#to haul ass and empty your shit the moment it's done

[thewinter-eden]

Blood Sugar Virus (12)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Genre: Horror, zombies, strangers to lovers, angst, suspense Pairing: Kang Yeosang x female!reader Warnings: based on the Wanteez Zombie episode, ages are based on current Ateez rather than the time at which the actual episode was filmed, zombies, language.

Story Summary: You (stage name Sugar) are the co-captain of a horror acting group. You and your guys are the ones the companies hire when they want to stage a zombie, ghost, or any vaguely horrific and dystopian episode. So when you get hired by Ateez to develop a zombie program, it's just another routine that you've done a million times. Everything's going exactly according to script--until suddenly it isn't, and it starts getting a little too real.

🏆 Esteemed Moot: @ramadiiiisme

⭐️ Reader Spotlight: @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

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It’s Namjoon. By some stroke of mercy, it’s Namjoon holding your arms. He pulls you away from the room that you could all but taste your own death in and drags you around the corner, crushing you to his chest in the hardest hug anyone’s ever given you. “Dammit, Sugar, don’t do that.” He breathes in your ear and then holds you at arm’s length. “Are you okay?”

The moment you nod, he grips your biceps so hard it pinches. “Don’t fucking do stupid shit like that. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking our clients were gonna get eaten if someone didn’t create a diversion.” You try to wrestle out of his grip, almost wanting to laugh at the horror in his expression. He loosens his hold but doesn’t let go.

“Yeah, a heroic action that Seonghwa could have taken for his own group. Not you.”

You roll your eyes and bite back a petulant smile. “They’re our clients, Joon, we’re responsible for them.”

“Not anymore they’re not. They’re grown ass men.” Namjoon hisses. “They can take care of themselves. No more dumbass stunts, okay?”

You finally manage to shake him off. “We’re all in this, Joon. I have no interest in us being sole survivors here. We have to watch each other’s backs.”

“My interest is getting my team out.” Namjoon tells you fiercely. “You, Jimin, Rosé. I don’t want you getting yourself killed for them. You’re my responsibility, dammit.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, we are co-captains.” You argue just as strongly. “You and I have equal agency and if I choose to help the clients that we brought here, then I’m gonna do that.”

“They hired us.” He seethes. “They booked us for their entertainment and they picked the schedule. We are here because they requested our services and signed a contract. We are not beholden to—”

His next words are drowned out by the sudden clamoring of the class bells all over the school. The next Fever Time that you had completely forgotten about in the middle of Namjoon’s ill-timed confrontation.

Just like that, the entire building explodes with noise. Ringing alarms and stampeding bodies all around you, on the floors above, and from the classroom you just left behind.

Deciding to save the rest of his anger for another time, Namjoon grabs you by the shoulders and hauls you towards the entryway where the rest of your slowly growing group had gone to wait for you.

Rasping growls and stumbling footsteps sound behind you as the hoard is spurred into action, blindly giving chase and grasping for a hold of anything they can reach.

You can feel hands like claws scrape your back, catching your shirt, ripping through your hair as you run. The back of your shirt tears. Your scalp stings and brings tears to your eyes even when you manage to rip your hair out of someone’s grip.

Ahead of you, your group has found an empty office to hide in. You see Jongho and Jimin in the doorway, keeping low as another swarm of zombies rushes past. When Jimin spots you, he beckons wildly and holds his hand out to catch Namjoon’s palm.

The two men yank Namjoon, and by extension you, into the office and slam the door, moving aside so Seonghwa and Mingi can shove the heavy desk to jam it.

“Oh thank god.” Rosé gasps at the sight of you. She jumps up from the corner she’s been hiding in and scoops both you and Namjoon into a hug that squeezes the breath from your lungs. She smells like stale deodorant and sweat, but it’s so much better than the stench of blood that follows the zombies that you sink into her hold.

“We can’t keep fucking doing this.” Jongho mutters. “We can’t keep getting caught in the Fever Times. If we do, it’s just a matter of time before they pick us off one by one.”

“Or all at once.” Mingi adds. “Wandering through the school and hoping we live through the next stampede is a good way to get us all killed.”

“In the next silence we should be out of here. The entrance is just on the other side of this foyer.” Namjoon says, pulling away from Rosé and lowering himself into a chair.

“Yeah, except we tried that.” Jongho retorts. “After Sugar left, we made it downstairs before Jungkook got out.” He paces the small office. “Some of us got separated, but most of us made it to the doors.”

The moment Rosé lets you go, your legs seem to turn to jelly. All burnt out from adrenaline, you stumble towards the small sofa against one wall and fall onto a cushion, curling into yourself as your body crumbles into a series of shivers.

Jimin crosses the room to sit next to you, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders.

“I’ve got the key.” Namjoon says. “I can get the chain unlocked.”

“What do you mean you have the key?” Seonghwa demands tensely. “You locked us in here?”

“It was part of the program.” Namjoon snaps. “Our director and your managers decided that the episode would have better production value if we added an obstacle that Sugar didn’t know about. The chain was our doing, but the hell that followed certainly was not.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jongho grumbles, but he’s obviously pissed that your first attempt at escape had been sabotaged by your own companies. “When we got to the doors, there was no chain.”

That’s new information.

“No, but the door was chained when Yeosang, Wooyoung and I first noticed that something was going on.” You argue. “It was locked. Wooyoung couldn’t get out.”

“It was unlocked because someone cut the chain.” Mingi says quietly. “We got to the foyer just as all the lights came on. The doors were wide open, and that hoard—our companies were rampaging through them.”

“Someone cut the chain, turned on all the lights, and let in thirty already affected zombies?” You repeat blankly. It doesn’t make any sense.

The way they describe it sounds intentional, like someone released a zombie plague into the school on purpose.

But that’s not possible.

That’s not rational.

Who would do that?

Who even could do that?

“We hid. There were too many of them to move around, so we hid. And when they cleared out of the foyer, we tried to get to the entrance again.” Jongho sits on the desk that’s jamming the door. “The military was there. A bunch of guys in uniforms. They’d closed the doors, and they were boarding them up from the outside. The doors, all the windows, every access point on the first floor. It’s all boarded up.”

It explains the construction zone noises you’d heard earlier.

“The fuck?” Namjoon exclaims. “The military boarded us inside with a hoard of zombies? Did they know we were still inside?”

“Oh they fucking know.” Mingi spits. “I made eye contact with one of the fuckers. Jongho and I were all but beating the glass down, yelling for them to unlock the doors. There’s no way they didn’t hear or see us. They knew.”

“So we’re trapped.” You mutter.

Jimin’s hand squeezes your shoulder softly. You want to lean into him, but you’re a bundle of raw nerves and there’s no comfort to be had right now.

“Right. So back to this Fever Time issue.” Jongho avoids your gaze and looks to Seonghwa. “It’s preprogrammed to kick on every fifteen minutes, but there’s gotta be a way we can deactivate it from the control room. That’s gotta be our first step or we’re gonna be sitting ducks until something eats us.”

“That’s where we programmed it in the first place.” You speak up, ignoring the glare that Namjoon shoots your way. “It’s upstairs on the south side of the building where all the teachers offices are.” The next words that reflexively come to your mind but don’t reach your tongue are an offer to go up and turn off the alarms, something you should have done on your way up to your three remaining friends.

You don’t say them. Guilt roils in your gut at the fear that keeps you from volunteering. Namjoon is right; not that you should abandon Ateez to their own devices, but that you’ve already thrown yourself into so much danger. You’d let your zombified friends chase you to save Hongjoong. You’d been pushed out by the group you only wanted to help, and ran off into zombie land by yourself to ‘save’ your friends (though in hindsight you think they might have been safer on 3 where they didn’t even know an actual apocalyptic plague had broken out). You’d run into a room with a zombie to rescue Seonghwa, and attracted an entire mob of zombies to save Jongho and Mingi.

You don’t want to play the hero anymore. You’ve already been bitten and tackled and rammed and had some of your hair pulled out. You’ve done your part, haven’t you? Can’t you stay on this comfortable couch with your best friend and wait for everybody else to take a turn saving the day?

You’re just as scared as everyone else. Why should you be the one to run into danger again? Selfless sacrifice is a virtue you hadn’t known you could possess more than once, but at some point it’s only natural for a sense of self preservation to kick in.

“Right. So someone can head upstairs and turn off the alarms, and I’ll go check out the exits.” Namjoon decides.

“I just told you there are no exits.” Jongho snaps. “You think I’m lying? You think I want to stay in this fucking school? We can’t leave. They boarded us in.”

“And if I told you that we’re trapped with no escape, you would just believe me? You wouldn’t want to see it for your own eyes? Do you realize how absurd it is to expect me to just trust that you watched the military lock us into a building with a bunch of lunatics?” Namjoon fires back. “Excuse me for trying to do everything I possibly can to get my friends out of here safely.”

“Look, if you want to waste your time on a redundancy and get yourself killed for no reason, that’s on you. We’re going to focus on the next constructive task.” Seonghwa puts in calmly. He puts a hand on Jongho’s arm to silence his next string of indignant arguments. “Tell us how to turn off the alarms and I’ll go do it.”

You’re both impressed by his bravery and further guilty for your own lack thereof.

Let him go back upstairs. He can take a turn being heroic and courageous while you take your turn to be terrified and unhelpful. You’re all victims here, it’s only your right as one of them.

“I know how to do it.” Jimin offers. “I’ll go with you. We’re safer in pairs, at least.” He can feel your disapproving frown, but ignores it.

Seonghwa nods appreciatively. “Good. We’ll handle the alarms, you do whatever you have to do to satisfy your doubt.” He says the last part bitterly towards Namjoon, and then turns to regroup with Jongho and Mingi.

Well, shit, that’s not what you wanted. If you’d thought Jimin was going to be the next one to throw himself into peril, you never would have stayed quiet. What if he gets hurt while you’re down here being cozy on a plush couch? What if he gets bitten, or killed, or turned into the monster that the rest of your family turned into?

Your sense of self preservation promptly hangs itself without a second thought. “No, I know how to do it too. I’ll go with him.”

It’s not that you think Jimin can’t handle himself. He’s young, he’s strong, he’s got almost two decades of martial arts training under his various black belts, and he’s one of the fastest members of your acting group. If anyone can survive a zombie apocalypse or (god forbid) stand up to Jungkook’s strength, it’s Jimin.

But he’s your best friend. He’s the colleague you’ve known the longest. You’d done your acting training together, you’d spent holidays with each other’s families, and even briefly had been roommates when one of your miserable breakups left you temporarily homeless.

You can’t just give into your fear and let him go out there instead.

But Jimin shakes his head at you firmly, dropping his arm from your shoulders so he can grip your hand. “I’ve got it. Stay here with Rosé. Seonghwa and I can handle this.”

You have a dozen arguments on your tongue, but none of them would ever be objective enough to convince him, so you switch tactics. “I’ve been up close to the zombies. I’ve figured out their weaknesses. I know how to get around them.”

He smirks at you. “It’s not like I’m gonna run out there screaming my head off and offering up my throat for a bite. I think I’ve got good enough instincts to tread carefully, Sugar.” Before you can answer, he rolls his eyes. “Just say you can’t stand the thought of losing me, please, it’s not like subtlety is one of your strengths.”

With the Ateez part of your group huddled in their own corner, Namjoon gets up and joins you, Jimin, and Rosé. “You don’t need to go, Sugar. You’ve done enough. Just stay here, okay? Where we know you’re safe.”

You appreciate the sentiment, because it’s literally what you want them to do. Your own natural desire to survive be damned, you’d lead an army against the zombies if it meant your friends were safe. Arguing with people who feel exactly the same way that you do is a nearly impossible task. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I’ll go crazy wondering if you guys are dead or one of them. I’d rather have a job.”

Somehow you manage to get the half lie out without any of the tells that you think you have. Sure, you’d rather die than let them get hurt, but dammit if you don’t want to sit here and do nothing.

Jimin and Namjoon both shake their heads at you. “You’re out of your mind if you think either of us would just let you go out there and do something we’re all capable of doing.” Jimin says, nudging you with his elbow.

“And the reason I feel justified in asking you to stay is that I’ve already seen you take risks for us, and it’s been less than ten minutes since I’ve been with you.” Namjoon adds. “Take a break. Take a breath. You can recover for a second. Don’t tell me your nervous system isn’t on fire right now.”

He’s absolutely right; you feel like you’re going to vibrate yourself off the couch if you tremble any harder, and your heart hasn’t not felt like a rock in your chest since Jin tackled you to the ground at the beginning of all this. You know your brain is lagging, you know your sympathetic nervous system is in overdrive, you know you’re going to experience a crash as soon as the adrenaline depletes the rest of your energy.

You can just see yourself experiencing a full body shut down and blacking out at the feet of the hoard.

But all of them are feeling what you’re feeling. All of you are run ragged, stressed and tense beyond belief, and all of you are going to face burnout at some point.

You don’t have any more excuse than the rest of them do. “Fine.” You relent angrily. “I’ll go with you, then.” If you can’t convince Jimin to stay in the office, you can at least go out there with him and watch his back.

Namjoon sighs. “No, Sugar—”

“Tie me down or shut up, Joon.” You mutter. “I’m going.”

He’s thinking, jaw working with frustration, and you know he’s seriously considering actually locking you in a closet to keep you safe. Again, you don’t blame him. You’ve been thinking about making a run for it and locking the office from the outside with all of them still in it. “You watch each other.” He says finally. “Make safe, calculated decisions. No more reckless self sacrifice; no using yourself as bait or diversions.” He’s talking to both of you but his eyes keep flicking significantly in your direction.

Shrugging innocently, you avoid his eyes. “Yeah, fine, obviously.” As though you don’t have multiple self-sacrifices to your name already.

Jimin nudges you again and also gives Namjoon his word. “We’ll be careful.”

“Obviously.” Namjoon repeats with a complete lack of confidence.

After what feels like an eternity, the bells fall silent. “Give it about two minutes,” you say just loudly enough that Ateez can hear you. “The mob should fall dormant by then.” Two minutes is generous based on last time, and it’s two precious minutes that you’re subtracting from the time you have to go up a flight of stairs and weave the back hallways, but you’d rather be sure that nobody’s running out into a swarm.

You pull yourself up from the couch and stretch your stiff, shaking limbs. As you do, you notice Rosé watching you. “Do you…do you need me to do anything?” She’s terrified, timid, loathe to offer her services but too kind to just send her friends off to their possible deaths.

“Stay here,” you tell her. “If anybody sane comes by, bring them into the office. The next thing we do after disabling the alarms is to figure out an exit strategy. If we can maintain this as a safety zone, then at least we have a rendezvous point.”

“I’ll come back here as soon as I check out the exits.” Namjoon promises. “It won’t take me long.”

As he turns to give you another useless command to not get yourself killed, he’s interrupted by Jongho’s surly approach. “Mingi will stay with Rosé, and I’ll go with you.”

Displeased with this arrangement, Namjoon’s face screws up in a scowl. “What happened to you hating this idea?”

“I still hate it.” He’s quick to grumble. “But I get it. I’d probably do the same. And like Jimin said, we’re safer in pairs. I’m sorry I bit your head off, it’s just—”

Namjoon waves off his apology. “I get it.” His tone softens. “We’ll be quick. I’m hoping that the boarding was put up fast enough to be done poorly. Maybe we can find a weakness where we can kick the nails out of the walls and crawl out a window or something.”

At the admission to a possibility of his story being true, Jongho relaxes. “Sounds good. I’m ready when you are.”

Namjoon gives you and Jimin one last look. “Come back. Don’t try to save the guys we’ve already lost. There’s time for that later.”

The order sits in your gut with horrible weight, but you swallow thickly and nod. “Okay.”

Jimin slips his hand into yours and leads you to where Seonghwa is standing at the door. “Time to go.”

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tag list : @mysterysold @threevracha @igotajuicyass @velvetmoonlght @ramadiiiisme @mrsminseochoi @nightshadeblooming @furfoxsake22 @marvolos @lunaryoongie

[neon-kazoo]

Aftermath of Sacrifice

Nothing Comes for Free part 2

(Cw: description of injury, blood, captivity)

Coming to terms with what they had done seemed like a monumental task, so Hero simply decided not to waste the energy. Instead, they focused their worries solely on their companion.

They sat on the floor with their back against the wall, hands wringing through their belt loop behind them. The way that they had been dumped in an empty room and forgotten was at least giving them hope that Sidekick was getting the attention they needed. Hero tried not think about how much blood they must have lost along the way. Villain would keep them alive, and then they'd be healthy and safe.

They had to be.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Villain returned to the room holding a key. Hero almost folded in relief that the ache in their arms was soon to be released. Before that though, there was a more pressing concern that needed to be addressed.

“Are they ok?” Hero blurted and the villain barely blinked. They hauled them up by the arm, spinning them around to face the wall and sliding the key into the cuffs with a click. Hero tried to turn back around once their hands were free, but a palm between their shoulder blades kept them pressed against the wall.

“Empty your pockets.”

Hero made no move to obey the order.

“Are they?” they repeated.

“Empty your pockets or you won’t get to find out.” Came the villain’s harsh reply.

Reluctantly, the hero reached into their gear’s many compartments and started dumping various pocket junk to the floor, passing anything dangerous directly into the hands of the villain behind them. Nothing too exciting, as all of their main weaponry still lay on the ground of the battlefield clipped to the belt that they had discarded.

“Please, are they alive?” the hero asked quietly, and it came out just a little broken.

“Your little sidekick is alive, yes.”

Hero let out the sigh of the century. Hand finally removed from their back, Hero turned and faced the villain that had stepped back.

“Can I see them?”

“No,” Villain answered easily. That wasn’t terribly surprising to Hero, but their stomach dropped nonetheless. With Sidekick's safety (somewhat) confirmed, they couldn't help but wonder what exactly they had signed themselves up for. Surely, there wasn't much harm in asking.

“What now?”

Villain considered them for a moment. Their eyes trailed up and down their body with cold appraisal, putting the Hero slightly on edge. Hero shifted on their feet in the silence. They just barely caught the shift to harsh scrutinization in the villain's eyes before they spoke, catching the hero off guard.

“Lift up your shirt.”

“What?” Hero questioned, confused. They weren't hiding anything; they wouldn't couldn't risk Sidekick's life like that. They wrapped their arms around themselves warily. The villain's demeanor had completely changed, overtaken by what Hero could only guess was some kind of thinly-vieled anger.

They took a long step forward and Hero took one back.

What did they suspect?

“Lift. Your shirt,” Villain ordered harshly. “I won’t ask again.”

Shaking hands grasped the crusted hem of their top. At the serious look on the villain’s face, Hero obeyed slowly, peeling the fabric up to the bottom of their sternum.

“Idiot,” Villain scoffed, their eyes trained on the hero’s side. Confused, the hero followed their gaze down to find their abdomen slicked with blood. Their blood, not Sidekick’s. A piece of shrapnel was embedded tightly between their ribs with blood oozing out slowly but steadily around it.

“Oh,” the hero spoke dumbly. “Shit.”

Right on time, a wave of dizziness hit them suddenly and they reached their arm out to brace it on the wall. Unfortunately, they miscalculated how close they were to said wall, sending their arm through nothing but the air and subsequently their body stumbling.

“Sit down,” Villain droned. “I’m not gonna catch your dumb ass.”

Hero heeded the advice, finally finding the wall and sliding down it unceremoniously. Well, that wasn't good. Hero sucked a large breath in and their abdomen pulsed strongly in response. They hissed, slowly curling loosely into a fetal position and breathing as shallowly as possible.

In front of them, the villain seemed exasperated, or maybe that was just the judgement of a hero in hypovelemic shock.

For all intents and purposes, the villain griped, “You two are more trouble than you’re worth.”

The hero could only groan in response.

[crispy-bonnie]

yoo,, can i get uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Bain, Jacket, and Houston hcs for how they would react to their s/o being generally flirty with them specifically even while on heists ? (maybe their reactions for both before and after they're officially dating their s/o if it's not too much trouble?? tyyy :P)

MY TIME HAS COME-

apologies for the fucking radio silence on writing and shit , i’ve been caught up in other stuff to the point where i forget to write more content LMAO

!! SUGGESTIVE CONTENT UNDER THE CUT . PLEASE BE ADVISED !!

You’re flirtatious — BAIN, JACKET, HOUSTON

Houston

It’d take him a minute to figure out what you were implying, but istg once he does he is a MESS

Houston would be fixing up the van and you’d pass by and say “Nice pants. Can I see what’s in em?”

He would nearly hit his head on the fucking vehicle as he rolls himself out to look at you but you’d be gone lol

Sydney would bring it up too and go “I think you might wanna fix that problem down there mate.”

If you two are dating, he’ll stop what he’s doing and he’ll look for you

Prepare for one hell of a make out session

If you two aren’t dating, he’ll just go back to work and do his damndest not to get distracted by your remarks

If you’re physical with your flirting then oh my god someone please save this man

He would just freeze up and have no clue how to respond, regardless of whether or not you’re dating him

Houston would be just as flustered during heists, loud or stealth.

Dating or not, he’ll try to dismiss your flirting to focus on the heist, but he would ultimately fail

istg this bottom ass mf

If you two are dating, stealth heists would usually end with you having to haul a very flustered Houston back to the van because whoopsies make out session

He does his best to deny that he likes your flirting, but at some point he just gives up lol

Jacket

At first he was very confused like- what the fuck did any of it mean autism moment /j

Eventually Sokol slapped the shit outta him to get him to realize that you were flirting with him

Now whenever you make your remarks, he just goes red as he remembers what it means

He’ll be flustered regardless of whether or not you two are dating

And if you’re physical?

I hope you like cleaning melted Jacket off the floor

If you two are dating, he’ll eventually try to flirt physically as well [if you’re comfortable with it of course]

He’d sneak up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist before nuzzling his face into your neck and leave kisses on it just to make you all flustered 😳

And that’s just one of the things he’ll do

Now if you two aren’t dating, he’ll be a tsundere ass bitch and counter your flirting with empty threats or the middle finger as he attempts to hide his flustered face

During heists, Jacket will try to focus less on the flirting and more on the job at hand, especially if you two are going loud

Whether or not you two are dating, if you chuck a flirty remark at him, he’ll dismiss it and try to get you to focus on what needs to be done

“You’re a pretty hard hitter~ I wonder how hard you’ll be in-”

“Please pay attention.”

Stealth heists are a different story though

He’ll react just as he would if you were flirting with him outside of a heist, and while he does attempt to redirect you to the mission, he doesn’t make a true effort to focus back on it

He’ll especially be flustered if you two are in a cramped or in a blind spot for the guards

If you two are dating…

Good luck.

Bain

This mf

Regardless of whether or not you’re dating him, he’ll 100% flirt back

Usually your flirting would happen during heists since it’s one of the many times that you can actually speak to him

If you two are dating and he allows you to visit him quarters, the flirting would go on for HOURS

It would either end in a steamy make out session or a tickle fight. There is no inbetween and you can’t change my mind

During heists, you would often slip your flirting in when he’s asking you to do or retrieve something

“Guys, the thermal drill, go get it-”

“I’ve got somethin’ you can use your thermal drill on right here hehehe-”

Hoxton in the background just like “GET A ROOM YOU FUCKIN TWATS”

During stealth heists, you two would be flirting with each other non-stop

Like- Bain can’t say anything without you having a good comeback

If you’re alone on the heist, he’ll eventually let himself loose on you, regardless of whether or not you’re dating, and pull the deep rumbly voice card 😳😳

“[H/N], I swear to God, I will personally go down there and tear you apart if you don’t get your ass back on track…unless…that’s what you want me to do~?”

Regardless of whether or not you comply or challenge him, he’ll manage to get you back on task

Mostly because there were guards starting to close in on your hiding spot but still

If you two are dating and you manage to get out of the heist alive,

Expect a visit from Bain sometime soon

[mellowyandere]

You’re Ours to Protect

Had a weird dream last night. Thought you might enjoy it. 

Reader: F

Characters: Toshinori Yagi (All Might), Aizawa Shouta (Eraserhead), Yamada Hizashi (Present Mic)

Summary: Your time as an anti-hero might finally be coming to an end. With three pros on your tail it’s a miracle this didn't happen sooner. (Reader has a quirk but it’s not very important to the smut.)

Length: 4.5 K (I have come to the conclusion that I am incapable of writing below 4 K)

Warnings: non-con, yandere themes, slight bondage/restraints, voyeurism, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, anal fingering, anal sex, M/M/F, mostly clothed male, naked reader, slight cum swallowing, Eraserhead and Present Mic are in an established relationship in this fic. 

Hands were on your body, hands that shouldn’t be there. Your mind was stuck in a fog, your limbs so heavy you could barely move them. What was going on? You strained to remember, thinking long and hard about what might have led you here as calloused fingers blazed trails along your exposed thighs. You managed to wiggle your limbs a bit, shaking off the haze that muddled your brain.

You groaned, trying to open your eyes so you can get a better understanding of your surroundings. Your hands were restrained behind your back but it seemed your legs were free. You'd murder who ever had their fucking hands on you. As your eyes adjusted to the light you couldn't help but groan again as the figure in front of you came into view. You tried and failed to subtly use your quirk, this didn’t look good.

“Eraserhead. Didn’t realize you were still wasting your time looking for me. Not my fault I beat you to that criminal. Hero’s leaving trash like him alive is such a stupid concept. He was a murderer you know.” 

You looked around to the best of your ability as you spoke, you were sitting on a plush dark green couch in what appeared to be a relatively empty basement. You had been stripped of your gear, leaving you in your underwear and an oversized t-shirt. Two men were flanking you on the couch. The one to your left you didn't recognize. He was ridiculously tall, as well as skinny. Blond hair a mess as two long bangs hid his eyes from view. To your right was a pro you did recognize. His emerald green eyes sparkled in delight behind his civilian glasses as he grinned down at you. So it was their hands on your body currently. They’d die first then. 

“So, what does that make you?” the dark haired pro murmured, leaning forwards and somewhat regaining your attention. 

You ignored his question, opting to look about some more. There wasn't a one-way mirror or any recording device in sight. Were they interrogating you off the books? This whole situation seemed off, these were heroes right? They’d convict you and leave you to rot in a dingy jail cell somewhere.. but this didn't look like a normal interrogation room. 

“I know this is my first time getting caught and all but this doesn’t really seem up to protocol. Gonna haul me away after having fun or something?” You shifted your gaze to the obsidian eyes in front of you, leaning forwards to mimic his posture. 

Present Mic barked out a laugh, hand squeezing harder on you thigh much to your annoyance. “Sorry babe but prison won’t be your final destination! I mean after all y’aint evil, just a lil misguided is all, nothin’ three pros can’t fix.” He ended his sentence with a pinch to your leg. 

“If you don’t get your fucking hands off me I’ll kill you!” You snarled, turning and getting up in Present Mic’s face. The tall blond to your left pulled his hands back, scooting away as Present Mic continued to leer down at you. 

“HAH little girls got some bite, but we already knew that. Don’t think I didn’t notice you trying to use that quirk. I’m hurt now! You really would try to kill me huh?” he mocked with a fake pout, but you could see the amusement in his eyes. 

“I’m sure you’ve already realized by now you can’t use your quirk. It wasn’t easy making a device to cancel it out, but thanks to our newest colleague here the hardest part was collecting your DNA and picking what color collar we wanted.” Eraserhead leaned forward, fingers tugging on the collar you only now just realized was around your neck.

You tried to bite him, but he pulled back. If only you could wipe that stupid smirk off his face with a heart attack. Your quirk was the ability to clot blood after all. A handy trick if you found yourself injured, but even more so for killing once you learned how to properly control it. No one really batted an eye at an ischemic stroke due to the clotting of an artery to the brain. Well.. almost nobody.. 

“You have a very impressive ability,” the tall blond stated, “in all honesty we probably wouldn’t have caught on if we hadn’t watched you kill. You’ve induced countless of natural looking deaths, but upon closer inspection you target people whose crimes would have landed them in jail. Noble, but very misguided. You’re pretty reckless though, what if you had gotten hurt?” 

“So fucking what if I did.” You kept your eyes glued to Present Mic as you responded, trusting him a lot less than the man behind you. His eyes narrowed dangerously at your snarky rebuttal.

“Language young lady, and that’s no way to talk! What would compel you to risk your life, why don’t you trust your hero’s more?” 

You clenched your teeth in frustration but didn’t respond. You were done cooperating, not like you were doing much to begin with though.

The scrapping of a metal chair on concrete drew your gaze as Eraserhead stood up. 

“Back up Zashi, I’ll take over from here. Toshinori you’re fine where you are.” 

You couldn’t help but struggle a bit at his words. “What do you mean, what the hell are you going to do!? You insane or something? Just turn me in to the police!”

“You really don't pay attention do you. Hizashi already said you’re not going to the police. I don’t know what skeletons you have in your closet, or why you started killing people, but that will come out in due time. For now you don’t have to kill anymore. The three of us will take care of you, without the law sentencing you to life. We’ve been hunting you down for so long. We’ve been very patient, but right now you need us to help show you what you’ve been missing. Running around all by yourself, you must have been so lonely.” Eraserhead finished up his little spiel as he stalked forwards, looming over your sitting frame. 

“Don’t fucking TOUC-gah!” You had been so focused on Eraserhead’s approach you hadn’t noticed Present Mic coming at you with a gag until it was too late. 

“Yagi already asked you to watch that dirty mouth of yours, don’t worry though babe once you simmer down a bit we’ll take it out.”

“Ple-please Hizashi call me Toshinori we’ve been over this.”

You gave Eraserhead your best glare as he stopped in front of you. He smiled softly at your defiance before wedging his knee in between your legs and slamming his hands onto the couch, caging you in. Wait by show you what you were missing.. these hero's were going to..?

You tried to talk reason, but all that came out were muffled pleas. None of it coherent. 

“We’ve been watching over you for 5 months now kitten. Trying to find the best way to approach you but in the end taking you somewhere safe seemed to be the only logical solution. While getting this house ready for your arrival we all started to feel as if you belonged here all along. I know it’s not fair, we’ve had so much longer to get to know you, but you’ll know us just as well soon enough.”

It was official. These pros had lost their damn minds. They actually figured out how to justify what they were about to do to you. Your promise to only kill criminals was really coming back to bite you on the ass. 

You brought your legs up and tried to kick him off, but were quickly thwarted by two pairs of hands grabbing them and pinning you down. 

“Now now sweetheart none of that, Shouta here is just going to show you our conviction. No one will ever hurt you again now that we are here. Now that I am here” The last part was mumbled more to himself than the group. 

Something must have happened to these men to cause their hero complex to grow into something so twisted. But that was no fucking excuse for their actions. They needed therapy, not someone to play damsel in distress with.

Shouta lowered himself between your legs until he was kneeling on the floor in front of you. You tried to plead with your eyes, beg him to stop, but he met your gaze with something bordering love. That wasn’t good. Breaking eye contact he looked down at your underwear, bringing a hand up you held your breath as he gently brushed against your core. 

“You can’t even begin to imagine how much I’ve dreamed of this moment. You truly are something special, and yet you treat your life with such little regard it’s maddening.” He trailed his knuckles against the thin fabric as he spoke, your traitorous body sparking heat in your lower abdomen in anticipation. 

Pulling your underwear to the side he slowly began to slide his fingers up and down your progressively wetting folds. 

“Well now, someone secretly enjoyin’ themselves baby,” Hizashi all but purred, his hand squeezing your flesh while his gaze was transfixed on where his partner was violating you. You couldn’t help but let out a pitiful whine. It was absolutely humiliating being spread out before these three men. 

The noises your wet cunt were making were no help to your embarrassment, and they only got worse once the dark haired pro rid you of your last line of defense and began to insert two of his fingers. 

“H-how does she feel?” Toshinori couldn’t help but ask. His face was flushed red, along with the tips of his ears as his vibrant blue eyes watched Shouta’s fingers slowly sink inside you. 

“Tight, shit she’s tight. She’s perfect, so fucking wet for her hero's. I’ll work you open kitten don’t worry.” You couldn’t help but clamp down on his fingers at his words, earning a deep chuckle in response. 

“See now, such a good girl aren’t you. Prison is no place for you kitten, though if you want we can always role-play your wardens.”

Role-play my ass we’re already living it, was all you could think bitterly. 

As if he read your mind Shouta couldn’t help but continue to antagonize you, thumb beginning to make light circles against your clit as he pumped his fingers, adding a third and quickly burying them knuckle deep. Soft whimpers slipped from your mouth as you tried in vain to wiggle away from Eraserhead’s deft fingers. 

Hizashi was getting impatient, removing one of his hands to grasp your breast through the t-shirt you had on. His slim fingers began to pinch and rub your nipple, though his eyes never left your cunt. 

Toshinori was struggling in his own way. Raspy breaths with slight coughs as he grew more and more aroused. He too removed a hand from your leg, but instead made quick work of the zipper on his pants. Taking his semi hard cock in his hand he began gently stroke himself while watching your display. 

You truly were everything they had ever wanted. But you didn’t want this, despite your bodies responses to their ministrations. You could feel it, Shouta seemed to know exactly where to stroke as he worked you up tighter and tighter, velvety walls clamping down at your approaching climax. 

You found each man murmuring their own words of praise, anywhere from “That’s it baby girl, take all of Sho now,” to “Such a perfect princess, do you want to finish?” The man between your legs even adding to the mantra of soft words spoken to you. “So close kitten, see what good girls get. You’re going to cum for me okay?” 

He posed it like a question but you knew it was far from it. It was a statement, a matter of fact statement that you couldn’t deny even if you had tried. Your back arched, moans and mewls intercepted but not completely blocked out by your gag as you rocked against his hand. He gladly continued to finger you, watching as you came down from your high and only then removed his hand. 

You were panting hard, shame quickly washing away the pleasure from your orgasm. Sensing the shift in your demeanor Hizashi was quick to pounce, peppering your face in kisses despite your shifty protests and groans of despair. “None of that now babe, after all we’re just gettin’ this show started!” 

Shouta stood and moved out from between your legs, licking some of your slick off his hand before he wiped the rest on his black pants leg. “You got lube Zashi?” Hizashi paused his attack and shot the dark haired pro a million dollar smile. “You bet our babes cute ass I got it! Lemme find it, hold her Toshi.”

Toshinori floundered a bit, cock in hand as Hizashi shoved you closer to him, before jumping up from the couch. Eyes trailing down to his hand you couldn’t help but freeze in shock. Not only was this man stupid tall, his dick was frighteningly large. The older hero noticed your stare and couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at your expression. “Don’t worry princess, Shouta and Hizashi are going to help you today. My sides acting up so I’ll only be watching.” 

As if on cue the man was hit by a coughing fit, and much to your surprise he even coughed up some blood. Eraserhead was still looming over you, leaning over he gently rubbed the older blonds back as he tried to ease him through the pain. You didn’t dare move as all this transpired around you. What good would it have done you anyways? You were effectively quirkiness, and your fighting skills would be severely lacking against the two heroes you knew. You had no idea who this Toshinori guy was, but if he was close to Eraserhead and Present Mic you doubted he was weak. 

You heard Hizashi rummaging behind you through a dresser you hadn’t noticed earlier. Craning your neck, you peered over and cried out in frustration. 

“Tada!” He sung triumphantly, a small bottle of lube in his hand. “Act two can now officially begin!” You could only yell and wiggle about in protest, your arms still tied behind your back. Toshinori’s hand on your thigh moved to gently pat you on the head. 

“Behave now for them okay? If you’re good we can show you the rest of our home after this.” 

You jerked your head out from under his hand and yelled more incoherent nonsense out of frustration. You had expected anger to replace the adoring look in his eyes but you were only met with fond amusement. 

He stood up with a hearty laugh, erection still in hand as he grabbed Shouta’s discarded chair, sitting down facing the couch. Shouta was quick to take Toshinori’s place on the couch while Hizashi took up residence behind you. 

“I have a feelin’ this star ain’t a fan of the spotlight, no need to be camera shy babe.” You watched Shouta roll his eyes at his partner in crime before he began to manhandle you. Hands under your armpits he pulled you up and wrangled you onto your knees facing him on the couch. 

Hizashi slid one knee between your legs so you couldn't close them. Your tied hands couldn’t help but brush up against his clothed hard on, causing him to rut against you a bit in anticipation. 

Without warning he took a solid grip of your t-shirt and ripped it off. You squeaked in surprise, your face heating up as you realized you were the only person fully naked in the room. 

“Was it really necessary to rip my shirt?”

“Sorry about that Toshi! Didn’t want to delay the show with takin’ off her bindings yah dig? You rip them a bunch anyways so what’s another to the pile? But ain’t this just so much better, our baby girl on full display it makes my heart swoon!”

“Just get her ready Hizashi, and no rushing it, you don’t want to hurt her.”

“Aight aight sorry I’ll get to work, you keep her happy.”

Both men moved closer, pressing your body between them. They had propped themselves up on their knees and had you effectively stuck. Shouta gently placed one hand around your neck, giving your collar a tug, while the other trailed down and began to gently work your still wet pussy. 

You stared into his chest, trying your best to space out but jerked back to reality when you heard the pop of a lid behind you. 

“Don’t worry babe I’ll get you ready, I’m somewhat of a pro yah know?” 

That was when you felt his lubed finger gently prodding your other hole. You jolted forwards into Shouta who didn’t even budge in response to your full body weight. Hizashi simply shuffled closer, continuing to push until finally he breached you. You whimpered at the uncomfortable intrusion. 

Shouta's fingers lazily worked your cunt as he rocked his erection against your lower abdomen. Despite the fact that you hated the feeling of his growing arousal you couldn’t help but lean into him to try and get away from Hizashi as he slipped another finger inside. Tears slowly rolled down your face in frustration as the two heroes prepared your body. 

“There we go kitten, you’re doing so well. Just be patient alright and it won’t hurt so bad.” Shouta removed his hand from around your neck and placed it on your head, angling your gaze to the third member of the group you had almost forgotten while pulling you flush to his clothed chest so you couldn’t freely change your field of view. 

Toshinori was leaned back in the metal folding chair, which looked comically small with him sitting on it. His eyes were clouded with lust as he stroked his thick cock. His own pre-cum and spit adding obscene noises to his ministrations. He gave you a lopsided smile as you made eye contact, causing you to quirky avert your gaze. 

By this point Hizashi had worked three fingers knuckle deep into your tight hole, but coupled with Shouta’s work the line between uncomfortable and pleasurable began to mix together. A breathless moan escaped you as the two pros finally got their desired reaction. 

“She’s as good as she’s gonna get Sho, let’s say you and me start the finale I can’t take feelin’ her tight lil hole clamping down on my fingers any longer. Not when I got somethin’ much better for her.”

Your tears flowed a bit faster at your impending fate. This was fucking insane! You might have been a murderer, but you weren't expected to be a good person unlike these men. These heroes who were now violating you.

Since Shouta was in black sweatpants he merely leaned back a bit and pulled them down, cock springing free. He had a solid girth to him, red tip dripping pre down his shaft to his unruly black pubic hair. You heard a zipper behind you as the blond freed himself, though due to being squashed between the two you had no idea what to prepare for. 

Hizashi hummed in contemplation at your tied hands, currently in the way of his objective. “Bonds might have to go Sho, you get her hands?” The sleepy hero merely nodded grasping your wrists as Hizashi swiftly untied them. 

“Ready now primadonna?”

“Ha ha you’re soo funny Sho... but yes, shit, I’m fucking ready.”

You kept quiet this time, head pressed against Shouta’s chest as you listened to his rapidly beating heart. You gave one last pleading look to the lean blond watching intently from the sideline, but all he did was shrug his shoulders with a small smile on his face. 

“You’re going to do great princess don’t worry.” 

You felt the tips of each man at their respective entrance, Shouta's teasing your soaking cunt while Hizashi lightly probed your lubed ass. You closed your eyes and accepted defeat. They gently began to rut their hips, cocks sinking deeper with each thrust. You felt uncomfortably full as they breached you. 

“Oh fuck oh fuck I can feel you through her.” The blond quickly grabbed your breasts, tweaking your nipples like he had earlier. 

“Easy does it kitten, we got you,” Shouta groaned out. 

You weren’t a fan of Hizashi behind you, rocking forward into Shouta as they continued to fuck into you. He squeezed down on your wrists in warning, hot breath fanning the top of your head. It didn’t take much longer before they both had finally bottomed out. You groaned in distress while they groaned in bliss. 

“I’ve got her wrists you help her out alright, and take it easy.”

“Sheesh I heard yah the first time, I’ll help our lil girl out.”

Hizashi snaked a hand in between you and Shouta, finding your clit. 

They both continued fucking into you, Hizashi matching Shouta’s pace as they stimulated your body. You were angry, humiliated, and yet somehow you were so turned on it was embarrassing. You should be thrashing about, snarling into your gag, but instead all you could do was rock your body to their salacious tempo. 

Peeking your eyes open at a particularly hard thrust from Hizashi you saw Toshinori on the edge of the chair. You could just barely make out his raspy breaths and small moans over Shouta and Hizashi’s groaning. His brilliant blue eyes bore into your own. One of his hands worked his long shaft while the other was death gripping his clothed thigh. It almost looked as if steam was pouring off of him. Was he always that muscular?

You didn’t have long to contemplate Toshinori though, with a pinch to your clit Hizashi made sure to regain your attention. He had picked up his pace, throwing Shouta a bit off balance. He leaned down sucking and biting at your neck while rolling your perky nipple. Shouta felt your velvety walls clamp down around his cock, picking up his tempo to match Hizashi’s.

By now you were a mess. Traitorous moans fumbling from your mouth as the two heroes played your body. They had picked up an alternating tempo, never leaving you without a cock inside your body. The pleasure had you throwing your head back, leaving your neck exposed and making room for Shouta to join Hizashi in leaving little claiming bites all along your delicate skin. 

“She’s getting close Hizashi, we’re gonna fuck her through it alright?”

The blond pro behind you only moaned out something that sounded vaguely affirmative, eager to feel your tight walls clamp down on him. 

You were beyond fighting them, on the brink of orgasm all it took was one pointed thrust from Shouta to have you crumbling apart. You pushed back into Hizashi’s chest, his t-shirt sticking to your sweat soaked skin as you clamped down on both of them. Hizashi moaned into your neck, his quirk picking up a bit as he lost his composure. Shouta had released your hands, ripping off your gag so he could grab your face and crash his mouth to yours, swallowing your moans as your newly freed hands grabbed fist fulls of his shirt to stabilize yourself. 

As stated they continued fucking into you, dragging out your orgasm as your walls spasmed around them. Shouta’s tongue delved into your mouth, his own deep moans rumbling into you. 

“Go-gonna fuckin’ cum Sho, n- not much longer.”

In response Eraserhead reached behind you, grabbing a fist full of the blonds hair and giving it a firm tug which was enough to push him over the edge. 

“Sh-shit,” he wheezed, hips stilling as his cum filled your sore ass. “You fu- you fucking dirty cheater makin’ me finish first like that.” In kind Hizashi grabbed some of Shouta’s hair, pulling his mouth away from yours and up to his own. 

“Go ahead and cum in her Sho you know you want to,” Hizashi taunted between kisses. The familiar sound of metal against concrete drew your gaze as the all too familiar symbol of peace stood at his full height. Holy fucking shit it was All Might. 

The two pros ignored his approach, Shouta’s hips becoming a bit more deranged as he fucked into you. All Might reached in between the two and gripped your lower jaw, dazzling smile almost blinding you.

“Be a good girl now and open for me, you don’t have to swallow it all but I’d appreciate the effort.” He didn’t leave you with much of a choice finding it impossible to close your mouth with his grip, which at this point was very sore from the gag. The tip of his large member gently brushed against your lips as he shuttered at the feeling of your soft flesh. 

By this point Shouta was thrusting aggressively against your battered cervix, mouth locked with Hizahi’s as he finally reached his own release. His hips stuttered as warmth filled your cunt. 

Now all that was left was All Might. Your jaw strained to accommodate him, but he seemed to be more than aware of your limitations. He simply pushed the tip in, one hand stroking his shaft while the other gently pet your head. 

“So pretty,” he cooed down at you. “Just like that princess, I’m gonna cum now okay?” 

You simply kept your mouth open, tongue flat against the underside of his still cock as his cum filled your mouth. The bitter taste made you sputter, cum running down your chin as more took its place. After a couple more spurts he gently pulled away, some of the bitter substance sliding down your throat while the majority ended up down your chin and onto the couch below. 

All four of you were panting, frozen in time until finally All Might disappeared in a large cloud of smoke. The man you had originally believed to be some unknown hero named Toshinori now stood in his place, shyly looking down at you. 

“I guess that’s one way to show her huh big guy.” Hizashi jested. 

“I-I know probably not the most ideal but I couldn’t help myself,” he murmured a bit embarrassed. 

Hizashi and Shouta pulled out, their cum immediately running down your legs causing you to cringe a bit at the sensation. 

“You guys.. fucking suck.” was all you could think of at the moment. You waited for the rage, for them to berate or attack you, but instead all that met you was a chorus of soft chuckles.

“Figured you wouldn’t be easy to convince kitten, but don’t worry. Between the three of us you’ll come around.” 

These three men must have some thick fucking skulls to dismiss you so casually, that or their obsession was a lot deeper than you could even begin to comprehend. 

“Some fucking heroes you are,” you grumbled lowly.

“Some fuckin’ heroes we are indeed cutie! HAH get it? Cause we just fucked yah?” Hizashi laughed at his own joke while Toshinori and Shouta groaned. 

“Alright don’t make me gag you next, let’s just get everybody upstairs and clean up. We’ll do the house tour later kitten, for now we’ll just show you to your room.” 

[thed4rkhand]

unexpected events and what to watch out for?

Hey guys! How’s everyone doing? I recently got done with a set of exams so I made this, and I chose to use this ass of joker, because you will not believe the amount of times I have played with playing cards this week and lost more on it. So I felt it was the just way of letting it win.

So appropriately I went with, the unexpected events in your life and what to watch out for in coming days.

So, before I ramble on more, close your eyes, breathe and choose one (again lets go clockwise with the binoculars joker as one to the red,blue and white joker as 4) and chose your pile.

Pile 1- dude with binoculars

Oh my babies, you’ve suddenly switched paths in life? Or suddenly everyone has switched paths away from you. You’ve recently been looking back at moments in your life and wondering what could’ve have happened if you did this or that. Maybe you’re just become distant from a friend recently, now you never thought you would. In your coming days, there will be an emotional backtab of some kind, could be around a festive season or at a party. Maybe you find your friend’s shit-talking you? Someone making out? Anything really. Alternatively, you’ll feel like a puppet in the coming days. You’ve been manifesting maybe a blowup, and maybe you have received it, and now suddenly you have so many choices in front of you. Somehow you’re so enthralled by these options that you are developing an addiction to a bad attitude of being attracted to new and shiny things and people, and leaving the dull and stable ones behind. These new people or things will leave you one by one, or maybe you’ll chase after them to realize they were never into it, only you were. Why do I feel like these are my libra, Aquarius, aries, gemini pile? Take care babes!

Pile 2- red dude with colorful stick thingy

Ohhh you guys are definitely manifesting something recently, and its a bunch of non-related stuff. You’ve been wanting all at once but its been stagnant for a while, don’t give up! You’re suddenly going to get advice or have an epiphany regarding how to get what you want and suddenly, overnight, you’ll have everything. Also you could be waiting on something related to an opportunity regarding your professional life, like a job opportunity or an internship. Everyone around you was getting their respective ones and you felt so trapped, don’t worry! You’ll get it now, soon and really unexpected. I have a feeling either a mail got lost in the post or a miscommunication with telephones and emails, but suddenly you’ll get clarity regarding this. I almost feel called to tell this pile this but do not pay too much attention to appearances, since they can be deceiving, find  creative solutions to your problems, maybe advice from an unlikely source, have a burst of creativity. There is also a warning about overconfidence or a warning about an actual person who is trickster and is emotionally feeding off of your pity and care. These are my taurus, capricorn, virgo and scorpio piles, also my few Sagittarius darlings I feel.

Pile 3- woman with a drink

Trouble sleeping lately, just twisting and turning and thinking about things, maybe you feel everyone is going their ways and you’re stuck in the past reminiscing. You’ve been chasing an emotional connect with someone, not a specific person to say, just someone. You feel that since you moved into this new phase of your life, you need that balance. You’ll find it in the most unexpected person, I’m telling you. Maybe you’re away from your primary friend group or family, and now have to rebuild everything you’ve ever known. Periods of sadness and emptiness accompanied by periods of acceptance, and this festival season only has you feeling worse. You need guidance and you don’t know how and who will give it. The cards tell me that you’ll have a spiritual re-haul, where you’ll do shadow or and understand yourselves, yes even the ideas you go out of your way to overlook and the past and feeling you ignore. I feel like till 2022 you’ll be in reclusion and largely trying to understand yourself and others. Random but I have a gut feeling about someone having burnt their hands during cooking or cutting something. Take care. This is my darling virgo, scorpio, pisces, and cancer pile.

Pile 4- blue and red scary thing

Blast from the past? You guys are either going to bump into someone from your past or something you’ve done in the past will come to bite you in the ass now. For the person, they would’ve revamped themselves completely and I’m sure you’ll be taken aback by how they’ve become now, and I definitely see this person entering your life for good, they’re in it for the long haul, not necessarily romantically. About to event? I think you recently gossiped and spilt about something you weren’t really supposed to, and somehow it reached the ears of someone that you did so without you knowing. Be ready for some confrontation. But I can see that recently you’ve been striving to maintain a balance between the emotions and professional spheres of your life, this is the time when suddenly you’ll notice that you’ll have people to delegate your work to without losing out on much and finally being able to spend time with your loved ones. These are I think my Sagittarius, libra, gemini and Aries babies.

Hey guys! I know it was super short and I’ll try to come up with a bigger one soon! Hope you guys enjoyed it and it resonated!

[willowbird]

hi! im a sucker for mutual pining so can i ask for roommates!au+ childhood friends + “you know i’ll do anything for you.” for pynch? 💛

You sure can lovely, you know I'll do anything for you 😉 (see what I did there?)

I also decided to make this a sick fic because I can. Hope you enjoy!

--

Ronan Lynch woke up feeling like death warmed over. Now this wasn't an altogether unfamiliar sensation, but it usually followed a night of heavy drinking and too many tacos sourced from questionable food trucks. Last night Ronan had been fucking responsible, thank you. He could have gone out and gotten trashed with some not-quite-friends he knew from around town. Instead, he had specifically stayed home and not gotten shit-faced because he had important shit to do today.

See, responsible. He could do it. Fuck you, Declan.

With an enthusiastic groan of anguish, Ronan rolled over and made to push himself up into a sitting position. His hand slipped off the edge of the bed in the attempt, however, and two seconds later he was in a heap on the floor with absolutely no energy nor motivation to try again.

At least, not until he heard a light knock on the door followed by a familiar voice calling, "Ronan? You alright in there?"

"Fuck," he grumbled to himself - except his face was trapped between his arm and the floor, so it came out more like 'frushk'.

The door creaked open and Ronan managed to summon the energy to lift his arm just enough to see Adam's bare feet peak into the room. How had he never noticed how elegant Adam's ankles were? The man could be a dancer if he wanted to, Ronan was sure of it - not that he knew anything about dancing or what dancers bodies should look like. Adam was wearing his pajama pants still, which was odd because Adam was always up way before Ronan and was usually fully dressed by the time Ronan dragged his ass out of bed - which he only ever did when the time was still in single-digits if he had absolutely no other choice (or if Adam was making breakfast... so... almost every day, but then he went back to bed). It was a shame, though, because Adam's calves were elegant, too. One wouldn't think men's calves could be pretty, but Adam's were. They fit the line of his legs like calligraphy, gently curving while holding all of this strength. That was to say nothing for his thighs. Ronan would happily be crushed by Adam's thighs.

"Um..." said Adam, and Ronan realized that he'd grabbed the hem of Adam's pant leg and was lifting it up, his body attempting to listen to his (likely fever-induced) inner ramblings and desire to see more of Adam's (perfect) legs.

With no energy to explain or defend himself, Ronan grunted and just let his hand drop back to the floor. A moment later he felt the air shift around him and when he realized he'd closed his eyes he forcibly peeled them open again to see that Adam had crouched down beside him.

Ah fuck, look at that bedhead. This was unfair. Ronan should get to see Adam's cute bedhead every day. But no, Adam had to be one of those people who got up at the asscrack of fucking dawn. He had to be one of those jerks who owned a comb. Despicable.

Adam caught his hand, the wayward limb having lifted to reach for aforementioned cute bedhead against Ronan's will.

"Alright, come on now Lynch, let's get you back in bed." Adam's voice was soft and very close now, which was funny because Adam was supposed to be far away. Adam was always too far away. Except this next time when Ronan opened his eyes he realized that Adam wasn't far away at all, he was right there, with his arm around Ronan, helping him sit up.

"When'd you get buff, Parrish?" Ronan grumbled as Adam all but deadlifted him from the floor to get him back on the bed.

Adam's quiet chuckle brushed against the side of Ronan's neck like a kiss. "What, did you think me going to the gym four days a week was for show? Gotta be able to lug your ass around."

"You calling me fat?"

"Yes."

"Bitch."

This time, Adam's laugh was a bit more full but it stayed quiet, like Adam knew about the angry cotton that had taken over the inside of Ronan's skull and didn't want to antagonize it.

Ronan was horizontal the next time he opened his eyes and Adam was woefully far away. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, adjusting the covers, which really wasn't all that far, but look -- it was too far. His hands were eager to obey his inner ramblings apparently, because without Ronan's say-so they had lifted again, reaching for Adam.

Adam caught them easily in his own and squeezed. "I hope you didn't have any big plans today, Lynch. You've definitely got a fever."

"No I don't," Ronan protested, half-distracted by how nicely his and Adam's hands fit together. He'd almost forgotten that, how good it felt to hold Adam's hand. They used to hold hands all the time when they were kids -- because that's what kids did. He remembered always reaching for Adam's hand. Sometimes to pull him up when he fell down, sometimes to grab him to go play, sometimes just because it felt... good to do it. They've been best friends since the summer before kindergarten, them and Gansey and Noah. But it was always Adam's hand Ronan wanted to hold.

But boys don't hold other boys' hands once you reach a certain age. Which, actually, was utter and complete bullshit and Ronan was going to do something about that as soon as he was able to get vertical again. He didn't know what, but he would come up with something, dammit.

"--nan? Ronan? Hey, you still with me?"

Ronan blinked away some cobwebs and focused back up at Adam's face, which was drawn together in concern. "The fuck you talking about Parrish," he rasped out. "I didn't go anywhere."

One of those strong, elegant hands dropped his - but before Ronan could mourn the loss it reached forward to press gently to his forehead, then to his cheek. "Maybe I should take you to the doctor," Adam said through a frown.

"'m fine," Ronan growled out with attempted authority. Adam only stared at him and Ronan rolled his eyes. "It's just... just a stupid cold or something."

Adam was already shaking his head. It took all of Ronan's willpower not to whine when he pulled his hand away, but he managed.

"What're you doing?" he grumbled suspiciously as Adam produced his phone from the pocket of his sweatshirt.

"Texting my boss."

The shock of confusion that lanced through him at that was sharp enough to kickstart his brain and wake him up a little bit. "What? Why?"

Adam gave him another look, and damnit if the man didn't look like a sexy, disapproving librarian - even without the glasses. "Ronan, you're sick. If that fever gets any higher you really will have to go to the doctor."

"So?" Something was not computing. Why should Ronan's stupid body being stupid sick have anything to do with Adam texting his boss? Did Adam's boss know something about fevers?

"So I'm not leaving you by yourself all day."

"You're asking your boss to hire a fucking babysitter?"

"No you ass, I'm calling off for the day."

Ronan blinked. He closed his eyes, counted to three, then opened them again - but Adam was still there. He was looking down at his phone, swiping across it as a message came in. Then he gave a nod and looked back at Ronan. "And it's done."

"Wait. What?"

Adam's expression clouded with worry again, lips pursing and brow drawing in. "Ronan, I just told you..."

"Shit. Fuck. Yeah, I got that. Wait. You're calling in?" Adam Parrish had never called off of work a day in his life. Ronan would know - since he'd been a part of it for about twenty years now. Three weeks after they'd moved in together, Adam had come down with strep throat and had still tried to go into work. His boss had ended up calling Ronan to come haul his ass out of there since Ronan was listed as his emergency contact.

"I'm going to call the doctor..."

Ronan cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I'm not a fucking amnesiac, Parrish. Why the fuck would you call off work for my sorry ass?"

Adam gave him a look, then, and it was a look that had the rest of Ronan's confused protest dying before it even reached the tip of his tongue. When Adam spoke, his voice was softer and his hands - his hands - had abandoned the phone and had returned to take both of Ronan's.

"C'mon, Ro," he said in that quiet, steady voice, "you know I'll do anything for you. Don't you?"

Ronan's throat constricted and his hands curled into fists, except Adam's hands were already tangled in them so he only ended up gripping those hands tighter. It took a moment for him to process that, his brain addled by fever and distracted by confusion.

When the words and the tone and the look in those blue of blue of blue eyes finally clicked, Ronan swallowed hard. Then he opened his mouth, maybe to say 'no I don't' or 'do you mean that the same way I do?' or 'if you fucking no-homo me on this shit Parrish I will kick your ass'. Instead, he rasped out a dazed, "What the fuck time is it?"

Adam blinked, then gave a tired grin and shook his head. "A little after five."

"...AM? Five in the fucking morning? Jesus Christ."

"Don't blame me on this one, Lynch. You're the one who threw yourself out of bed before I even had a chance to shower."

Ronan snorted, then looked up at the other man through bleary eyes, considering his options here. After a long moment of deliberation (that honestly might not have been that long, considering how wobbly his interpretation of time was this morning), Ronan laboriously shifted his body over on the bed so that he was tucked more against the wall. He then patted the newly empty space beside him. "C'mon."

Adam looked at him, then the bed, then at him. "What?"

"Should I call the doctor?" Ronan mocked, then rolled his eyes. "Come on. You don't have to work, and you're up to early. This way you can make sure I don't die in my sleep."

"Not funny, Lynch," Adam warned - but he also set his phone on the bedside table and crawled onto the bed, letting Ronan hold the covers up for him so he could sink into the warmth. Their apartment was too drafty for Adam's bird blood to put up with that sleeping on top of the covers shit. Besides, they'd had how many sleepovers growing up? Sharing a bed was nothing new to them.

The flutter in Ronan's chest when Adam met his eyes, that wasn't all that new either.

"Go back to sleep, Ro. I'm right here."

Ronan sighed, but being given that permission to say 'fuck it' to the rest of the day and just sleep off the haze of sickness clinging to the backs of his eyelids and slinking down his spine was enough to sap the rest of his energy. He closed his eyes, sleep already tugging at him. Later, he wouldn't remember whether or not the soft press of chapped lips to his forehead was real or a dream.

Fun little prompt thingies

[seiyasabi]

Deception

(This is a Yandere L x Cute Blushy Female Reader story :)) Just a warning; I’m trying my best to make my fics as inclusive as possible, so this may not be as detailed as possible. I hope you understand. 

TW: Stalking!, breaking and entering, stolen items, spy cameras!, unknown voyeurism!, mutual masturbation!, etc.. 

Sorry if this seems OOC!) 

With slightly shaking hands, you place a piece of chocolate cake in front of the dark haired detective, “I’m sorry, Lawliet, it’s just-” You fiddle with the hem of your jumper, a dark blush covering your cheeks, “Thu-they, uhm, they stole my… undergarments. I’m missing five panties that were in my dirty clothes, and, uhm, that means that they were inside my flat. I’m really scared! What if they hurt me?” 

Your companion flinches at your words. Hurt you?! He would never hurt you! Not that you know that, of course. L has only put up spy cameras and stolen small items, he isn’t planning on doing anything harmful. 

Luckily for him, you haven’t found the spy cameras, allowing him to watch over you. 

But, that’s beside the point. Right now, your cute self needs consolation, “I see. It seems that they’ve escalated from peeping outside your window, to breaking in. Did you ever install those security cameras I told you about?”

You nod your head vehemently, holding clasped hands over your chest, “Yes! I installed them the day you told me about them! But, somehow, they were able to turn off the live feed!” Small scared tears bead your eyes, causing the aloof man to bring you into a hug. He holds you to his chest as you cry, glaring at your closing staff that look in your direction. 

One of his hands rubs circles on your lilac clad sweater, your matching skirt rubs against his other arm. Your cute outfit is to die for, and he can’t wait to see you out of it later tonight. 

“You’ll be alright. I’ll find the person soon, and they’ll be locked up far, far away from you,” You look up at him with watery, hopeful eyes, causing him to continue, “I found a few finger prints, and I think if I scan them into the system, I could find a match.”

A bright smile overtakes your features, as you pull him into an even tighter embrace, “Really? I’m so happy! Thank you so much!”

He chuckles wryly, smoothing a hand down your side, “Don’t worry your pretty head about it,” He can see you flush at his indirect compliment, “But, don’t celebrate too early. I haven’t caught them yet.”

Blushing even darker, you release him to fiddle with your skirt, “Well, I-I know that, but, a lot of police don’t believe me whenever I report a break in. They brush me off because they don’t leave any evidence behind, and you’re the first one to ever help me. I really appreciate you! From now on, you can have an entire cake for free!” 

He pinches one of your cheeks, enjoying the feeling of your blush between his fingertips, “You don’t need to do that. A slice of your delicious cake is more than enough.”

Gaping at him in shock, you shake your head in disbelief, “Whaaat? Where’s Lawliet, and what did you do to him?! He would never say no to cake!” Releasing your cheek, he pats your head affectionately. 

“You let me have multiple slices of cake while I’m here, that is more than enough.” 

Huffing with a pout, you nod your head in understanding, “Fine, no full cake for you.”

One of your workers calls your name, causing you to perk up, and immediately hurry over to them. Zoning out of your conversation, L finishes off his cake, watching your excitable form help the others clock out. His eyes rake over your body, mouth salivating at the image of you. He can’t wait to frame your ex-con neighbour. Once he does that, you’ll surely fall into his arms, allowing a beautiful romance to blossom. 

Seeing you skippin back over to him, he looks back at his now empty plate, “Okie dokie! Am I able to take your plate? I don’t want to keep you waiting to walk me home,” He nods, and you grab his plate and cutlery, hurrying towards your kitchen. 

After your workers leave and he can hear the sink in the back, he allows an uncharacteristic smile to stretch across his face. 

Everything is going according to plan. 

-

“-Thank you for walking me home! I really appreciate all that you’ve done for me!” You wave at the crazy haired man, a cute blush and shy smile on your pretty face. 

He nods in acknowledgement, watching you go inside, before waiting a few moments. Once he hears you lock the doors, he hauls ass to his flat. 

People automatically move out of his way, allowing him to get home in a record time. Once inside, he hurries to his computer chair, and boots up his computer. 

Pulling up the live feed in your home, he watches you intently. L loves watching you cook, clean, pee, shower-everything. Everything about you is perfectly and adorably done, pulling at his heartstrings exponentially. 

He spends a good three hours watching you do mundane tasks, before his favourite part of your day begins; shower time. 

Watching your perfect body be on display for him is enough to get him hard, but you lathering yourself with a thick, white liquid is enough to make him bust at the implications. You truly have him whipped-wait, what are you doing? 

His dark eyes watch as you open what he assumed was a sewing box, only to pull out a portable hitachi wand. L’s mouth falls open in shock, he’s never seen you masturbate, and he’s watched you for a little over a year! Hell, he didn’t even know you had a sex toy! 

You continue on, completely unaware of his prying eyes. Picking out a large t-shirt and panties, you continue to your bathroom. Once inside, you set down the clothes and vibrator on your counter, before stripping yourself of your outfit. 

Your body now on full display, you grab your vibrator, and bring yourself to your tub. Stepping inside it, you sit down with ease, before parting your legs, leaving your pretty cunny on full display. Thank God L put a camera in your shower head. 

Pulling the shower head feed up on full display, he quickly pulls his hardening cock out of his joggers. 

Lawliet watches as you start to rub up your body, pinching your nipples lightly, and teasingly touching your slit but neglecting your clit. Seeing this, he starts to rub his tip with his thumb, spreading his bead of precum all over his head. 

This goes on for a few moments, your small moans making his hair stand on end. You have no idea what you do to him. 

Feeling that you’re not ready, you grab your vibrator, flicking it on with your nimble thumb. The loud noise can be heard echoing throughout your bathroom and through his speakers, setting him on edge on what is about to happen. 

Placing the silicone tip to your pretty clit, a loud keen escapes your lips. L groans at the sound, eyes trained on your glistening core. His hand starts to stroke his throbbing cock, trying to go in sync with the low vibrating. 

Your moans and whines almost make him bust right there, but he holds it in with all his might. He needs to cum with you, which seems to be approaching soon. 

Flicking the switch once more, you allow the vibrations to increase tenfold. Your moans are now at full volume, your hips bucking into the hitachi. Slick drips from your cunny into a pool underneath your plush ass, causing grunts to fall freely from Lawliet’s mouth. 

“Fuck, you look-shit-” He murmers to himself, watching as you suddenly gush in orgasm. Your squirt comes out in a giant gush, soaking your cunny and making your legs shake in euphoria. Small keens fall from your lips, as L distractedly cums all over himself with a deep gasp. 

Lawliet doesn’t bother to clean himself up, only watching in awe, as he watches you stand to your unsteady feet. You then set the vibrator aside, and turn on the shower, warming water raining down on your tired body. 

Yeah, things are falling into place quite well. 

He’s sure to have you very soon. 

[peachbear88]

So This is Love (Pt 4)

Warnings: Just remembered that this story has a lot of swear words so... SWEAR WORD WARNING

You wake up with a searing migraine, last night coming back in a haze of flashbacks. You taking shot after shot, singing on the coffee table, Wanda taking you back to- Oh shit. Your eyes widen as you remember how bad you fucked up last night. The disgust in her eyes as she slammed the door. You shoot up, ready to go talk to Wanda, to apologize, only to fall back down. "Damn, vertigos a bitch." You mutter before gently pushing yourself to your feet.

You drag yourself to the kitchen to find it empty as you pour yourself a glass of water. "They're probably sleeping off their hangovers." You mutter before opening the balcony door to allow the fresh air to sober you up. You stare out at the vast plain that Tony calls the front lawn before your silence is interrupted by the shuffling of footsteps. You turn to find Wanda, presumably grabbing some breakfast. The two of you make eye contact and her eyes widen before she makes a mad dash towards her room. You snap into action, barely grabbing the Sokovian's wrist before she could slam the door in your face. "Wanda, wait." You plead. She glares at you, her eyes filled with disgust. "What do you want?" She asks coolly, making your heart crack a little. "I want to talk-" You start but she wrenches her wrist away. "Yeah, and I don't want to listen." She retorts, slamming the door in your face once again. You sigh before turning to retreat to your room only to be stopped by Steve. "Lovers spat?" He asks, quirking an eyebrow. You groan inwardly. "Why is it, whenever something happens, you're always here to witness it?" You mutter. He laughs before leading you towards the living room and indicates for you to sit down on the couch. "I'm getting the protective dad talk, aren't I?" You mumble, not bothering to look at him. "No actually. I just wanted to say that no matter how cold she seems, she's got a soft spot for you. She just needs to know you're not going to leave her too." He pats you on the shoulder before leaving, letting you sink in your thoughts as you devise a clever way to win over Wanda Maximoff.

"2 hours away?! You've got to be kidding me!" You exclaim as you chuck your phone across the room. You just searched up where you could find popular Sokovian snacks only to discover that the closest store that sold them was 2 hours away. Nat only laughed at your misfortune. "Great risk comes with great reward." She quipped, swiftly dodging the pillow you sent flying her way. You sigh, realizing the wisdom in her words and proceed to grab your wallet and one of Tony's many car keys. "I'll be back in 4 hours." You wave hastily before heading out the door.

You return to the compound much later in the day, woven snack basket in hand as you march through the compound and into your room. You fail to notice Wanda, sitting in a dark corner of the room, her eyes following you as you take cover in your room with the goodies. You scrounge around for a bit before finding a sticky note and a sharpie marker. In quick, messy handwriting, you scrawl: 'For my favorite Sokovian' and slap it on the gift basket. You lay back, admiring your handiwork before quietly slinking out of your room and depositing it outside her door. Satisfied with your gift, you proceed to head downstairs to the training room, still somehow miraculously failing to notice Wanda.

"So let me get this straight. You pissed her off. Then you dropped off a super cliché gift basket at her door and didn't even put a name on it?" Peter recounted as he dodged a jab you sent at this head. You roll your eyes. "Correct Parker." He groans, sending a double legged kick your way that sends you reeling backwards. "Dude, that's like the dumbest thing you could've done. Trust me, it's going to end in her ignoring you for a long time." You roll your eyes, pulling yourself off the floor. "Sure Cupid." You grunted before dropping back into a your fighting stance. "Now show me how to do that cool-ass kick."

It's been weeks since you kissed Wanda and to your surprise, she was still ignoring you. Every time you entered the room, she'd drop whatever she was doing and speed shuffle out of the room leaving everyone befuddled and you feeling down. That all changed though on one fateful day when Peter strolled into the living room. "Trouble with the Missus?" Peter cackles wickedly.

"Shut up Parker."

"Damn, I'm good with this relationship stuff."

"I said shut it you little insect."

"What you gonna do about it?"

You growl before launching yourself at him. He jumps out of the way, ducking and weaving behind tables and chairs as you lunge at him, attempting to tackle him. Finally, after a good minute of you chasing him, you manage to pin him down, swinging your leg over him to trap him. "Oh you're going to regret that Pete." You grinned but were quickly cut off by a light cough. "Hi." You turn to see Wanda, staring at the two of you. You quickly roll off Peter who takes this as an opportunity to scramble off the floor, hauling ass to get out of the room. "Have fun you two!" He yells, winking at you. "What'd he mean by that?" Wanda asks, making you blush, your cheeks turning a rosy pink. "N-Nothing. So uh, what's up?" You ask, leaning on the marble countertop in an attempt to look suave but unfortunately for you, you misjudged the distance between you and the countertop and you hit the floor with a painful thud. "Oh god! Y/N, are you okay!?" She rushes forward, stifling giggles. "I'm good. What were you saying?" Her face assumes a more serious look. "I'm sorry for ignoring you. You were just trying to help." She looks down at her feet as they shuffle back and forth. You gently lift her chin up to look at you, noticing how her cheeks flush at your touch as you stare into her alluringly green eyes. "It's okay but does this mean you're taking my offer?" You smile at her cheekily but the smile is replaced with a look of agony. "Ow!" You exclaim as she slaps you playfully. "Maybe." She says slyly before turning on her heel, leaving you dumbstruck for a moment before you chase after her. "Wait, what do you mean maybe?!"

_____________________________________________________________

BAM! ANOTHER PART DOWN! I'm going to be writing a lot and probably posting part 5 soon because it's going to get exciting!!! I'm just excited :)

Taglist: @username23345

[whenimaunicorn]

The Split

The Mandalorian x female Reader

(gif contributed by @bennskywalker​) (much love and undying gratitude to @equalstrashflavoredtrash​ for constant cheerleading, support, and beta services, and saving me every time I felt stuck on a scene; and also to @cptnbvcks​ for indulging the Big Meat headcanon and guaranteeing it’s happening in all my fics)

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: choking, spanking, dominance/submission, threats during intimacy, rough sex Words: 8478

Summary: The Reader is a fellow Nevarran bounty hunter, working with the Mandalorian to catch a quarry and splitting the reward. They keep renegotiating the split until passions spark and other, kinkier interests start slipping out.

Full Fic:

There’s one thing you can appreciate about working with the Mandalorian: he sure knows how to be terrifying to his quarry. It’s not about bluster with him, or wild threats that can make a hunter seem unhinged; it’s in his sheer presence. He’s caught up to the quarry you’ve been tracking together, and now he looms over his prey like he’s inevitable.

‘Course, you’d never let him know he even made you shiver. “Enough with the dramatics,” you say to him, coming up behind the cowering bounty and yanking her arms together behind her back. “I’m the one that got her blaster out of her hand, and that’s the hardest part. Once they’re disarmed it’s all over. That ups my cut to 70%.”

A frustrated little hiss emanates from your business partner. He points that looming mask more squarely at you. “Fifty-five was what we agreed,” he says, words clipped. “And that was only because you had the specific location—”

“Without which your schedule wouldn’t have been worth shit,” you finish for him, pressing the binder around your quarry’s wrists. At least, the metal cuff clicks shut around one of them…

Suddenly the woman is whirling around, slamming the solid metal of the binder, hanging off just one wrist, right into your stomach.

You try to grab her but the momentum is not in your favor, especially with the wind knocked squarely out of your gut. You brace your hands on your knees, willing yourself not to fall completely down as you fight the pain, not in front of Mando, and manage to suck in a decent breath as you look up with involuntary tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

Just in time to see the Mandalorian grab the woman by the throat, stopping her escape in its tracks. He shoves her to her knees, bristling with frank irritation, and presses the muzzle of his blaster to the side of her skull. “Stay down.”

You stagger one step in their direction. Your gut hurts just about as much as your pride.

You can’t see a smirk on that cold metal face, but you know there has to be one as he looks over at you. “What were you saying about the hard part of the job being over? I’ll take that seventy.”

“This gets you maybe an extra five,” you wheeze, stomping to the quarry kneeling at his feet and jamming her other hand into the binder where it belongs. “And you’re forgetting that I was the one that noticed her sneaking out that hatch in the back.”

Another one of his annoying silences follows, the one where he stands so still and makes you wait, just guessing what thoughts might be bouncing around inside the helmet. “And she’s going back in my ship. My fuel, my carbonite. I’ll take sixty.”

You huff.

“You’re the one that started this. I would have been fine with the original agreement.”

You roll your eyes. “We’ll talk about it after she’s loaded in.”

“Up,” the Mandalorian barks at the quarry, digging those orange-tipped fingers into the cloth covering her shoulder and hauling her to her feet.

The woman complies, looking defeated, and you all start walking across the plateau toward where the Razor Crest has been hidden. Mando’s been in the game too long to pay docking fees at an official spaceport on a planet so chaotic that you can get away without.

Soon enough, the quarry says what everyone with a price on their head says, once the binders are tight around their wrists. “You know, you two really don’t have to worry about your split. Just let me get back to my guys, I can pay you each as much as that whole price on my head.”

You snort. “If that were true, we wouldn’t have found you working in such a shit-hole. No way the syndicate values you that much.”

“I seem to recall a story about you taking up a quarry on an offer like that once,” Mando’s modulator emits at you. He slows his pace so he can see your face as the three of you trudge across the uneven ground. “Didn’t it end with another Guild member finding you stripped and tied up in a cellar? That would have been a sight to see.”

“I heard that story too,” you shoot back. “Wasn’t me. But if you want to see me like that, Mando, maybe you can try to play your cards right a little later…” you force your mouth to close. Not the most well-thought-out comeback. Nor the kind of thing to say if you want a fellow Hunter’s respect. Which you do. It’s just that there’s something about the Mandalorian that’s damned enticing, that makes you wonder if he ever loosens up even a little, lets anyone touch the warm body that’s gotta be somewhere underneath all that armor.

“I know a good hotel in the East Quarter,” the quarry pipes up before Mando gives you a response, “soft mattresses, and real good soundproofing in the walls. Maybe you two need to work out some of this sexual tension before taking me back to the ship? You can just stick me in another room until you’re done.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d just twiddle your thumbs and wait real nice for us.” You stick your blaster into her ribs and prod her to move faster, just for being annoying. “Sweet of you to be so generous, but don’t worry. He and I’ll have plenty of privacy while you’re stashed away in carbonite for the ride to Nevarro.”

The Mandalorian’s helmet turns toward you sharply.

“What? It’s not that I don’t trust you, Mando, but I always collect in-person. I’m riding with you.”

  Mando’s ship is a real bare-bones operation; it’s not much more than a cargo hold and a cockpit. It’s almost enough to make you regret insisting on coming along. You can’t find a spot to get comfortable in, and there’s nothing to do. Mando’s not helping; he’s been sitting at the controls of the ship, back perfectly straight, since take-off. The course has already been set; the eerie lines of hyperspace are streaking by, and there’s nothing in this cockpit that actually requires his attention unless something goes wrong.

“So… what do you usually do while you’re in hyperspace?” you finally ask, slouching against the cockpit wall.

Mando’s hands turn palm up. “This.”

“You serious?”

He shrugs. “Good time to meditate.”

You look out at the rushing stars. “You have got to be kidding me. I’d go completely crazy in about five minutes.”

“You probably would,” he says. So calm, so matter-of-fact.

You look down at him sharply. He hasn’t moved a muscle, though he could be looking at you sideways through his visor and you’d never know. Infuriating. You plop down into the seat behind him. “You don’t think I’m capable of being quiet?”

“I’ve never known you to be.”

You flip your hair. “Some of us have a thing called ‘people skills.’ But it doesn’t look like they cover that in Mandalorian school.”

Now he turns his face toward yours. “Is that what you think you have.”

You nod, stifling the quick words that heat up your tongue so you can prove how quiet you can be.

“I’ve seen you try to get free drinks from soldiers that haven’t had shore leave in months, and still not be able to seal the deal.”

Mando? Teasing you? That’s new. You scoff at the accusation. “You just left too early. You would have seen where that night went. Try loosening up a little sometimes.”

Another silence. Then he swivels away from you, back to his perfect posture. “No thanks.”

“What are you jealous?”

The stack of armor in the pilot’s seat gives you no reaction at all.

You exhale loudly. “You know, I always thought you must have had some other kind of life to go back to, the way you drop those pucks off with Karga and never stick around.” You glance down the ladder at the empty cargo hatch, thinking of the junky little cot you saw crammed into a closet down there. “But you really live like this? Nothing but work for you, huh. Is that what it takes to be the best hunter in the sector?”

His helmet moves a fraction in your direction. “At least you can admit it.”

Your face gets hot. You did not mean to give that to him. “Some people say that about you.” You cross your arms, trying to get more comfortable by throwing your feet up on the control panel to his left.

He rolls his neck, beskar facing pointedly at your feet until you huff and move them.

Your frustration cracks into all-out mockery. “Ooh,” you blurt out in a sing-song voice, “I’m Mando, when I’m not hunting I sit perfectly straight and stare into space; my capture rate is near-perfect because I never sleep and guns are my religion.”

His helmet tilts above his metal-encased shoulder, dangerously close to actually looking at you again. “If you’re going to keep running your mouth like that, I can think of a few ways to make you shut up.”

It takes you a moment to recover from the rush that shoots through your body, a confusing mix of adrenaline and frank arousal as he speaks to you with the tone he usually reserves for quarries. Then you bark out a laugh. “Mando! Did you just make a dirty joke?”

Slowly he swivels the chair toward you, until he’s facing you squarely with his legs spread and fists on his knees. “I suppose you could take it that way.”

And then he just sits there, staring at you, as you decide which way to take it. Was he trying to say he hadn’t meant it as a come-on? That you’re the only one here with a dirty mind, that immediately imagined him shoving his cock down your throat? Fuck. Or does he want you to take it that way, to climb into his lap and sit your ass down on the battered metal plate covering his thigh…

You have to shake your head a little to make the thoughts stop. That is so not what he means. “You’re just mad that we make a great team,” you say, standing up and grinning, trying a new tactic. “That after almost bungling the hunt today,” the helmet cocks sharply at that accusation, “you realize that you need me. I’ve got skills you can’t even come close to.”

It’s hard to determine what sound comes out of his modulator, but you think it’s a snort. “What are you talking about.”

“My aforementioned people skills, for a start. Don’t forget I was the one that took in that warlord on Strigoth by getting him to follow me out to the edge of town without any of his guards. Not everything has to be a shootout. And I knew the quarry today was going to run before you did.”

Mando crosses his arms over his chestplate. “Keep telling yourself that. I’m still not raising your percentage.”

“I can hack any security system since the final Imperial update release, which is most of them in the Rim, and on top of all that”—you swing your left hand in like you’re going to slap him upside the helmet, and when he lifts his arm to block, you smack him over the ear with your right—“I’m faster than you.”

You jump back instantly, not sure how he’s going to react. His body tenses up into a fighter’s crouch, starting to come up out of the chair toward you. Then he sits back down, body language deliberately relaxing. He adjusts his helmet with one hand. “You’re a child.”

“I call it playful,” you shoot back, the adrenaline rush of what you just did almost making you giggle. “Another asset you seem to be lacking.”

He only shrugs in response, then swivels back to facing the oncoming stars.

He’s given you an opening that’s impossible to resist. As soon as his back is turned you swing your open hand forward. He’s ready for it, which you basically expected, and he knocks your arm away before you can make contact with his helmet this time. And ouch, that gauntlet of his jars your forearm all the way to the bone. You make a frustrated little noise. “Well, if you want to stick to business, we still have to talk about the final terms of the split. We can go back to 55-45, if you admit that today I had the superior skills.”

“With you taking the forty-five?”

“Hell no.”

He pauses, and you think he’s about to say something mature and reasonable, like he always does. Instead, he comes back with a very calmly-worded: “I could put you out the airlock right now.”

You swear there’s a wry little tone to that modulated voice. “You’d have to catch me first”—you slap the bucket on his head again—“and we’ve already determined I’m faster than you.”

“Stop that,” he growls, finally standing up. His cloak swirls dramatically and you try to suppress the primal feelings that make you a little weak in the knees when he comes up to his full height in such close quarters.

“Make me.” The words are out of your mouth before you can decide if they’re really such a good idea.

The Mandalorian’s helmet tilts. Now it’s his turn to try and work out what you may or may not be implying. When he finally speaks, there’s a new tone in his voice, one that catches something deep in your belly and drags. “You think you can take me?”

…Can you? You may be as good a Hunter as he is, but you couldn’t say unarmed combat is one of your strong suits. And you don’t even want to think about how much he out-weighs you, especially with all that armor on. But how can you possibly eat your pride and back down after you’ve provoked this?

You look around the tiny space of the Razor Crest’s cockpit. Mando’s helmet stays squarely aimed at your face.

“A lot of expensive equipment in here,” you say casually. “Wouldn’t want to damage anything throwing down right now.”

“Mm-hmm.” His skeptical hum makes the modulator crackle. Did he just lean in closer?

At this point the sexual tension is thrumming like a mis-firing engine in the space between you. If he had a face you could read, a mouth you could tilt your face up and kiss, you’d know what to do, but this? Even your renowned ‘people skills’ are failing you now.

You look away from the impassive, dark lens that covers his eyes, and that’s when he retaliates. One heavy gloved hand whips around your side and thuds a stinging strike right into your ass. The impact knocks you forward, almost into his chest, but you stop yourself before your hands touch his breastplate.

You suck in a breath and freeze, wide eyes drawn like a magnet back to that beskar face. Mando just spanked you. Hard. Mando… just… The pain ignites an arousal so sudden and strong that you’re worried you’re about to start trembling. It would absolutely kill your reputation if any Hunter found out that your sexual tastes ran submissive, that a deep secret part of you wanted nothing but to be overpowered and forced, to be used by someone stronger than you, better than you…

You can’t think of anything to do but flee. “I… uh…” His helmet tilts again, watching your face closely as you stutter. “Yeah, I guess I was being a little too childish. I’ll stop…stop trying to make you lighten up.” Your eyes slide away from his helmet’s eye slit, unable to handle even the imagined eye contact. “I’ll leave you alone to do whatever it is you do up here. Meditate. I’m gonna go down and…” you make for the ladder to the cargo hold, “and clean my blaster.”

He just watches you go. You can still feel the impact of his hand on your ass, with every movement of your leg as you climb down the rungs of the ladder. Fuck, it’s making your pussy tingle just a badly, too. Your head has just dropped below the hatch when Mando’s modulated voice follows you down with a suggestion that sounds suspiciously like a command. “Why don’t you clean mine, too.”

You feel your face and chest getting hot as soon as you get down to the relative privacy of the ship’s lower level. If you were trying to maintain control of the conversation, you’d say something sassy back to that, not let him win an inch of dominance, but you’re not in control anymore, are you? Not of yourself, not of whatever this is that’s going on between you. And it’s so dangerous. How would you keep his respect, if your top competitor in the Guild knew this about you, what you wanted him to do to you…

Mando’s weapon rack is set into the wall across from the ladder. Certainly there’s cleaning supplies stashed somewhere in that section, but you’re too shaky to get right to work. Instead, you walk down along the racks of carbonite, idly inspecting his cargo as you try and pull yourself together.

Four of the racks are currently occupied; the Mandalorian has been busy. Each one is tagged with a bounty’s chain code. You recognize two of them from Karga’s list. Quarries that you had passed on, that seemed too difficult to be worth their price. Bastard was about to show you up again when he unloaded these trophies.

You take a deep breath when you reach the end of the line. Your ass still tingles in the most tantalizing way, but you grit your teeth and tell yourself to ignore it. Maybe if you just stay down here, avoid your traveling companion until the ship reaches Nevarro, everything else will go just fine. No more bruises to your pride, no dirty secrets revealed. Yeah. That’s smart.

You turn and Mando is just there, boxing you in between the racks of carbonite carriers. How can a guy covered with so much metal be this stealthy? You try not to let shock show on your face; which only means you end up freezing like a prey animal.

“You liked that.” He makes the accusation solidly, with the weight of heavy interest bearing down behind it.

“What are you talking about.” You know, but you don’t want to answer for the heat that surely showed in your face when Mando spanked you. You try to wiggle past him, but he doesn’t acknowledge your intent, makes no move to make way for you.

“You know.” He’s just staring down at you.

You twitch in irritation and decide if he’s ignoring personal space, so can you. Your chest and thigh slide against solid armor as you force your body through the gap between him and the carbonite. “Get out of my way.”

His helmet is the only thing that moves, tracking your labored progression. “Make me.” He echoes your earlier challenge with an amused little tone.

“Fine.” You use your entire body weight to slam him into the rack on the other side. But he recovers too quickly; when you try to step away, into the center of the ship’s hold, he gets an arm around your chest.

As if your adrenaline wasn’t spiking already; now your combat reflexes kick in and you pull him in tighter, squatting low and grabbing that arm for leverage. With a quick burst of effort from your legs, you flip him over your shoulder.

You follow him down, taking advantage of the way a fall inside all that metal has to stun him, and climb on top of his body. “Fifty-five percent.” You also attempt to change the subject.

He reaches up and it’s a struggle to control his arms. He’s kriffing strong, and you’ve already taken off your combat equipment with the hidden tricks you usually use to deal with opponents that are bigger than you. He twists underneath you, in some way that you don’t expect, and with a rough shove and a brief crushing sensation along one leg you find yourself flat on the deck beneath him. “Are you really going to pretend you don’t like this?” his modulator purrs down at you.

Subject not changed. Every one of your nerve endings is in high gear now, and there’s a powerful urge inside you that wants to mewl and spread your legs apart for him right here, like a bitch in heat acknowledging the alpha male. You push the image back with a growl between your teeth, and use your thighs only to try and throw him off you.

Mando responds to your offensive by smothering you back down with his hips. Something solid crushes into the apex of your thighs, and you remember his armor does not have a codpiece.

A feral little moan escapes past your lips. Mando stops, lifting up just a little off your body and cocking his helmet to the side where it hovers only a hand’s breadth above your face. “What was that?” he asks, voice pleased.

And just like that, the whole game has changed. You were so worried he was trying to embarrass you, get one over on you. But if he likes it like this too… You reach your hand down boldly and throw his question back at him. “What’s this?” you ask as your palm makes contact with a delightfully solid bulge straining against the thick fabric of his pants.

A deep rumble purrs out of his modulator. “If you can manage to behave, maybe you’ll find out.”

How does he know exactly what to say to make you squirm? Your body floods with heat as you inwardly flail around to find a non-submissive answer. “And what happens if I don’t behave?”

“Then, maybe things get really interesting.”

Oh. Fuck. Now there’s an option. Maybe you don’t even have to submit to get the kind of tumble you want from him. You bare your teeth in a ferocious, challenging grin, and take advantage of the way he’s pulled his weight back to twist out from under him, knocking his helmet one more time with your elbow as you go.

You scramble across the deck out from under him, but a heavy hand catches your belt before you can get very far. You kick but Mando’s already inside your reach; your heel glances off his armor without even slowing him down.

He tugs on your belt, harshly, and climbs over the backs of your legs to force you down. “Where do you you think you’re going?” His voice is tight with the effort of getting himself positioned on top of you, squishing your belly into the deck.

“Mmf” is the sound you make in response, because now he’s pressing a forearm into your back and putting most of his weight on it.

“Hold still.” You give him a little token resistance, but mostly you let him get settled how he wants, holding you down to the floor evenly with the left side of his body. Leaving his right hand free. “So. What happens when you don’t behave.”

He spanks you, solid and centered and sharp.

You expected it just enough to hold your breath, and make sure you don’t cry out. You may be face-down on the floor under the Mandalorian, but you still have your pride. The first smack is followed by two more, and he grunts when you still don’t make a noise.

Heavy fingers smooth over the sting in your flesh. His hand feels amazing as it covers the swell of your ass, a slow, deliberate drag that feels warmer than it ought to and much more soothing than you expected.

“What’s it going to be, Y/N?” he asks. When you don’t answer fast enough for him, he swats at your other cheek, lazy and powerful.

Maybe he got a little noise out of you with that last one; it’s just too hard to stay quiet and not flinch both at the same time under the strength of that arm.

His helmet comes closer down to your face. “It’s okay to let go.” He speaks with such confidence, such seductive calm. “I can tell you want to submit. You don’t have to keep fighting it.” He shifts on top of you. “Though I do like it when you struggle.”

Your body rolls enticingly underneath him, without your brain’s permission. “Don’t you dare tell anyone you got me like this.”

“Of course not.” His answer is immediate. You remember how he’s always been an honorable man, that part of his reputation impeccable. Perhaps you really can trust him with this side of you. He sticks to the Code, he honors his promises, and lives by the Way of the Mandalore.

That last one begs a certain question, of course. “I wasn’t sure that Mandalorians could even have sex.”

A throaty noise makes the modulator crackle. “We have our ways.” A pause. “Is that what you want?”

You lift your head a little higher. He doesn’t give you much freedom, but he shifts just enough to help you feel comfortable breathing again. “If that’s what you’re offering, yeah, I wouldn’t be opposed to things ending up there.”

His hand gropes over your ass, fingers diving to tease more sensitive flesh between your legs. “After we… resolve a few things.” He grips tightly, almost cruelly. You agree in a sound that comes out much more high-pitched than you intended as he palms your ass and kneads it boldly. “Like whether you’re ready to start behaving like a good girl now.”

You still can’t bring yourself to just say yes, as hot as his words are making you. But you curl into his hand, just a little. To encourage him.

He growls something in a language you don’t know. It sounds like a curse and his weight is pressed down on you again as he scrambles with your belt, loosening your pants just enough to shove everything off the curve of your hips, baring you to mid-thigh in the ship’s cool air. When he spanks you now it’s sharper, the sting lighting up your tender flesh under every open-palmed strike that just keeps coming and coming. “Rubbing your ass on me does not count as an answer.” Smack. “I want to hear you say it.” Smack. “That you submit.” Smack. “That your ass is mine tonight.” A few involuntary cries squeeze out of your throat before he relents and rubs you again, the leather of his glove singing over your overstimulated skin.

You slow your panting breaths before you speak up, endeavoring to match his even tone. “Maybe I’ll play along for a little while.” You twist further, until you can stare up into his silver mask. “What do you want me to do?”

He pulls back, sitting up on his hip. From the angle of his helmet you’d guess that your answer does not really count as the submission he was looking for. Nor did you mean it to be. Someone’s gonna top you, they’ve got to earn it. Even if they are already, physically, on top of you. His moment of thought ends. “Take off your clothes.”

His hand squeezes at your ass one more time as you shift, like he’s loathe to let go while you comply with his command. You make as quick of work with your boots as you can, then push your bottoms off after them. Mando’s sitting beside you, leaning up against a large cargo crate, helmet fixed on your slowly-revealed body.

You’re so self-conscious that your skin feels like it could be glowing, as you bare it for him inch by inch. There’s nothing to read in that cold helmet, but its angle never wavers, riveted on you.

Once you’ve gotten yourself completely naked, he beckons you to come to him with two curling fingers. It’s amazingly erotic to move toward him with nothing on, while every inch of the Mandalorian warrior is still covered in battle-scarred plates.

He reaches out, palm up for your hand. You place your hand in his and he draws you in, until you’re kneeling right beside him. His fingers trail up your arms, over your shoulders, coaxing you closer. His touch is lighter than you expected. But you can hear him breathing through the mask. He’s struggling to stay this calm. To savor this.

His helmet tips down as his fingers knead harder; he watches himself press and squeeze the flesh of your shoulders, your neck, your jaw. The modulator translates another buzzing hum. Does it fascinate him, to see so much bare and vulnerable skin, when he can show none?

You feel your nipples tighten, a silent craving for contact. This feels good, but you want so much more. You look right into his eye slit. “I won’t break,” you say, twisting yourself tighter into the grip of his hands.

The Mandalorian growls and rises up to his knees, helmet filling your vision as he presses himself close and rakes his fingers down your back. He’s looking down at your panting chest and squeezing your ribs, watching the way your pristine tits are so close to brushing against his dirty metal chestplate. He clutches you in, pressing your belly against his, betraying a desire for closeness that he just can’t achieve.

Your hands come up to his shoulders, burrowing through the cowl wrapped around his collar, trying to make contact. Your fingers curl up the column of his neck, where the thinner fabric lets you feel a hint of his body heat. He stiffens when you come close to the bottom of his helmet.

��Leave it,” he snarls, just as you’re telling him “Don’t worry, I wasn’t—"

He scoops you up tightly and sets you on top of the cargo crate he had been leaning against. Your legs open and wrap around him of their own volition as he presses between them. You cross your ankles underneath his cloak, locking his body in close. You let your hands rest on his shoulders, just inside the pauldrons, but don’t attempt to slide under anything again.

Leather-clad fingers rake up your ribs, dragging up the sides of your body before they close over your breasts. Finally. You arc into him and let your eyes close, feeling the texture of his gloves across sensitive skin, the hungry twisting and tugging against your nipples.

“Open your eyes,” he demands, voice breathy with as much arousal as you’re feeling. “I want you to look at me, keep looking at me, let me see…”

He trails off, but you can guess what he means. Let him see what it feels like to be touched. You tip your chin down and lock your eyes on that T-shaped window in his helmet. His fingers pinch around both your nipples at once and your jaw drops. He tickles around the edges, then grabs up the full swell of your tits and squeezes. Your eyes try to flutter shut; it’s already hard to remember his instruction.

He settles into an entirely delicious rhythm, kneading your peaks, watching every crease of your brow, reading every gasp and twitch of your lip so that he can tweak at your nipples just right, until the pleasure is almost unbearable. You don’t even realize your eyes have fallen closed until his hand disappears from one of your tits and slaps at your cheek.

It’s not hard, just a slight sting, the corrective swat of a playful alpha. “Eyes,” he reminds you, then goes right back to his blissful torture.

Your core is warming almost unbearably. Every tug at your nipples is drawing a tingling line of pleasure right down between your thighs, taking the heat that had already awoken there during your spanking and fanning the flames, until the need for more is almost unbearable. “Mando,” you moan, tilting your hips forward on the crate, “please…”

A pleased little sound comes out of the modulator. “Please what?”

“Urmmm,” you moan at him, twisting your body, trying to scoot your hips a little closer to him. “I need more.”

He responds by pinching your nipples harder, just enough pain to make you gasp and curl. You pout up toward his helmet. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But you like it.” He does it again, and this time you cry out. A stabbing ache deep between your legs reminds you you’re still not getting what you want.

Fingers tickle down your belly, brushing across your inner thighs. Then they slide around behind and pinch you hard on the ass. You wail in frustration.

Mando tips his helmet closer to your face. “Tell me again how I don’t know how to be playful.”

“Fuck!” you cry through gritted teeth.

“Fuck what?”

Your hands scramble down his armored chest, aiming for his belt to just reach down and show him what you want.

“Uh uh.” He grabs your wrists before you can do more than pop the buckle on his utility belt. “Hands stay on my shoulders.”

You immediately comply, too far gone now to be contradictory. “Fuck me, Mando.”

“Oh yeah?” He straightens up a little, his posture cocky as he stands there wrapped in your naked legs. “You ready to say it?”

“I’m yours.” You don’t even hesitate. “Do whatever you want with me.”

He takes his belt the rest of the way off with one hand, lets it drop to the floor. The other hand is busy squeezing your ass, then traveling around your hip. He pushes your legs open a little wider, then his thumbs come running down your inner thighs, pulling at your labia, spreading you even more. You lean back, curling your hips up, to give him a better view.

His breath hisses out from under the helmet. “You want me to fuck this little pussy?”

“Yes,” you moan, as his thumbs stroke up and down, just around its edges.

He pulls you open wider. “You ready to be a good girl, and do exactly as I say?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“Exactly,” he repeats, and a ghost of a chill runs down your spine in the midst of all this heat. He takes one of your hands from his shoulder, and turns it palm up near your mouth. “Spit.”

The thumb of his other hand is still sliding up and down next to your opening, not touching your wetness. You appreciate that he’s not about to let his dirty gloves make things unsanitary. You gather up saliva to the front of your mouth and carefully coat your first two fingers.

Mando keeps his grip on your wrist, and pushes your hand down to your entrance as soon as he’s done watching your lips and tongue work over your own fingers.

You smooth the spit over your slit, Mando’s grip still guiding you, making sure you do a thorough job lubricating yourself. His other thumb creeps down over your clit, rocking across it carefully, steadily, his helmet angling back up to watch your face.

It’s a struggle to keep your eyes open against the pleasure of that pressure, finally right where you need it. But you remember his rule. You keep your gaze locked on the beskar as your own fingers find a rhythm underneath his, the gloved hand locked around your wrist urging you to press into yourself deeper, faster, in coordination with his rolling thumb. You find yourself clutching at the back of his neck just to keep your balance as the needy pleasure explodes. “That’s it,” his voice soothes over the modulator, “get yourself ready for me.”

You’re doing more than getting ready. Even just this much touch from him is sending you straight toward a spiraling orgasm, now that all the wild pleasure built up by every slap and struggle and pinch finally has somewhere to go.

He sees it coming, the way your eyelids go tight at the effort to keep them open and looking at him. “Don’t,” he warns. “Save it.”

He stops moving his thumb, though he doesn’t release its pressure. He swirls your hand inside of yourself one last time before drawing it out, then setting it back onto his shoulder in line with the other one.

You can’t help but roll your hips against his thumb while Mando starts loosening his own clothing. You want to call him cruel when he removes that hand too, bringing it up to caress your neck, but you have no ability to talk back anymore. Especially when his fingers curl up underneath your jaw. “Now. The most important thing.” You can feel him pulling himself out of his pants, though he’s brought his body in closer and you can’t see that far with your head tilted up in his hand like this. “Don’t look down.” His fingers squeeze tighter around your jaw, the heel of his hand pressing into the top of your throat. “If you look, I’ll have to kill you.”

He could be exaggerating, just to make this hotter for you, more intense, but you remember what he said to some over-curious bitch at Karga’s tavern once. No living thing has seen me without my helmet. Apparently The Way is preserved if violators quickly become only the formerly living.

“Yes,” you say quickly, voicebox buzzing against his wrist, words mumbling together against the unrelenting pressure in his fingers, “I understand.”

A few more quick movements down where you can’t see, and then you feel something warm and thick pressing up against your core. You both moan together as he slides his head up and down your slick folds, only fumbling a little before he finds his aim. Fuck. This is what you’ve been craving. You brace yourself against the cargo crate as best you can, squeezing your legs around him to invite him in.

You think you're ready to take him, but you're not. He crushes in bigger and wider than you’re used to, and you wail up into that impassive beskar face and try in vain to remember how to relax and take a dick like this one.

His breath is catching in little straining grunts; apparently this is pretty overwhelming for him, too. When he’s halfway in he removes his guiding hand from his own shaft and returns his thumb to your clit; that helps. The more familiar pleasure of his pressure helps melt your walls into the stretch of him. “You’re so. Fucking. Tight.” His hand never wavers on your jaw as he starts to pump, in and out, getting a little bit deeper into you with every thrust, groaning a little louder with every inch he gains.

Fuck. This position has every muscle in your body straining, which is probably why it’s so hard for him to fit in, but you don’t even care because the intensity of it is everything that you’ve been craving. “Fuck—” he adjusts his grip just a fraction, so you can talk a little easier, “fuck me just how you want, Mando, I can take it.”

He groans and takes his thumb off your clit, bringing that big hand around to grab onto your hip and brace you for a wilder pace. You only bemoan the loss of his thumb for a second, because the new angle slides his cock against a wicked spot deeper inside you.

“Ahh!” you wail, and wrap your arms tighter around his neck, needing him to hold you up as he fucks up into you at an angle that destroys the precarious balance you had been maintaining on the edge of this cargo crate. His controlling grip on your neck is choking you just a little, a sensation so erotic that you can feel your impending orgasm sizzle and tighten all around his cock the more you focus on it. “Mando, I—Can I?” you pant, your face so close that your breath is fogging up the beskar.

“Yes, fucking come for me,” he orders, then presses into you harder, his grip momentarily cutting off your airway completely. A second later your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks, spasming every muscle in your core, your thighs, in your silent, breathless chest, and Mando just keeps fucking you through it all.

As soon as the heel of his hand slides off your throat you’re screaming through your teeth, the sound bouncing along with his thrusts. His pace is relentless until your orgasm finally peaks, and the stiffness of your body starts to melt against him. You realize that you’ve wrapped your arms fully around his helmet, getting as close as his controlling grip on your jaw would allow.

His pace slows, but it does not stop. From the aching deep inside your belly, you know that he’s still fully hard, just giving you a brief moment to recover yourself.

You sigh into the side of his head, a long, lovely sound. Your body shivers with aftershocks around his solid shaft, keeping your pleasure brimming, not letting it fade. That hand controlling your jaw pushes you back, gently, until he can see your face again.

His grip spasms on your ass. He must like what he sees. “Close your eyes.” You do, and he starts to pull away. “Keep them closed. I’m turning you over.”

You unlock your ankles from behind his back as he draws his length out of your body, both of you gasping and shuddering as he withdraws. Your legs come down to the ground rather stiffly, and you’re glad of the way he manhandles you along, until you’re bending over the crate with your thighs pressed into its edge. You’re not sure your legs would have held you up without his help.

Mando wastes no time lining his cock back up again. You hold onto the edges of the cargo crate as he presses in eagerly. A gasp rips from your throat as your head lifts up in an involuntary bend of your back; this position lets him drive in deeper, forcing you to adjust to his size all over again.

A split second after your head comes up, Mando’s fingers squeeze through your hair at the base of your skull, using that grip to hold you steady and facing forward. You really weren’t trying to turn and look, but you suppose he can’t risk it. He keeps control of your head, pulling your hair a little in time to his thrusts, as he groans out a deep, pleasured sound. You give voice to how you’re feeling, too, letting little sobbing moans spill out in time to his insistent thrusts. He can’t see your face anymore, and you barely have the leverage to move your hips against him, so this is the only way to keep the connection.

“Oh, keep making those sounds,” Mando pants, then the modulator keeps crackling with more of his soft grunts as he plumbs your depths. “You take me so good.” When he flattens his hips against your ass it definitely hurts; he’s reached the end of you, and is trying to stretch past it, deep inside. But even that pain is erotic; you wail and submit under his praise and his smothering need.

His grunts and his thrusts both start coming faster, and just as you fear that you’re hitting your limit, that you can’t take any more, some new dimension of release and submission open up inside you, and all that suffering transforms into a pleasure so fierce that your walls are clenching and your mind is wiped by an orgasm that turns the rest of your body to jelly.

When your mind clears you find your cheek flush to the surface of the cargo crate. Mando’s hand is pressing it there, with his fingers wrapped across your eyes, and he’s groaning through his teeth as he smashes himself as deep into your body as he can get. He shudders and bucks, roaring through his orgasm, the modulator translating the sound with an almost musical edge.

When he’s done he sags partially on top of you, his belly resting on your hips while his arms keep his chestplate from digging into your back. His cock is keeping you plugged, a thick presence that makes you feel stretched even when it’s going soft. One of his hands is still resting over your eyes, but all the tension has gone out of it. You wonder if he’d feel the flicker of your eyelashes against his glove if your lids accidentally parted. You keep them closed.

He hums, fingertips running softly up your back. You wonder if he’s looking down, admiring your bare skin once again. Your entire body is thrumming, the satisfaction spreading to every muscle fiber. You know things will feel awkward soon, but for now you really don’t want to move.

Eventually Mando pulls himself gently out of you. A spurt of warm liquid follows, running thickly down your leg. Fuck, how backed up was he?

“Don’t move,” he warns, lifting his body up off of yours.

You give him a contented little murmur and stay perfectly relaxed. “Eyes still shut,” you reassure him. You’re not even annoyed at the lack of trust these constant reminders might convey. This is something he has to control strictly. Certainly it’s a great privilege that he even took the risk with you. You listen to his footsteps retreat and return, as you lay draped over the cargo crate and enjoy the bliss that is only just beginning to fade.

“You can open them now,” he says softly once he’s standing over you again. One hand slides over your ass, pausing at a spot that feels surprisingly sensitive. “I’ve given you a welt or two here.”

“Souvenir,” you grin up at him, twisting your spine while keeping your hips relaxed under his hand. “Thanks.”

Mando nods his helmet back at you. He’s got a cloth in his other hand, dampened from the fresher, and he wipes up the mess he’s left between your legs with careful, steady dabs. “I should be the one thanking you,” he says softly, maybe even a little awkwardly. “That was…”

“Overdue?” you quip, as he’s wiping all the way down to your ankle to clean up the enormous load he had for you.

“Maybe just a little.” He steps away to trade the towel for a thin, precisely-folded blanket, which he shakes out and spreads over you. You stand up in his arms as he does, guiding him to wrap it around your shoulders. You hold it tight and lean in toward him for a snug embrace. The blanket makes pressing your bare body against his armored plating much more comfortable. “Come here,” he mutters, and draws you to sit on the floor with him, leaning up against the cargo crate and each other. Even the afterglow of wild sex with the Mandalorian doesn’t make his spare ship any less uncomfortable, but you focus on the way his arm holds you tucked in tight against his body, the way you can feel him breathing against your ribs.

“That was good,” you breathe.

“Yeah.”

You lean your head tentatively against his shoulder, wondering how much intimacy he’s going to allow now. His arm shifts, helping you get more comfortable, and his thumb is dragging back and forth, idly, along the top of your thigh.

There’s one question you have to ask.

“Would you really have had to kill me, if I looked?”

He holds his breath for a moment, then lets it blow out with a soft glottal sound. “Most Mandalorians would. But honestly? To me, that wouldn’t have made a difference. Even if you didn’t live to tell the tale, my honor would still be smirched. I’d know I’d failed a central tenet, and from every day after I’d be living a lie.”

Your brow creases, and you turn to look up at him even though you can’t read his face. That was kriffing serious. “So it’s not just about the helmet.”

His beskar mask nods. “Not the way I was raised.”

You turn your gaze away, idly looking across the cargo bay. “Wow.” You’d never seen him not covered head to toe, and you never would.

“But I think…” he trails off as his hands burrow under your blanket, coming around to meet each other in front of your belly and fumbling with something. “I think this is acceptable.” His hand finds one of yours, and air rushes into your chest in a silent, measured gasp as you realize the fingers winding between yours are his, warm skin, completely bared to the wrist.

You sit together in silence for a long time, feeling the twin pulses of living palms pressed together, the small twitches of muscle and the sparkle of nerve endings when a finger softly strokes across the back of a hand. The more you imagine how much this must mean to him, the more it means to you, until your head is spinning and you can barely handle the intimacy of the kind of touch you’ve always taken simply for granted.

You’re afraid to ask what this means. This whole encounter was so unplanned; you don’t even know what you want from the Mandalorian, much less what he wants from you. Is he doing this just because of the afterglow rush of soft hormones, or does he think you and he could be something more?

And when you feel awkward, you talk. People skills, remember? You squeeze his hand and restart an old conversation. “Told you we make a good team.”

He grunts.

Maybe you should just shut up and enjoy the cuddle. But his non-answer does not help your racing mind to still. The urge to tease him starts taking over again. “You know, we’re still not done negotiating that split.”

Mando groans softly. “The only split I want to think about is how far I can split open your legs.”

A new thrill runs up your spine, but you stay on track with only a small giggle escaping your throat. “How about we round it back up to sixty percent for me, and as soon as that big dick can get hard again, I’ll throw on a blindfold and give you the best head you ever had in your life.”

Mando’s fingers card through yours, and his other hand comes up to play with your hair. “Tempting.” There’s a rumble deep in his throat that makes your aching cunt tighten. “But let’s just call it 50-50, and we can fuck all the way to Nevarro.”

Part Two here

My Mando Smut Masterlist

Taglist: @mabelleen​ @lokiaddicted​ @aethersghoulette​ @nolivingthingdroid​ @pinkmoontribe-blog​ @baar-ur​ @otherthingsinhead​ @biolo-tea @greendragonzz @aesikupills​ @of-narwhals-and-ink​ @doubtedbus409​ @kittyatemytaco​ @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @space-princesssss @okilover02 @debonaire-princess @myfruitgummies  @pinstripeninja13 @taman-a @mandowhoreian @cptnbvcks​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings @soapjay @otherthingsinhead @onebatch--twobatch @lilwickedred @mabelleen @stardancerluv @naiomiwinchester @equalstrashflavoredtrash @laketaj24 @themaskismyface @pascallorian​ @shadowfoxey​ @thatkidofwarandpeace​ @pokeasleepingsmaug​ @anniemar​

[theladyscarlettt]

Petals (pt.1)

*I have returned and I bring with me a Bucky x Reader mini series. This takes place during #TFATWS. Also, this is a bit lighter (yet darker) than my regular stuff. Not fluff but sweet because god knows Bucky deserves to be happy every now and then. Also, this does have references to the X-Men comics and WandaVision*

-The Lady Scarlettt

Synopsis: Madripoor had everything you needed to forget your past, and everything you needed to lose your future. 

Part Warnings: suggestive scenes, language, mentions of mutilation

---

Sunlight caught the blinds in a dance of shadows. Her eyes twitched with the familiar warmth of the morning star across her face. She slowly opened her eyes taking in the sight of their small room. It was bland and empty, just like their luck in finding Karli. (For a girl to be everywhere, she was also nowhere.) 

A grunt came from across the room, she sat up in the stiff bed to find Bucky lying on the floor with a blanket barely clinging to his sweaty body. She let out a soft sigh and rubbed her eyes. While he was capable of so much, she found it heartbreaking he had so little, it broke her to see him robbed of even the simplest of things such as rest and a bed. She pulled on his black tee shirt from the night before and snuck over to sit beside him. She watched as his eyes darted side to side behind his dark eye lids. If he didn’t sleep well before, he surely didn’t now with the constant traveling, search for Karli, run in with America’s Next Top Asshole and the literal cause of his night terrors in the next room. 

“Did you know it’s considered an invasion of privacy to watch someone while they’re asleep.” Bucky grumbled, his eyes still closed.

“Good thing you weren’t asleep then.” she stated.

A slight smirk tugged on his lips, “Did you sleep well?”

“I would have slept better if my pillow didn’t wonder off in the middle of the night.” she teased.

He opened one eye to look up at her, “Sorry.”

She only smiled sweetly, her hand finding its way to his stubbled cheek. “You really need a razor.” 

He grabbed her wrist pulling her down to him, and began to nuzzle her neck with his chin.

She gagged at the sensation, “Ugh- for an old man you really behave like a child- hey!” In one swift motion he was on top of her tickling her neck.

“Stop. Stop it.” She hissed as she playfully swat at him to get off her. He chuckled and leaned back still, straddling her waist. 

“You have so much energy in the mornings for literally no reason,” she groaned, rubbing her lightly burned skin. 

He leaned down to her, a smirk on his lips, “I can come up with a few, if you’d like.” 

She rolled her eyes, even though her cheeks began to flush, “Knock it off.”

He made a tch sound with his teeth, and sat back up.

She smiled and sat up on her knees, her hands clasping behind his neck, a finger twirling the slightly grown out hair. He leaned into her, looking up at her from where he sat, a sad expression came across his face. 

“What is it?” she asked, rubbing her nails lazily through his thick hair.

“I just,” he sighed trying to find his words, “I want to stay with you, but I just can’t make myself. I’m afraid of what I might do, if I stay too long.”

She tilted her head, searching his eyes, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t want to have an episode at night and lash out. Sometimes they feel so real and I get can’t control myself and the last thing I want to do is hurt you and-”

“Hey, Hey, Hey” she interrupted, “Look at me.” She lifted his face up to hers, “Look at me, you could never do anything to hurt me. I know you don’t trust yourself sometimes, but I trust you and I know you. I’m not afraid of the ‘what if’s.” Please, hear me when I say, I want you to let me in, I want to be apart of this, all of it. I want to help you Bucky, but I can only go as far as you’ll let me. And if it takes time, ok but it’s going to take more than a nightmare to make me go anywhere. Ok?”

He stared at her for a long time, a blank expression on his face. She couldn’t tell if she had overstimulated him with her cheesiness or he simply was dead. 

“Bucky? If I’m overstepping, I understand-”

He abruptly wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her small figure to his. She melted into his touch, just as she had the first time he held her. They stayed like that for awhile until she heard him whisper.

“I love you.”

She smiled against his cool skin, “I love you too.”

He brought her face up to meet his and kissed her softly. His lips were always so soft and warm, something you wouldn’t expect. His thumb made tiny circles along her jaw, as she kissed him back. His hand slowly snaked their way down to her thigh where he pulled her onto his lap. She subconsciously, wrapped her legs around his waist and arched her back pulling him upward slightly. He held her thigh with one hand and reclined back with the metal one, smiling into her touch. She pushed forward as he pushed back, every kiss becoming more passionate than the last. She pulled at his hair, causing a longing moan to escape from his lips, exposing his neck. She began to place light kisses along side his neck, his breathing became deep as he massaged her thigh in return.  

He flipped over, now pressing her back against the ground, topping her. He kissed her back deeply, his tongue becoming well acquainted with her mouth. One hand began to find its way in between her thighs. 

Her eyes snapped open, “James.” She grabbed his hand, “It is 4 in the morning.” She hissed.

“HELL YEAH IT’S 4 IN THE GODDAMN MORNING!” Sam blurted out from the next room.

Bucky buckled forward burrowing his head in her neck holding back his horror.

“Shit,” Her face became the next 50 shades of red, as she covered her mouth with her hand to prevent a wave of uncomfortable laughter.

“HERE I THOUGHT AT 11pm I WOULD GET MY BEAUTY SLEEP BUT NOOOO. IF I HEAR THAT DAMN SHIT AGAIN I WILL COME IN THERE AND BEAT BOTH OF YALL’S NASTY ASSES.”

There was a moment of silence as the two looked between each other with mischievous smiles. He rolled his eyes and licked his lips knowingly. She let out a staged moan loud enough to be heard from outside.

“Fuck. Y/N.” Bucky grunted, his face tinted trying to remain collected. She covered her face with her hands moaning back at him.

Seeing her smile only made Bucky ham it up more as he began slapping his hand on the floor to create more of a scene to which she erupted in a fit of choked laughter. Sam yelled something from the other room about Jesus Christ and Sin. Bucky stood up with that smug look on his face, as he did whenever he won at annoying Sam Wilson. He gave her his hand and hauled her off the ground with barely any effort.

She finally settled down from laughing and looked at him, “I think we should do that more often.”

“What? Piss off bird boy or have sex?” He asked.

She grinned, “Can it not be both?”

Bucky made a face as if he was scheduling the next when and where.

She gave him a light slap, “Now don’t get cocky about it. Also, you stink. Go take a shower.”

He looked at her offended then gave a sly look, “Or we could ta-“

“No” she snapped like a mother to her child, “Get.”

He held up his hands up in defense, “Alright, Alright, but I’m going to need my shirt back.”

She groaned and peeled off the shirt and tossed it at his face. He pulled the shirt down and gave her a once over, “I like that color” he said inspecting her black laced undergarments.

“Good Lord, Go.” she shoved him towards the bathroom. He chuckled at her and whipped the shirt over his shoulder, sending her a cocky grin as he left the room.

Once the door closed behind him, she let out a sigh and sat on the edge of the bed. A wave of depression washed over her as she longed for the day they could just stay in bed and not battle some end of the world threat. She looked to the blanket on the floor where he slept the night before. He deserved so much more than this. They deserved so much more than this.

She couldn’t lie, after the blip the thought of going off grid looked truly appealing. With Nat, Tony, Vision, Bruce, Wanda, Thor, and Steve gone, the Avengers felt more like a club then an actual organization. While she had always been closer to Sam, Bucky and Steve the hole left behind by the others made it too hard to go on some days. What was the point? Every time something was fixed something worse happened. And they never were thanked properly, only ridiculed by what should have been done, because everyone always expected them to be heroes; yet they never saw they were also human. The only reason she stayed was for Sam and Bucky, they had become her family, especially after Steve’s passing, who was like a father figure to her.

She pushed away the memories that came rushing in. She could not allow herself to get emotional, their job here needed her full attention. She stood and changed into her suit and left the room. 

Zemo was reclined on a sofa, drinking a cup of tea. When she entered he gave her a solemn nod. She cringed slightly, the anger at what he did to Bucky and T’Challa creeping back in.

“You’re up early.” She stated flatly.

“Hard to sleep with all the noise.” He shot her a look. “I can start you a kettle if you’d like.”

“Sorry, and no thanks, I got it.” She said. Grabbing a kettle and filling it with water.

Zemo stood, “Do you mind? I’ve read of your powers but never have I seen them.”

She shifted on her feet, “Well, sure but it won’t be a firework show or anything like that. It’s still a new thing to me and I can’t really do much.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Zemo asked, approaching her, finding a spot at the bar.

She looked at him as to say something but decided against it. She looked back to the kettle and placed her hands along the side. Zemo watched her every move; observing, analyzing. 

She took a deep breath in and reached for a part in her to attract the sensation she feels around her. The kettle began to warm and in a minute it was boiling.

“Fascinating” Zemo whispered, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration.

She poured the steaming hot water into a cup and placed two teabags in it. “See, nothing special.”

Zemo looked at her as if she had said something absurd. “You have a gift.” He countered.

“Feels more like a curse.” She scoffed.

“When did this begin?” He asked.

“I don’t know, I feel like I’ve always had these... these abilities but it wasn’t until after the blip did I truly began to use them.”

“Fascinating.” Zemo repeated.

She pursed her lips, while she loathed everything about Zemo, she couldn’t lie having someone appreciate her abilities felt nice. She normally just felt like a freak, too afraid to show too much emotion, in fear she might lose control.

“Can I have you try something?” Zemo requested.

She scoffed, “Sorry, I don’t feel like playing lab rat today.”

Zemo made a face, “I understand your negative emotions towards me, but to say I have had failures in this field would be an incorrect accusation.”

She rolled her eyes, “Fine. What?”

He leapt off his seat, seemingly excited to play mad scientist again. He fetched a candle from the table and sat it infront of her. She cocked an eyebrow.

“Light it.” He said, gesturing to the wick.

“I- I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Light it.” He repeated, pushing the candle towards her.

She reached to touch the wick but he slapped her hand away.

“Hey!” She blurted out, glaring at him.

“Without touch.” He said calmly.

She looked at him then back to the candle, frustrated.

“Focus on what you wish for it to be, what it will look like, how it will feel.” Zemo coached.

She shifted on her feet again, finding a more comfortable stance. She focused on her breath and stared at the wick.

“Breath in, and when you breath out try to push your energy at it.” Zemo said.

She closed her eyes feeling a tingling sensation around her, she inhaled slowly, feeling the sensation grow. She opened her eyes and focused the sensation onto her target. She heard a crackle sound, as if a fire was trying to start. She looked to Zemo wide eyed, he never looked up.

“Again.” He said, staring at the wick.

She shifted and this time held out her hand. She took a deep breath and this time flicked her hand at the wick on the exhale, a flame consumed the wick and began to slowly burn. She gasped.

“Beautiful.” Zemo smiled.

“Well shit,” a voice was heard. They looked over to see Sam propped alongside a wall. “You got sparkly fingers, Y/N.”

She laughed, delighted in herself, “Did you see it?”

“I saw it.” He smiled.

She looked to Zemo, “How? How did that happen?”

Zemo held out his hand and she reluctantly lended him hers. He flipped her palm up and traced a distinct ‘M’ she never noticed before, with his finger. “You are a mutant. You were born with this gift and just now have discovered it.”

“A mutant.” She echoed. “How do you know?”

“All mutants have the symbol ‘M’ mapped on their palm. Each with a unique ability. Your friend Wanda, she is a mutant as well.”

“There’s more?” She gasped looking at Sam.

“Many more, we walk beside them each day, yet we do not know it.” Zemo said.

She looked back to Zemo, suddenly desperate for knowledge. She knew she had these powers but half the time she felt it was all coincidence, and was honestly too afraid to attempt to use them. Knowing what happened to Wanda.

“I want to know everything, please tell me what you know.” She said.

“Woah, woah. Look, the magic trick was impressive but I don’t think you should be getting your information from him, Y/N.” Sam said walking towards her.

“Sam, he’s the only one I’ve ever met, who knows about this stuff, besides Wanda and I don’t even know where she is.” She protested.

“I assure you I do not intend to mislead-“ Zemo started.

Sam pointed at him, “No. You do not get to say that after all you’ve done. The only thing you do is mislead. Hell, you’ve probably already done something to sabotage the mission.”

“You think so little of me, Sam.” Zemo pouted.

“Yeah, I do and for good reason.” Sam stated.

“Sam,” Y/N started.

“Y/N! Sam!” Bucky’s voice echoed throughout the small apartment.

The two took off in the direction of the noise immediately. They came into the room to find Bucky staring out the window.

“What is it?” Y/N asked, coming to stand beside Bucky. She looked out the window, her eyes widening in horror.

“My god.” Sam uttered.

Outside the window was a some kind of mutilated animal strung upside down. Blood dripped menacingly to the ground below. 

“What does it mean?” Sam asked.

“It’s an invitation.” A voice said. The three turned around to find Zemo.

“The Power Broker requests our presence.”

Link to Petals (pt. 2)

[disgruntledspacedad]

Save a Horse 

pairing: Javier Peña x reader

summary: (fluff, slice of life) You ride a horse. Javi has a heart attack. 

words: 2kish

warnings: language. Utter ignorance of ranch life, but Ears is enthusiastic, at least. No horses were harmed in the writing of this fic.

a/n: unbeta’d.

It was Pop’s idea to start with. 

“Have you ever ridden a horse, Orejas?” he breaks the easy morning silence suddenly, resting his empty mug on the counter and shooting you an expression that can only be described as conspiratorial.

“No,” you answer honestly, thinking wryly that Pop certainly knows how to catch your attention. 

Beside you, Javi stiffens, and you can feel his gaze heavy on you. He’s been a little jumpy ever since he’d got you back, and with good reason, really. You rest a reassuring hand on his thigh and squeeze, receiving just as much comfort from the gesture as you’re offering.

This man is your rock.

Pop is still watching you expectantly, and you feel your lips tug upward. It’s so easy to smile at Chucho Peña. “But I’m game to try anything twice.”

Pop grins, and Javi blusters a deep sigh.

It’s nice outside. For being early November, the weather is surprisingly mild in Laredo, the air smelling of grass and hay and maybe a little bit of horse, but in a good way. The sunshine is warm on your skin, the sky extending bright blue as far as you can see. 

Pop leads you to the stables, prattling on about horses and saddles and other things that you don’t understand in the slightest. Javi follows silently, catching your fingers in a vice grip. His jaw is tense, his brow furrowed in that little frown that seems to be permanently affixed to his face ever since Colombia.

Your heart flip flops, and you stop, pulling him close enough to rest your head on his chest. Automatically, Javi’s arms wrap around you, pulling you in, and he sighs deeply into your hair. 

“Freaking out,” you remind him gently. 

He huffs a tiny laugh. “I know.”

You lift your lips for a quick kiss, and Javi obliges eagerly. “It’s going to be okay, babe,” you murmur as you pull away. 

“I know,” he repeats softly, looking for all the world like he really doesn’t. 

“Come on.” You tug at him, noticing Pop carefully not watching you in the distance. “It’ll be fun.”

“I doubt that,” Javi mutters darkly, but he follows anyway.

“This is Caballo,” Pop announces, stopping in front of a freakishly huge black stallion.

Creative, you almost say aloud, reminding yourself to be nice just in time. This man is as good as your father-in-law. It’s probably wise to keep that favorable impression you’ve made.

As if sensing your thought, Pop winks at you. “Javier named him.”

You shoot a little smirk in Javi’s direction, knowing that he’ll pick up on your teasing. He doesn’t rise to your bait, though, the killjoy.

In no time at all, the horses are saddled up and ready to go. Javi is perched atop a cream-colored mare, Cerveza, and Caballo is all yours.

Pop declines to ride, preferring to supervise you from the ground. “He’s very gentle, Orejas,” he tells you as he helps you into the saddle. “Won’t throw you or buck. Not like Cerveza.” He winks up at you. “Es una pequeña perra.”

Together, you laugh. You’ve picked up on enough Spanish curses during your time in Colombia to get the message.

Javi and Pop offer you some last-second advice - relax, sit up straight, and keep the reigns loose - and then you’re off, plod-plod-ploding at a mind-numbingly sedate pace around the fence line. 

By the third lap, you are thoroughly, utterly, completely bored.

“I think I’m ready to go faster!” you shout to Pop. “Can I make him go faster?”

Pop tips his hat at you, shooting you a toothy grin. “Tap him on the sides with your heels, Orejas, and say, ‘giddap!’”

“Gently,” Javi warns you sharply.

You shoot him a glare that’s only half-mocking. As if you’d just kick this poor horse in the ribs - god, it’s like Javi doesn’t know you at all.

“Giddap,” you say in your most dignified voice, nudging Caballo with your feet like Pop had told you. Caballo jolts forward, cantering half-heartedly for a couple of steps, then slowing to a walk with a disdainful snort. 

Ugh. You toss a questioning glance back at Javi. He’s doing a very poor job of hiding his grin.

Motherfucker.

Pop is smiling, too. “Try it with a little more authority, Orejas!” he advises. “He’s a big animal, and proud. You’ve got to tell him what to do, not ask politely.” 

 Javi snorts. ”Shouldn’t be too hard.”

You whip around to stare at him, lurching forward when Caballo reacts to your sudden shift in body weight. Behind you, Javi breaks out into snickers.

Well, then.

Exasperated, you decide that Javier Peña is far more of a big, dumb, proud animal than the horse you’re riding, and you manage to climb atop him every day and submit him to your will just fine.

Caballo shouldn’t be a problem. 

You square your shoulders, determined to get it right this time, and summon every John Wayne movie you’ve ever seen to the forefront of your mind. It’s not an impressive anthology to pull from - you’re more of a sci-fi kind of girl - but it’s more than enough to get a clear picture in your head of what needs to happen. 

You gather the reigns in one hand, straighten your back, and take a deep breath. 

“Hyah!”

Caballo is off like a shot, surging forward with an enthusiasm that sends your body rocketing backwards. Your feet fly up, suddenly free of the stirrups, and its all you can do to hold like mad to the reigns with your right hand - why the fuck did you decide one hand was better, anyway?? - while your left flaps free in the wind.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” you tell Caballo. You’re not begging, you’re not.

You’re vaguely aware of shouts behind you.

You manage to pitch forward just enough to avoid falling off the ass-end of the horse, but it’s a near thing. Caballo is in a full-out gallop, lungs chugging beneath you, mane flapping in the wind and stinging your eyeballs. You lean in and hold on for dear life, and goddamn, none of those westerns ever mention just how rough it is on horseback. You are going to be so fucking sore tomorrow, ass, tits, and bits, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, because you are riding this horse, dammit.

You realize your mistake a moment later. Pride goeth before the fall, and your feet had shaken free of the stirrups on Caballo’s initial leap forward. Now, your legs are free-floating, flap, flap, flapping in the wind, and each bounce is sending you just a hair further over to the side. 

Oh shit shit shit.

You flail, arching your toes in a desperate attempt to find purchase somewhere, but it’s a done deal. Grip with your knees, some primal instinct screams, or maybe that’s just Javi - you think he might be chasing you in the background.

By this point, you’re flat sideways on Caballo’s body, curled up more on his ribs than his back. Flop flop flop. He hasn’t slowed one bit, and you realize with sudden, horrifying clarity that gravity is a fucking bitch, and it’s a matter of where, not if or when, you fall.

You decide to do things on your own terms and let go, dumb as it may be. You pitch forward and roll, tucking your shoulder into the ground like your gymnastics teacher had taught you when you were six. There’s a horrifying moment of chaos and pain - the world is spinning, nothing is under your control, and the breath is knocked completely from you, but it’s over in an instant, and you’re left staring at the shockingly blue sky, blinking into the sunlight and listening to the receding hoof-falls of that goddamned horse.

“Ears! Ears! Ears!” Javi is making a lot of fucking noise somewhere over your shoulder. 

The ridiculousness of the situation hits you all at once, along with a truckload of relief. You relive it all in an instant, picturing how utterly fucking stupid you must have looked, clinging to a runaway horse with your hair wild in the wind and your short little legs bouncing like chicken wings, and before you can find your way to your feet again, you’re laughing so hard that you can’t fucking breathe, which is almost a problem, because there wasn’t much air left in you to begin with -

Javi’s kneeling over you now, blocking the sun with his body, panting hard. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, Ears, are you okay?”

You can’t stop laughing long enough to answer him. You curl up in a ball on your side, trying push yourself up on your elbows, but you can’t.

“Oh… Oh my… Oh my god,” you stutter, breathless. 

Beside you, the tension bleeds from Javi’s body in one long, broken sigh. You realize that he’s laughing, too. He leans his forehead into your shoulder, slumping into you bonelessly.

“I… I couldn’t… the fucking foot loops -” in your discombobulated state, the word ‘stirrup’ is lost to you. “My feet, Javi!”

He shakes his head into your neck, hot little breaths puffing on your bare skin. “I know,” he giggles, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw. “I saw.”

You try to stagger upright and don’t quite manage it. You’re feeling dizzy, almost a little drunk, but before you can stumble again, Javi is right there, hauling you to your feet and catching your lips in a deep, gentle kiss.

“You.” Javi breathes into you, his mustache tickling at your lip, and you lean heavily against him, allowing him to do most of the work of holding you up. “Ridiculous girl,” more kisses, “What do you have against me, huh?” a soft nip at the corner of your mouth, “It’s like you just try to scare the life out of me, Ears.”

“Dunno.” Your voice trembles, and you’re unsure whether that’s leftover adrenaline or the way Javi’s gigantic hands are stroking possessively at your ribcage. The flannel he’s wearing is worn soft with age, and you nuzzle into it, sighing. “It’s a hobby, I guess.”

“I can think of better hobbies,” Javi growls at the skin of your neck.

“Not right here,” you laugh, suddenly aware of Pop approaching. Javi whines like a puppy as you push him away gently, his hair mussed and his lips swollen, and your heart swells in your chest.

Christ, sometimes you still cannot believe how fucking lucky you are. 

“Besides.” You can’t resist stealing one last kiss from his chin. “You know you love it.”

Javi’s breath catches. His eyes darken. One thumb strokes softly at your cheek, tucking back a stray hair. “Querida,” he starts -

You’re startled by a slow clap behind you, and both you and Javi jump back as if burned. Pop has finally made it to the scene. “Buena, Orejas!” he teases, his dark eyes dancing. “Well done!”

Asshole, you think fondly. Sarcasm runs strong in the Peña clan, it seems. You shake your head at him, a grin pulling at your cheeks.

Pop reaches to grip Caballo by the reigns. The motherfucker had finished his flight around the the ranch and wandered back toward you, sedately, almost nonchalantly, as if to say, ‘who, me?’

“Ready to go again?” Pop asks, holding out the reigns in your direction. 

Javi groans. “No, Dad.”

You’re not sure if Pop’s serious, but you are. “Absolutely!” Fresh air and adrenaline have made you giddy, and you decide on the spot that, apart from almost dying, riding a horse is the most fun you’ve ever had in your life. 

Caballo takes a little half step back, side-eyeing you with as much expression as a horse can muster, as if he’s sensed your intent and wholeheartedly does not approve.

You glance back at Javi. He’s sighing hard, head in his hands, rubbing his palms to his eyeballs with a ferocity that must have him seeing spots.

You decide to have mercy. “How about tomorrow?” you suggest, bumping shoulders with Javi in a gentle reminder that you’re here, you’re okay. “I know there’s still some beer in the fridge.” 

Pop nods sagely, still grinning as he pats Caballo on the haunches. “I think so.” He offers you a quick wink, and you decide for the third time this morning that you really, really like your almost father-in-law.

“Thank fuck,” Javi mutters to himself. 

You elbow him hard enough to draw a grunt, then offer him a quick peck on the lips in compensation. “Come on, babe. It wasn’t that bad.” 

He huffs in response. 

[givemeweasley]

First Things First pt. 3

Fred Weasley x Reader

Warnings: angst to fluff no worries only happy endings here (this is also the last part)

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this! I put a lot of research into it even for smaller details about Ilvermorny or even the Gryffindor password to make sure it was all correct. Also for the last section I listened to Heart by Sleeping At Last (highly recommend)! Please let me know what you thought and I’m also taking requests :)

First Things First pt. 1, First Things First pt. 2

-----

You remembered the first time you made up-

You were miserable. There was no easy way to put it. In the week leading up to the ball you’d been eating your meals in the kitchens, studying for next semester in the kitchens, really just spending every free second in the kitchens since classes had finished. And sitting alone. Even herbology. You’d made a point to quietly sit on the other side of the classroom and not look at him even in the slightest.

The week leading up to the ball felt like a year. It only seemed longer when you overheard the house elves talking about who was going with who.

“I heard Mr.Potter is going with that Ms.Patil.” One of them whispered.

“Parvati or Padma?”

“Parvati.”

The whispering continued until one name caught your attention. You didn’t dare glance up, you could feel the house elves lower their voices and glance at you.

“The eldest Weasley twin is going with,” their voices lowered even more. You leaned forward a fraction, tilting your head in their direction. “Angelina Johnson.”

“They’ll be a right handsome couple.”

At that comment you heard a few house elves immediately fuss and shush the house elf who said it, but it was too late. You’d already heard. They were right. For what seemed like the millionth time in that week, your eyes welled up with tears.

Godric. You were so tired of crying. So tired of feeling guilty and angry at the same time. So tired of missing your friends.

You hated England. You hated Hogwarts. You hated these stupid kitchens and these stupid dungeons. You hated Yule balls especially. How simple everything would’ve been if the ball hadn't existed.

Maybe you could’ve spent your life pretending you never kissed him.

But you knew better. The kiss was never far from the front of your mind. Even if the memory now only brought pain.

Fred was right. You could’ve asked him. Why didn’t you?

You buried your head in your hands uncontrollably sobbing. You called him a coward. The only coward between the two of you, was you. He was better off with Angelina. She was incredible and they had so much in common. You could already see their wedding in your head.

It only made you cry more.

“Look what you did!” You vaguely heard one of the house elves whisper angrily. There was some shuffling around and pots clattering about before you felt the tap of a long finger against your elbow.

“Ms.Y/L/N?”

You looked down to see Jippy. His ears were flopped over, his wide eyes looking up at you kindly with a blue box in his hands. A white bow wrapped around it.

You unfurled yourself from the seat, your limbs achy and in desperate need of a stretch. “What’s this?” You asked taking the box from Jippys hands.

He nervously glanced back at the house elves behind him. They were all smiling broadly looking from the present in your hands to your face. Finally, he seemed to build up enough courage to say what he needed.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N, we all noticed you’ve spent your entire week in here and-”

“Oh I’m so sorry!” You grimaced. They had probably needed alone time from humans and you’d done nothing but intrude on their continued generosity.

“No! No! That’s not it at all! We just knew that you hadn’t gone out to Hogsmeade to pick out a dress so we wanted to do something for you.” Jippy said, twisting his foot on the floor. But his smile widened as he glanced at the present. “Happy Christmas.”

The tears already in your eyes spilled down your cheeks. You had completely forgotten about purchasing a dress for the ball. Hastily, you wiped the tears from your cheeks before pulling the ribbon gently off the box. You lifted the blue lid.

Inside was the most stunning fabric you’d ever seen. It glittered silver reflecting off every light in the room. You gripped the shoulders of the gown and lifted to see the entirety of it.

Jippy poked his head into your field of vision. “Do you like it?”

As gently as possible, you folded the gown back into the box. You made a point to look at every single house elf in the room. “I love it. Thank you.”

Cheers rang out through the kitchens. For the first time in weeks, you laughed. Heartily. Until, you realized what Jippy said. You whipped your head to him.

“Christmas?”

Jippy froze, furrowing his brow. “Yes ma’am. It’s Christmas.”

Your eyes widened before lifting them to the grand clock on the wall.

7:03

You leapt up out of the chair causing Jippy to startle backwards. You reached your hand out to steady him before him fell. “I’ve gotta go! Adrians coming to get me at 7:45! Thanks again you guys!” You yelled over your shoulder, box in hand as you ran to the portrait.

Shouts of ‘good luck’ and ‘Happy Christmas’ rang out over your shoulder as the portrait shut behind you. Without thinking, you barreled towards the staircase hauling ass to Gryffindor tower. You were on the bottom floor, Gryffindor tower on the seventh. It would take you at least ten minutes to get there. Still, you ran up the stairs no matter how much your legs ached. You’d be damned if the beautiful dress in the box went to waste.

Finally, you halted to a stop in front of the Fat Lady. “Balderdash!” You huffed out, still catching your breath.

“Running from something, dear?” The Fat Lady asked as she swung open.

You didn’t take the time to answer. You shot into the common room and up the stairs trying not to notice several people lounging around already dressed for the ball. You did however slow enough to check the time on the clock over the mantlepiece.

7:16

Shit. Using the banister as leverage, you half pulled half leapt your way up the stairs to the girls dormitory. Not even bothering to head to your dorm, you swept into the nearest empty bathroom. Clothes came off your body faster than they ever had before. You wasted not a moment before hopping in the shower. If life had seemed slow these past weeks, it seemed to be catching up with you in the span of ten minutes.

Jumping out of the shower, you toweled off and threw your hair into the towel swinging it atop your head. You wrapped another towel around your body and grabbed your clothes and the blue box that was sitting safely on the counter.

You ducked into your dorm throwing your old clothes onto your dresser and gently sitting the box on your bed. Angelina and Alicia were nowhere to be seen. It made your heart hurt worse than you anticipated, therefore you tried to ignore it.

You threw on your undergarments and with a drying spell, dried your hair. With a few quick succinct movements and charms your hair was done. You examined your work in the mirror with satisfaction. Your hair fell perfectly around your face, a few well placed spells had made it seem like tiny stars were intertwined within it. You then brushed on some mascara and lipgloss, rubbing your lips together a few times.

Finally, you turned to the blue box still sitting peacefully on your bed. You lifted the cover once more, the dress looking even more beautiful at second glance.

Your fingers gripped the shoulders, pulling the entirety of the dress from the box. It glided along the edges before the bottom of the gown hit the floor. Trying not to stare at it too long, knowing you had limited time, you walked to the mirror and slipped into the shimmering gown.

The only thing about being alone meant you had to perform a summoning charm to pull the zipped from the bottom of the dress and into your hand which rested at the top of the track.

But the dress fit you perfectly. The transparent glittering sleeves continued down to your wrists. The neck dipped softly down your chest, not revealing too much but enough to compliment your skin tone. The waist cinched in just the right spot before softly flaring out. The material moved like water as you twisted. It brushed the floor gently before pooling at your feet. You looked more beautiful than you remembered ever looking.

Shaking your head, you checked the clock behind you.

7:45

Quickly, you pulled on a pair of black heels before taking one last glance at the mirror. As beautiful as you looked, something was missing.

You glanced at your dresser before grabbing it. You pulled it over your head doing your best not to mess up your hair and then tucked the pendant in the bodice of your gown. The fireworks heating up the valley of your chest.

You carefully made your way down the steps of the dorm, focused on the steps before you. It was rare you wore heels and you weren’t quite perfect at walking in them. You gripped the banister tightly praying you wouldn’t fall. So when your heel finally hit the floor of the common room, you let out a breath.

The common room was empty except for a few of the younger Gryffindors who weren’t allowed to go to the ball. You tried to ignore the few gasps and looks you felt as you crossed the room to the portrait.

You pushed it open half expecting the corridor to be empty. That you had accepted Adrian over Fred just to be stood up. It would serve you right.

But Adrian was standing there in his dress robes, leaning against the opposite wall of the portrait.

You stepped towards him, the lights of the hall dancing off your dress and the glitter in your hair. “You know I never asked how you knew where the Gryffindor dorms were.” You spoke up causing him to look up from where he was pulling at a string on his robes.

Adrian jerked to a standing. “You look beautiful.”

You are magnificent. Breathtakingly beautiful.

You blinked and Fred was gone. “Thank you.”

Adrian stepped forward, offering his arm. “Shall we, milady?”

A small laugh left your lips. “We shall.”

The walk to the Great Hall was pleasant. Adrian was a gentleman who asked all about your classes and what you got for Christmas. His arm was also a blessing considering the several flights of stairs you had to descend to get to the Great Hall. But he was slow, making sure to assist you when you needed.

The Great Hall was stunning. Barely recognizable. The walls glittered with ice and sculptures. Lights were floating around that looked like snowflakes. There were tables scattered around with frozen centerpieces. Some were flowers, others were elaborate carvings. There was music quietly playing while students shuffled into the fold. Adrian led you to a table that was typically on the Slytherin side of the Great Hall. He pulled out your chair for you and you graciously sat.

Adrian sat beside you and smiled widely. The room was stunning. Your eyes were bouncing from wall to wall, decoration to decoration, trying to absorb every inch of the beauty. You felt starstruck.

And then Draco Malfoy sat next to you. Followed by Pansy Parkinson. Your shoulders tensed as Draco smiled evilly.

“Well isn’t this a treat?” He said smiling broadly, looking you over. He leaned in close til his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “You look simply ravishing.” He pulled back smirking.

“Leave her alone, Malfoy.” Adrian rolled his eyes after taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. “Not tonight.” It was then that Lucian Bole and his date Patricia Stimpson sat down. It was at that moment you realized you were a Gryffindor sitting at a completely Slytherin table. You tried not to show a sliver of fear. You had a feeling they could sense it like blood in the water.

“So you actually got the American Gryffindor to come with you, Pucey.” Bole leaned back in his chair smirking, throwing an arm around the back of Patricia’s chair.

“I did.” Adrian smiled back at him.

You leaned forward trying to reign in your slowly building irritation. “My name is Y/N.” A tight smile lifted your lips.

Bole shrugged. “I know.”

“I think it’s a rather ugly name if you ask me.” Pansy spoke up. You were surprised it had taken her that long to insert herself in the conversation.

“Good thing nobody-”

“I think Dumbledore’s about to announce dinner!” Adrian spoke up over you. You glared at him, but he was already looking over at Dumbledore.

“He agrees with me, you know.” Pansy whispered just loud enough for you and Draco, who was sitting between you, to hear. You tried not to think about how much you wanted to smother her.

Draco smirked widely looking at your fuming face. You sucked in a breath, relaxing yourself. Your hand subconsciously reached for the pendant at your chest, still hidden by your gown. It calmed you just a fraction before you turned to face Dumbledore. Maybe if you ignored them they would be quiet.

You’d tuned in just in time for Dumbledore to announce dinner and how to get food to your plate. You put in your order and waited only a second before it appeared on the plate.

You desperately tried to eat your food in peace, but all you could hear was the sly snickers of Pansy and Draco paired with the constant Quidditch talk from Bole and Adrian. You had briefly attempted conversation with Patricia, but she gave you a disgusted once over before turning back to her food. If that hadn’t been a clear message about how she felt about a Gryffindor being at a Slytherin table, you weren’t sure what would.

You just picked at your food while watching the lights float around trying not to glance at the flashes of red you saw throughout the hall. You wondered what Angelina was wearing. What Fred was wearing. If they’d coordinated. If he’d held her hand while they descended the stairs. If he caught her when she stumbled. Maybe even kissed her because he couldn’t help it, she just looked so beautiful.

Breathtakingly beautiful.

“What did your plate do to you, Y/L/N?” Draco laughed loudly. You furrowed your eyebrows before seeing the knife in your hand completely stuck through the plate. You let go of the knife, pushing the broken plate and knife away from you. You felt a blush rise up to your cheeks unwillingly.

You pushed your chair back, turning to Adrian.

“I’m going to go use the bathroom. I’ll be back.” Adrian vaguely nodded continuing his conversation with Bole about the potential of increasing the weight of bludgers. You rolled your eyes as you stood and walked away.

“Awh, poor American mudblood probably peed herself too.” Pansy snickered from behind you.

Frustration built in your chest. This night, one that so long ago you were dreaming about, was turning out to be the most miserable you’d spent at Hogwarts yet.

You slipped out the doors of the Great Hall making your way to the furthest bathroom on the first floor hoping the walk would give you a minute to breathe. You shoved the bathroom door open angrily hearing it fall shut behind you.

Your hands gripped the edges of the sink as you stared into the mirror. Your mascara still looked pristine. Your lipgloss was still perfect. Your hair still spun up with the glitter still sparkling. You looked great.

So why did you feel so awful?

Enough with the pity party. Go out there and enjoy the dance, if only to show off the dress the house elves made you.

You shook your head and once again pressed your hand to the pendant still situated warmly against your chest.

Your heart ached for him.

Pushing the bathroom door open, you took a deep breath. You didn’t, however, expect someone to be waiting for the bathroom.

“Oh I’m so-”

Fred.

He was leaning against the wall looking down at his shoes, until you spoke up. He was wearing his black dress robes with a nice white button down and a black tie tucked underneath a burnt orange vest. His eyes lifted as he stood up straight. His brown eyes seemed to stare straight into your soul.

You began to take a step towards him when you realized you hadn’t spoken since your fight. Your arms seemed to wrap themselves around you of their own accord. Your eyes fell away from his, unable to keep his strong gaze. You simply stepped out of the way of the door to the single stall bathroom.

“It’s-um let me get out of your way.” You mumbled beginning to pass him.

But the softest touch brushed your forearm. “Wait.” The word was whispered. “Please wait.”

You stopped but didn’t dare turn around. You didn’t have the courage too.

I’m the coward. You so desperately wanted to say.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.” The fingers still barely touching you began to curl around your wrist. Soft as a feather he pulled your wrist forcing you to turn to face him. You kept your eyes on the ground. The cobblestone underneath your feet had never been more interesting. “Please look at me.” His voice sounded desperate. But when you still didn’t comply his finger lifted to tilt your chin.

Finally your eyes met his. Tears in yours and pain in his.

“I’m sor-”

But your voice had finally found you. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Fred.” Your chest felt a fraction lighter at the release of the words that had been weighing on you for weeks. “You were right. I got mad at you for not doing something that I wasn’t even willing to do. That’s not fair.” Your voice choked. “You’re not the coward, I am.”

Fred's hand slid up to cup your cheek, and you couldn’t help but to lean into it. “We’re both cowards then.” His thumb brushed away a runaway tear. “I should’ve asked you. I should’ve brought up the kiss before Adrian asked you first. But I was scared that what happened in the Trophy Room was a result of you being vulnerable and needing comfort. That I had taken advantage of your hurting. I was scared to face the rejection that would’ve come if I asked you and you admitted that’s all it was.”

“Fred, do you want to know what the boggart said before you started to hear it?”

Fred furrowed his brows. “What does that have-”

“It told me that you- that it-  would never love me. That I wasn’t worthy of its affection.”

which was also the first time you said it.

“Fred, I’m so in love with you.” Your hands lifted to rest on his chest, gripping his shirt. “I have loved you since the day I was sitting at the breakfast table reading my letters from my friends and you suggested buying them gifts at Hogsmeade. I love every dumb joke you tell me in the middle of class when I’m trying to take notes.” One of your hands made your way to brush a bit of hair out of his face. “I love every smile you give me. I love every time you throw fruit at me at breakfast just to test my reflexes. I love the way you sing and dance when you’re drunk after a winning Quidditch match. I love you, Fred Weasley. All of you.”

Your heart was pounding. You had just spilled your soul out to him and more than anything you needed him to say something.

But he didn’t. Instead his fingers left your face and drifted down your neck. The trail of his touch sent shivers running through your body. Finally his touch rested on your collarbone.

“Fred?” You whispered desperately searching his eyes. But his gaze dropped down to your neck. Before you could say anything else, his fingers dipped underneath the chain resting on your neck. With a gentle tug, the necklace was slowly lifted from underneath your dress. His fingers slid down the chain until they clutched the pendant.

Fred softly cleared his throat.

“I saw this through the window of Gladrags Wizardwear. It was resting on the neck of a mannequin. I ran inside and asked to know how much it was despite probably being absurdly expensive and knowing me and George were saving for the shop. The clerk that day leaned down on the counter and asked me to go grab it. When I got back with it he asked me what I saw inside the pendant. I was confused but I told him I saw a Wampus running around within it.” Fred’s hand reached up tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “He asked me who it was for and why I wanted it. So I told him it would be for you because your house at Ilvermorny was Wampus- and he cut me off. Said I could have it free of charge under one condition.”

“What was it?” You asked breathlessly.

“He told me to ask you what you saw. He said the necklace was like Amortentia but instead of smell it showed you something that reminds you of the person you love. Y/N, I love you. I think I loved you from the moment you doubted whether I was good at Quidditch. I can’t get you out of my head. Seeing you cry that night in the Trophy Room because of words you thought I was saying to you broke a piece of me. These last few weeks have been hell without you. I’m so mad for you, ‘Merica, that I can’t stand it.”

Then he kissed you.

It was just as amazing, if not better, than the last one.

Your lips pressed together as if they were never meant to be apart. You reached up, gripping the back of his neck pulling him closer. Fred’s arms wound their way around your waist tightening until your bodies were flush together. Every corner of your body was in tune with his. Every movement of your lips together felt like breathing again.

So much so that you almost forgot you had to. You pulled back sucking in the air. Both of you panting. You licked your lips tasting him. That thought alone almost sent your lips back onto his. He seemed to have the same thought as his mouth descended. But you stuck your hand between you, pressing against his mouth.

“Wait. I need to tell-” You panted. “I need to tell you what I see.” Your hand left his mouth as you reached between the two of you to grab the pendant. You lifted it to your eyes watching as the fireworks exploded before your eyes in the same shade of red as Fred's hair. You looked back up at him, a small smile on your face.

“I see fireworks, Fred.”

-----

Lastly, you remembered the first and last time you said I do.

You thought the NEWTs were stressful, they had nothing on the feeling rolling through your gut that day. You paced the floor, already dressed in a stunning white gown that accentuated every part of your body. Yet, so many things could go wrong in the span of an hour. So what your hair was done? So what your makeup was complete? Who cared that you were already at the venue and you had personally seen to that everything looked perfect? What if the officiant didn’t make it? What if you fell while walking down the aisle? What if the groom didn’t show up-

“Y/N!” Ginny yelled, halting you in your tracks. “If you pace anymore you’re going to wear a hole in the rug.”

You squeezed your fingers before nodding and gently sitting down taking care not to wrinkle your gown.

“I’m just nervous.” You sighed trying hard not to reach up and fiddle with your hair.

“About what?” Angelina laughed, leaning on the doorframe in her bridesmaids gown. “Fred is stupidly mad for you. Hell would freeze before he would let anything go wrong. Besides what matters most is at the end of that aisle. Not me, Ginny, Iris, Louisa, Hermione, or any of us really.”

Iris nodded. “She’s right you know.”

“I know. I just- I can’t help but feel like this isn’t real. And something is going to take it all away from me any moment.” You weren’t sure if it was the raw break in your voice that rendered the room silent or if it was the reminder of Fred’s near death nearly a year ago.

Ginny stood up abruptly. “Alright everybody out.” She waved them out of the room despite the protests.

You furrowed your brow preparing to ask what she was doing, but she beat you to it.

“I’m going to get Fred.”

“But-”

“I’ll close the door so he can’t see you. And under no circumstances is he to come inside.” She smirked. “I want to see him cry when he sees you walking down the aisle.”

And with that she shut the door behind her. The thought of Fred being so near made you equal parts more nervous and more relaxed. Your hand smoothed out your dress, trying to keep yourself busy in anticipation. You didn’t have to wait long.

A knock sounded on the door. You leapt up trying not to run to the door.

“Y/N?” Fred’s voice filtered through the door. You pressed your hands on the door, wanting nothing more than to open it and throw yourself in his arms. But you agreed with Ginny. You wanted him to first see you when you walked down the aisle on the way to becoming his wife. “Y/N? You in there?”

“Yeah.” You replied.

“Ginny told me you were nervous.” His voice had a slight wobble to it that made you respond immediately.

“It has nothing to do with you!” You hesitated. “That’s a lie.”

“Are you afraid I’ll leave you?”

The words sat on your chest heavily. “Not willingly.” You whispered. The memory of seeing him almost die underneath the weight of an entire wall would be forever seared behind your eyes.

“Can I open the door?” Fred whispered back.

“You can’t come in.”

“I won’t.”

The door pushed inwards and after opening about six inches, a hand stuck through the crack. “Give me your hand, love.”

Tears gathered in your eyes as you placed your left hand in his. You felt his hand tug your upwards. His lips pressed against your knuckles, kissing them gently.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not even death will stop me from marrying you. I’ve been hoping for this day since-” A laugh bubbled out of his mouth. “Since that moment in the Trophy Room.” Fred lowered his voice a fraction and pressed a kiss to your palm. “I’m sorry you had to see that, but I promise that I will do everything in my power to make sure you never have to see anything like that again.”

You blinked away the image of him underneath the rubble. Thanking every force of nature that he was alive and was about to become your husband.

Your fingers reached out and cupped his face rubbing your thumb over his clean shaven cheek. “I love you, Fred.”

“I love you back, Y/N.” He shifted your hand until it rested over his lips and then pressed another kiss onto your palm.

And then he sucked your thumb into his mouth.

“I also can’t wait until tonight when I can peel that dress-”

“Alright!!” Ginny shouted. “Time’s up!”

You jerked your hand back inside hearing Fred groan from the other side of the door. “Five more minutes, Ginny!”

“Are you joking me right now? You’re about to be with her for the rest of your life, you can wait-” she paused, “thirty more minutes.”

“But-”

“Shoo!” Fred’s groan followed him all the way down the hall.

You stepped back from the door right in time for Ginny and the rest of your bridesmaid to come strolling in.

The next twenty minutes passed pretty quickly. Touching up your makeup, checking to see if anything had been missed, and just talking with your best friends. As much fun as you were having talking with your friends, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t vibrating with excitement when Ginny checked her watch and stood smiling broadly.

“It’s time!”

“Yes!” Louisa shouted, pumping her fist into the air. Ginny, Louisa, Hermione and Angelina all walked out of the room grabbing their bouquets. Iris handed you yours before walking with you out of the room.

“How you feel, kid?” Iris whispered. You looked at your best friend. A genuine smile on the  lips of someone who saved smiling for when the occasion was truly deserving.

“Happy.” You squeezed her arm gently. “So incredibly happy.”

“Well then let’s get you married.” Iris leaned over pressing a kiss onto your cheek, before handing you to your father. Hermione had been paired with Ron, Louisa with Lee, Ginny with Harry, Angelina with Danny, and finally Iris with George with your flower girl being Bill and Fleurs baby girl who was being carried by her mother.

When the doors opened, one by one you watched your friends disappear through them. Your heart felt as if it was about to jump out of your chest and run down the aisle without you. But your fathers hand on your arm settled you just a bit.

“You ready?” He already had tears in his eyes. You nodded before wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. “Fred’s a good man. I wouldn’t let you go for anyone less.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

And then the music started. He held his arm out and you wound your own around it as you stepped to the doorway.

And saw Fred standing at the end of the aisle.

A smile lit up your face. Your father led you forward, but you ached to ditch the slow pace and sprint to the man who waited for you at the end. With each step, a memory of the two of you flashed before your eyes. Every kiss, every laugh, every touch, every smile, every tear, every moment.

You knew you should’ve at least acknowledged the other people who were standing in the room, but you knew it would cause you physical pain to pull your eyes from the most beautiful man you’d ever seen in your life. A man who was crying wearing his simple black tux. He was still smiling but the tears were slipping down his face softly and onto the floor.

Finally, you and your father reached the end of the aisle. You barely noticed your father giving him your hand or Iris taking your bouquet from your hands, all you felt was Fred. You reached up wiping the tears from his eyes, like he had done for you so many times.

“We are gathered here today…” But the officiant's voice drowned out as you stared at Fred. Your eyes flickered down to his lips as he mouthed a sentence. You are breathtakingly beautiful.

You mouthed back, not caring if anyone saw. So are you.

“I believe you two have prepared your own vows?” You and Fred both nodded. One of Fred's hands left yours as they reached into his pocket to pull out a sheet of paper. He unfolded it one handed before glancing back up at you. Then George tapped him on the shoulder handing him something else. Fred smiled, you could tell he had forgotten.

“Y/N Y/L/N, I wasn’t even sure where to begin these vows. There is so much I want to give you, so much I want to do with you. Ever since I saw you all those years ago, I knew I wanted you to be a part of my life forever.” He took a deep breath, glancing down at you. “You are my entire world. Being next to you makes me breathless. I am so madly in love with you.” His hand tightened around yours. “I want to be with you when you’re happy, when you’re hurting, when you’re angry, when you’re excited, when you’re perfectly healthy, and when you’re sick. I want to be with you when you accomplish the big things and when you fail. I want to be with you when you love me and even when you hate me. I want to be with you even if some enchantment turns half of you into a giant squid.” A small giggle slipped past your lips thinking back to one of Fred’s failed products taste tests. “I want to have children with you and make a family. I want to grow old with you. I just want to be with you in whatever way you’ll take me, love. I can promise that much.”

The tears in your eyes were spilling in waves now. Fred reached up wiping a few of them away before slipping the wedding band on your finger.

For the first time since you had seen him, you turned away to face Iris who was standing behind you. Her hand was already outstretched holding the sheet of paper holding your vows and his ring. You mouthed thank you before turning back to your fiancé. The paper had already been unfolded, so you began to read.

“You are-” you glanced back up at the man who was about to become your husband. You dropped the paper and grabbed the hand you were forced to drop in order to hold your written vows. You stepped a fraction of an inch closer to him. “You are magnificent.” Fred’s smile wobbled at that. “You are all that I could have ever dreamed up. You are handsome, kind, brilliant, loyal, loving, gentle, and best of all hilarious. Whenever I’m around you every single one of my worries just melts away. You are my solid ground, my anchor. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to live without you-” Your voice broke off, but Fred’s fingers massaged your own steadying you. “I never want to remember. Fred Weasley, if you’ll have me, I will spend my last breath making sure you’re happy. You are the man I love and also my best friend. And I love you more than I have words to express.” And then you slid the ring on his finger, your hands shaking the entire time.

“I now declare you bonded for life!” The officiant said. “You may kiss the bride!”

Fred’s arms wound around you like they had done a thousand times before, while yours stretched up around his neck pulling him down to you. Your lips collided somewhere in the center, molding themselves to each other. You vaguely heard shouts and cheers ring out. It was then that you realized you were kissing your husband. You were married. To Fred Weasley.

Fred pulled back just enough to speak. “Mrs. Weasley.”

You giggled. “Mr. Weasley.”

And then his mouth was back on yours again as you laughed against his lips.

-----

“The end.” You whispered, running your hands through his hair. You began to stand when a tiny hand grabbed your finger.

“What happens after the end?” The tired voice of your child called. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his small forehead. You glanced up at Fred who was leaning against the doorframe, silhouetted by the light from the hall. It was him who answered your son, but his eyes were on you.

“They lived happily ever after.”

Taglist: @huffledor-able541​ @asuperconfusedgirl​ @daddystevee​

let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

On Illness and Recovery, or: Sickfic, Baby!

You know the drill! Please let me know if you liked it, and check my Twisted Wonderland fanfiction tag if you want other shit I’ve done.

Contains coarse language and emotional whiplash.

~*~*~*~

Some things stay true no matter where you are; the truest, right now? Schools are disgusting fucking petri dishes, as your miserable cold will tell you. Your cough had only been getting worse as the days went on, with it came exhaustion and a chill that wouldn't leave your bones. You should probably be holed up in your dorm instead of going to class, but that had it's own issues that you were struggling to solve.

"Are you done yet? I want to eat." Grimm's nose, and little else, poked out from a pile of blankets on your bed.

"Nowhere close. Shh." You taped the last bit of plastic over the balcony entryway, and swapped the roll of tape for a heavy duty stapler. "Hold that right there."

The skull-faced ghost held a packing blanket over the plastic as you stapled it in place. By the time you were done, you couldn't see much, which at least meant you could no longer see your own breath. Maybe now, you would be able to feel your own fingers.

Ah, they joys of your own rotten, ancient place - you wake up with frost on your bedsheets and your washbasin shattered from the ice within it. There were other rooms in the place, but most had holes in the ceiling or were too big to heat effectively. So now, you were going to live in one room, that you'd yet to figure out how to run electricity to, and only leave for class or the bathroom. Even if you were ill, could anyone blame you for still going to class when your own home had a nasty quirk of being even colder than outside?

Anywho, it was time to do some homework. By the light of an oil lamp. In five layers of clothing. Curled up so close to a tiny fire you might as well be inside of it. While your not-a-cat complained the whole time.

Yaaaaaaay.

~*~*~*~

"You really should be resting."

You scoffed. "You just feel bad because you're the one who got me sick."

"You can't prove that, everyone's had a cold the past few weeks."

"No one else has been exploring my tonsils, dude."

Idia clapped a hand on your mouth, which you did not lick solely because you were wearing a cloth mask. "Quiet! That's secret intel."

"What? No it's not, everyone knows."

"I don't want to advertise. Then I'm a raid boss and you're the rare loot drop."

You elbowed him in his boney ribs. "No one's going to kick your ass out of jealousy. Just because I'm the hottest bitch in this place doesn't mean I've got universal appeal."

"You're still the only girl and people are weird about it." He placed the back of his hand on your forehead and winced. "You're too warm."

"How can you tell? You've got gloves on."

"That's how bad it is. I'll make some tea."

"I'm not drinking anything out of the damned lab equipment."

He frowned. "I've never had anything bad happen, it's cleaned correctly."

"You're smarter than that. One of these days you're going to grow a tail due to residue in the glassware, and I'm going to haul you around in front of god and everyone by it, going 'I told you so' the entire time."

He blanched, knowing that that was not an idle threat, and someone laughed. "I think I should make that happen, just so we can see that."

"Jade, no. No magic mushrooms for my man, or any other concoctionary bullshit either."

Idia looked ready to die, so to take attention off of him you leaned over and poked Silver awake before he fell face first in the potion he was working on. Logically, you know his narcolepsy was debilitating. Right now, you wish you could have borrowed it last night. You don't remember walking up during the night, but you must have, because why else would you be so tired?

He started up, mumbled "thank you" and went back to stirring as if he hadn't been about to drown in dubious magichemicals. God, you wished that was you right now.

"Idia, deal. You help me get through this class, I'll grab some hot food and go home."

He made a show of hemming and hawing before saying, "Grimm needs to let me hold him when I drop you off, and I will."

Ordinarily, you would have just said "Ask him yourself and don't be weird about it," and Grimm would have simply told him no until sufficiently bribed. But Grimm was still in bed at home, saying you kept him up all night, so instead you bumped Idia with your hip and said "What, you can't think to ask for better pussy to fondle?"

Of course, you just had to say something crass at the moment where everyone went quiet. Even Crewel raised his head and both eyebrows at you. The only reason you didn't get a riding crop to the face and a week in horny detention (where, you assumed, they punished you for being a bad girl indeed) was Idia, rapidly going through every stage of confusion and grief, with a few currently unknown to man. You'd intended to tease him, but that sheer amount of confused, horny misery on his face was just too much, and you laughed so hard you bent over.

And coughed. In a short time, there was no laughter left, only miserable coughing from the depths of your chest that left you on the floor with your eyes watering. Someone thumped your back a few times, and when you yanked your mask off to catch a proper, if shallow breath, your mask was full of a red-streaked, pus coloured slime.

A fur coat was draped over your shoulders as everyone made various noises of disgust. "Class dismissed. Let's get you to the nurses."

~*~*~*~

"How in hell are you still mobile."

"Pettiness and a desire to not freeze to death."

Crewel narrowed his eyes at you. "Both lungs."

"That is what double pneumonia means, Professor."

You could see his whip fingers itching. "Yes, well. You can't come to class like that. And... Is it really that bad in Ramshackle?"

Idia raised a hand. "It was really cold the last time I was there."

"Ugh. I told Crowley we should have razed the place for an expansion on my dog run." He looked at you with a curious mix of genuine fondness and even more genuine disgust. "I'm not putting you up until your place gets fixed, you'll leak all over my furniture. Anyone here going to babysit?"

"I've done perfectly fine in my own dorm, I don't need to become the pet of another dorm."

"Those little fairies said that if you don't stay on bedrest and stay warm, you will die. I am not filling out that paperwork." He looked to you classmates. "Speak up or I'm docking a letter grade."

Silver raised a hand. "I think we could do it but I don't think D- Lilia would let me. Malleus would end up trying to play nurse and skip class."

"Oh god, no, we don't tell him I'm sick until I'm safely ensconced somewhere, he would lose his damn mind and I'd try to strangle him after a week of it."

"There are no spare rooms in Octanivelle. However, I could try some experimental medicines I've been-"

"Jade, no."

Idia was quiet, before speaking up. "I... I don't know if Ignihyde has a spare room, or would be good for healing."

He'd not left your side since your collapse, and gone so full of writhing, barely concealed anxiety he'd broke through the other side and simply shut off. You didn't get it, it wasn't actually anything serious. The nurses had pumped you full of medicine, you'd be up and about a week or two at the most, instead of the month's worth of hospital rooms and bad food it would have been.

Crewel sighed. "Time to start checking the files to see where you can be squeezed."

There was a cough, from the fifth student so quiet despite his size. Everyone had honestly forgotten he was there.

When he spoke up, it was to you, and not anyone else. "There's an unoccupied room down the hall from me. I think the weather in the Savannahclaw dorms will be good for your health. You shouldn't have to stay where you won't be wanted, or get sicker. Would that work?"

You looked at him, assessing. You and him hadn't talked overmuch, and he didn't seem to mind. But as severe as he looked? You could see the sincerity in his offer.

"That should work. Jack, right?"

His ears flicked, and his tail twitched. "Yes."

"Thank you, Jack. You're very kind."

~*~*~*~

Easy to see why the room was empty. You suspected it might have been a storage room, or that there had been a monastic order in the dorm at one point. A single bed just fit the far wall, with a chair, a desk, a bureau, and little else. But the far wall had a large window, and the room felt... nice. And a hell of a lot warmer than than your room in Ramshackle.

"It'll make an excellent sickroom." You set your schoolbag and an entire case of tissues on the desk. "Thank you again, Jack. You sure it won't be any trouble?"

"I've already cleared it with our dorm leader, he said he doesn't care as long as you don't rub phlegm on his things." Jack was a solid block of frown and muscle in the corner. "The window does open, you should keep it that way for circulation. There's a bathroom down the hall, there's showers in there. If you need anything or anyone tries to bother you, please let me know."

"Will do." You were already unpacking the few things in your bag, trying to get them arranged before another coughing fit took you.

"I can help get your things, if you need?" For a dude who was very do-that-shit-yourself, he was being very helpful.

"Idia's grabbing Grimm and anything else I'll need. He'll know what I want."

"I see." Silence, and more interesting ear flicks. "So."

"So?"

"You and him are..." He made a guesture with interlaced fingers.

"Yeah. Jealous?"

He snorted. "No. Just curious. He's a bit..." Hand wiggle.

"I'm a bit too. It works. Would have been nice if he'd gotten the hint before I had a ghost turn me inside out in front of him and everyone else."

"You know that's why you're so sick, right?"

You made a noise that was hard to decipher, that he used as cue to continue. "You never smelled quite right after that happened. Even after the healing. You're always a little..." He moved his hands, trying to grasp the right simile. "Like when a flower's starting to drop petals. Overripe."

How in the hell were you supposed to take that. What do you even say to that? Does everyone know you smell? Does - 

"Oh god, you all know when I'm on the rag."

A single, curt nod, and you put your head in your hands and groaned.

~*~*~*~

A knock on the door

"Who is it?"

"Your worst enemy."

"Get your ass in here, Vil."

Vil had on... good lord. Mask, gloves, face shield. An absurdly fashionable CDC agent. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, Vil. Means so much coming from you."

He stayed by the door, ready to flee if a spare germ came floating towards him. "Heard you're out of commission. Thank the seven, I'll get some peace in my life."

You flipped him the bird, but smiled as you did. "Don't say that. I'll made a sheet ladder and mix sputum in your cold cream."

"If you do that I will personally burn your clothes and replace them with something decent that you will hate."

"Try. Come to gloat?"

"Just a bit." He set a large cup with a straw at the very edge of the desk, straining at arm's length as he did. "This should unfuck your throat somewhat."

"Such language!" You waited until he retreated to the door before you took the smoothie. It was... very, very purple, and smelled minty. "Trying to poison me, finally?"

He rolled his eyes. "When I decide to poison you, it's not going to be through something that obvious. You will never see it coming, and then I'll sell your corpse to Floyd and everyone will just think he finally decided to go full crazy and Riddle is next."

You snorted. "Honestly? I think he'd shit his pants if I actually returned the affection. One time I saw Riddle give him a genuine smile and he had to go sit down because he started shaking so bad." That might have been because the smile was caused by Floyd cracking his head on a doorway and falling flat on his ass, but the point still stood.

When he stopped laughing, he turned to leave. "Take at least an extra week to get better, for my sanity. And don't give the creature any, it won't agree with him."

"Shh, I just got him down for his nap-"

Grimm made a horrible snort from your feet and say up. "Food?"

You made a look-what-you-did guesture at Vil, but he left instead of helping you deal with your beloved yowling idiot.

~*~*~*~

You woke up coughing in the dark. It took entirely too long for you to figure out where the hell you were, and why, and you took the offered tissue with great-

"JaySUS FUCKING CHRIST" You jumped back so much it was only Malleus's grip on your arm that kept you from going through the open window.

"People are sleeping, please do not yell."

"Don't yell my ass, how long have you been there?"

He shrugged. "Since before sunset. Ortho was here first."

You leaned around Mal, to see Ortho sitting on the desk, scritching the belly of a drowsing Grimm. "Hello, Yuu. Your fever has gone down half of a degree since I took over."

The audacity of these idiots, you swear. "Both of you go home and go to bed."

"No. You need watching." Mal had not blinked once since you'd woken up, and how about that? His eyes glowed in the dark, or he had very strong eyeshine; either way, there was no iris around the blown out pupil. "You are very ill and need taken care of. I can do that, I took care of Silver when he was ill."

"Mal."

"Yes?"

"Do we need another boundaries talk?"

He frowned. "But you are ill."

"Mal, I will call Lilia and tell him what you are doing right now. I will personally write your grandmother and tell her you're neglecting your studies. I will get Leona down here and he will call you a simp until you go outside and fight him on compulsion."

"Those all sound terrible!"

"Ortho, don't kiss up because you're next. Why are you here and not home charging?"

"Idia wouldn't go home to sleep until I said I would let him know if you got worse."

You opened your mouth, and shut it again. Why's he so worried? You had to physically shove him out the door to go to his next class, looking like his heart would break, and he'd still skipped board games to fidget miserably in the chair Mal now sat in, looking ready to burst into tears every time you coughed.

Ortho seemed to read your mind. "He gets worried when people get sick. I got sick once."

Ah. That explained a hell of a lot that you were too polite to ask.

"... Okay, you can stay."

Mal perked up.

"You go home. I'll never go back to sleep if you keep staring all night, and you do need to sleep some."

Mal's face fell.

"You can come back tomorrow, after class."

He perked back up. "Goodnight, Yuu. I will see you tomorrow!" A brief kiss against your sweating temple, and he was out the same window he most likely came in.

"Hey, Ortho?"

"Yes?"

"If you can dim your lights a little, you can come lie down with me."

~*~*~*~

You were rudely poked awake by a giant asshole.

"Why are you in my nap room." Leona hovered over you with obvious displeasure.

You blinked and sorted yourself. Ortho was crammed between you and the window, hopefully dreaming of electric sheep, and Grimm was still dead asleep, the little bastard. "Jack put me up here because my dorm's a block of ice and I can't stay there on doctor's orders." Crewel might have a doctorate, it's not a lie.

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"I did." Jack was behind him, his own link in a chain of hovering displeasure. "You said it was fine as long as she didn't make a mess. I brought yogurt."

"Thank you-" More miserable coughing, with now everyone either rubbing your back or passing you tissues. Except Leona, who simply held back and watched. By the time you were done, he just nodded.

"I'm not moving you, but..."

"What."

"I'm calling in a favour next time Cheka gets pawned off on me. He likes you."

You'd argue that, but you liked the kid. "Aight. Everyone get out, there's too many fucking people in here and I'm discovering new and interesting depths of claustrophobia."

Leona didn't need to be told twice.

"I'll be back after class with your homework. Maybe at lunch with something. Not before then. Stay put."

"Oooo, oo. I'm going with you, big guy." Grimm scampered over. "I'll get bored here all day. You can just nap."

You rolled your eyes "I can just nap. Jack, if he sticks with you, he's going to want to eat everything you do."

"I'll manage."

"Would you like me to stay?" Ortho was finally up, or maybe you hadn't noticed him exiting screensaver mode.

"I'd like you to tell your brother that I'm not going anywhere. Use those exact words."

He nodded, a faint whirr as he did.

"I'll see you guys later, okay? I need more sleep."

~*~*~*~

Someone gently shook you awake, and said someone was leaning in the window.

"Hey, Kalim." Why'd you have to be the center of attention when sick, and therefore couldn't kiss anyone to thank them for said attention.

"Hi! I asked Jamil to make extra lunch for you!" He set a covered dish on your knees.

"Thank you. Was he okay with that?"

"He was when I said it was for you. Everyone's heard that you're laid up!"

"News travels fast. Am I about to get even more popular?"

"You're always popular because you're great. Feel better! Jamil said he'll have extras tomorrow too. See you!" And off he went.

You needed to tell Jamil thank you, but he would probably just tell you to just stop talking about abolishing the monarchy instead. (Not because he didn't support the idea, but because he didn't want to be punished for not keeping the idea from Kalim.) What did he make, anyway?

"Oh, curry. Sweet."

~*~*~*~

The days progressed roughly the same. Drowsing most of the morning, lunch, more drowsing in between laptop stuff, maybe actual sleep. Coughing up far less gunk as the days went on. And entertaining an absurd fucking amount of people. Everyone seemed determined to check on you, even people who you'd never seen before in your life; Ruggie made something like 10k madol charging people to try and see you through the window before you cursed him out. Your Heartslabyul boys dropped in every couple of days to relate shit that they hadn't simply texted you (along with a pile of pastries from Trey and handwritten instructions on recovery from Riddle, the latter far less appreciated than the former). Floyd dropped in once to mostly complain about how you weren't around to eat the mushrooms he picked out of his food, tried to convince you to let him carry you over to the Monstro Lounge himself, and when you refused, kissed the tips of your fingers and left pouting. Jack, true to his word, dropped in at least twice a day to deliver food and homework, and once spent forty-five minutes glowering at anyone approaching the bathrooms while you took a shower that ached on your oversensitive skin.

Some people were far more regular. Every day like clockwork, Malleus perched in your window and was the world's friendliest, most affectionate vulture. Twenty minutes after that, Idia would come in, sit in the chair, and exude such concentrated grief that you were at a loss for what to do beyond asking if he wanted to talk about it, to which he would shake his head and simply resume sitting there, tapping away at his screens until the next panicked flurry of activity every time you made a unhealthy noise.

"You are allowed to go home. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm much better than I was."

He just shook his head.

"I will come get you if something happens," Mal offered.

More head shaking, and a "no" from his tablet, before adding, "Never again."

"I'll call Ortho and make him tag you out."

"I said no. And Ortho is with Lilia."

Lilia, small, beloved pest, has what you like to think of as a compulsive need to parent. He was god knows how old, had raised at least three of your classmates that you know of, and seemed to consider you his newest fledgling. After hearing about what happened, he'd taken it into his own hands to fix Ramshackle to... well, not OSHA compliance, but you wouldn't be cold.

"Does he know how much I appreciate it? Appreciate all of you, really?"

"Of course he does. He loves talking about you. He wears that shirt you made all the time."

"Which one? I've made him seven so far."

"When do I get one?"

"When they make T shirts that'll fit over your horns." Something drooped in the corner of your eye, and you looked over to see Idia shaking himself upright. "Hey, babe. When was the last time you slept?"

He took an embarrassingly long time to lie through his teeth and say "Last night" through his tablet.

"Yeah, no. Get over here." You took a moment to drag Mal's hand down before he could just do a sleeping spell, or something equally well meaning but deeply inappropriate.

"No."

"Please?"

You held your arms out until he couldn't resist, and soon you'd arranged his head on your chest.

"You hear anything more sloshing around in there?"

He shook his head.

"I am on the mend. I... don't really know what happened before. And I sure as hell don't know what you did to get him back. But I'm not going anywhere. So rest." 

He gave a faint nod.

"I will wake you, if need be?"

To both yours and Mal's surprise, Idia answered him with a pat on his leg.

"Thank you."

Idia was already asleep.

~*~*~*~

"Mal?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know what 'cyanosis' is?" You’d been stroking Idia's head for hours. Or minutes. Time flies, and you could not tell the difference.

"Not immediately, no."

"It's caused by a few different things. Hypoxia, hypothermia, that sort of thing. The blood in you doesn't have enough oxygen. So little that, instead of red, parts of your body turn blue or grey due to the lack of oxygen."

"I see." He looked intently, much as you did, at Idia's greyish nails and blue lips. "That doesn't seem survivable."

"Not if it's severe, no." The flames from Idia's head curled around your fingers, grasping at you even when he's not aware of it. "It's not something you see on someone as... lively as him. It's something I think about a lot. Whether it's to do with his magic, or that curse he won't elaborate on."

"I've heard rumours."

"Oh?"

"The Shroud family curse. Nothing concrete, for an origin. Madness, misfortune, and illness have plagued the family throughout history. Add in a trend of cousin marriage beyond the norm for upper-class families due to people not wanting to subject their loved ones to a cursed bloodline, and the tree is more of an notorious, ingrown shrub."

"That just sounds like shitty genetics and what happens to every family as the years go on, not a curse."

Mal shrugged. "is there a difference? Even in the sleeping curse my grandmother bestowed so easily, much of the power came for the fear of it. A girl grew up without her family because of the fear of it."

"True." You leaned down and kissed the top of Idia's head, feeling an unconscious smile as you did. "There must be a little hereditary something. He gets so anxious about this beautiful hair! He hates people looking at him, and he doesn't even realize it's because he's the most beautiful thing in any room he walks in."

"Thing?" Mal raised an amused eyebrow.

"Even the finest art in a museum doesn't have the benefit of being actually alive."

"Your capacity for love and beauty is enviable. Hunt would be jealous." He reached out and brushed a stray lock away from Idia's face, and you could feel another smile against your chest.

~*~*~*~

"Aight, so we've patched up holes in the walls, insulated the windows - Idia here," Lilia clapped Idia on the small of his back, causing him to make a distressed squeak - "smart boy, found some solar panels and we've got electricity up in your room, the kitchen and the bathroom by your room, not just the front room anymore! The rest we got the ghosts to help seal off to hold the heat in. I got you a space heater for your room, so you don't have to do a fire the whole time, and as long as you don't open the windows back up before spring, you won't freeze."

"Thanks, guys. One question."

"Yeah?"

"What did you do to my room."

Lilia smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a walking prank and can't keep out of there, what did you do."

"Nothing this time! I promise!" He held his hands up. "At least you can stay home for the next few days, Crewel says you gotta be back Monday or he's going to start making funeral prep."

"I'm literally better, but if he does that I get to help. Always wanted to plan my funeral, I have very specific ideas about what flowers to use and preferred corpse disposal."

"Maybe you should go upstairs and not talk about funerals and their associated things."

"Sure thing, dear."

After settling in your room, most everyone cleared out, even Idia. The only person still there was Jack, looking this way and that with a stern look.

"Hey, Jack?"

He grunted in assent.

"So like, why'd you put me up and help take care of me? We've hardly talked before then."

He sighed. "You've been very nice to me."

"You sure? I'd remember you."

"Uh."

"Jack?"

~*~*~*~

It was a beautiful day, if chilly in the wind. The sun was warm, the trees turning, and you just came across one of your best friends.

"Hi buddy! Are you lost today?"

The very large dog shook it's head and pressed into your knees.

"Okay, you wanna walk with me? Come on."

You'd found this enormous white Malamute wandering campus the first time a few months ago, and after checking in with a few other students who kept laughing when you asked if he was their dog, simply decided to enjoy your new friend and run and play. He was very smart, and initially standoffish, but could not resist a friendly face and good ear scritches. Today, you and Buddy here simply ran around like a couple of idiots after a lost soccer ball until it was time to go eat.

"I'll see you later, buddy. Bye!" You held out a hand, and after a firm shake, kissed the point where his snout met the rest of his face. "Stay safe, I love you."

Buddy made a low grumble and rubbed his paws over his face, and you went off to supper.

~*~*~*~

"You couldn't have told me?"

"How do you explain that? 'Hey, I run around as a wolf sometimes and you mistook me for a lost dog so you lovebombed me and I was at a loss and by the second time it was too awkward to say anything'?"

"I've been playing with you for months! I let you run with Crewel's dalmatians!"

"I run with them as a person, too, that's nothing special."

You pinched your nose. "Everyone must think I'm an idiot."

"I'll deal with them. I'm sorry, Yuu."

"I know. You are my good boy, after all."

His tail started wagging in spite of itself, and you laughed.

[leilabeaux]

In My Sights III

Masterlist | Two

Pairing: Ivar/ Fem Reader

Word Count: 3570

Warning: None? 7 years bad luck?

Summary: A meeting with two brothers from Vestfold takes Ivar off guard.

Author’s Note: Well, this part was a long time coming. That means I will have part four ready next year.

The dining room was sparsely occupied that early afternoon with women who lunch, businessmen on lunch breaks, and their quiet chatter. The Vine had long been considered a historical landmark in Kattegat and was formerly a struggling fine dining restaurant. It had only gained popularity with the upper class once Aslaug Lothbrok, a well-known Götaland socialite who was newly married and new to the city, started to make her presence there. Though it’s popularity faded over the years, it was still preferred by the old money elite. Mostly for the staff’s discretion rather than the food and ambience.

It was for that reason why the Lothbrok sons preferred the establishment for their business lunches. Extra care was also usually taken with a generous tip to the host to ensure no other guests would be seated next to their table but today it was turning out to be a waste of money as the hushed voices from their corner of the room began to grow.

Ivar drummed his fingers against the table as he brought the cup of coffee to his lips, glaring across at his three older brothers. Apparently, the idiots had forgotten the importance of discretion as they were busy bickering over why their associates called for today’s meeting. He hoped the clinking of his cup when he set it down roughly onto the saucer would disrupt their chattering but, to his annoyance, still they continued.

Leaning back in his chair, his left hand mindlessly traced the carved out dragon on his cane, last year’s birthday gift from his dear Uncle Floki, while he scrolled through the day’s news on his phone. One particular article detailed the resignation of a Mercia diplomat after the unexpected death of her eldest son, mentioning that authorities were looking for a red-headed female who was last seen with him for questioning.

Good luck finding her, Ivar thought to himself. He had given up all attempts at trying to find you or any information about you after a year upon your meeting. After coming up empty through hacked databases and facial recognitions, he concluded that you were virtually a ghost or at least knew very powerful people who worked hard to keep you hidden. All he could do was sit and wait until he heard from you again, hoping his right hand and the memories of your last tryst would keep him satisfied till then.

He felt his slacks tighten as he got lost in a memory of you trapped underneath him as he pounded into your sweet cunt. The whines of you begging him to make you come he heard in his head were interrupted when Ubbe pounded his fist on the table, causing the glassware to shake.

“For fuck’s safe, Ivar, get off your fucking phone!” His older brother harshly whispered, checking over his shoulder at the other patrons, finally aware of the scene they were making.

“And why would I do that, dear brother?” Ivar still had his eyes turned down to his phone as he sent you the link of the article and a brief message: You’re on their radar. I wonder what you’re willing to do to make sure I don’t turn you in. Throwing his phone on the table, he raised an eyebrow as he bestowed Ubbe with his undivided attention. “So I can join you fools in biting our fingernails, worrying why they called for a meeting at the last minute?”

“They” were two brothers from Vestfold, owners of a large fishing company based out of their hometown and, most recently, out of Kattegat as well. To the public eye, it was assumed that it was hard work, determination, and a wise investment from Ivar’s father that turned the once struggling business into a multi million dollar success. But the young men currently seated at the table knew that the wise investment was generous compensation throughout the years for hauling more than just fish on their boats. Whether it was guns, stolen art and, for a very brief moment in time, opiates, Halfdan and Harald provided safe transport for anything the Lothbroks were running.

“You're not the least bit worried? What if they’re wanting to pull out of our deal? The Rus are not going to be pleased if we’re not able to deliver their shipment.” Ubbe wrung his hands as he thought of the worst. He was not looking forward to telling the Rus leader of any potential delays. The man wasn’t the most level headed or understanding and honestly, he creeped him out a bit.

Hvitserk nodded his head in agreement. “They might be. Remember, they were wanting a cut of our profits the last time we met with them but Ivar thought it wasn’t a good idea…” He pursed his lips in disapproval before cutting his eyes toward the youngest Lothbrok.

If Ivar had rolled his eyes any harder, he would have given himself a headache. “They’ve been doing the same job for our family for nearly twenty years, nothing more and nothing less, and have been paid fairly for it. Maybe a little too much in my opinion but I will honor our father’s wishes. Still they have no business being greedy. If it wasn’t for the Lothbroks, they would still be hauling fish into a sinking dinghy.”

“There are probably others who are looking for a way to transport their shit and all they need is a smug asshole like Harald to offer his services.” Hvitserk swirled his drink in his glass, taking a sip before continuing. “I think we should give them at least half of what they were wanting.”

Ivar gave an aggravated sigh and was ready to shoot down what he thought was the stupidest thing to come out of his brother’s mouth.

“I don’t know, I think Ivar’s right.” Sigurd chimed in. “They should be grateful for all our father did for them, not bite the hand that feeds them.”

The other men at the table sat in silence as they stared at him in confusion. It was thought that Sigurd would rather eat a bullet than agree with anything Ivar had to say.

“I changed my mind. Give them everything they ask for.” Ivar had joked, he would never admit out loud or to himself that he appreciated his least favorite brother taking his side. Officially done with the conversation, he picked his phone back up. He held back his smile as he read the new message: Anything you want me to do, handsome. But first, you’d have to find me.

Ubbe looked up from behind his nerve-wracked hands toward the lobby and gave a sigh. “Thank gods, they’re finally here...and of course he brought his fucking girlfriend. To our illegal business lunch meeting. Great.”

Hvitserk gave a quick and quiet wolf whistle as his eyes studied the woman on Harald’s arm, from head to toe. “Is that the same one he brought to your birthday party? Didn’t she have different hair and was a bit taller?”

“How can you not tell? I thought you fucked her while cake was being served?” Sigurd questioned.

“All I remember was the back of her head, to be honest.”

Ivar couldn’t hold back the snort at Hvitserk’s comment. Whatever smart ass response that was about to come out died on his tongue as he looked up at the woman that was being led to them. This was definitely a new girlfriend because if you were the one Hvitserk had fucked in the coat check room, he was going to have one less brother.

As always you looked like perfection to him but he knew your presence, or rather your outfit, was causing a bit of a stir in the restaurant especially among the older women who were busy clutching their pearls. From the plunging neckline of the loose dark green silk shirt to the matching miniskirt with a side-slit it was tucked into, your ensemble was far from the acceptable dress code of the Vine but the host knew better than telling Ivar and his brothers that their guest would have to leave, no matter how many complaints he’d get from the other patrons.

“Can you two shut the fuck up before he hears you?” Ubbe scolded Hvitserk and Sigurd before standing up to greet their guests. Shaking Halfdan’s hand before moving onto Harald, “Gentleman, I’m glad you could finally join us.”

Halfdan gave a frustrated sigh as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and plopped himself down on an empty seat. “Believe me, it wasn’t my fault.”

“Oh come on, brother. We didn’t keep you waiting that long.” Harald slapped a hand on his shoulder before parading the young woman on his arm. “Boys, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend Veronica.”

Ivar instantly wished he had ordered something stronger than coffee. He didn’t want to believe for a moment that you would choose to be with someone like Harald but you did warn him before that he hardly knew you.

In his opinion, the Fishmonger wasn’t much to be desired. And if it was money you were after, Ivar’s funds could have kept your excessive shopping addiction quelled more than the mere pennies the other man had. He knew he could satisfy you in that way and others.

Patiently sitting back in his chair, he watched as you politely smiled while you shook hands with each of his brothers. Hvitserk was unaware how close he was to a dinner knife to his thigh after lingering a second too long while kissing the back of your hand. Fortunately, Harald had the good sense to pull you away.

Ivar balanced his weight on his cane as he stood up to introduce himself, taking a risk and gently caressing his thumb against your hand. “Lovely to meet you, Veronica.”

Although you said nothing back, he didn’t miss the small smirk that briefly graced your face letting your alleged boyfriend lead you to your seat.

“I hope you boys don’t mind her being here. I know we try to keep these meetings to ourselves but I’ve been a little busy and this beautiful thing has been missing me.” He kissed the back of your hand, causing you to giggle. “Didn’t even want to take my card and go on a shopping spree.”

“I swear you won’t even hear a peep from me.” You promised, miming zipping your lips closed while you took a seat across from Ivar. “Harry’s shop talk ends up sounding more like gibberish to me anyway!”

Ivar had to focus to not show his confusion when he heard you speak. The words coming out of your mouth sounded as if they were dipped in saccharine and nowhere near the lower sultry tone he was used to. He hoped to himself that you would stay true to your promise and remain silent.

Unfortunately, promises meant nothing to his brothers.

“So what do you do for a living, Veronica?” Sigurd asked while cutting into his beef tenderloin.

You gave him a closed smile, dabbing the corners of your mouth with your napkin as you swallowed your last bite. “Oh my goodness! Nothing as important as what you gents do! I worked in this cute little boutique over in Vestfold before Harry whisked me away!”

“Wow, you must have made a killing in commissions.” Ivar couldn’t resist this opportunity to make you sweat, if that was even possible.

He was sure that hint of confusion on your face seemed authentic to everyone else. “No? Actually, I worked hourly...”

You were cut off by an annoyed groan from Ubbe as he rubbed his face, the food on his plate was barely touched. “Harry...I mean Harald, why did you call this meeting?”

“You couldn’t wait a few more minutes until we were done eating? I’d expect mommy to have taught you some manners.” Harald sighed and tossed his napkin on the table before leaning back in his chair.

Ivar didn’t miss you curling your hand around your knife. The tension surrounding the table definitely wasn’t missed by you.

Before Ubbe could respond, Halfdan had cut into the conversation. “Look, we know the last meeting didn’t go well.”

“Actually, you shot one of our men in the head.” Hvitserk stated, staring at Harald as he made his point.

Halfdan quickly interjected, “One of our captains went rogue. Was convinced by some mysterious buyer to deliver your last load of weapons to them. Don’t worry, we took care of the problem”

The younger Lothbrok brother stayed silent while his brothers voiced out their displeasure. You took a sip from your glass, your eyes cutting back and forth to the men surrounding you.

“Oh, did you?” Ubbe questioned incredulously. “Because there shouldn’t have been a problem in the first place.”

“Yes, we did.” Harald finally broke his silence with an emphasis on every word. “The man liked a good drink...a little too much. It was unfortunately only a matter of time until he drunkenly stumbled off his boat. I’m sure the medical examiner we paid off would attest that it was accidental drowning. As for the guns, they’re on another boat with a crew we know we can trust.”

“The buyer? Do you think it was the Saxons?” Sigurd suggested to the table.

“No, they thrive on letting it be known when they screw us over. I suspect they either are or know someone close. In either our circle or yours. I just hope our actions show that we are loyal and can be trusted.” Harald regarded that last statement to Ivar, knowing his silence throughout the exchange meant he was the one he had to win over.

The young man grinned as he sat back in his seat “You know, before you got here, my brothers were saying they didn’t think you deserved any part of our profits but I personally think a five percent cut of every successful shipment is reasonable.”

A smirk slowly spread against Harald’s face. “I think that sounds very reasonable.”

----

Ivar slowly made his way to the front of the restaurant. The remainder of lunch was uneventful other than the mindless chatter of Hvitserk and Sigurd asking you 20 questions. Ubbe promptly left after taking care of the bill and with so few words.

He rolled his eyes in disgust as he watched Harald wrap his arms around you, not even trying to be modest as his hands grabbed your ass. He had to fight the urge to not cut the man’s hands off for touching something that belonged to him.

You squealed and playfully swatted his chest. You gave a quick glance at Ivar as he slowly approached. “Baby, I’ll meet you outside. I just need to touch up my lipstick real quick.”

“Okay, lovely. Don’t be too long, we have a plane waiting on us.” He pressed a quick kiss on your lips before letting you go. He walked out of the restaurant, not even noticing that Ivar was close by.

Your heels clicked on the marble floor and you peeked over your shoulder toward Ivar, giving him a small grin before you made a quick turn into the washroom.

Ivar looked around to make sure there were no eyes on him as he made his way in the same direction as you. He didn’t expect his brothers to worry too much about him. He would’ve been surprised if one of them had waited for him especially since he took his own personal town car to the restaurant.

Before he could even walk through the door, you yanked him in by his tie then pushed him against the adjacent wall. He barely had time to react when he felt your lips against his own. He wrapped his arm around your waist and groaned when your hand tugged down on his locks.

Usually you enjoyed taking your time kissing him, teasing with a soft touch of your hand at the back of his neck, savoring every small whine he made when you nipped on his bottom lip. But today was different as you rushed to deepen the kiss. Both of you knew that if you were gone too long, Harald would come hunting for you.

When you broke away from him, you looked into his eyes, stifling a soft giggle. “Hi there, handsome.” You teased, your voice finally back to normal.

“Gods, that voice you were putting on was annoying.”

“I don’t know. Harald seems okay with it.” You pushed yourself away from him, walking over to the sink and pulled out a tube of lipstick from your clutch.

Ivar stayed put against the wall, watching as you leaned over the sink to look yourself in the mirror.

He repeatedly tapped his cane on the tile, “Is he why you said no?”

“Said no to what?” You stayed focused on reapplying the red color on your lips. You couldn’t help but laugh when you looked up and saw the annoyed look Ivar was giving you.

You smooth a finger around your lips, cleaning up any smudges. “I’m not his girlfriend, Ivar. He thinks I’m the very expensive call girl he hired to keep him company over the weekend. Just your basic girlfriend experience.” You dropped the lipstick back into your clutch before closing it with a snap.

“Your client wants him taken care of?” He walked over and propped his hip against the counter next to you. “That would save me some money in the long run. One less brother to pay.”

“No…” You looked down at the porcelain instead of looking him in the eyes. “I’m just collecting information on him by any means necessary.”

“Any means necessary?” While Ivar usually admired your dedication to committing to your undercover work, he found himself not liking the idea of you following through on this one. “Y/N, please tell me there’s a target on his head.”

You quickly glanced up at him through the mirror before turning to lean against the counter. You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “At the moment, no.”

“Goddammit, Y/N” Ivar pinched the bridge of his nose. Though the thought of someone else hands over your body aggravated him, the idea of another man inside of you incited him. “Are you going to fuck him? Have you fucked him?”

“Ivar…you and your brothers were waiting for a reason. It would have been suspicious if the hooker refused to fuck him.” You stated as if that was a reasonable explanation.

“How much is your client paying you? I’ll double it—fuck it, I’ll triple it if you just walk away now.”

“No one is paying me. I’m on my boss’s orders.”

“And who do you work for again?”

“Tsk, tsk. You already know that if I told you, I’d have to kill you and I don’t want to have to mess up that pretty face. Again.” Pressing up against him, you gently brushed your thumb over the faint scar that went across his cheek. A sweet parting gift from one of your earlier encounters with him.

“Tell me what information you need and I’ll get it for you.” He leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. “Just...just don’t go with him.”

You cradled his face in your hands. For a brief moment, there was a look that Ivar had seen on your face before, a mixture of pity and sadness. You shook your head then pressed a gentle kiss on his lips before you walked away from him.

“Please don’t hate me, handsome.” Through the wall length mirror ahead of him, he saw you turn to face him after pausing at the closed door. “You can be mad and you can curse at me until we’re old and grey. Shit, you could even throw another knife at me but I think it would hurt me more if you hated me.”

You waited a moment for him to say or do anything, but when all you got was silence, you walked out of the door.

Ivar took a deep inhale to try to calm the anger that was beginning to flow through his body. He turned toward the mirror, his knuckles going white as he grabbed onto the edge of the sink. No care when his cane falls to the ground with a resounding smack.

When he was younger, he had got into some trouble after he hit a classmate with a rock. The therapist his Uncle Floki took him to after the incident told him to try counting to ten whenever he saw red.

He closed his eyes, letting out an exhale at every count in his head.

On five, he could see you.

Six, Harald slowly walking up behind you.

Seven, him taking you into his arms.

Eight, his tongue sliding up your neck.

Nine, his hand trailing down to your center.

Ten, you softly moaning out Harald’s name.

Ivar screamed out in rage and punched the mirror. He didn’t even notice the pain in his fist until his breathing evened out. He straightened out his tie the best he could with the distorted reflection in front of him. Flexing his injured hand, he reached over and grabbed one of the towels laid out on the counter, wrapping his hand in it.

If Harald didn’t have a target on his head before, he fucking did now.

——

Tags: @xbellaxcarolinax @castielsangelsx @revolution-starter @momowhoo @peachyboneless @punkrocknpearls

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[ask-them-bois]

Of Monsters and Matriarchs, pt 1/3

TLDR: Musrio has a talk with Oliver and the ancestors.

TW: None

~~~~~~~~ Musrio knew exactly what god had chosen to shove its bulge up his wastechute and fuck him over when he’d walked into Scarbucks to see none other than Oliver fucking Maddel standing at the counter, chatting amicably with the barista.

The sun had only just set, so the coffeehive was nearly empty, and Oliver turned her head at the sound of the dongshouter above the door ringing. Musrio froze on the spot, despite Oliver being unable to see him. As he watched, a small, knowing smile spread across Oliver’s face, and the rustblood knew beyond doubt that Oliver knew exactly who stood behind her.

“Good morning, Almawt.” He said politely.

Musrio said nothing, rooted to the spot by his surprise. After a moment, he shook himself out of it, magic springing to his palms as he braced himself for the oliveblood to make a move. And since Oliver couldn’t see him, he flipped them the finger.

Oliver seemed unperturbed by his silence. “I was hoping to come across you soon, you know. I didn’t realize it would be now, but, ah well. Better now than never, darling. Come, order your drink, on me. We should talk.”

“What makes you think I want to talk to you?” Musrio scowled.

“Oh, I know you don’t want to, but I think you and I need to. Just give me ten minutes, darling.”

“I’d rather eat glass. Ribbit.” Musrio spat.

Oliver tittered, taking her drink from the barista. “With the amount of venom you ingest, would that even do anything?” She inquired, turning to fully face him. “Five minutes, then? That’s all I’m asking for. Perhaps we can set some of our grievances aside.”

Musrio narrowed his eyes, understandably suspicious. Oliver tisked, shaking his head.

“Well, I’ll be over here if you change your mind. Darling, put this man’s drink on my tab.” They said, talking to the barista over their shoulder, before they turned and headed for a booth far away from the other patrons, their cane clicking against the floor.

Musrio strongly considered turning around and walking back out. His feet were burning with the urge. At the very least, he was going to get what he came for, though. He approached the counter and gave them his order; a black coffee with as much espresso they were legally allowed to give him, and whipped cream.

It came out rather quickly, and he took it to the personalization station, watching Oliver out of the corner of his eye the entire time.

The oliveblood had taken a seat, and was tapping on his palmhusk, an earpiece reading out his claw’s placement on the screen as his purse and cane laid on the bench beside him.

Musrio reached into his robe, to his satchel, and removed a vial of a viscous, clear fluid. He splashed a healthy amount into the coffee and stirred it, before pouring in a few packs of sugar. He turned towards the oliveblood again, debating himself silently for several seconds.

Finally, he approached the booth, and wordlessly slid into the opposing bench.

Oliver didn’t look up from her palmhusk, but she smiled. “So glad you decided to join me, darling.”

“Five minutes starts now.” Musrio said pointedly.

Oliver hummed, flicking tabs away on their palmhusk before closing it down and setting it aside. “Indeed.” They knitted their fingers together, resting their chin on them. Even with their eyes covered, Musrio got the impression Oliver was staring him down. “We have quite the history together, don’t we, Almawt?”

“No, we don’t.”

“Oh, but we do. Perhaps not directly, but we shared one very important troll.”

“We didn’t share them; you took them away and gave me back the broken pieces. Ribbit.” Musrio snapped.

“If that is how you remember it, darling, sure.” She hurried on as Musrio opened his mouth to speak, “You know, it’s quite funny. I don’t even know what you look like, darling, yet this… animosity has grown so dark between us, that even I am blinded by it. I am thankful that I am a phoenix, so that I might have a chance to cut through the murk with a gracing light.”

Musrio scoffed. “What are you getting at, Oliver?”

“I am getting at your surrender, Musrio.” Oliver said bluntly, his smile suddenly dropped.

“My what?”

“I am asking you politely, and once: I ask that you surrender your side now, before this gets messy and trolls get hurt. I don’t care if you join me or not, but simply… stop fighting. There’s no way you can win- you see that, don’t you?”

Musrio’s claws dug into his palms as he curled his hands into fists. “Trolls are going to get hurt regardless, Oliver- you’re planning a fucking genocide! Ribbit!”

Oliver sighed, shaking his head. “Sacrifices must be made, for the good of-”

“The only troll this would be good for is you.” Musrio cut them off.

“Darling, please. Surely someone as logical as you can see how the odds are stacked? On my side, I have the entirety of the Black Hand- nearly three hundred strong- BB, the Enforcer, and the Bladepen.

You have a drunk, a chef, a pair of broken batteries, a pair of mangy mutts, a gardener, a rancher, a madman, a chronically sick child, a philosopher, a retired soldier, and a failure.” She listed them off like she’d practiced this. “That’s not even to mention those of us who are undecided, such as the Hounding, the mutant reds, and the dear prince. Your side is mere has-beens and broken trolls, darling. I am offering you a chance to surrender with grace, rather than see them all culled.”

Musrio took a deep gulp of coffee in hostile silence, setting his cup down with force. “That’s where you’re wrong, Oliver.” He said, his voice dark. “I “have” nothing. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for demons and shifter-beasts and robots. I didn’t ask for soldiers and thieves. They took a good look at the fight you’re trying to start, and chose to back up the one troll you seem afraid of. Ribbit.”

Oliver scoffed. “I’m not afraid of you, Musrio.”

“Then why are we having this discussion?” The rustblood demanded, “If you aren’t afraid, why meet me like this?”

“Because I, platonically, pity you, darling. Watching this all go down is like watching a warren of hop-beast grubs try to fight a howl-beast. Frankly, it’s depressing that the Infinite Scapegrace thought you were a suitable rival to strengthen me.”

Musrio’s mouth opened in shock. “You think that’s what this is? Ribbit?” He hissed, “That I’m some big obstacle your god put in your way to test your mettle?”

Oliver tipped his head. “Of course, darling. Why else would you be so inferior, yet so maddeningly annoying?” Musrio growled, low in his chest, and Oliver raised her hands in surrender. “No offense.”

“Oh, all offenses taken.” Musrio snapped. He slid out of the booth, standing up. “I think I’m done here. I’m not surrendering, Oliver. That’s not a fucking option anymore. I don’t give a damn about you, your god, or even this piece of shit world, but I do give a rat’s ass about the fact that you collectively ruined my fucking life. Ribbit. Fuck you, fuck the Black Hand, and fuck Neviserrath.” Oliver tensed in his seat, “I didn’t ask for this. All I fucking wanted was to be a professor and marry my partner. But since you ruined that, since you started this bullshit and I got no say in my participation, I’m going to put an end to it. Ribbit!”

He spat out the final croak, snatched up his coffee, and stormed out.

It took the entirety of the twenty minute walk down to the docks for him to calm down. He called Drayco as soon as he was a few blocks away from the coffeehive and told them everything that had happened.

“Holy shit, babe.” Was Drayco’s response, “Are you okay?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Mush.” The bronzeblood sighed, “I… I don’t know what to do or say. This all started because of m-”

“Don’t, Dee.” Musrio said forcefully, before his dropped into an almost uncharacteristic softness, “This isn’t your fault. It’s Oliver’s. You know that. Ribbit.”

“… Yeah, I know.”

“This will be over soon, Dee, and we can put this all behind us. We just need to find Lucina.”

“Are you headed to them now?”

“Yeah. I’d just stopped off to get a drink.”

He heard Drayco suck in a sharp, gurgling breath. “Well, good luck, then. Call me after and tell me how it goes.”

“I will.”

“Okay. I love you, Mushy.”

“I love you, too. Ribbit.”

Musrio hung up as he approached the docks, and ascended the ramp of the Warshark. Standing on the deck, smoking a cigarette, was the Ruthless Deepbite.

He let out his breath, smoke streaming from his mouth and gills.

“They’re all waitin’ in the dinin’ block fer ya, lad.”

Musrio paused, looking up at the violetblood. “You know what this is about, don’t you?”

Ruthless nodded, the haunted and exhausted look in his eyes, for once, slightly alleviated by the faintest spark of hope. “Aye. There’s only one color left.” He looked out towards the water, his tattered fins flickering. “Krakyn wanted ta be here fer this, but he can’t come this close ta shore.” He said.

“You can tell him about this afterwards. Ribbit.”

“Aye.” Ruthless dropped the butt and crushed it under his boot, before he turned and headed for the hatch. “Come on, then.”

He hauled open the hatch, and let Musrio into the bowls of the ancient ship.

Down the corridor, Ruthless let him into a large room that once crammed a crew of four dozen trolls into tables to eat.

Now, only the Incoding, the Innocent, the Decaying, the Deadscar Wanderer, and, inexplicably, the Hounding and Ashhur, sat around a table, the former sat on the opposite end of the two latter. They all looked up as Musrio and Ruthless Deepbite entered.

“Welcome, young Almawt.” Innocent signed politely.

“Hi. Thank you all for coming.” Musrio nodded. Awkwardly, he took a seat at the head of the table, while Ruthless took a seat between his morails. Taking a sip of his coffee, he cleared his throat. “I… suppose you’re all wondering why I called you here.” He internally cringed at saying such a cliché line. “Well…” He took a deep breath, trying to settle his sudden onset of nerves; he’d never been in a room with so many adults before. “I’ve got a lot to explain.”

Knocking back another gulp of poisoned coffee, the adults were silent as Musrio launched into the story; his death, his revival, his title as the second harbinger, the Black Hand, Neviserrath Apocriyna, the chosen child, the ritual, Oliver’s goal, and his mission. He spoke for over an hour without pause, leaving nothing out as he explained the reasons for their revivals, and why he’d needed them in the first place.

“… and now,” He said, his throat beginning to ache from talking for so long, “we’ve come down to the final color: Jade. Ribbit.”

Musrio watched Innocent and Incoding’s eyes slide directly to Ruthless.

The large seadweller swallowed. “But ya’ve tried a hundred times ta bring her back, lad. Nothin’s worked.”

“That’s the thing.” Musrio shifted in his seat, “The Hierophant came to me, and told me why we’d been failing.” He leaned forward, “Ruthless, your wife isn’t dead.”

A very loud silence fell as the violetblood’s face went slack with disbelief. “… She…?” He tried to speak, his voice faint. Slowly, he began to shake his head. “No, no, that can’t be right! She died in my arms! I watched-”

Musrio held up a hand to stop him. “I’m not denying that she died. She did. Ribbit. But she came back, long before I ever even hatched. She’s a rainbow drinker, Ruthless, and she’s waiting for us, somewhere.”

Ruthless sat back in his seat, before he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands as he digested this. His fins began to flare, before they drooped, only to hesitantly flutter upwards again. Incoding and Innocent each put a comforting hand on his shoulders as he digested this.

For a minute, Musrio honestly thought the seadweller was going to cry. At last, though, he took a deep breath and sat up again, running a hand over his face. “I…” he shook his head. “Okay. Sorry. Okay. My wife’s alive.” His voice cracked, “Where is she?”

At that, Musrio could only shake his head. “I don’t know. She could be anywhere on Alternia- for all I know, she could be off-world. We need to plan, to-”

“To what? We can’t possibly sweep the entire planet for her.” Incoding interjected.

“I know that.” Musrio huffed, “But we need some place to start.” He turned to Ruthless, “Think, Deepbite. There must be a place the two of you went to that she’d know you’d think of, or something. Ribbit.”

Ruthless frowned, brows furrowing in thought. “… No. The only places I could think of would be ‘er grave, or here. Most everythin’ ‘tween us happened on this tub.” He stamped his foot, and the ship responded with a creak. “An’ trust me, I’d know if she were here.”

Musrio swallowed the growl in his throat. “Well, then…” His gaze wandered the room, as if the answer would be scrawled on the walls. He turned to Deadscar, next. “What about you? You’ve been all over Alternia, have you seen anywhere that could be a rainbow drinker’s hideout? Ribbit?”

The Wanderer considered it for a moment, before he shook his head. “That is too vague a question. I have seen hundreds of places where it would be easy for a rainbow drinker to dwell.” He rumbled.

Musrio reached up and fiddled with his necklace, thinking. Looking over the gathered trolls again, his gaze landed on his own ancestor, the Decaying Mind. Brigan was staring fixatedly at him.

“… You know, don’t you?” Musrio asked him.

He nodded.

“What?” Ruthless rounded on the older rustblood, “How?”

Musrio sighed. “Brigan saw all of this happen before it even occurred, when he was caught between life and death. Ribbit. It destroyed most of his mind, which is why I gave him his title.” He explained.

“Rotted, totted, off to the maggots.” Brigan hummed, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Then tell us, Bri.” Incoding took his matesprit’s hand, squeezing it gently, “Where is Lucina?”

Brigan looked up at him, squinting at the goldblood’s face. “Oh, Cody…” he sighed, making Incoding start in surprise.

“Where is she, Almawt?” Ruthless repeated, more forcefully.

Brigan began to sway, his lips pursed. Slowly, he scowled. “Words, words, words. Rotten like my pan, spilling black ink on black paper. Leviathan drowned by wolf, heralded by scorpion, stealing my lexicon. Incomprehensible, even to the Ebonblack.” He said, sounding frustrated.

“… What?” Innocent asked.

That was when Ashhur suddenly stood up. He walked around the table to face Decaying, leaning towards him. “Incomprehensible, against the Ebonblack.” He chirred, “Scrambled eggs in fried pan. Indigestible for gods. Poison. Use it.”

“Brat, what’re you doin’?” Hounding growled. Ruthless shushed him, as Decaying fixed his gaze on the young mutant.

Ashhur made several clicks and hums, all four eyes blinking out of sync. “The raining bows sipper is…” more clicks, “hiding. You know?” He asked.

Decaying nodded, enthralled. “I know.” He agreed, a look of hopeful wonder on his face as he stared at Ashhur.

“Where do you know?”

“Where do I know…” Decaying repeated, scratching his stubbly cheek. He opened his mouth and shut it several times. “The monster.” He said at last, seeming pleased with himself. He pointed at Ashhur, “Monster to monster, water to sand. No- no water, but the sapphire eye, guarding to the metal serpent. Beast of thirst, watching beast of slake, guarded by beast of bone. You know?”

All of Ashhur’s fins waved, almost hypnotically, as he thought this over, Decaying leaning forward with anticipation. Finally, Ashhur turned to Hounding. “What call you, the place of sand with no water?”

“The desert?” Hounding raised an eyebrow.

Decaying slapped his free hand onto the table, shook it out, and pointed at Hounding, nodding emphatically. “Desert, dessert, sweetness in sugar sand and gritted gold.” He turned to Ruthless. “Therein lies the where I know, what I know, who is known. Follow the screaming serpent’s trail, into the red, and find the corpse of lifeless gods.” He said, as if that was both comprehensible and important.

“Cody?” Ruthless turned to his morail, hoping for a translation.

“The hound of war lies in the desert.” Ashhur spoke instead, “Guarded by a beast, of one kind or many.”

“Okay… what’s a screaming serpent?” Incoding inquired.

Ashhur looked to Decaying.

“Metal, screaming, scuttling upon legs of centipede, but a serpent none the less.”

“Oh- a trackscuttler.” Incoding realized. He glanced at Ashhur, impressed. “How did you… manage to make him do that?”

Ashhur shrugged. “He cannot speak the way his pan speaks. I am,” he hesitated, clicking to himself, “broken worded, with your tongue. Broken tongue,” He pointed at himself, “broken thinkpan.” He pointed at Decaying, “Together, we make the words.”

“Well, then...” Innocent signed, “We head to the desert, and follow the trackscuttler trail.”

“All of us? That seems… like a bad idea.” Incoding frowned, “We don’t know where in the desert she is, or even which desert. The supplies alone would be a huge burden, and-”

“Then I’ll go.” Deadscar interrupted shortly. He rose to his feet, “I have crossed many deserts. I can search on my own.”

“Now, hang on.” Hounding squinted at Ishran, “Why the hell are ya goin’? I’m the tracker; my name is the Messiah’s damned Houndin’, after all.”

As one, the entire table turned to look at him. “... Why are you here, even?” Innocent inquired, “Last I checked, you weren’t on our side.”

Hounding nodded to Musrio. “The scumblood told me I aught’a come. Said I could get away from Godric.”

“I thought Godric was your boss.” Innocent pointed out, “He is the one that set you on us in the first place. Why would you want to get away from him?”

Hounding eyed the limeblood reproachfully. “Name one laborer that actually likes their foreman, sewerblood, an’ I’ll hang up my ax. Motherfucker pays me ta clean up his messes, but that doesn’t mean I want ta do it. The jobs the church gives me are more important than offin’ off some bitchblood with a big mouth.”

“...”

All the other adults gave each other a look.

Musrio shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Hounding is no longer the bigger threat here. We have Oliver, and the Enforcer to worry about. Ancient animosities have to be set aside. Ribbit.”

“It’s true…” Incoding said thoughtfully, before he snorted a laugh and turned to Hounding, “You’re basic, big guy. You’re season one’s villain.”

Hounding growled at him. “I could still rip ya in half right now, pissblood.”

“An’ ye’d get a bullet in the eye fer it.” Ruthless hissed.

“Stop.” Musrio said sharply, “Now isn’t the time.”

“Aye.” Ruthless agreed, looking around. “But it’s decided, then? Ishran’ll head fer the desert ta search fer Lucina. When ‘e finds her, we’ll come a’runnin’.”

The others nodded.

Ishran turned towards the door. “No point in wasting time. I will leave now.”

“Already?” Innocent asked, surprised.

Ishran looked towards his former charge, his expression momentarily softening. “Yes. I will be in touch.” He said, before striding out the door.

With that, Musrio rose to his feet, before he bowed to the gathered ancestors. “You have my thanks, all of you, for hearing me out. And… I’m sorry, for all of this. If it was my choice, I would have left your souls to rest. Ribbit.”

The gathering broke up, then, Hounding and Ashhur leaving promptly after. Musrio stood on the deck of the Warshark, texting Drayco as the three morails chatted nearby. The young rustblood looked up as a hand touched his shoulder.

“Puzzle to puzzle, pieces to rest.” Decaying murmured, coming to stand beside him. He looked up at the moons; they were full and fat that night, bathing everything in silvery purple and green. “Connected, all of them, until the picture is made blurry by the buried secrets. Clicked together, string to thumbtack, followed by the puppet wires, until they all tie behind the boy with demons in his blood and gods in his brain.”

He looked down at Musrio again, an unreadable expression in his eyes as he gazed intensely at his descendant. “The line will be blurred, paint will spill, but painters spared. Follow the lines, balance, tight-rope walking, but let ashen feathers run amok. Flames consume breath until redemption breaks the puzzle. The bane of worlds and innocent constellations will be the salvation of us all.”

He squeezed Musrio’s shoulder, before he wandered away, leaving the young rustblood to contemplate the oncoming events.