ⋆ ───    ❛   𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞! 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞! 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞!   ❜  (𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥 @ 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬)

                            ⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── 𝟒𝟎𝟒 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝. ( @batteredoptimist )

        𝐒𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘, 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐋𝐃 in Adelina Renaldi’s kitchen. The memory of it is warped — the counters too high, not the right color. He can’t remember what he’d been doing — but he must have been doing something, because he hadn’t seen the knife coming. He’d been with Claudio for two years by that point — knew that even as a lad, the man who is now the Don had been irredeemably wicked. The amount of times he’s wanted to go back to that stupid little boy and shake him and tell him never to turn his back on Claudio Renaldi doesn’t change the fact that he had, and that he’d nearly died for it. Claudio had been thirteen when he’d stabbed his Papa’s choice for his future underboss in the back. 

       Mariano had learned a lesson on loyalty that day — because when Claudio’s Papa and he had come to the medical ward — Mariano had still been unable to breathe on his own. He watched them linger against all of the hulking machines (and shit, Mariano’s still scared of hospitals as a goddamned grown man) — watched the thought flicker through Claudio’s beady sadistic eyes as his gaze had moved to the plug on the floor. Mariano had learned never to show fear that day. Never to question the boss. The tube had been pulled out of his throat and when panic had risen up, instead of flailing and choking — he had addressed them properly, calmly. Davide had smiled. He’d been pleased. Had yelled at a nurse to fix him. In the end, the scar from his wound had become a phoenix. Rise from the ashes, stay alive, never question orders. Never die. There’s never been any confusion that it’s not only his own life on the line — but every Verratti who had clawed their way to get to where they are. All of their hopes, dreams, fears — they rest squarely on Mariano’s shoulders. And he’s never complained, never said it was too much. It was just his life.

     It’s strange — how things come together. Adelina had cherished him in the hospital ward — run her fingers through his hair and sang to him, quieted him, calmed him. His own Mama hadn’t been there — too busy getting attention from the incident, and not wanting to deal with the darker parts of life. He’s never blamed his Mama — she has had a difficult life, and he loves her. But he’d be lying if he didn’t say that his heart broke a little when he found out that Adelina had gone. At the time, he had only been a little worried about her getting hunted down and killed — he’d been more sad that she hadn’t taken him with her. He will never, never confess that. Nor can he ever confess that twenty years later — Mariano has found a similar gentleness in her son — the one that was born free of all of the pain of this place. The one that was supposed to get a chance at life. When Claudio had asked him to make Muriel fall in love with him — hesitance aside, Mariano had been a loyal dog — done his duty. He’d never had any reason to think himself possible of loving another man — of fucking up a mission so goddamned terribly that he’s shivering in the sewers right now, trying to keep his breathing even as the goddamned love of his life screams at him while Claudio’s minions twist his arms around. Muriel needs to stop moving — too much pressure and they’ll break.

     He really needs Muriel to shut the fuck up in general right now because doesn’t he see how much worse it could be? That whatever is going to happen now was always fucking going to happen because Claudio is the devil and one way or another he’s going to have his say and drag whoever he wants down to hell with him? Having spent most of his life as the boss’s fucking guard dog — he knows Claudio, has made it his job to know Claudio. Right now he knows that the boss is trying to root out everyone he suspects as a traitor — and Mariano cannot be put into that position. It’s not just him — it’s his Mama, though she’s the reason this is happening. It’s his siblings and his Nonna, and it’s Isabella, too. And it’s because what fucking good is it if they both suffer? What good is he to anyone if he’s not in one piece?

      He thinks back to the night before — to Muriel on the beach, sun on his skin and a big lopsided smile, sand in places it has no business being. He thinks about the sound of boats in the water, the lapping of waves — the way Muriel’s lips had felt when they closed around his — warm and solid and real. Maybe it would be easier if it all felt like a dream — easier if he could have just done his job and didn’t know about how stroking along his lover’s belly turns him on, or the specific shade of honey-gold his eyes are. If he didn’t know Muriel’s favorite songs and recipes and hadn’t held his hand on a roller coaster or dreamed that maybe one day it wouldn’t all come crashing down.

       What was he supposed to do in the end? The choice hadn’t been so black and white an Muriel needs to fucking understand that. Either way, he was sacrificing something. In the best case scenario — Muriel may have replaced him as second, which would bring shame to all of his family, make Mariano worthless. They still couldn’t have been together. In the more likely outcome — this always would have happened one way or the next. If it had been as simple as choosing himself or Muriel — he would have given up. But, his love should know — Mariano is nothing but the weight of other people’s expectations — if he crumbles, so do they. One person, or multiple? Claudio’s games never allow a winner.

      Two goddamned years. He’d put off the inevitable for two goddamned years. And damn his Mama for doing this to him — to them. He isn’t good for you, this distraction. He’s holding you back. You can’t waste your life and everything we’ve done for you for a traitor.

       And then the inevitable — If you don’t, I will...

       Anger rises in Mariano and what more can he do than what he’s always done? Swallow it down, swallow it down because he should be *grateful* that it isn’t goddamned worse. Swallow it down before it *gets* worse. Before he does something goddamned stupid. He could take out every single one of these men. All but Claudio. And Claudio is the only one that matters. So either this happens — or they’re all dead. Maybe he miscalculated — could have worked the game in a different way — but it’s too late for that now. There is a compass inked on his heart that is always going to point back to Muriel Bernardi. Standing here now with his heart hammering so hard that he feels it may be what gives him away in the end — he remembers all of the times he’d thought about running away. He will carry regret in his heart until he is one day dead.

      Claudio spits at Muriel’s feet, laughing so hard that he starts coughing, complaining that the sewer smells like shit. Mariano’s not sure what else it’s meant to smell like when it’s the burial ground of things Claudio wishes would go away. *It could be so much worse, he could be dead, instead of facing a punishment. They could all be dead.* Or, he could have stopped being such a goddamned fucking coward. “Love?” The boss snarls, “Didn’t I show you where love gets you, little bastard? When I shoved your head into our Mama’s blood, I thought the message was plain. Love is poison. There is only loyalty to the Mafia, and to the Don. Give me the gun, Francesco.”

       But Mariano steps forward, expression cold (all of him is cold, he’ll never be warm again, too many nights in a too-hot bed, tangling up to stick together, all lost to winter) —

       — he could shoot Claudio in the head, but he hasn’t been given a gun. He has to do fucking something. This isn’t like the action games or movies they’d cuddle up and watch and get distracted by. This is real fucking life, and he’d take the monster at the end of the game over Claudio Renaldi any day. Shit, fuck. FUCK!

      "Mariano?” Claudio laughs, “Did you hear that? He loves you,” he mocks “and you betrayed him. Remind me...where is your loyalty, Verratti?”

       “To you, boss. The same as it’s always been.”

       Chocolate-colored eyes flash up to Muriel, who looks like a limp ragdoll. Mi dispiace, mi dispiace...

        “If I asked you to shoot Romeo point blank in the head right now, would you do it, Mariano?”

       “Without hesitation.”

       If he gets the gun, he can put a bullet in Claudio's head. That will change the game. He's never wanted to be the boss...but no one's ever cared what he wants. Except...

       “Do you see that, Romeo?” Claudio roars triumphantly, “No one loves you — no one cares about your suffering — you’re alive because you’re a tool. No one’s coming to save you. You thought your life was hell before? You don’t know suffering! Hold him down, boys. If he fights — break his bones. Maybe this will remind you that instead of sucking Mariano’s dick...” everyone laughs then, like they’re both the butt of a good joke, “....you already had an ass to kiss.”

[swampgh0stt]

Reprobation

I spent 2 days writing this & I am actually really proud of it? Anyway, if you don’t know about Harrison, info found HERE.

cw: violence ofc, character death at the end

Very heavy comic canon reliant. No beta, I’m going out like Zero thanks, & yeah it’s kinda long 

Of course it had to be a small village in the mountains. Harrison tracked Robotnik’s scent, undoubtedly trailing him there-- Some place that would recognize him. His ears pinned back, holding off from entering in favor of watching and waiting. The villagers were of no interest, but the choices they made were. Whatever had transpired prior to his arrival was a mystery, but had confidently muzzled the once boisterous Doctor. Before where he would have torn this village asunder with his badniks, Harrison found he was skittering about at the whim of each resident-- eager to please, like some young pup. 

It was a far cry from the infamous Eggman that Harrison had come to know. 

“Harrison! You’re bleeding all over my floor.” “You better not die, Harry.” “Get that hedgehog now! What kind of wolf are you, if you can’t even catch him!?” “This is why I prefer my machines, Harry!”

Harsh words fluttered through the wolf-hybrid’s mind, echoing in their cruelty. He forced them back with a shake of his head, letting his red eyes fall on such a meek version of the very same man. Was this some act of mercy from the Universe? So close, yet still hard to reach when fallen in the hands of these mountainous villagers. 

After the third day had passed, with no behavioral changes from what Robotnik had settled into, Harrison decided it was time he stopped hiding. 

All his life, he had wanted the gentle calm of love. His Mother had never extended such grace upon him, and other Mobians had made sure he knew exactly what they thought of him and his hybridization. Cisco gave him love and acceptance-- but Robotnik offered him purpose and a place of belonging when the rest of the world had violently rejected him. He would always love Cisco, but canine instinct bid him loyal to the Doctor who brought meaning to his miserable life. 

His arrival was far from well received. 

“Harrison, is it?” An older mountain goat approached with caution. Harrison recognized the signs: Apprehension, his body tense as if he could make a quick escape despite his walking stick. The subtle twitch of the goat’s ears spoke volumes all on their own. Small children took to their homes quickly, to escape the hulking form of the wolf-hybrid. 

If not for Valery’s carnage that had swept through the mountains, the terrible stories of the isolated Sitka pack were still enough to make any Mobian wary of him. And that was only if they ignored his kinship with Eggman. 

Black ears fell to the sides as Harrison paused and considered his next words very carefully. He knew that if he messed this up, it would likely spoil any chance he had at getting back to Robotnik-- at least until the man snapped out of his current stupor, if ever. (Harrison sincerely hoped he wouldn’t). “The Doctor--”

Before he could even finish whatever it was he wanted to say, the Mountain Goat cleared his throat. “Mr. Tinker--” He corrected with a sympathetic look. “He doesn’t remember anything.” Harrison felt his shoulders slump. His red eyes turned away from the goat, looking straight past him in the direction he had last seen Robotnik disappear to. “We tried everything,” the Goat continued on. “Nothing seemed to rouse his old self. We are happy to say he’s found a better life here.” 

Without me. Harrison felt damnation creeping in around him. He didn’t want to be alone again, and he knew he couldn’t just go to Cisco and the Freedom Fighters either. They wouldn’t have him-- He knew it. (Sure, he had not interacted with them recently to find out, but he would rather avoid the imminent rejection). “I don’t want any problems,” the wolf-hybrid confessed as his gaze fell to the ground. 

The Mountain Goat felt confident in that response. He spoke proudly, tilting his head high, despite Harrison towering over him: “Then don’t make any.” It felt like rejection, he was sure in the way the hybrid seemed to flinch away. But if they could offer a second chance and a better life for Robotnik? Why not extend the same to his guard dog? “I see no reason why you can’t go to him, as long as you don’t plan on trying to revive any old plans.” 

For the first time in a very long time, Harrison felt hope bubbling within him. Oftentimes, when he felt like this, he had learned to abandon the feeling-- as it was quickly snuffed out before. But this felt different… It felt real. That fluffy black and silver tail swayed lazily from side-to-side, giving away his true feelings of relief. “I never wanted to conquer Mobius anyway.” 

Finally, the collar around his neck had been removed, replaced with a loose fitting bandana.

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

[ He should have known it was too good to be true. Lazy dog days were never meant to last. 

He had grown too comfortable in the village, ignoring the threats brewing in the world around them until it manifested in the form of Rough and Tumble’s appearance. And that annoying Warp Topaz. 

Harrison had hoped to protect this newfound peace, selfishly for his own sake. 

Knowing that it had been ripped away was bad enough. But at the hands of a platypus, and two dimwitted skunks? The insult was enough to make Harrison’s fur bristle. Once he got his claws on them, he would not let them survive to repeat this mistake. And if there was anything left to salvage of Mr. Tinker, Harrison would do his best to preserve it. ]

Home away from home, was what Robotnik had called it. But Starline was less than impressed to see such a collection. Lining the shelves of his… Egg Cave? were small figures made in the likeness of so many individuals the platypus recognized, and a few that he did not. This was less exciting than a mission brief (which Starline was promised!), but he still managed to feign some interest as Robotnik showed off many of the figures. 

Shadow, Knuckles, Rouge, Sonic-- even Eggman himself. 

But next to Eggman’s miniature was someone the platypus did not recognize. Curiosity sparkling in his red eyes, Starline reached out for the odd looking creation, only for Robotnik to quickly slap his hand away. “Sir!” The startled platypus pulled his hand away, gritting his teeth at the sudden and harsh reprimand. “Who is that?” He queried, trying to ignore his wounded pride. “Or rather…” Those red eyes half-lidded. “What is it?” 

“For such a devoted fanboy--” Robotnik’s tone shifted, less excitable than before. He almost sounded disappointed, or perhaps betrayed. “--There’s still so much you don’t know.”

‘Isn’t that the point of this mentorship?’ Starline kept his comments to himself, sulking at the non-answer he was given. 

However, Eggman felt protective, even if the individual who the figure was based on wasn’t around anymore. He had tried to track the collar’s location, only to find it destroyed. “Harrison is a half-breed,” he explained as he gestured to the figure. “He’s part wolf, part elk. And while he’s not as impressive as my creations,” Robotnik rested a hand on his chest, a wicked grin pulled back under his mustache. “--He didn’t consistently let me down, unlike some of the other idiots I’ve employed. Miserable beast. Sometimes, he even did the job right.” 

Jealousy boiled in his blood as Starline listened. He didn’t miss the fondness in Robotnik’s voice, when speaking about this hybrid. But he quickly reassured himself-- had the good Doctor not said that he, himself, was his best lackey? Had Harrison ever hand-delivered all of the Chaos Emeralds to Doctor Eggman? He thought not! Because that was surely something he would have heard about. 

“Can’t be that good,” the platypus scoffed, feigning disinterest. “Honestly. Abandoning you in your time of need? How barbaric.” Starline was sure to remind Robotnik of who had restored him to his former glory. If Harrison was so good, why had he contented with wasting away in some backwater village? Eggman Empire was ripe for dominating the entire world, not settling for a child’s theme park. 

A moment of silence passed over Robotnik, his blue eyes locked on Harrison’s figure. Abandoning him? No, that didn’t feel quite right. Something in his gut told him that Harry had never turned his back on him. But, if that were true-- where was the wolf hybrid now? 

A gloved hand passed over the figure before Robotnik turned away from it. “No more about Harrison,” he ordered with a roll of his shoulders. “I owe you a mission brief, don’t I?” 

Well. That had certainly soured the joyous mood. 

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

Harrison didn’t need to hunt down the skunk brothers to find Robotnik’s location. He was privy to all Egg Base locations, and figured he still had access to them as he did before. If he really wanted to, he could find his way to some of the bigger bases and access their database-- find his way back to Robotnik by his own means. Despite what Harrison allowed others to think of his own wit, he was quite capable on his own. 

So no, he didn’t need to hunt them down at all. But he chose to, as a show of force to their Boss. It was the quickest way to send a message without accidentally upsetting Robotnik himself. He had one real target in mind; these two were just collateral. 

Tumble hit the ground hard, his white fur matted down by sweat and blood splashed across. Rough was thrown upon him next, his smaller body bouncing off and falling to the side. Black furred ears flew forward, his smaller body heaving with each labored breath. “L- listen!” The black-furred skunk exclaimed, fear dripping from his words. “We’re on the same side!”

Harrison’s low growl erupted from deep within his chest, rumbling like thunder across the sky. “We are not.” His baritone voice carried in a gravely snarl. 

Rough flinched back, relieved when his brother sat upright to accept the challenge from the monstrous hybrid. “What’s your problem?” The white furred skunk growled back, baring his teeth. “You work for Eggman too! You should be happy we brought him back!” 

Harrison’s tail hung low, dusting across the snowy ground. His boots crunched over powdery white, burying in to the ankle as he loomed dangerously over the two. He would kill them, and both brothers knew it. Out of fear and desperation, Rough decided to call upon his natural assets-- releasing a foul smell as a distraction for the canine hybrid. It was enough to force Harrison back and give the brothers an opening-- Rough jumping one way while Tumble shot out the opposite. They circled around before lunging in together, hoping to overwhelm the larger beast. 

Two highly trained mercenaries who worked together should find no real issue in taking down a singular target. But just as they found their craft carved in gore and violence, Harrison had found his calling by exploiting his own natural instincts. Their bodies danced around each other-- acrobatic skill met harshly by brute force. Despite all their abilities and best efforts, Harrison was favored by Eggman for perfectly good reasons: He was a killing machine, with a body made to endure. All muscle and antlers and teeth and claws; once more, he brought them to the ground in a much more violent heap this time. 

With a breathy laugh carried on an exhale, Harrison decided it was time to stop toying with his prey. Predatory instincts made him salivate at the idea of ripping them open on his teeth, letting their blood soak over his tongue. Their fear was palpable, making the air thick and enticing him further. If he didn’t end it now, he would follow through on what they already assumed. 

He needed them alive, for Starline to see. 

“I’d kill you, but how’s your little bitch of a Boss gonna know I’m coming for him then?” Harrison’s lips curled back, baring every metallic tooth in his mouth. “Besides, your dumbasses aren’t worth the effort.” 

Before Harrison took his leave of them, he stomped one of his boots down on Tumble’s head, grinding the heel in between the skunk’s eye. “Make sure Starline gets the message for me. Alright?” 

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

“Rough! Tumble! What happened to you?” Starline took a hesitant step back, giving space to the bloodied pair of skunks as they both fell from pain and exhaustion. Immediately, his thoughts began racing on just who was behind such blatant carnage. It obviously wasn’t like Sonic to do this. There was a high possibility that Shadow was involved, especially after what happened during the Zombot Outbreak… But no, why would Shadow let them live? Perhaps some other individual with an agenda? A desire to challenge the infamous Doctor Eggman and assert themselves as a force to be reckoned with? 

Eggman hovered nearby, hardly paying any mind to the pair of brothers bleeding out in his office. Aside from the orders given to some eggpawns nearby to clean up the mess, of course. The two skunks weren’t worth more than that, to him. 

Starline took note of his cruel disinterest. 

Rough was the one who finally spoke, his words shaking from the effort it took just to get them out. “It was that freak!” He exclaimed, blood dripping down from between his lips. Were they going to die? It was a very real fear he had not known up until now. Never before were they met with such fierce violence. Despite their reputations as brute mercenaries, what they endured felt primal. Reduced to pawns, like trembling prey in the shadow of an apex predator. The whole ordeal had ripped the rug out from under both brothers, shifting their understanding of the world. 

It was a brutally humbling experience, and they may still not have survived long enough to truly learn from it. 

At the mention of the word Freak, Robotnik was suddenly listening in. His breath held, as if to completely silence himself rather than miss whatever explanation came next. Rough wouldn’t keep them waiting long either: “The- the deer-dog thing!” 

“Harrison!” Robotnik immediately threw himself into the conversation. But it was not for their sake. Starline leaned away with a scowl when the eggcarrier floated closer, hovering nearby with interest. “You saw him!” It wasn’t a question. Pride swelled within Eggman, seeing the handiwork of his trusted guard dog. After all this time, the hybrid hadn’t lost his edge. If anything, he had only grown even more cruel with his treatment to opposition, or perhaps these two had simply brought it upon themselves in their own arrogance. “Where is he?” 

Both skunks looked betrayed at the question. It did not seem as though Eggman asked for their sake, but to find and retrieve his lost canid companion. “I don’t know…” Tumble grumbled, turning his eyes away in resignation. 

Starline let out an exaggerated sigh. “What can we do?” He did not want his position at Eggman’s side challenged by some… unworthy abomination. “He’s made himself perfectly clear. Turning his back on us-- On you, Doctor. Why else would he--”

“No, that’s not it,” Robotnik immediately cut Starline off. He wouldn’t entertain the notion that Harrison had somehow shifted allegiance, not after all this time. There was some other reason for such a drastic response. “Obviously, they antagonized him.”

“What!?” Rough couldn’t believe what he was hearing, getting blamed for the very attack he fell victim to. The skunk swatted away an eggbot, growling at it as if that would scare it away. But robots have no fear response, thus it continued on trying to fuss over the bloody mess he was making in the lab. “You’re insane.”

Starline shook his head, trying to silence their protest with a serious look on his face. 

“That monster attacked us first!” Rough found the will to get back to his feet, stomping toward Robotnik’s eggcarrier. “Your freak mixbreed with a complex-! I should have snapped his neck when I had the chance!” 

“We don’t need to do this, really,” Starline intervened. However, it was too late. Robotnik stood tall, his shadow cast over both platypus and skunk brothers. The light hit just right over his goggles, making the lenses glow against his silhouette dangerously. 

Eggman’s voice was eerily calm as opposed to his usually explosive reactions: “Harrison is worth more than all three of you put together.” His piercing glare remained locked on Rough after that threat. “And you never had the chance. He wouldn’t give one to you.” 

The platypus felt his body tense immediately. He wanted to push back and argue that if the mutt was so great, then where was he? Why was he tormenting their cannon fodder? Loyalty should have compelled him back to Eggman’s side without question, not allow him to run rampant and carelessly attack allies. 

“There was… one thing he said…” Tumble pinned his ears back, feeling ashamed. He had very nearly forgotten in his own panic. “He wanted t- to make sure you got the message, Starline.” 

“!? Me? What message?”

Rough was still glaring daggers at Eggman, feeling confident he had the upper-hand with the next revelation. “He said he was coming for our bitch of a Boss.” 

Robotnik fell back in his chair with explosive laughter, slapping one of his hands down. “Well! This just keeps getting better!”

Starline visibly deflated, glaring back at his mentor. “I fail to see how this is any better. Your jealous mutt-”

“Watch your mouth.”

Silver fur bristled as the platypus was forced to fix his statement: “Your companion feels threatened by my presence. And now he is targeting me. If I’m to be at your side, he should learn some respect for my authority.” 

But Robotnik didn’t seem the least bit bothered by it all-- Not by the skunk brothers’ misfortune, or the target on Starline’s back. His dear Harrison was still out there, proving his undying loyalty to the Doctor. As any good dog should. With his old collar destroyed, Robotnik would have to design another-- so that Harrison was gifted with it upon his return. “It sounds like a misunderstanding.” It was clear that he hadn’t heard whatever Starline uttered, turning away from the platypus. “I have work to do.”

The platypus jumped on the opportunity, feeling insecure after everything. “Can I help?”

“No,” Robotnik declined immediately. “I need to make another collar for Harry.” 

Starline was seeing red. “Well… With your permission…” He extended a hand out, flashing his Warp Topaz, as if that would restore some faith in his efforts. “I wish to locate your lost companion, and perhaps have a conversation with him about all this unnecessary violence. Should you approve, Doctor.” Red eyes stared at Robotnik expectantly, keeping his intentions vague for now. With Eggman’s careless handling of the subject, Starline knew he wouldn’t push for further details. That was the Doctor’s downfall, wasn’t it? No foresight sometimes. 

“Do whatever you want.” Robotnik waved him off, already searching for the files on Harrison’s old collar. “Don’t come crying to me if he bites you.” 

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

Harrison kept his body low, letting snow blanket over his thick fur to hide him away. His antlers could easily pass for twin dead trees to any passerby not focusing on the details. He was prepared to sit and wait for hours, stalking potential prey in his silence. But this time, he was not hunting after Starline-- at least not directly. 

His sights were set on a hedgehog, just as a means to get at Starline. Before the Zombot Outbreak, he caught wind of Silver and Sonic nearly getting blown away by the platypus at an abandoned Eggbase. He wasn’t sure how they fell for that ploy, but he needed whatever information they had on Starline. 

And so, he would wait for Silver’s arrival from Freedom HQ. 

But in a rush of blue, Harrison knew the wrong hedgehog had answered his call. All that careful preparation to deal with Silver’s telekinetic powers, wasted away! “Yo, Antlers!” And Sonic’s joyous tone gave his position away to any other Freedom Fighters that likely accompanied him. 

He stood, shaking snow from his fur with a low growl. “Sonic.” 

The blue hedgehog answered with a cheeky grin on his tan muzzle. “You didn’t really believe you could ambush--”

“--Wasn’t an ambush.” The wolf hybrid patted down his bandanna, brushing away snow and grimacing at the fact that some had melted into the fabric. “Going after Starline. Wanted info.”

Sonic wasn’t prepared for that, blinking in surprise. “Oookay?” Hold on, that didn’t make sense. “Aren’t you two on the same si--” 

Harrison was immediately in his face with a loud snarl, baring his metallic teeth in warning. “No.” As he leaned back, Sonic held his hands up in surrender, albeit tapped one of his shoes impatiently against the snow. “And as soon as I get my hands on that little bitch, I’m ripping him apart.”

“Woah, dude. Isn’t that a bit much?” Sonic tilted his head, one of his ears swiveling to the side as his hands dropped down. 

This time, when Harry said the word, it was with a gentler tone: “No.” His tail flicked away the last remainder of snow from it, letting it stand upright to voice his own agitation. “He took everything from me. I owe him some sweet payback.” 

Sonic found himself nodding along, but still didn’t understand. Did it really matter though? For now, Harrison was not his enemy. He had learned to respect the wolf-hybrid. Tails, some time ago, pointed out the likelihood that his allyship with Eggman was based mainly on rejection for his hybridization-- since the fox knew all too well how it was to be rejected for physical abnormalities. The more time he spent around Harry, the more he realized that was most likely true. 

Harrison never went in for the kill with him. He never tried to seriously injure or maim during their fights-- it was always to distract. Sometimes, he would even team up with Cisco to sabotage some of Robotnik’s more diabolical schemes, preserving Mobius in their own way. 

Sonic just wished the hybrid would remove himself from Eggman’s side. “So…” He folded his arms over his chest. “You wanna get Mr. Tinker back? I don’t think we can… do that, dude. We were lucky he even happened at all.” 

Harrison didn’t want to hear that. “Are you gonna help, or not?” Straight to the point; Sonic found he was reminded of Shadow, briefly. 

“Yeah!” The blue hedgehog couldn’t believe he said that. “Yeah-- That creepy dude, Starline’s gotta get humbled by someone. Guess you’re the guy! And while I tell you everything I knoooow!” Sonic shuffled over to Harrison’s front, a devilish smile adorning his tan muzzle again. “I can show you where he is.” 

“Hoping for round two, Blue Blur?” Starline purred, interrupting the two as he stepped through a warp-window. Attention shifted to the hybrid next, which Starline was less pleased to see. “I’ve been looking for you, Harry. I feel we have a grave misunderstanding between us! Something that could easily--”

Another snarl erupted from Harrison’s throat as he took an intentional step in front of Sonic, blocking the blue hedgehog from view. “It’s Harrison, to you.”

“--” Starline swallowed hard, feeling trepidation creep in with the chill of the wind. “--Yes, of course. My sincerest apologies, Harrison.” This filthy mutt didn’t deserve such respects, but Starline had to entertain it. At least until Robotnik saw things differently, as he should when the hybrid willingly shared company with their nemesis! “But let’s talk! We should work together for our common interest in Doctor Eggman. I am just as you: An obedient servant!” 

Yellow had begun to form in the sclera of Harrison’s eyes. His ears perked forward, something shifted in the way he held himself. “I’m going to devour you, is what we’re doing here.”

Sonic shifted gears, quickly dashing between them. “Woah, Antlers. You can’t just threaten to eat someone.” 

Starline scoffed. “You’re so drunk on revenge, and for what? Pray tell, are you jealous of my standings with the Doctor?”

“Dude--” Sonic was trying his best to keep all Hell from breaking loose. “Not now.” 

“Enraged that I found his favor in your absence? Replaced you, even?” 

A wolfish smile tugged across Harrison’s lips, letting titanium teeth peek through. “Pathetic.” Without another word, he leaped clear over Sonic’s much smaller form, lunging for the platypus instead. Or at least, he would have-- if not for that insufferable warp window he opened, letting Harry pass right through and land back where he started. 

Interesting. 

With a broad sweep of his paw, Harrison kicked up a cloud of snow to obscure their vision. Sonic bolted into action, narrowly avoiding Harrison’s body lunging for Starline again. He caught the platypus this time, the two tangling around each other while the hedgehog zipped around in an attempt to break them up. 

As another warp window opened, Sonic bounced away. The last he saw of the two was as they disappeared into it, dragged along by Robotnik’s red sleeves and white gloves. Once back in the lab, it was easier for Robotnik to tear the two frenzied Mobians apart-- with Metal Sonic’s assistance, tugging back on Harrison. “Enough!!” The human shouted, his voice booming in such a small space. “I thought you were both better than this!”

As soon as Harrison was off of him, Starline fell back, a little bloodied and roughed up from the encounter. Eggbots floated over per Robotnik’s request, helping the platypus to his feet as they escorted him out of the lab in one direction. 

Harrison, too angry for reason, looked more like a rabid dog than the companion Eggman had come to know over the last few years. “Get him out of here!” Robotnik shouted to Metal Sonic and a few other Eggbots, who struggled to pull the barking, snarling Harrison away in the opposite direction. 

After both sets of doors shut, the lab was plunged in silence. 

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

Hours passed before either of them returned. 

“Ivo…” 

That familiar, gravely voice was music to Robotnik’s ears. He whipped around, heart pounding with excitement as his eyes fell upon the large and familiar form of his beloved hybrid. Harrison was well-received by Orbot and Cubot, who hovered around him in a flurry. They were fussing over him, scanning his vitals, plucking through thick, fluffy fur to check for injuries. Harrison was used to their affections by now, paying them no mind at the moment. 

Even Metal Sonic seemed to have missed his sparring partner, rushing up with his own gleeful exclamations. 

The doors to Robotnik’s lab slid shut behind Harrison with a pressurized hiss, nearly catching that bushy tail in the process. Cubot had snatched it up quickly, draping it over his body with a bright smile. 

“Harrison!” Robotnik left the sanctuary of his eggcarrier to approach on foot, his hands held out in greeting. “How I’ve missed you! You lost your collar.”

The hybrid pinned his ears back in disappointment. Did he not remember anything of his time as Mister Tinker? Once more, an adjustment had to be made for the sake of his Master. But this time, it was much harder to swallow down-- a cruel twist of fate, granting him mercy for such a limited amount of time. If there was any hope of getting it back, he had to try and fight for it. Harrison didn’t want to be alone in this world. “You took it, remember?” His head tilted to the side, only slightly as one of his antlers caught against the ceiling. 

One of his hands reached up, gesturing to the red bandanna tied around his neck. “You gave me this, instead.”

“That!?” Robotnik sneered. Without a second thought, he snatched it away from Harrison and tossed it to the floor. The hybrid felt his heart sinking with it, watching as it fluttered down in a crumpled mess-- along with his hopes of this turning out differently. “What garbage! You didn’t really think I deserved to waste away in that honkytonk village, did you? Get a grip, Harry!” 

The doctor turned away with a scoff, hurrying to retrieve something. 

Harrison shook his head, feeling bitter hatred for Starline bubbling up once more. ‘If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get him for this.’ “You were happy.” The words tripped over a lump forming in his throat, threatening a sob of betrayal that he bit back. “I had never seen you like that before…” 

“It was a damn shame, is what it was. Letting me stumble around like the village idiot!” Robotnik had finally found whatever it was he searched for, turning to face Harrison again with another collar in hand. “And the overalls… Really?” As if that was the most heinous part of the entire experience. Robotnik approached his canine hybrid with purpose, fully intent on snapping that collar around his neck again. 

But as he reached out to do just that, Harrison took a step back. They both caught each other’s eye, staring in a silent battle of wills-- Harry pleading that he didn’t have to do this, while Robotnik was insisting. “Don’t make me regret letting you back in here, Harry,” the Doctor sneered as he extended his hand out again. This time, the hybrid did not move away, allowing his human to snap the collar around his neck. 

The act itself brought such finality with it, hammering down that there was no going back. 

Robotnik took a step back again, reviewing the sight. The collar was exactly the same in appearance, with some minor adjustments in its functionality. Regardless, Harrison’s fur was so thick and fluffy, it hid the collar from view mostly. Someone really had to look for it to know it was there. Satisfied, the Doctor spoke again: “I saw what you did to Starline.” He scoffed, trying to mask his laugh with disappointment. “And the two idiots that came with him. It felt personal, Harry! You don’t think I’m replacing you, do you?” 

The hybrid kept his ears pinned, his head now bowed in resignation. “Of course not.” But if Robotnik wanted him to feign civility around them? Well, that was something he could not do. “Thought you’d be happy about it-- seeing how they snatched you up like that and tortured you.” 

Blue eyes rolled. “And you let them, didn’t you?” 

“...Yeah, guess I did.” No, he had fought hard. But how was he supposed to combat that Warp Topaz on his own, when the wearer was nowhere near? “That’s why I had to make up for my mistakes.” If Robotnik could turn this on him, Harry would be so bold as to use it in his favor yet. “We can’t trust someone who would turn on you like that…” 

“From the looks of it, Harry, someone could argue that you turned on me.”

“Never.” Harrison curled his lips back with a snarl. The fur along his neck and shoulders stood, as if he needed to look any bigger or more threatening. “Wiping the floor with the little bastards who took you away from me was never betrayal, no matter what those dumbfucks say.” Each word carried on a low, rumbling growl. 

“They’re here to stay, for now. That platypus has use.” But this-- was odd for Harrison. He had never seemed so genuinely upset about their alliances before. The canine-hybrid had always gone along willingly with Robotnik’s plans, even when those plans were to his detriment. There were still the traces of a blood stain on the floor from when he crawled back, half-dead, after his fight with Mogul. 

Having his concerns brushed off was not what Harrison wanted to hear either. He kept low, like a dog that was in trouble and trying to appear pathetic for sympathy. But there was nothing pathetic about Harrison’s display. He may have curled in on himself, but his growling remained ever present. “It’s humiliating, for you. Letting them hang around after treating you so horribly. They’re playing you, Doc. I know exactly what they are.”

He had smelled the other Mobian’s approach long ago, and was not surprised when another door in the lab slid open silently. He still smelled of blood, now accompanied by antibiotics. Many of the wounds left behind from their last tussle were bandaged and stitched up, meticulously cared for to prevent infection. “What is that?” Starline’s voice challenged calmly, his red eyes meeting Harrison’s own. “Go on, Harrison. Tell me. What am I?”

Before, just the fur along his neck and shoulders stood bristling. Now, it trailed down his back and to his tail. Starline could believe those fairytales in the Mountains when he looked at Harrison like this. Every Big Bad Wolf story uttered to young Mobians surely had been formed in his existence. Even the terrifying growl that erupted from him sounded like another roll of thunder, echoing in the lab as he answered: “Pest.” 

Eggman knew if he didn’t stop this now, another fight would break out between them. “Enough. We’re all working together, which means we need to get along. You can kill each other after my Eggman Empire’s established. Deal?” 

Both hybrid and platypus glared at each other in a passing moment of tense silence. Harrison considered his options, realizing knew more in this situation than Robotnik. It was hard to get past his own deep feelings of betrayal to the situation-- how life had handed him something calm and gentle, back at the village. He could waste his days away, enjoying them in the company of others, with a newly found community that didn’t seem to care about their past mistakes or his own monstrous appearance. He missed the laughter of children, the smell of pine and woodland around them. For once, Robotnik was not so high strung about everything and could enjoy his own existence without obsessing over petty grievances with a hedgehog who always bested him. 

Starline brought death to any happy life Harrison could have lived out. The platypus, for all his fanboy-ish obsession, could not be trusted and Harry knew that much. 

He would have to wait Starline out, for now. But when the time came? No, he would not hold back. “Fine,” Harrison snorted as he turned away-- Orbot, Cubot, and Metal Sonic in tow and fussing for his attention. 

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

[ He knew the day would come. Seeing Robotnik chase Starline away, firing him even, brought Harrison some catharsis. But it was not enough to heal his aching heart. That platypus had stolen everything away for his own selfish pursuits. And during all their time together, he could never quite grasp why the wolf hybrid hated him so much. He saw no fault in his actions. 

Not when he was ejected from Robotnik’s side. Not when he started taking down other bases, or making his own strategic moves against Eggman. 

Harrison bristled at the thought of the platypus sitting comfortably in Eggbase Sigma-- Now renamed Starline Base Sigma. It was an insult, and everything Harrison had warned would come to fruition. 

He resigned to waiting this out, seeing how the cards would fall. When the day came and Robotnik found himself teaming up with Sonic against Starline, Harrison knew opportunity finally came knocking. ]

As both mechs clashed with each other, Harrison moved through the crumbling base with purpose. Orbot and Cubot were the first he gathered, and they clung to his fur with imitation sobs and praise as he carried them along. Flashing neon lights stuttered along his path, destruction raining down and causing abrupt changes in course. Luckily, he knew his path, even in the face of some major directional changes. 

The next he found was Metal Sonic, looking worse for wear. But he was not alone-- and Harrison recognized Belle from back in the mountainous village. She was the handcrafted daughter of Robotnik’s persona, and Harrison had all but forgotten her in his rage. “C’mon, Squeaker,” he urged as he nudged Metal Sonic along. “And you, too.” Belle would not be left behind in this place. 

“Wait! Harry!” Belle pleaded with him. “We have to find Eggman.” 

The wolf hybrid pinned his ears back flat, but she had only voiced his own desires. His red eyes turned to the sky above, noting the lack of Robotnik’s mech he rode in on. Sonic and Tails both were preoccupied, so if the Doctor was in trouble--

“Metal Sonic can find him,” Belle pointed out, a pleading look in her artificial eyes. Harrison couldn’t deny her, nodding in agreement. 

“Alright…” He breathed out, dropping to all fours so he could be closer to their level. “C’mon, Metal. Where’s he at?” 

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

“That--” Starline breathed out heavily, landing sloppily on his feet as the rest of the mech came crashing around him in a heap. “--is what happens.. when you don’t plan for contingencies.” 

As his own base came crashing down around him, he still felt a sense of triumph within him. Badniks were still under his control; he had effectively ripped the rug out from under Robotnik, and now defeated him in battle. It wouldn’t be long before the human came crawling out, falling at his feet. Starline already decided, feeling smug, that he would listen to whatever plea was uttered before he allowed Robotnik within his ranks.

At his side, beneath him. Mobius was about to learn of the Starline Empire--

“No, Doctor.” 

The platypus tensed and stood upright, his eyes wide as some of the rubble before him began to fall away. Robotnik stood once more, a towering force before him that Starline had not anticipated. 

“You played yourself,” Robotnik sneered, eerily calm despite the destruction around him. He was self-assured, finding opportunity where his foe had failed to. “I specifically--”

Whatever monologue he had planned ended abruptly in a deep canine snarl. Harrison launched himself into the mix, tumbling back with Starline in his grip. “Father-!!!” And before Robotnik could even think of joining his companion, Belle had called out to him. Eggman turned and was met with all that Harrison had gathered-- Metal Sonic dutifully beside Belle, while Cubot and Orbot cowered behind the two. 

“You--” Robotnik breathed out his exasperation. Whatever she had to say, he decided to hear her out. Harrison could handle himself, right? 

Both Starline and Harrison tumbled down the wreckage, clawing and fighting in a tangled mess before their bodies hit a domed piece of the mech, forcing them apart. Starline scrambled to his feet quickly, at a loss without the use of his tricore to even the odds. But if he could utilize the environment around him--

Harrison was lunging for him again, narrowly missing as the platypus grabbed a sheet of thick metal and batted at him. 

He hated wolves. Their hunting methods were designed to tire out prey; strike and leap away method providing minimal risk to pack members. He had severely underestimated Harrison, hoping that elk blood would be a little more prominent with his mannerisms. But as it stood now, Harrison fell into that familiar pattern: lunge in, leap away. Then again, from another side-- and another. Finally, the pattern was broken as Harrison charged in once more, his jaws snapping shut with a metallic clink! 

Starline found an opening that he could not afford to miss. 

The platypus swung around, raising one of his legs before smashing his heel in between Harrison’s eyes. The spur sunk in, but Starline knew he only needed minimal contact for his venom’s results. 

Suddenly, Harrison leaned back with an agonized yelp. 

“Does it hurt?” Starline felt breathless as he watched the hybrid fall back and writhe. He was salivating, victory within his grasp once again. “Eggman was right, you are a miserable beast. All those predator instincts-- Did you truly believe you were superior?” 

Harrison struggled to pick himself up, but it was hard to focus through the pain. Starline didn’t miss a beat, stomping his boot down on the hybrid’s head, grinding his heel in between that large rack to force Harry back down again. “Yes, I know.. I know. I was only ever prey to you… Too wrapped up in your own emotions to respect my authority, to realize my superior intellect. You were always nothing more than a pawn, something disposable-- and not even your fleas will miss you when you’re gone.” 

Starline pulled back to stomp down again, but it was enough of an opening for Harry to lunge upright. 

Pain may cloud his vision, blinding him temporarily, but his nose didn’t lie. His titanium teeth sunk through silky fabrics with ease, cutting into flesh and minimal muscle beneath. Blood bubbled against his lips as he snarled, slamming Starline down while the platypus kicked out against his neck. 

The spurs struggled against thick fur, failing to meet their mark. So instead, Starline grabbed for Harrison’s antlers with both hands, trying to wrench himself away from that metallic jaw. 

Finally, he managed to sink his heel in again and heard the shrill cry of pain-- but did not feel the sweet relief of freedom. If nothing else, the pain seemed to make Harrison bite down harder. He writhed again, shaking Starline’s much smaller body in violent convulsions that splattered blood around them. 

And again, Starline spurred him a third time. He was released with a heavy thud against the floor, splashing in a puddle of his own blood. “You--” He felt weak, shaking in the aftermath of such carnage. In petty defiance against the canine before him, Starline raised his leg once more. “I’m going to remember your screams, Harry. They’ll lull me to sleep at ni-- agh!” 

A white gloved grabbed him by the ankle, wrenching Starline upward. He was suspended just long enough to see who his new captor was: “Eggman!” His body was swung back forcefully, then slammed into the ground beside Harrison. 

Stars exploded in his eyes before the world went dark.

Robotnik waited for a minute longer with his gaze locked on the platypus, just to be sure he wouldn’t get up again. Satisfied with his work, he turned to Harrison’s trembling form, petting his hand between the canine’s ears. 

Harrison felt the gentle reassurance, but there was little comfort when he was in such agony. He could hear Robotnik barking out orders, but they were words without meaning to him. The last thing he felt was his human’s arms slipping under him, hoisting his body off the floor. 

Then the world went black as he fell unconscious.

[incorrectsmashbrosquotes]

Death Battle: Alternate Ending

*Just watched today’s Death Battle! I really liked it. I wasn’t too surprised at the outcome, but this is mainly just a fun little thing for me.*

-

*Tripitaka and his disciples wait in a clearing for Wukong to come back*

Pigsy: Ugh, that freakin’ monkey’s taking forever! Can’t he jump around the world or something?

Sandy: Patience, Pigsy. I’m just thankful for a chance to catch my breath.

Dragon-Horse: Whinny. (Maybe he found whatever monster wants to kidnap Tripitaka this week and decided to be proactive for a change)

Pigsy: Yeah, you tell him, horsie!

*The Dragon-Horse rolls his eyes*

Sandy: Hey! Here he comes! And... who’s that with him? Is that a lion?

Pigsy: No- no, I think that guy is wearing a lion!

*Wukong and Herakles enter the clearing*

Wukong: Greetings, nerds! Meet my new pal Herakles!

Herakles: Greeting, honored friends.

*Tripitaka rises from his meditations and joins them*

Tripitaka: Ah, greetings, mighty warrior. Who might you be, and how did you come across our Monkey friend?

Wukong: Ah, it was awesome!

Herakles: Indeed! You see, I came across your monkey here atop a mighty mountain...

-

~ Flashback ~

-

Herakles: Ho there, ape. I require that divine fruit in your hands.

Wukong: Heh, sorry Hulk Hogan. I got it first, and my Master needs its strength for our quest.

Herakles, his interest caught: Quest? What manner of quest?

Wukong: Eh, get some fancy scrolls from the Buddah, achieve enlightenment, yadda yadda.

Herakles: And what is your stake in this journey, Ape.

Wukong: Ehheh, I kinda... sorta... beat up Heaven and Hell, ate all their shit... and, you know, tried to dethrone the Jade Emperor. Guess you could call this Community Service.

Herakles: Ah, a Quest for Redemption. I know that struggle well, monkey.

Wukong: Cool! *jumps off his cloud* Say, you look pretty strong! You wanna have a spar?

Herakles: A marvelous idea! However, I warn you, I will not go easy on you. For I am Herakles! The God of Strength and Perseverance!

Wukong: Sweet! Cause I’m Sun Wukong, the Monkey King and the Great Sage Equal to Heaven!

-

Tripitaka: And so you fought?

Herkales: Indeed! This monkey was a mighty foe!

Wukong: Heh, don’t sell yourself too short, Herk. You really pushed me hard!

Sandy: So that was that Earthquake we felt earlier.

Pigsy: *crapping his pants now that there seems to be someone else as strong as Wukong out there*

Wukong: Yup! Herk punched me right into Hell... literally!

-

~ Flashback 2: Electric Boogaloo ~

-

*Hades enters his throne room, seeing Wukong lying on the ground and a hole in the ceiling, leading all the way to the living world*

Hades: Well... that’s a new one. Raining monkeys.

*Wukong gets up, a little dazed but none the worse for ware*

Wukong: Damn, that one really made my bell ring. *he looks up at Hades* Hey, you got a Water Bottle or something?

Hades: All our water either kills you, gives you amnesia, or is blood.

Wukong: Eh, gimme some of the blood.

*Herk lands through the hole he created*

Herakles: Oh, hello Uncle Hades.

Hades: Hello Herakles. Are you here to play with Cerberus again? He’s missed you.

*distant sound of a Three-Headed good boy barking*

Herakles: Not today Uncle, this OP monkey and I are having a match.

Wukong: Sun Wukong’s the name, Bullshit magic is the game.

Hades: Wait, you mean the same Sun Wukong who beat up my Easter Colleagues and erased his name from the ledgers of death?!

Herakles: You managed that? Incredible! Almost as incredible as that time I wrestled Death itself into submission.

Hades: Ugh, don’t remind me. Thanatos still scream whenever I try to wat WWE.

Wukong: *whistles in appreciation* Dang! That’s impressive. Now, where were we?

Herakles: I was winning a fight against a mouthy monkey!

Wukong: Winning, you must have a worse attention span than me. Cause if I remember right *uppercuts Herk so hard he makes another hole to the Living World* I was winning. *somersaults after him*

Hades: Well... I guess the place needed a skylight.

-

Sandy: Impressive! But, who won?

Herakles: We’re getting there, giant.

Wukong: See, It turns out, I socked Herk so hard we ended up in Heaven!

Herakles: Heaven the place. Not Heaven as in the arms of my loving wife, Hebe.

~

~Flashback 3: This time It’s personal~

-

*The Jade Emperor is minding his own business when Herakles blasts up through his floor and slams against the ceiling*

Jade Emperor: Fucking Hell- AGAIN WITH THIS SHIT?!

Herakles: *falls from the ceiling and lands on his feet* Well met, mighty King. Did a monkey with a staff fly in after me.

J.E: Shit, I knew Wukong was behind this somehow.

*Wukong land in the throne room*

Wukong: Howdy, Jadey old Buddy! I see you've met Herakles.

J.E: Herakles... the same Herakles who held up the sky and vanquished an army of Divine Giants.

Herakles: Ah! Then words of my heroics have spread even here!

Wukong: Dude, you held up the sky? That’s so cool! I did that too!

Herakles: You’re an impressive monkey. Now, shall we resume?

Jade: Try not to kill him, Buddha forbid you make me happy.

Wukong: Aw, he’s such a kidder.

*Herakles sucker punches Wukong and sends him flying. With a merry laugh Herakles leaps after him*

*A servant enter and sees a sulky Jade Emperor amidst the carnage*

Servant: Wukong?

J.E: Wukong. And apparently he has an equally OP friend now.

Servant: I’ll prepare the Heavenly Booze.

-

Pigsy: Hah! Nice.

Sandy, eating some magically manifested popcorn: So who won?

Tripitaka: And how did we not notice this?!

Wukong: Well, you see, we fought all over the place! High, low, left and right. I threw my Clone Army at him but Herk just smacked ‘em all around.

Herakles: I shot him with the Hydra Venom arrows, but it didn’t even kill him. It slowed him down, but didn’t stop him completely.

Wukong: Still hurts like crap.

Herakles: Sorry.

Wukong: Anyway, eventually we just K.O.’d each other.

-

~Flashback 4: The Pre-Side-Sequel~

-

*Wukong and Herakles both come to, naked and in a hot spring*

Herakles: Huh, not the first time I’ve woken up without my pants in a hot spring.

Wukong: True that. But, uh, I recognize this place. This is-

???: My home.

*the two look up to see the Merciful Bodhisattva Guanyin standing over them, a stern expression on her face. Moksha stands nearby with a shit eating grin*

Wukong: Guanyin! I, uh, I didn’t-

Guanyin: Peace, Sun Wukong. I see you’ve met Herakles. I was hoping you two would get along as well as you have.

Herakles: Huh, but... wait... you’re the one who sent me to find that Divine Truth in the first place!

Wukong: Eh? Hey, what’s the big idea!

Guanyin: Sun Wukong, I’d like you to meet your newest traveling companion and playmate.

-

Tripitaka: Truly?

Herakles: Indeed! It seems Guanyin wants me as a witness to your great quest. And to help hold Wukong’s leash.

Wukong, muttering: Playmate, she says. I don’t need no stinkin’ playmate.

Sandy: Well, I for one welcome our newest brave adventurer!

Pigsy: And I welcome anyone who can kick Wukong’s butt!

Wukong: Horse, if you will.

*The Dragon-Horse kicks Pigsy in the head*

Wukong: Thank you.

Tripitaka: Well, I welcome you on our travel, Herakles.

Herakles: Indeed. Now, let us begin again, on our:

Wukong and Herakles: JOURNEY TO THE WEST!

-

Winner: Friendship!