#when i tell you about the iron clad grip this old man had on me

[gamer199]

old silco concept sketches (2022)

[tobiotetsu]

strays

chapter eight: play dead

pairing: Tojixf!reader, ft Naoya

genre: angst, 18+, NSFW, age gap, cheating, a teaspoon of fluff

summary: In the jujutsu world, they hate to see a woman thrive. They’d do anything to tie her down to marriage to make her incapable of succeeding. So when the Zen’in clan see a woman associated with their rival clan, the Gojo’s, have a successful young  jujutsu sorcerer capable of creating change in their wicked society, they try to break her down. Unfortunately for the Zen’in’s, their very own stray has his sights set on her.

word count: 4.2k

warnings for this chapter: !TW! major character injury, blood, graphic violence, strangulation, physical abuse (naoya cuts you with glass), sexual harassment, mentions of death, profanity, grammar errors [pls inform me if i forgot any!]

a/n:  there’s a lot of violence to the reader in this chapter so if you are uncomfortable pls don’t read:( hectic chapter ahead! reblogs are appreciated<3 (art creds@ jj59u on twitter!)

previous ♕ masterlist ♕ next

People don’t think about the consequences when doing something wrong. A child doesn’t think of their mom’s scoldings while they scale their refrigerator to reach the cookie jar. They only think about the delicious treat that is about to be in their hands. That was exactly how you felt.

Toji was your drug, and you weren’t thinking of the repercussions of your addiction nearly as much as you should have.

“What, cat got your tongue?” Naoya says as he continues to lean on the wall. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest and his head was faced in your direction. Amusement was the emotion that covered his face but you could tell that it simply was a veil concealing his true feelings.

anger

“You had a lot to say to Megumi a few minutes ago,” He teases as your tongue struggled to form words. There was nothing you could say to save yourself in this situation. You attempt to walk past him but were instantly halted. His hand roughly gripped your wrist, similar to how he held you the first time you met him.

“Let go of me, Naoya! I have to talk to Megumi” you tried to wiggle out of his clutches but, his hold was concrete.

“No no, now you’re talking to me” he sneers as he pushes your body harshly into the wall. Naoya was not nearly as strong as Toji but his speed and agility made up for it. He cages you into between his arms as he has an iron-clad grip on both your wrists. “So how long have you been fucking Toji-Kun?”

“Fuck you Noaya!” you spit back.  

Your aggravations seem to make him more excited as a sinister smile appears on his lips. “Oh come on now, why are you acting like I’m the one who cheated? You’re the whore who slept with my dear old cousin,”

“Why are you acting like I had a fucking choice in this marriage Naoya. You blackmailed me into being your bride!” you shout back at him with all the frustration that has been building up in you since the beginning of the night.

“Clearly you’re too much of a stupid bitch to even do what you’re told.” You wince as his grip tightens around your wrists. You weren’t weak. You trained your ass off at times to catch up with everyone around you. But for some reason, the Zen’ins were your kryptonite. As hard as you tried, you never could win against them.

“I guess you don’t really care about your students if you’re risking their lives over some cock?” he breathed out as he looked down on you before laughing. “Some fucking teacher you are.”

It stung knowing how a vile person like Naoya thought you were on par him.

“I do care about them” you scream as your arms thrashed in Noayas grasp. They slightly came off the wall but, were quickly slammed back by the man towering over you.

“No you don’t, if you did you would have never fucked the kid’s dad. You’re just a selfish whore who wanted to get her cunt stuffed.” His words had grown more venomous as he continued. You didn’t want to admit it but, there was partial truth in his declarations. You weren't the best teacher at the moment. Naoya’s eyes grew brighter as he saw yours grow dimmer.

“Stop it” you snap your head to the side as you try to hold yourself together.

“Say, if you just wanted some cock, you should have just asked.” Naoya’s menacing smile spread as he moves to press his knee in between your legs but before he could, your body moved on its own. You slam your head forward with as much force as you could muster to connect with Noaya’s nose, which caused him to release you and stumble backwards.

Your head throbbed as you try to regain your balance back from your disturbed state. When you looked up, you were pleased to see Noaya’s nose clearly broken as blood ran down his chin. You chuckle at the sight.

“You’ll never be half as good as him” you hiss as you stand hunched over with your hands on your knees. You look back up at him, pleased to see his vexed expression. “Never in a million fucking yea-”.

Before you could finish your taunting, a hard hand clutched your throat faster than you could blink. Naoya was fuming. His eyes looked ice-cold and his previous sinister smirk was replaced with a firm scowl.

Naoya always looked up to Toji in a twisted way. He preyed on the weak but was amazed to see how Toji was the opposite. But he also compared himself to Toji. Years of yearning to match his calibre, his strength and his power. Years of feeling lesser than his cousin who had zero cursed energy were brought out and targeted you.

Your feet barely grazed the ground as Naoya held you by the neck as he sped down to the end of the hallway. You knew you had reached the end as your body made contact with a glass mirror, which shattered at the force of how Naoya pushed you. The back of your head felt wet and you could taste iron at the back of your throat.

“I don’t want his sloppy seconds anyways.” he seethed out of his teeth as he squeezed harder on your throat. Your hands pawed at his hold but ultimately did nothing as he squatted them away. “You were nothing more as a dog and you’ll die that way too.

Every word Naoya spoke was accompanied by a push future into the shattered mirror. You let out a choked cry as you felt the shards of glass piercing your skin. Your feet thrashed against his body for some type of platform to rest on but failed as he stepped further away from your legs. You knew you weren’t going to make it longer if he kept his hold on you. Your mind scattered trying to find another way out of this mess, but the only thing you could think of was your mother.

You were thinking about the only good memory you had of her. It played in your mind like a movie. You were maybe five or six, too young for this world of hatred. Your mother never truly showed any positive emotion towards you, except for this one day. You must have been playing outside or somewhere you weren’t supposed to judging by the reaction your mother gave you as you came home wailing with a small cut on your chin. Her scolding made you cry even harder but the part you distinctively remember was her scooping you in her arms and tending to your wound.

“Don’t get scars on your face, no one will marry you,” she said as she cleaned up your bloody chin as you sat in her lap. Now thinking about it, her words were sexist and awful but, her actions that day were what brought warmth to your heart. It was the only moment that you felt as if your mother loved you.

Why were you remembering that moment out of everything now? Was this what they meant when they mean your life flashes before your eyes?

Naoya’s words were what tore through your memories and brought you back to the agonizing present.

“Bet you asked him about about the scar” Naoya chuckled as he tilted his head to the side to look at your crumpling figure. “The scar's a big hit with the sluts like you, huh?”.

You couldn’t even form thoughts as the pressure increased around your throat. Your trachea was bound to be crushed.

“I’ll put you in the same room where he got the damn thing.” his sinister smile reappeared as his eyes lingered behind you, looking at the shattered mirror. Using his free hand, he grabbed a large shard of glass and brought it in front of your face. “But first, let me give you one to match and then I’ll go for Maki and Megumi next”

The lack of oxygen that your lungs hadn’t received in the last few minutes had started to show its effects as black spots spread across your vision and your hearing started to muffle. You didn't fully understand Naoya’s words before he took action. He pressed the shard of glass above the left corner of your lip which ripped a scream from your lungs. Tears spill from your eyes as you felt your skin tear due to the pressure Naoya held behind the shard.

Your body finally reached its limit. Your legs stopped thrashing and your arms stopped flailing. A warm sensation washed over your body as you accepted your demise. At this moment, you didn’t really care to think about yourself. Sure there were so many things you could have accomplished.

You could have become a well-known woman in the jujutsu world or travelled more but, that wasn’t what you were going to miss. All you could think of was Maki and Megumi. If they were safe and what Naoya would do to them. You wanted to see them become grade 1 sorcerers and reak havoc on the Zen’in clan. You wanted to see Megumi and Toji together. You wanted to see Toji help Maki. You wanted to lay in bed with Toji and see him smile.

You wanted so many things and if that was what made you selfish, so be it. You were selfish, although it wasn’t for your success, but for others.

You couldn’t feel anything anymore, even as your body fell to the floor. Either Naoya’s hold on your throat must have been released or you were dead. You couldn’t tell anymore. All you felt was the cool floor on the side of your face as you laid on the ground. Your sight was both disturbed by black dots and clouded by tears as you tried to see where you were. 

You could see a blur of two black forms. One gripped the other by the throat before throwing them on the ground. Your eyelids grew heavy as you struggled to keep them open. You didn’t even open them as someone pulled you off of the ground and into their arms.

“Hey y/n, wake up!” a voice came from above you as they gently patted your face. Your eyes opened to deep emerald ones that would never dull, even in your deteriorating state. You want to reach up and touch his face, but your arms wouldn't listen to your command.

“Need you to stay awake for me, okay?” Toji said as he wrapped your head with a soft material. He gathered your crumpled figure in his arms and made his way through the hallways. You protest, attempting to move away from him as you weren’t the one who needed help in your mind.

“Maki, Megumi” you slur as your head lolls back and forth at the pace of Tojis running.

“What?” he says confused as he trades glances from navigating the hallways to get out the estate to your face.

“Noaya’s...hurt Maki and Megumi...if didn’t marry.” your sentences couldn’t form the way you intended, but you hoped Toji would find them.

Toji stopped for a moment and looked at you with his eyebrows pinched together. His mouth fell agape and looked at you with an emotion you couldn’t quite detect.

“Stupid girl” he muttered before resuming running out of the estate and onto the street.

You felt tired. You felt your body going fully limp. You just wanted to go to sleep.

“Hey, eyes open y/n! We’re almost there” Toji shook your body in his arms to wake you up. You tried to keep them open but you were just so tired.

“Hey, ask me one of your stupid questions!” he said with a smile as he looked down at you. “Come on sweetheart.” you never thought you’d hear the day Fushiguro Toji would demand you to ask him a question. You really must be dying.

“I hate alcohol, can’t feel shit from it.” he starts off, hoping that it would keep you awake. “Used to gamble, lost more than I ever made”

Toji could see his attempts to keep you awake were failing. He wasn’t sure how long it would take him to get you to a hospital but he had to try to keep you awake and responsive.

“y/n” your eyes held open for a moment as your name rolled off of Toji’s tongue. “Wanna know why I came back?”

Now, this piqued your interest enough to help you fight your aching state.

“Visitn’ someone” you manage you get out as you stare up at the man holding you in his arms.

He lets out a deep laugh and nods. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.” Toji’s eyes scan rapidly around buildings in hopes of finding one with a red cross decorating it. Luckily, he found one but, it seemed to be quite some distance away. He could make it in ten minutes if he ran but, he doubted you could wait that long. Your face was paler than normal and you were losing a lot of blood. He doubted that his sweater was enough to stop your head from bleeding but he had to try.

He resumed indulging you as he ran in the direction of the hospital.

“Two months ago, heard Megumi's teacher was marryin’ Noaya.” You wish you were able to at least react to the words coming out of Toji’s mouth. “Last thing I wanted was the brat’s teacher being sucked into this fuckin’ clan. So I came to stop it, for Megumi.”

He took a moment to look down at you. You wish you could respond, speak, move but all you could do was look at up him with droopy eyes that were about to shut any second. Toji let out a deep breath before looking back up to the street in front of him and continued to speak.

“I came to break you and Naoya up, then leave. That was the plan from the start and then you fucking ran into me like an idiot. You made me care about you and your damn strays. ” you had no clue what he was talking about, but you were content with his words.

After over a month of asking, you finally got your answer.

The words Toji said after that didn’t make any sense, as your hearing started to give out. Words were scattered in your ears. 

“please”

“eyes” 

“stay”

“need”

“fuck”

“y/n!”

 You wanted to hear his words more than life itself but, maybe that was simply why you couldn’t: your life was slipping through your fingers. You felt the wound on your head worsen and your throat tighten. You were shivering as Toji carried you through the Tokyo streets at midnight, but you found warmth against his chest. It reminded you of this morning and all you wanted was to be engulfed by that warmth once again. Just one more time.

So, you placed your head against his chest, closed your eyes and listened to his heartbeat speed up as yours slowed down.

You stopped responding to Toji five minutes ago, closed your eyes three minutes ago and went limp in his arms two minutes ago. He didn’t know if you were still alive and it felt as if a knife was plunged into his chest. He ran shouting into the hospital as if he was a mad man, begging for someone to take a look at you. He handed your cold body to two nurses and a doctor.

“What happened to her?” one of the nurses asked Toji but all he could focus on was you. The other nurse used his stethoscope in hopes of finding a heartbeat.

“Sir! What’s her name?” The doctor asked as he grabbed your wrist to find a pulse faster. But Toji hadn’t listened to a word the man said as he eyed your body to find any source of life.

“Is she alive?” he shouted over the frantic voices around you. The doctor seemed to have found a faint heartbeat before nodding. “Barely, get her to operating room two. We have to go now.”

Before leaving with you, the doctor looked at Toji with sympathy in his eyes. “We’re going to do everything to save your wife, sir, I need you to talk to a nurse and fill out some forms.”

Toji watched as they rolled your body down the hall on a gurney. He let out a breath that he’d been holding in since you closed your eyes. The doctor’s words ring through his ears as he stares down the hospital’s corridor.

“We’re going to do everything to save your wife”

Somehow those words managed to find him once again in this lifetime. It was twice now that he was told that by a doctor who was trying to save the women he loved.

It was because he loved them. You were fighting for your life because of Toji. Before he knew it his fist met the wall of the hallway. His knuckles were flesh red when he withdrew them to run his hands through his hair. He let out a frustrated sigh as he slumped to the ground and held his head in his hands. He was stupid to believe that you wouldn’t end up like the rest of them.

Every other person in his life whom he cared for, paid the price one way or another.

It’s been two hours since you entered the Operating Room. Toji remained in the same place he was when he left you. He was leaning against the wall of the hallway as he twirled his phone between his thumb and middle finger.

From the moment he pulled out his phone to call Gojo, all Toji could think about was your teasing. He owned a 2005 Nokia 6101 flip phone. You would say the thing was ‘ugly as fuck and as heavy as a brick’ and then urge him to get a phone that wasn't as old as his son. A smile appeared on his lips as he watched the black and silver phone twirl.

It wasn’t a playful smirk or a sarcastic grin, only a simple smile.

But it quickly disappeared as he heard footsteps rush down the hallway. Before Toji could look up from the floor, Gojo's fits grabbed his shirt and pulled him towards the tall white-haired man.

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Gojo was ready to massacre Toji. He was livid and rightfully so, in his mind. All the information Toji gave Gojo was that you were in surgery and in which hospital. Toji shoved Gojo’s hands off his shirt and hissed back. “It was Noaya”

Confused, Satoru’s eyebrows raised and titled his head slightly to one side. This wasn’t a conversion Toji was looking forward to.

“Naoya found out she was sleepin’ with me,” Toji said flatly as he waited for Gojo's over exaggerations to appear.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” He couldn’t believe the words coming out of Toji’s mouth. After Toji's lack of change of emotion Gojo began to shout. “HUHH, But she's getting married?”

“She’s getting blackmailed. Naoya said he’d hurt Megumi and Maki if she didn’t go through with the whole thing.”

“I’m gonna kill him” Gojo grunted out as he ran a hand through his ivory hair.

“Get in the fucking line” Toji responded as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you know where they are? Megumi and the Maki girl?”

“I’m not sure where Maki is but, Megumi’s on his way here.” Toji hummed at Gojo’s words. He probably should leave before the kid saw him.

“She’s going to be okay,” Gojo said as he attempted to comfort Toji. “She doesn’t give up easy, been through hell and back.”

All Toji could muster was a nod as he excused himself from Gojo's presence. “Got business to handle” was all that was said from Toji but it was clear as day that the business was connected to Naoya.

“Hey” Gojo shouted from the man walking away from him. Toji stopped walking and turned back to Gojo awaiting the explanation for his delay.

“You love her?” Gojo asked as held both his hands in his front pant pockets.

Toji never let himself soften. Never with Gojo out of all people. So seeing Toji’s eyes grow soft at his question gave him more than Toji's words ever could.

“Fuck off, six eyes” clearly annoyed with Gojo's words, Toji makes his way down the corridor. Naoya was on his mind. He was going to slaughter him. Crush his windpipe like he did yours and cut every inch of his skin with a dirty shard of glass. Just thinking about him made Toji's blood boil.

But Toji’s mind also lingered on you. How he was the only one to blame for your current battered state. He knew that the only actions the Zen’in clan would take to resolve their issues were violence, but he still chose to get close to you.

It was his fault.

Toji made his way to the exit of the hospital but was stopped as he saw his son running towards him or rather towards the building behind him.

He didn’t know what to say to Megumi, He never did. every single time he saw the kid, it was Megumi who instigated the conversation.

“Where’s Maki?” Toji shouted at Megumi who was still quite some distance from him. Confused by the question, Megumi scrunches his brows together but nevertheless answers the question.

“She’s on her way here.”

Good. They were safe for now. He knew how much your students meant to you. They were the first thing you managed to say even with your windpipe crushed.

“Get inside and find Gojo, stay together. Don’t wander.” Toji commanded before resuming his walking.

“Why? Why do you care?” Megumi shot back as anger flowed through his words.

“Naoya blackmailed y/n into marryin’ him. He threatened to hurt you and Ogi’s kid if she refused.” Toji said as he looked at the ground with his hands in his pockets.

Megumi looked as if he saw a ghost. His face was pale and his eyes were wide in shock. All the anger that was pumping through his veins were replaced with sorrow. He brought his hands up to his face as he mutters words cursing himself.

“I called her selfish” Megumi said as he let out a small sigh. His eyes grew glassy with tears as he looked at his father. “It’s all my fault, I was screaming and I didn’t care if anyone heard. I saw Naoya there and I left her with him”

So that must have been how Naoya found out. Toji’s emotions were heightened and he was feeling everything at this moment. Anger, resentment, pain, agony, adrenaline. But the boy in front of him didn’t need another thing to worry about.

Things were better before he came back.

Toji made his way to his son and briefly laid his hand on his shoulder.

“‘s not your fault,” Toji said to Megumi as he looked into his eyes. An identical set of eyes stared at each other. One was full of tears and bloodshot as the other was dark and hard. “’s mine”.

Toji resumed walking away from the hospital and from his son but was halted when he heard Megumi's broken voice.

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” Toji didn’t have to turn around to know what expression was on Megumi's face. He hung his head down, which gave Megumi the answer that he already knew.

“She’d want to see you when she wakes up.” Toji could hear the strain in Megumi's voice.

If, was what Toji wanted to say. If she wakes up. Because if she doesn’t, he’d be looking down at another dead person he cared about. Another person that suffered for being with him. He couldn’t face that reality again. Chaos followed everywhere he went, and for a moment you helped him forget that. But now he remembered as clear as day; this was why he left Megumi in the first place. Because the people be cared about were better off without him.

Toji stared at his bloodstained hands. He did this to you. All he could see was the blood of everyone he cared about. Megumi's mother, his ex-wife and now you.

Life had given him another blessing but once again, he chose to leave them. Toji believed he didn’t deserve blessings of any form. how could he?

And so Toji left, he left Tokyo that night not knowing if you were still breathing. But if by chance you were, he knew you’d live longer without him by your side.

Megumi watched his father walk away from the hospital. It was as if his last words to you had manifested into reality.

Toji did leave you, just like he left Megumi.

[ tag list: @onigirizoe @meepmoop12w @okkotsoo @juliescorner @godsentkita @bokutoast @jibe-gajima @ifuckinghatepineapples @supermissilekidd @cursedmoonchild @evans-dejong @shigaraki-is-my-master @natqhly @big-simp-energy @rinrinfoxy @fuwushiguro @seijohoe @avocad0toasted @miyaniacs @ephemeralfics @balmasedas @suguruswaifu @kyomihann @ariesfic @pyyramidhead ]

unable to tag bolded blogs<\3

[kuromantic]

Tales of Zombish: Haikyuu Light Novel Translation

*This is my translation of the Zombie Knight Zombish snippets from the light novel. It’s split into 5 parts, and inserted between each chapter of the light novel. Don’t copy this to another site. The translation is under the cut!

Zombie Knight Zombish

 1: Zombish is Born!!

Nightfall. A lone swordsman wakes up. A swordsman that does not know of true death, because of experiencing a false death. 

“...Wait, it’s still evening, you stupid crow!” 

The man yells at the small crow beside him, having just woken up by a thin bush. The man’s body was wrapped up in an old, tattered cloth—which must have been a cloak some time ago—which covered his entire body. 

“I could have gotten burned by the setting sun…” The man blocks out the sunlight with the tattered cloth, and the crow caws apologetically. 

“Well, it’s okay. I don’t even have a body that can be burned.” 

The man laughs, and the crow flaps its black wings, flying ahead up into the sky. The man follows it with his gaze, squinting at the brightness. He stands up. 

“Oh, well. Guess I’ll go.” 

The man starts to walk. His frame was thin and delicate, which could be seen even when it was covered with the tattered cloth. And on his back, was a sword. 

The sword, which is large enough to not be recognized as one at first glance, does not suit the lean man. 

“Man, I wonder if a car will pass by… Eh, I guess no sane person would have gasoline now.” 

There’s no road where the man looks ahead. 

In the dead world where smokey, dried up wastelands stretch out for seemingly forever, the man continues to walk alone today.

“Yeah, isn’t this good? Isn’t this good? It sounds like the story’s just begun, right?” 

The rookie mangaka, Udai Tenma, stands up with an excited face and gets another drink from the self-service fountains. He returns to his table with a glass of cola in his hand. He continues working on his storyboard. 

The only equipment on the table is a notebook, a pencil and an eraser. On the open page, there are scribbles that nobody else could decipher. It’s the storyboard Udai made with all his effort. 

I wanna try and make a manga. I like it. With that, Udai had drawn a manga during his college years. And it had won an honourable mention in the rookie awards. He had gotten an editor and debuted as a mangaka. But the reality was, he wasn’t quite reaching serialization. 

But now, “Zombie Knight Zombish”, is being created in the restaurant. And there’s a confidence that hasn’t been there before. 

“‘Everything but death is nothing but a scratch’? He needs to get over himself… No, maybe ‘Mortal bodies, they make me jealous.’...” 

Udai mumbles dialogues to himself, changing his expressions to suit the main character’s. The other customers at the restaurant glance at him. 

But he can’t afford to care about those gazes.

Zombish needs to help the heroine attacked by the enemy, in an extremely cool and overdramatic manner. 

And the enemy has to be a fated opponent that Zombish has known before turning into a zombie. The heroine needs to be a key person, for Zombish to return from zombie to human. And of course, she needs to be cute, a little strong-willed, who tries to join in on the fighting sometimes. But also a girl who you just want to protect…

A flash. 

The girl’s eyes can only capture the white hand, emerging from the tattered cloth and gripping the sword on his back. 

She feels wind brush past her cheeks, and closes her eyes. She opens them again, and the bandits have already collapsed onto the dry ground. 

“Huh? What…?” 

As the girl struggles to comprehend what had happened, Zombish is already starting to walk away. 

“Hey, don’t leave me behind!” 

She grabs the knight. At that moment, the tattered cloth on him rips and falls to the ground. 

What appears is not the handsome knight she expected. Nor a fighter that’s big and well-muscled. It’s a skeleton. 

“...Wait, bone?! Why bone! Bone? Wait, do bones even talk?!” 

“Yeah, I’m bone! So sorry I’m bone, sue me!” 

The knight picks up the truly tattered piece of rag, and hides his body. It truly looks like a skeletal model. He turns his back to the girl. 

“Anyway, I’m bone. So I can’t go with you. Protect yourself, you’re on your own.” 

The “bone”, that had slain a crowd of bandits instantly, tries to walk away from one single girl, as if to escape from her. 

Staring at Zombish’s lanky, weak-looking back and the huge sword on it, the girl shouts over at him. 

“Hey, bone! Can you eat?” 

Zombish turns around, lifts the tattered cloth, and points around his stomach with a laugh. 

“You wanna see me eat? It’s hilarious.” 

“If you don’t eat… That means I don’t have to share my food or water with you, right?”

“Huh?” 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re bone or not, if you can defeat these guys. You’re pretty strong.” The girl points to the iron-clad, muscular bandit with a mohawk. “And I should sew that cloth I ripped back together…” 

Zombish laughs, his hard skull distorting a little. “I’m not strong. Those guys are just small fries. But I guess I’ll have you fix this cloth for me.” 

At those words, the girl runs up to him. 

In the dried-up world of death, two footsteps mark their paths. Up above in the sky, a crow flies around in circles. As if to watch over them. 

Zombish’s journey has just started!! 

“I wonder what my editor will say…” 

 The man, once the “Little Giant”, leaves the restaurant and returns home. And without changing his clothes, collapses into his futon for the first time in a while.

2. VS Editor A!! 

“Zombies aren’t usually skeletons, right?” Akaashi Keiji opens his heavy mouth, holding his coffee in one hand. It makes Akaashi heavy-hearted to meddle with a work an author brought to him. 

Kanda, Chiyoda City, Tokyo. 

In the editorial department of Weekly Shonen Vie, there’s an extreme lack of people in the afternoon. 

The rookie mangaka, Udai Tenma, freezes momentarily in the meeting space. And he attempts to brush it off with a laugh. 

“Yeah, I thought, ‘Is a skeleton okay?’ for a bit. But maybe a Japanese-style zombie would be new, and I thought I could pull it off. We all get cremated in Japan, too. Hahaha.” 

“I see.” 

Akaashi looks at the copy of “Zombie Knight Zombish” on the table, and Udai laughing in front of him. And he says one more time, with force behind his words. That this is the last time he’ll say this, and he won’t say the same thing again. 

“Zombies aren’t usually skeletons, right.” 

The question mark had disappeared. 

It’s not a question, but a confirmation of fact. 

“...Yeah.” Udai replies weakly. He drops his shoulders, and bites the straw of his cola. 

 It’s tough. 

It had been his best work. He had a confidence in it, that he hadn’t before with his other works. But his concept had been fundamentally criticized. 

The editor continues talking to the crestfallen Udai. 

“And one more thing.” 

“...What is it?” 

Udai hunches his shoulders, looking up at Akaashi like a scolded child. Akaashi sips his coffee, adjusts his glasses and lets out a breath. He opens his mouth slowly. 

“We’ve established that a skeleton is not a zombie. But I think this skeleton’s design is a little lacking, in the first place. It’s no different to any old skeleton. For the main character, I want a quirk that will tell you it’s Zombish with just one look.” 

“Any old skeleton?” Udai says, and draws a normal-looking skeleton into his notebook. 

“Yes. For example, he could be wearing glasses, or he could have a large scar. I want a unique design. Even if you draw him simply, you would know it’s him. If I were to ask for more, I’d even say make his silhouette recognizable. That’s how strong his design should be.” 

Udai adds a scar to his skeleton, and mumbles, “I guess it can’t be a scar, if his silhouette has to be recognizable.” 

“The scar is just one example.” 

“I’m sorry…” 

Udai slurps the cola at the bottom of the glass, which is pretty much melted ice. He laughs disappointedly. 

“I thought the skeleton was fine, since he was cremated. Like a Japanese-style zombie. Well, there’s no zombie-ness, I guess…” 

At those words, Akaashi’s glasses shine. 

“Then… How about you make Zombish look more Japanese? It could link with his sword, too.” 

“What?” 

“Well, this is just one what-if scenario.” 

“...No, I think it could work. I’ll think about it! Then maybe he can look different from any old zombie!” Udai grabs his pen, and draws a Japanese-style zombie in his notebook. “If it’s Japanese clothes and a sword, he’d just be a samurai… How do I give him the zombie knight feeling…”

Watching the pen move busily and create many versions of Zombish, Akaashi feels a weight lift from his heart. 

It makes him heavy-hearted to meddle with other people’s works. But sometimes, his words make the author take a step in a good direction. That must be why he can continue with this job. 

“So now, please brush up on the work. And, depending on the edited manuscript, I may bring it up during the serialization meeting.” 

Udai’s pen stops moving. “Wait, why?! You’ve been talking about my work so harshly and tearing into it this whole time!” 

“...I haven’t been tearing into it. It’s entertaining, so I just want to make the story even more entertaining.” 

Udai’s face crumples, as he looks up at Akaashi. “Akaashi-san, you weren’t just an unpleasant person, after all!” 

“I’m an unpleasant person…?” 

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean it that way! I meant it in an um, good way!” 

Akaashi doesn’t ask what exactly he means by that, and organizes the manuscript. “Zombish is very entertaining, compared to the works you have brought me so far. I think you have a chance.” 

“Thank you!” 

“Oh, and lastly…” 

“There’s… still more?” Udai tenses. 

 Akaashi chuckles, before talking. “I’ve been thinking for a while, but this bit on the edge of the page, saying ‘Zombish’s journey has only just begun!’. You don’t need to write that. It’s the editor’s job.” 

“...!!”

4. Get Serialized!! 

It’s just past noon. Noticing that the phone is ringing, Udai reaches out from under the futon. He checks, and realizes it’s Akaashi. He gets out of the futon in a hurry, and answers. 

“You were asleep.” Akaashi says, in the same straightforward tone. 

“...I’m sorry.” 

“No, I’m sorry too. I’m going to get into it. Your one-shot is well-received.” 

At those words, Udai’s hand begins to sweat. He had been told to make a one-shot for the extra issue, and had made “Zombie Knight Zombish” with everything he’d got. 

He had changed Zombish’s design into a young man with patchwork skin, after Akaashi’s critique. He likes the way the bandages show around his collar. It can’t have been a skeleton, he thinks. It’s hard to relate to a skeleton. 

The “recognizable by silhouette” task had been cleared with the axe on his head. The zombie knight element was incorporated, by making him detach his left arm to wield his sword. Maybe they’ll make a movable figure out of the character. 

Above all, it was a work he’d been confident in. If it had still been absolutely hopeless, Udai wouldn’t have been able to recover from it. 

“Thank god…” Udai feels the tension drain out of him, and Akaashi continues. 

“And now, I would like to brush up Zombish to prepare for serialization.” 

“Of course! With pleasure!” Udai answers with gusto, almost like an izakaya employee. 

“Firstly, your heroine.” 

“Yes!” 

I should probably fix up the heroine a bit more, Udai thinks. Make her cuter, better… But Akaashi doesn’t steer the conversation in that direction. 

“In the one-shot, Zombish saves her, and they decide to go on a journey together, and it ends there.” 

“Huh? Oh, yes.” 

“If the one-shot will be chapter one, are they going to be travelling together in chapter two and beyond?” 

It’s not anything fun, like about making the heroine have a good figure or about how revealing her clothes should be. 

And really, Udai hadn’t been thinking what would happen once it got serialized. Well, he supposes it would be like what Akaashi just said. 

“Wouldn’t the readers grow bored of that?” As if to read Udai’s mind, Akaashi says. 

“What?” 

“The main character and the heroine go on a journey together the whole time, an enemy appears, he saves her, he defeats the enemy, and then moves on. And they continue like that until the final boss.” 

“Yeah…” 

“Wouldn’t that bore people?” 

Wait, am I getting given out to? 

No, he’d only been thinking of the one-shot as a base, so he hadn’t set anything beyond that in stone. He had only thought that leaving the readers hoping for more would be enough. 

“...Um, if it’s possible, I’d like to talk about this in person.” Udai says, wiping the sweat off his palms with his t-shirt. 

“All right. When are you free?” 

And so, in the editorial department the day after, the brainstorming session in the meeting space had continued for more than two hours. 

“So then, instead of a heroine that just keeps getting saved…” 

“She’d be like a buddy that also gives witty comebacks.” 

Udai draws a bunch of expressions for the female character. Flustered, angry, glaring… He stops his pen, and looks at Akaashi. 

“Then maybe Zombish will have a goofy side, instead of just being cool?” 

“But please don’t make it into a gag manga. Looking at the survey results, there are a lot of people saying that the manga is interesting because Zombish is cool.” Akaashi answers, looking at the survey chart. 

“I see… Balancing it out is hard.” Udai draws out a bunch of Zombish’s expressions in his notebook, and laughs. “But it’s fun. It feels like I’m making a manga.” 

“It’s good to hear that.” Akaashi smiles for a moment, and continues. “And also, about the enemy. Instead of them being a group of bandits in the harsh world, making them an organization would add depth to the story.” 

“Oh, maybe they’re the reason Zombish turned into a zombie?” 

“Sounds good.” 

Udai’s mood lifts from Akaashi’s acknowledgement, and opens up a page earlier on in his notebook. 

“Look here! The final boss is a fated opponent from before Zombish turned into a zombie. And the heroine is a key person for Zombish to turn back into a human. So I thought right now, maybe the heroine is the daughter of the final boss.” 

In contrast to the excited Udai, Akaashi lets out a low groan of uncertainty. 

“...So what, exactly, is Zombish fighting for?” 

“You always ask questions that can make the whole thing fall apart, Akaashi-san.” 

“Well, isn’t that the most important part?” 

Expanding ideas simple-mindedly is fun. The more he expands, picking up the pieces and making the story coherent will be hell, though. But knowing that, talking about final bosses and rivals is genuinely fun. 

“Secret hideouts are great, aren’t they?” 

“If they’ve taken over this world, isn’t there no need to keep it a secret? Something that would display their power…” 

“A castle!”

7. Secret Technique: Bolster Up! 

Just after serialization, the response had been very good. It had been. Udai had been in a good mood, asking “This will definitely be turned into an anime, right?” 

But now, it had gotten to a point where they couldn’t let it get any lower on the survey rankings. 

“........” 

“Are you okay?” Akaashi’s senior sees him with his head in his hands, and speaks to him. 

“...Oh, yes.” 

“It’s about Zombish, right? You should bolster it up with something. Like, with a pretty girl or a handsome guy,” the senior says. “Well, I don’t know.” He returns to his seat, after saying his part. 

“Bolster it up…” 

Akaashi’s brows knit together. 

Would that be enough? Could such a hasty, superficial solution entertain the readers? Well, the current results point to the fact that they’re not entertained. But even so, shouldn’t they be charming the audience with the protagonist’s appeal, or how interesting the story is? 

“The protagonist’s appeal, huh…” 

But what are the features of a protagonist that will be loved? 

What kind of story makes the readers want to come back for more? 

“.....” 

It would be the anticipation the readers have for the main character. What will happen next week? What will he show us next? Expectations as such. There must have been a lack of absolute protagonist strength, if he thinks about it. 

But that was the result of trying to create a dark fantasy, painting a delicate picture of emotions. Precisely because it was an absurd world with a zombie knight appearing in it. Was that what they had done wrong? Was it impossible for his literature department-aspiring self to make an entertaining manga, after all…?

After pondering for a long time, Akaashi lifts his head with a start. 

“....!” 

Wait a minute. 

Am I making the same mistake again? 

Am I thinking I could control the author and the readers? 

“...No. Pour your spirit into each ball, pour your spirit into each ball…” 

Yes. Focus on the next point, the next ball. Focus on this week’s story, the obstacle the protagonist must overcome. 

His desk becomes messier each day, as if to reflect inside his heart. Akaashi closes his eyes, and focuses his mental state. 

“Don’t think about what’s easy, think about what’s fun. What’s fun…” 

The survey rankings going down, getting discontinued isn’t fun. Then what is he meant to do…?

“Give feedback… Connect it to the next step… The next…” 

The seniors look at Akaashi worriedly, in front of the printer. 

“Akaashi is muttering to himself again, is he okay? He won’t quit, will he?” 

“He always comes back to life afterwards, you can leave him alone.” 

“Yep.”

“I want an absolute, strong main character.” Akaashi says to Udai, during their meeting. 

“Absolute?” 

“Yes. Like a star that hits any ball with his utmost ability.” 

“Am I going to get discontinued?!” 

Udai stands up with a clatter, face growing pale. Akaashi shakes his head quietly. 

“...Please calm down. It’s not getting discontinued, yet.” 

“...Yet…” Udai shrinks, and sits back down. 

“It’s a tough situation, but let’s turn things around.” 

They’re burning their bridges behind them. 

On the walls around the meeting space, there are many posters of works that had been turned into anime and movies. And the cardboard boxes blocking the corridor are packed with samples of goods. 

They have to join the ranks of those popular works, at all cost…!

Akaashi brings his gaze back to Udai, and starts to summarize the things he had thought about for the past week. 

“The main character… Zombish is a ‘star’. The readers have expectations for the star. What will he do next? What awesome moves will he show us? What kind of crazy risks will he take?

“We want the main character to amaze us with unexpected, yet charming actions. Whether Zombish sinks or swims will depend on how he overcomes next week’s desperate situation.” 

Akaashi lifts the paper bag on the floor. “And there’s a favour I want to ask from you.” 

“What’s this? I was wondering about it for a while.” The paper bag handed to him is unexpectedly heavy. Udai glances inside. “A blu-ray?” 

“Yes. I picked out swashbuckler films of all types, that have useful scenes for composition and pose references. At this point, we should take in anything cool and flashy.” 

“Thank you!”

“Also, it will be hard for you to watch it all, so I wrote the times for scenes I want you to watch.” Akaashi gives him a note. 

“I’ll definitely watch it! I’ll use them as references!” 

“I’ll do anything I can as well. Let’s both try our best.” 

There’s no way Akaashi can control what story the author will bring to him, what the other works will be like, how the readers will react. 

So, he should think about what he can do, what he should do. 

Avoiding discontinuation— it’s hard, but it shouldn’t be impossible.

10. Our fight has only just begun! 

“Zombish is getting discontinued… You have seven chapters left…” 

After getting the phone call informing him of the discontinuation, Udai had gone outside. Staying in his room felt too painful. But why, and how he’d come to the editing department, he doesn’t remember. 

Akaashi had been taken aback, after Udai had come without contacting him. But one look at his face, and he knew he couldn’t leave him by himself. And so he had taken him to a nearby coffee shop to talk to him. It was just his luck that he hadn’t gone outside the company. 

“Please order anything you like.” 

Akaashi gives the menu to Udai sitting opposite to him, but Udai drops it onto the table, not having enough energy to hold it. 

Akaashi pulls the menu closer to himself, trying not to show his shock. “Is coffee all right, then?” 

“........” 

There’s no answer, but Akaashi asks for two cups of coffee from the waiter. He chooses his words carefully, and begins to speak. 

“We had unfortunate results this time, but…” Akaashi continues, to the dejected Udai. “And as a suggestion from me…”

“........”

“I would like to get a fresh start with a new work. We should solidify the concept more for your next work, and compete with a work only you can make.” 

“Next…?” Udai raises his head at last, only to slam it back into the table. “There’s nothing! There’s no such thing that only I can make!” He lifts his crumpled face, and yells. 

“That’s not true. There must be something…”

“It is too! There’s nothing!”

Akaashi can only bite his lip, while his assigned author descends into total panic. 

What should he do…

He can’t just say “Bye, then,” and leave him feeling downcast. He had wanted to part ways with him in a positive manner, connecting him to the next step. That might just be his own ego talking, though.

“...I’m sure there’s a good theme for you. Is there anything you liked as a child, or something you put your heart into?” 

“I’m just a jack-of-all-trades, average guy. I’ve just gotten by in regards to study, sports, art and music…” 

When Udai had been in good form, he had preened about it, saying “I can do pretty much anything!”, but now he’s totally dejected. Well, that can’t be helped. He’s getting discontinued, after all. 

The only thing Akaashi can do, is to tell him his completely honest thoughts. 

“I don’t think a serialized author is just a jack-of-all-trades, average person.” 

“I’m not a serialized author anymore, I’m a discontinued author…”

At that moment, the waiter arrives. He shows a slightly intrigued face at Udai’s words, but immediately puts on his professional face and turns on his heels. 

Akaashi takes the cup, and inhales the aroma of coffee to calm himself down. He thinks. Maybe he should make some small talk, and change the mood. 

What should he talk about? Not about his work, or about what lays ahead. Then, about Udai himself? He wonders what he had talked about with him recently. What club had he joined in college? Where was he from? 

And he remembers. 

“Udai-san, you told me before that you’re from Tohoku. Were there any unusual traditions there? That you can write a manga about.” 

“...Yeah, I’m from Miyagi. But I lived in a normal estate, it was all pretty normal.” 

Udai says with a hoarse voice, and absentmindedly puts sugar cubes into his coffee. Many, many sugar cubes. Akaashi thinks he’s adding a bit too much, but there’s an atmosphere around them that makes him unable to say that. 

“Well, maybe where I live is in the middle of nowhere in the countryside, to you. You’re from Tokyo, after all.” 

“That’s not…”

Akaashi thinks that Udai is getting a little too dejected with him, but he can’t be blamed. “Zombie Knight Zombish” is Udai’s first serialization, and his first discontinuation. 

Food, sleep… Udai had sacrificed such human necessities, and yet his work had not been well-received. Of course he would be dejected. 

And as a new employee, “Zombie Knight Zombish” was Akaashi’s first work that he had launched from nothing. Due to being emotionally invested in it, Akaashi had felt deeply disappointed about the decision made for Zombish. 

Which is exactly why he had wanted to end it on a positive note. Surely there’s something in common with them, that they can talk about…

Akaashi, feeling cornered, opens his mouth. And starts to talk about something unexpected, even to himself.

“...Actually, I have someone I know in Miyagi. It was in relation to the club I was in during high school.” 

“I see.” 

Udai stirs his coffee with lifeless eyes, not picking up the conversation at all. He doesn’t even drink the coffee that is surely too sweet. 

“........” 

Of course. Someone else’s high school years is the most irrelevant subject to Udai right now. But really, what should he do? Telling someone they’re being discontinued, and thinking of what happens afterwards, is a first for Akaashi. And it’s a big job. He isn’t sure what the correct thing to do is. 

Akaashi falls silent, and Udai opens his mouth. “...What club were you in, during high school?”  He asks, not sounding that interested. It feels more like he asked out of obligation, because there was a break in the conversation. 

Akaashi feels regret, after realizing he’s made Udai read the room for him. But at the same time, he feels relieved that some of Udai’s energy has come back. 

“Volleyball.” 

“I see. I did volleyball, too.” Udai says. “During my years, we went to the Spring High nationals, too.” 

At those words, Akaashi places the coffee he had lifted back onto the table. 

“Oh, me… too.” 

“Really?! That’s amazing, Akaashi-san!” 

“No, you too.” 

And with a light premonition, Akaashi asks. “...Which school did you attend in Miyagi?” 

“It’s not a powerhouse, so I don’t know if you’d know…” Udai laughs, before answering. “It’s called Karasuno.”

Please look forward to Udai-sensei’s next work, “Meteo Attack”! 

[concussed-to-pieces]

Of Gorgons And Gardens

Fandom(s) : The Mandalorian and Prospect [2018]

Pairing: The Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader/Ezra

Rating: Holy shit uh. Explicit.

AN: That's right. I've done it. It's time for the sex pollen. This is a standalone that's not involved with either of my previous tales related to these fine boys, so we have a Death Watch-raised Mando that takes the Creed incredibly seriously and an Ezra that's well armed. Also I apologize for the constant viewpoint switches. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @hardcorewwetrash @helplessly-nonstop @lackofhonor @oloreaa @theocatkov @jackierey09 @zombiexbody @crookedmoonsaultpunk @pedrosbigdorkenergy @absurdthirst @culturalrebel

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For obligatory dubious consent due to sex pollen, as well as threesome activities, breeding kink and gratuitous bodily fluids. Stay safe!]

The quarry was named Ezra. Not that their name mattered, the chain code was freshly generated. The strangest part was that there had been no image attached to the puck. 

Din had tipped his helmet to the side, narrowing his eyes and tapping the bounty puck curiously. "Somethin' wrong with this?"

Karga shook his head. "No, he's just too slick for us to have any holorecords on him. Somebody from Bakhroma wants him alive."

Undocumented quarry was exceptionally rare, and not usually something that one requested a Mandalorian for. It indicated green prey, a first-time offender. "Bakhroma, huh? Pretty far out." He wasn't an idiot. There had to be a reason why Karga had offered him this one specifically.

"Guy apparently walked off with a majority of someone's aurelac pull. Typical floater squabble, but one of them ponied up the mining points for credits and asked for a certified, card-carryin' Mando." Karga had leaned back in the booth. "How's the kid?"

Din had just grunted noncommittally in reply, gloved fingers scooping the puck off the table. "I have to get back to the Crest."

…

"The target has been on Bakhroma relatively recently. Not sure if he was in the Green or not, but either way he'll probably be a walking biohazard." Mando muttered, turning his head towards you. "So you're staying put."

"Until something happens to you and I have to pull you out of the fire again." You retorted with a smirk. 

"Hey, that was one time." You knew he was narrowing his eyes, though you weren't quite sure how you knew. Something about the way he tilted his head ever so slightly to the right clued you in.

"You were full of nexu quills."

"One. Time." The Mandalorian growled. "I even said thank you."

"You sure did," You replied, laughing. "Right before you passed out!"

He palmed over the side of your head roughly. "Brat." His grumble was fond, softening the edge of the insult. "Promise me you'll stay on the Crest, Senaar, otherwise I'll ask Omera to take you and the kid for an extended sleepover."

"Fine, I promise." You relented, huffing in annoyance.

He tinkered with his charts for a moment, then tilted his head again. "Where did you go earlier? I got done with Karga hours ago. Couldn't find you."

You stiffened, abruptly absorbed in checking the fuel levels. "Oh you know. Around." You said breezily. 

"Well in the future, when you feel like going around, at least let me know so I don't think you've been abducted." Mando grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. 

"Aw, you're cute when you care!" You cooed, making him scoff and return to his control panel. 

…

In hindsight, he wasn't sure what he was more pissed off about. The fact that this Ezra character had led him on a wild fucking chase over half of a suspiciously verdant moon, or the fact that his brain had apparently decided to shift into overdrive regarding you. He couldn't get you off…

Get you off his mind, that is. Stars, he was so confused. 

He felt like he had been walking in circles for hours, the only noise the steady beep of the tracker. He was too hot. Thirsty. His armor was chafing like it never had before; it was less like an extension of his body and more like a too-tight skin he needed to shed. Din finally bent over, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. 

"You look like shit," drawled an unfamiliar voice while a set of knuckles rapped on the back of his helmet. Djarin jerked upright and immediately staggered, fumbling to grip a tree trunk for support. His vision swam uncertainly, and he blinked several times in an effort to clear it. 

The man in front of him was clad in a utilitarian suit that bore an unfamiliar logo, maybe a mining corporation. No duraplast or durasteel visible, no unnecessary frills, old-fashioned rubber gaskets to seal where glove met sleeve. Din's gaze traveled upwards, past the man's chest to his large domed helmet. He kept his motions deliberate. He had been caught off-guard by this man, but he wouldn't--

What?!

"I'll assume you're encroaching upon my solitude to haul my undesirable personage back into civilized spaces?" The man inquired after Din had taken several long seconds to try and understand what he was seeing. "For monetary compensation, if I had to hazard a guess. There are few lures that tempt a man so far out into the uncharted."

Why does he have my face? Sure, the scars were different. Different facial hair, different hairstyle, and a wild little tuft of blond sprang from amidst the dark locks at his hairline. But it was him. Same brown eyes, same nose, same mouth curving into an infuriatingly benign smirk. Djarin was struck with the sudden urge to punch him, his belly writhing.

"I take it the dust has you firm in its grip. A real pity, that. I'd love to sympathize, but regrettably I am at an advanced state of the same condition." The quarry gestured at his right arm, where a bloodstain blooming on the fabric of his suit indicated a loss of the integrity of said suit. "I'm Ezra, though I'm certain you're already well aware. And you?"

"Irrelevant." Din grated out, clumsy fingers fumbling to get his binders off his belt. 

"A man of action, excellent! I shall acquiesce, but only because being removed from this Centaurian mass is infinitely better than being confined to it." Ezra replied with a sage nod, extending his wrists. "Whither to, my recalcitrant steerforth?" 

"Be quiet." The Mandalorian grunted, his mind still reeling. How does he have my face? Then, a new, far more troubling thought occurred to him.

If he turned Ezra in, people would inadvertently know what he looked like. They wouldn't know, but they would know. What would that mean for him? For his dedication to the Creed? Did things like that count against him? Had something like this ever happened before?

"Tell me you, at the bare minimum, have functional transport?" Ezra asked after Din had relieved him of his blaster, sounding hopeful. It was so strange hearing his own voice with such an odd, imprecise cadence to it. The Mandalorian had worked for years to improve his Basic so that anyone and everyone would be able to understand him through the coarse modulator, though he still ended up sounding hitchy or curt most of the time. 

"How else would I have gotten here?" Din snapped, gesturing the other man forward with the encouragement of his own weapon.

At least now he knew how to get back to the Crest, thank the Maker for his helmet and the tracking protocols he had. Now, observing his previous path of forward motion, he realized with a jolt how much it wound back and forth. He had been walking in circles.

Since when did he lose his sense of direction? Even in unknown territory, he usually had a damn good idea of which end was up. That concerned him.

And on top of everything else, Ezra wouldn't shut the hell up.

"Be quiet." Din muttered for what seemed like the thousandth time. How long had they been walking? Probably his own fault. With how much his head was spinning, he didn't dare deviate from the winding trail he had left. Even if a straight path would have been miles quicker.

Ezra continued to drone, "a toilsome marathon of carnage, I assure-"

"I said, be fucking quiet." 

The target huffed out a breath, but obliged Djarin's terse demand for the moment. Din's head was pounding, his already short fuse shrinking with every word out of the talkative man's mouth. Was this the Maker's hysterically ironic way of compensating for how little a solitary Mandalorian would speak? Making a doppelganger that was ceaselessly chatty?

Din talked a lot more these days, between you and the kid. Maker, you. His head swam again and a low, guilty heat throbbed in his belly. You talking to him, the way your mouth moved around your words-

No. No, stop, he told himself sternly, two fingers sliding idly between the gasket and gorget at his throat just so he could breathe a little easier. This planet's air felt thick, like breathing through tar. 

"I would not indulge that craving, were I you." Ezra spoke up, the man obviously watching him claw at his neck. "The less exposure you have, the better." 

Din wanted to snap at him because honestly how many times do I have to say shut the fuck up-

But then he stopped. Since when did he even do things like breach the seal of his own fucking helmet on an unfamiliar planet?! He flinched, tearing his hand away and hating the low, wry chuckle that issued from the quarry. The other man mused, "It's already too late for me, you know. I imagine I'll have an hour, perhaps two."

"What the hell are you talking about now."

"The dust, my armored associate. It permeates. Sludges the mental processes." Ezra shrugged with only one shoulder. "Among other things."

"How do you know so much about it?" Din gritted his teeth against the buzzing pain in his stomach. "Seems pretty stupid of you to hide out here." Especially if you know the flora is deadly.

"There is naught to do on a freighter slingback aside from read." Ezra's eyes narrowed. "And I could hardly pick and choose which moon my pod decided to give out on, you monosyllabic knuckle-dragger."

"Watch your mouth before I break it." Din snarled.

"Lo and behold, he comprehends! I assumed all you knew how to say was a stagnant variation on the theme of be fucking quiet." Ezra retorted with enraging cheer. 

Din's gloves creaked with the tension of his fists and he barely kept from slamming them into his temples. They were almost to the Crest. Almost. Once they got there, he would throw this mouthy nerf herder into the carbonite and…

And what? And turn him over? And inadvertently compromise his whole identity, possibly destroy decades of loyally obeying the Creed? 

All the deprivation, the loneliness, the weakness of his own heart...

"Be fucking quiet." The Mandalorian muttered, knowing full well that the other man hadn't said anything. Be fucking quiet. Be fucking quiet quiet quiet just fucking be quiet-- 

Din ground the heels of his palms against the curve of his helmet at his forehead, praying for some kind of relief.

Carbonite, he reminded himself.

…

Ezra grudgingly held his tongue, which even he had to admit was a rarity. Unlike the other floaters that had approached him before and met their swift demise, this particular bounty hunter was heavily kitted. The gleaming plate he sported didn't seem to hinder his motion in the slightest. 

Interesting.

Ezra knew when he had been outplayed, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't banking on the other man having a functional ship even before he decided to go peacefully. 

The hunter (mentally dubbed Steerforth, he rudely had not introduced himself) obviously had no idea about the pollen, for all his outward preparedness. Clearly Serpentia was not as well known as Ezra had wished. 

Regrettable. 

He could hope that the bounty hunter hadn't been exposed, he mused. After all, the man was wearing that positively arresting helmet, and his suit seemed of a sturdy (if unfamiliar) weave. Here was an individual that Ezra would have to tread carefully around, if he wished to escape with his life. 

His faith waned a bit as he recalled watching the man 'track' him, winding back and forth through the trees like a drunken mule until Ezra had taken pity on him and turned himself in. 

The hunter was terse in his speech, likely weary from the chase. Ezra could sympathize, he was weary from running. It had almost been a relief when that last hunter had attacked him and forced him to crash the pod on this moon. Though his relief had quickly turned to dismay when Ezra had done a full turn outside his pod and realized just what was making all the pollen in the air.

Serpentia, Serpent's Tongue. He had never encountered the plant in the proverbial flesh, but once upon a time he had been accidentally doused with the extract when a holding tank had burst while he was on a job site.

His skin crawled as he remembered the torment that followed during his solitary confinement. He had been nigh-certain he would not recover, clawing free of the haze that had gripped him with the barest vestiges of his mental faculties. 

This moon's Serpentia population seemed infinitely kinder than the concentrate he had encountered, if only for its soft, creeping approach. It lapped at the base of his brain, dulled the edge of his panic until he was nearly comfortable with the ache that licked hot in his groin. 

But thank Kevva for this bounty hunter lumbering through the brush! With a little luck, Ezra would be able to persuade him to accept a few pearls of aurelac in lieu of dragging him back to face that greatly-exaggerated justice.

...

According to the limited information from the Crest's scans, the air on this moon was perfectly safe to breathe. 

And if what Mando had said was right, he probably would need the ship to himself for a little while to decontaminate. So you had posted up beside the ramp once he had departed, occasionally wiping the sweat off your brow. The atmosphere was humid and you watched as breezes too delicate for you to even feel nudged the thick pollen in the air this way and that. 

The moon was liberally coated with lush vegetation; just finding a place to safely land the Razor Crest had been a Herculean effort. You wondered vaguely if there was a lake or spring nearby that you would be able to cool off in. The ship's fresher was functional, of course, but its water had been sitting in the holding tank for a few cycles now and it smelled rusty. 

The pollen covered everything, orange-red substance sticking to your already-damp skin. You grimaced, wondering if maybe you should have put on your suit. But no, the atmosphere was safe. The scans had said so, and you already spent so much of your time in your thick suit…

The sunshine felt wonderful after all the hyperspace travel, like a warm embrace from a friend. You caught yourself wondering what Mando's hug might feel like. Probably uncomfortable, what with all the beskar. You scoffed at your thoughts. You really needed to stop thinking about him like that, he was technically your boss even if he called you his partner. So what if he had passed out on top of you? That had been an infection thing.

It wasn't as if he had stroked your cheek before he dropped, his voice breaking when he called you Senaar... 

So what if you had solicited not one, but two Mandalorians during your last stop on Nevarro? 

It wasn't as if he noticed anything that you did, aside from when it had inconvenienced him. It wasn't as if you couldn't handle your little infatuation with him, even if it did result in you seeking out Mandos that would give you attention.

You propped your chin up on your hand, your eyes half-focusing on the dust floating in the air. It was nice to just relax for once, though there was a little guilty sensation in your stomach. Because Mando was out there working, while you...were lounging around, soaking up the sunlight.

You weren't sure how long you sat there, but you finally got up with a groan and a stretch that felt heavenly. You would investigate the surrounding area, you decided, maybe you could rustle up something fresh. If you couldn't be active on the hunt for the quarry, you could at least restock the larders.

After what only felt like a few steps, you quickly stumbled across thick vines that bore an unfamiliar, violet-hued fruit. The fruit was the size of your fist, and the skin had slight give to it. Light-colored flowers dotted the vine here and there, their tiny stamens crested with heavy crowns of thick pollen. Clearly you had located one of the many sources of the dust that choked the air. 

You picked one of the fruits and propped it up on a flat rock, using your trusty field knife to slice it open. It had orange pulp inside it, and a small hollow in the middle filled with pinkish fluid. The whole fruit reminded you of a sunset. Dimly, you thought that you probably shouldn't be touching this fruit with your bare skin, on the off chance that it might be caustic or toxic. But it looked delicious. 

Surely just a little taste wouldn't hurt?

The pinkish fluid was almost overwhelmingly sweet, and sticky. It dribbled down your chin when you tipped the fruit to slurp it up. You laughed at yourself, tugging your tunic to scrub at your face. 

Mando will love these.

You weren't sure where the thought came from, but obviously it was true. The idea of Mando being alone, slipping off his helmet to eat...the juice from the fruit glistening on his mouth…

Your breathing had quickened. You carefully harvested more of the round fruit, tucking the ripe produce into the makeshift cradle of your tunic. Once you decided you had enough, you turned on your heel and went to make your way back to the Crest. 

...

No.

No no no no no-

Din stared at the partially-ajar ramp on the Crest and he wanted to yell. 

"Oh dear." Ezra murmured faintly. "What a predicament." He had been getting quieter and quieter the closer they drew to the ship, so hearing him talk again sent a jolt down Din's spine. "You left your egress open? How careless of you."

"I didn't." Din snarled, wrapping his fingers around the binders on Ezra's wrists. You. The throbbing in his stomach lurched.

Ezra's eyes widened and he abruptly planted his feet. Din hadn't realized just how off-kilter he was, normally something like a shift in weight wouldn't be enough to make him stagger. But he almost toppled, barely getting his balance back in time. "Is there someone else on that ship?" Ezra asked sharply. 

"Of course." Din didn't even think to lie. "Partner."

"Would they have wandered? Exposed themselves?" The prospector-thief-quarry continued to quiz him and Din resented it just a little. 

"Be quiet," He grunted, tapping at his gauntlet to open the ramp, "and get in the fucking hold."

Ezra abruptly drew himself up to his full height. "I do not believe you actually want me to do that." He intoned with difficulty, his teeth gritted. "Putting myself, yourself and the potential of one more infected person into an enclosed space is a very…" His words faltered. "Oh."

Din whirled, visor traveling up the ramp into the dim hold. And just barely visible at the edge of the ramp, a small pile of what looked like fruit--was that your leg?! He lunged forward, his blaster ready. 

"I would not advise you to approach them!" Ezra barked.

"Fuck you!" Din snapped, striding up the ramp to kneel alongside your body. He crushed one of the fruits beneath his knee, lurid pink juice erupting to soak into his suit. The color was high in your cheeks, your body blotchy with flush. Pollen encrusted your neck and shoulders, drifted through your hair; something pink and shiny coated your lips like a strange gloss.

Din caught himself leaning in and jerked back at the urgency in Ezra's voice when the prospector called, "Do they breathe, man?"

"Be quiet!" Djarin roared. Why hadn't he checked that first? What was wrong with him? He shoved his vambrace against your mouth, his chest clenching in relief when your breath fogged the metal. Stars. 

"I'm afraid this complicates things quite significantly." Ezra said loudly, fidgeting at the base of the ramp. "I was unaware you had a partner of the...other biological persuasion. Had it just been you and I, two masculine-presenting bipeds, things would have been miles simpler."

"What the hell are you saying now?" Din was getting tired of this shit, tired of listening to the other man talk. 

"This plant is...shall we say, heteronormative." Ezra drawled, waving his bound hands in the air to illustrate the cloying pollen. Din cocked his head in confusion. "You know, masculine and feminine? Male and female? Different. Hetero."

Djarin scoffed derisively. "My people don't care about that shit." 

"A noble practice to be certain, very forward-thinking."

"This is the Way." The Mandalorian replied. 

Ezra soldiered on, "Unfortunately, the plant that infests this planet does indeed differentiate. Fruit for the female, pollen for the male." He added hurriedly, "in the biological sense, of course! I will not make any assumptions about your partner. The fruit is a...a catalyst. Are you familiar with the old-Earth religious writings, the ones that mention the Garden? Or perhaps the Greek pantheon may have been more your style?" When Djarin shook his head, Ezra sighed. "The genus name in Basic is slippin' my mind. But this particular iteration is known as Serpent's Tongue, Serpentia. It is Medusine in nature and it inspires feelings of…" Ezra paused, licking his lips nervously. "Heat."  

"Heat." Din repeated blankly, knowing that he must be missing something. 

Ezra ducked his head, breaking eye contact. "As in, being in heat." The man clarified after a moment. 

"Excuse me?" 

"I'm-"

"Excuse me?" Din snarled, running his fingers through the juices that coated his knee. It was thick, sticky like syrup, why was it warm--He bolted to his feet and stalked back down the ramp. Ezra took a step back, and then another, the quarry obviously wary of him. Good. The satisfied feeling took some of the edge off his frustrated panic. "So what the hell is wrong with my partner?" Din grated out.

"Er, to couch it in layman's terms…" Ezra hesitated, clearing his throat. "They are aroused."

Aroused. Aroused. Aroused. "Sexually?" Din hated the way the word came out, all breathy like he was a youngling that had just learned about the wonders of copulation. 

Ezra nodded, grimacing. "From the sound of your tone, I would hazard a guess that the two of you have not been intimate."

"Why would we have been?" Din retorted bluntly.

Ezra raised an eyebrow, seeming as if he was avoiding looking at you. Good. Mine. Din had no idea where the hell that thought came from. "Oh of course, I was foolish to assume so blatantly." The prospector muttered. "That does complicate your own matters further, however. Were you previously sexually intertwined, this would have been much more simple." He suddenly doubled over at the waist, a loud grunt forced from his mouth and a low exclamation of, "fuck, fuck-"

The curse sent a hot flicker down Din's spine and it took him a second to realize that you had made a noise in reply. You sounded dazed, scared. He whirled on the ramp and knelt again, taking your hand. "Senaar, you coming around?" Your eyes looked...wrong, blinking open slowly; your pupils were blown like you'd been spiced. 

You stared up at him for several long seconds before your mouth opened. "Wanted to make lunch." You managed to say. "I don't feel good." 

"Well, you don't look so great either." Din said gruffly. 

"Bastard." You groaned at him, trying to sit up. "Maker, I feel so hot, I...oh! Oh no, you smushed one." You appeared to have noticed the remains of the sticky fruit currently seeping into his knee. "I wanted you to try it. Tastes...tastes...it's so sweet Mando, s'like candy." You saying his name (even if it wasn't his actual name, shit) was like a lightning bolt to his groin. You dragged your hand over his knee, gathering up the remnants of the fruit and then sliding your fingers into your mouth. 

You brought him food. His lungs felt too full and not full enough. Stars, the idea of you feeding him that, smearing it all over his mouth with those pretty little fingers-

No, the helmet. The helmet. He couldn't take off the helmet. The Creed.

He jerked his head up, looking to Ezra. The other man was still doubled over, holding his midsection as best as he could with his hands bound. 

A dark, uncharacteristically evil thought wound its way into Din's mind, sweet and smokey like a good ne'tra gal. "Get in the ship." He grunted. Ezra glanced up and Din was a little startled by the level of emotion he displayed. He wasn't used to seeing expressions play out on his own face. The other man seemed wildly uncomfortable and Din found that grounding, for whatever reason. 

"I do not dare to." Ezra panted finally. "Just being this close is...immensely troubling. I am not the master of my own body at this moment, Steerforth."

"Is this the target?" You asked softly. Din nodded and he could almost feel your eyes raking over the other man. "What happened? He's hurt."

Shit, he had nearly forgotten. Ezra was still bleeding from his arm. The quarry had obviously forgotten as well, clearly dealing with a much more pressing matter. 

You beckoned to the other man and Din had to rein in the knee-jerk reaction to grab his blaster as Ezra reluctantly approached. He had never been territorial about you before, what the hell was the matter with him? 

Ezra halted a good five feet away from you, keeping his head down. "I am Ezra. I apologize in advance for my untoward behavior." He muttered, his voice gone so low and gravelly he actually did sound like Din. The Mandalorian's stomach pitched uncertainly. "I am not myself at this point in time."

"What happened to your arm?" Your tone was warm, concerned. Din's fists clenched. "Did Mando do that?"

"Oh, no! Of course not. Your compatriot has been nothing if not a complete gentleman." Ezra replied wryly. "I sustained this injury during a previous floater's quarrel."

…

You hummed and you saw Mando stiffen up out of the corner of your eye. What was wrong with him? One second he had been leaning over you, all worry and hand holding. The next, he was barking at the quarry. 

And the quarry was hurt. Ezra, Ezra, his slow drawl making your head swim and your chest tingle. Never mind Mando, what was wrong with you? You felt so strange, like you were hyper-fixated. 

Maker, maybe you shouldn't have eaten that fruit. "I'm sorry." You apologized to Mando, your lower lip beginning to quiver. "I just wanted to give-"

"Be quiet." He ordered, his voice startlingly gentle. A gloved thumb pressed to your lower lip and you stared up at him, opening your mouth automatically even though you knew he was just wiping the juice away. You were startled when he slid his thumb into your mouth, but you obligingly cleaned the juice from the leather with your tongue. Shouldn't this be strange? But Mando just did it, like it was normal. Maybe it was normal. 

Your mind flew back to your sultry encounter on Nevarro, how you had occupied yourself while Mando wrapped up his business with the Guild, and warmth lanced through your stomach as you recalled greedy gloved hands grasping and caressing your bare skin-

"Steerforth, if you are to carry on in that heated demonstration I must plead for the carbonite treatment that you were so hellbent on throwing myself into earlier." Ezra sounded like he was in pain. "I have only endured this once before and it was a torment that threatened my already-tenuous sanity. Have fucking mercy man, I implore-"

"Be quiet." Mando snapped, "we have to treat your arm, right?"

"Fuck." Ezra swore again, the sound writhing through your belly. "Hurry then."

"Get in the ship. I'll turn on the filters."

"Do not leave me alone with them, I implore you!" Ezra cried, that domed helmet finally tilting enough for you to catch a glimpse of his face. "I am not the master of my own body, Steerforth." 

His eyes were dark, impossibly dark, and frantic as he argued with Mando. His skin seemed tanned or olive through the sun-struck dome of his suit's helmet. Short brown hair was plastered flat to his forehead with sweat, and the lower half of his face was coated in a somewhat unkempt mess of facial scruff. Too long to be five o'clock shadow, but too bedraggled to be dubbed anything else.

Roguish, you decided, wanting to laugh at yourself. He looks roguish. What a ridiculous thought to have! Not obviously dangerous like Mando, but still dangerous. Was that your heartbeat throbbing in your ears? You sighed softly, taking a step towards the other man without meaning to. 

Mando's hand was suddenly on your arm. "Hold it. Treatment. We have to treat his wound." He said gruffly. 

You nodded. Of course. Who knew what he had been exposed to through the breach in his suit? "I was going to help him walk?"

Mando shook his head. "You get the kit. You've got no gear on. He's contaminated." He reasoned. "Get me the kit and then seal yourself into the cockpit so we can filter the hold." You nodded again and his hand found your cheek, gloved fingers grazing your neck before he jerked back. "S...Sorry." he apologized.

"It's okay." You whispered.

…

Ezra, helmet discarded and suit stripped to the waist, flinched away from Din's touch yet again. "Stop. This is a bad wound. It'll get infected if I do this wrong." Din snapped. He rarely encountered blaster wounds that didn't self-cauterize, even though that tended to come with its own set of problems.

"I do not mean to tear free." Ezra protested. "Blood flow has increased. I am…" He paused, biting his lower lip. "Sensitive. Surely you have a handheld? One of the burners? Just burn it shut man, Kevva, I cannot even endure the graze of your fingers." 

"If I give you a burner patch, it'll seal in the infection." Din reasoned, flushing the wound again. "Focus on something else."

"I cannot." Ezra said sharply. "There is only one matter my brain currently wishes to focus on, and it is not the dire straits of my wounded arm." 

"Them?" Din asked, keeping his voice low. 

Ezra shot him a guilty look from beneath his sweat-matted fringe of brown hair, finally nodding. "It is ludicrous, but I feel as though I can taste them." He confessed. "Gods, I wish I had never landed on this accursed moon. I wish I had never encountered the Serpentia."

"What will happen?" Din did his best to maintain his vocal level as he bandaged the other man's wound.

"Arousal. Sheer, unadulterated arousal. You ache, like the worst fever you've ever had. I've heard it is even more excruciatin' for those of the other human biological persuasion, due to their genitals being internal. Though it is Medusine in nature, so it has a...failsafe, of sorts. You are seized with the primal instinct to mate, conquer, claim. It does not stop until you have buried your...until you have sheathed yourself in an orifice." Ezra was gasping for air. Obviously just talking about it was enough to cause him distress, either that or Djarin was being rougher than he thought. "Steerforth please, I-"

"This will cause them pain?" Din asked slowly. 

Ezra nodded jerkily. "I have been told it's like a sickly, stabbing heat. Fingers are not enough to…er, extinguish the flames." His cheeks flushed. "The tongue soothes, but not overlong. Internals require certain length, and...rigidity." Din didn't miss the way his eyes flickered down to the beskar that covered his upper thighs. "When last I encountered this damned flora, I suffered the effects alone and I felt as if I would go mad."

Tongue. Fingers. Rigidity. Din's mind reeled. "Specifics." He gritted out, his body awash with heat in his armor when Ezra made a pitiful noise.

"Kevva, have mercy on me Steerforth."

"I said. Specifics." Din fisted a glove in the other man's hair, tilting his head back and forcing him to look up. Ezra moved, albeit reluctantly, the Adam's apple of his throat bobbing when he swallowed. "Specifics." Din repeated himself, a little softer this time.

Ezra shuddered all over. "They will seek you out. To be fucked." He said, cringing a bit as if he disliked using the word. "You must open them up with your tongue first, dissolve the Medusine barrier with saliva. That's the failsafe, you see, an individual of that biological persuasion who is suffering cannot be penetrated without tender effort. Ease into it and perhaps they will not loathe you when this madness has run its course-"

"I can't." Din interrupted. 

"What?" Ezra gawked at him. 

"I can't. T-Tongue. Not allowed. Forbidden." Din felt like he was drunk. "Helmet."

The other man's brow furrowed. "You can, I presume, take off other portions of your plate?"

Din shook his head, wishing that he could explain it better. "Technically yes, but it's frowned upon. Exceptions happen. And under no circumstances can I take the helmet off." 

"How in the Fringe have you ever-"

"I...inspire feelings in people." That was probably the most delicate way he could have said I cater exclusively to bipeds with a predator/prey fetish. Din grimaced. "I'm large and imposing. Usually that's...enough. No need for warm up." He said awkwardly. "Armor stays on."

"What a bewildering existence!" Ezra tilted his head in disbelief. "So you have never removed…?"

Din shook his head. "Not in the presence of others. The Creed forbids it."

"Your dedication is admirable, but unfortunately it leaves your partner twisting in the wind." The quarry pointed out. "I would offer my services, but I am an unknown and-"

"Yes." Din gritted out, that dark thought slithering back through his mind. 

"Yes?"

"Your services." Din took a deep breath. He didn't bargain with quarry, but this man had his face. He couldn't turn him in without jeopardizing everything he had sworn his life to. "In exchange, when this is...when they no longer require your services, I'll let you go."

Ezra's eyebrows bunched together. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Steerforth."

"I don't want them to be in pain." Din's voice grated in his throat and he watched Ezra's eyes widen in comprehension. "I don't want them to hurt."

"You...this is not just the Serpentia. You have a prior attachment to them."

"It doesn't matter what I do or don't have." Djarin muttered dismissively. "Because of the Creed, I...I can't. But you can."

"You can't give them your mouth, certainly, but there are-"

"If it's what makes it possible, you have to do it!" Din interjected sharply. "I don't want them to hurt."

"I need you to comprehend what you're askin' of me!" Ezra shot back, his bound fists clenched tight enough to whiten his knuckles. "They don't know me from Job, and you're all but demanding I violate their trust-"

"I don't want them to hurt!" Din roared, startling himself with his own furious reaction. Whatever else he was about to say was cut off by your staggering descent on the ladder. You looked unwell. Ezra skittered back a few steps, falling on his ass with a muffled swear. 

"Mando?" Your voice wavered and you swayed at the ladder. Din lurched forward, tucking you into his arms as you sniffled, "I don't feel so good. I think I'm sick." You were radiating heat that he could feel even through his suit. Your tunic was soaked with sweat.

"Osi'kyr." Din cursed under his breath after he swapped to his infrared and saw just how brilliant your signature was. "Listen to me, alright Senaar?" He murmured, simultaneously loving and hating the way you nodded in a docile manner. "We know what can fix this. But it's not…" he paused, searching for the right term. 

"Appropriate." Ezra supplied loudly. 

"I feel awful." Your whimper made Din's stomach ache. His cock rubbed against the confines of his compression leggings. 

Ignore it.

"I know you do." Din pressed his palm to your forehead. "Listen to me. We can fix this. You trust me, right?" Your nod was immediate and Din barely stifled his groan. "Ezra knows what's wrong. Ezra can help."

"He can help?" You echoed blearily, looking past Din. "Okay. He said something about the fruit before, right? I shouldn't have eaten it. M'sorry. Was it poison?"

"Poison may have been simpler to endure." Ezra muttered. "It is an aphrodisiac. Do not blame yourself. The fruit is visually appealing for a reason, otherwise the plant would not be able to propagate."

…

Aphrodisiac. Your mouth was flooded with that sweet taste at the sound of Ezra's drawling voice, the groan that followed burrowing into your blood. 

You had never felt this way before. Your body ached and twisted, arousal pooling uncomfortably in your pelvis. Everything felt like it was trapped, your tunic sticking to your skin with sweat. Aphrodisiac. 

"Please pay attention." Ezra sighed. "I understand this is incredibly distracting, but I have a limited window of coherence." He was trembling slightly, still avoiding your eyes. "Your partner has requested I aid you where he cannot. I will not harm you." He said with gravity. "This is a situation which bodes exceptionally poorly and I am...I am truly sorry for dragging you into this mess."

"Oh, it's okay. Mando gets me into messes all the time." You brushed off his apology and Ezra choked out a bitter laugh. 

"I fear you may change your tune once the pain truly starts." He remarked.

"He says it'll hurt." Mando murmured. "Like stabbing."

You knew your eyes widened with fear because Mando was quick to envelope you in his arms again. He had never been this touchy before. It was...strangely nice. The coolness of his armor felt wonderful on your skin and you moaned in relief. Mando went stiff at your noise, his gloved fingers clutching the nape of your neck. Up until this point, you had just felt some minor throbbing. Distracting, but negligible.

This was different.

...

Your breath hitched in your throat and your fists curled into his suit, knees buckling as a low, wavering cry left your lips. Din jerked at the sound. He had never heard you make that kind of noise before, not even when you had been shot--

Oh he was fucked. He was so fucked. Was he excited or terrified? "Easy, you're okay, you're okay," he soothed, clumsily brushing the hair back from your face. Who was he even trying to convince?! 

"Make your choice expediently, Steerforth. Am I to be thrown in carbonite or put to work?" Ezra queried through gritted teeth. 

"You know I would never do anything to hurt you." Din said to you, ignoring the other man for the moment. "I won't let anything happen to you. I need you to trust me for right now, alright? We can fix this."

Your grip on him tightened even further. "I don't like how this feels." You whispered. 

Din closed his eyes in a futile attempt to ward off his own self-loathing, pressing your cheek against his breastplate. "I know, Senaar. I'll be right here with you. I just...can't give you what you'll need." He stuttered, offering on a desperate whim, "I-I can hold you, if you want." You nodded frantically into his armor. 

"If you have a...a blanket. A sheet. Something for the floor, we are going to make a mess and I am uncertain if we will be able to protect your partner's modesty." Ezra muttered, his bound hands resting surreptitiously over his groin. "They may be more enthusiastic than one would anticipate."

Din patted your elbow, trying to gentle his voice. "Go get your pillow." 

"O-Okay." You gulped. 

Din tore into one of his many lockers once you released him, the armored man frantically digging around for his extra bedding. Ezra staggered to his feet, moving in close to Din. So that you wouldn't hear him speak, no doubt. 

"There is still time for you to freeze me, Steerforth. I am not a man without morality, tattered though it may be." He murmured, and Din noticed that his weary brown eyes were surrounded by the same deep lines and cracks that Djarin's own face sported. The Mandalorian hadn't ever paid much mind to just how many expressions he still made beneath the helmet, probably because he knew no one would see them.

Din grabbed the other man's shoulder, searching those eyes. Ezra stared at his impenetrable visor, probably confused by his silence. "I need your help." Din rasped seriously. He didn't trust this guy as far as he could throw him, but he could live with the uneasy truce if it would…if it meant that he could…

Stars, this was all so damn wrong. 

Ezra finally nodded. "I will do my best to assist with the...emotional aftermath. This is not your fault, or theirs. This is merely an unfortunate side effect of a hazardous occupation."

"Thank you."

Ezra's eyebrows shot up, but other than that he gave no indication of his surprise. Din elbowed him to the side, unfolding the thick blanket and spreading it out carefully on the floor of the hold.

…

This was certainly an odd predicament. 

Ezra could not say he had ever been in such a charged scenario, despite his checkered history. His jaw worked thoughtfully as he watched the armored man devote an obscene amount of care to smoothing the wrinkles out of his blanket. 

Arousal swirled around him like the thick pollen outside, but it was tempered by the terrible memory of that singular past experience where he had rubbed himself bloody on the inside of his suit. He knew he was worse off than Steerforth. No, what had you called him? Mando. 

Curious. 

A Creed that prevented the devout from showing the world their face.

Curious. And familiar, somehow. Ezra spooled his mind back, trying to recall why it was familiar. He couldn't focus however, his own breathing becoming too distracting. 

Mando hadn't gotten nearly as much of the pollen as him. The other man seemed unbearably, impossibly calm in the light of what was about to occur. Maybe it was an illusion afforded by that unreadable helm, or brought about by his lack of prior experience.

Ezra was wildly jealous all the same. "What is their name?" He asked softly. 

Mando fixed him with a look and Kevva, that helmet was indeed imposing. "I call them Senaar. It...it means bird." He sounded reluctant, like he didn't even want to give up that much. "Names are sacred in the Creed. I couldn't give them mine so they didn't give me theirs, but I had to call them something."

"No names in the Creed, either?" Ezra asked incredulously. 

The armored man shook his head. "To outsiders we are all Mando. To us, we are Mando'ade. This is the Way."

"A veritable legion of nameless, featureless warriors." Ezra muttered, mainly to himself. He rattled his restraints after a moment. "Am I to remain bound during this frotfest, Steerforth?"

"I'm not stupid enough to give you free range. Be grateful I didn't secure them behind your back instead." Mando snarked.

"I will not harm your little bird." Ezra protested.

"I know." Mando leaned in slightly, broad shoulders made even more intimidating by the blue-steel pauldrons that graced them. "I would kill you before you got the chance."

Oh, such confidence! Ezra wished he was in his right mind, he would obliterate this smug cretin--

His breath caught in his throat as you returned from your excursion. Gods, he had nearly forgotten what he was being called to do. He warred with the obscene urge that dragged his gaze to the crux of your thighs. "A divine sight." He murmured, not lying for once. This entire day had been remarkably truthful. 

You actually gave him a ribald wink, and that eased his conscience slightly. Perhaps you were not the unsullied, blushing virgin he had feared you might be. Obviously you had used the time you took to grab your pillow wisely, maybe even given yourself a bit of a pep talk. 

"Have you done this before?" Ezra asked, half-joking. He heard Mando audibly gulp in that damn bucket when you nodded, a pained smile curving your lips. "Not under the effects of such altering substances, I pray?" 

"Nah, nothing like that." You replied, shaking your head. "It was back on Nevarro, I-"

"Nevarro?" Mando hissed. "You disappeared on me for hours. That's what you were up to?!"

You shrugged weakly. "It doesn't really matter but...there were two Mandalorians, and I wanted, um, something that seemed familiar, I guess." You admitted, your tone remarkably cool for the subject matter. 

Ezra hid his grin. He was hardly immune to the allure of saucy gossip, and there was nothing quite like gossip that had no particular bearing on him. "Two?!" The armored man's voice squeaked even through the thick modulation and Ezra burst out laughing, the binders knocking his jaw when he tried to stifle his mirth. 

"I meant more whether you had engaged in copulation in general, but I suppose that would have been a pertinent question as well." He mused once he got himself under control, the low buzz in his stomach blossoming into an excited thrum. "How fortunate that you would be so generous when it comes to your partners, little bird."

"What do you mean, familiar?" Mando carried on over him, obviously agitated by the fresh knowledge that his partner may or may not have some...tendencies. Ezra almost wanted to laugh again; you were nothing if not painfully transparent. Seeking out others like the armored man to have their way with you? Clearly you harbored some sort of affection, kept secret and safe by the walls that humans build around themselves.

But Serpentia had a funny way of sliding that dastardly pink slick through all defenses, leaving the body raw and exposed.

"I mean familiar." You replied, your pillow like a shield between yourself and Mando. Ezra settled back to watch the show, well aware that his smirk was probably insufferable. "I have needs, you know." You continued primly. 

Mando's fists clenched on his thighs before he pointedly flattened them back out, fingers dragging over the plates. "I...I'm sorry. I shouldn't...I'm sorry." He mumbled, patting his leg. 

You wavered again and nearly fell. The armored man caught you, settling you down with a cautious tenderness that fired a thrower shot of arousal directly into Ezra's gut. He had always been a weak fool for chivalry, though he was able to display precious little of it in his own life. Oh, this was the best kind of story. 

...

Your face burned with embarrassment; why had you told him about your rendezvous with two other members of his Creed? It was like the words just fell out of your mouth, like your brain itself was against you. 

You could still remember the way the larger one had pressed his forehead to your own and then encouraged you down his chest to his groin, the way his helmet had tipped back--

A new flood of warmth swept into your cunt and you bit down on your hand to stifle your noise at the pain that followed. Mando paused, then laid your pillow between his open legs. "Lay down on your back." He muttered, patting his leg again. "This way you can see me. I'll be right here."

"I'm-"

"Don't apologize, please." Mando cut you off. "Once this is over, once everything is...over, I...listen, we'll operate as a sealed unit. This maneuver is scrubbed from the start. I never found the quarry. Nothing that we say or do here will ever be mentioned again. Understood?"

Your breath caught in your throat. He was giving you an out. Or himself, you were uncertain. You nodded slowly and his shoulders drooped a little, but whether he was relieved or disappointed…

Well, some secrets were meant to stay that way. 

Ezra nodded his own agreement. "It is best to have certain protocol already in place when engaging in uncharted waters." He muttered. "Decidedly militant, but I must surmise your Creed taught you that."

"This is the Way." Mando said firmly. 

"If we are operating under burner infantry orders, then I must voice my trepidation about this engagement," Ezra confessed to you. "I have endured this crisis once before and it was not a pleasant experience. I do not envy the pain I am certain you feel at this moment, but I also know that you are in a...compromised and sensitive position. I...if any advance is unwanted, I trust you will inform me. And if I do not respond, if I am too far gone, please have your associate rescind my invitation." He gestured at Mando with his bound hands. 

"Wh-What are you going to do to me?" You asked, your voice high in your ears even as you let Mando maneuver you down to the blanket.

"I am going to do for you what your companion cannot, little bird." Ezra's tongue dampened his lips nervously. "And only that, if I understand the situation correctly."

"What he…" you trailed off as a thought occurred to you. Ezra hummed quietly as if to confirm and the sound reverberated through your core, making you whine and squirm restlessly. "Oh, what, stars, you mean-"

"My mouth, little bird." He had a tiny section of blond hair on the right side of his head, the tuft residing rakishly just at his hairline. You hadn't noticed until now, but the whimsical little patch seemed to soften his stern features. "You will need the saliva, regrettably. I am certain that the idea of the mouth of a lowly aurelac harvester on you is a repulsive one, but it is the only way to get the proverbial ball rolling." 

"Wait, you have to eat me out?" You asked in confusion, trying to get back up. "Hang on, I should shower, I'll-" Agony raked down your spine and you spasmed, a breathy sound of pain forcing itself past your lips.

Ezra's incredulous chuckle soothed the sensation back down to a manageable level. "What an unexpected offer, little bird! I cannot recall the last time someone bathed specifically for me. You will wholly ensnare me if you continue such considerate behavior." 

…

Din's body felt like it was on fire in his armor. 

You had gone looking for people like him. 

You had gone looking for Mandos because you wanted familiarity. The idea of you sussing out more of his brothers or sisters because you had needs-

Din wasn't sure if he would survive this particular encounter. He was gripping his cuisses so tightly that the leather of his gloves burned against his fingertips. Mandalorians weren't celibate by any stretch of the imagination, but the Creed could make things...more difficult than they needed to be for a variety of species.

Ezra, despite his hands being bound, was remarkably capable. The man had coached you through the pain when you had tried to move, his voice obviously helping you somehow. Djarin wasn't sure if he was jealous or grateful. Maybe both.

The fact that this was causing you to suffer had him loathing how stiff his cock was in his compression leggings, even though from what he had gathered he couldn't actually help that particular reaction. 

"I must beg your assistance in disrobing." Ezra was saying softly, tugging at the overly-knotted waistband of your loose pants. "Please, little bird."

"Right, yeah, of course." You mumbled and Djarin could hear the pain in your voice, could feel the twitchy little flinches as you tried to follow Ezra's directions. 

Hesitantly, the Mandalorian moved his hands up until they rested on your shoulders. You exhaled a breathy little moan, nuzzling your cheek against his glove in what he had to assume was thanks.

"Better." You gasped, seeming more sure as you struggled to undo the sash at your waist. 

"Well done, Steerforth." Ezra praised, causing something warm and wet to pour into Din's abdomen. The armored man's breathing stuttered, was this what Ezra had been feeling the entire time they had been walking? Stars, how had he even managed-

His cock lurched against the tight hold of his leggings, precome dampening his stomach. Without meaning to, Din's fingers tightened on your shoulders and he grunted quietly. 

Your eyes shot up, locking with his visor. He knew you couldn't actually see him, but at that moment he felt exposed. "You alright?" You asked quietly, your breath hiccuping when Ezra brushed the stubble of his jaw against your naked thigh. Din ached to do that himself, Maker he wished-

"I'm fine." He choked, like he wasn't roasting alive from the double-edged heat of artificial arousal and jealousy. His left hand slid down, resting at the hollow of your throat. It soothed his ego a little to see that your eyes were still on him, despite what the quarry was about to do. 

Ezra, he reminded himself. This man wasn't prey anymore, for all that he was keeping the binders on. Din at least needed that level of control. He needed the stability.

That recurrent devious thought surged forward again, dark and heady. Utilizing Ezra, he could indulge vicariously in the hazy desires he had fought for cycles. The wish to bury his face between your legs and eat you out until you cried, like in the raunchy imagecasts he picked up on rare occasion. Putting his bare hands on you, stars-

Din Djarin was a man of extreme self-control. So far, he hadn't overstepped or shamed the Creed, unless you counted the time he was loaded out of his mind with bacteria-laden quills. He hadn't realized just how many of them were embedded in his back until his vision started getting blurry as he was standing over the nexu's dead body. Served him right for letting the feline get the drop on him before he put his backplate on.

You had been so worried when he returned. You were patched into his coms so you obviously heard the struggle he had dispatching the creature. Heard how ragged his breath got and how hard he had to actually fight. 

Din vaguely remembered flopping down on his belly with you hovering over him, pliers in one hand and bacta shot already buried in the meat of his shoulder. Stars, it was great to have a partner sometimes. If he had come back to just the kid like that, he'd probably be dead from an infection. You didn't even make him take off his suit, you just worked around it. 

You ended up removing thirty-seven quills of various lengths, most of them bearing nasty hooked barbs. The pain had hit different because of the infection, leaving Djarin trembling boneless and silent on the floor of the hold while you wriggled quills out of his back. He had never felt more helpless, more vulnerable, beskar be damned. 

"It's alright. I'm glad you made it back." You had said calmly. "I'm not letting you go alone next time, though."

"Thank you, Senaar…"

Din's face flushed when he recalled how badly his voice had cracked when saying the name he called you by, less speech and more a plaintive cry. The way his glove had slipped over the skin of your cheek, and how he had longed to remove that glove...

Maker, he sullied the Creed with his inability to reconcile over lack of touch. The hunger for skin-to-skin contact that reared its ugly head every time you were out of your heavy exosuit and durasteel served as a painful reminder, one much more poignant than the simple weight of his helm, that he was a Mandalorian.

But this doppelganger loophole was a gift to be thoroughly exploited and he wasn't about to waste that opportunity. 

Ezra buried his face between your legs and Din felt the way your entire body coiled up in anticipation, another trembling cry leaving your lips and your hands twisting frantically into the blanket beneath you. "Mando-!"

His name, his name, you were saying his name even with another man's mouth giving you pleasure. Djarin couldn't help the satisfied little growl that left his lips and made its way through his modulator. He heard Ezra chuckle, the other man pausing to shoot him a sly wink over the length of your body. Din nearly laughed.

"Ezra," He said instead, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. "Make them cry."

He stopped caring about how wrong it was.

…

You gasped at Mando's words, already inches from bursting into tears. Ezra's mouth was slowly coaxing you open, the stubble on his cheeks and jaw rubbing your thighs. Every pass of his tongue, every gentle press and suckle sought to untangle the knotted ball of heat in your belly, but you were certain you would lose your mind before you managed to disperse the agonizing feeling.

You were too full, almost too aroused to handle Ezra's mouth on your cunt but you were positive if he stopped licking at you, you would die. Heat felt like it was sloshing in your belly, there was so much of it...

Ezra placed a series of delicate kisses on your clit, each one lighter than the last. His hands, still secure in their binders, clutched your right thigh for purchase when he pulled back to gulp air. His expression was dazed, eyes managing to focus on the armored man that loomed over you after several long seconds. "Will you not indulge, Steerforth?" He sounded like he was almost begging Mando, voicing what you couldn't bring yourself to say. "They ask for you, how can you sit there so damned impassive?"

Your breath caught in your throat when you heard Mando exhale raggedly, the bounty hunter muttering, "M' not impassive. There's nothing I-"

"Touch them, for fuck's sake!" Ezra cried, pointedly rattling his cuffs. "I cannot do both. We must work together!"

The Mandalorian lurched suddenly up onto his knees, then sprawled over your body, slamming one hand down to support his weight before wrapping his fingers in the neck of Ezra's tattered thermal shirt. "You don't call the shots here, quarry." He snarled in That Voice, the one that he reserved for his bounties.

Your hands crept up to his hips, hyper aware of the sweet taste in your mouth and how good this would feel. 

…

Ezra stared at the pitch-black visor inches from his nose. Felt the strength in the gloved hand that threatened to do much more than stretch his shirt.

The prospector took a mental inventory of his body at this juncture, a bit surprised and entertained to find that he was thoroughly invested in this new direction the encounter had taken. Mando was no doubt glaring at him from the safety of that impregnable helm, the other man's hackles obviously raised by the jab from the prospector.

It mattered very little at this point in time, however, as Ezra heard a zipper fly open. Mando flinched so hard Ezra felt it in his back, and the sound you made was enough to get the devil to start sweating. "Seems that you may be outnumbered, Steerforth."

"Target rich--environment-" The armored man snarled. "Senaar, y-your--mouth, fuck-"

He stuttered. He stuttered. Ezra latched onto that weakness with a filthy grin, easily twisting out of the other man's grip to duck his head back down and taste you. Mando's other hand hit the blanket as you undulated your hips up to meet Ezra's mouth. Ezra could only imagine the noises you were making around the other man's cock. He knew you were making them by the way Mando's arms quivered. And wasn't that a sight, a man in full armor rendered helpless by the power of a warm, eager mouth on his cock. 

"Watch me now, Steerforth." Ezra crooned, tilting his face up to make presumed eye contact. "This is how you make them weep with pleasure." He was sure that his chin was dripping pink at this point and he knew, even without seeing the other man's face, that Mando was barely hanging on. He had to salute the armored man's dedication. A less devout individual would have given out before they made it to the floor.

The Medusine barrier that the Serpentia formed was slowly weakening under the gentle assault of his mouth, Ezra was pleased to notice. Of course, he wasn't exactly rushing, simply going at a steady pace to keep your pain to a bare minimum. You had begun to leak around the barrier, your arousal even warmer than he had expected. Ezra couldn't tell whether it was because he was under the effects of the pollen or whether it was reality that you tasted immaculate, but he reasoned that it didn't particularly matter. 

He was hungry enough to cope with either happenstance. 

"Little bird, fuck my face, won't you?" He requested sweetly, chuckling at your enthusiastic response. "Grind yourself to completion on my tongue, break the barrier so that your associate can sheathe himself balls deep in this delectable pussy and give you respite." 

...

"Fuck." Din rasped, his eyes wide behind the visor of his helmet. The way that Ezra spoke was like fucking music, the man wrapping filthy words in flowery, incomprehensible syntax. 

The Mandalorian's fingers tangled resolutely in the blanket, the armored man panting as you urged his aching dick even further down your throat. Your hands grappled with his thighs, shoving them wider and then taking two hungry handfuls of his rear to encourage him.

"Senaar-" he started to warn you off, but stopped dead when you moaned around him. Stars, he wondered how you could even breathe-- 

You pulled back, coughing and gasping. "You're doing so well, little bird." Ezra murmured from between your legs. Your only reply was to take Din's cock back into your mouth and oh fuck you weren't stopping-

Your hand found Djarin's in the blankets and you tugged on it, forcing him to try and figure out how to redistribute his weight so you could have the appendage. He managed it of course, he was a fucking Mandalorian after all, but there was a moment where he nearly lost his balance.

You guided his hand to your neck and Din couldn't fight back the groan he let out when he felt his cock bulging through your throat. Fuck, no one had ever been able to take this much of him into their mouth before, halfway was usually the stopping point. 

Djarin grunted and tilted his head down to watch you struggle, finally wrapping a hand around his cock and easing it back out of your mouth. Strands of saliva connected the engorged head of his dick to your lips. Din sighed stupidly at the sight, fisting his dick and coating his glove with your spit. "You're good at this, Senaar." He said gruffly, knowing that it wasn't really praise, not like how Ezra said it. But words had never been his forte. 

"Keep speaking to them Steerforth, they leak at every word out of your mouth." Ezra encouraged from between your legs. "That's right little bird, just a bit more…"

Din was startled, to say the least. You liked when he talked? "I…" he hesitated, then his brow furrowed. "Can't wait to fuck you, Senaar." You whimpered, your hips shuddering. "Fuck you until you don't remember your own fucking name." Din growled. "Breed you like a good Mando should, pump you full of my come just like my Creed-siblings did, right?"

You nodded against his thigh, your sweat seeping through his flight suit to meet his own liberal perspiration. He was so hot, his armor had never been this hot--

"Kevva, that's a kink I didn't anticipate." Ezra panted, pink slick smeared all over his nose and chin. "They certainly like it though, if I understand correctly."

Din could smell you, smell the sweet scent of that fruit mixed with your own arousal. His fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Ezra's neck and he nearly headbutted him on reflex, barely reining the power back in time. Ezra seemed confused at first, the other man obviously dazed with heat and just sort of allowing Djarin to shove his face against his helmet. 

…

The helm was so cool, Ezra couldn't restrain a relieved sigh when he made contact. Mando appeared to be rubbing your essence all over his helmet, utilizing Ezra's face as a paintbrush. Unorthodox, but effective.

"Oh," Ezra realized, "you've got some sort of olfactory sensors in there, don't you. You lewd creature you!" He teased breathlessly. "If you think they smell sumptuous, I regret to inform you that their taste utterly puts that to shame." Words were heavy in his mouth, the prospector having to work harder and harder to put sentences together. It wouldn't be long before his senses wholly abandoned him, he was certain. "Release me, Steerforth, I must…I must carry out my end of the bargain." He groaned, struggling free. "We are almost at their climax."

Mando was nearly vibrating with anticipation, gloved fingers clawing at Ezra's hair. "Careful," was all the armored man said hoarsely. 

Ezra nodded, once again touched by the bounty hunter's surprising display of consideration for his partner. "When the barrier breaks, they will need your cock immediately, Steerforth. I will...not be coherent for much longer." He mumbled against your cunt, giving up on speech after Mando nodded.

With one last sweep of his tongue, the barrier dissolved. You sobbed out, your voice breaking as you writhed beneath your large companion and bucked your hips up against Ezra's eager mouth. Slick fairly poured out of you, leaking down your thighs and soaking the blanket beneath you. 

Ezra didn't remember wriggling his bound hands beneath your rear, simply returning to his senses with your legs over his shoulders and his lungs burning for air but you tasted so good, he felt raw with hunger. 

Mando's gloved hand covered nearly the entirety of his face, easing him back from his feast. Ezra watched the other man's chest heave in a daze until he suddenly remembered what he was doing. "I apologize, I...I am too far gone." He murmured in contrition, lowering your hips back to the floor. 

"Ask nicely to fuck their mouth." Mando ordered, his blunt words digging into Ezra's groin. "You said it hurt you last time because you were alone. You helped them not to hurt. If they don't want to let you to fuck their mouth though, I'll…" he hesitated, "I'll figure something else out. Nobody has to hurt."

"'Something else'?" Ezra repeated, stunned. What on earth could this armored man possibly be offering? Those gloves were remarkably soft, the leather worn smooth from a lifetime of use, no doubt- "Oh."

…

The pain had eased, only to be replaced by a searing emptiness. You squirmed beneath Mando, tangentially aware that he was engaged in a discussion with Ezra. Your hand flew to your pussy, the drenched area making an embarrassingly loud noise when you thrust two fingers into yourself in an effort to quell the ache. 

"Maker, please, please, Mando!" you begged, barely aware of what you were saying. The heat concentrated in your pelvis was burning you alive, desperate tears pouring down your face.

Mando stood to his full height, towering over you, just watching you quiver while you pleaded deliriously. He fairly ambled around your body, moving until he stood between your spread legs. His boot shoved your ankle, opening you even further, exposing every inch of you and the mess that covered the blanket under you. "Senaar." The low burr of modulation made you rock your hips up, whimpering and nodding when he stroked his cock like he was showing off.

Somewhere, deep in your soul, you prayed that he liked what he saw even without the strange pollen instigating. 

He knelt, gloved fingers curling beneath your chin to pull your eyes up from his thick, perfect cock and the puddle of precome it was currently weeping onto your pubic mound. His touch sent flickering trails of electricity through your body, and you could barely focus on what he was asking.

"Ezra...mouth?" 

You nodded rapidly, making Mando bark out what could have been a laugh. He cupped your jaw again, and then his hand stroked your hair in a way that was almost tender. 

"I'll make you feel better." He promised. Ezra was a mess, he looked like you felt. The quarry simply let Mando shove him down onto his knees, his eyes half-lidded. "Undo your suit." Mando ordered and Ezra shakily attempted to obey. He was having a difficult time with his hands still in the binders so you reached out, batting his hands away impatiently to unzip the lower portion of his exosuit.

His thermal leggings were threadbare like his shirt, the waffle-weave fabric soaked through. His cock visibly twitched when you exhaled sharply. "Do not tease me, little bird, I feel as if I am on death's doorstep." The man pleaded through his teeth, "I am raw and agony gnaws at my skin; please take me in your mouth." 

"I have to get your pants off." You tried to explain, fumbling with the article of clothing. The noise of despair he made had you frantically clawing at the pants, finally dragging them down low enough that his cock was freed. It slapped against his belly and he moaned, bound hands digging helplessly into your hair. 

"May I please have your mouth?" He requested raggedly. "I will not take it if you do not give it freely but please, little bird." 

After he had worked so hard to get you to come? You were nodding hurriedly before he finished speaking, and his deep, drawn-out groan of relief was like music to your ears when you swallowed him down. 

…

You were radiating warmth, your hips twitching and shifting restlessly even as you tried to get Ezra's dick out of his suit. Din had to hand it to the other man, he did ask nicely. 

But there were much more pressing matters to attend to. Mainly, your neglected cunt that was currently leaking all over the underside of his cock. Djarin took a steadying breath, and then slowly sank himself into your waiting heat.

Your cry of relief was fucking primal, a hungry, feral snarl that slithered hot and seething in his stomach under the beskar plate. Din was wholly, entirely lost, finding himself mentally shattered at the first stroke into your body. Your thighs trembled on either side of his hips and then your legs fell open, like you didn't have the strength to hold them up. 

Shit, he knew he should say something, he knew he should be reluctant about this, but it was like every cell of his body needed you to fucking survive. 

Maybe he always had. 

Din bared his teeth and growled back at you, his attention divided between watching you eagerly suck Ezra's cock and watching the way his own dick split you open. His passage was eased by the strange pink fluid that continued to ooze out of you, stars it was so hot-

Ezra's fingers tangled in your hair after a moment, the prospector cradling your head to his groin in a manner that could have almost been described as gentle.

"Is this how my Creed-siblings f-ucked you, Senaar?" Din's voice grated in his chest, the armored man barely aware of the heated words tumbling out of his mouth. "Filling you, claiming you, fucking your throat and pussy?"

"Kevva." Ezra breathed. "Your peculiar voice working in tandem with your cock appears to be the thing that turns them into a voracious harlot. I do not know if I have ever-" His sentence broke momentarily, "oh, fuck, very well little bird, take the whole of it then." He grunted, raking his fingers through your hair as you deepthroated him. "You are absolutely magnificent at that, you know." The other man praised shakily. 

Your cunt fluttered around Djarin's cock and he felt your arousal soak through his suit, hot fluid sliding down to coat his balls. "Stars, did you just come?" He groaned, unable to stop the filthy noise he made when you whined around Ezra's dick and nodded as best as you could. His fingers gripped your thigh, digging into the skin as he began to rut against you. The Mandalorian threw his head back, panting, "Feel so fucking--good around me, fuck, Senaar, so good-"

…

You felt like you were falling apart again and again. The taste, the sensations, the curling knot of heat in your belly that released inch by inch. Mando's hand on your thigh and Ezra's grip on your head were the things that allowed you to hold on to your sanity, but only just.

Mando was conquering you utterly, his dick driving into you with enough force that you knew you would be aching later, but in the moment you never wanted him to stop. You had craved him, wished for him for so long, to finally have him was total bliss. 

And Ezra, Ezra, his silky voice caressing your body as his bound hands carded through your hair. His cock choked you again and again and every time you had to pull back off of him for breath he praised you, talked about how good you were, how no one had ever taken him as deep as you…

You were in heaven. 

Ezra abruptly retreated, his cock smearing more precome across your lips. "If you continue on in this manner I will be undone, little bird." He muttered. "Your one-sided assault, while inescapably delicious, is rendering me wholly base. You wish for me to spill my seed on your face?" His hips twitched. "Or shall I fuck my come down your throat, request that you swallow every drop?" 

"Fuck it into them." Mando rasped before you could say anything in reply, a gloved hand grabbing your chin. "Fuck your load i-into that sweet little mouth of theirs. Give them what they fucking need, quarry." He demanded, and you nearly came again from how unhinged he sounded. 

"Well, little bird?" Ezra asked softly, his eyes dark with want. "Shall I take my pleasure from your lewd little mouth and let your beautiful throat milk me dry?"

"Please!" You begged, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue to encourage him. 

Ezra sighed blissfully at the sight, lacing his fingers through your hair and encouraging you to take his cock until your nose rested against his groin. "Fuc-king gods, you are positively celestial." He groaned, "Relegating yourself to a singular partner would be doing you a disservice, little bird. I highly encourage you to weaponize your talents in whatever field you wish."

Come flooded your mouth, his cock twitching heavily against your tongue. Your eyes rolled back, your lungs burning for air and you dimly heard Mando snarl, dropping his helm to rest on your sternum. The metal was blessedly cool even through your tunic, helping to anchor you to reality. 

"Fucking touch me, please." Mando's voice shook even with the modulator, his words buzzing through your body. "Senaar please, fuck, pl-please, touch me, fucking--"

Your palms crashed into his shoulders, hips bucking upwards to meet his next thrust and you came again. Mando made a noise that you could only liken to a roar, the armored man grappling at your hips and grinding himself against your dripping cunt. 

"Senaar, Senaar, Senaar--" The name he had given you punctuated every thrust, his rasping tone making your belly drop out. You weren't sure if you would ever stop coming, grasping blindly at Mando and Ezra while your cunt gripped down on Mando's cock.

…

If Ezra still had any doubts about being a blatant proxy for the armored man, that was obliterated in his post-orgasm daze. 

A gloved hand slid to the back of his neck and tugged him down to your mouth. Ezra went clumsily but willingly, the prospector humming when he tasted himself and the cloying sweetness of the Serpentia on your tongue. You sobbed against his lips and Ezra soothed you with his mouth, accepting all of your hungry whimpers and whines as he stroked your hair back off your forehead. 

"Little bird, little bird, you will want for nothing with this individual pummeling you so mercilessly." He breathed, relishing the soft cry that quivered against the skin of his neck. "I imagine you can feel every inch of that prodigious girth, burning like unquenchable quicksilver, threatening to breach your very womb." He moved his bound hands down, resting them on your stomach. "Steerforth, I trust you are punishin' their cervix with every thrust?" He queried, chuckling darkly when Mando just snarled in reply.

You threw your head back, hands fisted in the fabric between Mando's pauldrons and gorget. "Mando-!" You pleaded, "fuck!" 

Mando's hands dug beneath the small of your back and he canted your hips upwards, sheathing his cock in the cradle of your body over and over. Ezra envied the armored man's stamina, grunting when he felt his member trying to rise again. Whether he could blame the pollen for that, he was unsure, but the lovely company certainly did nothing to dissuade his arousal. Watching this large, almost knightly figure rail into you, your face still a mess of tears from when Ezra had fucked your mouth…

Kevva, he could not recall a time where he had been so content to simply play voyeur, pressing the occasional kiss to your lips at Mando's behest. "Such tenderness, what a dichotomous sensation for you," the prospector mused, "the contrast between armor and flesh." His mouth brushed against your ear when he continued, "However, I believe you're beginning to realize that there is an untapped wellspring of man beneath all that metal, am I correct little bird?"

...

You squeezed your eyes shut and Din's hand reached up, the bounty hunter unable to keep from cradling your cheek. "I always knew." You said, your voice barely audible. "I-I always...I always-"

"Be quiet." Din grunted. "Y-You...don't have to say it." His heart slamming in his chest had nothing to do with his current exertion. You knew. Shame reached him dimly through the haze of arousal. All the times he ached to touch you, all the times he battled with himself over his desire for contact…

Your hand gripped the back of his helmet and he flinched sharply. He hadn't noticed you move and you could pull his helmet off, shit, he was so stupid for doing this! His eyes flew to yours, even though he knew you couldn't see through his visor.

After a moment of him fighting back his panic, you just shook your head. "S-Sealed unit, ri-ght?" You asked, your words hitching with his thrusts. Djarin nodded warily. Your eyes half-lidded and you knocked your forehead into his helmet, the gesture unmistakable to a Mandalorian.

A kiss. 

Was his heart breaking, or just fucking giving out under the assault of this insane pollen? Was he overloaded? Was this all just some wild hallucination?

Din frantically shoved his helmet against your face, pinning your head back to the pillow. Shit, he needed to be careful, you didn't have armor. "Senaar, I--" Basic had always been so damn heavy on his tongue. Mando'a flowed, but it was secret. Sacred. Djarin hesitated and you reached up again, cradling the indents on his helmet.

"Always. Even with this." You whispered. 

His brain had short-circuited. The roaring in his ears was deafening and he knew he was making some kind of ugly, wounded noise, but he couldn't actually do anything about it. 

Always. Always. 

His heart must have blown, he reasoned desperately. That was the only explanation for what he was feeling right now.

…

The sound that Mando made after you assured him was heartwrenching, a guttural sob that seemed like a mixture of agony and ecstasy. He clawed at the blanket beneath you, gasping for breath as he all but broke you in half, his dick ripping yet another orgasm from your hungry cunt. 

You were lightheaded from his prolonged fucking, your pussy in spasm around his thick cock, but you refused to give out yet. "Did you feel me come, Mando?" You whimpered against the side of his helmet, wringing more feral noises out of him. "Is it good?"

"Fuck, incredible, s-so--" Mando gripped your thigh, hitching it up over his hip and then dragging his fingers hungrily through the pink slick that had pooled in the crease of your hip. "Never want to leave, fuck, m'sorry, I know I'm t-taking--forever-" 

"Only a fool apologizes for his length in the bedroom." Ezra remarked dryly, dipping down to kiss you when you laughed. "How do you fare, little bird?"

"So good." You sighed, feeling half-drunk on your orgasm high. The knot in your belly had finally gone slack, leaving you weak and trembling beneath Mando as he chased his own completion. You hummed and Ezra rumbled back, his touch remarkably careful when he cupped your chin. 

"You have done so well." Ezra murmured. "Serpentia is no simple storm to weather, yet you have endured." Mando wordlessly bumped his helmet against Ezra's temple, the metal rubbing over the blond tuft of hair the quarry sported. "You are most welcome, Steerforth." Ezra chuckled. "One is glad to be of service, but please. You threatened to fill them, didn't you?"

Mando's hips faltered in their rhythm and the armored man finally came with a shattered moan of relief. Stars, you weren't sure if you had the Serpentia to blame for the sheer volume that he came; you could feel it frothing out of you around his cock as he continued to shudder and writhe through his orgasm. 

"Holy shit, Mando." You said incredulously, unable to fight back the urge to slip a hand down between your bodies. "You told me Mandalorians were rare."

"We--are." Mando panted raggedly, his cock still twitching inside you.

"If you come like this, how?" You asked, your combined fluids soaking your questing fingers. Mando just stared at you for a moment, shoulders heaving while he struggled to catch his breath.

And then he started laughing, which was...not nearly as terrifying as you had expected, honestly. "Stars, you--" He wheezed, his helm thudding gently against your forehead. "Fuck you, Senaar." You could hear him grinning, his voice still warm with laughter. 

"Odd method of displaying affection. I take it your Creed is of a fraternitous bent?" Ezra commented, a quiet noise of surprise escaping him when you tugged him down for a kiss.

"Thank you." You mumbled drowsily into his mouth. 

"Hardly. I ought to thank you. When last I endured the Serpent's grasp, I was incarcerated and driven to gratify myself to ribbons on the inside of my gear." Ezra informed you, his tone nonchalant. "This experience was a rare moment of hedonistic bliss in my life. Believe me when I say I shall cherish it."

He straightened up before you could say anything in reply, extending his bound wrists to Mando.

"Whither to, my recalcitrant steerforth?"

Mando ignored him for another moment, stroking your forehead tenderly. He appeared to have noticed your weariness, because he sounded softer when he spoke. "Sleep, Senaar. It's over."

…

"I'll cut you loose on Sorgan." 

Ezra swiveled in the co-pilot chair, knowing that his expression must border on the befuddled. When the armored man had left you to sleep, hauled Ezra into the cockpit and secured his binders to the chair, the prospector had assumed that whatever agreement they struck previously was rendered null and void. "I would be...wholeheartedly grateful to you, Steerforth." He breathed.

"I never found you. Your pod malfunctioned and you burned alive in the atmosphere." Mando instructed him in that level, modulated voice. "Stop stealing shit and I won't have to hunt you down again."

"Those men stole from me!" Ezra retorted hotly, knocking his elbow down into the white case that hung off his hip. "I worked alone for stands and they came along right at the most opportune juncture, put a thrower to my head and robbed me! I simply reclaimed-"

Mando waved a hand, interrupting his self-righteous tirade. "You and I both know that it doesn't matter. I'm forfeiting the credits this time, but next time…" he trailed off pointedly. "Don't get caught again. If someone else from my Guild chapter picks up your bounty, Mandalorian or otherwise, they will catch you." 

Mando leaned in close, his elbows resting on his knees and helmet propped up on his folded hands. Ezra felt for all the world like a specimen underneath a microscope, barely suppressing the urge to squirm nervously. 

"The bounty specified that you be captured warm." The armored man said after a beat. "No promise of half-payment upon cold delivery or even proof of demise. So whoever you got into a pissing match with wants to be the one to put that last slug into your brain. You already heard my advice. For your own good, I suggest you lay low and be fucking quiet." He gestured out the cockpit viewport at the green sphere that hovered in the distance. "There's good people on that planet. Good people that I care about. If you bring hunters to their doorstep, I will find out. And then I will find you."

Kevva have mercy, this man was no joke. Ezra was having a difficult time just mustering up the breath to give him an affirmation! Was this truly the same Lancelot he had watched engage in lotus-eating debauchery with his Guinevere not two hours hence? Ezra's belly roiled uncertainly, arousal and fear a potent combination. This must be how the bounty hunter indulged himself without divesting his plate, the prospector reasoned dimly. Fear was a remarkably stimulating thing. "Of course." He finally answered, his voice a little reedy. "Your mercy is...unexpectedly generous, but no less appreciated for its spontaneity."

Mando grunted, seeming satisfied with his response. The armored man returned to the control panel after a moment, flipping a few switches. The entire ship appeared to be miles above what Ezra was used to. Even the Testin had a dog-eared manual that hung from a chain by the central dash, and the craft was such a rattling nightmare that she needed three bodies just to keep her straight. But this man, this...Mandalorian, he operated the whole blasted vessel with a fluid ease. 

His next words were so quiet Ezra nearly missed them. "Thank you."

"Pardon?" Ezra queried blankly.

Mando heaved a sigh that made his pauldrons visibly dip. "I said, thank you." He growled awkwardly. "I don't know what...I don't know if I would have hurt them because of--because of how I am." 

"It will do no good to ruminate on such dour subjects." Ezra hesitated, then continued, "but your Creed...would you have broken it for them, had you known about the requirements of the Medusine barrier?"

"I…" Mando tightened his hold on the directionals, those gloves creaking with his tension. "I'm not sure." He admitted, lapsing into silence afterwards.

"Your ship is marvelously responsive." Ezra murmured by way of changing the subject. "It reminds me of a diminutive Screamer-class that I endured a few stands on, oh, nearly fifteen cycles ago-"

"Be quiet."

…

Din watched Ezra until he vanished between the large trunks of Sorgan's conifers, the Mandalorian then dropping back into the pilot's seat with a groan. Maker, he hoped he was doing the right thing. Hoped he hadn't just unleashed some mass-murdering psychopath on the unsuspecting populace.

Djarin tilted his helmet back against the headrest of the seat, aimlessly staring up at the fuselage. 

What the hell was he going to say when you woke up? 

Din's heart sank. He knew that he couldn't believe anything that had come out of your mouth while you had been under the effects of that fruit. Serpent's Tongue. He chewed his lower lip meditatively. 

He could lie. 

He fucking cringed at the thought, then shook his head at himself. You would be embarrassed at best, but at worst…

Shit, he didn't want to lose you, even if you didn't feel the same way about him. And then there was the kid to worry about. No, a lie would be better. 

You had sought out other Mandos. His stomach lurched as he recalled that little fact. Fuck, fuck, was it hope that beat so insistently in his throat?

A sealed unit, he had said.

He just wouldn't bring it up. He was the one who had insisted that this whole maneuver was struck from the proverbial records in the first place, right? He just wouldn't mention it. Easy enough. If you said something, that was fine, but otherwise…

Din nodded firmly. This is the Way.

Part Two

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

A Tail for Two

Summary: You often seek solace in the form of the most unusual of company. So one day after you find out your father pawned you off to marry some rich man’s son, you release your woes to one of your closest friends. Thinking you had no way out, you never expected your life to take a complete 180.

Warnings: Very mild and brief mention of n.udity, otherwise this is some adventure and fluff.

Word Count: 6k exactly

A/N: Second prize for my giveaway for @nuvoleincielo​! I apologize for this one taking so long - I had trouble figuring out what to do plot wise for this. I also didn’t want to surpass 5k words, but it happened anyway and I’m pleased with how this turned out. Enjoy!

Damp sand sifted with your footsteps, a trail soon washed away from the gentle lapping waves of Flat Iron Lake. A steel toned mist settled heavy amongst the surface, giving no leeway to dry land. The bleak atmosphere obscured the sinking sun. It was early evening, and soon you’d be engulfed in total darkness.

Yet you didn’t care. The tears flowing from your eyes didn’t allow much for sight anyway. Running aimlessly across the shore, you didn’t stop until your lungs burned for air, struggling to breathe properly from the exertion and crying combined. Slowing down to a walk, you breathed in the humid air and finding no physical relief.

You cast your gaze at your surroundings for the first time, though spotting hardly anything in this dense fog. The shore stretched before you, reaching into the endless depths of the lake. The calm waters lapped around the soles of your boots, dampening the leather.

Water always calmed you in the darkest of times. Staring into the murky depths instilled a sense of serenity, an escape from this cruel world, even temporarily. Swallowing the painful lump in your throat, you bent down to sit on the sand. It was cold, except you couldn’t care less. It felt soothing.

Wrapping your arms around your knees, you allowed your vision to focus on the turbid waters in front of you. Fish darted beneath the surface, occasionally jumping up to catch a bug. Oh how it must be so simple to live like a fish, not having to conform to society and just relying on basic instinct.

Even without much light, their scales held a certain iridescence to them. On a sunny day they glittered like freshly polished jewels, inviting you in for a swim amongst them.

A flash of movement caught your eye, a glance of color amongst the opaque green, brown and silver. A much larger object swimming amongst the smaller schools of fish. You heard the water surface break, and something splashed. You squinted your eyes to see a figure amongst the dim. Who was swimming in this weather, while the air was this chilly?

The figure drew closer to you, and your muscles tensed. You weren’t sure what to expect, until a familiar face appeared through the thick curtain of mist. A face you hadn’t seen in a while.

“A-Arthur?”

The being known as Arthur rose halfway from the surface, exposing his drenched, naked torso. Strings of lake weed adorned his neck and upper arms, some strung with clam shells. Beneath the water lurked a shimmering presence, the lazy treading of his beautiful thick tail.

Sailors often told the cautionary tale of these creatures, though many people put it off as hogwash and silly dreams. Once as a young girl you dreamed about mythical creatures, and what it would be like to meet them. You supposed that wish would never come true.

Arthur was a merman you met some years ago, after an argument with your father had driven you to seek solace in this very lake. You’d come across a lonely dock that you sat upon, letting your tears fall into the waters below. Somehow your crying had been heard across the lake, attracting the most unusual of company.

From countless tales, you knew merfolk would generally avoid humans, unless they were seeking blood. However Arthur was a different sort, his curiosity plain as he spoke with you. Somehow it was easy to converse with this stranger, openly admitting your woes. He couldn’t offer a solution, though you found yourself comfortable to unload to someone who wouldn’t judge.

You hadn’t expected to call that same merman your friend. After that night you ventured out again in hopes to see him and to convince yourself it wasn’t a vivid dream. At first unsuccessful, he appeared just as you gave in, and thus kindling your friendship with him. Often sneaking out at night to call upon his company, away from the eyes of the curious.

Though as these past few years went by, you’d see him less and less. At no fault of either of yours, he had his life to live and so did yours. He didn’t tell you much about his life beneath the waves, other than he traveled frequently. Though his accent was heavy, indicating he must’ve settled somewhere ages ago.

Now the merman before you smiled in recognition. “It’s been quite a while,” He mused.

You nodded in response. “Yes, over a year since we last spoke,” You responded, though your voice thick from crying. You sniffed in attempts to sound clearer.

“Seems something’s troublin’ you again,” he rumbled, swimming even closer. “I heard you.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. Taking a shuddering breath, you spoke again. “My father… he’s trying to force me to marry this man. I didn’t want any part of it.”

Arthur frowned at this news. “Why is that?”

“Some stupid debt he has to settle,” you explained while shaking your head in disgust. “He drank his savings away and took a loan from a rich businessman. Well when it came time to pay, he had nothing to give, except me.”

Arthur’s thick brows furrowed in concern, the frown deepening. “That don’t seem right, what kinda father would give up his daughter over a debt?”

“Mine,” you grumbled, glaring down at the sandy ground. “We had an argument, a bad one. I couldn’t change his mind.”

The merman let out a sigh, shaking his own head. “Not even my people do that, no one would be happy.”

“Unfortunately it’s common up here on the surface,” you continued, toeing at a shell half-buried in the sand. “Women aren’t respected.”

“So I’ve seen,” Arthur mused. “Humans are a strange breed, pawnin’ off their young over money, yet they call us monsters.”

A bitter smile crossed your lips. “Well, your kind also eat sailors, or so I’ve heard,” as you spoke, a darkness crossed his eyes. “Ah, I’m sorry.”

A smile of his own appeared on his face, though rueful. “S’okay, I can’t blame you. Those stories are as old as time.”

You’ve since learned that tales like that were more hogwash. Sure, Arthur did imply that perhaps other mer-tribes would hunt down humans, but far and few in between if normal hunts were unsuccessful. Merfolk would prefer to stay away from humans, as their curiosity would cause more harm than good in sparking hunts of their own to bring one or more back for money and show.

Though out of the multiple times you’ve met Arthur, by some miracle you were able to avoid the company of others. Usually you two were in your own little world until other obligations called either one of you back home. Sometimes you wished you could join him, hoping one day your legs would mesh into a beautiful tail and you’d swim after him, letting him bring you to his home far beneath the surface.

Dreams would remain dreams. Hell, if God himself would grant you the impossible, you’d leave with him right then and there.

“Couldn’t you run away?” Arthur asked, breaking your train of thought.

You blinked in surprise, wondering if he somehow could read your mind. If that were the case, would he have heard your thoughts from times previous? Your face flushed at the mere consideration, and you were glad it was slowly getting darker. “I couldn’t survive on my own,” you finally answered. “Mama always told me it weren’t proper for a lady to be outside.”

This seemed to confuse Arthur, as he cocked an eyebrow in bewilderment. “That don’t seem right at all, how are you s’posed to learn anything?”

“I learn how to be a wife. To cook and clean, how to make my future husband happy,” you sighed heavily. “Guess I’ll be good for one thing.”

“Don’t talk like that, maybe there’s hope for you,” Arthur said quietly.

You shook your head slowly, your vision blurred once again with a fresh bout of tears. They fell freely, soaking into the already dampened earth. “Unless someone could whisk me away, there’s no hope.”

---

That night, you succumbed to a restless slumber. Your subconscious seemed to be on a loop, playing the same tumultuous argument between you and your father. The warped face of your future husband loomed from the depths of your mind, standing before you with a smirk. Then, you there next to him, staring at yourself in a mirror. A wedding dress bound to your figure, nervous hands clutching a wilting bouquet while your spouse held an iron grip on your waist.

The waking world served no enlightenment. A few days have passed by with no offer of escape. One mid-morning, your father sent you out into town for groceries (and alcohol), a chore he’d usually do himself if he wasn’t already waist deep in inebriation.

Iron-clad hooves tapped against the worn cobblestone street of Blackwater. Dark clouds overcast the sky, and the smell of rain hung heavy in the air, deterring most other citizens. You were nearly alone in the street, aside from the occasional wagon passing you by. You weren’t in a hurry regardless of the impending storm, your mind too wrapped up in your own thoughts to shift focus on nature.

Within the next week, you were to be wed. You’d met your future husband only a handful of times prior to the agreement – he was a few years older than you, outwardly handsome though seemed to have an affinity for gambling. Coming from wealth, money was merely a secondary thought for him. He’d flirt with you, flash a charming smile and run his clean fingers against his neat hair, slicked back with pomade.

Any other eligible woman would be keen to marry such a charming man. Those who congratulated you were ignorant of the true reason, and you didn’t have the heart to remedy that. You supposed the truth would show itself sooner or later, especially since your father’s poor financial decisions were somewhat of a known issue.

Drawing closer to the general store, you slid from the saddle just as the first few drops of rain began to fall. They felt unseasonably cold, which only indicated a miserable ride home. You sighed and hitched the horse before hurrying onto the sidewalk and pushing open the glass door of the general store. You were greeted by the smell of coffee beans and dried goods, shortly followed by a verbal welcome of the shopkeeper. You nodded to him in response and turned your attention to the shelves.

Out of the corner of your eye, another patron partially caught your attention. He was on the opposite end of the shop, back facing you as he perused the shelves. He was tall and broad-framed, with long sandy hair flowing like water to just above shoulder height.

Something about him seemed familiar. Perhaps you’ve come across him before in town? It wasn’t smart to dwell however, and you didn’t want to get caught staring. You instead turned your attention back to the tiers of canned fruit.

After a few minutes of picking through the shelves, you paid for a crate worth of goods and stepped out just in time for the drizzle to turn into a steady rain. You peered over at your horse, the old stallion shaking his head as if to rid of the droplets falling into his ears. You approached him, placing the crate on the ground to transfer everything to the saddle bags.

Behind you, the door opened again. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the man from earlier. He was too out of view to see him clearly, and it would be too impolite to look over.

Within a few minutes the groceries were tucked into the saddlebags, thankfully transferred over without becoming too wet. You wiped away a layer of precipitation from the saddle and mounted, casually throwing a glance the man’s way. He was leaning up against the building, his head turned away from you. He had no coat nor hat on, nothing to shield him from the ever hastening downpour. You shook your head and steered your horse the opposite way down the street.

Later that day, the rain failed to lighten which confined you indoors for a few hours. However, it was nearly time for the animals to be fed their dinner. Wrapping yourself in a thick shawl, you stepped outside of your back door and hurried toward the run down barn on the far end of the yard. The horse nickered in response from his small pasture, knowing exactly your destination. Chickens pecking restlessly at the ground ruffled their feathers and scattered away from your footsteps, only to follow you just a few feet behind.

Stepping through the threshold, the surrounding dampness increased the musty, stale hay and bird dropping aroma trapped in the old wooden walls. Your nose wrinkled as you approached an opened bale of hay, first grabbing a few flakes and making your way back to the pasture. Stepping into the shallow mud and focusing over to the horse, you noticed his back was turned – his attention on a person petting his neck.

It wasn’t a strange sight to see, as you lived right next to the road and the ever so friendly old stallion would attract children and urban tourists for some affection and treats. You didn’t mind; they weren’t hurting him and he was happy regardless.

You could only partly see the visitor, and with a prick of surprise you recognized him, somewhat. You sidestepped for a better view, thus confirming your suspicion. It was the man from the store. Your movement caught his attention and his head turned toward you.

Wait…

You frowned and furrowed your brow. This man seemed too familiar. A face you’d only associate with certain times, surrounded by murky water.

No, that wasn’t possible.

A small smile formed on the man’s lips, a very familiar smile you’d seen countless times when greeted by a friend.

Truly this couldn’t be reality.

“Arthur?”

The smile widened and he gave a small, single nod. “Hey, Y/N.”

Your body seemed to be rooted in its place. Aside from your slacked jaw of shock, your muscles seemed to be frozen. How could the merman you’d come to know stand in front of you, on dry land? You must be dreaming, perhaps you fell off your horse and hit your head somehow –

“You alright?” he asked, breaking through your mental attempts to make any sense of this.

A million words flitted through your mind though none were able to pass your lips. Finally after ten seconds of silence, your mouth moved to utter a singular, “How?”

Arthur gripped the fence and hopped over with such ease it almost seemed like he floated, crossing the pasture to come closer to you. Your breath hitched, watching him move so fluidly as if he walked his entire life. This simply didn’t make a lick of sense. He stopped just before you, mere feet from your placement. Your eyes refused to leave him, wide and unblinking despite the rain softly splattering your cheeks.

“I’ll tell ya later,” he dropped his voice to a murmur. “Right now, I want you to get ready.”

“Ready?” you repeated, your throat choking on the word. “Ready for what?”

“What we talked ‘bout the other day,” he reminded you.

You blinked in confusion, your mind still attempting to process the sight before you. With a short moment you recounted the conversation, explaining to him about your arranged marriage, how you can’t run away, and how you wished –

Oh.

“Arthur, you can’t just show up and take me away!” you hissed under your breath.

Confusion settled on his handsome face. “Why not? You said you wished for someone to do just that.”

“I wasn’t being serious!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms in the air and turning around, running your palm across your damp face. It was a wishful thought, yes, though you’d come to terms with this marriage knowing you had no other options. Perhaps you were dreaming after all, your subconscious mind attempting to reach for your deeper desires to further harp your emotions.

“Wasn’t you, though?” Arthur said quietly. A gentle hand reached to rest on your shoulder, a small action that caused you to flinch. “I saw how miserable you are, you couldn’t have jus’ changed your mind in the span of a few days.”

You pursed your lips, head tilting to give him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t change my mind, I just accepted my fate.” You sighed.

A frown crossed his lips. “Why?”

“What else have I got?” you said with a shrug. “I’ve told you before, I don’t have the skills to live outside of…this,” you raised your arm and gestured to the small house before you. “I could never – ”

“Why do ya think I’m here?” he interrupted. “You wouldn’t be alone.”

His words halted your next response. Turning to face him again, you narrowed your eyes at him, a frown of your own forming. “And where would we go? Are you gonna take me to the lake? I don’t have a fin, you know.”

His shoulders shuddered with a deep chuckle. He shook his head and grinned lopsidedly in amusement. “I know, Y/N. We ain’t goin’ to the lake, I’ll tell ya that much.”

This only further befuddled you, and more questions arose in suspicion. “So where the fuck – and why do you have – ”

“I ask you to trust me here,” he spoke again, his voice soft and even. “If you come with me, I’ll answer any question you have.”

You simply stared at him, a small part of your brain still attempting to make any sense of this. You have to wake up if this was a true dream, mentally willing yourself to open your eyes. “I must be asleep,” you grumbled to yourself, shaking your head.

“You ain’t.”

Your eyes met his, seeing his ever so patient gaze. What other explanation would you have other than a trick of your own mind? Maybe you’d fallen off your horse and hit your head on the ground. Holding your hands out in front of you, your fingers flexed and curled. Everything seemed the same.

His own hands appeared in your field of view, taking yours rather gently. Wet from the rain but warm and calloused, your skin tingled where he touched. It wasn’t the first time you’d had physical contact with him, though you were used to the sheen of lake water covering his skin accompanied with a texture that reminded you of the surface of a fish. Even though he was damp, his skin was dry. “I know it’s strange, Y/N. I ain’t lyin’ to ya here, I will take you elsewhere if you really want. And I know you want that,” he stated plainly. “But if that ain’t true, then I will go back to the lake.”

You’d fallen silent then. The logical process would be to turn away, to tell him that he was wasting his time and go back to his home. However, the tiny part of your brain you’d tried to suppress throughout this ordeal was screaming. Clawing its way from the mental rocks of which it was buried beneath. Yearning for that chance to live as your own woman.

And possibly living with Arthur?

Your chest expanded with a deep breath, shutting your eyes as drops of water fell from your lashes. He promised he’d tell you the questions burning in the back of your throat as long as you’d come with him, and what reason did you have to not trust him? He wasn’t a stranger, had always been nice to you, never gave you any indication you’d be in danger while in his presence.

It still however was a huge risk. What if your father or fiancé came after you? What if either of you ran into danger? What if you would be turned into a mermaid in some way?

“Listen,” you nearly jumped when his voice sounded closer, opening your eyes to see he leaned in. “I don’t got much time out here, I’ll be back by midnight. You can give me your answer then.”

Before you could say anything, he hopped over the fence once again, leaving you gaping after him.

---

As the cloudy day transitioned into night, you relentlessly mulled over what you’d just witnessed. Arthur the merman walking and speaking to you, offering a way out. After multiple pinches and other obscure ways to convince yourself it was a dream, turns out this was very much reality. Afterward, you weighed your options over and over. You weren’t the first to be forced into marriage and certainly wouldn’t be the last. Concurrently, you wouldn’t be the first to flee from an unpleasant lifestyle. Marriage would mean financial security and a fixed, mundane duty. Running away would unlock a door to a world full of secrets and adventure, though can be proven dangerous.

You could be safe for potentially the rest of your life, yet bound by societal laws and left to be only dreaming of what your life could have been.

Your father’s lumbering sounded from the floor below, accompanied by a sharp bang every once in a while. Since your mother died, he was never seen without an amber bottle in his hand. He was simply a mere shell of what he used to be, no longer the man you grew up with. Perhaps this arrangement was his way of caring, assuring you’d never come across any trouble.

But you were tired of bargaining with yourself, trying to make sense of this decision other than the most obvious. He was a stranger to you now, as he has been for years. Should you continue to subject yourself to his wishes, to be miserable until the day you die?

No, not anymore.

When the sounds downstairs finally quietly, you began to pack your essentials. You kept an eye on the time, grabbing a few days’ worth of clothing and a few coveted trinkets: some jewelry and a photo of your mother, along with whichever else you could fit into the old leather sack. When you’d finished, the time was 11:30.

Arthur showed up on the stroke of midnight exactly. You’d spotted him in your backyard again, keeping to the shadows of the barn. You snuck downstairs as quietly as you could, giving a sidelong glance to your father, who was passed out at the kitchen table with an empty bottle dangling from his hand. Silently, you bid him a goodbye as a bittersweet wave overcame you, blinking away a hint of tears. Maybe you will see him again someday, if he were to ever sober up.

Passing through the back door and closing it as carefully as you could, your heart pounded loudly. Arthur’s dark figure became clearer as your eyesight adjusted, along with an unfamiliar horse on the opposite side of the fence. You met him halfway. He eyed the sack slung over your shoulder, and a small smile appeared on his face.

“Seems like you’ve made your decision,” he stated.

Nodding enthusiastically, you replied, “Yes. It took me a while to figure it out, but yes. I’ll go with you, I’m trusting you.”

Arthur nodded quietly, his eyes leaving you to sweep across the landscape before turning his attention back to you. “I found a place we can stay for a while over in New Austin, ‘less you got somewhere else in mind.”

This piqued your interest. You weren’t too far from the state border, although it would take a substantial amount of time to reach it. There was no way Arthur had gone there within the time slot he allotted, unless he’d been on the surface previously.

More and more questions grew in the back of your mind, though you had to staunch your curiosity. You couldn’t dawdle for long, in case some night owls nearby grew curious of your conversation. “Then let’s go,” you finally said, glancing at the horse you assumed was Arthur’s ride. However you paused, turning your attention toward the stallion resting in the pasture.

Arthur followed your gaze. “Somethin’ wrong?”

You looked at him again. “Is it alright if we take him with us? I don’t wanna leave him behind.”

Without hesitation, Arthur nodded. “Sure, you won’t hear me complainin’.”

---

The clear full moon cast a silver hue along the tan landscape of Great Plains, illuminating the paths perfectly. The two horses loped quietly along the rolling hills. Arthur assured there was no rush, and so you had to quell your anxious excitement.

However, this didn’t stop the questions. As soon as you’d exited the outskirts of Blackwater, the first question was, “How are you here on land?”

He explained that merfolk had the ability to grow legs, though not many of them truly took advantage of it due to the fear of humans. It’d been at least a century since any notion of them stepping onto dry land, with Arthur being the exception, only he kept it a secret.

“So…how often do you come onto land?” you asked next.

“Been on n’ off since I was a boy,” he answered. “Truth is, my mother used to do the same. Loved humans, came to shore often. She met my father that way, he was human.”

This news surprised you. Who knew that merfolk and humans could have children together? And if that was possible, how many others out there were like Arthur?

“I spent a lot o’ time on land, lot o’ time in the water. Learned how to live as both, but my father was killed when I was young, so I took to the waters, until my mother passed.”

“I’m…so sorry,” you said automatically, your heart falling to your stomach.

To your surprise, Arthur chuckled. A small, humorless laugh. “Never understood why humans say that, they ain’t the cause of a particular tragedy, so why apologize?”

You couldn’t really answer that question yourself. It was ingrained into your mind that you never had any further consideration. It was an odd thing to say, really. You shook your head as if to clear those thoughts, wanting to focus on him again. “Where do you prefer living?”

You could see his broad shoulders shrug. “Can’t really say, I enjoy both since I can live jus’ fine on both. Don’t take too much to adapt since I’m already familiar.”

“So…what does that mean for me?”

He turned his head toward you.

“Are you going to live on land with me for the rest of your life, or are you gonna leave at some point?” you reiterated.

Arthur slowed up his horse, falling in step with yours. “I’ll be around for as long as ya want me,” he answered seriously. “But I couldn’t leave knowin’ you had no options.”

Those words tugged at your heartstrings. Arthur had been your friend for years, perhaps your only true friend. He left the waters for you, with no second consideration for himself. A small smile tugged at your lips.

---

Within a few hours you’d reached your destination: a small shack on the edge of the San Luis River with a dock. At the bottom of a cliff and surrounded by scrubby brush, it was enough to deter any unwanted company. Even though the shack was fully furnished, Arthur mentioned it had been abandoned for a little while now. He would swim here with the intention of cleaning it up for you, assuming you’d go along with his idea. It was cozy; one small bed in the corner and a furnace on the opposite end. Only fit for one person. Arthur insisted he was just fine sleeping in the water when you mentioned there was no room for both of you.

The first few days were a strange adjustment. You’d never been on your own, at least like this. You were used to preparing hot meals for yourself and your father with purchased goods. Arthur provided the food, bringing in fish or venison for either of you to cook. He didn’t wander too far from you in concern to leave you vulnerable, and you weren’t keen to wander out into the wilderness. Some nights you definitely heard the howl of a wolf or the snarl of a cougar in the distance.

After the first week passed, you were almost accommodated to this new life. Arthur offered to teach you how to hunt and fish, both in and out of the water. He was already swimming around one morning whilst waiting as you approached the glistening surface from the docks, his beautiful tail gleaming in the rising sun.

But what surprise you had when he made it to shore completely, naked as a newborn baby. You hadn’t seen him transform officially yet, and he seemed to lack modesty when he asked you why you were suddenly flustered in his presence. He was certainly nice to look at, even though you had to quickly shoo him inside to get dressed, for your own sake.

Within a month, Arthur turned you into a wilderness expert. Soon hunting for the dinner table, learning to track and cover, you were no longer nervous to step past those surrounding shrubs. You kept busy by picking herbs and catching game to sell to passing merchants, though avoiding coming too close to West Elizabeth.

One evening, you’d come home from hunting to find Arthur sitting on the end of the dock. Only half-dressed, lacking a shirt. His damp hair indicated he’d been in the water recently. You curiously approached him, wondering if something was on his mind.

At the creak of the boards, he turned and smiled at you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you responded, taking a seat next to him. “What’re you up to?”

“Ah, just thinkin’,” he responded, casting his gaze across the river as the last of the sun’s rays shone across the surface.

You tilted your head. “Of?”

“Lot o’ things, these past few weeks,” he said lowly.

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” he slowly turned his head to look at you. “You were sayin’ that you didn’t know how to live like this, now you do.”

You nodded in agreement. Many times he’s expressed how proud he was for you to learn a new skill, and you were proud of yourself to adapt so quickly. “Thanks to you, Arthur. If I’d attempted this on my own, I’d probably be dead within a week, or somehow found and dragged back home.”

“It won’t come to that anyway, least from how far you’ve progressed,” Arthur pointed out.

Smiling at him, you said, “I’ll be forever grateful for taking me away.”

He half-smiled at you. “I’m grateful you agreed,” he replied, his eyes suddenly falling to the structure beneath you. “I jus’ hope that…” he murmured so quietly you had to strain to hear.

“What?”

He sighed deeply. “It’s silly, but I hope you still want me ‘round. You’re more than capable of livin’ on your own now, you don’t need me.”

You blinked in surprise from his confession. “Why wouldn’t I, Arthur? You’re my friend, you’ve done so much for me already. Why would I just toss you away like that?”

“You don’t need me,” he repeated. “You can go on n’ do whatever you want with your life now, ain’t fair to stay here n’ –“

“Arthur,” you interrupted so sharply he stared at you. “I…I don’t need you, I but I want you here. You gave me this opportunity, and now I’m choosing to do this. Do you know how much you mean to me?”

He didn’t answer, only giving you a look of faint surprise. You stared back evenly, your words still fresh. You and Arthur had gotten so close since arriving here, having opened up in new ways toward one another.

Perhaps even closer than friends.

Those lingering glances, those quick moments of affection, a light touch here and there. The weight of his words when he bid you farewell for the day. Little moments that would make your heart soar. A new emotion arising within you every time you woke up to see him.

What you said next flowed from your mouth without hesitation. “I…I think I love you, Arthur.”

It surprised you how easy you admitted it. His blue eyes widened in his own shock, his lips parting as if to say something. Instead his mouth sat slack, eliciting no sound. You waited for a reaction, a change, a word, something.

A full moment passed and nothing, your heart dropped. Have you misinterpreted his signals? Maybe they meant something else to the other half of his world. Either way, you started to feel foolish. You took a shuddering breath and looked away, beginning to move. “I’m sorry, I’ll just – ”

A calloused hand grasped yours at an instant. An automatic flinch suddenly swept away when Arthur’s other hand cupped your chin, a firm yet tender hold to keep you in place. You turned your head back to him, observing the soft smile on his lips, and the gentle hooded gaze he gave you.

You relaxed in his touch, allowing your body to shift closer to him. The hand that held yours wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer and meeting no resistance. He leaned toward you, placing his lips upon yours.

Kissing him seemed natural. Your previous suitor was forceful and hard against you, but Arthur, as large and solid as he was, melded to you. Your hands reached for him, tangling in his damp hair, wrapping around his thick neck. He moaned slightly against your mouth, a low sound rumbling within his chest. Finally, he pulled away from you, the smile still remaining.

Fire licked at your cheeks, your mind in a haze as your smile mirrored his. You almost couldn’t believe it happened. No singular phrase passed your tongue as you mentally scrambled for your next words. “I…” you finally uttered, unsure how to continue.

He chuckled, smoothing his thumb across the ridge of your upper lip. “I think I love you too, sweetheart.”

Your smile only widened, the heat brushing against your face only increasing. This was a first for you, a rush of excitement and a whirlwind of emotion overtaking you. “Well, what now?” you bashfully asked.

Arthur glanced out at the water with a look of contemplation. Only a short moment passed before he stood up, and held his hand out. “Wanna go for a swim?”

You blinked, not expecting this response. But you took his hand anyway, allowing him to help you to your feet. “Now, here?”

“Only us out here, ‘sides, I wanna show ya how beautiful it is from my eyes…” he said, quickly shedding his pants. With nothing else on, he dove into the water with a graceful arc. Even in the dying light you watched as the skin of his legs slowly began to shimmer and mesh together into his tail beneath the disturbed waters. He surfaced just seconds later, peering up at you expectantly. “It’s nice n’ warm in here, you’ll like it.”

You were hesitant and admittedly a little nervous as you hadn’t swam in years. “Um, I don’t have a swimsuit…” you weakly pointed out.

“Neither do I,” the paper thin edges of his fin appeared, splashing playfully. “That don’t matter.”

You opened your mouth to argue, except you knew he was right. No one was around to see you, and you would be submerged if some random boat decided to pass by. Besides, you were itching to see how Arthur viewed the world, or at least his world. “Alright, you convinced me.”

It wasn’t too long before you too were bare, though Arthur was kind enough to not stare. Peering down at your reflection, you took a deep breath and plunged in.

[stillebesat]

To The Moon

Sanders Sides: Patton, Janus Writing Prompt: @sparklerose222‘s writing ask: I was thinking romantic moceit with Patten saying 2. But I Didn’t Want (arms) For the vague prompt list. Blurb: This wasn’t at all how Patton expected their wedding night to go.  Fic Type: Alien!AU Warnings: Extra Limbs, Kissing Taglist in Reblog

He’d known Janus was a man of many secrets.

Many. Many. Many. Secrets.

Patton had also known from the very first time he got Janus to give him a genuine smile, from the very first softening of his mismatched eyes, that it was unlikely that he would ever unlock the entire vault of secrets that Janus hid.

But that hadn’t stopped him from wanting to try.

Even now. When the world had turned completely upside down on their wedding night.

Patton broke free from the iron grip of his captors, alien beings that looked similar to the images of Mothman his friend, Virgil, had once shown him except their skin shimmered like fresh molten lava, and darted to his newlywed husband.

Newlywed of maybe twelve hours before these--these creatures had come from the skies and taken them far far from Earth. Their planet dwindling to a tiny speck within a single breath.

A man of many secrets.

One secret now revealed, showing just how not human Janus was.

Humans didn’t have six arms after all.

But oh how human he looked, sitting on a chair clad only in the pants he’d had specially tailored for the wedding, with his head buried in his hands...the top two hands. The other four were clasped together in his lap like a man awaiting his death sentence.

“Janus.” Patton whispered, fighting the instinct to shy away from how...spider-like he now looked as he fell to his knees at his husband’s feet, taking the middle set of hands in his own, pressing his lips to them, not liking how Janus flinched at his touch.

It reminded him of the first time Patton had seen him with his gloves off. Seen those top two hands and held them while bandaging a large burn on the back.

A burn that, in retrospect, looked a lot like the lava colored skin of the Mothman aliens.

No wonder he had flinched from the touch then.

Janus looked up, four eyes meeting Patton’s instead of the expected two. “Pat.” He said, sounding so broken as the left side of his face, the scarred side, now shimmered with the Mothman’s lava colored skin. “I’m so sor--”

Patton raised a finger to his lips, silencing him before he met those lips with his own, his hand moving to cradle the lava colored side of his husband’s face. “I love you to the moon and back.” He whispered as Janus leaned into his touch.

A choked sob rang in his ears as Jan took Patton’s head in his hands--he tried to not think just which hands were touching his head, pressing their foreheads together. “J-just to the moon?” He hoarsely asked, like he always did. “Not....not any…” further?

The unsaid word echoed between them.

It made so much sense now why Janus had always asked him that. If he wasn’t...human...wasn’t from Earth...obviously his love wasn’t enough if it would only journey as far as the moon.

Patton swallowed, pulling back enough to look him in his four eyes. Three of the four golden colored now, leaving the other a more human brown.

A man of many secrets.

“To the stars. To the edges of the universe.” He responded like he always did, leaning in to kiss him again. “And beyond, Jan.” He said against his lips. “You can’t get rid of me, my love.”

Janus made a noise in the back of his throat. “Pat--you don’t know what you’re say--but I can’t ask you to---they--”

“Ask me….what?” Patton tilted his head, fighting the sinking feeling in his heart. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you over this.” Had they not just vowed to stick together? For better or worse? In sickness or health? In poverty or posterity? “I knew you had secrets. Learning this one doesn’t change that.”

Marrying an alien...one that had eight limbs like a spider...was unexpected, frightening in a way...but he’d married Janus knowing he may never know all sides of him. Knowing that some of those secrets he hid would never see the light of day.

Janus closed his eyes, pulling his hands away to hug himself, the lava colored skin trailing down his side nearly to his hip now. “I didn’t want you to find out.” He whispered, bowing his head. “I hoped they wouldn’t come, they wouldn’t find out--but--Pat--”

“What?”  

“My...these…”

“People?”

He huffed. “You really want to call them that?”

“Are they not your people?”

The top left hand raised to his colored cheek. “In a way.”

Patton tilted his head. “Adopted?” After all, the other mothman creatures didn’t have all the extra arms.

The corner of his lip twitched revealing the tip of a fang that hadn’t been there before. “Kind of. We’re both races of shapeshifters...they saved...I don’t--” He took a breath, looking up, reaching up to stroke his cheek with his fifth hand. “I’m the last of my kind. And as my mate...they-- want me to make you...like me. To...save...my race.”

Patton froze, chest growing tight. “What?” Him? Be like---H-have extra arms?! Extra eyes?! Like a spi--spider?!

He could tell his husband didn’t want to keep eye contact. His eyes shimmering with unshed tears as he struggled to find the words.

“That--that’s why I look...a little like them--so I can survive off my planet---so-so I can change another---but I can’t Pat--I know what I am...I know what earth creature I resemble. How you fear them. I can’t ask you to be like me.” Four hands took his, squeezing them. “I can’t.” Janus pressed his lips to Patton’s finger tips. “But at the same time...I don’t want to lose you.”

The last of his kind. Patton drew in a shaky breath.

Accepting Janus wasn’t human was far easier than--than wrapping his head around being changed into an alien himself to--to becoming--he didn’t know how to be anything other than human! “You---we can’t just be...together? Like this? Just you as you and me as me? As a regular old human? What if I refuse to change?!”

His shoulders hunched, the lava colored skin flaring for a moment as Janus drew in a breath, remaining two hands clenching. “You’ll be returned to Earth. Safe. Unharmed. I’ll make sure of that.”

Patton bit his lips, blinking rapidly to keep his eyes clear. “But you won’t.”

He mutely shook his head, fingers growing white on Patton’s hands. It was...this was a lot. Alot alot.

And it would be so easy. To back out now. To just tell Janus to take him home. To take him back to Earth. To forget this whole thing. To find a way to get their wedding annulled.

To stay human.

But Patton had known this wasn’t going to be an easy marriage.

He’d known Janus had secrets.

Many he wouldn’t ever unlock.

And had chosen to marry him anyways.

For better or worse.

Patton squared his shoulders, swallowing down the fear threatening to overwhelm him as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Janus’s forehead. “Well..this isn’t quite how I pictured us spending our wedding night.” He said softly, smiling as his husband slowly looked up, disbelief shining in his eyes.

“You’re?”

Patton nodded, freeing his hands from Janus’s loosening grip so he could stroke his lava colored cheek. “And while I definitely didn’t want extra arms as a wedding present…” He smiled as Janus let out a soft shaky laugh. “I would much rather have them than lose you.”

His husband swallowed, eyes blinking rapidly as his third set of hands fluttered. “You’re...you’re sure? I-I thought--”

“You thought wrong.” He said firmly.  

No. Patton definitely wasn’t sure about this. Any of this. But nobody went into a marriage knowing exactly how it would all turn out. And he wasn’t about to lose Janus over him being an alien--over needing to become an alien himself...even if this was all a lot more life changing than he’d ever expected. He had no idea how he was going to handle this at all, but at least he knew Janus would be there so they could figure this out. Together.  

He gave his husband a soft smile. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

The tightness around Janus’s eyes vanished as he abruptly pulled Patton into a hug, burying his face in his shoulder, arms holding him tight, breathing hitching with suppressed sobs. “I-I thought--”

Patton hugged him back just as tightly. “I’m here, Jan.” He reassured, stroking his hair. “To the edges of the universe and beyond. I’m here.”

A Vague AU Writing Prompts

[emutempo]

Strike A Pose (domestic SuperCorp one-shot)

Summary: Everyone has the day off but Supergirl. And even though it means leaving Lena home alone for much of the day, Kara's determined to make the best of it.

Posted to my Ao3 here. 

Notes: It's 4:40AM and I just couldn't sleep without getting this out of my head. And since I'm still anxious about posting any of my fics, I figured once again it'd be better to hit that post button before I get too nervous and hit delete instead. Anyway, I hope this brightens at least one person’s day.

----------

Rays from the sun pour in from the windows of Lena’s bedroom and her eyes flutter open as she feels the heat on her face. She forces her eyes open and stretches into a yawn.

She looked across the bed and first saw a mess of golden hair splayed across a pillow. Kara was still fast asleep after a long week working at the DEO. It had been a long week for both them and Lena was looking for to a relaxing Friday with no work.

 She was happy the 4th of July landed on a Friday this year. It usually meant she had a three day weekend with Kara all to herself. No L Corp, no CatCo. Except, today, Kara was on call. Even though the DEO was operating with the minimal crew, Kara had volunteered to cover for J’onn, Winn, James and Alex. They had been so accommodating of Kara’s requests for days off to spend with Lena that Lena didn’t mind.

Today would be like any other busy weekend day for them. They’d lounge around the house, playing board games, watching their favorite movies and cuddling on the couch. And when Kara was called away for her Supergirl duties, she’d give Lena a quick goodbye and take off to deal with the problem before eventually coming back to Lena and resuming their activities like nothing had interrupted at all.

For now, it was still early and the city itself was still waking up so Lena turned over and cuddled against Kara. Her head, barely hit the pillow before she fell back into slumber.

—

Later, Kara and Lena were sat up, cuddling on the living room couch, each with a cup of coffee in hand. On the TV, an episode of QI playing. Kara took a sip of her coffee before

Kara and Lena had taken to watching QI on their lazy mornings. Kara was fascinated with the random knowledge and discussion on the show and more-so with Lena’s endless intelligence. This morning, they were talking about the history of astronomy.

Kara cleared her throat, “so when did people start thinking the Earth was flat again? It’s like they’re afraid the Earth is round. They’re lucky it is or they’d be off floating somewhere in space!”

Lena loved these little conversations with Kara. No matter how long she’d spent on Earth, still so much surprised her. Lena shrugged. “You know, the only thing flatearthers fear is sphere itself.”

It took Kara a moment to realize Lena’s joke before a giggle escaped her throat, still a tinge of morning gruffness in her voice.  Lena stared into her eyes, trying to memorize the beautiful sound of Kara’s laughter. But it was short-lived as Kara suddenly tilted her head, listening.

Lena smiles, knowing in that moment that duty was calling to Supergirl. National City needed its savior. Kara looked up apologetically to Lena. “Small kitchen fire. No extinguisher. Should be quick.”

And a moment later, a whoosh fills the Lena’s living room as Kara disappears for a moment before another whoosh brings Kara back, clad in her blue suit and red cape. Lena blows her a kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you, Supergirl.”

Kara mimes catching her kiss in the air and puts it to her lips before stepping out onto the balcony. Even though Lena’s a little disappointed, she can’t help but smile as she watches her go.

Kara has the goofiest grin on her face she holds Lena’s eye contact. Lena smiles, shaking her head. She knows what’s coming and she waits for it…

Lena watches as Supergirl turns around and takes a big step away from the balcony door. She turns around in place and mimes pressing an elevator button before taking a patient stance with her arms crossed in front of her, as if waiting. A moment later, still ‘standing’ with her arms crossed, Kara slowly floats up into the air as if riding an invisible elevator until she’s out of Lena’s view. But not before giving the Luthor a playful wink.

Lena can’t hold back the laugh caught in her throat. It’s loud and she knows Kara hears it.

—

Later, they’re sitting on opposite sides of the coffee table, a chess board between them. It’s Kara’s turn but she’s gone on a rant and Lena doesn’t have the heart to interrupt her.

“I just don’t understand. Why are ALL of them so sad? Isn’t there a single period drama about two women falling in love where they get to be together? The endings are always so tragic. Unrequited love… pre-arranged marriage… and that’s only if we’re lucky enough one of them doesn’t die! Doesn’t anyone run away together? Or say ‘screw you’ to all the cranky old men?”

Lena can’t stop herself. She leans over the chess board and kisses Kara. It’s soft and sweet. When she pulls back, she gestures to the chess board and Kara finally realizes it’s her move. She hastily moves one of her pieces and by the look on Lena’s face, it’s not… the best move. But Lena ignores it.

“I think they’re just trying to be historically accurate, love. Times were a lot harder for us not too long ago.”

Kara doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer. “Well, I still don’t like it. No more sad movies like that one we watched last night. Here Comes the World… or was it… A World to Come?”

“The World to Come,” Lena reaches forward to brush a hair out of Kara’s face. “We could watch Gentleman Jack.”

Kara pouts. “That doesn’t sound promising.” Lena chuckles, about to launch into an explanation of the history behind the titular character of Anne Lister when she sees that signature head tilt again and Kara’s eyes focus into the distance. Lena’s puts her hand up over the chess board about to say, “Kara, mind the chess board—“ but it’s too late. Two back to back WHOOSHES and Supergirl is again standing before Lena, who’s eyebrow’s cocked in ITS signature position. Kara notices the chess pieces all over the floor and looks at Lena apologetically, “you were winning anyway?”

Kara leans in and gives Lena a quick peck on the cheek. “Drunken brawl. I’ll get everyone settled down and be right back.” She keeps her eyes on Lena’s as she backs her way toward the balcony door. The look in their eyes and the suppressed smiles on their faces tell us that, again, they both know what’s coming. Lena watches as Kara steps outside, her cape flapping in the breeze, and takes her superhero stance. She double taps the emblem on her chest and then puts her hands out behind her and takes off in flight… Is she serious?

Lena guffaws and yells after Kara. “Iron Man? Are you kidding me?” But Lena giggles. Kara knows she’s gonna give her a hard time for that one later. As if to dig in even more, Kara loop-de-loops and flies by the window on her way to the drunken brawl.

Yeah she definitely heard that.

—

Back at home with Lena and Kara relaxing in front of the TV. Kara channel surfs while Lena plays with her hair. She lands on a movie that’s just started.

“Oh, I love Megamind! Have you ever seen it?”

Lena shakes her head, “I think most of the animated films I’ve watched in my entire lifetime on Earth I’ve seen first with you. And we haven’t watched this one yet.”

Kara scoots up closer to Lena. “Can we? Can we watch it together? It’s one of my favorites.”

Lena puts her arm around Kara and pulls her in. “How many times have I ever said no to your movie picks?” Kara turned around, wearing a hurt look on her face even though Lena knows it’s put-on. “You keep saying no to Hocus Pocus!”

“That’s because it’s a Halloween movie and we should watch it on Halloween.”

Before Kara can protest… another head tilt and yep, a WHOOSH away and back.

“Car wreck on the bridge. Firefighters’ jaws of life aren’t working. Back in a jiffy. We’re not finished discussing this.”

Kara went straight for the balcony and Lena thought she wasn’t going to get a special send off. But, of course, Kara had something else in mind. She turns around and grabs her cape, pulling it up over her head in a somewhat childish maneuver.

What the hell is she doing this time? Then Lena gets her answer when the cape puffs up revealing Kara blowing air into it to resemble a parachute before she floats up, up, and away.

“Ok, that was a good one.”

She can picture the shit-eating grin on Kara’s face and shakes her head, turning back to the TV and hitting play.

—

Kara and Lena in the kitchen, making an early dinner. Kara’s arguing a point and waving a spatula around like a judge waves a gavel.

“You agree that Bette Midler’s amazing and this is one of her favorite roles she’s ever played. She said so herself. I know because she follows me on Twitter.”

Lena flicks a gravy-covered whisk at Kara, flinging the brown sauce onto her shirt and face. Kara mouth drops open and she freezes in place, shocked at Lena’s gravy betrayal.

“That’s what you get for showing off.”

Kara, hands and face still frozen, pivots to face Lena, “oooh, you’re going to be sorry for that.” With a burst of speed, Kara reaches out and tickle Lena’s sides. Lena squeals as she tries to escape but she knows it’s futile. There’s no way she’s escaping Kara’s grip so she does the next best thing and flicks more gravy at her. And now it’s Kara’s turn to squeal. “You are gonna HATE gravy by the time I’m through with you!” Kara dives for Lena but before she can catch her up in her arms again… you know what it is. The head tilt. Kara listens for a moment as she wipes gravy from her face and licks it from her finger. Lena takes a swipe for herself too.

Kara quickly glances at Lena before a smirk takes over her face. But Lena can’t stop her before…

“Kara don’t—“

… Kara WHOOSHES away, spinning the gravy off her body and flinging it EVERYWHERE, including Lena.

“—Do the whoosh thing.”

Lena stands there for a beat. Now SHE’s the one frozen with gravy-face. Kara whooshes back into the kitchen and licks a spot of gravy off Lena’s face.

“Break in at the pawn shop. Don’t try to sneak any kale into the fagioli ‘cause I’ll know.”

Kara makes her way to the balcony but Lena doesn’t turn around. She waits a beat for the tell-tale whoosh but doesn’t hear one. She knows Kara’s waiting for her to turn around and although part of Lena doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of turning around, she does. Supergirl has places to be and she doesn’t want to keep Kara waiting.

Kara smiles as Lena turns around before jumping onto an invisible broomstick and doing her best interpretation of a witch cackle as she ‘flies’ off.

Lena rolls her eyes as she wipes the gravy off her face with a towel. “Ok, ok! We can watch Hocus Pocus when you get back.”

Lena goes to the fridge and grabs the bunch of kale she’s hidden in one of the fridge drawers.

—

The evening. Lena and Kara lay on the couch, the remnants of their dinner on the coffee table in front of them. Kara swipes a remnant of gravy from one of the plates and quickly dabs it on Lena’s nose. Lena’s nose scrunches at the cold liquid as Kara fights to keep a straight face. So does Lena.

“I’m starting to understand why these witches want to eat these children.”

Kara playfully smacks Lena’s arm. She knows Lena isn’t mad in the slightest. Kara giggles as Lena tries to lick the gravy from her nose with her tongue. But her tongue can’t reach. Kara leans forward and licks it off for her.

“I could eat you.”

Lena blushes and leans in for a kiss. It’s tender and sweet. Lena pulls away to look Kara in the eyes. “Well, you have put a spell on me so I’d probably let you.”

Kara’s eyebrows perk up and she bites her lip, “is that a request, Ms. Luthor?”

But of course… Lena doesn’t get the chance to answer before Kara’s head tilts once again. A beat before… WHOOSH.

“Run of the mill creep following a woman home. Give me five minutes to set this guy straight.”

Kara plops a kiss on Lena’s nose where the gravy was before she turns and runs straight out for the balcony. She doesn’t wait for Lena to turn around but Lena watches anyway as Kara takes a running leap toward the balcony bannister and lands on top of it. She takes a few more jumps like she’s on a diving board before leaping and tucking into a somersault as she “dives” off the bannister and disappears below the balcony.

“Go get him, love.”

Lena hits pause on the movie and sits back, staring off through the balcony windows at the city, her eyes filled with a dreamy haze. She’ll wait for Kara to come back and watch with her.

—

Later that night, Kara and Lena are finally lying in bed cuddling and listening to the last of the fireworks going off.

Kara flips through Twitter on her phone while Lena reads a book in one hand and uses the other to stroke Kara’s hair. She hears a small yawn escape from the blonde’s mouth and looks at the clock.

“It’s getting late. Are you ready to go to sleep, love? Should I turn off the light?”

Kara drops her phone dramatically and tucks her head into Lena. Her arm lands with a thud across Lena’s stomach, collapsing as if exhausted.

“I’m not tired if you’re not.”

Lena strokes her head a few more times before she dogs ears the book she’s reading and places it on her night stand. She leans over to turn off the light when she feels Kara sit up. She turns and sees Kara’s head tilted, listening. Lena picks her book back up, ready to continue reading while she waited for Kara to come back from another rescue.

“What is it this time? Wild assassin penguin on the loose? Three crazy witch sisters kidnapping innocent children?”

Kara stiffens up and tilts her head the other way. “No, it’s a woman…”

Lena sets her book to the side, noticing the serious tone in Kara’s voice. “Kara, what’s wrong?”

Kara looks at Lena, seemingly concentrating on a sound in the distance, a look of concern across her face. “She’s dying… of patience.”

Lena’s eyebrows scrunch together and she squints at Kara, confused. “What?”

Kara turns to face Lena, still as serious as ever.

“She has this girlfriend who keeps rushing off all over the city, leaving her alone at home and she’s just… been so patient.”

Lena’s face relaxes and falls into a lazy grin as she catches on to Kara. Kara can tell Lena’s savvy to her playfulness but she doesn’t drop the series tone.

“See, she’s a very important and very busy lady who doesn’t get a lot of time off to spend with her girlfriend and when she does, her girlfriend always has to fly off. So, if it’s ok with you, I’ve gotta go fix that.”

Lena pulled Kara in close. She didn’t try to feign shock or surprise or play along. She was too consumed with earnest love and she didn’t want to waste any more of their time today, “so how long will it be this time?”

Kara leans in close, kissing Lena with soft lips and tenderness, “forever.”

[star-spangledstud]

Better Than Me (2/2)

Part one is here!

Summary: You really are better than them. 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (female!)Reader.

Word Count: 3000-ish.

Warnings: Angst. Fluff.

It was ridiculous. So ridiculous that it bordered near downright insane. Absolutely fucking ridiculous. Impractical, stupid and completely, utterly ridiculous. Beautiful, sparkly and downright amazing, but ridiculous. You fucking loved it.

The baby pink, bejeweled handgun sat inside a pink velvet box on your lap. The bow, which was also pink, of course, was lying at your feet, which were clad in bedazzled silver Louboutins. Gems of all colors on the rainbow covered it on all sides, from the barrel to the handgrip and along the safety pin.

You gazed up at Tony, who wore an amused expression on his face, before glancing over at Pepper. She had her hand over her mouth in embarrassment, clearly horrified by Tony’s gift choice. The card read that it was from both of them. Clearly, that wasn’t the case. 

“Happy birthday, kid.” He said with a smirk that nearly extended from ear to ear.

“I don’t even want to know how much you spent on that,” Pepper muttered, shaking her head while you took the thing out of the pink and white polka-dotted tissue paper.

The others sighed audibly when you smiled, annoyed that Tony’s gift overshadowed theirs yet again. To be fair, they’d all expected it, but all of them secretly hoped any one of their gifts would be your favorite. 

“I love it,” you said, twirling the weapon around in your hand, “and I agree with Pepper, I can’t even imagine how much you spent on this thing...”

“You’ll make it work,” he mused, “Two million dollars, by the way, and you could just thank me.”

Your breath caught in your throat and for a moment, you were sure Pepper was going to faint. Natasha shook her head, watching the scene unfold in horror. It was the ugliest thing she had ever seen. Wanda, who seemed to share none of her feelings, had created a monster out of you.

“Thanks, Tony,” you blew him a kiss, unable to get up from your seat at the dinner table that was covered in white roses in silver vases and wine that came from expensive bottles.

“It’s very pretty,” the witch said, “Can I hold it?” 

“Please,” you shoved it into her hands, “by all means.” 

“You’re insane, Tony,” you said as you took the gift Bruce had gotten for you from his outstretched hands with a smile, “Absolutely fucking nuts, but I love you for it.”

Your eyes went around the room, finding Steve at the end of the table of which you sat at the head. You were the birthday girl, after all, the pink satin sash draped around you said so in large, cursive letters and so it was your turn to have the most important seat of the house. It was a ridiculous ordeal, he thought so anyway, but you were smiling and chatting and enjoying the company of your friends and it was good to see. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened and knew very well he was to blame. 

He was the one who pushed you away, even though it was for your own good.

You took Thor’s gift just as the waiter began to serve your first course, and since he was seated closest to you, you thanked him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Steve’s gift came last. You didn’t expect anything from him given the circumstances.

Four hours, six courses and many glasses of wine and Asgardian mead later, you found yourself back in your room. Gifts given to you by your fellow team members were sprawled out on your bed, ranging from a pair of silk pajamas with glittery Ugg slippers to match from Wanda to Starbucks and Sephora gift cards from Sam and everything in between. Chocolate covered strawberries in a glittery box, two romance novels, a bottle of beautifully aged red wine from Asgard and a peach-toned Dior lipstick, all tokens of appreciation given to you by the people you cared about the most. 

Despite the hardships that you faced the previous year and the social distancing that occurred during that time, you couldn’t deny how good it felt to be with the team again. You’d changed a lot in a year, grown to be a different person than the one you were before. It wasn’t necessarily a good or a bad thing in your mind, it just happened naturally.  

You sat down beside the velvet box, eyes automatically flying towards the item on your far left. A drawing of you, sitting on a terrace, staring out into the sunny skyline with a cup of coffee in your hand. It was an old drawing by the looks of it because your hair was much shorter and a different shade and your clothing was far plainer than it was now; black jeans and a white t-shirt. A signature that read SR sat in the bottom right corner in messy, doctor-like handwriting. It made your toes curl. 

Of course, he was the one with the overly personal gift. You didn’t know whether it was because he simply had no fucking clue what 21st-century women liked to receive for their birthdays or whether he’d purposely done it to make you remember the day it was drawn, but the latter happened and now, you were sitting on your bed with prickling eyes and goosebumps that lined your skin.

You remembered that day very vividly. You’d only been an Avenger for three months and were struggling to adjust to the fact that you had to suddenly follow orders. Before joining the team, you’d worked alone, hired by people with deep pockets and dark intentions. You made your own rules. 

The first time Steve had taken you out for coffee he kind to offer you advice. At first, you thought it felt a little like he was trying to be the human resource manager with the way he talked to you, you continued to meet up every Saturday afternoon and as the weeks passed, something in the dynamic changed.  He loosened up, got rid of his Captain America persona and instead became Steve. You didn’t know what caused the change, but it was good, allowed you to actually get to know the man behind the suit and vice versa. 

That particular day was a good one, It was a sunny day in spring, not too hot and not too cold, with a soft breeze that carried the scent of fresh flowers across the terrace. You’d ordered a latte, Steve liked it black. You weren’t talking, but instead, a comfortable silence hung between you. You’d brought a book just like you always did and read it while occasionally eyeing the people that passed you by. Steve, whose cheeks had become fiery red out of the blue, pulled out a leather-bound sketchbook and began to draw.

You never asked him what he was drawing, even when he stored away his pencils and shoved the book back inside his tote did you not bother to pry. Not even when you became so close you’d sometimes fall asleep together on the couch, did you not ask. 

You knew now, but they didn’t say ignorance is bliss without reason.

You began to mindlessly pick at three layers of lavender toned sparkling nail polish, pulling at it as it came off your fingers with far too much ease. You’d paid the lady $60 for your manicure three days prior and now, you were ripping it off. With a deep sigh, you pushed yourself up, gripping the back of your heels so you could slip them off with ease. You’d probably never wear them again. 

You slowly began to clean up the mess, discarded packaging, boxes, and gift bags and placing them in the corner of your room near the door. You put everything away except for the drawing, which you couldn’t decide what to do with. Why was it such a big deal to you, anyway? You hardly spoke to Steve anymore and if you did, it was during pre- and post-mission briefings. Maybe that’s why it made you feel so strange. it didn’t feel right, such a personal, intimate gift after how far the two of you had drifted apart. 

He hadn’t asked you about Netflix in four months and you hadn’t offered your expertise on which shows and movies were the best. You didn’t bring him coffee anymore but instead, he made his own, never leaving enough in the pot for you to make a cup as well. The message he sent you was loud and clear and in return, you were an open book. 

He’d grumble when a stranger was seated at the breakfast table on Sundays courtesy of your hospitality, avert his eyes when they tried to kiss you openly (which you refused). The pang in his chest would hit him when he saw Ubers out front whose engines were running to carry you to your dates in high-end restaurants and fancy bars. He wasn’t jealous, he kept telling himself. He was just worried about your safety when you disappeared into the night with strange men. Men that weren’t him, ironically. 

He should’ve seen you when you were right in front of him. When you were there, literally waiting for him to make a move on you, begging him with your mannerisms and your looks, your glances, and smiles even when his jokes weren’t funny. He knew damn well you would make an amazing couple, that you could take on the entire fucking world as a duo, but he was too scared to put it on the line, too scared of what might happen once the bad guys caught a whiff of your relationship. They’d already tried to destroy Bucky and Jesus Christ, they nearly succeeded. He couldn’t handle the thought of losing you to an organization like HYDRA, or worse. He never told you this. You had no idea. You were convinced he didn’t want you because of your flaws. Because of who you were. 

You got over it, shut out the thought of ever holding hands with Steve in public, the thoughts of ever feeling his lips softly pressing against your plump cheeks and his body weighing down on top of you while his voice vibrated against your ear and neck. You managed to forget about him, managed to exchange the memories and fantasies of him for diamond necklaces, silk blazers, and expensive shoes. You traded him in for strangers with big bank accounts driving nice cars wearing expensive suits. They managed to fill the void he created by pushing you away. 

So yeah, the gift bothered you. It was too nice, too sweet, so sweet you had to struggle to stay stoic when thanking him earlier. You literally had to stop yourself from smiling too big, from allowing tears of gratitude and happiness to completely ruin your make-up. if things had been different, you would have done those things. They weren’t. He didn’t want you and now he was being nice. It didn’t make sense. 

Just as you were about to change into a different outfit for the evening, your phone vibrated. You picked it up off your nightstand and opened it. It was a text message, but not from the guy who would be knocking on the front door in the coming hour.

I didn’t get a chance to personally wish you a happy birthday. Can we talk? -S

You gripped the device so hard you nearly crushed the screen. Six months ago, a message like this would’ve had you crying on your bathroom floor for four hours. Now, it just made you angry. So angry, that you picked your studded Louboutin off the floor and chucked it at the wall. The heel broke off against the concrete, but you didn’t notice. You weren’t going to wear them again anyway.  

Your fingers typed furiously, breathing coming out in shallow huffs. Images of the girls he’d brought back to Tony’s party’s flashed before your eyes while your fingers went faster than your brain could keep up with. 

Roof. Omw. 

Whether he understood the abbreviation ‘omw’ or not, you didn’t take the time to guess. You left your room without changing into the other dress or putting on new shoes. The elevator went up agonizingly slowly, but it was too late to go back and take the stairs. The buttons were pushed and the door closed. 

He was standing by the edge, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed over his chest. In contrast to you, he had changed his attire, leaving the light blue button-down he was wearing earlier for a plain white t-shirt and black sweatpants. He looked down at your feet, noticed how your polished toes were bare and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he caught the expression on your face. You weren’t surprised to find him there first. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d come up there running. Apparently, though, he did know what ‘omw’ meant.

“What the hell is this?” You asked, waving your phone in front of his face, “what do you think you’re doing?” 

“What do you mean?” He asked, voice wavering. 

“What do I mean? What...,” you snorted, “What do you mean?! The gift, the talking? We shouldn’t be here.” 

“But why?” He knew why but chose to ignore the sensical part of his brain that told him he shouldn’t be doing this.

You lifted your arms, a deep breath leaving you while you considered what to say. You wanted to come up with an excuse, tell him you were busy or that you’d lost sight of not just him, but the entire team, but fuck it, lying wouldn’t get you anywhere. It had never gotten you anywhere before.  

“Because I have to get over you.” 

He was silent, taking in your words. They stung, even though he already knew the truth they carried. 

“I couldn’t have you constantly hanging around me anymore. I couldn’t stand seeing those girls hanging off your arm at those stupid parties and I sure as hell didn’t want to hear how fun they were and how great and wonderful and how amazing, and-”

He stepped forward, gripping your arms. The sudden contact made blood rush to your head, making you nauseous and dizzy simultaneously. 

 “I spent so much time wondering why they were better than me,” you mumbled, “I still haven’t figured it out.” 

“They aren’t better than you,” he replied softly, “they don’t even compare to you.” 

You looked up, eyes large and glossy and so goddamn pretty with that champagne eyeshadow and winged liner and Steve thought he was going to lose his mind then and there.

“I had to let you go because I’m afraid,” he admitted, “terrified of what might happen if anyone tries to get to you because of me.” 

“Steve,” you tried, but couldn’t find words. 

All this time, you thought he didn’t like you. That he wasn’t interested in you, didn’t want anything from you but a friendship at most. You’d taught yourself to ignore your constant desire for him because it would never be reciprocated.

“When you distanced yourself from me, I knew I’d messed up, but it was too late. I’d dug a hole for myself and there was nothing I could do to get back out,” he snorted, “I needed those girls as a distraction, but none of them are as good as you.” 

He smiled sadly, taking your hands in his larger, calloused palms and began to rub circles on your knuckles. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I’ve been stupid and an ass and I don’t deserve to even be in the same room as you. I fucked up, Y/N.”

The skin on the back of his neck was soft when you clasped your fingers around it, muscles tensing up when you began to pull him down to meet you. Without heels on, you’d lost a significant amount of height on him, causing him to tower over you. On a hot day, he could be your personal parasol, shielding you from the sun with his entire body.

“Idiot,” you mumbled before his mouth found yours. 

He kissed you, hands gripping your waist out of fear that if he were to let go, he’d wake up in his bed alone. But it wasn’t a dream, he knew it because the soft feeling of your glossy lips against his own was unlike anything he’d ever felt. 

“Idiot,” you said again when you took a moment to breathe. 

“I am,” he kissed you again, the sweet taste of Chardonnay and that night’s dessert - creme brulee and vanilla ice cream - still lingering on your tongue, sending his senses in complete overdrive. 

“I don’t want to stay away from you anymore,” he said finally, “I’d never let anyone hurt you.” 

You smiled, heart ready to explode from the sudden burst of happiness you experienced for the first time in a long time. Maybe Wanda was right all along. 

“Steve, I can defend myself. You know that, right?” You mused.

“I’ll kill them if they try.” 

He captured your lips with his again. The scent of his cologne, oud, and pine, nearly caused your knees to buckle from under you. You didn’t even realize the goosebumps that lined your skin, or the fact that the date you were supposed to meet up with had already bailed on you. It didn’t matter, because you finally had Steve where you wanted him. It only took for the two of you to drift apart almost completely for you to realize that you could never truly get away from one another. 

You placed your head on top of his chest, allowing his body heat to warm you up in a hug that engulfed you. It was nice, the feeling of his chest rising and falling slowly while you watched the city’s skyline in the dark. The want for it had been suppressed for so long you almost forgot what it felt like. 

“Steve?” You asked, peeking up at him through false eyelashes and three layers of waterproof mascara. 

“Hmm?”

“Your gift was my favorite.”

Yeah, all of those bitches definitely weren’t better than you. 

[aerialsquid]

How to Bury a Gentile

I wrote a short vaguely historical vaguely spooky ghost story about Jews and burial rites and I have to justify it existing so here it is.

“Are you the leader of the Jews?”

There was no good that ever came from that question. Rabbi Jacob stood in the doorway, one hand on the knob and the other on the frame, ready to yank it closed at a moment’s notice.

“Well, not all of the Jews.”

The man at the door made a frustrated little grunt. He was clad almost completely in dark grey clothing that seemed to fade into the shadows of the darkened street behind him. The collar of his coat was pulled up so high that it was impossible to make out more than a pair of sharp grey eyes beneath the brim of his hat, and the cloak he wore over the top of it concealed most of his body. There could be any number of guns, knives, or angry mobs hidden under there.

“But the ones in this town, yes? You are their priest, you lead prayers and weddings and so on?” the man said impatiently.

“Rabbi. Yes. I’m the rabbi, that’s correct.” Jacob said, stiffening his posture and assuming the most neutral expression he could manage. Being completely ignorant didn't exclude someone from being completely dangerous--if anything, that heightened the risk. "What can I do for you?"

“Rabbi,” the man repeated, as if to seal it into his memory properly. One gloved hand squeezed the pommel of his walking stick. “And you preside over the funerals of your people, and perform the rites to send them to the next world?”

“Yyyyyes?” Jacob shifted his weight to his back foot, poised to slam the door in his face. This sounded unpleasantly like an opening for a death threat.

“To any of them, regardless of the sins they carried in life?” An eagerness entered the man’s voice.

“Of course. Though sin as a Jewish concept differs from the Christian…mm. Yes, of course.” The scholars of old might have debated the nature of the evil in men’s souls until the crack of dawn but Jacob had no intention of doing so at half-past midnight with a complete stranger.

The shadowed man took a half step forward and Jacob leaned back to maintain the distance between him. “What about a gentile?” the man pressed. "Would you tend to his corpse too?"

“Huh?”

“There is a man needing to be buried tonight who requires absolution. He is not a Jew, but a Jew’s prayers may be close enough for what is needed.”

“Um. It’s not usually a request I get.” Jacob tried to keep his voice calm and soothing. There was some kind of entrapment lingering in the conversation, he just knew it. That or a giant box of crazy that had managed to dress itself stylishly. Gentiles asking Jews intrusive but urgent questions never turned out well for their target--a day-long case of irritation was the best outcome the target could hope for.

The man’s hands pressed together as he completed the full step forward, making Jacob back up into the doorframe. Desperation was in his tone and Jacob was forced back over the threshold just to stay out of his grip “All I need is someone to accompany me to the cemetery to consecrate the body and pray for its soul. Barely an hour of your time. I cannot pay you with anything but my gratitude, but you will have it eternally.”

“And you came to me?”

The man sighed. Even the top hat seemed to slouch slightly as his body slumped. “I have asked every holy man in the city, Catholic and Protestant alike, and they have refused to come to the cemetery," he bemoaned. "The last one told me to visit you. Likely a ploy to make me leave faster, but you are all I have left.”

“What did this man do, that so many people refused him? Who was he?”

The man at the door hesitated. The sharp eyes vanished as his eyelids slid down, and then appeared a few moments later.

“Must you ask?” he said quietly. “Is it not enough that it is a corpse which can do no man harm any longer, and you will lose nothing but a half-night of sleep?”

The inside of Jacob’s head was ringing with warning bells like the frantic clanging of gongs announcing a fire. He swallowed and tried to ignore them.

“You say he wasn’t Jewish?”

“He was not…much of anything. He felt God had no interest in him, and returned a lack of interest in kind. Perhaps if he had been more attentive he wouldn’t lie in a pauper’s grave…or perhaps he would have not changed a whit.” The man’s voice was bitter and the sharp eyes briefly looked away from Jacob, to Jacob’s deep relief.

“Who was this man, to you?” he asked.

“Close. I would prefer to say no more. Please, rabbi. It must be done, and it must be tonight.”

Seminary did not prepare me for this, Jacob thought, and then thought again. There is absolutely something in the Talmud about this and I’ve just forgotten it, because I’m an idiot and I’m half asleep and there is a goy on my doorstep asking me to go out to the cemetery with him at midnight to bury a man whose name he won’t tell me.

“Look, I’ll need someone to help dig the grave.”

“Of course."

“And a coffin. A plain pine box. And I’ll need to get my supplies from the--”

“But you’ll do it?” said the man excitedly, standing up even taller. “And do it tonight, before the cock crows?”

Jacob held up his hands to keep the man from getting even further into his personal space. “Fine. Yes. Give me half an hour and a lazy rooster.”

The cloak almost seem to inflate as the man gasped for joy. He grabbed Jacob’s hands and shook both with enthusiasm, sending Jacob stumbling. “Thank God for you, my good rabbit! Whatever God there is, thank God for you!”

The man ran off into the shadowed streets and was out of sight almost immediately.

Jacob’s hands slowly fell back to his side as he mumbled, “Rabbi,” to the darkness.

My wife is going to kill me if whatever’s at the cemetery doesn’t.

Twenty six minutes later, going by his watch, Jacob showed up at the Jewish cemetery that back-ended the only synagogue in town. It was guarded by high brick walls that made it impossible to see inside, but when Jacob went to put his key into the wrought iron gates he found them already unlocked.

Only a few other people had the key, and he briefly prayed that it was one of them who’d opened it. Then he prayed again, a more general ‘please keep me from being murdered in my own cemetery’ plea as he passed through the gates. One hand patted his pocket, feeling the edges of the folded knife he’d brought along just in case matters went nasty.

In the very corner of the cemetery a lantern burned beside an open grave, a long wooden box, and three figures with two shovels. As he approached he recognized Maud, the gravedigger’s wife and her two eldest children.

The city’s Jews and Christians kept separate cemeteries but shovels didn’t need any particular religious affiliation and neither did the hands who were paid to hold them. Maud’s husband served the dead of all faiths as long as they needed a few feet of dirt to rest their heads in.

“You’re out late,” Jacob said, casual, like they'd met at the grocer's instead of the graveyard.

Maud shrugged. She was thin with unkempt, slightly greasy hair that fell around her face in soft waves and a dress that had no functions besides the practical. Jacob knew her to be much like her husband – not bereft of compassion, but very straightforward when it came to the rites of death. It happened. The mourners mourned, but someone had to dig the holes and move the coffins, and tears only hindered the process. “And what are you, out for an evening constitutional among the headstones?”

“Let me guess, a man in grey showed up on your doorstep and asked you to come out here in the middle of the night with minimal justification but great urgency."

Maud laughed bitterly. “The same.”

“Where’s your husband?”

“Visiting family. Had to bring them instead.” She gestured to the two young people with her, one a stringy and acne-ridden lad of thirteen and one a sixteen year old young woman who was growing into having her father’s thick arms. Both looked profoundly uncomfortable with the situation.

“And he’d put up a storming fuss if a mysterious stranger asked him to dig a grave at half past nonsense at night. Me, I know better.” Maud put a finger next to her nose and tapped it. “There’s something strange going on about this. Otherworldly. Not to be trifled with.”

“Do you have any idea who this man is?”

“Not a clue. Wouldn’t give me a name, even.”

Jacob gestured to the open grave. “Who are we burying here, Cain? A murder victim?”

Maud shrugged, followed by shrugs from her two children. “Whatever he is and whoever wants him in the ground, I’m of no mind to tell him no. He’s too determined for someone who’d take it for a good answer.”

They waited in the stillness, listening to crickets softly chirp in the bushes lining the graveyard. Suddenly Jacob could see movement in the fog, then the billowing of a grey cloak, and then the shape of a man dragging something behind him on a pull cart.

Sticking out over the rim of the cart was a large, curved piece of  rock that Jacob recognized as the rough draft of a gravestone. There was a crack down one side of the stone, indicating it had likely been tossed aside as defective before it could be engraved. Beside it was a long bundle wrapped in a dirty sheet.

The four at the grave steeled their nerves in the way that best suited their spiritual preferences as the man in grey approached.

“That’s our man, is it?” Jacob asked, pointing at the bundle. The man in grey nodded.

“Do what you need to tend to him, rabbi. But do it quickly.”

Jacob uncovered the man and winced at the smell. The man had obviously been dead for at least a day, and hadn’t died in any particular state of valor. There were ligature marks around his neck, which tilted at an uncomfortable angle. That plus the bulging of his eyes and the shape of his face meant he’d died of strangulation—a slow death on the gallows, with no kind executioner ensuring that he fell fast and far enough to snap his neck at the bottom. He’d also been stripped down to his underclothes by whoever’d taken him down off the rope, and those garments that remained were…messy.

“Lay him out flat,” Jacob said. “We’ll need to get his clothes off first.”

The man winced. “Must you? He’s endured enough humiliation.”

“Do you want him purified or not? He’s covered in his own…ugh. Covered in a number of things.”

Maud took out a long pocket knife and began cutting the undergarments off the corpse, nose wrinkling. “Hate hanged corpses,” she muttered. “Wish they’d just behead them, it’d look neater and go faster.”

“But then you’ve got the body in two pieces,” said the son.

His sister rebutted, “You could tie it back on afterwards under the shirt.” The pair descended into a discussion of ideal execution methods that Jacob tried to block out with sheer willpower.

As a distraction, he studied the dead man's face. Besides the strangulation the man wasn’t unhandsome. Jacob would put him at an elegantly-aging 45 at the oldest, with stylishly cut ruddy hair and a strong jaw. It wasn't the kind of man you'd expect to find on the gallows.

“I’m going to need a name,” Jacob said, looking to the man in grey.

The man in grey hesitated, staring down at the corpse.

“James,” he said finally.

“That’s the truth, right?" Jacob pressed, in the tone he used on children who were too young to lie effectively.  “It’s actually James?”

“Yes, actually James,” the man snapped.

“James…son of…?”

“Haven’t a clue.” The sharp eyes stared daggers into Jacob’s face. Jacob sighed and went with the one sure bet he had for ancestry.

“…James ben Adam, I ask forgiveness for you, for your family and friends, and for

all of Israel, and I ask forgiveness from you for any mistakes or indiscretions I may unintentionally commit during this service.”

“He’s dead,” the man in grey interjected. “Don’t waste time asking him how he feels, just prepare him.”

“It’s part of the ritual. Besides, I hardly want him coming back tomorrow to complain.”

Jacob ran quickly through the rest of the prayers in Hebrew– the prayer for forgiveness from the corpse, the prayer for those preparing it, the prayer for compassion for the dead. The man in grey was silent. Maud and her children answered with a hasty ‘amen’ after each paragraph, even though they had no real idea what he was saying. Their religious policy seemed to be ‘whatever gets the job done’.

Jacob sighed. “All right, let’s get to the business.”

Maud and her children huddled by the corpse as Jacob poured water over it and recited the familiar words. He is pure, he is pure, he is pure. Amen, amen.

Between pourings the four rubbed the filth from the man’s skin. There were bruises on the man’s body, and scars ranging from years old to less than a month. As he cleaned under the fingernails Jacob noticed how soft his hands were, as if he’d lived in wealth and luxury until recently.

Tahara was usually the domain of the synagogue’s chevra kadisha, the funeral society, not something one rabbi did on his own. Jacob hoped that whoever was supervising the legalities of the affair would accept one rabbi and four multi-gender gentiles as a valid substitute for meeting adult male Jewish quorum.

Jacob looked up at the grey-clothed man, who’d taken a seat on a nearby headstone, cane resting beneath his folded hands. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help?”

The man shook his head. “Willing, yes. Able, no.”

“Why?”

The man angled his head to the side, voice going soft and hoarse. “There are a lot of things I cannot say. If I did, it would not…be what was necessary.”

“And what is necessary?”

“That he be buried tonight before the cock crowed, with full funeral and rites, by a man of faith, without promise of wealth or other reward for the deed,” the man rattled off as if by rote.

“You say that like it’s in a contract of some kind.”

“It is legally binding, in its own way. Now please, enough questions, we’ve not much time.” The man looked up nervously to the moon.

“Fine. Can you at least go fetch us more water?” Jacob asked the man in grey. Once he’d left with the jug, Maud huddled down next to him.

“Think I know who this dead man is,” Maud whispered.  “Heard about him over the local gossip from my cousin. He was a criminal. Nasty one, a thief and a murderer. Mutilated bodies. They say he even made a deal with Lucifer himself. Must be why this one sought you out.”

“You know we don’t believe in your Devil, right?” Jacob muttered, almost by reflex. “Let alone have any positive relationship with him.”

“The people what hanged him this week in the next town over believed in the Devil. What else would be so bad the church wants nothing to do with him And why else would he need consecrating so badly and so quickly, if he’s not got something he needs absolving form?”

Jacob watched the fog for the return of the man in grey. “And this gentleman who’s such an advocate for him, you think he’s…”

Maud followed his gaze. “If I believed in such things, I’d think it,” she whispered.

“But you don’t?”

Maud gave him a sharp look. “You think a gravedigger’s wife can afford to believe in ghosts? It’s bad for business, Rabbi.”

“Might not be, if you convince them a ghost prefers an expensive grave. Ah, hush, he’s coming back.”

Rather than put it into Jacob’s hands, the man in grey set the jug on the ground and stepped back from it. Jacob continued to pray as they wiped the corpse down and combed through his ruddy hair, reciting so quickly that Jacob ran out of prayer before he was done and ventured off into additional prayers that couldn’t hurt to add on top of the pile.

Jacob reached for the bag next to him and pulled out piles of white linen. “Now we dress him.”

“You just finished undressing him! He’s a corpse and he’s going to rot, does it matter?”

Jacob gritted his teeth, half-rising to his feet. “It. Is. The. Tradition,” he hissed.

The man in grey put his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. Do what you will. Just do it quickly.”

Jacob wrapped the corpse gently in the burial clothes – pants, shirt, belt. As he laid the white cloth in place over the face he felt the tension growing in the air, an odd pressure he’d previously chalked to humidity.

You can’t buy and sell a soul, he told himself. All souls belong to God. That’s how it works.

On the other hand, God might rent them out on commission. If he made it out of this intact he really needed to see what the Talmud said on the subject.

The man in grey was fidgeting. He kept looking to the moon, then to the watch in his hand, and then worrying the cane between his legs until it dug a long furrow in the dirt in front of him.

“Get his feet, I’ll take his shoulders.”

“Yes, mum.”

Maud and her daughter dropped the corpse into its plain pine box.

“Nails,” Maud said over her shoulder.

“Here, mum.”

The gravedigger’s son brought the hammer down hard. The resounding noise of the pine box being nailed shut jangled Jacob’s nerves after all the hushed prayers. The youth gave the nails a few extra swings each, just to make sure that nothing inside the box decided to come back out again.

The four of them lifted the coffin and crab-walked with it until it was vaguely over the grave, then dropped it in.  The man in grey leapt to his feet. “Now. Funeral. Perform it, and quickly,” he insisted.

Jacob steadied himself at the edge of the grave. Maud and the children took up the politely sympathetic stances identical to the one the gravedigger did when waiting for the funeral to finally end so he could get to his business.

Jacob was used to these. He was just used to them during the daytime, with a row of mourners lined up neatly with their ritually torn ribbons pinned to their chests as a substitute for rending their actual clothing. Even the most loathsome of people had someone to show up in order to keep up social status. A funeral for a man with no mourners to comfort was novel.

He looked at the man in grey, who was standing well back with his arms folded. “I will say, I’ve never done a eulogy for someone I don’t know the identity of, so I can’t promise anything quality.”

“I don’t care. Do it.”

Jacob took a long, deep breath, and let it out slowly. He thought back to other eulogies, pulling together scraps of them and tying it nicely with a scriptural bow.

“We are all cracked vessels,” he pronounced in his Official Rabbi Voice. “But we are all vessels made in the image of God, and even in death that vessel is subject to respect. As the Torah says, even if a man commits a sin so severe that he is sentenced to death, his body shall not be left out overnight, but buried that same day, for a hanging corpse is a blasphemy to God and a defilement of the land.”

The man in grey made a small noise, like a half-stifled bitter laugh. Jacob forced his voice to be steady.

“And from this we see that there is no crime that separates man from God. He is not spared from judgment, but he is still in God’s image, and to disrespect his right to burial is to disrespect God himself. May those that James ben Adam has harmed in life forgive him and gain healing, and those whose lives he has enriched remember him. Amen.”

And may this not come back to bite me in the arse, whatever strange theological zone I may be playing in.

“Amen,” echoed Maud and her children. Maud’s daughter shivered, a strange act when the night’s heat seemed to be growing ever more oppressive on Jacob’s shoulders.

The words of Kel Maleh Rachamim felt heavy on Jacob’s tongue. Towards the end he felt himself slurring vowels and having to stop and go back to repeat them properly. His throat burned, and he took a swig from the dirty water jug just to soothe it, but found it brought no relief.

“Please,” whispered the man in grey.  “Now! Bury him now!”

Jacob could feel dawn coming somehow, though he hadn’t checked his watch since they began. He could feel it in his bones as the heat surged through him. Maud and her children went for the shovels.

Jacob kept the prayer flowing, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. “Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mey rabah!” he muttered as dirt flew into the grave. The words of the Mourner’s Kaddish were some of the most familiar he knew. They were said every Shabbat morning, and the same words were repeated for their own reasons several other times during the service. In the dense air they seemed to be the only thing keeping his throat clear, when he would otherwise suffocate.

The two children shoveled as fast as they could but they were slumping under some unseen pressure. The girl winced, gritting her teeth, and tears were gathering at the corners of the boy’s eyes.

The man in grey jumped to stand beside them, waving his hands. “Faster!” he shouted.

“You heard him, faster!” shouted Maud.

“Mum, my arms hurt, let me rest!”

“Keep going!” the man in grey snarled. “We haven’t much time!”

When the shovel fell from the young man’s limp hands Jacob grabbed it and began piling in the dirt furiously. He felt claws dig into his arms draining the strength from his muscles. The man in grey urged them onward, with pleas and with threats, and Jacob tried to ignore both. There were whispers invading his mind and he drove them out by chanting at double speed. Beside him Maud was saying the prayers of her own people and her daughter was fumbling along behind her in repeating them. It made a rhythm to shovel to, up and down and deep into the dirt again, until the coffin was covered completely. Maud’s son heaved the crudely-carved rock from the cart and nearly dropped it on his own foot as he planted it at the head of the grave.

“Amen!” the young man shouted.

“Amen, amen, for god’s sake, are we done?” asked the daughter, thick arms limp at her sides.

“We’re done!” said Jacob, barely getting the words out.

“You’re not!” shouted the man in grey. He had his arms around himself, head bowed as if under unseen blows. “It’s not finished!”

Jacob ground his teeth, his muscles screaming in pain. “There’s nothing left!” The gravedigger’s son was on his knees trembling.

“You must have forgotten something!” yelled the man in gray in a shaking voice, huddled inside his cloak.

“I didn’t—"

Oh.

Of course.

Jacob pulled the knife from his pocket. The act of opening it felt like moving a boulder. He took his shirt cuff and with great effort jabbed the knife into it, dragging it down until he reached the hem.. The sound of the cloth tearing reverberated through the graveyard and magnified a hundred times, until it was shaking Jacob down to his bones.

Like rain breaking on a broiling July day, the tension snapped and vanished. The pained sniffles of the gravedigger’s son faded into silence. Across the graveyard, the crickets started up their song once more.

The man in grey uncurled slowly. “What did you…do?” he asked, looking to Jacob in awe.

“Mourners,” Jacob gasped, the knife falling from his hands. “There were no mourners. Had to—you tear your clothing, when you’re mourning. Funeral’s not just for the dead. It’s for the living. It needed mourners.”

A feeling of cool mist enveloped Jacob as the man in grey launched at him for a deep embrace. It was the first time the man had touched any of them since the night began. “Thank you,” the man said, voice nearly a sob.

Jacob patted his back. The man felt like a damp blanket cloying to his skin. “Shalom Aleichem, James.”

“Whatever that means, the same to you, Rabbi.” The weight of the man vanished from his arms, followed by the man himself. The first rays of morning light shone down upon wet grass dented by absent boots.

Maud’s daughter slumped against her mother. Maud’s arm reached around her and gave her a hard squeeze, a weak smile coming to her face.

“Do we get to believe in ghosts now, Mum?”

“No, dear. It’s bad for business.”

[stefciastark]

Captured ~Webpril Day 17

A/N: Sorry for the late update and a shorter chapter! Last night was a long long night with assessment, and this upcoming week will be interesting. This one I found super difficult to write but I enjoyed the challenge. One day I'd love to expand on a storyline like this :) This is a combined prompt fill for Charlotte_Stars on AO3 who wanted to see Peter getting saved by Tony from the Raft. Hope you guys enjoy xx

~Read it on AO3

~Read it on FFN

“You might want to hurry up, Tony, I’ve got two - no three bogeys coming in on the radar.”

“Hold tight, Happy, I gotta get the kid out.”

All Tony heard over the radio was a sigh and then the firing of jet engines as Happy began to manoeuvre the aircraft away from the immediate radar range of the Raft, and to likely deal with whatever threat was going to burst through the cloudline.

He had never been more furious yet more afraid for Peter. The level of sheer stupidity to act out of bounds in strict violation of the Sokovia Accords had landed him in superhero prison, all in the name of doing some ‘underground information gathering’. It was out of character for Peter, and once he had the kid back safe, they were going to have a tête-à-tête about what the hell had been going through his head. Tony was even more furious, however, at the prison’s lack of leniency, especially considering Peter was fifteen years old. The Raft was keeping a minor prisoner, and Tony wasn’t of a mind to tolerate that level of bullshit.

The rain pattered harshly over the suit, and he was glad when F.R.I.D.A.Y’s systems filtered out the white noise. The only sounds he needed to hear were voices and footsteps.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, get me inside.” The large circular landing platform at the centre of the facility’s exterior had not opened to greet him. He hadn’t really expected it to.

“On it, Boss.”

Ironically, breaking into the Raft would most likely land him in the Raft if he wasn’t careful. Then again, ‘careful’ wasn’t really on the cards for Tony.

The landing pad unfurled in response to F.R.I.D.A.Y’s disarmament of the frontline security systems, its large metal jaws opening to reveal about two-hundred metres of darkness that would eventually culminate in a high-security, architecturally hideous - yet somewhat effective - prison.

If they didn’t know he was here before - but with Happy circling around the prison, that scenario was unlikely - they did now.

Standing at the edge of the abyss, Tony did not hesitate in the slightest before diving in, slowing his descent moments before his landing with a few well-timed micro-blasts of the repulsors.

Eyes locked on the first of many security doors, he began Phase 2 of the rescue operation.

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

Peter traced circles mindlessly on the white sheets, the mattress feeling like stone beneath him. He may as well be sitting on the floor. The fabric of the blue uniform was stiff and sharp against his skin, the facility obviously needing to be introduced to the concept of fabric softener. The shade of blue was his marking as a prisoner. His marking as an ‘incarcerated enhanced individual’. He missed the days when he was just an ‘enhanced individual’.

A metal tray laden with an ambiguous mystery concoction of ‘food’ lay untouched in the opposite corner of the small room. The only thing Peter had taken from the tray was the small plastic cup of water, which did nothing to quench the burning in his throat. When he got out of here he was absolutely going to leave a bad review. ‘Room service and hospitality leaving something to be desired.”

Although it had only been a matter of days since his imprisonment - a reality he had yet to come to terms with - it had felt like at least a month. The once a day serving of whatever nutrient-poor food they did provide tasted like cardboard and mothballs, a flavour Peter didn’t particularly want to re-experience, and he wasn’t sure in the first place how a flavour like that even happened.

One guard stood on the opposite end of the circular room by the heavy security door, gun in hand. Peter, being the only one held in the facility, didn’t exactly need half of the Raft’s personnel to supervise him.

The guard frowned in response to a voice that crackled over the radio. Readjusting his one-handed grip on his weapon, he placed his finger on his earpiece. Peter heard his uneasy reply. “There’s been a breach in Section 2A? Copy that, I’ll-”

Peter heard the static cut in over the guard’s communications, the bearer of the news having suddenly lost connection with the radios.

“Hello? H-hello?” No response from the other side.

He could faintly hear the sounds of gunfire and the clangs of metal coming from...fairly nearby? Peter could only guess, seeing as the reinforced walls and specially made superhero-proof architecture of the place made it almost impossible for him to tell. Standing up from his prison cot, he approached the bars of his cell.

His heart pumped faster, fingers trembling with the adrenaline already flowing through his veins. He had no web shooters, no suit. He felt profoundly useless. It was only a matter of time before whatever threat was coming through those doors found Peter, and he had no way to defend himself.

The guard was now trying in vain to leave the room; swiping his access card, scanning his fingerprints, or entering his pin number did nothing to release the latch on the door. Whoever was coming in was smart; keep the guards separated, and assume almost complete control of the computer systems. The technological infrastructure was theirs to manipulate.

With a pitiful whimper, the guard jumped back from the door as three gunshots went off before being followed by a loud bang.

The door slid open.

Before the guard could raise his gun with quivering hands, a blur of red and gold grabbed the firearm’s muzzle and bent it upwards, rendering it completely useless. Tearing the weapon away from his hands, Peter’s rescuer introduced the butt of the soft machine gun to the side of the man’s head. Falling unconscious - but still alive - to the ground, all went silent.

“Back away kid, it’s going to get hot in here.” Tony had made his way over to Peter’s cell, and what looked like highly concentrated flames of a welding torch emerged from his palm.

Scrambling back from the barred door, he shielded his eyes away from the sparks that flew from the metal before becoming a molten lump on the ground. Peter thought it was kind of ironic how a prison cell meant to keep people with special abilities in wasn’t in the slightest fireproof. He thought wryly that that would probably be a top-priority upgrade to the facility after today.

There was now a gap in the bars wide enough for Peter to walk through without bending over or contorting his body in any way. He was free.

Leaving the room behind without a single glance back, he wrapped his arms around Tony’s suit, the cold metal feeling warmer than anything else he’d felt in days. Tony’s armour-clad hand rested gently on the back of his head, a comforting weight that grounded him in reality.

“You came for me.” Peter stated, not really certain why he felt surprised.

“What did you think I was going to do, let you rot in jail?” The helmet had receded, worry lines prominent on Tony’s brow. This kid was going to be the end of him.

The comfortable silence was broken by Happy’s agitated voice breaking over Tony’s comms. “If you guys could leave the sweet reunion for later, we need to go. Now.”

[nalgenewhore]

Too Late To Turn Back Now - Eight

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Lorcan was the first to wake. He yawned, turning his head from where it was buried in the crook of Elide’s neck to look outside at the sunny skies. Only a few fluffy clouds dotted the blue expanse.

He looked back at the bed, looking at how they were tangled together in a comfortable mess. They were both on their stomachs, Elide sprawled out half-beneath him, one of his legs slotted between hers. Her arms were tightly wrapped around a pillow and she had the most adorable scrunch on her brow, her full lips twisted into a pout when he moved and the duvet shifted. Goose flesh erupted over her bare skin and he leaned down, brushing his lips over her tattoo. 

Elide hummed softly, smiling as he chuckled dryly and continued, not one to deny her a single pleasure. 

Slowly, he moved up the curve of her shoulder, his lips softly drawing her from her deep slumber. Lorcan knew she was awake by the time his teeth grazed against her jaw, but she let him be as he continued his path. He pulled back, smiling at her whine of protest that he quickly soothed by pressing his lips to the head of her inked wyvern

She hummed again and twisted beneath him, reaching up to cup his cheek. “It’s sunny,” she whispered, pulling back to look him in the eye, her thumb stroking over his cheekbone. 

Lorcan rose a brow, “It seems we have a detective in our midst. Tell me, princess, how did you deduce that?” 

“I’m a gal of many talents,” she whispered with a hoarse voice, shifting beneath him and wrapping her legs around his waist as she looped her arms around his neck. Lorcan smiled and tilted her chin up, kissing her again.

A needy sound formed in her throat and Elide deepened the embrace, not satisfied until he gave into her borderline desperation. She craved him, like nothing she’d ever felt before, a yearning that was hardly satiated even with him in her arms. 

It seemed as though Lorcan felt the same as he started to move down her body, his destination clear. Only, they were interrupted by the growling of her stomach and he laughed, propping himself above her. “You hungry?” 

Lorcan caught the wicked glint in her eyes too late before she was expertly flipping them and bracing her hands against his chest. “For food, El.” 

She just winked and lowered herself, skipping his lips and trailing hers down his jaw and throat, her hands travelling over his sides. He sucked in a breath when her nails scraped over his ribs and she moved lower, kneeling between his legs. “Princess,” he ground out, his hands fisted in the sheets. 

“Yes?” she asked him, making her slender eyes wide and innocent. 

“Stop being distracting.” 

“Why?” Fuck her for pouting, that was a dirty move. And wrapping her hand around him, that was just cruel.

“Elide,” he panted, locking his jaw as she trailed her tongue over the tendril of ink that crept over his hip and connected to the artwork on his back. 

There was more than a little smugness in her eyes and voice, “Use your words, baby.” 

“We have to…” Lorcan trailed off, suddenly very unable to figure out why he was debating this. 

“Are you saying no?” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Half an hour later, a satisfied Lorcan was shaking his head as a cocky Elide threw him a saucy smirk over her shoulder and practically skipped down the hall, her happy laughter echoing through the house. 

Elide was wearing a pair of his boxers and an old hockey jersey of his from highschool, one of the sleeves slipping down her shoulder while he was clad in his classic low-slung sweats and nothing else. 

The kitchen was empty when they got there and he nudged her to a barstool while he got their food ready. Someone had already been up and filled the coffee pot, so as Lorcan gathered the necessary ingredients, Elide poured them mugfulls and put his down on the counter next to him. She rose to her tiptoes to kiss his cheek and spun away before he could wrap his arms around her. 

Lorcan focused back on the waffle batter and he swore, he tried to pay attention, he really did, but then music started playing and Elide was dancing, her hips swaying hypnotizingly to the beat. 

She was so caught up in her sultry dance that she didn’t notice she’d danced herself to him, bumping into Lorcan and startling. Before she could evade his grasp again, he gripped her hips and pulled her back against him, “You said you couldn’t dance.” 

Elide smiled and put her coffee down, twisting to face him, “Mm, I don’t know how to do ballroom dancing.” 

“You’ve been holding out on me, Lochan,” he said, teasing as he faked a glare down at her. 

Shrugging, she turned again and slipped from his arms, continuing her previous movements. Lorcan made a sound of protest, his mouth popping open as Elide looked back at him and cackled. He frowned and she only laughed louder, clutching her stomach as she bent at the waist. 

“Oh, really? That’s, that’s how it is then, huh?” 

It took a few seconds for Elide to calm down enough to say to him: “Lemme, let me just think… oh, oh wait. Yeah, that’s how it is.”

“You’re a fucking brat. I don’t like you very much.”

Elide nodded, very convinced as she scooped up her coffee again and hopped up onto a barstool, happy to sit back and watch him. 

He noticed her watchful gaze, of course he did, and commented, without looking at her, “You could help me if you wanted.” 

“Now why would I do that, when I could sit down, enjoy my coffee and watch a fine-ass man do it for me?” 

He couldn’t argue with that and rolled his eyes at her, shaking his head as he poured the batter into the waffle iron. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

As they ate, they were joined by Fenrys, Rowan, Connall, Vaughan, Aelin, and Nehemia. The boys were already cheery, smiling easily at Elide as she said hello and told them to serve themselves.

Aelin was nearly comatose, moving on autopilot as she loaded her plate and filled the tea kettle. As she waited for the water to boil, she plopped herself down next to Elide. 

The breakfast table was in a cozy nook, set in bay windows with cushioned benches. Nehemia joined the girls on one of the couches, silently sipping her coffee. The colourful scarf on her head that amassed her curls to the top of her skull was at odds with the stormy expression on her ethereal face. Fenrys helpfully supplied: “Mia isn’t exactly a morning person. Ain’t that right, baby?” 

Nehemia glared at him and to his credit, he only winced after she had shut her eyes, still half-asleep. Aelin perked up when Rowan placed her cup of tea in front of her and kissed the top of her head, murmuring something in a language foreign to Elide’s ears. 

Soon enough, the table was crowded and they were all talking loudly above one another. Elide mainly observed, letting Nehemia lean on her as she ate her waffles. Aneha joined them a little later, saying that her twin was working on her next masterpiece and couldn’t possibly grace the peasants with her presence. 

It was chaotic and abrasive, but Elide had never felt happy like this, feeling like she had finally found her people. Feeling someone’s eyes on her, she looked up and met Lorcan’s soft gaze, his dark eyes open and depthless. 

Suddenly, it felt as though everything else slowed and nothing else mattered but them and this moment. Later, after the kitchen had been cleaned and everyone was fully awake, the boys decided to live out their days of youth and go cliff-jumping. Aelin was game, while Nehemia said she’d stay in the boat and Elide agreed with her. 

It was cold and Elide snuggled down into Lorcan’s fleece pullover, agreeing with Nehemia when she told the gang that they were crazy. They had taken the deck boat, not the sleek speedboat, to fit everyone and Elide and Nehemia were currently curled up on the leather bench-seat, huddled under a blanket and everyone else’s coats and jackets. 

They dropped anchor about fifty or so metres from the rock face and the boys shoved each other out of the way as they raced to the water, swimming fast to the cliff. Rowan touched the rock first, but Aelin was quick in the water, wrapping a hand around his ankle and yanking him back beneath the waves. 

They brawled it out while the twins passed them and were quick to scale the cliff. Nehemia cheered as Fenrys made it to the top first and roared his victory to the skies, taunting the rest of them as they made their way up.

Elide chuckled as Lorcan and Rowan started boxing, her heart clenching as they got too close to the edge, but thankfully Aneha shouted and pulled them back, berating them as she slapped them upside the head. 

The brothers looked at each other and nodded, easily picking her up and tossing the brunette out. Aneha screamed obscenities as she fell, managing to land in a cannonball. 

As she surfaced, she treaded water and yelled, “I’m gonna fucking kill you!” 

“Are they always like this?” Elide asked Nehemia, eyes on Lorcan as he took a running start and leaped, twisting and flipping off Aneha as they passed each other, one falling through the air and the other climbing back up. 

“All the time,” Nehemia said, grinning as she procured a silver flask from where it had been stashed somewhere in the boat and two red cups. Elide’s grin matched hers and they poured themselves cup fulls, spending their day by drinking and judging the jumps, either booing or calling out appraisals.

The day passed them by slowly and it was a while before everyone swam back to the boat. When Aelin sat on Rowan’s lap and when they pulled the blanket over their heads, the rest of the group yelled and threw their empties at them. 

Lorcan groaned in disgust and hid his face in Elide’s shoulder, pulling her half in front of him. She rolled her eyes and leaned back into him, smiling as he lifted his head and rested his chin on the top of her hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

They had driven back to the house and after everyone had changed into warmer clothes, their shivers mostly gone, they began the lengthy discussion of what to do for lunch. 

Lorcan was hanging back in the discussion, toying with their joined hands. Elide was a bit confused, she’d seen him jump into the petty arguments they dissolved to with little encouragement, but she thought nothing of it and leaned back against his front. 

“Why don’t we just go into town? No one has to cook,” offered Connall, ever the peacemaker. The group paused and agreed, turning when neither Lorcan or Elide had voiced their opinions, though the latter had preferred to be an observer of this debate. 

Before she could agree to anything, Lorcan was saying: “Nah, we’re good. I want to show El something, we’ll see you all later, ok?” 

They all shrugged and with a few yelled good-byes, off they went. Sadirah was still working on her newest painting and was not to be disturbed, but she welcomed dropped off food or mugs of tea. Elide got to working on just that, not looking at Lorcan as she asked, “So, whatcha gonna show me?” 

“The reserve,” he told her calmly, but with the way that he was fidgeting and not meeting her eye when she did turn to look at him told a different story. “Unless you want to do something else—” 

“No! No, I’d love to,” Elide said, smiling widely. “I’d love to.” 

He blushed and she took a mental picture of it. “Well… good. We can- we can go when you’re ready?” 

She hummed her agreement and took the now-ready tea for his sister in her hands as well as a plate of toast with peanut butter on it, “Let me drop this off to Dee and I’ll be ready.” She rocked onto her tiptoes and just barely managed to kiss his cheek. A frown graced her brow and when he asked her why, he laughed at her pouty response of: “You’re too tall.” 

He sent her off to the artist’s creaky attic with a conciliatory kiss and a promising smile, promising what, she didn’t exactly know but whatever it was, it made her stomach ripple in anticipation. 

Elide made her way up the creaky steps and smiled as she heard Sadirah’s music pouring from the halfway open door - Rico Nasty. A girl with taste, Sadirah was. 

She tentatively knocked on the doorframe, stepping in after the young artist called for her to come in. “Hey, Dee. Brought you some sustenance.” 

Sadirah popped up from behind the canvas, paint streaked across her cheeks and forehead, a half-crazed smile on her lips. “Hey, Ellie! Oh, thank you, I’m starving.” She stumbled off her stool and kept her palette and brush in hand as she toddled around her messy studio, seemingly knowing where everything was in the chaotically organized mess. 

“So, I see you stan Rico.” 

Lorcan’s youngest sister smiled again and nodded. “Yeah, she puts me in the right headspace to paint!” she said before she gulped down a good portion of tea and took a bite of toast. 

“Do I get to see said masterpiece?” 

“Oh my gosh, sure, if you want. It’s just a little thing,” she said, beckoning Elide over. “It’s actually for you and L, if you want it or anything, you don’t have to though.” 

Elide grinned at Sadirah’s poor visage of nonchalance and set her eyes on the painting. Since it was only just started, it took her a bit to suss out what it was, but when she figured it out, her breath hitched. “Oh,” she breathed, her eyes stinging with tears. “It’s us.” 

It was a painting of the two of them on the speedboat, sitting together on the bench as Lorcan warmed her hands for her as a pretense. There was a small smile on Elide’s part way finished face and she could see her relaxed posture, almost melting into his side. It was such a forgotten moment, Elide thought, a throwaway thing he’d done because he’d seen her - truly. Elide turned to Sadirah, who was waiting anxiously, idly mixing a colour on her palette. 

“It’s beautiful. Really.” Out of the unignorable urge, she hugged Sadirah, careful not to disturb her palette. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Sadirah said, a smile in her voice as she hugged Elide as tightly as she could with one arm. “I’m happy you do, I’m always nervous about showing people the paintings of them.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Elide repeated, letting Sadirah go as she heard Lorcan call out from the bottom of the stairs and begin to walk up. 

“Hey,” came a distinctly male voice. They both turned to face Lorcan, his eyebrows raising at Elide’s red eyes. “Are you crying?” 

“Nope.” 

“You so are. What did you do, Dee?” 

Sadirah exclaimed in outrage, “Hey! I’m the nice one! I would never.” 

Lorcan chuckled, “That’s fair. You ready to go, princess?” 

Elide nodded and waved good-bye to Sadirah, cautiously making her way over to the door. She didn’t understand Sadirah’s system, but it wasn’t her place to fix anything so she did her best to leave everything untouched. 

Lorcan gave her a look as he too said a farewell and they walked downstairs, their hands brushing against each other’s. After a few surreptitious touches, Elide laced her fingers in his and pulled him down behind her quicker. “So, what’s the reserve like?” 

“Oh, pretty normal. Just like any other small town.” He shrugged and they put on their shoes and jackets before walking down to the boat. She didn’t hesitate to step climb in and take her seat, looking excitedly out at the glittering blue expanse of sea. 

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her eagerness, such a stark difference from the first time she’d been in the boat. After stepping in and sitting at the wheel, he turned the engine on and it rumbled to life. “Ready?” 

Her wide smile was answer enough and they were off, smoothly coasting to the top speed as he expertly maneuvered the water craft to the next grouping of islands. “The reserve is spread across five different islands, with different bands, but we’re going to the biggest one!” Lorcan shouted over the loud noise. 

Elide gave him a thumbs up and resumed her ocean gazing until they slowed and floated up to the jetty and tied the boat up. 

Already, there were kids swarming around them and when a few of the older ones recognized Lorcan, they began yelling in Ozuye and mobbed him, smiling wildly. Elide grinned at the sight and smiled at a shy little girl that traipsed up to her, looking up at Elide with big brown eyes. 

Elide crouched, “Hi there. My name’s Elide. What’s yours?” 

“Akicita,” the girl whispered. “Are you Lorcan’s friend?” 

“I am,” Elide confirmed. “He wanted to show me around.” 

Akicita grinned as Elide stood and the group began to walk up to land. Elide looked to Lorcan, who had a kid on his shoulders and another holding his hand. The others trailed around him, chattering nonstop as they walked. 

There was a big, brown building and Lorcan stopped, waiting for Elide. He explained, “Need to state that you’re here ‘cause you aren’t a band member. Then we’ll go see some other stuff.” She nodded and gently took Akicita’s hand when the little girl offered it. 

Lorcan had to put down the child before they walked in and assured them he would be back soon. The office was bustling as they walked in and someone called out, “Ah, the hotshot returns!” 

He laughed, “Fuck off, Dres.” Elide spied the shorn-haired woman with a shit-eating grin on her face. “I need to sign El in.” 

Other people noticed the two of them and began conversing with him in their mother tongue. She didn’t feel excluded or like an outsider, really, more like an observer. It was nice and when he slung his arm over her shoulders, she let him. 

Soon enough, someone was passing her a clipboard with a form on it and she filled it out, thanking the older woman who’d given it to her. 

“A’ight, we’re good to go then,” Lorcan said, saying good-bye to everyone as they walked out. 

“So,” Elide began, lifting her hand to lace her fingers in the hand that dangled from her shoulder, “where to now?” 

He showed her all over the island, his old haunts like the elementary Essar now taught at and high school he attended, his old house, the beach where he’d lost his virginity. She teased him for that. The kids trailed after them everywhere they went, not that Elide or Lorcan were complaining. After a while, the little Akicita had become sleepy and tired so Elide picked her up and let her fall asleep. 

Finally, Lorcan brought her to the elders, who were sitting on the porch of a great big building - the longhouse - and they paid their respects to them. A group of the boys insisted on Lorcan playing basketball with them so Elide had sat down with the still-dozing Akicita and spoken quietly with the elders. 

They were a riot and shared many humiliating stories about her so-called fiancé with her. Elide had nearly cried in laughter, trying to suppress it so as to not wake the little one. She watched Lorcan with a fond eye, recognizing how he played purposefully badly with the kids and went along with them as they cheered their many victories. 

Elide was almost reluctant to leave when the sun began to dip and she softly waved good-bye to the new friend she’d made when Akicita’s mother came to get her. Akicita sleepily waved her fist, causing Elide and her mother - Ewahee - to exchange sweet smiles. 

It took Lorcan a little while longer to say his farewells but eventually he did and he migrated back to her side, placing a hand on the small of her back as they walked away. Elide paused and turned to him, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair that had escaped his braids behind his ear, “Thank you for showing me this. I want…” 

“Yeah?” he encouraged her, revelling in the feeling of her fingertips lingering on his cheekbone. 

“I want to cook dinner. I can make Blackbeak food?” 

Lorcan thought about teasing her, after having seen the barrenness of her kitchen a few times, could she even cook? But her face was nervous and anxiety swam in her slanted eyes so he nodded, “I’d love that.” 

She smiled and dropped her hand, her eyes travelling over everything in sight as they walked back to the boat. “You really like it here, huh?” 

Elide looked back over her shoulder, a furrow in her brows. “What’s not to like? It’s your home,” she said, shrugging and continuing on like normal, like Lorcan’s entire world hadn’t just shifted completely with three little words. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Where’s the…” Elide muttered, searching the shelf in front of them for whatever it was. She refused to tell him about any of the ingredients and went as far as to cover their basket with her jacket, not taking any chances. 

She spotted the spice on the top shelf, way too far for her arm reach. “Oh. There it is,” she said. Lorcan moved to get it for her, able to track her gaze but Elide stopped him, “I got it.” 

Lorcan watched, mildly horrified as she proceeded to scale the shelves and grab the bottle before neatly hopping down and dropping it under the jacket. “Ok! That’s everything.” 

He tried to sneak a look into the basket, too curious and impatient to stop himself. Elide caught him and flicked his nose, “Hey! No peeking, Salvaterre! I meant it.” She glared at him until a look of realization passed over her breathtaking face, “Oh, I forgot- can you go get some lamb?” 

“Mm-hmm, how much do you want?” 

“Let’s see, mmm,” she did a few calculations in her head, no doubt counting how many people would be at dinner. “You, me, the twins, the boys, your mother, Ae and Mia… I guess eleven? Some people will eat less than one and you brutes can have more, right? Yeah, enough for eleven.” 

“Sounds good.” He was about to walk off but paused, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Meet you at the cashier.” 

“Ok,” Elide breathed, scowling when Lorcan smirked at her flushed cheeks. “I hate you.” 

“That’s not what you said last night. And your actions this morning prove otherwise.” 

“Yeah, well, that was a hate blowjob. You can give those out of hate, you know.” 

Lorcan laughed loudly and she smiled despite herself, soaking up his delight. “Whatever you say, I’ll go get your stuff, yeah?” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“No, baby, that’s not how you do it,” Elide said as she watched Lorcan attempt to wrap a cabbage roll. She decided to make sarma, a relatively simple dish of pork and rice stuffed cabbage rolls that were cooked in a pot over lamb chops and in a spiced tomato sauce. 

Elide was showing the group - Lorcan, Rowan, Fenrys, Connall, Vaughan, Aelin, Nehemia, Aneha, and Sadirah - how to wrap them as she prepared the lamb. 

Lorcan pouted at her and she laughed, kissing his cheek before showing him and the others. While it was nice to be all together, making dinner, they tended to become distracted and now all focused as their wraps were hardly any better. 

Sadirah and Aneha excelled at it and basked in Elide’s praise, taunting their brothers. The whole gang viewed the girls as their baby sisters and one look between Vaughan and Fenrys had the guys scooping them up and tickling them mercilessly. 

Elide laughed easily, unable to name the feeling of home deep in her soul. Something caught her eye and she looked up to see Odette leaning against the archway, gazing fondly at Elide. She beckoned her over and Elide went, swallowing hard. “I’m glad he found you, Elide.” 

Elide felt like bursting into tears but controlled her emotions, accepting the warm hug that Lorcan’s mother offered. “You’re good for him, sweetheart,” Odette whispered. “Don’t forget that, alright? You two deserve each other.” 

“I won’t,” Elide whispered back, her throat tight. How it hurt her very being, lying to them all like this. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Everyone was sitting around the patio table, chatting animatedly as they ate. Elide was smiling as she conversed with Fenrys, her shoulders loose and grin easy. 

Every time Lorcan looked away to something else, his gaze slid right back to her and she remained oblivious. Or so he thought. She noticed out of the corner of her eye and sipped from her drink, whispering, “Is there a reason you’re staring?” 

He dropped his head, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “I enjoy looking at beautiful things.” 

Lorcan smirked as she blushed and muttered into her drink, “Charmer. It won’t work.” 

“What won’t work?” 

“Your plan to seduce me,” she declared, finally turning her head to look him in the eyes. Her gaze dropped to his lips and Lorcan let a rough chuckled slip past them. 

“Is that right, princess?” 

“Mm-hmm,” she breathed, her voice hitching. “That’s right, baby.” 

“I’m so convinced right now,” he told her, grinning at the nickname that seemed to roll off her tongue so naturally.

Elide huffed and rolled her eyes, leaning into his side. “Shut up.” 

After dinner, everyone had migrated to the kitchen, efficiently cleaning before they moved to the fire pit and listened as Odette told them stories. Elide listened, but her eyes were stuck on Lorcan’s face, watching the almost childlike excitement as his mother recited the stories he learned when he was a wee little lad. 

Slowly, her heart filled with something heavy - a comforting weight and warmth as she had slid into Lorcan’s lap when he’d opened his arms for her and wrapped a blanket around the two of them. 

When it became late, Odette corralled her youngest children to bed, threatening to maim anybody who dared wake them up when they finally went to bed. 

That was when Aelin and Fenrys had broken out their stashes of booze and things had gotten a little wild. 

Elide’s vision was blurry, slipping in and out of focus as she sat down across the table from Lorcan, who was relatively sober. “Alright, Salvaterre,” she slurred slightly, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. “You ready?” 

“For what, princess?” 

Elide made a happy noise at the nickname and planted her elbow in the middle of the table, “Arm wrestle!” 

Lorcan snorted and placed his elbow on the wooden surface, humouring her as he gripped her hand. Aelin cheered and elected herself as referee. 

“Fighter one, are you ready?” 

“Yessir,” Elide said, a pleased smile on her lips. “You’re going down, baby.” 

“Fighter two, are you ready?” 

“Yup,” Lorcan said, popping the ‘p’. 

“Let’s get it on!” 

Lorcan’s arm didn’t budge and Elide stood up - for leverage. Aelin and Nehemia backed Elide up, egging her on as Lorcan remained in place. Before he could stop her, Elide leaned across the table and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips, using the distraction to pin his hand to the table. With a victory cry, she stood up on the bench, lifting her hands to the skies, “YES! I’M THE CHAMP! YOU FUCKIN’ SUCK!” 

Lorcan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, “That cannot count. Ref?” he asked Aelin, who was standing on the bench next to Elide and whooping. Nehemia cackled and joined them, the golden jewellery adorning her hair glinting in the light of the fire. 

“All’s fair in love and war, Lorcy,” she declared, grabbing Elide’s fist and lifting it like an actual martial art referee to signify her win. They started dancing, jumping around until Elide slipped. Nehemia caught her and they all burst into peals of drunken giggles.

Lorcan stood up and walked around to the other side, helping the three of them down to earth, “Alright, let’s dance on the ground, yeah?” 

Aelin went off, spinning and spinning, her golden tresses catching the light from the fire. Nehemia cackled and skipped over to Fenrys while Elide stayed with Lorcan, opening and closing her hands in a grabby motion. “Up!” 

Chuckling, he easily picked her up, his hands under her thighs. “Better?” 

Elide smiled serenely, her face blissful as she locked her legs around his waist and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Very much,” she said, breathing in the sandalwood and cedar scent that clung to him all the time as she buried her face in his neck. “It’s very better.” 

He chuckled again and she made a gentle noise in the back of her throat - she loved it when he laughed. She loved it when he was happy. 

She loved- 

No. She couldn’t. Because she would be leaving him soon enough after tomorrow, because this was a sham. Nothing about this was real. 

She still let herself believe that it was and whispered, so soft her broken admission and in a language he didn’t understand, “I love you, Lorcan Salvaterre.” 

“Hmm? Baby, you know I don’t speak Blackbeak,” he said, rocking her back and forth in a soothing motion. 

“Nothing,” she told him, laying her head on his shoulder and closing his eyes. “Just a prayer.” 

He sighed softly, still swaying slowly. Gently, he began to sing, just loud enough so that she could hear it as she succumbed to the thick tendrils of sleep. 

“It’s too late… to turn back now,” he hummed, “I believe, I believe, I believe I’m falling in love…”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: wouldn’t it be nice if everything went well after this....

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere e @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @superspiritfestival @yikesitsmaddie @flowerspringsea @queen-of-glass @sleeping-and-books s @b00kworm @bat-wing-rhys @poisonous00 @empress-ofbloodshed @feyrethedarklady​ @gorl-power​ @keshavomit​ @ifinallygavein​ @rosegoldannie​ @pilesoffriles @julemmaes​

[highviewsmoved]

⁂ shigaraki tomura x reader. (old god shigaraki & female reader)  ❝ gods cannot love mortals. ❞

Similar to the seasons, death changes.

There are whispers of an ancient deity that descends when it is someone's time to go. Who appears when men fall in war, in sickness or in their own beds rattling their last breath.

The name of his is unspoken, for he has wandered the earth for years, collecting souls, leaving death and destruction in his wake. An omen of some kind, similar to the caw of a crow. He will exist.

He will be there and he will wait.

Death himself comes for her in early autumn, when the trees are bare, the branches similar to skeletal fingers pushing up from the earth; the leaves stuck wet to the ground after a morning of rain.

She is cleaning, yukata rolled to her legs and sleeves tied in tasuki to keep from getting wet from the splash of water. It was simple, an easy mistake. She suddenly missteps when she goes back to refill the bamboo tub, falling in head first into the freezing stream.

The locals, the people in her village warned her the water is vicious for its current. The current had stolen a child not too long ago, the mother’s wailing echoes could still be heard throughout the mountain. Water fills her lungs, suffocating her, as her head knocks against a rock.

She is now at the mercy of the beast, and she hopes the river deity will spare her. When she resurfaces much later she has blacked out, unknowing what or who had saved her.

She remembers the abyss; white and red.

And the face of a man who crumbles.

--

Her mother tells her she lived because he had spared her.

“Who, mother?”

“Death,” she says simply. “He can be merciful.”

She listens carefully while the porridge cooks, the smell delicious. She grips the rag between her fists tightly, and she thinks she has seen the face of death. He is very similar to a human.

Curiosity gets the best of her. “Is he always alone?”

Mother is quiet for sometime, she’s not sure she may have heard her. Until she finally responds. “Yes, always.”

--

She sees death when he takes the soul of an old man in her village, the grieving of the family being heard as others come out of their huts to see the mourning, and she sees him.

Death is there, and he comes with the snow in winter, so unlike when he comes in spring or in summer. The frost creeps into her lungs, as she watches him, holding firewood close to her chest.

The old man by his side as Death looks at her, his spider lily eyes holding hers, as if enchanted; and she feels the tickle of snow on her cheek.

She does not cry, but her heart feels heavy. How many more people will he leave with?

--

Death stumbles upon her; she is kneeling, gazing up at the old chestnut tree, and when he hears her calling he comes. She has believed in him.

“Do you take away my people?” She asks him, her hands on her thighs, talking to this deity who has been known for so long. The tale whispers about him being the one who appears when death and destruction are at bay. In the middle of battlefields, always by a sea of corpses he steps through. She is not afraid of him, perhaps she should be.

The branches shiver, light splaying through.

He is there and he does not speak.

Her voice shakes, her fists tightening. The feeling of pain gripping her throat. “Where do you take the dead?”

Tomura responds, in a tone crisp like winter. “Home.”

--

His voice is the hiss of a snake, coiled deep around her throat; a warning. “This is a small mercy.” He had been there when the cliff near her almost swept her away, he had come just in time as she thought of him. He had heard her heart.  

She cannot deny him, it is true that all the chances he has given her have been at best, luck. Or maybe it is him saving her. This she does not want to believe. He has saved her many times but has not spared her people. She should despise him.

Her voice is steel and iron, “you have given me many.”

He looks at her, taken aback as if she had slapped him. She exposes him like a wound, she realizes this much too late.

“The last time,” he reminds her, tone poisonous.

--

She has not seen him since the leaves have changed and at dawn he comes to her, underneath the large chestnuts. The wicker basket has fallen, she cannot bear to look.

“Who have you come for?” Her question is lost in the breeze, tears wet against her cheeks.

She is tired of fighting, of trying to fight off death himself (she has not fought him, she has welcomed him) who has come every time the season changes and for the people in her village. For the people she loves.

He has come anyway. Despite no one believing in him, praying to him; except for her and her mother. She hoped he would listen.

“Do not ask such things if you wish to not know the answer,” his tone is cold but his eyes burn against her back; skin prickling at the heat.

She exhales heavily, breath shuddering. She has cried for hours knowing her mother's time is soon. Deep in her heart she has known he will come anyway.

“Please,” she cries gently, then with much more pain, “please don’t take her away.”

Tomura cannot hold her to that. No more. It is time. “You know already.”

Her chin quivers, trying so hard to be strong. “Then answer me this, when will you take her?”

He thought it was obvious enough, but he will give her what she asks. Only this time; always this time.

“At dawn.” Then with much more promise, “I am coming for her at dawn.” If it is this morning or the next or the next. She does not know.

--

She remembers the first time she saw his face, covered in a mess of hair, bright and glowing like starlight. His eyes redder than the spider lilies that bloom across the meadows. They say the meaning behind those flowers is rebirth, to say goodbye. He is clad in all black, the fabric wrapping around him tattered from travel.

“What is your name?” Her knees are touching soft grass beneath her, dewy from the morning. Her heart pounds considerably louder when his footsteps have quieted.

“Tomura,” it is said like a breeze, so gentle that it carries.

She swallows, curious about his name, so she speaks it and the tree branches bend against the power it holds. Leaves fall changing to brown. The wind howls quietly, slipping by through her hair and face.

“Why have you come here, Tomura?” The wind swirls above.

He approaches, shadowed by the shade. “I come to know.”

“Know? Of what?” She turns her head in a peculiar way, eyes full of wonder. How odd for a deity to make themselves known to a human. So many times this god of death and destruction has done this. So many times he has hid in the shadows of mourning.

“Of things I seek and do not understand.”

Her heart trills like a songbird.

“Am I something you seek and do not understand?”

It is brave to ask such things, the temperature has dropped considerably and the birds have stopped singing. Everything has grown quiet, even the god near her.

“Yes,” and he is gone, she turns quickly to see and notices the patch of brown earth where he stood, the lush green that surrounded him, had paid the price.

--

She has prayed to Tomura, the god of death and destruction to protect her people, he has not forsaken them. He has saved them despite the bitter feeling of grief still anew. The loss of her mother, the old man, and so many more. All of it is painful. Living is painful.

Home, he had said. He takes them to a place where they can rest peacefully is what he promised, but she cannot help but wonder if he had created this, or if this was how life always is.

Death is a cycle.

--

She dreams of a large hand, of a wasteland surrounding her; she wanders the terrain filled with nothing, and she sees him. White hair and dark cloak billowing in a wind she cannot feel.

“Tomura?” She calls, and he does not turn, he stands there. When she reaches him he has slowly become dust, withering in the wind, sweeping past her.

She is suffocating from the particles as it wraps around her. She awakens, the fire put out in her home, smoke rising, the fabric of her bedding stuck to her sweaty body. She knows what her dream is about.

He will soon be gone.

--

“Will you die?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I fade away.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

She runs to him, closing the distance, her embrace is tight against him, he can feel her heartbeat. Her time ticking slowly away.

She will die of old age. He will die because he loved.

She breathes close; warm breath near his ear, and he sighs. He has dreamed of this. Tomura’s mind goes elsewhere during nights away. He has always dreamed of her.

Her soul he has spared, slowly collecting the surrounding ones. She knew this, yet here she is, with him.

He is feared and known. She is a human.

Gods cannot love mortals.

“Live for me,” she gasps against him. “Fight and live,” she begs, her body shaking with guilt. She has unknowingly brought his end.

“I cannot.”

“What can I give you in exchange? My soul?” He exhales, sounding close to a laugh, a smile cracking his lips.

“I will not allow that exchange.”

She pulls away, eyes filled with bitter tears, and she has never looked more brilliant than ever. She is alive.

He longs to touch her like he has often wished of doing.

So he does. Fingers, crumbling slowly; he touches her cheek, and she is so surprised to find it warm; soothing like the summer sun.

She leans into it, wishing she could have this moment forever.

“Your name—“ she stops, then touches his face, his hair, his lips. Caressing all of him.

“Tomura means to mourn,” he says, eyes glittering.

“I will mourn you, yes,” she promises, his arms wrap around her waist, hands moving towards her shoulder blades. How long has he lived without this? Centuries. Her lips brush close to his temples, “but I will love you always.”

Tomura leans in close, foreheads pressed together, lips breadths apart.

“And I you.”

--

She awakens in the forest holding nothing but black fabric.

--

When it is her time to go from this earth, she is old and weary. She had grandchildren, marrying a kind farmer who passed before her. In her seat she stares out where the chestnut trees stand tall, woven in branches.

The blossoms from nearby waft in the wind. It is her time to go, she grips the piece of black fabric she has held onto.

She closes her eyes, and she rests peacefully, her heart stuttering to a halt.

The way it is painless, as it wraps around her; darkness is not as the stories say; it is not unforgiving. The tunnel of light she moves through as she is back in the wasteland from a dream she had years ago.

Tomura stands tall, cape billowing in a windless desert. She gasps, tears streaming down her face as he is turned to her. Not like the dream of where he seemed so far, but now he is so close.

She goes to him, embracing him once more.

“Welcome back,” she says against his chest, he holds her tightly, no longer crumbling.

“I have been here and I have waited,” his voice is still rough like wood being scraped.

He wraps her close, his hands still warm like sunlight, hair bright and eyes similar to spider lilies.

“You are human?” She asks, pulling away to look at him, eyes searching his features, he still looks the same since the last time she saw him all those years ago.

“Deities are born from humans,” he states, “we are one and the same.”

Her tears are wiped gently with his thumb, fingers gliding across her neck and collarbone. This closeness he has missed.

She grabs his hand and presses her lips to each finger. Tomura no longer takes, he has given and given until her soul found his. They were born for this moment, she no longer hears the sorrowful noise of cicadas in the summer sun, silence has never felt more welcoming.

It is not harsh or lonesome, they have one another.

“I kept a part of you with me,” she confesses against his cheek, and his hands glide down her back, the feeling of her he has craved for years since he left.

He keeps her so close that they could become one. “And you can continue to do so, as long as you stay with me,” he murmurs.

Her breath fans his hair as she brushes her fingers through the locks. “Always and forever.” She is finally home with him.

The promise between god and human has been made, and they stay like this for eternity.

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

Ok, but tell me about the first night with your three AU assholes. How do they hit on you? Do they have a pick up line? How do they convince you that they’re the shit? Then, how do they keep you coming back for more?

@safarigirlsp , OF COURSE, YOU COME IN WITH THIS HOT ASS GARBAGE RN AND I LOVE EVERY BIT OF IT BITCH!

OUR FIRST NIGHT WITH CAPTAIN BLOWHOLE AND HIS BAND OF BUCCANEERS: 

of course, finds our slutty asses at some backwoods brothel, and our tits are hiked up to high heaven and we look like we’re askin’ for a good time from anyone we can get our hands-on. He’s not as forward as you’d think he would be, staring us down with his iron-clad gaze from across the bar, taking our movements as our tits struggle in that corset he so badly wants to tear off us in front of God and everyone watching. He finally gets the courage after the 6th man has been turned down by you and their advances, gulps down his liquid courage, adjusts his cap, and stands to his full height to waltz over to you. 

“Hey there sailor,” you notice out of the corner of your eye, “lookin’ for a good time?” 

“Depends on what you can offer lil’ lady,” he smirks at your forwardness. 

“What I can offer huh?” you chuckle at the thought, “last time I checked, you were the one who approached me, sir. So, I should be asking you what your plans are with a lil’ fragile thing like myself.” 

He smacked his lips together, bringing a hand to your synched waist and lowering his face to your ear, “careful there honey, you know you’re speaking to a captain.” 

You shudder at the deep richness in his tone, but gathered yourself to comment back, “you’re not the first captain to storm my shores. What makes you so damn special?” 

He lifted his head to loom over you like a child being scolded by their parents, bringing his hand up to your throat, clasping the delicate skin just enough to make you moan out, “oh little whore,” he marveled at your mewls, “once I’ve run aground through you, you’ll never want your lil’ hole pillaged by any other sailor. Swear to Davey Jones himself,” letting the grip go as you gasped, clutching your tits as if he’d already ravished you. 

“What do ya say, lil’ lady... you wanna right my main mast or settle for deck swabbers the rest of your miserable life?” extending a hand out waiting for yours to land in it. 

Of course, you’d take it and never look back. And of course, he had the biggest and best dick on the entire ocean to which you begged for every second of the day and he gave you on cue whenever you damn well wanted it. 

NOW ONTO OUR FIRST NIGHT WITH THIS IS SPARTA AND HIS SEXY ASS BULLSHIT: 

Since this is ancient Roman times, our first night together was our wedding night. You and he were betrothed by your parents and offered to the most powerful warrior in the village as a prize. You weren’t courted by him due to the fact that he was busy fighting in wars as well as he really didn’t have to win your ass over for any reason. You were his no matter what and your purpose to him was merely a vessel for his seed. 

But when he caught a glimpse of the beauty, the regality, and the poise you emanated, he fell head over fuckin’ heels. The second the marriage was sealed, he decided he was going to try. Try to make you love him, to pine for him, to beg for his cock like he desperately wanted. The reception was full of fine food and drink, coupled with tons of conversation amongst the warriors and the senators present for the nuptials. Flip noticed your uncomfortable behaviors towards a certain member of the senate when he was advancing himself onto you. He barreled over in an instant, barring the man from getting any further with his new wife, warning him of the consequences if he did lay a finger on you. Upon his departure, Flip turned to you, putting both hands on your cheeks, “are you alright my dove?” he cooed as if you’d both been together for centuries. 

“Y-yes,” you froze in shock at his tenderness, “thank you,” bringing your hands slowly up to caress his calloused ones. 

“Good,” he mused, smiling and bringing you into his body by your waist, “I will never leave your side, my love. I will always protect you.” 

You nodded, slightly embarrassed about your damsel in distress behavior, but secretly thanking the gods for picking a man who seemed to care about you. 

The rest of the night was full of love and laughter, and of course, Flip never leaving your side no matter what was happening. 

“Would you accompany me to our quarters?” he whispered in your ear as you gazed at the dancers performing a ritual before the both of you.

You looked to him, and nodded, kissing his cheek as he lifted you in a bridal carry towards your marital home and bed. From that moment on, you fell head over heels for your warrior, only wanting to please him in the best ways possible and provide him with everything you could. 

AND LASTLY OUR FIRST NIGHT WITH HUCKLEBERRY AND HIS BULLSHIT: 

Cowboy Flip wasn’t one to really be into the women-folk. He stuck to his guns, working as a ranch hand and putting in a good day from sun up to sun down no matter what. So, finding him at a bar or brothel was few and far between. He recently answered an ad from a local farmer looking for a reputable rancher who could deal with wild horses being tamed as well as had ranch hand experience. Flip of course jumped at the opportunity to break a Philly or two and rode out to the old man’s farm. 

He was put to back-breaking work, hauling hay, feedin’ hogs, harvesting crops, bringin’ round the cows, takin’ care of the horses, and stock. The labor was grunt work to which he didn’t appreciate, and he was thinkin’ about quittin’ it all together... but then, he caught a glimpse of the farmer’s daughter... which happened to be you. 

You’d just come home from a journey with your mother, lookin’ all kinds of cowgirl pretty. Flip was speechless, removing his hat and nodding with his mouth gaping open like a codfish. 

“H-howdy there ma’am,” he managed to put together as you approached the stable he’d was leanin’ on. 

“Well howdy there to you too, cowboy,” you smiled at him, picking up a saddle from the ground to take to your horse inside, “name’s Y/N. Daddy told me he’d hired a new ranch hand.” 

“Y-yeah,” he said, following you like a lost puppy. 

“Well you ain’t too bad lookin’ either,” you chuckled, takin’ in the bulge becoming ever more present in his Wranglers. 

“Ya like what ya see cowgirl?” he noticed your wanderin’ eyes, regaining control after his gawking. 

“Well, I can’t say I hate lookin’,” you smile back up at him, biting your lips as you drop the saddle on the hay. 

“What’s a man got to offer a lil’ lady like myself huh?” crossing your arms to stand your ground. 

“Oh darlin’,” he smirked, moving closer to you, hats touching each other, “I’m your fuckin’ Huckleberry,” grabbing your belt buckle to pull you into a searing kiss. 

And we all know how kinky this man gets in the good ol’ Wild West... if not, then refer back to the threads from the last few weeks... they’re interesting to say the least.... 👀🤤😂

I FUCKIN HATE HOW BADLY THESE MEN LIVE IN MY MIND AND ITS ALL YOUR FAULT BITCH!😂🖤

[obligatorynasty]

You Drive Me Crazy, Kid.

“No, Rhodey,” Tony shook his head, the middle of his brow furrowing and wrinkling like his last shred of patience. “A good driver is like a good barber: knows what you want, not annoying, and cute.” Currently, he was stuck in the lobby of Stark Tower, sitting in a suede armchair like it was a throne and arguing with his exasperated friend about the driver he just fired.

Rhodes sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose at the sheer audacity of his friend’s comments. “You’ve fired too many drivers, Tony. Cute shouldn’t be viable criteria here. I think you should start with: can drive.”

��Plenty of people can drive, Rhodey, but not all of them are suited to drive around greatness.” Tony flashed a smug grin, and through his sunglasses, his eyes gleamed with self-pleasure aimed at his own wit. He was a busy man, after all; tech demonstrations, business meetings, iron-clad super-heroics.

“Okay, hotshot, let’s dial back the arrogance.” Despite his frustration, Rhodes smiled at his friend’s comments, knowing that Tony will be Tony and certain battles are best ended with laughter. “So, then what will you do today? You have a meeting in ten and you just sent off your third disgruntled driver this week. Pep’s concerned.”

“Well, Pep found the last three, have her get me another one.” Tony shrugged, not particularly alarmed by his tardiness. A meeting with Tony Stark is a meeting worth the wait, and he carried himself with that energy like followers to religion.

“Well, now I owe Pepper twenty bucks. She knew you would say that.” Rhodes laughed as he grabbed Tony’s phone from the coffee table, “Oh, good, a driver was only a minute away.”

Tony stared up at Rhodes with a lifted brow and gloating smirk, “See? Pepper must have sent a new one. I knew there was a reason I keep her around.”

“Very funny, Mr. Stark,” Rhodey joked dryly. “Come on now. The driver’s here.”

“Lead the way, platypus,” Tony used one of the many names logged under Rhodey in his brain as he stood from the armchair and followed his friend towards the front doors. Outside, there were no sleek black sports cars, no black windowed SUVs, no flair, no style, just a prehistoric bucket of a car with a ride-share logo sticker half-adhered to the side window.

“Rhodey?”

“Yes, Tony?”

“Is the driver here, Rhodey?”

Rhodey held his breath to keep his laughter at bay, but with one look at Tony’s stunned face, it burst free. “Yes, he’s right there.” He said with a huge grin, gesturing to the old vehicle that probably had stained fabric seats and a squeak when the wheels turned too hard.

“Rhodey-”

“It’s a ride-share app, Tony.” Rhodey placed a hand on his disbelieving friend’s back and ushered him down the front steps of Stark Tower. “You get a new driver every time and, if you don’t like them, you can just call for another. Perfect, right?”

“This was Pep’s idea, wasn’t it?” Tony sighed, noting the rust building on the back wheel of the car. “She does this kind of thing when I ask her for-”

“Frivolous things?” Rhodes offered with a look Tony came to know as the ‘is-that-really-what-you-were-going-say’ face.

“I was going to say the finer things in life, but to each his own.” Tony shrugged with fake surrender. “I’m going up to the lab. Send him away and tell Pep to bring someone serious.” He turned towards the building, ready to forgo the meeting and work on suit upgrades, but instead, he froze, compelled into stillness by the voice that called after him.

“Um, excuse me! Mr. Stark, right? I’m your- I’m the ride-share driver you ordered.”

Tony spun on his heel to catch a glimpse of the beauty behind the voice and oh fuck was he a beauty. The kid looked barely legal, sporting a graphic tank-top, a waist-tied plaid shirt, and jeans so skinny you could see every curve in his toned legs. His hair was well-kempt, but Tony could only imagine it messy and bouncing around his face as he rode Tony’s dick all the way to orgasm. He had submissive eyes that flickered to just about everything except the rich man before him. Oh, how Tony wanted to force those eyes to only look at him.

“Never mind, Rhodey,” Tony placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and retrieved his phone from his hand. “I’m actually running late, and this meeting is so important. This will just have to do for now I suppose.”

Rhodes gave Tony a knowing smirk, “So the third criteria outweighs your repulsion to normal shit?”

“Something like that,” Tony grinned.

Rhodey shook his head, “Enjoy your ride, Tony.”

“Will do,” Tony nodded, watching his friend disappear into the building before turning his focus on his future plaything. “You going to stand there all day, or are you going to get the door for me?”

“Oh! Um, right. Right! Sorry- I, um,” The way the kid stumbled over his words and hurried around the car to open the front passenger door was cute. Exactly what Tony wanted. “Here, Mr. Stark.”

Tony smirked, “Thanks, kid.”

“You’re welcome!” His voice dripped with nerves, and it continued dripping in the way he awkwardly shut the door, scurried around the car, and fumbled with his seat belt. His slender hand reached up to the makeshift phone mount to confirm the pickup in the app, “Is this- um, is the address correct, Mr. Stark?” He pointed to the destination address in the app. It was ten minutes away.

“Sure,” Tony smirked, not caring if the address was wrong. If it was, then he would get more time with his newest, adorable conquest.

The kid nodded, and with his hands tensing at ten and two, he pulled away from Stark Tower. Despite the dilapidated look of the outside, the kid’s car was very clean and cozy. The first few minutes of the ride was spent in silence. Tony busied his mind with the purposefully frayed slits in the kid’s jeans that exposed enough of his thigh that the older man’s hand twitched in temptation. The aroma filling the car was sweet and flowery, and it definitely wasn’t wafting from the rumpled pine tree air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.

“Um, Mr. Stark?” The kid spoke but he kept his eyes trained on the road in front of him.

Tony pulled himself from his thoughts. “Yeah, kid?”

“Not to- I mean, I don’t want to be rude or anything.” The timid way the kid spoke did things to Tony that he didn’t want to admit. “Do you...use ride-shares often?”

“First time,” Tony crossed his arms and leaned back against the gray fabric seats. “My friends think I fire too many drivers.”

The kid’s stifled giggle also did things to Tony that he didn’t want to admit, and don’t get him started on the kid’s smile. “Well, I’ll do my best for you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony didn’t know what that sound was but he was fairly certain that it was the sound of his sanity crumbling under the weight of the kid’s words. “Hey, what’s your name, kid?”

“Oh, you didn’t see it in the app?” His words made Tony glance at his phone, and sure enough, the kid’s name was there in big black letters.

“Peter?” Tony smirked. “Very fitting, very cute.”

“Oh, um, thanks.” The way Peter shifted awkwardly in his seat and the way his face flushed pink just made Tony want to tease him more. So he did.

Tony stared at the passing buildings, keeping a stoic face as he said, “Do you like it long, usually?”

Peter flinched at Tony’s words, “E-Excuse me?”

“The trips.” Tony grinned, pleased with the reaction he managed to pull from the kid. “Do you prefer longer trips?”

“Oh!” Peter let out a quick, relieved breath. “Yes, I make more money on longer trips.”

“And you’re such a good driver.” Tony leaned against the center console, brushing his arm against Peter’s. “I bet all your customers say you give amazing rides.”

“I, um, I have a pretty high rating, I guess.” Peter probably thought Tony didn’t hear the little squeak he made as their arms touched, but Tony heard it.

“Do you like riding, Peter?” Tony said smoothly, continuing the tease.

“Yes,” Peter breathed out but then blushed, catching himself in a Freudian slip. “What I mean is-! I like giving rides. Wait, no, um...I like my job! It helps pay for my college housing, so yeah.”

Tony chuckled at the reaction, “What about tips?”

“I don’t get many tips actually.” Peter nervously gripped at the steering wheel and glanced at his phone. They were only two minutes away from the destination.

“Well, I can’t wait to give you my tip.” Tony was enjoying every second of the tease.

Peter inhaled sharply, but then gave a sly smile, “I would love that, Mr. Stark.” It was Tony’s turn to blush. He did not expect the kid to play along. The active participation only made Tony want him more, but their ride was swiftly coming to an end. Peter pulled the car against the curb outside the corporate building, and a soft beep erupted from his phone, prompting him to conclude the ride. “Here we are, Mr. Stark.”

Tony didn’t move to leave the car, instead, in one quick motion, he pressed the conclude ride button on Peter’s phone. Then, he grabbed his own phone, opened the app, and lifted it towards Peter.

Peter’s eyes widened in confusion at the screen before him. It was the ‘Rate Your Driver’ section that allowed for comments and tipping. “Mr. Stark, what-?”

“How much do I have to tip you to stay here until I get back?”

“Um, what? Mr. Stark, I- that’s- I can’t stay here. I have to work for the rest of the afternoon.” Peter was clearly taken aback by the generous offer, his modesty keeping him from jumping at it.

Tony sighed, leaning forward and adjusting his suit jacket. “How much would you usually make? I’ll double it if you stay here.”

Peter’s expression was a blend of nerves, hesitance, and a little enticement, but still, he resisted. “Mr. Stark, I appreciate it, but-”

“Name your price, Peter.”

“My price?” Peter’s voice cracked.

“Yes, the price of your time.” Tony wouldn’t say he was getting tired of Peter’s resistance. It was quite the opposite actually. He liked the challenge. Not many people gave pushback. If he wanted someone, dangling money in front of them usually did the trick, so the defiance was refreshing. “Tell me and I’ll pay it.”

Peter shifted uneasily, dragging his open palms against his jeans as if to wick away the sweat caused by the suggestive atmosphere radiating off of Tony Stark. “I don’t have one.”

“Everyone has a price, kid.” Tony tapped his fingers rhythmically against the edge of the cupholder. “What’s yours?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Stark.” Peter glanced nervously at Tony’s fingers. “No one’s ever asked me that. I mean, I probably make like a hundred dollars a day doing this. It’s not much-”

“Good boy,” Tony smiled, filling out the form. “There.”

Peter’s phone buzzed again, this time flashing his recent tip on the screen. It was for three hundred dollars. “Mr. Stark!” He exclaimed, unable to process the man’s generosity. “That’s way more than double. You have to take it back. I can’t-”

“Two hundred for your waiting fee, and one hundred for the tip,” Tony said pointedly. “Seems to me that everything is accounted for. Now, stay here until I get back.”

Read More on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800205/chapters/49437071

[angryhausfrau-writes]

Something Old and Something New - Chapter 9: ...and a Show

Dinner feels like it's dragging on forever. Part of that may be the requisite several courses – canapes, soup, fish, entree, salad, and cheese plates - plus aperitif and digestive. And that's not counting the wedding cake as the dessert course. And all of it must be eaten in tiny delicate bites so as to appear refined and ladylike.

Frankly, Marjory is ready to throw propriety to the winds halfway through the third course. All she wants is to dash her silverware to the floor and run off with Charles to the honeymoon suite. Or Timbuktu, she's not picky. Anything to get away from the constant barrage of insincere well-wishers and political maneuvering.

But that's rather the whole point of the evening, so she will bear it with as much grace as she is able. And Charles is certainly in his element – powerful and cuttingly condescending and so completely the scion of American aristocracy. It makes Marjory laugh, it really does, to imagine just what the cowed and condescended wedding guests would say if they could see that Charles has his knee pressed against Marjory's under the table. If they knew just how kind and doting and sweet he can be. They'd all be shocked – and none more so than Charles's grandmother, who's watching over the wedding guests as they speak with the head table like a queen deigning to entertain petitioners. Cold and callous and utterly unsuaded by their pleas for mercy.

Though in all fairness to her, most of the guests attempting to curry favor are making a rather poor showing. Offerings of money and social connections means very little to a Winchester or an Oakes. They have both in spades – certainly more than a mere relatively impoverished offshoot of the Vanderbilt family. But custom dictates both sides play this game. They can no more refuse to petition the family than Charles can refuse to hear them out.

But all of this means that dinner takes several hours. And is almost interminably boring throughout.

Marjory can see that the back table, where all of the fun people are gathered, have similarly taken to rotating places throughout dinner so they can use the meal for a presumably much more enjoyable type of socializing. The focal point of the maneuvering appears to be Hawkeye – and she'll have to schedule a gossip session with Honoria, conveniently seated next to him, to pick up all the scuttlebutt once her honeymoon is over. Whatever the MASH contingent comes up with in the way of salacious gossip is bound to be infinitely more interesting than whatever one of the silver-spoon-set's mistress or polo pony or whatever has done now.

And Charles clearly agrees - Marjory can tell just how eager he is to join his friends at their table. But they must stand strong. Must endure.

She squeezes his hand surreptitiously in comfort. It can't be much longer now. They're bringing out the coffee and brandy and cigars. And then they'll have a few minutes to themselves before the room is cleared for dancing. They ought to be able to sneak away out of the spotlight then.

--

After dinner – and what appear to be obligatory stops at some of the more prestigious tables – Charles and Marjory come join the MASH table. And Trapper can see why they'd wanna join the unwashed masses. It seems like they're having a whole hell of a lot more fun than the stuffed shirts focused on propriety or whatever. And as much as Charles likes to pretend he's all proper – with a stiff upper lip and a heart made of stone - he really ain't.

And Trapper figures Charles oughtta have a good time on his own goddamn wedding day of all days. So he's happy enough to wave him over to join their Korean reminiscences – even if he's heard all of Charles's stories about eighty times by now. It's worth sitting through them again if it makes Charles look a little less like his public facade.

Plus, it gives him a chance to congratulate the other half of the happy couple. And maybe rib Charles a little about marrying up - cuz there ain't no way he's anywhere close to Marjory's league. And by Charles's blushing besottment, he knows it too.

And it's nice to chat with him for a bit. But they just saw each other and there's other fellas from further away who ain't seen him as recently wanting to say their own congratulations. So Trapper kinda backs off from the crowd, pulling Hawkeye along with him.

Cuz honestly? It's a lot. A lot of people, a lot of half-strangers – the partners of fellas stationed at the 4077 or people who'd only drifted through for a day or two, not permanent assignments, not part of the regular crowd. People who've all heard the legend of the famous Hawkeye Pierce and want a glimpse of the man. Want to crowd around and touch him like he's some kinda reliquary instead of a human being.

And Hawk's starting to look pretty run ragged at all the being at the center of attention-ness. All the feeling like he's gotta entertain people, be who the stories have made him out to be. So Trapper starts looking for an exit. And there – there's a door to the veranda right off the ballroom. Perfect.

“Hey, Hawk, I'm gonna step out for a smoke. Care to join me?”

The speed at which Hawkeye takes his arm and says, “Lay on, Macduff!” makes Trapper sure this was the right call. And he can't say he's too upset about a little alone time with Hawkeye, either.

--

“If I have to mmm hear one more mm question mmmm about when me and Margaret mmm me and Margaret are getting hitched mmmm oh Trap! I'm going to absolutely lose it!”

Trapper moves his kisses to Hawkeye's neck. He's talking too much right now to make his mouth a good target. And kissing him under the jaw usually gets him to cut out the griping pretty quick.

“No hickies, Trap! I mean it!”

Though maybe not in this case.

“Well, us coming out here alone and you coming back in with love bites would probably stop the questions about why the two of you ain't married yet.”

He licks over the spot he'd previously been trying to bite.

“But I promise I won't do anything to get us arrested.”

“It probably wouldn't work anyway,” Hawkeye says through a gasp. “They'd just think Margaret had snuck out here somehow.”

“Might be nice to have such an iron-clad beard. We could get away with a whole hell of a lot with Maggie as a built in alibi.” After all, that'd been the impetus behind them both chasing nurses so hard back in Korea. Part actual enjoyment – at least on Trapper's end, if not so much on Hawkeye's - part competition, and part cover.

But Trapper doesn't want to spend his limited time alone with Hawkeye thinking about that, so he goes back to mapping his skin with his mouth.

And gets pushed away when Hawkeye clutches a dramatic hand to his chest. “Trapper! How dare you suggest we move to Jersey! I absolutely refuse to live further south than Brooklyn.”

“You're such a snob, Hawk,” Trapper says, leaning back in to press another kiss into his skin. “But I guess you're right that Margaret wouldn't wanna leave off bossing around her nursing staff and move up north with us either.”

“So I guess we're stuck as bachelors, then.”

“Guess so.” Trapper kisses Hawkeye deep and full on the mouth. And they stay like that for a while, Hawk finally settled enough to sink into it.

Then Trapper pulls back a little and lights a cigar - since that's their whole cover for this little assignation – pulling on it just enough to light it. He needs all the air in his lungs to kiss Hawkeye.

Eventually, they hear the door to the veranda scrape open and Trapper puts some space between himself and Hawkeye. Who nearly undoes his efforts when he takes the cigar from Trapper's loose grip, wraps his lips around it, and takes a drag that Trapper feels in his dick.

“You're a fucking menace,” he growls, before taking the cigar away to prevent any further teasing.

--

BJ loses track of Hawkeye somewhere in the confusion of backslapping and well-wishes surrounding Charles and Marjory. And, noticeably, Trapper's gone as well.

And it's not that his frantic search for Hawkeye has anything to do with imagining what the two of them are doing by themselves, away from the party. It's just that BJ wants a chance to talk to Hawkeye away from the crowd of other wedding guests, that's all. His search is completely justified and not at all blown out of proportion.

When BJ finally finds Hawkeye, he's out on the veranda. And he is with Trapper.

They're standing in the lee of the building and Trapper seems to be acting as some form of windbreak for Hawkeye, practically looming over Hawkeye as he lounges against the wall. And it does something to BJ to see them like that.

Hawkeye's got a cigar in his mouth and he takes a long, slow drag. Then Trapper leans even further into his space and says something BJ can't quite hear but that ends in a growl. And then he's pulling the cigar from Hawkeye's mouth and taking a drag himself.

BJ is definitely interrupting. And he feels a little bit bad about it – but he really does want a chance to talk to Hawkeye – and just Hawkeye. And this seems like his best shot at it. If he can get Trapper to leave, that is.

“Hey, Hawkeye, can I talk to you for a minute?” BJ asks. As if all of this is normal and he isn't interrupting an obviously intimate moment.

Hawkeye just stays where he is, lounging against the wall, completely relaxed, and looks expectantly at him. And Trapper makes no move to move away from Hawkeye, either.

“Alone.” And that maybe comes out ruder than he'd intended. But if it works, BJ isn't going to exactly split hairs over the etiquette of horning in on his crush's elicit relationship.

“Figure I'm just about done out here anyway,” Trapper says after a beat of silent communication between himself and Hawkeye – which BJ has been seeing a little more of than he'd like tonight, if he's being honest.

And then Trapper stubs his cigar out on the wall next to Hawkeye's head. He's leaning in again, bracketing Hawkeye with his arm and BJ is. BJ is...

And then Trapper's pulling away, thank God, and saying, “I'll go see if Kat has an opening on her dance card.”

“Save a slot for me, will you?”

“You've always got a slot on my dance card, Hawk,” Trapper says with a wink.

BJ knows he's just joking. But. But what if he isn't.

He puts that out of his mind and just enjoys having Hawkeye all to himself for a while. And it's almost like being back in Korea together. They're on the same wavelength, practically finishing each other's sentences, full of inside jokes. And BJ thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can tell Hawkeye how he feels – all of how he feels.

But then BJ has to open his big fat mouth about Trapper.

--

When Trapper gets back inside, the band is just finishing tuning up and he gets to watch Charles and Marjory sweep across the floor in an elegant waltz. And it ain't really his favorite way to dance, but there's no denying they look real happy dancing like that together and he's glad he gets to see it. Especially cuz he missed the wedding ceremony. This feels like maybe almost as meaningful as witnessing the vows. Certainly more meaningful than the Godawful speeches from earlier.

And then there's all the other dances between different members of the wedding party, which kinda ruins that whole intimacy and tenderness deal. Especially the truly awkward looking dance between the bridesmaids and groomsmen – well, awkward on the part of Honoria's date, who seems to deeply regret whatever life choices led to him having to dance with the groom's drunk sister - who appears to be trying to drag him into a foxtrot rather than a waltz. But at least there's some entertainment value there.

And honestly, that seems like a pretty good idea, the foxtrot thing. So Trapper has a few dances with Maggie and Kat that are nice and sedate and in three-quarter time. But when Honoria stumbles back over, the two of them manage a pretty decent swing rhythm over top of the orchestral music. Which spurs other couples to try the same thing.

Letta and her husband show off an excellent Charleston – and Radar and Patricia are doing something that is very obviously not a waltz. Must be some new craze all the kids are into.

Trapper wishes Hawkeye were here, cuz he'd love this. And he'd prolly try and put a lindy to the slow waltzes, which is bound to be worth seeing. But he's still shooting the shit with BJ outside, so Trapper just pulls Donna out onto the dance floor. And she's game to get tossed around a little, so that's fun.

“Not feeling like hotfooting it with the rest of the youngsters, Padre?”

Francis smiles up at Colonel and Mrs. Potter as they make their way off the dance floor – which has grown rather crowded and frenetic of late.

“I'm afraid that attending the seminary doesn't keep one up to date on the latest dance hall crazes very well.”

Sherm laughs. “No, I guess it wouldn't. And they're sure pulling out all the stops – I haven't seen dancing like this since VE day in Paris.”

“Well, we're not exactly the dance hall crowd ourselves anymore either, dear,” his wife reminds him.

Sherm harrumphs in grudging agreement. “Getting old's the damnedest thing – pardon my French, Padre. Half the time I feel like a damn newlywed, just setting up house with the missus. And then I look in the mirror and I ask myself when I got so Goddamn old. Again, pardon my French.”

Francis just waves his apologies away. “I've certainly heard worse language than that, Colonel. I was at the front, after all.”

“I'm sure you did.” Colonel Potter laughs. “I don't envy you having to hear confession for this bunch.” He gestures to encompass the dance floor. Which is filled with several couples dancing quite close together indeed.

“Let's just say that my life has gotten significantly quieter since I left Korea.”

Not that he actually heard many confessions while at the 4077 – not official ones, anyway. Sure, there was always the occasional soldier passing through the hospital wanting to unburden himself before he went back home or back to the front. Or Catholic members of the MASH unit who would confess to months worth of sins all in one go, in order to receive the Eucharist at Easter or Christmas mass. But most of the confessions Francis heard were closer to conversations. Conversations full of deep seated fears and guilt and longing and grief, but conversations. Without the trappings of the confessional or the stole or the traditional forms of penance.

Because the majority of his flock hadn't been Catholic, and some hadn't even been Christian. And it was his job to administer over them all in whatever way they needed – his own personal theology be damned. It was his job to help them.

But the Philadelphia diocese doesn't quite see things that way. He isn't there to help, he's there to administer – and that's it. He's there to tally up all of his congregation's sins and punish their trespasses. He's there to uphold the might of the Church – and therefore the almighty God – before all else.

So it's just as well that Francis has been mostly doing youth outreach, these days.

Most of the young men he coaches simply want someone to listen to them. To hear their problems without judgment. To feel like they matter, in the vast scheme of the universe – that they are seen in the eyes of God.

And Francis may not hear so well anymore, but he's able to do this one small thing. Just as he was able to do it for his flock in Korea. Who have all managed to come home – mostly safe and mostly whole – and about as well as anyone could be after experiencing what they'd all gone through together.

“Do you ever miss it? Korea, I mean.”

“That's a hell of a question, Padre.” Sherm sighs. “I've been through three wars and each one was worse than the one before. But Korea – getting to know all the folks at the 4077 – that was almost worth it. Worth the mud and the blood and the shi- the crap. Worth being away from my wife and kids and grandkid. Almost.”

Sherman looks out at the dance floor again. At all the smiling, laughing kids - who managed to make it home, who've managed to be happy.

“So I don't really miss Korea all that much, but I sure did miss this.”

Francis nods in understanding and they sit together in silence that's something akin to communion.

--

Hawkeye comes back inside to find that the 4077 has caused a whole pile of chaos and consternation – and he's missed being at the heart of it!

But it looks like the little dance party that's sprung up in his absence is still going strong. They've attracted a bit of a crowd, too – mostly bored kids and all the MASH guys not busy dancing with their own dates – all standing around the dancing couples in a loose circle. It looks a little bit like an exhibition and Hawkeye can see that Trapper is showing off some of the fancier steps he knows while dancing with Kat. And it looks like he's having a pretty good time – but Hawkeye's willing to bet neither of them would mind too much if he cuts in. And since BJ's run off to dance with Peg, well, there's not much point in him standing around on the sidelines.

“How'd it go, dear?” Peg whispers into BJ's chest as they waltz together. “Did you tell him?”

BJ sighs. “I wanted to, I really did, Peggy. And I tried. But I made the mistake of mentioning Trapper - and then Hawkeye was too busy gushing on about him to listen to anything I had to say.”

He looks over to where Hawkeye and Trapper are giving the kids who've congregated around their little group swing dancing lessons – with Hawkeye focusing on footwork, and Trapper throwing the kids around like grinning, giggling sacks of potatoes.

“And I – I couldn't just stand there listening to that. Not without doing or saying something stupid.” Not without wrecking his own chances of Hawkeye hearing him out. His own chances with Hawkeye.

“Well, I'm glad you didn't put your foot in it,” Peg says matter-of-factly. “And I'm sure you'll have plenty of opportunities to talk about it later,” she adds in consolation.

They dance on in silence for a while.

“That's the thing, Peg – what if I don't? What if I can't?”

BJ glances over at Hawkeye again, who's now looking warmly, so warmly, at Trapper as he very seriously leads a little girl through a slowed-down Charleston. He looks fucking besotted.

“It's not like me telling him will change anything.”

It's pretty obvious that Hawkeye isn't going to hear BJ's confession and come rushing into his arms. It's obvious that, for whatever reason, the barrel of commitment issues that is Hawkeye Pierce loves Trapper – has chosen to spend his life with Trapper.

And maybe, BJ consoles himself, it's just a case of Trapper getting there first. Staking his claim. Because BJ still doesn't understand what it is Hawk sees in the guy, what it is Trapper can offer him that BJ can't offer more of or better or.

He shakes his head to dispel that train of thought. Because that way lies madness. And he's been trying not to be so petulant about this.

And Peg's giving him a look.

“I'll try to find a chance to tell him as soon as I can.”

Peg nods. “That's all I ask – that you try.” She moves her hand off his shoulder to cup his neck. “Now how bout you stop thinking on Hawkeye and show your wife a good time?”

BJ pulls her even closer – till she's practically plastered to his front – and does his best to put Hawkeye out of his mind. But it's not easy. Not when Hawkeye is so bright and shining and right there, head thrown back in joyous laughter. And so, so beautiful.

--

Him and Hawkeye are making a pretty good showing of teaching dance moves to all the kids who've been let run loose by their rich snob parents – parents too busy with squabbling and grandstanding and standing around drinking champagne to look after their own damn kids – and so used to servants, prolly, that they don't even think that it could be their responsibility.

And Trapper don't mind doing it, really. He likes kids, and it ain't their fault their parents can't be bothered with 'em. It's pretty fun, even, once he convinces the kids they gotta behave like decent human beings and wait their turns or he ain't gonna teach 'em. So, Trapper don't mind at all what his evening's turned into.

But Trapper knows Hawkeye – better than he knows himself sometimes. And he can see that mischief's brewing, can see it in his eyes.

So he ain't surprised when Hawkeye starts making noise about this being fun and all but he really wants to dance the lindy sometime tonight. And he starts making an exaggerated show of looking around for a dance partner. And Trapper just knows what's gonna come next in this little production Hawk's putting on.

“Does anyone here know the lindy hop? Anyone at all?” Hawkeye looks pointedly around the crowd, practically daring them to come forward.

Next to him, Trapper sighs resignedly – though he really don't mind all that much, if he's being honest – and raises his hand.

And Hawkeye starts in on the next act of the pageant. “Anyone other than Trapper? A woman, maybe? A woman of the female persuasion?”

No one says anything. And Trapper makes eye contact with Letta, who most definitely knows the lindy, he's sure of it. But she just winks at him and stays silent.

“Looks like you're outta luck there, Hawk,” Trapper says with a commiserating hand on his shoulder.

“I know. I was really looking forward to it, but I guess that's just how it goes.”

And Hawk looks at their audience with sad puppy-dog eyes, a cue for the next act to start. Cuz they need someone else to step forward for the next part of this little play or it won't look right.

Max takes the cue – and she always was quick on the uptake when it came to schemes and practical jokes. Always willing to help out a friend.

“Nah, c'mon Hawkeye. You talked it up all the time in Korea – how good you were at the lindy. And now you're gonna wiggle outta showing us again? We ain't even being shelled.” Max takes a breath so the next line has maximum impact. “I think it's just that you ain't even all that good.”

And that – that's perfect.

Making it a challenge. Making it so that Hawkeye loses face if he doesn't do it. Making it so that it plays right into the competitiveness of American masculinity.

And then Charles – who'd wandered over sometime during the dance lessons, apparently – makes it even more iron-clad.

“Yes, Hawkeye. Show us your prodigious skill on the dancefloor that I've heard so much about – and have yet to see in person. If you're not bluffing, that is.”

And that seals the deal.

“Why Charles, you know I could never refuse your oh-so-reasonable request. And certainly not on your wedding day!” Hawkeye grins up at Trapper, full of delight and mischief and tenderness. And then he holds out his hand, like some kinda gentleman or something. “May I have the honor of this dance?”

And Trapper takes his hand in kind, fluttering his eyelashes and acting like a real blushing belle – just really playing up the farce of it. The joke of two guys dancing together. The joke of it being Hawkeye leading.

Cuz then, they ain't looking close enough to see how Trapper leans into it. Just how tender Hawkeye's hand is on the small of his back when they come together. Just how well the two of them fit.

And the lindy's a good choice for this kinda thing. They ain't dancing too close together – most of the steps involve them flinging themselves away from each other, orbiting their joined hands, before crashing briefly together for a moment before being thrown apart again. And the pace is fast, frenetic, not at all romantic. Not visibly intimate.

Though Trapper doesn't know how it couldn't be intimate, not when it's Hawkeye, not when it's the two of them together.

The trust it takes – the soul-deep knowing of each other it takes – for them to switch who's leading in the middle of a step and not lose the thread of the dance. For them to part with Hawkeye leading and join back together with Trapper in charge, cuz he can toss Hawkeye around a little, show off some of their fancier steps. Cuz he can be the steady anchor for Hawkeye when he goes flying through the air in joyful abandon. Cuz he can be there to catch Hawkeye when he comes back around. Trapper doesn't know that there's anything much more intimate than that.

This. This was what he wanted, what he needed. The feel of Trapper's strong arms and steady hands. The knowledge that he's there to guide Hawkeye through the steps – and that he won't let him stumble. The feeling of freedom as he flies across the dancefloor, knowing Trapper will be there to catch him as he descends back to earth.

Hawkeye feels like his face is going to split open, his smile's so wide.

And he would love to dance with Trapper the rest of the night. To revel in that feeling until the end of time. But eventually the band ends their current song and they have to stop. Because they can get away with one song – already longer than he'd usually have when dancing the lindy, due to the slow tempo of the waltzes the band keeps playing – but two songs would be out of the question.

So the song comes to an end and he and Trapper separate. With plenty of backslapping and joking around and a general air of it all just being one big joke. And Hawkeye sketches an elaborate bow at the raucously cheering crowd of kids and MASH vets – and even some of the Back Bay brigade, who have deigned to stop and watch the show, are applauding genteelly.

“Thank you, thank you, you're too kind. Really.”

And Trapper's standing next to him, a friendly hand clapped to his shoulder. A hand Hawkeye can subtly lean into, press himself against. Use to shore himself up as he comes down from the adrenaline rush of the dance.

“Really, thank you. We're here all week.” Hawkeye grins at Trapper. “Or the rest of our natural lives, whichever comes first.”

“I don't think I can afford to put us up at this hotel for the rest of our lives, Hawk. Might not wanna tell 'em that.”

Trapper has started steering them off the dancefloor, through the crowd, and over to their table. So one of the snobs overhears that comment and laughs meanly. And Hawkeye can feel Trapper tense where he's still got an arm slung over Hawkeye's shoulders.

“Hmm, that's true. But surely you can afford to buy me a club soda.” Hawkeye fans himself dramatically with a hand. “I'm parched.”

“Sure, Hawk. I think I can swing that.”

Trapper relaxes slightly, with a task to fulfill and an excuse to get out of there. So Hawkeye relaxes too, and turns to chat with the Padre and the rest of the MASH folks. Because everyone seem to have taken Hawkeye sitting down as the official signal to end their own dancing and start congregating around the table.

And part of him hates being the social center of the 4077 again. Hates being pushed back into the role that'd driven him literally insane back in Korea.

But part of him is glad because it means he can deflect all of the attention off Trapper and onto himself.

And he isn't worried about getting lost again. Not with Sidney sitting across from him and BJ at his elbow and Trapper across the room. Not with Father Mulcahy smiling at him in gentle understanding and suggesting a poker game as he brings out a deck of cards.

[stillebesat]

I was thinking romantic moceit with Patten saying 2. But I Didn’t Want (arms) For the vague prompt list 😊

To The Moon

Sanders Sides: Patton, Janus Blurb: This wasn’t at all how Patton expected their wedding night to go.  Fic Type: Alien!AU Warnings: Extra Limbs, Kissing Taglist in Reblog 

He’d known Janus was a man of many secrets.

Many. Many. Many. Secrets.

Patton had also known from the very first time he got Janus to give him a genuine smile, from the very first softening of his mismatched eyes, that it was unlikely that he would ever unlock the entire vault of secrets that Janus hid.

But that hadn’t stopped him from wanting to try.

Even now. When the world had turned completely upside down on their wedding night.

Patton broke free from the iron grip of his captors, alien beings that looked similar to the images of Mothman his friend, Virgil, had once shown him except their skin shimmered like fresh molten lava, and darted to his newlywed husband.

Newlywed of maybe twelve hours before these--these creatures had come from the skies and taken them far far from Earth. Their planet dwindling to a tiny speck within a single breath. 

A man of many secrets.

One secret now revealed, showing just how not human Janus was. 

Humans didn’t have six arms after all. 

But oh how human he looked, sitting on a chair clad only in the pants he’d had specially tailored for the wedding, with his head buried in his hands...the top two hands. The other four were clasped together in his lap like a man awaiting his death sentence. 

“Janus.” Patton whispered, fighting the instinct to shy away from how...spider-like he now looked as he fell to his knees at his husband’s feet, taking the middle set of hands in his own, pressing his lips to them, not liking how Janus flinched at his touch.

It reminded him of the first time Patton had seen him with his gloves off. Seen those top two hands and held them while bandaging a large burn on the back.

A burn that, in retrospect, looked a lot like the lava colored skin of the Mothman aliens. 

No wonder he had flinched from the touch then.

Janus looked up, four eyes meeting Patton’s instead of the expected two. “Pat.” He said, sounding so broken as the left side of his face, the scarred side, now shimmered with the Mothman’s lava colored skin. “I’m so sor--”

Patton raised a finger to his lips, silencing him before he met those lips with his own, his hand moving to cradle the lava colored side of his husband’s face. “I love you to the moon and back.” He whispered as Janus leaned into his touch. 

A choked sob rang in his ears as Jan took Patton’s head in his hands--he tried to not think just which hands were touching his head, pressing their foreheads together. “J-just to the moon?” He hoarsely asked, like he always did. “Not....not any…” further?

The unsaid word echoed between them. 

It made so much sense now why Janus had always asked him that. If he wasn’t...human...wasn’t from Earth...obviously his love wasn’t enough if it would only journey as far as the moon. 

Patton swallowed, pulling back enough to look him in his four eyes. Three of the four golden colored now, leaving the other a more human brown. 

A man of many secrets.

“To the stars. To the edges of the universe.” He responded like he always did, leaning in to kiss him again. “And beyond, Jan.” He said against his lips. “You can’t get rid of me, my love.” 

Janus made a noise in the back of his throat. “Pat--you don’t know what you’re say--but I can’t ask you to---they--”

“Ask me….what?” Patton tilted his head, fighting the sinking feeling in his heart. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you over this.” Had they not just vowed to stick together? For better or worse? In sickness or health? In poverty or posterity? “I knew you had secrets. Learning this one doesn’t change that.” 

Marrying an alien...one that had eight limbs like a spider...was unexpected, frightening in a way...but he’d married Janus knowing he may never know all sides of him. Knowing that some of those secrets he hid would never see the light of day. 

Janus closed his eyes, pulling his hands away to hug himself, the lava colored skin trailing down his side nearly to his hip now. “I didn’t want you to find out.” He whispered, bowing his head. “I hoped they wouldn’t come, they wouldn’t find out--but--Pat--”

“What?”  

“My...these…”

“People?”

He huffed. “You really want to call them that?”

“Are they not your people?” 

The top left hand raised to his colored cheek. “In a way.”

Patton tilted his head. “Adopted?” After all, the other mothman creatures didn’t have all the extra arms.

The corner of his lip twitched revealing the tip of a fang that hadn’t been there before. “Kind of. We’re both races of shapeshifters...they saved...I don’t--” He took a breath, looking up, reaching up to stroke his cheek with his fifth hand. “I’m the last of my kind. And as my mate...they-- want me to make you...like me. To...save...my race.” 

Patton froze, chest growing tight. “What?” Him? Be like---H-have extra arms?! Extra eyes?! Like a spi--spider?! 

He could tell his husband didn’t want to keep eye contact. His eyes shimmering with unshed tears as he struggled to find the words.

“That--that’s why I look...a little like them--so I can survive off my planet---so-so I can change another---but I can’t Pat--I know what I am...I know what earth creature I resemble. How you fear them. I can’t ask you to be like me.” Four hands took his, squeezing them. “I can’t.” Janus pressed his lips to Patton’s finger tips. “But at the same time...I don’t want to lose you.” 

The last of his kind. Patton drew in a shaky breath. 

Accepting Janus wasn’t human was far easier than--than wrapping his head around being changed into an alien himself to--to becoming--he didn’t know how to be anything other than human! “You---we can’t just be...together? Like this? Just you as you and me as me? As a regular old human? What if I refuse to change?!” 

His shoulders hunched, the lava colored skin flaring for a moment as Janus drew in a breath, remaining two hands clenching. “You’ll be returned to Earth. Safe. Unharmed. I’ll make sure of that.” 

Patton bit his lips, blinking rapidly to keep his eyes clear. “But you won’t.” 

He mutely shook his head, fingers growing white on Patton’s hands. It was...this was a lot. Alot alot. 

And it would be so easy. To back out now. To just tell Janus to take him home. To take him back to Earth. To forget this whole thing. To find a way to get their wedding annulled. 

To stay human.

But Patton had known this wasn’t going to be an easy marriage. 

He’d known Janus had secrets. 

Many he wouldn’t ever unlock.

And had chosen to marry him anyways.

For better or worse.

Patton squared his shoulders, swallowing down the fear threatening to overwhelm him as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Janus’s forehead. “Well..this isn’t quite how I pictured us spending our wedding night.” He said softly, smiling as his husband slowly looked up, disbelief shining in his eyes.

“You’re?” 

Patton nodded, freeing his hands from Janus’s loosening grip so he could stroke his lava colored cheek. “And while I definitely didn’t want extra arms as a wedding present…” He smiled as Janus let out a soft shaky laugh. “I would much rather have them than lose you.”

His husband swallowed, eyes blinking rapidly as his third set of hands fluttered. “You’re...you’re sure? I-I thought--” 

“You thought wrong.” He said firmly.  

No. Patton definitely wasn’t sure about this. Any of this. But nobody went into a marriage knowing exactly how it would all turn out. And he wasn’t about to lose Janus over him being an alien--over needing to become an alien himself...even if this was all a lot more life changing than he’d ever expected. He had no idea how he was going to handle this at all, but at least he knew Janus would be there so they could figure this out. Together.  

He gave his husband a soft smile. “Just tell me what I need to do.” 

The tightness around Janus’s eyes vanished as he abruptly pulled Patton into a hug, burying his face in his shoulder, arms holding him tight, breathing hitching with suppressed sobs. “I-I thought--”

Patton hugged him back just as tightly. “I’m here, Jan.” He reassured, stroking his hair. “To the edges of the universe and beyond. I’m here.” 

A Vague AU Writing Prompts