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talltoontales · 1 year ago

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ToonMan #2: Delusions of Dust

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[Story 06 || Week 03]

Written: 01/14/2024

Prompt: You have a superpower to manipulate dust.

Prompt By: u/Sany_Wave (Reddit)

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(Heads up: A bit of a read)

I remember the day I met him. It was just another day on the job. Stopped some two-bit crooks, got chased by the ole A.I.D. task force, had a hotdog. Like I said, it was just another day of the week. Then I got the call...

The Pannel City Police Department surrounds the city hall. A massive crowd of civilians are held back by border tape and street cops. A bear of a man and a lanky woman, both well dressed, part through the crowd, their police badges like a hot knife through butter. On the other side of the border, the two are immediately met by a rugged older man wearing a bulletproof vest.

"Captain Kreg, Name's Jacobs," says the woman, "this is my partner, Wilhelm."

"Agent Wilhelm," Wilhelm corrects. Jacobs slaps him on the chest. The two exchange a quick glare. "We're from the- "

"Yeah, we know about A.I.D.," said Kreg, "figured your not-so-secret task force could give us a hand." The trio walks deeper into the chaos. Police officers, detectives, tech guys, all running around from one tent to the next, trying to figure out the situation. "About an hour ago, a man by the name of Piantog "Penn" Mitpen took the entire building hostage. The guy used to be a paper jockey for the old regime until he got fired for "inappropriate workplace behavior."

"Fancy way of saying whistleblowing," Jacobs chimes in.

"Hey, I just say what's on the report," says Kreg. "Anyway, those lucky enough to get out heard him ranting about how he'll "never be looked down on again," as well as some choice words about our former mayor."

"How does this involve A.I.D.," Wilhelm asks.

"Some witnesses claimed that Penn had a cloud of dust following him," Kreg answers. "I didn't put too much stock into it until a couple of guards came flying out the windows- "

"Let me guess," Jacobs says, "covered in dust?" Kreg nods in agreement. Jacobs turns to talk to Wilhelm. "So, what's the play?" Wilhelm removes his coat, revealing a harness holstering a futuristic gun.

"Description's too broad," says Wilhelm, "even set to a wide spectrum, the best our weapons can do is stun him if even that. Our best course of action is to mitigate tension until backup arrives. Let's push the perimeter back, as well as those news copters, and get an ETA on a negotiator. Maybe- "

"Look!" yells a random civilian. Everyone looks to the sky to see the Black and White hero, ToonMan, leaping overhead, his cape/jacket fluttering in the wind. He stretches his arm out, wrapping it around the tail of a passing news helicopter, and swings over the crowd and police. ToonMan lets go of the helicopter, aiming for the roof of city hall, but mistimed...everything.

"Oh boy," says ToonMan as he rockets through a second-story window. The crowd gasps as a wave of silence follows. A paper-white thumbs-up pops into the window frame. "I'm a-ok! Be back with the baddie in a minute." Once the stun of ToonMan's stupidity wears off, Wilhelm grabs the nearest radio he can find.

"This is Agent Wilhelm of the Augmented Individual Detainment Task Force," yells Wilhelm, "If you are not evacuating civilians, you are prepping to raid the city hall on my mark! We breach in five!"

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I was an idiot. It was all still a game to me then. I'd drop in, do some stupid bit, or say a dumb one-liner, beat the bad guy, and save the day. If I was a REAL hero, if...if I knew then what I know now, maybe...maybe...

In a large conference area, Rebecca Ward, Mayor of Pannel City, sits on the floor with her back up straight and her face held high. With several of her staff cowering behind her, she shows no fear nor panic as she stares down Mitpen. The five-foot man paces in front of the mayor, dressed in a slightly oversized beige suit, dirty blonde hair slicked back, and a cloud of grey dust wrapped around his shoulders like a boa.

"You know Rebecca, I always liked you," says Penn. Rebecca Reels back in disgust. "Oh please, as if I would settle for such an underachiever, but back to my point. You always had a way of getting what you wanted out of that old crone. If the rumors were to be believed, you only got as high as you did due to some- " Penn leans close to Rebecca's face. " - backdoor dealings."

Without missing a beat, Rebecca slaps Penn. Without moving, Penn's dust cloud envelops Rebecca's face, suffocating her. "Heh, but like always, I knew better. Rebecca drops to the floor as she struggles to breathe. Some of the staff behind her motion forward, but a large dusk cloud ring surrounds them, prompting them to sit back down. "I saw your potential. I saw how hard you fought just to be in the same room as all those other airheads! I thought, under my wing, you had the potential to be my right hand."

"And then you threw it all away, ratted me out, and ruined your chance to witness true greatness!" Rebecca starts to pass out. "Oh no, you don't!" With a flick of his fingers, Penn pulls the dust cloud from Rebecca and back around his shoulders. "You never took the easy way out before. Why start now?" Rebecca coughs up what dust remains in her lungs, hearing the faint sound of something shattering.

"You're nothing more than *cough* *cough* a delusional maniac!" Rebecca yells. "Your "blackmail" was nothing more than a conspiracy theory!"

"Not theory, fact!" says Penn. "You all feared my genius! Feared that when I took office, you ants would lose what little crumbs you had! That mailroom was my jail, and you were all my wardens!"

"I didn't even know you existed until you followed me into the women's bathroom," says Rebecca. Some of the staff groan quietly in disgust. "And started shoving documents in my face! You got yourself fired, and the only reason I didn't sue your ass is because I wanted nothing to do with you!" Penn straightens his oversized suit coat as he looks down in disappointment.

"hmph, then I guess I was wrong," says Penn, "I really thought you had what it took, but if you're not ready and willing to finish off your enemies the first chance you get..." A large wave of dusk towers over Penn, casting a shadow over Rebecca and her staff. "Then you're nothing more than dust under my boot."

*Knock* *Knock*

Everyone turns to look at the door. "Ah, the negotiator, perfect timing! I'm ready to announce my terms for your complete surrender."

"Sorry dude, just a Goober driver," says the chill delivery man, "got a special order for a Mr. Duck?" Rebecca and her staff stare in confusion.

"A last meal, how fitting for the deposition of a tyrant," says Penn, "by all means, come in!"

"Again, sorry, dude," says the delivery driver, "special orders come with special instructions. *Ahem* What did the five fingers say to the face?" Rebecca's eyes widened in realization.

"Excuse- " Suddenly, a fist slams through the doors at high speed, punching Penn square in the face and launching him backward.

"Get down!" yells Rebecca as she and her staff crouch, letting Penn fly overhead and crash into some chairs. ToonMan saunters into the conference room.

"Bon appetite, ya jerk!" says TooMan. Everyone cheers as they race out of the room. Rebecca trails behind.

"Go easy on him," says Rebecca, "He's not evil, just crazy."

"He'd have to be if he's trying to hold the mayor hostage while ToonMan's in town," says ToonMan. "Don't worry, Boss, I got this." As ToonMan walks toward Penn, Rebecca reluctantly joins her staff in escaping.

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Just before ToonMan could get close to Penn, a tornado of dust surrounded him, only allowing the hero to watch as Penn picked himself up.

“I’ll forgive you this one time, seeing as you might be unfamiliar with me, creature,” says Penn.

“Well, I hope you’re in a forgiving mood,” says ToonMan, “because there’s a lot more where that came from.”

“I doubt it,” says Penn, “You see, once I kill you, no one will stop me from taking what’s mine!”

“You know being mayor isn’t all ribbon cuttings and parades, right?” asks ToonMan. “I mean, more power to ya, shoot for the stars, but I’m pretty sure padded cells have more cushion than some of these chairs.”

“Oh, I agree,” says Penn as he starts circling ToonMan from the other side of the dust tornado. “My greatness cannot be limited to this pitiful excuse for a metropolis. The world will know who I am and learn to fear the mighty Sandzar!” ToonMan struggles to stifle his laughter.

“Man, you really just picked the first thing that came to your head, huh?” says ToonMan. “I mean, nothing screams, “Original OC, Don’t Steal,” more than looking up synonyms and mashing two together into something that sounds cool.” A vein swells on Penn’s forehead. “Might as well call yourself Dust Might.”

“Enjoy your final breaths, abomination!” yells Penn. “For what remains of your corpse will lay the foundation for my new empire!” The dust collapses in on top of ToonMan as Penn laughs maniacally.

“Soooo, is something supposed to happen or..?” asks ToonMan. Penn looks at ToonMan, stunned.

“Impossible!” yells Penn, “How are you still breathing?!”

“I mean, I’m not,” says ToonMan, “or at least I don’t have to. Breathing, eating, sleeping, they’re all kinda optional for me.” Penn goes from stunned to flabbergasted. “Wait, was that it? That’s your whole deal? Bad fashion and breathing problems?

“Shut up!” yells Penn, “I will not be belittled by blundering black and white buffoon.”

“Aww, you illiterate when you’re annoyed,” says ToonMan, “bet that makes ya feel real smart, huh, Dust Might?” Penn screams as he pulls the dust away from ToonMan into multiple clouds. The clouds then transform into spear-like objects.

“Let’s see how well you joke while full of holes!” yells Penn. The dust spears fly at ToonMan, scattering on contact.

“Wow, I felt absolutely nothing,” says ToonMan. Drool streams down Penn’s face as he bares his teeth at ToonMan while breathing heavily. “And I know I say that a lot for exaggeration while getting shot at, but I mean, literally, did not feel a thing.” With a skin-peeling shriek, Penn pulls all the dust around him onto his fist, forming a solid spiked gauntlet. Penn charges at ToonMan, punching him square in the chest to the sound of every bone in his hand and wrist breaking at once.

Penn drops to his knees, with nothing left but a pitiful squeak as he holds his limp hand. “Holy craft. That’s it, that’s all you can do isn’t it? Control dust. Not enhance it, not transform into it, not even *Stammering in disbelief* I dunno if there’s anything else you can do with dust, but if there is, you can’t do it! You only got here on intimidation and blinding amounts of self-confidence. I feel like that’s a better superpower than dust manipulation if I’m being honest.

ToonMan runs his hand across the top of his head when he hears the Police kick in the front doors. Look,” ToonMan continues, “normally I do this bit where the police try to catch me, and I use you as a distraction to escape, but I’m pretty sure your ego’s more shattered than your hand right now.” ToonMan launches his hand upward, opening a skylight. “So, I’m just gonna…best of luck to ya, Dust Might.”

And that was that. A.I.D. found Penn and had him sent to their secret prison after a speedy trial. Security footage was leaked showing Mayor Ward’s bravery in the face of danger, which helped her re-election campaign. The leak also forever branded Piantog "Penn" Mitpen as the Delusional Dust Might. He didn’t take that well. We all laughed at him for so long that we never noticed how dangerous he was becoming, nor how powerful. By the time any of us realized it was too late, I couldn’t stop Penn, and now none of us are safe.

{<-Last Week || Next Week->}

<-Last ToonMan Adventure

Next ToonMan Adventure->

#writing prompts #superhero #ToonMan #Dust Might #Crime's Punchline #writeblr #creative writing #writing #writers on tumblr

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insult-2-injury · 3 years ago

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Taking the Shot

A gift for the lovely @x-amount-verbs- a massive, 6.5K smutty one-shot inspired by her brilliant story, A Helping Hand. (If you're not reading it, I don't know what you're doing). Big thanks to her for allowing me to put her OC, Ivy, into some very compromising positions.

[Silco x f!oc (using helping hand reader/OC)] [6.5K WC] [NSFW MDNI] [gun range setting] [Mirror Sex] [Fingering] [Facefucking] [Praise Kink] [Manhandling] [dom silco] [Lots of teasing] [Dirty talk] [Fluff at the end]

Note: gun target practice, no gun violence, no gunplay

Bang.

The gun recoiled in her hand.

An almost deranged smile stretched from where she’d bitten down on the center of her plump lips, joy rampaging through her chest like a wildfire as she hit her target dead center. An almost painful relief. Such a delicious welcome from the depression, the feelings of uselessness that had tightened their iron grip around her heart like a vise since the accident.

She could still do this.

Could still close her eyes and feel those subtle vibrations in the air, shifting like the plucks of tiny harp strings, carrying her bullet forward and straight into the heart of her victim. Which, in this case, was the top of a soup can, painted crudely in a neon green.

She was in a run down, abandoned textile warehouse on the outskirts of Zaun. The roof had caved in a long time ago. Decrepit place. Standing mirrors, dusty furniture, piles of unused fabrics were scattered haphazardly.

But Jinx had helped fix this movable target practice up, the funny little mastermind. She smiled to herself, thinking about the way the girl had sat there comically with a blowtorch and giant goggles, grinning ear to ear.

She’d hesitated when Jinx had proposed the idea. Had thought maybe this was too big of a step and too quickly. Mostly worried about her own self-doubts. Whether she would cripple when she found out she wasn’t that same talented sharpshooter as before.

But no. No. She was still good. Hadn’t lost a lick of that talent.

She revved up the machine again, transferred the gun to her prosthesis, closed one eye and watched the little targets rise, whir past. Adjusted her grip until she got that feeling.

And making quick work of it, she hit three more consecutively, something devilish about the way her stomach flipped and her lips curled.

“Impressive.”

She choked on a gasp, body stiffening. She would be able to recognize that crooning voice out of a line-up of hundreds. Thousands. How could she not when the sound had utterly consumed her thoughts as of late.

Like a rocket ship seconds before liftoff, her heart rate picked up to a swift patter before she even turned.

How long had he been standing there?

Silco was supposed to be out for the day on shimmer business. No therapy, no planned contact. She’d already mourned over the minor loss, for Janna’s sake. Something oddly indignant had her lips forming a thin line and, clutching the gun with a suddenly damp hand, she spun around finally.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she stuttered, feeling immediately stupid.

Silco’s lithe form leaned against the splintered door frame, hands in his pockets, something she’d come to recognize as dark amusement glittering in his eyes. He must have just returned from a business engagement because he was wearing that damned coat.

His gaze dropped sharply to her prosthesis.

“On the contrary, my dear.” Silco’s eyes flicked back up to hers. “I go wherever I please.”

He shouldn’t be out alone, without protection. No, she disciplined herself, not for the first time. He could take care of himself. She knew that.

“Jinx helped me set this up,” she offered, at a loss for words.

“She is who directed me here,” he said, brow quirking as he peeled from the door frame, beginning a slow saunter toward her. “And curiosity, I suppose.”

Oh, he was wearing gloves, she noticed right away, a blush beginning a heated track across her cheeks. She tried not to let her shameful gaze wander as she fought off every instinct to take a step back for each one of his forwards.

Because this wasn’t his office. This was entirely new territory.

“About?” she asked lightly, turning from his approaching form, lest he spot something in her expression that he shouldn’t.

It was supposed to be a surprise, she thought, that she’d taken to practicing. Well, with her gun, of course. She wanted to pout. She wasn’t a child, she didn’t need to perform tricks for the man.

But she wanted to, didn’t she? Wanted to impress him. Hated that she ached for that praise.

“Your progress, of course.”

She nodded, swallowing down the sudden dryness in her throat as he inspected the area, eyeing the crudely made moving targets, dragging two sinful fingers across the surface of a nearby table until he came to a halt in front of a gold-plated, full-length mirror, contemplating.

There was something… excitable about him tonight, a feverish energy prickling the air around him like a live wire.

Hm.

“Your meeting go well?”

Silco’s head canted just enough for her to see the slow, evil curl of his lips from the shadows.

“More than well.”

His crimson eye sharply tracked the movement of her violent shudder from over his shoulder before he turned on his heels, making his way back.

She couldn’t feign indifference anymore when his boots stopped inches away, looming over her.

Silco’s voice was soft, but the glint in his eye was a knowing one.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been practicing?”

She peered up from under her lashes and shrugged. Elected, instead, to stare intently at the silk tie that cinched his thin neck.

“I was planning on it.”

“Were you?” he asked, studying her a moment before stepping back, arms gesturing wide, flippant. “Demonstrate.”

Demonstrate… again?

She stared, unnerved. It was a pretty simple request, really, and it wasn’t as if it were the first time she’d been asked to perform for him. It was just different somehow,when these strange new boundaries seemed to be evolving, mutating by the second.

“Show me,” he repeated, eyes steady on hers, brooking no room for argument.

She turned to the whirring machine, a single target remaining. Her body felt alight with jitters, tremendously aware of the way his gaze stripped her down to her center, capturing and devouring her uneasiness like a cat with a mouse tucked beneath its paw.

She had 12 rounds. Nose twitching, she released a cleansing breath and took aim.

“Ivy,” he chided, and she grit her teeth.

They weren’t in his office. This wasn’t therapy.

She felt his searing satisfaction as she begrudgingly switched her gun to her prosthesis.

Closing one eye, she lined up her shot, peripheral vision blurring until the only thing down her sight was the moving target.

Her finger tightened on the trigger and-

She practically leapt out of her skin as something brushed across her back lightly, sending her shot firing upward. Whirling, she found Silco on her other side now, feet away, looking entirely unapologetic, fixing his glove.

“So sorry, do try again.”

She stared, unblinking, something irreparably destabilizing in the light touch of his hand, a cold shudder clanking down her spine.

11 rounds.

She could do this. Silco knew it, too, had been watching her for Janna knows how long before announcing his presence.

She squeezed her eyes shut, breathed, adjusted her stance.

And shuddered. It never worked. Never. Whenever she had to try. No, she had to feel it. But all she could feel right now was that paralyzing gaze, much too close as it darted across the angles of her profile.

Squinting in concentration, her shot fired out, skimming just outside the little target.

10 rounds.

“Try again,” he commanded harshly from her side.

She bit her lip, took a deep, quaky breath, trying to dispel the odd tremble in her limbs, the slow, crawling heat that was blooming softly in her belly. She raised the gun once more.

And missed.

She’d just done it. He’d seen.

9 rounds.

“You’re rushing. Again.”

Her throat constricted.

Was that excitement in his tone?

Another miss.

8 rounds.

“Again.”

She lowered the gun limply to her side, glaring pointedly ahead.

“I can’t,” she muttered, thoroughly humiliated.

“Oh, come now. Don’t be like that.”

And again, there was something… volatile in the chime of his voice. Like he was playing with her.

He stepped forward, tapping her bicep.

“Up.”

She jolted at the contact and with an almost embarrassing speed, did just as he asked, heating blooming across her cheeks at her unconscious submission.

With a low, approving hum at her side, he altered her grip on the gun, scarcely touching her, the hem of his coat brushing ghostlike across the backs of her knees.

Heart clattering like a tin can, eyes squeezed shut to try and lessen the quivering in her limbs from his proximity alone, she waited for him to release her wrist. But he didn’t, instead dragging his firm grip upward to rest on her elbow.

“There you are,” he said breezily, “Now, try again.”

The shot rang out.

Went completely stray, wood shattering somewhere in the recesses of the room.

7 rounds.

“It wasn’t but five minutes ago you were hitting every one.”

She let out a stuttering gasp when his arm progressed upward to wrap almost painfully tight around her upper arm.

“I wonder what it is that has Ivy so unsettled.”

Silco was hardly touching her. And she was melting, desperately trying to center herself from the crashing wave of almost nauseating desire that swelled from the single point of contact.

“For one, I can see a few improvements to be had,” he tsked, “One being your stance. Too stiff.” A booted foot wedged between her legs, kicked out her back foot, bringing his heat that much closer to her wobbling form.

Breath lightly caressed the shell of her ear, tone holding a cunning note of underhanded bemusement.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been practicing?”

Because she wanted to impress him.

“Hm?” he prompted after a prolonged silence.

“I wanted to get back into shooting,” she exhaled, “That’s all.”

A rumble of disapproval hummed through his chest.

“Try again,” he commanded.

And she carried out his orders, how could she not? Squeezed the trigger, hardly aiming anymore, the shot once again going wide.

6 rounds.

A hand lightly grazed up her side, paused, almost in permission, and she found herself leaning back on her heels just slightly, searching for the heated planes of his stomach. Finding empty air, his body circumventing hers, always withholding.

His movement resumed as her breathing hitched, his knuckles just barely brushing the outside curve of her breast before traveling back down, fingers bracing almost tenderly around the soft skin just above her hip bone.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been practicing?” he asked again, voice lethally quiet.

“I wanted-“

She stopped. It was too much, too humiliating. Because he was just going to mock her, step away and she’d have to go home, suffer the lonely consequences.

But then his nose brushed the curve of her ear, tracing the shell. And one of her knees buckled as she choked out a telling gasp. His palm slid around to her abdomen, splayed there, not so much bracing her up as just resting lightly, taunting.

“What is it? What did you want?”

She grimaced, couldn’t help the way her head drooped in embarrassment. Her voice was small, weak. Just like her subsequent words.

“I wanted you to be proud.”

Silco’s dark chuckle in her ear was practically a purr, sent a flurry of tremors racing down her stiffening spine.

“Did you?” His pinky moved a fraction, brushing just slightly across the top of her waistband. Her knees locked, nails latching onto the wrist of his offending hand. “And do you think I’m proud of you?”

Her lips thinned and she turned her glare away from his line of sight,

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, humiliation scorching like a wildfire across her cheekbones.

“Allow me to rephrase. Do you need more attention?”

All she could manage was a quick, indecipherable jerk of her head.

“Your words,” he commanded.

Another rough swipe of his pinky across her navel and she squeaked, pressing desperately backward, trying to escape the hot shock of desire that accompanied the miniscule motion and only managing to entangle herself further into him.

She let out a string of garbled nothings.

“What was that?” he taunted, nose grazing her temple. “Is it my attention you want?”

The gloved hand gripping her bicep traveled upward slowly, across the gentle curve of her shoulder, up the slope of her neck and into her raven hair, where it expertly massaged her scalp. She vibrated against him like an overheating engine, breathing shallow and head clouding with a heady lust.

“Yes,”she panted, eyes closing at the sensation. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he crooned, exhaling a quiet laugh as she clenched her thighs together, the words traveling lightning quick to the pooling wetness between them. Just as he knew they would.

And she’d just begun to relax into the gentleness, into something almost resembling a lover’s embrace, when his hand fisted roughly in her hair, yanking back until she had to arch her back to accommodate. Her hoarse cry echoed obscenely across the empty warehouse.

Silco’s words were ragged, hissed into her cheekbones, his knife-bladed nose pressed tightly against her hairline from where her head now lay across his shoulder.

“Have you considered, Ivy, the implications of holding my attention?”

Of course she had.

“Y-yes.”

And he tightened his fist further. The unoccupied gloved fingers dipped just beneath the hem of her pants, sitting there unmoving, and she bucked in his grip, eyes blurring with a heady mix of pain and pleasure.

“Make the shot.”

Her jaw slackened when he responded to her hesitation with an agonizing tug, the nails of her flesh hand digging red crescents into his forearm.

No, came a stubborn little voice inside her head.

But Janna, she wanted to hit that moving target for him. And she hated that she did.

“Hit the target, Ivy.”

Perhaps, she thought, a compromise.

With a frustrated cry, she locked her arm, fixed her sights elsewhere, finger pulsing like mad against the gun trigger until she’d unleashed all 6 rounds, the empty chamber clicking furiously several times before she finally relented on it.

Her arm dropped limply to her side.

And what followed was the purest form of silence, with only the weighted sounds of their oxygen intertwining as they both stared at a now busted dress mannequin with six perfect bullet holes in its chest.

See? She was fully capable.

She listened, with a subtle, growing anxiety, to Silco’s increasingly ragged breath fanning across her cheek, his fingers having loosened in her hair.

Had she messed this up?

She turned, painfully slow, afraid of what she might find, of the devastating, smirking outcome. But as the tip of her nose brushed his, she found it was the lack of humor that terrified her the most: a crazed intensity there that nearly consumed the beautiful teal of his right eye.

“Sir?”

He attacked. Hauled her wriggling form backward like she weighed nothing at all.

“Oh, you,” he snarled into her ear, “That wasn’t what I asked for at all, was it?”

She clung onto him for dear life.

“Complying just enough to strike innocent.”

She was propped up dazedly in front of the stand-up mirror, feeling very much like the ruined, lead-filled mannequin lying prone behind them.

“But do you want to know what I think?”

A gloved hand wrapped the front of her throat, pressing just enough to make her dizzy, the other traveling up the muscled planes of her abdomen.

“I think you tremble when I’m near,” he spat, emphasizing with a brush of his thumb across the fluttering pulse of her neck, pulling a pathetic whine from her.

It was near impossible to comprehend the mirror’s reflection, Silco’s chin resting on her shoulder, his calculating, frenzied eyes holding hers in a perilous deadlock.

“I want you to see yourself, Ivy, just how desperate you really are.”

As if on a mission to prove his point, she pressed backward dazedly, seeking out his heat through the small gap between their bodies.

She couldn’t be the only one.

She reached behind, trailing up Silco’s thigh.

And cried out in fresh pain as the roaming fingers on her stomach shot upward, locating and twisting her nipple hard through her t-shirt, serrated nose driving into her temple as he harshly reprimanded.

“When did I say you could touch?”

She entrenched her claws hopelessly into the smooth skin of Silco’s forearm, as if he had her dangled over an active volcano. Fingers dipped beneath her waistband, thumb brushing teasing strokes across the sensitive inner junction where thigh met groin. Each narrow pass of his digit left her trembling, just as he’d said, the pulsing between her legs fringing on painful.

She protested. “Why don’t I get to tou-“

Silco squeezed her windpipe, lips quirking villainously in the mirror as he choked the span of two breaths, her back bowing mechanically, backside grinding backward into an impressive erection.

“You’ll get your chance,” he said, “So long as you beg for it.”

Ivy was never one to sulk. She took life’s abuse with a hard glint in her eye, with her jaw clenched firmly against the storm. Therefore, the fact that the man was able to elicit such a quivering pout out of her was alarming to say the least.

Spotting her growing petulance, his thumb swiped once, hard, across her clit. A throaty cry cracked through the air as her knees buckled, head thrown back against his shoulder, resting on the wide lapel of his coat.

Panting, she desperately tried to paddle back to shore through the crashing onslaught of blood rushing through her now ringing ears, hardly catching Silco’s theatrical sigh through the haze.

Silco’s breath tickled the exposed column of her throat as the fingers around her throat dipped into the V of her shirt.

“I’m undecided as to what to do with you, Ivy,” he crooned. “Such a good girl for practicing on your own.”

Something delightful and warm snaked through her chest at the praise.

“But to keep such progress from me?”

“I’m s-sorry,” she rasped, voice tight.

“Oh, I know you are.”

Silco pinched a nipple between two fingers, paired it with another hard swipe across her clit, wrenching another moan from her throat.

“Look at yourself.”

Hesitantly, she cracked her eyes open, peering dazedly at the salacious scene.

Silco hunched, one hand lazily massaging her breasts, the other one down her pants. Her cheeks ruddy, chest heaving with fruitless gasps as she clung to him like a cat on a high branch. And he lay in wait below, arms splayed, a gold and crimson-tinted thorn bush.

“All I need you to do, Ivy, is beg.”

She knew he’d spotted it, that emblematic precipice she stood on. It reflected plain as day in her lust-filled eyes, how he’d won her subservience.

Something victorious and equally vicious quirked his lips into a devilish smirk.

She would beg. She would do it. But she was dragging him down with her.

And he did falter just the slightest when her nose brushed his jagged cheekbone as she turned to ghost her words hotly across the lobe of his ear.

“Please,” her breathlessness entirely genuine, chest heaving against his palm. “I need- I need you to touch me.”

And at the tattered, uneven breath in response, she surrendered, loading the final bullet in the chamber, pressing her damp forehead into the lapel of his coat, sighing into his neck.

“Please, sir. Please, Silco.”

Like a hot stove, she was released suddenly, and there was a long moment where her stomach free fell in anxiety.

Clearing off a nearby table with a ferocious swipe of a single arm, he yanked it in front of her, its legs squealing raucously across the concrete flooring.

With a shocking, cobra-like speed, he had her torso driven into the surface, one hand on her midback, the other going to work on her pants. Dexterously, he unclasped the buttons with a single hand, tearing her pants and underwear down to her ankles in one fell swoop.

Two gloved hands smoothed across the globes of her buttocks, spreading her to the cold air, exposing the wetness she knew full well was glistening on her inner thighs.

She dropped her forehead in a sudden wave of embarrassment and was quickly reprimanded with a tight fist in her hair, his eyes scorching into hers from where they hovered over her head.

“Oh no, you don’t get to look away from this.”

One hand gave her backside a rough thwack and she instantly pushed backward, shamelessly seeking him out.

“Look at you,” he breathed almost reverently.

Silco hardly allowed her the time to feel self-conscious as he released her hair, his now free hand hovering for just a moment in front of her panting mouth before she found herself suddenly invaded, leather fingers pressing inward, exploring the cavern of her mouth, scissoring, shoving slowly across the pad of her tongue until she gagged, eyes watering.

He slipped them out again.

“Bite,” he commanded.

And it took her a few dazed seconds to understand, vision misting. She quickly closed her teeth around the tip of his middle finger, allowing him to tug backward, to free his hand from the glove.

The second it was unencumbered it dove between her legs. Once again, her head thudded onto the table with a vulgar moan, quickly morphing into a whine of despair when his hand disappeared, clapping again at the soft flesh of her backside.

“What did I say?” he reprimanded, and she raised her head obediently.

“Good.”

His fingers danced across the backs of her thigh, kneading softly up to the place he’d just spanked and she bit her lip, hardly caring about the smugness twisting his features, nothing else more important than getting his fingers between her legs again.

“You said you want me to touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Where, exactly?”

Her eyelids fluttered in frustration as Silco’s warm digits danced across her inner thighs, merely outlining her throbbing core.

“Touch m-“ she stuttered, nearly incoherent, “Just touch me.”

“You’ll have to be more specific, dear.”

“Put your fingers inside me,” she snapped, and was rewarded with a third, sharp spank. Another painful fist in her hair.

“So shameless, so ill-mannered.”

But she didn’t miss the way his erection dug into her side approvingly.

“Please, sir” she pleaded.

Silco chuckled darkly, hinging forward from the waist, booted feet on either side of one of her quivering legs, lips tracing the shell of her ear.

“Remember this, Ivy,” he said, voice dangerously soft, as he kicked her insole, successfully widening her stance. “I’m not without mercy.”

And two fingers bee-lined to her clit, performing a quick circle around the sensitive bud. A shattered gasp tore from her throat and she only just managed to catch her head from dropping in pure, sanity-shattering bliss.

Silco dipped his fingers carefully between her wet folds, eyes wild and calculated as he drank in her reactions like a fine wine, chin coming to a rest atop her head.

“You are a needy thing,” he murmured quietly, and she shuddered at the feeling of his jaw working, at how docile she remained, pinned beneath him. “Perhaps I should have paid you better attention.”

He spread the growing slick, wanting her to feel how wet she was for him.

“Alleviated you sooner.”

Silco relented to her whining pleas, pushing two fingers slowly inside her, hooking them in a way that had her jaw dropping in euphoria, a low, satisfied groan puncturing the air, her nails digging into the wood from where her arms framed her head.

“You are under my supervision after all.”

He soon pumped with a third finger, refraining from speech, forcing her to listen to the sounds of her arousal, of just how drenched he’d made her.

Silco’s gloved hand released her hair, forging a lazy trail down the center of her back. The gentleness sent shivers of pleasure through her already quaking form as he stroked across each vertebra until he reached her tailbone.

Bending, arm encircling her hips, leather-covered fingers located her aching bud, and she jerked forward, grinding against the unmoving digits.

He withheld any compassion, instead watching with a predatory head cock as she struggled against him in a desperate bid for friction.

“I suspect this isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself writhing against my glove, is it?”

And her stomach dropped, frenzied, lust-filled eyes connecting with his own in the mirror. It should’ve been shameful, the recognition, and it was certainly there, that twinge of embarrassment. But more than anything, it was a freeing acknowledgment of the tension that had been building over the course of a week and a half.

And she felt oddly fine with him knowing exactly what he did to her.

Her chin squeaked against the surface of the table as she jerked her head back and forth, finally tilting it to the side so she could speak.

“No. It’s not.”

Silco’s expression dripped in a villainous self-satisfaction and he finally moved, dragged another tight circle around her swollen bud, paired it with a particularly deadly hook of his fingers within her, sending her hands clawing forward.

“And would you ever have told me?”

He began a steady rhythm, working her, each pass of the ridged seam of his glove across her clit coinciding with a desperate moan.

Silco repeated the question, she shook her head fervently, unable to speak.

“It seems to me you’ve been awfully withholding,” he crooned, breath fanning across the small of her back, eyes fixed to hers in the reflection. “First your little set-up here, now admitting you’ve been fucking yourself with my glove.”

The sound of the spat curse from his lips had her clenching hard around his fingers, a familiar heat stoking in her lower belly, coiling insidiously slow.

“Perhaps I should stop.”

“No, no, no.”

Voice so tight it was practically a screech, her fingers scrabbled for purchase as the heat continued to build, as the tidal wave quickly approached.

“Hm?”

Any semblance of control she’d had was far gone. All she knew for certain was that he couldn’t. Couldn’t stop. Not when she was this close. So, snatching the string of a single, coherent balloon floating by, she babbled the only word she could come up with, muttered it like a prayer.

“Please, please, please, please.”

“Are you going to cum, Ivy?” he purred into the dampening skin of her lower back.

“Please,” she nearly sobbed, stomach tightening like a pulled back rubber band.

“Then, cum.”

The climax smashed into her devastatingly hard, her back bowing violently as that band snapped.

Mouth opened in a silent cry, brows knitted in ecstasy, she determinedly held his evil, gloating gaze until she couldn’t any longer, that tidal wave of pleasure finally crashing through. The weight of it dragged her forehead to thud against the table as she released a strangled moan, stars bursting across her vision.

He drew it out forever. Fingers hooking in time with each violent, perfect convulsion, thumb still circling her clit slowly.

He eased her gently through, not stopping until she was a shuddering, boneless heap on the table, twitching from the overstimulation.

Hair stuck sweaty to her forehead as she pressed it to the cool wood, breath coming out in short puffs, the post bliss of release tingling across her skin. And she thought, if she could, she’d fall asleep right there.

But a light brush of soft lips to her tailbone brought her dazed thoughts back to the man behind. Who still very much had his long fingers pressed inside her.

She raised her bleary gaze to his.

With a slow deliberateness, he pulled his fingers out of her, and she twitched violently as she was hit with an aftershock, clenching around him, the resulting squelch obscene in the otherwise quiet room. At her low groan, the hard outline of his cock twitched against her outer thigh.

For a man so chatty just thirty seconds ago, he was unnervingly quiet now.

She propped herself up with shaking arms, eyed her prosthesis, tried to force away that surge of familiar, venomous self-doubt.

She crawled up onto the table, ignoring, as best she could, his sizzling gaze as it flicked across the side of her face. Swinging her legs up, she tugged her pants the rest of the way off and pulled her boots off one by one, socks to follow, discarding them on the floor with a dull thud. She took a deep, cleansing breath, despising that he could see her fumbling hesitation, the way her eyes kept darting to her hand.

The wetness weeping from her cunt reminded her of what he’d done, how he’d touched her. That he’d wanted to touch her.

She scooted to a kneeling position before him, butt resting on her heels, knees spread slightly, looking down uncertainly.

A gloved hand tipped her chin up, held it there while three curious fingers came to rest at her lips, waiting, and she darted her tongue out, catching the bitter taste of herself. Sucking his fingers greedily into her mouth, she gazed up at him from beneath her lashes.

“Good girl,” he whispered, thumb brushing with uncharacteristic tenderness across a small scar near the crease of her lips before he pulled away.

Fabric rustled as he bent, and two hands were skimming up her hips, stopping at the hem of her t-shirt. She jerkily raised her arms for him to draw it up and over her head.

Until she was entirely bare to him.

Silco swatted at her when she instinctively attempted to cover herself.

“We don’t hide, Ivy.”

She frowned, blinked curiously at his phrasing.

“Be still. Hands atop your thighs,” came the reprimand again as she curled inward. “Let me look at you.”

She could feel his eyes as they slid across her naked form, felt that golden ribbon of arousal curl between her legs once again as he cupped two hands beneath her breasts, thumbs rolling slow, tantalizing circles over her pebbled nipples as she squirmed and whined.

“It’s hard to be the only one without clothes,” she rasped finally.

“Oh,” he paused his ministrations to taunt, “That must be so difficult.”

Only fair to allow her a remedy.

The table creaked beneath as she redistributed her weight, reaching toward that intimidating erection in his pants. And he struck, quick as lightning, seizing both wrists, yanking her toward him, her knees sliding forward until they were flush against his upper thighs, chest thrusting upward in order to lean decidedly away from his face, suddenly so close.

“What did I say about touching, Ivy?”

It was a long moment before his words from minutes ago emerged through the thick fog of lust clouding her mind.

“That I’d get my chance,” she said, “So long as I begged.”

Silco rearranged her wrists into one long-fingered hand, snatching her jaw in the harsh, punishing grip of his other.

“Yet I haven’t heard so much as a please.”

An honest attempt was cut off with a hiss as her teeth scored into her cheeks.

“What’s that?” he murmured, half-lidded eyes dropping to her wet mouth. “If this is what you want, you’re scarcely trying.”

If he let go of her, she would fall. In more ways than one. She was lost. Lost in the familiar, smoky scent of him. Disappearing in the orange swirl of that obsidian eye. And she hardly thought she’d make it out.

“Can I touch you, please?”

His gaze drank her in from up close, eyes darting, and she beat him to it, knew exactly what he was opening his mouth to ask. Where?

“Your cock. I want to touch your cock, sir” she said, words strained from her awkward positioning.

Silco’s teal eye twitched.

“May-may I?” she stammered again in the silence.

A look of genuine, dare she say fond amusement crossed his features before he balanced her, pulled forward until her hands twisted into the stiff fabric of his coat, until their lips were inches away.

“Off the table. On your knees.”

He gave her hardly a body’s worth of space to do so, but the approval ignited a fire under her skin, and she eagerly wedged herself between him and the table, slid down his front until she knelt on the floor below him.

With a flourish, he shoved the table out of the way, giving him full view of her backside in the mirror.

Her flesh hand reached forward tentatively to meet one of the buttons of his pants, eyes falling to the strained fabric at the front.

“Both hands, Ivy,” he said, her name stretched into a soft, breathless exhale as she brushed across his clothed cock, moving to undo his buttons with remarkable speed, despite her quivering form.

She reached for the other side and found her wrist in his stern grip once more.

“I said, both hands.”

In a sudden bout of frustration and shame, her forehead pressed forward against his hip flexor, nose nuzzling inward, his skin twitching as she warmed the fabric there with her hot breath.

How shameful. Couldn’t she be allowed to forget about her disfigurement, her defect, just for a moment in time?

Fingers tangled gently in her hair and her eyes rolled to peer up at him, her core pulsing wildly at the feral edge he tried to contain within that impassive expression, crooked teeth visible through his slightly parted lips.

She’d use her prosthesis. She’d do anything if he continued to look at her like that.

I’m doing this for you.

Her pleading expression urged him to understand as she struggled with the final two buttons, her captured wrist released to her once finished with an uttered praise from Silco.

She ran her hand along the hard bulge, feeling it twitch against her palm.

Appeasing him finally, she tugged at his waistband, releasing him, eyes widening a fraction at the generous length.

She took him into palm, prosthesis planting against his hip, thumb swiping teasingly against the sensitive skin around his cock. A tattered breath was released above her and she looked up again, hungrily devouring his reactions.

Her lips were so close. She could taste him if she wanted, was sure he wouldn’t mind. Maybe flick out her tongue a bit.

She met his gaze questioningly, pumping her hand slowly up and down his shaft, swiping her thumb across the head, gathering the beads of precum there, adoring the way his tongue pressed against his teeth in response.

“Do you want to take me in your mouth? Is that it?” he asked, words holding a serrated edge.

She nodded, biting the plush of her bottom lip.

“What are you waiting for?”

Nothing anymore. She darted her tongue across the tip, groaning softly when his hand tightened painfully in her hair, and even more when she wrapped her lips fully around the weeping head, tongue swirling lightly.

Taking deep, calming breaths through her nose, she eased him slowly into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth, and he expelled a ragged, drawn-out groan in tandem with her own as the sound of his pleasure shot straight between her legs.

“You’ve wanted this since the very beginning, haven’t you?” he grit out, and her eyes shot to his. “Pleasured yourself to my fingers between your legs, to your lips wrapped around my cock like this.”

She moaned out an affirmative yes around him and he hissed.

“Dirty girl.”

As she found her rhythm, his straying hands found their way to her face, pushing the sweat dampened hair back, clearing his line of sight, calloused thumbs dragging frenzied patterns into her temples as he began to take control, fucking steadily into her.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, voice strained.

The praise warmed like fine liquor in her chest, his groaning satisfaction pushing her to take more of him with each thrust, to please him. Tears rolled down her cheeks as he hit the back of her throat, as she struggled to breathe, relaxing her jaw, eyes rolling upward as his pleasure intensified her own.

Her hand released her grip on the base of his cock, snaking its way between her legs instead.

“Look at you,” he panted, thumb swiping gently at her tears, “Working yourself so good for me.”

She keened around his cock as she worked her clit furiously, provoking a ragged growl out of Silco that was positively sinful.

“Let me see you.”

She lifted her wild gaze to his, cunt clenching around nothing at the equally untamed glint in his eye.

Let him see you.

She spread her knees wider, and her thighs burned as she pushed her body slightly upward, arching her back so he could see the outline of her fingers pumping, palm grinding as his gaze honed on the mirror’s reflection.

And all the while he uttered crooning, breathless praises to her, petting her hair as he increased pace, eyes darting between her and the mirror as if she would disappear any second.

Pleasure ripped through her and she cried out, throat widening just that last amount to push her fully forward, both hands flying out to grab his legs in support as her nose smashed into his abdomen, fully encasing him inside her humming throat.

With a shattered groan, he followed suit, his release spilling down her throat, fist tightening so excruciatingly in her hair she would have squealed if she could, eyes rolling back as pain and pleasure formed an exquisite concoction.

She rode out the cresting waves of her orgasm with her hands wrapped tightly around the backs of his thighs until she was a twitching mess beneath him.

The blackness that had begun to take hold at the edges of her vision had her smacking his fingers on her head with increasing desperation, and he finally released her, gasping for air.

She slumped forward against him.

She breathed him in, wanted it to freeze itself, this strange moment in time: her forehead pressed reverently against his thigh, his fingers rubbing gentle, absentminded circles into her temples. She didn’t know when she’d grabbed the wrist of his left hand with her prosthesis, but it gripped there all the same.

“Clothes on.”

The tone of his voice was cryptic. Quiet.

Her body sagged and she allowed herself one final moment to mourn what may well never transpire again.

Then, swallowing dryly, did as she was told, not looking at him as she dragged her clothes back on, wondering what the hell happened now.

Grabbing her abandoned boot from in front of the mirror, she paused, eyes on her prosthesis as another wave of venomous self-doubt washed over her, brought a swell of angry tears to her eyes. At how utterly broken she was.

Tearing her gaze away, she laced her boots, standing up straight only to find Silco beside her.

Turning slow, she faced him fully, uncertainty wrinkling her brow as she dared to look upon his face, fearing something smug. Finding only a searching softness.

Ironing out the space between her brows with one thumb, he took her prosthesis in the other, eyes darting across her features as he raised it, cupping it gently across the scarred side of his face.

“We don’t hide, Ivy.”

I think, with this being my first smut piece, I may have gotten a little carried away, but there you have it folks, 6.5K words of my filthy, rotten brain.

Again, I highly encourage everyone to check out @x-amount-verbs A Helping Hand, although I know most of us are obsessed with it already :) I have heart eyes for her OC and for the complex way she writes Silco. And on top of that, she's also just a lovely person.

AO3 Link if you want to toss me a kudos or a comment. It makes my entire day :)

I don't have much under my belt yet, but am starting a master list and am always looking for requests if anyone wants to send em' my way. Or just send me any and all of your unhinged thoughts, this fandom is hilarious.

Much love! <3

#A Helping Hand #silco #Silcoxreader #silco x oc #silco arcane #smut #silco x f!reader

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pengujoon · 3 years ago

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I BELIEVE IN YOU

cont. akaashi keiji x reader, comfort, angst to fluff. tw: suicidal thoughts, self hatred. reader breaks down from burnout and akaashi is a loving boyfriend

a/n. never thought i'd live to the day where i'll be experiencing a mental breakdown from school, but life exceeds expectations by a whole lot so here is a very self indulged fic! as usual, enjoy <3

Tears brimming your eyes, threatening to fall as you scribbled words across your accounting notes, pausing the lecture recording every now and then just to scribble more notes.

Your hands clenched your hair in anger. You groaned, tiredness from college hitting you like a massive rocket from space at terminal velocity.

You looked upwards at your clock - which read 2:37 am - and blinked away your tears, taking a deep breath before continuing where you left off.

"Honey?" you heard Akaashi call out, "it's almost 3. Do you want to take a break?"

He knew better than to forcibly pull you to bed, knowing how persistent you were in regards towards your studies.

"Just a while more," you muttered, scribbling more words on the smudged sheet of paper you've been abusing since a few hours ago.

"Until 3, alright?" He closed the book in his hands shut. "Promise me that you'll stop there."

"Akaashi," you groaned, burying your head in your hands. You turned over to face him with the harshest glare you could muster, but undoubtedly, tiredness overwhelmed the anger you could portray in your gaze.

"You want me-" you pointed to yourself, "-to finish all these-" then pointing at your computer, "-in less than 20 minutes?"

You scoffed, "Impossible. I'm going to need the whole night to understand what on earth this chapter is talking about."

It was just one chapter, yes, but it was the longest chapter yet.

"If that's the case," he said, "no. You are going to rest now."

"Akaashi," you sighed, getting up from your seat. There was no way you were going to win against him; he knew just how to aim for your critical points and make you submit in defeat. Deep down, you were too tired and needed a good rest; you knew better than to argue with him about this.

The moment you got up from your seat, however, you felt the sudden rush of blood towards your brain, feeling light-headed and faint. Your body swayed out of control, hands reaching out to grab hold of something, anything, to make you stand straight.

But somehow, your hands managed to miss anything and everything, making you stumble on your tangled feet, falling forwards.

You saw a flash of a figure hurrying towards you, catching your frail body before you kissed the ground.

Akaashi huffed, lips pressed in a thin line.

"What did I say?"

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, "I'm going to rest now."

You echoed his words, mumbling against his firm chest. It was something you did all the time when you were stressed; his warm hug wrapped around your figure was comforting - it somehow helped to relieve the pent-up stress that you've bottled up.

Wordlessly, he carried you towards the bed, carefully placing you upon it while he waddled in right after.

"Let's just rest, alright?" he said, thumbs rubbing circles on the back of your palms.

You hummed, sighing out a breath.

"Honey," he said, "I know that college can be tiring and stressful, but you need to take care of yourself."

"I'm trying to not fail in lessons but it feels like I'm putting my life on the line every time I study," you sniffled, tears slowly cascading down your face. "It feels like my brain is about to explode, Keiji."

"Everybody around me excels in their studies, so much better than me." You swallowed a sob. "I can't do this anymore," you whispered, "I'm better off dy-"

"No, you're not."

Akaashi's cold hands found his way towards your face, jolting you a little, but also helping to clear your sadness-clouded mind.

"You're not better off gone."

"I'm not?"

"No," he said, "you're not dumb. You're the love of my life, you're the smartest. You're talented in what you do, you're amazing.

"You're the most beautiful person that has graced this earth, you're the most loveable person I've met in my entire life of living."

"Honey," you whispered, "that's not me. I'm trash. I hate myself."

"Do you actually hate yourself or hate the person you're pretending to be?"

Your eyes widened slightly, pondering at the sudden question. It brought out a different feel of you, bringing your mood up a little, even if it was just a little bit.

"I see the real you, not the one you're pretending to be."

He shuffled in the bed, positioning yourself to face each other. He held your cold hands in his, such loving eyes gazing in yours.

"You're not alone. I'm always here with you, through the ups and downs."

"I'm really sorry," you said suddenly. Without warning, tears that had supposedly dried up came down as though it was a waterfall down your face.

"I'm so sorry Keiji," you wept, hands wiping away the tears that flowed non-stop. "I'm such a burden to you, to everyone around me. You should be happier without me. I'm so sorry for even existing."

Your soft whimpers slowly became loud snivels, breaking down into an crying mess after finishing your sentence.

You daren't look into Akaashi's eyes; his eyes had nothing but concern, and no inch of tiredness or anger. A small frown was evident on his face, tears slowly collecting in his own.

He simply pulled you over to his side and gave you the hug you desperately needed. It wasn't too suffocating, but neither was it too light to the touch: it was nothing but reassurance.

You reciprocate the hug, hands finding its way to each other behind his back, somehow pulling him closer to you than he already is.

"You're not who you think you are," Akaashi said, "I believe in you, the true you."

"But.. but I don't..."

"Then I'll make you believe in yourself," he pulled away from the embrace, leaning his foreheads against yours. "Even if it is going to take days, weeks, months, or even years, we'll work together to make you believe in yourself."

"Let's do this together."

i kinda went overboard a little here ahh all the emotions came bursting forth and i couldn't help but write more than what i originally planned

#haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu comfort #haikyuu fluff #akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq scenarios #hq x you #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #hq #hq akaashi #akaashi keiji #this kinda got out of hand #but i feel like future me will appreciate this #anyways enjoy <3 #haikyuu angst to fluff #penguwrites

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2-sleepy-for-this · 3 years ago

Text

Alright guys! Here is the long awaited part 2 of ‘A Little Experiment’!

hope you enjoy <3

A Little Experiment (2)

Tw: fear, doubt, unintentional fear play

(it sounds worse that it is, I promise)

word count: 1.7K

“Hm, that should have worked..” Donnie mumbled under his breath.

But Mikey heard it. How couldn’t he with how loud everything was around him? Donnie was supposed to know all this stuff. Why would Donnie recruit him if he couldn’t change him back!

Mikey’s eyes widened as a small voice in the back of his head spoke, one that he didn’t listen to often.

What if he doesn’t care?

No, that’s not true, Donnie’s his brother. Of course he cares! He probably just didn’t know this would happen. It was a freak accident!

But what if it wasn’t

Maybe he just wanted to make you easier to manage.

A lab rat maybe

…no

Donnie wouldn’t do that, right? We’re family. He’d never do this on purpose… right?

The more Mikey thought about it, the more he remembered all the times he made Donnie mad, every time Mikey pulled pranks that made him yell. He wasn’t even allowed to be in the lab without permission anymore.

Mikey was so caught up in his mind that he didn’t notice when Donnie moved from his spot in front of the controls, walking towards him. He didn’t notice Donnie had moved until a giant hand took up his vision, headed straight for him.

He screamed and tried to run back, tripping and falling on something softer than the floor. He looked down and realized the thing he was on was Donnie’s other hand. Mikey started flailing, trying to get off and hide before Donnie could do anything to him.

He didn’t get very far. Once Donnie saw him fighting, he was pinned on his shell, unable to sit up or move much.

The weight felt suffocating, like his plastron would crack with any more pressure. He briefly saw Donnie’s mouth moving, but closed his eyes right after. He didn’t want to be teased by his brother right now because of how weak he was.

Right after he closed his eyes, limbs still trying to push the finger off of his chest, he felt pressure on his arm. Without hesitation, Mikey snapped his eyes open and turned his head to see his arm was once again trapped by Donnie. He screamed again and struggled harder and, surprisingly, this time, all the pressure was lifted off of him.

He was still trapped in the palm of a giant, dozens of feet off the ground. So he did the thing his instincts yelled at him to do. He hid in his shell.

It felt strange after not doing it for a long time. He’s a trained ninja, so there’s no point in hiding in a shell when you can hide in the shadows. Except there are no shadows here, nowhere to hide. He felt so vulnerable, his shell would do nothing for him. Donnie had already shown him that. He couldn’t do anything.

Mikey was caught off guard when his shell was pinched between two fingers and, once again, he could see the colossal form of his brother through the head hole.

He seemed… concerned?

This was all so new and confusing. He was stuck smaller than a hand and the brother who did it was holding him like he would hold a cool bug. He didn’t wanna be a bug.

Before Mikey could spiral more, the loudest creak he had ever heard interrupted him. He winced and quickly realized that only one thing could make a giant creak: a giant door.

He wasn’t able to check though, because as soon as he heard it, he was being rocketed into the air as his massive brother shot up, panicked.

Any thoughts Mikey had before this were pushed to the back of his mind, unable to hear them once two other voices started speaking. His other brothers.

He immediately retreated into his shell once more, still shaking from being in Donnie’s hands. From inside his shell he could make out two more giant figures walking into the room, both of them looked less then happy.

The blue and red clad turtles walked over to Donnie, over to him. However, they didn’t seem to notice his small form yet, attention focused on Donnie.

“-seen Mikey? He wasn’t in his room?”

The sound of Leo saying his name brought him back to reality. Oh no, they were looking for him. He doesn’t want anyone else to see him like this, and he definitely doesn’t want to be near anyone right now.

Mikey could hear Donnie trying to come up with excuses from above and by the looks on his other brothers faces, they weren’t working. Maybe if he could get Donnie’s attention he could hide him somewhere? It was worth a shot.

Carefully, he shook so his shell would move in Donnie’s pinched fingers. He tried to be as discreet as possible, but when he got the attention of his nerdy brother, Donnie looked down.

As Donnie looked towards Mikey, Leo and Raph’s eyes followed his, leading them straight to Mikey’s miniature shell. Mikey froze and held as still as possible when he saw the eyes of all three brothers on him at once. It felt suffocating to be under their gazes as they leaned over him.

The two looked confused as they saw his shell, while Donnie looked panicked. Though no where near as panicked as Mikey was in that moment. Before Donnie could make something up, a hand was pulling him away from his sciencey brother, holding him a bit to tight for comfort.

Without warning, the person holding him spoke, shaking his very core.

“What is this thing”

Uh oh, the brother holding him was Raph and it seemed like his curiosity was peaked by Mikey. He struggled to stay frozen, not wanting to alert Raph that the thing in his hands was alive. Best case scenario Leo and Raph leave the lab and Donnie realizes his mistake so he can go back to only being short by a few inches.

Best case scenarios don’t really happen to Mikey though. It had only been a few seconds after that question was asked when Mikey felt the fingers around my tighten on his shell and he panicked. He didn’t wanna be squashed! Without thinking he yelped and pushed his head and limbs out of his shell.

Mikey heard a sharp gasp above him before the fingers around him released, making him fall who knows how far to the ground below.

For a split second, Mikey felt weightless, like he was flying instead of falling. By the time he realized that the ground was getting scarily closer, a green blur was already grabbing him once again. This time however, the mask above him was blue.

“Mikey..?”

He froze at the sound of his name. So, they know now and Mikey’s life is ruined. His brothers are gonna tease him for the rest of his life! Mikey’s body tensed as he waited for the ridicule to begin, but it never did. Instead, the hand around him opened, leaving him sitting in a green palm.

“A..are you okay?”

He blinks at Leo’s question, was he? Wait, why wasn’t he laugh at him? Why wasn’t Raph saying short jokes? What is going on? Even though he had been silently contemplating for a minute now, his brothers didn’t start talking over him. They just kept looking at him, waiting patiently for his answer.

“I..I’m okay”

Although Mikey said this he knew it wasn’t true, how could he be ok everything was so different, so huge. He’s already vulnerable, at least he can make his brothers think he isn’t more weak.

The three giant brothers looked at each other, each sporting looks of concern, why would he lie to them?

After a few seconds the gazes made their way back to him, Mikey nearly flinched from the gained attention once again. Things seemed to slow as Leo’s hand lifted him higher off the ground. Mikey was now eye level with his brothers and somehow it helped, he felt just a little more at ease seeing from his normal height again. Even if he isn’t, and he’s still on a giant hand, and he can’t do anything about it if he tried, and…he should stop thinking about this.

He came back to reality when Donnie’s voice rang around the lab. Mikey distracts his mind by listening to Donnie’s explanation of this. Throughout his explanation he could see his other brothers faces become more angry.

It scared him, Mikey knew the anger wasn’t directed at him, but it was still scary to see. Now, being surrounded by giants, one a scientist while the others are angry, Mikey started to shake.

He couldn’t help it, he’d never been in a situation like this before, it was all so different, he didn’t know what would happen next. It took Leo a very short time to feel the small shaking on his palm.

Quickly, the others were alerted and soon they tried to comfort the terrified tiny. Mikey didn’t know what to think when his brothers immediately lost their anger, turning their attention back to him and looking soft instead.

He was slowly and carefully brought out of the lab and into the living room. He was confused as they all sat down in front of the tv, turning it on. He was confused when raph silently got up and made his way to the kitchen. But there was no room in his head to be confused when he saw what raph carried out.

“PIZZA!”

The two sitting with him seemed shocked, but not surprised at his outburst. He was known for his love of pizza after all. Mikey didn’t seem to notice his brothers smiles as he dug into his slice. It was bigger than him! Maybe being this small wasn’t so bad, he could live with giant pizza. Hey! His brothers could carry him around everywhere too! And he wouldn’t have to spar during training anymore!

Huh, this wouldn’t be to bad after all.

Soon, the living room dissolved from tension to laughter and conversation for the rest of the night. Somehow Mikey’s voice was still the loudest among them.

And if splinter noticed his sons’ tired eyes and wide smiles in the morning, well, it wasn’t mentioned.

#Tmnt #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt 2012 #tmnt g/t #rottmnt #rottmnt g/t #giant donnie #giant leo #giant raph #tiny mikey #this took longer than expected #Hope you enjoyed #<3 #please send asks about this au #I beg of thee

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strawwritesfic · 4 years ago

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Peter Quill x Female!Guardian!Reader: Recipe for Disaster

Summary: One part malevolent water god, two parts angry boyfriend, mixed with enough chlorinated water to fill a pool. Shaken, not stirred. Add one bored raccoon as garnish. Wah-lah! One thoroughly ruined vacation.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: T (sexual references, bad language, crude humor, and boobs; outfit shaming; religion insulting; god killing; the reader is a jealous girlfriend; post-Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2; implied Drax/Mantis; past one sided!Peter/Gamora referenced)

Fic Trade Prompt: “I just want 2 things: a peach bellini slush and for you to get the hell out of my face.“

Notes: This thing got rewritten about five different times, each with a different idea. You can tell. It’s not the most cohesive story I’ve ever written, but I think the character voices are very strong, so I’m posting it anyway!

Recipe for Disaster

Peter Quill was not one to balk about having sex with his girlfriend. The two of you had done it in zero gravity, underground while the planet’s crust above was being blown to smithereens, even in the Milano while being shot at. Yes, you and Peter certainly had an interesting and varied sex life. You normally didn’t complain—until now, that was. After all the tantrums, all the exploding ships, all the guts (so many guts), sometimes a girl needed some time off. Sometimes a girl needed to be pampered. Sometimes what a girl needed most on her vacation from destroying monsters with her bare hands and having sex in life-and-death situations was…a vacation.

Wearing your swimsuit and sunglasses to breakfast had perhaps not been your brightest idea if you wanted people to quit paying you attention. Gamora’s incredulous gaze was the first to meet yours as you and Peter walked hand in hand to where you had all agreed to eat that day, which was outside since Rocket had been exiled from the hotel. The rest of the team—minus Drax— had already started eating and plowed through more than three-fourths of the buffet table, judging by the remains littering the picnic blanket’s surface and the ground nearby.

Gamora managed to tear her eyes away from your chest without saying anything for once. Mantis was not so lucky. Looking around to see what Gamora was gaping at, her own gaze fell upon your all-but-exposed breasts and didn’t move even when she tried for a shy, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Peter answered cheerfully—and for him, you supposed it was. He hadn’t wound up taking forty-five minutes to shower because his significant other had kept interrupting.

Too annoyed with your boyfriend to communicate with anyone else, you shook off his hand and lowered yourself onto the edge of the blanket to admire the view. Both of the planet’s suns shone brightly in the sky. The smell of pool chemicals drifted through the air along with the sound of several different species of children screeching at play. It was the perfect day for pool lounging, if you were allowed to lounge at all.

“So,” Peter said through a mouthful of some green breakfast mash, “what’s the plan for today?”

You did not like the sound of this at all. Plans generally did not involve sitting by the pool all day. Rocket and the tallish, lanky Groot, however, perked up immediately, their attention drawn away from the massive bazooka they’d brought outside with them.

“I am Groot?” asked the latter. Rocket caught his eye.

“You got that right, pal,” he said. “There better be some kind of plan today.”

Peter swallowed thickly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I am Groot.”

“I thought that was the point of a vacation,” Mantis said.

“There’s a difference between being relaxed and being bored,” said Gamora, as she spread some vegetable-based gunk on a biscuit. “Frankly, I can’t stand another day of sitting around doing nothing while Peter and [Name] are locked up in the room.”

“Nothing can be very good for the psyche,” Mantis said, finally wrenching her eyes away from your chest when you looked straight at her. “I’ve been able to sense a lot of stress from everyone lately.”

“Probably because we haven’t killed anyone in over a week,” Rocket piped up.

You rolled your eyes, and Rocket saw. Before a fight could break out in earnest, Peter interrupted:

“That’s a good point, Rocket.”

You gaped at him. “No, it’s not. We are not murdering someone here just to de-stress Rocket!” Not to mention that murdering anyone would cut into the downtime you had yet to enjoy.

“I never said anything about murdering anyone here. Or even murdering a someone.”

“I am Groot?” asked Groot.

“Yeah, the emphasis on ‘someone’ is suspicious. You thinking about murdering some beastie somewhere else?” Rocket asked. “Like, off planet? ‘Cause believe you me, I’m not about to be picky.

“No, it’s on-planet,” Peter said with a shake of his head. “I heard some of the locals talking about it while we were at the bar last night. Apparently it usually doesn’t spend so much time close to the coast. It’s causing problems. A sea monster. Giant jellyfish just offshore.”

“Venomous and scary?”

“Probably.”

“I am Groot?”

“Most definitely.”

“Kill streak up to the high heavens?”

“I didn’t hear them say a number, but—”

“I’m in.” Rocket sat back with his tiny arms folded across his chest as though that put an end to the matter.

“Do you even know what jellyfish is?” you asked.

Gamora had other things on her mind: “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“[Name] told me not to!” Peter said.

As expected, this news caused an uproar of protest at your behavior. Groot might have even come close to speaking a swear word you could understand. Scowling, you waited for the noise to die down before attempting to explain.

“It’s not a job,” you said, throwing a dirty look in Peter’s direction. “In fact, if any of you had bothered to do any research before we stopped here, you’d know that giant jellyfish is considered a deity. No matter how close it gets, no one wants it dead. If anything, we’d have to pay them to do anything about it.”

“I am Groot!”

“I’d pay ‘em, too! If I don’t get something to entertain myself, I’m likely to start causing trouble. Or maybe if Miss Snootypants over here has a problem with real entertainment, she can start paying me not to murder her.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” Your eyes narrowed in Peter’s direction. He was the one in charge of this lot, not you. All he seemed inclined to do was get them riled up.

It took so little to rile up Groot these days, too. Much more of this and he was likely to start whipping someone around with his hands. Seeing as you were Groot’s favorite target for that sort of behavior, you rather hoped your boyfriend might start taking matters into his own hands.

Luckily, Peter got the silent message—or so you thought. He made a show of finishing what was left on his plate, but then all he said was, “So?”

“So…what?” Gamora asked.

Mantis nodded vigorously by her side.

“So are we doing it or not?” Peter asked.

“Sounds fine to me,” Gamora’s eyes flicked once in your direction, “although you might want to check what your girlfriend is wearing.”

You looked down at the bikini top that covered your so-called “naughty bits,” then glared back at her. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“It’s not an ‘outfit.’”

“I am wearing a bikini.”

“To breakfast?” she asked coldly. It couldn’t be more clear that while Mantis might enjoy your cleavage, Gamora thought it ought to be covered whenever possible.

You tossed your head. “I’m wearing shorts, too.”

“I’d hardly call those shorts.”

“I’m covered enough that only you and Mantis have gawked at me,” you snarled, though you felt somewhat guilty over turning Mantis that particular shade of cherry. She’d been mostly alone for so long that she couldn’t help but be a bundle of nerves and social failure. You weren’t even being honest about the number of people doing the gawking, either.

Gamora rolled her eyes this time. “Fine. If you want to fight a giant jelly beast in nothing but a flimsy bra and some panties, be my guest. Maybe you’ll get an arm bit off. You can’t fight and look like a stripper at the same time.”

This, you felt, was going a little far. Your clothing was skimpy, but you weren’t going anywhere but the pool after breakfast (unless Peter had his way for a third day in row). Just because Gamora always felt the need to be battle-ready didn’t mean the rest of you shared her deep-seated paranoia. Besides, it wasn’t like looking like a stripper was a bad thing. It just meant you had a harder time keeping Peter’s hands where you could see them.

By then, you and Gamora were inches from each other’s faces. Mantis’ dark eyes darted worriedly between you both. Groot and Rocket whispered to each other—taking bets on which one of you would be first to render the other unconscious, you’d hazard a guess. Peter only looked delighted, his breakfast entirely forgotten in the light of a possible catfight between his girlfriend and a girl he’d once hoped to be his girlfriend.

As though you were about to give any of them the satisfaction. You took a deep breath and settled back onto the ground as you snatched a piece of fruit from one of the nearby plates.

“I can do both,” you said primly.

“Not well,” Gamora muttered.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m not dressed for battle. We aren’t going into battle.”

“What? Why not?” Rocket cried.

“Because no one is offering to pay us! You think that concierge is going to thank you for killing something he regularly makes sacrifices to?”

“I am Groot!” Groot interjected.

“Right,” said Rocket. “What concierge? Ain’t no concierge gonna get me to respect his idiotic religion. Not after he got a bunch of bellboys chasing me away from the buffet table when I’m far from the hairiest person here!”

Sadly, this was true. And after living with Rocket the past few months, you had a good idea of just how hairy he was. You did feel that he was missing the point, though.

“Exactly. So who cares if the thing is causing problems? There’s no point helping someone like that. Besides, the poor thing isn’t hurting anyone. It’s just hanging out at the beach.”

“It ripped a swimmer’s head off!” Peter said incredulously.

You threw down the remains of your fruit and looked him dead in the eye. “So it’s a malevolent deity. What, they don’t have those where you come from?”

“That’s not what I—”

“We’re already broke after we had to pay for all the repairs for the ship. Repairs, which, may I remind you, aren’t even finished?”

“But still—”

“Do you really want to spend your vacation doing work for free?”

“Who died and made you Queen of the Guardians?” Rocket demanded.

Peter continued to look at you for a few seconds longer, then sighed. “Forget it, guys.”

“What?”

“I am Groot!”

“Yeah, you’re right, Groot. She did steal Quill’s balls.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. I have very plentiful balls.”

“Prove it!”

Peter stood up, hands already moving to yank down his pants.

You pulled him back onto the ground. “We aren’t fighting anything today,” you told Rocket. “End of story.”

“Excuse me, Princess.”

“You are excused.”

Now that that was settled, you could hear the pool calling your name. You needed a tan that would last until your next break before the end of the week. With the crisis of possible god killing averted for now, sunbathing was next on the agenda. No word of goodbye left your lips as you stood to leave. Rocket was not far after.

“Well, if you lot are going to sit around trying to get a head start on decomposing, Groot and I got business matters of a serious nature to attend to,” he called as he scurried toward the hotel entrance.

Peter perked up considerably. “Business?”

Rocket waved him away with a laugh. “Not your kinda business, choirboy. Now, run along after sweetums before she steals something more crucial than your dick.”

“Rocket!”

But Rocket and Groot were gone, leaving Peter at the picnic blanket with Gamora and Mantis. He looked imploring at you. You looked away. Why couldn’t he just take the goddamn hint? Vacations were for doing nothing—not doing your boyfriend and certainly not doing work.

“So where’s Drax, anyway?” Peter asked when no new subject was put up by those remaining.

“Sleeping,” Mantis answered promptly. “He discovered the bar last night, and—”

“Say no more.” Peter winced. “Guess we better go check on the guy.”

“Since [Name] is so insistent that she stay away from this creature, perhaps she should go try to wake Drax up,” Gamora suggested. “The three of us can go scope out this…jamfish.”

“Jellyfish,” you said, “and we already decided not to kill it.”

“Looking is not the same as killing.”

“That’s a fine idea,” you said, your tone icy, “but seeing as Peter is my boyfriend, and not yours, I think he should come with me to check on Drax.”

Gamora rolled her eyes once more at this childish behavior. You felt a vague pang of guilt. She had always made it clear that she had no romantic attraction toward Peter herself. What was harder to forget was your boyfriend’s penchant for green-skinned space babes, especially when you were going to refuse to sleep with him and Gamora was as gorgeous as ever. Before you could even begin in the general direction of an apology, she got up from her seat and brushed past you.

“I’ll go make sure he isn’t suffocating in his own vomit. Heavens know I do it often enough for you, Peter.”

“Hey, [Name] takes care of my vomit now.”

“At least we all have that going for us. Come on, Mantis.”

Mantis pursed her lips, looked nervously between you, Gamora, and Peter, and stood up to hurry after Gamora’s rapidly retreating back. Well, that had worked better than you had planned it. Time with Peter and no need to get a second look at Drax’s unusual throw up. You were magnanimous enough to wait for Peter to catch up with you before moving on, but his trying to take your hand resulted in you shaking him off.

“You’re mad at me,” he said.

“Finally caught on, have you?”

“For what?”

If he hadn’t figured out that you wanted some quiet time without worrying that he was going to shack up with the first female-presenting being he spotted, you weren’t going to tell him. Not a word on the matter left your lips. After several seconds of silent walking, he tried again:

“You know, you don’t have to make me look like a…” He cut himself off.

Marching past the front desk (an act that earned you a suspicious look from the man at the counter, who no doubt thought you were trying to smuggle Rocket into the building by hiding him where the sun don’t shine), you lifted an eyebrow at Peter inquisitively.

“Like a what?” you asked, though you knew wouldn’t like the answer.

Peter sighed. “Like a…a pussy.”

This drew you to a complete stop. He nearly trod on your sandaled feet, not that either of you noticed.

“What’s wrong with having a pussy? I thought you liked mine.”

“I do! I just don’t want to be one.”

“Me suggesting you not give into Rocket’s insane demands makes you a pussy?”

“No! But not letting the rest of the guys do what they want—”

You interrupted him with a groan and a tossing upward of your hands. “I’m so sorry that I don’t want us to kill something important and get run off our eighth planet to date. Those Sovereign are still after us, but sure. Let’s go back into space before the Milano is ready so we can get blasted into nothingness by a bunch of gold-skinned children!”

Peter only stared at you. Faint heat born of anger rose into your cheeks. Not only was Peter acting like you were wrong to tell them to leave the jellyfish alone, but you were actively driving him away from the one moment you had with him alone and he wasn’t trying to remove your top. Suddenly your throat felt very right. Thank the (non-jellyfish) Gods Gamora wasn’t here to see and Peter had the emotional reading abilities of a hat.

“If you didn’t agree with me, you shouldn’t have pretended you did,” you said somewhat hoarsely.

“It’s not that I don’t agree with you,” Peter said. “It’s just the way you went about it made me look kinda…dickless.”

“Everyone knows you’ve got a dick, Peter. You’re not exactly shy about reminding us.”

Unwilling to discuss this any further, you spun around to stalk to the pool. Peter could go off and kill as many deities as he wanted. At the absolute least, this would keep him away from your sunning time for a few hours. With Drax unconscious, killing anything would take at least that long.

Huffing and muttering to yourself under your breath, you found a pool chair outside only a few feet away from the crystalline water. The last thing you expected to find when you finished applying suntan lotion and settled in on your back was Peter perched on the empty chair beside yours.

“What?” you asked.

“Can’t a guy hang out with his girlfriend without her asking him ‘what’?”

You eyed him suspiciously. Peter was dressed in his usual duds: heavy Ravager coat, funky t-shirt, thick-toed boots. He expected to be going after a jellyfish at some point today, at any rate. Certainly he wasn’t dressed to spend the entire day by the pool.

“You really plan to just hang out here with me all day?”

“Well, maybe not all day. Once you spent some time outside, I was hoping—”

“I’ve spent the past three days cooped up inside with you. Today is a ‘me’ day. No monsters. No slime. No sex.”

“Okay,” he said, oblivious to your eyes sliding shut in your attempt to ignore him, “I know you said no monsters, but I really think it would be best for the rest of the team if we took care of that thing out there. It’d calm everyone down. And everyone at the hotel would be a lot safer.”

You snuggled exaggeratedly into your sunbeam. “It can’t hurt us here. Unless you’re suggesting it’s going to grow legs and walk to the pool.”

“It could!”

“Peter, sweetheart?” you asked as you lifted your sunglasses off your nose.

“Yeah?”

You sat up to give his cheek a lazy pat. “If you bring up this job of yours one more time, I am going to murder you.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

Peter didn’t look altogether certain about that, though. Probably had something to do with the time you’d broken his jaw during a rough night of sex. If you’d done that on accident, who knew what you could do on purpose?

Smiling with satisfaction, you turned over to let the dual suns above warm your back. “Maybe not. But I will refuse to screw you for a couple of weeks, so you’d better think real hard about little Peter before you say anything else.”

He didn’t. “I don’t see why we can’t spend an hour doing that. It’ll hardly cut into your tanning time at all.”

“If it’s so important to you, why don’t you go on with me?”

“Oh, come on. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” By this, Peter meant a fight just wouldn’t be as much fun if he couldn’t expect some clothing damage on your part that left you half-naked at the end. Apparently your bikini wasn’t cutting it.

“The answer is no. And the answer to sleeping with you today is no. We came on vacation to relax.”

“Sex is relaxing!”

“Maybe for you.”

“Guess Rocket is right about you stealing my dick,” he muttered.

Unfortunately for him, you heard, and you could stand it no longer. Between Rocket and Groot’s antics (and general banning by the hotel staff), Gamora’s snide remarks, and Drax getting drunk enough to almost drown once a day, this vacation was turning out to be no fun at all. Peter refusing to let you spend one day without physical activity was only the icing on the proverbial cake.

“If you want to go play with your friends, fine,” you snapped. “I don’t care. Just leave me in peace. I can stay here when you lot are chased off, and you can prove to the rest of them that you’re the one that wears the pants in this relationship.”

Normally, this would cause Peter to say something humorous about preferring that neither of you wear pants. But he didn’t. You’d crossed some invisible line, and now he simply watched you, his jaw slowly setting in that way of his that always showed that he was angry. You didn’t back down. A moment later, he stood from his pool chair with a faint, “fine,” then strode back inside, muttering something about “big and plentiful balls” all the while.

Your teeth found your lower lip; your intestines did a jig. If you valued your relationship, you would go after him and apologize. It wasn’t his fault things had gone so badly. Who cared about your tan or how often you had sex when—

“Cannonball!”

An enormous splash surged up from the water. Right before the waved crashed into you, you spotted the tell-tale gray-and-red skin that belonged to none other than Drax. Apparently he had not suffocated as Gamora had feared.

You spat out a mouthful of pool water just in time to see his head surface, his usual manic grin in place.

“Mantis!” he called. “Come in! If you are underwater, no one will see how hideous you look in your bathing suit.”

Oh, Gods. He had brought a friend. Mantis appeared in your field of vision. She had changed into pool wear, and, despite what Drax claimed, looked as annoyingly adorable as usual in a sparkly green one piece. She hesitated at the edge of the pool, but this did not cause him to pause. He swam closer to grab her ankle.

“Quick, before you cause someone to go blind.”

Mantis tried to protest. You heard the beginnings of a word at least, before Drax gave her leg a massive pull so that she toppled, screaming, into the water. Lucky for her, the water was deep and Drax’s stunt didn’t snap her neck. Unlucky for you, the resulting splash doused you a second time.

“Drax!” you shouted over the sound of his wild laughter.

“What?”

Oh, so he knew you were there, did he? You frowned. “Can you not play quite so rough?”

“What is the matter with the nature of my playing? You are the one who insists vacation are all play and no work.”

“You’re making a mess,” you snapped, wishing you hadn’t gone to the trouble of putting on makeup that morning. Waterproof or not, it was surely smeared all over your face by then. “Besides, there are children around. You and Mantis could really hurt someone.”

Drax regarded you for a minute or so, treading water as he did. Then he announced, “Rocket is right about you. You are an enormous piece of soggy bedclothes.”

“It’s ‘wet blanket,’” you snarled.

“Why on Terra would you be a blanket?” Before you could even attempt to explain, he turned to someone else. “Gamora! Though your appearance is not likely to cause widespread panic in this place, you are free to join us.”

“I don’t swim,” came Gamora’s voice from beside you.

You started and twisted around to find her next to the chair Peter had vacated. As usual, she was glaring at you.

“Suit yourself,” said Drax. “Come, Mantis. Let us see if you can play fetch.”

“Play fetch?”

“It is a thing pets do, I’m told.”

“Oh! Then I must be very good at it already!”

“I doubt it.”

Their voices faded away, presumably as they swam through water and children to a more distant corner of the pool. Not wanting a dagger in your back, you didn’t take your eyes off Gamora to check. So long as those two were away from you, you didn’t really care where else they went.

“Where’s Peter?” Gamora asked once you were alone.

“No idea,” you answered.

“He came here with you.”

“And he left here without me. Why do you want to know?”

This time, Gamora didn’t even bother to roll her eyes. “If he’s gone, what are you still doing here?”

“Tanning. Trying to, anyway.”

“Don’t you and Peter usually hole up in the room and mate?”

“I have better things to do today.”

One thing Gamora didn’t need to know was that you and Peter might be having a fight. He was an attractive man, after all. Who knew when she could change her mind about dating him and snap him up when you weren’t looking?

“I suppose sitting around is that better thing?” She didn’t wait for you to answer. “I should be grateful. Perhaps he’ll actually get something productive done.”

“He gets plenty of productive things done.”

“Not since he started dating you.”

“Hey—”

“I do not care about what sex you do or do not do with Peter,” she cut in. “Do you really plan to sit here all day?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what he sees in you.”

“Neither do I.”

Gamora’s tense body unwound slowly as she shook her head. “We’re still stuck here for the next couple of days. Maybe there’s somewhere I can practice with my sword.” She turned to leave.

“Wait!”

She did. Then it occurred to you that you were too proud to beg her to stay just to keep you company. Gamora wasn’t even good company most of the time.

“Lend me some credits for the bar? I left mine in the room.”

“Go back to the room and get some.”

“I can’t. I left my room key, too,” you lied. “My shorts aren’t really big enough for pockets.”

Gamora lifted her eyes to the sky. This was leading up to an “I told you so,” you just knew it. But instead of saying as much (even though she had), she said, “If you are upset with Peter, you should talk to him. Don’t avoid him or play games that make you look like an idiot.”

She walked away, leaving you feeling half-annoyed, half-dejected. Though you’d made up the bit about wanting a drink on the spot, now getting drunk didn’t sound too bad. Doing so might even make this disaster of a vacation more appealing. To do that, you really did need credits. A peach Bellini slush (or ten) would be worth encountering Peter—though doing so risked you getting holed up in that room, just as Gamora had said.

Reluctant to leave your prime spot by the pool, you rose to your feet and sluggishly gathered your few possessions. As you pulled your shorts back on, you heard a familiar voice shout, “Look out!”

A sharp pain struck you square in the back of your head. Stars popped in front of your eyes. Your knees buckled. You were out before you hit the cement.

It wasn’t long after that that you felt a hard throbbing bring you back to reality. The suns had barely had time to scorch your shoulder blades. Sweat stuck to your back and…your hand?

“She’s waking up,” Mantis whispered.

You ripped your hand out of hers to sit up with a groan, rubbing the new knot on your skull. Through the fireworks still flashing before you, you could see the blurred outline of Mantis and Drax against the sky.

“Are you all right?” Drax asked.

“No, I’m not all right!” you shouted, so loudly that Mantis jumped backward. “You guys could have killed me!”

“It is not our fault your head is so soft.”

“You shouldn’t be throwing around—what is this?” You cast about through the wreckage of your fall until you found a hard lump hidden in your towel. Digging it out revealed—“a grenade! You shouldn’t be throwing Rocket’s grenades around a public place! Or any place we aren’t trying to blow something up!”

“It’s perfectly safe. We did not pull the pin.”

“I don’t care. You two are going to make someone dead.”

Mantis gasped.

Drax glanced at her. “This would not happen if you were not so abysmal at fetch,” he told her.

“I’m sorry,” she said tearfully.

Drax placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You only need more practice. Perhaps one day you will be slightly less abysmal.”

Though this news appeared to perk Mantis up, you weren’t about to have them continue playing fetch with explosives on your watch.

“I don’t care how much practice either of you needs. You aren’t playing with this anymore.” You set the grenade gingerly aside. “And you’re leaving the pool.”

“Says who?” Drax asked.

“Says me.”

“For what reason?”

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to find someone to throw you out.”

To your surprise, Drax didn’t argue. With a careless shrug, he straightened. “Fine. We will go elsewhere. Somewhere where there are fewer trees going straight in the mud.”

“It’s ‘stick in the mud!’” you hurled after him.

Mantis threw you one last miserable look before she followed Drax back into the hotel.

Groaning, you sank back onto your chair. What a day this was turning out to be. You’d driven away the only member of your team that liked you, chased Peter off with your bitchy attitude, and got Gamora and Drax to leave simply because they found you too boring to tolerate. At least now you had the pool to yourself…several dozen children and their families notwithstanding. This tan had better be spectacular.

Your recent head injury made the journey to the room to hash things out with your boyfriend less appealing than ever. You’d hate to pass out mid-screaming match.

Once you’d made sure Rocket’s grenade was carefully stowed underneath a towel under your chair, you settled back in, stomach pressed into the chair. Maybe now you could finally get some rest and relaxation on this vacation.

Soon, it was only you and the rest of the well-behaved hotel guests for you to concern yourself with. Children continued to shriek and laugh in the shallows on the opposite end of the pool. Their parents spoke quietly to one another in voices you didn’t bother to pick out from the crowd. Ice in glasses clinked; bottles hissed as they were cracked open. Your muscles finally started to unwind beneath the searing heat of the planet’s suns.

This was a proper vacation. You could have fallen asleep right there and then. You would have fallen asleep right there and then, had your ears not picked up on the faint scratching of tiny nails against the ground.

Your loosened muscles tensed up once more. Not here. Not now. It took considerable will-power to force air in regular intervals in and out of your lungs. Not once did you open your eyes.

You were picking up on Gamora’s paranoia, that was all. Rocket was not the only small mammalian creature in the region. That noise might have come from anyone or anything. Besides, either way, Rocket’s behavior was not your responsibility. He was a full-grown raccoon. It was about time he started looking after himself.

The scrabbling noise disappeared into the distance, allowing your breathing to lengthen and slow naturally. You had worried for nothing—or so you thought, until an enormous tumult of explosions, screams, and shattering glasses came from the direction of the pool bar. You stifled a moan into the mesh beneath your face.

‘Please don’t come over here. I had nothing to do with it. Leave me alone,’ you thought desperately.

Yes, the hotel staff had seen you in Rocket’s company before he’d been thrown out, but that didn’t mean you were with him. Judging by the shouting and rattling, the hotel staff had the situation handled just fine without your help. No need for you to get up and bother with it. If you acted like you didn’t know him, maybe no one would suspect that you did.

Someone behind you cleared their throat.

With a sinking heart, you rolled over. Looming above you stood the grimacing hotel manager. He held a squirming and swearing Rocket up by the scruff of his neck. Just beyond them, two other men in hotel security uniforms had Groot handcuffed. You did your best to appear bewildered by this all-too-common scene.

“Yes?” you asked.

The manager’s stormy features did not budge. “This…thing,” he thrust Rocket at you, “has completely destroyed our outdoor bar.”

You squinted at the raccoon in question, then widened your eyes innocently at the man holding him. “That’s a real shame. I had my heart set on getting a peach Bellini later.”

“It says it was an accident.”

Accident your shapely ass. Why couldn’t this guy just get to the point already? He acted like he didn’t have a real job to get to. Rocket shouldn’t have resorted to blowing the bar up, but he had just as much right to be there as any other guest, even if he did look like a rodent on steroids.

“It was an accident,” Rocket protested. “[Name], come on. You gonna let this moron manhandle me like this?”

The manager did not so much as look at Rocket while he spoke, nor did he acknowledge Rocket’s speaking at all. “It also says it knows you. Of course, if we cannot find the vermin’s caretakers—”

“I am not vermin!”

“I am Groot!” Groot added.

No one acknowledged him either.

“—he and his friend here will have to be taken to a more secure facility. Someone must pay for damages, and I doubt this…creature has the necessary credits.”

Rocket bared his teeth at you in what he clearly believed to be a winning smile. You did not return the gesture. That rat! He and Groot must have spent all their ill-gotten Sovereign gains on grenades and bazookas. Now they thought you were going to bail them out? Fat chance.

“I’ve never seen this thing before I came to this facility,” you said coldly. “When I met it, I thought your staff was already getting rid of its kind.”

“Its kind?!” Rocket cried just as Groot said, “I am Groot!”

The hotel manager continued to watch you a moment longer. Whether he knew you were lying or not, he apparently didn’t want to prolong the argument (or get rid of a paying customer who wasn’t breaking everything in sight), because he turned with a faint, “very well,” before marching off with Rocket kicking and shouting in his grip.

“You bitch! You stone-hearted bitch! I’ll get you for this!”

Groot threw you a very dirty look as his captors dragged him off, too. “I am Groot,” he said seriously.

“Don’t tell her what we’re going to do!” Rocket said. “Her expecting it is the opposite of what we want! Jeez, you were smarter when you were a baby!”

You waved goodbye. Whatever happened to those two, there was no doubt in your mind they’d be back to enact their vengeance shortly. There wasn’t a prison yet built that could keep Rocket in, and with Groot’s bad temper these days, the security team might not get far enough to throw either of them in prison to begin with.

On second thought, peering through the glass doors through which they’d disappeared, you wondered if you ought to run after. Someone should probably warn the people of this planet of Groot’s temper.

Nah. Served them right for treating Rocket like an animal. If anyone was team pet, it was Mantis, and you didn’t see anyone attempting to remove her from the premises. Rocket getting in a real fight might calm him down, too, without the need to kill any local water gods. Win-win.

Your conscience cleared, you got back to work on tanning your stomach and chest. Best to take advantage of this quiet time while it lasted. Peter wasn’t talking to you; Gamora hated your guts on a good day; Drax and Mantis were causing trouble out of sight; and Rocket and Groot were out of your hair for once. It looked as though you’d be headed home by yourself after this vacation. The very least you could do was look good when you got there. The rest of the women in prison might be intimidated by your gorgeous appearance long enough to leave you the hell alone.

The heat of the day dulled to just below sweltering as the suns inched down in tandem toward the horizon. You shifted only as long as it took to apply a fresh coat of tanning lotion. The more time that passed, the more you relaxed. It seemed that your “friends” had finally got the point. Rocket’s mess had even spooked off most of the families with which you’d had to share the pool earlier in the day.

You should have known. You should have known they weren’t playing quietly out of sight and well away from each other. If you had known, you would have expected the echoes of gunshots and screams drifting from the beach. You didn’t, though, and it took several seconds of cacophony worming its way into your aching, sun-warmed skull before you noticed it. Your eyes popped open.

They weren’t.

They were. No sooner had you sat bolt upright than did some worse noise fill the air: a strange, watery shriek that grew louder and louder.

You stood. A monstrous jellyfish the size of the Milano itself sailed over the hotel roof to land with a resounding crash in the water. The resulting tidal wave swelled up so large and powerful that you couldn’t react before it caught you up and slammed you against a wall. Your head injury from before throbbed all the more.

A few seconds of listening to panicked pool goers screech passed before you could catch your breath. So rattled were you that you could only stumble across the cracked, wet cement in the general direction of the being that had caused all this destruction. When you found Peter—or any other member of these so-called “Guardians of Everything But Decent Vacations”—you were going to rend them limb from limb.

What malevolent deity from your home planet you’d angered, you didn’t know, but they had repaid you in absolute chaos. Forget Rocket blowing up the bar. Through the spinning world around you, you caught brief glimpses of crying children, broken bricks, and failing tentacles. Whichever of your friends had done this (if they all hadn’t been involved), they had managed what they’d been threatening to do ever since the busted ship had landed: ruined your vacation.

Just as you thought this, one of those flailing tentacles landed on your shoulder. Pain seared through the skin there as the venomous limb groped lower.

No, you realized, your friends weren’t ruining your vacation. This thing was.

You saw red. Unthinking, you wrapped both hands around the tentacle and ripped it from your chest. The jellyfish made a sound like a scream, trying to retract itself from your burning palms. If it hadn’t felt good on your breast, it definitely didn’t feel good on your hands. But you weren’t about to let go. Ruin your downtime, would it?

“I,” you heaved its gelatinous body forward, “don’t,” it whimpered as it scraped against the edge of the now-empty pool, “think,” why was a jellyfish so damned heavy?, “so!”

With a final burst of effort, you yanked it free of the pool. It sailed upward. You gave the tentacle in your grip a tremendous tug. For something with no visible mouth, that beast sure made a lot of noise when you ripped out its writhing limb. It didn’t have long to make noise, though. Once it got within arm’s length, you threw your entire body at it fist first. Your knuckles met thin, gooey skin for half a second then—

—the entire creature burst.

Jellyfish goo and venomous arms flew from where you’d made contact. Closing your eyes did nothing to prevent you getting a face full of guts. Again you found yourself spitting out liquid, but this time it was thick and sour and made your tongue spark.

By the time you’d opened your eyes, the remaining onlookers had fallen silent. They, just like you and your surroundings, were covered in jellyfish innards. Only then did you remember the natives here believed what you’d just blown up was a god, regardless of how much it might have pissed you off.

“Oops?” you said into the ringing silence.

Not a single being laughed.

Time to skedaddle. Without bothering to go back for Rocket’s grenade, you walked backward to the doors into the still mostly intact hotel. Your back did not meet glass, but a warm body.

“Miss.”

You whirled to face the concierge. Whatever he opened his mouth to say, you never found out. A rush of footsteps filled the air, followed by a familiar roar, and then two strong arms lifted you into the air.

“That,” warm lips on your forehead, “was,” warm lips on your lips, “amazing!”

Peter finally backed off enough that you could see his face. You wanted to say something, but there wasn’t any time. He had you back on your feet and his tongue back in your mouth in a matter of milliseconds. Knowing the concierge remained nearby didn’t exactly have you in a hurry to get Peter to stop. In fact, you were almost disappointed when he broke away to breathe.

“What did I say about killing local gods?” you asked, if only to see him flush.

“I know, but—well, it was worth it. I’m sorry if I ruined your vacation, but that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you—”

You interrupted by hitching your finger through the collar of his shirt. “I just want two things,” you answered. “A peach Bellini slush and for you to get out of my face.”

Crestfallen, Peter attempted to take a step away.

You pulled him back. “Not you. You,” you twisted your head toward the google-eyed concierge, “can run along and get me that slush, or your establishment will be dealing with a lot more than collateral damage from guests having to rescue other guests.”

He did not hesitate to scuttle off.

“On second thought,” said Peter, “that might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You should work topless more often.”

You looked down. That damn jellyfish hadn’t just groped you! It had torn off your top! A sound of incoherent rage escaped your mouth, but you dropped your hand to grab Peter’s to tug him after you down the hall.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Only if you don’t help me relieve some of this tension I’ve got going on.”

“We’re gonna have sex? That’s not normally the sound you make when we’re gonna have sex.”

“It is this time,” you answered, tossing him onto the nearest couch. Peter’s hands immediately found your hips after you positioned yourself on top of him. Something, however, seemed to be bothering him:

“But what about your drink?”

“You can buy me one later, at the next place we stop. It’ll take him a few minutes to get a real security force back here.” You kissed him slowly, slipping your hand under his shirt to scrape your fingernails up his bare chest. “You’ve got until then to make me forget that lounging at the pool was the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

Peter, being Peter, was more than happy to oblige. You couldn’t even work up a real tantrum as you and the rest of the team sailed away in the cheapest shuttle you could find. Apparently rest and relaxation was easier to come by doing your job than it was taking a break from that job.

Your only regret was that, in the end, you never did get that peach Bellini slush.

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cannedcrow · 3 years ago

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Who Are You, Really?

A/N: The Void has a peculiar effect on memory. Boatem wonders if ignorance was bliss.

CW: blood, panic attack symptoms.

As the world crumbled into a levitating swarm of blocks, the copper rocket of Offworld Escapes had shot straight through the Boatem Hole and into the void, shooting down and down and down and then, when the world was no longer visible, up. Or perhaps sideways. One could not tell in the indifferent blackness. Perhaps distance did it, or maybe it was the moon crashing just hours behind their departure, obliterating S8. Whatever the cause, something broke for the 5 people sitting around the ship's meeting table, chatting blithely in excitement for the next adventure. A mental shield as thin and firm as a bubble.

Grian was the first to feel it. It was as though a truck had hit his mind, and he gasped audibly at the suddenness of memory before falling from his chair. He sat on the back of a white llama, whose lead was held by Scar. He saw Scar dead, bloody and broken at the bottom of a ravine. From a perch on the hill he watched an explosion toss three limp bodies into the air and cave a chasm in the ground, and he crowed victoriously with manic laughter at the beauty of it. He saw Ren, crowned with a circlet that gleamed with blood and carrying a banner. He saw hundreds of wolves streaking down a hill after a man who leapt wildly alongside them, holding a torch aloft and howling as though he were one of them. He saw earth erupt as though the desert were the spine of a massive creature who'd reared and roared, and screams of terror and pain sounded through the clouds of sand and smoke, their utterers unseen. Uncaring of the chaos around him, a blue-haired man wailed and clutched another man's body, ignoring the smears of blood the corpse left on him. He was on a mountain with Scar, the both of them bloody and bruised, cactus needles buried in them like arrows. He leant over Scar’s body and sobbed, smelling the salt of tears and sweat, the acridity of blood, the dust, felt the waves of heat that left the body even as he held it - as though by doing so he could undo what he had done.

And he was in another place, one of stone towers and wooden walls, where he laughed and loved his companions before they were ripped asunder. He chased down Mumbo in the adrenaline of killing, driving a sword through the chest of his closest friend, who had come back at his calling in instinctive, deeply rooted trust - the heartbroken look in those dark crimson eyes that met his even while his heart felt the point of diamond. The heavy spine of a crossbow weighed against his own and rockets were quivered at his hip. And the man who’d run alongside wolves ran with him, and they were predators welded together by violence, a pair of creatures ostracised even by those of their affliction, hunted til the bitter end. He felt the axe blow that tore through his chest and felled him, its owner leaving him to drown in the tide of blood that pulsed forth, hot and angry with hate.

These memories and more tore into him one by one, sweet or scalding as knives. Grian found himself knelt on the floor, hands over his head and wings splayed in a soft shield over himself, feathers spiked and trembling. His breath was fast and ragged and his heart seemed wrapped in ever-tightening wire.

But the others, in their own torment, could spare no thought to him.

Impulse had stumbled back as though hit by a charging ravager, vision obscured with the static of a headrush. He was in the stone circle of foundation that promised a castle, laughing with Cleo, Tango, and Bdubs. He was nailing a red banner to his shield, trading with villagers and collecting noxious arrows. A bowstring was drawn to his cheek and he released an arrow through a sheet of flame that plunged, fire-tailed, through Etho. He felt the heads of arrows plunge into his back as he splashed through Stygian water, running from the man to whom he’d been most loyal, the man whose blood-spattered clock had so easily turned his hand. He was in the Southlands, sitting atop a wooden wall, laughing as he observed his companions with a spyglass. He was in the Nether, slashing through waves of wither skeletons in determination to acquire a skull. And another arrow came from a blue haired man - Scott, he found he knew - as he stood atop the ramparts of a snowy castle with Grian, watching with glee the destructive path of a wither he’d helped loose.

Scar fell against the wall as though all the strength had left him, as he too was flooded with a rush of unforgiving memory. Grian, a desert, a promise. A bunch of lilacs that begged forgiveness. A stolen banner and a snowy-pelted llama. Heaving a lever that tore the desert asunder. He remembered offering Grian his own life, and he remembered the way they’d fought like dogs at the end of it all, a fight meant by neither of them but ordered by the laws of this world; he remembered how death had closed gentle black wings over his eyes as Grian held his head on his lap and smoothed his hair, tears drawing clear tracks through the dust and blood on his face and speckling Scar’s own.

And he remembered a mountain, an unwise choice of a business partner who died and died until he was but a shell whose hollow scarlet eyes met his across a broken bridge. He remembered the exaltation at his collection of souls, the power of the fact, dulled at the realisation that all those who approached him were parasites. He knew the loneliness and abandonment that twisted his heart to cruelty. He relived the agony of losing life after life, taken by force or bartered away - and he remembered falling into a churning pool of lava as Grian screamed his name in a too-late warning.

Scar sank to the floor, flattening himself against the copper wall of the room, wary as a fox that hears the baying of hounds. The flood of memory seemed to tear through him like a freezing gale, overwhelming him with too many thoughts and emotions to count, suffocating him in fear and joy and sadness.

Pearl had curled in her seat at the table as though in pain, covering her eyes. She was staring into the clear cerulean eyes of a man whose name she knew to be Scott, searching for a glint of red that might suggest danger. Cleo stood below the wall and asked for refuge. Collared wolves rolled in the grass surrounding the moss-roofed cottage, or else dashed and ripped at the heels of her enemies, blood soaking their silver muzzles, their pearl teeth. She was clambering over rocky slopes, breath ragged as the air rang with the whoops and shouts of the pack of red-names behind her, wild and savage as hounds, before feeling a crossbow bolt rip through her back - seeing the glinting head coated in her blood and protruding from her sternum for only a minute before death swept in.

Mumbo’s hands were clenched on the table rim, white-knuckled with tension as he too was barraged with memory. He too remembered the Southlands, repeatedly losing his spyglasses to the consternation of Jimmy. He remembered standing atop the bottom of the world, the atmosphere a suffocating mass of red fog, watching Grian be struck with an arrow and fall down, down, lost in the bloody mist. He remembered Grian coming back, the ragged feathery shape clawing itself to the top of the ladder, begging for friendship and for company even if it meant murdering his closest friend - before the last shred of himself made him leave Mumbo to live. He remembered end crystals and obsidian, heists and explosions, shrapnel, blood, cries of pain. Grian was calling him through the trees, and he, even injured, had returned only to be run through without hesitation on the diamond blade. And he watched Grian’s golden eyes flicker momentarily with grief as they met his own before everything was gone.

Grian couldn’t breathe. He knelt on the cold floor, and every time he dragged in breath it seemed to fall through him like water in cupped hands. He vaguely felt his arched wings spasm but couldn’t bring himself back in time - every part of him was falling out of sync, a set of metronomes breaking rank. It was too much, and he didn’t know if he was alive. Everything was blood and smoke and fire and dust. A hand touched his back gently, and a voice full of tremulous love murmured soothing words, a hand stroking his hair rhythmically, the repetition slowing his gasping heart and commanding steadiness of those metronomes.

Upon recovering the vaguest sense of self, Mumbo had noticed Grian’s crumpled form and heard the sharp, uneven intakes of breath. Scar was crouched against a wall, Pearl curled in a chair and sobbed quietly, Impulse leant against the wall as though pinned there, eyes closed and expression taught with shock. It was Grian he moved to, however. Instinct said that mental anomalies could be dealt with later, but now, Grian needed reality. It was a situation that quelled any sense of embarrassment, and Mumbo handled him as he would a distraught child, stroking his hair and rubbing his back, murmuring comforting nothings that pressured for no answer. Presently the fluffed feathers flattened and Grian drew his wings into his body, giving him the look of a little broken bird, but still more time passed before he sat up. He only glanced at Mumbo for a moment before burying his head in the other man’s shoulder, shoulders shaking with sobs.

“I don’t know who I am,” he gasped between panicked sobs, “What’s happening?”

“You’re a pesky bird,” Mumbo said gently, “and I’m afraid I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s happened to me too.”

“I’m scared,” came the smallest whisper, to which he replied only “I know. But we’re safe.”

Impulse was next to regain a semblance of composure, and he moved to Pearl’s side, gently putting an arm around her trembling shoulders, hoping the simple touch would help her cling onto reality. He looked at Scar and was surprised to see him crying too, though not like the other two. His eyes were glazed and he stared into nothing from his place on the floor, unnoticed tears trailing down his cheeks. He’d never seen Scar so affected before, and it scared him. Scar was usually known to brush off any situation with a facetious comment or a laugh - hell, so were Grian and Mumbo.

What had he remembered? Impulse thought, watching him, and Grian, and Mumbo and Pearl?

When Scar stood, Impulse couldn’t help but see a different Scar than the one in the mahogany tailcoat. He saw the broad-chested man whose sun-darkened skin was scarred and dust-covered, who wore no shirt but for a rough-spun blanket about his shoulders. Scar’s movement was robotic now, his eyes hollow. His gaze lingered on Grian for just a moment before he wordlessly climbed the ladder to the sleeping deck, his boots on the metal rungs counting a metronome in the silence.

Pearl eventually dismissed the comfort of her cocoon, raising her head to show eyes red with crying. She silently leant her head on Impulse’s shoulder, too worn out and overwhelmed to consider anything else. And they were all silent, each reliving every memory of lives they’d forgotten leading even as they wished they could stop. They stared at each other, unable to conduct interaction. It was as though they were strangers suddenly, memories and relationships from another life threatening this one.

Five people bound together and apart, split by invisible walls.

It was quiet, and Grian’s sobs had subsided into tiny breaths.

#boatem crew #hermitcraft #hermitcraft boatem #grian #hc grian #mumbo jumbo #hc mumbo #hc impulse #hc s8 #hc season 8 #gtws hermitcraft #moon big #hc8 #3rd life #ll smp #hermitcraft pearl #pearlescentmoon

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therummonster · 2 years ago

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I don't think I did well enough on the previous Charlie angst. so I'll also write a story. click if you dare, cause i have ideas.

Kayla fell to the ground, barely able to keep up with the enormous masses of metal. she was about to get up when one of the other bio mechs called out.

"just release the mech and we'll let you go with no more injuries."

Charlie hadn't said anything since they realized what they were up against, Kayla had a feeling she knew why now.

"I'm not giving him to you! Charlie, roller skates!"

he shifted down in an instant, but instead became rockets as one of the bio-mechs swung down a blade. the duo flew a brief amount out of the way, as the five massive mechs stared, lenses glowing in bright gleaming colors.

"Charlie... I promise we'll make it out alive."

another mech charged forth, clearly aiming for Charlie. Kayla shouted out for Charlie to become a blade just in time for him to avoid the strike.

the blade sliced into her leg as she went straight through the limb attached to the other mech's blade. she winced in pain and then used the slowly deforming limb to stab the other bio-mech right in its own lens.

they had one less opponent as both it and its mindless host slumped, lights fading.

she looked up just as another mech fired a blast, soaring past but cutting a gash in her cheek.

one after another they lunged and struck, Kayla saying orders that consistently got Charlie to avoid a strike. one of them managed to grab her arm and she tore through, feeling the claws rip off a chunk of flesh.

they managed to get rid of the other mech's hosts, so now it was a slightly easier battle.

Charlie was on her arm as the biggest of them, a rusty looking mech with low red lights, lunged forth with astounding speed, and a blade.

Kayla couldn't get a word in as her arm shot upwards without her control.

there was no pain for her when it happened, the mechanical mass threw her as soon as the blade had nothing more in its path.

she was about to get up when her leg reminded her of the pain she was going through at this moment.

"c'mon Kayla, you can do this! just-"

she stopped herself as she felt something slipping off her shoulder.

she attempted to grab Charlie as he slipped down, lens barely casting enough light to glow against himself.

she saw the mechanical blobs closing in around her and pulled him closer into her chest.

"Charlie... please stay with me!"

she felt a deep gash in him as the mechs glared down at them, trying to keep him safe from further harm.

#popcrossstudios #charlie the biomech #biomech kayla #therum creation

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abbyilr1967 · 4 years ago

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Out of Time - Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Summary: Peter and Y/n have been together since the events of Spiderman Home Coming. One day while on a field trip Y/n and Peter are called into action as strange aliens claiming the be the “Children of Thanos' ' begin invading New York.

A/n: Finally finished the first rewrite, and am quite proud of it. If you were a fan of this mini-series a year again, I’m sure you will like this as well. As per usual, if you are new here, here is a link to my Masterlist, as well as a link to the Out of Time (Rewrite) Masterlist.

Warnings: Violence, swearing, some fluff if you squint, and ANGST.

WordCount: 2.7k

The morning had begun the same as usual that day. When you roll over to turn off your alarm you see that you have a text waiting from Peter. He was always up before you and always sends you a text or cute gif to wait up to in the morning. Today you and Peter were going on a school trip, so you were going to meet him at his place and walk to school together.

You and Peter were sitting together on the bus riding to the destination of the trip. Peter was against the window staring out over the water as the bus crosses the bridge, while you were facing the aisle talking to MJ and Ned. As you’re listening to Ned ramble on about his new Lego set, you feel Peter tap your shoulder

“Y/n,” You turn to Peter and find his gaze is still glued to the window. “Over there,” he says pointing at the giant ring-shaped ship floating above New York.

“Oh god,” you reply. You turn to Ned and start tapping him to get his attention. “Ned, we need you to cause a distraction.” Ned can see the panic in your eyes as you and Peter try your best to be as quick and discreet as possible.

“I’m on it.” Ned stands in his seat and points towards the floating ring in the sky. “Hey everyone, look! We’re all gonna die!” he shouts.

As everyone moves to the back of the bus to get a look at the strange-looking spaceship, Peter flings himself off the bus to put his suit on. You monitor the situation on the bus while Peter suits up.

“I’m ready.” he leans his head back in the bus window. You take the opportunity to engage the jet boosters your father had built into your shoes in case of emergency. Once you are safely floating outside of the bus you engage reconstruction of the ironman suit you and your father had built together. As the helmet finally closes over your head you lower yourself so Peter can hop onto your back.

“It’s headed downtown!” Peter says through the earpiece your father had connected to both your suits. Using your now iron-plated jet boosters your fly after the ring-shaped spaceship

As you and Peter arrive downtown you see your dad and bruce trying to fight off this massive alien that looks like it came straight out of a sci-fi novel. The creature backhands your Dad into next week and before you can react, Peter is already there to block the next blow. Next thing you know, a flash of blue and red flies past you.

“Y/n!” your Dad calls to you. “I thought you were on a field trip?” he shouts.

“I don’t think now is the time to be asking those kinds of questions Dad, Woah!” As your father distracts you from the literal aliens in front of you, you’re almost knocked on your ass by a large piece of rubble the thing had decided to throw in your direction.

“We’re here now. You can’t change that. How can we help?”

“That guy, floating wizard in the sky, he’s got something important.” Tony points towards the strange-looking man wrapped in a cape and some oddly bent metal. “We can’t let these guys take him, go get him.”

“We’re on it.” Peter responds as he flings himself past you once more.

You catch up to the wizard and latch onto the metal bars that are tied around him, and use your jet boosters to keep him from being sucked into the space ships tractor beam. Peter uses his webs to latch on as well, but the beam was too strong and begins pulling both you and Peter towards the ship.

“Uh… Dad.” You struggle to fight the force of the tractor beam.

“Mr. Stark, I think we’re being beamed up!” Peter shouts as the webs connecting to the closest buildings snap.

“Now is not the time for jokes Peter.” Your father’s tone in your earpiece tells you that he’s not impressed with the young hero right now. “Get out of there.”

“Dad, we’re losing him.” your voice strains as you try your best to keep a hold on the wizard.

A bit of the metal snaps, and the force is enough to pull the man into the ship. Peter’s web is cut off by the door closing before he has a chance to enter. He’s landed on the side of the ship, and it looking to you for any ideas.

“We need to find a way inside.” Peter gives you a quick nod before you both separate to look for an entrance.

You use your suit you fly around the exterior of the ship, while Peter starts searching along the inside of the ring.

“Peter we’re too high, you’re running out of air!” you exclaim through your earpiece. Flying back around towards him.

“We need to save the wizard,” he replies sounding short of breath. You stop and anchor yourself to the ship.

You watch as Peter pulls his mask off, attempting to get more oxygen. Only to watch his eyes roll into the back of his head as he lets go of the side of the ship.

“Peter!” You push on the side of the ship immediately, readying to chase after him.

“I gotcha Pete.” your father’s voice rings clear in your ears, as you watch a piece of his tech launch towards Peter. His body jerks as the small rocket makes impact along his back, and watch as a suit very similar to yours starts to wrap around him.

You listen carefully through your earpiece for any sign of breathing from Peter. His sudden deep inhale is enough to let you know that he’s going to be ok.

“Woah, Mr. Stark these are some cool upgrades.” he sounds ecstatic through the earpiece, even considering he almost plummeted to his death. “It smells like a new car in here.”

“Alright great, F.R.I.D.A.Y. take them home,”

“What?” the map in the corner of your vision, showing the route it plans to use to fly you and Peter home, and just like that both you and Peter are swept away. In the haste of everything that is going on, Tony failed to make sure that Peter didn’t attach himself and you to the side of the ship before he went after the wizard.

“What are you two doing here?” Tony asks in his angry Dad voice. He found the two of you when you were attempting to listen in on the conversation your father was having with the wizard.

“We were just trying to he—”

Tony cuts Peter off. “Nope. Your mother,” Tony says pointing to you. “And your Aunt,” He says pointing to Peter. “Are going to kill me if they knew you were in space. This is too big of a fight for you two to be a part of, I don’t know what I’d do with myself if one of you got hurt,” he says, concerned.

“How can we be friendly neighbourhood heroes, if there’s no neighbourhood?” Peter asks.

You and your Dad both look at him weirdly.

“Ok that was bad, but you get what I mean,” he said.

“Peter’s right Dad,” you say as your masks retracted from your face. You look straight into your Dad’s eyes. “Fine,” he starts, knowing that you’re stubborn just like your mother. Your dad motions to knight both you and Peter. “There, you’re Avengers now.”

You and Peter both look at each other and smile. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you into the air, planting a kiss on your lips after setting you back down.

“Alright, keep the public displays of affection to a minimum, we need a game plan.” the wizard said.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Y/n, and this is Peter.” you say extending your hand out to him.

“Dr. Strange,” he says coldly.

Peter leans over to whisper in your ear, “We’re using our made-up names?” “I guess so,” you say jokingly.

“I’m Spiderman,” he says. You snort as you see the confused expression from Dr. Strange. Peter sees you laughing and shoves your shoulder.

You look over to see your Dad fidget with the control panel of the ship.

“We need to turn this ship around,” Dr. Strange said.

“Whelp, it’s on auto-pilot, so we are on our way right to Thanos,” Tony says to Dr. Strange. You remember them mentioning a man named Thanos during their conversation before you and Peter were caught by your dad. You pull Peter off to the side as the realization of what you’re about to go through sets in. He could see the distressed look on your face.

“Hey, what's wrong?” he asks.

“I’ve never seen my Dad so worried like this before,” you say nervously. “I think we might be biting off more than we can chew.”

“Hey hey hey hey hey,” he says pulling you into his chest” We’re gonna be fine, when having we ever given up.” Peter’s hand runs up and down your back in an attempt to calm you down.

“You’re right,” you say leaning into his touch. “You always know what to say,”

“I mean… I try.” You both chuckle softly at Peter’s attempt to lift your spirits.

“C’mon, let’s go back.” He gestures

He gives you a forehead kiss and one last tight squeeze before leaving to talk strategy.

You had crashed onto a planet known as Titan after a “flawless” landing by Peter and your father. You were waiting for the arrival of Thanos when you were ambushed by a group of travellers. They immediately attacked, and in the haste of it all, they grabbed Peter and threatened his life. That only caused your father, the ever impulsive man he is, to threaten the life of one of their own in return.

“We are the Avengers!” you shout over all the testosterone.

“Wait, so you’re not with Thanos?” The man holding the gun to Peter’s temple looked as confused as ever, which prompted you to explain to him that you were there to kill Thanos.

After some brief introductions and explanations, you learned that the group refers to themselves as the Guardian’s of the Galaxy, and their names are Starlord, Drax, and Mantis. They explained to you that they were here looking for Thanos because they are trying to rescue their valued member of the team. Your father gathered everyone together to try to work out a plan, to which newbies were skeptical. With the introduction of these Guardian’s of the Galaxy to the initial plan, you were confident in your ability to take down Thanos here and now. Once a plan was in place, everyone went to their places, ready to ambush him when he arrived.

That’s when we heard it. The sound of heavy boots stomping onto the planet.

You look over and can see Peter, he locks eyes with you.

“I love you,” you mouth to him.

“I love you too,” he mouths back. You nod, eyes lingering on your boyfriend. If things go sideways you want to make sure you’ve memories every detail of him.

You are waiting for your cue from Dr. Strange who has been talking to Thanos to distract him.

“I’m sure you will find our will much stronger,” and with that you attack.

Your father came rushing in, crashing a building down on top of him. All of you stood around thinking that he was dead, little did you know, it only made him angrier. He burst out from under the rubble and Peter tries to use his webs to hold him down, but he only used it against him. He pulled Peter towards him and caught him by the throat. Only to them slam him into the ground.

“Tiny insect,” you could he Peter struggling under the weight of Thanos.

“Let him go!’ you shout as you rush toward him with your iron hammer fist ready to punch him.

You go in for the punch. Your fist almost makes contact with his jaw, but not before he let Peter go, and grabbed your arm instead. Hurdling you across the battlefield.

You are thrown into a pile of space rubble, the wind knocked from your lungs. Your vision had gone blurry, and you struggle to regain your balance but you could see your father in all his rage, fighting Thanos. You got up and could see that Mantis was up on Thanos’ shoulders, keeping him in a headlock while she put him in a trance.

“Y/n!” your Dad called. “We almost got it off, hurry!.”

In an instant, you were right by Peter trying your hardest to pull off his gauntlet.

“So close.” You groan, struggling to get the tight-fitting gauntlet off the last bit of his hand that was still inside.

That’s when he took control of his mind back, waking up from the trance Mantis had put him under. He shakes you all off, but not before Thanos grabbed you by the throat.

“No!” you could hear Peter shouting.

“So small,” he said. “Barely lived a life, and yet so ready to give everything up to save everyone,” you spit in his face.

“I’d rather die fighting you than sit home doing nothing,” you croak.

“Your wish is my command,” and he squeezed harder. The corners of your vision started to become blurry, and your lungs begin to burn.

“Stop!” you hear Dr. Strange. “I will give you the time stone if you let the girl go,”

“No, don’t.” you struggle. “Don’t do it.”

He took a minute to contemplate. “Fine,” he says chucking you to your father’s feet. Peter comes running over.

“Y/n, your gonna be fine,” he says as he holds you.

You open your eyes and can see just as Dr. Strange is giving the stone to Thanos.

“No,” you sigh. Peter holds you tighter as you try to wriggle out of his arms.

Just then a wave of power shook the ground, and you saw it. The sheer power that the gauntlet holds. And before any of you could do anything, he snapped.

The world shook, and he was gone. And you had a sick feeling in your stomach.

“He’s gone,” your father said quietly.

“It’s my fault,” you said, moving into an upright position and out of Peter’s lap. “I should have done more.”

“You did enough.” Your father reassures you.

“You should’ve let me die if it meant saving everyone.” You glare at Dr. Strange, storming over to him. “You said that if it came down to it you’d let us die. So why didn’t you keep your promise!” Your face is just inches from his.

“There are fourteen-million, six-hundred-and-five realities in which Thanos wins, and only one in which we win.” he states.

“I realized I couldn’t risk letting any of you die, because I’m not sure who saves us all.” His lip trembles, you can tell he’s just as infuriated with this situation as you are.

“Guys?” You turn around and find your father and Peter looking over towards where Drax, Starlord, and Mantis are. They’re turning to dust. This prompted you and Peter to both look over to Dr. Strange, just in time to see him turn to dust as well.

“Dad?” you ask, panicked.

“You’re going to be fine-,” you Dad started to say, rushing over to you. “Peter?”

“I-I-I don’t feel so good,” Peter said. “Y/n, I-I-,” he stumbled into you. You held him tight, you can feel him become lighter and lighter.

“I love you,” is the last thing you hear from him before he turns into dust.

“Dad! He’s g-gone,” you tried to hold back a sob. Remnants of Peter lay in small flakes of dust on your palms.

That’s when you felt. It started in your hands. You looked down with tears in your eyes as you see your hand start to crumble. You look back to your dad.

“Daddy.” you whimper.

And the last thing you saw was the look on your father’s face as his heart broke, and your vision went black.

#peter parker #marvel #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #avengers infinity war #MARVEL FANDOM #spider man #spider man x reader #spider man x you #spider man x y/n #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x stark!you #peter parker x stark!y/n #tony stark #tony x daughter!reader #tony stark x daughter!you #tony stark x daughter!y/n

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mayhemproduces · 9 months ago

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youtube

Oh shit! Big Sam didn’t come alone!

As the music quickly shifts from Metallica’s “Human” to GNR’s Welcome to the Jungle, the fans here in Panama knows exactly what that means! Sam Holloway brought his Numero Uno Amigo, Microman is here! Microman jumps up onto Sam’s back, and hitches a ride down to the ring, the biggest and smallest competitors in this Clusterfuck entering together!

Sam jumps up on the apron, before he grabs Microman off his back, and LAUNCHES his partner into the ring, like a projectile, taking down Eric Taylor! Microman continues to pound away at Showtime ET as Sam gets into the ring, and is immediately mobbed by Dyln Blaine, Atticus Cogar, and Dominic Garrini, but with a back elbow to Dyln, a right hand to Atticus, and a boot to the chest for Dom, Sam clears his way! Dom tries to go right back at Sam, but Sam goozles him, lifts him fight into the air, and drives Dom Garrini into the mat with a HUGE Chokeslam!

Dom rolls away, but Sam doesn’t see the attack coming from behind, as Cogar takes out Sam, going low with a chop block! Sam collapses, but Atticus can’t escape Riley that easily, as she jumps up onto his shoulders from behind, and drives him head first into the mat with a Poisoned Rana!

Riley back to her feet now, and she doesn’t see it coming before Hangman spins and drops Riley with a rolling elbow! Hangman then grabbed from behind by Pandemonium, and sent overhead with a half and half suplex! Pan back to her feet, only to get taken out with a big Double Stomp off the top rope from Swerve Strickland! Swerve back up, but he gets grabbed from behind by Tom Lawlor, and thrown overhead with a German Suplex! Tom back up now, as Tom gets taken out by a running High knee from Julia Hart! Tom rolls away, just as Julia gets dropped by a BIG Lariat from Samoa Joe!

Joe stands tall for a moment, but doesn’t see it coming as Kurt Angle grabs him from behind, and plants him with ANOTHER Angle Slam! The Olympic Gold Medalist isn’t wasting any time this time though, immediately grabbing Joe and trapping him into an Ankle Lock! Angle torques Joe’s ankle, either trying to get Joe to tap, or to just straight up break it, but the Ankle Lock leaves Angle vulnerable, as Dyln springs off the ropes, and catches Kurt Angle with Rocket Strap! Dyln Blaine hooks the leg!

1….2…3!

“Kurt Angle has been eliminated!”

Dyln Blaine just took out Kurt Angle! Holy shit!

After that massive waterfall, whoever comes in next is gonna have a big advantage!

10….9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…

#Youtube

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amiedala · 4 years ago

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SOMETHING DEEPER

CHAPTER 3: Without Armor

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content, violence

SUMMARY: “You’re an excellent leader. Tell me what to do.”

“Nova—”

“Prove it,” she whispers, her voice barely air. Her blood is pumping so heavily in her ears that her own words sound distorted, like they’re under a waterfall. “Show me you’re a good leader. Because I believe you are, but I know you have to prove it to believe it.”

“This isn’t what this place was made for.”

Nova stops, her forehead pressed against his. Everything in this strange arena is quiet except for their breathing, an urgent pulsing in the cold, dark night. “So fighting is sacred to Mandalorians,” she breathes, feeling the airlocks that keep Din’s helmet secure around his face hiss. He doesn’t move, letting her lift off his helmet, to have him without his armor. “You’re sacred to me. Every inch of you.”

If you're a newcomer, my fic "Something More" is the first installment of this story! <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hello hello my friends!!! this is where i offer a deep, massive apology for Chapter 3 coming out a week later than it was supposed to. i was traveling to visit my best friend who lives states away, then my family had a slew of emergencies and crises, then i was too drained with a flareup of pain to write a single word. writing SD is literally my happy place, and being forced to take an unplanned break was painful and hard. this chapter isn't as long as i wanted it to be (i'm so sorry for that as well!!!) but i think it's as fleshed out as i can get it, because, as usual, Big Things Are Coming. thank you so so much for being patient with me in my hasty, largely unexplained absence, and i hope you LOVE this week's chapter!! <3

Hoth really shouldn’t feel warm and welcoming. The climate is horrible, temperatures that drop to dangerous lows, the ice that breaks and shifts and opens into the gaping maw of the planet’s icy interior. It’s a wasteland, white-blind and horrible, but the small Rebel base located in the heart of the planet is enough to keep Nova’s heart anchored here, even when she’s parsecs away.

Landing Kicker isn’t an issue. The second they descend onto the landing pad, a small crew of the mechanics Nova spent most of her brief stint here with racing towards the underbelly. Nova waves at them, pointing over the noise at the makeshift patch on the mainline of fuel, and they nod, enclosing on the issue in a matter of seconds.

Din’s tense. Nova’s eyes roam over the silhouette of his impressive, taut body, knowing that most of what’s underneath the beskar is in fighting mode, ready to expel energy like a hurricane whenever he faces the opposition. He tilts the visor over at her, and Nova offers a tiny smile, her heart kicking an arrhythmic beat against her chest. She’s trying her best to not look relieved that she’s here and not on Mandalore, but she knows she’s a horrible liar and that her body is full of betrayal. When the airlock doors hiss open and the two of them are beckoned into the insulated hollow of the Rebel base, Wedge is there waiting. Behind him, like a silent sentinel, stands Bo-Katan, her owl-painted blue helmet obscuring the expression on her face.

“Rebel girl,” Wedge calls, and something cold in Nova’s heart thaws. His arms are strong and purposeful, and he envelops Din’s hand with that same warmth and vigor, nodding at him. Bo-Katan doesn’t move an inch, her pristine hands folded behind her back, every muscle in her body the same kind of tight and purposeful as Din’s are, Mandalorian strong. “Welcome back.”

“It’s—” Nova inhales, eyes flicking, uncertain, over at Bo-Katan, “good…to be back. I wish it was under better circumstances, but—”

“You’re Andromeda Maluev,” Bo-Katan interrupts, and the mention of her old name sends a spike straight through Nova’s chest, puncturing on scar tissue that’s never fully healed. “Aren’t you?”

Nova swallows, running her tongue over her bottom lip. “I was,” she answers, finally, voice far away and small. “Why do you ask?”

Bo-Katan gestures with her head, a tiny movement, and then she’s turning on her beskar heel to move towards the war room. Silently, Nova and Din follow behind her and Wedge, Nova’s heart still hammering, erratic. The space is smaller than the giant one on Mandalore, but because it’s empty except for the four of them, it seems massive. Dangerous. Lonely.

Nova steps up to the holotable, twisting her tongue behind her teeth, trying to remain calm. The mention of her old name, twice in less than a week, feels like shrapnel. It reminds her of everything she’s been running from for a decade—her parents’ deaths, Jacterr Calican, the Empire, the resurrected evil in the First Order—and it sits sourly in her stomach as Bo-Katan presses buttons on the holotable. When the image of Nova comes up—so much younger than she feels now, dark hair long against her back, her features glitched and glittering in the hologram projected towards the ceiling—she winces at it. Beneath her portrait, her name is written in Basic: ANDROMEDA MALUEV. AGE: 26. CRIMES: EVADING CAPTURE, MURDER, AIDING AND ABETTING CRIMINALS. It’s bold and terrifying and Nova can’t look away. The word MURDER, screaming at her in capital letters, is too much to bear. She swallows, throat dry, blood rushing in her ears. It’s such a dangerous, horrible thing that it takes Nova a minute to read anything beneath the portrait of a girl she hasn’t been in years, but when she finally gets past the roadblock—MURDER, MURDER, MURDER—she sees a price on her head.

“Five million credits?” she asks, her voice rocketing through three octaves in her disbelief. The word credits cracks down the middle, incredulous. She presses a hand to her mouth, flattening her fingers flush against her face, trying to steady herself. “Why—why is the bounty so high?”

“That’s not from the First Order,” Wedge starts, gently, but he’s interrupted by Bo-Katan’s knife of an arm, cutting up between him and Nova. She jabs a long, gloved finger at the script underneath Nova’s image and her bounty, and Nova blinks hard, trying to get her brain to focus on what the words say.

“Novalise,” Bo-Katan says, her voice clipped, “you’re wanted alive or dead. Do you see that?” She enunciates her point with her finger again, stabbing it on the shimmering blue words reflected in front of them. “This is from the fucking Guild.”

“Easy,” Din cuts in, the word hard in the air. He steps forward, knocking Bo-Katan’s angry hand out of where it’s shaking in Nova’s face. “Take it the fuck down, Bo-Katan, or I will do it for you.”

“The—Guild?” Nova asks, trying to make all of the moving parts fit right in her brain. “I—I don’t understand. The Bounty Hunters’ Guild? The one that Greef Karga runs? I—I’m wanted? Why?”

“You’re not,” Din interrupts, his voice clipped and intense. Nova shuffles to the side as Din steps towards the holotable, magnifying the strange text. “It’s not Karga’s Guild. And you,” he adds, shoulders tossed back, facing Bo-Katan, “had no right to yell at her with those theatrics. Save that for the enemy.”

Nova can’t see Bo-Katan’s face, hidden under the blue beskar of her helmet, but she knows that Bo-Katan is glaring daggers at the both of them. Nova swallows again, trying to keep her heart rate steady, her racing mind calm, but she just keeps seeing the word MURDER flash before her eyes. Din’s saying something else, and she can’t concentrate, turning her body away from the three of them, staring off at the ice that makes up every corner of this room, clear and dangerous. She closes her eyes—MURDER, MURDER, MURDER—and opens them again, just as rapidly.

Inhaling shakily, Nova starts counting the deaths she’s been responsible for on her long, shaking fingers. Her skin, usually so warm and radiant, is fallow and pallid in the low light. Her thumb sticks up first, wearing Jacterr’s name. It wasn’t intentional, she tries to console herself, but her hands are still quivering. It was an accident. She didn’t mean for the lightsaber to ignite. She didn’t even know she had the power to do that, let alone use it as a weapon. It was self-defense, killing him before he had the chance to kill her. And then there were all of the faceless troopers in the TIE fighters she shot at when trying to get out alive. For years, hordes of them, shooting back at them before they had the chance to blow her to smithereens or capture her for something worse. You’ve never shot first, Nova tries to reason with herself, eyes focused on the outline of her boots, old and worn, warm against the icy floor of the room she’s standing in. It was all self-defense.

Except, that tiny little voice in the back of her mind whispers, insidious and awful, you killed Xi’an all on your own. Nova’s heart hangs heavy in her chest, like it’s on trial. She tries to inhale, but there’s no air in this ridiculous ice block of a room, and everything is purple and wounded, the imprint of Xi’an’s cold, dead body embedded on the back of her eyelids. That could be argued as self-defense, too, Nova tries to rationalize, but the reminder of the bullet that hit her wicked body head-on is still so horrible in her head. Logically, Nova knows that the only reason that she shot and killed Xi’an was because Din would have died if it weren’t for that bullet, and that Xi’an hurt her husband in ways she’d never felt fully comfortable asking about, but it’s still a dead body on her hands. Her gorgeous, terrible, radiant, shaking hands.

“I g—I gotta go,” Nova mumbles, and then her feet are carrying her out of the war room, into the hallway. They’ve put up more insulation since the time she lived here for a few weeks, when Din and Grogu left her and the world stopped turning, but the recognition of it barely registers in Nova’s mind as she sprints through the empty hallways, picking up her feet so that they don’t tangle in the loose generator wires curled across the floor. It only takes a few more turns, and then she’s through the airlock, back out into the frozen climate of Hoth’s exterior, her heart hammering something horrible, her pulse erratic, her blood pressure high and dangerous. Slowly, she sinks onto the frozen ground, right outside of the door, pressing her bare hands into the snow, trying to calm anything back to its usual resting place.

It’s freezing out here. Nova’s still in her outfit from Ahch-To, and even though her pants are lightweight and the cold cuts straight through, she’s not getting wet from the snow. Her upper body is slightly warmer, fabric of her shirt protective, the shawl wound tightly over her shoulders, flapping slightly in the wind.

“Nova,” a voice behind her cuts through the silence, and Nova turns at the sound of her name, breath stuck somewhere between her chest and her mouth. Din’s standing there, tall and stately. “Are you okay?” he asks, and the timbre of his voice makes it very clear that he knows full well that she’s not okay.

“Why?” she manages, and then she’s being hauled to her feet, Din’s gloved hands warm and steady around her waist. “Why is there a bounty on my head—alive or dead?” She blinks against a loose lock of hair blowing in her face, and before she can react to it, Din’s already tucking it gently behind her ear. “I thought the Order wanted me—”

“I don’t know,” Din interrupts gently. “I don’t know why you have any of these charges on your head, or why there’s a bounty at all. Gideon and everyone we’ve interacted with associated with the First Order always insisted that you would work for them, not that you were to be eliminated. I don’t know who put the charges out there, but we’re going to fix it. I’m never going to let anyone touch you.”

Nova looks straight up at the visor, swaying slightly in the frosty breeze. Her head hurts. Her scar aches. The pressure that’s constantly blossoming on her shoulder blades feels incredibly heavy, and even though the wind is frozen through, it makes her heart burn for Ahch-To—its gorgeous greenness, its holy ground—and Nova just stares at her own, unhinged reflection in Din’s helmet.

Her teeth press down onto her bottom lip before she can muster up the strength to speak. One of Din’s gloved hands is pressed protectively against the small of her back, and the other is holding her right cheek, a fortification, a promise. Nova looks desperately into the visor, trying to see straight through to Din’s brown eyes. Her voice is barely there when she’s able to talk. “How?”

Bo-Katan’s helmet is off by the time Nova feels stable enough to walk back inside. The airlock door hisses shut behind them, and Wedge is the one that Nova catches first. He’s outfitted in his regular orange jumpsuit, but the spark that usually burns behind his eyes is replaced by a sadness that Nova’s never seen before. He offers her a small smile, beckoning into the room, but she knows his mind is racing just as quickly as hers is, and when she looks at the holotable, the horrible image of her isn’t projected anymore. She inhales once, exhales, and tries to coax her heart back to a normal rhythm.

“Novalise—”

“It’s okay,” Nova whispers, nodding in Bo-Katan’s direction without looking at her. “You—you were right to call us here. I’m just…” she trails off, a small glint of light catching the stone on her ring finger, and she sighs. “I was taken by surprise. That was—I wasn’t expecting it. I know the First Order wants me. I know that my…powers, however mysterious as they are, make me valuable, and that makes me dangerous. But I don’t understand who wants me dead if it’s not the people we’ve been running from for the last year.”

Bo-Katan steps forward, uncrossing her lean, muscled arms. Silently, she pulls up the shimmering holograms again, but this time, Nova’s bounty doesn’t come up. It’s not anything recognizable until Bo-Katan points to a blue, rotating sphere. “I think,” she finally says, her tone unreadable, “that whoever put this bounty up on you wants your face out there in a bigger capacity than what it already is. You’re known in the Alliance, obviously, and now you’re known on Mandalore.” She stabs her finger at the hologram of the planet, rotating in silence. “And you’re wanted by the First Order, for whatever horrible plans they have next. But whoever this other force is—”

Nova holds up a hand, and, miraculously, Bo-Katan stops talking. “They want me to be a martyr,” she whispers, and all three of them look over at her with various expressions of disbelief. Din’s face is still hidden underneath his helmet, but Nova knows exactly what the contours of his features look like right now. Wedge’s worry lines deepen, dark and troubled. Bo-Katan raises one sculpted eyebrow, but her eyes focus on Nova’s like she knows it’s the truth.

“What did Luke say?” Wedge asks, finally.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant right now,” Bo-Katan interjects, but Wedge holds up a hand. It’s so sharp in contrast to his usual easygoing demeanor that her mouth snaps back shut.

“Nova’s a Jedi,” Wedge continues, eyes drifting to the lightsaber hanging off her belt. “Or at least she’s going to be,” he amends, “so she’s rare. One of three still existing that I know of, so that makes her incredibly important. Luke has been off on his own the last few years, trying to piece back the history of the Jedi that got lost or erased in the war. And that’s the Skywalker family lightsaber she has right there,” Wedge continues, nodding again at Nova’s belt loop, “so I know she went to go see him. What did he say, rebel girl?” he asks again, and Nova exhales lowly through the tiny gap of her open mouth.

“He knows something is coming,” Nova manages, finally. “He wanted—he wanted me to stay and train. He’s trying to locate all of the remaining Jedi in the galaxy, to try and rebuild what got destroyed. And,” she continues, exhaling, “he told me that what died may not stay dead.”

“Well,” Bo-Katan interjects, huffing, “that’s incredibly cryptic and entirely unhelpful.”

“Don’t start,” Wedge snaps, an edge to his voice. “Did he mean Gideon?”

Nova slowly shakes her head. It’s the truth, even though, to Bo-Katan’s point, Luke was being cryptic when he gave her that particularly sage warning. It’s not Gideon. Luke was talking about something deeper. “No,” she whispers, finally. “He meant someone—or something—much worse.”

Bo-Katan raises another eyebrow, a scorn so distasteful it makes waves on her face. “Yet another cryptic and unhelpful point, Novalise.”

Din steps forward before the expression on Nova’s face even changes. Bo-Katan Kryze doesn’t cower much, but she sure as hell shrinks underneath Din’s stance. He’s all anger, electric wires running currents throughout his entire tense body. Even the beskar pales in comparison to his rage. His hand slips to his own waistline, and Bo-Katan’s startled eyes glaze over the Darksaber before she backs down.

Nova has no idea how to diffuse this situation. Maybe Din’s right, maybe she is an expert at getting out of things, but the mountain crushing down on top of her shoulders just keeps growing bigger and bigger. Soon, it’ll be the size of Mandalore, and then she’ll have two planets to try and keep balanced on her already aching back. Nova rubs at the sore spot between her eyebrows, trying to worry out the knot that’s been growing in intensity there.

Bo-Katan’s talking again. Nova registers it, faintly, in the back of her mind. She’s long since grown tired of running, but right now, all her legs want to do is make a break for it. She’s exhausted and frozen in place and so unsteady on her feet. All Nova craves right now, this very second, is to lay back down in the piles of frigid snow outside and let it cool down her body right to the core. Din’s voice is angry, direct, curling in waves through the modulator, and when Nova whips back around to face the three of them, somehow, miraculously, they all grow silent.

“They want me to be a martyr,” Nova repeats, her voice barely anything in the chill of the chamber. Wedge’s thick eyebrow raises, his careful eyes searching over her face, trying to find her angle. “I’m not going to be. But I’m also not going to sit and wait on Mandalore for them to come find me, whoever they are. I’m not going to make it easy for them. Besides,” she finishes, eyes locking on Din’s, even under the obscurity of his helmet, “I’m a Rebel. Laying low isn’t in my blood.”

“Maybe,” Bo-Katan says, and there’s a razor’s edge to her already sharp voice. Something is wrong, Nova knows that, because underneath all of that icy venom, there’s a tremble that ricochets through her words. “But you’re forgetting something. You aren’t just a Rebel anymore. You’re the queen of a planet—”

“I’m a figurehead,” Nova spits back, exasperated. Maker above, her head is seriously killing her. Somewhere, distantly, she aches for the quiet crush of hyperspace, the dazzle, the glimmer, the flair of it all. Out there, running didn’t feel like running. And out there, home actually felt like home. “I’m nothing. I’m married to the Mand’alor, that’s it. I don’t rule. I don’t interact with anybody but the two of you. I wear Mandalore colored clothes, sometimes I’m in the war room, but most of the time, I’m staring up at the sky, and I can’t see the stars. I cannot see,” she continues, her voice unhinging into something desperate, “a single star from the planet’s surface. Bo-Katan, Mandalore is a ghost town. There’s only a handful of people left. Why did you battle Din for power in the first place,” she finishes, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, “if this was all that it was for?”

The room is silent. Nova can barely see straight, her eyes burning with the tears she’s trying to hold back. Bo-Katan looks like she’s been wounded—not pissed off, not royally wronged—wounded. Hurt. It’s written in the fracture lines of her face, and even though she’s been cold and hostile and a pain in everyone’s asses, Nova aches knowing she put them there. “Because,” Bo-Katan says, finally, and her voice isn’t icy anymore. It’s flat. Monotonous. “I love Mandalore. And I wanted something more.”

Nova inhales shakily, letting her shoulders round, clutching her arms around herself. The shawl wrapped around her upper body has fallen down to her shoulders, her loose hair flying in curls around her face. She’s exhausted. Behind her, she can feel Din stepping forward, his presence like a locus, an orbiting star. She staggers backward, mouth struck open, unable to conjure any words to fix this. “Bo-Katan—”

“Maybe I was wrong,” Bo-Katan interrupts, and her regular permafrost is back. “Maybe I was wrong about you. You’re right. You’re not a ruler. You’re a figurehead, Andromeda.” Nova recoils as if Bo-Katan slapped her. Slapping her would be better, actually, because the gut punch that comes with the stab of her old name is almost too much to bear. “And you’re sure as hell not a Mandalorian.”

Nova closes her eyes at the impact, but Din shoves his body forward, the whoosh of the Darksaber igniting in his hand before Nova can react. When she finally opens them, Din is standing like the warrior he is, like the bounty hunter he used to be. The horrible, flickering blade is up in front of Bo-Katan, an inch from her throat.

“I agreed to do this job because you insisted. I only promised to follow through if you were in my corner.” Din’s hand doesn’t waver once. Nova watches, horrified, as the terrible blade crackles and hisses in the low, cold light. “You intentionally disrespecting my wife is the opposite of being in my corner. If you ever,” he continues, and Nova can hear the grit of his teeth through the modulator, “use that name to refer to her again, those words will be your last. Do you understand me?”

Bo-Katan stares up at him, all malice. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Believe me,” Din spits, voice even and dangerous, “you haven’t been burned by me yet.”

Finally, she steps down, jutting her chin downward in a very reluctant nod. “Maybe you’re not a Mandalorian,” she concedes, staring back at Nova. Nova’s frozen to the spot, arms hugged tightly against her chest, knees shaking from the proverbial impact, “but Mandalore is still your home. For now, at least. And until we figure out who’s after you, that’s where you’ll stay. No Rebel missions. No alone time out in the stars.” She stares up at Din. “You wanted me in your corner? Fine. But your corner is on Mandalore, and Mandalore only.”

“I can’t do that,” Nova manages, quietly, her teeth aching in her mouth. “I need to train, Bo-Katan, I—I need to go see Grogu, I’m a commander in the Alliance, I cannot be grounded on a planet indefinitely, not with the entire galaxy on the brink of another war, not while there are two groups of people who want me dead or to be their slave—”

“Your home,” Bo-Katan interjects, her eyes dangerous behind her solid voice, “is on Mandalore now. What better place to protect you than a planet full of born and bred warriors?”

Nova’s heart is in her throat. It aches, pulsing and twisting and waning, like she has a knife lodged in her esophagus. “I can’t stay there indefinitely, I—I’m a Jedi—”

“No,” Bo-Katan interrupts again, “you are not. Not yet, and not until we figure out what danger the Order and these bounty hunters are to the rules of Mandalore. Besides,” she tacks on, leaning back on her heels, “Mandalorians and Jedi do not get along.” Her glance that flickers over to Din’s intimidating, awful silhouette, the Darksaber a ruthless weapon in his capable hands, is the only thing that gives away all the fear she’s tucked away under all that venom.

“Ahsoka Tano,” Nova manages, and something painful runs through the hard lines on Bo-Katan’s face. “You led us to Ahsoka. So no matter what you’re telling us right now, I know that you get along with at least one Jedi better than you think.”

Bo-Katan stares back at her. For a horrible beat, nobody breathes. Nova’s almost forgotten Wedge is still in the room until he lets out a quiet, exhausted sigh. “We’re going back to Mandalore. Wedge will run the Rebel operation from here, with people who aren’t responsible for a planet and the next collective fight of the galaxy. You leave Mandalore,” she says, and this time her gaze is trained expertly on Din’s visor, “you’re on your own.”

“Stop,” Wedge says, finally, and the singular word shatters through the tension, bringing everything down to the icy floor in one fell swoop. “Stop it. You,” he says, pointing at Bo-Katan, “were in here less than a month ago talking about unity, wanting to build something better, to protect the galaxy. I never thought we’d be close friends, Bo-Katan, but I at least thought you were on our side.” He lets the intention hang there, before turning to Din. “You are an incredible warrior, Din. I think Nova was right about you being a good leader. I think you have great potential. But I’ve seen power easily go sideways, and if you keep fighting against your own, you’re going to end up in another war. And you,” he enunciates heavily, turning on Nova, “you’re the best person I know. Kindest heart I’ve ever seen, except maybe for Luke. You’re an incredible pilot, a fantastic Rebel, and I don’t doubt for a second that you can save the galaxy from whatever evil it brings. But you’re not immortal, Nova. You’re not a saint, or a god, or anything bigger than a human being. Bo-Katan is right about one thing, and that’s you being in danger. They want you to be a martyr? Don’t let them make that a reality.” He pauses, and there’s something ancient in his eyes. “Go back to Mandalore. Work with each other, in whatever capacity that means. And when the three of you realize that we’re all in this together, no matter what threat we’re facing next, then you get to call the shots again.” He lets that hang in the air too, and it’s so heavy with genuine care, Nova’ heart breaks over itself again. “And I don’t make a habit of saying this, but may the Force be with us all.” His gaze roams over the three of them again, and Nova swallows, nodding against Wedge’s words. “We’re certainly going to need it.”

Mandalore is deadly and quiet.

It doesn’t welcome the three of them back in open arms. Bo-Katan’s ship is so much sleeker than Kicker, but Nova revels in the groan and tumble her starfighter makes when it touches down on cool, ashy earth. Her teeth are still shaking in her mouth. She has a headache, one she can feel in her jaw, right down to the bone. No one has spoken since Wedge gave his rebel rousing speech back on Hoth, and Nova knows that nothing she can manage can top that one. She’s silent in her flying, her disembarking. Slowly, she and Din trail Bo-Katan up the marble steps of the palace, and Nova can barely remember to offer her usual smile at the guards before the tall, impressive doors snap shut.

“I meant what I said,” Bo-Katan offers, finally, and there’s a wicked set in her jaw. “I can’t protect you out there. Mandalore is my home. I’m not abandoning this planet to run after the two of you and your masochistic need to save the galaxy. It’s been through enough, and I’m not going to let either of you ruin that. I meant it.”

Nova stares at her. She wants to snap back, to repeat what Wedge said, to shake some sense into Bo-Katan’s tense shoulders, but she doesn’t. She left all of her vitriol and fire back on Hoth, and she’s so incredibly tired. It’s nearly impossible to remember that DIn only took the throne a little over two weeks ago, that the ragtag group of their collected rebel fighters seemed so confident that they could stop the First Order, take down the evil lurking there, and restore peace to the galaxy. “So did I,” Nova whispers, finally, and Bo-Katan blinks uncharacteristically, a tiny slip in her usual armor before she opens her mouth again.

“We’ll talk more about this tomorrow,” Bo-Katan allows, and then she turns on her beskar heel and walks off somewhere in the dark haunt of the castle, her steps receding into nothing but dread.

Nova’s scar hurts. These days, it always seems to hurt, this horrible sucking wound that still aches, an aftershock of a trauma long gone. She sighs, long and heavy, wanting to sink into bed for a day or two and sleep all this responsibility off. She wants to be back up there in the stars, moving from planet to planet with purpose. She wants to use the lightsaber hanging from her belt. She wants to hug Grogu to her chest, to feel his tiny green body give off that special kind of warmth. She wants to lay with Din without armor, the rest of the world falling away.

When she finally manages to pull her heavy head up, Din is staring at Nova in the silence. There’s only a small strike of moonlight cutting across the strange, blue floor. He’s still wearing his helmet, but she can practically cut straight through the shield by the way she can feel his eyes piercing hers. This aches, too, such small hurts that accumulate across the map of her body.

“Come with me,” he says, finally, and when he reaches out his familiar, steady hand, she takes it.

It’s quiet in the palace, as per usual, but something about the moon striking through the windows as they move through the empty halls feels loud and haunting. Quietly, Din and Nova walk, hand in hand, past the throne room, past the staircase that leads to their massive bedroom, into the maze of corridors in the yawning belly of the beast. The amphitheatre is massive, something holy in its own right. Mandalorians treat battle like it’s divine, and the giant stadium built into their palace is made of marble and blue stone, the sky open and glittering above the arena.

“Why are we here?” Nova asks, finally, breaking the silence holding the both of them captive.

“Because,” Din answers, his voice level, leading her to the center of the ring, “this is where I won the Darksaber.”

Nova raises a dark eyebrow at him, and even though Din’s face is still obscured by the helmet, she can feel his face softening. “I know, mighty Mand’alor,” she deadpans, her own voice gentle, “I was there for the fight of the century, remember?”

“Stop it,” he interjects, but there’s no venom in his tone. She smiles, relaxing slightly, letting her aching shoulders drop. “I meant this is where it started. When we stood here, you said you thought I could be a good ruler. A fair one. Someone people would listen to.”

“I still think that,” she echoes, and Din’s fingers flutter over the makeshift hood of her shawl, dropping the blue fabric so that her hair falls loose. There shouldn’t be a breeze in here, but something rustles Nova’s long curls, letting them spiral over her right shoulder. “Actually, I know it—”

“I’m not,” Din interrupts, and Nova watches his movements, how calculated they are, how he’s pacing back and forth in the pit around her. It’s empty in here except for the two of them, but there’s some strange sense of exhibition, as if they’re being watched. “I’m not a good leader, Nova, because I’m not a leader. Bo-Katan told me Mandalore doesn’t take kindly to outsiders, but you were right earlier. This place is a ghost town. Besides the people who live and work in the palace, I’ve never seen anyone in the village. I’ve spent hours in the war room just looking at the maps, trying to figure out where all of the Mandalorians are.” He sighs, and Nova chances a half-step forward. “There aren’t any. They’ve either fled, been killed, or have left Mandalore to hide on other planets, like my covert.”

“Din,” Nova starts, but when he holds up a single gloved hand, the words die on her tongue.

“There’s nothing here left to rule,” he says, finally, like the words are both an incredible burden and the truth that sets him free. “Mandalore is gone. Whatever it used to be, whoever used to live here, what we see is all that’s left. Maybe I am meant to rule this planet full of nobody, I don’t know. Maybe this is some sort of strange...riddle that I can’t figure out. But I can’t understand why it’s so imperative for the two of us to step into these roles, to follow rules that make no sense, to try and be a leader for a planet that’s barely anything.”

Nova stares at him. A small smile winges across her lips before she even realizes why. “You don’t want to stay here,” she whispers, which is an echo of the same sentiment she’s been saying for weeks, but this time it feels like the truth laid bare. “You want to be where the fight is.”

Din’s quiet. His shoulders are still rigid. “I don’t run from things.”

“True.” Nova steps another foot towards him, her head cocked to the side, trying to puzzle out what’s happening in his head without seeing a glimpse of his face. “That’s usually my M.O.”

“Stop it,” Din whispers, but there’s no fire left in his voice. Nova studies him—his stature, his stance, the Darksaber hanging off his hip, the proverbial crown balanced over his helmet—but there’s nothing hardened there, nothing sharp, regardless of how regal he is, how his presence cuts through every room like a knife. When she’s finally close enough to touch him, her hands immediately go to his helmet, pressing her palms against the smooth, cold beskar, an invitation and a question all at once. “Novalise,” he tries, and her name sounds like something more, something deeper, something holy. Quietly, she presses her body against his, letting the coolness of the armor heat up against the soft curves of her skin. “We can’t do this in here—”

“You’re the one,” she breathes, hooking her fingers under the rim of the helmet, “who said this is our place to desecrate.”

Din’s breath comes out sharp and wicked, like he’s been impaled on her words. “And I meant it then,” he manages, as she starts to pull his helmet off, “but now all I want to do is be back out there in the stars. Not be this figurehead. Not being the leader of a dozen people who all hate my guts and want to slaughter me for the throne.”

“You are a leader,” Nova continues, pressing her body closer to his. Even through the armor, she can feel him harden against her touch, stiffening against her trousers, a sign that she’s pushing the both of them closer and closer to the edge. “You’re an excellent leader. Tell me what to do.”

“Nova—”

“This isn’t what this place was made for.”

The sound that erupts from Din’s mouth is even more wicked as the modulator cuts off in the middle of it. Nova pulls the rest of the helmet off of his face, her eyes roaming over every single pore, trying to memorize the way he’s staring at her, half-frenzied, his eyes fluttering somewhere between pleasure and pain.

“Novalise.” Her name still sounds like a prayer. Nova doesn’t break Din’s eye contact, just drops the helmet with a clatter against the floor. It’s loud, deafening almost, but he doesn’t flinch at the sound. “You can’t say things like that to me—”

“Then stop me,” Nova counters. Her heart is hammering. She’s being a brat, she knows she is, a whiny, wheedling baby that only wants one thing, but she can’t help herself. Din’s gloved hand closes around her wrist, squeezing lightly, and even though it makes her heart skip a beat, she’s unhinged and dangerous right now. Silently, she unhinges his hand from where it’s gripping her arm and places Din’s fingers against her throat, leaning into his touch, eyes wide, inviting. “I know you. I know what you want. I know that I made a Rebel out of you, Mand’alor, but I also know that when you give people orders, they’re helpless to do anything other than follow them. You can have whatever you want. You just have to prove it.”

His eyes glint for just a moment. It’s in a flash, over almost as soon as it starts, just a nanosecond, but something glittering and dangerous sparks up behind Din’s measured brown eyes, and Nova barely has time to inhale before his grips tightens around her throat, his other hand anchoring her hips in place. It’s an exact replica of the way he’s held her a million times, but his touch still feels brand new. “I want you.”

Everything stops existing. The war, the ghost town of a planet they’re supposed to rule, the First Order, the insidious war that’s gearing up in the underbelly of the galaxy. The pressure for Din to be a ruler, the urgency of Nova becoming a Jedi, every single piece of their lives fall away. It’s devastating and divine, vivid and vivacious. “Then take me,” Nova breathes, feeling Din harden against her leg, hot and heavy even through her pant leg and the beskar that’s protecting him. “Take me, but do it without armor.”

He stares at her, just for a second, and despite knowing that she has her husband wrapped around her pinky finger, Nova’s own eyes widen, heartbeat quickening, worried she took it a step too far. When Din’s hands disappear from her body, a panicked apology is already trying to hurtle its way out of her mouth, but Din doesn’t break eye contact. His hands pull the armor off of his body, letting each piece clatter at his feet like it’s nothing. Nova’s breath has barely been returned to her lungs by the time that Din’s finished undressing, standing in front of her with nothing but his underclothes, Mandalorian blue, and then he slams himself into her, knocking both of them back a few steps with the centrifugal force. Her knees buckle as she lets herself be swept away, wind knocked right back out through the hollow of her open mouth, Din’s hands purposeful and intentional.

Nova’s pretty sure she’s seen Din this vibrant before, this full of desire, but the way he devours her means something deeper. It’s desperate, and yearning, and haunting, leaving his mark all over her body to be worn as a prize later. His lips trail down her jaw, his teeth sinking into her skin, tongue licking out a symphony on the pulse points he’s expertly mapped over the last year. “Din,” she manages, before his name is sucked straight out of her mouth, and his hands twist and writhe underneath the clothes she’s wearing.

Almost as immediately as he started, his mouth disappears. Nova’s eyes flutter open, trying to find where Din retracted himself to, and his large hands, suddenly bare of the gloves he was wearing just a second ago, grasp onto her face. She inhales sharply as he grabs her, the force of his grip puckering her lips up. Nova feels like putty in his hands, like she’s buzzing. “You want me without armor, cyar’ika?” he asks. Din’s voice is so low, it rumbles straight through her, everything between her legs a hurricane. “You want me to be a ruler?”

Wordlessly Nova nods, trying to coax air back into her lungs. “Yes,” she manages.

There’s something torrential in the low blaze of Din’s eyes. Nova thinks she’s still standing, that he’s keeping her upright, but honestly, she can’t tell. The only thing she’s focused on is the darkened outline of his gorgeous face, the flash of his eyes. “Then I want you like that, too,” Din breathes, yanking the shawl right off of her shoulder. Nova’s hair springs out from underneath it, ricocheting against her face as Din grasps her cheeks, pulling her forehead against his. “No armor. Submissive to what I say.”

Nova gasps, nodding against Din’s touch, and when he tears her clothes off of her, she doesn’t even try to tell him she needs them intact. It’s just fabric. It doesn’t matter, not when his hands can burn against her. When they sink down to the floor of the amphitheatre, kissing so hard their teeth knock together, nothing else exists anymore. It’s just Nova and Din and the stars they’re under, just like always.

The ground is cold against her back, but the second Din pulls his pants down and gets on top of her, the chill is immediately forgotten. Nova stares up at Din, trying to map every single inch of his face, even though she’s already memorized it, even though he’s shown it to the rest of the planet, it still feels so incredibly divine. He’s inhaling sharply, and when she flutters his eyelashes up at him, she nods. Permission. It’s just a second, wordless, but he understands. Usually, Nova wants foreplay, to be kissed, to have every single inch of her body blessed by the man she loves, but that’s not necessary tonight. When he pushes inside of her, hard and warm and huge, she gasps against the pressure. It’s devastating. It’s perfect. It’s hot and heavy and loud, and the force of how Din’s fucking her makes her head slam back agaisnt the floor. Before she can mutter a single word, one of his hands comes up underneath her skull, creating a barrier against Nova and the marble. She lifts her hips, locking her ankles around Din, trying to keep herself in the place he needs her, eyes rolling back in her head.

Somewhere, something devious whispers to her that she’s being used, but right now, Nova doesn’t even care. Every inch of her body is screaming out for Din’s, and every place where he’s touching her feels sacred, complete.

“Nova,” he whispers, and she’s a hymn, a prayer, something deeper than herself in this strange, makeshift place of worship. She wants to talk, to reassure him that she’s here, but then Din’s mouth is back against her lips, ravenous, unyielding. It’s everything. It’s dark in here, and still eerily quiet, and for the first time, she’s unabashed about filling this space up with their noise. It feels like a rite of passage, something divine, especially when Din licks his vows into her mouth, murmuring in Mando’a, swearing in Basic, and his other hand finds the curve of Nova’s hips, lifting her up so he can fuck deeper into her. Suddenly, every single insidious thought evaporates, her hand fluttering down across her stomach to reach her clit.

“Din,” she manages, breathy and disconnected, and immediately, his expert hand knocks hers away, replacing her touch with vigor. Before Nova even has a chance to adjust to his pressure, he’s pushing her over the edge, her oragasm quick and loud, deafening and ecstatic.

“Wait for me,” he grunts, his mouth back on her neck, and Nova’s eyes are flooding with collapsing stars, her ears buzzing, and she wants to apologize that she’s beating him there but when he’s touching her like that, she doesn’t even care. But then Din breaks away from her, angling his hips to slam deeper and deeper into Nova, and his lips tear off her neck, knocking their foreheads together. “Now,” he orders, and his voice is low and commanding, and that alone sends Nova through the roof.

Din grunts as he’s about to cum, writhes into her like it’s the last time that he’ll ever get to touch her. Usually, he pulls out soon afterward, rolls over on his back beside her, but tonight, he just grabs onto Nova’s jaw and stays pulsing in her. Every time his cock twitches with the aftershock, it extends Nova’s own orgasm, and she lets herself be held there, not wanting to move.

“I could,” she starts, panting.

“Stay here forever,” Din finishes, his voice barely anything at all. “I know.”

For what feels like lightyears, they stay together, a tangle of limbs and warmth, trying to catch their collective breaths. Slowly, the rest of the world filters back in, and the quiet, starry darkness of the amphitheatre doesn’t feel desecrated. It feels used, for something better than it was designed for, at that, and Nova feels her heartbeat pound down to a regular rhythm before she lets Din lay down beside her, both of them exhausted, staring up at the ceiling.

“I meant it,” Nova finally says, closing her eyes to feel the hum of her own voice in her throat. One hand is tracing the outline of her scar, the other is tangled up in the discarded shawl that Din thankfully did not eviscerate. “When I said you were a good leader. I think you’re a great one, Din Djarin, and even though I want to be out there.” Nova trails off, gesturing at the ceiling painted with stars, “if staying put means you get to do that, I’ll stay right here. I’ll be a Mandalorian.”

Din’s quiet. Nova doesn’t dare to move, because she knows the significance of what she just said, the crushing weight of it. “I meant it, too,” he whispers, finally. “When I said I’d follow you anywhere.”

Nova inhales sharply, finally turning her head to search her husband’s eyes. “I know,” she murmurs, eyebrows furrowing down the middle. “And I believe you. But what do you want?”

Din’s face is entirely unreadable. Nova counts the beats of her heart as they sit there in the silence, trying to encourage him without saying a single thing.

“You.”

Nova inhales, wetting her mouth with her tongue. “What else do you want?”

Din stares at her, moving only to press the open palm of his bare hand against her cheek. “I want you without armor, too,” he whispers, and then pulls both of them to their feet. Nova knows there’s more to that sentence, but she’s fighting sleep, and she doesn’t want to put pressure on more points than either of them can take. Wordlessly, they redress, and Nova follows Din out of the eerie amphitheatre, out of the maze of tunnels, back to the first floor where the giant war room sits, beskar throne impenetrable at the highest point. She wraps her shawl tighter around ehr shoulders, all the warmth that sex gave them blown away by the startling reality of the situation. Without a word, Din presses the ignition to the holotable, and the strange, blue, fractured image of Nova ten years ago illuminates.

She inhales sharply, her old reflection a sucker punch. Din grabs her hand, and Nova squeezes it, trying to stare at herself head on, without flinching.

“I want to kill off Andromeda Maluev and everyone who’s after her,” Din breathes, his voice so much louder without the barrier of the helmet and the modulator. “I don’t want to rule this planet and ignore the war that’s coming while there are people out there who want you.”

“Din—”

“Listen to me,” Din whispers, grabbing Nova’s face in his hands, and she turns away from her painful reflection, letting him become the only thing she orbits, even if it’s only for a second, even if it’s only for now. “You are Novalise Djarin. I’m not going to let anyone take that away from you.”

Nova’s green eyes flood with tears. Above them, above the mist and fog and haze that hangs over Mandalore like an omen, her stars are sparkling and clear. She inhales, focusing her blurry gaze on her husband, something concrete, something real. “What does that mean?” she whispers, and Din’s right hand goes to her right hip, purposefully knocking into the Skywalker family lightsaber, and Nova’s sharp inhale comes out stuttered.

Din’s eyes are a promise, a prayer. His bare hand smoothes back over her cheek, and something dangerous and pulsing inside of Nova suddenly quiets. “It means,” he says, guiding her own hand down to the weapon hanging from her hip, “that we do what Mandalorians do best. We’ll take it one day at a time,” he continues, and Nova nods, “but we’re going do what we do best. All of us.”

“What are you—?”

“I’m saying,” Din sighs, pointing up through the domed ceiling, and Nova strains her eyes to look through the clouds to the stars above, pulsing and flickering with the promises they’ve made to each other, “that Bo-Katan is going to protect Mandalore, Luke is going to train our kid, Boba and Fennec are going to avenge, Cara’s going to forcefully keep the peace, Karga’s going to figure out who put the bounty on your head, Wedge is going to rally the troops, and you and I are going to save the galaxy.”

There’s a smile on Nova’s face before can register everything Din’s saying. “Din—”

“You’re the only one who gets me without armor,” Din whispers into her ear, and Nova feels the giant door sliding open behind them. She’s going to turn around to yell at Bo-Katan that it’s not the morning yet, and that she just wants one tiny minute of happiness before returning to the weight pressing down on all of their shoulders, but multiple voices filter into the throne room, and Nova lets Din pull her up the steps onto the dais, watching as the space fills up with the people who still make up Mandalore. Bo-Katan raises her chin at them, but something’s replaced the fear and vitriol in her eyes. Din lets his helmet clatter on the floor, the noise loud enough for the rest of the hushed noise in the room to fall quiet. Nova swallows, staring out to the scene of people gathered in front of them, trying to look like a leader, like someone trustworthy. “We’re going to fight,” Din promises, his voice full and honest, a vow, and then he turns to face the people he rules in the center of the room. “Let’s get started.”

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I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!! writing this story is truly my biggest joy, and getting to share it with all of you is priceless! i lovelovelove talking to you about your theories and comments and questions, so please leave them below or send me them on tumblr (amiedala)! i think i am finally back on track, so CHAPTER FOUR WILL BE UP SATURDAY, OCTOBER 2ND, AT 7:30 PM EST!!!

i love you all, have a lovely week (hopefully with fall weather coming your way)!!! <3

xoxo, amelie

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pseudo-possum · 4 years ago

Text

One by one, I'm posting my fanfics to tumblr in no particular order... Firstly, this one...

A Night in the Woods

(Nsfw) Risotto Nero x reader

(yes, I'm bad at titles)

Warnings: NSFW, sex pollen, cum, smut

You fidget with your hands in your lap, trying not to bite your lip. You breathe deep, making a futile attempt to control the heavy breaths you can't help but let out. There's a fire in the pit of your stomach, burning throughout your entire body. Every inch of you is hypersensitive, your clothing feels too hot and heavy, the pressure of your tight panties only making the arousal burn brighter. You look down at the small wet patch on your crotch, and then quickly up at Riso in the driver's seat. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. His eyes are intently fixed on the road. You dare to look down and have to bite back a low moan as you see the bulge in his pants, tip of his cock leaking a dark stain on the fabric.

You cross your legs, trying desperately to ignore the burning arousal. Big mistake. You yelp at the intensified sensation, trying desperately to uncross your legs, but your uncoordinated movements catch your shoe under the dash, trapping you. You struggle, the movement only adding more friction. You can't help but moan a bit. Risotto looks at you, a short, pained glance before poignantly staring back at the road. You manage to get your legs uncrossed, spreading them far apart to minimize friction. You see that the wet patch has bloomed to twice its size. It's very noticeable. "You're feeling it too…" he nods, not looking at you, hands somehow gripping the wheel tighter. "The enemy stand… you got hit…" he nods again. "So why don't we…" this isn't the first time you've thought of him this way, but now, every iota of lust you held for your handsome capo is turned up to eleven.

"I wouldn't want to… take advantage of you… in this state…" god, Risotto wished he could touch you. He'd been desperately in love with you since the day you'd saved his life six months ago. He'd always been too afraid to approach you romantically, worried he'd ruin your professional relationship.

"Please… it… it burns… I need you Riso…" these words send a chill down his back. The desperation in your voice, the use of the pet name, oh god everything.

"Are… are you absolutely sure you want this?" He hesitates.

"Yes… please please please… why don't we consider it… a part of the mission… to recover from an enemy stand… ok?" He looks at you for a long time, before nodding slowly and pulling the car down a dark side road.

"If you need to stop… just tell me… ok?" He says as he pulls over on the side of the road. You immediately take off your seatbelt, climbing over the seats to lay in the back. You shimmy out of your pants, kicking your shoes off before he even opens his door. You lay, spread out on the seat, every inch of you burning as he opens the back door. Instead of getting in, as you expected, he pulls you to the edge of the seat, taking your underwear in both hands, he tears them in two, exposing you to him. His eyes glaze over a bit as he sees just how wet you really are.

"Please just put it in me!" You beg, interrupting his reverie.

"I need to prep you…" he counters, beginning to lick some of your slick off your thigh. Shudders of pleasure course through your body.

"But I'm so wet… please…" the arousal is more painful than ever. You need to be touched. You feel that if you don't get the attention you so crave, you might die of lust.

"If I don't prep you I might hurt you… I'll try to make it quick… I want to be in you just as badly." Without further hesitation, he buries his face between your thighs, eliciting a choked moan of absolute bliss. His tongue feels like sweet relief after so long. He inserts a finger into your desperate cunt, then another. They go in easy, and you moan and flex around them, trying desperately to pull them in deeper. He sucks at your clit, and you feel like you're close to an orgasm already, but nothing comes. It feels so good, but it isn't enough. You whine and beg for him to take you.

When a third finger slides in easily, Risotto decides that you probably don't need as much preparation as he thought. His erection throbs painfully. With a growl, he pulls away his fingers, eliciting a squeal from you. He lifts your hips up, unzipping his pants and freeing his erection. That's when he sees it, a light around the corner. Headlights. Thinking quickly, he shoves you into the backseat, diving on top of you, pulling both your legs in, and slamming the door with metallica.

You don't see the car until after he's on top of you, well muscled arms enveloping you, his chest against your too tight shirt, leaking erection pressed against your inner thigh. He pulls you into a desperate kiss as the car passes. "It's too cramped in here. We're going to the woods." It isn't a question. Once the car is out of sight, he gets out of the car, pulling you out by the legs and throwing you over his shoulder. You go limp in a blissed out haze. Being manhandled like this turns you on so fucking much. He leaps over the ditch, impact of his landing sending shocks of pleasure through your body that make you leak more of your juices onto your thighs.

Risotto gently lays you down on the soft moss of the forest floor. He's on you at once, licking and sucking your neck, kissing you, telling you you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Every touch leaves you wanting more, his mouth is so intoxicating. You let out a choked moan as he tears open your shirt and bra, and the night air washes over your chest, cooling your burning skin. He descends upon your chest, licking and sucking your nipples and breasts. Impatience gets the better of him though, and he pulls away, taking his cock in his hand. You feel your mouth fall open at the sight of it. It's even larger than you expected. He strokes his massive length, looking down at you. "Are you sure you want me?" He asks softly. You nod frantically, a burning physical desperation telling you that you NEED him.

He picks up your hips, pulling your legs around him as he lines up with your soaked entrance. He slides in surprisingly easy, your inner muscles pulling him in deeper. You let out an almost shamefully loud moan, clapping a hand over your mouth. He groans a bit as he penetrates you, filling you slowly, though you want so desperately for him to fuck you into the dirt. Every inch of him fills you so divinely you want to scream. He presses in all the way, stretching you out completely, but there's no pain. He lets out a little gasp. You look down, seeing the cause. There's a slight bulge in your stomach, from where he's so deep inside you.

"Are you sure you're ok?" Risotto breathes heavily as he stares at the bulge he's created. Your response is enthusiastic, but incoherent as you writhe on the ground beneath him, begging to be fucked. He leans in to kiss you, beginning to rock his hips against yours, whole body shaking from the strain of not pounding into you with everything he has. You're gripping him so tightly he can't think straight, but his will is stronger than his urges, and he knows he'd never forgive himself if he hurt you.

"Please fuck me harder!" You beg, grabbing at the straps criss crossing his chest, nails catching his flesh oh so briefly, his oversensitive body shuddering at the pleasure pain. He begins to go harder, marvelling at how you respond, slick soaking his pants, mouth agape in sheer, unadulterated pleasure. He accidentally goes harder than he wanted to on one particular thrust, watching you for any sign of pain, but you only cry out, begging him to let go, to fuck you into the dirt. He complies, giving in to the stand that Haze's his mind. Speeding up feels so good, he moans, sweat beginning to run down his face as the heat of an orgasm builds within him.

Oh god, the feeling of your insides being pummeled is better than anything you've ever felt. Each thrust sends electric fire surging through your veins, making you tighten around him further and further. You can feel every vein on his engorged member pulse within you, his finger finding your clit as you rocket towards an earth shattering orgasm. You come around him, body tensing, twitching, gripping him tight like a vice.

You're so fucking tight. Risotto can feel his own orgasm swiftly approaching. He redoubles his efforts, pounding you harder through your orgasm. A thin strand of rational thought enters his mind. Birth control. Are you on birth control? He doesn't know. He feels his orgasm begin to wash over him, and, despite how much it pains him to pull out, he does, covering you in a hot, pressurized spurt of stick white. He looks down at the shocked expression on your face. "Sorry… I didn't know if you were on the pill…" he says. And even as he says it, he notices, he's still hard. The painful need is filling him again.

"I don't care! Fucking breed me!" He can tell by the desperation in your voice that you're feeling it too. Your words awaken something primal in him, something that doesn't obey thought or reason. He pushes inside you again, fucking you harder than ever. He loves the way you writhe and moan under him, your body taking him so well.

Both of your orgasms come quicker this time, somehow, even more intense than the last. He finishes inside you this time, and again, and again, a total of 6 times before he collapses, exhausted onto you. You're practically numb from pleasure as he rolls over onto his back, pulling off his coat and dragging your limp form onto his chest. He covers the two of you in his jacket, and you fall asleep there, safe and warm on his chest.

…

You wake up feeling sore. You're thirsty, sticky, and there's a dull ache in the pit of your stomach. You look up at the face of your capo, memories of the night before flooding your mind. You blush hard, feeling something sticky between your thighs. You stare at him, pale eyelashes catching the light of the sun. He looks so handsome when he's sleeping. You've never seen him so peaceful before.

He stirs, eyes opening slowly. There's a look there that you've seen before, but never recognized. It's a deep affection that he's always had for you, a love that goes beyond a professional respect and delves into something deeper. He plants a kiss on your forehead.

You look up, the sun is high overhead. Oh no! The team! They haven't heard from you since before the stand! You express your concerns to Risotto, who simply says "Fuck." You try to get up, but your legs won't support you. You collapse back onto his chest, looking down at the imprint in the dirt where he dicked you down the night prior. "I'm gonna get your pants from the car. Stay here." He says, groaning as he gets up, leaving you with his coat. You look down at yourself, realizing what a .ess you look. Your shirt is buttonless and covered in dirt and semen, there's cum in your hair and on your face, not to mention the mess between your legs. You need a shower and a change of clothes before you face the team.

Risotto returns with your pants, a stack of napkins, and a water canteen. You get cleaned up as much as possible, stuffing a napkin into your pants to catch the cum that's still steadily dripping out of you. You drink half the water before he helps you back to the car. He drives while you answer all of the missed calls and texts. You say that there were complications with an enemy stand that delayed you. Which isn't far from the truth.

That truth, however, can't be hidden from your teammates. "YES!" Melone shouts. "YOU OWE ME $20 FORMAGGIO! I KNEW THEY WERE HOOKING UP." he's silenced by a glare from Risotto as he carries you upstairs for a nice hot bath.

#fanfic #la squadra x reader #risotto nero x reader #risotto nero #smut

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