#they could be like roof rats but their bodies are so tiny and their ears are so big to the point where thats a mouse not a rat

[guckies]

I think what’s funniest about Roier and Quackity running around as rats is that looks wise they are mice not rats…

[brutalscaled]

"What's takin' so long?"

"This isn't as easy as it looks, Croc. There's a lot more stuff to go through than I thought there'd be and NONE of it is organized," Otis hissed through his mask, thumbing through one stack of shipping orders before picking up another. "I know your hands are as big as manhole covers but having an extra set of eyes in here would help."

"You'll have to settle for extra eyes outside, I already said I can't fit through the damn door."

A few of his rats nibbed at what he'd already looked at while several more huddled in various locations around the dock yard's office. The shipment in question was supposed to be an order of weapons, something quick to get their hands on in the wake of Chimera's threat. It wasn't like everyone wasn't already armed, but more defenses never hurt.

Every couple minutes or so, Croc would sniff the air, searching for anything besides salt, wet rust, and fish guts. Nothing so far. Assuming they found those documents quickly, they could leave before anyone even knew they were there… but then the wind shifted. He caught a new scent, something sort of metallic that wasn't there a moment ago. He didn't have a second to consider what it might be before something pattered past his feet… and exploded in a cloud of peppery eye-stinging smoke.

Croc coughed and retched as he tried to swipe away the fumes, lifting watering eyes to the office roof, expecting to see Batman silhouetted against the dark sky. He couldn't see the pointy eared shadow, but he felt something just as chilling that drew a shout from his throat: the pain of three different darts punching through vest and hide, two in his chest and one in his leg… and he could feel the numbing cool of a sedative already spreading through his veins.

Otis made to bolt for the office door to see what was happening when another smoke bomb hit the floor inside. It didn't affect him thanks to his mask, but he could hear his rats squealing and running for air that didn't sting their eyes and lungs. He burst out into the night air only to be met with more smoke, only barely able to see Croc's hunched shadow. He called for him, running over before the taller could utter a warning. A dart wasn't wasted on the former exterminator; the butt of a gun slammed against the back of his head did the trick just as easily. 

Croc had wrenched the needles from his body as quickly as he could, but even with a half dose each, three of them was enough. His vision swam, balance lost as he hit one knee, snarling weakly at the shadows in the smoke. That threat was all he could muster before he hit the ground, the words "Target EX-311 secured" echoing in his mind before the drugs dragged him under.

It was an hour later that Otis groaned and slowly rolled himself over, feeling his head pound in time to his heartbeat. He could hear tiny claws scratching as his rats investigated their awakening master. Something had hit him pretty damn hard, he'd be feeling that for a week… but then the events of before came to mind and he pushed himself up, swaying at the surge of dizziness as he looked across the dock yard. 

Croc was gone. A short distance away lay his knife and his smashed phone. He wouldn't leave those behind. A chill crept down Otis's spine as he caught the glint of a discarded tranq dart. Batman didn't use those. Did this… did this mean Chimera had him? 

His heart stuttered as a sudden panic seized him. When Croc's friends found out that he was gone– under Otis's watch no less! HE'D been the one to suggest the buddy system!-- fuck, he wasn't going to stick around and see what they might decide to do to him. He snatched up his lantern and ran for the nearest sewer pipe, dozens of rats trailing behind him like a shadow.

[the-iceni-bitch]

Catch that Buzz

Pairing: Drug Lord!Thor x fem!Reader, and a little surprise crime boss!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader x crime boss!Bucky Barnes

Words: ~10.8k (yikers)

Summary: You’re the queen to Miami’s biggest drug lord. He’s got the market on lock but is looking to expand, hopefully with some help from some potential friends from Brooklyn. But he’d never get any of it done without you.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (fingering, f and m receiving oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, titty worship, voyeurism, exhibitionism, sex pollen vibes, mentions of anal sex and tit fucking, tattoo kink, little bit of a knife kink, violence kink, minor praise kink), heavy drug use, slightly above canon level violence,  possessive Thor, hints of dark things to come, SMUT!!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!!!

A/N: I went all out for this one guys, taking a little page out of @stargazingfangirl18‘s playbook by having absolutely no chill when it comes to mob AUs! This 100% got away from me and has a mind of it’s own. I did not at all plan on having any Stucky action but I couldn’t help it! This is gonna be a big ass series with appearances from all our faves and a variety of readers and I cannot even tell you how excited I am about it. Big fucking shout out to @cockslut-padalecki and @afriendlyblackhottie because I don’t know if I would have started writing this without their encouragement. I really hope you all enjoy this insanity!!! 

(Credit for the dividers goes to the amazing @whimsicalrogers)

Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!!!

You were slicing the fruit for your breakfast when he walked into the kitchen, already talking on that fucking phone.

“No, we’re not moving this meeting again.” He already sounded pissed off, but he still wrapped himself around your back and pressed a kiss to your neck before stealing a slice of mango. “If those New York assholes want to move their product through our port it’s tonight or nothing.”

It was upsetting how good he looked, his hair still slightly tousled from sleep and his satin pajama bottoms slung low on his hips as he moved to grab some juice from the fridge. You had a difficult time staying mad at him while you ogled the runic tattoos that ran over his torso and arms.

“Fucking ridiculous. Figure it out Sif, I don’t have time for this shit.” The phone clattered across the counter when he tossed it after hanging up, finally turning to you and smiling. “Morning beautiful.”

“Good morning. Meeting still on?” You grabbed a second bowl for him and scooped some yogurt into it before adding some honey and fruit.

“It better be. I’m sick of these dodgy fuckers.” His ringed fingers ran over his face in frustration as he watched you put everything away before bringing the food over and hopping up to sit on the counter in front of him. “Just want to go on a fucking vacation already.”

“You need to finish this deal if you don’t want a war with New York, honey.” You took a bite of your parfait and leaned back on one arm, swinging your legs lazily. “Then we can take as much time off as you want.”

“You’re telling me things I already know, sweetheart.” He reached out and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer and nuzzling into your hair.

“Then quit fucking complaining about it.” You scooped a finger through the remains of your yogurt and smeared it on his nose, beaming at him before leaning forward mouth it off.

A low growl rumbled his chest as he slotted himself between your thighs, his hands resting on either side of your hips before he was ducking to catch your lips with his. He started brushing his lips down your neck when you wrapped your legs around his hips, locking your ankles together behind him and scrabbling your fingers over his back when he flicked his tongue out to trace the hollow behind your ear.

“Think I’m just gonna spend all day right here.” He purred, his fingers skimming over your thighs then digging into your hips and dragging your ass to the edge of the counter. “Val can figure out the logistics for the meeting.”

“I’m sure she can handle... fuck... handle it.” Your breath hitched when he knelt in front of you and started kissing the insides of your thighs, occasionally sucking a bruise against your soft flesh.

He breathed against your entrance and you keened, winding a hand through his hair and trying to drive yourself into his face. When he finally flicked his tongue out to taste you, you almost collapsed, a jolt of pleasure shooting through your body from your core. His arms wound around your legs and kept you still as he ate you out like a starving man, his tongue swirling expertly through your folds and lapping up all the evidence of your arousal.

The sound of his phone buzzing across the counter almost broke you out of your blissful haze, blinking slowly as you turned your head to look at the offensive object.

“Don’t you dare.” He mumbled when you reached for the phone, diving back in and sucking at your pussy lips before sliding his tongue inside you.

“Jesus, Thor!” You managed to catch yourself on your elbow when your arm gave out as his nose brushed against your clit.

His grin faded when the phone buzzed again and he growled against your cunt, the vibrations making you clench around his tongue when he curled it inside you.

“Baby, it’s Val.” You’d managed to catch a glimpse of the caller ID. “She wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important.”

“I’m busy.” He grunted, pressing soft kisses over your mound to give you a short reprieve before shaking his head to bury himself deeper at the same time he wrapped his lips around your clit.

“Fuck!!” All the muscles in your body seized as your orgasm washed over you, your cum soaking his stubble when you finally released all over his face.

If you thought he was finished you were wrong, screaming when he shoved two fingers inside you while he flicked soft kitten licks against your tiny bundle of nerves. Your pathetic whimpers and mewls filled the silence of the kitchen while he took you apart, scissoring his fingers to stretch you before inserting a third and grinning when you arched into his face.

He ignored the screeching of tires from outside, still fucking you with his fingers when he heard a car door slam and the front door flew open.

“Hey boss, Y/N.” Val had a wicked grin on her face when she sauntered into the kitchen, moving to the fridge and grabbing an apple before turning to watch the two of you. “Hate to interrupt but we’ve got a bit of a problem.”

Thor growled into your pussy and you whined, writhing against his face while he raised his free hand and motioned for Val to continue.

“We found a rat in the shipyard crew.” She pulled out her butterfly knife and flicked it open with a flourish, winking at you before slicing off a chunk of apple and bringing it to her lips.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Cop?” His fingers were still stroking that sweet spot when he broke away with a scowl, and you swallowed a shriek when he started taking his frustration out on your cunt.

“Don’t think so, he had a lot of money coming in from some West Coast accounts.” She cocked her head and grinned at you when he started mouthing at your sex again, a desperate moan leaving your lips. “Think Stark might be considering making a move.”

“That’s all I fucking need.” He murmured against your pussy. “You stash him?”

“Yeah, at the lab.”

Maybe you should have felt a little demeaned that the two of them were talking like you weren’t even there, but all you could focus on was the warm coil of pleasure that was gathering in your abdomen and the effort you were taking to not black out.

“Good. Lemme finish up here then I’ll head out.”

“Sure thing boss.” She gave you one more smirk and tossed the apple core in the compost bin before turning to leave. “You may want to put down a towel, when she starts breathing like that it usually means she’s about to squirt.”

His dark chuckle against your clit did it, your back arching you off the counter as you let out a wail. He wrapped his lips around your cunt and moaned when your release squirted into his mouth, his tongue laving over your entrance as he swallowed your essence while you vibrated against his face.

It took a few minutes for you to come down, panting breathlessly as he rose to his feet and grinned at you.

“Dunno how I should feel about Val knowing so much about what your body does when you come, love.” He teased, his fingers lightly skimming over your thighs.

“Maybe if you weren’t constantly fucking me in front of her.” Your brain was finally starting to reset, and you started to sit up with a low moan, your thighs quivering with the strain of aftershocks. 

“Right.” He pressed a kiss to your hair before stepping back and running his hand over his mouth. “Go get dressed, you’re coming with me.”

You beamed at him and slowly slid off the counter, your smile slipping slightly when your knees buckled and he had to catch you, pulling you to his chest with a grin.

“You sure you want that, baby?” The weakness in your legs was fading quickly, and you managed to stand on your own to head towards the bedroom. “Last time you almost killed that guy when you though he was looking at me too long.”

“I’m sure, I had big plans for that perfect body today, I’m not putting those off because of some rat.”

“Fuck, that’s it.” His hand gripped your hair painfully when you swallowed around his cock, his head leaning against the seat as the town car pulled up to the lab. “Oh good girl, take all of it.”

You hummed and he let out a hiss when your throat constricted around him at the same time he swelled and shot his release against the roof of your mouth. He held your head down while his hips jerked against your face with a stutter, making sure you’d gotten everything before letting you go to sit back up.

“Feel better?” You teased, grabbing your compact and lipstick from your purse to fix your face.

“For now. That mouth of yours is something else.” He tucked himself back into his slacks with a deep sigh before turning to look at the building you were parked in front of. “But now I gotta deal with this shit.”

“I know, baby.” His breathing relaxed a little when you wound your fingers through his and pressed your lips to his palm. “You want me in the room?”

“Always.” The two of you slid out of the car and started to head inside, separating reluctantly to at least try to appear professional. “Wanna say hello to the big man first though, heard he might have something new for me.”

You perked up at that. Bruce was always a treat to talk to, such an unbelievably sweet and unassuming man. And he was a goddamn genius when it came to drugs.

“Hi there boss. Y/N! What a nice surprise!” That smile was infectious, you couldn’t help but grin back at him while Thor inspected the small collection of parachute papers on the lab table, each one emblazoned with the signature lighting bolt.

“Hiya Bruce.” You gave him a brief hug before following him to where your man was standing. “I heard you’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, been tinkering with the old Mjolnir formula and think I finally hit that sweet spot.” He looked at the small pieces of paper like a proud father before handing one to you for inspection. “I call it Stormbreaker. Extremely fast acting MDMA compound that gives an incredible high while metabolizing in half the time. I think we should be able to roll it out full scale in time for Spring Break.”

Thor nodded appreciatively as you talked with Bruce about the specifics of the chemistry, always eager for the chance to talk to another academic and geek out.

“And it’s more intense than Mjolnir?” You asked, squinting at the tiny piece of paper in your palm.

“Sure is.”

“Half dose, gorgeous.” Thor scolded when you started to bring the paper to your mouth. “Don’t need you passing out on me.”

You rolled your eyes at him as Bruce gave a sheepish grin, taking the paper you were holding and measuring out a smaller dose for you. Thor smirked at you when you waggled the new paper at him before swallowing it.

“Oh, shit.” Warmth bloomed in your core and spread through your body on thin tendrils, snaking through your veins as a low throbbing started between your thighs and your head became instantly lighter. “Fuck, that’s intense. Umm... is this cut with something new?”

“No we just upped the purity, why?”

“No reason.” You gasped, gripping Thor’s forearm tightly as slick flooded your panties.

He was giving you a knowing grin while you leaned into his shoulder, moaning softly when you inhaled the subtle pink pepper and lemon scent of his cologne, quiet notes of orange blossom drifting through as all of your senses ramped up. Poor Bruce just looked at the two of you with confusion when you rubbed your face into Thor’s chest.

“I think we can move to full scale production of this immediately.” Thor knocked his rings against the table twice to show his approval, wrapping his arm around your waist and holding you up when you started to grind against him. “Good job, Banner.”

“Ready for you boss.” Val came striding into the room and laughed when she got a look at you trying resist the urge to hump Thor’s leg. “I see we let Y/N try the big man’s new sex drug. How you feelin’ there sweetie?”

“I feel fucking great Val, what about you?” Maybe if you squeezed your thighs together... oh god. Your legs almost gave out as a shock traveled up your spine and burst at the base of your skull.

“Not as good as you!”

You finally started to equalize and gave Thor a pat on the shoulder to signal you could walk, straightening yourself before the two of you followed after his lieutenant.

The two of you arrived at the side room a little behind Val, Thor releasing you with a hungry kiss that left you breathless before he was slipping out of his suit jacket and tossing over the back of the armchair he’d had brought in for you. You snarled at him for leaving you hanging as you sank into the seat and pouted, admiring the movement of his well muscled back under his shirt as he rolled up his sleeves.

“What’s this asshole’s name Val?” He asked, looking at the tools she had set out on the table with a nod before turning to the man that was strapped to the chair in the middle of the room.

“Fuck if I know.” She said with a snort, grabbing a set of brass knuckles and putting them on as she flexed her hand.

You crossed your legs and reached into your bag to pull out a book, flipping it open to the marked page as you did your best to tune them out, unsuccessfully.

“Right, what’s your name?” Aside from a slightly furrowed brow, he looked remarkably calm, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall.

“Tim.” The man licked his lips nervously as he watched your man, completely ignoring Val as she prowled towards him.

That was a mistake.

She drew her fist back and drove it into his cheek, grabbing the back of the chair to keep it from teetering over when his upper body snapped to the side. He chest heaved as he took pained breaths, spitting blood down his chest before raising his eyes to watch her warily.

“Tim. I’ve got three questions for you, and you’re going to answer them for me.” He hefted the silver hammer that was laying on the table and rested it against his shoulder. “You get three chances to answer with just Val providing incentive, then I’m gonna take over, and trust me when I say you don’t want that.”

“Ok.” The poor sap kept one eye on Val as he tried to straighten back up.

“Good.” He started tossing the hammer in the air lazily, catching it in one hand like it was the easiest thing in the world and he didn’t know that sort of cocky display was going to turn you into a wet mess. “Who’s paying you? How long have they been paying you? What have you told them?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I work for you.”

“Oof, wrong answer.”

Val tsked at him mockingly before driving her fist into his ribs, knocking all the air out of him as Thor walked over to stand next to you. You huffed when he pulled your book away and sat on the armrest next to you, your protests dying on your lips when he ran his fingers up your spine and started rubbing your neck, his other hand spinning the handle of the hammer through his fingers.

“Let’s try again. Who’s paying you? How long have they been paying you? What have you told them?”

“I’m not...”

“Hmph, Val?”

She backhanded his unbruised cheek with a smirk, stepping back and shaking the blood off her fingers when she was finished. You barely caught any of it, the drugs still coursing through your system making the feel of Thor’s hands on you so much more intense. When he brought his massive hand up to cup your jaw you whined, opening your mouth just enough to let him slip his thumb between your lips.

“Last chance, Timmy. I gotta tell you I’m torn. As much as I love using this hammer, my girl here took a little something that is gonna make fucking her even better than normal.” He slid his thumb further into your mouth and groaned when you swirled your tongue around it. “So I’d really like to wrap this up. Who’s paying you? How long have they been paying you? What have you told them?”

The man turned his eyes to you and gave you a pleading look. “Please, help me.”

Thor and Val broke down in hysterics, Thor curling over to laugh into your hair while Val doubled over and clutched her sides.

“Ha, oh that’s the wrong move!” Thor was finally able to sit up as his laughter subsided, but tears were starting to leak down Val’s cheeks while she wheezed. “Even if she could help you, she loves on this shit. She probably wants me to start using this hammer, last time she started touching herself before I even finished.”

His hand curled possessively around your throat when you shrugged at poor Tim before flicking your eyes back to Thor’s when he bent to kiss you hungrily.

“Answer the fucking questions, Timmy boy.” Val turned to him with an eye roll while Thor teased you with his tongue until you were moaning.

“I don’t know anything!”

“Goddamn it! Sorry love.” You whined when he disconnected from you and stood up, starting to unbutton his shirt so he could slide it off his shoulders.

Not that you could complain when he was standing there in only his undershirt, rolling his neck as he walked towards the center of the room.

“Bring the table, Val.”

She dragged it over with a grin, dropping it once she reached them and moving to unbind Tim’s right hand. He started spluttering pathetic pleas when she stretched his arm over the table painfully and wrenched his hand open while Thor hefted the hammer with a heavy sigh.

“Thor.” You called out to stop him before he brought the hammer down on Tim’s hand.

“Yeah, what is it honey?” He shot you an exasperated look over his shoulder as he ran his hand through his hair.

“You’ll want to hit the wrist not the palm. More nerve endings.”

His hearty laugh made you smile, leaning back in your seat and curling your legs under you as you settled in to watch.

“Thank you, baby.” He turned back to Tim with a wicked grin. “Isn’t she something special, Timmy?”

“Wait, fuck! I’ll talk!” The man screamed right before the hammer made contact.

“Ohh, nick of time!” Only Val looked a little disappointed, moving to restrain Tim’s hand again. “Who’s paying you?”

“One of Stark’s lieutenants, I think his name is Hogan.”

“Excellent. How long?”

“Six months.”

“Very good Tim. Now, tell Val everything you told that fat fuck and then we’ll let you go.” He nodded to Val before striding towards you and drawing you to your feet, tossing you over his shoulder and slapping your ass playfully as he started heading back to the front of the building. “You got room at the body farm, beautiful?”

“Yeah, let me know when your dropping him so I can make sure I’m working that night.”

He shoved you into the back seat of the town car when it pulled up, grinning when you squealed for him as he crawled in after you.

“How long do we have until the Stormbreaker is out of your system?” He pulled you into his lap and buried his face in your neck as he shoved his fingers under the hem of your skirt.

“Bruce said it metabolizes in half the time so probably 2 more hours.” You sighed when he teased his fingers under the sides of your panties and started sliding them down your legs.

“Perfect, let’s see how many times I can make you come before then.” He turned to drop you against the seat, tucking your panties in his back pocket before moving his hands to undo his fly. “Bet I can make you pass out, you’re already fucking soaked.”

“Don’t you fucking tease me. I’ve been on the edge for the past half hour, I need that cock.”

“God, you know I love when you talk like that.” He growled as he spread your legs wide, hissing through his teeth when he got a look at the wet, throbbing mess between your thighs. “Just look at that. Tell me how much you need it, gorgeous.”

“Fuck, Thor, gimme that cock.” You were burning up, your breath coming in shallow gasps as he teased his tip against your clit. “Need it to split my pussy open.”

“Yeah, she hungry for it?” He groaned as he slid into you, mesmerized while he watched you swallow every inch of him. “Fuuuck.”

“Oh my god, keep going.” You thumped your fist against the door when he started thrusting into you with abandon. “Shit, I’m gonna come.”

“Jesus, that was fast.” He curled over you and swallowed your scream as you fluttered around him. “I’m gonna give Banner a raise.”

“I really think you should.” You murmured, whining into his mouth when you came again almost immediately.

“You’re taking me so good, beautiful.” He purred, grinning when you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Making such a pretty mess for me. You keep this up you’re gonna pass out before we even get back to the house.”

You took a deep breath when he pulled out, grateful for the relief before he was flipping you over and driving back into you hard, ripping another orgasm from you. Your jaw went slack as you pressed your face to the leather seat, drool starting to leak down your chin while you mumbled incoherently.

“Can’t.” Tears were streaming down your cheeks when you fluttered with even more pleasure. “Baby, I can’t.”

“Oh, yes you can, honey. You’re already doing it.” He nuzzled into your hair and pressed his lips to your neck, winding his fingers with yours above your head. “Just gimme one more, I’m so close.”

You choked on a sob and your vision blacked out as you clenched around him one final time, sinking into the seat while he filled you up with a low moan.

“Jesus fuck. You with me love?” He pulled out of you slowly, grinning when he heard you mumble into the seat. “We’re home.”

All you could do was groan when he scooped you up to carry you inside, not able to make yourself care that your skirt was still gathered around your waist and your lower half was completely bare. The sensation of the fresh air on the combination of your releases made you gasp, squeezing your thighs together as even more slick leaked out of you.

“Already?” He teased when you sat up to bury your face in his throat. “That genius is gonna make me so much fucking money.”

It was 90 minutes later and you were finally coming out of your haze, soaking your overworked muscles in your massive tub as you leaned back against Thor’s chest and hummed to yourself while he rubbed the kinks out of your shoulders and arms.

He had spent the past hour and a half wringing every ounce of pleasure from your body, making you come over and over as he fucked every one of your holes. You’d passed out three more times, each time waking up to his face buried between your thighs as he started the whole process all over again.

Taking you apart was his favorite thing, especially when you were on something and extra sensitive. He loved when you were completely fucked out, crying all pretty for him and covered in cum. You were always so needy after, content to let him take care of you while you basked in your post coital glow.

He looked at the clock and groaned, pressing his lips to your hair before rising out of the water. You just sighed, watching appreciatively as rivulets of water ran over the muscles of his back. God his ass was just fantastic.

“Y/N.” His deep voice snapped you out of your little daydream as he ran a towel through his hair, beaming as he turned to look at you. “We need to leave in an hour.”

“Ugh, fine.” You frowned when he wrapped the towel around his hips and started to move to the closet to choose a suit, getting out of the tub with reluctance. “Is this a panties or no panties type of meeting?”

“It’s at Thrudheim.” He called over the blow dryer as you worked on your hair.

“So, no panties.” You sighed, flipping over as you continued the slow process of getting ready.

It was a half hour later when you strolled out of the bathroom, your hair and makeup perfect as you moved to your own closet. Thor was fastening his cuff links when strode into the bedroom, wearing that white suit that he knew was your favorite.

“No, the leather one.” He ordered when you pulled out your go to red mini number.

“Really?!” You put the red dress back and pulled out the black thing he was indicating. “That’s how you want to play this?”

“Absolutely.” He grinned as he watched you slip it on and start to draw the zipper up your front. “That’s far enough, want everyone to see that ink.”

His fingers reached out to trace your tattoo, the handle of the hammer that ran between your breasts before the head spread underneath them. It marked you as his, and fuck if he didn’t start to get hard every time he saw it.

“Nuh-uh, we’re on a timetable.” You chuckled as you moved to pick out some heels, settling on some sparkly stiletto booties. “Are you going to be able to control yourself tonight?”

“I’ll do my best, but you’re so damn distracting.” He wrapped himself around your back and pressed his lips to your shoulder when the two of you started moving towards the stairs.

“That is the idea.” You teased, shoving him off you so the two of you didn’t trip as you walked downstairs.

Val and Heimdall were chatting in the foyer when you arrived, stopping their conversation and turning to face you.

“They’ve been at the club for about 20 minutes, boss.” Heimdall said, holding your door open for you as you climbed into the SUV. “Sif says they’re starting to look a little pissed.”

“Good.” Thor crawled in after you and slammed the door closed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as Heimdall pulled out after the other SUVs in the caravan. “I’m pissed they’ve been putting this off for the past three months. They can wait an extra hour. I’m guessing that both of them made it out.”

“Yep, Barnes and Rogers both landed this morning.” Val turned in her seat to look at you two, that signature smirk of hers teasing the corners of her lips. “Guess they finally realized there wasn’t some secret port they could sneak their coke through.”

“How many men with them?” Thor started running his fingers over your arm lazily while you leaned against his chest.

“Just three. Romanoff, Barton, and Wilson.”

“Alright, make sure Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral are in position before we arrive.”

You gave his thigh a squeeze, feeling the nervous energy that was radiating off him in waves. He always got like this before a big meeting. No matter how calm he seemed on the surface, you could always see the thunderstorms of anticipation brewing behind his eyes. It was best to let him think in silence, so you just snuggled against his chest for the rest of the ride, letting your warm presence soothe him as much as possible.

The line of SUVs arrived at Thrudheim in 30 minutes, and you felt Thor take a deep breath before Heimdall opened the door and the two of you stepped out into the night.

You bypassed the massive queue for the door, Val moving in front of you and Heimdall behind as you stepped into the noisy chaos of Thor’s flagship club. It was packed as always, writhing bodies filling the dance floor while other revelers gathered around the multiple bars or in private booths.

Sif moved to join you as you walked past the club’s entrance, leaning close to Val to update her on the situation. You spotted Fandral at the main bar and he gave you a nod as you moved past. Hogun and Volstagg must have been close by, but there was no way to spot them in the press of bodies while you made your way towards the VIP section at the back of the club.

Thor wrapped his arm around your waist as you drew closer, grinning at you when you slapped his chest when he made adjustments to your tits until they were practically spilling out of your dress. That was the game you two played though; him negotiating aggressively and methodically while you distracted his targets by looking like the embodiment of sin. He loved watching the morons he had to deal with look at you like they wanted to eat you alive, knowing all the while that he’d be fucking you until you were screaming as soon as the deal was closed.

You finally arrived at the VIP lounge and started to size up Thor’s potential new partners when you stepped past the velvet ropes. Val and the cute little redhead were giving each other almost identical smirks as the mohawked man she was talking to rolled his eyes. It was hard not to return the charming smile of the handsome man who was leaning against one of the pillars, and when his brown eyes met yours he gave you a wink.

It felt like a punch in the gut when your eyes finally found the two men you were there to meet, and the very unwelcome thought that god gave you three holes for a reason crossed your mind.

You were drawn to the blonde first, his broad shoulders looking like they were about to burst the seams of his well tailored suit jacket. His shirt was unbuttoned enough that you could see lines of ink tracings his chest, matching the scrolls that ran over the backs of his hands and ringed fingers. Even in the dim light of the club, you could make out the deep blue of his eyes, the corners pinched with annoyance. He ran a hand over his perfectly manicured beard in frustration before his movements suddenly stopped when his eyes found you.

The brunette seemed far more relaxed, seated on one of the plush couches with his legs spread wide and a drink in his hand. He didn’t seem to be as tatted up as the blonde, but you still spotted a few swirls of ink under the loosened collar of his shirt. You were surprised when you saw the glint of metal from his left hand, wondering what injury had caused him to lose the arm and also how that neural link must work. His eyes seemed to be twinkling with mischief, and when they followed the blonde’s his face split in a grin after he ran his tongue over his bottom lip slowly.

You did your best to school your thoughts when you turned back to Thor, but the smile he was giving you made you worried he knew exactly what you were thinking. That was either a very bad or very good thing, depending on how the rest of the night went.

“Odinson! Nice to finally put a face to the name.” The brunette stood up and strode towards the two of you. “Bucky Barnes.”

Thor took his hand when he offered, returning the man’s grin warmly as he removed his arm from around your waist.

“Would’ve been nicer to put a face to the name an hour ago.” The blonde growled, his eyes still fixed on you as you finally started to calm down.

“Forgive Steve here, he’s been a little impatient to get things underway.” The two of you followed after Barnes as he moved back to the couches, sinking into the one opposite him as Thor motioned for a waitress.

“Completely understandable. I know I’ve been anxious to get this taken care since we first made contact three months ago.” And the passive aggressive foreplay had begun. Thor ordered ordered a bottle of vodka and a bottle of Aquavit as well as three bottles of champagne for the group, adding a bottle of bourbon when he got a look at the drink in Barnes’ hand.

“I know, I know. We hated having to delay, but there were so many complications with the logistics there was really no choice.” He was a good liar, like you all didn’t know they’d been trying to back door their way into the Miami market without paying their dues. “Stevie, quit being a fucking grouch and come sit.”

You could feel his eyes on you as he moved to join you three, the lieutenants following after and arranging themselves around the couches with a false air of relaxation.

“Now, I think we all know who almost everyone else is, we’ve got our reputations and such that proceed us.” Bucky’s eyes moved back to you when the drinks arrived. “But I got no idea who you are doll, and me and Stevie here aren’t big on surprises.”

You beamed at him, leaning over nice and slow so they had a good view of your tits as you poured yourself some Aquavit.

“I’m Y/N.” You said teasingly, leaning back as you took a sip of your drink and felt their eyes follow you. “I’m just here to look pretty.”

“Well, you’re doing a great job.” Bucky gave you a wink before pouring his own drink.

“Enough fucking small talk, let’s get this over with.” Steve grumbled, his rings tapping against his glass irritably.

“Fine by me.” Thor took the glass of vodka you handed him and tossed it back in one gulp. “You want to move your product into my city, but I’ve got a pretty good corner on the narcotics market out here. Why should I split my profits with you boys?”

“You’ve got the edge on the MDMA market sure, but we’ve heard that your coke is barely above the cut.” He motioned for the redhead to step forward and she deposited a brick of white powder in the middle of the table. “That’s what we offer.”

Thor held your shoulder when you started to lean forward towards the coke, shaking his head with a small smile when you pouted at him.

“And this is supposed to be better than what my boys are already turning out?” He looked skeptical.

“Why don’t you try it and tell us.” Rogers growled, starting to look a little more relaxed as he sipped his bourbon.

“I’m sure you boys are on the up and up, but if you think I’m just gonna take a bump of unopened product from a couple of strangers...”

“Say no more.” Bucky gave him a dismissive wave of his hand before pulling a knife out from under his jacket with a flourish and plunged it into the brick. He scooped a small bump onto the edge of the blade and brought it to his face, inhaling deeply then sinking back into the couch with a satisfied smirk. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

Thor gave a snort before leaning forward and dipping his pinkie into the powder, shoving the coated finger into his mouth and rubbing it over his gums.

“Hmm, that’s fast.” He hummed with appreciation, taking another quick bump before resting his elbows on his knees. “Think we can find a place for this with our distributors.”

“You want a taste, sweetheart?” Rogers’ eyes were dark as pulled his own knife out and offered you a line off the blade.

You turned to Thor and he gave you a small nod, continuing his negotiations with Barnes as you leaned towards Steve. He grinned wolfishly as he watched you snort the powder off the edge of his weapon, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth when he saw your chest heave as the stimulant hit your system.

“Oh, fuck.” Every nerve in your body started buzzing with electricity, your spine shivering as the high took over. “Jesus Christ, that’s good shit.”

Rogers ran the tip of his blade over your bottom lip gently, tugging your mouth open with a low moan before Thor’s voice broke you out of it.

“How you feeling, love?” He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you towards him, trying not to give Rogers too much of a shit eating grin when he saw his look of disappointment.

“Like I could fight a rhino.” You hummed, arching your back with pleasure while you leaned against him.

“Yeah? Maybe later.” He pressed his lips to your hair before turning back to his new partners. “So, free use of the ports and our land distribution network, and I get a 25% cut of all Miami profits. We’ll also start moving Mjolnir and Stormbreaker in New York, giving you 15% of those profits.”

“Why should we get 10% less than you, Odinson?” Steve was starting to look pissed again, bouncing the blade of his knife off the palm of his hand. “We’re taking on just as much risk.”

Thor moved his hand down to your hip and tapped his fingers against it, turning his head and giving you a conspiratorial wink. You beamed at him before rotating your body slightly, making sure both men’s eyes were on you before uncrossing your legs. Their reactions were everything you wanted, Steve sucking his breath in a hiss and his knuckles turning white around his glass while Bucky growled and bit his bottom lip. You gave them a few seconds to enjoy the view of the glistening treasure between your thighs before crossing your legs again and resting your head against Thor’s shoulder, a look of doe eyed innocence on your face as you ran your fingers over his chest.

“You’re making less because I am providing all of the infrastructure for shipping and distribution here in Miami, whereas all you can offer me in New York is your established client base.” His hand moved up to cup your breast, smirking as he watched the two men start to squirm when his fingers teased at the edge of your neckline that was barely containing you. “Plus I’ll give you boys some introductions to my international connections, since I know you’ve been looking to spread operations overseas.”

“Qu’en penses-tu?” Barnes eyes were still fixated on you as he started chatting with Rogers in French.

“Je n'aime pas ça.” The blonde growled, his eyes moving to your legs as you started rubbing your thighs together. “Nous en avons besoin, cependant.”

“Il est le seul à avoir accès à elle.” Bucky said with a nod, turning to face Steve with reluctance as they talked things over.

You did your best to act like you weren’t listening, giggling when Thor bent his head to run his tongue over the shell of your ear. He grabbed the bottle of Aquavit and refilled your glass for you before pouring himself another vodka, leaning over the back of the couch to give Val a nod. She grinned back at him before turning away to find Sif.

“We can accept giving you 20% of any Miami profits if you cut us in for 5% of shipping revenue from your ports.” Rogers grumbled with a shrug, the two men turning to face you again.

“Hmm, what do you think, love?” Thor gripped your chin lightly and tilted your head up to look in your eyes.

“I think you should stick to the original offer of 25%, babe. They’re hoping to undercut your dealings with Danvers and edge you out once you make an introduction.”

“What the fuck?!” Steve looked furious, reaching into his waistband for his gun before Thor drew his own first and leveled it at his head.

Bucky and you were the only two who seemed relaxed as everyone drew weapons. The three Lieutenants trained theirs on you and Thor while Heimdall pointed his at Barnes. Val and Sif arrived then and dropped the massive duffel they were carrying, Sif pulling a revolver from her thigh holster while Val drew a pair of desert eagles from under her jacket with an excited grin and aimed at the three who had their guns pointed at you.

You and Barnes looked at each other appreciatively, he was giving you a wicked grin as the tension rose quickly, everyone waiting for someone else to do something.

“Let’s all just take a couple deep breaths and relax.” Bucky clapped Steve’s shoulder until he sat back with a grunt, letting go of his grip on the gun. “So, you’re just here to look pretty, doll?”

“Sorry, I didn’t give you my full name, Bucky, we like to keep things low key. Thor?”

“Meet Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, boys, professor of biological and forensic anthropology at the University of Miami. What are your ph.Ds in again, love?”

“You’ve already mentioned two, but we also have antiquities, art history, archaeology, and the big one, linguistics.”

“She’s a bit of a polyglot.” He gave you a proud grin as he tucked his pistol away and everyone else finally eased up. “That’s why she’s in charge of international relations, and she always comes to negotiations with me. Can’t tell you how many bad deals this girl has gotten me out of.” You beamed when he cupped your cheek lovingly and took another swig of vodka. “She also runs the body farm.”

“That’s not just a rumor?” Everyone on the other side of the table was giving you appraising glances now as Steve whistled through his teeth. “That’s supposedly the whole reason the feds haven’t been able to pin any hits on you.”

“Not a rumor.” You kissed his palm before he removed it and turned back to them. “Listen, I like you gentlemen, even though you tried to pull one over on me. It’s understandable, Carol’s operation is a pie everyone wants their fingers in. So, here’s the new offer, I take 30% of Miami profits, you get 7% of anything I move in New York, Y/N here arranges for some international introductions for you, and I arrange for all of us to have a meeting with Miss Danvers.”

“They’re also having issues with Stark’s attempts to expand, baby.” You leaned forward and took Thor’s knife when he offered it, scooping out more coke and arranging it in a couple of lines before rolling a Benjamin and snorting it off the table.

“God, I forgot about that fucker.” He took the bump you offered him with a scowl. “That asshole giving you boys trouble too?”

“Yeah.” Steve and Bucky both looked pissed now. “He poached our Queens wunderkind a month ago and we’re pretty sure he’s got at least one mole planted.”

“Well, seems that a partnership would be extremely beneficial then. Need to keep that cocksucker on the west coast where he belongs.”

“Agreed.” Bucky sighed, Steve just grunting his acquiescence. “Partners then?”

Thor grinned and offered his hand, finally relaxing when Bucky took it and shook. Steve actually smiled a little bit when he gripped his wrist tightly, the muscles in his neck loosening as he rolled his head from side to side with relief.

“Fantastic, let’s celebrate! Evie, we need champagne flutes all around and tell Mark to bring us the box of Cubans I have in the back office.” The waitress wandered off to do as instructed as Sif walked forward and dropped the duffel next to the opposite couch. “And, because I know it can sting when you think you’re gonna get away with something and the rug gets pulled out from under you, here’s a little signing bonus so there’s no hard feelings.”

Rogers actually grinned when he opened the duffel to piles of cash, turning back to the two of as he handed it off to the charming looking man who had been leaning against the pillar.

“I think this is gonna work out just fine, Buck.”

“Evie, thank you sweetheart.” Thor smiled warmly when the server got back with the stemware and cigars, handing her three hundred dollar bills before she walked off again with a blush. “Let’s drink to getting stupid fucking rich.”

You all tossed back your champagne with a chorus of whoops before diving into the revelry. Thor offered you a few puffs of his cigar before tucking between his teeth and leaning forward to talk with his new partners about all the new things Carol was doing. He squeezed your hand when you pressed a kiss to his shoulder before standing up and stretching, moving away to find Val and Sif.

“You ladies wanna come dance with me?” You asked when you found the two of them chatting with the redhead. “That coke’s got me feeling like I’m full of bees.”

“Let’s do it!” Val said with a grin, leading the four of you out of the roped off section and towards the dance floor. “This is Nat by the way.”

“Hi Nat, nice to meet you!” Val started shoving people out of the way when you reached the floor, making sure you had room to move without getting humped by idiots.

“You too! Sorry I pointed a gun at your head!” She gave you an apologetic shrug as she shouted over the music.

“Please, it happens.” You waved her off and started rolling your hips to the rhythm.

“I got shots!” Sif said, grabbing the four tiny glasses off the tray and proffering them.

You hissed at her after you tossed it back. “Goddamn it Sif, tequila?”

“Yes, tequila!!”

You just shook your head as the four of you started dancing, the rest of the crowd giving you a small circle of space. Even with the extra room, Val and Nat were right against each other, their hips rolling together while they stared each other down. Sif and you just grinned at each other as you watched the two of them.

“Oh my god, just fuck already!” You teased when Nat tucked her face into Val’s neck, earning a glare from her. “There’s no one in the basement office tonight.”

“Unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of getting fucked when I’m in the middle of working, I have to save that shit for my own time. Speaking of which, looks like he wants you back.”

Heimdall gave the four of you a smile when he walked up, cocking his head and tapping his finger against his thigh impatiently as you moved slowly to follow after him with a half hearted pout.

“Sorry, Y/N. You know how he gets once he closes a deal.” He walked behind you back to the VIP section, staring down a few different men who looked like they were thinking of approaching you.

“I know, Heimdall. It’s one of the things I love about him. How much coke has he had?”

“Kjære!!” Thor’s voice boomed over the din of the club when he spotted you, answering your question when he stood on the couch and spread his arms wide with joy.

“Kjæreste!” You beamed at him, yelping when he jumped off the couch and bounded towards you to toss you over his shoulder and carry you back to where his new partners were waiting.

He dropped you on the couch with a small huff before curling over and devouring your mouth with his. Your breath left with him when he pulled away, sinking next to you before pulling your legs over his lap with a happy sound.

“Can’t have a celebration without you love.” He grinned, bending over the table and scooping a good helping of cocaine onto his knife. “These boys got all sad after you left.”

“It’s true, doll.” Bucky said, his eyes blown wide from the drugs while he watched Thor rub some coke over your gums before reaching forward to kiss you again. “You might be the most interesting person here.”

Your light laugh turned into a moan when you felt the cool steel of Thor’s knife drag over your chest slowly, leaving a thin line of powder over the curve of your breast.

“I am pretty fascinating.” You teased, biting your lip when Thor bent forward and snorted the coke off your tit. “Did you have any questions you wanted to ask me?”

“Shit, I did but I can’t remember exactly what they were right now.” He was mesmerized as he watched Thor run another line over the opposite breast. “Steve?”

“I’ve got nothing.” Rogers tugged on the collar of his shirt when Thor uncrossed your legs and drew a line on the inside of your thigh before bending over and inhaling it slowly, moaning when the scent of you filled his lungs and added to his high.

“Fuck, that’s the best way to do lines.” He hissed as he sat back up, sniffling a few times before turning to the men who couldn’t stop staring at you. “You boys really ought to try it.”

A deep laugh rumbled his chest when all three of your heads snapped to him. Thor was extremely possessive, he loved using you to tease whoever he was dealing with, dangling you in front of them like bait before snapping you away and fucking you senseless. There was a meeting three months ago where some idiot put a hand on your leg and Thor had almost beat him to death before Heimdall and Val could pull him off.

You ran your tongue over your bottom lip nervously as you studied his face, trying to determine if he was playing some dangerous game with all of you that was going to end with you stitching someone up.

“I smelled you love.” He purred in your ear, drawing you to your feet and turning you until you were facing the two men, his breath fanning warmly over your neck as he pressed his chest to your back. “I’d love to believe that’s all for me, but you’ve been squirming ever since you set eyes on them.” You moaned when he started walking you towards where Barnes and Rogers were eyeing you hungrily. “But tell me you don’t want it and we can stop.”

“Fuck, you spoil me.” You grinned at him over your shoulder and accepted his soft kiss before moving to sit on the mirrored table. “Go ahead boys.”

Bucky leaned forward first with a deep growl, flipping his knife through his fingers before digging it into the cocaine and moving back to your chest. Your eyes turned to Steve’s as you gasped at the feel of the cold blade dragging over your breasts, grinning when you saw him start to palm his cock through his slacks. A low moan escaped your lips when Bucky leaned forward and inhaled the powder off your skin, his lips ghosting over the swell of your tits before he pulled back with a groan.

“You gotta try that Stevie.” He muttered, leaning back to scoop up more cocaine as his free hand brushed over your thigh, teasing the hem of your skirt up towards your hip as he spread your legs wide.

Steve stood up and prowled towards you as Bucky knelt between your thighs and started drawing lines over them with his blade. Your breath was starting to get shallow, and when Steve curled his hand lightly around your throat at the same time Bucky’s face skimmed over your leg you let out a whine. The blonde slid his jacket off and grabbed his own knife, his thumb tracing the swell of your bottom lip as he collected some powder.

Bucky had run out of blow but kept his face where it was, his lips pressing into your soft skin as he moaned at the smell of you. Steve moved very slowly, his thumb tracing your jaw while he pressed the flat of the knife against your chest.

The throbbing between your legs was starting to get too intense, and when Buck’s breath fanned over your core at the same time Steve pressed his face to your chest, you almost passed out. Steve let out a low moan as he buried his face between your tits, nuzzling them with a growl while you wound your fingers through his hair. He started drawing the zipper at the front of your dress down even further, his lips ghosting over every inch of exposed skin before the dress was completely undone.

”Fuck me.” Steve hissed, stepping back and taking you in with a satisfied hum. “You seeing this Barnes?”

Bucky rested his chin on your thigh for a beat, gazing up at you through his lashes and grinning as his eyes raked over your naked body.

”Yeah I see it. You’re a lucky man, Odinson.”

You turned your gaze over your shoulder and found Thor grinning at you, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he squeezed the outline of his cock through his slacks.

”That I am, but so are you boys. This is a one night only deal, and only because she wants it, otherwise I’d have killed the two of you hours ago.” The gleam in his eye was full of danger for a moment before it relaxed into lust. “You get to fuck her however she wants; eat her out, fuck her tits, feel those perfect lips or that tight ass wrapped around your cocks. But that pussy is mine, and if either of you even try to slip it into that pretty little hole, I can’t be held responsible for what I might do.”

”That seems fair to me,” Bucky said with a shrug. “Stevie?”

As soon as Thor had stopped talking Steve’s mouth was on yours, his teeth tugging on your lips until you opened up for him and he could curl his tongue against your own. Barnes just laughed before diving between your thighs, his arms wrapping around your legs as he mouthed hungrily at your sex. You whined into Rogers’ mouth when Bucky’s tongue found your clit at the same time Steve started rubbing his thumbs over your nipples, feeling his grin when you arched into his palms.

The way the two of them were working you over made you think this wasn’t their first time sharing. Every time Steve found one of your zones, Bucky’s tongue was right against your clit, making you want to scream. Steve’s hands were almost lazy in the way they traced your tattoo, the pads of his fingers still skimming over your nipples as he admired the artwork.

”Jesus Christ.” Was the only thing you could think of to say when Bucky’s nose rubbed against your clit at the same time he curled his tongue inside you.

”Not exactly, gorgeous.” Steve’s grin was wicked as he continued to trail his fingers over the ink that swirled between your breasts while you leaned against him. “This ink is fucking impressive, you should let me do a piece for you if you’re ever in New York.”

The answer you were about to give died in your throat when Bucky sucked on your clit and you came without warning, a jolt of electricity traveling up your spine as your release soaked his mouth and chin while you swallowed a shriek. He moaned into your cunt at the taste of your cum before leaning back on his heels and grinning at Steve.

”Your turn Stevie. Dunno if it’s the coke or her but I don’t think I’ve ever come from eating pussy before.”

Your eyes bulged when you saw the wet stain over the shrinking tent in his slacks, your chest swelling at the thought that nothing but the taste of you could make a man come undone.

  The two of them shifted to switch positions, the feel of Steve drawing lines on your thighs sending a small jolt of pleasure up your spine. Bucky tilted your head up so he could kiss you, sliding his tongue between your lips and grinning when you whined at the taste of yourself. You felt Steve’s beard scratching your skin when he pressed his face to your thigh and inhaled, growling when he finally got a close look at the plump and swollen prize between your legs.

”I dunno how he can get anything done with you around, doll.” Bucky purred as he started trailing his lips down your throat.

“We’re very good at multitasking.” You gasped, Bucky’s lips wrapping around your nipple at the same time Steve’s tongue ran over your slit in a heavy stripe.

His low chuckle vibrated your chest and made you keen, arching your back into him when he brought his metal hand up to palm your neglected breast. Steve’s tongue was still swirling lazily through your folds, savoring the taste of you while his cock throbbed against the edge of the couch. He shoved two fingers inside you and you choked on a sob when his lips wrapped around your clit.

Bucky’s tongue had raised your nipple to a sensitive peak, the brush of his lips over it sending a jolt through your body that echoed in your core, making you clench around Steve’s fingers with a gasp. The sensations were too much for you and you collapsed back against the table, Bucky following you and moving his face to your other breast while you wrapped your thighs around Steve’s neck.

You tilted your head back to find Thor, your body relaxing as much as it could when your eyes met his. The anger you were worried you would find wasn’t there, just pure desire as he watched the two men take you apart with lust blown pupils. He was still slowly palming his cock through his pants, and you moaned at the sight of his bulge growing larger while he looked at you.

”Are you close, love?” He grinned when you nodded at him, unable to speak as Steve flicked kitten licks against your clit while Bucky sucked on your nipple. “You go ahead and come for these boys one more time then I’ll fuck you like you deserve.”

It was like his permission was all you needed, your back arching off the table when your body spasmed and your release flowed into Steve’s mouth and over his beard. He and Bucky both groaned as they watched you come down, the occasional aftershock vibrating through your body as they stepped away with reluctance.

“Gentlemen, I look forward to a long a fruitful partnership. Please feel free to use of the lounge for the rest of the night.” Thor only had eyes for you as you slowly rose from the table on shaky legs and drew your dress closed to cover your nakedness. “Would really love to stay but I have some business to attend to in the top office.”

You felt their eyes following you as Thor wrapped his arm around your waist and started to guide you towards the office, Heimdall walking in front of you to clear the crowd out of the way. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and gave you a knowing grin as Thor started dragging you to the office.

Thor growled once he shoved you inside, slamming the door closed and cutting off the noise from the floor once you were alone in the soundproofed room.

“You did so fucking good baby.” He purred as he stepped into you, his hands roaming all over your body while he started walking you towards the wall of glass that looked out over the club. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, you’d get fucked over a whole lot.” You teased, running your tongue over his bottom lip when he pressed his mouth to yours with a moan.

He chuckled against your lips, keeping your mouth molded to his while he turned the front of your body to press against the glass.

“Those two fuckers got one taste of you and I bet they’ll do anything you ask now.” He scraped his teeth over the curve of your neck towards you shoulder, slowly removing his suit jacket and shirt quickly. “They still watching, love?”

You found the lounge and grinned when you saw the two New Yorkers staring up at you from the floor, fighting the urge to give them a wave.

“Yeah, they are.” HIs hand curled lightly around your throat and you whined as he tilted your head back and started to drag the zipper of your dress down slowly. 

“Good.” He slid your dress off your shoulders and tossed it aside, rubbing his face in your hair as he worked at undoing his belt one handed. “Want them to watch you scream when you come all over my cock.”

He gave you no warning before spearing into you, grinning when you let out a satisfying shriek. You didn’t get a chance to adjust before he was thrusting into you violently, his hips slapping against your ass as he pressed your tits against the glass.

This was different from your slow afternoon lovemaking where he took his time drawing every drop of pleasure from your fucked out body. All he wanted when he was coked up after a deal was to take you fast like a damn animal, claiming you as his for everyone to see.

Fuck if you didn’t love every second of it.

Your legs started to shake as your pussy clenched around him, moaning when he wrapped a hand around your front to dig into your breast, his other hand increasing the pressure on your throat. He growled into your shoulder when you arched into his hand, pressing you even further into the glass while you whined.

“Close, I’m so close. I’m gonna come, don’t fucking stop.” He grinned at your babbling, somehow increasing his pace even more until you were literally bouncing off the glass. 

When he released your breast and hooked his hand under your knee, drawing it up to your waist and opening you up even further so the tip of his cock could kiss your cervix, you lost it. You let out an inhuman wail, tears streaming down your cheeks while your body tried to curl back on itself. He caught you before you collapsed, holding you up while you vibrated around him, your pussy milking his cock in waves as stars exploded behind your eyes.

You felt his cock throbbing inside you and hissed when he sank his teeth into your shoulder, warmth blooming from your core as he coated your satiny walls with thick ropes of spend. He fucked it into with stuttering jabs, his hips jerking erratically until his cock stopped twitching and started to soften. 

The two of you panted against each other, Thor scooping you up and turning you to face him as he slid out of you with a soft wet squelch. You hummed happily when he pressed his lips against yours and nipped at them softly. 

“Herregud, du er jævla perfekt, kjære ” He groaned, holding you close as the two of you sank to the floor. “Jeg lar deg aldri gå, du er min.“

“Jeg er din for alltid.” You murmured as he laid back against the floor, pressing your lips to the tattooed wreath of blåveis and bergfrue over his heart that marked him as yours. “Jeg elsker deg.”

Steve and Bucky turned their attention back to the lounge with reluctance, doing their best to ignore Sam and Clint’s shit eating grins. Rogers took another bump of coke before sinking into the couch and chugging directly from the bottle of bourbon. Barnes just grabbed another stogie, biting the end off and spitting it away before tucking it between his lips.

“Think we may need to get ourselves one of those, Stevie.”

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[systlinsideblog]

Part 8

The mansion of Saphrar of Turia was, in fact, very beautiful. It was also built like a fortress; the merchant was, it seemed, very paranoid in addition to being very rich. Quietly, Systlin approved, but right now it was an annoyance.

“We think we’ve picked off most of his archers,” one of the women said as Systlin arrived. Systlin looked the compound over, narrow eyed. There were bodies draped over a few of the crenelations around the enclosing wall, arrows sticking from them. “But we’ve not siege equipment strong enough to break open the gates.”

“Of course.” Systlin cracked her knuckles and rolled her neck again; fighting for the day, then, was not quite through. She eyed the gates; they were smaller, of course, than the gates of the city.

For good measure, she took out the whole front wall. A few hidden archers did fall screaming with the dust and gravel of the broken wall. As the dust cleared, she spotted the front door of the mansion proper and Broke that as well. A group of horrified mercenaries in the front garden watched the wall crumble, and then quite meekly laid their weapons down and knelt, raising their hands in surrender.

“Finally.” Systlin said. “Some people with a little sense. Bind them, and take them to the Ubara’s mansion.” A pause. “And after this, someone ought to show me to the Ubara’s mansion. I could use a bath, I think.”

That drew a laugh from the warriors around her. She drew her weapons, and led the women into the house.

They were met by some delighted slave girls; when they spotted Systlin they cried out in joy, and one rushed forward and took her by the hand.

“This way!” She tugged. “This way, Mistress! Our master is hiding, but I know where he is!”

Systlin followed. Followed through a hall, down some stairs, down more, her warriors close behind. House slaves parted before them, and some women peeled off to remove their collars and chains. A delighted murmur followed them down to the cellars.

They found Saphrar of Turia hiding in a hidden cubbyhole under a flagstone that moved on a cunning little mechanism. He cringed when Systlin pulled it open; she made a disgusted noised, bent down, grabbed him by the collar of his robe, and hauled him out through mean strength.

“And how well did that work for you?” She said shortly. “Hiding like a rat, behind hired swords?”

Even as she spoke, he twisted, and snapped. Even as she pulled away, his teeth sank into the back of her wrist. She buried her knee in his gut and he let loose, wheezing, but grinning through a mouthful of her blood.

“Well!” He croaked. “Quite well! Because where all of the warriors of the city failed, where the Wagon people failed, I’ve succeeded! Enjoy, she-sleen!”

“Fuck.” Systlin muttered. “Shit.” She slammed an arm out even as her warriors lunged forward. “ALIVE. Keep him alive.”

“So I can give you the antidote?” Saphrar crowed, gleeful. He had, Systlin saw, two false teeth shaped like fangs, gleaming gold. “I won’t! You can torture and kill me, I won’t!”

Systlin licked the blood welling from the marks his hidden fangs had left. There, a bitter note. She rolled it over her tongue as she’d been taught in the Iron Mountain so long ago, opening her mouth slightly to smell as well. Faint subtle scents and tastes, the combinations of them…

“Fuck,” she said again, picking notes out.

“Ubara!” Her warriors had Saphrar by the throat, and Dina was clutching at Systlin’s arm, frantic. “Osk venom! Some merchants use it, fangs like that are popular…a physician! Get a physician! Get the Ubar!

Several women left at a dead sprint.

Systlin gently but insistently shook Dina’s hand off, and she went for her belt pouch. Saphrar was still cackling, even through the arm around his neck.

“Fifteen thousand of the warrior caste, dead!” He said, gleeful. “A whole High Caste gone, failed, and a lowly merchant kills the beast!” He dissolved into more laughter.

“Ubara! If it spreads…”

“It already is.” She could feel the pain beginning as she fished a tiny packet, neatly wrapped in waxed rag paper and tied with thread, out of her pouch. She carefully undid the thread, and opened it to reveal a white powder. She licked the tip of a finger, dipped it into the powder, and then licked the powder off and made a terrible face as she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth; the stuff was terribly bitter as it dissolved through the thin tissues of the mouth. She re-wrapped the powder, and handed the packet to Dina.

“Ubara?” Dina’s voice was near panic.

“That packet,” Systlin said, deliberately calm. “Is my life, Dina. Give it to no one else. Do you understand? No one. This is my life, in this packet, and I’m trusting it to you.”

“I…” A hard swallow. “Yes, Ubara, but…”

“I am a Queen…you call it Ubara here, but I am a Queen on my own world as well, and have enemies. I trained with assassins before that. Listen, no, listen. In the Iron Mountain I have trained to tolerate many poisons and venoms better than most, and that should help, but I am going to be very sick very shortly. I know, I think, what this Osk venom is, or at least what makes it deadly. That,” a nod at the packet, “will counteract the effects enough to keep me alive while it runs its course. I will not be able to give it to myself. If my breathing looks like it is near stopping, give me as much as I just took, no more. What will stick to a single wetted fingertip. Too much will kill me. I do not need to swallow. Place it under my tongue, rub it on my gums, inside my nose. Do you understand?”

Dina was white. All her women were white. But Dina nodded, once, her lips thin and trembling and terror written all over her face.

“Good.” Systlin took a deep breath; sure enough, it was more difficult than it had been minutes ago. “And keep him alive.” She nodded at Saphrar. “I want to see his face when I don’t die.” A beat. “If I do die, give him to Foicatch.”

“Ubara.” Dina’s voice was thin. “Yes.”

“Good.” Systlin said, and then swayed, and quickly sat heavily down on a crate. She could feel the cold sweat breaking out; she doubted that most of her warrior women had seen her sweat before. She was, after all, a fire witch, and the hottest of days was no bother to her.

It was good, though. The symptoms were telling her that she’d been right, and even as her breathing grew more labored she felt the tingling rush of the compounds distilled into the rescue powder hit. Breathing eased slightly. The dizziness did not. There was a roaring in her ears, and vision blurred. She pitched to the side, and hands caught her.

The room swam. Things were happening around her very rapidly; she could hear them, but picking out meaning would have taken too much concentration. Her fingers were tingling, and her wrist was burning. Her breaths came hard and labored, but she kept breathing.

A familiar face, a familiar voice. Foicatch, sounding near panic. She tried to raise a hand to his face, but her limbs weren’t responding. She was lifted onto something…a stretcher?...and moved.

Time passing. Movement; she was being carried somewhere. Nausea, and her vision was just a blur of colors. Movement stopped; she was laid on something soft. Time passing. Hands on her, a prick of pain in her arm, more time passing. Her breaths started to rasp and struggle, and she wondered…but there! The bitterness of the rescue powder in her mouth, and soon breathing eased again. Not by too much, but enough for her to keep forcing air in and out. People speaking, hurried and frantic. Someone else, calmer. She felt hands easing away armor and boots and weapons. She wanted to protest, but hadn’t the strength.

A warm, wet cloth. Someone was cleaning away mud and blood. She knew the hands. Foicatch. Someone else. A woman? Of course a woman…

Sura hadn’t wanted her to go to the Iron Mountain. Systlin, with her father’s murder hanging before her eyes, had disregarded Sura’s advice for the first time, and gone anyway. The Master of Knives had welcomed her, tried to bend her to his will like he’d bent others. His gift for pushing at minds was rare, and terrible, as terrible as Breaking in its own way. She’d managed to shunt aside his power with her own, undoing it before it could bend her to him. She’d pretended that it had taken, and he’d set her to train.

What a prize, she’d heard him say once. A Breaker, at my feet. What a Hand I shall make of you. The world will tremble.

She remembered his blood on her hands, after she’d slit his throat at last. You took the contract for my father, she’d told him, as he bled out on the floor. You sent your Hand. That’s why I came, to kill his killers…

The bitterness of rescue powder in her mouth, again. Her face was numb, and her hands still tingled. Her head was pounding like a drum.

Snake venom in vials, lined up. Tasting each, carefully, picking out what snake it was from by taste and scent alone and reciting how it killed. She’d drunk snake wine before, but tasting the pure venom was another thing entirely…

Bitterness in her mouth. Voices. Her hand was in someone else’s; she would have known Foicatch if she were dead. His voice, worried. She was lying on something soft.

She’d been good at it, though. It had interested her. She’d memorized them, and the plant poisons, and the mineral. She’d memorized which of the little packets they all carried for emergencies could help the body fight each…

Bitter in her mouth. She blinked, slow, and thought that things might be a little more in focus. Her breaths were still coming harsh and difficult, but she tried to move her hands and her fingers twitched. She would have smiled, were her face not still numb.

The weeks of terrible sickness, as each of the poisons was administered in turn, in gradually increasing doses. They each were expected to endure a lethal dose of each poison in time. She’d passed that test, as the others, but she remembered little of it. Just pain, sickness, heaving though her stomach was empty. A headache like her head was pressed in a vice, that had lasted days.

Bitter in her mouth. She could feel her hands again, and this time another dose didn’t come, because her breath, instead of stuttering and slowing, came stronger. Her vision cleared, slowly, and her headache receded. She lay there, eyes closed, concentrating on her breath, until at last she did not have to fight for it any longer. It took what felt like hours.

She opened her eyes.

She was in an enormous bedroom, on a bed. She was nearly naked under the blankets, save for a light wrap robe someone had found. She was clean. Her hair had been combed and washed and re-braided. Ice and her knife and her armor sat next to her; they’d been cleaned as well.

Foicatch was sitting next to her, slumped back in exhaustion in a chair. He’d at least consented to remove his armor; he was wearing a long tunic that was too tight across his shoulders, and had at least scrubbed a wet cloth over his body and through his hair. Dina sat on the floor before the fire, distractedly cleaning her already spotless knife. As Systlin moved, Foicatch’s eyes shot open, and he sat up. The relief in his eyes was almost painful.

“Thank the Lady’s mercy.” He said, quietly and with feeling, and kissed the back of her hand. “You scared me.”

“When we see Sura next,” Systlin said, her voice still raspy from a dry throat. “I’m going to tell her that I was right about going through the training and not just dragging the whole bloody mountain down on his head. How long…”

A watery sort of chuckle. “Oh, she’ll hate it. Two days. Rumors are running wild, but everything’s under control.”

Dina approached warily, and very carefully set the tightly wrapped packet of powder on the bed beside her.

“She wouldn’t give it up even to me.” Foicatch said.

“She was right not to. If you gave me a dose the size of your fingertip, it would have been enough to kill me. Dina’s got smaller hands.” She hauled herself up into a sitting position. Her wrist still hurt, and was still red and swollen, but the worst of it was past.

“You told me it was your life.” Dina whispered.

“It was.” Systlin took it carefully, and set it on top of her neatly piled gear. “I owe you my life, Dina of Turia. If there is anything in my power to give, it’s yours.”

Dina trembled a little, and Systlin realized that she was crying silently. She realized suddenly what it must have been for Dina, for all of her people here, to see her fall. To see hope itself lying like death on a bed, struggling for each breath. To feel the prospect of chains looming again…

No. She’d taught them enough. Even without her now, she did not think any of the slaves she’d freed would ever be forced into them again. She’d started enough; it might take long, without her, but she’d planted the seeds. She saw suddenly, in a dizzying rush, warriors from the plains spreading out, bringing low the fighting men and freeing the slaves from one city-state after another, a steady march clear across Gor, and all done through sweat and courage and blood alone.

Centuries, it might take. But it would have happened, even had she died in this bed.

Though, as she thought on it, she wondered what would happen, should her body expire. And then she realized, quite suddenly, that she’d thought of them as her people.

You already know the answer there, sister. The whisper in her mind was familiar by now. You cannot kill a goddess of death with poison.

“Ubara sana,” Dina said quietly. “There is nothing I would ask that you have not already given me. You owe me nothing; you already gave me back my life.”

“The offer stands.” Systlin said. “If ever there is something in my power to give you, say the word and it is yours.”

Dina gave her a look that was half frightened, half wondering, and quite suddenly she leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth. Systlin froze in surprise, and Dina pulled back as if burned, nearly cringing in a way she’d not done in more than a year.

“I’m sorry!” She gasped, and there were more tears streaming down her face now. Systlin stared, almost bemused; that she hadn’t seen it before was astounding, really. “I’m sorry! Ubar…”

Foicatch was also staring in a rather bemused way. “Well,” he said. “It’s not like I can fault you in your tastes.”

“Dina?” Systlin’s throat was as dry as sand already, and still sore, and it sounded like a croak more than a voice. “I…sorry, water…”

Foicatch picked a cup up from the table beside the bed. A gesture, and water appeared as he pulled moisture out of the air. It trickled into the cup, and she drank greedily.

“You should have said something.” She said at last, handing the wooden cup back. Foicatch filled it again.

Dina was still looking faintly terrified, as if she’d overstepped somehow. “I…but…” she gestured weakly at Foicatch.

“You’d not be the first woman in her bed.” Foicatch shrugged, handing the cup back to Systlin and watching as she drained it as well. “I’ve had other men and women in mine as well.”

“He’s terrible taste in men.” Systlin narrowed her eyes. “Downright awful. That miserable little Cabot man? Really?”

“He’s attractive. And it’s been amusing to watch him panic over things.” He filled the cup a third time. “Sucks a mean cock, once he finally works past all the nonsense about shame and his manliness, but then goes maudlin and sulks for a week. Still, a fun enough diversion.”

“Sounds dreadful. This is what I mean. Awful taste in men.”

“I don’t…” Dina looked slightly faint. “I don’t understand.”

Foicatch shrugged. “Few people do, to be fair.”

“What it means, is that this,” Systlin caught Dina’s hand and pulled her back. She watched the other woman’s lovely face slowly go from confusion to hope to disbelief as she kissed the inside of one of Dina’s wrists. “Will not anger him. The fact that he takes other lovers now and then does not anger me. Though,” She sat up too fast, and her head was spinning again. She grimaced and lay back again. “It may have to wait.”

“Ubara sana,” Dina said, even more faintly. “I think that I can wait.”

“Good.” Systlin took a breath, and hauled herself upright again. Her head spun still; she gritted her teeth and rode it out, and the lingering nausea. “For now, I need clothes.”

“Ubara!”

“I need to be seen.” Systlin said simply, and got her feet under her. Foicatch offered an arm; she leaned on it. “I’m all right, Dina. I’m a tough bitch to kill.”

“I…”

The door opened then, and a woman in green robes swept in. She had olive skin and very black hair, braided and pinned up in a coil on top of her head. She carried a case, and when she saw Systlin on her feet her face lightened from its cool professionalism.

“Oh, excellent.” She said. “You’re back with us.”

“This is Zephra.” Foicatch said. “A physician. She’s been checking on you. Dina?”

“Of course.” Dina hurried out.

“You really shouldn’t be on your feet.” The woman said, severely. Systlin was reminded instantly of Myssa, the royal True Healer and Physik. “Though I suppose you must be seen as soon as possible. Sit for a moment.”

Systlin did. It never did any good to argue with physicians or healers. Zephra laid a hand on her forehead, checked her pulse, listened to her breathing, and at last made a sound of approval. She drew a stylus and pad out of her bag, and began making notes.

“You’ll live.” She said. “That powder of yours is ingenious; I managed to get a tiny bit from your devoted guard to analyze. It is, in truth, very similar to what I would have given you, and I did not wish to cause an interaction with what you had already taken, so I thought it best to leave your girl to it. If it had truly come to it, I did have an apparatus ready to breathe for you.” She nodded to the corner; Systlin looked, and saw a great cylinder of glass and copper and leather. “But you did not react so strongly to the Osk venom as most would. I am glad to see you recovering.” She examined Systlin thoughtfully, tapping the stylus against her lips. “You’ve survived other things that you should not have, judging from your scars.”

Systlin touched the scar under her right breast with a wince. A spear had transfixed her there once, long ago, piercing clean through. “True enough.”

“The physicians of your world are skilled indeed, if they can mend such injuries.” Zephra said bluntly. “I could not do it. Neither could a doctor of Earth.”

“True-healers.” Foicatch said. “They can repair flesh with a touch, as I can command water and Systlin can command fire and Break.”

Zephra’s eyebrows rose. “That,” she said softly. “Would be a gift worth having.”

“It’s rare. Those who have it are held in high regard.”

“I was lucky.” Systlin touched the scar again. “It was a spear. I should have died there, but there was a True-Healer nearby. I got very lucky.”

Foicatch’s hand tightened on her shoulder for a moment.

“Well.” Zephra hummed quietly. “I suspect that this will only add to the growing legends that are being spread around. Before you arrived at the city, we had heard that you were a terrible spirit who ate the flesh of men.” A spark of humor in her dark eyes.

Systlin made a face. “Only half true.”

A laugh. “I have never seen,” she said. “Men so frightened as they are now. Not all of them, of course; there are good ones to be found.” She tapped her stylus against her lips again. “It does my heart good.” The smile turned bitter. “If you’ll have my service, Ubara, I would give it, wherever you go.”

Foicatch and Systlin both looked at her oddly.

“Ah, yes. You likely do not know…I am a free woman, of a high caste. I was able to study, and am able to ply my trade. Most free women are not allowed such, did you know? A free woman of the metalworker caste does not work at the forge; a woman of the scribe caste may be illiterate.” The smile grew more bitter still. “Our options are to inherit wealth to live well, or to Companion a man of means and bear his children. I was lucky, Ubara Sana, in that I showed aptitude as a physician and was accepted into the caste. Even still, I was not allowed to do the work I studied and trained for. Not until I had Companioned a man of the physician caste and borne him two children.”

Systlin stared. Foicatch said, flatly, “What.”

“My daughters,” Zaphra continued, “Are dear to me. But I did not renew my Companionship with their father, and had I a choice I would not have taken their father to bed or borne them. I wished only to work as I had trained to do. I am what is called ‘frigid’ by the men of Gor; I have never felt desire for anyone. Unlike what many suppose, this is not an affliction. Many people are born thus, and forced to conceal it. My male colleagues scoff at the idea, and insist that it is an aberration that could be remedied by a proper man, and perhaps some slave chains.” She put her stylus and pad away, businesslike. “As if the only ones born thus are women. Free women of Gor are not free, not truly, even if a collar is never set on us. I think that with you that may change, and my daughters may taste freedom in truth. It is at the least a better chance than any we’ve had before.”

“Ah.” Systlin tested her balance again; it was better. She gently eased off of leaning on Foicatch, even as Dina reappeared with robes. “I see.”

“I thought you might, given what I had heard of you from your women.”

“If you wish it, I accept your offer.” Systlin let Dina help her shrug into the robes. The other woman also wrapped Systlin’s braid around her head like a crown and deftly pinned it into place.

“I am honored, Ubara sana.” Zaphra inclined her head.

“Right.” Systlin took up her sword belt, and buckled it into place over her silken robes. “Dina, where are the warriors?”

“Many are in the camp. More have taken over the guard houses. Many have bedded down on the lower floors of this mansion.” Dina looked at her. “They’re taking turns here, because not all of us could fit in the Ubara’s mansion. Your honor guard stays, of course, but the rest have set up rotating shifts, so that they could all guard you for a time.”

Systlin blinked, and felt her throat tighten and heat in her eyes. “Have they.”

“I’ve told you many times.” Foicatch said, softly. “You’ve never had any idea what it’s like, from the outside.”

“You are the Whip-Burner.” Dina said, as if it were simple and obvious. “The Chain-Striker. They’ve been burning slave couches in bonfires for two days, in your name. The courts have already been set up, and the judging has already begun. Those sentenced to die are being burnt on the couches they chained us to.”

Systlin closed her eyes, and that other power she did not like to think of or acknowledge stirred. And for a moment she could taste it on the air, like honeyed wine. Justice.

For a moment, just a moment, she could feel rather than hear twenty thousand mentions of her name, and it ran through her like ice and fire at once.

“Good.” She managed. “Well done.”

“The next time you wonder why any of us,” Systlin knew Foicatch was not talking about the people of Gor, but of their true home. “Are willing to follow you to the death, I’m reminding you of this.”

“Smug prick,” she muttered, because the last time she’d said that aloud and he’d looked at her funny and told her that she’d earned it, she’d laughed.

“Yes.” He agreed easily. “Now, here.”

He opened the drawer on the bedside table, and drew out a golden hairpin. At the top glimmered a red stone. Systlin took it, and looked; it was a star ruby, larger than her thumbnail. She looked up at him, stunned, and he smiled.

“There’s a great deal of wealth in the vaults of the Ubara of Turia.” He said. “Aside from that in the chests of the Ubara Sana of the plains. I set a few people to combing through with orders as to what to find.”

He took it back and slid it into place in her hair, so that the ruby gleamed just above the center of her forehead. “It might not be the Fallen’s Blood, but I thought it fitting.”

“I take it back. You’re not a prick.”

“Still smug?”

“Yes, but I like that about you.” She touched the stone to make sure it was secure. “Come now. People need to know I’m not dead.”

[balmasedas]

desperado / druglord!javier peña au. 

chapter one.

summary: reader is a dea agent. violence has arisen in the streets of colombia and she's determined to bring javier peña to justice. things take an abrupt turn when, instead of her finding him, he finds her and realizes they got much more interest in each other than just drug-related topics. 

warnings: only +18. overall, this is smut so smutty. canon violence. detailed warnings in every chapter. spanish traductions are in the notes, though for the sake of non-spanish speakers, spanish dialogues will be minimal and not relevant to the plot.

word count: 2.5k.

You throw your sweater in the backseat of your car before exiting it. In the morning, you had dug through your boxed-up winter clothes after shivering in your shirt-sleeves as soon as you got out of your department. Now, the temperature has risen to the seventies and you give yourself a clap in the back for deciding to wear something decent underneath. Spring in Colombia is a nightmare.

The crime scene is packed with local police and DEA agents. There are no civilian spectators this time, they know better than sticking their noses in the Medellin's cartel businesses.

Upon your arrival, you don’t need to identify yourself to the uniformed men guarding the perimeter. They know you well by then. You are the only female in the team that has to deal with these kinds of situations —gruesome, gut-churning, dirty shit. Not a very much "lady-like" job, some would express. For that, you have earned yourself the title of a gritty woman. Maybe because you were gritty, maybe because you were a woman.

Sometimes, though, you find yourself wondering why you turned down some run-of-the-mill desk job back in Virginia. It would’ve been a dull routine, for sure — hideous, even; but gossiping about some flash romance between two co-workers is less taxing than having to witness five rotting corpses at first daylight. 

"Jesus Christ," you lift your sunglasses to your head. Your partner, esteemed, weary agent Steve Murphy, turns around at the sound of your voice. 

“You’re up early.” he asserts, with a raised eyebrow. 

You purse your lips. “Had a bad night. Ran out of whisky at one am.” 

Not even Hugo, or Hughie for his gringo friends, could help you. You forgot that his daughter would be celebrating her birthday and his all-night store would be closed until the next morning. Normally, you would own an arsenal of alcohol, but it has been an abnormal week and a hell of a night —starting with the spiral of violence that has arisen in the streets of Medellin.

"Well, look at the bright side: your stomach is empty," Murphy mumbles.

Looking at the bodies in front of you, you can’t agree more: their hands are tied-up to the oxidated wire behind them, hanging by their arms. They are barefoot and scantily clad. There is a visible gunshot wound in all of their front heads, some flies are already hovering around the open flesh. A quick death to eternal torture, you suppose.

"When did you get the call?" you inquire.

He fiddles with his wristwatch. "About two hours ago." you only hum in response, keeping your eyes in front of you and paying no mind to Steve who only grows impatient at your silence. "You think this was Peña's job?" he adds.

You nod in denial. "If it was, it doesn't make sense." Not one bit. "Peña works underground, quiet, like a sneaky rat. I'd even say they're more well-behaved than most cartels. So why do this?"

Why such a declaration of violence? Why draw even more attention from the authorities? 

"Maybe he decided to toughen his punishments?” You scoff at his remark.

“He can do that without half the city knowing it. A ditch is much more subtle than a monument to death blocks from the US embassy.” 

Murphy smirks. “Seems that you have given it a thought before, Sarchie.” you narrow your eyes. He knows you hate that nickname. Your tendencies to boss him around had brought you consequences: the unofficial title of a Sargeant. Sarchie, shortened and friendly.

“Killing someone? Yes, you. Multiple times a day.” you put your sunglasses back on and walk away. The forensic police won’t be there until the next half hour, at least, and you are too disquiet to wait around. Plus, your stomach is growling, but Steve doesn’t need to know that. “We’re gonna need their names, I’ll see what I can find. You have a little chat with the coroner and see if they can speed up the autopsy. The sooner the better, ok?” you spot the smirk on his face. You know what he’s thinking. You shut your car's door and point a finger at him through the window. A clear warning sign in your eyes. “Shut the fuck up and do it.”

(,,,)

Happy hour. You give up on the investigation and stop off at ‘Chiquita’, a popular local bar near your place. The prices are cheap, the drinks aren’t that good but they do the job. The place is crowded — hot couples with wet, glowing skin grinding against each other. Happy or horny or both. You take a mental note to have some fun later. 

As you sip at your bourbon and crack your peanuts, you let yourself dwell on what you found out about your case. You finally got the names of your five guys. For that, much research wasn’t needed: All of them had their IDs in their pockets and they were exactly who you feared they were: no ones. No ties to any big names, no official involvement in any cartel — at the most, a few minor possession charges. As for weeks, your few clues have led to nowhere and the enigma surrounding the Medellin cartel seems to worsen with every minute that passes by.

You hate mysteries. Colombia’s full of them. 

You take your second bourbon in one smooth shot and ask for another. You grab a colombian peso from your wallet and slide it across the wood. Your eyes stop at the picture of your parents that you carry around. It’s tiny and worn, just like your relationship with them. They haven’t heard from you in weeks, a fair deal, if anyone asked. They don’t have to deal with their fucked up daughter and you can focus on your work filled with dead ends and a ghost that haunts you while you’re awake: Javier Peña.

“¹Qué tomas, preciosa?” a velvety voice caresses your ears. A pleasant smile breaks quietly over your lips. Just in time.

You turn your head to the side. The stranger, with chocolate-skin and inviting eyes, is waiting for an answer. You tap your fingers against the glass.

"Bourbon," you say. "²Pero no me vendría mal un trago más." he grins and holds up two fingers to the barman. He sits at the empty seat beside you, he’s exuberating confidence. He’s offered you the bait and you'd taken it.

"³Algo más que se te ofrezca?"

You look him in the eyes. You know how the story goes from there. It isn’t any different than the one from last night, or the night before. As an apex predator, he's out for something to satisfy his hunger. He won't go home without reaching his goal and you're desperate enough to let him.

"⁴Sí. Hay algo más que puedes hacer por mi."

(,,,)

The fucking cat on the window has been staring straight into your eyes for the last fifteen minutes. Matias, the guy you've met hours before, is too focused on you to notice the awkward presence of the animal, so you don't bother shooing it away. 

He's enjoying himself, pounding into you in a symphony of lust bites and moans. But the sound of skin on skin doesn't match the intensity of your passion for this encounter.

It's not that his performance was terrible, it was just... soft. So soft, too soft. From the sweet nothings, he gasps on your ear to the gentleness of his grip on your hip. 

You aren't a sweet girl. If you were sweet, you wouldn't have traveled all the way down to Colombia to participate in the war on drugs. If you were fond of delicateness, you would've stayed inside and touched yourself to a Cristina Peri Rossi novel instead of searching for strangers at bars.

You don't like to believe you are a special case. On the contrary, you assume your attitude is the rule and not the exception. Not a hell of a woman, but a woman made of hell – waking up already worried about the hours ahead of you. How could you not? Your life is as wide and empty as the sky. Unstable, unpredictable. Anything can happen. A good meaningless fuck is the only moment you allow yourself to feel something — someone. By then, the detachment that gets you through the day disappears and raw feral emotion takes its place. 

You are addicted. It's like a drug, but worse. Drugs don't have feelings, people do.

You’d grabbed Matias' hand and wrapped it around your neck a few times but your request had been ignored; you’d even pushed his ass against your body so you could get closer to a feral touch, but he had insisted on something more caring and delicate. 

And delicacy just won't do. 

So, after a few tries, you give up. You lay still, under his heating body, dead eyes directed at your window. No emotion whatsoever, no release. Like a numb, stiff sex doll, rooting for his satisfaction. Forgotten until next time.

“⁵Donde?” he blurts in your ear. You evaluate your options quickly. 

“⁶Adentro.” Any other place would demandsñ more attention. By then, he would be aware of your passivity and asking too many questions. You don't answer questions, you make them.

His body tenses and trembles. You feel heat dripping between your legs but it doesn't come from you. He leaves a few small pecks on your neck — thankfully, the last ones for the night. Matias breathes over you for a few seconds before he gets off. You stare at the roof in silence, and when he asks if you finished, you simply nod.

You can't grasp what he says under his breath after you ask him, as nice as possible, to leave. What he does or doesn't vocalize, it doesn't matter. You won't be repeating with him. You never fucked the same person twice. 

Once you hear the front door shut, still resting on your bare skin, you lit a cigarette. The room is void of artificial light, and the cat is still in the same place, with his silhouette contoured by the gleam of the moon.

"Sneaky bastard." you chuckle, then get up from the bed and slowly approach it.

You stop at the wooded frame of the window, maintaining your distance. Not too close to scare him or him to scare you. He isn't a friendly guy. He isn't even yours — just a grumpy cat that stops by your department too often demanding some food. You tried to get him to come inside before, but all you had won from your offers were a couple of scratches. Nonetheless, the cat has seen more of you than many people have. So, even though you renegade from him, you found yourself inevitably attached. He's the closest thing to a family, after Murphy, of course. But Murphy hasn't seen you on your worst, yet.

"Hope you see the same shit I see." you grimace and shake your head. "Not like that, I mean... I should choose better who to fuck with. And they should choose better too." the cat remains silent –obviously– and you keep talking. "You could make yourself useful and spook them away before I have to." he meows, you roll your eyes and decide to leave him alone. "Then again, I could do it myself if I told them I hold long conversations with the stray cat that lives in my window."

You choose to take a bath and call it a night. You glide through the living room, though before you can reach the bathroom something stops you. There's a noise outside, some glass breaking down on the streets. You can ignore it, conflict isn't a foreign subject in Colombia, especially at late hours. But then it repeats itself a second time, and the third bugs you too much for you not to grab your night robe and take a look at it from your window.

The only light pole is out of order; there's not a soul in sight; music can be heard from afar. You see nothing out of place until you do.

Your car is parked across the street. All four windows have been smashed, the tires are flat. You barely waste time cursing before you flee out of your place. You thought the night couldn’t get worse but the world has a disturbing obsession with testing your patience. 

Once you take a step outside and approach your damaged car, you’re not sure where your chills are coming from. Perhaps, because of the unfriendly weather or maybe because you’re suddenly aware of how idiotic was your decision to go outside. 

Everything inside your vehicle is left untouched. There weren't objects of value anyways. You find no logical reason for someone wanting to wreck a car just because —yours, of them all.

Big red warning signs color your mind. Your eyes scan your surroundings with speed. It's a dark, lonely dessert. You're now sure that what happened isn't some random event. The victim could've been to another person, but you weren't just another person.

"⁷Discúlpeme, señorita." a voice throws yourself far from the source. You reach for your gun just to find nothing there. Damn you. "⁸Está bien?" you look at the man. An old man that, at first glance, doesn't represent a threat. His voice is gentle, his voice is tinted with a caring voice. You lower your defenses, just a bit, not enough to stay around.

"⁹Sí." you mutter.

Slowly, you walk back to your apartment. Old man glues his eyes to your form and you don't take your own off from his'. Before reaching the sidewalk, you trip with something. Your back collides against a car and you're ready to apologize when the owner exits it there’s not a sign of rage in his face. On the contrary, his stare is blank and his mouth doesn’t even twitch.

Bad news.

You intend to run, but another guy blocks your passage and two more appear at each side of you. You turn over to ask the old man for help, but he’s gone along with your last piece of hope. Can’t blame him, you would’ve escaped too if you had the chance. However, you can’t and the smartest thing to do is acknowledge it and work from it. 

You stay still thinking it will persuade them to opt for gentle treatment. 

How naive of you. 

A set of fingers dig into your arms, another one grabs you by the neck and lowers your head as they drag you into their car. Guarded by two of them who sit at your sides, a dark cloth bag is placed over your head and your wrists are restricted with a zip tie. 

All you have left now is your hearing, you pick up a few things: the engine roaring, the tires burning on the asphalt as you speed off, some spanish words thrown in the air. Nothing substantial, nothing of use.

You sit in silence and wait for the worst.

[cptnbvcks]

cold showers (mandalorian x reader)

summary: mando gets sex pollen-ed and you just so happen to be in the way of him and his cold shower. 

warnings: sex pollen! dub-con because of the sex pollen! 

a/n: this was quick and dirty i just needed to get this out there

By your count, it had been roughly forty-eight hours since you last saw the Mandalorian. 

It wasn’t your position to ask, and the hunter rarely told you much anyway. It was always the same commands: Stay here with the child. Don’t let him out of your sight. Keep him out of the cockpit or he’ll have you halfway to Sorgan before you can stop him. 

Your job was to take care of the child. Stay out of the Mandalorian’s business. 

You wouldn’t have minded his absence — he had been gone for longer bouts of time before — but there was something about the humid heat of this planet’s rainforests and the incessant croaking from the swamps that set you on edge. The heat was creeping into the ship and it was making both you and the child a little antsy. Your clothes stuck to your skin and the child fussed in his bundles of robes. 

“Don’t worry, kid. I’m sure your dad will be home soon,” you murmured gently as you closed the doors of the Razor Crest for the night, eyes scanning the dense, blue-shadowed forest entrance for any sign of glimmering beskar. The child chittered worriedly in your arms as its ears twitched low. 

You looked down at the little green baby and smiled slightly. Its eyes were shifting back and forth over the entrance of the forest too. Searching.

The child babbled lowly as the doors slid shut, casting its massive eyes up at you expectantly. He opened his mouth, his little teeth peeping out from under his lip, and yawned nice and big with a tiny coo as he smacked his mouth back together. You laughed quietly as he blinked tiredly at you, “C’mon, you little womp rat. Lets get you to bed.” 

You massaged the tip of his ear between your fingers as you walked back into the main chamber of the ship. 

It barely took any time at all between you setting him down in the little sleeping nook and turning out the main lights before the little guy had teetered backwards with a thump, closed those big ol’ bug eyes of his, and began snoozing.

“Thank the Maker there aren’t Jawas out here, huh, bud? I can’t imagine shooing those bastards away in this kind of heat.” You spoke to yourself as you dragged the back of your hand across your damp forehead. 

You were worried. You always spoke to yourself when you were worried. 

"Hope he’s okay, little guy,” you sighed under your breath as you pulled a thin cover over the child, leaning down to press a brief kiss to his forehead before pulling down the sheet metal that would keep him from waking up and wandering around. 

Your hair was sticking to the back of your neck and you were more than grateful that the kid almost always slept through the entire night. It meant that you could take all the time you needed in the ship’s shower. 

— 

The water was icy cold and poured gently from the rusty overhead spray. For once, you didn’t complain. The space was cramped and you wondered how the Mandalorian even fit. Surely his head bumped the faucet and his arms knocked over the few toiletries he had. 

You smiled to yourself at the thought. He was always so serious to you that you couldn’t help but wonder sometimes if he even liked you at all, or if he simply tolerated the additional body because he couldn’t keep dragging the child into life threatening situations. 

Sighing, you pressed your forehead against the metal wall as the water dribbled coldly over your back and shoulders. Your eyes slipped shut as your thoughts returned to the Mandalorian. Out there, in the heat. The dark. You hoped he was okay. Partly because you didn’t know what the hell you’d do if he wasn’t. 

Partly for other reasons that you refused to acknowledge because of professional reasons.

Still, the thoughts came, intruding and incessant, as they always were when two people spent too much time alone in space together. You dragged a hand through your hair and thought of Mando’s. Was his hair brown? You imagined so. Brown hair to match the dusky sound of his voice. Dark eyes too, to match his hair. 

Your hand slipped over your neck and you thought of his skin. You knew it was tanned; honey gold and firm with lean muscles. He had come in once with his under-shirt ripped half to hell and you had to restrain the baby as he cauterized his own wounds, despite your offer to help. 

You never wanted to admit it, but you had thought of that little patch of bronzed skin for about two weeks straight. 

Your hand moved lower and you thought of his hands. He had grabbed your wrist once after you touched his shoulder to check if he was sleeping at the wheel. The force of it had left a faint bruise, and if the Mandalorian had ever noticed it, he never brought it up.

A small moan echoed in the tinny shower chamber at the thought of those hands leaving marks somewhere else. 

Your little daydream was abruptly cut short by the sound of the the ship’s buzzing fluorescents going dead silent. Your eyes shot open but you swore you were still lost in the darkness behind your eyes.

“Fuck,” you cursed low, panic rising suddenly as the creeping disorientation set in. You dragged your hand over the wet stall, knocking aside the Mandalorian’s facial blades in the process. 

You reached for where you thought the hatch to the shower chamber was. 

Something grabbed your hand. 

Panic shot through you; raw and piercing as you screamed loud. The hand that clamped down over your mouth and pushed you back into the shower chamber was bare, dry and rough and big enough that its fingers touched your jaw from edge-to-edge. The hand smelled like blaster residue and leather. 

The body pressed into yours and by the maker, they were burning up. Your survival instincts kicked into hyperdrive as you blindly shoved one-handedly at whoever was in the stall with you. Their chest was bare and your hand smacked wetly against it as you shoved at the person’s shoulders. 

“Stop that,” the voice huffed tightly; heavy and familiar and unmodulated — your breath caught in your throat and your struggles halted, “It’s— It’s me. Just me.” 

The Mandalorian. A very naked Mandalorian. 

This had to be a dream. 

Maybe a heat-stroke illusion. 

Your cheeks flared red and you were grateful for the drowning blackness because you thought you might implode if you actually had visual confirmation of what was happening right now. 

You whimpered his name against the palm of his hand, your eyes searching the darkness in front of you for any indication of a face. 

You had never felt so much of him before. Not skin-wise. Not even contact-wise. What was going on? Where had this come from all of a sudden?

He lowered his palm from your mouth before silencing whatever question or rejection that you might have voiced by pressing a hard kiss to your lips. You didn’t know if your eyes were open or closed but you swore you saw stars when he dragged his tongue over the roof of your mouth. 

Maker, he tasted exactly as you had imagined.

“‘m sorry, it’s just— I don’t...” he grunted against your mouth, his words jagged and slurred as his hand dragged down the curve of your throat, squeezing there for a moment before sinking down to the trembling curve of your damp breasts. He squeezed hard, unrestrained and nearly unhinged as he pinched the wet peak of your taut nipple. It fucking hurt.  “Just... fuck—, need you— need this—”

He wasn’t making much sense but you couldn’t exactly ask for clarification when he made his point by shoving his hand between the wet flesh of your thighs. 

Something about this feels off. 

Something about the slur of his voice and the radiating heat that’s surrounding him. The hunter barely ever looked in your direction, rarely even spoke more than he needed to — hell, sometimes you wondered if he even remembered your name — and now here he was, cornering you naked in the shower, sans-helmet and hard as the beskar steel he wore.

Something was wrong.

“M-mando, wait—! Maker, what’s going on?” 

Your head falls back against the chamber wall and the ragged gasp that interrupts when he circles your aching clit with the rough pad of his finger is almost unbecoming of a lady. 

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you get wet for him. Even more so when he buries his fingers to the knuckle within your walls and you cry out like you’ve never been touched by a man before. You’re hot and wet on his fingers as he thrusts them deeper, curling them hard against your clenching cunt until every logical thought turns into gibberish in your head. 

“I just... please, fuck—, stop talking.”  

You comply, but only because he locks his mouth over your breast and rubs his thumb over your swollen clit and you swear to every god in the galaxy whatever’s possessing the Mandalorian is rubbing off on you. 

Your thighs shake hard as he wraps his arm around your waist, forcing you up onto your toes in an attempt to match his height. His cock is trapped between your bodies, hard and thick and your cheeks blush dark as he shifts his hips against you, all but fucking himself against your stomach. It’s vulgar, maybe a little demeaning, but the heat that’s pooling against the Mandalorian’s fingers tells a different story.

“You’re so... tight,” He growls, shoving you harder into the chamber wall, “How are you so tight? I can’t— fuck, can’t wait—” He trails off as you card your fingers into his hair. You feel him shudder against you as he bites down on your flesh hard enough that you pull at his hair in protest. 

He moans against you; low and deep in his chest as he rolls your nipple over his tongue. His entire mouth is hot; fever hot.

All you have is your sense of touch but something about the way he shoves his fingers into you just a little harder and sucks a fresh bruise into your collarbone when you drag your nails against his scalp tells you that you’re testing the fine line of his restraint. 

You know the Mandalorian would never hurt you. He’d never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. But something tells you that if you push him tonight, you’ll be regretting it by morning.

“Turn around,” he orders and you hear the slurred strain of his voice. It almost sounds like he’s wounded but you can’t tell if he’s bleeding with the way the water’s flowing against your bodies. His cock pulses against your stomach as he drags his fingers from your heat, drawing your slickness over your clit until his fingers glide easily over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You take too long to do as you’re told. 

He’s pushing you out of his arms again, his grip bruising as he grabs your hips and flips you towards the wall. The movement of it in such tiny quarters knocks more things from the small shelves of the shower. Your hands fly up to cushion your fall as he shoves you up against the biting steel. The metal is freezing on your breasts, icy compared to the warmth of your hunter’s mouth, and your nipples harden painfully upon contact.

You yelp with surprise as he brings a hand down over your ass. His palm lands slightly awkwardly and it hurts more than you think he intended, “Ow! Fuck, Mando, not so hard—!” 

He hears you, but you don’t think he hears you, because he does it again. Your body jolts and it stings even worse because of the water. This time, he gropes at the plump curve of your backside with one rough palm while the other roams over the exposed flesh of your back that he can hardly see in the darkness. 

There’s so much of you. So much. His thoughts are foggy, sluggish and pinwheeling solely to the body trembling before him in the dark and all the things he wants to do to it. To you. 

He doesn’t realize he’s saying half of these things out loud, brokenly and stuttering on his tongue. They’re filthy and they make you blush all the way down to your breasts.

He knows something’s wrong. Knows he shouldn’t. But when he takes his cock into his hand and drags the bulbous head over your soaked entrance, the Mandalorian realizes that he doesn’t care bout the morality of it. There’s only you. Soaking wet and blushed pink for him. 

You gasp wordlessly, stunned to silence, as he circles your hips with his battle-hardened grip and buries himself deep into your body with a single decisive thrust. Your cry of pleasure comes late, catching on your exhale as your walls flutter tight around him. 

A random shiver crawls down your spine that makes your walls grip him even tighter. Your broken whimper echoes in the shower chamber as you slap a hand weakly against the wall beside your head, your body struggling to acclimatize to the stretch of him. 

“Fu-uck, Mando,” You choke out out, “Fuck.” 

He lets out a shuddered breath behind you and you realize he hasn’t moved an inch yet. Instead, he presses you flat between the wall and his body and grinds into you. Hits you in a place so deep that you swear to the galaxy’s edge that you can feel the ridge of his cock’s head inside of your walls with distinct clarity. Your toes curl and a muscle begins to knot itself in your thigh from the strain of being on your tip toes.

The noise that leaves you is fucking primal.  

He drops his head against the back of your shoulder and lets out a sharp breath, “Good— you feel so good. So soft, everywhere. Everywhere.” 

He begins to move. There’s nothing slow or deliberate about it. It’s messy, the way he fucks into you like he’s halfway forgotten that you’re a person and not a rag doll. 

His hands grab handfuls of your curves, dips between your thighs just to feel the obscene way your pussy stretches around his cock. His mouth is sucking purple bruises over your shoulder blades, ones you won’t even notice once the lights come back on. You smell like his soaps and taste of the distilled water of the shower. He runs his tongue over your flesh and bites down. 

He knows he’s being too rough; knows you’re biting down the pain when he digs his fingers into your breasts and drags your back flush against his chest. You’re wincing slightly when he hits you too deep but you’re sobbing for him when he sinks his fingers between your legs and begins working your clit beneath a rough finger.

You’re making the most beautiful sounds while you’re taking him and when he  wraps his hand around the delicate curve of your throat and pins your head back against his chest, you reach up and grab his arm with urgency, nails biting into the exposed skin of him. Your pussy clamps down hard around his girth and he pushes against the resistance until he’s as deep as your body would allow him. 

It’s so dark and you’re lost in it and all you know is him and the earth shattering pleasure when his fingers press down on your clit. You’re coming and you think you’re screaming but you only know for sure when he squeezes your neck hard enough that the sound catches in your voice box. 

You cling to him as your walls pulse around his cock. You only realize he had cum too when you feel the liquid fullness of it as he continued to fuck himself into your spent body. 

Well.

Now you’re a little concerned for your pussy’s wellbeing.

— 

You wake up the next morning disoriented. The ship is bright and you can hear the birds outside loud and clear. A warm humid breeze blows in and it carries the babble of the baby. 

The baby!

You jolt upright and almost knock yourself out on the utility compartment above the spare cot. 

“Easy. I’ve got him.” The voice comes from the ramp of the ship, crackling gently through the modulator of a shiny beskar helmet. He’s standing at the open entrance, dressed in his armours with the little green child bundled in his arms. You notice the fresh scuff marks on his cuirass, tokens from whatever battle had brought him to this jungle planet for so long. 

Your chest catches with a sudden sharp inhale as the knowledge of the night before hung heavily in the air between you.

For a moment, you don’t know what to say. You wonder if to say anything at all. 

It wasn’t like you could both ignore the fact that he had fucked you from sundown to sunrise in every spot you could fathom on the ship. You certainly couldn’t ignore the fact that you could still feel the remnants of him between your thighs. 

“I understand if you want to leave.” 

The Mandalorian’s abrupt words catch you off guard, but it’s what he said that stuns you to silence. 

“What we did— What I did, I shouldn’t have— I shouldn’t have done that to you,” the Mandalorian was stumbling on his words but the shame that hung in the air between them felt like a punch to the gut, “I was tracking a mercenary in the marshland. She tagged me with something. Some kind of amatory agent.”

It was both hazy and vivid in his mind — putting the quarry in the carbonite chamber, shutting down the lights because he thought you had already retired with the child and to avoid the risk of you finding him without his helmet in his disoriented state, then stumbling out of his armour and into the shower to quell the burning heat that had crept over his body and blurred his mind to one physical singularity.

He remembered finding you in the shower chamber. Naked. Wet. 

And he remembered every single thing he did to you afterwards. 

“I’m truly sorry,” he said softly, and you knew that he fully meant it. You tried to ignore the growing pang of dejection that settled sourly in your stomach. The Mandalorian averted his gaze then as the child peered between you and his somewhat-father, gurgling contently. The hunter turned towards the cockpit hatch. “I’ll set the co-ordinates back to take you back to Nevarro.” 

“... Do you want me to leave?” 

Your words made him pause. The sound of hurt in your voice made his heart ache at the wonder of what he might have broken between you. His breaths echoed in soft static through the helmet as he stood silently.

“No. I don’t.” 

You slipped out of the bunk despite the protest of your thighs. The Mandalorian felt his heart jump in his throat at the sound of your bare feet padding over and for a moment he wondered if he had truly worked all of that poison out of his system. He didn’t fight as the child lifted his arms for you to take him.

You itched the back of the baby’s head and he exclaimed happily. The Mandalorian was looking at you now, just the slightest tilt of his helmet to indicate as much. You looked up at him from beneath your lashes, sugar sweet and endlessly forgiving, as you kissed the child’s head.  

“Then I won’t,” you said softly, jokingly lifting the child slightly, “For his sake.” 

— 

Tag List

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[kiirokero]

Ataraxia (JJK)

Ataraxia: Calmness untroubled by mental or emotional disquiet; Tranquillity of mind.

Part of the Protect the Village! Oneshot Series.

Masterlist

Pairing: PoliceOfficer!Jungkook x Delinquent!Reader

Genre/Warnings: E2L (Enemies to Lovers), angst, fluff, humour, mentions of neglectful parents/childhood neglect, swearing, HPD-like behaviors/destructive attention-seeking behaviors, allusions to anxiety, read with caution on this one!

Note: I would die for RT and TITI :(

Summary: Graffiti isn’t that bad. It’s a misdemeanour in most places. So what if the rookie catches you tagging one night? You’ll wiggle your way out of it like you always do... Right?

Word Count: 5.3k

Semi-Unedited

      Night was when all your ideas came to you. In the late hours where the moon comes out to lull everyone asleep, you wander the night in search of an outlet. Backpack swung over your shoulder, paint cans rattling around, sweatshirt taut to your body to fight off the nighttime chill. You search the tiny village where you spent most of your life for the perfect canvas. 

     The only lights to aid you in your search are the dim lampposts that illuminate the sidewalk, but that doesn’t stop you from finding the jackpot. Blank, empty white wall, vast space to work on, flat. You could feel the anxious desire to pick up your paint cans on the tips of your fingers. Quickly, you put down your backpack and got out your colors. 

      Red, green, yellow, blue, black, pink, purple. All the colors you needed to make a stunning art piece. Sure, the shop owner might not appreciate it, but you only paint pretty things. You may be a “delinquent” but that doesn’t mean you have to spew hate and vulgarity to all of Bangtan Village. 

     What were you feeling tonight? Writing? Animals? Flowers? Flowers. Definitely flowers tonight. Wasting no time, you picked up a can and started spraying. Red here, green there, a bit of pink. You paint and paint and paint. Like your brain is on autopilot, letting your hand do whatever it wants. Left, right, up, down. You watch as your piece comes to life in front of you. Roses, daisies, marigolds. It looks like the garden of your mind. 

     Taking a step back, you admire your work. Clean lines, bright colors, eye-catching. You feel proud. This was better than the sketches. It captured your every breath, every emotion, a true piece of art. You felt at ease looking at the picture of all your pent-up emotions laid bare on the bricks. Expressing the sorrows that plagued your mind through the image of dull, weeping flowers. 

     Sure, it still looked beautiful. When you looked at it as one unit, it was the perfect image to be painted on a flower shop. But if you looked closer, you could see the anxiety in the shaky lines, the sorrow in the dulled colors, the anger in the frenzied coloring. But you didn’t feel like that at the moment. 

     Graffiti was an outlet for you. The ability to get people to pay attention and see what you’ve been trying to get people to see. To show people that you weren’t okay. You wanted someone-anyone- to listen to you, to see you. You wanted someone to look at you and see you as a person who was struggling. Because you really were struggling. 

     Shit parents and anxiety were the things that defined your life. Your life givers made it known to you that they really didn’t care what you did, where you were, who you were with, nothing. They weren’t terrible, luckily enough. They were just neglectful. They forgot you were there half the time, so you had to force yourself to grow up and do things on your own.

     You would cook your own meals, do your own laundry, make your own money. For as long as you remember, you were living as your own person. You brought yourself back up from the depths of panic and kissed your own wounds. You told yourself to suck it up and keep pushing. But soon enough you started to ask yourself exactly why you were still pushing.

    No friends, no family, not even an animal companion could give you the comfort you so desperately sought out for when the thoughts of “why?” clawed at your fragile mind late at night. When you felt like you couldn’t breathe when things went south. You tried. You tried to make friends. You tried to reach out. You tried to get help, but it was all the same. “Your fine, get over it,” Whether those were the exact words or the implied ones, that was the answer everyone gave you. 

“You’re an adult.”

“Everyone feels anxious, you’ll be okay,”

     No matter how hard you tried to use your words, to shout and scream on the rooftops that you needed support, big or small, nobody listened. It’s as the world went deaf to you. Like you were invisible, walking through the streets like a ghost. So you turned to more... Destructive ways of gaining people’s attention.

     Yes, you knew this was wrong. You knew that if you got caught, it would go on your record. But you didn’t care, not at this point. The thought of people seeing this in the morning and thinking about you (Well, not you specifically, but the person who’s been painting the town for months now) Excited you. Having people's attention excited you. Hearing people whisper about the delinquent who's been tagging Bangtan Village left and right made you giddy. Because you had their attention. 

     The sound of heavy footsteps tore through the tranquil bubble you’d put yourself in. “Shit...” You whispered to yourself, grabbing your things and sneaking away from your- admittedly pretty -crime. Because not only did you get the citizen's attention. You got the attention of the police department as well. 

    Steadily, you took silent footsteps as you weaved your way through the back alleys of the main street shops. You could still hear the boot falls of the person making their nightly rounds. Even if they sounded calm. You knew they were looking for you. You knew he was looking for you. 

    You made the haste decision to abandon your bag full of paint cans and respirator behind a dumpster, noting down its whereabouts so you could retrieve it in the morning. You knew that if you got caught with them in your possession, then they would no doubt charge you. So you were left with your sweatshirt and a heartbeat that pounded in your ears. 

      You continued to make your way through the back alley mazes. Navigating them on muscle memory. This wasn’t the first time you’d had to make a silent getaway. You could still hear the footsteps, they were getting heavier. Step... Step... Step... Your anxiety shot through the roof and you wiped your clammy hands on your worn out jeans. 

But then they stopped. 

      There was no more ominous pounding of boots against concrete. Just the ambiance of the crickets chirping their nightly melody. It was calm again. So when you saw an opening out onto the beginning of main street, you breathed a sigh of relief. Home was only a few yards away now. You could go home to your small, dingy apartment and sink into your tiny bed, dreaming of a better life. 

     What world would you escape to tonight? Would you go on your own adventure where your the loved main character? Would you explore what was underneath the sea and discover what laid dormant at the bottom of the ocean? What about dreaming of befriending your favorite comfort characters from your favorite shows? Finally, having friends for once. 

“L/n,”

     You jumped as a voice cut through your train of thought. Looking to your left you saw none other than Jeon Jeongguk leaning against the entrance of the alleyway, giving you a stern face. “Well, isn’t it the rookie? Did they put you on guard dog duty tonight?” You chuckled, regaining your composure and throwing on a mask of confidence. Jeongguk rolled his eyes and stood straight up, towering over you. 

      “What are you doing out so late, L/n?” Jeongguk asked you with a stoic face. “Going for a walk,” You answered, voice unwavering. “Oh really? So you know nothing about the recent act of vandalism on Yoongi’s flower shop, huh?” He tilted his head, talking to you as if you were five. “What? Another tagging? Crazy,” You said, in an feign surprised voice. 

      Jeongguk sighed, stepping away from you. “You’re coming with me, L/n,” Jeongguk deadpanned. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you looked at him incredulously. “What? But I didn’t do anything!” You complained, your poker face unbreaking. “Well, I have reason to suspect you know at least something. So by the laws our government has set up, I get to bring you to the station for questioning,” Jeongguk said in a sing-song voice. 

     “I feel like that’s an abuse of power,” You pointed out, crossing your arms. Jeongguk looked at you, unimpressed. “Public law number 130-13. Any suspect can be put in police custody as long as the officer has circumstantial or physical evidence proving they know or did something.” Jeongguk regurgitated like a parrot. You chucked, “Nerd,” 

     “Whatever, just come on.” Jeongguk groaned, and you reluctantly followed. You knew running would do nothing, it’s a small community, he’d find you in like, 5 minutes. And fighting him? Have you seen Jeongguk? That kid’s all muscle. A total gym rat. He could flick you and you’d get a concussion. You didn’t want to fight him anyway. So you had to follow him, but that didn’t mean you wanted to. 

      “Nice place you got here, Rookie,” You snickered, looking around the relatively small police station. Jeongguk sighed and led you to a small interrogation room. You say “interrogation” like it was intimidating, but nothing’s intimidating about a small room with metal tables and chairs. 

      You sat down on the opposite side of Jeongguk, giving him a smug smirk as he looked at you with disdain. “So... What’s up officer?” You asked, resting your head on the table. “What were you really doing out there, Y/n?” Jeongguk asked, huffing. “Like I said. I was taking a walk. Bangtan Village is nice, ya know?” You restated, not giving up the facade. 

     “I know you did it,” He deadpanned, leaning closer to you. “You see, Rookie... Public law number 130-6. Officers cannot make an arrest without physical evidence or a confession that proves the suspect is guilty without a reasonable doubt,” You stressed the last T, shit-eating grin still on your face. You sounded knowledgeable, but that was the only law you cared to memorize. “Aka. The law don’t give a shit what you think you know,” You sat back up, leaning in your chair. “That law's flawed,” Jeongguk complained. “Take that up with our mayor, Rookie,” 

“You’re insufferable,” Jeongguk spat. 

“I know,” You chuckled. 

      “Why’d you do it? You know canvases exist for a reason, right? Yoongi’s going to pay someone to cover it up.” Jeongguk asked, voice raising a few octaves. “Rookie, buddy, if your fishing for a confession. You ain’t gonna get one,” You snickered, tilting your head in a teasing manner. “Besides, whoever did it-has been doing this-makes pretty good artwork so...” You shrugged. “So you’ve seen the recent tagging on Yoongi’s store?” Jeongguk pried. “I never said that. I’ve seen their other things. Figured the art you're talking about, which I definitely haven’t seen, is just as good.” 

      Jeongguk looked like he wanted to hop across the table and strangle you. It was funny, really. Jeongguk was right, of course he was, but he could never prove it. You didn’t confess to anything, you hid the evidence well, nothing could connect you to the crime. This wasn’t first time Jeongguk tried to pry open your mind and get you to spill out an “I did it,” just to show his hyungs that he really could catch a criminal, just like them. 

Not that you’ll see a bunch of criminals in Bangtan of all places

     The only reason Jeongguk knows it was you (Therefore starting up this hilarious game of cat and mouse,) Was because he knew the kind of person you were. He’s known you since highschool. He would hear whispers in the hall about you and your trusty paint cans, tagging the principal’s prized Chevrolet with the words “Ya mom raised a nerd” because he pissed you off that one time. 

      You got away with it too. The principal never got wind of who did it. Even if everyone at school knew it was you. I mean, come on, who else carried black spray paint in their bookbag? Plus, not a lot of people come to Bangtan, therefore not a lot of delinquents with a taste for artful vandalism existed here. 

     “Listen Rookie, you have no proof that it was me. You interrogated, I answered. Now I get to go home,” You smiled, getting up from your seat. Jeongguk just tsked at you, rolling his eyes at your “friendly” wave goodbye. “Nerd,” You chuckled to yourself, skipping out of the police department. 

Today couldn’t get any worse.

     “But I already finished the piece! My policy states that the down payment isn’t refundable!” You let out a frustrated groan as the lady on the other side of the line complained that your policy was unreasonable and she should get her $150 dollars back because she wasn’t interested in the china set she commissioned from you anymore.

“Look, I don’t care what happened on your end. At the end of the day, I told you it wasn’t refundable, and you still paid it. You agreed to it. So either I can send you the set and you pay the rest of the amount we agreed on. Or I keep the $150, and you have no custom china set,” 

      Guess she really didn’t want that china set, since she huffed and said, “Fine, keep the damn glass,” Which set you off more because china is made of kaolin and quartz, delicately painted with subtle details. Not! Glass! It didn’t help that bills were coming up and you were tight on money this month. 

     Being a freelance artist is unstable. You knew this. You knew that there were other professions that you could throw yourself into that would give you a more stable form of income. But it would also chip away at your spirit. You loved painting, you loved pottery, you loved making porcelain. 

      Now you were stressed, anxious, and the owner of a china set fit for a 50-year-old lady. You wanted to cry. You felt like sobbing. What were you supposed to do now? The only other commission you had was a landscape portrait that costed only $160, and with bills coming you’d have like $60 to spend on food. 

      You covered your face with your hands as you started to breathe erratically. It felt like the walls were closing in on you. Like a snake was curling its way up your body and squeezing your throat. Shakily, you stood up on your wobbly legs and grabbed your bag full of spray paint that you recovered earlier in the day. You needed your outlet. 

      You ran out into the chilly night air, making your way towards main street to find something to paint your frustrations on. You needed to calm the sickly feeling that bubbled up in your throat, to throw water on the fire in the pit of your stomach that urged you to scream into the woods that surrounded the village. 

      Finally, you made it to an empty wall. The one on the side of “Kim’s Confections” that you painted a week ago. The owner painted over your image of the night sky, you guessed. It didn’t matter though, you were too focused on ripping open your bag and pulling out your paints. 

      What were you feeling tonight? Red. Okay, what’s red? Apples, flowers, fire. Fire, that’s it. What else... What does fire do? It burns. Yeah, lets burn shit. What shit are we burning? Uhh... Flowers? That works... 

      You quickly picked up your red paint can and started spraying. You had no idea what you were doing, this wasn’t in your sketchbook. This was purely a product of the emotions currently plaguing your mind. You could already tell it was going to be ugly... It looked like chaos incarnate, but it was an accurate picture of what you were feeling. 

    You furiously painted the wall with blobs of different colors that weren’t mixing well at all. Like yes, green and red are contrasting opposites, but they don’t mix well. And what was pink doing next to a neon orange? You didn’t know, you barely even cared.

However, you did care when you heard those same familiar footsteps. 

     “Why today, Jeon?” You huffed, packing your things and running off into the back alleys. What you didn’t expect was for the footsteps to start running with you. Panicking, you ran faster, focusing more on getting away than where you were going. 

     They were getting louder and louder, closer and closer. “Shit,” You whimpered to yourself when you came upon a dead end. The familiar feeling of tears pricked up in the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Thump... Thump... Thump... You refused to turn around to face the last person you wanted to see today. 

     “Well, we meet again L/n,” Jeongguk’s voice echoed off the bare brick walls. You said nothing, opting to continue looking at the wall in front of you. “Come on, L/n, it’s time to give it up,” He sighed, taking a few steps closer. “I know,” You whispered out, feeling the dread creep into your mind at the thought of your only outlet being taken away. 

Scratch that, today could get worse. 

      “I see you’ve got this place nice a cozy for me, Rookie,” You chuckled, holding onto the cell bars with two hands, trying to hide the fear you felt inside, the anguish. Like always, Jeongguk just rolled his eyes, laying back in the chair at his desk while he wrote up a report. 

      Jeongguk said nothing to you as the hours dragged on, and that made the situation worse. You would poke fun at him, call his name, you even asked how his day was. Nothing. You felt invisible all over again, and it made you even more scared. It was like you were that naïve six-year-old girl again, begging for an ounce of her parents' attention.

“Mom, I made you this today,”

“Dad, there's a father-daughter dance at school this Friday,”

Nothing. 

It was always nothing. 

     Because even if there was another body in the room, you felt alone again; you felt pathetic. Unwanted, unheard. At times like these you would paint a gigantic mural on the side of someone’s business on main street, but now you can’t. That’s what got you in this mess in the first place. All you wanted was somebody’s eyes on something that was you, whether that be your work or your features, and now that was yanked from your grasp.

      After this you couldn’t spray paint anymore, because then the entire police department would watch you like a hawk. Nobody would whisper about the mysterious pretty painting in the street anymore. And Jeongguk wouldn’t be the cat chasing the mouse anymore. 

      Jeongguk suddenly put his pen down with a huff, the action much louder in the quiet police station than it would be in a normal setting. “So, Y/n, I know you're not dumb. You’re obviously under arrest for vandalism. And with the severity and amount you committed, there's a $300 fine and a week of jail time,” Jeongguk explained, sounding bored. 

      Your eyes widened. “What? A week of jail time?” You exclaimed, feeling your heart drop. “Yep,” Jeongguk confirmed, popping the p. “No... No, Rookie, you can’t do this...” You whimpered out, trying to calm your breathing. You saw a look of sadness flash in Jeongguk’s eyes before he returned to a stoic state. “You’re the one who committed the crime, Y/n,” He stated, messing around with some papers. 

“Jeongguk please,” You begged, using his actual name for the first time since highschool. 

    Jeongguk paused, his back turned towards you and hand frozen in the motion of putting away a file. He took a deep breath and continued his movements. Going back to ignoring you. You felt dejected, so you gave up and slumped onto the small bed in the cell's corner. Just as you were about to close your eyes, you heard the slap of a book on the floor. 

     You looked over your shoulder to see Jeongguk at the door of your cell, giving you a tight smile. On the floor was what looked to be a sketchbook and some pencils. Cautiously, you got up from the bed and grabbed them, giving Jeongguk a curious look. 

“It’ll be okay,” He said. 

      Over the next few days, life fell into a routine. You would wake up, Jeongguk would give you breakfast, and you would draw in between meals. Nothing else. Sometimes you would try to strike up conversation with the stubborn police officer who kept you company most days, but he would either stay silent or reply with one-word answers. So you quickly gave up on that. 

      Sooner or later, the sorrow you felt turned into bitterness. You were mad at yourself, mad at the world, mad at Jeongguk. A week in jail? What was that supposed to do? Teach you a lesson? As if. If anything, it just made you want to do more illegal things as a big “Fuck you,” To the officers who walked past your cell with looks of pity on their faces. 

     Yes, people in Bangtan were overly nice, and no, you didn’t need their pity. You survived on your own long enough without anyone’s pity, so you didn’t need it now, when you were already fucked up. Where was this kindness when you cried to the school counselor about your home situation and she sent you away with the excuse that you were “Pms’ing” and “It wasn’t that bad” 

    You felt this boil in you every night and through the day. And it was still boiling in you when Jeongguk set you free and paid your fine. (Which made you angrier cause now your set back on bills AND food) “Don’t get into trouble,” Was the last thing he said to you. You knew his words should’ve made you angry, but knowing that you wouldn’t see him every day now made you... Sad...

      The world felt cold... Colors seemed to dull and noise seemed to be muffled everywhere you went. You felt, empty. Alone. Sad. You felt like you didn’t have a purpose now that you caught up on all your commissions and going out spray painting the town was an even more risky thing to do. On the bright side, you were able to pay your bills. 

      But that didn’t help the dread you felt when you woke up every single day. The bitterness was still there, but now it was buried with dread and trepidation. Sometimes the fire of your anger would burn bright, sometimes it was just embers. The intense mood swings you were feeling gave you emotional whiplash, and all you wanted to was lay in bed all day. 

“It’ll be okay,” 

     Jeongguk saying those words to you swirled in your head daily. They never left. Not since he first said that. You could hear the slight accent in his voice and see the slight squint in his nose when he speaks. That’s what fueled your fire the most. He did nothing for you. Why are you giving him the time of the day? He locked you up. 

     But there was also this voice that reminded you of the playful bickering the two of you shared, the sparks in your eyes when the two of you looked at each other, your game of cat and mouse. It told you that if you tried, maybe he could be your friend. Maybe he could help you. He’s a police officer, he’d want to help anyone... Right?

But if he wanted to help you, why would he lock you in a jail cell?

   That bitterness and conflict in your mind led you here, to an empty wall. Why were you here? Why did you have a spray paint can in your hand? Why were you painting again? Why Y/n, why? No matter how loud the angel on your shoulder screamed at you to go home, do something better with your life, be something better. It fell on deaf ears. 

      Not even the crickets were chirping as those boot falls made their way towards you. Nothing but the spray of your paint and the thud of Jeongguk’s steel-toed boots fill the surrounding night. Jeongguk only sighed in disappointment when he saw you standing there. Waiting for you to turn to him before he said anything. 

      “Isn’t it the Rookie...” You muttered. The same teasing words were there, but they lacked the enthusiasm. “What are you doing, Y/n?” Jeongguk asked, still sounding very unimpressed. 

“Your smart Rookie, what does it look like I’m doing?” 

“What I told you not to do,”

“Ding ding! We have a winner,” You exclaimed sarcastically. 

“Did you really not learn your lesson?”

     You scoffed, “Learn my lesson?” You stopped painting and turned towards Jeongguk. “Learn my lesson? What exactly did you do to teach me a lesson?” You scowled. “Was a week in jail not enough?” He retorted, and you felt yourself boil over.

      “Listen here, Jeon. Do you know what that week really did to me? It made me bitter. It made me feel like shit, like I was back living with my parents,” You spat. Jeongguk’s face fell at the mention of your parents. He knew what you went through, everyone knew. Bangtan was a small village, after all. “I mean come on, you really think locking me up behind bars is going to change me? Look at where I am Jeon! In the same goddamn alley doing the same shit cause I didn’t learn my lesson!” You ranted, and you felt tear prick at the corner of your eyes. You couldn’t stop them from overflowing this time. 

      “Police officers are supposed to help people, ya know. You don’t just catch criminals, you should help them. You wanna know the best way to prevent people from becoming re-offenders? Helping them!” You cried, throwing your paint can on the ground. “But no, you just care about handing in that report, huh? You caught me! Now you want nothing to do with me! I get it Jeon, really. Nobody wants anything to do with me...” You sniffled, feeling your anger dissipate. 

     Jeongguk looked like a kicked puppy. He didn’t know what to do when you started crying, but he knew that he needed to do something. “Y/n...” He said, reaching out for you, but you backed away. “Don’t... Just go away,” You said, but you didn’t really mean it. No, you wanted Jeongguk to come closer, to help you, to tell you it was okay again. Luckily, he understood that. 

      While you were wiping the tears away from your face, Jeongguk pulled you into a hug. At first you struggled, trying your best to get away from the muscle bunny, but soon you relented, falling into the comfort that his muscular arms offered you. “I’m sorry,” He whispered to you, squeezing you tight. “You’re right, I should be helping. Let me start by helping you,” 

    You sniffled, pulling away from his chest to look up at him. “Help me? I’m a lost cause,” You croaked, but Jeongguk shushed you, pulling you back in. “My friend goes to this therapist, he says they’re great, maybe they can help you,” He offered. 

“Maybe they can,” 

      “You're a pain in my ass, you know that Hobi?” You groaned, squinting at the laughing red-head who was currently sitting across from you in your studio. “But it’s too funny. I mean, a delinquent falling in love with a police officer? A classic,” He teased. You just rolled your eyes, bringing your focus back to the pot you were working on. “I’m not in love,” You retorted. 

      Hoseok snickered, “You remember what Dr. Choi said about lying to ourselves?” You wanted to strangle the shit-eating grin he had on his face, but you opted to huff and show your disdain instead. “Sometimes I wish you weren’t in my group therapy sessions,” You complained, but that smile never left Hoseok’s face. 

      After that night in the alley with Jeongguk, he lived up to his words. He introduced you to your current therapist Dr. Choi and got you the help you needed. Soon enough, you were slowly getting better. Your desire for graffiti slowly dissipated, and you opted for a canvas. It was easier to sleep at night, and Dr. Choi introduced you to a support group. Which is how you met your friend, Hoseok. 

      But Jeongguk still stuck with you. He would check up on you every day and keep you company when he had the time. Recently he’s been showing up at your place with cupcakes from Taehyung’s bakery, (You recently learned his name and he admitted your paintings were cool, but they didn’t fit his aesthetic) Sometimes you’d even visit the station, dropping off lunch for him. 

    Jeongguk and you became quick friends. Besides the ironic differences between the two of you, you also had a lot in common. You’d have movie/video game nights, sometimes you’d let him paint with you, he even introduced you to his other friends (All six of them,) Outside of work, he let down the intimidating police man facade and became a lovable bunny. 

Maybe a bit too loveable, since you seemed to like Jeongguk a bit too much these days. 

    “How would I even tell him? “Hey! It’s me, Y/n! Delinquent turned mural artist who has a huge crush on you! The police officer who arrested me and put me in jail!” Ha, no.” You dramatically exaggerated with your hands. “Oh come on Y/n! He’s pining over you too!” Hoseok said, trying (and failing) to convince you. “Didn’t you write that love letter to him? Why not give him that?” Hoseok suggested. You immediately cringed, hiding your face in your hands. “No way, that’d be so embarrassing,”

“So your saying that if I ran over to the police station with this slip of paper and handed it to Jeongguk you’d never forgive me?” Hoseok asked, holding up the infamous love letter you wrote for Jeongguk 3 weeks ago.

“You wouldn’t dare,” You glared at him.

“Y/n... You’ve been debating telling him for months...” Hoseok groaned, “Maybe you just need a little... Push!” He said, jumping out of his seat and running out the door. 

      “Jung Hoseok, I’m going to kill you!” You yelled, running after him. Unfortunately he was like, 90% legs so it was hard to even keep a foot’s distance between the two of you. “Hobi! He’ll hate me!” You whined, huffing a puffing. You really needed to get back in shape. “No he won’t! He literally talks about you all the time! I’m doing you idiots a favor!” Hoseok yelled back, bursting his way into the police station. 

    “Jeon Jeongguk!” Hoseok called, getting weird looks from the other officers. Jeongguk’s head popped up from his desk and he got up to see what his friend wanted. Not before you tackled Hoseok to the ground, however. The paper flew out of Hoseok’s hand as he fell to the ground with an “Oof”

      Jeongguk looked at the two of you with a smile, choking down his laughs as he picked up the paper. “Don’t read it!” “Read it!” You and Hoseok said at the same time. But Jeongguk’s nosy self had already opened it and was reading the words. You groaned and hid your face in Hoseok’s shoulder out of embarrassment. Jeongguk just chuckled, leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go to dinner after I’m done here, yeah?” He said, giving you a wink as he walked away. 

“What just happened,” You asked, putting your hand up to your cheek. 

“You just started a new chapter in your life. This one titled “Me and Jeongguk, the most cliche shit I’ve ever seen,” Hoseok smiled, patting your head.

“Shut up... I got a mural to spray paint,”

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Up to No Good

Summary: A snake catches a snack on a rooftop. AO3 Link

Merry Christmas, @lukatastrophe For the @mlsecretsanta

“Good evening, little mouse.”

The Multimouse squeaked and bolted, though she was far too slow for the viper-quick hand that snapped her up. The little mouse struggled, sending out a mental distress signal to her sisters that King Cobra was here and he had her and help, please!! The other Multimice in the museum below sent out a confirmation and began returning to the roof, where she was. “Let me go!” Multimouse snapped, biting the hand that held her.

King Cobra winced and withdrew his hand to his chest, taking her along for the ride. His hand squeezed dangerously around her. “None of that, now. I would sssuggest behaving; I don’t want to end up hurting my favorite sssnack,” he hissed, forked tongue flickering out between his lips as he spoke.

Multimouse flushed at the term of endearment, but didn’t bite him again; the ground was far off and her sisters were coming. She just needed to keep him distracted. She scowled up at him. “What do you want this time?”

He smiled, fangs glinting in the moonlight. “Can’t a sssnake ssspend time with his favorite mouse?”

“Absolutely not; I know what snakes do with mice.”

While not as active as Hawkmoth, King Cobra was still a dangerous villain. Appearing only a few months after Ladybug and Chat Noir, the snake holder started attacking museums, art galleries, jewelry stores—anywhere and everywhere, all over Paris. He always managed to escape from Ladybug and Chat Noir when they arrived on-scene; Multimouse had fought him a few times when they ended up in the same place at the same time, trading quips and whips all the same, but his tricks were slippery and he got away time and time again. Multimouse suspected that Cobra had somehow managed to unlock the full extent of his Miraculous, meaning he wasn’t on a timer despite not being an adult.

Well, she hoped he wasn’t an adult—What was she thinking!?

Cobra smirked down at her. His hood covered a lot, shadowing most of his face, but she could still see his mouth and glowing blue eyes. She wanted to punch him in his smug face. “Oh, I can think of sssome things I’d like to do with you… but that’s not why I sssought you out tonight.”

“Then what?” The Multimouse made a show of struggling as her sister’s began to surround them, abandoning their task in favor of saving her. She wouldn’t be able to reform if a single mouse was missing.

He was imposing against the night. “Would you like to know why I’m a villain, little mouse?”

Multimouse was floored. Never had she expected their conversation to go in this direction. “…Yes,” she replied. It could be a trap, but… she wanted to know.

“I’ve been looking for a Miraculous. A ssspecific one, that’s currently here in Paris, but out of the hands of Ladybug and Chat Noir’s pesky guardian. I… need this Miraculous, Multimouse.” There was a look of desperation in King Cobra’s eyes, one she had never seen before on the villain, not once in their multiple confrontations. “I’m going to have it. And I need your help for that.”

“You think I’ll help you!?” She scoffed. “Don’t be a fool. In case you forgot, I’m a hero—”

“I have to admit, you had me fooled for a while,” he said, cutting her off. “You’re a good actress. I originally believed you when you said Ladybug wanted to keep you out of the ssspotlight. But… after a few weeks, it became clear that you were never ssseen around Paris’s favorite heroes. And after once I overheard them complaining about having to find the ssstolen Rat Miraculous…” The snake leered at her. “Oh, my sssweet little sssnack. You’re no more of a hero than I am.”

The Multimouse—Marinette—felt her face heat with the indignation and she bared her teeth into a snarl. So what if she stole the Rat Miraculous!? Bridgette had stolen from her first!

She had found out a few months ago. Bridgette, Marinette’s cousin and granddaughter of her Great Uncle Wang, was staying with them for the year, applying to Parisian universities. Marinette had followed her one day after school, the reason why having been wiped from her memory due to the following, horrifying events. She had discovered Bridgette being confronted by a turtle man of all things—later, she learned he was the guardian of the Miraculous—and overheard the truth: that Marinette was originally supposed to become Ladybug, but Bridgette had stolen the miracle box from her room before she could find it.

Marinette had frozen in horror, forced to listen to Bridgette justifying herself—that box had looked too fancy to be something Marinette should have, and she hadn’t expected the box to contain magic jewelry, and what would be the harm if she took the earrings out for a joyride? But then Stoneheart happened and by that point everyone knew she was Ladybug and changing would have confused the public, and really, what was he thinking, making Marinette a superhero? She was such an anxious thing, and clumsy, and spazzy, and, and—

And Marinette had been forced to listen to Bridgette completely disregard her and her feelings, insult her outright that hurt in a way that Chloe never managed. Because Bridgette was family. Her parents had taken her into their home, Marinette had welcomed her as a sister, and this was the thanks they got—

The guardian had refused to take the Ladybug Miraculous back from Bridgette. Despite how she acquired it, he had said, she had still earned it and she was a fantastic Ladybug. That had burned. That had hurt. But clearly, the guardian didn’t actually care about the morals of the person wielding the Miraculous so long as it got him the butterfly back.

Maybe Marinette got a bit drastic. Maybe Marinette figured out that if you had a control over yourself and cold, hard determination, akumas couldn’t possess you. Maybe Marinette had figured out that Chat Noir was closer to her age than Bridgette’s, and that Bridgette had been flirting with a younger guy all along.

A lot of things could have happened, but this was fate: One day, when Bridgette had brought home a few of the Miraculous—guardian training, the bug-fairy thing had called it when Marinette had eavesdropped through a hole she made in their adjoining wall—Marinette had stolen two right as they left for school. Only two, despite Bridgette having more; she had figured out that Bridgette abused her Miraculous to get to her high school on time, and with only two missing, Bridgette would assume she lost them. To further the truth, Marinette had tossed one, the Bee, outside the Bourgeois hotel, where Chloe was kind enough to find it and show off.

That left Marinette with the Rat Miraculous. Perfect for her, she could practically hear Bridgette say: timid Marinette, quiet Marinette, sneaky Marinette, unworthy-of-being-a-hero Marinette. But she swallowed her pride and used it anyway, going out every night to train or find King Cobra or fight an akuma or something, because…

Because she wanted to be a hero.

But heroes don’t steal Miraculous.

Multimouse scowled up King Cobra, her teeth flashing ferally in the cold light. “And you think that means I’m going to help you? Don’t be stupid.”

“Well, I had hoped.” He shrugged, like her answer meant nothing. “But if you need a little convincing, then ssso be it. Anything you want, I’ll do my best to make it happen. Power? Riches? There’s a lot available with my Miraculous. What do you want?”

Ladybug, Bridgette, humiliated and disgraced, with no one in Paris able to consider her a hero ever again. Instead, Multimouse asked, “What are you getting out of this? I can’t be your only choice.”

“True, but the other one isn’t as pretty as you, little mouse.” Cobra sat on the roof, crossing his legs like a little kid. “Hawkmoth has reached out for me to become an ally. Sssome kind of ‘I help you, you help me’ sssituation that he thinks I’ll fall for. But people who mind control ssseem like control freaks; he’ll betray me the first time I do sssomething he doesn’t like.” He smiled at her. “You, however… you wouldn’t betray me, would you? Even though all your little mice have sssurrounded us, you’re not going to attack until our conversation is finished. You’re just that type of girl.”

No. If they allied, she would never betray him after being so coldly betrayed herself, still… “You have no idea what type of girl I am. And there’s still nothing in it for me. You offer me things I don’t need, and can’t get what I want.”

“Are you sssure I don’t know what kind of girl you are?” He brought her close to his face, almost nuzzling her into his cheek, and whispered, his warm breath washing over her tiny body. “Ma-Ma-Marinette.”

Instantly, Mulitmouse was lax in his grip, head reeling. He knew? And he was… Luka? Her friend? Her confidant? Her… her… hers?

He cupped her close. “I always knew,” he confessed, his voice soft in a way that didn’t match King Cobra’s face. “I knew it from the moment I heard your heart; nothing could disguise that sssong, not even the pain you’ve been in these last few months. My little sssnack, my precious melody… Now do you sssee why I want you over Hawkmoth? I don’t know why you’ve done this… I won’t pressure you to tell me… but you’re sssomeone I’ll always trust. Ssso please? I’ll explain everything, but…”

Her mice exited the shadows, merging together as one as they got closer to him. The Multimouse in his hand glowed and merged too, becoming Marinette’s hand that Luka held close to her face. Fully reformed, her Miraculous beeped, five minutes remaining. “Luka…” she whispered, searching his face.

“Little mouse.” He nuzzled her hand, his eyes dark with affection and desperation.

“I want to destroy Ladybug,” she blurred out, covering her mouth as if it would rectify her mistake. Luka looked at her, shocked. She continued, “I want people to hate her. I want her vilified as much as Hawkmoth is. I want Paris to demand she return her Miraculous.” A tear escaped at the confession. “I want my revenge. Are… are you willing to help me? I know it’s a lot to ask for, but—”

A teal hand brushed her tear away. “I will. Oh, Marinette…” He drew her into a hug. She buried her head in his shoulder. “Of course, I’ll help. I’ll always be willing to help you, no matter how villainous the action may be.”

“And I’ll help you.” She didn’t care why he wanted another Miraculous, what it was or what it was for. She’d steal a thousand Miraculous so long as it kept him on her side. Before this, she’d never realized how alone she’d felt; even Mullo, who understood and empathized with her pain, was less a confidant and more a captive. But Luka… “I’m on your side, Luka. I promise.”

…he was a confidant and more. Together, they could do great things. Villainous, but great.

And she’d do anything to keep him on her side.

[monsterlovinghours]

Okay. You asked for robofizz prompts and I think I have something. Character (reader or OC, totally up to you) works at Loo Loo Land as a maintenance worker for the rides and games. Their day is busy as hell because, let’s be honest, shit breaks down a lot there. But, out of the blue, management makes them robofizz’s new mechanic because he killed the last one. This is the first time they’re meeting the deranged clown and things get pretty, you know, when character tries to fix his sparking wires. 👀👀👀👀👀

oh fuck here we go y’all sluts better buckle up

Ducking behind a row of rigged carnival games, you let your work bag fall to the ground as you took a breather, wiping sweat and what looked like engine oil (but could be anything from burnt sugar to cremation ash) off your forehead. Taking a job as a ride mechanic had seemed like a good idea at the time; get into the park for free, discounts on funnel cake, access to all the shows. All you had to do was tighten a few bolts and make sure nobody got electrocuted too severely. 

But here, like the rest of Hell, imps like you were disposable grunt workers and nobody gave two and a half shits if you were overworked or exhausted. Everything was broken or breaking. You were shocked (metaphorically and literally) your first day when you saw that behind the novelty prizes and shiny veneers, the park was just a rat’s nest of rusted metal, sharp edges, and exposed wiring. Mechanics were routinely crushed or mangled or fried, and within a day another had taken their place. So far, you’d managed to avoid the various death traps and make it a solid month, which made you one of the more senior employees. 

Today was especially busy; there was some important fuck and his daughter at the park today, and orders were to keep the place running as smoothly as possible, though “smooth” was a relative term. It had seen you running like a maniac from one end of the park to the other, your uniform shirt coming untucked from your grease-stained pants as you jogged from one disaster to the next. Predictably, as soon as you had a second to take a breath, your phone went off, the splintering chitter of its message alert drilling into your ears. 

Another mechanic was down, this one working to repair one of the main acts. You groaned, big machines you were fine with, but intricate wiring and robotics? Not your strong suit. And this was the top-billed show, the most loved (or most feared) performer the park had to offer. Fizzarolli himself. You hadn’t seen the show yet, and his ominous circus tent was one of the only places you hadn’t yet been called to to fix something, but since you were currently the most senior mechanic on staff at the moment, and seeing how RoboFizz had just crushed his last mechanic, the job fell unfortuitously to you. 

Fantastic.

You sighed and slung your tool bag over your shoulder, walking briskly through the crowds to hastily erected circus tent, which had been cleared of people for the time being. You took a deep breath before ducking inside, blinking a bit as your eyes adjusted from the bright light of midday to the dim green glow that filled the tent. Some benches were knocked over, a few still had blood spatter on them, but you'd straighten that up later. At the moment, your focus was on the shadowed figure bent in unnatural angles slumped on the stage. His eyes and grinning mouth were lit with the same dull green, and they narrowed to slits when they saw you. 

"Its about ti-time you got here, toots!" He laughed, the sound skipping like a damaged record. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you knelt behind Fizz to access his mainframe; at least the rides didn't talk. 

"Yeah yeah, its busy work keeping this shithole operating, sue me." A few twists with a screwdriver, and the panel popped free, exposing the tangled wires and hydraulics, and you groaned inwardly. This kind of detailed work was way beyond your level of experience. 

"Ya waiting for a formal invitation ba-ba-back there, tinker? Get moving, I've got an audience waiting!"

"Hell's sake, keep your bells on. I'm not exactly a robotics expert." Clamping a small flashlight in your teeth, you started to poke around inside the hydraulics, looking for any leaks or broken connections. Not seeing anything right away, you probed deeper, focused on finding the problem in the less than adequate lighting. Had you been more experienced in dealing with robots, you would have perhaps remembered to inspect the outer body for any exposed wiring. As it happens, you did not, and your inexperience led you to brush against an exposed set of wires that threw sparks and burned a dark, circular mark on the back of your hand. The pain made you jerk back on instinct, yelping and cursing. It took you a moment to notice that the posture of the clown had changed, straightening from his slumped position with his head cocked sharply to the side. With the soft ratchet of moving machinery, Fizz turned his head 180 degrees to look at you, and you noticed more quickly now that his stare had changed as well. Before, it felt derisive, a touch irritated behind the ever present smile he'd been programmed with. But now there was more intent inside the green, more interest...almost as if he were leering at you.

"Ohhh," he rasped, "so its gonna be that kind of show?"

You were confused, until you noticed a dot of red within the green, a new light in the mainframe, with tiny lettering indicating what new function your little spasm had switched on. 

18+ Mode On

Your eyes widened as the reality of your little mistake finally began to sink in. It was a well known fact that Fizz had an “adult” mode, mainly for private shows where wads of cash exchanged hands behind closed doors. Sometimes, the crowds at night were bigger than the crowds during the day. Sure, on a lonely night or two, you’d wondered just what a sex-capable robot clown could do and if shelling out a small fortune would be worth it. Now, it seemed, you were about to get an accidental freebie.

“Fuck.”

“That’s the idea, sweetcheeks.” Fizz got to his feet with a whir and a shower of yellowish sparks, his body jerking so that the back panel slammed shut, hiding his exposed mechanics and thwarting any attempt you might have made to switch his mode. From somewhere within the tent, jaunty calliope music began to play, the pitch slow and wavering at first, like playing a record on the wrong speed. “So what’s your ple-pleasure, sweet stuff? Your ol’ pal Fizzarolli can do it all-upstairs, downstairs, butt stuff, you name it.”

“I...uh…” Your entire body felt numb, frozen, unable to do much more than stare as he advanced toward you, looming over you with that malevolent, leering grin still on his fanged mouth. “I’m not...I mean, I don’t…”

Fizz paused, his head once more cocking sharply to the side as he regarded you, then he let out a laugh, the bells on his hat jingling as his head did a complete roll on his shoulders. “Aww, looks like someone’s sh-shy! Don’t worry, tinker,” he growled in a smug, condescending tone, reaching down to pat you on the head. “I’ll take the reins on this one. You just sit back and enjo-jo-joy the show!”

With a sinister chuckle, he lunged for you, wrapping his entire body around you like an electronic boa constrictor, that laugh still buzzing in your ear as he coiled tight, then unwound himself, flinging your body towards the ceiling of the tent. There was barely any time for you to pull breath into your lungs to scream, and then suddenly, you weren’t falling anymore. Something else was wrapped around you, something cold and biting as steel. Around each wrist, each ankle, your waist, and your neck, whiplike appendages were wound, thin and covered in shifting metal plates. You were being held in midair, suspended like a puppet; if the advertisements you’d seen plastered around the park were any clue, you would guess that you were getting a taste of the “real tentacle action” Fizz boasted. Indeed, from within the loose panel on his back was where the appendages seemed to originate. 

As he stalked closer, you gulped, the sickly green glow of his eyes bathing your face and throwing your shadow in harsh relief against the canvas wall. Fizz wasted no time, and with only a deranged giggle as a warning, he shoved his hand beneath the untucked hem of your shirt to slide into your pants, cold hand cupped firmly between your legs. Barely a sound had left you, everything happening so fast you could barely process, let alone react, but a moan left you now, the silk of his glove and the ruffle around his wrist feeling so strange and yet so good as they brushed against your most sensitive parts. Fizz chuckled, or at least, he attempted to, the sound glitching into a series of strange beeps in response to your apparent openness to his touch.

"Boy, hardly touched at all and you're already moaning? You must need it ba-bad, impling." He leaned closer, eyes narrowing, and you shied away from those sharp teeth, so close to your face. Without warning, that hand between your legs began to vibrate, and you yelped, wriggling in your bonds.

"Ohhh...oh fuck…!"

"Like I said," he crooned. "That's the idea-ea-ea." The vibrations cranked up a notch, and you could no longer keep still, your breath coming faster, tail thrashing behind you out of sheer pleasure. Truthfully, it had been a long time; when you were fighting to keep a roof over your head and passing out from near exhaustion the second you returned home at night, there wasn't much time to try and get laid. It was lonely and it sucked, but that's life. Now, touched for the first time in what could have been centuries for all you knew, your toes curled inside your work boots, tears forming in your eyes as your hips bucked against his hand. It was so good, so fucking good, and with every increase in speed, your moans and cries got louder, more desperate, until-

"Ah-ah-ah, tinker, no you don't!" Suddenly that hand was gone, all stimulation withdrawn, and you whimpered. The tentacles around your extremities tightened in response. "You thought I was just gonna let you co-come so soon? Poor, dumb little imp-slut, it ain't gonna be that easy."

You swore, your teeth bared in an impotent snarl, but the clown only laughed, more carnival-striped tentacles unfurling and wrapping around you, the metal cold against your overheated skin. Now fully immobile, you were lifted higher, splayed out, shaking and wanting. The new appendages began to nudge and press around your body, seemingly exploring your form while the clown stepped between your spread legs, hands groping at your trembling thighs. His smirk was near evil, merciless, piercing as a laser as he watched his tentacles divest you of every stitch of clothing, torn and tossed aside without care. The tips of his jester hat brushed along your legs as he leaned closer to your core, mouth opening to graze the tips of his sharp teeth along your inner thighs, chuckling when you writhed, uncertain if you were trying to pull away or get closer. “Please,” you whimpered, not quite knowing what you were begging for, your body reduced to firing synapses and electric pulses of pure need.

Again, that mocking giggle issued from somewhere behind his sharp teeth. “Begging now, slut? You really want it tha-a-at bad, huh?” His open mouth neared your center, and you noticed now that there was heat coming from him, like the brush of warm breath, and saw a faint reddish glow shining from somewhere within his maw. “Want Ol’ Fizz to make you come again and a-again like the greedy little tramp you are?”

“Yes,” you choked out, so far past caring how desperate you sounded. “Yes, please, please, please!”

A soft whir was your only warning before something long, warm, and slippery was sliding between your legs; your body spasmed, jerking against the restraining appendages, your head lifting to see his striped tongue pressing against you, coated in shiny lubricant. He licked experimentally at you, seeing how much pressure you liked and where you were most sensitive, continuing his brutal teasing as the needle-sharp tips of his fingers raked down your thighs, nearly drawing blood. Then that mouth opened impossibly wide, eyes narrowed to knowing slits as that tongue probed at your entrance, nudging against it before shoving inside with no warning. Gasps and choked half-words fell from your lips at the delicious stretch of being suddenly, violently filled, his tongue twisting and pushing, the stripes not just for decoration but denoting a raised, almost ribbed texture. 

When it began to vibrate inside you, you couldn’t help but scream.

He cooed filth up at you, still able to talk despite his mouth being wrapped around you, voice distorted from the vibrations. Yellowish sparks would issue from his limbs as he fought to keep you still, burning against your skin like vicious little kisses. You weren’t coaxed to the edge so much as dragged toward it, your orgasm slamming into you with near physical force. The clench and thrashing of your body didn’t slow him; if anything, the vibrations intensified, more tentacles issuing from him to stroke and tease other erogenous zones, your entire body his to play with, helpless against his ruthless pursuit of your ruin. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he ripped your pleasure from your body with no care to be gentle, teeth and hands leaving marks in their wake. You were his slut, his eager imp-whore, his pretty little toy; at least, you didn’t deny it when he growled these claims up at you. As long as he didn’t stop, you would be anything he wanted.

But while he couldn’t grow tired or drained, you certainly could, and through a veil of tears you begged him to stop, half afraid that he wouldn’t. Fizz paused, then slowly unwound himself from around your violently shaking form, tentacles disappearing back inside the panel they had come from. He regarded you curiously, still grinning as you collapsed in a boneless, shaking heap, unable to do much except pant for breath. Finally, you looked up at him with hazy eyes, your sweaty hair falling limply in your face.

“Didn’t you have a show to do?”

Fizz threw back his head and laughed, the bells on his hat jingling merrily, a stark contrast to the cold, malicious sound of his glee. “Not the sharpest t-t-tool in the shed, huh, tinker? Look around; you a-are the show.”

To your horror, you could see dozens of yellow eyes pinned to your naked form, imps of all shapes and sizes, eyeing you hungrily. The light of day outside the tent was gone, and the depraved crowds that only came around at night had filtered in while you were...preoccupied. Ruby skin turned a mortified burgundy as you scrambled to cover yourself with any scraps of your clothing you could find, but Fizz wrapped his arms around you and hauled you to your feet, his arm secure around your waist as he bowed to his audience-your audience. They began to applaud, some whistling, others throwing out lewd comments. Fizz pulled you into his side, the hand on your waist slipping just a little lower.

“Seems like we make a pretty good duo, dollface,” he rasped, showing off his pointed teeth in a lascivious grin that at your already weak knees nearly buckling. “Whaddya say we gi-gi-give them an encore?”

[gracegriller949]

Shining Devotion

Chapter 1

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1588

Pairing: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker

A/N: This is the first chapter of my first Din/Luke fanfic. Find it on ao3 here

Luke is tired of meditating.

Him and Grogu have been doing so for hours now, and Luke feels as though the Force has showed him everything that there is to know for today.

The jungle bustles around the pair as they sit in comfortable, focused silence. Usually during his meditation sessions, Luke is adamant about keeping his mind clear and focusing on his connection with the Force. But now, Luke takes a deep breath and lets his mind drift to wherever it wants.

He catches himself seeing flashes of silver metal and a set of watery brown eyes that he can’t seem to forget.

Luke’s eyes snap open and he glances around at his surroundings. He takes a shaky inhale as his eyes land on the vines and trees that surround him and his companion. Luke looks over at the child now, perched carefully on top of his smaller, yet identical boulder. His little green forehead is furrowed in concentration, his small body swimming in his brown robes as he stretches his small hands out on either side of him.

Grogu senses Luke’s eyes on him and turns his tiny form towards the other Jedi and opens his shining eyes to gaze curiously at Luke.

“You tired of meditating too?”

Grogu cocks his ears to the side and coos at Luke softly in reply.

Luke sighs and slides off his meditation spot. He turns to Grogu and scoops him up from his rock to tuck him into the crook of his arm. Grogu babbles enthusiastically as Luke starts on the long path back to their camp.

Much like when they were meditating, Luke finds his thoughts drifting onto other matters. This time, however, he thinks of his sister.

Leia lives on Coruscant and is currently trying to clean up the mess that is the New Republic. Her expertise in politics has never ceased to amaze Luke. He has never been one for diplomacy and watching her navigate all the politicians makes Luke’s head hurt. He makes a mental note send Leia a Holo sometime soon.

Luke looks down at the green and brown bundle in his hands as he steps over a large root. He is met with big eyes and another curious gaze.

“Are you ready for some dinner? I think we have some Runyip back home”

Grogu’s ears perk up at the sound of food and he coos happily at the notion. Luke smiles back fondly and moves some vines with the Force to step through the opening.

Soon, they arrive upon a small hut that the two Jedi call home. The humble structure is a welcome sight after a tiring day of training.

Luke walks them both inside and sets Grogu down on his favorite chair next to a small metal table they use for eating. Grogu gurgles happily and reaches for the tiny wooden ball that Luke made for him when they first came to Yavin-4.

Luke looks around their tiny kitchen area and sighs at the mess that he finds there. A rickety old table is pushed haphazardly next to a half-sized conservator that Luke found in some old wreckage. The table is littered with utensils and empty nutrient packs that Luke forgot to clean up from earlier that day.

Luke walks up to the conservator and opens the door to the dismal contents within. He grabs the pack of the last pieces of fresh Runyip meat and shuts the door to the conservator.

Grogu instantly turns his intense focus from his ball to look excitedly at the pack of meat in Luke’s hand.

“It looks like this is the last of it.”

Luke gives Grogu the rest of the meat and turns to work on the mess he left for himself.

Feeling more self-indulgent than usual, Luke starts to think about the things that have been eating at him as he sweeps the crumbs off of his makeshift counter. Luke loves being a master to Grogu, but Grogu isn’t really one for conversation. He can’t help but wish that there was someone around that he can talk to about…. well, anything. Luke has always known that the life of a Jedi would be lonely, but he never expected it to feel like this.

His sister enters his thoughts for the second time that day. Luke imagines Leia and Han, living together on Coruscant. Last time Luke spoke to them, they’d seemed the happiest they’ve ever been. Well, in their own way. Luke has never fully understood their relationship, but he does know that they are each other’s person. Luke misses them so much and again makes a note to talk to them soon.

Done with his task, Luke grabs a protein packet from its storage container and takes a seat in his own chair across from Grogu. Luke watches as Grogu finishes his last slice of Runyip and his big black eyes droop heavily with sleep.

Luke scoops Grogu up and sets him gently in his hammock. The little green womp rat falls asleep as soon as his little head hits the bed.

Luke’s gaze lingers on his tiny student before he turns away and grabs his nutrient packet off the table and walks out of the hut. Leaning against the side of it, Luke takes a bite from his nutrient bar. He tilts his head up towards the night sky to gaze up at the looming planet of Yavin and finally lets his mind go where it has been wanting to all day.

Brown eyes.

Luke remembers the first time he met the Mandalorian like it happened yesterday. He was wearing the shiniest Beskar armor that Luke had ever seen. They spoke only a few words to each other that day, but it’s a conversation that Luke can never seem to shake.

“Are you a Jedi?”

The first words that the Mandalorian said to Luke make him chuckle now.

The thing that Luke remembers the most vividly is the way the Mandalorian carried himself. There was something about it that makes Luke’s heart flutter.

Even before he took his helmet off to say goodbye to his child, Luke could already sense the amount of love that the Mandalorian had for Grogu. A pang of guilt strikes Luke’s heart at the thought of the kid being taken away from the only father he ever knew, but his own words from that day come back to him.

“The child will not be safe until he learns to master his powers.”

Luke looks down at the last piece of his nutrient bar, his mouth suddenly feeling sandy at its dryness. He exhales and tosses the nutrient bar into the jungle and wanders over to his latest project.

When Luke decided to move to Yavin 4, the original plan was to have a whole new temple of Jedi younglings to train. However, finding Force sensitives has been a harder task than he first anticipated. Luke is only one person, and he doesn’t even know where to begin to find other Jedi.

If there are any to find.

The only way that he was able to find Grogu is because the child reached out to him. Most Force sensitives don’t know how to do that and that is where Luke’s problems lie. How does he find kids who have powers who don’t know that they have powers?

However, Luke was nothing if not hopeful, and has begun building another hut that is similar to his own in anticipation for the students that he will eventually find. The circular wooden walls of the structure have mostly been formed, but the roof still needs some work. This hut is a little bit bigger than the one he made for Grogu and himself, and since Luke has learned the ways he went wrong with his first hut, building the new one has been going a lot smoother than the first time around.

A sudden, high whistling beep comes from inside the walls of the hut. R2D2 zips out to meet Luke as he approaches the hut.

“Hey Artoo. How have you been holding up?”

Luke receives a few beeps in reply as he pats Artoo’s head affectionately and moves to analyze the hut to see what else needs to be done.

The sides seem to be sturdy enough, but the ground below is a bit uneven in some places. Luke decides that the ground can wait to be filled in, and instead focuses his attention on the top of the structure. He looks up across the top of the walls he has already built and uses the Force to start moving vines and sticks to construct the roof of the hut.

As he is doing this, there is a flash of light and some movement in the distance that catches Luke’s eye. He looks up at the horizon to see something moving rapidly through the air, flying towards Luke’s location. Flying is probably too generous of a word, falling would be more accurate. Luke’s eyes widen and his heart starts racing as he can now see that it is a ship hurtling towards the moon’s surface.

Luke knows that ship.

He watches as it passes overhead and crashes into the tops of the trees and disappears a few kilometers away. Smoke rises in the distance. The sight makes Luke’s heart skip as he takes a split second to take in what he just witnessed.

A second later, Luke’s feet are pounding the ground as he sprints towards the crash site.

[brideofcthulhu10]

How would the Lost boys react to having a motherly type of s/o?

OH MY GOD I DIDN'T KNOW TUMBLR POSTED THIS UNFINISHED! UGH STUPID APP! Okay, redo!

Cuuute. The boys could certainly use a motherly touch around, even Max had said that when he wanted to turn Lucy. For this I am gonna be writing a female s/o, if you ever want otherwise always be sure to specify ahead of time otherwise DM me and I’ll be sure to correct it. I love the idea one behind the scenes with the boys, after the late night partying and wild blood orgies. I mean, let's be realistic here- those guys probably smell like cigarettes and ass. That cave is no doubt absolutely filthy as hell, and I don’t think they’ve cleaned up a day of their afterlife. 

Lost Boys with a Motherly Fem!S/O

David

Now David isn’t exactly the type to be told what to do in almost any scenario. Well, almost. But even then he still prefers the majority of the control. It’s going to be a challenge to get anything done with him. Any sort of lectures or advice tend to fall on deaf ears simply because he and the boys have taken care of themselves for so long. Your best method of choice? STEALTH

I’m serious, you gotta be sneaky with this boy. He’ll wake up to you cleaning the hotel because you had assumed it was still daylight, or sweeping around when they go on hunts. Don’t fuck with the cobwebs, its an aesthetically pleasing decoration! Frankly, he’s just a brat who doesn’t like change. It’s gotten to the point however, where he can’t exactly stop you so he just decides to be a butt about it. Take-out trash litter the hotel lobby, he’ll even leave out half-full open containers and try to get some real maggots up in there. Not if you have anything to say about it! Sometimes he wonders how you can keep it as clean as you do.

You have no idea how absolutely rank a pack of teenage vampires can be. Especially with unwashed clothes. Seriously, David and Paul’s boots could make rats gag, the stank of unwashed vamp toes is gnarly. That can be a bit of a fight. Well someone has to get all those bloodstains out! What do you think they just vanished the next day? None of the boys want clean clothes, especially David. According to them you can't be badass vampires and have fresh pants. He’ll even hide his jacket from you on laundry day. How is he supposed to instill fear in the hearts of mortals when his jacket smells like FUCKING LAVENDER?

God help you if you try to make him bathe. The only way he’d concede is if you really went all out. Play to his ego, its the best way to get him to cooperate. After all, what man doesn’t want to be a king for a day. Especially one such as David. Once you finally, FINALLY get him in, then it's a fight to get him out. He’ll let off soft grunts when you massage shampoo through his scalp, leaning his head back with low, grumbling moans. Sometimes he’ll have you join him, even if you aren’t undressed. Yeah, he doesn’t care if you have your clothes on, time to get in. It's hotter when he sees your shirt tightly clinging to your bodice, although he'll huff that you had a bra underneath. If you try to peel off the soggy articles he won't let you. After all, if you got to strip him down, he gets to do the same to you. He'll take his time, and keep in mind the water isn't about to be clean for much longer.

Despite his protests, and he’d never admit it to the rest of the pack, but he really does love having someone caring for him. Being spoiled by his lover has some advantages, especially after a stressful day. Just laying back, having you rub his shoulders for a good minute, maybe suggesting he come over to your apartment and let you cook him a real meal for once. Sure you’ll be telling him how he needs to be more careful when he goes on hunts, but he can handle that much. You’re his precious doll, if it means a few lectures from you then he’ll put up with it. 

Dwayne

Dwayne is kind of the silent brother bear of the group so it’s a relief when he has someone who wants to take care of him. It makes him chuckle when you fret over him. Honey, he can fly, he’s not going to fall off the roof. Even if he did, it wouldn’t kill him! He’s lost count how many times you subtly, or not so subtly, toss around the subject of a helmet when he rides around. You’ll even try using persuasive ideas such as having it custom painted, maybe adding some spikes- anything just wear a stupid helmet! Again, he reminds you the threat of cracking his head open wasn’t exactly that daunting

When you’re on a cleaning spree he tends to stay out of your way. Granted he tried to help once, but you immediately shooed him out. You got it, just go sit down and quit futzing with stuff. On laundry day he’s a bit stubborn, but as long as you don’t wash his leather jacket, he’ll be fine. Seriously, do not touch his jacket. He cannot stress enough how bad it is to try and use water and soap to clean a leather jacket. NO. No touchy! So he’ll just sit in his underwear (personally I think it’d be boxer briefs) on the couch clinging to his jacket while you go off to the laundromat a few blocks over. Eventually you bought him lounge pajama pants for when you do laundry trips. At first he didn’t want to but… well they have a badass puma on them. It’d be rude to not wear it if you went through all that trouble to get that for him.

Unlike the other three, Dwayne doesn’t need much bribery to get in the tub. DO you have ANY IDEA the last time he had a god damn shower? He misses it, he doesn’t exactly like smelling like parfum de cul (kudos to any of you who know what that means ;) ). Oh just watch him sink into the tub as you massage his luxurious mess of dark hair, you swear sometimes he audibly purrs when you do. Its one of the few times Dwayne will let himself be completely vulnerable. He won’t necessarily force you to join him, but he would certainly love it you have your cute butt nestled between his legs where he could lather you up. But, I mean, that’s entirely up to you to refuse your ripped, completely naked boyfriend eyeing you up.

When he gets injured or sick, which you never expected that he could, you immediately go into hyperdrive. While he’d rather be out riding with the guys, he can’t help but love being pampered by his princess who always treats him like a king. You’ll shove him into Star’s old bed and demand he stay put, wiping his forehead down with a cold cloth. One would assume that someone with no body heat left would get a fever. Actually, it makes it worse. He won’t DIE from any illness, but it sure does suck when he gets them. Usually a few feedings will heal him up within a day, so you’ve started smuggling bags from blood drives and keeping them in a little cooler for him. Granted you only get him A or B blood, but he still appreciates all the effort you go to just for him. 

Paul

Paul loves it up until you make him do things he doesn’t want to. Typical guy. He DIED in a freaking bath tub, why the hell would you want to put him back in one?! It would take either a serious amount of strength or bribing to get him into one.

“It doesn't even have holy water Paul, just normal, plain, stupid water! You smell like a rat’s ass, will you please just get in?”

“I’d rather smell like ass!”

Yes, he may even try to bolt out of the room buck naked. Fuck you, try to catch him now! Did you hide his clothes?!

Your best bet is to play to his most vulnerable side: horny. Sure he refuses to get in the bath on his own, but add you naked covered in bubbles and it just became the best place to be. The blonde won’t even sulk when you’re sudsing up his hair because you’re too distracted to notice he’s about to cop a feel. He’ll just laugh like an idiot when you get mad, after all you put him in here in the first place. There will probably be tub sex, because dammit he deserves something for being such a good boy. Surprisingly he actually loves it when you use the hair dryer on him. It feels amazing, he doesn’t exactly get warm anymore so the sensation of heat rushing through freshly cleaned hair is just incredible

Paul is not a fan of laundry day, just like David. Again, you gotta chase him down. He’ll tease you the whole time though. 

“Babe if you wanted to just rip my clothes off me all you had to do was ask.”

You only leave him in his underwear because he doesn’t have anything else to change into. You never realized how much of a pain in the ass white pants were until you met him. Why the hell did he even have white pants in the first place? They show every damn stain! Paul will probably come with you to the laundromat. Its three in the morning, who cares if someone sees him in his boxers? Big deal! He’d even offer to go nude. You managed to find a pair of pajama pants and a band t-shirt he could wear on laundry day because this ass refuses to buy any other clothes. 

Paul thinks it’s absolutely adorable the way you dote on him. It’s a pain in the butt, but nothing is better than the tiny notes you leave for him when you go out. Or when you surprise the coven with a bunch of tupperware dishes full of real home cooked meals. Yeah being ragged on half the day is never fun but he knows that the only reason you do that is you care so much for him. You almost died when you thought he’d been killed, it was fair you got a bit over protective after. Besides, you were still his ride or die baby who did anything for him. Hell, last Valentine’s day you even went all around Santa Carla until you found someone who made him a mother fuckin Gene Simmons teddy bear, with the tongue out and everything. Paul loves you, nags and all

Marko

Probably one of the only boys to be a bit more cooperative when it comes to mothering him. After all, he’s the one being spoiled. It’s precious when you fret over him on a hunt out, warning him to avoid any hunters, fly safe, please don’t jump off any bridges. He’ll just hug you tight and assure you he’s gonna be fine. Yeah you’ll go one about how he should have a helmet when riding or raising concern when he tries something of questionable origin from the boardwalk vendors. But most of the time he just kind of tunes you out and smiles until you’re done.

He’s a sneaky boy, you oughta know that by now. You want him to take a bath? Only if you join him. You want to brush his hair out? Sure he’ll sit still… for ten kisses. Laundry day? Fine but he gets to come with. It’s hard not to laugh at him crouched up on the top of a dryer with his knees to his chest in only his underwear watching you throw in his pants and socks. He can’t help but grin when you throw him a side eye because of the stains all over his white shirt. Sheesh, him and Paul with the white clothes.  Again, please please PLEASE don’t wash his jacket. You will ruin it. He doesn’t care if you bombard it with air freshener until his sorry ass smells like Hawaiian Breeze, but do not ever wash it

It’s adorable the lengths you’ll go to for him. Last year when he told you they were just gonna have some hot wings and beers for Thanksgiving you flipped. Next thing they know you had them come over to your apartment as soon as the sun went down to a full spread. Paul actually ended up hugging you too. It looked like something out of a catalog. Two fatass turkeys filled to the brim with homemade stuffing, easily four pounds of mashed potatoes, gravy, bread rolls, the whole fucking thing! And veggies. Nasty. Sure the corn on the cob was bitchin, but asparagus? NO. Yeah you made Marko put some on his plate and half the time he just kept pushing his peas around until Paul flung one at him. Then it was a silent veggie war. After that they pretty much came over for any holiday. He’d be all over you just gushing over how happy he is that you went through so much hard work for him, for them. Even Max did fuckall besides what he had to, the guy wanted to toot his own horn about dad of the year but sucked ass at it. 

They start coming over so often that you bought black out curtains for every window in your house. Even during the day they could sleep in your guest room without fear of the sun. Well, the guys could. You had him tucked into your own room, still sleeping with his feet to the headboard for that upside down sense and his arms tightly pressed to his chest. He absolutely loves how much you care for him, especially after so many decades of being a filthy biker boy who feasted on the living. Even his vampirism didn’t send you away. You’d even keep a mini fridge in your room stocked with blood bags in case he craved a midday snack. Sometimes he’d awaken to you sleeping beside him and just savor those quiet moments with his baby. Maybe for Christmas this year he’d offer you the best gift he could think of. Who needs a wedding ring when you can offer an eternity with your angel instead? 

[writtenfan]

Reserving for Romance, A Dinner with Prof. Ratigan !

Ratigan x FemReader

Anon: Since you do just about any Disney baddie, can you do Rattigan with an S.O who is a domestic mouse or pet fancy rat.

(You've made me fall in love this character! Love his song!)

“Oh, absolutely insatiable is my joy for making others quiver in fear at the mere mention of my name!”

His laughter echoes throughout the empty room. He slides a hand back against his hair, making sure it kept its flattened look and adjusted his collar. He opened one of his eyes and gave you a charming grin, as he took his red napkin off the table and flapped it once in the air, unraveling it.

“But nevermind that my dear! For the feeling I get when I spend with you is even more or as equal in its rewards.” He lays down the napkin upon his lap and pats it gently, looking upon you sweetly.

His tail slowly swaying across the carpeted floor, which once he caught you noticing it, he curled beneath his seat out of your sight and coughed, bringing your attention back to his face.

His hair was newly combed and shiny, his face kept up and groomed, he wore a dashing suit with a daring black cape to match and his usual white gloves, yet they had golden lining along the knuckles. His top hat hung near the doorway, where there stood a quivering waiter who was pressed against the wall, holding a menu against his chest as two men, a burly mouse-man and a vile looking reptile stood by him, leering at him and giving him devious grins, keeping him In check.

“I hope you do like this evening out, It took forever to get reservations!” he laughed rather darkly as he scooted his seat forward a bit and ran his hand across the glossy menu in front of him, following his gloved finger against the words as he read them.

You look around the room, Ratigan had taken you out to one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city!

 A beautiful place set carefully on the beautiful roof garden with the perfect sight of the River Thames in all its beauty, as its lights illuminated the night sky. Yet, around you there isn’t a sound and not a seat in this entire room was field! Only empty velveted seats and candles still flickering on each table, freshly lit! All its usual customers and most of the staff were eerily gone. Only the chefs and the one waiter remained. How odd.

“Oh, dearest we must do this more often, I do enjoy when we go out together like this don’t you?”

“I do! This place looks absolutely lovely Padraic, I just wonder how, if you say it was so hard to find a reservation…why this whole place is completely empty!”

Ratigan looked up from his menu with a sweet smile and reached slowly across the table to your hand and picked it up in his lifting it up, your paw tiny compared to his, he gets off his seat and leans over the table avoided the candle flame, to kiss the top of your hand.

“Oh yes, it was hard getting “a” reservation for a singular table, so I decided what If I just reserved the whole building itself hmm?”

He sat back in his chair but not before tossing back his cape. He clasped his hands together.

“Don’t worry dearie, It wasn’t hard once I made them realize that they must provide me with a table for my dearest and I, as we were the highest of caliber crowd and that I wouldn’t take no for an answer…well…”

You hear the sharp squeak of the waiter as the reptile prodded him with his sharp clawed hand on his side.

Ratigan acted as if he hadn’t noticed the noise and let out a soft sigh.

“As you see, they agreed to my…persistence and acknowledged by superiority, begging my forgiveness for their behavior.” He chuckled softly as he circles his finger in the air as he gazes back down at his menus  sets his finger down on something in the wine category.

“How about we start this lovely evening with un peu de vin? Oh servitor!”

 He claps his hands together and closes his eyes and you watch the waiter stagger from a hard push towards your table, his whole-body jittering at the sight of you husband to be. His pencil thin mustache quivered just as much as his body and seemed to almost want to jump off his face!

Ratigan turns his head slowly to the man and opens his eyes lazily with a wide grin. 

“I would like the greatest blue wine straight from your cellar to start off our night…”  Ratigan grinds his teeth slightly but stops this and pats his chest gently. “Go on now and be quick about it!” He gestures the waiter away which he quickly obliged with a few bows. “Yes professor, wine for you and the lovely lady coming right up.”

The poor man skitters back into the kitchens and the doors shut behind him. Once again, it’s quiet.

You cover your mouth as you yawn softly and gently raise your tail from the ground and allow it to get some feeling back into it, you wore long lavender gloves that reached your elbows and a gorgeous purple dress with a jewel broach with heels to match and you took the time to admire your dress in the candlelight. Ratigan turns his head to the door and gestures sharply for his men to follow the waiter and they nod respectfully and hastily follow the waiter.  

He then turns his focus back to you, his face illuminated dimly by the dancing white candle between you both.

“Oh, my sweet brindled queen…” his eyes dance over with a refined grin.

“You’re the most picturesque lady my eyes did ever see, with the brain to match and a birthright as long as time itself.”

“Oh, how worthy you are to have such a handsome and intelligent gentle-mouse such as I, we are a match bounded by fate ohhoho~”

He rests his fingers on his chest as he laughs and then lays his hands down on the middle of the table, asking for your paws. You place your paws in his and he gently squeezes them as he gets lost in your eyes.

“Such perfect eyes…a dainty nose the smoothest tail, the softest fur and the most adorable ears oh I’m quite lucky as well! Order anything you’d like, Its on the house…”

The doors behind Ratigan swung open and out came the speedy figure of the waiter with a bottle of wine held tightly against his chest and two glasses in his other. He nervously places the glass in front of Ratigan and then to you, giving you soft pleading eyes that flinched as Ratigan snapped in the air to regain his attention. He pointed this glass and then yours.

“Hurry up and pour our glasses. We would like to order next.”

“Y-yes professor right away sir”

The waiter pours the wine and the stream of it pouring into the glass wobbles around. Yet he fills Ratigan’s glass perfectly, but as he poured yours the slam of the doors behind Ratigan started him as the two thugs walked in and you watched a few wine droplets fall down agains the white tablecloth and one spotted your red napkin sitting on your lap.

The room had a sudden chill as the waiter started apologizing profusely as he straightened his bottle and shivered looking at Ratigan with wide eyes.

Ratigan closed his eyes and slowly took the napkin off his lap and placed it on the table gently, and shook his head as he took one of his gloves off his hand and flexed it a few times before he sighed and rose from the table to stand beside the man who took a step back, but without a moments warning Ratigan snatched the wine bottle from his hand and thumped it against the table. Then grabbed a handful of the man’s collar and shirt and rose his feet off the ground.

“You quaking simpleton! You can’t even poor a glass of wine to save your own LIFE! You dare ruin my lady’s newly bought dress and our perfect night together?!” 

He shakes him furiously his eyes filled with unbridled rage and the fur on his neck and face raising in response to his anger. The way he shook the man you could see his collar start to choke him as he tightened his grip on the man.

“R-Ratigan! Its ok! He didn’t ruin my dress, everything is fine!” you cry out to him.

Ratigan paused mid shake and looked down at you, and then back to the mouse that was crying in his paws as his claws pierced through his shirt. He then cleared his throat and let go of the mouse who dropped to the ground landing hard on his rear. Ratigan brushed off his shirt and smoothed back his hair and looked at you with a placid smile.

“Good, I’m glad. But you still shouldn’t have to deal with such abysmal serve, should you? I can’t have such a novice making mistakes such as this can we?” He looks down at the trembling mouse with a sorrowful look and bent down lifting him back up and patting his chest to fix his outfit.

“I’m sorry dear fellow but I must request another waiter to take your place, men?”

“OH no, OH no NO! PLEASE SIR, ILL CLEAN THE TABLE RIGHT UP, JUST PLEASE!” his two men walked to the table and gave you a respectful bow before grabbing the waiter by the arms and started pulling him towards the kitchen “PLEASE, MA’AM I BEG OF YOU PLEASE SAVE ME, PLEASE!!” 

Rattigan tisked under his breath and stood in front of your sight of the man getting dragged intentionally placing a hand under your chin and craning your head up at his tall burly form to distract you from this disturbing situation.

“Never mind him dearest, we still have the rest of our night to go. How about we pick a new, cleaner table and wait till the new waiter is sent in to finish our order shall we?”

                                                                  …

Still startled by the event you pick a table on the terrace outside in the summer air just for a new view.

 Rattigan decides to sit beside you with and arm around you as he talks about his numerous abroad trips and academic achievements. He makes the waiter light his smoking pipe which he then continues to make fancy shapes in the night sky, the smell of it a surprising fruity scent.

Ratigan’s was so much bigger than you, so sitting next to him was comfortable but often he would forget his size and hold on to you too tight.

After a few drinks of wine, and some good food you both had gotten a bit tipsy. He drunkenly insisted that you ditched your chair and sit on his lap so that you could be more comfortable. You kept refusing so he simply tricked you into standing up and tossed your seat of behind you and it knocked over a few other chairs. You both laughed and you sat on his lap, taking another sip of blueberry wine and he rested his chin on your shoulder and was absolutely in love with how comfortable you were.

You took of your gloves and instead he took of his so that you could see how your paws looked side by side. You pulled up his gloves from his fingers and your press you paw in the middle of his hand and he chuckles as you marvel with how big his hand is.

“Yes, my family do come from a long line of big, strong men, yet it was I, who was all that and more with the added tremendous intelligence! I’m the whole cake!”

After the food was taken away you both loudly talked about the day your tails curling absentmindedly against each other’s as you sat sideways on his lap playing with his suit collar and face fur and he nodded away as you talked excitedly and teased around with one of your ears.

You both left the restaurant in terrible shape, as Rattigan got a bit angry as he was reminded about the previous waiter. He threw a few chairs and broke a few tables and you just couldn’t’ stop laughing at the fact that you loved this man. He stopped his rampage as he watched your curled-up body laughing hysterically at a reason he didn’t know of and he began laughing himself.

“I think it’s time we head back home. We are both in an intoxicated state...Men!”

His men follow you and Ratigan as you hold onto his arm and he supports you as you walk more clumsily as him as he could handle more win than your little body could ever!

That night, he called Felica just so that you could climb on top of her head and pet her fur, which she gladly appreciated. Both of you sat for a few minutes just calling the cat cute pet names and loving up on her. 

“Did you like your little treat I sent over my little butterscotch Ratigan slurred and you turned your head to see a piece of torn black and white cloth resembling the outfit of the…oh my, you suddenly felt tired!

Ratigan swept you up and carried you to his room and tucked you in a huge soft comforter. He gently took your heels off and unclipped your broach and you zonked out the moment your head touched the pillow.

“Nighty night my beloved~”

[nyctolovian]

Summary:

Just as Martin was convinced that whoever was outside was gone, he heard something else.

“What was that?” came a voice from under his bed.

Moth!Jon is a monster under Martin’s bed. What more could you ask for?

Day 1-2: meet-cute

TW: animal abuse

Martin thought he had a pretty neat deal when he bought this house.

From the outside, it looked snug and comfortable, which already ticked off some boxes in Martin’s mental checklist. It had been built with tan brick walls and had a hard cracked cement floor. Short and wide windows brightened up the house and had been added to the house in a rather playful pattern. 

The price was surprisingly low for a three-room, especially one that apparently came with some furniture left by the previous family. Sure, it was a bit of a wreck—cobwebs everywhere, carpets of dust, junk left from its previous owner, and the walls seemed to be peeling off. But it only needed some repairs and cleaning up.

Just in case though, Martin had asked the estate agent, “Why’s this house selling so cheap?”

With a pleasant smile, Ms Richardson calmly replied, “This property has been on the market for quite some time and I suppose the family just wants to sell it as soon as they can now.”

Martin hummed as he gave the house another once over. “I see…” he said. “So no major problems? Like a termite infestation or… I don’t know, uh, structural damage?“

Her face grew slightly stiff. “Oh! Nothing of that, I assure you.” There was a brush of overemphasis on her words as her grip on her clipboard tightened a miniscule bit. “Just a slightly old house. That’s all there is to it.” Her sunny smile returned with vengeance.

Martin’s mouth opened to ask another question but, from the corner of his eye, he saw something dark flash across the bedroom. He spun around. 

Nothing. Just some cobwebs and the bed. He frowned. “Did you… Was that a rat?” Martin asked. “You saw that, right?”

Ms Richardson looked much tenser than a second ago. Still, she maintained her composed demeanor and said, “I don’t think so. I didn’t see anything.”

A sigh escaped Martin. He really wished the estate agent would just be honest with him. If it was just a rat infestation, he just had to set some rat traps. The worst case scenario he could call pest control. It really wasn’t something the estate agent had to lie about. It was still a fairly good deal. 

He had visited several other properties that were either in worse condition or beyond his budget. It had been tiring disappointment after tiring disappointment. Honestly, this was the best one he had found so far. This was about as good as things could get with a budget as tight as his, he figured. 

Nodding to himself, he turned to Ms Richardson and said, “I’ll take it. Can I sign the papers now?”

The smile of gratification on her face was one that reached her eyes. Hastily, she pulled out the contract and shoved the pen and papers into Martin’s hands. “Just sign over here, here, and… here. … Alright! Now, this house will be all yours,” she said. Her voice had a tone of relief that one might have while ridding oneself of the responsibility of baby-sitting a relative’s annoying toddler. 

Martin honestly should have been more wary of this. However, he was overtaken with the sheer giddiness of owning his first house. At the ripe age of 32, but no matter! A milestone was a milestone regardless. He was excited to finally have a house to his name.

As soon as Martin could move in, he dedicated a full weekend cleaning up the house, rearranging some of the furniture and applying some wallpapers to fix the peeling walls. He hadn’t spotted any pests or rats the entire duration. Nonetheless, he placed some mouse and bug traps around the house just to be safe. Then, he moved all his belongings in and settled down comfortably.

Five days living in his new house passed, and surprisingly, Martin ran into no problems. No rats; the neighbours were, well, not lovely, but at least decent; no leakages; the roof didn’t collapse atop him in the middle of the night.

Nothing. Absolutely uneventful.

Things couldn’t be better. 

(But it did feel a tad bit empty, living alone.)

***

Bang!

Martin jolted awake. He turned his head and looked towards his door. What was that? There was a downpour outside, and it could have been thunder but he could have sworn the noise came from within his house.

He held his breath. It was pure blood-curdling silence for what felt like hours. Just as Martin was about to pass the sound off as a figment of his imagination, he heard a soft thump outside his door. 

His breath hitched. 

Oh god. Who was that? Was it a burglar? Was it a serial killer? 

Martin’s mind ran through every scenario like a video on 10 times playback speed, and every single one of them ended with him being brutally murdered. Slowly, making as little noise as possible, he pulled his sheets closer to himself. 

The crack of light under his door shifted with movement. 

His heart leapt to his throat and he choked on it. Martin lay as still as he could.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

Something was there. Right outside his door. It wasn’t locked. 

Shadows under the door gap shifted languidly, morphing in and out of the stream of light. Finally, it shifted away. 

He stayed in bed, quivering, as the thumps continued within the living room. At last, the noises stopped. But Martin kept his eyes and ears peeled for any movement. But nothing happened for at least fifteen minutes. 

Just as Martin was convinced that whoever was outside was gone, he heard something again.

“What was that?” came a voice from under his bed.

Martin strangled a cry of sheer terror. He hurled himself as far as he could from the bed. He was about to open the door but fear of whoever was possibly still outside petrified him.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks at this point as he stared at his bed. Something moved.

Oh, Jesus Christ. Something shifted under his bed.

Then, it crawled out.

And whatever crawled out wasn’t human. 

Its shape was all wrong. There were too many appendages and what looked like half-a-metre-long antennas. As the dark figure rose from the floor, Martin recoiled. Something large on the monster’s back shivered erratically for a few seconds before pressing itself to the side of its torso. It bent its body towards him, but Martin could tell that if it stood at its full height, it would be several heads taller than him, and Martin was not a short man. The only thing he could discern in the dark were the monster’s eyes as they made contact with his. They were a pair bright glowing green orbs that pierced through the darkness and into Martin unrelentingly. 

His chest was bursting at the seams with pain at how fast his heart was racing. He was going to die. Either from slaughter by this monster, or from a heart attack. 

The monster spoke again, “I— This— I…” One of its spindly legs a step towards Martin.

Like cornered prey, he scurried as far as he could without running straight to the serial killer outside his door. “Don’t come any closer!” he hissed, backing to a corner of the room. “I’ve got a… I’ve got a…” His hand hit something that clattered against the wardrobe and he immediately grabbed and brandished it in front of him. 

A clothing hanger. It was as good a weapon as any at this point. 

“I’ve got a weapon!” Martin threatened, every limb trembling pathetically.

The monster took a step back. “I, uh, I didn’t mean to startle you.” It held its four upper limbs out in a placating manner. “I truly mean no harm,” it whispered. 

“You’re going to kill me!” Martin swung his makeshift weapon through the air in front of him.

“No, no! I…” The monster retracted its limbs. “I don't— I’m not going—”

Thump!

The noise from the door sent the both of them scrambling to the other corner of the room. The monster huddled close to Martin and if it weren’t for the second threat outside, he would have screamed bloody murder. Martin could feel a soft fuzz against his cheek as the monster crowded towards Martin.

“They’re not gone!” it whispered panickedly, tugging his shirt sleeve. “What do we do?”

Roughly, Martin brushed the monster’s hand aside. “We?! Since when was there a ‘we’? You were about to kill me a second ago!”

“Was not!”

“Was too!”

Another thump interrupted their squabble. 

The two froze to the spot, breaths held. 

“Y-you’re the one with the weapon,” the monster said, pressing itself closer against the wall. “You should go.”

“No, it’s just a clothing hanger,” he said. “You’re way scarier. You go!”

“But I—”

“You can use my weapon. Here, take it,” Martin said, shoving the clothes hanger into one of the monster’s numerous limbs. When it took ahold of the hanger, he gave the monster a shove towards the door.

It stumbled forward on its too long limbs, body hunched inward. It crept to the door and placed its hand on the knob. Slowly, gently, silently, the monster turned the doorknob and pulled the door open by a tiny fraction. Martin’s fingers pressed apprehensively to his lips without him realising as it stood rigidly still at the door for four seconds. 

The thing draped over its back quivered once or twice before it slipped through the thin crack of the door. 

There was about five seconds of silence, which were far too long for Martin to handle already. So he quietly moved towards the door and peered out through the tiny gap. He couldn’t see the monster anymore, but neither could he see anyone else. 

He was about to head out when he heard a loud bang and the monster shouting in shock. His legs rocketed him back towards his previous corner in a split second. His heart jackrabbit-ing and his tears of fear renewed. 

“Oh, good lord,” he heard the monster go.

Which was a strange thing to hear a monster say, first of all. But, also, there was a curl of relief in its voice, delight even. So either Martin was safe, or there were two monsters that could kill him in his house now. 

A quick scan across the room revealed nothing Martin could use as a weapon now and his clothing hanger was with the monster.

Great. 

Chewing his lip, he bounced between leaping out through his window and charging through the living room. He just paid for the house and he wasn’t keen on giving it up to a couple of monsters! But, rationally, he also knew dying for a house wasn’t quite worth it.

Before he could come to a decision, however, the door creaked open further. In popped the monster from before, cradling something in his arms. Its two other unoccupied arms were excitedly flailing and pointing at the shivering mound it was carrying. 

“It was a cat!” it said euphorically, voice trembling ever-so-slightly. Gently, it bent down further and let the cat in its arms hop off.

Martin stared.

The cat was a small thing, probably not fully grown yet. Its fur looked slightly wet and it was quivering from the cold. In the dark, he couldn’t make out the colour of its short fur, but its yellow eyes were adorably round and curious. Lithely, it twisted to look at Martin and then at the monster, before looking back at Martin again. Then, it began to paw at the chair and pushed a bag on the floor, making it fall with a soft fwump. 

“I think it’s hungry,” the monster said.

That snapped Martin out of his stupor. “And cold.” He looked up at it expectantly. “Uh, what do cats eat? I don’t have much. Do you think canned tuna would work?”

“I… I think so? Maybe? I-I don’t know.”

“Um… okay. We’ll just have to settle for that then,” he said, heading out.

Martin came back with a plate of scooped-out tuna to a rather strange sight. Squatting and wrapping its two lower arms around his knees, the monster stroked the cat from head to back. The cat let out a content little mewl at the attention, and the monster’s eyes practically glued to the little creature.

Crouching down, Martin placed the plate on the floor and pushed it towards the cat. Loudly, it mewed and bounded towards the food. Without hesitation, it dug right in, tail high in the air with joy. He and the monster watched it as it scoffed down the food. When it was done, it yawned and then shook itself.

“I should get a towel.”

The monster hummed. “Yeah,” it said softly, glowing green eyes never quite leaving the feline that was settling onto the floor now.

Martin stood up. “Can I turn the lights on?” he asked. “To, um, get the towel.”

The monster shifted nervously. “Uh, sure,” it said. “If… If you need to.”

“You’re not going to kill me after I see you in light, right?”

“Heh, no, I won’t. You helped the cat after all.”

“Alright then.” Martin said. He pulled the pull cord to his ceiling lights and the room was bathed in bright yellow light. 

He was blinded for a second but judging by the way the monster ducked his head under its black spindly arms for a little longer and shut its eyes, it was more sensitive to the change than him. 

Under the light, Martin could see it better now, and the first thing that struck him was that it was much fluffier than he had imagined. The entire body, including the length of its four arms and two legs, were covered in thick short black fuzz. At its neck, however, its fur grew much thicker, and it was practically a scarf of the softest-looking light brown fur. And it wore a thick brown coat over its back. What he didn’t expect was how… vaguely human the monster looked. Aside from the number and the fuzz, its limbs looked human. A mop of grey hair cascaded to its shoulders, with a pair of feelers drooping down to frame his face. The skin on its face was a gentle earthly shade of brown and its eyebrows were thick and bold. Then, its eyelids fluttered open and revealed the ethereally lovely pair of eyes.

 Peridots gazed up at Martin and shivered with movement in the light. His breath caught on his throat at the sight.

A shiver passed over the brown coat draped over its back and Martin realised with a start that it wasn’t a coat. They were large brown patterned wings, folded neatly behind it. Moth wings.

“Are you mothman?” Martin blurted.

The way the monster’s eyes lit up was the only indication of its amusement because it didn’t seem to have a mouth. Then, without a mouth, it spoke, “No, not quite.” Its hand moved animatedly. “Yes, I’m, well, a moth, but not a man. And no, not exactly mothman.”

“I-I see,” Martin said, simultaneously unnerved and fascinated by the creature before him. “Well, then, uh… I’ll grab the towel.”

He opened the wardrobe and rummaged through it for his softest clean towel, which he passed to the monster.

With a curt nod, it took the towel and gingerly lifted the cat up by its belly and placed it on top of the towel. Then, it wrapped the cat like a tiny burrito and laid it on the floor as carefully as it could. The little thing yawned and its eyes slowly slid shut.

“It’s sleepy,” the monster offered in commentary. It reached a hand over and began to stroke the cat again. 

As the two of them watched the cat doze off, Martin found himself at a loss for words, so he reached for the most familiar set of words. “I’m Martin Blackwood by the way. Um… He/Him pronouns.” Then, for god-knows-what reason, he added, “I’m human.”

The monster’s shoulders shook lightly with a chuckle. “Jon. Uh… Whatever pronouns… I guess, he/him as well. And, well, eldritch moth horror." 

"Jon?” Martin repeated. “That’s much more normal than I would have expected.”

“Yeah… My full name is Jonarathimusius Simmsoniumon." 

Martin’s jaw dropped. "Piss off! There’s no way that’s a real— You made that one up on the spot.”

“I did not.”

“Alright, but that means you came up with that name at some point in your life and that’s incredibly questionable behaviour.”

Jon folded his arms. “I’ll have you know, I didn’t come up with my name. I was just… born with it?”

“What, so you just—” Martin let his jaw hang as he flailed his arms about to find the words “—popped into existence and just knew your full name?”

“That’s exactly right actually,” Jon replied. If he had a mouth, he’d have the most shit-eating grin on his face.

“How does that even work? How did you even come into being? I just… I have so many questions." 

There was a slight frown on Jon’s face. He pressed a finger to his chin. "Honestly, I really don’t know much myself. I just woke up one day and I just… knew things.”

“How did you… become born? I mean, humans, we have to do…”

“Things, yes,” he said, the disgust in his voice signalling he knew what Martin was getting at and didn’t wish to entertain the thought any further. 

“Things,” he repeated. “I just want to know is there some sort of… monster-creating god. A witch? Or some monster factory?”

Jon’s eyebrows slid up. “Monster factory?”

“Oh, shut up. How the hell would I know?” Martin pouted.

“Monsters are a manifestation of, well, other being’s emotions and beliefs. If there is enough fear and horror in something, a being will simply just… come into existence, I suppose. There isn’t some sort of order that I’m privy to unfortunately." 

"Huh,” Martin said, sitting on his bed. “And where did you come from?”

“Uh…” Jon curled up tighter around himself. “There was a kid who lived here. Jude Perry was her name. She, well, she loved…”

“She loved moths?”

“Burning, burning moths.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. She enjoyed pinching moths by their wings and slowly burning them at a candle. I was a manifestation of… the moths’ fears.”

“That's…” Martin frowned. “That’s awful.”

Jon leaned his head against his knees. “Yeah. I woke up in the living room of this house, where she was burning the moths, and when she saw me… Let’s just say the moths never had their vengeance because the family quickly moved right out.”

Martin winced. “Would you have?”

“Hm?” Jon blinked.

“Would you have taken vengeance? Given the chance?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jon said. “I gave her quite a scare already when I emerged in her bedroom. But… vengeance per se, I’m unsure. I came into existence as a result of the moths’ fears… not rage. We’re far too timid to hold enough anger to manifest a monster through it.”

“So you’re the reason why this house was so cheap." 

"I, well,” he let out a chuckle, “I suppose I am.”

“Are you bound to this house or something?”

“Hm? Oh, no,” he shook his head, causing his feelers to sway gently in front of him. “I can leave whenever. But I just… I don’t know where I could go. I’ve only ever known this place and wherever I look it’s just lit streets after lit streets. I… don’t think I will do too well out there. Especially if I get spotted.”

“Can’t you fly?”

Jon let out a sigh and leaned back slightly. “My wings are fairly useless to be honest. It can’t hold my weight. I can perhaps hover a metre above the ground but not much else if I’m honest.” else.”

“Right,” Martin murmured. Jon was rather large. It would take a lot to lift him off the ground. “That's… That’s quite sad." 

The two of them watched the tiny creature swaddled in towel sleep, its body rising and falling with its warm slumber.

“Hey,” Martin said, breaking the silence. He reached for his phone on his bedside table. "I could— um, I could search for the quickest and safest route to wherever you want. I-If you want.”

The wings on Jon’s back fluttered lightly and iridescent green eyes wide with surprise. “You would?”

“Anywhere you want to go,” Martin said, smiling reassuringly.

Jon’s hands curled into animated fists as he shuffled closer to Martin on his other arms and leaned over his shoulder. 

Martin pulled out Google Maps and zoomed out for an overview of the area. “Where do you want to go?”

“I want—” Jon’s fists fell slowly to his side as he stared blankly at the phone screen. “I… I actually don’t know.”

“There’s a forest nearby.”

Jon’s face scrunched up slightly. “That sounds awful. Especially with this downpour.”

“Hm… An abandoned car park maybe?”

Hesitance flickered over Jon’s peridot eyes and his wings pressed a little closer to his body. 

“No?”

“I… I don’t think so.” He looked down at his knees. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” Martin said. “Take your time.”

Just then, the snoozing cat let out a little mewl, and its paws stretched upwards and waved in the air. Jon practically melted into a puddle and he cooed softly and leaned forward to take in the adorable sight. 

“Or,” Martin cleared his throat nervously. “I mean… Um…  I don’t know. Maybe… I might need some help with cat-sitting. If… If you’re okay with that.” His hands shot up. “Only if you want! No pressure! I… I really don’t mind!”

The moth monster’s eyes lit up and his feelers lifted slightly in what looked like glee. As though suddenly remembering himself, he ducked his head sheepishly and muttered, “I… I would like that. Actually.”

Martin felt heat slowly fill his cheeks and he found himself looking away as well. How ridiculous, he thought to himself. But he couldn’t deny the little flutter in his heart when he imagined what it might feel like, not being so lonely anymore.

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms - The Trial

Part 18

I've just been staring at this completed chapter for thirty minutes. I've been working up to this moment for so long and to see it finally written is just. Insane. (No this is not the last chapter. There is much more to come)

By the way!!!! This chapter was not suppose to end this way! Y'all influenced this shit! Goading me into it, I swear.

CLOSED List of Beggarts I regularly feed (I'm running out of names to call you): @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @emjrabbitwolf @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

He'll be after Jason seeing as the new Robin described him and he definitely knows about Joker's death.

They watched as the shadow took off across the rooftops, occasionally tossing out a grapple or swan diving off a ledge. Four blocks off, another figure, much brighter and attention grabbing, took a similar route, small body taking to the sky seemingly not taking notice of the eyes on him. Or perhaps used to it.

You'll watch the bird, keep him distracted. Nothing extreme enough to catch the other's attention. Just hold off any interference.

A dozen mice ran along the sides of gutters and along the alleyways below, awaiting their signal. They kept the brighter figure in their sights, drawing his attention with slight rustles and squeaks from unexpected places. Just loud and weird enough to avoid interest in any other movement in the area, drawing out a natural curiosity and investigative need in their target.

You'll play as backup. As soon as we instigate our target, I expect you to help keep the Replacement within ear range but incapable of assisting.

A fox dashed across the streets, keeping a close eye on the game between the bright figure and the mice scattered about. Any time the bird snuck up on where one hid, she hid the mouse in illusions, sometimes a real rat, other times a startled, hissing cat. 

Tail swishing in a twitchy dance behind her, she awaited the main event from her perch.

You two will take to the sidelines, backup if it should come to blows. Otherwise, keep everyone updated on the others' positions and monitor the situation.

A cat slinking around corners kept an eye on all of the players, including the two unseen by the rest, coordinating positions and ensuring no one moved off course, uncomfortable in knowing a double agent held eyes in the sky and taking precautions to avoid cameras as she whispered soft directions into a comm, made by their miraculouses and impossible to hack due to the ancient magic encasing it.

By her side, a dragon crossed with a horse hovered in a tense side to side sway, awaiting her command. The other kept on tiptoe, knowing the call to assist could come at any point and from any direction. In the end, their disappearance back into the night at the end of all of this relied on her. Waiting too long differentiated between success and potential capture.

We'll take on the Bat. After all, I think it's high time he met my soulmate.

With baited breath, they watched as a shrouded man dropped in front of the Bat, making the figure twist at the last second to avoid a headlong collision. Batman turned back on the spot, dropping into a crouch and launching towards the man. The man dropped onto his back, kicking upward into a stomach and using the momentum to launch Batman across the roof while rolling back to a stand. He stayed facing away, though they saw his head tilt, listening to the almost silence behind him. As a flash of silver flung towards his back, he easily spun off to the side, dodging a barrage of batarangs as Batman methodically tossed them while placing himself closer and closer to the other before moving in to initiate hand to hand combat. The man seemed to take this in stride, shifting into the new pattern.

Across the rooftops, Robin took note of the fight and moved to aid. He made it three blocks before a fox dropped in front of him, growling. Taken aback, but knowing not to allow the distraction, he attempted to grapple upwards, only to find the grapple gone, in the teeth of a mouse like figure, taking off away from him, other mice figures crawling about his feet, holding him in place as the fox watched on, teeth bared in a silent warning. Keeping an eye on the strange creatures about him, he looked back to Batman, startling at the realization that he recognized his attacker. Jason. Suddenly he remembered the strange abilities of the lady from the night before and realized the creatures holding him captive where meant to keep him from interfering. As he made to move anyways, a voice in his ear on a private channel spoke up, asking him to stay still. Agent A.

"What's going on, A?"

"You'll see."

The figures continued on until the Bat begin to advance harder, looking to restrain his opponent, calling out to him, having deducted whom the figure is by this point.

"Jason stop!" Right as a fist went too fast to block, aimed straight to the man's nose, a cord wrapped around his fist, yanking in back. As Batman began to turn towards the source, a punch came to his face, bringing him back front and center. A possible second cord wrapped around his other wrist and the backs of his knees were kicked out from under him.

The others watched as a Ladybug held a yoyo taut, strings in a Y formation, the focal point centered between the Bat's shoulder blades to evenly distribute the tension. The Ladybug looped the yoyo over a pipe and pulled up until his arm bent back and upwards without tipping his torso down. If he tried anything, the bug could simply yank him airborne. The Bat choose to focus onto the man in front of him for the moment.

"Jason-"

"I'm not Jason."

We should switch. I have more experience with the Pit Madness than you. If I'm in your body, I can hold the entirety of it while you get a reprieve to focus on the mission. To have a clear mind while confronting him.

"What?" He demanded.

A sharp, feminine voice spoke up behind him, loud enough for the others to hear.

"I am."

Batman froze in his spot on his knees as the figure that looked like Jason sat down in front of him.

"Hello Bruce. It's good to meet you officially. Though I suppose I've known you much longer than you've known me." The lower, masculine voice was offset by its' soft lilting tone.

Despite his brain whirling with the information, he shoved it aside, firmly refusing to put it together himself.

"You're lying."

"She's not," the voice from behind moved closer, the yoyo secured on their hip to prevent his movement but free up the hands and gripped his shoulders in a crushing grip, "You see, Bruce, I hadn't been with you long enough to trust you with the secret of my having a soulmate. And you never knew me well enough to tell when we switched. Some detective you are, hmm?"

"So what, that makes this okay?" He growled.

"Patience," the figure in front of him smirked softly.

"Getting caught by the Joker at that moment, that was my own dumbass fault. You not arriving on time isn't your fault. I could live with that, but that isn't the end. I want you to look into the eyes in front of you, feel how small the presence behind you is. How tiny and young, despite being seventeen. I want you to look her in the eyes and know that she was only fourteen when she was launched into my body where she was beaten to a pulp by the Joker. Blown up. The connection broke. Then because it wasn't her body, she sat in my corpse for months before the resurrection. Had to crawl her way out of a grave and to a hospital."

The team tensed in the distance, having not heard the full story before now. Robin's eyes blew wide behind the mask, the tension in his body going slack in horror.

"Do you see that swirl of green in my blue eyes? How they look almost teal? That's from when the League threw her into the Lazarus Pits. She's combating insanity as we speak. And yet even with the healing effect it had, you can see the scars all over. There's an autopsy mark as well."

The shoulders in Jason's hands shook with his words and he looked up at Mari who seemed calm, letting the man stare at her and take in her reality.

"And none of that is truly your fault. But you know what is?" Marinette spoke up now, "That a fifteen and fourteen year old were ever put into that kind of danger to begin with. What's the likelihood of either of us ever falling onto Joker's radar without your placing us in the costume? Without making us Robin? Do you think Jason would've become a target had you not decided it was perfectly acceptable to allow children to fight criminals?"

"Jason was troubled, he needed someplace to put that anger. Something to let out-"

"Many children are troubled or angry. Do you know what other parents don't do? Allow that teen angst to turn into taking on the adult underworld. But sure, we'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Explain then why you couldn't care enough for Jason, for any potential child's life enough to create a permanent solution to our murderer? How many people, how many innocent kids is the Joker's life worth to you?"

"You obviously care more for the clown than us," Jason added.

"That's not true!"

"Then why? Why was my grave barely marked?"

"Two sentences in the Tuesday local obituaries."

"Swept under the rug to be forgotten."

"While you hunt us down for killing the clown. We deserve to be hunted down for avenging our own death."

"Meanwhile you do no such thing to the one who killed your supposed precious Robin. Did we mean so little to you? I wonder if the newest Robin means anymore than we did."

"So you're angry you were replaced?" Batman barked out, overwhelmed by their constant barrage of accusations.

Mari reached forward, forcing the man to look into the teal of those eyes swirling in front of him, watching him flinch away at knowing who she was, "You misunderstand us purposefully. It's not that we were replaced. It's that you know a child died for your cause and you still insist on placing another in harm's way. You take broken children desperate for guidance, for connection, for anything and abuse that position over them. You as their guardian are meant to keep them from harm's way. To protect them from the horrors of the world until they're old enough to face it in their own way. Not throw them in a costume, train them into weapons and then let them fight the most dangerous criminals the city could offer. Yes, we made some stupid choices of our own, but you set us up to even have those choices presented to us. Does it even occur to you that had we not shown up to save the little bird, another child would have died under your care? Does that mean nothing to you?"

The Bat growled, trying to break free of his binds. The two hid grins, knowing him unaware of the young eyes listening desperately for his answer.

"You certainly haven't thanked us for keeping him alive. Does it mean less to you that he is alive then it does that Joker is dead."

"You know the rules! We don't kill!"

He fell for it. He might as well have told the new Robin his life was forfeit to his cause. The mice scurried off Robin's feet from where he stayed, a rooftop over as the fox curved around his calves in an almost apologetic movement.

"Jason swore to abide by your rules. I never did. I was fourteen when I died due to your negligence. I was innocent. I was a happy little girl with dreams of becoming a fashion designer. Now I can't even keep the voices in my head from screaming in my ears at all hours of the day. But the only thing you truly care about in the end is yourself. I fear for any child that gets dragged into your mess. And I will do whatever it takes to protect them from the inevitability of your cruelty."

With that, she stood from her spot and took off into the shadows, a cat, dragon and mice following out of sight. The fox looked at the boy who stood broken on the rooftop and nudged him, dropping the illusion of an animal and holding her hand out in offerance. He looked back at the thrashing Bat.

Jason, taking hold of the yoyo once more and tightening his grip, leant closer, "I don't blame the Joker for our death. I blame you."

With that, he used the yoyo to fling Batman in the opposite direction, taking off in an off kilter path towards the others. Looking back at the patient fox figure, hand still waiting for his choice, he hesitated.

"The choice is yours, Timothy. I'll support you no matter what," A's voice spoke softly through the comms.

Exhaling slowly, he took her hand.

She lead him to their rendezvous point where he saw the mice form into one person, the two from the roof and two other unknown figures. As he looked at them, each gave a soft nod in turn before the one opened up a blue portal before them, the fox letting go of his hand to follow the others through. Eventually only him and the ladybug themed one remained. Jason.

"Come on, replacement. You can stay with us however long you like."

With the smallest smile of gratitude and the encouraging words of Alfred in mind, he followed the other through, the portal closing behind them.

[gobletofweasleys]

What Could Have Been

Summary: The reader shows up at Godric's Hollow after Voldemort's attack on the Potters. 

Pairing: Sirius Black x Potter!Reader

Word Count: 1,793

A/N: So idek what this is, more of a general reimagining of the Potters’ death scene with a reader insert. I hope yall like it!

Main Masterlist

Word had spread around quick. Quicker even more so than usual, since it was such big news. The fact that the War was over and You-Know-Who was no more was an extremely shocking turn of events that no one had expected. And at the height of his power? When everyone was so sure that no one could beat him? That this was the end of Muggles, Muggle borns and Muggle lovers? Turns out, little Harry Potter had done what even the most powerful of wizards were incapable of doing; taken down the Dark Lord himself. 

The whole of the Wizarding World rejoiced, congregations of them partying and feasting all over the country. The only worry anyone had was maybe being too obvious in their celebrations. But nothing could get them down. They were too happy, too joyful about the end of a period of immense terror. 

You didn't feel an ounce of the happiness they did. 

The minute the news of the attack on Godric's Hollow had entered your ears, you knew exactly what had happened. Of course there was no certain way of knowing, it was mere speculation on your part, but deep down, you knew. You knew. Even as you Apparated into town, as you rushed down the empty streets, only minutes after the attack, as you moved down a quieter lane to a house you knew all too well, your insides collapsed. It wasn't even a house anymore. The roof was completely blown off. The windows were smoking. There were thuds as the walls around the place fell. 

You didn't care, you dashed straight inside. Your breaths were coming hard and fast, less because of the running and more because of the sense of impending doom. You could physically feel your heart as it pounded against your chest, it's rapid pace almost hurting you. Tears were already swarming in your eyes, and just past the front door, your dread was confirmed. 

James Potter lay on the foot of the staircase, motionless, eyes wide and face hard set. As the house around him flamed, his stare was pointed straight to where you were standing, yet he looked right through you. 

Your scream was loud and piercing, your legs nearly collapsing under you as you coiled in on yourself. Your hands clawed at your cheeks at the sight of your brother, more than dead, wandless, alone. 

You stumbled to where he lay, his name tearing from your throat. Your cry remained unanswered. You were conflicted, wanting to touch him but unable to. Wanting to feel him but not being able to bear the feel of his cold skin. His glasses, askew on his face and one of the lenses broken, seemed to be the only thing even slightly resembling what it was when James was alive. 

You had to refrain yourself, this wasn't the end. Your nephew, sweet, young Harry, was somewhere in this house, either alive or dead. From the stories you'd heard, he was alive, but you couldn't be sure. The trek up the cracking stairs was harder than expected. Your body didn't seem to want to cooperate. Your mind was swarming, half grieving the death of your brother, but the other half of your brain scrambling to concentrate, to find Harry, to find Lily. 

And you did find Lily, exactly the same way you'd found James. Your screams were quieter, but just as pained, having known this was exactly what you'd find. But you were quickly distracted, for your screams were followed by another sound in the room. The sound of a baby's crying. 

Your screams had broken Harry from his quiet state of apparent shock, since the boy had now began crying. His forehead was bleeding, his cheeks tear stained as you wobbled closer to him. Your hands immediately clutched him, pulling him into your chest. There was nothing usable in the house anymore, all the blankets burned or extremely dusty, so you just walked straight out, struggling to not look down as you walked over the dead bodies of your best friend and brother. Tears were again blurring your vision, your head spinning so fast you thought you would be sick. Your mind was reeling, numb, and the sounds of Harry's much quieter whimpering had dimmed out. 

The fresh, cold November air outside the house hit you like a solid wall as you stepped out, your trembling hands tugging at your cloak until Harry was covered by it too, shielded from the chill. You heard the purring and sputtering of an all too familiar motorbike engine, knowing exactly who had stopped in front of the house. Your legs no longer operated under you. You collapsed to the snowy ground, your nephew pressed tight to your chest as you finally cried. 

Sirius' voice was far away, asking you what had happened, panicked and shaking, reminding you of just minutes earlier, the dread that had drenched you completely. Your fiancé was feeling the same thing, except your current state more or less confirmed all his worst fears.

It took all of ten minutes for him to stumble out of the house again, crying audibly, hands tugging at his hair. He kept mumbling to himself, voice cracking, struggling to move across the snow-covered lawn. As he stopped a few feet from you, he finally spoke loud enough to be audible. 

"You know who did this." His voice was breathy and trembling. "We both know."

You knew, of course. You and Sirius were the only two people besides James who knew that Peter Pettigrew was the real secret keeper. He was the only one who could have betrayed James and Lily's location. You rocked back and forth where you sat, feeling the cold wetness seep into the backs of your legs, yet unable to stand. Sirius looked like he would collapse any moment too, face stained with soot from the house and his own tears.

"I'll kill him." His voice was dangerously low, shaking in his fury. "I'll skin that rat alive." And then he was walking to the motorbike. 

It broke you out of your stupor, and you struggled to get back on your feet, Harry's tiny body still held tight in your arms. 

"N-no." You choked out, stumbling forward to grab the back of Sirius' jacket. "You c-can't. Sirius, we need to get Harry out of h-here."

"Get off." He climbed over the motorcycle, face contorted with anger and hands gripping the handlebars tight as the engine roared to life. Harry had started crying again.

"Sirius!" A scream tore out of you, loud and unexpected enough to make him freeze, and for Harry's crying to increase in both volume and intensity. "Screw Pettigrew! Look at us!" 

You shook Harry, as if to prove a point. Sirius' eyes fell on the little tear stained face, the bleeding forehead, Harry's little hiccups. His eyes, so startlingly green, so much like his mother's, but his face, his hair, even at such a young age exactly like his father's. He was so much like James. A time where this fact elicited laughs and proud strutting from your brother, only made you cry harder and shudder now that your brother was dead. Dead and motionless on the floor of his house. Died trying to protect the two people he swore to love and care for his whole life. 

"You go after him now, you won't survive." You heaved out, trying to fight through your own hiccups. Your mind could barely string the words together, the struggle of it was making you dizzy. Your legs screamed at you to collapse again, but you held yourself up. Harry was starting to slip from your grip. You heaved him up again. "No one knows he's the secret keeper. They all think it's you."

It seemed to dawn on him then, the gravity of the situation. You were right. As of now, he was the prime suspect in his best friends' murders. He couldn't act on impulse. He couldn't be angry. 

"W-we need to keep our heads." You continued, trying your hardest to shun out every thought besides your shivering nephew. Mourning would have to wait. "Okay? S-Sirius, look at me." A shaky hand grabbed his face, pulling it up to look straight at you. His eyes were swimming with tears, his anger just lying under it, trying to do what he wanted to do the most. 

"He has to pay-" 

"And he will." Your voice cracked again. You rocked Harry a little, who had began screaming at this point. "He will. But we're his godparents." You indicated the boy you were holding. "He's priority. Please, Sirius. For J-James..."

The mere sound of his name was enough to make Sirius' face scrunch up. In the dim streetlight, he looked like a broken and lost little boy as he nodded and sniffled, scooting forward on the bike. You shakily climbed behind him, trying to shush the baby in your arms as much as you could. You didn't look back at the house, even though fresh tears sprouted from your eyes at the thought of leaving your brother and best friend in there, but Harry was getting so cold that his little fingers had paled, only a few minutes away from turning blue. He needed to be indoors again, and quick. 

The loud, booming sound of an "Oi!" stopped you and Sirius as a large man hobbled to where you were, eyes falling on Rubeus Hagrid. 

"P-Professor Dumbledore's orders!" He managed to get out, shocked eyes passing over the destroyed house before landing on the lump in your arms. "He wants Harry. Professor's orders."

On instinct, your arms tightened around your nephew, Sirius' back stiffened in front of you.

"No." You flat out replied. "H-he's my nephew. No, Hagrid. I'm not letting you take him from me. No!" You screamed as Hagrid drew nearer, shocking him to a stop. 

"Dumbledore wants my nephew, he'll have to get through me." You gritted. Deep inside, a small instinct told you that you were being very disrespectful towards the man who was your biggest ally. Never in your wildest dreams would you speak against Albus Dumbledore. But your mind had gone numb. The thought of anyone taking James' son from you, the only thing that was left of your brother, made panic seat itself so deep in you, you nearly launched off the bike to attack Hagrid. 

"Go tell him what I said." You gritted out instead. "He knows where to find me."

Sirius seemed to have taken your words to be final, as the bike roared again before taking off into the sky, one of your arms clutching his waist as the other held Harry James Potter tightly to your trembling chest… 

..................

Permanent Tags:

@fluffymadamina /  @sophiaxtorres​ / @jedi-in-hogwarts / @allknowingnerd / @accio-rogers / @gruffle1 /

Sirius Black:

@1800-fight-me /

[antiquechampagne]

Antique Champagne - CH 49 - Aftermath

The corners of Hancock’s mouth pinched painfully on the rough rag wedged in between his teeth. His mind calculated and churned at a furious rate. He wished could reach the pair of Mentats stashed in the brim of his hat. In the courtyard below, he could see the crowd, full of worried faces, many of them sporting fresh cuts and bruises. He took note that a ring of guards surrounded the throng. Nearly all of them were unfamiliar, and not a ghoul stood among them. Apparently, Fahr had been on a hiring kick and stacking the guards with her own agents.

Fahrenheit positioned him roughly in front of a pair of wooden boxes; a crude set of stairs leading over the railing. A noose lay already tied, ready for a neck to squeeze.

On Hancock’s right, Marowski stepped forward to address the crowd.

“Residents of Goodneighbor! Glad to see everyone could make it to my little shindig here welcoming me as your new mayor.” He spread his arms wide. “As we begin, I want to thank my second in command, my ace-in-the-hole as it were… Fahrenheit for her hard work. Without her, none of this would have been possible…”

As Marowski blathered on, Hancock’s stomach churned. Fahr stood straight as a board to his left, her smug face proud scanning the square. The population of Goodneighbor cowered below her gaze, the giant minigun she held clenched tight in her grip completing the threatening visage.

Hancock caught Magnolia turning to bury her tear streaked face in Ham’s chest. The bouncer wrapped an arm around her protectively and whispered something to her.

The ex-mayor tried to formulate some kind of plan. Maybe he could shove one of them over the railing while… while what? He would be full of bullets the moment he made a move.

Only the cawing of a gaggle of crows on the opposite roof disrupted Marowski’s speech. “Goodneighbor will not be subject to a drug-addled zombie’s whims any more. Today, a proper mayor will take his place!” He paused. If this usurper thought he would get a round of applause, it was apparent it was going to be a long wait. Annoyed, he made a quick motion to Fahr, who took one hand off her gun to pick up the waiting noose.

Even though he knew it was a futile act, Hancock grunted and growled as the rope came down around his head.

Before she could tighten the knot around his neck, the sound of footsteps caught them both by surprise. Looking over his shoulder, Hancock saw one of the guards that had jumped him in the hallway walk through the door without a word and stop next to Marowski.

“What, Ted? I’m bus—” Marowski was cut off by a burst of point blank gunfire, blood spraying as his midsection was ripped open. The crowd emitted a handful of screams and gasps.

Fahrenheit roared as she dropped the noose and grabbed for her gun, the sluggish machine whirling to life as she pulled the trigger. The guard did not react. He just stood there unflinching as the first few rounds flew wildly around him, clipping his dirty suit in several places.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Hancock dropped into a quick crouch before popping up, violently checking his ex-bodyguard. Fahrenheit staggered backward, the awkward weight of her firearm tipping her over the railing and sending her plummeting to the street with a meaty thud. Using his shoulder, Hancock quickly rolled the rope gag and shimmied off his noose.

His mouth finally free, he screamed to the crowd “Of the people! For the People!” Breaking the crowd out of their shock, they cheered, turning on the outnumbered guards. Hancock left the sounds of the ensuing fight behind him as he rushed back inside, past the seemingly comatose guard who still stood, gun at his waist, staring where Marowski had been standing.

“Holy shit, Payne! I don’t know what you…” his words faltered. The sight of Payne’s lifeless body slumped in a pool of blood stopped him in his tracks. “Oh fuck.”

Hancock sprinted over to the dresser where his weapons were hastily stashed. Clumsily, he grabbed his knife and quickly sliced through his bonds. The sounds of heated fighting prompted him to hastily shove the heavy dresser against the door, securing the room from any unwanted interruptions.

On his knees next to her, Hancock check for signs of life. He wasn’t sure what worried him more, the fact that thin watery blood dripped from her ears and nose or that he couldn’t detect her breathing. A glimmer of hope sparked when he brought his hand close to her face and Payne’s mouth faintly quivered. Looking down at his blood sprinkled palm, Hancock got an idea.

“Hold on, Payne!” he whispered as he ran back to the balcony. The befuddled guard still stood rooted to the spot where he had killed his boss. Hancock grabbed him by the back of his collar, dragging him into the room. “Consider this your letter of resignation.”

“What?” the man sleepily muttered, looking around confused. Pushing him down to his knees in front of Payne, Hancock plunged his knife into the prone guard’s neck. In one swift movement, he removed the knife and shoved him forward, forced the geyser of blood messily into Payne’s barely open mouth.

The guard seemed to awaken from his stupor, but it was too late. Hancock held him in place.

“For the love of God, please work!” The ghoul wasn’t a praying man, but he would try anything at this point. He let out a tiny sigh of relief when he finally saw Payne’s throat manage to weakly start to swallow. Soon, the guard fell quiet.

Loud knocking on the wooden door startled the mayor.

“John!” came a familiar voice from the other side, “John? You in there?”

Hancock pulled the dresser away from the door. “Daisy, I’m here.” In the distance he heard a deafening THRUM. Sounded like K.L.E.O. had joined the fray. Poking his head out, he saw a Daisy, grimly clutching an assault rifle, Ham and a few other watchmen making up the rear.

“Ham,” Hancock glanced back at Payne one last time before closing the door behind him. “Make sure no one goes in there, especially if they are human. I mean it.”

Ham, ever a man of few words, merely nodded and stepped into position. Even with a wickedly swollen black eye, he was sure even Ham’s patented stare down would anyone sniffing around packing.

As they headed down the stairs, Hancock turned to Daisy. Before he could even ask, she began reporting on the situation outside the Old State House.

“Most of those rat bastards turned tail and ran as soon as they saw we weren’t going to take their shit anymore. A few have holed up in nooks and crannies in the back alleys.”

Hancock nodded in approval. “Injuries?”

“So far, just Dale and V. They took a few unlucky rounds to the head. There are a few bruises and broken bones, mostly from the crack down before you came back. I’m sure there will be more as we clear the streets of this filth.”

“Find Amari. I need her.”

Daisy nodded and headed off.

Hancock turned into the street, heading to the square.

Under the Third Rail’s neon sign lay what was left of Fahrenheit, laying on her side. It was obvious that she didn’t suffer, hitting the ground headfirst. With the toe of his boot, he rolled her over. Whatever structural integrity that was left in her skull failed, spilling the remainder of the contents of her brainpan across the cobblestones. On the edge of vomiting, Hancock forced himself to look. He wanted to remember this feeling, to erase the years of friendship and comradery that threatened to overwhelm his vision with tears. Something among the mass of grisly gelatinous goo glinted in the light. Reaching down, Hancock pulled something silvery and smooth from the gore. An absolute red seething anger filled his body. Before he could process the cacophony of emotions that surged through him, he heard the march of multiple footsteps behind him. Pulling a rag from a pocket when he heard them, he wrapped the foreign metallic object and shoved it in his coat.

Daisy came back, leading a group of three prisoners, battered but alive. They marched with their hands above their heads, and angry mob at their heels.

“Line’em up.” The mayor ordered coldly.

Without a word, they filed in front of him. He didn’t even say a word before blasting the first turncoat’s brains across the bare brick wall. The second one followed seconds later. Hancock lowered his shotgun, cracking it open to reload it. The third took the moments respite to spit in the ghoul’s face.

“You fucking mutated freak! You belong—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.

Turning around, Hancock motioned for Daisy. “Where’s Amari?”

“She’s busy patching people up over by the hotel.”

Annoyed, Hancock quickly stomped off.

Clair Hutchins, the hotel’s elderly front desk attendant, stood overlooking the scene smoking a cigarette. As he passed, she dropped it, grinding it out with her heel in the dirt.

“I knew that asshat would do something stupid someday and get himself killed.” Her gravely voice uncharacteristically full of regret. “Didn’t know he would try something this fucked up.”

“Don’t think anyone did.” Hancock gave her arm a quick pat. “But, in better news, looks like you’re getting a promotion.”

“Fuck that. I’m too old for this shit.”

Walking up to the doctor, he waited for her to finish a handful of stitches on a resident’s brow.

“Amari, follow me. Grab some blood bags.”

She rose to her feet, her thin lips downturned with concern. “Payne?” It was more of a statement than a question.

Hancock nodded as a burning knot rose in this throat. Turning, he hurried back to the State House steps, the doctor close behind. When they reached the second floor he turned around.

“It’s… it’s bad. Let me go in first. I’ll tell you if it is safe.”

“Safe?”

He had shut the door before Dr. Amari had even finished the question. Payne still lay in the same position he had left her, the guard growing cold on the floor next to her. Pushing the body out of the way, he found her breathing. It was weak and labored, but perceptible… better than when he had to leave her. He slipped a syringe out of a pocket.

He whispered in her hear, unsure if she could hear him. “I’m just going to give you a little Med-X so Dr. Amari can get a good look at you, okay? I gotta make sure it’s safe.”

He quickly realized trying to find a vein was a losing battle. In the end he just jabbed it into her thigh. He allowed himself to frown.

“Stay with me, okay?” He wanted to say more but both time and tears were his enemy. He left her side for only a moment to bring the doctor in.

Dr. Amari started to examine Payne without saying a word. She examined her numerous injuries, checked her pulse, breathing and reflexes. She pried open her eyes and shone a light into them.

She returned to Hancock, looking grim. “Payne… she’s nearly bled out from the numerous gunshot wounds…”

“She’s bounced back from worse, trust me Doctor. Just give her some blood.”

“No, John. Let me finish. I don’t know what caused it, but my guess is that fluid running from her nose and ears… that’s cerebral spinal fluid. She has no pupillary light reflex.” Amari sighed. “Even without scanning her, I can tell her brain has most likely sustained massive amounts of damage. Payne has most likely developed hydrocephalus. This damage… she is not going to recover from these injuries.”

Hancock tried to follow along, but his mind hiccupped and struggled to absorb the information. He knew what Amari was getting at, it all made logical sense, but he could not accept it. Would not accept it.

“No doc, you’ve got it wrong. She’ll be fine.” He picked up a blood bag. “She just needs some more blood.”

Amari’s normal cool and calculating demeanor softened. “I don’t think you understand. Even if Payne were to somehow survive, she’s most likely only going to live in a prolonged vegetative state.” She put a hand gently on his “I’m sorry, John.”

“No!” Hancock flinched away. “You aren’t listening. She was worse than this before I slit that poor shit’s throat. She drank it! DRANK IT! She just needs more!”

“That was just a lingering reflex, probably still intact before her brain swelled. Nobody is going to—”

“She’s not nobody! What the fuck do you know? All you know how to do is fix human bodies! She’s not human! She’s…” he faltered, red faced, fists clenched. “Fuck you. I’ll do it myself.”

Hancock dropped to the floor, ripped open the bag’s short tube, feeding it in her mouth.

“John, please. I know it’s hard to…” Amari stopped. Hancock ignored her, focused completely on keeping the blood flowing into Payne’s weakly parted mouth. “She’s drinking?” Amari grabbed Payne’s wrist, skillfully monitoring the pace and strength of her heartbeat.

“I told you! She just needs more.”

Payne coughed and sputtered. Hancock swore.

“You need to prop her up more, to prevent aspiration.” Amari shook her head. “It could be just an autonomic response to a stimulus.” To Hancock, it sounded like there was some room to argue in her statement.

“Get her to your lab and see what your precious machines tell you.”